#tomorrow me is either gonna be like you were an utter idiot for this post Or she's going to be like no but you're onto something

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 3

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​

Square Field: Sleigh Ride

Word Count: 1760

Warnings: Hint of anxiety issues, fluff, fluff, and more tooth rotting fluff.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 4 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST**  **MASTERLIST**  **BECOME A PATREON**

The last thing you remember from the night before was falling asleep wrapped up in Dean’s arms in the Dean cave. Normally you weren’t one to fall asleep during movie night, but it also wasn’t normal for Dean to be that cuddly either, and you were apparently a lot more worn down from the hunt than you thought you were, not to mention your little self inflicted melt down over Christmas. Your anxiety tended to hit at the world's worst time and take a whole lot out of you when it did, yesterday was no exception. 

When you woke up this morning you were tucked safely in your bed, and you knew you didn’t wake up to get there on your own, meaning Dean must have carried you there and tucked you in after you had fallen asleep. That thought alone made you smile. Dean cared about you enough to carry you in there, and tuck you into your bed after you had fallen asleep on him. No man had ever done that for you before, and you swear your heart grew three sizes in your chest. 

You had always harbored feelings for Dean, but never allowed yourself to think that they could possibly be reciprocated by the famous Winchester. He was a warrior, a hero, and you were just lucky he allowed you into his little band of misfits to hunt with them, and gave you home when you met him years ago hunting a nest of Vampires in Illinois.

You climb out of bed, not bothering to change out of your pajamas Dean had bought for you the night before, and made your way into the kitchen in search of coffee. You were surprised to find Dean standing next to the coffee pot with a cup in hand, fully dressed, showered, and ready for the day; normally Dean was a bit of a late sleeper. 

“Morning,” he said brightly, as if he’d been up waiting for hours, quickly grabbing a mug for you and filling it with coffee before you could even cross the floor. 

“Morning,” you tell him with a smile as you take the steaming mug from him, and make your way over to the table to sit down. “What’s got you up so early?” you asked him, and he chuckles as he sits to work on your breakfast. 

“Early? Sweetheart it’s almost noon,” he says without even turning around to face you, cracking an egg over the pan in front of him. “I was starting to think you were going to skip today and just stay in bed. I was a little hurt that I didn’t get an invitation,” he played as he pulled bacon from the pack and added it to the pan in front of him with the eggs. 

You blush at his antics and hide behind your coffee cup as Sam comes striding into the room, a book in hand, and a cup of to refill with coffee in another. He didn’t so much as give the two of you a second glance as he refilled his coffee up and started to track back out to the library with his nose firmly implanted in a book. Dean watched his brother as he gave the bacon on final flip and plated up your food before rolling his eyes and turning to you, shaking his head as he delivered your breakfast to you. 

“Boy’s lucky he found Eileen, if not I don’t think he’d ever get laid,” he grumbles as he takes a seat across from you and you stifle the laugh that threatens to fall from your lips with a mouth full of bacon. 

“Leave him be,” you scold, and Dean’s eyes sparkle a little with mischief when he playfully runs his foot across your under the table. Was he really playing footsie with you? 

You clear your throat, and decide to just play along without saying anything and you swear you saw a victory smirk cross his gorgeous face. 

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” you asked him, expecting some smart ass answer like porn, or some slasher marathon he’d planned since there was no case, and so much snow had fallen the night before it wasn’t like anyone wanted to get out in it anyway to actually work.

“You and I are gonna go downtown, so hurry up and eat your breakfast so you can get dressed,” he said excitedly, and you give him a confused look. 

“Downtown? It was a snow storm last night? Can we even get downtown?” you asked him in confusion, but he seemed thoroughly unfazed. 

“It stopped snowing hours ago, and the snow plows have already came through and cleared the roads, the sun's out, and it’s really not that bad out there, so hurry up Y/N/N!”

He looked so much like an over excited child that you couldn’t say no to that face even if you wanted too. You quickly finish your meal and dress in your room before meeting Dean in the garage where he’d gone to warm up Baby for you so that you wouldn’t be cold when you got into the car. 

You don’t know where this new, thoughtfully sweet, Dean came from but you weren’t complaining. Dean had never wanted to spend this much time with you before, and you were going to enjoy every second of it. 

“What are we doing downtown Dean?” you asked him as the car moved ever closer to Dean’s destination, his fingers were drumming alone to the classic rock song that was filtering through the speakers, and he was humming in a way you had only heard him do about a handful of times. He looked, happy? It was rare that Dean ever looked happy. It was a nice chance. 

“You're about to find out,” he said with a smirk, pointing ahead of him, at the side road where a fully decked out horse driven sleigh was waiting, children flocking around the animal as the handler let them each have a turn petting it’s short main. Your mouth fell open in utter shock and disbelief at the sight before you, and you couldn’t deny that the little girl in you was squealing with delight at the sight before you as Dean parks Baby safely on the side of the street. 

“Dean! Are you serious?!” 

You were all but bouncing up and down in the seat and Dean was chuckling at your excitement as his bright green eyes watched you, an emotion filling them you couldn’t understand in that moment. 

“Serious as a heart attack baby girl, I’ve already got us booked for a ride, in fact they're waiting on us now,” he said, getting out of the car and making his way around to pull you from the passenger side. 

You were still in so much shock that you all you could do was smile like an idiot as he laced his fingers with yours, and made his way over to the sleigh, shopping to let you pet the horse for a moment before helping you into it, following close behind you and draping the blanket they provided over your lap so that you wouldn’t get cold. 

The young man that was standing next to the horse climbed up behind the reins and took off slowly, making his way through a heavily decorated part of town, and through the little orchard that set just outside the park, snow making them limbs of the trees heavy and everything bright like winter wonderland as your eyes traveled around the scene before you. It looked like something out of a cheesy Hallmark movie, but you wouldn’t trade this experience for the world. Dean's eyes barley left your face, watching you as you looked around with a childlike amusement. 

“Dean, how did you even find out they were doing this?” you asked him as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close to him to help keep you warm. Your heart fluttered around in your chest at the simple little act, and damn he smelt like Heaven.

“I saw it on the news, and I remember you saying how much you loved horses, so I figured it was something you would like to do,” he said simply with a shrug, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and those eye crinkles you loved so much coming out to play. “I thought this would be the perfect day 11.” 

“I love it De, thank you for thinking of me,” you tell him, letting your head rest against his shoulder as the landscape passed along by you like a beautiful, moving portrait. 

“I always think of you Y/N,” he said, and you blushed deeply at his little revelation, looking up into his forest green eyes as he stared down into your own. You watched as his eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes again, and for just a second you thought he was going to kiss you. 

Just before the electric pull between the two of you became irresistible he pulled back a little, and you could have kicked yourself for thinking this was anything but plutonic. You didn’t have a chance to sulk about it before his free hand reached over and laced with yours, quickly making the moment all too intimate again, his lips kissing the top of your forehead and making your heart leap in your chest. 

“You just wait to see what I have planned for day ten,” he chuckled as the sleigh started to make its way back to the starting point, and you started to question him, but something in his eyes just said he wanted to surprise you, so you wouldn’t spoil this for him either. 

“You know you don’t have to do this Dean,” you tell him earnestly, and he smiles warmly down at you as the ride comes to an end, and he helps you down, leading you towards the little hot chocolate stand that was set up close by. 

“I want too, Y/N/N, you deserve this, and I’m going to make this a Christmas you will never forget, trust me.” 

Your mind and heart fluttered with possibilities and excitement that you hadn’t felt in years, but more importantly you were pretty sure you were falling in love with this green eyed God of a man, and hoped that it didn’t put a damper on the holiday fun he had planned for the two of you.

Forever Tags: 

@deandreamernp​

@forgetthisbull​

@miraclesoflove​

@deanwanddamons​​​ 

@rvgrsbrns​​ 

@chevyharvelle​​ 

@onethirstyunicorn​​ 

@i-love-superhero​​ 

@lyss-dw79​ 

@magssteenkamp​ 

@lemondropirwin​ 

@squirrelnotsam​ 

@hobby27​ 

@spnbaby-67​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​ 

@defenderrosetyler​ 

@screechingartisancashbailiff​ 

@thecreatiivecorner​  

@vicmc624​ 

@busy-bee-angel-misska​ 

@justanotherwinchester​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​

@idksupernatural​

@lyarr24​ 

@amandamdiehl​ 

@miraclesoflove​ 

 @emoryhemsworth​ 

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ 

@softsebastian 

@tatted-trina6​

@anaelsbrunette​ 

@hayleeharling​   

@flamencodiva​ 

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​ 

@dirty-pan-goblin​ 

@itmejado​ 

@supernatural3002​ 

@teresa-67​ 

@thoughts-and-funnies​ 

@hearteyes-j2​

@miss-nerd95​ 

@writers-whirlwind​

@peaches007​

@bobbie3939​

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@akshi8278​

@love-jackles-37-blog​

@supernatural-bellawinchester​

@bobbie3939​

Twelve Days Of Christmas Tag List: 

@440mxs-wife​

#Dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester x you #x reader inserts #dean winchester fanfciton #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester series #dean x reader #dean x you #dean series #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn series #jensen ackles

[hunflowers]

hiii are your requests open? I just wanted to request a imagine where harry is jealous y/n was hanging out with some of her male friends and he call her and pick her up from the club she is and they fight in the car, a little angst and then it end up smutty 🥴

because i managed to delete my first response im sorry if this is shitty sigh...............

so the way i’m imagining this is ...

You and Harry had made plans with your friend group to go out this weekend. It had been a long week for everybody so this was your perfect getaway to let loose and forget the responsibilities of adult hood for just one night.

So that Friday night you were anticipating the night, and you couldn’t wait to feel the familiar burn of alcohol trickle down your throat. When time was ticking down to finally head out, Harry had walked through the door of your shared home, giving you the news that he wasn’t feeling the best and it would be best if he stayed home to get some proper rest.

You wanted to stay home with him because going out without him just didn’t feel right but he insisted you go and have a good time because just like him, you deserved to have a night out. After a lot of convincing, you made your out with your friends, promising to text him throughout the night, keeping him updated on your whereabouts.

It was when you stopped texting periodically that Harry grew worried and frustrated because minutes before, you were posting videos on your Instagram – and most predominantly, the men that attended the night with you – yet you hadn’t responded to his latest message from fifteen minutes ago. He knows he shouldn’t be going crazy because you were allowed to not have to check in with him because you are a grown adult, but he still wishes you wouldn’t ignore him.

Then when thirty minutes passed and it seemed you had no intention on texting him any time soon, he called you. You hadn’t posted on your story either in some time, so really he was just seeing if you were okay at this point. Not for any other reason or anything.

You answered on the last ring, scurrying off to the bathroom to accept the call and so you could hear Harry properly. “Hey!”

“Y/N, why haven’t you been answering my messages?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his question, quickly scrolling through your phone to see that you accidentally clicked on his message from before but forgot to respond. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see your text, but yes, it’s going great! Wish you could be here, Tom and Nick are heading up next for karaoke. They went before and it was absolutely atrocious, thought they could give it another try.”

Silence loomed over the other end of the phone, making you quickly wonder if you had accidentally hung up the call. You tended to do that sometimes and you needed to learn how to not click away so fast.

“I’m coming to get you,” you finally heard from Harry, and you made a face as if he could see your confused expression.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem drunk, I’m gonna come get you. You’re at Jake’s 58 right?” He questioned and in the distance you could hear the faint shut of a door, and you could tell he was already on his way.

“Harry I had one drink an hour ago–”

“I’ll see you soon, stay there.”

Then he hung up the line and left you in a pit of complete and utter confusion. You looked to your phone as if it held the magical answer as to what crawled up your boyfriend’s ass, because from what you could tell from his monotonous voice, he wasn’t in a chipper mood. If this was all over you missing a simple text from thirty minutes ago, he sure had some explaining to do. He wasn’t your father, he didn’t have the right to rain on your parade like this.

Storming out of the bathroom, you quickly walked over to where the rest of your friends are, ushering a small apology for your early departure, blaming it on not feeling well anymore. No one suspected a thing even though you were sure it was obvious you were angry.

Bidding your goodbye, you marched your way outside and into the cooler night air. Even though you were angry to be outside, you were somewhat grateful because it felt refreshing to feel the chill of the night wash over your skin, contradicting the hot air from inside because of the overcrowded space.

Keeping yourself busy on your phone, you thought of all the ways you were going to put Harry in his place when he arrives. It was just so hard for you to believe that he could act like this without any justification. When you saw the familiar car park against the curb, you rolled your eyes in annoyance at the sight of Harry’s face. Normally, you wanted to see his face every second of every day, but in this moment, he was the last person you wanted to lay your eyes on.

Walking up to the passenger door, you opened it and slammed it behind you as you settled yourself on the cool leather seat. Locking your seatbelt into place, you let out a very obvious huff, letting him know that you weren’t happy with him.

When Harry opened his mouth to speak after a few moments of awkward and tense silence, you were quick to talk over him, just the way he hated.

“Care to explain your hypocracy? You were so insistent that I go out, yet here we are now as you are insistent to get me home.”

“Y/N–”

“You’re not my fucking father, Harry. I’m allowed to go out and have fun and drink if I so choose to.”

By this point, you turned your body fully towards him, using your hands now as you talked, and whenever your hands came involved, you were deadly serious. Harry knew this, he knew you would be angry, but that didn’t stop him from acting like a fool.

Choosing to ignore your statement, Harry brought up another matter that still tied into you leaving early. “Don’t you have work in the morning anyway? Can’t be out too late, love.”

Your eye twitched.

It legitimately twitched.

“No. I got someone to cover my shift since I thought I would be out late,” you enunciated your last syllables, making it clear that you knew what the fuck you were doing with your life this night.

You weren’t some rebellious and irresponsible teenager, you know how to take care of yourself, and when you should be home if you have fucking work in the morning. He was acting more and more like your miserable father and you were growing more and more impatient with him.

He hummed in response, silence now falling over the two of you. The soft melody of the radio didn’t help to ease the uncomfortable atmosphere in the car and you were sure nothing at this point would. And when he finally pulled into the driveway of your home, you hardly even let him put the car in park before you were hopping out and striding up the steps to your front door. Taking your keys out of your purse, you inserted the small gold object, and hastily pushed the wooden door open. You hear Harry sigh behind you as you made your way into the kitchen, looking to get some water to see if that could calm you down at all.

You just didn’t understand why he was acting this way. It made no sense because he knew what you were doing and he knew where you were going and he knew who you were going with because he was originally involved in these plans! There was nothing he had to worry about, yet here he was, worried about you all because you didn’t answer a small text within two seconds?

You just couldn’t wrap your head around what made him this way, because the last time he was like this, he was–

Oh. My. Gosh.

When you heard him situate himself in the living room, flicking the TV on to some late night show, you rushed over to him, standing in front of the screen with your hands on your hips.

“Are you seriously jealous right now?”

Harry was quick to shake his head, which automatically meant that, yes, he was. His eyes flickered behind you, trying to avoid your stern gaze because he was feeling awfully nervous under this spotlight.

“Harry! How many times do I have to tell you you’re the only one I want?” You chided, tapping your sandal clad foot against the floor.

Harry pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows together and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at you with those familiar pouty eyes.

“Harry,” you whined, knocking your head back in disbelief that he was seriously jealous.

“And how many times do I ‘ave to tell you Jack’s had his eyes on you since the moment you two met! Saw the way he was looking at you on Nick’s story, if he could, he would’ve fucked you right there on that table,” Harry snarled, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly in irritation.

You let out a laugh at that one, not able to hold this back any longer. It’s true that Harry has told you countless times Jack has some sort of feelings for you, but that in no way meant you reciprocated them. Jack was a know-it-all who liked to think he was funny when in reality, he was just being a misogynistic idiot.

You stepped over to Harry, sitting down in the spot next to him on the couch, draping your one leg over his lap while your other bent at your chest. “Jack is a jerk who would never get the opportunity to touch me like you do. The only person I want fucking my brains out is you. So stop being a li’l bitch and accept that,” you patted his cheek sweetly, earning an eye roll in return from him.

Looking down to his lap briefly, Harry looked back up to your eyes while taking one of your hands and bringing it up to his mouth to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “‘M sorry for ruining your night. Just hate seeing him around you when I’m not there. Never know what can happen to you.”

“Just try and talk to me next time, yeah?”

Harry nodded his head in agreement, leaning forward and connecting your lips in a small kiss. A small kiss that led you to now want more. Harry was back in your good graces, and since you didn’t work tomorrow, better make the most of this night.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Can you fuck my brains out now?”

He looked back to look at your properly, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead as his eyes widened at shock at your crass words. But, then that infamous smirk wormed it’s way on his lips, and his pupils dilated as he responded, “Do you even have to ask, darling?”

Then his lips connected to yours in a feverish manner, sending your mind into a frenzy as he laid your body down on the soft cushions of the couch, his body leaning over yours. There was nothing slow about the kiss as his tongue wasted no time in pushing into your mouth, running over yours. He enjoyed the remnant taste of the fruity drink you consumed earlier on in the night, basking in the sweet flavor.

Your one arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling his torso closer to yours, your nails scraping over his back through the material of his sweatshirt. Your other hand traveled down his abdomen, quickly ducking under the sweatshirt and grazing his warm skin before you pushed past the waistband of his basketball shorts and cupped his growing erection in your hand. Harry wasted no time in rutting his hips into your hand, softly moaning at the pressure of your palm pressing down on him.

Removing his lips from yours, he trailed hot kisses down your jaw and your throat, leaving wet patches across your skin that felt cool as air continued to flow over them. Soon Harry nestled over your sweet spot, taking his time over the area, enjoying you squirming a bit under him as he bit softly into skin before sucking on it and running his tongue over the damaged skin.

At this point, you officially tucked your hand into his briefs now, wrapping your fingers around his girth, pumping him slowly and grazing your thumb over his leaking tip, earning a hiss from him. But, when he moved to fasten your movements, you removed your hand, very much wanting to be a tease, because when you tease, he really fucks you up, and since you didn’t have work in the morning you didn’t have to worry about hobbling the rest of the day. It would be completely worth it in the end.

Lifting his head from the crook of your neck, his darkened eyes bore into your own, a scowl resting over his sharp features. “Baby. . . you know I don’t like when you’re a tease.”

You loosely smiled at him, running your tongue over your swollen lips in your best seductive manner. Lacing your fingers in his hair, you pulled him closer so the shell of his ear was pressed to your mouth, your breath fanning over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“What’re you gonna do about it. . . Daddy?”

And before you knew it, Harry departed from being on top of you. He all but ripped your jeans off your legs, along with your favorite pair of blue panties, leaving your bottom half completely naked and all bare to him.

All clothes were removed within seconds from both of you, and next Harry was flipping your body over so your chest was pressed to the cushion, and he lifted your hips up so your ass was now in the air. Giggling at his sudden assertiveness, you wiggled your butt at him to which he then smacked down hard on you, and you’re positive your skin was bright red now. You let out a yelp as he delivered another blow to your behind, then wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging your head back.

With his free hand, he dipped his fingers into your slick folds, gathering up your moisture and you could hear him put his digits in his mouth and suck on your juices. He moaned around the taste, bringing his fingers about to your center, slowly trailing from your dripping hole and to your throbbing clit.

“So, so wet for me, baby.”

You wanted to response vocally, but the only sounds that could come out of your mouth at this moment were breathless whimpers as Harry rubbed fast circles on your sensitive bud, but then would stop all of a sudden, taking a break for a few seconds before he would continue again.

Talk about being a tease.

When he didn’t hear words leave your lips, he leaned over your body, his mouth now pressing against your ear as he continued to attack your bundle of nerves. “Isn’t that right, Y/N? All wet and all for me, right?”

When you went to speak, he thrusted his fingers into your cunt, abrupting your train of thought, causing you to let out a guttural groan as his fingers caressed against your walls. He knew what he was doing, because you knew he hated when you didn’t speak up to voice your thoughts with him, and that would only encourage him to put you in your place; but since he was doing all of these things to your body that left you speechless, he knew you wouldn’t be able to respond like he wants.

You’re fully convinced he’s the devil in disguise.

“Words, love, need to hear ‘em. Who’s making you feel this good? Who has you dripping down your thighs, your walls clenching, your clit throbbing? Who, Y/N?” He growled in your ear, pumping his fingers in and out of you at much faster pace now.

Soon enough that familiar knot in your belly was growing tighter, and your legs were growing weaker as they began to shake and convulse at your impending orgasm. But, in order to reach your climax, you had to say something so he wouldn’t stop. So again, you went to talk but then Harry stopped all of his movements completely, pulling his fingers out of you, causing you to whine and push your hips back to get back the attention.

What you didn’t expect though, was Harry to replace his fingers with his cock so soon, thrusting into you quickly, hardly giving you time to adjust to his size before he was snapping his hips against yours in a hasty pace. His balls slapped against your clit at the speed, his tip hitting that special spot inside of you over and over again. You were a mess to say the least as you instinctively pushed yourself back to meet his thrusts, needing him to go rougher.

Placing his hands on your hips to stop your movements, he got the memo and pounded himself harder into your wet pussy, and pretty soon you would be seeing stars.

“C’mon, baby, use your words. Scream it– who’s doing this to you?” He murmured this time in a gentler tone, which was completely contradictory to his current actions.

That pressure in your stomach grew more intense and Harry could feel it too as your walls clenched around him, practically trying to push him out at the tight squeeze. And when you felt him twitch inside of you, you knew he was moments away too.

“Yo–” you started to say, but Harry yanked your body upwards so your back was fully flushed against your chest. He wrapped his large hand around your throat, applying slight pressure because he knew this is what would send you over the edge in due time.

“My name, Y/N, say my name,” he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppier by the second. His one hand that wasn’t wrapped around throat came up to your breasts, squeezing each one under his palm, finger tips tugging on your hard nipples, the sensitive sensation working as a push to let go of that knot.

With one final hit of your g-spot, you were seeing stars and didn’t even hesitate to scream out his name. You screamed his name as best as you could with his hand around your throat, a string of curses following and long drawn out moans. Soon, Harry followed in your steps, his own groans leaving his mouth as he released inside of you, coaxing your walls in load after load of cum.

You were both breathless, and when he let go of your body, you couldn’t help but collapse forward, gulping down as much air as you could, as if you had been suffocating this entire time.

Deciding to get someone to cover you in the morning definitely may have been your best decision as of lately, teasing Harry following close behind. You were at content with your night now, but you had a strong feeling Harry wasn’t planning on giving up any time soon.

You were proven correct when he spoke up, “Need you to clean me, love. Want your lips wrapped around my cock now.”

He wasn’t going to give you any sort of recovery period any time soon, and honestly, you were okay with that.

#okay now im off to study byeeeeeeee #ask #request #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles

[artificialqueens]

Notebooks & Post-it's - Chapter 14 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: Soooo… Here’s my take on Amsterdam. Enjoy.

Summary:

It all went from bad to worse in Amsterdam.

LINK TO AO3

It all went from bad to worse in Amsterdam.

Or maybe if Brock was being fair, it had begun the descent into bad in Belfast, worsened in Oslo, only to come to a horrible conclusion in Amsterdam.

After the drunken conversation in the hallway, they had both seemed to agree that they would leave each other alone unless they were on stage.

Save it for the fans.

Give them the show they had paid for.

It tore at his heart, but Brock kept on dealing with the jokes and touches. He found himself standing in the wings glancing at Vanjie performing her ass off, trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he would never get to be her proud boyfriend again.

The drinking seemed to get out of hand. He needed more alcohol to get through the shows. The tequila seemingly always in an endless supply wherever they came.

He wrote and wrote in the notebook.

I wish you would look at me. Even just to get mad. Just something. But you don’t. I am invisible to you unless we are on the stage. You only care for Brooke Lynn. Too bad it’s Brock that’s in love you with you.

And wrote.

It’s funny how the thing that scared me so much the last time is the one thing I crave. I want the commitment. I want you to be mine and only mine. I want you to stake your claim. I don’t want anybody else. Fuck that. I want you.

And wrote.

I love you. I don’t think that’s ever going to go away.

The blank pages were filled up with love declarations that were never uttered. The pages a silent testament to the turmoil wrecking havoc inside of Brock.

________________________________________________________________________

The energy during the Belfast gig had been weird. The excitement of it being the last show in the UK coupled with an amazing crowd and high energy seemed to do something to all of them. They were leaving for Oslo tomorrow, but tonight they would party and have fun. There was this end of school year feel.

They all took longer to de-drag. Brock being the last one out for some reason.

And that was when he saw it.

Stuck to his foundation.

A post-it.

He slowly peeled it off, his hand shaking, excited and scared at the same time.

He wanted it to be an invitation, while he also dreading it.

209. Please - V

Brock had never packed his stuff that quickly, as he did after reading that, almost running out of the dressing room, needing to see José now. Scared what was wrong, hopeful that maybe he wanted to give them a chance.

_______________________

José didn’t know why he had said no to Brock. He was drunk, in fact, they had both been out of it, not knowing what they were saying or doing.

He didn’t want to make one more drunken mistake. Not with Brock.

But ignoring him after having been so close with him for weeks was odd. It was as if they were doing a publicity stunt.

It felt dirty.

It felt wrong.

José was in love with Brock. Had been for over a year, and having to play that up in front of the fans hurt.

Seeing Brock turn paler and thinner. Not eating, but drinking more than usual, hurt.

It all hurt.

He missed him.

He wanted to take care of him.

But José had been an idiot and closed the door that Brock seemed to have opened just an inch.

Yet, closed doors had never really seemed to be a hindrance for him.

Which was why he had left that post-it. Hoping that Brock would show up, knowing that he probably wouldn’t.

But hoping oh so much.

The rest of the queens had gone straight from the venue to the club, but José had simply shaken his head at them, knowing that he looked tired enough to not get any shit from them.

If Nina has sent him a worried look, he decided to not react.

He couldn’t.

Getting into an Uber, and arriving at the hotel all seemed to pass by in a blur. It wasn’t until he closed the door to his room behind him that he realised how tired he was. Both his body and mind. The toll of drag and being an idiot with his emotions was draining. He dropped his bags on the floor, taking two steps over to the bed and simply face planting onto it.

Maybe he should just sleep, then he wouldn’t be awake to feel the disappointment of Brock never showing up.

“You a messy hoe, Miss Vanjie!” José’s words were muffled by the duvet as he stubbornly refused to turn around. Too tired, and too emotionally stressed to do anything.

The tentative knocking at the door, however, did the trick. Making him almost jump up from the bed and run to the door.

“Be cool, be cool. Make ‘im sweat, mama,” he whispered to himself as he tried to count to ten slowly, “two, three, ten… fuck it,” opening the door he came face to face - more like face to shoulder - with Brock.

“Well, you be looking like hell fried over, Boo,” José was being kind. Brock looked like shit. The bags under his eyes were a deep purple. His skin pale and shallow. His hair was a mess, and that stupid red hoodie seemed looser than usual.

He was wasting away in front of him.

“You don’t look too good either, Papi,” The endearment made the ever-present butterflies of affection flutter in José’s stomach. Over a year after they first started this thing and he was still so very in love him.

For a moment they both just stared at each other. Their eyes trying to morse code the words their mouths were too afraid to utter.

But then José looked away, the earnestness in Brock’s eyes making him scared, as he didn’t know what it meant. His pulse seemed to quicken at the possibility of Brock seeing him as more than a good fuck, but he knew that was too much to ask for.

Walking back to the bed he sat down on it, expecting Brock to simply follow, smiling when he heard the soft click of the door closing, followed by it being locked. He felt tired in his bones. The tour, this stupid-ass thing with Brock and just… everything.

Maybe it was the fact that they only had three shows left, that made the tiredness set in. Perhaps it was because he knew only had three more shows left with him. Before Brock left for other venues and tours.

Three shows left to finally tell him how he felt.

“So…” Brock was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking expectantly at him.

“You wanna fuck?” José knew that he probably looked pathetic in his shorts and tank-top, hair all ruffled, face washed and make-up free. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but Brock was here.

José wanted him to stay, no. He needed him to. Needed his touch, his comfort and warmth. José knew that he was difficult to deal with on a day-to-day basis, knew in the depth of his soul that the reason they hadn’t worked out had nothing to do with Brock’s need for freedom, but rather everything to do with José’s brand of craziness being too draining.

Brock might have loved him, but that didn’t mean he necessarily liked him all that much.

Yet, no matter what, they had always had that sexual connection. The way that touching each other was a craving, a drug that none of them seemed to be able to quit.

If sex was involved, Brock would stay.

It was the one thing, that José always knew to be true.

Brock’s startled laugh broke through the sleepy fog of his mind, instantly making him scowl.

“What you laughin’ ‘bout, bitch?” Typical Brock, to just laugh at him when he was prepositioning him. It made him feel like an idiot. As if the idea of sleeping with him was a joke.

As if being with him was a fucking joke.

“Papi, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep any minute now. I’m not into the somnophilia scene. So no, I don’t want to fuck,” Brock had walked over to him and slowly pulled him up from the bed. José subconsciously following him. Not even realising what was happening.

His limbs were heavy and his protests about sleeping instead of fucking were lodged deep in his throat.

The way Brock was gently guiding him. His hands soft and warm as they pushed against his lower back, made him weak in the knees.

It made him feel cared for.

It made him feel loved.

“Fuck you! I be like the pizza man, boo. Always delivering” There was no conviction behind his words, as Brock got him to lie down on the bed, José’s eyes following his every move as he covered him with the duvet.

Brock was softly kneeling on the floor next to the bed, his fingers carding through his hair, almost making him purr with content.

“I’m sure. All you will be delivering tonight is some well-earned sleep, babe,” Brock’s face contorted into something slightly sad, but overwhelmingly warm. It made José think of the nights they had right before they broke up. The way that Brock had been extra attentive, while also being slightly withdrawn.

“You ain’t knowing nothing, I might be pulling an all-nighter, hoe!” José knew he was being a child. Knew that he was tired and just needed to sleep.

But he missed being held.

He just fucking missed Brock.

“Uh-uh. It’s time to sleep now, though,” Brock’s voice was soft and warm like a lullaby, the tenor of it reminded him of Sunday mornings in bed and late-night facetime calls. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering for a minute.

And then he got up from the floor, knees cracking, huffing tiredly and made his way to the door.

“Stay,” José’s whisper didn’t stop Brock from walking away, which was why he added a small, “please.”

He knew that he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t care. The idea of spending the night alone with his thoughts and exhaustion was too much to bear.

He just wanted Brock.

As Brock reached the door, José felt the weight on his chest grow heavier, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. A single thought went through his mind.

He’s leaving. For good.

Then the room went dark. The small click of the light switch the purest sound José had ever heard.

The weight on his chest magically disappeared, while he felt like he was going to cry from the sheer relief of not spending the night alone.

He could vaguely hear Brock undress, the sound of a zipper and clothes hitting the floor, each sound managing to slowly repair every phantom crack in his heart.

The bed dipped under Brock’s weight, and suddenly José found himself wrapped in those strong and muscular arms. The secure harbour of them settling him instantly.

This was home.

He gave a satisfied grunt and shuffled closer, burying his nose in Brock’s neck, savouring the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. It was so quintessential him.

“Sleep tight, Big Guy,” the words were whispered against his forehead.  

“You too, Toes,”

And with that he fell into a peaceful slumber that he hadn’t even known he had needed.

_____________________

Brock hadn’t slept a wink. His body stiff from having held José the whole night, his head fussy with sleep deprivation, while his mind went in circles.

What did this mean?

It felt different. Everything about José last night had been softer, quieter and more emotional.

Brock had in the middle of the night dared to whisper a soft “I love you”, knowing that it was drowned out by José’s small snores.

He had to tell him.

Holding José in his arms had been amazing.

Had been painful.

Had been insanely confusing.

For a night it had felt like they were back together as if nothing had happened. Yet, the moment José woke up, Brock knew that the jig was up. He had tensed in his arms and seemed in a rush to get him out of the room.

Brock knew when he was unwanted, quickly making his excuses and left.

José’s standoffishness followed them to Oslo, everyone except Brock cranky over the fact that there had been a massive delay in the airport, meaning that they wouldn’t have any time to enjoy the city before having to get into drag.

Brock hadn’t complained as it had given him a chance to finally sleep. His body was aching. The alcohol, the emotional turmoil and just being on tour all taking a huge toll on him.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t taken any notice of how withdrawn José was before the show began. Brock was so in his head trying to find the energy to be Brooke Lynn for the night, that he didn’t notice anything or anyone else.

He did, however, become painfully aware of, once on the stage, how Vanjie didn’t interact with her. How she kept to herself, joking instead with Monique or Meatball. There was no hug for the fans, no mentioning of Brooke in Miss Vanjie’s long spiels of bullshit after her numbers.

Fuck.

Instead, Brooke twirled on stage with Nina, trying to swallow the disappointment of it not being Vanjie.

At the Meet & Greet after the show, she smiled at everyone, but her heart was breaking every time she glanced over at Vanjie, noticing how she never even acknowledged Brock’s presence.

Shit.

The other’s talked about going drinking, but Brock knew he couldn’t handle it. So he left them all going back to the hotel, trying not to think too hard about the absence of a post-it, nor the worried looks Nina kept sending him.

Sitting on his bed, in his darkened room, he tried not to think too much about how much he was fucking everything up.

He still remembered how José had felt in his arms. If he thought hard enough he could almost imagine it right there in his empty hotel room.

If a tear a two fell down his face it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if anyone was there to see his fast track towards rock bottom anyway.

____________

Was that the last time? Am I too late? Have my waiting and hesitation ruined it all? I know I set myself up to fail, I mean fucking the ex you are still in love with doesn’t seem like a stellar plan in any fucking type of universe. Maybe you infected me with your love of romantic movies. Maybe I thought that this could be some shitty Nicholas Sparks book were we do end up together in the last chapter. Guess that makes me the fool.

______________

And then Amsterdam happened.

They had been up early, catching an early plane to ensure that they would have a full day in the city since it was pride.

Brock had barely slept in Oslo. His mind going over every possible wrong turn he had taken with José that had brought him to this particular point. A point where José wouldn’t even look at him.

Nina was a blessing. Giving him hugs, trying to make him smile, ensuring that he ate.

It was Nina that got them invited to some big party, bringing Meatball along for the ride. It was Nina that made sure they met Bianca.

Nina was the best of friends the whole day. Not giving him a single side-eye at all the alcohol he was drinking. Just being that steady presence that he needed, while Bianca spent the day reading him to filth.

“Well you look like a real reigning,” hiding behind big sunglasses, mouth pursed and voice drier than a good martini, Bianca was her usual bitchy self.

“Uhuh, and how’s that?” If it had been anyone else, Brock would’ve felt called out and maybe a bit anxious, but having known her for years, he took it for what it was.

Bianca being worried.

“Like you’re close to dying. Jesus, you look like shit,” Despite her rough deadpan voice, Brock could still hear the small thread of concern, which made him smile softly.

“I still look better than you,” Which was true.

But only barely.

“Debatable,” the way the Bianca looked over her sunglasses for a second, as the hard front she always put up softened made Brock feel warm.

The way his friends all tried to care for him and make him feel better was so heartwarming.

They all succeeded in making him feel better. Slowly pulling him out of his José-induced funk, though it was difficult to know if it was Nina, Pride or tequila.

Probably a mix.

All Brock knew was that he was dancing, without a single care in the world. The baking sun managing to thaw up his otherwise cold and broken heart. The alcohol in his blood made him brave and he knew what he had to do.

He had to tell him.

Now.

He was drunk enough to not care about the outcome, but not drunk enough to make it a bad idea.

He had to tell him.

It only took a few texts and some stalking of stories on Instagram to figure out where José was. Dragging Meatball and Nina with him hadn’t been difficult, all of them ready to party with all their sisters.

He had seen José’s stories, seen how good he looked with that ridiculous thigh-strap fanny-pack.

He loved him, and he wanted him… And fuck it, he was going to say it to him.

His eagerness at seeing José meant that everything else seemed to fade away. The details of how they went from one club to another hazy and blurred.

He couldn’t remember what they had talked about on the way, nor if they had met up with some of the queens before entering the club.

His mind was so focused on what he wanted - no needed - to say, that he didn’t even register the loud music or the fact that it was making the walls and floor vibrate.

Didn’t notice all the people that stumbled into him, as he tried to navigate his way to the bar, hoping that it would give him a better view of the place, so he had a higher chance of locating José.

He was so absorbed in this task that his mind didn’t fully register what he was seeing right before him, as he finally reached the bar.

It was as if everything had slowed down, his heart skipping multiple beats as his eyes and brain seemed to finally connect thoughts and visuals into a scene taken straight from Brock’s worst nightmare.

The bass and the dancing masses kept on moving and grinding, not caring that Brock’s heart had just shattered into a million pieces, a sob stuck somewhere in his throat.

There in the corner of the bar stood José. His back to Brock as he was kissing someone. Though kissing was perhaps too mild a description, as it looked like they were two seconds away from jumping each other right then and there.

He was too late.

With that one thought going on repeat, Brock backed away, leaving his broken heart on the floor as he fled the club.

He. Was. Too. Late.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #nina west #hurt/comfort #angst #smut #post break-up #canon compliant #notebooks and post its #thankyoumissvanjie #tw alcohol abuse #tw dom/sub undertones #s11

[bangtantannie]

The Dance

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, featuring Jimin and NCT’s Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Yuta

Genre: High School! AU, Fluff

Rating: Mature (just for... stronger swearing)

Warning: Use of swear words

A/N: HELLO I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD (Only temporarily, college is beating my ass like no tomorrow TT) Anyway! This is for the absolutely wonderful, AMAZING, perfect little bby @ultmay who sent in MY FIRST EVER REQUEST. I hope I did your request justice love, I really appreciate and love you and I hope you appreciate and love this little one shot in return. This is also my first attempt at fluff y’all, don’t attack me if you didn’t get cavities from the lack of sweetness I’m tRYIng.

You can find the request here.

Do YOU have a request? Pleaseeeee just send an ask! I’ll gladly rise from the dead again to cater to your desires (hopefully I can do them justice)

Enjoy~~~ 

Summary: Once news of a school dance breaks out, Jungkook sees this as an opportunity to ask his best friend and childhood crush, Y/n to the dance and confess his feelings.

It started with that stupid dance. As soon as his teacher had made the announcement of a school dance, an idea taken from western schools to promote interaction within the student body, Jungkook perked up. This was his chance to finally confess to Y/n. It was the final stretch of the school year and he almost couldn’t believe his first year of high school was almost over. The school dance was mainly meant for third-year students as it would do good for them to let loose with the people they suffered the last three years with and celebrate the end of exam season, but the school deemed it unfair to exclude the younger students.

Jungkook’s head turned the instant he noticed Jaehyun turning toward him. He felt something within him snap when the familiar dimple made its way onto his pale cheek as his eyebrows danced above his mischievous eyes. He made a motion to throw his eraser at Jaehyun’s face, feeling a sadistic sense of satisfaction when Jaehyun flinched slightly. If Jaehyun thought that was the end of it, he was sadly mistaken because the second their homeroom teacher dismissed them for the day, Jaehyun’s head was met with a smack that had some poor kid in the front of the room flinching from the resulting thwack.

“SON OF A-“ Jaehyun said loudly, stopping just before he could say something he would regret since the teacher had yet to fully make his exit from the buzzing classroom. Girls were whispering gleefully, some boys wore looks of hopelessness, others nervousness. “That hurt you bitch.” Jaehyun hissed, wincing as he rubbed the throbbing portion of his head.

“You deserved it you bastard.” Jungkook responded coolly, popping a small rice cracker into his mouth. A post-school snack was a must, he needed to reward himself for making it through the day.

“You are gonna ask Y/n to the dance right?” Jaehyun asked, his eyes deceivingly innocent.

Jungkook shrugged, “Gotta see if she wants to go with anyone first.”

“What are you even talking about, you idiot.” Jaehyun snatched a cracker from the small package in Jungkook’s hand, ignoring the glare pointed at him. “Of course she would want to go with you. You’re both like head over heels for each other.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, “Not this shit again.”

“It’s true, and really think about how you’re gonna ask her, because she’s one of the pretty ones in this school, and someone’s gonna snatch her up if you aren’t fast enough.” Jaehyun waved his hand in farewell as he left the classroom.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook walked quietly, mulling over Jaehyun’s words for the past few weeks. The dance was just two days away, and he knew if he didn’t ask Y/n today, he would be pulling a dick move if he asked her tomorrow. Putting a girl under the pressure of finding a dress and coordinating colors and all that other stuff – you might as well tell her to jump off a bridge or something.

In his backpack was a small tulip he had picked up on the walk to school. The looks he received from the florist were absolutely humiliating. He could barely look the woman in the eye without seeing her erupt in little giggles. He probably thought he was going to ask some girl out or something – she wasn’t exactly wrong, but not exactly spot on either.

“What’s got your heads up in the clouds Kook?” A familiar voice filled his ears.

Jungkook’s eyes lifted, meeting Jimin’s curious eyes. “Jimin-ssi.” Jungkook said habitually.

“AISH It’s hyung you little shit.” Jimin scolded, giving Jungkook’s head a quick smack. Jungkook knew Jimin didn’t really mind the nickname, after all it stuck after the second year of their friendship. Jimin easily slung an arm over Jungkook’s shoulders, adjusting his pace to meet Jungkook’s. “So, are you gonna ask Y/n to the dance today?” Jimin asked loudly.

Jungkook quickly shoved his hands over Jimin’s mouth, looking around as if Jimin confessed his greatest sin for everyone to hear. “Will you shut up?”

“So are you gonna ask her?” Jimin asked again after Jungkook hesitantly uncovered Jimin’s plush lips. Jungkook shuffled awkwardly, hiding behind his fringe. “Daebak. You are! Oh Jungkook.” Jimin wrapped his arm against Jungkook’s neck, putting in some sort of headlock. “THAT’S MY BOY.” Jimin praised him, dragging him down the sidewalk.

“Agh, hyung you’re choking me.” Jungkook said, feeling the sweet oxygen leave his lungs.

“Oops, sorry. I’m just a bit excited.” Jimin

“Well, don’t be. She might say no.” Jungkook grumbled. Hopefully the rose was still intact in his backpack.

“What do you mean she could say no? She’s practically in love with you.” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Well, she wants Yuta to ask her to the dance.” Jungkook said, falling into step with Jimin.

“It’ll be fine okay, you’re gonna ask her, she’s gonna say yes, and then next thing you know BAM. You’re married.” Jimin said, grinning towards Jungkook just as they walked through the gates of the school.

The sight of a familiar figure ahead made the pair freeze at the gate. In the middle of the courtyard stood Y/n’s small figure, her face shell-shocked as Yuta held a scarily large bouquet of red roses in front of her. Behind him stood his friends holding a banner with some corny way to ask Y/n to the dance, but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to read it.

Jimin looked at Jungkook hesitantly, physically wincing when he was met with the dictionary definition of utter heartbreak. “I’m sorry man.”

Silently, Jungkook reached into his backpack to pull out the tulip, dropping it on the floor in disappointment, “Don’t be, she got what she wanted in the end.” Jungkook pushed past the crowd that formed around Y/n and Yuta, bitterly making his way into the building.

------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook panted as he hopped the fence dividing his property and Y/n’s. His jaw clenched just thinking about that stupid dance.

Jungkook was confused when he saw Momo on Yuta’s arm instead of Y/n. All eyes were on the pair, and they couldn’t get enough of the attention. Whispers of “Where’s Y/n” were shared among every group. When Yuta and Momo finally met up with the rest of his little posse, they made a huge spectacle. The boys cheered and Yuta basked in their antics. Jungkook had the displeasure of standing right beside the group, having to watch their stupid little handshakes and bro hugs.

Yuta turned to Taeyong, who was silently watching from his place against the wall. “I did it, now cough up the cash.”

Taeyong sighed, “She’s just a first year Yuta. It wouldn’t have killed you to do something nice for once. You knew how much she liked you.”

Yuta waved off his remark “Yeah yeah, save your little speech for someone that actually cares I-“

All Jungkook saw was red. How dare he. Y/n was bouncing off the walls when Yuta asked her to the dance. She was practically glowing, and constantly fussing over how she should do her hair, her makeup. Hell she was even worried the beautiful dress she was planning to wear was too childish. Jungkook couldn’t help himself, and his rage took over him for a short moment. The next thing he knew, Yuta was on the floor, rubbing his jaw as some teacher yanked him by the collar and quite literally threw him out of the dance.

All Jungkook could think about was Y/n, and how heartbroken she must be, waiting for Yuta, who would never be ringing that doorbell to take her to the dance.

Hesitantly, Jungkook sat beside Y/n, who was curled into herself. The only signs of her heartbreak was her quivering shoulders and the little sniffle. Out of habit, his arm moved to come around her, but he dropped it on the grass behind her after thinking better of it. Jungkook only found it in him to wrap her in a one-armed hug when she delicately placed her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of her tears seep into his suit.

“He never came.” Y/n croaked, her throat dry from the tears that she worked so hard to fight back fifteen minutes before the dance would officially be starting.

Jungkook sighed, opting not to say anything. Instead, he rubbed small circles onto her bare shoulder and nuzzled his cheek into the side of her head. He wasn’t a very physical person, but he would be stupid to think Y/n didn’t need a hug right then.

After a while, Jungkook got tired of wallowing in Y/n’s sadness. This wasn’t Y/n, and he wanted the girl that protected his glorious mountain in the sandbox in elementary school back.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jungkook said, pulling Y/n up with him. He rolled his eyes when Y/n whined in protest and pouted down at him. That’s right, Jungkook had yet to hit his growth spurt and Y/n had quite a few centimeters on him right now. “What the point in crying over some senior that never talked to you anyway. I was afraid he was up to no good when he suddenly asked you to that dance anyway.” Jungkook grumbled, scrolling through his phone. Once he found what he was looking for, he walked to the large tree in the yard, switching on the fairy lights Y/n and Jungkook used to decorate the ancient tree when they were little.

“Way to rub it into my face that I’ve been stupid all this time Kook,” Y/n laughed wryly to herself as she tried to subtly tried to wipe her tears away. Now that the darkness was gone, her puffy eyes were evident.

Jungkook glared softly at her. He grabbed her hands and yanked her closer to him, practically making her fall into him. Then, he placed her hands on his shoulders, and he placed his hands on her waist. He tapped the screen on his phone and started forcing Y/n to sway with him as the first notes of a Y/n’s favorite song filled the air.

“Jungkook?” Y/n asked, swaying awkwardly to the forceful movements Jungkook called “slow dancing”.

“What?” Jungkook snapped. He couldn’t let Y/n know that he had no idea how to dance. She would never let him hear the end of it.

“What are we doing?” Y/n asked, knowing that Jungkook was flustered. She appreciated the efforts he was going to cheer him up. She knew he never danced a single step in his life, and here he was, trying to lead her in a slow dance.

“I figured, I’d just bring that stupid dance here. You’re all dressed up and everything and I don’t wanna hear you whining later that you didn’t get to put it to any use.” Jungkook mumbled, avoiding Y/n’s eyes.

Y/n let out a little giggle “Thank you Jungkookie. I probably look like a mess right now.”

Jungkook took in Y/n’s state. Mascara ran down in faint black streaks down her cheeks, the curls in her hair had fallen limp to match her downcast demeanor. She refused to meet his gaze but her large eyes were glossy from the tears and puffy from the crying that had occurred before he arrived. Lip gloss on her soft, pouty was almost completely wiped away. He couldn’t help but whisper under his breath, “You look perfect”.

Y/n met his eyes in shock. Quickly, she took in his features as if she were looking at him for the first time. His cheeks still had a little baby fat, but nonetheless still looked relatively slim and extremely soft. His doe eyes reflected the all the lights in the yard, looking like little stars in a galaxy solely made of all that is her childhood crush Jungkook. Her reflection was easy to see in the dark depths of his eyes. “You’re lying.”

Jungkook shook his head in a rapid fashion. “Well.. damn I didn’t think it would go like this,” He muttered, but Y/n heard it clearly. Her heart started to skip a beat, all she could feel in her ears is the pounding of her heart. “Y/n, I like you… a lot. I think I’ve liked you ever since you punched Jaehyun when he was stepping on my mountain in the sandbox in elementary school. And I was going to ask you to the dance so that I could tell you all of this now, but Yuta beat me to it. Before I was blaming Yuta for asking you first, but there’s only me to blame. Jaehyun told me to ask you the day the very day this dance was going to happen was announced, but I was scared. I was scared you were gonna say no because I knew you wanted to be asked by Yuta even if he’s never even looked at you at school before. I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I like when your nose scrunches a bit when you laugh and when you hum quietly along to the radio in the car because you don’t think anyone hears you, but I just really like you. You are so strong and brave. You’re always standing up for those that are being bullied and you’re not afraid to do what you think is right. You make me want to be a better person, so that I could be someone that can proudly stand by your side and support you when you’re too busy supporting someone else.” To say his confession shocked Y/n into silence was an understatement. She simply started at him, mouth gaping – the slow dance long forgotten. Jungkook ruffled his hair, fixing it to hide his eyes behind his bangs, “But- um- yeah. SO I like you a lot and you really don’t have to say anything but I mean it wouldn’t hurt to get an answer? YOU could take-“Jungkook started to ramble out of nervousness, his cheeks started to flush and sweat was starting to drip down his face.

Y/n couldn’t help herself, and she was afraid Jungkook would talk himself to death, eager to hear her answer yet not hear it at the same time. So, she opted for the fastest, but most effective way to shut him up – kissing him. She went in full force and smashed her lips – and the rest of her face- against his.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock, and quickly pulled away. “Son of a bitch – OW”. He clenched his mouth in pain. Y/n wasn’t sufficing any better, she clutched her own mouth in pain. Too much force went into that kiss, and she was pretty sure she bit the hell out of Jungkook’s bottom lip all while smashing her teeth against his. When they met eyes, laughter came over them as if they were possessed.

“You’re a terrible kisser.”

“Well, you’re a shitty dancer. Not all of us can get what we want.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook fidgeted nervously. Jimin sighed for the nth time, nudging him harshly in the gut with his elbow. “Will you stop that, you’re starting to make me nervous and we’re not even here for me.”

“Shut up Jimin-ssi­.” Jungkook retorted, the casual tone coming out smoother than silk.

“Aish this kid,” Jimin muttered to himself, but they both knew Jungkook heard him loud and clear. “You shouldn’t even be so nervous. If she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with someone as sad as you she would’ve said no ages ago.”

“Whatever hyung.” Jungkook said, shifting the weight on his feet and putting his hands into his pockets for the fiftieth time.

Jimin was just about ready to smack his best friend to next year at this point. Just as Jimin was really going to smack Jungkook when he shifted anxiously on his feet again, the notes of a very familiar tune echoed throughout the venue. Jungkook and Y/n had decided to spice things up for their wedding, Y/n picked the song that would play for the processional, Jungkook got to pick the song for their first dance. Turns out Y/n had chosen one of Jungkook’s favorite songs. Soon, the double doors opened, letting the line of couples walk down the aisle. Before he knew it, the entire wedding party had completed their entrances. Now, they just had to wait for Y/n.

The brief ten second wait was agonizing for Jungkook. He was just itching to see Y/n, seeing as he had missed her immensely since they separated last night. Jungkook’s breath was stolen when his doe eyes met with Y/n’s glossy ones. She was absolutely stunning. Her dress carefully molded to her beautiful body, her lengthy hair was swept up into an intricate updo, with a few strands curling gently to frame her petite face. Her lips were painted a with a nude color, her eyes were outlined flawlessly with eyeliner. The hollows of her cheeks were prominent and there was a soft blush placed on the apple of said cheeks. Although her face was made up quite beautifully, it had nothing on the large smile that spread on her face the instant her eyes met Jungkook’s. Her eyes lit up with love and adoration for the man at the end of the aisle, and the everyone in the venue had to be blind to miss the love they shared. She was glowing, and Jungkook wouldn’t even dream of looking away from the view before him.

The ceremony was a blur, and it wasn’t until they needed to say their vows that Jungkook started to focus again. Jungkook squeezed Y/n’s smaller hands, even going as far as to caress her soft skin. He looked deeply into her eyes, replaying all his memories with her: the day he met her when she hid behind her mother’s skirt with only her eyes peeking out, that awkward phase of puberty where they had stopped talking, to the fated day that sealed their relationship: the school dance in high school. Jungkook had memorized his vows to a tee, but there was an inkling to just… wing it. Jungkook, opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat.

“It started with that stupid dance.”

#kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #thebtstown #yoonkooknetwork #kpopwonderlandtag #bts #bts scenario #bts imagine #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts imagines #jeon jungkook #the dance #bts x reader #bts high school au #jungkook high school au #jimin #jaehyun #taeyong #yuta #nct #nct 127

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 9

“Spaceballs and Nightlights”

[Previous|Next]

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

It was late at night by the time Jack and Mark returned to the Irishman’s apartment, their familiars in tow. Tim had fallen asleep in his carrier on the way home and Sam, while not quite down for the count just yet, was definitely less chatty and less active then he had been earlier. The pair of YouTubers were sitting on Jack’s couch watching a movie.

(Not on cable, and not on Netflix or Hulu either. Mark had helped him disconnect his television from the internet for the time being, but Jack still had a DVD player set up and a decent collection of films to choose from.)

“Spaceballs is a damn classic of a film, and nobody can convince me otherwise,” Mark grinned. His sock-clad feet were kicked up on the coffee table and Tim was dozing in his lap.

Jack snorted, a beer in hand. He brought it to his lips while he watched the characters on screen “comb the desert” for the runaway Princess Vespa and her rescuers. Literal combing, involving giant combs as tall as the troops who were using them.

“Oh, totally,” he agreed readily. “The whole thing is so quotable.”

“Lone Starr!” Mark recited dramatically. “I am your father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate!”

“What does that make us?” Jack retorted in continuation of the dialogue.

Then, in unison, both knowing the scene by heart:

“Absolutely nothing!”

They fell into laughter, Jack’s bright and boisterous voice coming out louder than Mark’s deeper giggles. The Irishman ended up coughing a little at the end of it, taking another drink from his bottle to soothe the roughness in his throat.

“Fuckin’ hell it’s been a while since I’ve watched this,” Jack chuckled softly once he’d recovered himself.

His voice was still hoarse from what Anti had done to him during the stream, but it wasn't as bad as it had been that first night. There was an undertone of roughness lacing his words and his breathing sounded more like wheezing if he was really worked up. He could tell it would be a few days before his voice returned to its usual state of full volume and bright energy. Surely his audience wouldn't mind though, Jack mused. A sore throat wasn’t uncommon with how much he used it on a daily basis. Afterall he had done quieter Let’s Plays in the past for the same reason…

Jack’s smile faded. Recording. He hadn't even thought about it since yesterday before the stream. He would need to record something soon, wouldn’t he? Even if it was a “Hey guys! I’m not dead! Don’t freak out!” video, the community deserved some sort of proof, some sort of comfort after the way he had left the stream. Jack tensed and chewed on his bottom lip, brow furrowed and fingers nervously drumming against the neck of his beer bottle.

The thought of going back in that room, back in front of that camera, back in front of his computer where Anti had appeared before–

“Jack? You alright man?”

Mark’s concern was evident without Jack even having to look up from his drink.

“...I need to record more videos.”

The words were quiet, uncertain, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should say it aloud.

“What, you mean now?” Mark turned in his seat to stare at Jack. His expression was unidentifiable, somewhere between confused and concerned with a hint of bemusement thrown into the mix. Jack only caught a glance of the look on his friend’s face before locking his eyes on his beer again, shaking his head a little.

“Well - no. Not right now. I’m too fuckin’ tired to do anythin’ else today.” He drummed his fingers against the glass bottle in his hands once more, a familiar rhythm that he couldn’t quite identify himself even though he was certain it was one he’d played on the drums before. A soft sigh escaped him.

“Mark, I can’t just cut off contact with my community,” he explained as evenly as he could. “Any other time I’ve had an Anti video go up, I’ve posted a video either later that day or the day after so nobody freaks out. And I know,” he interrupted Mark as he went to open his mouth, “I know this time is different. This time was real. But the community needs to know I’m not–” Jack broke off, unable to finish the sentence the way that he’d been intending to.

Not dead.

“You want them to know you’re okay.” Mark’s tone was one of understanding, if not still a little concerned. Jack nodded. He heard Mark let out a slow breath and heard the clink of glass on wood; Mark had set his drink on the coffee table. The movie continued playing in the background, and for a moment Jack’s focus tuned into the dialogue.

“Yogurt. Yogurt. I hate Yogurt. Even with strawberries…”

Jack snorted out a half-hearted, huffed laugh and reached for the remote, pausing it mid-scene. He tossed it back onto the coffee table with a light clatter of plastic on wood.

“...yeah,” he finally responded, drawing his eyes up to meet his friend’s searching gaze. “Yeah, they need to know I’m alright. I just - hell, I almost want to keep recording some games so people don’t think anything is wrong.”

“Robin’s got a few lined up, you know.”

Jack blinked at that, the comment being so unexpected it threw him for a loop.

“He – wait, what??”

Mark actually looked a little sheepish. He shrugged and smiled and looked away, ruffling his hair a little as he did so.

“I’ve had your phone all day, Seán,” he said in way of explanation. “Robin kept texting asking if you were alright and I figured it’d be alright to respond for you.”

“Th’ hell did you tell him?”

Jack put his own drink aside now, turning sideways on the couch and tucking one leg under him so he could face Mark fully.

“Well he said he saw the stream, so he clearly knows about Anti now!” Mark spluttered. “So I just – don’t give me that look! I didn’t tell him about anything he didn’t already know! I just told him you were alive and pretty shaken up. He asked if you wanted him to upload anything today and - well I probably could’ve asked you, but I told him you were taking a day to recover and that it was up to him for now. He just said he’d keep editing what he had for now and said to get back to him tomorrow.”

Jack stared at Mark in utter disbelief, not saying a word. Mark made a wild gesture with his hands.

“Okay I probably should’ve asked first, yeah! But - look, you’re basically petrified of technology right now, so I didn’t want to make you talk to him yourself today, and I figured - that’s what I would do if I was in your shoes, so–”

“Mark, shut the fuck up.” Jack shook his head. “I could fuckin’ kiss you right now.”

“Please don’t. Septiplier doesn’t need any more fuel for the fire.”

Jack punched the American in the arm.

“I don’t mean literally, asshole,” Jack retorted, and despite his best efforts to stop himself, he ended up smiling like an idiot. “You’re amazing. D’you know that? Thank you. Holy shit.”

“Do I know that I’m amazing?” Mark parroted back, still rubbing at his arm where Jack had ‘punched’ him. “Yes, in fact, I do. And such amazingness is not free, so in exchange for such a service to your life and its improvement, a large donation can be made to–”

Mark was cut off rather abruptly by a pillow to his face, being wielded by a grinning Irishman who felt a lot less stressed now than he had only moments prior.

“Oh, shut up!” he stifled a laugh, then stifled a cough, bringing his sleeve up to cover his mouth. He swallowed thickly and shook his head at Mark’s antics.

“In all seriousness, Seán, it’s nothing,” Mark smiled, clutching the pillow Jack had flung his way. “You’re dealing with some serious shit right now. It’s the least I could do.” He set the pillow aside and carefully scooped Tim up from where he had started to stir in Mark’s lap, his little blue eyes blinking slowly in sleepy confusion. Mark was careful in his movements as he stood and moved his little buddy over to the armchair, where Sam had fallen asleep not too long ago. The minute the tiny box was comfortable his eyes drooped again and he drifted back to sleep.

Jack watched the small pair for a long moment, a soft, adoring smile falling across his features. Sam had never had a friend before. Jack was his closest companion, his family, but...it wasn’t the same. Jack was the equivalent of Sam’s caretaker, his pseudo-dad. The little eyeball didn’t have anybody like him that he could play with or interact with. Nobody existed like him...or so Jack had thought, before Mark had shown up with Tim in tow. Tim was the friend that Sam had needed. Tim was just as unbelievable as Sam, just as lonely, just as adorable and friendly, and it was really no surprise that the two had hit it off from the beginning. Jack only hoped that they could spend as much time together as possible before Mark left for America, whenever that would be.

“...you’re serious about wanting to film something, right?” Mark asked, breaking Jack from his thoughts. The Irishman slowly dragged his gaze away from the pair of familiars to see Mark watching him with that same, indistinct expression from before in his eyes. Concerned, curious, and bemused.

“Totally serious,” Jack agreed. “They deserve something, even if it’s...not the full truth.”

“What, are you gonna tell them it was a prank?” Mark asked incredulously. He sat on the edge of the coffee table and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Are you gonna say the whole Anti thing was just another Ego video, and sorry that you scared everybody?”

“Oh, god no!” Jack’s eyes went wide and he shook his head rapidly. “Fuck, I’m not suicidal. If I outright say that Anti’s not real he’ll fuckin’ murder my ass! No...” He ran both hands through his hair, weaving his fingers together and letting his palms rest at the back of his head. He shook his head again, looking away in thought. “I mean I’m not gonna lie to everybody, but I’m not gonna outright tell the truth either. If I come out and say ‘Guess what, guys? Anti’s real! He totally tried to kill me! Look, here’s the bruises!’ then either some parents are gonna get pissed, or – well, even worse–”

Jack’s expression turned a little strained and he met Mark’s eyes.

“If he’s really powered by belief, then Anti might get even stronger, wouldn’t he?”

“Shit. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Mark dragged his hand across his mouth, falling into thought himself. The room was quiet for a long moment, and there was a tension there that Jack was fairly certain had never fully left in the first place.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay to do this?” Mark asked him softly. He searched Jack’s expression for something, anything, that would tell him otherwise. “You could barely call your mom today.”

“God, I hope I can,” Jack breathed. “Fuckin’ hell – it’s gonna be harder than that. It’ll be so, so much harder. I’ll be back in the recording room, back in front of the camera, back in front of the computer again. I haven’t been in there since Anti–”

He sucked in a shaking breath all of a sudden, curling in on himself, and Mark instinctively reached out to put a grounding hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“I know.” Mark’s voice was as smooth and calming as ever, the deep tones helping to sooth Jack’s panic before it had even begun to build. “That’s what I mean. I know you need to do this, but I also know it won’t be easy for you. You’re going back into the lion’s den, technically speaking.”

“Tell me about it,” Jack muttered, folding his arms over his chest and curling forward toward his friend. “It’s gonna be a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“...you know what?”

Jack looked up then, seeing a bright expression spreading across Mark’s face. He blinked.

“What?”

“This time is gonna be different.” Mark grinned triumphantly before continuing: “I’m gonna be in the room with you.”

“You...really?” Jack found himself smiling softly too, a brilliant hope blooming in his chest. “You’d do that?”

“Hell yeah!” Mark nodded. “It’s not like it’s some major inconvenience or something, Jack, I’m literally gonna be sitting in the same room as you. That’s about it. But it’ll be you, and me, and Sam and Tim. All four of us. And I don’t know about you, but I can count, and I’m pretty sure we outnumber him.”

“Who would win?” Jack quipped, his own attitude brightening with how infectious Mark’s enthusiasm was. “Four giggly boys or one glitchy bitch?”

“Four tough gigglers, that’s who!”

“Pfft, oh fuck off!” Jack chuckled. “Alright. Alright, fine, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then:

“Thanks Markimoo.”

“No problem Jackaboy.”

Sleeping arrangements hadn’t really been thought out at all, not until both Jack and Mark decided they needed to get to bed. While it was true that there was a guest room - a really simple spare room with a full size bed, nothing too fancy - Jack found himself reluctant to stay in any room alone for very long. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, but he was more than grateful when Mark was the one to offer that they bunk together in Jack’s room. Two pillows, one air mattress, and a heaping pile of blankets later, and Mark had managed to construct himself a sleeping spot on the floor. The American had dubbed his creation “surprisingly cozy”, though Jack found himself offering to take the floor so his friend and guest was more comfortable.

Mark, of course, declined vehemently.

The bedroom door was kept firmly shut and a nightlight was plugged in across the room. With the security of a closed door and a dim bulb, it didn’t take very long for both boys to find sleep alongside their familiars. For a few hours, everything was peaceful.

The arrangements seemed well and all, at least in theory. Jack wasn’t alone and Mark was comfortable enough. But at some point in the middle of the night Mark woke up to a voice in his head and movement across the room.

“Mark!”

The American blinked sleep out of his eyes and crunched up his face in confusion, rolling over to face the bed.

“Sam…?” he mumbled, sitting up groggily. He dragged a hand through his hair with a yawn and ruffled the “floof” a little. Brown eyes blinked slowly, sleepily, still trying to regain full functionality in Mark’s barely-awake state. He squinted across the room to try and make out Jack’s blurry form without his glasses on.

“...n-no...ngh…”

Quiet, distressed sounds from Jack’s side of the room brought Mark to full attentiveness quickly. His breath hitched.

“Jack?” he spoke up again, louder and more assertive this time. “What’s up, man?”

Jack didn’t appear to have heard him, still shifting beneath his covers and making strained noises of discomfort. Mark could hear the Irishman’s breathing quickening and increasing in intensity, wheezing breaths leaving him as he tossed and turned in bed.

“Mark you gotta help! I can’t wake him up!”

A small green blob was shaking in the corner of Mark’s vision, the little eyeball sitting on top of the nightstand beside Jack’s bed. But Mark didn’t even need to hear Sam’s pleading to know Jack needed his help.

Mark kicked off his blankets and stumbled to his feet, one hand groping for his glasses on the dresser as he went. He shoved the frames onto his face and Jack finally came into focus. The other YouTuber was pale - paler than usual, that is - and he was drenched in a cold sweat. He’d managed to simultaneously free himself from the majority of his sheets while also getting himself hopelessly tangled in them. Dark brown hair clung to his forehead and one of his hands - the one that wasn’t tugging desperately at his bedding - was at his own throat, grasping and clawing at something that wasn’t there.

“No...nonono...s-stop it stop it stop it–”

“Jack!” Mark clambered onto the mattress and reached out for Jack’s wrist, slowly prying his hand away from his already-damaged neck. “Jack, c’mon man, it’s just a nightmare. Snap out of it.”

He gripped Jack’s shoulder with his free hand to shake him awake, and the reaction was instantaneous.

“N-No! Get OFF! GET AWAY!”

Jack struggled vehemently against the weak grip Mark had on him, his hand - the one Mark was still gripping the wrist of - curling into a tight fist. He tried, rather frantically, to yank himself free.

Mark winced. A minute feeling of guilt found its way into the back of his mind, an ounce of regret at having to restrain his friend like this when he was clearly terrified of something only he could see, but he knew that if he didn’t then Jack may very well hurt himself in his panic. So instead of letting go and giving in, Mark held Jack’s clawing hand further out of reach before drawing his other hand back.

“Sorry ‘bout this, Jack,” he muttered, more to himself than anybody else, then slapped the Irishman clean across the face.

Jack jolted awake, his eyes flying wide in shock, and he sat up so fast that Mark had to dodge out of the way to avoid a head-on collision. Jack was still breathing harshly and a high-strung panic was evident in his eyes and his frantic movements, in the way he immediately started scrambling back away from Mark until his back was pressed flat against the headboard of the bed. All the while he continued to try and tug his arm free from Mark’s loose grip.

“Stop it...s-stop...lemme go–”

“Seán.” Mark kept his voice level and his eyes locked on his panicking friend. “It’s me. It’s Mark.”

Finally, recognition seemed to dawn in Jack’s eyes...and he slowly stopped struggling. Blue eyes blinked sluggishly and stared through the near-darkness in strained confusion.

“...Mark?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” Mark let out a soft breath of relief. At long last, he let Jack’s wrist go and dropped into a more comfortable position next to his friend. “Shit, you scared me. Are you alright?”

Jack swallowed thickly and looked around at the barely lit bedroom, brow furrowed. He was still tense and his breathing was still quicker than average, but even that seemed to be settling the longer they sat there.

“I...y-yeah. Holy shit…”

As though finally realizing that it was just them in the room, that he wasn’t in any real danger, Jack deflated against the headboard with a low, shaking breath. He scrubbed both hands over his face and let out a muffled groan.

“Fuck Anti.” The words were muted beneath his palms but the frustrated undertone to the words was evident. “Fuck Anti, and fuck me for fuckin’ putting him in my videos…”

“Must’ve been a pretty bad nightmare,” Mark murmured. He continued to watch his friend with a worried expression, his gaze falling on Jack’s neck. The bruises were still there, the skin now a dark purple-and-black pattern that Mark could clearly see was in the shape of a hand and fingers. New, red lines had appeared there too though, long scratches that didn’t even break the skin, the result of Jack clawing at his own neck in his nightmare-induced panic.

Mark found it a little hard to swallow as he dragged his eyes away from the spot.

“You don’t even want to know,” Jack grumbled.

“I might.”

Jack let his hands drop into his lap and leveled Mark with an incredulous look.

“D’you really?” he asked.

“Well–” Mark shrugged, the action a little lopsided. “–not so much that I wanna know the dirty details, but more like...if you need to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

A small, huffed breath left Jack - the equivalent of a humorless laugh - and he shook his head.

“Nah. ‘S nothing new.” It was his turn to shrug, wrapping his arms around himself as he did so. “Just reliving a memory.”

Ah. The stream. Not wanting to press any further, Mark just nodded in understanding.

It had been over twenty-four hours since the livestream had happened, along with whatever kind of hell Jack had been put through by his digital demon of a doppelganger. Over twenty-four hours...but not much longer than that. Mark had watched his best friend break down into a panic no less than three times since arriving here in Brighton, and he was sure there had been moments he hadn’t seen, instances both before and during his stay that Jack wouldn’t ever bring up to him. Jack was strong, stronger - Mark thought - than he gave himself credit for. He himself would be just as affected if their situations were flipped. The fact that Jack was also so concerned for his community, so caring of them that he wanted to combat his own present fears to make sure they knew everything was alright? It spoke volumes about the kind of person he was.

“Well if you need to talk about it,” Mark offered softly, “you know I’m here. I may not be a therapist but I’ve got shoulders and I’ve got hands and I’ve got arms, so that’s pretty useful.”

“...what?”

Jack’s confusion took the place of some of the strain that had been in his eyes a moment before, and Mark gave himself a mental pat on the back. He fought to keep a straight face and pulled on a slightly dramatic version of his “serious” voice.

“If you need arms to hug you, or a hand to hold, or a shoulder to cry on, I have all three. So that’s pretty damn impressive for one guy to have–”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mark…”

“What? It is pretty impressive. There are some guys who don’t have hands, or don’t have arms, or don’t even have shoulders, so the fact that I still have all three–”

“Shut up!” Jack chuckled softly and buried his face in his hands again, his shoulders shaking for a much more positive reason than they had been before. “Fuckin’ hell, how does Amy live with you?”

“She lives a very giggly and happy life, that’s how,” Mark grinned, feeling accomplished now that it was clear he’d managed to brighten Jack’s mood.

“Well she’s dating a giggly bitch.” Jack’s grin was an exhausted one, but no less happy. “Giggly is in the couple’s prerequisites with you.”

“That’s probably true. I never checked the fine print before making her sign the Markiplier Dating Contract though.”

“I don’t think I want to know what else might be in that contract.”

“Eh, nothing too harmful. Probably. Might involve whips and chains.”

“You dirty bastard,” Jack shook his head with a tired smirk.

Mark winked and grinned cheekily at his, now much calmer, friend, then glanced over at his makeshift sleeping space on the floor. He sighed, scratched at the scruff along his jaw, and shifted so one of his legs was hanging off the bed.

“Are you alright to get back to sleep?” he asked with a warm smile. He eyed the way Jack was still positioned, having cornered himself against the headboard and curled up there as if to protect himself. He had yet to move from that spot. “No offense, but I think you need the rest.”

“I–”

The Irishman tensed up a little at the prospect. He ducked to avoid Mark’s searching eyes and chewed at his bottom lip.

“...I dunno. I don’t really fancy havin’ another nightmare like that again, stupid as it sounds.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

Mark said it with such sincerity that Jack found himself looking up again, both pairs of exhausted eyes locking in the near-darkness. Not for the first time, Jack found himself feeling evermore grateful to have Mark here, to have a friend like him that he could rely on, especially right now. His best friend.

“Do you want me to sleep up here, in the bed with you?” Mark offered. At Jack’s silence, he went on with a smirk: “I mean, not to brag, but I’m a damn good cuddler. You can ask Amy and Chica. And Ethan. And probably Tyler, he’d agree with me too–”

“I’d like that, actually.”

Jack’s admission was quiet and a little embarrassed, but he smiled anyway and he finally stretched his legs out from where they had been tucked close to his chest since he’d woken up. He started to straighten out the tangled mass of sheets and blankets and scooted down the bed.

“Sorry if it’s weird,” Jack mumbled. “But it might help. With stopping another nightmare, I mean.”

“Hey, I offered!” Mark pointed a finger in Jack’s face, and the other YouTuber blinked and stared at the finger, then at Mark with an amused expression on his face. “It’s not weird. And even if it was, I’d be the one making it weird since I started it. So shut up and get comfy because I’m tired and we have recording to do tomorrow. Got it?”

“Heh, yeah,” Jack chuckled, slipping back under the covers and forcing himself to relax. “Got it.”

“Good.”

Mark tugged his glasses off and dropped them on the nightstand, then he burrowed into the blankets and scooted closer to Jack’s side of the bed. For a few precious moments, the room was quiet, the only sound being the steady breathing of the two human occupants in the room and the slight rustling of fabric as Sam snuggled into the bedding Mark had left on the floor with Tim. Mark’s eyes had drifted shut and he was beginning to let sleep’s haze pull him back under its spell...then Jack spoke up again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks, Mark.” He was quiet again for a few seconds before he continued, eyes still lingering on the blank ceiling above him. “I dunno how I would’ve made it through today if I didn’t have somebody here with me. An’ you’ve been a godsend, honestly. I can’t imagine anyone else who could’ve helped me through this as well as you’ve been doin’ so far.”

“Not even Robin?” Mark mumbled. He opened one eye to watch Jack’s profile.

“...well…” Jack sighed and turned onto his side to face his friend. “...nothin’ against Robin, but he’d be out o’ his depth wit’ all this. Ya know? He’s great, an’ a good friend, an’ he’d be supportive to all hell an’ gone if – well, if he knew…” Jack sighed a little at his own words, brow furrowing the slightest bit. “...but I don’t t’ink he’d be able to help me get my mind straight ‘bout all o’ this shite.” His accent was thick with sleep, his words coming out slightly harder to decipher. “It’s different wit’ you, though. You’ve got Egos an’ such o’ yer own an’ you know what I’m dealin’ wit’. Not quite to th’ same extreme, but...well...Dark.”

Jack shrugged. The name itself was enough for Mark to understand, and he nodded subtly.

“So...yeah. You get it. An’ – hell – I’d know fuck-all ‘bout the “why” behind all o’ this if you hadn’t’ve had a t’eory ‘bout it ‘forehand. It really helps ta understand it all. Yeah?”

“Yeah...it does.”

“I guess - jus’ - shite, thank you. T’ank ye, so damn much. You didn’t have ta come out here, an’ you didn’t have ta deal wit’ my pile of nonsense, but you did an’...and it means a hell of a lot.”

Jack blinked rapidly, a shine appearing in his eyes that Mark could tell he was trying to hide. The American chuckled - a low, deep, gentle and familiar sound - and he reached out to draw his smaller friend against his chest in a one-armed hug. He pretended not to notice the damp patches Jack’s silent, grateful tears were leaving on his shirt.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Seán,” Mark grinned through the darkness. “It’s what best friends are for.”

[A/N] Here you go! It’s been a long time coming, but here’s the next installment of the #SamLives series! (If you can’t tell I adore stories that have “FRIENDSHIP IS AMAZING AND POWERFUL AND SHOULD NEVER BE UNDERESTIMATED” as a key part of the plot, so...yup. Keep that in mind. It’s big here.) Anti hasn’t shown his face in a few chapters, and that’s intentional. For one thing, this is literally the night after the stream, so even though it’s three chapters later not much time has passed. But beyond that...Anti’s not an idiot. He likes to mess with Jack and he can’t resist playing with the poor boy’s head, but he’s clever enough to know that there are more players on the board now...and that he has to factor that into whatever plan he might have.

I’ve gotten quite a few ideas from people’s responses to this...so any new plot twists in the future? You can blame those on the other readers :3c

Thanks for reading! <3

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

[Previous|Next]

[Chapter List]

#SamLives #Sam Lives #Jacksepticeye #Sam Septiceye #Markiplier #JSE #JSE FanFic #Jacksepticeye FAnFic #Sam #Mark #Jack #Robin #Spaceballs #Chapters #9 #Spaceballs and Nightlights

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

[Skam Italia] Ad un passo da perdere te

The title is in Italian (A step away from losing you), from Ultimo’s Pianeti, but the fic is still in English.  So, I am totally to blame for this but I’d like to thank @ruinedbyroccofasano for listening to all my flailing and helping me picture this. Ideally it takes place at the end of ep 9, if you know what I mean.

I have absolutely NO IDEA where Martino is gonna be during episode 9.  This could turn out to be completely wrong. <

READ HERE or down below.

"You know what, mom? Pack your bag, 'cause we are going to Cecina."

The bright smile he got from his mom, the whispered "Thank you" as she kissed his temple totally overshadowed the fact that he had to take all his notes with him. Had he stayed at home, he wouldn't have been able to study anyway, so... Screw school, really.

How was he supposed to focus on some fucking dead language, on useless formulas that give him no clue on how to deal with Niccolò and his illness? What if Maddalena was right and none of what they shared had been real, not on Nico's part? What if he really did send him spiralling, only caused him more pain by indulging in his fantasies? How come he found their getaway cute and romantic when he should have been freaking out from the moment Ni bought those tickets? He had been so naive, so willfully blind to the signals there were telling him that something wasn't quite right... Besides, it was because of him and his attitude towards Emma that the Covitti siblings spread the rumor about the two of them dating. He didn't realize it back then, but Ni had been out outed as well. By someone he had to spend six hours with, five days a week. Damn.

He just wanted Niccolò to be happy. To be safe. Could he really give him that? He wasn't sure. People have tried to reassure him, saying that 'you can't fake those heart-eyes, Martì, he worships the ground you walk on (his friends) or 'he might have been a bit delusional, sometimes, but that's not a state you are in 24/7, honey... it doesn't work like that' (his mom). They claim he does make Niccolò happy, but what do they know?

What he knows is that he can't give up on them, on him. Can't even imagine how someone would walk away in a time of need. What he knows is that he loves Nico. His own parents, however, are living proof that it is not an everlasting feeling that can fix everything. It doesn't fix shit, really. Maybe he is too inexperienced, too self-centred, to be the person Niccolò needs by his side.

"Don't sell yourself short, love. All he needs is for you to be there. To feel like he can count on you." She said, when he vaguely voiced out his concerns. It can't be that simple, can it? If it was, then why...

"You know what, sweetheart? Pack your bag, 'cause you're to spend the night with your father." She stroked his cheek, smiling a little at the disbelief on his face. "Don't worry about me. I'm sure I will find someone who's willing to ride with me back home. Now, listen: I can only give you my side of the story, and... It couldn't have been easy, living with me. I-"

"Mom..." He cut in, reluctant to hear her blaming herself.

She never did that before. Not when it came to his father. She had always blamed him and and him alone, for their failed marriage. She had never really tried to turn her son against her husband, but she hadn't tried to smooth things over between them either.

Martino had always thought that reaching out to him, trying to save whatever was left of their father-son bond, would be read as utter betrayal by his mother. Until then.

"I can't tell you why he gave up on me, but I know that he tried his best for a really long time. You should talk to him. Hear what he has to say. Let him help you." She kissed his forehead, and handed him a ticket to Rome.

He got his phone out to call his dad and arrange their dinner together - no way he was going to spend the night in that house - when he saw a new message in his inbox. He rolled his eyes, sighing, telling himself that it could have been from Filippo. He hadn't replied to him, or to anyone really, ever since he got on the train to Cecina.

He couldn't bring himself to, without sounding like a coward that took the easy way out. Much like his father did. He'd rather pretend they never went on that short holiday together, that he hadn't seen Nico in the last ten days. It was much simpler.

Ni: Did you take those riding lessons, in the end? I'm at the bioparco atm but they won't let me borrow their giraffe. Guess I'll have to find something else for us to ride on.

Fuck. Why did he have to go and rub salt into his wounds? Thankfully, Martino had run out of tears to cry or he would have broken down right there, on platform 2. His fingers lingered on the keyboard, but before he could type in an answer he got another text.

Ni: I'm sorry I keep letting you down. You deserve better.

No. Okay. Niccolò should have been honest from the start, it would have saved them both a lot of heartached... but fear can make you behave like a jerk or an idiot. Marti had never been mad at him for that - scared and confused, of course, but never resentful - and he sure didn't feel like Niccolò had let him down by not giving him full disclosure so soon into their relationship. They had to talk, face to face, as soon as possible. He couldn't have him thinking he is a disappointment.

'Tomorrow. I'll call him first thing tomorrow. Or I'll just show up and ring the buzzer. I know where he lives. He thought, closing the conversation to for his dad number. He wasn't too keen on waiting so long, but he feared what Niccolò's parents might think if he showed on their doorstep so late in the evening. He was already threading on thin ice with them, after what happened on that fucking weekend...

                                    /////////////////////////////////////////////

So here he is, basking in the Christmas spirit of a ten year old and his mother.

Paola isn't half bad, after all, especially when she teases his dead for being grumpier and grumpier as the 25th draws nearer.

Martino isn't much of a fan of this particular holiday himself, but it did have its charm when he pictured himself giving his present to Niccolò - nothing really, just a guide on how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world - and then kissing him under the mistletoe... sitting on the sofa as they spiced their hot chocolate with some tabasco...

God, he misses him so much. Can he really wait until tomorrow to see him again? He can't and he's a fool for having believed otherwise.

'We need to talk. Alone. Tell where and I'll walk through the whole city to get to you.' He types in, and sends it without second guessing how harsh might have sounded without even adding a heart or at least a smiley face.

He must have given something away, because suddenly Paola is asking her son to help her with the dishes, leaving Martino alone with father.

"So... You wanna tell me what has been bothering you all night?"

Martino could get defensive and say "Nothing." or yell "So you give a fuck about me, NOW?" Nevertheless, he does appreciate his dad being straightforward and not making this awkward with a poor attempt at small talk.

"It's this guy I'm seeing..." He waits for the ball to drop, for his father to be either outraged with the news or not caring enough to react to it. He doesn't know what would be worse.

"Your boyfriend?" He asks, and Martino is totally taken aback by the sheer annoyance in his voice. Not at him dating a boy, but rather at this boy daring to string his son along. How dares he!

"Dad!" He tilts his head to the side, smiling. "Yes. I guess... I mean... He was, for a while, but now... I don't know."

He's trying to work up the courage to steer the conversation towards what happened last year, what made him decide he was done trying to be there for the woman he married... It's not easy; he actually dreads the answer. What if he's going to say something like "Well, when people aren't right in their head there's nothing you can do about it apart from trying to spend as little time with them as possible. You gotta put yourself first, or they're going to drag you down with them." That's not what he wants to hear.

"Is that him?" His father snaps him out of his thoughts, making him notice that he just got an answer from Niccolò.

Ni:

Marti, I'm sitting here... Where we met for the first time, thinking about you. It's nearly 22:46. That's when we left that awful Halloween party, remember? There's so much I want to tell you. I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm sorry for not telling you I was bipolar. I was so afraid of losing you that I forgot you can't really lose someone, because we are all alone in the end. If I hadn't pulled at the red thread so hard, breaking it, maybe we could have really faced the end of the world together. But if someone has to be the last man on Earth, I want it to be you. It has to be you.

I love you.

Ni

He reads it once, twice, trying not to tear up or panic. He does well with the first, not so much with the second. What... Why does it sound like a farewell note? Maybe because it is? But Ni is not... He would never... He wouldn't.

"Marti?" Oh. So he hasn't been swallowed by a black hole. He could swear he did. His father is offering some small comfort, now, squeezing his shoulder and looking into his eyes as he tries to work out what had him so terrified.

"No, it's not him." He mumbles, evasively. He doesn't have it in him to give his dad the whole picture. It would take too long, and every second counts when Ni might be thinking of... God. Why is he still here?

"It's Giovanni. He needs me, now." It's not really fair to involve Gio in this, but he is the one friend that makes his lie believable. It doesn't need to be a matter of life and death for him to drop everything and go: his father has known that ever since he first brought his best friend home when they were six.

"I have to go, I'm sorry."

                             /////////////////////////////////////////////

As he pretty much runs to the nearest bus stop, he curses himself for not asking his father the money for a taxi.

He tries to call Nico, but of course it keeps on ringing until it goes to voicemail. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Fuck his old ass phone, for not letting Martino send Ni a ten minute voice message in which he could either reassure him that he hadn't lost him or yell at him for sending such an idiotic message. Maybe both. Both are good.

Fuck the night buses, for taking forever to show up and even longer to get near his school. That's where Niccolò is, no doubt about that. He watches Chicco Rodi's tutorial on how to break into the building - which he saved on his phone, thank God - unable to keep waiting for Nico to call him back. When it ends, he is still nowhere near is destination. He might as well try sending him a text. He might be willing to read what Martino has to say, even if he doesn't want to listen.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean, Ni? You're spook- No, that would make him feel even worse. Try again.

You didn't lose me. I'm still yo- That's not too bad, but why would Nico believe him when let himself be fooled by Maddalena into thinking Ni would be better off without him? Hadn't he hated when Niccolò had made the same assumption, after Martino said all that shit about his mother?

He would if he could hear the seriousness in his voice, of course, but on a screen... It wouldn't work.

I'm on the night bus. I'm nearly there. Please, don't do anything stupid. Apart from me. This is slightly better. It's not the time for self-deprecating jokes, though, is it?

Wait for me, Ni.

He's crying now, so angry at himself for not finding the right words when Niccolò needs him the most. Martino is the one who keeps letting him down.

He's half tempted to throw his fucking phone - useless piece of junk - from the nearest window. To fight anyone on this bus. To kick a door open and get off. He nearly misses his stop, yelling "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" to some guy that has been staring at him since he got on.

He's at the end of his tether, he is well aware of that. He can't afford being unable to think straight, however. He slaps himself with two hands, hard enough to regain some mental clarity. Watching the tutorial was actually useless, since both the gate and the front door were left ajar, but that's okay.

He is a bit relieved, indeed, that Nico hasn't locked himself inside.

'm sitting here... Where we met for the first time'   In the radio booth, then.

He slams the door open, but Nico isn't there. Martino immediately sends a text, asking where the hell is he. Did he mean "where we were first introduce to one another" but rephrased it to stay within the character limit?

"FUCK!!! I SWEAR TO GOD, NI, IF YOU WENT UP TO THE TERRACE..." He shouts to the empty corridors, as he briskly walks to the stairs. In his haste to get to the roof, he nearly trips twice on the steps.

It takes some work, and a twisted ankle, but it does manage to kick the flimsy gate down. He then proceeds to break down the heavy door with his shoulder - yeah, he should have totally asked Ni what other way he had found to get to the terrace, when he had the chance... Not that being accused of vandalism isn't a risk worth taking.

Having heard all the commotion, NIccolò stands up. It takes an enormous amount of effort to do that, when he feels so sluggish and tired. He doesn't have to raise his head to know who it is. It can only be him... but why? Why did he bother? Is he here to tell him that they cannot break up over text? He did say they needed to talk.

"FUCK IT, NI, YOU'RE NOT ALONE!" Martino cries out, instead.

His voice sounds so raw, and broken, that Nico can't help but back away from him. He ended up hurting Martino, once again. He should go. Then, in a matter of seconds, he finds himself stuck in a bone crushing hug.

"Don't ever say that again. Don't even think about it. The last men on Earth has got to be us. Together. I won't have it any other way. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to stay, okay? " Martino is rambling now, digging his nails into Niccolò's shoulder blades and sniffling against his neck. He breaths in, deeply, feeling weak in the knees now the adrenaline rush is over. He needs to calm down if he wants his words to get through to Niccolò.

He sighs, kissing his lips to reassure himself that his boyfriend is here for real, in his arms. Alive.

"Whenever you feel lonely, tell me. You are not alone, Niccolò. You will never be. I won't allow it. You always, always, got me." *************************************************** A/N: So, what aboiut a 'minute by minute' epilogue with Martino asking for his mom's help rather than Maddalena's? We'll see if inspiration strikes...Anyway, I hate myself enough that I also want to write this Italian because "Te dimmi dove sei che mi faccio tutta Roma a piedi." and "COL CAZZO CHE SEI SOLO, NI" have totally another vibe from what I used in English :P Also, I know in the og it was Magnus that said that Even couldn't have been having a manic episode 24/7, but I wanted to change it a little... And.. What else? Oh yeah: do you really want me to believe that Martino keeps him under his full name in his phone ;D ? AFTER TONIGHT ?? He's just a step away from having under "Amò" (short for 'love')... For Nico's text I used this as an ispiration, but I didn't want to be too specific with the location: https://twitter.com/concertiallalba/status/1058386950770561026

#skam italia #my writing #I will soon translate it into Italian as well #nicotino #rames

[pandamilo]

Fanboy Yuri

#29 You could have warned me

@outoffcks gave me like a prompt spam so this is one of three that i’ll be posting over the next few days. Have some nerdy Otayuri fanboy fluff for your Saturday night <3

***

Yuri Plisetsky was many things.

He was a dancer, primarily in ballet but he dabbled in many different forms. Yuri was a cat lover, a good cook, a homeowner (well he owned a studio apartment but still), a barista at some indy/hipster coffee shop his uncle Viktor owned. He was a gamer and played competitively with his uncle’s husband, Yuuri, any chance he could and they usually won.

All these things and many more were parts of Yuri that people knew. They knew he was tall, lean, blonde with green cat-like eyes and he had the body of a dancer.

They knew he was snippy, sassy, loud and very opinionated, things always had to go his way.

But what people didn't know, was that Yuri was a fanboy.

Well, not entirely true - he went to figure skating competitions and blatantly showed his adoration for a particular skater but no one knew how deep it ran...

Yuri wrote fanfic’s and draw smutty art and rambled essay-length text posts on his tumblr about his favourite figure skater. Yuri had been a fan of Otabek Altin’s since he first debuted in Juniors - he wasn't like the other skaters. Otabek was stoic, rigid and defined in a way many others weren't.

Yuri has been following figure skating since he was a child because Viktor used to skate but suffered an injury just before his debut into seniors but it worked out best for him because it’s how he met his husband - Yuuri was the support sports nurse on call for the local rink.

They have been annoyingly inseparable ever since.

The first time Otabek had appeared in Yuri’s world he was shocked, the boy was angry looking but also soft. He moved, not like a dancer but a man on a mission. He was beautiful but not in the same way skater’s normally were. He wasn’t fluid like them but he also wasn’t stilted. He was utterly unique and fascinated Yuri to no end.

That’s how it all started, innocent enough, just following his skating… then his interviews… then his hobbies… likes… dislikes, any information that made Yuri feel like he already knew the man he had a soul (and dick for that matter) crush on.

He hadn't really set out to write fanfiction, Yuri was just scrolling through his tumblr and saw someone had made a post shit-post dishing Otabek’s skating and Yuri had defending him. He created a post that justified Otabek’s skating, music and movement choices, debunking every word the other idiot had said. This, of course, just made the idiot retort with some contrite comment about Yuri’s obvious desperate plea to get in Otabek’s pants.

Now this wasn't something Yuri could actually deny, the man was a fucking sex god who dripped sexiness by simply breathing.

So Yuri did the only reasonable thing and wrote a smutty story of all the ways he’d take Otabek’s arse, all the ways he’d let that beautifully hung sex-god fuck him till morning.

That was the beginning...

Twenty fic’s ranging from detailed descriptions of sucking Otabek’s cock to fluffy little things they would say while laying in bed together and talking about the big questions in life, Yuri wrote it all.

Yuri even came up with their ship name - Otayuri, he was quite proud of himself. And people even seemed to like it. They thought he and Otabek made a cute couple (based of Yuri’s on rough sketches of what they would look like together) and they loved his shit-drabbles, apparently he wrote good smut and people started requesting him to write other things.

This is how Yuri’s other life began.

He started to pick up a kind of following, many people respected his opinion on anything Otabek and on other things as well.

Yuri wrote and drew for people he didn't know, about all kinds of topics, anime, films, movie stars. It ranged from simple sweet things to the dirtiest kinks he didn't even think were a turn on but people started paying him for them. Either in real money or gifts of other things, it was a world he never knew he needed.

But his other life and real world came crashing down in a brutal tidal wave one day when he received a text from Viktor to come into work as soon as possible.

Yuri arrived, his hair in a braid and twisted around his head, his black polo already slightly dirty since he hadn’t been able to wash it. His black skinny jeans hanging a little too low to be suitable for work but once he started he’d be wearing an apron so it wouldn’t matter. But just as Yuri was walking around the main floor he stopped, there was a voice, gravelly and unmistakable.

Yuri didn’t look, he couldn’t look. He also couldn’t deny that just hearing that voice in person was giving him a partial.

What the fuck is he doing here?!

Yuri was panicking, he sprinted out the back to the staff room and nearly bold over his uncle’s husband. “Yuuri-kun! You could have warned me! Holy shit, what the fuck is he doing here!”

“Yura-kun, calm down, deep breaths. I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was here until about a minute ago, Vitya seemed so pleased with himself and it took going on the floor to find out why.”

Yuri had been interested in Japanese when he first met Yuuri and asked him to teach him some things and that began their close relationship, there was only actually four years difference between them. After a long, long, argument about the fact that never in a million fucking years was Yuri ever going to call him senpai, they had come to the conclusion they would add -kun to both their names as sign they were on the same level, despite their age gap.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Yuri growled out between his teeth, going to step around Yuuri and burst into Viktor’s office, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

“Why? I thought you would at least be kind of excited. Go introduce yourself, he seemed friendly enough, he even remembered Vitya.”

Yuri turned to look at Yuuri, there was no way he could talk to that man… not after everything. He would either turn into a gooey mess or be so hard he wouldn’t be able to hide it.

But this might be your only chance to actually meet him in person.

Yuri was torn, he wanted to run but he honestly couldn’t decide in which direction.

“Yura-kun?” Yuuri questioned, tilting his head to look properly into Yuuri’s face.

“What if he’s awful? After all this time... what if he just turns out to be another one of those self-absorbed, ego-stuffed skater’s who think they are better than everyone else just because they have a gold fucking medals?” Yuri’s voice was small, irritated and he was staring at his own hands wound into fists in front of him.

“Do you honestly believe that?” Yuuri’s voice was kind, just like always. Never judgemental, just a nudge in the right direction, a clarification.

No, I don’t believe it.

Yuri didn’t bother to reply, simply turned on the spot and ditched his things in his locker, tying his apron, checking himself in the mirror… five times, before he was out on the floor. He didn’t go up to the table straight away, simply fixed up the counter, served a few customers and made some coffees. It was only when he heard the very distinct laughter of his uncle that he let himself drift over to the table.

There were five people sat there, six if you included Viktor, all figure skater’s that Yuri recognised instantly. There was Jean-Jacques Leroy and his wife (who wasn’t actually a figure skater but she basically lived under JJ’s arm so she might as well have been on the ice with him), Guang Hong Ji, Leo de la Iglesia and the one and only, Otabek Altin.

Now or never.

“Hi, I’m Yuri, is there anything else I can get for you today?” Yuri tried to be polite and smile but his eyes were almost exclusively fixed onto Otabek’s face and when those eyes flickered up to look at him curiously, Yuri almost choked.

They were warm, inviting and kind, Otabek smiled at him as his mouth fell open into a gap like an idiot but he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“YURI! This is my other Yuri! He is my nephew, he is a big fan of figure skating, especially you. Otabek.”

Yuri was going to kill him, headlines tomorrow will read Man arrested today for impaling his uncle with a cake server.

“Oh, you follow my skating? Shame I didn’t have a better session for you-”

“That wasn’t your fault, you were unfairly judged because of that new competitor’s trickery.He was all smoke and mirrors with stupid music, he isn’t actually a good skater at all, he is utterly boring, you should have won gold, not him...” The words were tumbling out of Yuri’s mouth of their own accord and there was nothing he could do to stop them now. “Sorry.” Yuri mumbled at the end, he knew his face was actually on fire at this point as six pairs of eyes examined him for a good thirty seconds of utter silence.

Send help. Someone please save me from this agonizingly slow, death.

“Thank you.” Otabek broke the silence and Yuri’s head whipped up to meet his gaze, he seemed so genuine and shocked, his eyes flickered over Yuri’s body again before coming back up to meet his eyes once more. It was as if everyone else melted away and it was just the two of them.

“Yeah, well… no need to thank me, it’s just the truth.” Yuri couldn’t take it anymore and bolted, pretending he needed to help Yuuri with a customer even though there was only actually two coffee’s to make.

They stayed a little longer, chatting with Viktor and Yuri took a few chances to flick his eyes over to the table only to nearly drop what he was carrying everytime as he was met with Otabek’s piercing stare.

Yep, it’s offical. I am so dead.

When they were getting up to leave Otabek broke away from the counter, and stopped in front of Yuri.

“I wanted to give you your tip personally.” Otabek’s voice grumbled in Yuri’s ears as he stared at him, offering his hand, palm up and slightly shaking. Yuri couldn’t speak, what the hell was he meant to say if he did.

Otabek smiled at him as he placed something light in his hand, running his fingers lightly over Yuri’s wrist and palm as he slowly retracted his hand.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Yuri, I hope we get a chance to get to know one another better.” Otabek smirked a little before turning on the spot and briskly walking away as Yuri’s eyes flickered down to the note in his hand.

Call me - Otayuri

#prompt #my writing #drabble #fan fic #otayuri #otabek x yurio #Otabek Altin #Yuri Plisetsky #yuuri katsuki #Viktor Nikiforov #viktuuri #victuuri #fanboy au #yuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #yoi #prompt me #ask me #talk to me lovely fandom #will post it on ao3

[williammarshal-blog]

Lone Witness

Summary: Lexa escapes the world with only the stars as her company. And Clarke, the star who fell for her.

Maybe Clarke was being too easy on her.

Within the third day of Lexa being conscious enough to utter a "hello, Clar-kkk-e", Clarke had reluctantly agreed to let her out of the bedroom, because apparently, even when dosed up on Nyko's pain potion, Lexa still had the capacity to talk for Polis. And she'd pled a case of being cooped up within the Polisian tower like a chained dog with no hope of sunshine (despite the sun streaming through the window) or freedom (she'd been shot) or hope (she was alive).

Then again, Lexa had made a tempting case. So at nightfall, as Polis still thrived and swelled with music and joy and wonderful chaos, like there had been no drama with their near-dying Commander at all, Clarke and Lexa trudged down the stairs.

"I hope you realise your design of this—tower," Clarke said, as Lexa grunted with every third step, "is probably the stupidest thing ever. What if you were so tired you could barely walk, and then you had to walk five thousand billion steps just to flop on your bed?"

"Then it would make the effort worth it," Lexa said blandly. She looked decidedly pale. Clarke knew she wasn't feeling well at all, but she understood Lexa when she spoke about what essentially surmounted to cabin fever. Lexa didn't know the word for it in Old English, and Clarke hadn't given it to her. Lexa seemed to like the fact that she could somewhat effortlessly go on her tangents and speeches without wincing in pain every half a minute, so Clarke allowed the occasional soliloquy. It was nice to hear Lexa's voice on a continuous beat, instead of Clarke hearing her own every single day, talking to thin air as she hoped Lexa would wake. As her voice wavered with emotion every time the possibility of her not waking slammed into her like another one of Titus' bullets.

They made it to the bottom of the tower with relatively little fuss, their arguments futile and petty. Clarke extended her arm and Lexa, discarding her pride in the night, took it. She did not make a comment about Clarke supporting her weight, or thank her, but Clarke took the amicable silence as just that.

"Are you leading the way?" Clarke asked quietly, unnecessarily, as Lexa's feet traipsed somewhere of their own accord. They headed away from the boisterous crowd outside one of the inns, and towards the gates. Lexa smiled sideways at her.

The Polisian Guards startled at the sight. "Heda," one of them said in astonishment. He was tall, burly and fair-haired—and surely the first commoner to see their Commander after the shooting. The guard shucked his helmet off, as if the dim light was deceiving him. "You—you are well?"

"Well enough," Lexa said. Her voice was steady. "You'll talk of this night as if you were off-duty, do you understand? You were over there—" she jerked her head towards the noise they'd abandoned, "letting yourself loose with gallons of mead with your friend—" she now gestured towards the guard opposite him, whose own surprise was personified in a stunned silence.

"Of course," the guard said hoarsely. "Do we--?"

"Not actually," Lexa said sharply. Clarke nearly rolled her eyes. "Use your imagination."

"Your face is buried in an ample pair of bosoms right now, Tristan," the other guard said, as an example. Clarke and Lexa swivelled to face him, amused that he'd been so silent and then so crass. "That's what we got up to tonight."

"And the wine was sweet," said Tristan, "Just like the lady's skin."

"She fed you apples!" the other guard replied cheerily, as Lexa and Clarke decided to leave the two men to swapping their fantasies, growing lewder as they cleared the distance. "Sucked the juice from your very fingers!"

That was the last they decided to hear of it.

Tonight was crisp (just like the apple the guard had been describing, Clarke thought distastefully), the air lacking bite, though. It was pleasantly muggy; not enough for her shirt to stick to her skin, but enough so she didn't shiver. The wind was bashful, flicking at Lexa's let-down hair, but a nice, calming warm.

"The plains are always forgotten." Lexa plucked the words from the sky, breaking the silence between them. Clarke let her go on. "Polis is the base of fire and beauty and hand-made grandiose, and the walls are frightening or welcoming depending on who you are. The dug-out surrounding it is a symbol of hard muscle and sweat, and the drawbridge is standoffish yet homely. But the plains are just grass, widely uncut, tangled and uncivilised, like one side of that wall is post-coalition and this side is pre-coalition."

"I think it looks wonderful," Clarke said honestly. Lexa spoke highly of Polis but she did not hide that some of the houses crumbled with age. The sparring pits turned mushy and boggy when it rained, and busy times in the Square meant you had to pretty much punch your way through the crowd to buy a slab of meat.

Here, earth pierced through the air without a single intrusion. With the exception of them, tonight.

"Indra's gonna have my guts if you don't rest, by the way," Clarke cautioned Lexa, pretending to herself that Lexa would listen. "She specifically said no strenuous activity, and then I think she cursed at me in Trigedasleng. So if you rip your stitches, I will rip you in half, and then Indra will rip me in half."

"Fine by me," Lexa said breezily, stopping their walk. "Let's rest."

Lexa seemed to enjoy catching Clarke off-guard. It was simply because Clarke was always the one catching Lexa in the brief moments of the day she didn't have her steely walls up, and she flopped down onto the grass, her back against the ground. For a moment, Clarke stared at her in disbelief, as if Lexa kom Trikru, Commander of the Coalition, had just vanished from her arm in two seconds. But then she saw the amusement and carefully restrained joy on Lexa's face as she gazed up at the stars, and decided to join her.

"I used to come here alone," Lexa said. "When I had the time, I mean. And you know, you don't realise how much you enjoy some solitude when you spend all day surrounded by masqueraded threats and terse war-room talks and tutelage and complaints and heckling. Can I ask you to do something?"

Clarke turned to face her, the long strands of grass tickling her cheek. "Sure."

"Can I ask you to imagine the noise we just escaped? Back by the inn. Back with the idiots Tristan and Hislam by the gates."

Clarke shut her eyes, thinking of ample-bosomed babes and raucous, mead-flavoured singing. She couldn't capture the essence. I'm an artist. Sort of. She tried to think of it that way. Surely I can conjure up a scenario. If I can draw from memory, then I can memorise something, right? I was just by all that noise like ten minutes ago.

"No?" Lexa's voice glittered with triumph.

"No," Clarke confirmed dully. She waited for Lexa's point.

"Where this plain is cut off from civilisation and uncared for and ignored, then that is how it will be. Believe that life is within Polis, and believe that for so many years—the minute you pass from the inside to the outside, your ears unblock from the populace and clear so you can hear pointless things like crickets chirping in the night. And you are so spaced out from the lack of civilisation and the lack of people that you may interpret it as beauty."

But it was beauty—Clarke wanted to insist. It wasn't until Lexa really used that word that she would associate it with simply lying on a large patch of grass, staring up at the night skies. The new earth seemed to lack the 'pollution' of the old earth, of the old earth she'd read in the books. 'Pollution' was a word that meant 'blocking the stars', so Clarke had been told in class. And because the new earth lacked the arsenal of machinery the old earth relied on so heavily, the smog had thrown their hands up defeat and drifted off elsewhere. Floated itself.

"How did you feel, when you walked away from your people?" Lexa murmured. Where there was lack of civilisation, there was lack of courteous filter, too, it seemed. "When you abandoned them on your walkabout with only the name Wanheda following you, did it feel like this?"

Without Lexa's heartbeat inches from hers, and her fingers hesitantly interlocking in hers? Without the realisation that she could overcome her fury and surge for vengeance by merely engulfing herself within Polisian life? Without the lack of food and unsuccessful foraging replaced by lumps of bread and juicy, freshly-hunted game? Without twinkling eyes of innocent youth like Aden's dancing in the light as the Nightbloods playfully sparred with her during the day, the rare moments she left Lexa's unconscious side?

"Not quite." Clarke's voice was hoarse. Her solitude had been forced, but it hadn't been a tragic disaster, either. "Some nights...I guess...yeah, it was nice to go to sleep without thinking tomorrow I'd be needed by Kane or Raven or Octavia or my mom for some political bullshit. Then again, I had to sort of be a bit wary of being eaten by a giant wolf or something."

"That's quite some balance you pertained."

"Right."

"How do you feel now?"

"Relieved. Free. Like I want to smile."

"I feel like I want to see you smile."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. How long was it since you last smiled?"

"Too long."

"Do you want me to make you smile now?"

Clarke laughed. "How exactly are you gonna make me smile, asshole?"

Lexa's head jerked to the side so face that she nearly poked her eye out with a shard of grass. Clarke laughed louder, and her eyes slipped shut for a moment, only just catching Lexa's smirk. "Like that."

"You're an ass."

"I made you smile."

"That's something you do," Clarke conceded, and Lexa's smirk softened into a smile of her own. Clarke supposed it was all a little cliché, two young women in love smiling at each other in the blissful peace of the night, away from everyone else's mess. Then again, she was starting to appreciate why clichés were clichés: they weren't liked so fondly by everyone else for no reason.

Nothing was for no reason.

"I only wanted the stars to be my witness," Lexa began to explain—explain something—Clarke wasn't entirely too sure. Lexa could be backwards at the best of times. "Is that alright?"

"Yes?" Clarke realised a little too late that she was consenting to something she had no idea of.

Lexa remained polite anyway. She reached out slowly with her hand to cup Clarke's face, her thumb brushing idly over her cheek. Clarke supposed it was her warning signal in some way. It felt like Lexa was going to leave it at that, or that time had frozen, except Lexa's eyes were darting from Clarke's, to Clarke's hair, her forehead, her nose, her lips...

She leaned in so gently and so carefully that Clarke wondered if it was purely to prevent herself from ripping her stitches or because she was still a courteous idiot throughout. Still, Clarke closed her eyes as Lexa kissed her, feather-light like their first time. Clarke could remember Lexa's lips when they were desperate and needy and wanton; it felt like an age ago when Lexa tasted tentative and of question.

Clarke steadied Lexa by the waist, flicking her tongue over Lexa's bottom lip, and a noise escaped the wavering prison that was Lexa's throat.

"I think we're past the maybe life should be more than just surviving part, huh?" Clarke muttered against Lexa's lips as they broke apart for air, and Lexa's face split into a grin.

"Maybe," she said.

"Well, we deserve that at least, right?"

"Hm. Maybe we do."

Clarke would've rolled her eyes if the overwhelming sensation wasn't to pull her in for a deeper kiss, throwing careful thoughts of stitches and bullet wounds into the still, surveying wind as she kissed Lexa again, open-mouthed and with intent. Lexa returned with fervour, and Clarke never ceased to enjoy the way the most powerful individual on this entire earth cast away her iron-fist reign for Clarke's persistent lips. The way Lexa's mouth parted of Clarke's thin ask of permission felt like victory squeezing her heart, and she assumed maybe that was how Lexa felt too as she passed the chains of power and supremacy over for one moment of careless freefall. They kissed innocently, and wantonly, and teasingly; I wanted the stars to be my only witness, said the dramatic doe-eyed war-hero as she dipped her tongue into Clarke's mouth. Is that alright? The courteous facade of a shy courter whispered. Clarke moaned a little as Lexa's teeth sunk into her bottom lip, the disciplined testing of each other's restraint bashing against their self-made barricade. Oh well. I guess if Indra wants to kill me tomorrow, I'm not actually to blame. Not a hundred percent.

"I don't want to rest," Lexa panted, knocking foreheads with Clarke.

The grass tickled her cheek again. That was why Clarke smiled. "I won't let you."

"That's how this story went," Lexa affirmed, tugging Clarke by the hem of her shirt, dipping her head to pepper kisses down the side of Clarke's neck, her teeth determinedly biting down on her collarbone. Clarke tipped her head back and groaned in free pleasure as she rolled over, her hips conquering Lexa's as she tipped over so her thighs were either side of Lexa.

"I'm not gonna let you rest," Clarke whispered as she bent her head down to kiss Lexa again, grinning into it. She felt like a teenager, frolicking in the grass.

She was a fucking teenager.

"The stars are my only witness," Lexa teased, and pulled her down.

The stars did not speak of what they saw that night.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke x lexa #clexa fic #there you go

[taegdcl1018]

3 Billion Dollars [Part 5] - G Dragon Mafia!AU

Summary: When your father owes 3 billion dollars to the mafia, he must repay his debt. Although things don’t go exactly the way he hoped.

Genre: Maybe fluff, most likely angsty

Warnings: Death, swearing, mentions of kidnapping I think

{part 1} {part 2} {part 3} {part 4} {part 5} {part 6} {part 7} {part 8} {part 9} {part 10} {part 11} {part 12} {part 13} {part 14} {part 15} {part 16} {part 17} {part 18} {part 19} {part 20} {part 21} {part 22} {part 23}

A/N: Sorry for not being able to post anything lately, we had lost power due to 60 mph winds. I hope you like it! This one is a long one. Also, update on the Playlist Scenarios; Tumblr Girls will be posted tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to finish it by today. Sorry again for the delay and I hope you enjoy! 

~ Admin Brooklyn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji Yong knew you saw those girls. He knows that you’ve seen worse, but the feeling of anger and annoyance showed up when he thought of it. He tried protecting you for so long. He didn’t know how you would handle it. He still doesn’t know how you’re currently handling it. You were really quiet in the car, which wasn’t exactly unexpected, but he did expect for you to cry way more than you did. He was worried about you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

He looked down at the bodies on the ground. Blood slowly dripping out of the hole in their heads. There were four of them. Two topless hookers and two idiot men. They knew that someone important was coming. Everyone knew to be on their best behavior, but nope they decided to ruin not only their name but Ji Yong’s image on you.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. Trust me.” Seunghyun said, knowing what’s bothering him. Ji Yong shrugged, thinking of your face as he killed your brother. The pure shock and pain that filled your eyes. It was hard for him, but it’s not like he hasn’t killed before. “I know. She’ll have to move on sooner or later.”

“Ji Yong, come here for a second.” Mr. Kwon said. Ji Yong nodded and walked towards his father. Mr. Kwon was talking to three guys at the time. All of which looked like they had been through the worst things you could imagine. They were covered in sweat and dirt, and one of them was bleeding. Mr. Kwon didn’t seem too happy with what they said, despite the smile he gave them. “Yes, dad?”

“Now boys, please repeat to my son what you just said to me.” The boys stood in fear, nodding their heads at uneven, fast speeds. One of the boys went to open their mouths, only to have a hand clamp their mouth shut. Someone else spoke up. “They got away sir.”

“What?” Ji Yong said. His expression was calm, but he was anything but. His eyes glared into the younger’s. They were all scrawny and honestly Ji Yong was surprised that it wasn’t their blood on their shirts. One wore an obnoxious blue and orange polka-dot shirt. He was quiet and standing in the back, purposely trying to hide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite understand what you said. Please repeat yourself and this time, explain.”

Polka-dot sank further down into his shirt collar. Trying to disappear from the world. “They got-”

“Oh no. I don’t wanna hear it from you.” Ji Yong’s voice replicated his father’s. It was smooth but sharp, cutting its way into people’s mind. Woman found it profoundly attractive. He could say a single word in that voice and have panties dropping for miles. People watched as Ji Yong crept up to the scrawny young boy in the blue and orange shirt. “You. Explain to me. What happened for your friends to utter the words ‘they got away’ to me when I gave you a job to do?”

“Well… Um, Mr. G Dragon sir. Well, we had Flynn and some of his crew in the warehouse at first. Everything was going as planned,” G Dragon smiled. Watching the boy squirm and shake in fear of what will happen. The boy paused, causing G Dragon to raise his eyebrow. His questioning looks ushering the boy to continue. “Until they just up and left. We knew that we had to kill them before they left, so we started shooting but it didn’t work and Flynn got away.”  

“What do you mean they just left?” His voice was menacing. His eyes no longer held his arrogance, instead, anger and slight aggravation took its place. The boy seemed to cower away, afraid of what his consequence will be. A boy with blood staining his white shirt spoke up. “Around 9:30 they just left. One of his lackeys said something to him and he left.”

Seunghyun’s head shot up, listening to the conversation. He looked straight at Ji Yong. He wasn’t surprised to see the anger in his eyes, a little vein popping out of his forehead. Ji Yong froze, a little shocked but mostly pissed. “I’ll take care of this dad. You head inside.”

“Good night son.” Mr. Kwon said, before finally heading inside. Ji Yong watched as his father walked inside. It wasn’t until his father had disappeared inside his house did a gunshot ring out. One of the boys collapsed on the ground. Women shrieked and people ran away, avoiding the area. G Dragon stood still his gun pointing at the now dead boy. The boy’s white shirt staining with even more blood.

A car pulled up right behind Ji Yong. He turned and watched as some men got out and opened the trunk. One of them pulled out a silver suitcase, a smaller bag, and a white and pink fluffy stuffed unicorn. “We got everything boss. Her blanket and dog didn’t fit in the case so we put it in the bag with her phone and speaker.”

Ji Yong smiled at them. His usual sweet smile turning into a menacing and slightly insane one. He placed his gun back in the holder. The men stood there awkwardly, staring at the dead body on the floor, a small pool of blood forming under it. “Thank you, boys. TOP and I will take them. Will you please assist these teenagers with cleaning up. Let them know they got the easy punishment for failing a mission.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Your room was huge. The bed was against the left wall. Cream colored sheets covered the queen sized mattress. The walls were a beautiful deep blue shade, completely contrasting to the light cream color of the carpeted floors and wood of the bed frame, dressers, and doors. You hated to admit it, but Ji Yong knew you well. You loved it. It was beautiful, simple and neat. There were three doors in the room, the one you came in from, one you assumed was the bathroom, and the other also assumed to be a closet. As you opened one of the cream doors your suspicions were confirmed. A wide spacious closet with cream colored shelves and a rack with hangers waiting to be used. In the far wall, there was a full body mirror. Everything was empty, becoming useless to you in that moment.

   The third door welcomed you to the bathroom. It was a large bathroom. On the front right corner, there was a huge shower, glass doors enclosing it away. By the back right-hand corner along pristine white bathtub occupied space. A toilet took up space by the wall on the far wall. There was a counter that covered the entire left side of the room, with a wide mirror that covered the entire wall above the counter. On the counter lay two towels and boy clothes folded neatly. Honestly after thinking over what Youngbae said you started to feel crappy. Stress and post-anxiety, as well as trauma, wore you out.

   Quickly you stripped off your clothes and turned on the water, letting the water warm up. You inspect the clothes that were given to you. They were bigger than the size you normally get. Something had fallen from the counter, and as it laid on the floor you realized that they were boxers. Look back at the shirt you recognized the design. They’re Ji Yong’s clothes. You started to regret your decision to take a shower, but it was too late. Steam was leaving the shower, fogging up the glass. You set the shirt back on the counter and pick up the boxers from the floor, before entering the shower.

   A long sigh of relief left your lips as the hot water ran over your body. Your muscles relaxed as the hot water touched it. The water burned a little, leaving little tingles as it hit your skin, but it felt good and warm right after. You soaked your hair before grabbing the shampoo and washing your hair. Up next was your body, grabbing the plain white bar of soap, then conditioner followed. You wrapped hair in a towel then your body in another fluffy towel before stepping out of the shower. You looking down you realized that your clothes were soaked. The results of a long hot shower. All that you had left were Ji Yong’s clothes, and you weren’t really happy with him lately. You put on his clothes, his cologne still lingering on it as well as his sent. Everything was too big for you. His shorts that he had given you loosely hung at your waist, and the shirt barely stayed on your left shoulder. You didn’t really mind, though. You were too tired to deal with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   “It can’t be an accident that he left at 9:30.” TOP said, his eyebrows knit together, deep in thought. Ji Yong half sighed half growled at the thought. “I know, I know, but how in the hell did he find out about her?”

   Currently, Kwon Ji Yong, with a grouchy and irritated expression on his face, carried Miss Cupcake in his arms. The bright fluffy unicorn tucked under his arm, while Seunghyun drags the silver suitcase and carries the other bag in his hand. Honestly, Ji Yong was glad that he put you on the far side of the house, the quietest side. You were far away from any damage, but close enough that he’ll get to you quickly when you needed it.

   “How do you think she’s taking it?” Ji Yong asked nobody in particular. They walked at a steady pace, passing painting after painting. Seugnhyun shrugged. “I don’t really know. I don’t know her too well. She’s not gonna be happy with you, though.”

   “I know. Shit, I’ve fucked up didn’t I?” Ji Yong sighed. He was tired, but his day was almost done. After dropping your things off, he can finally rest. His room was just a few doors down from yours, his request. He was almost done and he can finally sleep for the day. “It’s not like either of you had a choice, though.”

   “Your right.” Ji Yong’s words left his lips as he spotted Youngbae and Gaho standing by your door. Gaho laid down right in front of it, lifting his head as he spotted his master. “She’ll have to get used to it.”

   “She took a shower. She’s out now, I’m not too sure if she’s sleeping, though.” Youngbae informed him. Ji Yong nodded his head, quickly looking down at Gaho who rubbed his head against his leg, seeking attention. Ji Yong petted Gaho before knocking on the door.

“So that is Miss Cupcake?” Seunghyun snorted at the name. Ji Yong frowned at Youngbae, his sour expression turning into a sweet one. “She picked the name okay?”

“Obviously. You suck at name things. Miss Cupcake is a perfect name for something that colorful.” Youngbae snickered. Ji Yong rolled his eyes. His once laidback nature turning more upright as the door handle turned. Youngbae let out one last chuckle at Ji Yong before going silent, a smile still on his face. As the door opened Ji Yong was revealed to the sight of you in his clothes, and god he found it hot as fuck. Your hair was still wet, but that just made the look better. His shirt falling off your left shoulder, and his shorts were baggy on you. He looked into your eyes. They seemed so tired, so worn out, he could relate.

“I got your things.” His words were simple, and the registered in your head, but you didn’t react to him at all. You just stared at him. He gave you a questioning look, showing Miss Cupcake in his arms. You moved away from the doorway, silently inviting him in. Ji Yong gave you a small soft smile, stepping into the room, followed by Seunghyun who actually carried your things. Ji Yong set Miss Cupcake down on your bed. Seunghyun put your suitcase by your bed and the bag on top of it.

“How are you doing princess?” Ji Yong asked cautiously. You rolled your eyes at the stupid nickname you adored when you were five. You scoffed quietly. “Perfectly fine, just you know, dealing with the fact that my best friend not only is in the mafia and never told me but also killed my brother and my mom.”

Ji Yong sighed. He was getting irritated, everyone could see it. You didn’t care, though. You needed answers. Both of you knew it, but only Ji Yong knew you weren’t ready for it. “I didn’t exactly have a choice sweetheart.”

“A choice for what? Joining the mafia? Or killing my family?” Your voice was raising. Ji Yong’s glared at you. His demeanor changed, taking on the familiar look he had whenever you asked about his work. His eyes became emotionless and stone cold. His nature seemed laid back, but he looked ready to strike.

“You are seriously digging your own grave princess.” Ji Yong stalked towards you. Whatever made you talk back to him, pride, confidence, adrenaline, it all seemed to just disintegrate away. You froze, not wanting to back away. “You are currently in not only the wrong house but also the wrong situation to be saying that. Any of that. I’ve been protecting you for your entire fucking life. Appreciate it.”

Ji Yong noticed how your eyes had hints of tears. Not enough for a single tear to fall, but enough for your pain to be noticeable. Ji Yong sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He stepped away from you, giving you space. “Your phone is in the bag. Call, text, email, hell fucking send a bird that you're here and I’ll just kill anyone that comes to find you. Understand?”

You nodded your head, seeing a small hint of sane Ji Yong in him. He sighed once more, looking towards Seunghyun. He seemed to be enjoying himself, watching you two fight. It was quite amusing from a distance. Ji Yong looked at him, then towards the door. Seunghyun put his hands up mockingly and walked out of the room, shutting the door on the way out.

“I know this is a lot to process, and I’m not expecting you to just be okay with everything.” Ji Yong started. His cold persona now gone, and the old Ji Yong replacing it. You looked up into his eyes. He seems sincere, actually caring for your well being. “For now your room is gonna be constantly guarded. You can’t step outside of this room without me knowing. Got it?”

“So you're locking me away like a prisoner?” You ask him, disbelief and anger framing your face. You frown as his jaw sets in place. He’s getting aggravated again, you see it. “Princess, look around you! You think this is what a prisoner's cell looks like? Cause I could show you!”

“A person can act the same away as a demon without having to look like one.” You shut him up. Ji Yong lets out a frustrated groan. His hand goes through his hair once more, brushing away any distraction. “I’ll get you some books, okay? Just stay in here.”

“Why are you keeping me in here? Why can I leave?” You ask him, demanding for answers. He practically growls, glaring at you. A small vein popped out on his forehead. He was getting pissed at you, whether he wanted to or not.

“You saw those hookers. Out there people only care about sex, drugs and keeping everyone off their ass. Out there people will fuck you without giving a shit. Out there people will drug you, kidnap you and do worse shit that you can even think of. That’s fucking why you can’t leave. You can’t leave cause I’m not gonna let you get hurt when I’ve been trying to protect you. Understand?”

Ji Yong’s little rant ended with his final question. You frowned at him. Tears were fully formed in your eyes by now, but you refused to let them fall. Ji Yong saw them, and his heart broke. He sighed once more, losing the tough guy attitude once again. “(Y/N), please tell me you understand. I need to make sure you won’t go out there on your own. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I understand.” You said quietly. Ji Yong gave you a small reassuring smile. He started to calm down, his mind full of problems he needed to sort, though. You continue talking, wanting to get your point across. “That doesn’t mean that I like it, nor does it mean that I like you. I hate you. You killed my family, took me and left my dad there. You’re locking me away and not telling me why I’m here. You knew this was going to happen too. I hate you, and don’t expect that feeling to change easily if it does at all.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about that. You’re stuck with me, princess. That what I knew when I first met you years ago.” Ji Yong’s words hung in the air as he walked towards the door. His back was facing you, not noticing the single tear that had fell despite your wishes. “Your right by the way. I knew what was going to happen to your brother as soon as he was born.”

Ji Yong left the room swiftly. Leaving you alone with your thoughts, your tears, and your pain. You were fully crying now, silent sobs wracked your body. Although you tried staying quiet, your sobs were loud enough for Youngbae to hear. His eyes were on his wrist watch, mentally recording the time you started crying. He was a little happy that you did. He knew you needed to get it out. He watches his best friend as he carried himself down the hall. Ji Yong had stopped at his bedroom door. Looking at Youngbae, who gave him a small salute. Ji Yong sighed as he walked into his room and fallen on top of his bed. All of the today’s events went through his head. Ji Yong took a deep breath, stripping his shirt off of his chest. His shoes slipped off his feet. He went towards his closet, finding comfortable bottoms to wear.

Ji Yong laid in his bed after his nightly routine. As he thought of all the things he needed to do tomorrow, his mind keeps wandering to you. You seemed to consume his thoughts like they always do. He couldn’t the image of you out of his head. So much happened when you were gone. So much changed. You matured, something he noticed right away and was instantly drawn to, not that he’ll admit it. It was decided that he’d take his father’s place soon. Everything with Flynn three years ago. Ji Yong sighed deeply, finally letting sleep consume him.

#gdragon #g-dragon #g dragon #kwonjiyong #kwon jiyong #big bang #bigbang #g dragon scenarios #g dragon reactions #big bang reactions #big bang scenarios #mafia au

[burndownthehousetonight]

((This was a real interesting one, because it stemmed from a tarot RP memes post, and I actually am self-trained in reading tarot cards! This was much more dramatic than our other RPS. I’ll make a post compiling a little timeline of those eventually. But for now, enjoy the next chapter in this little @last-of-my-bloodline RP saga thing!))

“So what are we going to do?”

Manic and Light stood in Light’s bedroom, stances uncomfortable and arms crossed. Light’s being called for an intelligence briefing was completely normal. Light returning with news this serious wasn’t so normal. Hell, it would have been mortifying if they weren’t expecting a child. And it was clear that Light wasn’t so certain what to make of it, either.

“Look, I know I’m no royal here, but waiting around isn’t gonna be an option.” Manic was oddly serious, oddly quiet. “You spent years rebuilding this town, and we’re gonna make sure it stays that way. For everyone’s good.” He looked down at the baby bump, now much more visible. “Especially for both of you.”

Manic looked at the private sheet of information Light had given him, rereading the small set of words furiously circled and marked for attention. “A figure has been spotted within our kingdom that is beyond a shadow of a doubt a high ranking affiliate of the fox king.” “You would think two years after his death, the buggers would have given up this suspicious act,” he said pinching the bridge of his nose. “If these details are true, then we will have to keep an watchful eye on the fox just to be sure…n’ I had hoped to avoid issues with the tentails again.”

Sighing, he sat down on the bed trying to settle down his stress of the latest news. “I don’t know what has drawn them into my lands again, much less how he didn’t get spotted sooner, I just pray it isn’t for darker reasons.” "Just talking as some kid off the streets, that's exactly why they haven't given up," Manic said, sitting down next to him and patting his back. "People don't just forget a war, and they don't just forget their king being killed. I don't want em to be here for bad reasons, but I'm pretty sure..." He didn't need to finish that sentence. He accompanied Light in his sighs, before giving two comforting slaps on the back. "But they don't have their king anymore, dude, and you've got a rebuilt kingdom. They've lost so much of their strength. You're gonna make it, alright?" He looked Light square in the eyes, putting on a smile through his own fear. "You'll be able to handle one or two idiots, no problem." There was some speak of dread in the back of both of their minds, telling them that it wasn't going to be half a simple as they wished... “I’m sure they are up to something, but I have allies that would help me out in the worst cases imaginable, including granny Ragnarok.” He chuckled softly knowing he'd maybe get a scolding from the woman if she showed up again. He then looked to the roof “You know, the odd thing, the one who started the war wasn’t the true enemy. Demise was possessed by some dark entity…being close to my drakestone seemed to clear his head a bit.”

He turned to face Manic. “The true Mad King was someone I thought I could trust. His Identical younger brother Zhola was responsible for more damage in four months, than he ever did in sixteen years…weird, isn’t it?” "Zhola... Zhola..." Manic rubbed his head. "I've heard all kinds of names, but I guess I haven't read anything in depth. I thought you'd have any answers I'd need." He looked away, staring out the window. "I didn't know he- I guess he really attacked you from all sides." As he looked out the window and Light stared at the ceiling, he clutched at Light's hand, his grip much stronger than normal. "So... He just up and turned on you?" He swallowed hard. "You know, when I think I've heard the last awful thing, there's always something else." He laughed out of nervousness. "I mean, I've been backstabbed, but someone doing that and destroying an entire kingdom..." His grip on Light's hand was much stronger than usual as he stared out at the distant buildings. "It's terrifying." “I didn’t find out about the twist in details till a month after the war. Demise had taken to the role of acting as his brother, it was when I found a familiar scar that I came to realize that the details I had thought were the truth were backwards,” Light replied as he chuckled. “He was so terrified I’d attack him for the trickery, but I came to realize the darkness possessing him had vanished, n’ I knew that it was what made him do the things before the change happened.” "So what can we do about this darkness?" The question seemed to shoot out of nowhere. Manic turned to look at their clutched hands. "It's bad enough these guys seem to be planning something, but they're just a pack of idiots without a leader. I've handled worse, but a vague darkness?" He looked up at Light. "Like, your drakestone can ward it off or something, there's gotta be something we can work off of there. Do you- You know how to block this force, right?" But accompanying his hopeful eyes was a look of vague desperation. Just like his reactions when he'd first heard about the pregnancy, he was more saying these things to comfort himself, and he wasn't succeeding. “The darkness only affected the leaders in the tentails territory. If they have a new king, there could be the risk of it coming back. Hopefully it's just a lesser general just looking for trouble.“ Light sighed once more before looking to him. “If we get lucky, this should be a simple fix.” "We have a warning, and we know there's only one kind of person this could affect. You've got time to react, dude." Manic ran his hand along the side of Light's neck, smiling genuinely. "Sounds like we're already pretty lucky." Manic shifted his body so it was turned towards Light. "Hey, you know what my brother always told me? Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. That's all we can really do right now." He gave Light a kiss on the cheek, to try and comfort him. "We can try and find out if there is a new king in the territory, we can get more information on this dude, and we can send out a warning to your people. But for now, let's just hope he's incompotent." He pulled back. "But if we're gonna do all that..." He looked like he was blushing. "I have to make sure I can protect my king. Would you..." He brushed his quills back. "Do you think anyone would mind if I stopped sleeping in the servant's area? I could just sleep a room over, or on the couch over there, but I-" His smile was filled with a desperate hope. "I want to be here for you, if anything happens. Alright, baby?" “If you wish to move closer, I see no problem with it. Having you closer does help ease some nervousness I do have,“ he said as his tail swayed a bit. “I’m sure things will be alright, but if they are not, it would be good to have company close by.” He would see relief wash over Manic. His stiff shoulders softened, his smiled widened. "Thank you," he said, pulling him in close for a hug. As his head rested over Light's shoulder, he opened his eyes and looked straight ahead. "I'm real lucky I ended up with you, mate..." For just a few moments, the dread of the news escaped Manic. It was just him and Light for now, in the fading rays of the dusk sun. "How about I just move my stuff tomorrow? I just wanna cuddle with you, dude. We'll worry about that fox guy tomorrow, let's just forget about him tonight." He pulled away from the hug and looked at Light. "I just wanna have a nice, gentle night. Okay, baby?" Smiling softly he hugged him. “Yeah, I can do that. It's getting dark, so it wouldn’t do us any good to try figuring out today what to do,” he said before he lay down in his bed n’ looked to him, glad he was gonna hang with him a bit as he just worried about if the Foxes had learned he was expecting again. Manic left all of his normal clothes on, not wanting to take anything too far. He curled up against Light, letting Light rest his head against his chest. Manic purred to send comforting vibrations through Light's shaken mind. "Like I said, dude, we can only hope for the best. I'll protect you," he uttered as he kissed the top of his head. "We'll make it through this, no matter what this is." Manic couldn't think of what left to say. The day had been tiring, and he could feel sleep creeping up on him. So he did the most comforting thing he could think of, and started to hum a lullaby for them both. Just a basic calm melody, to help the two safely drift off to sleep. With his ears flicking slightly to the tune, he slowly drifted off to sleep as he slowly settled down n’ started to purr himself once he was comfortable with the company. It was a strange feeling for Manic. He loved slightly dirty environments, incandescent and neon glows with sub-par lodging. He lived for those things. By all accounts, he shouldn't have really enjoyed this castle. It was fancy, but not too fancy. Clean and polished, but not quite luxurious. Hell, he would actually sneak to the ruined parts of the castle and revel in the decayed and destroyed portraits and statues, fine walls and persian rugs. He should have hated this room, but just to lay cuddled up with not just Light, but Light when he was scared, gave a familiar comfort to the strangely uncomfortable room. They slept soundly. ◇        ◇        ◇        ◇ "Dude, they're just here to help, I ain't gonna complain." The two had decided to walk and pick up breakfast in the market area to help keep them out of the castle. They needed some way to help calm their nerves, and the lively market was always a welcome distraction. With recent events, an adviser instructed two royal guards to follow the pair wherever they went, even if it was more or less just a long, gentle walk. Light chuckled slightly as he knew the guards well enough that they would respect his privacy if he asked them to, but he was concerned still with the details that one of the fox generals had been spotted the day. It had been on his mind again. “I am not either, so where were we planning to try this time round?” It wasn't just the market district of the town, it was one of the only completed districts of the town after reconstruction efforts. As with most days it was completely packed, but pedestrians were more than willing to move just enough to give the king, his guards, and some green schlub who was tagging along space to move. "Y'all need comfort food, how about we stop at that little bakery stand place?" Manic lead the way towards a large stall run by a sheep couple, brimming with fresh bakery goods of all kinds. Manic normally would have had a hard time choosing, but they finally had some cherry pastries. He couldn't get enough of cherry foods. Manic was quick to make his choices, a small number that was probably more than he should have had for breakfast. He waited for Light to make his decisions, looking at some of the vendor stalls on the opposite side of the street. "Man, that chameleon lady with those really sweet berries is back! You wanna grab some of those, too?" After picking out his pastry, Light looked over n’ nodded. “Can’t hurt to buy a few,” he said paying for them, n’ soon made his way with Manic over to get some berries to add in with their food. Her mobile cart was, as it was whenever she appeared in the market, fully stocked with a wide variety of berries. Many of them normal breeds, as well as a few foreign breeds they couldn't quite identify. She would always refer to them in her native tongue, but they didn't need an English name to enjoy good food. They starter to make their way over to her cart. The north end of the market street exploded. Two buildings on either side of the market square suddenly shattered with loud explosions. Smoke and fire billowed from the points of detonation immediately, painting the buildings and many of the market stalls in shades of red and orange. Large barrels of spices, masses of flower petals, and bags of dried powders immediately swirled into the air, taking countless amounts of money from their stand owners. What started as confusion quickly turned to panic, as the market area erupted into a mass of screams and frantic pedestrians and store owners running for their lives. The two royal guards held back the petrified royal to try and escort him away. All Light could do was look on as the masses of fire spread, and as Manic foolishly ran through the dust to the point of impact. It was a bit difficult for the guards to move their petrified royal, as he had seized up upon the blast. One of the rare few things he never got over was explosives. n’ his entire form was tense n’ fluffed out. One of the guards. to keep him away. had to pick their king up despite his minor protests. The other chose to return to assist the few other people trying to put out the fires that erupted from the explosion “Where is Manic?” Light managed to say, trembling from the shock of the unexpected sound. The guard lifting Light looked around the rushing pedestrians, but there was no sign of Manic anywhere. He called out to the other guard rushing into the heart of the incident, who furiously searched as she assisted with the immediate efforts to prevent further damage. They would not have found Manic, as he was the closest he could get to the detonation point. He couldn't see a thing, and no one could see in. Walls of thick, light grey fog from the destroyed structure blocked everything before him. Occasional patches of color from the other powders floating around only added to the confusion. All he did was feel around on the ground, hoping to find some kind of sign of life. "Ooough..." He grabbed someone's arm by accident. They felt scaly. "D-Dude, are you gonna be alright?" He shuddered out. "What's holding you down?" He felt along the body, finding a large chunk of stone that had fallen onto him. He pushed it aside, helping the individual to their feet. There was a large cracking sound to Manic's side, followed by the sound of shattering, crashing wood. He could hear planks from the newly fallen building hit the ground mere feet from him. "Go on, run!" He said, pushing the individual away from where the planks fell as he ran further towards the sight of the newest disaster. The dust cloud just barely began to lift as Manic rushed towards the new disaster sight, absolutely caked in powders and small scratches. There were people who recalled the young lord’s fears n’ stayed near to keep an eye on him as the other guard, after stetting Light down far from the issues, took off back into the mess to locate Manic, n‘ assist anyone as best he could.

Thankfully, Light's friends had also been in the area as they had jumped into the mess as well to find the hurt n’ downs any flames they found to be a threat to nearby buildings.

Shadow had been the one to locate Manic during his attempts to remove a heavy beam of wood off someone he had been trying to help out. “I donno why the heck you’re not with Light, but I need a little help here, Manic.” Manic was initially shocked to see Shadow, but he didn't have time to think about it. He moved over to help him lift the wood plank trapping a civilian on to the ground. The initial chaos was over surprisingly quickly. The smoke and dust lifted into the air, leaving the streets dusty and mostly empty. Rescue efforts were able to find market goers much more clearly. As rescuers ran from fire to fire, person to person, Manic stood next to Shadow, his whole body covered in various types of dust. "I-I was just trying to- He had guards to help him!" Manic said, trying to defend himself. "People needed- people need help!" A horrible thought entered Manic's head. "Oh god, where's Light? He's alright, isn't he?!" “The guards took him back out of the area of danger,” Shadow said, checking the injured n’ using his abilities to ensure they found all the people. ”It would be wise to return to the young lord… I get the feeling he’s going to need the contact of friends and family.”

The guard that dropped Light off eventually found him. “Sir, the lord is worried about you,” he said, noting also Lights brother. “He seems rather shaken up from this unprecedented event.” "Well..." Manic pushed his quills back. "Yeah, where is he?! Y'all have shadow, you can find anyone!" He scarcely needed an answer. He started the jog back towards the castle, guard in tow. He didn't look back at the rubble of the destroyed area, he's seen enough of it. He did his best to dust his body off as he dashed through the streets far too slowly for his liking. Even his brother wouldn't have been able to run fast enough for this situation. He needed to be back at the castle immediately, and any seconds waster running were seconds he could be using to comfort Light. It wasn't hard to find Light in the castle. The normally quiet halls were now heavily guarded due to the situation, not to mention punctuated with rumors and muted confusion from the various conversations of the castle leaking through doorways. He made a beeline for the master bedroom, to which two guards standing in front begrudgingly let him in. He knew Light would be shaken, but he had no idea just how petrified he would seem. "B-baby, I'm here." He spoke quietly, his fears topping out past terror to a strange anxious serenity. He didn't want to approach Light, so he stood where he was. "You aren't hurt, right? How are you- You holding up well?" He shouldn't have even asked. He clearly wasn't. He glanced back once he heard Manic, though it was obvious he hadn’t calmed down much at all since the initial issue. “I…I’m fine,” he mumbled, looking back to his window, his form still trembling from the episode n’ tensed up still to boot. “It wasn’t that serious I hope.”

The young lord had trouble admitting he was terrified of the explosion that happened, though he knew stress was bad for the baby, he just had too much trouble calming down. "You aren't fine," Manic said, slowly approaching. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Light, placing his hand on Light's once more. "I ain't gonna judge, dude, I'm still really shocked. You can be honest with me, you can trust me." Light's fur was all standing on end. He'd never seen him this scared before. Manic reached his arm around Light, pulling him closer. "I'm sorry I ran off, but I didn't have a choice. People needed help, and now they're getting plenty of help. I'm here for you, okay?" He hugged Light so his head was resting over Manic's shoulder, to give him a place to cry if he needed. "Let it all out." A bit unsure of what to say to Manic he simply hugged him n’ tried to calm himself with little effect.

“You had to do what was needed… I’m not mad,” he mumbled. Tears slid down his muzzle as he buried his face in the crook of Manic’s neck. “T-truth is I’m terrified of explosives n’ the sounds they carry… I’ve had too much of it during the war n’ I’ve seen the terrible effects it can have on lives.” He was still trembling even in Manic’s hold as he still had trouble shaking off the fear that just came up. Thus was the common problem with him. Manic's grip loosened slightly as he mentioned his fears, but quickly pulled him closer soon after. "I had no idea you were still..." He sighed. "I should've known." He rubbed along Light's back, and pressed his lips against his fur. "If I'd known, I would've run to you first thing." There was a new fear cropping in his mind, a fear that he could have somehow stopped Light from experiencing his trauma this intensely. But as he finished those sentences, he couldn't think of what else to say, either. They were both terrified, and nothing he could say would change that much. So he didn't speak. His voice instead purred, turning to a hum, and then a soft, gentle melody he sung near Light's submissive ears. "It's all frigid shade for the autumn raids But we're breathing, moving, Cornered, but the ceasefire's ordered, We're safe, close and quartered No battle lines are drawn" It wasn't the best choice to sing a melody using fighting melodies, but the theme was appropriate. Serenity in the face of terror. That's all they needed. His ears rose up a bit as he listened to him lightly sing the melody to him, n’ true it was a strange choice, but he didn’t care. It did ease his worry n’ his tense form started to settle a little. He still clung to him, yet he had closed his eyes to simply listen n’ hope it could at least help him clear his head of the overdose of panic n’ adrenaline. Light was doing his best to calm down, Manic could tell. But he was quivering and shuddering intensely, and every noise he uttered made it clear he was on the verge of tears. Manic held tight, continuing to coo out gentle melody after gentle melody.  His hands brushed his fur, not just to give him comfort, but to try and brush some of his startled fur down in the vain hope it would help him relax. "Light." Manic's soft speech interrupted his gentle cooing. "Shadow can handle most of the emergency planning that needs to be done. I can help, too, if you're not up for it. We can call a doctor, if you want." He pulled away, and looked Light in the eyes. "We all get it, babe. Your people understand your trauma, they'll be fine. Shadow understands, your kids understand. We all love you, we'll keep you safe." He leaned forward, and kissed his forehead. They’d been dating for months, he was finally ready to say it. "I love you so fucking much, babe." Listening to Manic the whole time, he sighed slightly as he then looked up to him as well. Though his quills were just a wildly set as his feathers, he had started to settle down as his shivering has dropped down. “n’ I love you, Manic,” he said, leaning up to kiss him lightly. It was a strangely brief kiss for them, and despite the mutual love, it was uncharacteristically soft. Manic didn't want to kiss him too hard, or for too long. It didn't need to be. Manic wished it was stronger, of course. He wanted to make out into the night and show his boyfriend that he really did love him, but he couldn't. A short, passionate kiss and a long embrace was all Manic thought he could handle. When they pulled away, they stared for a moment. Were things going to be different? And what was hatching in Manic's mind? His stare wasn't shocked, it was focused, and he could see the corners of his mouth jitter like they always did when he had a joke in mind. Soon, they stopped moving as Manic gave in and smiled smugly. He couldn't help it, humor was therapeutic to him. "Most people say that before getting four months pregnant~" “Maybe true,” he said as his wings folded into a more relaxed position n’ he managed a light chuckle. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, I’m normally composed n’ better, but I guess one can’t help themselves in this kind of situation.” "Ssshhh." Manic hushed him as he leaned in to give him another kiss on his forehead. "Don't apologize for your trauma, we're going to be alright. Take as much time as you need. I've dealt with trauma, I know how hard it is. But we'll work it out, no matter what. They did it like this because they wanted to shake you, because they knew they couldn't beat us on a battlefield. You're so much stronger than some screaming pile of lumpsuckers will ever be, we'll handle this one way or another. And I'm gonna make sure you know that." He held Light again, this time kissing his collarbone with a big, goofy smile. "I'll do whatever it takes to see you smile, babe." Hugging Manic once more, he gave a small lighthearted smile as he knew they both had this kind of issue to surpass, even if they maybe different in cause or reason. “Thank you Manic, it means a lot to know I have friends n’ family to help me get through these kinds of days,” he said lightly as he gave a content sigh, feeling his distraught fading finally. "There it is," Manic said as he finally saw Light smile again. He leaned forward, and gave a small, goofy kiss on his cheek. He held Light tightly to give him some kind of physical and psychological support. "I'm here to help, mate. And a little smile isn't going to hurt." Despite that, Manic was having trouble smiling himself. He was clearly going to need an intelligence briefing, not to mention plenty of discussions with advisers and police and many, many people about how to handle this situation. They couldn't cuddle the pain away forever, it was time for Light to be a leader. Although he had one idea that just might make him a little happier. He summoned that night they first met... ...and gave a large, farty kiss right on his shoulder. Ears sprung up as he gave the familiar surprised yip, before the laughter broke out as he had not expected the same trick that got him the first time they encountered each other to affect him the same way twice. “You cheeky devil,” he said trying to rid the blushing he just had crept up on him. He didn’t know why, but it did seem to rid his tension as he was perfectly distracted by his silly partner. “I guess I have another mess to clean thanks to those darned tentails.” "Yeah, there's so much that has to be done," Manic admitted, patting him on the shoulder. "But you've handled much larger catastrophe. You've already got rebuilding efforts going on, people know what they're doing. We can help the construction-" He laughed gently, then papped Light's belly. "Well, you can't, you've got this little turd to worry about. But I'll help, honest." Manic leaned towards Light and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, huddling him close. "Hey, do you still want me to call a doctor? You should be sure you're gonna be alright before you try and handle something like this." He looked Light in the eyes, smiling. "If you want, I could come along and keep you company. Or do you just want to sit here for a while?" “No doubt the explosion would have one of my medics coming in soon to check on me due to the pregnancy,” he replied as he eventually lay back to relax himself, looking up to the roof once more. “But I can sense the pup is fine, though they will argue with me on the point, not that I mind that. They do have their responsibilities.” Manic kept sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Light. "They haven't checked on you already? I would've thought that's the first thing they'd do." He puffed and looked out the window. "Well, there are a bunch more people they have to..." He faltered. He'd tried not to bring up the pedestrians caught in the explosion, but it was too late now. The view from the window showed clear skies. The cloud of dust and smoke had cleared. "Your people have been focused on rebuilding for years, mate, they can handle maybe eight buildings at worst. And with that crew Shadow had come along with him..." He laid down next to Light, turned on his side so he was facing his partner. "I think the shock might be the worst part of this, honestly. And if you can survive that with all your trauma, I'm sure your people will recover." He didn't bring up the possibility of future attacks, or the return of the foxes. It certainly wasn't the end of the trouble, but he didn't need Light to focus on that. He placed on hand on Light's womb. "Are you sure you're both gonna be alright?" Light nodded to him as he looked to him for a moment. “Yeah, we’ll be alright, it's not the first time I’ve been in some crazy situation while expecting kits,“ he said as he relaxed for a moment as his medic n’ a guard returned to his quarters to check on him n’ Manic, since the guard reported he had a few minor wounds to look at.

Once sure they were alright, Light looked to the Mobian wolf. “I need you to take an order out to the scouts n’ track the tentail that was sighted before n’ bring the m in for questioning. Hopefully, they will explain the reason for this chaos that has ensued.” The guard was off with a nod and salute. Manic helped Light stand from the bed, help he didn't really need this early in his pregnancy, but still a kind gesture. His eyes kept darting for the window, looking over the destroyed buildings visible from the castle. "It feels kind of surreal, right? Like it was made up, doesn't it?" Light was more accustomed to these things than Manic. Of course, neither was fine with it, but Light had lived through these things before. "I'll just try and do as much stuff as I can before if actually hits me," he said, hiding his honest admission as some kind of a joke. "Well, if you're ready to get this show on the road..." Manic opened the bedroom door, motioning for Light to leave in front of him. "...let's get this fox hunt started."

#Last-Of-My-Bloodline #Show's Over #There's A Melody Playing #Violence