#I just KNOW gray would have a gravelly voice when he's really singing

[happilychee]

thinking about gray fullbuster and måneskin...

I think I need to change my rules bc I keep thirsting over gray😭

side note: the driver is so nalu coded to me. whatever lucy wants to do, natsu is the first one there making it happen.

♡ gray singing honey (are u coming?) on stage. he's in dark jeans that make his thighs look great, and he's not wearing a shirt. usually that wouldn't fluster you, but his ice devil slayer markings are on full display. the only thing adorning his torso besides them is his silver necklace, shining in the mood lighting of the venue.

♡ his biceps strain as he plays a complicated melody on the guitar, face and body covered by a sheen of sweat as he concentrates. you think that you'd be drooling if you weren't busy screaming along to the music.

♡ you're trying hard to stay in the front of the crowd, but it's hard when you're being jostled around. you're sure there's more enthusiastic people in the audience, judging by the screams, but when your eyes lock onto gray's, he doesn't look away.

♡ "meet me there where it never closes, meet me there where it's never hopeless" your gaze is transfixed, and it's not your imagination hoping that gray's getting closer to you because he is, and oh he's still playing the guitar but he's on his knees and- you feel your legs go weak and your face burn. you grip onto the barricade like a lifeline because otherwise you might get pulled under.

♡ when the show comes to an end, your ears are ringing, your feet ache, and you think you're going to lose your voice tomorrow. you shiver in the cold, lamenting your decision to forego a jacket. still, you forget about your discomfort when the back door opens and gray comes out.

♡ he's wearing a coat (unlike you) but your mind goes a little fuzzy when you realize there's still no shirt on his body. gray's eyes light up when he sees you, and he's quick to settle his hands on your hips. he frowns when he notices you're trembling, and he immediately pulls you into his arms. you nuzzle into him, grateful for his body heat.

♡ neither of you say anything, voices exhausted from screaming all night long. that is, until a tiny smirk forms on gray's face. you eye him warily, unsure of what the trickster will do to you. there's no tickle attack or tossing you over the shoulder, though. no, instead, gray leans down, his breath hot against your ear, and he whispers, "did you like the show, honey?"

#lychee writes #fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #fairy tail x reader #gray fullbuster #hngnfnegegwge #every time I listen to maneskin the lizard part of my brain starts running around the enclosure #I just KNOW gray would have a gravelly voice when he's really singing #hehrhrhfhrhrhrhfhr #gray am I right #I'm right

[ewritesthangs]

Ba-ding. Ba-ding. Your phone alerts you that someone was calling. That someone, being your boyfriend of 4 months. Corpse.

"Hey babe."

"Hey princess."

"Whats up? Everything alright?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice before we start gaming and I can barely hear you."

You blush and sit down at your desk. "You're so charming, you know that?"

"One of my many quirks."

"I love all your quirks."

"I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I'll be able to sleep again."

"Did you not sleep well babe?"

"Not really. My insomnia got the better of me."

"You should have called i would have read to you."

"You're so sweet. I didn't want to wake you."

"You do know I don't care. If you need me call. No matter what."

"Alright. Alright. I will if it gets bad tonight."

"Good boy."

"Woof woof."

"Hey, its almost 1. Time to get the game ready. I shall talk to you later."

"I adore you."

"Feelings are mutual." You blush and hang up. You do what you need to do and join the Among Us game created by none other than Pewdiepie.

"Whats up guys?"

"Hey, Y/N! You're here!" Sean tells excitedly.

"Hey Sean." You shyly say. Thankful they can't see you. You were happy to be able to game. In the semi dark. By yourself. You were confident with Corpse. But with more people? You became an innocent shy noodle. The game starts. Crewmate. You sigh in relief.

"I'll be a good task girl and do my tasks."

Corpse went up to you, and you assume he gave you a small smooch before going to card swipe.

"Don't fail it now babe." You were thankful you didn't live stream yet. You wanted to get a few rounds down and warm up before doing so.

Corpse POV

"I'm going to give Y/N a kiss before card swipe. Muah." My character runs over to her, runs into her looking like mine was giving a kiss. "Love you babe." It slipped out, on livestream. Shit. Oops. I shoot Y/N a quick text.

Accidentally may have said i loved you on livestream.

Oh..... you want to let everyone know, now?

Why not?

Sure babe.

You sure?

Yesh.

"Yeah um ehe I am dating Y/N guys. Surprise." I say to my viewers. "I hope you don't like leave me because of it." My chat was blowing up by now. Saying mostly positive things. I smile at the comments and thank them as much as I can before I get killed by Sean. "What. The fuck man."

2nd Person POV

You report the body and unmute yourself. "Oh no not my baby!" You say softly.

"Wait. What?" Sean chuckles, confused.

"Corpse is my boyfriend." You whisper nonchalantly. "I saw you vent Sean!"

"You killed said boyfriend and self reported. I saw you."

"Where is the body?" Felix asks.

"Inside admin."

"Jack i sense liar voice."

"You always sus me felix." Sean sounded like he was pouting.

"I'm voting sean." Rae says. Everyone votes. Sean votes you. Most of them vote Sean. Sean is ejected.

"Bye bye muthafucka." You say softly, to which everyone gasps.

"Little Y/N just swore."

"I can't believe it. Pause the game."

"What? No guys shhhhh I didn't say anything." You quickly grumble and slap your forehead. "Fuck me. Shit."

"And she keeps swearing! My god." Sean chuckled as he was unmuted still, like everybody.

"I'm muting myself now. Bye." You mute yourself and cover your now red face. "Fuck me in the eyeball with a candlestick."

Nice mouth babe.

Shut it.

Corpse was laughing so hard he was gonna piss himself soon if he didn't stop. You are so cute in his eyes. So innocent.

You got a call a few hours later. The familiar ring of your boyfriends ring tone rushing to fill the void. You had fallen asleep so when you answered you sounded gravelly. Groggy.

"Hello?"

"Sup swearing sailor?"

"Are we allerterating now?"

"Yessssssss."

"I was just having a nice dream about Matthew Gray Gubler and you went and woke me up."

"New found confidence?"

"You bring out the best in me."

"My princess."

"Ya ya."

"Come over. I need to see and kiss your beautiful swearing face."

"Will you let that go? For fucks sake."

"Probably not for awhile."

"Bitch."

"Well are you coming?"

"Not if you keep being mean."

"I loooooovvvveeeee you." He sings.

"I love me too."

"Well now I don't want you here."

"...... I'll bring your favorite."

"See you in about an hour!"

"Spoiled rotten little brat!"

"Love you!"

You went over to his apartment. When you arrived at his door, he engulfed you into a big hug. You feeling so safe and warm in his embrace.

"My princess."

"My prince."

You guys kiss, a sweet and simple kiss. Without letting you go, he walks backwards into the apartment. You guys spend the whole night watching things and eating as much as you can handle. Once it hits 1am, your eyes grow heavy. But you don't want to tell him you're tired. Not yet. Corpse comes back from the bathroom to you falling asleep on the couch.

"Baby, do you want to go to bed?" The sudden sound of his voice startled you awake. With a small nod, you stand up a little uneasy on your legs. Corpse takes you into his arms. Picks you up bridal style. You being too tired, just let it happen. You snuggled into him, before realizing you were in your normal clothes.

"I need to change." Your voice had an  obvious tired tone to it.

"You can wear my hoodie babe."

"I dont want you getting cold."

"I'm a human furnace babe."

You just simply nod and lay back onto the bed you were placed upon. He slips his sweatshirt off and hands it to you. You take it and stumble into his bathroom.

"Baby you can change in front of me. I won't look!"

You yawn and get dressed into some sweats and his hoodie. You walk out, swimming in his sweater. You felt safe and cozy. He smiles and holds his arms out for you to come sit on his lap. You waddle over and do as you are motioned to. He holds you as you fall asleep. He watches you before he himself falls asleep. A beautiful way to end an eventful day.

#corpse husband #corpse husband imagine

[ficsnroses]

To Be His - John Wick x Reader

summary : you’ve noticed your boyfriend John doesn’t treat himself, forgets to care for himself, and often wears solely muted colours. You want to change that; so you pick out a few special pieces of clothing for him. 

warnings : mega fluff, slight angst. john being incredibly wholesome:)

words : 2.6k. 

notes : this was requested by a lovely anon. i’m so sorry I just released it now, 2 months later. I got busy with those prompt fics, I apologize. regardless, I really hope you like it, I really adore how this turned out! as always, please do leave a comment, anon or not, it means a lot. >flashback indicated in italics<

“John, honey?” You call out, peeking out the sliding glass backdoor of your shared home. Between crisp white walls and fresh fragrant flowers revitalized to the kitchen table, John had recently been working on cleaning up your back yard; trimming large green bushes and getting to work plowing a home garden for you.

A few evenings prior, as John and you laid in bed together during a nightly snuggle session, you’d expressed your fondness for gardening and planting flowers; the beauty of them, the simplicity, the colour. Of course, being the most wonderful boyfriend, John had been certain, headstrong that he’d build you one as soon as he could.

“John, baby, it’s alright.” You’d giggled, feeling his full, abrasive beard brush a nuzzle into the satin dip of your neck. Velvet and suave, his voice rings a deep buzz to your skin, bulky arms drawing your body closer into his warm chest. “No, I’ll make you a space in the garden, one of those raised bed ones you like.” He beams, warm, contagious.

John’s smile was your favourite delight in the entire world; his sincerity, his dark mahogany gaze and the way it’d earl into your soul, as if searching for nothing but you, always.

There’s something special in him; a soft water that runs through his veins. Even behind the raging forest fire of his past,

       your John,

is as smooth,

       as soft, fresh running water.

He mimics a rose, surrounded by speckled, bristly thorns of what he’d been forced into former to meeting you; prior to falling hopelessly in love with you. Although John still hurts, still bleeds dark wounds of gauging memories; he has you. He now has you, to hold his hand, to be there.

And though you understand certain scares never heal, you will always,

hold his hand.

And although you love flowers, the simplicity, the beauty, the colours; you love him more. And flowers, he deserves.

Colours, he deserves.

“I’m gonna make you a garden, sweetheart.” He whispers, soothing small, mild kisses to your fingers. “Hell, I’ll build you a castle to go with it.” Chuckling, his stockier fingers lace with yours, a delicate kiss daubed to your palm, afore it rests to his chest. “Because you, sweetheart, deserve it. You deserve to see colour every morning out our window.” He’d finished, holding you close.

“Hi baby,” John waves a glove draped hand your way, genuine smile full on his rosy lips. To his left, Dog sits, matted gray head rested to his tiny opaque paws in a drowsy snooze. Dog loves John immense, he’d always find his way to be near his favourite friend. With a thin coat of afternoon blaze sweat stippled to his forehead, John’s white Henley shirt hosts selective patches of brown smeared dirt, and you roll your eyes to a stippled grin coating your cheeks.

Of all the shirt he could’ve worn, John had opted for his one white shirt to fix yard work in.

Trudging along the evergreen grass, he peels a dirty glove off his left hand; chocolate eyes a beautiful dew in the afternoon sun. The clouds behind him paint in gorgeous cotton pillows, flowed along the ocean blue sky with a calm, nirvanic breeze.

In moments as these, you remember how simple happiness really is;

being with your dream, on a dreamy day. “How was shopping?” He wonders, finding your lips in a sweet kiss, climbing the porch steps to where you’re stood. Discarded to the floor below, his gloves fall with a gentle pat on the porch, John’s heavy palms proximately finding the refuge of your waist. “Did you find anything you like?” Pondered, his question finds a smile crippled to your lips, your own orbs glossing over the soft dips of his brazen features. With your arms finding shelter loomed to his neck, you twirl the lonesome ends of his dark brunette locks in your petite fingers, smiling, leaning closer into him, as much as space would allow.

“I did.” You chortle, crimples of his white shirt grazed to your index as you point a lone finger to his chest. “You’ve ruined this shirt.” You frown, leaving a soft kiss dotted to his chest, just above his broad pec. John waivers off, covering the silky skin of your hand on his chest, with his own relaxed over it. “That’s alright, I have more.” Assuring, his lips dot a small kiss to your forehead. “What did you get for yourself?”

“Actually…” Your smile twists into something a little more playful, pink stained lips rouged to a simper when his brows knit in quiet, warm confusion. “I want you to come with me.” Cupped to his cheek, you smile tenderly. “I want to show you something.” The highlights of your cheekbones glow in the daylight, and John’s heartstrings sing to the sight; seeing you happy, was all he’d ever wanted.

“Lead the way.” John chuckles, allowing your frame to go first when you take his hand, guiding his larger, towering figure inside the transparent sliding glass door, Dog trotting not far along behind on his dainty paws, with a goofy smile plastered to his lovable mutt face.

“Alright…” You voice, a stray piece of hair tucked behind the curve of your ear. “I actually didn’t get much for myself…” Shuffling around a plethora of bags, you grin when the one in question finds your eye. Steady, you place the bag to the edge your shared bed, sincerely gazing John’s way as your hands clasp affront you. “Baby before I start, I just want to say that this isn’t me trying to say anything other than I love you, okay?”

With his toned armed crossed and features twisting to a ponder, John’s eyebrows raise ever so slight, a spec of his mocha strands dwindling just near his eye in an attentive mien. Pausing quick for a gather of thoughts, slow, your hands move, gestures explanatory to his wonder. “John, I’ve known you for a while now. And I know that you, are the greatest man I know.” You explain, confidence thick on your honey tone. “Baby, you’re a miracle, to be what you are, coming from where you did.” Eyes locked to his, you stand sure he perceives just how genuine; sincere you’re truly being. Not a word off your lips falls false, not a syllable falls untrue.

“Which is why it hurts me when you treat yourself less than.” Frowned, your lips turn crisp to a soft gloom, moving forward to take his hand, tugging him down to a seat on the silk duvet. “Baby, you paint me red everyday. You make me believe the world is yellow, and the sky is pink.” You babble, awestruck in love drunk blush to the way John makes every day feel as if a wonder; paints each day as a mural on a crisp new canvas, solely for your eyes to drink.

Finally, taking hold of his heavier hand in yours, you lock eyes with him, sighing in content gratification. “When I look into our wardrobe, I see your side covered in simple greys, blacks and whites. You have your everyday shirts, like this Henley.” Giggling, you scratch gently to his bicep, offering a kiss to his broad shoulder. “And you have your suits, which are all just black and white, and plain. Plain blue jeans, and a leather jacket or two.” You explain, sure not to come off as if you don’t like his style, or the way he dresses.

You adore the way John presents himself. You only wish he’d open up a little more, treat himself once in a while.

“John, you’ve never treated yourself. You never ask for more, or splurge. And I just….” You bite your lip, sighing. “To me, you deserve it. You deserve so much, baby. I want to see you have colour, I want you to have nice things and allow yourself to enjoy new, good things.” You enlighten, reaching into the bag to pull out the first piece.

“I saw some stuff today and I thought maybe you’d like it. Just a couple of pieces, because you deserve it, John.” Cupping his cheek, your spare hand squeezes a softer firm to his. “You treat me like I’m the only girl in the world. And I want you to feel the same.”

John’s expression stills unreadable, lips taut in a thin line as he watches you pull out the first piece of navy blue fabric. To the material, small, tiny white polka dots speckle the fine fabric in a subtle, yet fashionable splendour. A white dress shirt, with tiny black dots pairs with it as well.

“These are the first two,” You begin, displaying. “I’ve noticed your dress shirts are always plain white. I thought these would look really cute on you.” You smile, fingers brushed over the fabric as you perceive his expression. John’s features still prove illegible; stoic. Squeezing his palm with a heaviness to your chest, you swallow tight before asking aloud. “John? Honey? If you don’t like them, it’s alright. I love you in your plain white dress shirts, I really do.” You offer, thumb softly stroking the skin of his upper hand. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to wear them, okay love? I just thought-” Sudden, John’s shallow baritone interjects your reason, tone soft, heavy.

“You…you got things, for me?” He asks, eyes locked to the chic textile below.

“Yeah.” You smile, head nodding to a gentle move, gaze love drunk to his gentleness. “Are these alright?” You wonder, cautious. Still for a moment, John ultimately nods, swallowing a thick lump fixed inside his gravelly throat. His heart warms; his heart yelps.

In decades of life, no one, not a single entity, had ever got him something.

No one had ever brought him anything remotely resembling good; remotely resembling anything other than ghastly, dreadful sin. Sin forced off his reluctant hands.

Before you, no one had shown him care, admiration, love; no one had shown him

colour.

Voice thick with warmth, John offers a gentle smile your way. “I love them. Thank you.” He appreciates, gaze downcast as he sulks the moment in. Without much practice in saying thank you, John feels a wave of awkwardness cast to his sore limbs.

Before you, he’d never been given the opportunity to say thank you.

“I have two more things!” You chuckle, biting your lip as you set aside the previous drapery. Carefully, your hands draw out a dusty pink blazer; a piece full of colour, yet beautifully masculine. “Alright, this one’s a bit risky,” You giggle, holding the material out in front for both your eyes to see. “But I think you’d look incredibly handsome in it. What do you think?”

“Very cool.” John chuckles, hand brushing to the sleeve. “Looks perfect for a brunch.” He smiles, heartfelt your way. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He allows off his lips again, getting used to the way it sounded off his tongue. John’s nerves tingle with gratitude, so much so, he has trouble expressing it. Not a soul had touched him this way before; no one had ever shown John they care.

You introduced something to John that he feared he’d never receive.

       human connection,

someone to truly care. A lifetime spent looking out for himself alone, a lonesome John sinks in the feeling of true, complete, warmth. The warmth of having someone to look out for him. Someone who wants to look out for him.

As he gazes you, beside him, ecstatic to the brim to offer him something good; he wonders. He muses, he reminisces.

~That perhaps, your heart, and his, are old friends. Long lost soul searchers; that perhaps in a lifetime before, some part of him loved you, and you him.

It couldn’t be sweeter than this,

It wouldn’t get sweeter than you.

      Here he is, living, despite it all. Happy, despite it all. You make him

so

happy.

So happy, he falls in love with you each day. Over and over, remembering the semblance of hope he’d received; the woman who makes the stars fall to their knees each night, warms him in her love everyday. And he looks at her with the same love, his heart whispers to hers; there is no home like you.

To a smooth daisy tone, flowers fall from your lips, love laces each word. “Alright, the last piece is this.” You giggle, hands fishing a floral tie from the bag, hopeful orbs wishful he’d like it. “It’s a bit bold, but you know I love flowers.” You smile, holding the fabric to your lover’s chest. He stares into your eyes, his own grown softer; two smooth pools of delicate honey. And he smiles, and smiles, and smiles some more. To the mere sight of his entire world, so smitten. To the thought of someone so beautiful, so pure, existing in the same time as him, someone so precious, being given to him.

And he thinks back to a time younger, when the ghost of him longed for something more; longed to be liberated. He wishes he may tell the shell of a man back then, that it would turn out alright in the end.

that rain, will make the flowers grow.

“I think it’s beautiful.” John replies, deep voice gentle, laced with care. “You love it, so I do too.” Tie placed to the side, you sigh in relief, chuckling with a phew to your forehead. John’s eyes droop, fallen cast to the space between your bodies below. His muscles tense, before a relax of ease washes over his wordless features, mind thick with words fallen short of the honey you’d made, dripping from his soul. When words fall short, he hopes, he prays you’ll understand, just what you mean to him.

How much you mean to him.

“Y/N,” He whispers, calm to a quiet low, the silken skin of your hand taken in his rougher, callous ones. He holds tight, he holds tender. His fingers lace, and his heart pours. His heart embeds, embroiders a beautiful haze to channel to his love. “Thank you, so much.” Sincerely, he voices. “It might not seem like much to you, but to me, it’s more than I’ve ever had.” Out the window, he shakes his head, smiling. “It was always you, everything I went through,” John seldom opens up about his past, rarely references the grey that paints his former. “It was all meant to lead me to you.”

Cupping his cheek with your spare hand, you smile. You offer him a sincere, adoring gaze. “I love you, Y/N. I love you a lot.” He speaks, bundling your smaller hands, softer in his. You grip tighter, feel harder. You feel the pain coursing in his veins when you hold him, you feel the hope that runs in his blood.

“I love you too, Jonathan. And I’ll never forget.

       And…” Your tone lingers, a suggestive, nervous bite to your rosy stained lip bitten tense. “I bought another thing for you, actually…” You whisper, trialing, gaze locked to his lips. With one hand looming around his neck, your other draws into the bag below, pulling out a glimpse of a beautifully lace embroidered piece, of sultry, expensive lingerie; a black, skimpy luxery you knew John would adore to see on you. His eyes gaze to the lace, and he grins a cheeky smile, knowing whiskey orbs drunk to the thought of seeing you in something so beautiful, soon.

“How about, I show it to you later tonight?” You whisper against his lips, to the feel of his hands smoothing over your hips. “I’d like that,” John replies, a delicate kiss pecked to your neck. “I’d like that a lot.”

Time moves slower when you’re this close to him, love envelopes.

You could do anything,

be anything in the world; yet all you dream; all you want;

        is to be his.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

The things you picked out for Johnny boy:)

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

Taglist posted separately, ask to be added or removed!

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick x you #john wick imagine

[monsterkinkmeme]

Gargoyle of the Opera

You are a professional, classically trained singer. You successfully auditioned for the role of Christine in Andrew Lloyd Weber’s “The Phantom of the Opera.” You have been preparing for this role for months and when the audition came, you hit all of the high notes perfectly. However, a recent nagging cough has been preventing you from hitting the notes. You were worried because the opening curtain of the show was in a week.

You were practicing inside of the empty cathedral. Every other Sunday, you were a soprano singer in the cathedral’s choir. You sang your scales while you played on the decadent organ. When you reached high E, you choked and started coughing.

“Ugh!” You put your head down on the organ keys. “Maybe the understudy should take over. There’s no way I’ll be able to perform.”

Then, you heard a sound so beautiful it seemed unearthly. “Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor.”

Someone was singing the lyrics to “The Music of the Night” in the church but how could that be? You locked the doors behind you to make sure you wouldn’t be disturbed. The singing voice was a deep, rich baritone. You have heard many versions of that song but none of them ever sounded so beautiful. You wondered if you fell asleep at the organ and you were dreaming. You pinched yourself. Nope.

The singing voice continued and you looked around, trying to find the source. It sounded like it was coming from the attic of the church. You hesitantly opened the door and climbed the nine stairs to the attic. The singing voice grew louder and louder until finally you found the singer. You gasped.

It was one of the gargoyles that guarded the churh from outside. Fortunately, they didn’t hear you because they had their eyes closed while they passionately continued their song. The powerful timbre of their voice vibrated in the dusty attic and you shivered as you felt the sound wash over you. Finally, the gargoyle completed the last lyric and sighed. Before you could move to go down the stairs, he opened his golden eyes and spotted you.

“Hello.” His speaking voice was also deep but slightly more gravelly. It gave you butterflies in your stomach.

“Um, hi. I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “Please don’t go. What is your name?”

You told him. He introduced himself as well and told you his story. He stepped closer to you, his full height roughly 7 feet tall. He folded his magnificent wings closer to his body. He was muscular and sculpted from dark gray stone. When he opened his mouth to smile, he revealed his fangs. His face was sculpted in the likeness of a lion. Despite his fangs, his smile was friendly and endearing.

He was built to protect the cathedral many years ago and realized one night he was able to move. He could move and even fly around as long as the sun was down. He loved listening to the cathedral choir and knew all of the hymns.

“I actually sing in this choir sometimes.” you shyly told him.

“Really? Will you sing for me, so I can recognize your voice?”

“Well, I have this nagging cough that’s preventing me from singing my range.”

“That’s all right. Just sing something from your heart.”

You hesitated, “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps we can sing together? You can let me know if you want to stop.”

You began to sing the opening line to the “Phantom of the Opera” song. When it came to the phantom’s part, he sang his verse. Then, you both sang together. Your high-pitched soprano voice harmonized beautifully with his deep one.

You had never connected with a duet partner like this before and you never wanted to again. When you came toward the end, you finally nailed the high E and your voice rang out to the rafters of the cathedral.Your cheeks were flushed with pleasure from the music.

“Well? What did you think?”

“Yes.” he purred, “I recognize your voice now. You are one of the sopranos. I believe you have the most beautiful voice in the church.”

You blushed. “Thank you. It was because of your help. I think you truly are my angel of music.”

He chuckled, pleasant and deep. “I should be saying that to you, my dear.” He extended his clawed hand to you. You placed you hand in his, which felt surprisingly warm. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. You giggled softly at the feel of his whiskers.

“I really loved singing with you. You have a beautiful, rich voice as well,” you told him. He began to purr loudly at your compliment.

“I was wondering if it would be all right if I come rehearse ‘Phantom of the Opera’ with you at night in the church? Even after our show finishes, I’d still like to come and sing with you, I know a lot of good duets..“ you babbled on, not noticing he was stepping towards you.

He bent to kiss your forehead. You stopped talking and opened your mouth in surprise. He let out a rumble of laughter that you felt from head to toe.

He gently cupped your chin and said, "I would love nothing more than for you to come sing with me, my angel.”

#female reader #male monster #submission

[puckngrind]

Skating Lessons part 25

Summary: All-Star Break to CannonBall.

Warning: Sexual content, swearing...

Word count: 2188

Series Masterlist

The sound of the water rushing below your ears hitting your sore muscles and the sight of so many stars had you zoned out. Only Josh’s gravelly voice broke your trance.

“Can we just send for Mason and stay here forever?” Josh moves across the hot tub and pulls you onto his lap.

“Jobs. School. You know? Life, J. Plus you KNOW Torts would send Seth to pick you up for sure.” You kiss his wet lips as Josh chuckles a little and pulls you further into him. “But this has been pretty perfect.”

“I’d say perfect doesn’t do this weekend justice Babe.” You feel Josh’s hands slide down your body to your hips. “I think it’s just what I needed for break.” His hands snake around the back of your legs and make their way between your legs.

“Are we really having sex in this hot tub Anderson?” Your breath hitches as Josh pushes your core into his already hard cock.

“I was thinking yes.” He goes to strip your suit off and your hand flies up to stop him.

“Josh, we are outside!” You whisper yell hearing your voice echo off the cabin.

“And there is no one for miles and miles Baby.” Josh continues to remove your suit and wiggles out of his with ease. “You trust me right?” He kisses down your wet neck nibbling at your collar bone.

“Always.” You move your hands up to his jaw and rub your thumbs down it and he pulls your fully down onto him.

You had more sex in 72 hours than you thought was humanly possible and yet melting into the man you love was so easy to do. You did leave the cabin and took some hikes, found a cute hole in the wall diner where the owner served the food and no one recognized Josh. It was heaven tucked into the woods with him just the two of you. You felt a ping of guilt that it’s almost always three of you. You even stayed up one night over analyzing that Josh never seems to mind dinner out with the Mason or quiet sex when you didn’t want to wake him. The fact that you two were rarely just the two of you unless it was after dark didn’t fully dawn on you until Josh pulled you in to his sweaty chest at Ash Cave and kissed you more passionately than he does in public ever. You pulled away for a second to look for Mason. “No one is watching us, (y/n).” Josh pulled your chin up and held it staring into your eyes saying more than his words. “Plus anyone around is looking at that.” His head jerked slightly towards the small waterfall coming out of the sky and crashing into a dome of ice which was in fact breathtaking. He kissed you again and you slipped your hands between his open jacket and shirt pulling him into a hug. He lifts you ever so slightly off the ground. “Can we plan our next trip on the drive back?” Josh’s presses his forehead into yours. His gray beanie allowing a sweaty curl to pop out.

“Yes please.” You kiss his lips sweetly as he returns you to the ground, interlaces your fingers and heads towards the car.

“Bahamas. Cabo. Fiji.” Josh starts listing places he wants to go before the two of you hit the main roads.

“Are we going just us or with Mason?” You wrap his freshly showered curls around your fingers.

“Can we take 2? One with him. One just us?” Josh’s hand finds your thigh like always.

“Josh, I’m going to be honest. How is this all going to work? You go back to Toronto to see your family and train during the off season. Our life is here.” Josh’s hand flexes around your thigh but you press on. “Mace doesn’t have school but work, the house...” you trail off as Josh’s hand has a firm grip on your leg. You place your hand over his as you curl your fingers between his. “I just don’t know...”

“Can’t you two just come with me? We can rent a condo. Or I can find somewhere to train here. I know some of the guys do. I just don’t want to think about us not being together.” Josh’s jaw tightens while he focuses on the road.

“Josh, I want us to be together too but I think you need to go home to see your family. I don’t want you to change what you do for me.” This causes Josh to slam on his breaks. Thankfully no one was on the road with you. He looks over at you eyes glassy.

“I love you. You, (y/n), are my family. So if you don’t want to go to Toronto for the summer I’ll stay here. And I’d change everything for you if it meant you were always by my side.” Josh’s voice got quiet as he started driving again and you reach over to brush the water brimming at the corner of his eye away.

“I love you too Josh. We have a few months to figure it out. Kay?” He shakes his head.  “How about we talk Cannonball dress?” Changing the subject to you in a fancy dress caused a smirk to appear across his face.

“How much skin will be showing?” He chuckles slightly.

“Enough to grab your attention but not make me look slutty.” You pull your feet onto the seat as you remember Beth’s face when you stepped out in the dress you selected a few weeks back. “Plus it’s February in Ohio J. I’d like not to freeze.”

“I’ll keep you warm Baby girl. Plus coat check is before the walk in where everyone takes pictures.” He side eyes you to read your reaction. You gulp thinking of the press taking pictures. “And you will be attached to my side.” He was trying to reassure you and it was cute. “I was thinking of wearing my three piece gray suit. Will that work with your dress?”

He knew that suit didn’t just make you a puddle. Feeling the pink on your cheeks you squeak out a yes.

———

Sure enough Josh wore the three piece suit that you loved on him and taking off him after he returned home. He looked handsome and so damn happy just sitting on the couch talking all about hockey with Mason while Beth was in your kitchen. You cleared your throat to get their attention. All three looked over to where you were standing in your dress. Beth just wipes her hands and gives you that reassuring look she did when you tried it on. Mason jumped up and down commenting on how pretty you looked but it was Josh’s face that you landed on last. He had stood up but he hadn’t moved from where he was. He had a look of awe and something you couldn’t decipher written across his face. “I’m ready.” You smoothed down your dress that had not moved out of place out of nerves. Josh just stood there love struck. “Josh!” You moved towards him and adjusted his tie. “You ready to go?” His cheeks were flushed and his face remained unchanged. “Baby.” You rub his face. “My dress okay?” You stood back and twirled.

“Yes. Oh. Yes (y/n).” Josh snapped out of his trance. “Let me see you.” He grabbed your hand and twirled you around to take another look. Your dress hugged you in the right spots. Swooped low enough but not too much that you would be uncomfortable dancing or getting your picture taken. It shimmered blue with a touch of gray that matched Josh nicely. “Mace, doesn’t Momma look beautiful?” Josh drops your hand and brings your attention to Mason.

“Yes she does! Are you wearing the princess shoes too?” Mason called your favorite heels princess shoes.

“I tried them but my leg still doesn’t feel strong enough in heels.” You grimaced thinking of when you tried on pretty much every nice shoe you owned and walked around the bedroom before deciding nothing would work. Beth had an idea that did work. “So I’m wearing these.” You pulled up your dress to reveal the blue chucks you were wearing when you met Josh. “These okay?” Your slowly looked up until you met Josh’s gaze. The satisfying smirk on his face was confirmation.

“Perfect.” He leaned over to kiss your cheek. “Our Lyft should be here soon. See you tomorrow Mace.” He leaned further to kiss the top of Mason’s head. You followed suit leaning down to hug him and kiss before wiping off your lipstick from his cheek.

“Have fun you two!” Beth sang as she shut the door behind you. You were thankful she was game for staying over when Josh had the idea of walking back to his condo.

Walking into the Cannonball you feel your cheeks flooding as Josh slips off your coat and checks them. You feel a hand slide around your waist as Felicia side hugs you gushing over your dress and telling you to breathe. She kept telling you how much fun you were going to have before Alex grabbed her to walk in.

“(Y/N), you ready Sweetheart?” Josh offers his arm and you shake your head while snaking your arm into his. He grabs your hand and squeezes. “Let’s go party.” He chuckles which makes you relax as the two of you walk through the tunnel and stop. Josh shocks you by leaning over to brush his lips to your temple as a few cameras flash. This relaxes you and allows a genuine smile that reaches your eyes.

Cannonball was a lot of Josh getting pulled for pictures or introductions and him finding you as soon as he was done. Wrapping his arms around you and making sure you were having a good time with the WAGS.

“Ok, all done really.” He kisses your neck from behind you as his arms pull you in. “Just mingling but we can do that together.” His breath leaving goosebumps in it’s path. He moves your body and grabs your hand to lead you through the crowd. Dancing with Josh was something the two of you did at home but not in public yet when he dipped you down and crashed your body into his you instantly forgot about everyone else, and the cameras, and everything but him. He sways to the music lifting you up a little to kiss you softly. “Having fun?” He whispers into your ear.

“Yes actually.” The giggle came out louder than you expected which makes Josh toss back his head laughing.  He starts singing along and picks you up to swing you around.  It’s not long before you can feel your feet getting tired.

“Ready to get out of here?” He runs his hands over your body and grabs both of your hands in his.

“Sure thing but you might be carrying me to your condo.” You giggle thankful for you choice of footwear but still tired.

“Bridal style eh?” The smirk says it all. “Let’s go!” He leads you through saying his goodbyes and to the coat check. Leaning against the wall you barely catch the conversation Josh is having with the gentleman also grabbing coats.

“Well I hope the trade rumors aren’t true man.” The man gets your attention and you snap your head in their direction. “We’d hate to lose you to Toronto or Boston before the deadline.”

“Yeah,” Josh’s voice sounds irritated like when he’s compared to a certain Metro power forward. “I hope to stay but I don’t really make those decisions but thanks.”

“Columbus needs you just so you know.” The man shakes Josh’s hand and he turns to face you.

“You....I....why? I’m...” You feel the walls crashing in. The feeling of losing yourself courses through your body and you take a run for the door.

“(Y/n), (Y/n)! Stop please.” You hear Josh’s voice behind you as you crash through the doors and onto the sidewalk. You hold yourself up along the wall then crumble into a ball on the cold concrete. “Baby.” Josh is pulling you up and all you hear is the beating of your heart in your ears but you know he’s saying something.

“Traded?” The tears coming down your face because you cannot stop them. “Traded? Like leaving Columbus? Mason? Me?” Your voice cracks at mention of Mason.

“Let’s go back to the condo and talk.” His voice is smooth and comforting sounding. He scoops you up and heads down the street. You cry into his shoulder with your coats draped over you. Josh somehow gets the both of you upstairs and into his condo without letting you go. “Wanna change into some of my sweats and talk?” He places you on your old bed.

“I can’t Josh.” You feel your body shaking.

“What do you mean? You can’t?” Josh starts to take off his mascara stained jacket.

“Josh, I mean I CAN NOT.” Tears come steaming down your face again.

#skating lessons fic #my andy man #josh anderson imagine

[lycorogue]

Marinette’s Song: Chapter 1

Just ignore that I was supposed to have this story up before midnight (and over on AO3 instead of here... whoops), and it’s now 3am...

Anyway, surprise @justknitstuff​! I’m your Secret Admirer! This 10,943 word Lukanette story for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers​ Secret Admirers event is totally your fault! XD I warned you that you didn’t know what you were encouraging (or... maybe you did. ;) )

UPDATE (2/15/20): The story is now live also over on AO3, on FFN, and on DA

Summary: Whenever Luka creates music it affects people. He can't handle having to hide his music anymore, and so he goes to the Tom & Sabine Charms and Potions shop for some help. Can Marinette's witchcraft allow Luka to finally share his music with the world? Witch and Mythological Magic AU

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 10,943 Words This Chapter: 1529

Status: Completed; 7 chapters

Disclaimer: I wanted to anchor Marinette’s magic in Wiccan as opposed to “Hollywood witchcraft”, but I’m Christian. I tried to do my research, but I also know I’m taking a lot of creative liberties. If you notice any glaring misrepresentation of Wiccan, please let me know.

It was a melancholy day. The sky was dim with clouds waiting to burst open, but the energy of a storm still lingered hours away. As Luka let his mind drift along the Seine, he didn't notice his voice drifted along with it. Not until it was too late.

The sobbing alerted him to the sorrowful melody he had been humming. With a gasp, he silenced himself, and all thoughts vanished from his mind aside from one: the echoing ring of the word no.

Luka vaguely recalled seeing in his peripheral a woman walking beside The Liberty just a moment before. Sprinting to the starboard of his mother's ship, he saw the woman still there on the sidewalk, mere meters from his home. She was slumped onto her knees, and hiding her face as her tears flowed uncontrollably.

“Not again,” Luka whispered to himself in mournful scolding. He jogged to the gangplank, and across to the sidewalk lining the Parisian river. Slowing his pace to a trot, he ventured closer to the sniffling woman.

“Hey.” Luka's voice was soft and gravelly, as if his own throat fought against the sound escaping.

The woman flinched, and folded further onto herself, nearly resting her forehead against the concrete. The sobbing weakened to a meek whimper and a few more sniffles. Luka knelt before her, and held out a handkerchief he started keeping in his back pocket.

“It's okay, miss. There's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Slowly, the woman began to uncurl, looking through her bangs to glance up at Luka with large eyes, shining with tears and violently red from the sudden crying attack. With a shaky hand, the woman accepted Luka's handkerchief, mouthed 'thank you' to him, and started to clean herself up.

Luka cautiously wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders, and helped her rock into a seated position. He then kicked out his own legs to sit beside her. “Anything you wish to talk about? If there isn't that's fine. I'm here either way.” Luka had lost hours of his life like this, offering to help people through the emotions he evoked. He felt it was only right, though, after forcing people to experience them in the first place. This was his responsibility, and he'd take it on every time.

The woman shook her head and mewed out one last whimper of sadness. Her face now dry, and the puffiness around her eyes already going down, she handed Luka back his handkerchief. “No, sorry. I- I don't know what happened. I just felt this sadness well up in my chest all of a sudden, and I-” She let out a shaky breath; heavy and loud. “I don't know where that even came from.”

Luka gently bit his lip before shifting beside the woman. He looked out over the river, his mother's ship blocking part of his view. “Sometimes that just happens. Sorry you had to experience it.”

Sometimes it truly did just happen. Sometimes Luka didn't strike an already exposed nerve so much as project his own feelings onto another. This poor woman was merely caught in the cross-hairs.

He started humming a plucky tune. A goofy one. One that he remembered learning when he was young. One that made him think of sunshine and clear skies and laughter. Soon enough, the woman began laughing. It was a sweet sound of embarrassment and stress slowly stripping away. The moment she started smiling again, Luka stopped humming.

“Sorry for being a bother,” the woman said as she pushed herself back up onto her feet. She held out her hand to help Luka up. He accepted. “I honestly feel worlds better now than I did even ten minutes ago. I guess I had a lot more built up than I thought I did, and I just really needed a good cry. I should have had better timing, but there you have it.”

“It's no bother at all. I'm glad you're feeling better now.”

“You're a sweet kid. Never lose that compassion.” The woman gave Luka's arm a gentle squeeze. Shaking her head, as if trying to ignore the questions that must have been building up inside, she scooped her purse off the sidewalk, and continued on her way.

With a heavy sigh, Luka tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket, and returned to The Liberty. As he crossed onto the deck, he spotted his sister leaning on the gunwale.

“It happened again, didn't it?” Juleka intoned.

Luka ran his fingers through his shaggy two-toned hair, and broke eye contact. “I took care of it though.”

“You need to be more careful with your music. There's a reason Mom built us a sound booth.”

“Mom only built that for us because we asked for it. She doesn't care if I use my power. Just adds to the 'Chaos of the Cosmos'.”

“Still,” Juleka caught her brother's wrist and gave it a gentle tug to garner his attention. “We did ask  her to build it for a reason. I know you. I know you can't stop the music from playing in your head, but you can at least resist succumbing to it where others can hear you.”

“I know. I slipped up. It was just,” Luka scanned the gray sky and dulled reflection of the water's surface, “so sad up here.”

“So you stayed up here?”

Luka quirked an eyebrow at Juleka: his goth-punk sister who hid half her face behind draping bangs.

“Just because I would enjoy it doesn't mean I don't realize that it bums other people out,” Juleka mumbled, “Either way, if you were getting depressed you should have come inside. Played it out of your system inside the booth.”

“I didn't even realize I was humming.”

“You can't keep doing this, Luka. People are going to figure it out.”

“I know, but what else am I supposed to do? Hide my voice? Hide my talent? Like you?”

Juleka stepped away from him as if he burnt her.

“Jules, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I just-” He gingerly closed the newly formed gap between them, and brushed her bangs out of her face. “You were so good at the bass, and I miss your voice. I hate that you barely speak above a whisper now.”

“It is what it is.” Juleka shrugged, batted Luka's hand away, and patted her bangs back in place across her left eye.

Luka studied his sister for a second or two, then rolled his shoulders back as he stretched himself as tall as he could. “It doesn't have to be. Not for me, at least.” His face hardened with determination, and he sprinted for the stairs below deck.

“Luka?”

He didn't respond to her as he vanished to the living quarters. It was only a few paces from the steps to the room Luka shared with Juleka – an arrangement he really needed to talk to their mom about now that the siblings were both teenagers – and another couple of steps to get to the side of his bed. He pulled open the underbed storage, and opened up the little treasure chest inside. It was simply a cheap little wooden mock-chest his mom had gotten him from a hobby store on his tenth birthday, but it seemed appropriate for someone who lived on a ship and was basically raised to let chaos rule. Juleka still teased him on occasion for keeping the chest for so long, but it did the job of holding important items for him, so why bother replacing it?

The chest did seem a touch pathetic in that moment, though, with only a few Euros inside. The rest of his supposed treasure consisted of guitar picks, a piece of quartz he randomly found in a park when he was about twelve, and a concert ticket stub for the rock legend Jagged Stone. Luka snatched the money out of his treasure chest, snapped the lid back closed, and then stood up, kicking his drawer shut in one fluid movement.

Marching back towards the steps, and ignoring Juleka's voice slowly raising in volume as she called out for him, Luka quickly counted his savings. It wasn't much at all. He really needed to pick up more shifts with the food delivery service he started working at. For now, though, he hoped it was enough.

“Luka, are you okay?” It was probably the most articulated Luka heard Juleka speak in years. He must have really freaked her out.

“I'm going to figure out how to control this power. If I succeed, I'll be sure to let you know. Maybe then you can sing for Rose. I know she'd love to hear it.” Luka pulled his sister in for a quick hug, and placed a kiss on the crown of her head. He then shoved his money in his front pocket, and sprinted off the ship.

“Seriously?” Juleka mumbled behind him before rolling her eyes. She stayed on The Liberty, though, and watched as her brother raced through Paris.

Read Chapter 2

@discoveringmiraculouswriters​

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #fanfiction #LycoRogue writing #LycoRogue fanfic #Lukanette #Luka Couffaine #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Juleka Couffaine #chapter story #long post #Secret Admirer event #for justknitstuff #story gift exchange #sorry it's late #ignore that Marinette doesn't make an appearance in the first chapter #witches AU #mythical creatures AU #AU story #LycoRogue original

[trixcuomo]

I’m crashing in so u betta get this party started

((Another campy, Warcraft-infused iteration worthy of the genre...))

Next on Trixany and the Kaja-Cola Flava Girls...

Trixy's my name, after me Kaja-Cola was never the same! Trixany's my name!

T R I X A N Y !

One sunny afternoon at the Kaja-Cola Dream House, high up in the Stonetalon Mountains...

[Guild] [Meghan]: Mu’usha above! Trixany, what happened to you??

[Guild] [Trixany]: *stumbles in, with baby blue ripped Kaja-Cola costume and white knee-high boots with a broken heel* Arghh.... I had a run-in with Phuur in Dalaran. I tried to handle it once and for all in a civil fashion, and with honor. The way a true warrior would--

[Guild] [Dahlia]: *gravelly Forsaken voice* You mean with D20 rolls? You should have just stabbed her in the shin.

[Guild] [Shuga]: Dahli! Will you cut that out--do you want this girl band guild to get shitposted and banned? Geez, if one more leader of the Frostwolf Clan unfriends me at this point...

[Guild] [Trixany]: ... I rolled a 19. But then that witch Phuur just... stabbed me with her pink crystal dagger, right in the... shin! *groans, collapses on the bright yellow and pink Kaja-Cola Dream House couch*

[Guild] [Dahlia]: See! That’s how you’re supposed to handle things in Dalaran. Steet! Jaina banned people, Madam Goya breaks thumbs... actually, that place can get pretty ghetto come to think of it.

Caption: Dalaran, where pretty magical fireworks happen and lead singers of girl bands getting stabbed in their shins also happens.

[Guild] [Shuga]: Grrr... Enough is enough. Something has to be done here. I’m a Burning Blade Orc by birth, and I’ll be socially dead if one more Orc shitposts about me on Reddit...

[Guild][Trixany]: Wait, Shug--I thought you said you were Frostwolf Clan by birth?

[Guild][Dhalia]: No, she’s a Mag’har Orc now. Shug kept losing followers.

[Guild][Shuga]: That was the week before last. Anyway, those Ally’s Angels have gone too far. We may be a girl band put together mainly for softdrink promotional purposes and not our actual musical talent, but we’re still Horde! *loud wolfwhistle* Mojo Jojo! Arcana Mama! Start up the Kaja-Car. *glints, sinister Orcish snarl* We’ve got some real hard core PvP on our hands.

[Guild] [Coco]: Meanwhile, the intelligent Goblin goil of the guild is gonna stay clean out of it and call our lawyers in about an hour, in anticipation of a fantastic blow-out that can only result in harmin’ business long-term. But have fun, ladies! *crosses ankles on the sofa next to her dying step sister Trixany. Turns magazine page*

[Guild] [Trixany]: *still groggy, as the pretty Nightborne Arcana tries to revive Trixany with Kaja-Cola brand smelling salts in a bright orange vial* Wait, who’s the DM for this again? And do I need a summon?

[Guild] [Shuga]: NO MORE D20! This is real killing, okay?!

Later, at the Ally’s Angels concert in Cathedral Square, Stormwind...

[Phuur]: Aaah, yes, King Anduin. *curtseys* We have seats vight up vront here for you and your date.

[Anduin]: Thank you very much. But no, this is just Wrathion. He’s here on diplomatic matters, of course.

[Phuur]: I’m sure he is. *she makes scare quotes with her blue claws* “Diplomatic.”

[Anduin]: Honestly, I’ve always loved Gnomeade since I was a kid, and we’re both huge fans of Ally’s Angels. Wrathion’s spoken of nothing else since I punched him right in the face with my excellent right hook that one time.

Caption: Young Prince Anduin, with a Gnomeade commercial stuck in his head, “I feel like Gnomeade tonight, like Gnomeade tonight!”

[Wrathion]: *sighs, crosses arms in his embroidered jacket* Must we... keep mentioning that, Anduin dear?

[Phuur]: Enjoy ze show, boys. *winks at them both and gently sashays on her Draenei hooves back to the stage set up in front of the Cathedral stairs* Ladies? Is everyzing set to go?

[Gelica]: *The Human priestess looks up as she finishes tuning her golden electric guitar* The Gnomeade Gnomes have handled everything beautifully as usual. They even brushed Roary all over even though she’s not... really that kind of Worgen.

[Phuur]: *winces* Uh-oh. Roary? You okay with zat? I know you prefer to perform in your Human form at a big event like zhis?

[Roary]: *still making a purring noise and wagging her bushy gray tail* Aaall... over. So nice.

[Phuur]: Oh? Oookay, zhen. *she is handed a blue and gold Gnomish microphone as the Gnomeade Gnomes pick up their equipment and smoothly depart. Phuur then takes her spot center-stage. The sapphire blue curtains haven’t raised yet, but all three Alliance performers smile when they hear the Cathedral Square crowd begin to cheer and chant*

Ally! Ally! Ally! Ally!

[Phuur]: Time to finally show zhe vorld of Azeroth we are ze best peformers, and ze greatest softdrink beverage company! *mutters* Take zhat, Trixany!

[Roary]: Wolf-howls, and laughs mischeviously. *the curtains raise, Gelica sends the first golden guitar riff sailing. Phuur and Roary spin side by side, then drop to their knees in a dramatic synchronized dance move. Then, holding onto each other with real emotion, Phuur curls over her microphone and begins to sing in harmony.*

I looove... what I looove, Roary...

And I love, what you love, Phuur...

What do yoooooou love, Gelica?

We all love... we looooove the Alliance...

Caption: Gnomeade’s premier girl band, Ally’s Angels. Gelica (Human), Phuur (Draenei), Roary (Worgen)

But then, a heavy shadow passes over Cathedral Square and all are compelled to look up, even the highly trained Gnomeade Ally’s Angels performers.

A giant green zeppelin with the bright orange Kaja-Cola logo on the side is sailing dead-aimed at stage.

[Phuur]: *looks up, wide-eyed* They wouldn’t dare... All because I--

[Gelica]: *lowers her guitar, annoyed* Phuur, did you go Eredar on us again? Something clearly provoked this. Roary, did you know about this?

[Roary]: Why, I must say... *then stops looking so concerned* That’s an unusually apt deduction for a Human, Gelica. *eyeroll*

Blood Elf “Fiesta Lime” Trixany is at the helm in her bright blue and green Kaja-captain’s hat, looking very ill and leaning on crutches. The fearsome Orc known as “Shuga Slam” is wearing an Admiral’s hat and red, studded shoulderguards. She’s bracing Trixany up from the other side. Shuga then raises her Goblin megaphone device.

[Shuga][Yells]: Lok’tar! All this pure, white, colorless stone... This place is SO bland, isn’t it, Flava-Girls?

[All Flava-Girls]: Wooooooo! Yeah!

[Jojo]: Light up dat sucka!! For da Horde!

[Shuga][Yells]: Yeeeeaaaah!! I say... LET’S FLAVA-BLAST IT!!! !!! 1!

*BWOOOSH!!! fWOOOOM!*

The gaseous, fiery explosion could be heard from all the way to Booty Bay.

#jem and the holograms #warcraft roleplay #kaja-cola #kaja-cola-flava-girls

[walkingshcdow-a]

Headlights on Dark Roads

For @personnages, and our Geraskier modern verse. For context, if you choose to read this, Geralt and Jaskier retire to the Pacific Northwest after tumultous and wildly successful careers. They’ve been in a relationship for several years at this point, but have only recently moved in together permanently. Stress ensues.

Do not reblog!

Jaskier slammed the door of the Maserati and threw it into reverse. The tires squealed as he pulled onto the road. The new neighbors could hear his music playing, bass pounding, as he drove towards the highway. Geralt was right: moving here had been Jaskier’s idea. If he wasn’t satisfied with it, it was nobody’s fault but his own. They’d spent the last two months cooped up in that house they’d bought on the coast, the one with the enormous yard for Roach to run in and three different bedrooms that Geralt let Jaskier decorate as lavishly as he wanted as long as their bedroom remained simple, the marble tub big enough for two grown men to sit comfortably inside, and the vast windows overlooking the ocean and forest, making their life in the dirty, rough city all those years ago seem a lifetime away. It had been heaven.

For a time.

But Geralt was a restless soul and Jaskier a reckless one and so maybe, just maybe, the domesticity of domestic bliss wasn’t all that blissful. Maybe they both craved the open road, the years of excitement, chasing different highs of fame and adventure, the uncertainty of tomorrow. DIdn’t it all seem much more glamorous, now that every morning he was guaranteed to awake with Geralt at his side? Two months ago, he’d have given his left lung just to have Geralt near. And now… Now they were locked in an argument all because Jaskier had become discontent enough to wish for more.

“What if I went back to work?” he posited on that gray morning, over a bowl of mushy cereal. He pushed his spoon around in the milk and looked up at Geralt. Geralt frowned at his coffee mug, stroking Roach’s fur beneath the table. Besides the frown, there was no other indication that Geralt had heard him. Jaskier knew to look for those little signs, but he still tapped Geralt’s foot underneath the table. “Geralt? Did you hear me?”

“Mmm.”

“I’ve been thinking about it - actually I’ve been thinking a lot about it and it’d be good for me. For us. For the both of us. I’ve been offered a job, you see. Well, an opportunity, really. The kind of golden, glorious- Geralt, are you listening?”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier and set down his coffee. He still stroked Roach.  This, Jaskier took as an invitation to continue speaking.

“A record label, Geralt,” he said quickly. “Some friends of mine from LA… They want someone experienced and respected in the music world, someone famous and talented, and I happen to fit the bill. It’s very flattering, actually, that they thought to ask me. The pay would only improve as we got more contracts-”

“It’s not about the money,” Geralt said, his first sentence of the morning. “We have money.” 

“Right, yes, we do. Which means we’d just have a bit more. And I’d only be gone once or twice a month once it got started…”

Geralt cocked his head. He stopped petting Roach and folded his hands on the table. 

“But you’d be gone more often while it got started. How often?”

“Well, you have to understand-”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s gravelly voice sounded more dangerous than usual. Their eyes met. Jaskier’s blood sluiced coldly in his veins. “You already signed the contract.”

Jaskier inclined his head, shrugged his shoulders. It was better, he reasoned, to ask forgiveness than permission. 

“Damn it, Jaskier.” Geralt pushed away from the table and skulled into the kitchen  Jaskier followed on his heels, protesting. 

“I’ll ring them up now and tell them I can’t. If you don’t want me to do it- Do you want me to do it? I just thought you’d want me out of your silky locks every now and again, that it might be good for us. Geralt? Geralt, quit ignoring me. It doesn’t take that much concentration to wash a coffee mug! What’s got a bee in your bonnet about all this, eh? If you were given the chance to go back to work, you’d leap at it.”

“Is that what you did? Leaped at the chance to go back to work?”

“Hang on- I just meant… It’s been two months. Don’t you miss it?”

There had been a time when they didn’t know when next they would see each other or for how long. Jaskier’s manager would hire Geralt to do security for a bit or Geralt would need to network through Jaskier’s contacts and they’d work together for a time, stealing what little opportunity they could to be alone together. It had been thrilling, knowing that in any crowd, a pair of yellowish eyes, familiar and lovely, might be watching him; heartbreaking when they weren’t. The unpredictable nature of their romance in those days, paired with the rapture of chart-topping success and the temptations of fame beckoned Jaskier from greener pastures. There’d been a time when this life - a life with Geralt in a house on the coast had been more tempting, but the grass was truly greener on the other side, wasn’t it? 

Geralt’s face darkened as he turned off the tap water. He looked at Jaskier, expression unreadable. 

“You’re the one who wanted this,” he said. “The house, retirement… all of it was your fucking idea.”

“Oh, so when I want something else, suddenly the house on the coast is a good idea?” Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “You didn’t even want to move out here!”

Geralt said nothing. 

“So what should it matter, then, if I want to leave to go back to work a few times a month?” Jaskier continued dangerously. “Why did you ever agree to a house and a life with me, I wonder, when it was all my idea?”

“You want to leave? Then leave.” Geralt pushed past Jaskier. From the doorway, Roach whined. “I won’t stop you.”

Jaskier couldn’t breathe. He called Geralt’s name a few times, but Geralt disappeared down one of the massive hallways and left Jaskier alone. And so he did the only thing he could think to do: he grabbed his keys and his coat and stormed out to his car. Now, the Maserati knifed through the fog as the rain started to pour down. Jaskier could hardly see out of the windshield as he wound down the coastline. Geralt didn’t want him and so maybe his friends back in LA would have him. He could sleep on a couch or in a spare bedroom until the smoke cleared. Stupid man! He really ought to have asked Geralt first, instead of accepting the offer and then posing it to Geralt like a question. 

He hadn’t even done that, he realized and suddenly, Jaskier didn’t want to go to LA. He wanted to go home and try again. He wanted to apologize and ask Geralt what he thought he should do and then phone his friends not with his answer, but with their answer. Jaskier looked for the turn-around. The signs were hard to see in the rain, but that must’ve been it, just ahead. He signaled and turned. He accelerated towards the house, towards Geralt, towards home.

And then he saw a pair of yellow headlights.

Jaskier awoke to the sound of something beeping, the click of footsteps on linoleum, the murmur of distant voices. The room smelled sharply clean and as he opened his eyes, his vision only took in bright whiteness - white light, white walls, white ceiling. The pain in his chest and head made his vision swim. Croakily, he tried to call out for someone - anyone. Instead, only one name gurgled from his lips: “Geralt…?”

“Over here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked and, even though it hurt, craned his neck so he could look to the side of his bed. Sitting uncomfortably in the chair was Geralt. His hair was pinned back messily as if he’d been sleeping here for a while and he wore the same, black t-shirt Jaskier remembered him wearing when they fought. Jaskier smiled an iron-tinged smile at him; his lips were split and dry. How long had he been asleep? Unconscious? Comatose? And how long had Geralt sat just like that in the chair beside the hospital bed, regretting every last thing they’d ever fought about? Jaskier regretted their fight, that was the absolute last thing he remembered before waking up was immense regret that he’d never get to apologize to Geralt. But now that they were both here…

“I bet you wish you never told me to leave,” Jaskier croaked. 

“You’re all right,” Geralt said. 

“Surprised you care. I didn’t even get to drive back to you and confess my love for you in the rain.”

“No, you mistook a one-way street for the turn-around instead,” Geralt said. “Much more romantic.”

“How did you know I-”

“I’m your medical contact. And your boyfriend. And your car was smashed into a barrier. Add it up.” 

The car. Jaskier hissed and shut his eyes. The Maserati. He’d bought it only three days ago when his friends proposed the record label to him. He remembered showing Geralt all the bells and whistles - the Bluetooth hook-up and the leather interior and the different gears. Geralt had seemed mildly impressed for a moment, but then, shrugging, said that his truck - the weather-beaten behemoth with the creaky seats - had seen them through plenty of adventures so far. “We’ll have new ones!” Jaskier had protested and Geralt squeezed his shoulder and that had been so deliciously delightful that Jaskier couldn’t bear to tell him he’d accepted an offer from some friends in LA. Maybe if he’d told him then, instead of after the fact, they would have made angry, heated love in the Maserati and Jaskier never would have driven off in a rage. Too late now. 

“Totaled?” he asked, knowing the answer already. 

“You’re lucky you’ve only got a concussion and some broken ribs,” Geralt said. “You were out for a couple hours, but you can come home in the morning.”

Jaskier leaned back against the pillows with a painful sigh. Broken ribs. He was lucky there was no worse damage. He imagined a punctured lung would keep him from singing; a broken wrist from playing any instrument at all. It was still a six week recovery time - give or take. He’d be laid up in bed most days and Geralt wasn’t exactly the caretaking type. The record label would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. 

“Fuck.”

“Mmm.” 

“I guess you’re getting what you wanted,” Jaskier said, a little sourly. “I won’t be fit to drive to LA like this. Won’t even have a car to drive there in unless you let me borrow-”

“No.”

“Thought not.”

Silence descended upon the two men. Somehow, as much as Jaskier wanted to grieve his lost opportunity, he was grateful. Of all things, he was most grateful for Geralt’s companionable silence; his mere presence put Jaskier’s mind at ease. He outstretched his hand for Geralt to take, almost certain he wouldn’t, but still hoping for a scrap of sorry affection.

Because he was sorry. Jaskier was sorry for fighting with Geralt, for making a choice without him, for thinking their life wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t enough, for a thousand things. Mostly, he was really, fucking sorry that he’d almost died without telling Geralt the truth: the life they’d built and had fought to build was everything he’d hoped for and he’d only leaped at the opportunity for something new for fear that Geralt would tire of it - and of him. How stupid could he be? Jaskier had known Geralt for too many years to believe that pack of lies. Geralt was not readily affectionate, not like Jaskier in the need for constant closeness and conversation. But he was a good man - the best Jaskier had ever loved, the best Jaskier had ever known - who was loyal and steadfast and kind. Jaskier had hurt him and, more than that, Jaskier had almost lost him on a fool’s errand. A warm hand wrapped around Jaskier’s fingers. He smiled palely at Geralt, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

“I’ll call my friends when we get out of the hospital,” he said, “and tell them to find someone else.”

“Maybe until you’re healed,” Geralt said. “I think it’d be good for you to have a hobby.”

Jaskier laughed weakly. 

“I should have talked to you first,” he said. “We make decisions together now. And if you don’t want me to-”

“Jaskier…”

“Well, what do you want? Do you want me home, do you want me gone? You’re remarkably stingy with words, love, and in case you haven’t noticed, reading minds isn’t one of my many talents.”

“I don’t want anything,” Geralt said.

“Don’t be a martyr-”

“I’m not. I have Roach. I have you. I have a roof over my head and I know where my next meal is coming from. What more am I supposed to want?”

Jaskier cocked his head. What more did he want? Better communication? More affection? More adventure? Did he want to marry Geralt?

The realization dropped like a stone into Jaskier’s stomach. Even if he wanted to marry Geralt, neither of them were the marrying sort. Were they? They’d been partners long enough, you would think… But then days like today happened. That was no foundation for a marriage, was it? 

Or maybe it was.

Jaskier couldn’t see himself living a life without Geralt. And what did husbands do, if not turn up to see your sorry ass when you nearly got yourself killed? He imagined Geralt in the waiting room, filling out forms for Julian Alfred Pankratz, and poring over insurance information that would be so much easier if it was shared. He imagined the nearly imperceptible worry on Geralt’s stern and handsome face and what gruff demands he must’ve made to be allowed in, despite not being family. Not being family! After everything. Neither of them was the sort to settle down. Maybe neither seemed the marrying type, but for the first time in his life, Jaskier realized how badly he wanted his next adventure to be with a band around his finger, telling the whole world that whatever they thought of him, his promiscuous youth was gone and instead replaced with something solid and real and distinctly Geralt-shaped. If he started a record label and had to go to awards ceremonies again, he didn’t want to tug Geralt along as a bodyguard. He wanted to hang off his arm, proud to call him his very own. Was it greedy to want it all - success and stability alike? Jaskier didn’t know, but he did know that Geralt was here and there had never been anyone he loved more. There never would be. So he squeezed his boyfriend’s hand and said -

“Just promise me you want us to be happy together. Can we try that? See where that leads us?”

“If you promise not to land yourself in the hospital again for another stupid display of dramatics…. We’ll see.”

Jaskier didn’t need to look to hear the smile in Geralt’s voice. Tomorrow, he’d be discharged from the hospital and tomorrow, he would deal with his broken ribs and begin to recover and he and Geralt would embark on this chapter of their lives with new parameters. But for now, it was enough just to hold his hand and have a quiet moment together.

#;;destiny is just the embodiment of the soul’s desire to grow | {jaskier} #;;thy tongue; thy story quickly.| {drabble} #;;jaskier | {drabble} #.002 | modern #personnages #r: graced a ride along | {jaskier x geralt} #tw: car accident #tw: injury #tw: hospitals

[eeee-lye]

Metal, Part One

To make this a bit easier on myself, and also because my right hand isn’t working that well right now, I’m going to divide this into multiple posts. So this some of the power, symphonic, sympho-folk, gothic and power-prog artists in my main playlists.

I should note that I am an autistic with auditory processing disorder, so I do not listen to music primarily for lyrics and cannot promise that any one of these songs won’t contain problematic content.

I didn’t include Nightwish or Amaranthe because I know that you know of them, @dps-winston, but if you want my recommendations on either I can provide that. It’s also worth noting that I’ve often gone for bands’ lead tracks to give some idea of what their general sound is like. Also, not all these bands are actively together or recording.

Also, as someone who’s been listening to symphonic metal for a long time, I am not always a fan of the genre’s shift away from gothic metal undertones into pop-metal undertones, so the songs I list demonstrate that. There are other songs by bands like Sirenia, Xandria and Delain that are going to have that pop-metal tone if that’s what you enjoy. It’s just that I--while I shake my cane and ramble on about the good old days--came into the genre when it was paying homage to gothic metal, and I miss that.

Amberian Dawn: Mythological/fantastic gothic power metal. Unlike most of the bands here, they don’t go for anywhere near the same degree of orchestration, but there’s still backing choral pieces. Earlier songs are more often operatic; later songs are a bit less so.

Examples: River of Tuoni (early), Fame and Gloria, Cherish My Memory (Remastered)

Amanda Somerville and Michael Kiske: Two of metal’s famous melodic voices join up in that soft/melodic corner of power metal. Their first album is slow and blah, in my opinion, but City of Heroes has some rocking songs, and the title track is pretty much the Hero’s Journey set to song.

Examples: City of Heroes, Walk on Water.

Avantasia: A long-running (usually concept album) project from power metaller Tobias Sammet and a range of guest vocalists from the power, symphonic and prog corners of metal. More symphonic-power and power-prog than true power metal. Songs like “Runaway Train” are fucking epic.

Examples: Runaway Train, Twisted Mind.

Ayreon: Pretty much the epitome of melodic prog concept album projects, by Arjen Lucassen and another range of famous metal guest vocalists. It’s still power-prog, but it leans more into the prog than Avantasia. I very much recommend listening to Ayreon as a whole album first over individual songs, as much as I adore Day Three: Pain.

Examples: I’ll always recommend first The Human Equation.

Crimfall: Folk-with-a-bit-of-symphonic metal. I’d say something like the later Nightwish sound combined with early Eluvitie and a dash of Howard Shore’s The Lord of the Rings with even more outrageous bombast and shifts between clean and grunt (beauty and the beast) vocals. This band goes all out between softer breaks, so it isn’t just a wall of noise. (Although the start of “Until Falls the Rain” is fucking massive.) If you don’t like grunt vocals or harder folk, this may not work for you, but if you do, Crimfall.

Examples: Until Falls the Rain, The Last of Stands, Wildfire Season, Where Waning Winds Lead

Dark Princess: Gothic metal with ... well, I can only say emo undertones, but a similar sort of pop-metal sensibility as Amaranthe. They’re a pretty accessible entry to the melodic metal genre for folks new to the idea in terms of hardness, comprehensible vocals and song lengths.

Examples: Cry, Stop My Heart, The Key.

Delain: Symphonic/goth metal in their earlier albums; gothic power-pop metal, more like Amaranthe, in their later ones. I prefer their earlier albums, and their songs that lean hardest on the pop metal rarely do it for me so I won’t list them here, but Charlotte Wessels always sounds gorgeous. Damn do I love “Sleepwalker’s Dream”.

Examples: Sleepwalker’s Dream (early), Here Come the Vultures (later), Masters of Destiny (current)

Edenbridge: Symphonic/operatic metal, more like early Nightwish. I don’t like all their songs, I admit. They’re at their best, in my book, when they’re willing to move away from a close adherence to the Nightwish or Epica sound with more diverse instrumentation; “Wild Chase” is seriously good fun.

Examples: Wild Chase, Remember Me, Higher

Elis: Gothic metal. A lot of their songs sound fairly similar to me, but if you want less orchestration and more gothic sounds with grunt vocals, chorus and guitar, they’ll provide. (RIP Sabine.)

Examples: The Burning, Salvation

Elvenking: Folk meets light power metal with some acoustic songs between, and I have to say there’s something a bit Pratchett-esque elvish or Goblin Market about the weirdness of some of their songs, lyrically. But they’re light, fantastic, folky fun; just don’t expect them to always fit the Tolkien mould. High fantasy Elvenking are not, and that’s why they work.

Examples: The Wanderer (acoustic version), The Cabal, Trows Kind

Epica: If you’re looking for a more existential/spiritual/philosophical take on Nightwish, Epica will provide in the symphonic/operatic/gothic metal sphere. They’re bit more classical-feeling than Nightwish and, at the same time, more gothic, with grunt vocals threaded through the operatic elements. They’re big, bombastic and dramatic, with a touch of Therion about their music.

Examples: Our Destiny, The Essence of Silence, Tides of Time

Kamelot: Symphonic power-slightly-prog metal with a fair bit of drama. We don’t talk about Roy Khan, but I do like his vocals slightly better than that of his replacement, Tommy Karevik. (Karevik is still good, though.) They almost always have One Really Big Romantic Power Ballad, often with a guest female vocalist; it’s practically a contractual obligation.

(Epica are named after Kamelot’s Epica album, FYI.)

Khan examples: The Human Stain, March of Mephisto, A Sailorman’s Hymn

Karevik examples: Insomnia, Under Grey Skies (with the aforementioned Charlotte Wessels), Vespertine (My Crimson Bride)

Leah: A one-woman soft/melodic Celtic metal band, often with doom and prog undertones. Not all her stuff is quite as metal as I prefer, but if you want a break from the bombast melodic metal likes to throw at you with vocals more akin to Enya than Tarja, Leah will do that.

Examples: The Northern Edge, This Present Darkness

Leaves’ Eyes: Symphonic Norse metal, most of the time, but there’s a few albums between that are more like symphonic folk or Norse/Celtic rock. I vastly prefer them when they’re leaning harder to metal, like King of Kings. (Their best album, in my book.) We also don’t talk about Liv Kristine, but I do prefer her as frontwoman.

Examples, all Liv Kristine: Halvdan the Black, Blazing Waters, Froya’s Theme, Elegy (which, because pronouns, sounds like a sapphic love song)

Pyramaze: Fantasy-style softer power metal with a slight dash of prog. It’s very traditionally DnD/fairy tale fantastic, but it’s more toned down compared to Dragonforce. You’re all but required to sing “blood will be shed” and “the UNICORN” in the same way Shakespeare demands you holler “dishonour not your mothers”.

Examples: Tears of Hate, Legend.

Serenity: They’re Kamelot’s brand of symphonic power metal with a more power-metal-leaning vocalist and fantasy or historical vocals. They’re pretty much what power metal would be if it stayed power metal in theme but tried for Kamalot’s sound and styling. For all that it’s hard not to see them as a Kamelot knock-off, I do enjoy their music.

Examples: Velatum, Rust of Coming Ages, When Canvas Starts to Burn

Sirenia: Gothic metal evolving to symphonic metal. I vastly prefer their earlier albums; their middle albums have lost uniqueness (in my opinion) as they moved towards the Nightwish-adjacent mould, just with grunt vocals. Morten Velend’s vocals, though, are good: he’s deep and gravelly while still being clear. And the recent album has that discordant note again, albeit now over Amaranthe’s pop-metal base. Sirenia is a Revolving Door of Female Vocalists, though!

(If you like Morten’s vocals and want Sirenia’s orchestral gothic stylings sans female lead vocals: Mortemia’s Misere Mortem. If you prefer the earlier Sirenia songs, see early Tristania below.)

Examples: In My Darkest Hours (early), A Shadow of Your Own Self (early),  Sirens of the Seven Seas (middle), Dim Days of Dolor (recent), Love Like Cyanide (recent)

Sonata Arctica: Power metal, sometimes with fantasy or historical themes, but a bit toned down compared to Dragonforce or Rhapsody of Fire. This is why I listen to them a lot more than I do the others, as full-out power metal isn’t really my jam. Also, you have got to listen to “Fullmoon” because werewolves.

Examples: Fullmoon (Revisited), Flag in the Ground, The Last Amazing Grays

Tarja: For the sake of completeness, I should mention that Nighwish’s former frontwoman has recorded several of her own albums, but the first two are only ever okay for me, and I don’t connect to the later gothic-pop-metal tones of the later ones. I really notice the lack of Tuomas in her songs.

Examples of songs I don’t hate: Until My Last Breath, Die Alive

Therion: Unclassifiably melodic? Well, there’s fantasy, symphonic, orchestral, choral, prog, mythological and spiritual elements bound into something that’s wild and unique. Nothing else sounds quite like Therion, and their tracks vary in terms of additional tone, instrumentation, theme and styling. It’s as dramatic and all out as all fuck.

Examples: Call of Dagon, Enter Vril-Ya, Son of the Staves of Time, Adulruna Rediviva

Threshold: Soft power-prog, somewhat like Kamelot but sans orchestration. I do find a lot of their songs to be similar, and their early stuff doesn’t speak to me at all, but the songs I like I really like.

Examples: Stars and Satellites, Small Dark Lines

Tristania: Their early (Morten) albums are discordant gothic metal with doomier-style orchestrations, mostly grunt vocals against a choral background. Their later albums ... they’re just standard goth metal. If you like harder vocals leaning into doom but with more orchestration and symphonic elements, Tristania’s early albums are great. Not a fan, at all, of their later stuff, but I’ll link a song for comparison!

Examples: Beyond the Veil (early), Opus Relinque (early), Year of the Rat (later)

Visions of Atlantis: This is another band that’s had a few different vocalists and have changed tone along with them, but they’re mostly fantasy/mythological symphonic metal. (The earlier albums have a consistent operatic power metal vibe not present on songs like “The Deep and the Dark”.) I don’t mind when autoplay offers me their songs, but they’ve never been a band whose discography I absolutely have to own.

Examples: Mermaid’s Wintertale (early), Return to Lemuria (recent), The Deep and the Dark (recent)

Within Temptation: If you’ve heard Nightwish and Amaranthe, you’ve probably heard WT, but just in case you haven’t, they’re a symphonic metal stalwart. Not all their albums work for me--sometimes they sound far too same-ish and sometimes their more experimental songs don’t hit the mark--but Hydra is fantastic.

(I do love And We Run as is. Ironically, I can’t stand What Have You Done; I wish they’d gotten Mikael Stanne or Morten Veland over Keith Caputo. Just think what that song would sound like with grunt vocals!)

Examples: Edge of the World, The Last Dance, Murder and, because I’m contractually obligated to mention it, Paradise (What About Us)

Xandria: A fairly standard gothic/symphonic/operatic metal band, but they’re another Revolving Door of Female Vocalists Band with resulting shifts in tone, so the mood of their albums shifts from gothic to full-out operatic depending on vocalist. I don’t always like all their songs for this reason! Neverworld’s End is my favourite, probably because it’s the most Nightwish-esque.

Examples of songs I like: The Nomad’s Crown, Forevermore (both from Neverworld’s End), Nightfall, Voyage of the Fallen

#music #metal #youtube #link #long post #very long post #this is nowhere close to all of them #I just have to draw the line somewhere #dps winston #extremely long post #really fucking long post

[onestowatch]

Billy Raffoul Shares Heartwarming Tour Memories & Teases Forthcoming Album [Q&A]

Photo Credit: Alyssa Yung

Deep gravelly voice. Long luscious locks. There’s something hypnotic about Billy Raffoul’s live performance and we couldn’t be more in love with this ingenious singer songwriter. Beginning his songwriting career at the young age of 10, Raffoul has truly been destined to make music. Some might even say it runs in his blood. With Canadian rock legend Jody Raffoul as a father, young Billy was bred to perform. To create. To inspire. And he definitely has.

This Canadian has been stealing hearts across America as he travels alongside Parachute on ‘The Young Tour.’ From the couple who traveled to Los Angeles from Nashville to hear Raffoul perform their favorite songs to the young family who came from Arizona to experience the magic, we were lucky enough to be amongst a crowd of Raffoul fanatics. After our knees went a little too weak from his lovely performance, we got to catch up with Raffoul right after he rocked, well acoustically rocked, the iconic Troubadour. 

Two years after we sat down with him to discuss his debut single, “Driver,” which is still a bop if you ask us, we got to sit down with Raffoul once again. Soundtracked by the sweet sounds of Parachute, we talked about tour, his debut album, and fitting three months of clothes into a tiny backpack.  

OTW: How has this tour been so far?

Billy Raffoul: Haha! You can hear them talking about me. It’s been a great tour. I’m so lucky to be on the road with Parachute. And it’s so extensive. It’s like 40+ dates. We’ve been to a lot of rooms that we’ve been before, which is cool because we see some familiar faces and we’ve gained some fans in those same exact places. They’ve also taken us to some places that we’ve never been before, which has been so cool.

OTW: Has there been a favorite city that you’ve visited?

BR: We’ve had some amazing crowds in surprising places! Uncasville, Connecticut was insane. I wasn’t expecting their energy. And of course New York, but traveling everywhere with Parachute has been great.

OTW: What has been the best moment on tour so far?

BR: There’s been a whole bunch, so many special things. We were opening the show in Sacramento a couple nights ago and I realized that there were a lot of people out there to see me. That was really cool because they were singing along to all of the songs. I played a song that I normally don’t include in the set, called “Forever,” and I stopped in the middle of the chorus and they just kept on singing. It was crazy, especially being the opener.

Photo Credit: Alyssa Yung

OTW: With all these people coming to see you, what has been your craziest fan experience?

BR: Oh man. We’ve had some people fly from overseas to come to the shows, which is fucking crazy. We were in Washington and there were these two girls that had flown in from Vienna. Well, one from Vienna and one from somewhere in Germany just for the show. It’s not the first time that’s happened. It’s happened a bunch, which is crazy. It’s nuts! I feel bad! In the middle of this tour we did two headlining shows up in Canada, in Toronto and Montreal. And again, a couple people had flown in from Germany to see my show.

OTW: Do you have any plans for your own headline tour?

BR: Absolutely! If not at the end of this year, then at the beginning of next year. It’ll accompany the album.

OTW: Oooh! When’s the album coming out?

BR: Hopefully this calendar year.

OTW: That’s so exciting. What can we look forward to on this album?

BR: You know I’ve been putting out music that’s a lot of different genres. I think with the album it’s going to be some of the most organic stuff I’ve ever released. Kind of like my last release, “Easy Tiger.”

OTW: If there’s a color that you can set to this album, what would you choose and why?

BR: Definitely something a little more somber and sad. I think a lot of the single art that we’ve put out so far has been black and white and I think that’s definitely something fitting for the music. Gray maybe. Gray with flashes of purple.

OTW: Looking back on “Driver,” how has your sound evolved since you first started out in music?

BR: It’s definitely changed. I think “Driver” was just one shade of what I want to do. I love rock and roll. I love dirty guitar sounds and garage rock. We tried to put some of that into “Driver.” I don’t think it’s changed much, but we’re starting to show different faces of the music. “Driver” is just one of those things that I know I’ll go back to putting out songs like it in the future, but right now it’s more pulled back, live, and acoustic.

Photo Credit: Alyssa Yung

OTW: Do you enjoy performing acoustic the most?

BR: Oh yeah. This tour has been a dream. I love playing with my band as well, but I never want to get too comfortable so I like to change it up.

OTW: How do you even pack for tour?!

BR: I have a backpack. My girlfriend bought it for me, it’s got the Canada flag on it, and if it doesn’t fit in the bag it isn’t coming on tour.

OTW: All 40 dates! In one bag?

BR: Oh yeah it’s tiny. It’s hilarious. That’s why in a lot of my photos on stage I’m wearing the same shirt.

Photo Credit: Alyssa Yung

OTW: Lastly, who are your Ones To Watch?

BR: Oh jeez. I’m just going to plug my friends because I love my friends and they’re great. I played with this amazing duo Cinzia and The Eclipse in Montreal. They opened for us and she has the most lovely voice and she blew us away. Chase was a great guitar player as well. In addition to them, my whole family basically. My dad Jody and my brother Peter. Also, my drummer Justin has a side project, The Indiana Drones, and they’re great. Their music is amazing. You can find his music on Spotify and iTunes. Also Windsor Ontario, Same Place We Were Born. I went to high school with him and growing up I was always looking up to him. The writing and the sound is incredible. He records all the music and plays all the instruments. It’s just great, great punk rock.

Be sure to fall head over heels in love with this raspy rocking virtuoso as he completes ‘The Young Tour’ at the dates below:

#billy raffoul #singer-songwriter #alternative #indie rock #rock #interview

[dreamsinger-rose]

Smacksgiving Day

So I was thinking about the Trolls Holiday Special, and how random and weird some of the holidays were. Also, how some were so in-your-face that they seemed to be intentionally annoying - and then it hit me. What if the holidays served as a kind of social pressure valve?

All holidays are supposed to be to "release the pressure", as Branch sings in the final song, but since the trolls are supposed to live in a happy, non-violent society, what happens when they get on each other's nerves?

It occurred to me that some of these “holidays” would be a great way to work off your anger at someone. Glitter-palooza - throw glitter in someone's face! Shock-A-Friend Day? Bleepy Sound Day? And one that sounded especially out-of-character for trolls - Smacksgiving Day. A holiday where they're allowed to hit each other? And then (of course) hug afterward.

Smacksgiving Day

Poppy stood nearby, looking at the long line that had formed in front of the booth Branch had built as he stood in the open space between the two side counters, which were piled high with frosting-topped jelly-brownies. "You sure you want to do this, Branch?"

He nodded stoically, his dark purple hair catching the sunlight and turning a vivid amethyst. "I do, Poppy. I know I've hurt a lot of trolls, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make peace with everyone."

"Well, okay…" She clapped her hands. "You heard him, everyone. Get ready to slap Branch in the face to give him some peace!”

She caught him giving her a ‘that’s not what I meant,’ look, but she simply smiled enigmatically at him.

***

Earlier that day…

“Happy Smacksgiving Day, everyone!” Poppy grinned at the vividly-colored cheeks that turned in her direction. “Ooo, Cooper, both cheeks? Someone’s popular today.”

She felt the sharp slap of a hand on her face and turned to see powder-blue Chenille beaming at her while her pink twin sister Satin put her hands on her hips. “Chenille, we agreed that I could slap her first!”

Chenille gave Poppy a quick hug, then backed away and sneered at Satin. “Oh, slap me!”

“Well…if you insist,” Satin said slyly, and swung the loop of hair that connected them around Poppy.

“Hey!” Poppy struggled to get her arms free as Satin used her as a pivot point, lifting and yanking and spinning the young queen dizzy as the twins squabbled, thoroughly engaged in what was apparently their favorite pastime aside from designing fashionable clothes.

Yodeling a mock battle cry, Guy Diamond made a wild leap for Smidge, who used her hair to zip up to the heights of a nearby giant mushroom. “Too slow, sucker!” her gravelly voice boomed.

Poppy used her magenta hair like a tripod to push her hair-wrapped body high into the air, attracting the attention of dozens of nearby trolls. “Guys, hold up a second! I have an important request to pass on!”

The watching trolls gave her mixed looks of curiosity and wariness. “For real, or is this just a trick to get us into slapping range?” Smidge asked, then shrugged. “Of course, if you need to resort to trickery, I shall have no mercy, but-”

“No, it’s a real request. It’s from Branch.” The twins loosened their hair and Poppy coiled her hair like a spring and bounced up to stand on the mushroom next to Smidge. “Can everyone come here for minute?” she called out to the brightly-colored crowd that had already begun to gather around their queen.

“Let me guess, he wants us to take it easy on him, since it’s his first Smacksgiving Day and all,” D.J. Suki suggested calmly. 

Many of the nearby trolls nodded their heads understandingly, smiling at the thought of the brave young troll who had given them all refuge in his well-stocked bunker and then left to help the princess on a rescue mission that ended up including the lives of every troll in the village.

“It figures,” Smidge began scornfully, but Poppy shook her head.

“No, just the opposite. He wants us to be hard on him.”

“What?” exclaimed a dozen trolls, with Guy Diamond’s oscillating tone rising above the general confusion. The crowd broke into a gabble of conversation, through which Poppy waited patiently while more and more trolls arrived.

When the majority of the village had gathered, she raised her hands and clapped then over her head. “Okay, listen up, everyone! Yesterday Branch asked me to let everyone know that he wants to make up for being such a buzzkill for most of his life. He’s offering to let anyone who wants to slap-hug him to go see him at the booth he’s setting up in the village square.”

“You mean he’s just going to stand there and let people slap him?” sentimental Satin asked her with wide eyes.

“Where’s the sport in that?” Smidge wrinkled her forehead.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun. It sounds like…punishment,” Cooper said slowly. “The bad kind, not funishment.”

“Poppy,” Biggie said carefully, his face creasing as he tried to understand. “Do you want us to …punish… Branch?”

The crowd gasped and Mister Dinkles mewed. “Oh my gad,” Smidge said, her eyes so huge they threatened to take up half her face.

“Noooo way!” Guy Diamond trilled indignantly. “We don’t punish. That’s not the troooll way!”

“No, no, no!” Poppy rapidly waved her hands from side to side. “It’s not – Well, I think he – I think Branch feels really bad about how mean he’s been to people over the years.”

“Why doesn’t he just apologize? We’d forgive him, wouldn’t we?” D. J. turned to look at the crowd and many of them nodded or smiled or murmured assent.

Poppy carefully noted that not everyone seemed to agree. Some trolls had a harder time forgiving and forgetting than others, including one special troll in particular who sometimes made her heart ache with sadness for him. She’d spent years trying to get through to him, and now that he was finally opening up a little, she was getting a better sense of who he was and how his mind worked. And how to finally soothe his heart.

She spoke up. “But this is Branch we’re talking about. He doesn’t think like other trolls. He takes things too seriously, and he has a tendency to feel responsible for things that maybe aren’t really his fault.” She felt the corners of her mouth turn down as her voice went a little husky. “And then he punishes himself for them.”

By the looks on their faces she knew her friends understood that she was referring to how he’d refused to allow himself to sing after his innocent childhood song had attracted the attention of the bergen that had eaten his grandmother in place of little Branch. Grief and guilt together had kept him gray and guarded for twenty long years, until the love and forgiveness Poppy and her friends had given him after his heartbreaking confession had finally begun to heal his heart. He’d smiled at her, a real smile free of sarcasm or artifice, a smile she did everything she could to bring out so that he would never fall back into the grayness.

At the uncharacteristically somber look on their queen’s face, the crowd’s chatter died down. Poppy smiled reassuringly down at everyone, explaining, “So we wouldn’t really be punishing him, we’d be helping him feel less guilty.”

“Ohhh.” The ripple of understanding caused bright smiles to spread through the crowd.

Smidge shrugged. “Fine by me. Colors or no colors; he’s still such a weirdo, but if it makes him happy…”

“Be gentle, everyone,” Poppy cautioned, watching hair of every color of the rainbow sway as they all nodded.

“Well, of course we will,” Cooper said reassuringly. “He’s our buddy!”

“Princess Poppy, what if we can’t think of anything to be mad at him for?” one of the children asked.

“Oh, you don’t have to do this. Branch just wants to give people a chance to speak their minds. If you’re not mad, it’s all good,” the rosy queen said cheerfully.

***

Most of the trolls satisfied themselves with a gentle slap to his pale aqua cheeks - which quickly became deep lavender, although Poppy suspected it was mostly due to shame rather than blunt force trauma.

Each of the gathered trolls also aired their grievances. The troll queen wasn’t sure how many were genuine and how many had been dreamed up by those trolls who felt it their duty to help lighten the burden of the brave young troll who had literally brought back the light inside all of them, but a few were so obviously fake that she slapped her forehead and groaned. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

"You told me my singing was off-key!" "Electric blue and orange do SO go together!" "You ruined three of my parties with your bergen-warnings! Even though you turned out to be right in the end, you never apologized for those other times!" “I hate cupcakes!”

Poppy raised an eyebrow. How is that Branch’s fault?

"I'm so sorry," he said to each troll. “Please forgive me.”

How could you not forgive that sad little face? Poppy felt her heart flutter and brought her hands up to cover her chest, smiling with loving empathy at the former recluse with sincere sky-blue eyes who was so determinedly doing what he thought was right, even though his method for doing so made more than a few trolls scratch their heads.  

Branch had a soulful, troubled look that made many of them pause, mentally comparing the woebegone face of the handsome aquamarine troll with the sour, hostile gray face that was all most of them could remember. The face that all of them had witnessed gain its long-lost colors right in front of them. The face that had literally brought them all back from the awful gray pit of numb despair, touching them all with his gentle compassion, his tender hope, and his passionate devotion to their beloved princess.

No one doubted that Branch was deeply in love with her, and watching the two of them now, with Poppy standing so protectively near him made most of them feel any remaining animosity for the young troll drain away, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling that was much preferred by the happiest creatures in the forest.

"Of course I forgive you," each troll replied. The hugs that followed were invariably warm and affectionate, and Branch was glad to receive every one.

“Would you like a jelly-brownie?” he offered. “They’re made from my grandma’s recipe.”

Poppy stood nearby with clasped hands, so proud of him she could hardly contain herself. When the last troll had gone, she looked at his puffy lavender cheeks and giggled. "Well, no one can say now that they're still mad at you after this. How long did that take, an hour?"

He shrugged, not wanting to say anything through sore lips. She gave him a sympathetic smile and took his hand in hers. "Come on, let's go put some cold compresses on your face."

He looked down at their clasped hands and fought to control the smile that wanted to torment his sore face. Instead he squeezed her hand, glad that she had not seemed to want to join the line, in spite of all the grief he'd given her over the years. Still, ever cautious, he decided to make sure. "Poppy?" he mumbled. As she turned to him, he shifted his grip to her wrist and held her hand up in front of his face.

"Oh." For a moment Poppy seemed to consider it. It was Smackgiving Day, after all. She twisted her hand out of his grasp and he closed his eyes, tilting his cheek up in silent offering.

Nothing happened for a long moment. He opened his eye a crack to see her giving him a loving smile, and then her hand loomed in front of his face and he reflexively closed his eye. Something made contact with his face, but rather than the sharp sting he had become accustomed to, her touch was gentle, soothing, a caress that slid down his sore face and under his chin, her fingers teasing his downy skin in a way that sent tingles right down to his toes. He pulled in a deep breath and his hands clenched as he held himself still, content to remain like that as long as she cared to touch him.

He remembered the look in her eyes, and smiled slightly despite his tender face, almost sure that the love he’d seen there was more than just friendship-love, but happy to see it there all the same. As long as she loved him there was a warmth inside him, a sense of connection, driving back the dark desolation that had once made him avoid all contact with others.

He dared not open his eyes, standing there in rapt pleasure until finally her hand moved away and he opened them to see her giving him a gentle, thoughtful look. "I guess I don't feel like it this year," she said in answer to the question he’d forgotten he’d asked. The pink queen smiled wryly. "In fact, this is probably the first year I haven't felt like slapping you for all the rude things you've said.” Her voice went husky, a sure sign that she was feeling emotional. “I’m so proud of you, Branch."

He felt a surge of warmth at her praise and his cheeks hurt as the smile he was trying to contain widened. Made bold by her touch, he held up his large hand and reached toward her, making contact even as she automatically winced in anticipation, scrunching her eyes shut. Then she seemed to realize that he was only cupping her cheek gently and giving her a soft look to make his message clear.

"You neither, huh?" She placed her warm hand over his, closing her eyes and pressing her face more firmly into his hand. She took a deep, slow breath, smiling dreamily, then opened her eyes and pulled his hand away to clasp it once more. "Come on, let's go before someone else spots you." She grinned as she led him away, and he was more than willing to follow.

***

Author’s Note:

Thanks to eva-93 for her timely comment that got me thinking of revising this fic to include a good reason for the other trolls to cooperate. When I first got the idea for this fic I had seen the Holiday special but not TTBGO, so I hadn’t yet seen the Creek Week episode about the trolls’ attitude toward forgiveness.

Speaking of trolls and forgiveness, we know Branch and even Poppy finds it hard to forgive. And while we know Poppy’s friends forgave Creek in TTBGO after a simple apology, we don’t know if all the other trolls did. The majority of the village trolls were only captured due to Creek’s betrayal. Poppy, Branch and the others were spared that experience, of looking up at Creek, sitting on Chef’s shoulder like an evil demon with the same serene smile they’d once admired. Considering how terrified the rest of the villagers all were of the bergens in the first episode of TTBGO, even though they’d danced the whole night with them during the movie, I think it’s reasonable to believe that not all trolls can forgive so easily.

Did you catch the Doctor Who reference? The fourth doctor offers people “jelly-babies”. I couldn’t resist, lol.

#broppy dreamworkstrolls trollsholidayspecial

[suga-ssi]

Sea Rain

Based from a prompt sent by: melissa-2894

for Scenario - Ship - Song prompts: Sea - Yoonmin - Butterfly

“Hyung? Hyung?” Jimin shouted, as he frantically searched for his keys and put on his shoes, tripping a bit in the process.

“Hyung!” Jimin called again, finally finding his keys amidst the mess of take-away trays on the kitchen counter.

Yoongi peered from the room he converted to be his studio, bluetooth headphones on, eyebrows raised, asking why Jimin was looking for him.

“I’m picking up our lunch order from Tae’s. You craving anything else, babe?”, the younger asked as he smoothed his cotton-candy pink hair while facing the mirror by their front door, looking at Yoongi through the reflection.

The older man took off his headphones, letting them rest around his neck, his mouth in the adorable pout which Jimin knew to mean that he was thinking. “Yes?” Jimin urged Yoongi to answer, but the older just shook his head and smiled softly at Jimin.

“Ok, fine. I’ll just order the usual, okay?” the pink haired boy asked, to which Yoongi just nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Yoongi was on his way back to his room, headphones almost back on his ears when Jimin called him again. “Hyung!” The older man looked back at his boyfriend.

Jimin made shot gun hearts at Yoongi with his fingers, accompanied by tongue clicks and winks. He knew it was cheesy but he also knew that his boyfriend secretly found it adorable. Yoongi placed both his hands on his chest, clutching himself, pretending he get shot. His shoulder raised repeatedly in silent laughter at their cringe-worthy antics.

Yoongi then turned towards his room shaking his head, putting the headphones back on. Jimin couldn’t see it but he was pretty sure his hyung was still smiling as he walked away.

He walked out the door, making sure that the keys were safely in his pocket. He learned the hard way that leaving their studio without bringing his own set of keys could mean that he would have to stand and wait outside for longer than he would want.

Yoongi always worked on his music at home, mostly with loud sounds blasting in his ears, making it impossible for him to hear the knocks or even the doorbell ringing. Music was important to Yoongi, it was his first love. Jimin had already accepted that he only came second, which of course Yoongi denied.

He met Yoongi while the older man was still DJ-ing at a bar by the sea in Busan to save up money for production equipment. It wasn’t really Jimin’s scene and he wouldn’t have gone if his friend Sungwoon didn’t drag him, but the moment he saw the bar’s lights play on Yoongi’s blue hair and pale skin, he knew he was done for. He danced in front of the stage, drink in hand in a desperate attempt to get the DJ to look at him. As the night wore on, Jimin slowly accepted that it was pointless and he would be getting nowhere with the blue-haired boy. He walked outside the bar towards the shore, sitting by the water’s edge, listening to the waves crash. He hugged his jacket on tightly, as his blonde hair got ruffled by the sea breeze. “Want some company?”, the voice was deep and gravelly and Jimin almost snapped at him to just go away. He turned around to see Yoongi with a bottle of beer in his hand, beautiful gummy smile on his face. “I… I would love some,” Jimin responded and the older man sat slowly beside him, facing the sea.

Five years after the night that they met, Yoongi decided to drive out with Jimin back to the sea. He surprised Jimin with a beach side picnic and prepared floating lanterns to comemorate their anniversary. Everything was beautifully set-up and Jimin almost cried. Unfortunately, it rained. Jimin saw the disappointment in Yoongi’s face with the foiled surprise. He decided to make Yoongi dance with him under the rain. The shore was filled with their laughter and singing. A day later, Jimin found himself in the hospital coughing and sick from their trip. He should have felt miserable, but Yoongi was there and so everything was okay.

Jimin weathered everything with Yoongi beside him. He loved how Yoongi fully accepted who he was, weird quirks and all. Because Jimin wasn’t normal, not in the conventional sense of the word. But when he told Yoongi his secret, the older man just smiled and told him he was lucky to be gifted. And that was that. He has been living happily with the other man for 5 years and 3 months to the day.

———————

Jimin was almost in front of Tae’s restaurant when he heard screeching tires, a thunderous crash and a woman’s scream. He turned just in time to see the wreckage in the intersection. A black Honda City and a silver Ford Escape crashed head on, a small orange Kia collided where the other two hit each other. Broken glass were everywhere and the lunch time traffic started to gather at the site of the accident. Jimin saw the wailing woman inside the Kia, the car’s passenger side window bloody.

He was so fixated at the metal carnage that he didn’t even notice that Tae was already standing beside him.

“Holy shit!”, Tae exclaimed, eyes wide open, hands on his temple, mouth agapped. “What the fuck just happened?”

Jimin shrugged, “Didn’t really see it.” Tae looked behind him when he realized that Jimin was looking past him.

“Someone died?” Tae asked quietly.

Jimin nodded.

“Do you know who?” Tae inquired and Jimin nodded again.

“Is- is the person behind me?” Tae asked worriedly, forehead furrowing in concern.

Jimin nodded.

“Aggghhhh!” Tae shouted, rubbing his arms as goosebumps formed on his skin. “I told you never to… Uggghhh… Park Jimin.” He exclaimed angrily as he walked to wards his restaurant’s door.

With his friend gone, Jimin approached the person he was looking at. A young girl, no older than 7 in pink leotards, hair in a bun fixed on top of her head. She was looking at the crying woman who was walking towards the back of the ambulance following a turney.

“Is she your mother?” Jimin inquired, looking at the same woman.

The little girl slowly nodded, gaze fixed on her mother.

“You’re a little confused, aren’t you?”

She finally looked at Jimin, tears seemingly brimming her almond eyes as she nodded with a pout. The dead don’t talk and Jimin never understood why, but from the moment he learned his gift he has accepted this as a fact.

“I’ll try and help you, okay? I just have to get something inside. Wait here,” Jimin sad, as he walked inside the restaurant to get his order.

Jimin rushed outside the door, take-out bags in his hand to find the little girl. But she was gone. He knew that she probably followed her mother, and that she will definitely be back because he was the only one who could see her.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep as he turned the corner towards the direction of his studio. “She will be back,” he told himself. “And I will help her then.”

He fished for his keys from his pockets to let himself in and went straight to the kitchen island to place all the food.

“Jimin?”

Jimin turned around and was surprised to see Seokjin, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook in his living room. Hoseok and Jungkook were seated on the L-shaped black leather couch while Seokjin was standing, facing Jimin directly with Namjoon behind him.

“Oh my God, hyung! Did Yoongi let you in?”, Jimin shouted with delight, rushing to hug Seokjin. 

“I have a copy, remember?” Seokjin answered, showing Jimin the set of keys the couple gave him in case of emergencies.

“Oh! Of course!” Jimin chuckled.

“You guys!” He started, looking at his other friends, eyes disappearing as he smiled widely. “You should have told me you were coming!” Jimin said happily, as he walked back to the kitchen to bring out the take-aways from the plastic bags.

“Hyung!” Jimin shouted. “Yoongi hyung! The guys are here! Come out!” He looks back apologetically at the others when Yoongi did not answer. “I’m sorry, he probably has his headphones on. Let me just…” He was wiping his hands on his jeans when Seokjin grabbed his wrist.

“Jimin, baby. This has to stop.” Jimin looks at his hyung’s face filled with concern, and so were the others’.

Jimin let out a confused chuckle as he pulled his hand free from Seokjin’s. “What? Hyung? What do you mean? You’re scaring me.”

“Where is Yoongi hyung, Jimin?”, Namjoon asked. “Is he here?”

“Hyung?!”, he directed at Namjoon as if the question the other asked was incredulous. “He is! In his studio he…”

That’s when Jimin saw Yoongi, standing by the window. Jimin wanted to point him out to the others, wondering why they were asking where he was. He lifted his finger towards Yoongi’s direction and at the same time everyone looked to where he was pointing.

“He…”, Jimin started but stopped, as he watched Yoongi shake his head sadly. He watched Yoongi’s black fluffy hair slowly get damp until it’s tips started dripping. Like the water triggered it, his lover’s beautiful skin started looking pale and gray. Yoongi’s clothes changed from the big black jumper Jimin was so used to seeing on him into the cream colored button up shirt he wore during their anniversary at the sea.

“NO!!! NO!!! NOO!!! NO!!!!” Jimin clasped his hands, covering his mouth as the realization dawned on him. He felt the air get punched out of his chest. His knees buckled, suddenly unable to support him. Seokjin was quick to catch him, as the rest of his friends stood up to kneel beside his shaking frame. But Jimin’s eyes never left Yoongi. He watched as his lover’s lips quivered, his hands balled into a fist, shaking.

“Yooongi… Yoooo… Yooong,” Jimin sobbed, his body being supported by his friend, eyes longingly locked on his lover who started looking more and more like a nightmare Jimin kept fighting off.

“Shhhh… shhhh… shhh,” he heard Hoseok try to calm him down, stroking his back. He could hear Jungkook crying, the younger boy held onto his shoulders.

“Jimin, do you remember now?” Namjoon asked.

The anniversary, the sea, the rain, the accident, the hospital, Yoongi.

He was there, Jimin thought. Yoongi was there.

Jimin’s eyes never left Yoongi, he watched as his hyung cried. But was he really crying? Jimin asked himself. Do dead men cry?

“We’ve left you alone with this for too long, Jimin. And we’re sorry,” Namjoon admitted heavily, head resting on the crying boy’s arm.

“Taetae called and said you have still been ordering for two,” Seokjin explained, his voice laced with tears he has been holding back. “It’s been three months, Jimin. You need to let him go.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, looking straight at Yoongi’s eyes that showed a mixture of fear and sadness.

“Jimin, you told us that the one’s left behind should let the one’s leaving go in peace, remember?” Namjoon urged, his hands holding onto Jimin’s.

“Yoongi, we miss you buddy!” Namjoons shouted out. “But we will take care of him, okay? Trust us. We will take care of him.”

“Hyung?” Jimin heard Jungkook say between sobs. “I miss you so much! But… but… I… want you to find… peace, hyung. Please.”

Jimin watched Yoongi’s expression calm down with a slight smile. The dripping from his hair stopped, color coming back to his skin, but his whole appearance seemed fainter.

Yoongi titled his said as if asking him something, eyebrows furrowed. Jimin reached his hands out, and Yoongi matched his, but their fingers never touched. With much difficulty and hesitation, Jimin put down his hand, closed his eyes and nodded, looking back at Yoongi longingly.

I love you, Yoongi mouthed.

The dead don’t talk, Jimin never understood why and for the first time he wished that they did.

“I love you too, Yoongi,” Jimin whispered, lips quivering, breathing staggered.

The light shone bright from the window and a faint breeze lifted the curtains, then… Yoongi was gone.

——–

Lyrical inspiration:

It’s like a wind that gently strokes me It’s like a dust that gently drifts along You’re there but for some reason, I can’t reach you, stop You, who’s like a dream is a butterfly high to me

Note: If the story AU seems familiar, it’s because I based it from Dean Koontz’s Odd Thomas

I hope you liked it!

#fic #prompt #yoonmin #sss #sea rain #min yoongi #min suga #min pd #bangtan #bts #park jimin #romance #established relationship

[multifandomficsx]

Dangerous Game part 2

AhhHhHhh this took so long to write but I’ll have part 3 up as soon as possible. You’ll be meeting the clown in the next part I promise! Also if you wanna be tagged every time I upload a new part lemme know! ( Songs used in this part are at the end of the story )

”You’re the one who came to find me..”

You heard as you were laying down on the banks of the river, near the old sewer system of Derry. The voice caused discomfort as it seemed to changed in pitch from high and playful to low and gravelly. Dismissing the voice you went back to relaxing on the sand. Sighing in delight with the summer sun on your face, you close your eyes and listen to the sounds around you. The river running, the leaves on the tree rustling in the wind, and the occasional bird chirping in the distance created the picturesque summer day. Your hand ran over your bare thighs and stomach feeling the warm skin heated by the sun. The breeze ghosted over your skin reminding you how exposed you were. Sitting up, your high-waisted shirt scrunched up as you grab your loose cotton T-Shirt that hung off the shoulders. Suddenly the weather switched and the sky was clouded over in gray. The one pleasant breeze turned into forceful gusts which sent shivers down your spine. The T-Shirt did nothing to block out the cold as you got up from the ground and rushed yourself into the woods. The darkened sky above made the forest floor below cryptic and eerie. You recognized absolutely nothing of your surroundings leaving you frantic and looking every which way to find an exit. Your heart skips a beat as you freeze in fear. Up ahead, a red balloon that you certainly recognized from earlier in the day was tangled in a tree branch. Curiosity overtook fear as you started to walk towards it fully entranced by red latex. As you reached touching distance, your hand outstretched but drew back, cautious of the mysterious balloon that seemed to plague even your dreams.

“Go on. Take it.”

The voice called again with emphasis put on the “t”. Gulping, the saliva was hard to swallow as fear and precautious manifested it’s way back into your brain and racked your body. Your hand moved towards to balloon, shaking like a leaf in the wind, slowly progressing. The tip of your fingers barely touched the object before it popped and exploded a warm liquid all over you. Your body tensed up as you raised your hands too your face. Your eyes widened in terror finding out the sticky, warm substance the coated your being was in fact, blood.

You woke up screaming as you lurched forward in your bed. Bringing your hands up and ripping the blankets off you see that you were no longer covered in blood. Your hand traveled to your forehead, feeling the beading sweat. Your breathing slowed as you raked your fingers through your hair. Your drudgingly got out of bed and turned on the shower. A shiver was sent down your spine as you got the strange feeling that you were being watched. Chalking it up to paranoia from the nightmare you just had, you started humming to distract yourself from the thought. The steaming hot water helps you unwind but whatever you were thinking of drifted back to the dream. You couldn’t help but think that you had to go down to the sewers yourself to figure out what it meant. Laughing at yourself silently your head told you that it was stupid to even think about it but your gut told you there was more to come.

The woods by the edge of the town seemed to be calling your name as you drove past them. You need going down there would be impulsive but the nagging feeling that you had to go down there came back.

“What is wrong with this town.” You said out loud to yourself trying to think back to the times you were a little kid running around these streets. There was no way you felt anything like this before, so why now?

Coming across a little cafe you decided to stop for a drink. Upon entering the premise, you notice the man sitting alone in the corner eyeballing you. Rocks sink in your stomach as you look away from him getting a bad feeling. You couldn’t deny he was handsome though. Chiseled cheekbones, Blue eyes and voluminous brown hair, gave him a suave look. Ordering you move to a table and check your phone. Emails upon emails upon emails, no one tells you about the emails when entering show business. You got so engrossed in writing the emails that you didn’t notice the man getting up from his table. As he passed you, you looked up at him and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Meeting his eyes you could see the intrigue and curiosity but also disgust and hatred, you felt lost but also like you belonged there. Your breath hitched in your throat catching you off guard. Almost as if he knew how you felt a smirk traveled unto his lips before it disappeared. You could have sworn you heard A low guttural growl in disapproval emit from the man before he exiting the building. Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered were the words to describe that moment. Leaving a tip on the table you scurried out of there but to find no trace of the man anywhere. Your shoulders sunk in disappointment before returning to your car. This man had just scared the shit out of you but moment later entranced you like no other. What was going on here? You sighed before heading over to the outdoor theatre. Chairs and decorations had been set up for the evening performance and the bands were sound checking. You had to get this man and the dream you had out of your head before you got on stage.

Combing through your hair, the day had turned to night and Peter and you were the last act to go on tonight. “We are proud to have Derry’s own (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) here with us tonight. She makes our town proud and is going to perform two selections for you this evening. One is ‘˜I’d be surprisingly Good For You’ from Evita and ‘Dangerous Game’ from Jekyll and Hyde. and without further ado, Peter Casey and (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)!” The mayor announce before the two of you made your way out in front of the audience.  

(you:)

But when you act, the things you do affect us all

(Peter:)

But when you act, you take us away from the squalor of the real

World

Are you here on your own?

(you:)

Yes, oh yes

(Peter:)

So am I, what a fortunate coincidence

Maybe you’re my reward for my efforts here tonight

(you:)

It seems crazy but you must believe

There’s nothing calculated, nothing planned

Please forgive me if I seem naive

I would never want to force your hand

But please understand, I’d be good for you

You Look out into the audience and get a glimpse of a clown. You freak out for a moment until you look a back and find out it has been replaced by the man you encountered earlier today. You smirk at him deciding to play up the character you’re portraying on stage, making it sexier and enthralling. By the song is over the next one has already started. “Dangerous Game” is a lot more racy than the past one but it’s a great duet. Peter moves behind you and the song takes wing. 

You:

I feel your fingers -

Cold on my shoulder -

Your chilling touch,

As it runs down my spine -

Watching your eyes

As they invade my soul -

Forbidden pleasures

I’m afraid to make mine.

At the touch of your hand -

At the sound of your voice -

At the moment your eyes meet mine -

I am out of my mind -

I am out of control -

Full of feelings I can’t define!

Peter:

It’s a sin with no name -

You:

Like a hand in a flame -

Peter:

And our senses proclaim

Both:

It’s a dangerous game…

The man you met earlier doesn’t seem to thrilled with the idea that Peter is singing to you in this manner and vice versa. In fact it was very visible to on his expression. You sing out to him as if it were him on stage instead afraid of what the stranger could do. This seems to quell the uneasiness coming from him but the feeling lingers even after you’re both offstage.

“(Y/N)! That was amazing! You got really into that last one. I wouldn’t be surprised if the men out there are crazy about you right now.” Peter said raving but it only made you think back to him.

“ Yeah, you think so? “ You said with a half smile, before your attention turn to Johanne, the Major who was holding a bunch of red balloons. 

”Looks like you got an admirer in town. These were left for you.” She said before handing them over. Your face paled as you started to feel faint. “ Are you alright?” She asked.

“ Yeah, just peachy.” you replied before hastily getting yourself back to the hotel room.

#pennywise #pennywise imagine #pennywise x reader #pennywise smut #it 2017 #it movie #daddywise #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård imagine #stephen king #dangerous game #dangerous game part 2

[demiebby]

Omggg request are open 👏🙌 hmm could you please do a Bloo scenario where he comes over to y/n house for just a deep talk and relaxing but he ends up confessing and y/n confesses back💕💖 thank you sooo much

Deep Talk

A/N: This is my first time ever doing a request using the “Y/N” because I try to avoid it. Since it’s awkward for me to use. Hopefully you’ll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Characters: Y/N, Bloo/Kim Hyeunwoong

Genre: Romance, Slight Angst (I guess)

You opened the door to your apartment as soon as you arrived back from the gym. It was summertime and you were determined to snap back into a new person, new body. Lately you’ve been going up to a gym up in the metro that a friend of yours had been visiting. You would drive ten miles to the workout gym, run on the treadmill, lift a few ten pound dumbbells, and return to your vacant haven covered in sweat from head to toe.

The work outs paid off. Your stomach was toned, flat, and you could see faint muscle coming in. You went up to the body-length mirror in your bathroom, and stood in front of it. Your eyes sparkled with glee at your reflection. Your head tilted to the side as you ran a hand slowly down your lean stomach, caressing the exposed tight skin. That day you opted to wear a sports bra, tight-fitting nylon capri leggings, showing off the hard work you put in.

Your reason for working out, when you’d really prefer a day to lie in bed was because of your ex. No he didn’t cheat, or he didn’t abuse you. It was just his attitude towards you. He spoke with a harsh tone when you’d ask him the simplest of questions. His hands would jerk in the air as if he was getting annoyed. Not to forget the constant eye roll. You thought while the time you were with him they were going to roll out from his head. Since he was like that; you chose to leave.

This body and the new mind you had was going to be the key to showing and telling your ex-boyfriend that, “Hey this is what you could’ve had, but you lost it.”

After admiring yourself in the mirror you went to take a shower. Your music was blasting on your phone as you took your shower. You were singing along to the lyrics of Ariana Grande “Love Me Harder” your voice straining to reach Ariana’s soprano vocal range. You suddenly stopped when you realized you couldn’t beat Ari at her own game, and laughed to yourself. Washing off the soap suds from your body, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a bathrobe around you. Followed by a hair towel to dry off your hair.

You exited the bathroom just in time to hear an endless ding emitting from your door. Your bewildered eyes drifted over to the door. You wondered who could be at your door. You went to get your slippers, before you rushed to open it.

“Coming! Hey chill!” You shouted above the constant dinging.

You swung the door open and there stood Hyeunwoong. He looked pretty annoyed, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his lip. He was about to light it up until you snatched out the lighter that he lifted up to his mouth. Hyeunwoong’s gawked at you his eyes wide and you retorted wordlessly with a roll of your eyes alongside a scoff.

You held up the lighter in your hand, pointing it at him, “You know how I feel about your smoking and drinking Bloo. Don’t come over here if you just want to smoke.” You disliked this habit of his, drinking and smoking. You generously handed him back his lighter and let him inside.

“Just go into the living room I gotta get dressed.” You say before heading off to your bedroom.

Around a few minutes later you showed up in the den wearing a gray long sleeved hoodie, gray capri leggings, and your favorite white Fenty by Puma slides. You plopped down on the sofa, letting out an exhausted sigh then reached over to grab your round black pillow. Your body held the cushion in a fetal position as you faced Hyeunwoong. The other male sitting adjacent to you on an opposite couch.

“I love this pillow so much, and I’m so tired I could just sleep.” You say before hiding your face into the pillow.

Hyeunwoong emitted a low grunt, slouching back on the sofa, and then combing his fingers through his black hair, “What have you’ve been doing all day to make you tired?”

At this you lifted your head up from the pillow and were preparing to respond. You folded your arm behind your head and replied, “This morning I woke up early to catch the sale at Victoria’s Secret, then I had to go to the store to buy food, my sister needed a ride to a friend’s house and back. I went and took her out to eat lunch because I skipped out on breakfast. Then I took her home and went out the gym. I worked out for… was it 2 hours? 30 minutes on the mill, 15 minutes lifting, and 15 minutes checking out some hotties.” Your lips curved mischievously to a grin and you chuckled to yourself. Hyeunwoong laughed along with you. “No but seriously, I was working out then I stopped by a restaurant to pick up some food for dinner, which means this time you can’t invite Owen and the rest. I’m not cooking tonight.” You looked over to Hyeunwoong, whom had his phone in his hand but dejectedly put it down. “And then I came back home, took a shower, you came and here I am.” Your hand patted the couch beneath you.

Hyeunwoong draws out an “Ah” nodding his head to you. When you ask him about his day, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Same shit again.” He swore. He took a glimpse to the right then went on to explain, “When I woke up this fucking morning,” You giggled when he started cursing. “I got a missed call from Owen and a few text messages from him. He told me that I was supposed to be at the fucking studio last night. I texted him back asking what was up. He just said some other shit and stopped texting. Afterwards uh… oh yeah. I went to get breakfast with West, T, and Harin. As soon as we’re eating at the table, West and Harin get into an argument over him saying side comments about her being a groupie. She nearly tossed food at this dude until she was told to leave by the manager. Then I got pulled over for talking on the phone while driving. So I have to pay a fine. My day has been terrible.”

Your nose crinkled and mouth twisted upon hearing Hyeunwoong’s words. It was hard to believe that Hyeunwoong would have a bad day. Not that you thought of him as some sort of extraterrestrial being, but Hyeunwoong was the least likely to experience an off day.

You murmur, “Damn sorry to hear about that.” You folded your arms over your chest and then asked, “How much is the fine?”

Hyeunwoong replies, “200. Nothing too steep. I can pay that off by tomorrow morning.”

The atmosphere in the room gets quiet as the two of you are just sending each other quick glances. You didn’t know yet, but Hyeunwoong had something to get off of his chest. It’s been hanging above his head since he stepped a foot into your door. You puckered your lips out, a habit you casually obtained and then sat up on the sofa. You tug the hem of your hoodie down.

Just as you were about to speak your phone dinged indicating a text message. You took out your phone from the hoodie’s pocket and looked at the newest text message. A frown went on your face when you realize it was your ex-boyfriend. The text message read, “Y/N listen I’m sorry. Could we give us another chance?”

Hyeunwoong noticed the sullen expression on your face and he had a guess he knew what it was. “Is it another text from that asshole?” He asked you.

You nodded your head and promptly texted your ex, “Stop texting me.” before putting your phone on silent mode and placing the device on the end table. You laid down on your couch again, a gut-wrenching sensation slowly growing in your abdomen. Your hand reached into your shirt, caressing your stomach in small circles.

After your relationship ended in spite of you telling your ex that you will never go back to him. He didn’t get the memo. He would occasionally notify you with messages. Saying that he will change, he will do better, and he wanted you back. You on the other hand didn’t want him back. You were done and over with your ex. The love you once felt for him went away as soon as you ended it off with him. It was your ex that couldn’t grasp the fact that you were shrugging him off.

“You deserve better you know.” Hyeunwoong blurts out.

Your head solemnly nodded at his comment and your lips pressed together in a firm line. Your eyes were trained on the ceiling and you failed to notice Hyeunwoong moving. The couch you were occupied shifted a little, grabbing your attention and you saw him sitting close to you. His hands positions your feet on his lap and his hand caressed your ankles.

Your lips cracked into a humorous smile when he strokes your ankles. A light chuckle came afterwards, “Why are you rubbing my feet? Weirdo.”

Hyeunwoong didn’t respond to your question; instead he ignored it and said, “Could I ask you a question Y/N?”

You nod your head to Hyeunwoong and giggled once more. “You’ve already asked one, but go on ahead.” You say teasingly and in addition you shifted on the sofa.

Your eyes read over Hyeunwoong, you observed his body language. His eyes were lowered to your feet. His hand lightly squeezing your foot and then his thumb caressed the ball on the sole of it. You were starting to think of what was going through his mind. You could feel the ambience in the room shift to a thick tension. You swallowed.

“Do you like me Y/N?”

You coughed out a brief chortle, and smiled at Hyeunwoong. “Of course I like you.”

It was then you noticed the look in his eyes change. Hyeunwoong releases your foot to turn his body to face you on the sofa. His hands took you by the hips to sit you over his lap and hug you to his body. You were startled when he did that sudden action. His head gingerly laid over your chest and you could do nothing but just sit there – tense and curious. Why was he acting so weird today? What was making him act like this?

Hyeunwoong’s gravelly voice droned, “That’s not what I mean.” There was a short-lived pause and he continued, “I like you more than just a friend Y/N.” He lifted his head from your chest.

Those words he said to you were short yet they had your heart pounding. You now had questions to ask Hyeunwoong. When did he started liking you? Was it just a trick for you to fall for him? And more. Although the most important question you wanted to ask him was:

“Are you sure you like me Hyeunwoong? And if you are, then I want for you to tell me why.”

“I’m sure,” he assured. “Y/N I’ve liked you for a long time now. You’ve been the only female in my life that I can literally sit down with and have a conversation without ending up in your bed. Even while you were with that asshole Y/BF/N, I still felt these feelings for you.” Hyeunwoong grasps your hand, “I never wanted to tell you about it after you broke up with him because I wanted for you to be emotionally ready for another relationship. Y/N you make me happy just by being here. You make me wanna put down the bottle and the cigarettes.”

“We both know that won’t happen,” You interjected playfully.

“It might if you just stay with me and be my girl.” Hyeunwoong declared.

You sat there on his lap biting your bottom lip. You and Hyeunwoong had been friends for a while. Nothing more than that, but now… he wanted to be yours. You were over your relationship with your ex-boyfriend. You no longer had feelings for him. However you weren’t particularly searching for a man at the moment. You wanted to focus your attention on other things such as your job, your exercising, and social life. You were trying to steer away as far from the romantic scene as much as possible. But then again… it just wasn’t in your character to leave someone heartbroken. Especially someone as emotionally critical as Hyeunwoong. You knew how he could be with rejection and you could imagine him reacting to your rejection of his proposal.

Hyeunwoong’s grip tightened your hand removing you out from your thoughts. You looked at his hopeful eyes and then you beamed. “I’ll be your girl Bloo.” You told him. He smooched your cheek sloppily to which you laughed at.

“So now that you’re my girl, why don’t I take you out on a date then?” Hyeunwoong suggested. The two of you stood to your feet, and you swung your conjoined hands together. You shrugged your shoulders, “Why not? But… the date better not be at some bar.” You pointed your finger at him.

Hyeunwoong sucked his teeth and groaned, “It wasn’t going to be at one dummy.” He poked your forehead.

You complained about the jab though it went away when you smiled up at him. You nudged your arm against his, “Let me go change into something else really quick okay?”

He nodded his head, “I’ll be waiting down here then for you.”

You departed to your bedroom to change clothes. It was then that Hyeunwoong felt everything was right now.

#requests #fanfic #khh oneshot #khh #badboyloo #bloo #kim hyeunwoong #daniel kim #i shoulda called him daniel instead but #i kept hearing daaaaaamn daniel #in the back of my head tf #mkit rain #42 #stories #fanfics #reader x idol #finished #complete #completed #asks #answered #romance #i suck at romance

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

💜🐥🌄

This is probably gonna become a series, too, because I have TONS of ideas for this verse, so expect more to come! (also on ao3!)

When Dean moved out of his tiny little garret of an apartment and into a cozy, fully furnished farmhouse on the rural outskirts of town he thought he was in store for a more peaceful, laid-back life. And he would have been right if his neighbor's chickens would shut the hell up for once.

After nearly a decade in his too-small, too-expensive apartment, Dean finally decided that a change of scenery was in order but he sure as hell wasn't going to move out of Lawrence anytime soon. It was his home.

From the river where he, Sam, and their dad would go fishing on the weekends, catching pike and catfish to the bar where Dean had his first legal drink, a shot of Jack Daniel's followed by a few beers with his dad. From the tattoo parlor where he and Sam had gotten matching tattoos on Sam's eighteenth birthday to their uncle Bobby's junkyard where they learned all they would ever need to know about cars.

From the University of Kansas where Dean had gotten his automotive technology degree to the Roadhouse where Ellen had given him a job bartending and helping out in the kitchen. From the back roads where he liked to drive over the speed limit when no one else was around, seeing just how fast his baby could go, to the graveyard where his grandparents were buried together.

Besides, his parents would have thrown a fit. Well, his mom would have anyway. His dad was more stoic, at least on the surface since beneath all of his bluster and bravado he was a big ol' teddy bear, something that Dean had inherited from his old man.

He knew that if for some crazy, stupid reason he decided that he wanted to leave Lawrence, his mother would have been almost too supportive. She would have made him promise that he would take care of himself and call whenever he got the chance. She would probably send him off with a homemade goodbye pie, probably apple or pecan, maybe cherry.

Meanwhile, his dad would just complain about Mary making too big of a deal about the whole thing, reminding her that Dean was a grown man. But he would be fighting back tears like the day Dean had started at KU or the morning Sam got accepted into Stanford.

Speaking of Sam, he would make a huge scene himself, the drama queen. One straight out of those chick flicks that Dean hated with a passion but secretly binged whenever he was alone.

Jess, Sam's fiancee, would probably get a little teary eyed, too. But that was just her way. Dean could forgive that because she made ridiculously awesome brownies. Sure, it wasn't pie but it was the next best thing.

But as it was, Dean decided to move out of his apartment and purchase a quaint house and a nice plot of land in the more rural part of town. The timing was perfect. His business, the garage he had opened with his dad and his best friend Benny, was thriving and he has nearing the ripe old age of thirty six in January.

It was about time he got a house of his own, settled down and found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. So while some of his family and friends had been skeptical of the somewhat sudden decision, Dean had known all along that it was the best choice for him.

The farmhouse was decent sized, two stories with four bedrooms and three bathrooms, all of which were rather spacious. It was painted a pristine white, both inside and out, meaning he got to pick out what colors to paint the walls which excited him for some reason he didn't understand.

The gray shutters matched the front door and complemented the dark stain on the big wrap-around porch that boasted a few rocking chairs and a porch swing. A big oak tree stood in the front yard, a tire swing hanging from one of the thick branches.

The backyard was huge, perfect for a dog and maybe even some kids one day. There were a few trees in the backyard, too, providing some nice shade and a great place for a hammock.

The appliances were practically brand new, stainless steel that had never been used before, the dark metal standing in stark contrast to the light marble countertops and wood kitchen table. He could definitely see himself making Thanksgiving dinners there, filling the spacious house with family and friends.

As nice as the living room was, with two big couches and a few armchairs arranged a rather large TV, the setup making him envision amazing Super Bowl Sundays. But as much as he liked the living room, it was far from his favorite room in the house.

No, that honor belonged to the master bedroom.

Almost as big as his old apartment, the master bedroom was on the second story with a few dressers, a closet, a couple shelves mounted on the wall, and an en suite master bathroom. But most importantly, he had a king sized bed with a memory foam mattress that was so unbelievably comfortable it felt like he was sleeping on a cloud.

All in all, his new house was pretty damn awesome. And he couldn't wait to live there for years to come.

He quickly fell into a routine in his new home once he finished getting settled in. In the mornings, he woke up, brushed his teeth, showered, got dressed, ate breakfast, then went off to work at the garage. In the evenings after work, he got home, showered, pulled on some pajamas, ate dinner, stayed up to watch some TV or listen to his records for awhile, and finally went to bed.

He adjusted to living in his new home, and neighborhood, rather well. He had struck up a few friendly conversations with a woman who lived down the street and even found a pie on his doorstep the day he moved in, the baked housewarming gift accompanied by an unsigned note declaring 'Welcome to the neighbor!'

He already had a new favorite coffee shop that he usually stopped at before getting to work and he had even started looking into adopting a dog. It would have been perfect if it hadn't been for his neighbor's god damn chickens.

The first full day that Dean had spent in his new home was devoted to lugging all of his boxes of things into the house to start the long process of unpacking. While setting down a few boxes of clothes in his bedroom, he had taken a glance out of one of the bedroom windows, finding that he had a view into his neighbor's backyard.

His neighbor's house, and therefore his yard, was smaller than Dean's, more of a cottage than the farmhouse style of Dean's house. It was a deep blue with white trim and a brick chimney, only one story high which made it look even smaller in comparison.

Earlier, when he had pulled up to his house he had noticed a car parked in front of his neighbor's house, a 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V in Jubilee gold. It immediately made Dean wonder if his new neighbor was a pimp.

Curiously peering into his neighbor's backyard, the first thing he had noticed was the large, light brown chicken coop surrounded by a bright, flourishing garden and a small grove of apple trees. A flock of hens, in a few different shades of brown, were mulling around the yard, pecking and preening in the warm sunshine.

He hadn't given it much thought, simply shrugging and carrying on with his task, assuming his neighbor either liked having a fresh supply of eggs or just had eccentric pets. He had been too busy unloading boxes from the back of Benny's pickup truck to think about chickens.

As it turned out, he really should have been worried about the damn chickens because at four o'clock sharp the next morning, three and a half hours before Dean had to get up to be at the garage in time to open at eight, he was startled awake by the caw of a rooster.

It was a long, trumpeting caw, too, as the rooster heralded the sun that had yet to rise. It went on long enough that Dean was certain the damn thing's lungs were going to collapse.

So surprised was Dean, who had been having a wonderful dream about Dr. Sexy and all the fun things he could do with the spurs on his cowboy boots, he had actually fallen out of bed. Muttering curses under his breath, he had stood up and stomped over to the window that overlooked his neighbor's backyard, promptly slamming it shut with a satisfyingly loud sound.

He had plopped back down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow with a groan. Fortunately, he was able to fall back asleep, assuring himself that it was an aberration and the chickens would be on their best behavior the next morning. They weren't.

The next morning, it happened again, the horrendous sound of a rooster rousing Dean from a deep sleep. He repeated his action from the previous morning, closing his window with a liberal amount of swearing before climbing back into bed.

The next morning, the cycle was repeated. Just as it was the next morning.

On the fifth morning, Dean had to close both of his windows, the rooster was so loud. When he could still hear the feathered fiend through the thick panes of glass, he clutched his pillow over his ears and let out a frustrated groan.

On the sixth morning, Dean wrenched open his bedroom window to scream right back at the rooster that had been ruining his peaceful life. But before he could utter one single curse, someone rushed out of the little house, a man in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants.

Dean had narrowed his eyes as the man scooped up the offending rooster, a fluffy white one that immediately quieted once he was in the man's arms. He strained to hear what his neighbor was cooing, only picking up a snippet of soft murmurs in a gravelly voice, "Shhh... Shhh... We have neighbors, now. You cannot continue on like this."

The man, who had dark hair that was ridiculously disheveled Dean noted, gently rocked the chicken, swaying side to side like he was trying to soothe a crying baby. It was oddly endearing, how much his neighbor clearly cared about his chickens even if they were little assholes that crowed hours before dawn.

Dean wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when he heard the man start singing as he held the rooster. Believe It Or Not had never sounded so serious, less lighthearted in the man's deep voice, but it still brought Dean back to afternoons as a kid watching the Greatest American Hero and Magnum PI.

Eventually, his neighbor set the chicken back down in the area enclosed by chicken wire, stroking his hand over the chicken's head and down its back. With a mumbled goodbye and what sounded like a muffled yawn, he turned and meandered back into his house, his face obscured by the hand he dragged over his face.

Shaking himself, Dean had returned to his bed, satisfied that the rooster wouldn't be making any more noise for at least a few hours. He fell back asleep thinking about a deep, raspy voice singing in his ear.

Unfortunately, the rooster did not listen to his owner's stern reprimand seeing as how the next morning it again woke Dean up prematurely. This time, Dean couldn't fall back asleep, thus giving birth to a new facet of his daily routine: waking up at four a.m. and drowning himself in a full pot of coffee to make sure he didn't fall asleep while working on an engine.

Things finally came to a head on Dean's first day off in months. He had plans to just laze around all day and do absolutely nothing other than eating, drinking a few beers, and catching up on the latest season of Dr. Sexy. Then, later, he had a date with that huge bathtub in his master bathroom and a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

Dr. Sexy was already queued up on Netflix and his favorite bathrobe was calling his name from where it hung on the back of his bedroom door. He had one of those fancy bath bombs that his friend Charlie had gotten him a while back that he was pretty eager to try and his freezer was stocked with three different Ben and Jerry's flavors.

He figured maybe he could text up Sam or Charlie to see what they were up to, just to keep in touch since he had been slacking in that department lately. Buying a house, running a business, and dealing with timely challenged roosters took a lot out of a guy.

Speaking of which, Dean's hopes for a stress-free day of rest and relaxation were all shot to hell when he was rudely awakened at four a.m. by the shrill cry of a rooster. Trying to maintain his optimism, Dean had slammed his windows shut and buried his head under his pillows that he held over his ears.

But it was no use. His neighbor's rooster proceeded to screech for nearly an hour straight with only brief periods of quiet that Dean used the rooster used to catch its breath before screaming again.

Finally, Dean had enough of the constant carrying on and decided to do something about it once and for all. He rolled out of bed and stomped downstairs right out the back door, completely ignoring the fact that he was only wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs.

He marched over to the tall wooden fence that separated his backyard from his neighbor's but did nothing to mute the growing of the rooster. Peering over the top of the fence at the fluffy white rooster that was standing outside of the coop with its head thrown back, Dean growled, "Shut the hell up, damn it!"

Of course, at that exact moment, his neighbor rushed out of his own back door. He paused for a moment at the sight of Dean looking over the fence, giving him the chance to realize how unfairly hot his new neighbor was.

His narrowed eyes were an angelic blue, making Dean think of cloudless morning skies. His lips, pink and slightly chapped, were parted as he tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy.

His raven black hair was beyond disheveled, the worst case of bedhead Dean had ever seen and he had seen Sam first thing in the morning with his mane of hair all tousled. Stubble darkened his cheeks and jaw, thicker than five o'clock shadow as though he had not shaved in a few weeks.

He was wearing an oversized light blue button up and a pair of dark gray sweatpants but Dean could still see the definition in his arms and chest. It wasn't the kind that came with lifting weights in a gym, rather it was the kind that came from hours of hard work outside, building chicken coops or chopping firewood.

He was downright gorgeous. And he was hurrying over to open the gate to the fenced in area, scolding, "Cyrano!"

The sound of his voice, rough from sleep, seemed to rouse the other chickens as the moment he swung open the gate, a flock of chickens swarmed around his ankles. They pecked impatiently at his toes with indignant little clucks, flapping their wings a bit.

"I'll feed you in a minute," he hissed at them, bending over to gently push the gaggle of hens away with a light touch of his hand on their backsides. Straightening up as the other chickens went on their way, he jogged over to the coop, reaching up to pluck the fluffy white rooster off the roof.

He sighed heavily as the rooster quieted and settled in his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut, he mumbled, "We talked about this."

After stroking his hand down the rooster's back a few times, running his thumb over the back of its neck, he seemed to realize that Dean was still there. Raising his head, he looked back up at Dean, his eyes now wide as he apologized, "I'm so sorry. I've tried getting him to stop crowing so early but he's rather stubborn."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt like an asshole. For god's sake, he just yelled at his neighbor's rooster right in front of him.

This was the guy who he would have to live next to for years, would have to see at the mailbox or over the top of their shared backyard fence in the summer. He couldn't afford to piss him off. The fact that his neighbor was ridiculously good-looking may or may not have made him feel even worse.

"Yeah, well I might've overreacted a bit," Dean admitted, dropping his hand in favor of resting his forearm on the top of the fence. Flashing what he hoped was a charming grin, he explained, "Just a little tired, y'know?—" the grin fell off his face as he pointed at the entrance of the chicken coop "—What the hell is that?!"

Emerging from the chicken coop was a huge mass of white, an ominously deep clucking accompanying it. After a few seconds of abject horror, Dean saw that the huge white creature was actually a chicken, the great beast flapping its wings a few times as it paced around outside the coop.

It was twice as big as the brown chickens and was rather intimidating with its broad chest and livid red wattle and comb. Its beak, a bright yellow. It had silver feathers that darkened to a pitch black around its neck and black tail feathers in stark contrast to its pristine white feathers.

It had feathers down the length of its legs which ended in four toes complete with sharp talons. Dean belatedly realized that the thunderous clucking was coming from the monster sized chicken.

Seemingly unfazed by the leviathan of a chicken prowling around his yard, Dean's neighbor just said, "Oh, that's Balthazar."

"Balthazar," Dean repeated incredulously, blinking a few times. Gesturing at the huge chicken, he asked, "You named your chicken Balthazar. Like the wise man?"

"No, of course not," his neighbor responded, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "I named him after my brother."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean drawled, holding his hand up. "You have a brother named Balthazar?"

"Yes. It's a long story," the other man replied, absent-mindedly petting the chicken still in his arms. "If you're not busy, I could tell you about it. I think I owe you a beer or two for how much Cyrano has been tormenting you."

"Sure. Just lemme put some pants on," Dean agreed, laughing under his breath at the pure craziness that was his life. He paused as he turned, looking over his shoulder at his neighbor. "Uh, I never got your name."

A smile lifted the corners of the dark haired man's mouth. "I'm Castiel."

"Alrighty then, Cas, I'll be there in a sec," Dean promised, throwing in a wink for the hell of it. Maybe he would get to take that bath later, ideally with his hot neighbor.

He just hoped the chickens would stay quiet.

Send me random emojis for a Destiel fic!

#destiel #destiel fic #prompt fill #mechanic!dean #neighbors au #human au #cas is sorta like endverse!cas #sorta #cas owns chickens #first meetings #everyone is happy #apple pie life #rude roosters #emoji prompt #my fic #youcouldsayits-a-mess

[sugasgrowl]

Saturdays (pt 1)

Genre: Fluff/Smut (in pt 2)

Member: Jungkook

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 4484

Summary: After three months of loneliness and insecurities while on tour, Jungkook comes home to you.

Part 2

This is just pure fluff tbh. But Part 2 will much more explicit (and will be posted within the next two or three days at most). Enjoy!

You weren’t sure exactly how long you’d been sitting on the window seat with your knees pulled into your chest, the cool wall leaching all the warmth from your spine through the thick material of your hoodie. All day you’d been lounging in the comfort of your apartment, basking in the calming serenity of the pouring rain pattering against the wide window. The view of the Seoul skyline piercing the gray swirling clouds above was beautiful in the most hazy and sleepy way, almost as if the entirety of South Korea had just woken up from a Saturday-afternoon nap and hadn’t yet wiped the sleep from its eyes.

Saturdays were one of your favorite days, mainly because you didn’t have to worry about your usual responsibilities of college and work. You preferred to spend most of your Saturdays at home to recharge before having to finish up any assignments you’d been procrastinating over on Sunday, and you often found yourself devoting Saturdays to pampering yourself. Eating whatever you wanted, messily slathering on a face mask, taking a long steaming bath to relax your tense muscles, the works. At that point in the day, you’d already cooked yourself chocolate chip pancakes (You woke up around 11:30am, but who’s to say pancakes have to be reserved solely for breakfast time?) while your favorite moisturizing mask was caked on your skin. You stuffed the fluffy, sweet deliciousness in your face ravenously as you binge-watched YouTube videos, the only worry you had being that you may not have enough syrup.

Now you sat, four hours later, curled up by the window, still sucked into the void that is YouTube and enjoying the melancholy rainfall that was baptizing the streets of Seoul.

As much as you loved Saturdays, you couldn’t help but feel sad that you’d spent so many without your boyfriend around to participate in the self-care. The two of you had made it a tradition to spend Saturdays together and bond over cartoons and unhealthy snacks. Even though he basically lived with you when he wasn’t forced to stay at the dorms or travel for a tour, Jungkook was insistent on coming over and talking about each of your weeks through mouthfuls of pizza.

You heaved a sigh at the slight sinking feeling in your chest at remembering the last Saturday Jungkook had been home. The two of you had both gotten a little too tipsy (aka: you were both piss drunk) on cheap wine and ended up singing at the top of your lungs and clumsily dancing around the apartment to the Friends opening credits, the obnoxiously loud volume of the TV and your booming laughter causing your neighbor to complain the next morning. You were both ridiculously hungover the next day, and poor Kookie had a six hour dance practice starting at one in the afternoon. The stubborn motherfucker insisted that he was fine, dammit, and he would just go to practice and suffer through “like a man”. The memory of Namjoon calling you to tell you that Jungkook had puked all over the practice room floor in the middle of rehearsal brought a small smile to your face. God, he’s such an idiot.

You groaned as you raised your arms above your head in a stretch, all the joints in your body seeming to snap at once. At least he’s coming home today.

You unlocked your phone and reread the last messages you’d gotten from him.

[Jungkook] 6:03am: I’m getting on the plane. I’ll be home with you soon. I love you

[You] 11:32am: Be safe! I love you too

[Jungkook] 11:41am: Well good morning

[Jungkook] 11:42am: I guess I’m glad nothing bad happened to me. You would’ve just slept right on through it.

[You] 11:42am: To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed. I was expecting you and Taehyung to find a way to crash the plane by now.

[Jungkook] 11:45am: Lmao sorry to disappoint but Tae is sitting with Jimin instead this time

[You] 11:45am: Did you make a scene

[You] 11:46am: Did you #expose them for the cheating boyfriends that they are

[You] 11:46am: Did #Nochu come thru

[Jungkook] 11:48am: Of course. My emotional speech about their betrayals made the stewardess and several passengers cry.

[You] 11:51am: Where is this man’s Oscar

You didn’t hear from him again until an hour ago, and you could practically feel his excitement buzzing through the phone grasped in your hands.

[Jungkook] 3:30pm: We’re about to land!

[Jungkook] 4:17pm: We’re waiting for our luggage!!

[Jungkook] 4:39pm: Jimin’s bag is lost

[Jungkook] 4:56pm: God this is taking forever

[Jungkook] 4:59pm: I just asked if we could leave Jimin behind but they said no

[Jungkook] 5:11pm: We’re leaving the airport!!!!!!!!!!!! I’ll be home soon!!!!!!!

The last message made you smile so big it made your cheeks hurt. He was so excited to be coming home--and you were so excited for him to rest, if even for a short while. You knew that he was so much more exhausted than he would ever admit. Jungkook loved his job more than anything, but he was still human. Well, you debated that fact on occasion. The boy had a tendency to go and go and go until he was half dead, but even then, the average person would have already been put in a padded room from the amount of stress he faced on the daily.

The past three months had been rough without him--it only being the second time Jungkook had ever had to leave you on tour with Bangtan--but aside from feeling lonely at night after having a particularly rough day, you were handling yourself amazingly well and even gave your boyfriend the space that you felt that he wanted during the stress of touring. Jungkook, on the other hand…

It wasn’t that he wasn’t handling it well. It was more like he just missed you so damn much that he didn’t know what to do with himself. While the touring process was new to you, you had easily adapted because that was just what had to be done and it was all you'd ever known. The first time that Jungkook had to leave for a tour, you had merely been on a few extremely casual dates, so there were really no huge emotional investments on either side yet. You’d formed a closer bond over time by sending texts and links to ridiculous YouTube videos back and forth--Jungkook’s sense of humor more often than not making you snort out loud in the middle of your lectures, the sudden outbursts forcing you to cover it up by pretending to go into a coughing fit. After the first tour, loving Jungkook through a pixelated screen had just become half of your relationship, and you'd both accepted that. But that didn't mean it was easy.

You knew Jungkook wasn’t used to having someone to miss while he was away aside from his family, and the unfamiliar emptiness in his arms where you would normally be made him feel exposed and vulnerable--like he was going into battle without his most important and protective armor. The insecurities plagued him, a swirling mass of what ifs echoing against the interior of his skull. There were many nights where you would be roughly yanked out of sleep, your ringtone blaring so loud that you would scramble to find your phone amidst the tangle of sheets and the throw of darkness--your heart beating so hard in your chest that it felt like it was going to burst through your ribs and flop into bed beside you, only to find that it was merely Jungkook needing to hear your voice.

The last night that he had called in such a state was a week ago, the conversation still fresh on your mind as you waited for him to come home from the airport, your eyes trailing after a couple of silvery raindrops that rolled down the windowpanes in front of you.

“Hello?” That night you answered on the sixth ring with a tongue thick with sleep and eyes still unable to fully open.

“Baby?” Jungkook’s voice was almost always strained when he called you like this, as if he was trying his hardest to keep from showing just how vulnerable and needy he was--although you always knew. That time in particular, the pet name tumbled past his lips in a hurried rush.

“Hey, Jungkookie,” you smiled as you rubbed your eyes. He hesitated, the four seconds worth of grainy silence confirming your suspicions of him calling out of feeling alone in a crowd of six. “Bad day?”

He sighed lowly, and you could practically see him raising his thumb to his lips to nervously gnaw on the ragged cuticle. You could just faintly make out the sound of a rustling somewhere on the other end of the line, and you knew he was bouncing his leg, the nervous energy desperately trying to escape.

“Sort of...” he trailed off, not wanting to voice his actual feelings, god forbid, but you always patiently waited in silence until he felt ready to talk. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you too, more than you know,” even with thousands of miles between the two of you, the sounds of the wheels turning in his head were nearly audible as he tried to think of how to word his burdens.

“Talk to me, boy…” You sang the phrase to the tune of Rock Your Body by Justin Timberlake as out of tune and off pitch as you could, your voice that was still gravelly with sleep only adding to the effect. Anything to make Jungkook smile.

You often used this trick to get him to spill whatever was bothering him, and more often than not, it would illicit an airy chuckle to escape from him and begin to thaw the anxiety that had begun icing over his stomach. But that time all you got was a weak puff of air, a sorry excuse for a laugh.

He must really be upset, you thought.

After a moment, he spoke.

“You don’t….regret being with me, do you?” his voice was quiet, and even through the phone you could see his eyes timidly glued to his lap as he picked at the frayed holes in his jeans. “I mean...do you resent that I have to leave you for so long? Do you wish that you were with someone...normal?”

You blinked in confusion.

“What?” your voice hitched up in surprise.

“Never mind. Forget I called,” he babbled, “I shouldn’t have woken you up. I mean, it’s what? Almost four in--”

“Jeon Jungkook, hush,” you firmly interrupted, causing nervous rambling to die in his throat. “Why would you ask me that?”

He paused.

“Um…” the humiliated blush that was burning his cheeks was nearly audible.

“I….” he began, but the words dissolved on his tongue like a bitter cotton candy. He let out a huff of frustration.

“I’m scared,” a tone of hopelessness tinged with shame dripped from his lilting voice. “I love you so much, and I’m scared that you’re going to realize that this? What we have? Isn’t what you deserve.”

Your brow furrowed as you processed his words. How could he be so dumb sometimes? Couldn’t he tell that you were madly in love with him? That he was your best friend, and you could never give him up for anything? You been together for almost a year, shouldn’t he know that by now?

“Jungkook--”

“I’m the man, I‘m supposed to be reassuring you! And instead I’m the one calling you all the time because I miss you so much that I can’t focus on anything. You don’t ever call me like this. I’m the one calling you in the middle of the night because I’m feeling real anxiety for the first time in my life over the thought of losing you. And I’m a fucking singer!” his voice was growing louder as he let his stress out into the light, and his bouncy Busan accent peaked through the more worked up he got.

“I get followed by crazy fans and have hate thrown at me every day, and yet the only thing that really cuts me deep is the thought of not getting to hear you do Justin Timberlake an injustice over the phone anymore.”

The sentiment was meant to be joking, because he didn’t like talking about his feelings nine times out of ten--it made him feel guilty for not being content with his job and his life all the time. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and that was when you jumped in.

“Jungkook,” you softly said, “you do call me when you’re upset. I can always tell the difference between a call like one of these and a normal phone call to check in. But have you failed to notice that I always answer these urgent phone calls?”

He didn’t answer, so you continued.

“I’m scared, too. I’m terrified you’re going to find a much hotter, more talented, idol girlfriend to love. But the reason I don’t call you like this very often is because for one thing, I hardly ever know where the hell you are. For all I know, you’re back in Seoul chilling in the dorms right now,” Jungkook let out a single grunt of a chuckle.

“And I also don’t call you freaking out because right around the time when I start to feel lonely or sad, you end up calling me. I may not know where you are in the world, but you’ll always know where I am. I’m not going anywhere.”

There were a few beats of warm silence as your reassuring words released the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders and loosened the uneasy knot pulled lethally tight in his chest.

“So you don’t want someone normal?” the smile in his voice was evident, but you could still make out a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Kookie, if I wanted someone normal, I wouldn’t have chosen you to begin with, you dumbass,” a grin broke out across your face as the sound of Jungkook’s musical laughter floated back to your ears. The mental image of him throwing his head back with his eyes scrunched tight with a genuine smile made you swoon.

“Promise?” he giggled.

“I promise, okay? You being famous isn’t what makes you abnormal to me. It’s your inherent dorkiness and embarrassing outbursts,” you teased.

“Don’t act like you don’t contribute,” he sassed.

“You love it.”

“I really, really do.”

At the end of the phone call, you could tell he felt better. It was like his burden dissipating also lifted one from your own shoulders, as if you had cleared up an insecurity you didn’t even know you had.

Before you, Jungkook had never loved someone at all, period, and now that he was madly in love with you, he felt as if he wasn’t doing enough. He hated not being able to take you on dates, real dates, where you could both go out without worrying if he would be followed by fans or paparazzi. He hated that he couldn't hold you every night and feel your icy toes shove themselves under his thighs, the biting cold nearly making him jump out of his skin every time. He hated never getting to post the cute pictures that he would take of you while you slept, or the horrendous selfies you would send him as you sat in class while he was at rehearsal. He wanted to shout how much he loved you from the rooftops, loud enough for all of both North and South Korea to hear. But the job that he loved so much prevented that.

He hated those things, but god, did he love you.

The thought that after all that time, you would finally be able to see him, and hold him, and do all the things you were able to do with him three months prior made you feel as if your body weighed twenty pounds lighter. Loneliness was a much heavier burden than you realized.

The sound of keys jingling and sliding into the lock made your head automatically whip towards the long awaited noise. For whatever reason, be it the suddenness of the noise while you were so deep in thought or the fact that your Jungkook was finally home, your heart fluttered inside your chest. On instinct, you rose to your feet and stood with your eyes glued to the entrance to your apartment. He’s home.

When the door finally swung open after what felt like an eternity of him fumbling with the knob that always seemed to stick, Jeon Jungkook stood before you for the first time in three months.

His hair was a dishevelled mess, the caramel blond and faded pink stripes sticking up in every which way in wispy tendrils around his brow that had collected the brunt of the rain on the way to your apartment. If you hadn’t been so stunned, you would have laughed at the very obvious line where his hat had protected the crown of his head from getting wet, leaving the top of his hair to be dry and fluffy--a stark contrast to the ends of his locks that were dripping wet and darkened with the freezing rain. Jungkook’s soaked beanie was clutched so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were white and little streams of water were dripping down his fingers and onto the floor from the fabric being wrung so extremely. His black hoodie was bunched up over one of his hips, as if he hadn’t bothered to pull it down or fix it in it any way when he stepped off the subway. The fabric was significantly darker over the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest where the rain had initially struck him, making it hopelessly cling to his leanly muscled frame.

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes raked over his body and landed on his face. Without a stitch of makeup on his skin to hinder your view, you were able to see every little detail on him--even from across the room. The wind must have been much chillier than you thought, because his nose and cheeks were bright pink from the abuse of the nipping temperatures. All of his freckles and dark circles and scars were right in front of you, and they were so goddamn gorgeous that it made a lump form in your throat. He was so real. So real and so solid and so very, very beautiful. It was as if his image was enhanced and hyper-focused after being without him for so long.

The expression of disbelief written on your face must have been amusing, because Jungkook’s red, chill-swollen lips quirked themselves into a bright grin.

“I’m home,” he softly said, his smile growing even wider--the rise of his cheeks making his sparkling eyes disappear into slits that sat on the top of his cheekbones and nearly all thirty-two of his teeth flash in your direction.

The broken silence snapped you out of your trance, and you quickly found yourself shuffling across the room towards your boyfriend while muttering an ecstatic mantra of “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home, you’re home!” with a beaming smile on your face. He met you halfway, his long strides carrying him to you in a matter of three steps. You threw your arms around his neck and nestled your frame into his torso. Muscled arms wound themselves around your waist--one firmly snaking around the circumference of your lower back and the other trailing up your spine to gently grip at the curve of your shoulder--as he mumbled an incoherent string of words declaring just how much he missed you, his voice sounding an awful lot like he was trying not to cry.

“I missed you too,” your fingers wound themselves into his hair as you felt a sting behind your eyes. “I missed you so incredibly much, Jungkook.”

A startled gasp flew past your lips when the tip of Jungkook’s frigidly cold nose nuzzled itself into the warmth of your neck.

“Jesus,” you attempted to squirm away from the way from the way he was using you to thaw himself, but he simply pulled you tighter into his body.

“You’re freezing! Why didn’t you wear a coat, Jungkook? You’re going to get sick, you idiot!” you half laughed and half scolded, the smile on your face causing a single happy tear to squeeze from your eye.

His cheeks rose devilishly in the crook of your neck. He’d missed your playful insults so much.

“I was so excited to see you that I forgot to grab one from the dorm when I dropped off my suitcase,” his words were muffled by the fabric of your sweatshirt.

His dripping wet clothes were beginning to soak into your own and make you shiver. You placed your palms on both of his cheeks and pulled him back to get a better look at him up close--and partially to get his icicle of a nose the hell away from your flesh. Your eyes locked with his, the nearly-black irises seeming to place gentle kisses on every inch of your face as he surveyed your features. His mouth dropped open in a look of false and exaggerated surprise, his doe eyes twinkling like a thousand galaxies.

“Are you crying, (Y/N)?” he chided.

You let out a laugh poked his cheek.

“Are you? You’re looking a bit waterlogged.”

“What?” his brows raised, feigning innocence.

“This?” he gestured to his soaked lashes. “No, no. It’s not crying if the tears never fall, baby.”

You giggled and pulled his face closer to yours, the scent of his favorite cologne washing over you in the close proximity. Your lips brushed against his in a teasing kiss, the feeling of his chilled lips lightly grazing yours sending chills down your spine.

“God, you’re so warm,” he whispered, awestruck, his breath fanning over your face.

Jungkook’s hand ran itself painstakingly slow up your arm and the side of your neck, his icy fingertips trailing against your skin so lightly that goosebumps erupted across the expanse of your exposed flesh. Long fingers knotted themselves in the hair at the back of your neck to pull you into a deeper kiss, and the way his fingernails lightly grazed your scalp had your breath catching in your throat. The kiss was slow and languid, everything seeming to be moving at half its normal speed. With each move he made, icy droplets would drip from the ends of Jungkook’s hair and splatter faintly on your skin. Every brush of his lips and unhurried swipe of his tongue against yours was purposeful. Each shaky breath and quiet sigh was a message, a secret code that you’d cracked months and months before--every tender nibble on your lower lip and stroke of his swollen lips against your jaw a declaration of how much he loved you, punctuated with gentle swipes of his thumb against your cheekbone.

The way Jungkook was not only suddenly present in your life again, but also painting your lips with his most intimate and passionate kisses was making you weak in the knees. After all the months of being apart, you finally had him back in your arms. The crushing feeling of love for him was so overwhelming that your head started to spin. You brought your hand up to rest against his cheek and pulled away from the kiss ever so slightly--just enough to speak.

“I missed you,” you rested your forehead against his and looked into his eyes, your mouth beginning to water at the sight of his flushed cheeks and blown out pupils.

“I missed you so much. God, every single day it was like I was walking around in a daze,” you gave him a lingering peck before continuing. “I love you so much, Jungkook. I don’t think you realize how much.”

You began peppering kisses along his jaw, gentle at first--pulling a satisfied hum from him that quickly turned into a low moan when you switched to leaving burning open mouthed kisses that seared the still freezing skin on his neck. The contrast of your warm mouth and his cold skin was so drastic that it felt almost painful, his nerve endings having long forgotten what warmth was in the mile long walk from the subway to your apartment.

You pulled back to make eye contact with him and make sure that he was listening to what you were saying. He stared back at you with hooded eyes, doing his best to actually process your words.

“I’m sorry if I seemed distant while you were away. I just figured you would want some space to focus on work,” you brought your lips back to his, kissing the top and then the bottom before slowly tracing his lower lip with your tongue. His hands gripped your hips in an attempt to keep from losing focus on your loving words.

“I let the space change from an inch to a mile, and you felt insecure in our relationship because of that. Am I correct?”

Jungkook’s golden cheeks flushed a deep russet, his eyes leaving yours to wander aimlessly before dropping to the floor. He nodded, embarrassment  evident on his face. He hated admitting when he was struggling. He wasn’t supposed to struggle, he was the golden maknae.

You smiled fondly at him before intertwining your fingers with his and raising the tangle of warm and cold digits to brush your lips across his knuckles.

“Let me make it up to you,” you slyly said.

Jungkook’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, a knowing smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Whatever do you have in mind, m’lady?” he suggestively raised his eyebrows and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You shivered at the chill that your now soaked clothes brought.

“Well, you feel like you’ve been inside a deep freeze for four days. Let’s warm you up.”

Jungkook’s eyes gleamed.

“You don’t mean…?” he began, a wide smile spreading across his face.

You nodded.

“Yes. I ordered more bath bombs and saved them all so we could use them together.”

Jungkook wiggled in excitement, doing a quick dance of waggling fingers and spastically tapping his toes.

“You’re the beeeeest,” he cheered as he heaved you over his shoulder--causing a surprised shriek to rip from your throat--and pranced off towards the master bedroom.

You couldn't contain your giddiness as your laughter rang out across your apartment. Jungkook was finally home, and your Saturday was finally as warm and relaxing as they used to be before he left.

#bts #bts writing #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook bts #jungkook au #bts scenarios #bts one shot #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #my writing