#tales from under the blue blue sky ( drabbles )

[bluestringpuppeteer]

He hovered over Legato when the man woke up from sleeping on the couch. Blue eyes were aglow behind tinted glasses, the ribbons of his coat splayed over the living room floor as though he had simply grown forth from it. - They appeared almost too long, like blood red tendrils.

Somehow he seemed even taller than usual, almost malformedly so. Imposing, cutting a silhouette that was impossible to ignore, impossible to pass around. A blockade in and of himself. The blue moonlight passing through the window glinted off the Peacemaker at his hip.

A cool metal hand touched Legato's cheek, those vibrant blue's almost overflowing with pity.

And then his other hand came around to cup the psychic's face with both. It was a soft motion for such a terrible-looking figure - for the Diablo himself - and he leaned down. Far down until he was so close that Legato might see his own reflection in Vash's eyes.

Fingers abruptly dug into the skin of Legato's face.

"How could a human compare to me?" His voice was surprisingly, achingly, soft. // [Hallucination]

Legato has been tired, exhausted really, and napping on the couch has become commonplace for him quickly. He'd doze for minutes or hours and wake feeling just as tired as he had when he'd fallen asleep. Nothing touched the ache behind his eyes, nor the visions that swam past when he was unconscious.

Nightmares were not unfamiliar at least. He didn't usually wake screaming anymore.

Waking hallucinations were stranger, harder to spot, more likely to merge with the world around him in ways that made it difficult to pick them out.

When he wakes from yet another impromptu nap, he's startled to find Vash there, hovering over him like some specter. He's not awake enough, not aware enough, to pick out that he's seeing that which isn't there, even with all the oddities about him. All the things that were exaggerated and drawn out to make the usually kind and playful man seem... Other. Ominous. Alien and strange and terrifying.

"St-Stampede...?" Legato's gold eyes slowly grew wide and terrified as he was crowded back against the couch without Vash so much as moving. His gaze was drawn to the glint of the gun at his side, the weapon that would one day end his life. One bullet, that's all it took with a gun that size. He knew, his arm still tingled with the kick of it.

A soft, shuddering breath is pulled from him, Legato trying to shy away from the reaching hand but he can't move, can't resist the touch though he flinches. Pity, overwhelming and choking, the kind that would drown him in despair, flows over him. He wants to demand Vash leave, that he stop touching him, to stop, go away, no no no no-! Pinned between that soft, terrible gaze, the back of the couch, those careful, gentle hands, all he can do is stare wide eyed and shake. Instead of a demand for distance, all that makes it out of his throat is a small, terrified, whine.

He can see himself, mirrored in those blue, blue eyes. Blue hair vanishes into the depths of them, like Vash is absorbing him entirely. The image flickers, switches between himself and Him, that mad animal with violence and glee in his eye and a bloody hole in his head.

Those fingers tightened, squeezed his face hard enough to ache, hard enough to bruise, just like they would to remind him how he was less then them, less then dirt, how he was n o t h i n g.

And how could he? How could he compare to Vash, to a brother, to a Plant? Human and the lowest of low among them at that, the very definition of less then garbage. He deserved what he was: N o t h i n g.

Gold locked on blue, unable to move, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to do anything but feel the pain of the iron grip digging into his skin and jaw and hear the reverberating word over and over in his head. Hot tears spilled over his cheeks but did not so much as blur the image of the pitying Angel looking down to put him in the place he belonged, consuming him and burning him alive as he ought to be.

A cry rose in his throat and suddenly he was on the ground, tangled in red, strangling, being devoured-

Tangled in the blankets he'd wrapped himself in, fallen from the couch in a panicked flail. He curled into a ball and heaved great sobbing breathes, hiding his face and head while Vash's words reverberated in his skull.

'How could a human compare to me?'

A dream. Just a dream. It's not... He wouldn't...

Would he?

N o t h i n g.

[ayamago]

𝟎𝟒 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋

Pairing: Jinx x Gender-Neutral Reader

Summary: In a world where the mere thought of her absence felt like losing a piece of yourself, you remained by her side. You walked in her footsteps until your own seemed to fade, drawn in by her chaotic spirit yet troubled by the idea of losing her.

Back to 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 & 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒?

𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

Hi everyone, just a heads up, this was a drabble, so it might sound a bit choppy and all, but it was all in good fun. If I ever did write an Arcane story, I'd definitely go all out, but for now, enjoy this little piece.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐙𝐀𝐔𝐍, your legs dangled over the edge as your gaze stretched upward into the vast, cerulean expanse. The sky, paradoxically blue and melancholic, paints a somber backdrop to your solitude. Constellations, like fractured dreams, twinkle faintly, their stories etched in the cold darkness. The weight of your thoughts hangs heavy, pulling your head down even as you try to hold it high. Below, the world churns in shadows, but up here, you are alone with the silent whispers of the night, where the horizon seems both an end and a beginning.

Your mind drifts to thoughts of your old friend, a ghost from the past still buried deep within the trauma you carry. You remember her vividly—her striking blue hair that seemed to shimmer even in the dimmest light, and her piercing blue eyes that held both mischief and wisdom beyond her years. She was a whirlwind of energy, always a step ahead, yet somehow never leaving you behind. The nights spent whispering secrets under the stars, the laughter that echoed through the hidden corners of Zaun, all seemed like fragments of a distant dream now. The loss still stings, a dull ache that never quite fades, but up here, in the quiet embrace of the night, you allow yourself to remember. To reminisce about the friend who once colored your world in shades of blue.

Powder, that was her given name, fitting for a young girl whose fascination with tinkering led to explosive creations, even if they never worked as intended. She was a marvel in her own right, chaotic yet brilliant. But Powder ceased to exist after the Tragedy, giving rise to Jinx—a transformation that you struggled to fully embrace. You loved her deeply, having sacrificed much to remain at her side, but her evolution was as disorienting for you as it was for her. At times, doubts crept in about whether staying with her was the right choice. She was extraordinary, too good for this world, yet burdened unfairly by fate.

And her fears and worries only intensified in his presence. He ruled the Under City with all its darkness and allure, the very embodiment of malevolence. Yet, twisted as it was, he cared for Jinx in his own twisted way. You never trusted Silco; he was a corrupting influence who painted those who once cherished Powder as villains in her tale. Despite your efforts to steer her away from his influence, she was already lost to his sway. You knew this, yet you chose to stand by her. With a sigh, you shrugged, closing your eyes as the toxic winds of the city embraced you.

She ascended the stairs with a deliberate pace, drawing near to you while you remained oblivious to her approaching like a phantom. Her love for you ran deep, even if you couldn't fully grasp the intensity of her feelings. With her sister presumed dead and only Silco's words about it, you were now the sole anchor in her life, steadfast amidst the chaos and pain that threatened to overwhelm and break her.

She wrapped her arms around your neck, her fingers adorned with pink and blue nail polish catching your eye as you glanced down. You recognized her presence immediately, not just from the physical closeness but from the intimacy you shared. Feeling her embrace, you relaxed, allowing yourself a moment in her hold before she broke the silence with her words.

"Hey there, missed me, Toots?” She said, withdrawing her arms from around your neck and moving to sit beside you. Her blue eyes locked onto yours, waiting for your reply with an earnest and expectant expression.

As you gazed into her eternal blue eyes, you felt yourself drowning in an ocean of sadness.

How could you not miss her?

[white-poppie]

A little house with a picket fence

SYNOPSIS: This is the tale of how you and Nanami live your life in Kuantan, happily ever after. GENRE: FLUFF, drabble WARNINGS: none i think... A/N: I had the house in the movie Ponyo in mind when I wrote this. I am a ff writer i don't accept character deaths breh

"Kento?" you hum softly as his lips graze your temple. Your eyes flutter softly, palm resting on his toned, bare torso. The ring on your finger glimmering from the sunlight that falls through the curtains.

"Morning, sweetheart." he hums, his voice hoary like a sea breeze in the evening.

"Morning," you reply, watching him sit up and stretch, the muscles on his back flexing.

The atmosphere in this area is completely different from the city. There's no rush; instead, there is a collective idea of taking things slowly. Most locals prefer to ride bikes or walk to their destinations since everything is in close proximity to each other.

Nanami opted for a 9 to 5 job after retiring from his career of being a sorcerer at 30 and now weekends feel like actual weekends instead of him disappearing in the cold nights.

"Go freshen up, I'll make breakfast," he says softly and you smile, taking in the calm morning as you freshen up.

Perched gracefully upon the beachfront, your home exudes an aura of tranquillity that envelops you. The lofty ceilings of the house imbue the space with a sense of grandeur and spaciousness, while the glass windows offer an unobstructed view of the vast ocean before you. The windows are perpetually ajar, inviting the salty sea air to permeate the interior and infuse it with a refreshing vitality.

You walk into the kitchen, the faint smell of coffee hitting you as you settle on the kitchen counter table, looking at Nanami make eggs and toast with coffee, wearing his favourite blue apron and grey sweatpants.

"Phew, what a view in the morning." You chuckle and he shakes his head fondly while making the coffee. Nanami likes his coffee with little creamer, not too bitter, but enough to keep him awake after he spends his nights late reading those books you brought for him so fondly.

"Reminds me, I have to fix the fence after that rottweiler broke while smashing into, playing frisbee." He sighs and you chuckle saying, "it's a relief that no one was hurt."

You hum softly and eat the breakfast lovingly prepared by him, letting the flavours melt.After you have your brekfast. Kento walks out into the sun, standing on the porch as he takes in the view from your little house on the cliff. The tides lap at a distance from the beach as you get down from the natural second storey your house is on.

Your feet land on the same, you take a deep breath inhaling the sea breeze as you look over to him.

His eyes are closed, the small wrinkles on your husband’s face crinkling gorgeously under the sunlight. His long lashes fluttering against his cheek as the wind blows, ruffling his hair.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He says, without looking back.

You chuckle and take a step forward, interlacing your fingers through his hand that rests on his side. “I have, multiple in fact. I have so many pictures of this exact same scene.” Yet in never phases to mesmerise you, how pretty he is.

Kento smiles and tightens his hand around yours. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against your knuckles.

"I'll be honest, sometimes, I miss being a sorcerer." He mumbles and you look at him. "More like...I miss the familiarity in the unexpectedness that came with it."

You chuckle at his words and say, "So in other words you miss Gojo?"

He groans at your words and sighs, "Don't say his name you never know, he might just land up from the sky in a private jet."

You shudder at the thought of the lanky man jumping from the sky.

Nanami walks a few steps, following the shore, his hand in yours, as you walk along the beach.

"I adore it here." He whisper softly, sighing deeply as he tilts his head back slightly, the morning rays letting him have his golden hour.

“Me too,” you say, “though I wish we had more family members here.” You sigh and Kento look at you with a soft smile.

“We can always have one of our own.” He utters gently, looking at you as you crouch or pick yet another seashell from the beach.

“It’s a good idea.” You hum softly, as Nanami stands next you. Picking up a small shard of sea glass, you close an eye and look at Nanami through the yellow-ish tinted glass.

And he flashes you that smile of his. Effervescent. Reminding you just how lucky you are.

© white-poppie 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

— JUJUTSU KAISEN - Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi @buttercupspotify, @euphoricbi @ynjimenez

﹒ Taglist   (lmk in the comments in case you wanna be added and the link doesn't work!)

"Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!! [Synopsis: Read full synopsis HERE ... The year is 1759, London. Shakespeare’s new estate is set on fire by Reverend Francis Gastrell. History repeats itself, 250 years later when Luna Gastrell stands in turmoil due to her ancestry taking a sinister turn. A ploy of vengeance, illusions, betrayals, blooming romance and morally conflicting measures, and the cards lie in favour of none.]

I am a 16-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future!

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[slippinmickeys]

Happy Birthday to one of my favorite writers!! I hope it was a good one. If you’re still doing drabbles my one word prompt to you is “funfetti” because that is synonymous with birthday imo 🥳

Thank you so much!

Between them, William sleeps fitfully, his scrawny colt-like leg poking out of the covers and twitching into Scully’s ankle. He is almost as tall as she is. Mulder had moved a nightlight into the bedroom when the boy had come in at 2 am, complaining of a sore throat. In the weak light, Scully can see a sheen of fever-sweat over his brow. It’s almost time for Ibuprofen.

He’d shown no tell-tale signs of impending illness earlier in the day, was full of the boundless energy of 9, and had spent the morning holed up with Mulder in the garage tinkering with the old lawnmower. He’d asked for a triple-decker PB&J for lunch and then begged Scully to help him make funfetti cupcakes even though he still had grease under his fingernails. He’d somehow convinced Mulder to let him eat four. If anything she’d have guessed an upset stomach, but here they are with what is likely strep.

From William’s other side Mulder sighs in his sleep, shifting on the narrow bit of mattress not taken over by his son. A moment later, Scully hears the same gentle sigh from William. Then it’s a sniff, then a cough, and then a feeble “Mom?”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She reaches out to feel his forehead, then the soft, taut skin of his back. The fever is still there, but low grade. “It’s time for Ibuprofen,” she says softly, unable to keep herself from sliding her hand up his back to finger the ducktail of hair at the base of his skull.

“Okay,” the boy says. He’s old enough to take pills but still prefers the cherry stuff.

“I’ll get it,” Mulder rumbles, and slides out of bed, coming back a minute later holding the little cup. He clicks on his bedside light then throws a tee shirt over the top of it when Will squints uncomfortably at the brightness.

In the hazy, muted light, the boy sits up and throws back the medicine.

“I have Little League tomorrow.”

Scully glances at the clock. 5:45. He has Little League today.

“I’ll call your coach,” she says, already cataloging the other things she needs to do: schedule an appointment with the pediatrician, call the school, see if Barr can take her 9:00 am autopsy.

“But we’re playing the Blue Jays,” the boy whines. “They need my bat.” His last word is cut off by a short burst of coughing.

“It’s still spring ball, bud,” Mulder says gently. “You guys aren’t going to miss the playoffs if you miss one game.”

“They'll lose without me,” he says sullenly.

The boy is probably right, but arguing the statistical probability of a win or loss of the Farr’s Corner U-10 Tigers without William Mulder’s bat is not something she’s willing to get into before 6:00 am.

“You need to try to get some more sleep,” she says.

The boy settles back into the pillows unhappily.

Mulder turns off the light and pulls on the tee shirt that was covering it and Scully thinks about the bulb-warmed fabric sliding over his skin.

He comes around to her side of the bed and squeezes her elbow with a smile and then shuffles down the dusty hallway toward the kitchen.

Beside her, William turns over and sighs into her arm, his body going gradually limp with sleep. The clock beside her flicks another minute higher, then another.

She smells the warm tang of coffee and the boy beside her shifts and the sky turns the barest pink and the Earth spins, spins, spins.

[bitbybitwrites]

7, 7, and 7 for the prompt game with klaine, of course!

7. bookstore!au+ 7. childhood friends + 7. "you had no idea, did you?"

***

OK, sooooo again, not a drabble ( I might just throw that part of the game out bc so far I can't seem to keep to it! 😂) But here are 802 words for you, @little-escapist!

****

Kurt shyly held the slim, gorgeously wrapped box towards Blaine.

“I’m sorry if it’s too late.  I saw the lights on, and I wanted to give you this before your big opening day tomorrow.”

Blaine carefully moved a stack of Illustrated Grimm’s Fairy Tales further down the counter so he had room to open the package.  He looked around the chaos of the bookstore. Most of the shelves were filled, but there was still so much to finish before the night was over for him. Such was the price of owning your own business. Anderson’s Corner (hopefully) would be worth it after all the long, exhausting nights he spent getting ready for the grand opening.

Blaine shook his head as he carefully tore away the paper covering the gift.  “Kurt, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Um, consider it - hopefully a good luck gift?”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispered as he carefully lifted the lid of the box and saw what was inside.  “You . . you kept it?  All this time?”

Kurt smiled as Blaine lifted the well-worn, dog-eared copy of The Little Prince out of the box.

“All this time, Blaine,” Kurt said.  He averted his eyes and focused on the counter beneath his fingers.  “After you moved away and we lost touch, I would read it every night before bed.  I would take it everywhere with me.  For years.  I even slept with it under my pillow, if you’d believe it.”

“I do.” Blaine said softly, a sad smile on his face.  He clutched the book tightly to his chest, hoping maybe if he did, he could calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“During those really bad, dark days in high school, it would be with me in my backpack, tucked in between my other books,” Kurt said.  “It was like you were there with me, giving me courage when I needed it. Through all the locker shoves, the dumpster tosses.  The horrible names, the times I felt so invisible.  You were there.  Tucked in the pages of that book - you were there, reminding me of tea parties in the playhouse in my backyard, sleepovers in the treehouse at yours, summer picnics, building sandcastles on the beach, all those happy times.  It helped me get through a lot.”

“Kurt . .” Blaine’s heart ached as he thought about it - all those years they missed, all that time apart.

“Maybe it’ll be a good luck charm or something.  Keep it by the register.” Kurt smiled and shrugged sheepishly.

“Thank you so much,” Blaine said, staring at the book.

“To forget a friend is sad.  Not everyone has a friend.  And if I forget him, I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested I anything but figures.” Kurt closes his eyes as he quotes the book from memory.

“Chapter 4.”

Kurt nodded and smiled.  “Yes, chapter 4.” 

“I never forgot you, Kurt,” Blaine confessed as he moved out from behind the counter, gently laying the book down upon it. “Every night since the move, I’d look up at the sky, missing you, and I’d count the stars and wonder if you were looking up at the same stars too.”

“I probably was. I never forgot you, either, Blaine.” Kurt murmured.

“When I was in the hospital. .  when I didn’t have a window to stargaze through, I’d close my eyes and dream of you.  I wondered how you were, if you were happy - what you looked like - if I’d ever see you again.” Blaine told him.

Blaine reached out and gently cupped Kurt’s face with his hand.  He smiled as he stared back into those beautiful blue eyes.  “And then, years later, there you were.  You walked right into my shop, and suddenly I had my best friend back, and that boy I fell in love with was suddenly a man that I fell head over heels for all over again.”

Kurt’s eyes shone with unshed tears.  It couldn’t be true. 

“Blaine . .” he gasped.

“You had no idea, did you?”

Kurt shook his head.  “Do you really mean it?”

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.” Blaine took another step closer and wound his free arm around Kurt’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Chapter 21.”

Blaine grinned. “Chapter 21,”

“And what does your heart see, Blaine?” Kurt whispered.

“You, Kurt,” Blaine told him as he leaned closer.  “Only you.”

As their lips met for the first time, Kurt melted into Blaine’s arms.  It was beautiful - everything he had dreamed and hoped for and more. And as befitting their locale, as the kiss deepened, a fleeting quote from one of Kurt’s favorite books crossed his mind:

“Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.” 

****

BTW the last quote there is from the book The Princess Bride by William Goldman. A favoritIe movie of mine as well - if you haven't seen it, what are you doing? Go watch it now!

If anyone else wants to play - AU+Trope+Prompt Game.

[intheorangebedroom]

Road Trippin’

Summary: you take a road trip along the west coast with your boyfriend.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.

Can be read as a stand-alone. This said, I respect you all far too much to try and make you believe this isn’t my two PTMY filthy puppies. Let’s say, for the sake of suspense, that it might be them OR it might be an AU in which they get a happy ending…

ETA (July 22nd 2023): Now that PTMY is complete, I can finally move that baby up to a brand new Drabbles section of its masterlist, because it's always been Frankie & Gabrielle, Gabrielle & Frankie 🧡

Rating: Explicit 🔞 Fluff and filth with a dash of angst because hey, it’s me 😏

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: @wildemaven here it is! Again, thank you so much for sharing your incredible talent with us, for this wonderful idea, and for showing me a different way 🧡 I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As in 99% of what I write, the story is titled after a song, another source of inspiration for me, here RHCP’s Road Trippin’.

Warning: contains some very self-indulging reference to a certain line of dialogue from TF…

Drabble: Road Trippin’

“Frankie, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out, your words immediately engulfed by the deafening noise of the waves crashing on the rocks below.

He nudges your shoulder, letting you know he heard you, and you chase the heat of his body, leaning against his arm and resting your head against the firm slope of his shoulder. The soft, cottony fabric of his hoodie caresses your cheek when you brush against it. You look up at him and it’s another vision that has your breath hitching in your chest. Locks of luscious brown curls perk out from under the hood of his sweater, swept soft and tempting by the ocean breeze over the landscape of his sharp profile .

Your heart leaps out of your rib cage and you quickly return your gaze to the tumult of the ocean. You don’t think you can withstand so much beauty.

“The weather could be better,” he says about the thin drizzle that surrounds you like misty drapes, but you shake your head no.

The subtle pink and blue pastels of his sweater stand out under the overcast sky, the pearl gray clouds highlighting the colours of the nature that surrounds you. Shadows play across the surface of the ocean, deepening its many shades of green, the soft slopes of the mountains evocative of the curves of a sleeping figure draped in emerald velvet.

“Oh no, this is perfect. Everything is perfect,” you murmur, breathing in his scent, woody and musky, with a faint, clean note of your laundry detergent. He smells like home.

Frankie smiles at the clouds, and his swelling heart feels cramped in his chest. He doesn’t think he can withstand so much happiness.

The large, white wagon you’re traveling with is parked behind you, where you screamed at Frankie to stop just before driving over Bixby Bridge. You got so caught up in the scenery you forgot your camera on the passenger seat.

You had always wanted to see Big Sur, and the trip had moved up to the top of your bucket list since you’d come to America. You had told him about this life-long dream of yours in passing, but of course, he had remembered.

And the idea had slowly taken root in his mind as you kept asking him for tales of his childhood and the place where he grew up.

One evening back in January, he had come home from work to find you sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, fiddling with a bottle of British lager, weary and defeated by a particularly rough day of icy cold weather and dealing with unpleasant customers.

The tired but sincere smile you had greeted him with had swept away the last of his doubts, and he had presented you with a half formed plan: flying to San Diego, and road tripping up north along the coast to Monterey. Perhaps even to Yosemite, if you’d like to.

You' ha'd risen up from your chair and jumped up and down excitedly like a kid who’s been told they’re going to Disneyland, and his face brightened up with a dimpled smile, which prompted you to sit on his lap, wrapping yourself around his body and pecking his pretty face with so many kisses he couldn’t open his eyes, his broad shoulders shaking with a breathy chuckle.

You’d agreed to travel in April, to avoid the crushing heat of Southern California, and the two of you had started drawing lists of everything you wanted to see.

Later that night, as you lied in bed naked, tucked in against his warm body with your legs intertwined, you’d ask him, encouraged by the friendly obscurity.

“Will it be ok, for you, Frankie? Going back there?”

He’d kissed the crown of your head, breathing in your scent briefly, before offering a reassuring answer. When in truth, he had no idea how he would feel about it. He hadn't set foot in San Diego, or even California for that matter, since he’d moved to Brooklyn with his sister after their mother’s passing, some twenty-three years ago.

And in the end, it had been just fine. Better, actually, than anything he could have hoped it to be. Seeing you walking these distantly familiar streets, the same ones he had spent hours exploring on his bike as a wandering child, had rewritten the narrative of this past life. Just like you’d done with his time in the army, just like you’d done with his scars, the tangible ones, and the ones only you and him could see.

You wanted a real adventure, you’d said, as real as they come in movies and postcards, camp out in the wild, sleep under the tent, snap a million pictures with your dented Rolleiflex, forget about the GPS and use a roadmap instead, because you were pretty good with these, you’d said. And sure enough, you were. He had had some reservations about the camping part, given how long you spent under the shower every morning, but you’d surprised him with your ability to clean up and get ready in under five minutes in gas station bathrooms.

And with his skills for organisation, a happy occupational hazard of sorts, the road trip was going as smoothly as possible.

Your enthusiasm and candid wonderment were like a drug to him, there was nothing you’d wish he could deny you.

When you’d ask to make a detour to visit Hearst’s castle, he’d immediately agreed. The excitement lit up your eyes as you buoyantly told him of the many tales you’d read about the place. Hearst himself, Marion Davies, Louise Brooks, Buster Keaton, Greta Garbo, Dolores Del Rio, the feud with Orson Welles about Citizen Kane, down to The White Stripes’ Union Forever.

You’d smile at him apologetically for being the most annoying Wikipedia page, but he’d cupped your sweet mug in his large hands and nuzzled your nose, telling you this was the best trip he’d ever been on, after the one you’d taken the previous year in Paris.

“I missed the ocean so much,” you sigh, wrapping both arms around his.

“We don’t live far, we definitely could go more often.”

“Could we fly to Coney Island?” you ask excitedly, tilting your head up.

His laughter rumbles over the waves as he answers, “Right! I can land the chopper on top of the Wonder Wheel, how’s that?”

You push him gently, with a quiet giggle. You know he’s joking but you’re pretty sure he’d try to do it if you kept pressing…

“Did you go often, back when you lived in Paris?” he asks after a pause.

“Any chance I would get. I usually went to Normandie to see the cliffs, by the Channel. It’s my favourite place, it’s really gorgeous. I could spend hours looking at the tide, just get lost in the waves, it’s just so soothing, watching something that existed long before you and that will remain long after you’re gone. Like I could get in the water and drift away, and everything would be fine. But it’s nothing like here. Here is much more… I don’t know, gentle?”

The way you express yourself in sensations triggers something warm within him. He untangles his arm from yours and positions you in front of him, encircling your waist and leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Tomorrow we’ll have a swim, if the weather’s better.”

His warm breath fans the soft hair on your nape and heat flares up in your lower belly. You don’t doubt for a second that this was precisely his intention.

“Did you swim very often, when you lived here?” you ask, and he can hear the arousal in your wavering voice.

“Yea, all the time. I’d ride my bike to the beach and swim for hours. Like you said, the water makes everything better. I would get a thrill swimming as far as I could, until I was exhausted, until I wasn’t sure if I could make it back. But everything would be fine.”

You shiver between his arms at the shared experience and he tightens his hold around you. The two of you get lost in each other’s silence, in the foreign memory of forgotten loneliness.

“That explains the shoulders,” you finally say.

“What’s with the shoulders?” he asks, and his husky tone confirms the mood has shifted.

“You know what’s with the shoulders, Morales. But I’ll show you tonight, anyway.”

—

The night air is cool outside the tent, but inside it’s humid and hot. The blanket scrapes your knees where they rub on it in your swaying movement on top of him, as you try to work in his length, your splayed fingers digging into the plane of his solid chest just like you like it, but it’s useless, Frankie’s restless underneath you, roaming his hands all over your body, cupping your breasts and kneading them greedily, then down to the swell of your ass where he grabs a handful of your flesh and uses it to press you further down on him, but you’re slippery with sweat and he grunts in frustration until you tell him, winded by exertion, “What do you want, baby?”

“Fuck,” he groans, tilting his head back onto the bunched up duvet, and oh god, his neck, his gorgeous neck, the view sends a new wave of slick rushing down your walls, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine,” you say, “just take what you need, Frankie baby.”

He sits up and flips you on your back before you can even finish your sentence, and the air is punched out of your lungs when you hit the floor with a muffled thud.

Oh it is fine, you think, as you downright salivate at the sight of his sweaty chest, his golden skin gleaming in the yellow hue from the camping lamp, his dampened locks glued to his forehead and curling around his ears.

He takes hold of your ankles and places them on his shoulders, and you brace yourself on the blanket, knowing what’s to come. Frankie kisses your calf and as he lines himself up, you see how his eyes have gone completely dark, his pupils blown wide with lust and need.

He drives into you suddenly, to the hilt, and you clench your eyes and trash your head back with a hissed “shit”, but he grinds further in, swirling his hips against your ass, rearranging you for him, and for a brief second you recoil, you don’t think you can make it.

He leans down over you, pushing your knees into your chest, folding you in half. Your frowned brow halts his grinding, but the thought remains, he can’t shake it off. He wants to anchor you to his body, fuck his love into you, care for you and pleasure you in all the ways he knows how until you never feel the need to drift away ever again.

Comprehension strikes you when you open your eyes and look at his face. “I’m here, Frankie, I’m here with you, not going anywhere, baby,” you coo, running your thumb over the crease between his brow.

Frankie lets out a deep breath, lets his shoulders sag, softly kisses your palm, and pulls almost all the way out.

It’s passed. The storm has abated.

He leans back a bit, and you can breathe again, and when he resumes his moving, he rocks into you slowly, with shallow thrusts, giving you time to adjust.

You moan with the effort, you don’t think he’s ever been this thick or this hard, and when he places his hands on your forearms for leverage, you grip his back, using the hold to try and control his pacing.

“Alright baby, alright baby, come on now, you know you can take it.”

“It’s a lot, Frankie,” you whine.

“Yea? You’ve taken worse than that,” he smiles cockily and you answer with a soundless laugh because, yes, indeed, he’s made you take far worse than that.

He links your forearms over your belly, holding them with one hand, and brings his other one to your lips, prompting them to open. You take in his fingers, suck on them sloppily, with hunger, and he chuckles.

“That’s it, good girl. Look at you, so fucking filthy, of course you can take it.”

He starts rubbing fast circles on your clit and drives into you a little faster, a little harder.

“This okay, baby?” His voice is hoarse with restraint and you feel the tension shifting in your core as a new rush of slick pools down your folds.

“Tell me how it feels, baby, lemme hear your pretty voice.”

“It feels good, Frankie, fuck I- I’m so full, you feel good, you feel so good,” your voice is waning as your climax draws nearer, your belly pulled taut under your crossed wrists.

He’s pounding into you now, hard and fast and deep, his fingers a steady pressure across your bundle of nerves, and you watch as beads of sweat roll down his neck onto his chest, and you warn him, “Oh god I’m coming, Frankie, I’m coming.”

“I can feel it, baby, I can feel it.”

He presses down on your legs, his hips starting to stutter, but he keeps talking, talks you through it, and you let his voice swipe you and pull you under, let it take you over the edge as pleasure washes over you in violent waves.

The flutter of your cunt tips him over and he comes with a loud curse, and when you feel his body slump over yours, you shift under his weight and he pulls out all of a sudden.

Gently, he takes your limp legs off his shoulders, kisses your scraped knees better, and lowers them on the blanket. When you lift your head to look at him, he is kneeled between your spread thighs, watching his spend leaking out of your swollen folds, heaving, a tired smile curling his plush lips.

Your eyes meet, and he tells you, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fuck it back in.”

—

Tomorrow you will go swimming together in the ocean. He will gaze in amazement and reverence at your smiling eyes, mirroring the sea and the sky that saw him grow up. He will kiss the burn from the sun off your shoulders and you will lick the salt from the water off his neck. You will sit close to him in the white wagon, tracing the route on the map with your finger, to the north, to the east, to the west, or the south, it doesn’t really matter, because anywhere on earth, with him, will always be the best trip ever.

****

Bonus: some pictures Reader captured along the trip 🧡

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts

[starjunco]

It's a three-for-one drabble deal today, so I'm going to put them under a line to help not clog anyone's feed. We have...

Day 24: Anticipation -- Libertus Ostium, Tredd Furia, Pelna Khara, Crowe Altius, Nyx Ulric, Glauca

Day 25: “Shouldn’t You Be Happy?" -- Prompto Argentum, Noctis Lucis Caelum -- Parental fighting

Day 26: Free Falling -- Nyx Ulric -- Heights, explosions

*******



Day 24: Anticipation (Ao3)

“What do you mean ‘explode’?!” Libertus yelled over the comm.

“That’s what ‘engine overload’ means!” Tredd yelled back. “Explode!”

“This hunk of metal is too big to just fall from the sky,” Pelna said. “There has to be life pods -- shuttles -- drop ships -- something! Just give me a second…”

“60 seconds! Get away from the back of the--” Tredd’s line shrieked and died. Not a second later an explosion shook the ship -- not the big one, not yet, but it had to be starting.

“Fuck fuck fuck…okay, emergency pods! Third and sixth levels, either side!” Pelna instructed.

“Probably not happening, got a problem,” Nyx said, his comm half static.

“What kind of ‘problem’?!” Crowe demanded.

“I’ll catch up, don’t worry,” Nyx said.

He clicked off the comm. Before him, in the center a hold full of empty daemon cages, stood the armored figure of Glauca.

*******

Day 25: “Shouldn’t You Be Happy?" (Ao3)

Hey, this gala is boring. Wanna play Knight’s Tale?

Prompto stared at the bright phone from under the blankets of his bed.

Not right now, sorry. Not really in the mood.

He had told them he was tired, that he should just head to bed. Him leaving hadn’t solved the problem though.

It’s Solstice, shouldn’t you be happy?

A cabinet door slammed shut downstairs. Voices raised again, bickering back and forth.

Of course I’m happy. Got lots of cool stuff.

Prompto made himself smile, trying to convince himself. There was a loud crash downstairs then someone opened the outside door. The car started up a minute later.

“Who wouldn’t be?” He turned the phone off and tried to actually sleep.

*******

Day 26: Free Falling (Ao3)

Continued from Day 24.

------- Someone, Nyx thought, was whistling. Not the pleasant tune kind, but the long, annoying shriek kind.

Couldn’t people just let a guy sleep?

Ugh, and it was cold too. He reached for blankets and found none. His hand only found air. Air that felt like it was moving.

Nyx opened his eyes and stared up at a blue sky, at the very center of which was a large, cylindrical piece of metal that was being torn apart by blooms of fire.

Pieces of that metal were falling. Toward him.

He grabbed at his kukri and threw it instinctively to the side before a chunk twice his height barreled through where he had just been. The lack of impact, of either him or the debris confused him, until he looked toward where the debris was headed.

The ground. So small, yet growing oh so very quickly.

Oh…oh fuck…

Would warping even save him here? Sure they warped off buildings but usually that was measured in stories, not thousands of feet!

You can do this, Nyx told himself firmly. You’ll just need to time it right. The anchor has to stop before you warp…

[astraldoesart]

Inspired by posts on @glass-trash-bab

Some avian au headcanons / drabbles about the holidays.

Warnings: alcohol abuse, death, themes of grief, themes of abandonment

Avians, unlike normal birds, do not particularly migrate. Many of them, for that reason, tend to live in climates that make them most comfortable. There are some, like the albatross and mute swan, that return to their childhood homes if they had them. Most avians don't move far from home, either because they can't afford to or they are scared to. Mostly the former for those in high end, mostly human populated areas. Each ethnicity of avian, of course, acts different to one another. Has their own beliefs, traditions, and cultures.

Chase always spends the holidays with his kids, no exceptions. He makes up for not always seeing them and Stacy with gifts of all varieties and a lot of them too. He tries to make the holidays feel like magic to Sammy and Lizzy.

Jackie spends his holidays, most often, split between Chase's family, his own family, and Marvin's grave. Which he paid to reserve with a headstone, spending a lot of his money that he should've used to survive on it and needing to rely on Chase and Stacy for a period of time.

Anti, for a long time, refuses to accept Chase and Jackie's invitations of joining their respective families. He was used to spending the holidays alone and had no intention to change that. He felt that he was invading on family exclusive moments. So, instead, Anti would spend his holidays musing over what could've been if his family had not opted to abandon him.

--- Three Christmas Tales ---

Tale One: Cold Winter Comforts

Chase sat on a perch, staring out among the snowy sky with his wings curled around his body to maintain his warmth. The avian pressed a hand against his chest. Those blue eyes watching snow fall from the darkness of the night. It hadn't been the first time he just.. Needed space. Jackie had already come and gone, those black wings rising the vigilante into the night sky.

"Chase!"

The voice beckoned from the street, he could practically feel her eyes on his form. Up on the roof of her house in the expensive area. If Stacy hadn't been born into money, Chase was sure that the place would be almost impossible to have even gotten. Let alone maintain, especially as a couple that was split and lived separately. Chase let his wings spread out, standing and flying down the three story home. Chase landed with a gentle thud.

"Yes, what is it?" Chase questioned, looking towards Stacy from just across the yard now. The snow crunching under his talons.

".. Chase... Come inside. Its cold and the kids miss you." Stacy sighed, the sympathy ingrained in her voice.

Chase looked away from his ex-wife, frowning as he considered what this holiday marked. Marvin had been a dear friend to him but... He wasn't nearly as affected by the disappearance of the avian as Jackie was. Stacy closed the gap between the two, reaching and putting a hand on her ex-husband's shoulder, hoping to prompt the parakeet out of his thoughts.

"Marvin wouldn't want any of us mourning this long, he'd want you to move on." Stacy whispered, "So please. Come inside."

Chase let his wings fold at his back, looking at the blonde once more with his eyes watering. The tears at the verge of falling, when Stacy pulled him into a hug, they did. Chase's arms curled under her armpits to grip her back as he hid his face in her shoulder. Stacy's arms were around his neck, one hand holding his head gently as the avian sobbed and broke down in her arms. His body shuddering as wave after wave of longing and guilt slammed into Chase at full force. A gentle and quiet shushing sound leaving Stacy, whispering words of comfort.

Tale Two: Forget Me Not

Another Christmas. Another eve spent with his parents and sister, another day spent with Chase, Stacy, and their kids. The twins were ten today. Jackie frowned, standing above the grave. Empty but... He always hoped something would change about that. That the police would find something. Jackie wanted to laugh, that only spoke to how hopelessly naive the raven was. To believe that the cops ever even tried. Sure, he could fake it in front of his family and pretend he could in front of Chase and Stacy but.. Not now. In one hand, a bottle of whiskey, and in the other was some flowers. An assorted combination if white roses, black dahlias, and purple orchids. Marvin's favorite flowers. The white and black a combination that symbolized him and Jackie, the orchids one that symbolized Marvin by himself.

With a sigh, Jackie dropped the flowers at the tombstone before opening the bottle of whiskey. The avian brought the liquor to his mouth, gulping down almost a quarter of the bottle. Jackie sat down on the so called "grave", although it would always be empty, setting the bottle down at the tombstone before reaching forward. Jackie's fingers brushed against the engraved words.

Here lies Marvin Magnus. Loving boyfriend and friend of many, an inspiring avian with limitless talents.

Jackie closed his eyes, another sigh leaving his lips. "... Marv... " he whispered, taking another swig of whiskey. Jackie stared at the bottle, before standing with it in hand. Jackie had walked a ways away before the memories hit him so much harder. Jackie whipped around, throwing the half-full bottle. It shattered on impact with Marvin's grave.

"Fuck you!" The raven snapped, "I was happy! We were happy! And what the fuck did you do? You DIED!"

Jackie fell to his knees, letting out a scream of grief. It had been years yet the avian never moved on. Not like Chase had. No, Jackie refused. His anger and pain and grief bubbling over like it did every year. Jackie knew that come morning, he'd be hungover and would feel even worse. Including stumbling down to the cemetery, to clean it up. Only for it to be void of glass and flowers. Something Jackie always dismissed as a groundskeeper doing their job.

Tale Three: Life History

Anti was alone. It was always how these things ended up. For three years now, it had been Jackie and Chase spending the holidays together, or so Anti thought, and the albatross alone. Shacked up in his tiny apartment, staring out the window at the falling flakes. Anti was at that desk in front of his window in his bedroom. His wings limp and large, he laid his cheek against the sill, green eyes a light with a deep seeded lonliness.

The avian sighed, his memory plaguing him. Just like it did every year. He only ever had the faintest, mostly faded memory of his parents. An argument, Anti screaming at them with tears down his face. The albatross gritted his teeth, mind shifting to the years of silence and solitude that followed it. Anti stood, folding his wings at his back. The fabric of his shirt hung loose, the avian moving to the door to the balcony. Every home of all sorts that were made for avians had them.

"... Them." Anti huffed, swinging open the balcony doors and stepping onto it. Anti climbed onto the railing, spreading his wings. "... Screw them."

Anti took flight with one strong wingbeat, the tears falling. The snow falling from the sky was getting in his hair. Every wingbeat driving him forward, drying the tears with the cold and sharp wind of winter. Anti wanted to scream and cry into the snowy night sky but he didn't. Anti only flew away from that terrible one room apartment with the balcony he was sure was going to break off one day and the window that couldn't open due to rust.

The albatross landed with one final beat of his wings, in a tree that avians insisted on staying up to honor the day they all were properly "welcomed" into the city. It had been Anti's home as a young fledgling. Anti sat on a branch, sighing.

"... Screw them..."

Anti's voice was weak, almost pathetic. He felt pathetic at least. Anti never wanted his life to be like this.

[matchaelette]

GIF from pinterest

when days without each other feels like torture and none of you know what to do with yourselves

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, this drabble takes place after jungkook’s graduation ceremony in the military— which unfortunately, ash couldn’t attend. basically she didn't get to talk to kook once after he left. this gives us a sneak peek into ash’s life while kook’s away, she’s lowkey falling apart (as am I), ending with tales of our favorite boy. also, introducing sky, our girl’s best friend (mom?? I love her)

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: suggestive af, be responsible kids

word count: 3.5k

notes: two updates in less than ten days?? who is she??!! (can you tell i’m jobless?) however, I had quite a hard time writing this so?? enjoy??? :DD

it’s been more than a week since you’ve entered your apartment.

warm purple lights greet you when you step inside past the main door but the silence is mocking. the house is empty. there’s no music blasting from the speakers, no melodic humming coming from the kitchen, none of the usual jungkook noises that welcome you when you come home on your last legs. the house seems empty even with you in it.

you remove your sneakers and tread softly on the floor wearing just your white socks. with weary steps, you make your way to the living room, collapsing on the couch. a yawn escapes your lips, resonating through the apartment.

exhaustion grips you with its hands of death, but you know that you won’t be able to sleep tonight. for the longest time, you’ve been immersing yourself in work, using it as an excuse to avoid sleeping. But the truth was you couldn’t fall asleep even if you wanted to.

you’ve had trouble sleeping ever since your boyfriend’s departure from the military. the situation has gotten out of hand now, to the point where even sleeping pills were effectless, making you listless and dull.

you stretch out your limbs on the couch. your gaze drifts towards the windows, the barren branches of the trees swaying with the wind, fine works done by the end of the winter. spring should’ve been here by now but there was no sign of it. yet the walls of your shared apartment kept you warm, the memories built inside kept you contended, comfortable, and whole, away from all the bad things in the world. winter may have done its art on the world outside, but there was no entering this home built on the foundations of love.

so long as you can keep the chilliness from patterning into vines inside of your heart.

you couldn’t. now you’re hungry, sleepless, drained, and all alone.

the silence was pervasive. you couldn’t bear it anymore. that’s why you flew to busan at the end of last week, spending a few days at jungkook’s parents’ house. for a brief period, you magically forgot about your misery under the care of mrs. jeon. jungkook’s mother enveloped you in love, the same way jungkook always does, pampering you like a delicate blossom that was just beginning to bloom. you expected you’d be reminded of jungkook there, more than ever, being in the room of his teenage self, surrounded by things that were a part of his life before you were. but it was the complete opposite. it was a therapeutic experience.

you couldn’t step away from your work for a long time, so you took an early leave, and have been spending the last few days at your best friend, sky’s place. you couldn’t bear coming back home.

you love it here, you really do. but everything reminds you of jungkook in this place.

bunny plushies, marvel figurines, oversized t-shirts, balenciaga boots, his gaming equipment scattered on the tv tray, his pink toothbrush beside your baby blue one, sparkly hair clips you used to tie his long locks with— he was everywhere, everything bore traces of him. you couldn’t look at the kitchen without seeing him humming there with his carrot aprons on, you couldn’t do your laundry without feeling his smell on your clothes. jungkook left like the last remains of winter, leaving everything barren and cold behind, and every bit of it felt like an ongoing nightmare you were struggling to wake up from.

with a resigned sigh, you reluctantly rise from the couch and make your way to the walk-in closet. you had meticulously packed every single one of jungkook’s favorite, worn-out sweatshirts before he departed for the military, but knowing how much you love to wear his clothes, he sneakily left a few here and there for you to sleep in. you also remember him wearing a lot of new shirts before he left. when you asked him what was up, he said he wanted you to have as many things as possible with his smell on. it’ll feel like i’m right there, he said.

you pull out one of those shirts now and find yourself embracing it. an involuntary smile forms on your lips when you smell him, peaches and baby soap. you know, it does feel like you’re right here.

you know you won’t sleep tonight. but you think you can bring yourself to take a shower, wear his clothes, and spend the night watching the stars from your balcony.

the sound of a beep diverts your attention from your thoughts to your phone. you pull it out of your pocket— one new notification— it was from sky, your best friend.

sky: you left your typewriter at my apartment

sky: laptop*

you: straight from the tortured poet’s department?

you: you gotta be kidding me.

you: I need it!!

sky: no you don’t.

sky: go to sleep.

you: I NEED IT!!

sky: no you don’t.

sky: go to sleep.

you: this could go on for a while.

sky: how about we grab coffee tomorrow?

sky: i’ll bring the laptop then

you: seeing me for a few days in a row?

you: will you be okay?

sky: i’ll survive.

sky: 12 pm sharp. at blind spot.

sky: see ya

you: okay

you: if I manage to stay alive

sky: when I said go to sleep, I didn’t mean the permanent sleep

sky: how dare you seen zone me.

sky: your laptop is on the mercy of my hands

sky: k goodnight

you smell peach and baby soap the moment you step into the hallway from the elevator.

you come to a staggering halt.

sky bumps into you, and you hear her say something you couldn’t quite decipher. you find yourself frozen in the place, unable to think or blink. the smell, it overwhelms you completely, luring you into a trance like the sweet flute of the pied piper. it can’t possibly be what you’re thinking, right? jungkook is currently serving in the military, and he still had to complete two entire weeks before he would be allowed to contact any of his friends or family. there is no way he can be here right now, not when it’s almost midnight, not when he’s probably under strict supervision about sixty kilometers away from here.

but yet— you instinctively close your eyes and inhale like a person deprived of breath— the overwhelming aroma of the smell you’re way too familiar with, the scent where you created a hearth, of peaches and baby soap, the unmistakable presence of jeon jungkook, was doing everything in its power to convince you otherwise.

how deep in the pit of delusions are you that you’re physically smelling him when he isn’t present here? when he hasn’t been present here for a while? at this point, jungkook needs to contact you just for the sake of keeping your sanity intact.

“ash?”, you stumble forward, breaking out of your daze as a concerned sky nudges you. “you alright?”

you shake your head in disbelief, mock laughter coming out of your mouth. “I think I am going crazy”.

“what in the world just happened?”

“I— I thought I smelled something.”

“smelled something?”, your best friend looks confused, “like rotten onions?”

“why—”, you gape at her, “why the heck would I smell rotten onions?”

“I don’t know!”, sky raises her arms in the air, “what else could you smell that makes you all teary in a second?!”

you falter. slowly, you bring up your hands to your eyes and realize that they indeed, are brimming with tears.

“i’m crying?”, you look dumbfounded, “oh, i’m crying”

“well, almost”, sky scoffs and wipes your eyes with her sweater paws, “what the hell did you smell if it’s not onions?”

“it’s stupid”, you laugh dejectedly.

“hon’, look here. nothing, and I mean nothing, can make me convinced that you are not stupid, so you might as well say and be done with it.”

you give her a halfhearted glare. “for a moment, I thought I smelled jungkook”, you say quietly.

sky’s expression suddenly goes blank.

“you can laugh”, you sigh, “it’s stupid, I know. i’m smelling things in my mind now. how pathetic am I?”

“you’re not pathetic”, sky smiles at you softly, “you miss him a lot, don’t you?”

you smile wistfully. inhaling in the lingering scent of your boyfriend one last time, you firmly push it out of your head. “he’d absolutely hate it if he knew I’m crying my eyes out for him every night. I don’t know when I became so emotionally dependent on him. I don’t know when my life started revolving around him. I feel like I am overreacting but I really am losing it every day. and I— I—”, you fail to continue.

“oh please. your life never revolved around jungkook. you can say anything but you can’t feel bad for missing him! fuck, they— they took your boyfriend away for eighteen months! you’re allowed to have little to no communication, you don’t know how he’s doing there, they’re probably working him to his limits every day— there’s no way in hell you’re overreacting, let alone feel bad for it.”

“I couldn’t even attend his graduation ceremony.”

“oh yeah, i’ve been meaning to ask— why didn’t you go to the ceremony?”

“schedules got mixed up. I was in the states. the ceremony was held earlier than it was supposed to.”

“shit. talk about bad luck”, sky grimaces, “how can you still feel bad after that?”

“i’ll be fine if I could just talk to him for a minute”, you close your eyes, “just hear him say that he’s okay, even if it’s a lie.”

“how much would you pay me if I could make that dream come true?”

“huh?”, your eyes flutter open at that.

“I don’t know! I could drag him out somehow if you promise cash”, sky grins foolishly.

“you and your stupid jokes”, you smile and walk in front of your apartment door. balancing the handful of shopping bags on your forearms, you type the door code successfully without dropping anything.

initially, sky and you were just supposed to grab coffee together. she was just supposed to return your laptop over that. but somehow coffee ended up turning into lunch, and then subsequently dinner, ending with an impromptu shopping spree where both of you, by the way, did not go crazy and out of control.

hence, the shopping bags.

you were quite surprised when sky asked if she could stay over at yours for the night. perhaps ‘asking’ would be a strong word- she basically invited herself over. it came as a surprise because she was one of those introverted people who’d come up with the most elaborate excuses just to remain in the comfort of their own home and avoid social interactions, even if it was their best friend. being friends for almost six years, sky didn’t need to make any excuses now when it came to you. she could easily tell you that she didn’t want to talk or meet up because “your incessant quacking” tired her out and, you couldn’t care less and show up in her house unannounced regardless.

it was weird when she was the one who wanted to stay over. particularly after the whole weekend, you spent at her place.

but you were more than glad, partly because you missed hanging out with your best friend, partly because you dreaded facing another night of overwhelming loneliness.

“okay, forget cash, forget about me. I say, we fix you.”

“and how exactly do we do that?”, you raise an eyebrow.

“take a day off. take a bubble bath. drink tea, or champagne, whichever one suits you. buy yourself some flowers, maybe a vibrator since jungkook isn’t her—”

“oh my god”, you groan. sky nudges your door impatiently and it opens with a beep.

the same aroma overtakes your senses once again when the door opens, but this time you make an effort not to be swayed by it. jungkook is not here. you losing your mind over that wouldn’t help. you can go back to being yourself, the pathetic mess, from tomorrow night. tonight, you enjoy life with your best friend.

the darkness, however, makes you frown. “huh, weird. I always keep the lights on when I go out.”

you stumble in the dark, muscle memory easily locating the light switches and turning it on.

and for the second time tonight, your entire world stops.

not even five feet away from you, jeon jungkook was standing in the middle of the living room.

i’m seeing things, i’m losing my mind, you take a sharp breath, and close your eyes, this will go away when I open my eyes. i’m not crazy. i’m not crazy. i’m not cra— I don’t want it to go away when I open my eyes.

several seconds pass before you open your eyes. and when you do, your face distorts in pain.

jeon jungkook remains in the same spot you saw him in, an unreadable expression on his face. the last time you saw him, he had close to no hair. now, standing in the middle of the living room, he resembles the same jungkook you once fell in love with, yet wildly different. his cropped hair still as untamed as ever, he looks much bigger, buffer and stronger than you’ve ever seen him. he is clad in gray sweatpants and one of his black oversized sweatshirts, which you realize no longer seems quite oversized; hands occupied with a large bouquet of blue irises, wrapped with cobalt blue satin ribbon, your favorite.

“s—sky? I think I am hallucinating”. your voice is barely audible— dry, indistinct. the shopping bags in your hands drop on the floor with a thud.

“I don’t think you’re hallucinating, ash”, she replies back softly, gently patting your shoulders.

a strangled sound leaves your throat.

before you know it, you’re staggering toward jungkook unceremoniously, crashing into him with bruising force. jungkook catches you. he snatches your waist and lifts you up in the air effortlessly, spinning you around with a choked laugh. you bury your face in his neck and feel him do the same, wrap your legs around his waist, and feel him clutching onto you with the same desperation.

none of you could talk.

“ookay, my part is done”. after several minutes, sky clears her throat and breaks the silence, winking at jungkook when he lifts his face up from your neck, “i’ll leave now. don’t do anything I wouldn’t do kids.”

jungkook smiles and mouths a ‘bye’ at her. sky closes the main door as she takes her leave, leaving the two of you alone in your apartment.

when jungkook planned this surprise, he imagined sunlight. he imagined being a child again, standing in front of the christmas tree in the morning, the sunlight casting an iridescent glow on the colorful boxes of unknown delight. he imagined happy, two parted lovers meeting after a long time— just as it is now.

he never thought it would feel like this.

tears flooding down his cheeks, jungkook felt unrelenting pain, feeling both your anguish and his merging into a torrent of melancholy. all this time, he was yearning for your love, missing you, worrying about you, without fully realizing the extent of your suffering. now holding you close in his embrace, vulnerable and almost heartbroken, all jungkook felt was dread. he had to leave the day after tomorrow. how in the world would he survive the second wave of breathlessness? the suffocating nausea he felt every time he was away from you, every time you cried? his delicate little butterfly —how would he live without you?

how would he live knowing you’re suffering just as much as him? for him?

“b— babe?”, he manages to choke out.

you whimper in response, struggling to form coherent thoughts between crying and hiccupping. you still aren’t sure if this is a dream. if it is, you never want to wake up again.

eyes brimming with tears, jungkook presses tender kisses on your neck and walks the both of you towards the bedroom. he carefully climbs onto the bed with you clinging onto him like a leach, trying to set you down gently. but you are unwilling to let go, even if it’s for a millisecond. you pull him down with you, causing both of you to tumble on the soft surface of the bed, entangled with each other.

jungkook presses down, not a single inch of space left between you. you free your hands from over jungkook’s neck to lift his face, palms framing his cheeks. your face is so intimately close to his that you can see the scar on his cheek, the mole under his lips, the hundreds of lashes framing his dark orbs that have literal sunlight trapped in them. you brush his hair, not only transfixed by the sheer beauty of your man but also carefully observing if he’s hurt anywhere.

he is mesmerized by you, following your every move.

“jungkook”, your voice is awfully quiet when you finally speak.

“i’m here.”

“jungkook?”, you whimper, “you’re— you’re—”

“right here. i’m here. i’m yours.”

“touch me. please.”

five years later, and jungkook still looks at you the same way he did when he met you for the first time. it has been more than two years since you two moved in together, and he still acts like a lovesick puppy around you, still feels like he’s a teenager with a massive crush on you, one that will eventually explode him in bits.

jungkook is a puppet on a string and you’re the puppeteer.

wordlessly, jungkook hooks his arms under your waist and crashes his lips against yours.

he kisses you with bruising force, hands sneakily playing with the waistband of your underwear. he steals your breath, making you devoid of any air, but this is the first time in months you feel like you’re actually breathing. his mouth works its way down from your lips to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue.

your hands roam freely upon the expanse of his back and even in this clouded haze, you realize that he is much broader than before. jungkook settles himself between your legs, pressing his lower body against your core, your delicious moans driving him to the edge of insanity. his lips are on your mouth, on your neck, on your chest— you didn’t even notice when he ripped off your shirt.

he’s everywhere. crawling inside your body, blazing a crest on your soul.

“kook, please.”

he pushes your jeans down, calloused hands making their way inside your underwear. jungkook pauses for a second to guide your legs around his waist, before dipping his teasing fingers in your wetness. protective. possessive.

“you’re so—”, jungkook takes your lower lips between his when you groan with mad pleasure.

“you say ‘wet’ and we’re done here.”

“—beautiful. you’re so fucking beautiful”. both of you burst into giggles, tear-stained faces worshipping each other.

and after months, the house finally roars into life with joy and contentment tonight.

you tell jungkook everything. you tell him how you’ve been overworking to keep him out of your mind, how much your appetite has lessened these days, how hard sleeping has been for you lately. you tell him about how you stuffed the family hello kitty inside your closet cause you couldn’t bear to see it anymore, how much you miss the other boys, how you’ve spent your last week at his mom’s. you don’t hide anything. you know all it would do was worry him but you don’t hold back anything.

in return, jungkook cradled you in his arms and told you about himself. he told you how he was (very much expected) putting his everything into the training sessions every day, how he accidentally hurt his heels again, in the exact same place he got stitches before the love yourself concert in london, how he’s been working more carefully now after you appeared in his dreams that night and threatened to shave his eyebrows off if he wasn’t cautious. he told you about the new friends he made, about jin and jimin’s antics, how they miss you just as much as you do.

you both talk all night.

“so, you asked sky to take me out?”, you muse after a while, “I was wondering why she was being so nice.”

“I was supposed to arrive in the evening. the plan was to decorate the whole house, buy something for you, and cook something so we could have dinner together. but the traffic was so bad— I got here only thirty minutes before you did. I just managed to get some flowers.”

“you’re crazy”, you scoff, “you’re here. that’s more than enough.”

“I wanna stay like this forever”. jungkook tightened his arms around your waist, nestling his face in your hair. finally, the bed tonight, wasn’t empty. it was just like it was meant to be.

“hmm, let me see, we have the entire day tomorrow and the morning after that. think you can fit forever in that?”

“I don’t think even forever with you would ever be enough for me.”

[captaincryolicious]

Eternally Yours

➳ Kazuha, Albedo, Childe, Aether, Scaramouche (separately) x gn!reader

➳ Drabbles ; 1.9k

➳ Fluff ; No warnings

How they promise you forever. [O2.O7.2O21]

content under the cut | masterlist

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Being with him is like being caressed by a breeze most gentle. Following this, Kazuha would prefer seeking the freedom of the winds that traverse over the ocean, so the promise between you two can be carried over the horizon and beyond were it will find eternity.

➳ ; On a small island far away from human civilization, you stood next to your beloved samurai. The wind blew over the sea softly, just like Kazuha had hoped for when he brought you there. Today wasn't necessarily warm, and both your hair and clothes were a little damp from a drizzly rain that had fallen from the sky on your way to the island, but neither of you were really bothered by it.

After all, today it was exactly a year ago that the wind brought the two of you together. It was a special day, regardless of what mother nature threw at you.

There was an old rowboat in front of you, the slippery wood mostly covered in moss after lying on a deserted island for God knew how long. Kazuha sat next to the forgotten vessel, crouched down and fully immersed in his job. You sat next to him, watching how the blunt and rusty knife in his hand worked through the wood to spell out each letter of your name, next to where his name was already carved.

The idea of solidifying your love by carving your names somewhere in a quiet place had been his, but you were as excited about it as he was. It made you feel warm and happy.

He smiled softly upon finishing, brushing his fingers over the carvings to erase the curled wood shavings from where his knife etched your names.

"Let's set it free, so the wind can take our names into foreverness," he offered, and together you pushed the small rowboat into the sea.

It might be seen as something small and not significant by others, but to you it truly was a gesture that warmed your heart. Together, you watched how the waves carried the boat away, your hand securely in his. Even when it had long disappeared over the horizon, your gazes remained on the sea.

The rain ceased, the waves stilled, and the wind rustled your hair softly. Your promise had been heard.

───────── ·  ·  ·  · ❅

It would take Albedo a bit of time to fully grasp the true meaning of eternity, even more when eternity was a promise to the one he loves. However, he will try his best to come to understand it, and when he does, he is more than sure that he wants to make it a promise to you.

➳ ; The snowflakes fell down from the sky in a gentle flurry, leaving a thin layer of white powder on your shoulders and the top of your head. There was a time back in the days where you would have been shaking from the cold, but joining the Chief Alchemist on his countless expeditions to his camp in Dragonspine had helped you to get used to the subzero temperatures.

You loved the icy mountain, from the fairy tale scenery of pure white snow to the vast amount of mysteries that were waiting to be discovered. Even the cold was more than bearable for you, because just being with Albedo was enough to make you feel warm and fuzzy.

Maybe it also was because Dragonspine simply reminded you of him, ever since the day you met him in the Starglow Cavern.

You were just outside of his camp right now, gaze filled with fascination as you admired a faintly glowing flower that the alchemist had just created in front of you. It levitated right above his palm, and Albedo's calm blue eyes regarded you fondly as you marveled at his creation.

But then he suddenly snapped his fingers, and the petals fell apart in a burst of light.

"Regardless of the matter at hand, its value shouldn't derive from how long it stays with us," he calmly spoke, and both of you watched how small particles of light joined the gracious dance of falling snowflakes.

Then his eyes landed upon you once more, and a smile fell on his lips as he added, "but my love, I want us to be more than just a momentary burst. I want us to be forever."

As spellbound by the snow and the dazzling light as you were, Albedo's sweet words had you back in reality in an instant. Even in the frostbitten wildlands of the icy mountain, he managed to melt your heart. You wanted forever as much as he did, and you gently took his hand.

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Underneath the fearless and merciless mask that the Fatui are expected to put on, Childe would be a person who harbors quite a bit of sentiment. As much as he puts on the act of an easy guy most of the time, he would pour a lot of thoughts and feelings into moments that carry a meaning for him.

➳ ; You weren't expecting to be greeted by a sight so beautiful when Childe had led you out of Liyue Harbor on a free night. It was quite the uphill walk, but the cliff offered to you a view that was more than worth it.

Liyue was beautiful in the darkness of the forthcoming midnight. The city bathed in a warm hue, and the soft glow of lanterns set the surface of the sea to shimmer. When you looked up, thousands of stars embellishing the vast sapphire sky greeted you, while the crescent moon almost gave you a feeling of safety.

The harbinger often sought for these small moments of peace with you, because they helped him cope with the stress brought onto him by his work. Yet somehow, tonight felt different. There wasn't a trace of the usual tiredness that dimmed his mood, and he was rather giddy instead.

But it all made sense when he gently tugged you to lie down with him in the soft grass. He pointed up at the night sky, right when a shooting star traversed the darkness.

"Hey, you should make a wish," the male spoke, eyeing you from the side with a grin.

Before you could even come up with one, he told you how he wished for the two of you to be together forever. It made your heart swell with happiness, but you still jokingly chided him for saying his wish out loud.

Childe merely chuckled, a sound that held joy and mirth. He gently took your hand in his, telling you that he didn't want to keep his wish a secret from you. After all, you were the one he wanted to share forever with.

When another shooting star crossed the midnight sky, you too wished for a forever with him.

───────── ·  ·  ·  · ❅

Sweet, loyal and determined. That is what you would find in Aether as his lover. He will give it all when it comes to love, albeit subtly, for you are his home in the world he is not a part of. He might be quiet with words, but it are actions that speak the loudest.

➳ ; You had never thought that running through the lush greenfields while the sun was setting would make you feel so ecstatic. And yet, here you were, unable to stop the laugh bubbling from your throat as the soft evening breeze rustled your hair playfully.

Aether was running next to you, obviously enjoying the spontaneous burst of energy just as much. You didn't know why he had suddenly grabbed your hand a few minutes earlier, and you didn't understand why he shot you a grin and started running, but you were having the time of your life as you darted around the plains with your lover by your side.

There were flowers adorning the landscape, swaying softly in the wind. Even at the high velocity you were in, you admired them for the beauty they brought to the scenery. In the hecticity you often found while traveling and adventuring alongside your lover, a moment of serenity like this was a treasure.

Then he suddenly brought you to a halt by a gentle tug on your hand, and he offered you a smile before he glanced over the field you had halted in.

"Look," he said.

And upon following his request, you casted your gaze on your surroundings. You gasped in delight, as you found the two of you being surrounded by hundreds of what looked like tiny fluffy parachutes dancing on the breeze around you.

Dandelions.

Aether didn't speak, but the look in his eyes and the way he held your hand so delicately told you all you had to know. Dandelions carried one's wish over the wind, and your silent yet shared wish for a forever together soared up towards the twilight sky.

───────── ·  ·  ·  · ❅

Scaramouche is a man who rarely speaks words of appreciation, even to you, the one he loves. Not because he doesn't care about you, but merely because all sides of him that have some warmth left are buried deeply. So when words like these do fall off his lips, it's serious.

➳ ; He had to leave again. The Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers was needed somewhere in a far corner of Teyvat, traveling to a place you had never heard of before. How long would he be gone for? You had no idea, and neither did he.

You hated it, and your mood was sullen as he opened the front door of your shared house to make his departure. Scaramouche wasn't a lover most kind and gentle, but that in no way changed the way you loved him, and of course you would miss him like crazy while he was gone – and you knew the same went for him.

He gathered the small amount of luggage he would take with him and ushered it outside, and you prepared for another goodbye that was as cold as the icy lands of Snezhnaya.

But right when the door was about to shut, he hesitated, and the door remained agape. The male waited a moment, before he put down his luggage and his violet eyes flitted to you.

"Being a Harbinger isn't forever," he told you, pausing for a moment before adding, "but we are, right? I'll be back before you know it."

You couldn't help the way your eyes widened at the words you were expecting from him the least. Did the cold harbinger just promise you a together forever? Despite the fact that he was leaving in a few minutes, a wave of warmth and happiness surged through your body, and you smiled.

Scaramouche huffed, grabbing his luggage and turning away from you. But you saw it, you saw the little smile and it made your heart skip a beat in delight. Sadly the man had already walked away from the door, but you would wait for him and kindly remind him of these words when he returned.

[sichengtual]

strawberry sunscreen — w. kh

— prompt: ‘‘i’m happy to be here with you’‘ from this prompt list.

— pairing: wong kunhang x reader

— genre: fluff; established relationship, surfer!kunhang.

— word count: 1,086 (1k)

— warnings: mentions of swimming in the ocean.

— song: strawberry sunscreen; lostboycrow.

— a/n: happy birthday to my sunshine! 💞 this is a small peek into the surfer!au i'm building for a jaehyun fic! 😼drabble requests are open for exo, nct and victon using the linked prompt list!

Sometimes, and especially in the early mornings, the waves are calm.

Sometimes, before the sun is up, you can look down into the water and see your face reflected upon it, like a kind of still portrait. It’s a bit dark, void of sunlight, but it stares right back up at you from the depths of the water. It’s magical, a complete scene, a face amidst an endless sea of stars. If you stare long enough you can almost see them blending together, with the stars losing their shine as the sun begins to rise and the light comes to reflect upon the water.

Sometimes, just like right now, the ocean makes itself a home for you. Sometimes, just like right now, you and your lover can simply set yourselves free, allowing your bodies to rest upon the boards as the slow, calm rhythm of the waves moves you in the beat of the most beautiful song. Sometimes, just like right now, life is more of a snapshot than a moving picture.

Sometimes, just like right now.

“Ah, I told you the coffee was gonna kick in sooner or later,” Kunhang says, turning to look at you. He runs a hand through his hair, pink strands rising as he touches them. “There’s nothing better than a sunrise surf, anyways.”

“Only because it’s your birthday,” you respond, feeling the water beneath you stir as he paddles closer to you. “Otherwise I’d be in bed, warm under the covers, getting my morning cuddles.”

“Okay, yeah,” he lets out a laugh. His knee clashes with yours, and you set your palms flat against the board as Kunhang’s fingers begin to trace up your thigh. “I have to admit, the morning cuddles might top a sunrise surf in the list of things I’d do until the end of time. Tough decision, though. Really had to think about it for a moment.”

You smile. “Yeah, I’m sure it was, with how easy it was for you to leave the bed this morning.”

“Well, when else am I gonna get you to come here with me at the rise of dawn?” He asks, an amused tone painting over his words. “At least today I had the birthday bribe in my favor.”

The laugh in your chest comes out just as he catches one of your hands in his, bringing it up to his lips to place a delicate kiss upon your knuckles. Little droplets of water fall from the strings of the colorful bracelets adorning his wrist, falling upon the waxed surface of his board.

In moments just like this one, with the sky painted the palest shade of blue you’ve ever seen and a soft breeze hitting your skin, you think you finally know what life is about.

There’s the scent of Kunhang’s strawberry sunscreen mixing in with the salt from the sea and the vague grape smell of the boards’ wax, all fresh and sweet when they reach your nose. There’s the coolness of the water enveloping your legs and the warmth of Kunhang’s skin against yours, almost but setting your skin on fire if not only for the relief of the moving water. There’s the sound of the waves breaking against the shore and Kunhang’s peaceful breathing, occasionally interrupted either by a tale of the previous day's events or some mumbled fragment of a song, and you can’t help but think they’re all just part of the same melody. One that starts with the sound of Kunhang’s voice and ends with a ring of loud laughter, of a summer day’s thrill and a warm hug’s comfort.

He’s in all of it, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what life is about. Him. Him and you, together. Love.

“Any minute now,” he says, still not quite separating your hand from his lips. His words fall upon the back of it like the ghost of a kiss, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’ll see — it’s magical, baby.”

You turn to look at him, and you believe him. You move your hand, caressing his skin until it cups his cheek, and he smiles when your thumb grazes upon a rising blush. Sometimes (or more like every single time he’s reminded you’re not some beautiful mirage), he really can’t believe his luck. He’s not sure he ever will, but the adrenaline rush he feels every time he looks at you tells him he doesn’t have to as long as he has you.

“I know it might have sounded like I was kidding, but I’m really happy you’re here with me,” he says. His voice is softer than before, barely louder than a whisper against the breeze. “You’re my entire world.”

For a moment, a breath gets caught in your throat. The sky’s getting a little lighter, and a golden ray of sunshine falls upon Kunhang’s face, and you’re completely sure the boy in front of you is the purest form of art in himself.

“I’m happy to be here with you,” you respond. “I’m so lucky I get to share this with you, because you’re my entire world, too.”

Your voice, too, is no louder than a whisper. But he hears it. And he smiles.

“Look! Love, look around!” He calls, and you look away from his face. “I’d say it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen if I hadn’t already seen you.”

All around you, the light reflects upon the water and, even if just for a moment, turns it into liquid gold. You wonder if this moment is what legends had been made of, with the warmth of the ocean and the warmth in your heart, and you can’t help but feel that, even if just for a moment, you’re a part of it all. You’re shining, too.

You don’t catch the exact moment in which Kunhang begins to move, and you don’t really feel the coolness of the water enveloping you whole as he dives into the golden waves with you in his arms. You both rise to the top and you let the sunlight shine over your faces, but the warmth of his touch is much greater than anything the sun could ever offer. He kisses your lips, and the kiss tastes like espresso and saltwater and feels like a strike of lightning.

Sometimes, and especially in the early mornings, all you feel is him. Sometimes, and especially in the early mornings, being with him feels like coming home.

“God, this is the best birthday ever!”

[bluestringpuppeteer]

It's a lovely, hot, summer day. The birds are singing, bugs are chirping, the waves crash against the beach down the cliff. Little white clouds scoot through the sky and the sun is bright and merciless as it beams down into the garden in the backyard of Legato, Knives, and Badou's home.

Legato notices none of this.

He sits in his coat, settled in the green grass under the shade of a small tree, next to the pond with his fish and a quietly babbling stream from the filter.

None of it absorbs, none of it makes it past the white haze that has settled over his senses. Shrouded golden eyes are focused on the object in his hands, fingers idly playing over the brushed metal as voices float through his mind.

Twelve voices, twelve faces, twelve coins.

He opens the case.

Twelve half coins sit nestled in the velvet lining. Connected by wiring, a circuit that's broken only by the halves that are missing. The whole thing is a lovely piece of work, precise and detailed and exactly what he'd wanted it to be. Legato traces a finger over the coins.

Monev the Gale had been first. He drew out the dangerous side of Vash, the side he called 'Diablo'. He had failed to kill the Plant, as had been expected, and had been punished for it with death, a death to be laid at the feet of the Humanoid Typhoon.

Legato felt nothing for Monev, not really, but he thinks about the man now anyway. A fighter, born and bred and trained for nothing more then murder, yet he still had a personality, he was himself in all things. He followed, for his part, but he was not overly loyal. Simply a tool.

Had he ever wished otherwise? Had he ever wanted another life? Legato doesn't know and he finds he doesn't like the not knowing. He's had too much time to think about what life he would have rather had and to pursue what he finds he wants to be here, in this other place away from the scorched sands of his homeworld. Did Monev ever wonder if there had been another life for him, somewhere?

Legato supposes he will never know.

E.G. The Mine had been next. Pathetic really, he had served his purpose in killing Monev and then had utterly and completely failed to make any sort of dent in Vash's composure. Legato is honestly not sure Vash even remembers the crude, brash, nasty man who hadn't even had time to make a move on him before being soundly pounded into the dirt.

Legato taps his finger on the half coin that was meant to be E.G.'s place and huffs a breath. Perhaps a man like that never cared whether there was another choice out there. Legato doesn't know what choices he had made that lead him to Knives' service, but he finds he can't really muster any care. He'd been a rabid dog and Legato had put him down like one once Vash had moved on.

His fingers hesitate over the third coin.

Dominique the Cyclops.

There is a pull in his chest when he thinks of her, like the one when he thinks of Midvalley, Elendira, and Livio. Dominique was neither insane nor was she particularly vicious, she was clever and watchful and keen. She was one of his better agents, one who he could trust delicate missions to. Not the most powerful but one to be relied upon.

He misses her, how steady she was, how well she weathered the storms of being a part of the Gung-Ho Guns. She may not have had Elendira's power, but she made it very clear that she was not to be trifled with. As the only other member whose power was far more mental then physical, they had more in common then he had with most.

He remembers when he felt the thread he'd wound into her go still and silent and the faint disquiet he'd felt in the moment after. Just the tiniest flicker of something that might have grown into regret, had it the time and space to do so. It has that now. He wishes it didn't have to.

Every one of those three were dead. He knew it, he'd seen it, dead on his orders or at his hand, dead in order to bring pain to Vash the Stampede. The others likely were too, only he didn't know for sure (some he was refusing to think of yet), he had not yet witnessed them. These three he knew, these three he saw.

These three were the first. The beginning of the end.

There was a time when he had given this coin case to Vash as a game, a challenge, a tool to be used to drive him into despair and madness. Now... it will be a reminder to himself of what he is fighting not to be. It will be another part of his new path, for himself.

Nimble fingers snap the case closed and tuck it into an inner pocket of his coat. He has coins to collect.

[flowerwrites06]

the tale of agape I — jjk

World Info: There are eight types of Love originated from Ancient Greece. In the Realm of Love, these types have been turned into seven Gods and one Goddess. — Agape (universal): OC (Name: Belle) | Pragma (everlasting): Jungkook | Storge (familial): Yoongi | Mania (obsession): Seokjin | Philia (platonic): Namjoon | Eros (sexual passion): Taehyung | Philautia (self-love): Hoseok | Ludus (playful): Jimin

Plot: Agape is a well-loved Goddess in the Realm of Love. Anyone who wins her approval will become the most powerful entity in the land, standing side by side as a co-symbol of eternal Love. Unfortunately with knowledge of this power, Gods and Nymphs are prone to obsession and cunning. So Agapes’ de facto brother, Storge organises a tournament in her honour. Only the winner will become Agapes’ partner. 

Pairing(s): God!Jungkook x Goddess!OC (Name: Belle) ft. God!Seokjin 

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2.6k 

Genre: Gods & Goddesses | Fantasy | Romance 

Tags & Warnings: betrayal, nothing intense in this chapter but there will eventual smut and violence so 

Authors Note: i miss doing a jungkook series lmao so here you go, there were a lot of people during requests asking for a god/goddess au so I’m going on that with a new plot based on the eight types of love. I’m also extremely sleepy and ready to pass out, please excuse any mistakes. And lastly of course, enjoy and let me know what you think! Is this something you’d want me to continue or nah? 

Morning began with soft sunlight painting the Love Realm, making the Cherry Palace sandstone glow like a topaz gem. Yoongi, the God of Familial Love stood at the terrace with the God of Platonic Love, Namjoon. Their soft silk robes flowed in the cool breeze as they watched the chariots of red, gold and blue riding into the courtyard; each vehicle pulled by majestic stallions.

“Are you sure about this?” Namjoon asked, eyes gently squinted to adjust to the bright day. His flowing blonde hair looked almost white from the reflection of the sun.

Yoongi shook his head, heart shaped lips pursed. “I don’t like it as much as you do but this is the only way we can filter out the ones on our own accord.”

“Is Belle okay with this?”

“She likes tournaments. Chose the method herself.”

“Jousting?”

Yoongi hummed in agreement, unable to hide the smile spreading across his lips.

Namjoon chuckled. “Sometimes I think she just likes the knocking of heads.”

“Agape has a cheek to her.” Yoongi leaned forward on the balcony railing. All the heads padded out of their chariots, escorted by servants into the palace. Only one chariot hadn’t arrived yet.

“Seokjin is coming too?” Namjoons’ voice grew deep with slight contempt.

“I have to invite him. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You know how he gets, Yoongi.” Namjoon shifted to face him completely. “What if he gets out of control in this tournament?”

“I gave him my warning last time.” Yoongi raised a hand to calm him. “He knows what’ll happen.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“Oh I’ll keep him alive.”

Namjoon shook his head, laughing. “How do you make even that sound threatening?”

Yoongi grinned. “I made her my sister for a reason. No one hurts her on my account.”

“Understood.”

-

Refreshing wind brushed through the transparent crème curtains into Belles’ room as her lady-in-waiting fit her into a warm pink georgette dress for the first tournament. The tone matched her pink irises, making them look more otherworldly than ever.

Angel let out a satisfied sigh after fixing the train. “Lord Yoongi knows how to pick dresses.” She stood up straight and fixed the gold patchwork bordering the shoulder of the dress.

“He always chooses pink.” Belle observed herself in the silver rimmed mirror, tilting her head. Her curls fell over half her face.

“Well, you can’t wear red just yet.”

“Such a strange rule.”

“Apparently when Agape wears red, it’s only for the most auspicious occasions.” Angels’ voice turned airy as her face lit up with astonishment. Her passion for the Gods of Love was admirable and endearing without the added obsession of climbing the ladder. She respected the concept of love in its purest form. Belle needed more of that around her. “So it’s special that you wear it in specific times.”

“Will I wear it for my wedding?” A small thrill tingled through her belly mentioning her own wedding. Belle remembered all her dreams about being the splash of red amongst pink roses and falling peach blossoms in the Cherry Palace center garden.

Angel stared up at her, eyes glossed and face flushed with excitement. “It could be the most beautiful deep red dress that has a train all down the Realm.” She gestured out through the curtains.

“That’d be a bit hard to move around in.” Belle giggled as she shrugged off the pink dress until she was down to her white underdress. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Watch your left, Eros!” Laughter ensued from outside her room.

“You watch your footwork, Pragma!”

Hearing the Gods’ names being used as colloquial nicknames was a strange sound to Angel but it made Belle grin. She rushed forward through the transparent curtains to the sandstone balcony which looked over one of the smaller gardens. The ones with apple trees and the fountain.

“My lady, wait!” Angel whispered harshly.

The sleeve of Belles’ underdress slid off her shoulder but she barely thought to fix it. Angel quickly draped a silk robe over her body to keep her decent.

The two young Gods of Love, Pragma and Eros dueled each other like they were performing in a playful dance. Yoongi called Pragma by Jungkook and Eros by Taehyung. Both of them a true symbol of their role in the Realm.

Taehyung had beautiful deep tan skin, glowing like a bronze pearl and his sharpened eyes constantly brimmed with bliss over the things around him. He wore a loose silk shirt of yellow and white, half-opened to expose his soft chest while his dark brown curls fluffed and flowed like a gentle garden.

Jungkook was of milk tea skin, sweat on his neck and cheeks glistened, matting his raven hair to his forehead. His body was lithe and muscular adorned in a red and black shirt. The smile on his face had the perfect mix of mischief and pure joy. His feet moved like the genteel steps of a blossom dancer but his sword swings were the strength of a rock sentinel. Chuckles flowed from his lips at the sequence of movements, truly enjoying the activity instead of being full of anger and determination to win something.

Belle wanted to continue admiring him but a sense of her own mischief seeped through. The fountain centered this garden which the Gods did an amazing job to avoid in their flexible parries and attacks. When she noticed Jungkook nearing the fountain ready to avoid, she took a deep breath. “Having fun, my lords?!”

As expected, Jungkook lost his balance and toppled over to the fountain. His beautiful shirt splashed with water and his dampened hair from sweat completely soaked from the fountain flow. From up on the balcony, it looked like a Nymph was pouring water constantly on Jungkooks’ head.

Belle couldn’t help but laugh and Angel tried her best not to follow along.

Jungkook winced at his drenched self; almost a hint of anger on his face before he threw his head back and scoffed out a laugh.

Taehyung looked over to follow the sound and his expression softened when he recognized Belles’ face. “Agape,” he whispered with such a baritone voice that it even shocked Jungkook.

He tracked his gaze up to the sandstone balcony, decorated with pink roses and all-spice flowers. Jungkook raked his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so he could see her. Agape. The Goddess of Eternal Love. Beautiful brown curls and glowing skin against the warm sunlit sky. He couldn’t see it clearly from here but the hints of her pink irises twinkled. A smile tugged at his lips. “You got me, my lady.”

Belle smirked, leaning forward as her cheeks heated. “Be sure not to catch a cold, my lord. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the match.”

Jungkooks’ smile turned to a bright grin. “I’ll be as healthy as a God,” he mused before biting his bottom lip.

-

The day had come for Seokjins’ arrival. Mania: the God of Obsessive Love. This time Yoongi opted to see him personally in the council room. Kiku, the Earth Nymph Queen and his wife stood by his side despite her wish not to see this God again. In the last banquet, Seokjin had less than pleasant things to say to her and Yoongi was on the verge of announcing war. Thankfully Namjoon broke apart the fight, telling them to separate until they calm down.

Black robe train slithered across the white polished stone floor. When Yoongi remembered Seokjin, he saw a plump skinned charmer who saw the world as a trail of possibilities. Today he stood in front of a thinning man. “I thank you for welcoming me back after my horrible behaviour in the last banquet.” Seokjin spoke in his truest charm but it was changed. There was a darkness under his eyes now and his previously plump skin became sunken with age.

Yoongi attempted a smile. “It’s forgotten.”

Beetle black eyes flickered to Kiku with the same deathly sleep-deprived expression. “And Lady Earth, I offer my humblest apologies.”

Kiku nodded in response without a word. Yoongi knew it was her way to tolerating this visit without giving her true opinion.

“I’m happy to be part of this excitement.” Seokjin intertwined his long fingers together like a spiders legs uncurling.

“Both Eros and Pragma will be participating.”

“How wonderful!”

“Jimin will also be giving his famous stories as entertainment with Goddess Gaias’ illusions. I know you enjoy them.”

“My favorites are of ours.” Seokjin always had his way to maintaining the memory of their history. The two oldest Gods of Love. Family and Obsession building the Realm of Love from scratch. There was a twisted beauty about that fact.

“The servants will help you to your temporary chamber in the Palace.” Yoongi nodded to the three servants awaiting his order. “Make yourself at home.”

Seokjin bowed and turned his heel, quietly expecting the servants to scurry after him.

Yoongi glanced over at Kiku. Her entire body exuded a sense of concern and a hint of anger, green vines were twirling around her fingers to relieve her stress. He held onto her hand, her skin as soft as a cloud. A silent comfort to reassure her that it’ll all be well.

-

Thousands of people in the Realm of Love crowded on the wooden pavilions, waving their flags of rainbow colours representing their favourite jousters. Excitement thrummed in the air with that hint of curiosity. Who would the Goddess Agape stand next to at the end of the festival? Some of the members of the crowd were already deep into debate as to which fighter would be the most appropriate.

At the center and best view of the arena, three velvet lined seats were placed. Yoongi sat in the middle with Kiku on his left and Belle on his right. A step lower than the seats were the three non-performing gods, Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok, the God of Self-Love.

Once the crowd was organized and ready, Yoongi stood up. He didn’t need to move an inch before everyone delved into an attentive silence. “Welcome to our esteemed competition, good people. The rules are simple. You are to clash with your partners in a fair joust and the winner will provide a favor of their colour to the Goddess.” He gestured to Belle. “The one with the most favors will win the match.” Yoongi waved his hand. “Let the games begin.”

A wave of applause and cheer welcomed the first jousting match between Taehyung and an Earth Nymph. Their gold and silver armor glinted against the summer light. Another trail of pin-drop silence as the jousters had their lances ready. Belle kept her eyes on Eros as most of the crowd did. No one expected him to be much of a sportsman but his blooming friendship with Jungkook seemed to have influenced his new hobbies.

With a clap, the stallions galloped towards each other. In a pounding rise of suspense, they grew closer. Closer. Closer. Taehyung smashed the lance against the Earth Nymphs’ chest earning a wild applause.

He reached the other side and one of the servants gave him a white favor for his victory. Taehyung rode out to the platform where Belle sat. Keeping his half-lidded gaze, he kissed the favor and had it levitate towards the Goddess. “For you, my lady.”

Belle smiled and gently accepted the favor. She gave a short bow to acknowledge his gift.

Another series of matches continued on but what Belle truly waited for arrived around five matches later. She may have counted in her head until she saw the red flag matched with green.

Jungkook rode in his glinting obsidian armor and black stallion that had the most beautiful silver mane. He was a picture of magic. Lances at the ready, the crowd stills with anticipation. The Earth Nymph rides first and Jungkook follows suit a few seconds later. There were some murmurs that the God lost his focus in the midst of the match. They soon found out it was another reason altogether.

The sheer brute force of Jungkooks’ lance nearly cracked the Earth Nymphs’ armor and had them falling off their horse. Due to the leather straps, the Nymphs’ struggling body was still being dragged by the stallion while servants tried to get them to safety.

Belle stared at the fallen Nymph in worry, feeling a bit guilty for the sheer excitement brimming through her body at Jungkooks’ explosive victory. He brought a red favor. This time Belle stood up from her chair as the beautiful stallion closed in. Moving down the step platform with Namjoons’ help, she took a moment to caress the stallions’ head.

“For you, my lady.” Jungkook handed her the red favor.

Belle accepted it, feeling the warmth of his palm and the heat exuding from it. “My lord,” she muttered before turning on her heel. Perhaps it was too blatant of an action for her favoritism but she didn’t care.

Yoongi noticed the flushed pleasure on Belles’ face. He couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his lips and instinctively holding Kikus’ hand. A part of him remembered how the early thrills of a blossoming relationship felt like. The more Belle smiled, the more he felt grateful for this tournament.

Jungkook stayed still on the spot just watching Belle move back up to her platform. His body and soul grew too comfortable in her aura that it made him dizzy. When the Goddess sat down and faced him, he shook himself back to reality. Giving a quick bow, he rode back for the rest of the tournament.

***

Night fell into a deep blue blanket of sky and the remnants of thrill from the tournament celebrated with ale, dancing and pleasure. Jungkook had last seen Taehyung in a bedroom full of the most beautiful Nymphs and the smell of incense. With the look on his face, one could only imagine what was going on in there. He, however, was called to Seokjins’ chamber.

He knocked on the door four times and announced himself before Seokjin invited him in with a chirpy tone.

“Welcome, Jungkook!” Seokjin was about the only person other than Yoongi who could call him that. “I hope you had fun in the tournament.” He gestured for him to sit at the dining table.

“Sword fighting is more my favourite—” Jungkook relaxed on the chair, his tired muscles aching when it was finally resting. “—but I liked the favors idea.” He smiled.

“I’m sure you did.” Seokjin picked up an apple from the glass bowl and wiped it on his robe. “Keep going like this and our deal will go smoothly.”

His smile faded, fingers lightly tapping on the arm of his chair. “Do you think it’s fair? Sneaking up on the Goddess like this?”

“Don’t start getting a conscience now, my lord.” Seokjin chuckled. “When you were begging for your friends’ life, you said you’d kill the Goddess.”

Jungkook tasted something bitter on his tongue at the thought.

“Too bad that friend didn’t have your beautiful dedication to friendship.” He scrunched his nose. “Wind Nymphs, they’re a bit filmsy, aren’t they?”

Jungkook pressed his lips together, averting his gaze.

Seokjin let out a deep sigh, raising his palms. “Apologies.” The kindness of his gaze ended as soon as it started when he narrowed his gaze. The shadows cast under his eyes made him look more like a Demon than a God. “But we’re still on this deal, aren’t we?”

It wasn’t a request open for Jungkook to refuse. If he backed out of his deal then the price would be dire. Seokjin was an ancient God of Love like Yoongi. Entities like him could take a God or Nymphs’ powers, rotting their core soul into a Demon. An animalistic creature with no memory of their past self.

Jungkook was trapped the moment he thought of a deal with Seokjin. All he could do was nod and accept the betrayal he was going to perform.

next chap >>>

[licieoic]

“The Seventh Prince” - Digital Oil Painting

Inspired by Suptober, theme: Switch it up! I’m a major fairy tale nerd, so I decided to go for a “Wild Swans” AU where Castiel is the seventh prince, the one stuck with a swan’s wing for an arm, and Dean is his personal knight/protector. Have a drabble under the cut, because I’m obsessed...

Please see the pinned post at the top of my Tumblr for my links if you'd like to help support me in saving for a safe place to live!

Dean applauded along with the rest of the wedding guests as the young queen kissed the king. Now that she was finally able to speak, it had seemed only right to have a second wedding, one where she could do more than nod. He still didn’t fully understand the particulars of why she’d needed to keep silent for seven years as she’d worked to undo a spell set upon her seven brothers, but he figured he didn’t really need to know. Magic didn’t come with handy explanations, magic just was.

Movement to his left drew his attention away from the happy couple and he saw his charge, Prince Castiel, rising to leave the garden where the wedding had taken place. Bound to protect him, Dean followed as he always did.

“I’m not going far, you don’t have to come with me,” said the prince, his rough voice a bit softer than usual.

“Actually, I do,” said Dean, before adding with respect, “your highness.”

“Suit yourself, Sir Winchester.”

“Will you ever call me Dean?” It was a question he asked often. “I hear ‘Sir Winchester’ and I think you’re talking about my father.”

“Perhaps someday.” It was the answer the prince always gave, though he seemed more preoccupied that day.

Dean hadn’t been Castiel’s knight protector for very long, but he thought he knew what had him so upset. Eying the red shawl that was perpetually wrapped around the prince’s left arm from daybreak when Dean would join him to sundown when he would leave for bed, Castiel only possessed one good arm, which left him unable to join in the happy applause for his sister.

The knight stayed only steps behind Castiel as they mounted a tall hill overlooking the nearby forest. They would often end up going on walks in this manner. Whenever his mood would darken, Castiel would always withdraw from his family rather than burden them with his melancholy. But Dean saw it all. The troubled expressions, the heavy sighs, the longing looks toward the horizon. Normally, he wouldn’t say anything, it wasn’t his place, but his heart had gone out to the prince. He seemed so lonely, so isolated. If he had to endure punishment for overstepping his boundaries, so be it.

“Do you, uh…” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at the prince. “Is there anything you’d… like to, you know, talk about?”

Castiel flashed his vibrantly blue eyes at Dean and the knight tried to appear nonchalant, desperately hoping his face wasn’t turning red. It was painfully obvious that feelings and talking about them were not his forte, but he didn’t retract his offer. At first, Dean thought the prince might refuse or else ignore him entirely, but then he sighed.

“I was just thinking,” he said, looking back the way they’d come toward the wedding where the guests were beginning to move inside for the party. “This might be the last time all eight of us are together for a long while. Lucifer left pretty much as soon as the spell was broken, that was no surprise, but then Michael followed him soon after. Now Gabriel has been talking about leaving and seeing the world too. I have no doubt that the rest of my brothers will go at some point. And that leaves me. Here. Going nowhere.”

“You’ll always have the queen,” Dean pointed out.

“And I love her dearly,” said Castiel. “But she has her own family now, with two children who are terrified of me. Not that I can blame them.”

“Where would you go?”

Castiel shook his head. “I have no idea. But the desire is always there. The need to… just be free.” He lifted his head, casting his gaze over the tops of the trees where green met endless blue above. “I miss the sky.”

Dean blinked. “The sky?” Then the penny dropped. “You can’t fly.”

“Not anymore.”

Taking a step closer, Dean tentatively asked, “W-what’s it like?”

A small rare smile ghosted across Castiel’s lips and it was like a bit of sunshine peeking through the clouds. “Exhilarating. It was the only time I didn’t feel trapped in my own body. Swooping through the clouds, gliding on the wind like I was weightless, landing on water and floating like a ship, completely effortlessly.”

Dean’s heart was pounding just at the thought. “Sounds terrifying to me.”

Castiel chuckled and it felt like winning something. “I suppose it would.”

“Why couldn’t you go somewhere if you wanted to, like your brothers did? Just—not the sky.”

“And spread more rumors about the monster? I couldn’t.” He must have caught Dean’s expression because he added, “I know what’s said about me. It’s why I keep my distance from my family as much as possible. I don’t want them to be feared and whispered about as well.”

They were silent for a while. Castiel closed his eyes, lifting his face to the breeze. Dean kept his gaze on the prince, watching his dark hair play in the wind. He leaned his weight on one leg, his left hand going automatically to rest on the hilt of the dagger he always kept at his side. He could only imagine what Castiel was thinking, feeling so alone, essentially going from one cage to another, living in a body that was only mostly his.

“You’ll always have me,” he said, suddenly.

Castiel’s head snapped in his direction, his eyes wide, but then he scoffed. “That’s a nice thought—”

“I mean it,” Dean interrupted. “I want to stay. With you. I’ll always be by your side.”

The moment hung between them, heavy with things unsaid, though it was still far more than Dean had ever intended to say. He almost wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole, but then the prince would be alone and he’d just promised him he wouldn’t leave.

Slowly, but with far more dexterity than Dean would normally expect from someone with only one working hand, Castiel untied the knot of the sling wrapped around his left arm, then unwound the fabric and pulled it free.

All of Dean’s breath left him in a whoosh as the prince stretched out his wing, the feathers bright white in the afternoon sun, like the wing of an angel. It was so massive, even though they stood a few steps apart, Dean could swear he felt the tips brush his cheek as the wing extended past his head. It was softer than anything and left the knight with the crazy urge to bury his hands in it.

“Now do you understand?” Castiel asked. “Why I can never let anyone get too close?”

“It’s… beautiful,” blurted Dean, the first thought in his head tumbling out of his mouth like an idiot.

“Beautiful,” the prince repeated, his eyes dark as he lifted his face to look at the wing. “Sooner or later you would see it as I do. A curse. And you would ask to be assigned a new duty. One where you could forget about me.”

“I won’t,” said Dean, speaking quickly when Castiel opened his mouth to argue, “let me prove it to you.”

That seemed to bring the prince up short, making him pause in the act of folding his wing back down by his side. “How?”

“Let me stay with you.”

The wing settled, rippling elegantly. “For how long?”

Dean shrugged. “Well… as long as it takes.”

Castiel looked at him for a long moment and Dean wondered what he saw. Blue against green, like the sky meeting the forest.

“I’ll give you a year,” he said, at last. “If you remain by my side that long, I’ll believe you.”

“Only one year?” said Dean, giving him a teasing half-smile. “Why not seven?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to wait that long to claim you.”

It was Dean’s turn to be brought up short. “What?”

“And once mine, I won’t be able to let you go. Remember that.”

“Why? W-what would happen if I left then?” Was this more magic?

“It would kill me.” Castiel tilted his head in that maddening way he had. “Don’t you know?”

Dean shook his head. The prince closed the distance between them, reaching up with his right hand to touch Dean’s face. His thumb slid across the apple of his cheek as his fingers traced around the outside of his ear. Shivering, Dean resisted the urge to close his eyes.

“Swans mate for life… Dean.”

The knight’s stomach clenched involuntarily, hearing the prince use his given name for the first time. Swallowing thickly, he asked, “That a promise?”

Castiel’s deep blue eyes were stormy as he answered, “A warning.”

[illyaana]

Credits to @breakingpengui1 to the Tendou fanart! Do check them out, I stalked them for almost two hours- ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

Fantasy Collab by @bluebellhairpin

God I'm sorry it took so long TwT I wanted to make this really good so TwT (don't think I did it) Do check out the other works involved!! I am also thinking of making this a three-part series 'cause I have some ideas on this and I took way to long on this, so let me know if you want me to do it!!

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Like my writing? Do you want a drabble specifically made for you about your love life with a character of your choosing? Check out my 50 followers event over here!

Tags: Fantasy AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff, Angst, Royal! Y/N x Werewolf! Tendou

Word Count: 2611

There was a time when the world of the supernatural was one of peace and harmony.

Magia, the realm of magic and the supernatural being, was one filled with mysteries and beauty.

Plants would dance to the rhythm made by the woodland creatures. Fairies and elves would sing songs in praise of the wondrous views and people who nurtured the lands and made it the beauty it was today.

Mermaids and the life under the wide oceans and seas shared the riches of the water with those on land to make both worlds something to gaze upon.

Yet, it all changed when humans found something within them.

Greed and Pride - the recipe to the fall of Magia.

Now, the land of the supernatural isn’t like the ones stated in fairy tales and stories by the Grimm Brothers of Hans Christen Andersen.

It is one where sins are not shunned but encouraged.

Kings and queens interfere with the peace once built by the people to become one of villainy and devilish intentions - pillaging and conquering lands to become stronger and “better”.

The ones labelled “magical” or “not human” were either killed or hidden far away, never to be seen once again.

You were born into this - this world filled with anguish and pain.

You were born to be on the top of the food chain - to rule a twisted and dark country: Thelphs.

“Y/N, don’t writhe in pain. You are next-in-line for the throne - a simple wound like this should not make you fall.”

“Y/N, a leader never hides away from death - they face it and make it their weapon.”

“Hold your sword higher! You need the correct angle to slice through someone cleanly!”

“Do not taint the name of Thelphs, young one - death is not the thing you should be worried of but me.”

“If you don’t win, you are no longer my kin.”

Your father’s words rang in your head as you reached the land of Aldis - the land that never fell to the wants of humanity and shunned it.

Aldis protected the supernatural world. They were the ones who held onto the desire to make Magia what it was many, many years ago.

It was known for the beauty it held - the flowers were said to sing songs every day and every night and the mountains shook the ground once a month to say thank you to their valiant effort in protecting what the world of Magia should be.

And yet here you are; leading a line of men wielding swords and cannons aplenty to kill the very thing the world should be.

“Onward,” you shouted as you and your man marched down the stone roads of Aldis, “Fight, my people - fight for Thelphs, fight for your King!”

You pulled the sword sheathed in your belt and pointed towards the land before you. Soon, an uproar formed from the men behind you as you all marched towards the lines of houses.

You begged your humanity to hide as you wielded the weapon in your hand and slashed through hundreds of innocent people.

You begged your ears to close just for a few hours so that the screams of children could not enter as you pillaged their homes, reaping all their goods.

You felt the ground shake below you, trying its best to stop you from killing any more living things, yet you couldn’t.

A haze formed in front of your eyes, hiding all of your caring sides. You could only feel bloodlust - the need to slaughter and to feel the blood of others on you.

It was no use. Your feet, despite being on a moving floor, were still holding on to the ground, The grip you hand on your sword didn’t loosen and tightened.

If you were meant to be a machine designed to kill, you needed to carry out your job properly to ensure you aren’t thrown away.

The fairies soon came to attack you and your men, but you couldn’t kill it.

It was the first time you saw one that had magical abilities. The beauty it held entranced you.

Their wings were translucent. The light that hit it would change colour thanks to the dust that left its wings, forming somewhat of a halo around them. Their hair reached the very bottom of their legs. It swished back and forth as they flew towards you.

A pang was felt in your heart when you remembered your father’s words.

He said the fairies were ones who never cared about humans and instead mooch humans to live.

They were pests that needed to be killed, according to him.

But they are fighting alongside humans right now to protect their homes.

It was clear your father’s words were far from the truth, yet you needed to follow his wants, his needs.

You begged your limbs to move on their own so that you didn’t feel the piles of flesh go through your blade.

But you couldn’t.

You had to stay conscious through all the pain and misery you were giving to those who didn’t even deserve it.

The mixture of both human and fairy blood soaked your inner shirt, forever staining it.

The once grey tiles that covered the floor of Aldis now are forever painted red, and it was thanks to your orders.

You walked through the mountains of bodies, the blood streaming from them staining your shoes.

This was your fault.

This was all your fault.

You looked up to the sky, praying for the rain to fall and wash away your sins, but you could only see the clear, blue sky staring back at you. The clouds moved slowly through the pale blue background midst hiding the Sun’s blinding light away from you.

Semi, your commander soon stood beside you.

“My liege-”

“I killed them - I killed angel-like fairies. I killed humans, I made the ground shake - literally - and I killed the first-ever fairy I have seen. How did my father do this and still walk around Thelphs with no regrets?”

“Y/N...” Semi said, trying to console you.

But you could only laugh.

This.

This is what it means to be human- to kill those who don’t deserve to be killed.

“I can’t handle this anymore, Semi. I want to end this - all of this - so badly, yet I can’t even fight my own father.”

You turned your face to look at your childhood friend.

He too felt the same way you did - his eyes said everything.

Behind the coffee-coloured eyes hid guilt, sorrow and pain.

His face filled with the dust and smoke from the bombs that your men slung to this land. Yet, some streaks were starting from his eyes to the ends of his chin that were clean. Blood dripped from the top of his forehead down to his lips, leaving half of his face coloured in crimson.

Your thoughts rang clearly after looking at the man before you.

It was no longer about wanting to end it, you had to.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, “I will end this, Semi - this unneeded suffering and killings - I’ll end it all.”

He gave a teary smile to you. “Please, Y/N. I don’t think I can do this until I die.”

You pulled a handkerchief you kept in your pocket and proceeded to wipe the blood off his face.

“I can’t, too. This guilt,” you shook slightly, tears threatening to fall, “This guilt is too much to bear.”

He raised his hand and wiped off the tears.

“My liege, you need to be strong. We’re going to face the people we’ve committed countless sins against. Impersonate the devil - be the evil person you aren’t to protect the name of Thelphs.”

He took the blood-soaked handkerchief from your hand and threw it to the floor, “After all, what but devils would do what we did?”

Your heart broke at the words muttered by the man before you.

He was the furthest thing from a devil.

He was the man who comforted you when you were crying.

He was the man who took your pain and gave you nothing but light and joy.

Yet he stood in front of you - covered in blood both his and others with a strong resolve.

You stared at him, anger flaring in your orbs.

“You are the furthest thing from a devil, Semi Eita. But, we are controlled by one. Innocent ones like you should have never fallen into his tricks.”

He was taken aback by what you said. Tears soon fell from his eyes, sobs that he hid from you all these years came flowing like an endless howl.

He placed his head against the corner of your neck. Your shirt slowly began taking in his tears as they trickled down your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his figure. It was your time to comfort him.

Once he stopped crying, he wiped his tears and gripped your shoulders. “We need to go to the riverbank now.”

You nodded and let Semi lead you to the body of water.

You saw how the people tried to protect themselves from your men. They formed a circle with the younger ones in the middle. The ones on the circumference of the circle gripped on their small blades as they threatened your armoured soldiers.

They cared for each other.

The strong wanted to protect the weak; they were willing to sacrifice their lives so that the legacy of Aldis lived on through the young.

“Bring out the carriages,” you told your men. They immediately nodded and proceeded to follow the orders issued.

You turned to the people you’ve captured. A smile managed to reach your lips as they looked at your figure with fear.

“I do not wish any harm on you. We’re just going to make all of you line up and bring you to Thelphs - that is it,” you finished.

Most of them nodded in fear, yet there was one who refused to listen.

His hands had burned aplenty, instantly telling you that he was an ironsmith. He wasn’t rich - the clothes he wore were tattered, many of the holes were formed through his hours in iron crafting, presumably. Yet, you didn’t doubt his skill in fighting. The way he held the sword spoke more than words. The way his fingers comfortably wrapped around the leather handle made you feel some sort of pride within.

He was a person of valour and determination.

In almost seconds, he lunged in your direction.

You didn’t want to take out your sword. It felt like the man needed to hurt you in some way to make himself feel relaxed.

You gripped on the handle of your sword but didn’t have the heart to pull it out of your sheath.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the small tip of the blade to pierce through your skin. You wanted to feel your skin tear from the man’s undying resolve.

But it never came.

Instead, you heard the clashing of metal against metal.

Semi had rushed to protect you using his shield.

He stared at you, anger visible in his eyes.

“You made me a promise, Y/N. Don’t you dare take the easy way out.”

You could only smile and nod at the ash grey-haired male in front of you.

You teared your gaze from Semi to the man before you.

The disappointment and vengeance in him began to grow. The flame he once held within grew into a blazing fire.

“Why? Why attack us?” he began.

“We did nothing to you. We protected ourselves and helped others who needed us. We never bothered Thelphs - not even once, so why?”

You couldn’t reply - your morals would’ve gotten the best of you.

“Chain them all to each other - take all their weapons or anything sharp. We’re going back to Thelphs as winners, we don’t need the scars to prove it.”

You heard the roars of the men who stood before you. In their eyes, they believed all they’ve done is for the betterment of the world you all lived in.

But you knew what hid behind the tapestry that was woven by your father - destruction.

You bit your lip, not wanting to ruin the cheerful moment your men were having - all you could do was stare at Semi and let your eyes speak of all the pain you were feeling.

From afar, you heard a howl that woke up your numb senses.

Werewolves.

Joy graced the victims of your purge.

Their saviours came, ready to vanquish you and your men.

“They said the future leader of Thelphs was one ruthless and evil miscreant, yet they seem awfully sad for someone who led their troops to glory,” a werewolf said as he emerged from the bush beside you, “They do have a heart, after all.”

You stopped the minute you saw the male that now stood before you.

His red hair framed his sharp-jawed face. His obsidian eyes stared you down, a passion forming within the two of you. His olive skin gleamed under the soft light of the Sun. As he moved, you saw the scars painted on his skin - slashes made by swords and vicious beasts shifted in variations of his peach skin.

The ends of his lips raised as his eyes raised up and down, taking you in slowly.

“Mine.”

He rushed to you, his hand finding its place around your throat. He gripped softly, but strong enough to keep your soldiers on alert.

“Stand back!” you said, urging them to move back.

“Oh? - So my mate actually does care for me, don’t they?” He said, his mouth reaching the base of your neck, “How sweet of you, my love.”

Mate?

“State your business here, werewolf.”

“Well, in the beginning, it was to help the people you’ve captured,” his hand travelled to your waist, pulling you in, “But I think my prey has changed.”

You tried to pry yourself off of him, but you knew, deep inside, you wanted to pull him closer. You wanted to throw the troubles you had, all the roles you were born to play, to cast away the men who viciously fought under your order - all of that, just for a male you have just gazed upon.

The pull, the connection - it was instant. It was present, unrivalled.

Its wants and needs rang so clearly in your head.

But you had a promise to Semi - to the country you loved.

“Let go of me, wolf.”

“You don’t mean that love,” he said as he placed his head in the crook of your neck, “You want me just as much as I want you.”

He placed his hand on your cheek and you instinctively melted into the soft touch of his.

“Look at that,” he whispered, “You have already felt it, too - you know you can’t look back.”

“I can’t just give it up,” you tear.

“Then change it. I’ll stand behind you - change your homeland to what it was; a beacon of hope and freedom,” he smiled as your eyes softened, “This connection has to be proof that you were meant to be the change Thelphs needs, Y/N.”

You stare at his black eyes - more specifically the brown flecks that danced within them. They sang of nothing but determination and want - he wanted you, but he knew you had a want to change your homeland. He knew it all - just by a few minutes of just glancing at you.

He kissed your cheek, warmth spreading by that small action.

Your thoughts ran clear, the blinds holding back your judgement drawn.

“No.”

[kojinnie]

Flirted With You All My Life | Erwin Smith

Tags & Warnings: Erwin Smith x Reader | canon universe | deep, deep angst

Word Count: 1K+ (I know you said drabble, but I couldn’t help myself. I need SALVATION)

A/N: 

Dear anon, it seems you like to hurt yourself, so I couldn’t help myself to take the liberty in twisting your request into something even more painful. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, I’m just in the mood to write a really painful fic rn 🥺 

But please! Send me more of your ideas, I hope I’ll be able to stick to the script for next!

There was only the look of agony in your eyes, hidden by the dark of the night underneath your cape, and it only became obvious once you stepped into the light of Trost District’s streetlamps. 

The messenger noticed your bloodshot eyes and the hoarse voice as you spoke to him, “Please deliver this letter to the Commander.”

With shaky hands, the meek and timid cadet quickly took your letter and kept it secured in his horse’s tack room, alongside with other letters to be brought to the frontline. He nodded earnestly and strode away in his horse as the dawn started to crack.

The young cadet was in the last squad to depart for the frontline battle. A reinforcement squad from the Garrison to strengthen the Survey Corps’ defense against the horde of titans that appeared out of thin air inside Wall Maria. The Corps had set-up a retreat camp by the Wall, and a season had passed, neither news nor dead body ever came back anymore. Just reinforcement by reinforcement, dispatched under the supposedly request of your newly-wedded husband, the Commander Erwin Smith. 

The reinforcement would bring ration, medicines and clothes, yet none were to ever return. At first, there was grief hanging in the air as the people assumed everyone in the troops to be decimated to death by the titan’s might. The idea of complete destruction left wailing to be heard all through the cities. People’s morale was at all-time low. But then, one by one, letter would arrive, delivered by a lone soldier. The letters, sealed with a wax and signed with the name of their deployed husbands and sons, said the same thing: We’ll be back soon. Please pray for us.

You’d spend the day waiting for a letter from your husband, yet while everyone rejoiced as they receive the letters from their loved ones, you were left with nothing but growing pains.

Soon became later, and later became never. Another season had passed yet the only one coming back was another lone soldier requesting for more reinforcement to the Royal Government. And the letter that arrived became less and less; and there was none for you.

With the incomprehension came the murmurs, that said the military was no longer fighting titans, rather they were establishing new colony beyond the wall, with indulgences and whores. What could there be beyond the wall?

Ignorance labors evils, and mighty was the devil to turn your night into a battlefield of sorrow. Your mind fought between what’s left of your trust towards your husband, against paranoia, jealousy, agony of being kept in the dark for months without any trace left from him. How hard could it be to write a letter?

The thought finally came to your mind. The memories of your husband – the tall, handsome, and commanding figure of a man. With a deep, contemplating voice, and the eyes as deep as the tale of a vast prairie of water called ocean in the world that had gone by. 

You thought of him, and how he’s warm to the touch, and how soft were the kisses he left on your skin. You thought of him and you had realized, how painfully plain and mundane you were in comparison to him. How utterly expendable and replaceable.

The thought became nightmares, of Erwin’s flirtation with strange women in places less than sacred. The nightmares grew to be persistent and eventually it drowned you into false conviction.

“Am I a widow?” you asked the empty sky one night, “’Lest I’ll choose to be.”

So, finally you wrote that farewell letter. It said: “I will not be home when you return, for journey is where your heart lies.” Final letter sent for a man who was never yours to begin with, for his heart was devoted to humanity, and humanity was too vast for the acres of the home he made with you.  No matter how warm, no matter how safe.

There was an eerie silence as the horses rode through the plains before reaching the Survey Corps camp deep in the forest past the Wall. The meek and timid cadet navigated his horse closer to the main formation, as fear crept down his spine. He looked ahead and there he saw what’s left of the camp: A vivid picture of desolation.

He rode pas through countless of nameless mounds; men and women with blank expression scattered around the wage tents – wounded and helpless. The uncanny smell of rotting flesh, and the atmosphere of despair, filled up the lungs of the cadet that he couldn’t bear to let down a tear.

He climbed off of his horse and walked through the path of the camp. Beside the fire, sat two men writing down letters by letters, muttering the names of their death comrades. The lights of the fire gave the cadet a peak at what they were writing: “We’ll be back. Please pray for us.” It became clear that the letters were nothing but an empty, false hope – for it was better for the people to cling on to hope as long as one could, rather than to be devoured by grief and pain.

He walked through the paths and finally found the largest tent of them all, one where he was told he could meet the Commander. The cadet pulled out your letter and held it close to his chest, as he entered the dilapidated tent to deliver the Commander the letter that was meant to break you free from the shackles of endless suspense in waiting for a man whos heart no longer home.

As he stepped in, a body immediately blocked him from gazing further into the tent that was partitioned into several areas. Section Commander Hange Zoe stood tall before him, “What do you want?”

“I came from Trost District. A letter for the Commander from home.” The Cadet could feel his voice squeaked in fear.

There was a breaking point of Hange that the cadet never knew before, for their face was immediate to become wearied. Hange quickly took the letter and fiddled with it in their hands. It was obvious that Hange was torn on what to do, before a grim voice asked from an area veiled with a thin curtain that one could almost see through inside, “Hange, what’s that?” The voice of Captain Levi Ackerman seeped through.

“It’s, uh… A letter for Erwin. From home.”

There was an immediate silence gripping the tent. The cadet could hear a creaking sound of movement from a mattress behind the veil. To his surprise, he saw the Commander laying there.

“Bring it to him, Hange,” Levi muttered, there was a pain in his words, so real that it felt almost tangible. 

Hange stepped aside and let the cadet came in and walked through the veil to where the Commander was. With no warning, the cadet gasped in a discernible shock as he saw what’s left of the great Commander. There was no color to his face, his blue eyes had gone dull half-opened, his mouth murmuring incomprehensible words in a state of delirium. Commander Erwin Smith had lost all of his limbs, with the dull ends of where his limbs used to be blackened by gangrene. The cadet finally saw the horror of war that the military had tried to suppress from the civilians’ knowledge: an outbreak of plague at the end of the war against titans.

Levi took the letter from Hange and knelt beside where Erwin laid, “Erwin. It’s letter from home. She must have missed you so bad.” There was a dim smile on Levi’s face. A smile seemed foreign on the face of the captain who was long hardened by war, and it became even stranger given the situation.

Levi knifed through the wax, and tore the letter open. But suddenly, a sense of misery deeper than the trenches engulfed the tent as he read through the letter in silence. The faint smile on his face was quick to freeze into a palpable agony as he closed his eyes. The letter hung in the captain’s hand. His fingers were trembling with anger and despair.

“Levi?” Hange cracked their silence in obvious worry as the captain broke into a deep, soundless wail next to Erwin. Something that no one had ever seen before, “Levi...?” Hange called for the captain’s name in an increasingly agonizing anxiety.

With what’s left of his heart, Levi gasped for air, trying to muffle the sound he never thought would hear coming from his words. Hange cupped their face with their fingers, left not knowing but painfully distraught upon seeing the struggle Levi was in as he tried to straighten his voice.

“Commander,” Levi said, looking into the tiny slit of Erwin Smith’s eyes, one that was strain opened by what’s left of him – a painful longing to hear from home, “she misses you. And she’ll be home when you return.”

The Commanders’ murmurs stopped, and he nodded his head solemnly.

“You may go now.”

The only time he had ever flirted with anything other than you was with death and the flirtation finally bears fruit as death finally takes him home.

As if he finally heard the words he had been waiting for, the Commander let out a deep sigh, before he slipped into the eternal cold. His blue eyes stared, but he was no longer seeing. The Commander had succumbed into a painless death.

For the first time in years, Levi Ackerman sobbed in sadness and anger. Looking at the man who had bathed with the fury of war; all he wanted was to bring peace to home, only for his home in the heart of a fickle spouse be anguished by the long wait. How selfish, how cold, Levi thought.

Maybe you were right, maybe these soldiers were not meant to live a life in the safety of a warm house in the town. Maybe they thrived while flirting with death and bruising dangers against their skins. Maybe it's all they knew of. But for better or worse, Erwin once dreamed of coming home to a feeling other than grief, and he had found it with you.

Levi reached for the pocket inside Erwin's jacket, and pulled out a letter yellowed with time. His heart broke to see that it was an old letter from you, one Erwin held close until his last day.

The most painful realization was not that Erwin died in vain, neither because his wife chose to leave him in the day he died. It's the realization that Erwin fought and died for someone and something that never belonged to him to begin with. There was no you nor was his home with you. Erwin's home was here, with his comrades, amidst death and wrath of war. You let him fought and died for a false hope.

Levi grazed the Commander's eyes close with his fingers as he finally murmured to the lifeless body, "Erwin, you're home already. With us."

Inspired by Vic Chestnutt's 'Flirted With You All My Life'