#bed frames and hanging plants not rendering

[mushroomteddy]

when I finally gave in and downloaded a popular modder's cc and half of their stuff is broken in my game...smh, this is what you were battling so hard for your right to paywall?

[kuroppiii]

  cuteness aggression ᵕ̈       boyfie!timeskip!bokuto kōtarō       x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : your boyfriend is quite ⋮⋮  literally too cute in the mornings

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🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

8:25 am. both you and bokuto have the day off.

you're leaning against the kitchen counter, one of bokuto's shirts loosely hanging off of your frame. as your thumb instinctively scrolls through your feed, the bubbling of hot water brewing for your morning drink sounds off next to you.

you're vaguely aware of the steam drifting up from the top of the machine when your eyes land on a post from an official msby account.

it was video where they had bokuto running around the msby locker room interviewing his teammates. the questions were along the lines of “favorite point you’ve won”, “court position you would try for a day”, “how do you wear your kneepads off court”, yadayadayada—

the questions didn’t really matter to you at the current moment. what caught your attention, of course, was your lovely boyfriend.

you watched his bright eyes as he excitedly talked to the camera and as they were trained on his teammates while he intently listened to their responses.

the same eyes that light up whenever he sees you, without fail. or the ones that glowed a warm amber when the afternoon sun hits them just right. ones you’ve seen on countless nights as bokuto lies on top of you with his chin softly resting on your chest, as he looks up at your face and his eyes dart over each and every feature on your face in utmost admiration.

and in the video he also smiles—a toothy and hearty smile where it’s so wide that little dimples appear at the sides of his face and some of his bottom teeth peek out from behind his bottom lip. his lips are rosy and full of life, just like him. and only you would know how soft they are, too, and the exact feeling of how they stretch into a content grin against your own lips when you kiss. it’s a smile you could never grow tired of.

everything about him is so charming. he’s adorable. some days you wish you could hide him from the world and keep him and his cuteness all to yourself.

and suddenly the urge just hits you—to hold him and hug him and smother him with affection. to cup his face in your hands and squish his cheeks so you can plant a big kiss on his lips. to nip the tip of his nose just to hopefully incite his laugh that brings music to your ears.

and guess what? you can do exactly that, right at this instant.

completely neglecting your brewing drink and leaving your phone laying flat on the countertop, you shuffle your way back through the apartment to you and bokuto’s shared bedroom.

you peek your head in and see he’s still out cold. the sunlight makes its way through the window blinds to cast shapes on your boyfriends bare chest, exposed by the sheets that he’s shoved down to his lower torso in his sleep.

a ray of light falls on his face, where his eyes are closed, his eyelashes brush against the tops his cheeks, and his mouth hangs open as he sleeps in and snores away.

the black and gray streaks of his hair are rendered messy and tussled as his head sinks into the pillow under it.

the other day you read about the phenomenon of, “cuteness aggression: desires to squeeze, crush, pinch, or even bite an object of our affection. scientists think it is a way we cope with intense positive emotions.”

yup. now you totally get it.

you approach his side of the bed and crawl on top of him, brushing your hands against his chest as you lean down to immediately start peppering his face in kisses. surely he’d wake up, and although you knew the previous night’s practice had taken a lot out of him and he deserved to sleep in for a little longer… the urge. the urge to gather him up in your arms with all the love in the world was simply just too strong.

his eyes not yet open, but his hands now moving to blindly search for your waist, his voice is groggy and rough as he mumbles, “this is an awesome way to start off my day.”

you let up with the face kisses for a moment and fight back a giggle as bokuto blinks one eye awake to get a good look at you first thing as he wakes up, “mornin’ gorgeous.”

too cute. butterflies fly around in your stomach while, firmly but gently, your hands go to hold his head in place as you resume to kiss him all over even more.

“what’s the occasion, baby?” he asks amidst being attacked by your displays of affection, his hands playing with the hem of his shirt on you.

“nothin’, just missed you,” you say between kisses, softly and just barely above a whisper.

“well i’m right here,” he smiles before stretching himself out under you, letting out a small whine as his body comes to before the day properly starts.

as he does this, you tap a finger on his nose and laugh when his face scrunches up in reaction, “kō, you look real cute in the morning, you know that?”

a sound of protest escapes from his throat as his arms wrap around you and he rolls you both over. now he hovers over you, and those pretty eyes gaze down at you. if only you could swim in those eyes and all the love they carry for you, forever.

but bokuto shifts so he can kiss you, and kiss you deep. when you part, you feel your heartbeat is racing and that maybe you don’t need caffeine this morning to wake up after all. not when your boyfriend is bokuto kōtarō, who brings something so inexplicably fulfilling to your life with each day you start waking up to him and his cute bedhead—his cute everything.

“not as much as you are all the time, cutie,” bokuto lazily argues and you lightheartedly roll your eyes with a small scoff.

now it’s his turn to “cope with intense positive emotions”, as you find yourself getting smothered with love—his love—in the messy sheets of your bed at around 9 in the morning.

[fatgirlburpsdotmpfour]

Some Passion Patties for Mamako-

11.Passion Patties-My or you muse has become hooked on a brand of cookies with hyper fattening properties.

"Oh Hanako, my sweet, sweet little trash gatherer...."

It was time for the inevitable, It was time, for the mother to enter the den of her rotting child. Since Hanako is a tad bit callous towards the state of her room for her own personal reasons, her caring mother takes it up to herself to do a bit of cleansing. Or, at least as much as she can...

Stepping into the room, she sees her bed with a frame that's, while modified to sustain more weight is in it's last legs with clothes scattered on top of it like dirty roses. The floor is unable to be seen as silver wrappers litter around with various figurines lined up neatly within her display shelves. All in all, not too bad this month... Impressive.

However, it was lifting one large pair of shorts that would look like bed sheets that she caught a whiff of something extraordinarily sweet, nearly rendering her nose blind for a few seconds.

"Oh Lord what is that smell-" But after the first few seconds of lingering, the sickening scent turned somewhat appetizing... She took one box of many, it read 'Passion Patties!' in bright bold letters. Must be another one of those fancy lil' snacks she gets, but this one seems... Different.

".... She won't worry about one missing cookie, right?" Sure enough, she popped one open and chomped down a cookie... They were actually really... Good! Quite tasty, a very pleasant vanilla flavor with a wonderful coating of sugar!

She sat down and took another cookie, Hanako can't be that perceptive- Shamelessly indulging in her daughters snacks, and popping in cookie after cookie, at first individually, and then layering them into her mouth. Her mighty rear was slowly sucking up the calories, her stomach was bloating up like a party balloon, but that was the least of her worries.

Cookie after cookie, pounds after pounds, tits surging and expanding and creaking her bra that was already hanging on for it's dear life, a dress whose seams were jumping ship because it couldn't contain the tsunami of lard building up above her abdomen. Her cheeks were becoming much like her daughters, outpacing the bed and smooshing against the wall without signs of stopping.

The bed frame was close to having enough as it suffered the "lil" old ladies ferocious gluttony and ignorance to her growing body, in it's last few moments of this world, it cursed the motherly tanuki, and-

Crreeeeeeeaaaakk-

BOOOOOOOOOMMMM

Mamako was snapped right out of her pleasureful date with these delectable cookies, and brought to the harsh reality of a broken bed, and a naked woman in Hanako's room. Of course, that woman was her, for paying the price of greed...

"Ssssshhiiit.... I don't think my magic can just poof all of this away..."

Fatty legs and feet planted on the floor since she can't muster up the strength to lift them, but pinned down to the new makeshift futon she just made, while her belly is pushing up against her already enormous, milky breasts, obscuring a good 84% of her vision.

....

"... I think I saw more boxes under her shorts..."

[ashleysingermfablog]

Wk 12, 26th of April, 2024 Film Camera use

Using 35mm Film

Ashley Singer, draft foxgloves image, 2024, photography

Took this image of White Foxgloved growing out of a garden mulch bag last summer in Eden Gardens Auckland and had it sitting on my computer as part of a much larger image for a while as I tried to figure out what I wanted to extract from it.

I really enjoyed the flowers hanging over the garden path, leading the way for the viewer to imagine venturing deeper into the garden. The larger image was then cropped to what you see above. I took this picture on a fieldwork trip with my partner to Eden Gardens.

I had never been before and thought that in the height of summer, it might be a good time to see a lot of the flowers and trees soaking up the sun. This image was taken on my 35mm film camera and then converted to a digital rendering of the image.

I am having this image (above) printed and framed at the Black and White Box photo lab in Eden Terrace as I think this will be nice way to bring in my ideas about moving through gardens into my exhibitions.

I thought I would also highlight in this post a small reflection and different between what I was taking images of in Auckland on film, and what I took images of the South Island in Dunedin (St Clair) on film in December 2023.

Ashley Singer, St Clair on film, 2023, film to digital, research images

These images build a good knowledge of the kinds of gardens that are commonly seen in Dunedin, where people tend to focus on growing perennial varieties of roses, lavender, foxgloves, poppies, queen annes lace, azaleas and some native plants like manuka and Australian natives like bottlebrush and protea.

The most of the common species are English Roses, there are even Rose Gardening Clubs throughout the city and roses grow in abundance in the cold climate. Unlike in Auckland, where there is a greater variety of hedge perennials, like Indian Mallows, Hibiscus, Camellia, Stewartia, Feijoa and most notably Citrus, Dunedin gardens are centre around having a showy front yard, and a grassy backyard.

Auckland also has a larger variety of annual plants (annual versions of common perennials like foxgloves and poppies, which can be bought more cheaply at the garden centres and last only one goring season).

I also saw Fuchsia and Lilies, particularly available for Christmas in Supermarkets and local stores, but these didn't grow as successfully, as the more established common plants like English and European varieties, did.

It was very common to see a large number of bumble and honey bees on vegetation, these introduced pollinators taking up home in the English Cottage Style gardens.

Less common were native plants like pohutukawa in garden beds, these grew in parks and by the waterfront.

Most gardens were hemmed in by a plot of mowing grass in the front yard of houses and annuals and perennials grew around the skirting of the small grassed areas by the fence lines.

[ohbuckie]

FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT

college!bucky x reader

summary: bucky fucks you on his bedroom floor.

warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected sex

word count: 2.3k

masterlist

Bucky’s room is at the end of the hall. It’s decorated simply—white rug in the center of the floor, a desk sharing a wall with the door, a few posters littering the walls, a dresser across from the bed in the corner of the room. His bed frame is metal and cheap; flimsy, to say the least. He holds onto it while he fucks you—arm outstretched above your head, trying desperately to keep it from slamming against the wall and using the leverage it gives him to pound into you harder.

His friends’ rooms are both attached to his, with their common wall being the front one that the door is on. Sam and Steve have gotten used to banging on the walls of their bedroom in protest of the loud sex happening on the other side, or even sitting in the hallway and knocking on the door. Of course, this means nothing to Bucky, who could probably ignore a category seven earthquake in order to finish. He’s nothing if not thorough.

He tries to be considerate. He plays music loudly—something with lots of bass, to drown out at least a little bit of the sound—but it renders itself useless in between every song, when both of the guys can hear every sound the two of you make. Good sleep is a lost cause in apartment 4B.

Arriving home from a double date with your roommate, you let your jacket—Bucky’s, actually—fall from your shoulders, and you catch it in your hands to hang it up by the door. You kick off your shoes, run your fingers through your hair, find your boyfriend who scurried away to the kitchen, plant a kiss on his lips.

“That was fun.” You say, running your hands up his chest, remembering how he kissed you in the cab on the way here. He smiles and leans on the counter with the heels of his palms, with you in between his arms, in front of his chest.

His lips find yours, and you cup his cheeks in your hands, accepting the tongue that he runs along your lower lip. He tastes like the red wine that he had with his dinner and smells like the expensive cologne that you gifted him last Christmas.

“I don’t think the guys are home.” He says against your mouth, and you smile, breaking the kiss and practically running down the hallway.

He follows you to his bedroom, his hand making contact with your ass, leaving it stinging while you twist the knob and push the door open. He beats you to the bed, sitting on the edge with his legs open, waiting for you to climb onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist and his lips attach to your neck, delivering wet, hot kisses to your throat and collarbones. He runs his hands over your body—along your shoulder blades, down your spine, across your lower back—appreciating the figure-hugging black minidress that you’re wearing.

You lean forward to push him onto his back, catching yourself on your hands, which are positioned on either side of his head. You grind against his lap and he flips you onto your back in response, rolling his hips into yours.

You kiss like pornstars, swapping saliva between your mouths through tongues and clashing teeth, sucking and biting at plush lips. With his hips between your thighs, your dress inches further up your legs, making your red thong visible.

Your hands are free, and you use this opportunity to pull his shirt out of his pants and unbutton it until it’s open. The two sides hang down, exposing the top of his prosthetic arm and the outrageously defined muscles of his torso.

“Bucky.” You breathe, lips wetly separating from his.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Just want you.”

He chuckles teasingly, nudging your chin upwards with his nose and kissing down to your chest. You arch your back into him, pushing your fingers into the hair at the base of his head.

The room is dark, except for the animated screensaver of the open laptop of his desk and the moonlight that pours through the blinds perfectly, casting rigid bars of light across the wall opposite the bed. You reach to the nightstand beside you, pulling the cord on the lamp and wincing when it turns on as you’re staring at the bulb.

He pulls away and gathers himself, licking his lips and pushing hair from his forehead while he catches his breath. He looks up at you and smiles sweetly, kissing your cheek before standing from the bed and unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his slacks, pulling the zipper down, shoving them past his thighs. His belt hits the floor with a jingle and he steps out of the pants that are now pooled around his ankles. Dark gray briefs are revealed, and you appreciate how nicely they cling to his legs and ass. You remember an earlier comment from him about “fancy underwear,” and you giggle to yourself when you realize that this is what he was talking about.

“What’s funny?”

“‘Fancy underwear.’” You repeat to him, and he cracks a smile before he steps over to you to get back to business.

Instead of removing your dress, he pushes it up past your hips, harshly pulling your panties down and out of his way. He kneels in front of you and kisses your inner thighs, moving up to your pussy, ghosting over it with his lips for a moment before pressing a delicate kiss to your clit, his eyes trained on yours. His gaze remains unwavering when he licks a stripe up your entire pussy. His tongue pushes between your folds and applies pressure to your sensitive bud, and you both moan—you at the sensation and him at the taste.

“Buck.” You whine. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He sighs, disappointed that he can’t eat you out. Not that he isn’t excited to fuck you.

He stands and steps out of his underwear, tossing them behind his right shoulder. His cock stands against his stomach, seemingly thrilled to be freed from its fabric prison. You can’t take your eyes off of it—pretty and pink, fairly long and definitely thick enough.

He spreads his large hand over your lower stomach and lets his thumb hover over your bundle of nerves, keeping it still, for now. He gives his cock a few pumps, holding it just below the head to line it up with your entrance. He looks at you while he pushes in, because he loves the way that your eyes squeeze shut and your hips wiggle to get more comfortable with his intrusion.

He chews on his bottom lip, waiting until you stop clenching and fluttering around him before he moves. When he does, you reach to the hand on your stomach and hold his wrist tightly. He uses his other hand to put your right leg over his left shoulder, the cold metal of his mechanical hand at variance with your hot skin. You take the initiative to put your other leg up on your own.

His movements are less of a rhythmic roll and more of a pistoning in and out of you, giving you what you begged him for only a moment ago. At first, the thrusts are shallow, but after about a minute he can’t help himself anymore. With every jerk of his hips, his cock slams against a spot inside of you that only he has ever reached—although you’d never tell him that, because you’re too proud to admit that he can make you feel better than you ever could yourself.

When you let go of his wrist, he withdraws his hand, licking his thumb before putting it back where it was and putting it to use. He draws small circles into your clit, just like you taught him to do when you first started dating. You buck your hips up and it makes him smile, and you want to smack that look off of his face. You hate that he knows exactly how good he makes you feel.

You tighten around him when you study his concentrated face—how his brows furrow and he licks his lips.

“Feel good?”

“Yes.” Your voice is strained by desire.

“Good.” He mumbles, and starts to put a little more behind every thrust. He pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in, and the slapping noises that your skin makes upon contact with him is obscene. The bed frame squeaks as it rocks, and it hits the wall over and over again, at a moderate-but-still-annoying volume.

Loud knocking on the closed door startles you, but doesn’t phase Bucky.

“What?” He asks, not stopping, or even so much as looking in the direction of the interruption at the door.

Sam’s raised voice is on the other side. “At least put on the music, man. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, okay, fine. Go away.” Bucky replies. Footsteps descend and a door closes. Bucky pauses his movements, clearly annoyed, to lean over and fish his phone out of the pocket of the pants that he let fall to the floor earlier. He thanks God for Bluetooth when it automatically connects to the speaker that lives on his desk, and all he has to do is press play. He tosses the phone onto the mattress, lets it bounce behind your head, and picks up where he left off.

The music is loud enough to drown out the squeaking and the slapping, but definitely not the bed hitting the wall. You can’t bring yourself to care, because the circles against your clit are growing bigger and faster, and your eyes are rolling back into your head.

“Fu-u-uck.” You moan, syllables choppy from the way that you’re being fucked.

“You’re so hot.” He mutters, letting a breathy moan slip out after his words.

Something hits the part of the wall that Steve’s room is behind, and you both can hear shouting. “Shut up!”

Neither of you respond.

A familiar feeling pools in your lower stomach, tightening and threatening to spill. “I’m so close, Buck.”

You tense around him, squeezing his cock and surely bringing him close, too. He pulls out suddenly, but quickly replaces his dick with two of his fingers, curling them against the upper wall of the inside of your pussy. It shoves you violently over the edge, and you cum with a moan that rips through your chest and leaves your throat burning. His fingers continue to move through your orgasm and he watches your legs tremble, kissing your calves that are still rested beside his head.

“You good?”

You only nod.

“We’re being too loud on the bed. Get on the floor.” He orders, and you breathe through your nose, exhaling through your mouth before you stand on wobbly legs. Before you lower yourself to the floor, covered by his pristinely clean, white rug, he clarifies, “Hands and knees.”

The bass of the music booms through your chest, reverberates through your bones, echoes through your head. You feel him kneel behind you, putting one foot onto the floor for balance. You wish you could see him right now—shirt open, sweaty chest heaving, cock standing at attention, ready to fuck you to completion for the second time. He tilts his head down and you can hear him spit onto his dick before shoving it back into you, exercising no restraint.

Your head bows between your shoulders, and you try not to be too loud, because Sam and Steve hardly ever let you hear the end of it when you do, but Bucky’s making it extremely difficult. He’s taking what he wants now, since he’s already made you cum.

His hands hold your hips like they’re handles, yanking your body backwards onto his cock at the same time that he’s ramming into you. His breathing is heavy, and you close your eyes to picture his face right now. A piece of hair over his forehead, fallen from the gelled mass atop his head, jaw tight, abs tensing. That’s what he usually looks like, anyway, when he’s fucking you into oblivion. It’s an image that’s forever burned behind your eyelids.

His hips are moving bruisingly fast, bringing you closer to another orgasm. It’s actually more like you’re being dragged behind a pick-up truck that’s approaching a cliff and is showing no signs of stopping.

It takes only a hard clench to throw off his rhythm and have him cumming inside of you, scrambling to blindly locate your clit with only his fingertips so that you can finish together. He rolls it between his fingers, rubs haphazardly, and gets lucky when you cry out that you’re there again.

“Bucky! Oh, fuck!” Your knees sting from the rug beneath them, and your hands make a fist around the strings between your fingers. “Oh my God.”

He pulls out slowly, kissing down your spine while his warm seed spills out of you, trickling down your leg.

You lay on your back on the floor, much too tired to stand, and watch him pull his briefs back up, on a mission to dampen a face cloth to wipe you down with. He comes back with one, and wipes the cum from your legs and pussy, leaving small kisses in the wake of the warm water that refreshes you.

He gives a final kiss to your lower stomach before he tosses the cloth in the direction of his hamper. He lays beside you on the floor, taking your face in his metal hand and pressing sweet kisses to your cheeks and forehead and chin.

It's silent for a moment, before he decides, "I need to invest in a sturdier bed."

[tenkasato]

I Don’t Hate You

Scenario: In which you and Levi come into terms of losing your child.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x reader

Warning: mentions of fetal death, cursing, mild violence

You were just released from the hospital.

Everyone solemnly rejoiced for your survival. It had been a close call after all. You had a short dinner with Hange and the kids. Smiling at them as they tried to narrate lighthearted anecdotes was easy for you. You were used to it after all. However, not the same could be said about your husband who remained stone-faced the entire time. His arm was secured around your waist possessively.

When you finally got home and went into your room alone, Levi Ackerman’s well-crafted mask finally fell off of his crestfallen face. He quietly sat beside you at the edge of the bed, your arms touching.

You leaned on him, nuzzling your head unto his shoulder with an umpteenth sigh leaving your lips.

"You can tell me anything," he told you softly, angling himself to you so that you were lying on his chest instead.

You caged his torso with your arms. "I don't have anything to say, really."

He nodded in understanding as he combed his fingers into your hair and proceeded on kneading your scalp as gently as he could. The room was filled with silence that was too deafening for his taste, but listening to your shallow breathing kept him calm even with the storm brewing inside his chest. He didn't know what to do about that squeezing sensation in his throat. It rendered him breathless.

Memories flashed. Voices echoed.

Levi closed his eyes.

It was the most excruciating, ear-splitting sound he has ever heard, the anguish ripping across your whole being as you pounded on his chest. You hit him harder.

You howled and screamed.

"Stop it," he begged.

"Fuck you," you sobbed. Your entire frame shook violently. "Fuck you! Why? I told you I'd be fine, right? I told you I'm strong enough to handle it, right? I told you! I told you!"

"I'm sorry," he choked. Your eyes that he loved so much reflected a veil of total, severe hatred and disgust directed towards him.

The way you looked at him... like he was someone who had hurt you—no, murdered you in the most torturous way possible.

"You're sorry?" you asked, venom all mingled intimately with each syllable that you spat. "But you chose this, right? You didn't listen to me, right? You coward!"

Levi pressed his lips together to keep himself from crying. He grabbed you by your shoulders before you broke away from his grasp, jabbing a finger straight to his racing heart.

"When did you ever listen, anyway?" you hissed, mercilessly hurling every bit of repulsion to him. “You never listen to anyone but yourself.”

"I hate you," you snarled. Your hands shot to the sides of your face as you shook your head repeatedly. "You killed my son. You killed my son. You killed me. You killed me."

If he really had the choice, he wouldn't have chosen between the life of his unborn child or his wife.

If he could, he would've chosen to kill himself.

If he could take away your pain, every single drop of it, he'd be willing to die over and over.

Levi took a feeble step towards you and enveloped you, pressing you unto him as hard as he could, just to piece you back together even if he knew it was futile. He held you for so long, fought against you silently.

"I hate you," you wept.

"It's okay," he spoke, managing to keep his voice calm, mellow and soothing. "I won't ever leave you."

"I hate you."

This hollow wound where his heart was supposed to be. What was he going to do about that?

Opening his eyes, Levi swallowed with difficulty before looking up at the ceiling. If he was feeling this awful, what were you feeling? Losing your second child… no mother deserved that.

"Levi," you coughed, cutting him off his thoughts as reality came crashing back to him. He didn't know whether to be thankful or not to be ripped off from those haunting memories.

"Hmm?"

"I don't hate you," you told him like you had read his mind.

He actually chuckled at that. "I know you don't."

"I really didn't mean any of the things I said before," you started to clarify. "I was just so upset and angry about it. But I know it wasn't your fault. I understand why you did that."

He stopped massaging your head and gently tugged on your hair so he could look down at your face. "We talked about this already."

"I know."

"Then, why?"

"Because even though you knew I didn't mean it, I still hurt you."

Not knowing what to say about that, he merely looked at you, drinking every detail of your profile until his gaze rested on the dark circles under your eyes. He could see all the physical manifestations of the suffering you’ve been through in your face. They weren't there before.

Levi leaned down and brushed his lips lightly on the skin under your eye. He planted another kiss in between your brows, and another two at the two corners of your mouth.

"You forgive me, right?" you asked in a dubious tone, closing your eyes as he trailed kisses down your neck.

He twisted around and pushed you unto the bed, his two hands supporting his weight over you. How delicate. How ironic it was that this fragility was his sole source of strength. The force that kept his feet on the ground even though his whole body felt so weightless, to be blown away into nothingness by the winds.

"I forgive you," he murmured. "I will always forgive you, no matter how many times you hurt me."

You chuckled and touched his face. "You really are the submissive type."

He shook his head at your boldness. "That's a blatant challenge."

Pressing your palms on both sides of his face, you stuck out your tongue playfully. Levi swooped down to your mouth but you so wisely retreated your tongue and smiled teasingly at him instead. You shook your head in playful mockery.

Levi’s eyes flared with unbridled desire, proceeding on attacking your neck rougher than he did earlier.

"Levi," you said abruptly, gathering locks of his hair in your hand.

"Hm?" he asked distractedly.

You bit on your lip briefly before pulling him down towards you.

"I'm heavy," he said in alarm as he felt his body pressed on you.

"S'okay," you answered and encircled your arms around his neck. "I feel cold. I like your body warmth.”

You lifted your head to press your lips onto his slightly opened mouth in a feathery kiss, warming his insides as he returned the fervor.

Your lips parted, then you uttered again, "Levi?"

"What is it?"

You smiled—tender, sweet and heart-crushing.

"Levi, I want you to know that it's okay to cry, too."

And that was when he broke, the tiny pieces of weak bandages that held him together burning away as he succumbed to the overwhelming grief that was dissolving all the pretense of fortitude he had.

The saddest of smiles pulled at the edges of your lips as you reached to wipe away the tears that had blurred his vision.

In the middle of this torrid rain, he had almost forgotten to grieve for himself, too.

But you saw him.

Just as you promised you would.

Yes, I know there are medical inaccuracies. Please forgive me for the sake of angsty drama.

[bibliocratic]

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

--

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

--

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

--

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

--

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

--

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

--

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

--

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

[sweethugsandhoney]

hanahaki disease pt 1

summary: hanahaki disease- a disease where the victim of unrequited or one sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs. which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left. it ends when the beloved returns their feelings or when the victim dies.

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4

i jumped a little as morgan’s leg took down the door. the three of us moved quickly and swiftly. morgan headed right, reid left, and i made my way up the stairs. i reached the top of the stairs and towards the rooms. “clear!”, i heard morgan’s voice come from downstairs. i checked the rooms and yelled a ‘clear’, lowering my weapon and making my way downstairs.

a loud gunshot resonated through the house, making my feet move faster to the left side of the house. god damn it spencer, why is it always you, i thought to myself. i held up my weapon as i entered the room where the gunshot came from. lowering it again when i saw spence putting handcuffs on the suspect. morgan came from behind me and grabbed the suspect, taking him to the car, telling him his rights.

“hey, are you okay”, i said approaching spencer, putting my hand on his arm and looking for any clear injuries on his body. “yeah, i’m fine”, he said dismissively and started making his way outside. i retracted my hand to my side and letting my head hang low. i stood there for a second, letting myself shake the pain away. i made my way to the car, a tightness in my throat.

i sat in the back with the suspect, keeping a close eye on him. morgan and spencer talked while i just stayed quiet. i cleared my throat as i felt the tightness becoming more present. soon enough i was full on coughing uncontrollablly. i saw morgan pull over and quickly got out of the car. i fell to my hands and knees as i started heaving. i felt a lump come up my throat and out my mouth, landing on the concrete.

my brows furrowed as i saw i had coughed up a deep red carnation with blood. this morning i was coughing up petals, now it’s fully grown flowers. i silently cursed as i remembered my audience. they weren’t supposed to see this, i thought. i wiped the blood off my chin, grabbing the tissues that spencer gave me. “what was that about?”, he asked, his frame towering over mine, getting a good look at what i coughed up. i ignored the question and continued wiping the blood.

“she’s dying”, i heard an unfamiliar voice say. i looked up to see that the suspect uttered his first words to us. i gave him a hard stare, silently telling him to shut up. “be quiet”, i said as a climbed back into the car, shutting the door behind me.

“you could get that surgically removed, you know? i did it and i haven’t coughed up anything since”, he said looking at me.

“what’s he talking about, y/l/n?”, spencer asked looking back at me. i shook my head, my ponytail shaking with it, “it’s nothing”. i looked out the window as morgan started driving again, still feeling spence’s eyes on me but deciding to ignore it. we soon got to the police station, bringing the suspect into one of the interrogation rooms.

“oh god, did it happen again”, emily said walking over to me. i nodded my head subtly, “how’d you know?”

“you always get this sunken look in your eyes after it happens”, she said examining my eyes. “has the doctor told you anything?”, we made our way over to the board room, going to sit down. i shook my head no and sat down in one of the chairs. “the test results haven’t come in yet, but i’m pretty sure i already know what it is”.

“and the suspect said something about a surgery”, emily raised her eyebrows, “he said that you could get it surgically removed and that he had it done”.

“you should look into it and ask your doctor about it, you don’t want to be coughing up flowers for the rest of your life”, emily said pointing at my lungs and eaching over to grab her coffee filled mug from one of the tables. i nodded my head and that was the end of that conversation.

the suspect admitted to killing women and the case was closed. we were on the jet on our way home. we made it to the airport and made our way back to the fbi headquarters. some of us went home, others stayed a little bit. i was part of the ones who stayed.

i wanted to get a little head start into the paperwork and take it home to finish it. unfortunately, spencer also stayed back. i really hoped and prayed to whoever was listening to please not have spencer come and question me about that little episode that happened earlier. my hand started reaching over for my paperwork and stuffing it in my bag. i heard spencer clear his throat from the desk beside me. my eyes looked up in his direction, finding his already looking at me.

“if anything was happening to you, you would tell me right?”, i heard spencer’s soft voice say. he said it so delicately, like if he cared about me. i felt my chest tighten, not knowing if it was the stupid flower in my lungs or my stupid feelings. i nodded my head, breaking eye contact and looking down to my bag. “yeah of course”, i replied, but i can’t tell you this. “you’ll tell me when you’re ready to?”, he said still looking at me, saying it even more delicately. i smiled and nodded my head, approaching him but keeping my hands to myself.

i looked up to meet his eyes, those perfect eyes of his. they reminded me of those of a puppy. i glanced down to his full lips, ones i wish i could desperately kiss. but the growing carnation flower in my lungs was a clear indication that he didn’t reciprocate my feelings. i was a friend to him, a friend who he could hug and spend the night at each other’s place. i looked down to look at my shoes as i remembered my one sided love.

“i will”, i chewed on my lip, side stepping him and making my way to the door. i arrived at my apartment, quickly unlocking the door and running to my bathroom. i coughed into the toilet, blood splattering into the bowl. my body shook violently as i heaved. finally feeling the damned thing coming up. this one looked just like the one from before, a deep red flower covered in my blood. i spit the remaining petals and blood into the toilet bowl.

i put the tiolet cover down and flushed the toilet as i rested my body against the wall. i tried to calm myself down, finding my thoughts trailing back to spencer. i wondered how it would be to be with spencer. to live in his heart and have him look at you with love in his eyes. i sighed as i stood up on shaky legs, brushing my teeth and taking a quick shower. i grabbed my laptop and made my way to my bed, putting a random show as background noise as i opened up chrome. my fingers moved quickly as i typed in ‘hanahaki disease’, quickly finding an article.

hanahaki disease is a disease where the victim of unrequited or one sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals or flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs. this plant can range from flower to flower. totally depends on what flower the beloved prefers.

if the plant keeps growing in the person’s lungs, it will eventually lead to asphyxiation as the flower clogs the airways from where the oxygen enters from. the flower stops growing and vanishes when the beloved returns their feelings or when the victim dies. hanahaki disease is still a mystery to scientists.

little to no reasearch has been done as the disease is a rare occurrence. there is an estimated 0.67% of the population getting infected by this. the first ever recorded case leads back to 1803 in kamikatsu, japan.

my eyes looked up from my laptop, as realization hit me. i’m going to die.

[beware-of-you-98]

you and i (jj x emily)

Warmth.

It's the first thing she becomes aware of as she's sucked from her blissful dreamscape into consciousness. She becomes acutely aware of sunlight beating down on her closed eyelids and squints as she teeters on that edge between awakening and falling right back asleep.

She exhales softly, stirring in the sheets, light linen scratching her bare legs and crinkling beneath her frame. She unconsciously moves closer to the warmth emanating from beside her, breathing out a soft, content sigh before she forces her eyes to squint open. She blinks slowly to adjust to the morning light, one hand slowly coming up to swipe the sleep from her eyes and cementing her journey back into consciousness.

JJ brings up the blanket to her chin, snuggling her face into the pillow, unwilling to untangle herself from the confines of her really comfortable bed, at the warmth the body beside her radiates. She stifles a yawn with the back of her hand, tucking it under the pillows to support her head. Instead of moving and starting her day, she focuses on the woman still asleep beside her, a smile coming to her lips immediately at the sight.

Emily is curled up at her side, one leg bent at the knee and hooked around JJ's legs while the other sprawls out behind her, toes barely poking out from under the edge of the blanket. One arm is tucked behind the stack of pillows at the head of the bed, cheek pressed undoubtedly right above her palm underneath layers of cotton and memory foam. Her other arm hangs loosely at her side, fingers curled loosely in JJ's own like they had been the night before. Her short, raven black hair, streaked with charcoal, gray and silver strands, splay out messily over the pillow. Her pale, bare skin nearly glittering under the rays of sun that poke through the curtains.

Lips slightly parted as she exhales, chest rising and falling steadily with her breaths.

She looks at peace, content, all the stresses from the job gone from her face. Instead, she looks softer and vulnerable.

Ethereal.

JJ untucks her hand from the pillow and reaches out, thumb coming up to swipe at the moisture escaping the corner of the older woman's lips with a feather light touch. Her thumb hovers for a few seconds, just ghosting Emily's lips before she slowly jerks the digit back as to not wake her. Her hand comes to barely brush through the older woman's hair, heart clenching as she stares over at her.

How she managed to wake up without this for over a decade, she'll honestly never know. She's often still so shocked, rendered completely speechless that this is her life now--that she can and does wake up to an actual angel, and angel that is completely and utterly as in love with her as she is with her, laying in bed with her on a daily basis. JJ often finds herself wanting to pinch herself to ensure that she's not dreaming because wow.

Wow.

She honestly considers herself the luckiest woman in the entire fucking world.

Blue eyes flick across Emily's sleeping figure adoringly, tracing across the sharp curve of her jaw, along her nose and down her lips. The blonde tucks her bottom lip between her teeth with a light flush when her eyes land on the red-purplish bruises in the shape of her own mouth littered down the side of Emily's pale neck, further up than JJ had consciously tried to be. They were nothing a layer or two of foundation (and Emily's hair) wouldn't cover, the blonde reasoned silently with herself, but still.

Oops.

She snuggles herself closer to Emily's side, sighing out again when the older woman presses closer to her. She closes her eyes, body relaxed under Emily's hold, at how blissfully domestic about this is. She presses her chin to the crown of the older woman's head, willing unconsciousness to creep up on her once more.

She blinks back awake when the door to the bedroom creaks open, but she doesn't make any sudden movement to turn and see who it is. Instead, she listens for tiny giggles, the sounds of tiny feet on carpeted ground, a whispered "shh," before the sound of a box spring protesting under the sudden movement. JJ braces herself for the impact of her three year old and nine year old sons to barrel into the bed to wake the up and start the rare day the women get off.

When she hears nothing and when she doesn't feel her sons tackling into either Emily or herself—that's right, Henry and Michael are at Will's for the week—does she turn to see who the bedroom intruder is.

A small, tired smile spreads on her face at the sight of the all black feline sitting beside the bed, tail swishing slowly on the carpet. Lazily, JJ hangs an arm down for Sergio to inspect, clicking her tongue tiredly when the cat bumps his chin against her palm. " 'Morning, Serg," she mumbles to the feline, voice rough and scratchy with sleep.

She yawns again, turning her head to muffle it into the pillow before scratching Sergio's cheek. " What s'matter, buddy?"

Sergio sits slowly on the floor right beneath her head, blinking up at her owlishly.

"Num-nums?" she murmurs, using a higher tone to address the feline, hoping to gauge some reaction from him. " 's a lil early for breakfast."

Sergio just blinks again, tail swishing once on the carpet.

JJ hums quietly, pursing her lips in thought.

"Walk?" she tries again.

Sergio's pupils widen slowly at the word, tail twitching as he looks up at the blonde hopefully.

"You wanna go for a walk?" JJ elaborates more clearly, chest rumbling with a silent chuckle as the cat chirps in agreement. "Okay," she relents, finally forcing herself upright.

She carefully removes herself from Emily's hold to not wake her, looking around on the floor until she spots the older woman's t-shirt she had thrown the night before. She picks up the black cloth, pinching it up by the collar and shaking the fabric until the light blue silk bra tumbles to the floor. She slips it over her head, padding over to the dresser and finding a pair of boy shorts to slip on underneath.

She glances back over to Emily on the bed, torn between letting her rest (she needs it) and asking her to come along (the blonde knows Emily hates waking to an empty bed). With that thought in mind, JJ flits her way back to the bed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the older woman's temple. "Baby...Em."

Emily groans softly at the sound of JJ's voice, stirring with a sharp, slow exhale as she wakes up. She lazily reaches her arm up, looping it around the blonde's neck and pulling her down for a kiss. Their lips move slowly against one another's, Emily slowly becoming more aware as the minutes tick by.

She plants a few more lazy, soft kisses on JJ's lips before pulling away, stretching her arms over her head with a tired grin. "Well, good morning."

JJ beams— she can't help herself.

"Good morning," she sighs dreamily, tongue darting out to wet her lips before she clears her throat with a shy smile. "Our oldest wants to go for a walk. Come with us."

Emily rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, impish grin on her face as she focuses on her girlfriend. "Is that my shirt?" she drawls playfully, pointing to the long t-shirt drowning JJ's smaller frame.

"Maybe," the blonde drags out just as playfully, reaching and grabbing both of Emily's hands in her own before pulling her up onto her knees on the mattress. "Sergio wants to go for a walk," JJ repeats softly.

Emily wraps her arms loosely around her girlfriend's waist, leaning up and pressing a kiss on her chin. "Sergio has no consideration for the time— it's six in the morning," she points out in a low, playful matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, is that so?" JJ breathes out a chuckle in amusement, hands coming up to loosely hang around the brunette's shoulder. "You're an early bird," she points out.

Emily leans in and presses a series of wet, soft kisses along the blonde's jawline, making her breath hitch. "I am," she confirms, palms smoothing out on the plain of JJ's stomach beneath the stolen shirt. "I just was thinking I would spend my six AM with my head between—"

JJ playfully swats her girlfriend's roaming hands away, placing a soft kiss on her nose. "Sorry, baby, those plans are going to have to wait until at least 8 o'clock."

Emily bats her eyelashes innocently up a the blonde. "7:30 if I get the coffee ready?"

JJ bobs her head to the side, visually weighing the offer with a hum before grinning. "You do know the way to my heart, don't you, Agent Prentiss?"

Emily grins sleepily. "I do!"

JJ presses one more kiss to Emily's lips before hoisting her from the bed, making her stand up right. "Come on, let's take our cat for a walk."

"Coffee isn't going to make itself," Emily agrees, searching around on the floor until she finds her pajama bottoms, slipping those on before tugging on a tank top while the blonde secures Sergio in his harness.

"Hey, Jayje?"

At the sound of Emily's voice, so light and sweet, JJ turn with a soft smile.

"Yeah?"

Emily's expression softens, eyes shining with nothing but an expression JJ can only describe as completely in love. "I love you," she sighs out with a smile. "I really, really do love you so much."

JJ swallows back her tears at the sincerity in Emily's voice, entire body filled with warmth at the older woman's words. She really does have no idea how she lived before without Emily in her life like this, how she managed to convince herself for years that Emily could never feel for er the way she did.

Emily made her feel like she hung all the stars in the sky, as if she were someone so incredibly special and worthy.

JJ presses her lips firmly to Emily's hoping that she can convey even a smidge of emotions she feels for the brunette with the simple gesture.

She pulls away, leaning her forehead on Emily's before opening her eyes. Her breath hitches at the soft, loving look she's sure is reflected in her own eyes as she stares back into pools of warm brown.

"I love you, too."

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

Counter Clockwise - Chapter 3 - Dawn of the Second Day

[Here’s the next chapter of “Counter Clockwise” the second fic in my “Threatening Darkness” series. Again, I’d like to remind you to check the tags and warnings before you read this, just in case. And let me know if I need to change the tags as well. I hope you enjoy ^u^]

Warning(s): description of injuries, slight body horror, lots of Dark Link being manipulative and creepy.

Read it on AO3

The next morning, Time jolted awake, eyes snapping open to see the floor at eye level, having fallen onto his side during the night. Sitting up proved to be tedious as his back protested each movement, quiet cracking of joints sounding much louder in the near-silent room. He turned to look behind him, at the bed he had given up for the still unconscious Warriors. He had refused to take one of the others' beds, having had insisted that he wanted to be there when Warriors woke up. He couldn’t help the disappointment and worry that sprung up when he saw that the Captain hadn't awoken yet.

Time could see that the Captain had put up a fight; bruises and cuts littered his hands and face, not to mention the broken chainmail he had worn when they found him. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been more injured, though Time couldn’t figure out why Dark had gone easy on him. It put him on edge, seeing how easily the Captain had been rendered unconscious and beaten. He stood, slowly as he took in the others in the room, his hands clenching as his mind spiraled into thoughts of the other missing heroes, one worst-case scenario after another.

They were running out of time...

He looked over to where Four had lain, the smaller now sitting up in bed with his knees clutched to his chest. He hadn't said anything, had barely responded to Twilight when he had asked what was wrong. It was worrying.

Time turned back to Warriors and carefully took his hand, holding it as though the unconscious hero would shatter if he wasn’t careful.

'He's fine,' he told himself, repeating it like a mantra, but it had never been so difficult to believe his own words until now.

He gently squeezed Warriors’ hand, knowing he would not get any response despite the small hope for the opposite. He let go, turning back to face the other three. Wild and Twilight looked at him expectantly.

"What's the plan?" Wild asked. Time opened and closed his mouth, finding himself at a loss.

"We need to find the others," Twilight spoke, his gaze moving between the Captain and Four, "but I don't think we should leave them alone."

"You can stop worrying about me." Four glared at Twilight from over his knees. "I can watch over the Captain. You have more important things to do."

Time knew he was right, but he felt a pit in his stomach at the thought of leaving them without anyone else to check on them. He wanted to argue, but he knew that he would need back up if he were to look for the others, especially if Dark Link was truly behind this.

"Okay," he conceded, the other's glare softening slightly, "I trust you, but please, if anything happens, promise me that you won’t do something that puts either of you in danger."

With Four’s agreement, Time left with Wild and Twilight trailing behind him. He passed the reception desk again without looking at the woman who stood behind it. She already knew that they were going to be staying for a few days if the fact that she hadn’t called them over to her yet was any indication.

They left through the East Gate again, and with a look to the imposing Stone Tower Temple in the distance, he led the way to Snowhead.

The cold was biting, though Time didn't react. He could hear the unmistakable sound of Twilight shifting to wolf form and Wild's slate activating behind him. He pushed forward, making his way to the mountain. As they passed the cabin where the two blacksmiths lived, he heard a strangled noise of distress.

He turned, expecting a monster attack, only to see Wild, shaking and staring wide-eyed at what looked like a block of ice, small yet almost big enough to conceal what was trapped inside of it. Time knew what was trapped there, it had been an all too familiar sight back then, even though Twilight seemed confused, glancing between his cub and his mentor for an answer neither would provide.

"Th-there's-"

"I know, Cub. I'm sorry that you had to see this.” Time placed a hand on Wild's shoulder, only for him to duck away and hurriedly pull out his slate.

In a flash of blue light, Wild held a burning orange blade in his hands, and with a soft puff of snow, he dropped the weapon close to the ice. Time could see it start to melt, steam lazily drifting off it. Wild, still shaken by the sight, returned to where Time stood patiently with Twilight. With a nod from the younger, they continued up the trail, and Time noticed the way that Wild pulled his hood further over his face as they walked.

When they made it to the gap that separated the rest of the path, Time reached for his bag again. He knew that he'd most likely need to don the Goron mask at some point, but before he could pull it out, he saw Twilight take a running leap at the cliff.

"Wait-" he heard himself begin to yell, a hand reaching out just a bit too late to stop his descendant.

His fear was short-lived, however, as the wolf managed to hang from the other side of the gap, claws digging into the snow and earth to pull himself onto solid ground. He shook himself off, then turned back around to face the other two, a smug look on his face that somehow was apparent even through his wolf-form.

"I swear everyone in this group is going to give me grey hair one of these days," he mumbled, fully taking the Goron mask out of his bag.

He could see out of the corner of his eye how Wild was looking through his slate, and the gleam in his eyes was telling.

"Whatever you're about to do is a bad idea," he said, but it was too late.

Wild had another flaming blade in his hands and turned away from him to set the nearby plant life on fire. He jumped over to it, unfurling his paraglider and flying into the air on the updraft. Time watched as the other glided over the chasm, landing safely on the other side. He looked smug.

Time put the mask on, feeling the pain of the transformation once again, from Hylian to Goron. His skin hardened to rock, stone-like skin overtaking his back. In truth, it hurt less than the Zora mask had. He soon found himself beginning to roll into a ball and making the leap onto the other side. He looked to both of his companions, lightly smacking them both.

"That's for the heart-attacks you both gave me," he rumbled, the deep voice of Darmani taking over his own.

Time sighed and led the way again up the trail, managing to get rid of the snow-covered boulders that would roll towards them with a single well-timed punch. It was slow going, needing to stop for each one, but soon, they found the entrance into the cavern that led to the Temple.

With a bloodcurdling scream, a White Wolfos appeared, howling at the three intruders. Twilight growled, lunging at the monster, quickly ending it with his claws and teeth.

"Good job, pup," Time said, and Twilight shifted back, rubbing at his chin where the monster’s blood remained.

They passed through a door, into a circular room with a large platform in the center of it. Wild looked over the edge to the bottom, seeing pools of lava. Time grabbed onto the back of the Warm Doublet the other wore, pulling the other back near him.

They stood on the platform, and Time could easily see the switch that he had to stand on to take them up to the room that the Boss had been in. Twilight seemed to notice it too.

"I think I could hit it," he said, and Time raised an eyebrow as his protege pulled out a heavy-looking steel ball attached to a rather long chain from the depths of his bag of items.

Twilight began to swing the ball over his head. It gained speed quickly, and with a small grunt, the ball flew through the air, broke through the metal grate around the switch, and hit it dead on. In a second, the platform rose right to where the staircase to the Boss Chamber was.

"That was so awesome, can I-"

"No. No, you can't." Time interrupted. Wild looked on in disappointment, following behind the other while Twilight laughed behind them.

====

Four sighed from his position by the bed that Warriors was still resting on. He was on the floor, leaning against the bed frame, while his mind continued to spiral. Blue and Red had been trying to get Vio to talk to them again, to get him to explain what had happened back in the Great Bay Temple. Green was the only one who could still focus enough to take control.

It felt strange to have to do this again after so long working as one. Four voices in one body, distinct yet the same. They made up one person, and yet, each attack on their psyche seemed to break them apart more and more each time. It was amazing they could still function. Taking control during each attack was difficult, each time it affected each of them differently, with the most stable one being forced to act as though there weren’t shattered inside. He had drawn the short straw this time.

He was listening closely to the quiet breaths he could hear from Warriors. It was all he could do to keep his mind away from the other three yelling in his mind. The quiet was nice, and it was almost calming.

Almost.

The air grew oppressive, as though he was being watched. He didn’t dare to try and find the source of it, knowing full well who would be lurking in the darkened corners of the room. They seemed to grow with every passing second, extending until the room became void-like and blood-red eyes shone through the darkness.

"You know, that little stunt you pulled back there wasn't very nice."

Green tensed as Dark Link stepped into view, his form shifting to that of Four himself. His grin was sharp as he stepped closer. Green sprung to his feet, sword quickly finding its way to his hand. Dark just laughed.

"Aw, scared of me, little smith?"

"Not a chance. Now, what do you want?” Green spoke through gritted teeth, and Dark's smile only grew.

"So it's one of the pieces. Tell me, how does it feel to not be whole anymore?"

Green could feel Blue's anger welling up, his want to just stab Dark and get it over with. Vio, too, seemed to be listening in now.

"Just leave, you've done enough harm."

"Oh, but I'm not here to hurt you," he spoke, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I'm just here to offer you a deal."

"We. Aren't. Interested."

And yet, as Green spoke, the others seemed fully focused on the conversation. Vio especially seemed interested in what Dark had to say.

"Ah? But I know that's a lie," he smirked, "I can tell that the traitor piece wants to know."

Green only blinked once, and Warriors was gone. He blinked again, and he was no longer Four. He could see Blue fuming next to him, sword drawn and ready, Red behind him, clutching the fire rod tightly while his knuckles turned white. And then there was Vio at his other side, sword drawn, but no intent to use it. He still looked shaken from the events at Great Bay, but he wanted to know what Dark's deal was.

"Now that you're all together, I can get a real answer,” Dark spoke. The four looked around, trying in vain to find him in the darkened void.

"I really don’t like to repeat myself, but that Hero of the Wilds appears to have kept his mouth shut,” Dark's voice boomed, causing Red to flinch and knock into Blue.

Dark appeared in front of Green, looking similar to Wild, yet without the scars that marred the other's body and face.

"I've been around a long time, and I've seen every single one of your adventures. I know all of your secrets and-" Dark smiled wide as he got in Green's face, "-I know what it is that you desire most."

Blue swung his sword at Dark, only for him to disappear into shadows, his laugh beginning to echo through the void. Red began to tremble, getting closer to Blue for comfort. Green looked back to Vio, seeing how hard he was gripping his sword and the determined look in his eyes.

"Vio. Don't," Green spoke, snapping the other out of his thoughts.

"But there's a chance-"

"I know, but we all know it'll go sideways. There's always a catch, it’s not worth it."

"Oh my, so the little leader figured it out?" Dark mocked, and this time showed himself as a darker Four, an all too familiar form that had all of them falter. Green could hear how Vio's breath halted for a second at the sight. This was bad.

"What are your terms?" Vio asked. The other two inhaled sharply, shocked at how quickly he seemed to want to make a deal with Dark. And Dark smiled.

"I'll bring him back," he replied plainly, and held out a hand, "no strings attached... this time anyway."

Green was pushed out of the way. Vio walked towards Dark, sword lying forgotten on the ground. Blue bolted over to him, grabbing Vio around the waist in an attempt to stop him. Red was begging Vio to stop, trying to say that's not worth it. Green couldn't find the words to say.

Dark's smile only grew as Vio fought Blue's hold on him, waiting patiently. But then he stopped, his gaze looking past the four of them. There was a snap, and a flash of light exploded at Dark's feet. He flinched, surprise on his face.

A second snap and the darkness left. Four was standing, approaching the bed he had slept in earlier that morning, and behind him, he could hear loud coughing. He turned quickly, running to where Warriors was now leaning on his arm, turned towards Four.

"Captain?"

"Deku nuts," he rasped, coughing once more, "good for distractions, makes a hell of a light show, too."

"How did you-"

"Dark Link isn't subtle, I'll tell you that. The bastard deserved it."

Four found himself giggling at that, and for once, all the colors inside his head were unified. All was well.

====

The door closed behind Wild, Twilight, and Time as they entered the circular room that made up the final room of Snowhead. Time could already feel the oppressive atmosphere when they entered, putting both him and his companions on edge. They didn't know what to expect, but Time had a feeling that Dark Link would appear. At this point, it was only a matter of time.

Wild had started to walk around the room, searching for something he didn’t specify. Time merely watched as Twilight followed behind the Cub, making sure everything was fine. Time stood off to the side, keeping a grip on the Goron mask just in case.

It was eerily quiet, and every darkened crevice made him peer closer, checking to see if the damning red glow of Dark's eyes were hiding there. Of course, no matter how hard he glared at the empty pockets in the stone, there was nothing in them besides the shadows.

Wild seemed to notice how the room’s darkened pockets made the elder hero watch them closely, and he grabbed his sword as a precaution. His hand froze in place, hovering over the pommel when an all too familiar chuckle rang in his ears.

He flinched, whipping his head around to locate its source, but coming up with nothing. The other two heroes didn't even seem to react, aside from Twilight looking at him with a questioning glance. Wild merely waved him off, shaking slightly.

"Oh, Hero of the Wilds," the voice--his voice--chuckled, "it's nice to see that you still remember me, despite your faulty memory."

Wild grit his teeth, the memories of that damned deal surfacing once again. He clenched at his sword hilt again, not drawing it out just yet.

"I paid a visit to your friends earlier. Seems no one was in the mood for dealmaking," he sighed, and Wild stifled a sound of relief.

"Though I will say, the Chosen Hero and the Hero of the Winds seemed interested in making a deal." He laughed, the sound loud and dangerous in his ears. "I, of course, let them, and I gave them exactly what they wanted. Why don't I show the heroes of Time and Twilight what those two wanted?"

"Don't. You. Dare," he spat, barely registering Twilight's worried call of "Cub?" over Dark's laughter.

"You know you have no power over me, Champion."

There was an audible crack, and the three snapped to attention, the wall in the center of the room splitting open, a pitch-black portal appearing in its place. Slowly, two familiar figures stepped out, and Wild felt his breath halt as he took in the bloodied and bruised forms of his friends.

Wind's tunic was in tatters, spots of blood dotting it where he had cuts, and bruises where he looked as though he had been hit. Sky was in a similar, if not worse, shape. His sailcloth looked as though it was falling apart, and his shirt and chainmail were wrecked, blood staining the fabric and metal where his skin was visible.

The worst part, however, was how their eyes gleamed red.

Dark laughed again, and this time, the others heard it. He stepped out of the portal himself, his appearance identical to Time's own. He stopped between the two wounded heroes, a wide smile on his face as he took in the shock and anger in the other three hero's expressions. He relished in their barely concealed anger as he put an arm around Sky’s shoulders, his other hand resting on Wind’s shoulder, watching as Wild’s sword hand twitched, as though itching to grasp his blade.

"Why so upset? I brought you your missing companions, didn't I?" He smirked . "And I'll let you take them with you, no strings attached...this time anyway."

"What did you do to them?" Twilight growled, trying to hide the horror in his voice. He quickly drew his blade and glared at Dark.

"Oh, Hero of the Twilight, I merely let them make a deal with me," he chuckled, "and now they have exactly what they've always wanted."

Wild edged closer, timidly reaching out to Wind, the only thought a hope that this was temporary, that it could be fixed. The other looked at Wild, no recognition in his gaze, face blank and unchanging as the hero’s steps faltered. Dark’s smile seemed to grow.

"Here, why don't I let you have them." He snapped his fingers once, and all hell broke loose.

Wild barely had time to react, instinct alone had him unsheathe his sword in one quick movement and block Wind's blade from coming down on his head. The loud clash of steel on steel had him flinching, but Wind’s blank stare made his panic rise.

"Wind, please," Wild's voice cracked, but the other still didn't react.

Wind jumped back, landing a few feet away. Wild could see Time almost hiding behind his shield as Sky began his onslaught. Twilight seemed torn on what he should do, and Wild found himself unable to say anything, unable to call out for help. His words were stuck in his throat, his focus locked firmly on Wind as he began to launch into a spin attack, each hit on the shield threatening it to break.

"My my, whatever shall you do, Wolf?" Dark called out, appearing in front of Twilight, now taking on the form of Twilight himself. "Protect your mentor or your cub? Choose wisely, you wouldn't want to lose anyone else, now, would you?"

Twilight paled at that, thoughts running between his mentor becoming the Hero's Shade and shattered mirrors, goodbyes that never happened, and the fear of things repeating once again. The ever-looming threat of failing his cub or watching as his past becomes true with Time’s death. What was the right answer? Was there even a right answer?

Twilight heard a loud curse from Time, and a decision was made. He pushed past Dark, a chuckle echoing in Twilight's ears, and unsheathed his sword, shield slipped onto his arm. He took a swing at Sky, the other jumping back in time to avoid his blade.

"Thanks, Pup," he heard Time sigh, and he nodded.

Sky seemed to stare intently at Twilight for a moment, a flicker of blue appearing for a second before it was overtaken by red once more. The corrupted hero raised his sword, a familiar blue light causing it to shine for a moment before he swung it down.

Twilight's eyes widened for a moment. His awareness came crashing back as Sky shambled forward and he bolted to the side, knocking Time away from the beam of light. He struggled to call out to Wild, managing a strangled cry that just wasn't loud enough. He watched as the beam of light hit Wind and Wild head-on. He felt a scream building in his throat as they were obscured by the light.

Dark was cackling, though he was no longer visible, the cruel sound echoing as it slowly faded away.

There was a beat, and then the light vanished. On the ground were the forms of Wild and Wind, the latter seemingly passed out on top of the former. They seemed to be okay, and Twilight groaned with relief, the feeling replacing the rush of adrenaline. He looked back over to Sky to see him kneeling, clutching his head, with the Master Sword fallen to the ground.

Twilight raised his weapon, keeping them at the ready. But it seemed as though he didn't have to.

"T-Twi?" Sky croaked out. Time inched forward, his gaze soft but wary.

The red glare in his eyes was gone, Time noticed, and as Sky lowered his hands, he caught sight of the burns that marred his palms, the pommel of the sword seared into his flesh. Time glanced around, noticing the silence and lack of Dark Link. He slowly knelt and grabbed a potion from his bag at his hip.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Sky didn't respond, merely staring at his hands with a faraway look in his eyes.

Time sighed, motioning for Twilight to check on the other two. As soon as they were bandaged and ready to be moved, they would head back to the inn. They all needed a break.

But the idea of Dark still being around,  that he was behind all of this and that two of his boys were still missing. It did little to ease his thoughts.

There was only one place they could be.

Time hung his head and sighed again.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: three words 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: minagi tsuzuru/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.4k words

𝐚𝐧: In this house we love Tsuzuru, always~ This one’s shorter than what I’d usually write but even so I hope you enjoy! To my fellow Clockwork rankers make sure to get some well deserved rest soon!

You could say with utmost certainty that Minagi Tsuzuru was the perfect boyfriend. As a man he’s hard-working and capable of many things, as a friend he was considerate, kind, and protective; as a boyfriend, he managed to deliver all of those things and more.

Him being attractive didn’t hurt either.

A gentle squeeze on your left hand took you out of your thoughts, but you couldn’t be bothered to focus on your surroundings with Tsuzuru still beside you.

“We’re here already, huh,” you tried not to sound disappointed at the sight of the familiar dormitory, but you must have slipped up somewhere based on the way Tsuzuru looked at you.

“Pfft, we’ll see each other again on campus next week,” he laughed,  turning to face you completely as his unoccupied hand found its way to yours.

“I’m sad our date ended so soon, though,” you replied, looking into his eyes as you swung your arms together, “I just wish we got to spend more time together. I really had fun today.”

His eyes softened, fingers locked more tightly with your own. “I enjoyed today, too.” Silence took over the conversation, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable per se it was clear to you something was missing. Filling in the awkward gap, you leaned in to peck him on the cheek.

That seemed to do the trick— no matter how many times you’ve kissed him the pinpricks of red still appear on his cheeks. You don’t bother stifling your laughter, slowly unclasping your hands as you step backward.

“Let me know when you get home, okay?” With only your fingertips left touching, you reluctantly let go, already upset at the loss of his warmth. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said quietly, offering up one last smile as he watched you disappear into the building.

As soon as you entered your room you quickly threw yourself onto your bed, groaning in frustration as your face plants itself onto a pillow. Really, practically everything was perfect with Tsuzuru, but lately, you’ve found yourself wanting more.

From the texts exchanged on a daily basis, to the time spent going over his scripts together, to the deep conversations at night going on for hours— you weren’t so dense or insensitive to not realise that his actions reflected the same feelings you have for him.

Actions did speak louder than words,

but somehow, that wasn’t enough.

It slowly ate you up on the inside, from midday daydreams to late-night thoughts on your desire to have him say those three words. Were you making a big deal out of nothing? Was it simply too soon in your relationship? Was it selfish of you to feel so upset?

You flipped around, now lying on your back as you stared at the white nothingness of the ceiling. As the questions continued to float around you shut your eyes tight, willing them to leave your mind.

A buzzing sound coming from nearby rendered you awake, and with sleepy eyes, you gave your bed a pat-down to find the misplaced device. It didn’t take long, your hand coming in contact with a familiar shaky motion.

One look at the caller ID had you smiling instantly. Despite the emotional wreck, you were a while ago, talking with Tsuzuru made those doubts and insecurities vanish. Without a second to spare for hesitance you quickly answered the call.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted, a yawn soon following your words. “Sorry, were you trying to call for a while now?”

Tsuzuru audibly sighed, and for a moment you could almost imagine him rubbing his temples. “A few minutes. Also, it’s technically evening now, actually- did you fall asleep?”

You sat up, hand reached out to pull away your curtains. True to Tsuzuru’s word, the window framed what made for a beautiful painting— an ombre of crimson, orange, and gold as the sun hid from the moon once more.

“I guess I didn’t realise how exhausted I was until I got home,” you said with amusement, “have you seen the sunset today?”

He hummed, your ears picking up on the subaudible crinkling of a paper bag. “I had to run an errand, so I’m walking home just now.”

You continued watching the resplendent sky. It brought you comfort, knowing that he was watching the same sight as you were. Soaking in the peaceful glow, your previous worries began to wash away. You could always just…

“The sunset’s especially beautiful today,” you said, voice less raspy from your slumber but still soft-spoken. “It’d be nice to watch the sunset together sometime.”

“Okay… we’re doing that now, aren’t we?” He chuckled as soon as he heard you huff. You resisted the urge to retort, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tease him back.

“The sunrise would be nice too… shouldn’t be that hard with how often you stay up, right?” 

Tsuzuru scoffed. “For me? Oh, sure… if you fall asleep before it happens don’t blame me for not waking you up, okay?”

You snorted, wondering if he’d be able to hear the grin on your face somehow.

The two of you entered quietude again, everything still save for the background noise from Tsuzuru’s side of the call. For being only two or three hours apart, the vibe was somewhat different to the same silence as before.

“Tsuzuru?” you waited for his response with bated breath, gathering up all the courage possibly contained in your body. It was a lot harder than you expected— the indecisiveness of how to go about saying it; the uncertainty of his response.

“Yeah? Is something wrong?” Your heart fluttered; he sounded a bit worried all of a sudden, even though nothing in your conversation could have possibly hinted at anything off.

“It’s nothing,” you trailed off for a moment, letting out a shaky breath.

To push through with it or not? If it was too soon, it would make things a bit awkward for a few days; if it wasn’t, then-

“Tsuzuru,” you interrupted whatever he was going to say, resolving your fears and doubts. “I love you.”

Tsuzuru’s breath hitched, yet he didn’t say anything. Seconds pass and you found yourself growing more and more anxious, until the line dropped.

What the fuck?

You dropped down on the bed again, unsure if you were more shocked or frustrated. You just told him you loved him for the first time and he dips? Sure, you understood the possibility of him not responding in kind, or telling you it was too soon— definitely not hanging up on you.

You probably should have said it in person because he wouldn’t be able to escape then.

Minutes pass of you trying to wrap your head around the whole situation, completely and utterly silent until you heard the rapid-fire rapping on your door. You sighed, dragging yourself up and preparing to berate whichever dorm mate of yours was making so much noise.

Instead, you were greeted by Tsuzuru, flushed to the roots of his hair and out of breath. Even though you were still frustrated with him for leaving the call with no explanation, you were still concerned by his sudden appearance.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, letting your annoyance s into your tone. “You can’t just hang up and then-“

“I’m sorry,” he panted out, hastily setting aside his things. “I just had to see you immediately.”

He whispered your name softly, present with more adoration and awe than you’ve ever heard your name pronounced before.

“I was nervous about saying anything. I thought it might have been too soon, I didn’t want to freak you out. Instead, I hurt you in the process.” He stepped inside your room hesitantly, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or angry. When you don’t push him away, he takes one of your hands, holding onto it lightly as though you were fragile.

“I love you,” Tsuzuru said, confidently as though he had never been more sure of something in his life. “I love you more than words could say.”

Your shoulders shook, body quivering slightly as you held back the overflow of emotions you felt. All the anger and insecurity and doubt trickled out of your system until only your affection for Tsuzuru remained.

“Could you say it again? I’d like to hear it in person this time.”

“I love you. I’m in love with you, Tsuzuru.”

Pulling you by the hand he wrapped his arms around you tightly, he replied, “I’m in love with you, too.”

want to order again?

[hurricanerin]

I’ll Never Tell Ch. 5: Insecure

Pairing: Loki/OFC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, non-con, power imbalance, violence, breeding, forced orgasms.

Chapter specific TW: Two geese meet their gruesome end.

Chapter summary: That time by the sea.

Notes: The geothermal pool concept is all @nildesperanddum​ and used with her blessing.  Check out her brilliant Jotun!Loki fic called Reigning in Hel.  It’s one of my all time favorites.

<< Ch. 4 | Ch. 6 >>

INT Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist.

Staring out over the arctic sea, Petra sighed as she waited to be set free.  Ever since their arrival to Utgard she had been cooped up in Loki’s quarters and was going stir crazy.  Today she’d been promised not only freedom from Loki’s rooms, but an outing.  

From the window she watched a giant albatross dive repeatedly, resurfacing each time with a beak full of fish.  The raging waves that crashed against the mountainous cliffs made her shift uncomfortably, despite the distance.  Prior to being dumped on Jötunheim, she’d never seen a the sea.  Svartalfheim had oceans, of course, but she’d never been to the coast.  

Petra jerked out of her thoughts when a raspy voice called from the doorway.

“Lady, are you ready?”

The Jötnar struggled to pronounce ‘P’s’.  ‘Lady’ was easier to say than ‘Petra,’ and most of those in service to Loki defaulted to the easier moniker.  With a wary glance at the tumultuous water, she hauled her cloak around her shoulders.   “Coming!”

Stuffing her bare feet into clunky fur-lined boots, the elf trudged from her personal room in Loki’s chambers towards the hollering voice.

 A flock of Jötnar women from the hunting camp, accompanied by Loki’s lead advisor, Marit, herded Petra from the castle down near the harbor, steering her on foot as they wandered into the city market.  The staggering space was packed with bodies and goods.  Stalls crammed with tools, clothing and animals spattered the rocky seashore, creating thin alleys for customers to walk through.  The group waded into the chaos, the sounds of bartering and interaction prompting Petra to uncomfortably cross her arms.  The livelihood of the market outweighed that of the hunting camp.  The shouts and calls of these giants were spirited compared to the quiet environment of the base where she first encountered the Jötnar.

As they neared the shore and the outskirts of the market, cluttered with fishermen and women tethering their boats and gutting their catch on the docks, Petra wrinkled her nose.

“What’s that stench?”.  

Marit squinted at the elf, sniffing the air.  “Oh, that?  It’s fish and saltwater, Lady.  You’ve never smelled it before?”

Petra made a face, “Never.  It’s awful.”

Marit shrugged a shoulder, “You get used to it.”

The Dökkálfr grimaced with a nod, making a mental note to avoid touching anything that came from the sea.  

The noise faded as they drew near the coastline, the shouts and chatter dissipating into the air and Petra’s muscles unclenched, her arms dropping loosely to her sides as she relaxed.

The women surrounding her stayed occupied.  One traded sea glass for a loaf of bread while Marit haggled with a shop owner over two enormous snow geese.  Purchase made, the advisor shoved the birds at a spluttering Petra as she stalked off to another stall stocked with nets and hooks. She returned a moment later with a box the size of her hand.

“My mate, he fishes,” she explained, holding up the container.

Wrestling with the poultry, Petra managed a nod, trotting to keep up with Marit as she bustled off to the next shop along the shore.

 By the time they made their way back to the inland market, word that the Dark Elf had come out of concealment had spread.  Conversations halted mid-sentence as Petra’s group passed, both speakers rendered speechless by the exotic foreigner.  Her white hair and dark blue-gray skin stuck out against the purer indigo flesh of the giants.

The shift of attention was palpable, leaving Petra feeling horribly vulnerable.  She clutched the geese to her chest as each pair of red eyes locked onto her.  

Recovering from their initial shock, most villagers leaned in to whisper in a frenzy.  Some looked on in curiosity, others glared, but Petra heard a few utterances of the word ‘hore’ which she assumed had the same meaning as it did in the common language.  It appeared as though she had a reputation already.  

As hostility escalated, Petra stepped closer to Marit, who was busy staring down some especially aggressive townspeople.  Petra’s gaze kept flitting to either side of the alleys, afraid of launched rotten food or worse coming her way.  Her companions stayed close, their hands wrapped around the axes and daggers on their belts in warning to those they passed.

The warmth of the birds under her arms was grounding as they walked into the village, her steps as quick as her clumsy boots allowed. Petra jerked when a cool hand grasped her upper arm, sighing in relief to find Marit close to her side.

“We’re almost to town.  Just a little while longer,” she reassured the elf.

Pursing her lips, Petra mumbled something affirming and hustled to keep up with the group.

The other women returned to their respective homes with their purchases as Marit led Petra to her personal dwelling.  Without a word Marit plucked one white goose from the other woman’s arms and snapped it’s neck.

Petra cried out at the woman’s brutality.  She staggered backwards.  “You killed it!”   She held the other honking bird to her chest.

Marit blinked.  “Of course I killed it.  It’s dinner. Give me the other.”

Stunned, the elf took another step back, shaking her head.

Fingers still wrapped around the dead goose’s neck, Marit planted her fists on her hips and exhaled, eyes narrowed.  “Fine.  Jens is not going to like you if his lunch is mostly broth tomorrow.”

With a sigh of defeat, Petra cradled the living bird, idly stroking the feathers of its wing.  She thrust it toward Marit, scowling and clapping her hands over her ears to escape the crunching sound as Marit wrung it’s neck.  Stomach rolling, she let her hands drop to her sides after the bird went limp.

Marit slung each lifeless bird over her shoulder.

“I will pluck them.  I’ll go outside for your sake.  I’m being very hospitable, I’ll have you know.”  

Marit nodded at the dwindling flames illuminating a small fireplace near the center of the house.  “Tend to the fire, then fetch a pot of snow to melt for tonight’s drinking water.  I’ll be back soon.”

The Jötunn brusquely vacated the home, leaving Petra alone and slightly flustered.  

“Norns,” she grumbled, ambling to the fireplace and plopping a few logs on top of the smoldering embers.  Despite not knowing what she was doing, she prodded at the fire with a stoker as she’d seen others do, emitting a contented hum at the heat radiating from the pit.

Fire roaring, Petra stood on her tiptoes to unhook a large pot dangling from a hanging rack.  There were only two to choose from, and she grabbed the larger.  The Jötnar lived simpler than the Dökkálfar.  It was nice, in a way.  Fewer trivial possessions, less desire for elaborate organizational schemes and displays.  There were no servants scurrying about, at least not in town, making beds with obnoxiously ornate frames and clanging pots and pans together as they worked.  Petra wasn’t used to labor like this, if one could consider it that, but found she didn’t mind.  

Spotting a nearby snowbank, she lugged the pot over and scooped handfuls of snow into it until her hands were numb.  Hauling it back inside was a much more physical endeavor, but she managed.  

When Marit returned, Petra averted her gaze, mindful of the featherless creatures swinging from her arms.  Slinging the two birds onto the kitchen table, Marit set about gathering ingredients.  From small potted plants she cut herbs and gathered onions from a basket near the wash basin.  Dropping the vegetables in front of Petra along with a knife, Marit continued shuffling about.

“Chop those,” she called from the fireplace.

Petra stared with wide eyes at the food in front of her. “How do you have fresh vegetables?”

“We grow them.”

Petra frowned, shaking her head.  “I mean how… where did you grow them?  Isn’t the ground frozen?”

Marit scoffed and motioned with her fire poker through the window.  “Of course the ground is frozen.  Dum jente,” she grunted, turning back to the flames.

Still confounded, Petra started cutting the herbs.  “The elements should kill anything that attempted to take root.  You have potted herbs, but no garden in here.  And where did you get soil?”

“There are geothermal pools that heat the earth to appropriate farming temperatures. They’re near the cirque opposite of the way you arrived.  I’ll show you soon.  We’ll need more supplies.”

Petra blinked.  Marit said things so plainly she felt dumb for even asking.  Of course there was arable land.  Of course they farmed.  What else would their animals eat?  How else would they survive?

Marit interrupted Petra’s thoughts by waggling a spoon in her direction.

“Boil the snow, Lady.”

The lines on Petra’s face relaxed as she grew distracted. The elf poked at the melting snow, stirring idly as her mind returned to her experience near the shore.

“Why was everyone so angry at me today?  Everyone in the market?”

Marit didn’t look up from her work at the table, but she did stop fussing with the geese to wipe her hands.  “Because you’re not Jötnar, yet you have value to the king,”  The giant shrugged a shoulder and rubbed her brow with a forearm.  “Loki is a good, but aloof and distant ruler.  They’re envious that a foreigner has his attention.”

“I-I’m not sure I’d say I’m of value to him.  I might hold some mild importance in regards to a strategic plan, but not value.”

Marit glanced up, raising a brow critically.  “Here, that’s the definition of having value.”

Petra muttered under her breath about value being something typically demonstrated through appreciation before moving on.  “The hunting camp wasn’t like this.  People—Well, I’m not sure they liked me, but they tolerated me.”

“I don’t think all Jötnar hate you.  Just the villagers.”

Sagging, Petra grimaced as Marit began cutting the meat into pieces. “Why am I so offensive to those in town but acceptable to the hunters?”

“The people…,” Marit motioned with her knife at the village through the window, “They have known the struggle of hunger and infertility.  But they don’t search for a solution.  They want things the way they’ve always been, Frost Giant mated with Frost Giant.  A pure race.”

The advisor sighed, tilting her head as she collected the bits of goose.  “The hunters, they understand functionality, ingenuity.  Not hunting isn’t an option.  If one method fails, you try another.  It’s that simple.”

“So I’m just another way to behead a bilgesnipe,” Petra muttered.

“Well, yes, I suppose.”

Petra’s gut twisted as Marit reminded her of just how disposable she was.  She was a vessel to these people, and nothing more.

“Fetch the other pot,” Marit ordered, nodding at the other hanging from the ceiling.

It took Petra several tries to unhook it from where it hung, but she lugged it over to Marit who deposited the goose meant to let it sear.

“Vegetables and herbs,” pointed Marit.

Automatically Petra fetched and dumped the chopped pieces in with the meat.

“Now water.”

With an exasperated sigh, Petra spooned several ladles of the clean water into the smaller pot.  

“We’ll eat well tonight.  It’s not always that way, but things are good.  The animals are fat and stores full.”

Well, at least something was going right.

“Help me clean up,” Marit said, tossing a rag at Petra.  She caught it clumsily, barely managing to wrangle it before wiping off the table. Jötnar manners certainly differed from Dökkálfar.  Dinner with Marit and her mate would be interesting.

Later that evening, Petra found Loki lounging in his quarters with a book.  He looked up when she entered, blinked, then his eyes returned to the page.

“Marit said she fed you,” he said.

Still growing accustomed to abrupt Jötnar manner of conversation, Petra was caught mildly off-guard.  “Um, yes.  She did. We made stew.”

When he remained silent, she started towards her portion of Loki’s rooms.  They consisted of a small chamber with a simple bed and dresser.  Before she took three steps, Loki called out.

"I’m not finished.  Come here.”

Dropping the sack filled with a little pouch full of Jötnar coins and a few shells she’d found along the beach, she warily retraced her steps.

“Take off your cloak.”

           She lacked the energy and motivation to argue. Petra tugged her cloak off her shoulders, pausing to hang it on a hook near the doorway.  She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, and waited several beats before turning around.  As she’d predicted, he was staring at her.  

           “You need to eat more.  You’re scrawny,” he mused.  He rested his chin on his fist.  “I wonder if you really are fit to carry my child?”

           Taken aback, Petra raised her chin and widened her stance.  She needed to remain important.  Her life depended on it.  “I can do it.”

           Loki smirked, which only served to irritate her. “Let me see you.”

           “I-What?  I’m standing in front of you.”

           “Take off your clothes.”

           After a split second of hesitation, she complied. His being bossy when it came to sex wasn’t new.  Muttering to herself, Petra quickly shucked off her dress and boots, standing with her back to Loki.  She plodded to the bed with her arms wrapped across her chest, waiting for him to follow. Glancing over her shoulder, her cheeks glowed as she saw him lazily untether his trousers and wrap his fist around his waking cock.  He cleared his throat and she realized she’d been staring.  Embarrassed, she lifted a leg to climb onto the high mattress, eager to put distance between them, when he interrupted her.

           “Stop.”

           “What?”

           “Face me.”

           Her stomach fluttered as she rotated so her side faced Loki.  Crossing one leg over the other, she hugged her chest.  His eyes, usually narrowed in a frown or glare, were relaxed as he studied her.  Petra squirmed as they roamed over her body.  The king had never looked so appraisingly at her.  He’d only spent a moment evaluating her body their first time and she shifted uneasily, looking at the floor.

           “No.  Face me.”

           The sharpness of his voice left no room for argument.  Clutching her chest, Petra swiveled until she was thoroughly in view.  Loki traced his lower lip with his index finger, humming as his eyes studied her dainty feet, moving up her calves and thighs until her crossed legs halted his examination.

           “Stand up straight.”

           She grimaced.

           “This isn’t… Are we not having sex?”

           Loki tapped his lip as his brow arched.  “Stand up straight, Petra.”

           Pursing her lips, she slowly parted her crossed thighs a fraction.

           “Do as I say or I’ll position you myself.”

           Her chest tightened as her blush worsened, spreading from her cheeks down her chest.  Arms flopping to her sides in defeat, she clenched her fists as she stood normally. “Is this what you want?  To assess my body like I’m an animal?”

           The corner of his mouth quirked as he rose and casually stalked forward.  She froze as he neared, gaze flitting to the ground.

           “Look at me.”  His voice was ice.

           Gaze blurred with teary uncertainty, she obeyed. He smiled, a cruel expression that only served to unsettle her further.

“I want to see your shame, skapning.”

           Staring at him while he appraised her was worse than being called out for being half human in front of the Dökkálfar court.  She felt lower than a whore.   At least most whores were purebred.  The sexual aspect of his examination was utterly humiliating.  Was she worthy of carrying his child?  Did he find anything about her remotely arousing? His eyes bored into her, coaxing goosebumps to break out across her skin.

           “What do you want?” she sighed.

           “I told you,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth still turned up.  “To see your shame.”

           Fingers trailing down her neck, Loki stopped over her fluttering pulse.

           “Do you think yourself… pretty?  Your face?  Your body?”

           Her stomach dropped.  She knew she wasn’t attractive by Jötnar standards.  She was too little, too frail.  Her hair and skin were the wrong shades and her height was pathetic.  Throat growing tight, she shook her head, eyes on her feet.

           The king tutted her.  “Look.  At. Me.  I’ll not ask again.”

           Eyes stinging with tears, she glared up at him.

           “Ah, there’s that fire.”  Loki traced her clavicle.  “Never lose that, Petra,” he murmured.

           Fighting the urge to swat his hands away, she remained silent.  Her cheeks continued to burn with shame as his eyes roamed.  She desperately wanted to retreat to her room.  It was enough to know he didn’t find her attractive, but she felt utterly repulsive under his current scrutiny.  She wanted to disappear.

           Inspection complete, Loki pointed to the bed. Without a word, she followed the silent command and crawled onto the mattress, propping herself up on all fours.

           Loki ran his hand along the length of her spine. “As appealing as you look this way, I’m going to have you in another manner.”

           Before she could ask what he meant, he flipped her onto her back.  She yelped, slamming her legs shut and crossing an arm over her heaving chest as they came face to face.

           “This-this isn’t how we do this,” she stuttered.

           “We do this however I want and tonight I want to see your face.  Unless, of course, you’d rather sit in my lap?  We both know how that turned out last time.”

           A shiver crawled up her spine as she relaxed, her thighs spreading a few inches and her arm falling to the bed.  Gravity tilted her face to the side and she stared at the wall.  Loki briefly ignored her passivity in favor of running his fingers over the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

           “I’ve only ever done this with my mate.”

           She started sitting up in alarm.  He was mated?  With another woman?  When a horrified expression crossed her face, he laughed.  “Calm, skapning.  She’s been gone for many years.”

           Her tensed body relaxed with an uncertain sigh. She couldn’t compete with another Jötunn woman for his attentions.  Replaying his words in her head, she frowned.

           “You’ve only done what with your mate?”

           Loki ignored her in lieu of wetting two fingers with his tongue and slipping them inside her.  Petra’s hips arched off the bed and she cried out in surprise.  He grinned down at her, using the broad palm of his free hand to pin her hips to the bed.  Heart pounding, she struggled.  The way he looked at her was terrifying.  He was feeding off her expressions and reactions, which she couldn’t hide as his began thrusting his fingers.  The position was far too vulnerable.  That he could see her face made her wildly uncomfortable.

           “This isn’t what I agreed to!”

           “Relax.  You’ll only be able to think for another minute or so.”

           Sputtering, she angrily smacked the mattress and laid back, staring at the vaulted ceiling.  

           Loki withdrew his fingers and issued a smart slap to her pussy.

           “What part of ‘look at me’ is difficult for you to understand?”

           Face threatening to crumple, she bit down on her cheek and lowered her eyes to meet his.  He stared at her intently, watching every twinge of her brow and twitch of her lips.  It was enough to be exposed like this, but to know he didn’t find her attractive was simply humiliating.  She felt like a disappointing specimen.

           “That’s better.”  

He withdrew his finger and took his cock in his hand, giving it a few pumps.  When she realized he intended to fuck her while on her back, Petra whimpered.  What had she done to warrant this kind of punishment?  She’d had sex like this before, but with meaningless partners that were likely picturing someone else as they fucked her.  Loki was not picturing someone else.  He was looking at her too hard, his gaze patronizing.

“Little skapning,” he sighed.

Glancing down, he ran the head of his length between her folds, stopping at her clit to rub against it.  The slippery precome and the pressure of his cock felt more heavenly than she’d like to admit, so she bit her cheek until it bled to keep from making noise.  She refused to validate him while he demeaned her.  

His voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“You’re just a little lost Dökkálfr without me, aren’t you? I give you purpose.  Carrying my child is an honor.  Do you know how many Jötnar women would quite literally kill to be in your position?”

Forcing herself to go numb in an attempt to survive whatever verbal assault he was conducting, she shook her head.

“Many,” he answered his own question

“Good for you.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest and he shook his head.

“Good for you, rather.”  He eased himself inside, groaning as her tight walls clutched his length.

Petra inhaled sharply, cursing under her breath.  He wasn’t finished belittling her yet.  He had to knock her down even further, forcing pleasure on her.  Her pussy throbbed around him making him hiss as he slid against her walls.  Lazily he began pumping.  

           “The night you arrived, I would’ve turned you away without a second thought,” he grunted.  “I wouldn’t have felt guilt.  But you were stubborn and feisty and I wanted to have you.  So I made you mine.”

           Petra pushed off the bed as best she could, brows raised in surprise.

           “What?”

           “Centuries ago I inhabited Asgard.  Traditional beauty isn’t lost on me.  You may not be a warrior, but you’re certainly a woman.”

           Spluttering, Petra shook her head.  “I thought you found me repulsive—!”

           With a sharp thrust, Loki knocked the air from her lungs.

           “Quiet, skapning.  We’re not having a conversation.  I’m merely enlightening you.”

           Gasping for breath, she grunted as he hit that spot that made her see stars, damning her body for falling victim to him with such ease.  She kept her mouth shut, grinding her teeth in an effort to limit the noises insisting on flowing from her mouth.

           No longer interested in words, Loki began jerking his hips in earnest.  Each time his cock passed through her entrance forced her a step closer to an orgasm. Since his proclamation that she only come with his permission, she’d managed to succeed so far.  But, something about the debasing tone he’d taken with her was causing an unseemly reaction.  He’d been speaking of her as if she were an object.  His object.  As if she belonged to him, which should have upset her, but the idea that she had enough value that he desired her made her cunt pulse.  Though in that moment she very much tried to hate him, the idea sparked heat low in her belly.  

           The prospect of carrying his child did make her feel important.  It was an honor.  He was a powerful man that people feared and revered.  It was impossible not to be attracted to that.  And the fact that he didn’t find her displeasing was slightly overwhelming.  

           A brisk snap of the hips knocked her out of her thoughts, prompting a moan.

“Do you like knowing you please me?  More than another woman has pleased me in centuries?”

It was hard to ignore him with their eyes locked, but she managed.  With a growl, Loki gripped her waist and slammed their hips together.  “Do you?”

Crying out in pleasured pain, she managed a nod.

“Good.”

With that, he pulled back, almost leaving her cunt, before plummeting into her pussy once again.  She screamed as his pubic bone ground harshly against her clit, making her walls flutter.

Her eyes had rolled back and it took a moment for her vision to return and when it did, he was smiling at her again.

“You’re easy to please.  I do appreciate that, you know.”

His thrusts resumed, the sound of skin on skin echoing in his chambers.  The slick of her pussy aided his rapid pumping, which sent them both closer and closer to completion.  Petra began to whimper, biting her tongue in an attempt to distract from the fire blooming in her belly.  Just as she was about to struggle away from him, he spoke.

“Come, skapning.”

With a wail she lost all sense of being for several moments, floating blissfully in pleasured nothingness as her walls contracted around his cock.  With a low growl his hips jackhammered against hers, likely leaving bruises for her to find tomorrow.  He erupted inside her, his come flooding her insides and leaking out as he continued to fuck her.

Both panting, Loki took a moment to gather himself before pulling out.  Without a second look at his bedmate he stretched, his back cracking as he sighed contentedly.  He disappeared to the bathroom for a moment to clean up and don trousers, then strode back to his chair, picked up his book and resumed reading while Petra caught her breath on the bed.  She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong to make him leave like that.  Shaking her head in disbelief, she ignored the mess between her legs and rolled over and tried to sleep.

@the-kinky-friend​ @monarchofallisurvey​ @averyrogers83​ @smollest-soybean​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @cassiopeya81​ @vintage-lovers-world​ @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​ @imnotrevealingmyname​ @false-octopus​ @tinyfirestudentpurse​

thanks to @writeyourmindaway​ for the divider 💖

[yeojaa]

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why.  Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds.  When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you.  "Yes."  Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic.  Always had been.  It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary.  You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  who knows, honestly.  the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.  

tags.  blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating.  ... 18+

word count.  ~4000

chapter 9.  

FLASHBACK September 1, 2018

"Just post it,"  you're chiding, indignant and exasperated and still, so incredibly soft.  You're prone against his shoulder, bone of your chin digging into the muscle that lines his back and undulates with every breath.  He moves forward, not to dislodge you from your position, but enough to shift the sharp turn of your jaw.  You say nothing further and settle into the warmth that radiates off him, nose lost to the hood of his sweatshirt.  

The mouse sits heavy in his palm, an anchor rather than 67 grams of nothingness.  There's too much power in the little black device.  It makes his jaw ache and his brow furrow.  You can feel the uncertainty radiating off him in waves, invading your senses in an unwelcome assault.

"Kook, come on."  Again, softer this time, laced with tenderness and belief.  It spills off your lips, buttery and sweet like carnival kettle corn.  Your arms find a home around the slant of his frame, fingers locking neatly over his chest, right where his heart lies beneath flesh and bone.  The steady thud of it is a reminder of his humanity.  "You've worked so hard for this."

This, being his portfolio.  His life's work made reality, brushed with the most utmost care and so much talent you're not sure where it all goes.  

Gouache portraits, vivid blues and greens splashed over cream;  wondrous proportions laid out bare, rendered to perfection with a keen eye and careful hand.  Production of stories you'd never be able to express, painted with the most glorious skill and cut to maximize impact.  Melodies woven in between and above; the sweetest sound you'd ever hear, awash with the light and shadow.  

His finger hovers over the button on his mouse as if it's a Doomsday device.  You want to scoff but bite it back, pressing your face into the freshly-washed powder puff that is his hair.  It smells of peaches and honey, mingling with the distinctly Jungkook scent that lingers on his skin.

"I can't do it."  He whispers the words like they're shameful, yanking his hand away and stuffing his hand into the kangaroo pouch bundled around his waist.  You sigh.  It's quiet but with your close proximity, he hears it and it's an echo that repeats over and over in his ears.  Eyes squeeze shut, dent forming between his brows as he exhales a shallow breath.  "I heard that."

"You were meant to,"  you return easily.  Because while you'd always be in his corner, supporting him when he needed it most, you also weren't about to let him rest on his laurels.  

Before he can stop it, you've got the mouse in your hand.  Click - like it's the easiest motion in the world.

"Did you just—"  You're retreating as soon as he's speaking, skittering back five steps and out of reach when he whirls around in his stupid red and black gaming chair.  The fury is immediately apparent in the baring of his teeth, the tension in his jaw.  It propels him forward and he's so much taller, his strides so much longer, that he's upon you in a second.

"You needed a push!"  It's a meagre excuse, squeaked out in indignation as you anticipate death by asphyxiation.

Instead, he's crushing you against him so tightly you really do feel like you can't breathe, though it’s different.  Still, it's better than what you'd anticipated and you pat his back where you can reach, arms locked to your side by the intensity of his hug.  You think he might squeeze the life out of you but you don't move to untangle yourself from him, instead mumbling soft reassurances against his chest.  "There, there."

"Thank you."  It's so hushed you think he might've meant it only for his ears, but you feel the way the words ghost over the shell of your own.  It sends a shock straight to your toes, rousing an adoring smile along the way.

"You're welcome,"  you hum in a voice thick with satisfaction.  You loved being right.  It didn't happen often - at least, not with Jungkook - so you revelled in it at every opportunity, allowing your ego to triple in size and engulf everyone in the immediate vicinity. 

Not one to let his defeat go so easily, he huffs.  The way he rolls his eyes makes you worry he'll sever an optic nerve.  "Still a brat, though."  

"Yeah, well—"  You're returning his childish petulance tenfold, tongue sticking out from between lips that taste like too-sweet plum wine and Sprite.  "—takes one to know one."  And boy, did you know one.  Had, for the better part of three years.  Sometimes you loved it;  sometimes, you didn't quite hate it.  At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The boy snorts from above you, withdrawing just enough that you can breathe and wiggle your arms.  He really was a muscle pig - your shoulders thrum with a dull ache.  "Shut up."  

"Don't think I will,"  you answer, watching the way his eyes glint and his jaw ticks.  He tongues the inside of his cheek as he glares down at you, silent.  You know what that means.  You brace for the feeling, feet planting into the hardwood like you're an oak taking up root. It's futile.

In a second, you're upside down, suspended over his shoulder like a toddler.  Well, not a toddler, because that would be incredibly bad parenting.  It's something funnier - a six year old playing airplane.  Except you're in your twenties and you've got much longer limbs than a child and they flail wildly, elbow knocking into the back of his head with a painful sounding thud.

"Watch it!"  He exclaims, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh.  He doesn't sound too bothered, though, the words dropping off into a laugh that bounces around the room and pitches higher.  "I wouldn't want to drop my precious cargo."

It's a threat that has you stilling, if only for a minute.  The last thing you want is to have your face make friends with the floor.  That'd happened once - on concrete, even - and you'd felt awful for days after.  Of course, he'd felt terrible, too, leaving an enormous fruit tart from Maybell Bakery outside your dorm the next day.

"Go ahead.  I've been craving some fresh bread."

"That was one time."  

You can tell you've struck a nerve by the way he tenses beneath you, forearm flexing over the small of your back.  You can't help but snicker, swatting his sweatpant-covered ass just enough to jostle him.

"I was kidding, Mr. Sensitive."  

He doesn't dignify that with an answer, instead shifting into action.  His bare feet carry him in a tight circle before he deposits you onto his bed and not a minute too soon.  You'd started to feel a strain in your neck, blood rushing to your head the longer you were hung like a rag doll.

"You're a pain in my ass sometimes."  Though the words are unkind, his delivery is not.  There's far too much tenderness in his eyes, the way they crease and nearly disappear when he offers you one of his trademark bunny smiles.  

You return the expression with ease, wiggling your thin, piano-honed fingers at him.  "Literally."

"Yeah, literally."  With another exaggerated roll of his eyes, he flops face-down on the bed beside you, arms curling around a pillow and dragging it under his cheek.  His knees hang off the edge before he's dragging one up, locking it over your legs in some contortionist cuddle.  He peeks at you from beneath his fringe - it's just the right side of too long, curling prettily over his doe eyes and obscuring his eyebrows. Despite the eye contact you carefully maintain, he says nothing, merely peering up at you like he's trying to read his future or see the stars.

Finally, you speak, turning your gaze back to his popcorn ceiling as your hands find comfort in the weight of his leg, the tendons flexing in the joint of his knee.  Your neck was beginning to kink.  "What?"  

"Thank you, again."  Because once isn't enough.  Never will be, when it comes to the two of you.  You've always pushed him to do what he needed, even when he wasn't so sure himself.  He can't thank you enough for that - or for the fact that you're always there, right at the edge with him.

You smile then and meet his stare again.  "You're welcome, Kook.  Happy birthday."

"What is this?"  

You're half-asleep and groggy, struggling to push past the awful clutches of Sandman and his dreams.  They linger in every crevice, coating your lashes in dust and your tongue in cotton.  Luckily, there's no ache behind the fatigue, no lurking monkey about to crash its cymbals in defiance of you and God.

Through the frame of lethargy, you make out the familiar slope of shoulders, of a delicate pair of hands.  Past that comes his adorable smile, all squishable cheeks and barely there eyes, mouth contorted into that peculiar shape.  He's not where he should be - in bed beside you, fast asleep.  Instead, he's statuesque, barely dressed in a pair of soft cotton shorts and nothing else with your breakfast tray held aloft.  There's a pile of waffles - they look surprisingly good - and two mugs.  Somehow, there's also an assortment of flowers thrown into what looks like a water glass.  

Had you died and gone to heaven?  Surely not.  

"Happy birthday,"  your - yes, your, you remind yourself - golden Adonis sings in a voice so rich, so tender, you immediately feel a lump forming in your throat.  He's looking at you like a kid on Christmas morning,0 hopeful and filled with childish wonderment.  It stokes the warmth that spreads through your veins, lava in place of platelets.  It burns from the inside out but it's pleasant - sitting too close to a fireplace on a chilly winter evening rather than an open flame. 

Nails bite into the fleshy underside of your palm in a belated attempt to rouse yourself from the very pleasant daydream.  It stings but nothing comes further.  You're not imagining things.  

You have to applaud your past self for whatever she'd done to deserve this.  

"You really didn't have to."  A moment after it slips off your tongue, you wish it hadn't.  The last thing you want to seem is ungrateful.  Luckily, Taehyung is steadfast and unbothered, dropping forward onto a knee to slide the tray over your clean white linens.  He looks so good, all honey skin and tousled bedhead, that you can't focus when he catches your lips in a lingering kiss.

His laughter crowds your mouth, along with the taste of peppermint toothpaste and, just behind it, honey and what tastes like tea, floral and earthy.  "I wanted to."

A sound most similar to a sigh - maybe a bit needier, filled with adoration - meets the air when he withdraws, settling himself on the edge of the bed with that same heartbreaking grin.  He pushes your birthday breakfast toward you, earnest and lovely.  He even unceremoniously shoves your utensils between your fingers, forcing them into your grip like a toddler.  

"Eat,"  he commands, though his tone is too light to really elicit any movement from you.  It's only the way he looks that prompts you to dig in, cutting a generation portion of waffle loaded with what looks like whipped cream and strawberries.  You raise your fork aloft, gesturing for him to take the first taste.  He simply shakes his head and with gentle pressure, redirects the forkful back to you.  His loss.

The strawberries are surprisingly sweet yet incredibly tart, their freshness breaking up the honey glaze.  The fact that you haven't even brushed your teeth isn't lost on you;  you can't bring yourself to care when you're melting into the flavours and humming delightedly.

"Is it good?"  

"If you'd just try some, you'd know."  You answer with hearts in your eyes and affection blooming like roses across your cheeks, sparkling shades of warmth springing across fields of baby's breath.  Another forkful is raised and this time you won't allow him to redirect, holding the mouthful aloft and meeting his stare with purpose.

A moment passes, then another.  The edge of his mouth ticks higher.  Your eyes burn from your refusal to blink.

When he accepts the bite, you allow an exaggerated breath, the sound expelling from pursed lips with triumph.  "Yum?"  You question, giddy and grateful.  You sneak another bite while he chews, tongue feathering across his bottom lip to catch some residual cream from the corner.

"I did good."  He sounds so proud, chest puffed like a baby bird that's learnt to fly.  You're torn between the intense desire to squish his cheeks or kiss him silly and you stare at him for a long moment as you swallow, the intoxicating flavour of honey and strawberries sitting like a spring picnic on your tongue.  It sinks into the spaces between your teeth - a shot of loved-up sugar right into the veins - and you set your fork down. 

Free hands find the slope of his jaw and act as a cradle, thumbs smoothing over the soft dry petal of his bottom lip.  He peers at you curiously, strands of silk brushing over his gaze as he works to meet your stare.  

"What?"

You want to pass all of your affection into the smile you offer and the kiss you press, chaste and light.  "Thank you."  The emotion in your voice rings true, echoes heavily in the breath you pair it with.  "You really, really didn't have to."  But I'm really glad you did, are the words you don't say, allowing them to hang between you like a gossamer thin thread - a spider's web interconnecting all the different ways you adore him.

"I know,"  he hums as he moves in for another kiss - one that lingers and pulls and draws you deeper into the abyss that is him.  Careful hands slide the breakfast tray to the farthest corner of the bed, far away from wandering limbs, and then he's dragging you closer, over the soft white duvet.  Fingers find a home in the small of your back as you find the same nearly in his lap, knees caught against the line of his side.  Like this, he envelopes you, all sharply angled shoulders and imposing, but you don't mind.  It feels nice being wrapped in his embrace. 

FLASHBACK April 24, 2019

You need to get this done.  You can't stop until you've finished because you've been losing steam the entire week and now you're running on fumes, halfway to the finish line and about to collapse.  The strain behind your eyes feels miserable, like hot coals have replaced your usual organs, and you've nearly chewed a hole through your bottom lip.  It feels like a punishment in and of itself to feel the constant throb and the metallic tang on your tongue.

Why did you always do this?  You'd had all semester to work on this and yet, here you were, stark raving mad and exhausted on a random Friday.  

No, Saturday now.  It was almost five in the morning.

Frustration colours your complexion, marks the tired skin in patchy shades of red, and you blow a sharp breath out under your breath.  You know you have no one to blame but yourself but you try to ignore the guilt that licks up the column of your spine and settles like a heavy collar around your neck.  You can't linger on it too much - you're too busy trying to hack this artist's block to dust.

Lids squeeze shut of their own accord and the heels of your palms dig into the sockets, as if that'll help drive the emptiness from your thoughts or, at the very least, alleviate some of the mind-numbing pressure that's been building since you started this futile task six hours ago.  The consistent press helps a little - draws blossoms of light against the back of your eyelids - and you exhale a beleaguered sigh, head dropping ever so slightly.  Between the headache that's settled in like an unwelcome house guest and the general tiredness of being up for nearly twenty-four hours straight, you're not sure which is worse. 

You also don't have much time to think about it when your phone starts going off, vibrating madly across the flat top of your desk.  It's face-down - you'd wanted as few distractions as possible - and you consider ignoring it for a moment.

Only when you consider the time do you decide to answer it.  After all, nobody just called at this hour.  It might be important.

You hardly hazard a glance at the screen before you're swiping across, dimly noting the familiar silly photo of your classmate and friend plastered across the pixels.  "What's up, Jeon?"  The words come out scratchy and for the first time, you realize how parched you are.  You're not quite sure when you'd last drank or stood up or anything.  God, you were a poor excuse for an adult.  

"Open the door."  

It's equal parts impressive and irritating how chipper he somehow sounds, as if he's just woken up from the best sleep in the world and powered his way through a strongman's breakfast.  Chapped lips twist, descending into a pout you know he can't see, and you force yourself to focus on what he's said and not how you'd give anything in the world to trade places with him and his sunny disposition.  

Wait— what?  Open the what?  

"What did you say?"  

You can practically imagine the lines at his nose and around his eyes, the dimples that you're sure are carved into those cheeks of his.  "I said open the door!"  

Before you can think anything of it, you're rising from your chair - nearly knocking over your neglected glass of water with the movement - and allowing your slipper-wearing feet to carry you out of your bedroom and to the front door.  You bump into the table in your hallway, earning a grunt and sharp inhale of breath as your fingers soothe what you know will be a bruise in the morning.  Maybe you should've turned on the light.  Maybe you should've stopped at the washroom to make sure didn't frighten him with your insane hair and sleepless pallor.  Maybe you should've done a lot of things.

Instead, you slide the lock, open the door, and nearly shriek when Jungkook’s upon you faster than you can react.

"Happy birthday!"  A single solid arm is crushing you to his chest, his breath warm against your temple, before he engulfs you fully.  You feel your feet leave the ground momentarily, fuzzy slippers clattering to the floor as he squeezes you with just enough force to steal your breath away.  It might be why you're not reciprocating - you physically cannot - or it’s the fact that your brain is playing catch-up and your limbs are already a little boneless from lack of sleep.

"What are you doing here?"  You manage to squeak against the smooth fabric of his jacket.  It's the same one he always wears - black with Yohji Yamamoto embossed across the left-side of his chest - and it smells intoxicating, a familiar blend of his cologne and laundry detergent.  You inhale the scent like it'll sooth your half-asleep, ragged nerves.  It does, a little, and you're grateful for that.  You don't even pull away when he finally releases you, stepping back just enough to let you slide back into your slippers and peer up into his face.  

He really had no business looking so good.  Despite the early hour, his dark hair is neatly styled or at the very least, freshly washed.  It's fully dry and surprisingly fluffy, falling over those big doe eyes in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it.  It's a little longer than usual, too, and you reach a hand out to smooth strands behind a silver-adorned ear.

"It's your birthday,"  comes his response, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.  

A brow quirks - tries to, at least - and you regard him with something not quite suspicious but definitely confused.  It plays across your features in shadows, peeking around the fan of your lashes and the frame of your mouth.  "It's also... four in the morning."

"Five, actually."  There's that stupid adorable smile of his, presented like a gift and topped with squeaky laughter.  "And I told you I was coming over."

"No, you didn't."  You'd have remembered that - right?

"I did."  As if to drive his point home, the glaringly bright screen of his phone is all but shoved into your line of sight, artificial light burning your retinas.  You shift away, swatting at his wrist as he watches in barely concealed amusement.  He thinks you're frustrated by his very 'I told you so' smile that fits snug over his mouth and wrinkles the delicate skin around his eyes;  he's surprised when you take the device back in your hands and peer at it like it's the strangest thing you've ever seen.

Well, he certainly hadn't lied.  A handful of texts - maybe more than that - mock you, text bubbles indicating he had indeed sent you messages all throughout the night.  Little one-liners asking what you were doing, followed by a gentle head's up much later that he'd see you soon.  Of course, you'd ignored them all, far too engrossed in making near zero progress on your semester-end project.  It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth - equal parts tentative embarrassment and residual fatigue.  Lips purse, straighten into a firm line, and arms fold over your chest.  It's reminiscent of a spoiled child and frankly, beneath the burnout, you know it's not a good look.  Unfortunately, you can’t find it in yourself to rearrange your expression into something more socially acceptable.

Luckily, he's seen you like this enough times to not mind - you always fell into ruts like this when your procrastination met a hard deadline - the irritation seemingly unable to penetrate the sunny turn of his mouth and slope of his wide, open shoulders.  "So, are you ready?"  

"Ready for..."  You trail off, partially out of confusion and partially out of a lack of capacity to consider the question.  

"We're going on an adventure."  

Again, so simple and yet so cryptic.  It draws your eyebrows into a little knot, consternation setting into every thread.  "I have a project to do, you know."  Despite this, there's a pearl of longing that dangles from your syllables.

He zeroes in on it without hesitation, drawing you easily against him.  "I'll help you with it later,"  he says, as if that's a good enough excuse.  You suppose it is.  "In the meantime, go get ready?  You look like you have a rat living in your hair and I don't want you getting mistaken for a homeless vagrant on the train."  Despite the mockery, his expression is soft, smile sweet and playful as it always is.

It's impossible to deny him when he's like this, cherubic and enticing. 

With a sigh that blows past chapped lips and disappears into his chest, you relent.  "Fine."  You're careful to keep your tone just a little grating, as if you're somehow doing him the huge favour.  You know he can see right through it but neither of you mind;  it's all a part of your silly routine.  "Come in and wait for me and don't eat my cereal."

"No promises."

notes.  here, take my weird birthday-centric chapter.  i wanted to add more to this but my brain hasn’t been cooperating with me lately.  

i swear the next chapter will be better - with more exploration of the present! - but thanks for reading.  :)

[guktwt]

steamy. (m)

→ pairing: jeon jeongguk | female reader    → genre: smut → warnings: public sex, dry humping/grinding?, thigh riding, unprotected sex, slight dirty talk, lowkey sub!jk for a few seconds, this is a spontaneous drabble!!, No Plot Just Jungkook → word count: 1.7k 

→ summary: things get a little too heated at the gym, all courtesy of jeon jeongguk. (inspired by jungkook’s twitter video of him working out (you all know which one).

If you had known working at the gym would be this frustrating, you wouldn’t have taken up the offer in the first place. And your source of turmoil? Jeon Jeongguk.

Bratty, shameless, gym-junkie Jeon Jeongguk who you had the pleasure of meeting him a month ago at one of Taehyung’s house party. Who, much to your dismay, succeeded in luring you to his bed only three hours after your first conversation. But in your defense, you had just gotten out of a messy breakup and wasn’t in the right state of mind to resist his stupidly charming smile.

You weren’t inclined on having another guy in your life when the last one gave you a hard time, so when you woke up the morning after with sore muscles and an empty bed, you were slightly relieved. You thought that would be the end of it, but two weeks ago he started showed up here, all messy hair and killer smile, and hasn’t stopped going ever since.

Hasn’t stopped trying to get in your pants, not-so-subtly trying to make you remember the night you two had shared, and asking you on a date any given chance that your co-worker starts to pity him.

You see, you would consider giving him a chance, but unfortunately his behavior is reduced to flirting with everything that has a pulse. That’s what he keeps showing you whenever he’s at the gym, at least. If he thinks you miss the way he lets girls stare and flaunt over him, then he might as well just stop bothering with you. Though you don’t know him well-enough besides being one of Taehyung’s friends, he screams all the things you want to avoid and that’s more than enough to make you stay away.

But now he’s doing this.

Jeongguk’s seated on the Bowflex, his hands clasping the handles hard like his life depended on it, and you hate how he’s directly in your line of sight.

He’s breathing heavily, noises coming out of his mouth that makes your brain start conjuring all sorts of scenarios, particularly ones that are way different than this one, filling yourself with thoughts nowhere near work appropriate. You’re torn between fixating your eyes on his face, jaw hardening every time he lifts the bar, and watching the way the muscles in his arms flex every time he moves. He staring right back at you, the corners of his lips quirking up because Jeongguk knows he looks good. He knows this is killing you, perhaps for many reasons that contradict each other. It’s not fair. The expressions he makes are borderline pornographic at this point, but you wouldn’t be so specific with your thoughts if you hadn’t seen them beforehand.

(—hadn’t seen them one particular night in the midst of a heated year-end party, with him hovering over your bare and sweaty body. You can still remember the way his eyebrows furrowed as he presses his weight on top of you, the way he had shut his eyes when—)

“Can you hand me a towel?” Jeongguk calls out, pulling you out of your daydream. You feel heat rush to your cheeks at having thought about him like that when he’s right there, but you quickly regain your composure.

His attire today is a simple oversized plain white t-shirt that hangs loose on his frame. Sweat has collected on his front, dampening the fabric and making it stick to his skin, outlining his perfectly toned abdomen. You try to look everywhere else as you walk over to him.

You stretch your hand out to offer him the cloth, trying to seem indifferent, but he doesn’t take it.

“I’m a bit preoccupied. Can you wipe my sweat off for me?”

“Can I wipe your fucking—,” you implode, stopping yourself before he has any reason to file a customer service complaint. Thankfully no one else is in today, so you don’t have to worry about making a scene. More calmly, you add, “what am I to you?”

“Anything you want to be.” The smirk on his face was painful to see.

You roll your eyes at his weak attempt to sweet talk you. By this point, you’ve given up telling him to stop having learned that Jeongguk’s quite the ambitious guy. When you look at him again, he’s still smiling at you. A smile that one has when they think they have the upper hand in the situation.

It would be so damn nice to catch Jeongguk off-guard and render him vulnerable. Before you can have second thoughts, you're moving towards him and planting yourself on his lap.

“W-what are you—”

“Wiping your sweat, what else?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. He’s still holding onto the handle. You dab the towel on his forehead trying to seem relaxed when in reality this proximity surprises you too. Unlike that night, his features are far clearer under this bright light. You can make out the faint scar on his cheek that you have yet to hear the story of. His doe eyes are fixated on yours.

“What? Is this making you uncomfortable?” you provoke. You let the towel linger on his neck. Jeongguk merely gulps. You adjust yourself on his lap, purposely grinding against his thigh and making the poor boy squirm in his seat. “Well?”

Jeongguk lets go of the handles, the sudden clang of the metal weights falling surprising you, but you barely have time to react because he’s pulling you into him and attaching his lips onto yours, making you drop the towel.

This wasn’t part of your plan. All you wanted to do was taunt him a little, just to put him in his place, but you're pressed against his body and his lips feel too good to resist so you don’t. Instead, you gently place your hands on the nape of his neck but rake your nails over his skin in a much different manner.

You’re lost in the way his tongue is doing wonders that it takes you a while to be aware of the pressure you’re starting to feel between your thighs. You feel hot. Steamy. You want to clamp your thighs together but you can’t. You hate to admit that you’ve already grown wet just from minimal contact like this but the way Jeongguk mewls against your lips is addicting.  

“If I don’t get to fuck you now—” he breathes, mouth going for your neck and sucking the skin there. This is dangerous. You’re lucky that you’re the only staff in for the night and that no one else is present but that doesn’t mean someone won’t walk in any moment. And yet, you don’t stop yourself from. “Bet you’re already wet, huh?” he murmurs. His hands move to your hips, guiding your movements.

“Fuck you–”

“Aren’t you doing that right now? So desperate for my cock you’re willing to fuck yourself on my thigh like this,” Jeongguk torments. If he didn’t look so damn good right now you would’ve told him to shut up.

You’ve had enough. “Take your fucking pants off.”

Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow. “Here? How dirty.”

“Off or I’m banning you from this gym.”

“The cameras–”

“Are never on.” You should know. The security here barely does anything and you're sure the staff on duty today called on sick for the third time this week. It’s starting to feel like you’re the only one running the place.

You know he’s never going to hold this against you for so long but your hands are already on the waistband of his sweats. Jeongguk lifts himself up when swiftly tug the clothing down to his thighs. Your own shorts and underwear are off before you know it and you can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re naked waist down in the fucking public gym where anyone can see, ready to hop on a boy you claim to dislike like some deprived and desperate girl, but even thoughts like those stop you from lining said boy’s cock with your entrance and gently easing yourself down. A whimper comes out of your throat at the stretch.

“O-oh. Jeongguk–” you stammer. You give yourself a few seconds to adjust before moving. He grazes every inch of your walls, filling up your core perfectly like he’s made to fuck you like this. His fingers squeeze your waist, cautiously riding up your shirt and you shiver from his touch.

“Shit. You feel as good as I remembered,” he breathes by your ear. “Go ahead. Fuck yourself on my cock like you want to.”

It doesn’t take you much of anything else to do so. You move quickly, frantically, letting the sound of your ass slapping his thighs fill the quiet room. He doesn’t say much after, but when you throw your head back when you feel him hit the right spot he takes the opportunity to take over your neck with his mouth again. The added pressure of his teeth sinking into your sensitive area pushes you closer to the edge, feeling the tightness in your core growing. Your breaths are rapid, eyes snapping shut at every ounce of pleasure. You feel yourself getting closer and closer and it only hit you know just how badly you want him to make you cum.  

Jeongguk hisses a curse. He does you a favor by bringing a finger to your clit, gently rubbing the bud and making you let out a whine you failed to suppress. The added stimulation is exactly what you needed. Soon enough you feel your muscle tense, rolling your hips in a much more feverish manner than before and out of your own control, reaching your orgasm with a broken moan.

Jeongguk’s hand are firm on your waist to keep you steady despite your sloppy movements. The sight of him throwing his head back and baring his gorgeous neck when he cum inside you makes your stomach flip. Jeongguk lets you ride out your high and when you’re too tired to do anything else, you slump onto his chest. You feel the heat pooling inside your cunt, knowing how messy and sticky you’ll feel right after, but you feel full and that’s all that matters to you right now.  

Several moments of nothing but severed breaths later, Jeongguk breaks the agonizing silence. “So, is it still a no to that date?”

[djarinispunk]

Chapter One - Mixing Business with Pleasure

It was a reasonably quiet night at Club Oracle. A few regulars were scattered around the room that usually was littered with the youth of the city, sweaty bodies gyrating to whatever DJ was playing here that night. As much as you favoured the tips you'd receive on those nights, you much preferred the familiarity of the aging men sat at the bar. They made friendly conversation with you and their glassy eyes were kind as they pestered you for refills.

When you were sure the small number of occupants were satisfied for a while, you took a moment to rest. Settling your elbows on the polished wood of the bar and watching the television from the back corner of the room. It was the news so it only served you some mild entertainment, that was until you heard the door chime, signalling a new customer.

You broke your stare at the television and turned to greet them, surprised to see that the newest customer was younger than forty. The same could not be said for the rest of the Oracle's inhabitants. Not only was he young, he was very handsome. Yellow-tinted glasses rested atop a sharp nose, accompanied by thick waves of chocolate brown hair. His lips curved into a smirk when he caught you observing him. You only smiled in response, not keen on being seen eye-fucking a stranger, or a customer no less.

"Hola, ¿qué puedo ofrecerte?"

He took a moment to look you over, then at the taps nested beside you.

"I'll have one of those sweetheart" he pointed to the tap of Aguila, before taking a seat at the stool directly in front of you.

You nodded at his request, not expecting his perfect American accent. As you poured the drink, you felt his eyes on you. If you weren't so used to the men in this place gawking over you, you would have been flattered.

"Busy night?" he joked, nodding his head to the empty room as he pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket.

You smiled as you slid his drink across, "I prefer it like this, on weekends I can barely hear myself think, let alone hear peoples orders"

He nodded, "You work a lot?"

"I'm paying my way through school at the moment, so I take all the hours I can get. One sec." you rushed your answer, noting a customer swaying slightly as he made his way to the bar.

The man seemed to have overheard your conversation, pitching in with a drunken smile, "I tell her this mi hermano, she is too pretty for this bar. I tell her she should model"

You blushed furiously at his comment, laughing along with a slight shake of your head as you refilled his glass.

"You are too kind to me, Samuel" you smile, he nods as he retrieves his filled glass, slipping a few coins into your tip jar.

You make your way back to the younger customer, noting how he is nearly finished with his drink. You grab a wet rag and begin to work the wood surface.

"He isn't wrong" he spoke through a thick cloud of smoke.

You smirk a little, "Who, Samuel?"

He nods, a similar smirk gracing his lips.

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, "El esta loco"

"Not as crazy as you think" he openly scanned your body now, his gaze like fire to your ice. It made you squirm a little for him to be so brazenly flirtatious.

A tense silence passed between the two of you as you resumed your cleaning, only looking up when he spoke again.

"What's your name, hermosa?"

You smiled at the compliment, telling him your name. "And yours?

"Javier"

You weren't really sure how you two went from innocently conversing as you worked to making out against the brick wall of your place of employment, but you weren't complaining.

Javier had manged to woo you enough that you felt comfortable telling him to wait outside for you as you finished your shift. And sure enough, when you left the front door, there he was. Leaning with his jacket around his shoulders and another cloud of smoke reverberating from him into the night sky.

It had took you mere seconds to approach him, rip the cigarette from his mouth and replace them with your own lips. And to say Javier was a good kisser would be an understatement, a massive one at that.

He tasted like smoke and alcohol but all entwined with a peppermint flair. He must've chewed gum whilst he waited for you. The combination made your head spin a little as his tongue explored your mouth. His large hands encircled you as he brought you closer to his body, the heat from his body encompassed you as you pushed yourself against him.

You were so caught up in him, you couldn't hide the breathy sigh you made as you pulled away from you. His eyes looked almost black under the harsh fluorescent streetlights as they scanned your face.

"Come back to my place" his breath fanned against your neck as he began to place feather-light kisses to your throat.

You could only nod, too scared that your voice wold waver in response to the sensation of his teeth grazing the skin on your neck. He looked up once more at your bobbing head, then his lips were gone. Instead he took you by the hand, leading you to what you could only assume was his car.

Arriving at Javier's apartment was a blur of messy kisses, torn clothes and breathy sighs. It was so dark when you two arrived that you couldn't really make out much of your surroundings.

That was until he broke apart from your lips to flick on a light. Even then, you had little time to snoop before Javier was back on you, planting feverish kisses to your lips and lifting you by the thighs to wrap them around his waist. You let out an excited squeal as he lifted you, watching as his orange couches shrank in the distance as you moved towards his bedroom.

He near enough threw you into the mattress, greedy hands grabbing at your work attire. There was no words uttered from the both of you, only the lust filled tension that was hanging heavy in the air.

Javier reached behind you and unclipped your bra. You arched at the feeling of your nipples standing erect in the cool air. A moan escaping you when Javier's lips worked their way down your neck to your chest. His plump lips pecked at your breasts, until he took it between his lips, rolling the soft flesh of your nipple against his warm mouth.

You let out a moan, the feel of Javier's teeth nipping at your sensitive breast sent jolts of pleasure through your whole body.

"Javier.." you moaned when his attention turned to your other breast. You were getting impatient.

"What is it hermosa, tell me what you want" he spoke through soft kisses to your chest.

Not being able to bring yourself to say it, for fear of cringing. You took to pushing his head down slightly, hoping he'd get the idea.

And boy, did he get the idea.

You could practically feel the smirk on his lips as he worked his way down to your underwear. Taking the lace between his teeth and pulling it down your legs. You couldn't help but moan at the visual of him spreading your bare legs across the bed.

"I've barely touched you.." he started, his voice thick with lust, "And yet.."

You jolted when you felt two calloused fingers slide up your pussy.

"You're already so wet, hermosa"

You squirmed again when you felt him repeat his actions, missing your clit by mere millimetres, he was teasing you.

"Please Javier" your voice was breathy and at risk of breaking.

He spread you even wider, exposing every inch of yourself to him.

"Since you asked so nicely"

And then he put you out of your misery, he ran his warm tongue through your slit, you gasped at the sensation.

He took to gently nipping at your clit before he encompassed it into his mouth. His tongue swirling enough to make you release a deep moan.

He groaned at the noises you were making, sending vibrations into your pussy, bringing you dangerously close already. But it was when he inserted those same two calloused fingers, that you really lost it.

Your thighs squeezed him as they shook. His fingers curled right at your walls in the most sensitive spot. You felt like you were stuck, the pleasure rendering you immobile apart from the rise and fall of your chest.

"Javier i'm gonna cum"

He didn't answer, only intensified the pressure on your clit. You couldn't help yourself from grasping at the thick waves of hair as you ground your hips against his mouth. Muttering expletives as you came.

Whilst you were still coming down from your own orgasm, Javier was stripping himself of his tight jeans. You thought about suggesting a break for you to calm down but at the sight of his thick cock being released, you just about whimpered.

"You taste so good hermosa" Javier reattached his lips to yours, you could taste yourself on him, it made you dizzy.

"Fuck, fuck me Javier" you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him down.

He didn't seem to oppose as he sank into you, letting out an unrestricted moan as he did. God he was big, your eyes widened at the realisation that you already felt so full yet he wasn't fully sheathed in you.

His thrusts began slow, giving you a chance to adjust to the intrusion. But soon enough his pace became relentless, he fucked you into the headboard of the bed, causing an awful creaking sound to occur. You didn't care, you were already close again.

"Fuck, you feel so good around me" Javier groaned, muttering whatever came to his head as he fucked you faster.

"Javier, oh fuck" you moaned when you felt him hit that spot within you once again.

"That's it baby" Javier sped up his ministrations when he felt you begin to tighten around him.

You snaked your hand down to circle your clit, and soon enough you were coming again. Javier followed seconds after with a guttural groan, shielding himself in your neck as he pumped a few more lazy thrusts into you.

The air was heavy with sweat and sex. And it took you both a good few minutes before you could even begin to think.

Javier pulled out and settled himself at the top of the bed, where your head had been violently thrashing against the frame not minutes before.

You watched as he placed a cigarette in his mouth, offering one to you which you shook your head. You were content to just watch him. He made it look so sexy.

"You can stay the night hermosa" he spoke through an inhale, brushing a few stray hairs from your eyes.

"Okay" you smiled, happy he wasn't just kicking you to the curb after a quick fuck.

He reached for something in his bedside drawer, tossing you an object. You were glad to see it was once of his cotton shirts. Thanking him, you slid it on.

As you relaxed and watched him reach the end of his cigarette, you felt your eyelids begin to grow heavy, and before you knew it you were drifting to sleep in your new acquaintances bed.

[dinfeanoriel]

Hollow Point

I promise I’m still alive. This is a little something to make up for not posting in a while! Linked Universe belongs to Linked Universe and Jojo56830! 

~~~~~~~

“You can’t be serious...” 

Time folded his arms, peering down at their youngest member with his single good eye. 

“As serious as can be, Wind.” Was all their leader said. Wind furiously shook his head. 

“I am not going in there.” He refused, stubbornly putting his foot down and crossing his own arms petulantly. 

Warrior hid a smirk behind his gloved hand. Legend was biting on his lower lip to keep from smiling but Sky had no such qualms. Twilight had an eyebrow quirked, directing a faintly amused smile towards Time. 

“I don’t understand what the big deal is, Wind,” Four spoke up, tapping his finger on the handle of his sword as he tried to reason with his friend, “We’ll only be here for a single night-” 

Wind cut him off, flailing his arms wildly in the air,

“Have you looked around you?!” He incredulously demanded to know, gesturing emphatically to their surroundings, “We’re in a creepy town called Hollow Point and you guys want to stay at an inn called Road’s End?” He shook his head stubbornly, “Nuh-uh! No way am I going to step foot in there!” 

Legend rolled his eyes at the young sailor, ticking off on his hand, “You’ve faced moblins, redeads, phantoms, Ganondorf, and various other creepy enemies but you won’t stay the night at an inn because it’s name is Road’s End and the town’s called Hollow Point?” He quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. Wind nodded seriously. 

“That about sums it up.”

Legend could have face-palmed. 

“You won’t be alone, Wind,” Twilight tried, ”We’ll all be there too.” 

“That doesn’t matter!” 

Time released a quiet sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to think of a way to coax Wind into going inside the inn. It was hard enough dragging him into the town itself- which Time had to admit was somewhat eerie in appearance- but now, Wind utterly refused to move. 

The buildings were a little worn for wear. The paint was fading on almost every single one of them and the wood rotting. A couple had signs hanging loosely from a single cord and others had their propped against the base or planted in the ground. 

An ominous atmosphere did hang thickly o’er it, and Time wouldn’t be surprised if they found a couple of Poes lurking about. 

The golden-armored Hero dropped his hand and tried to reason with Wind, “It is only an inn, Wind-” 

“Only an inn, he says...” Wind started to mumble under his breath. He shot Time a rebellious look when the eldest of the Links coolly raised an eyebrow at him. It didn’t faze Wind. Instead, the blue-clad Hero pointed towards the spooky, wooden inn and declared fervently, “I am not going in there.” 

Time’s good eye slid shut then cracked open and slid towards Twilight. Twilight understood what Time was communicating to him and Wind found he didn’t like that look. 

“Listen, Wind,” Sky piped up, “You know the saying ‘You can’t judge a book by it’s cover,’ right? It applies to this town and the inn too. We don’t know anything about this place.” 

“Still not going.” 

Sky could only shrug to Hyrule. He’d given it a shot. 

“Twilight.” Came Time’s voice and before Wind knew it, he was suddenly being hefted into the air and thrown over Twilight’s shoulder. 

“Hey!” Wind indignantly shouted, fighting to escape the Ordonian’s hold but failing miserably, “Put me down!” 

“You had your chance, Wind,” Warrior told him, following after Time and Twilight as they made their way towards the inn, “But if you aren’t going to go willingly, then we’re going to have to make you.” 

Wind glowered when Warrior ruffled his hair playfully and Legend found himself to be rather impressed by the look. The sailor was normally so upbeat, cheerful, and bright but since they had entered the dreary woods and stumbled across the town, he’d grown a tad bit irritable and uneasy. The uncharacteristic behavior had not gone unnoticed by the group. They’d picked up on it almost instantaneously. 

The young Hero hung limply over Twilight’s shoulder, arms dangling as he inwardly griped to himself about the unfairness of it all. A door creaked as Time opened it and stepped inside, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the frame. Twilight was second with the other Heroes filing after them. 

Wind shuddered from the chill that greeted them. The air was thick with foreboding. Didn’t anyone else feel it?! 

The Inn was practically empty save for the elderly man sitting behind the clerk desk and a dark-haired woman clearing off tables in the room nearby. This did not strike any of them as odd seeing as it was pretty late. Time estimated it was nearing midnight, maybe even a few minutes past. 

The man behind the desk glanced up at them and Twilight couldn’t help but note the paleness of his skin and his disheveled, grey, hair. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were quite noticeable and a bit of an unnerving sight. His eyes were an incredible shade of bright, piercing, blue.  

It was a good thing Wind couldn’t see him otherwise Twilight was sure he would try to book it. 

“What rooms do you have available?” Time asked the man when the clerk inquired as to what he could do for them. The man’s eyes slowly drifted from Time to the other Heroes, landing on the sullen Wind still draped unceremoniously over Twilight’s shoulder. Twilight purposefully ignored his unsettling and all-seeing gaze. 

His wolf senses began to tingle and he subconsciously tightened his hold on Wind. 

He took a discreet look around, trying to seem uninterested, but now Twilight was alerted to the fact that something here was off. 

If his inner beast was stirring restlessly...

He’d speak to Time later. For now, he would keep a close eye on Wind. Perhaps the Sailor sensed or knew something they didn’t. 

The clerk glanced down at the sheet in front of him and listed off in a raspy voice, “We have one room with three beds, a couple of doubles, and a few singles.” 

“We’ll take the one with three beds and three doubles if you please.” Time listed, paying the amount the man said it would cost. Never did the Links take single rooms. It was a precaution they now underwent after their first almost disastrous experience. Although they knew the Links could undoubtedly handle themselves, there was safety in numbers. 

The buddy system was not to be undermined. 

Once done, the Links ascended the creaking and crooked stairs hidden around the corner and to the second floor where there rooms were located. Four proceeded with caution, testing each step first before placing his whole weight on the planks. 

He didn’t like how weak these stairs looked. Every time he would move, he felt the stairs would give way under him. 

Legend whistled lowly to himself as he raked his eyes across the entire expanse of the inn. 

“This place must be very old.” He murmured, experimentally tapping a couple knuckles against the wall. He blinked when the wood crumbled and fell, leaving behind a hole. “Oh.” 

Whoops. 

“Legend!” Hyrule hissed, staring incredulously at the Hero. “Those rooms cost enough! We don’t need damage fees added to price!” 

Legend cast his arms to the side, retorting defensively, “How was I supposed to know that the wood would fall apart if I just tapped it?” 

A fist knocked against Legend’s head before Hyrule could reply and the irked Hero looked to find it was Sky wearing a disapproving frown. 

“Use your head next time.” 

We are guests here. 

Legend scowled, rubbing his head, “That’s funny coming from you,” He grumbled, ambling after Hyrule and Sky as they hastened to catch up with the others, “Your head’s always in the clouds.” 

“I did come from above them, Legend.” 

The barbed words Legend had lingering on the tip of his tongue, ready to fly, withered and died as he paused and took a moment to process Sky’s words. The kind Hero, always so soft-spoken and gentle, was actually capable of sassing him? 

Hyrule was snickering and congratulating Sky in succeeding in rendering Legend momentarily speechless. 

Slowly, a wicked smile grew on Legend’s lips and his eyes gleamed.

“Never knew you had it in you, Sky.” 

Sky glanced back at him and shuddered in foreboding. He was now fearful for his life. That look did not bode well for him. 

“What have I done?” He couldn’t help but wonder, hurrying ahead.   

Legend only cackled. 

It appeared there was more to Sky than met the eye. 

“Alright,” Time addressed the group as they came together at the end of the hall. Sky, Hyrule, and Legend quickly caught up to them in time to hear him say, “We have rooms 31, 33, 37, and 39. 33 is the room with three beds and the rest are doubles.” 

Wind fell into himself. Did their rooms have to be odd numbers? 33 was a bad one too. Growing up on Outset Island, 33 was known to be a cursed number. It was worse because it was a double 3. 3, he remembered people constantly telling him, was a terrible number. Wind knew it was nothing more than superstition and was never told of its origin, but it appeared it’d affected him more than he’d realized. 

Then again, children were very impressionable creatures. They listened and devoured everything they were taught or overheard. 

“Warrior and I will take 37,” Sky said, taking the key from Time. 

“Four, Wind, and I can take 33.” Hyrule suggested, also accepting a key from Time. 

Dread pooled in the pit of Wind’s stomach. Of course. 

Of course he, Four, and Hyrule would take room 33. He cursed his nonexistent luck. The one room he did not want, is the one room he unfortunately gets assigned, courtesy of Hyrule. 

He slumped in defeat. 

“Wild and I can take 31.” Legend added, raising a hand. 

“Then that leaves us with 39.” Time snatched his key in his hand and turned to retire, “I expect you boys to be up and ready by 7:30 tomorrow. No later or no breakfast.” 

“Sure thing, Pops,” Warrior replied with a roll of his eyes and a sly grin. With a quick, two-fingered salute, the Knight had already unlocked his and Sky’s room and ducked inside. 

He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was exhausted! A good night’s rest and an actual bed was something he greatly looked forward to. He was sure everyone else felt the same. 

Twilight followed Hyrule and Four to deposit the sulking Wind into the room before he could attempt an escape. 

The blue-clad Hero was eerily silent and didn’t move as he was set in the middle bed. Twilight stifled a sigh and gripped the younger teen’s shoulder, 

“You can always call for Wolfie if you have difficulty sleeping,” He whispered to him. Wind said nothing, slipping from Twilight’s grip and turning onto his side on the bed so his back faced the Heroes. 

Twilight’s brow creased and when he looked to Four and Hyrule, he received two shrugs. They were just as confused as he was by the odd behavior Wind was displaying. 

Twilight gave Wind one last pat before leaving the room. Four and Hyrule spared Wind another look before unloading their weapons and packs, setting them carefully on the floor against the wall. Wind never moved an inch.  

After a long moment of silence and Wind lying stock, Hyrule shifted. It was abnormal not to hear the Sailor’s bright and bubbly voice weaving pirate tales or fascinating stories of the ocean to fill the quiet atmosphere. They were always complete with enthusiastic gestures that reminded them of just how young Wind was. Of how innocent and pure he still remained despite the adventure he’d been whisked on. 

Finally, he could take it no more. It felt wrong for Wind to be sullen and quiet. Hyrule didn’t like it. 

“Hey, Wind?” 

The younger of the three didn’t reply and made no indication of having heard him. 

“Why are you so against being here?” Hyrule asked, undeterred by Wind’s silence. 

Wind rolled onto his back and sat up with a dark frown, “Because it feels wrong.”

After he’d spoken, Wind hugged himself and looked around uneasily. He’d felt this way once before. The atmosphere...the air around him...the feel of it was familiar. He’d felt it before. 

But when? He couldn’t recall. 

Four and Hyrule glanced to one another then the young Hero.  “Wrong?” Four parroted, inclining his head, “How so?” 

Wind pursed his lips together, eyes burning holes into his covers, 

“Something’s off about this place. I feel it.” He shuddered, gaze darting to the window then the door. “Something isn’t right.” 

Four and Hyrule could only shrug. They didn’t feel anything was amiss, but they could tell Wind was definitely uncomfortable and antsy. 

“Well, I say we at least try to get some shut eye tonight,” Four suggested, climbing into his own bed while Hyrule vanquished the lamp light, “That-a-way, if anything does happen, we’ll be rested and fit to face whatever it is.” 

Hyrule hummed tiredly in agreement and curled up in his bed, relishing in the warmth and comfort his blankets provided. He burrowed deeper so only his tousled hair was visible. Four settled on his back, folding his hands on his chest and allowed his eyes to drift shut. 

Creaks and groans were heard momentarily as the Heroes shifted to make themselves comfortable. 

It wasn’t long until both were dead to the world. 

Wind took longer to try and fall asleep. The ominous and apprehensive feeling was only growing. His stomach churned, his heart thumping until the anxiousness he felt grew suffocating. 

He tossed and turned, striving to ignore it, but he’d learned from previous experiences never to doubt his instincts. After failing to succumb to sleep for a couple of hours, Wind sat up with an explosive sigh. 

Neither Four nor Hyrule stirred. 

The Hero slumped his shoulders. He wouldn’t be able to get any rest this night. He already knew it was a hopeless endeavor. Twisting in his bed, Wind sat up and slipped from the covers, his still-booted feet falling flat against the cold wooden floor as he stood. 

He quietly drifted across the room, soft leather quietly tapping against the ground, and noiselessly opened the door. He slipped into the dreary corridor without a sound, checking briefly to ensure he hadn’t woken the Heroes within. 

He hadn’t. 

Satisfied, he closed the door behind him, slowly turning the knob in order not to disturb Four and Hyrule. 

With another sigh, Wind spun on his heel and warily ambled down the hallway. It was dark and grey, the Hero found. The lamps lining the walls had long been extinguished. 

Wind found this incredibly unnerving. His senses screamed for him to leave. To get out of this inn and never return. 

But he couldn’t without the others. 

He turned a corner, giving a sharp gasp of fright when a shadow suddenly detached itself from the wall next to him. 

A very familiarly shaped shadow. 

A hand clutching at his frantically beating heart, Wind bent over, one hand on his knees as he tried to calm his breathing. 

“Wolfie!” He whispered in relief. “Don’t do that! You scared the living daylights out of me!” He lightly scolded. Wolfie nudged Wind’s cheek with his nose. 

An apology. 

Wind weakly grinned, patting Wolfie’s strong shoulder. 

“How did you even get in here?” He wondered aloud, but since Wolfie couldn’t answer him, Wind shrugged, “Guess it doesn’t really matter. I take it you can’t sleep either? Neither can I.” He pursed his lips and started cautiously walking down the corridor again. He kept a very sharp lookout. One never knew what dangers lingered around every corner or hidden in the shadows, “This place gives me the creeps,” He admitted to his animal friend, “Everyone keeps telling me it’s going to be fine and that it’s only for one night...but, Wolfie, something about this place is wrong.” He stressed the word, turning his head to meet Wolfie’s blue eyes. “Can’t you feel it?” 

Wolfie only stared back, intelligent blues boring into his own, searching.  

“Of course...” Wind grumbled, hugging himself. “It’s just me, then.” He sighed in frustration, raking a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “You know what bugs me?” He rhetorically asked aloud, Wolfie falling into step beside him. The great beast’s strong and soothing presence comforted Wind. He felt safer. Protected. Wolfie wouldn’t allow anything to happen. “I’ve felt this way before. Not,” 

He made a face, trying to think of how he wanted to explain himself to his animal friend, 

“Not scared or nervous or anything...just...I have this feeling deep inside. A sense of wrongness. Kind of...a warped reality? No...I’ve felt it once, but I can’t remember when.” He made an aggravated sound. “This is hopeless. I know I should recognize- ow!” 

Wolfie cringed when the young Hero turned and crashed into a mirror on the wall. He made a soft rumbling sound as Wind staggered back and rubbed at his smarting nose. The beast trotted to his side, nudging him with his head concernedly. 

Wind glowered fiercely at the mirror, momentarily ignoring his animal friend.

“How did I manage that?!” He demanded to know, grimacing in pain. His voice was horribly muffled by his hand and the Sailor almost groaned when something wet touched his fingers. 

He’d gotten a nosebleed. 

How fabulous. 

“Ooh, that hurt...” He groaned, hearing Wolfie whine in concern and gently paw at him. 

He scowled darkly and made to turn away to stalk down the hall when he was stopped by something grabbing the back of his tunic. 

He glimpsed past his shoulder to find Wolfie had gripped the end of his tunic with his teeth. 

“What are you doing?” Wind tried to tug his tunic free, but Wolfie wouldn’t let him go. “You’re going to ruin my tunic.” Wind tried, but the wolf refused to release him. Wind’s expression flat-lined. “Seriously, Wolfie? Let my tunic go.” 

A low growl rumbled from the wolf’s throat. 

Wind narrowed his eyes. “Let it go, Wolfie.” 

Another growl. 

“Wolfie!” 

Wind was about to give up when he glanced forward and jumped slightly upon seeing his reflection. “Are you serious?” Wind muttered, his heart thundering in his chest, “I knew the mirror was there and my reflection still got me!” He griped to himself, then froze. He thought back upon what he’d seen. 

His mind backtracked, processed the image, then rewinded again to reprocess it. 

It was his reflection, yes...

But...

Wind looked back up and stared. 

“Wolfie...” 

The wolf let go of his tunic, sidling up to him upon hearing the sudden change in Wind’s tone. He raised his head to find Wind’s spooked gaze fixated on the mirror. 

“Do you see that?!” Wind asked, pointing to the mirror. Wolfie looked, confused when he saw nothing wrong. Only Wind’s reflection. Blue tunic with a white lobster design, belt, pants... Sunny blonde hair, expressive eyes...

Wind turned to give Wolfie a troubled look then back to the mirror with wide eyes, “Wolfie, my reflection!” 

The wolf was utterly baffled. What was wrong with his reflection? He looked to see Wind pointing at his reflection and his reflection doing the same-

Wait a minute...

“Wolfie,” Wind moved closer to the great beast, hands digging into his thick fur as he grew more alarmed, 

“My reflection’s backwards!” 

~~~~~~~

I am SO sorry about the late update! Wi-Fi where I’m at has been down for quite a few days this month and the only way I could post was if I went somewhere with free Wi-Fi available.  But here, have a Wind-centric fic! Little sailor boy needs some love!