#the silhouette on this is crazy like geez

[ovaryacted]

Save me brown suit Logan. Please save me brown suit Logan…

[goth-mami-writer]

umm that recent fic u posted (love it btw) got me heated ngl. So would it be okay if I could request one where reader broke things off with Leon (cuz of Ada/during the re4 era) and years later they see each other at Claire’s get together?? But reader is with fiancé and u can decided the ending—thank you

♡Wet Wedding Dress♡

~(AU) Leon Kennedy × f!Reader work

《 You bursted into Claire's party that night and winced to the number of people already present and on-time unlike you. You carefully brushed past some of the crowd as Claire in her red cocktail dress crossed her green lawn to greet you.

“Geez, I am so sorry I'm late. Traffic was crazy..” You said apologizing but Claire in her usual, perpetual kindness hugged your neck, only caring that you came at all on her birthday.

“Don't worry! Ugh, the stupid caterers were late anyhow. You haven't missed a thing.”

You went ahead and gave her the small gift you'd picked up on the way over, having boxed it up in the car and she smiled appreciatively and promised she'd place it with the others back on the dessert table.

You felt a little overwhelmed by the people already here when she walked away. You wove ‘hi’ to a few of them asking how they've been since basic. The conversation was nice but you noticed yourself wandering in the hopes of finding someone else.

Leon was in the back of the living room out of your gaze. He sat with his back to the wall, talking over a game of pool with a few acquaintances from the past. He noticed a new silhouette in the room suddenly and then felt a racing flutter in his heart as you crept closer.

He sat upright in his seat, clutching his beer as a surge of nervousness washed over him. He blinked several times to assure himself that it was you and he handed his long cue to one of them, telling them to take his turns for the rest of the game. He then poured the rest of his beer into a tall houseplant secretively as he needed an excuse to get into the open kitchen area where you were headed.

He couldn't approach you directly. It would be weird for both of you, he was sure. The last meeting you had wasn't exactly a kindred memory. He'd just been caught talking to Ada his ex when he said that they'd parted ways and well within your right to, you had slapped him across the face. You two were dating at the time, and he did love you. But that palm print against his cheek was the mark he needed to know that you loved him too. Enough to cry while telling him that hated his guts.

He never forgot that night. And he wondered now on his approach the beer cooler on the kitchen floor if you remembered it too and now he wanted to ask you if telling him you hated him, stung in your throat like your handprint on his face.

You were oblivious to him reaching down into the cooler while you were scanning the room in fact trying to find…him. You held your hand to your chest, taking a plastic glass premade by Claire's punch bowl to give your hands something to do.

He wanted to get your attention- so nonchalantly, as if he was mistakenly not paying attention, he ‘accidentally’ placed the cold beer bottle to the side of your thigh just below your dress as you stood faced away from him.

“Sorry..” He said feeling you shiver, then felt just as frozen by the first look you gave him. Your eyes lit up brightly and you put down the small plastic glass but..you held your hands together. Your spirit told you to wait and remember to resonate on how much you've missed him.

‘Don't hug him, idiot. Don't you dare hug him.’ you thought in your head.

You crossed your arms, trying not to be awkward when he searched in your gaze as well you did his. He didn't think of the night you slapped him at all when he stood in front of you now, lost for words that were certainly taking their precious time to find him. He thought of that morning before. You had slept over after spending your night together. You laid there only wearing the half smile you wore when you dreamt and he thought of the morning sun in your hair, circling around you like a halo.

“Didn't think I'd run into you.” He said, clearing his throat to break the thoughts in his head that tormented him with the images of you sleeping so beautifully in his bed like you were born to do it.

You shrugged, then mentioned with some added repose to portray that you weren't aching to see him,

“Yeah, I ugh- I forgot you were friends with Claire. Uhm..”

You twined your hands behind your back, mentioning a little more brave after a hard swallow,

“It's nice to see you.”

Leon nodded, telling you the same and he found his mind wandering again. But yours was too. A part of you stayed resigned thinking that he might’ve hated you for the last fight you had. You overreacted and you regretted doing it everyday. After remembering that, you thought about just walking away.

“How've you been?” He asked, trying to keep down all the things he really wanted to say.

When you moved your hair out of your eyes, Leon's heart sank into his stomach and hit the bottom of his feet with a clunk that shook him. He felt a ball wadding up in his throat and his eyes fell down to realize the worst thing had happened while you two were separated.

You had a ring on your finger.

“I've been alright. How about you? Still…federal and working in DC?” You asked, noticing that he stared now at your engagement ring, hating that he'd even seen it.

Leon nodded, trying to avoid sounding like a brag so he merely shrugged while catching another glimpse of that little shiny boat-sinker rested on your ring finger.

“You ugh-” Leon asked, wanting to get this part over with,

“You getting married?”

You froze, hoping he wouldn't try and ask the details of your fiancé so soon. You wanted to reminisce and try to find the normalcy between you. However, you knew that was the overly hopeful part of yourself trying to…..imagine that you two still had a chance at working.

“I am.” You answered, twisting the ring on your finger tensely,

“Here in about three months.”

Fuck, he thought. Feeling like he was talking with a hole carved through his chest now. He had thought about calling you sometime in the year apart. He thought now that maybe if he'd gone through with it, things would be different now. You'd be wearing his ring on your finger.

You heard Claire call out from behind him and she yelled out that “Jacob” was here and you smiled widely, waving him over and you introduced Leon to your fiancé on the spot but felt the air change between you.

Leon looked over his shoulder as this new man approached and not-impressed just didn't fit the bill. Jacob was lanky, wore glasses with curly, boyish hair that just looked to be lackluster. But, Leon shook his hand to be cordial.

Jacob looked to you, a little surprised to be standing in front of the renowned agent Leon S. Kennedy, and he asked you softly as if to be discreet,

“You ugh….you worked together? You've never told me that, honey.”

Your face turned a bright, telling pink, looking back to Leon, then Jacob in this awkward situation you'd found yourself in. Leon tried not to gasp at the feeling of being some kind of secret and more, so he tried not to smile. He put the bottle of beer to his lips, hiding his grin as you backpedaled all the reasons you just so happened to never bring him up before.

“Well-” Leon said, holding back a laugh. He was amused with the way things had turned out, but he laughed also at himself. Even though Jacob looked like a scrub in his eyes, that was your man, and he had no right to make judgment.

But you couldn't tell that to his mind.

“I'll catch you guys later. Nice seeing you.”

You felt the need to pull him back, wanting him to stay, but you told him goodnight as he slipped away back into the crowd. You lost him after only a moment, and yourself and Jacob then gravitated back towards the outside veranda where Claire's cake was being cut already.

The rest of the night, you felt detached from the celebration. You were sunken into your phone, overhearing the conversation from Jacob and his friends that were in attendance. Leon sat against the wall, chugging what had to be the 10th beer he'd gotten ahold of and felt a fire starting when he constantly found himself staring at you.

And him.

When everyone began making their way home, hugging Claire's neck before waving goodnight, he wanted to make sure you didn't leave before he gave you a drunken earful of what exactly he thought of Jacob and how you deserved better. He was stumbling, trying hard to focus as he looked for you in the front yard of people but you had been following him in silence for the past few steps he'd taken.

“Leon-” You said, trying to be gentle knowing he was drunk.

He turned, trying to shake away the warble in his vision and he faced you, leaning on the wall so he wouldn't stumble while you talked. He noticed something in your hands and looked up as you started explaining, somewhat unsurely.

“I just-” You said, beginning to crumble the piece of paper in your palm, knowing you were only doing this so he wouldn't think you were still into him,

“I just wanted to give you this. We had a few extra so I wanted you to have one.” You said handing over an official invite to your wedding in the few short months.

Leon felt a scoff leave his mouth due to the loss of his inhibitions then you mentioned to ease any doubt,

“You don't have to go. We're friends so.. I figured I'd tell you that you were welcome to come. If…you wanted to.”

There was a silence between you after that. You wish you knew what he was thinking. Because the space and the quiet was killing you as you stared at the floor. You started to tell him that Jay seemed to like hearing the stories of you two working together but Leon spouted off quietly,

“I'm happy that you're happy.”

He turned his head, his eyes half lidded partially from the alcohol but also to the tension. You don't know why. But it just sounded like he was…lying. Or at least leaving something out. But you were too, weren't you? There were a million things you couldn't say.

“Me..too..” You said in a hollow tone, feeling nothing but empty after you said it.

You brushed past him, knowing that Jay was waiting in the car then you said over your shoulder, trying not to sound desperate as if you wanted nothing more than the last word,

“Just..text me if you're coming. Just so I know.”

“I will-” Leon said montonely, looking up at the ceiling before mentioning finitely before you were gone,

“Congratulations..by the way.”

You wanted to thank him but instead you just trudged away. On your way home that night, Jacob asked what was keeping you so quiet. Thinking that maybe you had a lot on your mind but you did. You told him you were fine, just tired and wanted to shower before bed. Once you closed the bathroom door and turned on the water, all you could do was cry in the hum of the shower. You were getting married in two months and you were going to be thinking of Leon now, every single day, weren't you? Could you really wear someone else's ring?

~Your Wedding Day

You sat in the dressing room ten minutes before the ceremony. Your makeup was done, and your dress flowed around you with even your veil made of the fine, sheer lace that cost a fortune. Your bridesmaids had been asking all morning if you hadn't slept well. You were irritable, easy to ignite. But they figured it was nerves, and you assured them as much.

When ten minutes became nine, you looked up to the dimly lit vanity mirror and asked the room full of people if you could have a minute alone. Everyone was quick to do as you asked and when you were washed back into a more settling silence, you pulled the phone away from your purse. That morning, unbeknownst to anyone you'd received a text from Leon saying that he was coming today and that he was sorry he didn't rsvp sooner.

You stared at that message longingly while you were alone and in a moment derived from lack of thought and more so grounded in a nostalgic panic, you called him. You held the phone to your ear feeling as if this just wasn't real.

Leon was signing in at the small table in the cathedrals vestibule when you called and he was slow to reach into his jacket pocket to answer. You heard it ring once then quickly ended the call, cursing into the mirror as you tossed your phone down.

“Fuck!” You cried from the feeling of never speaking to him again and you leaned over, trying to save your makeup from tears. You hurried to preserve your mascara, now asking yourself over and over what you were doing.

You were led along by the wedding coordinator in the next few minutes and stood in front of the large double doors, peering inside as your bridesmaids entered the ceremony hall first, waltzing down the aisle along with the lulling accordion music. When the loud, booming bells began to change in arrangement, you heard the sound of everyone standing and you took the last breath you needed to convince yourself that….you weren't making the biggest mistake of your life.

The doors opened and softly you heard the gasps of everyone in attendance to your long, ornate gown that cascaded to the floor in its angelic, blinding white. You stepped forward on the coordinator's cue and began reluctantly down the aisle. You stared at the floor as you began to softly cry with one tear escaping. Leon watched as you moved with a slowness. These were the last images he'd ever have of you before losing you to marriage and he realized it now. His gaze resigned back down and he told himself not to be so goddamn selfish.

As you came to the altar, Jay helped you up to stand across from him. The priest began to read from the traditional verses detailing a bound union made with love and duties to those who dedicate themselves with vows. All of the words felt meaningless as you stood there, staring into the ground with your bouquet ready to break beneath your clawed fingers.

Then, you were prompted to turn for the placing rings. Jacob slid his ring on your trembling finger and you did the same, reciting vows as you both did so to the stone walls that echoed. Jacob said the prolific phrase “I Do” and there in that moment, time felt stuck in place. Unmoving and slow.

You fell quiet when asked the same question that needed an “I Do.”

The church grew at its quietest and waited for you to respond. Leon looked up from his harrowed stare into the floor and watched you hesitate. You held Jacob's hands but felt that nothing would ever leave your throat again without a fight. Your voice shook as well as your legs, and with a breath of air you felt you needed to die for, you instead turned to run.

The congregation gasped sharply, and people even stood to watch as you fled in heavy strides that flowed your dress behind you in long, white billows as you sped down the aisle. Tears flooded your face now as your shaking hands held up the front of your gown, and you screamed curses that probably appalled the stone angels on the walls, but you didn't care.

You begged those who ran after you not to follow as you escaped down the church's side stairs leading to the street but one shadow moved their way through the pathways and side doors to run behind you anyhow. Leon swung his keys into his hand and practically dove through the moving people to get to his car.

As the sky above you darkened in the few minutes it took you to get outside, you hurried across the large cobblestone steps in no clear direction. Tires were heard behind you, and you assumed it was one of the groomsmen trying to change your mind. But you saw Leon roll down his car window right when the rain began to fall. You shook your head, knowing water would ruin this thousand dollar dress, and you just stood now in the somehow fated torrential downpour.

Leon got out of the driver's side, asking you from the road what you were doing as the rain soaked you both now. You raised your hands, asking with a snideness as your shoulders rose in just as much confusion,

“Does it look like I know what I'm doing?”

Leon swung the wet hair away from his face and asked vaguely through the sounds of the water,

“Why'd you never say anything?”

“What?” You asked, getting closer, and he asked again, getting annoyed that he didn't ask this when he needed to,

“Why'd you never tell your little boyfriend about me?...You never told him that I was your partner. That we..worked together for years? That you…slept with me, dated me, screamed at me-”

“I fucking get it-!” You shouted over the rain to stop him but you shook your head, moving your sopping wet dress as you paced tensively to find an answer,

“I don't know, okay?! It just never came up. And don't throw it in my face about that fight. I..think about it all the time.”

“Do you?” He asked shortly, hanging on breath-by-breath for you to say it, and you crumbled, hanging your head to cry in the rain while he put the pieces together himself.

He looked out at the street, watching the water roll in and he knew he needed to make this quick before you both become waterlogged and he said with his voice roaring over the soft thunder and rainfall,

“We didn't talk at Claire's. And we should've.”

“I'm sorry for hitting you that night, Leon.” You said, sputtering with shaking lips as you sobbed, and he only half smiled, telling you that you didn't need to apologize for something like that. He began to laugh contagiously even with rainwater soaking your gown,

“You hit like a princess, come on, that didn't hurt me or my tender feelings.”

You stared at him as you both began to laugh in the rain together. It felt healing but not as healing enough as what you were about to tell him. Words left behind that should've been said years ago.

“I wish-..” Leon said stuttering until you cut him off,

“I love you.”

Leon was halted from even breathing, watching as you stared across the road to him. You knew then that there was just no other way to say it or explain it. You couldn't tell your boyfriend, your friends, or even your fiancé about him because it'd be too damn obvious from the first breath. You loved him too deeply, and it'd be written all over your face. For all to see.

Leon charged towards you after giving into the feeling. After stomping to your side, he lifted you into his arms, rising you above him, wet wedding dress and all to bring your lips to his. It felt like another tireless thing that was left undone on the night you last saw him, and you surrendered into his lips as you did those years ago.

Suddenly you heard voices from up the street and saw as your family and wedding party had found you, yelling over the rain to the others and you looked to Leon in horror, knowing you could never go back now.

“You wanna get me the hell outta here?”

He nodded with a devious smile as he brought you back to your feet, and you remembered that troublemaking look from the many memories of his past antics in your mind. He raced with you back to his car, and you watched behind you as together you both ran with your hearts pounding in the falling rain. He closed you inside the car, hearing as your family began yelling your name, and his foot slammed to the gas pedal once back behind the wheel.

“Hang on tight.” He said as the motor accelerated loudly in a whir.

You laughed in new joy feeling his car take off in a getaway that spun the tires and throttled the loud engine. He took your hand once the rear view became a blur but you noticed one more thing that needed to be left behind along with the life in the distance. You tossed that wedding ring out the window. It clinked to the road passing you by and you nodded as Leon smiled widely to the sight.

“That's better.” You said in relief to take his hand. 》

I wrote the HELL outta that one. Thank you so, so much. That was fun. Looking forward to more! ✌️

[justanotherblogger]

A World Without Him

Chapter 11

(TW some strong language and minor blood)

Tang could feel himself wake from unconsciousness. His body became solid as he was pulled from the void that made up his dreams.

His eyes and limbs felt heavy, as if he was buried beneath the ground. Still, he could barely feel a cold breeze flow over his forehead as he listened to the sounds around him.

The rustling of curtains, birds chirping outside, distant voices of people on the street, and his own breathing flow into his ears. The sounds distant, yet too loud as they rushed into his head.

Then he tried to focus on his surroundings instead of losing himself in the white noise, as that wouldn't help him move any time soon.

Now Tang felt the smooth and cold surface he was laying on. The grooves of age in what seemed to be hardwood flooring gave him an idea of where he'd been placed after he collapsed outside...

How did I even get back inside, in my bedroom, no less? My apartment's on the 5th floor...

The hard floor dug into his side as he felt his clothes and hair had layers of grime on them. It gave an uncomfortable weight to his clothes. Then he remembered this was what he had on while at the library.

Don't think about that.

The point being, he was covered from head to toe in dust and other debris. He must have looked crazy yesterday when he ran panicked through the streets.

I shouldn't have left.

With a sigh and with his eyes still heavy, he planned to start pushing himself off the floor to stop the stabbing pain in his side.

However, he could barely sit up straight before he felt two hands grab harshly onto his shoulders. His eyes flung open as he was pushed up into a standing position by the hands, stumbling forwards from the excess force like a rag doll.

He snapped his head around to look behind him, but he couldn't see anything because of his damaged vision. A blurry silhouette was all he could barely see before it seemed to dissipate back into thin air.

Tang froze in place, waiting for the thing to make another move. Yet, he didn't hear or feel anything else for the minutes he stood completely still.

A small chuckle broke out from his short, silent breaths. He then broke into manic laughter as tears ran down his face and onto the hardwood floor. He could barely breathe as the laughter kept getting louder and louder as he doubled over.

'...Geeze, has he already gone insane?'

'From our efforts in stopping the big guy, I don't really blame him.'

Tang's laughter abruptly stops, his vocal cords stinging from continuous use. He shoots up, grasps his glasses, and looks around his room frantically for the source of the voices. He finds nothing other than a breeze from the open window.

The laughter returns, now louder than before. "I'm going insane!" He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling strands into his face. "I just wanted everything to go back to normal! I JUST WANTED TO BE FREE OF THESE FUCKING VOICES! I never wanted any of this!"

Smoke started to rise from where Tang stood on the hardwood floor as tears started to run down his face once again. "But no! I have to almost die! I have to see someone I care about LOSE A FUCKING LEG! I have to be tortured every night through my nightmares and have them FOLLOW ME THROUGHOUT THE DAMN DAY!"

Everything was suddenly too quiet for Tang as his labored breathing echoed through the bedroom. Tear streaks ran rapidly down his cheeks and onto the steaming floor.

He stared as the drops fell and dispersed among the ground. He could hear more whispers enter his mind, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

A small chuckle was the only warning before he bolted out of the bedroom, through the complete mess of a living room, and into the bathroom.

He wanted to be free of the filth covering his body. The dust and debris that killed maimed Allan when those monsters attacked the library...

Monsters?

Don't go farther down that road.

Tang only sighed at his thoughts before stripping and seeing the scorched handprints on the back of his overcoat. He grimaced before dropping it onto the ground, putting his glasses onto the edge of the sink and throwing himself into the shower. The scalding hot water turned his skin red as the stinging replaced the grime that used to cover his body.

Still, he scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin and hair until he was sure there was no more filth stuck to his body. Afterward, he let the water flow over him as he stood unmoving. Closing his eyes, he relished over the burning feeling.

He only opened them again when the water started to turn cold: the heat no longer being supported from his overuse. He slowly turned the knob to stop the water before stepping out and grabbing a towel off of the door handle.

After ruffling his hair with the towel and wrapping it around his waist, he sat down onto the toilet seat to take a breather. The cold air from the door left ajar helped him to cool down and think.

Am I really going insane? He thought. This has happened too many times to write off by now. Why is this even happening to me?

Why can't everything just end?

He choked up quiet sobs, putting his head into his arms. The lights above him flickered, and yet he just couldn't care anymore. He looked up blankly at the light bulb before rubbing his eyes and standing up to walk to the mirror.

He took his glasses off of the sinks edge and leveled them onto his face. He noticed the left side was cracked as he looked into the fogged up mirror, seeing the left side in pieces.

Tang grumbled as he wiped the mirror to uncover his eyes so he could see the damage done.

The lights flickered. He gasped as he saw his eyes suddenly turn blinding orange with blood splatter caked over his face in the mirror-

*CRACK*

Pieces of the mirror fell to the floor. His knuckles barely stung from the force he put into the punch. The mirror was now cracked and scattered onto the tiled bathroom floor.

With his heartbeat steady, Tang slowly pulled his fist from the reflective remnants. A hole through and mirror and into the back wall was now shown, some blood speckled in from his cut hand.

Holding his curled up hand, he saw the small shards now embedded into his knuckles: small trails of blood running down his arm.

He stared blankly at the cuts before rummaging into his cabinets and taking out a nail kit. It took some effort, but he was able to wrangle out tweezers from the case eventually.

He washed the hand with warm, soapy water before taking the tweezers and slowly pulling out each shard. His face was blank the entire time as he took each chunk out of his skin, even when washing his hand again and wrapping it up in bandages.

The whole debacle was over in a few minutes, even though it felt like hours to him. He looked back at the mirror. I guess I have to put another thing onto the to-do list.

Brushing the shards off the ground and clothes he left on the bathroom tile, he threw them into the bin and walked back into the living room.

In the messy state that it was, he could see many random pieces of clothing all over the floor and broken furniture. He could see leather jackets, old headbands, and even a Pigsy's shirt from when he used to work there.

Yet the thing that caught his eye was his matching jacket and pants he used to wear for special occasions. The soft navy fabric of the jacket and gray fabric of the pants Tang remembered helping calm him in those high tension situations.

The overcoat was long and had silver floral designs at the bottom near the calves and on the cuffs of the sleeves. The pants were similar, having those same floral designs at the pant cuffs. They were both hung over what was left of the coffee table.

He barely had to think before putting them on with underwear, a tan turtle neck, black flats, and the maroon scarf he snagged from his old clothes pile. It had the least debris on it.

Now feeling snug against multiple layers, which made him feel less cold and empty, he could finally do, erm...

Why did he dress up anyway?

He really didn't know why he put in this much effort, but now he supposes he might as well go out and do something other than being cooped up in his apartment.

Walking into his bedroom, he noticed the window was still open from the night before. The breeze barely bothered him as he shut the window yet again.

Now, hopping onto his bed, Tang reaches for his cracked phone to see if anyone messaged him for something. The only things in his notifications were a text from Pigsy and some ads about manga sales and new releases.

He then suddenly remembered how he had promised to see Pigsy. Yesterday morning, where he basically had a mental breakdown the entire day...

I am going to get so much crap for this.

He sat up and out of bed before turning off his phone. Maybe if he got there quick enough today, Pigsy would be a bit more forgiving? Who is he kidding, but maybe it was better to get it over with and a good distraction from what happened yesterday.

With that plan set in his mind, Tang took quick strides out of his apartment after locking it, of course, and started to walk the regular path to Pigsy's noodles.

The day was cloudy, yet no rain was supposed to come down today. With the sun blocked out, everything seemed a bit less vibrant than usual, which he was glad for as it would be a bit overwhelming otherwise with all the neon to go with the sun's rays.

The walk was quiet up to Pigsy's, putting him on edge as he looked back, on top of roofs and into alleys to see if anyone was following more times than he could count. Yet when he got to the shop door, there was something wrong with it: it was closed. Pigsy's was closed, on a weekday, during rush hour.

Oh no, did something happen to him?!

Tang quickly took out his phone to text Pigsy and realized he still had a message from him he hadn't read yet. Sitting on one of the outside benches, he opened the text from Pigsy

Pigsy 🍜🩷

10:46 AM

Pigsy: Hey

Pigsy: Just letting you know Mk dragged us onto a trip to Flower Fruit Mountain to help wrangle some Monkeys for Monkey King or something, might be gone for a few days.

Pigsy: I couldn't tell you earlier because Mk just grabbed me and Sandy out of the shop and I could barely close it in time.

Pigsy: I tried to tell them what we had planned but Mk and Mei were too energetic to reason with

10:47 AM

Pigsy: I'm sorry for ditching you yesterday, but we're still having that talk when I get back. No excuses.

Tang just stared at the message, trying to reason with what it said.

Mk took Pigsy and Sandy without me? I know they haven't talked to me much lately, but they still would've dragged me along to whatever stunt they were going to pull. Even if not, they would have told me before doing anything! There wasn't even a text...

That left a gross feeling in Tang's chest.

And what if I had shown up yesterday? I wouldn't have even known if they were okay until this mornings text! Did they not even think about how worried I would've been? Did they even consider how I could have felt at all?

He only shook his head at the thoughts, trying to drive away the bad feelings that came with them. He knows he and Mk haven't talked much lately; the same goes for Sandy and Mei, but he still knows what's going on with them! He still talks and tells them what's happening through the group chat to show he's still there!

Yet why does it feel as though I've been forgotten about? Why do I feel a sense of doubt now? He thinks as he leans back onto the bench.

He thinks back to the library, an unwanted thought crossing his mind. Mk didn't even try to keep the damages to a minimum as he redirected the strikes to the roof instead of blocking them with his staff.

And he looked so carefree and happy after the incident! Did Mk even know Tang was there? Did he even think about the possible damages he had caused? And he just leaves afterward, posing with tea and smiling!

Do they ignore or filter everything he says?

...Does Mk even care about him anymore?

...

...

I should stop.

All this self-loathing is getting him nowhere. It's not as if he was hurt during the battle. He doesn't have a right to be angry about a lack of care when someone got it worse than him.

Now, his thoughts were back to Allan. He didn't deserve anything that happened to him that day. He had gotten it so much worse than him, so why is Tang complaining?

Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind. He could check all the hospitals near the library to see if Allan was registered anywhere! It's not a full proof plan, but it was something worthwhile he could do while he was already out of a slump.

So he started to walk to the library, or what was left of it, to see if he could start there. When he arrived, he could barely believe what he could see. The entire roof is gone, save the few glass panels still stuck on the back, the walls were seemingly about to crumble at a slight breeze, and different holes ranging from sizes were stuck throughout the building, making it dangerous if most of it weren't already crumbled onto the ground.

Yellow tape covering the premises swayed back and forth as Tang walked onto the parking lot sidewalk, not daring to get closer lest something were to fall again.

He already had a bad feeling when he arrived, and it almost got doubly worse when he stopped at the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he had wanted to see what the remains looked like, and now he knew. Taking a deep breath and looking away from the building, he checked his phone for the nearest hospitals.

Among the list was one that looked eerily familiar. MSH was listed near the top, and it seemed like a fever dream to be seeing it here.

Now, along with this feeling of familiarity, he felt compelled to follow this lead. Maybe to help the new bad feeling in his stomach from those letters, but he'll try anyways.

The walk isn't that far; it's about the same length it takes to get to the docks from his apartment. When he arrives in front of the hospital, he suddenly gets a sense of deja vu, like he's been here before.

Ignoring the feeling, he steps through the doors and heads up to the receptionist at the desk. "Hey there." Tang greeted a bit awkwardly. The receptionist just smiled. "Hello there, how can I help you today?"

Tang seemed to lose vigor as he continued to speak. "Erm, I was wondering if you had any teenage admitants named Allan? I-I was just wondering since I was his colleague at the library when it got attacked, and I know it's probably personal information but-"

The receptionist held her hand up halfway through his ramble. "I understand your concern, and if he is permitted here and allows friends to visit, you're welcome to see him. I'll just have to see if he's registered in our care, so please give me a moment."

Tang sheepishly sat down at one of the lobby seats as the receptionist went back to typing on her computer. After about 10 minutes, she called him back up to the desk. "We do have an Allan Bentley in room 1225. He's in for an injured leg, is allowing visitors, and he came from the library attack. Is he who you're looking for?"

He knew it was Allan from the leg injury; he saw him get wheeled away himself. He quickly affirmed the receptionist and thanked her before moving towards the elevator.

Following the signs on the walls with little difficulty, he was able to find room 1225. Yet, Tang hesitated in front of the door. Did Allan even want to see him? Did Allan blame him for what happened? He wouldn't put it past the kid if he did.

But he wanted to see if he was alright. Wanted to see Allan breathing and alive, even if that was a bit selfish of him since he's the one who slowed him down in the first place.

So before he can back out of it, he opens the door. The room is steril and white, with the acception of some window stickers from previous patients, most likely.

He walked slowly up the bed and gasped at what he saw. Allan seemed more thin and pale than he remembered. His brows were creased even in his sleep as he breathed slowly in a rhythm.

Tang thought Allan would be awake since visiting hours were still open, but he must be lucky to catch him right after he fell asleep.

Looking at the bedside table, he could see comics of some kind, with the first addition of Monkey Cop at the top. It seemed like Allan was able to keep it, even through the whole debacle.

This lifted a weight off of Tang's shoulders. Seeing how Allan kept the comic must mean he doesn't completely hate him now and is coherent enough to read already, as it seems to have more wear than when he first gave the comic to him.

He gives a small smile as he slowly puts his hand on Allan's head, comforting the kid to uncrease his brows just a bit and feel his chest rise and fall.

He left quickly after that. He couldn't stay in that room much longer when he knew how much pain Allan was in right now. He could see the void where his left leg used to be under the blanket.

The feeling of regret only got worse as the sky started to dim on his way back. Why did Allan have to suffer like that? Why couldn't I save him? Why wasn't he able to make it out okay like everyone else?

It was the fight.

Tang was now in front of his apartment door. He had stopped in front of it as the voice spoke from behind.

That child took to fight too recklessly. He directed the strikes to the ceiling, causing it to fall onto you and Allan.

No, no, it wasn't Mk's fault. There was a lot going on, and everything was just chaos-

Yet the child seemed to deny those stakes. You saw how he moved on so quickly, how he smiled and joked about it afterward, taking nothing about it seriously.

Tang looked to the ground, a gross feeling climbing up his throat.

But he did care! He even reached out to me after he found out I was there!

And that is the problem. He only cared about the companion he could have lost, not for the other lives he'd endangered. Heck, he only started to care when someone else showed him you were there.

The voice spoke with certainty, venom apparent in its tone.

Do you think he would have worried were it not for that reminder? Do you really think he would have looked twice if you were someone unrelated to him?

But Mk is a good kid! He didn't look only because he thought everyone had made it into the shelter.

He started to shake with rage as the voice kept going with its remarks.

Yet he knew you were there, and he didn't even stay to check if you were alright? Did he even know you were there? Did he not give you the simplest time of day that he completely forgot about your existence.

Stop.

Do you really think you matter to him anymore? It's not like he even bothered to tell you about the trip yesterday, where he left you completely alone with no contact. Do you think someone like that is worthy of having those powers?

Stop it.

Someone like that shouldn't be worthy of anything, nonetheless powers to destroy whole cities. You know what happened, and you couldn't save Allan that way. That boy doesn't deserve the abilities he has, and takes them for granted.

Why are you doing this?

Tears roll down Tang's face yet again.

Why should he get these powers? Why should he be the chosen one when you are much more deserving? Why does he get to take power for granted when you struggle every day to keep people safe and survive? Why does he get to feel happy and live without worry while you have to lie down and suffer from how many people you have had to watch die?

"JUST GO AWAY!" Tang's voice cracks as he yells into the open air. Silence is the only thing that greets him as he numbly stares at the door in front of him, still unopened.

His face is now blank. The tear streaks on his face have dried to the point they're stuck on his face. He slowly brings his key to the door and numbly walks inside, seeing the mess of his living room and bathroom of the doorway.

He only ignores the mess, stopping briefly where The Origins of JTTW had been left open before grabbing it and beelining to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and walking towards the window. He lifts the window up and lets the breeze blow through the room, ruffling the sheets and blanket on the bed.

The cool breeze doesn't bother Tang, though, as he only turns towards the bed and bats the loose strands out of his face from the down hair he didn't bother to put up.

He doesn't lay down on the bed. He instead kicks off his shoes to the side, takes off his cracked glasses, and puts them on the side table with his matching phone.

Then he stares out the open window, looking towards the blurry figures of stars and planets as he lifts up the barely decipherable book showing Golden Cicada.

I can't keep going like this. I need to leave. Maybe that's what these horrible dreams have been trying to tell me. I just want to get away from it all.

He roughly shuts the book and throws it into the wall. Whatever he's dealing with, he's not gonna put up with it anymore starting tomorrow. He's going to leave, and he's going to get better.

That's what he thinks as he falls back into his bed and looks back to the blurry lights once again before blacking out, hopefully for the last time.

Previous | Next | Start

[veyette]

Dream dragon AU by milder-manners (check it out, there is good world-building, beautiful concepts and just as nice strip pannels drawn by them) theory

Okay, I'm going to try my hand here because I'm not sure how much people will think it's spoilers if I ask but I still want to get it out. This is more a jumble of thoughts than a true theory about what will happen

First, there is the (to me at least*) open secret that Dream is the white dragon since the first pannel and the prophecy implies he will tranform himself sooner or later (but can he already ?)

Dragons hybrids can shapeshift (thanks to vow this is now a fact (aka, her being a human silhouette then having a large tail in Dream's flashbacks) + the author confirming that some magical beings can shapeshift)... but it also said it's something you have to train for, even if genetical grounds matter a lot. So is that why Dream try to steal the End info, to power up his own strength ? Is it for himself, as dragons- nature can makes them want to hoard knowledge (on that note, is that the same motivation than vow ?) or is it to be able to get revenge (especially since we now know for sure he comes from Deepheart's capital)

Which brings me to a second theory : Dream's presence in Deepheart (2 things)

1. Magic : Wardens seemed very careful about who could learn the death magic. It seems logical than only a very few can learn it, aka the Ancient Council. I doubt another hybrid than warden (especially a cow hybrid since they aren't supposed to have magic) would be invited to learn it. Was Dream ever interested in this if he likes hoarding knowledge ? Could he try to study it even if his magic doesn't resonate with it ? Or maybe it's just a coincidence and he never had an interest in this kind of stuff (but ok, I'll admit the dsmp impacted my theory with c!dream and all that. Idk how much it ties into pure warden lore. But the death link is there and I don't want to close the door on this too quickly)

2. Growing up - dream's parents and heritage.

I want to be clear I may be wrong and the author may want to take us in a very different direction, but the white horns, the prophecy, the fact Dream is fireproof and that usually when you follow a guy you know is the hero and makes himself pass for a prey hybrid... all those makes me 99% sure about what Dream is supposed to be.

Where it's interesting is that dragons hybrids are rare, and that it's genetics that make an hybrid. So Dream's parents should be dragons hybrids too : what were they doing in Deepheart and why didn't they survive ? It may be that they weren't lucky genetically and weren't fireproof, or died from buildings falls, but maybe they weren't even there, Dream already alone at that age. Tried to know a bit more about dragons habits with their kids but seems like I was too sneaky with my formulation :')

Anyway. If Dream had parents keeping him safe, what were they doing in Deepheart ? Were they interested in magic too or trying to live a normal life (possible, but uncertain seeing how they are characterized so far). If his parents weren't there : why is Dream there, has he been left there voluntarily ? Why Deepheart especially if the Empire seems interested in the End, he would have been more in his place there. Unless his parents didn't know he was a dragon hybrid (which, they could both had recessive dragon genes which could explain the whiteness).

It could be an easy plot point where the author just needed a town to put Dream in that the Empire would attack but I think they wouldn't mention sculk magic that way and the importance of Deepheart if there wasn't more to find.

...I feel like an old crazy geeze trying to analyse this lmao, feel free to interract if you have more ideas to explore or points you disagree with

[yeojaa]

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears.  You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard.  The best part?  You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main.  He might just love you.

alt summary.  Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing.  jeon jungkook

genre + rating.  fluffy crack, smut.  explicit.

warning / tags.  long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish),  eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch, oral (f receiving), fingering, enough sweetness you’ll get cavities. 

reading.   n/a.  a three part one-shot.

word count.  ~8400

part iii.

JUNGKOOK’S HOTEL ROOM Sunday, 3 May, 2020.  12:20 AM (LA), 4:20 PM (Seoul).

There’s nothing quite like the feeling after a show.  How it crowds cavities behind his molars and sets his heart off on a marathon, exhilaration colouring his cheeks and stealing his voice.  It’s something he’ll never get tired of - all the best parts of this journey presented on a silver platter. 

Still, he thinks talking to you might be a close second.  

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,”  you chide, playfully, with a mouthful of granola.  It crunch crunch crunches in his ears, blocking the sound of his own laughter, ringing and half out of breath.

“I said I’m sorry.  I’ve been so busy.  Things have just been—”  Crazy?  Out of this world?  Some kind of wonderful?  “—hectic.”  He all but throws himself across his bed, the luxurious hotel sheets soft against his still overheated cheek.  It feels nice but steals the strength of his voice, muffling his words as he continues, like a runaway train with no destination in mind. 

You laugh at him as you always do, mirth sprinkled over teasing like little treasures to be found among the vowels and consonants.  “It’s fine , Jay.”  The name - not his name - rolls off your tongue, dragged out by the giggles you can’t help.  “I know you’re a busy guy.  Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done, Jungkook thinks.  You’ve been on his mind every day, in between the practices and the performances.  A silhouette shaped like you - not that he knows how you’re shaped - existing in the recesses of his thoughts. 

“Anyway, I finally stopped losing SR so it’s not all bad...”

He doesn’t register what you’re saying.  Not at first, anyway.  But when he does?  He’s belligerent, the loudest shriek rocketing out of his chest as he dissolves into laughter.  So you were a little bit better than him.  “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, sandbag.”  

Your mockery shouldn’t have the dumbest smile spreading like wildfire but it does, the expression eating up every ounce of his exhausted self.  He can’t fight it, glee working itself every which way until he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his jaw aches.  

“You’re mean,”  he manages in between the teeth-numbing joy, chest heaving.

He’s certain you don’t mean it the way he takes it.  “And yet you love it.”  

God, if only you knew.

He wants to tell you so badly - wants to shout it from the rooftops until he’s blue in the face and without a voice.  He thinks he’d have a chance, maybe, if your passed secrets at midnight and tender goodnights were any indication.

But he can’t, because he’s him and you’re, well, you, and really, it’s just his fault.

“Did you die?”  You steal him out of his reverie, tearing him wholly from inside that overthinking head of his.  It’s one of the things you’re best at (other than keeping him alive in Overwatch).

He sighs and it’s a wistful sound, softer than any other that’s passed between you since getting on the phone fifteen minutes ago.  “I’m good, yeah.  I’m fine.”

“You sure?  I thought I might’ve lost you for a second.”

The playfulness has returned, rounding syllables in a way that’s very distinctly you.  

“Yes, Mom .”  

“Watch it or you’re grounded, young man!” 

“Do you even know how old I am?”  Probably not, because he doesn’t know that about you either.  

For all of the secrets you’ve shared, these very basic pieces of information are ones you’ve never exchanged.  They’ve always been held tightly to the chest, held hostage behind sharp gates of enamel. There was too much at stake when it came to these identifiers.

Sure, you’d told him about your greatest fear - losing one of your parents without being able to say goodbye - and sure, he’d told you his - not being good enough and letting the people he loves down even when he’s trying as hard as he can - but your ages?  Where you grew up?  Your real names?  That was out of the question.

“Are you about to tell me you’re sixteen?  Have I been friends with a high school student this whole time?”  You’re chuckling at your own genius.  He really doesn't think you’re that funny - low hanging fruit and all that - but he likes the way it sounds, curling out of your mouth like smoke.

“I’m actually twelve .  Geez, get it right.”

You gasp, scandalized and as if you really believe him.  It makes him choke on his own spit and he has to roll over onto his stomach, effectively trapping his phone between his chest and the bed as he struggles to regulate his breathing. 

“I’ve always wanted a little brother!”  

It’s a joke.  Obviously , it’s a joke.  He shouldn’t take it seriously.

And yet he’s fueled with the need to rebuff it, speaking before he has a chance to stop it, the words coming in a flurry.  It’s a verbal snowstorm, locking the conversation in place - like Mei’s ultimate except he’s trapped in it, too.  “I have something to tell you.”  There’s no going back now.

For once, you’re not tearing holes in his confidence - not that you ever do with any sort of animosity.  Your relationship was equal parts give and take, honey and vinegar coexisting in perfect harmony.

When Jungkook doesn’t immediately continue, you give him a little push.  “Spit it out, Jay.”

“My name isn’t Jay.”  A small, insecure part of him worries that that’s enough to shatter the careful friendship you’ve crafted.  You - Jinny, the ineffable - remain surprisingly silent.  He’s not sure whether that’s encouraging or disheartening.  “I… haven’t really been honest with you.”

Already he can feel the nervous energy in his limbs, anxiety replacing the high he’d been on only an hour ago.

“I’m…”  How does he start?  “I’m not just… some guy.”  Okay, that sounds bad.  He’s backtracking.  “I mean, I’m a guy.  I’m normal.”  This is going so poorly.  His breath catches in his throat, teeth worrying incessantly over the soft cherry Chapsticked contour of his bottom lip.  “I’m just not, y’know, your average guy.  I’m actually like, uh...”  

Jungkook has never stuttered this much in his entire goddamn life.

“My name’s Jeon Jungkook and I’m the golden maknae of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

It comes in such a rush that you probably don’t hear it clearly.  He’s introduced himself this same way for over half a decade and even it sounds strange to his ears.  

When you don’t respond after what feels like an eternity, he’s left to his own devices, filling the silence with the erratic beating of his heart. 

“Jinny?”  It comes smaller than he means it to, uncertain and filled with hesitation.  Still, nothing.  He wants to toss himself off the 37th floor balcony so he doesn’t have to feel this way.  “Can you say something?”

Your voice is far more measured than his own.  You’re trying to be serious, he thinks.  “I… kind of - sort of - already knew?” 

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I mean, the other members don’t exactly knock before they barge into your room screaming your name.”  A beat.  He can hear the laughter that’s threatening to knock your words into submission.  “ And you posted a cover of a song I sent you.”  

Dammit.  Dammit dammit dammit .

That was definitely his fault.  It’d just been so good - living in his head and in his heart rent-free. “ Never Not’s a good song!”  He retorts, like that’s an appropriate rebuttal.

“I know, doofus.”  

“You’re the doofus!”

The two of you were back, glazing over the revelation like it was nothing more than a little bump in the road.

“Thank you for telling me, though.”  He imagines you’re smiling - can practically hear it in your voice.  Somehow, it feels different.  Sunnier than usual, blinding in its intensity.  “I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“Would you have been mad if I didn’t?”  Though he asks, he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course not.”  

“Really?”

You’re only a little exasperated when you reassure him.  “Of course not.  You’re still you - no matter what you do.”

Whatever best case scenario he’d imagined doesn’t hold a candle to this.  He’s a million miles over the moon.  You must be able to tell because he can hear you stifling sound, trails of laughter buzzing around in his ears like hummingbirds.  

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean ‘what now’ ?  Didn’t you hear what I just said?”  There’s no venom in your words.  “You’re still you, Jay.”

“It’s Jungkook.”  There’s that unabashed need to hear his name.  He hopes it isn’t too obvious.

“I know but that’s gonna be hard to get used to.” 

“Is your real name Jinny?”  He’s always wondered.

“It’s Yoojin.  Jinny’s just my nickname.”  

“Well, Jinny—”  He says it dragged out and silly.  “—want to come to one of our shows?”

“I live in Seoul.”

“So what?”

The second time sounds exactly like the first.  He snorts.  “I live in Seoul .”  

"I’ll fly you to Osaka.”

It’s the first time he’s heard you genuinely shocked.  It strips the usual mischief from your tone, draping it in lily white and baby’s breath.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”  He doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more.  At least, not in a very long time.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

It sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

KYOCERA DOME OSAKA Thursday, 23 July, 2020.  10 PM.

Does he smell bad?  Should he have showered first?  Would you be grossed out?

These are all the thoughts running through his mind, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail.  They revolve in a neverending merry-go-round, creasing worry into his brow and dropping his mouth into a little O-shaped pout.

“You ready, Jungkookie?”  Jimin’s doing what he does best - draping himself across his maknae’s shoulders without a care in the world.  

“Are you nervous?”  Hobi’s swiping through his phone, dark hair a stylishly dishevelled mess around his angelic face.  He’s still got traces of makeup around his eyes and his clip-on earrings glint under fluorescent light.  

A hand lands hard on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a way that’s meant to be reassuring.  “Of course he is.”  Namjoon can read him like a book, shooting Jungkook his signature smile in the same instance he receives one.

“I’m not nervous!”  The youngest chirps in a voice that warbles like a baby bird.

Everyone laughs at that and he can feel his ears burning around the edge of his baseball cap. It creeps over the shell and down his neck, descending blossoms of colour into the collar of his shirt.  

“Shouldn’t you get going?”  It’s Yoongi that reminds him of the time, the rapper only barely cracking an eye open as he taps the face of his steel-cased Audemars Piguet.  He’s right.

Jungkook jolts out of his seat, scrambling to his feet - all four thousand dollars of his designer boots - and nearly knocks Jimin off the back of the couch he’d been precariously balanced on.  The overeager bunny shouts an apology that’s lost amongst even louder laughter as he tears out of the room. 

He’s going to be late .

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast in his life - darting past bicycling seniors and tourists with all the grace of a boy in love.  He somehow manages to find the entrance of the BIC CAMERA store without much hassle, rooting himself just left of the door when his phone screen registers 10:30 PM.

A little triumphant whoop! presses into the sponge-like material of his facemask in the same moment he catches sight of a waving hand.

He’s not sure whether it’s the mask or the sight of you that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Hi.”  You sound exactly like you always have and yet six months of hearing your voice somehow doesn't prepare him for it.  It hits him like a ton of bricks, crashing his resolve into the soles of his feet.  There’s something about you that makes him squint - like staring directly at the sun.  His heart stutters in his chest.  He thinks, dimly, he can hear bells in the distance.  It’s probably from a food stall, but he doesn’t care.  

It’s the first meeting he’s always dreamed of, wrapped up in an adorable pink Cooky headband. 

He’s scooping you into his arms before he can think better of it, twirling you around like the princess you are.  It probably isn’t appropriate - you’ve only just met - but he can’t resist.  You feel so good in his arms, weightless and yet entirely grounding.  

The fact that you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, easily reciprocating his onslaught of affection, doesn't go unnoticed.  He tucks away this knowledge into the sleeve of his shirt for safekeeping.  

“I’m so sorry,”  he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all.  You’re back on your two feet, black military boots of your own on solid ground once again.  

Standing so close, he can smell your perfume.  Its notes of vanilla and cola and something powdery, reminiscent of babies and home.  You’re smaller than he imagined, with narrow shoulders and wide hips.  Like him, you look to be about 95% leg, faded blue denim hugging your thighs and falling loosely around the tops of your Doc Martens. Your top is long-sleeved but semi-sheer and he can make out what he thinks are inkings over your skin, little trails in greyscale and colour that draw his stare.

Stop being weird , he tells himself when he finally manages to refocus, tearing his gaze from the jasmine branches that traverse your limbs and training it on your eyes instead.

Bad idea, Jungkook.

He’s lost in the colour of your irises - an impossibly dark brown that twinkles under the awning lights - and the heart-shaped turn of your jaw.  He’s all too distracted by the high contours of your cheeks, the turn of your button nose, the dusty pink that fills the shape of your mouth and fades prettily against your skin. 

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”  The way your lips move should be a chargeable offence.  They coax into a smirk that’s equal parts soft and vexing, singular dimple presenting itself with the motion.

God, he’s so in over his head.  He can feel it in his bones.

So he laughs - because that’s what he does when he’s unnerved - and the sound is a pack of hyenas.  It’s Lion King on Broadway, sweeping above the already boisterous cacophony of the entertainment district. 

“Your laugh is even better in person.”  You’ve said better and not worse and even though he’s a little self-conscious - a decidedly not Jungkook-like thing to be - he preens from the praise.  

“Yeah?”  Can you see the hearts in his eyes?  He imagines they’ve replaced his pupils. 

“Yeah.  But don’t let that get to your head, mister.” 

“Already has - sorry.”  

You laugh in sync and it’s music to his ears - the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. 

The two of you fall into your routine in a way that feels effortless, the back and forth banter rivalling that of best friends.  

You tease him mercilessly, picking up on all his little idiosyncrasies - how he stands at stop lights, pigeon-toed and adorable; how he jams his hands into the back pocket of his jeans in tandem with the tips of his ears burning bright red;  how his laugh sometimes trips over itself and splinters like a kid going through puberty.  He doesn’t mind any of it, truthfully, because it means you’re paying attention to him just as much as he is you.

Because he sees all of your little habits too - watches them unfold before his eyes in technicolour.  You bite your own lip when you think you’ve said something particularly funny.  You wiggle your head on your shoulders like a bobblehead when he says something snappy, equally biting remarks softened by the way you bob up and down.  You don’t step on cracks, even if it means you’re straining those strangely long legs of yours to carry yourself a few inches further.  

You don’t have any patience - something he’s known since the beginning - but that he realizes with a front row seat when you’re shoving a takoyaki into his face.  There’s steam curling off it and the smell is intoxicating but he can practically feel the roof of his mouth burning when you’re relentlessly offering it to him.  You’re not even deterred by the fact that he’s got a facemask on. 

“Open up!”  

Jungkook wants to say no - should say no, for the sake of his own health - but he accepts it anyway.

It sears white hot pain the moment it lands on his tongue, teeth buzzing uncomfortably as he bites into the dough.  He’s sucking air in through his teeth, the cold barely doing anything to alleviate the sting.  He probably looks stupid as hell.  

Of course, you’re laughing at him, lips curled in on themselves as you try to choke back the sound. 

“Too hot?”  You coo, feigning surprise.  You do feel a little bad - he can see it in the flex of your jaw, how your bamboo stick-wielding hand lingers in the space between you.  “My bad.”

He chews once, twice - tries to keep it to a minimum because holy shit , does it hurt - before swallowing.  It burns on the way down.  “You eat one now.”  He’s pushing the tray towards you, long fingers curled around yours as he all but tries to make you face plant into the plate.  

“I don’t like squid,”  you deadpan, lying through those neat white teeth of yours.  You’d literally made takoyaki at home a few weeks ago.  He’d dared you to put an entire wasabi ball into one and you’d done it.  

“Shut up.” 

“You shut up!”

So it goes for the rest of the night, trading insults over street food.  You share an ice cream-filled melon pan - well, he orders one and you eat all of it but a bite - and you scroll through your phone as he inhales a bowl of ramen.  He catches you taking a picture of him when he’s halfway through slurping noodles into his mouth like a Hoover.  You look a little sheepish when he swallows and levels you with a look that screams unimpressed.

“Is this okay?”  You’re a little uncertain and it’s the cutest thing he’s seen all night, teeth catching your bottom lip.  He wonders, briefly, what it’d be like to do that to you instead.

You beam when he reassures you.  “Of course.” 

“I won’t post it anywhere.”  

He wants to tell you that’s okay, too, but he knows he shouldn’t.  Instead, he simply returns your smile and goes about finishing his bowl of broth.  You take a few more photos - of his face when he’s full-belied and satisfied, of the street where people mingle and mix, of the stupidly big moving crab sign across the way.

He wonders if you can feel it too - the connection that crackles between you like a livewire. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,”  you return your attention to him in the same instant he’s glossing over the shape of your lips, the turn of your nose.  “I’ll pay you back.”

Before he realizes what’s happening, your hand is on his.  You don’t do very much, simply allowing your palm to rest over his, fingers curled around the seam of his thumb.  It’s so much smaller - complete with neatly manicured lilac nails - that he stares down at it for a beat too long.  

You start to pull away - he sees it happening almost in slow motion - when he flips his own, catching your wrist in his grasp.  “No need,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you.  He’s still too focused on the way your hands fit together like two puzzle pieces. 

“We’ll see about that,”  you return, equally as soft.  

Everything feels a little fuzzy, like you’re wrapped up in cotton candy and cloud nine.  

You must feel it too.

But then you’re standing and you’re not holding his hand any longer and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it all over again.  It leaves him heartsick, reaching for your figure that’s already too far away.  

“We should head back - I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Damn him and his poor planning skills.  He should’ve booked you something later in the day.  Why had he thought the 9 AM departure was the best idea? 

“Right.”  He lifts himself off of the wooden bench, returning his facemask to its rightful place as he closes the distance between you in four easy strides.  He tries to ignore the way you smile at him when you’re back together, matching pace through the somehow still-packed streets.

There’s no playful ribbing now.  The schoolyard mockery is replaced with a comfortable silence that sinks into his bones and brushes his hand against yours every time you have to squeeze past a gaggle of people that just won’t move.  It’s familiar without being boring, satisfying the big fat crush that lives in his heart. 

It settles even further when you do the same, head gentle against the curve of his shoulder.  

“Did you have fun?”  He finally asks when the familiar silhouette of the Conrad Hotel comes into view, your driver rolling to a complete stop right in front of the impressive glass structure.

You hum something that sounds like yes as he pays and thanks the driver in the softest Japanese before he ushers you out of the back of the cab.  You’re smiling at him, heavy-lidded and with a tenderness he doesn’t expect.  You must be tired.

“More than I’ve ever had.”  There’s a certain truth to your words, whether it’s from your sleepy state or something else.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,”  he reminds you, guiding you past the concierge with a palm on the small of your back.  It’s intimate in a way he’s not really sure is appropriate but you don’t seem to mind, all too happy to be herded around like a baby duckling.

“Stop saying that.”  There’s no weight behind your words - only sandman’s dust and starry-eyed affection.  Jungkook’s heart plays a staccato rhythm in his chest as he steps into the lift behind you, crowded against the far right wall.  Mozart would be proud. 

Trapped in the small six by six area, his breath seems too loud.  The roar of his pulse in his ears is deafening.  He barely hears his own words when they stumble out of their own accord.  

“I like you.”

Your laugh is the sweetest he’s ever heard.  “I know.”  

“You do?”  He rounds on you in the same breath, your body mirroring his subconsciously.

“Of course I do.”  You’re so confident he absorbs a little bit of it, stepping closer when you do. “I’m your safe place - and you’re mine, too.”

His hands are shaking when they crowd your face, thumbs gentle over the jut of your chin.  “Can I kiss you?”  Spoken like a child asking for a Christmas gift, full of wonder and hope.  

“Hm.”  The vibration of your sigh is felt through his fingers all the way down to his toes.

He decides for you, closing the distance with a roll of his shoulders.  

Kissing you is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined.  It’s better than his wildest dreams.  It’s soft and sweet and done with the utmost care, like you’ll break if he isn’t careful.  You taste as good as you smell - the citrusy tang of your lip gloss reminding him of Lotte World lemonade and picnics on the Han River. 

“I’m sorry.”  It’s an unnecessary apology that gets lost against your lips - because he isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet.  “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess .”  

When you speak, it’s kissing in its most basic form, mouth brushing over his with each enunciation.  He wonders what it’d be like to have you sing a song for him like this.  He decides he wants to find out as soon as possible.  Needs it like he needs air - or more of you.  Either or.

“Thanks.”  

You laugh together and kiss again and again, repeating the motion like overeager high school students behind the bleachers.  He grazes your forehead, pressing sweetness into the tops of your eyelids and you return the favour, sweeping delight over the sharp turn of his jaw and over skin not hidden by the collar of his button-down. 

You’re so involved that you hardly notice when the lift doors slide open, revealing the empty hallway of the 33rd floor.  You break away first, though it’s not without some resistance - both his and yours.  He wants to keep you here with him as long as he can, because it feels like where you belong .

“I’ll see you.”  A last kiss - lingering, longing, littered with words neither of you say.

And then you’re gone.  

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, 5 September, 2020.  2:45 PM.

You live in a nondescript apartment in a nondescript neighbourhood with trimmed hedges and a crisp white exterior.  There’s a doormat - grey, a little frayed at the edges, polka-dotted - and nothing else.  No sign on your door, just the number 134 stamped on the right-hand side, half a foot away from the window that looks into the open-air hallway.  

You answer the door on the first knock, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you’d been lingering just behind the frame, waiting for his arrival.  Your hair’s shiny and freshly washed, damp at the ends where you haven’t wicked all the moisture away.  You look comfortable - if not a little overexcited - bouncing from sock-clad foot to sock-clad foot in your low slung sweatpants and oversized tee shirt. He can see half a dozen plants just behind your bobbing head, his gaze bouncing between pretty ceramic and terracotta pots.

“I half expected you to live in a PC bang,”  Jungkook states, drole and with that trademark grin of his, nose scrunched and eyes waning.

You counter him easily.  “You haven’t even been inside.  Maybe it’s all a front.”

He snickers at the thought, stepping over the threshold once you’ve taken a step back.  It smells like cinnamon and sugar - he wonders if you’ve been baking - and he peers curiously around the apartment.  

“It’s a candle,”  you supply before he has a chance to ask, reading the question in his stare.  

“You mean you didn’t bake me a cake?”  

You offer an extended scoff in place of an answer, rolling your eyes as he unlaces his boots.  “What for?  Your birthday’s already passed.”

“It might not have.”

“It literally has.  I know your birthday.”

Right.  Because he’s him and that’s sort of common knowledge. 

He chuckles to himself as he sets his boots aside, right beside where yours sit, near identical.  He doesn’t need to say anything when he hears you sniff, Rilakkuma-tipped sock nudging his hand away from where it threatens to upend the piece of footwear. 

“I had them before I met you.” 

“Right.”  It’s too easy to tease you - just as it’s too easy to rib him.  This is how the two of you are.  Schoolchildren with big crushes and near zero emotional maturity. 

“Do you want a tour or are you just gonna be some weirdo with a foot fetish?” 

He meets your stare then, both of your expressions ice cold.  If looks could kill .

You crack before he does, though your laughter melds together like a perfect harmony, ricocheting off the art-covered walls.  

“Fine, fine.  Show me around.”

So you do - with gusto and great pride.  It rolls off you in waves, tangible in the cascade of your hair over your shoulder and the way you beam up at him.  You’re like a kid at show-and-tell.

You guide him into the living area - a small space with a comfortable, worn-in grey couch and probably more throw pillows and blankets than is strictly speaking necessary.  There are framed pieces on the wall and it’s the contents that surprise him.  There’s Mercy playing pool, bent over the table in a revealing Playboy bunny one piece;  there’s D.Va in a hoodie and little else, bottles of soju littering both the back and foreground. 

Where the walls are bare, there’s other stuff taking up the space.  Artfully positioned floating shelves house succulents and cacti.  A well-cared for Monstera sits in a far corner, taking up more space than it probably should.  Nestled among its soil are little Animal Crossing Amiibos - Cyrus and Reese, to be exact.  There’s an all-white cabinet with a glass front and some of the most random stuff he’s ever seen:  limited edition Gunpla, a Taiko Drum, and your framed university degree (for accounting, to his great surprise). 

“Is that a Widow bobblehead?”  He spies it last, sitting on the cabinet that houses an impressive array of gaming consoles.  You even have a VR headset, the cords neatly looped together and tucked away beside a maneki neko-shaped piggy bank. 

“Maybe.” 

“You really are a dork.”

“Says the bigger dork?  Really?” 

He could dispute that - easily - but he doesn’t, instead shrugging it off as he flops onto the couch, feet immediately kicking themselves up. 

“What’re you doing?”  You join him even as you ask.  He’s a little disappointed by the polite amount of space you leave - just enough that you’re not touching.  

“I’m tired.”

“I haven’t finished the tour.”

“Tour schmore .”  

You scowl at him and it’s so charming that he wishes you were just a little closer.  He’d kiss that look right off your face if it were up to him.

“What do you want to do then?”  Where the stuffed animal comes from, he’s not sure.  It’s more than a little ratty, soft brown fur faded from what looks like years and years of love.  You hold it tight, clutched to your chest as you recline against the far arm. 

“Watch the Runaway and Lunatic-Hai show matches?” 

You level him with a look that very much tells him he is the bigger nerd.  He doesn’t mind, though.  He’s been wanting to watch these matches for months since it was first announced.  

Unfortunately, you’d promised each other you’d only watch it together, so really, this was your fault.

You must suddenly remember that, because you’re biting back the words he’s sure were about to tear into him, swallowing them whole as you grab your PS4 controller and begin silently navigating through YouTube.  He smiles, a little triumphant thing he knows you can see from the corner of your eye.

“Happy?”  Resentment mixes with excitement as you return your controller to its rightful home and settle yourself once more against the too-many pillows. 

“No.”  Jungkook worries for your neck when you whip to look at him, brow furrowed and mouth blown out in a pout.  

“Why not?”  

He memorizes the way you look right now, framed against sunlight that spills through your windows and hugging what he assumes is your childhood teddy bear.  It’s an immediate serotonin boost.

“Because you’re all the way over there.”  He sighs, long and loud, head swinging in a dramatic semi-circle.  He can hear you snickering despite yourself - could pick it out in a crowd of thousands, he thinks - and suddenly you’re beside him, distance closed in a heartbeat.

With you so close, it’s hard to think, his thoughts jumbled and tripping over themselves. 

“Better?”  You must know the effect you have on him, because you’re batting those goddamn eyelashes up at him, mouth dancing around his favourite sound in the world. 

“Much,”  he hums, unashamed.  

“Welcome home, Kook.”  The way you say it sparks fireworks in his chest.  He knows you mean home as in the city of Seoul, but it feels like more and he likes that - just like how he likes you and this little piece of normalcy.

It feels good to be here with you, seemingly without a care in the world.  

It’s distinctly different from anything he’s used to - even better than the long hours spent bonding on the internet.  There’s no worry here, no nagging in the back of his mind, no concern that one of his hyungs will burst into his room.  It’s just you and him and commentary on his favourite game. 

That is, until it’s just him and commentary on his favourite game.  He’d lost you somewhere along the way, roughly three hours in.  He hadn’t noticed at first, far too focused on the big brain plays unravelling across the screen, but when you started snoring, he knew. 

You just snored so damn loudly.

“Jinny.”  He feels bad when he has to rouse you, the feeling in his right leg but a distant memory.  

You don’t move.  He wonders when the last time you slept was. 

“Jinny,”  he repeats himself, a little louder this time.  There’s the beginning of stirrings, your head drifting from its position on his shoulder to nestle into the crease of the couch cushions.  “Do you want me to take you to bed?”  

It doesn’t immediately dawn on Jungkook how that sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that,”  you mumble into the woven fabric, half-asleep.

“What?”  

“Nothing, nothing.”  You’re doing that thing you do when you’re impressed with yourself, teeth littering your bottom lip with indentations.  It’s more distracting than it should be, paired with those bedroom eyes he’s not certain you’re in control of. 

Get it together , he scolds himself.  In his mind, the angel powerbombs the devil into submission.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No!  Not yet.”  You’re waving a boneless wrist in his direction, like you’re swatting away an irksome fly.  It’s cute, in a frazzled sort of way.  

“You want to sleep out here?”  He knows you don’t - you’ve complained about it enough times when you wake up with kinks in your neck and soreness in your back.  

“No!”  A huff puffs out your cheeks, blows your grown-out bangs away from your face.  You’re sitting up now, slowly but surely.  There are creases all over your face - an ode to the couch.  He has to keep from laughing right at you - bites it back with a bitten tongue when you sniff and card a hand over through your hair.  “I have a gift for you.”  

You say it so sweetly, he can’t help himself.  

“Is it you?”

He’s honestly not sure what to expect once he’s spoken.  He half thinks you’ll laugh, shove him away from you with a giggle and a roll of your eyes.  He hopes you won’t, though - can feel every fibre of his being strung tight with anticipation and hope and the request of please, love me .

“Do you want it to be?”  You’re looking at him with the strangest expression.  He can’t read it at all, despite how easily he normally does.  It’s white noise, static on a television screen.

Uncertainty grips him.  “I do.”  

“Then I’m yours.”

It’s music to his ears - the key to his heart.  It strips away the doubt, turning it on its head.  

He finally does what he’s wanted to for the past four hours.  

When he kisses you this time, it’s different.  It’s urgent but not rushed;  he takes his time in exploring the softness of your lips, how they fall open under his careful ministrations.  His mouth slants, coaxes you to give everything to him as his tongue passes tentatively over yours.  You taste like lemons again - and a touch of honey.

It’s intoxicating and addictive and he chases the high it gives him, large hands finding purchase against the back of your head and the slope of your jaw.  Fingers thread through your hair - gentle at first, then with more purpose.  He maneuvers you how he needs you and peppers kisses everywhere he can reach.  Your eyelids, your nose, your neck.  

When he ghosts his mouth across your shoulder - mouthing hot over the soft cotton of your shirt - and finds that particular point where your pulse beats, you gasp.

He’d thought your laugh was his favourite sound but he realizes now how wrong he was.

“Do that again.”  You say it together, in perfect sync.

Laughter blooms between you and he muffles his against your throat, nosing over where your perfume lingers most.  He inhales once, twice, and holds you somehow closer, all but dragging you into his lap.  “You’re my dream girl, you know that?”  The words are surprisingly sweet, given the compromising position you’re currently in. 

“You’re not too bad yourself.”  You thread your fingers just as he has, twirling through his just-on-the-right-side-of-too-long strands. 

He moves to pull away, a scoff building in his throat, but you’re having none of it, capturing his lips the moment he’s made up his mind.  You really could read him like a book.  He wonders what you’re thinking now, starts running through possibilities when you bite down just so on his pouting bottom lip.  

A not-so-subtle hint to get out of his own head.

“Stop thinking,”  you hum, lending your voice to his thoughts.

“Sorry,”  he returns in kind, tracing an apologetic tongue over the seam of your lips.  

“Show me how sorry.”  

You sound positively sinful and while it isn’t the answer he’d expected, it stirs something within him - from his chest to somewhere decidedly further south.  He stifles a moan, caging it behind bared teeth as he becomes suddenly far too aware of how you’re making him feel.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.”  The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was made for you. 

“It’s fine - I have self-healing.”

It’s so fucking dorky but somehow, even that makes Jungkook groan.  “Seriously - dream girl.”  

And then he’s kissing you again and again, a devoted parishioner of your church.  They’re this-side of innocent at first, little pecks that dot every sliver of available flesh.  His hands roam in tandem with his mouth, flitting beneath the cropped hem of your top before gliding greedily across the tops of your thighs.  

“Can I get the rest of the tour now?”  He looks like the devil himself, all dishevelled dark hair and that heart-wrenching, lopsided smile. 

You’re impatient though - always have been.  “Straight down the hall.  Last door to the left.”

It’s all he needs to know before he’s on his feet, rising with you as if you were featherlight.  Your ankles lock around his waist, clinging to him like the cutest koala he’s ever seen.  He doesn’t look away - frankly, can’t – as he follows your directions, gaze trained on your eyes and your lips and the column of your throat he wants to see blooming with roses.

“I’m crazy about you,”  he announces, suddenly, as he nudges open your bedroom door.

“I know.”  You say it a lot.  He wonders if you really know. 

By the way you kiss him, he thinks you might have an idea.  It’s not enough, though.  He wants to show you - needs to show you. 

You allow yourself to be tossed upon your bed - soft grey sheets, no stuffed animals in sight, too many pillows again - and he hovers above you, curious.  “Are you sure you know?”  The question is punctuated by the drop of his knee, cotton of his black joggers a stark contrast to the soft linens.

You’re not sure if this is a game - he can read the question swimming in your eyes.  “Maybe?”  You’re upspeaking, which is something you never do.  It’s disarming in a way that makes him want to hear it again, but with his name over and over.

“Maybe?”  He echoes, brow quirked and mouth twisted into an expression that starts butterflies in your stomach.  It’s like a switch has flipped.  For the first time, he’s the heartthrob you’ve seen on stage, the one fansites rave about with fervour.  A force to be reckoned with .  “Let me make it clear then?”

It’s spoken like a question, though it begs no answer.  You’d give him anything he wanted.

“Can I?”  You don’t think you have it in you to respond - not when he’s looking at you the way he is, from behind dark lashes and with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen.  But he needs an answer - won’t go further until he has one. 

“Yes,”  you breathe in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own, far too airy and mellifluous.

He looks like a kid who’s had his heart’s greatest wish granted.  There’s unbridled joy spilling into every crevice, streaming out of every pore as he lowers himself onto the bed.  You’re trapped beneath him - knees situated comfortably on either side of your legs - when his hands find the shorn hem of your shirt, tugging gently at the offending article of clothing.

“Off,”  he says simply.  It’s gone before you can think twice.  Your sweatpants and socks follow in quick succession - he snorts a laugh when he has to tug your socks off by the ears on either side of your ankles - until you’re left in only black cotton that covers hardly anything at all.

Jungkook sighs a sound that shoots straight into the belly of the beast, sparking warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”  

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, hands reaching to cover the places you’ve been self-conscious about since you were old enough to understand what bullying was.  The modest swell of your chest, the tiger stripes along your hips.  

Words are fitted with motion, hands of his own sweeping your arms away from your body. Long fingers curl easily around the dainty turn of your wrist.  “Please don’t hide from me.” 

You can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.

“Tell me about these?”  He means your tattoos, of course.  They’re intricate works of art that span nearly a quarter of your flesh, painting grayscale and colour over cream.  There’s the jasmine he’d spotted the night you met, coiled around your left forearm and up to your bicep in stark ink.  Across your stomach, from the top of your right thigh and over your ribs, are intricate peonies in shades of pink and red and green.  Everywhere lines bloom, etched forever into your skin, his mouth follows.  He can’t ingrain himself in the same ways but he tries, searing devotion in the form of kisses.  

It tickles when he ghosts over your ribs with both tongue and teeth and it’s absolutely indescribable when he catches your nipple between enamel.  

You make that sweet sound he so loves - a heady mix between a gasp and a moan - and he repeats the motion.  You hardly realize he’s speaking when he does it for the third time and adds nimble fingers to pinch and pull the other into the same pebbled state.

“ Tell me.”  He sounds like he’s laughing, trapped halfway down your body with his cheek pressed to the modest swell of your chest.

You’re not sure how you get the words out.  “My mom’s a big gardener.  She calls me her flower.”

“Her flower, huh?”  The question is muffled among your humble cleavage.

“Did I stutter?”  That earns you a sharp tweak to your nipple, the pain shooting pleasure through your limbs in a very unexpected way.  You’ve never been one for pain but the sight of Jungkook staring up at you, head cocked and hands full - well, there’s a first time for everything.

“You want to be nicer to me,”  he states solemnly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the 6 o’clock news and not palming your tits in his much larger hands and drawing out the sweetest murmurs of encouragement.

“I am nice to you,”  you retort - or try to at least.  You hardly get it out before it’s chased out by another one of those lovely sounds that Jungkook seems to be obsessed with. 

“ Nicer , baby.”  

As if to drive his point home, he straightens out, face suddenly dangerously close.  He crowds you with his entire frame, mouth finding yours easily.  It’s not the same sort of kisses you’ve shared all evening;  it’s a display of dominance, a reminder that articulates more than he can say. 

It’s also a distraction, you realize belatedly, with a gasp tearing its way out of your throat. 

Capable hands have found their mark, digits sweeping beneath the seam of your thong.  He lingers just shy of where you desperately want him, expertly trailing featherlight touches through your folds.  He never goes further - doesn’t stretch where you need him most. He’s careful not to brush your clit, focusing instead on the way you’re coating his fingers.

The shit-eating grin never leaves his lips - which never leave your mouth.  He swallows your whines in the same instant he’s pulling them forth, playing you like a fiddle without even really doing anything.  

“Can you do that for me?”  He coos against your neck, that damned voice of his dripping liquid gold into your ears.  

You have to focus hard on what he’s saying because his touch is so distracting.  “What?”  

“I said—”  It stings where his mouth connects, where his teeth nip and spill wine over porcelain.  He’s painting the prettiest pictures, signing his name in the form of broken capillaries.  “—can you be nice to me?”

You’d like to respond - really, you would - but he punctuates the question with the glide of his finger and you can’t do anything but arch into the sudden intrusion.  It feels so good and yet isn’t nearly enough.  

“Kook.”  You’ve never sounded this whiny in your life.  Even his name - one single syllable - hardly makes it past your lips without descending into a cry.

“Use your words , angel.” 

If every nerve ending didn’t feel like it was on fire, you might’ve yelled at him.  Instead, you can hardly form a coherent thought.  You’re too far gone, standing on the edge of a cliff as he teases you open with slow, measured pumps of his wrist.

“I need—”  He’s crooking the single digit within you, right against that spot that makes you see stars.   

“What do you need?  Ask nicely.”

“M-more.  I need m-more .”  A hiccup.  “Please.”  

“Like this?”  You’re empty all at once and then suddenly far more full, the stretch of two fingers stealing the breath from your throat.  “Or like this?”  The pad of his thumb finds your clit with ease, sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three times.  “Maybe like this?”  

He repeats his earlier movements, curling his knuckles in a come hither motion that has you sobbing out his name.

“That’s right.”  Ever the gentleman, he works you through your high, watching your face in rapt fascination as your first orgasm of the night crests and crashes over you, sending shockwaves through your system.  He admires the way your mouth falls open - full lips rounding in delight - and how your eyes screw shut.  

You’re the hottest thing Jeon Jungkook has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,”  he murmurs against your temple, never ceasing the slow drag of his fingers, the carefully measured flick of his thumb.  Even when you’re trembling with oversensitivity, he doesn’t relent, choosing instead to reposition.

His weight is gone as he settles between your legs, knees folded beneath him.  He only pauses his needy actions - almost doesn’t, when your hips roll in an apparent attempt to draw him back in - to strip you of your thong, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder.  

“Give me another, okay?”  

You aren’t given a chance to answer before he slips two fingers back where they belong and seals his mouth over your clit.  The coil he’d snapped earlier returns, tension increased tenfold as he alternates between sucking hard and licking, dragging his tongue over and around his fingers.  There’s too much stimulation.  You’re obscenely wet and you’re certain you’d be making a mess, if not for the careful way Jungkook’s devouring you whole, licking up every bit of slick.

“Kook.  Jungkook .”  His name sounds like heaven coming off your lips.  He replays it over and over in his head as he fucks his fingers into you, tapping a brutal rhythm against your g-spot.  He can tell you’re close again - can read it in the way your jaw tenses and your breathing goes erratic, lungs heaving. 

“Come on, baby.  Let go.”  The second orgasm hits harder, arching your back off the mattress as you fight to keep your knees from snapping shut.  You come with a hoarse cry, legs trembling like a leaf with the effort.  “That’s my girl.”  

He’s upon you again, this time crowding your space as he settles all one hundred and fifty pounds of himself beside you.  He anchors you in reality, preventing your boneless body from floating off by pulling you against his chest. 

“You did so good.”  

You accept his kisses readily, somehow managing to thread your arm around his neck despite the fact that you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.  

Being wrapped up in his embrace is like being home - warm and familiar.  

“I want you.”  

He laughs and you can hear the sound rattling around in his chest.  “You’ve got me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”  You sound a little petulant, like a child being denied their favourite toy.  

“I know what you meant,”  he retorts, squeezing your bare hip affectionately.  “But you’re also exhausted, so get some sleep.  Patience is key, remember?” 

You pout up at him with your messy bedhead and sleepy eyes and he almost gives in right then and there.  It’s nearly impossible not to, especially when you drag your hip across his, your ankle hooking his in a bid to bring the two of you somehow closer.

He doesn’t expect you to relent so easily but your yawn outs you, forcing itself past the cage you’re trying - and failing - to keep closed.  “Fine.” 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be.”  It’s an empty threat - you both know he won’t leave.  “I still have to give you your present, anyway.”

He feigns surprise then, snickering quietly.  “You mean it wasn’t you?”

You don’t have the energy to yell at him, so instead you dig your bony fingers into the vulnerable underside of his ribs.  He squirms away from the feeling but never really goes far.

“It’s a Mercy bobblehead, you butt.”  You yawn again, shiver running the length of your spine as you snuggle more closely against his side once more.  Jungkook tugs your duvet up around your shoulders, tucking you in tightly.  The action reminds you of why you’d bought the gift in the first place.  “I think you might actually be my guardian angel.”

notes.  the end of an era (and by era, i mean a fic).  this honestly turned out to be my baby, so i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it.  i'll likely do some drabbles in the future, because i really, really adore this couple.  as always, let me know your thoughts.  xo

tag list.  @letmebeyour-sun​ @teawithbucky​

[le-poofe]

Hey there. so I don't know if anyone has asked you yet, but do you have like a playlist of sorts for sansby? Or any songs in particular that give you the ship's vibe? Also I really like your art and your great, ok bye.

Oh geez where do I even start????

Music plays such a huge roll in my art process, like I have to listen to songs that give me the right vibe for both the characters I’m drawing and the situation they’re in. I do have songs that I associate with both boys for any number of reasons. Sometimes I think the singer’s voice is very fitting for either of them. Sometimes it’s the lyrics that hit. A lot of times I’ll categorize a song in my head as “One @ the Other” It can be anything like that. It’s also hard to separate songs that I think fit them specifically, vs songs that I just happen to like lmao. I could honestly make a playlist with like 90+ songs just from what’s in my music library alone. For now I’ll give some of my top picks, and I’ll make a playlist on youtube or spotify to link to later.

Burn - Ellie Goulding (hehe)

Chasing Fire - Lauv (get it?)

Crazy Kids - Ke$ha

Jenny - Studio Killers

Let You Love Me - Rita Ora

The Light - Adam Lambert (bc he’s fire)

Love Lies - Khalid & Normani

Never Knew I Needed - Ne-Yo

Out of My League - Fitz and the Tantrums

Rather Be - Clean Bandit

Runnin’ - Adam Lambert

Slow Dance - AJ Mitchell

SOS - Avicii

Stay the Night - Zedd

This Feeling - Chainsmokers

Walk Me Home - P!nk

Bonus Angst Songs:

Fire on Fire - Sam Smith (and fire is in the name)

I Found - Amber Run

Set Fire to the Rain - Adele (which makes it ironic)

Silhouette - Owl City

Waves - Sheppard

[raeloganthesonic06fangirl]

I know you didn't ask, but I think the reason Bushroot is so popular is because he's one of very few villains that can be honestly described as "Sweet when not actively homicidal" which is a fun character type.

Full disclosure, but I always thought Bushroot's design was pretty cool when I was a kid, like, the guy has a creatively unique style that has a very recognizable profile and silhouette, as well as his VA, the late Tino Insana, had a very recognizable and iconic vocal quality (seriously, if you've ever seen any cartoon with that guy lending his voice, you're going to remember that series somehow, if not only because you remember that voice. I really think this is why Barnyard never left our conscious thoughts)

Bushroot himself is such an interesting member to the Fearsome, in which he has the tendency to flip between sides or just be on the fence whenever he's involved. He can be a ruthless villain, a tragic victim, or just be there because it's fun to include him (one of my favorite episodes is "A Star is Scorned", where Bushroot gets the spotlight as the star of the show, and he goes full insufferable diva just to mess with Darkwing, and I love it. Bushroot in animal print clothes, ascot, oversized sunglasses, in a limo is one of the greatest things I've seen)

I get the feeling that perhaps another reason why we gravitate towards sympathizing with him before we really step back and remember that he's not an UwU Cinnamon Bun is that his origin story makes it a point that he was bullied by his peers, who also kept sabotaging his experiments and taking credit for his work, which I can imagine would tug at our hearts on account of how absolutely real that sort of situation is

Like, geeze, as a person who was bullied a lot in school for my wierd quirks and tendency to hyperfixate on things people thinks is, and I quote, "stupid garbage", and literally having my stuff pulled out of my hands and thrown into trees that I've had to retrieve despite not being coordinated enough for that task, I can tell you that situations like these being done to characters really manipulate me into being more sympathic for them than I probably should be

So right out of the gate, we are presented with Bushroot pre-mutation and seeing how much his life just sucks.

Then there's that whole kind of icky thing where he's just a bit of a creep when it comes to trying to find true love or whatever, and I swear I cannot feel sympathy on that mark for a guy who is willing to kidnap a girl and force her to undergo experimental exposure to change her molecular structure to make her a plant monster like him against her will, and when that didn't work, he just tried to grow a wife from scratch and ended up with a potato and decided that was good enough anyway even though he's technically said potato's father and she's barely a few minutes old, so yeah...

Bushroot kind of gives off stalker vibes in this regard, and it's really weird that he's such a soft spoken, docile guy when he's not provoked. Like, a ticking time bomb, and he's willing to latch onto anything that shows him an ounce of positive interaction, even if it's just Darkwing saying: "We're going to have to team up right now"

((Maybe the real friends he needed were the people he tried to mulch with a lawnmower along the way...))

But, yeah, I think what makes Bushroot such a popular character is that he's honestly really well designed, his character history is clear and understandable, he's endearing at times, he's got some cool powers, he's pro-environmental, the franchise makes it clear that there's a reason why he's a villain, and he's constantly shown that, if given the opportunity, he has no qualms about helping the heroes because he's just happy to have some social activity

Also, he's practically immortal

He can been shredded down to a mere cutting of plant, and regenerate from that.

That opens up so many possibilities of situations and potential for him. He can grow plants on command, he can bring a forest to life, the guy has a pet venus-flytrap that acts like a dog and that's really cool, I just love Spike

And also, in the rare times Liquidator is actually used in the series, he has a good chemistry with him

I think what really helped with Bushroot being one of the most popular in the series is partly due to his early episodes happening early on in the series, him having some solid solo episode outings, the overall energy he gives off, how easy it is to market him as a feature, his instantly recognizable design immediately pinpointing him as a product of the DWD cartoon that sets him aside from other Duck themed characters in the overall Duck-verse, and I also have a feeling that Posion Ivy might also be marginally responsible for some of this solidifying, on account of "Batman: The Animated Series" being released around the same time and the 90s was very much Pro-Take-Care-Of-The-Planet-Before-Nature-Kills-You with its programming selection and overall themes in kids media

Also

He's so socially stunted, it's almost adorable. 😅

((Still not going to forget that he kidnapped his coworker with the intent to make her fall in love with him, tho. Bushroot be as crazy as Jervis Tetch, yikes))

[be-dazzled]

Miraxus Day: Family is Family

Laxus Dreyar, Mirajane Strauss November 8, 2020 Dedication: To my small Miraxus family. I love you all.

Writer’s Corner: Of course I’m not gonna forget. This is such a mess. I was going back and forth with drama, comedy, drama and comedy. It’s all over the place! But I hope you guys still appreciate it. Let me know what you guys think.

HAPPY MIRAXUS DAY!

All rights reserve to Hiro Mashima, original creator.

Masterlist

---

Family. That’s all Laxus ever wanted – a family. He used to believe that a mother, a father and a child made a family. But Laxus came into a world his mother had just left and all he had was his father. He thought maybe the two of them were enough but Ivan’s quest for power had consumed him and eventually, Laxus was not enough anymore.

Gramps came into his life and introduced him to a new home – Fairy Tail. But even then, his concept of family never changed. Laxus still considered his father as family, the only one he had aside from Makarov. And so, when Gramps was forced to excommunicate Ivan, Laxus considered it the highest betrayal. Because what father could disown his own son? What family would choose strangers over one’s own flesh and blood?

His dear Gramps destroyed Laxus’ family and he was so filled with hatred and darkness that he started to believe that there was no such thing as family. Only power.

Little by little, he had become his father – so obsessed with power that he was willing to step on and destroy what his grandfather held closest to his heart. But deep inside Laxus knew it wasn’t the search for power that pushed him to declare the battle of Fairy Tail. It was his hatred of his grandfather who chose a bunch of strangers over his own son. It was his loathing of Makarov, who created his own family in Fairy Tail, and left Laxus alone and lonely. Without a family. He was so consumed by his hatred that he failed to see that the only reason Makarov protected Fairy Tail was so that Laxus would never feel lonely ever again. That he would always have a family.

He was beyond saving but Makarov never gave up on him.

It was a long road for Laxus but in the end he came to finally understand what Gramps was trying to tell him. That family was not only defined by blood but most importantly, it was about love. In the end, he finally realized that he had family and all along, he was home.

But something was still missing.

---

Laxus’ return to the guild did not usually call for some big celebration because they did not need Laxus to create some ruckus. They got Gray and Natsu for that. Recently, however, it wasn’t only the Thunder God Tribe whose faces lit up every time the big boss came back from his long missions. One pair of blue eyes gleamed upon his return.

Mirajane Strauss. Now, that’s the woman who knew the importance of family. She had dedicated her life to protect her own.

“Welcome back, Laxus.”

There was surprise in the dragon slayer’s eyes but one that was welcomed. He gave him a soft smile, one that was considered meager as compared to Mirajane’s.

“I hope you weren’t charged with so much damages.” Mirajane started a conversation while she took the accomplishment report from the S-Class mage.

“I’m not Natsu.” defended Laxus, “nor Erza.” His orange eyes followed the Head Waitress as she read the report and filed it in the books. He planned on taking the day off and getting some much deserved rest. However, the job request Mirajane just handed to him was going to put a dent on that plan.

“Don’t forget about your promise.”

Laxus did not. He was a man of his words and when Mira decided to cash in on that promise, he would definitely honor them. But the thought had kept him up some nights. Knowing Mirajane, she’d cash in soon and would probably make him do things he’d never do as long as he was alive. Despite his inhibitions, he still agreed to go on a job with Mira. They argued about their meeting point: him wanting to pick her up from her house and Mirajane wanting to do the opposite. His pride was not having it, so, they settled on meeting halfway.

“Oi, Demon. Don’t make me do weird things.”

It was one of his wisest decisions to leave before Mirajane gave him details of the job.

“I won’t!” Mira shouted after him and the Dragon Slayer disappeared behind the wooden doors.

The next day, they met right in front of the guild, where they mutually decided was fair for the both of them. Mirajane led him to a residential district, lined on either side with common bungalow houses. Laxus was right to worry about that bright smile and even brighter blue eyes, when, at the end of the block, they were welcomed by a nice middle-aged couple about to leave them five crazy boys to care for the day. In short, Mirajane just dragged him, the great Lightning Dragon Slayer, Laxus Dreyar, into a baby-sitting job. Him? Makarov’s grandson about to follow into his footsteps in leading Fiore’s strongest guild? One of the most respected mages of whole Earthland? A Dragon freaking Slayer? Going to babysit a crazy bunch on a sugar rush? No way, Ma’am. Not in this lifetime.

If Mirajane wanted to spend her day babysitting, that’s up to her. Not Laxus Dreyar.

But if Mirajane said they were going to spend their day babysitting, that’s what they were going to do.

That’s how Laxus Dreyar found himself in the middle of all that chaos: dangling two thrashing boys in either arm; head throbbing, ear splitting from all the screaming; staying really, really still in the middle of the kitchen floor because there were loose marbles all around him. The reason why he was in the middle of marble island was with him too but instead, she was wobbly carrying some easily breakable plates.

“Kids! Don’t run around please.”

Laxus tilted his head on the side, just a little tilt, and wondered how Mirajane could keep the honey on her voice despite those little spawns of the devil making their job a tad harder than usual. If it was up to him, he’d fry the little demons and call it a night. Five evil boys, at their age and without a nanny? What were that middle-aged couple thinking? But Mirajane was nothing but patient with those kids, like she had always been with the grown-ass children back at the guild, and she was pretty good at it. So, Laxus was going to trust Mirajane with whatever crazy plan she was going to come up with.

“Do we have a plan?” asked he, trying very much not to be condescending, even though he was really close to just squeezing the squirming boys into silence, with his bare arms.

“Put me down, spark plugs!”

Laxus had learned earlier in life, you have to be stern with these boys or you would never get the respect you deserve. So, he stared down that little demon and pulled the most deadly glare he had mastered.

“I’m gonna show you plugs if you don’t keep quiet.”

Which, his inexperienced ass had taught him, was not a very good idea, since the boy with mahogany hair discovered a higher pitch for his screaming.

Definitely not the best idea.

“So?” He turned back to the woman who at least was the more experienced between them.

All the answer she could offer him was an apologetic smile – beautiful but apologetic smile. Then, not like it was crazy enough – that Mirajane was out of any ideas, crazy or not – the universe was really testing them. Five, eight and ten year olds never listen to anything an adult says. Because when you tell them not to run around, they bump into you while you’re carrying a tower of ceramic plates.

So, Laxus had to step up and use some magic. He charged the marbles with small static to clear up a way for Mirajane.

“Cool!” one of the kids exclaimed and the two stubborn rascals in his arms stopped squirming for freedom. The kids all demanded he do it again, cheering him on until Laxus caved in.

Now, he wasn’t the kind of man who got pushed over and ordered around. No one could make Laxus do what he didn’t want to do. But those kids were looking at him like was some kind of a hero. And so, Laxus charged the marbles again so they rolled around the kitchen floor in some entertaining fashion. The boys didn’t move an inch.

Kids were too easy.

Easy to win over and had no loyalty, at all.

Because now they were entertaining their eyes with Mirajane’s Take-Over magic. Who even thought a pink giant lizard was cool?

Traitors.

His static charged marbles rolling around every direction was way, way cooler.

Laxus did not feel abandoned by his disciples. No way. He decided to sit there at the couch, comfortably at that, and scoffed at those simpletons who thought a blue bunny existed in this world. Geez. His great magic skills were a waste on those kids. Laxus glanced towards where the giggly laughters were coming from.

What a bunch of school girls.

Laxus was just thankful he didn’t have to waste any more energy on children’s play, quite literally. But his plan on spending the rest of the night slipping into a nap – and letting Mirajane do all the babysitting – was put on hold when, at the corner of his eyes, he saw a nonthreatening silhouette standing under the arch. Not a second later, a little girl holding a blue bunny stepped into the light. They held each other’s stare, one studying the other. Then, the little girl with the long reddish, brownish hair approached the big guy on her parent’s couch.

“Who are you?” interrogated her. “And why are you lazing around in my house?”

Laxus thought she was very articulate for a little girl.

“Laxus.” He offered his name. “I’m your bab– I’m your guardian for tonight.”

“You mean my babysitter?”

One orange eye twitched at the word. It was enough Laxus had his argumentative baby blue eyes at home; he didn’t need another one on his job too.

“Guardian. Alright?” insisted the big guy. “Now, it’s past your bed time. Why are you still up?”

“Those brats woke me up.”

She climbed onto the couch and settled next to her babysitter. The way she casually dropped he word ‘brat’ pulled the corners of Laxus’ mouth just slightly up but the spark of amusement in his eyes showed that his interest was piqued.

“Is that your girlfriend?”

Laxus’ orange eyes followed her stare and saw Mirajane turning back to her original form. But one who never shared about his life, the guardian a.k.a babysitter tried to dodge the bullet.

“Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers?”

She nodded in response. “Stranger Danger.”

Laxus wanted to ignore the kid but she had other plans.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“So, why are you still talking to me?”

“You gave me your name. So, you’re not a stranger.”

Laxus kept his lips shut just in case smarty-mouth took the hint and would just go away. Turned out, she wasn’t as smart as he thought she was.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Couldn’t get the hint.

“I could be dangerous.”

“You’re a big guy lazing around a couch.” She gave her a look that made him feel like he was stupid. “How dangerous can you be?”

That was not only Little Miss Smarty Pants being such a smart pants but also being the ingenious, unintentional snark that she apparently was. Laxus could feel another headache coming.

“How old are you again?”

“Eight. Is she your girlfriend?”

Laxus eyed the girl, giving her one of those serious, intimidating look he used to scare the people in his guild with. It did not make her budge, not even just a little. Laxus just had to admit defeat. The little girl was not going to drop the subject until she was satisfied with an answer.

“Sort of.”

Appearing satisfied with that, the smarty pants whipped her head to the side to study the lady who was making her brothers guffaw. In just a matter of seconds, she already made up her mind about Mirajane. “She isn’t that pretty.”

That was a surprise for Laxus. As far as he knew, Mirajane Strauss was every man’s dream. Sometimes, a woman’s too. Guys wanted her. Girls wished they could be her. But, what did an eight year old know?

The girl turned to face him again and, in a matter-of-fact tone, told him he could do better.

Laxus folded his lips to keep that thin line on his face from pulling wider. He didn't want to be the one to tell Mirajane that an eight year old girl just flatly told him that Laxus was out of Mirajane’s league. He couldn't fault the child for being that honest. Kids didn't lie.

"You think so?"

"Yeah." The little girl answered around a big yawn. Then, she leaned on the big guy and rested her head against his arm, pulling her blue bunny tight to her chest. “Way better.”

It maybe wasn't right for him to feel good about that but he did. Sure, he wasn't going to win the best secret boyfriend award but the woman being so lovable made him doubt himself. Laxus knew he wasn't the friendly, approachable type. Kids were either afraid or just dismissive of him. He had improved over the years but sometimes, as much as he told himself it didn’t bother him, Laxus was worried that he wasn’t as likeable as Gramps, who was grooming him to be the next Guild Master. There were times he’d think he made a breakthrough, like earlier, when those boys looked up to him like he was the greatest thing in the world. Then, all of the sudden, he wasn’t. But thanks to this little girl sleeping soundly beside him, Laxus felt a lot better.

---

“She said that?”

Mirajane showed no signs of being bothered or insulted by a little girl calling her ‘not that pretty’. In fact, she was more surprised that Laxus was the one hogging their conversation. He tried to repress the enthusiasm in his voice and expression but the Dragon Slayer was never this chatty. On their walks, Laxus always played the audience and Mira would always talk his ears off.

“Don’t take it too personally.”

It was very late in the evening and the two managed to put the kids to sleep before the couple came home to relieve them. Guardian missions paid well and Laxus finally realized why.

“Those boys gave you a hard time, huh?”

“It’s like we never left the guild.” Mirajane’s giggles were abruptly cut off by the sudden gush of wind.

Laxus noticed it. So, he shrugged out of his large coat and draped it over Mira’s shoulders. To keep himself warm, he shoved his hands inside his pant pockets and slid closer to her as they continued with their walk home. Bickslow said something about sharing heat or something. He said girls liked that.

“Mina’s just like you.”

The declaration made Mirajane turn to him, a bit surprised. The little girl obviously hated her. “Really? How so?”

“She snores when she sleeps.”

Yeah, she thought. She pulls your hair and pretends to sleep too.

“Oh.” Mirajane didn’t really know what to make of it. She was sure she didn’t snore. Or did she?

“And talks in her sleep.”

Mirajane didn’t think she did that. But that wasn’t the thought that caused her stop and fall behind. Looking back, she realized that from the client’s house up to now, they’ve only been talking about the boys and their sister, Mina. Laxus even had that warm expression on his face when she talked about the little girl who slapped and kicked Mirajane when she tried to pick her up from the couch to place to bed. But when it was Laxus who carried her away, Mina snuggled up to him and slept in his arms, like a baby.

“Mina’s really…” Laxus struggled, although he tried not to show it, to look for the right word to finish his sentence. “C-cu–. Mira?” He only noticed Mira’s absence when he looked at beside him and she wasn’t there.

“Oi,” Laxus came back for her. Worry and confusion made lines appear on his forehead, “what’s wrong?”

She stared at him, studying his features slowly changed as years passed by. Mira remembered the time when he was just a little boy, the cute young golden boy who doted on his grandfather. The little boy whom people expected great things from. Vignettes of his growing years played in her memory, his highs and his lows, until her reminiscing brought her to the here and now, staring at the man that Laxus had become.

“Mirajane.” His voice was laced with equal concern and warning.

“Do you know why I took this mission?”

She was proud of him, of how far Laxus had come. He started as a sweet kid; broken by what Laxus took as his grandfather’s betrayal when he sent away Ivan; until he found his way back home.

“I’m not in the mood to play guesses, Mira.”

And he realized that family was not only defined by blood but also by love. That we may be born into a family but sometimes, when we are lucky, we find one or we get to create our own.

“Because I wanted to see how you’ll be around kids.” Without knowing it, tears had started to roll down her cheeks. Mira rested her hand over her belly, feeling the bump that wasn’t there yet. “Now that we’re expecting one.”

The cruel, November wind slapped on Mira’s tear-stricken cheeks. It was late and the streets had been emptied. From Laxus’ expression, she was glad they had the privacy to have that conversation. Mira dropped the hand on her belly and tightened the large coat around her body with it. For the first time since she received the good news, Mirajane got scared. She got scared as she stared into Laxus’ widened eyes and found no emotion in them. She took a step back, mind in complete mess.

Did he not want the child? Would she be raising their child on her own?

Questions ran around and about her mind. But Mirajane was strong. In those quick moments when he said nothing, she tried to rebuild a life that was just in ruins.

Mira took a deep breath, mustering the courage to tell him, “You… you don’t have to do anything. I–”

But before she could finish her sentence, Laxus had bridged the small distance she placed between them. He dropped his head on her shoulder and once again, they fell into complete silence.

“I’m just tired, Mira.”

Laxus words were muffled by the collar of his coat but Mirajane could hear the croak in his voice. He didn’t say anything after that but Mira noticed his shoulders lightly shaking. When he shifted his head to nuzzle at the crook of her neck, she felt his warm tears. Right there and then, without Laxus saying anything, Mira finally understood his feelings. She gently patted the back of his head, silently telling him that it was okay. They were going to be okay. They were going to figure it out, together.

Laxus then wrapped his arms around Mira’s slender figure, tighter and tighter, until her fears were squashed. The thought of messing it up as first time parents tentatively crossed her mind but she wasn’t afraid of it. Because it was Laxus. Because she was going to embark on that journey with Laxus. Because even in his small voice, she heard his words over the low howling of the November wind.

“Thank you, Mira.”

Family. That’s all Laxus ever wanted – a family. Even if his definition of it had changed over the years, one stood the test of time. Laxus was the luckiest man alive to have known a family defined by blood, by love and now, by both.

---

Bonus:

Laxus did not know regrets. He believed that everything that happened – good or bad –were, simply, opportunities to learn.

But now he was starting to regret when he told his wife he wanted a daughter.

“I hate you, Papa!”

His three year-old hit him with a fist in the face. Now, being the daughter of two of the strongest mages in Fairy Tail, his daughter’s punch could not be taken lightly.

“Princess, you need to eat your vegetables.”

“No!”

“But it will help you grow.”

She crossed her arms and barked a definite, “No!”

If she was a boy, Laxus’ glare would do the trick. But when it comes to his little princess, Fairy Tail’s ninth guild-master could not keep a straight face, how much more a frown.

“But–”

“See? This is why you shouldn’t spoil her.” Mirajane, with a slight bump on her tummy, moved around her husband to her seat at the dining table. She wasn’t too far along but already showing. “Fayna, you need to eat your vegetables.”

The Dreyar daughter did not say a word but only gave her mother a look that said, ‘make me’, which Mirajane did not appreciate coming from a three year old. It also didn’t help that pregnancy hormones cut her patience by half; so, Mira stared back at her daughter and the two ended up in a silly stand-off, while the father took the cowardly way out by just waiting for them to stop.

Just another day at the Dreyar House.

Laxus knew exactly how it would end – with his little princess crying to her daddy.

Fayna’s baby blue eyes brimmed with tears. Laxus just had to count to three until his little demon conceded to the other demon in the house, curl up to her daddy and cry to him.

“Mama’s being mean, again?”

Fayna buried her face against the dragon-slayer’s chest and nodded, clutching on his father’s pressed shirt.

“Laxus!”

The dragon-slayer shrugged but gave his wife an apologetic smile. Papa Laxus was definitely whipped and totally twisted around his little princess’ finger. Mirajane did not like it one bit. She didn’t like to always play the bad guy and she told him about that. Laxus promised he would try to be stern with the little demon. When the time came, he’d be the one to discipline her.

Laxus sought her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, his orange eyes begging for understanding. Mirajane just rolled her eyes and Laxus mouthed quick thanks.

When the day came that his daughter wanted to learn magic and eventually joined the guild. When she finally went to her first mission without her Papa and Mama. When Fayna finally sought her independence, he’ll subject her to the same discipline the Guild Master puts all the kids at the guild. No special treatment for his Fayna.

But for the meantime, while Fayna was still his baby girl and she still liked her papa, Laxus wanted to spoil his little princess.

[snowflake-apocalypse]

Gatekeepers of The Underground

Joss & Jay: Year 1

The Underground; 0012

On the hot pursuit of the night’s featured felons, the pair of Joss and Jay catch themselves in a long abandoned tunnel of Idle City’s subway station.

Well, Joss did.

“Joss, come on. There’s a reason no one stays on this side.” Jay cries from atop of the subway entrance.

Fists firmly at his side and eyes wide behind his domino mask. He watches his elder disappear into the grip of darkness, punctuated by the soft click of her footsteps.

Jay jerks his head left to right, quickly surveying the stillness of the dormant street. In a huff he tramps down the stairwell to his partner.

This is bad this is bad this is bad.

“Little buddy, if you’re scared you can take the apartment keys and head home. My Friday night plans include catching Illicit drug dealers.” Joss nonchalantly answers, shining her flashlight down the far reaches of the decrepit passage way.

Clutching Joss’ sleeve, Jay produces his own torch. “You shouldn’t be down here either. The gatekeepers guard these tunnels. They turn into copies of you and then disappear to another plane. Sometimes they come after you!”

Pressing on, Joss clears the cobwebs in her view. Minding the craters and cracks along the path.“And you heard this superstition from?” She has known the boy since he was an infant, well aware of him to be rational for his age so...

“Ms. Demko down at the coffee shop.”, Jay matter-of-factly answers. Now taking the woman’s hand, he falls in-step with her.

“Oh, geez. Figures she’d spin tall tales to a child.”Joss mumbles, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“-Listen, the reason no one comes on this side is because the floods decades ago. All it left was wrecked tracks and a rancid-as-hell smell. Bad business area, good escape route.” Joss’ voice echos off of the walls as she tries to reassure her ward.

“Yeah, and you think that’ll stop half of the crooks in this city? Plus it’s creepy down here.”

“You didn’t have to come, y’know.”

“I’m not gonna leave you alone... ‘specially after how busted you came back last caper.”, Jay mutters. In his mind, Joss was a lot of things: selfless, brave, and caring... but also wildly reckless and strong-headed. He wasn’t witnessing that again.

Stamping through the puddles the two journey deeper into the winding subway. The air growing chiller as they progressed, Joss discovers two figures outlined by her light, about thirty feet in front of them. Her person-of-interest making the sale, she thinks.

“Domieco! Hey what’s the deal, brother?! I thought you said you were ditching the snow?!” Joss calls out the the silhouettes, breath visible in the fog.

No reply returns. Both parties motionless, like each is studying the other. The atmosphere turns heavy.

Suddenly, the unknown frames rush further down the corridors without warning.

“Come on, man. Just talk to me-.” Scuffing the ground, chases after in a huff. “-Jay, stay on my tail, I think we’re coming up on the Shoe Street exit.”

Boots now throughly soaked, Joss and Jay’s pursuit ends around the bend the corner. The shadows no where to be found.

“Wha-where’d they go?” Jay panting for breath, he focuses his beam center ahead of him.

Equally out of breath, Joss combs a hand through her russet shoulder-length hair. “Dang it! I don’t know. Maybe they slipped through a crack in the wall. The Underground likes those.”

Joss removes her mask to wipe the soot out of her eyes, “Let’s just get out to the next street. Maybe I’ll catch him around.”, she says, a melancholy defeat in her voice. Once again donning her mask, she beckons Jay along.

Trekking closer to the exit, the strange musk returns. Joss could feel something lurking around her. An unexplainable pressure. Regardless, she kept her solid resolve and eyes steadily ahead.

oss..

sss...

Jocelyn

Faintly hearing her name in the damp air Joss whips her head around, scanning the devoid area then settling on Jay. “Yo what’s up, bud?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Jay remarks, stuffing his right hand further into his trench coat pocket.

Leaving her a bit spooked, she pulls the child closer, giving her surroundings another cautious look. She was letting her emotions and the kid’s stories get to her head. She decides to pick up their pace to the exit.

“What is it?” Jay asks, noticing the vigor her steps.

“Nothing... I just want to get out of here. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one patrol.”

Nearing the exit, the pair can see the steps leading to the next street, in shambles like the rest of the underpass. The older woman urges Jay up the stairs and he hastily obligates. Following suit, she gives one last glance into the void of the staircase, Joss shakes her head.

The duo find a cafe’s outdoor area still displayed, and promptly crash in the cushioned chairs. They sit in tired silence for a while, collecting their emotions and wits. The night is calm, no stirring to be had.

After a few minutes the boy perks up, “You really weren’t scared?”

If she were to be honest, it wasn’t about putting any two-bit drug dealer in jail. Sure, she’d put away violent people who were too dangerous to be left perusing the streets. But this was about supporting someone into a better life. Helping a friend, she thought.

“No. I’m disappointed, though. Domieco promised me he was done bartering drugs. So much for a new leaf.”, Joss scoffs.

“I know. But we just do the best we can. Even if the others don’t meet us half way.” Jay gently expresses, reaching his hand across the table to grasp his mentor’s.

Sighing, she gives her ally’s hand a little squeeze. “Are you alright, though? I’m sorry I dragged you down there.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be okay. But we’re sleeping with all the lights on for a while.” Jay retorts, doling out a knowing look to Joss.

“Heh. Right, right.”

Remaining in their spots for a bit longer before a passing vehicle catches their eye. Not so much the car as the person behind the wheel. Closely observing them, the vigilante’s eyes shoot open with fury. Abruptly rising from her chair, Joss runs after it.

“Hey!” Joss roars, bolting in front of the black SUV crossing the intersection. The car screeches to a halt, only to have the livid woman strike it with a loud thud.

Throwing open the driver door, a lanky bearded man, dressed in a simple black and white suit approaches her.

“What the hell are you doing-?!”, Joss continues her rant. “Thanks for keeping your promise, man. Last time I stick my neck out for you.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? I haven’t been on the drug scene in weeks. I’m heading to pick up the boss.” Hands on his hips, the man arches his eyebrow. “...and why are you and the kid out here at three in the morning?”

‘Heading to pick up the boss, yeah.’

“Trying to chase down your ungrateful ass, that’s what. All the way down the northside tunnels.”

“Girl, so you’re crazy an’ stupid? Nobody sets foot in the northside of the Underground and I sure as shit didn’t, I’ll tell you that.”, he counter-grills the vigilante.

Taken aback, Joss yields. Examining the individual in front of her, questions gripping her mind.

When did he change clothes? Has it really been that long since we’ve seen each other? Where was the other guy?

Teal eyes softening, he sighs. “Look, I’m tellin’ you. I gave it up. ...I got gig as the Cavezza’s driver. I know it ain’t much better.. but I’m tryin’.”

Tilting her head slightly, Joss inches closer. “..But.. I was tailing you for the last two hours. I saw you and Landa dip down into the Cedar Street entrance.”

Criminal and criminal alike share a crushing silence, thoughts plastered on their confused and skeptical faces. Concern now etching the man’s features.

Were you?

After a moment of shuffling the evidence through her mind, Joss accepts the man wasn’t lying.. and comes to a realization.

“Aw, hell no! Nope, nope, nope!” Joss throws her hands up in terrified defiance.

“See! I told you! Now there could be some shadowy version of us running around! I’m going home-home.”

[yukayjei]

Linked Universe FanFic: No Courage Without Fear

Hi! I’ve been a fan of @jojo56830’s @linkeduniverse for a while, and I’ve been dying to contribute my own fan work to this incredible series! I’ve worked on this fic since July (2019), and it’s finally finished (May 2020), so I really hope you enjoy it! I’ll upload it in separate chapters.

While in hot pursuit of an infected monster, two Heroes face fears they battled long ago.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

----------------------------------

It was just before midnight, and a luminous full moon shone silver rays through the trees. The Heroes were all sound asleep under a large rocky overhang, save for two who sat keeping watch from a large, flat boulder sticking out of the ground a short distance away.

Today’s weather had been cursed with a brutal downpour. It was just their luck that all the rain drained into the valley they were traveling through, so the group had spent the day trudging against a frigid, unforgiving gale and slogging through knee-deep mud. Understandably, their relief was euphoric when they happened upon their natural shelter perched on a higher ridge, and they built a roaring fire at once.

Once the Heroes were sufficiently dried out and warmed up, the sun had already set, so they settled in. Miraculously, the clouds cleared up, and since Hyrule felt the least tired, he offered to take first watch. After a silent-yet-furious argument exchanged through indignant glares and avoiding eye contact, Sky volunteered to join him, despite being a hair’s breadth away from snoozing off.

Still, the two Heroes managed to keep each other awake through a constant stream of chatter, jokes, and (quiet) songs. Hyrule played a rather soulful tune on his flute; the notes produced were slow, yet smooth. They flowed through the air without haste, almost like a lullaby. Yet when Sky closed his eyes, instead of falling asleep, he felt his heart soar like it had grown wings, and an almost weightless sensation stole into his body.

It reminded him of a time he and Zelda snuck out of Knight Academy in the middle of the night and gone for a flight. The atmosphere was perfect. The quiet stillness in the air, the twinkling of a million stars. No clouds, just a light mist. The moon had been full, just like this night, and cast a beautiful silver glow over them and their Loftwings. He could still picture Zelda, lovelier than all of these elements combined, illuminated in the heavenly light. She looked like the goddess Hylia herself, which he’d later learned she was. The memory ebbed all the day’s stress and soreness from his body, but left a little ache inside his heart.

“That was incredible,” he sighed happily when Hyrule finished. “Where did you learn that song?”

Bashful at the praise, the brown-haired boy looked away. “I’m not sure, actually. It’s an old tune. Some say it’s been around since the dawn of Hyrule.”

“Really?” Sky leaned forward. “I never heard it until just now.”

Hyrule flashed him a quizzical look. “Well, maybe my flute doesn’t convey it as well. Sometimes, I think it sounds better on my recorder.”

Sky cocked his head to one side. “Then why not play the recorder?”

“Because I don’t want to summon a whirlwind in the first six notes!”

Sky blinked, not fully grasping what he just heard. “You don’t want to what?”

“You heard me! It would carry me off to who-knows-where!” Hyrule stood up, gesturing dramatically to the wilderness. Though his tone was serious, it also carried a hint of exaggeration.

“Seeing as you’re prone to getting lost, I’d say it suits you,” Sky joked.

Hyrule faced him now, a jolly glint in his eye. “Oh, but you don’t know half of it! It can also warp me right back where I started! In fact,” The glint turned mischievous, and he began slowly advancing toward Sky. “I could be gone for hours…”

Sky chuckled as he edged away. Exhaustion, combined with the late-night hours, must have caught up with Hyrule; delirium had taken hold, the kind that makes anything and everything downright hilarious, and Sky grinned as he felt it creeping up on himself, too.

“…And then, pop up right when you least expect it! Raaah!” With a yell, Hyrule lunged and shoved Sky off the boulder, only to slip and fall flat on his stomach where the latter just sat. A most undignified “Oooooof!” spluttered from his mouth, like air escaping a balloon. The Heroes erupted into hysterical laughter, Hyrule’s mixed with groans of pain, and Sky, sprawled on the ground with his legs propped against the boulder, clutching his stomach as he cackled like a Cucco.

“Shhh! We’re gonna wake the others!” Sky tried to sound serious and his voice cracked from the effort.

“You shhh!” came Hyrule’s witty retort before he dissolved into another laughing fit.

They laughed until they were literally gasping for breath, and even then, managed to laugh some more. Loud enough to drown out a third voice, cackling softly in the distance.

“Oh geez,” Hyrule finally wheezed out. “I feel like I cracked a rib.”

Sky rolled over onto his side, gulping in air. “You deserve it,” he croaked. A silly giggle hiccupped out. “I hit my shoulder hard when you pushed me! If it swells up, you owe me fifty Rupees.”

The brown-haired boy snorted. “Don’t exaggerate. Besides, I don’t even have fifty Rupees!”

“Then I’ll give you a matching bruise for payment.”

An empty threat, but Hyrule still offered, “How about some ice instead?”

“Deal!”

Hoisting himself up on his arms, he looked down at Sky. The Chosen Hero had already removed his green tunic and pulled down his undershirt’s left shoulder to examine the damage.

“How bad is it?” Hyrule asked, voice devoid of concern.

“The size of Four’s Octorok.”

“So, puny.”

“Feels worse than it looks,” Sky admitted, poking tentatively at the blackening bruise the size of a grape.

“You still want ice?” Even as he posed the question, Hyrule started to get up, only to lean back down. “Hey, that’s a neat scar!”

“Huh?” Sky flinched like he’d been slapped, hastily covering his shoulder with his hand. “I-I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hyrule rolled his eyes at the atrocious lie. “I already saw it. Looks like you fought a hard battle!” As he spoke, he eagerly leaned in closer.

Sky yanked his sleeve back up. “N-no, no I didn’t,” he stuttered, ears bright red. Deliberately turning his left side away from Hyrule, he added, “It’s none of your business.”

Normally, Hyrule might have let him be, but curiosity overtook him (it wasn’t like he had anything else to do). “What happened?” he pressed. “From what I saw, only a sword could have left that mark.”

“It’s nothing!” Sky growled, glaring daggers at his friend.

“Then why are you getting so defensive?” Hyrule straightened up, taken aback by his friend’s uncharacteristic surge of anger.

“Because you won’t leave me alone!”

“Was it an accident?”

“No.”

“Do you simply hate having your skin permanently disfigured?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is!” Hyrule threw his arms up in exasperation. “Scars are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“This one is!” Sky snapped. The redness in his ears spread like fire to his face as he realized he’d said more than he wanted.

For a minute, he remained completely silent, refusing to meet Hyrule’s gaze. Then he exhaled heavily. “Look, unlike the rest of you guys’ crazy stories, it’s… it’s not my– my proudest moment, okay? I don’t– I don’t want to– to talk about it.”

A muffled giggle. Sky shot Hyrule a bewildered stare, more surprised than offended. Though not above poking fun at his friends, the Hero of Hyrule was the last to laugh at someone if they were genuinely upset.

“What?” Hyrule stared back, eyes wide.

“Why’d you laugh?”

“I didn’t. I thought it was you.”

He was dead serious. The two Heroes continued to stare at each other, silently posing the next question: Then who did?

A high, cold cackle answered. Further away this time, but loud enough for the Heroes to know they weren’t imagining it. Jumping to their feet, they unsheathed their swords. Instinctively, they put their backs together as they fervently scanned their surroundings for the source.

“Do me a favor,” Hyrule muttered. “Wake the old man. It’s his shift now.”

Rushing back to the camp, Sky shook Time as hard as he could, though this would prove in vain. If the old man did not want to be woken, he would not. He’d sooner sleep for seven years if you let him.

“Hey…! Hey! Wake up!” No response. His leader simply grunted and rolled over.

Sky tried the next-closest person. “Twilight? Can you hear me?”

No response. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Wild?” he tried again, voice rising in desperation. Surely the lightest sleeper would rouse. But there was no answer. “Anyone?” Sky couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “Wake up!”

But no one answered, let alone stirred. He may as well have whispered.

“What’s wrong with them?” Hyrule demanded, hurrying to Sky’s side.

“They’re…they’re not waking up. It’s like they’re—”

“—Under a spell,” Hyrule finished in a hushed voice, as though his worst fears had been confirmed. “Of course… this must be the work of a Wizzrobe.”

“Wizzrobe?”

Another shrill cackle, like lightning splitting a tree. Immediately, the Heroes snapped back on guard; it sounded close. Too close.

“Robed monsters possessing incredibly powerful sorcery,” Hyrule continued, eyes narrowed as he peered into the shadows, trying to spot their unseen foe. “They typically rely on elemental magic, but stronger ones are known to wield dark magic. But to incapacitate seven people at once…there could be more than one, but it’s more likely one alone that’s beyond exceptional.”

Sky gulped. “You mean, infected?”

Face pinched, Hyrule nodded. “Exactly. We need to locate it as quickly as possible.”

“Would up there be a good place to start?” Unblinking, Sky raised a stiff hand and pointed above Hyrule’s head.

The Hero of Hyrule whirled around and gasped, for there atop the highest hill, the very creature he had described gazed down upon them.

Little more than a silhouette outlined by the moon’s full shine, the only features that could be made out were a tall figure draped in a heavy cloak, and two large bloodred eyes. Before either Hero could react, the Wizzrobe raised its hands and fired a tidal wave of black magic.

“Get back!” Hyrule jumped in front of Sky and raised his shield. The wave struck the shield directly, exploding in a blinding flash. But the shield remained unscathed, and the Heroes unharmed.

Undeterred, the Wizzrobe fired again. A blast twice as large as the last screamed towards them at breakneck speed. Yet the Hero of Hyrule remained poised, and quickly chanted something under his breath.

Bright radiance enveloped his shield a split second before impact, yet the dark magic was not blocked. It was reflected straight back at its source.

The wave’s full might slammed into the Wizzrobe. The monster collapsed, doubled over in shock and pain. For a few glorious seconds, the Hero of Hyrule thought he’d won, but the Wizzrobe rose up. He couldn’t read its expression, but those bloodred eyes looked murderous.

It let out a bone-chilling screech so loud it the Heroes’ ears threatened to bleed. The moon swelled to twice its size and took on a sinister crimson tint. Wind whipped around them like a tornado. Just seconds ago, the sky was clear, yet it now filled with ominous red clouds. Lightning flashed. Thunder reverberated high in the heavens and deep under the earth.

A bolt struck the ground right in front of the Heroes. With a yell, they threw their hands up over their faces, struggling not to fall down. Then the wind died down, leaving eerie silence ringing in their ears. Raising their heads, the boys saw that the sky had miraculously cleared. The moon shone stark white again. All seemed well, but the Wizzrobe had vanished.

“Where did it go?” was the first thing out of Sky’s mouth as he checked all around. Had it snuck up behind them in the confusion? Alas, there was no sign of the sorcerer. Their friends still slept peacefully, much to his relief.

“Was that…an illusion?” Hyrule stared blankly up at the hill, trying to comprehend all he’d just seen. “I sensed its magic was beyond ordinary, but I never imagined…”

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t have your shield,” Sky murmured. “Sorry, but how’d you repel it like that? I didn’t see you move an inch!”

“A spell I picked up in my travels,” Hyrule explained shortly. Sweeping his gaze over the camp, he muttered, “No one’s stirring.”

“They aren’t awake?” Sky shot him a worried glance.

“The Wizzrobe only retreated. Temporarily, I’m sure.”

Sky sheathed his sword. “What should we do, then? Prepare for its return?”

“No,” came the Hero of Hyrule’s decisive response. “We’ll pursue it.”

“Hold on a second!” Sky held up his hands. “I’m not against hunting it down, but what about the others?” He gestured to their friends, who still showed no signs of waking up. “We can’t just leave them here, defenseless! Suppose the Wizzrobe doubles back?”

“It won’t,” Hyrule responded forcefully. When Sky stared blankly, he elaborated, “I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling it won’t continue its plan— whatever it is— unless it traps all of us where and how it wants.”

Sky bit his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I–I trust you. I just don’t trust the Wizzrobe. Maybe one– maybe one of us could find it—”

“No! It’s too dangerous to go alone. We need to confront it together, especially if it’s like all other monsters we’ve fought!”

“But—”

The Hero of the Winds cried out in his sleep. Hyrule and Sky whirled around to see the youngest Hero tossing and turning, his face twisted in pain. His hand stretched out, like he was reaching for something.

Hyrule and Sky rushed to his side, falling to their knees. A desperate, fragile hope clung to them. “Wind? Wind, can you hear me?” Sky called, his voice hoarse.

Wind’s reaching hand seized Sky’s arm. In his feverish state, the young Hero mumbled, “Got you… just… hold on… don’t let go!”

With his free hand, Sky grasped Wind’s. “Everything’s going to be okay, Wind. It’s just a bad dream! Wake up!”

But the youngest Hero only tightened his grip. “Please…hang on…” he whispered. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The sight was too much to bear. Hyrule felt a huge lump forming in his throat. A choked gasp escaped from his lips and he fought to stifle it. He turned away, but he could not escape the horror that enveloped the rest of the sleeping Heroes. There lay Wild, twitching and shaking like a frightened rabbit. Warriors, curled up into the fetal position and muttering nonstop. Legend, shouting incoherently into the night, each tormented cry more agonizing than the last. Twilight, hands balled into fists and growling “no” through clenched teeth over and over. Time, whose whole body shuddered every few seconds. Four, who lay so still they couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

The Hero of Hyrule was at a loss for what to do. What to say. Their friends’ condition had evolved into something far worse than imagined. Could he and Sky, who were just two people, even consider confronting the Wizzrobe, which he was starting to see more as a demon? Despair welled up inside his heart, weighing down his entire body like heavy iron chains.

As quickly as it had set in, he shook off the invisible shackles. How dare he think like that? Their friends were depending on them! A spark of determination flickered in his heart, spurring him to action.

Standing tall again, Hyrule approached Sky, who still knelt beside Wind, cradling him and clutching the smaller boy’s hand. Hyrule rested his own hand on Sky’s shoulder. “Listen,” he murmured softly, “I don’t want to leave them, either. But even if we wait for it to return, we’re at the bottom of a valley. With the range Wizzrobes have, we’d be at a tremendous disadvantage.”

Sky didn’t meet his gaze, but after a few moments’ silence, he sighed. “You’re right. The only way we can help is if we find and put an end to what’s threatening them.”

As gently as possible, he lay the Hero of Winds down and tucked his blanket over his shoulders. Letting go of his hand earned Sky a heart wrenching sob from the boy, but he managed to push past it and stand up. The same spark glinted in his eyes, too. “Let’s go.”

[legendary-destiel]

Shower Secrets [14x03 coda]

This is for my lovely tumblr-sister Drew @peanutbutterandgrapejelly, because she wanted to know so desperately, why this image was taken in the shower, and not anywhere else (like, for example in the kitchen, while cutting carrots or playing bingo). Well, you wanted the background-story, hon, here you go! :D

Notes: This is slightly angsty/explicit. You have been warned.

Words: 1340

AO3

tags: destiel one-shot, post-possession angst, Michaels pervert idea of getting to know each other, deancas talk, short shower conversations, you all know to what they can lead, shower sex, this is not their first time, established relationship, Cas takes care of Dean, finally reunited, very slight descriptions of sexual abuse, but not explicit, the good stuff is a little explicit tho 😁

Well, now let’s jump in the shower with Dean, because we’re dealing with the sequel to the following scene - thanks to my awesome friend @agusvedder we can enjoy this wonderful gif:

***

Hm?

Dean heard a noise coming from the door.

Ah, good. He understood the hint.  

With a silent, unremarkable klonk, the door closed behind Castiel. When Dean looked over his shoulder quickly, he could only see a beige, blurred silhouette, because he was already in the shower, surrounded by the steam of the 45 degree hot water. It ran down his aching back in constant cascades.

His entire body just hurt. After getting rid of Michael’s disgustingly extravagant clothes, all he wanted was to wash away the memories. He couldn’t help but to remember what it felt like… the moment when he completely lost control of his own body and will. He was so powerless, so helpless, that not even his purest, deepest cry of despair came to the surface. He was drowning, slowly ceasing to exist, while falling deep and deeper into this impenetrable darkness. There was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

And then suddenly - it was over. From one second to another, he was himself again. Dean didn’t know why Michael decided to leave, but he fucking did. He couldn’t care less, but now he had to deal with those memories.

“Hey.” Dean said firmly. He didn’t want to appear too weak to Cas.

The angel remained silent, but Dean heard a rustle and knew instinctively that Cas had just taken off his trench coat.

Dean felt some flashbacks from the past few weeks that were gathering in his gut and slowly coming up his throat. He could still feel the archangel’s anger and how determinedly he was pursuing his plans. He was cruel and calculating, and he owned him.

The memory of all the blood Michael shed, while he had his fucking hands on the steering wheel of Dean’s body, drove him just crazy. This was blood that was on his hands now. Well, not really, but… anyway. He was the one who let Michael in. He had violated all of their rules and principles and initiated this worst-case scenario. And he didn’t listen to Cas.

“Dean…” the angel began. He was still not quite sure what Dean expected of him. Then he added, “How are you feeling?“, but didn’t come any closer.

Dean knew, Cas would definitely be able to sense if Michael was still there, but Dean wanted to assure him with his own words that Michael was gone.

“There is no more archangel… Of that I’m sure. But I’m… I’m…” The hunter swallowed, because he didn’t really know how to explain. To distract himself from his trembling hands, he squeezed some two-in-one shower gel onto his palm and began washing his hair for the third time.

“I’m still feeling so… unclean. Somehow I can still feel him, Cas.” Dean shook his head in disgust. “Huh. Probably some perverse reverberation of the possession. Does that sound awkward? It’s like there is blood on my hands… Damn, Michael killed so many innocent people… even if they were monsters, they didn’t deserve to die this way - ”

“Dean, it is horrible what happened to those people, but that is not on you. Michael turned out to be a monster himself, with unpredictable plans. You cannot impose this burden on yourself.”

Dean didn’t say a word, so Cas repeated it, louder, in his rough voice: “It’s not your fault, Dean.”

No, it was not.

Dealing with the killing and torturing was tough, but… this wasn’t everything…

…

It was pretty much at the beginning of all that shit.

“Oh no, you still dare to think of this filthy traitor, that poor version of an angel, even though you’re carrying the most powerful celestial being inside you now? How tremendously disappointing.”

Dean could hear Michael’s voice so clearly in his mind, it was terrifying.

“But, ah, all those disgusting things you did… together. For God’s sake, have you no sense of shame, Dean Winchester? Come on… why don’t you let your inhibitions fall for me too?”

Dean tried to scream.

“Hm? Yes, I think we should get to know each other a little bit better, since we will spend a lot of time together from now on.”

Then Dean - no - Michael laid his hand on Dean’s crotch.

“Oh Dean… I know you think your body is adorable. You know that pride is a deadly sin, right?”

Dean could only watch his own hands rubbing up and down, until Michael forced him to open the zip of his pants.

…

Dean inhaled sharply and squinted, because the shampoo somehow found its way through his eyelashes. No one but him knew where the salty taste on his lips came from.

Cas took some steps toward the shower. Dean could see him from the corner of his half-closed eyes. He continued to massage his head, absolutely aware of the fact, that Cas’ eyes were all over him.

Oh, if he would just…

Dean wanted to forget. Right now, he didn’t want to talk about that fucked-up bullshit that happened in the past weeks. He couldn’t help it… he was a weak human-being who needed distraction, even if it was for just for a short moment. Maybe there would come a time when he was ready to talk about this… but not now.

His hands wandered down the sides of his neck to his chest, spreading more shower gel all over his body. Ah, the water was soothingly hot. But not nearly hot enough. He hurried to prevent the gel from dripping to the floor by running his palms over his abs and his lower back. The moment his hands reached his ass, he could literally hear Cas’ swallowing despite the sound of water.

While Dean’s own touches slowly returned to his front side, Cas put down his jacket. Dean’s fingers reached the base of his cock, which had swelled steadily since Cas started talking. Oh, that voice did things to him…

Suddenly, Dean felt a cold puff, like a gentle breeze behind him, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, when Cas closed the steamed up glass door behind him.

Finally.

Castiel embraced him from behind, shirt and tie and even pants still in place, but the angel’s elegant hands were already touching Dean’s chest, so tenderly that Dean wasn’t even sure at first whether the feeling was real or not.

Within seconds, his clothes were wet, but Cas didn’t care. Cas never cared about anything as unimportant as clothing, when it came to satisfying Dean. If only he thought of all the ripped shirts, stained pants and crumpled ties…

Yes, there… Dean thought dazedly as Cas skilled fingers made his nipples rise.

Only now Dean realized how much he had really longed for Castiel’s touch. The hunter dropped completely into Cas’ arms. He leaned against him like man who lost his ability to stand on his own two feet. But he didn’t need to have a steady stand, at least not in this moment, because Cas was here. He was here, and Dean was saved and free.

“Oh geez… I missed you so much Cas…” he mumbled softly, as he shut his eyes.

Cas ran his right hand across Dean’s torso, slowly coming down to his hard cock, caressing it gently before he clasped his fingers firmly around the shaft.

“Ahh…” The passionate moan escaped the hunter’s open mouth and he didn’t come to close it again, because Cas’ other hand had long reached his chin, encompassing it as if it was a precious frame made of fragile crystal. Thumb close to Dean’s lower lip, Cas leaned forward.

Before he started to kiss him, he breathed: “Dean… I missed you too. You can not imagine how much I missed you.”

***

Not much later, he came unexpectedly hard, shoulders pressed against the soaked clothes that stuck to Castiel’s body, who would surely have won any wet-t-shirt contest on the planet.

Dean would never admit it, but only now he knew for sure that Michael was gone. No more archangel. Only one perfectly weird, wonderful blue-eyed angel, and this one owned him for real.

***THE END***

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little-one-shot! Thank you so much for reading ^^

A big THANK YOU goes out to @cas-watches-over-you, for her incredibly cool shower-animation! I’m still staring at it way too long, haha.

💖

[thebutterflyestate]

movement 3

"Have you heard? ! Have you heard? ! Sumiyoshi-kun has a samurai for a visitor! How lucky of him, I heard he's hot!"

"Ehhh? Really?? I wish I could go to Kamado-san's House, only if his house weren't at top of the mountain!"

"I bet you could see the samurai, (Name)-chan! Since you deliver fruits to the Kamados! Tell us if he's hot!"

"Huh?" (Name) blinked. She was in a daze. She stared at her family's hired workers, the girl gatherers, while she was focusing on packing the fresh oranges in bundles, "Did you say something?"

"Geez, (Name)-chan! You've become out of it ever since last month! No demon will hurt you anymore, ok? You were saved, after all." The oldest of the three clapped the girl's back. (Name) staggered on her spot and pouted.

"I know, I know... And what were you both saying earlier?" She asked, curiously.

"We were saying that there's a rumor that a samurai is currently residing with the Kamados at the mountain!" The oldest answered. Her name was Chiyo and she was the loudest of them. Next to her was her cousin, Yan, who was more quiet but cheery.

(Name) furrowed her brows, she placed a hand on her cheek and spoke softly," Oh? Really? The Kamados sure are odd, inviting a stranger into their home. Last rumor I heard from them was that Suyako-san fell asleep on the road."

"I can't argue with that." Yana chuckled, "Anyway, (Name)-san, if you're going to deliver to the Kamados today...please scope out for us. See if that samurai is hot..."

"EH? ! No! I'm only going there to deliver the fruits since Suyako-san is having a baby!" (Name) shook her head, her face turning pink. Deep within her, she was thinking that it was Yoriichi who was residing in the Kamados but then again, the said family invites whoever into their home. It was only wishful thinking that she'd see the handsome samurai again.

Her mind started to wander again to Yoriichi, reminding herself of her debt and his perfect face. She could feel herself get excited, her face turning a shade darker at the thought. Yana and Chiyo were staring at her, eyes narrowed curiously. The latter flicked the girl's forehead, resulting her to throw her head back for a second.

"Ow!" (Name) placed a hand over her temple, rubbing where it hurts, "What-what the heck!"

"Were you tinking of something lewd, (Name)-san?" Yana asked, "You looked estatic for a second there."

"I wasn't..."

"You're thinking of the guy who saved you, am I right? Who was that? Uh, Moriichi Suchikuni??" Chiyo arched a brow.

"N-no! It' Tsugikuni Yoriichi-san!" And how-how did you two know! I don't remember telling a story about that!" She exclaimed, embarrassed.

"Your father was ranting about you and that samurai guy that saved you, you know. I think that was a few days ago or so. Hey! Maybe he's the samurai with Sumiyoshi-kun?" Chiyo smirked, hands on her waist while reading the expression on the orchard heiress' face. (Name) looked hopeful but then it her face blanked.

" No, no. It cannot be him..." She replied meekly," It's too much of a coincidence. "

" Coincidence? Hah, that's bullshit! I bet it's him!" She barked. Yana nodded in agreement.

"Maybe if you two are meant to be, you'll meet again, for sure." She said, smiling softly at the girl who pouted and finished up with her packing.

"I don't believe in destiny or fate either..." She said, hosting her new woven basket and filling it up with the fruit deliveries. The two older women helped her wear it, "Anyway, I'll be back!"

"Sure, dear! Come back before dawn, ok! You know that or else your dad might start a riot and a party search again!" Chiyo laughed, Yana retreated back into the house then returned with a necklace. It was a necklace made out of the vines of wisteria, in the middle of it was a small puch filled with wisteria powder.

" Do not forget your charm, (Name)-san. Your mother will go ballistic." Yana said, putting the necklace on the girl's neck. The necklace was made a day after she was attacked by a demon. After that, she was required to wear it everyday to work or if she's going outside even tough it would completely throw off her kimono.

(Name) bowed and smiled at them before leaving through the back door of the orchard. She was immediately greeted by the farmers that live next door to them and she shyly greeted them back as she walked down the stony path. She went into the village prper to deliver the goods then to the markets and then to the houses of their loyal customers.

It took a while since she was carrying such a heavy load but it grew lighter with every delivery she made. Until it was time for her to deliver to the Kamados. She didn't know why she felt nervous, even though she had climbed the moutain to the charcoal family's home a couple of times. Maybe it was because she was hopeful to see that it was Yoriichi who were with them. Yet a part of her was telling her that why should she be happy to see him? For what reason? Because he saved her once? Because she owe him her life? Yoriichi had already told her that she need not to repay her so for what reason was she hopeful for?

"I'm thinking too much..." (Name) sighed to herself as she climbed the mountain. Thankfully, it was not winter so it wasn't as dangerous to go up the mountain. She trekked slowly and carefully, following the markers that the Kamados have left along the path. She saw the top of the Kamados house and she sighed in relief that she was close to finishing her deliveries. And because her frail legs were shaking like crazy already and her calves were stiffiening up.

However, at the last step, her legs gave and she fell back. Her eyes widen.

Someone had aught her by the waist and she looked up to see the silhouette of the person. The sun glared behind the person so she couldn't clearly see their face. Her heart began to pound against her chest, her face turned red, her stomach started to grow butterflies, and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

'Could it be...?'

Judging from the figure, it was a man. A strong one at that. She could see the silhoutte of a pony tail. Hope bloomed within her.

"Tsugiku--"

"(Name)-chan! That was close! You nearly fell!" She was pulled back to her feet and she deadpan need. It was just Sumiyoshi, the charcoal maker. He beamed at her and she just gave an embarrassed look. he noticed her flushed face and tilted his head to the side," Is there something wrong? "

"U-uhm...no, the-there's charcoal on your face..." She pointed at her left cheek as an excuse. He chuckled and wiped his right cheek when in fact there was no charcoal smears, "A-Anyway, I have your fruits!"

"Oh, perfect! If that's the case, why don't you join us eat it, (Name)-chan? My wife and baby would definitely love your company!" He said, grinning. She couldn't reject the offer because one, she also wanted to see the samurai, and two, she wanted to see how Suyako and the baby in her stomach was doing. It has only been two weeks since they knew she was pregnant.

Sumiyoshi led the way around the house to the back where Suyako was found sitting on the engawa and sewing together a haori. She lifted her head up and beamed upon seeing (Name).

"(Name)-chan, my, you're here!" She stood up, putting her sewing to a halt, "I'll prepare you tea--oh! Did you actually come here to deliver our fruits?"

"Yes, Suyako-san." (Name) smiled and clumsily put her basket down and reached for the packaged fruits. She handed it to the woman while Sumiyoshi put her basket on the side for a while. Suyako unwrapped the packaged and  gasped.

"My, your family is really thriving! Your fruits look healthy and yummy!" She complimented and (Name) bashfully scratched her cheek.

"Oh, no... We just take good care of the orchard and the farm." She replied, she unconsiously looked around for their other visitor but then she turned back to the couple who were talking about what to prepare as snacks.

"Come on up here the engawa, (Name)-chan! In the meantime, I'll make us some snacks!" She said and the younger girl nodded as she got up on to the engawa and sat there next to the haori Suyako was working on. Sumiyoshi went back at the other side of the house, saying that he was chopping wood. (Name) wanted to ask if they had any other visitors but she was too shy to do so.

She sat in silence on the ngawa while winging her feet back and forth. She inhaled the fresh forest breeze and smiled. It was nice to be up the mountain surrounded by pure greenery. After a while, she could hear Suyako calling out to Sumiyoshi and she came out from behind (Name) while holding a bucket

"Dear, we don't have water for washing the cutlery any--oh, he isn't here." She said, spotting the girl only.

"Ah, he's on the other side, chopping wood by the front, I think." She replied softly, standing up, "I'll get the water for you!"

"Aw, my, thank you, sweetie." Suyako handed the bucket to her, "Just walk ahead the forest until you find a ditch. In that ditch, runs river water. A bucketful is fine, okay? Also, don't exhaust yourself! You know how your body is!"

(Name) bowed and waved at her, the woman smiled sweetly and retreated back in to attend to what she was making. (Name) hummed as she threaded through the foliage and she would look up occasionally to see the trees' canopy. Only few sunlight poured out because the trees covered most parts.

Ahead of her, she could hear the flowing of water. She grinned to herself but then froze when she heard a rustle close by. She paused to look around but found no signs of demons. Of course there would be no demons, it was broad day light. Maybe it was just  a wild animal. She breathed a sigh of relief before pressing on in a hurried manner.

Finally, she spotted the ditch SUmiko was telling her and hidden in between it was clear river water. She smiled and kneeled on to the ground, one hand laced against the soft soil to support her and one on the bucket's handle. She scooped up a bucketful but instantly regretted it because her noodle arm couldn't lift it up.

"Hnnng.. !" She tried lifting it up but her arm shook violently, the water spilling out of the bucket. She pouted and bent down again to scoop what water she lost. But she still couldn't lift it, "Why...am I...so weak... !"

She then grabbed the handle of the bucketful of water with both hands, her legs being the only support holding on to the ground. She felt her arms shake from the water's weight as she was slowly managing to lift it up. She beamed and cheered.

'I can do it... I can--'

"Do you need help? "

She flinched and let out a shocked gasp, she dropped the bucket and the bucket took her with it and she fell into the river. She quickly scrambled up, grabbing the bucket, and standing on the shallow water. She looked up to see Yoriichi. On his back was four heavy looking tree logs that were simply tied on to his person. He didn't have his haori on, meaning that the haori Sumiko was sewing earlier was him.

She gaped and turned red. While he was looking hot even in sweat, she was drench from head to toe like a lost kitten. Plus she was standing in the river with an empty bucket. He gave her one of his indifferent gazes, "Sorry..."

"I-i-i-it's okay! It's okay!" She stammered, getting herself out the ditch, he offered a hand and she looked at his calloused hands. She blushed and took it. He pulled her up with ease, scaring her a bit on how strong he was. He took the bucket from her and scooped up water," O-oh! Thank you!!"

He nodded and they silently walked back. (Name) felt a bit guilty that he carried her bucket despite the heavy load on his back but she was glad that it was indeed him who was the visitor of the Kamados. She wanted to ask why but kept it to herself.

" Oh, what happened to you, (Name)-chan? ! You're drenched!" Sumiyoshi spotted her as soon as they came out into the clearing, "Yoriichi-san! You're back! Thank you for helping out, both of you!"

"(Name)! What happened, did you fall in the river?" Suyako yelled from the engawa, "Come over here and get changed, we don't want you to get sick!"

(Name) smiled then she remembered that Yoriichi was carrying her bucket butbwhen she turned around, he had already given it to Yoriichi.

"Uhm, thank you for carrying that for me. I'm sorry for being weak." She bowed at the samurai who put down the logs on his back.

His hanafuda earrings swayed along when he shook his head, "You are not weak." He said, she blinked, "You were trying your best earlier, that is strength and not weakness."

She gaped her mouth open, her cheeks tinted pink at what he said. That was the first anyone told her such a thing. It was just a little effort yet he noticed.

She opened her mouth to speak but Suyako called her and when she turned, Yoriichi was already with Sumiyoshi.

"No one ever called effort as strength to me..."

[frenchlangdon]

Late Night Louisiana Pt. 2

Summary: It’s late 19th century, Y/N moves to Louisiana to learn more about vampires. But what happens when she finds one likely creature of the night at Porterhollow Cemetery?

LNL Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!bucky x reader

“Tobias, I never saw him go in the tavern..."

"Okay, that's all ya had to say! So you're going to the cemetery tonight, right?" He looked at me with amused eyes. I crossed my arms and raised a brow. "I don't think it would be a good idea to go tonight." My eyes scan over a couple books on the bookshelf next to me, trying to avoid eye contact. "And why not, Y/N?" He asked and turned his head like a confused puppy. "Well because... the clouds are looking a little grey. I don't want to be walking in mud tonight at the cemetery."

"Fimble-Famble!" He exclaimed. He started laughing. "You're 'fraid of that cemetery, aren't ya?" He smiled mockingly at me. "No I am not! You big coot! I just—What if I find him there? What do I say? Hi I've heard so much about you! I'm really interested in what you are. Can we be friends?" I purses my lips, uncrossing my arms and placing them on my hips. "Obsessed is more like it" He said under his breath. "You're not helping, Tob." I glared at him and he held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. Sorry." He mumbled with a smirk. "Will you go with me?" I asked full of hope. Surely he wouldn't turn me down. I bat my eyelashes and smile sweetly. "No ma'am! I'm not trying to run out of print." He shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not trying to die, darling."

I let out a huff and leaned against the side wall of the bookshelf. "So you're gonna let me go alone, to a cemetery, at night, where a creature of the night lurks?" He had a devilish grin on his face as he nodded. "I'm not the one dying to meet some vampire. You're the one who moved here just to learn more about the lively species that feed on us. You'll probably be his snack for the night."

"No, he doesn't go for likely young women with gorgeous hair." I flipped my hair in a dramatic motion causing Tobias to scoff. "My hair looks better than yours and It’s only an couple inches long."

His comment made my jaw drop wide open. "Wanna add anymore agony to the pile? Geez, Tob." My hand landed onto my lazy made up bun. Most woman had their hair done up in extravagant curls and plaits but I’m not really into my hair, I just do two plates and make it into a low bun. He snickered and gave me a quick hug. "I was messing with you. Now I have to close up the store and you need to go to the cemetery. If you start walking now it'll be dusk by the time you get there." He pushed me towards the door. "Yeah but don't you need help closing? You're my best friend! I think I should help you! Do you want me to sweep? Or dust the shelves?" I turn to him with a smile. "No. Now go." He pushed me out and locked the door behind him, flipping the sign. Closed.

I let out a deep sigh as I start my journey down the cobble road to the infamous Porterhollow Cemetery.

There's been a lot of grave robberies and a lot of dead bodies found there. Bodies that weren't buried there in the first place. Most of the bodies found were corned bummers, I guess he does us a favor by taking the reckless and vile folk out of the town. Some will ride into town, spend all their money on the whores and end up living on the streets begging for money, only to drink it away instead of buy clothes to get a job or a decent meal. As I walked down the street, several people wave and say hi. Everyone knows who I am. I'm the crazy girl. They all know I'm looking for Wrecker. I wonder since the whole town of Porterhollow knows I want to find him, if he himself knows I'm looking for him. Maybe that's why he hasn't been to the tavern in awhile.

"Y/N! Hey! Wait up!" I turn around and see Steven, another friend of mine, jogging over to me. "Hey, where ya headed?" He asked, he stopped once he stood before me. He put a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He stared up at me through his long eyelashes. "Cemetery. Wanna come?" I asked. His eyes grew wide, he shook his head. "No way am I trying to end up in an eternity box." He said. I rolled my eyes, "Nobody calls them that anymore... just say coffin." I laughed at him, it was now his turn to roll his eyes. He stood up straight as we began walking. He was definitely easy on the eyes, he was tall, broad, muscular, and also very artistic which to me is so attractive. He was every woman's dream. But he never tried to pursue any woman. "What do you think you're gonna find in that cemetery? You really think a vampire is living there?" He kicked rocks as we continued to walk down the road, the sun was setting. "I'm not trying to find just any vampire. I'm trying to find the Wrecker. Have faith in me will ya?" I nudge his huge arm. He chuckled and nodded, mumbling an 'okay'.

"So, are you um, are you attracted to vampires?" He asked looking away, clearly nervous with the question he just asked.

"No. I just want to know more about them. I think us normal folk are boring and dull. We're too ordinary. Vampires, the creatures of the night, they're fizzin!" I look at him to find that he's already staring at me.

"Would you ever consider being with one? A vampire, I mean. Or is that something too taboo?"

"I mean if they were nice, not trying to kill me, then yeah. I'm open to it. It's not like I'm seeking out vampires so I can fall in love with one. I'm just a curious cat." I giggle at the thought of falling in love with a vampire. So silly. Like it could ever happen. I don't think I could fall in love with a man that had sharp walrus teeth... no thanks.

"That's good to know." He whispered more to himself than me. "Why? Do you have a vampire friend that is interested in little ole me?" I smirked and nudged him playfully again. "No. Just a curious cat." He said with a sweet smile. I nod and look ahead, the cemetery now in view. "Well it was nice talking, but I gotta get back to my ma. Be careful." He hugged me tightly and kissed me on the cheek. "Alright see ya later, Steve." I waved as I watched him run down the road and back to his momma's house.

Before I knew it I was at the gates. I took a deep breath before walking through. It's gonna be fine. I'm gonna be fine. There's a slim chance I'll even find him here. The cemetery is big, a lot of tombs, a lot of Mausoleums, and a lot of trees. The sun has set as the moon is out and shining bright and some fog has appeared, swimming on the ground. Definitely not scary or creepy.

Suddenly I get an eerie feeling of someone watching me. I do a complete three-sixty, no one is here. No one but me. I walk around, looking, searching. I prayed that I wouldn't bump into some grave robber. I hear the sound of leaves rustling, I turned to my left and saw a figure move behind a tree.

Part of me is screaming RUN! and another part is telling me to get closer, to see what's behind the tree to see if it’s him or just some opossum.

I step closer towards the oak tree, "Anybody there? Hello?" I step closer. My heart is beating so fast I feel like it may stop any second now. The dark figure stepped out from behind the tree, the shadow of the tree trunk covering the person's face, it's a silhouette of a tall and broad man, Steve. It's Steve. "Steve. I swear. You're little jokes aren't funny." I scoffed and crossed my arms. Why would Steve do this? He's such an asshat! He steps out into the light and his eyes stared into mine. "Oh. You're not... you're not um, Steve." I barely managed to say, my throat had gone dry and I suddenly felt cold.

There before was this handsome man, tall, muscular, and broad. Just like Steve but he was brunette. And his eyes were a lighter blue, the moon gave them a vibrant glow. "Are you—"

"I am." He came closer. I'm not gonna gum you and say I wasn't trembling in fear and excitement, because I was.

"And who might you be?" He asked. He looked me up and down, his eyes meeting my own once again.

"Y/N..."

I get closer and realize... he's not wearing a bandana and the moonlight is shining perfectly on his nose and lips. I gasp and grab ahold of his cheeks. "So you don't have sharp walrus teeth!" I exclaim. He furrowed his brows.

"I beg your pardon?"

[thefandom-mess]

Broski

This is a imagine of Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska, it’s still stuck in my head how they would interact with each other after Jeremiah got sprayed! Also something for the Wayleska shippers I guess. :)

It plays after Jeremiah failed to destroy the city. Hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: none except insanity maybe, I mean we’re talking about the murder twins.

Pairing: none. Just „brotherly“ interaction

It was rare that the clown twins Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska met these days. Especially since the incident that ultimately cracked Jeremiah and turned him into what Jerome believed to be his true hidden self.

Oh, but he hasn’t seen anything yet, no. Not even Jerome could imagine the things his twin had in store for the city. Even though his last plan to send the Gotham back to the sone age failed, as far as he knew Jeremiah, he would just figure something out until he succeeded, that was just what he always did.

“Hello Jerome.” The all to familiar voice of his brother echoed through the room.

“Oh hiya there Broski!” The ginger turned around to face the pale silhouette that was his once so beloved twin. “What gives me the honor?” He grinned wickedly.

The black haired man rolled his eyes, signaling his disapproval of the nickname before he gave a proper answer.

“Look, Jerome. Im only here for business matters.” He began. “A little bird told me that you still plan to ‘paint this town crazy’.” Jeremiah mimicked his brothers voice in what seemed like a little bit of disgust.

Not even slightly bothered by his brothers tone, an insane smile crept on Jeromes face.

Usually the days when he was interested in being involved in his brothers plans are long in the past and honestly Jeremiah never shows interested in working with Jerome as he could never meet Jeremiahs standards.

But as it seemed tables have turned. So Jerome gestured him to have a seat at the small wooden table in his kitchen.

“Of course broski. This city needs an urgent makeover!” The ginger giggled as both of them sat down.

“You should be fully aware that I’m usually not interested in associating myself with you.... but... since my last concept didn’t turn out as planned, I had to figure out something new.... something... BETTER.” Jeremiah explained as he took his blood red gloves off to fold them neatly on his lap.

Jerome let out a laugh. Of course he knew that exactly.

“Oh man, brother. I never thought I would hear you admitting a failure! Not even in my second lifetime! That’s hilarious!”

“If you’re done being childish, if that’s possible, I would like to explain further what your part will be!” The pale twin snapped, clearly annoyed by his brothers mocking.

With that Jerome became quite and put on a fake straight face. Even though he once loved his brother and even though deep inside he might still had some love for him buried under all this pain and anger, the fact that Jeremiah failed and came to him gave him more satisfaction then killing Bruce Wayne and his butler combined.

“You see, I met this man, Jerome. He said something about having a vision. A vision in which he saw Gotham in flames. Turned into a dark island and insanity within it. Usually that’s not my cup of tee as you know, but given the fact that it’s for the greater good of revealing Bruces true potential and strength, I agreed.” The black haired Valeska twin explained.

Something in his pale green eyes changed. Jerome noticed that he was more driven when he mentioned Wayne. And it was true, Jeremiah would do anything to help Bruce become what he’s destined to be.

Silence filled the room for a moment. It took Jerome a while to process every detail. After all,being beaten and dead left his noggin a little mushy.

Suddenly he began to laugh like the mad men he is.

“Since when are you so obsessed with the Wayne boy?! Hahahaha! I actually planned to kill him first!”

“You are NOT touching Bruce Wayne! Understand.. brother?!” Jeremiah hissed.

Jerome stopped laughing abruptly. “Oh geez broski! That nearly sounds like you have a crush on Brucie! Ha!” Seeing his brother glaring at him dangerously, Jerome decided to play along. For now.

“Alright, alright! But I at least want to kill the butler... and Gordon!!” He demanded.

And again something in Jeremiah changed. It seemed like he had a better idea. You could even dare to say it was something more insane then Jerome. This glimpse in his eyes whenever the conversation came to Bruce.

And it was true, Jeremiah had an obsession with Bruce. He felt a love for him. Something that he could never feel toward Jerome nor their mother nor anyone else. What he had with Bruce was... special.

After another silence filled moment it was Jeremiahs turn to let out a giggle. But his giggle was colder then Jeromes, something that could give anyone the chills.

“But why killing them? Wouldn’t it be more... hi hi .... fun... to drive them mad?” Jeremiah suggested. This would give Bruce the transformation he needed.

For a moment Jerome was speechless. And that has to mean something for the overly bubbly ginger. But not even he had heard his brother giggle like that ever before. Maybe the spray finally took its toll, maybe Jeremiah finally gave in to be his true self and let his old boring self die.

“What do you say, brother? I will turn the city into the dark island... and you... you paint crazy whatever is left of it.” Jeremiah usually had his sane guard up pretty well, but the sheer thought of the bright future just made him feel so... excited. And he would do ANYTHING to make it happen. Even if it meant to work with his maniac of a brother.

“I say we have a deal... broski.” Jerome shook his brothers hand in agreement.

And with that both of the twins’ evil laughter filled the room. A laughter that could drive the sanest man into madness.

[aprettystrangeblog]

Home

It was small, but it was home.

Nestled far down in the streets of uptown New York, in an unassuming leaf-brown apartment building at the end of the block, Bucky Barnes threw his front door open with a sigh. The door knocker clanged softly in welcome, the simple brass wrought in the shape of a hand whacking itself against the mark it had worn into the yellow paint of the door. The thing was the color of a kindergartner's crayon sun, and it had a couple shallow dents in it from the few times he’d yanked the door open too hard, but it was still a shining beacon of safety. Home.

“Hey, Stars ‘n Stripes,” he mumbled, tossing his keys into a bowl beside the front door. A slightly tubby tabby cat made a soft ‘mrrp’ sound in reply, nestled safe in his favorite bed beneath the key bowl’s shelf.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Bucky smiled, giving the cat an affectionate scratch on the chin with his gloved left hand. Stars ‘n Stripes stretched, his shadows-in-a-forest fur rippling contentedly as Bucky pulled back to rip his glove off and toss it aside.

He was home. No one but the cats here to see the glint of silver metal.

It was nice.

“Spots? Hey, hey—“

Bucky lunged forwards as another cat— a tiny little black and white thing— shot out from under the couch to snatch up Bucky’s glove in her tiny toothy jaws.

“Hey!”

Spots shot back under the couch with a proud glint in her eye, back paws scrabbling against faded hardwood flooring to get back under the sofa.

“Fine, fine, keep it,” Bucky relented, eyes crinkling as peered at the glowing yellow slits in the darkness and wobbled back to his feet. She’d feel accomplished, at least. Everyone needed that sometimes.

Bucky let her be and stretched upwards, inhaling the scent of home. Old carpet and dusty paper and clean linen and fur, and under it all the barest hint of the fresh loaves of bread he’d baked yesterday. Everything smelled calm and soft old and new at the same time, the way a log cabin should, or a museum exhibit that’s been up just a little too long. 

The worn leather jacket was shrugged onto the hook by the sofa, the rugged boots kicked off onto the carpet. The sun-bleached rug belched a cloud of dust and thread into the air as the soles of his shoes landed on it, but Bucky almost welcomed the sneeze it caused him. He nudged a couple of fallen Sudoku books aside with his toe as he wound between cat toys and other stranded objects on the floor in order to get into the kitchen, humming a vaguely 40s jazz tune to himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Steve was right— having a routine like this really did help. It was a huge comfort to slip into the familiar, safe motions of grabbing the twin cat food dishes from the sink and measuring out a quarter cup of Meow Mix into each, then perching himself on the counter rather like a cat himself as Spots and Stars ‘n Stripes pattered their way over to eat.

Comforting.

Bucky watched the evening sunlight pour in from the window above the sink contentedly, idly fiddling with a loose thread in his sweatshirt. Something had changed after getting his own place, after feeling as though he’d finally settled into some sort of strange domestic life.

Not that the compound and everyone there wasn’t a welcoming prospect, of course. But here… Bucky could forget. Not that he ever truly did, or wanted to. But here he could let go and grab onto something new. Different. Here he could sit and watch the stars for hours— the same stars that watched over him in Siberia, the same stars that kept him sane. The same lights that lit the sky the night he found himself again.

Spots meowed on the floor, having mostly polished her bowl of food off already, interrupting Bucky’s train of thought.

“Already? Really?” Bucky picked up the dish, giving the tuxedo cat’s ear a tickle. “I dunno where you put that all away, little lady. Dang.”

Spots purred softly, deciding to thank Bucky for dinner by chewing happily on his metal fingers.

“Geez, you’re a feisty thing,” Bucky chuckled, the sound still timid and quiet after finally being found again after so long. “Let go sweetheart, I should go feed the others.”

Spots gave him a reproachful kitty glare and marched across the floor to try and mooch kibble off of Stars ‘n Stripes, leaving Bucky to gather up the half empty food bag and tiptoe out of the kitchen.

Down the hall, past the bathroom, past his cozy bedroom with the pinstripe blue sheets he and Steve found at Walmart and the framed photos on the walls, down to the back door to the itty bitty outdoor porch. Perks of having to rent the only available first-floor apartment, Bucky supposed.

He cracked the door open, peering outside at the weather-worn wooden deck. A skinny black cat was curled up on the nearest guard rail, one eye lazily blinking open upon hearing the creak of the hinges.

“Oh, Steve 2,” Bucky murmured conversationally, slipping outside lightly. “Didn’t expect to see you out here. Where’s the other strays, mm?”

Steve 2 blinked slowly, huffing a sigh before stretching back out across the railing.

“Good talk, good talk,” Bucky waved, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the greying wood. “How about we feed you guys, huh?”

Bucky raised his hands to his mouth and made a kissy noise, not particularly caring if the neighbors saw or heard. They were probably used to this by now.

And so were the strays— several of them poked their heads out from under the deck or the surrounding foliage, ears perked up at the call that meant the crazy cat man with the metal arm was here to feed them again.

There was the soft headbutt from behind, and Bucky swiveled himself around to face a battle-scarred grey tomcat, his whiskers twitching amiably.

“Hey, Grandpa Tom—“ Bucky reached forwards, giving the feline a gentle pat before feeling for its front right paw. It was neatly wrapped in bandages, a little dirty by now, but Bucky was proud to see his handiwork from yesterday was still holding strong.

“How’s the paw?” he asked Tom, carefully checking the wrappings to make sure they were alright for now. “I’ll come back out and rebandage you back up later, but let’s feed you guys first.”

Bucky reached his hand into the bag and poured a handful of Meow Mix onto the deck in front of Tom, who twitched his tail silently and sniffed at Bucky’s fingers gratefully before bowing his head towards the food.

A twin chorus of meows started up from the other side of Bucky’s food bag, announcing the arrival of Bella and Stella, the resident sister-like orange kittens who approached with their bottlebrush tails held high.

“Aw, it’s my favorite girls, back again.” Bucky smiled, reaching back into the bag of kibble to distribute food out to the newcomers. “Who else wants dinner?”

A patchy siamese chittered in reply, skittering out from a bush and across the splintery wooden planks to wind around Bucky’s arm.

“Steve 3, nice of you to come by. I heard you broke into the neighbor’s car yesterday morning, did you get cold again?” Bucky poured out an extra helping of food for the scruffy cat, giving it an affectionate scratch on the tiny bald patch behind its ear as it clambered across his metal fingers in excitement.

“I’ve been saving up for a sweater for you, y’know. Steve told me I should take up knitting instead of getting one off Amazon, even showed me the yarn aisle at the store. Can’t believe they actually have those now.” The dark haired man shook his head, the hair in his messy bun coming a bit looser. “What would you think of that, huh? Ex soldier knitting his cold cat a sweater? Guess it might be good for mental health. Solid hobby, y’know. Rainbow yarn might suit ya.”

Steve 3 ‘mrrrrp’ed softly at the ramblings of his human companion, content to hunker down and snack on the food he’d brought.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky chuckled, getting up to spread the last of the food out into small piles on the edge of the deck for the more timid strays— Steve 4 and 5, the elusive Bamboo, and Wizard, the reddish one with a missing tail who only ever showed up once in a while. Bucky still left him his pile of Meow Mix regardless.

Satisfied, Bucky lounged back on the slats of the deck, stretching out on his legs. Feeding the strays out here every night, sitting and feeling the fresh air on his face and the moon begin to rise as the color faded… it was nice. More peaceful than he’d felt in a long time. As dumb as it might have been, Bucky felt valuable here. Worth something more than the sum of his parts— even if it just meant he was the crazy cat dad to a small herd of strays.

“Mmmrow?”

“Hm?” Bucky tore his eyes away from the horizon to look down at his lap, where a tiny, snow white kitten had appeared.

“Oh, hello Happy—“

The kitten ‘mrrrrp’ed pleasantly and clambered onto Bucky’s lap— perhaps not the most elegantly, as it was missing the lower half of one of its front legs, but made itself comfortable regardless.

“You and me both, huh,” Bucky murmured, touching the cat’s leg with the gentlest of forefingers. “We should get matching prosthetics, you and me. Tony could probably put a little cat silhouette on yours, yeah?”

Happy merely yawned, snuggling his tiny nose into the crook of Bucky’s elbow without further comment.

“Okay, yeah, I don’t mind being a pillow for—“

A jazzy version of the national anthem blared from Bucky’s back pocket, cutting off his sentence and startling the tiny cat. Careful not to move Happy from the snuggly position on his lap, he shifted slightly so he could yank his ringing phone out from where it was sandwiched between himself and the deck, hitting the ‘accept call’ button in one smooth motion.

“Steve?”

“Hey Buck—“

Bucky smiled at the nickname, scratching Happy behind the ears as he settled back against the deck railing. “What’s up?”

“Just calling to check up on you. Everything alright over at your place?”

“Yeah, definitely—!” He leaned back, scooching Happy closer to the crook of his elbow so he could cross one of his legs. “Just fed the cats dinner, and now I’m sitting out on the deck just watching the sun go down. You’re right, being outside at this time of night is… really calming.”

Steve’s voice on the other end of the line sounded like sunshine after a storm. “Little things really help, huh?”

“Yeah. They really do.”

“Man. I’m so proud of you, Buck.” Steve shifted on the other end of the phone, his voice crackling like an old record. “Really.”

“Geez, well I, uh—“ Bucky bit his lip, flustered, unsure of how exactly to respond to praise. After all this time it still felt foreign, alien. But Steve’s words made him feel warm all the same.

“Thanks, Steve,” he murmured softly after a moment, a few strands of dark hair falling down onto his face.

“You deserve it.” Bucky could almost hear him smiling on the other side. “Hey, have you eaten tonight though?”

“Uh, no, not yet, I wanted to sit outside for a bit first.”

“How ‘bout I come pick you up for some dinner, then? There’s this great take-out place a couple blocks away from your place. Yelp says it had great reviews, and I— god, I still can’t believe there’s a whole site dedicated to reviewing places, right? It’s makes things so easy!”

Bucky laughed, tossing his head back to get the hair out of his face. “I’d really like that,” he admitted quietly, shifting to hold Happy better in his arm.

“Awesome. Seven thirty sound good?”

“Seven thirty it is.”

“Okay Buck. See you soon.”

“See ya, Stevie.”

Click.

Bucky lowered his phone, setting it down on the deck for a moment. Dinner. Dinner with Steve.

“Ya hear that, Happy?” He tickled the sleepy kitten’s nose, making him blink upwards at him. “Steve’s gonna take me out for dinner.”

Happy made a squeaking noise.

“Right, right, I should probably go put something nicer than this ragged old sweatshirt on—“

Bucky collected Happy in his arms and stood up, trying to juggle his phone and the white kitten in his hands at the same time.

“You wanna come inside for tonight?” Bucky asked Happy, nestling the cat onto his shoulder. “I’ll set up a heating pad for you at the end of my bed, just like Monday. Yeah?”

Happy mrowed out something that sounded enough like a noise of agreement to make Bucky chuckle.

“Alright, let’s go on inside.”

[vargrblr]

Wendip sweet treat please

Here you go!

WendipSweet Treat

Thetext notification chirped from Dipper’s cell phone in the middle ofthe night. He blinked, confused, then glanced over at his sister,before grabbing his phone off the nightstand to see who was textingat two in the morning. Luckily, Mabel was still snoring gently, herhead buried under the covers

Dippersquinted at the phone with one eye closed. It was Wendy.Why would she text him in the middle of the night? Her message didn’tclarify anything. All it said was:

Hey.You up?

Dippersilenced the phone and turnedon vibrate so as to not wake Mabel. Then hesmiled to himself as he texted back.

I am now. What’s up?

Oh, sorry man. It’s notimportant.

Well, you texted me at 2am, soit must be somewhat important?

Really, it’s nothing. Sorryto bother you dude.

Nope, you don’t get off thateasy, Corduroy. Why’d you text?

Ugh… it’s just… It’sstupid. I shouldn’t have bothered you.

I’ll be the judge of that.Spill it.

Itwas a full minute before the phone showed that Wendy was typing ananswer, and Dipper had to take a deep breath and push aside a minipanic attack at the thought that he might have pissed her off.Finally her message poppedup.

You’regonna laugh but… I had a bad dream. I even woke up crying. Now Ican’t fall back asleep.

Dipperfrowned and bit his lower lip. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Also,why had she texted himof all people? Yeah, they were best friends, and had spentpractically every waking moment of the past three summerstogether—but they werelike… buds. Bros. They never really confided in each other aboutemotional stuff.

Uh,hello?

Dipperjumpedas the phone buzzed in his hands. He hastily replied.

Sorryabout your dream. Wanna talk about it?

It’s kind of complicated totype it all out on my phone.

Want me to call you?

Actually… is there anychance you could come over?

Dipper’sheart picked up its pace. They’dhad all night B-movie marathons before, but Wendy had never invitedhim over in the middle of the night. Despitebeing ‘bros’ with Wendy, he was still secretly enamored with her.He hadn’t ever had a girlfriend, because he judged every girlagainst Wendy, and there was simply no comparison.

Noproblem. On my way.

Dipperhopped up from his bed, andthrew on a pair of jeans over his boxers. He was already wearing at-shirt, as was his habit during the summer, when he shared a bedroomwith his sister. He grabbed a flashlight, and was about to pocket hisphone when it buzzed once more.

Thanks, Dipper. You’reamazing.

Dipperfelt a blush spread over his cheeks. He wasn’t sure how to respondto that, so he tucked his phone in his pocket and quietly trotteddown the stairs and out the door.

/

TheCorduroy house was a black silhouette against the night, save for thesoft glow emanating from Wendy’s first floor bedroom. Dippertiptoed through their yard, and tapped gently on the glass. Wendy wassitting up in her bed, dressed in an oversize t-shirt and basketballshorts, hugging her knees to her chest, but as soon as she heardDipper at her window she shot up off the bed and threwthe window open. She didn’t even wait for Dipper to climb insidebefore throwing her arms around him and squeezing. In fact, shepulled him inside while she hugged him. Once he was fully inside and hadhis footing, Wendy let him go and shut the window.

“Wellhey to you too,” Dipper wheezed, rubbing his ribs. “That dreamreally freaked you out, huh?”

“Yeah.”Wendy climbed back onto her bed. She scooted back against theheadboard and patted beside her.

Dippereased himself down next to her, and leaned back into the pillows. Hestared at her expectantly. “So what happened in the dream that’sgot you so shakenup?”

Wendytook a shaky breath. She was paler than usual, although her cheekswere tinged pink. She met Dipper’s gaze, then quickly looked away.“You died.”

“Oh.”Dipper rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what he’d beenexpecting, but him dying was definitely not it. “So,uh, that sucks.”

“Ijust… you were gone, and I was never going to get to see youagain,” Wendy explained, her voice quavering. “It felt like myworld was ending. Like—whenever you go back to Piedmont at the endof the summer, I miss you like crazy, but we Skype and text andemail, so I still get my Dipper fix, even though you’re not around.But in the dream, it was different. My world shattered.” A teartrailed slowly down her cheek.

“Geez,Wendy, don’t cry.” Dipper wiped away the tear with a thumb. Heplaced his hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. “I’m here,okay? I’m not dead. Everything’s fine.” It felt lame as he saidit, but he didn’t know what else to say. Wendy was the strong,stoic one outof the two ofthem. He could count on one hand the number of times that he’d seenher cry.

“Pleasedon’t ever leave me, Dipper,” Wendy said softly, her voice husky. Shegazed at Dipper, her red-rimmed green eyes sincere. “Because I—thedream made me…” She trailed off and bit her lower lip, staring upat Dipper from under thick, wet lashes.

Dipper’sbrow furrowed. “The dream made you what?” It suddenly occurred tohim that their faces were extremely close together. While he wasnearly always completely comfortable around Wendy, the way she wasacting right now made Dipper feel lightheaded and a bit sweaty.

Wendylooked down for a moment, then met Dipper’s eyes once more. Herlips parted slightly, and she took a deep breath. “It made merealize… I love you.”

Dipperblinked. Surely he must have heard her wrong. Or—siblinglove—that’s what she must mean.Heforced a grin. “Well, I love you too, man. You know that!”

Wendysighed, her lips twitching upward at the corners. “I meant, I’min love withyou,dork.” BeforeDipper could gather his wits and respond, she put her hand on theback of his head, twining her fingers through his sleep-tousledcurls, and pulled his face to hers. She pressed her lips softlyagainst his.

Dipperfroze, and trembled. He’d dreamed of this happening, but neveractually expected it to. Wendy pulled away, her cheeks burningcrimson.

“I’msorry! Did I—I thought you—” she stammered. She paused when shenoticed the smile spreading across Dipper’s face.

“Don’tworry, you thought right,” he said low. He leaned in, wrapped hisarms around Wendy, and pulled her back toward him. He pressed hislips against hers, and murmured softly against her mouth, “I’m inlove with you, too, Wendy. I always have been.”