#long threads get quickly hidden behind a 'show more' button that pulls up a pop up instead of just expanding the thread

[lildoodlecat]

After my debacle with that soundtrack I have been ✨inspired✨ to do some more archival work for myself but that quickly got. Very ambitious. Have you ever tried to preserve over a hundred deviantart comment threads—

[dr3amofagame]

Hello, idk if you’ll see this, nor do you have to take this request. But I’ve been thinking, and thought up: Dream joined the egg, but not because it offered him world domination or a happy family or any of that; no it offered to treat him kindly, to be affectionate, to be a friend, basically offering him human decency. (With an add on of everyone believing it was for some big reason, but the actual reason gets revealed somehow) if that made any sense. (Idk if this counts as an au or not)

[ask: if dream showed up to the red banquet, that would be very sexy of the writers to make him join the eggpire instead of the pro-omlette]

hehe egg!dream has so much potential ,, this is a ficlet i’ve been working on for a while (writer’s block my detested) but i finally finished it up !! it’s a bit unpolished but oh well - they cant all be winners lmao 

tw: body horror, blood, injuries, implied torture/abuse, starvation, possession, dark/disturbing imagery, dark content, pandora’s vault/prison arc 

Dream gets corrupted by the Egg, because of course he does.

Sapnap trudges through the vine-filled hallway, his face bundled firmly with a holy-water soaked bandana to keep out the worst of the spores. It’s a shoddy defense, but he doesn’t plan to stay long; he’s only been sent on reconnaissance, to see what public enemy number one is planning and get out as quickly as he can. As much as the entire server wants Dream dead, trying to defeat the man the first time was enough of a feat, never mind with the power of a giant demon egg on his side - to try and fight him now would be practically impossible.

The floor squishes underneath his boots, and his lips curl in disgust; the vines are thick and moist and feel ugly and rotten to the core. He can’t imagine anyone being anything but repulsed by the things, but he guesses it makes sense for Dream to be drawn here - corruption attracts corruption, it seems. It only figures that Dream would be desperate enough for power to let himself get possessed by the living - if you could really call it living - embodiment of decay and deterioration itself. The feeling of the floor giving way underneath his footsteps has another wave of revulsion crawling up his throat, though he’s not sure if it’s directed towards the Egg or his former friend or both.

He reaches the end of the hallway, an itching, pulsing feeling of wrong filling the air in the room just beyond the haphazard archway carved into the stone. With careful hands, Sapnap draws the bandana further up his face, making sure that it is tied securely behind his head - just beyond this wall lies the belly of the beast, the heart of the rot slowly but surely spreading its influence over the entire server. Something hums in the air; whispering, otherworldly sounds pierce through his armor and settle beneath his skin; he pushes on. He knows better than to listen, to try and make sense of the words within the noise - from what he’s heard, by the time you understand what it is saying, it’s too late.

He steps inside; the room feels, for the lack of a better word, red. He’s better suited for the place than most, being a Netherborn and therefore more used to the oppressive heat and heaviness of the air, but there’s something undeniably wrong about how this place feels, something entirely Other having made its home in the room. Every inch of the place feels hostile, angry, hungry, recognizing him as someone foreign and wanting nothing more than his destruction. Unlike the Red Forests, which teemed with life - piglins and hoglins and giant fungus - this room is little more than a twisted mimicry, sucking the air dry, leaving little more than husks behind.

His hand immediately goes to his sword, drawing it with a dull, metallic scrape. The room is eerily silent save for the Egg’s hissing whispers, and he frowns; he’d expected an attack, but the room is still, quiet; a mockery of peace that only makes the uneasy feeling in his gut grow further. He trudges forward, watching against the puddles of lava and smoking magma scattered over the floor, but nothing stirs.

There’s a growing pressure against his skull with each step into the room, and his hand tightens on his communicator; they’d set up a stasis chamber, just in case things went south, his way out of this place only a few button presses away. Still, nothing moves; no Bad or Ant popping out of nowhere, weapons in hand, no Dream driving an axe between his shoulder blades as he’s done so many times before in their spars. There’s only the sound of his footsteps against the rotting growths on the floor and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears and the Egg’s warbling voice, beneath it all - beckoning, almost kind.

He swallows, throat dry, and moves forward.

His feet carry him to the back corner of the room, to the rotting, pulsing core of the wrongness plaguing the entire server. Even through his bandana, the air feels foreign, nearly choking him, and he strains his eyes against the glare of the lava to look up at the vines’ rancid heart, the Egg. Up close, it’s almost underwhelming, only about three times his height, hardly coming halfway up to the ceiling of the room. What it doesn’t have in size, however, it makes up in sheer presence; the hissing whispers in his head grow louder, crawling under his skin and between his bones, and he curses under his breath as he prepares to call for his way back. Dream isn’t here; the mission is a bust.

“Sapnap?”

He freezes.

It takes a moment to realize that the voice wasn’t in his head, as raspy and unsettling as it was, and his eyes traced the edges of the Egg to a dull colored shape at its side, completely overlooked in his initial sweep of the room. He watches, a dull horror rising in his chest, as the shape moves, twists around on itself in an entirely unnatural way like a marionette pulled by its strings. A pale dot rises from where it had been hidden against the bright red of the Egg; it’s a face, Dream’s face, covered in clawing vines, stark against the bone-white of his sun-starved skin, vomit racing up his throat at the sight of the vines having made their homes in jagged wounds all over his face and neck and disappearing into the torn scraps of his prison uniform, each one spilling crimson in the form of writhing vines and thorns instead of blood.

“Sapnap,” Dream says again, his mouth moving with the words but something entirely other having made its home in the air of his lungs, a shivering rasp to his voice that lifts and falls with the same desperate hunger that saturates every tainted inch of the room. His neck tips to the side, shifted over by a twisting vine tangled within his hair and wrapping a crown of blood-red thorns over his forehead, tendrils drooping over his face and framing the gaunt edges. “You came.”

“Dream-” the anger comes back, familiar, at the other’s words - the same red-hot rage that had boiled within him in that first and only prison visit (you took so long) but it dissipates as fast as it comes. Dream - if this remnant, this shade, this corrupted, mangled half that seems more corruption than human can even be called the name of one he had once considered his best friend, his brother - stumbles closer, held up by the vines that twist over his shaking legs, one having the pale, ragged edge of a bone clearly having ripped through skin - and Sapnap does throw up, this time, dragging the bandana from his face and heaving bile all over the floor.

“What happened-” he cries, flames licking up his arms in defense when his friend-turned-monster-turned-this steps closer on a wreck of a leg that should not be able to bear weight, stumbles back to a roaring in his ears-

He is mine he came broken came shattered and I gave him everything I gave him his heart’s desire I am his savior his grace he asked for warmth and he asked for comfort and he asked for nothing but for someone to take his pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine

He freezes, hand tightening over his communicator; Dream stares at him with the one dull-green eye not covered by the vines splayed over his too-pale face, mouth moving but no sound coming out. The roaring, angry sound in Sapnap’s ears grows louder, follows the shape of Dream’s lips come join your friend come with me I will give him to you you have failed him once but not again not again he is mine but you can be mine also and you will be together together together

“-pnap! Sapnap!” Puffy’s words crackle over the communicator, harsh and loud and snapping him out of his thoughts, “Pull the switch, Sam! No, he’s not responding- pull the switch-”

The world dips, and he heaves in a shattered breath, lungs finally full as he breathes in clear air for the first time in what feels like an eternity, hacking coughs pulled from his throat as he tears the bandana off in one sputtering gasp for breath.

“Sap- Sapnap,” Sam pitches his voice low, comforting, a hand rubbing up and down his back, but all Sapnap can see is the skeleton of a man held together by red thread, the life leached from his skin and leaving nothing left, he asked for nothing but for someone to take the pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine-

“Sapnap,” Puffy’s voice is tinny with concern, “What happened? You stopped responding and the time passed so we pulled the switch on the stasis chamber- are you alright? Did he attack you?”

“I-” -you have failed him once but not again not again you will be together- “I need a moment.”

He scrambles away, feet carrying him away from Church Prime, away from the Holy Land, away away away until he’s standing on the Community House roof, staring at his hands at this home, destroyed, this home, rebuilt, this home, empty and wrong and a shadow of house for a shadow of a man, a shadow of a friend found, a friend lost- and sobs.

What had he done?

[voidwaren]

hey guys, pandemic brain is a bitch so this week we have the first 6k words of an ENTIRELY self-indulgent Sterek royalty AU that was originally an outline for a profic before I went, “you know what. fuck that. make it fanfic.” and did so.

may or may not be what I’ll be working on for NaNoWriMo this year, since I’ve never done fanfic before and have also never once won.

also: ignore the fact this basically starts off in exactly the same formula as Oak and Mistletoe. I am a one-trick pony. yeehaw.

Stiles met him on a balcony bathed in moonlight, shedding glitter and confetti and the half-melted snowflakes that made their slow descent from the sky above, and he realized—before he’d even opened his mouth, before the man had even noticed Stiles was there—that he’d do anything to meet this man again.

-

The night was alive with the sounds of a party. Lights of every color, food from every land spilling from the kitchens on glittering trays, people laughing and dancing and forgetting their own names beneath the pull of one too many glasses of pearlescent sparkling wine. It was a night of excitement, of merriment and of occasional debauchery. And it was a night Stiles wished he could skip.

Crown Prince Stiles hated parties.

It wasn’t the people he hated. Not the music or the merriment or even the dances he spent months learning properly before each event to make sure he knew all the steps and didn’t trip over himself in front of a hundred or more people. It certainly wasn't the lavish spreads of food that Stiles had made himself sick over many a party before, because that was the best part.

No, the thing Stiles hated about parties was the fact he always had to act like someone he wasn’t. It was the fact he had to dress up in clothes that restricted his movements, the fact he had to waltz around a room with a woman or man whose title he couldn’t care less about and try his best to keep them entertained, the fact he had to act like the proper son of the ruling monarch of the kingdom trussed up like the very same kind of people he used to swear he’d never become, powdered nose and everything. All because of a position he was born into and a title he had no choice but to inherit when the time came. It made him feel like a liar. It made him feel like a fraud, even as he walked around as the person people expected him to be.

Stiles hated everything about it.

It wasn’t like this a few years ago. Hell, a few years ago Stiles had been the picture of mischief among the court, causing all sorts of trouble during the balls and the weddings and the town celebrations, to the point where people came looking for him in the thick of it all asking for him to take them away before they drowned under the pressure of the titles they never asked to bear. And Stiles would do so willingly, easily, taking their hand and leading them on great moonlit adventures through the castle and along the streets of the city in the dead of the night, with nothing but the stars and the creatures of the night to guide them back home at the end of it all.

A few years ago, Stiles had been exactly what he wanted to be—untethered, wild, and uncaring of who would see. He’d been happy, carefree, and so very much alive.

Then his mother had died of an illness that ravaged the city, and reality had come crashing down around his ears. He was the only child of an aging king who refused to separate himself from his people even for the good of his health, and he had to start acting like it.

And, so, he did. The Stiles he had been died with his mother, and there had never been a reason to bring him back to life again.

He was miserable because of it, even as he nipped a chocolate-covered strawberry off a passing tray on its way into the ballroom and stuffed it into his mouth, shedding chocolate all over the carpet below.

“If you get that on your suit, we’ll have a murder on our hands come morning,” a grave voice said from Stiles’ left, and Stiles startled hard enough to nearly rip the curtain he was hiding behind from where it hung.

“Lydia,” he said around the half-chewed strawberry still in his mouth. The woman in question glared at him, then reached out and dusted the shoulder of his red and black party coat. Stiles quickly swallowed. “You’re supposed to be in the ballroom already.”

“I was on my way there when I found your mask” —she paused only long enough to hold the mask in question up in the same hand she already held hers in— “sitting outside your quarters, still in the wrapping paper, and realized I was going to have to find you first.” She narrowed her eyes, and her gold-dusted eyelids sparkled with the movement. “You weren’t planning on hiding all night, were you?”

“No,” Stiles said immediately, sounding about as unconvincing as one possibly could. He winced.

“It’s Scott’s birthday, Stiles. You can’t be a no-show at your best friend’s twentieth birthday party!”

“Sure I can,” Stiles grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lydia actually cringed, then whipped a handkerchief from her decolletage with her free hand and started scrubbing his skin of potential chocolate remnants. Stiles allowed her, if only because he knew fighting it would be futile. “It’s his birthday, no one will notice if I happen to not show up.”

Lydia didn’t deign that with an answer. A smart decision on her part, because even Stiles was fully aware he couldn’t not show up to a party being held in his own castle, regardless of who the party was for. It was just plain rude. Someone would definitely notice, and then his name would be in the papers for weeks afterwards, and not for any reason the king could be proud of. Not to mention Scott himself would probably be put out.

“Two hours,” she said instead. “Just two hours. That should be more than enough for everyone to see you and try to worm a dance out of you. Then you can go back to lurking behind the drapery and stealing food. I won’t even make you sign any dance cards.”

“One hour,” Stiles tried to bargain, but that was quickly shut down with nothing more than a raised eyebrow on Lydia’s part. Honestly, who here was the prince and who was the duchess? Because, somehow, Lydia always seemed to outrank him despite reality being otherwise.

“Enjoy yourself,” Lydia said firmly, handing over his mask, and then she vanished in a swirl of shimmering pink skirts and golden lace. Stiles looked down at the mask and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t surprised—what else would he have been? —but predictable was never a good look on Lydia.

Tonight, Stiles wore the face of a fox.

Not a traditional fox, mind you. That was for the lower ranking individuals currently fawning around in their heavily-decorated clothes and overly-perfumed hair. No, Stiles wore the face of a black fox marked with streaks of red around the ears and muzzle. A unique design, with his sigil hidden in the swirls of fur at the forehead, of a creature people still associated the prince with even years after he stopped acting like one.

Stiles kind of hated how much he liked the damn thing.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the drapery and emerged into the hallway that led into the ballroom. The guards standing on either side of the entrance watched him, one with an apologetic look on her face. He’d asked them not to say anything with a finger to his lips when he’d first dove behind the heavy fabrics, but Lydia had found him anyway. Using a quick hand gesture, he told them he knew it wasn’t their fault, and the apologetic guard relaxed. The other simply continued watching him.

And with a great sigh, Stiles slipped the mask on and tied the red ribbons tight, then walked through the doors into the throngs of people hidden behind the face of every animal imaginable.

The center of the room was a swirling mass of innumerable colors, all twinkling under the glow of the countless lights with both the glitter most chose to wear to costume parties such as this and the sparkling confetti that floated down from the rafters, spreading itself to every corner of the room and deep into the clothing folds of every patron beneath it. Fast-paced music threaded through the air, mixed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional singing voice as Stiles passed through the layers of people and tried to find the man of the hour. He hadn’t seen Scott since that morning at breakfast before they’d both been whisked away to get ready for the party, and, as a long-standing tradition from when they were young, Stiles owed the birthday boy the worst dance he could possibly have of the night. Stiles was ready to scuff some brand new leather shoes, pop a few buttons straight from their silk-lined waistcoats, and then hide from Lydia’s wrath for the rest of the night.

But Scott was nowhere to be found.

Not willing to drop the hunt so readily, Stiles nestled himself into a corner between two of the food tables—one filled with a rainbow of pastries that Stiles made a mental note to ravish later, the other a sea’s worth of crustaceans and fish and other unnamable things, some of which still gurgled in their shells—and tried to remember what it was Scott was wearing that night. Stiles hadn’t been present for the arrival announcement of the visiting crown prince, too busy sneaking around the curtains just outside the room, but he’d heard it happen, so he knew Scott was already there. He also knew Scott’s preferences when it came to his clothing, so a wolf mask was the key point in Stiles’ search. The only problem was: a wolf was a very common mask choice, and Stiles didn’t know what about Scott’s would be the aspect to set him apart.

A crown, possibly? Scott typically hated wearing his crown to parties, claiming it was difficult to dance when he spent a large amount of time worrying it would slip from his head and embarrass him, so that was probably out of the ruling, unless it was etched directly into the mask itself.

His sigil? Would it be that easy to see a double circle, likely hidden somewhere within the design of the mask itself, without staring the mask-wearer directly in the face? Would Stiles have to dance with every wolf-faced masculine figure just to find the person he was looking for?

His eyes scanned the crowds again, and he felt his gall slowly seep down to his toes. There were dozens of masks even vaguely resembling what could be a wolf—Stiles would be there all night.

He suddenly wished he had thought to ask Lydia before she’d left, assuming she’d even tell him in the first place. She probably thought keeping him on the blind hunt would make him stay at the party longer.

God, he really didn’t want to be there. It might have been a birthday party for his oldest and greatest friend, but it was never fun for him unless he could cause a little trouble.

Nabbing a flute or something pink and bubbly from a tray to his right, Stiles downed the thing in one gulp, stifled the consequential belch that tried to force its way back up his throat, and meandered his way to the other side of the room. Still, there was not a Scott to be seen. There was a Jackson, though, loitering by the unmistakable figures of Stiles’ father and Queen Melissa of their sisterlands, Scott’s mother, dancing together in place on the direct outskirts of the fanfare. Setting his empty glass aside, Stiles locked in on his sights and crept his way over.

Years of sneaking around the castle and poking his nose exactly where it didn’t belong meant Stiles had a relatively good track record of getting to the place he wanted to be without being seen, even in plain sight, and not even Jackson, who had technically been trained specifically with Stiles in mind after growing up as a page under King John’s reign, noticed Stiles sneaking up on him until Stiles was pulling the ribbons of Jackson’s dragon mask free.

Jackson started with a hissed curse, his hand flying up to keep the mask on his face, and in the same motion reached behind him and grabbed Stiles by the upper arm with his free hand.

“Your Grace,” he growled in his Jackson way, loud enough to be heard by Stiles’ dad and his not-a-date-just-a-frequent-guest. Luckily for Stiles, they seemed distracted enough in each other not to notice just yet.

“I’ll put it back on properly if you come with me.” Using the grip Jackson had on him, Stiles quickly maneuvered the both of them back into the shadows of the ballroom before Jackson could give much of an answer. Once safely out of view of the parents, Stiles smacked Jackson’s hand off and motioned for him to turn around.

“What was that all about?” Jackson asked as he complied. There was a note of bitterness to his tone, but that was Jackson for you. Growing up, he’d never been Stiles’ biggest fan, especially not when Stiles’ crush on Lydia had become painfully obvious to everyone who so much as looked his way, but he’d softened to Stiles as a whole after the loss of Queen Claudia when they both were sixteen. Having been the one with Stiles when the news broke, first with the onset of the illness and then her eventual death, he’d been one of the few people to see firsthand just how much a person like Stiles could break, and Stiles was pretty sure Jackson never recovered his full dislike of the crown prince in question after it all had been said and done.

Plus, Jackson had been the one to win Lydia over when they were eighteen, and, while the relationship hadn’t lasted, it had also helped to lessen some of the sour feelings on his end.

Stiles didn’t answer immediately as he tied the ribbons tight, then patted Jackson on the shoulder to signal he was done. “I can’t find Scott,” Stiles explained. “I also don’t really want to be here.”

Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, and what else is new? How long did Lydia tell you to stay this time?”

“Two hours,” Stiles admitted sourly. Jackson laughed. “I was hoping you could cover for me if I happened to suddenly vanish from the party?” he tried hopefully, doing his best to make his eyes look puppy-dog-like behind the confines of his mask.

“Hell no,” Jackson said without missing a beat, then quickly tacked on, “Your Majesty.”

“Come on, Jackson! Please? I’ll come back, I just want to go somewhere else for a little while.”

“And have Lydia breathing down my back for allowing it? I don’t think so.”

“I could order you to, you are my personal guard,” Stiles pointed out, but Jackson just looked at him in that way that told Stiles he was raising a single eyebrow behind his mask. Stiles sighed dramatically. “What’s the point of the title if no one listens to me anyway?”

“Plenty of people listen to you,” Jackson corrected, smacking a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just not me, and especially not tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a fine looking set of specimens waiting for a man such as me to show them how a real dance is done. Have fun finding Scott.”

Stiles made sure his responding scoff was accurately disgusted as Jackson turned and walked off to meet a pair of identical figures in the crowd, one of which Stiles distinctly recalled writing his name on Lydia’s dance card a few parties ago, leaving Stiles glowering to himself alone. Stiles debated marching up and inserting himself into the situation just to be an ass, but quickly rethought the action before he could execute it and get himself stuck in a conversation he didn’t actually want to have.

“May I have this dance?” a voice asked before Stiles could find his way back to the dead fringes of the party instead, and Stiles turned to find Allison smirking at him from behind an owl mask. A quick glance around told him Scott was not with her, and if Scott wasn’t glued to her side like he normally was, that meant he was being forced to dance with some of the other partygoers who had shown up specifically with Scott in mind. Which meant Stiles was certainly not going to see him anytime soon, unless he wanted whoever Scott was dancing with being passed off to him the second Scott spotted him without a partner.

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed, holding his hand out for Allison to take. She smiled brilliantly as she took his hand in her white-gloved one, and off to the dance floor they went.

Allison was, by far, a much better dancer than Stiles was. Only surpassed by Lydia (and only in some dances, at that), she was swift in every movement and seemed to almost float around the dance floor, even in a dress that looked heavier than she was, made of layers upon layers of feathers and fabric with names Stiles couldn’t guess if he tried. She looked like she belonged in her creature of choice, elegant and deadly if she chose, if the legend of her familial background was to be believed. Beast hunters up until a settlement dozens and dozens of generations back, Stiles typically chose to not believe, but he had seen Allison shoot an arrow straight through an apple exactly as Jackson was taking a bite out of it without doing much more than scaring the shit out of him, so maybe it wasn’t all a myth.

Allison’s bright brown eyes met his as the song changed pace suddenly, picking up to an even faster rhythm, and he only just caught the twinkle in her eye before her hand tightened in his and she took him over completely.

She was so much a better dancer than Stiles (and Scott, though Scott rarely surpassed anyone’s dance skill, so he often wasn’t counted in the first place), that every time Stiles did dance with her, she always somehow managed to lead him without ever taking the position to do so. And she did so by using a pressure method via her fingertips against his shoulder and hand, where her hands were positioned. It had taken Stiles a number of dances to catch onto her antics when she started coming to other courts and stayed for parties, and then a few years on top of that to perfect his understanding of her puppeteering, but he was to the point now where he unconsciously moved in time with her ministrations and didn’t even have to pay them any attention. It made her the easiest person for him to dance with, and he actually kind of hated how much time Scott got to spend dancing with her at these things if only because Stiles rarely got a break where he could dance and not have to constantly make sure he wasn’t about to flatten someone’s toes.

(But they were promised to one another, declared by Scott one day when he was sixteen that he would take her hand when she came of age at twenty-one, so Stiles couldn’t complain as much as he would like. They were four years into their seemingly-never-ending honeymoon period, so they kind of deserved each other at this point.)

“After this song ends,” Allison whispered in his ear as they pulled close and turned, “head for the balconies. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks where you went.”

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to understand that she was giving him an out to escape, at least for a little bit. He couldn’t get much of anywhere by going to the balconies, unless he wanted to climb onto the rooftops or get lost in the gardens before returning to the party again, but it was something.

“I could kiss you,” Stiles replied giddily. Allison flashed him a wide smile.

“I appreciate that you could and yet would never,” she responded sweetly, and Stiles couldn’t help but give a genuine laugh. Friends was all they’d ever be, and neither of them had ever cared to make their relationship anything more. Allison was a fantastic friend. Stiles was lucky to have her, and Scott was luckier still to be promised to her.

True to her word, Allison pulled them close for the closing bow as the orchestra played the last note of the dance, then twisted on her heel and pushed Stiles smoothly in the direction of the doors to the garden balconies in the back before he’d even thought to take the step himself. Stiles, far less graceful even than any singular part of Allison on its own, stumbled a bit as he was thrown into motion, but caught himself quickly and hurried his way over to the doors. He thought he heard his name being called faintly over the sound of the next series of dances starting up, but he ignored it and continued on, twisting around each group of attendees as he met them and hopefully not treading on too many dresses and exposed shoe points as he went.

His mask felt hot against his face, the painted leather slipping along his nose as the heat of the room started to feel unbearably stifling, and the second he broke over the threshold of the opened double doors his fingers were already up and pulling at the ribbons that held it in place. It slid down easily, and he tucked it neatly under his arm as he moved into the shadows of the romantically-lit area and found his way to his favorite foothold, hidden by a large ivy growth, that he’d gone to so many times before. The climb required no thinking on his part; he pulled himself up easily in practiced motions that would give his father a headache if he knew. The gardens below stretched beneath him until, finally, he’d found his favorite haunt.

The autumn air was cold on Stiles’ face when he twisted himself up and onto one of the balcony alcoves, and a fine layer of snow was starting to make its way down from the gloomy sky above. Once used for lookouts, archers, and other war-related things, the alcove Stiles had found his way to was connected to a heavily-locked and incredibly dusty war room that had not seen use in centuries, nevermind Stiles’ lifetime, and was now used solely for decoration. Stiles, personally, liked to use it to stare down at the town, as it overlooked the edge of the cliff face that the castle was built into. He never understood why his father didn’t just move the war room and let Stiles have it as his own, but he had a feeling it was precisely because of Stiles’ love for a balcony that he could easily fall to his death from that his father had said no enough times for Stiles, who rarely gave up on anything, to finally let it go. Yet another reason to never let his father know he often scaled his way along the other balconies from his room to get there in the first place.

As it was a balcony alcove to a room that was never used, there was only ever Stiles who occupied it. So, to say he was startled nearly out of his skin when another figure emerged from the shadows of the alcove’s corner would be to put it incredibly lightly.

In fact—Stiles had very nearly screamed. He definitely let out a very unmasculine noise, though he would never admit to the fact if questioned about it at a later point in time. Unfortunately for him, that would be the thing to alert the other figure to his presence in the first place. Which was a shame, he would later think when he ran this encounter through his head over and over again like the action could bring a kind clarity the memory of the event itself simply did not have, because, for the split seconds before Stiles had made his presence known, the man had looked perfect where he stood in the shadows, and Stiles had been immediately infatuated with the sight of him.

But, of course, Stiles could not have nice things, and it was usually because of his mouth. Now was not an exception to the matter.

Stiles let out his noise, and the man startled out of the shadows and into the moonlight like he was expecting a fight. Stiles, though trained to defend himself if need be, did nothing more than scramble back on shoes that slipped dangerously on the snow-slicked stone beneath their feet. The man stopped abruptly, his eyes darting from Stiles’ face, down to his clothing, and back up again. And then, all at once, he relaxed completely, looking strangely put out that it was clear Stiles was not here to fight him. With a sigh that sounded suspiciously disappointed, the man in question turned his face away briefly as if expecting someone else, and that was when Stiles got his first good look at his surprise guest.

He noticed the ear cuff first, flashing in the light of the moon. Made of some kind of golden metal, it sat on the whole curve of his outer ear, nearly obscuring the ear itself completely. It flashed again as the man turned his face back, his features pulled into a completely different expression than they had been in just before, and Stiles found himself staring directly into a pair of cloudy green eyes.

Stiles had no idea who this man was, but he found that he desperately wanted to know. It was like a tugging sensation from somewhere behind his heart.

Silence stretched between them as neither moved, marred only by the faint noises of the party down below, and then Stiles realized something.

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t dressed for the party. Except for the golden cuff he wore on his ear and the thin gold chain around his neck that disappeared into his shirt, he was free of flashy adornments and heavy finery usually worn to parties such as the one being held tonight. In fact, he seemed rather underdressed considering the weather, in nothing but dark pants, a shirt, and a deep red waistcoat hanging undone from his torso. His moonlight-washed hair was unstyled, hanging around his face in that way Stiles’ hair also did when he ran his fingers through it at the end of the night after he’d washed all the grease from it. The man had either attended the party and left immediately, or he hadn’t gone at all.

He seemed just as surprised to see Stiles on that balcony as Stiles was him, too, his eyes drifting slowly down to the mask Stiles held clutched in both hands and narrowing. It made Stiles want to hide the thing behind his back, like he’d just been caught doing something wrong.

“It was hot inside,” he explained quickly, then had to refrain from slapping his hand over his mouth for saying anything at all. He wasn’t sure where the knee-jerk reaction to explain himself had come from exactly, because this was his homeland, and he was the prince of it. Whoever this man was, he didn’t rank above Stiles on his own turf.

And yet, here he was, feeling an ever-increasing need to keep the strange man standing before him, completely underdressed for the snow that was falling around them, from thinking Stiles was weird for being on the roof when a party was happening elsewhere.

Unsure of his actions, Stiles looked away, directing his gaze over the curb of the stone railing. The town below lit up with lights strung from rooftops and streetlights, a sign of the upcoming festival to celebrate the arrival of harvest season, where there would be markets every night and dancing in the squares, with the largest celebration with a potluck at the very end. Scott always had the best birthday out of all of them, because it kicked off the season, taking place what was usually just a few days before the town celebrations started. He’d have a big party, and then he’d continue to celebrate with the townsfolk of both his land and Stiles’, as they were sisterlands and shared the same traditions. Stiles, having been born in the spring, didn’t get to have quite the same experience.

“Do they know you’re gone?” the man asked quietly, his voice nothing like Stiles was expecting from looks alone. Stiles turned his attention back embarrassingly fast all the same.

“Do they…?” he repeated in confusion before he realized what the man was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no. I mean, probably? Someone’s likely noticed. But I don’t think they’re paying attention to where I am, really. It’s not my birthday.”

Shut up, Stiles, Stiles thought frantically. Lord, please, shut up.

The man’s brow furrowed. Stiles took the moment to admire his eyebrows, which were well-suited for his face. Stiles was pretty sure the man could hold conversations with them, if he tried. He could absolutely look menacing, with just the right expression. Stiles knew he could find himself easily terrified of this man. He just had that look about him.

And then, as Stiles was admiring, it occurred to him that he’d never seen this person before in his life, despite him standing right on the rooftop of where Stiles lived. Which, considering who Stiles was, shouldn’t be possible.

How had he never met this person before? Did he climb onto the roof from below? How did he get past the guards?

“Why aren’t you at the party?” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself, then winced. Strike two. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?

The man eyed him warily, then seemed to come to some kind of a conclusion and sighed. “You have no idea who I am.”

Stiles frowned in turn. “Should I?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, the moonlight washing his features out until he looked nearly a ghost, those cloudy green eyes narrowed. “No,” he said finally. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, then, miracle of all miracles, thought better of the action and shut it again. Surprise flashed in the man’s eyes, and Stiles could swear the corner of the man’s mouth quirked up, but he knew he had to have imagined it. Because the man’s mouth seemed permanently set in a frown. He hadn’t smiled once, and he had a very strong frown. The man turned his face away again, but Stiles couldn’t stop looking at him.

The moonlight caught off the ear cuff as he turned again, catching Stiles’ attention easily and giving him a better view of its overall shape. Covering the entire curve of his outer ear, the cuff the man wore was shaped like a curling line of crescents and circles in a pattern that tickled some vague part of the back of Stiles’ brain without any true recognition to show for the efforts. He’d seen the exact pattern before, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t place where or when, or what kind of meaning it could hold. It was a curious design, all the same, with smaller chains of gold hanging in loops from the bottom, some kind of bead or gemstone nestled in each center. The entire thing was also, Stiles noticed, studded with the same kind of gemstone that glinted with the light, though the strong tint of the oncoming full moon made everything seem too washed out to really tell any true color.

It was a strange thing to see, even on a night like this. Ear cuffs were found in other lands, but ear jewelry didn’t often extend beyond earrings in Stiles’ land. In fact, adornments in general usually came in the form of necklaces, rings, and makeup and rarely extended beyond that, and Stiles had never thought to question the reason why something so obviously stunning had never become popular in his, or Scott’s, realm. Even Allison’s kingdom, known famously for their silver jewelry and intricate designs, did not show any favor towards such specific things.

Until now, apparently, because Stiles couldn’t think of where else the man could have climbed up to the alcove from if not the party or the town. Though, if something like that was becoming popular, Stiles felt like he would have heard Lydia talking about it at some point. It was very possible she had and he’d simply not listened, however. Stiles’ attention was a fickle thing.

“Are you from town?” Stiles heard himself ask. He was starting to understand why his dad winced each time Stiles opened his mouth, because, right now, he’d soder the damn thing shut if he only had the chance. “Did you climb up here from the streets?”

A soft huffing sound met his unfortunate inquiry, and it took Stiles a moment to realize the man had just laughed.

“No,” he replied quietly, eyes still on the town in question. “I came from inside the castle.”

That stumped Stiles. So he… had come from the party? How had he gotten himself in such disarray? Stiles might not have been paying the best attention to the comings and goings of the event, especially considering the size of the attendance, but he’s pretty sure he would have heard someone say something if someone had shown up in the state the man was in. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Unless he’d gained his current state somewhere between the party and the balcony, which meant he must have done something relatively quick to become that way.

Stiles felt a heat crawl up his neck, swift and relentless, as an idea of what the man might have done occurred to him. The war room was empty and supposedly locked at all times because of its disuse, but Stiles had never actually bothered to check that. At least, not since he’d learned to climb to the balcony instead of going through the room itself, and that had been years ago.

Quickly, Stiles walked over to the large double doors that connected the balcony to the room and wrapped his hand around one of the huge handles. It barely budged an inch beneath the pressure he exerted on it, and even less when he tried with his weight added onto the attempt.

Locked. Absolutely, undeniably locked.

Stiles twisted back around. The man was watching him again, those eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. He still stood at the railing, not having moved an inch except to face where Stiles now stood. Very rarely did Stiles feel any kind of embarrassment for his actions, but something about this man and his strangeness kept the embarrassment coming in waves. Stiles prayed his face, definitely red at this point due to the man’s reaction, couldn’t be seen too well in the dark of the small overhang of the doorway.

“How did you get up here?” Stiles demanded hotly. He thrust a finger at the door handles. “These are locked.”

And, to Stiles’ utter shock, the man actually smiled.

It was by no means sunny, and maybe not even a true smile, but his lips were undoubtedly pulled back from his teeth in at least a smirk. “As you suggested before,” he said simply. “I climbed.”

“From—where?” Stiles spluttered. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the man merely tilted his head as if pondering Stiles’ question. He met Stiles’ eyes again, rendering Stiles slightly more dumb than usual with their strange color, and then, in one fluid motion, he bent at the waist in a bow.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” the man said, taking one last glance up from beneath his lashes to meet Stiles’ eyes.

And then he backed up, turned the same corner he’d emerged from, and was gone.

Stiles watched the empty air for a shocked heartbeat. One quickly became two, then three, and then he was tripping over himself as he launched at the space the man had left behind in a desperate scramble to catch up. Unfortunately, his shoes, more equipped for dancing than any other kind of foot movement, slipped on the slick stone floor and he went sprawling instead, knocking his chin hard enough to rattle his teeth and stun him momentarily. His mask went flying, smacking against the ground and skidding a few feet away.

Stiles groaned as he hauled himself up again, clawing his way to the side of the balcony railing where the man must have left, only to remember, with a shock, that this was the side that met the cliff face. There was no way down but a sheer drop to the rocks below.

A white noise started up between Stiles’ ears as he stared down the drop, the disappearance and the lack of a body below not adding up in his brain. A cold wind blew past briefly, rustling his stiff collar against his cheeks and bringing him back to himself enough for him to twist at the waist and look directly up. The action brought no more clarity than the previous one had, and the cold feeling of dread started up in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

The man was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

[sp00kworm]

April Rain (Chapter 3)

Ch 1       Ch 2        Ch 4

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN LINK

Pairing: Yagi Toshinori (All Might) x Female Reader

----

It was the next day when you remembered that you never told Yagi the name of the place you were meeting him at. The it took you another hour to realise that he’d tried to hide your meeting from his assistant, and that if you rang the normal line would reveal the little plan. With a great deal of anxiety, you looked to your phone for the fourth time that morning, washing tucked against your chest as you looked between it and the television. There was some odd hero reality show on. It was a generic plot line with all the random dramas of being a superstar included. You had it on for background noise. The screen of the smart phone stayed black as you looked at it. A shiver of shock rippled through you as the screen lit up with the jangly tune of your annoying ringtone. It was an unknown caller. You peered at it before leaping for the phone, snatching it from the pillow before taking a steadying breath and flicking the answer button across the screen.

“Hello? This is…” You were cut off by the sound of a loud bang and hurried breathing, the sounds of a crowd screaming ‘All Might’ over and over. They were chanting.

“Ah!” Yagi’s voice rang down the phone as he caught his breath, “Sorry for ringing you!” His voice stuttered over your name as the cheering grew quieter. His hand moved near the microphone.

 “Its alright, Yagi…Wait. How did you get my number?” You asked as the sound of his fans grew quieter and quieter in the background.

A tie slid from around his neck as he sat down in a chair, the material creaking under his great weight, “Well… I am friends with the chief of police…” He pressed the phone to his shoulder and clapped his hands together, “I’m sorry, but I remembered that I forgot to ask just…where the tea shop is?” He was embarrassed. You could hear the tone in his voice as he picked something up to play with in one hand. The end of the pen clicked under his thumb, “I only got your number just to ask you. I swear it!”

“It’s fine Yagi. A little but unorthodox, but ah, I was just about to try and get hold of your office…I forgot to tell you about the address and I just remembered as well, so, no harm done.”

The hero chuckled down the line, “Well, I guess we are both as forgetful as each other, no?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes.” You smiled before continuing, “Its in the Meguro district closer to the residential area.” You gave him the address and you heard him scribble it down on a piece of paper, “Do you want me to send it to this number too? Just in case?”

“Yes, please.” He tucked the paper into his suit jacket, the paper scrapping against the silk before he sighed.

“Busy day?” You asked with a soft laugh, tucking the phone against your shoulder as you collected your clothes again and moved to go and put them away.

All Might hummed, “I did not expect a television company to let hoards of fans near the interview set.” He confessed, “Don’t get me wrong! I love my fans but…”

“But sometimes you like a bit of privacy?” You added as you opened your drawer with your cast arm’s fingers. The healing was coming along nicely.

“Exactly that.” He confessed before stretching, “I’ll let you go…But ah, feel free to save this number. It’s my private number…so you won’t have to fear Joan on the other end.” He joked, chuckling down the receiver.

You felt your cheeks go warm, “You can save mine too, methods of how it was obtained aside.” You teased as you closed your drawers.

“I promise it was simply to…”

“Calm down, Toshi, I was just teasing. I’ll let you get back to work, Mister All Might.” The phone was hot in your hand as you took it from your shoulder, “I’ll see you Saturday, Yagi.”

“See you then.” Yagi replied softly before the line went dead.

 The silence was heavy against your ear. You took the phone away from your ear and looked at the blank screen for a moment before smiling and going back to your chores. He was adorable, and now you had his private number. You opened your phone and saved the number as Yagi with a small sunflower. It suited him, you thought as you moved back into the kitchen to think about fixing yourself some lunch.

 The scheduled day came a lot quicker than you thought it would. It seemed to pass quickly between your hand exercises and binge watching of the very bad hero reality show. That morning you were say lamenting the wardrobe options you had down the phone to a long time friend. They only laughed at you and your frustration.

“Its not like it’s a date!” They exclaimed.

You deflated against the sheets, playing with a pulled thread of cotton, “Well...I guess not. But I still want to impress!”

“Who is this guy anyway? He’s sure got you worked up!”

Your mouth went dry before you managed to lace together a response, “Just a guy I met in the park one time. He asked me about the fountain...” It was almost painfully obvious.

“That’s cute! Hey if it goes well you should invite him out drinking with us...”

“I don’t think that’s his sort of thing. He’s really busy too.” You chuckled before turning the conversation, “Anyway, I have to get ready! Talk to you later. Yep. Bye!”

 You hid your face in your hands, looking at the casual shirt and jeans. It would do and a small part of you hoped that All Might would like it too. Hopefully he wouldn’t turn up in anything too fancy.

 The train ride over to the Meguro district wasn’t too long, nor was the small walk from the station around into the older areas, set a little way back from the river. The area was set with rows of houses and a couple of stores. The tea shop was set back between them, the shop a converted small home from some years ago. The sign was hand painted over the door and you smiled as it came into view. The lady must have had her son repaint it recently. The white paint was fresh and not curling on the edges, like it was when you last came. It appeared better off now. You smiled and tugged st the bottom of your jacket as you came to the front of the picket fence around the front garden. The water fountain trickled softly as you peered around, looking for All Might's unmistakable, hulking frame. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. You checked your phone. No texts or calls. Still, you were five minutes early. You leaned against the fence and chewed your lip, wondering if it would be rude to call him and check you were still on.

 You finger itched over the symbol. Pushing it you held the phone to your ear. A sharp, annoying ring tone sounded with the first ring. You jumped and whipped around to peer down the small alley next to the tea shop. The very dumb ring tone screeched from inside the alley followed by a soft curse before a large hand held a phone just around the brick wall before disappearing into a blue hood.

“Hello?”

“Yagi are you hidden behind a wall right now?” You asked with a smirk, watching the man jump in the alley as Yagi peered around the brick, blue eyes narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed.

“I might be.” He confessed, his face devolving into a look of embarrassment.

“Look by the fence, you dork.” You laughed and hung up as his eyes caught sight of you. He pushed his phone into his pocket before walking out from the alleyway, huge form disguised in civilian clothing.

 The bright blue sweater was printed with a white lettering, the love heart large and read, and you snickered at the lovely New York souvenir as he tucked his huge hands inside the pocket and pushed his flying bangs of hair back into the hood. He was dressed in a crisp pair of jeans and sneakers. It was an off look for the hero you were so used to seeing flying around with a cape and skintight looking spandex. He smiled as you laughed at him.

“I know, but I couldn’t show up in my costume, could I?!” Yagi sighed as his hair pinged out of the top of the hood again, his hand coming back up to smooth it away.

“I’m not poking fun, I promise.” You laughed again as you moved away from him to open the gate that lead to the tiny tea shop, “I never thought if you’d be able to fit through the door!” You teased again, watching Yagi turn a soft shade of pink.

“I’m sure I can manage...so long as they have some large seats.”

 The tiny bell over the door rang as you both entered the shop. All Might stop to enter, his frame filling the doorway as he walked in behind you, hair popping out of the top of his hood once more. He reached to flatten them as the lady who ran the tea shop turned from her little TV screen to look at who had entered. She moved her glasses on her face and hummed, bowing her head before standing up to greet you.

“Welcome. Please, sit...Ah. Perhaps the large quirk table?” She uttered before beckoning the both of you to follow. Yagi raised an eyebrow, smiling as he tucked his hair away again. You followed her to the back area, set in a high ceiling conservatory, filled with furniture more suited to individuals with large and burdening quirks.

The hero peered around before frowning, “I did not expect chairs...”

The owner was old, but her hearing was good, “I prefer not to clean the floor constantly from spilt tea. I have a number of clients as large as you who would leave my floors a mess if I used Chabudai, young man.” She laughed before patting the large chair, pulling it out for him as you seated yourself with a teasing smile, “Now. What would you both like?” The woman tucked her hands into her apron pocket to collect a little order notebook.

 “What do you suggest for relaxing?” You asked, sitting back as you took off your small jacket, “I think we both need something to help us unwind a little. Its been a stressful week or so.” You flexed your arm and wiggled the fingers of your recently freed arm.

She looked to Toshinori, “I agree with her. What do you suggest, Miss.”

Thoughtfully she tapped her pencil on the page before nodding to herself, “Lavender and Chamomile. A green tea could be good just for a sense of normality, but I would suggest Chamomile if you need the relaxant?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Yagi nodded and watched the woman scuttle away with a confused face.

 “Does she not recognise me?” He looked stressed by the fact, hiding his hair in his hood as he watched the woman disappear to the stove and backroom.

You shrugged, “Maybe she’s just being polite? I’m pretty sure you’re unmistakable, which is why I’m glad no one is here to…uh…disturb us?” Finger quote motions made Yagi chuckle. Reluctantly, he reached up to pull down his hood, his blond, gravity defying bangs popping free like springs to wave over the top of his head.

“Disturb us?” He joked before settling into his own chair, “I hope she doesn’t ring someone.” He chewed his cheek before sighing, “Let’s not think about that!” A bright smile curled on his lips, remind you of the sunshine and bright sunflowers you thought of last time, “I see that your arm isn’t in a cast anymore.”

You nodded, rubbing at the arm gently with the thought, “The healing quirk really sped things up. There’s a lot of repair still. I have some exercises to do to strengthen the muscles again, but all being well I can get back to work soon enough!”

All Might laughed, a bright noise, genuine and loud, “I’m glad! Hopefully you can get back to normal, even after everything that has happened?”

 It was a little bit of a sore subject and you felt your face tighten, “Hopefully. It…was a lot to process I think.” You tried to smile back at him. A warm hand reached over the table, All Might’s giant form stooping as he held out a palm for you.

“You can talk to me about it, if it helps?” He offered gently.

You gave him a smile, “Thank you, honestly, but I’ll be okay. I still have the number for the therapist.” He relented with the promise, and left you alone for now, taking his hand back slowly. You took it and squeezed the rough palm, “But thank you for worrying. It means a lot, especially coming from you.”

Yagi felt his face go a little hot, “I told you, I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure.” You drew out the syllables, “Just doing your job, huh? By having tea with me secretly?”

The hero spluttered over the other end of the table which only made you laugh at his expense.

“It’s a friendly outing!” He insisted, tugging at the ties of his hood.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, All Might.” The teasing was about to be rebuked until the owner pottered back into the conservatory, tray in hand with scalding tea on top of it.

 Yagi coughed behind his fist his ears burning red with an embarrassed blush as the old lady placed the large tea pot onto the table. The cups were painted with cherry blossoms. You watched as she moved to pour the tea into the two cups, hands sturdy despite her frail age. After pouring them, she bowed her head and left, winking conspiratorially as she left the two of you to your own devices in the back. Her television sounded again in the front as she settled back in to wait for other customers. All Might shifted in his seat, the chair groaning underneath his muscled weight as he reached for his tea and took a sip of the burning hot liquid. His face scrunched up with the hot liquid in his mouth, his lips bright red as he realised his mistake.

“It’s still too hot, Yagi.” You teased.

The hero put his hands over his mouth, “I realise.” He mumbled through his fingers, “Now that I have scalded my tongue.”

“Aw does it hurt.” You cooed over the tea, standing up to walk around the table and look at Yagi’s burned lips. The skin on his bottom lip was raw and red, “It looks pretty bad.” You muttered, dragging your seat over to his side.

“It is fine, honestly, I have dealt with far, far worse.” Yagi flinched away from your fingers.

 “Yagi.” You pinched his chin, holding him still, stopping his protesting. The man’s cheeks turned as red as his ears, “Hold still, okay?”

“This is entirely unnecessary.” Yagi mumbled as you held up your hand. His blue eyes went wide as you turned your fingers into water. They wiggled in front of his eyes, the water dripping and reforming in the shape of fingers before you placed them against his scalded skin. The cold water made him jump, his lips parting only to realise he would end up with a mouthful of your fingers. The pro-hero held still, watching you ease the pain in his lips with a gentle press.

“It won’t heal it, but it’ll take the pain away.” You promised softly as you held Yagi’s chin in your other hand. His cheeks twitched, his hand coming up to touch your arm. You took away your fingers and smiled.

“Thank you. It’s fine now, I promise.” He grinned with white teeth, taking your hands in his own, looking at your watery fingers, “Your quirk is amazing. I hope you know that.” The man took hold of his tea once more, “But be careful about using it…The laws are not so kind in this country.”

 It was a warning, yet you smiled, “I’m sure I wont get into trouble for cooling down our new favourite hero’s lips.”

“But in an emergency…” He babbled before sighing, “You should drink your tea.” He muttered, face still painted pink with embarrassment, “It’s delicious.”

You scooted your chair close enough to the table to reach your drink, taking a careful sip from the cooling tea before humming, “It is delicious.” You confirmed before smiling and laughing. Yagi sighed before joining in with his own great cascade of laughter.

“One day I will learn to think before I do things. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Toshi.”

 Yagi felt his heart do flip flops for most of the time you both spent together. Sipping tea and just chatting normally with someone was so far from what he knew anymore. A person who invited him for lunch usually wanted to get in his pants or have him sign some form of advertisement contract. It was tiring yet he found himself refreshed talking to someone normal. You laughed at his terrible jokes and you talked about animals and pets. It was perfectly normal. Serene. The hero felt his stomach clench as his heart throbbed.

“I will pay.” Yagi pushed your hand with your wallet away, “It was only tea.” He smiled, blond hair waving over the top of his head as he pushed the money towards the old woman, “Keep the change. Thank you for the lovely tea.” He bowed at the waist as she took the payment.

“Thank you, young man.” She hummed as she placed the money away in her register, “Might I say you look an awful lot like that new hero. I bet it gets you all the ladies.” She cackled as Yagi’s jaw dropped.

“Ah, yes, of course. He is inspirational. I…uh…”

“A stunner, yes. Quite the looker I’ve caught myself.” You teased as Yagi spluttered over the counter.

 You parted ways with blushes that day. It wasn’t until you got home that your phone buzzed with a message, the small sunflower emoji making you smile as you opened his text message.

‘I think we should meet again next Saturday? If you would like to?’

You smiled as you sent him a reply.

‘I would love to.’

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Beauty Within the Fallen ch.III

Summary: Two misfit twins come across an enchanted castle, home of a mysterious beast, and slowly begin to form a strong bond that just might survive through anything. Even evil demons.

AU and artwork belong to the beautiful and very talented @artsycrapfromsai​. Go give her some love, guys!!!

ch.II - ch.IV

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello? Monsieur Soos? Monsieur Stan told us to find you.” Mabel called out nicely on the stairs. Dipper watched as his sister optimistically roamed the stairs for the keeper of the key and grounds of the castle. There were so many times he wished he was more like her. Mabel was super strong and kind and just outright amazing; no matter what the world threw at her, she was happy and cheerful. Through losing their parents and then their Grandpa Shermie, through being lost in the woods and nearly eaten, through meeting a beast, Mabel was still joyful and out-going. Dipper wished he could be more like that, but sometimes it felt like a dark cloud forever hung over his head; he was the realistic twin, the Debby-downer of the two; someone had to be, and he never wanted it to be Mabel. “Maybe we misheard him.” Mabel pondered when no one was responding to her calls. “Did Monsieur Stan say Soos or Zeus?”

Dipper shrugged. “Or maybe we were sent on a wild goose chase.” “Eck! A goose?!” Mabel gasped with sparkling eyes. “Sup, dawgs!” A voice called from the top of the second flight of stairs. “I’m Soos! Sorry, just wanted to make sure your room was clean. So dusty… anyways, welcome!” Dipper and Mabel peered to where the voice was coming from and saw a hammer standing up on it’s handle. It was smiling with long buck teeth and kind eyes. Split from the handle, like big splinters, were the arms, but it had no legs. Mabel smiled while Dipper just stared. “Hi! I’m Mabel! So you’re Soos?” “Sure am!” The hammer gestured to follow him. “C’mon, dudes, I’ll show you to your room.” Mabel followed with Dipper right behind her. Past expensive, dusty objects and paintings, the hammer led them to another set of double-doors. The hammer pushed them open and the kids awed at the living quarters. Beautiful twin-sized bunk beds stood proudly with the finest silks and pillows stuffed with feathers. A giant window with a balcony displayed the calm fall rain and a huge chest filled with toys and a wardrobe occupied the room, but the space was so vast that it somehow felt empty. The walls were painted gold with knights and kings and glorious battles telling stories on the ceiling. Mabel squealed with delight and ran to the bottom bed and plopped down. “Wowie, zowie! Is this all ours?” “Sure is, dude.” Soos said. “The boss wanted you kids to be safe and comfortable.” “You mean that big scary beast downstairs?” Dipper asked. “That’s the one!” Dipper couldn’t keep his smile at bay any longer. “I have always wanted bunk beds.” “I think he’s nice.” Mabel said from the bottom bunk. “Oh, the dude’s a nice guy.” Soos insisted. “Once you get to know him. He saved me and Abuelita from the streets a long time ago, gave us jobs and a home.” A cart came in, carrying a beautiful china pot that smiled at the guests. “Welcome!” She said with an Asian accent. “My name is Candy. So good to have company with us. Dinner will be ready shortly. Oh, no! You two look cold. Grenda! Grenda, wake up!” She barked. The wardrobe burst open and the eyes on top of the piece of furniture popped open. “I’m up, I’m up! SWEET LORD! Finally, new muses! You two need some new clothes!” Grenda opened her drawers, but moths flew out and she closed up immediately. “Oops. That’s… that happens sometimes.” Grenda opened her drawers again and whistled. “Okay, ladies, let's get to work, up, up, up!” Sewing needles, measuring tape, and thread sprang up from a drawer and began to work, pulling rolls of cloth out from the other drawers and sewing around the twins as they stood still. Mabel giggled and lightly touched the needles in greeting, treating them like butterflies, while Dipper stood rigid and still, afraid of being hurt. “Aw, don’t be so tense, boy.” Grenda giggled. “You like blue?” Dipper took in a deep breath, trying to relax, and he smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I like blue.” Soon the kids were changed into nicer clothes; not formal, but not made from itchy material and much more comfortable than their soak garments. Mabel twirled in her pink petticoat and jacket with golden buttons and she grinned at her brother, who wore a navy-blue jacket over an orange top. He kept his blue cap on proudly and he seemed comfortable. “Tuck your shirt in, scruffy.” The mirror on the wall spoke, spooking the kids. “Be nice, Pacifica.” Candy warned. Dipper had a million questions. He looked at Soos the hammer, Candy the teapot, Pacifica the mirror, and Grenda the wardrobe, and said quietly, “This is impossible. Objects can’t talk or move on their own.” Grenda shrugged, her golden arms free from being folded on top of a drawer. “Well, here we are.” “Abuelita used to say the world’s more full of magic than we know, dudes.” Soos said. “You’re magic?!” Mabel gasped happily, squishing her cheeks with her hands as her eyes shined like stars. “Duh,” Pacifica said as a reflection of her human form shined on the mirror, a pretty girl with long blonde hair. “This castle’s full of weird secrets and magic and mystery and whatever.” “We LOVE mystery, don’t we, Dipper?” Mabel asked, gripping his hand. “This guy is really good at solving them! He figured out who was stealing Manly Dan’s jerky.” “Everyone wanted to blame it on the kids, but no one with a shoe size of five could have made such a deep footprint in the mud unless they were heavier than an adolescent.” Dipper explained and shrugged with a sheepish smile. “And Mabel’s really smart, too. She discovered who was eating all our garbage and leaving smelly trails.” “All signs pointed to the goat.” Mabel said, puffing her chest out proudly. “Then you’ll fit right in, dudes!” Soos exclaimed excitedly. A harsh cough came from the door and an axe hopped in, with a beautiful girl carved into the handle. She dipped the heavy head of the axe and said, “Dinner’s ready.” The kids thanked the axe, at this point used to inanimate objects suddenly being animate, and left for the dining hall. Wendy gave Soos, Candy, Grenda, and Pacifica death glares and followed them out. Pacifica scoffed and her reflection faded away. Soos felt his face turn warm as he hopped on the cart and caught a ride with Candy; Grenda fell back asleep. Mabel and Dipper followed the axe into the dining hall and admired the scene before them. A huge table that could fit thirty stood polish with mahogany, filled with bread water, the best china and dishes the kids had ever dreamed of, and silverware made out of real silver. The axe hopped in front of them and said, “Alright, guys, my name’s Wendy. Basically I’m in charge when the boss isn’t here, and since he’s not here, I’m in charge right now. Follow me?” The kids nodded; Dipper really didn’t want to argue with an axe, in case if turned into an axe-murderer. They sat next to each other at the right hand of the head of the table, where the host would normally sit. Mabel laid her napkin on her lap and Dipper waited for something to happen. Just as Mabel opened her mouth to talk to Wendy, the axe hopped away and Candy the teapot hopped at the center of the table, a surprise spotlight on her. “Lady and gentleman! It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you here tonight! Now, we invite you to relax and get comfortable, as the dining room proudly presents: your dinner.” And magical dishes and trays filled with food hopped out from the kitchen and onto the table. Mabel leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin resting on her knuckles, while Dipper smiled unsure of what to make of this, but enjoying it nonetheless. “Be our guest…” ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan paced on all fours back and forth, his mind racing. He occasionally spoke, trying to think better by thinking out loud, but there was just so much to tackle at once. Stan stood on his back legs and his eyes rested on the journal. Decorated with a golden six-fingered hand, the journal was safe inside a glass case, never allowed to be touched. Still, it was so tempting, but too risky. That book was fragile and Stan was dangerous. The beast growled in his throat and resumed his pacing. What was he thinking, letting those kids stay here, allowing Soos to open the door, even meeting the kids. He should have stayed hidden and let them leave. But he couldn’t just let those kids go out into the woods and die; not even a monster like himself would do that. But Stan needed confirmation that he had made the right choice. Once again his gaze fell on the journal. He ceased his pacing again and stared at the journal. He sighed through his nose and approached it. He slowly, carefully, sat on the floor before the small table that occupied the book, staring at it, lost in thoughts and memories. A few minutes later, Stan found his claw on the glass cover, yearning to touch the journal, but he dared not to. Not yet. Not right now. It was too risky. A page fell out a few days ago. But then his cruel mind made him remember his brother’s pleading words. Stanley, I’m fine. You know I’m still here, right? I’m not just some book you can place on a shelf and walk away. Stanley, I can’t breathe in here. It’s maddening. I am not afraid of you. Stan tenderly lifted the glass case from over the journal and placed it on the ground. His gentle paws, the beast picked up the book and opened it. He smiled tiredly at a blank page. “Hey, Sixer.” Hello, Stanley. A knock came at the door, the one at the entrance of the West Wing; Stan’s advanced hearing could pick it up. He quickly shut the journal, put it on the table, and protected it with the glass cover. “What?” He called when he went to the door, but he didn’t open it. “Hi, Monsieur Stan!” A girl’s voice called. What did she say her name was? Maple? “Are you gonna come down to dinner? Madame Wendy said you didn’t want to. Are you okay? Does your tummy hurt?” Stan raised an eyebrow at the door. “Mabel, leave him alone.” The boy said. “He’ll come when he wants to.” “But Dipper, he should eat.” Stan had thought of hunting for a deer after the little pains in his side went to bed so he wouldn’t scare them or bother them when they were trying to recover and eat. He was surprised and apprehensive when they seemed to not only expect but desire his attendance. “You want to eat dinner with freak-show over here?” He asked suspiciously, not believing it. “Sure! Why not?” The girl called. Her name was Mabel, Stan recalled. “I don’t think you want that.” He warned. “What?! I totally want that! It’ll be fun, now come on! There’s delicious gray stuff!” She added, hoping it would tempt her host to join them for dinner. Stan snorted. He opened the door and looked down at the tiny humans. One could stand on the other’s shoulders and they wouldn’t reach his height. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Yay!” Mabel punched the air and laughed at Dipper’s face. “Hah! I win, sucka!” Dipper punched her shoulder and they started back to the dining hall. Stan followed them, giving them plenty of space. When they sat to eat, Mabel and Dipper chatted among themselves about how they loved the musical performance the servants had given. Mabel was careful to thank every single object individually, while Dipper settled for thanking them as a combined team. Stan smiled teasingly at the foolish kids, gushing over a stupid show. “Monsieur Stan, are you sure you’re not sick?” Mabel asked gently over her goblet of water. Stan gave her a skeptical look, expecting a jab at his monstrous appearance. “I’m fine, kid.” He growled. Mabel blinked, unsure as to why he was so stoic and strict. “Really? You’re not eating. Do you not like it?” Dipper also noticed it, privately predicting that the beast would tear into his meal, but he had not even touched his meat or picked up his drink. “Had a big lunch pretty late in the day.” Stan said, waving the question away. “Now quit pestering me about it!” “Oh. Okay. By the way, you never answered my questions.” “Huh?” “What’s your favorite color? Do you have a sweet tooth? Do you like sweet or sour things? Do you have a favorite song?” Mabel asked all in one breath, so quickly that it took the host a minute to gather his answers. “Oh. Um… red, yes, sweet, and no.” Mabel grinned, excited to elaborate on Stan’s answers, and she and Stan gradually had a conversation. It was an odd conversation, with Mabel doing most of the talking and the two knowing so little about the other and having next to nothing in common that it might have been tricky to talk pleasantly, but soon Stan found himself flapping up water with his scratchy tongue as he listened to the girl’s twenty-first story. Mabel smiled and covered her mouth with her hand at the sight, finding it endearing. Dipper would occasionally inject and join in, but mostly he observed. Stan hadn’t realized how quiet the castle had become until it was filled with noise. A grandfather clock out in the hall screamed, “NINE O’CLOCK!”, making Dipper jump and splash water on his face, and Mabel laughed at the little scare. “Right, time for bed, gremlins.” Stan said and pointed to the door. “You’ve got your work cut out for you in the morning. No more softening you up. I want you wide-eyed and bushy-tailed by sunrise.” “But, we don’t have tails.” Dipper sneered with a smile. “Not my problem, runt, now go before you get nightmares from looking at this face for too long.” Mabel didn’t like that last comment, but she decided to let it pass. “G’night, Monsieur Stan!” She said cheerfully and waved to him as she walked out of the dining hall with Dipper right beside her. When the door was closed behind them, Stan sighed with relief; he was starving. Acting on instinct alone, he tore into his food like an animal and spewed it all over his face and clothes. He later huffed in shame and humiliation, and with as much pride as he could muster, he left the table and ventured to bed. Meanwhile, Mabel slipped on her white nightgown and climbed up to the top bunk bed; Dipper had a habit of falling out of bed already, he didn’t need to be six feet up. She snuggled under the cozy covers and was pleasantly surprised to find warm pans between the blankets. “I like it here.” Mabel said sleepily, rubbing an eye. “It’s like we’re in a story of our own.” Dipper smiled up at the bottom of Mabel’s bed, his head resting on his folded arms. “Yeah… I guess so.” There was a long pause. Despite Mabel’s optimism and cheerful attitude, now that there was nothing to distract her, a sudden worry made a knot in her stomach. “Dipper? Do you really think Fiddleford is okay?” Dipper took too long to answer for her sister's comfort, but when he spoke she felt much better. “He’s fought in two wars, survived crazy invention-attacks, and raised you. He can handle anything.” Mabel giggled at the jab he made at her and said, “More like he survived raising you, Dumb-Dumb.” Dipper chuckled, “Goodnight, Stupid.” “G’night, Stupid.” Dipper blew out the candle, but it would be a long time before Mabel finally closed her eyes and fell asleep. ~~~~~~~~~~ The rain had finally stopped, but the cold was even worse now. Even so, it could not he felt inside Gleeful’s Glee-Filled Tavern, where hard-working men and women were relaxing in the comfort of fires and warm beer. Gideon had just finished a musical number that left the policemen crying with happiness and the other girls cheering. His mother shakingly filled drinks and his father collected some money for the performance by the piano. Gideon sat on the instrument to be eye-level with Ghost Eyes. He sighed tiredly. “I don’t understand it, my hench-angel. Why won’t Mabel admit that she loves me?” “Maybe because she doesn’t?” Ghost Eyes suggested into his beer. “I bet it’s cuz she keeps herself so busy.” Gideon speculated. “Think about it, with only old Man McGucket taking care of things she and Dipper have to… wait. What if she’s afraid to love me?” The white-haired boy gasped. “Wait, what?” “It all makes sense now!” Gideon proclaimed. “She’s lost almost all of her family! For someone so young, she’s lost so much! What if she’s afraid to only gain something to lose?! What if she’s afraid one day I’ll be gone, too?!” Gideon stood up proudly on the piano, with his fists on his hips. “Well, I swear by all this is holy and unholy that that will never happen! I will always be there for her, no matter what!” “YEAH!” Ghost Eyes cheered and had the boy sit on his muscular shoulder. “We love you, Lil’ Gideon!” Durland yelled. “Sing more of those funny songs!” “You got it! Ahem, ahem… nooooo oooooone…” The doors burst open, letting in some cold air, as Old Man McGucket came running in. the townsfolk gasped at him. He was dirty and his hair was frazzled and his glasses were cracked, but worst of all his arm was bruised and cradled by his chest protectively, as if it was broken. This man had obviously been through something horrible, his eyes wide and his jaw tight. “HELP!” He cried out. “HELP ME, PLEASE!” “McGucket, what happened?” Blubs asked. “It’s the children!” Old Man McGucket yelled and scrambled around the tavern, informing all of the tragedy. “We were attacked by wolves out in the woods n’ separated! They’re out there somewhere, lost n’ cold n’ possibly hurt! Please! We have t’find ‘em!” The townsfolk muttered among themselves. It was dangerous in those woods, filled with wolves and horrible animals. They were unsure if the children were alive. What was the point of risking their lives for dead bodies, especially the dead bodies of the troublesome Pines twins. “Aren’t these the same kids that built that wretched sound box?” Old Man McGucket paled a shade. “Y-Yes, b-b-but they were only tryin’...” “And are always reading? What’s that boy doing, teaching a girl to read? It’s unnatural.” “It’s beautiful!” Old Man McGucket snapped. “Dipper’s only tryin’ t’help his sister…” “I thought his name was Mason…” “It’s Dipper!” Old Man McGucket’s energy was failing him as he appeared alone in the world. “I… I know they seem different, but… but, please. They’re still only children. My children. Will no one help me find ‘em?” Gideon leaned towards Ghost Eyes’ ear and whispered excitedly, “This is perfect! Mabel needs my help; she’ll see how I’m willing to do anything for her and she’ll finally realize she loves me!” Gideon stood on Ghost Eyes’ shoulder and declared, “I’ll help!” Old Man McGucket turned and stared at the boy. “Ya will?” “Sure I will!” Gideon said and hopped off to walk on a long table. “Folks, I know we’ve had our fair share of whoopsie-daisies in the past, but Mabel and Dipper are still part of our fair town. They need our help, so I say no one should rest until they’re safe at home!” “YEAH!” Manly Dan yelled and punched a whole in the stone wall. “Let’s find the Pines!” Blubs said and the whole town cheered for Lil’ Gideon. Old Man McGucket approached the boy shakingly and smiled. “Th-Thanks ya so much. Ya’ve always been a… a loyal friend t’em.” “Don’t thank me yet.” Gideon said with a smile. “Let’s just get my queen and future brother-in-law back.” And he went off to gather the volunteers. Fiddleford watched the boy leave and he winced. “Aw, banjo polish.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: I know it seems like I’m a hater of BatB songs since only one is in here, two songs are not from BatB at all, and I teased two BatB songs in this chapter but never delivered, but I promise that more are on the way (or at least obscure gestures to the songs since this isn’t a musical).

I will share that I ALMOST opened the entire story with a Hercules-like intro, with Dipper and Mabel destroying the town with an invention and being rejected by the village, making the scene of Fiddleford trying to convince people to help look for them more compelling, but I backed away since I couldn’t think of a good destructive invention that could be built by two twelve-year-olds in the early 1800s. I’d love to hear some of your ideas, guys!

Pacifica is kinda a reference to the Magic Mirror from Snow White, and while Lazy Susan would’ve made a great Mrs. Potts, I decided to make Candy head of the kitchen and the tea pot and have Lazy Susan be a friend of Fiddleford and Shermie’s and give hand in raising Dipper and Mabel sometimes, one of the few people in town that actually liked them. I will warn you that this story does not focus much on the side characters, rather the development of the main characters.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope y’all enjoy it!

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 36

“Nooooo, I don't want to get out in the cold anymore, let's stay here forever” she whined as Jared got up and held open her coat for her, “ok, stay here where it's busy and crowded, or sacrifice half an hour and walk ourselves warm to end up in our cosy, warm room with comfortable couches and a ridiculously warm and soft bed?”. Harper rolled her eyes “You don't play fair” she sighed, “all is fair in love and war” he grinned and grabbed her hand as he guided her out of the coffeeshop where the icecold and windy street greeted them. “So, going home..that's quite a big deal, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” he put his arm around her shoulder and held her tight to his side walking down the street, “yep..it's not that I want to, but I need to know..I need to know why they hate me so much..why they always treated me differently than my siblings” she sighed deeply, her warm breath mixing with the cold air formed a foggy cloud “it's not gonna be your average 'meet the parents' moment, I can tell you that much”. The despair in her voice was almost unbearable “I think it's real brave what you're doing” he squeezed her shoulder “so any tips on what aristocratic families do these days? Maybe I should get into golfing or cricket or something? I want to blend in because I don't think your parents will be expecting some long haired musician/actor as their son-in-law”. Her hiccuping burst of laughter wrapped a warm blanket around his heart “son-in-law? Uhm no, my parents certainly won't be expecting that, ohh wait, maybe we should tell them we're married, they'll go ballistic!” she kept on giggling. “And you? What do you think about marriage?” he blurted out, he needed to know, Harper stopped in her tracks all serious of a sudden “Marriage? Nothing but heartache and misery, I swore to myself a long time ago that I'll never be nobody's wife, I've never felt the need to be ayone's possession which is basically the definition of marriage, isn't it?”. 

Jared didn't know whether to hug her or be dissappointed, he'd never given marriage any thought but hearing her say the word, triggered something hidden deep inside of him, what would it be like to grow old with her? it definitely wouldn't be boring, on the contrary, it would be adventurous and very rock 'n roll, he could actually see his unborn children in her eyes, really beautiful kids if they looked like their mama. “Yeah, I guess it is..do you make any distinction though between marital possession and sexual possession?” he pulled her against his body with a very dirty grin, “now you're talking! I'll always submit to such an exquisitely skilled lover of your caliber, although I think you're holding back where I'm concerned, I think there's so much further you want to go where sex is concerned, don't you? Let's say that I'm convinced you're into something a whole lot more kinky than just spanking my ass” she wiggled her eyebrows. Why not push all my fuckin' buttons at once, you little minx? Dingdingdingding! “oh really? You're convinced, huh? Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out, so if I were you, I would get that sexy ass to our bedroom RIGHT NOW!” those last shouted words made her giggle “ohhhh goodieeee” she clapped her hands in delight, wasn't she just amazing? A girl that was so excited and looked forward so much to getting thrown and pushed around a room and a bed was an absolute keeper, his heart beat so hard in his throat and his groin ached behind the zipper of his trousers seeing her giggle and skip away from him, he quickly caught up with her breaking down in a fit of laughter when he saw her lose her balance on another strip of ice.

'Bang' went their erotic bubble the minute they set foot inside the hotel, “there you are! We've got a million interviews lined up, you should be glad someone around here remembers the PR” Shannon came stomping over to them. Harper hung her chin against her chest, she just couldn't get a break around here, could she? All she wanted was to get some much needed lovin' from her man, who had kept his distance last night too, bleeegghhhhhh, what did a girl have to do round here to get fucked senseless??. “Sorry, I have..” he scrunched up his nose, feeling absolutely guilty as he cupped her face, “it's ok..you have a job to do, I understand” she tried not to pout, “I'd love it if you came along” he tried to twist her arm. “You kiddin? Get out into that cold again? nope, na-ah, no sir, no way” she shook her head trying to keep it light and funny between them, “alright, why don't you go warm up the bed then, be back late afternoon, we'll have some time together before the show” he whispered. “I don't want to be a wet blanket, but..” Shannon moved closer trying to get their attention, Harper took a step back and mouthed a silent 'go, it's ok', “alright, alright, ok, lead the way Mr. PR-man” he growled at his brother as he reluctantly turned on his heels and followed Shannon out with a sigh, signing to her to keep in touch during his absence. Ok..what to do? More coffee? Ugh no, her blood pressure was through the roof more than enough already, go to a museum? Nope..out of the question she went out into that cold again, then what? Read a book! Yessss, perfect idea, she hadn't read ever since she got to Europe, Jared and her job here had absorbed most of her free time, curl up under the covers and get lost into another world, she asked her key and almost ran to the elevator.

Oh those dreadful interviews with their copy/paste questions, he hated how he had always thrown up a wall around his personal life in the past, because right now he wanted nothing more than just talk about her, then he wouldn't miss her as much, hold it, hold it, hold it, take a step back, you are not turning into one of those ugly codependent couples you hate so much! You are so not! Fuck it, yes I am, ok ignore and focus back on the question and the interviewer, hope it's better than those ugly glasses she's wearing. 'Beep', no, focus on the question, before they think you're an absolute asshole, oh sod it they already think that anyway, he dug his phone out of his pocket and kicked Shannon's leg to answer the next question, he had a mail to read and that was far more important right now.

From: HCDeRobiano

To: BJLCubbins

Subject: shock!

Jaylicious,

' A leg went over and she positioned herself, ligned up his dick with her entrance and slowly, ever so slowly she pushed down and impaled herself with a loud, blissful moan'

Uhm, what the fuck is this? So, I went online to get inspired for my next painting and I bumped on some real cool stuff on this site called 'Tumblr' and what do you know? I get these suggestions to also check some extra cool dude called Jared Leto, curious as I am, I check and..well, well, these girls are writing the hottest stuff with you in a very kinky main role. Are they ex- or current groupies of yours? Because they all seem to write from reality..and there's so many out there, I'm flooded by an exuberant amount of smut. Oh and then there was all these threads about what a jerk you are in bed too, they're calling you all sorts of horrible names..what is that all about? that sounded a whole lot more real from real groupies.

My eyes hurt from reading way too much stuff about you, why did I ever decide to get online?

Confused Coco

From: BJLCubbins

To: HCDeRobiano

Subject: Re: shock!

Babe,

Get offline, now! So you went 'there' huh? How do you think I feel reading all those stories about myself and their fantasies about my sex life..they make me look like some kind of pornstar in those fics, but they're 'just' fans ('just' is an ugly word, but they're my meal ticket, you know what I mean) I swear I've never touched or met any of them in real life, they're just stories, those stories on Tumblr come from the imagination of some very dirty minds :). That other stuff you're mentioning is a site full of slander I tried to shut down, but no matter how hard I try, those trolls just keep on popping up and haunting me, don't believe what's being said, please! Yes some of those things happened a long, long time ago, but never the way what they're saying, it's difficult to explain..

All you have to know is that I love you veryveryveryvery much, ok? You're the only one that matters!

Don't go running off again, just wait for me and we'll talk, all through the night if that is what it takes to believe me!

Your 'Jaylicious' (I like it, you're so original, where do you come up with these nicknames?)

WHAT??? slander?? but it actually happened? Of course it happened, what did he think she was? Retarded? Did he ever see that interview with Howard Stern she had just seen for the first time, where some sleazy pornstar talked about Jared's 'monster' that obviously had given her as much pleasure as it gave her? Of course he had, and he expected her to get offline the minute she found more info about his past in half an hour than she had gotten out of him in weeks? Put the phone down, just put it down and grab your book, relax, of course he had a past, she had one too, and she knew that he was no choirboy, that much had been obvious during each sexmarathon they had so far, but then why did she feel a little dirty right now? Don't be a hypocrite, come on, ok book, where was I? She browsed for a few seconds but then threw the book back on the nightstand, ok not able to focus, fine, TV then, she flicked through the channels like a maniac, ooohh some more 'Catfish' reruns then. 'Beep' the screen of her phone lit up, and she quickly grabbed it thinking it was Jared, 'Happy now? You destroyed everything, after everything I did for you, is this how you repay me? I'll never forgive you for this, I'm on my way to New York right now and I swear I'll have you and all your godawful paintings evicted in no time, so you won't have a 'home' to come back to'. Harper sat up in shock gasping for air, Sean..oh god no, her fingers trembled as she pressed down on his name and held the phone to her ear, pick up..voicemail, fuck! Text him back 'Sean, no I'm not happy, how can I be happy when the person I thought was my best friend tried to kill me, just because he feels rejected!? Have me evicted, fine by me, but don't touch my paintings, please, I'll beg if needs be, but please don't destroy them, they mean more to me than anything or anyone in this world, please Sean?' there, sent, with an aching heart and close to tears, for fuck's sakes Jay, will you just come back? I need you here, I need someone to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be alright. A tear found its' way down her cheek, followed by a whole lot more and she didn't even try and stop them, her heart nearly burst in her chest, she just wanted to be happy, just to lead a simple, uncomplicated life devoted to painting and creating, but that wasn't gonna happen soon, was it? Oh Jay, please, I need you so much right now..call him? No, he was working and she wasn't ready yet to show him just how silly she was being  at times, he'll be here, just let out all those stupid tears right now so he can hold you later without having to see what a mess she really was, no, no, her sadness was her own and nobody else’s business.

[1soos]

bonne nuit

genre: fluff, smut

type: one shot, photographer!au (though no photos are actually taken??) 

pairing: jungkook x female reader

warnings/things to look for: established relationship, brief mentions of misnaming (misnaming not done by reader or jungkook), hand job, ab play, reverse cowgirl, partially clothed sex, hair pulling (a lot of talk about hair in general), pussy slapping

length: 3.1k

summary: After a long day at work, you come home to relax.

Coming home has always been your favorite part of the day. The deconstruction of your office-self one piece of clothing at a time. The relief of stepping out of your heels right inside the door. The pure ecstasy of peeling a pair of control top pantyhose off your lower half before you even make it to your bedroom, followed quickly by your blouse and camisole, the deep xylophonic clicking of the zipper on the back of your skirt coming undone. Finally, reaching behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra to set your breasts free and being able to breathe deeply in a way that you haven’t since early in the morning.

You rub gently at the harsh red, indented lines that temporarily mar your skin from the pantyhose and the bra before finding one of Jungkook’s big white t-shirts to throw on. The neck of this one is so stretched out that it dips down below your collar bones. The peaks of your nipples apparent through the worn-thin fabric that falls down, down, down to just below the curve of your butt.

You slide your red, veiny feet into the absurdly fluffy house slippers that became necessary after starting this new job. The rubber grips on the bottom clack against the hardwood floors, that turns to muffled shuffling across the living room rug, and then back to noisy slaps against the kitchen tile. Jungkook isn’t home and you don’t feel like cooking, so you grab an apple from the bowl on the counter, the jar of peanut butter from the pantry, and a spoon from the utensil drawer and scoot your way to the couch in the living room, plopping down in front of the tv.

You take a bite from the apple and turn on Suits. A little Hyungsik after a long day is just what the doctor ordered.

Jungkook comes home to find you with one of your legs slung over the back of the couch, the other planted on the floor, spoonful of peanut butter in your mouth, and apple core held by the ends loosely in your hand.

“Hey babe,” he chuckles, “long day?” He takes the apple from you and tosses it into the waste basket.

You grunt around the spoon as he plays with your hair. You suck the spoon clean and set it on the coffee table. He tugs gently, and you sit up to make room for him to sit behind you, so he can properly get his hands in there. He twists and tugs, sending tingles of pleasure across your scalp. He gathers all of it in one hand and lifts it, blowing on your neck. If anyone else had their hands in your hair like this, you’d cut them off at the wrist and throw those hands into the river, but Jungkook is different, obviously. He’s the most tactile person you’ve ever dated. He loves touching you and being touched, skin to skin contact and warmth being his favorite. It was a huge change for you, but not necessarily unwelcome. He’d asked if it was all right before he touched any part of you for the first time, and any time after that when appropriate, and every time you were hesitant. However, you’d trusted Jungkook long before you loved him and there was just something about his hands especially when they were on you. They always feel like magic, like he knows exactly what your body needs from him and that’s sexy as hell.

He pulls on little sections at a time, giving you goosebumps down your arms and legs, making you melt back against him. His arms come up around you, enveloping you in warmth, hands resting on your stomach. He’s still in his work clothes, navy slacks and a long-sleeved button down. You fiddle with the buttons on his sleeves until they’re undone, and you can awkwardly cuff them up his forearms. You lazily trace over the exposed veins on his underarms and cherish the feeling of the breath from his comfortable sigh against your neck.

You lightly run your fingernails back and forth across his palm in the way you know he likes before taking it between both of yours and pressing. He groans in your ear at the pressure and you smile to yourself. It feels good to know that you make him feel good.

He slips the hand that isn’t between yours under your shirt, kneading the softness of your stomach. You’d completely forgotten about the show you’d been watching and that shitty guy at work who gets your name wrong on purpose and pretends like it’s “an honest mistake” and the man on the train that stood a little too close and totally leaned in to sniff you and acted like it was your fault when you told him to back off and the men and women who looked on and said nothing because creepy shit has been normalized especially on rush hour trains. All the badness and the discomfort you felt throughout the day blurs and puts itself away because right now you’re with Jungkook. The one person who doesn’t make you want to give up on humanity and go live your best hermit life in the mountains.

“Hey.”

You angle your head back against his shoulder, staring at his jawline and the soft, tanned, acne-scarred skin of his cheeks and wait for him to continue.

“I missed you today.” The words come out awkwardly, but that’s okay. You know it’s hard for him to say things like that, for him to verbalize vulnerable parts of himself even now with your back fitted up against his chest, but he knows you like it. Love it, really. You would even go so far as to say that you need that kind of emotional vulnerability from a partner, specifically Jungkook because you’re in this for the long haul and you hate guessing other people’s feelings when you’re so sure of yours. Your mind flits to the simple gold ring in a simple black box hidden in the back of your night stand waiting for you to decide on the right time to woman up and pop the question.

You stretch the short distance to his neck and press a kiss there. “I missed you, too.”

He smiles, the rounds of his cheek squeezing his eyes almost shut. The affection you feel for him is so sweet it almost makes you sick.

“How was work?” you ask, lips brushing against his neck because you barely moved, happy with the closeness, and thread your fingers through his

“It was okay. The intern called in sick, so I had to take back to back themed baby pictures. And, you know, the babies were great, and the parents were not. Typical stuff. You?”

You sigh. “John misnamed me again in front of the whole office and when I corrected him, again, he tried to gaslight me, but just made himself look like even more of a prick. Typical stuff,” you say, using his phrase. “But Sunmi said I did a good job on the quarterly reports, so there’s that.” Your manager was often the only point of contact at work that made you want to stay and work your way up the company ladder instead of finding work elsewhere and you suspect if she were John’s manager too, you wouldn’t have to constantly deal with his nonsense, or him, at all.

“John’s an asshole who wouldn’t know etiquette if it bit him on the dick.”

You laugh, which you know was his intention, and kiss him again quickly with an exclamatory smack of your lips. “So eloquent.”

He looks down at you. “That’s me.”

“That’s you.”

The kiss he gives you is sweet and slow like syrup. Lips moving firmly against each other lazily in a way that fits the comfortable bubble you’ve made around yourselves. You part your lips and he takes that as an invitation to trace his tongue along the thin, wet skin inside your mouth, dancing along your teeth and playing with your tongue and you let him because he’s so good. Good to you. Good for you. Good in general.

He moves his hand slowly up your torso, touching everywhere except your puckered nipples. This is how he asks, delicately and with his finger tips skating along the valley between your breasts.

You break the kiss, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and roll your butt against the front of his pants. The soft material of your underwear catching on the metal of his button. “Please.” It’s breathy and sensual like the atmosphere demands.

He circles his way around the mound of your breast and rubs at the nipple on top, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and first finger. He slides his other hand from your loose hold and you whine a little bit. You’re feeling soft and melty and you want to hold his hand. He squeezes your fingers and makes his way down to the band of your underwear. He plays with it, dipping under to tickle your soft hairs and back out to lightly snap the band against your sensitive skin.

You squirm, wetness gathering between your folds. “Kookie.”

“It’s okay, babe, I’ve got you.” He hoists you up on his stomach, maneuvering around you to rid himself of his pants and underwear. The way you’re positioned and the precarious balance it requires means you can’t see when he gets his dick out, but from the way he sighs with relief lets you know that he’s at least half hard and knowing that gives you ideas.

You tip to the side and roll off his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs and you would say sorry, but you’re taking off your underwear and eyeing his cock and trying to figure out the logistics of what you want to do to him, so you figure he’ll forgive you in a minute. You reach up to take off the t-shirt and he stops you.

“I like it on.” He blushes, and you smirk.

“Do you want to keep yours on too?” you ask. He’s already unbuttoning when he shakes his head.

You straddle his stomach when he’s divested of all clothing, ankles trapping his hands against the couch, wetness flush against his abs and you twitch your hips to give yourself a taste of what it’s like to rub against this particular part of his body. The taut bumps and ridges providing a foreign kind of friction that has you grinding trying to find more, every breath he takes teasing you.

You wrap your hand around the base of his cock to keep it up straight and use your other hand to play with the wetness at the head. You move the hand around his shaft and more precome beads out of his slit and he groans, the kind that comes from deep in his chest because you feel the vibrations against your clit and you want to make it happen again and again and again.

You work him over to full hardness until the head is red and shiny and Jungkook’s breath is rapid and shallow.

You run a nail up the sensitive underside and rub tight circles on the frenulum. “Right there, oh my god!” He’s breathless and panting and you love it. Love giving him so much that he starts talking; telling you how good you’re making it for him. You slide sloppily in the wet you’ve left on his abs.

It’s hot. So fucking hot. You let go of his cock and it bobs tightly, leaning against your stomach, once again you reach for the hem of the shirt. Up until now, Jungkook was content to let you have your way with him, leaving his hands pinned under your ankles, but at your move to rid yourself of his shirt, he yanks them out from under you, sliding you further down onto him and jostling his dick in the process. He grabs the back of the shirt and tugs.

You turn to look over your shoulder and are struck by how fucked out he looks already. Pink and sweaty with eyes blown dark and hair sticking out in all directions. He’s so beautiful it physically hurts you.

“Please keep it on.”

You reach back and circle the wrist of the hand that has the shirt hostage to let him know you’re here, because something wild in his eyes has you scrambling to stay grounded. “I’m not going to take it off, I just want to try something.”

Jungkook lets go of the shirt and you lift the front of it up, hooking it behind your head. He leans forward to free your trapped hair. He now has a full view of your back and ass and when you tilt your hips to touch your clit to his skin, he inhales sharply at the visual. His hands come up to your waist, massaging up and down your sides until his thumbs press into the small of your back and he takes control of your hips, pressing and rotating lightly, tortuously, and it’s not enough.

Your head falls back in part pleasure and part exasperation, the ends of your hairs tickling the both of you.

“I wanna—Can I—” You wiggle in his grip and loosely circle your hand around his cock trying to get your point across, but you’ve gone a little fuzzy around the edges; a haze of want. His hand travels up your spine and wraps in your hair and pulls, you moan, the sharpness clearing your head enough to grit out, “I wanna ride you.”

“Yeah,” he says, light and breathless.

“Yeah,” you parrot back with certainty.

Quickly his hands are off you and you lift up and shuffle forward until your hovering over his waiting cock which he holds erect for you, ready for you to sink down, so you do.

The slide is easy, the stretch aching and delicious like you like it, and, after working yourself down inch by glorious inch, so deep. The thick vein that runs along the bottom of his cock presses tightly against the bundle of nerves inside you and you’re almost afraid to move because you’re already overwhelmed.

You go slow, testing out the strength in your thighs and savoring the drag and the heavy, full feeling that comes with being on top, working yourself open and coating his dick so you’ll be comfortable enough to pick up the pace.

Your instinct is to lean forward and use your hands to give yourself more leverage, but you know it’s going to feel better if you lean back, so you do. Feeling around behind you for Jungkook’s solid chest, utterly unafraid of crushing him after a very serious talk about how much of everything either one of you could take physically and emotionally during sex.

You roll your hips experimenting with the angle and Jungkook tentatively thrusts up. Moving in time to the rise and fall of his chest, shaking already from holding yourself up. You think it might be time to recommit to the gym.

Sweat beads and drips down your body, palms slipping as Jungkook gets more urgent in his thrusts.

“Come down here,” he stops moving to help you lower yourself flat on your back without hurting either of you. He fans your hair out to the side so that it’s not caught between you and hooks his chin over your shoulder, mouth next to your ear. Everything is so much closer, tighter, hotter. It’s much the same position as when you were cuddling, but this time he’s thrusting up inside of you and you’re losing your mind from constant stimulation. His hands can get at you much easier in this position. One goes to your mound to stimulate centimeters from your clit and the other crosses both of your breasts, fitting you to him to move as one and your hands fly up to grab that arm just to have something to hold on to.

Neither of you are very talkative during sex. The idea hot whispered dirty talk was good in theory, but it always felt so stilted and strange coming out of your mouth and Jungkook already had trouble saying things when he wasn’t inside you. It takes you out of the moment and you’re so much more about focusing on your pleasure, fueled exponentially by the sounds Jungkook makes, deep, teeth gritting groans of encouragement and huffs of breath from exertion.

He turns his head to your neck and lays sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses there, teeth skating the edge between errant sensation and bruising. You’re tempted to tell him to go for it, to bite and suck and bruise, but it’s too hot to wear a scarf to work and you never did master the art of color correcting, so you content yourself with the scrape of his teeth on your pulse point.

His strokes have gotten longer like they do when he’s trying to last longer, the head of his dick hitting that spot inside you like that’s its mission in life, but it’s not enough. You move the hand on your pubic mound to your hard little nub and breath a sigh of relief when he starts rubbing furiously.

“Close,” he growls in your ear.

You’re not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but you nod and whimper when his finger tips leave you only to snap back down, the obscene wet sound of the slap making you tighten your core more than the actual feeling. He matches the smacks with his upward thrusts. Everything feels too tight, like you’re a rubber band being stretched to the point of breaking.

“Come on, baby. I’ve got you.”

Every muscle in you contracts, it’s almost painful, but such a release. His grip around you tightens as your violent pulsing turns to sporadic flutters. He mumbles a, “hold on—just—” in your shoulder. He stays in you until the last second before pulling out and coming hard on your swollen, wet pussy.

You both lie there, trying to catch your breaths, gulping air like it’s water.

“Love you,” you say.

“Love you.”

When you hold onto each other on your way to the bathroom to clean up, you wonder if now is the time to ask or if asking someone to marry you right after sex is unfair on a chemical level.

He turns on the shower, sticking his hand in to check the temperature before stepping in and making room for you. You wash each other gently, kissing each other slowly, too spent to do much of anything else.

You don’t know if you’ll ask him tonight, but you know you’ll do it soon because you want this with him for as long as possible.

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