#was bored the other night. picked up my pen and drew this

[devilmeows]

the dark stared back

[glatisant-questing]

Sannan's Short Story from the Manyo no Shou Limited Edition Booklet

The 15th anniversary is drawing near and I'm really interested in the sake set that they are releasing this year lol

... and Sannan's story is cozy and warm!

This short story was written by 長野 和泉

(I can’t seem to concentrate today…) 

I let out a small sigh and put down my pen.

It was good that we moved to Nishi Honganji, where I could hide from the Ito faction’s soldiers…

 (So that I can devote myself to my research whole-heartedly…But I should be able to make more progress, though. It doesn’t seem to go as well as I want it to.)

As I was thinking about these things, I looked at the glass bottle on my desk. 

I picked up the bottle and tilted it slightly, and the red liquid within oscillated gently. It was the potion that revived me, a person who should already have been dead as a swordsman because of my arm injury. Before me was a deadly poison that relentlessly erodes the body and mind of the drinker.

(I have to master the way this medicine works as soon as possible, so that I can make some solid progress…) 

That’s what I was thinking when it happened.

 (This is…) 

I felt someone’s presence outside the room, and my attention was turned to that direction.

 Soon after, muffled footsteps drew close and stopped in front of my room. The person seemed to be careful not to make any noise, but it was a futile trick for me, since I have become a fury. 

“Is that you, Yukimura-kun? Are you bringing me the meal today as usual?”

 I called out to the other side of the door, and I sensed the person holding their breath. 

After a brief silence, there was an answer from her. 

“Yes. I don’t know if it tastes good to you, though.” 

“Please come in.”

After a moment of hesitation, the door opened. 

“Excuse me.” She said, and then she –– Yukimura Chizuru-kun, carried the serving tray into my room carefully. The fragrance of the miso soup reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything since I woke up. 

“Thank you for going through all the trouble. I’m sorry that you have to deliver me dinner every night, even though I haven’t contributed much to the Shinsengumi so far.” 

I said jokingly, but Yukimura’s expression changed immediately. 

“That’s not the case… No one in the Shinsengumi, and of course me included, thinks that you haven’t made any contributions!”

I already guessed her response verbatim, and I couldn’t help but smile with some bitterness. 

“…It was just a joke. Don’t take it so seriously, or I’ll be concerned.” 

“J-joke… It was just a joke…?” 

“Yes, did you take it seriously?”

 “Of course. What you said didn’t sound like a joke at all…” 

She said, and then she sighed with relief. 

(Her mind is still so easy to read, and I can understand why Okita-kun likes to tease her with awful jokes.) 

As I thought so, I started to reach for the food on the tray. 

Yukimura-kun stared at me intently.

“…It’s hard for me to enjoy my meal if you keep looking at me like that.” 

“Ah–sorry! I was just worried if you liked the food or not.” 

“You’re a master chef, so you don’t have to worry. Your skills are well-known among the soldiers, you know.” 

“I hope so…” 

She seemed a little embarrassed by the praise, and smiled shyly.

Then, a small yawn escaped from her mouth. 

“Ah…sorry!” 

“Are you sleepy? It must be because you stayed up so late at night.” 

“No, that’s not the reason why…” 

“Then, are you suggesting that it’s boring to be with me like this?”

“N-no, that’s not the case either! It is just a coincidence that I yawned.” 

She tried to explain to me earnestly, as if she didn’t want me to feel even a little bit uneasy. 

“I understand. If you’re sleepy, why don’t you go back to your room? I’ll leave the tray outside when I’m good.” 

“But, what if someone who doesn’t know the situation finds the tray…” 

“It’ll be fine if I put it somewhere unobtrusive.” 

“But…” 

She didn’t articulate her reasons, but she didn’t seem to want to leave my place either. 

(Alas. She’s still as kind-hearted as always.)

Although I was a bit amazed, I didn’t feel bad about being taken care of like this. 

“…How about taking a nap here for a while? Of course, I’ll wake you up before dawn.” 

I suggested, and Yukimura-kun opened her eyes wide in surprise. 

“Eh… Is that okay?” 

“It’s fine, it’s not much trouble for me.” 

“But, will I hinder your research?” 

“I was thinking of taking a break anyway. Well, if you prefer to go back to your room and have some rest, that would be fine as well.” 

Then, Yukimura-kun looked around hesitantly. 

But, eventually–

“Thank you for your offer. I  will take a nap here for a while.” 

“Please wait for a moment. I’ll get you a pillow and something to cover yourself with.”

 I said that and went to the next room to get a pillow and something to cover over her.

 And when I came back to where Yukimura-kun was––

 “…Oh.”

 She was leaning against the wall, already breathing quietly in her sleep.

 (I was the one who suggested that she take a nap here, but… I didn’t expect her to fall asleep so quickly. She must have been very tired.) 

I felt sorry for waking her up, so I put a light haori over her. Yukimura-kun didn’t show any sign of waking up, and she slept soundly.

(But, she’s either too careless or too oblivious… Yukimura-kun, that time when I drank the ochimizu, I attacked you once. Have you forgotten already?) 

I won’t lose my sanity to the poison of the ochimizu anymore, but still, if I were in her position, I wouldn’t let my guard down like this.

(Well, I guess this is why the other soldiers adore you so much.) 

After looking down at her innocent and baby-like face  for a while, I turned back to my desk and resumed my research.

About half an hour later. 

“…Mm… Huh… What…” 

I felt Yukimura-kun waking up behind me. She seemed to have realized that she had just fallen asleep here.

“U-um, Sannan-san… I’m sorry, how did I fell asleep…!” 

She said, and she picked up the haori, and immediately folded it with care… and then, she left the room with the tray. 

“I-I am truly sorry!”

 She left without waiting for my reply. 

I could imagine her flustered expression even without seeing it, and a smile escaped from my lips. 

I wondered how she would look when she brings me a meal tomorrow night… I felt like I had something to look forward to.

[anywherebuthere]

I had a dream about you last night || j.p.

James Potter x fem!reader

“Even when you’re gone, you are all that haunts my dreams.”

Wordcount: 1969

A/N: Happy (belated) birthday to the only man ever <33 I am illiterate, so I had a mental breakdown writing this <3 please enjoy!! special thanks to @anchoeritic and @gxtitobxby for supporting me via discord and for making fun of the time I got hit by a car :)) @skullsontess07​ I finally posted it pls don’t hurt me <33

Warnings: alcohol, allusions to sex, death, bad writing, especially towards the end. barely proofread because I don’t believe in mistakes <3 /j

Please do not repost this!! I do not consent to this piece of fiction being published on any other site besides tumblr unless it by my doing.

The ticking of the grandfather clock thrummed in James’ ears as he tipped back the empty bottle, the smell of whiskey heavy in the air. He leaned his head against the cold surface of the white plaster wall, scanning the textured ceiling with misty eyes. His home, still half furnished, was riddled with traces of something better forgotten. Even with the weight of alcohol on his breath, his mind is running with memories and daydreams of her. 

He closed his eyes, forcing the imagery away. In the distance, a train chugged on, its lone whistle echoing in the night, and James can’t help but be pulled into an uneasy slumber, memories still flashing through his mind like a broken film. 

-

“Prongs, you git! We’re going to miss the train if you don’t hurry your fat arse.” Remus shouted, frustration seeping into his humoured voice. 

“Relax Moony, we’ll be fine,” he replied, breath heaving slightly from sprinting across Platform 9¾, just narrowly having avoided knocking over an elderly witch. 

As the four boys approached the entrance of the cart, the train’s departing whistle blared. They boarded quickly, though not without receiving a glare from a crew member.

Hurrying down the corridor, the boys glanced through every compartment window, though each appeared to be full of giggling sixth years. That is, with the exception of one.

Near the back end of the Hogwarts Express, was, at last, an empty compartment save for a singular figure slumped against the window. With no other choice of seating, the gaggle of boys slipped in silently, Sirius and Remus snagging the seats opposite to the slumbering girl, their pinkies linked as they whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves. 

Peter, as adverse to the female race as ever, took the seat closest to the door, leaving James to be wedged between the mousy blonde and the stranger, careful not to bump her with his broad shoulders.

The train ride was filled with hushed whispers as the marauders discussed this year's prank for the welcoming feast, a customary tradition they held sacred, as to “start the year right.” 

As they began going over the mechanisms of their plan, they felt the train begin to swerve as it approached a sharp turn. The compartment shook slightly and James suddenly felt a weight on his right side.

He stiffened, glancing over to see that the girl’s head had lulled over from the compartment wall and onto his shoulder. James recognized her as a student in their year. Y/N, who had tutored Regulus the same day that James had helped Sirius prank him as petty revenge for a now long-forgotten argument. 

And well, perhaps James had wanted her to notice him for once. If so, it had been a successful endeavour as he remembered the way her face had contorted in anger, though her attention had remained just as elusive for the remainder of their fifth year. So… perhaps not so successful.

He flushed at the memory. She was now even prettier than the year prior.

“Oh? Is that a blush we see, Moony?” Sirius taunted, nudging Remus with his elbow as he snickered at James’ scowl.

“Bloody hell, piss off, will you? You’ll wake her–” 

He felt her suddenly stir beside him, brows creasing as though on the cusp of consciousness. 

James held his breath.

The moment passed as Y/N nudged her face further into the crook of his neck before settling back into a peaceful slumber.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need the prank to start the year right this time around. 

-

It seemed that sixth year would be a good one for James. 

In the early morning of a mid-March day, an unlikely scene unfolded between the shelves of Hogwarts’ library. There he sat beside a bleary Y/N, voice still drowsy with sleep as she read aloud a passage from the Herbology textbook perched between them.

Initially, James had detested the thought of having to wake up at such an ungodly hour for the sake of a project. No other time had fit, not with his Quidditch practices and her absurd number of tutoring sessions. 

Though now, as the early rays of sunrise filtered through the library’s mullioned windows onto her skin, James thinks that there is nowhere else he would rather be.

He thinks this moment will be ingrained in his mind forever. 

“–once a century, the Flutterby bush produces flowers able to attract the unwary.” she paused to yawn, eyebags evident as she turned to meet James’ gaze. She scrunched her nose and he swore he swooned at the very sight. “Are you even listening to me, Potter?”

“I’m always listening to you,” he replied, tilting his head. She grins in response and he notices just how beautiful it is. 

She shifted her gaze back to the textbook lying in their laps, picking up where she had left off.

“Its scent adapts–”

James leaned forward suddenly, capturing her lips in his. The book fell closed between them.

Immediately, almost though by instinct, Y/N reciprocates, moving her lips gently against his as her hand cups his cheek. James finds himself gripping that hand as his other wraps around her waist, finding the small of her back and pulling her impossibly close against him.

She tasted of cherry chapstick and peppermint bubblegum, and though there was nothing particularly special about those flavours, on her, James swears that he could drown in his intoxication alone. Her perfume wafts through the air, the scent causing him to groan against her mouth. 

When they separated at last, his head was swimming in euphoria, his expression dazed. Y/N blinked up at him, sleep wiped entirely from her expression.

“Its scent adapts itself during these times to attract said unwary.” she finishes, sounding breathless still, voice trailing off as James began to laugh hysterically.

She rolled her eyes, smiling sheepishly. 

When James still couldn’t stop laughing, Y/N gripped his haphazardly tied red and gold tie, using it to pull his soft lips against hers once more and he was sure in his mind that there would no one else for him.

-

Beneath a great oak tree in the courtyard lay two figures. Under the tree’s twisting branches, they hid in its cool shade from the sweltering afternoon sun. Few places aside from the castle offered shelter from June’s blistering heat and as the semester approached its end, they finally allowed themselves to rest in the gentle breeze. 

James was leaning against the thick trunk while Y/N’s head lay in his lap. His elbow was resting on her abdomen as she drew on his hand, doodling intricate flower designs alongside some… less desirable things.

He felt his heart swell with joy as her laughter filled the summer air and before he could catch himself, he blurted out the thought that had been weighing in the back of his mind since they had started dating.

“Do you ever think about your future?" 

He felt the scratch of her muggle pen slow, as though pausing in thought.

"I want to grow old and die surrounded with people I love, knowing I lived a long and fulfilling life. You know, typical boring stuff," she replied after a moment's consideration. Her eyes twinkled with more, though Y/N never indulged in half-thought-out plans. 

"What about you?" she questioned with the tip of her head. James didn’t need time to think about it. He had known his answer since that fateful September morning when she had slept on his shoulder throughout the entirety of the train ride.

"I don't care what my future is as long as you're there" he answers truthfully.

Y/N flushed, her ears heated. She looked away, the corners of her lips turning up in the barest hint of a smile.

James freed his hand from her loose grasp, hooking her chin to look back towards him before leaning in to kiss her.

Even after all these months, he relished in the taste of her lips. He doubts he’ll ever be able to get enough of the feeling.

He doubts he’ll ever be able to get enough of her.

-

The sun was setting in the west on a quiet evening, its golden rays shining on the slick skin of two lovers as they untangled themselves from the sheets, unable to hold in their laughter when one got his foot stuck in the knot of their crochet blanket. 

The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and endorphins as Y/N laid back, her body still bare, not bothering to cover it.

James propped his elbow beside her head, careful not to press on her spread-out hair, his face filled with ecstasy and pure bliss. 

He will never get used to the sight of her in his bed, giggling as the sun reflected off her silky skin. The image of her underneath him is cemented in his mind, permanently lodged there as solid as concrete. He knows now with absolute certainty that there would be no one else for him. 

James’ smile widened further as he nudged his nose into the crook of her neck, leaning in to place a kiss there when his vision blurred.

It was no longer sunset. Rather, the two of them were now enveloped in the dark of night and James is certain he hears the echo of a familiar spell ring off in the distance.

He pulls away from Y/N’s neck. 

She was no longer shaking with laughter, but rather, writhing in pain. There were lacerations all across her torso and James felt something sticky underneath his hands.

They were laying in a pool of her blood.

Panic clawed at his throat and though he had never been averse to the sight of blood, yours was an exception. The taste of bile clung to his tongue. 

“No... No no no no no,” he whispered in disbelief. Swivelling his head, outside the window, he spots a cloaked figure wearing a mask of silver disapparate. 

“No!” 

Grasping for the wand strapped to his side, he murmurs a healing spell, gasping for breath when the wounds remain open. His head was spiralling as Y/N shook her head almost imperceptibly, grabbing at his wrist with a shaking hand.

Carved into her arm was the word “MUDBLOOD” and James felt his vision turn red, suddenly hyper-aware of the blood pumping through his veins.

“James…” she rasped. He gripped her shaking hand.

“Why isn’t it working? Why?” he cried, tears streaming down his face, struggling to breathe.

“Whatever our souls are made of,” she gasped, blood spurting out of her mouth. Her beautiful mouth, the one that tasted of cherries and peppermint, was covered in thick, crimson blood. “you and I are connected.” 

“No! Stop with this rubbish, you’re not going to die!” he sobbed, gripping her bloodied hand like a vice. She continued as though he hadn’t even spoken.

Perhaps she was too far gone to hear him.

“Wh-whatever is beyond this life,” violent ruby coated her mouth as she coughed, blood splattering onto her smooth skin. “Promise me, y-you’ll find me again.”

“I promise,” he cried, sobs racking through his body. 

But she was already gone.

-

James woke with a start, gasping for breath with the taste of blood and “promise” still coating his tongue. He was alone in a house built for two.

In his fitful sleep, he had knocked over the empty bottle of whiskey beside him.

She had hated whiskey.

Had. 

A fresh wave of misery washed over James, adding to the dull pain that never seemed to go away, throbbing through him as naturally as the blood in his veins. It wasn’t enough that she existed still within every corner of their shared home.

Even in his dreams, he is haunted by her memory.

ㄧ

@catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 64: Shower

There were a lot of benefits to living in a muggle flat in London.

Draco never had to worry about being recognized, it was delightfully noisy (always an added bonus when you woke up from a nightmare, it was very grounding), and one of his neighbors was always leaving him baked goods just outside his door.

But there were definite downsides as well. Mostly that when things broke (which pretty much seemed to be always) he couldn't use magic to fix it and had to wait for the muggle repair man.

"You're sure you can't get here any sooner than Friday to fix the shower?" he asked the maintenance man over the muggle mobile he'd purchased shortly before moving in.

"I'll get there as soon as I can but it's Friday at the earliest," the man replied, "right now I have a busted toilet, a broken garbage disposal, a kitchen light repair, a cabinet door replacement, a window that won't open, a door knob that the lock sticks on, and an ac unit that is pumping in hot air."

Draco resisted the urge to tell him to hire some help and sighed, "Right. Thank you."

The man grunted in response and hung up.

After a moment of contemplating his options, he gathered up his bath supplies and marched down the hall. When he'd moved in a girl named Amelia had told him if he ever needed anything just to come knock on her door. She'd said that she and her boyfriend would be happy to help, and she had even mentioned a shower breaking specifically.

Steeling himself he knocked, "Amelia?" he called. "It's Thomas from 116," he added, he'd almost gotten used to calling himself that. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but my shower is broken and-"

"Just a minute!" a distinctly male voice called back.

And he waited, feeling more embarrassed since couldn't recall having ever met Amelia's boyfriend. He hoped that he wouldn't think that Draco was a creep.

"Sorry," the man called, and Draco heard the locks being slid from their places, "Amelia and I broke up but I'd be glad to help wi-"

The door opened and Draco felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. "Potter?" he spluttered

(Read more below the cut)

"Draco Malfoy, what the actual fuck?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco hissed.

Potter drew back like Draco had slapped him, "What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

Before Draco could respond, Delores from the room between their rooms emerged and Potter grabbed him by the front of his tshirt and dragged him inside of his flat.

Draco barely had a moment to notice that his flat was surprisingly cozy before Potter was standing in front of him once more, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here!" Draco exclaimed. "I've lived here for six months!"

"Well I have lived here for almost a year!" Potter replied. "How did you find this place?"

"Do you know how hard it is to find a flat to rent in London?" Draco asked.

Potter paused, "Actually, yes," he replied. "And this place is enough of a shit-hole that there is a rotating tenant-base."

"Where's Amelia?"

Potter's brow furrowed, "How do you know Amelia?"

"I don't," he said with a shrug, "I met her when I was moving in and she told me if my shower ever broke I should just come knock on her door."

Potter sighed, "Damn."

"What?" Draco asked, feeling like he'd missed something.

"Oh nothing," Potter said, waving him off, "I'd just really been hoping that the guy I caught her cheating on me with was the only one."

Draco spluttered, "I was not romantically involved with your girlfriend."

"No," Potter replied, "No, I know. Just we worked opposite shifts so she was home in the day and I was home at night, and," he shrugged, "Well, you know how it goes."

Draco pinched his arm, he must be dreaming.

Potter turned and wandered toward his kitchen and Draco couldn't help but wonder if he was meant to follow him. "Tea?" Potter called over his shoulder.

And really, Draco had just meant to beg to use the shower but that little part of him that desperately loved gossip decided tea was a better plan. "Please."

The other man sent a smile at him over his shoulder, dimple popping up and Merlin, when had Potter gotten this attractive?

"So," he said as he put the kettle on, "What do you do?"

"I'm going to a muggle university, actually," Draco replied as he found a seat on a stool at the island, "studying to be a solicitor."

"Huh," Potter said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, "That suits you."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," he said, brow furrowed.

"Oh, nothing," Potter assured, "Just you're clever, good at arguing, and good at finding loop holes, I imagine."

At the earnest look on Potter's face, he decided not to take offense. "What is it that you do?"

Potter smiled at him, "I work at an animal shelter."

Draco blinked, he'd never expected that answer.

"I know," Potter laughed, "It's not what anyone expected but it makes me happy and it feels like good work."

The kettle whistled and Potter turned around to fetch down a couple of mugs and make them tea. "How long have you been living out of the wizarding world?"

"A little over a year," he replied. "It was just too difficult," Draco said, "I was mobbed everywhere I went, sent death threats," he added, "Not that I don't deserve them-"

"You don't," Potter said sharply, spinning around to face him. "Godric, Draco, you were just a kid. We all were."

He swallowed and looked down at the island, "Be that as it may," he said carefully, "I think it's easier for people." He made a vague gesture, "Not to have to see me."

"The pressure in the wizarding community is unreal," Potter said, setting a cup of tea along with the sugar bowl in front of Draco before he made his way to his refrigerator, "You still don't take cream, do you?"

"No," he replied with a little smile, pleased that he wasn't the only one to still remember oddities about the other.

"Why don't we go into the living room?" he suggested. "My furniture in there is much more comfortable."

Draco followed along behind him and settled onto what appeared to be the least squishy piece of furniture, a beige chair. Potter seemed to have no such qualms and sunk into a cozy rocking chair. Draco cleared his throat, "You've been gone for how long now?" he asked.

"Almost two and a half years," Potter replied before taking a sip of tea.

"Do you miss it?" Draco asked.

Shrugging one shoulder he answered, "Sometimes. I still go to the Weasley's most Sundays and I go for birthday parties and holidays. It's enough." He took another sip of tea, his eyes glued to Draco in that piercing way of his and it felt like it had been ages since someone had actually seen him. "What about you? Do you miss it?"

"At the beginning," he confessed, "But less now."

Potter hummed, seemingly waiting for Draco to continue

"Did you go to-"

Potter waved him off, "My life is exceptionally boring, I assure you. Tell me about you," he said. "Tell me about school, about what you want to do with your degree, tell me about acclimating to Muggle life," he chuckled, "tell me everything."

And so Draco did. He talked about his classes, talked about how difficult certain parts of living like a muggle were, talked about doing work with children, talked about doing a double major in law and in psychology. Draco talked, and talked, and talked while Harry listened; and he realized it had been a really long time since someone had done this with him.

He was in the middle of a story about how he hadn't understood how pens worked when Harry's mobile rang. With a wince he pulled it out of his pocket, "Sorry," he said, silencing it only for it to start ringing again a minute later. He huffed, "Sorry," he repeated. "It's Hermione and Ron. They'll just keep calling if I don't answer, give me just a minute."

"Of course," he said.

Harry gave him a little smile, "I'll get some more tea," he added before picking up.

Over the tiny little speaker Draco could hear cheering and hollering before a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday was sung and Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He pulled out his own mobile and clicked the wake button. July 31

He felt like such an arse, here he was blabbering away at the other man when Potter probably had a million things he'd rather be doing.

"Thank you," Potter said over the phone from the kitchen. "I'm a bit busy just now," he broke off to listen to some chatter. "Yes. I'll be by on Sunday to celebrate." Another pause, "Yes. Love you all, too. Kisses to Rosie and Teddy."

When he returned he said, "Sorry, you were saying about the pens?"

"I feel like an absolute clot," Draco said.

"What? Why?"

"It's your birthday!" he exclaimed, "and here I've sat for the past two hours talking your ear off about..." he trailed off, "Complete nonsense!"

"Oh, it's fine," he said, waving Draco off, "This is way better than the way I was planning to spend my birthday."

"Oh? Why don't I believe you?" he asked.

"No really," Potter said earnestly. "I was just going to go for a walk and then hang out around the house."

"But why? Don't your friends want to see you?"

"Oh, the Weasleys are away. They went on a trip to Spain; when they made the plans, I'd planned to be on a beach in the Galapagos with Amelia."

"I'm taking you to dinner," he said firmly.

"I couldn't impo-"

"I insist," he interrupted. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Well if you insist," Harry said with a laugh.

"Good. I'm going to use your shower and then go get dressed and we're leaving in twenty minutes."

He chuckled, "It's a date."

--------

And it really had felt like a date, Draco reflected as they strolled back toward their apartment building after a long dinner with multiple courses and dessert.

"Thank you, by the way," Harry said, his shoulder bumping lightly into Draco's when they were just outside of their building.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "It's the least I could do."

Harry stopped and looked over at him, so Draco stopped next to him, "It's not, though," he said. "You didn't have to do any of this."

"I wanted to," he huffed.

He started to lean in closer, "Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he whispered.

"What?"

"This," he murmured before his fingers cupped Draco's cheek and his lips pressed, soft and dry, against Draco's lips.

Harry drew back, "Alright?" he whispered.

Draco's fingers clenched in the front of Harry's shirt and he tugged him back in, slotting their lips together once more. The fingers on Harry's right hand slid through Draco's hair and his other slipped around Draco's back, drawing their bodies flush against one another as Harry's tongue brushed over Draco's bottom lip.

They stood on the sidewalk and kissed for a long moment before Harry pulled back and murmured, "Come home with me?"

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, brow furrowing.

"Never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied, pecking Draco's lips again.

He couldn't help but smile as he nodded his consent and Harry grabbed his hand and dragged him inside and straight to his bedroom.

------

Later, when they were still lying in bed talking about whatever nonsense came into the heads, Harry said, "Draco?"

"Mmmh?"

"This was probably the best birthday I've ever had."

He rolled onto his side so he could see Harry's face illuminated by the moonlight. Harry reached up and brushed his forefinger over Draco's cheekbone and Draco responded, "You've not had many good birthdays, then, have you?"

Harry laughed, "I've had some good birthdays."

"Next year," Draco said before he could think through what he was about to say, "Next year I will give you the best birthday you've ever had."

"Oh?" Harry said, grinning widely at him.

At the sweet, innocent look on Harry's face, he let himself dream, let himself imagine what life could turn out like. He nodded, "I'll wake you up with lazy morning sex, you seem like the type to really enjoy that."

"I am," Harry affirmed, his dimples showing.

Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to the nearest dimple and said, "Then, I'll take you to Paris for breakfast."

"Ooh, Paris?"

He nodded, "I'll get you strawberry crepes with mounds of whipped cream."

"Sounds delicious," Harry said.

"Then I'll take you to a beach somewhere, Bora Bora maybe," he added, enthralled by the pleased crinkle around Potter's eyes.

He hummed, "I've never been to Bora Bora."

"No?"

Harry shook his head.

"Right, then we'll spend the whole day there, I'll sit under an umbrella all day and pretend to get annoyed when you come to kiss me and get sand and ocean water all over me."

He laughed, "As long as it's pretend."

"Then," Draco said, "I'll bring you back to a little villa that you can see the ocean through the floor and I'll cook you dinner. We'll eat together, then go swimming in the dark."

"Sounds lovely," Harry sighed.

"And then we'll come back and try out the bed that's under the stars," he said, brushing a hand over Harry's waist.

"That sounds really nice," he murmured.

"It's a date, then," Draco said.

He smiled back and echoed, "It's a date."

-------

And, true to his word, one year later Draco took Harry to Paris for breakfast and then to Bora Bora for the rest of the weekend. Harry proposed to Draco the very next morning.

--------

Day 63: Hair | Day 65: Question

[messinwitheddie]

Stan "Johnny worked for me as clerk back when I still ran that greasy little pawn shop in LA. He was THE WORST employee I ever had and yes I am including you, Wendy."

Wendy "Hey, I show up."

Soos "When did you live in LA?"

Stan "Back in the early nineties very briefly. A former business partner of mine bit the dust. I took over his shop temporarily while his family got their affairs in order."

Wendy "Sounds like a half-truth but go on."

Stan "Never made a profit off that dump, surprise surprise. It helped me find some decent attractions for the shack, but beyond that... Johnny was a good kid though. He had problems, but still a good kid."

Wendy "What, like Robby?"

Stan "No, REAL inner city poverty stricken social service problems kids from this town can't even fathom. Not sure exactly what Johhny's story was. I know he was at the mercy of child services growing up and he used to get beat up in school A LOT; which wouldn't shock anyone if you saw him."

Soos "Aw, that's not cool, Mr. Pines."

Stan "He was a big whack-job and an even bigger whiner! He talked to himself constantly; always rambling on about weird stuff, drew weird stuff, wore weird stuff, played with knives, was scared of girls. The works. One time I caught him snapping squirrels' necks in the alleyway behind the shop before we opened. I whipped the piss out of him up and down two blocks with my belt for that crap."

Soos "Dude--"

Stan "This other time, it was a slow night and I was bored. So I guess I picked on him too hard too long. His brain just snapped and he came at me with one of those old timey quill pens. Stuck me real deep in the chest six times before I fought him off me; little shyster. Bled everywhere! Used all the purple stuff cleaning that mess."

Soos "DUDE--"

Wendy *burst of shocked laughter* "No way!"

Stan "In his defense, I did tell him he didn't have the balls, so, that's on me. Here, I'll show you the scars."

Wendy *chuckles* "NO thanks, not necessary. We believe you. Man, stabbing your boss right on the clock. If only I had the balls. Johnny C is my hero."

Stan "We got a whole summer of button pushing. Dream big, sweetie... I miss that gawky little wierd-o. Wonder what ever happened to that kid? Hope he's ok."

A continuation of this

Will have to draw out the flashback at some point.

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Away From Home

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Captain America: The First Avenger

Pairing: 1940s! Bucky Barnes x Female! Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are half a world apart. How are they holding up without each other? ft. some love letters!

Word Count: 1644

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, hint of smut, angst, talk about war, mention of suicide. Please read at your own risk!

Authors Note: Just want to thank my beautiful wife @buckybarnesdiaries for hyping me up with this series! Not everything may be accurate to the 1940s, war or Bucky’s story. My apologies! Enjoy loves <3

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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It wasn’t easy being all alone without your other half, but you managed to fill up your day with fun and responsibilities to take your mind off it. The women at the office missed their husbands immensely, just like yourself, so it was good that you all took comfort in one another. It was good to talk with them about the shared feelings of fear and uncertainty that came with the men going off to war.

The office work that was ordinarily boring to you became very interesting as your bosses ordered you around. At home, you had organized your various pieces of literature more times than what was necessary. You couldn’t either count how many times you’ve gone “I missed a spot” on the kitchen counter when it was nothing there in reality.

When there was nothing at home to do, you called up your girlfriends, hoping they would be willing to go out on the town. The few times they were up for it, you forgot all about the hurt inside as you danced the night away with your best friends.

Bucky's parents could come and go as they pleased. Your house was their house; whenever they wanted to drop by, they could. On the weekends, they would invite you home to their residence for dinner and drinks. It was sweet of them to ask you. You already had a strong relationship with them that only increased with you spending more time with your parents-in-law.

The stories they would tell you about James growing up in Indiana with his siblings were stored in your memories to use late at night when you couldn’t sleep. Those thoughts would turn into dreams and scenarios of him and your child that you would hopefully get pregnant with soon.

On the few occasions his parents and your girlfriends had other plans, you sat mostly inside staring at one spot on the wall. The book by your side would only be read a few pages before it was placed to the side again so you could continue gawking at the flower patterns on the wall.

That’s how you were sat now. The television was on, but you weren’t paying attention to the boring movie you had watched countless times playing on the screen. You decided that you would write another letter to James. Writing letters to your husband and receiving letters from him was the thing that brought you joy and was the closest you could come to him for the time being. Picking up the pen and paper, the words flowed easily as you wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~

My Dearest,

I feel I must write you again altho there is not much news to tell you from the last time I wrote. Work is keeping me busy, while your parents’ comfort and the fun my girlfriends are bringing keeps me content. I dreamt last night my husband. I dreamt about a child. Our child. A child that will bring us love and joy in the future.

I miss you terribly, my love. I miss the warmth from your touch as we are tangled in the sheets together. I miss the softness of your voice as the words whispered in my ear are meant for me only. I miss your laugh filling up the house that feels so empty now without you. I miss you. There is nothing more that I desire in life but to have you with me constantly.

I wonder how you are getting along, my love. I shall be so relieved to get a letter from you. I can’t help feeling a bit anxious for you, my dear. Thinking about what you are going through in the gruesome war overseas. I pray to whatever higher power exists for you to survive and come home to me in my arms.

Well, my husband, my brave soldier, I don’t know what more to say now, so I will finish this letter with fondest love and kisses from your wife.

I love you the most. From yours truly,

xoxo

~~~~~~~~~~

You sealed up the envelope containing your love letter for your husband, your other half, your soul mate, and hoped that it would bring him a hint of delight in his usual dark, empty and deadly war days.

Somewhere in hostile Germany…

With barely enough sleep from the night before, Bucky rested his eyes for the few minutes they had before it was out on another day of fighting the opposition. The faint sound of bombs dropping was heard in the distance. His heart started pumping in both fear and excitement to be out there again.

As his eyes were closed, he sat and wondered what his wife was up to at the moment. You were most likely at work. What would you have for dinner later? Something good, he hoped. It would at least be ten times better than what he ate for breakfast, soggy bread with a slice of cheese on top.

His mouth watered at the thought of a homemade meal from you right now. You always made the tastiest and fulfilling dinners.

What were you doing after? Out with your girlfriends? Were his parents coming to visit? Either way, he hoped you had the most beautiful time being as carefree as you always were.

When the darkness came, and it was time for bed, what would you be doing? Had the day been exhausting that you dropped dead on the covers as soon your head hit the pillow, or would you stay up and think about him?

His mind started racing to you, touching yourself dead at night while you remembered the last time the two of you were intimate. The thought about you moaning his name so softly and innocently had him adjusting himself in the seat.

Not now, Buck. We have to leave soon. There’s no time for that now.

“BARNES! Post for you.”

Once he had the letter in hand, he immediately knew it was you from the little drawing you drew on the envelope. You always did some form of artwork on it that had his heart warm up.

A single tear ran down his cheek after finishing the heartwarming letter. He could never fully express to you and his parents how these letters had saved him when he needed it the most. When he had thought about ending it all after watching the inhumane things he had witnessed that no human should ever have to see, the pieces of love from you and his family were what kept him going.

There was still some time left before they had to go out to war again. So he took that chance at writing a reply to his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~

My Darling,

Thank you for the heartwarming letter. It found me well in the time when I needed it the most. I so long to be close to you. Trust my love that I do not forget you. I am doing everything in my power so that these few lines reach you.

I am happy to hear that you are keeping yourself busy with work, friends, and family. I’m jealous.

I miss you terribly, my love. If only we could be together soon. I’d give anything to be back in the comfort of your arms. To be tangled in the sheets together. To feel you wrapped so tightly around me in all the ways possible. To hear your laugh that fills my heart with warmth and butterflies. Soon my love, soon.

A child? I’ll give you as many children as you want when I return safely to you. We will buy a big house out in the countryside to raise our children and grow old if that’s what my wife desires.

The war? I don’t know what there is to say? I won’t sugarcoat it. The war is brutal and gruesome. It is something I don’t even wish upon my worst enemy to experience the things I’ve seen and gone through. Don’t be alarmed, my love, by the words you just read. As long as I have you in my mind, I can make it through the days and nights.

There is not much more for the time being to write to you. Just know that I am coming back to you after the terrible war is over.

I love you the most. From your brave soldier,

xoxo

~~~~~~~~~~

He sealed it up in an envelope, and he once again hoped that this wouldn’t be the last letter he ever wrote to you.

A few weeks later…

You waited anxiously out on the steps of your home for the postman to arrive. Legs were bouncing up and down in anticipation if today was the day a new letter from James would arrive.

“Morning, ma’am,” the postman nodded at you. By now, he knew very well who you were as he would find you most days waiting for him to bring you the mail.

“I believe this is yours.” He handed you a single letter. A smile on his face once he saw the excitement on yours when you realize it was from your husband.

“Thank you, George.”

“Have a wonderful day, Y/N.” “You too.”

You opened it right there on the steps. There was no time to walk a few meters into the house to read it.

You took the time to read the lines on the paper written by your love. Sadness came over you as you read the part about war, but a smile was left on your lips nonetheless after you had read the whole thing a few times over.

You clutched it to your heart. To try and feel that extra bit of love that radiated off it. A few tears rolled down your cheeks.

Soon my love. Soon you will be back safe and sound in my arms again.

Credit @ firefly-graphics for the wonderful divider

Thank you for reading <3 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated if you liked it! As well as a reblog to share it with others!

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Marvel Taglist: @whothehellisbuckybarnes @phoenixhalliwell @x-goddess-of-nature-x @trulysuccubus @skyesthebomb @whoreforsamwilson @natashadeservedbetter @beth-winchester21 @mrs-salvawhore @soldierstucky @missswritings @sariche @claudiaatje @myakai13 @paintballkid711 @ttalisa @teti-menchon0604 @J-e-nster @-im-fantastic- @donut-crazs @tatestripedsweater @feetoffthetablee @uraesthete @mae-black @midnightdragonzero @julia2000love @yvngzxx @midnightzonzz @kaystacks17 @missroro @living-that-best-life @alwaysclassyeagle

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @sirrwritesalots @acciosiriusblack @academiawhoree @feescher @cigarettesonmars @doyoumindifislytherin-1 @yippikaiyaymotherfucker @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @hemsbucky @ripredwing @90smalfoys @rosiebrands @falcvns @jazzseb11 @my-patronus-is-a-raptor @milkshakelol @maddnastyyyyy @obxcalm @poetic-heart

Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

If your name is in bold it means I can’t tag you for some reason. My apologies!

[adarlingwrites]

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working. 

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

[iceeckos12]

and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶̧̨͕̖͔̬̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰̅n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

[trixicbean]

Ok, hear me out... supercorp, no. 6, really angsty and somehow resolve the angst with no. 1

“It’s always been you” + “I’m going to marry that girl” + supercorp [read on ao3]

Kara chased Lena out of the apartment and down the stairs, Lena had taken the lift. Why did she say that? What on Earth was she thinking? She needed to pray to Rao and all the Gods anyone had ever believed in that Lena would forgive her. She made it down the stairs as Lena ran out of the lift. 

“Leave me alone, Kara!” she shouted as she went to run out of the apartment building. It was raining. 

“You’re going to catch hypothermia!” something overcame Kara and she suddenly didn’t care who saw her use her powers. She sped ahead and got to the door before Lena did. “Please just listen to me,” Kara begged.  

“I filled your office with flowers,” Lena yelled exasperated, “I bought you a company. I cleared my schedule any time you wanted to hang out. I broke every single rule, and I told you time and time and again how different you were, and you didn’t get the hint and now,” Lena took a deep breath, “Now, you tell me,”. 

“Lena,” Kara begged, stopping her from stepping around Kara, “Please,”. 

“I need some time,” Lena tried to step around her again, “It’s four years of flirting and I need some time so either you leave or I will keep storming out of my own apartment,”. 

Kara took a deep breath considering her options, she looked out into the rain. She opened the door and stepped into the open space so Lena wouldn’t leave, “I’ll go,” she smiled, “You were never meant to see that text,”. 

“Because that makes it so much better,” Lena deadpanned, going to turn away and go back up the stairs. 

Kara caught her hand to stop her from leaving and Lena turned to face her with a glare. “Let go,” she told her and Kara did immediately but Lena made no move to leave. 

“It’s always been you,” Kara told her before she turned around and walked off into the rain. She rushed into the nearest alleyway and changed into her super suit, flying above the city and calling Alex from the air. 

She thought back to that moment. How could she be so stupid? She’d gone to grab some more popcorn from the kitchen and Nia had texted her. Lena had picked it up. Her thumbprint was on Kara’s phone, it wasn’t unusual. If it were around Lena’s birthday or Christmas Kara would keep her phone hidden so she could keep secrets, but it was a boring day in January, so it was just laying on the couch. 

“Who is it?” Kara had called over to Lena as she poured the popcorn from the bag into the bowl. Lena hadn’t responded. “Lee?” she called out again.  

“I need some air,” Lena had choked out before running out of the apartment. Kara had dropped the popcorn on the counter, spilling half of it everywhere and running over to her phone. 

Nia: try not to look at Lena like you are completely and totally in love with her all night 

Kara cursed herself. Lena was going to have to clean up all her mess. She should’ve cleaned up before going down the stairs. Alex picked up the phone and she just let the tears fall down her face as her sister asked what was going on. 

- 

“So Lena is in love with you,” Alex spoke slowly as they sat opposite each other on the couch.

“That’s what she suggested,” Kara interrupted her sister, caution running through her. Lena was still pretty mad at her. She had ignored all of Kara’s apology texts that she had sent in the two hours since she last saw her. She didn’t want to assume anything. 

“So Lena is in love with you,” Alex repeated, a glare thrown her sister’s way.  

“There’s no evidence for it,” Kara sighed, interrupting Alex again. 

“Lena is in love with you,” Alex repeated again, her voice raising a little, glaring at Kara and almost daring her to speak, “And you’re in love with her,” she finished, giving Kara an expectant look. Kara nodded monotonously. 

“Where’s the issue?” Alex went on. 

“She’s mad at me,” Kara pouted. 

“So make her not mad at you,” Alex shrugged, “It’s Lena, all you need to do is pull out that pout,” Alex pointed at Kara’s lips, “Then you will be fine,”. 

“She said she wanted space,” Kara mumbled. 

“Ignore her,” Alex shrugged. Kara thought for a second. She had violated Lena’s trust and not listened to her again and again, she needed to listen to her now. She at least owed Lena that. 

“I don’t want to do that,” she shrugged. 

-

Kara avoided Lena for a while. Well, not exactly avoided her, just didn’t contact her apart from a one-line text. 

I’m here when you want to talk.

Lena didn’t show up at CatCo for two weeks and soon the pain of missing her best friend started to hit Kara and everyone was noticing. Snapper was yelling at her for moping multiple times a day for the first week yet halfway through the second he switched to actually being nice to her.  

Alex started dropping off various editions of Kara’s comfort foods after day three when she found Kara staring out of the window wearing Lena’s sweater and eating ice cream while crying. In Kara’s defence, it was triggered by an extremely depressing event involving a perfect puppy video that she couldn’t send to Lena because she was giving her space. After that, Alex was showing up most mornings with doughnuts and when she couldn’t make it Nia would show up with a box when Kara got to CatCo. Then there were the lunch deliveries of potstickers and dinner deliveries of various foods. 

By day eleven, Alex had hosted an intervention, claiming her wallet couldn’t handle it anymore. The intervention essentially involved dragging Kara out of her apartment for the next three days and keeping her so busy she was either always working, on Supergirl duty, training at the DEO or being dragged out to either the dive bar or a karaoke bar.  

Lena showed up at CatCo on day fourteen late at night. Almost everyone had left the offices. It was only Kara, Nia and an intern with one of the photographers in an office off the bullpen. Kara could hear Lena enter the building. Her heartbeat drew closer. Kara didn’t know whether to panic or dance around in excitement, the last thing she could do was work though. The words spun on the page as she heard Lena get on the elevator. 

She picked up her pen and started playing with it just to give her something to do. It snapped in half after she’d clicked the top twice. Nia looked over at her in confusion and at the same moment, the doors pinged before they slid open to reveal Lena standing there looking down at her phone. 

Kara’s heart stopped. She looked the same yet somewhat different. Kara couldn’t tell if it was tiredness or something else but her features had fallen a little and she looked like she hadn’t smiled in weeks. Kara cursed herself. She shouldn’t have given her space. She should have fought for Lena. She shouldn’t have assumed Lena would run and leave first like everyone else. She should have given Lena a chance. 

Then Lena looked up and for just a second her eyes lit up and her features lifted a little, her bag going a little straighter but it was just a second. Then her face fell again. She doesn’t want to talk. Kara’s heart sunk yet she still stood up out of her chair as Lean left the elevator and turned away from Kara.  

“Lee,” she called after her. 

“I need more time,” Lena replied as she walked into her office, “I just need to sign some papers,”. Kara sighed and leaned against the nearest wall. The last two weeks had been hell. She couldn’t care less if Lena loved her back, she just wanted her best friend again. She missed Lena more than she could bear. Her life without Lena was unbearable. She’d take her back in any capacity. She needed her. 

Kara tried to hold back the tears as she sank to the floor against the wall. Her head falling against her knees as she hugged her knees to her chest. Kara hated this. She didn’t know how long she stayed there but then someone was standing over her. It might have been a second after or an hour but someone was standing over her. 

“Stand up,” Lena’s exasperated demand broke through Kara’s thoughts. Kara lifted her head and looked at her. “Just stand up,” Lena smiled. She smiled. Kara couldn’t help but smile. Lena stepped forward into Kara’s space and lifted a hand to her cheek, wiping a tear away gently. 

“I want the record to note that I am still mad at you,” Lena smiled before she leaned forward and captured Kara’s lips in a gentle, cautious kiss. It took a second for Kara to register what was actually happening but then she reacted and the kiss quickly became so much less cautious and so much more perfect. If that was even possible. 

Lena pulled away gently and Kara’s eyes opened slowly to look into Lena’s. “You realise if you had told me sooner we could have done that so many more times,” Lena smirked in a whisper against Kara’s lips.  

“You didn’t tell me either,” Kara smiled. 

“I’m still mad at you,” Lena warned her sternly, a smile tugging at her lips. Kara just hummed non-commitantly and leaned forward, capturing Lena’s lips in another kiss. Lena smiled into the kiss and Kara couldn’t help but do the same as her hand gingerly found their way to Lena’s waist and pulled her close as Lena’s hands stayed on Kara’s cheeks, holding Kara close to her.  

Kara went to deepen the kiss but Lena pulled away, “This is a workplace,” she whispered against Kara’s lips before she pressed another light kiss there. Her hands withdrew from Kara’s as she pulled away from her touch. “Call me,” Lena winked before she picked up her bag and got on the open elevator. 

Kara sucked in a breath as her heart skipped a beat and she leaned back against the wall, her hand hovering over the lips trying to desperately preserve Lena’s touch. Someone cleared their throat in front of her and Kara opened her eyes to see Lena standing there, desperately trying to hold back a laugh as she raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“You have a little,” Nia indicated her own lips and Kara brought up her hand to cover her lips this time, turning to look into the reflection of the wall behind them. There was definitely Lena’s lipstick there. Kara wiped it away reluctantly and turned back to face Nia who was smiling widely. 

“What did she say?” Nia asked. 

“She’s still mad at me and that I should’ve told her earlier. I'm pretty sure the kiss was just to show me what I had been missing,” Kara sighed happily, leaning against the wall as Lena let out a laugh. 

“Should’ve told her sooner,” Nia smiled. 

“I know,” Kara turned to look to the place Lena had disappeared before she turned back to Nia, “I’m going to marry that girl,” she smiled. 

Nia shook her head with a smile and a sigh, “I’m surprised it took you this long to figure that out,”. 

[soupthatistohot]

Sk8 headcannons because brainrot pt. 2

- everything Reki has ever taught himself has been because of the wonderful world of YouTube tutorials

- Kojiro wanted to get his ears pierced in highschool like Kaoru, but he didn't do it because he was afraid of tarnishing his image (which is ironic when he gets a massive tattoo later in life)

- Langa doesn't like cats because he thinks they're mean

- there’s a stray cat that lives near Langa’s house and even though he doesn’t like cats, he leaves out milk and some fish for it sometimes because he feels bad

- Langa has never had a pet except a goldfish he won at a carnival once that he managed to keep alive for four years somehow.

- Kaoru technically needed glasses in high school, but he didn't wear them because he just didn't care at the time (until his vision grew poor enough that it affected his skating)

- Miya gets called a furry by Reki on the daily

- Reki has some knowledge in video editing and has considered starting a YouTube channel

- Langa has a diary, something he started after his father died. At first he didn't really know what to write, so he would just talk about his day, but eventually he got to the emotions part. The diary was especially useful during his fight with Reki in which he was trying to figure out his emotions (it was also useful when he realized he might have an itty bitty crush on his best friend)

- Joe is the biggest dad friend of the group in terms of doting on the kids and giving advice and stuff. Both Reki and Langa come to him often for advice, and Miya hangs around his restaurant a lot.

- Langa has one (1) succulent that he has managed to keep alive for three years. Its name is Gary, and it may not be the prettiest, but it is not dead yet!

- Reki never tells his mother when Langa is coming over and she's trained herself to just expect a lanky Canadian to be wandering around her house at any time.

- It took Kojiro a really long time to figure out his sexuality (and that's valid!!)

- Hiromi has been hopelessly in love with his manager for three years and has tried on multiple occasions to confess to her, but either something interrupts them or there's some sort of misunderstanding about it. Those are his more violent nights at "S".

- After befriending Reki, Langa and Miya, Hiromi is a little more careful about his tools of sabotage during beefs (and he lowkey feels guilty for injuring Reki in the beginning)

- Kaoru and Reki are actually closer than one might think. Reki ends up asking him for advice just as much as he asks Kojiro.

- Reki can't do something mundane without his ears being occupied. He ends up listening to music or podcasts a lot when he does chores or is working on a board alone (but if Langa is there with him, he'll talk his ear off instead).

- Miya's family isn't particularly bad, they're just a little distant. They assume everything is okay because Miya's so successful with school and skating, and they trust his integrity (which makes it very easy for him to sneak out to "S"). He doesn't really talk to them (or anyone, really) about his struggles.

- When Miya and Koyomi meet, he shows her all his video games and suddenly Reki's little sister is a gamer girl

- Langa almost wore a long-sleeved top to the beach and Reki had to go make him change before they left ("you'll melt in that, are you crazy?!")

- Kojiro knew damn well that Kaoru had a business trip and that the gang was going to the beach, but all other parties were unaware. He just decided to tag along as to not be left out.

- Kaoru trims his own hair, as he finds salons to be ridiculously overpriced for those with long hair

- Reki dogsits for his next door neighbor sometimes, they have a shiba named Onigiri (rice ball).

- Kojiro’s pennant was a gift from Kaoru and he wears it literally all the time except in water (so it doesn’t get ruined)

- Reki’s father is pretty absent, so Oka takes it upon himself to look after him

- Langa occasionally picks up odd jobs in order to help his mom out with finances

- Langa’s favorite animal is dolphins. He had a phase as a child where he read like fifty dolphin books and it was his entire personality for a few months. Despite this, he has never actually seen a dolphin irl

- Reki takes really good care of his nails and Langa… does not. He bites them and it annoys the shit out of Reki to the point where he’s just like “please… just let me file them for you” and Langa relents despite the fact that he hates the sensation of getting his nails filed

- Reki sometimes talks to Langa about getting depressed and one time Langa is like “yeah I getchu” and Reki is just like “heh?” And Langa says “I mean my dad died and I was in counseling for like months after that before I came here” and Reki is just like “oh”

- Langa is Reki’s bi awakening and it takes him a hot second to figure that out

- sometimes Langa pretends to be more oblivious than he is, either for shits and giggles, or to obtain information

- Kaoru knows exactly how to seduce women, and occasionally uses this to his advantage. It just sucks because he’s not into women.

- Reki is super observant, but whenever Langa does something that’s an indication that he likes Reki, he’s just like “WELL MAYBE IM OVERANALYZING THIS CANT BE REAL-”

- Langa (in general) doesn’t feel the need to be super secretive about anything. He’s honest (sometimes brutally so) and doesn’t always think twice before he says something. This can be both good and bad depending on the context.

- Reki doesn’t sleep a lot. He literally has to go to bed past midnight, he absolutely cannot fall asleep earlier. He gets up at 6:30am every day of the week, even weekends. It’s just how he’s programmed.

- Kojiro used to go to the public gym before Kaoru commented about how unsanitary that was. Ever since then he got freaked out about going to public gyms (especially as someone who works in food services) and cancelled his membership. He bought his own equipment and works out on his own now

- Reki knows how to do rainbow loom. His sisters had a phase with it.

- Kojiro drew on himself with pen when he was bored in school.

- Miya has a habit of eavesdropping on conversations he’s not meant to hear

[ur-jinji]

141+levi

ps. have a lovely night (: and dont put preasure on yourself. u are great!

thank you very much anon!!! have a lovely night yourself <3 ur greater :)

someone to spend time with

levi ackerman x gn!reader college au

summary: in which two lonely people share an unlikely friendship and some confused feelings for one another

word count: 2.2k

song: someone to spend time with // los retros

“i got you boba,” you announced as you approached a small, square table in the library where your classmate, levi, resided.

“what the fuck is that.” he asked.

“tea.”

“say less.”

you handed him the drink and sat down across from him, watching him slurp away. his attention quickly moved back to the book in front of him.

“how’d you find me?” levi questioned, his steel eyes glancing up at you for a quick second.

“you’re always here,” you replied, shrugging. “plus, i need help with our reading assignment.”

“you always need help.” he sighed and closed his book.

you and levi shared a shakespearean literature course and somewhat became friends by default because your assigned seats were directly next to each other. he was very reserved in class, but your boredom got the best of you, so you’d talk his ear off. he wasn’t very amused initially, as he took his schoolwork and class time very seriously, but he eventually warmed up to you. after forcing levi to help you once, you just kept coming back. you enjoyed his quiet company, and he appeared to be just as alone as you were. except his was by choice, you assumed.

“i just can’t keep up with all of macbeth’s drama,” you joked. “i figured i’d pay you with tea and my presence to help me for the millionth time.”

“yeah, your presence was starting to not be enough,” levi said monotonously, yet a small smile forming on his lips.

“you must like my company a little if my presence was enough of a payment before now,” you replied as you leant your elbow on the tea, resting your chin in your palm.

“i guess you’re okay,” he said simply. “what do you need help with.”

“listen, i tried to read act 2, but i was at a loss,” you stated. “oh, and i forgot my book.”

“you’re an idiot,” levi mumbled, shaking his head. “c’mere.” your eyes widened, but you complied, getting up from your seat across from him. as you made your way around the table, he grabbed the back of the chair next to his and pulled it out for you. you thanked him and took a seat, in which he replied with a simple “mm-hm.”

“take some notes. i don’t want you calling me tonight saying you’re confused,” he told you. you nodded and grabbed your pencil and notebook from across the table. levi started summarizing the text for you, and explaining the shakespearean language that constantly left you feeling perplexed. you silently listened, jotting down notes for a while before getting bored and doodling on the sides of the paper. he quickly took notice in your drawings. he glanced down, seeing an outline of an angry face, along with an arrow pointing to levi. his eyebrows furrowed when he saw the word “stinky” accompanying the face and arrow. he swiftly picked up his own pen and drew an x through your doodles, then scribbling “brat” down on the paper. you giggled and nudged his knee with yours.

“tch. you should be paying attention. we’re being quizzed on this,” levi commented, causing you to groan. you folded your arms and let your face fall forward into them.

“i didn’t even hear the professor say anything about a quiz,” you grumbled, your voice muffling against your skin.

“you didn’t hear because you’re always talking my ear off. she said there’ll be an essay, too,” he added, only making you groan once again. you relaxed slightly when you felt his hand pat the back of your head. his head pats were his quiet way of trying to comfort you. they always felt nice.

you suddenly perked up, his hand falling off your hair, in which he moved to rest it on the back of chair.

“okay, okay. let’s get serious,” you said, nodding towards his textbook.

“i’ve been serious,” levi replied blankly. he continued his little lecture, and you wondered if he realized his fingers had started toying with the ends of your hair. his touch sent chills down your spine. you started to take note in your mind of how he sometimes did those little things. those little gestures and touches. you liked them a little more than you should have. maybe you were just touch starved, or maybe they just felt good coming from him. levi wasn’t an easy guy to read, so you normally brushed those kinds of moments off. but as he droned on about some witchs’ prophecies, all you could think about was how the tips of his fingers were getting closer to the skin on your nape.

“you’re not taking notes,” levi stated the obvious, sighing and turning his head to you. “like i said, i don’t want you calling m-“

“what if i called you anyway?” you asked gingerly. his eyebrows furrowed, and the hand behind you disappeared. “like, what if I called you, but not to talk about macbeth?”

“what else is there to talk about.”

ouch. okay. now this is fucking awkward. should’ve just kept my mouth shut and let the kid keep playing with my stupid hair.

“hah, nevermind. i was just kidding. keep going,” you managed to get out, despite the feeling of an invisible hand around your neck to keep you from continuing to make an ass of yourself. you shifted your attention forward, your gaze falling down to your notebook.

“um, yeah. you can call me,” levi spoke, his normally uninterested tone sounding off. there was the tiniest hint of....desperation? tenseness? it went unnoticed by you.

“no, it’s okay. i don’t wanna bother you more than I have,” you replied. i need to get out of here. “i actually gotta go. i told my, um, roommate i’d help them with something.” you swiftly stood up, reaching out to gather your things, when levi’s hand was suddenly grasping your wrist.

“i...want you to call me,” he said, his volume low and his gaze shifting around, appearing to be quite nervous. you froze, and his grip on your wrist began to loosen before letting it drop. you nod slowly, pushing your head downwards to hide the embarassing blush creeping on your cheeks.

later that night, you were left alone, as your roommate was out with their friends or participating in a study group almost every night. you were sat at your desk, drumming a pencil and fidgeting around nervously, wondering if you should call levi. the phone works two ways, and you always seemed to be the one making the effort to hang out or talk to him.

what if he thinks i’m desperate?

you sighed and swallowed your pride. you pulled out the headphones from your ears that were playing loud music and found yourself staring at his contact in your phone.

knock knock. knock.

your head snapped in the direction of the noise coming from outside your door.

“hey, brat. let me in.”

you froze, your mouth dropping. you sat there for a few moments, debating whether or not you should pretend you went to bed.

knock. knock.

you took a deep breath and stood, making your way to the door and cracking it open. you saw levi with his usual stoic expression. before you could even say a word, he raised his hand, pushing the door open and walking past you. he stopped in the middle of the room, his gray eyes scanning the area.

“i’m assuming this is your side,” levi said simply, pointing to your side of the room. you felt embarrassed when you realized your bed was unmade and a plushy was propped up against your pillow.

“hah. uh, yeah,” you replied. the nerves in your voice and laugh were evident. you crept to your desk, wanting to hide anymore embarrassing evidence. you quickly found a cringey picture frame of you and a friend from your hometown, your hand grasping it and gently placing it facedown.

“what brings you to my dorm?” you wondered, taking a seat in the desk chair to hide your shaking legs. unfortunately for you, your shifty actions only grabbed his attention, and your question went ignored. levi strolled to your desk and pressed his hand on the wooden top, leaning nonchalantly. he reached out for the picture frame you were desperate to hide, and picked it up. you looked up at him as he observed it with a small smirk.

“tch. cute,” he commented before propping the frame back on the desk. you hurriedly slammed it facedown again, mumbling a sheepish ‘thanks.’ you continued to stare up at him as his eyes looked over your desk. his attention turned to you, his eyes falling onto your pink-tinted features.

“want some tea?” you offered.

some time later, you and levi found yourselves lounging on opposite sides of your bed, both sitting with legs criss crossed. he held a large tea cup, sipping quietly at his second drink as you let him in on some gossip about your roommate’s friend’s cousin. you don’t even know how you got to this point, but after offering him a drink and busying yourself, your nerves simmered. it felt a lot more comfortable after that.

“and then they said that she said that he got caught sexting not one, not two... but twelve other girls. then his girlfriend tried to burn his house down. and now she’s in prison for attempted arson,” you finished. levi lowered his cup after taking a long sip, and continued to stare with a blank expression. but despite his bored appearance, he was rather invested in this story.

“that’s rough,” he commented.

“i know right?” you replied as you picked up your phone. you clicked to see the time. “jeez, it’s already midnight.”

“tch, is that your way of kicking me out?” levi asked, smiling ever so lightly.

“unfortunately, yeah. i have an 8am class tomorrow,” you said, putting a little pout on your lip. “we should do this again, though. feels nice to just hang out with someone.”

“isn’t that what we’ve been doing in the library?” he questioned.

“i don’t count me making you help me with shakespeare as hanging out,” you explained.

“that’s fair.” he shrugged.

“also, this is the first time you initiated being around me,” you boasted, feeling pretty satisfied with yourself. “that means you think i’m fun.”

“i never said that.”

“well, you being here says otherwise. sooo...”

“whatever, brat.”

levi stood from his spot on the end of your bed, handing you his empty cup. you stood as well, following him to the door.

“i guess you’re okay,” he offered. “this was okay.”

“that translates to, omg y/n is the best, they’re sooo much fun,” you teased, nudging your elbow against his. “anyways, i guess i’ll see you in class on wednesday.”

“i guess you will,” he replied plainly, raising his hand to touch a strand of your hair, putting you in a state of shock. your mouth gaped slightly as you studied him curiously. after a few moments of silence, levi abruptly started leaning forward, your eyes widening. before you could react, his lips were against yours.

is this actually happening? you wondered. oh, my god it’s actually happening. this is real.

it took you no time to respond to the kiss, your eyes quickly fluttering shut. you hadnt been kissed a long time, and you remembered first kisses always being a little awkward as you both had to adjust to the way the other’s lips moved. but there was no awkwardness. there was no needing to adjust; it was perfect.

his movements were surprisingly fast and needy, his hands moving to hold your jaw as both of your quiet, desperate noises were swallowed. your hands came up to grip his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. you could feel little tingles everywhere he touched you, and a knot starting to form low in your stomach. you felt his tongue slip into your mouth as he moved his hands down to hold your waist, arching your back slightly. levi started to redirect you, pushing your back against the door, causing a loud thud against the wood.

“y/n? what was that?” a voice from the other side of the door called. your eyes flew open, seeing his steel eyes already looking back at you.

“shit!” you hissed. “my roommate.” you pulled your face away and took a deep breath, your hands still holding levi’s neck, and his still gripping your waist. you gazed at him for a moment, admiring his features. you hurriedly leaned in again, giving him one final, quick kiss.

“sorry! hold on!” you finally responded to your roommate as they started turning the doorknob. the two of you let one another go, quietly stepping away from the door that started to open.

“you won’t believe the night i-“ your roommate started, but freezing once they saw levi. their mouth dropped open and they glanced at you, shocked.

“sorry, he was just leaving,” you said, rushing to push levi through the open door. you followed him out, closing the door behind you. you sighed loudly.

“i’m sorry about that,” you told him quietly. he shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. “i knew you liked me.”

“you’re okay,” levi replied, his eyes holding a warmth you had never seen from him before. “i’ll see you on wednesday.”

“yeah, yeah, see you wednesday,” you said, grinning as he turned around, making his way down the hallway.

[goldentournesol]

The Receptionist and the Profiler (Five)

Chapter Five: Royal Blue Napkins

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/N: i have totally reinvented the timeline of the show, just go with me. also...this chapter will take you on a RIDE.

Going home that night and getting into bed with her fiance was difficult for Y/N. Of course she knew it was technically wrong to have kissed Spencer back, but the problem is that she enjoyed it so much. Too much, probably. And that was alarming. Was it just because she was bored of kissing the same person for the past...what..11 years and just needed a (really) good kiss before she spent the rest of her life kissing the same man? Or was it because she knew that every neuron in her brain was usually firing at top speed at the near mention of Spencer Reid let alone finally know how her brain acted (nearly exploded) while kissing him?

The wedding was less than a month away now and Hotch was gracious enough to allow Y/N extra time out of the office, when things were calm, to meet with her wedding planner to finalize some decisions about the cake, venue, napkins, all that good stuff. In the middle of it, she caught herself wondering whether or not Spencer would like the color of napkin she chose, instead of her actual fiance. That was enough, the thought of Spencer now invaded officially every aspect of her life. She didn’t know what to do so she cornered JJ one day in her office and hurriedly shut the door behind her.

“JJ, I am freaking out about all this wedding stuff. I-I don’t know if I picked the right color for the napkins, oh God, I don’t even like royal blue! I just picked it because Grant likes it but what if it sucks because I don’t actually like it and it doesn’t match with the centerpieces and I-” she rambled but JJ promptly cut her off.

“Hey! Y/N, relax, take a seat. Take a deep breath.” Y/N followed her suggestions that felt more like orders and JJ watched her carefully, she wasn’t a profiler but she spent enough time around them to have picked up on subtle clues. She knew the woman sitting in front of her was an anxious mess and it was not about the napkins, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know if I like the napkins, JJ.” Y/N’s brows came together and she suddenly felt like crying, she couldn’t explain it, but she felt it.

“Y/N, you and I both know that napkins don’t make or break weddings.” JJ sent her a pointed look and Y/N began to feel small. She picked at her nails.

“Yeah? Well what does?” Y/N asked vaguely.

“What breaks weddings is an absence of love, Y/N.” She said simply and Y/N couldn’t help the frown that crept up on her face, but the blonde said nothing more.

The walk back to her desk was spent trying with extreme difficulty to not split her lip open from biting it too hard. The energy in the entire office was off, although Spencer has a new specific energy to him. He seems lighter somehow, he feels lighter too. Morgan doesn’t know exactly what happened between them but he could sense the shift in Reid’s behavior.

They’ve interacted, though briefly. Spencer pretended there was nothing wrong between them, while Y/N mulled over every interaction. Spencer literally had nothing left to lose, she’d made her choice and he’d accepted that, made peace with it even. He’d even gone as far as putting himself out there on the market. It was time to move on. There was just one aspect of the upcoming month that would make it extremely difficult to do so, so he made a decision.

“Hey, Y/N. Could I talk to you for a second?” Spencer said, leaning with his elbows over her desk as it neared their lunchtime.

“Yeah, of course, just one second... just saving this document. What’s up?” She smiled as she stared up at him, she was sure her heart was about to light on fire in her chest with the mere eye contact.

“Um, so you know how I’ve been meaning to visit my mom back in Vegas for a while now but I haven’t got the chance?” He began, idly playing with one of the candies in the candy bowl that was placed for guests.

“Yeah, of course! Are you planning on going?” She smiled wider, knowing just how much love this man had in his heart for his wonderful mother. Y/N had met Diana when she came into the office a few years back, actually she was the only one who Diana allowed to spend time with while the rest were in the field. Apparently, Spencer had told her more than enough information about Y/N before in his daily letters. Diana liked her years before she even met her.

“Yeah, I’m taking a week off, actually. I’m gonna spend it with her, I’ve missed her a lot.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards slightly as he thought of the week off.

“That’s so awesome Spencer! Will you tell her how much I’ve missed her, oh, I know! I’ll just write her a letter and you can take it with you. When are you going by the way? Do I have time to write it?” She worried slightly, grabbing a pen in preparation and making Spencer laugh lightly at her excitement.

“Yes, yes you’ll have time. I’m leaving on the 16th of August, already booked the ticket.” His voice faltered slightly as he said the date.

“Wait, the 16th? But that means…” He won’t attend the wedding.

“I know, I’m sorry I can’t make it.” He genuinely frowned, knowing just how upset this would make her. Despite their feelings for one another, they were the closest of friends.

“Th-that’s okay! Um, we’ll just send you all the, uh, pictures and stuff.” Her bright smile faltered and Spencer swore he heard a tremble in her voice, the one she made when she was trying to hide how upset she really was.

“Yeah, send me all the pictures, I’m really sorry again, Y/N.” He sent her a look of sympathy, but she understood, he didn’t want to be there.

“No, no it’s okay. I get it, there’s only so many other weeks in the year you could take off, I guess.” she laughed bitterly, very obviously hurt, “Um, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go now. I have something um, for Hotch--Hotch asked for something.” She picked up a random file from her desk and quickly made her way across the bullpen and Spencer’s eyes stopped following her when she entered Hotch’s office. He released a heavy sigh and turned on his heels to leave the building for a lunch that was anywhere but there.

“What can I do for you, Y/N?” Hotch asked, barely looking up from his file at first but then her silence intrigued him to look up, spotting her watching from the window as Spencer left, “Everything alright?” His voice startled her and he immediately took in her glassy eyes and the nervous trembling of her fingers.

“Huh? Oh, um, yes, everything’s fine. Did you...ask for these?” She took a look at what she’d actually picked up and realized they were a bunch of useless forms that the unit chief certainly did not need to waste his time on. It was hard to hide his smirk, having figured out what had happened.

“Do you need to take a seat, Y/N?” He saw right through her, of course he did. She drew in a deep, shaky breath and shook her head.

“Did you know?” She asked in a small voice.

“He ran it by me, yes. I have to approve his time off. If it’s any consolation, I tried to-” He begad, but she interrupted.

“No, please. I’ve heard enough. Thanks Hotch.” She frowned as she made her way out of his office, praying that her tears would--just for once--stay within her waterline.

After that, Y/N barely spoke with Spencer. She found it hard to find the line between being upset with him and understanding why he’s doing what he’s doing. On one hand, she selfishly wanted her best friend to be at her wedding, but on the other, she understood that that was a huge thing to ask from the other man who loved her. He loved her. He loves her. That’s mind boggling to Y/N. Spencer loves her? Even almost 3 weeks after his confession, it’s all she can think about. He’s in love with her.

It was almost time for him to leave for Vegas. Despite her anger with Spencer, she still wrote Diana a letter. Upon finishing and sealing it, she realized she hadn’t even mentioned the wedding once. The (supposedly) single most important event that she would ever attend in her lifetime hadn’t even crossed her mind. She didn’t even give him the letter, she just left it on his desk for him to take. Despite that, Spencer still smiled at the fact that she’d written his mother a letter. His curiosity was killing him, but he’d just ask his mom what she’d written. At the end of the day before he left, he paused at Y/N’s desk, but she refused to look up.

“Bye, Y/N. Um, congratulations in advance.” Spencer spoke, clutching his messenger bag tightly, hoping she’d just look at him once. Hoping he’d get to see her eyes one last time before her soul was tied to another man’s for the rest of eternity.

“Bye, Spencer...have a safe flight.” She replied quietly, busying herself with whatever she was working on on her computer. A beat passed between them as Spencer waited to meet her eyes, but the moment never came. Pre-love confession Spencer would have gone on and on about how he technically had no control over whether or not it would be a safe flight, but now...now he knew his voice was the last thing she’d want to hear. His shoulders involuntarily slumped as he began to walk away from the love of his life. He knew he couldn’t be at that wedding, he just knew it. Hasn’t he been through enough already? Was life that adamant about making him hurt so badly?

But alas, fate was never on their side. Moments before boarding the plane to Vegas and barely three days before her wedding, the team was called in for an emergency case. She had taken a few days off before the wedding to get everything sorted and thankfully, the case was local so she didn’t have to book any hotel rooms or coordinate with the pilots of the jet. 

She had invited Garcia out with her to get a bridal manicure and pedicure on her lunch break, since she was the only one available.

“Pen, are you sure they don’t need you right now? I don’t want to interrupt the case.” Y/N signed into the phone.

“Trust me, Y/N/N, they don’t need me right now, besides this is the least I could do. All your plans for the week-of have been kinda ruined by this case. I wanna help you out the best I can! So I’m picking you up in 10 and we’re getting our nails done.” Y/N knew better than to argue with Garcia so she relented.

Near the end of their appointment, Garcia got a call from Hotch, “He’s what?! Oh no! Is he okay?! He’ll be okay, right?” Garcia half-panicked, sending Y/N right into a panic with her. Garcia paused and Hotch spoke over the phone, “Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.” She hung up and took a deep breath.

“Garcia, what happened! Is everyone okay?” Y/N asked hurriedly.

“Uh, no...actually Reid got shot in the field. The unsub shot him in the knee while trying to aim for the victim.” Garcia spoke slowly so as to not alarm her, but it was too late, Y/N was already pulling her hands away from the nail tech, who was almost done.

“WHAT?! Garcia! We have to go now! Is he okay?! Is he in the hospital? What hospital is he at? I’ll drive.” Y/N panicked, her breathing getting more and more shallow by the second.

“Y/N/N, calm down! Calm down! He’s fine, okay? He’s in surgery and you should absolutely not be driving right now. Take a few deep breaths please.” Her emotions were already all over the place because of the damn wedding, and now she had to worry about Spencer getting shot? Oh Lord, it was too much for her to handle.

“Garcia, I think I’m gonna pass out.” Y/N fanned her face and the waterworks began. Garcia quickly asked the nail tech if she could get Y/N some water.

“Oh! Oh, Y/N, baby don’t cry, please. He’ll be okay, he’ll probably be on crutches for a while but he’ll be fine.” Garcia tried to console her but the tears just kept coming. Y/N should have felt embarrassed whilst sobbing in the middle of the nail salon, but she was too overwhelmed to care at the moment. 

“I’m so sorry Garcia, it’s just all too much. I don’t want royal blue napkins, Garcia! I don’t even think I want a damn wedding! And I-I can’t believe Spence just got shot! This all just feels so wrong! You know what, this is all just one big warning sign from the universe, isn’t it?! And--and I don’t even want to marry Grant!” She blurted randomly in her fit of tears and she stopped crying out of realization of what she’d just confessed. Garcia gasped and her friend met her eyes, they stared at each other for a moment before Y/N broke out into tears again at the confession.

It was true.

She didn’t want to marry him.

Garcia apologized profusely to the nail techs and paid quickly before leading an almost hysterical Y/N out of the salon. 

Y/N clung to Penelope and sobbed into her shoulder on the sidewalk, “I don’t want to marry him, Garcia.”

“Y/N, the wedding is tomorrow.” Garcia’s eyes welled up with tears at the sight of her friend being so broken. Y/N shook her head and sniffled loudly, “Are you sure you’re not just super upset about Spencer getting shot?” Garcia continued, wanting Y/N to be absolutely sure of what she’s deciding.

Y/N pulled away from the embrace and stared at her friend, “M-maybe? I don’t know, I-I don’t know, Pen. Oh God, the wedding is tomorrow.” Y/N covered her face with her hands and tried to rub away all the stress and tears.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll go see Spencer and make sure he’s alright, then you can take all the time you need to decide whether you want to call the wedding off or not, alright? How does that sound?” Garcia reasoned with her, slowly trying to remove her hands from her face.

Y/N nodded and took a few deep breaths, wiping away the last of her tears, “Let’s go see Spencer.”

When they’d arrived at the hospital, Spencer wasn’t out of surgery yet. The team was waiting around in the hospital chairs. The hospital felt cold, so unbelievably cold. Maybe it was Y/N literally getting cold feet. The team decided not to ask about the unmistakable redness around her eyes and nose. They just chalked it up to being scared for Spencer, but it was so much more than that. 

She hadn’t even looked at him before he left. She hadn’t seen his eyes or his face so full of its color in so long. When the Dr. announced he was out of surgery and that he should be waking up any minute, the team had decided to let Y/N in first. The sight of him sleeping in the hospital bed made her stomach lurch. She found it hard to contain her tears. It was almost as if her hand had a mind of its own as it reached out to smooth down his wild hair and caress his cheek. She pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head and watched as his eyelids fluttered slightly, but stayed closed. She swallowed heavily and wiped her eyes before walking back out to the team.

“He’s not awake yet, but I, uh...have to go. There’s something I need to take care of. Pen, update me when he wakes, please.” Y/N tried as hard as she could to even out her voice, but it trembled with every other word. Garcia nodded and before anyone could even say a word, she was out of the building. She checked the time and saw that Grant’s shift wasn’t over yet, and she had the house to herself for a bit.

As soon as she made it in, she picked the two biggest suitcases she owned and began to fill them with her things. She’d spent over 7 years in this apartment with Anderson, so many memories and so many laughs were spent here. 

But she couldn’t do it anymore. 

She didn’t want to have to go through a divorce, she couldn’t go through that. She’d rather not marry him at all. Within two hours, she had packed 7 years worth of her life into two huge suitcases. It was sad and she shed more than a few tears mulling over memories. But she saw her future and it wasn’t with Anderson. She placed the suitcases near the doorway and sat at the kitchen table, waiting for him to come home. Surely enough, Grant came through the door at exactly 5:53 pm, just like he did every day.

“Babe? You home? Hey, whose bags are these?” He said, slipping off his shoes and walking into the kitchen, “Is everything okay, Y/N?” He asked, spotting her in the kitchen with a glass of red wine and tears gathering in her eyes.

“What’s going on?” Anderson frowned.

“Um, so...I’ve been thinking. A lot, actually. And I kept asking myself why we waited so long to finally get married. We got engaged in college, Grant. That was ages ago. Most people get married like, right after graduation, but we didn’t do that. We moved here together, I shifted my entire life to fit with yours and yeah I have a great job, but I’m not happy.” She paused to sniffle, “And I think I’m not happy because this isn’t the life I want for me. I think we waited so long because we secretly didn’t really want it to happen, if I’m being honest. But now that it’s happening, I don’t think I can do it. I’m sorry. I just don’t see my future with you.” She frowned as tears clouded her vision. She temporarily let go of her wine glass to slip off her engagement ring and place it in front of him.

“I’m calling off the wedding.” She stated with finality. He looked devastated.

“Y/N, is this a joke?” He frowned, anger settling in.

“No, it’s not a joke, Grant. I’m so sorry. I’ll try to get back whatever I can from all the money we’ve spent on everything, but I’m leaving. Thank you for giving me so many irreplaceable memories. They mean more than you know.” She wiped her tears and got up from her seat.

“Wait, so does this mean you’re quitting the job?” He asked, still in awe of the situation.

“No, I’m staying at the BAU, I love it there, Hotch is a great boss.”

“So that’s it? You’re leaving me?” For the first time that night, his eyes welled up with tears.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m staying with Penelope until I can find a place to rent.” They hugged one last time and she took her things and left. 

Just like that. 

And she’d never felt lighter. She’d never felt more free.

***

Anderson had requested a transfer to a different unit and so they barely saw each other at work. Everything was going really well actually. Over the past two weeks, she allowed herself only one day of wallowing but her priorities were finding a new apartment to live in. They’d already spent so much money on the wedding, so it was difficult to be spending at the moment, but thankfully Garcia’s freezer was full of individually packed meals from the catering company. She lived off those so far and it’d probably stay that way for the next few months or at least until she found her own freezer to fill with individually packed meals.

She hadn’t seen Spencer since that day in the hospital because apartment hunting in DC turned out to be a nightmare. But it’s fine, she’s been getting all her information from Garcia since she’d been performing daily checkups on him since he’d started his medical leave. Apparently, the ever-so-stubborn Spencer decided to continue giving his guest lectures even on his crutches. Ever since Rossi joined the team, he’d been taking Spencer to different universities and they’d often give lectures together. Y/N should’ve been glad that he’d been leaving the house, but it was so hard not to worry about him. He should be coming in today, his two weeks of medical leave are technically over, but he can’t go out into the field yet.

Also, the team was about to get a new member. Y/N was super excited, she was the one who got to show new members around the office and introduce them to everyone. She was also super excited to finally see Spencer. The ding of the elevator sounded and Y/N leapt from her seat upon seeing Spencer waddle in on his crutches through the glass doors, which were being opened for him by a young-looking blonde woman.

“Spencer!” Y/N exclaimed, bounding over to him and making sure to hug him gently as to not topple him over or hurt him.

“Hey!” He smiled, attempting to return the hug without his arms.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re finally back! The place was starting to get a little depressing!” She smiled, a new happiness filling her. She only noticed the woman standing so close to Spencer when she pulled away.

“Thanks, it’s great to be back.” He smiled at her fondly, resting on his crutches. “Oh, Y/N, this is Agent Ashley Seaver. She’s the newest member of the BAU and actually my girlfriend.”

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[ka-writes]

——————

Notes: I felt evil..

Also cross country sucks, now I feel sick.

But I gift longish chapter!

——————

Incase you missed:

Chapter 1:

Chapter 4:

——————

Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

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Warning: trauma flash backs, cussing, mentions of character death, fear.

——————

Chapter 5: Rocky Road

——————

Techno certainly didn’t expect Tubbo’s sudden outburst. Still Techno sort of expected bitterness towards the human.

The droneling marched off presumably to go to the garden. He shoved Wilbur out of the way and continued speaking gibberish.

“What’s with Tubbo?” The phantom asked, casting worried glances towards the door.

“He just threatened the human.” Techno said as if it wasn’t the most stupid move on Tubbo’s part. Wilbur’s eyes grew wide and he attempted to run to the holding cell, only to be stopped by Techno’s hand on his shoulder. The phantom sighed before turning towards the guard.

Silently the pair made their way to the common room. Flicking on the illusion projector, and turning the channel with the ISF news. Techno opened a novel not paying any mind to the news reporter who was going over the case that Techno had just escaped.

There weren't any further advances on the story other than what they knew. The ship had crashed on Omar, a nature preserve, which led the ISF to find eight human bodies and twelve recognized crew members. Though there were fourteen to begin with, not that the news knew that of course. The ship was also deemed as a poacher ship and not much else was discovered.

After the story was covered a different news reporter came on screen. He was shifting his papers nervously and glanced down every so often. This caused Techno to close his novel and pay attention to the illusion.

“Just one day ago, one of the Dream Team crew members quit.” The news reporter took a shaky breath before continuing, “Today the crew has reported that the ex-crew member had taken one of the humans they were using for testing.” A picture of Tommy appeared on screen, “This is what the human looks like. We advise citizens to be on the lookout for this man,” a picture of Wilbur popped onto the screen, “and the human. If you see either one in public do not engage and immediately report it to one of your stationed guards.” The man finished and Wilbur immediately flicked off the TV.

Him and Techno shared a glance of pure shock. Wilbur shed a couple blue tears and immediately started panicking. The guard wrapped his brother until a tight hug and fought off the voices chants of “NOT SAFE”. Silence drew the pair into an unsteady atmosphere.

——————

“Honestly that kid is a burden. I don’t know why you think we can take care of him.” A lady said, fury wasn’t hidden behind a fake smile at this point. The man standing next to her nodded silently.

“Ma’am, I don't understand what you’re saying.” Another lady responded, patience running thin.

Tommy held back the tears that were threatening to fall. His lip was already bleeding and his fingers felt raw. His bruises were itching uncomfortably under his tight shirt. He was starting to overheat, yet kept his jacket wrapped around him protectively.

“What I am saying is, we don’t want him, and I doubt anyone else will.” The lady started, “That kid is a nuisance. He makes our children look problematic, when in reality he is the problem child. I don’t understand how his parents put up with him for so long.” The lady finished.

“Only my mother put up with me,” Tommy thought, “my father couldn’t spare me a glance without yelling at me..”

He sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours before making the decision. The one that caused him to live on the streets.

He took his bag and sprinted out of the facility. He just kept running, nowhere to go and no money to use.

….

Suddenly it was a different night. He was sitting on a park bench looking at the stars. He was somewhere in Colorado, not sure how he made it here, but here he was. He breathed in the fresher air and pushed himself up.

He turned left then right then another left. At this point he was on one of those nature paths that seemed to be everywhere.

He sat in a field. Wasn’t it night?

A light and a huge gust of wind was the only response he got.

Then footsteps. A distant scream. Then cold sharp pain accompanied by a void of darkness.

He woke up in a cage..

He shot up in bed.. His head throbbed, but there was no point in sleeping it off.

So he got up. He hobbled over to the bookshelf and looked at the weird games and toys. His eyes fell on what he presumed to be a stack of cards and a pen of sorts.

It took an hour to label all the cards, but when he finally did he played a game of solitaire. Then another and another. By the time he finished the sixth one he was bored.

He went back to inspecting the bookshelf. The middle shelf had jigsaw puzzles.. didn’t Clem like puzzles?

He picked out what he presumed to be a flower field. There were a bunch of blue sunflowers.. wasn’t that her favorite flower?

Tommy sat on the floor creating a puzzle his sister would’ve absolutely adored. Silent tears slipped down his cheeks every once and a while. Only to be hastily wiped away.

——————

His eyes felt like they were glued shut. They attempted to sit up only to find creaks in their back and neck.

After a minute he sat up. His mind was still foggy from sleep, but he made his way to the security office, ready to work through his sleep deprived state.

Before they even left the room Phil told them to go back to rest. Ranboo obliged, and closed his door.

Having no work left he decided to write down as much information as he could about both Earth and Tommy.

Surprisingly they were able to recall a lot of information from the night before. That usually didn’t happen..

Once they wrote an entire dictionary on both topics, they tried the door again.

Phil, once again stepped in front of them, “Mate, I really think you should rest.”

“I know, but I am hungry. Can I at least have lunch?” Ranboo felt like a child once again, but knew it always worked with the captain.

After Phil rolled his eyes, Ranboo practically skipped to the kitchen. He grabbed some of the leftovers from last night and popped it into the insta-heater. Making two plates of food.

After the food was ready he looked down either hallway. Phil was preoccupied with Wilbur in the common room. Deciding it was the best time to sneak to his friend, he made his way to the holding cell. Only to be stopped by none other than Techno himself.

“Oh! H-hi Techno..” Ranboo said awkwardly.

“What are you doing?”

“I-I was just getting Tubbo some lunch!” Ranboo cringed at their own lie. Only to be met with a raised eyebrow.

“Ok I was gonna visit Tommy.” Ranboo caved. That was the right answer as Techno nodded and let Ranboo pass.

“You’re only giving him lunch right?” Techno inquired.

“Er- that and talk a bit.. I mean that was my original plan.”

“Then I will stay with you.” Techno left no room for debate.

Ranboo nodded and approached the cell, setting the plate on the automatic tray. Techno stood in a small hallway allowing his presence only to be known to Ranboo.

Tommy was sitting on the floor putting together a landscape puzzle.

With what they saw, their curiosity intrigued them.

“Can I go in?” He asked first to Techno who shifted off of the wall.

“Only if I am in there.” Ranboo nodded and turned to Tommy who was busy with the puzzle.

Ranboo knocked on the window once. Tommy’s head shot up before the human stood up and approached the window.

“Hello!” Ranboo chirped, “I can see you’re working on a puzzle! I would love to help if you want? Me and my friend won’t go in if you don’t want me in there. But just so you know I brought lunch!”

Tommy stared at the enderian before answering. He was clearly debating the options.

“Only if Techno doesn’t talk.” Was the only response either got.

With that they grabbed the food and let the door open. Techno entered first, immediately going to the back chair and pulling out a novel. Ranboo handed Tommy a plate and sat next to the strange human.

It didn’t take them long for them to start rambling. Both about everything and nothing.

Surprisingly Ranboo lost all fear that should’ve been gripping them, and felt comfortable sitting with one of the most dangerous creatures in the galaxy.

——————

“So people are looking for you?” The captain asked, impatiently tapping his foot against the metal floor.

“To put it simply, yea..” Wilbur said pretty much losing all confidence within the span of an hour.

The caption responded with a sympathetic look and wrapped his son in another tight hug. Wilbur didn’t pull away this time. He melted into comfort.

After a minute the elder pulled away, “How about you watch one of those documentaries you like. I will make some iced fluff and join you in a bit.” The phantom nodded and trugged himself over to the common room sofa. Turning on the illusion and flicking to one of the only things the ISF was allowing people to view from Earth, Netflix.

He skimmed the documentary section and came upon one that was about the Ocean. Three minutes later he was completely into it.

Phil returned with two bowls of iced fluff. Wilbur dug into the sweet treat. Phil sat next Will and wrapped a wing around him, to which Will leaned into the embrace.

——————

“So what’s your favorite treat?” Ranboo asked, after he got another piece Tommy wasn’t able to get.

Tommy scoffed, mumbling about how he was just about to try that spot before answering the question, “I love Rocky Road Ice Cream. My mom made it without nuts so it is far superior to anything anyone would get from a store.” Tommy was satisfied with his answer and tried another piece.

“Hmm.. What is ice cream?”

“It’s a sweet frozen cream of sorts.”

“Oh so like iced fluff?”

“No idea, I would have to try it first..”

Both continued the conversation mumbling about other different foods and what not, before falling into a comfortable silence.

Tubbo was absolutely furious at the scene. He sprinted off to the garden where he slammed the door and melted to the floor.

When was the last time anyone had a conversation that was about everything and nothing with him?

He hated the fact he was jealous over a fucking human.

Tomorrow was the day he would prove the human wasn’t all he seemed to be. That the human was nothing more than a monster.

——————

Chapter 5-End

Words: 1826

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Notes: I still have a few filler chapters, but am getting there!!

Go take care of yourself, love ya!! <3

Reminder likes are appreciated but reblogs are even better! (Suggestion make a side blog where you just spam creators works... just saying, I have one..)

Also my layout for chapters has changed a bit. I have the last chapter at the top and the next one at the bottom.. and no I am not doing the inspired by on Ao3, simply cause it’s easier for people to see it in the first few, I am keeping it here tho, cause I know people aren’t really gonna see my first chapter right away. I will be keeping the link to the first chapter at the top as well just not the middle ones.

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Tubbo has evolved in to

J E L L Y B E E

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Chapter 6:

[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 7: Huey [ao3 link]

It’d been two days since her chat with Dewey and Goldie found herself still in Scrooge’s home. Normally she would’ve left the morning after her little visit, but he’d been so busy with all of his family’s craziness that they hadn’t really had a chance to talk yet. Donald had apparently just left on a trip with his girlfriend and some clone children and everyone was adjusting to all the news and everything they’d been through.

So Goldie figured she would just...wait around. She’d informed the necessary people that she was alive, shockingly, after being missing for a few weeks, so she could take a few more days to herself. And it wasn’t like Scrooge didn’t know she was there; she’d still spent both nights in his bed, but he’d been falling asleep pretty quickly and getting up early and this whole situation they were in felt disturbingly domestic. She’d probably need to leave sooner or later, before anyone started to think she was moving in.

At that particular moment, Goldie was situated on the living room couch, wearing a tank top and sweatpants and flipping through the channels on the TV without much thought. Scrooge was at another meeting at the Money Bin and if she didn’t know any better she’d almost think he was avoiding her with all of his late night meetings. Actually, she didn’t really know better, since this was kind of a new situation for them, but...well...what was she supposed to do about it? Go with him? That sounded terribly boring.

A home redecorating show she liked came on and Goldie decided to forget everything else and just sit back and try to enjoy it. Overthinking things with Scrooge never worked out well for her. It was one of many reasons why after over a hundred years, she felt out of place just sitting in his home without him.

The pitter patter of tiny feet coming her way didn’t ease that feeling at all, either.

She glanced to the right as the other triplet - Huey, she was confident she had that right - picked himself up and plopped himself on the couch next to her. She’d never had a single conversation with this child, but she’d stolen from him and knew he kept a ridiculous number of things hidden under his tiny little hat. It was fascinating. But otherwise she didn’t know much about him or why he would be attempting to interact with her.

“I’d like to go over some scheduling issues,” he said suddenly, pulling a notebook and a pen out from under his hat.

Goldie glanced around the room briefly and then back at him. “...with me?”

“Yes,” Huey responded matter-of-factly. “If you’re going to be staying here for a while or living here or whatever’s happening with you, ideally I’d love to add you to the shared family calendar.”

“...what?”

“...but assuming you’re just here for a few days and then coming and going at your leisure, just knowing ahead of time when you and Uncle Scrooge are having your date nights would be perfect.” He took notes while he was talking, as if Goldie had given him even a single answer. “I like to know where he is in case we need him for anything. I’m sure you understand.”

“I, uh…” Goldie took a moment to go over everything he said and quickly shook her head. “Your uncle and I do not have ‘date nights’.”

“Well maybe not this time around since he’s been so busy, but isn’t that the plan?” Huey asked genuinely, still taking notes on who-knew-what. “Once he’s free I assume you’ll get dinner and have a talk about your relationship and our family. And other adult date stuff.”

Goldie responded to that with the most neutral, unemotional stare that Huey had ever received. She took the remote and muted the television before turning her whole body towards the nosy child next to her, lifting her feet up onto the couch. “And why exactly do you assume that?”

Huey tilted his head at her. “Oh...sorry, isn’t that right? Dewey said you’d been wandering around waiting to talk to Uncle Scrooge so that’s just the conclusion I drew. Plus you’re...y’know, still here even though he’s not. And you’re not stealing anything.”

“I have other hobbies.”

He pointed to the TV with his pen. “Like the Property Brothers?”

Goldie glanced at the screen and then back at the kid. “Even if, hypothetically, you were right about all of that, I am absolutely not ever joining your family calendar.”

Huey shook his head. “I don’t know why you’d say that like it’s a bad thing. Don’t you want to be organized?”

“I’m plenty organized by myself.”

“But if you were synced with us, then you’d know when Uncle Scrooge or Louie is available to spend time with.”

Goldie paused for a moment and stared at him. She’d barely spoken to her favorite of Della’s kids since arriving at the house and having him brought up felt like some kind of dig. She wasn’t sure how to respond to it without getting defensive and she wasn’t even sure what she’d be getting defensive about. “...I prefer the element of surprise. Keeps the boys on their toes.”

Huey shook his head and shrugged. “So how long are you staying here? Can I at least know that?”

“I’m not really sure,” Goldie answered, leaning fully against the back of the couch. It was pretty comfy. “Not too long. I’ve got other places to be.”

“...extremely vague and unhelpful,” Huey mumbled, jotting something down in his notebook. “You and Uncle Scrooge are quite the pair.”

Goldie only responded to that with a short hum, grabbing the remote to get back to her show.

“Can I ask you something else?”

She sighed and put the remote back down. “It’s not like I can stop you.”

Huey turned his body fully towards her, one leg up on the couch and one still dangling. “Well...if I’m making you really uncomfortable or anything, I can stop.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow at him, surprised by the suggestion, but quickly waved it off. “What’s your question?”

“Are you planning on marrying Uncle Scrooge?”

If she’d been drinking anything, she would’ve spit it out at that moment. Goldie could say with absolute certainty that she did not see that question coming. “What could I have possibly said to make you think that?”

“Not you,” Huey said earnestly. “I just noticed that everyone seems to call you Aunt Goldie and I remember in one of Uncle Scrooge’s journals he wrote about marriage when he wrote about you so I assumed you two have had a conversation about it at least once or twice. Right?”

Goldie’s eyes widened and she felt heat rising in her chest that she couldn’t explain away as simple heartburn. She hoped her face wasn’t red to match, because this kid was clearly observant and blunt and she didn’t need the whole family thinking she wanted to get married and move in. “I, uh…” Goldie cleared her throat awkwardly. “...no, it’s not something we’ve really talked about.”

Huey looked at her in confusion. “Not really or not at all?”

She grimaced and sighed and moved her hands around her face as she tried to put her thoughts together. “It’s not...I mean, it’s not never come up, it’s just...it’s complicated. It’d be hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Goldie frowned and barely stopped herself from glaring at him. “...y’know what, if your uncle is the one writing Goldie McDuck in little hearts all over his workbooks, maybe you should talk to him about it, hm?”

Huey blinked up at her. “I guess I can do that. He’s just always very secretive when it comes to you.”

That got her attention a little more than it should’ve. Goldie sighed internally and didn’t bother trying to stop herself. “...what do you mean by that?”

“Well, like…” Huey moved so both of his legs were dangling again and he could swing them around. “I love romance a lot. I love to read about it and watch romantic movies...my friend Fenton and his girlfriend Gandra are so sweet together and Uncle Donald and his girlfriend are also really sweet together and I really love that for both of them. But then you and Uncle Scrooge seem like you’re happy sometimes but then when I ask him about you he gets all grumbly and doesn’t answer my questions, so that’s not a good sign. But I’m really curious about it because I know there’s all different types of romance out there and I don’t even know how the two of you met.”

Goldie hummed quietly and stared at the wall over the TV, considering her response. She definitely wouldn’t describe her and Scrooge’s relationship as ‘sweet,’ but she’d never tried to sum it up into one word before. “...the way we met is also very...complicated.”

“It seems like everything about you two is complicated.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she said with a short, quiet laugh. “I do love your uncle, but it’s just-...!”

Huey gasped, and Goldie froze at the realization of what she’d just said. She stared directly at Huey who looked more excited than he’d been for any of the rest of their conversation. He was suddenly fully engaged thanks to her accidental use of the l-word. She glanced away from him and hoped she could stumble over that, but she’d paused for too long for them to simply move past it.

It wasn’t like she’d never said it before, but absolutely never to someone in his family. That would be...too much.

“You do?!” Huey asked - his notepad down and leaning towards her and putting his hands on his cheeks. “Does Uncle Scrooge know? Has he said it too? That’s so romantic!”

Goldie groaned and looked back at the TV, only to see the couple fixing up their house snuggling on the camera. “I mean, look. We’ve been...well, it’s been over a hundred years, so yeah these things are bound to be said at some point-”

Huey let out a tiny, adorable little squeal that Goldie refused to find endearing.

“Alright, I’ve changed my mind!” Huey announced, grabbing his pen and notepad again. “I’m completely fine to call you Aunt Goldie!”

“Wait, what?” Goldie stared at him, feeling very confused like she’d missed a whole big part of their conversation. “You know we’re still not getting married, right?”

“Well, Aunt Goldie,” Huey said with a smirk. “I now know that you’re mutually in love and probably have been for a very long time, so whether you want to be or not, that means you’re part of the family!”

She sighed and lightly scratched her neck.

“Do you have any other family?”

Goldie looked surprised at the sudden question, not expecting this child to suddenly change conversation topics like his brother. “...no, I don’t.”

“Oh,” Huey responded, looking a little sad. “Did they...I mean, you’re as old as Uncle Scrooge, right? So they’re...uh…”

“Dead, yeah,” Goldie said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry!” Huey looked down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

She watched him look like he was about to go into some shame spiral and Goldie quickly reached out a hand and plopped it on his head. “Don’t worry about it, it was a long time ago. And we were never close to begin with,” she added with another shrug.

Huey glanced back up at her, blushing a bit from the unexpected physical affection. “Does that mean you never introduced them to Uncle Scrooge?”

Goldie couldn’t stop herself and let out a short laugh, moving her hand from Huey’s head to cover her beak. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled as she collected herself. “No, God no, absolutely not.”

He moved his hat back to the position he preferred it in. “Have you met Uncle Scrooge’s parents?”

“Ah...sort of-” Goldie started, but suddenly she froze. She thought about his line of questioning for a second before turning to glare at Huey completely. “What are you writing?”

Huey looked up from his notebook and let out a small chirp as he noticed Goldie’s expression. “Um...I’m just taking notes…”

“Taking notes about what?” Goldie asked as she reached out and grabbed the notebook away from him. Huey struggled to grab it back but Goldie held him down with her other hand.

She scanned over the open page and saw that he’d written notes on all the information she’d given him (about herself, about her and Scrooge’s relationship) and her tone of voice and expression when talking about them. She flipped to another page to see similar notes and rolled her eyes before throwing the notepad back at Huey.

Huey caught it and did his best to avoid her gaze.

“Should I even ask?”

He shoved the notepad and pen under his hat again and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Goldie pinched the bridge of her beak. “I’m not upset, I’m just confused. Did Scrooge tell you to come talk to me?”

“Huh?” Huey mirrored her confusion. “No, of course not! It was nothing like that!”

“Then…?”

He sighed awkwardly. “Dewey said he got an interview with you and I didn’t believe him and then we got into an argument about it and he said he had the best interviewing skills in the family, but I’m the one with the Interviewing Badge which I’ve had for several years so I wanted to...prove him wrong, I guess.” Huey covered his eyes with his hands and sighed. “Ugh, this is so stupid. I’m really sorry.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow and reached over to tug his hands away from his eyes. “Kid, it’s fine. I can always understand the urge to prove you’re better than someone else,” she said with a smirk.

Huey looked at her for a few moments before smiling. “So it’s okay if I show this to Dewey?”

She glanced at his hat and then back down at his eyes, which were sparkling and genuine and he was just a very cute kid and Goldie hated how that seemed to be something that affected her these days. She held back a sigh and let go of his arms. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not like I said anything that’s a secret.”

“Thank you, Aunt Goldie!” Huey said happily right before he jumped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck.

Goldie let out a surprised OOF! and didn’t hug back, just stared off towards the wall on the other side of the room.

Huey moved back away from her and kept smiling. “Louie’s right, you’re a lot nicer than Uncle Scrooge says you are!” he said as he hopped off the couch. “Thanks for talking to me! I hope you didn’t miss anything important on your show.”

“...nothing important ever happens on this show,” Goldie mumbled as Huey waddled away - probably towards the boys’ shared bedroom. She frowned and tried to will away the blush on her cheeks from the light physical affection. It was disturbing to her how much a little hand-hold or a hug made her feel like she had butterflies in her stomach. It was more than disturbing! She was practically going soft.

She sighed and thought about what Huey said before he left. Maybe she needed to have a chat with Sharpie.

[eclecticmiasma]

Human Art (Yandere!Rohan x Reader)

🖤 For the eternally lovely @vani-ya​ 💚

When strange things start happening around your apartment, your kind friend Rohan offers you a place to stay. 

NSFW

[Warnings: somnophilia, rape, mind control, abuse, dead dove: do not eat] 

It started out innocuous enough. Doors ajar that you could have sworn you closed. Missing laundry. Strange bruises. The fact that Morioh had a serial killer running around wasn’t exactly a secret, so you just felt like you were being overly paranoid when little things around your apartment began to go awry. You weren’t always the most mindful person, and a few little incidents did not a serial killer make.

That is, until the open doors had broken locks. Until you found strange stains on your underwear. Until the bruises that marred your hips and thighs began to look like fingerprints.

“Maybe it’s a ghost!” Okuyasu jested, waggling his eyebrows. Rohan shot him a look of deep disgust. Okuyasu’s face fell as he remembered the existence of Reimi, “Sorry…”  

“Well, you’re more than welcome to crash at my place,” Josuke interjected, “Mom’s probably dying to have another woman around-” At this, Rohan let out a snort of laughter.

“Stay at your place? And sleep where exactly?” Josuke chewed the inside of his lip.

“I…I mean I could sleep on the couch…” The mangaka rolled his eyes and set down his coffee with a frustrated clink.

“Am I always the only one with any real solutions?” He turned to you and looked you sternly in the eyes, “[Y/n], I’m sure you’ve noticed that my house is massive. As long as you don’t interrupt my work, the best thing to do is to stay with me for a while,” The gang blinked at Rohan, shocked at his uncharacteristic generosity. Okuyasu got ready to grill him on the fact that he refused to let him and his father stay at his mansion despite the fact that they continued to live in an abandoned shack, but Josuke elbowed him before he could start.

You were hesitant to accept. While it was a generous offer, you never really spoke to Rohan beyond gathering cursory information about the town’s other stand users. He sensed your unease and softened his gaze.

“It’ll be…an adventure. Maybe you could even help me model certain character poses? There is a severe lack of women in my work.”

In the end, you agreed. All of your things were moved to Rohan’s with the help of your friends, and you found yourself much more at ease with someone else in the house. Even if your rooms were fairly far apart, you felt much less likely to be murdered while not living alone. Whether or not that was misguided, you began to enjoy your temporary home.

But, slowly, incidents began to occur at Rohan’s home too. Much like before, they started out small. Bits of hair in your bed that weren’t yours. More marks on your body, covering the ones that had faded. One morning, you woke up with something dry and flaky across your chest and neck. You started to think that Okuyasu was right, maybe you did have some kind of ghost following you around.

When you voiced your concerns to Rohan, he waved them away. The two of you did laundry at the same time, so of course it was probably his hair caught in your blankets. Your aloof nature meant that you constantly bumped into things, he saw it himself. As for the mystery substance on your chest, maybe you needed to buy some new body lotion that wouldn’t clump up in your sleep. He recommended a local brand. Everything you came at him with, he had an answer for. Rohan’s level-headed nature put you at ease, and you were thankful for him.

But then everything fell apart. You don’t know what possessed you, perhaps it was a familiarity with the mangaka’s drawing room after having modeled for his various projects several times, but you found yourself perusing his massive catalogue of books. He had a novel on nearly every subject. As he told you many times, he found it of utmost importance to take inspiration from the real world.

When none of his library piqued your interest, you walked away from his bookshelf and padded over to his desk. Though you were never allowed to look at his unfinished work, curiosity got the better of you. Rohan was much too controlling when it came to his work, you felt. A little peak wouldn’t do anyone any harm.

You picked up a sketchbook and rifled through it, amazed at how detailed his drawings were. Birds, insects around the home, coffee plates, sandwiches, human hands, anything and everything he saw was sketched out to the most minute details. He was absurdly talented. You felt a bit of pride in being his friend.

At the back of the sketchbook were nude drawings. You blushed as your eyes raked over the lewd poses. Some genitalia was drawn, both male and female. The model’s body was contorted in all different poses, many sexual in nature. As you flipped the page, you were shocked to see actual sexual acts being performed. You had never heard of models that were willing to do this kind of thing. Although, Rohan had a lot of money and none of the sketches showed their faces. Except for one.

The sketchbook tumbled to the floor.

The face was yours.

Not once had he asked you to pose nude for him, but there you were. Your full body was on display. Leaned back over the edge of a sofa so that your hair dragged along the floor. One of your hands grasped your breast seductively while the other delved into your core. It was unmistakably you, down to the birthmark on your abdomen. You knew Rohan only drew from what was directly in front of him, so how in the world-

Rohan cleared his throat behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. A devious look danced behind his eyes. He set down his satchel unceremoniously and closed the study door.

“I suppose this was bound to happen at some point,” Your heart raced as the lock clicked in place. Rohan slid off his gloves and threw them on the leather chair next to his satchel. Not once did he take his emerald eyes off of your now trembling form.

“I don’t understand,” You managed to say, though your voice was weak and nearly unintelligible.

“You wouldn’t,” Rohan chuckled darkly, “You’re much too stupid to put two and two together. Now, kneel.”

To your shock, your knees immediately hit the wooden floor.

“Heaven’s Door,” Rohan muttered, taking your face in his palms. Your whole body tensed and something like a book opened in your left cheek, “You know, this charade has been quite fun. I probably could have been happy to keep you as my perfect little pet forever. But, seeing you like this, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes, I’m starting to realize that your inability to remember our time together has honestly been quite boring,” He whipped out a pencil from his pocket and erased something from your pages.

All at once, everything came flooding back. The nights in your apartment where something, someone held you down while you sobbed, marking your body as their own. The way they flaunted your stolen underwear as they huffed it while fucking your breasts. Broken locks strewn to the floor as you screamed.

And at Rohan’s house, memories of him choking you until you complied with his demands, his thick cock stretching your throat. The unhinged glee in his eyes as he came all over your neck and chest. Images of your naked, trembling body on display as he drew you any way he wanted, even while being used by him.

Paralyzed by Rohan’s stand, all you could do was remember and weep.

“There we go,” He said, closing your pages and stepping back, admiring his work, “I even took out the clause that says you have to obey any orders I give,” A dark grin danced across his features, “Now, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

You couldn’t. Not after the visions that played in your mind. Everything you had feared for months stood directly in front of you, taunting you. Pain erupted on the side of your head as Rohan twisted your hair around his fist and pulled you way from the side of the desk. He used that momentum to throw you to the floor and, immediately, he was on you, tearing off your clothes with practiced precision. Though you kicked and screamed, Rohan was deceptively strong. You cried out as he wrenched your arm painfully behind your back.

“Keep fighting me, and I’ll pop your arm out of its socket,” Despite his warning you continued to struggle, wriggling underneath him for any kind of opportunity to get the upper hand. He let out an exasperated sigh and tugged hard. You cried out as burning agony shot down your arm and the limb fell to your side with a thud, “You really think one would learn after the first twenty or so times. How did you even survive on your own for this long?”

With the rest of your clothing off, he moved his weight from you and ordered you to get back on your knees. Trembling, you acceded, forcing yourself up with your working arm to face him. You watched as he retrieved his sketchbook from the floor. He flipped through the pages with annoyance.

“Not many left. Ah, here’s a spot. Now…what do I need from you…” Rohan’s brow furrowed as he tapped his chin with a fountain pen and looked at your sobbing face. His lip curled in disgust, “Let’s put that mouth to use. Open up,” Your eyes met his and you silently pleaded for mercy. Images of him forcing his way past your lips flashed before you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to comply.

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Fury bubbled beneath Rohan’s calculated stare. After you continued to hesitate, he cupped his hand and put it to his ear, “What’s that? You’re begging me to paralyze you with my stand?” You shook your head furiously and opened your mouth for him, ashamed, “Good girl.”

Rohan walked over to you and unzipped his baggy trousers. With pen in hand, he fished out his half-hard member and let it hit your tongue. Fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment you thought he might even take pity on you. He only smirked.

“Mess up my drawing, and I’ll throat-fuck you until you have to use a feeding tube,” Fear coursed through you as he started to draw, lightly thrusting his length along your tongue to allow it to fully harden. You barely breathed.

Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Rohan sketched the way his cock sat between your lips as if he were sketching a detailed flower. Nothing in his facial expressions betrayed the act in which he was participating. But he was certainly aroused. You fought back the urge to gag when salty pre-cum hit your tongue.

When he slapped the sketchbook closed, you jumped. The sick sense of security you felt while he was drawing melted, and terrified anticipation took its place.

“Get on all fours,” Reluctantly, you did as he said. He came up behind you and slid his hands along your inner thighs, “Spread your legs…Further,” Your face heated up with shame and rage as you felt him grasp the soft flesh of your behind. He toyed with it, massaging it and spreading it apart to examine your innermost parts.

“Wait!” You cried out as something prodded at your entrance. You lurched forward to escape him, but tumbled onto your dislocated shoulder. Rohan quickly caught your hips and dragged you back across the floor. A sharp slap resounded in the room as he reared back and spanked you as hard as he could, “Please, Rohan-”

“Please, Rohan,” He mocked, smacking you again, “Do you know how long I’ve kept myself from burying my cock inside of you?” Burning pain filled you as he thrust himself forward, plunging inside of you with his thick length. Your nails dug into the floor as you sobbed, begging him to stop.

His pace was instantly vicious, dizzying. It was painful, so incredibly painful, but your cries fell on deaf ears. He even chuckled as you writhed beneath him, trying desperately to get away. With a swift motion he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you to him so that your back stuck to his chest. His clammy hands enthusiastically grasped at your bouncing breasts.

“Don’t you wonder why…” He growled in your ear, rolling his hips against you, “…after all the ways I’ve taken you, why not here?” His hand moved from your chest to rub painful circles into your clit. His other hand slid up to your neck and gripped it so tightly that you could barely respond, “I don’t mean to sound sentimental, but I wanted you to remember it. A whore like you should be so lucky to be fucked by Rohan Kishibe.”

Finally, his thrusts slowed and he shifted the angle of your body. Though it was still painful, the new position allowed his dick to plant a cloying feeling deep within your core. Every time he penetrated you, it gave you pause. Combined with the more deliberate ministrations of his fingers on your clit, the realization dawned on you that you were dangerously close to orgasm. Your heart raced at the thought. You wanted to scream, but Rohan’s grip on your neck kept you near silent.

“Cum for me you little slut. I know exactly where your buttons are, so don’t try to fight it,” The world around you spun as lack of oxygen finally took its toll, and everything you had been fighting so hard to stop fell by the wayside. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, little pinpricks of light dancing in your vision as your body trembled. Rohan cackled psychotically and let you drop to the floor.

While you came down from your high, Rohan fucked you harder. Your knees rubbed the floor painfully as he took you, slamming his cock deep within you again and again and again. You had no energy to hold yourself up, especially with just one arm, and you let him have his way with you as you silently cried.

His own orgasm wasn’t far behind. To your absolute shock he pulled out of you, digging the nails of his left hand into your thigh as his right milked out semen all over the skin of your back.

As soon as he released every drop of cum, there was shuffling behind you. You dared to glance down to see that he immediately went to grab his sketchpad to draw your freshly marked body and abused hole. You didn’t even need to be told to stay still.

When he was finished, he flipped you over. You yelped in shock as he grabbed your foot and held it up to where he could see the bottom of it. Pain shot through you as he took his fountain pen and sliced into the sole of your foot, cutting a thin line.

“There,” he panted, dropping your leg, “You didn’t really think that was our first time, did you?” He cast a smug smile your direction as your face dropped, “That’s it, that’s the face! Hold still,” He picked up the book beside him and quickly outlined your pained expression. He grinned as his pen flew across the paper, absolutely unhinged. “Anyway, of course you believed me. The only person more gullible than you is that buffoon Josuke.”

“But…I saw everything…” Rohan let out a genuine cackle.

“You remember what I let you remember, you stupid bitch. Why would I pass up the chance to break you anew every single day? To let you think that I still had one more line left to cross? The raw emotion…that’s truly art,” You thought you had run your tears dry, but more just kept coming. A choked sob left your lips as you dared to look at the bottom of your foot. It was covered in scars, some fresher than others. There must have been hundreds. Little tick marks that denoted how Rohan had used you time and time and time again.

Before you could process everything that happened, before you could curl up into yourself and howl at the indignity, Heaven’s Door had you between its grubby little hands. Rohan himself sauntered over and scribbled something on your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you go wash your filthy little hole and go to bed?” Your mind went blank as the world around you fell away. Rohan called out to you as you mindlessly lifted yourself up to walk to the bathroom as he bid you.

“Sweet dreams, [Y/n].” *all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.