#tiny little squeak squeak with his tiny little rat hands <3

[tacagen]

shoutout to whatever genre of small format thawne this was

[py-dreamer]

SBI & RodentHybrid!Reader

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GN!Reader, (this is my first time doing something like this-)

Rats, mice and most rodents alike are under-appreciated in my opinion and I had some SBI brainrot I could not stop.

How did they find you?

Philza had just adopted his 3 chaos sons and was not expecting to have anymore children.

Tommy was 3, Wilbur and Techno were both 10

however, one day he heard tiny squeaks during a trek in the forest.

he thought it was just a regular mouse but it was too loud to be one so he followed the source and peered in the bushes and in it was lil' ol' you

you couldn't have been more than a year old by the looks of it and you were absolutely tiny! you could fit in the palm of his hand

you were also freezing cold and there were no adults around so... guess Phil's gonna adopt another child then!

Your rat features:

I put down rodent hybrid cause' I couldn't make up my mind if you were going to be a mouse or a rat (there's a difference!) so neither can your family!

You have the cartoonishly big mouse ears (think Mickey Mouse) and also a long thin and scaly tail

You also have delicate whiskers and a itty bitty nose that has a surprisingly good sense of smell

There are small patches around your body hear and there

TOE BEANS! TOE BEANS! TOE BEANS!

Also, smol. Extremely small. You are by far the shortest in the family. Mice are really small so I think you'd grow to 1ft 6 at most

Rats have strong teeth so you also have a set of really strong buck teeth

Since Techno once talked with a piglin, and Phil's chat are literally crows, you can talk to other rodents

"I'm not like other people! I'm 1ft 6, I have the best sense of smell, I can talk to animals and I have a tail cause I'm a foocking rat baby"

Life with the SBI

it was rather difficult to adjust to the new family member because of the drastic height differences but nothing they couldn't handle

All the seats, tables ect have a little ladder carved in or have a step-ladder attached so you could climb up

Stairs and doors. They were going to be a problem. So Dadza made like a little elevator out of string, small planks of wood and pulleys so you can get up and down the floors. Each door in the house also had a small doggy door on it so you could easily enter...though one time a stray cat had gotten in and chased you around the house so the main door and the door to the backyard had to have little locks installed on the little doors too.

Once you got a bit older, Dadza realized it would've been a very tiring life for you to have to climb up every seat and every table and every shelf you want to use so he made a little hole in the wall under a table and built tiny furniture perfect size for you and helped you decorate your room

Any soft fabric in the house was a perfect napping spot for you. your family would often find you nesting in hoodies, cushions, jackets, cloaks, blankets ect. (Although once Wilbur almost sat on you when you got a little too comfortable and fell asleep on the couch)

I'd like to think whenever you were mad at one of your brothers, you'd steal their stuff (that you can carry ie Tommy's disc, Wilbur's beanie, Techno's gold) and hide it in your room or a small crevice that only you can fit in and they'd be to big to fit in and reach their stuff.

You would also take advantage of your size and hide in places impossible for your family to hide in but not for you! You were always the hide and seek champion and could evesdrop on your brothers from inside the walls or inside a chest.

Midnight snacks. Just all the snacks. Rats can fit through any space they can get their heads into and some can chew through metal so there was nothing stopping your hungry tummy. Phil was even considering enchanting the pantry to prevent you from theiving all the snacks (you'd share with your brothers though, Phil was just miffed you ate all the snacks before dinner and could get ill)

When you guys were going out and you couldn't keep up, you'd just ride in one of their bags. You were extremely light and it was hard to keep up with their long legs so this was a perfect solution (you 100% fell asleep in a bag once and the family almost flipped the house upside down looking for you)

Your relationship with Dadza

We already mentioned him earlier but he loves you very much

Phil was a lot more nervous to take care of you cause he'd never raised a child this small before

He was very hesitant to let your brothers hold you when you were a baby because you were just so small and fragile-

When you were little and went out with him, you always had to be on him or holding his hand. Sitting on his hat, his shoulder, riding in his bag, him carrying you, he didn't mind but you couldn't be let out of sight especially in large crowds or tall grass.

He always had at least one of his crows keep an eye on you when you went outside to play just in case anything goes wrong

He still worries about you a lot but knows that at least you can defend yourself now.

Your relationship with Wilbur

he was your big brother and you both love each other a lot

it took some time getting used to you but the moment he saw such a tiny baby, he just went 'SMOL CHILD I WILL PROTECT YOU'

in the early days, when Philza couldn't take care of you, he'd hand you to Wilbur who'd spend time with you and Tommy. Be it going to town, making a new song, going to meet Sally, he was mostly glad to bring his little siblings along

While he cared for you a lot, he still played tricks on you sometimes like when he told you that birds eat mice and you just became terrified of Phil and his crows for a good week XD

He was much more relaxed when it came to your safety (not that he'd let you go into the woods alone, like just be less protective than dadza) though he would just be wary when you guys are with a lot of people so he'd prefer it if you were riding on his beanie. He'd get weird stares but as long as you're safe, he didn't care

when composing songs and you're with him, he'd sing the lyrics and you'd sometimes squeak them back in your high-pitched voice and he would either laugh or die from cuteness...or both

rats also generally have better hearing than humans so when he was composing a song, he'd ask for your opinion to see if it was good or not

Your relationship with Techno

when you were first welcomed into the family, he didn't know what to do-

don't get me wrong he got the same 'PROTECT DA CHILD' feeling as Wilbur and even the voices told him to 'PROTEC SMOL THING' when he got them later on

it's just that you were so small that he was afraid he'd hurt you he was never as gentle as his twin or his dad and Wilbur seemed to like you so he figured he'd him take care of you like Tommy

though one day, you were out in the garden. Techno was training, Phil was in the house, Wilbur and Tommy were with friends. A stray zombie found its way to your home and it started to attack you.

you were too small to get away quick enough and tripped but just as the zombie was about to hurt you any more, Techno shot an arrow through that f*cker's head he then realized you were too weak to defend yourself so decided to train you to be stronger

Wilbur was unsure about letting you wield a sword but Techno insisted it was for the best. Eventually, Tommy bugged him enough to train him too.

it took a while but after enough time and hard work, you were able to wield a few light weight weapons and were able to hold your own at pvp by quickly darting and dodging around your opponent.

when you weren't training, Techno read you and Tommy greek mythology. Tommy would sit in his lap and you would rest on his head (if he felt like it, he'd let you two braid his hair)

like the rest of the SBI, he gave you a piece of golden jewelry, for you it was a small earing

Your relationship with Tommy

I'll be honest: Tommy didn't really like you at first

He was glad to not be the youngest but he didn't realize that he'd get less attention due to you being a baby

they still loved him of course, but Tommy couldn't help but feel jealous when Dadza helped you make your own room or when Wilbur took you on their trips to town or when you'd always be carried by Wil or dad or when Techno started training you before him ect

he'd always try to ignore you or glare angrily and naturally, you reciprocated the behaviour and thus you two always had a sort of rivalry

he'd call you names, yank your ears, tail or whiskers and in turn, you'd call him names, steal his stuff and sometimes bit him if he pulled too hard

But then, one day:

You were 10 and sitting by yourself on the swings in the park. Barely anyone else was there and you were doing your own thing. It was one of the rare opportunities when you could be alone. I mean, you did love your family and all but it was nice to have some alone time too. You were minding your own business when suddenly:

"Hey are you a doll?"

A little kid had just picked you up by your waist and you were frankly very startled. You started wiggling, trying to get out of the kid's grasp but it was too tight.

"You're a very weird doll"

The kid held you tighter and you squealed out for help.

"I'm not a doll! Let me go!!"

The child gasps "A talking doll! Mama, mama! Look, a talking doll! Can I keep it please?" they called their mother over

A woman strides over and looked down while you were trying to get out of there. She gasps in horror and shrieks

"A RAT! A RAT! THROW IT AWAY AT ONCE BILLY! IT HAS THE PLAGUE! GET IT AWAY!!"

She then snatched you out of her child's sticky hands and threw you at full force into the mud.

"GET BACK YOU VERMIN! GET AWAY! RETURN TO THE MURKY SWAMP WHERE YOU CAME FROM!" She screeched while you were trying to process what just happened and collect yourself.

All of a sudden, you heard a very angry yet familiar voice from the bushes

"OI! NO ONE GETS TO PUSH MY SIBLINGS INTO THE MUD BUT ME!!"

He then pounced and shoved the prick and her brat into the mud.

"AHHHH YOU INSOLENT BRAT! HOW DARE YOU!"

Without warning, she grabbed Tommy and tried to trip him over him but before she could, you sneaked up behind her and bit down hard on one of her legs. Tommy then grabbed you and booked it out of there with the screeches of the witch behind you.

Once you two made it back home, you started to clean yourself up when Tommy handed a towel to you. He said nothing and looked away but the gesture was all it needed. The both of you were silent but a mutual care about each other started to grow that day.

it took a while but you two soon became thick as thieves

he even introduced you to Tubbo later on!

You and Tubbo relate to each other on the fact that you were both often underestimated and your shorter heights compared to everyone else.

Life in the smp

you decided to follow Wilbur and Tommy when the left home and promised to write to your dad and older brother

by now, you were as tall as you could be and could defend yourself reasonably well

you, Tommy and Tubbo absolutely cause chaos together. I mean the rat, the racoon and the goat? Who makes better thieves than that?

You definetely participated in the disc wars, stealing Tommy's discs back from Dream whenever you could

During the L'Manberg era, you decided to join your brothers' country and became good friends with the rest of the L'Manberg members. You had a little uniform and everything, you helped to plant flowers and decorate around the country since it was a bit hard to place down blocks.

L'Manberg really felt like a second home and a second family for you even with the constant battles, you still had each other and that was enough.

Then you and everyone else lost your first lives during Eret's betrayal and Tommy had to give up his discs (you wanted to steal them back but Tommy told you that it was ok and they'd find another way) but hey, at least you guys were independent now...right?

Then the elections happened. You were sure your brothers would win until the votes were revealed. They were banned from the country and you desperately scurried after them, trying not to get trampled in the angry mob

You helped them set up Pogtopia and that's when Wilbur decided to give you a job.

With all things considered, you were arguably one of the best spies on the server: You were tiny and hard to spot, you can hide in places no one would think to look, you were fast, agile and hard to catch, you have a far more superior sense of hearing and smelling and can therefore sense if anyone's coming much easier, and you can communicate with rodents; one of the most common and unsuspecting animals.

Therefore, Wilbur gave you and Tubbo the job of spying on Schlatt and Manberg. Tubbo would pretend to be on their side and you would eavesdrop from the shadows.

You should've been more wary of Wil's behaviour, he looked like he was loosing it but still wanting to help your brother, you accepted the job and spied on Manberg, giving Pogtopia info when you could.

Techno came to help and you thought that it would be alright from now on...then the red festival happened. Tubbo gave his speech while you watched from behind the curtains. Then he was boxed up and you could only watch in horror as Techno walked to the stage to execute your best friend.

You thought it couldn't get any worse when someone grabbed you from behind and took you to the stage. JSchlatt held you by the neck and learned that you were the spy sneaking info all along. And before you knew it, he squeezed your throat and you died from suffocation on stage.

Wilbur couldn't look you in the eyes after that and you were told that Techno shot a firework at Schlatt cause 'it wasn't part of the deal'

After the final battle, you couldn't be happier. You were celebrating with all your friends and looking for Wilbur before the ground shook and everything exploded.

You lost half your tail and parts of your left ear that day. But that loss couldn't compare to the loss of your brother, dead in your father's arms

You tried your best to return to normal and just when you started to recover, Tommy was exiled. You followed him to Logstedshire and tried to stand up for him against Dream but he was too strong.

Tommy convinced you to leave him and that he'd be ok and you naively believed him.

When Techno took him in, you followed him and couldn't be happier; your family was back together!...well most of them.

Then doomsday happened. Techno didn't tell you his plans and you were in shock as to why he would blow up L'Manberg now.

He then told you about the execution. That while you were with Tommy in exile, he was going to be executed by the butcher army. That news shook you to the core but you couldn't think straight with your second home being blown to smitherines again.

Afterwards, you decided to take a break from society and ran away to live by yourself in a small home you built in the woods for some time to recover.

Tommy would visit sometimes and told you about the hotel he was building with Sam Nook, Tubbo visited when he could, he even brought Ranboo with him once and told you about their son Michael. Philza visited once, he told you that Techno was doing alright but just hasn't found the time to visit. You didn't answer when he knocked on the door.

(Sorry if the end sounds rushed, its because it is. I just didn't know what to do about the rest of the extensive lore but let me know if you'd like more of these x reader stuff, only platonic though. Anyways, until next time my lovely marshiemellows!)

[anachronistic-falsehood]

🌹!

im not even sure if im ever going 2 finish this but i started writing a spiderbit qsmp fic that takes place directly after the finale. written homestuck style!!! perhaps it will see ao3 eventually someday but for now it simply lives in my drafts and is there just for fun <3

CELLBIT: SOMEONE GET THIS FUCKING RAT OFF ME MIKE: A RAT? CELLBIT: A RAT YES THIS IS A RAT AND IT IS ON ME GET IT OFF MY LEG PLEASE You hold out your leg. Mike darts forward and leans down, his undead fingers wrapping around the body of the tiny rat. He takes it, untangling its fingers from your pant leg. As soon as the rat is off you, it starts squeaking and flailing in his hands, wriggling around in an attempt to break out of Mike’s grip. It even bites him, but then it seems to gag at the taste of his rotting flesh and lets him go immediately. MIKE: Awww, hi little guy! Cellbit, why was there a rat on you? CELLBIT: i don’t know, it was in my pocket and then it just fucking CELLBIT: i don’t know! CELLBIT: just keep it away from me it’s going to give me fucking rabies or something MIKE: I thought you had your rabies shot after prison? CELLBIT: yeah but i still don’t want to be BITTEN, MIKE MIKE: Oh so when you bite people it’s fine, but when a rat does it, SUDDENLY it’s a federal fucking issue, I see how it is >:/

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge November 2023 Day 3

Inspiration / Unresolved ( @daily-writing-challenge @zoronadotatanado )

World: Final Fantasy 14

Theme: Tyrian 2000 - Sarah's Song ( Stone McKnuckle Remix )

“Why don’t we settle this with a wager then?!”

K’thalen froze with his cup pressed against his lips. He slowly looked down at the enraged lalafell with a sly smile spread across his lips. “Now yer talkin’ my language.”

“N-noli, maybe we should take a breath and-” Zoronado stopped mid-sentence when she shot him an angry glare; he knew better than to tell her to calm down at a time like this.

“A drinking wager!” She spat, compelling him to put his mug down. “Whoever’s still conscious wins!”

Another condescending chuckle came from the back of the Miqo’te’s throat, filling Nonoli with additional rage she didn’t realize she had room for. “Lil’lady… are ye serious? Challengin’ me? To a DRINKIN’ game? Oooh, heh heh heh… ye must be angry, aintcha? Heh heh heh…!”

It was Augusta’s turn to chime in. “He’s right, Noli… he drinks a lot. Like… a lot…”

“I drink too!” She squeaked back, stomping her tiny lalafeet. “All the time!”

K’thalen leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Pteh… lotsa wine. Gloooorified grapejuice, lass– what I drink on the regular’ll knock ye out flat. Ya don’t want this. Heh heh heh…”

Nonoli was at her breaking point! “Then we choose our opponent’s drinks! My stuff is stronger than your gross whiskey, I swear it!” Both Augusta and Zoronado gave each other concerning glances but at this point the woman was too angry to listen to reason.

Far too long this man has mocked her, ridiculed her, bullied her! He thought he was so clever, so funny– always laughing, always calling her names! The fury of a thousand suns burned in her veins and cried out for vengeance, for justice! Slowly K’thalen rubbed at his chin, unable or unwilling to hide his amusement. “Aight… yer on, Popoto Princess, heh heh!”

“Look at this lil’fishbowl-headed, pouty-faced, barrel-bodied brat, heh heh heh… oooh she’s MAD mad, ha ha! She’s in fer a world o’hurt when she’s facedown in the dirt!” 

“I can’t stand his stupid face! I’ll wipe that smile off if it’s the last thing I do! Mark my words, this rat-faced ruffian is going down! DOWN!”

Both opponents sat down nearby– with Nonoli having to add additional padding so she could actually reach the table. She was furious– perhaps more than she has been in a long time. Augusta reluctantly brought K’thalen’s drink of choice with Zoronado rummaging through Nonoli’s bags for hers. The time for trash-talking was over, now all they did was stare deeply into each other’s eyes while their friends prepared the shots.

Naturally K’thalen went first. He brought the drink up to his lips and knocked it back with one gulp, immediately smacking his lips and grimacing with disgust. “What kinda wine is this shite…? Can’t taste the alcohol under all this damn sugar… ya really drink this garbage?”

Nonoli didn’t answer. She pinched her button nose shut and exhaled sharply before downing her shot; fire ignited in her throat and burned a hole through her barrel-shaped body all the way down, but she didn’t waver. Zoronado and Augusta both stared in awe as the little Lalafell remained unflinching after tasting the worst of the worst– black belly whiskey.

Round two was more of the same. K’thalen clearly hated the taste but downed it all the same, tempted to grab a whiskey shot to wash it down. Nonoli barely blinked but never stopped glaring up at him, repeating the trick she used before to knock back the whiskey with minimal effort.

Round three was when things started to change, however. K’thalen rubbed at his chest after downing his shot, already teetering but without the buzz he longed for. Nonoli coughed and almost sputtered, but she clasped her hand over her mouth and forced herself to swallow. Both of them were beginning to get dizzy, compelling their friends to stand nearby and behind them– just in case they fell over. Yet Nonoli couldn’t lose… she had a reputation to uphold.

“Nono…” Zoronado whispered, rubbing at her shoulders amidst her laborious breathing. “It’s not too late… we can go fishing, or something… just you and me?” She blinked again, and for half a heartbeat her beloved knight was convinced she was considering it. That is until she opened her mouth and gestured for the next shot.

“He besmirched my honor.” 

K’thalen was forced to take off his hat and shake his head furiously to ward off the dizzying stupor on the seventh round. Augusta offered to take his hat from him but he waved his hand dismissively at her before slapping it back onto his head. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and he was struggling to stay upright; surprisingly his smirk had vanished. This little lady was more of a match than he thought. Nonoli hiccuped when it was her turn… and the nausea from so much whiskey was beginning to take its toll on her.

With a trembling hand he slurped down his shot on the twelth round, but the glass slipped from his shaking fingers. Augusta gasped when he slumped forward toward the table, but he forced himself to press on; unfortunately he over-corrected, and the spinning forest around them suddenly lurched forward moments before he slammed his head onto Augusta’s lap! THONK!

“I don’t believe it…!” She stared at the teetering Lalafell with amazement. “You… you actually did it?!”

Nonoli wiped the drool from the corner of her lip and raised a thumb towards Augusta… then she collapsed backwards into Zoronado’s awaiting arms. The Miqo’te sniffed curiously at the drink K’thalen was downing… and burst into an uproarious laughter!

“W-what’s so funny?!” Zoronado asked, startled. 

“Clever girl… HAHAHA!” Augusta couldn’t finish her sentence, slamming her hand on the nearby table. Only after staring at the bottle did Zoronado recognize it– causing him to laugh too.

She wasn’t serving K’thalen alcohol at all… but a sleep potion potent enough to knock out a behemoth. She... she CHEATED!!!

[whoacanada]

Zimbits - Bartender!Jack + NHL!Bitty AU

Prompt: Retired NHL player Jack Zimmermann takes ownership of a sports bar in Pittsburgh and accidentally falls for the Penguins’ (closeted) new left winger.

A/N - just the start, I’d like to get around to more of this; the basic idea was an It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia AU, but I couldn’t manage to make everyone that terrible so Jack owns and operates a gay sports bar and starts crushing on one of his patrons.

“Can’t believe you’ve owned this place since ’89.” Jack coughs, waving the dust away from his face. “Did you ever come back after we moved home?”

It’d be disingenuous to say Jack had been expecting anything other than cigars and whiskey when his father had invited him on a trip down to Pittsburgh to see Mario and glad-hand some Penguins sponsors. In fact, he’d kind of been looking forward to sulking and getting shit-faced, not limping around a condemned building dodging roaches and rats.

“It was an investment opportunity. That was the trend back then, famous athletes buying up restaurants and clubs — I had big plans for this building. Then your mother got pregnant and I realized I didn’t really give two shits about running a nightclub.”

“Realized you were pretty lazy, huh?”

As Bob laughs, Jack picks at the peeling, lacquered bartop, trying not to imagine how many decades of grime he’s just collecting under his nail, the situation made even more disgusting in such close proximity to the glittering gold championship ring his father had insisted he wear to their lunch meeting with the Penguins front-office suits. Jack flicks the gunk away as Bob levels him with a weighty look, hands braced in the air as if outlining a play and not offering a tour of a cobweb-filled dive.

“Here’s my thought,” Bob says. “The bar. It’s yours.”

Jack leans against the counter, taking some weight off his braced leg, and asks, “What’s mine?”

“This place,” Bob gestures around the room. “The whole building. It’s just sitting here, empty, the bar, the liquor license, there’s apartments and office space upstairs, we’d just need to do some renovations and —“

Jack can’t help himself. He barks a laugh and says, “I’m not moving to Pittsburgh.”

“How many times have you and I talked about opening a sports bar? I’d wanted to get this place fixed up so it’d be ready when you retired, but since the final — you could make it a gay bar, even, if you wanted!” Bob says quickly, offering another awkward olive branch. “A gay sports bar. I wouldn’t care.”

“A gay sports bar. In Pittsburgh,” Jack echoes, reaching for a chirp to defend himself, but he closes him mouth as he realizes a sports bar run by a Zimmermann might not be a terrible investment idea. “The building needs a ton of work,” Jack settles. “I just saw a rat.”

“That was a mouse,” Bob dismisses, not bothering to look at the rat still clearly in view. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Got a dollar?”

Jack pats his pockets, finds a spare looney and hands it over. Bob doesn’t hesitate, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket to exchange for the coin.

“Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of,” Bob looks around helplessly. “I actually don’t know what they call this place now. A Bar?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Jack swallows against the tightness in his throat, holding the deed carefully in his hands. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bob brings Jack in for a loose hug and they both ignore the soft squeaking coming from the backroom.

Five Years Later

There’s a man examining the announcement board in the vestibule, and Jack knows that posture: the forward hip cant, thick thighs, a small but definite bubble butt — guy’s a hockey player, and he has been for some time.

“Hey. Hi.”

Blondie spins around at Jack’s address. Not quite startled, but something close enough that Jack feels a twinge of guilt. “You interested in playing in our beer league? You look like you might know your way around a rink.”

The man quickly looks at his chest, as if expecting to find something displayed, but relaxes immediately. Jack fights a grin, he was once old hat at wandering into public spaces decked out in identifiable team merch.

“Bitty.” The man squares up to offer his hand; his accent is warm and distinctly southern, not at all what Jack was expecting. “You can call me Bitty.”

“Oh, with a nickname like that, you have to play, now, no excuses,” Jack gives Bitty’s arm a firm shake, surprised at how complementary his grip is; not just an overcompensating bro who’s walked into the wrong club.

“If only I had the time,” Bitty placates wryly. “Is this place new?”

“Been here a few years, but not long. How about you? Are you ‘new’? In town, I mean.”

“Moved for work,” Bitty’s smile is timid, eyes darting around the room looking for other patrons, up at the memorabilia and the various pennants. “First year. Slowly learning the area.”

Jack doesn’t miss the way Bitty’s eyes linger on the Pride flag draped from the second floor railing, but Bitty doesn’t mention it, and Jack isn’t in the business of prying.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to The Bar.”

“I saw that outside, do you not have a name?”

“We weren’t creative. The owner didn’t realize he was filling in the wrong line on the business license so we are literally called ‘The Bar’.”

“That’s actually pretty solid,” Bitty laughs, the sound lifting Jack’s mood easily. “I’ll have to make sure I come back and patron your establishment at a reasonable hour.”

“What you aren’t interested at getting sloshed before noon?”

Bitty laughs, and Jack is enough of an adult to recognize he’s got a tiny bit of a crush.

______

True to form, Bitty slowly becomes a feature of Jack’s early afternoons. The first few weeks, he does little more than quietly purchase a single domestic beer before tucking himself away in a corner booth, hunched over his phone, ball cap pulled low for discretion. Jack gives him space, and aside from a few curious regulars, Bitty is little more than another closeted young man seeking quiet sanctuary.

That is, until, hockey kicks up and Mario hooks Jack up with season tickets beside the bench. It’d taken time for Jack to get comfortable with being in an arena again, especially without the ability to step onto the ice himself, but he’s acclimated and learned to appreciate his new lot in life. He can be happy for his success and mourn the end of his career with equal measure.

(Doesn’t hurt he still gets asked for autographs on the regular.)

Bittle, the new forward traded out of Columbus, spins to whip the puck between Lundqvist’s thighs and the score is 3-2 with a minute left in the third. Jack stands to cheer with the crowd as Bittle’s pulled into a celly with his line mates, and the new angle gives Jack a good look at the man’s sunny face, complete with a familiar, bright smile and missing canine. Jack’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes Bittle is ‘Bitty’, and Jack can’t help but cheer louder.

________

After the game, Jack does his homework. Pulls up stats pages and articles on Eric Bittle. Looking to link the quiet hottie from his bar with the energetic man he saw tonight on the ice. If Jack wasn’t in love before, he absolutely is after watching highlights from Bittle’s time in Columbus.

The next time Jack finds Bitty slipping into the bar, probably between practice and a good nap, Jack makes his move; filling a pint glass, wedging an orange slice on the rim, and adjusting his shirt before striding to the corner booth as easily as one can with a titanium femur.

“On the house,” Jack says, setting down the glass gently. “Choice goal, Tuesday. Great bounce.”

Bitty’s grateful smile falters, turning into something guarded.

“What goal?” Bitty asks, voice steady, and Jack’s immediately alerted to his misstep. Jack casts a careful eye around the room and doesn’t find anyone watching, kicking himself for not thinking this through. He’s used to playing this game with guys who aren’t quite comfortable, who might be visiting with the wrong people, but he hasn’t had to do the closeted-pro-athlete dance in a while.

“You know, I must have been mistaken.”

“Happens all the time. Very sweet of you, though.” Bitty apologizes and pushes away the beer, but Jack waves him off. It’s the least Jack can do for calling the guy out.

“I should have known,” Jack tries to recover. “You’ve still got all your chiclets. But, between you and me, Bittle’s a spitfire, eh? Crazy soft hands. I’d like to meet him someday.”

Jack whistles low, rapping his knuckles on the table before turning back to the bar, moving slowly enough he catches the way Bitty’s cheeks flare pink at the compliment.

About thirty minutes later, Jack, half focused on counting down the till, nearly misses Bitty’s exit. He looks up to offer a parting wave, and Bitty returns the gesture, flashing a shy, incomplete smile; one canine missing on the left side.

________

“Anything new to report? Sales look good, think you might be able to take some time off and visit your poor parents?”

Jack slides open a window to let some air into his bedroom, not for the first time wishing he’d taken the chance to tear out a wall and convert a corner of the top floor into a balcony. There’s still time — his father never seems to wary of giving Jack renovation loans — but Jack loves his condo and hates the idea of relocating again, even temporarily.

“New distillery opened, cut a deal on some local gin. We’re working on drink specials, if you have any ideas for names I’m open,” Jack eases onto the windowsill and looks down at the line of people waiting to get into the bar. “And I met someone. Think he might be a hockey player.”

“No shit? Beer-league?”

“NHL.” Jack corrects, an edge of caution in his tone he knows his father won’t misinterpret. “Started coming around a few months ago, gave me a fake name. Went to a game last week, scored right in front of me.”

“Well, you going to tell me who or am I going to have to guess?”

“He’s keeping to himself,” Jack holds the curtain steady to catch sight of a particularly flashy person in a glittering teal gown, texting Holster to snag a photo for the bar’s Instagram. “Don’t go hunting.”

“Well, if he needs any help you let me know.”

“What could you do?”

“I don’t know. Talk to . . . someone. I guess.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” Jack placates, smiling at the saucy photo Ransom texts back immediately of Holster lifting their favorite Drag Race runner-up above his head like something out of Dirty Dancing.

“So.”

“Mmm?”

“Does this mean you’ve got a little boyfriend, again?”

Jack leans out over the railing and tries to see if the universe has blessed him with a sighting of his favorite new Left Winger. Sadly, it’s Saturday evening and the Penguins are in Dallas, so no Eric tonight. 

“Working on it.” Jack offers, rapping his knuckles lightly against the window sill and trying not to think about the way Bittle’s face lights up when he sees that Jack is working. “Think I might really have a shot at something.”

“Well, you know what Wayne always says.”

“I do,” Jack breathes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, taking in his one-of-a-kind view of the city. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Once he gets back.”

“ — You know, I’ve got the game on right now. I bet you $1000 I can tell who you’ve got the hots for. You have a specific type — ”

“Papa.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s the kid we just got from the Blue Jackets, isn’t it. Bittle? You always like the fast ones — ”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

[jamaiskookie]

meet me in your memories (knj)

✂︎ pairing: memory traveller namjoon x gender neutral reader

✂︎ wc: 11.8k

✂︎ TW// car crash, mentions of death, crying, mental health, mental breakdowns, spoilers for frozen 1?? um, vomiting, mentions of PTSD, three seconds of family drama, memory loss

✂︎ notes: a little gift from me for being away so long <3 luv yall also ignore how short and shitty this is!!! ignore it!!!!! 

✂︎ synopsis: namjoon is a memory traveller - he is thrusted back and forth into his world and the world of his memories, forced to re-enact his past experiences. but he doesn’t recognise you, who keeps showing up in his memories. why doesn’t he remember you? why can’t he recall any of these scenes if they’re supposed to be his memories? and why does it always feel like he’s forgetting something? 

he comes to find out that he would choose you over and over again, in whatever lifetime or world he’s in. because he always returns to you. 

✂︎ fic tunes: "eight"- iu (prod. & feat. suga) but you're at your favorite secret spot after a long day by neptjoon

masterlist asks

The road is slippery and Namjoon cranes his head out to look at the window. Rain splattering everywhere, he notes worriedly. He hopes that nobody crashes. The bus driver sitting about three meters in front of him is humming a melody to a song he doesn’t know nor recognise. While listening to the poor man hum the off beat tune, Namjoon sits in silence, wondering how sad it must be to drive a bus with no passengers but himself. 

Suddenly, his stomach drops and his head spins, and this time Namjoon is certain it’s not from the rain or the driver’s subpar driving. He lurches forward, watching as the rain knocks against the window and falls in thick ribbons. 

Click. 

In an instant, Namjoon’s world collapses around him and he is thrown into his mind. 

Seoul is sweltering hot - hot like he’s never felt before. Namjoon reaches up to clutch his head, which is still spinning, and finds himself standing in a pair of light washed baggy jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt, unlike the padding coat and thick boots he had on just a moment ago. 

“Namjoon!” Someone squeals behind him and his heart jumps. He jumps around, facing you and the view of hot street food stalls and tall buildings behind you. Suddenly, his hand is reaching out to grab onto yours and you smile softly. 

He hears his own voice ring out, clear as day: “Don’t run. I was looking for you.” 

“Psh.” You wave off his concern, handing him a shiny golden hotteok. You hold an identical one in your fist, so he accepts it and murmurs his thanks, tearing apart the pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. Sweet, hot honey and small pieces of walnut flood into his mouth, and Namjoon is momentarily surprised. Science states that you cannot taste or physically feel anything in your dreams. 

But Namjoon already proved that wrong long ago. 

He takes you by hand and drags you over to a shelter, for some rest, apparently uninterested in your cries of wanting more tteokbokki or some Chinese food. He flings you over to his side and places his hand over your shoulder, while you both silently devour your hotteoks. 

“This was a nice date.” You mumble tentatively, and oh. That’s what this is? A date? He wants to turn around and ask you for your name. Where are you from? Why am I here again? He wants to scream it out until his lungs hurt and he gets an answer that makes sense, but no matter how much he tries, his throat will not allow those words to tumble out of his lips.  

Why don’t I remember you?

Instead, he replies: “Yeah, it was. This was fun.” He tilts his head down to smile at you and Namjoon finds himself nervous. Nervous enough that his hands are shaking against his will, but he tells himself that the sweat and the nervousness are all side effects of the swampy heat this summer. 

You beam at him and Namjoon thinks you’re an angel. You lean up onto his chest to place a soft kiss onto his lips and Namjoon thinks about when he’s going to be thrown back out of his head. 

“Wanna go home?” He asks, nudging at the sky, which is already filled up with first streaks of the sunset. Purple hues and pinks and blues that all blend together nicely. You watch the sky for a moment.

“Never.” You offer no explanation after that and Namjoon doesn’t pry. He feels like he understands you, which is scarier than any other encounter he’s faced, in real life and in here. You stare up at him more intensely, and a shudder of fear runs down Namjoon’s back. “I just want to stay here forever,” You enunciate, like you want him to remember this. “Just Y/N and Namjoon.” 

Something tugs in his chest and Namjoon screams in his head, no. Longer. Not now. He slips away, gone, disappeared from the world before he can even tell you how pretty your name is. And he awakens back at the bus, where the driver is shaking him and yelling at him to get out. 

Namjoon walks home in the rain, yelling out your name in happiness until his neighbours come over politely asking him to shut the fuck up. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… Y/N?” He keeps repeating the name over and over again, enough to make Seokjin annoyed, who has moved away from Namjoon’s desk to the sofa in his office just to escape the random spiel that Namjoon is hurriedly rushing through. 

“I can’t find a single Y/N in here!” Namjoon cries frustratingly, and the corners of Seokjin’s eyes soften in something that is either pity or empathy. He discards his non-fiction novel about drag queens and wigs to come over and clap a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. 

“My friend, my crazy, idiotic, slightly insane friend.” Seokjin bends down. “You’ve checked all your yearbooks, social media, archives, newspapers… Have you perhaps considered that this person wasn’t that important? Just a passing stranger?”

“No.” Namjoon shoots down stubbornly. “They appear far too often for them not to be important.” So Seokjin shrugs, leaving Namjoon to, once again, search through the Facebook friends of a friend of a friend of a friend. 

But no Y/N’s pop up, and he’s wondering if Y/N was just a nickname. Was it even your real name? With a sigh and one single (rather impressive) agitated brow wave, he lets go and spills. He tells Seokjin about how he finally learned your name, about the places you’ve been together and how much you adore street food. 

He appreciates Seokjin for being a good friend, for sitting there and not interrupting to call him a crazy person, even if he is most certainly thinking about it in his head. Because Seokjin, at least, knows about a miniscule part of Namjoon’s tragic life. He doesn’t understand, but he gets it, and that’s all Namjoon needs in a friend. 

He doesn’t tell Seokjin about how soft and pillowy your lips feel against his, he doesn’t tell you how much he longs to do unspeakable things to you when you show up in those blue short shorts. He definitely doesn’t tell him how much he loves your name. 

Seokjin suggests a number of things. That perhaps you are a character from long ago, or maybe a passing stranger Namjoon once had a summer fling with. You may be someone long forgotten like a mutual friend in high school or college. He also suggests a psychiatric hospital to screw his head back on (as a joke, Namjoon’s pretty sure.) 

But none of those seem right. Namjoon does his best to explain, he really does. For an award winning journalist and aspiring writer, he does just about a terrible job of trying to string his words together. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back onto the sofa, already spacing out. Namjoon weakly cries out that he knows you. He really does - he just doesn’t remember how, or why. 

Like a puzzle with a few missing pieces. 

He wonders when and if the missing pieces will ever make their way over to him. 

Namjoon gives up and flops down onto the sofa next to Jin, who squeaks out various protests about how heavy he is and how stupidly huge his arms have gotten after he started working out, along the lines of comparing him to Jungkook and calling him a gym rat. 

As usual, Namjoon doesn’t listen. 

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of falling to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The cursed Click echoes out and suddenly, the world spins around, the axis breaks and he’s physically thrown into another time, another place… another memory that he can’t seem to recall. His stomach lurches, his head hurts and there’s a small breeze flowing in. 

For a short moment, the loops of space and time are completely open to him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. It flips his mind completely upside down and boom. He’s in a specific, random time and place. His body feels light, and every step he takes, he can physically feel it: He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Everything feels different. Even the air is more smoky, because something in this world is suddenly wrong, and it’s him. 

The next time he meets you, he is in just about the worst place to fall. Sitting in a press conference, his stomach drops and he’s dreading the fall. Namjoon can already hear his boss screaming at him, and he desperately tries to root himself to his seat, typing whatever the assemblyman is yapping on and on about. About farming and agriculture and tax cuts… 

Click. 

He can distantly hear the assemblyman candidate talk about corrupt government workers as he’s thrusted out of his world and into another. 

The memory he has the pleasure to be in this time is something not too unfamiliar. For a second, he thinks if this is just a normal day of him in his cramped, tiny city apartment. Until he turns around and realises you’re lying right next to him, sound asleep and nuzzling into the side of his neck. 

The air is crisp. It’s spring, not winter anymore, and he can hear the flower petals outside his apartment complex falling lightly on the ground. This, Namjoon thinks, may just be the best memory he’s been in. The press conference and his life and his boss slips his mind and he cradles you in his chest, holding you closer and closing his eyes shut. 

“Mm?” You mumble, half asleep. “You’re suffocating me.” You hoarsely call out, and Namjoon releases you with an insincere apology. He brushes the hair out of your hair and grins, framing you in his head. He reaches to his alarm clock, which is right next to his bed as it always is to check the time. 

April 1st, 2017. 

Oh god, Namjoon winces. This means he still has that god awful haircut right now. He reaches up to feel his head, and sure enough, the horrible slicked back bleached hair is still there, an unfortunate result of his friend Hoseok daring him to drunk dye his hair. 

“You’re awake?” He asks you, and you nod slowly. 

He wonders if this memory precedes or follows the one he had with you last time, and he desperately hopes things are going in chronological order. He wants to know you just as much as you know him. Namjoon naively prays to whatever deity that controls his dreamworld: Please follow things step by step, follow the clock. 

You roll around, saying something he can’t really catch. He asks you what you said and for the first time today, you peel open your eyes directly facing him. Namjoon’s heart almost falls out of his ass, seeing your eyes bore into his own. 

“Where’s my morning kiss?” You ask cutely, nudging his nose with your own button nose. 

“Right here.” He finds himself saying, leaning in to close the inches in between your two faces. You taste like hotteok, even early in the morning. You taste like a spring day and a never ending forever. As your lips capture his and his everything is consumed by thoughts of you, Namjoon begs himself to kiss you harder. 

His past self declines politely, and Namjoon thinks about whether this counts as himself being controlled if he himself is still controlling what he says and does. 

In that moment, listening to your slow breathing and someone across the street playing simple, melodic piano chords, Namjoon tells himself: Do not ever forget April 1st, 2017. You rise from the bed and some form of protest bubbles up from Namjoon’s mouth, to which you just laugh and drag him out of bed with the excuse of wanting breakfast. 

You push him into the bathroom, where he expects to meet his sad single grey towel and foggy mirror. You push him in front, and he cringes at the sight of his hair in the mirror. You sigh. 

“Calm down. The blonde looks sexy. You can dye it back black later.” He laughs, because it’s clearly not very sexy. For once, his past self is doing exactly what the current Namjoon is pleading him to do. Does it count as reliving your memories if someone else was living through them originally? But, he reminds himself while you hand him a green toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on both your toothbrushes, this is him. He lived through this once and he is just taking a trip down memory lane. 

The person who lived through this before was him. 

He has to remind himself many more times before it sinks in. 

You brush your teeth next to him, fluffing your hair and squinting in the mirror to wake yourself up. Without a second of hesitation, Namjoon brings the toothbrush up and starts to brush his teeth. Nothing has ever felt more domestic or right than this, despite the tentative steps and heavy lead feeling in his throat telling him he still isn’t supposed to be here. 

You spit out toothpaste in the sink to gargle your mouth and Namjoon mimics you exactly. Somehow, you find yourselves in the kitchen, giggling while making some sort of french toast with an abundance of cinnamon floating through the air. Which makes Namjoon cough and makes you laugh even harder. 

“This is a perfect morning.” You say, peering out the window to watch the city life slowly bustling to life. People scrambling out their doors, ushering their children or pets with them. People you don’t recognise going on walks or runs. Mailmen and delivery people dropping off packages and people yelling into their phones as they hurriedly walk along the sidewalk. 

And you and Namjoon, calmly staying in your pajamas while frying toast on the pan. 

“Is something burning?” You ask, sniffing the air, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold. 

“Oh, shit!” 

You smile and shake your head while Namjoon attempts to save the blackened piece of bread to no avail. He catches sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, even as you chastise him about watching the stove and ranting on about how you’re never going to trust him in the kitchen again. Namjoon watches your pink lips, stained with a brown mudge of cinnamon french toast mixture, which lifts up and your head falls back, hair flowing around your head like a halo. 

Your laugh plays out in front of him in slow motion, and absentmindedly, he thanks that deity he prayed to for slowing this moment down. Because if there’s anything he yearns most to remember, it’s the way you laugh. A chuckle makes its way out of his own throat as well, and he’s not sure who’s in control at the moment. 

Himself or himself in the past?

Either way, they both did the right thing. Namjoon forgets. He forgets the life he has back home, he forgets Seokjin’s warnings, he forgets that he has at least a hundred articles waiting for him at work to be written. He forgets that this world is nothing but a chance for him to follow the footsteps of what he once did, with no control to say or do anything he wishes to do himself. 

But, oh, he really can’t bring himself to care. 

Those piano chords from before blend together beautifully, and you scrape the black toast into the garbage can, still teasing him relentlessly, and oh. Oh, this is what it means to have a home. You made this junk of a house into a home, and he feels like he has to return here. This is where he’s meant to return to, everyday. Each time. 

You turn around after discarding the toast and with a bright smile, you ask him to kiss you again. Namjoon thinks that he doesn’t ever have the capability to deny you when you smile like that, so he complies and crashes his lips onto yours. 

The lead, heavy feeling in his throat is still weighing him down. Except Namjoon isn’t sure whether it’s weighing him down to this world or the real world.

 The cursed deity pulls him back, pulling him through the time and space back to his own responsibilities and life. His heart is wrenched out and he reaches out, trying to grasp your hand for the last time. He falls back to his own world in a hospital bed and an IV attached to his arm with half a piece of french toast dangling in his mouth and another promise he makes with himself to meet you again with a smile on his face. 

Memories… memories that he’s lived through but can’t remember. Memories he slips into to live momentarily through the actions and words of his old self. 

Somewhere along the line of diving back and forth his own life and this past one, he has forgotten which is which. 

“Most likely due to exhaustion. Lack of sleep, lack of rest. It’s quite common with working young adults, workaholics. I’m putting him on medical leave for the rest of the week. He needs a rest - He needed it yesterday. Don’t worry too much, Mrs. Kim. A long nap and a meal or two will fix him right back up.” Namjoon groggily registers the white walls and beeping noises, the chatter of doctors and nurses rushing around. 

He’s in a hospital, and a rush of fear runs straight through his blood. He sits up to eye his mother, sitting next to him and holding his hand. She shushes him, laying him back down on the bed, but all he can do is panic. 

“No, not here. Not here again.” He mumbles incoherently. His mother puts a hand over his eyes, shushing him again and telling him softly to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, he wants to get out of here. But his eyelids are already feeling heavy and he weakly fights against his body, but before he can even process it, his eyes are shut and he is asleep. 

Seeing her son close his eyes and drift off to sleep, Mrs. Kim turns back to the doctor. 

“I’m not surprised,” She starts. “He’s always worked himself to the bone. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about his brain.” The doctor cocks his head and looks through the papers which are clipped to a clipboard in his arms. 

“Ah, yes. I see he was in a car accident a few years ago.” Doctors are some of the most heartless people, and you can always tell how experienced a doctor is by how much sympathy they show. This doctor shows none at all, which must mean he’s been working for a long time. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kim.” The doctor continues, peering over Namjoon’s sleeping body. “I see he suffered light effects after the accident. Selective amnesia, no external damages to the skull. He didn’t suffer as much. In fact, I believe the doctor in charge believed that the amnesia was mostly due to the shock of the event. But he’s received treatment for PTSD since then, right?” 

Mrs. Kim nods. 

“Good. Doctor Park also noted at the time that his amnesia actually didn’t affect much of his memory. He couldn’t remember distant relatives or kindergarten friends, but that seemed to be the extent of his amnesia. Oh,” The doctor slipped through the clipboard. “He also couldn’t remember certain knowledge about philosophers such as Freud, which he was, quote, ‘devastated over’ un-quote.” 

Mrs. Kim stays silent. 

“So, you don’t have to worry too much. Best thing your son could do for his well being is rest. And a therapist if he has a relapse or shows some symptoms such as sleep difficulties or nightmares, or physical signs like fatigue and nausea.” 

Mrs. Kim nods. “Thank you, doctor.”

That’s it, and she turns back to her son, with her hand in his. She stays there, unmoving until he opens his eyes, mumbling incoherent questions and asking his mother why he is in the hospital again, demanding to be discharged immediately. Her heart breaks a little, small cracks form for her beloved son and she kisses him on the forehead, telling him he’d be out of here in no time. 

“What did you see?” She asks quietly, and Namjoon is surprised. She never asks him about his memory walks. It’s taboo to mention it in his household. Not even his sister is comfortable talking about it. “Anything? At all? You passed out at a rather unfortunate time, I heard.” She continues. 

“Nothing much.” Namjoon replies, lying through his teeth and trying to justify it with the sight of your laugh. He leans back and closes his eyes once more, bringing up his memories of you and your bedhead. He tries to fill the gap inside of him with thoughts of you, as if that can make up for the empty feeling that he’s forgetting something. 

In the hospital, staring at a white ceiling and glaring lights, Namjoon is left to think about what’s happening to his head. During the end of his rather short stay, he comes up with a terrifying conclusion. One that scares him more than he could imagine, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He’s falling in love with you. 

He voices out this concern to Seokjin when he visits after his mother leaves. Seokjin stays silent, mumbling out an apology that feels like the wrong thing to say. The elder boy can only look at his friend with sadness in his eyes, telling him that someone as great as Namjoon shouldn’t be suffering so much pain. Namjoon jokes that a witch must have cursed him when he was born. 

None of the two friends laugh. 

This routine continues on and on, without Namjoon dwelling too much on it. Which is so much unlike Namjoon, whose main personality trait is overthinking about the smallest things. He lets the flow of time and space take him wherever they wish to plop him down. He lets the evil deity toy with his heart and wrench him away whenever you smile the largest. 

It hurts right after he is torn away from you, but he’s filled with so much joy in the moment that he can’t bring himself to do anything else about it. Even if he wanted to do something without it, he has no idea where on earth he might start. 

Sometimes he questions the validity of his memories. What is real, what is fake? He still can’t answer, and this is what he spends most of his time wondering about. The memories he has with you don’t make sense. Those are large gaps in his life that he seems to have no recollection of. 

He goes everywhere with you. 

One day he showed up on November 5th, 2015. 

The next day he jumped to August 23rd, 2017. 

Another time, he was thrown into March 15th, 2016. 

None of it makes sense. Are they not memories? He thinks. There’s no possible way he’s spent this much of his life with you and can’t recall any of it. What is real - the world he spends with you, or the world where he always returns to by default?

And yet, nothing else can explain these short periods of blackouts. Ever since one day in some horrible hospital, he’s gone under and pulled and thrusted into some land where he has no control over his own hands. Everything else makes sense. This world, everything else is accurate from the settings to the props, with one anomaly in his memory. 

A character who goes by the name of Y/N. 

He could go the science-y logic route that he so often frequents, come up with theories that can somewhat explain these periods of time. Theories that include explanations such as hallucinations, or that Seokjin’s right and he’s finally gone crazy. You’re just a figment of his imagination, that this is all in his head and he’s out of his mind. 

But he rejects all those theories when he’s clicked into another memory. Somehow, he just understands. These are memories. These are memories he’s had with you, whether that was in a past life or in some sort of messed up alternate timeline where he’s actually happy. 

Is this a gift or another curse from this stupid deity?

He has too many questions. 

He cannot explain these memories using science, logic, common sense, or even using his own words. But in the moment, while you’re in his arms, he can feel it. He can explain it by describing the way you smell, like pancakes and fresh mint. He can explain it by describing the way you feel, like a warm marshmallow filling up his insides and consuming him. 

It’s cheesy, cringier than Seokjin’s dad jokes, but only he gets it. 

Namjoon is in his living room, switching channels on the TV and thinking about this when his stomach sinks again. He braces himself, and disappears. 

Click.

Seoul is freezing cold. The air is light and he is sitting on a bench on his college campus, rubbing his hands together and zipping up his huge jacket over his sweater. Namjoon shudders, his body not yet used to the bite of the cold compared to the warm breeze he was just enjoying. 

He sniffles, nose slightly red like some knockoff Rudolph and wanders around. His body pulls him to go to the right, despite the warm coffee shop being on the left. He shudders again and tries to protest, but his body won’t listen, standing up and walking over to the right with no particular destination in mind. Students are rushing around, complaining about the cold and talking about their next party or study session. 

Namjoon pulls himself forwards, and thank god this version of himself still has terrible tolerance for the cold, because he reaches up and pulls his beanie down over his ears, still wandering around aimlessly. Where are you going? Namjoon wants to scream out frustratingly. 

His brain doesn’t reply and Namjoon sulks. 

Eventually, he is pulled over to another bench, outside in the cold, and he sits down, deeply resenting himself and wondering why on earth he just stood up from one bench to walk to another one. If anything, it’s colder here. He watches the students that pass by for a minute or two, thinking that this is the most boring memory he’s ever been in. 

There is no snow falling, but almost everything on campus is lined with a sheet of ice or cold steam. Namjoon nuzzles deeper into his own clothes, cursing himself for not being able to go buy another sweater or something to fight the extreme cold. 

Suddenly, you appear in front of him and Namjoon perks up. There you are. He thinks. Finally. You come over and sit down, holding something in your hands. He smiles, waiting for you to speak up and greet him with a kiss that will surely warm him up, but you silently sit next to him, ignoring him. Namjoon urges himself to say something, but instead, he continues to watch the students bustling through campus grounds without looking at you. 

Are we fighting? Is Y/N mad at me? 

This is excruciatingly frustrating, Namjoon bites his tongue and thinks. Why can’t he just say something? Abruptly, something lands on his jacket with a splat and he straightens up, snapping his neck towards you, who is looking at the yogurt splat on his jacket with a look of terror. 

“Oh my gosh!” You squeak out, quickly setting your yogurt aside and reaching for some tissues in your purse. “Oh, god, oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, let me-” Namjoon frowns, taking his hands out of his pockets to thumb at his jacket, debating whether he wants to take it off or not. 

You lean over, pawing at his jacket and wiping the yogurt off of his jacket. “I’m so sorry!” 

“No, don’t worry.” Namjoon says, chuckling. He reaches for another tissue, helping you get the yogurt off of him. “It’s no big deal.” The yogurt is mostly wiped off and you side eye him with the unmistakable look of guilt filling your eyes. Namjoon laughs again. 

“It’s fine, really! No, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m literally so sorry. Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Laundry? I can, um, wash it for you! I’m not the best at laundry, but it’s the least I could do?” 

Namjoon briefly wonders why you’re being so polite. 

“No, it’s fine.” The words tumble out his mouth again before he can process it. “Really, this jacket is old, anyway.” Not really, Namjoon thinks. It feels really new. “But who the hell eats cold yogurt in this kind of weather?” He jokes. “You sure you’re not a demon?”

You freeze, terrified before realising he was cracking a joke. “Oh. Hah! Yeah, no, I guess I just really like yogurt.” You offer lamely, and you break out into a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess I kind of am a psycho for eating it right now. It’s freezing today.” 

“God, tell me about it.” Namjoon says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. 

“Thanks for not going bonkers on me. This jacket looks insanely expensive.” 

“Not really.”

“I’m Y/N.” You greet, holding a hand out for him to shake. I know, Namjoon thinks with a secret smile, but everything makes sense now. You don’t know him yet. To you in this moment in time, he’s just a random stranger who didn’t blow up on you after spraying some yogurt onto you. To him, you’re… you’re… 

“Oh, um, I’m Namjoon.” He says, hurriedly taking a hand out of his pocket to shake your outstretched hand. Your fingers meet and Namjoon swears a small zap just went through his hand. 

“Namjoon. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.” You say with a small smile, yogurt already long forgotten on the bench beside you two. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He says in return, even though he doesn’t mean it. He already knows you, he knows you better than everyone. He knows your favourite food is Korean street food, and you always wake him up with kisses and your favourite colour is periwinkle and you absolutely hate abalone with more passion than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

But this is your first time seeing him, ever, he reminds himself. This is your meet cute. This single moment set off the events in the next god knows how many years. This is the first time he ever had your name grace his tongue. This is the first time you’ve seen him. 

Another moment to treasure. You let go of his hand, after realising you two have been shaking hands for much longer than the socially acceptable rate of hand shaking. Blushing, either from the cold or humiliation, you sit, turn back around, grabbing a hold of your yogurt once more. 

Suddenly, Namjoon finds himself blurting out: “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee?” You look over curiously, pointing to yourself like you can’t believe he’s asking you out, because you don’t know that you’re all he ever thinks about at any given moment in any given day. “You’ll probably freeze your ass off if you keep eating that yogurt.” He jokes, pretending like this is all because he’s caring about how cold you are and not how cute or incredible or kind you are. 

“Sure.” You say, nodding shyly. He stands up, leading you to walk over to the left where the campus coffee shop is. Along the way, you throw the yogurt cup in the trash. 

“You can’t bring food brought from outside into a shop, right?” You ask. 

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He stays there until night takes over the sky and one single twinkling star in the sky is signalling that it’s time to go home. Possibly the longest time he’s ever spent in a memory. He keeps glancing at the clock, praying that he gets one more minute with you, one more second, one more moment. 

At any time, he could be pulled out of this world, and he needs to make the most of it. You tell him about your childhood bedroom and your major. You tell him about the love you have for pancakes, and how much you want a puppy even though it’s prohibited in the on campus dorms. He nods, pretending like this is all new information even though it’s not, and he’s known all of this for the longest time. He knows you better than you know yourself, which he keeps to himself. 

In return, he tells you about his own childhood bedroom, which was adorned with posters of western hip hop rappers. He tells you about his passions for writing and music, that if he didn’t major in journalism, he’d be studying music production in school. He tells you that he’s obsessed with philosophy, and in all honesty, is a bit of a nerd. 

Instead of laughing or pulling a face, you nod and smile, saying that you think he should tell you more about philosophy on a second date. 

You leave the coffee shop with a small goodbye, and even though he desperately wants to, Namjoon can’t kiss you. 

He gets pulled back after you disappear pass the corner of the street, and the world morphes into a huge motion blur. When he gets pulled back into his living room, the TV is playing late night TV shows already. Namjoon checks the time. He was pulled in for five hours, the longest he’s ever been in that world. 

After that, no matter how much more he prays and begs, he never stays any longer than that. 

Three days later, Namjoon suddenly pops into Hong Kong, which is hotter than anything he’s ever felt. The streets are heavy with people, squabbling in cantonese while selling raw meats in a wet market. The sun is glaringly bright, and Namjoon starts to sweat almost instantaneously. Taxis and huge buses drive past, Namjoon jumps to a side only to find a vast ocean. He’s at the harbour front. 

The smell of food, of egg tarts and pineapple buns and meat dumplings along with other Hong Kong delicacies waft through the air, combined with the salty air of the sea. It makes for a strange combination that confuses his senses but works nonetheless. 

He thought he knew a city like Seoul, but this is a true city. This is busy and fast paced like he’s never even seen before. People shove each other aside to catch the bus, dogs are yapping everywhere and he soaks it all in before the thought enters his head.

What the hell is he doing in Hong Kong?

It’s like every time he wonders aloud, you pop up. “I’ve been looking for you.” You say, echoing the words he said to you that day in the streets of Seoul. 

“I was exploring!“ He says defensively, and you roll your eyes. 

“Come on.” You say, walking along the harbour front. 

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Namjoon asks, the words spilling out and surprising himself. Are you mad at him? You’ve never been mad at him before, not in the memories he’s seen. He hasn’t ever seen you fight with him, and immediately, he wants to apologise, fix things before he’s pulled back out and he has to live with the guilt and overthinking of whether you’re still mad at him for the next week. 

“Can’t believe you’re mad at me during our vacation.” Namjoon says, and that’s why he’s in Hong Kong, he realises. He’s on vacation. How strange. Namjoon thinks back to when the last time he took a break from work and the only thing he can think of is when that doctor put him on medical leave not too long ago. Oh no, you’re mad at him on holiday?

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You retort back, and Namjoon has never heard your voice this curt. “Just sit around pretending like everything's okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon replies. “You act like this is my fault!” 

“It is your fault!” You cry out indignantly, and Namjoon knows that, but why? What did he do? What did you do? “Is this even a vacation?”

“Yes!” Namjoon cries out again in response, and you shake your head. 

“You promised, Namjoon.” You say like it’s a warning. 

“Yes, I know,” Namjoon says, even though he doesn’t and really, what on earth did he do? “But this is out of my hands! I can’t just say no, you’re not looking at this from my point of view.”

“You’re not looking at this from my point of view!” You argue back, and Namjoon looks around, realising that this squabble is attracting a small crowd of chinese people, gathering around to watch the free entertainment along the sidewalk of Victoria harbour. He awkwardly laughs, raising his hand and bows, a universal sign of apology, grabbing your hand and walking to the other direction. 

“Come on, I’d rather not have the whole city witness our fight.”

“Oh, so this is a fight now?” 

“What? Yes!” Namjoon says exasperatedly. “How else would you classify this argument?” 

Once he makes it to somewhere with at least a sliver of privacy, he turns around with his brows furrowed and a glare etched on his features. Why do you look so angry? Namjoon chastises himself. Just relax, relax, relax. As usual, his body doesn’t listen. 

“Why are you so mad at this?” Namjoon asks, and feels a flow of relief go down his spine. Finally. 

“It’s not just this instance, Joon. I know work is important, but sometimes it feels like you put literally anything else above me! Like last time? You bailed on our date, like, at least twice. You keep saying you can’t say no, but you can. You have that right, Namjoon.” 

Namjoon’s heart softens a little bit. His workaholic tendencies ended up biting him in the ass after all. Sighing he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m not prioritising work over you, baby.” He tries to explain, and tries to ignore how his heart sinks when your eyes turn stony at the sound of the pet name he often uses to address you. 

“It’s just important to me as well, okay? It’s not my fault my boss heard I was going to Hong Kong and insisted I come to interview some investors about Hong Kong’s economy.” He explains slowly. “It couldn’t take more than a single day to get everything organised and tidied up.” 

“But-!” You huff angrily, spitting out your words. “You don’t understand! You keep doing this, Namjoon. You keep working, working, working. It’s been this way since college. It’s like you’ll die if you just take a break to come talk to me. I even went over to your office to have lunch with you last week and they told me you were in a meeting.” 

“It was important!” Namjoon insists and he can feel things sinking and getting worse and worse with every word he says. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You can’t expect me to put you in front of all of my responsibilities. I’m sure you have things you can’t give up for me too.”

Hearing that felt like a slap to the face to both you and Namjoon, and he’s screaming at himself internally, why would you say something so, so, stupid?

“Excuse me?” Your broken voice rings out and Namjoon’s accusatory finger falls. 

“Wait.” He mumbles, fumbling with his hands. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. Wait, I-” 

“Fine!” You yell angrily. “You think nothing’s more important than work? You think I haven’t given up anything for you, Kim Namjoon? Because I’d quit and give up anything for you, you asshole.” You bite out, tears desperately trying not to fall. “You fucking asshole.” You say, before turning back around to weave through the crowd. 

“No, wait, baby!” He calls out, and even he knows that he’s messed up. Messed up big time. That was more hurtful than any cuss word or insult he could’ve ever said. “Kim fucking Namjoon, you idiot.” He mumbles to himself. Seeing you cry is more painful than anything else in the world, Namjoon thinks. He’s not ever going to see that sight again if he can help it. 

He walks forward, trying to find you. Maybe you went back to the hotel, or went to look at the sea to clear your head. He thinks he sees the back of your head for a second, and he reaches forward, clutching at air. He’s about to cry, and Namjoon has never seen himself be more pathetic. 

“Oh no, where are you?” He murmurs to himself like a crazed man. What if you were hurt somewhere? He needs to know you’re safe, he needs to know you’re okay, he needs to make everything better. With each step, the lead feeling in his throat grows heavier and heavier until he feels like it’s sunk to his chest. He wants to kneel down, he wants it to stop hurting, but he can’t. 

He must aimlessly follow his shell to do whatever he is doing now. 

The lead feeling continues to grow, and Namjoon feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not supposed to be here, he reminds himself. But he has to find you first, then he can leave. Then he can go, but where are you? He wants to cry, he wants to breathe. 

Namjoon tells himself to gasp for air, but he cannot. He tells himself if this is the last time he ever sees you, he needs to see you smile. He needs to see you laugh. 

Like the pattern in the rest of his meaningless life, an evil deity always pulls him away from the ones he loves when he needs them most. He feels the lead feeling being lifted and pure panic races to Namjoon’s head. He tries to croak out no. He tries to resist, he shoves people aside and calls out your name. But no one answers him, and the cruel deity laughs at his demise. 

He is too weak, too weak to control himself. 

Namjoon is plucked out of the world and transported back to his bedroom with the threads of time slowly ravelling and tangling themselves around his neck, all while he reaches forward, only to grasp at air and pretend in his head that everything’s alright. 

When he reaches his bedroom and wakes up, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits, all while longing for the warmth of your lips.

-

Walking around dazedly, Namjoon somehow manages to make his way to Seokjin and Jimin’s apartment, knocking and hoarsely asking them to open, open up please. Because he’s not sure he can hold on to another night alone. Jimin opens the door instantly and catches Namjoon in his arms, frantically calling for Seokjin to come fast. 

They lay him on the couch, hearts slowly breaking and trying to convince themselves their friend will be fine as they watch Namjoon whimper in his sleep. 

Namjoon wakes to the smell of breakfast, of bacon on the stove and Jimin chattering around while watering his plants. He gets up, headache pounding and throat sore. Seokjin wordlessly hands him a few pills and a glass of water, while Jimin plates up breakfast, placing the sausage, eggs and toast separately on the plate because Namjoon can’t stand it when food on his plate touches. 

Silently, the three friends eat. Nobody speaks until Namjoon clears his throat and looks up. 

“Thank you.“ He whispers. 

“What are friends for?” Jimin says. 

Namjoon wonders why he’s got such amazing friends. Jin replies that he was born perfect and God created him like this, so Namjoon shouldn’t dwell too much on it. Jimin and Namjoon both throw a spoon of scrambled eggs in his direction simultaneously, high fiving without missing a beat when Jin lets out a protest of unjust behaviour. 

 As the three friends sit quietly, Namjoon says: “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m glad you’ve realised.” Seokjin replies offhandedly. 

“I don’t think I can keep going between these worlds. I think it’s making me lose my mind.” 

Jimin stills. Seokjin stops washing the dishes and turns off the faucet. 

“Do… do you know how to stop it?” Jimin asks hesitantly. Namjoon shakes his head, and Seokjin sighs, in deep thought, which is a strange and rare sight to see itself. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.” Seokjin says casually. Jimin agrees and the faucet comes back on, Seokjin going straight back to washing the pan he used to fry up the scrambled eggs. Jimin unplugs the toaster and Namjoon sits, smiling at his beloved friends. 

“You can borrow some of my shirts.” Jimin calls from the bathroom. “You know, if you want to stay over a couple more nights. Feel free.”

“Make yourself at home and shit.” Seokjin mutters, waving his hand around sarcastically. Namjoon almost bursts out into tears of happiness, but he decides to hold it in until Seokjin doesn’t have access to his phone and won’t put Namjoon’s breakdown on instagram live. 

The next day, the entire gang comes over, all with varying degrees of understanding what the hell is going on with Namjoon. For example, Yoongi pretty much knows as much as Seokjin does, who still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Taehyung was just told Namjoon’s been feeling down because God knows that boy has a big mouth and definitely can’t keep a secret to save his life. 

Seokjin supplies homemade snacks and burgers fresh off the grill, Yoongi brings over his unlimited Netflix and HBO account passwords he probably stole off of some innocent family member to watch Disney movies, Taehyung comes over with Yeontan clutched to his side because that’s the group's emotional support dog. Jungkook and Hoseok offer up their extensive alcohol collection and bring over some quality wines. Jimin, after a long three hours of consideration, gives up his lucky plushies and fluffy blankets to build a fort. 

For one night, the seven boys crowds around the television, watching everything from The Lorax to Tangled to Frozen and bawling their eyes out when Anna turned to ice (spoiler alert!!!) For one night, the fully grown men all turn back into their 8 year old selves, playing video games and staying up as late as they wanted even though they all had responsibilities to tend to the next day. 

When they all awake from their mega-sleepover the next morning, the remaining six friends all insist they just felt like watching Disney movies and drinking wine suddenly. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon’s been feeling a little off in the past few days. 

Absolutely not. 

Namjoon’s eyes brim with tears and he tackles all the boys to the ground in one incredibly coordinated group hug, ignoring Yoongi’s complaints of being anti-social and that his love language is not physical touch. 

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook mutters. “Now could you please get the fuck off?” 

“Never.” Namjoon says, muffled because he says it while his head is buried in Hoseok’s chest. 

“Love you.”

“... Love you too.” 

The next time he falls, Namjoon thinks he’s prepared. Ready, not to get attached, ready to make clear of what belongs in his world and what doesn’t, after lots of pep talks and therapy sessions with Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi, who is surprisingly helpful with shooting down ideals of toxic masculinity and talking about mental health. 

He’s wrong- he’s not ready, but he doesn’t know that yet. 

Click. 

He’s come to resent that stupid sound. In an instant, he’s dropped into a car, which is strangely familiar. You are next to him, driving, and thank goodness, because everyone knows Namjoon cannot drive. If he were dropped in the driver’s seat, things may have taken a turn for the worse. 

“You want to play some music?” You ask, and Namjoon nods. 

“Yeah sure, turn up the radio.” You reach over to flip a switch and a pretty tune fills the car, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small vessel. You bring your hand down and interlace it with Namjoon’s, who is suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. 

“You’re driving, baby.” He says, and a great sense of relief floods back into his system when he sees you smile at the pet name. He hopes this moment is after the Hong Kong trip. He hopes he did the right thing and made up with you afterwards. 

“We always do this. When there’s not many cars around, anyway.” You hum along with the music. “Nobody’s on the road tonight.” Sure enough, there are no cars in sight and Namjoon sighs, curling his hand tight against yours. He looks out the window. 

“No stars tonight, either.” 

You snort. “There are never any stars around the city, babe.”

“Ahh.” He huffs playfully. “Fuck global warming.”

“Fuck capatalism.” You add on, and he nods, wholeheartedly agreeing. 

“I love you.” He murmurs. 

“I love you too.” You reply with a sweet smile and Namjoon just realises that no, he’s not ready to let go of you, because his heart still flips like crazy when he hears you say that. He’s so unbearably, horribly, absolutely in love with you. Not in a creepy or obsessive way like he was probably in love with you a few months ago, but so in love with you. 

He wonders why on earth he’s so drawn to you, but as usual, there’s no definite answers to his questions. Namjoon thinks about how he likes the way you cook pancakes, and how he likes the way you always reach down to pet a puppy no matter where you are or where you need to be. He loves the way you’d give up anything to defend the people you love. He admires your bravery and your courage. He admires the way you present yourself to the world. 

He loves you simply because you are who you are, unapologetically and unashamed, which is something he never had the guts to do. But he gets pretty damn near to being fully and truly himself when he’s around you, so maybe that’s why he’s so in love with you. 

Namjoon feels bad for a moment because he realises his love isn’t selfless or humble like the ones he sees on dramas and TV. His love for you is shamefully selfish, because he needs you more than anything else. He voices this out to you in a long speech while you keep your eyes on the road. 

“I need you more than you think I do, Joon.” You say, while laughing, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether to feel offended or relieved. 

“You think your love for me can trump my love for you?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

“One hundred percent.” You drawl out, and this time, Namjoon’s offended. 

“Excuse me? Who the fuck?” He asks, sitting up. You laugh bashfully, enamoured but mostly just entertained by your needy boyfriend who is very willing to prove how much more he loves you right now. “I love you way more than you love me!” 

You laugh, your eyes still fixed on the road. “Oh no, please, we’re not arguing about this.”

“Yes we are!” Namjoon demands with a huge smile on his face. “How could you possibly think you love me more than I love you?” Your laugh only grows louder. 

“I don’t even know if you’re being serious or just joking around anymore.” You say through bit back laughter. 

“I’m being dead serious.” Namjoon softens for a bit, laying a hand on your thigh. “You’re my everything. You’re my future, you’re my present, you’re my past.” A part of you wants to tell him he’s being cheesy again, but the romantic in you who doesn’t want to hurt your boyfriend immediately shuts the realist in you up. 

“That was sweet.”

“I try my best.”

You turn your head back to the road and he keeps his eyes on you. On the hoodie you’re wearing, which definitely doesn’t belong to you and he now has a certain inkling of where his missing hoodie went. He likes how it swallows you up. He likes that you have something of his on you. 

Not as a weird mark of possession, but he likes that you’re comfortable with wearing something that essentially brands you as his. But you are his as much as he is yours and wow, Namjoon thinks in his head, is this the real Namjoon or the past Namjoon speaking? And his brain replies that it’s both. 

“I love you.” He repeats, because as much as he seems to say it, he can’t seem to express how much he loves you (hint: it’s a large amount). 

“I love you too.” You say right back. 

He wants to say it more. He wants to say it better. He wants to repeat it until you get annoyed and tell him to shut up, he wants to let you know how much he loves you. But his lips are sealed, and he can’t say another word. Instead of what he wants to say, the words that come out his mouth are, admittedly, just as true. 

“You’re pretty.” 

You giggle. “Did you just realise?” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve always been pretty. You were pretty on the day we met. You were pretty the day we fought in Hong Kong. You were pretty the first time you stayed over. You’re pretty when you cry, you’re pretty when you… I wanted to think of something that rhymes with cry, but it slipped my mind and now everything’s ruined.” 

You laugh, a real, huge one this time. He can always tell when your laugh is real or not. 

“Thank you.” You say. “For the record, you’ve always been pretty too.” 

Namjoon leans back into his seat. “Damn straight.” 

“When d’you think you first fell in love with me?” You ask, genuinely curious, and Namjoon thinks for a moment. He thinks about what the Namjoon in this moment would say, and he thinks about what the present Namjoon would say. 

If he had verbal control, what would he say? That he fell in love with you during the very first memory he was thrusted in? But that wouldn’t be true, and that wouldn’t be honest. He fell in love with you during the memory of when you met? But that wouldn’t be true either. He fell in love with you in between memories, when all he could think about was the next time you could be in his arms, or how much he longed for your touch. 

He tries to say that, he really does. 

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is: 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a specific moment. Maybe it was that time we went to the movies and watched Coco while crying over popcorn, or maybe it was that time we went to Disneyland.” Namjoon’s heart slouches, because he doesn’t know any of those moments. He hasn’t been in any of those memories. 

“But I don’t think falling in love is a one moment, time stops kinda thing. I was always falling in love with you. From the time you spilled yogurt on my jacket to right now, where you’re asking me when I fell in love with you. I’m going to be falling in love with you tomorrow and the day after that, until the day where we shrivel up and die from old age.”

Oh, good answer, Namjoon thinks. 

“Good answer.” You say. “I think I’d say the same thing.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Namjoon sighs out. 

Something strikes Namjoon’s heart. It’s not the lead feeling or the heavy weight he’s grown used to. It’s strange, like a wave of deja vu. And suddenly, Namjoon stops thinking. He glances over to the control board to look at the time, which proudly reads: December 3rd, 2018. 

So that’s why he’s always had the feeling that these were memories. Why he was so adamant to believe these things really had happened to him. Even more strangely, what feelings strike him then is not panic, nor fear. It’s a strange flow of calmness that rushes through his veins. He looks over at you again, driving now with both hands on the steering wheel. 

He wonders why the deity would make him witness something as cruel and horrible as this, and he gets the weird feeling that this will be one of his last memories to enter. Namjoon looks at the dark blanket covering the sky and sadly thinks that the deity could have at least placed a few stars in the sky on this night. As consolation, or perhaps an apology. 

Something is ticking in the background, and Namjoon has no idea if it’s coming from the car or if he’s imagining it. Flashing memories go through his mind, so fast he can barely register them as images or moving pictures before they are gone again. Your smile, your laugh, your first date, your second date. The day he asked you to move in, the day you told him ‘I love you’ for the first time and he literally fainted. 

The day he came to pick you up from work for the first time, the night where he first laid his hands on you and kissed all your worries away. 

It comes fast and hurtles towards the two of you, but Namjoon doesn’t even see it coming because all he is looking at is you. Your face, your lips, your eyes, trying to engrave it all in his memory. You yelp out something to him, which he doesn’t hear. Floating images spin around both your heads and a high pitched screech rings out, a spark of orange lighting up like a stack of fireworks. The dark van shoots forward and collides into the driver’s seat. 

The world collapses. It goes sideways, rotates then flips completely upside down, and the dark fog starts to eat up Namjoon’s eyesight. Oddly, nothing hurts. Perhaps because of the shock, or panic, but nothing on Namjoon’s body is in pain. Everything crashes, Namjoon’s head hits the window with force. Something breaks, glass cracks, people scream and he cannot tell which is which. Red and white flashes are all he can see before everything fades to grey and he can only reach around in the darkness, to find your hand. 

He clutches onto your unmoving, still hand desperately, trying to calm his jumping heartbeat. Are those sirens in the background he hears or is that his imagination? Is that your voice he hears or is that a hallucination? 

In the end, his final thought before leaving the world once again is a wish. A wish that he prays the deity will grant him. He hopes that in your final moments, you were not scared. 

He falls. 

When Namjoon arrives home, his entire body is numb. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing before he was clicked in. He opens his mouth and screams for a full minute without stopping. 

It feels good in a fucked up way. 

Namjoon has never been one for confrontation. Just ask his middle school bullies, who tormented him all they wanted because he wouldn’t do anything but put up with it. Just ask Mingyu from work, who keeps piling his unwanted projects and articles onto Namjoon because he never protests or complains to the higher-ups. 

But while walking towards his childhood home with the birds chirping and his hands placed casually in his pockets, confrontation is all he can think about. He lets himself in the door; his mother never locks it and walks in calmly. 

His mother is sitting on the couch, stitching up a sock which has a hole in it. 

“Mom. I’m home.” He says softly, and his mother greets him normally. Namjoon leans on the wall and his mother stares at him strangely, calling him over to sit and have some fruit. He declines, telling her he won’t be staying very long. “That car crash that happened two years ago.”

The needle in his mother’s hand stills. 

“They said I had selective amnesia, right?” 

The needle picks up speed, stitching faster and faster, his mother’s hand moving faster than light. 

“What did I forget again?” 

“What did you remember?” His mother asks, never one to beat around the bush. 

“Mom.” He says, firmly this time. “What did you do to me.”

The sock is torn apart in his mother’s hands. “Namjoon,” She starts and Namjoon already has a growing urge to shake the truth out of her. “When you got into that crash two years ago, you came out of it with very little injuries. We were all so relieved. When you woke up, you didn’t remember Y/N.” All that fills the air for another moment or two is the spongy sound of silence. 

The gap in this family became clearer than ever to Namjoon. He thinks about how everyone must have been in on the secret, even his sister. And he was left to suffer, wondering why his life seemed so empty after forgetting something he couldn’t clutch onto. 

“And what?” He demands, screaming and throwing his hands out of his pockets. “Do you think you can just keep something like that from me? The love of my life, and you just decide to erase them from my memory?” His mother stills and looks up at her son. 

“You didn’t remember Y/N. You lost contact with all your college friends, and then when I asked the doctor how selective amnesia worked,” His mother cleared her throat. “Sufferers often forget some parts of their memory. Relationships, talents, skills, certain areas or certain people.” His mother looks up directly in his eyes. “Sometimes, especially after going through a traumatic event, people forget certain parts of their memory as a coping mechanism. To erase bits of pain and regret.”

“I thought,” Her voice breaks and her face twists in regret and bad memories. “I thought maybe by forgetting her, I’d be saving you from more pain and hurt. I just wanted you to stop hurting”

Namjoon held eye contact with his mother for three full seconds before collapsing and gasping for air, lying with his head on her lap. All words of scolding, anger. All the confrontational tactics and all the accusations he’d thought of shooting towards her had gone. 

“Hurts.” He let out through large gasps of breaths. “Hurts, mom.” He lied there, with tears threatening to spill out his eyes for the rest of the night, with his mother caressing his hair and apologising to him with tears in her eyes. 

“Miss Y/N. I miss Y/N.” He hiccups out, and his mother wipes away his tears, but it feels different from when you used to do it. 

“I know, I know.” The woman looking down at her son wonders why she put him in so much pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” The night carries on like that, with the lights eventually dimming and the night covers up the light in the sky. The mother son pair repeat their grievances and apologies to each other until the sun comes back up, peeking through the curtains and extending out their warm embrace as if it wants to comfort the hurting humans. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin and co to come knocking on his door, sent by his mother who must have filled him in on everything, judging from the looks on their faces. It only takes one single glance at his friends, tilting their heads and all asking to come in for him to burst into tears. Ugly crying, with snot coming out of his nose and eyes bloodshot red from the nightmares. 

Jimin is the first to reach forwards and bring Namjoon into a hug. Soon after that, the six friends surrounded Namjoon, comforting him with the warmth of their arms and soft spoken words of encouragement. 

“You did well.” Someone mumbles into his hair. 

“We’re all proud of you.” Someone else says. 

Namjoon’s sweater sleeves are sopping wet with tears when he asks the boys to help him get into therapy. 

Things went on like that for another while. 

Therapy isn’t as bad as Namjoon had thought it might’ve been. He wasn’t forced to be vulnerable or open up or confront his worst fears. He certainly didn’t want to tell the truth about the world he’s thrusted in, for fear of getting thrown out of the building and into a mental institution. 

Even his mother didn’t believe him the first time he told her about it. She urged him to visit a doctor. How could a therapist who doesn’t even know him believe the nonsense he spouts? Even he himself wouldn’t believe himself if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Slowly, but surely, he began to open up, and to his surprise, there was no calling of hospitals or kicking him out. His therapist sat there and listened like everything he was saying was valid. 

He started eating again, mostly because of Seokjin, stuffing his creations down everyone’s throats every two seconds, claiming he needs opinions on his new recipes even though Namjoon’s fairly certain that the past three dishes of spaghetti were the exact same recipe. 

Namjoon started to workout again with Jungkook, much to the younger boy’s surprise and happiness. They talked about their own struggles while panting on the treadmill and spinner. Jungkook eventually tells him that he also has a secret he keeps from the rest of the guys, which is his high school sweetheart who broke his heart so horribly that he still feels hurt from it. 

Jungkook told him to cheer up though, because most of the pain fades away with time. It’s still there, ever as present, but other things will become more important to you and cover up a scar or a wound with blooming flowers. 

“Like us,” He said cheekily. “Your friends.” 

He talked to Yoongi most days of the week about nothing in particular. He enjoys the time with Yoongi because he’s the only one who never walks on eggshells around him. He still pelts him with pillows and roasts the outfits on Rupaul’s Drag Race with him. Taehyung and Jimin even helped him adopt a dog, an furry white Eskimo named Rap Mon which is literally now Namjoon’s entire life. 

Would likely kill all of his friends if one of them hurt his precious baby. 

Life is good, Namjoon learns. He gets better at his job. He never forgets you, but things seem to hurt less. But he gets relapses sometimes. Some days he wakes up screaming about the stupid lead filling up his throat. Sometimes he gets nightmares so intense he has to take medicine.

Therapy isn’t as bad as he painted it out to be, but recovery is ten times harder than he thought it would be. Some days all he can do is lie in bed or do nothing, thinking of you. 

His therapist tells him that his life is more than his past memories. Both Yoongi and Hoseok agree, when he pulled up a random conversation about it late at night. Hoseok says that there’s never going to be a time where he won’t think of you, or still love you. Perhaps not as much as he once did, but he’ll never forget about you. Yoongi tells him he’s healing, and that they’re all proud of him.

Namjoon meets his friends, for the first time in the two years he’s known them. Taehyung has an extraordinary and (slightly strange) obsession over art museums. He’s been to almost every single one in Korea, and he dragged Namjoon over to one an hour away in Gangnam in the summer. Jimin is an amazing dancer, which Namjoon never knew.

Until Jimin brought it up casually, looking through old footage of his dance competitions. “Nothing big,” He said. “I used to dabble.” Namjoon’s eyes bulged out of his head and he told Jimin if that was ‘dabbling’, then he was wasting away his talent. He asked Jimin why he never made a career out of dance, and Jimin replied casually:

“I feel like if I start to make money off of it, and I’ll lose my love for it. Now that I haven’t really has time for it... I dunno. I feel like I’ve lost the talent a little bit.“

Namjoon told his friend that talent is nothing but a bunch of practice and time dedicated to a certain skill. Nobody loses talent, people just get a little unfamiliar with it. Jimin turned around in deep thought and told him he may just have a point. 

Still, some days, he can do nothing but sulk around, feeling like a waste of space. Take today for an example. He walks down the street and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks, and he might be wrong, he thinks he sees you. The back of your head, anyways, but you’re wearing a red sweater with headphones over your ears and you turn around the corner. 

Namjoon panics. He drops his coffee, which splashes all over his leather shoes and runs. He runs past the corner and he doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing but all he can do is run, and the wind dries his tears faster and faster, and he forgets all over again, that you aren’t here, that there’s no way he can go back and see you unless it’s in his memories, which he doesn’t even know how to control. 

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, he knows something about this doesn’t seem right. That it couldn’t possibly be you, because he watched you go right in front of his eyes. He knows that in order to heal, he can’t chase after you or center his world around you. He knows all of that. But in that moment, he forgets that he still doesn’t remember everything about you. 

He forgets that you’re dead. 

And one day he’ll be free from this constant spinning. One day he won’t ever have to think twice when he cooks pancakes but that day and all that work he’s put in is the last thing on Namjoon’s mind and all he can think about is if that’s really you. 

He sprints faster and reaches out, misses your wrist by an inch and ends up clutching at nothing but air. He heaves a huge breath, about to clap his hand over your shoulder-

Click. 

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @bishuthot @s0seo @stonyiscanon @cecedrake2217​ 

[enchantedblackrose]

All the Pieces Pt 2

Sirius Black/Fem Reader

Warnings: light swearing, kinda long, unedited. I broke canon and will probably continue to do so in other parts now?

Part 1|| Part 3|| Part 4|| Part 5

Part 2 of ?

No more secrets from you I would lose to love you And I have never felt so Like a man that's been set free I can spread my arms now - Pieces, Dan Powell

Your questions wait longer still as you watch Sirius step hesitantly into your living room. It's not completely conscious, but you can't stop looking at him. He's so skinny and looks defeated, but then that fresh morning sunlight dances across his face. For a second you see glimpses of the boy you knew years ago.

Sirius clears his throat. The sudden noise startles you and you nearly jump.

"Shower!" You yell, though you're not sure why it comes out as a shouted demand.

"'m sorry, what?"

"I mean, you must want a hot shower?" 

Disbelief creeps onto his face. "I would love a hot shower so don't take this wrong, but you must have a hundred questions for me?"

"A thousand actually," you smile, "but they can wait."

Your compassion causes a warmth to fill Sirius that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your presence. He nods his gratitude, not trusting himself to speak. 

You direct him to the top of the stairs and inform him of the fresh towels in the linen closet and the second bedroom he may use. Before he closes the bathroom door, you tell him you'll see if you can scrounge up any other clothes for him.

"And then if you want," you say, "we can set those damned robes on fire." Sirius laughs as you walk away.

Never being one able to throw anything away, you know for certain you have some old clothing belonging to Sirius. Not trusting the old rickety steps of the pull down ladder, you apparate to the attic. 

"Lumos." The tip of your wand illuminates enough of the storage space that you easily find the light fixture and gently pull on the chain. You put out your wand.

Immediately you spot the desired trunk and the sight of it causes you to draw a sharp breath. Your habit of saving everything while at times like this is beneficial, it often brings you some pain. You sit in front of the trunk, opening it slowly.

Photos and a small midnight blue velvet jewelry box sit on the very top. You pick them up and hesitate before setting them aside. 

Next you pull out a large leather jacket, followed by men's pants, several shirts, including tees with the face of David Bowie, another with the Stones, and even one with ABBA. You throw your head back in laughter; you really do keep anything and everything, but this is why. Even these mundane items hold precious memories.

You set the clothes beside you and thumb through the photos: Sirius kissing you on the cheek, Sirius kissing James on the cheek, you and a very pregnant Lily at her baby shower, you and Remus laughing with a pink haired, confused Sirius in the background, Peter attempting to rollerblade, Sirius in his dog form, the marauders near the Whomping Willow at school, you and Sirius slow dancing at James and Lily's wedding. You sigh before gently placing them back in the trunk. You pick up the little box, the delicate fabric still plush and smooth in your hand. But you decide to return it to the trunk without opening  it. 

Sirius should be getting out of the shower soon and you want the clothes ready for him when he is. You turn off the light before disapparating to the guest bedroom. The clothes were well preserved and a few incantations later they are freshly laundered. You leave them at the end of the bed.

You retreat to the kitchen to prepare brunch. The food is mostly done when from above you hear the water stop, squeaks of doors opening and shutting, the creaking of floorboards and then Sirius barking a hearty laugh. You smile to yourself.

"You always were a pack rat," he says, appearing after a minute. You see he opted not to wear any of the muggle musician shirts, but instead he's in a solid black t-shirt and dark jeans. Both hang loosely on his thin frame. You say nothing about his playful quip, mostly because it's true. You indicate for him to sit in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. "That said where's your engagement ring?"

Your heart sinks as you think to that blue box upstairs.

"Sirius," you warn, your voice low.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Though you not wearing it was the second thing I noticed about you." He offers a smile, but you don't relent, refusing to dive into this conversation when there's still so many answers he owes. Seeing your hardened expression, he holds his hands up signaling he still means no offense.

You sigh. "What was the first thing?"

His grin widens into a full smile. "Your eyes of course. They're just as I remember. Beautiful,  full of goodness and emotions. I could always tell what you were feeling."

Despite yourself, you feel heat rise to your cheeks, blushing over Sirius Black's words like you were still a schoolgirl. It's mortifying to adult you and you take a large sip of orange juice to avoid eye contact.

Sirius smirks slightly, but begins to eat. The array of food mimics a small buffet: chocolate chip muffins, pancakes, bacon, toast, oatmeal and scrambled eggs. A glass pitcher with orange juice sits beside jams and butter.

Sirius takes more than a bit of everything. A mostly comfortable silence falls over the table as two of you eat. Even when you have finished, you refuse to bombard Sirius with questions, allowing him to enjoy the meal.

Finally, getting his fill, he peers at you across the table. It's finally time for you to learn the truth.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," you reply without missing a beat. And so Sirius starts with Peter's betrayal ("literal filthy rat! How could he?" you cry) and ends with knocking at your door.

Your eyebrows furrow. Sirius told you his story and you're still left with questions.

"What's on your mind?" He asks knowingly.

"How did you know where I was? Remus stays here once in a while, did you know that? What's Harry like? Merlin, Peter escaped? He's out there free and you're...do you think he knows where You Know Who is?" You rapid fire questions without thought or pause, but Sirius chuckles.

"I can only answer one at a time, darling. Slow down. Breathe, maybe. I'll answer them all." He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly. "Dumbledore came to that tower where I was held and told me, in his way, that I may have a friend here. That he would send an owl to that friend explaining my innocence. Remus and I had little chance to chat dealing with that treacherous rat, and Snape," he sneers "and the full moon, of course. But I am glad to know you and Remus maintained your friendship," he pauses as if wanting to say more, but thinks better of it. 

Both a sad and happy smile plays on his lips as he answers your next question. "Harry is a carbon copy of James, with the same knack for trouble, though he has Lily's eyes. I'm hoping he has her common sense, too. He's got a good head on his shoulders and the right sorts of friends surround him." Sirius's expression goes dark. "Peter will go wherever he thinks he'll be protected. Voldemort is out there, and I'm willing to bet Peter will do anything to get to him."

Another silence falls over the two of you and you shudder at the prospect of Voldemort returning.

"I'm sorry if I asked too many questions," you finally say after a long moment.

"You didn't."

"You're welcome to stay here. For as long as you need."

"I'd like to. I'm not sure how long, but a couple nights at least if it's no trouble."

"It's no trouble. Er, does your hippogriff need anything?"

"Buckbeak? Nah. There's plenty for him to hunt and he's free to roam a bit, right? I'll introduce you two later."

You laugh. "I'll show you to your room. You must be exhausted."

He catches your wrist before you walk away. His touch makes you feel as though you're on fire. You ignore the sensation and look Sirius in the eye as he speaks. "Thank you. Your kindness is truly unmatched, y/n. Always has been." You don't know how to respond. As if on cue, he yawns and then frowns. "I haven't asked anything about you."

"There will be time for that later. C'mon." You smile reassuringly but mentally you're thankful to prolong any more heavy conversations.

Sirius follows you up the stairs into the bedroom. Your eyes scan the room and you frown. The pale green wallpaper accented with tiny pink rosebuds and the bed donned with oversized blankets and half a dozen throw pillows is a stark contrast to Sirius. You mumble something about not being able to redecorate this room just yet. But Sirius just smiles. You draw the curtains shut in an attempt to block the midday sunlight.

"I think you should have everything you need? Of course help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I'll head to town to get some things."

His face is solemn. "Y/n, stay with me?" He clears his throat. "I mean...will you. Please?"

Wordlessly you nod. You let him climb into the queen sized bed first. Once he's settled, you get in, laying next to him. He moves you closer. Your head rests on his shoulder. He breathes in your scent as his arms wrap loosely around you. You drape an arm across his chest, assuring him his touch is welcomed. His grip tightens slightly as his breathing slows. You watch the rising and fall of his chest until your eyelids flutter shut.

Light tapping on your front door pulls you out of your dreams. Confusion hits first as you're heavy with the weight of a man's arms around you. Sirius. You smile as you become more awake, remembering the moments just hours ago. The knocking grows louder. Urgent, even. Panic sets in.

You shake Sirius awake. He bolts upright in bed, his breathing labored. You place a hand on his chest to calm him. For the moment at least. "Someone's at the door." You tell him in a harsh whisper . Sirius's eyes widen. "Transform," you urge. "And for Merlin's sake stay here." He wants to argue, but knows you're right. You wait until he becomes a large black furry mass of a dog. You close the bedroom door behind you, earning a low whine from Sirius in the process. You hurry down the stairs, clutching your wand in your dominant hand. Fear courses through your veins. You feel your heartbeat quicken with each step.

Drawing a deep breath, you swing the front door open.  The sight nearly stops your heart.

"Finally y/n. Is he here?"

Taglist: @oingo233

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 29

First

Previous

Next

~~~

Marinette smiled as she waved Red Hood off, watching him disappear. She waited a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t coming back before shrugging off her shoes and gloves.

The purple was higher now.

She swallowed thickly.

“Tikki, spots off,” she murmured, hand out to catch the kwami the second she appeared.

Tikki hit her hand, mostly immobile. The only way you could tell the god was still alive was the tiny twitches of her antennae.

She gently set her back in her bag and surrounded her by cookies. She knew they wouldn’t help, the kwami hadn’t used their lucky charm in ages, but she figured she should at least apologize for continuing to use her without an active Plagg.

Marinette dropped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Ultimately, she didn’t trust Robin enough to give him the cat miraculous. Sure, he seemed to be pretty set on the good side, which was a giant plus, but she didn’t know if the two of them could work together without bickering.

She sighed.

Great. Then how could she keep hiding the fact that her costume was disappearing? It was disappearing at a pretty quick rate, the pro gloves and sneakers wouldn’t do much good for long. She supposed she could get a jacket... Oh! A leather jacket. She could say she was taking after her new mentor. Some boots to go along with it... 

She nodded to herself and put in an order to be delivered the next day. So that’s done.

But it was a temporary solution.

She eyed her bag. Tikki was always perfectly quiet, but now she wished that she wasn’t. She wanted her to speak up and say ‘Marinette...’ in that exasperated voice of hers. Tikki always knew how to be rational, she'd know what to do.

But she didn’t say anything, and Marinette was alone.

What could she do? She needed someone to hold Plagg and let out that extra energy to bring balance back, but who could she find on such short notice...?

Her eyes flicked to Adrien’s outfit on its hanger.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

~

The next day she woke to a knock on her door. She groaned and shuffled out of bed, blanket wrapped around her. She walked up and stood on the tips of her toes to peek out and see who was there.

She stumbled back and squeaked. Crap! Crapcrapcrap!

She ran about her apartment to pull on clothes. “SORRY, JUST A MINUTE!” She yelled, which was only met by a bit of laughter.

After managing to pull on clothes she ran to the door and flung it open.

“Adrien!” She chirped, pushing some hair out of her face.

He broke into a grin as he looked her up and down. From the mismatched socks on her feet to the rats nest that was her hair, it was pretty clear that she had just woken up.

“Hard to wake as ever, M’lady,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She gave a small huff. “Whatever. Your outfit is right there.” She motioned vaguely to her closet. She looked down at herself and cringed. “I’m going to... yeah.”

She darted into the bathroom.

When she came out, Adrien was completely dressed. He messed with his tie awkwardly in the mirror.

She frowned quickly fixed it, before pulling him into the middle of the room so she could see the entirety of the outfit. At the moment it was a plain black suit and dark green tie (she didn’t want to do any embroidery only to find she needed to change the dimensions it) but he didn’t comment on it.

“Um... how’s Paris doing without us?” She asked softly, pulling the suit jacket away from his stomach. He was gaining weight, she’d expected that, but she needed to figure out at what rate --.

He sighed. “So that’s why you asked me here...”

She didn’t bother to contradict him, he was right. That was the original reason why she’d accepted his request, she’d wanted to ask after Paris and make sure she hadn’t made the wrong decision by coming here.

When she didn’t answer, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “It’s getting better. The police weren’t prepared for us to up and disappear, so they were a bit out of practice.”

“But everything’s good now?” She asked, pulling a tape measure from her pockets and checking his waist.

“It’s getting there.”

She nodded and pulled away, murmuring to herself and writing down his new size so she could do some calculations later. She pushed herself to her feet and frowned at the tie she had just fixed. It was loose again. Had she messed up somewhere while making it or was he doing it? If so, why --?

It was here where she finally took in her ex-partner. His hair was far messier than she was used to, little tufts sticking up at odd angles. There was less makeup on his face than usual. She’d expected the weight gain, what with less patrols and constant fighting, but it had been more than she’d expected. That could mean...

Marinette looked at Adrien and gave a smile. “Someone took my words to heart, huh?”

His face reddened slightly and he looked away. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, it took a professional designer a few minutes to piece it together, so I’d say probably not.”

Her eyes found their way to where the miraculous box was hidden. She’d called him here earlier than she usually would to ask him to take back the cat miraculous. She hadn’t expected him to start working on himself so soon, she didn’t want to ruin any progress he was making.

Then she thought of Tikki, curled up and almost completely immobile.

“Marinette...?” He asked quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’m happy for you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I want what’s best for you, I’m your partner, remember?”

She cringed. “I know. That’s why I can’t ask it of you.”

The hand on her shoulder gave her a tiny shake and she let her gaze fall to the floor.

And then he let go, his hand falling to his side lamely.

“I’m going to make your outfit more baggy. It’ll help with covering any weight gain and it goes better with your messy look.”

“Okay,” he said softly.

The silence stretched on and kwami she just wanted him to talk because she knew that if he didn’t she would ask him and --.

“Can I see Plagg again?” He asked.

She looked up at him. Could he hear her thoughts?

Still, she nodded and walked to the miracle box and pulled out the ring. It pulsed with an almost blinding green light and she curled her fingers over it to block some of it out.

Plagg poked his head between her fingers and then gave a small “ADRIEN!”

She looked away as the two embraced, dropping onto her bed as they chatted excitably.

“Look at you! Finally gaining weight, I see? I told you your dad wasn’t feeding you well enough!”

“That was only because he didn’t give me cheese for every meal of the day.”

“And I was right! How could he deprive you of such luxuries? In hindsight only he could have been Hawkmoth!”

Adrien laughed and shook his head, before pulling the kwami close for a kind of hug.

“So! Finally becoming Chat Noir again?”

The blond’s smile lessened slightly. “No, no, I’m not going to. I’ve been using Chat Noir as a way to be myself, but recently I’ve actually been able to do it without him. Besides, Ladybug is doing fine here, from what I’ve seen in papers. It’ll be fine.”

Plagg frowned and looked at Marinette, who had started making the  ‘nononoshutup’ motion with her hands.

“You haven’t told him?”

She groaned and rested her head in her hands.

“Marinette, you haven’t told me something?” He asked.

She didn’t respond, gripping the ring tighter. He’d said it himself, he’d been doing better without the persona. She couldn’t ask him to take it up again, she couldn’t let him go back to the way he was. He was right, they were partners. She wanted what was best for him, too.

“Tikki is getting weaker without the cat miraculous being active.”

Adrien frowned. The bed shifted as he sat down next to her. “Marinette...”

“I’m dealing with it, Adrien, it’s fine.”

“I’ll take it back if you’re suffering.”

Marinette cringed. She wished she was the one suffering, at least then she would be able to get through it. But it was Tikki who was getting weaker, not her.

Was either of their potential suffering greater? Was it fair to let go of one’s happiness for another’s liveliness, or vice versa? Could she even make that decision?

“I’m not suffering, Adrien. And I’ve found someone that I’ve been considering. Robin. I think he could be a fit, I’m scouting him out right now,” she said.

Not a complete lie, at least.

“Are you sure?”

She smiled, choosing to ignore the glare Plagg was sending her way. “Yep. I’d tell you if I needed you, right? We’re partners. Partners communicate.”

“Okay...”

She sat up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Anyways, you’re done here. I’ll get this to you once I’ve finished, okay?”

He looked reluctant to leave, but he gave a small nod. She turned around so he could change and sighed to herself when he set it down on the bed beside her. She turned back around and waved at him. He hugged Plagg and gave Marinette a tiny wave back.

“See you later, kitty.”

“Later, M’lady.”

~~~

I have found out that I have been using ‘parole’ instead of ‘patrol’ this whole time...

Welp, this is it boys, time to pack it up it was fun while it lasted this fic is cancelled--

~

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys @sassakitty @2confused-2doanything @too0bsessedformyowngood @all-mights-asscheeks @demonicbusiness @meg-an-ace

<3

[kireiwoo]

red, blue, my yellow. [jwy!]

˚➶. EXPO ↓

#𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 bestfriend!woo x fem!reader.

#𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 in which woo is your teasing florist of a friend who can’t seem to pick between red and blue; so you add a third option for him, yellow!

#𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 bf2l, fluff, crack, blasphemy(?), animal death, cursing, 6th grader jokes, two dorks being oblivious, kissing <3

#𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 2.0k+

“Okay, so Sky Blue or Cherry Red?”

“What the fuck? Those are so contrasting.”

Wooyoung whined at your indecisive and absentminded response, leaning his head against your turquoise, sweater-clad shoulder while watching reruns of Scooby-Doo on your old TV. You sipped on the sugarless vanilla latte he purchased for you, relishing in the brief but welcomed warmth the drink radiated in waves. Wooyoung obsessively shoved two paint-cards into your face, gaggling over how bright and saturated they were.

He visited earlier with the guise of simply hanging out with you, claiming that while occupied with his 9-5 job downtown as an optimistic florist, he missed your company. Initially he picked the job because it sounded delicate and comprehensively easy. Objectively, the work was relatively standard; water the daffodils and make sure his small, secret rose garden he called ‘wonderland’ was receiving enough sunlight; but his back ached with hauling boxes filled with seeds and bags packed of faux soil.

“Why are you seriously no help?” He chirped. You grumbled in response, focusing on the graphics of the late television show rather than Wooyoung’s juvenile complaints. Your hair was an unkempt rat’s nest and your spongebob pyjama pants were ruffled considerably, but you allowed Wooyoung into your house regardless of your external appearance. You knew he wouldn’t judge you anyways, too occupied with picking a paint colour for his new apartment.

“How about Sunflower Yellow?” You calmly, dismissively suggested, taking another long swig from the now-empty pale brown paper cup before tossing it behind your couch. You’d clean it up later anyways, but for now you had a whiny best friend to deal with. “Dunno if you’re hard of hearing or colourblind but yellow wasn’t an option.” Wooyoung quipped, his eyes flashing with a teasingly stumped mirth.

“You and I both damn-well know who has the better hearing, and she’s lookin’ right at ya.” Wooyoung giggled at your pouty disposition, finding your blushed cheeks and deep eye-bags adorable. He sat casually against your couch, dressed in his own quirkily mismatched ensemble. A pair of khaki shorts accompanied by a dark green sweatshirt and multicoloured socks, his scuffed three-year-old tennis shoes laying by your door. You found it endearing how Wooyoung still tried to come up with his own fashion trends, ending up looking like a stitched together version of brand-name and value-village. But he was being expressive in the form of seasonal apparel, and you were proud of him.

“Byeol?” He teased, gesturing to your mangy, blue-eyed siamese feline as she sat back and observed your get-together, scattering away once the attention was on her. Wooyoung sighed.

“Look, you chubby-cheeked wench, just answer and I’ll leave you to sleep in your little cocoon of grandma blankets.” You huffed at his insinuation, plonking your deft fingers against his cheek softly and gently.

You met Wooyoung in third grade, when sex didn’t determine friendship and the bounds of society were turned away by your blind infant eyes.

You’d been retrieving wild bluebells and dandelions, bunching them in your sweaty grasp as a sort of dedicated bouquet, explaining to the boisterous boy that you needed to leave it as a parting gift to a squirrel you saw that got run over (you called him Tootles). Looking back, it was innately bizarre how indifferent you were to the concept of death, but Wooyoung supposes that it was a sweet thought anyways. From then on, the two of you blundered together—but part of the reason Wooyoung stayed was also because of his obvious attraction to your lopsided pigtails and thrifted summer dresses. He remembers that you always had a food stain somewhere on your clothing.

Now looking at you, still messy and even more vulgar, he can’t help but think that he doesn’t regret any moments. You’ve gone through everything together; Wooyoung was present for your first period when the stomach pain and hunger cramps were immense, and you were there when his family suffered through a rough patch, assuring him that everything would be okay when in reality, the decision of divorce between his parents was settled a week later. Those were some of his most difficult moments, but he can look back at them fondly only because it brought him closer to you.

“Wench? What are you saying? I’m a god.” You offered in the most dramatized tone you could.

“Might wanna get your facts checked,”

“Might wanna get your mom checked,” You snorted, biting your lip while procuring finger guns just for the hell of it. Wooyoung sighed in mock disappointment, his frizzy purple-tinted fringe falling onto his forehead. You grinned and giggled, catching his attention cutely.

Your whiny puppy rolled his eyes before wailing a cacophony of displeased sounds, loudly filtering his discontentment with having a plain apartment. “(Y/N) you don’t understand the seriousness of my situation! Who wants to tell their grandchildren that their first—that’s right, first!—apartment was a boring cream colour?!” Fed up with his childish bumbling, you quickly smacked his forehead, chuckling quietly as he squeaked and softened his stiff posture. It was honestly so lovable how he got so passionate about the smallest, almost insignificant things.

“Listen, we’ll figure something out. I still think Sunflower Yellow should be an option though.” Wooyoung swatted at your covered tummy with an overzealous and enthusiastic expression, clearly excited with the concept of letting you help him. The soft scent of peppermint-chamomile flooded into your nostrils from his clothing, making you mentally note to ask him what detergent he decided to try. “You think wrong, settler! Now choose between these two colours or I’ll be obligated to steal half of your lifespan.” You laughed loudly at the unprecedented silliness of your best friend, shaking your head while sending a fleeting but absolutely enamoured stare in his direction.

“Honestly, at this point why am I letting you help me?” He hummed. You gurgled at his feigned distress, gasping and tackling him against the couch. You straddled his waist, pointing a manicured figure at his face while you fondly cursed at him. “As I recall, Mr. Jung; you arrived to my residence at exactly 12:01 PM with the excuse to hang out, only to badger me with your issues about... paint colours. You came to me.” Wooyoung sat enthralled by your change in attitude, bathing in the flawlessness of your execution regarding exposing him for his wrongdoings.

“Just boom, bam, pow: There’s that dude I’m in love with.” Wooyoung’s eyes widened considerably, a snarky smirk falling across his countenance as his cheeks devilishly flushed, looking similar to that of a ripened strawberry. Immediately you backtracked, wondering what you said that provoked this reaction, and realization struck across your face like a sharp slap.

Oh shit. Shit.

“I-Uh—you didn’t hear that.” You waved shy but frantic hands into his face, as if hypnotizing him into forgetting about your embarrassingly personal confession. But all he did was giggle and take ahold of your wrists, pulling your body forward so you were chest to chest with him.

A soft, addictingly brief kiss was placed against your creased forehead, the perfect lips of your best friend brushing against your heated skin. You swallowed thickly, placing your hands over his sweater-clad chest with confusion written all over your face. What in the hell kind of reaction was this—? Whatever it was, it was warm and delicate and felt right.

Then again, there’s nothing that ever feels wrong when it comes to Jung Wooyoung. Or maybe that’s just you.

“Y’know, you’re not very... secretive.” He settled, making perplexities skip through your mind like stones on water. Had he known? Was this the end of your life-long friendship? Questions ran through your mind endlessly, your heart rapidly beating and mind berating you for admitting your tini-tiny, small-as-a-planet crush. “I had my suspicions but you actually saying it was my sweet confirmation.”

“The fuck? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I-I—Hey! Don’t be angry at me!” He pouted, melting your heart into a pile of mushy and fragmented puddles. “What I was trying to say is, I love you too.” Immediately your face blanched and you dropped your head into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, appreciating the small dust of red that decorated his ears. You simply couldn’t face him in fear that this was all a simulation; a seemingly harmless gaffe constructed firstly to tease you, and knowing Wooyoung with his wildly oblivious tendencies and boyish lack of empathy, you had no doubt that it was something he would try.

And yet, you couldn’t even force yourself to be angry at him. Because while you speculated that he was joking, somewhere in your heart you knew that he was being honest—simply in denial with the prospect of your long-lasting crush actually returning your feelings. “Hello? Earth to (Y/N)? Airhead? Loafer?” You snapped out of your reverie, staring at Wooyoung’s pinked face as his prying eyes drifted around your facial features, slowly tracing each detail.

“You love me too?” Shock ever-present, you searched in Wooyoung’s loving gaze for some kind of testimony, a confirmation, for some truth to be shed. And when all you could see were the glimmering, almost glowing sparkles in his large pupils, you felt the slightest bit reassured.

“Of course I do, bean!”

“As a friend though, right?” Wooyoung’s face screwed into an intense concentration, expression looking fragile and breakable. But in his wandering mind, he questioned how you could even consider that. He loved you as something more—with your tangled tresses and wrinkled clothes, even down to the fact that you couldn’t handle sugar but grimaced every time you drank your vanilla lattes, simply because they weren’t sweet enough.

It was the little things that he found himself so affectionately obsessed with. He remembers your bleached sundresses in elementary and how you couldn’t tie your shoes without help from a teacher. How you loathed wearing glasses because you thought they made you look nerdy, but complained because you just couldn’t see.

“Jesus Christ, Loser. No, I love you like... like a crush! Yeah, like a crush. Romantically.” He gushed, and if this wasn’t one of the most immature confessional moments in history, it sure was a cheesy one.

“Wait, really? You like-like me?” Good god. Your fingers trembled and lips twitched.

“Yes, how many times do I—” Wooyoung breathed out a shaky sigh as you leaned forward and smoothly took his lips with your own. He tasted minty and sweet, like petals and chocolate. His eyes fluttered closed as your lips meshed together, pushing against each other in a romantic twine of burning passion.

Suddenly, your hands were on either side of his head and one of his deft, spidering hands pressed onto the small of your back. The other hand trailed up to the back of your neck, twirling the loose strands of hair at your nape, his tongue breaching the space between your lips invasively—but then he tried to card his fingers through your hair; and you hissed and pulled away like a disenchanted cat, baring your teeth from the unprecedented pain.

“Shit! Sorry, baby.” Whereas your head flooded with spiking pains from small hairs being plucked, your heart was palpitating at the new but definitely embraced pet-name. “I told you that you should’ve washed your hair! But someone doesn’t like listening!” You tutted at the nagging, harrumphing before placing another complacent kiss against his lips.

“Oh shut up, Mr. I can’t choose between red and blue.” You never thought you’d get the chance to tease Wooyoung after directly smooching him; it was a fantasy and a reoccurring fever dream to feel his plush, pillowed lips against your own. Perhaps a perverse imaginative scenario, but it was a reality now. And reality suddenly didn’t seem so harsh; crowded in the warm arms of a starry-eyed shortie with calloused hands and a knack for gardening.

“You’re right, I can’t. But it’s okay, I prefer yellow anyways.”

Who knows what awaits you in life? Maybe the sky will drain of it’s blue and the roses will deplete of their red—but no matter the changes and disparities that occur over the years, there’s always one thing that you’re forever sure of:

“You’re my yellow, Jung Wooyoung.”

🥽 all rights reserved © kireiwoo. do not : plagiarize, counterfeit, or translate, & thank you for reading <3!

[m4st4rd]

i would die for you, clint barton (clint barton x oc)

a/n: HI I’M BACK with a stupid little drabble. the talented @obwjam has reignited my love for comics!clint barton so i wrote a fic of him and an oc. i haven’t proofread it and the ending super sucks but i still managed to churn out about 1900 words so enjoy!!!

i’ll proofread/edit in the morning lol

brig is nb; they/them pronouns pls 

They’re scared, and Clint gets it. He’d be scared, too, if there was some weird giant searching for him. He’s no stranger to the feeling of fear. But when he’s the one causing it, it feels terrible. 

   Brooklyn is in shambles. A new supervillain group tests their weapons on a bank in Bushwick, the Avengers are on the case, a city block is engulfed in chaos and violence. And Clint Barton is searching for a 3-inch-tall person who’s hiding in the alleyway of a Dunkin Donuts.

   He sighs and kneels down, peering under the dumpster. Huddled in the dark is the shaking borrower, who stares back with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. They look like crap: covered in dried blood and dirt, their clothes torn and ratty. But the little guy is stubborn as hell, and hurls a pebble in his direction. They miss by a long shot. He would’ve laughed if the city wasn’t on fire.

   “C’mon out, bud,” he says. A faint boom! rattles the world behind him. “It’s not safe under there. Are you lookin’ to be caught? A rat, an alley cat… God forbid, there might be a human who ain’t as nice as I am.” With a nervous glance behind him, he sees Kate dart past, notching an arrow and letting it fly. “Not to mention that the city’s comin’ apart.”

   They shout something back, and Clint can barely piece together the words leave and alone. It’s not helpful, though, that they’re so small and covered in shadow. And the fact that he can see their teary eyes in the dark is not helping his conscience. Another explosion shakes the earth, and the borrower lets out a wail that he does hear. 

   They’re both getting frantic. He softens his face, puts a pleading look into his eyes. “Please,” he calls. “I can keep you safe.” 

   The borrower doesn’t get to respond. A scream rips through the air, and he’s made up his mind. He jumps to his feet and drags the dumpster back, only getting a glimpse of the sheer terror on their tiny face before he scoops them up in a fist and tucks them into a jacket pocket. It’s not ideal, but if it means they won’t be crushed or eaten, he’ll take it. 

   They’re writhing, and he ignores it. The feeling of them shaking against his chest forms a pit in his stomach. They’re scared, but at least they’re safe.

   The rest of the battle zips by like a blur. Clint spends it shielding the borrower, dodging rubble, and praying to whatever gods present for this little guy to not be so terrified of him. Their shaking has stopped for now, but they’re stiff as a board and flinching with every move he makes. When the fight dies down, he’s left nursing a wound on his shoulder and cupping his hand around his pocket. He’s gotta get out of there, and fast.

   His free hand finds his comms, and he sends a quick farewell message to Kate. She responds quick, familiar beeps filling his ears: Get home safe. See you soon, Hawkeye.

   The message brings a smile to his face, but it disappears when he remembers his job. His day isn’t over yet. 

   He runs his way home. 

   The apartment greets him with blinding fluorescents and a mess on his coffee table. Things that are normally hangover-induced nuisances are now pushed to the far corners of his mind as he limps to his counter. 

   His fingers dive into his pocket, and he does his best to be gentle, but with the little guy swerving away from his hand, he ends up tangled around their limbs, pulling them out in a quivering heap. They’re a pitiful sight; their tiny face is tear-stained, and once they lock eyes, the poor kid flinches back into their protective huddle. 

   They’re speaking, and fast. That much he knows. Their voice is buzzing away. But he can’t understand anything that's coming out. He gets the gist of what they might be saying: there’s a pleading look in their eyes, and their lip is quivering. He doesn’t like this feeling.

   “Hey,” he whispers, cupping his hands closer around the tiny body. “Hey. Look at me.” He nudges their shoulder. They’re practically humming with anxiety. “C’mon, calm down, buddy. You’re okay.” 

   They aren’t making any progress like this. Clint lowers his hands to the countertop and the borrower stumbles off, clutching their chest and scrubbing the tears from their eyes. “Look,” he says softly. “Not touching you anymore, see? You’re fine. You’re okay.”

   He watches with a pang in his heart as they cry for a bit, hugging their knees to their chest, and takes the time to look them over. Their hair is dark and matted, their clothes patchy, their face young, but thin and gaunt. This isn’t the same stubborn little guy he’d met an hour ago; this is someone who is absolutely-fucking-terrified of him. He can barely deal with crying people at his own height; he can’t even begin to comfort someone who’s three inches tall.

   Reasoning sets in as they clear their eyes of the last of their tears. Even if he was well-intentioned, he did sorta… take them. Grab them up and stick them in a pocket. If some giant had done that to him, he’d be pretty scared, too. 

   “Do you understand me?” he tries. The tiny head snaps up, and the kid babbles something that vaguely sounds like sorry and don’t hurt. “No, no, I promise I’m not gonna hurt you… Fuck. I was — I was just tryna keep you safe!” It’s hard to read lips on such a small face, but he gets the gist of it, and it hurts like hell.

   This isn’t working out so great. “Let’s start over, okay? I’m Clint. Clint Barton. And I — I can’t hear you all that well.” 

   That gets them to shut up. The fear disappears from their face, replaced by sheer bewilderment.  (Yeah. As if they’re the one that should be surprised.) They scrub their eyes and stare at him in awe, and Clint can’t help but chuckle. “Weird, I know. But we can figure somethin’ out, alright? You okay to talk? Or just… shake your head, yes or no.” 

   That gets a timid nod. “Great. Good. Not hurt, are you?” A shake. “Thank God for that.” Now we’re getting somewhere. But Clint needs to ask them questions, and he needs to get answers. How is he supposed to talk to someone smaller than his finger?

   His mind is racing. Sign language! It’s a long shot, but just maybe he can get through to them.

   “Do you understand this?” His hands move slow, just in case. But it doesn’t go the way he’s hoping. The borrower shrieks and falls back, and they’re both back to square one. “No, hey, wait! It’s okay!” He signs while he speaks, and the kid watches every move he makes with terrified eyes. “Look — it’s a language! My name is Clint. C-L-I-N-T.” Each letter is deliberate, and with each second, the little guy uncurls from their protective ball. “Now that I’ve told you my name, will you tell me yours?”

   They both fall silent. He holds his breath and watches the tiny face with a furrowed brow. It’s small, almost impossible to see, but there’s a hint of hope in their eyes. He’s so overcome with joy that he doesn’t notice them open their mouth.

   “...ig.”

   He freezes. “Sorry, what?”

   They wither back. “Brig,” they say, louder this time. Their voice is muffled and nervous, but it’s there. And Clint can’t stop himself from smiling. 

   “Brig,” he repeats. “That’s B-R-I-G. See?” He grins. They’re still cautious, but they watch his hands with curious eyes as he signs their name. “It’s nice to meet you, Brig.”

   Good! This is good. Clint can see them coming out of their shell, little by little. They look unsure, but their hands twitch in time with his. “There’s so much you can say with just your hands! This is hello, and this is goodbye. Yes, no, please and thank you— I can teach you, if you want!”

   The magic is gone, and Brig snaps back into their defensive huddle. “T-teach me?” they squeak. “But… would mean…” They glance around the kitchen, eyes widening as they take in the sight. They’re so small compared to everything else. “What about… home?”

   He’s overstepped his boundaries. He kneels to get closer to their level. They reel back, a gesture that goes unnoticed in his concern. “Was that where you live?” he asks. “Near where the fight was?”

   They’re quick to nod. “Left… a bit,” they say. “Rats.” The last syllable is loud, clear, and bitter. “Got caught… the fight.” Brig shrugs, looking nervous and embarrassed. “And by you.”

   Clint frowns. A place like that is dangerous for someone of their size, but he’s in no place to argue. “Is there anyone you stay with? Any family or friends you can go back to?”

   Now they’re silent. His heart plummets when they grimace and look away, a sadness creeping into their eyes. Realization crashes over him when they shake their head.

   He hadn’t thought of that. 

   “You don’t have to stay,” he says gently. Guilt lingers in his chest as he leans back, too, suddenly self conscious about his hands. “I-I can get you back home if you need me too — I can’t imagine it’s all that safe, but if that’s what you want…” The borrower is tense, and Clint is cursing himself for being so hopeful. 

   Finally, after a minute of mulling it over, he gives a resigned sigh. “Damage Control is cleaning the place up,” he tells them. “They should be done in a week or two, okay? You can stay with me, but when they’re done… I’ll bring you back.” Every word hurts more than the last. “Only if you want to. How’s that sound?”

   The kitchen falls silent. Clint’s heart is beating fast, and he bites his tongue as conflicting emotions flicker across the tiny face. “I-I can bring you back now, if you like,” he stammers. “Ya don’t have to stay. A-and you don’t have to tell me exactly where you live, but I can just drop you off and you can be on your way and we’ll b —”

   “I’ll stay.” 

   This time, the little voice comes out strong. “You — you will?” he says.

   They nod shyly in response, and he can piece together what they say next: “Just… back… my feet.” Just until I’m back on my feet. 

   He can live with that.

   Clint’s heart swells with triumph. He can’t remember the last time he was this happy. There’s no explaining why he feels this way. “O-Okay. Awesome. Welcome home, Brig.”

   He glances back at the mess in his apartment, then to the mess of his clothes, too. They’re both covered in dust and blood, but neither care about it as Clint laughs. “We should probably get cleaned up first, though. What do you say?”

   He’s smiling. And for the first time all day, Brig is smiling, too.

   They’ve got a lot of work to do.

[termanigabs]

Borrower Reader Scenarios (Unedited)

3.)When You Get Caught

Svtfoe

-You were very paranoid,you didn't know if the Princess,who goes by her name Star,was around and you hadn't eaten in a while.You didn't know why you haven't left yet,that was always a question that raced through your head."Y/n you haven't eaten in how long just get your head straight and go borrowing," You say to yourself as you got your stuff ready and went out,"they should be gone," you reassured yourself as you peeked out of the hole.There was no one around so you cautiously started forward,you spotted a few strawberries laying out in an oddly neat way,it felt off though."Strange,maybe I should go ba-" before you could finish your sentence a jar was quickly placed over you,"see Marco!I told you there was a tiny person here!" Star said proudly,thoughts were swirling through your head as you slid to the ground and sat there,'how could I be so stupid?'

Gravity Falls

-"Gravity falls you have amazed me with another one of your beautiful evening lights," You exclaimed as you sat on the roof of the Mystery shack watching the mysterious beautiful lights that came from the forest."Sadly,I am not coming back to live in your wild forests cAUse I'd die," You stated munching on some chips.You could of sworn you heard creaking but then again you always heard things in the Mystery shack,"heh," you say a bit sadly as you hold a small shiny stone in your hand.You sat there in thought,you didn't notice the creaking becoming louder,until something pinched the back of your shirt,"woah!Hey!" You kick as you were lifted off the ground,feeling very nostalgic you stopped kicking and went limp.Your eyes met with one of the twins,"oh..hey..Dipper was it?" You say nervously.

The Owl House

-Today was a eventful day,you vanquished the rats that dared live in the home and got a cupcake as a reward!Strange right?Like it was left out there just for you,pfffft nah!That was impossible.Anyway,you even made a mouse creature friend,you named them the most perfect name..."Squeaks my noble steed come to me!" You say proud and bravely.The mouse creature quickly came to your aid as you grabbed your needle and jumped on your pet's back.Squeaks raced through the holes of the house swiftly,"this is what human's call a pro gamer move!" You yell as Squeaks darted out of the hole and onto the kitchen counter,"woooo!" You screamed as Squeaks reared back to the hole.You jumped off and landed by in the middle of the counter with a dramatic pose,"that was amazing!Slightly dangerous!And adorable!" A feminine voice said as you paused."Um..thaaaanks,I was pretty great," you say playing it off casually as the human leaned on the counter staring at you.You couldn't just run she would easily grab your shirt," My names-" "Luz Noceda,human," you say fast and nervously,you just wanted to hide away for eternity.The worst part was you dropped your needle.

The Loud House

-You have been very panicky lately,you would run through the walls and vents like your life depended on it.Sometimes,unknown to you that the loud siblings have been hearing it,and would investigate,but you were already gone.Lucy knew exactly that it was you,she had been listening,and watching you for various reasons and she finally decided that she would catch you,this was going to be easy because you were louder than usual,and that loudness is exactly how she caught you."Put me down,put me down,put me down!" You screech in fear of being held in her hand,there was rarely anyone home,just the two older siblings so no one really heard you."Lucy!Lucy put me down," you screech once more as she dropped you in a jar.Your heart was pounding and you felt like it was going to burst out of your chest,she moves quicker than you thought.She seemed to ignore you all together and place the jar on her bed where no one can see you,"shhh,quiet or they'll hear you," was all she said.The way she said it made you want to hide in an ally way,it was so spooky and freaky.

Eddsworld

-"We meet again little thing," the voice owner's accent rang as you huff and turn your head away from him,you were scared to death but showing fear was not an option.He held you in his fist as he examined you,"mind telling me what you are?" He questions to which you roll your eyes and huff at him again.He didn't seem to like that as he tightened his grip on you,"I'm a borrower!" You shout angrily as Tord smirked,"a borrower?" He seemed to say to himself as he carried you to his room,you didn't like where this was going.He casually set you on the counter,you could see a knife embedded into the dresser he set you on.Your body froze as you watched him move around his room as if looking for something,'what was he planning?'

Hazbin Hotel

-"No!No!No!No!No!Let me go!" You yell as tears formed in your eyes,you were starving and you didn't mean to blindly fall into her trap.Was it worth it?In your perspective no."Calm down!Calm down!I promise I won't hurt you!" She tried to say but you were fluffing out your wings in defense and then started to wrap them around you securely as you went quiet.Making sure not to draw any attention,Charlie quickly enclosed her hands around you and quickly fled the scene back to her hotel.She would have to keep you out of sight from the others for a while and gain your trust.

Fnaf 2

-You were feeling very sour,the freaking Guards wouldn't stop pestering you.They would mess with your holes,try to catch you and do so much and it didn't help that the animatronics were being snoopy as well.'I'm going to die but I don't care,' you thought as you wait for the guards to walk in,when they finally did they were shocked to see you."So,you guys done yet?Done pestering me and making my life harder?" You start as Vincent smirks,"you've got some guts coming out of your little hole," he said as you rolled your eyes."You've got some guts pushing my limit," you sneered unknown to you that the animatronics were listening in."What are you going to do bite size?" Vincent questioned cockily as the other guards flinched back when you used a rubber band to fling a fork at his head,Vincent was clearly pissed but Mike stepped in before he could grab you."Let's not make this a blood bath," he says as he eyes you,you only smirked at him.Some catch.

[firaknight]

So this is basically PMD x Kirby

(Here’s a key: pink is the name of the character, green is the Pokemon they chose, blue means male, pink means female, purple is the description of design changes)

So, before I explain who gets who, Adeleine sets up a few rules/guidelines for everyone.

1: The couch. Adeleine and Ribbon live in a cottage on the outskirts of town and therefore have a small house. When everyone’s there, she has a set seating system: tall people (DDD, herself, Daroach, etc) have to sit on the couch or in the general back. Short people (basically everyone else) sit in front of the couch and around the floor (she gives them pillows and floor seats of course)

2: No repeats! It’s to help her remember and also to not cause confusion or arguments. Nobody gets to have the same Pokemon as someone else (the only exception being if they plan to evolve them into a branching evolution, like Gardevoir and Gallade in the Ralts line)

3: Personalize! Everyone gets to add design changes to theirs (cut ear, different patterns, accessories, etc) to make them their own! They also assign genders to theirs and if they can’t decide, dice are rolled. Odds for male, evens for female (they can choose not to, but the vast majority were like “yeah whatever let’s just give them a gender”).

Ok onto the actual Pokemon

Adeleine: Chikorita, female, wears a scarf (part of the in-game story) and has a multicolored head leaf! Also had a small crystal hanging from her neck!

She saw the design and called them a “tiny dinosaur with a big leaf” and immediately decided on them. She loves them to death and thinks they’re the cutest Pokemon on the planet.

Ribbon: Fennekin, female, wears a scarf (part of the in-game story), has fur that is more pink than red, and wears a huge red bow! Also has a small crystal hanging from her neck!

Couldn’t choose the same Pokemon as Adeleine and thought Fennekin looked beautiful (she was even more excited when she saw the final evolution). She also has a type matchup with Adeleine and absolutely takes bullets for her to keep her from dying.

Kirby: Eevee, female, white fur is tinted pink, has blue eyes instead of brown, and wears bunch of colorful accessories like bows, bracelets/anklets, and collars!

Couldn’t decide on the gender and the dice rolled female! He doesn’t care and loves his Eevee!!! He likes how soft they look and how they have different evolution!! It’s like his copy abilities!!! He’s stuck trying to figure out what to evolve them into tho.

Dedede: Piplup, male, wears a big robe and hat, body is a slightly darker and more vibrant blue, and is a little chubbier!

He convinced Adeleine to take on a more difficult dungeon request for this (she got a big dinner at the royal table and got to stay the night in one of the royal rooms out of it though so it was worth it) and after a near 2 hour run and almost 3 game overs, she got it. Dedede only wanted it because it’s the only penguin Pokemon in the series and he wanted a big penguin like himself!!!

Meta Knight: Ralts (Gallade), male, wears a mask like his own, has more jagged blades, and wears a cape!

Only picked them because they saw Gallade and said “yeah that’s gonna be me” and didn’t wait for an answer. He likes their arm blades and the fact that they have a mega evolution (even BIGGER blades!!!!!!! A big tattered cape!!!!!! Badass looks!!!!! What’s not to like!!!!)

Bandee: Karrablast, male, wears a blue bandana, body is orange instead of blue, stomach is cream instead of orange, and has a tiny spear (this is later removed when they evolve)!!!

They saw Escavalier and got super excited!! Double spear arms!!! Armored and tough looking!!! They like how tough they look and 100% chose them for that reason only (although the Pokemon kinda grew on them over time). Not ultra tough right now but they’re getting there!

Marx: Sableye, male, gems are basically mirrors, wears a jester cap like his own, and has only 2 claws instead of 3!!

He likes how fucking creepy they look and how their mega evolution has teeth. It’s a very specific detail they will absolutely drill into why they like them so much. They also like how powerful they can be if used correctly!

Gooey: Goomy, female, body is shades of blue instead of purple, has a tongue that noticeably sticks out!!

He originally wanted Ditto but then they saw Goomy and felt a certain kind of love for them. He also couldn’t decide and the dice rolled female! He likes how the name is similar to his own and how they’re goopy like him!!! They’re also super squishy and he is too!!!!!!

Rick: Dedenne, male, tail is shorter, body is similar in color to him, has beans!!!!!!

He likes how they’re kinda hamster-esc!! They have electricity too which is hella cool. They look kinda soft to him and he was mildly upset over them not having paw beans and demanded that Dedenne be given justice by having them drawn in (Adeleine totally agrees to this). He likes to think they’re mega soft like himself!!!

Kine: Magikarp, male, slightly flatter, blue instead of orange, larger fins!!

He couldn’t choose a Pokemon and eventually just settled on Magikarp because he thought they’d be ok. Didn’t realize they evolve into such a big Pokemon until they saw what it looked like in one of the dungeons. The keep bragging about how powerful they’re gonna be when they finally evolve, but nobody is taking him seriously because he can only use 1 move as of now and hasn’t reached a point where he can evolve yet.

Coo: Hoothoot, male, body is purple instead of brown, has spiked feathers on his head, has a softer and fluffier appearance!!!!!

It’s an owl. He wanted to be an owl. He reeeeaaallly wants to evolve because Noctowl looks way cooler but he’s fine with what he’s got for now!!! He has a speed based build because he can fly very fast :)

Dark Meta Knight: Noibat, female, monochromatic colors with some red mixed in, mask with a scar, tattered wing membrane!!!

Purposefully decided on having a femal because he thinks it kicks ass a little more (also he loves his adopted daughter and decided that would be badass too). Built like a fucking assault tank but with speed. He absolutely leads the charge when he’s playing and takes every fucking hit possible if it’s aimed at his daughter. Gloats about his badass evolution and how fucking sick it looks despite having not evolved yet.

Daroach: Sneasel, male, wears a cloak and hat like his own, has yellow and longer claws!!!!

He didn’t like any of the existing rats and said “lemme get a thief pokemon” and settled on Sneasel. They have a team called the Squeak Squad and it’s comprised of his Sneasel and the squeaks own copies of the game! They play together in their free time and Daroach had Adeleine grab him a Sneasel so he could play on her copy too.

Magolor: Inkay, male, wears a blue cloak like his own, has yellow eyes!!! (The cloak doesn’t really fit until Inkay evolves)

Physically couldn’t choose and then someone showed him Inkay and he said “oh! I fucking hate them.” It was only until they showed him Malamar that he said “oh they look like they’d backstab someone. Perfect.” He likes how fucking ominous they look and how they would 100% be a supervillain given the chance. His Inkay is a good guy tho don’t worry.

Taranza: Joltik, male, has tiny fangs and little horns that grow out when they evolve, wears a cape, has little gloves on their hands!!!

He wanted Flabebe because of the flowers but was told someone already took that one and decided he’d take a spider Pokemon! Almost settled on Ariados but then saw Galvantula and got super excited. He likes their fuzzy look and thinks they are a lovely Pokemon!!

Susie: Gothita, female, eyes are gradient blue with no pupils, has pink accents on the head, more modern appearance!!

She couldn’t find any pretty ones with tech on them but liked Gothita! She thinks they look ok and Adeleine was nice enough to invite her over for PMD game day so she joined in. Her Gothita is surprisingly beastly and is a heavy hitter! However she also gets her ass kicked really fast because Gothita isn’t built for up close heavy hitting.

Zan Partizanne: Shinx, female, wears the same clothes as her, has more yellow on her!!

She really liked how Shinx looks. Tiny electric kitty puppy thing! She wanted to name it after some kind of thunder deity but wasn’t able to (she probably had a name for it tho). Speedy little powerhouse who looks adorable. Continues to tell Adeleine that she’s only doing this to repay her debt (and also for insulting her hairline) but is really just enjoying herself.

Flamberge: Fletchling, female, wears the hat and ribbon-like shawl, has spiked feathers that stick up a lot like her hair, more vibrant red!!!

She fucking loves this little bird. Like. A lot. Something about them is just so awesome to her. Maybe it’s because it evolves into a giant fire falcon but who knows! She just loves them and cherishes them with all her heart. BEGGED Adeleine to recruit them and managed to convince her (she had to offer up making her a cool sword to get it. Adeleine accepted the deal almost immediately because cool ass sword).

Francisca: Vanillite, female, wears the hat and shawl, has more vibrant blue, ice cream part is the same color as her hair!!!

You know exactly why she chose this one. Ice cream baby!!!!!!!! She thinks they’re lovely and wants a plush of them super bad (they don’t make them yet but merch happens eventually!). She jokes that they have an ice cream stash they live in.

Pitch: Pidgey, male, green in color!

He got to join in after the other animal friends told him! He’s good friends with Adeleine (all the animal friends are) and she let him pick a Pokemon! He doesn’t play as much because he has to use his little feet’s but he does his best!

Nago: Glameow, female, body is orange and the ears are brown! Eyes remain closed instead of open to reflect his design!

He wanted it to be a girl just because. He says it’s because it resembles his girlfriend a teensy bit (just in coat color really) and he loves her a lot. Little bastard cat causes trouble on adventures and purposefully runs off to look for the stairs by himself without any incentive from Adeleine.

Chuchu: Frillish, female, wears a small red ribbon and has a more vibrant pink body!!

Couldn’t choose originally but settled on Frillish because it’s the closest thing to her. Nicknamed it frilly and likes to cause problems. She’s got a pretty decent move set and knows how to kick ass with it tho so she makes up for her trouble with that.

Queen Ripple: Flabébé, female, wears glasses and has black ear frill things, wears her crown, and wears her dress!!! Flower is white!

She gets to play too!!!!! Adeleine offered to let her have a Pokemon and she plays though wireless connection! On a very rare occasion, she makes a trip out to Popstar for a week or so and gets to play during then! She has a lot of fun and adores the design for Flabébé so damn much (plus it’s fairy type and that makes her very happy)!!!

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Two Snakes and a Rat

Alrighty! Y’all asked so here’s my QuickFang story!

For those who don’t know the QuickFang AU is an au in which Vore exists. Davey is a mob boss known as QuickFang who is feared by all of Manhattan. This takes place some time into the plot and doesn’t touch on past plot points but they’re there I swear! I can expand if y’all want later. Anyway, here we go!!

Also this is shippy and Jack decides to be....Jack so uh yeah. Have fun!

Vore under the cut :3

——————

“Those fucking idiots.” The words were growled, slowly gaining volume and morphing into a yell as the door slammed against the wall. This was the last straw for him. “First the stunt pulled at the most recent brawl, then those imbeciles getting arrested and almost giving away our location, and then them letting a spy in! Why I ought to put a bullet through their heads the moment they’re shoved through that door.”

“S-sir!” A female voice called, the young woman in question running after the man as he entered the room. At least she wasn’t tripping over a skirt in the suit she had been gifted after having accepted her job as one of the man’s own spies.

“That’s- nevermind.” The man growled, anger barely showing for the first time in hours as he walked to the back of the room. One of the cabinets opened, revealing a multitude of dishes, silverware, and glasses. He grabbed the nearest wine glass and sighed. This. All of this. It was all at risk. All because of those bafoons.

“Ah! Right! Sorry, Boss-Sir.” The young lady corrected as a few more goons as well as a second man with a silver broach that separated him from the rest walked in. She made her way to the side. Standing against the wooden wall, a strand of her bronze hair that pulled itself out of the tight bun it was styled in blowing softly in the breezes made my the movement of the others in the room. Four goons, varying in height and muscle, stood at her sides in the same position as she. Hands together behind their back, standing up straight, with the straightest expression they could manage.

“I’d watch Yer words there, pretty lady.” The man with the silver broach hummed as he closed the door. “The boss doesn’t have the clearest mind while like dis. I’d say keep yer mouth shut.”

“Oh give me a break, Wits,” her boss, the man with the golden broach, growled as he filled his glass with the bitter red liquid from the wine keg he kept on the table behind his desk.

“I’s just sayin’, Mr. QuickFang!” The silver broached man said, hands up in a nonchalant surrender as he paced closer to the desk. “Yer mind, see- it does this thing when You’s is mad. It’s like you’s a bull and all you see is-

The brunette- legal name Marcell, mob name Scarlet- squeaked as her boss whipped around, pointing a blade directly at the throat of his right hand man. Dear god-

“Watch. Your. Mouth. Wits.” QuickFang growled, grip on the blade tightening to the point where his hand began to shake.

“Hey, is that not how I got my name? What about you, Mouth~?” Wits cooed in return, a cocky smile sitting on his face with eyes to match behind his mask.

“I- you fucking ass.” QuickFang grumbled, arm jerking to the side and the knife going flying. A dull thud sounds as the blade sticks itself right in the wall mere centimeters above Marcell’s head, drawing another squeak from her as she stares up at the knife. Oh sweet Jesus.

“I thought you loved that part of me though, baby~” Wits cooed, cupping QuickFang’s cheek in his hand for a second. The mob boss’s eye twitched, a growl forming in his throat.

“I do. You fucking know I do. Right now though I want to tear your vocal chords out with nothing more than a dull, rusty old spoon,” spat the man, slamming a hand on his desk as he took a sip from his wine glass. “Damnit. Where are they?! They were supposed to be here-“ he pulled up his sleeve, checking his watch, “-two minutes ago!”

Just as his sentence finished the door clicked open and in were shoved three men, each with their hands tied behind their backs and their mouths filled with fabric gags. Wits moved around the desk, leaning against the bookcase behind his boss now. His boss in question setting his wine glass down in favor of pulling yet another blade out of his pocket.

“Well well well. Look what we’ve got here~” he cooed, a sick smile spreading to his face. “Two traitors and a pathetic excuse of a spy.” He slammed the blade down into his desk, the metal cutting into the wood enough to make it stick upright.

The three on their knees stared up with wide eyes as the man known as QuickFang circled around his desk to stand over them, glimmering blade in hand. This- oh no. No no no. This is bad.

“Now, give me one damn reason why I shouldn’t gut you three like fish and roast you over an open flame for the next dinner party I host.”

The three on the ground shivered, eyes shaking as they stared up. They couldn’t speak. Oh god they couldn’t speak. They couldn’t give him a reason. He was gonna-

The man in the middle froze, feeling the cold tip of the metal blade press into the nape of his neck. Not enough to cut, but enough to remind him it was there. No. No. Nonono.

“You’re lucky I care about my carpet and floor. Blood is awfully hard to clean, you know,” QuickFang growled, removing the blade favoring to twirl it in his hands as he paced around them yet again. “Though I must do something. Letting you three go would be a death sentence to me and my group here and that’s the last thing I want. One of us has to go though to keep our little secret safe.”

There was a mumble of something under one of the three tied up’s breath. Something that sounded an awful lot like an insult. Something that relit the white hot rage in QuickFang’s core.

“Ah so you have a death wish!” He snapped, whipping around and pressing the blade into the man furthest to the left’s neck, Slicing a thin line. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to leave a little trail of blood dripping down. The crazed look in his eyes was something that would burn into those who saw it’s brains. “Those always make things more fun~! How do we start, hmm?”

Before he could do anything else, Wits rushed in behind his boss, arms wrapping around his waist and face burrowing into the crook of his neck. He breathed softly, feeling the tension in his lover melt away. Taking deep breaths, he cooed, “Good….good boy…..”

“Mmggh….baby….not here..” the taller groaned as he melted in the embrace, “...not now. You gotta- mmgh….wait….”

“Shhhh. I know. My mind is on something else though, darling~” the second in command cooed, gently placing a kiss to his boss/lover’s jawbone. He shot a glare to the five against the wall, a growl in his tone when he spoke. “Out. Now.”

And out they all went, Marcell closing the door behind her.

“What’s with the boss and Wits?” She asked, rushing up beside one of the older goons. Surely he knew.

“Those two have been inseparable since the day Wits joined. He stuck to the boss like glue and became his right hand man soon after.” The goon explained, voice rough. “He was captured once. Taken hostage and put in danger at one of the fights in the square. I’ve never seen the boss so mad. The only time he calmed down was when that boy was back in his arms and spoke to him once more. In short, the boss would end the world for that boy. Don’t cross either.”

“Ah. I see…” Marcell hummed, walking off to the spy’s quarters. Surely there was something for her to do there.

QuickFang groaned softly, lidded eyes looking to his partner. “Jackie….what are you planning?”

“Shhh...you’ll ruin the surprise if ya keep askin’ questions, Dave.” Wits, more commonly known as Jack, cooed, letting go of the boy in his arms. “Now be a good boy and go sit in that throne o’ yer’s, kay? Let Wits handle this~”

Davey groaned, stumbling his way to his chair and falling limp into it. “You’re a man of mystery, Jack Kelly. I’ll never understand how you do it.”

“Do what?” Jack asked, poking another one of the three men on the floor. Well, two now- oh! Only one.

“Make me melt like that. I don’t- mmgh- get it.”

“Heheh oh. That. Well Dave,” Jack cooed, smiling as the third man seemingly disappeared as he tucked them between his arm and his chest. “Telling you would ruin the fun~! Now, from how your belly felt my little baby is hungry. Is that the case? Does my little darling want a nice squirmy meal to fill his tummy~?”

Davey’s eyes locked on the three men in Jack’s hold. Oh. Oh boy. A squirmy meal did sound very very nice. But...he wanted to tease a bit. Just a bit. He looked to Jack with pleading eyes, cocking his head just a little. “Please?”

“Hehehe awe. Look at that~” Jack cooed, setting the three on the desk. Next to them he set the knife, blade glimmering in the light. With a grin he stepped back, hands up again in surrender. “The floor is yours, baby~”

Slowly but surely that same evil grin pulled itself across Davey’s face. Oh yes~ He was quick to grab hold of the knife’s handle again, twirling it for a second before stabbing the blade down in front of the three tinies. His weak state was wiped from his mind, being replaced with the confident, sinister mob boss who had a grip on all of Manhattan known as QuickFang. “And once again the games begin~”

The three tinies on the table felt a shiver shoot up their spines as the knife came slamming down in front of them, narrowly missing one of their feet. Sweet Jesus. What was he getting at?!

A low evil laugh rang in the boy’s throat, the knife being pulled from the table to be placed under one of the tinies chins and tilting it up to face the evil, icy blue eyes of the boy.

“Now now. Why the long face~? I thought you three liked to play risky~” he cooed, twirling the knife in his hand. QuickFang’s eyes burned holes in the three on the table. Oh how stupid they had been to have pulled this stunt. “I’m not gonna….pull anything~”

At his own words, Davey promptly grabbed one of the tinies by their bound hands. He brought them to eye level, stomach growling as he stared them down. A sound that struck fear in the hearts of the other two.

“Now you must know that by now I’m positively starving and in desperate need of a good meal.” The calm tone in the boy’s voice was enough to rattle the three tinies to the core. How could one be so calm while talking about something so….so…..terrible?! A Yelp, muffled by the gag, sounded from the poor tiny who was being dangled by his arms as the warm, squishy muscle of the boy’s tongue dragged itself up him. It repeated. Again, and again, and again until-

*clack*

Those on the desk still froze as their friend was closed in behind the pearly white gates of Davey’s teeth. They watched with drowning horror as the caught spy was pushed around, sucked on, and even nibbled at by the man. It was torture to see. Seemingly impossible to bear. Until things got worse-

Ulp~

Way. Worse.

They’re forced to watch as the spy slips further and further down the young man’s gullet, squeezing and slipping past the wet, soft, squishing muscles. To watch as the squirmy lump that was the man side down down down until it was out of sight. Oh but the gurgle from the boss’s stomach let them know where he was.

“Ahh~! Much better. One right where he belongs~” QuickFang hummed with a sigh. Oh to have something squirming fill his belly. The taste of vanilla sat on his tongue as he licked over his lips, a glob of thick warm drool dripping onto his desk. His gaze snapped to the two on the table once more, his grin turning sinister yet again. “And how lucky I have two more~”

The two goons on the table tried to wiggle away in hopes of escape. In hopes of living another day because they knew the moment they entered their boss’s gut they weren’t leaving. Ever. This was terrifying as is, even more so when they were seconds too late and were grabbed up in a tight fist back to back.

“Ah Ah Ah! Now where do you think you’re going~?” The man with the golden broach cooed, grinning at the two like some crazed lunatic. His teeth parted to reveal a soaking pink, plush tongue and shimmering fangs along with the dark, unforgiving tunnel of his throat. As if things couldn’t get worse, the slimy muscle of his tongue pulled itself up their tiny bodies as they squirmed in the leather glove’s grip.

“Mmmm….oh my. Tell me, why do people lacking the most brains taste the best~?” His signature grin spread on his lips, a thick layer of saliva coating his teeth as he licked them over. A low rumbling growl sounded from his gut, the tiny inside squeaking. “Oh who am I kidding. Look at me. Talking to my meal. Heheh. Oh I must be losing it. Well, down the hatch before I get worse!”

The jaw of the predator opened up like a gate, throat twitching at the end of their path. Their end. The thought made them shiver as they landed roughly on the slick surface of Davey’s tongue. Their shoulders dug into the taste buds as they skidded back. Back further and further until-

Glp-

Glk-

Glrk~

Down they go.

“Ahhh~ Oh...oh that’s good~” Davey sighed, a pleased tone to all he said as he fell back into his chair. Now that was good. His hand came to rest over his stomach as the two remaining snacks slipped in, causing a small bump to form under his shirts. A light blush dusted his face, a shudder coursing through every cell of his existence as the small bodies continued to writhe about in the dark, deathly confines of his gut.

“Awww heheh. Good job, baby~” Jack cooed, walking up behind the boss in the chair. He grinned, gently cupping the boy’s face to turn him to face him. “Awe. Dat’s the face of a full, happy lil Pred, now ain’t it~?” He slowly drew his hand back, drinking in the sight of the mob boss following it as if begging for more contact. A warm chuckle bubbled from his throat as he reached for the glass, holding the rim to Davey’s lips. He hummed small instructions to drink, giving praise once the action is done. With a smirk on his face he turned to leave, a hand grabbing his and stopping his movement.

“Oh? What’s that, Dave?” Jack asked, cocking his head. The most he got in response was a groan. “Dave. Words. Or you don’t get what you want~!”

“Mmmghhh…..Cuddles…..now….” the boy groaned, pulling at Jack’s hand weakly. A smile spread onto his face as Jack came to sit in his lap. He wrapped his arms around the boy, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Heh someone’s snuggly~” The boy’s voice was smooth, calming to the boy who’s lap he sat in. A gentle kiss found it’s way between their lips and they relaxed in the room. Before long soft snoring sounded from the boy with the golden broach, pulling a small laugh from his right hand man. “Sleep well, Dave. Yer belly’s got a job to do. I’ll run this joint for ya while ya sleep. I’ll see ya when you wake up~”

[kumeko]

A/N: For the once in a lifetime zine! I just wanted to write all the siblings.

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1.      Past

 “Gure-san!” Ayame crooned into the phone, delight spreading to his toes at the sound of his friend’s voice. It had been ages since they’d last called, since they’d last played this game of lovers and midnight escapades. He pouted. “You took too long to call me.”

 “Aaya, you know I could never leave you for long,” Shigure breathed on the other end of the phone, his tone perfectly serious. It was the thing that freaked out their teachers’ the most: the absolute lack of a teasing lilt or mocking smirk. The inability to determine if he was serious or not. “There’s no one who could replace you.”

 Really, it had been too long. Ayame closed his eyes, his finger twirling on his antique phone’s cord. It was too bad there was no audience for this performance, no Hatori to give them a dry look, no Mayu tossing a table. He would have even taken his mother’s disgusted expression. Glancing around his empty shop, Ayame noted the light escaping under the sewing room’s door. Mine was still here then.

 Mine was here. His lips tugged up into an involuntary smile as he sat down on an empty couch. “So you weren’t cheating on me, Gure-san?”

 “Never.” Shigure chuckled. There was a short pause, the breath between actions, and while his tone was still light, Ayame could almost see his slow smirk. “Though that might change. Yuki’ll be staying with me.”

“Yuki?” Ayame blinked, confused. Yuki. Yuki. A familiar name. An old classmate? A younger cousin?

“You still don’t remember your brother’s name?” Shigure let out a short, bark-like laugh. After a long pause, he added incredulously, “Or did you forget that you have a brother entirely?”

 Both. Ayame didn’t respond, his grip tightening on the phone. Yuki. His brother. Faintly, just faintly, he remembered small fingers reaching for him, a tiny voice and teary eyes. A black room and Akito’s smirk. A hazy image with a hazy name. “He’s moving in with you?”

 Shigure didn’t press the matter, to Ayame’s relief. “Haru asked. Haru. Can you believe that? The cow helping the rat? I guess your brother actually has friends outside of Akito.”

 A cruel comment. Ayame couldn’t refute it; he had thought the same thing, on those rare instances he thought of his brother at all. “Akito let him leave?”

 “I know! Amazing. And he’s even going to our high school.” Nonchalantly, Shigure changed topics. “Well, they managed the three of us, I think they can handle one well-behaved kid. It’ll be like having a second Hatori. He’s a quiet kid.”

“He’s in our high school,” Ayame muttered, his brow furrowed. Yuki was in high school. His tiny fingers were bigger now, his voice deeper. There must have been a time—at the new year’s banquet, at any of the million times he’d visited the main house—that he’d seen this Yuki, an almost grown-up Yuki.

 But his memory was still that of a child and a heavy feeling settled in his belly.

 “Don’t tell me you forgot high school too!” Shigure teased playfully.

 “No…I just…” Ayame struggled to find the words to describe this feeling, this aching, gnawing feeling. “I didn’t know.” That his brother was in high school. That his brother was leaving the compound. That his brother had friends, had at least one friend. Even the facts he barely remembered, favourite foods and toys, were all circumspect. “Does he know that we went there?”

 “I don’t think so. He’s never brought it up.” Shigure paused and Ayame could tell before he even took a breath, before the first syllable was uttered, that this would hurt. “He hasn’t mentioned you either.”

 It was like the twist of a knife. A punch in the stomach. Ayame was left winded and he didn’t even know why.

 “It’s not like you two talk.” There was a pounding sound on the other side of the line and Shigure sighed. “Well, I suppose I have to let her in eventually. Or she might actually hang herself. See you in my dreams, Aaya.”

 “Not if I see you first,” he responded automatically. On the other end, the phone went dead, a dial tone echoing in his ears.

 “Ayame?” Mine poked her head out of the door. Spotting him, she cocked her head. “Is something wrong?”

 “Yes. No.” He stared down at his shirt, at the edges of his right sleeve. Tiny fingers had reached for it once, tiny fingers that he had never considered once. “I…I don’t know.”

2.      Present

 “Heya, squirt.” Arisa ruffled Megumi’s hair as she walked past him to the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge, she rifled through its contents for drinks. “Didn’t realize you were home.”

 “I just came back.” Calmly, he ran his fingers through his locks, brushing any stray hair back in place. There. Much better. While he liked the attention, there were times when Megumi wished Arisa would be less physical about it. Noting her cotton shorts and white tank top, he cocked his head. “A slumber party?”

 “Yep.” Grabbing four cans of pop, Arisa closed the fridge with her shoulder. She held out one can to him with a grin. “Come on, you can join us. We’re playing some card games and I’m tired of Saki winning all the time.”

 “She’ll beat me too,” he pointed out, still accepting the cold can.

 “Then at least we can change who’s losing.” Arisa shifted the cans from one hand to the other, rubbing the cold appendage against her leg to warm it up. “I feel like Tohru should be doing worse than she is, and Saki’s screwing me over.”

 The chances of that happening were almost a hundred percent. Megumi didn’t even need to ask his sister to know. Trailing after Arisa as they headed upstairs, he asked, “So all three of you today?”

 “Mmmm, yeah. It’s been so long since it’s been just the three of us.” Arisa practically bounced up the steps. Looking over her shoulder, she winked. “I kidnapped her from the prince and the pauper. Just because they live with her, the Sohmas think they can hog all of her attention.”

 “The prince and the pauper?” Megumi raised a brow. That was a new nickname. “I thought he was an orange-haired bastard?”

 “He can be both.” Arisa shrugged, reaching the top landing. She spun around, a mischievous smirk on her face. “He’s a pauper because he almost always loses at Rich Man, Poor Man.”

 “That would make you one too.” Saki suddenly appeared behind Arisa, grabbing a pop can. Ignoring Arisa’s surprised jump, she stared at the can. “It’s cold.”

 “Warn me a little, would ya?” Arisa leaned against the wall, calming down. She shot Saki a disgruntled glare. “At the very least, I beat Kyo. And sometimes Tohru.”

 “A grievance I shall never forgive,” Saki remarked, rolling the can in her hands. “This feels good.”

 “It is hot today.” Megumi pressed his can against his cheek. The cool aluminum sent a shiver down his spine. Ah, that was much better.

 “…I can never tell if either of you are serious or not.” Arisa rubbed her forehead, torn between exasperation and annoyance. She glanced at Megumi, and then at Saki. “At least you’re wearing short sleeves today.”

 “I am not completely immune to the heat,” Saki replied, fanning herself lightly. “Ah. It truly is hot.”

 “Now you’re making fun of me.” Straightening up, Arisa barged into Saki’s bedroom. “Alright, time to kick everyone’s asses.”

 “K-kick?” Out of sight, a surprised Tohru squeaked. “It’s a card game!”

 Still standing in the hallway, Saki leaned against a wall, closing her eyes with a pleased smile. Quietly, Megumi stood next to her, his shoulder bumping into her arm, listening as Arisa crowed excitedly, as Tohru stuttered and panicked. His sister chuckled softly and he could feel the vibrations through her skin.

 A laugh. A smile. Megumi watched her, transfixed.

 “Yes?” Saki cracked open an eye. Even the aura around her felt light and teasing.

 “You’re happy,” he said, more a statement than question.

 “Hmm.” Saki considered it before nodding. “I am.” She opened both her eyes and smiled fondly at him. “Your prayer came true.”

 3.      Future

 “She’s here!” Momo peeked out the living room curtain, into the main garden. She quickly let go of the cloth, letting it fall back into place as she stumbled back. “And so is everyone else.”

 “Ahhhh…” Momiji’s smile dropped a notch as he tried to figure out just how did his cousins know about this concert. There was Tohru, of course, but while she was a terrible liar, she wouldn’t actually tell anyone. Standing behind his sister, he drew back the window curtains just enough to get a glimpse of everyone. Haru. Yuki. Kyo. Shigure—

 Shigure. Momiji rubbed his forehead. Yep. That was the root cause. It would have been hard for Tohru to hide it from him, her face gave everything away. From there, it was a single call to invite all of the ex-zodiac members. Add in their friends and a performance for three became a performance for a crowd. Frowning, he shot a glare at his older cousin. “It’s always him.”

 “That’s a lot of people,” Momo muttered, clutching her violin tightly. She glanced at him in askance. “Are we really going to perform?”

 “Yep!” Smiling at her encouragingly, Momiji pointed at the few cousins that she’d met. “There’s Kisa and Haru and Hiro—actually, never mind Hiro.”

 Despite the things that had changed since the curse was broken, Hiro’s tongue was not one of them. Even Kisa couldn’t sweeten his barbed words by much. Still, he was at least moderately kinder to others and Momo hadn’t come back in tears whenever she played with the pair.

 “Kisa.” Momo brightened. “And…there’s Yuki. And Mine and…” She stumbled, trying to remember the names of all their friends. “And…and Uotani and Hanajima…”

 “Yep.” Momiji grinned, counting them off himself. There were far more outsiders in the Sohma compound these days, the doors open to all now. High school friends, coworkers, that guy from the bakery—wait. Momiji cocked his head. It was good and all that anyone could come and go, but why were all of these random strangers here for a single violin recital?

 Momiji’s eyes landed on silver hair. Of course. He should have known. Ayame. Who else could it have been? As though sensing his thoughts, Ayame spotted him and shot him a thumbs up. He winked, mouthing, Good luck.

 It was hard to decide between Shigure and Ayame which one deserved more punishment. Maybe he could sick Hatori on both of them later. Turning back to his sister, he wrapped an arm around her and hugged her to his side. “We have so many friends! I think they’ll be happy to hear us play.”

 “Right.” Momo swallowed, peeking back through the curtain once more. She took a deep breath, stood up straight, and then moved back into the center of the room. Staring at her violin for a long moment, she squared her shoulders and raised it. “We have to tune up.”

 Part of Momiji missed the baby chick, the little girl who was always peering around her mother’s skirts. As a teenager, the only part of that left was the tremble of her hands as she raised her violin, the slight shake of her bow as she tried to settle herself. Yet this girl was able to talk to him, was able to be with him, and he would take that over the baby chick any day. “Right.”

 Momiji raised his violin. Finally, after all those years, they were playing together. Like real siblings. Like a real family.

[fluffyskies]

Laughter is just as Sweet (Part 2)

Sanders Sides

Ship: Could be seen as Royality

Category: Tickling

Characters: Ler Patton, Lee Roman!

Summary: The sides have been eating a little too many sweets and Patton is hear to show them that they're not the only thing that is sweet. 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

After Patton visited Virgil he made his way back to the kitchen but on his way he hears whispering. He peeked around the corner only to see Roman and Logan looking for the cookie jar he hid.

"Roman are you sure we should be doing this behind Patton's back? Logan asked cautiously.

"It'll be fine as long as he doesn't know" he replied still looking for the jar in the pantry.

"Ok if your sure" Logan muttered. Though he was sure they would get caught. He and Roman heard Virgil laughter upstairs and figured if he was busy they could sneak a few cookies. But they better hurry quick because it had been quite for awhile.

"Ahem, boys what do you two think your doing? a voice called behind them.

They both jumped startled then turned around to find Patton leaning against the wall.

"O-oh Pat heeeey" Roman said guilty.

"Yeah heeeey to you too" Patton said.

Logan began to feel nervous apon hearing Virgil's laughter he knew what was coming. So this made him blurt out something that he wouldn't usually say.

"It was Roman's idea! He came up with the plan to get more cookies!"

"Oh really? So this was your plan"

Roman froze, Logan really had to rat him out like that.

"Y-yeah I was my idea but he agreed to it" he said rubbing his neck.

"Ok then that's all I need to here" as Patton gave a bright smile.

While Patton and Roman had their little conversation Logan thought this was the perfect time to make his get away.

"Ah wait where's Logan?" Roman asked as he looked around.

"Looks like your partner fled leaving you with me".

Roman hated to admit it but Logan really left him here to take the punishment. Although he could get him back for it later. But was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a sudden hug.

"Uhh Pat?"

"Hmm?"

"W-what are yo-" he was cut off when Patton picked him up by the waist.

"Wait! where are you taking me??"

Patton didn't reply just carried him to the living room and plopped him in the sofa.

"Oof"

"Say Ro" he said as he climbed to sit on his hips.

"What's something that is just as sweet as cookies?".

"I don't know... chocolate?"

Patton smiled at him, for a second he thought he was right but only to be told he got it wrong.

"Sorry wrong, good guess though"

He looked up at Patton's face and saw a familiar glint in his eye but couldn't put his finger on it.

"I mean you were kinda close he spoke, but the answer is.....laughter!" he yelled.

"E-eh wha-?"

Roman braced himself for the immediate contact but weirdly enough nothing happened. He looked up at Patton once more and his eyes widened when he saw his face.

Patton wore a wide grin but he didn't dive in just yet. He wanted to tease Roman to the point where he wanted to get tickled.

Since Roman knew where this was heading he couldn't hide the nervous smile that took over.

"Is that a smile I spy?"

"I don't know what your talking about" the creative side scoffed.

"Sooo your not actually a lee in disguise that wants lots and lots of tickle wickles?"

Roman just shook his head

"No? Romie dosen't want tickles?"

He just shook his head even faster the blush becoming visible in his cheeks.

"Your bluuuushing why's that?"

Roman just sputtered out sounds that were not very princely, but he was too busy being flustered to pay attention to it. Then Patton took his wrists in one hand and held them up over his head. That's when he really started to squirm, having more ticklish spots exposed.

His smile growing even wider the anticipation getting to him. Patton smiled his plan falling into action. So with his free hand he set it right where his ribs met his armpits. This made Roman flinch and caused a small whine to come out.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing"

"Hmm ok, then you wouldn't mind if I moved my hand?"

There was no reply so Patton went ahead and did it anyway. He slowly started to move his index finger. Which caused Roman to flinch a bit more than last time. Then he proceeded to move all his fingers not putting much pressure, light tickling. The squirming increased and the build up was almost complete.

Roman's breath started to get louder as puffs of air morphed into soft titters.

"Pahat stohop" he giggled louder when he felt a little pressure applied to the spot.

"Stop whaaaat?" asked Patton

"Tihihickling mehe!"

"Tickle you? Okie dokie you got it!"

"Waihihihit!!! I didn't mean-" he was cut off with his own burst of giggles.

Patton let go of his wrists and dove for his ribs making his giggles intensify. He also let them go because their daring prince was strong but weak against tickles. He also took note how Roman grabbed his wrists but didn't push them away.

"Aww does Ro Ro like the tickles?"

"Nahaha!!"

"Then why aren't you pushing my hands away?"

The creative side just giggled in response I mean anything he said would come out as giggles.

"I mean im certainly not complaining, your laughter is delicious" growling playfully when saying the last few words.

"Nohoho ihihits nahaHAHAT!! his laughter going up when Patton's fingers dangerous went higher.

"But the tickle monster is hungry for your giggles"

"Ok ok fine! But please somewhere else pleahehese!" Roman said somewhat gaining enough control to say that.

Patton slowed his fingers and pouted.

"Oook fine I'll go somewhere else your Majesty" he joked.

Roman got a tiny break to breathe, but his giggles started up again when he felt fluttering fingers at his neck.

"Eek! thahat tihihickles!" he squeak.

"Yes that's the point, your giggles are truly delicious-" he was cute off when he heard a very interesting sound leave the prince's lips.

*Snort*

It apparently happened when his fingers trailed over to his jaw line.

"Ahahaha n-not there!"

"Ooooh did I find a sweet spot?" he said as he continued to torment that very sensitive spot.

"Pahahahat!!!"

"Yeeeees!!!" he copied.

Patton countiued to flutter, scratch and maybe sneak a few raspberries to poor Romans defenseless neck. But yet he never once pulled away of asked for him to stop.

After about 10 more minutes he stopped letting him breathe. He got off of him and sat next to him so he could get up.

"Wohohow Ihihi didn't expect the suhuhuden tickle attack" he said with his leftover giggles.

"Well Roman I did it because you and the others looked sad so I decided to cheer you up".

"Definitely worked" Roman said as he smiled at him.

"Annnd I'd be lying if I said the tickle monster didn't enjoy his meal, guess laughter is really filling and probably more tasty then food!"

Roman processed what Patton had just said laughter is probably even tastier then food?. He'd definitely need to talk to Virgil about this one.

This is the end of part 2! Hope you enjoyed sorry if it took awhile but writing when you not in a mood is hard...(• ▽ •;) Part 3 will be out soon maybe in the next 2-3 days? Have a nice day :D

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Skyward

Ao3

Chapter 3: The Greatest Pain of All

Ochako’s heart was still a little troubled when she followed Katsuki back inside the house. Guilt hung heavy like chains on her body; she knew that Tomura and the pirates were scouring the countryside for her, and with their resources, it wouldn’t be long before they found her. Despite the fact that she’d agreed to accompany him into town since she would be more conspicuous by herself, it still made her feel burdensome. She would hate for him to get hurt because of her. 

“Oi,” Katsuki said and poked her in the side of the head. “You’re goin’ spacey again, Cheeks. I asked if you wanted to take a bath.” Ochako blushed slightly as she rubbed her temple where he’d poked her. I really do tend to get absorbed in my thoughts around him. 

“Sorry… A bath would be lovely, yes.” The airship had no working plumbing, so the last time she’d bathed had been the morning that she’d been plucked off her farm. Her hair was still messy from her plummet from the dirigible as well. Katsuki led her down the hall to his small washroom, procuring a towel for her. As she held the soft, cottony cloth, Katsuki looked her up and down with a small frown. When he scratched his head and surveyed her, heat rose to Ochako’s cheeks. 

“Hmm… They’ll be a little big, but…” he mumbled to himself before shambling off. Ochako blinked, staring at the door where he’d just exited and wondering what to do. She continued to hug the towel as she leaned out the door frame, looking left and right with wide eyes. She could hear him shuffling around in the depths of the house, grumbling to himself and obviously rifling through something. Confused, she ducked back into the bathroom and looked at the tub. 

It was a rather plain white tub with bronze accents. There was only a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo resting on the side; though she would love the feel of soft, silky conditioner soaking into her hair, beggars couldn’t be choosers. She set the towel down on the closed toilet seat and flipped on the tap, then sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Water gushed forth from the spout, freezing cold when she dipped her fingers underneath the stream. Though numbness began to spread up from her fingertips, she enjoyed the water cascading against her finger pads with drumming intensity. 

She became transfixed watching the water pour from the spout, her eyes growing lidded as she listened to the dull roar of the flow. It reminded her of the waterfall near her farm; the torrent plunged down the mountainside into a white-water river that carved through the valley. A small tributary splintered off near the base of the waterfall to trickle down a short moss-covered bluff to fill a small pool. Ochako would often walk there to swim or bathe in the clear, cold water, enjoying the fish swimming around her legs and the sand squishing between her toes. 

“You really are a space case,” Katsuki suddenly snorted from behind her, making her jump. The water had grown warm, she realized, so she quickly tugged up the stopper to let the tub fill. She turned to look at Katsuki, and then squeaked in surprise when he shoved some cloth articles into her face. “Here. I know they’re boy’s clothes and not nearly as nice as your dress, but they’re all I’ve got. This’ll help you blend in until we get into town. I’ll buy you something else to wear there.” 

“Oh… Thanks, but you don’t have t—” Her words died in her throat as he briskly walked out of the bathroom, leaving her alone. She blinked, then looked down at the clothes. It was a pair of cargo pants with a cotton shirt, much like what Katsuki was wearing. Curious, she brought it to her nose to take a sniff. A spicy, earthy scent flooded into her nose, making her flush when she realized that was probably what Katsuki smelled like. It’s nice, she thought dreamily, the scent making her mind cottony and muddled. She then tossed the clothes onto the toilet seat with a gasp, mortified at herself. What kind of freak was she, smelling a boy’s clothes? Groaning and hiding her bright red face, she hurried to close the door. 

She took a moment to rest her forehead against the door, processing the whirlwind of events that had led her to Katsuki’s house on the hill. From being chased off the airship to falling down the cracked roof, she was emotionally exhausted. It was then that she finally allowed herself to cry, quiet sobs muffled by her hands and the pounding of the water filling the bathtub. She hadn’t given Tomura the satisfaction of seeing her cry; she’d kept it pent up inside, and now, here in this tiny bathroom, she finally felt safe enough to let out the tears. They puddled on the floor at her feet, filled with sadness and fear and trepidation. 

She was still sniffling when she turned off the water and shed her clothes. She sank into the warm water, unable to suppress a loud moan when the warmth seeped into her muscles all the way to her bones. She slipped down until the water lapped just underneath her nose. The heat enveloped her whole being, washing away the toil and grief to leave her feeling raw, whole, clean . The shadow of Tomura had clung to her since she’d boarded that airship, and finally it felt like she was free of his cold touch on her arm and the warning that he would always be watching her with harsh, eagle-like eyes. 

I wonder how close he is to the mining town, she thought, her eyes lidded as she watched the surface of the water ripple and slosh against the sides of the ceramic tub. Nervousness coiled in her belly as she thought of how angry he would be if he caught her. I don’t want to go back with him. I want to get far, far away… As tears began to brim in her eyes again, she thought of Katsuki. I wonder… If I asked him… If he would protect me. The thought alone made guilt flush through her body. She couldn’t possibly ask more of Katsuki than she already had. I’ll let him take me into town, buy me some clothes, and send me off somewhere I can get help. That will be that… That will be goodbye . 

The word stung, making her sink underneath the water to submerge her head. Her hair floating in wispy tendrils around her was her only company. Tears pricked at her eyes again, blending with the warm water. If there was anything that she had learned in recent days, it was that loneliness was the greatest pain of all. 

Though Ochako longed to soak in the water until it had gone cold and her skin had turned the consistency of a wrinkled prune, it would be rude to keep Katsuki waiting. After scrubbing her skin and washing her hair, she pulled the plug at the bottom of the tub and stepped out to dry herself. The towel felt fluffy and soft on her skin as she rubbed it all over; its downy fabric absorbed the beads of water still clingy to her skin, which was still rosy from the heat of the water. After coaxing as much liquid as she could from her damp brown locks, she used her fingers to comb through the strands, teasing out the knots. She used her hand to wipe away the steam clinging to the mirror. Her reflection seemed almost foreign to her, worry lines and eyebags that she’d never seen before that made her seem haggard. 

It’s amazing what a night of stress can do to you. She frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t just the single night of stress, but the culmination of all her lonely nights in the mountains, sitting in an empty home that was once so full of life and love. As she thought of that empty valley, where the gentle brays of her yaks had failed to sustain her happiness, she wondered if she really wanted to go back at all. 

It was just so, so lonely. 

A bang sounding in the back of the house stirred Ochako out of her sulking. She gave herself one more pat-down with the towel before picking up Katsuki’s clothes. She flushed when she held up the pair of boxers to her waist; they seemed so large on her, the bottoms dangling down to her thighs. When she slipped them up her legs, there was a good inch of space between her waist and the elastic band. There’s no way that I can wear this! She thought, her face bright pink. Her underwear had only been worn for one day, so they should be all right, she thought with a small sigh as she slipped out of the boxers and replaced them with her simple cotton bloomers. 

Unfortunately, she couldn’t just prance around with those. She had similar luck when she pulled on the pants; they hung loose on her hips, and the ends flopped over the tops of her feet. Luckily, Katsuki had thought ahead and brought her a belt. She slipped it through the loops and pulled it as tight as it could go, bunching the fabric up around her waist. She then rolled the pants up to her heels; though the pants were still baggy and loose, they didn’t flop right off her when she jumped up and down, so she supposed they would do until they could get into town. She wiggled into the cotton shirt, which draped over her like a curtain. At least it’ll help disguise that I’m a girl! She thought as she examined her reflection, turning this way and that. The billowy fabric hid her curves well. She retrieved the final piece of clothing, a dusty cap, and tucked as much of her hair into it as she could. 

Yep! I’m the picture of a street rat! She thought with a giggle. It was kind of exciting, donning a disguise. Yet the fear of Tomura and the pirates soon swallowed up that excitement, leaving her hollow and cold. I hope they don’t find me here. I hope I can get away in time… And I don’t cause Katsuki any trouble. 

She didn’t want him to come knocking at the bathroom door calling her spacey again, so she hurriedly exited the bathroom. However, he was nowhere in sight. She looked up and down the small hallway, unable to hear him within the depths of the house anymore. Maybe he went back outside with the dogs? The problem was that she was still unfamiliar with the house and wasn’t quite sure how to get back outside. Frowning, she wandered off in a direction that felt right. She wasn’t brought to the front door, but instead to a large room. 

Most of the floor space was occupied by a large half-constructed, bird-like structure. A plane? She thought as she approached, gliding her fingers over the light wood composing the contraption’s skeleton. She looked to the wall to find a workbench, yet the tools and schematics were covered in a thick coating of dust. This place hasn’t been used in quite some time… Blueprints of many flying machines were inked onto thick paper, accompanied by mathematical equations she couldn’t comprehend. Are these Katsuki’s? But some of this looks like a woman’s handwriting. She frowned as she leafed through the pages. Some of the script was small and hurried print, while other equations were scrawled in larger, more cursive numbers and letters. 

As she turned, still flipping through the fascinating schematics, a flash of white on the other wall caught her attention. She looked up to see a large framed photograph. The papers slipped from her grasp as she began to walk close, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp— she was transfixed by the photograph. Her fingers were trembling as she reached up to stroke the glass of the frame, unable to touch the swirls of white cloud just centimeters under the barrier. Out of the whorls of white burst a large castle, ominous and grand and littered with plant life. A gold plaque bore an inscription of a single word, and that mere word had Ochako quivering with confusion and awe. 

“Uravity,” Katsuki’s voice said from the doorway. She didn’t move, just stared at the photograph with wide eyes. She heard the heavy footsteps of his boots as he walked across the room to stand at her side, and the hard thunk of another pair hitting the floor. She felt him cross his arms next to her, and that was when she looked up; he was scowling at the photograph, his vermilion eyes filled with hatred. “The legendary castle in the sky. My parents spent their whole lives hunting for it; tales about the floating castles have existed here for ages, and they were determined to be the first to discover it and claim its treasures. They even tried building their own flying machines, but could never get high enough above the cloud banks where it’s said to lurk.” 

Ochako looked back to the photograph, at the thick swirl of clouds writhing around the impressive structure. It would take a mighty craft indeed to best the gales sure to surround it. 

“When they heard that someone was selling a dirigible in the next town over, they scraped up every penny they had to buy it. They were sure that it would be enough to bring them to Uravity. That was the last I saw of them, taking off from the cliffs,” he breathed, hanging his head. Ochako could see the tension rising in his body as he clenched every inch of himself. “They made it, all right… Up above the clouds where no human should go. Uravity is surrounded by a mighty storm that no ship can breach. Instead of turning back, they were determined to get as close as they could so they could snap that photograph.” 

His parents took this? She looked back at the frame in amazement. 

“It was the last thing they ever did because that storm ripped that aircraft into pieces.” Katsuki's voice shook with anger and sorrow. She turned to see him curling in on himself, shoulders shaking. “We never found their bodies, just that stupid camera hanging off some of the wreckage. All I had was two empty tombstones to grieve for.” 

“Katsuki…” Ochako murmured, reflexively reaching out to touch his shoulder. He flinched away from her, but before she could retract her hand, he leaned into her touch, nudging her fingers with his jaw. Her fingertips skimmed over his cheek to find them wet with salty tears. He gazed at her with puffy, teary eyes drowning in heartbreak and confusion. 

“I hate it, Ochako. I hate Uravity and the stupid sky it’s in because they took them from me. They always loved it more than me, and that’s why they left me here. Sometimes I wished I’d died with them, because maybe then I would have felt like they loved me.” 

Ochako didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected this boy that she’d just met to cry in front of her, to bear his heart to her, to look at her so pleadingly for answers. She didn’t think she had any, but she couldn’t stand that miserable, wretched look on his face, so she said what her heart told her to. 

“They loved you, Katsuki,” she murmured. He didn’t resist her when she slipped his arms around him in a gentle back hug. She pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades and he tipped back his head, gently tapping it against hers as he drew a shaky breath. “I’m sure that more than anything they wanted to do something to make you proud because they loved you that much.” 

“I didn’t need that. I just needed them to be here .” His voice cracked at the last word. “Ever since then I’ve had to deal with their shitty legacy. Everyone calls them liars and frauds, going so far as to fake their own deaths to get that stupid picture. Can you believe that shit?” He laughed sardonically, and the pain in it broke Ochako’s heart into pieces. “I don’t want that stupid picture or that stupid legacy. I just don’t want to be alone anymore, Ochako.” 

“I know. It’s scary, being all by yourself, so very scary… ” she said, burying her face into him as tears welled up in her eyes, too. His scent wafted up into her nose, spicy yet earthy. “You didn’t die because you weren’t meant to. You still have something left to do in this world. I don’t know what that is… But don’t lose hope, okay?” 

Because if you lose hope, I’ll lose hope, she finished silently. Her hope was already so fragile; she didn’t know what she would do if the little shred she had was lost. That scared her. 

But what scared her more than anything was that picture on the wall, that castle looming in the sky far above their heads, and what Katsuki would do when he found out that this was not the first time Ochako had heard “ Uravity .” Her crystal felt heavy on her chest, digging into her skin with the weight of all the uncertainties bearing down on her small shoulders. 

Yet she clung to Katsuki and swallowed that fear because loneliness really was the greatest pain of all, and orphans like them had to take care of each other.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.