#< only briefly in one drawing that was a little self indulgent sorry

[undeadvoidreaper]

Creabturas

Yeah more VX and V0 stuff that accumulated but I have gone with the idea of VX being some void entity basically pretending to be a V because whyyyy not, I thought it was cool

And other stuff with these two because I can not contain myself

[jromanoff]

Study Break II R. George

Pairing: student!Regina George (2024) x law student!Reader

Warning(s): Reader not eating enough

Authors note: I’m in the middle of uni exams this week so I wrote a little something to indulge myself :)

Summary: College!AU - Regina is worried about your study habits and decides to intervene.

Word count: 1.6k

Regina leaned against the door frame, watching you hunched over your textbooks, completely engrossed in your studies. The thick civil code books were laying open on the side, several coloured tabs sticking out to keep track of the laws you needed to use for your upcoming exams. Regina thought it almost looked like a rainbow at this point. That was the only pretty thing about the stuff on your desk though, it looked like a bomb exploded with the mess you’ve made.

"Babe, can you take a break? I miss spending time with you," Regina pouted, hoping to draw your attention away from the books in front of you. Her pout usually did the trick. She wanted to have some quality time with you since you haven’t been spending time with her these past few days, too engrossed with your studies. You even stopped having dinner with her.

You glanced up briefly, your brow furrowed in concentration. "Sorry Gina, I really need to focus. These exams are important."

Regina sighed dramatically, crossing her arms as she walked closer to you. Did you just really resist her pout? "You've been studying nonstop for days. Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?"

You paused, looking at Regina with concern. "I know, but I need to do well in this. It's important for my future. I don’t want to be a failure."

Regina softened, her concern for you overriding her desire for attention. Regina almost laughed at this realisation, her High School-self could never. "I understand, but I'm worried about you. You need to take care of yourself too."

You reached out to take Regina's hand, caressing it. "I appreciate your concern, babe. But I really need to study now, I’m fine.” you said with a reassuring smile, concentrating back on your books.

Regina frowned and decided she needed to change her approach, this was clearly not working. So instead of complaining or outing her concerns, Regina tried to engage in a conversation with you.

“What are you studying, anyways?” Regina curiously inquired as she saw her girlfriend so intensely focused.

She never asked you about the content of your studies before, because she probably wouldn’t understand it. She, on the other hand, always excitedly rambled to you about whatever she learned that day. From fashion designers to fashion history, Regina shared it all. You didn’t mind it, though. Seeing your girlfriend so excited about her studies made you happy too and extra knowledge never hurt anyone. It was a nice contrast to your law studies.

“Legal philosophy” you replied curtly.

“Sounds boring” Regina remarked. Her efforts were met with a dismissive attitude from you, causing Regina to frown in disappointment. But Regina wouldn’t let this deter her from trying again.

“What are you reading about now, then?” Regina asked once again, looking over your shoulder at the book you were currently reading.

“The Case of the Speluncean Explorers” you responded, perplexed by Regina’s sudden interest in your ‘boring’ law studies. Especially after she just complained about not getting any attention from you.

“The what explorers?”

“The Speluncean Explorers,” you explained, slightly exasperated. “It’s a fictional judgement where five judges with different opinions shed their light on a fictional case. Five explorers got stuck in a cave and eventually ran out of food so… they agreed to eat one person so the other four could survive. They decided who it should be by throwing a dice and when the remaining four explorers were rescued they got a murder charge. I really need to study now if you don’t mind.” You hoped this elaborate answer would satisfy Regina’s curiosity so you could refocus on your studies.

When Regina kept silent after your explanation you thought you managed to fend off your girlfriend for the time being. Wrong.

Regina felt increasingly ignored by your continued focus on studying and your dismissive attitude towards her. So she decided to retort to an old tactic – a kiss to divert your attention. Despite being in college now and attempting to leave her manipulative ways behind, Regina deemed this situation an emergency. You would definitely cave in after a kiss.

Regina put her fingers under your chin, turning your face towards her. Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly to yours.

That sudden display of affection caught you off guard, but as Regina deepened the kiss your resistance immediately faded away. The tension in your shoulders eased as you gave into your girlfriend. Regina gently took the book you were holding from you.

“Regina, no. I need to study” you pulled away and protested, but Regina just kissed you again.

“What was that for, anyway?” you questioned her as you finally broke apart.

“So you’d be focused on something else than your studies. I deserve some attention too, you know? Not only your stupid books” Regina smirked.

You narrowed your eyes at her “I know what you’re trying to do” you told her and turned back to your desk. As you attempted to pick up your books once more, Regina shot you an ice cold glare. "If you don't put that book down right now... I swear to god you'll regret it," she warned, her tone leaving no room for argument. Regina rarely used that glare on you, but when she did? She was serious about it. Her glare and tone of voice caused you to immediately put your book back down, holding your hands up in surrender.

"That's what I thought," Regina asserted, a smirk playing on her lips. "Now, you’re cleaning up this mess of books and notebooks on this desk first," she declared, taking charge of the situation and asserting her authority over the chaotic study environment you created over the last week. How you could even study in this mess was a mystery to Regina.

Reluctantly, you set aside your textbooks and notes as Regina took charge of making dinner in the meantime, bustling about the kitchen.

The aroma of home-cooked food soon filled the air, causing a low rumble to come from your stomach. You quickly finished cleaning up your stuff and walked to the kitchen where Regina stood behind the stove.

“That smells delicious” you told your girlfriend as you embraced her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder.

“It does, huh? Can you set the table for me, please?” Regina requested.

“Of course” you replied, giving Regina a kiss on the cheek before removing yourself from her. You set the table for dinner and sat down, waiting for Regina and the food.

As Regina set the steaming hot plates of food on the table, you immediately started eating before Regina herself had even the chance to get seated.

Regina observed you quickly shoving down the food she made with concern. It's a confirmation of her suspicions – you hadn’t been eating well all week, too consumed by your studies to the point you forgot to eat. With a pointed look, Regina breaks the silence. “I'm definitely keeping a closer eye on you when the next exam period comes up. You're not taking care of yourself properly. You’re never skipping dinner with me again in an exam period," Regina said, her gaze unwavering.

You frowned at her and attempted to deflect her concern. “You really don't need to, that's asking too much of you." you insisted

But Regina's resolve remains unyielding. "I don't care what you think. I'm keeping an eye on you. And that's final," she declares, her words leaving no room for argument. With a sigh you accept defeat, knowing that Regina can’t be swayed once she has her mind set on something.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since high school: Regina always gets what she wants.

After dinner, you cleared the table and did the dishes together. Then, Regina insisted on cuddling with you.

Entering your room, you see Regina is already situated on the bed. She already removed her makeup and changed into something more comfortable.

"Come here, you," Regina said, opening her arms wide with a playful smile. "I need some cuddles."

You hesitated for a moment before relenting, changing into comfier clothes and joining your girlfriend in bed. As your head hit the silk pillow (that Regina bought for you, because according to her it’s better for your hair) you sighed in content. "I guess I could use some cuddles too," you admitted softly, smiling back at your girlfriend.

Regina pulled you close, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “Now, I know you’re tired so I’ll let you go to sleep in a bit, but you do need to promise me to give me attention tomorrow.” she said, softly stroking your hair.

“I promise, my love” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to Regina’s forehead.

Eventually exhaustion takes hold of you both, and you drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's embrace.

The next day you would spend no time on your studies, but only on Regina. You were determined to make it up to her. You even took her out on a spontaneous date to one of the high end restaurants she loved to make up for the lack of attention you gave her the past week. Afterwards the two of you went shopping and then cuddled for the remainder of the evening.

And your exams? Passed with flying colours.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

More replies about the girlies…! And about the Leech parents.

Anonymous asked:

So it’s from AA cup to F cup?

Judging by how they ended up looking, I guess it’s from AAA to FF lol

I am kind of bad at cup sizes though, and also bad at consistency, but at least that was the idea!

Anonymous asked:

How big are the cup sizes of the other genderswapped twst characters (I.e. the staff, Neige, Chenya, Rollo)

I actually talked about their cup sizes as well as what type of bra they would wear in this reply!

But to update: now I think that Crewel is an A and Trein is a C. I don’t know, just feel like it, maybe it’s because of Cruella and Lady Tremaine lol

Also here are those who I didn’t mention: Vargas is easily the biggest one out of the staff, so around D (+wears a sports bra, naturally); Sam isn’t big, somewhere between A and B, and doesn’t usually wear a bra; Crowley is a C… she just is. I can’t really explain any of this lol  

Anonymous asked:

Why does it look like fem Ace and Deuce are scissoring each other?

They always are…constantly…even though they’re bad at it…

They aren’t on this sketch though, but maybe Ace suggested it, that would explain Deuce’s reaction lol

Anonymous asked:

When you’re so thirsty, you grabbing your own boob *eyeballs floyd* On a serious note, I can’t get over how well you draw breasts. I get mad just drawing them under clothes 😔

Yeah, Floyd is probably the one to do that all the time without even thinking about it. She likes to squeeze lol

Also, thank you very much, Anon! I don’t draw them very often, so I am very happy to hear that you like how they look. Looking at tons of pictures and art (R18 obviously included hehe) and sketching helped me a lot…

Anonymous asked:

women...... you draw them so fine omfg

Thank youuuu 🥰 I love them

Anonymous asked:

I love the size, shape, and little difference between each woman. Not only in the pretty 👀 but in body shape and hair situation as well. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful (and dangerous) garden!

Thank you so much, Anon!

I am very excited to share, I’ve been thinking about them for so long before actually finally drawing them all… so it means a lot to hear that you like them <3

Anonymous asked:

was looking back through my liked posts and I saw your drawings of meleanor, and of some of the other twst extras, and it made me curious since now that book 7 is coming out in english will you be drawing more or the new characters like prince Levan, or the knight of dawns? Also a bit of a self-indulgent ask because I want to see sebeks hot ass grandfather in your artstyle :>

We don’t play the game, Anon, so the EN release doesn’t really concern us; we haven’t watched book 7 yet at all.

But when we do, I’m pretty sure I will draw at least some of the characters from it! Definitely more Meleanor and definitely Sebek’s grandpa because how fucking dares he be voiced by Koyasu of all people. I kind of wanted to draw him even before that point (just like Meleanor, I couldn’t resist, to be honest lol), but didn’t really have time for him…

Anonymous asked:

do you have any more leech parents thoughts or possible scenarios?

+

Anonymous asked:

I like to think that papa Leech would also be quite happy with Vil, even though admittedly this is based entirely on a headcanon. Since the boys found out in a vignette that one of his favorite movies has Eric Venue starring in it, I like the idea that papa Leech became a big fan of him. I guess this means that more than liking Vil himself (although he is very charming in his own right), he would like the chance to get closer to his favorite actor through their kids relationship

To the first Anon, I’m sorry for the late reply, I’ll share more thoughts in a moment. Starting with the Vil scenario!

I agree with you, second Anon! We talked about it in this reply, but very briefly.

Whether it’s Jade or Floyd who brings Vil to their house, Papa Leech is going to be super excited because he’d recognise the boy instantly. Somehow, their dinner with the Leech parents would end up looking more like a handshake event lol With Papa Leech asking a lot of questions about Eric and stuff. Even if Vil isn’t dating any of his sons, just the fact that he is their senpai would make Papa Leech super excited. Mama Leech would probably apologise for his behavior, but not in a genuine way, but just to make the situation even more awkward for Vil. Thank god Vil knows how to handle it… probably… maybe…

Vil would also make such a pretty betta merman…

But ALSO!!! If Floyd or Jade (or both) bring Idia to meet their parents, Idia would be absolutely terrified; he would be terrified either way, but the Leech parents are especially intimidating and scary. But they would love him a lot! Not only because he is the Shroud’s oldest boy (connections are important), but because of how his demeanor and his frankly exciting sparkly look. They would stare at him without blinking, showering him with attention. And they would tease him a lot, maybe even more that they would tease Riddle. Because Riddle is just an overly serious baby, but Idia? He is so visibly uncomfortable and scared; teasing him is absolutely priceless. Papa Leech would sit very close to him and look very intimidating, maybe touch his hair, ask him what he is so scared of. Ask about which one of their sons Idia likes the most (neither… please let him go…), a lot of other questions that sound like “there is no correct answer, you are screwed either way, but I am having fun, so you’ll at least survive maybe”. And then Mama Leech would tell Papa Leech not to freak out this poor boy, start stroking Idia’s hand, talk to him in a sweet motherly tone that doesn’t sound even remotely comforting. Somehow… these two are even worse than Jade and Floyd…

A couple of very short HCs!

Mama Leech is a huge gossip. She knows everything about everyone.

Mama Leech doesn’t cook, but it’s a secret, because she wants to keep the image of a perfect traditional wife.

Papa Leech used to operate on land too when he was younger. He still does sometimes, but very rarely.

Papa Leech thinks Azul is a great influence on his boys and wants them to learn everything they could from this friendship before getting rid of him (if he stops being such a great influence).

While the family bond is strong, the entire Leech family is aware that one of them might betray the rest at any given moment. That doesn’t mean that they don’t cherish family tradition and history.

[cosmicpunked]

Signfang anon, back!

Hope this isn’t weird but I love the little mini comic you made where Signless finally meets up with Mindfang in person after reading through her lost diary. I do love the idea of him forming a parasocial relationship with her through only reading her writings, lol.

I’ve been inspired enough to start considering an AU where Signless survives his execution, but instead of returning to the restless masses, turns to the sea instead and joins with Mindfang. Haven’t settled on why yet, but I’m leaning towards him knowing that returning to his family (if he ever found them again) would only endanger them further. The biggest snarl would be how Mindfang’s very dubious relationship with Dolorosa would transpire, if at all. Yet, if Mindfang really did start to secretly pine after the mutant she’s got stowed away on her ship, maybe she’d seek out his adoptive parent for more benign reasons.

I honestly really like that idea you suggested of them meeting once before, if only briefly after her ship starts skulking around a nearby shore. Maybe that’s why he turns to her after everyone believes him to be dead. After all, trying to carve out a new life on the ocean might not be too bad alongside the high blooded pirate captain who pretends she only pities you. Mindfang is not known much for altruism, after all.

hey! hope you're doing well anon, sorry tumblr did not notify me of having any asks :') Oh I remember that old drawing I made, wow it's like several years old haha

Also putting this under a read more because im about to get so self indulgent o_o

I would actually be so interested in seeing the AU take place!

An idea on how he could survive his execution:

Imagine if Rosa had been a daywalker from the start. Maybe she had initially died fleeing from the caverns with the Signless grub from a cave system full of hostile jadebloods and drones. But instead of fading away, she woke up under the blazing sun, her silken robes shielding the young Signless from harm.

With the world assuming her dead, she could raise him in peace, without being pursued as a 'runaway jade'.

However, to sustain herself, Rosa needed blood and often sought (with permission) from him, potentially leading the Signless to inherit her daywalker abilities, in death where he bleeds, in an irony it could have triggered something in him?

With the Dolorosa and Mindfang thing:

Regarding the Dolorosa and Mindfang situation, the timing of Signless reaching Mindfang would be crucial and depends on the outcome you want in the au.

It could take her ship several months or half a sweep to locate Dualscar's whereabouts, with him likely keeping a distance from Mindfang to avoid any association that might tarnish his title.

Afterall, if Mindfang was close to Darkleer, even potentially moirails (?) then the Signless' execution was one of the biggest betrayals in history, essentially the Empress' Executioner sparing the disciple of a false prophet would enrage the Grand Highblood and his church and every other Imperial on the planet.

So to avoid Dualscar's head being on the block, he could avoid meeting Mindfang for a while until things cool down, especially as Signless' mother is now on his ship as a slave.

In that time Signless could have established a close relationship with Mindfang and her pirate crew. Perhaps they even had a Rapunzel 'I've got a dream' moment where he realises that such brutes also have dreams, and some crew are ex-communicated clowns who didn't wear makeup and had they not come to a life of piracy they would have been slaughtered, or tealbloods fleeing from the corrupt justice system, or olives whose forests were burnt down carelessly or yellowbloods fleeing being turned into powering batteries e.g.

I know we see a common theme of Vriska and Aranea mind controlling their crews, but I really would imagine Mindfang as someone who doesn't rely on mind-control so often as it feels a bit like a 'easy win' and mindcontrolling her crew for centuries would be so impossible lol I really hope they were a rag and tag family who genuinely respected one another and voted her a Captain based on her expertise rather then conditioned because how would she go to sleep at night, surely they would mutiny while she slept and wasn't being influenced by her control?

Why he might go to Mindfang over his family ideas:

I think this could add an interesting conflict. Either Signless had a vision in the years before he would die where he would know where his family would be after death (even more reason why he doesn't want to face them) and wants to prevent Mindfang doing what she does.

Or he doesn't know but finds himself drawn to Mindfang like a lighthouse beacon (light player after all) perhaps the 'Sufferer's Rage' has changed him emotionally, and he doesn't want his family to see him become a replica of a man he once was, and perhaps he finds his new rage and short temper for the Imperials more better fitted in boarding a pirate ship.

Should he become a stowaway on her ship, perhaps she makes him go through some trials when he's brought to her quarters (e.g I'll make a man out of you >.> type trials where he has to climb the mast in stormy weather to prove he's one of them, or he ends up saving her life? Or maybe he's just a good cook who gains the crew and Captain's favour that way <.< as I doubt Mindfang can cook for shit)

Or Mindfang could give him a little fighting training montage where he can finally begin to use his scythe, kind of befitting it's the same weapon the grim reaper wields as he could take on a 'grim reaper' kind of moniker as his new pirate identity.

Maybe they both eventually become aware that his mother is on Mindfang's kismesis' ship, perhaps Signless talks about his family to her but Mindfang doesn't know who 'Rosa' is when she see's her on Dualscar's ship for the first time, she just thinks she's another slave but then she see's Signless' anger begin to reach boiling point again when he recognises his mother. (Dualscar vs an angered Sufferer, Mindfang Dolorosa ancestral showdown??????)

I suppose the outcome of such a showdown would end based on how well signless and mindfang end up getting along in the months or even sweeps before eventually running into Dualscar and his ship. Mindfang may know that if she doesn't do what her fate says, it could doom the entire timeline and their descendants will all be doomed - if Mindfang asked the oracle how her kismesistude would end, just like she asked who would kill her - then her fate could be locked and that she's meant to end the night angering Dualscar so that he'll die by the Grand Highblood as her fate describes.

They could both totally break the entire timeline with this, and at what cost? Could it summon an angry Demoness? Would it piss of Scratch if Mindfang puts Signless over her destiny? <.< This is the drama I live for.

At that point it could be when people are starting to begin to forget about the Executioner's betrayal and the Signless' teachings as they both fade into obscurity. So Signless will also be faced with a similar crossroads, whether he wants to doom the timeline to resurrect his own name and teachings. If Mindfang, Signless and his mother manage to get away, what would happen? Would he begin preaching? Would Mindfang even want to associate with him then? Or would he be too different to go back to that life? That too could doom the entire timeline.

How he could find her?:

Chances are with the connection Mindfang has to Darkleer (His Executioner) perhaps he goes to seek Darkleer out first to try and find where the Disciple was (having his last memory be her running away traumatised) but is met with the realisation that perhaps he should hang back and not reveal the fact he's alive or retraumatise her more with the 'ghost' of him.

However he has nowhere to go, so while he's hovering around he instead finds Mindfang coming out of Darkleer's exiled house and tails her back to her ship? Just some ideas? I'm frothing at the mouth I haven't talked about signfang for so long with someone jwiasjd

Hopefully this gives you some ideas!! Feel free to ignore them all if they don't go with the vibe you're wanting.

[sp4mja]

So I've decided to accept who I am and make a OP x QSMP AU. But before making any art I made a list of possible Devil Fruits each member would have plus some lore

This will be a long and extremely self-indulgent post, so everything regarding this AU is under the cut.

So, both the hispanics and the English speakers are invited to the island, they all range from ex marines to civilians to pirates. The only thing they have in common is that everyone is a devil fruit user, which quickly raises their suspicions about the island.

The logic behind having so many Devil Fruit users together is that the Federation purposefully gathered them all together. Expect for the brazilians and the french, who just happened to stumble upon the island, some of them do have devil fruits but not all.

And that's one of the reasons why the Federation dislike them, as they don't fit in the plan.

Speaking of the Brazilians and the French!

The Brazilians knew each other before the island but very briefly (except for Pac, Mike and Cellbit) since they all made it into the same ship and ended up crashing on Quesadilla island (Felps is not a good navigator and Forever was too worried to actually steer the ship.)

As for the French, they were traveling to a Sky Island on a big ship and they ended up falling from the sky, they didn't particularly know each other before but they grew closer on the ship before the ship fell.

Now, I'm still thinking about some fruits and roles (backstory from the cubitos before the island) but these are my general ideas, feel free to share your thoughts!

Some of my ideas are pretty self-explanatory but ask away if you have any doubts!

● Hispanics:

Luzu — tbh idk something about metals, maybe the smelt-smelt fruit? Maybe even a cyborg

Rubius — .... Wish-Wish fruit?? He grants wishes or something

Mariana — Whisper-Whisper Fruit (Taking into account his rp on tortillaland and integrating it into the qsmp, he should be able to talk to animals. I don't think the animals talk back tho)

Spreen — Bear-bear Fruit Model Black Bear

Missa — Bird-Bird Fruit Model Raven / Revive-Revive Fruit (Debating over this, specially because it would be funny if both Missa and Philza share similar DF, but also skeleton Missa is fun)

Roier — Spider-Spider Fruit Model Latrodectus Hesperus (black widow)

Vegetta — Scroll-Scroll Fruit (He's the wise man of the mountain, I'm sure he uses his knowledge to make powerful scrolls)

Maximus — Clank-Clank Fruit / Magnet-Magnet Fruit (Tbh I want something relating to Max's abilities with machines)

Quackity — String-String Fruit (freaky, the man who pulls the strings)

● English:

Wilbur — Tone-Tone Fruit / Song-Song Fruit (For this one I think going with Uta's power is better, Wilbur is extremely powerful but he is also a whimsical British guy who sings beautiful songs for his daughter to have a good night of sleep)

Fit — Pop-Pop Fruit

Philza — Bird-Bird Fruit Model Crow (Love-Love fruit if I'm feeling a little crazy, he turns Forever into stone sll the time)

Jaiden — Bird-Bird Fruit Model Parrot / Brush-Brush Fruit (As much as I love parrot jaiden, I think she being able to draw bobby after his death but stopping herself from bringing the art to life is extremely angsty and I love it)

Bad — Hollow-Hollow Fruit

Foolish — Shark Fish man. Swim Swim Fruit (I know, he can't swim so he now has a fruit that lets him swim everywhere? Yeah, but also a logia fruit that could help him build fits as well)

Dan — ? (Sorry)

Slime — Jello-Jello Fruit (Following the food themed devil fruits from the Big Mom Pirates, he turns into Jello... Lime flavor, he is sticky, sugary and a little sour, both Mariana and Juana are intrigued)

● Brazilians:

Cellbit — Archeologist and Archivist, former captain of a crew (as much as I would love to give Cellbit a DF, I think it would be charming if he could save Roier from falling into the sea all the time, as well as Felps)

Felps — Calm-Calm Fruit (He makes silent bubbles for Richarlyson everytime he gets overwhelmed, best dad)

Forever — Navigator (Pirate, former marine, he loves travelling and lost his right hand man on the way)

Pac and Mike— Shipwrights (Do not separate. They make the craziest ships on the world. Also criminals with bounties but not necessarily pirates)

● French:

Baguera — Mink Duck (she's a duck, she went to explore the world and oh well)

Etoiles — Woods-Woods Fruit / Arms-Arms Fruit (This one is complicated, he is a cucumber (?) So I thought a extremely powerful fruit like the Woods-Woods one its him, but he is also very dangerous and into weapons, so the other one also fits him? He is a bounty hunter)

Antoine — Stich-Stich fruit (He stiches dirt together, doesn't really use his power but he starts doing it after Pomme gets interested (he makes her clothes!!!))

Kameto — Normal ninja lmao (literally just a ninja, just a guy, he is terrifying)

Pierre — Inventor (Both Marines and Pirates buy his inventions, money is everything)

As for the eggs, I believe they follow the same logic as the seraphims. They were artificially made using human DNA and thats why they are both inteligent and fragile. They are replaceable and the Federation can make more if they find a quicker and cheaper way.

Oh and Cucurucho, I think it would be extremely fucked up if it has the Shadow-Shadow fruit. Imagine Cucurucho taking Cellbit's shadow, creepy.

[delirioushrimp]

Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s  amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced  before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces.  A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

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

As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting  him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You  push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me !  There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

“Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.  

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart.  How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

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You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and  hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could  make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

[writinglizards]

If You Love It, Let It Go

Summary: Yennefer isn’t the only one Geralt pushes away on the mountain. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

Read on Ao3

Finding out about Geralt's djinn wish is like being gutted. Yennefer knows magic, knows how insincere it is, how cutting, how fake. Finding that this gentle feeling in her chest is manufactured, no different from a glamor or a charm, is world-shattering.

She lashes out, Geralt lashes out in turn. They both say things they know will hurt, will dig claws in, will bleed. When she storms away, angry tears streaking down her face, she has one plan: pack up the tent and portal out of here.

The shouting that follows mere moments later is...not surprising, exactly, but the bard that stumbles into camp, eyes rimmed red and looking lost is, just a little. Yennefer watches him out of the corner of her eye as she flicks her wrist, using magic to get the tent to fold down small enough to fit in her bag.

Jaskier stumbles over to the lean-to he and Geralt should have shared last night and kind of...stares. One of the dwarves is breaking their camp not too far away, gives a shout of greeting which seems to jolt Jaskier back to the task at hand. He starts packing his bag, slow and methodical, his expression blank and distant.

Something sits wrong with Yennefer about it. She hates the bard, hates the attention he gets from Geralt, the way Geralt can't shut up about him in that quiet way of his, hates him for the competition he presents, even if she'd been winning. But seeing him like this, blank and silent, it's obvious he's upset and he's hurting and she can guess whose fault that is. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

"Bard," she calls, pausing in her packing.

He jolts again, eyes passing over her only to slide away, expression vacant. "Sorry Yennefer, I--" he pauses, licks his lips, still crouched over his open bag, "I'm not up to par right now, I'm afraid. Perhaps we can do this later?" And oh, that's...upsetting. She's upset on his behalf which is just--

"I don't want to argue with you, Jaskier," she says, biting back the impulse to call him something less flattering. It gets his attention at least. His gaze drifts back over to her, settles.

"What could you possibly want, then?" he asks, voice soft. It's so defeated it hurts to even hear. It's the only reason she makes the offer she does.

"I'm leaving. Come with me." She's expecting some grand, overblown reaction. Instead, she gets a long stare, a slow blink in response.

"Why?"

"Because--" because he hurt you too, because if anyone understands this it's you, because I can't be alone, "--Geralt won't expect it. And you need as much of a break from him as I do." It's the truth, if only partly.

He looks...blank. It's unnerving--the bard is not meant to be still, to be quiet. "Okay," he says after an extended pause, no fanfare. There's not even a token protest. "I'll go with you."

They pack quickly after that. Yennefer finishes magically putting away her tent. Jaskier finishes packing his bag. He glances briefly at Geralt's things, expression gone vacant again.

"Jaskier," his attention slides back to her, slowly, "ready to go?"

He works his throat for a moment, no sound. "Yeah," he eeks out, "I just--"

"You don't owe him anything," she hisses, watching his gaze drift back over to Geralt's things, "we don't owe him anything."

"You're right," he sighs, closes his eyes. He doesn't ask where they're going when she opens the portal and she doesn't tell him.

They step out into her modest estate in Vengerberg, in the courtyard. She expects that now they have arrived, Jaskier will ask where they are. He doesn't. He just...stands there, looking lost. It’s irritating.

"Well, here we are," she prompts. Jaskier simply hums in response and it's too familiar--she's too raw. She snaps. "Are you going to fucking say something or are you going to stand there like a marionette for Militile's sake?"

He stares, eyes wide. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," she hisses, angry, "but if you're just going to mope you can leave." She doesn't care where the bard goes (except that maybe she does, just a little).

"Oh," he says, voice small. She sighs, forces herself to reign in her temper.

"Stay for the night, at least. If you're still--" she makes a vague gesture in his general direction that doesn't actually indicate anything, "--tomorrow, then you can go. But stay for today."

The silence is too thick. She thinks he'll reject her offer outright, but-- "okay," he says, nearly too quiet.

She sets him up in his own room, sends the house servants to check on him periodically, and tries to tell herself she doesn’t care whether he chooses to stay or go.

He's still there in the morning, looking a little more like himself, although his eyes are a little red again.

"Good morning, Yennefer, dear," he mumbles around a mouthful of sweet bread where he's perched at her dining table. She snorts.

"Sure," she huffs, stalking through to snatch the remaining sweet bread right from his plate. He frowns a little but doesn't argue it with her (not a good sign). They stare each other down as she nibbles delicately at the roll. "So--" she resents that he's making her ask, "--how are you doing?"

His expression doesn't shift from the pleasant blankness. "Fine."

"Bullshit, bard."

He sighs. "What do you want to hear, Yennefer?"

"The truth, for once," she tells him, point-blank. It feels a little like digging her nails into flesh, a little like picking at a raw wound. Whether she wants him to hurt or herself, she's not sure.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You love him," she accuses, angry. Those nails dig in a little deeper, draw blood, "and he'll never love you."

His expression doesn't shift, but his eyes look-- "yeah," he says, quiet, "I do." He doesn't dispute Geralt doesn't love him but doesn't acknowledge it, either.

"And he doesn't care," Yennefer continues, sweet bread forgotten. She wants to watch that blankness crack, "you love him and he doesn't return it, doesn't care, doesn't love you back. Why do you stay, Jaskier?"

"What else can I do?" he asks. It's infuriating.

"It hurts you, Jaskier. Why let him hurt you?" She finds she wants to understand. Love, the good kind, the kind she's always wanted, isn't supposed to hurt. Can't he understand?

The look he gives her is soft and sad. "You don't choose who you love, Yennefer. Sometimes--" he breaks off to stare at the empty plate before him, "--sometimes it doesn't last. Sometimes it never goes away."

"But it hurts you," she reiterates pointlessly, brow pinched in frustration.

"It does," he agrees, one hand pressed to his chest, "and we don't get to choose that, either." His smile is self-deprecating this time.

"Why does it have to hurt, Jaskier?" She's horrified to find fresh tears brimming in her eyes. She turns away, tries to tamp down on the surge of pain in her chest. Jaskier sits, silent. "I hate him," she whispers, "fuck, I hate him."

Behind her, the chair scrapes noisily across the flagstones as he pushes away from the table to cross the room, awkwardly pat at her shoulder. "It always hurts," he murmurs, "you get used to it."

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

They don't talk about Geralt after that, although he lingers in every conversation, unspoken. He loves Yennefer. He doesn't love Jaskier. Yennefer hates that her choice was taken from her, that she seems to love him anyway. Jaskier is resigned to scraps of affection, always no better than second best. All of it makes her righteously furious to think about, so she doesn't (except, of course, she does).

Jaskier doesn't ask about leaving and she doesn't ask him to go again, after the first afternoon. It's...good. To have someone around that understands. Because he does, even though they don't talk about it.

They establish a routine. Jaskier spends hours in her library, reading and composing and singing. She spends her day in the workroom. They meet in the kitchen for lunch, have an informal dinner in the dining room, spend evenings together around the hearth of her sitting room.

At some point, she stops thinking of him as insufferably annoying and only amusing, wonders if this is how Geralt thinks of him, wonders if he feels fond the way she does, sometimes, when Jaskier is more himself.

It would be easier if she loved him. Jaskier is so kind, so good, even when she doesn't deserve it. He gives as good as he gets, but he's never cruel, not the way she can be. How could Geralt have ever looked at him, held his heart in his hands, and turned him away? Jaskier deserves good, deserves better than Geralt, better than Yennefer. Destiny has been viciously unfair to the bard, setting him between the two of them, a willing target for their joint suffering, their joint pain.

And yet he smiles, he sings, he refuses to leave. Maybe she does understand Geralt, a little. And Jaskier, too, maybe. If you love it enough, you let it go. She needs to practice letting go.

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

It's really only a matter of time before Geralt shows up--he's been to Yennefer's Vengerberg estate before. The house servants let him in, leave him in her receiving room (not the library, not anymore. That's Jaskier's space).

"Geralt," she says, voice carefully void of emotion. She's angry, gods is she angry, but he looks...bad. The circles under his eyes, always prominent, are deep, dark bruises. He's a little too thin, a little too gaunt. He looks haunted.

"Yen," he says, voice rough, like he hasn't spoken for weeks (he likely hasn't).

"What do you want? You know I want nothing to do with you." She's not sure about that, really, but when she says it, it feels true. She doesn't want to see him, doesn't want anything to do with him. It's not that she loves him less, per se. She still feels whatever this is in her chest. She just...finds she doesn't quite trust it, doesn't want to indulge it. They've only ever hurt each other. She wants to stop hurting so, so badly.

"I know," he says, sounding tired, "Yen, I know, but--" he breaks off, sucks in a breath like he's steeling himself for a fight, "--I need your help."

She laughs.

"I know, I know. I don't deserve to even ask--"

"No, you don't," she says, voice like razor wire, vicious. He keeps going.

"--but I can't find him Yen. I've looked everywhere and I can't find him. I can't--" his voice breaks and he ducks his head, hides his face. She doesn't feel like laughing anymore. He soldiers on after a moment, voice wavering, "If he's gone and it's my fault, Yen, I--"

"Geralt." Her chest aches, painfully. This is what Jaskier's felt, for years, she thinks. This aching, creeping pain as she realizes that Geralt isn't here for her, despite his wish, despite how he’s tied them together. He's looking for Jaskier. Maybe she's had him wrong all this time.

"Please," he says, turns his eyes back towards her again. He looks hollowed out, like there's nothing behind that gaze. "I know I fucked up with you both, Yen. But please."

She thinks about lying. If Geralt doesn't believe Jaskier alive any longer, he'll leave the bard in peace, give him the opportunity to start to heal, to move on. Gods know Jaskier can't do that on his own. She wants to. The selfish part of her thinks if she can keep him long enough, Jaskier might love her that strongly, that fiercely, after a time.

She knows that's another lie, but she does entertain it, for a moment.

The other thing, of course, is choice. She's had her own choice of who to love ripped from her. Could she do that to Jaskier?

"Have a seat," she sighs, "I'll be back."

"Yen--"

"I said," she snaps, "I'll be back. Sit. Don't make me say it again." He sits. She leaves.

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

"He what?"

"He's worried you're dead, apparently," she says, feigning disinterest as she examines her nails.

"And you just--" he waves his arms about for emphasis, "didn't say anything and left?" His tone is incredulous.

She purses her lips and qirks an eyebrow--isn't that what I just said?

"Fuck. Yeah, yes, okay. Um."

"Breathe, Jaskier."

He takes a quick, shallow breath, something edging close to hyperventilating. "Fuck, okay, I'll talk to him."

"You don't have to," she says. Don't leave me she thinks.

"No, I do," he sighs, leans forward to catch her hand in his. A few months ago she would have turned him into a beetle for that. Now-- "Don't look so sad, Yen, darling."

"Shut up, bard." He's going to leave, like everyone else. Let go.

"I'm not going anywhere yet," he says, like he's the one who can read minds here.

"You don't have to stay," she shakes her head, pulls her hand back, too gentle.

"I know."

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

"Here," Yennefer waves behind herself dismissively as she reenters the room. Geralt sits up straighter. Behind her, Jaskier bounces a little anxiously on the balls of his feet.

"Fuck," he mumbles when he catches sight of Geralt over her shoulder, "you didn't say he looked so bad."

"Thought that was a given," she answers without looking. Geralt's gone very, very still.

"Yen--"

"He's been here since we left," she answers before he can ask. She can see him swallow from across the room. They’re eyeing each other, something in Geralt’s gaze she’s never seen before. It reaches into her chest and twists. "I'll leave you to it."

She leaves. No one stops her.

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

Jaskier is the one to come find her, after.

"He said you didn't want to see him again," he says as he settles into the chair opposite her. She's been--not hiding, she wouldn't call it hiding--in her study since she left them alone about an hour ago now.

"I don't," she agrees.

"You still love him, though," he says, soft and understanding. She puts the book she's been trying to distract herself with down, looks directly into his eyes.

"I do. I still don't know how real it is."

"Yen--"

"It doesn't matter. We're--" she cuts him off, shakes her head, "we're not good for each other, Jaskier."

"And he and I are any better?" he asks quietly. His words cut, draw blood. She's had the thought before herself.

"You deserve better," she tells him, eyes averted as she stares into the hearth fire.

"Aw, you do care," he coos, soft. Then, a lot more seriously, "you deserve better too, Yennefer."

She shrugs one shoulder, dismissive. "I do," she answers faintly. It isn't convincing even to her own ears.

"Yen--"

"I want someone to need me," she says, thinking back to what she told Geralt, on the mountain. Before things fell apart. "More than anything."

"That's why--" he trails off, doesn't finish. They both know what he means.

"Yes."

"You don't have to have a child to be needed, Yen. I've needed you, this whole time. You know that, don't you?"

"And now you don't," she says, trying not to sound bitter. He’s leaving, like everyone else. Found something better. They both are, this time. (It hurts, gods does it never stop hurting?)

"No," Jaskier shakes his head, gently, "just what I need is different."

"And what do you need now, bard?" She twists to face him fully, expression hard. She doesn't appreciate his lies.

"I need you to be there, when Geralt inevitably fucks up again. To listen. To talk to." It's not the same, but-- "I do love you, Yen."

"You're awful," she tells him, eyes downturned. There's a warm feeling surging in her chest, something tender and delighted, licking warmth melting the cold ice feeling of dread. He believes what he’s telling her--it’s the truth.

"I love you too," he smiles, eyes bright. "Are we good?"

She sucks in a deep breath. "We're good, bard." The smile that lights his face is radiant, perfect. In another universe, she might have loved him, the same way she might have loved Geralt, untainted by the djinn wish. The difference is that this is still clean, untouched by magic. It's not the deep, romantic love she's longed for since she was a child, but it's milder, truer. She believes him in a way she's never quite believed anyone else before.

If you love it, let it go. He may be leaving, but he'll be back.

[doodleimprovement]

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask - Alternate Ending

Or: “The extremely self indulgent 7 page fic were Nell gets to be more helpful and has some actual characterization” 

Yeahhhh this isn’t canon to the fic, but I wanted to write it because I can, at LAST give ya’ll Nell’s backstory for how they came to live in Subcon in the CSAU

Per usual, the “Coffee Shop AU” belongs to the ever wonderful @doodledrawsthings

Also, note: Both MJ and Nell use “they/them” pronouns, with MJ being “He/They” and Nell being “She/They” To keep things from getting too confusing, Nell will be “They” and MJ will be “He” 

Enjoy! 

--

Nell was honestly a bit surprised when MJ came to their home the morning after Halloween, sheepishly stating that the mask seemed ... stuck.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Huh.. Come on in then. I’ll get some tea going and see about helping you out, hm?”

He walked into their house, taking a moment to actually look about the place- as he didn’t get much of a chance before- and took a seat in their small living room.

The ambiance of the outside followed inside, with the walls painted chestnut brown with warm yet bright pops of color on the windowsill and the various picture frames full of people he didn’t know. The curtain over the wide window was patterned with little pumpkins, which he found cute, and hanging from a few ceiling hooks were what Clover would call “Low-maintenance” plants. The dark colors match well with the room, making it feel a bit comfier than it otherwise might.

The couch he sat on was across from an armchair, and both were colored a warm orange, with an espresso-colored coffee table. On said table were some envelopes and a copy of “Better Homes and Gardens”

Huh, he didn’t peg them as a reader of those types of magazines. Then again, Clover was the one that knew Nell, not him.

They came back with two mugs - one was purple with the “Snatcher” face on it, and the other had a little grumpy ghost on it, with “I’m spooky before my coffee” written above the drawing.

They handed him the Snatcher mug

“Can I ask where you get all of this Snatcher merch?”

“My best friend is an Etsy fiend. Despite him living all the way in Nyakoto, he ships me Snatcher merch whenever he finds something fun. He’s a real character” they chuckled.

“Huh” MJ acknowledged as Nell walked around the coffee table and sat next to him

“Do you feel the mask?”

He nodded, his hand up at the edge, right where he felt it “When I pull, it just… doesn’t move”

“Hm..” they sipped. “When you try to take it off, how does it feel?”

“Like… it’s like a thousand little… things? Pulling at my face, I think?” MJ pulled up their mug and sipped the tea.

“Like… string? Thread?”

MJ nodded. “I think that's the right word, thread”

Nell puts down the mug as MJ takes another sip. “Let me see” they scooted closer to him, and he put his mug down and turned his head.

Their hands seemed to glow green as they raised it “There we go…” They muttered, hand immediately finding the mask’s edge, and seeing what he was talking about “... Huh, the threads… well, that's the right word. They’re… criss-crossed…”

Before he could ask if they could remove them, he felt a slight burning at the edge of his face and jumped

“Ah!”

“Sorry, sorry, but, that did work… Though, it means you might be here a while” they admit “I’ll need you to stay still, okay?”

“Oh.. okay”

It was... Not Okay.

A few minutes into Nell’s attempt at getting the mask off, they let out a huff.

“You can’t keep squirming”

“I- I’m sorry” He muttered “It's just, you know, hard to stay still”

“I understand that, but I don’t want to mess this up. I’d like to see your actual eyes” They muttered.

“I know, it just.. Weird feeling” He tried to explain.

“Moon” They pressed, but sighed “... You seem still enough when I’m talking to you, need a distraction?”

“I mean, I guess…?”

Nell sighed “Hm… How about I tell you how I came to live in Subcon? That’s a long-ass story”

“Oh uh, if you’re okay with sharing!” MJ tried to be polite. He knew that even Clover wasn’t completely sure why Nell came to live in the town, she just knew that “something happened” back at the coast where they were from.

“Nah. It’s been 5 years. That’s more than long enough” The nurse stayed focused on the magic threads, their magic seeming to thrum in his ears- sounding almost like the hum of a fan in the dead heat of summer..

There was a pause, before they took in a breath.

“When I was 19, I took a job in Nyakoto, and left my hometown as fast as the train could take me. I had a scholarship to a little nursing school there, and before my 21st birthday, I’d gotten a nice, decent paying job as an ER nurse for a hospital in the East Side” They started “The hospitals were all interconnected, so I ended up meeting different doctors and nurses while I worked, and sometimes was called to assist in other hospitals.

“I was.. 25, when I met him” They recalled, something in their voice seeming heavy. “We’ll call him Chris

“He was in residency at a hospital down in the Wesservale neighborhood. We met at a medical appreciation gala… He had something about him I couldn't place. . . A charisma, almost. A kindness. He seemed so eager for the future, so excited for what the next day might bring him. I’d never been like that. His optimism drew me in.

“We started dating the year after. Like with most relationships, everything seemed great. He was funny, kind, thoughtful, all of that stuff. He even went with me to pride stuff, which was pretty cool at the time.”

“Pride?” MJ chimed in. Nell couldn’t hide a chuckle.

“Yes. You’ve heard of the Nyakoto Annual Pride Bonanza, haven’t you? One of the biggest in the country”

“I have, yes”

“Good. Back to the story” Nell redirected “When I was 27, about a year and a half into the relationship, I realized, quite unhappily, that we weren’t actually very different, and didn’t really get along as well as we thought.. It's not that we argued, but.. We didn’t really… talk. I never spoke to him about my problems, I didn’t feel like I could, and that really made me realize that we weren’t actually all that comfortable around each other. So, when he came over to my place that night for dinner, I spoke to him, and tried to tell him that we weren’t compatible, and that I thought perhaps we’d be better off as friends.

“He convinced me that we just needed work, going on and on about all these plans he had for us. Trips, dates, things to look forward to, always looking toward the future, Chris did”

Nell paused again

“.. I really should have noticed how little he cared about happiness in the present.” They commented “Not a traditional red flag, but it was a warning nonetheless”

“Well, I mean, that’s not so bad”

“In a way, no” Nell replied “But when you think about the future so much, you forget the present, you forget to live, and your past just.. Ends up a horrible haze. Even the happy stuff is hard to recall”

MJ hadn’t thought of it like that

“But hindsight is 2020, and in the moment, I believed him. I wanted to believe those bright dreams of the future, and I let go of the fact that I did not even like to talk to him very much.

“... I tried to break up with him 4 more times in the 8 years we were together.”

Okay, MJ hadn’t been expecting that much time passing.

“By the time I was 34, we were living together, but barely seeing each other. From the outside it must have seemed perfect to everyone else. I think only Daph knew about my.. Issues, with Chris. I still never talked to him about anything that wasn’t the future, or how the day was, or.. Just, absolute nonsense.

“One night, after one more attempt to break up, I’d gone to bed defeated, and woke up at 3 in the morning while he was on the night shift in Wesservale.. I came to this… realization

“If I didn’t leave right then and there, I’d marry him…. and I’d …. I’d be stuck. He’d have me, and I’d be stuck for the rest of my life..

“So I grabbed everything I had in the apartment, sent a resignation email to the East side hospital I still worked at, left him a note telling him I was leaving, took my car and just… started driving”

“.. Did he call you?”

“I blocked his number.” They answered curtly. “Drove for days until I came across Subcon.”

MJ didn’t comment.

“I stayed at the Alpine Motel for a few nights, and when I was at the diner, overheard that there was an open position for the school nurse at the elementary” They continued. “I applied for it, and 3 months later cashed in my savings to put a down payment on this little place” They made a motion with their hand briefly “The rest is history”

“Well… If it's any consolation, I think that's a good reason to get out of the city”

Nell couldn’t hold back a laugh. There was something a little… sad, in it, but the laugh was genuine.

“Yeah, then again, every reason is a good one to get out of the city” They commented, and MJ had only just realized that their hands were now on the other side of his face. Nell worked quickly, it seemed. “Hm.. okay. On the count of three, I'm going to try to take it off, alright?”

“Oh, uh, wow, okay!” He replied eagerly, closing his eyes.

“One…” They slowly started, both hands on either side, their nails right at the edge of the mask.

“Three!”

MJ startled as Nell pulled, and a cold, sharp feeling spread over his body before it abruptly ended. When he opened his eyes. He looked at Nell, who had, in their hands, that damned mask.

His hands went up to his face, and he let out a relieved laugh as he felt his skin, glasses and hair “hah! Hahah! I’m human again! No more magic!” He raised his hands and leaned back on the couch “Sweet relief”

Nell let out a chuckle, putting the mask down gently “Finish your tea, I’m gonna grab you a damp towel. You have… paint? On your face”

His brow was furrowed, but he reached for the still-warm mug anyway as Nell got up and went down a short hallway.

He took the few moments that Nell was done to think over the story he’d been told, the exhaustion in the nurse’s voice as she told it. Was he really the first one to learn? It gave him a weird feeling right in his chest.

When Nell returned, she offered a small, damp towel… that had the “Snatcher” smile on it

“... How many of these do you have?” He almost laughed again, and they just answered with an amused smile and grabbed their own coffee cup.

MJ cleaned his face, seeing a candy-red color coming off on the purple towel. “Hm..”

“What?”

“Well uh, the color looks like the magic strings I was able to summon”

Nell Blinked “... Well uh, bring that up with Tim when he’s back in town. That’s a little out of my wheelhouse”

“Noted”

The two fell into silence, sipping their warm drinks and giving them some time to unwind

“Will you need a ride home?” they asked him, putting their mug down.

He hadn’t actually thought of that.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine”

They raised an eyebrow at him

“You live 20 minutes away and Luka isn’t here to … fly you home, per se” They laid out “I’ve got a car, I’ll drive you home”

He turned a little red to the ears “Oh.. Thank you”

“No problem, Moon” They smiled back at him. “I’m going to change real quick, then we’ll leave”

And with that, they left back into the short hallway, to what Moon assumed was their bedroom.

Nell returned a few minutes later, dressed in a loose blouse and skirt that went down to their ankles, a far cry from the tank top and sweatpants that he’d seen them in before. He supposed that it was more so not wanting to go out in Pajamas than anything else. She picked up the mask, wrapping it in a handkerchief before holding it out to him

“It’s chosen you. You have to keep it”

He just nodded, and gingerly took the troublesome thing into his hands.

The two got in their truck (Nell owned a truck??) and drove into town.

MJ took in a breath as they turned onto a main street, passing The Horizon. “So uh, Nell..”

“Hm?”

“About your uh, the story you told me.. I won’t tell anyone”

“I don’t mind if you do” they answered, eyes on the road

“What, really?”

“Like I said before. Five years feels long enough”

MJ’s brow furrowed “I’m still not going to say anything.. That’s a personal story. It’s not mine to tell”

Nell glanced over at him with an unreadable expression, before moving to turn on the radio. Lo-fi started, and it seemed they were right in the middle of a Billie Eilish song.

“.. Thank you” They ended up responding as the song picked up

”I know supposedly I'm lonely now.

Know I’m supposed to be unhappy without someone.

But aren’t I someone?” 

MJ didn’t say much of anything else once until they got to his apartment building

“Thank you, Nell. For everything”

“Don’t mention it” They gave him a small, but sincere smile “Get some rest, hm? The bags under your eyes are aging you”

MJ just laughed “I will. Don’t be a stranger, Mx. Buonacci”

The nurse gave him a lazy salute with a soft smile, before the window rolled up, and they drove off

Exhaling, he looked down at the covered mask, wrapped in a…. Snatcher-patterned handkerchief.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

[giftwrappingpaper]

wangxian bakery au

prompt: "I'd love to enable a creator to write/draw that self-indulgent niche workplace AU they've always wanted to make."

Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying baking bread in the kitchen of a hole-in-the-wall bakery in Yiling.

-----

A low, all too familiar voice hesitantly calls his name. "Wei Ying?"

No fucking way. Wei Ying looks up, raised eyebrows wrinkling his flour-dusted forehead. Yep, that’s Lan Zhan alright; no matter how many years pass, Wei Ying could recognize that face anywhere. His sharp, meticulously perfect appearance makes him look like a high-fashion magazine model cutout slapped on a stock photo of yellowed plaster and secondhand baking equipment.

“No customers in the back,” Wei Ying advises before returning his attention to the dough in his hands. A picture of informality, with a small smirk playing on his lips — a half-hearted attempt to conceal the shock and surmounting panic bubbling in his gut.

How the hell did he find me? one side of his brain despairs, while the other side reassures that at least it isn’t Jiang Cheng.

Lan Zhan continues his stalwart breach of Burial Bakery’s kitchen. What a rebel. “Wei Ying,” he says again.

“That’s me.”

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re in a...bakery. Baking.”

Wei Ying breathed in the calming smell of fresh sourdough and tangy levain. Thank the heavens he had been able to convince Wen Ning to take a lunch break, leaving Wei Ying to man the kitchen alone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

“That’s kinda what we do here, yeah,” he says, eyes trained on his workbench, crowded with floured bannetons and formless lumps of dough. “A helping hand would be nice. I’d appreciate that much more than the gawking.”

Lan Zhan blinks, jawing clenching and ears flushing. Wei Ying’s smirk lifts into something softer. Even after all this time, it’s still so easy to rile him up.

“How’d you even find me, anyway?” he wonders, stretching his dough flat against the workbench, stopping right when it’s about to rip. Gently, of course. Wouldn’t want to pop the gas built up after hours of proofing.

“The back door is open,” Lan Zhan answers faintly. His expression mirrors the face of a guy after finding a years-long missing sock long since chalked off as having been eaten by the dryer. “I saw you from the counter.”

A quick glance to the entrance confirms this. Wen Ning must’ve forgotten to close the door when he left. Damn, that’s no good. Can’t let the cold air flow in. Might mess with the dough proofing in the walk-in.

“Could you close that for me?” Wei Ying asks, briefly letting go of the dough to rub the back of his neck. When Lan Zhan continues to stand there, motionless like a beautiful, bewildered statue, Wei Ying tsks and says, “I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan. Gotta get yesterday's proofed loaves in the oven by the hour.”

Miraculously, Lan Zhan obeys. Wei Ying half expected him not to. He and Lan Zhan have never been the closest of friends; Wei Ying was an annoying student, and Lan Zhan has a zero tolerance for annoying classmates. But people can change, he supposes. It’s been over four years, and neither of them are the same people they were before Wei Ying packed up his things and gave up his cushioned life in the Jiang estate and his scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country to start slumming it with the Wen siblings and A-Yuan in their closet of an apartment.

“Aw, thanks,” Wei Ying says when Lan Zhan returns. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve asked Lan Zhan to close the door behind him as he leaves the kitchen that he, as a non-employee, isn’t supposed to be in. Oh well; Wen Qing can chew him out for all the health codes he’s violating later. Isn’t she supposed to be manning the front? Lan Zhan must have snuck past her to get here, so she’s just as guilty.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?” Lan Zhan says, watching Wei Ying shape the dough. “Since you — left?”

“Basically.” Stitch the dough into itself. Then fold and tuck. Push the dough underneath itself with the palm of your hands to create surface tension, giving the newly formed loaf that tight, professional finish. Took Wei Ying ages to get the method down pat enough to be consistent. “Wanted to get out of the Jiangs’ hair, so I left soon after dropping out of uni.”

Dust the loaf with rice flour. Place it into a banneton, seam side up. Into the rack, then repeat. “A friend of mine had just inherited their family bakery. I volunteered to help out, and it eventually ended up becoming a full-time thing.”

Lan Zhan stands there without a word — not that Wei Ying minds. He hadn’t let himself dream they’d see each other again, hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up that he'd be lucky enough to see a familiar face again after all this time. Damn, he thinks, sneaking glance after glance between the loaves he’s shaping, he’s more handsome now than ever. Who knew the gorgeous teenager he’d harassed throughout two years of university would turn out to become a gorgeous adult who somehow stumbles into Wei Ying’s bakery? Even the unflattering cast of the yellow, flickering overhead light Wen Qing had been meaning to replace can’t wash out how black Lan Zhan’s hair is, how his skin is as smooth as a baby’s. How golden his eyes are, peering at Wei Ying as if he’s the sunrise after a long, cloudy night.

Bah. Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Wei Ying really is as self-centered as Aunt Yu claimed him to be.

“I wasn’t aware of your...baking aspirations,” Lan Zhan says, causing Wei Ying to choke out a laugh. He’d forgotten how funny Lan Zhan could be.

“Me neither,” Wei Ying admits. He sidesteps the kitchen mixer he’d spent the last year fixing up — he’d bought it in a sorry state, but Hobart engines are built to last a lifetime, and he couldn’t pass up the deal he paid for — to place another filled banneton into the rack. “But I’m not too mad at where I’ve ended up. Speaking of. How did you end up here?”

Lan Zhan's shoulders hunch suspiciously, and Wei Ying's eyebrows arch into fucking parabolas. “I wanted bread,” Lan Zhan replies defensively. “So I went to a bakery.”

Wei Ying scoffs, unimpressed. “A bakery all the way in Yiling?”

Lan Zhan glances away. “I travel a lot for work.”

Fine — he’ll let it go for now. “Well, as long as you don’t tell anyone back home about this, I guess it’s fine.” Wei Ying pauses. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?”

The thought should scare him, but a traitorously large part of him thrills at it instead. The Jiangs' are a key food supplier for the Lans' hotel chain, so Lan Zhan has to have some form of communication with them. Does Jiejie think about him from time to time? And Jiang Cheng...well. They’re still brothers, aren't they? Surely he must, at some small capacity, miss him.

But no brotherly love, whatever left there may be, could erase this: the cold silence that hung over the Jiang family table whenever Wei Ying would show up for dinner. Aunt Yu’s constant disapproval and Jiang Cheng’s wavering willingness to put up with it. The car ride. The screech of metal. The hospital said their Range Rover flipped four times. Wei Ying must have passed out after the first. But he was lucky: only a broken arm and whiplash. He had lied about being too hurt to attend the funeral.

It had been a good decision to leave. It had to be.

The back of his neck stings; a constant reminder. He hangs his head low as he stitches the dough.

“I’m not going to...rat you out,” Lan Zhan denies. He’s closer than he’d been since the last time Wei Ying looked up, his slack-clad hip brushing against the corner of Wei Ying’s workbench. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t. Thanks.” Another banneton in the rack. Slower output than usual. He’s going to have to speed up to reach today’s quota. He gestures to the door. “Now, if you’re not gonna help out…”

Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hint. “You left. Without saying goodbye.”

“Must’ve forgotten to leave a note,” Wei Ying says, nonplussed.

“No one knew where you had gone off to.”

“Kinda preferred it that way.”

“But I didn’t —” Lan Zhan stops. Takes a breath. This is the most emotional Wei Ying has ever seen him, if mildly discomfited could constitute as emotional.

When he meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, his face is in its usual state of aloofness. “I was worried about you,” he tells him. “I wish I had known that you were alright.”

A block of guilt presses on Wei Ying’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just — with all that happened with the, the accident, and the handling of the estate —”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me you’re not comfortable with.”

“And my relationship with Jiang Cheng was down the fucking gutter —”

“He misses you.”

“I just felt that it everything would’ve been better off if —”

“I understand.”

“— I just left, y’know?”

At this, Lan Zhan frowns. “I fail to see how your sudden disappearance made anything better,” he says.

“Well, you weren’t there.” Wei Ying sighs, and what little fight he had to defend himself from the past drops to the floor. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

Lan Zhan bristles. “I didn’t mean to — that’s not why I’m here.”

Then why are you here? But Wei Ying is done playing this game. “Look, it’s really nice to see you again. But I kind of have a lot on my plate right now, so if you don’t mind.” This time, his gesture to the door is clear. Leave.

Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t leave; he’s always been so damn stubborn. After a beat, he walks over to the empty sink — Wei Ying prefers to wash the dishes as he goes — and washes his hands. Dries them. Rolls up the sleeves of his button up, revealing forearms Wei Ying can’t help but swallow at. Makes his way to Wei Ying’s side, staring down at the lumps of dough like how a runner glares at the bottom of her shoe after stepping on a pile of dogshit.

“Alright,” he says, “how do I do this?”

Wei Ying blinks. “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

Lan Zhan experimentally cups the nearest dough mound with his palms. It sticks to his hands as he lifts them, streaks of the stuff already clinging to his slender fingers.

“Gross,” he says, monotone, pinching two ends to stretch it; an imitation, Wei Ying realizes, of his own technique.

Wei Ying stares. An incredulous smile spreads across his lips. “You’re —” He laughs. “You’re so weird, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan squints at him, confused, hands still making a mess out of the dough. “You asked for my help.”

Perhaps all those years away from home was enough penance for, at the very least, this. “Yeah," he says, soft. "I guess I did.” Wei Ying sways closer to Lan Zhan’s side. He discreetly sniffs the air in a selfish bid to find...ah, there it is, masked between notes of wheat flour and sourdough starter: sandalwood aftershave, brushing past Wei Ying's nose when Lan Zhan turns to him with an expectant glance.

Wei Ying laughs again. “No, not like that. Like this.”

He lays a floured hand over Lan Zhan’s and, together, they get to work.

-----

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[levihantrash]

new chapter update!

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1: Free Bread

Chapter 2: New Friends

Like routine, Levi found himself waiting for a certain professor to show up. When Erwin called out to him, he couldn’t help but search behind the tall, imposing figure.

“I haven’t seen Hange this morning either,” Erwin said. Levi found himself irritated by Erwin’s discernment and by his own discrete uneasiness.

“Good morning, Erwin,” Levi greeted, nonetheless.

Hange was late, which Levi figured wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

The morning passed without a single sign of Hange.

“Sorry, are you Mr. Levi?” A nervous-looking person approached him, holding on to a well-wrapped steamed bun. A twinge of hope stirred in Levi.

“Levi will do,” he said.

“Dr. Hange said I should pass you this,” the bread-holder blurted out.

Levi’s gaze softened. “Where’s Hange?”

“Oh! She’s rushing a deadline and insisted that I pass you this bread.”

The inexplicable rush of relief made Levi dizzy as he grasped the bread limply. “Huh. Sorry that you have to be an errand boy today.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Moblit, their teaching assistant! Dr. Hange helps me out with my master’s thesis because they’re my advisor. This is just my way of saying thanks. Dr. Hange also treats me to meals, gives me detailed comments for my work… though they might go overboard when it comes to giving speeches about the importance of world-building and honing your craft, it’s inspiring how dedicated they are in what they do.”

Moblit took a deep breath, making up for lost air in between the lengthy, whole-hearted sentences.

“Is that so…” Levi said, suddenly contemplative. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you getting it from the staff pantry?”

“No, that stuff’s stale as shit. I have better tea, wait here.”

Levi recalled Erwin asking him in front of everyone in the staffroom if he wanted the staffroom snacks. Hange followed up, speaking at a volume that was clear enough for most of the staff to overhear, orchestrating a deliberate conversation with Erwin.

“Since there are no hard rules as to who the snacks and drinks are catered for, and technically, Levi is a staff member, he should have access to the snacks!”

None of the professors objected. It was probably because open prejudice would be socially unacceptable, Levi thought.

Begrudgingly, he accepted Erwin’s offer, and in full view of everyone, took a candy bar.

Hange gasped. “Just one?” Levi glared at them.

“Aren’t the snacks for your little sister?” Hange asked. He nodded, sensing the collective spike in sympathy for him in the staffroom.

After the whole stage, the trio huddled conspicuously in a corner outside the staffroom.

Hange whispered to Levi, “You could have played along better!”

“Erwin’s tired of your skit,” Levi said, overwhelmed and annoyed at the turn of events.

“No he’s not!” Hange said sternly, before gulping down half a bottle of water.

Erwin, standing in between them, told Hange to keep it down.

“Thanks, you two.” Levi found himself staring at the floor, embarrassed that his two friends had to construe him as a pitiful character for him to get a few snacks, even though he had been informed of the plan prior.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” Hange said, their lips compressed into a hard, grim line. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t even get snacks and refreshments as part of the staff.”

“I’m used to it.”

“If anyone’s giving you a hard time, you have us,” Hange said, still put off.

They squared their shoulders impressively. “Right Erwin?”

“You can rely on us, Levi,” Erwin surmised, equally sombre.

Growing more ruffled by their declarations, Levi hissed, “I don’t need two bodyguards.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Hange joked. “Some people have told me about the deathly aura you emit that I must have missed…”

Fixing their attention at a vague distance, Hange’s playful jibes dwindled into an idle pondering, “I wonder if you found some joy in our companionship at least.”

They’re talking about joy and friendship again… Levi thought.

He found himself back in the present, handing a cup of black tea to Moblit, guiding him towards a bench.

Moblit squeaked out, “Thank you!”

“How did you find me?” Levi asked, betraying none of his real curiosity.

“Hange gave me a description…” Moblit began, not making eye contact with Levi.

“Did they? What’s the description?” Knowing Hange’s brand of humour, Levi braced himself.

Moblit shuffled in his seat, terribly reluctant. “They said to look out for a cold, black-haired man with an undercut, wearing an apron, gloves and brandishing a mop while scolding people to not step on wet floors.” Levi made a mental note to strangle Hange.

Moblit quickly supplemented, “You’re not actually cold though!”

“How would you know that?”

“Um… you’re offering me tea?”

Levi clicked his tongue. “That’s a low bar for human decency. You should have higher standards.”

“You’re right, Mr. Levi… I mean Levi.”

Levi noted Moblit’s jittery manner when he briefly checked his phone for a message and let out a small groan.

“Hey, you look worried sick. You didn’t receive a death threat, did you?”

Moblit laughed weakly, running his hand through his hair. “Uh, you see, I’m one of the editors for the bi-annual literary magazine and we’ve been looking for illustrators…”

“I take it that you haven’t been successful?”

“Yes… I just received someone’s rejection. It’s okay, we’ll find one,” Moblit said, although his panicked lip-biting ran contradictory to his optimistic statement. Levi’s hands twitched again. He folded them promptly into his apron pockets.

Upon finishing the tea, Moblit stood up and gave a tiny, polite bow. “It was nice meeting you Levi. Thanks for listening and for the tea!”

“Good luck,” Levi said, in time before Moblit rushed off.

Bagging up the rubbish, Levi heaved the load on his shoulder easily, only to be startled by the appearance of Hange.

“Fuck! Can you stop jumping out of nowhere?” Though momentarily disconcerted, the tension built up from the day unwound instantaneously, leaving his body loose and feeble.

“Levi! Did you shit yourself?” Hange sang. They accidentally bumped into the gigantic rubbish bag, falling butt-first onto the ground, phone in hand.

“Be careful,” Levi said, in the same monotonous voice he used regardless of the situation. Unless the situation involved Hange leaping out of nowhere. He looped his free arm under their armpit to pull them back up. Hange, flushed from running, placed their phone in his hands with ill-contained excitement.

“Look at what I found!”

“Oi, what’s this—” Levi scanned the phone, his mouth running dry.

“I’m going to recruit this artist. For my comic.”

It was a sketch of a cat being patted by a person with messy, tied-up hair, their hands stroking its head.

“Don’t you think the person looks familiar? Isn’t the cat cute… remember how I told you I have one at home?” Hange released their brown hair from a voluminous ponytail, biting the rubber band in their mouth.

He swallowed. “I drew that.”

Hange’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I make such shit jokes?”

“Personally, I find your shitty jokes very funny. This is exciting news! Why didn’t you tell me you’re an artist when I was trying to find one for my comic?”

Levi found her question preposterous. “You could easily find a better one. I’m inexperienced.”

“I’m also an inexperienced writer. I barely wrote one book and a few articles!”

“You’re a professor. You have the title for a reason. I just draw for fun.”

Hange spared him a baffled look. “Please. You have no idea how many great writers never become professors. And how some professors never write great books. I thought you of all people would know that a title doesn’t mean anything.”

“I thought you of all people would know that titles hold their value here, even if we think they’re stupid and don’t mean shit.”

“I know that, Levi. I’m saying, drawing for fun doesn’t make you inexperienced or unworthy of being the artist for my comic. Besides, I chose you before I even knew it was you!” Hange said triumphantly.

Locking the phone screen, Levi reiterated, “I draw for fun.”

“Then this will be our fun project!”

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

“You won’t be broke.” Erwin slipped into their conversation as though he had always been there. It was uncanny.

“What do you mean?” Levi stared questioningly at Erwin.

“You’ll be paid for your work, Levi. Hange as well,” Erwin said simply.

“You’re paying us?” Hange and Levi asked, in unison. One, in disbelief, and the other, in delight.

“A publisher will be paying you. I’ve secured funding.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “A publisher wants to sponsor a comic that hasn’t even been written?”

“I told you, Levi,” Hange interrupted. “I’ve already submitted a draft!”

“Yes,” Erwin said.

Levi had so many questions. “How?”

“Because it’s a good story.”

“Did you bribe them? Threaten them?”

“It is a risk,” Erwin admitted.

“It’s a fucking gamble,” Levi emphasised. “Don’t know why you’re so invested in this comic.”

Hange had other worries. “Levi, did you think I wasn’t going to pay you?”

Levi hesitated. “I don’t know. Isn’t this just a fun side-project?”

Hange’s face came closer to his. With the enhanced proximity, Levi stopped breathing altogether. Their face was deadly solemn.

“Listen, Levi, creating art is hard work. Your hard work. Any artist deserves to be paid. It’s not because our relationship is transactional. It’s because it’s only right.”

Erwin added, “We’re not going to accept your art for free.”

Pushing Hange back firmly with his hands on their shoulders, Levi argued, “Plenty of people have access to my art online for free.”

“That’s your choice. We insist.” Hange grinned. “And we think we deserve to be paid too. Even I’m surprised that my project has early compensation.”

Part of Levi’s resolve ebbed away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me!”

“First, you have to tell me what your story is.” Levi gathered up the last of his self-respect. “And if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need your number.”

Erwin raised an innocent eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need mine too?”

“Stop teasing him, Erwin,” Hange said, grabbing the rubbish bag from Levi, struggling to balance its weight over their shoulders.

Just as Levi felt a shred of gratitude, Hange remarked, “What if he doesn’t agree to do the comic together?”

Patience running thin, Levi stomped on both their feet in a fit of unrestraint that diverged from his unaffected demeanour.

Eyes twinkling, Hange couldn’t help but feel immense glee at the prospect of working with Levi. What was probably Levi’s withheld strength made them certain that he only wanted to dirty their shoes, not bruise their toes. Like Hange would care about the cleanliness of their battered sneakers.

In front of an ordinary apartment door, Hange dug into the depths of their bag to fish out a ring of keys. The size of the ring was unprecedentedly big; the choice of keychain most definitely random, a freebie handed out to new staff that blatantly displayed the university’s name.

Without that much bribery of tea, bread, and friendship, Levi found himself standing beside Hange as they busied themselves in finding the key to their apartment. Erwin had bailed due to having another Important Meeting with Important People, even during a weekend, but encouraged Hange and Levi to take time to discuss the comic.

Hange hadn’t expected Levi to agree so readily to kickstarting the project, and with the generous reception Levi gave (a curt nod and a follow-up question), they thought it’d be best if they invited him over to their apartment. Just so he wouldn’t mistake Hange as a mere business partner. Now that would be upsetting.

Hange pushed the ludicrous speculation out of their head. Levi was first and foremost, a good friend. His bored appearance revealed glimpses of surprise, satisfaction, moodiness, and suspicion. Hange held on to these pieces with the determination to collect them all. Surely, Levi must have figured them out by now. This endless, unabashed interest Hange had taken in him.

“Why are we meeting at your place? Do you need to take a huge shit? Does the toilet at home have a better flush?”

Although Levi had no qualms about visiting Hange’s apartment, he found it unnerving to have a work discussion in someone’s living quarters. It felt too intimate, too casual. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being sucked in further into Hange’s life. They asked so many questions, yet barely answered any about themselves.

Whether intentionally or not, Hange was someone shrouded in mystery to Levi. He couldn’t ask questions either—he wouldn’t—because he was unaccustomed to expressing himself in front of people. More than that, he could envision Hange’s sharp wit poking a clean hole through his muted facade. “You’re interested in my life, Levi?” Damn that four-eyes for being so perceptive. Or was he so easy to read?

“It’s more fun,” Hange said, eventually stuffing the correct key into the keyhole, a smooth click welcoming them. “Plus, I want to introduce you to my friends! Part of the reason why I took up the position at this university.”

“Friends?” Levi asked, slipping out of his shoes to step into the apartment.

“Hange!” A voice rang, and Hange was wrapped in a hug.

“Onyankopon! I saw you yesterday—”

“Three days ago, to be exact, since you always sleep over on the lovely desk at the university.” A smooth voice entered, coming from a woman standing comfortably against the wall.

As the tallest body let go of Hange, it allowed Levi to take in the congenial features of a man whose shoulders rivalled Erwin’s towering, well-built stature. While Erwin’s smile was measuredly cordial, Onyankopon’s was candidly sincere. Watching Hange and Onyankopon, Levi felt as though he were intruding into a family reunion that had invited the entire neighbourhood. Here, he was the guest who came for the free flow of food and drinks.

“I’ve missed you too Pieck!” The woman named Pieck ruffled Hange’s hair, offering them an embrace.

Hange pulled Levi by the elbow, pointing to the new people. “Meet my roommates and college friends, Onyankopon and Pieck!”

“Hi,” Levi said, uncertain as to what else he could affix his terse greeting with. Hange resolved that predicament for him, going into further details about their friends.

“Onyankopon is a researcher and engineer! I can’t tell you the technical specifics of what he does, though, I always get them wrong. Oh, and he’s religious, but he won’t try to convert you.” Onyankopon nodded, affirming Hange’s unflattering introduction.

“Pieck… Pieck is a gardener, florist, and avid gamer! That’s why she’s always bent over, whether it’s tending to her plants or her high score in front of the monitor.”

“It’s not why I need the crutches though,” Pieck said. Hange squeezed her shoulders in response.

“Seems like my friends are all nerdy. Maybe that’s why I like them?” A sheepish smile graced Hange’s lips.

Onyankopon gestured towards Hange, imitating their dramatic flourish. “And this is Hange Zoe, the nerdiest of them all. Obsessed with words. Recently obsessed with science fiction. They’re always reading or writing, and once they start on something, their butt doesn’t leave the chair.”

Levi’s eyes flitted around the apartment—it was relatively tidy, with a couple of framed photos and artworks. A blanket on the couch made it homely enough. His inspection didn’t miss Hange’s notice.

“Like what you see?”

“It’s neat,” he replied.

“That’s a compliment!” Hange took care to disclose this to their two friends.

“All your previous partners don’t take off their shoes, Hange. I hope he isn’t one of those.” Pieck said, using their crutch to relocate Hange’s haphazard shoes to a corner, flipping them the right side up. Levi liked her already.

“That’s gross,” Levi said apathetically, wiping away the horrifying image of dirt-smeared carpets and tiles creeping into his consciousness.

“He’s very clean, don’t worry,” Hange said easily. “Some might even say it’s his obsession.”

“I’m the cleaner at the university.” Onyankopon and Pieck turned towards Hange with patented disapproval.

“Levi, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think we’ll make good friends,” Pieck said, bemused.

Hange beamed at Levi. “You’ll love Pieck! She’s really quiet most of the time, just like you. Not to mention she pretends that she hates me. Just like you.”

“Good to know,” Levi said, enjoying the banter a bit too much.

“Hange says she’s going to get you to draw me, as a titan,” Pieck said, evidently sceptical.

“What’s a titan?”

“The giant, naked people I told you about, Levi! They’re called titans!”

“Why are they called titans?”

Hange landed on the sofa with a plop, patting the seat beside them for Levi to sit. “In Greek mythology, titans are immortal giant gods who were banished to the underground.”

Levi, who had little knowledge of Greek mythology, made a mental note to search for references online.

“Therefore, the titans are kind of like vengeful giant gods from the underground who have come to earth to wreak havoc on what the gods have built, which is human civilisation, basically.”

“Basically, I am wonderful enough to be titan-material,” Pieck drawled, propping their crutch at the side of the couch, sliding onto the cushions.

“A special titan that walks on all fours! Um, that’s the plan for now,” Hange said brightly.

Onyankopon, who had been content with listening, clapped his hands together in sudden realisation. “Hange, now that you’re finally home, you can take a shower.”

“I should, right?” Hange scratched their head, feeling the slickness of unwashed neglect.

Levi crinkled his nose as Hange reluctantly made their way to the bathroom. “That’s disgusting.”

“And here you are, still.” Pieck’s amiable statement prickled at his skin like a light warning before impending exposure.

“Hange must really want to make a good impression if they’re showering now,” Onyankopon said, chuckling to himself.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Onyankopon pushed a newly made cup of tea towards Levi, with the steady confidence that could only come from having known prior that it was the beverage that Levi would desire. “Make yourself at home.”

Levi said his thanks, to the hospitality of two people he scarcely knew, and to Hange, who likely told them about the tea.

Cold water blasted them in the face, as Hange became cognizant of the necessity of showering more regularly. It wasn’t like they thrived in the dirt. Hypothetically, showering wasn’t that troublesome. The shower kept forgetting itself until it was three days later and Hange stank with regret and mild self-loathing. Still, the shower felt good, giving them new clarity about the fact that they had invited Levi into their inner social circle. How would he fare? Would he be uncomfortable? Hange massaged shampoo into their hair, recalling their conversation with Pieck and Onyankopon.

After much elaboration on adapting to a new university, their visits to an amazing bakery, and the fostering of daily encounters with new friends, Pieck had caught on that every other sentence from Hange contained a sliver of Levi-sized anecdotes. The new university was so much bigger than the one Pieck, Onyankopon, and Hange had attended together; it stretched endlessly, and Hange estimated that Levi would have walked 393700.7874 steps to clean just the faculty building. The bakery near the university was fragrant, its selection marvellous, and choosing a new bread for Levi every day was a tremendously delightful task. Moreover, Hange had met so many unique characters since getting to know the people in their faculty, people like Levi whose abhorrence for social etiquette was admirable, and with whom she was eager to share their mornings and lunches. Together with Erwin, of course.

Pieck let out a tinkle of a laugh at Hange’s obliviousness. “Why are you friends with Levi?”

Thinking hard, Hange answered, “I don’t know if he thinks of us as friends.”

“Well, friendship status aside, how’s he like?”

“He’s kind. He doesn’t sound like it, but he’s kind.”

“That’s nice. How’s he kind?”

Confusion coloured Hange’s usual confidence. “Hmm. It’s gut-feeling, I guess.”

“That’s unlike you, to rely solely on instincts,” Onyankopon said, stroking his chin. Hange was a person with an abundance of rationale, a reason for everything, with justification for any ideas. Their reasoning this time fell flat.

Pieck prodded on. “You said that he doesn’t sound kind. Then what does he sound like?”

“Grumpy, sarcastic, serious. He looks like he’s annoyed with everyone. Most people find him scary, I suppose? It’s like he wants people to think he’s an asshole.”

Pieck perked up. “Oh, so you’ve become enamoured with broody, misunderstood people who’re rough around the edges?”

“Pieck, come on, I’m not writing my own romantic trope! I don’t know… he’s a good person. I can tell. He doesn’t say much though.”

“You’re a mind-reader now?”

Hange ignored her. “His art… it’s so evocative. Melancholic. Hopeful. Angry.”

“What was the artwork you last saw of his?”

“A cat,” Hange said immediately.

Onyankopon brought Hange back to reality. “What about him? What do you like about him? Not his art.”

Hange pursed their lips. “Do good people need to prove themselves to show that they’re good?”

“There could be reasons as to why you’re so adamant about his golden character,” Onyankopon said.

“He’s reliable. And his shit jokes aren’t so bad once you get used to it.” Hange surprised themselves with that comment—Levi’s relentless toilet humour was infecting their brain. The corrosive force of the word “shitty” had already moulded itself permanently into their vocabulary.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Hange bent their arms behind their head. “It’s hard to find people to truly get along with.”

Onyankopon and Pieck shared a knowing look.

With their eyes trained to the white ceiling plaster, Hange mumbled on, “it would be nice if he’d talk more openly about what he’s feeling. It’s all guesswork and I’m afraid I’m constantly reading him wrong.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice…” Onyankopon said gently.

“But I do talk about my feelings!”

“Monologuing in your room and reposting vague lines of poetry and sending us memes to cope with your avoidance is not the same as talking about your feelings,” Pieck said, spending the subsequently long moment of silence to snip off a yellowed leaf from the potted Monstera deliciosa next to the kitchen counter.

“Wow.” Hange, for once, had nothing to muster.

Onyankopon’s approach was less incisive than Pieck’s. “You know, I don’t think you need a reason to be friends with someone. If he’s making you happy, I think it’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, Onyankopon,” Hange said gratefully.

“But Pieck’s right about you being deliberately evasive with your own emotions. Introspection shouldn’t be so strenuous, right? Don’t you write about your characters’ internal turmoil often?”

“It’s different when you’re reflecting for yourself,” Hange contended.

“We’ll see how Levi’s like anyway, when we meet him,” Pieck said, grabbing the scissors, going towards another deadened leaf.

“Don’t bully him!”

Another snip. Another leaf fell. “Isn’t he supposed to be scary?”

Hange smiled wryly. “But you two are scarier.”

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 4: A Fall of Rain

Chapter 4 Summary: Claire delights in a new experience, and later comes to a startling realization.

Read on AO3

Chapter 4 below the cut...

Chapter 3 , Chapter 5

Chapter 4: A Fall of Rain 

Jamie couldn’t stand the look of pain still etched into that bonny face as Claire thought about the stones. He longed to tell her aloud all the vows his heart was making, but that would have been very foolish indeed. 

No, he would honor her request of not talking about the stones. What she really needed was a distraction. 

Her eyes were still downcast and clouded with thought. Jamie carded his fingers through her curls briefly in one last wordless reassurance and then caught her chin with two fingers to draw her face up to look at him. 

“Do ye maybe want a shower? That always helps me feel better,” he offered with a smile. 

She blinked, and much to his relief, the charged atmosphere dissolved in an instant. 

“A shower?” She mimicked the word but it came out slightly funny as she struggled to form the unfamiliar pronunciation. 

Jamie chuckled. “I keep forgetting. Do ye not bathe then?” 

“Of course I do,” she looked affronted, “in the loch. But what does that have to do with this ‘shower’ of yours?”

“Oh, ye’re in for a real treat, lass.” 

With some fortitude he wasn’t sure he possessed, he detached himself from her. He led her to the bathroom and set to work getting the water warming. When she followed in behind him, she tried to immediately strip her tee-shirt off. He stopped her with a stilling hand on hers (which were crossed over each other and gripping the edge of her shirt, mere seconds away from--). He let out an indulgent chuckle.

“Wait until I’ve left, mo nighean donn.” 

She leveled him with a wide-eyed golden look. “You won’t go far?” she asked a little anxiously. 

He shook his head with a smile. “I’ll be just outside.” 

Pulling the shower curtain away once more, he stuck his hand in and found it to be the perfect temperature. He tugged it open the rest of the way and stood aside to show Claire the water. She peeked hesitantly inside, and her look of wary confusion quickly morphed into amazement. 

“It’s like rain,” she exclaimed as she turned and looked at him, wonderment lighting her eyes. 

“Aye,” he laughed, “but jes’ wait until ye stand beneath it.” 

He showed her the towels to dry off with when she was done, and then reassured her one last time that he would be just outside. Then, he ducked out of the bathroom and shut the door behind him. 

Jamie rested his back on the door and indulgently pressed his ear to it. He was admittedly eager to hear her reactions if not also a bit concerned that she might slip and fall despite his warnings. The telltale scratching sounds of plastic loops of the shower curtains indicated that Claire had stepped in. A second later he heard a cry of delight. 

“It’s warm!” she squealed in what could only be blissful excitement. 

“I kent ye’d love it,” he called in. 

He heard gleeful laughing and splashing, and could only imagine Claire— her hands outstretched with palms lifted to catch the water, her face upturned toward the showerhead with a radiant smile, drops of water splashing over those perfect shoulders and creamy white skin to trace down…

-Christ! Dinna disrespect the lass like that. 

He took a tight rein on his wandering thoughts and instead called in, “ye can use a wee bit of that soap as well. In the bottle on the side there. Ye rub it on yer skin and then wash it off.” 

Instead of a reply, there was a loud clunk from the bathroom, and Jamie’s heart leapt to his throat. His instinct was to immediately rush inside, but first he forced himself to anxiously call, “Claire?” 

“Sorry, just dropped it. It’s slippery,” came the reply. 

Jamie let out the breath he’d been holding in a huge but shaky exhale. His heartbeat slowed immediately and he couldn’t help but laugh at his overreaction. Claire just seemed to bring out every ounce of protective instinct in him. Maybe it was her vulnerability paired with curious naivety, maybe it was the circumstances in which he’d found her, or maybe it was just something about their connection, but Jamie had never felt anything of the sort. He wasn’t exactly what people would call the alpha-male possessive type. His previous flings (not that he’d had many nor had they stayed around long) were always very independent from him. They were like two ships passing in the night-- barely a connection, just occasional proximity. They had never needed him nor him them. But with Claire… God— with Claire it seemed that she needed him. And it was growing more and more apparent with every second that he needed her just as much, albeit not in the exact same way. 

He was interrupted from his musings when the bathroom door that Jamie was leaning on suddenly opened and he nearly came crashing inside. His hands caught the doorframe to keep him from falling, and when he straightened, he came face to face with a wide-eyed and apologetic Claire, wrapped in a towel with droplets of water dripping from her curls and beaded all over her skin. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered. 

He stood frozen in front of her, still startled by her abrupt opening of the door, but mostly he was taking in her appearance and trying to get his brain to restart. 

She’s sae bonny. 

“I couldn’t figure out how to stop it,” she admitted, giving a vague point in the direction of the shower that was still running. 

“Oh… aye,” Jamie said dazedly. He snapped himself back into the moment and hastily added, “I’ll take care of it while ye go to yer room and get dressed again, aye?” 

She nodded at his suggestion and scooped up her discarded clothes. Then she stood looking at him expectantly. He wondered for a second why she was just standing there before he realized he was still frozen in the doorway and blocking her path. 

“Eh… sorry,” he murmured as he stepped aside and allowed her to exit the bathroom. 

He couldn’t help but stare after her as she walked down the hall toward the bedroom. Squeezing his eyes shut in self admonishment, he quickly turned away and stepped into the bathroom to shut off the shower. Truth be told, he needed one of his own, but he couldn’t yet bear to leave her alone for long enough for him to do so. He absently mopped up the small puddles of water Claire had made on the bathroom floor, and then he left the bathroom and returned to the living room to wait for Claire on the couch. 

Nearly a second later, before he had any time to get into his own head and begin contemplating again, Claire returned. Her damp curls rested on her shoulders making his tee-shirt a bit damp. Even wet she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. 

She gave him a smile, as if reading his thoughts, and began to head straight for him again. This time, she sat down next to him and nestled into his side. Flustered for only a second, he recovered and put an arm around her so she could burrow in further. Then, she brought her knees across his lap to rest her folded legs over his. 

“I liked-- what did you call it? Shower? Well, I liked it very much,” she commented happily as she looked up at him. 

His voice was low as he answered tenderly, “good, I’m glad. I kent ye would.” 

As he was speaking, Claire’s hands began to wander over him. Her fingers touched at the edge of his jaw, just below his ear, and rubbed the corner of it. He couldn’t remember someone ever touching him just there, and an odd sensation gripped him in his wame. But he found he liked it-- just that slight fluttering of excitement and the tingling going through his face where she touched him. 

He wanted so desperately for her to continue her strange explorations of him that he felt he must keep perfectly still and silent in order to not break the spell. Not moving his head, he glanced down at her to see her expression was that of enrapturement. 

Her hand traveled higher, tracing the shell of his ear with a feather-light touch. It was amazing to Jamie how just the barest hint of her skin on his could rattle him so. 

Then, without warning, she buried her hand deep into his mussed hair, fingers sinking deep into the curls. 

He had started a bit at her suddenness, but instantly melted as her fingers began to press delightfully into his scalp and massage in little circles. A sigh automatically tumbled from his lips.

“Are all fair folk sae tactile?” he asked as a laugh rumbled deep in his chest at her odd affectionate and intimate behavior. 

“Hmmm?” she murmured, still enthralled by his hair. But then she jerked her gaze suddenly to meet his, as if his words had finally penetrated her brain, and she flushed a very becoming shade of pink. (Jamie was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one who seemed to lose all brain functions). 

“Oh... no, ah-” she withdrew her hand from his hair and leaned away a bit, her body parting from his, “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” 

He quickly caught her hand and squeezed it, as if that could pull her back to him. Perhaps the right thing to do would have been to keep the more appropriate space between them, but Jamie couldn’t help but reinitiate contact; he couldn’t seem to be without it. 

“I like it jes’ fine,” he murmured, his voice coming out huskier than he’d intended. 

At that, her lips quirked up in a smile and all hesitancy vanished. She scooted closer to him, molded herself to his side once more, and then went back to his hair again— this time both hands smoothing up his nape to tangle in his curls and pet him gently. 

Jamie couldn’t have wiped the smile off his face if he tried. 

“You’re so beautiful…” she said under her breath, perhaps mostly to herself as her fingers carded through the curls, “I’ve never seen this color hair before.” He felt a finger brush his forehead and then twirl a wayward strand around it, “like the red of a stag, but with bits of sunlight glinting through it…” 

He didn’t have time to respond because suddenly the loud ding-dong of his doorbell rang through the house and sent Claire jolting back in alarm, back ramrod straight and head whipping in the direction the sound came from. 

“Dinna fash, it only means someone is at the door,” he explained (already mourning the loss of her hands on him), “stay here.” 

He got up from the couch and walked to the entryway. Unlocking the door and freeing the bolt, he opened it to reveal a postman holding a package. 

“Good day, sir,” the postman greeted. His eyes flicked over Jamie’s shoulder and he added with a polite nod, “ma’am.” 

Jamie’s head swiveled in surprise, and he saw Claire had followed him and was peeking warily around the corner like a shy animal. Her eyes went wide as watermelons when the postman addressed her, and she quickly disappeared behind the wall. 

He returned his attention to the postman and hastily signed the sheet on the clipboard with the proffered pen and then accepted the package. A quick “good day” was all he managed before he shut the door, locked it, and rushed back to Claire. 

Abandoning the package on the desk, he made his way over to her. She was standing in the corner of the kitchen, her arms wrapped around herself and eyes distant. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a hint of urgency creeping into his tone. 

He couldn’t help but reach out his hands to smooth up and down her arms. The touch seemed to calm her somewhat— as he was finding out that it often did— and a bit of the tenseness in her shoulders lessened. But only a fraction. 

“It’s not just you,” she whispered, nearly under her breath. 

He made an interrogative sound in his throat. 

“He could see me, too,” she said softly, looking down with her brow furrowed. 

Jamie wasn’t exactly sure of the implications, but the gravity of her tone and how upset she was indicated that it wasn’t good. He gave her an encouraging nod to continue. 

“Like I told you, that shouldn’t happen. You see, the fair folk operate on a different plane than you do. That’s why you can’t see us and we rarely leave a mark on your world. Unless we choose. We can open the veil into your plane to reveal ourselves. But all the time with you, and just now— I haven’t been. I think…” she trailed off, her eyes growing stormy and her words catching in her throat. Her voice had been growing thicker and thicker with emotion, and now it stopped entirely. 

Jamie left one hand on her arm and reached the other down to catch her hand in his. 

“What is it, a nighean?” he asked gently. 

She looked up at him again. “I had a theory, but it seems even more likely now. It feels different here... It would make everything make sense,” she said disjointedly. 

She looked so saddened by it that Jamie was growing worried. 

“Tell me,” he encouraged, trying to keep his tone soft and calm amidst the growing anxiety for her. 

Once more, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him. “I think the stones brought me to the human plane of existence. This plane.” 

Jamie nodded, still a little confused. “Aye…?” 

“So,” she said, “I don’t think I can ever go home.”

***

Next chapter

[shoyouth]

So I live live live for domestic hcs. Could you do the Ikevamp boys who have kids with Mc and how’d they’d be as a father? Keep up the good work!!

this is the cutest thing!! Thank you for the request and I loved writing this so much :(

napoleon ; He treats the children very similarly to the kids he teaches with Issac; he thinks it’s very important to instill morals and discipline into them—he was an emperor after all, he wants his children to be good, self-assured people. But Napoleon is still very teasing and playful, the kind to mess up his children’s hair and confuse his children into thinking he’s scolding them when he’s really just joking. Overall a very good dad, very good at balancing care, play, and discipline.

arthur ; Okay It’s kind of canon that he’s good with kids from his route, but he loves playing with your kids. Still gets kind of emotional that it’s your guy’s kids and your children will always be confused why he gets tears in his eyes. Will 100% stop writing whenever his kids want his attention and it may even lead to some discipline issues in the future. Also I am writing it into canon that he loves to read books to your children at night, ESP Sherlock Holmes because they asked about his writing and it made his heart swell in his chest.

mozart ; He tries to keep up a professional persona even around his kids in an attempt to raise them properly, but when in private (or around the closer mansion residents) he’ll allow himself to indulge in petting their head, briefly playing their games, talking to them in a gentle tone. I think he would adore teaching his children how to play an instrument, and I think you would urge your child to as well because it would allow them to get closer in a way mozart is very comfortable and touched.

leonardo ; Gosh, one of the best dads there could be!! Esp when your children are young, you will search the whole mansion only to find them napping together. Will naturally begin to teach his children different skills: painting, tinkering, astronomy, anatomy—his children will follow in his footsteps of being a jack of all trades. He will treat all of their drawings as masterpieces, and he will pin their art to the wall because he’s so proud. He’d had family pictures everywhere and he’s just such a family man; he’s so happy to simply spend a life with you, to live a little, and so he cherishes you all with his very soul.

vincent ; Such a loving father!!! Will legit be unable to discipline your children, quite frankly, so that will have to be your job, but his personality will probably rub off on them and they’ll sometimes be perfect little angels. He will always give them hugs and kisses and reassuring words, and he will make sure they know to treat others kindly and that emotions/crying isn’t weak. Will end up raising his children right without even meaning to because he just cares about them so much. His children will be very very close to him and he makes sure they know they’re always welcome, no matter how old they get.

theo ; An amazing father, it’s just a feeling. Maybe it’s because he always made jokes about treating you like a dog, but children do need training, oddly similarly to dogs. Therefore his discipline is godly; he’s not very harsh, but he is firm. He is such a sucker for your children and everything in him is telling him to give in, but he’s strong and he knows how to balance when to give in and when to be strict. Does not let your kid be a brat/throw tantrums, or he will put them in time out. If they are good though, he makes sure they know he’s proud and he will treat them to ice cream and cuddles in private. Just such a great father I can’t explain it.

issac ; He hasn’t had a family before nor any indication of how to take care of a child, but he tries. He does want to be a good dad, one his child will respect and love, but he isn’t a natural like Napoleon or Leonardo. He will work hard to be a good dad, but he would love to teach his child math and science if they show interest. He will ramble and grow excited to teach, all awkwardness and shyness out the window as your child becomes his partner; he’d set up the telescope for your child to look through or set up diagrams to show. He will love being a dad once he feels ready.

dazai ; Will teach your child how to be a good troublemaker and how to get out of trouble, I am so sorry. And though he may seem too unorthodox to raise a child, he actually would make a good parent. He will never act serious so no one knows his true motives, but his reasons are that if he lets your child have the freedom to do what they choose, they’ll develop their own morals and learn their own limits, therefore making them responsible on their own. Doesn’t like to restrict your child though he wants them to be safe, but he wants his child to have a good childhood. His children will come to him for advice in the future, and he’ll end up being friends with his children as well.

jean ; He was relatively young when he died the first time, so I think he would be quite stiff with a child at first. It still hasn’t sunk out that he has a kid, one that will look up to him and he’ll care for. I think he’d feel guilty being a vampire, thinking he can’t be a good father as one. Once you got it through his head that he can, Jean would be good at it. Similar to Napoleon, he will want to train his child into being noble and he will care in his own way, though back pats may be a tad awkward until he gets used to showing affection.

comte ; Spoiled. All your children will be downright spoiled. No expense is too much for him, from a beautiful music box to a pony. But he also teaches responsibility. We know comte has some hidden-scary-anger, so I believe he could be quite stern when necessary, and if his children begin to act like brats, he puts them right in their place and tells them that even though he can buy them things, it’s up to them to keep it in working condition/treat it well/not have it taken away. He makes for a good father.

sebastian ; Quite a strict father because he does have to keep up the image of a good butler, but all of the residents consistently tell him to take it easy because they’re happy for him. Will work even harder to finish quick to be with you and your child, but he is touched by the residents’ words and he will sometimes relent and let his child follow him around the mansion while he does chores. Legit one of the happiest to have a child, and would quite literally do anything for your child; he is so soft for them.

shakespeare ; This man...is so conflicted. He is so happy to have a child with you, to see them so happy—but he cannot wrap his head around the fact that he can be happy with your child, that he could be any good influence in their life. He wants to be able to lift them up, to gush to the child how much he loves him and tickle their sides, but something in him still tells him to keep his distance, to watch them grow from afar. It hurts you for sure to watch your lover think he is incapable of being a good father, but sometimes while the child is sleeping he’ll run his hands through their hair, and he will cry if the child approaches him first for anything.

[alexaplaysgames]

Nodus Tollens

Pairing: June x F!Traveller (Celeste)

Fandom: Andromeda Six (I know the fan base isn’t huge so I encourage those who haven’t played to read these and see if you’d like to try it out!)

Warnings: Angst, minor mentions of gore and death.

Words: ~ 1800

Description: When Traveller tries to save June instead.

Notes: I chose my traveller for this little fic but will totally take requests if you’d like me to use yours. Just pop into me DMs and make a request! Also, this is one of several fics for A6 that I have so let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

This is self indulgent nonsense and I am sorry. I will do better next time. Actually I probably won’t.

Tags: @amlovelies @writersgonefishing @oatssss @kimberrrrr @femmeshep @serana-spring

There’s a sort of weightlessness to death.

An instant where you rest suspended in the between. Passed from warm hands into a cold, steel grip, there’s a split second where everything stops. Life no longer holds meeting and death has yet to make known its cruel face, so you are left...

Waiting.

It takes a moment for Celeste to realize that this isn’t the weightlessness she’s feeling. The sensation of suspense is not one due to hovering between life and death. The strength which holds her is not of some otherworldly being.

She looks up and sees kindly grey eyes. June cradles her head with gentle, reserved strength. Tawny strands of his hair fall against his forehead as he looks down at her with an expression of fear and unbridled concern, one that is utterly unfamiliar on the usually calm gunman’s features.

His fingers press against her side and withdraw, sticky and crimson with blood.

“Celeste,” June whispers, though it’s faint with the ringing in her ears.

Her name on his lips sounds sad, agonized even. The feeling that knowledge invokes within her is foreign. Once, existing only as the youngest child in a line of royals, fated for a life in the shadows, she held the belief that no one would mourn her death. Now, the look of anguish on his face makes guilt flare in her gut; she doesn’t want to hurt him like this.

He pulls her close against his chest, draws her into his arms as easily as if she were, truly, weightless. She knows of the strength that lies hidden under the layers of his sweet, gentle exterior, buried under his warm smiles and soft, thoughtful gestures.

Her fingers’ weak grasp finds his wrist, delving into the crisscrossed scars written in his skin. In them, she finds the affirmation she seeks.

Even if it drains her of blood, life, and spirit, it was worth it. For in this, just once, he will remain untouched.  

**

She wakes to metal tables and blinding white light.

“Hey, easy now,” comes Ryona’s soothing tone. Her pale blue skin and soft, pretty features follow as she stands from her desk before rushing to Celeste’s side.

Ryona immediately starts fluttering around, reading numbers on screens and pressing buttons as Celeste puts her hand over the bandage on her newly-sewn side with a wince.

“You’re in the med bay. Came in pretty banged up, if I do say so myself. June had to carry you back.”

The incessant ringing has cleared to the steady beeping of the surrounding machines. For the second time, it occurs to Celeste in her clarity, that man has pulled her back from the brink of death and carried her toward safety in his arms.

“I’ve never seen our cowboy quite so upset,” Ryona adds, her tone full of meaning. “He really cares about you. Remember that if he-“

Celeste shifts on the table. “If he what?”

“I had to give you eight stitches, and you lost a lot of blood. You should-”

“Ryona.”

Golden eyes, filled with conflict, meet green.

“June doesn’t handle strong emotion well. He’s afraid it makes him volatile, destructive. Dangerous.”

“Oh.” The plastic sheet crinkles as Celeste settles back against it. The non-answer makes her nervous. “Okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Ryona comforts, squeezing her ankle softly as she sits down by her feet. “Luckily, so will you. I was worried.”

Celeste stumbles in her attempt to formulate a reply. “I- thank you.”

The words stir some strange sentiment within her, an immense wave of affection threatening to drown her in their wake. Never in her life did she imagine she would be lucky enough to be cared for so deeply by people so utterly kind.

Suddenly, a knock sounds at the door, startling both women where they sit.

“That’s probably June. He sat by your side for hours until he went to get a blanket. Said you looked cold,” then, louder, “come in!”

June almost has to duck under the door, given his immense height, and he enters carrying a stack of blankets high enough to clothe a small army.

“I didn’t know which ones-“ he begins, setting the stack of fabric on the countertop, then trails off as he registers the sight before him.

“You’re awake.”

Silence ensues. Ryona’s eye flit between the two of them before she stands, says, “I’ll be outside if you need me,” and excuses herself with a warm, supportive smile over her shoulder.

“June-“

“I am so, so sorry,” he breathes, air rushing forward from his lungs, coming to kneel by her side. His eyes search her face, looking for what, she doesn’t know.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should’ve protected you. I shouldn’t have let you get hurt.” He looks disgusted with himself. This, this self-loathing, is something she recognizes. “There are a lot of things I should have done,” he adds softly.

Celeste moves to sit up and hisses as the skin around her bandages stretches.

Realization dawns in June’s eyes before they shift to her side. “Can I?”

She nods, lifting the edge of her shirt to reveal the expanse of fabric that hides her wound. Looking briefly into her eyes for confirmation, June lets his fingers brush against her skin, tracing the edges of the bandage and sending a tingling feeling up Celeste’s spine. At every point where their skin meets, warmth trickles outwards from his fingertips, seeping through her skin and settling in her veins. She can feel his breath, the unmistakable warmth of it, against her bare skin.

“You’ll have a scar,” June murmurs.

“So? You already have so many.”

He frowns. “I don’t want you to be like me, Celeste. I don’t want to make you like me. How could you- that’s the last thing I want.”

“You told me to run and I chose not to. You didn’t make me do anything. I’m responsible for my own actions. Did you really think I would leave and risk you getting hurt?”

That seems to throw him for a loop. His jaw drops slightly, eyes wide. “You- you wanted to protect me?”

She traces a featherlight touch along his cheek with a shaking hand. June’s eyelashes flutter, briefly, at her touch. “Of course.”

“You’re delusional,” June says, though it lacks any bite. He simply sounds lost, a little confused. “I’ve survived much worse than a back-alley gunfight. I can handle a few more scars.”

“But you shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have to.”

She swallows, jaw working as she looks toward the ceiling, yet she can see how he shakes his head, features pulled between frustration and overwhelming torment. “You shouldn’t have to put yourself in danger for me. I’m not worth that.”

“But you are-“

“I am not.” And the finality of his words draws her gaze towards his once more. She sees something there that she’s only seen once before, the day she stood outside his cabin and he shut the door in her face .

Anger. Fire, bright flames quickly smothered with a brush of his large palm over his face.

He breathes deep, chest rising with the motion under his vest. His grey eyes look more like steel than rainclouds as he speaks. “If you can’t follow orders, I won’t be able to take you on supply runs any longer.”

“June, please. You don’t mean that.”  

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Acceptance? His friendship? His love? Would she dare?

Could he even give her such a thing?

“I’ll see you in the morning, Celeste.” June stands again, sleeves shifting further up his forearms to show his scars. “Get some sleep.”

He doesn’t once look back once as the door closes behind him.

The metal table beneath her feels so much colder without him there. How cruel he is, to let her taste what it’s like to have him by her side, then rip it away. Left with nothing but the hum of machinery and her thoughts, she begins to wonder if she’s broken, or he is.

Or maybe they’re both broken, she thinks. Maybe they both have jagged edges, and no matter how hard she tries to fit them together, there will always be a little space in between.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, one that lulls her to sleep under fluorescent lights and the weight of her own fractured heart.

**

Outside, June slumps against the wall, running his hand through his hair with a sigh.

How his heart ached when he turned her affection aside, how he wanted nothing more than to relish in the feeling of her caring for him, for him, to bask in it and soak in it and let it fill all of his cracks and crevices and make him whole.

And how he knew, just as deeply and with equal certitude, that that was the last thing he could ever let himself do.

He is no stranger to pain. But the hurt he feels now is different, gnawing at a part of himself he didn’t know existed. Not since he closed it off, so long ago. Not since-

No. Not going there. No amount of time will strength long enough for him to open those doors again.

Just look at what you’ve done to her already. All you’ll ever do is hurt her.

June presses his fists into the wall by his sides, hands trembling with the effort not to leave dents in the metal. It’s so easy for him to break and ruin, so difficult to build. And that is why he cannot have her. He won’t let her become another beautiful thing shattered by the strength in his hands.

How difficult she makes it, when she looks at him as if he’s fragile, when her lips form words like care and protect and things he never thought a monster like him could ever hope to receive. He wants to lay himself down at her feet and thank the gods for giving him something so sweet.

But he is dangerous and he is deadly and he has no idea how to love someone the way she deserves.

“You could stand to let someone in, every once in a while.”

Ryona crosses her arms as she leans against the wall beside him, one eyebrow raised.

“I won’t kill you to let yourself feel, June.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about killing.”

June tries not to flinch as she lays a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the monster you think you are,” she says.

A part of him wants to scream, to say that she doesn’t understand, that’s she’s wrong, but that part is smothered by the warmth that bubbles in his chest at her words.

He lets his head hit the wall and closes his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re right.”

“Am I ever wrong?” Ryona grins, eyes twinkling.

He has to admit, she does have a point.

“I hope you’re able to work this out,” she says, pushing herself off the wall. She walks back into the med bay and June keeps his eyes scrunched closed until he hears the door slam shut.

More than anything, he hopes for that too.

[axemetaphor]

im definitely not ripping off my friend by making a list of au ideas i have no siree //gonna slap this under a readmore cause i. well i say a lot. all of the time. i tried so hard to format this Good but tumblr fucked me up i am so sorry

so first-off i know i already have one WIP AU (Auckland) on ao3 so i wont talk about That one cause like. spoilers. i actualyl have it like 80% created so its likely gonna truly get finished for once and i dont wanna ruin shit

the other one ive posted about is something me and ben (catgirlrepublic) have worked on together its not at all close to done or anything but it's. a fun little crossover. Between jdate and my fuckinuhm. Original characters story “Untitled Villains Project”. the sketches of the comic version ive started is actually my pinned post 👉👈 its like the first chunk of the story, i think half of part 1? yea.

Tldr john fucking Somehow is able t oget into contact with a certain curious scientist from another reality who’d just love to study the Soy Sauce, most certainly not for her own nefarious purposes

John and Dave meet up with the scientist, her name is Boss, and her lab assistant, Toxic, and after a bit of a preliminary Vibe Check where john determines her trustworthy (which Dave doesnt agree with,) the two agree to be taken to the world UVP is set in. from there they stay in Boss’s lab (big old fucking abandoned military lab). John and Toxic are fast friends due to mutual love-of-chaos. John n Dave get to fuckin, camp out on an air mattress.

The day after they arrive, the two get split up, not exactly intentionally; big plot points of UVP are liek. Fueled by Boss sending Toxic to go fetch her “research materials,” which are usually important artifacts

Fuckin side note i guess i have to explain my dumb bullshit: Boss’s, uh, field of expertise so to speak is actually fckin, basically the scientific study of magic and superpowers n shit like that. This shit’s all real in that world. Toxic’s got fuckin superpowers, so do 4 other main characters, whatever. It’s got a bit to do with spirituality, iss Boss’s hypothesis. So she has Toxic fetch important artifacts that might have “energies” to them. The thing is actually way more fuckin complictated than that, this is just Boss’s initial hypothesis.

Motherfucking anyways. So Boss gives Toxic a job to do, and John get excited about how Cool that sounds, and ends up going with Toxic, leaving Boss and Dave alone. Neither is thrilled about this. But Dave and Boss get to have a bit of conversation (while Toxic and John are off bonding and having a good time) and come to a… mutual grudging understanding of some kind. They still dont like each other though lmao

Theres gonna be deeper shit going on but we havent sorted it out yet/tbh havent like Written For It in a while but i still like thinking about it a lot lol

Also pretty sure our endgame is john and dave steal toxic and bring them back with em lmao boss is kind of not nice and toxic would most certainly be better off in Undisclosed. Actually theyd fucking love it. Theyd become a local cryptid im sure. Undisclosed’s mothman is a teleporting spike baby.

I have. Another crossover AU that i might. Post something about for halloween? Maybe? If i have it finished?

Crosses over into, you guessed it, another one of my original-character projects. God, am i vain or something?

I promise this is just because i think blue and dave should get to team up to beat up some monsters

Quick briefing on my fuckinuh. Original character story, this one doesnt have a name (yet? Idk lol my work never actually goes anywhere sso who gives a shit). It centers around two grim reapers, Red (26, bi woman) and Blue (22, aroace agender asshole). In this reality or whatever, grim reapers function kind of like low-level office workers. They get told who’s going to die + when by some middle-management types, and upper management only involve themselves when punishment needs to be doled out. These Higher-Ups can be seen as analogous to Korrok; they’re decidedly not human, never were, and fucking terrifyingly powerful. Additionally, grim reapers are sort of .. designed to be “background noise” people. In reality theyre supernatural beings and, uh, look Real Fuckin Weird (the whole deal has a neon aesthetic im terrible at drawing uwu) but most humans just perceive them like extras in a movie. A body’s there but the camera’s not focused on it.

To the narrative: the shit starts when Red n Blue get relocated to Undisclosed. Relocation is something that just happens every now and then to reapers; they usually work in teams, but they get split up into different cities to avoid any strong bonds forming (a counter-union strategy from the Higher-Ups).

Red, Blue, John and Dave end up running into each other for the first time in a McDonalds where John n Dave are getting some 4am “hey, we just survived another horrific monster fight” celebration burgers. John and Dave are the only two people who can see how… strange Red and Blue are. Nobody else notices.

John unintentionally pisses Blue off, leading to Blue whacking him upside the head with a dildo bat. They all four get kicked out of McDonald’s. Dave and Red both are less than thrilled

Blue and John end up resolving their differences, somehow. Red and Dave briefly bond over their dumbass best friends being, well, dumbasses. They all part ways amicably.

somehow-or-other (idk yet) they end up running into each other a few more times, and eventually john invites them over to his place, and the four (plus Amy now!) get to know each other a little better

while there, Blue gets a text about some guy who's gonna die and John offers to drive them to where that's gonna go down. they take him up on the offer and get to have a bit of one-on-one conversation

after that ordeal though Blue has had Enough of people and bails, leaving John to head home alone

theres a sort of mirror-development going on with the five of em. Red, John, and Amy would all like everyone to get along, though theyre a bit tentative about it (John moreso than the other two, actually, jsut cause. well Red n Blue could still be Sauce Monsters). Dave and Blue on the other hand do Not like people enough for this shit, and Dave's not unconvinced theyre Sauce Monsters. he will not trust them until proven he should

the story's kinda nebulous but i got an idea for some Shit going down that involves both Sauce Monsters and also the Higher-Ups to have some fuckin absolute chaos go down.

Oops! All Trans

Everybody is transgender. Everyone

Ive actually workshopped this one both with ben (catgirlrepublic) and ghost (ghost-wannabe) lmao its a fun lil concept ive had from the get-go cause i mean. What’s an internet tran gonna do other than hit all their favourite media with the Everyone’s Trans beam

Dave transitioned post-high school and faked his death for it. People go missing in Undisclosed all the damned time, after all. He moved to the next city over, transitioned fully, then came back as a completely new man. Yes i know this doesnt exactly fit with the “everyone knows David from high school” thing alright, hush.

Anytime anyone brings up John’s old best friend (pre-transition Dave) John throws an entire fit like an overdramatic grieving widow. Full-on sobbing “why would you bring her up?! I miss her so much—” to the point that people just stop bringing up because Jesus Christ That Sure Is Uncomfortable KJHGFDS.

This is a scheme he and Dave came up with prior to Dave leaving, though Dave hadnt exactly anticipated John putting on this much of a performance about it— but it’s stopped Dave from ever having tto hear his deadname again, so hey.

Amy transitioned sometime in middle school/early high school. Her family was super supportive and loved her a ton and most people just know her as Amy. she was super shy her whole life really so. Yeah. people just dont think to bring it up lmao also i Feel Like big jim would absolutely wallop anyone who gave her trouble of any kind

John’s nonbinary (genderfluid specifically) and not exactly Interested in transitioning ? like hes fine with how he is. mostly.

he came out to Dave in high school but hes not out to anyone else exactly. Maybe his bandmates. Probably any other trans person in Undisclosed knows, too, cause theyre safe to tell lmao. Johns mostly a “he/him out of convenience” kinda nb who’s cool with any pronouns but does prefer they/them most. Dave and Amy use they/them when the trio are alone

Also this is a totally self-indulgent caveat that i think would be great, Dave’s actually agender but because he's transmasc and transitioned when he thought there were really only two options, and being Boy at least felt less weird than being Girl, he just kind of assumed he was a dude. It’s only through a lot of (like fucking years and years hes probably in his 30s/40s when he puts 2 and 2 together on this one) talks about gender with John that he realizes he actually feels like No Gender. Masc aesthetic with none gender.

I Just Think It’d Be Neat Is All Okay

Also Amy came out to Dave about being trans early on in them seeing each other and his response was to get very nervous before blurting out “me too” and then just being too embarrassed to talk about it for the rest of the day. Hes got a lot of hangups on talking about it actually it takes years for him to get comfortable in that

by contrast when Amy comes out to John about it his response is to yell “EYYY ME TOO” and give her a big ol hug lmao

I think itd be neatt if Amy ran a like. Transfem help/advice blog on tumblr. Kind of helped-with by John who can give her transfem nb insight for certain asks. I also just think that would be neat.

Cowboy AU - i put this one last cause its got drawings to it actually. Theyll be at the bottom

Basically just. Hey you ever watched a western. I think they look neat

This is another one me n ben have come up with lol

The soy sauce and all that shit still exist, im not sure where korrok fits in yet but ill figure it out

Theres no real like solid narrative yet ? but heres the barebones of everybody’s arcs.

John

Johns an absolute troublemaker, Of Course. Hes wanted in several towns for absolutely stupid shit. Hes a loner who shows up, causes chaos, gets drunk, does some drugs, runs away if people get too mad at him

He definitely had the same kind of deal with the soy sauce as in canon— he was at some kind of party, somebody offered it, he took it cause why the fuck wouldnt he, now he can see monsters and shit

Hes kind of a mooch also. Like. dont let him stay in your barn man he’ll never fucking leave and drink all your booze.

He runs into Dave when they happen to just, cross paths in the same town. the bullshit John stirs up ends up involving Dave in a way that makes it seem like it's his fault too, and they both get run out of town

after that he just tags along after Dave. hes decided this guy's Cool he wants to stick around. Dave is pissed at first, but not enough to shoot him or anything, and eventually, John grows on him

Dave

Dave also is a loner but unlike John hes simply so fucking awkward and bad with people. He doesnt feel like he belongs anywhere so he just travels

He’s the stereotypical Lone Ranger tbh. He wanders from town to town, solving their problems, though hed deny its out of any moral obligation (it kinda is, a little bit, tbh. He does like feeling useful). He shows up, fixes things, leaves. He's kind of a legend but most people think he's hiding something dark. other people jsut know him as that guy who farted real loud in the middle of the saloon and promptly skipped town out of sheer embarrassment. you know how it goes with Dave

He ends up involved with the Soy Sauce when a snake (not Actually a snake,) bites him. The snake’s more like the wig-monsters, really. Anyway, it injects him with the soy sauce, he fucking trips balls in the middle of the desert, he can see monsters now

He runs into John and shit goes tits-up, as said, but they become traveling buddies after that. he'd never say so, but he's glad for the company, actually. it's nice. hes not used to companionship but he feels a strange kind of easiness hanging out with John....

not sure how the Monster Dave concept will like fit in to this reality but like. trust me i want it in here. I'll Figure It Out.

Amy

Amy’s been living in a town John and Dave end up passing through and she is very curious about these two new Handsome Strangers who claim to fight monsters and just kinda. Persistently tags along til they let her join for real

Her family’s all dead, unfortunately, just like in canon, and she’s been living alone for a few years before meeting John n Dave. she had nothing left in that town to stay for, she'd been fantasizing about escaping on wild adventures for a long time and this felt a little like a dream come true. (Dave still gives her a spiel about how Difficult it is, but really, her fantasies were pretty grounded-in-reality already. i jsut think thats how she is, yknow?)

Shes the first person to react to the whole “we see monsters” shit with a kind of “oh, okay. neat” kind of response lmao

John and Dave fix whatever the fuck is up with her town (maybe that’s where the Korrok shit can fit, who knows) and Amy ends up being integral to that. After, she insists they take her with them because “they need her now” and Dave just cant really say no. John too is very much "the more the merrier!" and hes actually glad to have another person along he loves people lmao

At the start she has long hair but after she joins them she chops it short with a knife for convenience

also she still is an amputee. justt. idk. it was a wagon/stagecoach accident rather than a car accident lmao. just to clarify since i hadnt mentioned it, i wouldnt rob her of her ghost hand or yknow. all of the significance to her character that Missing A Hand has. although also now im going to have to research what was used as painkillers way-back-when, but im betting shes still got, like, her pain pills, they probably had those, maybe i wouldnt have to try too hard there. old timey medicine could be WACK though,

Shitload

Yeah hes in tthis shit mostly cause i liked designing his cowboy self lmao

Hes a kid (like 16, 17, technically i think in those days that was more Young Man than Kid but whatever. Hes Young i mean.) who got possessed by the Worms out in the desert and, by his family’s perception, just went missing!

Hes also a wanderer, but he ended up at the same town john and dave met in, at that same time, and starts following them after, already aware of who/what they are.

He keeps his face covered 24/7. actually he covers a Majority of his self for reasons. kinda want him to be a slightly more horrifying Worm Entity rather than human idk,

I kinda dont have much for this boy yet sorry Shitload

images !

with some editing notes for me cause im doing a very specific aesthetic with this lmao. i might change some lil details/colours though ...... idk

im also kinda 🤔 about shitload's colour palette. i want things assoicated w the sauce to be black'n'red predominantly but i think his palette might mirror dave's too closely. also im working on a korrok design i jsut am too busy to draw it now

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 6

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 6)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Logan knew, for a long time now, that he had a brother--but now, he remembers who his brother is.

Virgil joined the royal guard to bust Logan out. Logan's a stubborn creature, so instead Virgil tells him about his powers--and accidentally helps Logan realize that someone hasn't been totally honest with him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Plot is happening, way too much exposition--also, who let me have nice things? I DO MEAN THINGS. >.> But the next chapter will be adorable. And come way faster.

No beta, no problem--I'm sorry I'm so hung up on lore and world building and shit, but I'm just having a lot of fun okay? Okay. >.>

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

Logan was running.

Clutching the book against his chest with one arm, clinging to his little brother's hand with the other, he was running for his life as the looming figure pounded down the corridor after them. Everything was dark, too dark...

There. Light. Souls Eternal, what in the Seven Hells was he still doing there?

Stopping dead, Logan faced Virgil. Briefly, he wished he could feel the little hand in his—because if he was here, there was only one way this could end.

Looking around furiously, he realized there was no other choice. Facing Virgil, Logan gripped his shoulder and held his gaze in the dark.

“That open door—go hide behind it.”

“No.”

“The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver—just this once, Stormcloud, I'm begging you, do as I say without arguing!”

He gave Virgil no other opportunity to argue—shoving Virgil towards the sliver of light, Logan watched him stumble forward, then look over his shoulder.

“I'm right behind you.”

The little boy scowled, but his figure swiftly moved, and his footsteps pattered against the stone.

It was the first lie he'd ever told his brother.

Turning away, lest he lose his resolve, Logan frantically tried to remember what he'd been told. The corners, the crevices...the hidden secrets of--

--yes. It was perfect.

Bolting down the corridor, Logan frantically shed his jacket and wrapped the book up as tightly as he could, dropping to his knees with enough force to bruise them. Pulling up the grate, he lowered his precious cargo into it...

Two hands grabbed him at the same time—one from the sewer, the other the back of his collar.

Panicked, Logan blindly grabbed the hand in the sewer, the one he knew, fingers gripping his with a desperate force that was painful...

“Hold on.”

He coughed, gagging as his collar cut his throat. His back hummed with the proximity of the larger body behind him, but the hand in the dark...

He strained to see into the shadows, lookin for that glimpse of light—just one look, just one...

“Loganberry!”

There was no other way.

“Do not let go.”

The moon was slow rising in the sky, a sliver of light moving to illuminate the dark for just an instant—and it was enough.

“I never have. I never will.”

The hand at his collar yanked, and Logan's fingers slid free, throbbing—

“Logan?”

Logan  blinked—and the world had changed. Gone was the dim light of the war room, gone was the dark, muffled nightmare he'd been momentarily caught in. He was in a corridor of polished stone walls and pale marble floors. What little light that numerous windows didn't provide, lamps mounted on the walls did, casting soft white light into the space from the magically created luminary globes set in each one.

“Hey, you back?”

He turned towards the sound of his name, disoriented. His movements felt slow, encumbered...

Looking down at himself, Logan realized he was clinging to a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. It glimmered with a film of energy he couldn't pinpoint—until he realized it was connected to him. He was the one creating it, could feel his magic woven through the fabric. His awareness was caught in the stitches and the heavy beads of glass within...

Glass? No...not glass. Crystal...just under his fingers, clear quartz beads for calm and comfort, drawing away the fear and the panic...

All at once, the heavy haze started to settle over him again, the half sleep he'd been in before—but he knew what to do now. Some part of him had always known, even without a Name to tell him how it worked.

Shutting his eyes, Logan bowed his head and let the haze take him over, dragging him back into the dark until he could feel it, glossy wood biting his fingers as he held on tight, thick warm spider silk touching his fingertips.

“Logan—wait, here.”

He couldn't feel the hand that slipped into his, but his fingers tingled, and pulled him swiftly back into the dark.

“Loganberry!”

The little boy, his voice in the dark, screaming Logan's name...his little brother...

Virgil. That was the name of the fragment, and suddenly it made all the sense in the world. There was something else, something bothering him, something stopping him from finishing the picture but he could fix this. The shoddy weaving, the places where the thread had torn when he was ripped away from his work too soon.

He labored for hours. For seconds.

Logan let the blanket fall and opened his eyes as the glittering film of energy vanished.

Immediately, his eyes locked with the dark ones from his...dream?...even through the dark, he recognized them. The face was older, the fear less intense, hope now sitting where blind panic had once been...

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory.

“Stormcloud.”

He watched the cadet's face crumble just before Virgil launched himself at Logan. He caught the younger man easily, wrapping him up tight and greedily running his hands over his arms, his back, unable to feel his warmth or his presence but relishing the faint hum of proximity, the resistance that wouldn't let his arms close fully—reassuring himself that Virgil wasn't just safe, but that he was really here.

Four years old and terrified, cuddled up to Logan's side to watch the needle and thread. Seven years old, cloaked in fear as his ceremonial garb, every thought clear and sharp as the razor's edge. Eight years old, spinning silk for Logan's loom, bound to his side as Logan reaches for the Tome...screaming his name in the dark as Logan is dragged away by the man with the sword...

“It worked.” Virgil gasped, drawing back to grin at him with fresh tear tracks on his face. “It worked, it really worked, Souls and holy shit it worked--”

“Not completely, but enough to know that I'm going to kill you myself if you're not executed for engineering a jailbreak.” Logan snapped, clutching Virgil's face between his hands. His own cheeks felt wet, his vision blurry with a stream of tears he couldn't stop, and he had to stop because his powers had to stay in check...

Virgil. Virgil, Virgil, a cadet of the royal guard, a criminal, his baby brother, his Spider.

Logan pulled Virgil close again, pressing his nose to Virgil's temple. His hair still smelled like damp stone from sleeping on the floor all the time. The shoulders Logan had his arms around were lean, but powerful—how old was he now? Nine years old when Logan was imprisoned...

“You're nineteen.” he realized aloud, finally letting Virgil go so he could look into his face again. “I didn't know, I knew I had a brother but I didn't know...I didn't know you...”

“Shut up, you can pretend you aren't all emotional and shit later.” Virgil soothed, stepping back to grab the blanket off the floor. Logan couldn't quite remember making it, but he knew he had. He could see Virgil with his thumb in his mouth, feel the tug on the half finished blanket as Virgil pulled one end to rub the soft fabric against his nose and cheek, feel the sting of the needle as he pricked himself...

“OW!”

“Wha' happen?”

“I stuck my finger with the needle—there's blood on the blanket now.”

“We can wash it.”

“No, we most certainly cannot.”

“Loganberry! Tha's so gross!”

“Falsehood. This is advantageous—we must let the blood dry first. See where it fell? It will soak through and charge the crystal pocket with my personal magic. That way, when you need it? You can wrap up in the blanket, and you'll feel me there with you.”

“...promise?”

“I swear it.”

“Lo...you gotta do it.”

“Souls—how is a few drops of blood more inherently disgusting than a spit handshake? Fine...”

“The crystals that made this a healing charm—my blood charged them with my personal magic.” he realized aloud, staring at Virgil in shock. “You snuck this in here hoping to restore my Name with it.”

“At least some of your power, but looks like I didn't have to go to the trouble.” Virgil shot back.

“You could have been killed! If the nature of the power had been discovered—oh, I am going to murder you myself once I—“

“Souls, Lo, do you have to go full bloodlust all the time?” Virgil laughed, grinning as he grabbed Logan's arm to pull him along while he started walking down the corridor. “Even after ten years, nothing changes.”

“I will take your word for it, as my memory has not been restored.” Logan replied, planting his feet as he gave his surroundings more serious consideration. The opulence of this area, the magical lighting instead of standard torches...

“All I have back is you, Storm—that said, where are we? How did we get here?”

“The residential wing of the castle—you brought us here.” Virgil explained, gesturing to the end of the corridor he was still trying to pull Logan away from. “You were channeling in the war room, but Mori tried to kill you by taking the blanket off...I thought he was gonna strangle you. Then you woke up, but your eyes were...weird. You just...stood up and bolted.”

Logan started to move towards the door, pulling Virgil with him. “Where is the king? And...the others? I was in and out of consciousness...Emile and Remy?”

“The heart-healer and the prison mage, yeah—couple members of the royal council spotted you heading this way, and word's out that Colonel Mori's been arrested. Roman's doing damage control with Prince Remus, I don't know where the others are. Doesn't matter, though, Logan will you stop and let me get you out of here?”

“No.”

“Loganberry, what the actual fuck?!”

“I'm not leaving. I have to resurrect the king.” Logan reminded him, head twisting around to regard Virgil with genuine confusion. Did Virgil really not understand this? He was Logan's Spider, he...

...didn't know where that came from. Didn't know what it meant.

The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.

“Okay, one? You couldn't even if you wanted to, his Barrier is still open—you try to raise him now, the wrong soul could end up in his body. For another? He's the king and you're a necromancer. This is a jailbreak, remember? We're getting you out of here.”

Virgil emphasized his point by tugging on Logan's arm again, but Logan didn't move.

There was something else, something he wasn't seeing. Something about this...it felt off.

“Logan, we don't have time to fight about the life of a royal, okay? You don't remember why they can't be trusted--”

“Yet you trust him.” Logan pointed out. “You call him Roman, not 'His Majesty' or 'King Thomas Roman.' He...said something in the war room...”

Virgil finally let go of Logan's arm to start pacing back and forth in front of him. With a practiced flick, he draped the blanket around his shoulders—a petulant gesture Logan recognized. He recognized it, remembered it...the feeling was so alien to him.

“Yeah, I do—Souls help me, I trust him.” Virgil replied. “He swore on the Spider's Thread.”

“And?...”

“And...you're a Weaver.”

“You realize I do not know what that is.”

Virgil stopped pacing, then sighed and removed the blanket to drape it over his arm.

“Can we get out of here first so I can at least pretend I'm taking you to your quarters?”

Quarters?...their rooms. Patton.

“That is acceptable.” Logan relented, relieving Virgil of the blanket so he could walk unencumbered, as a guard ought to with a prisoner in tow.

“The Necromata aren't necromancers—they're a tribe.” Virgil explained as they walked, keeping his voice low as his gaze darted furtively around. “We're a tribe. Not every necromancer can raise the dead, some can foresee it or forestall it. The seers are the Black Dogs, the healers are the Reapers, and the resurrectionists are the Weavers. That's what you are.”

Logan thought of the magic he'd worked on instinct, the strange trancelike state that brought him the image of the shuttle, wound with spider's silk.

“The shuttle and thread...” he murmured.

Logan's stride faltered as Virgil crowded closer unexpectedly.

“Yes. So it worked, then?” he hissed excitedly. “We're connected?”

“I...believe?” Logan hedged uncertainly, the phrase echoing in his head again. “'The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.' Are you...”

“Your Spider, yeah. I'm your familiar.”

“My what? Familiars--”

“--aren't stupid animals, idiot stick, that's for outsiders. Familiars are Sensitives that are connected to other necromancers, a perfect match to the power they wield. A Sensitive that's bonded to a necromancer as a familiar can actually do a little magic in tandem with their partner. You're pretty powerful on your own, you always have been, but when we realized we were matched? You got scary good.”

“So...Weavers raise the dead. And Spiders help them do it.”

“More or less. We were bonded when you got your True Name—it means you can draw focus and some small amount of magic from me, and I can communicate with ghosts. The souls you restore to life.”

“My...True Name?”

“Yeah—Loganberry. Every one of the Necromata has one.” Virgil replied, his features softening with a strange mixture of grief and gratitude. “Necromancy is rooted in memory, that's why being stripped of your Name wipes it out—makes you powerless. Your True Name, though, is rooted in identity. There are stories that say a True Name has the power to undo the Cleansing...I guess it's kind of true, since you have your powers.”

Logan fell silent, despite lacking certain answers. That feeling that something was off, it was only growing stronger. Something about names...

“So, the Spider's Thread?...”

“The oath Roman swore? Yeah—it's a reference to the Animata. Outsiders say they kept the Necromata in check? It's total bullshit. The Animata weren't life manipulators, they were a tribe of twin spirits—a being born with two souls. The Spider's Thread is the bond that exists between Animata and Necromata...necromancers don't have souls, but one that finds their Animata lays claim to their second soul, and...well, it's basically immortality. For both of them. That's why the familiars of the Weavers are called Spiders, 'cause we provide the thread that lets Weavers return souls to the Living Tapestry.”

Immortality...an immortal necromancer.

...like the Animator, the First of their kind. The necromancer so powerful, he still marked the passage of time.

A.A.--After Animator.

“How does he know about that, anyway?” Virgil asked. “That's not common knowledge outside the tribe—Logan? Logan, talk to me. What's wrong?”

Virgil's voice was fading. The world was going dark around the edges of Logan's vision again.

In the dark, pulled in two directions. Choking at the hands of one, latching onto another for dear life.

Grabbing blindly. Fingers gripping his, fingers he knew...

“Loganberry?...Logan!”

Gripping with a desperate force that was painful.

“...stay here, okay? I'm gonna get someone--”

Logan grabbed Virgil's hand as hard as he could. He looked down at their joined hands, watched Virgil's knuckles turn white with the force he was using to hold on in return.

Logan couldn't feel it. He wouldn't even feel it if Virgil broke his fingers.

The hand in his memory hurt, burned, seared...

He could feel the hand in his memory.

“Hold on.”

Logan strained to see into the shadows of the sewer, prayed for one final look.

The moonlight shifted.

Green eyes glittered in the momentary illumination.

“Loganberry!”

“He knew.” Logan breathed, releasing Virgil's hand. “He didn't come out of kindness, he came because he knew.”

“Knew what? Logan, who are you talking about?”

His voice was strangled, barely audible, but the words echoed in Logan's ears and cut out the heart he wished to the Souls that he did not have.

“Do not let go.” he demanded, begged through clenched teeth.

If he pulled Logan down, the man behind him might follow. Then they would both die.

There was no other way.

“Maybe he thought I'd remember, maybe...maybe he thought I'd escape...”

“Logan, who?”

Logan squeezed Prince Roman's hand as tightly as he could. He burned those green eyes into his brain, hoping he could carry them with him into the Void when he was gone.

“I never have. I never will.”

He never did—he hung on until the grip on his collar finally yanked him out of the fourteen year old prince's grasp.

“Roman—Virgil, I knew him. Before. I...I think he might be the reason I was arrested.”

[hollyxqx]

SHE’S THE ONE  //  SHOWNU

↪ PAIRING: Reader / Shownu  ↪ GENRE:  smut > fluff > f2l  ↪ WORD COUNT: 7.3k ↪ SUMMARY: Hyunwoo has worked for your family for almost a year now, maintaining the gardens and pool. He’s not as rich as you are, he’s working class and he knows it but it doesn’t stop either of you striking up an unlikely relationship. [inspired by this song]

↪ WARNINGS: lots of smut, dirty talk, rough sex but nothing crazy bc shownu is a sweetheart, total self indulgent filth everyone 

a/n: the idea of gardener!shownu came from this story. I just wanted to give the author some credit for inspiring me, so you should read that story if the idea appealed as much to you as me. other than the fact that shownu is a gardener for a rich OC the stories are nothing alike, fyi.  this was meant to be A LOT shorter but i couldn’t help myself, srry.

ALL ABOUT LUV SERIES

Hyunwoo can feel your eyes on him as he paints the new patio furniture, outside in the glaring hot summer sun. It's touching on thirty degrees Celsius and he can feel beads of sweat trickling from his nape, running down the back of his white vest as he works. He's thankful he remembered his cap today, not only does it shield his eyes from the brightness of the sun but it enables him to sneak an occasional glance at you.

The day you first met he remembers thinking two things. One; oh my god, she's pretty and two; I can't do anything about it. You were the bosses daughter and he needed this job. Unlike you Hyunwoo was not born into a life of wealth and luxury. His hands were his means to a living, not shy to hard work.

He didn't know what your father did exactly to earn the estate, from the other staff he'd heard the title but it was so long and self-important Hyunwoo failed to remember it. Some kind of marketing, analytical something or other. You didn't have to be a humble labourer to know that meant money.

The mother didn't work. She didn't need to. Hyunwoo only ever saw her shopping, having brunch, shopping some more and doing yoga with someone he highly doubted was just her yoga instructor, unless yoga meant fondling the tan 23 year old instructor three times a week. The whole world was so alien and unfamiliar to him, he almost felt like a spectator at times.

You, however. You were different. That fact was deduced very quickly. After only a few weeks of getting to know you it became apparent that you weren't like the rest of your family. If he didn't know any better he sensed some resentment on your part even though the you never explicitly said the words out loud.

It was in what was unspoken that clued him in - the disdainful sighs when your mother had a cocktail at 10am, the way you went quiet whenever your father was mentioned, the fact that you helped out the staff when you didn't have to. Many a time he saw you washing dishes with the maid. Only when your parents weren't around though, he knew they would scold you if they caught you in the act.

So, he didn't mind the fact that you were staring. You were a hot girl, who appeared nice enough, and who found him attractive, what wouldn't he like about that? Hyunwoo hadn't had a girlfriend in nearly two years, much of his time spent working to afford college, so the attention you sent his way felt nice. Even if he couldn't act upon it, he could enjoy it.

"Um, Hyunwoo?" Your voice draws his focus from his work and he squints up at you in the sunlight. You're wearing that navy blue bikini he's seen plenty of times before and denim shorts. An image he knows will be swirling in his thoughts for the rest of the day, whether he wants it to or not. "Would you like some lunch?"

He's overdue a break anyway, and frankly any excuse to get away from the midday sun before his skin starts to burn is good enough for him. "Sure." He accepts, carefully putting his tools away. He sets them in the shade, wiping at his sweaty forehead with the t-shirt he removed earlier.

"Come eat inside, there's aircon." You inform him and he follows you indoors. Inside the kitchen he's surprised to find a somewhat elaborate spread of fruit, sandwiches and salad atop the island that sits in the middle of the room. He immediately goes to the sink to wash up as you get some plates.

"Ana outdid herself. It looks great." He mumbles as he dries his hands. Ana was the head housekeeper, worked there the longest and she was well known as the best cook in the home.

"Oh, I did this." You blush adorably and he pauses for a second. "I thought you might be hungry. I know I am."

"You made all this for me?" He asks, a little dumbfounded. He can't quite believe you'd go to all this trouble for the gardener. It only further cemented your nice nature for him.

"Yeah." You reply shyly, smiling as you pour both of you some icy water. "I enjoy cooking. Especially for others."

Hyunwoo can't help but watch you for a moment as you load your plate up with food, biting back a smile when you take his plate and do the same. "Thank you." He says gently as he takes the food from you. You share a look and he swears his heart stills for a moment.

***

It doesn't take long until eating together becomes a routine. You're home from college for the summer, you tell him one Friday lunchtime, this time over some of the best steak he's ever eaten. From what he can gather you adore the college you attend, your entire face lights up animatedly when you speak about it. Part of him suspects it's because you're away from the clutches of your family.

"I really want to get a job this summer, maybe even volunteer." You tell him as you sit opposite the kitchen island once more. "The parents aren't so thrilled about that. My mom wants me to go to Europe with her. Dad is obviously working."

"Europe sounds incredible." He offers.

"I've been before." You sigh. Hyunwoo can't help but find it bizarre that you're so unenthusiastic about a potential overseas trip. He's never even been abroad. "The rest of my class are working or interning. I wish I could too."

He knows it's ridiculous to feel sorry for the poor little rich girl who has literally everything but he can't help it. He might not be wealthy but he knows all too well what it's like to feel like an outsider and wanting nothing more than to just be like everyone else. Albeit for different reasons. You were sweet, his empathy felt deserved.

"You should do it." He tells you sincerely. "Your parents can't exactly kidnap you and take you to Europe can they?"

"You'd be surprised." You laugh, drly. "Who knows what they're capable of."

He doesn't know how to respond, so he's silent as you finish you meal. As nice as it would be to have more money than sense, at least he has freedom.

***

The first time you kiss is at the end of the summer.

Hyunwoo doesn't anticipate it happening and is unprepared. It wasn't the best kiss he's ever had given it's surprising nature, your teeth briefly clacked, but it was nice nonetheless. The sun is setting when you corner him around the back of the pool house, hidden from view. You ask him some question about him minding if you go for a late night swim (he never has and you've never needed his permission) - he knows it is an excuse.

There's a moment of hesitation, a sweet thank you falls from your lips and before he knows it your mouths are connected. Body curled in to him, tongue in his mouth he can't help but kiss back. You walk away before he can barely register what's happened.

***

Autumn is creeping it's way on to the landscape when the second kiss happens.

It's almost as if you've forgotten the first one, since you've never brought it up. Hyunwoo doesn't either, mostly assuming it was just a momentary impulse moment, mostly not wanting to make anything awkward with you. He's still enjoying the lunches you're preparing for him and doesn't want them to stop.

The working day is coming to a close for him. He's a lot sweaty and a little dirty when your paths cross. Your voice startles him as he's winding up the garden hose. "Hi Hyunwoo."

"Hi." His hands continue on autopilot until the work is done.

"I'm going back to school tomorrow." He knew that, gossip among the staff, but he stays silent, nodding as if it's brand new information. "I just wanted to say bye. Until next summer I guess."

"Bye." He says softly, earning him a tiny laugh from you. "I know you will be happier there than here."

"I'll miss those lunches though."

He's surprised and hope it doesn't read too blatantly. "Me too. I'm going to have to go back to eating turkey sandwhiches or ramyeon. Alone."

"Are you working here during the winter?" You ask.

"Yeah, just less frequently. Once every two weeks." He's got another job as a waiter in a slightly posher-than-he's-used-to restaurant but he doesn't tell you that. You probably won't care too much about him when you're not here.

"Maybe I'll see you at Christmas break." You hum. He offers a polite agreement. "You weren't...mad that I kissed you?"

That he didn't expect, as far as he was concerned you had swept that off the table. "No, I wasn't. I liked it."

"I liked it too."

The air changes and he somehow just senses it, just feels it in his bones what's going to happen next. You're so close to him, licking your lips like that and he doesn't miss how your eyes flit to his own mouth. This time Hyunwoo closes the ga with the wave of confidence that surges.

This kiss is much better than the first one, an air of desperation of it being the last time hangs thickly. Momentarily forgetting he's just worked a hard day of manual labour and isn't necessarily the cleanest he pulls your body against his anyway. One hand on your waist, the other grasping you between your shoulder blades.

You're the one to deepen the kiss and he swears he hears the tiniest moan over the thrumming in his ears. A hand slides down his muscular chest and fists his shirt. "Hyunwoo." You say breathlessly. It's not a question because your lips are back on his again.

His knees hit the back of a sun lounger, unsure of who was pulling and pushing who. He sits down and tugs you on to him, a knee on either side resting comfortably on his lap. This is not a good idea, he knows it but that part of his brain that's rational is loosing blood supply when you grind your hips against his. He's growing hard and it would be embarrassingly quickly if you weren't whimpering atop of him, loosing yourself in the moment too.

You shouldn't have sex. Out in the open like this. You shouldn't have sex at all, he works for you. Hyunwoo is trying to wrack his brains to remember who is home and who's not. The thought evaporates when you bite his bottom lip and tug at the nape of his hair. "You're so fucking hot Hyunwoo."

He's never heard you swear before, always assumed you weren't into such dirty language. His brain instantly ignites at the idea of you saying the dirtiest things he could imagine to him. It's something he's definitely thought about prior. He groans.

"So are you." He gets out in between kisses. Instinctively his hand is sliding up your cold thighs, the dress you're wearing not entirely weather appropriate for the cooling summer air. He grips your ass with a squeeze.

"I've wanted to kiss you so badly since the day we met." You admit through a breathy laugh. Even in the diminishing light he notices your cheeks flush a little. He's a little lost for words at the moment otherwise he'd tell you that he's felt the exact same way.

"Yeah?" Is all he manages to get out in an exhale.

"Mmhmm," You nod, raking your hands all over his chest. "And so much more."

Before he can respond you're kissing again. He wants to know what more means and he wants to know so badly it's making his cock ache. He needs it, so he shifts you on to your back, skirt rising up and exposing your panties. Even the sight of that is something he never thought he'd see in his wildest dreams. You were so untouchable just weeks ago and know you were underneath him at his mercy.

"I'd do anything you want me to." He murmurs in your ear, a knee separating your thighs for him as he hovers over you. "You're so pretty."

"What if I wanted you to touch me?" You ask.

"I am touching you." He can't help but smirk.

"Touch me like this."

You take his hand and run it over your clothed centre where he grazes a knuckle over your folds. At the contact the material presses into your wetness and he can't believe he did that. You're wet. For him. He rubs his hand up and down a few times and the noise that you elicit is sinful.

He looks up at you for approval as he slides your underwear slowly down your thighs. Your finally bare for him and he can't help it, too lost in the moment, he places a kiss on your mound, tongue sneaking between your lower lips for a second. It makes you gasp.

"God, like this - " He hangs his head for a second between your thighs, overwhelmed. "Like this you're perfect. Even if you told me to stop now the sight of you like this is, fuck, a wet dream." His cheek nuzzles your inner thigh where he places another wet kiss.

"Would this make it better?" You tease, nimble fingers unbuttoning your dress so your tits are exposed. His mouth hangs open as he nods, unable to eloquently articulate how fucking good you look and how hard he's trying to commit this to memory.

Nothing is said but he knows what to do, sitting up a little and kissing your breasts. He begins to stroke between your legs as he devours your tits. "Is this the right spot? Show me." He whispers against your skin.

"Do it like this," You guide his hand to the exact right place you want to be touched, moaning when he reaches it. "Fuck, Hyunwoo, just like that." You whine.

He can feel his dick leaking at that. Not only did you swear, you whined his name. He sucks on your nipple as your hips begin to work in tandem with his hands. "You want my fingers in you too? Hmm?" He asks.

"Yes, yeah - oh fuck - yes."

You're wet enough that he slides two in right away. He can only imagine in his mind how lewd this scene must look from an outsiders perspective, hand buried in your pussy. Starting off slow to gauge your reaction he sets what he hopes is the perfect pace, examining every detail on your beautiful face as your eyes flutter shut. You're chewing on your bottom lip, arching your back and falling apart in just the right way.

It's so much, touching you like this. "Yeah?" He manages to husk.

He's rewarded with a loud moan and a roll of your hips in time with his fingers. "Would you - ahh, would you fuck me if I asked?" You pant.

He didn't expect the question, and ruts his hips against your leg involuntarily with a groan into your skin. "Ugh, yeah. Yeah, I would."

"Here?"

"Here?" He repeats in surprise, pulling back to see if you really mean it. He wonders if you maybe have a thing for getting caught, or maybe even watched. God. "Really? You really want that?"

"Or we could fuck in the pool house. It's up to you." You laugh, biting your tongue with a grin. His hand hasn't stopped moving this entire time, even if he has slowed down. The thought of fucking you out here is hot but he can't risk it. What if someone caught him? That's his income gone.

"Take me to the poolhouse." He kisses you, discreetly wiping your wetness off on his denim thigh. It's hard to stop when he wants to see you cum so desperately. You grin and don't even bother to fix your half open dress before taking him by the hand. Both of you stumble excitedly across the garden, him pressed up against your back. He can't stop his hands roaming your body.

The poolhouse is nicer than any house Hyunwoo has ever lived in. What else did he expect. You know the way so he lets you lead him to the bedroom. You don't even bother with the light, tumbling onto the plush mattress, tangling together the instant you're able.

You yank off his shirt. "I'm a little sweaty." He laughs once he's topless.

"I don't care. Is it weird that I kind of like it?"

"Probably." He kisses you again while he removes your dress entirely. "I kind of get the feeling you're into lots of weird things."

"Define weird." You breathe, kicking off the remnants of your panties. His denim and boxers follow.

"Kinky."

"One person's kinky is another's boring Tuesday night."

"I can't wait to find out." He really can't. You're naked beneath him now and he's half expecting this to be a dream. He hovers over you and loves the way you shudder when his bare cock brushes against your thigh. You whine and reach for it with both hands, giving him a few lazy strokes. If your hands are this warm and soft he can't even imagine how good your cunt is going to feel.

He fucks into your fist a few times because it feels so good. "I fucking need you inside me, Hyunwoo. Please put your cock in me. Stretch me open and make me cry because it feels so good."

Shit, he loves your dirty mouth.

The blunt head of his cock drags through your wet pussy a few times to make the glide of him entering just that bit better. He presses in slowly, watching with wide eyes as your cunt swallows him whole. You keen as you fist the sheets. Then he's buried to the hilt and has to still for a few moments, or risk cumming quickly and embarrassing himself.

Before he beings thrusting he pushes both your legs a little wider apart. "Please." You beg and he listens, rocking his hips to meet yours. "Yes, oh - fuck yes." You breathe as he moves.

"I want you to cum." He husks into your ear. "How can I make you cum around my cock huh?"

"Touch my clit and don't stop moving like this."

He leans a little heavier on one arm so he can access your swollen clit with his right hand. Remembering what you told him earlier he gets to work. There's not much more said as he fucks you, mainly just breathy gasps and groans escaping both of you.

He loves that you tell him when you're about to cum. He's been with girls before who never said anything and he always found it hot when they did. He cums shortly after you, pulling out and shooting his load on your stomach.

The way you look, plump bottom lip between your teeth, eyes closed and covered in the evidence of his orgasm, well. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything sexier.

***

He's done it before. Fucked girls and had no further contact with them again. But it feels weird with you because he works for you. Has to talk to the people in your life frequently but has no idea about you. Phone numbers were not exactly exchanged and he's not really interested in social media. It complicates things, and he prefers simple.

The worst part about it is he can't even ask about you. It's odd if he shows too much interest in you. None of the household were particularly aware that a minor friendship even existed between you at one time.

Hyunwoo's not sure if he wants to know. He assumes you're happy and that's really all he can logically come up with. You'd never discussed anything extremely personal  with him over your little lunch dates and he'd never pressed you on it. He wonders if you'll have a boyfriend by Christmas time when you're home again.

He hopes not.

***

He starts night classes late September now that he can afford to. His scrimping and saving allowing him to fund the  business management course he takes. It's not much and it's not exactly a degree from some prestigious university but he learns a lot and best of all, he can continue working during the day.

After all, he has rent and bills to pay. Hyunwoo wants to run his own business one day and even if it takes years he's determined it will be worth it. His parents own a small cafe but neither of them went to college of any sort and they struggle often. His plan is to do it smart. Maybe even franchise his parents business.

By November he's promoted to host at the restaurant. It's fantastic for him because he earns enough now that money isn't on his mind constantly. When he's in the supermarket he doesn't have to carefully calculate as he shops. The items simply get tossed in the basket it without a thought and it feels good.

Life is good; steady. Sometimes he catches himself singing to himself as he works in the garden of your house like he's in a freaking disney movie.

He meets a girl at college whom he gets on well with. She's nice, quite pretty and they go on a few dates. They end up having sex in his car after the third one and it's okay, not great. He finds himself thinking about you after he's dropped her off, wondering if you're doing the same thing. Maybe you were, that's what university life was all about, he supposed. Experimenting, having fun, finding yourself.

Suddenly he feels very insignificant. Did you ever think of him? That night you spent together you'd confessed you had, but there were months and thousands of miles of distance between you now. You were the beautiful, upper class rich girl and he worked two jobs whilst going to a community college.

Of course you weren't thinking of him.

***

Hyunwoo's last day of work before Christmas lands him at your house. He'd overheard from Ana that you were arriving very early the next morning, which meant he wouldn't be there when you were, and not knowing when you returned to school caused a slight air of disappoint to settle around him as he worked.

The weather restricts what he's capable of, so it's a few weeks longer than usual before he can return and he works a little later into the evening than normal. By the time he finishes the sun has set and the cold air is nipping at his cheeks, turning them pink.

He tidies his gardening equipment and heads inside to tell Ana he's leaving. She wishes him Merry Christmas and pulls him into a hug that colours his cheeks even more. "Oh! Hyunwoo?" She asks as he's at the door, ready to go home. He turns expectantly. "Can you leave me your phone number? I'm unsure what date Mr Kim wants you back in the new year." She smiles.

"Oh," says Hyunwoo dumbly. "Don't you have it already? I'm sure I gave it to you when I first started."

"This is embarrassing," Ana laughs. "My son bought me a phone. I can't use it for the life of me and I accidentally deleted everything a few days ago. I don't even know how I did it! I'm too old for modern technology, I think."

Hyunwoo smiles warmly at her. It's exactly the kind of thing his own mother would do and he feels a rush of affection. "Of course I can leave you it. If you need any help with your phone, I can do that too. I'm a pro at it."

He scribbles the digits on the post-its next to the phone and goes home for the night.

***

The text is sent on New Years Eve (technically New Years Day) but Hyunwoo only reads it when he wakes at 2pm, nursing a rather brutal hangover. He'd celebrated perhaps a little too hard with Minhyuk and the boys and barely even remembers going to bed. He rubs his tired eyes and re-reads the message several times.

from : unknown number happy new year hyunwoo!!! Hope your xmas was goood - y/n

from : unknown number ps - stole your num from ana I asked where you were and sshe said i missed y5tou

He chuckles at the typos, assuming there must have been some alcohol involved with the sending of these messages. Hyunwoo of course replies.

from : hyunwoo happy new year too lady hows xmas break?

from : y/n good boring cant wait to go back to school Im nursing a hangover from heeeellllll

from : hyunwoo haha i gifrued figured* me too tbh, i'll be hiding from the world today

He spends the rest of the day lazing in bed and occasionally swapping texts with you. The conversation is light, like acquaintances catching up, which is what he supposes you are. He can't deny that it's nice to hear from you. It's even nicer that you think of him when you're drunk. Drunk thoughts speak that of a sober mind.

He wants to see you but unfortunately doesn't get to. You're back at school by the time he has returned to work.

***

The girl from college is persistent, he'll give her that. There's nothing wrong with Kia, other than the fact that she's a little too eager than what Hyunwoo is usually used to but he accepts it regardless. Somehow he finds himself sleeping with her on a regular basis. It's a little selfish of him which he knows. But lately he's been feeling lonely, overworked, and she gives him all the attention he could ever ask for with very little effort on his part.

The sex improves since the first time so it becomes a thing. He tries not to look too deeply into it. By March they've been hooking up for well over a month.

He doesn't tell her about you. Not that that he's trying to hide anything per say; he just doesn't feel it's necessary. Especially because the conversations that he shares with you are far more interesting, now that he texts with you semi-frequently. Kia doesn't need to know about every single friend of his, he rationalizes.

Although he makes a distinct effort not to text you when he's with her.

You make him laugh. Like, really laugh. So much so that you rival Minhyuk's spot in his life. When you're away from your family you're a different person. Still you, but the version of you that's a little brighter, a little happier, and much more unrestrained than you are at home.

Even captured in the selfies you send you radiate more. He doesn't tell you (or anyone for that matter, he'd rather be caught dead) but he's been saving every image.

You tell him about your life in greater detail. He finds out that you spent Christmas with Ana and her family, since your father worked and your mom seeks warmer weather at that time of the year. It makes his heart ache slightly, he always has a wonderful day with his parents and a life without that seems a little sad. He's happy you have at least some family in Ana.

Hyunwoo cares. His thoughts drift to you often these days, more notably when he's working at your house. He can't even look at the poolhouse or the sun loungers without having flashbacks of you on your back for him. God, he wants to do it again. The need grows more and more the longer you talk.

When you phone him one night late night, practically purring the words, "I've been thinking about how we almost fucked in the garden." He knows it's over for him. He listens to you make yourself cum over the phone there and then and promises you, he'll have your body again as soon as he's able.

***

The next time you see each other in person it's April. Seven whole months since you'd fucked. He's finishing work when you appear, almost coyly hovering around the back entrance of the main house. He suspects you've waited for him. Hyunwoo grins reflexively when your eyes meet.

"Hey, you." You smile widely, tucking hair behind your ear.

"Hey lady."

Both silent for a few moments, simply taking each other in. Obviously he's seen pictures of you but the real thing is so much better. Your hair is longer, darker and your makeup is different but he still thinks you look gorgeous. A wave of confidence takes Hyunwoo.

"Want to hang out?" He asks before any inane small talk can ruin the moment. He knows how you are, you spoke this morning. You nod excitedly.

"I was hoping you'd ask." You tell him.

He's not ashamed of the car he drives, but he is when he knows you'll be in it. He's seen what occupies the twelve car garage. The kind of cars he would dream about as a young boy, and the worst part about all of it is they rarely get driven. To him that's the definition of insanity.

The back passenger window doesn't work on the old jeep and the leather is ripped on the drivers headrest but Hyunwoo takes care of it, so it drives fine. It gets him where he needs to go, so he's unbothered by the appearance. In a perfect world he'd drive you in something flashy.

You say nothing about the lack of extravagance, you hop inside with a beautiful smile. He likes that about you.

The plan is to go for dinner but somehow you never make it, ending up at Hyunwoo's modest apartment. It's a simple one bed with a tiny kitchenette. It's not much but he's worked hard to keep it.

"This reminds me of my dorm!" You laugh when you're inside. He incorrectly makes the assumption that you're insulting it but you reassure him. "It feels more like home than my parents house." You say gingerly with a touch to his arm.

His response is to kiss you and hoist you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. From the many phone sex sessions that have transpired between you, he's learned alot about what you like in the bedroom. He spanks your ass check with a slap, hard enough to sting. You audibly hiss.

You're in a dress again and he thinks it's intention was purposeful so he could have faster access to your most intimate parts. In no time at all you're pinned on his bed, both hands above your head held there by his own larger palm. The other is pushing your panties to the side, giving access to his bare dick.

Fuck me fuck fuck me, you chant, and he does. You look like such a mess for him, dress pushed up, hair fanned out across the pillow.  You guide his hand around your throat, forcing him to choke you. He almost cums when your gasping breath tells him to spit in your mouth.

When you touch your clit and cum he does as well. He couldn't hold off even if he tried.

He kisses you softly, in stark contrast to how rough you had just encouraged him to be; then you whisper, "I missed you."

***

He spends two complete days in bed with you. Kia calls him several times but he never picks up. You give him a curious glance when he turns the phone face down each time, yet you say nothing.

The only time you leave his apartment is to get food. Hyunwoo holds your hand in the supermarket without thinking about it, he just wanted to touch you. You pay for the entire shopping and he wishes you didn't but he supposes you don't think about these things in the same manner as he does.

When you leave (and it's only because he's working at the restaurant and had no choice but to part ways) he drives you home and watches the entire way as you walk up the drive, wishing he could have you back already, hoping there's not some college boy miles away thinking the same thing.

***

It's only five days later when he's scheduled back to work for your family. He's more than a little distracted after seeing you through the kitchen window. A small, discrete wave from you to acknowledge his presence. He knows there's not much time left before you're due back at school for the last term before summer.

The familiar tradition of lunching together is shared outside today. Pleasant sunshine basks down on you and Hyunwoo can't stop looking at you even as he eats the food you've prepared. "What?" You ask with a shy laugh. "Is there something on my face?"

"I just like looking at ya." He laughs and your cheeks tinge adorably. How can you be so cute yet so dirty? It's like he has the best of both worlds with you at times. The contrast drives him wild at times.

"Can we spend some more time together before I go back to school?" You ask him. For a moment he can't focus because you're eating a strawberry and all he can think about is his dick in your mouth. "Hyunwoo?"

"Yeah, course." He responds, blinking a few times. "Come over tonight?"

He wonders what the household think when you leave together at the end of the day. Surely they would not approve of this? A sad thought enters his mind; it's possible your family are too self absorbed to notice, let alone care. Ana however gives the two of you a friendly knowing smirk when you share your goodbyes.

Hyunwoo ends up making a stopover at the beach, a change of heart hitting him as he drove in the setting sunlight. There's a certain spot he started visiting when he first moved out and was overwhelmed by the stress and cost of being an adult in this world. He's never taken anyone there but he thinks (hopes) you'll like it as much as he does.

"We're at the beach." It's not so much of a question as a statement and you give him a confused look.

"Come on." Is the only instruction he gives you, clambering out of the jeep.

The ten minute walk from the car to very end of the beach is passed in comfortable silence. There's a bit of climbing involved up some rocks and a slightly steep sandy slope. Hyunwoo goes first so he can assist you up too. This secluded part of the beach is peaceful and he's watched many a sunset here.

You join him in the sand when he sits, resting your head on his shoulder. "Why did you bring me here?"

"It's one of my favourite places and I wanted to share it with you." He doesn't need to explain any further. You nod.

"Thank you."

He watches the sunset with his arm around your shoulders. When it's almost dark Hyunwoo leads you back to his jeep. You have sex on the backseat. It's different this time, tender and sweet, touching each other as if you're both virgins cautiously but eagerly mapping each other's bodies. All he thinks about on the journey to his place is how much he likes you.

***

When you're thousands of miles apart the distance somehow feels greater this time. During the day you cross his mind often but it's worse at night, when he's alone in bed, craving the warmth of you body next to his. Sometimes he looks, then re-looks at the selfies you've sent.

He hasn't kept track of when he last spoke with Kia. It's only when she sends him a particularly bitchy message does he remember that he's unintentionally being ignoring her for as long as he has. When he sends her an apology, citing work and family as an excuse she asks to see him.

He's in two minds about it. One, he's lonely, horny and missing you. However the topic of being exclusive never came up, not that it should. It's new territory. For all he knows some frat boy has you wrapped around him right now. The thought makes him prickle with jealousy.

So he accepts Kia's invitation.

***

"What are you grinning at?"

Hyunwoo looks up, trying to hide his smile when Minhyuk speaks. "Nothing." He lies. He's texting you and you just told him how you accidentally waved at someone who wasn't waving to you and now you're moving country and changing your identity before you die of embarrassment. Another thing he likes about you; you're not afraid to laugh at yourself.

"That means it's a girl!" Minhyuk teases with a laugh. "The chick from college?"

"Uh, no." Hyunwoo replies, avoiding his friends gaze. "Someone else."

"Oh." Minhyuk is surprised. "Who?"

"You know the people I sometimes do gardening and shit for? The daughter."

"Oh shit," His friend laughs. "Risky."

Hyunwoo agrees, adding. "We haven't really tried to hide anything. I don't think her family notice much. It's kinda sad."

"How can you be sad with all that money?" Minhyuk scoffs. Like Hyunwoo he comes from a family that had little to none of not just money, nearly everything. He doesn't work two jobs like Hyunwoo but he works even longer hours to sustain himself. "Crying in a ferrari. Boo hoo."

"She's not like that. Her family sure, but not her."

Minhyuk can tell he likes you. "She's special." He doesn't ask, he just knows Hyunwoo so well that he doesn't need it confirmed by the older male.

"Yeah. She is."

***

He hasn't heard from you in over a week which is highly unusual since you've been messaging or calling each other daily. It's making him a little restless but he reassures his anxious mind by reminding himself you're almost finishing school and you're probably just busy. Kia is a distraction right now, nothing more.

His phone rings while Kia is in his shower. She's going to want to stay the night but he really isn't that interested, right now he wants to be alone. Normally he doesn't speak to you when he's with her, but this will be his first chance in a long time so he takes the call.

"Hi lady, it's been a while." He answers.

"I know," You groan. "Finals. I had to turn my phone off because it was distracting me. I had a meltdown this week."

His first thought is relief. The second; he wishes he could have been there for you.

"I'm sorry," He means it. "How are things now?"

"One more exam then I'm done. No future break downs planned." You announce and he can hear you smile.

"Good."

"What are you doing right now?" You ask. He hears the shower shut off and Kia step out.

"Nothing." Technically it's the truth. "I missed you." He adds lowly.

"Me too, Hyunwoo. Is it weird that you're one of my closest friends?"

"You're one of mine." He says confidently.

"I wish you were here."

Kia re-enters his bedroom in a towel, giving him a quiet smile when she see's him resting against the headboard in the middle of a call. Hyunwoo swallows thickly. "Me too."

"I want to see you, can we face time?"

He knows what that means. More often than not your video calls to each to one another ends in a very explicit manner. He looks at Kia who is redressing. God, he wishes he could say yes.

"I..can't right now, I've got company." He adds lamely because he doesn't want to lie to you.

"Oh." The disappointment in your voice is prevalent. "Ok. Maybe another time."

"Yeah." He wants to say more, so much more, but he knows Kia is listening and doesn't feel like an argument.

"It's okay if you're dating y'know." You add, to his surprise. "I didn't exactly think you were some celibate monk every time we were apart."

He laughs at that. "I assumed you weren't either."

"I wasn't." The past tense confuses him. "Been too busy for that lately."

"I bet."

"No one fucks me like you do though," You laugh and he can't help but smirk. "Anyway, I'll let you go. I've got some stress to relieve anyway." He doesn't miss the innuendo. "And Hyunwoo?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll be thinking of you when I do it."

Fuck. He hold back a groan. Now that the image is in his head it's the only thing he wants to see. He gulps. "I always do."

When you've hung up he tells Kia in the kindest possible way he's tired and it's best if she goes home. He senses her unhappiness and he feels a little guilty but not for long.

***

The day you arrive home for the summer Hyunwoo realises it's been ten months of fucking, phone sex and talking about nothing and everything til 2am with you. He's not working today and offers to pick you up from the airport. He knows you could easily have someone on your father's payroll fetch you but you agree nonetheless.

At baggage claim you don't even greet him, flinging yourself into his arms instead. There's a kiss that's all too passionate for such a public space but neither of you seem phased. It's clear that you're just as eager as he is.

You smile at him when he carries your bags for you, loading them into his trusted jeep.

"Can I tell you something?" You ask as he drives. He nods. "I haven't told my parents but I've been working while I've been at school."

You hadn't told him that either. As far as he knew you wouldn't really have to work ever if you felt so inclined.

"I've saved everything. Every single penny I've earned."

"How come?" He's never discussed money with you and he feels awkward.

"Because I don't want to spend my life relying on them." You say simply. "After I finish school next year I'll be free."

Free, he thinks. He notices how ignored you are at home and how unhappy you are there. If you want to be free, Hyunwoo wants you to be free too.

***

You spend more nights with him over the summer than you do without. He doesn't tell you but he broke things off with Kia a long time ago. It's you, and it's been you for a long time. At the beach you tease him and ask him if the other girls like this spot as much as you do.

"I've never brought anyone but you here." He admits.

"Oh." You look surprised. "I thought..."

"Nah," He tries to make it sound more casual than it is. But it means something. You both know it. He laces his fingers through yours. "Just you."

Over the summer a few freckles have appeared on your shoulders as the two of you have spent a lot of time in the sun and he kisses them while he's got you in his arms. You sigh in content and lean back against his chest. He wants to tell you he loves you, has done for quite some time but doesn't want to force it.

You're the one. Not in the conventional sense where he's blindly assured that you're definitely going to get married and grow into old age together. No. How can anyone know that for sure?

You're the one in the sense that you make him happy to wake up each day. It's effortless and it's easy and you've never once held any of his choices against him. He'd do anything for you before any other girl. That's why you're his one. He just needs to tell you now.

MASTERLIST