#// you are free and welcomed to ask puff anything at any time or bring him anything at any time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ellsbclls · 3 years ago

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you write hurt/comfort so beautifully, it makes me want to have tom comfort me like that ): do u think you could write something where he's taking care of you after a long day at work?? and if it's a little nsfw i wouldn't mind but u dont have to do anything ur not comfortable with. again L O V E ur work!!

thank you so much 🥺 i guess i just try to portray a type of love i think everyone deserves! but also thank you for giving me this idea because my mind went rampant. i also don’t know why the reader is a musician, but just roll with it i guess idk what happened there???

i hope this tickles your fancy! nsfw, so extended warnings will be under the cut! please do not interact if you're a minor!!

extended warnings: cue fingering, and some messy, needy sex in the bathtub 🛁✨

The steam rising from the bathtub makes light work of your weary muscles, menthol vapors kissing up your spine, soothing the knots scattered across the length of your back. You were in dire need of this, after the plight of a day you’d endured. A couple of hours in the studio had quickly spiraled into a six hour-session, with nothing to show for it but a lousy sixteen measures of brass ensembles — and by the good grace of your talent and patience, the artist has requested you drop in for their session again.

The thought makes you want to drown.

Instead, you opt to curl into yourself, softly pressing your cheek into your knee, watching the spindles of warmth waft up from your well earned bubble bath. In retrospect, the weight of your day didn’t fall solely on this new client — if you’re being honest, they actually had a lot of potential. You wouldn’t mind having your name tethered to a couple of their hits — but Tom had just returned home from a three month long shoot, and you’ve only been graced the luxury of his presence for less than 24 hours. Any time that isn’t being spent with him feels blasphemous, but since he has yet to return from his unknown whereabouts, you seized the opportunity to flush out as much irritability as possible before he returned.

You didn’t know just how tired you were until you were woken up.

A half an hour passes before you’re tousled from your dreamless slumber by a docile touch, familiar digits scaling the curve of your spine before they take a detour at the nape of your neck, carefully parting stray strands of hair to either side of your frame.

“Tom?” You hum, dulcet tones wafting through the steam akin to a dream as it ebbs from the rim of your subconscious.

“Yes, darling?” He muses, entranced by the frothy remnants of your bath soak as he dips his fingertips into the water.

“I missed you today.” You melt into his touch, allowing your head to fall to the side and survey his attire. His hair is all tousled, chestnut locks sprouting from the bottom of his backwards strewn baseball cap, and those honey-dipped hues you adore so much are creased with concern. You want nothing more than to soothe them away with the pad of your thumb, and so you indulge yourself, reaching over the edge of the tub as you continue to ramble. “I started the day already praying for it to be over with, and somehow, every single inconvenience fathomable decided to fall onto my lap. I mean — who the fuck needs seven different french horn tracks in an overture? A real band barely needs one.” Tom’s nodding along to your ramblings, but you both know that he doesn’t fully under the lengths of your frustration — just as you’ll never truly understand the inner workings of his own career. “The only thing keeping me together was the thought of coming home to you.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” He coos, and continues to caress your back, working out all of the knots that the steam couldn’t relieve. “If it’s any consolation, I was only running late because I had to stop and buy some pancetta on the way home.”

“Don’t apologize. I assumed you would be back since all your stuff is still here.” You tease, mirroring his bemused smile, letting his world seep into your slowly booting brain. “Pancetta…” Not many people knew this, not even Tom before his first attempt, but the boy could whip up a mean bowl of pasta. You remember floundering across the bed the night before, identical to a little kid throwing a tantrum, moaning over just how badly you were craving carbonara. Silly of you to think that he’d take your melodramatic request in stride. “Are you-“

His enamored gaze is answer enough, but he pairs it with a chaste kiss to your forehead that has you nuzzling into his touch. “Only the best for my lil’ lady.”

You show a mere fraction of your appreciation with a swift, flurry of kisses over his cheekbones, pulling him closer by the downy bundles of his hoodie. Lovedrunk giggles and contented sighs bounce off the tiles before you’re both submerged in a comfortable silence, one that leaves the both of you free to shamelessly examine the other, one clad in their comfy, weatherworn disguise while the other dawns nothing but an enchanted smile. Even with the disparity between your attire, you both end up with flushed cheeks and dopey grins.

Hours, days, years seem to press on until you break the silence with a silly question, one that you ask in hopes of hearing his gentle, candied voice once more — or even better, his laugh. “What would you do if I was as big as a thumbtack? Would you still love me?” You query, a childlike sense of wonderment tinting your sugar-coated sigh.

He takes a second to ponder your questions, taking it into far more consideration than you had in bringing it to fruition. You can’t stifle the tiny puff of air that leaves your lips, the semblance of a chuckle, and Tom, with his wild brow and theatrical ways, whips his head in your direction, sending you a cautionary glare. “I suppose I would…” He starts, only to tap his finger against his bottom lip, drawing the suspense to its boiling point by the time you shove his forearm. “But then again, it doesn’t matter what size you are, there’s no limit to how much I love you.”

“Hmm,” you manage to vocalize. Your heart is now a star, an incandescent ball of fire caged beneath your ribs, and if he hasn’t gathered it by now, then he can bask in the warmth of your smile and know that for him, for him it is the sun.

You have to admit that you got ahead of yourself. One moment, you were binding your lips in a bruising, indulgent union, urging him to bask in the lovelorn rays of light he summoned, but only managing to pull him into the bathtub, fully clothed and unsuspecting. What was once your lukewarm oasis is suddenly a swirling cauldron of spearmint, teatree, and now unmistakable notes of him, sloshing against the edge of the tub as his frame struggles against the latent tide. There’s bound to be one hell of a mess waiting on the bathroom floor, but now that he’s settled in your grasp, you see no reason to fret just yet.

“Y/N.” His voice is deadpan, which can mean one of two things — he’s either overwhelmed with joy, or exhibiting a great deal of restraint in not drowning you right then and there. You choose to cancel out the latter, and offer the best attempt at innocence your babydoll eyes could muster, peering at him through your lashes with a teeth-rotting gleam.

“What?” You ask simply. His eye starts to twitch, and you only double down on your facade. “I just wanted to be closer to you.” Wading through the newly shallow body of water, half of its contents now dispersed across the tile floor, you make light work of his soggy hoodie, sloughing it over his head as he grumbles beneath it, giggling when it catches against that razor-sharp jawline of his.

“Well, you are very close now.” You notice how his voice drops down an octave, and you’re embarrassed to admit just how quickly the coil in your stomach tightens at the sound of it, how it already aches to be pulled taut.

Tom seems unsuspecting enough when he captures your lips once again, his brims as delicate as baby’s breath against your own, tentative as they glide in a sultry dance. He doesn’t need to coax a confession out of you, the truth is already there, nestled in your urgent, needy pressure, in the whimpers threatening to spill into his lips. He’ll indulge in this little game for a moment longer — where you pretend that you aren’t desperate for his touch, and he pretends that he isn’t just as desperate to provide it — but once you fumble into his lap, clumsily grasping for more, and more, and even more of him, his resolve begins to crumble.

“I need you.” you whisper into the hollow of his mouth, golden-tongued and virtually earnest, coaxing a trembling sigh from the back of his throat.

He hums back, contented, basking in the intoxicating warmth of your silhouette, tracing the curve of your breasts with his knuckles. “Long day, my love?”

“Mhmm,” You demonstrate your point with a wistful sigh, enveloping his great hands with your smaller ones, coating them in languid kisses until there was no skin left untouched.

You’re just too fucking cute, he muses. He can never say no to you, not even in jest.

Two of his slender digits roam the valley of your stomach, knuckles ghosting over your navel in their listless descent before they venture between your thighs, surveying just how badly you really need him. He dips his middle finger between your folds, tender and slick with your arousal, and emits a husky groan as he traces a steady line between your entrance and the spot just below your clit, ghosting your little bundle of nerves with each taunting caress. “You’re already soaked, my love. This all for me?” He coos, nudging your jaw with the tip of his nose, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss against the column of your neck.

“All for you,” You sigh, digging your nails into the broad planes of his shoulder. “Please, Tom, please touch me.”

He finally spares you, thumb sloppily circling your clit as he plunges two digits into your opening, welcoming the lithe intrusion with a warm, velvety embrace. You slump into his embrace, nipples straining hard against the soaked fabric of his t-shirt, and raggedly whimper as he starts to work you open. The reminder of your nude form plastered against his clothes, albeit soaking wet, summons another pool of wetness to your core. You’re flooded with thoughts of delectable anguish — of denim kissing your hips, dragging against your bundle of nerves, as he ravages your bare little cunt, proving that you’re so desperate for his cock that you can barely wait for him to undress.

“Is this all you needed, baby? My fingers? You wanted me to stretch this pretty little cunt out?” He can’t stop the filthy words tumbling from his lips, especially not when your tiny mewls of pleasure are flooding his ears — you’re just so soft and pliant under his touch, so eager to be filled to the brim, it’s intoxicating to know that you’ll take anything he has to offer you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m gonna give you everything you need. Gonna have you spilling all over my fingers and then — fuck! — then i’m gonna fill you up with my cock. How does that sound?

“Y-yeah,” You’re rutting against his palm at this point, grinding down to meet each thrust, to feel impossibly closer, fuller, ambling toward an orgasm that is already barreling toward you. As he finds a new angle, the pads of his fingers nudge against your g-spot, and the heel of his hand careens over your clit with such a delicious pressure that your thighs begin to quake. “‘M so close.” You whine, prompting him to punctuate each thrust with a curl of his fingers, dragging your orgasm from the pit of your stomach.

“Then let go, baby. Let go for me.” You need no further persuasion, your eyes squeezing shut as you teeter off the edge, with nothing but a raspy, desperate string of obscenities, clawing at the slope of his shoulders, and bathing his hand in sultry waves of nectar as it spills from your weepy little hole. His fingers are trapped between your fluttering walls, working you through your climax with nimble, tentative thrusts, stretching each wave of pleasure out until you’re trembling over little ripples.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” You feel so small beneath his gaze, teeming with endless pools of adoration, like you’re a freshwater clearing and he’s parched. It nearly distracts you from his fingers as they slip from your opening, but each receding wave of bliss is tethered to him, so you groan at the loss of contact. Your walls flutter hopelessly around nothing, chasing the delicious stretch of his digits in their absence, but you’re instantly qualmed by the sound of his zipper being pulled down, no doubt freeing himself from the waterlogged confines of his jeans.

“Can I?” You sink your hands into what little water still remains in the tub, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, but he swats your shaky hands away, adamantly shaking his head as a small frown of confusion forms between your brows. “You don’t wanna take ‘em off?”

“This is about you, my love.” He whispers, his free hand smoothing over the small of your back, stroking the patch of dew-ridden skin with his thumb. “And right now, all I wanna do is keep my promise.”

“You’re so good to me,” You whisper just above his lips, leaning back into his touch, peering between your bodies to survey his ministrations. You’re still a bit dazed from your first, earth-shattering orgasm, but the prospect of another has you buzzing with excitement, and Tom knows that look well enough to speed up his course of action.

Pearly veneers sink into the swell of your bottom lip at the mere sight — his cock is beyond compare. Even as its impatiently pulled through the opening of his jeans, it’s put on a mouth-watering display as he leisurely pumps himself, smearing tiny pearls of precum across his flushed, leaky tip with each upstroke. He’s far too enticing, far too pretty with his rosy cheeked, droopy-eyed charm, to resist, and you’re quick to replace his hand with your own, curling your fingers around the base and mimicking a couple teasing pumps before guiding him to your entrance.

Tom spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate you, the sensation of wet denim rubbing against your thighs, knocking your legs farther apart, causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips. It doesn’t take long for you to align the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing him with a couple of lascivious drags through your folds before you sink onto his length, reigniting the remnants of your last orgasm as inch after delicious inch prods your tender walls apart. By the time he bottoms out, you’re nothing but a trembling pile of limbs, and his lips seek out your own just to muffle your staggered breaths with a burning kiss.

You allow yourself a couple of seconds to adjust — no matter how or which way you take him, he still pushes up every crevice of your insides, demanding every square inch of your velvety heat. A wild flurry of crimson blossoms across the high planes of your cheeks as Tom nuzzles his forehead against your own, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing a melodious string of giggles from your chest while you scrunch up your nose. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips and smiles against the spot. “You look so pretty like this, my love. With that gorgeous smile of yours, and that pretty little pussy squeezing my cock.” You feel like you’ve got whiplash, trying to come to terms with how obscene he can be under such tender movements. “Just wanna turn you over and bury myself inside. See how tight you feel when you’re folded in half.” His hands reach down to rub gentle, circular motions into the small of your back, and you can’t help but pulse around him at the juxtaposition.

Once the uncomfortable stretch of his girth melts into pleasure, you finally start to work yourself over his length, and you swear you can feel every gorgeous ridge and vein of his cock as you rise up to the tip, only to plunge back down with a impish yelp, setting a clumsy, needy pace that certainly gets the job done. You don’t really find your rhythm until Tom helps you out, sinking his fingers into the supple curve of your ass, orchestrating a hard, punishing pace as he drives up into your sopping cunt, meeting you in the middle with each thrust.

All at once, the bathroom is washed in a crude symphony, the combination of your heavy panting and slapping skin intermingles with the shallow splash of water as it laps against the edge of the tub, punctuating the sinful drag of his length, and how the tip pounds against your furthest wall as you impale yourself onto him. You can feel another orgasm start to build, and since Tom has made it his solemn vow to not only study, but master, every little, scrumptious detail of your body, he senses it as well.

“You got another one for me?” He asks between labored pants. His own orgasm is starting to peak over the horizon, following in the blazing trail you’ve set, you can tell by the way a thin sheen of sweat starts to build against his hairline, and his brows almost meet in the middle, as if the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is unfathomable. He uses the grip he has on your waist to take control, using one hand to scale up the breadth of your back, and as his palms leave a blistering trail up, up, up your sides, he pulls you flush against his chest, attempting to plant his feet against the floor of the bathtub,

He needs the leverage to piston his hips up into your own, to pound into your greedy hole at an unyielding pace — to keep his promise — and as you start to feel the tell tale edge of your climax cresting over your weary frame, you spoil his shoulder with sweeping, butterfly kisses and flood his mind with sweet, sweet nothings, luring him to the brink with the same dulcet tones you know drive him wild.

His hips stutter into your own, and before the words can even exit your lips, you’re dragged to the edge of bliss with a couple of rough, uncompromising thrusts that have you wildly spasming around his length. He joins you almost immediately, throbbing against your sensitive walls as he fills you to the brim, driving the mixture of your arousal further into you as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Once he pulls out, he’s quick to wrap you up in a soothing embrace, planting kisses over every acre of skin he can get his lips on, but you’re too focused on the trail of cum leaking down your thighs to really indulge him, curiosity getting the better of you as you gently weave your arm between your bodies and collect the wetness on your thighs. You swear you can feel the rumble of his chest once you pop your fingers into your mouth, humming around the sodden digits, making a spectacle out of the addicting elixir pooling on your tongue, but his glimmer of reinvigorated stamina is put to rest by the sight of your drowsy, half-lidded stare.

“Why don’t we get you dried off? Then I can start dinner.” He hums against your cheek, punctuating his suggestion with yet another chaste kiss. It’s genuinely like he can’t get enough, and neither can you as you sleepily nod.

“Will you wake me up when it’s ready?” You sigh, teetering on the edge of slumber once more.

“Of course, my love.”

#tom holland #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader blurb #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #something about this man fucking the bad day out of you 🥰#what a gentleman #ANOTHER 3K DOOZY??????#WHA T TH E FUCK???#mine*

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wonlouvre · 3 years ago

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Yayyy i absolutely love your writing!!

I would like to request a Hoshi × gn!idol! Reader angst+fluff imagine where Soonyoung cheers/takes care of his reserved s/o who has been having a hard time and has opened up to him about it for the first time. S/o is someone who can't say no easily and because of that their workload had increased a lot. But in the end they can't hold themselves any longer and breaks down.

strength | k. sy.

pairing: hoshi x gn!idol reader genre: fluff, angst, then fluff again warnings: mentions of anxiety, physical and mental tiredness (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.8k+ (i honestly don’t even know anymore)

💌: thank you very much for requesting! i made some tweaks here and there and i hope you still like it! thank you for loving my writing as well :’( it really means a lot that <3 i hope you like this!

Soonyoung was aware that you’d be coming from Japan for your collaborative magazine photoshoot. He just didn’t know that you’d be going straight from the airport at four o’clock in the morning.

He thought he read your message wrong saying that you’re on your way to the assigned shooting location. As far as he’s concerned, the call time was at seven a.m. He had to do a double take while squinting his eyes over the brightness of his phone but when he saw another bubble pop out saying you’re already there, he immediately jumped off his bed to shower.

He misses you. You’ve been going in and out of the country because of promotions and the chances of getting to see you has been slim to none. If he ever meets with you, it will be short because either one of you has to go back to work or has to go back to bed because there is a flight to catch the next day. It’s obviously tough. But your relationship perseveres.

Soonyoung will do everything to make it work and you are together with him on that. So if it means he has to shower half-asleep and wear his boxers backwards just to see you, he’d never mind.

Your Japanese album tour started and ended successfully but work didn’t stop from there. You were just getting started. Before leaving the said country, you were fully booked for live television performances, interviews, variety shows and the like. It was exhausting but, it was an opportunity that you couldn’t miss out on for the world even if you wanted to.

Soonyoung is proud of you and he will always be. Heart eyes were formed whenever he got the chance to watch your performances whether it be from a paid livestream event or from kind fans sharing and uploading their videos or photos on Twitter or Instagram. He’s even more in love when it’s in person and he gets to watch your performance plus enjoy it with your never failing supportive fans.

However, Soonyoung is also worried because he knows you’re also tired. He knows how fulfilling it is to do what you love the most, but he’s no stranger to the physically and mentally tiring part of it. He wasn’t even surprised to catch you asleep on the couch when he arrived at your dressing room.

Your manager’s eyes brightened when they saw him, quickly standing up from the chair to give him a hug.

“They told me they just need a fifteen minute nap,” they whisper against Soonyoung’s shoulder as he hugs them back. “But we both know they need more than that.”

Soonyoung sadly smiles while his eyes never leave your curled form. He mutters a simple “I’ll take it from here” while your manager excuses themself to buy everyone breakfast.

It’s a challenge to take you into his arms without disturbing your sleep because he doesn’t want that from happening. He just wants to hold you for the remaining time without interruption from other people. He just wants to hold you and share this moment of calm before the lights and camera get into action later.

Soonyoung’s thankful you didn't, although he still felt your lips lightly ghost against his jaw, telling him that you know that he’s here. He brings your legs over his lap while he cradles your head close to his neck. He wishes to lay down, but the couch is too cramped for two bodies so he’d have to settle with this position. He guesses it’s fine with how you deeply inhale his scent and snuggle closer and closer, locking your arms around his waist with no intentions of letting go.

Just like you, he falls asleep, completely comfortable and content in finally having you in his arms again.

Your tangled bodies were shaken to wake up at least an hour later. Both of your managers have food in their hand, ready to energize the two of you up before moving forward with the hair and makeup. The agenda for today includes a photoshoot with several changes of outfit, a short shoot for an audio video presentation and lastly an interview or question and answer of some sort.

Your relationship has been publicly known for two years already. Some fans have been supportive while some have been angry. It’s nothing new and it’s nothing the two of you could care about at this point.

Countless projects have been offered to the two of you during the course of those two years whether it be a song or dance performance, a guesting on a famous variety show and even a three second cameo appearance on a drama. They’re all lovely offers and you would love to participate, but the two of you made a decision to keep the relationship private. Sure, you’ll accept it from time to time. But, it’s still very limited to one to two songs to sing or dance to together and some magazine photoshoots. Just like now.

By far, this is the third time the two of you would be featured on a magazine cover. Your respective publicists already know how to communicate to the publishing company your terms and conditions. Questions about your relationship are allowed, but to a certain number only. The rest will be about what’s mostly seen by fans and the rest of the public which is automatically your music.

The concept is not necessarily daringly romantic. After all, what you’re trying to promote here is the clothes. But your chemistry is maintained with a few fleeting touches here and there. In one shot, you two were holding hands and the other has his arm is loosely wrapped around your neck.

You and Soonyoung are careful to not get lost in each other’s eyes during the short breaks in between because the cameras were still rolling. Although, his soft touches on your hand and arm still lingered. On the other hand, you help him fix his hair whenever he gets excited and jumps from time to time. You could kiss him right now, but again, you want to be careful.

The shoot concluded faster than you thought and the next thing you know, the two of you are sitting side by side with a camera blinking red in front, ready to record the interview included in the contract.

The interview consisted of questions that’s nothing out of the ordinary. The magazine asked about your favorite go-to styles lately, your look inspirations, a little bit of this or that, your recent music releases or favorite music releases at the moment and of course something about your relationship that you're comfortable and willing enough to share.

But one particular question caught you off guard that you had to hold your tears and brave through the rest of the interview without showing any signs that you’re about to cry.

“How have you guys been lately, individually?”

“I’ve been great,” you quickly answer with a smile that didn’t even reach your eyes. The camera may not have noticed, but Soonyoung did. It took a lot of patience and restraint for your boyfriend to stop himself from cutting the interviewer off to ask you again how you really have been.

Everything that was in store for the two of you today ends and when the cameras are gone, you and Soonyoung hand in hand walk back to your dressing room. It’s a relief that this is the last project for the day and you’re glad you could get some rest for the coming week.

Your body slumps on the couch while the staff pack up. You puff out a breath before closing your eyes. You wish you could yell out how tired you are lately. Work piled up over the course of six months and you couldn’t have at least two days away from the makeup and flashing lights.

Soonyoung bites his lower lip as he settles beside you. He’s contemplating whether he should ask you now or later because he doesn’t want you to grow conscious and shut yourself away. He knows how brave and strong you are. But he also wants you to know that you can trust him and that if you ever need a shoulder to cry or at least lean on, his are more than welcoming.

“You okay, babe?” He asks in the quiet as the staff leaves one by one. “Anything bothering you?”

You surprise him by sitting up straight and opening your eyes, welling with tears. That makes him shoot up and instantly hug you close. “Oh baby.”

You finally cry and set free the tears that you’ve been locking deep within you. You thought you could brave through this pain and anxiety without having the need to shed any vulnerability. You thought this shall pass soon. You thought you could do this.

But here you are now letting go with sniffles and shaking shoulders as Soonyoung gently caresses the top of your head.

He hates to see you cry. But it’s only right to let you.

“I just feel like I’m going to miss out on everything if I turn down any project offered to me.”

Soonyoung pouts when he hears what’s been bothering you. It took a while for you to calm down and finally talk, but it’s okay. He doesn’t mind. He will never mind.

“I understand, honey,” he assures you and wipes your tear stained cheek. “And there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.”

Your lips shake again and crying makes you want to hide. Without hesitation, you crawl to your boyfriend’s lap and wrap your arms around his shoulder. Soonyoung doesn’t complain and just keeps you close, protective arms around your waist.

The dressing room is empty except for the two of you. The staff got the message once Soonyoung pleaded with them through his eyes to give you some time with him since you’re already done for the day.

“It’s also okay to work and work,” he continues, soothing hands rubbing against your back. “But at some point, it’s also okay to take a break for them.”

You pull away and rest your hands on his neck. “Even though I’m going to miss out?”

Soonyoung nods and leans his forehead against yours. “Yes and there’s also nothing wrong with that.”

“I seriously want to go on a trip with my family,” you say and sigh. “And of course, with you too.”

Soonyoung can’t help but giggle. “I’d love to. How about next month? Let’s go somewhere with your family or friends. Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?”

Your boyfriend’s enthusiasm puts a smile on your face and this time, the smile reaches your eyes. “Let’s go somewhere quiet first. I want to take a long nap before we proceed to do anything that needs an awake body.”

“You got it, babe,” Soonyoung promises and kisses your lips.

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luvyanfei · 4 years ago

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with a younger sister (hcs)

ft. diluc & kaeya requested by anon

i envy everyone who has an older sibling

diluc ragnvindr.

diluc is the ideal older sibling anyone would wish for. he’s intelligent, humble, wealthy, and a responsible young man, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. being his sibling, you’re well-aware of the fact that the death of your father and the betrayal from the knights have taken quite a toll on his mental health. he tries to stay optimistic for your sake, but how can he bring himself to move on after what has happened?

despite known for being a closed-off individual, diluc has no problems expressing his feelings clearly with you since you’ve been with him for most of his life. almost everyone can tell he’s slightly more comfortable in your presence than an average person. your relationship is built up on trust and friendship - there’s no secrets between the two of you. well, even if diluc did want to lie, you would know right away just by looking at his face or hearing his tone. he swears, he thinks you know him better than he does himself at times.

if any harm were to befall on you, he’d see it fit to punish whoever has the audacity to even lay a finger on you. did the harbingers attack you? he’s already getting his claymore to attack them back. did the slimes push you while you were heading to the winery? he’d be happy to shove them off a cliff. did you accidentally trip over your own feet? he’s going to have to murder someone’s shoes tonight. just kidding, ehe~!

diluc is protective, but only to a certain degree. he’s well-aware that you can handle yourself fine. he’s seen to it that you’re given proper combat training in case he’s unable to defend you. he wants you to be safe, he wants you to live your life to the fullest, but most importantly, diluc wants you to be happy.

“[name], what are you doing here?” diluc asks in a curious voice, surprised by your sudden intrusion in his tavern. you briskly place a container filled with cream puffs on the counter and grin.

“i thought you might want to try some desserts since i assume you ate dinner already, so why not take a little break while i’m around?” the redhead frowns, contemplating his decisions, but he agrees reluctantly.

“alright, but just for a little while.” he gestures for you to feed him one of the cream puffs’ since his hands are slightly dirty.

you roll your eyes jokingly, and yet you offer him the treat with a sprightful grin adorning your features.

“what am i, your mother?” a tense silence follows after the word ‘mother’ rolls off your tongue. you grimace and chew on your lower lip. before you can apologize, diluc smiles, a mild yet genuine smile.

“no,” he begins, taking a bite of another pastry you offer, slowly to savor in the sweet taste, and swallowing, “you’re my precious younger sister. sometimes you may act irritating, but i’d rather be related to you more than anyone else.” rip kaeya

he lightly flicks your forehead intentionally so as not to injure you in the process and chides, “so don’t you dare do anything that will place you in perilous situations.”

kaeya alberich.

it’s easy to forget that kaeya is your older brother because of the immaturity he continuously displays, sometimes. even diluc seems to think so, muttering under his breath how kaeya should turn to you as an example. when he first introduced you to his fellow knights, jean was a bit startled by your polite behavior, a sharp contrast to his mischievous and flamboyant attitude. you had to explicitly tell her that the two of you are related to clear her doubt.

he’s extremely teasing with you, just a touch below bullying, but don’t get him wrong. he adores you, his precious sibling, with his entire heart. behind the constant smiles and uplifting laughter, the thought that you may leave him, like everyone else he cherishes has, terrifies him. you’re the only person who’s still by his side, the only person he can go to and actually feel like he belongs. he doesn’t want to lose anymore than he has gained.

sometimes, when he’s having a bad day and ends up drinking more than he’s able to hold, you’re there to carry him back home, his arm clumsily slung over your shoulder. while he deals with a mild headache the next morning, you’re in the background scolding him to not drink so much wine. out of sympathy, you softly exclaim to him that he’s free to rant to you whatever problem he may be dealing with. you’re family, are you not? just like everything he’s doing to ensure your safety, you also want to act as a stable figure in his world too.

he may be flirtatious, but he would be surprisingly picky on whoever manages to steal your heart. the last thing he needs is for you to come crawling to him in a mess of pitiful tears. you deserve to have a partner that will give you everlasting joy. at the end of the day, kaeya wants you to be happy.

“how is my younger sister doing?” kaeya chirps with a cheerful lilt to his smooth voice, returning back to his household after completing his tedious tasks in the knights’ headquarters.

your face is illuminated in a jovial light as you perk your eyes up from the crisp pages of the book you were skimming through and tackles him in an affectionate and welcoming embrace.

“you’re back,” your soft murmur almost goes unheard in his ears, but being the perceptive individual that he is, kaeya manages to tune in the concealed relief laced in your tone.

he brings a hand down to your head and gives it a few solid pats, ruffling your hair slightly. “of course i’m back. what kind of a sibling would i be if i decided to abandon you? a cruel one,” he winks, sticking his tongue out impishly, “that’s for sure.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya #diluc x reader #diluc

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nbrook29 · 4 years ago

Text

Lmao I don’t know how this happened 😆

***

June 26th 2021, Saturday

When Sander wakes up, it’s to the early morning June sunlight hitting him straight in the face. There’s a vague smell of alcohol lingering in the air, and he groans pitifully when he remembers the amount of beer he drank last night; well, it wasn’t that much per se, but for his not-usually-drinking self it was a bit much, which would explain the sour taste in his mouth. He could be beating himself up for letting a little too much loose and messing up his rather strict rules, but it’s finally summertime and he was feeling so happy and free. Exams are done and over with, bigger gatherings are allowed again, and most importantly, the love of his life has just graduated high school and-

Wait.

He blinks his eyes open, arm reaching to the other side of the bed expecting a warm body, but it’s met with cold sheets instead.

Where did that love of his life go?

Bones cracking when he sits up on the bed, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes like a little boy, looking around the room, a twinge of worry in his mind. Robbe was way more drunk than him yesterday, being a giggly, inebriated, lovely, messy mess that was barely standing when the party came to an end. Sander had to practically carry him to their cabin, with Robbe wrapped like a koala around his back, holding tight as he mumbled love declarations into Sander’s hair until he fell asleep, arm looped around his head and cheek resting on top of it. It was unbearably cute, but it was also a miracle Sander’s legs didn’t give out because as small as Robbe is, carrying his dead weight on his back is a challenge.

For a second, a dark scenario enters his mind, and he’s working himself up over Robbe maybe getting up at some point to throw up and being so drunk he choked in the bathroom (yes, he’s a tad dramatic), but then a scrap of paper lying on the makeshift bedside table that is his backpack catches his sight and relief washes over him.

It’s clearly torned out from his sketchbook and he smiles before he even reaches for it.

Come and find me when you wake up x

Little hearts were added all around for good measure and then there’s another message below.

P.S. You’re so fucking hot xxxxx

Snorting, Sander thinks back to yesterday’s afternoon when he showed up to pick Robbe up with his dad’s car so they could meet everyone in Ostend. The way his jaw dropped wide open seeing his brand new look makes him feel very smug at the mere memory.

Right next to the note there’s that piece of confetti he put in Robbe’s long hair at the party, his boyfriend blushing so prettily when Sander told him he couldn’t find a flower as beautiful as him around so the confetti had to do for the time being.

That’s Sander’s favorite activity: pulling a blush out of him with his sappy lines. Well, maybe after getting lost in their out of this world kisses. Or making love to him, slow and sweet or fast and dirty, Sander’s not picky.

5 minutes and he’s out the door after the quickest shower of his life, minty fresh and ready for a quest to find his other half. It’s still very early, the clock showing a few minutes past eight, and to be honest, Sander wonders how on earth is Robbe up and about already. He was fully preparing for a morning full of Robbe’s moans (not the good kind), cursing him for letting him drink so much and swearing on his life that he’ll never touch alcohol again.

The beach is almost empty, barely a few people lounging on the sand, and it takes him no time to spot longish brown curls flying with the force of the wind. Robbe looks lost to the world around him, sitting cross-legged and leaning back onto his arms, face turned to the sun to catch the early morning rays. A soft smile is dancing on his lips as he takes in the sight of the calm sea stretching till the horizon to the sound of whatever is playing in his headphones (probably Bowie because Robbe has a Master’s degree in his music now, courtesy of Sander Driesen) and he looks the most relaxed Sander has seen him in weeks. He looks beautiful.

And Sander is so so in love with him it hurts.

The boy must’ve sensed his presence because he turns around just when he’s a few meters away, his smile growing wide at the sight of him, squinting a little and wow, how does he look so good after a night like that? Sander wonders whether it’s his lovesick devotion that makes him see Robbe through a filter or if sleep did its job marvellously this time.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Robbe pulls at his jean jacket to sit him right next to himself and wastes no time before looping his arms around his neck, peppering his lips with good morning kisses.

“Hey, drunkie,” Sander teases once Robbe gets his fit, earning a half-hearted glare and a soft scoff.

“I was not that drunk.”

“You fell asleep on my head while I was carrying your butt to bed.”

“Well your head is very comfy,” Robbe states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for further discussion because he shuts up any snarky comment Sander may have had with another kiss. That’s a-okay with him, and he tangles his hand in Robbe’s gorgeous locks that he will worship till the day he dies, never missing an occasion to bury his fingers in the tangled strands. The other hand joins in the fun, tugging playfully at the earring he’s also a tiny bit too obsessed with and delighting in the high-pitched sound it pulls out of Robbe.

“What are you doing here so early? I thought you’d be dead to the world till at least noon.” Sander makes himself comfy in Robbe’s embrace, leaning against him and playing with Robbe’s long fingers that are resting on his stomach.

The boy huffs a quiet laugh, a warm puff of air tickling Sander’s neck. “I think it’s the sea breeze making me sober up quicker than normally,” he pauses, hand nudging lightly at Sander’s chin to make him lift his head back and meet his eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he continues. “That and also I think that I was less drunk on alcohol and more drunk on love.”

Sander may be the king of sappy lines, but Robbe has a few of his own up in his sleeve, and everytime he pulls one out, it makes him melt into a pile of goo. Sander crashes their lips together in a kiss that’s a little too heavy for a morning in a public space, but hey, they’re drunk on love and he doesn’t care, Robbe doesn’t care either, and there aren’t many people around them anyway so fuck it. He hums into the kiss, Robbe’s tongue grazing the roof of his mouth almost as by accident, and it’s so good, it always is.

“Last night, it felt so... life-changing, you know? And I don’t know why cause not that much is changing, really.”

“You’re graduating high school, it feels big.”

“Yeah, but I’m staying here for uni, I’m not moving or anything. I don’t know, I think I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately.” Robbe shrugs like he doesn’t really understand it, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either. There’s a small frown between his eyebrows though so Sander reaches to smooth it out with his thumb.

Then, something comes to his mind. “Maybe it’s because of us?”

Robbe’s frown gets deeper. “What do you mean?”

Sander turns around in his arms, nodding at the surroundings, voice laced with excitement. “You know this is the first time we have been at the beach since we met?”

Brown eyes blink at him in confusion, but then they light up and match Sander’s excitement.

“Oh my god, you’re right! Fuck, it feels like a different lifetime.”

A very miserable, shitty lifetime if you ask Sander. For both of them.

“I was so lonely back then,” Robbe sighs.

Sander notices a tiny shadow of sadness fogging Robbe’s eyes, like it always happens when he thinks back to that period of his life. Some wounds were cut too deep to fully heal, but Sander’s always there to bring him back to the present.

Tugging lightly on his hair to make him look back at him, Sander gives him a lopsided grin.

“Not gonna lie, I’m very pleased this time around the only person that’s allowed to kiss you is me.”

Robbe hums, a smirk brewing on his lips. “Hmm, I don’t know, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss from Jens I think.”

And Sander knows he’s doing it on purpose, absolutely loves to rile him up and play the “Jens” card when he wants to be snogged into submission. Robbe learned early on that even though Sander’s aware he’s just joking, his possessive streak always comes out in situations like this, making their kisses extra good and their sex extra hot.

“Careful now,” Sander breathes against his mouth, the pent up tension that accumulated last night and wasn’t relieved because Robbe was too drunk hitting him hard. It seems to be mutual because Robbe bites his lip seductively, impish smile letting Sander know that he’s getting the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m gonna carry you to bed the way I did last night, but the finale will be a little different.”

Suddenly, Robbe’s smile turns softer, the gear change leaving Sander a bit confused, but he welcomes it with a chuckle when Robbe snuggles close to him, nuzzling into his neck and letting out a content sigh.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs sweetly against his skin, breaking and healing Sander’s heart all at once.

“I love you too, cutie. In elk universum.”

A giggle erupts from Robbe at the universe line. “It’s been a while since you said that.”

Sander presses a kiss to his temple. “I think I'm feeling a bit nostalgic too.”

***

The beach is slowly starting to fill out with people and bursting their little bubble so they get up reluctantly to the sounds of their grumbling stomachs that demand late breakfast. They notice their friends in the distance, spreading a huge blanket on the sand and carrying armfulls of food, and they walk over to them slowly, smiling goofily at each other and swaying their joined hands, paying no mind to people around.

“Hey, Sander?” Robbe says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be dating a college boy now,” Robbe announces, and he sounds so proud and so adorable that Sander has to tease him a little.

He sighs, putting an extra edge of sorrow into it. “I think you’re getting too old for me, Robin.” A choked-off sound of pain follows, Robbe’s mellowy state not stopping him from jabbing his elbow in Sander’s ribs when he’s being a cheeky little shit. He should’ve known better by now - Robbe’s elbows are merciless.

They arrive at the spot shoving each other playfully until Zoe yells at them to behave and sit their butts down like good boys to eat their food. They dig in without needing to be asked twice, their previous bickering forgotten as Robbe feeds him sandwiches, pretending they’re airplanes and making Sander and everyone around laugh hard.

This, today, yesterday, is a new memory. One that wipes away the angst he used to associate sea and beach with after enviously watching Robbe in the arms of someone else.

This time, Robbe’s smiles are directed at him, his eyes are constantly seeking out him, hand slides surreptitiously into his hand, and Sander’s heart is bursting with happiness.

They’re going on a roadtrip this summer, just him and his favorite skater boy, and Sander cannot fucking wait. Just like he can’t wait for their future together.

And if there’s a ring sitting in his bottom drawer nobody needs to know for now.

Robbe will find out in 55 days.

#wtfock #sobbe #my fics

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 4 years ago

Text

candy kisses - yoongi

don’t judge me. stream butter. stay safe out there

summary: yoongi is y/n’s weed dealer, and he needs help expanding his business portfolio. weed brownies, anyone?

warnings: weed. trifling friends. a small couch. don’t read if you’re a narc or if you’re gonna point out the two grammar mistakes i found that i will not fix

word count: 3.3k

“when was the last time we smoked together?”

you don’t hear yoongi because you’re currently very focused on rolling this blunt correctly. your work in the past has been sloppy, rushed, and you’re worried about disappointing yoongi while also disrespecting his high-quality product, so you’re mega focused on the little pieces of herb in your hands that are trying to run away. you’re half aware of his gaze on you as you work, and you’re also barely aware that your tongue is just slightly sticking out, a sign of your steady concentration which yoongi is about to break.

“you look cute when you’re focused like that,” yoongi says nonchalantly, almost making you drop the blunt just as you’re about to bring it to your lips to wet the paper.

“thank you?” you reply, noticing how relaxed yoongi is on your couch. just black sweats and a white t shirt on, and yet it’s hard for you not to stare at him. actually, you’re staring right now, so get back to work. you finish up the blunt and lean forward, searching your coffee table for your lighter.

“looking for this?” yoongi asks, picking it up from underneath a stack of take out napkins that you’ve carefully curated. is that a fire hazard, a lighter underneath cheap napkins? probably.

“yeah, thanks,” you answer, reaching over to grab it from him. “how’d you know it was there?”

“you always keep it on that little plate thing with the other tiny stuff you lose all the time,” he explains, and you glance at the napkins and see the minuscule design element you barely remembered peeking out from underneath.

“ok, how’d you know that was there?” you ask, holding the blunt up before you start to slowly light the end of it.

“i go nuts for interior design,” he explains with a shrug. “the colors on the plate match your couch pillows. it’s a nice touch.”

“thank you,” you respond quietly. who notices stuff like that?

“you’re welcome.”

it’s quiet as you take your first puff of the blunt, one quick one just to test it and another, longer pull after for good luck. the acidic smoke hits your tastebuds before you breathe it in. you hold it for just a second, and then exhale, watching the cloud that forms in front of you. you turn to yoongi and intend to pass the blunt to him, but you realize you don’t have an ashtray ready so you pull that little plate from its paper prison and ash the blunt before yoongi takes it from you. your fingers brush as he takes it, and you notice how soft his hands are, so you tell him.

“thanks, it’s your lotion,” he replies, and you laugh at how comfortable he gets every time he comes over.

“i thought i smelled peaches,” you joke, trying to rearrange the mess on your coffee table now. you push an empty vape pen out of the way as you search for any other trash to throw away, and still yoongi is watching you as he exhales from his first pull. he looks like that caterpillar from alice in wonderland.

“you shouldn’t smoke those little vape things, it’s getting metal in your lungs,” he tells you with a little bit of authority in his voice. you watch him as he pouts his pretty lips and closes them around the blunt, their slight downward slope mesmerizing as he breathes in.

“well if you didn’t take so damn long to refill our stash i wouldn’t need these little vape things to get a buzz,” you bite back, graciously taking the blunt as he passes it back to you. you watch him hold the smoke just a second longer before pursing his lips to slowly let it all out. you’re still thinking about his lips when he speaks again.

“do you like edibles?”

“um, it depends,” you reply. “what kind?”

“how many are there?” he asks, curious.

“why, are you trying to expand your business portfolio?” you joke. “but really anything that you can use butter in, or infuse cbd oil somehow can be an edible i think. but i like brownies the best.”

“so, hypothetically, if i made weed brownies, could i make them here? and could you maybe help me with the recipe?”

“sure, but why do you need to make them here?”

“to hang out with you,” he says with a shrug. “is that ok?”

“that’s ok,” you reply, wondering if your heart is beating fast because of the blunt or the idea that yoongi wants to spend more time with you. “when?”

“are you free friday?”

you know how everyone uses phone alarms to wake up now? and sometimes if you hear that ringtone out in your everyday life it brings you war flashbacks?

well, the timer on yoongi’s phone is going off, playing your typical morning alarm, and he won’t turn it off, so you’re about two seconds away from committing murder.

“yoongi!” you shout to the man missing in action. “your brownies are done!”

you hear the bathroom sink running followed by yoongi’s shuffling footsteps, and you watch as he dashes to the kitchen while he dries his hands off on his sweatpants.

“shit, sorry,” he apologizes, grabbing his phone off the counter before ending your misery.

“thank you,” you sigh as you relax back into the couch. you hear his movements echoing in the kitchen, the oven opening, the pan clattering on top of the oven, and the impressed whistle yoongi lets out as he checks his masterpiece. “how do they look?”

“incredible,” he replies, popping his head out of the kitchen with an excited look on his face. “do you wanna be my first customer?”

“i’m letting you use my kitchen, so you better not charge me for trying one of your edibles,” you warn as you get up. your kitchen is a mess, by the way. yoongi might be a great chef when it comes to meals, but he didn’t know shit about desserts before today. so actually, he’s using your kitchen AND your baking expertise, you should get the entire batch for free.

“i’m not gonna charge you,” he agrees with a roll of his eyes. “this time.”

“how much are you gonna take?” you ask, peering over his shoulder as he slices the pan of sweets into bite size portions. you get the urge to lean your head on his shoulder as he does, but you’re not sure if that would be weird, so you’ll settle with standing close enough to feel his warmth along with the warmth of the brownies. “just one to start?”

“i’m not sure i did this right, so one could be too much or not enough. it’s better to be safe and start small,” he explains.

“god, look at the delinquent who brought drugs into my home being responsible,” you tease. “it’s cute.”

“i don’t think you’re supposed to call your dealer cute,” he counters.

“good thing you’re not just my dealer, then,” you quip back as you snatch a piece from the corner, the best piece of any brownie, illegal or not.

“wait,” he semi-shouts, grabbing your hand before you pop the piece into your mouth. “should we have a plan before we take them?”

“what do you mean, a plan?”

“like if something happens,” he explains, a nervous look in his eyes. “maybe i won’t try one, so i can keep an eye on you in case i made them wrong.”

“yoongi, we’ll be fine,” you assure him, picking up another piece and holding it out to him. “i won’t take it without you.”

“is this the peer pressure to do drugs that adults are always talking about?” he asks as he carefully takes the brownie from your hand. again, your hands brush, but this time yoongi just stays there, sort of cupping your hands in his even though you’ve already passed the contraband to him. you whisper his name, snapping him out of whatever thoughts were clouding his head, and he pulls his gaze up to your eyes, which have an excited glint in them that yoongi wants to see over and over again. he especially wants to be the reason for it, but he’ll settle for the simple pleasure of enjoying how it highlights the flecks of light that dance over your eyes. and now you’re noticing the way he’s staring at you, and it’s making your hands clam up, so you try to clear the air.

“so, do we cheers with these before we take them or what?” you joke, and you’re rewarded with a silent chuckle and the shaking of yoongi’s broad shoulders.

“i’m not sure, you’re the edible expert,” he replies. “we should just take them.”

“whatever you say, boss man.”

taking the edible was easy enough. waiting for it to kick in was another story.

first of all, you and yoongi both have had butterfly fueled jitters around each other since the longing gaze you shared in the kitchen. that awkwardness was paired with the anxious jabbering of yoongi as he questioned every feeling, sight and sound, questioning if “this is what it feels like.”

second of all, jimin and taehyung somehow found out you had a whole pan of weed brownies and quickly made their way over, and they might have mentioned this to hoseok too. he’s bringing pizza though, so you’re not mad about that. you had planned on watching your favorite movie with yoongi tonight, so the more the merrier? and also pizza. you were looking forward to that more than having your home invaded by three extra boys.

on top of your house being invaded by boys, you’re starting to wonder what’s going on between you and yoongi all while your mind starts to slowly drift away with your ability to focus. right now you can only think about how yoongi is starting to lean into you more and more and also did he look that good when he first got here? he’s never wearing much more than pajamas of some sort, but today he looks a little more put together than usual. it’s not a drastic difference, he’s wearing adidas track pants paired with a baggy, black button up, so anyone else wouldn’t think much of this outfit choice. but...did he dress up for this? is he trying to impress you? meanwhile, you’re wearing pajama shorts and a t shirt that’s so old it’s basically a family heirloom.

having jimin and taehyung here keeps you distracted from the way yoongi keeps nervously running his hands over his thighs, and you definitely need a distraction from that. you started the movie a few minutes ago, but you swear you could just sit here watching yoongi and be just as entertained.

“you know that wasn’t in the original script?” yoongi asks, snapping you out of your thoughts with his little fun fact.

“yeah, i knew that,” you reply, noticing how close he is to you now. taehyung took up the other side of the couch with his big ass self, so you’re slightly squished up next to yoongi in the corner and his eyes keep flitting around, like he’s equally excited and nervous about your proximity. “i thought you said you hadn’t watched this before though.”

“i haven’t,” he responds with a shrug.

“then how did you know that?”

“...i read the imdb page before i got here.”

“nerd,” you tease, smiling at the thought that yoongi takes an interest in what you like. you’re about to share your own bit of trivia about the movie (because you could talk about it for hours) but hoseok banging on your door stops you.

“special delivery! yummy pizza!! give me weed!!!” hobi shouts from the other side of your door. you rush to your feet to answer it, hopefully to put a stop to his yelling before neighbors complain, but the edible is starting to hit and your knees suddenly feel like they’re made out of jello. you sway slightly and you feel yoongi’s hand on your back steadying you before you step around jimin on the floor to let hoseok in.

“you’re gonna get me evicted,” you warn hobi as you open the door, and he responds by kissing the top of your head. he makes his way to the kitchen and taehyung follows, leaving a loopy jimin and a pink-cheeked yoongi with you in the living room.

“hyung, are you good?” jimin asks yoongi, and he simply nods. “y/n, can you get me some pizza please?”

“go get it yourself, jimin.”

“you’re a terrible host,” he quips back, sitting up too quick. you can tell he’s feeling what you felt when you stood up, and jimin smiles. “hyung, the brownies were really good. can i have another?”

you and yoongi both say no at the same time, and jimin thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. his giggle attracts tae’s attention as he comes out of the kitchen, several pieces of pizza stacked on one plate.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, handing you each a slice as he makes his way back to his spot on the couch. you take yours and sit back down, even closer to yoongi now because hobi has taken your spot on the couch. you’re practically in yoongi’s lap now, but you don’t mind.

“yeah, was it actually funny chim or are you just high?” hobi asks, a fleck of brownie on one side of his face and a piece of cheese on the other. why are boys so gross?

“i don’t know, but when yoongi and y/n answered together it just sounded like they’re an old married couple that spends so much time together they start to sound the same,” jimin explains.

“aren’t we all like that though?” you ask.

“eh, the two of you are getting worse,” taehyung replies. “you have been hanging out a lot lately.”

“that’s because y/n is my business partner now,” yoongi says calmly. business partners? is that all he thinks of you?

“do business partners talk about how kissable their partners lips are?” jimin asks, back to laying completely on the floor. there’s an awkward pause before he speaks again. “are you sure i can’t have another piece of brownie?”

“wait, who said the kissable thing?” hobi asks.

“yoongi hyung. he thinks y/n has nice lips.”

“and a nice ass,” taehyung adds.

“i hate you all,” yoongi grumbles from semi-underneath you.

“you know you can kiss me if you want,” you tell yoongi before thinking about it. yoongi looks at you with something in his eyes that you can’t read, and your heart skips a beat. you look away from him quickly, turning the sound on the tv up a little louder. “actually, forget i said that.”

“i will if i can have more brownies.”

letting jimin have another piece was a mistake.

nothing bad happened, he just ended up falling asleep on your floor and now he’s asleep in your bed after a nice group effort of carrying him to your room. hoseok left after that, saying he needed to get home for mickey’s vet appointment in the morning. he took some of the brownies with him and he’s going to try to get namjoon to eat one to see if he’ll do a dramatic performance of a poem or something for a dumb bet between him and jin.

that leaves you, yoongi and taehyung. somehow there’s one less person on the couch now and yet you’re still smushed up next to yoongi, but you’re not complaining. it’s keeping you grounded, feeling him breathing next to you. otherwise you’d go back to thinking about his thighs in those track pants, and that isn’t good for anybody. it’s bothering yoongi though, if only because he’d rather be like this just the two of you, minus the nine foot giant next to him that found one of your newer vapes. it’s banana flavored, and yoongi finds himself wondering if your lips would taste like candy after smoking it.

“taehyung, can you stop blowing your smoke at me?” yoongi finally asks.

“sorry hyung, not many other places i can blow it,” he responds. “it’s a small apartment.”

“sorry about that,” you say, reaching for the vape in taehyung’s hand.

“not your fault, y/n,” he replies. “you could invest in a bigger couch though.”

“or you could sit on the floor,” yoongi offers.

“why hyung? i thought you’d like sitting so close to y/n,” taehyung smiles. “beside, you can just buy y/n a new couch when your very successful brownie business kicks off.”

“yeah, since i am just a business partner to you,” you mumble, exhaling the sweet smoke. it wisps around yoongi and he tries not to look annoyed, but you like messing with him. he looks cute when he’s flustered.

“or you could buy a bigger apartment when you move in together,” taehyung suggests before getting off the couch. “but i’ll solve the couch problem for you, for now. jimin is awake and he found some of y/n’s school pictures, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“i’m never inviting you over ever again!” you shout, loud enough for jimin to hear you in your room.

“y/n, you were really cute in high school!” jimin shouts back. taehyung shouts “i wanna see!” before he’s gone, leaving you alone with yoongi at last.

“i was really awkward in high school,” you say more to yourself than yoongi. “but whatever.”

“i’m sure you’ve always been cute,” yoongi responds after a beat of silence.

“i don’t think you’re supposed to call your ‘business partner’ cute.”

“oh come on, you know i didn’t mean it like that,” yoongi says with a smirk, silent confidence starting to creep out.

“i would like a new couch, though,” you tell him. you smile at each other and it’s quiet again for a beat before yoongi speaks.

“you haven’t moved away.”

“what?”

“taehyung got off the couch, there’s plenty of space now, but you haven’t moved,” he explains quietly.

“yeah because the space is on your side, you should be the one to move.”

“what if i don’t want to?” yoongi asks, a slight challenge in his voice. you stare at each other for a moment before you lean in. your lips barely meet before you pull away, but yoongi’s cupping your chin and pulling you back in for a real kiss before you can crack a joke. it’s slow at first, but then you get more comfortable with it and move your lips slightly, yoongi following your lead. you part your lips and he deepens it, the hand on your chin falling down to the back of your neck to keep you in place.

he was right, your lips do taste like candy. he could stay here like this forever, but eventually you have to breathe so you pull back and let your head fall down to the crook of his neck. you stay like that, catching your breath, and yoongi’s arms pull you closer to him to you’re fully seated on those damn thighs and he’s taking the discarded vape so he can have a taste, and he lets the smoke curl around you before he leans back in. now you get a chance to taste the sweetness on his lips, and you can’t believe you didn’t do this sooner. your arms are draped lazily over his shoulders, and you tap his back to signal that you’re pulling away again.

“for what it’s worth, i’ve always thought you had kissable lips,” you tell him. “but i have a better ass.”

“i’m not arguing with that,” yoongi replies with a smirk, cupping his hands around you as he moves so that you’re underneath him on the couch, lips tangled and the world forgotten.

damn, you really should’ve done this sooner.

#yoongi #min yoongi #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #min yoongi fluff #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #min yoongi fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts one shot #min yoongi one shot #this shouldve been posted on 420 but whatever

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furblrwurblr · 4 years ago

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I had to adress the trauma before they kissed

Part three to Patience, Love!

Douxie x Reader Soulmate AU, fluff, angst. crack if you squint.

《One》《Two》 | Masterlist

You'd had a few days of unfamiliar band after unfamiliar band and were glad for a taste of home when Papa Skull was up on the itinerary. You two slept in as you had for the past week and had an instant noodle breakfast (the good kind, none of that Maruchan crap Douxie's addicted to) before hitting the town. Dancing, walking, and browsing the streets with their little shops was a fun way to spend the afternoon before you made your way to the venue. You noticed Douxie was being… a little bit more. A little closer, a little softer, a little jittery. You'd had a mind to ask him but he interrupted you every time he saw your curiosity scratching itself on his forearms, running off looking over his shoulder for you to follow. At some point, he'd asked to split up, absolutely not because he wanted to find something for you, or so he said. You spent the whole time he was gone absently searching for something in return, preoccupied with the thoughts on your arms and legs that were just so very Douxie.

"Oh! That's nice! No, no no no, this is your soulmate! Nice isn't great, it's between good and okay. Or would it be between good and alright? Which trumps the other? Blast it all, this store isn't helping," or "This store isn't at ALL what I thought it was... No! Don't think about that, if they see that on their arm I'll be the impatient one!"

You told him where you were after he seemed somewhat satisfied. He walked towards you, the grin on his face falling into a betrayed look of feigned shock as he watched you taking pictures of all the thoughts he'd forgotten you could see. He groaned as he sat beside you on a park bench, seeing just how much you'd read.

"Did I give it away already?"

"All I know is it's somewhere between great and good, or is alright the better word?" you teased.

He bumped your shoulder with his. "Cheeky," he smiled. "Let's head back to the campsite, eat a quick meal, and grab a good spot!"

After a light dinner, you'd managed to squeeze your way fairly close to the front, far enough from the stage to risk being squished. You'd been there a few hours when Papa Skull finally made their appearance, you and Douxie amongst the loudest welcoming them onstage. Not long into their hit song, "Mean", Douxie was nervous.

"I’m gonna do it. I don’t want them to spook..."

You glimpsed his concern on your forearm, unable to make much out in your excitement for the live music, but you knew he was working up to something. You let it be, curious to see what he'd do.

Douxie slowed his breathing. He really liked you so far, and although your mind was quick to dive into the gutter, he didn't want to scare you off. Your own mishap ended in him seeing you once before ghosting for nearly a month. Not to mention, he could tell how embarrassed his little experiments on the boat had made you, what with the whispering and all. It may have been a different kind of embarrassed, more flustered than mortified, but you'd never spoken out against anything. He didn't have a clear grasp of your boundaries. While he'd been searching for a gift for you, he'd wondered how he was going to give it to you. He settled for another first- nothing big, it was pretty cliché, but he enjoyed doing it and hoped you would too.

Douxie placed a hand on your upper arm to make sure you wouldn't startle, it was a bit difficult to get your attention. He slid his arm behind your back, looking to you for confirmation. Your nod made him sigh in relief as he planted his hand on the outside of your shoulder. He felt you laugh and nearly withdrew before you grabbed his hand and pulled so his arm draped over your shoulders, placing your other hand across his back and gently curling your fingers into his waist. You two shared a tender moment of silence before half-turning your attention back to the concert, both too caught up in each other to be in the moment.

He fingered the large box in his sweater pocket, withdrawing his hand. It could wait, he didn't want to risk you moving to look at it, and Mordrax forbid you take your warm hand from his side before he was ready.

Later, you both fell into your sleeping bags with a mighty puff of the air rushing out under the sudden weights, both heaving great sighs of relief. You looked over to him in silence, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. His head turned quickly, smiling wide. Laughter built between you until the pair of you were wiping tears from your eyes, still feeling the euphoria from the concert and one another. Once you relaxed again, Douxie got up and beckoned for you to do the same. You looked at him quizzically.

"If I know I'm hungry then you must be too, I eat less often than you," he reasoned.

Reluctantly, you got up, sad to leave your plush dollar-store sleeping bag. Douxie started the fire while you zipped the tent to swap your themed tour outfit for something more comfortable.

Douxie rustled through the bags back on the ship, pulling out leftovers from the diner in town. He made his way back to the now-blazing fire, sitting on a log to prepare the meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow of the lantern in the tent--

blimey, was the tent always that sheer? It was night and the lantern made it far too easy to see your silhouette. "Woah, looking away now!" Ah, he saw how appropriate the word "blimey" was in this case. While he did enjoy what he saw, part of him did want God to blind himself because he was 90% sure he'd just watched you remove your top without your knowledge. "God, I tease them constantly, but I'm just as bad, aren't I?" he realized. He quickly went back to warming the food, hands rushed and face pink.

You watched his fault write itself on your torso, cheeks just as flushed, although with a bit more amusement than he was feeling at the moment. You finished and stepped out, a smug look on your face. Wordlessly, you sat next to him, studying his reaction. He avoided your eyes, recognizing the glint they had when his thoughts betrayed him. You slid off the log, reclining against it and making a show of placing your arms behind your head.

"I guess I can't really complain, you are making me dinner first, as per your own terms," you said, nonchalant.

Douxie cursed himself. "How could I have been so bold?" he lamented with a sheepish smile. Time to change the subject. He looked around, searching for anything to talk about, settling on the flames that reminded him of the familiar he missed oh so much. He broke the comfortable silence and turned to you. "Would you like me to show you something?" The nondescript watch on his wrist extended, magical glamour falling to reveal his brace, now glowing with energy.

You nodded eagerly. His magic was comforting and beautiful, just like he was… wait. Why not mess with him a bit?

"One condition."

He withdrew his hands from their position in front of him, face earnest.

"Take off your sweater. I've seen your tattoos under your short sleeves, and I know they glow, wonderboy," you half-demanded. Payback and your own reward in one? You deserved to be a little stern.

He laughed, shrugging off his sweater before putting his hands at the ready once more. With a smile, he pushed and pulled the bonfire from where he sat beside you, flames turning his signature blue the more he manipulated them. It was beautiful, drowning the verdant green of the forest in a blue that belonged only to your soulmate. Douxie reveled in your amazement, fire magic a new experience for a novice such as yourself.

You turned your attention to his tattoos and your lips parted in wonder. You'd never seen them in full, runes you couldn't recognize glowing a vibrant blue. The swooping lines didn't move, but it seemed the light shining through them did, glow rippling below his skin. You slid back onto the log again, closer this time, and brushed your fingers over them. Douxie let the fire swirl to its original shape, goosebumps raising at your feather-light touch. They dimmed, once again their original grey, but you persisted, enthralled by the runes.

Douxie had never loved someone so much. Sure, you'd only known each other a few months, but he felt justified since you were his soulmate. As much as he still couldn't believe he'd met you after all that time, he was more amazed at how often it proved true that you were made to fit one another. Your humor, your joys, your sadness. It made itself apparent in how you walked towards him, the way you smiled when he called you. The comfort in your voice that he could feel through the phone. Your eyes. Oh, your eyes, how they did things to his heart.

He pulled himself from his thoughts, eyes roving over your body intently, latching onto any exposed skin. He was looking in pride at his thoughts of admiration, feeling almost as if they marked you as his. "A reminder," he thought, that right now, you belonged to one another. He brought his gaze back to those eyes of yours, now studying his face. The two of you looked at one another in silence, watching one another's eyes flick down and back again, faces drawing closer. His tongue darted out to moisten his slightly chapped lip, causing your breath to hitch. His heart jumped at the sound, snapping him from his daze. He gently lifted your hand from his bicep, shakily breathing the same air as you. He folded your fingers into his chill grasp, bringing them to his lips and pressing a long kiss to your knuckles before bowing his head to press your hand to his brow. You smiled, heart beating from your chest, then grabbed his sweater from between you two with your free hand and sliding it up to his back and over a shoulder. He slowly released your hand with a small chuckle, twirling the garment from his shoulders and placing it on your own. His hands dragged down to the beginning of the zipper and tugged it forward to secure it on your body, pulling you just that much closer. He lingered, smiling gently at you. This. This was a moment he hoped would never end.

His long fingers withdrew to finally warm the food, the 'almost' of what had just happened filling the comfortable silence of the forest clearing.

It'd been a few days since the Almost (your affectionate lament for the kiss that nearly was), and the tour was nearly over. Only a few days were left and you weren't ready for it to end. Maybe after this you and Douxie could spend more time at one another's flats, just to have each other around. Your home was your sanctuary, and you were already fully prepared to open it to him. You trusted him and were happy you'd ironed out your initial issues. For the most part, that is.

"What's this, Y/N?" Douxie asked. You were taken from your thoughts by his sudden question and gave him a puzzled look. He gestured to the 'trust issue' statement written boldly across his bare shoulder before going to sit next to you, the distance between you feeling like an emotional chasm. He used to sit closer before the Almost. "Is something the matter? Did I do something to make you cross?" His face was less puzzled now and more anxious.

"Well," you began, "It's nothing recent. Maybe it is? I keep dwelling on the past, and I feel I need to bring it up."

"Go for it, darling, anything you need," he rushed, turning his entire body to face you.

"I've been running most of my life, as is the curse of an immortal, but I’ve spent the last sixteen years of it searching for you. I kept asking you questions, trying to find you. As amusing as it was to play cat and mouse, I felt displaced and restless. Friends came and went, I scoured America in its entirety. A hint, a clue, something!" You rushed, breathing ragged. "Arcadia was my resignation, you know," you continued, quieter now. "I've stayed as long as I have because I gave up, too tired to keep running towards something, no matter how much I wanted it. No matter how much I wanted you, I--" your eyes filled with tears and you paused, choking on a sob. You sucked in a breath. He needed to hear this. *You* needed him to hear this. "It hurt when I realized you didn't remember our fleeting moments together in combat. I enjoyed sharing that moment of revealing ourselves to one another, but it hurts that I've chased that beautiful blue for the past eight centuries and you don't remember those two years of patrolling the canals.”

Douxie placed a hesitant hand on the small of your back and his eyes dropped from your face to the forest floor, remembering why he'd been so excited to meet you. He'd seen your reactions to his thoughts back in Italy but quickly had to move on. He and Archie had decided long ago that no matter what, they'd put Merlin's tasks above anything else. Even his soulmate. When he realized how close you were he got excited. He couldn't search for you, but he didn't see anything wrong if you found him first. Even then, he kept you at arm's length, scared of the consequences. Merlin's tower, how could he have been so thoughtless? Douxie had never stopped to consider how his constant moving around would affect you. He never took the concepts of soulmates all that seriously. Sure, he could daydream about being with someone made for him and refuse to date anyone until he met you, but it became real the night he found you. Too real. So he ran. Dancing around you, pretending he was doing you a favor with his vague answers and puzzling riddles. Then, he met you again. You were real once more. After his comical encounter with you, he was too preoccupied to sleep, absorbing the finality of having a soulmate. You had come into his life with a bang, a reminder that Merlin and his tasks didn't define who he was. What had shaped him were small influences of the people he'd met throughout the last millennium, including you.

You were worried. Douxie's brow was more creased than you'd ever seen it. His hand on your back grew clammy, the cold night air quickly cooling the fresh damp patch of your shirt.

"...Douxie?" you whispered, afraid your rant had gone too far. His head turned just a little too quickly and you gasped at the tears glistening in the moonlight. He choked on a few unsteady breaths, mouth half-forming words. You reached your hand for the bicep of the arm loosely wrapped around your waist, but before you could touch it, he spoke.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, drawing his hand away from your torso. The first of many large tears burst upon the wood of the log you sat upon. Whose tears they were no longer mattered when both of you began crying anew. You wrapped your fingers around the arm he removed from your side and placed it there once more, throwing your arms around his middle. He sobbed at this, heart happy that you still accepted him, and brought his other hand to clutch your head to his collarbone. He wasn't running anymore, he'd done what was asked of him and was finally able to let you catch up to him.

The two of you were too caught up in one another to notice but had either of you been paying attention, you would have seen each other's skin being adorned with countless words of adoration, regret, and joy.

#patience love #douxie x reader #toa douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #too many commas #like WAY too many #not betaread #casual fic writing lmao im working on more polished pieces #x reader #toa x reader #toa wizards #idk how to tag things #furblewrites #I SWEAR THEY KISS NEXT BIT

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charliedawn · 4 years ago

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Imagine being the only angel that still believes in Lucifer's redemption part 2

https://charliedawn.tumblr.com/post/646303435890769920/imagine-being-the-only-angel-that-likes-lucifer 1st part

Lucifer doesn't know what to do..He had woken up to a bunch of children poking him with little sticks, with no sign of you or Gabriel. He had no way to communicate with you and was feeling that the gates of Hell had closed their doors..He couldn't enter. Gabriel had made sure to block all of his usual accesses and even Mazikeen couldn't enter. He sighs loudly out of frustration before joining his hands and looking up, wondering if you could still hear him.

" I don't know if it will work but..I miss you, angel..I know that you thought you were doing good in replacing me, but I..I'm afraid that your decision may have altered things too much. I do not hear the souls of all those who should be suffering in Hell, and I feel empty without you by my side..You don't belong down there. It isn't your cross to bare.."

He takes a drag of his cigaret and let's out a puff of smoke before chuckling bitterly to himself.

" You know..I've noticed something. During your last visit, you said that you loved me at least 3 times..But I never thought about saying it back..In fact, I don't remember ever saying it back..Not once in 50 times you decided to come visit me.."

He seems to freeze for a moment at the realization before hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to hide his tears from the world as the guilt takes over him.

" I'm such an idiot, angel..You must feel so lost and confused right now.."

He tries to keep his cool, but it is becoming harder and harder. His hands are shaking and he feels the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Even his tears sting as he thinks of you, ruling Hell and scared of being caught. The thought only making him grip his hair tightly and groan in frustration. Chloe had tried to cheer him up the best she could, but..

"..She isn't you.."

He finally mumbles to himself and suddenly, his grief turns into rage as he remembers that you had defied him..HIM ! He was supposed to be the one keeping Hell, you had disobeyed his direct order, as if what he had said was of no importance..You are mad..There is no other explanation..

" I won't leave you there ! You hear me ! Can't you see the state in which I am because you're gone ?! My little angel..Your trick won't last long..And then ? What will you do ? Any demon could get their hands on you and..?!"

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply as thousands of thoughts of what those creatures would do to you..He had seen what they were capable of, and many wouldn't bat an eye before dismembering you for their own sadistic pleasure..The thought alone makes him shiver and turn his eyes red.

" If you can hear me, angel. Run. Get out of there. I don't want you to see to which extent this place is depraved, to which extent humans are. I don't want to see the faith you have for them falter..nor your love for me.."

He pauses before admitting that last part, knowing that that was his own selfish desire. He sighs loudly, he needed to get out of here and teleports himself to the nearby beach to take a big inspiration of the salty air and relaxes before continuing with a heavy heart, knowing that it would hurt you if you heard his next words.

" We should have never met, Y/N..I tend to destroy everything that I touch..You were only an innocent little angel and we both knew that, one day, this relationship would lead to something disastrous..I'm so sorry for not having reacted sooner..Dad was right..It would have been better for me to erase all of your memories, instead of keeping the first ones. They only paint a very different version of me..If you come back, I promise to give you everything back. I know that some of the memories will make you hate me, or even feel disgusted..But, that way, you will finally see the monster that you're trying to help.."

He lowers his head and nearly jumps out of his seat when he hears a voice behind him.

" Talking to someone ?"

He turns around swiftly to see you standing there with a small smile playing on your lips.

" Aren't you tired of praying someone that can't hear you ? It's been 5 years, brother..She can't hear you. She's been ignoring my calls as well.."

He only groans in annoyance when he recognizes the condescending voice of his twin and turns towards the counter as fast as he had turned around. But, unlike what he had previously thought, Michael doesn't leave and sits next to him, asking a glass of wine to Mazikeen that first glances at Lucifer for approval, which his finally gives with a slight nod of his head.

" So..What brings you to my charming little establishment, brother?"

Lucifer asks when Michael has his drink, that he gulps in one go to Lucifer's astonishment. Well..So much for the vow of sobriety..

" I know that you know where she is, Lucifer..Even though you won't admit it. An angel can't just disappear without you knowing something about it..I won't ask you where she is, I just wanna know if she's alright?"

Lucifer would have normally made a joke about him becoming attached to you, gladly invited him to leave or ignored him all together..But, surprisingly, he didn't have the will to and he sounded so genuine in his worry that Lucifer has to admit with a loud sigh.

" I don't know, Michael..As you could have guessed, every communication with her has been answered by a deafening silence..Wherever she is, she doesn't want to be found.."

Michael mimics his sigh and, for a moment, the same expression of worry and silent contemplation appear on both their faces as they stare far ahead at an invisible spot in front of them..Angels were archangels charge, not important enough to inform Father himself. But, still..Michael couldn't get you out of his head..Not that angels didn't frequently disappear, either slayed by some demon or wanted to become some guardian angel of Earth..But, this was you they were talking about. You had never left this long before and were too weak to be of any particular interest for any demon..However, that didn't mean he didn't worry about you. Where have you gone to? Knowing that he wouldn't probably find any answer with Lucifer, he decides to stand up and take his leave. However, to his surprise, Lucifer asked as he looks at him with a small mocking smile.

" You know that your an idiot, right?"

Michael frowns in incomprehension and also a bit vexed by Lucifer's insult. Lucifer that picks on his confusion as to what he was talking about, adds while pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

" You've had so many occasions to tell her how you truly felt..But each time, you were too much of a scaredy cat to do anything about it. Even when I was up there, it was so painful to watch. It's funny how we were born with the same face, at the exact same time and place..But, we are so different..I immediately knew what I felt for her the moment our eyes met, and I didn't waste my time like you did.."

Michael doesn't turn around, he only turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Lucifer's face when he replies.

" Is that so? Then, tell me, how did that work out for you, brother? She would have done anything for you, and you still find ways to hurt her..How many times must you fall before you realize that she is the only one to have ever truly and unconditionally believed in you?"

Lucifer doesn't respond and Michael doesn't wait for and answer as he walks towards the door..Fools. They were both fools in love with the same damn angel. Unaware to the both of them that someone was spying on their discussion..

" Master ?"

You had been so concentrated on listening to the discussion that you had failed to hear that the demon besides you was talking.

" Mmh?"

You mutter at the end, clearly not interested in whatever he was saying. However, the demon doesn't seem that surprised, Lucifer surely wasn't the most attentive angel after all..

" What do you think we should do with the rest of the murderers on level 4?"

Before you could truly think about the answer, you say out loud.

" Oh..Uh..Forgive them?"

The six eyes of the demon widen at the same time and he quizzically looks at you with confusion.

" My lord?"

The demon seems to not comprehend your demand and you want to face-palm yourself so hard..How did Luci ever managed to know what to do?!

" I mean torture them! Why are you coming to me for that, don't you know how to do your own job? Must I send you in the pit of eternal fire for you to finally understand not to disturb me?!"

If you were being honest? You loved pretending to be Lucifer. He was free and spent most of his time just barking orders on his throne. Since the humans were all sinners down there, nobody cared to do paperwork and everybody was obeying you..While in Heaven, you were just an angel, not a high-ranked one either..The only advantage you had was that power, the power to shapeshift. You usually used it to prank people of joke light-heartedly while mimicking archangel Gabriel when he would come and lecture you..Most of the other angels never understood you, and maybe this is why you had never assigned a higher post in the hierarchy? Not that Gabriel would ever let you become an archangel..You smile at the man that you had learned to consider as a big brother and a friend..It was thanks to him that you had met Luci. One day, as you were welcoming a new soul, a man that you recognized as archangel Michael came to supervise your work. To say that you had been stressed would be a huge understatement. Of course, he couldn't exactly fire you, but you knew that angels could be sent to Hell to take care of the bad souls..or worse. You remember Gabriel telling you that archangels, unlike common angels had the power to "kill" angels, or make them disappear anyway..This is why, you had decided to be on your best behavior that day, however you hadn't counted on Luci being there. You didn't ask when, in the middle of the meeting, Michael had excused himself and left, only to reappear a few moments later with a huge grin..

" So, how's the angel business doing?"

You forced yourself to smile and look back at him to list him a bunch of names you had processed that very day. Many angels did not see the point of your job..However, Luci was different. As soon as you looked up at him, his smile faltered and he frowned, as if he knew that you weren't genuinely smiling.

" Stop that."

He had ordered you and you had looked confused at the time.

" That. Don't smile..You look fake.."

You knew better than disobey an angel's direct command and stopped smiling.

" Does my appearance displease you, archangel Michael ?"

You asked, wondering if it was your face that was not to his taste or your whole appearance in itself ? He shook his head negatively before turning around and sighing.

" I thought you would be more interesting..A shame. From what I heard, you like to think outside of the box and make sure that everybody gets to laugh in Heaven..However, I've been following you since this morning, and you haven't succeeded in making me crack up even once..Care to explain why ?"

His accusative tone caught you by surprise, the great Michael wanted you to..make him laugh? That was unexpected..But, since he asked..A true smirk appears on your face as you think of some human joke that may earn a reaction from the archangel.

" Okay..Let's see..Do you promise not to get mad ?"

He arked an eyebrow, intrigued before smirking.

" Depends.."

Well, here was nothing..You had very few information on mankind and the future..Only Father had this sort of information. However, you all had been given the book of Truth that guided humanity..including the passage which talked about his son falling and being crucified to save humanity..You knew better than to joke about that, but what could you do to try to make the great Michael to laugh?!

" Why doesn't Jesus trust mankind ?"

The eyes of Lucifer widened, he hadn't expected that..

" Why ?"

You looked around, as if you were afraid that someone might hear you before whispering.

"He's afraid he'll get double crossed.."

At first, Luci stayed still, but soon his mouth etched into a grin and his eyes brightened with a certain amount of amusement.

" Ah ! I think that joke nailed it!"

His answer made you blank for a moment, but soon, you felt excited. When you had told your joke to Gab, he had simply sighed in utter despair, quickly reprimanding you on how this was no laughing matter..However, knowing that Michael could understand dark humour was the best surprise you'd had for centuries of existence.

" Listen, I have to go..But, keep up the good work and I'll be sure to check in once or twice.."

You smiled genuinely and nodded vividly, impatient to see him again.

" Ah! Here it is! You have a rather beautiful smile, angel..Try to use this one more often.."

You blushed at the compliment and Lucifer winked at you before walking away. Was that just your imagination or did the archangel Michael gave you a compliment ?! You squealed and let yourself do a little victory dance, interrupted by someone coughing loudly behind you. You turned around to see Michael standing there and blushed even more as he eyed you up and down with an amused smile.

" May I know what inspired that sudden little demonstration of happiness, angel Y/N ?" " You decided to ignore his question and ask teasingly instead.

" Did you perhaps come to hear one or two more of my jokes, archangel Michael ? Couldn't get enough ?"

Suddenly, archangel Michael walked straight towards you and lean in so close that you were starting to wonder if you hadn't made a mistake..He arked an eyebrow at you before replying quizzically.

" Weren't you informed that I was supposed to see you today ? The inspection ?"

Your eyes widened, stammering your answer.

" B..But you already d..did ? No?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise before sighing loudly, understanding what had happened.

" You must have met my brother..Lucifer can be a little eccentric. Do not mind him. I hope that he wasn't too much of a hassle ?"

You turned around to hide your embarrassment, as you had confused Michael with his brother ! However, Michael didn't seem to really mind and only sighs before looking at the files you had made on the advantages of laughter, which earned you a small smile from him.

" I must admit, we were impressed by your work..Especially, the "twin prank". Me and Lucifer had a lot of fun in trying it on the other archangels..and even Father who laughed when we both started dressing as each other and walking around to see who would recognize us..But, what was the funniest, I must admit, was your own reaction. You created that idea, and yet had trouble recognizing it..Wouldn't that mean that we outsmarted you?"

Michael looks up at you with a mischievous grin and you can't help but smile back. At last, you had found other players among all of the archangels..Lucifer and Michael, huh ? Well played..Well played, gentlemen..

" No..Not at all..It just means that the rematch will be sweeter for me.."

You start shifting to their appearance and take one step towards Michael with a daring smile.

" See, archangel. When you try to prank the prankster, you must always expect the game to go on. Now, good luck to differentiate me to your brother.."Am I him ?" You'll both ask yourselves and I will be enjoying immensely your confusion as you both lose your heads.."

Michael, far from feeling threatened, smiles at you..You were different from the other angels he had ever encountered, that was for sure..He suddenly tookyou by the waist and watched as you blushed intensely. He then lowers his face to whisper in your ear. " I've got other ways to find out if your my brother or not.." You both hear a chuckle behind you and and look at Lucifer, smirking widely as he looked over the both of you. This is how you three had bonded: over a prank. And since then, you had never left their sides..Or at least until Lucifer's great fall..

The scared voice of the demon besides you gets you back to reality.

" No! Of course not my lord! I'm sorry..Please, forgive me..The level 4 is overcrowded and we must find a new place to put the new arrivals. Maybe if your majesty could create more space in this area?"

One of tree things that you had not predicted however is that Lucifer was a being capable of manipulating Hell's pit, as he was the one that had created it. Whereas your power only consisted in copying the physical aspects of a being, not its powers..

" I..I.."

You try to find an excuse, but nothing comes to mind, until a hand puts itself on your shoulder.

" No problem. I'm sure the lord is just feeling a bit lost after his long stay in the pitiful human world.."

You look up to find a demon with half of his face burnt down to a crisp and who looks at you with big green eyes. Somehow, he seemed far more intimidating than the other one and also intelligent as his eyes seem to pierce right through you. You shiver at his devilish smirk and quickly stand up to face him, in order to not make yourself even more suspicious.

" And who are you to tell me if I'm lost or not?! Who even gave you the permission to touch me, hmm?"

The demon suddenly takes a step backwards in surprise and kneels on one knee in front of you, his head lowered in respect.

" My apologies, my king..I didn't think that you would find my gesture so inappropriate. I am Azrath. Your second-in-command and faithful servant.."

Perfect ! You had just gave away that you had no clue that the man in front of you was your second-in-command ! You take a profound breath before taking back your emotionless mask and smile.

" I know who you are, Azrath..Your presence is just unexpected..What are you doing here ?"

The demon stands up again and you suddenly are very aware of how tall he was compared to you..His pale face contrasting with his half eaten half worm-infested chest. You have to look away in order for him not to see your eyes prickled with tears at the stench. Not that Hell smelt good in general, but the throne was so high above everything else that it was bearable, which you couldn't say for the walking corpse next to you..

" I just wanted to see if the rumors were true..You did come back.."

He seems almost disappointed for a second, but quickly composes himself and then gives you something that make your eyes widen as big as saucers..hearts..bloody hearts !

" Also, I took the liberty to gather the fresh hearts of the new arrivals..Just as you like them. Still beating."

Lord..Help me. You could see them moving and it takes all of your self-control not to throw up your own heart at the sight..However, you can feel it beating more widely in your chest..Even though you technically didn't have one, the feeling of pure horror conjured one..You force yourself to smile up at the demon and take the bag, trying your hardest not to look back at them..

" Thank you ! This is...lovely..."

This time, both demons seem to be taken aback by your words and you frown, what have you said this time?! The less intelligent of the two, noticing your confusion, takes it upon himself to answer your silent question.

" My lord..You've never "thanked" anyone before..You even forbid anyone to say it in Hell 1000 years ago.."

You understand and sweat profusely at the realization..The other demon remains silent, but the way he was staring at you suspiciously was enough for you to have doubts as to whether he was starting to understand what was going on..You had to do something, quick. You grit your teeths and yell as loud and as scary as you could.

" I am tired of this! Now, I've been gone for a while and wish to be left alone with my thoughts! Would it be possible or is it too much to ask?!"

Both demons fly away and you let out a sigh of relief. You look around and your eyes fall on a little demon that was flying by, transporting some letters. You frown, wondering what it was doing until you notice that it is going towards the gates. It must be a messenger! You summon paper and start writing a letter to Gabriel and call the little demon.

" You ! Send this to archangel Gabriel !"

The little she-demon quivers in fear, but doesn't dare refuse and takes the letter to the only communication link between Hell and Heaven. The tall and lanky skeleton that had talked to you earlier was sure to become a problem..He was far too smart for his own good..You would have to find a way to make him believe you somehow..You sigh loudly in frustration before running you hand through your...his hair..Suddenly, you smell something rotten just behind you and don't have the time to turn around before a dark chuckle sounds nears your ear.

" Archangel Gabriel, huh ?"

Your eyes widen and when you turn around, you find yourself in front of the same clever demon from earlier. His eyes seem brighter somehow and he is covered in..You have to muffle your mouth not to let out a scream or even vomit at the guts hanging from his shoulders and limbs..Oh my Goodness..The demon seems to perceive your uneasiness and hangs his head on one side, wondering what was wrong..You close your eyes and, after a few minute, open them again to see the monster actually smirking mockingly at you.

" What is the matter, Lucifer ? Did the human world affect you so much that you can't even stomach the sight of blood anymore ?"

He laughs at your horrified expression and suddenly takes you by the arm to yank you harshly forward, making you nearly fall from the throne.

" What are you doing?! Unhand me!"

You scream, but he only does a crooked smile before asking, almost expectantly.

" Aren't you going to use your wings, "my lord"?"

The way he had mockingly pronounced the two last words make you quickly understant that he was on to your masquerade and you glare at him.

" I won't let a pitiful demon like you intimidate me..I am your king and I am to he respected as such!"

However, far from feeling threatened, the demon only gets out something that you had forgotten about..the sword of Lucifer..

" The sword of Hell..Only demons or lord Lucifer can wield it..If any other etheral being were to try to use it, they would fall to the core of Hell to burn there for the rest of eternity..And one of the only weapons capable to kill even angels..Now, tell me..Still going to pretend to be our great master?"

You know that what he is saying is true..The sword is as sharp and bloody as it was the day Lucifer got rejected from Heaven..You didn't know what to do, so you admit reluctantly.

" I am angel Y/N, caretaker of humans joy and laughter of sector 45."

You were sure that he would pierce your body with the sword as soon as he would know, but the pain never comes and you open your eyes to see that the demon was now facing you. His wide green eyes were dancing around their sockets and his smile goes from ear to ear, showing his sharp and yellow teeths. He runs his tongue over them and has something in his eyes that makes you shiver in fear..hunger. He eyes you up and down and laughs darkly as you try to get away from him. However, you slip and fall. Not having any choice, you open your wings and all of the demons turn their heads towards you, the blinding light catching their attention. As soon as they see you, they all screech or roar in your direction and fly up in the sky to attack you. You start flying towards the gates, followed closely by waves of demons and Azrath that yells at the guards to cut the entrance. The two huge demons at the doors try to catch you with their bare hands, as if you were some kind of mosquitoe and you have to do multiple spins in the air to escape them. You know that their must be an entrance somewhere since the little demon messengers were able to pass. However, you didn't plan on the said entrance to be tiny orifices, big enough for the little demons to go through, but not you. You turn around to see the wave of demons coming closer..Well, looks like Luci was right..You hadn't totally thought that through..You would probably die here. You close your eyes and smile. At least, you had bought some time for Lucifer to live as he wanted among the humans for 5 whole years..However, suddenly, you feel a hand around your wrist. You open your eyes to see Azrath, dragging you towards the gates where he gets out the sword of Lucifer and cuts you with it. The burn is insufferable and you scream in pain as Azrath forces you to put your injured hand against the door.

" What are you doing?!"

You scream incredulously at his strange behavior, but he only lets out a spine-chilling groan before answering you.

" My great escape, sweetheart ! And if you want to leave, I would advise you to do as I say and shut up!"

You open your eyes wide as he starts pushing against the door, trying to get it open. You look behind you and see the demons flying in circle in the sky, wondering what their boss was doing..

" W..Why are you doing this?!"

You finally ask and, just as the door starts bulging, he answers you with terrifying smirk.

" I'm going to get back Lucifer..I've had more than enough of this place and I'm sure that if he is so reluctant to come home..then that means the human world must be a very nice place. Now, are you going to stay here with the nice little other flying monstrosities, or are you going to follow me, angel Y/N?"

He extends his hand towards you and look back at the screaming harpies and horned devils flying above your heads. You finally sigh and take his hand. As soon as your hand in his, his grin only widens and he runs outside, followed by you. You close your eyes and try to communicate with Lucifer.

" I'm sorry, Lucifer..I've failed."

On Earth, Lucifer was sitting besides Trixie that had grown into quite the young lady, as you had predicted..He finds himself smiling as the door opens and he sees Chloe come in with a loud sigh.

" Today was absolutely crazy at work..There has been some calls all over the cities..missing cats. Can you believe it?! Cats?! What are we?! The Cat Police?!"

The girl and Lucifer look up at her from the sofa while Chloe arks an eyebrow at them.

" What?"

They both look at each other with a serious expression, both nodding understandingly at each other and smile widely before looking back at Chloe with their hands joined together in a gun shape.

" You are under catrest !"

" Paws where I can see them, detective !"

They both yell at the same time and Chloe snorts..Of course those two would do cat puns..typical. However, she acts her part and raises her hands in the air.

" Oh no! You got me!"

They all smile, all the sion having left the room..But then, a loud caught catches their attention.

" Sorry to interrupt this..whatever this is..But, I must talk to Lucifer."

Here was Gabriel, in their living room..after 5 years of absence and Lucifer's smile automatically goes downwards as his eyes take a bright red tint. Chloe, sensing the danger, urges Trixie to go in her room. As soon as the girl is upstairs, Lucifer is quick to react and jumps on Gab to choke the angel.

" You! How dare you show your face again?!"

He shouts angrily, his eyes flashing a bright red. It takes Chloe to grab him by the shirt to yank him off the angel that stands up again to answer him between each pant.

" It's..It's Y/N..I..I made a mistake.."

Lucifer growls at him and responds sarcastically.

" You think?!"

The etheral being looks up at Lucifer with, for the first time in ages, an apologetic glance.

" It wasn't meant to last that long..You were supposed to get back down there a year later..But, she closed the gates, Lucifer. I couldn't come in myself. She closed the gates to anyone but the souls and now, I'm afraid that she may be in trouble, because of me."

Lucifer, far from feeling any compassion towards the angel, is bewildered by his apology and smiles in astonishment at his brother's admittance.

" Oh well..My heart bleeds for you, Gab..It really does. Not even recognizing your own brother must be terrible.."

Lucifer doesn't wait for an answer before pushing Chloe to the side on the sofa before punching Gabriel in the nose. Gabriel stumbles back with the force of the impact and raises his hand in surrender and repeats.

"I know that you are angry, brother..But, I'm not joking, Lucifer. She's in trouble."

Lucifer, astonished by the nerve of this angel that dared come to him for help, can't help but replying ironically.

" Oh! You're not joking?! Well good..Because neither am I !"

His eyes lighten up in orange and he nearly growls at Gab that gets out the letter you had send him to extend it towards Lucifer.

" She wrote me this..One of the demons is on to her..And, as I said earlier, I can't go in there. Not only did she close the doors, but you know as well as I do that I can't go in there without Father's permission.."

Lucifer snickers at Gabriel's pathetic excuse and shakes his head.

" No. I am not going to read that. Fuck off. She chose to disobey..She chose to replace me and she told me herself! She finds my job "extremely complaisant and entertaining". Even if I were to go there, she wouldn't want my help..Plus, as you said, she closed the gates! Only the spirits are allowed in..How do you suppose I get in?!"

However, it's Chloe that reacts first and grabs the letter out of Gab's hands to give it to Lucifer with resolution.

" Open it, Lucifer. You still are the king of Hell! Act like it!"

His eyes widen at Chloe's sudden agressive reply and his voice softens as he looks down at the woman and finally opens the letter to read it.

" Gabriel, my brother and my friend..It has been 5 years now that I've sealed the gates of Hell. I know you must be pretty furious, as our deal ended 4 years ago..However, I couldn't deny Lucifer of his happiness. I know that you can't understand my decision, nor why I did it..But, it's not that bad. I succeeded in blending in among the demons. I think Lucifer would be proud. However, I wanted to know if you could please enlighten me on one of the demons that just arrived in Hell. His name is.."

Lucifer's eyes widen at the familiar name and he looks up at Gabriel with shock..The name of his second-in-command was written on there, but he had deserted eons ago..Why come back now? It didn't make any sense, unless..His jaw clench and he fixes the letter intensely..Unless he had found his sword..as he had asked of him..And if it was the case, then his little angel had some serious problems on her hands..However, before he could voice his concern, he feels a vivid pain in his chest that cuts his breath off..He can feel that you're in danger somehow..But how to find you?! He groans in agony, trying to think of how to find you..until he remembers that there had been mysterious disappearances of cats in the neighborhood. He looks up at Chloe that is by his side, supporting him as he doubles on the floor in pain.

" The..cats.."

He tries to utter, but Chloe doesn't understand and leans in to have a better hearing.

" The cats..Where were they going? Where did the largest number disappear?"

" Around the old church..Why?"

He looks at Gab that instantly understands and nods before disappearing. Asrath was also known as the master of cats, this is why it had been easier for him to search for the sword undetected..He just had to believe that Gab would arrive in time. Chloe frowns at him and asks, bewildered.

" Well?! Are you going to stay there?? Go save her !"

He looks up at her with widened eyes, astonished that she would ever suggest it.

" I can't..I can't leave you, Chloe.."

Chloe takes a big breath before looking up at Lucifer with a small sad smile and caressing his cheek tenderly.

" Go, Lucifer..She needs you. We'll be fine.."

He finally nods and smiles up at her before kissing her on the forehead.

" I love you.."

She smiles with tears in her eyes and forces herself to nod.

" I know.."

And with that confirmation, Lucifer disappears as well, appearing near the old church and the pain worsens with every step he takes. When he enters the said church, it is filled with cats and he sees Gab, fighting Azrath. He looks around to spot you huddled near the cross, your face hidden behind your Y/C hair and then..he sees the blood. You were bleeding from your upper arm and he sees red. His body feels hot and overwhelmed by a new-found energy. He looks up at Azrath that was handling HIS sword against Gabriel that was struggling with fighting back. He walks towards them and as soon as Azrath notices him, he smirks and gets rid of Gabriel by throwing him against the cross that breaks in two. Gab wants to get up, but he feels a pain to his side and sees that Azrath had succeeded in wounding him..In normal circumstances, his wound would close itself immediately. However, this mighty weapon was one conceived especially to kill archangels, and Lucifer had made it with his own hands..The wound would take longer to heal and he felt himself fall unconscious. You whimper and try to help Gab by applying pressure on the bleeding wound, but Azrath notices you and stops you. You back away in fear, your wide eyes full of terror and Lucifer then sees why he had felt your pain..Azrath had carved an upside-down cross on your forehead, sending him a direct invitation..His blood is boiling in his veins as he sees what the vile creature had done to his poor angel, while Azrath seems proud of himself as he takes you by the hair and yanks you forward so you fall to your knees at his feet. It takes you a few minutes to look up, but when you do, his heart stops. In your eyes, the innocence and joy were gone..replaced by unbidden fear. He tries to help you up, but you scurry backwards and his eyes prickle with tears, as you were now afraid of even him.

" Oh..angel.."

He utters apologetically at you before glaring up at Azrath that frowns in incomprehension.

" Why are you looking at me like that?! She's an angel!"

He stands up and Azrath takes a step back as he senses the radiating rage of Lucifer that walks calmly towards him and extends his hand towards him expectantly.

" The sword. Give me the sword."

Azrath takes back his blank expression and shakes his head negatively before looking at the bloody sword in his hands.

" I'm sorry, Master..But you know I can't do that..You need to come back with me. Your kingdom needs you and this sword is the only thing hat can force you to come back.."

Lucifer sighs, knowing that he wouldn't give him without a fight. He suddenly tries to surprise him by sending him a punch, but Azrath, having premeditated it, uses the sword as a shield. But Lucifer, far from being bothered, takes the sword with his bare hands before kicking Azrath backwards. Azrath growls at him, showing his sharp teeths and snake-like tongue. He hisses, his voice dripping with venom.

" You really are going to fight me for her?! She's only an angel! The enemy!"

Lucifer glances back at you and smiles reassuringly at you before looking back at Azrath with eyes glowing in the dark.

" No.."

Azrath seems to be relieved by his answer, but it quickly fades out when Lucifer takes his original form and shouts between gritted teeths.

"..I'm going to kill you!"

Lucifer couldn't just control Azrath, he was too powerful for that..and had always been by his side since his great fall. Azrath closes his eyes and inhales deeply before looking up at Lucifer with his bright green eyes in which his pupils turn to slits and raises his hands in the air.

" As you wish, Master..Know that I never wanted this.."

Suddenly, the cats surround him and cover him from head to toe, melting into a sort of black armor. The great armor of Azrath. Great..Lucifer cracks his head to the side and grins up at his ex second-in-command.

" Always the attention seeker, aren't you Azrath?"

Azrath would have only ignored his comment normally, but this time, his comment earns him a slight chuckle, knowing that one of them would die tonight.

" You know me, Lucifer..I guess I took some things from you.."

After this exchange of ironic comebacks, they both become serious and in a flash, they are both at each other's throats. Azrath bites his shoulder hard and Lucifer slashes his face. Both of them are panting, but in their eyes the same fire burning bright..Suddenly, someone crashes inside through the window and interposes himself between the two demons.

" What is going on here?! What are you two doing here?! Hell is chaos and I find you both here?!"

Michael booms in obvious discontent, not having noticed the sword in Azrath's hands yet..Azrath takes it as an opportunity and raises his sword to strike him down.

" This is for you, Lucifer!"

He brings it down, but you use your last strength to stand up and stand in front of Michael. The three men are shocked and Michael is the first to react, he gets out his lance and decapitates Azrath in one swift blow. As for Lucifer, he quickly kneels besides you and takes you in his arms. He looks at his hand in horror, recognizing the smell and color of blood. He shakes you, trying to wake you up while crying out loud.

" No. No! No! No! Angel! Stay with me! You hear me?! Stay with me!"

He sobs and gets the hair out of your face, cradling your face kissing your face over and over again, hoping for your (Y/C) eyes to open again..Michael, after having made sure that Gabriel was alright, turns towards you and, for the first time in forever, feels tears prickle in his eyes at the realization. He falls to his knees by your side and gently pets the top of your head. He then looks up at the sky and asks for a miracle, begging his Father to bring you back..

" Dad! Please! Do not punish her even more! Please, bring her back!"

But his prayers are unanswered and the only one who seems to be affected by his words is Gab that gasps loudly as he wakes up. He looks at his wound and smiles as he sees that there is nothing left..However, when he sees your cold body on the ground, his smile turns into a pained grimace, his whole face twisting in sadness.

" Why? She saved Michael..She saved your son!"

Lucifer shouts, his eyes pointed towards the sky, not expecting an answer.

" Because, this is Michael's punition.."

They all look towards the direction of the voice, their eyes widening as they see Gab, his kind eyes looking above all of them with a numb stare, having finally understood why Father hadn't said or done anything.

" Michael, you really thought Y/N wouldn't know how you felt ? Your jealousy of your own brother..Jealousy that only grew to win the love of one being and threatened to destroy Heaven and Hell..The very same being that only wished for you two to be happy..She tried to make things right and replace you, Lucifer..Father gave her what she wanted, and what you both feared more than anything..She knew the price, but she asked HIM for your salvation and redemption."

Lucifer and Michael both stand up at the same time and open their mouths to voice their disapproval and utter outrage when Gabriel interrupts them, wanting only one thing now.

" Let's go home.."

He takes your body and looks at both brothers with tearful eyes.

" I hope you will be able to appreciate the second chance she has just both given you..You are both free."

And with those last words, he flies up with your body in his arms. Lucifer and Michael both look at each other and, without them knowing why, they both start tearing up. However, Lucifer forces himself to talk through his sobs.

" We can't..We can't leave her..She didn't deserve this..I know what punishment looks like, and she didn't deserve this! She didn't deserve to be sacrificed for our sakes!"

Michael, for once, agrees with his brother and extends his hand towards his brother.

" I know we had our differences in the past, brother..But, we need to show Dad that we are more! That we can be more than just hateful beings, if we want her back..Are you with me?"

Lucifer nods, and for the first in the History of the World, the Good and the Bad were to become allies in order to save you..

You open your eyes wide and straighten up to look around you, frowning in confusion at your surroundings. You were in the middle of a luxuriant forest with tall trees and bright purple fruits..Where are you? And most of all, how are you alive?! You look at your stomach to see that your wound has completely disappeared.

" How are you, my darling?"

You look up with astonishment as you see a tall woman with a bright green dress making her way to you. Her smile and welcoming expression make you think that she is not a threat, but you still have to ask.

" Hum..Thank you for saving me but, who are you? And where am I?"

She only chuckles at your question, as if it was the funniest joke.

" I'm sorry, my dear..Those are very good questions but, it's been a while since I've got some company so..hearing another human voice is quite exciting.."

You don't reply, waiting for her to answer your questions, which she does and you whiten at her answers.

" My name is Lilith..And this is my prison. I would say that it is the garden..but I've been locked up in here for so long that I can't remember much."

You had heard about Lilith, the first woman, the mistake, the mother of monsters..She had died so many millenias ago. And if you were with her, then that only meant one thing..

" Welcome to the Other Place! The place where angels and demons come when they die ! Of course, as not many angels or demons truly die..They stay here until Father needs them again..Come. You're the first one to get here since a few centuries..I'm sure you've got many stories to share."

Lilith extends her hands towards you with a wide smile and you look at her hand hesitantly for a few seconds before finally taking it with a small sigh.

" Yes. I guess I do.."

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #netflix #fandoms #michael

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

Text

Where the Sea Meets Earth

Ao3 Link

Summary:

Tang's life has fallen into a steady, comfortable routine, one he feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Until he has to.

Note: Hi! Lowkey used an idea from @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off when it came to Pigsy's rival. They make great content, give them a look! As always, shout out to my beta reader, @imnotcameraready, the most kind and patient editor out there. She edited this all in one night, the mad lad. Send love her way!! She goes by UncrownedKing on Ao3, check out her stuff! Anyway, have fun!

Tang’s routine is simple. Get up, watch Pigsy make breakfast. Steal an egg or two that Pigsy definitely didn’t make in preparation for such thievery. Follow Pigsy around as the noodle shop is set up for the morning. Listen to the hiss of oil in a hot wok, water bubbling in a tall pot, knife against the wooden cutting board, each slice precise with practice.

Admire the way Pigsy’s arms bulge with muscle as he lifts heavy boxes of spices, meat and vegetables. Watch the sweat on his brow build up as he tosses the ingredients in the wok, stirs the broth, sticks a pinkie in before pulling it out to taste the concoction, tilting his head to the side in thought every time before reaching for a different spice—

Chuckle when MK scrambles down the stairs, a second before being late. Wave back when MK greets him enthusiastically. Listen to Pigsy bark orders. Watch MK vanish out the store door, listen to the sound of the delivery cart starting up. Wait for the customers to come in.

Sometimes, between the breakfast and lunch rush, he will vanish into the town. He’ll peruse the shelves of a bookstore, maybe get a book or two. Then, he’ll come back to the restaurant and watch Pigsy work until closing, with the occasional interruption from MK or Mei. Pigsy will make dinner, and they’ll eat while watching TV before ending the night, asleep next to each other.

It’s a steady routine, one Tang feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Routines are brought on by repeated motions and consistent action. He finds himself considering them more and more, these days. Tang follows the lines back, through time, to trace where each routine began, as Pigsy yells at MK to get going.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He lives off a trust fund from his late parents, as well as a few checks from his work in historic preservation. His family has passed down the stories of old for years, and he knows them well and by heart, because at 18 his memories had come flooding in, and suddenly he was older than time itself and yet just old enough to have sake enough that creating books and speaking on historical inaccuracies is easy to turn into a living.

A few years ago, he gave it up because it hadn’t seemed important to bother anymore after his parents died. The next year he’d wasted time coasting through town after town, sharing random tales for a meal, trying to forget that he was alone, until….

Two years ago, he watched Pigsy throw a customer out of his shop, threatening the unruly guest within an inch of his life, and thought Well then. Something interesting.

Tang had actually gone to the rival noodle shop first. It seemed a bit more inviting. Pigsy, for all his culinary achievements, is still very closed off, and his shop certainly reflects that. Sometimes, Tang wonders if Pigsy would get more customers if he’d change his attitude, but he never brings it up, because what would Pigsy’s Noodles be without Pigsy?

He watches from afar a few days, until the Pigsy’s rival shop owner not so subtly nudges him over, and the moment he walks in, he’s knocked to the ground by a very exuberant noodle delivery boy.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry—are you alright?” Tang sits himself upright to the sound of frantic apologies, seeing a kid no older than 18 fretting over him as if he’d been stabbed instead of simply knocked over.

“It’s fine,” he starts, a little annoyed but not rude enough to make the boy more panicked than he already looks to be.

“MK, what did you do?!” Comes the familiar gruff voice from the kitchen, and the boy—MK, Tang has gathered—helps him stand as the chef walks out of the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t notice him coming in—I just knocked into him—it was an accident!” Tang worries, then, because MK seems scared, but those worries are swept away when the chef takes a deep breath and slowly, his stance relaxes.

“It’s fine, kid, just get those deliveries out, ‘kay?” his voice is so gentle, Tang remembers now he was taken aback. Now it feels so natural for Pigsy’s voice to be gentle. “I’ll take care of this.”

MK nods to that, jittery and anxious, and walks out with a forced slowness that Tang can tell is from worry and guilt. Once he’s left, Tang turns back to Pigsy, who lets out a breath and mutters something about how ‘this kid is gonna be the death of me’ before looking up at Tang with what Tang later learned is his customer service expression.

“Alright, c’mon in. Welcome to Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.”

At that, Tang has to snort. He saunters over to the barstools and sits as Pigsy goes back behind the counter, into the kitchen.

“I don’t know if long is the metric you want to brag about,” he snarks, settling easily.

Pigsy grunts in reply, already back to cooking.

Two minutes later, Tang gets a bowl of noodles placed in front of him.

“On the house,” Pigsy grouches, before Tang even thinks to reach into his coin purse. “For the trouble.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very sound business practice,” Tang laughs, taking a sip of the broth after it cools a little.

It was the best he had ever tasted.

“Don’t get any ideas about it.” Pigsy fidgets with his chef’s hat, face settling into a scowl, and yet Tang can tell it was all bluster with no substance.

He pulls a pair of chopsticks out of the free container, snaps them apart, and eats as customers flit in and out of the shop.

Despite the fact that he never stays in one place for too long, Tang finds himself sticking around more than just a few weeks, trailing through the streets and eventually finding himself back at the noodle shop. The noodles are delicious, cheap, and he finds the company of the chef a comfortable one.

Things get far more interesting when the delivery boy, MK, comes down late and gets an earful for it.

“Sorry—I stayed up late drawing the autobiography of Monkey King and I missed my alarm!” MK bows in apology, frantic, and Pigsy runs a hand over his face, pointing MK to a dirty table to clean.

MK gets to work quickly, but Tang turns to him with a curious expression.

“You like Monkey King?” he asks, and he hears Pigsy groan from the kitchen.

“Here we go,” Pigsy mutters, but he does nothing to stop MK from turning to face Tang with a wide, blinding smile on his face.

“Do I! He’s so cool, and strong, and handsome, and interesting! I’ve watched the animated series like, fifteen times!” he rushes up to Tang, pushing a very worn, bound together book.

Tang flips through it, more out of politeness than anything else, and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the intricacy of the sketches, the love poured into pages, notes on the stories themselves scrawled out next to the drawings.

“This is...surprisingly accurate,” He glances over at MK, who preens at the praise.

“Thanks! I’ve been drawing these, since, like, forever! It’s going to be Monkey King’s autobiography. Uh, unofficially, anyway,” MK rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s always nice to see the younger generation so interested in history,” Tang grins with pride as he adds, “You know, I know essentially every Monkey King story. I even wrote an academic paper on them. Published.”

He watches MK’s excitement grow. “Really?! Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Can you tell me one? Pretty please?!” He’s bouncing on his toes, and Tang can’t help but chuckle.

“I could tell you a tale or two,” he starts, watching as the shine in MK’s eyes grow. “But I need something in return. A bowl of noodles, perhaps?”

MK’s smile drops, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know if I have the money…” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and then he turns to Pigsy, a question in his eyes.

“No,” Pigsy says, immediately.

Tang has never seen someone use puppy dog eyes like a weapon before, but MK pulls them off like a pro.

MK’s hands are clasped together. “Please?”

“I got bills to pay, kid! I can’t be giving free meals to strangers!”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger,” Tang teases, smile widening when Pigsy reddens. “We met yesterday, remember~?”

“Shut yer yap,” Pigsy grinds out, but Tang has seen Pigsy far angrier, from his reconnaissance days at the shop across the street, so he isn’t worried.

Pigsy turns back to MK, mouth clearly open to rebuff the kid, but MK’s puppy dog eyes have been turned up past 100%. Tang watches as Pigsy crumbles beneath their gaze.

“Fine,” he grits it out between clenched teeth. “But this is a one time thing! I don’t have time for freeloaders around here. And not now! I got ten orders to make, that you have to take out,” he points to MK, who is nodding his head so quickly his face becomes a blur.

“Okay! So, in like an hour, okay Mr.Tang?” he turns to Tang, who grins, calm as ever.

“I’ll be here,” he responds, voice even, and MK busies himself with cleaning up the tables before Pigsy hands him the orders.

When MK disappears, Pigsy sighs.

“You know, pretty sure it’s rude to use kids to get free food,” he says, and Tang can only chuckle again.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve used my knowledge to score many a meal before, this is no different. You’d be surprised what people will give for an interesting story.”

Pigsy snorts, at that, and rolls his eyes.“You a good storyteller, at least?” he asks, and Tang puffs out his chest proudly.

“The best.” After all, his papers got him a pretty good amount of wealth, so he’d hope he’s good enough to earn that.

Pigsy turns back to his prep work, shaking his head, but Tang sees the barest hint of a smile, before Pigsy turns away.

Despite protests from Pigsy, Tang comes back the next day with another story and receives the same free bowl of noodles. He doesn’t get noodles every day, not stupid enough to think that Pigsy could afford to give him one daily, but he appears at the noodle shop every day regardless, if only to watch the hustle and bustle of the place, watch Pigsy work.

Pigsy works with practiced motions, not a single measuring cup or spoon appearing in his hand. Pinches, handfuls of colorful spices thrown in with fresh vegetables. Tang watches him string out the noodles from fresh made dough, dropping them in the broth, stirring, always test tasting, constantly adding something else, another pinch of spice, until he’s only somewhat satisfied.

It’s a familiar feeling. The need to constantly make better, the chase for perfection. Is it any wonder, then, that Pigsy’s shop thrives? Customers learn that deliveries are often better than eating in, because Pigsy’s attitude is abrasive and he’s loud in the kitchen. Regardless, he runs a big enough business and makes good money, enough to keep MK as an employee despite MK’s many missteps.

Tang learns, through snippets of conversations, that MK lives upstairs. Pigsy gave him the job and the room. MK doesn’t talk of his parents, or any of his family really, but he has a friend, Mei.

Mei is as loud as MK is, and she’s familiar in the same way Pigsy. These people he meets at the noodle shop who come for company just like he does, lives slotting into each other with ease. Talking to them is like picking up a conversation left off a thousand years ago, stumbling only for a second before falling into the familiar groove.

Tang slowly learns the group dynamic, learns that MK’s parents haven’t spoken to him since he was kicked out, that Mei stays as far away from her home as she can for as long as possible, that Pigsy has nothing to his name besides his shop and himself.

Sees the family, the foundation, centered around the little hole in the wall restaurant, and keeps himself rooted, just for a little while.

The shop is closed every third Sunday of the month. That is the only day that it is consistently closed. Pigsy works seven days a week, twelve hours a day, without fail, except for that third Sunday. Tang forgets, one month, and catches Pigsy heading out in the early morning.

“What, forgot you can’t steal food today?” Pigsy greets him with a frown that softens into something like a smile.

“Maybe I don’t come for the food,” is Tang’s snappy reply, and he watches with satisfaction as Pigsy pauses, thinks, and then turns a dusty rose color.

Turns out, Pigsy’s ears blush with his cheeks. “Anyway, going on a walk? I might join you,” he turns.

Pigsy stares at him, as if he can’t tell if Tang is serious or not, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking. “I’m going shopping. Don’t get in my way,” is the response, and Tang takes it for the acceptance of the company that it is, and catches up to Pigsy with ease, stepping in time with him.

The perks of having long legs.

Tang watches as Pigsy charges his way into the market, eyes sharp for the best ingredients, the ripest vegetables—or, the vegetables soon to be ripe, to save for the later weeks. He gets a practiced amount for every ingredient that goes into his food.

“Have to get the meat weekly, but the produce can last if I make it,” Pigsy explains, and Tang nods.

“That makes sense. I never notice a drop in quality, regardless of the week,” he comments.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure anything tastes great to a freeloader,” he grumbles.

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palette,” Tang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pigsy laughs then, raucous and loud, a sound Tang has never heard from him before. His heart pitter-patters quickly in his chest, and he thanks everything that his scarf hides his face and that Pigsy is short enough to not be able to spot his blush.

“Okay, wise guy,” Pigsy’s voice draws him back in. “You ever cooked yourself a meal before, then?” He elbows Tang gently, or as gentle as Pigsy is able to be, and Tang stumbles a bit before replying.

“Well…,” his voice alludes to the obvious answer, and Pigsy laughs at him all over again.

Tang decides he likes the sound.

A few months after Tang has cemented his spot at the noodle bar, Pigsy goes to usher him out of the shop one evening as he closes for the night and stops, right before heading up the stairs. He turns to Tang with an unplacable look.

“Where are you even staying?” Pigsy asks. “Not a resident, I think I’d’ve noticed a newcomer that was moving in.”

Tang shrugs at the thought. “Wherever.”

Typically, he’ll head out to a busy bar and ingratiate himself to someone, convince them to let him join their party, and sleep on a random couch. He’s always gone before anyone wakes up, to be sure he misses the questions that would come from the house’s inhabitants. If he can’t manage that, well, he’s not above sleeping on a bench somewhere. It isn’t cold out yet, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Tang very well could get an apartment, with the amount of money he has saved. He could, but then he’d be trapped.

He’d have to say that he’s settling down, that a place is going to become home. And no place has really been home, not since his parents died and he walked through empty hallways and empty rooms that once meant something and now meant nothing to anyone besides himself. He’d sold the house, stored the memories away, burned the rest and ran before the smoke cleared.

How could he stay, when there was nothing left? He’d settled in for the long hall, cemented himself as something soft like the earth, and then it had been ripped away from him like roots, tearing up the soil and leaving a mess in its wake.

So he became stone, and left without a word.

Pigsy stares at him, something almost like concern on his face. Tang watches Pigsy’s eyes glance up towards the stairs, and then back to him. Deliberating. Tang tilts his head to the side, ever curious about the concern. He knows Pigsy cares, and he knows Pigsy, beyond the gruff exterior, is pretty soft, but he’s surprised by this development. He didn’t think that care would be extended to, in Pigsy’s words, a freeloader.

Then, Pigsy sighs.

“I’ve got a couch, if you’re interested,” he says, and Tang

Tang just follows Pigsy up to his apartment. There’s a hallway at the top of the stairs, a door they pass by that Tang can hear pop music playing in.

“MK’s place,” Pigsy says, before Tang can ever ask the question.

They reach Pigsy’s apartment door, at the end of the hall, and head in.

It’s a cluttered space. Well, everything save for the kitchen is cluttered. The kitchen is pristine, so much so that the rest of the apartment pales in comparison. It’s not dirty, there’s no trash or dishes left out, but there are just random items, magazines, cookbooks strewn about the rest of the living space.

“Sorry about the mess.” Pigsy says as he pulls off his chef’s hat and coat, hanging it up by the door. He takes off his dress shoes, and pulls out a pair of slippers from a bin, putting them to walk on the carpet. He glances back at Tang expectantly. Tang pulls off his scarf and hangs it up.

“It’s no problem. I wasn’t an expected guest, I’m guessing?”

Tang takes off his shoes and pulls a pair of slippers from the bin. He isn’t surprised by the kitchen being clean, but he is a bit confused by the clutter. Pigsy takes care to keep his work space pristine, scrubbing it to sparking at the end of each work day. Perhaps this is a product of that, and Pigsy just is too tired to care as much in a space that is more his than it is his profession.

Somehow, that makes Tang concerned. He can’t pinpoint why.

Pigsy pulls off the random items from the couch, throwing them aside but scattering them further. He grunts in response to the rhetorical question.

“I’m gonna get a pillow and blanket. Don’t break anything.” Pigsy trudges off, and Tang looks at the clutter, and then at the perfectly good, half empty bookshelf.

By the time Pigsy gets back, Tang is sliding the last book onto the shelf. There’s still the other items that are less easy to categorize, but Tang would be remiss if he left perfectly good reading material to collect dust on the floor.

Pigsy opens his mouth to say something, and then abruptly closes it. He tosses the pillow and blanket on the couch.

“Uh...bathroom’s down the hall on your left. Night.”

Then, he vanishes into his room.

Tang finishes cleaning, and then goes to bed himself.

It becomes part of the routine. Pigsy never demands he come upstairs, but he never shuts the door on Tang, either, and Tang will never shoot down a free place to stay. Pigsy gets used to him, even. Sees Tang sitting on the couch, makes dinner, hands Tang a plate whatever it is and drops down on the couch to watch TV.

If it isn’t making fun of trash TV, Pigsy screams at cooking shows.

“You can’t just throw onion in it and expect it to work out!” he shouts.

Tang laughs. “Very bold from the guy who only serves one type of dish.”

Pigsy turns red. “I can make other food!” The argument is sound.

“I know,” Tang assures him, taking a bite of the steak salad Pigsy prepared. It’s the best he’s ever tasted. “You just choose not to, which I don’t understand. Why only noodles?”

The question throws Pigsy off guard, and Tang waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts. Finally, Pigsy sighs.

“They’re what I like to eat, I guess. Besides, if I made a full scale restaurant, I’d hafta get more cooks, hire waiters, ugh,” Pigsy looks disgusted just thinking about it. “The kitchen’s my place, I don’t trust any two bit cook to get it. I mean, just look at the ones on TV!”

He gestures to the television, as if Tang hasn’t been watching. Tang nods, glances at the screen anyway. “I like how the shop is. It’s small, but it’s good. Bigger doesn’t mean better.”

At that, Tang has to laugh. “You would think that,” he responds, and at Pigsy’s confused look, he gestures to Pigsy’s stature.

“Shut up,” Pigsy says with a blush. Tang can’t stop laughing, and Pigsy cracks a smile.

Living with Pigsy, Tang finds out, means dealing with all of Pigsy. This includes the moments where Pigsy can no longer keep a lid on his already hair-thin temper.

The clutter of the house suddenly makes sense when he comes up to the apartment to see Pigsy throwing books around the room, raging face red and pained and furious in a way Tang has never seen before.

“Bastards!” Pigsy shouts, voice hoarse.

He’s been clearly shouting for a while. His knuckles are bruised, and Tang spots a few dents in the wall.

“I’ll kill em! I-,” He freezes, upon seeing Tang standing by the door.

Tang watches as Pigsy reigns in his rage, somehow, forcing his shoulders to drop, standing up straight, letting out a breath. It looks painful.

“I see something’s bothering you,” Tang comments, direct and gentle as one can be when trying to talk to someone on the precipice of blind rage, as Pigsy breathes heavily.

“Leave.” Pigsy spits it out with a vitriol that is not aimed at Tang, but at something Tang isn’t a part of.

Tang knows this, and he won’t let Pigsy drown in it. He stands still, as the storm rages in blue eyes.

“No,” he is stone, hands clasped together. Pigsy grits his teeth, clenches his fists. The wave rises and crashes down.

“GET OUT!”

It’s loud enough to make Tang wince, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, Pigsy goes boneless, slumping down on himself. Tang steps forward, carefully, quietly, and directs Pigsy to the untouched couch.

Untouched because it’s Tang’s bed, Tang’s space. Because Pigsy would only destroy himself and his things, would only rage at the things he deems worthy, and Tang wonders, why does Pigsy think himself worthy of this hatred, the anger that sits in Pigsy’s heart?

Pigsy sinks into the cushions. Tang takes his bruised hands and holds them, letting Pigsy breathe.

“MK’s folks,” Pigsy finally spits out. “They found out the kid’s got a good job and an okay place, and now they want a cut of his earnings.”

The tone of Pigsy’s voice is nothing short of derisive, and Tang understands the fury now. It’s funny, that he knows Pigsy enough to tell the difference between rage that’s performative and fury that’s real, but it’s not that hard for him.

Fury like this comes from care, and there is no one Pigsy cares more about than MK. MK, the boy with the sunshine smile who likes Monkey King and drawing and will work himself to death for anyone’s approval.

“I’d have told em to shove it, but MK’s got a soft heart, and they told him it was paying back for all the trouble they had raising him.” Pigsy laughs, and it’s very, very bitter. “Like they raised him. Mei probably was a better parent than they were, and she’s his age. Bastards.”

Tang swallows the information, takes a deep breath. He wouldn’t consider himself easily angered, but this? This makes him furious. He doesn’t express his fury like Pigsy does, isn’t destructive, is cold and quiet and deadly. But he saves that for later, for when he can look up MK’s parents and figure out how to ruin them when it comes to their jobs, their social standings, their lives.

“Technically, that could be charged as harassment,” he suggests.

Pigsy snorts at that, at least.

“Yeah, but MK’s only 17. He’s turning 18 in a few months, but until then they could drag him back, charge me with kidnapping, ruin his whole life just because he isn’t their fucking lap dog,” The rage returns, and Tang watches as Pigsy carefully clenches his fists, as if he were too quick about it he could hurt Tang.

It strikes Tang, then, that he has never been afraid that Pigsy would hit him. It never crossed his mind. Because how could it?

“I’m gonna commit a felony,” Pigsy mutters.

Tang snickers. “I’ll drive,” he responds.

Pigsy looks up at him, and Tang hopes the expression on his face bleeds the sincerity he feels.

“As if I’d let you anywhere near the driver’s seat of my car,” Pigsy smirks as he says it, and he relaxes a bit more, the anger draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tang wasn’t aware that he was tense himself, but he relaxes a bit, too.

“But you’ll get blood on the steering wheel. And besides, it’s no fun not having a criminal record. I ought to start it sometime, right?”

“You don’t know anything about me, if you think this’ll be the beginning of my record,” Pigsy half laughs.

Tang shrugs. “You’re right. But, I’d like to.”

Pigsy looks up at him, then, the red in his face smoothing to something dusty and rosy and beautiful. Tang looks away first. “But, first, you need some ice and bandages for your hands.” He gets up to grab it.

When he comes back, Pigsy tells him all about the boy who would come in with exact change for the cheapest bowl of noodles, once a week every Friday. How the boy would ramble on and on about everything, and Pigsy would listen out of politeness, and somehow that turned to a fondness he couldn’t shake. How that boy came rushing in, half soaked in the rain, hiding out just for the moment before he was going to keep running. How Pigsy had thrown caution to the wind and moved mountains to get the kid to stay.

Tang listens, disinfecting the areas on Pigsy’s knuckles that are cut instead of just being bruised. He wraps them, gentle, and places ice on both. Even then, he doesn’t let go of the hands, lets them settle in his grip like they’d always belonged there.

“You’re a kind person, you know,” he says, when Pigsy is done. And he means it, too, thinking of MK alone on the streets, thinking of MK turning out like he did but without the funds to support him, a drifter with nothing and no one. It makes his stomach churn.

“Nah,” Pigsy shrugs his shoulders. “Just had a lot of time to get into practice with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Tang lets the conversation end, and turns on the TV. He cleans up the room when Pigsy falls asleep.

Pigsy makes him noodles the next day, without comment. Tang smiles and eats.

A lot of people miscategorize Pigsy as fire. Tang would like to propose a different point of view.

When he sees Pigsy, he sees the sea.

The ocean is never calm, but it can fall into a rhythm. Small waves, rippling waters. Crashing against the obstacle that is land, constantly pushing, constantly trying, constantly moving.

Pigsy will rage like a storm, he will shine like water in the sun, and he will fall into a rhythm as he works. He will push back against the rock that is indifference, and, like the ocean, he surrounds anything and everything, connecting every person he comes into contact with, as if they were the continents themselves. He ebbs and flows, forcing himself into the issues that plagues those he cares about, and yet pulls back and gives them space, never demanding anything other than their time, if they could give it.

The ocean is not harsh, nor is it merciful, but it is a force of nature all the same. And, if you weather its storms, it will carry you wherever you need to go.

And Tang sees a man who gives MK a reason to stick around when all MK wanted to do is run, Tang sees a man who never lets Mei skip a meal regardless of her status and wealth, Tang sees a man that makes sure Tang has a warm and safe place to stay, and sees the ocean carrying battered ships to shore.

Learning about MK’s family has opened up certain topics. Tang knows it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy asks about his life. That doesn’t stop him from stiffening, from going stone faced, when Pigsy finally brings it up.

“I don’t hear you talk about your folks,” Pigsy mentions offhandedly.

When he turns around and sees the expression on Tang’s face, he frowns.

“No,” Tang responds.

He says nothing else. Pigsy doesn’t press. Just turns back to making dinner. And Tang stares at his reflection in the teacup. He takes a sip. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t feel it.

“They died. Nearly two years, now,” he finally says, and it’s like dropping a weight off of his shoulders.

Pigsy grunts in acknowledgment. Doesn’t give him the sad stare, the ‘oh I’m so sorry’, he just glances back with something softer than pity and closer to empathy.

Somehow, it lessens the dull ache in his chest.

“They good ones?” Pigsy asks.

Tang smiles, just a little. “Yes,” he breathes, and it hitches, thinking about how they pushed him forward, how they never demanded but always encouraged. Tang wasn’t good at making friends, not close ones anyway. But that never mattered, because his parents were there.

And now…

“Mine are gone too,” Pigsy says, after some time and mostly as an afterthought. “It ain’t easy, dealing with it.”

Tang huffs a wet laugh, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes.“No, it isn’t,” He responds.

Pigsy slides a bowl yanduxian soup, with some some skewers of meat, and sugar coated haws for dessert. Quite the array of a meal. Pigsy sits across from him, and starts in on his own meal.

Tang eats. It’s the best he’s ever tasted, as always.

Looking up at Pigsy, something in his chest warms. He thinks about his parents and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

“I think they’d have liked you, if you’d met them,” he says, softer than he feels, because he’s never said anything about love but this is as close as he can get.

Pigsy looks up, cheeks glowing, and he smiles and Tang melts, just a little.

The apartment becomes lived in. During one of their shopping trips, Pigsy gets Tang a different outfit, muttering something about Tang needing something to wear when his clothes are being washed. Two outfits becomes three, becomes four, all hung up right beside Pigsy’s sleep shirts and chef coats. Tang gets his own toothbrush.

He buys himself books and they fill up the empty space on the bookshelves. He buys alcohol, stores it in Pigsy’s fridge and laughs off the comments about his poor taste in baijiu. He was never one to settle in, he never thought he could again, but slowly Pigsy’s apartment becomes their apartment and the change in his mind as he thinks of it leaves him wide eyed and spiraling.

Pigsy takes it all in stride, greeting Tang in the morning with something on his face that looks...pleased? Tang doesn’t understand it, and yet it makes his face feel warm when he thinks about it.

The winter months roll in, because while they have a weather tower to regulate weather it does not mean that they can ignore the need for seasons, and the apartment becomes colder.

“Do you not have A/C?” he curls up tight, beneath his blanket, and still shivers.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t freeload all the time, I could afford to use it!”

Later, Tang will find this all as a facade. He knows Pigsy would never blame him for being without the funds to pay for heating. In fact, the noodle shop does better in the winter months, because of the desire for warm, filling food to combat the chill. He will later find out that Pigsy forgoes the A/C in his apartment to save up money to give MK a yearly Christmas bonus, both as a present and so MK can heat up his room.

In the moment, however, he just turns away with a huff.

Pigsy sighs. “The bed’s warmer,” he says.

Tang stares, blankly, until it finally hits him what Pigsy is suggesting. “Why, you cad! Trying to bed me when we’ve barely courted!” He leans back on the couch dramatically.

“Shut up!” Pigsy looks very flustered, and Tang grins, leading Pigsy to snap some more. “You were the one complaining about being cold!”

Tang sips his tea, and shrugs. Pigsy turns back to dinner to hide his blushing face.

That night, he moves to sleep in Pigsy’s bed. It’s a pretty large one, it isn’t as if there isn’t room for the both of them. The move is purely practical, after all.

Pigsy sleeps in a tank top and boxers. Tang wonders if the tank top is for his sake. They both get in the bed very stiff, neither wanting to acknowledge what’s happening. Tang curls up under covers, back to Pigsy. The bedroom is indeed warmer. Tang imagines the small heater sitting in the corner is likely the reason.

He turns his head. Pigsy is already asleep, trails of light from the outside signs segmenting his face. He’s snoring. He looks calm.

Tang stares for longer than he thinks he should, before he lets his eyes slide shut.

It becomes routine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As whole, as Tang reminisces on the moments bringing him to his position, he’s quite glad he decided to stick around. It’s a strange place, this city, full of danger and mystery, now that MK is the monkie kid, now that the demons are free, but at the same time little has changed, and that is something Tang can appreciate. Every morning he settles at the noodle shop and lets life continue, predictable, comfortable.

And maybe that’s his mistake. That he thinks he can coast forever. The sea is many things, but predictable is not one of them.

The downfall starts when Mei mentions that one of her aunts has been trying speed dating.

“She made the mistake of signing up for the straight couple’s night. She told me that when she realized, she left faster than the speed date itself!” Mei taps her fingers on the noodle bar, giggling along with MK at the thought.

“Speed dating doesn’t make sense. I mean, how can you figure out if you like someone in a minute?” MK crosses his arms over his chest and ponders.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I knew I liked you in sixty seconds,” Mei boops Mk on the nose, and he laughs, before making a face. There’s a mixture of emotions there—disgust, confusion, fear?

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re friends,” he stresses that last word, looking at Mei expectantly. “Just friends.”

“Well, duh! I was just saying,” Mei rolls her eyes.

Tang watches the tension roll out of MK like a breeze. He wonders...but will never waste an opportunity to snark, so he sets the thoughts aside for a moment and leans back on the counter.

“I’m sure I could charm anyone in sixty seconds. Where is this happening, exactly?” he asks.

Mei gives him a look. “I’m pretty sure speed dating isn’t for people who are already taken,” she tells him, and Tang blinks, confusion painting his features.

“What do you mean?” he asks.He jumps when Pigsy’s knife slams hard against the wood of the cutting board, harder than normal.

Tang frowns. “Pigsy, you alright?”

“Peachy,” Pigsy growls out, from the kitchen.

Tang stares, before shrugging it off. Pigsy’s moods aren’t entirely predictable, after all, and it isn’t as if anything terrible has happened today. Pigsy’s cooking smells as heavenly as ever.

He turns back to Mei and MK, but they’re disappearing out the door, MK with the next batch of deliveries in hand. Tang tilts his head to the side in confusion, before shrugging.

Oh well.

Pigsy is still stilted, when they head upstairs that night. He’s quiet during dinner, quiet after dinner, and instead of watching TV he goes back to the kitchen to make a dessert. Tang follows, sitting at the kitchen island, watching how Pigsy shuffles about, glancing occasionally at a recipe. Cocoa powder, flour, eggs, different ingredients come out. The oven is preheated.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” Tang says, finally.

Pigsy stiffens. Runs a hand down his face. Sighs.

He keeps working, throws the dessert in the oven, sets a careful timer.

Tang waits, and waits.

The kitchen is silent, save for the ambience.

“What is this, Tang?” Pigsy’s voice is hard, hands resting on the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched as he finally speaks up. He sounds exhausted, from days and days of work. Tang frowns. “You steal food from my shop, you sleep in my house—you live with me, for pete’s sake, you—what is this that we have?”

And Tang, Tang doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this even something?”

He’s basked in the freedom to be himself, with Pigsy. A label defines, a label makes you inseparable. Tang comes and goes as he pleases, he doesn’t get pinned down, he’s one and alone, with Pigsy by his side.

He has called himself a ‘father figure’ to MK, but that is inherently different. There’s a degree of separation, with that label. He can still leave, and MK will not be too bereft. MK has others, Tang is just one. Pigsy wants more than that, he doesn’t want the separation, and Tang is always unsure.

“I just—” And there’s something quiet and breaking in Pigsy’s voice.

Tang says nothing.

“Whatever you want from me, Tang, you have it. I’ll-I’ll give you everything, just—”

Blue eyes, like the constant tide of the ocean, meet earth in Tang’s brown ones.

Tang is afraid he could erode.

If he stayed.

What would he become, if he shifted his foundation?

“Is there a point to this?” Pigsy asks. “Or am I just something you keep around? To say you have one?”

Tang knows that he is a man of words, of stories, knows he is Triptaka, is Tang Sanzang, and myriad others placed in the body of a single man, knows he has more knowledge in an inch of his brain than most gain in their entire lives, but he has nothing to say now.

His thoughts halt at the wounded expression on Pigsy’s face.

More than just anger and softer than just hurt, settled between an aching heart and a broken one.

“I…,” he starts, and then his mouth clicks shut, because he is, before and now, a coward eventually.

Whether he is captured by demons or putting his foot down against others’ bad behavior, he falters. And he is terrified, because the swell of his heart, the affection that warms him enough to burn, is too much to bear, to articulate.

So instead, he says nothing at all.

And he knows he’s erred, because Pigsy turns his back as the timer dings.

He pulls the set of mini cakes from the oven, sets them down on the counter with forced gentleness. Tang flinches at the harsh bang of the oven closing. Watches Pigsy’s chest rise and fall with harsh breaths that hitch with an emotion Tang can’t place, before Pigsy swallows, steels himself, stills. Clenches his fists as if readying himself for a fight. Tang doesn’t know what the battle is, wonders what side he’s on.

“Forget it.” He hears, finally, and Tang feels his heart jump in his throat.

The words sound like a relent, like something giving way. It strikes him like a spear through the chest, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

The mini cakes cool in a few minutes, but it may as well be hours with how silent and still the kitchen is, and Pigsy sets one on a plate for Tang, placing it in front of him with a fork. Chocolate lava cake, something Tang had mentioned off handedly as an interesting dessert to try. Of course Pigsy remembered. Why wouldn’t he?

Pigsy vanishes into his room. The door slams shut. Tang eats.

It’s the best he’s ever tasted, like always.

He sleeps on the couch. It’s cold.

Pigsy doesn’t open the shop, the next day. Tang leaves early in the morning, before breakfast, to give him some space, and comes back from his leisurely morning walk to a closed sign hanging on the door. Unlike the last time, MK waves at Tang, hopping down the stairs excitedly. Pigsy gave him the day off, because Pigsy isn’t feeling well, apparently.

Tang sees the worried lines in MK’s expression and promises he will make sure Pigsy is okay. MK runs off, to meet Mei at the arcade, and Tang heads up the stairs. He passes MK’s apartment door and stands in front of Pigsy’s door.

He knocks.

“Pigsy?” He calls, loud enough that he can’t be missed. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Silence.

Tang doesn’t know how to handle rejection, didn’t think it possible, from Pigsy. In the two years they’ve known each other, he has never been rebuffed. Has never been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave. Pigsy has shouted it without heat, before, but it has never rang true.

He stands outside the door for twenty minutes, trying to swallow something akin to fear crawling up his chest, as he slowly realizes the door isn’t going to open. He waits another ten minutes after that, processing the realization, the pain in his chest.

“Alright,” He says, finally, and he prays Pigsy doesn’t hear how his voice shakes. “Get well soon. I’ll see you in the shop.”

He should demand to be let in. He should kick down the door, do something. Be bold, be brave, courageous.

But he never was a fighter, so he turns on his heel, and leaves what is left of their relationship on the welcome mat.

He walks through the city, again, because he has nothing better to do now. There is no comfort from stepping into the noodle shop and feeling like home. There is no barstool with his name on it, no random bowl of noodles appearing at his seat inconspicuously, no begging for a story from MK, no fond looks from blue eyes in the kitchen.

Tang had settled into routines and expectations. The rug has been pulled from beneath his feet as he tries to grasp the idea that the comforts have crashed into dysfunction. He tracks every minute of the two years he’s spent here, tries to trace the beginning of the end like a true crime investigator, and still, he can’t decipher why the equilibrium shattered.

Change is a product of existence, Comes a memory from his days as a monk. You must let life flow like a river, accepting the directions it will take.

But Tang isn’t a monk anymore, and he is not flowing like a river or any such nonsense that sounds far more like what Sandy would say. He is analytical, he is intelligent, he is knowledgeable. Despite all of that, he is stumped by this situation, by what he is to do.

The answer, of course, is the simplest, but Tang is pretending not to be ignoring it, because acknowledging the solution means making a choice he can’t undo. To decide if he wants this to be set in stone. Can he tie himself down like this, can he make that choice to stay, forever if it comes to it?

At the same time, hasn’t he already? Just a day without being able to go into the noodle shop leaves him aimless. A day without Pigsy and he is lost, without much to do or see. He has centered himself about the warm air of noodles and the gruff smile of the chef making them.

And that is so, so terrifying. When you give everything, when someone is your everything, what happens when they leave? He’s dealt with that enough with his parents, and to become a pair, to be a part of something, he doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

But Pigsy gives and gives, and promised Tang everything, if only Tang would stay. And Tang is a coward, but not enough to ruin something so simple, so kind, and so honest.

He makes a decision, and heads to the bank.

The next day, the noodle shop opens. Tang is there when it does, settling into his barstool without fanfare. He follows Pigsy’s movements with sharp eyes, notes the rumpled form of his shirt, how his pants aren’t tucked into his dress shoes, how his feet shuffle against the tile instead of stomping with purpose. Pigsy moves slow, turns to look at Tang and has bags under his eyes—or could they be red from crying? Tang isn’t sure.

His heart aches, as Pigsy regards him with something like heartbreak. Pigsy says nothing, turns back to his work, and Tang watches.

Step one.

He heads to the market between the lunch and dinner rushes, picks out the ingredients from memory. He’s walked with Pigsy enough times to know what it is that he has to get. He comes back to the shop with an armful of grocery bags, heading upstairs to their apartment. Pigsy never locks it during the workday, and Tang uses that fact and knowledge to his advantage.

He has no idea how to do this, but he chops the vegetables and meat and sets the water to boil. Brings forth the memories of two years of watching Pigsy make the same thing over and over, and maybe looks up a recipe or two on his phone for reference.

By the time Pigsy comes upstairs, when the shop closes, it’s ready. Tang pours the servings into two bowls, and nearly jumps and drops everything when the door opens.

“Welcome home,” he says, braver than he feels.

Pigsy stares at him, at the bowl of steaming broth, and sets his chef’s hat on its hook. He pulls off his shoes, puts up his chef’s coat, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks.

Tang watches Pigsy’s movements instead of thinking about how to approach the situation. He gets a little distracted, until Pigsy hops up onto one of the island chairs, pulling a bowl towards himself. Tang sits across from him, waiting for Pigsy to take a sip.

Pigsy takes the chopsticks offered, as well as the spoon. He takes a sip. His face remains carefully neutral.

Tang takes a sip a few moments after. He promptly sputters into his bowl, and laughs.

“God, this is terrible!” he can’t stop laughing, and he can see a smile peeking at the edges of Pigsy’s mouth. “I tried to make it like yours, but I guess I’m coming up short,” he glances at Pigsy, looks him up and down.

Pigsy’s face is dusted with a pleased blush. “Shaddup. And hey, it ain’t worse than my first attempt at cooking.”

Tang snorts at that one. “I doubt that. But, do tell. I don’t think you’ve ever told me why you decided to become a cook in the first place, anyway.”

This is the start. Tang makes Pigsy a meal, and Pigsy tells him a story.

That night, he sleeps next Pigsy, like usual, and traces the way the moonlight sets upon Pigsy’s face. He needs to do more. He needs to be more, and he’s pretty sure financial support would be somewhat helpful, so he schemes.

Step two.

A few days later, as the air between them settles into something like normal, he appears one afternoon, change in his pocket and bills in his wallet.

“A bowl of noodles, please.” He sets the money on the counter. It’s enough for at least three bowls of noodles, but that’s by design.

“Keep the change.” He evene winks, like it’s a joke

Pigsy eyes the money and then gets the most offended look on his face, as expected. Before he can make a move to either argue or even respond, Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and explains.

“Didn’t you know? This month is my charity month. I go to different establishments and pay to keep them afloat.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pshh, I don’t need your charity to keep this place runnin’! Pigsy’s Noodles is a thriving establishment,” he rebuffs.

“So you’re refusing my service?” Tang responds, like a challenge.

He raises a brow, and watches as Pigsy gets redder and redder.

“One bowl of noodles, coming right up,” Pigsy manages through gritted teeth.

Tang hides a laugh behind his hand as Pigsy scoops up the money and grumbles, shoving two of the bills into the cash register and one into the tip jar.

Because MK had been bemoaning a lack of sketchbook paper, a lack of money for replacing such, and just like every time MK talks about something he wants, off handed or to complain because that’s how he deals, Pigsy will take some of the money that should go to the shop into the tip jar when MK doesn’t look, smiling to himself when MK excitedly realizes that, thanks to the tip jar, he can get what it was he thought he couldn’t—

Because Pigsy gives and gives and gives, pieces of himself scattered across and holding together the people he’s chosen to keep close, regardless if Pigsy is the one who ends up falling apart in the end, and Tang wants to fill up the spaces that Pigsy has lost from his generosity.

Tang takes his bowl of noodles and smirks, like he’s won. That night, when they’re sitting on the couch and watching TV, Pigsy leans his head on Tang’s shoulder.

“You coulda just said you wanted to start payin’ rent,” he mutters.

Tang snickers. “Where’s the fun in that? You got so red, I thought you were going to become a tomato.”

At that, Pigsy sits up.

“I’ll show you a tomato—c’mere!”

Maybe it’s a bit dangerous to challenge someone who knows all of your ticklish spots. Tang laughs until he cries, and concedes to Pigsy’s victory.

Step three doesn’t really register. He doesn’t think about it, because the first two steps have brought him back into that comfortable routine. Maybe he might have fallen into the same bad habits, if not for his hyperawareness of Pigsy’s moods in the following weeks. He doesn’t want to miss something, like he did before. He wants to be attentive, be kind.

He wants Pigsy to never again think of or ask the questions he did, that night. He wants Pigsy to know, immediately, what they are. Even if Tang is afraid to define it.

It’s a typical day at the shop, but Pigsy is a bit more tired than normal. Some days, this happens. Pigsy would never hire another chef, even though he has enough business to afford it, and being the only cook in a bustling restaurant means little breaks and consistent exhaustion.

Tang still makes them dinner, most nights. He tries a new recipe each day, because why not? Pigsy takes to each one like a food critic, and his descriptions have Tang in stitches every time—

“I never thought you could turn broccoli into soup.”

“Okay, so I cooked it too long!”

“You liquified a vegetable! Without blending! That’s like...did you use magic on this? Tang, did you use magic on this.”

—He’s not a very good cook, yet, but Pigsy eats anything he makes anyway.

Today, Pigsy is already tired, and he clearly doesn’t have the energy to deal with an annoying customer.

He has to anyways.

“This isn’t what I ordered last time! I ordered your original noodle bowl two weeks ago, and it tasted far better than this!” The irate woman slams her empty bowl on the counter.

Tang wonders if she understands the irony of complaining about a meal she finished.

“Ma’am, I make every bowl of noodles the same. I’m the only cook here. You either ordered somethin’ else, or your taste buds changed in two weeks.” Pigsy isn’t polite to customers like these, but Tang has to commend him for holding back, for still calling her ‘Ma’am’. Tang has a few different names he’d call her.

“I know what I ordered, and my tastebuds didn’t change. You clearly made it wrong! I demand a refund immediately!” She shouts in his face.

Pigsy goes from pink to red. “Look, lady, you finished your meal. I ain’t giving you back the money for shit you ate.” He spits, and she leans back, aghast.

“The nerve!” She leans back, aghast. “I don’t know what I expected from a pig—”

She freezes as a pair of chopsticks sticks its way between the two angry faces.

“Excuse me,” Tang starts.

His glasses flash, and he doesn’t bother standing. His arm divides the space, as he leans back in his chair with a bowl in his free hand. He pushes her back, ignores the look of confusion on Pigsy’s face. “I suggest you get over yourself. This behavior certainly isn’t doing anything for your looks.”

The woman leans back, crosses her arms.

“And you are?” She hisses.

“I’m his partner,” Tang says, and surprises himself with how easily the title falls out of his mouth. “And you don’t get to talk to him that way. If anyone is acting in poor taste, it’s you.”

Pigsy’s face is slack, his eyes are wide, and the red of anger on his face has given way to the dusty rose Tang has come to expect as Pigsy’s blush.

The woman opens her mouth, finger raised. Tang raises his eyebrow in waiting. But then she huffs, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Tang doesn’t give her a second thought, turning back to his own bowl of noodles—which have tasted the same in the two years he’s been eating here, so she’s full of it, clearly—before glancing over at Pigsy, who is staring at him with eyes full of something.

He has never seen Pigsy’s eyes shine like that before.

His face warms, and he buries it in his scarf and bowl. Pigsy smiles, and turns back to work.

That night, they’re sitting on the couch after eating another concoction that could barely be called food— “You’re getting better at this.” “You don’t have to lie to me.” “Bold of you to assume I would spare your feelings when it comes to your cooking skills.”—and Pigsy’s hand slides away from his lap and rests on top of Tang’s. Casual.

“My partner, huh?” Pigsy says over the buzz of the television.

Tang flushes. “It seemed an appropriate word to use.”

“Sure.”

Pigsy’s voice holds a laugh, and Tang could leave it here, he could. It would be far too easy to settle, to let it fall complacent.

But Tang has let the ocean lap at his heels, and now all he wants to do is dive.

“Hey,” he turns Pigsy’s face towards his, and—

Pigsy’s lips are warm.

Pigsy’s eyes are blown wide, and Tang closes his quickly, worried about the response, worried about Pigsy’s reaction.

Dimly, in the back of his head, he thinks ‘It’s the best he’s ever tasted’ and he has to squash the laugh that bubbles up his throat, because it isn’t appropriate right now. Pigsy's snout practically crushes his nose, and the sharp hairs on his face prickle Tang's skin.

He breaks away. Pigsy’s smile is blinding, a rare event. His face is flushed, both of them are flushed and Tang fidgets with his glasses. There’s a beat of silence, as they stare at each other, before they both turn back to the TV to avoid the ever so awkward eye contact.

They watch whatever’s on, for a minute of crushing silence.

“Alright,” Pigsy finally sighs, long sufferingly fond, and he leans against Tang as if tang were his rock. The ocean crashes against the sea, and the rock stays steady. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Tang inclines his head so it’s resting on top of Pigsy’s. The rock erodes, and becomes something new. Moves with the ocean, given enough time.

“Where else would I get free food?”

Pigsy laughs.

#lego monkie kid #freenoodleshipping #Tang #Pigsy #kitkat1003 #monkie kid tang #monkie kid pigsy

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mihidecet · 4 years ago

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SBi d&d AU: Tubbo

Aka: Tibi’s MCYT WritingTober, day 20!

From @the-only-gamer-gost ‘s list of prompts, another entry for “Fanmade AU” ahahah And as requested by a super cool anon: “ i'd love to see more of tommy's backstory in the d&d au! especially if we can meet tubbo?” :D

Ask and you shall receive! You can also find Tubbo’s reference sheet made by the wonderful @whatimevendoinhere here! Also, @rigatonipastaroni made a super sweet comic about the reunion, waaay before the chapter was even posted!!

There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar.

It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored.

Absolutely unrelatable. Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.

Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit.

Nothing they hadn't done before.

And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong.

Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard.

Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times.

Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour.

To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone.

Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had tried, but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle.

And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such.

Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident.

For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third.

They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it.

So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued.

It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different.

That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright.

"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance."

The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up.

"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will."

After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems.

Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories.

Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.

The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate.

The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn.

He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever.

The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children.

Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head.

No, he's not going to bring it up.

Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring.

They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground.

At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.

Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are.

There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz.

Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression.

"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?"

Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship.

Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make … this, maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar.

"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.

The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.

On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises.

The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.

Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable.

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.

"Holy shit, Toms."

The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.

When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown.

All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him.

They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on.

Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.

And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind.

It lasted for one day.

Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page.

But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again.

Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh.

If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself.

And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself?

To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.

The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure.

He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it.

His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels.

Tubbo's going to be alright.

Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend.

Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.

"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal.

"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes.

"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier.

Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement.

"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked.

#mcyt writingtober #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #dnd au #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #tubbo

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 5 years ago

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Under Your Skin || on ao3

Geralt realizes his mistake the second he's made it, but it's too late to do anything about it now. The gash on his thigh stings like hell, but he's still got a succubus to kill and she's putting up one hell of a fight. He'd tried to talk her down, get her to move on and out of the city, but this one is particularly stubborn and is having none of it. She charges him and Geralt reminds himself he has three dead villagers to avenge, putting his focus on them instead of the rising temperature of his own body. He has to act fast; faster even than he normally would with a succubus and she isn't making it easy for him.

He ducks right and rolls out of her path, hopping back up behind her. But she's quick and when she turns to swipe at him, Geralt only narrowly dodges the blow. His reflexes are slowing, the relentless heat seeping in and filling up every crack and corner, slowing him down and making him vulnerable. But Jaskier is barely out of sight and Geralt won't risk letting a succubus have her way with him. Especially when he'd make such an easy target. It’s with him in mind, that Geralt pushes through the sensations and keeps moving.

He side-steps just out of her reach, calculating. He has to finish this quickly and he has to do it without making a mess; it's hard enough to be welcomed in town without being covered in succubus blood. And as soon as he's done here, he needs to get himself to the brothel before the feeling under his skin gets any stronger.

The succubus lunges again and nicks him, but Geralt is quicker this time, tripping her up and pushing her to the ground. He doesn't hesitate before plunging his sword into her chest. She resists, kicking him in the shin and grappling with the blade, but Geralt's brute strength wins out and she stills under him. Geralt leans on his blade for a moment, catching his breath before withdrawing it again and stumbling away from the body.

He needs to bring proof of death to the town mage, but right now he can't even think about that. He needs to get away from her, away from Jaskier and toward someone who can get him through this before it gets any worse. But he is getting worse. Heat sears through him like too much sun on a hot summer day and already his mind is getting foggy. He needs to get to town before he loses control entirely. But he can't get into town without walking past their camp and past Jaskier and he can't be near Jaskier like this, so he's going to have to do something about it first.

Stumbling toward the closest tree, he braces himself, that familiar tug of arousal taking hold. He splays his fingers against the bark, shifting his weight to balance himself as he works open the buttons on his trousers. He's rock hard and aching and he barely gets the top three buttons undone before he's shoving his hand into his trousers, taking himself in hand.

The initial touch is good, and Geralt has to bite back a moan as he strokes up to the head of his cock, twisting his fingers around. The pleasure doesn’t last. It's good for a minute, but the feeling doesn't build and despite every fantasy he pulls up, every past affair he recalls, nothing helps. The feeling plateaus and the heat under his skin burns hotter.

Jaskier finds him like that, leaning against a tree with his cock in his hand and Geralt is too frustrated to care. But he smells him, the spicy-sweet scent drifting on the breeze and Geralt growls low in his throat because this cannot be happening to him. Anything else, anyone by Jaskier.

"Geralt-?" he asks and Geralt's cock jerks in his hand, interested at last. But Geralt shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, ignoring the voice in his head that reminds him of what he really wants. It tells him Jaskier could help, reminds him that this is what he’s wanted after all, at night when the fire burns low or when Jaskier’s fingers massage knots out of his muscles in the bath.

Geralt steadfastly ignores it, assuring himself that it’s just the spell working its way through him and he’ll get through this some other way, he just has to get to town. He just has to get past Jaskier first.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks and the most bitter part of Geralt wants to ask if he can’t see what’s wrong, but he keeps his mouth shut. “I could help?”

No, Geralt thinks, but his body hasn’t quite caught up with that decision. He doesn't like being watched, less so by Jaskier, but when Jaskier speaks the burning subsides and Geralt can feel. This is the last thing he wants Jaskier present for, but he lets him stay, though he doesn't let him get close. And Jaskier knows something is wrong, so he stands there like he's on the other side of a door, stepping from side to side anxiously.

"Talk to me," Geralt rumbles, stroking himself with jerky motions.

"What should I say?"

"Anything. Sing." He regrets the words almost as soon as they're out of his mouth because he can feel the change in Jaskier's demeanour without having to look at him and he knows he's not going to get out of this one easily. Because Jaskier's voice does all sorts of filthy things to him at the best of times and right now he's overwhelmed and out of his own control.

And Jaskier sings. Geralt can't even hear the lyrics through the haze of lust, but Jaskier's voice fills his head and Geralt drowns in it. He works himself quick and hard, focusing on the scent and sound of Jaskier and he comes on a high note, dropping forward so his head presses against the tree trunk. He catches his breath and, without skipping a beat, he wipes his hand on his trousers and buttons himself up around his still-hard cock.

When this is over with, he's going to be sat down and forced to apologize about every awful thing he's ever said about Jaskier's singing. But for now, the ache subsides and Geralt is thankful for small mercies. And after this, Jaskier deserves whatever praise Geralt can give him.

Jaskier hurries over to him, but Geralt still doesn't let him get too close. Even as they head back to camp, Geralt keeps his distance. His mind swims with shame and guilt, but even as he regrets getting off to Jaskier's voice, the need resurfaces. It's thicker, like a smog all around him and he can't breathe. It's worse now and Geralt isn't an idiot - he can pick up on a pattern. He does nothing, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier's voice and the feeling it encourages.

He focuses on packing, getting his things together while he can so they can make their way back to town. Town means brothels and brothels mean relief so Geralt focuses on that.

But even before he can finish, the heat returns worse than before, searing up the back of his neck. Geralt breaks out in a hot sweat, fingers clenched tightly around the fabric in his hand. He doesn't even know what it is anymore, doesn't remember what he was doing before the heat crept up on him again and he crouches down, pressing his free hand to the ground to steady himself.

Jaskier slips up behind him, calm as always and rests a hand on his shoulder. It's probably intended to be comforting, but his touch is like a cool river in the dead of summer and Geralt moans at the relief.

"Again?" Jaskier asks, not nearly as concerned as he should be, but he probably doesn't know a lot about sex magic. He slips up behind him, smoothing his hands up Geralt's back and pulling him back against him.

Geralt wants to pull away, to spare Jaskier the humiliation of having to deal with him like this, but he can't fight the cool press of his hands and the intoxicating scent that fills his head once more. Jaskier rubs his shoulders like he's done countless times before, but when he starts pulling at his armour, undoing clasps and ties, the heat in Geralt’s belly swells.

"You should go," he huffs but Jaskier just tuts at him as he pulls his chest piece over his head. Geralt feels lighter without his armour, but no less hot when Jaskier's fingers slip under the collar of his shirt - an accident, he's sure - Geralt doesn't have the strength to push him away. He moans at the first touch of Jaskier's skin against his own and hates how desperate he sounds.

"I'm not going to leave you here like this," Jaskier hums, and Geralt flops back against his shoulder, whining as Jaskier's hands slip from his skin. "Tell me how I can help."

“Please just go,” Geralt whispers, a last-ditch attempt at saving them both the humiliation, but it comes out aching and desperate and if Jaskier hears, he doesn’t show it.

Jaskier’s hands run down his chest and Geralt’s mind is laser-focused on that, like the only thing that matters in the world is Jaskier's hands. And right now that's what it feels like. He arches into the touch, rolling his head on Jaskier's shoulder and gods it feels good, but it's not enough and he can't ask Jaskier for more. He won’t.

He shifts in Jaskier's arms, his hips twitching with every touch, every puff of breath against the top of his head. It's too much and it's not enough and Geralt feels like he's going to rip out of his skin before he gets through this. Realistically, he knows exactly what he needs, but maybe he can get through it like this, maybe he can just-

Jaskier's fingers brush over his nipple and Geralt's body jerks without his permission, arching off of Jaskier and pushing against him. The moan that fills the air is wild and wanting and Geralt refuses to believe it came from him. He writhes in Jaskier's lap, fingers clenching hard around Jaskier's thighs to keep from doing something he'll regret. He aches to touch, but he's already let this go further than he'd have liked. Even if Jaskier is offering, he's not a willing partner, not really.

But Jaskier is patient and his hands feel so good and when he tips his head down next to his ear, he breathes softly against his ear. "Do what you need to," he breathes and Geralt groans in response.

He doesn't want to. It's bad enough that Jaskier saw him before, he doesn't need a repeat performance. But now that the thought is in his head, his cock aches. It's pressed painfully against the front of his trousers and he longs to wrap his hand around himself, stroke himself off right here in Jaskier's lap. A new wave of heat prickles at the back of his neck just thinking about it.

He moves his hands as slowly as his body will allow, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. His hands are shaky, his movements stilted, and he growls in frustration, shoving a hand into his trousers with only one button undone. It feels good, even if it's not his own hand he wants wrapped around him and he thrusts against his palm, snapping his hips up hard and fast.

Jaskier's hands slide down his stomach and lift from his body, much to Geralt's displeasure. They hover above his groin and when he focuses hard enough, he can feel the heave of Jaskier's chest against his shoulders.

"Can I-?" he asks and Geralt grits his teeth to keep from blindly allowing him whatever he wants.

"What?" he groans. He needs to know what he wants, exactly what he wants because he can't bear to have Jaskier touch him like this, not this way.

"Your buttons," he breathes and it only occurs to Geralt belatedly that he sounds very out of breath. He nods, turning his head against his chest to keep from seeing Jaskier's hands so close to his cock.

He feels every tiny movement as Jaskier carefully gets his trousers undone and Geralt sighs as his cock is freed, squeezing a little tighter around the base. He's vaguely aware of Jaskier mumbling something in his ear and then he's being hauled upright again, which seems to take far too much effort and he doubts it was worth it.

But as he shifts, Jaskier presses closer against his back. He slides his hands up Geralt's sides, tugging his shirt up over his head and breathing heavily against the back of his neck. And he's hard, the length of him pressing into Geralt's lower back.

This time, when he comes, with Jaskier's hands running up the insides of his thighs, there's no feeling of satisfaction. There's no rise and fall, just more of the same and he knows he's running out of time to get to town. Any human would be beyond their control now and Geralt is trying so hard to hold on, not to lose himself to the lust coursing through his veins. He has to go now.

But Jaskier's fingers creep up, pushing down into the vee of his hips and Geralt doesn't even try to stop him. He doesn't have the energy. When Jaskier takes him in hand, he tries to tell him no, that he can deal with this on his own, but Jaskier's touch is the only true relief he's had.

Jaskier gets him off twice like this, but it's still not enough to satisfy the burning lust within him and Geralt realizes he's not getting to town without getting through this. Jaskier presses his face into Geralt's shoulder, breathing against his skin.

"You need someone else," he realizes. And Geralt can't even speak. "I'll give it to you, anything you need, you just have to let me."

As far as Geralt is concerned, this has already gone on for far too long and he wants to say no, but Jaskier's fingers slip loosely around his cock and for some gods forsaken reason, he wants to help.

"You don't want this," Geralt mumbles, but Jaskier brushes the hair out of his eyes and leans over his shoulder.

"I do," he says, "I hate to see you suffer."

When Geralt shifts, Jaskier's cock presses into his ass and the sharp intake of breath against his ear nearly sends him over the edge again. The feeling is too much, too close to what he really wants and as he moves he catches the scent of him and groans. And underneath the heat and the unrelenting want, a hint of genuine arousal slips through, strong enough that he can smell it even amidst the sweat and the stink of magic. Jaskier wants him. He refocuses himself, bracing himself on Jaskier's thighs and relents, nodding his assent against his shoulder.

Jaskier is enthusiastic, giving him everything he can with his hands and his mouth - and gods, he can do some sinful things with his mouth. He touches him everywhere, never lifting his hands from Geralt's skin, even after he's come again and he's shaking with the effort of it. But it's still not enough. It's still not what he needs and Geralt still isn't willing to ask that of Jaskier, he'd rather suffer all through the walk back to town than put Jaskier in that position.

He bucks up into his own hand, groaning in frustration as it gets him nowhere. Jaskier's hands slide down his stomach, wrapping around him and gently pushing Geralt's hands aside.

"Let me," he breathes. Geralt isn't in any position to argue with him, so he drops his hands to Jaskier's knees, gripping firmly as his hips jerk up.

The worst part is that he knows Jaskier would say yes because sex isn't a big deal to him because he knows Geralt needs this. And that's why he can't ask. Because he won't suggest something that takes away Jaskier's choice. But he thinks about it, eyes clenched shut as he pushes back against Jaskier's cock. He shouldn't touch him, but Jaskier isn't stopping him and most of the time it's accidental anyway. Geralt can't keep still with hands on his cock and sliding down his thighs and he pushes back against him in the moment.

A couple of times he grunts out a stunted I want- or I need- but he never finishes what he's trying to say. The urgency just increases, spreading liquid heat through his entire body and Geralt is helpless to do anything but squirm in Jaskier's lap and take whatever is given to him. He reaches back behind him, curling his arm around the back of Jaskier's neck and pushing his fingers into his hair. Jaskier tips his head, nuzzling against Geralt's temple.

"Geralt," he breathes, "this isn't helping, is it?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Jaskier knows anyway. "You could fuck me." His voice is steady, not revealing any hint of fear or hesitation and the thought rips through Geralt in a rush of lust. But he can't, as much as he might want to. He can't control himself like this and the last thing he wants to do is hurt Jaskier while he's just trying to help. He can't.

"What do you need, Geralt?"

Geralt shuts his eyes and drops his chin against his chest. He doesn't want to say it because he knows it's not how he's supposed to be; he should be the strong one, the dominant one. But he can feel the swell of Jaskier's cock against him and he wants it so badly that he knows it can't just be the spell.

"You can trust me, darling." Jaskier's wrist gives a flick at the head of his cock and Geralt whimpers at the friction. "Tell me what you need."

Jaskier leans in, kissing his neck and Geralt knows it's intended as a comfort but he can't help but lean into it. He doesn't want to give in, not like this but he's too far gone now to make it to town and he probably couldn't find someone to help him in this state anyway. And there will already be repercussions for what they've done, so maybe he should-

The hand he has fisted in Jaskier's hair tightens and he tips his head down, forcibly ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Jaskier as he does. He tugs Jaskier down close enough that he can feel his breath against his cheek.

"Fuck me," he whispers, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. And Jaskier hesitates long enough that Geralt tries to pull away from him, but Jaskier doesn't let him. He pulls Geralt toward him, laying him down on his back and coming around to sit next to him. He runs his hand up Geralt's thigh and further to curl around his cock, stroking him slowly again.

But it's still not enough and when Jaskier pulls away to undress, Geralt gets a hand around himself, working himself quick and hard despite the lack of relief it gives him. When Jaskier returns to him, he bats his hand out of the way and positions himself between his legs. Geralt holds his breath but Jaskier doesn't care about anything other than getting him through this and if Geralt was in his right mind he would be incredibly grateful for it.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time getting the oil and as soon as his fingers are slick, he presses back between Geralt's cheeks. The first press is cold and unfamiliar, but Jaskier rubs against him, presses just firmly enough to push through the muscle, and Geralt's body adjusts. As Jaskier presses further, Geralt drops his head back against the dirt, giving up any pretense of watching what's happening. The burning need hasn't subsided at all, but Jaskier's fingers feel incredible, sliding around his rim and pressing into him. When he pushes a second digit into him, Geralt finds his body is quite receptive.

It feels... good, like all of Jaskier's touches feel good, but this is different in a way he can't quite explain. He feels open and exposed but it doesn't feel wrong like he expected, he likes it, and he's fairly certain that isn't an effect of the spell. Jaskier takes his time, working precisely and never neglecting Geralt's cock long enough for the need to overwhelm him. He doesn't give Geralt long to adjust to the third finger before he starts moving and Geralt understands, but he wants more and he wants it now. Jaskier crawls up over him, leaning against his chest as his fingers work slowly in and out.

"Is this okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, his eyes slipping shut as Jaskier pushes deeper. "Fuck, do you like that?" He sounds so breathless and Geralt just groans as another wave of lust rolls over him, but Jaskier gets the idea. He doesn't wait any longer, slicking his cock with oil and pressing up against him.

As Jaskier pushes into him, Geralt is aware of nothing but Jaskier’s cock and the way it opens him up as Jaskier presses closer. He looks up once to see him but Jaskier is oblivious. He's got his eyes clenched shut, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and o a regular day, the sight would be enough for Geralt to get off to - even without feeling him as well.

When he finally sheaths himself, Jaskier pulls Geralt's hips up, holding them steady as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. He's being cautious, but right now Geralt doesn't need kindness and patience, and he hauls Jaskier down over him, shoving his hips back with a growl.

"Fuck me," he snarls, and Jaskier does. It takes him a little bit to adjust to the fact that he's not going to hurt him and that what Geralt needs right now is to be fucked ruthlessly, but he gets it.

And gods, Geralt is barely conscious, floating somewhere between ecstasy and pain, but Jaskier is very good at what he does. Geralt thinks vaguely that he understands why so many people risk their marriages and more to have the bard in their bed. He moans and whines under him, arching off the ground and groping at whatever part of Jaskier's body he can reach to hold on to. Blunt nails dig into Jaskier's shoulders and he'll feel bad about it later, but Jaskier doesn't even flinch, driving himself deeper and switching up the position so Geralt feels like he's choking on his cock.

Geralt's hair is plastered to his face, his body shudders with every thrust, yet it burns for more and Jaskier never once lets up. When Geralt desperate, meekly, asks him to fuck him harder, he does without so much as a second thought, leaning over to brush his hair back and press hot kisses into his throat. Geralt feels like he's going to combust before he ever gets through this, but Jaskier is calm and his touch is Geralt's only respite.

He moves with him, keeping Jaskier inside him as much as he can and he squeezes around him. He can tell the second his orgasm starts building and he wraps his legs around Jaskier instinctively, hauling him down against him. His cock is trapped between them and Geralt thrusts erratically, all sense of timing gone as Jaskier's cock slams into him, sending him over the edge.

He comes with a cry, arching up against Jaskier's body and grinding against him. It's barely satisfying, but the burning need retreats and Geralt is left sweaty and panting in the dirt. His body is dead weight, sinking into the ground and he knows he shouldn't want this, shouldn't let himself linger, but Jaskier is warm against his cooling skin and he can't bring himself to move.

But, he realizes, Jaskier never came. And while he may be doing this to help Geralt, it's hardly fair that he's left unsatisfied for his troubles. Especially considering Geralt wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave for good after this. The least he can do is send him off happy.

He shifts, winding his arms around Jaskier's waist and slowly sliding his hands down to cup his ass. Jaskier exhales a shaky breath, his hips following the motion set for them. His arms shake and he leans down, resting on his elbows so his nose is barely an inch from Geralt's.

"Relax now, you don't have to do anything for me."

Geralt frowns as he meets his eyes. "You didn't come." Jaskier doesn't respond, but the faint blush that rises in his cheeks tells Geralt that he did and Geralt finds that, despite everything, he’s sorry he missed that. "Oh."

Jaskier disentangles himself quickly after that and Geralt regrets making things awkward. Not that this was ever a comfortable situation, but he'll remember Jaskier's hands on him for many nights to come. He lets his arms fall to his sides, exhausted, and watches as, above him, Jaskier rises to his feet and walks away. There was no other option, he tells himself, and Jaskier offered, but without the screaming urgency burning through his skin he doesn't feel the same conviction he did earlier.

He should get up and help Jaskier get his things together, then ride into town in case this gods awful thing flares up again. But he doesn't get further than sitting up before Jaskier returns, tutting at him and wrapping a blanket around him. He settles behind him, leaning against a tree trunk and pulls Geralt up between his thighs, brushing his hair back out of his face.

"You're not leaving?" Geralt asks and Jaskier stiffens against him, just for a second.

"Of course not. What kind of friend would I be to leave you like this?" Oh. He hadn't considered an outcome where Jaskier wasn't disgusted. That... changes things.

"It might come back," Geralt manages, half-ashamed, half-hopeful that Jaskier is genuine in his offer to stay.

"And if it does," Jaskier breathes, "I'm here."

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #fuck or die #rex writes #The witcher #and now #i'm off to play video games #bc this took AN HOUR to post #plus editing time #bc i am a disaster #oop

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kindiekritz · 4 years ago

Text

Get Some Rest, Samurai...

Via Anon Ask; “because im also a sap for Johnny and V- How do you think Johnny would help V cope with a panic attack? Especially when its likely something he's feeling laggy echoes of himself if he's in her head during it? (hurt/comfort is a FAVE of mine and i have anxiety, can ya' tell?)”

B ro,, don’t worry anon bc same here, we are anxiety homies together 👏😔 - This is my first time writing for Johnny Silverhand! Trying to get back on the writing boat, (haven't forgotten my previous fic!) and there's nothing like simping for video game characters to get that inspiration flowing. Do let me know what you think! Johnny may be a bit too OOC in this, I may have gone a little bit overboard with the soft? Ah well, I hope someone will enjoy it regardless :P

Here is the Ao3 Link! :D

V’s time was running out.

Every time the relic in their head would malfunction, every time they went into a coughing fit and the disgusting taste of metallic blood would fill their mouth, every time he would manifest himself in her head and V would catch a glimpse of his stupid fucking face…

V was reminded of the fact that their time was running out, and fast.

And despite the fact that they were doing everything in their power to stop the construct in her mind from completely destroying her from the inside out, that didn’t stop the fact that she still had to pay the rent.

In fact, it wasn’t cheap coughing up the eddies to pay Rouge for her services, or having to pay for bigger and better gear that would keep her alive when dealing with Arasaka guards, hell, it wasn’t cheap to keep purchasing more and more bottles of Omega Blockers, the pills were the only thing that kept him from completely taking control.

She found herself taking more and more gigs, trying to simply keep up with the extra costs of having a completely second personality living rent-free in her mind. But even then… she couldn’t find it in herself to reject or turn away people who needed her help, even if they had little to nothing to offer in return.

It seemed as if her phone was constantly buzzing with calls and texts of people who wanted and needed her help. No matter where she went or what she did, people needed her services, people needed her time.

And yet, time was something that she had very little left of.

V was exhausted. The bags under her eyes revealed that she hadn’t slept in days, and she couldn’t remember when she last had a proper meal.

She was always on the go, she didn’t have time to take care of herself.

But as she groggily opened the door to her apartment, she thought to herself that… maybe, just maybe… she would finally let herself take a nice, long warm shower.

V was too exhausted to care about the possibility of Johnny potentially staring at her nude form as she stood under the running water. Hell, let him stare for all she cared! The thought of warm water running over her exhausted muscles, washing away the dirt and grime of the city… it was too appealing at that moment.

She removed her weapon slung across her back, letting her beloved leather Samurai jacket slip off her shoulders and onto the ground, too exhausted to care about putting it away properly.

The weight of the gun in her hands was normally a welcome and grounding presence for V when she was on a mission, the weapon in her hands keeping her safe from those who wished to do her harm. But now? It felt too heavy, unbearably so, as if the weight would make her topple over onto the floor below. The muscles in her arms were exhausted and spent. As she rotated her shoulder she heard the joints audibly pop. The consequences of pushing her body too far.

She would do anything for the physical ache to go away.

As she stepped through the door to her armory and switched on the fluorescent lights of the room, her gaze fell upon someone already there, casually lounging atop her workbench and raising a cigarette to his mouth, pausing to speak before inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Damn V. You look like shit.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment, and made her way to her weapon locker instead, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck.

V fiddled with the combination, her foggy mind struggling to remember the correct numbers and the correct order, her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated as she inputs each digit. V cursed herself for making it so damn difficult, but eventually, she finally managed to swing the metal door open, proceeding to put her gun away amongst her collection of stored weapons.

Johnny hopped off of the workbench, stepping towards V as she organized her storage, resting his metal arm against the locker, using his height to his advantage as he towered over her and confronted her. “No, seriously V, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Fuck— Johnny, I dunno… A few days I guess?” V slammed the door of the locker using more force than necessary, Johnny already starting to get on her nerves, the last thing she needed was Johnny Fucking Silverhand following her around like a worried mother hen. V pouted and huffed, blowing away a stubborn strand of hair that had fallen across her face, then turning to meet his gaze, hidden behind wine-colored lenses, and asked, “Why do you care anyway?”

“You’ve been on edge all day, I can feel it. You’re like a string that’s been strung too strongly. I feel like you’re ready to snap at any fuckn’ moment, V.”

She could feel his stare on her body and the tension in the room was beginning to suffocate her. He was poking at a sensitive topic for her, and he knew it.

V stuttered, trying to find the right words to say as she couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore, instead choosing to halfheartedly push him aside and walk away, “Johnny… I’m fine. Really. I just— I just need a shower and a nap, that’s all.”

As V stepped out of the room, the weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier with each step.

She wanted to crumble, she wanted to cry.

She just wanted to wrap up herself in a bundle of blankets and cry into an order of takeout. One of those ugly cries that made snot dribble from your nose and your cheeks flushed and red.

She wanted— no, V needed to let everything out.

But… she couldn’t. She didn’t have the time for it, she needed to get back to work soon. Here were people that needed her help and there were eddies to be made. She would let herself rest when she’d gotten that damned biochip out of her head.

It was at that moment when V’s phone began to ring, the sound interrupting her thoughts and causing her to pause in her step.

Almost as if on reflex, she quickly reached into her pocket and withdrew the device, not even bothering to check the caller ID before answering, “V speaking, what do you want?”

“V, it’s Regina. I’ve got another report of a cyberpsycho attack…”

V stopped listening to the voice on her phone, too distracted by the crushing pressure on her chest and the fact that she had begun to tremble and shake like a leaf.

All she had wanted was a hot shower and a night in, was that too much to ask?

After weeks of dodging blades and bullets, running meaningless errands and tasks for just a few eddies in return, spending sleepless nights that left dark circles under her eyes, and going days on end without even seeing her fucking apartment, all she wanted was a night in.

Was that too much to fucking ask?

She could faintly register Johnny’s voice coming from behind her, an uncharacteristically concerned tone in his voice as he asked, “...V? What’s wrong?”

The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second, her breaths becoming strained and labored as the increasing fear and dread overwhelmed her body. She gripped her phone tightly in her hand, glaring at the device with tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“V? Are you listening? I said that there’s another report of a cyberpsycho near your current position, are you still—“

With a press of a button, she hung up the phone.

Johnny watched V, her form trembling and shoulders tensed.

In all of their weeks stuck together, he’d never seen his little merc look so small. A real juxtaposition when compared to her usual self; a real fucking hardass, she was the only other person Johnny had ever met that was just as bullheaded and stubborn as himself.

As much as he teased her about it, Johnny knew one thing for certain. V was strong, V was determined. A damned force of nature and he pitied the bastards that stood in her way.

But despite the cybernetics in her body and the chip in her mind… V was human. V had her limits.

The facade she’d built up for herself couldn’t last forever, and Johnny knew it. He’d sensed the cracks in her resolve grow larger and larger with each sleepless night and after every exhausting gig.

But for a brief second, a thought crossed Johnny’s mind;

V was fractured… V was broken… V was weak.

And with that thought, V finally snapped.

“I AM NOT FUCKING WEAK!”

V cried out, lobbing her phone at him. It phased right through him, instead hitting against the wall, shattering the screen, and sending the device flying into some unknown corner of the room.

She froze, her eyes widening in shock, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. The realization slowly setting in after the result of her outburst.

V’s vision blurred as tears welled in the corners of her eyes, she slowly fell to the cold floor, cradling her knees up to her chest and muffling her sobs in her arms.

Johnny watched as she sat in the middle of the room and sobbed.

She didn’t let herself cry when Jackie had died, she didn’t let herself cry when Vic told her that she was practically dying. V didn’t cry as she carried Evalyn’s bloodied body, and V didn’t cry late at night when she was alone, and her chest felt tight and her throat choked up.

He knew it was coming, he could feel V’s emotions as they bubbled up and reached their boiling point.

But what truly surprised him, was just how much it hurt him to see his little merc cry.

“Shit— V…” he nervously swallowed his throat, but try as he might, for once in his goddamn existence, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Johnny didn’t like the way he felt.

Johnny didn’t like the way she made him feel at that moment.

He didn’t like the way his chest tightened at the sound of each of her sobs. The way he felt so restless as he could only watch her curl onto herself for comfort. He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth across the room, unsure if it was her anxiety or his that was setting him off.

Johnny could almost feel V’s heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline flooding her veins, adrenaline meant to stimulate a fight or flight reaction. But when the pain and panic swelled from within her own chest, there was nowhere V could run, nobody she could physically fight.

All she could do was sob into her knees, desperately trying to hide her sobs and cries from him, but her own cries easily overpowered her.

And because of him, she didn’t even feel like she had the ability to freely have a goddamn mental breakdown in her own apartment, even as she choked and sobbed, she tried to grasp onto the shattered remains of her facade. Was it for her sake, or for his?

At that point… neither of them knew.

V couldn’t stop her body from trembling. She tightly gripped onto herself until her knuckles turned white. But V didn’t notice. It didn’t even register in her mind.

She didn’t register the hot tears as they streamed down her face, the shuddering cries that caused her lip to quiver with each breath. She couldn’t recognize that no matter how hard she tried, her frantic breaths caused her lungs to feel as if they were on fire, incapable of delivering oxygen to her body.

V’s mind didn’t even register the fact that Johnny had stopped pacing back and forth.

Her mind cursed at her to get her shit together. V needed to wipe away those tears and she needed to get back on the streets. A moment of weakness could’ve gotten her killed in her past, and now was no different.

But… the thought of standing up and leaving her apartment caused another fresh wave of sobs to rattle her body.

She was tired… she was so goddamn exhausted…

“V…”

All she wanted was a night in. Was that too much to ask? After all of her hard work and effort, hadn’t she earned it?

“V, listen to me.”

Clearly, she hadn’t done enough if people were still calling, still demanding her presence. Clearly she—

V felt something warm touch her cheek.

Someone was there.

Although her mind had stopped temporarily spiraling, she felt the wet salty tears dripping down her face, her vision was still blurry, and her cheeks were incredibly flushed. She must’ve looked… pathetic she thought. But regardless, she allowed herself to look up at the person who had reached out to her.

The cold of his metal rings juxtaposed the warmth of his hand, and as her eyes trailed up towards his arms, she caught sight of his familiar tattoos, but also an unfamiliar detail as she reached his face.

Instead of seeing her reflection in the lenses of his glasses, she was surprised to see his eyes staring into hers. Gone was any trace of malice or cruelty, instead his brown eyes reflected nothing but concern… an emotion she’d never expected to see from him.

Johnny.

As her tearful eyes met his, he could’ve almost sworn that he felt his engram heart stop beating for a second. The tears rolling down her cheeks, the way her lip trembled with each breath. He didn’t know why the sight of V feeling so upset affected him so, he blamed her emotions, her hormones, whatever came into his mind. He hated the way she made him feel, he hated that she had this much power over him.

But most of all, he hated the fact that he felt so powerless to stop it.

He would’ve gladly taken V cussing him out, he would’ve taken V nagging at him and complaining about the smell as he smoked in her apartment. He would’ve even happily taken V as she sang along to the car radio, something she’d originally done to get onto his nerves, but now it has become a sound he’s grown… to tolerate. Even sometimes… appreciate it.

He wasn’t the type to comfort people like this, he was the type to leave as soon as emotions came into play, the countless amount of hearts that he’d broken in the past were evidence enough. Fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with his own goddamn emotions, blowing up Arasaka tower as revenge to deal with his grief, that’s what got him into this mess.

But as he wiped away a tear from her soft cheek with his calloused thumb… he wasn’t going to just sit there and let his little merc cry.

“V. You’ve done more than enough for this city than it deserves. You’re always running back and forth, trying to make this shithole a better place… all while trying to keep yourself alive.” He wanted to tell her that this damned city didn’t deserve her generosity, it didn’t deserve her hard work, fuck, this city didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve her.

And she didn’t deserve what he was doing to her.

“You keep spreading yourself too thin, you keep wanting to do shit for others, you keep wanting to help. But then you add the cherry on top — the fact that there’s a chip in your head slowly killin’ ya… You’ve got enough on your plate. You’ve earned a few nights of rest.”

V sniffled and tried to wipe away tears, her voice wavering as she spoke, “I-If I don’t keep goin’ if I don’t keep looking for a solution— I’m gonna die. Johnny, I don’t want to die—“

“V, you’re gonna end up dead long before the chip has an opportunity to kill you if you keep pushing yourself like this… You need to get some rest.”

He was right. As much as she fucking hated it… he was right.

She felt his metal hand cup her other cheek, the cool metal refreshing against the flushed skin, wiping away tears as he continued to speak.

“You’ve proven yourself enough to this city. You’ve proven yourself enough to me. But running yourself to the bone is not worth it in order to prove it to yourself. And you’re not alone V… as much as they get on my fuckn’ nerves, you’ve got chooms lookin’ out for ya, even if one of them is a fuckn’ cop—“

Through tears, V chuckled and playfully chided him, “Johnny…”

There it was… that little chuckle of hers that he was looking for. He wouldn’t admit it to others, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but V’s laughter never failed to make him feel something funny in his chest… it wasn’t like the high of drugs or liquor, but it felt just as addictive. It wasn’t like the adrenaline rush of a firefight or the rush during a show, but it made him feel just as excited and lightheaded.

He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off of that feeling, and spoke, “Listen… all I’m saying… is that you’re not alone V. And although I don’t have much of a choice, whenever you need me…” he playfully smiled as his eyes met hers, “I’m always here for ya V.”

And that’s all it took.

In one moment to another, V wrapped her arms around his waist, knocking him on his ass from his previous kneeling position, and burying her head against his chest.

Despite sharing a head and body, somehow, someway, V always found a way to surprise him.

He groaned, the deep rumbles from his chest as he spoke making V settle in closer, anchoring herself to his presence.

“Fuck, V, a little warning next time would be nice.”

But even as he whined… he wasn’t complaining. Not when her sobs were beginning to fade, and she was instead chuckling at his expense in his arms.

He ignored that funny feeling in his chest as his organic arm wraps itself against her body, his calloused hand rubbing circles against the small of her back, feeling her trembling begin to slow under his soft touch. Over time, her breathing began to even, and soon enough she was taking deep breaths as she recovered.

Without even consciously doing so, Johnny’s metal hand found itself entwined with the strands of her hair, softly caressing as V’s eyes began to droop, and exhaustion began to overtake her body.

“V… it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I’m fine Johnny, I’m—“ a yawn interrupted her mid-sentence, “I’m not even tired.”

“And I’m not buying it.” He chuckled as his arm wrapped around her midsection.

“W-wait Johnny what are you— Johnny!” In an instant, V was thrown over his shoulder as he stood from the ground, and she gripped onto him in order to avoid falling to the floor.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking you to bed.” He chuckled as he felt her hand playfully slap against his shoulder.

“Fucking hell Johnny, a warning would be nice!” He could almost imagine her expression as he walked across the apartment, the way she would pout in exasperation.

“Just repaying the favor, that’s all.” He smirked as he reached her bed. Slowly setting her down from his shoulder onto the mattress below.

“There. It’s time that you allowed yourself to get some rest, and not that weird shit you do where you sleep across the bed huddled in a little ball, but some actual sleep, under the covers and all.”

“Fine, fine…” V slipped into a pair of nightclothes as Johnny had the decency to look away, and then slipped under the blankets, making herself comfortable. But before she drifted off to sleep, she called out, “Johnny?”

“... yeah?”

“I just— I just wanted to say thanks. Y’know, for tonight and all.”

“‘Course…” he stepped towards the bed once more as he spoke, “I mean, if I’m the one telling you that you need some rest, you probably fucked up somewhere along the way.”

“That’s true… judging from your memories, you’re terrible at following your own advice, Johnny.” She smiled at him, uncertain if the lack of sleep had made her delirious or if perhaps she was feeling particularly honest that night, but she spoke, “Y’know, if fucking up this badly was the catalyst for us to meet… I would do it all over again.”

He smiled sadly in return, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his cold metal hand brushing her cheek as he did so. An action to acknowledge the words between them were best left unspoken and unsaid— at least, for now.

“...Goodnight V.” He tore his gaze from her as he turned to walk away.

“Wait— Johnny!”

She grasped his metallic hand before he had the opportunity to pull away.

“... stay with me? Just for tonight?”

With her eyes looking up at him, her smaller hand clinging onto his, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to race—

How could he say no?

“Fine, but just for tonight. I can’t have you thinkin’ I’m goin’ soft or something.”

Johnny slipped under the covers, and without even needing to be asked, he wrapped his arms around V, and she rested her head against his chest in return.

“Get some rest, samurai… the city will still be there waiting for us when you awake.”

Thank ya kindly for reading! I'm always down for some constructive criticism and I love to read any lovely comments about my fics. Do let me know if there are any mistakes, I don't have a beta reader for Cyberpunk just yet, so a few mistakes may have gotten away from me!

And feel free to send in asks/requests! I'm so in love with Johnny and V and I can spend hours thinking and talking about them aaaaa

#CW Panic Attack #Cyberpunk 2077 #Johnny Silverhand #Johnny Silverhand x V #V #my works #fanfic #fluff #hurt and comfort is my kink ngl?#god i just.... lOVE THESE TWO SM

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years ago

Note

How do the BL students cope with missing their s/o? (like they're on a mission or something and won't be back for a long time) Bonus points for including how they react to seeing them again lol. Congrats on the big 100 btw

[Thank you! This is a little late but I was amazed to see so many people reading these posts.I’m pretty proud of this one.I wrote this as a ‘first time they’re apart’ kind of scenario. Hope it is to your liking! :3]

Dimitri:

Karma really does bite, and boy does it do so hard

More often than not it is Dimitri leaving you behind for missions. Being the leader of the Lions meant that he was stationed at almost every important battle. Sometimes you’d join, and others the professor would decide to have someone else take up arms. No biggie, you know? He never complained since it guaranteed your safety.

He didn’t even think of the possibility of a role reversal. One where you’d be sent out while he’s left behind. Up until now he was always by your side, but Manuela knew his limits better than anyone. She insisted he take the month off to rest.

Once again, no biggie. He’d much rather be productive but with some convincing he easily gave in. Everyone departed for the monthly mission and he decided to invest some of the extra time on his hands into an evening with you

He was about to search for you, but then memory did it’s job.

“Ah, that’s right. They departed with their battalion this morning...”

Dimitri wasn’t used to the silence of an empty Monestary. Was it always this hollow when the army was deployed? There were some people, yes. However most areas appeared almost lifeless.

It brought up some unpleasant memories to say the least. Ones of a dusk castle, strangers on every corner, empty dinner tables, and cold nights spent staring up from his balcony.

The time he spends without Dedue glued to his side is full of reflection. Once he’s trained, eaten, studied up, etc. He’ll stroll around the monastery and think of what his life has become

How fragile the peace is. How much longer will it last?

He wanted to talk with someone. The silence was deafening and he wished for a distraction before the voices made their appearance.

They did.

He wished for you to come home. Despite the voices screaming that he had no right to long for your comfort, the desire still remained.

Was it the same for you when he’d depart? This...lonely?

He hoped not.

Since when had Dimitri become assimilated to the daily nonsense that was his life?

Dedue had caught on to his highness’ feelings instantly. Dimitri was more reminiscent than usual, and often his walks would take him to your room. He wouldn’t enter, just look at the door as if expecting it to open. He wasn’t one to talk of the past as it made him uncomfortable, but sometimes Dedue would catch him smiling at nothing. It was a welcome change to have happy memories.

When you come home it’s as if Dimitri has a new aura. Well, maybe not entirely but he has a more solemn look in his eyes when they meet yours. He spends the first day being caught up on politics with the Professor and Seteth, but for many nights beyond the return he seeks your company

He wants to hear your voice. The one he craved for when the silence became intolerable

“I’ve returned my beloved, would you care to tell that story from the other night again? I know it has only been one day but I would love to hear it.”

Dedue:

Time alone with you was already a rarity, so your complete absence didn’t dieter him as much as one would think. Dedue’s schedule rarely has a slot for free-time, and so the days pass on like seconds

As long as there is no specific reason to worry then he refrains from doing so. Dedue genuinely believes in your strength and capabilities so he won’t needlessly fret over nothing. He has his own duties to attend to just as you do.

However, this doesn’t mean he feels nothing on the matter. Others can gossip about him all they want but his nationality doesn’t define his personality. Not that he cares, since his stone exterior hides signs of weakness

Let’s get this straight: he does miss you. While not in surplus, your time together is precious to him. He notices how your seat is empty during lessons and meetings. He unconsciously checks the training hall’s door during his regime, impatiently waiting for you to pop in and say your daily ‘hello’. He’s painfully aware of the extra pair of gardening gloves in his tool pail. Dedue knows that you are gone and it has an impact.

He just ignores it. Dedue knows that when duty calls it must come before personal issues. Even if there is no contact between you two, he would rather no letters than one relaying distress

If his highness asks about his feelings Dedue’s replies are short and curt. He does not wish for any worry or pity.

One small sign that Dedue is off-put is that he becomes forgetful. It’s something only those who know him well can pick up on. For example: he won’t bring any writing utensils to a meeting. To a stranger this is a common mishap that happens to everyone. Only people who know Dedue well will see that someone as responsible as him wouldn’t forget something so minute

Another is the short sighs he lets out. Nothing drawn out or dramatic, just quick puffs of air through the nose- kind of like a huff. They’re very difficult to catch and are a habit when he feels impatient or restless

The day you come home isn’t a large extravaganza. Prince Dimitri accompanies him to greet the returning troops, but it doesn’t take a wise man to see that he mainly came for moral support. You were his friend as well, and he also wanted to see Dedue happy.

When you come into sight Dedue approaches as if it’s a normal day. Your appearance is a bit too worn-down for his liking, and he says so. He asks if the journey went well, and whether it did or not he gives a minuscule smile

If you return it he’ll pat your head. A welcome home, if you will

“Come. Let us speak of the time we were apart. I would like to hear of your travels”

Felix:

Simple solution. Whenever Felix feels as if he’s missing your presence he’ll go find you.

Oh wait

He can’t lmao

It doesn’t hit him how big your role is in his life until you’re forced to be apart. All it took was a few days for Felix to feel like something was missing

At first he’s in denial. What is he, a child? A grown man doesn’t need someone to lean on, or keep him company, or check on him...or to give him encouragement......make him laugh....listen to his problems............okay. Maybe he does.

At the beginning he seems put together but gradually as the days go on Felix becomes socially intolerant. The only person he wants to talk with is you, and you’re not there. Anyone else can buzz off or they’re getting snapped at

No one says anything either. Sometimes you can’t when the only solution is so far away

Felix works extra hard when you’re gone. No one’s there to force much needed breaks onto him. From morning till dusk he’ll train and only stop for meals.

It’s his distraction. Every time that familiar pang shows up the training dummy gets another slice

What’s happened to him? He was never so dependent on another person. Yeah, he has people that he cares about but their presence was never a necessity in his life

The pain only intensifies as he thinks of what you’re doing, the dangers you’re facing, other (men/women) making you smile-

Oh....Oh no. Dear god he’s in love que the dummy’s head being sliced off

He’s waiting in your room on the day you get back. You’ll walk in to see him reading at your desk, only for the book to snap shut when you open the door

A bit roughly he’ll pull you in for a hug. Not too tight, if you wanted to escape it you could

“Look. I’ll only say this once so you better listen...don’t leave for that long ever again. If you have to then I’m going with. No arguments”

Ashe:

He’s fine. It’s okay. Ten days in and life goes on, you know? Today he played with some of the stray cats in the monastery like he normally would. The only off part was that he forgot to bring fish treats, normally you’d do that.

Then he ordered some sweet buns for dessert after dinner; it was his usual order on your rare dates. Those days you’d snatch one but this time they were all his

He had them in the garden with some mint tea and watched the sun set. The last time he did that you decided to braid his hair while he told bad puns about his patchy facial hair fiasco. This time he viewed in tranquil silence

Later in the evening he practiced archery to unwind. Lately Caspar agreed to be his training partner with you gone. He’d collect the arrows shot and help reposition the targets. You would normally do the same and in turn Ashe would wake up extra early to help you in the morning.

At night he curled up in bed with “Loog and the Maiden of Wind,” picking up from where he left off. It was easy since you had given him a copy with a built-in cloth bookmark for his birthday. He loves it to pieces.

Please come home When his eyes began to feel heavy he tucked it under his pillow for the day.

Under the covers he shifted to get comfortable, and just like every night he ended up cuddling one of his pillows

How much longer

He closed his eyes

....

..........

What was taking so long? The professor never mentioned that the journey would take weeks? There haven’t been letters either...

Where are you? What are you doing? Do you miss him? Are you eating properly? Are you sleeping right? He should have asked Seteth to let him accompany you. Are you on your way home? Should he go ask? No, it’s late. Asking now would be a bother-

He misses you so much. No amount of time spent absorbing himself in different hobbies makes the discomfort in his chest go away. Everything reminds him of you.

When you come home he’s front and center at the gate. The professor had taken pity on the boy (courtesy of Flayn’s plea) and arranged his schedule to be free all day. He spent it chatting with gatekeeper until troops appeared in the distance

The moment you’re in sight he’s skipping down the stairs and greets you with the warmest embrace. The second you pull back he’s peppering kisses on your cheeks.

“You’re back! I’ve missed you so much I can’t even begin to explain. Let’s go eat dinner and you can tell me all about the trip”

Sylvain:

Is it weird that with you gone Sylvain actually begins to be a productive human being?

He spends the newfound spare time at the stables with the horses, or helping with chores around the monastery. Very rarely is he found goofing off

Weird. Most would expect him to let loose considering how you have him on a ‘ball and chain,’ as he puts it

So???? How come he chooses now to be responsible.

Simple. He only acts rebellious to get a rise out of you

Just kidding lol. Only partially

While he does get a free show out of your nagging, it isn’t the reason he behaves like that. Neither why he’s suddenly ‘turned over a new leaf’

Sylvain highly respects you. Not only do you work hard but you’re also one of the most genuine people he knows. He’ll never say it to your face but before he loved you Sylvain looked to you as a role model. He never could have imagined that someone with such an authentic set of emotions would become his partner

He also puts you through hell with all the trouble he gets in. Anyone else would have ended the relationship by now with so many FALSE rumors of adultery on his end. Yet you never gave up on him.

In short, you’ve stood by him through thick and thin. From daily mess ups to the more deeper problems. You’ve been a major pillar that he leans on.

So that’s what he’s going to be for you. While you’re away he’s going to pick up the slack and make sure there’re no messes waiting for you to come home to

Just him and maybe a few snide jokes. You know, a couple of dramatic whines about all the trouble he went to in making sure your room stayed clean

Sometimes it gets difficult to turn down the invites from his peers, but he holds strong. The change is so drastic that Byleth even jokes about sending you away more often.

He takes it with a grain of salt. They’d never exploit their students like that and he knows it

When you arrive home he’s waiting patiently in your room. In one arm there’s a blanket and in the other a feather duster c’mon he has to make this believable

“Well there’s the (man/woman) of the hour. Do you realize the horrors that I’ve endured these past weeks? I cleaned this room EVERY DAY. You owe me big time!”

Sylvain demands that for all the worry, strife, and hard labor you put him through; he deserves an afternoon nap with his partner. Will you let him slack off?

Annette:

Busy, busy, busy!!!

She has so many chores to get done, books to read, people to talk to, and songs to sing

She hated to say goodbye, but eventually you’ll come home. This isn’t like before. You’re not like him.

Annette trusts you

She loves you

While you’re gone she’ll think of all the things you can do together when you get back. What’s a better way to use the time, right?

She 100% plans to blackmail you into treating her for lunch. How could you leave her behind to watch over everyone by herself? So cruel...

There are mild worries that fill her heart. Thoughts on your health for one. Whether you’re skilled in faith or not it doesn’t matter to her.

She kind of wishes that the professor scheduled her to fight as well. However, things were better this way.

Annette will make sure you have somewhere wonderful to return to

She even writes a small ‘welcome home’ jingle! Anything to bring out your smile

People will occasionally ask how she’s holding up. After all, if Annette doesn’t worry about herself then of course others will do it for her.

And yeah. Sometimes it does get rough. She’s human and naturally her partner means the world to her. Who the hell would be okay with sending their loved one away?

It’s just that if she isn’t optimistic than who will be. Who’s going to give you encouragement when you need it most? Isn’t that what being a couple is about? To have faith and believe in each other?

That’s why she’s okay. She’ll sing those fear demons away and take comfort in knowing you’ll come home with everyone else

And when you do she’s there with a few of your favorite flowers. She’ll congratulate you on a job well done whether the battle was a win or lose, and literally force you into her dorm to talk the hours away.

“Welcome home! I had plenty of time on my hands while you were away so I wrote a small song...i-if it’s okay then can I sing it for you? I promise it’s not about tasty cakes this time haha!”

Mercedes:

The daily church hymn lifts her spirits. Mercedes’ devout faith is what supports her during moments of weakness

You’ve probably guessed this, but every day you’re in her prayers.

Not that you weren’t before, but now she spends a little more time mulling over possibilities of danger. Some extra blessings couldn’t hurt either

She does find her thoughts trailing over to you often as well. Not anything negative but instead the happier memories. Saying goodbye was a rough blow when realization hit that your return date wasn’t definite

Alas, the goddess will protect you. Mercedes steels herself to be patient and invest her energy into more productive things

Mercedes is sort of like the big sister of all her friends. The doting type. Without you around she has all this pent up affection, and the lions get the blunt end of it

They’re an outlet that she uses to distract herself from not having you around. Not that they necessarily mind it (maybe Felix but he’ll get over it)

The time she’d spend with you is used to bake for the monastery children, or help with chores. She uses it wisely and also works on some of her own hobbies.

You may or may not find some well-stitched embroidery on your socks. She goes all out and even offers to help mend Dimitri’s battle-worn cape. That thing needed a literal miracle to return to it’s former glory

Life isn’t much different aside from your lack of presence. With each day she finds herself looking forward to your return, and occasionally she’ll inquire with the professor about it. Mercedes is known for her patience, and it truly is a virtue in many cases. Definitely in this one.

When note of your future return arrives she can’t help but smile. If allowed she’ll ask to read the letter of notification herself and will do so with incredible focus. She’ll clutch one hand to her chest in relief before giving it back and leaving to return to her duties

and so it goes until your return. She might not be able to come meet you at the gate, but at first sighting she’ll engulf you in an embrace.

After a once-over for any injuries, she’ll insist that you have tea together. Hell, Mercedes would be happy if you two could just chat together on the nearest bench. There’s so much to talk of and now you two have all the time in the world

“It’s so nice to see you again! Oh my...it feels like forever since I have seen you smile. I almost forgot how contagious is is haha”

Ingrid:

If it was up to Ingrid than she would be positioned right at your side. You two work well as a duo both on and off of the field. The army would benefit from your skills being magnified as a team

She also wouldn’t have to deal with this ungodly sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Don’t misunderstand- Ingrid isn’t the protective type. She trusts in your capabilities both as a fighter and person. It’s only that being away for so long is a rarity, and she needs time to adjust.

She’d just have to trust in the other people stationed at your side to do what she can’t

If she knows any of them personally then Ingrid 100% approaches to ask that they watch your back

That takes care of any worry, but not of the crack in her daily life

Ingrid has much on her shoulders. Her family, Fargeus’ future, her friends, what food’s being served in the dining hall, if it tastes good or not, the church, the ‘flame emperor’, and you of course.

She’s also the type of person who likes uniformity: a schedule. You’re a part of that and being so far disrupts it. She’s afraid that her personal emotions will tap into her ability to fulfill her duties

Everyone else assures her otherwise. Ingrid is known for always giving 110% so a while of just 100% is no big deal. She is allowed to be human

She’s allowed to miss you. Her friends assure her of it

She’s allowed to worry. There’s no need to sear shut her fears. After losing Glenn...well, it’s understandable.

She’s allowed to ask for news updates. The professor has encouraged this.

She’s allowed to go in your room if she needs alone time. You said so before leaving.

However, Ingrid doesn’t allow herself those comforts until days after your departure. When you said goodbye it unsettled her stomach in more ways than one. It took some time to sort through her emotions while still maintaining her responsibilities

It took everything for Ingrid to move on from the past, and this experience set in a sense of gratitude for all that she’s been given. It also was an opportunity for her to reminisce over what she has lost, and still has to do.

Needless to say, when you return Ingrid has gained a newfound confidence and comfort in not having a set schedule for life. Everything has always felt as if it needed to be rushed, but meeting you wasn’t something she had planned nor sped into. Spending some time to focus on her own personal goals aside from the ones preset for her before birth aided in Ingrid coming to terms with that.

“Hello. It’s been so long that I hardly recognize you! What? It’s a joke!...Yes, I know how to tell jokes- hold on this is supposed to be a heartfelt reunion so don’t ruin it!”

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think-blot · 5 years ago

Text

Timeless (Klaus Mikaelson x F!Reader) Pt. 1

Summary: For centuries, Y/N has been Klaus’ well kept secret. An innocent soul that cherished him despite his short comings, that loved him no matter the monster he became. She was his, he was hers, and he wasn’t keen on letting that go. Of course, that kind of love is perfect leverage and the Salvatore brothers have just learned about her existence.

Word Count: 3534

A/N: Beyond excited about this one and I hope you guys like part 1! I’m not sure how many parts it’ll be but I like where it’s going so far. Enjoy ;)

PT. 2

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There was a house in the middle of what once was an empty field. He had told her it would be and, despite her doubts, standing right in front of her was exactly what he had promised. It was bigger than she could ever possibly need and she hadn't even stepped foot inside just yet. He had a habit of spoiling her it seemed. A rush of wind brought the man to her side, his sudden appearance no longer shocking her the way it used to. It was quite thrilling if she was honest with herself. "Are you satisfied, love?" He was a charming man, his smile enough to threaten her strongest of principles. Her mother must be rolling in her grave as she stood in front of him with her bare feet on the ground.

"It's far too much, Niklaus." She was always radiant when she smiled, the sight enough to warm even his cold heart. It was unfair to say that he had taken her, though he was sure that's what the village thought once they found her empty bed. The truth was he had grown quite fond of the human. She saw him in an innocent light that he swore had left long ago. He wanted to keep that and he didn't have to compel her to do so.

"It is just what you deserve." There's no hesitancy when she takes his hand, onlookers no longer around to judge at the simple act of affection. He tugs her gently, opening the door to more than just a new home. It was a new life.

The inside took her breath away. It was decorated as if she was royalty, the floor smooth underneath her with no fear of splinters and the walls decorated with paintings that she used to only dream of seeing. He let her go, smiling to himself at the wonder that was on her face as she moved from room to room. To him, it was modest living, but she reacted just the same as the first time he took her to his family's manor. He planned on keeping it that way.

"Did you paint these for me?" She stared at a face she only ever saw in the river, her own eyes unblinking with a coy look that only Niklaus has seen. She had never posed for him and yet the resemblance was so uncanny it distracted her from the grand fireplace that it hung above. Her young heart told her it was love.

"Some. Others simply came to fruition." He was behind her, admiring the way her heart picked up as his breath ghosted along her neck. "You haunt my mind far too often, love." He whispered, nosing his way to the vein that seemed to pound with her nerves. He pressed his hand to her waist, the touch the closest the two have been in the time they've known each other. It was easy for him to find a common whore or a snack, he didn't need that from her. She was something else to him and, to some degree, she knew that.

"Will it hurt?" Her words were almost a whimper as she waited with bated breath, unsure whether she was more excited or nervous about what was to come. He had promised her the world on a platter and it was finally time for him to deliver.

"Not for long." His voice became rough as he pushed her body back against his, the movement practically forcing his teeth into her soft flesh. She had expected a scream to echo through the woods but all that came was a gasp as she felt the blood leave her body. He turned her around with a flick of his wrist, blood staining his smile as he looked down at her. "Are you ready, my love?" He purred. All she could do was nod. He kissed her like they had been married for years and the world wasn't there to simply judge their sin. It was addicting. He reminded her of sharks she once saw a fisherman pull in from the water but as she watched him bring his own wrist to his mouth, she knew he'd never be caught as they had. He cradled her head as she suckled at the wound, looking up at him with such innocent eyes as his blood stained her insides. "It'll be you and I, love. And when the time comes, we will rule." He whispered against her hair, staring at the painting instead of focusing on what had to be done. "My Queen, Y/N." With a snap, she fell into his arms.

-------

In the beginning, she was only allowed to feed from him. She wasn't sure how long it lasted, time something that was compelled away from her from the very first day, but there came a time where he couldn't continue his visits. He was nothing if not paranoid and if an enemy learned of her whereabouts, hell would be a welcomed experience. This led to his presents. Whenever the hunger started to fester in her gut, a human would find themselves lost at her doorstep with a gift from her beloved in their hands. It made her heart soar and her eyes turn blood red every time. Though her sweet cottage seemed to be timeless, it was through these visitors that she realized time was changing. The raggedy dresses and scuffed feet slowly morphed into harsh silhouettes and too tight clothing. The amount of skin shown was enough to make any woman faint but she was only ever intrigued. There was no need for much clothing at her home, outfits only changing from day to night and whether she was going for a walk or gardening. Yet she found herself stealing the clothes off her guests before disposing of them for her forest friends.

She was wearing a sundress in her garden when she sensed a presence. She stood gracefully, brushing the dirt off her with a calm despite the stranger on her property. "Who are you?" She still held her old accent, her gifts never speaking long enough to adopt anything new. The man seemed shocked at seeing her as if she was the one intruding and not him. He was well dressed; wearing a tuxedo despite the harsh sun above them, and she couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps she knew the man.

With a speed she'd only ever seen in one other man, he suddenly stood in front of her. "Remember me."

She blinked, confused as her mind fought against the centuries of repressed memories. "Elijah?" Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him; the joy from reuniting with him outweighing the knowledge that she was practically naked in front of a man that wasn't Niklaus. "Where have you been? Niklaus was quite worried for you last I remember." She pulled away, finally noticing the state of dress she was in. "Is this acceptable now or shall I go change?"

"You're overdressed compared to the people out there, Y/N." He smiled softly at you, gesturing for the two of you to head inside. You immediately headed towards the kitchen, excited to use your new tea kettle and stove for someone besides yourself. "And as for my brother, he had kept me asleep for almost a century until he needed my assistance again."

To some degree she knew the outside world was nothing like the one she had left behind. But to hear a century had passed without her knowing, it was startling. "Has it truly been that long since I last saw him?" It felt like just yesterday that Niklaus had sat with her by the fireplace, humming a tune as she combed her fingers through his freshly cut hair. She wondered what he must look like after so long, whether his hair was still touching his ears or if he adopted the short style so many men wore that passed her door frame.

"He's quite apologetic about that. The small ounce of humanity he has these days is used towards you." She puffs with pride at that, glad that she wasn't forgotten despite what some may think. The kettle cut through the comfortable silence between statements, reminding her that Elijah was a guest and not just an informant. "He wanted me to check on you."

She paused as she stirred the tea cup, the act of care seemingly foreign from her Niklaus. "Someone is after him then?"

Elijah didn't know whether to smile or sigh, instead just taking the tea with thanks. There was a reason his brother adored her so passionately and it was moments like this that made Elijah see why. "He's close to breaking the curse."

Immediately, her eyes lit up. She adored living in her cottage, loved the presents and fresh air, but Niklaus being free meant she would be as well. She could see the world for what it currently was, maybe even feel a day pass by. "Does that mean you are staying? I can't imagine Niklaus offered as much."

Elijah did laugh then, "No. no. Just checking on you. Making sure no one has come that shouldn't have."

She nodded, somewhat lost in thought as she continued to stir her tea. With the presence of the elder original in front of her, thoughts that left with his presence were coming back. "Elijah, may I ask you a question?"

"I will do my best to answer."

"He has only taken time from me, yes?" She doesn't meet his eyes, the guilt of doubting Klaus causing her heart to sink to her stomach. He had explained his reasoning for it so perfectly, she had never questioned it for a second. She didn't want to learn that the reason she didn't was because he didn't want her to. "He hasn't compelled me anymore, has he?"

"Not that I know of, Y/N." She nodded, still lost in her thoughts and the new emotions that were spiraling in her head. It wasn't that he wanted her to be perfect, he just wanted her to be happy in his inevitable absence. "He'll come to visit soon. I must be leaving." Elijah was gone before she could say goodbye. It wasn't until she was washing his cup that she realized she could still remember he had even visited.

Later that night, with only the moon to judge her through her window, she let her questions of the world flood her mind. Niklaus had spun stories of what would happen when he was free of his mother's curse, of the army he would build and lead with her by his side. She was never one for violence or gore but if it meant being by his side in broad daylight with more than just the forest as witness; it was worth it to her.

She woke up to a silhouette in her room. It was far too soon for her to be receiving another gift and far too late in the night for Elijah to be back. "Niklaus, I do not appreciate your scares, darling." She mumbled into her pillow, eye barely open as the shadow danced around her room. She blames the sleep that still plagued her mind for not seeing soon enough that it looked nothing like her lover. Or that it disappeared before she could raise her head again. "Niklaus?" A rush of wind caused darkness to bloom for a different reason than the night and no matter how hard she tried to fight, it was useless. She was taught to be happy and caring, never taught to fight or protect. There was a poke at the side of her neck, next to the scar Niklaus had left so long ago, and instead of pleasure coursing through her veins all she could feel was pain. When it became too much, the slight burn turning into a wildfire in her borrowed blood, her body shut down, allowing the shadow to take her from her home.

-----

She wasn't fond of the quarters she was being held in. It was small and…dirty, she hardly wanted to get up from her rusted chair in fear of stepping foot on the disgusting floor. Niklaus had truly been spoiling her if this is how the people lived these days. Far away, she could hear unknown voices arguing and the fact that she couldn't hear their words clearly caused her to worry for her ears. When she couldn't break free from the chains around her wrists, she realized there was more to be worried about than her hearing capabilities. The arguing abruptly stopped in favor of footsteps that were getting far too close for her comfort. She remained calm, even as the small window of the door snapped open to reveal eyes she's never seen before. She tilted her head, "Hello. Who may you be?" The eyes widened slightly before the window closed and she was left alone once more. "Bit rude." She mumbled, straining to hear the whispers on the other side of the door.

"How long has he had her?" One whispered, pity coating his tongue even at such a low volume. She always hated the dreadful emotion.

"They had met a hundred years or so after we were created." She knew that voice, better said she remembered that voice.

"Elijah?" Betrayal choked her, causing the words to come out strained and far from ladylike. He winced at the sound, focusing on the brothers in front of him instead of the woman behind the door.

"She's no harm to you, the chains are unnecessary." He cleared his throat, adjusting his suit in favor of not having to think about his actions. His job was to look out for his brother; this was a part of that. "I will warn you that once he sees she's gone, nothing will be able to stop him from getting her back."

"We'll drain her by then." The word drain caused panic to course through her though it felt muted despite the circumstance. Perhaps Elijah knew more than he wanted to admit when it came to her and Niklaus. She couldn't see how this was the correct response instead of simply telling her.

The door opened, the two unknown voices left and Elijah long gone. The one with brown eyes and an apologetic smile was the first to step forward, acting as if she was a wounded animal and not a captive. "He won't be happy with you."

Blue eyes laughed, darker than his counterpart yet she was less offended by him. "We’re counting on it, sweetheart."

Her eyes practically popped out of her head at the nickname, Niklaus forbidding anyone from being so crass with her. She struggled in her chair, uncomfortable all of a sudden. "It'd be best to let me go. I don't like seeing him hurt people."

"I can't believe this." Blue eyes chuckled to himself, looking at the other man like she had said something outrageous.

"I'm sorry about my brother, he can be…rude." Brown eyes looked at her as if she understood the sentiment. Niklaus was never rude towards her, even as he told her stories about daggering his siblings he said it in such a sweet tone it almost seemed like just that; a story. "My name's Stefan. That's Damon. We're here to help you."

"I'm not in need of any help, thank you." Damon, as he was called, was getting far too close to her.

"You are." Stefan grimaced for a second, the expression warning her of what was about to be done. "And I'm sorry."

-----

He had come bearing good news, a smile on his face that the sun could only hope to rival. It had been far too long since he saw his queen; the downfall of New Orleans, his only home, leading him to protect the one thing he still had. Her. And as the years turned into decades turned into half a century he realized the only way he could be with her was if he was free. He threw himself into finding a way to break his curse then more than ever, vowing he wouldn't return unless he was sure it could be done. Now, not only was he sure but it was practically done. He could imagine her face as he told her, the pride that would swell in her chest as she hugged him in celebration. He wished nothing more than for her to be there when the time came and, when imagination was no longer enough, he decided to get her.

The smell of flowers overwhelmed him as he stood at her doorway, her love for gardening never dying as the years went by. He knocks on the door only to be polite, she was never a fan of being surprised with his presence. "Darling, open the door won't you?" There's a slight timber in his voice, something she could never resist after hearing especially after such a long time apart. Her mind might not know the years that passed but her body certainly did. When there was no response, the door not opening to reveal her beauty to him, he huffed in aggravation. He adored waking her up but only after she had fallen asleep with him next to her. Otherwise, it was a nuisance. The fact that the door was unlocked didn't alarm the original, she was never a paranoid soul and the only people she saw were those he sent to her. "Wake up, love!" He throws his jacket towards the living room towards a lounge chair that had always been there but it falls to the ground with little noise. He was too focused on seeing her to notice the knocked over furniture. "Y/N, you couldn't possibly be this tired-"

There's a stark silence as he looks at the scene in front of him. Her bed is unmade, the side left for him uncharacteristically messy with the blanket pooling to the ground. The mattress was askew, almost titled as it hung off it's frame. If he did not know her loyalty like his own mind, he would assume she had a lover. He turned, finally seeing the trail of damage that she had left as she was torn from her bed; fingerprints dented into the doorframe next to his head. Someone had taken her from him and she had fought with everything in her. If the anger hadn't already consumed him he might have felt pride. With clenched fists he stalked around the cabin, looking for any hint of whoever dared to steal his queen with bloodied eyes. He screamed until there was no more breath in his lungs, the rage he felt only building with the sound, and he hoped the brothers could hear it from where they were. A warning before death knocked down their door.

-----

She had stopped screaming when the last drop of blood had left her now scarred body. Stefan may hate the sound but Damon seemed to revel in it. She may not have much power but she could take away the satisfaction he got as he shoved fire down her throat. She wasn't sure what it actually was but the burn it left behind seemed never ending and, soon, all she could do was sit and wait. He would come for her, she knew it somewhere deep inside her.

There's a somewhat gentle slap on her cheek, jostling her head from one side to the other, "Wake up, princess, we got some questions for you." Y/N opened her eyes the slightest bit, glaring at the blue eyes that stared back at her. "There we go. Now, where did Klaus snatch you up?"

The sight of a living statue walking towards her flooded her mind, her heart beating just as wild as when she first saw him. "Greece." She mumbled without realizing, lost in a past life that felt like a dream. The haze that clouded her mind dissipated quickly as she realized what she had said to the brothers. She had meant to scoff, maybe even gain the energy to roll her eyes at the cruel men before her. She didn't even hesitate to tell him, she could hardly remember the last time that was the case. "I'd like to go home now."

"You sure?" Stefan speaks for the first time since she was captured, slumped against the doorway. It must've been days since then. "You're free to go if you want, he doesn't control you anymore." She lifts an eyebrow in confusion, ready to defend Niklaus in a heartbeat, "Before you go, we can show you around. Let you experience 2011."

His words give her pause. "2011?" His nod is lost to her as she tries to understand. Ten centuries she's been alive and all she knows is him. For the first time in her life, she feels negative towards her lover. He had stolen time from her and she was too in love to see the injustice it was to do so. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the decision before her, "May I have something to drink first?"

------

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus x you #klaus mikaelson x you #the originals fanfic #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson series

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little-igit · 4 years ago

Text

Crimson Roses

A/N: This is based on a dream I had. No matter how hard we try some things just won't make sense. Feel free to ask questions about me, the dream, or the book. constructive criticism is always welcome as well as tips and ideas!

Here is a little key you might need before you start!

Y/N - Your name

S/N - Little Sisters Name(If you are an only child make one up!)

H/C - Your Hair Color

Summary: You make a last minute decision to let your sister go alone to a summer camp. After a week of no contact from her you decide to go on a rescue missing and bring your sister home.

Warnings Of The Chapter: Anxiety

Three pale figures: One with green hair, one with blonde, and the last with red and white stand in a darkly lit room talking about something in hushed voices. As if they are afraid that the wind will carry their words somewhere they do not want them to be.

“So she's supposed to be coming, right?” Green curls bounce against each other as a head tilts to the side giving the peppermint haired one a questioning glance, accusing him of a lie he has not yet told.

“Of course you damn nerd!” Spikey blond hair is thrown in front of the green-haired figure and yells.

Emerald eyes roll in their sockets, a sigh soon following, more sassy than angry, “Shut up Kacchan…”

“Stop arguing and don’t worry, she's supposed to arrive at some point this evening.” The one that had kept his silence up until now finally speaks his mind. His voice was smooth and quiet, he doesn’t seem to be a very expressive person.

“Are you absolutely sure? There’s no possible way something could keep her from being here? We need her, you know. If something keeps her from coming we can’t waste time we need her…to live. We might not be able to keep ourselves together if she arrives too late. We would be too hung-” His rant of worries and woes is cut short by someone else.

“Just, shut up already!” Kacchan takes a threatening step towards the greenette with furrowed brows which seems to effectively quiet him.

“What did I just say, Bakugou?” The calmer figure scolded.

“Whatever half and half!” ‘Kacchan’, now known as Bakugou, screamed at him.

The figure with green hair spoke in a monotone voice, “Todoroki, are you positive she's coming?”

“Yes Midoriya, I am as certain as ever,” Todoroki states as if it’s set in stone.

It might as well be with all of the thought and effort they put into this.

---

H/C hairs wisp around under the gust of the cool air coming from the air conditioning system of the airport. A girl looks out upon a sea of small heads, all of them hugging and saying their goodbyes to their mothers and families. That is if they happen to be lucky enough to have them all there. The pace of her heartbeat quickens as she starts to realize she would be the only one her age going to this camp. The feeling of her heartbeat trying to beat out of her chest isn't new to her. She's felt like that a lot lately, not to mention having anxiety doesn't help either.

Tears spring to her eyes and she turns around to cling to her mother in one last goodbye. Something about this summer camp seems wrong, the whole thing gives her the creeps. She can't tell if she's being rational, though she's never liked being in an unfamiliar place for more than a night or two, this is meant to last all summer. Not to mention that this is Japan that she would be going to. It's not like she could just drive home.

She feels tears spring into her eyes, but before she starts to cry in front of the entire plane she pulls away. She holds onto the sleeve of her mother's arm, and with a quivering voice she speaks, “I don't want to go anymore!” An unstable breath trails behind the words that leave her lips. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her with just a simple sentence.

Her mother simply looks at her for a moment, and for that short time, she is afraid of what her mom will say. She's always been quick to call out her daughter when she's being irrational or dumb, even when she isn't. Though, this time, it seems as though she understands the girl. “But you were so excited. Did something happen?” She was questioning her. Of course, she was questioning her but her voice was softer than it usually would be, maybe she sensed how uncomfortable her child was.

Y/N shakes her head, “No. I don't know what it is. I just don't think I should go.”

Her mother is confused, but at least she's trying to understand. “I won't make you go,” She said,” but what about S/N? Won't she be on her own?” The woman’s eyes flicker over to a small girl, barely eleven, with long brown hair sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for the flight. She had already said her goodbyes.

She feels heavy guilt again for leaving her sister alone. “She'll be alright…She's a little social butterfly compared to me. She'll make friends, I'm sure of that. She has her phone, she'll be able to call us if she needs to. If she doesn't I'll be sure to kick her butt when she gets back.” She softly smiles at her last statement. She had always been very passive-aggressive towards her little sister but would claim to fight anyone who would dare be even half as mean as she was to the girl. She cared about her a lot.

Her mom smiles too, giving a nod. Something still doesn't sit right with her when she thinks about the fact that she's letting her sister go alone. Especially when she suckered her way out of things because she has a bad feeling. Her sister is strong though, she has faith that she'll be alright.

She lets out an emotionally frustrated puff of air, some of her immediate distress and anxiety leaving her. At least it does for the moment. At least she wouldn't be the only eighteen-year-old on the trip anymore. She would have been the oldest going by far.

She looks at her mom again, letting go of her sleeve now, “I'm gonna go let S/N know I won't be joining her…” It takes a second of bracing herself before she walks over to her sister, seating herself in the chair next to her. “Hey…”

S/N looks up at her, “Hey??” She was puzzled, that is obvious enough. Probably because Y/N is speaking to her instead of waiting with their mom until the absolute last minute as she does at any social event. “Is there something wrong?”

She shakes her head, “No, not really…I'm not gonna be able to come with you though…I'm not feeling too great about all this.”

For some reason, whatever it is, S/N doesn't seem surprised at all. “Oh…Alright. Is there a particular reason?”

She shakes her head again, there wasn't, at least not that she could figure out.

Their conversation was cut short by the echoing ding from the speakers above them, “Flight number N571A now ready for boarding.”

The two give brief comforting smiles to each other as S/N stands, grabbing her carry on bag, and walks away into the never to be a straight line of other passengers. Her worries remain ever-present in her mind, she tries to ignore them for now burry them away, and be happy for her sister. She is happy for her, just worried.

She must be sitting there for a while watching the line because the next thing she knows, her mom is placing a hand on her shoulder, and motioning for her to get up. Calming circles are rubbed into her back as her mom seems to sense her nerves still. She knows her mom must feel nervous as well, she's never liked crowds at all.

The two wait until they are sure S/N had to have gotten on the plane safely. Her mom's voice, calm, but not comforting as it was before rings out to break the comfortable silence between the two, “Ready to go?”

Y/N nods before standing, sticking close to her mom as she starts to guide her away. The children had been told that they wouldn't need more than a carry on bag, everything that they couldn't fit would be provided for them. She didn't need to worry about needing to retrieve a suitcase thanks to that. Her mom would have made her go if losing her luggage was a part of backing out. As they walk she starts to notice how unnaturally dark the airport seems to be. She writes off though, it's probably just her imagination.

She exits the building right behind her mom thanks to the automatic doors, they hadn't had to go through security twice thank god. That was a relief at least. She covers her eyes from the burning bright sun of early morning as the pair make their way to the parking garage in which they had parked. The only reason Y/N was even awake at this time was due to the early hour of the flight. She could sleep till noon and beyond if given the chance.

The garage was close and luckily they had been on the lowest floor. No one was really up this early. Neither she nor her mom says a word as they hop in the car. It's a silence they're used to. Y/N plugs her white earbuds into her phone, opening Spotify. Not wanting to listen to anything specific she chooses to listen to her liked songs playlist. She knew full well she was going to try and fall asleep during the drive anyways so what she listened to didn't matter as long as it wasn't screaming in her ear.

She reflects a little as she tries to fall asleep. Her mom letting her come home like this isn't normal. She thought she would have to put up a fight. Especially since travel isn't cheap, though, Y/N has a close friend whose mom was able to get them deals on their tickets. Maybe that's why she didn't complain about the cost.

She hums deciding that was enough overthinking for now.

---

The week passes by slowly. Much slower what she ever would have imagined. The bad feelings she had stuffed away about the flight grew. They festered inside of her since the very first day.

Two days passed without contact from her sister. She and her mom sat in the living room eating their dinner. Her dad was at work, he worked nights frequently ever since she was little. Thankfully he gets to choose his schedule.

Y/N scrolls through Tiktok on her phone, checking her messages every few minutes. Her mom is watching some dumb movie on the hallmark channel. She's praying she gets a message from S/N soon. It's been two days of silence since she left. That isn't normal, not for S/N.

Maybe she doesn't get service where she's at but there should be wifi. It doesn't make sense for her to just not answer.

Y/N knows her mom is worried by now too, S/N usually messages her first and she hasn't done that either. She hasn't shown any nerves though.

---

By the third day, Y/N has panicked. She called her friend and asked her to get another deal on tickets. She hadn't seemed too surprised. After she had made sure the tickets were taken care of and that she would have a flight-ready she started to pack. She didn't plan to stay for long so she didn't pack much other than necessities. She stuffed it with anything else that she could.

She was going to bring S/N home with her. That's the plan, she should have made her stay back with her in the first place but she would have felt bad if she did.

One week after the original departure she found herself driving back to the airport. She was alone this time, her mom hadn't been able to take another day off of work and her dad was asleep from his late night. Her phone was connected to the stereo of the car instead of her earbuds, which were tucked away into her carry on bag. She let her liked songs playlist play again, she couldn’t pick and choose now as it would be too risky to do while she's driving. She didn't want to wreck the only car she has, not to mention how angry her parents would be with her.

It takes around an hour for her to get to the airport. She parks at the same garage her mom had parked in one of the upper floors this time. Her flight wasn't as early as it was last time so the bottom-most floors were filled. She disconnected her phone from the car before turning the key and taking it out.

The trunk pops open with the click of a button. She drags the suitcase with her items out of the car, throwing her carry on over her shoulder. She reaches up, pulling the trunk shut. There's a moment of her fumbling around with her keys before she locks the car.

It took an unusually long time to pass security, granted everything was taking unusually long this week. It takes her a good while to find the desk to check in her bags, the process itself was a normal time. She walks and wanders, making sure she knows where her boarding area is beforehand. She was looking through a nearby store when the echoing ding from before rings out again, “Flight N295EV ready to board.”

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