#I think that’s enough drawing for one night-

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 29/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@xyuki-iris ha chiesto: I LOVE YOU'RE ART ALSO GOOD FOOD But I have a what if What if Redson found Mk having a panic attack over something serious about him being Trans.

Ouch poor baby Red Son would totally support MK and try to calm him down

@ashmeertheimp ha chiesto: First of all your story is glorious and congrats on getting lmk at the very top. Second does Mk want to work on his relationship with Nuwa. I think Nuwa did truly love Mk but she also loved everyone else on earth equally. Mk has forgiven Mac who actually made an effort to hurt Mk (past mistakes) while Nuwa was opposed but still didn't stop Mk from not fixing the pillar of heaven.

I always felt like after S5 his relationship with Nuwa is similar to the one Steven had with Rose after S5 of SU. So it's- complicated

@audioandart ha chiesto: mayhaps a silly question, but towards the very start of the mk shadow peach stuff when mk first shadows into the wall. He says "why is everything *more* flat". Is this implying he already sees the world as 2d the way we do or am I perhaps missing something? 😅 (I love your work! Have a good day 🫰)

ahah yeah I was!!

@fake-anjel ha chiesto: Your comic makes me stay awake at night thinking of the next cap, making theories and making imaginary scenarios and imaginary gacha reactions to them for some reason. I was wondering... If Wukong and Macaque have a child (hypothetically, and by the biological way) wich one would be the oven for the bun? You have a fan from Brazil<3

Well, I would say Wukong, but here comes the question: a Stone Monkey, born from a stone, would be able to reproduce themself? There are no other like the four celestial primates and MK, so I would assume that they weren't able to- reproduce normally. Also if they would does it mean the womb is a stone as well???

@sollythesalt ha chiesto: Just asking if Wukong is trans do his female organs also count as part of his un-glamored form or does he stay with his male ones when he drops his glamour? Also what does his glamour include in your au just out of curiosity?

No under the glamour and shapeshift he still has female organs

@dandy-doodles ha chiesto: I'm VICIOUSLY consuming your comic rn - It actually came across my feed from a reblog. Never watched the show before. Loved the comic so much I binged the entire series and now I'm sat with the task of reading JTTW. This hyperfixation is your fault I love you for it. @ivoronical ha chiesto: Hi! I don’t know how tumblrs asks work because I’ve never used them before, but just wanted to say that your art is ✨fabulous✨ and you’re shadowpeach bio parents au has convinced me to rewatch the show entirely. It’s also made Macaque one of my favorite characters and because of that I am halfway through making a cosplay of him completely from scratch and I’m very excited to finish it:) Anyways I’ve rambled enough. Have a nice day!!! @starzz-twi ha chiesto: Can I just say how much I adore your art! It inspires so much that I might try drawing lmk again 🫶🫶🫶🫶 @artemismoorea03 ha chiesto: I hope you know that your Bio Parents AU fills every waking moment. I swear I only get on Tumblr anymore to see if you've posted something. I eat up any art you post regardless of what fandom it is and I just have to tell you that your art tastes like a blue raspberry icee (the best kind). I hope you're having a fantastic day ♡

AWWW TYSM TO ALL OF YOU!!!!

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto: What will family gatherings be like now that MK has 4 parents? Like his birthday or end-of-year celebrations. I want to see more of the dynamics of the 4 parents interacting and talking about their one and only child.🐷🤓☀️🌙

oH CHAOTIC INDEED

Anonimo ha chiesto: How does it feel to be one of those artists that like 70% of the fandom knows about

wait is that a random number or???

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will we maybe see Macaque interact with Bai He or Mei?? (I'm starved of DarkHorse/EnderDragon/NightFlare Duo and Raspberry/Black Cat Duo) But I am interested if you might make them interact! :D Anyways, I love how your art got better by each comic, you can see the improvement from the slight sharpness of the shapes in the first comics and the now softer lines.

mmmmm I will maybe I'll do some small scenes

Anonimo ha chiesto: Past Wukong working out: I'ma get so strong. Ain't no one beating me Present Wukong working out: I'ma be so good at hugging my son and husband.

AWWWWWW WHAT A GOOD BABA!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! I wanted to ask if we'll see just how sensitive Macaque's hearing is in your Au in a future comic maybe? Like... a thunderstorm happens or something when he's around FFM watching Mk and Wukong train or something that affects his hearing badly? But either way, love your art and style! :)

mmmm don't know if I have a scene planned for that...

Anonimo ha chiesto: Does Wukong and Macaque know about the other 2 Celstial Primates, Red-Hoarse Baboon and Lomg-Armed Gibbon, in your Bio Shadowpeach parents au?

I think so? In JTTW he knew so I would assume the same?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will Macaque use his future vision at any time again in this comic? We now know in this Au he hasn't used it in years. But maybe will he use it again soon? I bet he won't but I still wanted to ask :)

not unless he is forced to

Anonimo ha chiesto: I’ve been listening to a song from a Pokémon movie: Always Safe by Cynthia, and I think of the Shadowpeach bioparents Au everytime

AWW that's beautiful the lyrics omg!!!

@notjustonefandom1 ha chiesto: So, I've been thinking about MK's staff. After he got it do you think he develops a habit of clasping his hands together, especiallywhen stressed or threatened? With the fluidity and energy he moves with, I think it would take a while for him yo find a chance to Summon the staff, especially if he isn't fast at it yet, so he just starts keeping his hands pressed together in preparation.

ooooohhh that's a cool idea!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Where does the Macaque has white fur head canon come from? I'm new to this fandom and I'm still learning things and I see it everywhere

I honestly have no idea but I guess either because Japanese Macaque are white furred or bc he died.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ok so this may be a sensitive topic and definitely doesn't need to be answered so TW Did mk ever go through a depression thing after trying to die to save the universe in the last season in your au? A in like what if Wukong and Mac find out he used to SH?

hish. I'm not probably the right person to answer this. Probably he did had depression tendencies but didn't recognize them until someone pointed them out.

Anonimo ha chiesto: This ask os Going to be a little weird But Can I See Macaque Pining Wukong on the wall?In a Flirty way?(pretty Please?) I love Your Art so much!👑❤️‍🔥💎

Ouh.. *cleans forehead from sweat* is getting hot in here... maybe?

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: Wukong: OH BUDDHA, HE CALLED ME BABA!!!!! (SCREAMS WITH JOY) What DBK heard over the phone with his brother: OH andhdbrjjsm (feral monkey screeching)

Poor DBK gotta deal with the gossip now

@alastair-1205 ha chiesto: OMG THE MOST RECENT PART IM CRYING But I also love how Mac's first instinct is just grabbing Wukong and being like: "get out of hearing range before we freak out, get out of hearing range before we freak out, get out of-" you know? It's very funny but also builds on past comics since they woke MK up last time smth like this happened and I'm just !!!!!

GOTTA MAKE THE BABY SLEEP

@eerieqloss ha chiesto: OSISJJWJSJSJWWN OKAY WAIT SO IS MK GONNA START CALLING THEM MAMA AND BABA INSTEAD OF THEIR NAMES CONTINUALLY OR WAS IT JUST THAT ONE TIME

It wont be a one time!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I hope you are resting as you should Always remember to take your time, rest first, then work, ofc as far as possible 😅. I have a fun question (if you have the time ofc 👉🏻👈🏻): will we see Feral MK again? But you know, like another kind of "demonic learning" that maybe wukong or Mac will teach him to control or see that it's not bad as it looks

For now i want my baby to either be happy or traumatized not angry.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like i remember you asking about happier shadowpeach songs for your playlist, but I can't find the post anymore. But if you're still looking, Livingston's new song Glow reminds me of them and also made me think about the eclipse scenes in the comic.

Several of Livingston's other songs also give me shadowpeach vibes, but I think about them so much that I might just be seeing them everywhere at this point.

Oooh true a lot of his song fits really well!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: This is the only instance where having a kid really did bring a couple together.

TRUE LMAO

Anonimo ha chiesto: Soo...Wukong and Mac in the DBK Palace I have a question in my mind!!!! Actually I hope you to see it and draw it.. if you don't wanna it's okay! What if DBK & PIF flirt with each other or smt like this u know in front of shadowpeach?! They will probably look to each other and then blushing hard

HAHAHHA poor souls they would totally think of wanting to kiss each other but can't because they are emotionally constipated.

[awhhayden]

CONTAINS : age gap 20+, dilf!hayden, fluff, anxiety/panic attack, short story

SUMMARY : Hayden wakes up from a nightmare, his anxieties weighing down on your relationship.

Hayden stirs beside you, the peaceful rhythm of sleep abruptly shattered as he shoots upright, fear flickering across his features. A cold sweat glistens on his chest and neck, his breath coming in frantic gasps as another nightmare haunts his consciousness.

For the past week, the same chilling dream has plagued him, each one a manifestation of the simmering anxieties about your relationship. With you just stepping into your 23rd year and him carrying the weight of 43, the whispers of the world loom large, as if the media’s scrutiny could unravel the delicate threads of what you both share.

Each day, he finds himself on high alert, bracing for the latest wave of cruel commentary about your love—the love that defies conventional norms but thrives in its authenticity. Hayden positions himself as a shield between you and the relentless barrage of judgment, yet deep down, he knows the sting of those words reaches you, drawing a painful line back to him.

Guilt tugs at his heart, knowing that these dark reflections are a consequence of his existence in your life, and he longs for a way to silence the storm that rages endlessly in his mind.

He turns and gazes at you, a soft contrast to the panic in his chest. Your hair spills like silk across the pillow, catching the soft glow of the moonlight that dances through the window. Each rise and fall of your chest is a tender symphony, a rhythm that lulls him into a deeper calm.

With a gentle smile, he lays back on his side and wraps his strong arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his warmth. The sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo envelops him, a fragrant reminder that you are all he needs.

You stir slightly, your voice a soft murmur in the quiet of the room. "Mmm, you okay?" Your eyes flutter open just enough to glimpse the worry etched on his face, and he smiles, leaning into the fragrant softness of your hair. "Now I am," he whispers, his words a soft caress that fills the space between you with a warm intimacy, as if the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of you as his anxieties melt away into oblivion.

He feels the heat radiating from your body and leans in closer, letting the moment deepen. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft sound of your breathing. With each breath, he finds himself more anchored in the present, savoring this shared moment of peace that feels both timeless and sacred.

"Do you remember the first time we slept like this?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He recalls that night, when the stars overhead seemed to twinkle just for you two, a new chapter just unfolding.

You chuckle softly, eyes still heavy with sleep. "I think you were the one who ended up stealing all the blankets," you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

He smirks, nudging you playfully. "Guilty as charged." A moment of laughter passes between you, a thread of shared memories that wraps around you in warmth. Beneath that playful exchange, a deeper truth lingers in the air—an unspoken understanding of each other, grounded in genuine affection.

You shift slightly, nestling into his embrace, and he tightens his hold instinctively, as if afraid to let go. The soft rhythm of your breaths intertwining sets a peaceful cadence. “What are you thinking about?” you ask, curiosity sparking your gaze as you finally meet his eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, it’s just…” He takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes I worry about the age gap between us. I mean, I know it’s not the worst difference, but still…” You frown slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow, giving him your full attention. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting toward the moonlight spilling through the window. “With me being in the public eye, everyone seems to have an opinion about everything. I can imagine the headlines, the gossip… it worries me. I don’t want to be that guy who’s dating someone significantly younger. I don’t want it to look like I’m… I don’t know, taking advantage of that.”

Your heart sinks a little at his unease, seeing the vulnerability etched in his features. “You’re not taking advantage of anything. We’re not like that. We have something real here.”

“I know that,” he replies, looking back into your eyes with sincerity. “But the media spins things. I've seen it happen to friends, people in the industry facing scrutiny just for their choices in relationships. I don’t want to subject you to that kind of negativity. You don’t deserve it.”

“You can’t control how others see us,” you say gently, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “What matters is how we see each other. You mean the world to me, and I don’t care about the age gap or what people think.”

He listens, but the concern doesn’t entirely vanish from his eyes. “You say that now, but what if it becomes a burden in the future? What if the attention—both good and bad—pulls us apart instead of bringing us closer?”

“If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to make it work,” you reply, your voice steady and unwavering. “And if we do hit bumps along the way, we’ll face them together. Love isn’t about age or public perception; it’s about trust, respect, and the connection we’ve built.”

He smiles softly at your words, grateful yet still clouded by his worries. “You make it sound so simple. I just don’t want to risk losing what we have because of outside noise.”

You take a moment, gathering your thoughts, before responding. “I’m not naive. I know the world can be harsh. But I also believe that if we’re strong in our bond, we can withstand anything. Our relationship doesn’t have to be defined by the age gap—or by the spotlight you’re in.”

He studies you intently, his brows slightly relaxed as he absorbs your words. “You really believe that?” He probes, searching your face for reassurance.

“I do,” you affirm, leaning closer, grounding him with your presence. “Each day with you just feels right. It’s not about the years; it’s about how well we fit together and how we support each other”

A soft chuckle escapes him, his tension easing slightly. “In all my life, I’ve never met someone quite like you,” he admits. “You’re a breath of fresh air, you keep me young” he jokes.

You smile at that, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you. “I’m glad I can be someone who brings you comfort. Just remember, I want this, I want you” you say softly. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he gives a light squeeze. “Thank you for being you. For standing by me. I just want to protect what we have.”

“Then let’s protect it together,” you say, resolute. “I love you” you whisper, he smiles

As you settle back into his embrace, the weight of his worries lingers in the air but feels lighter now, softened by the understanding between you. Together, you drift into a shared silence, sleep finally weighing down on Hayden’s eyes, you fall back asleep together, a newfound understanding and the sound of the wind in the air.

a little story while I work on a chapter two of my james kelly fic! also still adding to my taglist so lmk if you want to be added! <3

taglist : @bimbo-baggins17 @malinadbbdh @speaknow-sw @haydensheartt @inlovewithdob @fredswrite

[quarterlifekitty]

Another installation of the MonsterHunter!AU

Context: a baku is a demon/yokai that eats bad dreams. It has a lot of depictions, often in modern times its design is loosely based on the Malayan tapir. So I picture reader as being a tapir girl, with the cute ears, and some teeny tusks. And that really cute mottling that baby tapirs have bc it’s my post and I do what I want. But she can look however you like, really.

While Price often takes killing bounties, Ghost is a bit less picky. He doesn’t mind capturing monsters alive and delivering them to the highest bidder.

Lately, there’s been a trend amount the local nobles. Get a baku, and it will eat your child’s bad dreams, they say. So demand is high. These people don’t know that a baku can also eat your hopes and ambitions if it isn’t well fed on nightmares, but Ghost doesn’t really care to inform them.

It was supposed to be a quick and easy job— be back before dinner. But things often don’t go to plan in this line of work. If you can manage to find a baku, capture is easy. They don’t have a means of really defending themselves, and they’re docile by nature. Ghost doesn’t realize how attractive such a thing is to other bounty hunters.

He doesn’t even tie your hands when he finds you. Baku are not stupid. You know he’s faster and stronger than you are. The rival bounty hunters throwing a weighted net over you don’t realize this.

He spends half the day taking them down one by one as you’re dragged behind them in the forest. Not enough time to travel back to the guild, he has to camp out. Ghost uses his knife to cut you loose. Out of precaution, he draws his symbol on your back with a prick of his blood so you’ll be bound to his vicinity. But he doesn’t see the sense in keeping you cramped in the net.

He manages to forget what you are when he gets to sleep. You amble to his side when he starts to thrash with the visions of dead heaped up across the landscape. You sigh, gently planting a hand on his chest and coaxing the vapor of his dreams from him.

It’s the best you’ve had. So addicting you follow the plume straight to his mouth, kissing him through the cloth of his mask. It tastes of glistening red, of a brittle splintering husk, like ichor pouring from the wound of a god.

Simon startles when he awakes and sees the position of the sun in the sky. Much later than he’s risen in years. And he slept through the night, entirely uninterrupted, which is completely unheard of.

And he feels like a fucking new man. The light of the sun doesn’t feel like punishment against his skin, piercing beneath the thin membrane of his eyelids. He feels light. Packs up camp, nearly overflowing with energy,

You smile at him, flicking your little tapir ears. You look good, too. Healthy, shining hair and bright eyes. Strangely pretty, for a dream demon. You follow him closely without much provocation when he decides it’s time to get going.

He thinks about forgoing the bounty. His sigil fades from your back, falling in rusted flakes from the large white patch of your two-toned fur. He’ll get something more permanent for you when you’re back at the guild. He’s certain he has enough nightmares to keep you fed for the rest of his life.

[jaeyunluvbot]

goodnight n go

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 vernon x fem!reader, kind of secret romance, college au

word count 𝟅𝟈 7.1k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The campus library hums with quiet activity: the scratch of pens, the faint tapping of keyboards, and whispers barely above a murmur. You’re in your usual corner, earbuds in and pretending you’re too absorbed in your screen to notice the commotion around you.

But you do notice. How could you not?

A burst of laughter draws your attention to the table just a few feet away. Of course, he’s there. Vernon Chwe.

He leans back in his chair, all lazy confidence, a backwards cap perched on his head like it’s an extension of his body. His hoodie looks soft, worn, perfectly slouchy, and it’s infuriating how good he looks without even trying. You force yourself to stare at your screen, typing nonsense just to look busy. He’s not even your enemy—not directly. But Vernon is part of Mingyu’s crowd, and that’s enough to keep him firmly on your ignore at all costs list.

You still remember how Jennie looked after her breakup with Mingyu—eyes puffy, voice breaking on every other word. She hasn’t explicitly told you to steer clear of Vernon, but loyalty doesn’t need to be spoken. Besides, you have no interest in frat boys who probably spend more time planning parties than studying.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You freeze. His voice cuts through the library like it has no regard for social norms—or the very clear quiet zone sign on the wall.

You don’t look up. Maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him—

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time. A few heads turn in mild irritation. You want to sink into the floor.

Reluctantly, you pull out an earbud and glare at him. “What?” you hiss.

He holds up a battered blue binder. Your binder. Your name is scrawled across the front in black Sharpie, unmistakable.

“I think you forgot this after class,” he says, his tone casual, almost playful.

You stomp over and snatch it from his hands. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies, grinning like you just made his day. “Oh, and nice presentation today in Dr. Kim’s class. You really knew your stuff.”

Your chest tightens, and not in the way you’d like to admit. Compliments shouldn’t feel like this—not from him, anyway. You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “Thanks.”

You turn to leave, eager to put as much distance between yourself and his stupidly charming face as possible.

“You know,” he calls after you, his voice light, teasing, “I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

You stop mid-step. Slowly, you glance back at him. “What are you talking about?”

He leans back in his chair, his grin widening. “I mean, you don’t have to avoid me so much. I’m not the one who broke Jennie’s heart.”

Heat floods your cheeks—half embarrassment, half fury. “I’m not avoiding you,” you snap, even though the words feel like a lie.

“Sure you’re not,” he says, his tone maddeningly smug. “See you around, Y/N.”

You hate the way his voice lingers in your head long after you’ve stomped back to your seat.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The house is packed, music thumping so loud you can feel it in your chest. You’re clutching a red solo cup—not because you’re particularly in the mood to drink, but because it gives you something to do with your hands. Jennie’s off somewhere, probably gossiping with Irene and Seulgi, leaving you to hover near the snacks, pretending you’re not awkwardly alone in the middle of a frat house.

You don’t even know why you came.

Actually, that’s a lie—you know exactly why. Jennie had heard NCT was throwing the party, and you didn’t want to spend another Friday night alone in your dorm. But now, as you watch the endless crowd of people, you’re questioning your life choices.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

Vernon Chwe.

His voice is casual, but when you glance at him, he’s smiling, almost like he’s been waiting for this moment. He’s ditched the usual hoodie for a plain black t-shirt and jeans, his hair falling messily over his forehead. It’s ridiculous how effortlessly good he looks.

“Didn’t think I’d see you either,” you reply, your tone sharper than intended.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why’s that?”

“I didn’t think frat parties were your thing.”

“Really? I live here.”

Your face heats up at your own stupidity. He just laughs, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m kidding. I don’t live here, but I might as well with how often I’m around. The brothers in NCT are friends of my frat”

You roll your eyes. “Of course they are.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to feel awkward. You glance at the door, contemplating an escape, but before you can bolt, Vernon leans a little closer.

“You look like you’re having a terrible time,” he says, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret between the two of you.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“Come on,” he insists. “I saw you glaring at the chips like they personally offended you.”

You almost laugh despite yourself. “Maybe they did.”

He grins, taking a sip from his own cup. “Tell you what—let’s make it less terrible. There’s a quieter spot upstairs. Wanna come?”

Every sensible part of you screams no. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid. But something about the way he’s looking at you, his smile soft and unassuming, makes you hesitate. Against your better judgment, you nod.

Vernon leads you to a room at the end of the hall, far enough from the party that the music feels like background noise. There’s an old couch in the corner, and he flops down, patting the seat next to him.

You hesitate, but sit down anyway, keeping a safe distance.

“See? Much better,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms across the top of the couch.

“You didn’t bring me here to murder me, did you?” you joke, crossing your arms.

He snorts. “If I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t have picked a frat party. Too many witnesses.”

“Good point.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s not the awkward silence you expected. It’s…comfortable.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “why do you hate me?”

Your head snaps toward him. “I don’t hate you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “I get it. Jennie’s your friend, and Mingyu’s my friend. Guilty by association.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“I just think it’s kind of unfair,” he adds, his voice quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

Something in his tone catches you off guard—he sounds almost…vulnerable.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

“I guess…I never gave you a chance,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than they should.

He smiles, but it’s small and almost shy. “Well, I’m glad we’re fixing that now.”

You’re not sure why your chest feels so tight, or why your heart is beating so fast. All you know is that Vernon Chwe might be a problem—a very, very big problem.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’ve never been one to lose track of time, especially not at a party. But as you sit on the worn couch in that quiet upstairs room, hours pass like minutes.

Vernon has a way of talking that catches you off guard. He’s not loud or overbearing like you imagined a frat boy would be. Instead, his words are thoughtful, his voice calm, like he’s actually listening and not just waiting for his turn to speak.

Somehow, the conversation flows from harmless small talk—classes, shared professors, and how the campus coffee shop is ridiculously overpriced—to deeper things.

“You know, when I found out you were friends with Jennie I was surprised,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow, leaning back into the couch.

“Yeah. You don’t have that… sorority vibe, you know?”

“And what vibe do I have, exactly?”

He grins, his eyes flickering to yours for a moment before he looks away. “You seem like you’ve got it all together, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface. Like, you’re the type of person who stays up all night overthinking things.”

Your stomach flips at how accurate that is. You cover it with a laugh. “What, did you take a psychology class or something?”

“Nah,” he says, still smiling. “I’m just good at reading people.”

“Then why didn’t you read that I don’t like you?”

It’s meant to be a jab, but it comes out softer than you intended.

He shrugs. “Because I don’t think that’s true.”

You scoff, but he doesn’t back down. His gaze lingers on you, not in an intimidating way, but like he’s trying to figure out how you work.

“Okay, fine,” you say, breaking the tension. “Maybe I didn’t like you before.”

“But now?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.

You roll your eyes. “You’re…less annoying than I thought you’d be.”

“Wow, high praise,” he says, grinning.

You can’t help but smile back.

At some point, the conversation shifts to childhood memories. You tell him about the time you broke your mom’s favorite vase and tried to blame it on your cousin, only for your little brother to rat you out. He laughs, and it’s this deep, genuine sound that makes your chest feel warm.

In return, he tells you about the time he got his head stuck between the bars of a park fence and how Mingyu had to call their RA to get him out.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you say, laughing, “the fact that you got stuck or the fact that you had to call for help.”

“Hey, I was, like, eight,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Cut me some slack.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye.

Before you realize it, the music from downstairs starts to fade, the party winding down. You check your phone—it’s past midnight.

“I should probably get going,” you say, though you don’t really want to.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Me too.”

As you head downstairs together, the air between you feels different. Lighter. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to keep your guard up around him.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, he turns to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This was…nice.”

You nod. “Yeah, it was.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to say something else, but instead, he just smiles. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Vernon.”

As you walk home, your thoughts race. You still don’t know what to make of him, but one thing’s for sure—he’s not at all what you expected.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning, you stumble out of bed and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen, still in your pajamas. Your mind is hazy, last night’s events with Vernon replaying on a constant loop. You’re still trying to piece together how you ended up talking to him for hours, completely forgetting you were supposed to dislike him.

As you enter the kitchen, the lively chatter of your sorority sisters fills the air. Jennie, Irene, Seulgi, and Chaeyoung are crowded around the table, coffee mugs and half-eaten bagels scattered in front of them.

“Finally! Sleeping Beauty decided to join us,” Jennie teases, raising her mug in your direction.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug for yourself and pouring some coffee.

“So, where did you disappear to last night?” Chaeyoung asks, looking at you curiously.

You nearly drop the coffee pot. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Irene says, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “One minute you were with us, the next you vanished into thin air.”

“Yeah,” Jennie chimes in, narrowing her eyes at you. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Your brain scrambles for an excuse. “I, uh… I left early. I had a headache.” You force a casual shrug, praying they won’t press further.

“Really?” Jennie asks, her voice skeptical.

“Yup. Didn’t want to ruin the vibe for anyone, so I just went home,” you say quickly, pouring yourself some coffee and taking a long sip to avoid their gazes.

Thankfully, Seulgi changes the subject. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. Those frat boys were so obnoxious.”

“Right?” Irene says, rolling her eyes. “Especially Mingyu’s friends. They’re the worst.”

You freeze, your stomach twisting.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jennie groans. “Mingyu’s bad enough on his own, but all of them together? They’re insufferable.”

You stare down at your mug of coffee.

“Who even invited them anyway?” Chaeyoung adds.

“Probably Jaehyun,” Jennie mutters. “I think he’s like, friends with Mingyu or something.”

You sit in silence, staring into your mug as their voices swirl around you. They have no idea what you were doing last night—who you were talking to—and guilt settles heavily in your chest.

But why should you feel guilty? It’s not like you did anything wrong.

Still, you can’t help but think about Vernon’s laugh, his surprisingly thoughtful responses, and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his favorite movies. He didn’t seem like the person they’re describing.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice pulls you back to reality.

“What?”

“Are you coming with us to brunch later?”

“Oh. Uh, maybe. I’ll see how I’m feeling,” you say, your voice distant.

Jennie nods, not entirely convinced, but doesn’t push. As the conversation shifts, you force yourself to focus on anything other than Vernon.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about him, a fact that has guilt eating you alive from the inside.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days pass, and despite your best efforts to keep Vernon out of your head, he somehow keeps finding ways to slip back in. It doesn’t help that he texts you memes or random thoughts like, "Do you think penguins get cold?" throughout the day, making you smile when you shouldn’t.

You try to bury the guilt. You really do. But when Vernon suggests sneaking into your sorority house for a movie night—because his frat is too loud, and “your room probably smells better than mine”—you can’t seem to say no.

“Fine,” you whisper-yell into the phone. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“I can live with that,” he replies with a laugh.

A couple of hours later, Vernon is sprawled on the rug in your room, munching on chips he insisted on bringing while you sit cross-legged on your bed, watching Shrek 2. You hate how easy it is to be around him, how natural it feels to laugh with him like this.

“You know,” he says, turning to look at you, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’re pretty bad at showing it.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

But just as he’s about to throw a chip back at you, there’s a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice cuts through the playful atmosphere like a knife.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You practically leap off the bed, gesturing frantically for Vernon to hide. He scrambles behind your bed just as you crack the door open, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Hey, Jen,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Are you coming to dinner with us?” she asks, peering into your room suspiciously.

“Oh, uh… maybe later,” you stammer. “I’m just… talking to my mom.”

Jennie raises an eyebrow. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, she called, and we’ve just been catching up,” you say quickly, holding up your phone for emphasis.

“Okay,” Jennie says slowly, clearly unconvinced. She glances behind you, as if she can sense something is off. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yep, totally fine!” you say, practically shoving the door closed. “Have fun at dinner!”

You shut the door and lean against it, your heart pounding.

From behind the desk, Vernon’s muffled laughter bubbles up. “Your mom, seriously?”

“Shut up!” you hiss, glaring at him.

He emerges from his hiding spot, grinning like an idiot. “That was smooth. Really convincing.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this,” you mutter, flopping onto your bed. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” he says, sitting cross-legged on the rug again. “You’re the one who let me in.”

You throw another pillow at him, which he easily catches.

“Just admit you like me,” he teases, leaning back on his hands with that stupid, cocky grin.

You grab another pillow, ready to hurl it, but his words hit a little too close to home. Your grip loosens, and the pillow falls to your lap as your cheeks flush.

“See? You can’t even deny it,” he says, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more genuine.

You hate that he’s right. But admitting it? That’s a whole other thing.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s been a whirlwind of late-night sneaking, secret hangouts, and way too much Vernon. Not that you’d admit you enjoy it.

Vernon has gotten way too comfortable invading your life. He texts you constantly, calls when you’re least expecting it, and—when he’s feeling particularly bold—throws in a casual, “Miss me yet?” with a winky face. You hate that the answer is always yes.

To make matters worse, Jennie has been clinging to you like never before. She’s always suggesting lunch dates or study sessions, and you can’t say no without feeling like the worst friend in the world.

Balancing both is exhausting. It feels like you’re living two lives: one where you’re Jennie’s loyal best friend, and one where you’re Vernon’s… whatever you are.

One afternoon, when the stress feels like it’s going to eat you alive, you knock on Chaeyoung’s door, desperate for advice. She’s lounging on her bed with a sketchpad when you walk in, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s with the dramatic entrance?” she asks.

“I need help,” you say, collapsing into her beanbag chair.

“Uh-oh. Is this about Jennie or Vernon?”

Your head snaps up. “How did you—?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “It’s obvious. You’ve been weirdly busy lately, but you look way too happy for it to just be school. Plus, Vernon keeps staring at you in class.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m doomed.”

“Okay, spill,” Chaeyoung says, setting her sketchpad aside.

You tell her everything—how Vernon wormed his way into your life, how he’s not the annoying frat boy you thought he’d be, how you actually like spending time with him.

“But Jennie,” you say, throwing your hands up. “She’d kill me if she found out. And I don’t even know what this is with Vernon. It’s not like we’re dating, but…”

“But you want to,” Chaeyoung finishes for you.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Chaeyoung leans back, thoughtful. “Well, Vernon didn’t do anything to Jennie. That was all Mingyu.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s not that simple. She hates Vernon by association. If she knew I was hanging out with him…”

“She’d be pissed,” Chaeyoung finishes with a sigh.

“Exactly,” you mutter, slumping further into the beanbag.

Chaeyoung looks at you sympathetically. “Okay, but hear me out. Do you really think this is sustainable? Sneaking around, lying to Jennie, sneaking Vernon into the house… You’re gonna crack eventually.”

You don’t want to admit she’s right, but you know she is. The thought of coming clean terrifies you, though. What if Jennie takes it the wrong way? What if she gets mad and it ruins your friendship?

“I just… I don’t know how to tell her,” you admit quietly.

“Well,” Chaeyoung says, smirking a little, “if Vernon is as crazy about you as he seems, maybe it’s worth taking the risk.”

Her words stick with you longer than you’d like. But are you brave enough to actually act on them?

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

This time, your sorority is the one hosting a party, the kind of event where you can already feel your exhaustion just from the noise and the amount of people packed into your sorority house. It’s loud and flashy, with your sisters dancing and laughing, and—against all expectations—Jennie has begrudgingly invited the Seventeen frat. You know why she did it. Drinks, snacks, and the usual frat chaos that she’s come to rely on for a good time.

But you? You’re stuck. You’ve spent most of the night glued to Jennie’s side, unable to sneak away, unable to make any excuse to disappear into the crowd where you could catch a glimpse of Vernon. The tension in the air is thick, and you can’t avoid the prickle of guilt as you glance across the room and catch sight of him. His eyes meet yours for a second, and you can almost feel the way his smile falters. He tries to move closer, but Jennie’s hand tugs you away, her chatter drowning out everything else.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Jennie says, pulling you into the middle of the room, and you can’t help but notice how she deliberately blocks Vernon from your line of sight.

You nod and force a smile. You hate this. You hate the way you’re pretending, the way you’re avoiding him, as though everything that’s been between you suddenly doesn’t matter. But Jennie doesn’t know, and you can’t risk it. Not when she’s this protective of you. You’d never hear the end of it.

Vernon, on the other hand, doesn’t let it slide. As the night stretches on, you can see him trying to talk to you. A quick chat, maybe a dance, a little smile. Each time, you have to turn away, pretending you don’t feel the pull in your chest. He’s not buying it.

Finally, he steps back, his lips curling into a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, cool,” he mutters, the hurt clear in his tone. “I see how it is.” He turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jennie notices. “Haha, that’s weird. Why is he only talking to you?” she asks, a tinge of knowing in her voice.

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as fake as it feels. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t know why he was talking to me either.”

The words burn in your mouth, and you want to kick yourself. It’s all a lie. A lie you’ve been feeding to Jennie, to yourself, to everyone. But the guilt is too much, and you just need to get through tonight.

When the party dies down, and you finally find an excuse to leave, you head upstairs, your heart heavy with a mix of guilt and regret. You barely get your door closed before you pull out your phone and start typing to Vernon.

Hey… I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to be weird. I just didn’t know what to do.

You wait, staring at the screen, hoping for the buzz of a reply. But it never comes. A few minutes pass, then thirty, then an hour. Your thumb hovers over the screen, ready to type again, but no new message comes in.

Finally, you give up, tossing your phone aside and heading into the bathroom. You turn the shower on, trying to wash away the anxiety that’s coiling in your stomach. It doesn’t work.

You curl into bed, the sheets cold against your skin, but nothing can stop your thoughts from swirling. You feel horrible for betraying Jennie, for lying to her. But then there’s Vernon, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him too. What’s worse is you can’t even tell Jennie the truth because it would hurt her, and you can’t risk that. You feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of it all.

The knock on your door comes hours later, and when you open it, Jennie is standing there, still in her outfit from the party, her expression soft.

“Hey,” she says, her voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

You nod silently, stepping aside to let her in.

“I know something’s up,” she says, sitting on your bed. “You’ve been acting weird all night. You can tell me, you know. I’m your friend.”

You stand there for a moment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill. You want to tell her. You want to be honest. But the truth feels impossible to say.

“I can’t,” you say, shaking your head. “I just… I feel awful. I don’t know what to do.”

Jennie sighs, looking at you with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone. But it sounds like you need some time to figure things out. Just know I’m here if you need me, okay?”

You give a shaky nod.

Jennie stands and pats your shoulder gently. “If you need to talk, I’m here. But take your time. Just don’t keep it all in too long, okay?”

You whisper, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” she says softly, offering you a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll figure it out.”

As she walks out, you close the door behind her, burying your face in your hands. The guilt is suffocating, but you also know that Jennie is right. You have a lot to figure out—and soon.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Everyone is packing up, signaling the end of another lecture. You grab your things quickly, your thoughts racing. This is it. You can’t keep avoiding him, and you can’t let things stay awkward between you and Vernon any longer. You know he’s been hurt, and you can’t just let it fester.

As you walk out of class, you spot him talking to a few of his friends, his back turned to you. You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should just leave it for another day, but then you square your shoulders and head toward him.

“Vernon,” you call, and his shoulders stiffen before he turns around to face you. The moment his eyes meet yours, you see the flicker of wariness in them, the same hesitation that you’ve been feeling.

“Hey,” he greets you, his voice neutral but with a hint of something else. He’s not mad, but it’s clear he’s still hurt.

You bite your lip, knowing this is going to be a bit of a confrontation. “Can we talk?”

His gaze flickers to his friends, who are still hanging around, laughing and joking. He looks back at you, eyes narrowed slightly. “What about?”

You take a deep breath. “I just… I want to apologize for what happened at the party. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re serious?” He laughs dryly, a little incredulity in his tone. “After everything, now you want to apologize?”

You can tell he’s holding back, trying not to sound too hurt or too bitter, but you know him well enough by now to catch it. You step closer, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “Yeah, I’m serious. I messed up, okay? But can we talk about it, like, without everyone else around?”

Vernon hesitates, glancing at his friends again, who are still chatting, not paying much attention to either of you. He seems reluctant to leave them, but then he sighs and looks back at you. “I’m not sure what we’re gonna talk about that’s so urgent, but fine. Let’s go.”

You lead the way to the small café off-campus, the one where you both have shared stolen moments before. It’s always been a place for you to get away from everything and everyone. Just the two of you. You can’t help but hope this conversation will get you back to where you were before everything got so messy.

When you get there, Vernon still seems distant. He orders a coffee and takes a seat at one of the far booths, clearly not thrilled about being there, but you don’t let it stop you. You sit across from him, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down between you.

“So?” Vernon asks after a beat, his voice softer, more vulnerable than before.

You swallow hard, the guilt rushing back in full force. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought if I just ignored everything, it would be easier. I didn’t want to hurt Jennie, and I didn’t want you to think I was picking sides or something.”

Vernon leans back in the booth, clearly not convinced, but willing to listen. “And now? Now you’re ready to make it right?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his. “I don’t want to keep avoiding you. I never should have ignored you, Vernon. I care about you. I’m just… trying to figure things out.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether or not you mean it. Finally, he lets out a breath and looks away, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know, I didn’t expect it to be like this. I didn’t expect you to pretend I didn’t exist, Y/N.”

The words sting, but you know he’s right. You were too afraid of what it could mean to let yourself be real with him. You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m here now. I’m not running away anymore.”

Vernon doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at you, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, he gives you a small nod. “Okay. I’ll take that.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you.”

He looks at you, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But you still owe me something.”

You raise an eyebrow, confused. “What do you mean?”

His grin widens, the playfulness in his tone returning. “A little honesty. You can’t just tell me that you’re not running away and expect me to believe that everything’s all good now. I want to know why you were so damn scared of me.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you look away, embarrassed. “Vernon, stop.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying teasing you. “Come on. Just admit it. You like me.”

You groan and shake your head, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

He leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just admit it, Y/N. I know you like me, at least a little.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the flutter in your stomach. “Fine, I like you a tiny bit. Happy now?”

Vernon’s grin softens, and he sits back in his seat, clearly satisfied. “Much better.”

There’s a shift in the air between you two, something lighter, more comfortable. You both know things aren’t perfect yet, but you’ve crossed a bridge, and it feels like a good step forward.

For the first time in a while, you’re not dreading what’s to come. You’re just here with him. And, for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The cold of winter had been relentless lately, and you’ve been spending most of your time bundled up in layers of blankets, trying to stay warm while surviving the stress of exam season. Between your studies, your sorority obligations, and the pressure of keeping everything balanced, you’ve barely had time for anything else.

But tonight, when you were in the middle of reviewing your notes, your phone buzzed with a message from Vernon.

Vernon: Yo, I’m locked out of the frat house. Can I crash at yours?

You bite your lip, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is around. Technically, you’re not allowed to have overnight guests, but you can’t help but feel for him. The cold night air must be unbearable, and you know Vernon well enough to know he won’t ask for help unless he really needs it.

You: I’m not supposed to have anyone here, but I’ll make an exception for you this time.

Vernon: Thanks. I swear I’ll be out of your hair by morning. Promise.

A few minutes later, Vernon’s at your door, his face a little red from the cold, looking as casual as ever in his hoodie and jeans. You step aside to let him in.

“You’re lucky I’m a softie for you,” you tease, but the warmth you’re offering him is genuine as he steps inside.

“I know. I owe you one,” Vernon replies, smiling that crooked smile of his that always manages to make your heart skip.

You show him to your room, where you pull out the air mattress you keep tucked away in the corner for emergencies like this. “I’ve got this, but it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world. You’re welcome to it.” You hand him a pillow and a blanket.

He frowns slightly, eyeing the air mattress. “It’ll do.” He flops down on it with a huff, and you return to your side of the room, trying to focus on your notes again.

But the chill in the room isn’t just from the weather. The heating’s been out in the house for the past few days, and no amount of blankets seems to be helping. After a few minutes of shivering under your own covers, you turn to Vernon on the floor.

“You’re probably freezing down there,” you say, already feeling guilty.

He shrugs, but you can tell from his expression that he’s cold.

“I don’t want you getting sick,” you continue. “You can join me in the bed, if you want. It’ll be warmer with both of us.”

Vernon looks at you for a beat, hesitating, but ultimately nods. “Ok. But no funny business.”

“Of course,” you say, trying to hide your grin, but your heart is already racing a little.

He slides into the bed next to you, and you both lie there, staring up at the ceiling, neither of you speaking for a long while. The silence is oddly comfortable, but it’s also loaded—with so many unsaid things.

The two of you just lay there, listening to the sounds of the night, the quiet of your room feeling oddly intimate with him so close.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence with a sigh, his voice just above a whisper. “You know… we’d be great together.”

You snap your head toward him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

His eyes are already on you, his expression serious. “I’m tired of always having to say goodnight and go. I like you, and I want to be with you.”

Your heart does a flip in your chest. You stare at him, your mind scrambling to make sense of his words, unsure of how to respond.

“What?” you repeat, because you can’t think of anything else to say. Your voice is shaky, a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name.

Vernon sighs, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “You heard me.”

He shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours under the covers. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that makes you feel like your heart might just fall out of your chest.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he adds quietly. “I can��t keep doing this—acting like I don’t want more than just late-night talks and goodbyes.”

You feel your chest tighten, a swirl of emotions crashing into you all at once. You want to say something, but words feel inadequate, too small for the way you’re feeling right now.

Instead, you just stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. He’s close now, so close that you can feel the heat from his body, and his eyes are filled with an intensity that you didn’t know he could have.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. What is there to say when everything between you feels so... complicated? So dangerous? You can’t let this happen. Not now.

But before you can respond, Vernon speaks again. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—” He pauses, shaking his head slightly, like he’s unsure of how to finish his thought. “I just needed you to know.”

Your heart is racing. You want to pull away, but something about the way he’s looking at you keeps you rooted to the spot. There’s no denying it anymore—there’s something between you and Vernon. Something real.

But the reality of your situation sinks in like a stone in your stomach. You can’t let it happen. Not now, not like this.

“I—Vernon…” You trail off, unable to finish. It’s like your brain is in a fog, fighting against your heart’s instincts.

Vernon’s hand brushes against yours again, his fingers almost touching yours. “I’m not asking for anything right now. I just want to be close to you. And I want you to know how I feel.”

For a moment, all you can do is lie there, lost in the weight of his words. You don’t know what to say, but you know that the longer you stay in this moment, the harder it’s going to be to walk away from whatever this is between you.

All you can do is look at him, and in the silence of the room, let his confession hang in the air.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The weight of the secret has been hanging over you for so long, and you've finally had enough of pretending. You’ve been running from this, trying to keep your two lives separate, but the pressure is starting to get unbearable. You know you can’t hide it anymore, not from Jennie—especially not now.

You find her in the living room of your sorority house, sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. The warmth of the fire crackling in the background is a sharp contrast to the cold you’ve been carrying in your chest for weeks. You take a deep breath and sit next to her, your heart racing with anticipation.

“Hey, Jen?”

She looks up, a soft smile forming on her lips. “What’s up?”

“I—I need to tell you something,” you start, your words tripping over each other. “About... Vernon. And me.”

Jennie quirks an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Finally,” she says with a knowing look.

You blink, completely caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Jennie laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I was wondering when you’d come clean.”

You stare at her, dumbfounded. “You knew?”

Her laugh grows louder as she shakes her head. “You’re really not the best liar, you know. I could tell something was up, and you weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

“I—" You cut yourself off, unable to form a coherent thought as the realization hits you. “So, that whole time you—?”

Jennie shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, I kept bringing up how much I hated his friend group because I wanted to see how long it would take you to crack. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, but then, something inside you relaxes. You laugh, feeling the tension inside of you dissolve for the first time in ages. “I can’t believe you knew this whole time and didn’t say anything!”

Jennie smirks, her eyes softening. “You needed to figure it out on your own. And hey, you did. So I’m happy for you.”

You feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. All the guilt, the secrets, the tension—all gone in an instant. Jennie is happy for you, and you didn’t have to hide anymore.

With a deep breath, you pull out your phone and send Vernon a quick text:

You: Come over. We need to talk.

The moment your finger leaves the send button, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. Jennie notices your expression and gives you a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Go after what you want.”

The doorbell rings a short while later, and you almost jump out of your skin. Jennie watches you go with a teasing smile, and you roll your eyes before heading to the door.

When you open it, Vernon’s standing there, a little unsure, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes search yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something.

You pull him up the stairs once again, except this time, you don’t have to hide or worry about someone finding out. It’s strangely freeing.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping aside so he can come in. “I, uh… I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and about everything.”

He steps inside your room, looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and hope in his eyes. And for a moment, you just stand there, the space between you two thick with unspoken words.

You take a deep breath, your nerves getting the best of you for just a second. “Vernon, I—I didn’t want to keep lying to myself anymore. Or to you. I told Jennie about us.”

Vernon’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been hiding how I feel for so long,” you continue, stepping closer to him, “and it’s stupid. I don’t want to keep pretending. I like you. I really like you.”

A smile starts to tug at the corners of Vernon’s lips, and without thinking, you rush to add, “I’m not expecting anything, but I just—”

Before you can finish, Vernon cuts you off, closing the gap between you and pulling you into a kiss that feels like the weight of everything falling away. All the confusion, the guilt, the fear—it all melts as his lips find yours, soft and warm.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”

You smile, your heart beating wildly. This is it. This is what you’ve been wanting, and now you’re finally getting it.

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, and you can feel everything shifting between you two—like the world is finally falling into place.

The kiss is everything you’ve been wanting and more, full of tenderness and passion, but also full of understanding. You’ve both been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now it’s finally here.

When you break away, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you smiling like you’ve just found something precious.

“I think this is the start of something good,” Vernon murmurs, his voice full of certainty.

You nod, your heart full. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel truly happy, knowing that you’ve let go of your fears and embraced what you really want.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 i love vernon and i love this song

masterlist.

[sun-kissy]

saudade — chapter 1

★ series masterlist

sirius black x reader

Sirius runs his hands through your hair, nails drawing gentle lines down your scalp. He moves his fingers down to your face, tracing every curve and dip contouring your features with all the delicateness he can muster. The tip of his finger brushes over your eyelid, trails down your nose, and presses into the soft skin around your dimple.

He pinches your cheek; you giggle, swatting his hand away. If heaven were a place, he was sure it would be here, with you. These are the days he likes best, he thinks. When the war doesn’t feel so impending, like it’s lurking around the corner with its claws out. When he gets to love on you like he was born to.

He catches your hand in his, threads your fingers together. He can’t help but ponder how beautiful it is that your palm was made to fit his, the back of your hand moulded for him to press his lips to. So he does exactly that, kissing your hand with a soft murmur of, “I’m gonna miss you.”

You laugh softly. It’s a beautiful sound, like everything about you is. You tilt your head towards him slightly from where it rests on his lap, and flatten your palm against his cheek. “I’m gonna miss you too, babe. But I won’t be gone for long, you know?”

“But still —” Sirius mutters, unable to stop himself from curling your fingertips towards his lips to peck them again. “Three weeks —“ another kiss to your arm as he pulls you up and forces a surprised yelp out of you, “is a long time,” the last one to your lips, threading his fingers through the hair on the nape of your neck. His other arm snakes around your waist to hold you up.

You grin into his lips, besottedness palpable. He feels like he’s melting into you, your soft lips and saccharine smile enough to drive the sanest of the sane crazy. He wouldn’t have noticed if the kiss lasted a lifetime. That’s what soft love does to a hardened man.

You finally pull away, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. Sirius notes how lovely you look in that moment — swollen lips and strands of hair astray, moonlight from the window dappling your skin. You smile, he’s moonstruck. He commits the image of you in this moment to memory — the softness of your edges and the gentleness of your smile; and tucks it away in a corner of his heart for the nights alone to come.

“Three weeks isn’t that long,” you murmur, sighing indulgently as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Besides, I get to send you those crazy talking patronus things that Albus came up with.”

Sirius pouts, pulling you so your back is snug against his chest. “Even a day without you is long enough. And why can’t I go?”

“Because I’m much better at thinking before I act. That’s why the mission was assigned to me.”

“Yeah, sure,” he snorts, playfully flicking your temple before pecking the spot. “You just got lucky, sweetheart.”

You and Marlene were leaving the next day, with instructions to attempt to find the headquarters of the so-called ‘Death Eaters’. It would take at least three weeks, maybe longer. Dumbledore had mentioned finding the biggest lead yet; hoping it would amount to something. The Order had been coming up empty for weeks now. Voldemort and his army were always two steps ahead, such that every ambush resulted in the loss of your own members, every plan foiled before it could even begin. Fatalities were high, morale was low. This mission had to be a success — one way or another.

Sirius had been trying to hide it behind playful quips and whines of how much he was going to miss you, but he couldn’t deny how anxious he was.

He knew that you could handle yourself, and that Marlene was a damn good witch too. He just couldn’t shake off the fear that maybe the Death Eaters were better.

You notice the subtle dimming of his smile, and turn his face towards yours with a finger on his chin. “Hey,” you press your lips to the corner of his. “I’m gonna be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

He breathes out a heavy sigh, and forces a smile for you. “I know you’re gonna be okay. My girl is one of the brightest witches of her age, isn’t she?”

“Damn right she is,” you grin earnestly, giggling when he pulls you into another kiss. If you noticed his fake smile, you didn’t mention it.

Sirius lets himself get lost in the feeling of you, trying his best to ignore the growing sense of dread gnawing at his heart.

[dindjarindiaries]

Risk & Reward

character: Hunter (The Bad Batch)

prompts: "Are you asking me out on a date?" / "I'm not drunk enough for this." / "I think you should kiss me."

warnings: alcohol/drunkenness

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You couldn't understand why you had ever resisted coming here. For once, the boys had actually been right; 79's was the place to be between missions. And no, it definitely wasn't the alcohol talking.

How much had you had, anyway? Most of your glasses had already been taken away, and those that hadn't were starting to blur together...

You were mindlessly giggling at Wrecker jostling a disgruntled Crosshair around when a familiar, low voice cut through the noise in your isolated corner. "Alright, we've had our fun. Time to go."

You let out a long gasp and turned towards Hunter. His brow wrinkled with concern as his stare met yours, and your foggy brain could still process him checking you for signs of distress before you stumbled off your stool to approach him.

"Hunter!" You laughed and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an embrace that, in this state, felt totally natural, despite the fact you had never, ever greeted him like this before. "Hi!"

"Uh..." Hunter politely tapped your back with both his hands, "hey."

"We missed you." You stepped back and patted his tattooed cheek twice. Hunter's brow shot up in response to the gesture. "Where've ya' been?"

Hunter's gaze flickered between you and the rest of the squad who stood behind you. "I've just been doing the rounds, keeping our relationship with some of the regs... amicable enough."

Doing sergeant duties on a night off? Yeah, that was classic Hunter behavior.

"Of course." You huffed and gave his shoulder a playful punch, but it barely made contact with your current lack of depth perception. "Do you ever just relax, Sarge?"

"That's a good point," Wrecker chimed in from behind you.

You whipped your head around to nod and point at him. "Exactly, Wreck, thank you!"

Hunter let out a heavy sigh, drawing your attention back to him—though his stare was on another one of his brothers. "Tech?"

All Hunter had to do was hold out his hand, and his brother provided him with his datapad. Tech pushed his goggles up his nose to hide his smile as Hunter read whatever was written on the vidscreen. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose as he handed the datapad back to Tech.

"And all of you let this happen?" Hunter reopened his eyes to stare vibroblades at his brothers.

"Who am I to set someone else's limit?" Crosshair sounded completely unaffected by his alcohol intake, even if the sly smile he wore was evident in his tone.

"That's another good point!" Wrecker added.

"I was too preoccupied with making note of everyone's intake," Tech responded. "It's fascinating, isn't it?"

A muscle in Hunter's jaw flexed. "Yeah, that's one word for it." He glanced at you and nodded. "We're gonna head back to the ship."

Hunter reached inside a pocket on his belt and set a hearty amount of credits inside Tech's outstretched palm.

"Pay the tab and meet us there when you're done." His brow furrowed at the three of them. "For your sake, make sure I don't have to come drag the rest of you outta' here."

Wrecker saluted. "You got it, boss!"

Hunter let his glare linger on them even as he set a hand on your back to guide you to his side. He then eased you forward, keeping his hand where it was until you were steady enough.

That moment never came.

Hunter's sigh was quieter than before as he slung one of your arms over his shoulders and wrapped the arm he had closest to you around your waist.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he muttered.

"Yeah, well, I used to say that too." You nudged him the best you could in your current position, which saw you practically resting all your bodyweight upon him. "But I'm glad I let 'em finally convince me, because I had fun! Do you know what that is, Hunt? Fun?"

Hunter huffed. "You're asking me that question?"

You shrugged. "I just really wish you'd been with us tonight." Your voice was low in your sudden embarrassment, which was dulled more than it should have been thanks to the haze that clung at the edges of your senses.

Hunter looked over at you before he let out a softer breath. "I'm sorry." His voice also lowered as he went on. "That's not the reason why you had so much, is it?"

You didn't say anything. Hunter took your silence as your answer, judging by the way he tightened his grasp on your waist.

After a few heartbeats, you spoke up again. "It's okay. You can make it up to me later by letting me take you back here. Just us."

Hunter's steps slowed beside you, but you didn't take much notice in your drunkenness. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

You bobbed your head. "Semantics." You spared a glance over at him and smiled. "Unless you have no problem with it, in which case, yes. Yes I am."

Hunter's gaze glittered with amusement and something else you couldn't catch in your haze, but his tone was dry. "I'm not drunk enough for this."

"Hmm. Shame." You giggled and swayed into him. "Could've fixed that if you actually stuck with us tonight."

Hunter at least chuckled at that. His hand on your waist gave it a pat as he nodded. "Next time."

You looked at him with wide, excited eyes. "So there will be a next time?"

Hunter raised an eyebrow at you. "Don't push it."

It wasn't much longer until Hunter was easing you up the steps of the Marauder. The drunken haze was beginning to morph into one of slumber, making your eyelids flutter as you leaned more and more into Hunter. He, of course, was unaffected by the additional weight.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to comment on it. "Hey, you can't go to sleep yet."

You groaned dramatically and pressed your face against his armored shoulder. "Why?"

Hunter set you down in one of the chairs and headed towards the supplies. "Because." He reached into one of the crates and grabbed a canteen. "You need to drink a whole one of these first."

You wrinkled your brow as you took it from him. "Or else what?"

Hunter crossed his arms and stayed where he was, unshaken. "There isn't another option." He nodded at the canteen. "Drink it."

You narrowed your eyes even as you took your first big swig from the canteen. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and leaned back in the chair. "Can I at least get a reward for it?"

Hunter's brow rose. "For keeping yourself healthy?"

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever you wanna call this."

The corners of Hunter's lips started to rise as he humored you. "What did you have in mind?"

You stared at him, racking your mind for something as you drew another long sip from the canteen. But staring wasn't giving you an idea—at least, not an idea other than the deepest, darkest secret you weren't sure you wanted to confess right now. That was the thing about letting yourself loose, though. Those secrets were also going loose, too.

So, as you stared up at Hunter and studied the parts of him that had taken up permanent residence in your mind, you let that secret slip as if it was nothing more than an innocent suggestion.

"I think you should kiss me."

Hunter looked as if he was experiencing every single stage of shock all at once. His head whipped over his shoulder towards the open hatch of the Marauder, his senses no doubt reaching out to make sure you were still alone for the time being.

All the while, you continued drinking the water nonchalantly. He hadn't said no to your suggestion yet, so... if you kept drinking it...

"That's not a good idea."

You frowned as you returned Hunter's gaze. He was harder to read, now, his expression steeled the same way it was whenever he was trying to make a hard decision on or about a mission. It meant he was purposefully cloaking something from you, and seriously contemplating something.

But that didn't make the sting of his words any easier to take.

You deflated, and because everything was still running loose, you knew Hunter could tell. The canteen lowered in your grasp as your arm fell towards the floor.

Hunter knelt in front of you. "Not right now."

He was gentle as he took the canteen from you and brought it back to your lips himself. You followed his direction without much effort, tilting your head back to let him provide you with more hydration. Hunter continued his thought as he did so.

"Not like this."

You blinked innocently at him after you swallowed. "Like what?"

Hunter gave you a pitiful once-over. You winced in embarrassment.

His hand rose to your shoulder. "How about this. When you can actually walk on your own again, you can have the reward that you want." He mumbled the next part under his breath. "If you still want it then."

You perked up at that. "Really?"

Hunter nodded. "Really." He held up the canteen between the two of you. "But you have to finish this."

You snatched the canteen from him and chugged the rest of its contents. When you finished, Hunter's eyes were widened, and he released an impressed chuckle. You held out your arms to him.

"Help me walk to my bunk?"

Hunter huffed and nodded. The rest was a blur after that, but the memories of it all danced across your mind through the night until you woke again with your usual clarity—and a surprising lack of a hangover, thanks to the sergeant's insistence.

You swung your legs out of the bunk and stood. Only one other bunk was empty, making you smile as you easily walked your own way towards the cockpit.

Hunter swiveled in the pilot's chair to face you, hardly concealing a smile as he watched you close the distance over to him. You stood over his chair, crossing your arms as you gestured back towards the bunks.

"I walked here on my own."

Hunter rose an eyebrow. "You did." He sheathed the knife he'd been playing with before you walked in.

Your gaze flickered to his lips. "Can I have my reward?"

Hunter hummed thoughtfully and turned back to the controls. He lowered his hand over a button that caused the cockpit's door to close behind you, making you smile even before he stood to meet you where you were.

"It was well-earned."

And then his hands were on your face, his lips were on yours, and you were experiencing a whole different kind of drunkenness—one that was a million times better than any other.

[kayawolfhorse]

As It Was | Read on AO3

—☾—

Desert nights, in the shadow of the sweltering hours of daylight, are improbably, intolerably cold.

Neither Scar nor Grian had anticipated the biting chill that rose with the moon over the sea of sand dunes, and their castle, for all its formidable glory, had not simply not been built to retain heat. Drafts of frigid air seep through glassless windows and the slats cut along the uppermost edge of the outer walls and drift across the tall rooms, coming to a rest against bare floors. The base’s design works beautifully against the sun’s relentless rays, but the night’s clever fingers find purchase all too easily between every brick and beam.

“I think you’ve straightened that barrel four times by now,” Scar comments from where he’s sitting upon wrinkled covers in front of the furnaces. The bed’s placement is temporary—they have actual bedrooms now, decidedly the most reasonable place for a bed to be, but in lieu of any real chairs in the kitchen, Scar’s willing to delay its relocation.

“It was crooked every time,” Grian answers, and adjusts it again. His sleeves are wound tightly around his wrists, colorful wings held firm to his back, and there’s hardly a plank out of place in the double row of barrels that line the walls. Scar’s reluctance to leave the warmest room in the castle is clearly shared.

They continue to swap idle chatter and half-hearted battle plans until Grian runs out of excuses to linger and they’re both stifling yawns after every word.

“I guess that’s it, then,” Grian says, and his words drag along like stubborn heels wedged in sand.

“Guess so.” Scar makes no move to get up, and Grian remains rooted in place. After a moment of mutual inaction, an idea sparks to gleaming life. “You know, we could just stay here.”

“Yeah, but I’m tired,” Grian says. “Need to sleep at some point, and it’s not getting any warmer.”

“Well, lucky for us both, then, there’s already a bed right here.”

Two ticks pass undisturbed.

“You want to—share?” Grian sputters. His wings splay out slightly, seemingly of their own accord; Grian’s quick to smooth them back down.

“No reason not to!” Scar says. “I’m cold; you’re cold. Pooling body heat would be a very economical move.”

Grian stares at him, and Scar can practically hear the gears churning in his brain before he decides, “We can make adjustments to the castle tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“This is a one-night thing.”

“Sure, sure.”

Scar lays down with his head to the furnaces, scooching back until there’s a nice, Grian-sized spot next to him. Slowly, hesitantly, Grian kicks off his shoes and slides into bed.

The narrow mattress was certainly meant for a single body, and the wall is cold against Scar’s exposed shoulder, but at every point where his other side meets Grian’s is blissful warmth. He resists the urge to melt on the spot.

The space between them is a held breath; just enough tension strings along Grian’s frame to be palpable, and his hand is balled into a loose fist at his hip.

After a moment, when his fingers uncurl in a quiet exhale and start to reach instead of refrain, Scar turns towards him and snakes a careful arm around his waist. Grian huffs, but relaxes his stiff shoulders, which Scar takes as an invitation to draw him closer into himself.

“Dude, you’re like a teddy bear,” Scar says into Grian’s soft hair.

“And you’re a barnacle,” Grian grumbles, and shifts beneath Scar’s grip. Scar releases him, unsure if he’d gone too far, but all Grian does is tug Scar further into his space and tuck his head beneath Scar’s chin. Scar chooses to blame the heat that spreads across his cheekbones on the sudden temperature change. “You’d be warmer with a shirt, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Scar says. Grian mutters something unintelligible, but his argument evens out with his breath; in one last sigh, he’s asleep.

Scar pulls the blanket more securely over them both before returning his arm to its position around Grian. They’ve hugged before, of course—Scar enjoys showering his friends with physical affection, and Grian’s a very huggable guy! The only real contrast is between their usual verticality and how horizontal they lay now.

It shouldn’t feel different. It shouldn’t. It’s rather late to be picking apart how it does.

For all Scar hid from it, sleep finds him with swift assurance, and the darkness pulls him under.

—☾—

It’s been a few minutes since Scar had gasped awake on his final life, gear-less, enchanter-less, and utterly alone. The wind that blows across a lonely mountaintop beyond his hut’s walls is the only sound that dares fracture the silence suffocating him.

His stuff is still back at the Southlands, if there’s even anything left of it. Murmurs of white-hot phantom pain ghost across every part of his skin the lava had touched.

He should go get his stuff. He should gather his few bits of TNT and ignite a trail of ruin within the base of those who have taken so much from him. There should be anger crackling at his very marrow, urging him forwards, avenging his death.

Scar stares at a scuff mark left behind on the calcite floor, and doesn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, the rattle of the doorknob startles Scar up onto his feet and into his usual place behind the just-for-show register. No one has business here anymore—he’d run out of his most precious commodities to sell. His fingers tighten against the counter.

Grian’s near-shoved inside by a particularly inspired gust, and he grunts as he hauls the door shut behind him. Everything about him is mussed; the scarf around his neck, the breaths that fall rapid-fire from his lips, his wings. Scar’s immediate instinct is still to offer a preen. He doesn’t.

“Hello there,” Scar greets instead. What else is there to do? Maybe he can work in a scam before Grian leaves.

Grian’s gaze snaps to Scar’s face before the words are fully out of his mouth. It’s foolish, really: there should be mockery swirling within the amber of Grian’s eyes; teasing pity, or, if Scar’s lucky, fear, but all he can find in the pinch of Grian’s mouth and the furrow of his brow is concern.

“I brought your items,” Grian says, and holds a pair of diamond trousers aloft. “D’you have a place to put them?”

Scar steps back from the counter and gestures to its empty surface. As Grian dumps what meager gear had survived the lava onto it, Scar briefly entertains a fantasy in which he’d sent Grian to deposit the items in the mess of chests outside instead. He supposes he couldn’t have prevented any thievery, should it have arisen, if Grian was out of his sight, but somewhere deep within, Scar gets the feeling Grian agrees that he’s already taken enough.

The sound of leather against wood brings Scar back to the present. He glances down; a book whose cover is marked by Bdubs’ familiar looping handwriting lands next to his pickaxe. A second book bearing Joel’s signature is soon to join it. Contracts.

Scar looks sharply at Grian, who shrugs. “I didn’t see mine.”

“So that’s it, then,” Scar says, and something bitter coats his throat.

Grian empties his bag of a final unlit torch. “I came all the way out here, didn’t I? The contract’s still on.”

“Oh,” Scar says. He blinks. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Grian says. Uncertainty washes over his features in one second; it’s gone in the next. You wouldn’t happen to have tea, would you?”

Scar doesn’t, but from his inventory Grian produces not only a pouch of tea leaves but an entire kettle to prepare them in. He crouches before Scar’s tiny fireplace and fusses about setting water to boil while Scar uselessly rearranges things on the shelves that line the far wall. Against the brush of his fingers, a rack of crystals hanging from chords of string chime softly against each other, and Scar savors the sound; Grian, too, pauses to listen, and continues only when the twinkling has faded.

Long after the dregs of tea have cooled, it becomes apparent that Grian isn’t leaving, and Scar doesn’t understand why. Even his contract didn’t oblige him with this—the stipulations may protect Scar from Grian’s physical harm, and give demand for resources when he needs them, but they’re not really allies, not this time around.

Scar doesn’t know what to make of it. He certainly doesn’t know what to make of Grian’s tired eyes and empty hands as he sits on the floor beside Scar’s bed.

He holds his tongue for an admirably long time. Company is so few and far between, after all.

“What are you still doing here, G?” Scar asks.

Grian stares for a fierce, resolute moment at the floor before answering. He must’ve found the same scuff.

When he looks up, his mouth churns for a second before words start to come out of it. “It’s awfully cold out,” he says. “I figured I’d let the worst of it pass.”

Scar considers this. It really is quite frigid, and where the rest of the server is swathed in the honey-boughed trees of autumn, his mountain sees only the hardiest of evergreens. Dusk brings a fierce bite that threatens to close its jaws around any player foolish enough to traverse its snowy cliffs.

“It won’t get any better ‘til the sun comes out, I’m afraid,” Scar says lightly.

The thing is, Grian’s not lying. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth, either. He’s keeping something from Scar (when’s the last time he told Scar anything, anyway? Scar knows the answer) and Scar can’t figure out what.

Though, Scar supposes, full honesty is hardly a ware upon his own shelves. If things were different, if they stood on different ground and the air between them wasn’t filled with static, Scar would press harder.

He lets Grian keep his not-lie, free of charge.

“That’s alright,” Grian says. He removes the goggles perched in his hair and tilts his head back against the corner of the mattress behind him, closing his eyes. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

Scar gives himself exactly three seconds to breathe before he unclasps his cloak and leaves it on its hook by the door. He’ll have to dig his black one out of whatever chest it’s stashed in tomorrow to better drape over his last life. Carefully, he edges into bed, and once beneath the covers, gives Grian’s shoulder a gentle tug.

A single half-slitted eye flicks up to Scar’s outstretched arm.

“Just for tonight?” Scar asks. He thinks he might be pleading. “A one-night thing.”

Just when Scar’s about to take back his words and encase them in fake laughter, insisting he didn’t mean them, Grian shrugs out of his boots and crawls into bed, and easily curls around Scar.

His hand finds Scar’s own and squeezes, briefly, before letting go. It travels up the side of Scar’s neck—Scar shouldn’t trust this much, and Grian shouldn’t be this gentle—until his fingers twine around a strand of Scar’s hair.

“It’s getting long,” Grian says, and his eyes are far too pained. Scar wonders if he, too, is thinking about the nights they passed a pair of shears between them to trim each other’s unruly mess of hair before remembering that neither of them should care about that anymore.

“Haven’t had time to cut it,” Scar lies. The echo of what’s left unsaid is unbearably loud.

Grian fully retracts his hand; his countenance shutters with it. After a moment, he rests his arm over Scar’s waist. “A one-night thing,” he says, like it’s a reminder.

For all he can foolishly hope otherwise, Scar knows Grian means it. It’s a far cry from countless nights spent scheming in whispers on a single bed whose crevices always held pinches of sand, no matter how hard they shook out the covers. Tomorrow night, he will be alone again.

For the fleeting moments he has him, Scar holds Grian close and aches.

—☾—

There’s a second heartbeat intertwined around Scar’s own between his ribs, and it’s as familiar as a path trodden down by years of use; as foreign as the untouched grass of a new world’s spawn, and its owner lies across the room from him.

The sensation is odd: to share something only ever meant for one body feels like it should feel wrong, like it’s breaking a line of code within the Universe itself. Stranger still is to be so far away from his counterpart, when surely they’ve been melded as one. Every part of him yearns to reach across the expanse between their beds.

Grian’s heart drums out homesickness within his ears. Scar kind of hates it.

“Grian, did you move the diamonds somewhere?” Scar calls over his shoulder. With a collective distaste in organization, the pair of them make for a blight upon storage systems everywhere, but Scar could’ve sworn the few diamonds they had left were right here a day ago.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I moved them further in. Let me grab them.” Grian appears with an axe in hand, and pries up a few floorboards near the back wall to expose a hidden chest. He gestures to it. “Gathered up our iron and TNT supplies, too.”

“You never tell me anything,” Scar muses as he crouches down to grab enough diamonds for a pickaxe. When he looks up at Grian, he’s got a funny expression on his face, like he’s bitten into a melon that’s been left out in the sun for too long.

“I tell you plenty,” he says, and his tone edges into something defensive.

Scar examines a nail. “Didn’t tell me about the secret chest though, did’ja?”

“I was going to,” Grian says evenly. His pale knuckles are in the process of turning whiter around the handle of his axe.

“When?” Scar asks. “After you gathered all the courage you needed to share plans with your teammate? After I’d caught you with red enough hands that you had no choice?”

“No!” Grian must’ve noticed his tightening grip, and shoves the axe back onto his belt. “No, Scar, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it, I wonder? I don’t think you trust me, Grian.”

“I trust you plenty,” Grian dismisses. Liar. Something cracks beneath Scar’s eye. “It’s not like you tell me everything you get up to, anyway.”

“It was a bit of light arson, everything’s fine.” Scar waves a flippant hand. “I can make my own decisions and you should support me in them, as my soulmate.”

“Making enemies behind my back isn’t fine,” Grian says with a glare. “Not when both of our lives are at stake.”

“Sure, but I would’ve told you straight away,” Scar says. “It’s not my fault you heard about it through rumors before I could get to you. You clearly don’t feel the same about what you keep from me.”

“I just didn’t think it concerned you,” Grian mutters.

“Concerned me?” Scar exclaims. “They’re our resources! Why wouldn’t that concern me?”

“Cared. I didn’t think you cared,” Grian corrects himself. A nasty little thing worms its way into his tone as he says, “It doesn’t affect the pandas. What reason do you have to care?”

“We’re supposed to be a team,” Scar spits out. “And let me tell you, you’ve done a crap job so far.”

“Oh, Scar, we haven’t been one for a long time,” Grian says, and his blade softens to barbs wrapped around Scar’s flesh. “Why start now?”

The wire tightens. Scar bleeds.

He doesn’t grace Grian with another word before storming out of the haphazard storage room. Grian can hide any chest he wants, Scar doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

Dread prickles along the nerves of Scar’s palms. The darkness before him is blinding; he can’t see, no matter how wide he tries to open his eyes. Weight presses down upon every limb, and he’s trapped, he’s vulnerable, and all around him, inky blackness roars—

“—Scar? Scar. C’mon, buddy.”

Scar bolts upright. It takes a moment before low torchlight burns into view, and the room around him sharpens. He holds a hand to his brow. It comes away sweaty.

“Scar.”

Right. Grian’s kneeling beside Scar’s bed, his red sweater a bloodstain in the dimness, and his hand hovers close to Scar’s arm. When Scar meets his gaze, his reach drops entirely.

“Yes?” Scar asks expectantly. He had avoided Grian for the rest of the day after their argument, and was asleep before Grian had returned to the base; this is the first they’ve spoken in hours.

“You were having a nightmare.” Grian says, and gestures to his own chest. Scar’s heartbeat had given him away.

“Oh.”

Uncomfortable silence falls between them. Scar fidgets with the blanket and vaguely debates what time it must be.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Grian says. His delivery is lacking, in Scar’s humble opinion, and at least some of that must show on his face, because Grian continues: “Really, I am. I should’ve told you straight away.”

“You should’ve trusted me straight away,” Scar adds. He’s been taken off-guard, admittedly. Grian’s always been the type to argue fast and apologize just as quickly afterwards, but this is the first time he’s said it here. Scar wouldn’t have expected it to come in the middle of the night, but Grian’s also never been one for general reason.

“I should’ve,” Grian agrees. “It’s pretty lousy to go behind your soulmate’s back like that; you deserved to have known.”

“Thank you,” Scar says, a bit stunned.

“We kind of suck at this whole soulbound business,” Grian says, with a humorless little laugh.

Scar shrugs. “We’ll manage.”

Grian’s forehead furrows and he scans Scar’s face before he nods once, slowly, decisively. “Yeah, we will.”

It’s too late in the night for truthfulness, and Scar’s edges are feeling rather raw, so instead of releasing the hundreds of words that threaten to tumble from the tip of his tongue, he extends an arm in invitation to Grian.

Grian doesn’t hesitate to haul himself forwards and settle his head upon Scar’s chest when they’re both properly laying down. Scar might cry. He buries his face in Grian’s hair.

“For what it’s worth,” Grian says, a final breath before sleep, “I’m glad to share a heart with you, as accident-prone as you sometimes are. I don’t think I’d want it to be anyone else.”

Scar squeezes him tighter. Grian hugs him back. The distance gaping between them doesn’t feel quite so insurmountable.

—☾—

“Hi Grian! I’m so sorry, but it had to happen. Thank you.”

Grian’s unblinking stare doesn’t waver. If Scar squints, he can almost convince himself he sees some semblance of life in the stiff form of his body through the water that cascades between them.

“No—this isn’t an apology session, he tells you your future,” Bdubs says, and the group crammed together in the little stone room erupts into giggles. Scar defends his position against their teasing through his own laughter.

Still chuckling, Scott says, “You know what, this can be whatever you want. For Scar, it can be a confessional, and for the rest of us it can be fortune telling.”

“Okay, hold on, one second.” Scar clears his throat and peers back through the waterfall. It’s almost easier to hold Grian’s eyes when he’s not behind them. Scar misses their spark. “I’m sorry that I baby-talked you so much, you were just so cute on your little llama. I’m so sorry that I killed you, but I had to. It was part of the moment, things happen. Thank you.”

Someone gives a short-winded clap.

Scar turns around with a flourish before straightening. “I feel better.”

“Lovely,” Bdubs says.

After the bit has run its course, Scar shuffles aboveground with everyone else and lags behind when they head for their respective bases. When the coast is clear, he doubles back to where Grian’s been left.

First he plugs the water, and in its absence, the room is shockingly still. He then drops into a crouch by the wall next to Grian, and unhooks his legs beneath him until he’s sat flat on the ground, leaning against the cool stone.

“I lied,” Scar says, staring into nothing. “I said I was sorry for killing you, but I’m not. Well, maybe I am. I’m sorry for not being more sorry.”

Will Grian be mad when he wakes? Surely he’d expected chaos upon leaving his unoccupied body on a server like this. It’d be, frankly, unreasonable not to. If anything, he’s lucky he’s not on red, or a shimmering spectator floating through the night!

Scar is briefly distracted by visions of a ghostly Grian wearing a leather jacket as solid as the moral world around him, like when one forgets to remove their armor after taking a potion of invisibility. He voices as much to the real Grian, and the faint echo that follows his own voice is his only response.

It feels wrong to let the stifling hush fall back into place, so Scar fills it.

He tells Grian about the Clockers, and how their tower is coming along. He recounts a funny encounter with Martyn and all of the spectacular ways Scar’s traps have failed. Joel had complimented Scar’s triple kill, Scar can’t help but gloat, and winces when he gets to the part where all three of the players who’d died were yellow.

“You’d be proud,” Scar says. “Almost a quad.” There is something undeniably warm and inexplicably aching in his chest.

“I miss you sometimes,” he confesses, “and it’s silly, because you’re right there in front of me. You’ve got your sunglasses and your bread bad bridge boys—however you say it—and it’s stupid to miss someone you can see, right?”

He tilts his head up and traces patterns in the ceiling. “I’m happy with Mom and Bdubs. I’m not sorry for burning your mansion down or maybe sort of poking around your chests. We both know how Double Life ended.”

From his pocket, Scar produces a bedroll, and he briefly shuffles around to place it where he’d been sitting and re-settle upon it. His legs were getting sore.

“We make a good team.” Sepia-toned kitchens and grey trouser pockets lined with TNT bleed into spiked fortresses and mildewed cities deep underground. “Or maybe we don’t.”

Scar sighs. “Silly of me, isn’t it?”

A stuttering cough jolts Scar from the hazy area between wakefulness and sleep. It takes him a moment to place where he is. There’s a crick in his neck from where he’d been awkwardly leaning it against the stone.

“Of all the places to be, I don’t think this is what I was expecting,” Grian says contemplatively to Scar’s right, his voice a little scratchy.

“Oh!” Scar says, startled. “Good… something, sleepyhead.”

“Scar? What are you doing here?” Grian asks. Scar watches as he clambers out of the hole he’d been put in on unsteady feet. “Actually, scratch that. Where is here?”

“Somewhere under Entertainment Mountain!” Scar frowns. “I think.”

“Right, okay.” Grian’s remarkably composed for someone in his position. “Getting back to my first point, are you a guard or something?”

“You were telling fortunes,” Scar says.

It’s astonishing how different Grian’s blank stare is now compared to his previous state. He shakes his head as if to clear it and says, “Actually, I’ve decided that I don’t want to know.

“You told Scott he’d soon come into a stack of diamonds and promised Bdubs a puppy,” Scar says, just to mess with him.

Grian snorts. “Sad to have missed it.” Something like relief floods through Scar.

“Fun times, fun times,” Scar says. “Off to your bread boys, then?”

“Are you off to your Clockers?” Grian asks. He nearly smirks with it.

“It is pretty late,” Scar says, and his own smile grows.

“The boys will definitely want more of an explanation than what I’m awake enough to give,” Grian agrees. He gestures to the space next to Scar, and asks, “That seat wouldn’t happen to be taken, would it?”

Though their teams will worry, though they’ll wake up tomorrow and join opposite sides once more, Grian’s legs tangle between Scar’s own and his breath puffs gently against the juncture of Scar’s neck. Scar’s fingers dig into the softness of Grian’s sweater. He’s glad Grian had left his jacket behind for taking off for… wherever he went.

“So, what was your fortune?” Grian asks, and Scar can feel the words against his skin. They dance as they fall from Grian’s lips, light and teasing.

“That I’m going to win Limited Life, of course,” Scar says with a grin.

Grian hums. “Guess we’ll see.”

—☾—

Twilight catches between each of the sunflowers’ petals that have not yet been shrouded in the shadow of the wall around Scar’s valley, a pretty contrast to the craters he’s been tripping over on the way home. He catches the edge of the nearest flower between his forefinger and thumb as he passes by and releases it before the petals can tear away.

The glow of his outpost is a beacon; once inside, Scar collapses against the door on weary bones. He’d been set on fire a couple times today, and none of it compares to the burn nipping at his feet now. Exhaustion barely begins to cover the shape of his lungs and every limb.

Scar’s moved to sitting on the counter’s edge with his boots removed when a knock sounds at his door. “Come in,” he calls without looking up.

“You’re in a sorry state, aren’t you.” Grian appears in front of Scar. He’s looking rather disheveled himself—his wings, in particular, are just as rumbled as the rolled-up cuffs of his sweater and the white undershirt that peeks out from his collar.

“Wow, rude,” Scar comments.

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” Grian says. “I came to check on you. Big day, yeah?”

Scar scoffs. “That stupid thing chased me for like—an hour!”

“And you made a valiant effort,” Grian says, and gives Scar’s shoulder a compassionately gentle pat. “I brought a golden apple over, if you need it.”

“Here at Trader Scar’s, stock is looking unfortunately low at this very second.” Scar waves a hand in the vague direction of the barrels on the wall. “Come back tomorrow.”

“At no cost.” The corner of Grian’s lip quirks up.

“Well, in that case…” Scar holds out a palm, and Grian passes him the apple. He takes a bite and savors its sweetness, ambrosia whose warmth runs over top of his wounds without truly mending them. The kindness of the gesture itself soaks deeper, and Scar’s determined to savor that, too.

Grian watches him for a moment. His gaze seems to skirt across every inch of Scar, never lingering on any specific part. “Got any other general ailments?”

“Can’t do much about them, now can we?” Scar shrugs.

“Sure, but I could at least clean them.” Grian’s tone is nonchalant, but his words, Scar knows, are anything but. This matters to him. The corners of Scar’s eyes crinkle.

The Wither—and the rest of the day’s shenanigans—had left a number of scrapes and bruises along Scar’s skin that turning in his task hadn’t fully healed. A dull sort of sting gnaws at the lines of Scar’s nerves, residue from the withering he hadn’t been able to dodge. His legs hurt and his head throbs and there’s a twinge in his shoulder from where Scar had collided with a wall at an odd angle.

His hands are in arguably the worst state of it all; bare to the earth Scar caught himself upon when he tripped, and tight around a bow when he dared to turn and shoot. He offers them up first to Grian, who takes them, one at a time, and cleans away the dirt and blood with invariable carefulness.

From his pocket Grian produces a roll of bandages, which he uses to wrap each of Scar’s palms. The rhythm is soothing, and Grian’s steady warmth is familiar. The pain ebs, if even just for a moment, in the wake of his touch.

“Anything else?” Grian asks after he releases Scar’s hands. Though he remains close enough for his breath to fan lightly across the tip of Scar’s nose, Scar mourns the loss of contact immediately.

“Nothing that can be wrapped, it seems,” Scar says. “You?”

“I’m pretty alright,” Grian says. “I feel like I could sleep an entire week, though.”

“Sleeping on wings looking like that?” Scar says conversationally. “They’ll be worse by morning.”

“Oh,” Grian says, sounding a little surprised. He tosses a half-glance over his shoulder. “They’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense!” Scar says. “I’d be a terrible host if I let a guest stay over in such discomfort.”

“Really, there’s no need,” Grian says, leveling Scar a look. Unfortunately for him, Scar’s thoroughly familiar with his tactics.

“You fixed me up,” Scar says, “it’s only fair if I do the same, right?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Grian says. “I didn’t come over for any deals.”

“Consider this to be on the house,” Scar says. Softer, he adds, “I want to. If you’ll have me.”

Grian’s quiet for a long moment. His wing twitches in seeming contemplation.

“Fair is fair,” he concedes soon after. “Want any help getting into bed?”

“Please.”

Scar wraps an arm over Grian’s shoulder, careful to avoid his wings, while Grian braces Scar across his back. Together they make their way into the outpost’s second room, where Scar’s bed is nestled amidst a pile of chests. Scar tugs off his poncho and tosses it onto the nearest surface, then settles onto the bed against the far wall. Grian perches on the edge in front of him and spreads out a wing.

They really are beautiful this time around, all earthy browns and creamy tans, speckled with spots of black that remind Scar of rich, dark soil. He runs gentle fingers through the nearest plumage, carding out debris and straightening feathers knocked out of place.

The repeated motions are comforting, like petting a cat (and gosh, does he miss Jellie, but he’d asked her once if she’d wanted to accompany him, and she’d meowed back with what he’s pretty sure meant no, thank you very much, death games would be terrible for my coat, and that was that), and after he finishes the section he’d been working on, he runs a flat hand over it appreciatively. Grian very generously allows about three seconds of this, punctuated by a slight shake of his shoulders and heavy sigh, before shrugging Scar off.

Moving on to the next part, Scar asks, “How’s life been with Etho and Cleo?”

Scar can see Grian’s slight smile where it raises part of his cheek. “It’s good. They’re weird, but, like, in a good way. Chill.”

“Sounds like them,” Scar says, and murmurs an apology when he plucks a broken feather. Grian hardly flinches, and Scar knows why it must be done, but he can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt every time. “So the Wither, it was your task?”

“Yep,” Grian says, popping the p. “Me and Etho’s, actually. We had to set up a boss fight between the Wither and warden. Definitely didn’t expect it to lock in so heavily on you, though. Sorry about that.”

“A task’s a task, right?” Scar says. “Thanks for saving me, back there.”

The rift Grian had pried open in the server’s code had left a gash without taking hearts; Scar has the ripped sleeve to prove it. Floating between worlds is hardly pleasant, however anchored he’d still technically been to Secret Life, and solid ground upon his return had been a relief. Even more immensely relieving was spotting the Wither on Scott’s tail instead of his own.

Scar doesn’t know why Grian did it. Though friendly enough, they aren’t teamed.

“It’s the least I could’ve done,” Grian answers, and releases his other wing from where he’d been preening it across his lap. “Are you about finished?”

“Almost.” All that’s left are the tiny feathers at the juncture of Grian’s wings and his back, sprouting from the open panel of his shirt. They’re not particularly out of place, but when Scar smooths them down, he’s rewarded with a shiver that reverberates down the length of Grian’s spine. Grian whacks Scar with a wing. “Hey! You’ll mess up my work.”

“Should’ve thought about that,” Grian says primly before he twists to face Scar and pulls his legs up onto the bed. “It’s nap time, anyway.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Scar says, and collapses sideways, pulling Grian down with him.

The outpost feels all that less lonesome when Grian’s tucked into Scar’s side beneath a blanket of feathers. Grian’s warmth is soothing against Scar’s pains, and for all the questions that still buzz behind his eyes, Grian’s presence puts Scar’s somnolent-syruped mind at something close to ease.

Grian traces slow patterns into Scar’s arm. Scar falls asleep trying to decipher what they could be.

—☾—

The footsteps that pad up the mountain long after Lizzie and Jimmy have passed out are a surprise. What little remains of the reputation board still smolders a mere few blocks away from Scar, and his yellow life sits fresh in his chest. He’d assumed their little arrangement had drawn to an explosive end.

“Come to take your revenge?” Scar asks the shadow over him. “It’s against the gentleman's code to kill a guy in his sleep.”

If Scar admits it to himself, he’s happy to see Grian. From nearly the first second Scar had made his bed, Grian had claimed half of it as his own, and Scar would be reluctant to give up his nightly company, with what ease they slot together in and how warm Grian is looped around him. Scar’s teammates have long given up their protest, but Lizzie declares a continual disregard of principle if Grian’s still around by the time she rises from her own slumber.

“I’m still mad at you,” Grian says, and though he can’t see it, Scar can hear his scowl. “Move over.”

Scar graciously complies, and Grian shoves beneath the blanket. He keeps his back towards Scar and his legs curled firmly away, a display that’d achieve more of an effect if his head wasn’t a breath away from Scar’s on the bed’s single pillow. His feathers are ticklish where they brush lightly against Scar.

“You’re about to fall off,” Scar observes.

“Shut up,” comes the grumbled reply. Grudgingly, Grian scoots all of an inch inwards. “It’s none of your business if I choose to sleep on the ground, anyway. It’d be more tolerable than your company.”

Grian would do no such thing, and they both know it. Still, Scar says, “But the thud, skip, and squawk would definitely disrupt my beauty sleep, so it’s really in my best interest to make sure you don’t go tumblin’.”

“I’ll go tumbling if I want to,” Grian answers, tilting his head to the sky to glare at Scar from the corner of his vision, “and it’d be your fault when I die from fall damage. Again.”

“We’re even!” Scar says. “That’s all in the past.”

“We are not even, and that was like, five hours ago!”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Scar challenges.

“That’s different,” Grian says, flat.

Scar pauses. He doesn’t want to antagonize Grian into actually leaving, not really. The steps to their dance have worn well into his soles, and the shape of his partner is familiar between his arms.

He’d missed Grian. For all of their posturing, twirling the line between enemy and friend, to have him by his side once more beneath the winking moon’s light is a gratifying reprieve.

“A truce, then,” Scar eventually says, “if we’re not even.”

“A truce,” Grian agrees. The anger in his voice has faded like lips pulled over once-bared teeth. Scar can’t quite make out what replaces it, but through the tiredness that seeps in along Grian’s edges, Scar’s fairly certain he’s not about to be bit.

“And friends?” Scar teasingly tries. He can envision the scrunch of Grian’s nose as clear as day when he huffs in reply.

“Not friends,” Grian says. “But beyond someone’s cheap shot, we’re not really enemies, are we?”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” Scar says. Something surges out with aching fingers from the cavity between his ribs where two hearts had once beat in tandem. It’s fun to rile Grian up, but what side he stands on hardly matters in stopping Scar, anyway. It’d be nice, he thinks, to not be enemies.

“Though you’re still dead to me,” Grian says, “we’ve had plenty of practice being enemies before. We can stay affably neutral here if you don’t go taking any more dirty kills.”

Scar shrugs and nods, but he can’t help his grin. “Gotta keep it fresh.”

Grian clicks his tongue in the same way he always does when they’ve reached the same conclusion. Scar’s sure that, if he’d been watching Grian instead of the stars above them, he would’ve caught Grian’s accompanying wink.

“Goodnight, Grian,” Scar says, and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, Scar.” Grian turns fully back onto his side. He scoots in another inch. The blanket undergoes a considerable amount of rearranging before it adequately covers them both.

After everything’s been sorted, Scar reaches out. Grian’s hand meets his own halfway across the mattress. Their linked fingers are awfully close to honesty, and a shared pillow is the nearest Scar’s ever been to trust.

A truce hums behind Scar’s eyelids, and he lets the darkness pull him under.

“And we’re best friends?”

“We’re best friends.”

The sun is shining and the morning feels ripe with opportunity when Scar wakes. Grian’s hold on Scar is fierce even in sleep, and Scar takes a moment to bask in it.

It’s all a bit hard to fully wrap his mind around. They’re allies again—no, better yet, friends. The sensation is apricity against frost-nipped fingers. It’s the light of a campfire and the jaunty melody of the song shared around it. It’s home.

After a tick or two—Grian’s never been one to let too much of the day’s beginning go to waste—Grian shifts and blinks the bleariness from his eyes. Scar’s chest feels impossibly aglow with fondness.

“Hi,” Grian says when he lifts his gaze to Scar’s face.

“Good morning,” Scar says, and, just to make sure: “Best friend?”

Grian snorts. “I meant it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

There’s a mace tucked away somewhere in his inventory, and a thousand things piled between them. Scar remembers sand, and wood, and stone; he remembers sleep-warm skin and linens as soft as a death game can afford beneath his fingertips.

Scar kisses Grian, once, just to feel his startled laugh against his own mouth. They rise in staggered tandem, and Grian pressed his lips to Scar’s temple before disappearing down the mountainside to rejoin his team.

Smiling, Scar stretches his shoulders with a satisfying crack, and goes off to find his own.

[wormwoodartemisia]

[One of my favourite tropes in all variations: getting rescued, one way or the other - and I really need more people to write about it 😇]

I guess enough of us have probably already made certain experiences with that one kind of guys who simply wouldn't let the issue drop when you tell them that you're not interested, no matter what you say (in decreasing stages of politeness), unless...

{Only this time, we turn the tables a bit. 😏}

Claimed

Sometimes you need to be rescued - and sometimes it's the others…

About 5.2k words

Established Ghoap, civilian afab!Reader; (almost) no specific description (except that Reader has got soft hair that's long enough to run one's fingers through + Reader might appear rather tall at some point, but nothing in detail); no use of y/n

Warning: no smut actually taking place, just some references (mostly implied, intention to have sex); taste of alcohol

[[In case you want some more info: first meeting; aggressive, unrequited flirting: pestering and being a nuisance (when 'no' is interpreted as 'try harder' or simply ignored, but neither by Reader nor Ghost/Soap); fake kiss; What do we think about a threesome {MMF/MFM}?]]

Your original plan was to go out and spend some quality time on your own, focussing on nothing in particular, just floating through your own mind. However, it's one of those nights...

The bar is crowded in a pleasant way. When you enter, you can nontheless still get you favourite spot in the small booth not too far away from the bar counter. The perfect place for treating yourself with your favourite drink and indulging in the typical noises here that let you relax after an ardous week full of work. Normally...

The night is still young, you're in good spirits altogether. On such lazy evenings, you like people-watching, in case someone catches your attention. Then you wouldn't actively listen to their conversations, of course, but discretely observe them a bit, guess their mood and wonder what circumstances brought them here. A good training for staying attentive and creative alike.

Taking a sip from your drink, you casually start scanning the taproom with your eyes, when suddenly you notice a tall, broad figure in black appear from the back of the spacious room and lean against the counter, just a few seats away from you. For the shortest of moments the man takes you in and briefly nods at you in acknowledgement. You have hardly any time to reciprocate his gesture before he turns away again to order two drinks.

Of course you remember this stoic man from several other visits here, outstanding as he is, always looking the same, clad in the darkest colours only, his face covered by a black surgical mask he never takes off fully. He's one of the regulars (even if he's sometimes away for weeks), just like you - but you wouldn't have thought that he’s ever noticed you in here, let alone make it known to you...

In all the past months, you never saw him look your way, not even slightly. He always seemed totally concentrated on the guy he kept company - that boisterous, ever-grinning mohawk with his fiercely piercing blue eyes that winked at you playfully one night when you passed them on your way out to head home. A contagious smile. Handsome man in his extrovert personality, but you don't find his mysterious, calm mate any less attractive, though you haven't seen much of him so far, except his short blond hair, some fair skin and now his dark, steady eyes a few moments ago.

You save his expression in your memory. Definitely something worth remembering.

To be honest, these two are your favourite people to watch.

Together, they take a presence in the room that's unmatched, draws you in, clouds your thoughts, if you allow yourself to go astray. You've never witnessed anything like that before. These two men have captivated you right from the start and it took you some time to put it into words: blowing through the landscapes of your mind, Mohawk is a storm, Mask is its eye... They belong together.

Such a beautiful couple (you're absolutely sure that's what they are, you can’t have misread their interactions), radiant energy, all easy-going, just pure affection, content with and enough for each other, never any drama.

Well, there's always a first time...

When Mask picks up his two drinks, he manages to take two steps back into the direction where he came from before he stops midmotion. Mohawk has just entered the stage of your field of vision, approaching fast from the backroom and stepping at the counter behind his mate. He leans his back against it, sighing audibly. You wouldn't need to be as close to them as you are in order to notice his furrowed brows and the tight line of his lips. It's easy to tell that he’s frustrated - massively so. Slowly Mask turns around, handing Mohawk his drink.

"Well, Johnny, no more damsel in distress, I take it?"

"Ach, haud yer weesht."

You can’t avoid becoming a witness to their talk. Despite the other people around, it’s a quiet evening and their deep voices carry over to you easily, closeby as you are, the tension not to be overheard.

Johnny takes a sip, looks at his partner and rolls his eyes. He's just noticed someone behind his friend. You've never seen him that annoyed: "No second act, please..."

Then you see the beauty beeline towards the two men.

You bet every guy in here would give her 10/10 - and you could readily agree - if not for her flawless outward appearance desperately trying to cover up that one specific look in her eyes, with which she holds her chin up just one bit too high. Though, nine of ten would probably gladly ignore that streak of arrogance (- which you feel so obviously oozing off her in case one is willing to take one closer look - ) if that meant getting a chance to know her better - and her pants.

She's all seductive smiles: "How impolite of you to keep me waiting!", she chirps, addressing both men equally, voice like sugar syrup, sticky, dripping. Used to getting what she wants...

Taking another sip, Johnny doesn't even bother to look at her at this point anymore.

First-row-seat, you can watch the drama unfold.

Mohawk: "We'd rather be alone."

Beauty (flirtatiously): "Now we're getting closer. Just my thought. So we're leaving?"

Black Mask: "You are very welcome to go."

Beauty: "Well, you already get me going, mystery, but I'd love to come as well."

You almost choke on your drink. This woman is terrible, fully ignoring both men clearly pointing out that her attention is unwanted! It has become obvious that she must have already been digging on your two favourites for quite some time, finally even making them change their place...

Yet she doesn't stop: "If you know what I mean."

Mask: "We get it, but we choose to ignore the implication."

Beast: "Ohh, playing hard to get, sweets? I like me some good challenge!"

Mask: "Nice. Then show us how fast you can get away."

Beast: "No problem. I'm off in less than one second if you take my hand."

"I'd rather take yer head", Johnny mumbles, but in contrast to you, she can hear him and grins wickedly: "And I'd give you head willingly, Scotty too Hottie!"

She reaches out to him, but Mask's cold voice actually makes her stop.

"Don't touch him."

Beast chooses to let Mask's words play into her favour: "No need to be jealous, killer."

"Go pick someone else."

You're convinced that he'll finally get through to her, but Beast gets distracted.

"Yeah, pick me, sugar! Anytime!", some random guy in passing by turns to her, immediately posing, showing her his upper arm, flexing his biceps, clearly quite taken with her outward appearance.

"Not now", she dismisses him, noticeably annoyed, but he only shrugs, grinning, before calling back over his shoulder: "Change your mind, lemme know, gorgeous."

Mask: "You should go with him."

She gives that bloke a swift lookover. "Not my type."

"We're nae yer type, either", Johnny points out.

Beast: "Oh, but you are. Love that brogue."

Mask: "Let me rephrase: you are not our type."

Beast: "Don't worry, I can become anybody's type."

She wants to touch him, both of them, badly so, you can tell, from the way her fingers are twitching at her side, but something's holding her back. So she does have a slight idea of boundaries, at least.

"We might nae be interested in women altogether", Johnny states matter-of-factly and has her head snap into his direction again.

"Hot - but you've never had a woman like me before, I promise."

"True. And ah hope we'll never meet one like ye again in future, either."

"You won't. I'm unique - and you really don't wanna miss this one chance, boys. I'll make it worth your while."

Rather worst your while, you think to yourself while you notice their patience wearing thin. It is beyond you why she doesn't take 'no' (all those 'no's') as what it is. It makes you angry, this full display of blunt disrespect, every rejection - in decreasing stages of politeness - just a spur for her to try harder, eagerly pushing an ego that is non-existent...

It's now that Mask furrows his brows and rummages in a pocket of his jeans: "We don't find you attractive at all." On finishing his sentence, he takes a look at what he's holding in his palm now, a silently vibrating mobile phone. He shoots the other man a swift glance: "I'm'a take that call now, Johnny. Make her leave." His tone has changed, laced with finality.

Mohawk straightens, the command initiating a subtle but nontheless visible transformation. He responds to his masked partner with one single firm nod: "Yes, sir."

The mask exits.

Beast was quiet during their exchange but now she's biting her lower lip and turns to Mohawk seductively: "Sexy."

He looks at her, the bright summer sky of his eyes now the cold of the frostiest glacier: "Oan yer bike!", a deep, low rumble.

You can sense that this was his last attempt to give her a decent way out - unfortunately she doesn't take her chance: "I'd rather ride you, handsome."

You know this type of person - man or woman, makes no difference. She won't stop.

Mohawk has just realised this sad fact, too. He breathes out deeply and while his eyes are wearily drifting towards the exit, he grazes your gaze for a split second.

Meanwhile, Beast dares to get closer, the attempt of a huntress, about to reach out and - what? Touch his hips?

It crosses your mind that this insufferable person would have already been removed from the bar had she been a man harassing two women. However, with switched roles (and a beautiful woman being after two broad blokes) nobody (except Mohawk, Mask & you yourself) seems to fathom any fundamental problem...

You can see that this might get ugly (situations easily do with people like Beast) - and since you know how things can be... Your turn.

Ready to avoid the catastrophe...

He doesn’t get the time to say anything, nor does she to lay hand on him. You're faster.

Within one heartbeat you've grabbed your drink and pop up at his side, so much out of nowhere, that you manage to catch Beast by surprise and get her full attention.

You press yourself against Mohawk's side (as unobtrusive as possible under these circumstances) and, by reflex, you guess, his left arm comes to rest around your waist, a pose the two of you have fallen into so naturally, nothing odd about it, no hint of hesitation from either of you.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t act surprised. He simply gets what you're doing here - but Beast doesn’t have a clue.

Showtime...

This is the guise you've chosen to present, and you perform artstically: there's a hint of defeat in your features, a slight hue of regret and a thin-lipped smile pointing downwards, emphazising that you know when a game is over.

You make sure that Beast gets enough time to study your facial expression. Then you donne Mohawk a genuine smile: "OK, honey, you win. I am fucking jealous seeing you flirting with some random woman. You were right, I was wrong. It really pisses me off when you tease her. I need this bad charade to end right now or I’ll forget myself", you notice a spark of mischief in his eyes, "And yes, darling, for the records, you have just won our bet. Happy now?"

Mohawk smirks at you, "Wasnae too painful tae confess now, was it, luv?" and makes you wonder how a grin can be so subtle and triumphant at the same time. You can feel him squeeze your waist in affection.

Now you turn to the other woman: "Really good job, dearie, digging on my man, testing my limits. So, have a nice one and farewell."

You can see the wheels in her head turning.

Does she call your bluff? No, at least not yet.

Doesn't mean it's over, though...

She gives you a calculating look-over, probably wondering why this man would be with you [in general, but especially] when he could have her - but she doesn't voice you're not his league, as some might say. She notices his hand caressing you softly, small gestures that make your acting convincing - the final proof, you think, to make her believe your claim is true.

Yes, "OK, I get it, the two of you belong together", but "but then I won’t let that blond enigma off the hook, for sure!"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Pity", a deep voice chimes in. Neither that woman nor you have noticed the masked man's return, his eyes fixed on Beast. So both of you stare at him when he takes one final step, "I'm all hers as well. Actually", to put his arm around your shoulder and drag your body into his possessively, "we're a throuple."

That poor woman is speechless for a second, blinks, flummoxed. "Throuple?", she repeats, utterly dumbfounded, her voice dripping with doubt.

"Aye, throuple, ye ken?", now Mohawk closes back in on you as well, his hand sliding to the small of your back. His once mischievous smile grows darker as he pulls up one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, showing teeth, grinning - it's the wolfish way: "We fuck each other relentlessly and live happily ever after, just the three of us."

The blond wolf knows to add an eloquent thought: "With just the right amount of cocks 'n' holes to take care of, one sweet, perfect cunt. Yours not needed."

Her eyes go wide at their crude, blunt proclamation, a behaviour so different from before, but you yourself can’t help the smirk that creeps on your lips. Too much information for her...

Her eyes dart to the upturned corners of your mouth, the way you can hardly conceal your grin gets her suspicious.

However, your own focus finds a reason to shift when at the same time you feel the two men moving you in perfect sync. While Mask's right hand is sliding up from your shoulder to your neck, his left hand is tracing your left arm downwards until his long fingers can intertwine with yours. Using only soft, sweet pressure, he's holding your hands against your hip. Meanwhile, he's turned your body away from facing the other woman so that your back is firmly pressed to his front.

You feel the outlines of his muscular body, too fascinated to do anything else but comply - and why wouldn't you? It's too delightful a moment not to simply bask in - hyperaware of how your handsome 'darling' has also fully turned to you.

He's the counterpart to the man behind you, pressing his chest to your front, radiating heat that directly pools into your core. It comes oh-so naturally for you to place your right arm on his shoulder, your fingers sliding up his neck and into the soft strands of his hair, by instinct. You could swear you hear him faintly moan in pleasure; you can see dark night dawning in the shining sky of his cerulean orbs.

Caught between two predators, you couldn't be a prettier prey for them to play with... They're a sling that grows tighter around you, a closely woven net you don't want to escape.

You just concentrate on the feeling, let it swallow you whole, relishing in the moment, pretty sure you'll never get anything comparable again.

It's a perfect moment - apart from the fact that it’s not real.

However, maybe that's just what's made it all possible for you - no self-doubts, no fear of overstepping or misreading anybody's signs, no fear of rejection - for you won't ever be close to one of these guys, who aren’t into any woman after all. That has been clear to you from the very beginning, undeniably. Maybe it’s the first time you really feel at ease in a situation that could be part of a fantasy (literally your own fantasy!) - and the way they play along (a bit exaggerated in a way, perhaps) does some good to your self-confidence, despite only being a play pretend.

Suddenly you are pushed back over the edge of reality when the reason behind everything disturbs your haunting demon of harmony.

"You do them both?", Beast inquires, voice too shrill.

Don't let her catch you, this was your idea! Play cool!

Your remark sounds casual enough: "Well, yes... Not necessarily at the same time, though..."

"Not necessarily not at the same time", Mask clarifies pointedly, just loud enough for the four of you to hear and he lets his hips roll against the curve of your arse in one smooth motion that holds enough pressure to softly push you forward.

His partner knows how to catch you, perfect timing, by letting his own lower body meet you less than halfway. If you thought the three of you were close before, then you were wrong. Now you definitely feel the outlines of their dicks against your body. The vice their muscular frames create presses a shaky breath out of you that you didn’t know you were holding. It sounds too close to a wanton moan.

Suddenly feeling caught out, you hurry to hide your face from her in the crook of Mohawk's neck, blushing.

"Careful", you whisper into his ear, in a mild shock regarding your reaction to the two men. Mohawk makes you look him in the eye, tenderly thumbing your chin, and grins like a challenge. The way he then gingerly licks his lips makes him look hungry, almost lets you assume he might actually want to try and get a bite of you... What a silly idea for you to have...

Time seems to stretch and leaves your mind in a dizzy state.

"Lucky you." Her comment startles you. Why is she still there?

You sigh. Ultimately, you've put yourself in this situation - which isn't unpleasant in itself, rather the opposite. So don't be shy in the last few metres. Keep playing until the curtain falls...

"Luckiest girl in town", you confirm and mean it, "Can always have my favourite sandwich whenever I want."

You turn your head so you can have it leaning against the cheek of the man behind you, who closes the distance between your faces immediately. He welcomes the gesture like a purring cat and you feel the low sound vibrate in his chest.

Finally Beast truly takes a look at the two men and the woman who has claimed them. She can’t but feel betrayed. Her face turns into an ugly display of her defeat.

She snaps at both man equally: "You could have just told me right from the start that you got a girlfriend."

"Less fun", Mask comments deadpan and doesn't care about how she looks at him, fury raging in her eyes: "Arsehole! Wasting my time like this with your childish games! Grow up!"

How you despise her for her ignorance, for not letting the issue drop at once unless another woman has put a valid claim on the objects of her desire... How you loathe people not accepting 'No' and blaming others...

There is a jet black feeling boiling under your skin like the most Stygian gloom.

Beast is still glaring at the three of you, she might be even waiting for an apology that will never come.

"We're done talking now", your voice is ice crashing on her heated temper.

Mohawk knows a drastic method to underline your words. He turns your face away from her, his warm hand cupping your cheek, and draws you in. For a kiss...

You feel bold, (wrath coursing in your veins because of her) moving your lips as a tribute to all these Hollywood film-kisses you've seen in your life, mimicking passion; no tongues, no such line would be crossed with him. This will stay safe, you assume.

He tastes of whisky - tar notes and peat with tangy crisp seaweed and smoky bacon swirling on the surface, hints of sweet vanilla. Mouth feel is superb, dark and sweet, grounding you.

How long is this imitation of a kiss taking that you can process all these impressions? What's your flavour on his lips?

The woman watches you kissing for an endless moment, but how would you know?

You're focalised on the open-eyed dance of your mouths that you're sharing with this stranger of your dreams, concentrated on keeping up the façade while the two of you are holding each other's gaze, his boyfriend pressing your backside to his own body. What a strange intimacy...

When you feel the man behind you carefully untangle your intertwined fingers to let his hand find its way between Mohawk's and your own body in order to have his wide palm spread below your heart, his other hand wandering up your neck and into your hair, soft strands gliding through his fingers like liquid silk, a pull that's not a pull, you know that the other woman has finally left.

It's time for you to break the kiss, observing the man in front of you, that smug smile spreading on his delicious lips and reaching into his eyes, half-lidded now like those of a well-fed cat. You are preparing for an awkward feeling to set in, but it never comes. Somehow you stay caught in that surreal bubble the three of you have created.

Should you have a bad conscience towards the man in your back for your having indulged in kissing his partner? You decide against this notion. He has no reason to be upset or jealous, has he? You did nothing wrong, only responding to a kiss, not initiating it yourself; somehow it wasn't even a kiss, all just a fake, a game, nothing serious...

Right here, right now, you don't have the slightest idea how right and wrong you are at the very same time...

[Prepare to learn, dearie dove - choices have consequences.]

"Pure dead brilliant, bonnie", Johnny beams, "Tha was the nicest way out of this fucked-up situation. Ta."

Your proud, sly smile replies: "Just couldn't tolerate her disgusting behaviour anymore." Then you shift your weight to prepare for stepping aside in order to give up the formation of your human sandwich, but the man in your back reaches out his left hand, placing it on his partner's biceps.

Your cerulean bliss smiles impishly at the masked man in a way that leaves no question as to their feelings for each other (Beautiful!) and lets the fingers of his right hand come to rest on Mask's lower arm.

Just a gesture of affection among them, for sure, but your attempt of leaving this flat triangle has failed miserably, keeping you caged between the two of them. (Probably for the better since Beast might still be around!) Anyway, why would you complain? So when his two saphires return to you, you add: "I knew I simply had to do something when she was about to get all handsy with you."

He grimaces in repugnance: "Aye, got too close, that one", then he addresses his boyfriend, "Bloody bint was about tae grab ma bahookie, ye ken?"

"English, MacTavish."

You can hear the grin in Mask's deep baritone.

"Sorry, sir", he's not sorry at all, "Let me translate: my arse." He flashes you one of his flawless smiles and a conspiratory wink you bathe in. Their banter is enjoyable!

Grinning, you present your own theory: "I bet she would have even kissed it right on the spot if you had told her to or simply let her..."

The man in front of you says nothing in reply, but you see his eyes flick to your lips. You feel the weight in your back shift when the tall blond leans forward to whisper in your ear, just loud enough for his friend to hear, too: "I think he liked your kiss much better."

Then you feel a soft press against your jaw that confuses you. Has he just put his masked lips on you?

You need to blink several times, clear your throat and reply: "That wasn't... real. Only some sort of film-kiss. No real kiss, you know?"

"It was lips on lips, hen. Half way up tae geez a winch, eh? Sounds much like a kiss tae me."

"Bloody looked like one as well."

"And tasted so, too. Yer such a nice addin tae Scotch whisky, bonnie."

You swallow - speechless, considering the turn this conversation is taking. You want to come up with some witty remark - but you totally lack any clever ideas... You play for time, reaching out to the bar counter, taking a sip from your drink.

You notice the blond's hand close around his own glas. It's only when Mohawk places his right hand on your hip that Mask lets go of the other's arm. To you it’s nothing but coincidence. The only thing you do know is that Mask will now turn his face towards the bar, away from the crowd, before pulling one sling of the mask off from behind his ear to take a good swig of his beer. You watched him do so many times in the past while you were observing the two of them. - Enough of a reprieve for you to sort out and contemplate your feelings.

You convince yourself that you shouldn't read too much into their flirty behaviour. After all, these two men are a gay couple. You will just enjoy yourself. Clearly no reason to get flustered, right? Have fun and flirt back - and let them kiss you if they like. For your part, you liked the kiss(es?) - real or not!

Then the fabric is back in place and Johnny grins at him, a thin-lipped, intense little smile, that suits his half-lidded eyes: "Ah bet she'd taste delicious with tha drink of yers as well, Simon."

The pale man hums in anticipation, a deep, rich sound, promising. "We shall see."

Still trapped between the two them, you turn to Mask as far as possible, attempting a self-confident smile in response: "Now shall we?"

His right hand lands at the nape of your neck, his thumb ghosting soft circles on your skin. "Guess so, sweet'eart. Or do you think we haven't noticed you staring and watching", your eyes go wide and the crinkles growing around his eyes tell you that he’s smiling, "at any occasion, right, Johnny?"

"Aye, very accurate, Si. Studyin us as if it was her job."

Despite the fact that he's talking to the mask (Simon!), Mohawk (Johnny!) is looking at you solely. "Like some spy, gatherin intel or so."

Spy?! Something in his voice makes you believe that this might not entirely be a joke. On the one hand, you're shocked about the fact that - obviously - you are far worse at people-watching than you thought. How embarassing! But on the other hand, it’s such an appealing idea that they think you capable of actually being such femme fatale. Thrilling! (Or worrisome?)

However, ... what would there be to spy about them, anyway? Despite their scars, testimony of various hardships, they'd hardly be some modern James Bonds...

Well, you couldn't care less! This evening is the most exciting thing since... Oh, don't rack your brains, honey!

You bite your lower lip as not to let them see the wide grin that would definitely threaten to appear on your face. "I'm no spy." A soft smile in your voice can be heard unmistakenly as you are about to look down to where your and Johnny's bodies are touching, but, within a split second, Simon's hand reaches around your throat, with the softest of pressures only, and keeps your head tilt up with his index finger.

"Luckily, you're not", Simon's voice, close to your ear, sends a shiver down your spine.

Johnny's words make it whip straight into your core, the promise of an underlying danger: "Good fer ye, lassie, and good fer us. Win/win situation. Rare enough." His hand seems to burn on your hip. And once more your world shrinks down to these two strangers.

Simon's mask touches your earlobe: "Had a bet whether you would take the first step, doll."

"And what a first step tha was, bonnie, placin yerself in my arms, makin me yer man. Sweetest compensation fer me losing." He winks at you conspicously, daringly, but you are still processing their words.

Simon lets go of your throat when you take your drink again. You drain the rest of your glas in one go.

"Finished?", the Scotsman asks, "Then cummoan."

You glance around the taproom. "Have you seen where she went to after she'd left us alone?", you ask.

It's Simon who answers your question. "Left the bar some time ago with her friends."

You nod, relieved immensely, for you wouldn't like her to come across you sitting here all by yourself. "That's good. OK. Have a nice evening then, you two." You try a good-natured smile. It makes you a bit sad that your night together has already come to an abrupt end.

The roguish look Simon and Johnny exchange with each other goes completely unnoticed by you.

Now Mohawk playfully nudges you with his shoulder, slowly, tenderly, as not to really push you away with it. "Wiz talkin tae ye, hen. Had the impression it got pretty obvious that the three of us would be leavin thegether."

This is an unexpected turn...

You stare at the grinning man in front of you, dumbfounded, kind of, speechless.

Could I possibly misinterpret their intention regarding the things to come?

The way Johnny's looking at you makes unmistakenly clear: he means it; however, they won't coax you into anything you wouldn't want - you can decline, put a stop to it, anytime; they themselves wouldn't offer anything they disliked, either. No obligations.

You turn to get a look at the man behind you. He holds your incredulous gaze, unblinking, followed by one single affirmative nod.

This can’t be happening...

Their directness, sincerity, makes your decision an easy one.

Too good to be true...

A playful smile starts to spread on your lips. You only wish your voice sounded firmer when you finally answer. "I'd like that. So what happens now?"

Johnny's palms run up your arms and down again. "Listen, bonnie: ye set the pace. All ye need to ponder about is the timing, eh?"

"The timing?", you ask, slightly confused.

"Aye. Make up yer mind, take a moment tae decide. We've got plenty o' time. Ye can have anything."

You're still no wiser when Johnny addresses his mate as if you weren't there and listening: "Ah'm curious tae see what she will pick. Ah bet she's already gone through every scenario in her head since she started watching us, our wee minx." Simon slowly nods in response. "Got that impression, too."

On your way out, you're comfortably tugged in between the two almost-strangers who have just happened to become your two boyfriends by accident. Johnny’s got his arm around your waist again, a heavy, pleasant reminder, solid warmth, whereas Simon's massive hand is a crisp burn at the back of your neck, alluring autumn on your skin, the phantom of a chill ready to reach under your surface.

The moment the three of you are out of earshot, the masked man helps you to see things clearly, to understand the transition from fantasy to reality:

"So, how do you want us, love? One after the other - or both of us at the same time?"

[melliemell]

Pairing: Akutagawa x reader

Contents: SFW, hesitant reader (for intimacy), little shit to actual good boyfriend akutagawa, crappy braiding attempts, fluff and make-outs, Approx. 1.3k words

“I don’t see the point in this. It is absurd.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering in the slightest to answer that question. Getting Akutagawa to agree to… this, was a hard enough quest to begin with. No way were you spoiling it by wasting time on useless arguing.

You had him exactly where you wanted. 

“Just keep doing it, no buts,” you sighed, leaning further back. Feeling Akutagawa’s body embrace you from behind was simply too pleasant; and sinking deeper against his chest, your head huddled under his chin as he struggled to detangle another failed attempt at a small braid– it was simply heaven in the flesh. His cute, scrunched up face of concentration-bordering-on-annoyance was the highlight of the show. You found yourself glancing up more often than not, making his attempts at braiding even more bothersome with your movement.

“If you have expectations from this, drop it.” Akutagawa said, gaze narrowed as another lock came loose. His eye twitched. “I can think of better ways to spend my time than this. It will not lead to anything.”

“That’s not the point.” You stretching lazily against him. He was way comfier than the couch you sat on. Having such quick access to his chest made it all the easier to turn and squish your face against it. “The point’s that I like it,” you said, voice muffled. 

“You’re a creature of simple pleasures. What are you, a cat?”

You snorted. “Well… I could purr for you all night long, babygirl.”

Akutagawa’s hands stopped. You never quite knew how far you could go with your teasing. That was the fun of it, really, seeing how he’d react each time.

Akutagawa sighed. He cupped your cheek, drawing you up until he held your chin between his thumb and index finger. Cool gray eyes locked into yours. “I can’t even begin with deciding which part of your statement to address first. Was that a bad joke?”

“I would never joke on such matters. Never,” you said, voice filled the severity found only in honest men. Almost. You’ve been getting quite good at bulshitting lately, you couldn’t deny it.

Akutagawa hardly seemed fazed though. But he was used to your antics, so it scarcely counted. “You’re being ridiculous. At least it’s amusing you.”

You sat straighter, pulling his hand from your chin to rest against your nape instead. “I’m a hard worker. Being funny for two drains a lot out of you, I’m afraid.” 

“Are you by chance implying something?” Akutagawa said, eyes boring into yours. His other hand landed on your waist, pulling you in gently.

He never quite managed to pull his trademark intimidating guy facade since you became partners. But you humoured him still. “Believe what you want to believe, I see.” You ran your fingers through Akutagawa’s hair, drawing a quiet sigh from him. 

“What, are you calling me a bore?” he asked, looking down to your lips/looking down his nose..

Your hand found the hem of shirt. You smiled. 

“Yeah. What you gonna do about it, mister uptight?”

“You leave me no choice on the matter, you scoundrel,” Akutagawa said and your smile grew wider as he leaned in.

The kiss was a chaste, delicate thing. Akutagawa’s lips brushed against your, pointy nose grazing against your cheek as he tilted your faces closer. He was all angles and no tenderness… usually. Drawing out this side of him had specific requirements, and even then it was a hard-pressed battle to win. Even holding his hand for the first time was an adventure; one of many failed attempts and sharp glares of warning. Especially in public, god forbid. 

But now they engulfed you, Akutagawa holding you firmly against him. You could never figure out how to efficiently keep him warm, but it didn’t matter now because every light brush of a cool finger against your nape sent pleasant shivers down your spine. You snuggled closer, your hands sneaking around his waist. Akutagawa hummed in approval against your lips.

You liked those moments, melting into the comfort of it easily. You could have gone on forever, tasting Akutagawa against your lips. Until you noticed a cool hand trail around your back, slowly prying the hem of your shirt loose to stroke against your belly. You tensed involuntarily, feeling his thumb brush beneath your waistband.

“Hey… quick question?” you breathed in between peppered kisses.

“Yes?”

“Are we…” you searched your mind for the right words, only to feel your face begin to flush. “I mean, where are going here? Doing stuff wise.”

Akutagawa pulled back, considering you with a blank face. “Judging by my quite sharp memory–”

You groaned, flopping against his chest. 

“Allow me to finish, please,” Akutagawa said, voice even. “You stated the ability, and I quote– to purr all night for me. Whatever that would imply. How creative.”

You huddled closer, nose poking at Akutagawa’s lower neck. “...yeeah,” you grumbled.

Akutagawa stroked your hair, falling silent for a moment. Too long. You were about to ask if something was wrong when Akutagawa continued. 

“Now,” he said. “I’m not opposed to you making a fool of yourself, it is a frequent occurrence after all–” He shushed your huff of protest. “–but I’ve also acquired a very useful ability of recent. Care to hear of it?”

Akutagawa was guarding his expressions to the notch, ever the image of nonchalance. If it weren’t for the way he spun around his words, drawing out their conclusion with eloquent filler, you would’ve been more worried. 

But this here? Yeah, you were unavoidably being teased by a man who thinks dry–commenting how funny your jokes are is essentially the same as laughing at them.

Please.

You rose up languidly, drooping your head to the side as you eyed Akutagawa warily. Here we go. “Do go on, then.”

Akutagawa leaned in, expression serious. His hand reached up to poke a finger between your creased brow. “I can see this.”

“This what?” you said, feeling lost.

“It’s not there now, but nonetheless– it was.”

“Okey, mister cryptic.”

“Now, now” Akutagawa began, drawing a surprised uhh from you as he spun you around, his chest to your back again. “I believe I was busy with wasting my time.” And his hands trailed to your hair, his clumsy attempts at braididng starting anew.

“But–” you shut your mouth. As pleasant as this was, it didn’t answer anything. You huffed in annoyance. “You’re being the weird one now.”

For a moment no answer came, Akutagawa’s hands stilled to brush liggtly against your shoulders. You glanced back curiously. 

His hands resumed their braiding, eyes focused. “I don’t wish for you to feel… uncomfortable, around me. You were worried earlier. And you’re too expressive; an easily exploitable weakness. Just because I’m not as skilled at reading people it doesn’t apply to you.”

Oh, you stupid man. “So you were worried?”

“I was merely paying attention,” Akutagawa retorted. He stubbornly kept his gaze on his work.

You… hadn’t really noticed, but you did stiffen up a moment ago. It’s not that you disliked his touch, the contrary even. But uncertainty was there and demanding, and pushing things too fast when they shouldn’t be was a tendency you had. A bad one.

You leaned back further, signing contently as Akutagawa brushed against your neck with deft fingers. He really was shit at braiding. But you wanted this, it was the plan. And so what, you were in no hurry for anything, were you?

He was a solid presence behind you; a promise of staying exactly where he was. Maybe you’ll smooch him later again. 

Or not.

Okay definitely you will, but that wasn’t the point. The point was you could just rest against each other here as well, and it would still be enough for both of you, no expectations or pressure.

Man, what a life indeed. 

[thatlittlered]

daffodil | celebrimbor

warning(s): gn!reader in this one, but afab!reader in previous parts

GIF by @quietparanoiac

author's note: if you look hard enough at this gif, you will see me under his apron

all parts of "the craft" can be read here

-.-.-

He seeks you out in the deep of the night, when most others should be abed. Lord Annatar himself seems to possess no such earthly need, but the smiths’ minds and bodies desperately do and he, in turn, needs their hands. He has little choice but to withdraw. Celebrimbor is happy to forego rest, if it will grant him time with you.

 ‘Come with me,’ is all he says. To the ends of the Earth, gladly. He offers his arm to guide you but does not rush or drag you; simply leads the way. It is a path you have walked many times over.

 While in the hours of the morn, Celebrimbor always seems anxious, eager and youthful in his inability to do without your presence, the night has cast a veil of calm over him. A comforting realization that you do not disappear as if a dream when his eye is not on you, and he might be with you whenever he wishes. Wherever he wishes.

 The forge seems larger, somehow, in the shadows. Colder, too, until he notices your discomfort and pulls you further to his side. No elf is known for the warmth of their body, and yet, when he holds you against the rich velvet of his robes, you’d think he was the Sun himself.

 ‘Bear with me,’ he whispers in your hair, ‘it will be more comfortable once I light the fire.’

 You sigh when he leaves your side, even if it is only for a moment. He smiles from where he stands, across from you. The fire casts a warm glow and illuminates his figure as he stands before it. He looks beautiful.

 ‘What are we doing here, my love?’

 You watch him move to light as many candles as can be found around the room. It must necessary, to make up for all the lost daylight. The stars are bright, but not bright enough.

 ‘You asked me to show you the ways of my craft. I would never deny you.’

 You laugh and he approaches you again, cradling your face in his palms.

 ‘At the hour of the wolf?’

 He frowns, ‘Are you tired?’

 Your head turns to kiss the inside of his palm, ‘No, it is you I do not wish to tire. I was simply posing a suggestion, for when the opportunity and time arose.’

 ‘It has arisen. No one shall disturb us now.’

 ‘And what of your rest?’

 ‘I have had many years to rest. Centuries even. My days might be consumed with plenty, but my nights are to be reserved only for you.’

 You cannot help but smile.

 ‘What are we to make then?’

 ‘Whatever you wish. You are the craftsman, and I, your assistant. Have you poured any thought into it?’

 His tender hand moves a rogue strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. Believe what he may about the sharp skill of your tongue, it is incredibly difficult to think when he touches you like this. You, too, have been mercilessly affected by the long-standing illness of love.

 ‘I have, but I am not sure it is achievable.’

 ‘I shall make it so, whatever it is.’

 You smile bashfully, ‘I thought I might make you a daffodil.’

 ‘A daffodil?’

 ‘Yes,’ your fingers dance with his own, interlocking, ‘it was my favourite flower in the meadow I called home so long ago.’

 He smiles so sweetly. ‘And you wish to make it for me?’

 ‘As you have given me the leaf of holly to wear for your lovely city. Daffodils are some of the few flowers that happily grow under such a shrub. I thought it might be fitting, seeing as my heart, too, has grown so much upon my coming here.’

 His eyes shine with unshed tears, overwhelmed with joy.

 ‘We will make it happen then.’

 A chair is pulled for you by his side as he begins to work on the sketch. You peek, just over his shoulder. It is a quick, sloppy drawing by his standards, but you cannot help but marvel at how skilled he is, even at that.

 ‘That is perfect.’

 You see his frown, ‘Are you certain?’

 ‘Absolutely. It is perfect just like this.’

 Your hand comes to rest beside his in a caress, until the piece of charcoal falls from his hold.

 ‘What now?’

 ‘A smith would carve their mould next.’

 ‘Ah,’ you whisper, ‘and what would one who is neither a smith, nor a talented carver do?’ The gentle rest of your head against his shoulder is enough to make his head run empty of thoughts. ‘Would they, perhaps, seek assistance from their beloved?’

 ‘If they possessed your charm, anything they sought from their beloved, they would have.’

 You watch in silence as he works. Skilled fingers carve out the shape of a daffodil, just as his mind had put to paper. It is impossible to look anywhere but at his hands. Hands moving with the precision that only years of love and commitment to his craft may bring. How can one look at the work of the thin blade when the candlelight illuminates the back of them, filled as they are, with prominent veins?

 You wish to touch him but dare not disturb. To what end would a single touch serve any way? You must study him under proper sunlight, in a land forgotten by time, where only he and you might wander, or simply lie naked on fresh grass. A proper, thorough exploration. Every line, every mark and every scar for you to find and admire. To kiss, eternally.

 Celebrimbor, bless his dear heart, seems oblivious to your distraction. Always the worshipper and never the worshipped, no more. You will make certain of it, just as he is making certain now, that the daffodil your heart desires will surpass the beauty of even those born of Ilúvatar’s thoughts. You see it in the gleam inside his eye, in the devoted concentration on his face.

 His smile lights up the world when it is finished. It is hard to discern if his enthusiasm comes from a place of love for you, or for his craft. It might be both, it does not matter. You would not have him choose.

 The mould is perfect when he shows you.

 ‘What now?’

 The Elven-smith is overjoyed to be asked. Overjoyed to share this part of him with you.

 ‘This technique is the most trusted. It is older than you, or I, perhaps even combined.’ His gentle hold on your hand brings you closer to him, his breath warm in your ear as he places an apron on you, ‘Let us find you some gloves, I would not have you injured.’

 Being Celebrimbor’s student is proving to be a much greater challenge than it initially appeared. Not for lack of skill, or guidance, but for the effect his confidence has on you. There is something in the manner he moves and speaks, something about the mess he has made of his hair by running those lovely hands through it. He must have sensed your distraction, but he makes no mention of it and his hands anchor themselves on your own, leading you toward the large canister.

‘Wax melts easily when heated, but the clay I poured around it, is resilient to fire. Once we place it in the furnace, it will melt away and leave behind an empty space in the shape we desire. Afterward, we will pour our metal in this small opening.’

 ‘It is a fascinating process,’ you hum, once the door of the furnace is closed.

 ‘Not as fascinating as watching you do it.’

 You laugh, ‘I am merely following your excellent direction.’

 ‘Is it, excellent?’

 ‘Beyond excellent, I would say, but keep in mind, I might not be the most objective critic.’

 ‘And yet, yours is the only opinion that matters,’ he whispers close to your ear, his hands drifting lower down your arms, where your sleeves end, and skin is peeking out. The touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. ‘You are an excellent student.’

 ‘Truly?’

 He hums positively, ‘A kiss is well-deserved, I think.’

 ‘I hope not for all your trainees.’

 His laugh is lovesick.

 ‘Only for you, my love.’

 He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, letting you happily lean in. You have earned this, after all. His body always slackens when you kiss, as if falling into bed after a tiresome day. You feel it in the way he surrenders control, your soft mouth moving languidly upon his. Your tongue caresses his for a mere moment, and in that second, he lives an entire life. It is only natural he protests when you part from him.

 ‘Should we not keep an eye on the furnace?’

 It is the intensity of his gaze that despite the lack of words assures you that, even if the entire room -the entire world- caught on fire right now, he would look nowhere else but right at you. He would simply stay here, within arm’s reach, for you to do with as you please.

 ‘The forge is mine to burn,’ he almost answers, yet with a playful kiss, he relents.

 When the wax seems to have melted, he, alone, pulls the canister from the fire, unwilling to risk having you hurt. You watch, patiently waiting, while he removes any debris; another unbefitting job for the one he worships. Finally, it is handed to you for a more suitable task.

 ‘Now we must pack the clay in hot sand. Could you see to that while I alloy the metal?’ He asks it so gently, so lovingly, you almost feel bad for teasing him so.

 ‘I will certainly see to the task, Master Smith.’

 A sound of annoyance escapes his lips before he kisses your cheek, ‘Do not call me that. Every apprentice does.’

‘Forgive me, Malthenhir,’ you turn your head, returning the kiss. His eyes soften.

 The chuckle he lets out is almost a whisper.

 ‘I would forgive any crime if that was how you asked.’

 ‘I vow to never take advantage then.’

 The pouring of the metal is a mesmerizing sight. Your ears catch Celebrimbor speaking, but your mind does not register the words. The elven ear is keen, but the heart is prone to distractions, especially those involving gazing at the one you love.

 ‘Now, the back pressure will fill out the details of the mould, and as it cools, it will draw from the gates and sprue.’

 He notices, at last.

 ‘I thought you insisted that distraction does not a good smith make, my love.’ His expression is soft, eyes gleaming with amusement to have caught you. You, however, think he should know exactly what the subject of your fascination was.

 ‘I cannot help but be fixed on your hands.’

  His gaze falls on the back of his palm. ‘What about them?’

  You step toward him, taking hold of it within your own as your eyes meet and stay locked. You touch his fingers to your mouth, an unconventional kiss, but an expression of reverence, nonetheless. He watches as if witnessing a holy revelation.

 ‘They are precious hands,’ you kiss again, ‘skilled in every thing.’

 The flush of his cheeks deepens, but his daring thumb remains on the cusp of your bottom lip, tracing its shape.

 ‘Might I kiss you again?’

 ‘And our work?’

 His arm wraps around you, almost lifting you off your feet. His voice comes out a throaty whisper.

 ‘I believe our work is done for the day.’

 Your forehead finds its place, pressed against his own.

 ‘We must retire quickly then, before dawn breaks and we’re disturbed again.’

 He all but carries you to your chambers; the first night you sleep in the same bed. Celebrimbor glows under your touch, sated with kisses and whispers of love. In complete darkness, as the touch of your hand is lulling him to sleep, he murmurs that he cannot possibly wait a proper year to marry you.

 Come morning, he has daffodils planted under every holly tree in the palace gardens. Evergreen holly for eternal life. Golden-yellow daffodils for hope, and new beginnings.

-.-.-

Malthenhir = (poetically translated) master of golden hands

[aikrus]

"You're haunting me."

i don't think aizawa would let you go easily, and i'm probably not gonna do anything with this

"I love you," he breathes like that explains it all.

You step away and it's so natural these days that you don't even shake.

"I don't know what to do without you."

He's grabbing your wrist, tight but tender and you can feel the sparks traveling from the tips of your fingers straight through your ill stomach.

Looking at him, you can tell just how genuine the words are. He's a mess, glossy eyes and red, patchy skin. His lips are cracked and he seems breathless, he seems desperate.

You've seen him like this before.

"We can't keep doing this," you shake your head and plead he'll understand; but you know better. It's been nonstop in this give and take of yours, as foolproof as the water cycle.

"We can do this," he insists, but there's no point. His grey eyes spark with life and promise and hope, and despite the grimy streets he stood on Shouta was- without a doubt- beautiful in a radiant holy manner.

Last time, you think receiving that look along side the gentle stroke of his thumb across the inside of your wrist was enough.

"I can't."

You don't look at him- refuse to in fact and the tightening of his grip solidifies your resolve.

His breath hitches, it's a rare thing and hurts all the more. "But you love me. And you know I love you too."

He says it like it makes sense, like in this situation that's all that should matter. Still, too many nights were spent awake and in fear.

You knew too much, after the first time you kept seeing through more and more of this glamour he draped over you like a blessing.

He'll keep pushing. He'll never stop if you don't end it here and it's itching at your heart.

"It's not enough."

You wait a second and settle your stomach easily despite the acid rushing up your throat while hiding behind your closed eyes. "You're not enough."

He lets you go. It could be over, but seeing his foot step closer you figured it may take a little more- he's the type to need to draw conclusions by himself.

You rip your now free arm away from him and stumble back. He looks shocked and hurt, and people are starting to not so subtly group together and watch.

"You're a ghost, Shouta; my own personal monster to terrorize my every breathing moment. I wake up in the morning gasping for air and sleep each night so sure I won't open my eyes again."

You feel tears start to rush and let them flow without resistance. If he sees the way people look at him now he might let go a little easier.

"My phone rings and I'm shaking in fear, and I watch my words even though I know it wouldn't matter." He looks at you with a new layer of shock and maybe horror, though after a second it seems like nothing more like disappointment and regret.

You'd thrown the wire's he'd dispersed around the room that morning. He must've thought they'd be harder to see than the cameras, but your lover was known to underestimate you.

"I can't keep living like this." You look in his eyes clearly now, letting the grim expression filled with heartbreak etch itself uselessly in your memory.

He may not believe you yet, but you square your shoulders and speak directly: "I won't live like this."

It sounds like a threat and a small thrill travels up your spine when it becomes obvious he took it as one. Shouta looks positively devastated at the thought of you being harmed in any way, you supposed being upset was harm in a way.

You've had this feeling, and you swear on your soul that it's true, that if you didn't get out now you might never be able to.

"You're haunting me," you insist with one last tear, "and I think it's time to pass on."

You walk straight ahead- straight towards him- and brush past without looking his way. He lets you go, and that's more than you expected from him.

You took step after step with baited breath held in suspension each block. The farther you got the more you were sure; it was your time to be a ghost. You'd disappear, and you'd never have to think of the monster you found in Hosu ever again.

[zeddylux]

Allright I have an attempt at something. Keep in mind these are VERY VERY rough but I need to put my drabbles somewhere or I'm going to forget them and my phones all I've got right now 😅. I'm picturing a scene after a fight that ends in a draw. Vi is not in the best mood but she and Gert are talking outside the arena. I'll take constructive criticism but please be gentle I've never done this before 😭😭

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ - Mentions of alchohol abuse, panic attacks, and police brutality. Enjoy!

The sounds and jeers of the arena fade into the background as they walk along the side. Vi caught a glimpse through the slats in the building of some other poor sap standing alone against a massive opponent. Some might call him a fool for standing up to someone he had no chance against. But those same people probably had no inkling of what it took to survive down here. The pits had opened up after the new checkpoints made it nearly impossible for consistent supplies to enter the lanes. Food that had already been scarce became even harder to come by. But if you knew how to fight and a Chem Barron took enough of a liking to you, you could be guaranteed a meal at least. Maybe even a room if you won enough.

Vi tried not to think about her last round of the night. It had ended in a draw and the powers that be would not be happy. If she wanted to keep her shitty room and a roof over her head she had to start winning. And fast.

Gert walked next to her, excitingly talking about a rally taking place the next day. Vi was trying really hard not to think about how pretty she looked under the glow of the moonlight. Trying not to think too much about the blue and pink eye makeup or the blue in her dreads. These days Vi tried really hard not to think about anything really.

"Come on!" Gert says, slinging her arm around Vi's shoulders, "All you do is eat, and sleep and fight! Come to the rally tommorow before your next one! It'll get you in the right headspace and you'll win for sure!"

'Bold of you assume I eat' Vi thinks detjectingly. These days a 6 pack of beer was easier to come by than anything substantial and besides. Anything to take her mind of the last 6 months. Or 7 years. Which ever.

"I already told you I don't want to go. I'm pretty sure one of my ribs is cracked. I need to get some rest before I get back into the pits."

It was a lame excuse and they both knew it. Vi had fought back to back fights with dislocated shoulders, broken wrists, and bruises up and down her entire body. She had long since learned to ignore her own pain. Real and imagined it was no longer really a factor. Vi only cared about survival anymore. She couldn't bring herself to look any further than that.

Gert opens her mouth to retort but before she can a group of enforcers rounds the corner. Both of them immediately tensed and back into the shadows of the arena hoping the ramshackle structure will hide them well enough. It's close to midnight and darkness in the lanes is no laughing matter. Once the smog settles in there's no seeing what's in front of you. Only trenchers, born here their entire lives walking the same streets every single day have a chance in hell of finding their way around once the sun goes down.

Vi puts herself fully in front of Gert as they both watch the enforcers struggle along the docks. It seems like an ordinary patrol squad clad in the black armor of house Kiramman. One of them slips and partially falls into the oily water cursing as his partners laugh quietly at him.

Vi chuckles lightly and mumbles, "Serves you right."

"Shhhhh," Gert says quietly putting her hands on Vi's shoulders, "Don't draw their attention."

The patrol squad eventually moves on to the lower parts of the city. No doubt heading for the brothels and Shimmer dens to find some easy pickings. They had a quota to meet after all.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief and gently grabs Gerts hand. They peel off the wall and step more into the light. She cups the side of Gerts face gently asking, "Ok?"

Gert nods shakily and presses her head to Vi's.

"All good."

They stay like that for a moment just taking solace in each other. Enforcers had always been a terrible presence in both of their lives but never before had they been so aggressive. Ever since Jinx's painted smoke had reminded Piltover of the threat that lurked underneath topside had seemed all the more determined to remind the Lanes who was really in charge. Random frisks and arrests had become all the more common. And there were whispers of Stillwater opening up their torture chambers for the first time. With the absence of councilor Medarda and Jayce what little conscious the council had gained recently had all but vanished. Commander Kiramman had deemed them animals in her relentles search for Jinx. Worthy of neither pity nor mercy.

"There are rumors" Gert said suddenly, anger creeping into her voice. "That Caitlyn's strike team had one of ours. Someone from Zaun leading them down here."

Vi felt a jolt of panic at the bitterness in her voice. Like icy water flowing down her back. 'there's no way for her to know' she thinks frantically, 'I had my mask on until we reached the sewers, and the grey..' Guilt begins to build in her mind, self-hatred mixing with her panic in a way that makes her long for a drink. Trying to keep her voice steady she asks instead

"Thats probably just hearsay. They were all wearing masks nobody would even know what they looked like," she says nervously trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Gert looks at her with a wry smile. "I dont think it's just people talking. They got down here way to quickly and easily for someone who didnt have help. They say the one who lead them had pink hair but nobody got a good look at her face." Venom creeps it her voice as she straightened up to look at the faraway skyscrapers. The lights of Piltover just visible in the distance through the smog, "They say that coward helped Kiramman with the ventilation system. Released this crazy smog called the Grey to poison us." Gert turns to Vi and cracks her knuckles, a cold look on her face. "If I ever get my hands on that traitor, not even her friends up top would be able to save her."

Vi feels the panic begin to build in stomach, her vision briefly blacking out as her breaths turn shakey. She frantically tries to draw in air but it's like it can't reach her lungs. It's a feeling she's become familiar with over the years but now there's no one to turn to. Caitlyn had abandoned and betrayed her. Her sister hated her and Ekko was still missing. And Gert. If she ever found out what Vi had done, who could blame her for walking away too?

Vi leaned heavily against the wall of the arena fighting to catch her breath as images began to flash through her mind. Vander, Powder, Ekko, Milo, Clagger. And Caitlyn. Gods who was left? Vi had always done whatever it took to keep the family together. Sacrificed whole parts of herself, betrayed her people and for what? To end up with no one and nothing.

Gert looks completely taken aback, rushing over to Vi and cupping her face gently.

"Vi! Vi are you ok? What happened?"

But it's too much. Too many things had crowded Vi's mind. Another girl in another life cupping her face like this, back when Vi still had hope that things could still be fixed. That they could go back to the ways things were.

"I, I have to go," Vi said straightening up and gently pushing Gert away ignoring the concern in her eyes. She has to get away before she hurts her. Like she did with Powder. Like she did with Jinx. There's no telling what might happen when she gets like this. "I'll see you at the fights tommorow."

"Vi wait," but Vi's already turned to go.

She leaps down from the ledge they were standing on to the docks below and starts running. Fleeing really, heading for the ramshackle apartments that house the fighters the Chem Barrons deem worthy enough to keep around. She thinks frantically of the brand new bottle of whiskey Loris had gotten for her. Top of the line. "Piltovers finest," she thinks bitterly. She'll have to explain tommorow but for now. She has a date with a bottle of hair dye and another bottle of whiskey. If she plays her cards right maybe she'll get some sleep tonight. And maybe she won't hear the sounds of her sisters laughter ringing in her head.

[fruvittea]

whispers in the rain part three ✧˚ · .

— ✺ pairing: jay x reader x jake

— ✺ genre: slice of life, angst, suggestive, fluff, childhood best friend, love triangle, college au, slow burn

—✺ synopsis: jay is your childhood best friend. that’s all he will ever be. a summer with jay and his friends changes how you feel for him when jake comes into your life. and jay begins to think that was a mistake.

—✺ warnings: also the members are aged up a bit, specifically niki, so he can have alcohol LOL

—✺ word count: 1.8k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | ...

The vacation was in full swing, and Jay was happy—genuinely happy. He watched you laugh with Jake during breakfast, the two of you whispering about some inside joke from your trip to town the day before. You look radiant, your eyes shining with a sort of joy he hadn’t seen in a while. And for some reason he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. 

She’s finally having fun, he thought to himself, and the warmth of pride settled in his chest. You deserved this. You deserved to branch out, to meet people who made you smile the way Jake did.

The rest of the group buzzed with excitement about their plans for the night. “Let’s hit the bars downtown,” Jungwoo suggested, scrolling through his phone. “I found this place with live music that looks pretty fun.”

Niki, ever the instigator, clapped his hands. “Finally! Time to turn up.”

Everyone agreed eagerly, including you, and before long, the house was alive with the sound of showers running, music blasting, and the chaos of young adults rifling through their suitcases for the perfect outfit. 

Jay didn’t think much about the preparations until you emerged from your room. He was leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone, when he glanced up and froze.

—

You had been having so much fun while on vacation. Being in a place you have never been before. With people you are beginning to know. It all has been wonderful—sun drenched mornings, lazy afternoons, and laughter filled nights. And tonight you were going out and having fun. But something felt off. 

Jake is so incredible—funny, kind, and so attentive it made your chest ache. He has a way of making you feel seen, his compliments coming so naturally. You couldn’t help but wonder if he memorized them or not. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel this special. 

And yet, there was a nagging thought in the back of your mind that refused to leave. 

You haven't spent much time with Jay. The whole reason you said yes to even going on this vacation. It was Jay. 

It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d been around, always somewhere in the background, but things were different. Normally, the two of you would find little moments just for yourselves, creating a bubble that on one else could break into. Now with this trip, it had popped. He seemed content staying on the sidelines, happy to let Jake take over. 

It wasn’t like you wanted Jay to monopolize your time, but his absence felt strange. Unsettling. You…missed him.

Still, Jake made it hard to dwell on that too long. He had a way of drawing you in, whether it was with his quick wit or the way that he listened so intently whenever you spoke. He made you feel lighter, freer, and you couldn’t help but bask in his attention. 

But tonight wasn’t the night to focus on such things. Everyone had agreed to go out, you wanted to have fun and you spent more time getting ready than usual, carefully perfecting your look. A leopard print top that hugged your figure, a black mini skirt, and slim black boots with a thin heel. You took your time scrolling through Pinterest trying to figure out what makeup look to do until finalizing on a sultry smokey makeup look that was just enough for tonight. To save yourself time from curling your hair, you simply straighten it, letting it fall down your back. 

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, put on some lipstick, and walked out into the living room where Jay was leaning against the counter waiting for everyone to come out their rooms. 

—

Jay blinked twice. 

He watched you straighten your skirt and adjust your bag. 

“Is it too much?” The nervousness in your voice made him take a deep breath in. Your eyes sparkled with your makeup. 

“Wow, y/n you look amazing,” Jungwon said, breaking the silence. You looked to your right to see him dressed in a simple black button up tucked into black pants with a belt. “Don’t worry you didn’t do too much, it is perfect.” He flashed you a smile putting his hand on your back before making his way to the living room. 

The whole time Jay had his eyes on you and couldn’t help but have a slight reaction to Jungwon’s flirtatious hand placement. He swallowed hard, quickly looking away. His mind wrestled with the thought that popped up unbidden: She looks beautiful. He shook it off. Of course you looked beautiful. You always did. That wasn’t new. What was new was the tight feeling in his chest, the inexplicable urge to tell you to stay home. He ignored it. 

“Yeah it’s not too much. You look good.” He said. 

“Alright, are we ready? The Uber is on it’s way!” Sunoo flashed his phone before making his way to the front door.

“Wait, I thought someone was driving?” You turned to go to the door.

“Pfft, no, we all wanna have fun tonight.” Niki gave you a wink before following Sunoo out the door. 

—

The streets were alive with the energy of the summer nightlife. Strings of lights adorned the lampposts, and music spilled out of every bar you all walked passed. The group was all smiles, dressed to impress and ready to have a good time. 

After a bit of wandering Heesung found the bar with live music and snagged a table near the stage. The bang was setting up, and the air buzzed with anticipation. 

Jake, ever the gentleman, pulled out a chair for you. You thanked him with a smile that Jay couldn’t help but notice lingered a second too long. The group ordered drinks, laughing and shouting over the noise as they debated what to get. Jay stuck to beer, while you opted for a fruity cocktail that came in a ridiculous glass. 

“Cheers to the best summer yet.” Sunghoon raised his glass.

“Cheers!” Everyone echoed clinking glasses. 

The band started playing, and the music was infectious. It wasn’t long before people were swaying in their seats or getting up to dance. Jake leaned in closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he pointed out something about the band’s ead guitarist. The way he leaned in to whisper jokes, his breath warm against your ear, made your cheeks flush. 

But even as you laughed, your eyes kept drifting to Jay. 

He was quieter than usual, sticking close to Jungwonn and Sunoo, his playful demeanor subdued. You couldn’t help but steal a few glances of him from across the table, the way his eyes lingered on the band playing, his fingers drumming his glass like he was lost in thought. 

Little did you know, Jay caught the little interactions between you and Jake from the corner of his eye. Jake wasn’t doing anything wrong—he was being a friend, perhaps a little more friendly to his liking, but still he wasn’t doing anything wrong and for some reasons he couldn’t stop watching. 

Sunoo nudged him. “You good Jay?”

Jay blinked, realizing he hasn’t said much in a while. “Yeah, just enjoying the music.”

Sunoo gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. 

—

As the night went on, the drinks flowed, and everyone got a little tipsy. The shy inhibitions that had lingered earlier were gone now, replaced by laughter and the occasional bold move. The boys had gone all over the place, chatting it up with strangers, and ordering more drinks at the bar. 

Meanwhile Jake and you were laughing as something together not leaving the table ever since you entered the bar. And then he leaned in, his lips closed to your ear.

“I forgot to mention how beautiful you look tonight.” His voice so low only you could hear. 

“Don’t make me laugh Jake, thats the alcohol talking.” You turn you head to meet his eyes. 

“Partially so, but hey, drunk words are sober thoughts.” His smile sends a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t help but turn away bashfully as he reassured you he meant what he said. 

Out of your view was Jay sitting at the bar sipping on his second beer. Jay’s jaw clenched. “You’ve been staring at them for the last ten minutes,” Jungwon said, sliding into the seat next to him.

“What? No I haven’t.”

“You have,” Jungwon said plainly, sipping his drink. “You’re happy for her, right?” That she’s having fun?”

“Of course I am,” Jay’s response was immediate. Too immediate. 

“Hmm.���

Jay turned to him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungwon shrugged. “Nothing. Just…it’s funny how you’re the only one not having fun right now.”

Jay opened his mouth to argue, but Jungwon was already walking away to an almost drunk Heesung and Niki, leaving him with his thoughts. Jay downed his drink before quickly asking for another. 

He tried to focus on the band, on the rhythm of the music, on anything but the way Jake’s hand rested on the back of your chair or the way your laugh seemed louder when Jake was the one making you smile.

It’s fine, he told himself. He just missed his best friend a bit and that was all. This is what what you wanted. She’s finally branching out.

—

At some point, you excused yourself to go to the restroom. Jay saw his chance and followed, waiting just outside the hallway leading to the restrooms. When you emerged he caught your arm gently. 

“Hey, you okay Jay?” You smiled as you felt his hand reach for you. 

“Yeah, yeah of course! Are you okay?” He asked. 

You looked at him, surprised. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He hesitated. “I just…you’ve been spending a lot of time with Jake. I wanted to make sure he’s not, you know, making you uncomfortable or anything.”

You tilted your head, studying him. Was this his jealous way of saying he missed you? “Jay, Jake’s been great. Why would you think he’s making me uncomfortable? 

“I don’t know. I just…I worry about you.”

You smiled softly, and for a moment, Jay felt like the two of you were back in high school, just you and him against the world. 

“I’m fine Jay. You don’t need to worry about me so much.” 

But I do, he wanted to say. The words hovered on his tongue, unspoken. Instead, he nodded, stepping aside to let you slip past him. You put a reassuring hand on his forearm giving it a gentle squeeze before making your way back to the empty seat beside Jake. He watched as you walked back to your seat, where Jake was waiting with that easy smile of his. 

Jay stayed in the hallway for a moment, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath.

Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he wasn’t as okay with this as he thought. 

[hrrtshape]

giddy for cowboy and 50s starlet dr intro🤞

EMMA'S ✶ COWBOY DR INTRODUCTION.

⋆ ৎ EMMALINA — someone too polished for the dusty trails, yet somehow she  belongs. she’s got aristocratic grace stitched into her movements, but her eyes tell a different story—sharp, restless, and just a little mischievous, like she knows how to play people without letting them play her. coiled red curls peeking out under a dusty cowboy hat, a muddy dress swaying with every stride, and a shotgun by her hip. don't think she lost her girliness, she's still th e desert's doll.

the only daughter of a wealthy southern family, all debutante balls and lace parasols, but i had a rebellious streak the size of the rio grande. fleeing because of an arranged marriage (ugh, the audacity).

i've got nothing but a leather satchel (stuffed with a family heirloom i refused to leave behind and my father's revolver that i dunno how to use) and a determination that burns brighter than a prairie fire. maybe i barter my way through small towns, earning scraps by playing piano in saloons or trading tales about my scandalous escape. also this is where emma begins her kleptomaniac era.

enter the cowboys. maybe it’s a scrappy gang or a ragtag group with their own moral code. one of them’s like, “what’s a girl like you doin’ out here, all dressed up like a painted doll?” they don’t trust me at first (i'm CLEARLY high society), but i prove myself. slowly, i adapt—ditching corsets for prairie dresses, learning how to ride, and picking up a shotgun like i was born for it. and then i start getting my hands dirty. i'm breaking wild horses, and i'm starting to feel... free.

WANTED; dead or alive.

BY NOW, i'm a full-on cowgirl, coiled curls under my hat, sun-kissed skin, boots dusty from riding. no longer the wide-eyed rich girl—tough, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent. when i meet him, it’s electric. he’s heard about me, the rich girl who ran away and carved out a life in the wild west. i've heard about him, the notorious outlaw who’s too charming for his own good. he’s cocky; i'm unimpressed.

the friendship starts with teasing. he calls me “miss annie oakley” just to see me roll my eyes, and i mock his aim when he misses a shot. maybe we compete—who can ride faster, shoot straighter, or charm a crowd better? it’s all fun and games…until it’s not.

soon enough, she wants to pull out a riffle every time someone flirts with her cowboy. don't think he's different, one bad word and his hand's on his revolver. he’s willing to turn himself in to save her, but she won’t let him. cue the dramatic rescue attempt (and a big slap. because. he scared me. that's unacceptable.)

"I HEARD SHE ONCE SHOT A MAN FOR INSULTING HER HORSE." (not true. billy did it.)

𐙚 .ﾟ SKILLS 'N' SURVIVAL SMARTS.

— HORSE WHISPERING : i learn to break wild stallions, but maybe i've got this connection with animals. horses just get me—i'm like a prairie dr. dolittle.

— QUICK DRAW : my dad’s revolver isn’t just for show anymore. maybe i teach myself sharpshooting out of spite or survival, and now i'm outshooting the boys (although i doooo like it when billy stands besides me and shows me his skills. that makes me redder than the colour of my hair).

— CARD SHAKING : i'm scandalously good at poker. i learned at home, sneaking into games with the stable hands, and now i'm hustling gamblers in smoky saloons.

— DESERT NAVIGATION : i've (just) got an uncanny sense of direction. even in the dead of night, with nothing but stars and a whisper of wind, i can find my way.

— MISS LITTLE FORAGING EXPERT : turns out, a debutante can thrive off cactus fruits and prairie plants. who needs tea sandwiches, anyway?

— DIY EXPERT : i'm sewing up bullet holes in clothes (and skin), fashioning tools out of scrap, or repairing wagons like i was born for it. using cactus flowers as hair accessories, weaving dried grass into bracelets, or even painting my nails with desert clay for a matte finish.

townsfolk see her as a vision of grace. she's the girl with muddy hems but immaculate manners, always greeting strangers with a warm smile. they adore how she stop to pet every stray animal, braid ribbons into her horse’s mane, and hum soft tunes while watering flowers outside the saloon. kids love her—she's the one who makes flower crowns for them or helps patch up scraped knees with a motherly air.

whispers follow her wherever she goes.

❝ SHE'S NOT FROM HERE, Y'KNOW. RAN AWAY FROM SOME RICH FAMILY.

they speculate about her past, but no one knows the real story.

despite the ribbons and bows, no one can deny the way she handles a shotgun. a few have seen her shoot and learned not to mess with the girl who can charm their dog and take down a rattlesnake with one clean shot.

PRETTY AS A PICTURE. BUT I WOULDN'T CROSS HER.

. •   .      .     •      .    .•     . •       •    .     •   .      .     •      .    .•     . •       •    . •   .      .     •    

ミ DAY TO DAY ADVENTURES.

she wakes up with the sunrise, even in the middle of nowhere. brushes the dust off her skirt, pins her curls back with a ribbon, and dabs rosewater on her face because yes, even cowgirls moisturize. braids her horse’s mane, adding little wildflowers she plucks on the trail. her horse is basically her desert sidekick, and it looks just as stylish as she does.

boils water over the campfire for coffee or tea, sipping delicately while cleaning her revolver. checks the map she “borrowed” (read: stole) from a passing traveler. decides which town or trail to explore next based on vibes.

billy helps her saddle her horse, though he’s mostly just watching her braid its mane, shaking his head with a grin. she's fussing over his revolvers.

the gang takes on an honest (or not-so-honest) job moving cattle. cue her comedic disaster with wrangling stubborn cows.

[enbysiriusblack]

2000 follower event

thank you sm for following my silly little blog <3 ily all. i also cannot think of anything sappy to say, so ig that's fucking it? anyway. on with the event !! 🎉 which is queen themed. cause i couldn't think of a theme and then my brain was just 'hey your fav band is queen do that' and so,, i did.

prev pinned post

send me an ask of either the emoji and/or the album name for which one you want:

👸🏿 queen- send me a character/ship and i'll write a drabble for them

👸🏻 queen ii- send me a character/ship and i'll write a poem for them

🫀 sheer heart attack- send me a ship and i'll write a oneshot long enough to post on ao3 (ONLY! for ships i ship, if you aren't sure if i do, then you can check my blog info or just ask me)

🎶 a night at the opera- MUTUALS ONLY! send me an ask, and i'll make you a playlist

🐎 a day at the races- MUTUALS ONLY! send me an ask, and i'll make you a moodboard

📰 news of the world- send me a character/ship/trope & i'll give you a handful of fic recs

🎷 jazz- send me a character/ship and i'll make a playlist for them

🧩 the game- send me characters/things/whatever to play fmk or cym (specify which one you want me to do!)

⚡️flash gordon- send me a prompt & i'll write something for it in 5 minutes

🔥 hot space- ask me anything you want to get to know me! (i'll answer practically anything other than like my address/full name/phone number)

⚠️ the works- send me a character/ship/prompt & i'll give you a shitty drawing (this is honest btw, i have never once been humble. the drawing will actually be shit i promise)

🪄 a kind of magic- send me a character & i'l give you at least 5-10 other fictional characters they are similar to

🔮 the miracle- tell me your fav/some of your fav films or tv shows, and i'll give you a list of recs

🍆 innuendo- send me a character and i'll overanalyse them based on their name

😇 made in heaven- give me a bit of info about you & i'll ship you with a marauder era character (if you have a preference for gender pls specify! and if you'd prefer a platonic shipping, also specify that!)

event will last until the 6th december

tagging some mutuals i appreciate a lot <3

@obviouslyaweasley @werewolfenthusiast @soulfullives @albi-bumblebee @oliveroli1 @transsexualpriest @stellar--sapphic @mrstellmeafuckingsecret @jmslov4srs @blitheringmcgonagall @eef--stars @hellojuiceboxbaby @definitionoffuckup @vulcajes @juniperpyre @kawaiibarty @lonely-linn @marylily-my-beloved @transsexualpriest @evansisasadist @aidens-ocean-galaxy @in2tswft @haunting-hufflepuffs-basement @poolpvrty @cjrocksss @euphorial-docx @marlenemckinnonslovebot @hxlda-hxlda @seekmemystar @syrmaluna @dieonysian @browngirl-inthering @arakhnee @poetrypirate @drownedlove @faggylittleleatherboy @louspideyverse @imagineacoolusername @garden-of-runar @corwnvus @ethercain

[treefory]

Wings of Snax LORE DUMP

Filbo and Liz as mudwings, Snorpy and Floofty as nightwings, Beffica and the journalist as rainwings, Cromdo and Triffany as sandwings, Chandlo the seawing, Wiggle the skywing, Gramble the silkwing, Wambus the leafwing. Shelda the hivewing, and Eggabell the icewing

Idk if I’ll ever draw Clumby or alegander but Clumby would probably be a seawing while alegander would def be a nightwing.

I think this cross over AU would happen after the third ark although I haven’t finished it yet lol

Explanation of Wings of Snax lore under the cut

Okay time to yap

So about 1,500 years before the first ark, the nightwing island’s volcano erupted and made the island a horrible place to live. So the queen started sending out expeditions to find a new island to live on. On one of these expeditions was a nightwing animus (who is unnamed, but we will call her animus). Animus and her team finds two islands, while they were there, they decided that it was large enough to house all the nightwings. But the weird thing about this island was that it was full of MASIVE bugs! (Island gigantism) the team decided it was good enough to be their new home. When they went to tell the queen, she decided that they shouldn’t move to another island with an active volcano and how she should just use animus’s powers to fix their current island. Animus was like “that’s bullshit and I don’t want to spend my life following your orders”. So they got a group of night wings to follow them to the bug island under the promise that they will be their queen. When they all got there they named the islands brokentooth and snaktooth

Animus’s first order of business as the first bugsnax queen was to transform all the bugs on the island into food. Animus also casted a spell on herself and any future rulers so that she and her successors couldn’t die from old age so that they could rule the island for hundreds of years. However, years after they first arrived, the population had grown rapidly and Bugsnax began to run out, so the dragons became desperate for food. Animus who had gone mad with power was fed up with the constant complaining and decide to kill two birds with one stone, and said “everyone on the island will become what they eat!” Which started snakification and killed off anyone who was eating too much. But this wasnt enough to fix things so animus made it so that the bugsnax wanted to be eaten so that they would kill more dragons. At some point animus made the island out of bugsnax and dug holes to execute dragons in as sacrifices to make more food.

Okay let’s take a break to explain what snakification is. Each bugsnax contains a little bit of animus magic and when you eat them, that magic becomes a part of you until it wears off. However even if you are fully snakified, you still don’t have enough magic to cast spells. Now let’s continue with the story

One day she threw in a dragon to be killed by the pit, just like all the dragons before her, but out of pure determination and the desire to fix their terrible home, she rises from the bugsnax with a new body. (We will call this dragon queen) queens over snakified body had limited animus powers, only being able to control anything made of bugsnax. And in a desperate attempt to kill animus she sunk brokentooth island while animus was still on it, which killed her.

After that, all the dragons moved to snaktooth and set up their cities in the desert, beaches, and forest. Some dragons feared the animus might still be alive, so queen made the four boss bugsnax to fight any queen that wasn’t her. She also made one on brokentooth to attack animus if she was still alive (she isn’t tho) as years pass, she proves to be a good ruler having settlement and villages popping up and growing constantly. Even if she can’t fully reverse the aggressive spell on all the bugsnax, she made it so that most don’t attack anymore. All is good on snaktooth… for now

Hundreds of years later, a seawing name seabeard who was famous for traveling the seas decided to travel up north, away from the sea kingdom out of curiosity. This was ment to be his last voyage and he had taken a crew of multiple dragons from different tribes with him on a ship. On their travels they get caught in a storm and crash land on to snaktooth. However, now it’s empty with no signs of dragon life. Seabeard and his crew never returned back to their homes. This starts kicking up questions of what took down a whole ship and an esteemed captain. Soon rumors got out about an island named snaktooth that kills everyone who steps foot on it. this is enough to keep most dragons away, but those who do venture to the island never return.

Soon Elizabert and her wife, Eggabell, travel to the island and are the first to return alive. Liz wants dragons to join her on an expedition, but everyone is skeptical and doesn’t believe her. But out of the entire world, 12 dragons do and are willing to go with her.

:P