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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Of Fire and Love (Pt. 7)

(Dragon! Yoongi x Reader) (Fantasy au!) (Coe-parenting au)

Summary: You dream, nightmares and sweet memories- Yoongi just tries to hold onto you as best he can but he’s never felt so lonely.

Genre: Fantasy! au, gender exploration, Coe parenting au, Dragon! Yoongi x Reader, Dragon! Hoseok x Sorcerer! jungkook, Minjoon, Taejin

W/c: 20.0k

Tags: Angst, loss of hold on reality, violence, non-explicit sexual content (taejin), possessive behavior, genderfluid characters, gender non conforming characters, gender exploration, alcohol mention,

A/n: For those of you who've followed this story you’ll know that I’ve teased there being a hopekook relationship and this chapter touches on their relationship a lot. i dont think it will make anyone uncomfortable because its explicitly stated their love is not sexual- but just a heads up!

- Hoseok and Jungkook cling to the side of a building, their feet gripping the bare inch bricks just narrowly. This library is old, with drafty long hallways and a crumbling facade that doesn't help their predicament, every other brick crumbles when they step to it.

- Every few shimmies Jungkook’s feet slip a little and fear lurches in his gut. he uses every bit of his body to cling. Hoseok has no such misgivings about falling into open space- now the arrows- that might frighten him. Their backs are weighed down with books that make it hard to move, while arrows clang below them against the red stone.

- One almost hits Jungkook’s head and Hoseok shoves it closer to the wall. Panic keeping it laced in Jungkook’s hair, “Keep your head in you idiot!” he shouts over the din and clank of metal armor. The nights and soldiers below them that gather. Every metallic clink against the stone another person come to kill them. Jungkook only grins, but flinches when one strikes closer to Hoseok’s head.

- Searching for books in the human realm isn’t an easy task. Not when all too often they face opposition like this. The humans might be semi-hostile to Jungkook but everyone is out for dragon blood. Enough of the men from this area have already been sent west to the war, but the sheer number of arrows shows that there are still soldiers here guarding this stronghold.

- They hadn’t been here until Jungkook and Hoseok had been spotted. It had been Jungkook’s fault. Dropping a book that echoed loudly- then someone had seen Hoseok’s horns when his hood had fallen and it was all over from there- they’d been made.

- One arrow pins Hoseok’s shirt to the brick as they shimmy along and he rips it loose without a second thought. He can’t shift when it’s like this- it’s too dangerous. Too likely that one of those arrows would hit him and hurt him- unless- “Kookie? any day now!?” Jungkook’s wide eyes are a balm against Hoseok’s frustration, lighting up with blue magic when he puts two and two together. “Oh! Sorry- I’ve got it!”

- The push-pull tide of magic fills the air, trembling with it as Jungkook’s arm glows bright blue along with the whites of his eyes. Every time Jungkook uses his magic Hoseok feels a protective pride flare. Especially when he hears and sees the arrows fall to the ground with a few dozen thuds. Another soldier tries to loose one and it falls like it’s made of lead. Maybe it actually is- maybe that’s the avenue the magic has chosen to take to stop the arrows.

- The soldiers below them stop their flurry brought to awe as the magic makes everything still (even them). The rust crusts in the joints of the armor bringing it to a squeaky halt. The break in the fighting finally gives him an opening to shift. And soon Hoseok is clinging to the side of the tower with claws instead of hands, wings stretching and fluttering. Jungkook gets on his back, a difficult maneuver with the precious books held close.

- One of them slips out and falls onto the stone, and Hoseok swings back around so that Jungkook can lean from his back, hooking his foot around one of Hoseok’s spines and reaching to scoop it up before he rights himself- abdominal muscles straining As he leans over and snatches it from the rooftop.

- Hoseok makes a noise and Jungkook interprets it. “Who you calling a showoff?“ he grins then settles in for a long flight back into dragon territory. A simple strap around Hoseok’s waist keeps Jungkook pinned to his back. It helps to at least elevate some of the strain.

- The first time they’d ever flown 12 hours straight, Jungkook had slid off of his back with a thunk. Looking up surprised at Hobi who’d sniffed through his hair worriedly, wondering why he’d fallen. “I don’t think I can move my legs” his muscles too sore to even clench.

- Hoseok had been laughing when he’d shifted. Helping pull Jungkook up- only to have him fall back down again. “You look like a baby deer Koo, come on- help me unpack at least.” They’d spent the rest of the night huddled around the fire, and not once had Hoseok complained about having to get up to fix dinner or stoke the fire.

- Hoseok and Jungkook have been hunting books on and off for the last ten years, it’s not like they’re unused to unprovoked aggression from the humans. Their two sides are at war- and it’s a wonder the humans aren’t more curious about the ragtag pair of book thieves that have been periodically dipping over the battle lines and raiding their libraries.

- Jungkook wonders what rumors if any, are lingering in the human lands. Jungkook would give anything to keep the smile Hoseok shoots him when he asks one night, “What you think they’ll make urban legends about us in 100 years? Keep your books close and your enemies closer?”

- Whatever the rumors, the pair can only hope that none of them make it back to their father and their uncle. If yoongi got wind of what Hoseok and Jungkook were doing without permission- then he might be tempted to end the war just to make sure they stayed safe. But What Yoongi doesn’t know won’t hurt him. If Hoseok and Jungkook were flitting in between the human lands and the dragon lands on occasion just to see if the nearest city even had a library- well then that’s just that.

- Hoseok and Jungkook never spend more than a month or two away from Yoongi and you. The timing of their homestays Often hinging on how successful their search is going and how many books they’ve collected. Hoseok can only carry so much on his back. They don’t mind coming back periodically to visit and drop off another load. If anything- it gives Seokjin and Yoongi an excuse to take a break or two and the young ones an excuse to enjoy a little coddling.

- Yoongi’s doing better, recently he’s started taking more flights like he used to when Jungkook was a kid. The air does him good and he no longer looks like guilt and sadness and longing are eating away at his soul- like he only comes alive when you wake.

- Over the years, Yoongi has read himself into a tizzy more than once. Always to be brought back by Seokjin encouraging him to rest his eyes and put the books down for a day or two. “This just doesn’t make any fucking sense- first the fairy anatomy and then this- if we could only get our hands on- ugh!“

- Yoongi is about to throw the book and would have if Jin hadn’t caught his wrist. snatching it out of the younger mans hand. Before he can- sparks light up the spine. Yoongi’s anger and fire meeting in the middle- the heat dosent hurt Seokjin’s hand as he extinguishes it with a brush of his palm. Cooling yoongi’s frustration with a knowing look.

- “Yoongi, you need to sleep.” Yoongi doesn’t fight him on it though both of them know he could if he wanted to. He’s been up for days and the bags under his eyes look dangerously like bruises. “Rest is an investment into future productivity Yoongi- you can’t read forever like this without resting your eyes every now and then.”

- Yoongi has always found it hard to sleep with you gone, why waste the hours when every second spent brings them closer to a cure for mortality. Yoongi hopes it’s only a matter of time and not a matter of ‘if’ they’ll be successful. that question keeps him awake no matter how many days it’s been since he slept.

- The next time the boys come home carrying a pile of books for Seokjin and Yoongi to go through Seokjin gives them a look, fingering the spine of one. He corners both of them later- when Yoongi’s away in the kitchens putting a meal together. Happy to have them all home the nesting instinct itching under his skin.

- He fingers the edge of Hoseok’s shirt, his fingers hooking through an edge and tearing it further with a rip. His magic flares just as quickly to fix it and the tear is gone before the shock has left Hoseok’s face. Seokjin raises an eyebrow at Hoseok’s surprise. Seokjin is dressed in a flowy deep plum shirt- parted to show his chest, the rock at the hollow of his throat pulsing with life but swimming with something darker.

- He’s rightfully angry, “I know an arrow hole when I see one, where have you both been where you’ve been being shot at? Hopefully not in the human world” He taps the side of the book in his hands, “And I distinctly remember losing this book over a night of cards with a wizard 300 years ago- so there’s that too.”

- “It was only once-“ Seokjin gives them a withering look and they both melt “okay- maybe more than a few times, but you know how frustrating it was? For us to stay behind and-”

- Seokjin knows why they had to but still can’t reconcile that with his protective instincts. Before they can go any farther Yoongi comes back with a plate full of sliced meats. The fireplace crackles happily in response to him and Hoseok helps Yoongi set up a grate to fry it. The same recipe for marinated meat that you used to make them when they were children. A celebratory meal steeped in tradition and familiarity to welcome Hoseok and Jungkook home.

- Hoseok starts the discussion when Seokjin asks- pointedly if finding libraries and old dragon castles in the countryside and in the mountains had been any harder than usual. It has been- they ran out of places to search for books in the dragon lands years ago. Though they still occasionally spot a new one when they go over the mountains again. A hidden hovel or a falling down castle that’s abandoned or inhabited.

- “You’ve said it yourself Seokjin; a good portion of our family's records are on the other side of the world. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal, Hoseok and I are more than capable of looking after ourselves.”

- Seokjin sighs, running his hands through his hair. Whatever spell he uses to keep it dark must be wearing off, the tips are looking a little silvery these days, it’s Probably stress. The pile of books in the study that they’ve gone through is becoming cumbersome as well they can barely walk around it. There are probably more than 30,000 that Hoseok and Jungkook have collected in the last 10 years.

- What Jungkook’s saying about their family isn’t wrong; Seokjin’s family did settle on the human side of the mountains first. They were responsible for enlightening humanity to the finer parts of magic. Without Seokjin’s family- the humans would probably still be waving sticks around and hoping for gold on the other end. The books they hunt for are the first records and spell books of witches and wizards that were taught by Seokjin’s father or books from the man himself.

- Not that their paltry party tricks could ever compare to the kind of magic that Seokjin and Jungkook were capable of. But the witches and wizards guilds do have strength in numbers. One which might have a droplet compared to the ocean of a sorcerer’s power, but 100? 1,000? That might be enough to match some spells.

- If the struggle at the border was enough to judge the powers of the guild, then they certainly were a formidable force to deal with. Their spells enchanting the humans swords and armor, making them resistant if not impervious to most fire. That was the only reason why the dragons hadn’t been able to immediately decimate the human army. They had to fight the harder way- with tooth and claw and brute force.

- The dragons would always have strength on their side and the humans would always have the numbers and carelessness with their lives. So short- you’d think they’d be more careful with their lives- but no. Over the years the death tolls have risen on both sides. It helps the human’s odds that they outnumber the dragons five to one.

- It’s been years since they left home- though it still feels weird to think of them ‘leaving’ in any capacity since they still come back almost as much as they leave. In the past few years, Hoseok and Jungkook have often flown across the battle lines or near them. But never close enough to see the battle or the carnage.

- Most of the time they divert their course north and fly over the tall mountains through brisk winds that would have Jungkook's muscles chilled for hours. a predicament usually only fixed by Hoseok curling up with his warm throat and chest cuddled around his too cold soulmate. quieting the protective urge in his stomach that said to breathe fire over the sorcerer- some sort of instinct, probably something instinctively dragon that he barely manages to repress.

- They’ve hunted books through the crags of long empty castles, through cities forgotten and new. They spend a good two months last year in the smaller dragon city to the south. Yoongi sniveled his nose up at them when they told him that’s where they wanted to go next. It felt a lot different than the northern city, the buildings rough made from wood and easily burnt and rebuilt. Definitely wilder and less aristocratic than the north.

- It’d burned down in the last war- so it’s no wonder the dragons there seem less attached to the buildings. some dragon had lit their board house on fire the first night they’d been there, roused from smoke and a shout. hoseok had shifted and carried jungkook out with his teeth hooked into jungkook’s shirt- lifting the younger like a cat would a kitten.

- Seokjin had gifted a map to Hoseok for his last birthday. It’s a delicate bit of magic, spelled to be paper-thin and bendable but the ink never fading or flaking off. Unable to be ripped or stained. The little red dot that shows Hoseok’s location and a black dot for Jungkook's. It changes each time they move- so that they know exactly where they are. Hoseok’s dot even gets a little more feathery when he shifts. The ink feeling fuzzy to the touch.

- The battle lines to the south also change too, rusty orange ink rough to the touch- with every league that the dragons push into the human lands ticking a lines with on the map. all So that hoseok knows how far he has to fly out of the way to avoid it if he wants too.

- Jungkook is just a little bit curious to see what dragons look like in battle, but a cautionary look from Jin and his father was enough to extinguish that possibility. “Trust me- it’s not a thing you should want to see” their father had said cryptically. “You never talk about the last war dad- what was it like?”

- “Bloody and long” was all Yoongi had answered. Because in truth- he’d given as much as he could give to that war. The end had left him broken and with the taste of blood in his mouth that just wouldn’t leave. He’d spent months looking for something in the mountains- an itch under his skin that wasn’t for more hoard.

- The wanting hadn’t abated until he met you and known deep in his bones that he’d never fight for another thing in his life. he’d found what his dragon soul hungered for more than gold or diamonds or anything that glitterd. a family- his hatchlings and his mate.

- But Hoseok and Jungkook are fully grown now and Yoongi still finds himself begging them not to go close to that battle- to stay out of it. Feeling like control and safety is slipping through his claws. The thought of both of them- of gentle Hobi and curious Jungkook getting a taste for carnage like that- Yoongi doesn’t ever want it to happen.

- Even though they already did that day in the manor house all those years ago. Still- a father can’t help but want to protect his hatchlings. Even if they’re both taller than him now they’re still his hatchlings. Jungkook especially likes to playfully lean his arm on his shoulders And Yoongi can’t ever correct him. He would let the youngster do anything without little more than an annoyed sigh, just as he had let him swing from his horns when he was a baby.

- When Seokjin had gifted the map, Hoseok had asked why they’re where two dots and not just one. “In case you get separated” the older sorcerer had said, a faint flush on his cheeks as he let Jungkook manhandle him into position on the couch perfect for snuggling. Sending smoke-filled bubbles to smart Jungkook’s nose when he keeps touching his thighs and rolling his eyes at his nephew’s endless touchy feely-ness. But even Hoseok can see the way that Seokjin relaxes with both of them around. Their presence a welcome reprieve from-

- “Yoongi- would you mind not breathing your lizard breath all over your sons?” Seokjin says haughty. Yoongi raises his massive head from where the coffee table should be (moved to make room for yoongi in his dragon form). blinking at Seokjin before his tongue darts out to lick at Hoseok’s hands- ignoring the older sorcerer.

- Hoseok can feel his happiness rippling out from his father at having his hatchlings back in his nest. He flicks his tongue out to hit Seokjin’s palm too and the elder recoils with a disgusted noise that makes Hoseok and Jungkook laugh.

- As if on queue, a book on the shelf falls, interrupting the moment.

- Every head flicks in the direction of the movement, the flecks of dust in the room pause, hanging in its shafts of light. the air too still to be from anything other than Seokjin’s magic or Jungkook’s- it doesn’t discriminate. After another moment. Hoseok gets up and puts the book back. the spine feels warm to the touch and for a moment- Hoseok holds onto it- savoring the warmth before he puts the book back on the shelf.

- There have been more moments like that than they’re all willing to admit, and despite their conversations- no one wants to admit what it is. The things that move on their own or flowers that Seokjin’s watched be plucked and fall to the ground in neat concentric circles. He’d gone out into the garden and found a whole pile of blooms- piles around a suspiciously shaped lump. It’s always the multi colored ones. Those moments are as startling as they are special.

- Everytime you wake Seokjin scolds you for it.

- “You realize the more you try to act outside of the dream world the more likely it is that you won’t be able to return back to your body?” Seokjin had snapped. Tae a happy puddle in his arms. You’re tearing into the food on the table while Tae just nibbles. He’s never hungry in the mornings really. Hadn’t been even when he’d been awake.

- Yoongi wonders if it has anything to do with the little field trips your soul takes outside of your body. The breaks you take from dreaming when you travel as a ghost in their world. Moving books and picking flowers and the countless other little moments.

- “It’s not like I’m trying to control it Seokjin, it just kind of happens. when I watch you guys- when I feel closer to you- it's easier” you definitely do not mention you’re only ever knocked out of your body after you’ve had a nightmare, but Taehyung knows. He looks up at your words, an egg yolk sliding out of his spoon and onto his plate bursting golden.

- Taehyung meets your eyes and you shake your head imperceptibly, and he keeps eating, declining to offer up the information that would surely make Seokjin and Yoongi more concerned. But the clock is ticking- and they only have 18 hours with you this year. No one wants to waste it arguing even if it does scare Yoongi.

- Every time when you wake and it takes a little longer for you to stir, Taehyung always awake and upright before you. Yoongi stroking your back in small circles- calling your name as you furrow your eyebrows and blink awake. kissing your face a few dozen times before you’re truly back. It only took 3 kisses the first year- and now it takes at least 8. Yoongi’s the kind of dragon that keeps track of that sort of thing.

- Later in their own private time together- Tae asks Seokjin with a pout “Why can’t I come out of the dream world to see you guys like she can Jinnie?” Seokjin washes his back in the bath, his hand warm and soapy. Jin exults in washing his love with long strokes, a little scratchy just the way that Tae likes it. just gentle enough to make his love squirm and make the water slosh against the sides of the silver tub. “It's not a thing you should want Tae, none of us know the long-term effects.”

- “But still,” Taehyung’s eyes are like warm honey over peaches, “it would be nice to see you more often.” Seokjin hums a gorgeous sound and Tae relaxes further into his lover's hold. Seokjin’s hands thumbing along his sternum counting his ribs and indulging in the touch. Tae shivers, shifting uneasily in the water, neediness sinking into his core like hot fire. Seokjin’s hand slips below the water and the layer of bubbles.

- “there are any number of reasons why the magic doesn’t want to work on her. It’s been a while and she’s probably just getting used to it, I probably just have to tweak the spell a little bit for y/n” Taehyung sighs, Seokjin’s mouth swallowing a bitten-off moan, kissing down his lovers throat and forsaking his mouth. Tae’s hips rock up, knocking the warm water out of the tub and onto the slate floor with a slosh that neither of them pay much mind to. “I’m not sure I want to hear another name from your lips when you’ve got your hands on me.”

- Seokjin smirks against Tae’s neck, the movement of his hand keeping up its pace under the water. His actions and his sly smirk betraying his words “Why wouldn’t I? We’re having a conversation, aren’t we? Or is something distracting you my love? Would you rather have me chanting your name?” like an incantation- if love were a spell then tae and jin would have the strongest.

- It is nice to see your family even for a few seconds on the occasion that you leave your body. It makes you feel like you’re helping, even just a little bit to watch over them. You try to disrupt something just to let them know you’re there. The first few years- the only thing you can manage is blowing out candles. but it gets easier to move books or make pages flip over as time goes on. and you get to ruffle their hair or pet over it as they sleep Where you stand and watch. Making sure their dreams don’t turn into nightmares.

- You wish you could say the same for your own dreams, but those are far more difficult to control.

- Often Yoongi will look at whatever just moved, and speak into the open air, through the glass barrier of the dream you can barely hear him. But he’ll go to the couch and sit, hold out his hand palm up on the cushion and you’ll touch it. Knowing by the way he shivers- that he can just barely feel the shape of a hand touching his. Yoongi has always had a thing for hand holding. And it’s worth it- just from the way he smiles.

- But too Yoongi it just feels like you’re already a ghost. It just makes him yearn for a time when it wasn’t like this. How will it feel? When he’s been without you longer than he was ever with you? If they don’t find a cure for mortality soon- then he’ll find out. His boys too.

- It feels like he can almost taste you on the air when you come and visit them in-between your naps (its easier for Yoongi to say they’re just that- just really long naps- even if it makes him feel childish, the weight of ‘eternal sleep’ is just too heavy on his mind some days).

- For that reason, he favors his dragon from more than his human one these days. it’s not like he can see you at all in either, but he can tell when you’re there and almost smell you when he’s in dragon form. And that feels more real than curling up around your coffin upstairs (or when he starts to worry that you actually are dead- that you won’t be able to come back).

- It’s been a long time since they started searching but it barely feels like a second to them. Like hardly any time has passed at all. Such is the way of immortals- years pass like months, and days like hours. It’s been years since Hoseok and Jungkook truly stopped aging. They’re both frozen somewhere in their twenties, their hair keeps growing, but their faces never change, their bodies don’t change either accept to get stronger or weaker with the care they show them.

- Jungkook doesn’t like to think about his age when he can help it. He still feels like a little kid whenever Yoongi and Seokjin look at him, sharing a special secret adult look that he’s not sure he’ll ever be capable of giving. He’s very content to stay the baby of their little family.

- But being the baby also means that Jungkook gets treated like a child too.

- “We’ve been over this, it's too dangerous boys,” Yoongi says it like it will make his heart break to see them in danger. If Yoongi knew they’d been shot at- even by one arrow- he’d fly over to the human cities and start leveling them one by one.

- “Not anymore, we’re not kids dad” Hoseok looks fluffed up, his curly hair and wild, so long it almost brushes his shoulders like Jungkook’s. (More than once Seokjin has snipped his fingers threateningly at it, “you both look wilder than the wind I swear, one night I’m going to take a pair of scissors to you whether you like it or not.”)

- That is just another thing that makes Hoseok ache all through his chest, and he’s never been able to put a finger on why it makes him uncomfortable. The thought of needing to have short hair for whatever reason. The same feeling lights up in his chest when Jungkook continues- “ right! we’re not boys- we’re men!” Jungkook’s swinging feet under his chair beg to differ.

- Yoongi sucks on his lower lip, hands tightening over the back of Jin’s chair. They talked about this possibility while the boys were gone, after the last time when they had a similar argument. In the years since your departure, Jin’s taken on something of a parental role with the boys- and it’s nice to have a second set of ears again. Even if it would make both Yoongi and Jin shriek indignantly to be compared to anything like what you and yoongi had. “They’re not children anymore Yoongi, you’re going to have to start letting them take their own risks sooner rather than later”

- “But I already did,” I already let them not be here he wants to say. Every single parental instinct of his telling him to keep his hatchlings close. But it’s better than it was before; now he rarely feels the urge to fly on after them and drag them back by the scruff of their necks. Sometimes when he’s out flying he pretends he’s doing just that.

- Seokjin taps his fingers against the table, sparks dancing between his fingertips. “As much as your parental concern is sweet, you have to admit- nothing can hurt Jungkook or me in any meaningful way.” Seokjin is being as soft as he can be. “You know this, and it's not like Hoseok is unformidable either.”

- Hobi gives Jungkook a toothy grin at that. Seokjin lets Yoongi stew with it for a moment. And the feeling in Hoseok’s chest dissipates. Strange. Though he’s glad to have it gone. Though he knows it will probably have him up later, turning in bed while Jungkook sleeps beside him in the little mock nests they’ve made together since they were kids. Sure that something must be wrong with him- something other than the feeling poisoning the happiness in his chest.

- “If you don’t let them go they might choose to go all on their own. Would you rather find out after? Or before?” Hoseok and Jungkook barely manage to keep a straight face. Their father will put two and two together if they even so much as grin. Yoongi’s pout as he looks down at the table and weighs the options is cute. Under the table, Hoseok’s leg jumps with nervous energy.

- You certainly think letting them go is a better option- standing in the corner of the room, not that any of your family can see you when you’re like this. A specter and a ghost and just as lonely. How your hand itches to reach out and smooth out that pout on Yoongi’s face. But you can’t, not in this form. Upstairs in your glass coffin, your hand twitches. Reaching out to do the touching that your soul wants to do.

- Yoongi can’t argue with logic like that even if he wants to. Honesty and freedom are better than a protective cage and lies by omission on both sides- no matter how loving the cage is.

- “You can go-“ he starts, interrupted by Hoseok and Jungkook’s excited whoops, Jungkook tossing his chopsticks into the hair where they hover and spin like pinwheels, before he jumps to Hoseok’s side, grinning at him while Hoseok pumps a fist in the air. The fire in the hearth flares higher from Hoseok happiness Sending sparks onto the floor. “yahhhhhh you’re going to burn the meat, and this carpet is 500 years old!” Seokjin fans it with his hand as if to knock the sparks off of the carpet and back onto the slate.

- They pull themselves over to Yoongi’s side and drag him into a tight hug, Jungkook pressing his forehead against Yoongi’s cheek in thanks. Yoongi goes stiff at first and then melts as they squeeze him tight. Hoseok hooking his chin over Yoongi’s narrow shoulder. Pulling away only to immediately begin to lay out plans of where they want to go first. Jungkook jumps up to go get that map, already dreaming Cities and wizarding guilds that they only know from the maps and Seokjin’s stories.

- Not that they haven’t been to half of them already- but going there with Yoongi’s blessing is much more exciting than sneaking around behind their backs. There were a few places that they were too worried to brave alone and without backup should something bad happen. But Now they can ask questions and learn where more books might be hidden, what cities to avoid and the secrets Seokjin might know of each.

- “Maybe a little bit of a change of scenery will do you good” Seokjin comments, a small smile tugging at his lips at the boy's excitement. Hoseok almost asks if he wants to come too- just to get out for a little bit. But the moment passes when jungkook unfurls the map in front of the hearth. Seokjin never leaves Tae’s side unless he has to. “I’ll teach you some cloaking spells and the like to hide Hobi’s horns.” His hands hover on Yoongi’s shoulders, reassuring him that he’s made the right choice.

- Weeks later, on the other side of the mountains Hoseok and Jungkook cling to a rooftop again pressing their bodies close to the slate roofs. A few new books in their bag and a group of angry soldiers shouting at them from below the parapet, enchanted arrows seeking them out until Jungkook cuts them off with a wave of his hand, learning to do it first off rather than wait until they are shot at.

- “Was this what we bargained for Hobi?” Jungkook asks with a grin as he looks over at his soul bonded partner. Hobi answers his grin with one of his own. “Maybe more- but I think we’ll raise hell either way.” Jungkook laughs, “imagine dad’s face when we tell him about this.”

- There isn’t a place they’d both rather be.

- Hoseok and Jungkook don’t like to fly at night when they can avoid it. but they need to when they’re closer to the border- where traveling bands of warriors might have sneaked around the battlelines and sunk into dragon territory. It’s safer to sink into the humans lands under the cover of night and fly up ahead. They’ve flown too close to traveling bands of warriors during the day before and though their arrows had fallen short it was still frightening to fly over a hilltop and be suddenly shot at.

- After accumulating a fresh thrush of books in a rather small library from the southern human lands- They’ll head to the coast for a day or two and stay at Jimin’s and Namjoon’s seaside cottage castle crossing over the mountains just north of the battlefield. It would be shorter to just fly straight home. But they have a few more books than usual this time. And the sea air and updrafts will make the flight north easier on Hoseok.

- Too many times have they overshot their load. only realizing when Hoseok had landed to find his once broken shoulder mottled and strained, unable to fly or even move it in human form for several days after. Staying at Namjoon and Jimin’s cottage always brings back fond memories too, though their favorite fairy and uncle Joonie isn’t there of course still south in the thick of the war.

- They’d run into Jimin a few years back- though they still send regular letters north to stay in contact. Jimin had spotted them in the skies and fluttered in their direction. One minute the only thing they’d been able to see was puffy clouds and the next, Jimin falling out of the sky whooping in joy when they saw them. His wings moving so quickly that they where nearly invisible.

- He’d made camp with them and lingered for as long as he could. It was nice to have someone familiar with them on the road. A face that loves them. And Jimin is perfect at giving them the right amount of affection.

- Since the wars started Jimin has split his time between helping Namjoon at the battlefront and going back and forth to the fairy world in an attempt to negotiate an alliance between them and the dragons. he’s Constantly trying to convince the royal family to come to the dragon’s aid.

- It’s not something jimin likes to consider- but if the humans managed to push through dragon land. They’re no telling how far they’d try to go. and if the dragons side seemed bountiful to human kind- then the fairy world would be something out of heaven.

- But just like the last war the fey are refusing to get involved and Just because they won’t help doesn’t mean Jimin won’t. He’s been Namjoon’s right-hand man in the war, the hidden second general to the dragon army. He’d even convinced a few of his brothers and sisters to join in the battle.

- “How do you actually get to the fairy world? Isn’t it like- on the other side of the ocean? Can you fly that far?” they’re stretched out around a fire, the woods a dark and impenetrable barrier beyond their little hallow of sparks. There isn’t anything that the three of them fear in these woods. though they had heard the single howl of a wolf earlier- lonely and echoic in the tall hills that eventually melt into the eastern mountains.

- Jimin had split his affection equally- running his fingers through Hoseok’s hair and head rested on one thigh and then through Jungkook’s on the other. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other. Even longer since they’ve been small like Jimin misses. It’s hard to reconcile these gangly twenty-somethings with the tiny dragon and human he used to baby.

- Jimin doesn't like to think of the children now, the ones at the capitol without families (orphaned or displaced by the war) or his own...forgotten hopes. War is not the time to want something so gentle. Not when jimin needs to be strong as much for his mates sake as for the world. Jimin needs to forget his own hopes now more than ever. Even if seeing Jungkook and Hoseok reminds him so much of those times when he’d felt like a parent- as close as he and namjoon had ever gotten to having kids of their own.

- Maybe as close as they ever would get.

- Jungkook and Hobi remember seeing the fey ships at the market. Their hulls like skeletons, made of silver and a strange clear material, not glass- but certainly not any kind of wood. Jimin shakes their head at hoseoks question- the fey world is not on the other side of the ocean. It’s an easy mistake to make. “ I don’t think I could fly there if I wanted to-it's more like stepping through a very cold doorway. You can come there with me one day if you want.”

- “Do you think they’d have anything that-“ “that would turn you immortal?” it goes without saying that Jimin knows why Hoseok asks. Sucks on their lower lip as their eyes turned shadowed with your ghost. God- Hoseok shivers, he hates thinking that you’re dead, hates when everyone acts like you are.

- “Probably not, fey have good memories and there isn’t much of a reason to write things down, but it’s still a beautiful city- makes home look like ruins,” Jimin says the words like he wishes he hadn’t already. Because all of them know how likely it is one day- that the dragon city might one day fall to ruins.

- There is more than one live ghost- that threatens to haunt them.

- Jungkook can’t help but remember that day as they get close to where they’d run into Jimin the first time. It’s been a long day of flying, and they crossed over the majority of the mountains in one good push. As the sun dips close to the horizon coloring the world in orange and gold, Hoseok and Jungkook spot a glittering speckle among the forested hills of the Southern part of dragon territory. A small waterfall that runs clear and strong.

- He leans over, gripping the band around hoseok’s waist with one hand and pointing in it’s direction with the other until he gets Hoseok’s attention and he spots it too, listing to the side and settling into a slow dive. Jungkook hooks his feet into the squishy side of Hoseok’s ribs to make sure he won’t fall off. His thighs protesting from the strain of gripping Hoseok’s back for many hours.

- He remembers when they’d been younger- Hoseok nearly flipping when they’d first flown together. Jungkook eager but still nervous on his back, hugging Hoseok’s neck so so tight. Jungkook remembers when his neck got thicker- and suddenly he couldn’t link his hands around it- how he’d clinged with every other muscle in his body- only airborne for a few minutes until they both plumited towards the ground in a way that made Jungkook’s stomach lurch. Tossed onto the soft grass in a flurry of feathers and dandelions puffing.

- They’d both tumbled, Hoseok shifting mid-roll spitting grass and dandelion fluff. “Stop putting your feet there! I’m ticklish!!” he’d laughed. That was a far cry from how he felt now, Hoseok was used enough to it that it didn’t bother him. Jungkook an extension of himself on his back, tucking close when they flew fast and leaning to help Hoseok make those tight turns easier.

- They’re not far enough away from the battlefront that they can entirely let down their guard. But they’re both tired enough to make the risk unavoidable. They’re Only a spare 50 miles away is where the fighting’s thickest. It’s probably okay, There probably isn’t any danger here. Maybe they shouldn’t light a fire- just in case.

- As Hoseok touches down into the pebbled bank of the waterfall his claws sink into the sand with his and Jungkook’s combined weight, buffering the trees with flaps of his wings. Keeping them tucked in tight so that they don’t hit any stray branches. Jungkook slides off his back- hitting the ground with a lurch, almost falling in his tiredness. Jungkook has always had that floppy puppy way about him when he gets sleepy- every bit of his body a little more limp and sweet than usual (if that’s even possible).

- The water runs clear and cold as Jungkook stoops to fill up their canteens, unlatching their packs from Hoseok’s back with a push of magic. The roaring from the falls nearly blocks out the sounds of Hoseok’s bones shifting. His hair windswept, fangs clicking against the ones on his lower mouth- what he needs to say doesn’t necessitate a full shift. “I’m going to circle overhead and find us a place to make camp okay?”

- It’s too dangerous to camp so close to a water source. They can hardly hear each other over shout over the thunder of the falls- let alone any intruders that might try and sneak upon them in the night. Jungkook makes a small noise in agreement, the hours of flying in silence lingering.

- Hoseok can tell his soul bonded partner is only a few minutes away from needing to sleep- probably even forgetting to eat, which is pretty typical as far as traveling goes. Jungkook will push himself to the brink before he drops, and it’s Hoseok’s job to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’d never say anything to Jungkook but it’s a little scary to see the magic sustain him even farther than Hoseok’s own stamina will take him.The magic will suppress his need to sleep and eat the more he uses his magic.

- When Jungkook stretches in the morning, arms above his head pulling his shirt up to show a few inches of skin, Hoseok takes each and every rib that shows as a reminder. As Hoseok circles overhead, he reminds himself that he has to make Jungkook eat something before he falls asleep.

- Hoseok usually does a good job of keeping Jungkook well taken care of and Jungkook takes care of him in turn. Many a night have they curled up together; Hobi in his feathers and Jungkook rubbing soft soothing motions over the sensitive’s scales of his face, they’re never more than a few feet apart these days.

- They go hours without talking during the day, but the silence never bothers either of them. Who else can you truly be silent with if not your soulmate? Sometimes- Jungkook looks at Hoseok and wonders ‘are you thinking what I’m thinking? Or are your thoughts and feelings just as much a mystery as my own are to me?’

- Is it a soulmate bond? Or just a soul bond? Sometimes, Jungkook isn’t sure- and finds himself questioning that which never should be questioned. he’d never asked Jin if his and Namjoon’s bond had drifted into more romantic territory- sensing there was a story there somehow that maybe the younger one shouldn’t pry into.

- Hoseok takes off, the wind from his wings buffering his clothes; the flowers that grow near the waterfall- red and bright, sway under the weight of their heavy nectar.

- Jungkook breathes in then out, settling himself into wait. It’s easier for Hobi to search while he’s not on his back; it’s a little harder for him to make his tight turns with all of that weight altering his center of gravity. No matter how hard he tries Jungkook doesn’t have the same sense of balance that Hoseok has. He’s been unseated by Hoseok landing in trees more than once.

- When Jungkook remembers enough to check back in with Seokjin, the elder is still very intent on teaching him how to alter that. Jungkook may have mastered a hundred or so spells, but he still doesn’t wield magic in the same easy way that Seokjin does. He hears his uncle’s voice now; ‘Breathe in Jungkook, feel the energy around you, the pulse of that which gives things their life- and you- your powers.’

- And ‘don’t get frustrated- you’ve got all the time in the world to learn magic. You can’t expect to be as good as me with only a few years under your belt... especially given the circumstances.’

- It's hard to find time to practice on the road, So Jungkook takes a second for this, closes his eyes, and reaches out, his mind like a bubble, the edges of it swirling and turning multicolored. He feels the offal energy in those red flowers. Poisonous his magic tells him, stay away- sweet but don’t eat. The water turns and curls and he feels the life of the little fish below in the deepest parts, the way the air moves as it falls with the water, and endless hello between the two.

- He’s so calm, so intent on being peaceful (breathing with the slowly moving things that are immortal like him) that he doesn’t hear the rustle of movement behind him. The sharp eyes that have caught his human scent and found it unwelcome here. The dragon in the woods. They eye the thin sword on the ground, the only one Jungkook still keeps for those just in case moments of misfortune.

- Jungkook hasn’t been a sorcerer long enough to smell like the magic, and this far into dragon territory; it’s no wonder why they consider him a threat. Though most dragons know there is another sorcerer alive by now or have heard of him. Yoongi is a historical figure after all, and their family does have proximity to Namjoon and the dragon council.

- Before they exhausted the dragon realms libraries they’d used that to their advantage often. There are many older dragons that own those old castles, charmed by his and Hoseok’s mere mention of the council. Many had asked how their father was doing.

- Hoseok was usually the one who talked with them and heard their grievances; (too many taxes, too few social programs- the usual), while Jungkook raids their libraries and fills out his little booklet so that he knows which books come from where. He and Hoseok aren’t intending to be thieves so hopefully they’ll be able to return them (Most of those books now sit in a pile in Seokjin’s library, pages unturned for years with no drive to give them back- but it’s the thought that counts right?)

- The dragons that hoard books are the worst ones to deal with- always-eyeing Hoseok like he’s here to steal their trove of musty moldy tombs. As if the golden bands that line his fingers and dot his ears now aren’t enough of an indication of where Hoseok’s proclivities lie.

- Hoseok’s hoarded object will be gold, not unlike his father. Though you’d once called Yoongi a crow- only interested in that which was pretty and shiny. Many a time when they were children, Hoseok had watched their father growl at you playfully and snag you close by your waist, snapping his teeth close to your neck and nuzzling there, “maybe that’s why I’ve kept you.”

- Most dragon folks are much more interested in Hoseok than they are in Jungkook. But the gossip mills and rumors haven’t touched the people here this far out into the countryside. No one knows who- or more importantly what Jungkook is.

- Least of all the dragon in the woods.

- The growl ripples and Jungkook straightens, searching in the cover of trees. The hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He instantly goes on the offensive, the waterfall behind him goes still in the magic as does the softly falling leaves, hovering in the air like baubles- like time has stopped.

- The magic reaches out at the threat with greedy hands, and the shadows part around it, letting in the hazy afternoon goldenness that glints off of sharp claws and even sharper teeth.

- Jungkook is used to dragons more so than he is to humans, but the sight of an aggressive one is still enough to have him nervous. He holds his hand out, showing that he’s unarmed. He sets a foot back- boot sloshing in the water, sending one of their packs tumbling in surprise. “I’m not- I’m not a threat- calm down- I’m no soldier.” his voice shakes.

- He’s never been one to attack first when it comes to dragons But this one stalks forward with Jungkook as it’s prey. Tail raised like its ready to attack. They’re about as old and as large as Hoseok if not a little larger and meatier. Their mouth sparking with bright yellow fire. Eyes angry and unchecked by restraint.

- And still- Jungkook isn’t afraid, and it takes him a moment to realize why, even when he sees the dragon preparing to spit jet of fire in his direction. It’s not that the magic has made him reckless; Jungkook just knows in his heart that nothing can hurt him.

- But if it tries- then the magic might act without Jungkook knowing. The magic will always protect its host and there’s no telling what damage it might do to his opponent. “Please- please don’t do that” why does is own voice sound tired to his ears? “I can’t be held responsible for what happens if you do.” If Jungkook weren’t scared for the dragon’s safety he’d release a tired sigh.

- Nothing is interesting anymore when nothing can hurt you.

- The dragon growls before spitting it’s fire- and Jungkook is just about to hold up his hands to throw the protective bubble around him when Hoseok falls out of the sky. Crashing down in front of him. Wings flaring to stop the fire from crashing into Jungkook. Dealing out a savage kick that sends the other dragon out of the shadows and into the light.

- Jungkook’s breath hitches.

- They’re the same species- or if not the same then similar. Their feathers mix in the fight- Ruddy red yanked out by Hoseok’s claws falling to the ground with Hoseok’s bright crimson coral. Rather spill feathers than spill blood.

- Hoseok doesn’t notice much about the other dragon beyond a particularly strong scent in his nose. When he spotted them overhead he acted without another thought. Air going out from under his wings and fiery anger filling his heart when he saw them. No one flashes their fire at Jungkook without him retaliating.

- He manages to pin the dragon for a moment before they turn, swiping out with their wing. Sending small stones scattering in Jungkook’s direction, One nearly hits his face before the magic hurls it in a different direction. Jungkook flinches regardless.

- For the first time- Jungkook can see the differences between Hoseok and his species. Where Hoseok has dark red feathers on his underbelly they have white golden ones, their secondary feathers are different too- striped with a slightly darker red like blue jays would be striped blue-black. Comparatively- Hoseok is more colorful but less ornate.

- Where Hoseok’s horns go in theirs point out, the other dragon tries to bash their head into Hoseok’s sideways. Hoseok flips them over with a push of his tail. Their wings tangle, flap against the ground in a thwack that leaves the poison flowers crumpled, but then Hoseok get his jaws around the other dragon's neck and the fight is as good as over.

- His growl ripples out along the forest floor making the leaves shake. He doesn’t mean to really hurt them but as the other dragon moves against his jaw and a little bit of blood splatters. A shallow cut on their neck. The dragon continuing to thrash even with Hoseok’s jaws around their throat until they yield. It's obvious that Hoseok is the only one out of the two of them that’s been trained to fight, those sparring sessions with their father and his schooling at the academy paying off.

- The dragon shifts below Hoseok. Red feathers melt away into red-brown hair. the girl that shifts below Hoseok is so much smaller and vulnerable compared to her dragon form. “You’re one of us! Sorry- just got startled by the human!” she’s not scared of having Hoseok’s teeth so close to her, still bent over her with his mouth parted, nearly as wide as she is tall. She pushes his snout away with one hand and Hoseok- blinking perplexed- lets her. She looks like the kind of woman that isn’t easily scared of anything.

- Her clothes are grubby and worn from weeks on the road, her skirt thick and woolen pulled over her legs. She’s doing a good job of concealing how scared she is but Jungkook sees her fear in the slight tremble of her shoulders as Hoseok stays shifted between her and Jungkook as if he doesn’t believe that she won't be a threat anymore. Hoseok’s tail flicks agitated, splashing into the water.

- Jungkook sees another flash of movement at the edge of his vision, brings up his hand in defense as he turns. But the smaller heads in the woods just look curious and frightened. Two other small dragons, a small one sandy with fluffy feathers, a hatchling whereas the other is shifted. Her horns are a deep bronze. They nearly get caught in the underbrush as she cocks her head like a bird.

- “He’s a city thing.” she comments at the smaller dragon, which sniffles and snorts around her waist. He curls around the shifted one with his head hidden behind their back. Shy- Just like Hobi was when he was younger.

- They’re others of his kind, the same species. Jungkook knew they had to exist but he doesn’t know why he’s so shocked.

- Hoseok finally shifts, obviously furious, a head taller than the woman and instantly combative. Her blood a harsh brand at his mouth, red and dripping around his chin. “Don’t you have a little more sense to wait and see if he was doing anything harmful? God-” freaking savages Hoseok curses internally- but then immediately berates himself for that choice of language.

- That kind of rhetoric was the words that dragons from the capital often used to refer to the dragons that wanted to exist out here where they were naturally more comfortable. Unburdened by the comforts and expectations of polite society. The girl tosses her long dark hair, matching his energy with her hands on her hips, “well he should know better than to come into dragon land unaccompanied-“

- “He wasn’t unaccompanied- he has me, I scent marked him this morning, and if you stopped to use your senses instead of just going fire first and thought second- You’d have realized he’s spoken for.” Jungkook remembers the scenting and barely suppresses a flush.

- Hoseok had extensively rubbed his chin all over Jungkook’s chest this morning. They’d been curled up in the dewdrops, staying cozy until the absolute last moment they had to leave the small clearing where they’d made camp, a hanging valley in the mountains. Secluded, safe, and quiet.

- It makes Jungkook shy to think everyone can smell that on him- that they’d been so close. and in the next second he’s questioning his own shyness- what was there to be shy about? Hoseok is his soul-bonded partner so it’s only natural…right?

- The girl sniffs the air, crossing her arms. The shallow gash under her jaw is already healing. Really- it wasn’t more than a scratch, and Hoseok won't feel guilty for that- not when it was her who tried to move when she obviously should have yielded the fight to him. “You’re right- he does smell like you” the way she says this- like she thinks it’s a bad thing but that’s rich when she stinks like something heavy and heady. A sweet scent that’s so strong it hurts Hoseok’s nose. No one else has ever smelled this way to him before.

- Another older dragon dashes through the forest, accompanied by a third- both of them are male and at least as old as Jungkook and Hobi. Hoseok steps a little more firmly in front of Jungkook. Hiding him from view.

- “What’s going on? We heard a roar?” the smaller one asks, though the larger of the two turns to the female dragon his eyes only for her. His thumb running against her blood-soaked throat, checking to make sure she’s not hurt. The second he verifies she’s not hurt he turns his attention to Hoseok, putting himself in front of her the same way Hobi had stepped in front of Jungkook. He even steps up- about to shove Hoseok but she catches him around the waist. Stopping him from hurting Hoseok.

- Jungkook takes a second to size the three of them up- he and hoseok could definitely take them in a fight, he shakes off his trepidation and steps up too- holding the glare of the smaller of the two men.

- More of that smell fills Hoseok’s nose and he wants to choke on it, or gag. Hoseok scoffs, arms rippling in his shirt. (Jungkook’s brain sure chooses the weirdest things to fixate on, but when did Hoseok gain so much muscle?) Jungkook reaches out to tug on Hoseok’s sleeve, “Hobi- it’s okay, let's just go,” Hoseok’s eyes lose their anger the second he looks back at Jungkook, hot fire melting to burning coals.

- Jungkook doesn’t like to be hated by dragons, even if he’s used to it by now and grew up with it. Hoseok’s priorities shift in a second; to getting Jungkook away and where they can be alone and safe unthreatened in their little bubble. He’d rather make sure Jungkook was safe and comfortable than devote any more energy to these people. “It doesn’t matter Hobi.”

- The woman that Hoseok’s fought goes white as a sheet, her knees going weak in a second. “What did you just say?” the beefier male dragon steps forward and Hoseok barely manages the impulse to cover his nose. The other one sends a nervous glance at the two of them, then back at the kids.

- A knowing look shared between all of them, and Jungkook is hit with the realization that something is about to change. And in the same second, it happens before Jungkook can tell what it is and protect Hoseok from it. The woman pushes the beefy man to the side, stepping up to Hoseok.

- “Did you just say Hobi? What’s your name?” the woman is still staring at Hoseok open-mouthed, and all at once- Jungkook sees it. The same way their hair falls, their face shape, their similar small noses, and their eyes. The kind of familiarity that only genetics can cause.

- “My name is Hoseok,” Hobi says, and she rushes forward, tears spilling over her cheeks, Hoseok flinches back from her hands, “I thought you were dead- I thought you were gone- Hoba- I’m so sorry- I-”

- Now it's Jungkook’s turn to put himself in-between her and Hobi. Catching her wrists in both of his. though the larger dragon’s nostrils flare at her being touched- he’s gentle when he takes her form Jungkook’s hold a second before her legs give out and she devolves into sobs. Holding her protectively against his chest as she cries, staring at Hoseok like she’s seeing a ghost.

- Hoseok looks stricken for a moment before it hits him “Dawon- my sister's name was Dawon. Is that you?” she nods, eyes still shining as she drinks in Hoseok, wiping the tears away so she can see him more. The other smaller male dragon grimaces- looking about as uncomfortable as jungkook feels.

- “You have a sister” Jungkook breathes, a weird feeling of betrayal welling up in him. “You didn’t tell me.” Hoseok is scared- that’s the only emotion Jungkook can pin down when he turns, his hand closing around Jungkook’s shoulder, “I didn’t know- I always assumed she’d died. And I haven’t-“

- Jungkook sees something settle between Hoseok’s shoulders, the tension dissipating “I barely remember you. I’m sorry.” And he really is, her sadness doesn't well in him a protective urge- he feels nothing at all but discomfort as he watches a stranger cry over him. He wishes he remembered her like she remembers him.

- “If it helps,” the dragon holding dawon says, “she thought you were dead too” he holds out his hand, “I’m Jinseok and this is my brother Felix, what’s your name human?”

- The little ones seem to be the perfect distraction- the midsized one shifting- while the hatchling bounds forward in their direction. Felix is finally knocked out of his reverie to try and snag them by their feathers but missing at the last moment. They flutter around Jungkook’s and Hoseok’s feet- curious at the newcomers. It gives dawon the opportunity to wipe her eyes.

- The larger one of them barely braves enough to sniff at Jungkook's hand, recoiling when he smells the magic sparking at his nose. Shifting with a pop. Her hair is red-tipped like Dawon’s, but black at the roots. “You smell funny,” she says before she pops back into her dragon form The smaller hatchling brushes up against Hoseok’s legs as a cat would weaving between his ankles.

- Though he doesn’t say it aggressively, Jungkook still feels his annoyance prick at this and at the whole meeting. “i’m Not human- but my name’s Jungkook, I’m Hoseok’s brother,” the small one shifts back and forth with a crack, “how can you be his brother if you’re not a dragon?”

- “Areum!” Felix scolds. trying to grab at her again as she shifts and darts away. “It’s okay- we- we can talk about it,” Hoseok says, Hand smoothing over the head of the smaller one, the hatchling presses up into Hoseok’s hand.

- As Dawon gets her feet underneath her the other dragon- Jinseok- who hoseok gathers is her mate judging from the way he’s been trying to comfort her steadies her with a hand on her elbow. He’s significantly meatier than felix- who like Hoseok is lithe and delicate by comparison.

- And Jungkook knows without being able to smell him that maybe- this means he’s an alpha. Not all dragons split themselves up into designations of alpha, beta, and omega. When they were younger Jungkook pored over every book they could come by about dragons to learn about Hoseok’s type.

- “Why are you even reading about me- you know you can just ask Namjoon right?” Hoseok had teased in the old library of their manor house, a book from jimin’s library on the study table. “Cuz I wanna know everything about you- don’t you want to know too? Which one you are?”

- “Not really- it doesn’t matter to me” and maybe back then it didn’t. Neither Namjoon or Yoongi were the kind of dragon that split into designations and neither could tell. Jungkook wonders if that’s still true. If Hoseok still doesn’t know- it’s been so long and Jungkook’s never asked, he wonders if the others can tell.

- “Come this way- we’ve already set up camp and you both should join us,” the smaller one shifts finally, hair fluffy and red-blond just like their feathers, tugging on Dawon’s skirt. He’s a soft sweet thing, barely more than a toddler. “why is it all like that unnie?” pointing behind Jungkook and Hoseok.

- They all turn, and Jungkook isn’t at all surprised to see the waterfall still frozen in time, no sound of it tumbling, still the same way it was when Dawon first attacked. The other small dragon tries to touch the water's edge and finds it impenetrable. Like it’s glass.

- Jungkook leans down and runs his hand through it letting it ripple slowly- much to the excitement of the youngsters who stand on the surface. Pouncing and trying to break it. Neither of them can break through the surface like Jungkook. “Kookie,” Hoseok asks, “sorry- that’s my fault.” He holds up his hands and with a flash the water unfreezes and resumes its rushing and roaring. The older child falls ankle-deep into the water, squawking and splashing back to the shore- Shaking her feathers out.

- The dragons go white, Felix mutters a low curse. “We’d heard about another sorcerer- but we didn’t think” Jungkook rubs his hands on his thighs, picking up his pack, suddenly shy. Still Hoseok and Dawon stare at each other- this time not trying to get close.

- Jungkook sighs, the heaviness in his chest aching. “You said you had camp set up already?”

- Hours later after the fires been stoked and the foods been made and the sun has set, Jungkook tries not to let the food in his mouth taste like ash. Rolling it against his tongue, the meat-rich with spices as he watches Hoseok and Dawon from across the fire. Ignoring the clamor of Felix wrestling the hatchlings into a makeshift nest.

- at one point tonight Hoseok had mistakenly referred to the two hatchlings as his sister’s children and she’d laughed, her mate blushing and melting underneath her playful look. They’re not her kids, but that they’re all orphans from one of the last attacks at the border before the war began. In much the same boat as Dawon was when their nest was destroyed. The group of three are on their way north to drop the youngsters off in the capital before they head back to the battlefront.

- the two children seem terribly attached to the group of three- Hoseok comments on this. Felix looks down at the small one- the little boy curled up in his lap, cheek pillowed against Felix’s thigh. His voice hushed and pained “We want to fight. Even if it means we have to leave them, we can’t take care of them like they need to be taken care of.”

- Jungkook doesn’t say that you were younger than he was when you first started taking care of him and Hobi. But things are significantly faster passed for humans. And maybe parenthood has more to do with personality and attitude than age. If Jungkook had to judge it- he’d say that out of this group- Felix seems the fondest of the hatchlings.

- Jungkook doesn’t intrude much onto their conversation. For the most part he just sits across the fire with his empty bowl and listens. Nursing his skein of wine that they’ve so graciously gifted him and Hoseok. Marveling at the refilling spell that jungkook shows them half way through the night when it begins to run dry.

They don’t notice the difference- but to Jungkook the wine tastes flat and bitter the magic stealing away the joy of its taste. There are some things that the magic just can't recreate and maybe jungkook’s just sensitive to that.

- But it does enough to liberate his anxiety regardless; Jungkook’s head is spinning as he watches the dragons, feeling apart from them on the other side of the fire. The two youngsters sleep on soft packs a little bit away, packs piled up to keep the light of the fire out of their eyes.

- “How did you- how did you survive? Did you run away?” (The memories that Jungkook’s seen flicker back across his eyes, a tiny Hoseok sitting in a treehouse nest, hiding until his mother came. “Stay here- your sister will be back in a moment” and then Hoseok leaving, heading out into the fray of the battle. So small and so so brave.)

- Jungkook tightens his lips. Hoseok knows what he saw that day when he became a sorcerer and they don’t have many secrets between the two of them. But this feels too private for Jungkook to pipe up. The fact that he might be the only one of the three of them that has a clear picture of what happened that day lingers on his mind.

- Jungkook wonders, and has asked Seokjin about how, and why- the magic showed him what it did. ‘I think it probably wanted you to understand, wanted you to know what had happened and how it did. Every sorcerer has a different specialty, maybe yours is time.’

- “I almost didn’t, I went out to fight but our parents were already-“ Hoseok cuts himself off. Everyone knows what happened and he doesn’t need to say it in any detail. “I went back for you- but you weren’t there- and the others were leaving.“ she doesn’t need to say anymore. Takes a swig of her wineskin too, the words rolling off her tongue better with the alcohol lubricating them. “Two other hatchlings got killed because I went back to look for you.”

- Hoseok doesn’t have anything to say about that. He’d been as good as dead, and she must have been about 11 when the attack happened. Hoseok would tell her that he forgives her but really there’s nothing to forgive. “What have you been doing since then, where did you end up?” Hoseok needs to ask- needs to know. What could have been his life if Yoongi had never found him?

- It says something that this woman in front of him left him for dead, while their father didn’t. Now that her scent buffs over him from the hot wind he thinks he recognizes it. In the first few weeks he’d been with you he remembers missing her scent. Longing to curl up around it and the rest of his nest.

- Hoseok remembers smelling Jungkook His snout pressed to Jungkook’s black curls trying to recreate the same smell. It smells kind of like family- but not really. Jungkook would never smell the same way she did- and that was a good thing. Hoseok subtly leans away so that more of it doesn’t get in his nose. Craving Jungkook’s clean sweet scent across the fire.

- “I ended up getting adopted by their rookery” she gestures to both of the boys Felix leans back on his hand's feet playing with the soil while he gazes at her fondly. Felix is the only one of them who doesn’t have horns, instead- his dragon mark manifests itself in his clawed feet.

- That’s how I would look at her if we’d grown up together Hoseok thinks. It’s clear they’re close though he can already tell her bond with the alpha runs deeper than her bond with him. “Their parents died three years ago in one of the first battles, we were sent north to the city and the academy before we were approved by the council to head south when we found them.”

- “Hoseok studied at the academy too” jungkook supplies quiet, no one but hoseok acknowledges he spoke.

- In their little nest, the two hatchlings breathe on, “we were trying to make it to the battlefront to finally fight but now that we’ve got them- we’re on our way back to the city.” Hoseok sees the way that Jinseok touches her hand, soft and cradling. It’s strange to Hoseok, who doesn’t often pick up on the scents of other dragons that those of his own kind smell so strong.

- Dawon smells sweet and cloying, like a baked cake or like an overly ripe fruit. Nearly spoiled. Whereas Jinseok smells like incense and burning oranges (a smell that Hoseok finds it hard to like to be honest), and Felix smells like the edge of winter and fall, clear air, fresh in a way. Other dragon’s scents have never been so pungent to him- even his own. if they smell so bad he wonders what he must smell like.

- “How did you…” Hoseok’s eyes hover on the tender way they hold each other hand, Jinseok brushes over the scent gland on the inside of Dawson’s wrist something so intimate and gentle. He can see the way she viscerally shivers. “You’re both mated right?” he asks, wants to know, both of them blush but nod eagerly.

- Felix leans back further. “I told them to wait until after the war but-“ he lifts his shoulders, “when you know you know.” Dawon smiles brightly in his direction, knocking her forehead with Jinseok. “You’re not-” Dawon sends a glance in Jungkook’s direction as if shaking her head at the very thought. Jungkook bristles (and so does Hoseok) but as if sensing some sort of possible conflict, Felix pipes up. “It makes sense that you’re not since you're like me, we don’t often mate.”

- Confusion replaces the tension as everyone turns to Felix, Hoseok’s eyebrows furrow. Something’s not lining up “what do you mean?” Jungkook asks. Hoseok is wide-eyed “how am I like you?” Felix- seeming to realize that he’s overstepped or supplied information that he shouldn’t have, has the good sense to look a little bashful. “You didn’t know? You’re a beta-”

- Hoseok and jungkook share a startled glance, hoseok's hands shake a little- he tries to hide it- but Jungkook notices (Jungkook always notices). Hoseok had never thought it mattered- but now it feels like it does. the way that felix says it- like it’s something to be happy about. “You didn’t know? ah- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to”

- “It’s alright it's just-” Hoseok looks down his hands tightening into fists, a small smile pricking at the corner of his mouth. “I’m a beta?” Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s slipping even further away his breath hitching. Felix relocates to Hoseok’s side, taking his shaking hand in one of his “yes, you’re a beta- like me. there aren’t many of us left- even fewer now, but you’re a beta Hoseok.”

- Jungkook can’t stop himself, physically can’t keep himself in his seat at the sight of Hoseok and the other beta sitting so close on the tree stump. The way his sister seems so close on the other side in Jungkook’s spot. Felix touches Hoseok’s neck- the spot where Jungkook knows his scent gland is even if he can’t smell Hoseok the way the dragons do. explaining to hoseok what he smells like- It makes Jungkook’s blood boil with an acrid something that feels like wanting and shame at being so impossibly jealous.

- So he gets up and walks to the edge of the makeshift camp trampling someone’s feathers as he goes. Hoseok starts after him and the alpha makes an unhappy grunt at Hoseok leaving. Almost reaching out.

- Logically Jungkook knows Jinseok is his sister’s mate- so of course, he’d be worried about her younger brother leaving- especially if it hurt the feelings of Dawon. But Jungkook can’t help but hate that they’re already trying to stake a claim over Hoseok. Typical alpha behavior already trying to exert his will over someone he barely knows.

- Jungkook doesn’t know if Hoseok had felt his displeasure down the threads of their bond, but he calls Jungkook’s name again as he stalks into the woods. Jungkook ignores it, stomping carefully through a grove of ankle-high toadstools that glow a faint pink. They’re enough like to see by, and they illuminate the forest in great swathes. A fairy lifts its head from the surface as he jostles one, hissing in Jungkook’s direction as he disturbs their sleep.

- “Kookie slowdown- just STOP” Hoseok has never shouted at Jungkook and sounded like that. Jungkook’s so surprised he stops in his tracks. He steps on a toadstool and it winks out- the rosy glow beneath them diminishing. A flurry of sprites are startled from their hallow by hoseok's shout, the cloud moving sleepily away from the clearing, wings whistling in the quiet. When he turns around, Hoseok’s stricken expression is lit from below, his lower lip glossy from the wine.

- One of the things about their bond is that Hoseok doesn’t have to wonder if Jungkook is upset. He can feel it echoing hot into his own body, jealousy and anger and deep underneath- fear. Fear that Hoseok had found something he’d been looking for that Jungkook couldn’t offer.

- Jungkook can’t get the happy expression out of his head- the way Hoseok had looked when they’d told him. “I’m a beta” the smile like an answer he’d been searching for but hadn’t found. Jungkook couldn’t fit into that system- couldn’t be an alpha or a beta or omega. He could just be Jungkook.

- And For the first time, being only that doesn’t feel like enough for Hoseok. Hoseok had never cared that Jungkook was a dragon or human but now it feels like it matters.

- “Do you- are you going to stay with them Hoseok?” Jungkook’s voice doesn’t sound like his own. Hoseok recoils at the mere suggestion of it like he’s just been slapped “what?! Of course not- we’re going to leave in the morning? And then they’ll head south. Dawon and I have already talked about it while you were getting firewood.” Hoseok reaches out to grab Jungkook’s wrist but Jungkook takes a step back- out of Hoseok's reach.

- “It didn’t look like you had any intention of leaving just then” Hoseok steps forward into Jungkook’s space. Between them, personal space rarely exists, but now, Jungkook feels like he he needs some. Jungkook never thought their bond might hurt- but now he’s worried it is.

- “You don’t need to be scared Kookie,” Hoseok says because he can feel his fear, “I don’t want you to feel scared.” one of the terrible things about their bond is that Hoseok can feel everything every emotion. Good and bad, secret and shared all wound in an anxious ball that only Hoseok can tease through.

- “Maybe it would help- if I knew what you were thinking” because thoughts and feelings aren’t the same things. hoseok knows jungkook is feeling this way- but can’t understand why more than a good guess.

- Jungkook sits on the edge of a stump, a fallen tree, and beside him, Hoseok stoops to sit too. Careful to rearrange their feet so that they don’t hurt any of the toadstools, through the underbrush they glimmer and bloom more brilliant than flowers.

- They remind Jungkook of the flowers that grow in aunty Jimin and uncle Namjoon’s house. Jungkook doesn’t watch them, leaning his head on Hoseok’s shoulder, looking up at him from his perch. After a second, Hoseok pulls him closer, pacifying him with the contact.

- Hoseok starts slow. “You know im different.” it seems silly to say- to voice this when jungkook can feel the otherness in his bones. “that I feel like I’ve always been in-between kind of in the same way that Jimin’s been in-between.” jungkook’s egear nodds encourage Hoseok on to talk more.

- “I’ve never been worried about it because I knew- I know whatever it is- that I feel loved- I know you love me.” Jungkook’s heart feels like it’s going to shake in his chest, lit from below. Hoseok reaches out, touches his cheek in just the right way that Jungkook knows it’s not- not that sort of love. The thing that’s built itself into something formidable in his chest.

- A love that is neither purely platonic nor brotherly or romantic- something different and new and definitely not sexual but still love. Hoseok is apart of Jungkook’s soul in a way that nothing else could be. There is no space left in his heart. Nothing left for anyone else. All of Jungkook belongs to this and their bond.

- Briefly, he wonders if maybe all this confusion is just Jungkook’s magical body getting re-used to the bond. Jis magical body can feel it so much more than his human body ever could.

- “I know” Jungkook feels breathless- but the whole in-between thing, he knew that too. For years Jungkook Has watched Hoseok battle with his hair enough times to know that the frustration was deeper than any superficial change. Jungkook has seen the looks- the longing when he sees something pretty and golden.

- When they were younger, Hoseok jokingly put on one of your corsets, almost too big for him. You’d loved it- thought it was just the cutest thing and hadn’t made him take it off until bedtime. “I promise you don’t want to sleep with it on Hoseok.”

- “This- all of them- Dawon” Hoseok takes Jungkook’s hand- more of a routine then any motion- and unlike before Jungkook lets him. “that just feels like a reason for all of that- that discomfort. If i’m a beta- then it all makes sense you know? but still I-”

- Hoseok steals himself to say the next words sighing them out “-I don’t think I could love anyone the way that mom loves dad you know” Jungkook thinks those words should hurt. But they don’t. He’s been thinking about the pain recently. How their father is their mother’s constant shadow, a ghost that cannot sleep, a love that haunts more than it loves.

- No question. Yoongi would tear apart himself for you if given the chance. But Hoseok- Hoseok doesn’t know if he’s ever felt something like that with such intensity. Sure he’d fight to the death for Jungkook and fight even harder if something was to separate them. But was that foundation built on the same kind of love? Could more love even fit in the space of his heart- with so much Jungkook already filling it up? Could this love change when it has no room to grow?

- It would be easier if they were bloodily related, jungkook realizes- then there would be no question. But the fact of the matter is that any romantic relationships that they might have with other people would feel like too much of a betrayal on both sides.

- Hoseok and Jungkook cannot love each other the way Yoongi loves you. and yet- Jungkook doesn’t want that with anyone else. Can’t even think about loving someone who isn’t Hoseok. Jungkook holds Hoseok’s hand to his face for one moment, then lets it go- lets the idea of this fall away, “I’m sorry for getting angry- let's go back”

- When they go back Hoseok sits next to Jungkook on the log. The others give them both a measured look- like theyre trying to find any remaining discord between their bond, leaning back satisfied when they find none.

- Jungkook doesn't need to know what they talked about while they were gone. Especially when hoseok immediately launches into another conversation with dawon- talking through their childhoods- and the parents that they’d both eventually found. “I think you’d really like my mom, she’s like a healer- a good one too” Hoseok can’t help but boast. “Healed my shoulder after-“ he trails off but tilts to show her how he can roll it.

- Jinseok comes over and inspects Hoseok’s shoulder, tilting it between his big hands and unlike before- it doesn’t make Jungkook jealous, (but that might have something to do with Hoseok’s hand on his thigh). Jinseok’s eyes are appraising when he lets it go “of course you healed! I’ve taken a few tumbles myself over the last few years. Almost thought my tail was gonna fall off that one time.” Felix laughs and Dawon rolls her eyes at it. “Yes we’re all aware of your stupidity that one time when-”

- “You’ll always be my person Kookie- I don’t need anyone else. I don’t want anyone else” Hoseok tells him when they’re pressed close underneath their bed things, set out underneath the stars. They’re both Significantly more full of wine than they’d been before and Hoseok’s words are nearly slurry.

- “I think…I think I might be a little broken.” Hoseok’s says like the words are a secret, eyes fluttering with tiredness. Jungkook presses closer in reply like Jungkook is making up for pieces Hoseok might be missing. He presses his forehead to Hoseok’s. Hoseok smells like home- Hoseok will always be home to Jungkook.

- “If you’re broken, I’m broken too” Jungkook’s words are cushioned against the skin of Hoseok’s shoulder. That night, Hoseok lies on his back and Jungkook slings a leg over his thighs. they revel in the closeness, loving every moment.

- Jungkook is already asleep- but Hoseok speaks anyway. “I don’t need anything else but you Kookie.”

- The next morning the two groups part ways. Dawon hugs Hoseok so tight that Jungkook feels his own spine ache a little. Hoseok must have explained to her last night about their goal of saving you. she seems like she understands why they need to leave. But Even so, she’s a little teary-eyed, reluctant to let him go. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Hoseok nods, his red curls bouncing, not a hit of hesitation.

- Hoseok hands her a little scroll. If they do make it to the Southern front where Namjoon is, the scroll will make sure that she and her flock are well taken care of by their uncles. Hoseok thinks that Jimin and Namjoon would like his older sister. That she’ll fit in well with the army.

- It isn’t until a few days later when they’re staying at uncle Namjoon and Jimin’s house that Jungkook and Hoseok have a chance to talk about any of it again. Jungkook could feel the flickers of uncertainty down their bond, judging that Hoseok needed to parse through his feeling and figure out what he needed to say.

- They only stay for the night, happy to have a familiar bed instead of curling up under the stars before they fly north. The house is empty besides them, though a housekeeper still comes by every day to water Jimin’s plants and make sure too much dust doesn’t settle.

- They ready for a long day of flying in one of the many guest rooms. Jungkook is just leaning down to tie his boots when he catches Hoseok looking at himself in the mirror. Running a brush through his curls. Hoseok thinks back through his memories of this house- and of the fairy and dragon that should be here with them. And particularly- words that Jimin said to Hoseok long ago when he’d asked about Himin’s gender.

- Hoseok can’t remember how old he was- but he remembers the fairy bending down to his level in the garden. “To tell you the truth, being a girl or a boy doesn’t matter much in our part of the world. What matters is that you’re good to the people who need you and kind to the people that don’t when you meet,”

- Its that memory that gives Hoseok the strength to finally meet Jungkook’s gaze in the mirror. “I think…I want to grow out my hair.”

-“Like aunt Jiminie?” Jungkook asks, standing and moving to stand behind him, Jungkook’s hands play in the small hairs at the back of Hoseok’s neck, and he leans forward to sniff, Hoseok already smells like the ocean. “Yeah” Hoseok looks worried- like it might not have Jungkook’s approval. the set of his shoulders tense like he’s readying jungkook to say something negative. But there isn’t a change he could make that would put Jungkook’s love and devotion in jeopardy. hoseok knows that but the worry still lingers.

- Jungkook tangles a hand in Hoseok’s hair, his reflection grinning back at Hoseok- Boyish and beautiful in a way that makes hoseok ache. “We’ll grow it out together” and they do, flying back and forth across the world. When Jungkook cuts his- Hoseok doesn’t. All until it’s down to his shoulders. The first time Yoongi sees he doesn’t even mention it- not even a little bit- too busy preening and what can only be called nesting.

- It’s something he’s started to do over the years to relieve his stress, piling up every single soft thing in the room around where your glass coffin is. No doubt preparing for you’re waking in a few days. A healthy flush in his cheeks that hadn’t been there last time they’d been home.

- Seokjin doesn’t say anything, but he does tug on the end of Hoseok’s hair, twining the long red strand around his fingers. He doesn’t say anything like he might have before, sensing Hoseok’s tenseness. He leaves a few spells tacked to his and Jungkook’s door spells for hair lengthening and to change the color should Hoseok desire it.

- Yoongi is so happy to have them home he doesn’t even notice anything’s different until the day Hoseok gets into your makeup collection. It’s only for them, just a tiny bit of rouge on his cheeks and to plump up his lips. Yoongi puts down his book when Hoseok walks in, eyes tracking him as he walks in. and Hoseok feels the worry sink underneath their skin before Seokjin taps Yoongi with his book, and they both go back to reading.

- But when Hoseok goes to his room later he finds a tiny pile of cosmetics on his bedside table. A delicate sea green brocade shirt that’s flowy- all but the sleeves opaque and embroidered with tiny flowers. It looks like something jimin would wear and Hoseok touches it with a reference he doesn’t quite know how to handle. A fondness growing in his heart.

- The next time they leave, Yoongi corners him, while not corners him- but sidles up to him while he’s on the back patio when the sun is just cresting over the trees just past sunrise. Hoseok might be an early riser but Seokjin and Jungkook still need a little while to sleep. “So, should I call you she now? Is that better for you?”

- Trust yoongi to go straight to the point. He’s so awkward, so cagey and quiet. So obviously wanting to offer comfort and understanding but unsure how to reach out. He’s used to using the rolling pronouns with jimin, but to use them for his son- his child- will take a second. It’s better to ask than wonder.

- “No, not yet- if ever.” and then in the quiet of the morning, a simple truth, “they is fine for me dad.”

- “When did you know?” Yoongi has to wonder, had you and him not being open enough? You’d both never talked to Jungkook and Hoseok about jimin, but you’d both believed you’d raised your children to come to you when they had a question or a concern. And Yoongi doesn’t like the idea that Hoseok could have been holding onto these feelings for some time. too afraid to be honest.

- Hoseok doesn’t answer right away, because there isn’t a good one. Was it the way he’d never played with strictly the girls or boys in grade school? The way he’d often found himself clinging to you and wanting to dress in your pretty fabrics than the drab black clothes his father favored?

- it was hard to tell what if anything had made Hoseok first question their gender. Did his betaness cause it? Or was the difference caused by not settling purely into one side? “I met my sister.” is all he can say, the only bit of information it makes sense to proffer up.

- That- out of everything they might have said does get a reaction out of Yoongi. his hands tightening on the edge of the stone wall. “I didn’t know she was still alive.”

- “Neither did I” Hoseok busies their hands with playing with the flowers that have gathered along the rock wall, small and pink. The ever spring around them so delicate and careful. The exact way that Hoseok feels today. “She told me I’m a beta, and after that- it all kind of makes sense?”

- Yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat. Then suddenly, turns his golden eyes on his…child. (That train of thought will take some time getting used to) “Well if there’s anything I can be doing better- let me know okay?” he pulses Hoseok in for a quick scent mark, and the sudden affection nudges a purr from Hoseok’s throat. But overall the conversation just leaves them feeling soft and taken care of, understood and accepted in a way Hoseok had never realized they’d craved.

- By the time they leave, Yoongi is pushing a small velvet sack of coins in their directions. “You should get a few things that fit you better the next time you're in the city.”

- And they do, Hoseok and Jungkook work their way through the cloth market with a vigor they haven’t found in years, fine silks and velvets- perfect for the cold weather up north. Most in rich tones of gold, purple and red- red is Hoseok’s favorite color. Hoseok gets their ears pierced on a whim- fills his studs with little bits of gold that make them glow when they catch sight of themselves in a mirror.

- And when they come back after a day of shopping. It's Jungkook who pulls him close. Running a finger over the corner of their mouth to correct the placement of their lipstick. A fresh tube. Sometimes Hoseok doesn’t bother putting it on, or with the more cumbersome pretty clothes, but if they’re going to see anyone, even if that someone is just Jungkook- the red lip color stays.

- When you wake a few months later; you cup Hoseok’s cheek- hands still a little shaky and reluctant to move. “You look-” you search Hoseok’s eyes for something- anything that would show misgivings, “it looks so pretty Hobi” Hoseok plays with their fingers in their lap. It’s a cute behavior, one that Jungkook’s noticed appears more as time goes on and hoseok gets more comfortable with changing their body.

- “Don’t you mean handsome?” they say, swallowing back a lump in their throat. Their long hair is pulled back today, to give the same appearance of masculinity at least from the front. Jungkook braided it this morning, he’s been learning how to do it for hoseok- not quiet as nimble with their fingers yet like Jungkook is. The moments in the morning when Jungkook brushes their hair and winds it back- are some of his favorites- the soft moments he can spend with hoseok. Hoseok didn’t want to scare you too bad, from the front- they almost look the same. “Not if you don’t want me to mean it. You can be pretty too.”

-It’s not until the next time Hoseok and Jungkook set out that they actually quantify it in words. “I think I’m like Jimin- well not- like jimin. But I think I could be.” aunty and uncle Jimin, who’s just as comfortable in a skirt as they are in a pair of pants. Jungkook leans over, combing through Hoseok’s long hair. Reaching down to the sensitive spot between his- their shoulders. “Okay” is all he says, but his smile is sweet even in the light. “That’s okay with me Hobi.”

- And it is- it always will be, as long as Hoseok has people like this, the ones that have always made him feel like it was safe to be himself- no matter what form he wants to take. Hoseok will be okay. At night, their arms tighten around Jungkook. “I want you to be okay too Kookie” Jungkook sleeps on, oblivious to the turmoil-taking root in Hoseok’s heart.

- Yes, he loves Jungkook, but can Hoseok really love in the way that Jungkook needs? Are they just keeping each other from happiness or is this the only thing they’ll ever need?

- In his arms Jungkook dreams fitfully. But down to his core, he knows If there was ever a time when he felt like he needed more from Hoseok- if what they have ever felt like not enough, He’d never do anything about it. Never ask for more. Never. They don’t need anyone else- no lover, friends, or mates. Just each other. Their bond will always be enough.

- The days spent waiting pass like sluggish honey for Yoongi, sweet when they meet the tip of his tongue but only a hint of the sweet eternity he promises you. They blend together for you- more than the dizzying cacophony of dreams. Sometimes you forget where you belong, and forget that you have to wake up.

- When you can- you strong arm and squirm your way into wherever he is, curled up around you and set a hand on his scaly cheek, there is a limit to how far you can go from your body, and that seems to be a fair mile from where you sleep. So if you wake when Yoongi flies, it’s enough to be able to sit in the garden and enjoy the flowers and sunlight. Every time you manage to knock yourself out of a dream, you can go a little bit farther. Like your soul is getting used to how it feels outside your body.

- And when you do actually stay in the dream world- lucid dreaming becomes an avid habit of yours. Taehyung teaches you how to do it. As dangerous as it is lovely to feel real things when you can, you do often get lost in the way you can change the world you’re in. Are you a god? Or just a dreamer? Taehyung’s hand in yours keeps you tethered. You wonder how he managed to keep his sanity living alone like this for so many years. In the dream world- days are years and years are eons.

- And what makes it worse is that you know it won't feel like so long when you wake- the sluggish feeling that not so much time could have passed even though you know it has. The spell around you keeps you dreaming like it's been days, while your body lives those hours as a second. Your mind and your body age out of sync.

- Yoongi’s timed it before, every hour he sees your chest rise and fall. One breath for every hour

- You feel like you’ve spent years in the dreams at this point, recreating each of your wildest fantasies. Though some feel too real not to be born of your memories. You dream of The walls of your cavern home that you haven’t gone back to in years, feeling the cold stone with a warm body behind you- Yoongi. Or hours spent just outside the front doorsteps of your manor house, waiting for Yoongi to come home with Hoseok while Jungkook plays in the field.

- Flowers that flash like beacons out of the corner of your eye, and then it’s not only Jungkook but Hoseok playing in the field too. Both of them running through the field and casting the dandelions onto the floor that spark like embers. Yoongi chases after them- both of them barely come up to his waist. You watch it from the corner of your eye knowing it will feel less real if you turn your head and look at the memory directly.

- The smell of cooking peaches stings in your nose- sour- and you know if you went into your house you could probably find taehyung there- cooking a peach pie. Though it’s a toss up if it would actually be him- and now just a memory you don’t have confused in this.

- You Watch as Hoseok flashes red from human to dragon tackling Yoongi to the ground with a warped grumbly giggle. Jungkook is quick to flop on top with one hand fisted and knocking against Yoongi’s chest, the other buried in Hoseok’s feathery coat.

-It makes you smile- the dreams- these memories are the only thing that makes you remember you’re dreaming. Because you know Hobi and Jungkook haven’t been that small for years. Your children are fully grown now.

- You wish you could go back to those times when it was simpler. And the dreams let you do just that, again and again until the memory barely feels real.

- What surprises you the most are the nightmares. They always bleed into your dreams the moment you least expect them and when you truly let your guard down. Ink darkening the edges of this story before you realize the badness is bleeding through. Anger and a wordless hunger tainting the happy moments.

- You dont think the anger comes from you- maybe its anger from the dream- the world that has found you an unwelcome guest. People aren’t supposed to sleep for so long. And the dream world tries everything it can to get you to wake up.

- Maybe it’s worried you’ll learn how to dream when you’re awake.

- The worst part about the nightmares aren’t the fear- It’s not the falling through the sky, or faceless men chasing you, monsters, or tragedies that you can’t escape. It’s that the nightmares don’t feel the same as when you were awake, no blurry edges- everything too real. These nightmares are born of your memories only to be twisted by the dream world into something more sinister.

- Sometimes you feel like they’re showing you the future- or if not the future- then something that could have happened to your family.

- The nightmares show you realities where Jungkook still wants to be a warrior. Ones where Yoongi never found him and you all meet another way, Not as a family but as enemies on the battlefield.

- In the nightmare, the war has come earlier with Yoongi at the head of the council. And he’s become everything he always feared he could have been, those whispered confessions he’d uttered to you and you’d uttered back under only the cover of darkness. “I think I might be a bad person” “it doesn’t matter if you’re good- just that you’re good to us Yoongi, and for the record- I think it shows the content of your character that you care so much- even when caring hurts”

- In the nightmare world He’s everything he would have been without you. Easily tempted to war without knowing softness and love, without having something to protect. And he’d never chosen a mate either- Yoongi is as lonely and touch-starved as he is bloodthirsty and violent.

- In this nightmare Hoseok is just another dragon soldier who hates humans because of what they’ve done to him. Hoseok and Jungkook first meet each other on opposite sides of the war. Not as brothers but as enemies. Does Hoseok fall by Jungkook’s blade? Or will Jungkook burn without ever knowing about the magic that lurked in his veins? Or worse- would he have found out and used his powers to aid the only people he’d ever known.

- Would he and Seokjin fought in that reality? Two forces so destructive that they could only take out each other- flattening the mountains and ending thousands of lives when they clash. You hear them- from where you watch them fight. the dream war is just as bloody and terrible as the real one- and it's worse to see your family fight.

- Seokjin’s face is tense, eyes slowly dripping blood as he holds the magic in his hands. and jungkook- jungkook looks almost evil. Jungkook’s words don’t sound like your son- his voice deeper- like the dream just can’t get it right “this issue here uncle- is that you have something to fight for and I do not.”

- You beg the dream world to let you wake up but Seokjin’s spell holds you there with ironclad hands.

- You wonder what’s become of taehyung in this reality. Would he have woken from his coffin without Seokjin’s magic to keep him there- or would he have stayed asleep? Never to be woken again? would he sleep the same way Seokjin does, chest broken open on the battlefield, his heart removed clutched in Jungkook’s hand?

- In the dream where Jungkook doesn't know he’s magical, you’re a medic for the human army walking along with the isles of the wounded. Treading over piles of feathers and blood to check the faintly moving chest of a young man, so beautiful despite the fact he’s nearly dead. You don’t recognize Jungkook when you look at him- barely 19 and dying without the magic to protect him and keep him alive

- Maybe it’s some consolation that this other version of you gets to hold Jungkook as he dies. Gets to soothe him and say, “it’s alright, it won’t hurt in a second, you just have to stop breathing and you’ll be at peace.” As he sputters and tries to breathe through his torn lungs. You know what those claw marks mean on his chest- that they’re too deep to ever heal. Jungkook only has minutes left with his shredded lungs.

- You’re so focused on comforting the fallen soldier that you don’t notice the beast that lurks in the shadows. Yoongi might be large but he’s also near-silent and invisible in the darkness. Yoongi only feels hate and not love as he watches you, fire growing in his belly. You might be a medic but you’re still a human and every man you save is just another that will one day fall. The kiss of fire on the back of your neck burns hot and painful one moment, and then the touch of his lips soft the next as you breathe through the nightmare.

- Those are the worst sort of dream because part of you is convinced that’s what could have happened if Yoongi had never killed Jungkook’s blood family. As gruesome as it sounds, you think you’d rather have it this way than be doomed to that fate. At least now- you’re all loved, though you’ll have to see if one day, the one you love becomes the reason the other dies. For both you and Hoseok.

- Maybe soulmates hurt each other just as often as much as love each other.

- When you wake- you tell Yoongi about the dream and kiss his forehead where his head is pillowed against your thigh. Head tilted so his horns don’t knock into your hip. “Do they feel real? The dreams in which I kill you?” he asks you. He doesn’t want you to ever think of that, the improbability of him deciding to hurt you. that you could ever believe that his hands that love you could ever hurt you makes his stomach drop. Yoongi would let himself die, would turn his hands on himself- before he let himself hurt you.

- “Sometimes” you admit, as you kiss him more, deeper now that you can verify it's real. Kisses in the dream world always feel 2d, not like now- when you can taste him and feel his warmth. Kissing him is like hello and a new daydream all at once. Sweet and sweeter because you know it's real. Syrup and honey in equal measure. “But don’t worry, I never believe those dreams for long,”

- But Yoongi does worry, And the day comes that you do forget.

- It’s one of the rare times that Hoseok and Jungkook haven’t come home in time to see you wake. They’re kept south by a snowstorm wiping through the northern lands. But Yoongi’s glad they weren’t they're- glad they didn’t see it.

- It’s the first time that you wake and don’t remember them, your memories and your mind lost to the dream world. Screaming for Taehyung of all people as you fight Yoongi’s hands (only trying to hold you up seeing as you look about ready to pass out). You backpedal on shaky legs and hit the glass edge of your coffin with a violent thud. It shatters against the floor in a great cacophony of glass shards.

- Yoongi barely scoops you up in time so that you don’t fall against them and hurt yourself. Your hands weekly pushing at him to stay away, a monster that you never learned to love, a face you don’t know.

- Taehyung is crying in his coffin as he says your name. Hand weakly reaching out to Tae, Your panic stinks in Yoongi’s nose. Your body is afraid of him- that’s what breaks his heart the most- that he can smell the fear on you and he knows he’s caused it. it's all he can do to repeat in his mind that you’re just Sleepwalking, that’s what it is. You don’t actually hate him- you couldn’t.

- But you won’t wake up- no matter how much Yoongi calls your name. How is it so much harder for you than it is for Taehyung? Seokjin’s never said he did anything like this, Taehyung has never lost himself in the dream world like this.

- The second Tae feels like he has control of his legs he pushes Yoongi off of you. Cupping your cheeks and pulling you up and onto his glass coffin. “It’s not a dream- you’re not dreaming” but your eyes dart around the room like you’re not really seeing it. Yoongi sits there surrounded by glass watching as you don’t fight Tae.

- “Y/n you’re awake- this is your real life- this isn’t another nightmare” But his words fall on your unhearing ears. You stare at Taehyung like they’re something growing out of his head- and who knows- maybe there is. A piece of the dream world that you’ve carried into your waking hours. A hallucination. Yoongi doesn’t want to think about what you might have seen when you looked at his face.

- “Why are you calling me that? That’s not my name.” that’s the final straw, Seokjin knocked out of his reverie and Yoongi pining himself to the wall while Seokjin puts you back to sleep, a thumb pressed to your forehead until you slump in Tae’s arms. Tae holds you so delicately. And it takes seeing him cry for Yoongi to recognize the wetness on his own cheeks as tears too.

- He almost wants to reach out and keep you here. Because he knows- Yoongi knows- once you go into that coffin again they’re no getting you out. One more year to tick by without you. Two at once- They’ve never done this before and they can only hope it works- that you come back whole the next time.

- By the time Jungkook and Hoseok get home at noon, Hoseok’s wings are coated with a faint layer of frost. Yoongi is still sitting out on the edge of the property, watching the faintly raging snowstorm outside the barrier. Eyes wet and dark. His arms wrapped around himself like he’s trying to comfort himself. To alleviate the ache of being untouched. Maybe it’s dramatic- but Yoongi aches like he’s been shot down by an arrow. He never knew he could get so touch starved.

- His children watch him, mixed terror and discomfort at finding their father without their mother on the one day they should be seen together. “She’s not awake- you can get inside and see her though.” yoongi feels like he’ll never be warm again.

- The eternal spring of Seokjin’s home is more than enough to have the cold dissipate, but the cold at seeing you in Tae’s coffin stays. Yours shattered to the side (Seokjin will repair it for Tae later), is something that chills Jungkook to the bone. Jungkook doesn’t realize he’s using the magic in a panic until Hoseok touches his cheek and calls his name.

-All Jungkook knows is that your coffin magically replaced behind Tae’s and that the roses on the trellis outside are sneaking in through the open window. The warmth of Hoseok’s palm is welcomed comfort that Jungkook leans into. Trying not to cry.

- Jungkook and Hoseok get the story from Tae and Seokjin and then go back outside to sit next to their father. “Am I doing the right thing? Or should we just let her wake up and-“ Jungkook is the first to shake his head. “Mom doesn’t want to die dad- she’d say the same if she could” Hoseok’s hands tighten on their pants. Their whole body shaking at the thought of letting you- just letting you die.

- “Next year- it will be different.” No one says that they don’t know that for sure. That they’re just trying whatever they think will work without knowing if you’re right. If you even can come back. Jungkook and Hoseok stay for longer this time, to comfort their father. But then-one day weeks later, he stands up.

- They’re out of books. At least for now- until Hoseok and Jungkook can rocket across the world, every swipe of Hoseok’s wings faster- harder, pushing themselves to carry more. They feel like time is ticking down.

- The next year you wake without a fuss. And no one mentions the last year to you; you don’t remember what happened at all. You have no idea that it’s been two since they last saw you. And this time- Yoongi treasures it even more. For 18 hours- he doesn’t stop touching you. A hand on your lower back or your cheek. 18 hours of love after two years of nothing.

- Hoseok watches you carefully, looking for a hint that you know what happened, that you remember it in any way. But the day remains lost to the tangle of your memories and dreams. More than once- Hoseok catches you watching them, eyes furrowed like you’re having some sort of inner debate or trying to decide if what you’re seeing is real.

- Your brief wakefulness might be their favorite part- but it’s also the scariest.

- It gets a little better, the dreams can’t create new things for you- only things you’ve experienced before really. So when you see them in newer clothes, when they actively change things about your surroundings before you wake up it makes a difference.

- Seokjin changes the spell around his castle to fall just for you, and you spend ages in the garden, pressing sweet tomatoes to Yoongi’s mouth and cooking pumpkin seeds with Hoseok and Jungkook. Hoseok excitingly shows you their new trick- a little jet of fire that they can manage on their hands in their human form. It’s far from Yoongi’s near magic control of fire but it still makes you smile and shout and give Hoseok little scratches on the head a proud feeling in your chest.

- No matter that you need to reach up to do it now- they’ve been taller than you for so long it’s hard to remember they were ever so tiny. Hoseok’s change is also another thing that makes it easier. You dislike it- and you’d never treat your child any differently than how they wanted to treat them- but when you dream Hoseok- they’re still listless in their skin, a boy along with Jungkook.

- It’s reassuring when you wake and find them still the same as ever but so much more comfortable in their skin than they’d ever been before. As a child, Hoseok had been quiet and easily anxious (only soothed by Jungkook) now they’re louder and happier, a little bit of something shimmery gold on their eyelids, dancing around the kitchen and sending off little puffs of yellow fire (only to be contained by Jungkook’s magic).

- “Really Hobi- the kitchen is made of wood- you’ve got to be careful’). Their face stretching in a familiar heart-shaped smile that you all love. Hoseok is so so happy.

- You’ve never seen them this happy, and that makes the discontent rise in your chest because- how had you never realized they weren’t? How did you never see that Comfort was a fickle thing in Hoseok’s chest in a way it wasn’t for anyone but Jimin.

- You try to remember back to their meeting sometimes. Hoseok had looked at Jimin like he hung the stars and asked more questions than anyone else. You’d assumed it was just childlike curiosity- but maybe that had a deeper meaning than you’d initially thought.

- Before you sleep you unpack some of your old clothes and hand them down to Hoseok. Fine clothes and silks that Yoongi had made for you when you lived closer to the dragon city. Seeing as you have no use for them anymore, they’re a similar size- and Hoseok is only a little bit larger than you, maybe a tad bit broader but you liked your clothes flowy and loose anyway.

- You anchor yourself with their smile when you go into the dreams again. Excited to wake and help Hoseok explore their feminine side more.

- The nightmares are ever vibrant and feverish, with reality at a resolution just out of clarity. You dream of each of your family hurt beyond repair and you dream that they’re happy without you. Those hunters grabbing a tiny Hoseok by his feathers and tear them- his beautiful- delicate wings, and pluck him like a chicken.

- They do the same to Yoongi- albeit slower, removing every inch of his wing membrane until his bones clatter together like a wind chime. You have to watch, unable to move regardless of his roars that shake the earth. Maybe it says a lot about your love if the thing you’re scared of most is not being there to comfort Yoongi.

- Other nightmares of black fire that climbs the walls and sinks close to Jungkook in his baby basket. A calamity that you cannot end, like the trudge of time- the nightmares feel like they last forever. The wand in his arm burning too- unable to bond with him. His soul burned from the inside out. You scramble over his ashes, grasping at them like it will bring him back.

- You can’t help it, sobbing like your heart was ripped out. Hoseok falling too, crying in anguish as part of his soul dies. his wings fall limp- unable to fly without Jungkook. The saddest death is that of someone who can no longer do what they love, and the second saddest is a dragon without its wings.

- It’s so sad, It’s just like that time you woke up and saw only strangers in your bedroom, the nightmares always feel so real.

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Part 8: The Woman and The War *coming soon*

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kiridarling · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

eijirou kirishima | f!reader, DARK CONTENT, drugging, noncon, but also the reader isn't not into it bc like...i have my limits okay, talk of vomit for a sec (no actual vomit), degradation, bondage, size kink, hair pulling, ripping clothes, slut-calling once or twice. minors dni!

— 3k words

"'S this what you need, Sweetheart? Y'need me to use you to get off while you just lie there and take it?"

"See somethin' you like, Sweetheart?"

"U-Um," you flush a deeper red than the stranger's hair and pray he can't see it under neon red lights. Either way, you've been caught red-handed, and recoil. "Sorry."

The stranger's crimson eyes soften before relaxing into a kind smile, and he lifts a dismissive hand. "I was just messing with you! That's on me."

He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head and the smile grows wider, displaying the rows of predatory sharp teeth that shouldn't look as gentle as they do. You relax in the seat to his right, immediately turning to the bartender to order a funny named a drink. The redhead raises an eyebrow, leaning his arm on the counter.

"A Stranger Danger?" He nearly deadpans.

"Club Special," you shrug. You've never been particularly great at holding your alcohol, but this drink provides just enough punch for a buzz, aka what you need to get through the night. The bartender slides over a tall, rose-dyed wine glass without another word.

"Eijirou Kirishima," the stranger says with his sharp teeth, offering a large hand to shake. He looks comical next to you, all hunched over the neon bar while you sit up straight for your head to reach his shoulder, and as you take the handshake, can't help but notice how his palm eats yours like it's nothing.

"Y/N," you smile. His hand lingers before it pulls away, and he tells the bartender he'll have what you're having.

"So," Eijirou starts once his order has been placed. "You come here often?" You snort at the cheesy line, and the way Eijirou smirks implies he knows just how cliché it is.

"Sometimes," you shrug vaguely. The club's fairly new, so it's not as if you can say you've been going here for years. You lift the drink to your lips, the sugar-crusted rim tickling the corners of your mouth. "You?"

He shrugs, "When I want to get out."

You nod at that and offer him your glass with a raised eyebrow. Eijirou shakes his head, lifting a glass of his own. Your nose scrunches.

"Beer?"

He takes a sip before answering, lips white from the foam before his tongue licks them over, "Stella Artois. Want some?"

Your eyes shift between your dainty glass and his not-so-dainty one before you snort, "I'll pass."

Eijirou shrugs, reclining back in his seat and beer in hand, "Suit yourself."

You pat your back pocket for your phone, but when you realize there's a loss of weight on one side, you pat your right buttcheek to realize you left your wallet in the car. Fuck.

"Uh, hey," you say, knocking the redhead on the shoulder. You figure he's trustworthy enough, and the bartender always keeps an eye out for you anyway. "I'll be right back—left my wallet in the car."

Eijirou nods at that as you push away from the counter practically shaking your head at how distracted you can be sometimes. Seriously, your wallet?

At least the bartender didn't ask for your ID. Yikes.

You slam the car door shut with a huff, wallet finally in hand as you trudge back to the bar. When you return, Eijirou's got the beer lifted to his lips and greets you with a small wave as you sit down.

"Long time no see."

You giggle while grabbing your glass by the neck. As the club starts to fill out, you begin to shrink into your shell—throwing the entire drink down the hatch fixes you right up, though.

"Oh wow okay, looks like we're just going for the whole thing, then," Eijirou chuckles as he takes a much more civilized sip of his. You smack your lips with a satisfied aah.

"Gotta get the buzz going somehow," you wink, before getting comfortable in your seat. Alcohol warms your veins already, prompting your body to start pulse in time with the bass of the music. Eijirou smiles, watching you.

"You like this song?" he asks softly, before adjusting so you're both sat the same way—elbows and backs against the counter, facing the club and all its chaos. You shrug.

"I guess. I've never heard it 'till now."

He tosses his head back onto his muscled shoulders in a chuckle, and you watch the entire act in slow motion. The glint of his teeth in the neon lights, how his chest balloons and quivers under the weight of a bellow. You find yourself staring much harder than you intend to, but he doesn't seem to notice, eyes locked on the dance floor.

"Touché, touché," he says upon recovery. The alcohol in your veins turns to syrup and time starts to blur more than you're used to it being, body so light and weightless you have to pat the chair to make sure you aren't floating. That usually doesn't happen.

"You okay?" Eijirou frowns when you falter. You pull a smile and nod.

"Mhm," you say, though silently panicking when you feel like you're falling out of your seat. You grip the countertop just in case. "Mhm, yeah."

He raises an eyebrow, "You sure?"

"Yeah," you nod, before clearing your throat. Your body flashes hot then cold, and you wonder if you shouldn't have taken that drink down like you did. "I'm um—I'm going to go to the bathroom, one sec."

You're unsure if Eijirou says something as you leave because you pour all your energy into stumbling across the obnoxiously loud club, filled with too much bass and pandemonium for your liking. You're suddenly overwhelmed by everything and your esophagus goes numb at the thought of vomiting, but you make it to the singles bathroom just in time to shut the door and control your goddamn stomach.

With a sigh, you rest your head against the cool sink. The incessant buzz of the overhead lights is much, much better.

You take a deep breath and flick on the sink. Ensuring it's as freezing as it can possibly go, you launch some into your face. You don't even consider ruining the amount of work that went into your outfit today, because ultimately you aren't sober enough to give a shit, blinking back at your reflection to find it fairly blurry. You nearly stumble and fall, but your vice grip on the counter keeps you alive.

"You okay?"

The second you step back into the noisy club, Eijirou's there—with his sweet sharp-toothed smile, he's posted next to the bathroom door and you find yourself grappling his jacket for stability.

"Whoa—Careful now," He chuckles at your sloppiness with a lifted eyebrow. You blink once, twice—the spots floating in your line of vision don't disappear. His hands snake around your waist to keep you from falling and eating shit, and you dig your forehead into his muscled chest.

"Gotta—I gotta go home."

"Okay," Eijirou soothes softly upon realizing how utterly shit-faced you are. "How'd you get here?"

"Walked," you groan and nearly cry, looking up at him with a pout. Eijirou coos.

"Well, no offense but I don't think you're good to walk on your own, Sweetheart."

His voice is heady with something you can't quite recognize, but it's comfortable, and you melt into his chest with a weak nod.

"Mhm."

"Can I help you home?" He offers with a kind smile. You nod, fists gripping his shirt in tufts.

"Yes please."

"Oop—careful."

"I am al—hic—always so fu—fucking careful," you slur. Your body has gone so numb that Eijirou gave up and resorted to carrying you bridal style the rest of the way instead. But he has to set you down so you can stuff your keys in the door, but you can't even do that right.

"Need me to do it?"

"No!" You puff your cheeks, trying twice more before you successfully get it in the keyhole. "'Mma strong independent woman who don' nee' no mahn."

Eijirou chuckles, and using his big shoulder, opens the door to chauffeur you inside. Neither of you get very far, maybe halfway to your room, before your legs give out and the only thing that saves you is the hand on your waist.

"Down this hall?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. You nod so profusely it gives you a temporary headache.

You blink and you're in your bedroom, your front hitting the sheets with a soft thump. Huh. Maybe he carried you the rest of the way. With a face full of pillows, you groan at the new and improved position as you feel the bed dip behind you, and Eijirou grab both of your wrists.

"You're so cute, you know that?"

Something soft and silk ties your fists behind your back. You recognize the material as the belt from your robe, tossed carelessly on your bed during the chaos that ensues every time you get ready for the club. It's not until you try to pull your hands apart that you realize they're tied tight.

"Pulling is only going to make it tighter," Eijirou says with an absentminded sigh, like he's done this before, and trepidation spikes in your chest once he raises your hipbone and slides a pillow underneath to angle them, the only way you could break free—especially with the new grip on your hips.

"Ei—" you try to squirm, legs kicking blindly into the space behind you, but once he seizes your thighs he's sitting on your calves to keep you in place. There's the undeniable sound of cloth ripping and your behind is suddenly met with cool air, prompting a shiver or two.

"Eijirou, what are yo—"

You're interrupted by a stinging slap to your ass and a growl. "Don't tell me I gotta gag your pretty mouth too, Sweetheart."

His voice is low and sharp with a threat, his grip tightening around your thighs.

"You're soaked already? Fuck...and I bet you taste so sweet too..." he bites back a groan in thought, sliding a finger down your slit.

He clicks his tongue but it's damn near mocking. You gasp as he fills you with two large fingers instead of one, body tensing as the alcohol-induced numbness fades in favor of amplified arousal. Eijirou chuckles at your reaction.

"Taking it so well already," he purrs, hand caressing the crest of your ass. In your defense, there isn't much you can do but take it. Ah-ah, Sweetheart—Speak up for me."

"O-Ow," you hiss when your head is wrenched. upwards via your hair to expose your broken moan. Eijirou's grip only tightens after you complain, and you can feel his hot breath ghost the base of your neck. His thumb finds your clit and doesn't move, it just sits there as heavy weight—and it's just as frustrating as it is teasing.

"Ei," you rasp into the pillow, voice hoarse and thick. "I nee—fuck, more—"

"More?" He chuckles derisively, shaking his head with a tut. "Two fingers and you want more? Fuckin' slut."

Each word is loaded with something pitifully mocking and if you were in any other position you would've curled a lip and spat back. But that's a little hard with your face in the pillow and Eijirou's weight above you, isn't it? You shake your head against his fist until he lets go in favor of crackling a solid hand against your ass.

"Oh, you like that, don't you Sweetheart?" He grunts and his fingers increase in speed, the lewd squelch bounces off the walls of the bedroom and echoes in your head in the most insulting way. "My fingers fill you up that good?"

"Y-Yeah, I—" you choke around drool that gathers in the corners of your mouth and shake under his palm. "Fuck me Ei, I nee—"

The quick spank cracked against your ass shakes you from your thought process. "Dirty fucking girl—you really so desperate to let a guy you just met fuck you like this? So goddamn easy."

But he's removing his fingers regardless, stuffing them between your swollen lips as he assumes the space behind you. You hear the quiet fumble of his belt and the run of his zipper, before you feel his hot cock pressing against your soaked entrance.

Eijirou pushes in with a groan, his free hand finding your hips to keep them in place. Your legs thrash as he fills you up with a pleasurable burn, and by the time he bottoms out, you're positive he's filling you up all the way to your lungs.

"Fucking hell," he heaves above you, and the fingers in your mouth disappear to grasp the sheets. You shake along with him, back straightening in a poor attempt to alleviate the burn—and he barely gives you a second to breathe before he's pulling out and slamming back in.

"Fuck!"

You jump each time the head of his cock rams against your cervix, feet scrambling in a poor attempt to escape. Eijirou growls and puts all of his weight in his hips to ensure you'll stay still, a big hand smushing your face into the sheets.

"Sing for me, Sweetheart—I wanna hear ya."

Your voice cracks as Eijirou speeds up, simply using you for his own pleasure—but maybe that's what excites you the most.

"Ei—"

"'S this what you need, Sweetheart?" He spits, and you can feel the sweat dripping from his shoulders onto your exposed back. "Y'need me to use you to get off while you just lie there and take it?"

You whimper uselessly and nod, but Eijirou growls, yanking your head up for a proper answer.

"I said, don't you?"

"Fuck I—" he hikes your hips even higher for a better angle and gets one, the head of his cock forcing a scream out of your lungs as you yelp, "I do!"

"'Course you do," he chuckles, and drops your head back onto the pillow, "'Course you fuckin' do—"

"Ei-Eiji—" you gasp like you've been underwater forever. "I can't, I nee—"

"Dumb little baby can't even speak," he coos, before his hand finds the sides of your neck and squeezes. "What? Whadd'ya need, Sweetheart?"

And honestly, you're not completely sure what you need, you just know you're chasing after *something—*and Eijirou's got you sprinting after it while you melt into the sheets into a hot, gooey mess. You think the split ends of EIjirou's hair ticking the back of your arms, but you aren't sure. The only thing you are sure of is the burn between your legs and the feeling of being very, very close.

"'Mma cum!" You squeal, the vein in the side of your neck bulging. Eijirou grunts and slides a calloused hand under your stomach to play with your clit, hissing as you squeeze around him.

"Awe, the little slut's gonna cream all over my cock?" He coos, and you're positive his hips speed up just a bit. The grip on your neck slides to the hands tied behind your back for leverage. "Yeah she fuckin' is—I can see your eyes rolling back already."

And he's right, because the weight of your orgasm knocks the wind out of your lungs and your lips round to form and 'o'. You couldn't say if you screamed or not, as the ringing in your ears peaks with your orgasm. The only reason you know Eijirou finishes is because his hips stutter to a stop while you lay face down in the pillow, heart thrumming against your ribcage.

"Hey, you okay?" Eijirou nearly scrambles to get your back on your chest. You know this type of thing gets him nervous, but he does it oh so well, and there isn't much you can do but smile at the ceiling lazily.

"You just railed me into the sheets and you're asking if I'm fine?" You snort at your boyfriend's frazzled appearance—and the afterglow doesn't help, his chili red hair sticking in every other direction except the one it's supposed to.

"Yeah," Eijirou doesn't even hesitate and then gives you a quick peck on the lips. His voice edges on a petulant whine as he says, "I was rough, Sweetheart."

"Because I asked you to be," you quirk an eyebrow and finally, the redhead stumbles to your joint bathroom butt naked. "And don't forget to wet the towel this time!

A little shuffling in the bathroom, and then:

"That was one time!"

"And my vag will never recover!" You holler back. Eijirou just snorts before the white noise of a running sink takes possession of the conversation, and you scoot to the section of your shared bed that isn't soiled with a sigh.

You roll onto your side and come face to face with a framed selfie of you and Eijirou on your first date. Next to that one is first anniversary, second anniversary, third...

Now you're edging on the fifth, comfortable enough where he's walking around with his soft dick out and you've given up in swatting at his hands every time they grab for your tits. You two are comfortable—this is comfortable.

Eyeing the bathroom door, you still hear running water. Sneakily, you reach for the drawer where Eijirou keeps the the ring he doesn't know you know he hides. But frankly, you're the only one who cleans this goddamn house, so it wasn't like you weren't going to find it. You open the red velvet box to blink down at a diamond ring, thumb caressing gem. It glimmers even when the lights are low, and you can't help but be jealous of it—which is silly. You know it'll be yours anyway. The ring is always smoother than you expect it to be, but that thought doesn't last long, because you quickly toss it back into Eijirou's drawer and assume a less suspicious position upon hearing the sink turn off.

"What?" he asks with a small grin as he walks in with a wet towel in hand. "You're giving me that weird look again."

You snort, rolling your eyes before adjusting so you face the ceiling again. Spreading your legs, you demand, "'S nothing. Now clean me up, big boy."

Eijirou huffs at that but he assumes the space between your legs with a light blush. You smile.

He'll do it. When he grows the balls.

#—𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #CLUB 777 #mha smut #kirishima smut #bnha smut

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mackeydoodledoo · 3 years

Text

The Blacksmith Chpt. 1

Pairing: Dimitrescus x (Fem!)Reader/Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You are a human, a human who is in charge of the armory; polishing, blacksmithing you name it. You are strongly valued by the Dimitrescu family, specifically one that has strawberry-blonde hair. She’d always come visit you whenever you’d be working on a new piece of armor or weapon.

Warnings: Fight; ends slightly bloody, Fluff at the end

A/N: So, I’m obsessed with armor n such and hearing that there’s an armory when you fight Cassandra.... So, we are making a story about a Blacksmith falling for one of the Dimitrescu daughters!

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You wipe the sweat from your forehead as you dip the blade you’ve been working on that Heisenberg had requested into a barrel of water.

“Is it just hot in here or is that just you?” A familiar voice flirts at you

You place the now cooled blade down onto a table as you turn to see Daniela standing in the doorway, checking you out. You wipe more sweat off your forehead. You notice Daniela giggling.

“What?” You ask

“You got a little something there-” Daniela says, “Here, I’ll get it.”

Daniela takes out a white handkerchief from one of her pockets and wipes your forehead, noticing the black smudge now left on it. Your eyes widen in embarrassment. However you just watch Daniela smell your sweaty scent on her handkerchief.

“You know my sweat is on there right?” You could only ask

“I know,” Daniela moans from your scent left on her handkerchief, “Your scent smells so good.”

You blush at the compliment.

“Oh the little baby is blushing,” Daniela says, “I make everyone blush.”

“Oh- it’s just because-it’s just because it’s hot in here,” You say, trying to play it off

“Sure little baby,” Daniela whispers, “Will I see you for dinner tonight love?”

You nod, not being able to have any words come out of your mouth. She lets out another giggle and makes her exit however, Heisenberg rolls in before Daniela could make her leave.

“Uncle Heisenberg!” Daniela smiles, hugging him

“How’s my niece doing?” He asks

You watch Daniela take her leave from the armory. However, coming back to reality, you grab the blade you have been working on and present it to him.

“My liege,” You greet Heisenberg, “The end result as of right now. If this is the shape you’re going for, then I’ll hop right onto the final stages of its production.”

Heisenberg requested for a longsword. However, as it had required for you to smelt more metal for the sword itself, you had to use a full armor set to melt it down to the mold of the blade, as much as you had been against the idea. However, Alcina had given the entire armory at your disposal. However, it did not help that you had to use one of your own metals rather than Heisenberg giving you some to make the longsword with. You have made the hilt of the sword when he first commissioned the sword to be made.

“Your work is as great as ever y/n,” He smiles, “Do what you must, but make sure to have it ready by the same time the day after tomorrow.”

He takes his leave from the armory.

Tomorrow night?! But that’ll mean- I told Lady Daniela that I-... It can’t be helped I guess...

Almost immediately you took the dull blade and went over to the sander to sharpen it and polish it from its outer crust, slowly forgetting your agreement with Daniela about joining her and her family for supper.

At the dinner table, Daniela continuously looked into the seat next to her; empty. She had told her sisters and mother she’d invite the blacksmith to supper however, you were still cooped up in your armory room.

“Dani, you haven’t touched your food at all,” Cassandra states, but quietly, “It’s gonna get cold if you don’t eat it.”

“I’ve asked y/n to join us for dinner,” Daniela sulks, “She’s always so coped up in the armory. I’m kind of getting tired of bringing her food..”

“Heisenberg is really working that poor girl,” Alcina sighs, “That fool... He’s ‘tech-savvy’ they call it? Why couldn’t he just do it himself?”

“Y/n is the best blacksmith, It kind of makes sense why he’d ask for y/n,” Bela states, “That is why we hired her personally as well mother did we not?”

“Oh you are most correct,” Alcina agrees with her eldest daughter, “It’s just she’s been cooped up in there for so long. I’d hate for someone as young as her be burning the midnight oil for one single sword...”

“I’ll go check on her after supper I guess,” Daniea says, shamefully, “I apologize for this mother...”

“There is no need for an apology my daughter,” Alcina reassures her youngest daughter

Daniela just weakly smiles and then goes to dig into the meal that had been prepped in front of her

You didn’t realize how much time has gone by until you hear knocking at the doorframe.

“Oh, lady Daniela,” You clear your throat, removing your gloves to air out the sweat and then tearing your eyes away from your work to make eye contact with Daniela, “My apologies, I missed supper... Heisenberg needs this new blade done by-”

She puts the plate of food on a nearby table as she begins to walk toward you. You’ve truly felt bad however, you’ve been working on this item for weeks, you couldn’t just simply ‘take a break’ for it.

“There’s one reason why I wanted you to come to supper y/n,” Daniela interrupts you, “You need to get out of here and more importantly- let me see you out of this work outfit of yours..”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your throat go dry and your legs becoming jelly. You’ve mostly worn simple ripped skinny jeans, a short-sleeve shirt; the sleeves rolled up to your shoulders and one of those aprons blacksmiths wear while they work with molten metal. You also worn gloves whilst working in the armory, showing off your toned arms from the blacksmithing you do non-stop.

“I’m no one special my lady,” You sigh, wiping sweat from your forehead again, “I’m just the blacksmith.”

“Whose created all of this amazing armor,” Daniela states, gesturing to the entire room full of armor and weapons

“Coming from a long line of blacksmiths is one perk,” You say, “But, I’m just a human, like every other human in the world.”

You could hear footsteps coming even closer into your direction. A pair of hands are forcefully placed on your shoulder and you’re physically turns into Daniela’s close proximity.

“You listen to me now y/n,” Daniela almost snarls, “You are an amazing Blacksmith. Otherwise my sisters and mother would have had you for supper already. I believe you are one of the greatest people to be working in this castle, consider it to be a privilege to be working so closely to us.”

She leans close to your ear, making you shiver, “To be working so closely to me.”

A shiver is sent down your spine. You needed to burn the midnight oil for this weapon for Heisenberg, should Daniela continue to tease you like this.

“My my, your heart is beating pretty fast love,” She whispers once more, “You’re welcome...”

You feel a finger trace your jawline, however, you feel a slight pain in your jaw as you look down and felt something wet along down your neck.

“Oh-oopsies,” Daniela says, flirting heavily

“Not funny,” You groan from the pain

“Oh-oh it’s dripping,” She continues to flirt, “I’ll get it.”

You let out a small gasp as you felt the tip of Daniela’s tongue gently run along the blood trail. She traces the blood from the thin skin of your neck to the bone of your jawline. She guides her hands to wrap around her neck. You coil one hand into her hair to keep her steady as you let out yet another gasp.

“Yes, my lovely,” Daniela whispers, “Continue making that music for me...”

Before you let out another gasp, you push her away form your neck slightly to look at her. You look down at her lips and then back up to her eyes, asking for permission. However, you stop yourself when the both of you heard the Lady Dimitrescu calling for Daniela.

“Curses,” She mumbles under her breath just as her lips were about to crash onto yours, “My my you taste divine. Until next time.”

With hast she makes her exit, turning into a swarm of flies in the process. You sit there, trying to process what just happened. However, you couldn’t linger on the thought any longer as you were just about to start the leatherwork on the hilt before Daniela began distracting you.

I wouldn’t call it a bad thing if she distracted me though... It was only for a couple of minutes and... It was... Enjoyable...

You couldn’t believe a Dimitrescu daughter had taken a liking to you. You were a simple human from a long line of the finest blacksmiths. Why you? Of all people, you weren’t special. However, someway somehow the youngest Dimitrescu was enticing to you.

I have no such time for a relationship... Besides... Lady Daniela has many other maidens to choose from... Am I even a choice to be one of their... What was it that they call them? ‘Plaything’? Yeah... Am I? Oh well, but it looks like I have to burn midnight oil again. Nothing that I don’t already experience though...

Your eyes are heavily concentrated on the leather work you’re doing on the handle. However, you could easily feel your eyes grow heavy. But, you knew you couldn’t waste time like you did earlier.

“Sir Heisenberg won’t be pleased if he catches me passed out at the table,” You sigh

You take a deep breath and shake off your tiredness and continue working on the leather handle.

By the time you finally finished the handle you take a step back to admire the work you had done

“Not a bad job if I do say so myself,” You smile

you were sketching out the design for the sheath. The sheath itself will be crafted with the thickest leather. Leather you’d normally use for sheaths; it’s so that the sheath’s won’t tear apart then the sword is sharpened. You’d also press in an intricate design you had crafted earlier when you were taking a break from the leather work.

“I guess I can close my eyes for a couple of minutes while I wait for this to ...” You tell yourself

Oh how wrong you were.... Unfortunately you didn’t catch it fast enough. By the time you had realized you took more than a couple of minutes, you were fast asleep.

The next morning you could feel a pair of lips on the bone of your cheek. When you opened your eyes you could easily tell it was Daniela.

“Morning sleepy head,” She whispers

She puts the plate of human food right next to you. The aroma of the food gets you to feel more awake.

“Can I ask you something?” Daniela asks, looking at you with pleading eyes

“Mhm,” You reply with food in your mouth

“I was wondering if you could make me one of those daggers you place on your thigh,” She requests, “But-but if that’s too much right now you could always do it after you finish-”

“I’ll do it,” You answer clearly, “The blade for Heisenberg isn’t due until tomorrow so I’ll be able to do it.”

She squeals of excitement and wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a tight hug. You hug her back.

The first form of physical affection after awhile... This is nice

She lets go of you, but continues smiling.

“Design is solely up to you,” she says calmly, “I really want you to make it how you want to.”

You nod as Daniela takes the now empty plate from your hands. You watch her walk out from your armory you immediately jump into your closet and pull out a thick gauged metal sheet.

“Since when did you become so jittery in the morning?” A voice asks you

You let out a yelp and drop the sheet metal. You quickly turn your heel to see who it was.

“Lady Bela,” You sigh, re-composing yourself, “You really scared me there. Good lord...”

“I can do more than just scare you,” Bela chuckles, “But Daniela would be at my throat for that so consider yourself lucky.”

You see her forming into her swarm of flies. You couldn’t process what she was doing until she was up in your face.

“You hurt my baby sister, there will be hell to pay, got it?” She says, almost growling

Your throat catches something; thus, you couldn’t form any words. However, you only nod.

“Good,” She says

She dissipates into her swarm and leaves the armory. You just stand in your place for a second before picking the metal sheet back up.

You finally found yourself outside of the armory for once. If it weren’t for Daniela dragging your ass out of there you wouldn’t really be there. However, it was a silent supper for you. You really couldn’t find a way to strike up conversation with the Dimitrescu’s.

“I know you’ve been here a long time y/n, but how are you liking it?” Alcina asks, nervously

“You know, to be honest, It’s a lot nicer than where I used to live,” You smile slightly, “Yeah, I might be having a workload right now but- It’s nothing new to me.”

Alcina sighs in relief. Not knowing how to continue the conversation, you drop your head back down into your plate and continue eating. Alcina had made some arrangements so that the maids and yourself can have nutrients from human food.

After supper, you beeline it back for the armory to start on Daniela’s requested garter dagger. You didn’t have much experience in textiles, so you requested one of the maids who was more experienced in such do it for you.

“Thanks Amelia,” You say, gently taking the newly sewn garter, “I got everything else. That’s all.”

“Lady Daniela really requested for this?” She asks

“Yeah,” you say, “Interesting though right?”

“That’s one way to put it,” She says, “Be careful.”

“You too.” You say

You wipe sweat off of your forehead as you finally break your concentration on the sharpening blade. Once it had reached a certain sharpness, you begin the polishing stage.

“Finished, and now..” You talk to yourself

Although you’ve never encrusted a weapon with many gems; you only had experience with one gem going on a weapon. However, it was Lady Daniela, so you wanted to make it look like the prettiest dagger in the whole castle, prettier than all the weapons and armor you have created. You take out a special cannister and begin organizing the blue-green gem from all of the other colored gems.

You found yourself outside of Daniela’s chambers however, you weren’t sure if she was even there or out somewhere in the castle. But, you place the weapon down right in front of the bottom of the door and knock as loudly but as gently as possible and you beeline it for the shadows. From a distance, you watch the door open and see Daniela; in a nightgown. It was the first time you’ve seen Daniela without her regular dark robe and hood up in her face.

“Oh my god...” Daniela says in awe as she picks up the weapon, “Y/n...”

She tries to look around for you however doesn’t spot you on sight.

“Thank you...” She blushes as she closes the door

You blush a deep red as you turn your back to her door to head back into the armory to try and finish up Heisenberg’s weapon.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #female reader

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beskarhearts · 3 years

Note

re: you wanting one shot/blurb ideas: *chanting softly* domestic din, domestic din, domestic-

HOME (DIN DJARIN X READER)

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!reader

Word count: over 1.9K

Warnings: very brief allusion to sexy time (I think that is it but let me know)

Summary: Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

Notes: Just so you know, I completely ignored events of season 2 because I just wanted these 2 to be happy and we all deserve domestic Din. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

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Home had seemed like such a foreign concept to both you and Din for so long. You were aware of its existence but it may as well had been the Force with how confusing of a thought it was to you two. The galaxy was a hard and tough place, one that seemed like you had to fight to get through each day. Din certainly had been handed the short end of the stick as well, having gone through more struggles and travesties than you could count on one hand. In a world that was so brutal and could sometimes be so cruel, how the hell were you to find a home in the midst of it?

But then for some reason, the universe aligned and you had met Din on a fateful day that changed the rest of the course of your life. It took awhile because of the walls you both had up and the lack of trust you had in humanity, but eventually you came to realize something. Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

So for years you were content with Din, even if that meant living in the Crest with Grogu and traveling from place to place. You had him by your side and that was enough for you - enough for the rest of your life. You wouldn’t mind hopping from planet to planet as long as at the end of the day you could slip into a cot with Din, no matter how tiny or uncomfortable it may had been. And Din the same. Sure the Crest had been a sort of home to him considering how long he had it but it had never felt quite as bright until you were in it. Never had Din felt so settled and content until he felt the warm brush of your fingers against his hair and felt the wave you seemed to mold into his touch, like you were becoming one person. That was also when Din realized home could be a person.

That still didn’t stop you two from hoping though. You couldn’t bare to say it during the day but at night, when you two whispered sweet nothings to each other, you would also make grand plans of a home. Talk about how one day you two would settle down on a sparsely populated planet somewhere with Grogu. Find a small little house and take care of each other for the rest of your days until you were old. Maybe have a couple kids to fill the empty rooms with noise and happiness. You would talk of having a kitchen where you could make meals and teach Din how to cook, both of you eating something other than ration packs or broth on a daily basis. Find a place with some land so Din could step outside without his helmet with no fear and breath in some fresh air, while the child you had both come to love roamed around the tall grass. Din would speak of a bed - a proper bed - where you both could spread out as wide as you wanted (even though you both knew each night would end with you in each other’s arms, trying to get as close as heavenly possible). A place that could properly be decorated for holidays and special occasions, maybe even a big tree for a Life Day.

But all of those had seemed like simple dreams best to be spoken of in the warm confines of each other’s arms. Because things like that didn’t happen for people like you two.

Until they somehow did. Until somehow everything fell in line and you realized it was no longer a dream, but close enough to touch and grasp if you really wanted it. And hell, you both wanted it so badly. So when Din landed the Crest on a planet with warm air and fresh grass and flowers, he knew you would love it. It was meant to just be another pit stop until Din found an abandoned little house in the middle of this field and suddenly he realized everything he wanted was right in front of him. He could let you and the child settle down. You and him could relax and finally make the family you had discussed. It was sitting there right in front of him, like all the beautiful magical intricacies of the galaxy came together to form this perfect little sanctuary for you both.

Din had been so excited to show you that he quite literally ran to you, dragging you and the child with him in the most chipper mood you had ever seen the man. You had playfully teased him for his childlike behavior until your eyes landed on the small house and your heart melted. The look you have Din was not one you needed to explain because he had the same exact one. No words were spoken, no confirmation of what he wanted that place to be for you. You both knew and all you had to do was grab Din’s hand and walk him into the home for him to instantly decide to retire from his life and spend the rest of his days with you on a planet whose name he could barely remember.

The place had not been in the greatest shape. It was old and had clearly been abandoned for long enough that the place fell into a little disarray. But you and Din had certainly faced much worse so you didn’t allow it to scare you away. Instead Din worked on building furniture and fixing holes in the wall, a big smile on his face the whole time because he was constantly being hit with the realization of ‘this is what normal people do’. You had painted the walls with flowers like you could see outside the windows, filling it with more color than Din had ever seen in his life. And once the home was finally finished, equip with a functioning kitchen and the largest bed you had laid your eyes on, you and Din got married.

You could of traveled into the closest town and maybe found someone to officiate it for you, but that felt so conventional and unnecessary. You didn’t need another person to declare your love for each other and make it official. You had only ever needed each other so you both had as traditional of a Mandalorian wedding as you could, a bit difficult due to it being only you two and the very dapper flower boy that had been Grogu (who had managed to eat all the flowers and not throw a single one). Din wore his armor and you wore a small white dress you had made from a set of curtains but you both swore it was the most beautiful the other one had ever looked.

Shortly after you had gotten married, Din had begun to not-so-subtly, in fact very obviously, started dropping hints about kids. There would be times you were sitting on the couch and Din would look around before saying something like, "This house is a little big for just the three of us, don't you think?" Just the other day, Din had gone into the closest town for some supplies and came back not only with food and stuff you needed, but with a plethora of baby clothes that he all claimed were for Grogu (even though they were all obviously way too small for him).

You knew what Din was doing because it was the clearest thing in the world and you were on board. But watching Din drop the most obvious hints and slowly become more flustered the longer you pretended to be oblivious was hilarious to you. But eventually a dam broke and Din just grabbed you and marched towards the bedroom, very loudly stating that it was time to make some babies ASAP to which you responded with a fit of giggles.

And that led you to where you were now. Stood in the middle of your kitchen in your home, looking out the window where you admired the way the sun illuminated the flowers and trees. A warm cup of caf was clutched between your hands, the wonderful scent filling your nostrils as you held it close to your mouth. The home was silent, the child still asleep in his room and you had left Din to sleep in the bed while you snuck out.

The moment you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you into a broad expanse of warmth, you let out a small content hum. Din's head nuzzled into your neck, his ruffled hair tickling your chin. "Mornin', cyar'ika." Din grumbled, his voice still laced with a type of sleep-drunk tone you adored. His voice in the morning was always your favorite - it seemed to amplify the gruffness and deepness his voice he usually had.

"Morning." you whispered back, feeling your heart flutter when a light kiss was pressed into your neck before he pulled away, grabbing a mug a caf for himself.

You admired his figure, eyes raking up and down in pure adoration. His hair was ruffled and messy from sleep, going in every which way. His eyes were still a little droopy and his whole body still sagged a little. He was wearing a shirt you had given him months ago, one that you were certain he found ridiculously ugly yet he claimed was his favorite because you chose it for him specifically. "Why are you up so early?"

"Wanted to watch the sunrise." you responded, your smile growing as he padded back over to you and planted a kiss on your forehead.

"You look beautiful."

You snorted, giving him a small lopsided smile. "I haven't even brushed my hair yet or washed my face. I am still crusty."

Din smiled, looking down at you with the warm brown eyes you had learned to love. "Well your crust is very sexy."

You threw your head back in laughter that time, shaking your head as he joined in with a slight chuckle. "Din, you are a horrible liar."

"I'm not lying. I love the morning crust. It's cute." he responded back, no hint of sarcasm in his voice but a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Shut up." you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Y'know, it is actually so sexy that we should probably-"

Din was cut off when the sound of cries began to fill the house, the noise coming straight from Grogu's room. You chuckled when an exasperated expression grew on his face and he placed his cup in your hand. "What were you saying, handsome?"

Din rolled his eyes as your sarcastic remark but you could still see the small quirk on the corner of his lip. "I'll go get him."

"You sure?" you asked.

"Yeah." Din mumbled, heading towards the door to Grogu's room slowly. He turned back to you once last time before opening the door. "Cyar'ika?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

You softly smiled. "I love you too."

Din smiled before opening the door to Grogu's room, slipping inside. Within a couple minutes, the crying died down and was replaced with soft cooing that filled your heart with warmth, accompanied by the sound of Din's soft voice as he spoke to the child. You placed the cups of caf on the counter and then made your way towards the room, thinking how this is exactly what home was supposed to feel like.

#request #din djarin x reader #din djarin x AFAB!reader #din djarin fanart #din djarin one shot #din djarin blurb #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #domestic!Din

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thr-333 · 3 years

Text

I got this request story idea where quirkless deku doesn't want to be a hero anymore because of bullying that he got from bakugou and wrong saying that he got from all might. So deku decides is a backpacker, travelling around the world experiencing cultures, food, quirks!!! He has even a YouTube account where talk about his travels, meet new people and talk about their quirks.

Here you go @sweetizukufan its set in nz like you wanted :D

Ochako flopped onto her bed and groaned into a pillow. She didn’t have the right to complain, she knew that. She had been one of thousands of applicants to pass the entrance exam and for the past three years her classmates had been training just as hard as she had. And truthfully she didn’t want to complain. It was her final year at UA. It was only a matter of months until she was officially a hero her dream since a child and she was excited for it!

That didn't change the fact Aizawa had upped their training the last few months. The days got longer the work harder and quite frankly it left her with virtually zero free time. Whenever she tried voicing her thoughts she’d be met by her well meaning, but overly enthusiastic classmates encouraging her to keep her head up.

She was! That didn’t mean she had to go through hellish training with a wide smile on her face.

“Ugh,” Ochako rolled over as it got hard to breath with the pillow smothering her. She really did need to get some sleep before waking up at five in the bloody morning tomorrow when she hit the gym. But honestly at this point if she didn’t do something to break up the monotony of training, eating and sleeping she was going to lose it.

She blindly grabbed for her phone. The school had funded getting her a newer model than her old flip phone since that had been a hindrance when she started internships. She was provided with the industry standard which her friends had tested by throwing it out a window, where it hit Bakugou’s head, and was promptly exploded then stomped on. The thing came out of it without a scratch.

She brought up youtube, it’s not like she had any games, let alone time to play them. It was probably a bad sign she had forgotten what channels she liked. With little other option she started scrolling trending with only a small amount of hesitance. She flicked past everything that was clearly clickbait, too childish or both.

Something caught her eye and Ochako back-pedalled to take a look. It looked like some sort of vlogging channel ‘ARRIVING IN NEW ZEALAND! Auckland sky tower!!!’ was written across the screen. Even with all the caps she didn’t really see how that could be clickbait. Maybe the guy was just excited, she would like to get a holiday like that after all. The image had him smiling at the camera sitting down and below him was nothing, nothing but a street far below. Ochako was embarrassed to say her first thought was that he had some sort of floating quirk before realising he was literally sitting on a window. In her defence she had a float quirk.

Partly embarrassed she clicked on the video why not live her traveling dreams vicariously through a stranger? She used to watch her fair share of travel videos, although those were mostly in tropical places so she could research where to take her parents.

The video started with a shot looking over the wing of a plane, a montage of it starting to land. Ochako was vaguely concerned when all she could see was water out the window but just before touch down the tarmac came into view so it wasn't a surprise crash landing. The camera cut off after a few more seconds panning across the airport as the plane pulled in. The music started to fade out as the shot cut to the same guy as before.

“Hey guys Midoriya here again, just got off an eleven hour flight,” He had no right to look so cheerful at that Ochako had never been on a plane but it didn’t look particularly fun, “And let me tell you I was not prepared for the ordeal that is security here,”

Midoriya’s smile faltered a bit, looking sheepish. He was walking with the camera just outside the airport, people milling around in the background paying him no mind.

“I had no idea it would be that tough, I had an apple I got on the plane in my bag and I thought that would be alright, I got it on the plane after all!” Midoriya didn’t look upset or angry but he was blushing madly. Ochako cracked a smile at that now that she looked closer he was probably about her age, “But no, I swear I thought they were going to arrest me! They started interrogating me, I had to stutter out that I got it on the plane, but that didn’t stop them they gave me a lecture about protecting the environment and declaring food, luckily I got off without a fine, I think it’s because I looked terrified, because I was,”

Midoriya chuckled rubbing his neck, there was a bang and he looked wideyed to the side the camera shook slightly then cut to another shot the setting slightly off from where it was showing a bit of greenery growing at the air port.

“Sorry dropped my bag,” Ochako giggled at that a bit, more that he had decided to keep that in the video than anything else, “So I thought that was the end of it, but apparently not, they started asking questions about my shoes, ‘have you visited any farms?’ ‘have you worn them hiking at any point?’ stuff like that, so that was a bit of a problem because these are my only pair of shoes in this country and I’m pretty sure they’re gonna incinerate that apple,”

A little graphic of a cartoon apple on fire popped up along with a pair of shoes. A speech bubble followed saying ‘save yourself!’ as the apple’s little chibi face screwed up.

“I promised them that no, I haven’t by the way I wouldn’t lie about this stuff the environment here is super cool and unique I couldn’t live with myself if my dirty shoes killed a forest,” The graphic was gone by now and Midoriya was walking through the airport, “But I handed over all the snacks I had in my bag, even if they were ok to bring in the country I was too anxious to risk it, that seemed to appease the border security and I got away with my shoes in tact, my snacks sacrifice will not be in vain,”

Ochako was tempted to laugh but if someone set fire to her snacks or sweets there would be hell to pay.

“Anyway now I’m hungry and have some time before my hotels check in,” Midoriya beamed at the camera, “So I’m gonna do something I’ve wanted to since planning this trip,”

On that mysterious note the video cut to another montage as Midoriya got into a taxi. Ochako let herself enjoy the sights that rolled out the window. She wished she had a computer to watch this on instead of squinting for details on her phone's screen. The montage went onto show the outside of a store then going inside to pan over all the baked goods inside. It was a smorgasbord that stoked Ochako’s envy.

“Here we are,” Midoriya sat at a table just outside the store a few bags laid out in front of him, “These sorts of bakeries are everywhere in New Zealand, I didn’t look for anywhere specific just one walking distance to my hotel room, and here we are!”

Midoriya took something from a bag showing it to the camera to make out the golden crust of a pie. Going torturously in detail as he ripped it open for the audience's benefit. Steam rose and mince flowed out, surprising Ochako as she thought it would be sweet. Breaking it open made a mess as Midoriya was forced to drop the piping hot pastry. The filling pooled across the bag it had come in making the whole thing look sloppy.

“I think my friend would kill me if she saw me do that, Gemma don’t watch this video,” Midoriya warned to late, “She’s the one who told me I had to try a pie, I have a few flavours here but lets start with the basic one, mince!”

Midoriya had some difficulty eating it now that it had fallen apart but managed and his eyes lit up.

“It’s really good, the pastry is flaky and buttery it works really well with the savoury mince the two together make a really satisfying bite, but I guess it would be better if I didn’t destroy it first,” Midoriya said sheepishly, “I won’t do that for the rest of them, promise,”

Midroiya took another bite from the pie before showing off the next one.

“This is Gemma’s favourite Butter Chicken, and trust me it smells so good!” Midoriya, the tease took a bite. Ochako had to wonder what she did to deserve this, “Wow I like this one way better, not that the other one was bad!” Midoriya hurriedly said.

He showed the inside to the camera, a rich looking butter chicken inside.

“It’s really flavourful so you don’t need any sauce that and the texture of the chicken and curry are really complimented by the pie crust,” Izuku took another bite as he talked, “I guess it’s kinda like if Butter Chicken was wrapped up in Nan so there's no way it wouldn’t be good,”

Midoriya talked more as he ate that pie and a steak and cheese one he had brought talking about both until Ochako’s mouth was salivating.

“That’s not nearly all the pie options, but I’ll be touring across New Zealand so this can be an ongoing adventure, now desert!” Midoriya brought out a long bun full of cream, it had a dollop of jam on the top and so much icing sugar Ochako feared for his health. Midoriya however ignored those fears and took a bite anyway, “The buns really soft and the area that the cream’s touched it is just the best texture ever,”

He smiled and there was cream and powder on his cheeks Ochako just knew was going to haunt her until he wiped it off.

“This entire thing is just, ‘ok how can we make this as soft as possible,” Midoriya commented getting closer to the middle of the bun where the bit of jam was, “The raspberry, I think? Jam is really good at breaking up the flavour half way through, now I can eat the rest of it,” Midoriya grinned as he finished it off. He started walking around again waiting for his check in to arrive. That didn't seem to bother him as he pointed out things on the street as he walked.

As he did, Ochako saw someone blatantly jump over the street instead of waiting for the lights. There was another person in the background who casually strolled across the side of a building, feet sticking to it somehow. While people would use their quirks on the street all the time they were usually less obvious about it as police would sometimes call them out and it did depend quirk to quirk. Midoriya zoomed in on a few of these people before it focused on him smiling as he walked.

“New Zealands got pretty cool laws around quirk usage,” He explained, clearly having done his research, enthusiastically by the looks of it, “You have to go through some basic training to prove you can control your quirk, at least so you wont hurt anyone after that you get a license and your free to use your quirk, like I island,” That Ochako thought was cool part of her training had pointed out that some situations heroes were called in for weren't always villain attacks but some public quirk usage gone south, “It’s pretty easy to get by the sounds of it but that does all depend on what your quirk may be,”

The shot cut a bit, Ochako assumed he had rambled on about that for a bit and decided to cut that part.

“In terms of heroes from what I’ve researched the police handle most of that, they’re trained in their quirks kinda like hero schools back in Japan but starting at university not highschool,” That made sense Ochako supposed, and they’d probably have more time to master their quirks too, “There’s a few heroes sure, they’re like a branch of the police department and I think there's a departmental separation between rescue and combat heroes,”

Was she privately pleased he had listed rescue heroes first? Yes, yes she was.

“But honestly there aren’t many, they seem more like the people you call in for really big stuff going on, or international relations, it makes sense the population of New Zealand isn’t all that big,” Midoriya rounded the corner someone made a peace sign at the camera before moving on, “Almost half the population is here in Auckland and the whole country hasn’t reached the five million mark yet, thats crazy to me considering Japan’s population is in the hundred million range and it’s only slightly bigger than New Zealand,”

That did seem insane to Ochako, not sure to be smug about that fact or not.

“So that's probably why heroes are less of a thing here but that doesn't mean it’s all not still really cool,” Midoriya was beaming at the camera, his positivity and enthusiasm practically punching her through the screen, “I’ve rambled enough, it’s about check in time I’ll show you guys where I’ll be staying,”

Midoriya gave a quick tour of his hotel room. It wasn't much, more of a backpackers than anything.

“It’s not big I know but I’ll only be staying here for a few days to explore Auckland then I’m off traveling so a large place wasn't really a worry,” Midoriya flopped down on the bed, bouncing slightly as he hit the mattress, “I’m gonna take a nap because I am exhausted,” His tone betrayed nothing, “But stick around because I’ve got a surprise this afternoon- well I probably put it in the title anyway so it’s not a surprise but it’s still going to be cool, See ya,” Midoriya saluted the camera and it faded to black for a few seconds.

When it came back to light it was an image looking up at a tall tower circling around it and entering the building next to it. There was a continuous shot that was sped up as he walked through the line entering an elevator which literally had a glass floor.

“Wo-” The camera was pointed down at Midoriya's shoes as he hesitated to stand on the glass patch. His foot made contact before he quickly stepped back, “Nope, no, nope,”

Ochako laughed and sank back into her bed. The elevators opened and there was a shot of large windows showing the expanse of the city. The footage sped up as Midoriya did a clean circle around the tower showing it was a loop to give a 360 degree view of Auckland. It was pretty with rolling hills and she could see forests at the edge of it. Honestly it was small compared to the cities she was used to but that made sense given what Midoriya had said earlier.

“Look at this,” The footage went back to normal speed as Midoriya focused on a chart comparing the heights of different towers, “It’s half as tall as the sky tree,”

And that was given the giant antenna on the top.

“Come check this out it’s pretty cool,” Midoriya walked down the steps until he was right next to the window, a few steps more and he came to a patch in the floor that was just glass like the elevator. Midoriya noticeably stood back from it, “It says here that the glass is just as thick and strong on the floor, so reasonably logically,” Ochako snorted, “It should be just the same as walking on the floor… they say that but…”

Midoriya switched the camera around to focus on him, looking a bit pale.

“This might shock you but I’m not really a fan of heights,” He shuddered and shook himself out, “Alright I can do this,”

What followed was a frankly painful process that Ochako couldn't help but laugh at. Midoriya would approach the glass before backing off. He set the camera up on the railing so it looked down enough that she could see the glass and street below. Midoriya tried a bunch of stuff like walking up without looking down. That didn't work and he backed out several meters before he had even reached the glass thinking he was standing on it. He tried to sit down and scoot onto it but couldn't manage more than sitting far from the edge and putting his feet on it. Ochako started howling with laughter when a kid came by running up and jumping on the glass while Midoriya looked on with fear like they were mad.

Midoriya at least had a humor about it. 2D sketches drawn over the video to help exaggerate his struggle and the entire thing filmed rather comically.

Ochako was beginning to believe he had photoshopped the image earlier before he grabbed the camera taking a deep shuddering breath.

“I can do this, I promise I can do this,” He sat down and shuffled back cringing all the way. Ochako found herself strangely proud as Midoriya actually made it onto the glass. He was white knuckled reaching up to hold the railing. He smiled shakily at the camera before turning into a more genuine look of triumph. That was until he quickly rolled off it jumping to his feet and scurrying away, “There! Done! I did it!”

He was smiling brightly now and Ochako couldn't deny she was proud of him. She had struggled herself with heights something she was forced to get over to use her quirk so she knew just how hard that can be.

“Gosh I hope that's easier than what I’m about to do,” Midoriya spun around to show a different window wires running outside and inside a countdown that was about to hit one. It did and there was a blur outside Ochako belatedly realised it was a person. Oh no.

“Now I’m not going to do that but I am going to do something pretty cool,” Ochako blew a sigh of relief but also wanted to hit him for scaring her like that. Under no circumstances should he be jumping off buildings.

They lapsed into another montage Midoriya going back downstairs. This time he had the courage to put a foot on the window in the elevator. Downstairs he went into another area donning a coat and sort of jumpsuit before layering harnesses over the top. He went up an elevator with a few other people this time. They stepped out into another room Midoriya carefully keeping the window out of frame to keep the grand reveal. Their harnesses got latched on and secured to a railing. Once everything was safe the doors pushed open revealing Auckland city, this time not hidden behind glass.

Midoriya skipped over the likely long process of gaining the courage to go outside cutting instead to him smiling with the city at his back and wind whipping through his hair.

“Welcome to the top!” Midoriya yelled over the wind, the audio quality was bad but that was understandable. She felt worse for Midoriya who was smiling through the fear, “It’s really cold and windy up here and I’m scared!”

“Just go back down you idiot,” Ochako huffed fondly as he kept shouting to be heard over the wind.

“I’m kinda afraid of dropping my camera honestly,” Midoriya laughed but she couldn't hear it, instead he pointed in to a few specific spots across the city, “See those hills? Most of those are actually remnants of volcanoes, you see Aucklands kinda built on top of a giant pit of Magma,”

Midoriya quickly grabbed back onto the railing, slowly shuffling along the sky walk, higher than he had been inside.

“Luckily the volcanoes in this area are dormant, cause if one in this area erupts there's a pretty good chance like 50 more are gonna follow,”

Midoriya stayed up there for a little longer pointing out interesting things in the distance. Ochako could safely say she was glad when he cut back to the bottom of the sky tower. His hair was windswept and cheeks red from windchill. Ochako didn't even need to check the comments to know most of them were gushing about how cute he was.

“That was… terrifying, but I’m glad I did it, who thinks I should try skydiving next?” Midoriya grinned, before his face dropped and paled again, “God please no that was a joke,”

Ochako giggled relaxing back in bed again after the tension of the skywalk Midoriya had been leaking through the screen dissipated.

“Anyway I’m just gonna go lie down for a while until some friends of mine get here, then we’ve got one more surprise,” Ochako hoped he hadn’t changed his mind and was going to jump off the building after all, she didn’t want to see him have a literal heart attack.

The video cut to Midoriya smiling at the camera again. He had a lot more color to him now and his hair was somewhat tamed. In his defence he had apparently got off and 11 hour flight then walked around 300 meters in the air it was allowed to be messy.

“So the person meeting me is Gemma, I mentioned her earlier, and a few other friends but their camera shy so you probably wont see them,” Midoriya was bouncing in place gaze constantly drifting away from the camera, “This is our first time meeting in person so I’m kinda excited kinda dreading if this has all just been some elaborate joke and I’m about to get stood up or worse,”

“Who hurt you and who do I need to kill?” Uraraka whispered, fully prepared to throw down the gauntlet for a youtuber she had only just discovered.

Luckily for them Gemma and his other not seen friends were spared her wrath. The camera shot was from far away so she couldn't hear or see anything in detail but it clearly showed the two running up to hug each other Midoriya pulling back to excitedly chat. Gemma matched his enthusiasm, sparkles trailing her arms as she made wide sweeping gestures.

“Here everyone say hi to Gemma,” The shot changed to frame the two of them, Gemma waving the motion sending more glittering sparkles falling from her hand and landing on Midoriya’s shoulder.

“Oh no-” Gemma stepped back to look at Midoriya the front of his shirt was covered in lingering sparkles along with his face and hair. Midoriya looked down at himself a little shocked as Gemma covered her face groaning into her hands, “I’m so sorry, I swear they fade out,”

She scrubbed her hands down her face, unaffected as her whole body shone lightly with subtle sparkles.

“I love it,” Midoriya grinned, twirling a bit to show there was a band of sparkles across his back from where her arms must have come around him. He was quite a bit shorter than her so his face also looked like someone had blown glitter in it, it just made his smile all the more dazzling.

“So you know where we’re going for dinner?” Gemma was looking at the camera but clearly asking Izuku.

“Up the tower again!” Midoriya beamed and really him plus sparkles was too unfair a combination.

This time in the elevator Gemma stood proudly on the window as Midoriya yelled at her.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Crazy you say?” At that Gemma jumped up and Midoriya let out an unholy screech as the elevator shuddered, she laughed but it was teasing not cruel. Ochako could make out the vague reflection of someone patting Midoriya on the shoulder and another person's arm came into frame to swat at Gemma.

When they reached the top Midoriya did not focus too much on the view, already having shown it. They stepped into a nicely decorated restaurant, but what was interesting was when Midoriya demonstrated that it was slowly spinning so the patrons could enjoy the view without leaving their table.

“Do you think they could speed it up?” Gemma asked, she was sitting next to Midoriya, both had their backs to the window so Ochako had a clear shot of it.

“Like a dangerous merry go round?” Midoriya questioned, the sparkles still clung to his cheeks and eyelashes.

“Exactly!” Gemma gave him finger guns, that matched her real guns. She may be sparkly but without the coat Ochako could now see she was ripped, “Also the dangerous is redundant,”

“What kind of merry go rounds-” Midoriya cut himself off as a waiter walked by, “... anyway I don’t think thats a good idea, given that the points to you know, eat,”

“Thats just what makes it more fun,” Gemma waved off.

“Uh-huh,” Midoriya raised an eyebrow skeptically before turning to the camera, “Hope you guys don’t mind but I wont be doing much food reviewing this dinner, I’ll show it off but-”

“This is a night for us to celebrate, later losers,” Gemma saluted, Midoriya squeaked telling her off before cutting the video off. Ochako laughed glad for Midoriya that his nerves had been wrong.

As promised he showed a few shots of some fancy looking food. Ochako wondered how much she would have to save up for her and her parents to eat there, not as much as the flights of course… hopefully.

The camera placed on the table showed the scenery slowly revolving outside, getting darker and lights turning on as the sun set. By the time they were getting up to leave it was fully dark outside and Midoriya spared a moment to linger on a shot of Auckland at night.

“Izuku don’t forget your bag,” Gemma called as she shrugged on her jacket, also glittery.

“Thank-” The camera whirled around to where the bag should be. There was a slight ridge dividing the circle of the restaurant that spun and a ledges lining the outside where all the supporting beams were, “Oh sh-”

The camera started shaking as Midoriya ran through the restaurant. The shot switching to another camera that caught Midoriya as he ran the other way almost bowling over a waiter and profusely apologising. All the while you could hear Gemma and several others laughing off screen.

“Oh? Look what we have here,” Gemma moved the camera to focus on a spot as the restaurant turned around, a bag coming into view that Gemma scooped up. It was probably Midoriya's seeing as it had a couple of All Might pins and Ochako wasn’t sure how popular he was internationally.

Gemma set up the camera to focus on the opposite direction Midoriya ran. It caught the moment he came around the other side, still staring worriedly at the window. Gemma whistled sharply gaining a few glares but a relieved look from Midoriya as she held up his bag.

They left the restaurant with a few apologies at the other patrons for being loud. When the camera switched it was back on Midoriya but Ochako caught a glimpse of Gemma shimmering in the background waiting around.

“Alright that's all for today,” Midoriya smiled, Ochako stomped down the slight disappointment resolving check out his other videos from his easiness and confidence on screen Midoriya must have been at this awhile, “I’m going to be touring all over the country so stay tuned for the series, I haven't showed you nearly how beautiful New Zealand is, I hope I can make it down to the south island too cause they have some really pretty scenery, for now I’m going back to the hotel and crashing hard, see ya!”

The video signed off to the end cards a recommended video and link to Gemma’s apparent channel that looked like some sort of fitness channel with how she was lifting weights in it. Ochako promised herself to check it out.

For now she subscribed to Midoriya’s channel checking the time to see if she could squeeze in another before going to bed. She was feeling like she could get away with it. The change in pace revitalising in a way. But really she attributed that to Midoriya’s natural cheer and charisma. Somewhere in there she had allowed herself to relax and get swept up in this dorky kids mundane adventure. It was exactly the kind of thing she wanted her parents to experience one day.

This was exactly what she had become a hero for, and now graduation was within her grasp. She just had to push a little more and then she would be out in the world able to do some good for her family and everyone else.

Ochako smiled at the screen, resolving to get some sleep and maybe she could squeeze in another video tomorrow morning. Before she turned off her phone Ochako glanced at the channel's name, snorting to herself. It was perfect.

Green Bean and Bags

#my hero academia #my hero academia au #mha #bnha #asks #ask request #asks welcome

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writinglionqueen · 4 years

Text

An Impatient Man

Photo credit to @thewrestlingobsessor

At first the cheers of the village grabbed at your curiosity. How loud they were....and for what? But then you heard it, on the lips of your servants as they rushed to-an-froe in the grand hall while you sat upon Drew’s grand chair.

“The King is back!” They shouted, scurrying to ensure their duties done. “He’s back! They won!”

Your king...he was back? He had won the war?

You stood to your feet just in time to see the doors to the grand hall swing open. A spew of soldiers came in, but leading the frock was none other than your pig-headed king.

The sight of him made your heart quicken. The way he was dressed only in his boots and his kilt, colored to represent his family name, a brilliant blue and black...him having forgone a shirt for the trek back to the keep made your body thrum with new life. Even with all the small cuts that littered his naked torso. His own blood crusted on those wounds though, keeping them from spilling anymore blood down his built body. Your king was not too mangled or hurt that you rushing towards him didn’t make him flinch. For his arms were held open as you ran to him, finding your solace within them as he held you close to his heart.

“My queen,” Drew murmured to you, “we won. We beat every one of those bastards from the South.” You looked up at his face, seeing his proud smile and bright blue eyes you loved so much.

You could care less if he won a war. God, you couldn’t give a damn what battle he won. He was home now and within your grasp. You could finally touch him again.

Without prompt or warning, you reached for his head, quickly bringing him down low enough for your lips to reach his. And Drew....Drew was happy to oblige in kissing his queen. He made a deep happy noise of pleasure as he kissed you just as deep and passionate as you gave him.

The two of you could care less about the hoots and jeers from the men. Most of them didn’t know what you and Drew were feeling. This was more than they could understand. To them, all they probably could infer was their king about to bed a woman, and not bed a wife. To some, they’d only bed the women in the inns, not caring for who that woman could be. They were only boys thinking that winning a war made them a man. They wouldn’t know what made them a man, until they were missing a woman that sported their rings on their fingers with pride.

You pulled away from Drew’s lips, taking on air as your eyes met his. Your king’s lips turned up into a small smirk, one that meant enticing fun. You looked away, your fingers coming up to run across the plans of your husband’s torso, feeling the muscle and hair beneath your light touches.

“Men!” Drew declared throughout the hall, looking up at his men who all had found a table to sit in. “Eat and be merry till your heart’s content!” That notion made the men cheer as servants were quick to bring hot meals and ale to every single man who was sitting. The room filled with the noise of tales and laughter as the men but, it didn’t stop your king from being the man you knew him to be, for he leaned down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear and in a growl so deep, it had you shivering in upmost delight, he quietly said, “I’m gonna go bed my wife.”

You let out a shaky breath before your king scooped you up in his arms and lead you off to your shared chambers. He was quick to deposit you onto the grand bed after locking the door behind the two of you. It only took seconds for his lips to be upon yours once your back was on the bed and he was looming over you. As an impatient man, he didn’t even bother to take you out of your dress or even remove his kilt. He just hiked up your skirts, moved his plaid out of the way before making your legs wrap around his waist.

You could already feel your wetness coat your sex within the first few minutes you and Drew has kissed in the grand hall. You had been aching for your king since the first day he was gone. And now that you could touch him and he could touch you, it didn’t take much for your excitement to get the better of you. And Drew...well...he could get hard at a moment’s notice. He probably had been aching for you just the same.

So without much work, your king pushed himself into your wet heat, making you throw you head back to gasp. Your king growled, his teeth nipping at the column of your throat as he bottomed out, fully sheathed in you.

“My Queen,” Drew growled. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks.” You could say nothing but gasp as he set on a quick pace, one that told of his urgency and passion for you. All you could do was hold onto your king, one hand resting on the back of his neck while the other one was planted on his naked back. His thrusts made your toes and fingers curl deliciously, It made your nails dig into the meat of Drew’s back, making them rake down. Drew gave a groan at that, his hips never faltering.

Drew moved so his face was inches from yours, watching you come apart beneath his form. Your eyes fluttering in the absolute pleasure of your king nailing the spot inside you that made your blood roar in your ears. It felt too good.

“God, I love this sight,” he growled in appreciation. You tried to look at him, focus on those brilliant blue eyes of his, but even that was hard as he was giving you such pleasure. He lowered himself once more, his forearms caged your head. His hips shifted, creating a new angle that allowed Drew’s cock to nudge that sweet spot inside you while rubbing your clit with every thrust he offered you. And you took it. You took it all. You took everything he was giving you with little whimpers and moans and cries of your king’s name. The feeling had your back arching, a deep cry leaving your lips and Drew moaned to watch you like that.

But then your hand tightened in his dark hair, using it as leverage to bring him down once more to kiss you. And he did. He swallowed your moans and cries, his tongue tasting each one as it licked into your mouth.

Your climax was upon you. You could feel it in the way your tummy started to flutter, feel that feeling deep within yourself, feel your core flutter around your king. Your own cries louder in your throat. And all was met with your king’s growl. He pulled away, his lips red and shiny with spit as he watched you in awe.

“Come on, my queen, give it to me,” he said to you. “Let me feel you.” A whimper passed your lips, a whine for your king, at his words.

“Drew,” you cried. Your legs tightened around his waist. “God, Drew.”

“Yes,” your king growled. “Yes.”

“Drew!” you cried one last time as your climax surged through your body. Your core holding your king like a vice and your tummy tightening just the same. You couldn’t help but clenched your eyes closed, getting lost in the euphoric feeling as your king cradled your head, holding you as his orgasm followed yours. His hot seed flooding your core had you shivering in delight. Drew thrusted into you a couple more times before his hips finally came to a halt.

The two of you were panting, coming down from the ecstatic you two shared. Your king was still cradling your head when your eyes fluttered open to peer up at him. His own blue eyes fluttered open to take in your face, flushed with pleasure. Even with the sweat dotting along his brow and his cheeks red from exertion, your king was still a gift from heaven. And you let him know as much as you pulled his head down to give him a lingering kiss. He kissed back sweetly, sighing into your mouth.

When he pulled away this time, he pressed his forehead against yours. He gave a happy sigh.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

“I’ve missed you as well,” you murmured back. Drew chuckled.

“Aye, I know, my queen,” he said before pecking your lips, “I’ve missed this as well.” Drew went on to your cheek and then nipped along your neck, making you hum as your hands lifted to card your fingers through his hair.

“I kinda wished you would’ve taken me out of this dress,” you sighed to Drew. It was a tease that had your king chuckling along your skin. His beard tickled and made the skin of your collarbone tingle in its wake. He peered into your eyes and you looked down at him, smiling.

“Well, you know that I’m an impatient man,” he said lowly, scooting up again to be face to face with you. The low tone of his voice sent a thrill through your body.

His hand moved down your shoulder at his words, sliding all the way to your belly before proceeding to smooth up your torso and to the ties of the dress.

“But for the next round, I guess the dress can come off,” he murmured. A gasp left you at the feeling of his member twitching inside you. Your hands scrambled to find purchase somewhere. Drew languidly rolled his hips against yours with a chuckle, not having bothered to pull himself out of you. The action had your head spinning, and his words that came next had your mind reeling for your king was always good on his word.

“I won’t be as impatient, my queen.”

Drew won so we all won last night. I mean....with an entrance like what he gave us....god there had to be no other choice than Drew winning and I was living for every moment of it. Like....it gave me such a visual of what King Drew looked like. I’m happy. I can die happy. Also I love to take a second to appreciate the fact I now have 1200 followers....and...I’ve only been in this fandom for 2 years. That’s fucking crazy. I love you all though. Thanks for loving my fics, loving Drew with me, and just being awesome. Stay awesome coz we’re thriving out here in Claymore Country!!! ~The Queen of Claymore Country (self proclaimed) 💛🖤👑

Tag: @acon1120 @adriennegabriella @amandalynngraves @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @ar3le @artemisapalla316 @ashkrystal @astolenheartnkiss @axelwolf8109 @baemcintyre @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @beckyann6879 @bigbabyscottishpsychopath @brownskinafro @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @commando-claymore @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @curlyafrogirl @daddyslittlevillain @dalia-corven @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @drew-is-boo @drewshoneybadger @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan @fabulousrockstar @fireyegale @fivefootxo�� @flawlessglamazon @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @gold--gucciempress @hardcoresweet45 @heel-rollins @homeorbust @ihavenowilltolivelol @i-have-saracasm @itsicantbelievethis666 @jazzy-tzw @jeffhardyenigmawwefan @junglecassidy @kalliravenne @lilred91 @littlesuperstar @madebypointlesswerewolves @malethirsty @meishaabae @melblacc @meremaidqueen @midnight--luna @monocromaticstaircase @morenokatt @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @mox-made-me-do-it @moxnmurphy @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @nevertoofarfromivar @new-zealand-chic @nicolewoo @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @ofbeornandbjorn @pandaluver96 @queenofthearchitect @saiyandude @sassymox @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @sebstanismylife @shieldgirl18 @shortyiceheart @slytherinyourrpants @softmoxymuffin @superrezzy00 @taryn-dibiase @thatnerdwriter @thatpanpal @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thepalaceofmelanie @theworldofotps @thewrestlingwarehouse @trashofambrolleigns @twistedbeautifully @unabashedwrestlefics @undiscovereddisneyroyalty @undisputedmorgs @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @welcome-to-lovecraft-country @xbreezymeadowsx @yaint-me @youcantreignonmyparade

#drew mcintyre #drew mcintyre x reader #my king #my king series #drew mcintyre smut #smut

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perlukafarinn · 4 years

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Sweeter Than Roses

happy holidays @galaxystiel from your @destielsecretsanta2020 secret santa! sorry this is late but since i didn’t know i would have to pinch hit until a couple of days after posting date, this was the quickest turn-around i could manage. i hope you like it!

Dean loved the holiday season. Of course he did, he made about a quarter of his annual income in December. People liked to eat baked goods on Christmas, go figure.

But he hated the holiday season, too. Every single day was busy, every hour was rush hour. Sometimes he didn’t get the last orders done until an hour after closing. He had seasonal hires, of course, but in the three years since he opened Rolling Scones, he’d always ended up underestimated how much extra help he needed.

Thankfully, things quieted as soon as Christmas was over. The last week of the year, while still busy, was a calm oasis compared to what came before. This meant that for the first time all month, Dean wasn’t busy with twelve other customers when Cas dropped by.

Cas had been coming to Rolling Scones twice a week, like clockwork, ever since he took over the flower shop next door a few months ago. Dean had been sad to see Mildred, the previous owner, go but he’d been prepared to welcome his new neighbor. He’d even set aside a complimentary piece of pie for him, because who didn’t like pie?

The first time Cas had come by, Dean had been so dazed that he almost forgot not to charge him for the pie. Dean hadn’t even thought he had a type when it came to men but here Cas had been to prove him wrong, handsome and charming and weird in the exact right way to come across as endearing rather than awkward.

He always came about half an hour before the lunch rush, ordering a cup of coffee and a new type of pastry every time. Then he hung around while he ate, talking with Dean if he wasn’t with another customer.

And yeah, maybe Dean treasured those quiet moments with Cas, learning about flowers and their symbolic meaning and explaining to him how to make the perfectly flaky pie crust. Maybe he looked forward to the days Cas would come by the rest of the week. Maybe he’d added a few items to his menu since Cas started frequenting, just to give him the incentive to keep coming.

It was called being a good business owner.

This past month, Cas had come by for his coffee and pastry and taken them to go. He’d been busy, too, so stopping wouldn’t have been an option even if the bakery hadn’t been crowded and Dean hadn’t been on the phone with some asshole who absolutely needed sixty-four macarons in eight different flavors for a holiday party that same evening.

Today, though, was just a slightly-busier-than-average Monday. For both of them, judging by the foot traffic outside that Dean could see from his spot behind the counter.

Cas even arrived a little bit earlier than usual, carrying a huge bouquet of red roses.

Dean watched him, amused as Cas navigated his way past the chairs and tables, head just barely poking up past the flowers in his arms.

“What’s this?” he asked as Cas finally arrived at the counter.

Cas placed the flowers down, giving Dean an abashed smile. “Cancelled order. A young man was intending to propose on Christmas Day but apparently, his girlfriend had different plans.”

“Yikes, poor guy.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “But I felt the bouquet should be enjoyed by someone, so I thought of you.”

Dean grinned. “You’re not planning on proposing, are you? ‘Cause I like you but I don’t think we’re there just yet.”

“For the bakery,” Cas clarified, cheeks growing pink. “I - uh, I thought they might look nice in your window.”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” Dean picked up the bouquet. It was heavier than it looked and up close, the smell of them was almost overwhelming in its sweetness. “Thanks, Cas. I don’t gotta feed them, right?”

“Only water.”

Dean looked around for some free space for the flowers then, failing to find one, put them back down on the counter. “So, what’ll it be today?”

Cas placed his order - a cup of coffee and a festive peppermint eclair Dean only offered around the holidays - and stood at the counter as he ate, talking with Dean in between customers. As soon as he left, Krissy walked up to Dean and smacked his shoulder.

"He gave you flowers?”

Dean rubbed the spot she hit - kid was getting stronger by the day. Maybe he should stop making her knead the bread. “Yeah?”

“And you didn’t take the hint and ask him out?” she asked.

“They weren’t for me, they were for the shop. It wasn’t a hint.”

Krissy crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Was it?” Dean asked faintly.

“I know they say your mind starts to go as you grow older but, wow.”

“I’m not that old,” Dean protested. “You’re… young.”

“Nice one, boss.”

“Shut up.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, observing the roses still sitting on the counter. “You’re not messing with me? You really think that was a hint?”

“He gave you red roses. Dude couldn’t have been more obvious if he walked up to you and shoved his tongue down your throat.”

Dean shoved at her. Krissy danced out of reach, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Go man the register," he told her. "You've got customers waiting."

She rolled her eyes but did as told. Dean picked up the bouquet, getting it out of her way, and went to the back to find something to use as a vase. As he looked, he thought about what Krissy had said.

Had Cas meant that gift to be romantic? There were times when they talked that Dean thought his feelings might not be unrequited but then, he usually dismissed it as wishful thinking. Cas had never asked him out. He usually responded to Dean's more overt flirting with a confused but polite smile. That had to mean he wasn't interested and was just too nice to say so, right?

But then again, red roses. Those were objectively the most romantic flower, even Dean knew that. Sure, Cas had said they were for the bakery, but he'd also said I thought of you. He could've thrown them out or donated them or done whatever he did with flowers he couldn't sell. But no, he'd brought them to Dean, because he'd thought of him.

And Dean had gone and screwed it up by making a bad joke.

He needed to make it up to him. Just asking him out wouldn’t be enough and it wasn’t like he could give Cas flowers back. But, Dean considered, an idea forming in his mind, he could give him something else.

It took a couple of tries. Dean’s first attempt ended with a soggy middle. His second in burnt edges on the carefully crafted apple/rose petals. His third was perfect, the apples sliced not too thick and not too thin, curling up beautifully in the oven as they dried while still retaining their vibrant red color.

He stared down at his creation, cooling on the counter in his bakery’s kitchen. It was an apple pie and a rose bouquet rolled into one, the apple slices serving as petals arranged on top, sweet and tart just the way Cas liked best.

Cas wasn’t due for another visit until tomorrow but Dean was too nervous to wait. Both Krissy and Kevin were working today and the lunch rush wouldn’t start just yet, he had the time to drop by next door and deliver his gift. And possibly ask Cas out, put his heart on the line for what might just be a simple misunderstanding of intentions.

No big. A couple of minutes, in and out.

He put the pie on a plate, covering it with cloth for the short trip over to Cas' shop. Krissy dryly wished him good luck on his way out, to which he responded with a raised middle finger.

("Good luck? He's just delivering pie."

"Oh, Kevin.")

Dean had only been inside the flower shop a couple of times since Cas took over. A lot had changed since Mildred left, most noticeable of all a window in the ceiling that let in the pale morning light, shining directly down on the counter where Cas was working alongside a dark-haired woman. He smiled as he spotted Dean at the door, turning to the woman to say something before leaving her alone with the customers and making his way over.

"Hello, Dean." God, had he always looked this beautiful? "What brings you here?"

Dean opened his mouth, then realized that he had no idea what he was going to say. Wordlessly, he shoved the pie at Cas' chest. Cas looked confused but accepted, pulling the cloth away.

"Oh, this is lovely!" Cas looked back up at Dean. "You made this for me?"

Dean shrugged, his ears growing warm. "Just- since you brought me those roses yesterday. Thought I'd bring you something nice in return."

"Thank you, Dean, but there was no need. It wasn't any trouble for me, I had the roses by chance and no one else to give them to."

Dean's stomach sank. So it hadn't been romantic after all. Krissy had been way off and Dean had been desperate enough to believe her.

“It’s, uh, no big.” Dean cleared his throat. He needed to get out of here, quick. “I was gonna test out this technique anyway, so I figured I might as well try it on someone. Anyway, I gotta go back. Busy time, you know how it is.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you again for the pie.”

“No problem.”

Krissy had the good sense not to say anything when Dean returned less than two minutes after he left. She must have explained to Kevin what was going on because for the rest of the day, the two of them were model employees, quiet and helpful - in other words, nothing like their usual selves.

Dean sent them home early, figuring he’d use the time it would take him to close up by himself to stew in his disappointment and get it out of his system before he got home. He hadn’t lost anything, after all. He and Cas hadn’t broken up. It was just a stupid crush, a passing infatuation, and Cas would still be his friend once he got over it.

He’d be fine.

He’d almost managed to convince himself he believed that whole crock of shit when someone knocked on the door. Dean looked up, ready to tell them off when the bakery was so clearly closed, but stopped short when he saw Cas standing outside, giving him a small wave.

Dean was tempted to pretend he hadn't seen him, or to wave him off under the pretense of needing to close up quickly.

He'd need to talk to Cas again sooner or later, though. He closed the register, walking up to the door and swinging it open. A cool breeze greeted him. Dean now noticed snowflakes lazily drifting from the sky, covering the ground in soft, powdery snow.

Dean stood aside but Cas remained in the doorway, looking nervous.

"I think I may have misunderstood you earlier," he said. "After you left, Meg told me that the pie was- that it might be a romantic gesture?"

Dean stared at him, his face on fire. Great, so Cas had been completely clueless and this Meg chick had to go and rat him out? And now he was here to, what, make sure Dean knew nothing was going to happen?

"Was it?" Cas prompted after a long silence.

Dean looked away. "Does it matter? Look, I promise I'm not gonna make things awkward if that's what you're worried about. Nothing has to change, I'll get over-"

"There was no proposal," Cas blurted. "I just wanted to give you flowers."

Dean blinked. "You-?"

"I intended to be honest with you but when the moment came, I lost my nerve." Cas smiled sheepishly. "So I made up a story about a botched proposal. The truth is I like you and I've wanted to ask you out for a while."

Dean laughed. He couldn't help it, this situation was beyond ridiculous.

"I wasn't testing out any new techniques," he admitted. "I just wanted to give you pie."

Cas' smile widened and if he'd been beautiful before it was nothing compared to now, beaming and pink-cheeked, eyes sparkling in the artificial glow of the streetlights. Dean wanted to kiss him so bad and for once, he had no excuse to hold back.

Cas must have been thinking the same thing because they met in the middle, noses bumping in their excitement, before Cas cupped Dean’s cheek and tilted his head, bringing their lips together. It was a sweet kiss and Dean smiled as he could taste the apples and cinnamon on Cas’ lips.

Dean’s heart was pounding as they parted, stomach fluttering with what felt suspiciously like butterflies.

“I know offering pastries to a baker might be as useless as offering flowers to a florist,” Cas said, “but I have some pie left over if you’d-”

Dean cut him off with a quick kiss. “Baker or no, I never turn down pie.”

But even with the promise of pie Dean was in no hurry to move and neither, it seemed, was Cas, because they lingered in the doorway, trading kisses until their noses had gone cold and Cas’ dark hair was dusted with melting snowflakes.

#galaxystiel #perlukafarinn writes #deancas #destiel #spn fanfic #au fic #first kiss #fluff #bakery au #your wish list said you wanted fluff and love food AUs so i hope this delivered!

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ladykissingfish · 4 years

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The Great Akatsuki Bake-Off

*this was a request in my inbox, I’m so sorry Anonymous I accidentally deleted it before I could reply, but I saw your message and here’s the response! ❤️*

Premise: The Akatsuki is broke af (again), and Pein comes up with the idea of having a bake sale to earn money. Every member of the Akatsuki makes a dessert to sell; chaos (or hilarity) ensues.

**Also I picture them setting up tables outside of one of the Akatsuki hideout caves which of course is equipped with a fully functioning kitchen because why not Jim**

Pein

It was his idea, he’s the leader, so naturally he ain’t cooking. The most the Pein-body will do is sit in the kitchen with Konan while she cooks, offering his opinion or praise.

Kisame

Kisame isn’t the biggest fan of sweets, so is at a bit of a loss for what to make. In the end, he decides to go with something that’s decidedly more savory than sweet; bacon-flavored scones with a maple syrup glazing. This requires some kneading and precise shaping, the latter of which requires small, delicate fingers that Kisame borrows Konan for. Should be noted that he wears a pink Kiss The Cook apron, and he blushes like crazy when Konan reads it and delivers one to his cheek. He gets a bit over-exuberant with the icing, getting more of it on the table than the actual scones. However, the end result is light, fluffy, and absolutely delicious. Deidara especially loves the bacon aspect, and is able to snitch a great number of these until Kakuzu catches him and forces him to pay up.

Deidara

Deidara would make a classic lava cake. He’d know absolutely nothing about this dessert beforehand; he’d be going through a cookbook, his eyes would fixate on the word “lava”, and he’d be sold. Sasori insists that he put on rubber gloves beforehand, because “Nobody wants your hand-drool in their food, brat.” Lava cake requires a very delicate touch and precise timing, something that Deidara has had to become familiar with when deploying his arsenal of bombs. Yet despite being careful he would have to start and re-start this mix many times; maybe he gets eggshells in the batter here, or mistakes oil for milk there. The inside of a lava cake has to smooth and liquid-y but the outside has to be soft yet firm; a single minute in the oven can make the difference between wonderful and awful for these little cakes. When he finally perfects one, he’s ecstatic; but the rest of the group is horrified, at how destroyed the kitchen is. Chocolate batter and powdered sugar covering every wall; yet, somehow, the guy himself remains spotless. Also, Deidara has made another critical error; he assumed that because the recipe was for a cake, it was for a LARGE cake that he could cut into sections and sell piece by piece. However, lava cakes are always small, individual desserts ... and Deidara has only made ONE. Still, he’ll take his one beauty and sell it almost immediately, leaving him time to wander around and filch “free samples” from everyone else’s dishes.

Zetsu

Nobody wants Zetsu trying to cook, because everyone is terrified of what he’d put into his creations. However, White Zetsu insists that (t)he(y) wants to participate, so the others hesitantly let him do so (with everyone periodically coming in to monitor him). His contribution? Pie. Zetsu knows that the key to delicious pie is in the light flakiness of the crust, and he creates several pies that literally melt in the mouth. And he doesn’t just do one flavor; he does apple, blueberry, cherry, and something he calls “surprise berry” ((which is really just a mix of raspberry, blackberry, and strawberry). Before Tobi goes to help Itachi, he’s in charge of helping Zetsu gather up the fruit, and he helps to peel and core and pit and wash until “my hands are really sleepy Zetsu-san!” Zetsu thinks his pies are perfect creations as a whole but Kakuzu insists he cuts them into individual slices to maximize profits, which White Zetsu balks over but Black Zetsu tells him to be quiet about.

Konan

Konan is a delicate, beautiful flower, so naturally anything she makes would reflect this. After much deliberation, she decides to make her version of a layered lemon mascarpone cake. The cake itself is a wonderfully moist vanilla sponge infused with lemon curd, layered with a thick lemon, honey and mascarpone cream, topped with fresh berries, and a light sprinkle of chopped pecans. At first she was only going to make one cake and portion it out into about 20 small pieces; but the demand for it was so high that Kakuzu told her he’d stay and sell the rest while she got back into the kitchen and made another. She’s by far the neatest chef in the kitchen, as she cleans up her mess as she goes so when she’s through, all she has to wash is the empty cake pan itself. She makes sure to save a large piece to secretly take to Nagato later; it’s been a long time since he’s had anything sweet to eat.

Kakuzu

Kakuzu doesn’t want to cook; he’d rather be the one running the sale. However he recognizes that the more desserts they have the more profit they can make, so he grudgingly makes a few trays of brownies. His secret ingredient? Sour cream. At first everyone sees him putting this into his mix and think he’s gone crazy; however, after they try one ((and don’t think for a second he’s not charging his fellow teammates for even a tiny sliver)) they’re blown away by how good they are. After he sets his items on the table, he’s the one who collects the money from the customers. Has to be talked down from the exorbitant prices that he tries to charge people at first. “How much for a piece of blueberry pie?” “500,000 ¥.”

Sasori

He really isn’t into baking (because why would he be? he doesn’t eat) but he knows how to read and follow a recipe. After some careful thought, he chooses to make cupcakes. At first he resolves only to make a dozen, and to keep it all one simple flavor: the chocolate with vanilla frosting that’s in the recipe. Yet as he stands there, a feeling takes hold of him; he remembers happier times, perched on a stool in the kitchen and watching/helping his grandmother as she cooked. That nostalgia drives him to get more creative, and make MUCH more than intended. Some of his creations are great; such as his ginger-chocolate cupcakes with fudge icing. But others, like his broccoli and carrot cake topped with “spicy” cream cheese, not so much. Regardless, the majority of his creations sell, which Sasori’s pleased about. Should be noted that Kakuzu did not entirely trust Sasori not to put some kind of poison into his dessert, so he forced Hidan to sneak and taste-test everything (as he’s the only one who would regenerate from certain death). But Hidan wouldn’t know arsenic from cinnamon; and he winds up with a hell of a stomach-ache after his forced culinary servitude.

Itachi and Tobi

Seeing as how he loves dango so much, Itachi decides to make several dozen sticks of the tri-colored sweet rice dumplings. He keeps the pink dumpling the common strawberry flavor, and the white plain, but he does something special with the green ball, flavoring it with vanilla extract and green tea. Because Tobi is a nightmare in the kitchen (and because he needs supervision when it comes to sweets), Itachi allows him to help, mainly in the form of sticking the dumplings neatly on the stick once they’re shaped. He’s a good helper, except for when Itachi takes his eyes off of him, as he likes to add icing, sprinkles, and a variety of decadent extras that don’t belong on this simple dessert. And it’s a good thing that Itachi makes so many, seeing as they BOTH sneak and eat quite a few when the other is distracted. Tobi is very helpful when it comes to pushing their wares, as his carefree, childlike demeanor attracts customers to their table.

Hidan

Hidan wants something that’s visually representative of him, so what does he make? Red velvet cake bars. The outside is covered with a white-silver frosting, but when you cut into it, the deep red of the cake greatly resembles blood. Hidan isn’t the best at baking (or cooking in general) so he asks Konan to help him when she’s not occupied with her own dish. He’s surprisingly calm and conscientious in the kitchen, keeping his swearing to a minimum and being extra-careful with measuring out ingredients and waiting on the oven to do its thing. He borrows Kisame’s Kiss The Cook apron, only he crosses out the second O and replaces it with a C. His bars come out slightly uneven but really good nonetheless. However, being Hidan, he can’t resist throwing in a prank; he saves some of the cake batter and holds it in his mouth, then, after taking a bite of someone else’s fare, claims that it’s poisoned and spits “blood” out of his mouth, which freaks out their early customers until Kakuzu catches him and exiles him back inside.

#the akatsuki #bake sale #cooking with the Akatsuki? I’d 10/10 watch that show!#pein #konan #deidara #sasori #tobi #zetsu #itachi #kisame #kakuzu #hidan #deadass now I’m hungry af 😫#also I’m sad nobody made my favorite: lemon bars #headcanon

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jovialyouthmusic · 3 years

Text

Go Shorty!

(It's my birthday!)

In a kind of weird reverse universe, this is my gift to anyone who enjoys my Bastien Lykel fics, queued to be posted on my birthday. I've noted Fabricio's recent image change and it inspired the following - what would Bastien's family think if he shaved off his iconic goatee? Enjoy, its all fluff xx

Word Count 2035

Double Trouble

The last lecture of the week completed, Sophia was in her university office just putting her papers together when the faculty secretary put her head round the door.

‘Sophia, your home help has been in touch, she said it’s urgent’

‘Thanks Lizzy, I’ll be leaving soon anyway. It’s been a long week, I’m glad I’ve nothing on this afternoon.’ Sophia turned her mobile phone back on to see that Morag had left her a voice mail. She held the phone at arm’s length as she played back the sound of a harassed young woman and a squealing toddler in full meltdown.

‘Mrs Lykel, I’m sorry tae bother ye, but yer wee lassie’s upset, and her father cannae soothe her. Please call back when ye can. Or just come hame.’ Sophia frowned. It wasn’t like Bastien to fail to settle Beatrice. Little princess that she was, she was Daddy’s girl while Sophia was out at work through the week and welded to Sophia’s side at the weekend. She dialled the landline of their top floor regency apartment in the centre of Edinburgh that the University had allocated them. It was Bastien who answered, and all was quiet beyond his voice.

‘Sophia!’ he sounded flustered ‘Morag’s just got her to settle, did you get the message?’

‘It’s an odd time of day for a nap, is she running a temperature?’

‘Errm no, she’s hot, but she’s not ill. She’s just been crying...’

‘How do you know she’s not ill if she’s hot?’ Sophia demanded, making her way along the corridor to the car park to their SUV. Her mind span with possibilities.

‘I uh – you’ll understand when you get here, I can’t explain right now.’ Sophia decided not to stop off at the shops on the way, hoping Morag could go and get what was needed before she clocked off for the weekend. She wished she’d had the foresight to order a supermarket delivery, but she preferred to shop herself. With or without the children, she loved browsing the aisles of Waitrose when it wasn’t busy. Bastien was a surprisingly poor shopper and stuck religiously to the list, whereas she’d discover little treats and bargains that wouldn’t stretch her salary. Living in the city was expensive, although not nearly as much as if they’d moved to London, and having Morag to help was a slight strain on resources. Setting up Bastien’s security consultancy was taking longer than expected thanks to the complexity of looking after twins, and the retainer from King Liam in Cordonia was only just enough for small luxuries.

As soon as she opened the door to the apartment, Morag was there pulling her coat on and shouldering her bag.

‘Morag, I was hoping you’d be able to get some supp…’ Sophia started, but she was already pushing past her to the landing outside.

‘Ah’ll be back the Monday.’ she said shortly, and Sophia was left peering over the banister to the stairwell after her rapidly retreating figure, wondering what had happened. She turned back inside to meet Bastien holding Theo.

‘Mama.’ he crowed in jubilant greeting. Bastien stepped out of the shadowed hall, and all became clear.

‘Bas, you shaved!’ she gasped. She’d never seen her husband without facial hair in the few years she’d known him. He still had a neat ‘tache, but his trimmed goatee was gone, his chin and jawline bare. He looked sheepish, and she knew she shouldn’t have teased him about the streak of white in his beard. He handed over Theo, who pointed at Bastien.

‘Dada face.’ he proclaimed.

‘Yes, I thought perhaps…’ his voice trailed off ‘Well, that is, I mean...’

‘Beatrice didn’t like it, did she? Honestly Bas, you should have thought – why didn’t you say something?’ He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

‘I thought perhaps a younger image might drum up some more business.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, age means experience, people are more likely to trust a distinguished looking gent.’ she scoffed. He sighed in exasperation.

‘Well the damage is done. Beatrice took one look at me and bawled her eyes out. Morag tried to calm her down, but every time she saw me again she’d set off crying.’

‘Well no wonder, you look completely different. How about Theo?’ she asked.

‘You know him – a bomb would go off and he wouldn’t flinch.’ In response Theo wriggled to get down, bored at the adult conversation. He toddled off to the toybox in the lounge to rummage for his current favourite, a shape sorting puzzle.

‘Well, I’d better go and take a look at her.’ Sophia sighed. ‘If she’s been crying all morning she’ll probably not wake up for a while.’ She feared that the disruption to her sleep schedule meant they’d be in for a rocky night at the very least, if not a couple of days. She opened the door to their bedroom a crack but could see little, as the curtains were drawn tight. Normally they let a little light in for daytime naps so the children would know night from day. She crept in and let her eyes adjust to the gloom. Beatrice lay on her back in her day clothes, one arm flung back over her head and her other thumb in her mouth. That wasn’t a good sign – she’d not used that form of self soothing for a couple of months. Her hair was damp and face flushed, but her breathing was steady and peaceful.

Sophia carefully held her palm over her forehead, feeling the slight heat coming off it. Bastien joined her, gazing down at the toddler, but she motioned him out of the room and followed quietly.

‘Well, she’s okay for now. I’d better be here for when she wakes up, so you can go shopping for the weekend.’ Bastien’s face dropped.

‘On a Friday? The traffic’s mayhem – can’t we order in?’

‘I couldn’t stop on the way back, and there won’t be any free delivery slots until at least Monday, you know that.’ She sighed. ‘If you take Theo with you it’ll be easier for when Bea wakes up, and you can play the ‘Dad doing the chores’ role, that’ll get you to the front of the checkout queue. Give him a banana, that will keep him happy.’

‘Narners?’ Theo called from the lounge, and came toddling to find Sophia, clinging to her leg and pulling at her clothes.

‘Lunch first, Theo, then Daddy will take you shopping. Won’t that be lovely? All boys together.’

‘Sopping’ Theo cried happily, then looked over at Bastien. ‘Mummy sopping?’ he asked hopefully. He knew Sophia was more likely to treat him than his father, although he did like pointing out the things Daddy couldn’t find. Perhaps he’d treat him more without his sister there to steal the limelight.

‘No darling, Mummy has to look after Bea.’

‘Bee cwy. Dada face.’

‘Yes, silly Daddy took his beard off. He’s funny isn’t he?’

‘Dada silly!’ Theo cried triumphantly and pointed at him. Bastien scowled.

‘Yes well okay, let’s all laugh at Daddy.’ he grumbled as Sophia picked Theo up and balanced him on her hip.

‘Well it’s better than crying’ she said acidly. ‘Now, do you want to make lunch, or shall I?’

-------

Lunchtime was much simpler than normal with just Theo to feed. The couple could eat their own food while the toddler busied himself with cheese sandwiches made with wholemeal bread. He left the crusts, but Sophia had discovered it pointless cutting them off, as he left some bread around the edge just as if the crust were still there. She often saved them to feed the ducks at the park with the twins. Bastien had literally just closed the door to take Theo out to the supermarket when she heard Beatrice stirring. She went into her quickly, to find her standing at the bars to the cot, hair curling round her face and cheeks blotchy.

‘Mummy.’ Her voice was croaky and she looked miserable. ‘Dada face!’ she told her. She stretched her arms up and Sophia scooped her up as she rubbed her eyes sleepily. Perhaps she’d think it was a dream.

‘Well hello my little Bea, you’ve had a difficult morning. Are you hungry?’ She nodded sleepily.

‘Sippy sippy, Mummy.’ The little girl was obviously thirsty too.

‘Of course darling, you can have juice. Do you want sandwiches?’

‘Widges, Mummy.’ She looked across to Theo’s cot. ‘Where Feeo?’ Sophia sucked in her breath. It was very rare that the children were separated and she braced herself for trouble.

‘He’s gone out to the shops to get more narners, darling.’ The little girl clung on to her and rested her head on her chest, seemingly pleased to have Sophia to herself. She carried her through to the kitchen and filled her sippy cup with juice. Gratefully Bea grabbed at it and drank greedily, eyes rolling back in bliss.

‘All gone’ she shook it upside down, sprinkling the last dregs on the floor. Luckily the sandwiches were ready from earlier so Sophia put them on the tray of the high chair. Bea shook her head and clung on tight as she tried to put her down.

‘Okay darling, you can sit on my knee this time’ she said gently, and sat at the table, the little girl firmly nestled on her lap. She reached out to take a sandwich and squeezed it in her fist before stuffing half of it in her mouth, crumbs falling everywhere. She was hungry, and Sophia wondered if she’d had anything to eat before her father’s transformation. She waited until she’d slowed down.

‘Morag told me you were upset this morning.’ she said gently. The little girl took a shuddering breath.

‘Dada face bad.’ she said, putting her hand to her chin. Sophia stepped in before the cycle of crying could restart.

‘I know, Bea. He shaved his beard off. He looks funny now, doesn’t he? Theo was laughing at Daddy.’ Beatrice burrowed into her side again, hiding her face. ‘It’s okay darling, he just looks different. He still loves you – and me, and Theo. Silly Daddy, he’ll grow it back.’

‘Where Daddy?’ she asked, voice muffled.

‘He took Theo out to get more narners.’

‘Sopping?’ Beatrice relaxed and looked up at her enquiringly.

‘That’s right. Is there anything you want from the shops? I can call Daddy on his phone and tell him.’ The tot looked thoughtful.

‘Ice kweem?’

‘Okay, if Daddy brings you ice cream will you give him a kiss? His face is all smooth now, like Mummy’s.’ Beatrice giggled at the thought.

‘Like Mummy!’ she exclaimed. ‘Daddymummy!’

‘You can talk to him on the phone if you like, tell him what you want.’ Sophia got out her phone and texted Bastien.

Call when you can, Bea wants to ask you for ice cream

It was a few minutes before her phone rang, during which time she had changed the little girl’s nappy and was dressing her in clean clothes.

‘Oh that will be Daddy, just wait a minute darling.’ Beatrice opened and closed her hands, demanding it for herself, but Sophia put it on speakerphone.

‘Beatrice is here, Bas. She wants to ask you something.’

‘Daddymummy!’ Beatrice burbled. ‘Ice kweem, Daddy.’

‘Come on now, say please.’ Sophia prompted. Beatrice put on her cutest expression, unaware that her father couldn’t see it.

‘Pweese Daddy, stawby.’

‘Okay Bea, I’ll get strawberry ice cream. I love you, my little Bea. I’m sorry I scared you.’

‘Silly Daddy. Kisses!’ There was a short pause before Bastien obliged, blowing kisses to his daughter. Sophia tried not to laugh, wondering where he was and who could see him.

‘Okay now Bea, Daddy has to get the rest of the shopping. He’ll be back soon.’

‘Bye Daddy.’

‘Bye, my sweeting. Be good for Mummy.’ Beatrice slid off Sophia’s lap and went off to the toybox, obviously happy with life, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

‘If it’s any help, I told her your face is like Mummy’s now, so be prepared to be called Daddymummy until she’s forgotten. You’d better grow that beard back fast, mister.’ she said in a low tone. 'and be prepared for a rough bedtime, she'll be full of beans after that nap.'

@sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @fluffyfirewhiskey @bascmve01 @rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @stopforamoment

#sophia x bastien #bastien lykel #double trouble

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Rating: Teen Relationship: Space Orc x F!Human Warnings: angst, avoidance, emotional constipation, repression, fluff, space orc

Word Count: 3812

insecurities are like another person in a relationship, whispering in the other’s ears till something happens.

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

Soulmates are something to rejoice over. Which is understandable, it's the person who is perfect for you. How could anything go wrong? It's your other half, your partner in crime, your true paring. Everyone believed it was a simple affair, you meet and then happily ever after. It was the basics until we found out there was life outside of earth, then things got a bit more complicated. New cultures to take into account along with physiology.

Things aren't as straight forward after that.

When I was a kid I use to fantasize about my soulmate. Would they be tall, short, fat, skinny? What kind of music do they like, and will they also eat their sandwiches without the crust? I adored the idea of having a new best friend to hang with. As I got older the idea never really left, morphing more into adult-type thinking. It isn't till I could translate my mark did I begin to have doubts.

It was an off chance that I happened to see the language my soulmate spoke, a weird situation really. I was fumbling about online and I saw it, just a new article that had a picture of the written language. It as scraggly and difficult to read, like a doctor's handwriting. With further research, I found exactly what species my mate was likely to be.

Orc.

I was excited at the time, I figured it out. My mate was to be an Orc, large creature with mostly human parts. To better prepare I did some more digging, looking up anything I could that wasn't video game lore. It was all so new and surprising. I had a direction now, an image to apply to my fantasies.

Since then I have studied extensively on Orc culture. Learning the ins and outs of how they live, socialize, idolize, and talk. It was all so engaging and rich in lore. It felt like I was getting to know my mate already.

The more I researched I soon had an inching doubt. It started off small, basic insecurities. As I read about their courting did I really give it some thought.

Orcs value strength in their culture. A strong mate is heavily sought after. If a soulmate wasn't of great value then they are known to cast them aside. The idea puts lead in my stomach. I'm not strong, or large like their women. I'm tall but I fit more in the string bean category more than anything. I could never be what a typical orc would want.

As I spiraled in these thoughts one thing became clear. I will not be putting myself through that humiliation. I can't stand the thought of being viewed so lowly by someone who is supposed to be my perfect match. To be laughed at by them or be a dirty secret will kill me inside. I can't be an embarrassment, I refuse.

Thereafter I ignored my mark, keeping occupied in school and work. A little while later it became easy to avoid thoughts about him. It was like I never had a soulmate.

It wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be.

After college I jump into my career, climbing the corporate ladder quickly. It's easy enough when you are married to your work. That even the thought of free time brings anxiety and stress. After a few years, I am exactly where I want to be. Traveling the world meeting new important people.

I have been everywhere and met every type of person. Orcs being one of those types of people. When I first saw one the excitement peaked its head, only for a moment. Then anxiety took over. What if it's him? The orc said his first words to me and the sigh of relief and disappointment was alarming. A few more introduction after that and the rising emotions settled. It was back to normal after that. Pretending that 'special' someone didn't exist.

Years passed and nothing happened. I didn't meet him or even get a trail. My soul felt numb, everything felt numb. It's hardly noticeable after so long, just a hole I've dealt with. I tried dating to fill the void but no one wants to date outside their partner. Anyone who does has lost their loved one already, wanting to also fill the void. Once they find out mine is still out there they break off quickly. So I focus on my career, it's all I have.

In my early 30s, I'm working in Germany. A lovely place but I always preferred the isles of Scotland, specifically Skye. At the embassy passing around some documents, I bump shoulders with an imposing figure. He is quite tall and buff, the poster child of orcs if I've ever seen one. He twists around, apologizing for the shoulder check.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Shouldn't have had my focus too far in the clouds while walking a crowded room," he smiles curtly.

I stare blank face at him, all primary functions failing. I can hear- feel- my heart beating against my chest. Everything is cold, my fingers numb but tingly. My vision tunnels and my brain just screams one thing. Run.

Rudely I turn and quickly walk away, giving no further reaction or words to my mat- to the stranger. I don't have a direction as I make it out the nearest door. I close it swiftly behind me, leaning against it. Sliding down to the floor I ball up. Pressing my knees to my chest and begin crying. Years of repression and closeting emotions are now boiling over. The sadness I ignored, convincing myself that they do not exist, is all on the surface.

I hiccup, stubbornly wiping away tears on the floor of a bathroom. All I can think is,

Fuck.

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

I have to say I've gotten good at not only avoiding emotions but people too. A week and a half of only catching glimpses of the orc. Which is a lot of glimpses, he is out and about often. It helps I'm stuck in my office for the time, only leaving for lunch. Still, he is always around when I'm out.

After I can pretend I've forgotten about him does he show up in my office. Knocking on my door a little after lunch. Too focused on work I don't hear him come in. I look up from my desk and choke.

"Hello again," he smiles," I have a folder for you, Reggie asked if I could bring it by."

"uh," I stare. My fingers grip the pen roughly, my fist almost shaking with the tension. The only thought running through my head now is, 'don't say anything'. If I talk then he will know. Then he will reject me. Then I can't go on pretending.

"You alright," he flicks the folder against his chest," didn't mean to startle you or anything. I know orcs can be kind of intimidating." I almost snort at the irony of that statement. Very intimidating indeed.

Instead of answering I hold out my hand for the folder, my other still white gripping the pen. He quickly crosses the room, handing me the folder before walking back to the door. With a curt wave, he is gone.

Once the door clicks into place I take in a greedy breath, slamming my head into my crossed arms. I groan, mumbling into my fist. My brain is muddled and my heart conflicted. I yearn to follow him but I also crave to leave back to the states. But one thought is resting quietly in the back of my head.

He looks good in those pants.

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

This idiot is now making it damn hard to avoid him. It's like he has made it his mission to get me to talk. Intercepting my way to my office in the mornings, meeting me at lunch, or delivering things to my office. He is determined, I'll give him that.

I'm almost running out of excuses. It's hard to make excuses without talking. I'm almost convinced he thinks I'm mute. Which would have been a grand way out if it wasn't for my coworkers plotting against me. As I talk with them they try to bring him into the conversation, promptly shutting me up.

I learn at some point his name is Garson. When I first heard I actually blushed, like a school girl! It was just his name and he didn't even say it. I will never understand the inner workings of soulmates but Garson always makes my controlled emotions run rapid.

As I sit in my office, absentmindedly writing my door opens. I don't look up, lost in thought for the hundredth time today.

"Hey," that deep -sexy- voice says. I sigh, shoulders slumping. I glance ahead, annoyed, and flustered. Garson waves shyly, holding up another folder. At this point, he has become my special delivery man. "From Vanya," he sets the file down," she asked I bring it on account of her bum leg. I told her it would be a bad idea to play soccer with her teens." his tense chuckle makes my heart throb. I want to ease his anxiety, but I can't. I just shrug, still writing.

He sighs, walking back out the door. The click echoed around the room and I find myself slamming my head on the desk again.

"Fuck," I groan, pounding my fist on the folder.

As I remind myself for the hundredth time why I'm doing this I notice my notes. I shift the paper and grimace at what I wrote.

Garson. Garson. Garson.

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

I can't fucking take it! He is more determined than I am stubborn. Watching him find more excuses to come to my office is almost impressive in its own right. He has upgraded from delivery boy to a food service. At some point he has found out my favorite snacks and drinks.

He interrupts me at the door, handing me a coffee while ranting about his night. As I ignore him, feeling like the biggest idjit, other coworkers join in. the number of dirty looks I get doesn't outweigh the appreciation I have for them talking to him. I feel like complete garbage when I don't respond to him, letting him look like a fool talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to talk. Thank the kindness of others.

Around lunch he pops in for a chat, offering a spot next to him in the cafeteria. I shake my head, pretending to be too busy to interact with him. Every time he offers and I decline he leaves so dejected. It's so heartbreaking to see him like that.

Day after day he tries his damndest to make friends with me. I cannot fathom this type of devotion to someone he doesn't know. I'm almost tempted to think he knows but its impossible. He is just too friendly for his own good.

Some coworkers have cornered me to ask what is up, some more confrontational than others. Some are casual in their attempts, asking simply why I'm so mean to the orc. Others are personally offended for him, being passive-aggressive to the point that I ask them to take his attention off me if they are so angry. Some do, which I'm grateful for. But he isn't swayed so easily.

I sit in my office, alone, contemplating my choices. I can't keep dealing with this. The heartbreak I feel rejecting him is as bad as him rejecting me. I'm doing what I was afraid of him doing, worse is he doesn't even know.

I have to leave.

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

It was weak, I'll admit that. Asking for a transfer was probably the easiest way out. I know I should just talk to him, let him have a choice in this, but I can't. he is a sweet guy, everyone knows that, but he is still an orc. He deserves someone strong and proud as his kind is. It's impossible for me to be that.

As I wallow on my last week of work I clean up my drawers to distract myself. I sort through some papers when the door bangs open. The knob slams against the wall, bouncing away towards that alluring figure. Garson walks in, grabbing the door and closing it behind him. His sneer is alarming, along with his clenched fist.

"You're leaving," he shouts," are you kidding me?" he walks closer to the desk, turning to pace the length of the room. " I tried, I thought maybe it's because I'm an orc and you were scared of me. I understand that, humans are super sensitive that way. But no! I was nice, patient, and doing everything I could to be nonthreatening. Yet that didn't help did it? It seems like nothing was going to fix that. So my question should really be why is my soulmate running from me?" I gasp, gawking at him. He stops his pacing, glaring down at me with crossed arms. He shrugs," well? Why are you running from me?"

I can't answer, shocked and startled by this admission. He doesn't allow me the time to stew on the question. He shoots forwards, slamming his hands on the desk. I jump.

"Why are you running from me," he chokes on a sob," It's been killing me to give you time. To watch you every day and not be able to hold you. If you want to leave, then fine. I won't stop you. I just want to know where I went wrong, what did I do? What could I have done? Was I always going to be not enough for you? Well?"

I bolt up at his words," I was scared! I was fucking scared, ok?" we both startle at my outburst. His self-deprecating look mixed with his attempt at a sneer melt off his face. I sigh, "I didn't want to be rejected, I couldn't handle that kind of pain." I drop my head in defeat.

Garson ducks down onto his knees, catching my eyes. "Why did you assume I would reject you," he asks.

"because you’re an orc and I'm not," I answer.

He scoffs," and you're a human and I'm not. Do you really see that as being a huge problem?"

"Yes," I slap the desk," of course it's going to be a problem. I'm not strong or proud, I'm weak and antisocial. I cry every time I watch sad dog movies. I can't lift more than half my body weight. I also don't have anything worthy for you. I'm an ordinary human while you are part of a devoted species. I am not worthy."

Garson just stares after my outburst. He looks between my eyes then gives me a once over. He huffs, standing straight. He combs his fingers through his long hair, turning away with a laugh.

"You have to be kidding me," he laughs again. His chuckles turn into full-blown laughter till he is lounging against the door.

"What's so funny," I snap. His laughs trail off as he watches me. When he doesn't answer, I sit, arms crossed and lip sneered.

"Sorry," he looks to his feet," it's just ironic."

"Yea, how so?"

I watch him straighten from the wall and casually flop into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Everything is quiet as he collects his thoughts. I faintly hear the sound of shuffling outside my door. No doubt some people heard the shouting.

"When I first found out what species my soulmate was I was excited. I had a direction now, I felt closer to you. I was so excited I told everyone I could. People of my clan held their tongues at my joy, only giving pitiful looks but no words. I never noticed it. It's when my parents sat me down to explain did I get it," he shifts in his chair," 'humans are scared of us' my mom said. 'they are weak' my dad said. I became torn between the fear of hurting you and the fear of you not wanting me because you'd think I'd hurt you.

"When I finally read what your words said I let their words alter me. instead of rejecting the idea of you I sent out to change. I got jobs that interacted with humans and kept myself small. I'm not a threat, I never was. I took every chance to chat with humans, to get used to them. It was all in preparation for you. I was- am- scared of you." he meets my eyes, his so full of fear. My heart patters, the view of vulnerability shaking me to the core.

"y-you were scared of me," I point to myself. The idea is laughable. "So we are a bunch of idiots too worried about each other's feelings to just ask straight out what we actually felt. That is funny," I chuckle. I huff, sitting back in my seat.

The awkward silence should be stifling but we are captured in our thoughts. It's amazing in its irony that he was also the one scared. I feel relieved and foolish all at once.

"so," he bounces his fingers on his thigh," what now?" I shift in my seat, also curious about our direction.

"depends," I nibble on my lip," do you want me despite everything?" the question lingers in the air for me. The answer I've dreaded my entire life. The choice that decides my happiness.

"Despite everything," he ponders," you ignore me for weeks, avoiding any interaction. Not talking to me less you wish to reveal yourself, and requesting a transfer. Despite all that, despite the ignorance and stubbornness, I want you." the satisfaction that flows through me is startling. My hand shakes from the previous fear and now incomparable joy.

"I never thought I would hear those words," I sigh," thank fuck."

He stands from his chair, walking over the side of my desk. "So you want me too? Despite everything," he crouches down. I grab at his face, finally allowing myself the chance to admire his handsome face. His long tusk and pierced lip. His dark green eyes and even darker green skin. He is so beautiful.

I answer him by leaning forward and capturing his lips. Pressing fiercely against him, showing him my cyclone of emotions. He returns it in full, shedding his insecurities to just hold me.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against him.

"it's ok, I'm sorry too," he kisses me again. He cards his fingers through my hair, petting down its length. I don't want to leave this moment, it filling the hole that sat too long in my heart. Though one question makes me part.

"How did you know," I ask. He traces his nose over mine with a hum.

"How did I know what," he asks.

"How did you know I was your soulmate, I didn’t say anything," I clarify. Garson answers by leaning down to my neck and taking a large inhale.

"Fresh baked cookies and honey milk," he kisses my cheek," only my soulmate can smell so good."

I laugh," you can smell your soulmate?"

"of course, all orcs can. Do humans not have this," he leans back. I shake my head, taking the time to lean in and smell him.

"pine tree and blueberries," I ponder," no, pine tree and strawberries."

"pine tree and fruit?"

"I guess so," I shrug, grinning like an idiot. He smiles with me, leaning back in for another heart stopping kiss.

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

After the week is over I transfer back to the states. The distance is aching, the void opening as he isn't there to fix it. I call him every night, regretting more than anything signing those papers. I belong right next to Garson in Germany. Though I can see now that I deserve to deal with the repercussions of my actions. Still, it sucks.

A month in I feel as empty as I did before he showed up. The daily calls help but seeing him would be better. My work suffers as a result, to the point that I consider taking vacation time to visit him.

Soon enough I do just that, putting in a week-long vacation request. I forgo telling Garson of my visit, wanting to surprise him. It's exciting to be able to this with someone. I always watch couples on tv surprising each other like this. It's nice to feel so normal.

The night before my flight I start packing. As I collect my clothes I hear a knock at the door. Tossing the items down I go over and answer. I throw open the door expecting some salesman but I'm greeted to a hulking figure.

"Garson!" I jump him with a hug. I pepper his face with kisses, too caught up in the growing affection.

"Hey, nice to see you too," he laughs, holding me close. He walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he goes into my living room. He sets us both on the couch, leaning down for a kiss.

"What are you doing here," I ask surprised.

"What, can't come visit my mate?"

"Oh shush, you know that's not what I meant. I'm asking because I was just getting ready to visit," I point towards my room," I'm in the middle of packing actually."

"really," he strokes my thigh," I guess great minds think alike."

"I guess they do," I smile. Having him here is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I underestimated his importance until now.

We can't help but make up for lost time, making out like a bunch of teenagers on the couch till we make it to the bedroom. Pushing the luggage and clothes off the bed we make love for the first time. When he first pushes in it's like a puzzle finally coming together. I can't believe I was going to deny myself this, even with the chance of denial this is too great of a reward.

We lay in bed, me resting against his broad chest and him petting my head. We bask in the afterglow and silence, overjoyed with each other's company.

"I got some news," he mumbles, breaking the quiet. I hum, nuzzling into his chest. "I got transferred here," he answers.

I snap straight, looking down at him, "You're going to work with me?"

"yea," he smiles," it's exciting, I've never been to the states before."

"really? It's not much but now that you’re here perhaps it is," I cup his jaw, stealing a kiss while my excitement is hot.

"you flirt," he teases," I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," I mumble against his lips.

We fall asleep that night, curious but excited about our future.

I'm glad things worked out despite our ignorance. How could anyone deny their mate?

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I just.... I just love orcs so much. soulmate stories ain’t so bad either.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#orcs are hot #orc boyfriend #orc x reader #monster boyfriend #exophilia #Enigma-IM #fluff #soulmate #garson

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow.

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax.

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone.

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning.

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.”

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same.

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that.

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything.

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right?

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start.

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting.

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name.

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door.

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon.

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful.

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth.

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life.

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room.

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him.

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago.

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind.

“I get it,” Jody finally says.

Dean glances sharply at her.

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told...

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee.

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long.

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up.

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders).

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood.

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed.

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against.

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood.

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities.

Probably.

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this.

The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas.

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off.

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly.

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.”

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?”

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger.

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?”

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar.

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—”

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods.

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water.

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air.

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair.

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected.

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth.

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—”

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on.

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead.

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it.

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?”

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own.

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him.

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough.

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair.

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really.

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago.

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again.

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him.

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this.

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat.

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is.

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step.

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas.

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both.

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists.

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize.

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars.

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza.

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room.

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up.

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much.

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want.

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face.

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

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venusofthehardsells · 4 years

Text

Lead You Back to Me [one-shot]

Sam WinchesterxReader

Summary: In the aftermath of a witch hunt gone very wrong, you find yourself slipping deeper and deeper into grief, pushing everyone around you away, including Sam. What will it take for the two of you to find your way back to each other? Warnings: angst, loss of a child, grief and depression, self-hate all around, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation A/N: This is sad and I swear I didn’t mean to, I just wanted Sam to hold me and tell me he loved me. Shit happens. Enjoy or cry or whatever, I’m just grateful you’re reading! Let me know what you think if you want ♥

The hunt had been a bad one.

You knew it to the core of your being the moment you saw Dean's name flash on your phone screen in the darkness of your room.

Dean's name. Not Sam's.

Sam always sent you a text to let you know he was coming home to you, even if you didn't text him back, even if he'd only been gone a few hours. He always let you know.

If Dean was calling you, then…

Your throat was already thick with choked down sobs when your shaking fingers finally fumbled the phone to your ear just before it went to voicemail.

"Hey Y/N," came Dean's gruff voice. "We're on our way back."

You sighed in relief, but it came out as more of a quiet whimper.

"Still in one piece, your man, so don't worry, yeah? We're about four hours out. Listen, uh…" You could hear him hesitate as he considered his next words. "I know what you're going through ain't easy." He stopped again and you did your best to try and keep calm; something you had a hard time doing these days. "But this case… it was ugly. Sam's in a really bad place and he needs you. So be there for him."

Dean wasn't good with words, but his tone left nothing unsaid.

Since that witch hunt almost two months ago, you had barely left your bed. The days blurred together into a mindless cycle of sleeping, vomiting, crying and staring blankly into the wall or the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take you back into its numbing embrace. Hoping to not wake up again.

Your heart was in pieces. Every time you tried to pick them up and put them back together, the jagged edges cut you right back open and the seemingly unending grief inside of you poured into view until you were sure you would drown in it.

Sam had been there to cry with you, to hold your hair whenever the nausea forced you to your knees, to coax you into showers and back out again when you couldn't will your own exhausted limbs to move, to feed you even when you didn't want to eat. But most of all, he had held you in his arms long into the nights when the pain had grown so bad you could barely breathe and the only image in your mind had been of the witch's triumphant face as her magic ripped you open…

Through every nightmare, Sam had been there for you, steady as a rock you had hauled yourself against over and over.

The distress had made you blind to the possibility that Sam needed a rock too.

Ultimately, your grief wasn’t just yours to carry.

"Y/N?," came Dean's voice over the phone when you didn't answer, softer this time.

"Okay," you managed in a strangled whisper. It wasn't much, but it was all you could offer right now and it seemed good enough for Dean. You hadn't exactly been talkative lately.

"Okay. Good talk." He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Like I said, we're on our way. Four hours tops, we only stopped for gas. I'll see you when we get there."

He hung up and you were left once again in the almost total silence of the bunker.

Very slowly you lowered your phone to your lap, Dean's words echoing in your head.

Be there for him.

Be there for him like he had been there for you.

Be there for him like you hadn't been for a long time.

You swallowed and swung your legs off the bed, carefully putting your feet on the concrete floor as if it might bite at any given moment and force you to retrieve to the safety of your pillows and blankets.

When it didn't, you got up and turned on the light. It hurt your eyes at first; the only times you didn’t leave yourself in darkness was when Sam was there with you and decided you needed a break from the gloom.

The brothers had been gone for three days now and you had only left the bed to go to the bathroom once or twice during that time and your legs felt as solid as a five-tier mousse cake. The short few steps from the bed to the light switch had your vision blur and you were on the floor almost before you knew it, the dizziness surging over you with the force of the tide.You had to wait for it to ebb for several minutes before you attempted to get back up.

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have bothered.

You would have lain there on the cold, hard floor for those four hours it would take Sam to come home from the hunt and help you back into bed. Freezing, no doubt, every joint in your body stiff, and Sam would have been in a panic to find you like that, half-dead and not caring as he practically forced warmth back into you.

But now the guilt drew you to scramble to your feet and try again.

Be there for him.

You leaned on the doorframe as another wave of dizziness swept over you and waited with your forehead on the firmness of the wood until your heart had slowed down and the world stopped spinning. Sam was not going to find you on the fucking floor again.

With slow, careful steps, you made your way to the kitchen and took stock of the fridge.

It seemed your boys had kept it fully stocked on the off chance that you might actually eat something while they were gone. The shelves were loaded with your favourite things.

You had to blink away a few tears.

The only thing you’d managed to consume since they left was a single Mars-bar and you hadn’t even been able to keep that down for long. Nausea began to rise in you at the mere memory, but you fought it back down as you poured yourself a glass of water and forced yourself to drink it, slowly. When the glass was empty, you made yourself drink another.

Your stomach growled insistently. It had been several days since you had last felt hungry, as if your body had simply given up on trying to convince you to eat. The sight of food seemed to remind it that you needed more sustenance than air to survive and you had a lot to make up for.

With determination, you went to the pantry and found what you hoped you could endure: neutral crackers, white toast, a single apple.

You sat down on the doorstep and ate two of the crackers before even attempting to go back to the kitchen with your food. As expected, your vision turned blurry again, but it passed quicker this time.

It took you awhile to eat. Toasting the bread just enough to turn it crisp and shred the apple into tiny scraps seemed like small tasks, but in your state they felt herculean and very nearly made you give up.

However, you refused to just go back to bed and wait to wither away completely.

It hadn’t been far off. You wouldn’t move or speak or eat. Sam could only help you so much when you didn’t want to fight for yourself and he knew it, knew that he was losing you too. You had seen it in his eyes in the past week or so, the desperately buried knowledge that you were slipping through his fingers no matter what he did.

It should have made you angry at yourself, but you had been too far gone to really see it or care. All you had wanted was to vanish.

A large part of you still wanted that, but somehow those few, stern words Dean had spoken on the phone had flicked on a switch inside your head.

Be there for him.

You were not going to abandon Sam. Sam who had been strong for you even though he was probably hurting just as bad. You couldn’t do that to him. Even if all you did was hurt together, you had to be there for him too.

You couldn’t let that witch win.

With all the determination you could muster, you went back to the pantry and gathered a few more things. You were tired and wanted to sleep, but you reckoned you had slept enough for a lifetime already.

A look at the clock on the wall confirmed that you still had more than three hours before the brothers would be back and if it had been as bad as Dean had let on, they would no doubt be hungry and worn out. The least you could do was to make sure they had something to eat when they came home.

It was what you would have done in the past if you hadn’t been out with them on a hunt.

It was normal.

At least, it had been normal.

Now, the motions of turning on the oven and preparing the crust for the savoury pie you had made a thousand times before, felt foreign and unnatural to your hands. You chopped up vegetables at a quarter of your normal speed because your fingers wouldn’t quite close around the handle of the knife. The dough that you had once been able to knead in your sleep with your non-dominant hand now made sweat break out on your forehead and you had to take breaks to catch your breath.

Still, you went through the steps until the stupid quiche was in the oven and the smell of bacon and baked crust started to spread in the kitchen and made you bend over the sink to puke.

So much for eating, but at least you had put in the effort.

Feeling miserable and tired, but more accomplished than you had in months, you set the timer on the oven and went to take a shower. You were reeking of sweat and neglect beneath the scent of Sam’s oversized flannel shirt. He shouldn’t have to come home to that.

Not again at least.

The more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt and the more you realised just how much Sam had done for you.

You swallowed as you closed the door to the shower room and walked to the stall furthest from the door, the one you always used. All your products were stashed there, along with a few of Sam’s as well, and you stripped out of the flannel, grateful for the lack of mirrors in your little corner.

It still filled you with dread whenever you looked at the long white scar across your stomach where the witch had cut into you and stolen that tiny little life you had had growing there, barely even person-shaped yet and infinitely fragile, only covered in blood and magic.

You had to swallow hard and force yourself to turn on the shower.

The hot water streaming down on you eased the burning in your eyes and you were grateful for it. With movements small and shaky you began to gingerly wash yourself with your favourite shower gel, trying not to put too much focus on the body that felt so different and wrong under your touch.

There was the large scar on your shin as well from where you had landed on it when you tried to run from the witch and fell down half a flight of metal stairs.

Sam and Dean had been in two different rooms of the warehouse you had all been searching when they heard you scream and both had come running to save you, but by the time they reached you, it had been too late.

They had found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor, barely able to speak, while the witch had been trying to put that little, bloody thing into herself with magic. Before you could tell them what was happening, that they needed her alive to save you, to save the helpless little embryo in her grasp that your very soul was screaming belonged to you, the brothers had raised their guns and shot her. Dean through the head, Sam through the heart.

You clenched your teeth hard as you scrubbed on the skin of your arms, willing yourself back to the here and now.

Between Rowena’s best efforts and Cas’ waning grace, it had been difficult enough just putting you back together again. The other life inside you was irrevocably gone. There was no undoing it. You couldn’t go back and change what had happened, no matter how long you spent wallowing in the memory of it.

But you could make yourself presentable again and you could make sure there was food waiting for Sam and Dean when they got home from their hunt, even if it took every bit of strength you almost didn’t have.

When you deemed yourself to smell more like a clean human and less like a dead possum, you went on to lather a generous amount of shampoo into your hair that definitely needed a good rinse too. The soap stung your eyes, so you closed them and focused on the feeling of your fingertips rubbing your scalp. You had to admit it felt nice. And paired with the scaldingly hot water it helped distract you from the ache in your limbs, especially your breasts.

They had been swelling with milk for a while now, even though you had no one to feed anymore. Rowena had warned you with pity in her eyes that the magic the dead witch had used to open you up would have side effects like this and there was nothing you could do but wait until it passed.

It felt as though your own body was betraying you by keeping you like this, reminding you every time you moved of what you had lost. The first time you had had to pump out the milk you had cried on the bathroom floor for hours; Sam had had to pick the lock to get to you.

You just wanted it to stop.

Resolutely, you turned the water off and started toweling yourself dry. Unless Dean had finally foregone driving by the rules altogether, there was still time before the brothers were back. You could get yourself into some real clothes, set the table for the three of you and still have time to mix up a dessert.

It felt comforting having a purpose, but by the time you reached your room it became clear that you were spent. Plucking a pair of clean panties from your drawer and stealing a T-shirt from Sam’s almost made you topple over and as soon as you had put them on, you knew you wouldn’t get anything more done tonight.

In a haze, you walked to the kitchen and turned the oven off, letting the quiche sit in the residual heat to keep warm until the boys came back. Then you stumbled back into bed and drifted off into sleep almost immediately.

For the first time in weeks, it was heavy and dreamless.

You only got to spend one sorry hour in the darkness, though.

Maybe your body really had gotten enough sleep at this point or maybe you were just so attuned to his presence it automatically woke you up now.

Whatever the case, you opened your eyes sometime during the night and found Sam standing halfway between the door and the bed, watching you with those big, mournful eyes of his.

You sat up slowly, still groggy with sleep, but somehow more alert than you had been in a long time. A slight tremor ran through him at your movement, but then his lips quivered into the smallest of smiles and he sat down next to you.

Sam leaned in and kissed you almost chastely on the forehead. He smelled of the Impala, of fire and smoke, and you reckoned he hadn’t showered after coming back, just gone straight to you.

“You cooked.” His voice was low and trembled a little, and you leaned into him, placing your arms around him and your head on his shoulder where you could sense the faltering rhythm of his breath. He was still wearing his jacket, hadn’t even bothered to unzip it yet and you felt your throat grow thick at the realisation.

Sam had practically existed for you since the witch hunt, been soft and considerate and stronger than anyone ought to be, but now he was sitting here still wearing his jacket, hardly even able to offer you his usual reassurances or words of affection.

Something had gone very wrong out there.

You squeezed his big, solid frame that suddenly seemed oddly small in your arms.

“Are you okay?,” you whispered, stroking his back softly and you could feel how he shattered beneath your touch.

He pulled you tight against him and burrowed his face into your neck, his body shaking with sobs. It broke your already helplessly crushed heart to feel him like this.

Be there for him.

Carefully, you crawled onto his lap in order to sit closer together and let him cry against you for as long as he needed to. You kept stroking his back and his head, never shushing him and never moving away. Instead, you did your best to make him know that you were there, breathing steadily to maybe let some of your brittle calm seep into him.

Whatever had happened on the hunt, you knew he blamed himself. Sam Winchester was the strongest person you had ever met, but even he couldn’t carry the weight on the world on his broad shoulders like he so often attempted and as a result he had spent all the time you had known him feeling painfully inadequate in nearly every aspect of his life.

Maybe it had always been that way. People always died around him no matter how hard he fought, no matter how many he also saved, and in the end, he was left alone with nightmares full of faces of people he hadn’t been able to get to in time, an ever-growing list that had almost come to include you as well.

Right then and there, you knew you couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t leave him alone with the thought that you were one more person he had failed to save.

For something that felt like an eternity, you sat there with your arms around him, until finally his violent sobbing died down to sniffles and eventually faded completely.

You waited for a while before breaking the silence and asking in the softest tone in your register.

“Can you talk about it?”

He sniffled again and you could feel him draw a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Changelings,” he mumbled at last, swallowing hard. “We were… we were too late.”

His voice broke and took a piece of your torn heart with it.

“When we finally found their hiding place, it… it must have been days, I-I don’t know… I… We didn’t… I tried, I tried so goddamn hard, but he, he wouldn’t breathe and I couldn’t make him open his eyes, they wouldn’t open their eyes…”

Sam was shaking in your hold again and he clung to you now as if his life depended on it, clenching you far beyond comfort, but you let him. Your own fingers didn’t cease their almost mindless caress of his back. The front of your shirt was soaked in his tears and you realised your own face was wet too.

“They were just children,” he managed devastated and it felt as though a black hole had appeared right about where your stomach had been a few moments before. “They were so small and I, I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t… I’m sorry,” he sobbed and something in his trembling voice shifted. Somehow, your arms around him had never felt more inadequate. “If I’d just been faster, oh god. I should never have let you go back on your own, what was I thinking?! I’m sorry, baby, I’m so, so sorry. I nearly got you killed, I… I got our child killed…”

An icy cold fist closed around your lungs and squeezed.

He blamed himself. He blamed himself.

Of course Sam Winchester would blame himself for this, just like he did everything else. How could you have been so self-absorbed?

He needed you more than ever and you had shut yourself away in your grief, from him, from everything.

"I don't know how you can stand to look at me," he admitted quietly.

A whimpering little excuse of a sob broke from your throat like water slipping through your fingers. His words hurt so badly you couldn’t help it.

You wanted to cry rivers, but fuck, hadn't you already done enough of that lately?

With a body that trembled to obey, you pushed away from him enough for you to softly place your hands on each side of his face and forced him to meet your eyes in the half-dark.

You didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Instead, you just held onto his gaze until you could see that he understood you were not going to look away from him.

Very slowly, you leaned forward and placed your lips against his.

He hesitated at first, unsure of what exactly was kissing him: the woman he loved or a broken pile of grief that had assumed her shape, longing for oblivion?

The velvet of his mouth was not as easy to gain access to as you were used to, but after all this time, you supposed you deserved as much.

You pulled away just a fraction.

"Sam, if it weren't for you, I would be dead," you whispered, kissing his cheek the way he had kissed yours so many times when you had been at your lowest.

"You are everything to me." He let out a shuddering breath that might have also been a sigh of relief when you slowly kissed him on the other cheek too.

“And I love you”.

You didn't try to force another kiss on him. You didn't need to.

With your silent permission, he crashed his mouth to yours so fiercely you were glad of his arms holding you to him. His lips burrowed into you over and over again with a desperate hunger you were more than willing to sate, even if it meant you would pass out before coming up for air. He hadn't kissed you like this since it happened, hadn't let him. Instead you had turned your head away until eventually he stopped trying. Chaste pecks on your forehead had been all you had allowed in your liminal state of silent despair, but now you realised just how starved you were too.

You couldn't help but moan loudly when his tongue pushed past your lips and the sound made him draw back in surprise. His eyes had fallen shut as you kissed, but now they were wide open as if truly seeing you for the first time that night: freshly-showered, heat radiating off your body and irises blown black with want, mirror images of his own.

But, more importantly, behind the dark pools of lust, you reckoned he could finally see another person staring back. You were truly there with him in the here and now.

“I want you so much, baby,” he rasped and you realised that he was still trembling under your touch. “Please… let me make you feel good again?”

His lips were back on yours as soon as you nodded and you eagerly opened your mouth, wanting his tongue back. You weren’t just hungry, you were practically ravenous for him.

Moans started building up in your throat almost faster than you could let them out and Sam tilted his head to continue kissing his way down your jaw and your neck, reveling in the sounds he drew from you, but never straying too far from your lips.

Instead he used his fingers to trace patterns of electricity down your back and up your arms, across your collarbones and down your chest again. You whined a little when his hands grabbed hold of your sore and swollen breasts, but he quickly took the hint and went on to drag his hands further down your body. The heat nearly erupted inside you when he cupped your mound through your panties and proceeded to slide his fingers past the flimsy waistband to stroke your clit.

Immediately, you began to rock yourself against his hand. It had been too long, his kiss alone had left you soaked and your walls were already quivering with need.

“Sam, please,” you begged, fingers clutching at his hair. “More-mff!”

He cut you off by shoving his tongue back into your mouth, effectively swallowing your gasp as he pushed a finger in between your wet folds all the way down to his knuckle.

"I've got you, baby," Sam whispered between heavy kisses. "I've got you."

He easily stroked you right to the edge of what you could take, crooking his finger inside of you just right and you dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on tight as hot sparks of pleasure flared up from where he was touching you, making you groan into his mouth.

Your cunt greedily accepted another one of his long fingers. They filled you so perfectly you were certain you would die if he took them away. With the heel of his hand he kept rubbing your clit while scissoring his fingers in you, reacquainting himself with the feel of you until at last the pressure in you burst and you came with a wordless cry, head buried in his shoulder and hips stuttering against him.

Sam kept stroking you through the orgasm, prolonging it until you were so sensitive you had to squeeze your walls around him to make him stop.

He stilled his hand and you slumped against his large frame, breathing in his scent as you came down from the rush. A rush, you realised, you had missed more than you knew.

You hadn't touched yourself since the witch hunt, disgusted as you were with your own body and out of your mind with grief. The few times you had thought about it, any urge had wilted as soon as you slipped your fingers past the fabric of your underwear and you had ended up crying instead. And just as you hadn't let Sam kiss your lips, you had turned away from his hands as well whenever he had indicated he wanted more than to hold you. The knowledge that his child was gone from where it had been growing inside of you, that your body was now empty had made any further intimacy with Sam impossible to bear. Your mind wasn't idle telling you over and over again how spectacularly you had let him down, how you were worthless now, worthless and empty and broken. A failure, at everything.

You were nothing but a brittle shell of a person, fractured beyond repair and Sam would realise soon enough, too.

"Sweetheart?"

You realised you must have sniffled out loud enough for him to hear.

Be there for him.

Banishing all thoughts of your own misery the best you could, you leaned down and kissed him on the neck, just inside of the collar on his red and white flannel.

"Take this off," you whispered, slowly undoing the topmost button and you could feel a shudder run through him, all the way to his fingers still in your cunt.

"Are you sure?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed and started in on the next button, brushing your lips languidly over the underside of his jaw.

A low groan began in the bottom of his throat, but he didn't move.

"I- I need to hear you say it," he demanded in a strained voice, clasping your hands in his unoccupied one before you could snap open the next button of his shirt. "I have to know you mean it."

Why did he have to see right through you like that? Even high-strung with arousal and the pent-up adrenaline and distress of a hunt gone bad, he still read you like an open book.

Your throat felt as hard and unyielding as a glass ball, but you managed to speak around it.

“I do want it, Sam,” you got out, briefly proud that you could keep your voice steady. “I want to feel you… here…” You clenched your walls around his fingers, keeping his hand in place. “Please, darling. Make me yours again?”

His fingers began to lose their hold on your wrists and so you eagerly continued unclasping the buttons of his flannel. You had to bite your lip not to whine too loudly when he pulled his fingers from the snug warmth of your pussy, but the sound quickly turned into a gasp as he tore the last few buttons of his shirt himself, shrugging out of the plaid and practically ripping the white undershirt next.

"Anything you ask, baby," he breathed onto your neck before kissing your sensitive skin there. You arched up into the feeling of his mouth, letting him guide your body down onto the sheets beneath him. His weight on top of you was a welcome one and you laced your fingers in his messy, windswept hair as he licked his way from your neck onto your tongue, keeping you close while his hands worked first on your panties, then on the zipper of his jeans.

As soon as all offending pieces of clothing were gone, you folded your legs around his hips to feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock against your core. You ground your hips upwards once, twice and Sam let out a strangled groan at the feeling of your soaked folds sliding over him, teasing him harder and harder.

He pressed your hips down with one hand to make you stop and grabbed his cock with the other, lining up with your entrance, still slick from your previous orgasm. As soon as the bulbous head of his cock began pressing into you, just the first inch, you threw your head back into the pillows with a cry. The stretch of him was divine, it was almost too much. Tears of pleasure rose to your eyes and you clung to his shoulders as he slowly sank into you until his thatch of dark hair was flush against yours and you were so deliciously full of him you wanted to scream.

“F-fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Sam moaned into the side of your neck. Both of you trembled with the desire coursing through your joined bodies and you whimpered when he drew his hips a little back from yours, only to thrust back in and make you gasp instead.

Sam set a steady pace of slow, deep thrusts that allowed you to savour each and every heavenly drag of his cock against your sensitive walls until you were sure you would lose your mind with pleasure.

The longer he moved in you, the more sloppy his mouth on your skin became, the more desperate his hands until he was practically forcing you down into the mattress and you realised through the haze of bliss that he was afraid you would disappear beneath his touch.

His hands found the hem of your T-shirt and gave it a questioning tug, halting his movements to a gentle roll of his hips against you. That grey T-shirt was the last piece of fabric separating you.

“Can I take this off you?,” Sam asked breathily, pleadingly and you found yourself nodding, allowing him to lift it up your stomach, then your chest, then over your head and toss it to the side. Only then did you realise that you had stopped breathing.

The thought of how your naked body looked in the mirror now was suddenly all you could think about, the long, awful scars marring your stomach, your stupid, painfully swollen breasts that wouldn’t stop leaking… Shit.

It wasn’t just Sam’s tears that had soaked the T-shirt. You had been so caught up in comforting Sam that you hadn’t even noticed. As if it wasn’t bad enough that it reminded you of your grief and your guilt all the time, now Sam had to look at it too and the thought alone was almost enough to make you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll go get cleaned up, I didn’t mean…”

The words died upon your lips when you caught Sam's expression in the half-dark. His eyes were sparkling, mesmerised by the white leaking from your sore nipples. Slowly, as if in a trance, he leaned down and placed his mouth on your breast, licking the trail of milk from your skin.

“S-Sam, you don’t have t-to… oh.” Oh. His lips closed around your nipple before giving it a tentative suck. “Ah!”

The little stinging sensation that itched in you at first was nothing compared to the almost ecstatic relief you felt when some of the weight was lifted from your breast, flowing into Sam’s gentle mouth. He moaned at the taste and sucked harder, making you whimper and arch your back up into him. You were sore, but Sam was all soft lips and hot tongue lapping and suckling at your flesh. Slowly, he started moving again, timing each brush of his cock against that sweet, aching spot inside of you with a suck on one of your nipples, stroking the warm, pulsing need in you until your entire body was throbbing with desire.

You clung to him almost as hard as he did you, digging your fingertips into his shoulder and the back of his head while he kept worshipping your breasts with his mouth, moaning deep in his throat you all the while.

The sensations were all too much and at the same time not quite enough.

“Sam, please… I’m so close,” you mewled, the muscles in your legs straining around him.

“Me too, baby,” he panted, immediately making his thrusts come faster and the sound of skin slapping against skin started to mix with your cries and groans of pleasure.

Fuck, how had you ever managed to turn him down?

The white-hot pressure in you burst and you came around his cock with a loud cry and blissful tears running down your cheeks. You soared on the waves of your release, cradling Sam against you and with a groan muffled by your chest, he came too, stilling inside of you while the walls of your cunt milked him for all he had, prolonging your own orgasm until your vision began to flicker, black spots, white spots, an explosion of fire shooting through your veins.

Every muscle in you went limp and you fell back against the pillows with your arms still holding onto Sam the best you could. You didn’t move to push him off. Instead you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the tickle of his hair against your neck, his fingers still desperately digging into your hips and thighs, and the warm weight of his frame on top of yours, his cum hot and sticky between your legs where he was still buried in you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this good and safe, but surely it must have been before… well, before the witch broke you.

Sam lay completely spent in your arms, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. You didn’t want to let go of him ever again. Almost on instinct, you clenched him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t sure at first if he had heard it. The silent words were followed by the shadow of a sob, hardly more than a tremble in your breath and a new trickle of tears that all too easily turned your ebbing pleasure bittersweet.

“Why?” His voice was raspy and not much louder than yours. Just as you had feared, his hold on you started to loosen as he pulled back and looked down at your wet face.

“For putting you through this,” you managed in a choked excuse of a whisper. “For letting you down…”

“No, don’t say that. Hey! Look at me,” he urged when you closed your eyes again to try and stem the flow of tears. “Baby, I love you. Don’t you know? You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me in this cursed life and I can't…" Sam had to stop and swallow around the lump in his throat. "I can't fathom how you still want me, but as long as you do, I'll be there for you. Because I want to. You're not putting me through anything, okay?"

And as you looked into those sad, adoring eyes of his, you saw nothing but truth shining back at you. He meant it.

“Okay.” You sniffled, overwhelmed, but happy when Sam leant down to kiss you deeply on the mouth to accentuate his point. His mouth was sweet after having feasted on your milk and you couldn’t help a contented sigh as you sampled the taste. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you ought to have been disgusted, but you didn’t really care when everything about kissing Sam just felt so right. You readily indulged when his tongue parted your lips to tangle with your own at a much slower pace than earlier. Arousal started to gather in your belly again until it felt like a pleasant hum stroking and relaxing your limbs. Your hands found their favourite position of their own accord: buried in his hair, while Sam’s arms gently folded their way back around your waist.

After a while of lazily making out, Sam finally broke away with a reluctant smile on his lips. It was the first time you had seen him so at peace for months.

“As nice as this is,” he muttered, his nose brushing yours, “we really ought to get cleaned up”.

“Don’t wanna move,” you answered, hardly ever breaking contact with his kiss-swollen lips and he grinned at that, making your heart soar so high and so far you almost thought it would never come back down.

“Neither do I,” Sam sighed, squeezing your body close. “But we have to. Come on. I promise we’ll get just as comfortable when we get back.”

“Fine,” you grumbled with the corners of your mouth turning upwards almost against your will. “But only if you say you love me again.”

His smile was as bright and as beautiful as the stars.

Tags: @renxzs @lilana56 @fouramtwohourstogo @corishirogane3 @saiyanprincessswanie @cake-writes @sagechanoafterdark

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #sam winchester smut #sam winchester one shot #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #lol no one is following me for sam so i'm just tagging a few mutuals feel free to ignore #not beta'd i die alone

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