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#but look. look. drawings of TWO tiny penguins. instead of just one
whatstheoccasion · 2 years
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— THE MOON IS BEAUTIFUL, ISN'T IT?
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"More. I want us to be more. Do you understand?"
There. He said it. He slowly sits to his full height, ears burning red and a permanent scowl refusing to leave his face–
And he sighs exasperatedly at the confusion in your face. "You don't get it?"
> Law finally confesses– except, it's not that easy.
warnings: explicit mentions of death, grief and depression. major spoilers for dressrosa and law’s past. +16 for one (1) suggestive line. tags: no pronouns are used except for a stranger calling the reader 'lady' once. fluff. jealous law. can legally count as angst with a happy ending or slow-burn. mushy feelings. title from that old japanese saying.
word count: 5,2k.
playlist: above the clouds – cyndi lauper ft. jeff beck, iris – goo goo dolls, love you 'till the end – the pogue
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You squeeze him closer to you, making Law grumble quietly like a cat, mostly out of habit. The sound of the falling autumn leaves and the smooth rising of your chest against his back could easily lull him to a peaceful sleep.
Peace. It’s been a while since the feeling last visited him.
"I'm happy that I met you, Law."
Law cringes, biting his tongue to keep himself from arguing with you.
He finds it very hard to believe he could bring anyone happiness, not when he himself hasn't felt anything but hate for a long, long time. Happiness felt too pure, innocent for a man like him.
But you told him, once, that he needed to start believing in you more.
Trust. That’s the word you used.
He doesn't know what to do with someone so happy to be near him, but it wasn’t a bad feeling at all, if the warmth that now spread across his chest was anything to go by.
"Let's go back to town," he says, letting himself sink in the warmth of your body for just a second longer before he gets up, pulling you up to your feet with him. "It's the final day of the festival."
The band you told me you liked is leaving town tonight, and you wanted to listen to them, he doesn't say. He doesn’t need to.
Making sure you were happy enough not to leave his side was something Law easily can get behind, especially when you beam up to him like this, sweet and excited, taking his hand to lead him straight into the commotion in town.
He would rather have all the cells in his body shrivel up and die before admitting it, though.
                                       ☽
Law is eight when he first goes on a school trip.
It wasn't a big deal. A simple walk to the nearest natural escapade, in this case, a winter forest.
Law counted in his head up to 120 until he got bored and distracted on the way there, one of his friends deciding to show him a bad drawing of a crooked, three legged cat. It somehow looked more like a penguin. Law didn't comment on it, instead asking his friend to draw something else, something fierce.
He got the drawing of a very debatable polar bear two minutes later. Law only stared at it. Then told his friend it was ugly, because it was, but all he got was a hearty laugh in response. "If it's so ugly why do you look like you want to keep it? Huh, Law?"
Maybe if he told him the drawing was bad enough, he could get it to himself. That's how asking for something worked, right?
It wasn't much later into his quarrel when Sister stopped, telling the class they arrived. He looks up to see the tiny forest with distrust.
But surprisingly, Law did have fun. He was always physically weaker than the rest of them, and more secluded, but that didn’t stop his friends from hanging out around him. Because they waited for him with easy steps, and laughed when he fell. The girls all have mixed feelings about him ("he's so scary," they whisper to each other, "yeah, but that's what makes him cool!"). But it's okay, because they never exclude him, and he feels just fine.
Maybe he could tell his parents about this place where he felt free. Lami would like the falling snow and crystalized flowers, and his parents could finally be as free as he felt. Law gets a nice memory added up to the bunch, coming home with scraped knees and a sheet of paper holding the face of a strange bear stuffed in his blazer's pocket.
Law saw the same kids screaming for their life two years later, crying for help in the middle of a city filled with Marines.
He couldn't turn a blind eye to his ruined city. As much as he wanted to, as bad as his eyes stinged with fear and worry for himself, he needed to keep them wide open to look at where he's headed to. So he sucks it up, and looks.
His friend was holding the now bloodied sketchbook with a tight grip, standing with as much fight in him as a 10 year old could possibly have.
He can still hear the Marine's clean shot to his head.
A few bodies behind him, Sister's dull eyes stared right into his soul.
Law runs, stumbling over unmoving bodies, eyes open and lifeless, but he can't stay long enough to think about it. Or his parents. Or Lami– he only avoids stepping on corpses and keeps running.
It marks the start.
                                       ☽
  “You asked me about the name on my coat.” Law's voice fades off, and his eyes fall down to the delicate hand taking hold of the sand beneath him. “Still want to know?”
Your hand stops.
He fights the urge to take his words back. The sudden rush of adrenaline is begging him to drop everything and walk far, far away from you. He shouldn’t have said that. He should never see you and your cursed ability to make him voluntarily open up to you ever again, he needs to leave and never look back.
The thought doesn’t last long, though.
You take a second to answer him, but your eyes are gentle when you look up, if not a little surprised. “Of course I do.”
The beach is calm otherwise. Way past midnight, the crew is soundly asleep many feet behind you both. This whole island is filled with fisherman and kind locals, and this deep into the night, it's very quiet. Tranquil.
He resents it.
There was nothing to keep him distracted, no one to burst into your conversation interrupting like the dramatic movies Shachi and Penguin watched way too loudly with their stolen, fancy den-den-mushi. The sand is steady beneath his feet, exceptionally so for the Grand Line.
So with the sound of soft waves easying his mind, Law sits down, and talks.
There isn’t much to say, really. Sure, at times his voice gets rough and tight around the edges, and his throat is constantly closing down in distress, making the brief story that much harder to tell. But it was okay. Law only takes a second to breathe, to engrave the feeling of your hand tightening around his (when did you come closer, actually?), and continues.
Grief grips him tightly, and he feels sharp claws of regret over his past decisions scratching inside his chest, shoulders and neck, clouding his mind with red, angry thoughts. Unforgiving.
He can’t close his eyes, knowing what awaits him if he dares to do so.
Even now, as he talks, he can see it in a point above the water. The face of a marine walking into a lost child in the raging snow, something he can’t recognize stuck to his face. The same marine carries the child, taking him to his demise with steps certain, firm. Then, the demise itself. The screams, what he thought were his last breaths, the frustration for being so weak and little.
The last smile of a man he loved like his own father.
He’s not ready to tell you just why he was so weak. Why was he too small, easily sickened at age 13. Alone. Not now, anyways. He's already risking a nightmare tonight, by bringing back all these memories to surface.
You’re both sitting up now. The familiar smell of your shampoo flutters with the late night breeze straight to him, bringing Law a sense of comfort– safety, even, and he finds himself welcoming the feeling.
Talking about his past feels less like a weight lifted from his shoulders, and more like yanked off his entire body.
You answer him in quiet hmms, in gasps and involuntarily squeezes of your hand on top of his. Mellow rays of sunlight start to bright his mind slowly, steadily once he finally closes his eyes, and it’s replacing the intimate black fog he was so used to. He’s not quite sure if the light comes from you, or the sunrise.
He had told the story twice before. Once, to his three closest friends (family, now, really). And then the Strawhat kid, keeping the details out. It never quite felt like this, though.
He can only wish to never tell it again.
Silence fills the space between you both once it’s all said and done, and you're still taking his story in, squeezing his hand to your chest. Law doesn't mention the hot tears that fall onto his inked knuckles, his gaze focused on the white polka-dotted hat sitting innocently beside him.
He lets out a tired, long sigh. It almost feels like an out of body experience, having so many feelings yet not a certain way to deliver them, to talk about them. Letting them all out at once, because he doesn’t know how to do this in a different way. His explanation was no short of messy, for sure.
But you seem to get it, and you're holding him so strongly against your body like he'll break apart if you don't, and you're grounding him.
Wherever you touched him, it was a shot of motivation right to his defeated veins. To keep going. To find out why he was brought up in this screwed world. The weight of his name felt lighter where your encouragement touched it.
“There's no despair in this world, Law-kun. Someone will definitely lend you a helping hand.”
“Don’t ever attach a reason to the love you’ve received!”
More than hope, Law had faith. In you, there lived his faith.
                                        ☽
    But he also knows not to forget his past, darker days with you. He still has to amend. He knows this a little too well.
He remembers yelling and pushing you away, stabbing words into your brain to the point of tears. He remembers thinking "I wish we never met", because everyone he loves dies and never comes back and Law can't go through that again. Not without it changing him for worse. He just can't. And the words die in his mouth before he gets to say them.
Until he does.
He says them, because there’s nothing else he can think of to make you go away, to leave him alone. And when his truthful thoughts and rude comments don’t deter you, he uses spiteful remarks and lies, as many lies as barriers he has around his guarded heart.
"I don't want you in my life. What I want is for you to drop it and leave me alone."
"If you can't be by yourself, fine. Go look for someone who cares."
The thought of Cora-san, of his parents looking down on him with disappointment weren't enough to keep his trap shut.
All he gets in return from you are stubborn glares. For every twisted truth he says, you stand strong, relentless in your way to his heart.
Iron fists are now framing your once gentle hands, thick-skinned and headstrong.
Law loathes it. He’s scared and spiteful, and he hates feeling like this. It shows through cruel lashes out and cold stares, and yet. Yet, you don’t give the fuck up.
You keep breaking down each and every one of his walls, leaving you both exhausted and naked, so vulnerable by the end of it. Your voice is laced with hurt and frustration when you call him out. “You think I'll buy that, Law? You think that you trying so hard to shut me out means that you don't care?"
Then, after a painful beat. "You’re trying damn hard to protect yourself, but what about me?”
You’ve left him bare, and there’s nowhere else to run. So Law chooses to ignore you as his trump card.
(In reality, it feels more like a desperate, ultimate resort. Like a kick without force. The final push before he can’t fight anymore.)
And it doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t, and he runs out of excuses. Of plans. You won’t leave, Law's exhausted, and he doesn’t know if he feels more fondness or frustration over that fact.
He has no more cards under his sleeve, but even if he did, by now he’s sure you would have teared each one apart. Right in front of his face, too.
It's not a big fight what finally lets you in his life. He has already said everything he needed to say, and a little more. It's more like the calm after the storm.
So when the doctor’s too tired to resist his growing longing, when his words hurt him more than it does you, he relents. White flag waving shamefully. If anyone asks him, he was simply too busy as a doctor and Captain to keep "wasting his time" coming up with silly ideas to push you away.
It's here when “I wish we never met” turns into “Where the hell have you been all this time?”
                                                                                                  ☽
Law thrives taking beating hearts out of pirate's chests, that's a truth if he ever told one. He likes gruesome medicine cases, he smiles big while knifing some poor bastard up, and you know all of this. Still, your touch is gentle when you take his hand. Your face feels soft when you sleep on him, trusting the Surgeon of Death to keep you safe.
 He doesn’t give up the cruel, sadistic part of himself. He doesn’t feel the need to, not when you accept him, a vicious, dangerous pirate part of the Worst Generation, for who he really is. He's purposely shown you his worst, still, you embrace him fully, intimately.
Your acceptance leads him to think of clumsy legs and broken smiles, sometimes. It also reminds Law of two hands much bigger than his own on his frail shoulders, smiling proudly down at him. Then, a tinier hand, gripping excitingly onto his shirt and following him around with an innocent smile. If he looks deep enough, he can see the drawing of a three legged cat, then a bear.
The fight inside you, though, brings other memories to surface; hopping from hospital to hospital on top of a strong back, a back so heavy with the weight of the world on its shoulders. The weight of life, and death.
And he feels undeserving, because living instinctively, impulsively, came to him as natural as his cruelty did, and he didn’t think there was any other way to live his life comfortably without feeling like dying.
Until you happened.
You pop into his brain everytime, fighting and chasing away his nightmares with a small wooden sword against every bad thing that comes to him, no matter how big and strong they are. Just like the soldiers in his dad’s books, you were courageous, and brave enough to try and love him.
Eventually, dream–Law joins you in your fight, side by side. Sometimes he fights for you, protecting you as you sit around waiting for him. Other days you do it for him, or next to him.
Sometimes he doesn't have nightmares at all, but he knows you'll be there when they come back.
“Not the glittering weapon fights the fight, but rather the hero's heart,” his dad once read to a smaller, happier version of himself, on his last peaceful night.
Law couldn’t quite take the words in, worrying about Lami’s eye bags and how tired she looked, not really taking the story in.
He thinks he gets it, now.
                                       ☽
Law still remembers sin, feeling like you can't and shouldn't be corrupted, and he now understands the heavy weight of responsibility that Dressrosa's knight had whenever he pushed his dirty hands inside gloves to protect what was innocent. Fearing corruption of the vulnerable is what brings honor to Kyro’s memory.
At times, Law wishes he could do the same with you.
Once he has you, the fear of you being forcefully taken from him is a constant thought in the back of his mind. Somedays, he wants to keep you in his front pocket, safe and protected from all evil.
But the feeling of your skin against his is something he can’t give up, now that he knows that it’s here to stay.
He lives for the gentle way you cup his face, caressing his cheeks. How warm his face feels when you hug him, skin to skin. When the softness of your lips kiss him, needy for his touch.
He relishes in the tight grip he holds against the flesh of your hips, your thighs, breathing in your skin. Your arms clinging to him, blunt nails marking his back as yours. His skilled fingers working in and out of your body.
Well, Law never really thought of himself as an honorable man, after all.
                                     ☽
 You're in the city again.
It was a town they found in the aftermath of a bad battle, and they urgently needed more medicine provisions. And food. Bepo has already passed out twice today because of blood loss- and then his stomach rumbled. His mood swings were a lot harder to handle.
So you were out shopping for food with Ikakku, and Law stayed back with Penguin and Shachi helping him bandage the rest of the crew up.
You went without him, but he trusted you, now. You would stay safe for him. You would come back to him with no more wounds than the ones you left with, because you promised him.
It was still not easy to deal with.
The thought grows heavy in his mind the longer you take to come back. He grows snappy, easily irritated because of defeat, he tells himself. He's strong and capable, so why did they need to run away again? What was he lacking? How could they improve?
What the fuck was taking you so long?
"You can go with them, Captain. We got this covered."
Law tsks, starting a vain attempt to fight his first mate back. "I'm the only doctor on board, dumbass. This is my job."
"It's not like we're in a life or death situation." Penguin jumps in, wrapping a bandaged arm around his best friend. "You already took care of the worst, we can deal with the rest."
"Your irritation is giving us a headache, Captain. Just go." Jean-Bart says from a corner of the room.
Law frowns, clicking his tongue at the insulting giant. “You’re on cleaning duty until you die,” but relunctantly obeys, light chuckles resounding in his ears as he hops down to town.
They were getting a little too chummy with him. He'll hang them upside down when he comes back to his senses.
He walks the steps leading him to town and finds you both a few minutes later, and the sight before him makes his cold blood boil.
There are bags full of food laying at your feet as you talk to a vendor, and he notices just how close the man is to you, holding your arm to spread a herb on top of your wounds.
Was this lousy man trying to fix you up? Who the hell did he think he was, freely touching you like that?
Why were you letting him.
"Captain! We have everything ready, is everyone okay back there?" Ikakku's voice is ringing in his ears, but he can't pay attention to her.
You finally seem to notice him, turning your head from the stranger to smile at him, quickly turning back to the man and telling him something.
Law scoffs with annoyance. Now he can't even hold your attention for longer than a second. What’s so interesting you can’t go back to your own- to his crew?
"You can take these back to the sub, Ikakku, correct?" His eyes fly down to the woman next to him, making sure she won't lie to him. He could room it out if she asked to.
Ikkaku quickly looks at him, you, then back at him, her big eyes twinkling. "Of course I can, Captain. I'll see you both there."
And then, just because she pities you. "They were talking about you, you know."
Law doesn't have time to answer before she scurries off.
He tsks, walking towards you. His crew sure had the balls and ovaries to tease him, he'll give them that.
The man is still grabbing your arm when he gets there, and Law takes his hand out of his pocket to draw the offending hand off you.
"Don't accept medicine from strangers." He says, not looking at you. "Not when I'm not around."
You roll your eyes, apologising to the vendor. "Hi to you too, Captain. And I wasn't alone. Ikakku was here."
But I wasn’t. He bites off the bitter remark. “Who's this?”
“My name's Iida.” The vendor introduces himself, standing as tall as him, yet meekly. "I was just teaching the lady about our medical herbs.”
He looks at him with desinterest. "Wasn’t asking you, vendor-ya."
Your voice wears a warning tone. “Law.”
Looking down at you with a rude glare, he’s unable to keep the jealousy off his tone. “We won't come back to this lowlife town, and you won't remember his name even if we do." Just why were you standing up for this lanky man? “Let's go.”
He’s careful when he grabs your arm to tug you away, but he’s persistant nonetheless. “I'm sorry, Iida. Thank you for the help!”
Law's fuming, and he hates that you know that, even if he tries to hide it on his face. You know him well enough– too damn well, might you.
After a few moments of moodily dragging you across the town, he gives into his burning curiosity. “What were you talking about?”
“I was merely telling him about our grumpy doctor, and how he would like some of the plants there. You didn’t need to be so rude, you know.” You say, sighting afterwards.
What did you just say?
Your words leave him dumbfounded, and he stops in his tracks. “What?”
“He asked about our wounds, and I told him that he didn’t need to worry. That we had a friend who happens to be a grumpy doctor with us. Is something wrong?”
Law feels his stomach go cold.
There is, in fact, something wrong. There’s so many wrong things about you calling him a friend, and a doctor, that he doesn’t know where to start.
Was that it? After all you've been through, all the fights with teeth and nail to make him yours, he's reduced to his cursed profession? A damn friend?
Or were you just hiding him from the vendor in case something could spark between the both of you? Law's cold hands start to sweat at the thought, his heart plummeting against his chest.
If that was the case, why did it hurt so bad?
It irks him, how two stupid words can stab him right in his heart. Friends. You told him you introduced Shachi and Penguin like that to run away from Marines just last week, disguising their Jolly Roger’s with two big coats before escaping.
Was that the way you talked about him, too?
"Earth to Law?" two fingers snap in front of him. "Are you okay?"
Law blinks once, taking the sight of you in front of him. Twice, and he can feel your soft lips on him an hour before you went to town, telling him to take it easy. Promising to come back. Your hand is warm and safe in his, protected. He couldn’t be the only one dealing with these feelings. He couldn’t.
Right now, with your bag in one hand and his hand held tight in the other, he feels a vague sense of premonition.
                                     ☽ 
 You were always begging him to believe in you with a hand over your heart, promising things he was too scared of. Truth is, he’s already found something to believe in– his first religion has surprised him at his big age, laying protected in the stubbornness of your heart.
Now comes the scary part: it's time he puts a name to these feelings.
His voice sounds gruff and firm, calling your name. He’s long since dropped his -ya towards you, his careless façade more difficult to hold onto the deeper you carved your name into him, his bones and marrow marked forever. It’s fine. He accepted defeat long ago.
Your own voice sounds distracted when you answer, not raising your sight from the book in your hands. "Yeah, babe?"
“Yes.” He replies smartly, wincing afterwards. He feels awkwardness creeping up his stomach, making him sick. Why was he doing this again?
Your giggle reels him back. Right. Iida-ya, a few nights ago. You calling him a friend. He had to confront his feelings, no matter how much he wants to not do that. He starts, "I’ve been thinking.”
And cuts himself off, frowning. I think about you too much and it’s infuriating, he doesn't say, then recoils at the thought. You lift your gaze to look at him, and it’s all just too much for him.
Bring him an army of a thousand armed men. Make him participate with the world’s slowest, dumbest people in a fucking mathlaton. Take his arm out permanently. None of the these options can be as painful as this.
Resting his face in his hands, Law breathes out in annoyance. "I don't know how to fucking do this."
Silence. There’s worry in your voice, now. “Do what?”
Law scoffs, and not for the first time, he wishes you could just read his mind, if only to get this over with.
He can’t look at you, sitting all innocent on his bed, oblivious to the tangled thoughts in his head.
The old feeling to fight or flight tries to take over him, so he focuses his gaze on a drawing Bepo had hung on his quarters and takes a deep breath. It was the four of them a few years back, looking young and rowdy as ever. Penguin and Shachi had switched hats. Bepo insisted on paying the artist instead of making a run for it.
He exhales. "I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion that being with me is a dangerous decision. Not to mention foolish, and wrong–"  
"Not wrong. Not to me." You say with finality, closing the book to face your captain with a frown of your own. “We’ve been through this, Law. Why are you bringing it up again?"
"You’ll know if you let me finish." Law rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore how you didn’t correct dangerous and foolish. "I know what I said. We both know this.” He says your name with a warning. Don’t fight me on this. “Even so, I want..." structure. To be as important to you as you are to me.
What can he say? How can he say that without saying that?
What feels like hours in silence it’s probably around ten seconds, seconds wasted because Law can’t seem to find the right words. He knows he’s making stupid faces the longer he thinks about it, but it’s hard to keep the cringe off his face at this rate. If anyone saw him right now– no.
No, he would’ve killed them. That’s for certain. He would slice them to pieces, mix their parts up and spread their rests all over the New World.
The morbid thought comforts him a little. Breathing a bit easier, still not looking at you, he all but spits. "More. I want us to be more. Do you understand?"
There. He said it. He slowly sits to his full height, ears burning red and a permanent scowl refusing to leave his face–
And he sighs exasperatedly at the confusion in your face. "You don't get it?"
You're not helping, looking at him like he grew teeth on his forehead, gently shaking your head. "I don’t really follow."
That’s... that’s not what he expected.
In an attempt to save face, he scowls. “What do you not follow? What the hell more do you need?”
You sent him a dirty look. "I need you to tell me what you're thinking about, Law. I'm not a mind reader."
You’re trying so damn hard to protect yourself, but what about me?
His heart stutters inside his chest.
Fine. He can do this. There’s nothing to fear, is there? He can protect you. Law can fall asleep each night in the arms of a lover that welcomes him, with his fucked up soul and twisted mind, and he can protect you. He will put a name to what you both have, let you inside his brain instead of expecting you to read him.
That’s easier said than done, though. 
“You okay there?”
Your voice brings him back to reality. You’re standing between his knees now— when did that happen?— so close yet not enough to touch, to overwhelm. And he hates the way his stupid heart sinks with your lack of a nickname.
I was merely telling him about our grumpy doctor.
“I’m fine.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries again. "What I'm trying to say is. I..."
“Yes?”
He stops in his tracks. God, will he be able to say this today? Before he explotes into little pathetic pieces that you could take to back Iida-ya to sell as a haunted herb?
But he’s just distracted by your voice. You sound mischievous yet patient in one little word, like you’re inside a secret with his heart and he’s the only one that hasn’t caught up yet.
Like you know what’s going on, but you’re testing him to see if he can actually go through with it.
Law knows that if he tilts his head a little higher, he'll see you wearing a smile. He can all but feel it beaming over his face, and he didn’t know that was even possible. He almost feels the need to squint his eyes.
That’s it. He needs to say it. He needs to just fucking say it.
He looks constipated for the entirety of ten seconds before he finally locks eyes with you, and awkwardly blurts out, "I love you."
Boom. The three little words that punch him right on the gut. Then, "I want us to be together officially."
You go stiff before him, and his heart is starting to pound painfully hard in his chest. His eager gaze never leaves yours, though, even as he pleads. "Don’t make me repeat myself."
A beat. One, two, three seconds pass. Law’s traitor brain is leading him to believe that you won't answer him at all– until you do.
He can see the moment it clicks.
Your answering smile catches him off guard, wide and beaming so bright he has to squint, or he might go blind. No one’s ever looked at him like that.
You peck him twice before he can react, your shaking hands squishing his face. He’s stunned, red in the face and confused, but you pay it no mind. Not surprisingly.
Then, Law’s ears eat up the sappiest shit you've ever said to him, like a starved man taking his first bite.
“Law, I’m– you idiot, you have me forever.” Tears welling up in your eyes, you swallow hard past the lump in your throat. His eyes uselessly follow the way your throat bobs. “I want more too. In whatever way you’ll have me, for as long as you let me. And I'll have you."
Sweet, carefree and a little breathless, you smile at him like you're telling the truth.
For a second, a frightening instant, the world stumbles beneath his feet. He’s dizzy between your hands, and he’s glad he’s sitting right now.
But his hands fly up to hold yours, tight, like the anchor of his submarine clings onto the wet sand, and his tense heart starts to loosen up with relief. And something akin to solace.
You chuckle wetly. "I love you too."
You have me forever.
It sounded like a promise.
The words finally land on him as he lets you pull his lightheaded head against yours, resting on you. Your hot breaths are mingling together, and if he looks close enough, he thinks he could count each one of your eyelashes.
You cheekily whisper into his open mouth. “Do you understand?”
                                     ☽
 The weight of your conversation doesn't grasp you yet. You're a stranger to the heaviness your words carry, to the lifelong commitment you signed with both your hearts on the line– but you'll be damned if the small smile he offers you in return isn't undoubtedly worth it.
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riddle-me-ri · 2 years
Note
Hey I loved your 2022!Oz dating headcanon, I was wondering if you could write how Oz and Reader would be like together during thanksgiving or Halloween?
A/N: Heyo! I'm so glad you loved my headcanons. And of course, that sounds like such fun! I'm sorry I went sorta crazy for Halloween a lot of ideas kept coming out and I struggled to reign them back in lol. Also, I wasn't sure if you meant headcanons or drabbles, so I just stuck with headcanons. If you want drabbles instead please don't hesitate to let me know! Thanks so much for your request! I hope you enjoy~
Farrell!Penguin x Reader on Thanksgiving/Halloween Headcanons
Thanksgiving:
Oswald never really cared for holidays in the traditional sense. He only cared in terms of how his club was gonna turn out. A lot of loners flock to the Iceberg Lounge to forget their loneliness (meanwhile a lot of family men flood 44 Below to forget the pressures their family relationships bring)
But when he’s with you, he finds another reason to enjoy them. It’s a chance to spend sometime with you. 
For Thanksgiving, if you enjoy cooking, Oswald will make it a point that every Thanksgiving he will set aside the evening to eat Thanksgiving dinner with you. It’s up to you whether you let him help you or not. It took a lot just to convince him you enjoy cooking and that it’s not a chore. You want to do it to show how thankful you are to have him. 
He loves seeing you all dressed in an apron, plain white shirt and sweat pants. Singing along to some song on the radio as your busy cooking in the kitchen. It makes him feel at home, he can drop the weight he burdens on his shoulders and be with you. 
If you don’t cook, you best believe Oswald already has alternate plans. The best seats to your favorite restaurant in town and if they’re closed— well they’re no, they are not..Oz will make sure of it. 
Even though you two have dinner almost every other night together, Thanksgiving is a little different. You both get to sit and reminisce on your time together, all your trials and tribulations, the laughs and smiles, the highs and lows. They’re all worth it for these moments together. 
Halloween:
Halloween should be a national holiday, atleast for Gotham. Oswald expects his club, both the Iceberg Lounge and 44 Below to be crawling with freaks, crooks, colorful characters and everyone in between, moreso than usual. Plus he has to stay more vigilant if someone decides to cause too much trouble.
You’re aware of Ozzie’s need to stay at his club for the holiday, but that doesn’t mean you can’t join in on the fun in your own ways. 
If you’re not into the night life or the vibrant club scene. You’re content with staying home until Oz feels it’s safe to get away. You enjoy seeing all the children’s costumes when they come to knock on your door or as you see them walk down the sidewalks. 
Ozzie is calling you constantly to make sure you’re safe and sound. There’s more crazies out on Halloween than any other night, and he’d rather they all be at his club than anywhere near you. You constantly have to reassure him you’re okay, and that you’re waiting for him patiently.
When he does finally come home, you are quick to hug him and start helping him unwind. Halloween was always a stressful time. You’re quick to draw a bath for the two of you, alongside a bowl of candies for the two of you to share while you pamper him. If nothing else, Halloween is a big turn out for the Iceberg Lounge and a chance for you to spoil your man.   
However, if you are comfortable with the club scene, you best believe you’ll be at the Iceberg Lounge yourself with Ozzie. You have already made several appearances at the club, most likely everyone knows you. They also know your Ozzie’s and if they dare look at you the wrong way they’re dead. 
One year you went for a penguin-like costume. You wore a skintight full-body suit that had the feather patterns of an emperor penguin, even with a little tail feather on the back. The long sleeves of the suit curved at the end to look like flippers, with a tiny zipper on the edge so you could get your hands out. 
When you show up, Oz is absolutely tickled at your costume this year. He laughs full-heartedly as he pats his knee for you to sit on. He grins up at you with pride as he wraps his arm around your waist. Needless to say, he adores your costume. 
You always look gorgeous no matter what you dress up as, but the fact you dressed up as his moniker he can’t help but boast in pride and fall just that much more in love with you. You definitely make this hectic holiday easier on the old bird.
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teddydrawshockey · 1 year
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This is one of those things I wish I had polls for. But ya know.. we’ll make due 😃
I’ve been working on a few different ‘series’ ideas for the tiny penguins! Instead of just drawing them as news and games come out, I want to take them outside of their little hockey world. They won’t need sticks and pucks where they’re going… or maybe they will- I don’t think I’d like to try prying a stick from Sid’s flippers.
Anyway-
I just figured out how to do that
My main ideas which I feel will be most intriguing are:
Penguins Across The Globe: A series of the Penguins going across the world on all sorts of vacations. Im thinking two to three penguins per piece, maybe one on occasion. This would definitely be an interactive series where you can post suggestions of which penguins you want to see and where.
“International Super-spies” Zucker and Rust: This will not be open for participation. A good plot (hopefully), comedy, playful action, and a surprise bad guy. This would be told through comic strips and an occasional one photo piece when I need suspense.
Lost In Zoo York: I’m not too sure about this one yet. I mean I know the central idea. A series about the penguins lost in the zoo, maybe mistaken for the other penguins or something of the sort. As for who’s in it, I do not know yet. But I love the concept!
Adventures In Babysitting: Most likely a Geno and Sid series, looking after a stuffed animal of some sort. Domestic fluff to the max.
Office Penguins: This one- is completely for comedy. To lay it out. Each piece will probably be done in a 4-5 section comic piece. It’s going to be set up like the office. So, weird bizarre work scenarios, but at PPG. One or two penguins will have an “off camera” interview per strip, and the rest of the strip will be contributed to the ‘situation’ of course. This one could be a series that lasts as long as it should or shouldn’t. No story line to follow, no need to see each strip, just something for pure entertainment.
Soooo… essentially, I need to know what you’re all most interested in! It’s inconvenient without a poll, so I do apologize for that, but I have no control over it. These options would be somewhere in the middle of the scale concerning how long they’d go on. They won’t be short, but they won’t be long. The first one however, will be the longest series. You guys can comment or put your preferences in tags if you re-blog. You can even message me directly!
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kaizenkhaos · 1 year
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Road to Valentine's Day (Demon and Priest AU)
Part 2
The Mall was a little busier by the time Steve had managed to locate the card shop on the third floor. The map had certainly helped with that, providing him with the guidance he'd sorely needed. It was a bigger lot than he thought it would be; a double store front which was both wide and deep. Elder humans were slowly wandering the aisles alongside younger humans. Some with the tinier humans in the chair monsters, others without. Like with Demons and Imps, not every human had a tiny human and that was very normal here. As it was for certain types of Demons to not have a family Imp. So that didn't really make Steve bat an eyelid as he stepped into the store, though the chair monsters did make Steve wonder about if he could get one of them for V. Make him a disguise so they could actually leave the apartment from time to time. No one would bat an eyelid after all if they thought he was a baby. Though saying that....babies did seem to draw a lot of attention, a lot of people leaning over them and saying strange human sounds. Wiggling fingers and playing soppy grins. Pity Imps couldn't shapeshift as that would have helped. Then again, overall that was actually a blessing in disguise. Trying to find a little Fiend who'd managed to shift himself into a teapot? His idea of a head inducing nightmare.
It would be nice for the baby Imp to see something other than the same four walls and a view out of a window. V loved to travel and Steve felt really guilty keeping him indoors. Maybe one day he'd work something out.
Heading into the store, Steve gave a subtle sniff and then started to look around. Nothing of threat to sense. There seemed to be a wide range of items on sale here too. The back from what he could see seemed to have a variety of things, from balloons to pots to items Steve wasn't sure on. The aisles set up in the centre of the store all seemed to be cards so that's where he started, wandering up and down the aisles until he found the section he was after. All the cards lined up in an aisle of red fronted stands rather than the whites of the others. At least that made it easier to know which cards were appropriate but now there was another problem. How did he choose one? There may be hundreds of them, all different looking from the mere glimpses he'd had. And Demons didn't do cards, they didn't have the concept in Hell. Well not these sort of cards. But according to the page he'd read, this was an important part of Valentine's Day. The exchange of these pieces of material with text on them. So he'd need to find a good one. A really good one. Billy deserved it and Steve wanted to make sure he got the best. But which would be the best?
Glancing at the humans already looking, he noticed how they took the card out of the stand. Looking them over, sometimes just the outside and other times opening them and even turning them over. Then either putting them back or keeping hold of them and taking something else out of the rack from behind the cards to apparently put the card in. Right, that seemed easy enough and not wanting to look out of place, the Demon started to look himself. Only issue was that Steve wasn't aware that there were different cards for different people... The first card he picked up for example had two cute penguins on it, hand in hand and smiling towards the person holding it. But on opening it, it seemed like there was a lot of pages instead. Folded into the card on blue paper, with a lot of text. It seemed like a full blown novel and that would probably be too much for their first time. Very intimidating. It also said girlfriend on the front but Steve didn't catch that. Neither did he catch the fact the next card said "to my baby girl" on the front of it. He just noticed that it was very very pink, bright pink that made him wince a little under the lights and that one went straight back into the rack. Billy didn't seem to be a very pink person. It wasn't that the Demon though male humans didn't like the colour, more that it didn't seem appropriate for Billy. A different colour would probably be better for the Priest. The next one said husband and was a more white affair but it was when he was looking over this one that he saw the one which would prove to be the winner. It was the biggest by far, up on the top part of the stand. Silhouettes of two cute animals sat on a hill and staring up at a massive white and bright moon. The word boyfriend in swirling silver text under it. Smiling, the Demon took the cars, carefully pulling it and one of the silver items behind it. That was the one. Now to find where to pay. It was whilst looking for the tills, it was when he spotted the shelves of plushies...
There was...so...many. Not nearly as many as the cards of course, but there was enough to cause Steve to pause. His eyes searching over the shelves. There were so many different ones! All different animals with different hearts and messages on them. Some more fluffier than others, some with smaller eyes, some with huge glittery ones. Some he recognised (teddy bear, cat, dog, bird) but most of them he didn't. And this all made it tricky. Which one should he get? It was like the cards all over again. But that it dawned on him that this was actually worse. Because he had no idea what animals Billy really liked. What if he got an animal he didn't like? Would that make Billy sad? But these animals were all so cute so maybe it would be okay? The list had said that plushies were a wonderful gift. Something humans loved. So that's how Steve ended up with arms full of plushies, card under his arm as he staggered towards the till. Barely about to see over the top of them. Other customers outright stared at him as he approached and the lady that had been about to put her items on the counter, stepped aside to let him through. A muffled thank you coming from the Demon as he tried to carefully put all the plushies down. Tried. It didn't quite succeed with an avalanche of plushies happening, the Demon and shop assistant being left picking up some of them from the floor. Two more bigger plushies came from under his arms and then the card was gently placed on top.
The cashier, just looking at the plushies pile, went to get the biggest bags the store had and then started to scan the plushies tags..
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majoraop · 3 years
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It partially overlapped with the Corazon Week so I didn’t have much time to make something for the Heart Pirates Week, but I managed to write a short story inspired by several prompts at once ("strength", "longing", "soft", and "caged"). The prompts are mostly used in the song pictured above (written by Law’s reincarnation in my “A Tale of Two Dragons” soulmate AU), which I included in the fanfic. The story features the CoraLaw pairing, the core Heart Pirates crew (Shachi/Penguin/Bepo), and a one-sided LuLaw.
A Tale of Two Dragons – Moon Chapter “You could smile for once, you know?” Penguin told Law while elbowing a chuckling Shachi.   “Is he always like this?” Rocinante sat next to Law, smiling at the camera Luffy was holding.   “Yeah. He has always been like this.” Law sighed, already exhausted even if they had just departed for their Moon Tour—as Luffy had dubbed it.   “My…brother”—just a moment of hesitation, but Rocinante couldn’t avoid forever bringing Doffy up—“told me that all people inhabiting our world came from the moon. I wonder what we’ll find there!”   “I told you already,” Law said with a grin. “There are people with wings on the moon—like angels.”   “Really?” Bepo, the younger component of their band, was staring at Law with a gaping mouth.   “Really,” Law echoed him with a serious face. Penguin and Shachi tried to say something, but Law sent a glare in their direction and they closed their mouths. “They have fluffy wings and celestial voices,” he continued.   “Oh…” Bepo blushed. He was a timid boy with a soft spot for pretty singers—but a skilled drummer for his age.   “Law…you should stop now,” Rocinante reproached him playfully.   “But it’s real!” Luffy exclaimed. “I remember people with wings living in the old world!”   Everyone looked at him, wondering if he was joking. However, there was no trace of doubts or lies in Luffy’s eyes. Law actually believed in those stories too, but he still had fun teasing Bepo.   “I can’t wait to meet them!” the boy whispered, blushing even more, and everyone laughed. --- “Look, Law, we’re almost there!”   Luffy’s enthusiasm rubbed off on Law, too, when he looked out of the porthole of the flying ship they rented for their journey. The moon was so near now that he could distinguish a large city quite clearly. Sentient beings were living up there, and he wouldn’t be able to refuse Luffy his craved moon concert. Law groaned. His life had changed so fast he hadn’t been able to adapt yet. He hadn't even finished writing his new song!   “It looks beautiful,” Rocinante whispered, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I can’t believe we’re travelling together as we promised to do.”   “If only those troublemakers weren't around…”   “Oh no, it’s better like this!” Rocinante smiled. “Your friends are a nice, funny bunch, and I can help with your band. You know, I’ve learned some useful skills.”   Law stared at his confident grin. “What skills?” he asked, mildly worried. He hoped it didn’t involve setting things on fire—the speciality of Rocinante’s old self.   “I’m a dresser,” Rocinante said proudly. “Well, not really—not yet at least, but I studied costume design. I have a great fashion sense, you know?”   Law didn’t remember the old Roci and his Corazon alter ego having a great fashion sense at all—if anything else, it was the contrary.   “Leave it to me,” Rocinante said, puffing up his chest.   Law felt a shiver running down his spine as he hesitantly nodded at him. --- You always gave me strength Once, I was a child who lost his heart Once, I was a child who got your heart On the second night after they arrived at their destination, Law was finally able to sit down and work on his song.   Penguin was playing his guitar in another room together with Shachi, the bassist of their band. Bepo and Luffy were keeping them company, and Law heard the latter singing. His cheerful voice put him in a good mood, which helped him resolve a difficult verse. He would have loved to spend some time alone with Rocinante, but he needed to finish writing his composition first. Besides, Roci was busy designing their stage costumes.   Law looked down at his laptop and deleted a sentence. He remained pensive for a moment. Then, he typed a new line. He hummed the refrain one last time and nodded, satisfied. He would sing this song alone, Luffy only joining him for the chorus. He needed to sing this song alone.   Law saved the file and closed the lid of his laptop. --- They still needed an agent so, after finishing working on his song, Law started searching for one.   Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin accompanied him while Roci kept working on their costumes. Luffy, too, decided to stay back: he hadn't had much time to learn Law's new song, and even if he would only sing the chorus he wanted to practise some more. Law wondered if Luffy understood how much that song was important for him and thus wanted to make a perfect performance. Sorry, he thought, knowing how Luffy felt about him.   “This place is huge!”   Penguin’s comment pulled Law out of his thoughts, and he surveyed his surroundings. That city was the main hub of the moon. The skyscrapers that soared against the starry night looked like buildings out of an ancient civilization, but they were made from glass and not blocks of stone. A giant bubble covered the city under a protective dome and shielded it from cosmic radiations, and at its outskirts, smaller bubbles encircled fields and farms. Factories were situated on the dark side of the moon and connected to the central hub by underground bullet train. During their stay there, Law had learned that water was scarce on the moon: there weren’t rivers, lakes, or seas, but people had been able to survive thanks to their advanced technology. Tiny humanoid robots took care of manual labour, so the citizens of the moon had plenty of free time. Unsurprisingly, upon learning that Law and his group were a rock band, they had immediately asked them to hold a concert.   “People of the moon do have wings, but they are small,” Bepo interrupted Law’s thoughts, sounding a bit disappointed. “They can't fly like that.”   “They don’t need wings to fly,” Shachi told him. “Can’t you see the floating vehicles above our heads?”   “It’s not the same.” Bepo pouted.   “But their wings are still fluffy at least,” Shachi insisted, clearly amused.   “Aye-Aye, they are fluffy.” Bepo nodded, smiling.   Law barely registered their silly conversation as he wondered how many marvellous things were waiting for him and Roci to discover. The thought of being able to experience all of that with him filled him with a happiness he had never felt before in his current of previous lives. --- Finding an agent turned out to be surprisingly easy. After talking with some local people, they met an extravagant man with sparkly, ambitious eyes—a foreigner probably, since he didn't have wings. Nevertheless, he had the right contacts, so they hired him.   The day of the concert arrived in no time, and now Law was staring, appalled, at the clothes and accessories displayed before him. “What. Are. These.” He managed to say after the first moment of shock.   “These? Your stage costume and accessories, of course!” Rocinante said with a big grin on his face.   Law glared at the black leather pants, the belt with a ridiculous-looking, heart-shaped buckle, the earrings, the rings, and the “shoes”. The shoes were the worst part: how was he supposed to sing and dance on those stilts?! Law put his hand to his face, sighing, and flung himself upon the armchair behind him.   “You’ll look great in them, Law!” Luffy exclaimed, looking at him like he usually looked at delicious meat—his favourite food.   Law felt a bit bad for him since he couldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but Luffy was a good person and had accepted Law's relationship with Roci without hesitation. Law sighed again and closed his eyes, massaging his temples with his thumbs.   “I love it!” Bepo cried next to him when Roci showed him his costume. Law glanced at it and was only able to distinguish a white fur-something.   “And these are for you,” Rocinante told Penguin and Shachi with a smiling face. Law straightened his back, ready to savour the horror on his friends’ faces, but they didn't react as he expected but just let out their breath in relief.   Law stood up to see their costumes closer and then frowned. “Why do their clothes look normal and they also have a shirt? Why can’t I wear a shirt too?!”   “It’s because you’re the star, my dear!” Rocinante beamed.   “But Luffy is the co-star, and yet he'll wear a shirt!” Law felt he was losing his sanity.   “It fits his look better,” Rocinante replied with a serious expression.   “…I give up.” Law threw his hands on the air and returned to his armchair. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time he appeared in public shirtless...Oh. He had just remembered about that. So, there were still parts of his past pirate life that he had not recalled yet. Ok, let’s go all out then. “Roci, I need you to paint my chest,” he said, trying not to blush.   At that, even Rocinante looked surprised. “What do you mean?”   “I mean a fake tattoo—nothing too complex, just some black ink.”   “Oh, I remember that!” Luffy chimed in.   Just perfect. Law wanted to disappear, but it wasn’t like his heart-shaped tattoo had been a mystery in his past life. He had walked around showing it on his bare chest like war painting when—no, he needed to stop thinking about that. Doflamingo wasn’t an enemy anymore. Now, we’re all free from our past.   “I…can draw it if you show me the design you’ve in mind,” Roci told him.   “Follow me.” Law stood up. “Just you,” he added when he saw the others moving too. That symbol on his chest had been his source of strength during his turbulent, painful past. More importantly, it had been a memento of his Cora-san. Only Rocinante could hear about it. --- When Law stepped out of his dressing room, he was welcomed by Penguin and Shachi’s barely held laughter and Luffy’s loud cheering. Bepo, instead, just looked at him with a worried expression.   Law sighed and tried a few slow steps on his heels. Thankfully, he was able to walk normally.   “You look fantastic,” Rocinante whispered, his eyes lingering on Law’s painted chest.   Law blushed. There were no secrets left between them: he literally wore his heart on his skin—his feelings for that man for all to see.   Now, he was ready to step on stage and scream his love for him. The white sea of clouds below me is spotless, I recall colourless roofs and skin now spotted, I recall cries and tears, smoke and flames, I recall being saved and then encaged. I remember falling on a pile of trash, I remember silence—and when it crashed. You always gave me strength Once, I was a child who lost his heart Once, I was a child who got your heart The waves are rolling and splashing before me, I recall blue oceans and endless adventures, I recall allies, friends, and their laughter, I recall legends, myths, and old treasures. I remember searching for the truth of my name, I remember crowning the very King of Pirates. You always gave me strength Once, I was a child who lost his heart Once, I was a child who got your heart The boundless sea of stars is sparkling above me, I recall worlds below and above the mountains, I recall the promise I exchanged with you, I recall black feathers, comfy and soft. I remember longing for you in the night, I remember you smiling for the last time. You always gave me strength Once, I was a child who lost his heart Once, I was a child who got your heart You always gave me strength Once, I was a child who lost his heart Once, I was a child who got your heart… A child no more, I give your heart back. [SOULMATE]
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Christmas Delights
Pairing - Jack Kline x Reader
Summary - The holidays are approaching, and knowing that Jack hasn’t ever really seen just how excited people get for the holidays, you decide to take him on a special supply run. 
Word Count - 1,767
Warnings - None! Except it’s November 1st, and I’m already posting a Christmas story. 
“Now what’s the rule?” 
You let out an annoyed sigh as Dean held the keys to the Impala in his grip, waiting for your response before he gave them to you. “Don’t do any damage to Baby whatsoever or there will be hell to pay.” You answered. 
“Continue . . .” Dean said, gesturing for you to do so. 
“Don’t mess with any of the music or radio presets.” You added, crossing your arms over your chest as Dean still held the keys out of your reach. 
“And . . .” He said. 
“Oh my god, are you serious? Jack and I are not going to do anything -”
“I’m ready!” Jack interrupted you, joining the two of you in the kitchen, his bright smile easing up your mood instantly. It was so easy to make him excited. Even if all you were doing was going on a supply run, he was eager to go. “Are you ready to go?” He asked you, moving to stand at your side. 
You glanced over at Dean who was still looking at you, this time with a little smirk on his lips. “I promise all right!” You said, snatching the keys from him, and grabbing a hold of Jack’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.” 
Jack looked confused at Dean’s amused look and your words, but let you lead him out the kitchen and into the Impala. As soon as the two of you were alone, you felt your annoyance vanish as Jack began to tell you all about the latest book he had been reading. You had taken it upon yourself to catch Jack up on popular culture, and he was taking to it well. So well in fact that there had been times when the two of you had stayed up talking late into the night about his favorite things. You couldn’t count the amount of times you had woken up on the couch with your favorite blanket thrown across your body after you had fallen asleep talking to him. 
There was no denying that the two of you were close anymore, and because of that, you liked to team up, whether it was hunting or going shopping. So when it was your turn to go into town and get supplies, you asked him to come with you. He agreed at once. He loved to explore the towns that you were near and human behavior whenever he got the chance, so you knew that he would enjoy this trip in particular. “Wow . . .” He said when you pulled to a stop, staring out the window. 
The whole street was covered in flashing lights and decorations ranging from wreaths to fake snow around some of the lamp posts. All of that seemed to pale in comparison to the large tree that stood in the center of the square. That wasn’t what was holding your attention though. 
Jack’s eyes were wide in wonderment as he gazed around, attempting to take everything in from the car window. The smile that lit up his face was brighter than any of the lights flashing outside. It made a smile form on your own face, his excitement contagious. “What is all this?” Jack asked you, tearing his gaze away from the window to look at you instead. 
“Remember how I told you that the holidays were coming up?” You asked him, then nudged his shoulder. “Humans tend to go all out for that sort of thing. Wanna take a closer look?” You asked, gesturing outside. 
You didn’t need to ask him twice. Jack almost leaped out of his seat, and you struggled to catch up, trying not to giggle at how excited he was. As soon as you met each other at the front of the car, he took your hand in his own. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 
“You’re welcome.” You replied, a genuine smile on your face now as you looked at him. “Now let’s go check it out before Dean thinks we’ve been gone for too long.” You said, tugging him forward and towards the Town Square. 
While the holidays hadn’t been your thing in a few years, it was a whole different thing experiencing them with Jack who had never seen something like this. Instead of being filled with memories that upset you, it was as if you were seeing everything from a whole new perspective, just like Jack was. He asked question upon question for you to answer, and you loved how happy he seemed to be. 
Happiness was a rare commodity for hunters after all. 
“Did you celebrate the holidays when . . .” He trailed off, and you knew exactly what he meant. 
You stirred your hot chocolate with your tiny spoon, poking at your marshmallows while you contemplated your response. “We did . . . what I remember was nice. A lot of family time. Relatives you saw once or twice a year all sitting around a table and catching up . . . looking at the Black Friday ads . . . all the old traditions you know? Along with some of our own.” You added. 
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Your own?” 
“Like . . . my mom did this thing that I thought was weird as a kid. I thought that everyone put a star on top of the Christmas tree.” You gestured toward the large tree at the end of the street, sparkling bright in the night with its large star on top. “It was what I always saw on TV, and that seemed to be what friends always had talked about. My mother on the other hand, insisted on a ribbon. A very large ribbon that took up way too much space and distracted from the tree all together. Of course now I realize it was more common than I thought, but still. It was our own.” 
When you glanced back up at him, you noticed that he was smiling at you this time, in a way that made your heart do all sorts of funny flips and flops. 
“What?” You asked, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. 
“I like when you talk about your family, and it makes you happy. You aren’t usually when you’re talking about them.” He answered, his words honest, and unaware of the brief stab of pain they caused. 
It was hard to remember the good things after having to watch them die so brutally, so when you talked about your family, he was right, you weren’t happy a lot of the time. Now that he had mentioned it, you didn’t want it to happen again. You didn’t want a guilty emotion to ruin such a fun night for Jack. “You want to go for one more walk around before we leave? Dean’s going to think we’re up to something if we stay out too much longer.” You asked, changing the subject. 
You couldn’t miss the concern that flashed on Jack’s face at your clear avoidance at the subject, but you were relieved when he didn’t pry, picking up your now empty cup and putting it in the trash can behind him as he took your hand once more. “I’d love to.” 
As the two of you walked around the tree once more, the memory of your earlier conversation faded to the back of your mind, Jack’s warm body next to yours as you nestled your head against his shoulder, happy and content again. 
____________________
Over the next few weeks, the days began to melt together as they often did when your little ragtag family were working on cases. It seemed that you were finally getting a break though after you woke up at a reasonable time without Dean or Sam banging on your door to get packed. Taking your time, and enjoying the deep sleep you had just woken up from, it took you a few moments to notice the present on your bedside table. 
As soon as you did, you sat up so fast you almost had a head rush, tears flooding to your eyes. 
There, taking up almost your whole nightstand, was a large bow. It was misshapen in some places, and covered with cartoon drawings of penguins, Santa Claus, elves and reindeer, but there was no mistaking what it was. 
Or who had made it for you. 
You grabbed the bow and ran out of your room, hurrying past Sam who was reading, Castiel who was watching television, and almost colliding into Dean who was carrying a large plate of pancakes. “Hey! Watch it!” He called after you, his mouth full of food. 
Ignoring him, you didn’t stop until you found yourself in front of the place you knew that Jack liked to frequent and opened the door, biting your lip to control your tears when you saw what waited for you. 
“Surprise!” Jack yelled, excited. “Merry Christmas!” 
He had decorated the whole room with different colors of string lights, some large and oddly shaped and some small with flashing lights. There were also various plants, and ribbons hanging around in red and white, but the main feature of the room was the tree. It was rather small for a Christmas tree and leaned sideways somewhat, but you didn’t care. It was perfect. 
And waiting right at the top was a large space set aside for what you were sure was the bow in your hand. 
You couldn’t control yourself. You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. Almost as soon as you had done it, you realized your mistake and pulled away as your cheeks flooded with heat. “Jack, I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking I’m just . . .” You gestured around the room. “This is so sweet of -”
This time you were the one surprised with a kiss. Jack tugged you back into his arms and was kissing you a lot more thoroughly than you had ever expected him too. Not that you were complaining. His lips were soft and smooth as they moved with yours and it felt like butterflies had erupted all in your stomach as his hands caressed your back in such a gentle touch. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh and try to move closer, feeling happier than you had in ages wrapped up in his arms with his lips pressed against your own. 
The kiss had to end at some point though, and the two of you were breathless by the time that it did. There were matching smiles on your face as you looked at each other, and then Jack spoke up. “So, do you like it?” 
Your smile widened as you answered him with another kiss.
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vulcanhugsclub · 3 years
Text
A Blizzard That Almost Caused Vulcan Pneumonia
Ship: AOS Spirk
Rating: G
A/N: This is a fluffy little short I wrote a long time ago and decided to publish on here so here ya go and enjoy!
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"I had warned you previous to the storm about the upcoming weather-"
"Spock, shut up shut up shut up!"
"Dammit, Jim! There's no need to shout!" Another voice said from across the room.
"Then why are you yelling!?"
"YOU BOTH ARE ACTING LIKE DOOFUSES THAT'S WHY!"
Uhura was rolling her eyes from where she sat at the counter, Chekov sipping hot cocoa with both hands next to her, and Sulu was just hyping them up. Then there was Scotty, sneaking more whiskey into his coffee and Ms. Chapel, who was trying(and failing) to make them stop fighting.
The truth was they all came over to celebrate Jim's new apartment but instead got snowed in.
This blizzard was worse than ever, and already there was a thick layer of snow on the ground.
"Human logic is so irrational. You knew about the weather, you preceded to hold this assembly and now you're angry about it?" Spock gave Jim one of his famous 'why u so stupid' looks.
"I'm soooooRRRY that I am not a logical piece of metal and didn't plan ahead!"
"That's what normal people do."
Jim swore Spock rolled his eyes, but maybe it was a trick of the light.
"Ok, yeah," Mccoy waved his hand in between the bickering pair. "Still here, guys!"
They both looked at him, one of them glaring(the other glaring less obviously).
"Thank you." He paused, wishing he were anywhere but with these dorks. "What's the plan?"
"Oh boys, will you knock it off?" Ms. Chapel nearly shouted. Even in anger, her voice was smooth and motherly, unlike the trio.
All three men turned to her, more in surprise but were interrupted by a large banging that echoed through the whole apartment. The electricity shuttered out, as it had been for the past hour, but this time it permanently flickered off.
"What was that?" Christine looked around wearily, as everyone was searching across the room for the problem.
Scotty was the first to move, walking to the thermostat. he pressed a few buttons, and with each second he became visibly more agitated. "It's not working. We've lost our heat."
Everyone murmured quietly, and thank god the lights were out because Spock grew very pale.
-----1 hour later------------------
"Scotty, how's the heat coming?" Kirk asked from one of the couches, holding a shivering figure curled into his side.
"It's doin' somethin'" Scotty sighed as he was pulling apart the wiring of the thermostat.
Other than the engineer, the gang had migrated to the living room, sitting close together near the fireplace. They were all fine, for the most part, just wearing their coats and seemed pretty comfortable chatting. It was still cold enough to see their breath as they talked and exhaled.
Ms. Chapel and the doctor were snuggling together on the other couch, whispering about something and giggling. The trio(Uhura, Chekov, Sulu) were all close like penguins. The crackling fire was the only source of light in the whole apartment, and thankfully Jim was retro because it wasn't electric.
The bundle pressed against Jim Kirk shifted under the thick white blanket until a head surfaced. Spock's nose was bright green, the tips of his ears flushed. He was trembling violently, not used to Earth's freezing temper.
"Alright, love?" Jim chuckled, massaging his thumb against Spock's back.
He could only nod as the blonde leaned down to kiss his forehead.
"Spock, you're freezing!" He gently pulled the Vulcan onto his lap, placing his hands on his hips to draw him closer. Jim had no problem with body heat.
He wasn't even wearing a coat.
Spock rested his head on the captain's shoulder, nuzzling his neck with his nose.
Jim almost hissed feeling his boyfriend's cold nose on his steaming neck, but instead placed his head on top of the little rabbit in his lap. He took a moment to admire how Spock could seem so tiny with this gigantic furry blanket.
Kirk didn't even mind that it felt like he was hugging an ice block.
They hadn't had a chance to address their dating rumors or disclose their relationship. Spock didn't want the crew to get any ideas about his 'emotional availability' as he put it.
"Vait, are you two a zing?" Chekov's voice brought him back to the dark living room.
The captain looked up to see everyone staring at them, some with wide eyes, some with 'I knew it' faces.
"That's where Spock went. I thought he was in the bathroom," Sulu said, and Uhura rolled her eyes again.
"Yes, he's been in the bathroom for 50 minutes."
"How long have you known?" Hikaru looked at her with narrowed eyes, even though he was grinning.
"3 months."
"Right," Kirk chuckled sheepishly, "We're relatively new." For two years. Better not tell them.
"Zat's vonderful!" Chekov smiled, his whole face lighting up. "I am so happy for you, keptin!"
"I canae believe it!" Scotty's head poked around the corner to the living room, vanishing again.
"Dammit, Jim!" Bones' voice came from the back of the room, even though he was smiling. "You're supposed to tell your best friend these kinds of things!"
Jim just enjoyed the way his friends reacted, smiling.
He couldn't ask for a better crew, let alone companions.
"Better?" Kirk redirected his attention back to Spock, looking down and seeing the first officer's eyes fluttering closed until he was sinking into a sound sleep. He could hear the tiniest and most adorable of snores coming from the Vulcan.
It took all of Jim's energy not to boop him.
The urge was too strong, and he pressed his nose gently against his boyfriend's. Spock 's eyes shot open and he inhaled deeply, addressing the room.
"Is there something wrong, captain?" He whispered, and everyone giggled in response.
Kirk leaned down, pressing his lips against one of the Vulcan's ears and whispered back, "I think it has to do with the fact that you are sleeping on my lap."
"Oh..." Jim took pleasure in seeing a slight blush reach Spock's cheeks. Then abruptly, the first officer grabbed the blanket and pulled it over his head, soon falling asleep against Kirk's chest once again. Now it just looked like there was a fluffy white mass in his arms, with no sign of the Vulcan other than slow breathing.
The gang ended up spending the whole night, and luckily for them, Jim had sleeping bags(because of course he did).
They all slept in the living room, after some argument about who would take the bed. Kirk and Spock cuddled up on one of the couches, Ms. Chapel and Mccoy on the other, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, and Uhura in sleeping bags near the still-going fireplace. They were all asleep, leaving just the captain and the first officer.
"Do you think they mind...us...?" Spock asked after a while.
"It doesn't matter what they think," The blonde whispered back, tickled by Spock's hair against his nose. But that didn't seem to settle the Vulcan. "Why do you care what they think?"
"They are my friends, I value their opinion as much as I value yours."
"They are happy with us being happy."
Spock sighed and nuzzled against Jim, intertwining their fingers.
His voice was the last thing Kirk heard. "Goodnight, T'hy'la."
And the captain was washed away in a sleep so warm and cozy, it could have been summer.
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icefire149 · 3 years
Text
An Angel’s Vow
Chapter Five (Read on ao3 | Read from the beginning)
Once the kitchen was clean, Claire put her other duffle bag on the table. She unzipped it. “It’s not much, but it works.”
Cas took everything out of the bag and examined it carefully. The bag contained: a machete, some silver bullets but no gun, a pouch of silver coins, an iron crowbar, a lock pick set, a coin Claire thinks is iron, a couple bottles of holy water, some spray paint, a half empty container of salt, a box of penguin band-aids, cleaning alcohol, and an angel sword. Cas frowned. “This is abysmal.”
Defensive, Claire crossed her arms. “The sword is basically a hunting equivalent to a Swiss army knife.”
“I don’t understand what military grade Swiss cutlery has to do with anything, but I do know hunting. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Oh, so here we go! Hit me with the speech.”
Cas turned around bewildered. “What are you talking about? There’s no speech.”
“So you’re not gonna tell me that I’m being stupid and I should go live a normal life?”
“I’m not going to yell at you or tell you what to do.” Cas tried to keep his voice even. “Am I happy that you’re hunting? No. Am I frustrated that you’re hunting by yourself? Absolutely. But it’s your life and I promised to keep you safe.”
Claire rolled her eyes with her whole body. She went over to the refrigerator and snagged a juice box out. With a loud pop, she stabbed the straw in.
Sighing, Cas put his hands on the table. He looked over Claire’s hunting supplies again. “I don’t think you understand.” His voice came out much softer than before.
The juice box was half way to Claire’s mouth when she froze.
“I know you’re not going to stop now that your mind is set. I want to help you be a better hunter.”
“What?”
Cas looked over his shoulder, and studied Claire. Obviously, she was grown by human standards, but he could still clearly see the small child he devastated…..is continuing to jeopardize. His chest started feeling unnaturally tight. For a moment he thought that he could still see the baby from the shreds of Jimmy’s memory that remains with him. “I’m willing to share my knowledge of the supernatural with you. Afterwards if you’re still willing to be a hunter at least you’ll be better informed about what you’re signing up for.”
“Are you serious?” Claire tilted her head, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “How are we supposed to hunt with the kid?”
“We’re not hunting. We’re studying.”
Claire’s whole body drooped. “Studying what? I can’t imagine where you have lore books stashed here. This house is pretty bare bones.”
“Lore books would be nice, but I have a library right up here.” He touched his temple with his index finger. “And besides we have a ton of ground to cover before thinking about hunts.”
“It’s not like I haven’t been on a couple hunts already.”
“Yeah, but do you have the exorcism chant memorized? Or recorded? Can you make hex bags? Draw various devil traps? Read any Latin or Enochian? Tracking spells? Draw angel banishing-”
“Okay!” Claire burst. She put the juice box down on the table. Her voice softened. “Okay, I get it.”
Cas nodded. “Would you be interested in learning any of that?”
“You’re seriously willing to teach me any of that?”
“Of course. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be happy.”
The next thing Cas knew, he was trapped in a bone crushing hug.
“Thank you,” Claire mumbled into his chest. She let go just as fast and sat in the chair she used earlier during lunch.
Cas pushed the juice box into her reach. She took it and started drinking. He smiled, feeling the tension loosen in his shoulders.
“So….” Claire spoke with the straw still in the corner of her mouth. “When does hunter school start, professor angel?”
“We could probably start tomorrow. Does that mean you’re planning on staying for a while?”
Sitting up straight, Claire’s expression morphed from jovial to serious. “Is that okay? Is it even safe with…”
They both glanced towards the living room for a moment. Cas crossed his arms. “Of course it’s okay. You’re free to come and go as much as you please.” He sighed, uncharacteristically running a hand through his hair. “But your second question...I honestly don’t know. And that frightens me.”
Cas pulled the chair closest to him and sat down. “You’re not safe if you leave now.” He gestured at her hunting supplies on the table. “I know Heaven is after Jack. I’ve been careful to keep us hidden, but it’s not without flaws. Jack’s birth should have attracted a ton of attention. I’m shocked we haven’t been discovered yet.”
“You’ve been doing good so far. Maybe they won’t find you,” Claire said, leaning her elbows on the table. She rested the side of her face in the palm of her hand.
“They will at some point….I just wish I knew what’s taking them so long. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Is there any kind of warding we could put up? Spells?”
Cas smiled softly. “Angel warding would be useless in this situation. Yes, it would keep Heaven away from this house, but it would also keep me and Jack out.”
“So what have you done?”
“After Jack was born….the moment we could flee, I etched Enochian sigils into his ribs to hide him from every angel.” Cas subconsciously rubbed a hand over the tattoo on his side. “My body is hidden from angels in a similar way.”
Stunned, Claire stared at Cas in silent horror.
“Actually that reminds me-” Cas turned his whole body towards in Claire’s direction. “I wanted to give you those sigils as well for protection.”
Claire slowly leaned away in her chair. “Why….would I need protection from angels?”
Cas’ eyebrows furrowed. “There’s always a chance you might stumble into an angel related case, but most importantly you should be hidden from them in case anyone remembers your ties to me. You’re important.”
“Because I can function as your vessel?”
“That does put you in a lot of danger.”
Her whole body drooped as she sighed. “Great.”
“At this point I doubt that there are any angels that remember which bloodline begets my vessels, but I’d rather err on the side of caution.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No. You’ll never notice it.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Cas got up and positioned himself to stand directly behind her. Claire closed her eyes. He placed his hands on the top of both of her shoulders for a few seconds, and then he went back to his chair.
Claire opened her eyes. “You didn’t do anything?”
“I did and it’s done.”
She burst out of her chair, running her hands down her arms and looking over her body. “Everything looks the same.”
Cas smiled fondly. “Your ribs. You won’t be able to see anything without an x-ray.”
Her eyes snapped back up at him, wide with curiosity. “That was so cool! I can’t feel a difference.” She sat back down again. “What does the warding look like?”
“Oh.” Cas sat up straighter and glanced around the room. “I can draw them out for you, but…” He frowned. “We’re going to need to buy some pens and paper.”
That pulled a laugh out of Claire. “Figures. We need to go school supply shopping.”
Confused, Cas turned his head to the side just a bit. Then it clicked. “Yeah. We’ll need to go supply shopping.”
“So the warding will be enough to keep us hidden while we’re shopping?”
Cas sat back in the chair. “Technically, yes. The reason why it isn’t perfect is how angels communicate.” He touched the side of his forehead for a moment. “Dean calls it Angel Radio. I can turn it off when I want to, but in general angels can contact and find each other through our minds.”
Claire stared at him for several silent moments while his words processed, and then the gears turned. She glanced towards the living room.
“I don’t know if he’s connected,” Cas said simply. “And I don’t want to reach out to him that way until he’s older….and understands.”
“Huh.” Crossing her arms, Claire turned back towards Cas. “He’s really got us in a pickle.”
The puzzled look on Cas’ face was evident, but he chose to nod instead. Claire cracked a smile. “Hopefully Heaven is too scared of the idea of Jack that they’ll keep their distance.”
“Hopefully.”
After a quiet pause. “Sooo...does this place have decent WiFi?”
“I believe so. Kelly was frequently on her laptop.”
“Excellent.” Claire’s smile widened. “You wanna watch a movie?”
Cas’ expression softened. “I’d like that greatly.”
“Be right back then,” Claire said hopping up and leaving the room. On her way through the house she glanced at Jack sound asleep in his play pen. He was on his back, and the foot of a stuffed lion toy was clenched in his tiny fist. Amused, Claire shook her head and continued upstairs to her other duffle bag.
It was only a minute or two later when she descended down the stairs with her laptop charger clunking into each step. “Is there anything in particular that-”
Her voice cut off seeing the pained look on Cas’ face. He was seated on the living room couch, but he looked miles away. “Cas?”
Startled, his whole body uncharacteristically flinched. His blue eyes looked dull and sad. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you coming.”
Claire slowly walked over to the couch and put the laptop down at the opposite end. “Are you okay? You look sick.” She kicked the charger cord to the side and sat down on the middle cushion.
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Wanna try that again?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I told you in the past that angels can pick up on more than just verbal prayers. Longing. Strong feelings of intent. They’re like…..indirect prayers.”
“Yeah. So who’s praying? Dean?”
Cas sighed. “He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but I can feel that he’s perturbed.”
“Well yeah.” Claire pulled her legs up, crossing them. She then turned her whole body in Cas’ direction. “Jody told me Sam is like ready to tie him down so he’ll stop clawing at the walls. He’s trying to find you.”
Mildly irritated, Cas shook his head. “He’s yet to actually pray to me so I can’t imagine he wants to speak to me that badly.”
“That’s fair. One point to Castiel.”
Cas raised an eyebrow at that.
“So why are we letting Dean sweat? What did he do?” Claire grinned. “Depending on what he did, I bet we can get Jody to boot his car.”
“I’m afraid to ask what that means, but I have no doubt that Dean would never speak to me again if we did such a thing to ‘his baby’.”
Claire shook her head. “Never mind that then.”
Cas took a deep breath. His gaze slid over to Jack’s sleeping form. “Dean and I didn’t part on good terms. I spent much of the past year tracking Jack’s mother. She wasn’t easy to find.” Cas’ head turned and he met Claire’s eye. He frowned. “And my original mission was to terminate the pregnancy.”
A sudden chill crept up Claire’s spine. “Oh.”
“Dean understood the complexities of my mission. I didn’t want to hurt Kelly, but….a child like Jack is…..he could cause a lot of harm.”
Arching her neck up, Claire tried to get a better glimpse of the baby. He seemed to be sleeping with his face squished into the playpen floor. “I get the idea,” she said quietly. “Archangel power. Prince of Darkness. But…” Claire pointed her thumb in Jack’s direction. “I don’t think he fits the bill.”
“When I did find Kelly,” Cas continued. “And I rescued her from Dagon, one of the Princes of Hell…..Jack called out to me. He showed me a peaceful world. A vision of the good he’ll be able to do.”
“And that’s why you’ve gone all dad mode.” Claire crossed her arms.
“He asked.”
“And Dean?”
“To hunt Dagon I had to trick Dean and steal a special gun he prized.”
Grimacing, Claire quipped, “I bet that went over well.”
“At the time him and Sam were pitching ideas of removing Jack’s grace.”
“What would that even do to him?”
“Make him human I suppose…”
“But you don’t know.”
“No. Not for certain. And Kelly wanted her son to be whole.”
Claire nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Jack should be allowed to be his entire self. No hiding. No changing or compromising for others.”
Cas smiled softly, and then it fell while he stared at his hands in his lap. “I suspect now that Dean is mostly upset about the disappearance act, but...I’ve been keeping the distance so I don’t have to lose everyone. My siblings already dislike both Winchesters.”
A small laugh escaped Claire. “Figures.”
“And….I do actually quite like this house. It’s peaceful here. Unlike their bunker...which is filled with rooms of unknown and dangerous items.”
A glint of excitement shone in Claire’s eyes. “Are you sure? Sounds like a fun place to explore and grow up in.”
Cas shook his head. “Jack deserves sunshine and windows...and a life unmarked by hunting…..well for as long as I can give him.”
Claire nodded, and they both sat there in silence with their thoughts for a while. Eventually, Claire’s eyes moved back to Cas and the sorrow exuding from him. “If Dean left the bunker to help you with Jack out here….would you want that?”
Cas was silent for a long time. Claire couldn’t make heads or tails of his expression. Eventually he spoke in a hushed whisper. “I miss him.”
“You should ask him instead of making his decisions for him.”
Cas’ eyes darted back to her for a moment. He stared, and then he pointed at the laptop. “So what kind of movie were you thinking?”
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Note
💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜
Thank you so much 💜 my day was stressful and mentally taxing but overall it was fine :) i am so so flattered/flustered that you want to gift me something in return- i never expect anything when i'm penguin anon. And irl i'm trying to be better at accepting things from people. so if you really would like to gift me something here are some tropes i like: cas gardening (sorry i can't get away from flowers/plants!), dadstiel with baby or toddler jack, general domestic fluff, anything that explores cas & dean healing/character growth 💜 but i honestly don't expect anything in return for my hearts and flowers. They are freely given 💜💜🌻💜💜🌻💜💜
-🐧🌻
I’m sorry to hear it was stressful for you, dear. I’m glad that overall it wasn’t too bad for you, though. I hope this cheers you up? I’m a few hours later with it because I get distracted big time in research. Like figuring out that Dean was 22 when Shrek came out. Which had literally no bearing on this, but was fun to figure out. The hearts and flowers are more than appreciated. 💕🌺🌺💕
🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻
When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.
What he could look at was Mom holding Sammy. He was only a couple of months old, but Mom was excitedly talking to him as if he could talk back. Dad said he wouldn’t be able to talk for a while. That didn’t seem to bother Mom. She was content to describe the flowers to Sammy. They were taller than Dean was. Mom said they wouldn’t get any bigger, but one day Dean would be tall enough to hold Sammy up to the flower petals. He looked forward to that.
Mom looked pretty in her dress, from Dean’s memory of the time. Her skirt swayed in the autumn wind in time with the petals dancing in the breeze. It was ethereal, like a princess talking to animals. Except instead of a squirrel on her shoulder there was a baby in her arms. Dean thought it looked like magic.
A few months later, when Dean was finally trusted with holding Sammy in his arms, he was running out of his burning home.
He didn’t think about the sunflowers they left behind.
Read more undercut or check it out on AO3!
Later in life, when Dean was flirting too close to a stable relationship with a reporter, he idly thumbed at the petals of the Suntastic Yellows. He remembered his mom telling him that they were the tiniest sunflowers. The type they used in bouquets. Cassie had a small pot resting on her windowsill.
Cassie’s hands drew around his waist from behind him. Humming into his neck, Cassie drew him backward with her. He thought about it in an absent sense, walking away from the sunflowers.
“You know,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, “they say that sunflowers track the sun all throughout the day.”
“Oh, really?” Dean smirked, taking her lips in his own. She was wonderful, really. Too wonderful. Wonderful enough that Dean thought about confessing everything to her. Cassie would understand. She was clever and understanding. Hell, maybe she’d even accept him.
It was too bad, then, that when Dean told her what he did—what he was—that she didn’t believe him. Dean wouldn’t have believed himself either. Walking away with his keys in his hand and his heart at his feet, Dean wondered if this is what it would always feel like. If he would always have to walk away from the place his heart was trying to make into a home. Maybe it was something about being a sunflower. Always tracking the sun throughout the day.
Too bad Dean couldn’t find the damn sunlight.
“Dude, look!” Dean grinned during another part of his life, pointing at some old lady’s front garden full of Taiyos. “It’s like Shrek.” He teased his brother, elbowing Sam who only rolled his eyes in return.
“Shrek? Really?” Sam scoffed. “How old were you when that even happened?”
Dean huffed a laugh. “What? You’re telling me you didn’t go watch the cinematic masterpiece known as Shrek with all of your college buddies?”
Sam rolled his eyes again, huffing with a shrug of his shoulders. “Sure, Dean. And then we watched Holiday in the Sun right after, too.”
“Never took you for a Mary-Kate and Ashley fan, Sammy.” Dean grinned, watching the sunflowers swaying in the breeze from the corner of his eye.
They looked peaceful in the witness’ front yard. Untouched by the grueling werewolf that was lurking through the small town. Dean could hear Sam’s sharp inhale from beside him.
“I always thought sunflowers were… homey,” Sam confessed, watching the sunflowers dance with a furrowed brow.
Shooting Sam a crooked grin, Dean stepped forward toward the sunflowers but he didn’t dare touch them. “I’m not surprised,” he began. “Mom used to grow them. She started taking you out into the garden as soon as you stopped crying all the time.”
Sam was silent for a moment, causing Dean to look at him with concern. It wasn’t often that Sam was quiet, but when he was it was always a contemplative silence. “I didn’t know that.” He spoke softly.
“You wouldn’t have remembered.” Dean shrugged, stepping onto the witness’ walkway to begin making their way up to the door. “These are a bit taller than hers were. But then again, everything seemed taller then.”
There was another moment of contemplative silence, but it seemed Sam had nothing left to say. He knocked on the witness’ door, taking care not to meet Dean’s eye. Dean wondered what that meant. Wondered if Sam felt the same way when he saw sunflowers.
Then again, Sam had always been larger than life. Tall and proud.
When Dean was on the aching side of forty, he watched Castiel hold their four-year-old son to the blooming sunflowers he kept in the backyard. Cas had been enchanted by the Little Beckas when he had seen them. While they might not have been the tallest—or the smallest—of sunflowers, he had thought they were lovely. Dean had made a quip about their halo and bought Cas seeds the same day.
Watching Cas and Jack reminded Dean of being four and trying to see what color the sun was. It was blinding, something he felt he should look away from lest it hurt him. But he found that he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to watch Cas answer every question Jack had.
He was beautiful, Dean often thought, but especially in moments like these. The cuffs of his jeans were muddied and his bare feet were buried in the soil where he sat with Jack in his lap. Dean hated how Cas refused to wear shoes outside, but he had claimed to like being closer to the Earth. Dean couldn’t argue with him. He wouldn’t argue with him; not for what made him happy.
Cas turned to look at him, catching his gaze and drawing him closer with just a look. Dean moved without hesitation, standing beside Cas and kicking at his knee with his booted foot. His approach drew Jack’s attention away from the flowers, who clapped excitedly the closer he got.
“Whaddya think, Jack? Do you like the colors?” Dean hummed, watching Jack’s gummy smile as the kid waved up at him.
“Daddy says that sunflowers face East!” He pointed enthusiastically, laughing and reaching for the blooms in front of him.
Dean frowned, looking from Cas to the flowers. “I thought sunflowers rotated with the sun or whatever.”
Cas hummed, tilting his head with a nod. “They do, in their youth.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “But when they mature, the sunflowers learn that they get the most light during the morning hours when the sun has just risen from the East.” Bouncing Jack momentarily and causing the boy to giggle, Cas turned to face Dean. “They just learn what’s healthiest for them. It just takes time.”
Inhaling sharply, Dean wondered if this was it. If this was his East. Watching a smiling Jack and Cas whispering about sunflowers that—while not the tallest or the smallest—were a halo of colors. Two colors that came together, that never faded, that bloomed to life in this tiny garden he called home. He was a dark heart and a bright halo, smiling toward the bright, white sunlight of a gummy smile and clapping hands.
With a grunt, Dean lowered himself to the soil, sitting beside Cas and wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulder. “These little guys are pollen-less,” he spoke to Jack. “That’s why we got the honeysuckles.”
“Honeysuckles stand for devotion.” Cas’ voice rumbled gently. “In the ancient Celtic alphabet, the symbol that the Ogham carved into stone to represent the honeysuckle stood for following one’s path.”
Dean snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sort of counterintuitive. Since, yanno, Free Will.” He quipped, raising a curious brow toward Cas.
Bowing his head in concession, Cas continued. “Yes, that is true. The Druids meant it more like… trusting one’s gut. Rather than sticking to the story.” He grinned, rocking with Jack in his arms for a moment. “But the honeysuckle is rather hard to kill. That is why it means everlasting devotion.”
“Deaths don’t stick, huh?” Dean hummed, squeezing Cas closer into his side. “Sounds like someone I know.”
Cas exhaled a laugh, resting his head atop Jack’s. “The Chinese valued the honeysuckle for its healing properties. It can be a cooling herb to remove toxins.”
Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ cheek, keeping his lips there for a moment longer before pulling away. “Even if the honeysuckle can’t heal ‘em, the sunflowers like the company anyway.” He smiled softly, watching as Cas’ eyes turned dewy toward him. “And ‘sides, the honeysuckle brings all the bees to the yard.”
Snorting laughter that Jack joined in without knowing the cause, Cas shook his head. “I suppose so.” His attempt to suppress a smile made Dean’s own grin widen. “But the sunflower is more than enough company.”
“Damn straight,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips, kissing him slowly and savoring the moment.
Between them, Jack made exaggerated kissy faces, causing them to pull apart and watch him with amusement. He grinned, reaching up and holding Dean and Cas’ cheeks in his palms.
“Daddy and Poppa sittin’ in a tree!” Jack sang, giggling as he smushed their heads together.
Mocking a frown, Dean held his other hand out behind Jack’s back. His palm felt so large in comparison to how small Jack was. “Did Uncle Sam teach you that?”
“Yup!” Jack nodded enthusiastically, head bobbing as he continued to hum the song under his breath.
Cas gave another chuckle under his breath, looking from Jack to Dean. “I suppose we should head inside. We're still expecting Sam and Eileen for lunch.”
Dean stood with a groan as his knees ached. He reached out a hand to help Cas and Jack up, standing tall with his family in their little garden. Keeping their fingers intertwined, Dean didn’t have to think about the sunflowers they left behind.
They would be there as long as the sun was in the East.
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Text
Scenes from October 31st through November 2nd, 1981
James was watching television—some old movie he wasn’t really following—when it happened. He had just been playing with his son, making multicolored smoke bubbles appear out of his wand and chuckling as Harry delightedly tried to catch them, when his wife had announced that it was well past both of their bedtimes. He supposed she was right as he yawned and stretched, discarding his wand on the sofa beside him.
Lily was upstairs in the laundry room, just beginning to fold a few of Harry’s footies after putting him down in his crib. The house in Godric's Hollow was small enough that she could still hear the dialogue of the movie if she listened intently enough. Lily smiled as she recognised it: Meet Me in St. Louis. It had been her mother’s favorite. She fondly recalled watching the film together, curling up under one big blanket and munching on popcorn, singing along to all the songs.
Something caught her eye outside, moments before it happened. A small group of young children parading down the street in pumpkin costumes, their pillow cases dragging on the street behind them, closely followed by two couples. The parents were chatting, saying something Lily couldn’t hear through the glass and layers of protection spells. The children were dancing about, throwing empty candy wrappers on the pavement with reckless abandon. Lily allowed herself to daydream about what Harry’s first Halloween costume would be, once she and James were finally allowed out of the house again. She imagined her son, laughing and feasting with the other children, adorable face sticking through a silly penguin suit.
One of the mothers, a tall, thin woman in a pointy black witches hat, bent down to pick up the littered wrappers, and then it happened.
The pram, still kept hopefully by the door, was tossed aside as Voldemort entered the Potter’s safehouse with a thunderous clatter.
“Lily!” James cried, voice straining in the effort to make sure she heard him. In an instant she knew something was wrong. “Take Harry and go! It’s him!” Her heart rate accelerated, pounding in her ears as she immediately dropped the laundry, springing to action. “Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”
His words seemed to echo throughout the small house. Every nerve in her body set aflame with adrenaline as Lily rushed into the nursery. Then she heard the terrible curse, the words confirming her worst nightmares, “ Avada Kedavra! ”
The faint thud that followed was barely registered by Lily’s senses as a blood-curdling shriek escaped her throat, pouring her soul out into the cold, still night. It only then occurred to her that she was wandless. Trapped, stuck on the top floor with no way out. No escape.
She shoved a chair under the door handle, a desperate last attempt to barricade herself in, and pressed a final kiss to her son’s forehead. “I love you sweetheart,” she whispered.
Voldemort cast the furniture aside effortlessly and entered the room.
Lily had seen him before, face to face. After all, he had thrice asked her personally to join his legion of Death Eaters. She had always refused. Holding fast to that same determination, Lily swallowed, dropping Harry in his crib and throwing her arms wide to shield him. She was not scared. No harm would come to her son. Of this, she was certain.
“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” She knew he would not listen. The words were a last instinct, more for herself than the foul murderer who stood in front of her, draped in a dark cloak, wand outstretched.
“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside now.” He commanded her with force in his tone. Lily recognized the familiar sensation of the Imperious curse and fought against it.
“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—” She would do anything, anything to protect her son.
“This is my last warning—” His voice was cold, cruel, and calculating.
“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry!” she repeated the words over and over again as if saying them one more time was the key to changing the course of time. “Please—I’ll do anything—”
“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”
In the fleeting moments that followed, Harry Potter became the Boy who Lived.
***
It was in some of the final moments of October 31st, 1981 that Hagrid arrived at the decimated house in Godric's Hollow. He’d gotten his orders from Dumbledore the moment the fated curse had rebounded, thanks to a number of surveillance spells, which rang sharp and loud like sirens throughout the Headmaster’s study that night. Hagrid had heard them, even from far off in his hut on the grounds. His blood had turned cold.
The instinct to collapse on the pavement at the sight very nearly overwhelmed him. James and Lily. But above all the devastation he could hear the baby’s cries and he remembered just why he had come.
He dug through the ruins, trying and failing to bite back tears in the chill of the late October night. Just as he found Harry, the tiny infant with a new lightning scar cut jagged across his small forehead, wriggling around and sobbing, a faint rumbling came from down the street. No—from above.
Sirius Black descended upon the scene carefully, landing his magical motorcycle on the street just outside what had been the Potter’s front gate. He was shaking slightly and out of breath, his famously sleek hair now messy and knotted from the wind, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink from the chill.
“No!” The shout tore through the too-still air like a shotgun blast. Sirius discarded his bike, letting it fall to the pavement carelessly. He climbed through the wreckage, falling to his knees when he discovered James’ limp body, collapsed over the stairs. His glasses were askew across his face and his mouth was open, gaping lifelessly.
“Where is he…” Sirius muttered to himself. “That son of a bitch where is he—I’ll kill him myself—”
“Hol’ on there Sirius,” Hagrid placed a heavy hand on his shoulder as the tears began to flow. Sirius couldn’t bear it, the tidal waves of emotion, crashing into his body and drawing him under one by one. “It’s a tragedy, but we can’t go doin’ anything reckless, now. It’s not what they would’a wanted.”
Sirius looked up, blinking away the unrelenting stream of sadness pouring down his face. His eyes locked on the baby.
Harry.
His godson.
Harry had fallen back asleep, settled by the soothing rocking and warmth of Hagrid’s arms. He looked so peaceful, so serene, so unaware of the horrors that surrounded him. It broke Sirius’ heart.
“I’ll take him.” His voice broke and he coughed, clearing his throat. “Harry. He’s my godson after all. It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay.”
Hagrid looked down on him with an expression of pity. “Oh… I got strict orders from Dumbledore ‘imself. Gonna bring ‘Arry ‘ere to his aunt and uncle in Little Whinging.”
The information washed over Sirius. He swallowed. “Okay,” he agreed hesitantly. Who was he to be a father? He was young, he was reckless, he—“Dumbledore’s usually right in these instances.” His eyes flashed over to the street. He straightened up. “Take my bike.”
Hagrid paused in his rocking of Harry for a moment, shocked. “You sure ‘bout that? Ya love that thing.”
Sirius nodded. He had never been more sure of anything else in his life. “I won’t be needing it, and it’ll get you there quickly. Probably a day, day and a half trip but it’s faster than any Muggle transportation.” He eyed the pink umbrella by Hagrid’s side, “And safer than any experimental magic.”
Hagrid’s cheeks turned a tinge pink. “Right, yer right o’course.”
Sirius helped him get settled, tucking Harry in with a final, tight hug. “I’ll come to visit, all the time,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple, where the lightning scar graced his soft skin. He watched as the pair drove away into the night, keeping his eyes steady on the headlights until they faded in with the blackness and the stars.
He arranged the bodies of his best friends carefully, placing them together, side by side. He closed their eyes and lay their hands on top of one another. If it weren’t for the devastation surrounding them, the fading Dark Mark illuminating the sky, he could’ve convinced himself they had simply fallen asleep.
As muggle sirens wailed in the distance, red and white flashing lights turning just around the corner, Sirius Black disapparated.
***
November 1st, 1981
Sirius Black appeared on the streets of London just as the sun was rising over the tall buildings. He was raving, blistering rage driving him to mutter to himself nonstop “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill him.”
And that was the extent of his plan.
He was going to trace down Peter Pettigrew, the murderer, the spy , and kill him, if it was the last thing Sirius ever did.
Peter found him first.
Sirius was stalking the streets around Peter’s flat, desperately thinking of a way to find him. Workers had only just started their days, but Sirius had been up all night. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, and the grief had set on his face. If any of his friends could have seen him, they would have said he’d aged a decade overnight.
Peter very nearly didn’t recognise him, but he saw the wand hanging by his side, gripped with tight, white knuckles. He knew what he had to do.
“Sirius,” Peter cried, putting on a mask of grief and desperation, “how could you?”
Sirius growled as he turned around. He wanted to tear Wormtail limb from limb, chop off his fingers one by one, anything to make him feel the excruciating pain that he’d forced on Sirius. Feel the weight of his actions, feel the death he had caused.
“We were your friends, Sirius!” Peter let his voice raise higher, attracting the attention of the people passing by. Commuters stopped in their walking, exchanging confused and worried glances, a few eyeing the phone booth on the corner.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius grumbled, confused but no less angry.
“James and Lily—”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK THEIR NAMES!” Sirius couldn’t wait another moment longer. He lunged, pointing his wand forward, but an explosion drew him back. He covered his eyes instinctively as the dust and rubble blew into his face.
He lowered his arm just in time to see a rat scuttering down the drainpipe into the sewers.
And Sirius Black laughed.
He threw his head back as maniacal, uncontrollable laughter overtook his senses. There was nothing more he could do.
The street was in full panic now; a dozen or so muggle bodies lay across the street, heads cracked on the pavement, oozing blood. Sirens sounded, but they were far off. The Aurors apparated in with a crack .
Sirius Black was still laughing hysterically as they took his arms and roughly dragged him off, all the way to Azkaban.
There was no trial.
***
Remus had thought he’d known pain. He’d broken virtually every bone in his body—twice—from his smallest finger to his spine and skull. He’d woken up with gruesome wounds, scarred skin torn and still gushing blood. He’d dislocated and contorted his joints and was plagued by never ending aches now that he was older. His knee, his hip, his shoulder. He’d experienced the agony of his entire body stretching and extending unnaturally once a month for nearly all his life. He’d taken curse after Unforgivable curse from Death Eaters and still stood to tell the tale. He’d felt everything from the dull throbbing of a sprained ankle to the all-over torture of being bitten by a werewolf. He’d even dealt with heartbreak—earth-shattering anger and gut-wrenching confusion and pure pure sadness.
None of it even remotely compared to how he felt when he heard the news.
Dumbledore had sent a patronus.
James and Lily. Dead.
Peter. Dead.
Sirius. The love of his life. His fiance. A murderer. The spy.
And Remus was left all alone.
He threw up.
Just as he was starting to come to, gasping for air, hunched over the toilet lid, arms shaking with the effort to keep himself up, face splayed with hot, salty tears, thoughts frantically drowning in his mind, he remembered the baby.
Harry .
His stomach twisted. He retched again.
***
November 2nd, 1981
Molly Weasley didn’t know what to think when a sudden knock came at her door in the earliest hours of November 2nd, 1981. The knock itself shook the Burrow, jolting her awake from the half-sleep she’d been catching in the old armchair sat in the corner of Ginny and Ron’s nursery. She’d checked that the babies were still sleeping and rushed down the stairs at once.
When she swung open the door, her heart dropped.
“Hagrid,” she gasped, beckoning him in “Oh, come in. What brings you here at this time of night?” Her pulse raced, silently
He was standing beside Sirius Black’s bike, Molly recognized it from all the times her husband had asked to take a poke around. His bushy hair hung over his eyes and his shoulders were shaking. “I’s… jus’ terrible. I got ‘im and ‘e started cryin’ an’ I’m okay wi’ kids but…” Hagrid blubbered on, tears streaming down his face. He interrupted himself to blow his nose as Molly struggled to follow his story.
“Hagrid, how about I make you a spot of tea and we can—” then she spotted him.
Harry. The Potter’s son.
He was bundled in a small cloth that had come loose and unraveled on the flight over. His mouth was open wide and it was only once Hagrid’s voice died down that Molly heard that he was, indeed, crying.
She reached down immediately and wrapped the baby in her arms, soothing him, even as her own stomach dropped. Hagrid wouldn’t have the Potter’s child unless…
Her husband came down the stairs at that point, still in his nightclothes. “Molly, what’s the matter—” his eyes landed on Hagrid, who’d settled himself down on their couch, which creaked and bent worryingly under his weight. He raised his wand. “Have you asked the questions?”
Molly snapped, “Oh, Arthur, is that really necessary—”
“No, no, it’s right,” Hagrid said, still sniffling. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded. “Go on Arthur.”
Mr. Weasley glanced between his wife and the half-giant sitting in his living room. “What did Molly and I serve after dinner last time we hosted the Order?” he asked, voice strong, still unsure of the situation.
“Treacle pudding, an’ a mighty fine one if I do say so m’self,” Hagrid chuckled sadly.
Arthur lowered his wand. “Sorry, Hagrid. You understand, don’t you?”
Hagrid bowed his head. It was only then that Arthur caught sight of the baby in his wife’s hands. It didn’t have the telltale ginger hair of a Weasley. “Molly…”
She looked up and her face was streaked with silent tears. “It’s Harry.” She couldn’t say any more.
Hagrid filled in what he knew, though there wasn’t much. He spared them the details of the broken house, the strewn bodies, the Dark Mark radiating menacingly above them. Even still, the knowledge was haunting.
The Potters. Gone.
None of the three of them slept that night. Molly made a cup of tea—she’d offered a warm meal but none of them had much of an appetite—and they talked themselves silly, sitting in the living room, reliving their best memories of the young couple. When the eldest Weasleys thundered down the stairs early that morning, they found their parents with heavy bags beneath their eyes, cheeks still stained with the dried reminders of their grief.
Harry, who’d fallen asleep shortly after being placed in Mrs. Weasley’s arms, awoke with a bit of a startled gurgle. Seeing him awake made Hagrid remember his responsibilities. He cleared his throat and placed his hands on his thighs, beginning to stand, “Well, I bes’ be off. Got a long journey ahead of us, don’t we ‘Arry?”
“Oh Hagrid, don’t be silly,” Molly retorted. “You’ll fall out of the air in your current state!” She gave him the friendliest smile she could manage, “Take a rest. You can sleep in the guest room—at least a few hours. I insist.”
When Hagrid came down a short while later, feeling slightly refreshed, if not exactly well rested, he shook Mrs. Weasley’s hand. “Can’t thank you enough, Molly.” She wrapped him in a tight embrace and just stood there, breathing in the hug for a moment. It was moments like these, in between all the death and destruction and despair, that she wanted to cherish.
***
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yeojaa · 4 years
Text
❪  TO THE MOON AND BACK!  ❫
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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.  kth x (named) f!reader.  jjk x (named) f!reader.  
genre +  rating.  non-idol!au.  romance (fluff), smut, some angst.  general.
warnings / tags.  none, tbh.  a lot of soft soft softness in this chapter.
count.  4.1k
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chapter 10.
You wake in bits and pieces, with half-composed thoughts that drift in and out of focus.  Dreams that you can’t quite remember now exist somewhere in the back of your mind, playing like a breeze.  There’s sleep crusting your eyes, bleary and heavy-lidded from the nap that’d seamlessly extended itself into a fourteen hour compulsion. 
Tracking a hand across your face - you can feel the lines left behind by linen, how they imprint against your cheek in the same way sunlight does from your bedroom window - you note that his side of the bed is empty.  His side because he’s claimed it as such, nearly two months in. 
The shower is running.  You can hear it through the thin walls of your apartment.  He’s also just dropped something, because the resounding bang! is as loud as fireworks on New Year’s.
Lethargic, you drag yourself from your sheets, cursing your obligations all the way.  So what if you’d agreed to them before?  It was now and you were somehow still tired.
The effort you exert in making the bed is haphazard at best.  You’re even less enthused when you throw clothes on - his shirt, discarded across the back of your desk chair - and a comfortable thong that cuts high across your hips.
“Don’t use up all of the hot water!”  You call, not very loudly at all, toes wiggling their way into slippers on your journey out of your room.  
Taehyung doesn’t answer but you know he’s heard you.
Down the hallway and into the kitchen, you busy yourself with coffee, single ceramic mug poised and ready the moment the kettle whistles.  You consider, briefly, making another, before remembering that unlike you, your boyfriend has terrible, godawful taste.  He dislikes coffee as much as you hate deadlines - which is to say very much.
You rest against the countertop as the water comes to a boil within the pretty blue kettle you’d received as a gift from your mother when you’d started university.  Marginally wider eyes take in the sun that filters into your apartment, how it bounces off your coffee table and the assortment of picture frames littering the space.  
There’s one of you and your parents.  Your sister had taken it, snapping the image the moment you sneezed.  It was meant to be a photo you’d be embarrassed by but instead it sits front and centre like some deranged centrepiece. 
There’s another of a group of people hanging all over each other.  Beneath someone’s elbow is your face painted with streaks of wayward paint;  your sister has an unimpressed Upo held high above her head.  
There’s just a silhouette - broad-shouldered and dressed in all black with a mushroom-head of fluffy black strands - inspecting a room of lights.  It could be anyone but you know it’s Jungkook.  You try not to linger on it too long, swivelling your stare to the next photo.
It’s newer, in Polaroid-form.  Your face next to Taehyung’s stares back at you from the front of your refrigerator, a lopsided heart and your names scrawled beneath it in his neat Hangul. 
“What’re you looking at?”  You hear him before you see him, turning towards the sound of his voice as he tugs his shirt mostly into place, pristine white cotton slinking against his body and sticking where moisture settles.  
His hair is still wet, curling at the ends and dripping onto the collar.  It spreads to your own shirt when he envelopes you easily, all but hiding behind your curtain of dark hair.  Warmth radiates off him - his body heat and that of the shower’s - as he presses into your back, fitting you against his chest.  It doesn’t even seem like that much of a deliberate motion as an impulsive, subconscious one.  
He just wants you closer - always does.
“Stop!”  You’re grumbling but you’re not very bothered;  you like him too much to be anywhere but in his arms.  Still, you push however feebly at his wrists, relaxing into his touch with the same breath.  
“Stop what?”  He hums in response, all bared teeth and that stupidly charming smile of his.  It pulls fine lines by his eyes and wanes them into crescents, mouth stretching into that peculiar shape that’s so very him.  
You glower at him, though the expression falls flat.  It’s still a little sleepy, caffeine not quite sparking the animosity it requires.  “You’re all wet!” 
He ignores that and turns toward the fridge, prying open the white door to peer inside curiously.  He speaks into it,  to the bag of grapes and half-empty tub of ssamjang.  “The water’s still warm - as promised.”  It hadn’t been a promise, but he’d heard it and they were mostly the same thing.
When he turns back toward you - surprisingly not empty-handed - he flashes you that playful smile you so adore.  It pulls his mouth once more into that boxy shape, a real-life present you very much want to unwrap.
So focused on it, you don’t realize he’s speaking again, lips curling around syllables that sit just past your comprehension.  “What?”
“When was the last time it wasn’t?”  Taehyung never holds it against you when he has to repeat himself.  He never minds, accepting it as another second spent together.  You only know because you’d asked him once, a few days ago, when you’d made him repeat himself for the fourth time and he’d been just as patient as with the first.
You aren’t sure how he does it.  He insists it comes with growing up with younger siblings.
“Two nights ago, before you went to bed.”  You’re solemn, chin just a touch defiant and hands crossed over your chest.  It’s meant to be intimidating but by the pull of his mouth - just enough to give away his amusement - you think it’s probably quite weak. 
“Oh, really?”  It comes in an earnest drawl, as if he’s really trying to remember.
“You thought I wasn’t going to shower but I did and it was awful.”  As if to drive your point home, you wobble your shoulders like a penguin would, shimmying on the spot.
“But…”  There’s a light in his eyes - a mischief that illuminates the darkness of his irises.  “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to shower?”  He punctuates the question with a firm bite into the peach he’s pulled from the crisper drawer.  It crunches between his teeth loudly, the smug glint in his stare as hard as the flesh he tears into.
Mouth of your own purses and pulls, drawn into a straight line.  You can feel the hard edge of the counter behind you but you shift regardless, shrugging into your cup of partially-cooled caffeine.  Taehyung adjusts with you like he’s attuned to you - caught in your gravitational pull.  When you tuck your elbow more closely to your side, he crowds there;  when you slip under his arm, he revolves on his heel and slides his palm comfortably over your waist.  Anywhere you go, he follows.
“I’m right,”  he sing-songs, deeply pleased.  He’s so handsome like this - full of brightness to the point it radiates out of him, warming you all the way through to your toes.
“Sure,”  you return, coolly, with a roll of your eyes that he’s grown used to over the few months.  He knows you don’t mean it so he laughs, low and slow, directly at you.  The sound settles into your bones, digging into your ears in the most pleasant way. 
When he presses forward, deposits a sweet kiss to your cheek, you can’t deny the flutter in your chest.  It beats to a melody he orchestrates with nimble hands - music to his ears.  He can’t help being a little proud of that.  He wants to draw it out further and further, until your voice joins the symphony of sound.  But he can’t, because you have plans and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited and a little preoccupied with that. 
“Go take that shower.  We’re leaving in an hour.”
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You’ve never loved children - which is not to say you hate them, but your maternal instinct has never guided you.  You don’t squeal with joy when you see a newborn and you definitely don’t rush to hold babies, all too put off by their fragile nature to trust your own strength - or clumsiness. 
But here with him?  You think Taehyung - and his adorable siblings - might just change your mind.
Under cover of heavy boughs with a pretty tartan blanket laid beneath you, you watch the scene before you unfold like something from a movie, unravelling the knot in your chest as it does.  
Jong Gyu’s laugh slips into the mid-afternoon sky, cresting high above the oak branches as it rings and rings.  He’s holding tight to the chains he’s swinging from, legs pumping as hard as they can in his neat denim overalls.  No threat of falling deters him as he demands to go higher, elated when his brother complies and pushes just a little harder.  He trusts Taehyung - and his own grubby five year old grip - without question as he sweeps higher, feet barely brushing the ground on the next swing forward.  There’s nothing to rob him of his joy as it vibrates through his entire tiny body.
“Higher, higher!”  His request comes half-formed and stolen by delight.  Taehyung’s own joy bonds seamlessly with it, throwing it into deeper relief as he does exactly as asked.
You don’t bother to fight back the smile that spreads, stretching from ear to ear at the sight.  You don’t even mind the warm body curled in your lap, small fingers threaded around your knee as if it was a blanket and not the knobbly, definitely-not-comfortable bone it is.  Fingers of your own pass through the little girl’s hair, combing through it like you might’ve liked when you were her age.
By the stillness, you think she might have fallen asleep.  You wouldn’t be surprised - it’s been hours since you’d been at the park and she’d expended more energy in the last half hour than you did in a week.  
“Unnie,”  she mumbles it so quietly, mouth warm against the fluttery flowy cotton of your trousers, that you almost miss it.  
“What is it?”  You don’t expect her to sit up so you round your shoulders, listening intently.
Her answer surprises you:  “Tae-oppa’s happy.”  She says it so matter of factly, finding strength somewhere you can’t see.  She grips your knee barely tighter, like she’s pressing the statement into your skin, impressing the meaning with each tiny digit. 
When the silence pulls a touch too long, you realize she’s waiting patiently for an answer.  You’re not sure what you can say but you try nonetheless.
“I hope so.”  
“I know he is.”  The middle child speaks with such certainty.  She reassures you like it’s an undeniable truth, far too firm for a girl of only nine.  Then she turns to you and you see that same confidence in her smile and how it erupts like lava, coating her popsicle stained lips and teeth and tongue.  Somehow, despite the nearly two decades that separates them, she looks remarkably like Taehyung.  
Maybe it’s the way she smiles or how her dark hair sweeps over her eyes - thickly lashed and expressive.
“You make him happy, unnie.”
You stay just as you are, smile of your own forming in slow, measured ticks of your mouth.  There must not be anything better than the belief of a child, you think - a decidedly not very-you thought.  It’s undeniable, filling you with pride.  “He makes me happy, too.”  
“What about me?”  Eunjin is completely serious, staring up at you imploringly.  It doesn’t matter that this is the first time you’ve met her or that she hardly knows you.  You’re already in her good graces, cemented there by the soft braid you’d twisted into her hair earlier and the last piece of cheese kimbap you'd selflessly given up.
“You also make me happy.”
The girl sits taller as if taking great pride in this concession.  She doesn’t look in the direction of her siblings - both still erupting with laughter over by the playground set - but rather, tilts her head adorably.  It reminds you of Taehyung yet again, earnest and sweet and demanding of affection.  “And Jong Gyu?”  
“Him, too,”  you reassure.  She seems satisfied with this, nodding solemnly to herself before she all but throws herself back into your lap in only a couple of motions.  You return to comfortable silence easily.
You think you might like children more if they were all like this.
“Getting tired?”  It’s Taehyung with Jong Gyu on his shoulders, the young boy’s fingers fisted tightly - too tightly, by the way your boyfriend occasionally winces - in his unkempt hair.  He’s approaching in long strides, closing the distance between you before you have a chance to answer.
“I’m fine.”  You share a look, glancing at the small body coiled around your legs.  “But I can’t speak for all of us.”
It must be her not-spider-sense that compels the girl to speak, words once against lost to the fabric she’s clutching.  “‘m not tired.”  No one believes her  - she’s drawling just like her older brother does when he’s about to fall asleep.  It’s adorable. 
Taehyung laughs and the sound curls from his lips like smoke, the joy in his eyes as bright as the rays that shine warm and glorious above the canopy of leaves.  He shifts the boy on his shoulders, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of his chubby cheeks from his periphery.  It’s altogether useless, because he’s nearly as tired as his sister, slumped against the back of Taehyung’s head like a ragdoll. 
“Let’s head home then.”  He speaks softly for their sake, more than fine with the energy - or lack thereof - that stills their bodies.  It’s far easier to bring them back to his parents like this, worn out and sun-warmed.  It means not being blamed when they erupt with hyper energy later - a common occurrence when it came to babysitting.
Communication passes silently between you as he lifts Jong Gyu from his shoulders, depositing the frame that’s all loose limbs and baby soft skin into your lap.  The little boy heaves a little noise and nestles his face into the shape of your waist, his sneakered feet just barely missing his sister’s head.
You pass Taehyung bits and pieces from your day - stackable containers and used utensils, the worn tiger plush that the youngest Kim carries around with him - and he stores them neatly away, stretching the confines of his damier canvas keepall.
Of course Kim Taehyung would use a three thousand dollar luxury tote as a picnic bag. 
“Ready to go?”  He crouches at your side, bag at his feet.  You move in practiced synchrony, his lips pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head - to the half-hearted braid you’d twined to match Eunjin’s from earlier - as you unfurl Jong Gyu’s fists from the hem of your shirt.  He scopes the little boy into his arms, cradling him against his chest like he’s done so many times before.  
When he rises, bag in his free hand, he looks almost like he regrets his decision.  His fingers itch for yours.  The desire increases tenfold when you shake his sleeping sister awake, rousing her with quiet apologies and that smile that makes his heart clench.
He knows now isn’t the time, but seeing you fit so perfectly with his imperfect family feels a lot like a miracle.  Like you were made for him, for them - to fill in the spaces he’d long since moved on from. 
Maybe it’s too much for a Sunday afternoon just months in the making, but he likes it anyway.
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Jungkook’s not quite sure whether it’s delight or surprise he feels when your Battletag pops up on the bottom left-hand corner of his screen in the middle of his comp game.  He thinks it must be the latter - because this has never been your game as much as it’s been his.  
You’d indulged him when he’d asked you to download it years ago, muttering under your breath about how all boys wanted the same thing (namely, video games).  
How fitting that it was bringing you together again.
Or would be, if he’d stop staring at his screen like a kid dumbfounded by a strange new animal at the zoo.
His fingers itch with an energy he can’t place, thumb drifting over and over his space bar.  He hardly even realizes his hero is bouncing up and down on the screen - Little Red Riding Hood outfit a crimson beacon - until one of his teammates calls him on it, snarky and more than a bit disbelieving.
“Ashe - what the hell are you doing?”  
Dazed and still a little confused, he flinches and immediately stops his assault on the poor key, gaze swivelling back to his screen as a whole.  Luckily, they’re on their last hold on Ilios and he’s got B.O.B at the ready because he’s finding it hard to otherwise focus on the game, his attention drifting back to your presence in the online world.  
“Can you BOB now?  Ball’s incoming.”  Not the asshole of an Orisa from earlier.  It’s your Ana, soft and decidedly feminine.  There must be some sort of irony there.
He presses Q immediately, launching the omnic ally across the point to where the opposing team will surely enter from.  As if right on cue, their poor Lucio is launched into the air and riddled with bullets, his death appearing in the kill feed moments later.  Wrecking Ball follows seconds later, seemingly about to throw the game into overtime as he contests - only to be slept right outside of the boundary.  
There’s a collective congratulation and patting of backs as VICTORY presents itself.  
“Good job, boys.”  It’s your Ana again, but it isn’t the voice he wants to hear.  He doesn’t say it back before he leaves the game.
When he clicks through to his friends list, he sees you in competitive queue, which means he either has ten minutes or none at all.  He takes the plunge with shaking fingers, his message to you riddled with spelling mistakes he rues.
JKMKNAE says:  look who it is
You don’t immediately respond and the wait feels like eons, his worry growing as his whisper disappears within the global chat.  Great.  You were ignoring him.
He’s halfway to gnawing his bottom lip into a mess when he notices you’ve left queue, sitting in menus now just like he is.  Maybe that’s a good sign?  He hates the bubble of hope that forms in his chest.  
CHOCHOTRAIN says:  who is it?
The breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding comes in a rush and his entire body sags with relief.  He’s typing before he can think better of it - before the logical side of his brain can override the sprinting of his heart.
JKMAKNAE says:  idk JKMAKNAE says:  someone i wanna duo with JKMAKNAE says:  you down?
You answer in the form of an invitation to your group;  he accepts the moment he receives it.
CHOCHOTRAIN says:  get on discord
Apprehension fills him with bright light, sparks going off beneath his skin.  He can see the mild tremor in his hands - likely from all the caffeine he’d had this morning, but also possibly due to the fact that he’s been too lazy to make any sort of proper meal all day - and he huffs out a small sound of amusement.  
For all of the reasons it might be there, he knows one of them is you.  At least, a little bit. 
You make him so nervous. 
“You’re back on the Overwatch grind?”  He’s speaking the moment he accepts your call, his voice crackling over the connection with much more confidence than he feels.  It’s silly, given your history - but then again, it’s because of your history that he’s like this. 
“Sort of,”  you answer in a distracted way that makes his mind wander.  Then you’re sucking down a smoothie and the sound is bouncing around in his ears, answering his question for him.
“Blueberry banana?”  It’s your favourite.  
“Strawberry banana, actually.”  You sound almost like you’re pouting.  He can imagine the expression - the rounding of your mouth, the way your brows gather together.  “I ate all the blueberries and forgot.”
It’s so very you that Jungkook can’t help snickering.  “How do you forget you ate something?”  He asks, but he knows the answer.  He’d seen you eat a croissant once and then ask where it’d gone, completely oblivious to the fact that your plate was covered in crumbs from said baked good.
“It happens, okay!”  He’s glad you’re laughing along with him.  It feels good, like how things used to be.  
“Sure, sure.”  
“I should kick you from this group right now.”  He knows you won’t.  At least, he thinks you won’t.  He doesn’t really know you as well as he used to, like you’re standing behind a door that’s stuck.  
“You won’t,”  he hums, equal parts hopeful and reassured.
You relent with a sigh and another one of your laughs, just dramatic enough to convey that this is okay.  “I won’t.”
Silence returns, the quiet only broken by the sound of your straw rattling in your cup.  It’s comfortable, somehow, even if he’s more than a little amazed by it.  It sits like a blanket in his lap, thrown over his legs to anchor him to the here and now.  It’s warm, full of the feeling of you.  
“How are things?”  He breaks first because he always does when it comes to you.  
“Really good.”  
It’s something he’s always liked about you - your transparency in most things. You found no comfort in playing it cool, in acting aloof.  When someone asked you how you were, you’d tell them - the good, the bad, and the ugly.  When you were passionate, it practically bled from your pores, spilling out of you in unrelenting rays of colour.
“Yoongi and Joon have been teaching me so much.”  You laugh and it inches just over the line of derision, softened by awe and gratitude.  “Like, I thought I knew what I was doing but god, I was so wrong!”  
You don’t mind, though;  your laugh tells him as much.  
“I keep thinking I’ve gotten over the learning curve and then—”  By the way you’re talking, he’s imagining you’re using your hands, waving them around your face in that weird wiggly motion you tend to do when you’re flustered.  “—Boom!”  It rockets out of your mouth and he winces.  “Six new things to learn.”
“But you’re happy?”  He doesn’t need an answer.  Of course you are.  This is what you’d talked about for years, day in and day out.  
“The happiest I’ve been in a long time.”  
He tries not to think about the double meaning and all the things you don’t say that sit just below the surface, threatening to tear him to pieces if he isn’t too careful.  Because Jungkook knows it’s more than just music that lives in your heart now.  It’s someone - and it isn’t him.
“You deserve it.”  It sticks in his throat a little, gumdrops and candy formed from all your sweetness.  He means it, though.  
“That means a lot.”  
You’re quiet for longer than he expects then.  Your hero - Ana in the coveted Bastet skin - makes the jump across the back of Hanamura’s second and first point.  Maybe you’re concentrating?  He’s seen you miss the leap a handful of times, so he wouldn’t be surprised.
“Are you happy?”  You ask almost as if you’re afraid of the answer.  
Four critical hits meet their marks before he speaks, careful and measured.  “I am.”  He isn’t lying.  Things have been fine - good, even - with contract work rolling in and his clients satisfied.  He’d found his inspiration again after losing it almost a year ago. 
“You deserve it, you know.  Happiness.”  
It’s a reminder he’s heard from you more than a handful of times.  Mumbled into his shoulder when he was stir crazy and frustrated;  pressed into the palm of his hand in the form of your touch when he was waiting for a call back;  scribbled on a sticky note left on his fridge when the layers wouldn’t sit right.  As if you worried he’d forget if you didn’t constantly say it.  
“I know.”  He does know, truly.  He’s a good guy with a good heart.  
But that doesn’t always mean he gets that he wants, even if he deserves it.  He’d had to learn that the hard way with you.
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notes.  enjoy all of this softness because it's going to get really messy.  :l  only three (maybe four?) chapters left!  ty for sticking with me.  💜
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justsassysworld · 4 years
Text
Five Demons And A Baby Part 4
Five Demons And A Baby Part 4
Zhuk x Fem!reader
Warnings: Nsfw, Nsft, oral sex, vaginal sex, erotic massage
Waking the next morning, you find yourself equal parts nervous and excited. Today could very easily be a huge turning point in your life. You try closing your eyes for a few more moments of peace, when they fly back open. What the hell am I going to wear? What should you wear? Panic sets in as you try to plan with no idea what to plan for.
You bolt up, rushing to the lush closet holding your clothes. Your eyes flit from piece to piece, never settling on any one thing. Just as you start to hyperventilate two very strong, very large arms wrap around your waist.
"Breathe, svezda moya," the tall Russian growls into your ear. "There is no need for such worry."
You fold your arms over his, taking comfort in his embrace. Turning, you smile up at him, really taking in his handsome face, his strong, stubbled jaw, thick brows, full lips. The way his dark hair lightens at his temples, how the green blends as it curls at his collar, it really makes you happy you sent that letter.
Not letting yourself stop to over analyze, you slowly move your arms up his defined arms to wrap around his neck, once there you apply some pressure. His smirk lets you know that he knows exactly what you're doing, and he slowly starts to bend his head, as you rise onto your tiptoes. Never in your life have you felt as delicate and petite as you do in this mans arms.
When your lips are a hairs breath from his, you both pause, seeming to seek the others approval. Looking deep into his eyes, you see a hunger and a passion that must surely match our own. Wanting, no needing, to taste his emotions, you surges through those last few centimeters.
Your lips crash into his, your longings clear in your furiousity, a fever that doesn't go unmatched. He crushes you to him as his lips begin their languid and thorough exploration. Almost immediately, you notice how different this kiss is making you feel. Where Scarabee's kiss is a hundred shot firework lighting up the night sky, this is molten magma, flowing deep and true, changing you in ways you can't possibly notice until the passion cools.
He cradles you as he starts to pull you back to the bed. Lost to the moment, you don't care about the date or the wooing, you just want this man. This man whose hands haven't strayed from your waist, but still seem to caress your very soul.
Zhuk stops moving, making you think you've reached the bed and prepare to be dragged down and ravished. That's not what happens though. He slowly pulls up, not wanting to put any more distance between you than is necessary, his forehead against yours.
"Oh, zaika moya," he groans. "You will be the death of us."
He steps away, straightening his sweater, making you realize just how firmly you had gripped it. You both struggle to catch your breath, though he does compose himself a little bit faster. Moving back towards the door, he reaches it and turns. "For this morning, wear something light and comfortable,” he says before leaving the room.
"Something light and comfortable," you mumble to yourself, inspecting your closet. Finally, you decide to just wear your favorite warm weather outfit.
You take a quick but decadent shower vowing to really enjoy the grandiose space at another time. Debating on if you should wear any makeup, and what to do with your hair, you throw on your clothes. Looking in the mirror, you finally decide to throw your hair up and to just wear a light gloss on your lips. Shoes are a much easier decision to make, since you decide to just pull on your favorite sneakers. Giving yourself a final look over, you nod, liking your final look.
No longer hesitating, you throw the door open and find a very sexy Russian waiting for you. He looks you over, dragging his gaze over your body. You feel every inch of that gaze and answer his pleased smile with one of your own. You take his offered arm.
"Ready, svezda moya?"
Biting your lip, you nod and answer, "Yes." The smile he gives you in return is truly magnificent.
He leads you down several new halls and corridors, pointing out rooms along the way, but you don't even try to remember them, far too excited to even try. After many twists and turns, he finally moves to open a door. Walking in, you stutter to a stop.
You may not know that much about cars, but you can tell just how over the top the collection before you is. There are cars in every shape, size, and color. Some look brand new, others are timeless classics, and all are absolutely pristine. Well, all but the very familiar one at the end.
"Is-is that my car?" you ask, glancing up at him. A smirk is his answer. "What the-"
He pulls you in for a quick kiss before leading you to a luxury sedan. Opening your door, he helps you into your seat. The seats are incredibly soft and so much more comfortable than you could have imagined. While he walks around and takes his place in the drivers seat, you take it all in, the sights, feels, and the smells.
The engine purrs as Zhuk fires it up. With one hand, he steers out of the garage, as the other grips one of yours. There is a comfortable silence in the cab and you watch him while the world blurs by outside. For all his apparent strength and external gruffness, you watch his face soften and relax as you get closer to where ever you're going. All while you enjoy the peace and the warmth of his hand.
He pulls to a stop in a nondescript part of town and you feel your brows pull down in confusion. Before you can question where you are, he pulls out a thin piece of what looks like silk.
"Do you trust me, zaika?"
Deciding that honesty is your best policy, you reply, "I'm not sure yet."
A sharp grin is his answer. "Good, I will always reward the truth." You reward is another toe curling kiss.
"Wow," you whisper.
"Oh, svezda moya," he chuckles against your lip. "I know trust must be built, so I am asking you to let me do this. I promise, I mean you no harm, I just want to surprise you."
Nodding slightly, you turn your body and he slips the silken material over your eyes. His hands slip down to your shoulders. Teeth nip at the sensitive skin there and you let out a shocked moan.
"How-how long until we get there?" you stutter out, hoping it won't be long.
"Not long," he chuckles.
Thankfully, he's telling the truth. In less than five minutes, you feel the car pulling to a stop.
"Wait here," he orders before you hear him climb from the car. Less than a minute later, you hear the latch release and feel a slight breeze. A hand drags across your chest, pausing over your tits before he reaches down and unbuckles you.
Taking both of your hands, Zhuk pulls you from your seat. With one hand holding yours, the other resting just above your ass, he guides you, helping you over and around unseen obstacles. Finally, he pulls you to a stop.
Pulling your body flush against his hard one, he murmurs, "Are you ready?"
Nodding, you whisper back, "Yes." One arm wrapping around your waist, the other reaching up to your blindfold.
The bright sunlight momentarily blinds you. Blinking, you wait less than patiently for your eyes to adjust. Taking a moment, when they finally focus, you turn up your face to the man standing behind you in confusion. The only thing before you is a fairly unassuming building with tall fences snaking from it.
You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, "You'll see." Pressure at your lower back has you moving up to the door. Instead of knocking, he simply opens the door and ushers you inside.
A surprised squeal catches in your throat.
The whole room is filled with people holding, feeding, swaddling, and just looking at a variety of baby animals. Some are fuzzy, some are scaly, and others are covered in down, but they all have one very important thing in common; they all are so fucking cute.
A very kind looking woman with a huge grin approaches you both, her hand outstretched to take Zhuk's. "Mr. Sloggoth? It's such a pleasure to meet you."
"Mrs. Abbernath," he returns with a nod. "The pleasure is mine. Allow me to introduce my companion." He does and then asks, "Might we start the tour?"
Hours later, you lean your head back against the car's headrest, a huge grin stretching your lips. You'd seen, and even held and fed, so many unique and amazing animals. Apparently, Zhuk is a huge supporter of animals. So huge in fact, he set up multiple foundations that are geared to help them, including the one he took you to. The whole purpose of this one being rescuing "exotic pets" from, and you quote, "Entitled asshole with more money than empathy for living things.”
There were several snakes, none a species you recognize, a hand full of young penguins, and even a baby emu and flamingo, but the ones you were really drawn to were the mammals. You saw everything from tiny, adult hedgehogs, some slightly bigger adult fennec foxes, a fairly young wolf with wolf-dog pups, and a hand full of various big cat cubs, a couple of bear cubs, and even a full grown male lion.
"Fair enough," he grunts, taking your hand and steering you out of the parking lot, in the opposite direction from where you came. You give him a suspicious look, but he just keeps his eyes on the road and tracing circles in the back of a your hand with his thumb. Hearing you open your mouth to draw in breath, he says, "No. It is a surprise," in a tone that invites no questions.
Zhuk glances your way when you snort in derision. Before he can say anything, you ask, "What kind of jackass names a male lion Nala? And don't say someone who's thumbing their nose at gender norms. Anyone who's conscientious enough to think like that isn't going to have a lion for a pet in the first place, and anyone dumb enough to buy one, is dumb enough to not at least google "Lion King" before naming them."
Pouting, you flop back in your chair, but you refuse to let go of his hand.
You try to focus on the world passing by your window, but between the excitement of the morning and the exhaustion of growing another person, you find your eyes growing heavy. You try to fight it, but the smooth ride has you dozing, a deep voice humming sees you sinking deeper.
Feeling arms wrap around you and slowly lift you from the car, you slowly wake, blinking against the light. The first thing you see is a huge, opulent room, the likes of which you've never seen in person, but had always hoped to experience when you'd saved up enough money. This is the most expensive luxury hotel in the area, and Zhuk is casually strolling through, with you in his arms, acting like he owns the place. You wiggle, trying to get him to put you down, an action that's become a bit too familiar, but he simply gives you a warm smile and keeps moving.
Instead of stopping at the reception, he breezes right on passed, seemingly headed to the bank of elevators. At the last hundred feet, he turns, making his way to what looks like a nondescript section of wall, but it's no wall. Opening a small panel, he punches in a code so long you couldn't remember the amount of numbers, let alone the actual code. Finally, there's a quiet snick and an elevator shows itself.
He carries you inside and the door slides shut, starting moving immediately. As the elevator ascends, he finally sets you down, but instead of giving you space, he backs you against the wall. His large hand cups your cheek before he leans in and places a heart meltingly sweet kiss on your lips. Never in your life have you had so much casual, meaningful affection. These men are going to do terribly amazing things for and to you. The elevator pulls to a gentle stop, but still he holds you. It's a sweet kiss, a longing kiss. A kiss to make you long for more and beg to stay. He is making you crave him, making you wonder about the rest of them.
"Oh zaika," he groans, finally pulling away. "You tempt me so, but we have an appointment that I will not let us miss."
Dragging you through the extravagant space, he doesn't give you a chance to take it in before you find yourself in a fully equipped spa wing, including a couple people waiting for you with warm smiles.
Shock has you jerking to a stop, but gentle pressure at the small of your back has you moving again. An incredibly soft robe is placed in your hands.
"Mr. Sloggoth, we have everything ready for you," the young woman informs. "Just let us know when you're ready for us.” The pair both nod before exiting the suite.
"What's going on, Zhuk?" you ask. "I know I can't do most of the spa experiences."
His gentle chuckle is a caress just as firm as those given by his hands. He takes your hand and pulls you near.
Cupping your belly, he grins. "I know svezda moya, I have taken such limitations into account. If you are agreeable, I will give you a full body message before calling on the others to give us both facials, manicures, and pedicures."
"Really?" you gasp, voice and face doing nothing to hide your excitement. "But what about you?"
"This is for you, well," he tilts his head, a knowing smirk lighting his face. "I will be getting my own pleasures."
The look in his eyes shows you exactly what his pleasure will be, though you suspect you will definitely enjoy yourself.
"That is," he adds, watching your expression. "As long as you are comfortable with that."
You bite your lip, thinking before you ask, "Will this be a 'happy ending' massage? And will I be reciprocating?"
A growl rumbles through the air and a glow lights his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and calms. "As much I would love that, this is for you. We have all night and I want you to be as relaxed as possible."
He's really willing to get me off without getting any himself? All because he's trying to woo you, to get to know you, maybe to fall in love.
"Allow me to escort you." He takes your elbow, leading you to a warm, dimly lit room, with candles spread throughout and soothing music playing in the back ground. Just being here has your heart rate slowing and your breathing calming.
"I will give you some time to get ready. If you are open to an... inclusive experience, disrobe and lay under the towel. If not, there is a bikini you can put on." Before turning to leave, Zhuk drops his lips against yours.
Leaning back against the table, you bite your lip as you watch him walk outside, or more accurately, his ass. Shaking your head, you force yourself to focus on the dilemma at hand, bikini or no bikini. You think about the others, would they be upset? No, is the immediate answer that comes to mind. They all knew this was a possibility and it seems they all have their own plans for you. So really, the only thing you truly have to decide is if you want everything he's offering right now, or try for more later. Holding up the tiny pieces of cloth, you make up your mind.
A few minutes later, Zhuk finds you laying on the massage table, on your stomach. Turning your head, you smile at him. "Hi
"Hello, zaika," he replies, coming to stand next to you, sleeves rolled up. "Are you ready?"
You nod, then ask, "Is it okay for me to laying like this?"
"Yes, you are perfect."
Your eyes follow him as he moves to grab a bottle of oil off a table. Thighs clenching, you force yourself to close your eyes, too tempted by the sight of him. Startled when you feel him pull the towel down your back, you know when he realizes you aren't wearing anything beneath it. The air grows thick with your combined arousal.
A splash hits your back, and he quickly rubs it in. Next comes both arms, then he moves the towel off your legs, leaving your ass as the only thing covered and without oil. Already you feel incredibly relaxed, sinking deeper into the cushion.
His deep voice blends into the ambiance, "Can I continue?"
"I don't know," you snark, too relaxed to know better. "Can you?"
"Careful, zaika," he growls, firm hand gripping your ass with a bruising force. "I may not be able to punish you fully for the time being, but I will keep track of such things."
His threat does far more to excite you, rather than instill fear, but still, you don't want to risk doing or saying anything that might have him deciding not to continue.
Turning your head to look at him, you practically beg, "Please, Zhuk, Please."
Smiling, he grazes one of his knuckles down your cheek. "Of course, svezda moya." He teases a quick kiss against the back of your neck, before finally removing your towel completely. Before you can truly adjust to the air caressing your skin, the oil is all ready rubbed in, and the massage can truly begin.
Zhuk is incredibly thorough, starting at your hands working his way way up to your shoulders and neck. Then he went down to your feet, kneading and working way up. Moans and gasps you've never heard escape you as he releases tensions you didn't even know you hand.
Your breathing quickens as he gets closer and closer to your ass, finger digging into your inner thighs, so close to where you desperately need him. Inching your legs apart, you try to tell him what you want without having to say a word.
Unfortunately, he doesn't take your silent plea, instead, he goes back up to your shoulders. His firm fingers find knots and kinks you never realized were there. Even as you tell yourself to focus on what you're feeling, what you're feeling has you more distracted than ever. An almost constant whine is coming from your throat as you desperately fight not to grind your clit against the table. Still, your hips start to move uncontrollably.
Chuckling, he finally starts kneading your lower back, occasionally grazing the top of your cheeks, which isn't helping at all. You clench your fists, wrestling for control, when his finger starts playing at your cleft. Legs spreading even more, you hope to draw him further, but even if it doesn't work, the comparatively cool air feels so good against your heated flesh.
"Oh god," you moan as his strong hands caress and grip your ass. His fingers dip and play, dancing over your rosette, sneaking ever closer to your increasingly desperate hole. You suck in a gasp when he ghosts over your wet pussy... and let out a disappointed scream when he immediately pulls away.
Frustration has you flipping over to glare up at him, not caring one iota that you're flashing him. Laughter is his only response. "I'm sorry, Suezda moya, but I did need you to turn over for me." But the look he's dragging down your body tells you just how sorry he is, not at all.
Still glaring, you lay back, legs splayed. You're already so incredibly horny you feel no shame. Looking right at him, your hand slides over your hip, heading straight for your mound, but just before you reach your clit, a hand grips your wrist.
Zhuk's eyes blaze as he warns, "Careful, your pleasure is mine to give. Try to steal that from me again, and I will tie you down and make you regret it." Part of you wants to test him, but you know he still has more planned for tonight, and you don't want that effort to go to waste. “Do you understand?"
Nodding, you decide to push just a little. "Yes, sir."
Growling, he pulls you into a punishing kiss. He bites and tugs at your lips, stealing your breath. Pulling back, he groans, "Volshebnitsa," against your ear.
With a glare, he takes your shoulders and pushes you back, ordering you to stay with his eyes. You bite your lip as you silently debate whether to keep your eyes open and watch him, or if you should just lay back and enjoy what you know is coming. In the end, you decide to trust and just feel.
Just as he did with your back, he starts by coating you in the lotion, only this time, instead of starting at your extremities and working inward, he moves up your arms and down your body, only avoiding the spot between your legs. In fact, your mound is the only place he truly pays no attention to.
Starting at your feet, he pushes and prods, making your toes clench and release.
As he moves up your calfs, you relish the occasional catch of calluses. Teeth catch your lower lip as you try to hold in your whimpers, not that it does much good. Firm fingers kneading your inner thighs has gasps and moans breaking free.
You so desperately want to play with your nipples or maybe stroke your clit, but you won't risk getting in trouble. Not wanting to blatantly defy him, you subtly rub your thighs together. Strong hands immediately pry them apart again.
They slip and slide up your slick skin, tips digging, nails lightly grazing. He reaches around and grips your ass before having his hands follow your hips, thumbs brushing the creases between your thighs and mound. And then he's gone.
You surge up on your elbows, making sure he sees your grumpy pout. There is no remorse in his answering smirk, only a malicious gleam that tells you he's enjoying your reaction to his teasing.
Falling back as his hand travels up your stomach, you resign yourself to having to persevere through his torture. I will not let him win, you think to yourself, deciding to hold back your reactions to keep a hold of as much control as you can. Even as he very gently massages your stomach, the rest of you clenches. Your eyes squeeze shut, you set your jaw, and tense your shoulders.
Slow, deep chuckles fill the space. "Zaika, you wish to hide your reaction from me?" he asks, obviously not expecting an answer since he adds, "Challenge accepted."
Before you can analyze what he means, his hands are on you once again upon you, but this time it's no gentle tease. He twists and pulls on your nipples, making you fight not to respond. Then, something warm and wet closes over your right nipple. Your fight is lost as you let out a strangled gasp.
His eyes glint up at you and you feel his sharp teeth nibble on your hardened nub. The other is being pinched tight.
"Oh god," you gasp, one hand weaving through his hair, the other covering his pinching one. Your reaction has you wondering what exactly is in that oil, but honestly, you're far too horny to care.
"Zhuk, please! I need you!" the voice coming from you is completely unrecognizable.
He places a gentle peck on your nipple before standing and removing his shirt. You follow him up, catching him off guard when he frees his head and finds you undoing his pants. With his help, you have him completely naked in just seconds. Kneeling in front of him, you glance up, asking with your eyes if you can touch him. He gives you a small nod, so you reach out, hands slipping up his thighs. Muscles twitch as you explore them. His fingers tangle in your hair. Your hands slide over his hips to cup his ass, which brings your face very close to his cock.
Looking up, you watch his face as you very intentionally breathe on his member. His eyes are squeezed shut and jaw is clenched, making you feel like the most powerful woman in the world. One hand plays at his hip, the other teasing between the base of his shaft and his balls.
Moving close, you treat it like an ice cream cone, alternately swirling your tongue and suckling at the head. A constant growling hum reaches your ears, with several moans and groans letting you know how he's liking it. His grip in your hair grows tighter when you start to trail your tongue up and down his shaft, following the veins.
Spitting on both of your palms, you start pumping him with both fists and playing with the tip. Your tongue dips and explores at his slit, tasting him. As a quick surprise, you take him as deep as you can, sucking hard.
A sudden roar rips through the room, and you find yourself cradled in strong arms, being rushed somewhere new. Flinging open a door, you shriek when you're suddenly flying through the air. Before your back has fully settled on the soft bed, he's there; one hand playing with a nipple, the other wrapped around a thigh, holding you down, all while his tongue starts its own exploration.
Starting at your clit, he slowly circles it, listening, feeling, learning your spots. Whimpers and whines fly from you, helping him with his studies. Once he's figured out some tricks, he moves lower, starting to thrust into you with his tongue, tasting you. While he drinks his fill, his fingers dance over your little bundle of nerves.
"Ah, Ah, Ahh!" you cry out, already so close to release.
His tongue disappears, only to be replaced by his finger while his mouth latches on to clit, sucking, sending you into orbit. The pleasure of the orgasm is so intense you try to jerk away, but he holds you tight. There is nothing you can do but lay back and experience.
Zhuk finally slows, letting the orgasm ebb. As you begin to regain control of your body, you reach down and pull him up, well, he lets you pull him up.
"Please, Zhuk,” you pant, body still craving more. "I want you."
Nodding, he positions himself over you, but still he asks, "Are you sure, svezda moya? Do you want me to wear a condom?" The concern in his voice almost makes you cry, telling how much he already cares for you.
You shake your head, "No, you can't get me any more pregnant, and if I remember right, I was told y'all can't get 'human' diseases."
He chuckles and shakes his head, before kissing you softly. "Yes, zaika."
Wrapping your arms and legs around him, you press kisses across his jaw as he lines himself up with your entrance. His lips take yours as he starts thrusting forward. Unlike so many men who start with long, deep strokes, Zhuk is more tempered. His strokes are slow and shallow, exploring with his cock what he'd explored with his fingers and tongue just minutes earlier, and it's so effective.
There are no words that can truly explain what you are feeling in this moment. It's more than just the physical, which is admittedly spectacular. It's the connection that's quickly growing between you, which ties into the feelings you've already built with Scarabee. It's the way he's already shown such care to not only you, but to the baby, and all those animals back at the rescue.
You can't say you're surprised by your new, but intense emotions you are feeling towards him, even if they have come on so fast. It may not be love right now, but you can see how easily it will be to fall for him, for all of them.  
Finally, he starts to pick up pace, still not going very deep, but consistently rubbing your g-spot. His weight shifts and there's a finger on your clit, rubbing in small circles.
"Oh god," you moan into his mouth, hips moving to match his, consistent pressure on your clit, inside you, combine with the feel of him on top of you and the way he tastes, and you cum again, muscles clamping down as you scream out in pleasure. Thrusting harder and faster, Zhuk quickly follows you over the edge, murmuring in a mix of Russian and English. Hot sperm fills you, making you shudder.
Zhuk practically collapses on top of you, rolling and pulling you on top of him. You both take a long time to relax and calm back down, sweat cooling and drying on your skin. You lie there for what feels like an eternity, probably falling asleep for at least a few minutes.
Moaning in displeasure, you clutch him, not liking him sliding out from beneath you.
"Hush, little one," he cajoles, managing to break free. "I need to get something to clean you, and I need to cancel a few reservations."
Disappointment fills you, "I'm sorry. I-"
He cuts you off with a kiss. "Do not blame yourself. I was no passive participate and I am very happy with the turn tonight took. I will call us room service and will ask you to accompany me to the shower."
You tap your finger against your lips, as if in deep thought. "I think I can accept your terms, but I do worry that I might not have the strength to make it all the way to the shower."
Laughter babbles up when he hoists you up and whisks you away, taking you to be prepped for more to come.
@janitor-boy @1-rosewiththorns @doyouhearthatsound-after-dark @dilfyjuice
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botslayer · 4 years
Text
Octodad: Not-so-dark theory
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From top to bottom, Octodad looks like a fairly innocent game, A simple story about an Octopus trying to survive in suburbia. But, through subtle hints and references, and inconsistencies with that premise, it is revealed that Octodad is no mere cephalopod. He is, in fact, something far more horrifying, on paper at least... What do I mean?
Octodad is not, in truth, an Octopus, He's a Cthulhi. For those not familiar with the works of H.P. Lovecraft, Cthulhi are also called "The Starspawn of Cthulhu" and "Xothians," and are a race that looks like Cthulhu who's true origins, as with everything in the Cthulhu mythos, are debatable and vague as sin, the only things known for a fact are that they look like Cthulhu (Or, in their first appearance, like Octopi), worship him, followed him from their home dimension/universe into ours, and then perished en masse while what remained of them went into a death-like sleep, same as Cthulhu.
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Now, Star Spawn aren't often seen in the works of Lovecraft, but they do have a sliver of popularity in the fandom. Not as big (in the popularity sense) as Deep Ones, but not as unknown as the humble Penguins of Leng. Now, again, it's worth noting that common interpretations of Star Spawn are basically baby Cthulhus, just tiny versions of their dark and malevolent master, but to start with, they were described as "a land race of beings shaped like octopi and probably corresponding to the fabulous pre-human spawn of Cthulhu," in the story "At the Mountains of Madness." 
Octodad highly RESEMBLES an octopus, but with some interesting tweaks. Namely: His eyes, two of his Tentacles, and something we'll talk about in just a minute. But let's talk about Octodad's anatomy when compared to another octopus, namely, the one in the "Wold of kelp" at the Aquarium.
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Now, this is Octopus is a giant, climbable sculpture one might see at a water park, so in a technical sense, some liberties could have been taken with its anatomy, but it looks semi-accurate to real octopi, down to the slit-like pupils and the tentacles all being at roughly the same spot despite them spreading out for kids to climb on. Now, if you pay attention, a patron of the Aquarium will note that the "World of kelp" was something else before it was the world of kelp, though they THINK it was "Squids or something" before. Based on how the section played out, I have to believe the whole affair was either cephalopods in general given how many bases of just kelp they went over, or just Octopi because HOLY CRAP there are lots of octopi out there. Failing that, I don't think the statue was a squid to begin with, the eyes are far too forward on the head, what can be seen of the tentacles makes them all look the same, and most species of squid have circular pupils and irises, not slits/rectangles. 
Octodad, in contrast to the sculpture, has vertically ovular pupils, far rounder than the slits on the larger statue, on top of that, his eyes take up a slightly larger portion of his head. Then we take a look at Octodad's tentacles, namely the two that form his mustache. These two tentacles are set away from the other six in a way that makes no real anatomical sense for an octopus. Not to mention that the two are preposterously shorter than the others, it's less like another pair of tendrils and more like a strange growth coming out of the middle of his head. Moving on from that, there's also a certain disparity with his other limbs, his "arms" are shorter than his "legs" when he stands, however, when he enters water, his limbs, save for his mustache, are all of equal length, this strange effect carries over to when he's buck-ass naked, so no, he isn't just scrunching two up while he's in the suit... Speaking of naked octodad:
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What the hell is that THING in the midst of his tentacles? It's a lighter color than the others, he's still using two tentacles per leg, one per arm, and his mustache is basically vestigial. Octodad's anatomy makes no fucking sense unless you consider the idea that he has some level of shapeshifting power... and wouldn't you know it, Cthulhi have just that. To what end is a little shakey, as with most things in the Lovecraft universe, but still.
Also worth noting is the church Octodad got married at, a Church dedicated, at least partly, to Cthulhu himself. Now, we only see one window with any kind of figure on it, Cthulhu, wereas the others are all decked out with a strange symbol, as are a few paintings lining the walls of it. These paintings may be of religious significance to the practitioners of this particular faith, but a lot of it looks like some minimalist "If you get it you get it" kind of stuff, and then one is literally a crayon drawing of a child with a smiling balloon. The last vaguely Lovecraftian thing in the church is the treasure chest Octodad gets his wife's ring from, all the coins within have a squid/cuttlefish-like creature printed on them, In the story "Shadow over Innsmouth," the people of a town called "Innsmouth" start breeding with fish people. They did it specifically for the undersea gold the fish people (called Deep Ones) give out for the service. Deep Ones worship multiple gods, cheif among them are their great parents, Mother Hydra and Father Dagon, though worship of Cthulhu isn't against their laws or anything. 
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The game takes a break from the hints of Eldrich horror while the family is at home, though it is worth noting that we don't REALLY know where Octodad's children came from. Hell, the game makes a joke about it at the end, Tommy asks, plain as day, "If dad's an octopus... Then where did me and Stacy come from?" While his parents laugh the question off, it has a few possible answers: The two of them (Or just Tommy) are leftover from a failed relationship/marriage Scarlet was a part of before Octodad came in, the two (Or just Tommy) are adopted, or, in a manner not dissimilar to deep ones, Cthulhi may just be able to breed with humans in this universe. 
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Now, I say Tommy may be adopted/Not Octodad's specifically because Stacy says something concerning in the "Deep sea" exhibit at the Aquarium. She apparently has dreams wherein a deep, dark spot in the ocean seems to call to her. This turns out to be a sea horse ranch. Cute as that is, dreams are a recurrent theme in Lovecraft's work, sometimes compelling people into the service of Great old ones like Gla'aki, for example. Or there was that one story when a guy met Yog-Sothoth, the omniscient and omnipresent god of the universe just because he dreamed that deeply. Also "The Dreamlands" are a place in Lovecraft's fiction. I could keep going down that rabbit hole, but I'm lazy and I think that point is made.
There is also another reference (Possibly) to "Shadow over Innsmouth" and "Dagon" with the character of Chef Fujimoto. Now, Fujimoto himself is not a reference to anything in particular, but his backstory has some Lovecrafty bits. Namely, Fujimoto was once a soldier (Dagon) who cut open a combatant. Instead of human guts, "Piles of fish" were inside. (Shadow over Innsmouth.) This one might be a little more of a stretch but remember that Fujimoto is OBSESSED with Octodad and believes very firmly that there are fish people everywhere. ("Why is everyone fish!?") There are several Lovecraftian stories where the character feels he is being pursued or is surrounded in some way. Call of Cthulhu ends with one of the characters feeling that the cult is gunning for him, partly because some dude looked at him funny, and Dagon ended with the main character fearing that a servent of Dagon was coming up his stairs after him, so he threw himself out a window. The crippling paranoia experienced by Fujimoto is another hint that SOMETHING Eldrich is happening in the universe of Octodad. 
Also worth noting is that a magazine entitled "Inquisitor" can be found at Gervason's, Octodad is on the cover, and they think he's an alien. Which begs the question: Why is it that most humans will let an obviously strange man do things without much concern at all? Hell, there are three lines present in both the main game and one of the extra shorts that imply EVERYONE sees something is wrong with Octodad. And I quote/paraphrase:
"I thought he was a lawyer?" "He's slimy enough to be one."
"Is it just me or did the captain look jigglier than usual?"
"Hmmm, I don't see a blurblerulb on the list." 
These lines imply on some level that people recognize SOMETHING is wrong or different with Octodad but they don't carry the thought far enough to do anything with it... Unless perhaps at a distance, hence that cover of “Inquisitor.” 
Another thing that tends to happen in Lovecraftian horror is the mind not making proper sense of things. For example: Canonically in the mythos, the image of Cthulhu mankind sees, humanoid body, octopus head, draconic wings, etc, is not what he really looks like, it's just our perception of Cthulhu because our minds aren't equipped to comprehend the real deal. Looking too long at just what we can see of Cthulhu will unravel your mind, causing both insanity and death if exposed even longer. I think that's part of Octodad's effect. When he's dressed, the humans around him perceive what their mind makes sense of. He's in a shirt and pants, therefore he is appropriately dressed as a human, therefore their minds SEE a human even if he's not QUITE right. We see, rather obviously, that he doesn't have human hands, he has tentacles with suckers, but Scarlet refers to it as a "Hand" still, this implies she and others see his appendages as hands or feet when he's disguised or doing something "Human enough." Only really undone if he's naked or does too many strange or seemingly malicious things like accidentally smack someone with a bag of doughnuts.
This is why you can get away with randomly dragging things across the floor, their minds are telling them something is a little off, but their ability to perceive might be telling them he's just got a medical condition or something. It's nothing to judge him for, he's just got a disability. 
So at the end of that trail, what are we left with? Octodad as a Xothian/Deep one hybrid? Does that fundamentally change the game's story? Does this mean Octodad is a dark horror from beyond? Does he secretly seek to kill and maim and destroy all the things we hold dear? Will he one day help awaken Cthulhu and usher in the new age of the great old ones? No. See, Octodad, despite his horrifying inspirations, is a benevolent creature. He "blubs with a love for all mankind" in the ending for Dadliest Catch. He still obviously loves and cares for his family, whether they know his secret or not. He's just an alien from another dimension... or at least he has ancestry from another dimension. 
Now, why is that? I've got two little ideas for that: It's an often found interpretation that most of the original writings of Lovecraft focus on the idea that "It is different, therefore it is bad." Xenophobia of an extremely high sort. Mind you, I often find this interpretation lacking, but we can probably discuss that later. I feel Octodad may be a natural extrapolation of the idea that it isn't bad because it's different, in fact, Octodad, despite keeping a secret, is an all-around "good" guy. Upstanding, moral, all that garbage, he just happens to be non-human.  Something supporting this being a running theme is the scene with the Snugglefish. For those who have yet to play Dadliest catch, a section of the game takes place when the power in part of the Aquarium goes partially out. During this event, Octodad and Stacy come upon a large sculpture of a creature called a “Snugglefish.” which is covered by the dark. We shine lights at the supposedly malevolent creature, complete with monstrous teeth and evil red eyes, partially with the intent to “Blind it” despite the fact that its obviously a statue. That whole section up to then is nothing but fumbling in the dark, looking at the strange and some might say “alien” life living in the deep ocean, you can also learn some stuff about them if you pay attention.  The whole thing ends when you fully light up the spots on the statue, revealing it to BE a Snuggle fish as opposed to some giant monster. As a result of revealing this, Stacy’s fears of it go right out and she feels she understands the creature better, as with most things, learning and understanding quiet one’s fears. when we learn what something is, we stop seeing it as an immediate threat is the take away from that section, I think, which is, again, I’d say, a call to Lovecraft's writings and his fear of that which was different and unknown and how it’s so easily thrown out with just a LITTLE understanding.
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Another plausible explanation for Octodad’s kindness may be that Octodad is not a Star Spawn of Cthulhu, but of Kthanid. Kthanid is not an original creation of H.P. Lovecraft, but a bloke by the name of "Brian Lumley." Lumley's creation is the brother of Cthulhu, and is considered the main reason Cthulhu is sealed away these days. Kthanid is said to look almost exactly like Cthulhu but to have "Golden eyes that radiate peace." He's a loving, benevolent "Elder God" that wants the best for not just Humanity, but for all things. It would logically follow that if a creature dedicated itself to Kthanid, or was one of his spawn, it would be at least mostly as loving and kind. So, if Octodad, or "blurblerulb" if you prefer, was a purely hypothetical Kthani instead of Cthulhi, his disposition may well fit within the actual mythos.
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So, what do y'all think? Does this theory hold water? Or does it sink harder than Cthulhu going back down for a nap?
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chemartsblog · 4 years
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Take My Breath Away
In which Zuko wears a corset and Sokka is a weak weak man.
PWP, Breathplay, Asphyxiation, Avatar Kink Meme Prompt
Ao3 Link
Take My Breath Away
 It’s the Celebration of Rebirth, an event that occurs once every five years to ask Agni to revitalize the Fire of Life in the land and in his people, so Sokka is not surprised that the Fire Nation would put all the stops for this. According to Toph it’s a celebration as well as a spiritual ritual, which makes the nobles go crazy. Even Zuko had to be up at dawn to get ready, and Sokka had yet to see the Firelord since.
The Water Tribesman sighs forlornly. He wished he could have more morning snuggles with his boyfriend before he left, but well…
Iroh comes out of the dressing room and gives Sokka a smile, “He’s just about done. But you may need to help him. The full regalia robes are not easy to walk in.”
True to his word, Zuko steps out wearing what looks like fifty pounds of clothes. The robes are a lighter color and devoid of the normal shoulder spikes. There’s still the high collar neck trimmed with gold and the Fire Nation symbol resting where the hollow of his throat would be. The topmost robes are a red-orange like a sunset and embroidered with gold dragons. There looks to be two robes just under it; one a dark red, the other a pale yellow. His inner robes are a lighter red with gold trimmings and on his waist are at least four fabrics tightly cinched around the already trim waist. Coming out from the belt are three wide long pieces of red fabric that hang and drop to the floor.
His hair is in its usual topknot with the fire-crown nestled on top, but there’s also a headdress attached which makes the it look like five dragons are coming out of the flames. The dragons at the ends look like they are spitting fire from the red beads that fall from their mouth. The rest of his long hair drapes on the back of his shoulders down to his tiny waist.
Zuko, who is usually so graceful when he walks, is waddling towards Sokka and his uncle. Being an amazing boyfriend, Sokka does his best not to laugh at his boyfriend who is walking like a penguin-otter. However, Zuko seems to feel Sokka’s amusement and glares at him.
“Not. A. Word.” he growls.
“Aw but you look so fetching my Fire Lily.” Sokka teases.
Iroh chuckles behind his hand. “Indeed nephew, you cut quite a striking figure.”
Zuko flushes and turns away. It’s so cute how even after five years on the throne, he’s still so shy.
“Thank you, Uncle.” Zuko mumbles. Then he turns to Sokka and holds his hand out. “Will you help me walk? I’m not used to these high getas.”
Sokka beams and eagerly lets Zuko clutch his arm. “Of course, my lovely Fire Lord.” He coos.
Again, Zuko turns red, and he swat’s Sokka’s arm in retaliation.
“Shut up before I make the servants help me.” He threatens.
“Ahaha sorry sorry. It’s just so easy.” Sokka glances at Zuko and smiles, “But you do look good. Even if I think it’s a little ridiculous for you to have to wear fifty pounds of clothing for this.”
Zuko pouts and goes on a spiel about traditional wear and the honor of wearing the traditional clothes, the spiritual meaning behind each layer and—wow Zuko looks surprisingly out of breath. His cheeks are flush, and there is a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.
Sokka stops and curls his arm around the Fire lord’s waist. “Zuko are you okay? Do we need to stop? Should I get Katara?” His stomach is doing flips into his heart as he watches Zuko try to take deep breaths.
“I’m okay Sokka, I’m just not used to wearing the corset.”
Ahh the corset…
Wait…
.
.
.
The corset?
Sokka tightens his hold on the Fire Lord’s waist and—yep yes that waist is definitely cinched really tight. By a corset. A corset.
“Ah Sokka. Don’t...”
Sokka’s shaken out of his mild arousal fog when he hears Zuko’s breathy whisper. He didn’t even notice how close he pulled them. Zuko’s body is flush against his own. The fabric is wrinkling, and he knows the servants would be so mad but he can’t give a damn right now because Zuko…oh Spirits Zuko.
His cheeks are a lovely pink, his pale skin gleams in the light, and his plush lips are parted as he’s trying to catch his breath. He looks obscene. He looks delectable. Sokka squeezes just a little tighter and—yes, there it is. The slight hitch in Zuko’s breath. The way his voice keens and his fingers tighten against his clothes. The way he draws out his name, “Sokka”. Like a prayer, like a plea. What would he look like if Sokka just squeezes and squeezes until he’s gasping and—
“Is something the matter?” Iroh asks turning back towards the pair.
Sokka immediately loosens his grasp, but Zuko almost falls to the floor like a puppet without strings. So Sokka keeps a hand around his waist and lets Zuko slump against his broad chest. He can see the Fire Lord’s eyes are half-lidded and glazed over, and he’s trying so hard to catch his breath.
The Water Tribesman smiles and waves a hand. “Sorry Zuko’s just not used to all the layers. It’s pretty hard to walk in. Right, Fire Lily?”
“Yes. Sorry, Uncle.” Zuko manages to gasp out. He’s still clutching Sokka’s tunic desperately, trying to get his shaky legs to support his weight again.
Iroh looks sympathetically at his dear nephew. “It’s no problem, Zuko. Should I get the servants to try and shed a few layers?”
“No, no that’s not necessary.” Zuko answers. “You should go on ahead, Uncle. Sokka and I will catch up.”
“Of course. Take your time. We don’t want you passing out before the celebration.”
Iroh nods and walks ahead. They watch until he’s nearly rounded the corner. Then Sokka looks at Zuko with a glint in his eye. He tightens his grip on Zuko’s waist just a little and whispers in his ear, “Catch your breath yet, darling?”
Zuko glares at him, but with the way his face is so flushed and panting it loses it’s power. “Don’t you dare, Sokka.”
“What? You look like you’re about to pass out. I’m just, griping you tight.” At this he gives another squeeze that makes Zuko’s eyelid flutter and bury his head in Sokka’s shoulder as he tries to muffle his obscene moan. “Seems to me, you’re the one enjoying this, Your Majesty.”
“Sookkaa.” He whines. “Don’t. I’m—I’m—”
“You’re what?”
Zuko flushes a dark red. “I’m soaking the robes.” He whispers quietly.
And oh does that make the blood fall down to his nether. He wishes he could strip Zuko down until only the corset remains but not yet. Patience.
So instead he leans to Zuko’s ear and whispers, “What’s making you soak them? Is it because of the way I squeeze you tight and make your breath catch? I never knew you liked it so much, but I can work with that, my love. When this is over, I’ll strip you down until only the corset remains. And then I’ll fuck you as you’re trying to catch your breath. I’ll fuck you until you’re just about to pass out and then I’ll release it. And I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll be screaming and gasping for air. Would you like that, darling?”
By this point, Zuko’s face is buried deep into Sokka’s shoulder. He can faintly hear the soft keening mewls and whispered pleas. The Fire Lord’s knuckles are clenched so tightly they turn white, and he’s trembling in Sokka’s arms.
If only they didn’t have a celebration to get to, but it is important to Zuko so he’ll be merciful for now. Sokka loosens his grip and helps Zuko walk towards the ritual platform. By the time they reach it, Zuko’s flush has died down, but he’s still panting for air.
Sokka goes and sits between Toph and Katara as they wait for the ritual to start.
Toph grins when Sokka sits, “Geez what the hell did they put on Sparky? It sounds like he’s carrying fifty pounds.”
“Haha as good as.” Sokka replies.
“Good thing he doesn’t need to do any big firebending. I don’t know how I would even move in that.” Katara says.
“He looks kinda out of breath. Is he okay?” Aang asks.
Sokka only grins, “Oh he’ll be fine.”
                                                        ----
The ritual itself is straightforward, Zuko merely gives thanks to Agni and places his flame in a bowl. Then the Fire Sages contribute their flames until it grows into a huge bonefire. They move the large fire in the center and Zuko declares that the celebration can commence. Throngs of people line up to the bonefire to give their prayers to Agni; fortunately, the guests of honor are allowed to place their prayers in first before it opens up to the common people.
Sokka smiles as he watches his prayer burn in the pyre, and then turns towards Zuko who is waiting for him.
“Ready to go my dear?” Sokka says with a faux bow and flourishes his arms for Zuko to take.
Zuko rolls his eyes and takes his arm. “Yes, I need to sit down. These shoes are killing me.”
“How did they pile all those clothes on you, Zuko?” Aang asks with a hint of a laugh.
“Some of it was a tight squeeze, but they managed.” Zuko answers loftily. Sokka feels his mouth water at the thought, but he does his best reign in his perverted impulses.
Toph raises her brow, “You’re breathing feels off, Sparky. You sure you’re okay?”
Katara, ever the mom-friend, looks worriedly at the Fire-Lord, “Zuko, you’re not breathing right? Maybe you should…y’know ask if you can take some of it off.”
Zuko waves their worries away, “Don’t worry, Katara. It’s nothing bad. The corset is just a little tight.”
“Pft corest? They made you wear a corset? Thank the Badgermoles my parents thought I was too delicate for a corset.”
Katara raises her brow, “A corset? Whatever for?”
Zuko shrugs and gestures towards his waist. “Makes my waist smaller and makes it look like I have bigger hips.”
“Why do you need bigger hips?” Aang asks.
Zuko grins, “Well, the Celebration of Rebirth is, in essence, about giving life and fertility back to the nation. And let’s be honest a small waist and wide hips are quite the symbol of fertility and childbearing.”
The women laugh at Aang’s red face, but Sokka shifts uncomfortably as he stares at the numerous belts cinched on Zuko’s waist.
“Something the matter, Lord Sokka?” Zuko asks with wide innocent eyes. They could trick a man into committing murder, but Sokka knew him better.
The little minx. He thinks wryly. So in retaliation, he slings his arm around Zuko and presses him to his side. He can feel the Fire Lord’s stuttering breath and the way he leans into Sokka’s body, desperately chasing the feeling of his chest feeling too tight, too small.
Toph scrunches her nose, “You’re both disgusting animals.”
Well Sokka couldn’t deny that.
                                                     ----
 If Zuko thought the day was hard, the dinner is even harder. Sokka took every opportunity to press himself against Zuko and hug him. Tightly.
To the guests at the party, they see it as a sign of young love. Somewhat endearing if a bit excessive. But to Zuko it is nothing less than torture. He needs to remember to beg the royal launders and designers forgiveness when he returns these robes. He’s sure there are stains on his inner robe that won’t be coming off anytime soon. The only upside is that with so many layers, the people can’t see his heavy erection under them.
Zuko squirms in his seat as the corset and restrictive layers make his breath catch. It’s indecent. But so so good. He loves the tight feeling in his lungs. The way his vision dots with black spots, and the delightful way Sokka manhandles him and controls such an important part of him. He hardens at the thought of letting Sokka just take control and squeeze and squeeze until he’s a panting mess under the man’s calloused gentle hands and just at the cusp of unconsciousness.
“Thinking about something?” Sokka whispers hotly in his ear.
Zuko jolts and tries to keep a placid face amongst the leaders of the nations. His heart is thrumming in his chest, and his body trembles at the slight touch of Sokka’s hand around his middle. He shouldn’t be able to feel it so keenly under all the layers, but it feels like he leaves a burning trail all through his waist.
“N-nothing important.” Zuko answers.
Sokka merely smiles cheekily and hums, “If you say so~.”
Zuko tries to stay aware at the party, but it’s getting harder and harder as the night goes on. With each passing hour, he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin. It doesn’t help that Sokka keeps teasing him throughout the day and night. Just little kisses and murmured promises and of course the way he wraps his arms out his body and holds him so firmly.
“Nephew you look tired.” Iroh says.
Zuko sighs and drains the glass of wine. “A bit. It’s just a little…uncomfortable.”
Iroh nods, “Well if you’d be so kind, could you help an old man get back to his chambers? That is unless you have something else to do…?”
Zuko takes the offer and says, “No, no. I’m done for tonight. Let’s go Uncle.” Zuko says his goodbyes to the various nobles and friends strewn about. Strangely, Sokka is nowhere to be found. Zuko tries to keep the disappointed look off his face, but by the grin Iroh has he’s not doing a good job.
The walk to Iroh’s bedroom is filled with comfortable talk, and thankfully it gives Zuko time to let his raging erection go down. He bids his Uncle good-night at the door and turns to leave. He doesn’t go a few paces away when Sokka comes up to him with a big grin. He give him a tight hug and asks, “Need some help getting to our room, Zuko?”
Zuko swallows. His mouth tingles and his tongue feels heavy, but he manages to croak out a “Yes.” The flagging erection is now back in full force, and he feels his body heat up in anticipation.
They make it inside the room, and Sokka immediately descends onto him. His lips are molten hot against his and there’s the glorious feeling of Sokka wrapping him in his arms and holding him so strongly. The air feels heavy, but his head becomes light and stars dance in his vision. Would Sokka make him lose consciousness? If he did, would Sokka just use throw him on the bed and use his body however he liked?
The thought of Sokka using him, fucking him, senseless while he’s unconscious makes him moan into the hot mouth on him.
Sokka’s laugh reverberates through his body and he pulls away. There ‘s a dark flush on Sokka’s tan cheeks. His blue eyes are blazing and blown with need and his lips are a shiny pink.
Zuko leans forward for another taste, but Sokka stops him.
“Before we continue, I just wanna make sure you’re good if I play around with your breathing.”
“Y-yes. I’m—I like it when you…when you’re blocking my breathing.”
Sokka smiles, “Good. What’s the safeword, darling?”
“Turtleducks.”
It’s all the confirmation Sokka needs because he’s on Zuko’s mouth again, and Zuko can only cling onto Sokka’s robes as he’s pulled into the heat of the mouth on him. Electricity is firing through Zuko’s body as the tribesman sheds the cumbersome layers off of Zuko. Each press, each grip seems to sear into his skin, and he moans and whimpers into Sokka’s mouth. Only the inner layer and belts remain, and Sokka suddenly hefts Zuko up without breaking their connection.
His rough hands are digging into Zuko’s thighs as he lifts him into his arms, and Zuko can only wrap around Sokka’s neck. The display of strength goes right to his weeping erection, and Zuko grinds it into Sokka’s hard abs. The fingers tighten around his thigh, and Zuko hopes they leave a bruise. Sokka walks a few paces and then throws Zuko onto the bed.
He barely gets air back into his lungs when Sokka is tearing off the remaining clothes and shoes until only the red corset remains.
Sokka’s eyes glitter with hunger, and he reverently places his hand on the bottom of the corset, just below his hip, and slowly, so slowly, travels all the way up to the top of it, just touching the bottom of his pecs.
”Fuck Zuko.” He whispers. “I’m going to give so many offerings to your ancestors for this.”
Zuko blushes, but immediately throws his head back when Sokka’s mouth starts sucking on one of his pink perky nipple. He feels the hot electric pleasure travel all the way to his feet which curl at each suck of Sokka’s talented mouth. And then, and then, Sokka finds the laces of the corset and pulls.
All at once his vision tunnels and lights dance across his eyes. There’s an exhilarating feeling of putting his life, his very breath in Sokka’s hands. It should be terrifying, but he knows Sokka; he trusts him with ever fiber of his being and he knows that he’ll take such good care of him.
“Good darling?”
Zuko opens his mouth a few times before he can gasp out a hitched, “Yes.”
Sokka smirks and moves his hands down, down until it grips his soaking penis. Just a touch sends a fire through Zuko’s veins. He keens and arches, breathing heavily and clutching at the sheets. He’s never been so close to the edge so soon, but he wants this feeling to last. He doesn’t want release like this.
“N-no.” Zuko pleads. “D-don’t touch.”
Sokka grins, “Then how do you want to come, love?”
Zuko gazes up at Sokka. His blue eyes are burning into him, and it sends shivers down his spine. He wants this gorgeous man to take him apart and put him together.
“With you inside. Making me beg for air.” Zuko answers.
There’s a hunter’s grin on Sokka’s face. He grips Zuko’s hips and forcefully flips him onto his stomach. It takes everything for Zuko not to cum at that display of dominance and strength. Instead he gives a guttural moan and desperately presents his ass to Sokka.
“So demanding.” Sokka says, but he doesn’t deny the Fire Lord. The calloused hands knead and grasp his round plush ass, while hot lips trail feather-light kisses over them. They make the heat coils and turn in Zuko’s stomach, and he bucks his hips trying to chase the sensation. His dick is throbbing, and his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. He can barely breathe, but it’s so so good. Being on the cusp of release and consciousness, with Sokka controlling all of it.
“You’re so beautiful like this, Zuko. I don’t know if I’ll last long. I just want to get inside you and squeeze you so tight. Do you want that?”
“P-please. Please Sokka.”
“Okay Your Majesty.” There’s a pop and the smell of scented oil filling the room. Zuko feels his ass clench in anticipation. No matter how many times they’ve done this, the anticipation of Sokka’s fingers still make his head dizzy and body tremble.
It’s just a feather-like touch, a promise of what’s to come. Sokka let’s the slicked fingers rub his puckered entrance, and Zuko moans and whines for Sokka to “Please please put it in.” and “Stop teasing”. He tease for another moment before finally finally letting that fingers sink into his impossibly velvety, tight heat.
Zuko sighs at the familiar feeling, and he pushes back against Sokka’s fingers. They stroke and curl Zuko’s sensitive walls and each touch makes stars dance in his vision and sends him moaning in ecstasy. They grace his prostate and he’s burying his face into the pillows and driving his ass higher towards Sokka. The Tribesman chuckles deeply and pulls them out. Zuko can hear himself whining like a bitch at the lack of fullness, but they stop as soon as he feels the slick hot thick head grinding against his entrance. He knows his hole is twitching in anticipation and his body is trembling from the feeling.
Soon soon. He’ll be so full. He’ll take that thick hot cock right inside and he’ll feel so so full.
There are warm strong hands gripping his hip and then a burning heat from his entrance, but then immediately, just pure bliss. Sokka’s cock sinks so easily into his body. Like Zuko’s made to be a cock warmer just for Sokka, and it makes him feel so full, so wanted.
Sokka’s mouth is gracing his ear. He bits and licks the shell before asking, “Ready?” Zuko nods and he thinks he might have begged but he can’t tell. All he knows is that Sokka’s moving and just grazing the spot that makes him see sparks. He knows he’s moaning and keening like an animal in heat, but he can’t bring himself to care. His body feels like it’s on fire with every thrust and the sheets are being soaked in their sweat and pre-cum.  
And then he feels his corset tightening. With each thrust it tightens further and squeezes him so good. His vision is flickering, and his arms give out; he’s laying limp on the bed, ass up, gasping for air and moaning at each thrust, but Sokka keeps drilling into him, and keeps pulling and pulling.
There’s the pain of the corset cinching and digging into his sides. It’s going to leave a mark, Zuko knows. But he loves that. He loves the too tight feeling in his chest, the short breaths, the absolute control he’s put in Sokka’s able hands. And his mind feels like it’s flying up and up. There’s a hot coil boiling in his stomach and he feels himself tighten—
And just as his vision starts to darken, just as he’s about to be carried into oblivion, there’s release.
There’s the sound of tearing fabric and then—ecstasy and fire and sweet sweet air. Every single nerve is set alight as his body greedily takes in deep gulps of air. His senses are overwhelming him and he feels so full and there’s that amazing electricity shooting up from his prostate—
He’s screaming as he orgasms hard onto the bed, and it keeps going and going. His body is shuddering and twitching uncontrollably as he keeps spilling his seed onto the sheets. Sokka is still behind him thrusting into him like mad and then his hips stutter and he bites down on Zuko’s neck as he releases into him.
They both lay there as they let the powerful orgasm rush through them. Zuko doesn’t know how long he stays there, limp face-down on the bed with Sokka on top of him and inside him. But then Sokka rises and carefully takes his dick out. Zuko shivers as he feels the warm seed drip out of him.
He’s going in and out of consciousness, but he can still feel the warm gentle hands flip him over and carefully, so carefully, wipe him down and take care of him.
Sokka kisses his forehead and whispers, “Sorry I think I completely ruined the corset.”
“Hm s’kay. Juss ‘et ‘nother one.” Zuko mumbles. Sokka laughs peppers Zuko’s face with kisses.
“Oh don’t worry I plan to.”
“Hrmph pervert.”
“And you love it.” Sokka answers as he pulls the blanket over them and wraps his arms around Zuko.
Zuko can only smile and snuggle into the warms arms that embrace him. While he loves the controlling Sokka that recks him, he also loves the soft kind Sokka who takes such good care of him afterwards.
                                                       ----
 Zuko looks shamefaced as he shows the royal tailors the torn remains of the corset and the…stained robes. He goes in a deep bow and elbows Sokka to do the same.
“I am so so sorry.” He says.
The head tailor is an old sweet lady, who Zuko remembers from his childhood, and she huffs.
“Well you wouldn’t be the first, Fire Lord Zuko.” She answers.
Sokka chokes beside him, but Zuko can’t hear it over the blood rushing to his ears. There’s steam coming out of his skin.
The old tailor continues, “Well you take after your moth—”
“NOPE NOPE NOPE!” Sokka yells. “Let’s go we said sorry, that’s it. Did we tell you how sorry we are? We are very very sorry. Oh look at the time we gotta go. Let’s go Zuko.” Sokka drags a stunned Zuko away.
The tailor only nods and asks, “Do you want to order some more corsets Lord Sokka?”  
“YES PLEASE AND THANK YOU!” Sokka answers over his shoulder. “AND ORDER A BLUE ONE!”
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jenmyeons · 4 years
Text
These Nights
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Pairing: kyungsoo x female reader
Summary: Kyungsoo’s dream has always been to own a farm where he can lead a quiet life without much worry. Turns out silence is hard to come by with two kids and equally as many dogs. At least he has you to share it with and perhaps that’s the best part.
Warnings: none
Word count: 1,7k
Author’s note: been meaning to put something together for the loveliest and super talented @kyungseokie for a while now and after not being able to get kyungsoo on a farm out of my head, this served to be the last push. i hope you like this dia! you are such an inspiration and one of the kindest people i’ve met on this site. this is a little thank you for being so kind to me 💗
A warm breeze catches your hair and the white linen hung up by clothing pins, the wind blowing through the treetops giving off a calming sound as you reach for the next bedsheet in line. The familiar smell of detergent filling your nostrils. In the distance, you see your husband approaching with his beige straw hat in place and a large basket filled to the brim with various greens which you know will be used for dinner later on. Your mouth waters and stomach rumbles lowly with the thought of your husbands homemade meals. Lost in thought, humming a made up tune under your breath, you pinch the last clothing pin over the creamy white fabric. There’s a shuffling of feet against grass sounding from behind you and then you hear a thud as, what you suppose is the basket, hits the ground. Turning around, your husband’s heart shaped smile greets you and he stretches his arms out to draw you into himself, leaving featherlight kisses on your unsuspecting lips. You close your eyes briefly to cherish the moment before Kyungsoo pulls away from you, lips returning to their grinning form.
”What have I done to deserve all this affection?” You ask suspiciously with eyebrows raised.
Kyungsoo shrugs and steals another kiss. ”Nothing, just here to tell you that I’m done at the field for the day and thought I’d head inside to get started on dinner,” he tells you then looks around the yard, likely searching for the kids.
”They’re playing with the dogs at the front yard,” you let him know.
Just then, the distinct sound of your daughter screeching out her laughter reaches you through another breeze. Then followed by her brother’s.
”I bet they’ll be hungry soon so go ahead and I’ll join you after I’m done hanging these.”
This time, it’s your turn to sneak a kiss. Kyungsoo nods and picks up the basket once more before making his way towards your house. You take a moment to admire your husbands rather nice-looking butt as he takes his leave. You laugh at yourself, feeling like a teenager stealing glances at their crush when they aren’t paying attention. Two kids and years together yet you still question how you managed to snatch such a good looking man with a heart of gold and the added bonus of a firmly shaped ass.
Walking into the house after finishing up outside, you’re immediately met with the welcoming smell of your husbands cooking. The sound of a stew boiling on a low temp on the stove and your husband’s sharp knife hitting the cutting board relaxes you in an instant. Leaving the empty laundry bag by the doorway and making your way into the kitchen. You steal a carrot from a bowl on the counter in front of Kyungsoo, plopping it into your mouth, then move to lean your backside against the sink and ask if he needs any help with dinner. Kyungsoo shakes his head but gives you the task of setting the table instead. Moving over to the cupboard beside the stove is almost autopilot at this point and you quickly bring down four plates which you then put them in place upon the dining room table.
”Honey, dinner is almost done. Will you tell the kids to come inside and wash their hands?” Kyungsoo asks over his shoulder and you hum out a ’yes’ in response.
You walk out the front yard and are immediately met by your children’s delighted giggles as they throw Meokmul her favorite toy, clapping in awe as she races to catch the worn out rubber chicken. Your heart fills with warmth in your chest and you smile widely at the scene unfolding in front of you.
”Hey kids!” You call out gently to gain their attention. ”Dad is almost done cooking so would you make mommy and daddy proud and show us how fast you can finish up here and go wash your hands?”
Stopping in their tracks, both of them shriek out ’yes’ in chorus before running off to wash their hands inside. Forgetting all about the dogs and the rubber duck. With a sigh, you pick up the abandoned toy from the grass and instruct Meokmul and Hoochoo to get inside as well before heading back in yourself.
Dinner flows by like the light breeze outside, the kids laugh at Kyungsoo as his glasses fog when lifting the lid off the pot and then some more when he scolds them lightheartedly for laughing at their dad. You listen intently as each of them recount their days at school and kindergarten. Small hands waving around frantically while your daughter tells you all about the latest dinosaur she’s learnt about, beaming at the proud grins her parents sport as she happily continues on about her favorite herbivore.
Your son at the opposite side of the table, is too busy stuffing his face with food to engage in his older sister’s storytelling. The way it usually is, and you eye him carefully to make sure he doesn’t swallow down the wrong pipe. Kyungsoo, ever the attentive husband, catches on quickly and nudges his son gently.
”Hey big guy, slow down a little,” your son looks up in confusion and Kyungsoo elaborates, ”you don’t want your tummy to hurt.”
He ruffles the mop of black hair on the younger’s head and receives a nod in affirmation but continues keeping an eye on his son until he slows down.
”I just love your food the mostest daddy!” Your son exclaims, mouth full of food, a spare piece of rice flying out onto the table. All four of you laugh heartily at the sight, especially your daughter who clutches her stomach from laughing too hard - almost falling off her chair in the process. A habit she has definitely picked up from her uncle Chanyeol.
You can tell by the fond smile and love-laced gaze in your husbands eyes that the compliment has his heart swelling in pride.
After the kids leave the table and only the dishes are left to wash is when the sun starts to set, painting the room in a golden hue. Kyungsoo puts the leftover food in various glass containers while you get started on rinsing the plates before putting them in the dishwasher. The low humming of Kyungsoo’s voice feels soothing as you scrub the damp sponge against the porcelain. In the background, the sound of the TV playing can be heard along with the occasional giggle from one of the children. You lean into Kyungsoo as he affectionately envelopes you in his arms from behind, a kiss being left behind your ear. There’s something safe about his embrace. Something about the way he softly clings to you after a long day out in the field. It makes you think that maybe you’re his safe haven the same way he is yours.
”It’s getting late, let’s put the kids to bed and bring out the wine after,” he says, voice low and deep in your ear.
”Sounds good.” You nod. ”We still haven’t watched that movie you were talking about a while back.”
That settles it, the two of you usher the kids upstairs and into their shared bedroom to put on their pajamas. The youngest getting some help while your daughter puts her penguin patterned t-shirt on. Some whining, overpowered by loud giggles rings from the bathroom across the hall as you help your son. A tell-tale sign of your daughter testing her dad’s patience while he attempts to comb through her long dark hair.
An annoyed ’yah!’ sounds through the house and you pat your son’s butt when you finish buttoning his pajama shirt to urge him into the bathroom.
”Sit still if you want to avoid getting your hair pulled or you’ll have to do it yourself!” Your husband complains to his daughter who is still acting like a giggling mess below him.
You smile and fetch his toothbrush from the cabinet and tell your son to take a seat on the toilet so you can brush his teeth. Your son listens and impatiently swings his legs back and forth as you get his toothbrush ready, his tiny hands grabbing the edge of the toilet seat. He is definitely the calmer of your two little wildlings and let’s his mom brush away without much complaint until you’re done. Getting his sister to go to bed, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. You let Kyungsoo handle her most nights, his patience a lot better than yours.
After successfully getting them both in their respective beds, they both nag their father to read them bedtime stories until they fall asleep. Kyungsoo, being the tender soul that he is, gives in without much convincing and you deem your job done for the night, leaving the top floor to get the TV started then pour up the wine.
Wine glass in hand, you listen carefully to your husband’s storytelling - taking a sip from time to time. Judging by the lack of interruptions on the children’s part, you imagine it’s quite the intriguing tale. You take this moment for yourself to stretch out your tense limbs as you wait for the story to end.
A while later, the sound of Kyungsoo’s slippers flopping as he makes his way down the stairs meets your ears and you set your own glass down in order to pour him some. You leave the kitchen and make your way into the living room where Kyungsoo has already parked on the couch, remote in hand, ready to start the film up. Knowing the two of you, you probably won’t make it through the whole movie anyways - no matter how good it may be since falling asleep on the couch seems to be the default setting of parents with young kids. Not that you mind. Not in the least.
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apriorisea · 4 years
Text
BTS Imagine: When You’re Sick - Namjoon
You stumble out of the bathroom, your robe hanging off one shoulder, and find Namjoon waiting just outside, his hair still messy from sleep. “Oh,” you say through your stuffed nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were up.”
    He smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head. “It’s okay,” he says. He frowns as he feels how hot your skin is still. Reaching out to resettle your robe, he slides his hand down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours. “You need to get back in bed.”     You let him pull you back to the bed, grabbing another tissue from the nearly-empty box on your way. “I know.” Glancing at the clock, you grimace. “I didn’t realize it was that late,” you say. “Sorry!”     Pulling the blanket over you again, he leans down and kisses your cheek. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll get you more medicine after I’m ready, ok?”     You nod, scrunching down further in the bed and pressing the tissue to your red and raw nose. “Thanks, Joonie.” Tipping your head back against the headboard, you watch him gather his clothes from the chair in the corner. Smiling faintly, you clear your throat painfully. “I love when you wear that shirt,” you say drowsily. “It looks so good on you.”     This draws a soft laugh from him. “I’m wearing it just for you.”     You want to make another, vaguely-flirty comment, but your head feels so heavy, so instead you just giggle and sniffle into your tissue again.      “Just rest, baby.” His smile fades at your poor condition.      While he gets ready for the day you turn on the TV, wanting the noise more than the entertainment. Rolling onto your side, you reach for the stuffed penguin he had brought home for you yesterday, and cuddle it against you. Smiling faintly, you think back to last night, when Namjoon had crashed into the apartment at 6:31pm exactly. He had almost forgotten to take off his shoes in his rush to check on you, but after he’d made sure you were okay, he’d gone back for the mountain of bags he’d left by the front door. Tissues, medicine, orange juice---and there, underneath them all, the giant stuffed penguin. He’d set it gently next to you with the promise that it would help you feel better. Now, squeezing it tight, you had to admit he might have been a little bit right.      He steps out of the bathroom and the smell of his cologne washes over you. Working at the clasp of his watch, he glances at you. “Painkiller and cough medicine? What did you think of that herbal stuff I brought you last night?”     You shrug, rolling over to look at him and bringing the penguin with you. “I don’t know. It didn’t make it worse, I guess?”     “Okay. We’ll try something else,” he says distractedly. When he finally gets the watch clasp fixed, he looks up at you---and smiles. “Is that penguin cuddly enough?”     You squeeze it tight again. “Perfectly cuddly, thanks babe.”     He stops by the bed quickly to kiss the side of your head. “I’ll be right back,” he says softly. He’s only gone for a minute, but when he comes back he has more with him than you expected. He dumps the bottles on the foot of the bed and sits next to you, sorting through them carefully. “Painkiller,” he lists. “Cough medicine...Decongestant?” When you nod miserably, he adds the pills to the pile in his hand. “And then there’s this vitamin supplement I think you should try. It’s supposed to taste like cherries!”      You make a face at his over-enthusiasm. “That means it’s going to taste disgusting.”     “Think positively,” he reminds with a smile. “Okay, here: take these.” Once you’ve swallowed down the pile of medications, he tucks you back into bed and settles the stuffed penguin back in your arms. “Now look here, Mr. Penguin---”     “Waddles,” you correct faintly. When he raises an eyebrow you cuddle the stuffed animal against your cheek. “His name is Waddles.”     He tries to cover his laugh, but fails. Grinning at your pretend-pout, he leans down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Okay, okay, my bad, baby: Waddles.” Redirecting his attention back to the penguin, he grows stern again. “Now look here, Waddles: you look after my girl, you hear me? Don’t leave her side, don’t let her get up and do too much, and make sure she is always cuddled.” He looks back at you. “Until I get home and can cuddle her all night.”     You smile. “I don’t know, Joonie....” you tease. “Waddles might be a better cuddler than you.”     “All due respect to Waddles,” he says, leaning in again, “But no one’s better at snuggling my baby than me.” He kisses your lips softly, then pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Rest today, ok? Get some sleep, relax....I’ll be home as soon as possible, I promise.”     Already missing him, you reach for his hand and nod. “Don’t worry---Waddles will keep me company until you get home. Work hard today, okay? I love you.”     He squeezes your fingers. “Love you too, babe. I’ll text you in an hour.”     With a final smile, he leaves, and you cuddle Waddles the Penguin once again.
---
When there’s no text at exactly 5pm, you feel only surprise---starting at 8am, Namjoon had texted you on the hour, every hour, making sure you were taking care of yourself, that you were resting, that you had taken your medicine, that you were okay. At 5:05pm, you start wondering what he’s working on, hoping it’s something good. At 5:10 you can’t help but feel a little worried.     So when the apartment door slams open at 5:15pm, at least one of your questions is answered. Settling back against the pillows, you listen to him take off his shoes, lock the door, and hurry down the hallway.      “Hi babe,” he says breathlessly. “You okay?”     “Joon.” You look at the clock. “You’re early!” Most days you wouldn’t see him home until at least 10pm, sometimes later when he’s super busy, but before 6pm? It was almost unheard of. “Is everything okay?”     “Are you okay?” he asks again, and for the first time you notice that he’s carrying something big, soft, and plushy under one arm.      “Yes,” you say, brushing it aside. “I mean, I still can’t get rid of this head-cold, but I’m fine. Are you okay?”     He comes closer, settling a plastic bag at the foot of your bed before coming to kiss you. “Yes, I’m just fine. Worried about you,” he admits, pressing his cheek against your forehead. “Your fever’s still there...”     “I’ll be okay.” You reach up to kiss his cheek, then look pointedly at the thing under his arm. “What’s that?”     Smiling a little shyly, he produces a stuffed otter, holding it up for your inspection. “I thought you and Waddles could use another friend. Another sick-day-cuddle-buddy.”     “Oh!” You reach out for the otter, feeling like your face would crack from how big you were smiling. “This is so cute! Babe! I love it!”     He’s smiling, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Are you going to name it, too?”      “It?” you scoff. “She is clearly a she otter.” You bring the otter up to “kiss” his cheek. “I think her name is Eleanor.”     He doesn’t question it. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he warns the otter. “I’m here for one girl and one girl only.”     Grinning, you reach up to fix a strand of his hair. “Oh? Would that be me?”     “You know it, babe.” He kisses your forehead.      “So I think it’s time for you to prove your superior cuddling skills,” you say with a smile. “Otherwise, Waddles might just edge ahead...”     He groans. “Hold on just a second longer,” he begs with a smile. “First...” He reaches for the plastic bag and produces another box of tissues, the fancy kind that costs extra, the kind you had promised him you didn’t need, the kind he insisted on buying more of, because “only the best for my babygirl.”     Making a face, you take the box. “Thank you,” you say, meeting his eye playfully.      “I also got this.” He produces another bottle of herbal medicine. “One of the guys at work said that it works better than any over-the-counter drug you can find.”     “Oh?” You study the bottle and sniffle. “I guess I’ll try anything.”     The light-hearted atmosphere fades at your sore voice and he softly brushes your hair out of your face. “I’m sorry you still don’t feel good, love. Maybe tomorrow we should go see the doctor again?”     You shake your head. “No, it’s just a head-cold. I’ll be fine soon.” You smile up at him. “Can we snuggle now?”     Some of his seriousness fades. “Of course. Are you hungry? I was thinking about making soup...”     After dinner, he coaxes you into a warm shower that leaves you feeling a little better, then the two of you climb into bed for an early night. He wraps his arms around you and you rest your head on his chest while he rubs your back softly. It isn’t very long before you start to feel drowsy, a result of the combined influence of the medication and how comfortable you feel with him near. As you let your eyes close, you murmur, “Okay...for right now, you still beat Waddles.”     You can feel his laugh vibrate through his body. “Thank goodness,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I was really worried about that one.”
---
The next day, 30 minutes after your 10am check-in text from Namjoon, you get another text---this time from Seokjin: Are you still sick???      Swallowing back another cough, you answer: Yes. I can’t get rid of this head-cold.      JIN: We need to get you better---NOW.      You: I agree, but why the urgency?      JIN: Namjoon is basically useless today. He’s worrying so much that he’s not getting anything done.      You frown, re-reading his message a few times to make sure you understood it correctly. Really? I’m sorry...    His answer comes quickly: I’m only teasing, don’t feel sorry. We really do all want you to be better, but we’re also considering sending him home early today...    You only feel a tiny bit guilty for how much you want that to happen. I’m sure I’ll be better by tomorrow!!     JIN: I hope so! Anyway, I’m going to send him home at lunch. Ok?     You: Definitely okay.    JIN: <3<3<3    It’s 12:32pm when you hear the door to the apartment swing open again. Sitting up, you wait for him eagerly.     When he appears in the doorway, he has another stuffed thing under arm and another bag of medicine for you to try. “Hey babe. How are you feeling?”     “I’m okay, Joonie. I hear you got kicked out of work?” you tease.     He sighs and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t blame them, but I’m also not really sorry...” He strokes the side of your face softly. “All I can think about is you.”     “Namjoon,” you sigh, reaching up to catch his hand. “It’s not like I’ve got the plague. It’s just a cold. I’m okay. I promise.”     “I know, I know.”      Looking to change the topic, your gaze goes to the plushy under his arm. “Is that another stuffed animal?”     The smile crosses his face automatically. “Maybe...”     You laugh. “Am I going to get a stuffed animal every day I’m sick??”     “Maybe. Is that a problem?”     “Not at all.”     Giving you a look, he produces the newest member of your cuddle-buddy-family.      “Is that...” You study it for a moment. “Is that a platypus??”     “Yep.” He looks pleased with himself again.      You laugh so hard you give yourself a cough-attack, but when you finally calm down, you lean forward and kiss him quickly. “I love it. I love it so much.” You hug the platypus to your chest, grinning from ear-to-ear. “But you know, the problem is that I might never want to get better,” you add faux-seriously. “If I get a new plushy everyday I’m sick....”     A flicker of concern crosses his face and he gently strokes his thumb across your cheek. “Babe, I promise you: if you get better, I’ll buy you as many plushies as you want.”    Catching his worried tone, you turn your smile on him. “Sounds good,” you say, squeezing his leg to pull him out of his thoughts.      “So...” he says after a moment. “What’s this one’s name? Something strange? A little edgy?”     “Like what?”     “I don’t know,” he laughs. “Zanzibar or Bibble or something?”     You laugh with him. “Bibble?” You cough a few more times, then shake your head seriously. “Nope. I have the perfect name for him.”     “Oh?”     “Bill.”     This catches him so off-guard that his laugh is bright and wild. “Bill,” he repeats. “Okay. I can handle that.”    “You sure?” you ask, clearing your throat.      “Oh yeah. Bill isn’t as much a threat as Waddles.”     You snuggle your face against the soft “fur” of the platypus. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that...”     He smiles at you fondly. “Well, unfortunately for both Waddles and Bill, I have nothing to do but cuddle for the rest of the day.”     You grin. “While Waddles and Bill aren’t thrilled to hear that, I most definitely am.”     Climbing onto the bed, he gathers you into his arms, “accidentally” squishing Bill a little in the process.      Happily surrounded by him, you kiss his chin. “I love you, Namjoon. I promise I’ll be better tomorrow.”     “Love you more, babe,” he says, pressing a few soft kisses over your face. “I just want you to feel better. Don’t worry about anything else.”     Twisting a little in his arms, you gather your three stuffed animal friends and tuck them around the both of you. “There,” you say playfully. “Everyone’s settled. Now I have no excuse not to get better, right??”     Hugging you tight to him, he nods against your hair. “That’s right. Between me, Waddles, Eleanor, and Bill, you’re definitely going to feel better soon.”
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