#and his method of making friends is telling them what their name means

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Completely opposite from his father, who is the king of nicknames, Asparagus very rarely uses any sort of shortening of a cat's name, or nicknames or even affectionate call cards like "dear", unless he is very close with that cat.

He also just happens to be very interested in onomatology, so that's a bonus. Or not. Depends who you ask - some cats rather like being swept up in those sorts of 45 minute explanations.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ɪ ɴ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ ⸻

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Bruce Wayne is a man shaped by tragedy, a billionaire with an iron will and an unrelenting sense of justice. But beneath the stoic façade lies a broken soul. When Bruce becomes obsessed, it isn’t violent outbursts or chaotic behavior—it’s cold, calculated, and methodical. He doesn’t lose himself to obsession; he leans into it, weaponizing his resources and intelligence to keep you close. After all, what is Batman if not a man who cannot let go?

Maybe you’re someone he met at a gala—a rare individual who caught his attention without trying. Maybe you’re an employee at Wayne Enterprises, someone who treated him like a person rather than the playboy billionaire. Or maybe you stumbled into Gotham’s darker corners, and he saved you as Batman. Whatever the case, Bruce finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn’t been to anyone else in years.

At first, he tells himself it’s curiosity. You’re intriguing, sure, but nothing more. Yet he can’t stop thinking about you. Every word you said, every look you gave him, replays in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. And Bruce, has to understand why.

Bruce doesn’t approach you immediately; instead, he observes. He justifies it as caution. After all, he’s Batman—he needs to know everything about you to protect you.

He learns everything there is to know: your name, your routines, your friends, your secrets. He watches you through security cameras, listens to your conversations through bugs he discreetly plants, and even monitors your online activity.

But to Bruce, this isn’t invasive—it’s necessary. How else can he ensure your safety in a city as dangerous as Gotham?

As Bruce Wayne, he’s charming, attentive, and subtly magnetic. He uses his wealth and influence to insert himself into your life. Invitations to exclusive events? Job offers at Wayne Enterprises? He makes it impossible for you to say no without coming across as ungrateful.

As Batman, he’s your silent protector, always one step ahead. If you’re ever in trouble, he’s there—appearing out of the shadows to save you. He doesn’t speak much when he’s Batman, but the way his gaze lingers on you feels almost suffocating.

You’d never suspect that the billionaire who’s so eager to help you and the vigilante who seems to always be around are one and the same.

Bruce’s obsession manifests in his need for control. He doesn’t see himself as possessive—he sees himself as protective. You don’t need to worry about toxic friends, late-night walks, or bad decisions because Bruce will take care of everything.

If someone gets too close to you, Bruce doesn’t lose his temper. Instead, he uses his resources to quietly remove them from your life. A coworker who flirts too much? Suddenly transferred. A friend who badmouths Bruce? Their secrets mysteriously come to light.

“It’s for your own good,” he tells himself. After all, Bruce believes he knows what’s best for you better than you do.

Bruce is painfully self-aware. He knows his feelings for you aren’t healthy, and he hates himself for it. But his guilt doesn’t stop him; it fuels him. He rationalizes his actions by convincing himself that you’re safer with him watching over you.

“I’ve already lost so much,” he whispers to himself late at night in the Batcave, your face flickering on the monitor in front of him. “I can’t lose her too.”

In his mind, his obsession is just another sacrifice he makes for the people he loves. He can bear the weight of being a monster as long as it means keeping you safe.

Bruce rarely shows his jealousy outright—it’s subtle, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If you mention another man, his jaw tightens imperceptibly. If someone touches you, his eyes darken, and his hand lingers a little too long on your shoulder as he pulls you away.

Behind the scenes, though, he’s ruthless. The man who asked for your number? He’ll find himself the target of a police investigation. That friend who keeps trying to set you up on dates? Suddenly, they’re avoiding you without explanation.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says when you start to notice how people in your life seem to vanish. “Gotham is dangerous. You can never be too careful.”

Bruce’s obsession remains controlled until you try to distance yourself. Maybe you’ve started to feel smothered, or maybe you’ve realized that the people disappearing from your life aren’t coincidences. When you confront him—whether as Bruce or Batman—he’s calm, almost unnervingly so.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says, his voice steady. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in without me?”

If you try to leave, that calm facade shatters. He won’t hurt you—never you—but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you stay. He’ll cut off your options, isolate you, and remind you that no one else can protect you the way he can.

“You think you’re safer without me?” he says, his voice laced with desperation and anger. “You’re wrong. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out. I’m the only thing standing between you and harm.”

Despite his obsession, Bruce’s love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. He wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand that his actions are suffocating you.

There are moments when the mask slips—when Bruce is just a broken man trying to hold onto the one good thing in his life. Late at night, he’ll hold you close, his voice trembling as he whispers, “You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. Not after everything I’ve already lost.”

In those moments, it’s hard to tell where Bruce Wayne ends and Batman begins. To him, they’re both the same—a man who would do anything to protect the one person he can’t live without.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[t0rturedangel]

How about the Hazbin hotel gang with seraphim child reader who just somehow appeared after ep 8

╭ . . . 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 ੭

𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⿻  𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦??

⌦ 𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 ﹕angel dust - swearing, just him being him. Alastor - ill intent, possible swearing. Mentions of killing, mentions of blood. Nifty - she tries to kill you, dw you dont die. this too me so long im gonna cry

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ okay, firstly just know that the crew goes fucking crazy- I mean they just fought an entire army of exorcist angels and killed Adam, the first man Adam!! So they all think that you're sort of there to try and punish them all for it, so they all get ready to attack (even though you're LITERALLY a child, children are wild though)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ that's until Charlie, bless her heart, recognizes you (and depending on if you tried to defend her in court just like Emily) and rushes up to you, holding her arms out happily- thats until Angel Dust surprisingly tries to stop her

"It's you!" Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in a pleasant surprise, you were the third and youngest seraphim and much like your older sister Emily felt the need to defend Charlie and her idea of redemption- the thought of allowing those who suffered to see the error of their ways and correct them and then given their reward of eternal peace sounded brilliant, much like Emily you were horrified to learn of the exterminations. You were the first one to openly agree to what Charlie had said despite Adam's comments and facial expressions, you also helped Emily in trying to make the court see what was wrong with this method, unfortunately your plans did not work, though Charlie remembered your efforts and clearly she enjoys your presence. At the glee in her tone, you smiled and stepped forward, wanting to give a hug to the princess of hell though paused in confusion when someone looking oddly like a spider stopped her.

"Woah there toots!" the spider called out to his friend, grabbing her arm to halt her movement- Angel dust was staring both you and Charlie down- a look of uncertainty and distrust painted all over his face "Why ya going to rando angels? what if they were sent down here to finish the job for Adam?", Angel did have a point- you appeared put of no where and was just standing outside the hotel? pretty suspicious.. though Charlie is quick to cool things down "Oh no no no! They're alright, they're a friend! They mean no harm at all- in fact [name] was one of the angels who supported my idea!" she turned to you joyfully, smiling from ear to ear "We can trust them!" ... "okay but how did they end up here? in uh hell?" Husk piped up, his voice full of boredom- or annoyance (you can never really tell with husk, what an odd man) "Oh I fell! ... or rather- I threw myself out of heaven" you happily answered the question, giving everyone a quick second to process what the actual fuck you just said.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ thats how you joined the hotel! Pretty nice innit??

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Charlie adores you! you're such a sweet little thing, you're a sweetie and are just so kind to everyone!! (at least that's what she likes to think)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she thinks of you as a little small sibling!, after all you're the youngest of the team and act just like her, plus she always wanted a little sibling so you're perfect!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ any ideas she thinks of or any redemption exorcises she runs them by you- to see if they can be more or less effective to get her friends into heaven

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Since Charlie could only stay in heaven for so long, she loves to ask you about heaven and how it was like- always being so invested in your stories, she honestly cannot get enough of them!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ also, Charlie is... painfully aware that she can never get into heaven, ever. Afterall, she's not only a hell-born but also literally the heir to the throne of hell so yeah there is no chance for her redemption, something she cannot handle- she cries knowing this but now that she has you- someone who ran from heaven, actively choosing to leave and come here gives her comfort. Now she'll never be alone, she has you and you have her!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ At first, Lucifer was startled and untrusting of you- you're a seraphim, someone that was just like him and could possibly actually take him down despite you being an actual child.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ over time, the king of hell did grow warmer to you, after all he sees a bit of himself in you. Both ex-angels, both hate heaven.... it's like you're his second little one!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Sometimes, when lucifer isnt busy with his actual child, he hangout with you- entertaining you with his magic while you return the favor with little stories and things, sometimes you even create little gifts like flowers for him.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Lucifer vows to keep you safe, even though you can easily take down hundreds of sinners and even overlords, it's paternal instincts what can i say?

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ this man totally makes you ducks- he has enough experience in making ducks so you know own a few dozen in your hotel room- how lovely!!

𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ oh this man, this radio demon. He's out for your soul, absolutely hell-driven to get it, and it's all for power (who could have guessed)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He doesnt like kids, in fact he can confirm that he absolutely HATES children though he will act all kind and lovely to you- remember though it's all an act! don't fall for it, he just wants your soul (if he gets your soul, your angelic soul? fuck- he'll be even more powerful than before, having an angel's soul would make him practically invincible!)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ This guy, funny fella really. HE CANNOT BUGGER OFF. Whenever you need help with anything he's the first to appear and offer a helping hand- and then in return as a favor back asks for a deal- is he serious? (yes. he always is)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Alastor though also, much like everyone else becomes a a bit soft for you- occasionally creating those little weird shadow creatures to play with you, since everyone around you are adults and are busy it's a way of keeping you entertained when they're busy

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He, also, understands that you are more powerful than him- and knows that if he gets on your nerves enough he'll probably become dust.

𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ at first, Nifty only had one goal: to kill you (hey don't blame her! Charlie told her to stab and she's still under that impression)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ good for you though!! coz you fly up right as she even tries to stab her dagger through your chest- Charlie and Vaggie immediately grabbing nifty to stop her from moving and killing you.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ after the whole misunderstanding, Nifty actually enjoys begin with you! you're clean, and help kill bugs (well really it's you pointing the bugs out to Nifty and her killing them)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ You're, unsurprisingly, taller than Nif so she likes to climb up on you and sit on your shoulders or stand on your back while holding onto your shoulders. She finds you the most comfortable to climb- plus she can hide in your wings and be used as a secret weapon.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she adores playing with roaches with you- while you are grossed out by it slightly, you still play to entertain Nifty (then after you sanitize your whole body about ten times)

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel tends to avoid you, not out of hate or spite or anything- it's just.... well he is aware of how he is and well he doesnt want to ruin you in the sense of his dirty talk and swearing.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ though occasionally he finds himself stuck looking after you, which is.... fun.... no i mean really its fun as fuck!!! Angel makes all sorts of jokes, offers you alcohol (you did almost take it if it werent for husk and practically everyone else to all collectively pry the bottle of vodka out of your hands)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel dust also teaches you some very creative swear words! so now, whenever you feel like talking you run around screaming weird insults at people, Alastor has heard you shout "EAT ASS AND DIE HORSE FACE FUCK BITCH!!" a few times to random sinners

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ The... star, is actually proud of teaching you those words- hey if you wanna stay in hell you gotta act like it!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ hides you away from Val- though somehow you still find out about him, and when you learnt how he treated your spider-friend.. uhm, the studio was in smithereens and val was close to death- now permanently loosing his right arm (just his right arm for now)

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐊

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ to you, Husk is like the weird- drunk uncle who just got out of prison. Though, he's the cool drunk uncle.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk doesnt really speak to you, which is brilliant coz you dont really speak- so the two of you communicate through looks and gestures, leaving everyone in the hotel watching you two 'talk' very confused.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ never gives you alcohol, no matter how much you ask with 'cherries on top' and if he does catch you with any intoxicating drinks he snatches them off of you- scolds you a bit then drinks the beverage himself.... hypocrite

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk helps you avoid Alastor, he doesnt want to see you being under his clutches, you dont deserve that you're just a kid.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He also teaches you how to do magic tricks just incase you ever want to become a magician... and sometimes he teaches you how to play card games- or how to gamble

𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ In all honestly, Vaggie is very much threatened by you- because like, do i even need to say it?? YOU'RE A SERAPHIM !!!!!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Buttt as long as Charlie is okay with you and you don't pull any stunts to try and sabotage the team you're alright! Just dont try anything.... please

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she accidently treats you like a soldier sometimes- a habit from her exorcist days, speaking of you could immediately tell she was one of those angels and while you did not like her at first you grew to like her- viewing her as a second older sister

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ you and Vaggie sometimes sit and remember old times in heaven- and you'd ask about the exterminations, though quickly stopped after noting her discomfort.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Vaggies also likes to try and swap weapons with you- to see if she and you can handle other weapons (unsurprisingly you both adapt quite quickly)

[taegimood]

What do you think are the ways txt would make you needy?

(Like calling you pet names, starting to get touchy...)

–😺

nonnie!! ooooh this thought.. i’m gonna assume you mean intentionally? sorry if i’m wrong 🥺

──────────────────────

txt knowing just what to do to get your attention and make you needy for them..

yeonjun is all about teasing touches. fleeting ones - ones that make you wonder if he meant to do that as your thighs rub together longingly. (of course, yeonjun always knows exactly what he’s doing). he’ll stand just a little closer than usual, enveloping you in his scent, his warm breath fanning over your neck as he leans over to “see what you’re up to” without ever actually touching you — or his hands skimming lightly over your waist as he passes by you in the kitchen, hard bulge brushing against your ass on purpose — or his nimble fingers trailing along your thigh as he “helps you fix your shorts” because you just look cold, is all. (which of course causes you to actually shiver). he especially will bring out the more intimate pet names to really get you going, too. “you seem tense, kitten..” (cee wya 👀) or “what’s wrong, sweet girl?” 🤤 he really is a sly fox, huh?

soobin gets extra touchy. not in a sneaky way like yeonjun, because he knows that the more direct he is, the wetter your panties will be when he finally takes them off of you. soobin generally tends to be on the shyer side — so when he gets bold with you, all nonchalant as he sits you over his lap to “show you a video he found” or even going as far as to have you taste test something he’s baking by “innocently” putting an icing-coated finger to your lips for you to suck clean… well, there’s no way your pussy isn’t gonna be throbbing. he definitely uses your hand kink to his advantage as well. will come up behind you and massage your shoulders under the guise of helping you de-stress, meanwhile right before he steps away he’s sneaking his hand around to graze your throat.. a caress that has you reeling before he’s walking away leaving you high and dry 😩 (or wet, rather)

beomgyu is a MENACE. will shamelessly and infuriatingly have his hands all over you, but the second you try to reciprocate, he’s waltzing away to “go do something he forgot” or just straight up not letting you touch him back, dodging you as he giggles in your face. he just loves being a brat and a tease. you’re standing on a chair trying to decorate your shared bedroom wall, and he’s using that as his chance to squeeze at your ass — you squeal in surprise and he’s laughing, laying on a smooch and then a solid smack as he walks away while you’re left standing there like 😦. he’ll say the most unhinged shit, too. out in public and everything when he whispers “would love to fuck you dumb in those” right in your ear as you pass by a lingerie display window. your gasp has him grinning to himself, especially when he can tell just how much it effected you from the wobbly way that you tried to shove him after in defense..

taehyun is outright with it. similar to gyu, he doesn’t beat around the bush, but he does, however, make you want it. where beomgyu is big and teasing with his methods, taehyun on the other hand.. one look from him has you squeezing your thighs together. that look, which he gives you when he wants you all to himself. out with friends and his eyes are boring into yours from across the table, or he’s seated beside you and you can just feel the heat of his stare.. he’ll have your thigh beneath his large palm, massaging his fingers against your heat while casually carrying on a conversation with your friends, ignoring the way you’re trying hard not to whimper at his touch. other times you’ll be milling about, organizing stuff around the apartment, when you look up to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, just watching you — before you can even ask he’s stating so matter-of-factly, “i want you.” the heat that INSTANTLY pools in your panties is record-breaking. and he knows it, too.

huening kai’s usual sweet touches come with an edge when he’s trying to get you hot and bothered. he’s still sweet! but.. there’s a little something else there, too. he’ll brush your hair off your forehead innocently, and in the same motion, he’s dipping his head to press a hinting kiss beneath your ear. gentle hand at your waist as he guides you past him, but wait, is it your imagination when his hand slides forward to press against your lower belly..? this man is always pet name central, but when he wants to stir you up, there’s almost a teasing, deliciously condescending lilt to them that you find yourself questioning whether or not you really heard as your breath catches in your throat. he’ll make sure you know for sure, though, when his hand gently grips your chin so he can press a kiss to your forehead with a smug little smile and a cute crinkle of his nose~ accidentally slipped a little dom kai in there oops 🫣

[angellesword]

Love Is Not Black and White, It's Purple (Like Your Eyes) | JJK (oneshot)

Summary: You and Jungkook are not soulmates. The fact that you have been married for ten years but still see in black and white proves that.

It is never an issue for you two until…

"Jungkook, my eyes… they're purple."

Jungkook's heart stops.

You can see colors now. It only means one thing:

You have met your real soulmate, and it's not Jungkook.

Genre & Content Warning: soulmate au, housemate au, mention of murder, past child abuse, domestic violence, fluff, crack treated seriously, attempt at humor, marriage au, established relationship, kissing, blind!jimin, fashion designer!taehyung, alcohol, cursing, HAPPY ENDING. (tags are just for formalities, but tbh this fic isn't heavy at all)

Pairing: Detective!Jungkook x Fashion Designer! Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

****

Out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it would still not be as effective as listening to you talk.

"Jungkook, my eyes...they're purple."

Really. You don't need a plastic bag, a rope, or a pillow to suffocate Jungkook. With your harsh words, Jungkook could feel the air leaving his lungs.

He can't breathe. The terrible realization asphyxiates him: you--his best friend--his wife, can now see colors. For a moment, Jungkook doesn't know what to make out of the fact that he's now alone in this monochromatic world—a place where people see in black and white until they look into their soulmates' eyes.

Jungkook has looked and drowned in your calamitous eyes before, but he never saw hues.

"Jungkook...?" 

Distantly, Jungkook hears you utter his name, but all he can grasp is you will abandon him. Jungkook is rarely wrong. He's a detective, after all. One word, and he can deduce the situation, making this whole ordeal more painful.

"That's..." Jungkook intends to hide his hurt, but he feels his voice getting choked up. He has no choice but to pause.

However, you are thrilled to hear what he has to say, so Jungkook forces himself to continue.

"...great. You, that's great. So great!" Perhaps repeating the same words can convince him that his statement is true. It's not. Jungkook's heart breaks when you beam at him.

Calm down. Jungkook tells himself. But he can't. Everything hurts. His heart, his soul, his words.

"So, tell me. Where's the divorce paper? Should I sign now?" Jungkook's words hurt like a knife. They cut your heart into pieces. 

"What the fuck are you talking about." Your face falls. "Shitty Jungkook, are you kidding me right now!? I'm not leaving you for someone I just met!"

Now, something about your reaction takes Jungkook's breath away. Maybe it's the anger that quickly turns into panic as you take in Jungkook's words. Or perhaps it's the apparent trembling of your lips as you desperately speak of your promise of forever. Either way, your fear-inducing expression somehow reassures Jungkook.

You and him are not over. Not yet, at least. 

"I'm just kidding~." Jungkook chuckles and clicks his tongue, "Of course, you're not leaving me. I'm the only one who can tolerate you, ya know?"

The joke doesn't lighten your expression at all.

"Jungkook, I'm not leaving you," you repeat. The assurance is softer this time, and despite the lack of color in your eyes, the detective can see determination in them.

Jungkook puffs out air. His heart aching a little less.

"I know, darling." Jungkook stops his jokes. He engulfs you in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that ever again." You wrap your arms around Jungkook's waist. "You're my best friend. I love you, alright?"

****

10 Years Ago; 2013

Unlike others, your relationship with Jungkook is reversed.

"Let's get married."

"The fuck?" You choke on your water the second Jungkook opens his mouth. "Are you high again, bastard!?"

You punch Jungkook mildly. The latter moves away, exaggeratedly cradling his jaw. "Ow! Why are you always so violent? Can't you hear me out first? I'm being serious here!"

"Serious?" You laugh incredulously. "You just asked me to get married!"

"Exactly!" Jungkook ignores the painful thug in his heart. "It's for our benefit. Didn't you say you want to live in PM Village?"

Apartments in PM Village are too damn expensive. You and Jungkook recently finished college; your individual income is not enough to cover the monthly amortization of a house, but it's different if your incomes are combined.

"You're crazy. We can't marry because of a fucking house, Jungkook!" You are still not convinced.

"Why not?" But Jungkook intends to change your mind. "We're both single, and divorce won't be difficult in the future. We can just tell the court we've found our real soulmates. Besides,"

The newbie detective drags his words, knowing that he'll be able to convince you in the end, anyway. "You're gonna be rich soon. You don't have any living family members anymore. Do you really wanna give away all your money to the government when you die?"

"Why? Is giving my money to you any better!?"

"I can at least maintain your wine cellar," Jungkook shrugs. "And just think about the tax benefits! Don’t you hate Hoseok-hyung for siphoning your money?”

You open your mouth to speak, but damn. Jungkook’s last statement has convinced you already. Nose flaring, you say, "Fine!"

It's like music to Jungkook's ears. "I need your full confirmation."

Jungkook really wants you to say it. You fold your arms across your chest, "Fine, Bastard! I agree with your absurd proposition. Let's get fucking married."

At the age of twenty-two, you and Jungkook tied the knot. Ten years later, most of Jungkook's predictions have come true: you two have settled in PM Village—a warm home with a wine cellar awaits you after a tiring day. You have also become so rich that you often have issues with Jung Hoseok, your country's tax agency commissioner. Thank fuck there are good lawyers out there to clear your tax cases. 

You clearly have everything life can offer. If you want, you can divorce Jungkook now, but ten years later, you are still very much committed to your best friend.

*****

Present; 2023

You insist on telling Jungkook who your soulmate is. Admittedly, you can tell that Jungkook finds the whole storytelling unnecessary. You are married, but it's not as if you two are in love with each other or something. Nope. Jungkook only sees you as an annoying woman with whom he cohabitates.

"So, has Technology asked you on a date yet?" Jungkook asks without looking at you. He's busy filing his nails, acting as if shaping his nails into perfect ovals is more important than conversing with you.

"First of all, his name is Taehyung. Not Technology, you asshole. And no, he hasn't asked me out." You exhale. "I mean, not yet. It's not a big deal, honestly. We just met yesterday." 

Translation: give my soulmate some time.

"Right." Jungkook mocks and yawns, finally glancing at you. "You know, if I meet my soulmate, I’ll immediately ask them out. I can’t waste time.”

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "We both know you just can't wait to sleep with them."

"He-He. You caught me~." Jungkook half-smiles before returning to the previous topic very smoothly, "So you're saying that if Techno—Taehyung asks you on a date, you'll say yes?"

"Will you mind if I do?" You sound nervous.

The sole purpose of this conversation is for you to test the waters with Jungkook. You both went on dates in the past after ensuring that the other was comfortable with the set-up. You are married, after all. It won't bode well with the both of you if cheating rumors erupt, especially in your respective workplaces.

Admittedly, it has been long since you two last went on dates. You were both busy with your jobs. Besides, isn't it exhausting getting to know strangers? Jungkook doesn't want to waste his breath on nosy people asking why he chose to be a detective, and you would rather ditch your date than deal with them bargaining for discounts once they find out you’re a prominent fashion designer.

Going out with strangers has become a nightmare instead of a fun way to meet your real soulmate. Because of this, you and Jungkook decided to just take each other out whenever you wanted. It's not exactly a romantic date. Sure, there's darling as a pet name, kisses under the moonlight, and wrestling who'll pay. But that's about it. You don't dare to do more.

Your partnership is of greater importance than sex and in-the-moment confessions. You don't want to regret it comes morning.

"Why would I mind?" Jungkook finally answers, feigning happiness. "I'll personally thank your soulmate for taking you out, honestly. I'm tired of you forcing me to take you out on dates. It's about time I meet new people, too."

"Right." You swallow your disappointment and the faint ache in your chest. "Who wants to go out with a shitty bastard like you, anyway? Go meet others! It's not like I care!"

Another fake smile blooms on Jungkook's face.

"Whatever you say."

*****

Kim Taehyung is the name of your soulmate, and the man Jungwon has been investigating for the past three days.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, here's all the information I can find about Kim Taehyung." Jungwon stifles a yawn as he approaches his mentor's table. He almost winces upon seeing Jungkook's monitor.

The older detective has many tabs on his computer, all related to Kim Taehyung.

"You're still investigating him?" Jungwon can't mask his surprise. "Jungkook sunbaenim, just what did Kim Taehyung do!?"

"He's a thief, Jungwon-ah." Jungkook accepts the files from his mentee without sparing him a glance

Jungwon dramatically gasps, his sleepiness fading away because of the scandalous information.

"Really? What did he steal?"

"A precious little thing." Jungkook is viewing Kim Taehyung's baby photos. No one knows how he found them. "Look, he's not that cute, right?"

Jungwon doesn't answer, lost in thought. What could Kim Taehyung have stolen? His Jungkook sunbaenim said a precious little thing. Could it be a diamond ring? Or...

"Tanzanite?" Jungwon shrieks. "Did he steal tanzanite, Jungkook sunbaenim!?"

"Huh?" Jungkook turns to his mentee with a furrowed brow. He suddenly remembers what he said to Jungwon, and being a good actor whose words consist of 10% truth and 90% lies, Jungkook can save himself by saying, "Yeah. He stole tanzanite —authorities said it was very expensive. Come, Jungwon-ah. Let's catch this thief."

****

You aren't lying when you say you won't divorce Jungkook because you 'met' your soulmate. No, your partnership is beyond colors. However, it also doesn't mean you’ll relinquish your connection with your soulmate.

The deal is this: You and Jungkook will stay together until you know your soulmates better. After that, you two can decide what to do next. In short, a simple meeting doesn't guarantee you would want to spend your entire life with your soulmates. You both have heard many stories before that not even real soulmates find romantic love with each other—some remain platonic soulmates, while others go as far as killing each other.

You and Taehyung's case seems to fall to the normal expectation of society: meet as strangers, get to know each other until you become friends, then fall in love and get married.

Unlike Jungkook pulling you in a reverse direction, Taehyung intends to drive you on the right path.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, aren't we breaking the protocol?" Jungwon covers his face with a newspaper, whispering softly in case the suspect hears him. They are currently inside a small coffee shop near Aurora Fashion Lane. Based on Jungwon's investigation, Kim Taehyung works as a designer for the company in the same building as this coffee shop. In fact, Taehyung is slowly becoming a regular customer here.

"Shouldn't we call for backup?" 

Jungkook ignores the younger detective. He squints his eyes hard, focusing on the table near the counter. Jungwon discreetly looks in the direction Jungkook has his eyes on. A woman with a similar haircut as yours is sitting there.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, isn't that your wife—"

"Ssshh, Jungwon-ah. Shut up for a moment. I can't hear them." Jungkook regrets not choosing a table near you and your date. Damn it. You probably won't realize he's here—not when your attention is focused on stupid Technology!

"Stay here. I'll be back." The older detective stands up abruptly. Right. If he pretends to look at the menu before ordering something, he can hear whatever you and Taehyung are talking about:

"Exactly. They should've added another layer of lace. It pairs well with jacquard." Jungkook hears you say.

What the heck are they talking about? The detective muses.

"Ah, unfortunately, the customer hates laces. Apparently, her father made her wear laces that itch." Taehyung responds.

"Poor Elise. I understand why she prefers satin dresses."

Are they talking about work? Jungkook thinks to himself again. He only snaps back to reality when the cashier smiles, asking if he's ready to order.

Jungkook orders drinks for him and Jungwon before moving closer to the soulmates' table. You and Taehyung have stopped talking, though. Confused, Jungkook tilts his head to check what's happening, but someone seizes his wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jungkook hears a classic greeting, yet he still freezes. Only one person gets angry seeing him.

"Oh, hi, you~. I didn't see you there." The detective beams while prying his hand away from your iron-like grip. "What a coincidence!"

"Coincidence, my ass!" You grit your teeth, "Tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of a way to translate, 'You were smiling through your phone yesterday while texting your stupid soulmate. I didn't want to invade your privacy, so I hacked his messages instead,' into something that won't ignite your anger.

In the end, Jungkook manages to simply say, "Why? Can't a detective have his coffee?"

"Jungkook." you utter sternly, "This coffee shop is an hour and a half from your workplace. You also don't drink coffee."

As if on cue, the barista says Jungkook's drinks are ready. The detective picks up his drink and sips it. "What was that? I can't hear you over my delicious caramel macchiato with whipped cream and seven pumps of caramel sauce, topped with small marshmallows, chocolate chips, and sprinkles!"

"For fuck's sake!" You let out a torrent of abuse, your face morphing into disgust. Seeing color intensifies your emotions. The colorful toppings in Jungkook's drink make you want to vomit. "Get your ass out of here, you tasteless bastard!"

Jungkook doesn't budge. He shoots you an innocent look, "Why are you shooing me away? Am I disturbing you and your date? Where is he, by the way?"

Taehyung went to the comfort room, but this was not the point. You hiss, "I'm not on a date. Taehyung and I are discussing work over coffee. How the heck did you even know we're here?"

Another question Jungkook doesn't have a ready answer. Fortunately for him, Taehyung is back. Your furious expression melts at once. Your fake personality makes Jungkook gag.

"Hey, should we head back?" Taehyung's voice is deep. This is the first thing Jungkook notices.

"Yeah, let's go." You smile at your soulmate.

Another thing Jungkook notices is how handsy Taehyung is. He touches the small of your back, leading you to the exit. Jungkook's expression darkens, and Jungwon, watching the whole exchange like a hawk, suddenly decides to act.

"Stop, you thief! Leave my mentor's wife alone!" Jungwon has the handcuffs ready. He's rushing in Taehyung's direction. Jungkook's eyes widen, only relying on his fast reflexes to stop his mentee.

He trips Jungwon, causing the younger detective to fall to the ground.

"Jungkook, you bastard--!!"

All hell breaks loose after that scream coming out of you.

****

'Disaster' is the only word to describe Jungkook's attempt to stalk his wife. He didn't plan for things to escalate to the level where he had to trip Jungwon to stop him from arresting an innocent citizen like Taehyung. You got so mad that the older detective had to apologize, making an excuse that they were detectives on a mission gone wrong. Jungkook remembers smiling apologetically at Taehyung, telling him to cut Jungwon some slack because he is a newbie detective.

You knew everything leaving Jungkook's mouth was bullshit, yet you played along with Jungkook's excuse. You clearly don’t want the issue to escalate further. Thankfully, Taehyung is an understanding man, telling Jungwon to be careful next time. You aren't as forgiving as your soulmate, though. You called Jungkook over the phone, yelling you'd kill him if he went home tonight.

Jungkook has no choice but to seek shelter at Namjoon’s house.

"Let me guess," Namjoon sighs upon seeing Jungkook at his doorstep. "You've angered your wife again, didn't you?"

"Namjoon-hyung! That's a mean guess. Can't I visit my friend?"

Namjoon remains expressionless. "You only go here whenever you and your wife fight. Your wife will think I betrayed her if I let you in."

Jungkook hmphed. "My wife already has beef with your soulmate and, by extension, with you too. So just let me in, will you?"

Namjoon releases a breath when Jungkook pushes the door open and rushes in. He is right, anyway. You have beef with his soulmate. Namjoon always receives texts from you complaining about Hoseok and how ruthless he is as a government employee.

"Would you like something to drink—" Namjoon cuts himself off upon seeing Jungkook helping himself with a bottle of soju.

The detective takes large gulps. He finishes half of the bottle in less than two minutes. Jungkook hiccups and clumsily wipes his mouth, "My wife found her soulmate. She can see colors now."

Namjoon stops in his tracks.

Jungkook laughs, mocking himself. "His eyes are purple, hyung."

"Jungkook..." Namjoon sounds apologetic.

"What's with your expression?" Jungkook’s lips twist. "You look sorry. Don't be. I'm—"

Happy for her? Jungkook shakes his head. It seems like that's not the case. Namjoon thinks so, too. He sits in front of the detective.

"You're what, Jungkook-ah?" The older man opens a beer bottle for himself, "What do you feel for your wife? What does she make you feel?"

Silence creeps into the room.

Jungkook's shoulders drop. Memories from the past play in his head as he closes his eyes.

Twenty-one years ago, 2002:

11-year-old Jungkook is freezing cold.

He is out in the snow, trying to take a sneak peek at children his age playing on the school grounds. Unlike him, the students are covered with expensive coats, mittens, and a hat. Jungkook's mother is a janitress at a private elementary school in Busan. Sadly, she can't afford to send her son to this school, so Jungkook can only watch the other kids in envy.

The children here have winter camps and activities to support their growth. Today, Jungkook watches as the students make mittens. Some children give the handmade gloves to their family, friends, or teachers.

Only one girl saves her mittens for a lone stranger.

"Here," Jungkook is taken aback when a girl his age suddenly approaches him. She’s shorter than Jungkook, but her determined eyes make people think she has much to offer. 

"I said here!" Jungkook remains unmoving, so the girl pushes the mittens to his chest. "I can't see it yet, but my mum said the gloves are gray like my eyes! I made them myself."

The little girl looks proud; a huge grin is on her lips.

Jungkook blinks dumbly at her, "Why...." He takes in a deep breath, clutching the warm gloves to his chest. "Why are you giving me these gloves?"

The little girl looks confused; she even lets out a small huh. Jungkook thinks the girl didn't hear him, so he repeats his words.

You are that little girl. You shrug your shoulders. "Because I want to. You look cold. I don't want to see you cold."

"But," Jungkook's lips tremble. He is having a hard time accepting the gift. "I have nothing to trade you with."

"Who cares?" You sit beside him. "I don't want anything. I just want to be friends."

Present; 2023:

Until now, Jungkook has no idea why you wish to be friends with someone like him. Clearly, you were a world apart. It was winter then. Maybe it was a Winter miracle—if this is even a thing.

But Jungkook is sure of one thing:

"She makes me feel warm, Namjoon-hyung." The detective finally answers his friend's question earlier. "My wife makes me warm, loved, and hopeful."

****

You receive a text message from Namjoon asking you to pick up a hammered Jungkook.

"Hey, you're leaving already?" Taehyung sees you leaving the office.

You rub the back of your neck and smile softly at Taehyung, "Yes. I have to pick up my husband."

"Ah." Taehyung nods, "Jungkook, isn't it? The detective from earlier?"

"Mn. I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It's nothing," Taehyung assures. It will probably take him a long time to forget his encounter with those two strange detectives, but it's not so bad. They apologized and said it was an honest mistake. He motions toward the door, "You brought your car, right? Let’s go down together.”

“You’re going home too?”

“Not yet.” Taehyung opens the office door for his soulmate. “Just gonna get coffee.”

Taehyung’s obsession with caffeine doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Taehyung joined your team only this week but has probably gone to the coffee shop downstairs more than your team did.

You brush it off. It’s none of your business. What matters to you is what Jungkook drinks. After bidding Taehyung goodbye, you immediately rush to Namjoon’s house. He is absolutely right. Jungkook is wasted.

"Why did you let this asshole drink so much!?" You bare your teeth at Namjoon. "You know how he is, Namjoon! Did he even eat before chugging down soju? Soju! You made him drink soju!? Namjoon, you golden-eyed clumsy bastard! Your eye color looks like horse piss!"

You are getting creative with your insults now that you can see colors. Namjoon shakes his head. He likes you better when you still see in black and white; at least then, you don’t go around terrorizing people and their eye color.

"I'm sorry. He forced himself into my home." Namjoon throws Jungkook under the bus. He'd rather get a playfully upset Jungkook than a screaming girl like you.

You know better than to put all the blame on Namjoon, though. You know Jungkook drank himself stupid because he can't handle it when you are genuinely mad at him.

You swallow your fury, "You know what? Just…have a good night, Namjoon-oppa. I'm sorry for shouting and the trouble. I'll make it up to you some other time."

You drag Jungkook to your car.

The detective is no fun when drunk. He just passes out. You can't even get blackmail material out of this hell.

"Fucking finally." You cover your husband with a blanket after cleaning him up and changing his clothes into new ones.

"Bastard." You sneer but still end up softly kissing Jungkook's forehead.

Ah. The things you do for love.

****

Jungkook wakes up with a stomachache and a sweaty forehead. He dramatically whines, cradling his stomach like he has been shot there.

Thankfully, you show up at once. You are carrying a tray with a full meal.

"My stomach hurts." He complains, earning an eye roll from you.

"Of course it does. You fucking drank alcohol on an empty stomach. You also had that stupid drink at the coffee shop. Just what the hell are you thinking?"

You sit on the bed. You first brush your husband's fringe with your fingers, then cup his cheeks and casually wipe the side of his mouth.

"Here, eat something."

Jungkook doesn't need to tell you to feed him. You bring a spoonful of food to his mouth, gently urging him to eat.

The detective moans. Your food tastes like heaven, even better than those Michelin restaurants. "My wife is such a great cook. Thank you~~"

"Whatever. Just don't moan, bastard." You can feel your cheeks turning hot. You easily get flustered with compliments.

Jungkook suddenly wonders if Taehyung has said something to make you blush, too.

"Oi, Jungkook. Don't tell me you don't have an appetite anymore. You barely ate!"

It's not like the detective doesn't want to eat anymore. His mood only plummets when he thinks about your soulmate.

Jungkook utters your name softly and asks, "Are you happy?"

"What kind of question is that?" You scrunch your nose, but you still answer. "Of course I'm happy." I have you in my life.

"No. I mean, are you happy you can see colors now?"

"I'm happier." You are surprised at how quickly you answered. Maybe because it's never hard for you to tell the truth. But still...you don't want to sound insensitive. You know your husband has yet to see colors.

You try again, "I mean...seeing colors makes my job easier, and I’m not just saying this because I'm getting promoted soon." People in their world have a greater chance of success once they see colors. 

"I guess I appreciate my job even more. It makes me feel alive, if you will. Things seem "livelier..."

You look into Jungkook's brown eyes. You can see them sparkling. For the first time in twenty-plus years you have known Jungkook, this is the only time you have seen how pink his lips are.

You can feel your heart thumping.

Looking at Jungkook with colors makes you feel "More." You whisper, "I feel things more with colors, Jungkook."

More love.

More joy.

And more clarity about what you really feel about your best friend.

"That's good, then." Jungkook rests his head on your shoulders. "I'm glad you're happy."

He really is. If he can go back to last night, Jungkook won't hesitate to tell Namjoon that, even though it hurts him, he's glad you met the one fated to you.

*****

Months pass, and things get even better for you. You got promoted twice and now handle one of your company's major customers. Your wallet gets fatter—so shouting at Namjoon to tell Hoseok to calm down doesn’t work anymore. Your free time is almost non-existent, though. It makes Jungkook sigh.

“Hey, Jungkook. You’re free to go.” Jungkook’s mood soars when his partner at work approaches him.

“Seokjin-hyung!” Jungkook’s jaw drops to the floor. “Did I hear you right? Are you seriously allowing me to get off work an hour earlier!?”

Seokjin is a hardworking detective who does not joke around since he knows his job affects the public's general welfare. Still, he also knows that you and Jungkook are celebrating your anniversary as a married couple for ten years.

“Just go, Jungkook-ah.” Seokjin pushes him. “Just leave before I change my mind. And for heaven’s sake, get your wife anything but flowers. No one wants to see you sneezing all day. Keep your snots away--!!”

Jungkook walks faster, not wanting to hear his work partner complain. So what if he sneezes all day? So what if he’s allergic to flowers? You love flowers, so he’ll get you bouquets.

Humming, Jungkook makes his way to the flower shop. The snowflakes fall lightly. It’s winter. Jungkook met you in the winter of 2002. You also got married in winter, the year 2013. Other people don’t like this season, especially Hoseok, who watched Namjoon suffer a fall accident because of slippery ground three years ago. Thank goodness Namjoon is okay now.

Jungkook buys flowers and your favorite wine. He’s almost home when a ghost from the past blocks his way.

“Oh, if it isn’t the beloved scoundrel of my bitch of a soulmate.”

Jungkook stiffens, eyes turning dark as he takes in the lone figure of his father.

“Jeon Sungmin.” Jungkook’s tone is scathing.

“The one and only.” Sungmin juts his chin. “Did you miss me, son?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jungkook clenches his fist. Unadulterated anger fills his heart. He’s trying hard not to punch this pathetic man. “In case you forgot, I still have a restraining order against you. I can even arrest you myself.”

Sungmin lets out a sardonic laugh. It’s loud—the kind of laughter that makes Jungkook’s skin itch. He can’t see colors but could’ve sworn he sees blood. Maybe he just wants to claim blood.

“Don’t act so tough on me, boy. In case you forgot, you just stood like a dumb bastard when I killed your bitch of a mom.”

“Stop.” Jungkook chokes, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He can’t breathe. Memories have come to haunt him.

“Scared, aren’t we?” Sungmin drags his limping feet to Jungkook. Twenty years in prison broke his body but not his soul. Even with only his tattered clothes and one functioning eye, Sungmin can still bring terror to his son.

“You should be. You’re nothing but a pathetic scourge.” Sungmin pulls Jungkook’s collar, slamming him into a cold wall. “Now be of use and give me money.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes droop, wanting to puke as he feels his father stealing his wallet. He hears screams inside his head, the pleas of his mother. Jungkook-ah, run. Please. You have to save yourself. 

Jungkook remains rooted in his spot back then, just hollowly looking at the blood on the floor. He watched as Sungmin smashed the baseball bat into his mother’s head.

More screams. Sungmin didn’t stop the beating until the police officers came.

Twenty years later, Jungkook is still the same. He still can’t stand up for himself. He watches his father take his wine and wallet, leaving like nothing happened.

Jungkook doesn’t know how he manages to walk back home. He stays outside, ruined flowers in his lap. He cannot get in as his keys are inside his stolen wallet.

Jungkook could only wait for a purple-eyed girl whose eyes he thought were gray.

****

Like Jungkook, you get off work early as well. Your secretary runs after you, saying that you can’t leave yet. However, you dismissed the secretary and passed the work on to Yeonjun instead. You hate that you are not home yet. You are actually supposed to take the day off to plan your anniversary date with your husband better.

It’s your 10th anniversary, after all. You are thinking of cooking Jungkook’s favorite food and giving him a…body massage. Many things are running into your mind—you can’t wait to try them all with your husband. Too bad work is holding you back.

“Sunbaenim, what do you think about this color combination? Is the shade of blue too dark for this winter’s theme?” Yeji excitedly shows off her design.

You rub your neck roughly, stopping yourself from throwing profanities. Calm down. Yeji is a hardworking designer who only wants the best for the team.

“I’m thinking of using an aqua frost instead. One shoulder sleeve should do the trick if—”

Oh my God. ‘Someone, please kill me now.’ You scream internally.

“Yeji,” you press your lips into a thin line. “I actually can’t entertain you right now. Would you mind checking in with Taehyung instead?”

Yeji’s shoulders drop. “Ah, Taehyung-sunbaenim isn’t here at the moment.”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” You feel your head pulsating. “Where is he?”

Everyone is so busy. Taehyung can’t possibly skip work, right?

“He’s at the coffee shop downstairs.”

That son of a--!!

You stand up abruptly. Taehyung’s coffee break ended an hour ago! How can he still be at the coffee shop!? You are seething in anger. You know Taehyung is your soulmate, but you can’t just connect to him. The first few months are okay. However, you soon realize how incompatible you and Taehyung are. Your connection starts with colors, and it also ends there. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to call him.” You exit, ignoring Yeji’s call. Honestly, what you said is half lie and half-truth. You just really, really want to leave the office. It’s a pure happenstance to bump into Taehyung in the elevator.

“Hey.” He calls your name. Remnants of joy are still visible on Taehyung’s face. Two coffee holders are in his hands—he got the whole team some drinks. “I got coffee. Where’re you going?”

“Home.” You press the elevator button. “It’s my husband and I’s anniversary.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods in understanding. He never once shows any sign of disappointment over his soulmate spending time with another person. “Didn’t you say Detective Jeon likes eating sweets? Jimin-hyung baked a chocolate cake today. Will you accept it as my anniversary gift for you two?”

You pause. It’s like your brain short-circuits upon noticing Taehyung’s expression when he utters Jimin’s name.

Jimin—the barista and baker at the coffee shop where Taehyung frequents.

“Taehyung,” your heart stutters. “D-Do you remember your first day in the office?”

“Of course.” Taehyung offers a small smile. “It’s hard to forget that day, don’t you think? We both saw colors for the first time.”

You blink at him, not saying anything.

Taehyung avoids eye contact, thinking he’s not smart enough to understand what you implied. He tries to remember every detail of that day.

“I think I came to the office ten minutes earlier. I got everyone coffee. Come to think of it, Jimin-hyung actually saved me that day. He knows everyone’s order—Hey, are you alright?”

“You…” You gasp. “You met with Jimin before seeing me at the office, right?”

“Yes?” Taehyung’s hands are getting clammy for grasping the coffee holders. It doesn’t help that you are acting weird, making him more anxious.

“Taehyung, I think there’s been a glitch.”

Yeji goes after you a few minutes later. Both of you and Jimin are taking too long. Luckily, she instantly spots you at the elevator door. You look agitated, while Taehyung seems dumbfounded.

“Sunbaenim!” Yeji tries to stop you two, but you and Taehyung have already gotten inside the lift.

“Yeji, there you are.” Taehyung passes the coffee holders to Yeji. “Drink this with the others. We’ll be taking another break. See you later.”

“Wait—!!”

The elevator door closes.

Yeji whines, “I still have to show you my designs….”

****

You rush home, excited to see your husband. However, your excitement quickly turns into horror when you spot Jungkook sitting on your porch.

“Jungkook!?” Your eyes dilate. Jungkook is staring into nothingness. You are familiar with this kind of expression, the kind where you are forced to swallow your insults because you know. 

You know something terrible happened to your husband.

You quickly open the door and pull Jungkook to his feet. The detective is still unresponsive, letting you drag him into the bathroom. You did all the work; you immediately opened the heater and got warm clothes.

“Kook,” you call softly, cradling Jungkook’s hands to blow on them. “ Can you lift your arms for me? Let’s get you changed, alright?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer but does what he’s told. You are shaking as you help your husband change. You want to give the detective warm water and candies, but Jungkook still looks shaken. You can only gently drag him to bed. You lay down beside Jungkook, hugging him close to your chest.

You didn’t ask any questions, allowing Jungkook to breathe first.

“I--” Jungkook hiccups, sounding broken. He weakly grips the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here, Darling.” You kiss your husband’s forehead. You hug him even tighter, wishing to melt your body and bones and offer all your warmth and love to Jungkook.

Jungkook calls your name, his voice almost sounding like a wounded animal.

You caress your partner’s cheeks. They’re wet. It takes everything in you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. No. You can’t fall apart now. Jungkook needs you.

“Mn. I’m here. You can tell me what you want.”

“N-No.” Jungkook whimpers, “I don’t want anything. I—I don’t deserve anything.”

“Jungkook.” You break the hug and force Jungkook to sit up on the bed. He’s warm enough. He’ll live.

The detective cast his gaze down, though—an indication he doesn’t want to hear whatever you have to say.

It pisses you off.

“Jungkook. Look at me.” You demand sternly. But Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, you’re mad at me.”

“Heck yeah, I’m mad. I’m so mad I can punch your face right now.” You have been patient with him, believing he’s vulnerable and in need of space. But your heart is only soft for a sad Jungkook, not for a Jungkook who blabs stupid things.

Jungkook balls his hands into fists, “You don’t understand. It’s so noisy in here.” He points at his head, “They won’t shut up. I’m—he….”

Jungkook gasps for air. You panic. You rub Jungkook’s back.

“Jungkook,” the saddest thing in this world is not seeing colors; it’s watching your beloved deal with the pain while you sit there pathetically, unable to take even a fraction of his hurt.

What good is a soulmate when all it can bring is color? Why can’t you take away Jungkook’s pain?

“He’s back, my father is out of jail.” Jungkook grips the bedsheet, “He’s come back for me. He hurt her before. He always takes away the people I love.”

Trauma is a part of Jungkook; napping silently and with one wrong shake, it’ll wake up and wreak havoc.

“You should run. Leave me. I don’t have a use to you, anyway—”

“Hush,” you can’t bear to listen anymore. You pull Jungkook to your chest, but the detective struggles.

“Please. You have to listen to me! Just leave! We’re not soulmates. I don’t understand why you’re still here!" Jungkook pushes your chest, but you catch his hands, burying Jungkook’s face into your neck.

“Oh, ma moitié.” The French endearment sounds easy coming out of your mouth. Jungkook melts at once. He sobs against your skin.

Ma moitié translates to my other half.

Jungkook wants to curse this unfair world. That’s right. How can you and him not be each other’s other half? It’s difficult to fight for you when fate is against you two. Sometimes Jungkook feels like no one has the right to tear you apart, mainly because you two paint each other's life—not with colors but with love. You and Jungkook are soulmates by heart. Many people call you twin black. The monochromatic world doesn't rob the two of you of happiness, love, and care. It takes one Jeon Jungkook to know that you like drinking cold water, not just 'cold water.' It has to be a certain degree of coldness:

If the water sits in the refrigerator for two hours, that's not cold enough. If it's water coming from a semi-solid ice cube, then that's too cold. 

You are fussy, but you give your effort to Jungkook similarly. Whenever you pick Jungkook up from work, you never fail to put your expensive leather jacket on the passenger seat, so Jungkook wouldn't have to deal with a burning hot seat. You don’t mind being stuck in the traffic and driving for hours to pick him up at work every day.

“Why can’t you be mine?” Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to push you away. His hatred is directed toward fate, himself, and his deranged father. Why are they against you and him being together?

“But I’m already yours, Kook.” You lick Jungkook’s tears and kiss his eyes. “Everything about me belongs to you. This,”

You guide Jungkook’s hands to your eyes, lips, and neck, then lower Jungkook’s hands to your heart. You let the detective feel your beating heart.

“You hear that, Kook?” Your eyes well up with tears. “That’s my heart telling you something.”

Goosebumps prick at Jungkook’s skin.

You do not break eye contact. “I love you, Jungkook.”

You have said those words countless times before, but it doesn’t fail to take Jungkook’s breath away—especially now that the I love you is said so softly…so romantically.

“You’re my soulmate, Jungkook.”

Jungkook flinches, shaking his head rapidly.

“T-That can’t be. You…you see colors. I don’t. We’re—we’re….”

Why are you lying? Why are you giving Jungkook false hope? It’s cruel.

But you are insistent.

“Jungkook,” you kiss him. “Stop thinking for a while, yeah? Focus on me. Focus on my heart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jungkook answers against your lips. He never responded before, simply allowing and relishing the taste of your sweet lips.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook repeats, groaning and biting your lips until it draws blood. Jungkook had never allowed himself to possess before, scared that he would end up ruining what he loved. But today is different. You are addicting. Claiming he loves you gives him so much power--

He pushes you to bed, pressing himself on top of you.

Jungkook kisses you. “I love you. I love you. I really, really love you.”

 --so much happiness.

“I love you.”

--so much color.

Jungkook stops kissing you; his head spins.

--so much color.

Color.

The monochromatic world is slowly changing.

Color.

More colors.

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide.

He looks at you under him.

He gasps and calls your name. Your name sounds like a prayer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Your eyes…they’re purple.”

You chuckle under him. You wipe Jungkook’s tears.

“Took you long enough to realize, Kook.”

Jungkook laughs hysterically. He stares into your eyes again, ensuring he’s not dreaming or going crazing.

Your eyes are really purple—not gray.

At this very moment, Jungkook realizes something: out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it still wouldn’t work because seeing the purple in your eyes will bring him back to life.

Really. No amount of oxygen can compare to the image of you lying on your bed, purple eyes glistening as you whisper sweet nothings to your soulmate. With that, Jungkook feels he can finally breathe.

****

Meanwhile, on Aurora Fashion Lane, Taehyung runs toward the coffee shop. The conversation he had with you at the elevator rings inside his mind.

There has been a glitch.

That’s right. Taehyung remembers that day like the back of his hand.

It’s 6:23am. He went to a coffee shop looking so composed, but he’s actually very nervous. However, the presence of the barista calms him down.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Jimin, the barista, asks. A soft smile adores his pretty face.

Taehyung feels his heart skipping a beat. He licks his lips, “You can tell?”

“You smell different.”

“Really.” Taehyung feels blood rushing to his face.

Jimin laughs. “Don’t be conscious. I said you smell different, not bad. I can tell because I’m blind. My other senses are heightened because of it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung is fascinated. Jimin prepares coffee like a pro. He won’t know Jimin can’t see if he didn’t say it.

“This one is for your head designer; she likes her coffee with some liquor. I sneak some little candies onto her tray so she can bring them home to Detective Jeon, her husband.” Jimin pushes a coffee cup to Taehyung.

“This one is for Yeji. She prefers iced coffee even when it’s freezing cold. This one is for Ji-Eun. She likes tea and not coffee. Yeonjun never changes his order. It’s always two shots of espresso. Jake drinks anything, as long as it’s not too bitter. And this,”

Jimin smiles, “Is for you. A bulgogi sandwich and iced latte. The sandwich is not spicy, so you don’t need to worry. Have a good day.”

Taehyung feels like floating in the air when he goes to work. He first sees you at the door, looking so pensive early in the morning.

You are thinking about your husband. His birthday is coming soon. You want to give him something precious.

A wristwatch? Nah. That’s too simple.

A perfume? Nope. You prefer it when he smells like you.

What about a picnic date near the sea? You can arrange for a firework display and…

Confess.

You flinch at your own thought.

Confess.

You want to confess to Jungkook because---

--you love him.

“Good morning.” Taehyung greets.

You are startled. You snap your head up to meet Taehyung’s face.

All of a sudden, a splash of colors welcomes you.

You see colors, and so does Taehyung.

“So yeah, I think there’s been a glitch.” Taehyung tries to explain to an expressionless Jimin. He swallows when the barista doesn’t answer.

Taehyung releases a deep sigh. Right. He probably sounds crazy right now. It’s not cool to suddenly barge at someone’s work and announce that you think the barista is your soulmate.

Taehyung scolds himself. He’s about to apologize and tell Jimin to ignore what he said when—

“I know,” Jimin responds.

Taehyung blinks up at him dumbly.

Jimin’s lips twist, “Didn’t I tell you I’m blind?”

What’s his blindness got to do with anything? Taehyung still likes him.

“Taehyung, I’m blind.” He repeats. “I’ve been blind since I was born. When I dream, I don’t dream visually, but.”

There’s a sudden pause. Jimin looks lost in thought.

He continues after a while, “The night before I met you, I dreamt of you. I saw a man who told me I was his soulmate. You two have the same voice, and here…” Jimin brings out his sketch pad and finally shows it to Taehyung.

“I draw the face of the man in my dream. Does it look like you?”

Taehyung gasps dramatically because, my gosh. Jimin has perfectly drawn his face!

“This is really me…I’m your soulmate, Jimin.” Taehyung stutters a breath. His heart beats fast.

Jimin chuckles softly, and then he touches Taehyung’s eyes. “Yes, you told me in my dream, too. I’m just waiting for you to realize it in real life.”

The thing about soulmates is it’s complex. Researchers even claim there are different universes, all of which have the concept of soulmates. Some hear the thoughts of their soulmates in their heads. Some are immortals and will only die if they do the act with their soulmates. And then comes their world, a monochromatic place where you’ll see colors once you look at your soulmate’s eyes.

But it’s not that simple. Sometimes, you have to free yourself from your own judgment first. Sometimes, you must be honest first; sometimes, you just have to wait.

****

Accept this fic while I take my time writing my ongoing JJK series here.

This is originally a soukoku fic I've written before. If you prefer that version, click here. I've converted it into a JJK x reader because it was requested by an anon here. If there are obvious mistakes in pronouns and such, please tell me because as said, this is originally a fic for a different fandom and it used to be a mxm pairing. I may have missed some thing while editing it.

I've written the same concept of soulmate ft. JJK years ago. It's a series which you can read here.

I appreciate comments the most! If you have suggestions about addtional tw, please don't hesitate to message me. Thank you ~~

[happilykrispypirate]

hello! I was wondering if you could write a Mattheo x sweet! Slytherin reader where the other Slytherins are picking on her because they don't believe she's a Slytherin. And maybe Mattheo saves her and tells her that he likes her.

Mattheo's Girl

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x Sweet!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, minor bullying, and my shitty writing.

A/n: Sorry for the really long wait. School year started three weeks ago and things have been hectic. I'll try to update and write as much as I can but if I don't update in a long time please don't think I'm ignoring your requests! I'll get to them as soon as I can.

-

Y/n, was the sweetest girl in Hogwarts. Many found it hard to believe she was in Slytherin.

She'd never say no to anyone, she'd always offer to help, and there wasn't a single mean bone in her body.

She was walking to class, a little hop in her step as always, when she was that a few of her fellow Slytherins were making fun of Neville. Poor Neville, she thought.

They tripped him causing all of his books to scatter on the floor while they walked away laughing.

Y/n immediately went over and helped him pick his books up.

"Sorry about them," She sighed as she helped him pick his books up.

"I'm used to it," He said which made the girl's heart ache for the boy.

"You shouldn't be. Boys like them are the reason Slytherin have such a bad name," Y/n said as they both stood up. She handed him his books.

"Atleast Slytherin has you to show that not all Slytherins are evil," Neville said smiling at her kindly.

She returned it with a bright and kind smile before saying goodbye to Neville before he walked off.

The Slytherin boys that tripped Neville didn't go far and watched the whole exchange. Giving her nasty and disgusted looks.

When Neville left they walked up to her, "You shouldn't help a pathetic excuse of a wizard like him."

Y/n turned around and faced the towering boys, "You really shouldn't bully people, it's not nice," She replied.

The boys laughed, "You're also a fucking pathetic excuse of a witch. You don't belong in Slytherin."

"I'm sorry that you think that," Y/n said, "I have to get to class. Good day to you."

She turned on her heels and walked as fast as she could, completely ignoring the calls from the boys.

Mattheo glared at the boys who were making rude remarks about Y/n as she walked away. His jaw clenched, how could anyone ever want to heart an angel like her?

-

In the common room, Mattheo and the rest of the boys in his friend group sat comfortably on the sofas. Pansy and Y/n were at the table.

Pansy was struggling in Astronomy so Y/n offered to help her.

"This stuff doesn't make sense," Pansy said sighing as she placed her head in her hands, "I'm fucking over it."

"No need to swear," Y/n said, "You just have to simplify it for yourself. Try to remember the constellations with riddles that you make up for yourself. Example, my very easy method just speeds up nothing, My is Mercury, Very is Venus, Easy is Earth and then you should know the rest."

Pansy nodded and went quiet for a moment, thinking. "Oh! I got one. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Major is Big so Great Bear and Minor is small so Little Bear."

Y/n smiled brightly, "That's one of the easiest ones but yes! You got it."

"Thank you, N/n. I don't know what I'd do without you," Pansy smiled as she leaned over and hugged Y/n.

"You're welcome, Pans. We can continue tomorrow night. I think we both need a rest," Y/n said. They packed Pansy's stuff and Pansy went to sit with the boys while Y/n took the books over to the bookshelves that were in the common room.

The boys from earlier came up behind her, "Studying hard to make up for you being a pathetic Slytherin?" One said.

"You can't cancel out the fact that you're pathetic by getting good grades you know," The other one said.

"Trying to get good grades is not an excuse to 'make up' or as you boys say to 'cancel out' anything. I'm simply determined to succeed in life. If you boys are struggling with anything. I could always tutor you," She said and they burst out laughing.

Their laughter caught his eye. His eyes immediately darkened and his demeanor changed.

"Oh I don't like that look," Enzo said as he saw the look on Mattheo's face.

Enzo turned and saw Y/n with the boys, "Oh, I see."

"They've been bothering her. Calling her names behind her back and telling her she's pathetic when she helped Neville the other day," Pansy said, "She told me about it and said it doesn't bother her, but I can hear her cry at night."

"This has to stop," Theo said.

"It will," Mattheo said as he stood up and walked over to them.

"You don't deserve to be in Slytherin you good for nothing little bi-" The one started before he was grabbed by the collar and slammed against the wall.

"You say one more thing to her, or come near her ever again, I will fuck you up," Mattheo spat in his face.

"Mattheo, stop," Y/n said trying to pull him off. Tears were threatening to fall. Things were getting too overwhelming.

"Oh yeah? Is that it?" The boy mocked, "You're not gonna kill me? Not a daddy's boy after all."

Mattheo's fist came flying into the boy's jaw. Soon enough the other boy's joined in, resulting in Theo, Enzo, Blaise and Draco to join in.

The tears ran down Y/n's cheeks as she fled the scene. Pansy trying to follow her but she lost her.

-

Y/n walked back to the common room later that night. She spent her time in the Room of Requirement, crying and trying to calm herself down.

It worked, but one tiny thing might set her off. Like the fact that Mattheo has been waiting for her the whole night long in the common room.

She bit her tongue, trying not to cry, "Where have you been?" Mattheo asked as soon as he saw her. He stood up and walked over to her, "Are you alright?"

Y/n looked at him and saw the bruises on his face along with the spots of blood.

"I'm fine, come on, let's go clean you up," She said as she pulled him to the nearest bathroom which is the bathroom in her and Pansy's shared dorm.

She made him sit on the edge of the bath as she took out a rag and put it under the running tap.

"Why did you run away?" Mattheo asked as she was cleaning his face.

"Everything got too much to handle," She replied, "You didn't have to do that. I can handle them."

"I can't," Mattheo said.

Y/n halted her movements and looked at him. He looked up and made eye contact, "What do you mean?"

"I can't handle them hurting you. I can't handle you crying yourself to sleep at night over them hurting you," He said.

She sighed, "Pansy?" Mattheo nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

"I didn't want to bother you," She said.

"You never bother me," He replied as he stood up. He looked down at her, their faces mere inches apart.

Mattheo leaned down and Y/n stood on her toes just before their lips met. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he placed his hands on her hips.

They pulled apart after a few moments, lips still brushing against each other.

"I will never let anyone hurt you again. As long as you're mine, even after you're not, which by the way will never happen, no one will ever hurt you," He said.

She smiled sweetly up at him, "Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?"

Mattheo smiled, "Yes, it is," He said.

"Well, then I accept," She said.

Mattheo's smile only widened before he placed his lips on hers again.

He'll keep his promise.

No one, will hurt her ever again.

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

Having to be in pairs for a group project, two people with mixed feelings work together to create a presentation. Going into eachothers houses is easy until a certain cat wants to play cupid. Feelings erupt, and miscommunication has to be endured. A soccer game in the rain might prove that Descamps listens more than he should.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: bullying (poor pichon), boys being boys, very confusing feelings, angst bcs of achilles and patroclus (maybe even joseph and reader???), miscommunication in the enemies to lovers department, swearing

This chapter has references to The Song of Achilles book (ik its not the right timeline, but we have to do this for the angst so bare w me)

===

===

Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say

===

The scores of our exams are being published. I sit in my seat, eyes scanning the numbers and fingertips smoothing out the paper. Most of them are in the ranges of 12-16, which is good enough for me.

"As you know, this is a school where we like to experiment with new methods. Next week, we are going to try a new approach." I look up from my papers, interested in the proposal of something new.

"You're going to prepare a presentation, working in pairs. You'll be working with the classmate sitting next to you, and then you'll present your work in class together. And for a sense of free will, you can present about any subject. How does that sound?"

I look to the girl next to me. Her name was Louise. She's quiet most of the time and keeps to herself. I smile softly. She smiles back.

The teacher clears his throat, eyes on Descamps and Dupin. "You two, of which I already expect a chaotic presentation, will be paired with someone else." His eyes land on me and Louise. Please, no.

"Descamps and Pardine, Louise and Dupin. Please remember your partner." I internally groan, placing my head into my hands. I look to my side, already seeing Louise and Dupin waving to each other, Louise giggling. I groan again. I don't look at Descamps. He doesn't, either.

Pichon raises his hand. "What if we're sitting alone?" The class laughs. I look at Pichon in pity.

"Well, you can work with Ms. Sabiani." The teacher says in response.

"Look. Pichon is blushing. He's turned pink like a pig." Dupin says, and the class laughs again. Even Louise giggles. She likes him, it's obvious, but what is there to like? I roll my eyes.

"That's enough, Dupin." The teacher shouts at him, the smile on his face gone. Annick raises her hand.

"Do we really have to work in pairs?" She asks.

"That's the whole point." He answers. "And I'm warning you, half a pair's work will result in half the grade."

××《☆》××

As I walk down the stairs, I look up when I hear pigs oinking. I wasn't wrong. Descamps' group of friends are pigs.

When I spot Simone and Michèle in the bench under the tree, our usual spot, I make my way to them.

"Help me gain some decency to go up to Descamps and not punch him in the face." I groan as I sit on the bench with them.

"It's unfortunate for you. Our teacher could've picked anyone else." Michèle says, pity in her voice.

"Should I go talk to him now or later?" They don't answer because they see Descamps make his way towards us.

I fight the urge to start an argument with him. About anything, really. Just to get him to stay a bit longer. I clear my throat at the thought.

"Your place?" He says, now standing infront of us, hands in his pockets. I nod once, and he walks away.

"Thank god that was over quick." Something deep inside me knew I didn't mean that.

Jean Pierre walks towards us with a book in hand. I look at Simone with a teasing smile, but there's something in her eyes I can't really tell. Like she knows something.

"Here, this is yours." He hands Michèle the book. "I put it in my bag by mistake." Michèle thanks him. He walks away with a 'see you later'.

Michèle continues to complain to us about her grades. Simone sighs, mind floating away. I look at her confused. I'll ask her about it later.

I look towards Applebaum. We make eye contact, and I smile. He looks away, fear in his eyes. What's up with everyone today?

××《☆》××

In one of those rare moments, my parents are home for dinner. We sit in the dining table, enjoying our food.

"Someone's coming over tomorrow. I know you won't be here, but I thought it'd be better if you knew." I tell them, handing small bits of food to George.

"Oh? What will you be doing?" My father asks, cutting his food into smaller pieces.

"Group project. We'll probably just stay in my room." I pet George as he eats his food.

"Are we going to meet her even after the project?" My mother says, looking up from her food.

"He, actually. And no." This makes them pause, silence surronding the room. My father clears his throat.

"A boy? And both of you will be in your room?" He says, placing his elbows on the table.

I take time to process this. "Papa, no. It's not like that." I turn red in my seat. "Trust me, it's just a project. Nothing else."

"Of course we trust you. It's just, you know. You're a teen, and teens go through... stuff." My mother says, stuttering a bit. I cover my face with my hands.

"Mama, please don't make it weird." I groan.

"No, it's perfectly normal for your age. If you want, we can forget about it-" I cut her off.

"Yes, please. Forget about it." I cut my food aggressively, face as warm as my plate.

We stay quiet as we finish the rest of our dinner.

××《☆》××

"The league of nations, L.O.N..." I fade the rest of the discussion out, watching the way the sun rests on the trees leaves, the birds tending to themselves. Last nights conversation clouds my mind, and I catch myself smiling for no reason.

I sigh every time, biting my lip in my own embarrassment. I glance at Descamps. He's focusing on the lesson for once. Nothing will happen at my place, right?

He feels my gaze on him and gently turns his head. His eye meets mine, and there's a small quirk on the corner of his lip.

"Quiet at the back." Ms. Giraud calls out suddenly.

Descamps looks away. I purse my lips, something stirring in my chest. My breathing is faster, and I feel warmer. Have I gotten sick already?

Annick walks into the room, hair tousled and frizzy. Ms. Giraud shouts at her, and my ear drums are about to explode.

Ms. Giraud gives Annick detention, and with every word Annick said back, an hour or two more.

Ms. Giraud continues to piss me off every second of the day with her strictness and very clear jealousy towards Annick. She finally continues the discussion, and I (annoyingly) decide to finally listen.

××《☆》××

I wait right outside the gate for Descamps. He comes running to the gate but slows down when he sees me, acting like he wasn't just leaping to get here.

"Hey." He says, acting nonchalant. He even has his hand in his pocket.

"Hi. Let's get going." I keep my face blank as I lead the way to my place. We walk in silence, listening to our footsteps next to each other.

Once we make it to my flat's building, I go up the steps, stopping in front of my door and unlocking it.

We step inside, the flat looking warm with the sunlight entering through the windows. I lock my door and drop the keys on my kitchen counter.

"Your coat?" I reach my hands out. He throws his coat to me, the heaviness of it making me stumble. I scowl but hang it anyway.

"Head to my room. Down the hallway to the right." I say as I grab a few supplies from my father's office.

"Want me in your bed already?" He calls out once he's inside. I hear a yelp.

I run to my room. "Descamps, are you okay?" I ask worriedly. He stares at George.

"What is that?" He points to George, who's currently walking toward me. I bend down and pet him, planting a kiss on his head.

"This is George." I carry George and craddle him like a baby. I walk towards Descamps with the furball in my arms. I rock him slowly.

"You can touch him if you want. He doesn't bite." I smile at the orange cat, then look up at Descamps. He's staring at me with the most soft look I've seen him wear. My heart thumps in my chest.

He clears his throat, hand going up shakily to pet George. George purrs when Descamps pets him. There's now a smile on Descamps face, as warm as his stare.

I bite my lip at the proximity. I memorise as much as I can about him.

The way he was breathing, like he was on a bed so soft he could sink into it. The way he smelt like faded cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. The way his bones moved under his skin as he bent over to take a closer look at George. The number of times he's blinked, the number of times he's laughed under his breath.

I dive deeper into my trance as he looks up at me. The way he stared now is so different from the way he did all those times before. Like we knew something that we haven't acknowledged yet. Or chose not to.

Something falls in the kitchen, and we snap back to reality. My face warms up, the lighting from the windows making it clearer.

Descamps walks away from me, clearing his throat again. "The cat's ugly." This makes me snap my head to his direction.

"What did you just say?" My brows furrow, defensive of the cat sleeping in my arms.

He rolls his eye. "Nothing. Let's get the project started, I guess." I glare at him for a couple more seconds, then I gently place George down on the bed, excusing myself to get more stuff from my father's office.

When I'm halfway to my room, I hear whispering. I peek at the slit on my door, wondering what was happening behind it.

Descamps is petting George, whispering words as if he's hushing a baby to sleep.

My aura softens, and my heart bursts with admiration. I accidentally drop something and curse to myself. Descamps hears the thud on the floor and pushes himself away from George. George continues to sleep.

I open the door then close it gently. "Let's get started."

××《☆》××

"Do you have suggestions?" I ask Descamps. He doesn't answer, his head turned to the side. I sigh.

Before I could say anything, he talks. "What's that?" He nods to the book on my shelf. It was a copy of the story of Achilles and Patroclus, with a notebook strapped on the front.

"It's nothing important." I shake my head. He purses his lips in thought.

"Can I see it?" His question catches me off guard, his head finally turning to look at me. No one's ever showed interest in my books or notes. I stay quiet, then after a while, I nod.

He gets up from the bed and grabs the book. He takes the string that attaches the notebook to the copy off. He scans the back of the book and hums.

"We can base the project off of this, if you don't mind." He holds up the paperback and the notebook. I'm stunned in my place.

"It's really not that interesting-"

"It must be if you had a whole notebook dedicated to it." There isn't even a teasing tone when he said that. He meant it genuinely.

"Fine." I sigh, grabbing the notebook from his grasp.

"Good." "Great." "Amazing." "Piss off." "Whatever."

"Mind if you read it to me?" He says. "I have a feeling I'll understand better when you say it, since it's your work."

I nod, hesitantly. I opened the first page of my notebook. Most of the stuff I've written in it is a summary and a review of the book.

He leans back on my pillows. I let him. I started to read.

"Patroclus was a young prince, exiled from his kingdom for accidentally killing a boy, and was taken in by their neighbouring king, King Peleus."

George purrs as I pet him. I shift to a more comfortable sitting position. Descamps' eyes are on me.

"When Patroclus first saw Achilles, it was in a competition run by Patroclus' father. He described Achilles as if he was looking at a painting made with precision and grace." I flip the page. George walks over to Descamps' lap. I huff, ignoring it.

"When they met and officially talked, Patroclus thought he'd hated Achilles. Achilles and his beauty, his speed, his perfection. In the years that pass, they grow to be attached to the other." George meows. The meow that indicates he wants petting.

I pause my reading, and Descamps looks at me confused. "Why'd you stop?"

"George wants pets." Descamps makes an 'oh' sound and pets George. He meows again.

"Maybe he wants you." Descamps says, petting the fur baby on his lap. I sigh and lean in close to pet George. With the uncomfortable position, I shift to sit beside Descamps on the bed. I clear my throat and pet George. I continue to read.

"They knew everything about each other. What they'd prefer, like how I like the rain too much to cover it with an umbrella, but know I'll get sick without it. That's how the two worked. They knew every detail, every routine, every habit, every movement. A love you'd have to fight the gods for."

A page is flipped, smoothing out of paper echoes in the room.

"Achilles and Patroclus loved each other with every inch of their heart and soul. Quoting the book, Patroclus states, 'He is half my soul, as the poets say'. Along with the famous paragraph." My eyes switch to the next page.

Descamps shifts in his place, leaning back on the pillows, looking at the pages where I'm reading off of. I start to relax, leaning back, too. George purrs.

"I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

I take a glance at Descamps, and he's already looking at me. George snores in his sleep, making the aura of the room warmer. More comfortable.

His eye dropped to my lips, and I could've sworn I was hearing a heartbeat as fast as the wind at fall. I glance at his, pink and soft, like a cushion ready for rest.

When we lean in, slowly, too slow, my heart drops as he pulls away and stretches. I furrow my eyebrows, a dread of realisation. He's been toying with me. I close my notebook and gather my things.

"Where are you off to?" He asks. I don't answer him.

"Hey," He grabs my arm. I take it back from him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." I say coldly. "I'll finish this project myself."

"What? No. This is a group project remember?"

"I can't keep doing this. You're too hard to work with." I stack the books and materials in my arms.

"We haven't even gotten anything done yet." He flops his hands in the air.

"Exactly. You're too distracting."

"What did I do? I've been quiet the whole time."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem. You're too quiet. You aren't suggesting things."

"What does that have to do with anything?" He raises his voice.

"Just shut up, okay? Just leave. I told you I'll finish the project by myself." I get up from the bed, heading to my father's office.

"But I don't get why you're suddenly mad!" He stands up, following me.

"You don't have to know. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"Fucking fine. You're being too stubborn anyways. Do all the work. Getting pissed off for no fucking reason." He grabs his coat from the rack, putting it on. He doesn't even glance at me, opening and shutting the door with a loud slam.

I even out my breathing. It was going fine. Then I think to myself, what was? Me and Descamps, going fine? I laugh at the thought. I hated that boy. I hated him with my whole heart. My mind travels to the notes I was just reading.

Patroclus had thought he hated Achilles in the start, too. I shake the thought out of my head, slipping against the wall to sit on the floor, knees to my chest.

I hear tapping on the floor boards. I look to my side to see George, meowing softly. I take a deep breath in, then reach my hand out to pet him.

I hate him. And I know I do. He lingers in my mind like a fog in the mountains. The way his aura had softened, his smile, his warmth. I hated the thought of him, but then he smiled, and like Achilles, his face was like the sun.

××《☆》××

Night comes, and I lay in my bed, windows slightly open for the wind to come through. I'm restless, not getting a blink of sleep. I'm halfway through the project already. If Descamps had helped, it'd take longer, I think to myself, trying to still feel angry.

I don't feel angry at all anymore. There's a sort of regret in me for pushing him away. But at the same time, it's what he deserved. We had leaned in, and I didn't even know what I was expecting. I should've expected him to pull away, but what was he going to do in the first place?

Was he going to whisper in my ear? If so, what would he whisper to me? Was he going to say something about how I write, how I speak? A thought so blurry pops up in my head, and I brush it off. But it felt warm, so safe, so soft. There was a scent stuck in my head as I reminisced on the thought, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

I fall asleep in the process, dreaming about the thought instead. Limbs touching, bending, adjusting. I taste cigarettes and strawberries. I smell smoke and expensive perfume. I feel something soft against my lips, hands cupping my face, my neck, my head, and my waist.

He felt warm, tall, and heavy against me. I hold onto the dream, relaxing.

××《☆》××

I wake up, sweat coating my skin. George sits on the window sill, the sun making him shine like gold. I sit up and stretch. I get off my bed and head to my bathroom.

My hair is messy, and I have a bit of dried drool on the corner of my mouth. I wash my face to give myself some energy. I take my clothes off lazily, tying my hair up and getting inside my shower.

Once I finish, I comb and fix my hair, head to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, grab my things for school, including the unfinished project, and head to the front door.

A stack of paper tied with string greets me. I furrow my eyebrows. There's no note. I squat down and pick it up. I instantly know who it's from.

It's an essay about Achilles and Patroclus, detailed and opinionated. Written on the last piece of paper, sitting at the bottom of the stack, it reads, "I bought a copy. Finished it for you."

I stood still, processing the words, flipping through the papers to double check if they're authentic. I let out a scoff of surprise. My head snaps to a nearby clock. I'm going to be late if I don't start walking now.

My feet carry me to the front gates of Voltaire, the familiar faces and light chatter calming me. I spot Simone and Michèle, and I make my way to them.

××《☆》××

Rain starts to fall. The rain always brought me comfort. The different sounds it made when hitting different objects, the way it sways with the wind, the smell it gives the grass after.

I lag behind Simone and Michèle as they make their way to the field. I look for my satchel, then remember I'd forgotten my umbrella. I curse to myself, finding the satchel. It felt heavier than usual. I look inside, then see a clear umbrella. I open it and twist it around, gaping in awe. There's a note in the bag. I open to read it.

"Don't get sick from what you love." The note said.

There's only one person I've told about my love for rain.

I head outside, hiding my red face once I see a drenched one-eyed boy. I smile to Simone and Michèle, spotting them seated on a bench. I glance behind me as I sit down, finding an eye already looking at me with a small smile. His smile drops, and he looks away when I catch him. I purse my lips.

We watch the match, getting my mind off of the boy with ash brown hair. Once the match finishes, we all make our way home. I look up, seeing the rain pattering against the clear umbrella. I smile, watching the water droplets slip off the plastic, hearing the pattering of rain.

××《☆》××

The next day, I repeat my routine. I thoroughly read through Descamps' essay, rewritting it to fit in with mine. I should be thankful, and I am, but Descamps is making my head hurt with the way he acts. I walked to school, going subject after subject, until our presentation finally came.

Earlier, I'd slipped him the script, tucking it in his bag. I hope silently that he's memorised it.

Annick and Pichon are presenting in front of the class. I smiled softly, impressed by the presentation, and refreshed with the dynamic of the two. If only things had gone differently with Descamps, we could've been good friends. But we aren't. I don't think we ever will.

Once they finish, our teacher calls me and Descamps to the front. My anxiousness radiates off my body. Simone and Michèle give me a reassuring look. I nod at them slightly.

My eyes meet Descamps, and we're standing at the front of the class. They're quiet, and my eyes scan all of them. Surprisingly, Descamps starts.

"Me and Pardine are going to present the story of Achilles and Patroclus and the debate of their relationship; romantic or platonic?" Descamps looks at me, his hand hovering at the small of my back for support.

I start, and faster than I thought, I finish the presentation. The room claps, as they do with the others. I glance at Descamps but see him already walking back to his seat. My smile dropped slowly, remembering I was still on his bad side, and vice versa.

I walk back to my seat quietly. I don't even hear the score because my mind is too occupied with the thought of him. Would we stay angry at eachother always? At the same time, it shouldn't matter. I hate him. Right?

I shake my head. I hate him, surely. I should. I dig deep in my head for a reason. Bullying Pichon and Michèle, toying with my feelings (feelings I'm not aware whether it's good or bad), the way he acts, and smells, and feels when he's near.

I fucking hate him. I really do. I hate him, I repeat in my head. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

Then, like earlier, something inside me knows I don't mean it.

At the end of the day, I make peace with solitude. My mind wanders, and I notice that every time it does, they always end up with the face of a one-eyed boy.

Sure, Descamps gave me a finished essay for our project, and sure, he gave me an umbrella that was clear so I could see the rain. So what? I still hate him. Maybe just a little less now.

××《☆》××

End- Chapter three: He is half my soul, as the poets say.

Next- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

××《☆》××

End of chapter three. Rollercoaster of emotions this one. It's a bit shorter than usual because i took out a bunch of the scenes in the series to focus on the emotions of reader and hopefully u guys get what im trying to give. Thanks for reading, requests r open, and see u next chapter!!!

[kitkat-the-muffin]

For fun I reread Cinderella Boy and kept track of everything in the following categories:

What the boys know about Buddy and vice versa:

Buddy:

Knows Chase is 18

Knows Chase takes dance lessons (or more accurately that he’s on a dance team). Amendment: knows Chase took 4 years of dance lessons

Knows that Chase knows basically nothing about the keys and their actual power

Knows Chase has a gluten allergy

Knows Chase is sensitive to gore and violence

Knows Chase is a fan of musicians

Knows Chase loves to sing

POSSIBLY knows Chase’s full name and trademark (if he was actively listening)

Knows Chase is on good terms with Silver

Thinks Chase stole the Heroine and Helper keys

Knows Deacon chose the cat story (this will affect his perception of him)

Knows Chase dislikes boats because he is scared of the water (and that Chase is prone to seasickness)

Knows Deacon likes making plans

Is under the impression that Deacon and Chase met on the bus

POSSIBLY knows about Chase’s grandpa (depends on his eavesdropping abilities during their first meeting)

Knows that Chase found his key with the missing page from the book that supposedly belongs to the “old man” (this further supports the misconception he has that Chase stole them)

Chase:

Is aware Buddy has allies

Knows Buddy is NOT sensitive to gore and violence

Knows Buddy hates singing but likes dancing

Believes Buddy is on bad terms with Violet

Believes Buddy doesn’t know his full name

Knows Buddy is a Drama Queen

Knows Buddy hates getting wet

Knows Buddy is searching for the keys and expected someone else to have Silver

Deacon:

Is aware of Buddy and Ex Libris and pays more attention to that info than Chase does

Believes Buddy does know Chase’s full name

Thinks Buddy is very intense

Knows Buddy is a tsundere lol (or at least I think he’s capable of picking up the hints of the trope)

Knows Buddy is a Drama Queen

Knows Buddy hates him in particular

Knows Buddy hates getting wet

Suspects that Buddy is working for someone else

Additional notes:

Chase used to have a copy of the book he found Silver’s key in as a kid

Buddy says he needs to get the Heroine key back “before the old man finds out something’s missing”

The keys cannot be removed from their user’s person within the story

Chase has a friend named Simon who flakes out on dance practice

Buddy says that there are people more deserving of the keys, implying he has people in mind. He also says “our keys” implying he has allies

Gaining Narratonin takes mental fortitude

It is acknowledged that Buddy uses some kind of unknown method to end up in the same books Chase does

Buddy loves bugs and insects

Boris the horse hates Deacon

In Cinderfella (I), Buddy agrees to stop trying to bully Chase out of the books if he can complete all of the original Cinderella novel

Buddy drew a smiley face at the bottom of the chore list. I just think that’s neat

Buddy is willing to give Chase hints to progress the story

When Buddy tells Chase to water the grave of Cinderella’s mother, the task makes him feel uncomfortable and he asks to opt out of it (which he can’t). He says it hits too close to him :(

Story-relevant clothing disappears once a key-holder is wearing it

Fairytale food has no effect on the digestive system

Chase feeding and naming the birds. I just love that. One of them is named Jake

Silver’s full name is Little Silver

Silver says that entering someone else’s book without having the book on hand is impossible, meaning Buddy is breaking some kind of rule (unless he is a part of Ex Libris and is using an unknown spell)

Narratonin is the pure form of humanity’s enjoyment of stories

There are 12 keys in total

Silver and Violet are sisters. Amendment: Bronze is their brother

Narratonin can heal small wounds

Chase’s mom is named Myra and his dad was named George. George is dead and Myra has cancer

The keys don’t have parents so they likely all consider themselves siblings

Buddy hates Chase’s singing voice

Buddy knows a lot about the keys and claims that it’s helpful to be on speaking terms with them, which contradicts Ex Libris’s ideals

Keys are capable of tasting and digesting food (it is unknown if they produce waste)

The key Chase failed to buy was gold-colored, likely named Gold 🤔

Chase can’t count

Silver loves cheese

Deacon loves horses but horses hate him. Amendment: the same goes for unicorns

Chase loves sparkly things

Buddy is somehow capable of knowing the entire plot of the book he’s in, including obscure stories like the cat one

Buddy was only aware that the Heroine key was missing (likely only after running into Chase for the first time, however) and is surprised to later find out other keys were gone too

Real-world items can be taken into the books, like cellphones and jackets

Buddy knows a fair amount about cats

At the end of Toffee Break, Buddy says that Chase “will be useful after all” after acknowledging his ability to derail the stories. His plans remain a mystery 🤔 since we already know he prefers to follow a story to the letter, what use could he have of Chase who does the opposite?

Punko implied the existence of a Mary Sue key

Chase’s full name is Charlie Everett Hollow. Deacon’s full name is Deacon Everett Hollow. They share a middle name

Chase is 18, Deacon is 20, and Buddy "looks 20-ish"

According to Punko, Buddy would do ANYTHING for a chocolate bar

If Chase’s wedding vows include the phrase “timely jewelry retrieval” we are all legally allowed to make fun of him

Chase's dream husband is a "super crazy hot vampire guy" from the Mistenwood Movie franchise named Caspian Wolfsblood

“After all that… and it’s just a small… weak little thing like you.” This implies many things. After all what? What do you mean by “thing”? We need answers, Buddy! He ends their first ever conversation with “it’s your funeral” which is VERY concerning, as if using the keys incorrectly may kill Chase???? So many questions!

Boris the horse has been in the house before

Boris ate one of Deacon’s shirts

When Deacon and Chase were kids, they’d play in the attic area above Chase's room and Chase’s dad would warn them not too fall off the ladder

Chase has an Alistair shrine under his bed

Bronze is 100% content with living in an oven mitt

Chase openly hates Deacon’s mom

Chase loves coconuts

Chase tried to take photos of Buddy with both digital and film cameras but they turned up blank. He took a lot of test shots though. A lot

Chase lies when he says he tried to take the photos for Silver, because they realized Buddy was too young for her to recognize him the same day he met her

It can be assumed that book objects can be taken into the real world thanks to Bronze’s request for a seashell from the Beach Boys arc, but as the arc is currently unfinished we do not know if this is truly possible

Ex Libris lore:

They created the keys

They kept the keys in a library and rarely let them interact in their person forms

Silver last remembers being in the “Ex Libris building” which is the society’s headquarters

The Order of Ex Libris had many spells and secrets

Narratonin was discovered before the keys were created, and they were created to collect this substance

The keys were used constantly by lower members of the order and then given to senior members to make wishes

The keys were kept on key rings to keep them asleep, and the keys themselves were stored in a very safe and secure location (presumably a box)

As a StarGoth Enthusiast I will also log every time Chase and Buddy blush in response to each other:

Cinderfella (I)

Toffee Break (II)

Toffee Break (V)

Toffee Break (V)

[darksigns-exe]

strange magic - witch!nick ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: Discussions of mental health, depression, anxiety, mentions of self-harm, knife related injury

word count: 4.2k

notes: I’m reading The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki at the moment, and it might have influenced some parts of this.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

You don’t remember where exactly you’d heard his name for the first time. Someone in your circle of friends had mentioned going to see him about a minor health issue they’d been struggling with and that no conventional doctor had been able to fix. It had taken them one visit to cure said ailment. 

Now, you didn’t expect a miracle cure, but at this point you’d take anything. Whatever it takes to make this feeling disappear. No psychiatrist or therapist had helped, you’d tried everything. 

Magic or something akin to it didn’t seem too unrealistic of an option at this point. Your friend hadn’t been entirely clear on what this guy exactly did or was, all they had mentioned was that his methods were unconventional. 

Armed with the address and maybe a little too much hope, you set off. The place is located in a wooded area, set quite a bit back from the main road. You park near the front of the driveway and walk the rest of the way, just like your friend had told you to do. 

The twisted path that leads you through the woods turns you around entirely, and after a few minutes you have no idea which way you’re oriented or from which direction you’ve come. 

Every step leads you deeper into this forest. As the trees grow taller and thicker, light and warmth become scarce, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body to ward off the chill. 

The path makes another sharp turn and suddenly, you find yourself faced with an almost dream-like glade. Light pours into the space, filling it with warm, golden sunlight. In the middle, sits a lone cottage. It looks a little ramshackle, the roof is tilted in an odd way, and you think that some of the beams must be old and slowly giving into the weight of the roof. There’s something comforting about the place, though. 

The door swings open just as you reach the three steps that lead up the small porch. The glimmering little trinkets and chimes that hang from the roof above it catch your attention. Despite the mass of things that are placed all over the porch and in the windows, it doesn’t feel cluttered. Everything is where it needs to be. 

Your attention is drawn to a sun catcher that seems to be made out of broken pieces of coloured glass and mirror. The little specks of sunlight it scatters all across you and the space around you are mesmerising. Perhaps you should find one like this for your own home. 

“Pretty isn’t it?” someone speaks from behind you and you find yourself twitching with panic. 

When you turn around, you find that the source of the voice is a young man with dark hair. He squints at you for a moment, before an apologetic smile works its way onto his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Would you like to come in?” You’re sure that this isn’t the man you’re supposed to see, he seems way too young to be some kind of miracle healer. Maybe he’s an apprentice or other kind of aide to this Nicholas. 

You follow him into the cabin. The inside is surprisingly simple, yet incredibly inviting. Most of the space is taken up by a large wooden table. It has dents and scratches in its surface that tell more stories than any person could. Warm light floods through the room, but you can’t find a single light source. The fireplace can’t be responsible for all the light in here. 

“Sit. Please.” he motions towards one of the chairs by the table. 

You hang your jackets over the back of the chair before you sit. He doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the wooden counter. You watch as he searches through one of the shelves, until he produces two mismatched cups and saucers. 

“I hope you found the place alright?” he asks, as he picks up a variety of tins from a different shelf. 

“A friend of mine came here a few weeks ago and her directions were pretty good.” you reply.

He nods sagely, as if he knows exactly who you are talking about. 

“Your friend is feeling better? Her condition was quite worrisome.”

“It’s almost as if she was never unwell.” 

Your answer brings a smile to his face, “That’s good to hear. I don’t usually get to hear about the people who come here after they leave.”

He walks towards the fireplace and with the help of a seemingly hand knit pot holder, he retrieves the kettle hanging in front of it. He then proceeds to fill both cups with water before returning the kettle to its previous place. 

He places one of the cups in front of you, while the other is placed in front of the seat to your right at the head of the table. 

“So – you heard that your friend found the aid they needed here and decided that you would follow in their footsteps and find me. What can I do for you?”

“You are Nicholas?” you finally ask as the puzzle begins to make sense. 

His cheeks tinge the faintest shade of pink, “My apologies. Nick is perfectly fine. Nicholas always creates that image of a wise old wizard, and I’m —” he looks down his own body, “Not that.” 

The tone of his voice makes you smile. 

There’s something awfully comforting about him. Something about him sets you at ease, despite the deep-rooted worry that sits in your chest.  

“Can I see your palm?” Nick asks gently, holding out his tattooed hand to you. 

You place your hand, palm facing up, in his and he carefully pulls your hand a little closer to him. He tilts your hand for a moment, as if he is searching for something specific. The pointer finger of his other hand traces across the lines and creases in your hand with a barely there touch. 

The noise he eventually lets out feels a little unsatisfied. 

“The metaphysical can tell us a lot. But it is not without faults. It doesn’t take an expert to see that whatever it is that worries you has been with you for a long time. I can do a lot of things, dear, but I cannot magic away feelings and emotions.” He says eventually, “I can however try to help you find the root of this. That is the best I can offer you.”

For a moment, you feel defeated. Another person who wouldn’t be able to help. At this point, it really does feel a little hopeless. The darkness slowly creeps into your vision, that awful tightness returns to your chest. You can feel yourself getting dizzy and –

And then Nick’s hand curls around yours. It doesn’t stop the panic entirely, but his touch slowly the creeping darkness significantly. 

“Try to breathe. You’re safe here.” his voice soothes your nerves, wraps around you like honey, “Only very few people have left this place without an answer to their question, and I don’t think that you will be one of them.”

You don’t know why, but you want to believe him. 

“So many people said that they could help, but nothing ever came of it.” you say quietly, “I just want to stop feeling this way.” 

Nick lets out a heavy sigh, “I know what it feels like to feel left alone. If I could, I would take all of it away. But unfortunately, in this case, altering the mind is not something I’m allowed to do. I will try to help you as best as I can, though.” 

He gives your hand a little squeeze, before he releases it again.

Nick is silent for a moment, seemingly mulling through his thoughts. He gets up then. The scrape of his chair against the wooden floor takes you by surprise. He utters a quick apology, before he disappears into a distant corner of the room.

You finally have a moment to inspect the space around you. It’s as close to a witch's hut as you could imagine. Bundles of dried herbs and flowers dangle from the low wooden beams that support the upper level. Every surface is covered in trinkets and items, and you’re sure that they all have their designated spaces. The cobblestone wall above the fireplace is adorned with a pentacle made out of what you think is willow branches. They’re woven around each other to give it more structure, and in the space between the branches small flowers have been placed. You faintly remember reading that pentacle being are used for protection. 

Your eyes drift across the cluttered table in front of you and eventually land on your still steaming cup of tea. You finally take a sip of it. 

The taste of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You can’t identify every component of it, and really it doesn’t matter too much. All you know is that it feels like a long overdue hug. The first sip is enough to fill you with a comfortable warmth, like rays of sun falling through the trees on the first warm morning of spring. 

You take another sip, once again savouring the subtle sweetness of the tea. You’ll have to ask Nick what’s in this. 

Nick is still out of sight somewhere, but you can hear him rummaging around in the distance. You’d expect yourself to feel uncomfortable being somewhat alone in a stranger's house, but everything about this place felt so comforting that you couldn’t possibly feel out of place. 

Something catches your attention then. The quiet scratching of claws against wood, followed by a slightly croaky purr makes you scan across the space to find the source of it. Your eyes land on the tuxedo cat that emerges from the lower compartment of one of the many overstuffed bookshelves. The cat stretches and shakes itself before it looks around the room for a moment. It wanders under the table, and you freeze up, trying not to scare it away. When you peek under the table, you see the cat coming towards you. It takes a moment to inspect you, before it moves past you pressing its body against your calf. 

You hear the cat hop onto something behind you. Turning around to check, you see that it has settled onto a pillow on the windowsill, lounging in the little sliver of sunlight that falls through the window there. 

Nick returns a little while later, carrying a few books in his arms. He stops, cocks his head to the side, and then smiles. You realise then that he’s not looking at you, but the cat.

“Now you show your face.” he shakes his head, “Where were you when I could have used your help, huh? Out fraternising with that damn vampire's cat, I bet.” 

He sets the books down on the table. 

“That’s Jerry. He’s supposed to be helpful.” he says, glaring at the cat, “He doesn’t usually show his face when I have visitors. Looks like a good omen to me.” 

Nick takes a sip from his own cup. He closes his eyes for a second and lets out a content sigh. 

He files through one of the books, turning the open pages towards you. 

“I can’t make it go away, but I can give you things that might help.” he offers, “How is the tea?”

“It’s really nice. I wanted to ask about it.”

Nick sits up a little straighter then, “Lemon balm, lemon verbena and lavender. I’ll fix up a jar for you to take home.”

He continues to explain a meditation method he’d read about a while ago. Nick shakes off your concern about having tried meditation before. 

“This is different. I think it’s worth a shot. I have some incense somewhere that might help too.” 

That evening, when you drive home, your chest feels a little bit lighter already. Maybe it’s just the idea of someone being so willing to help you. Nick has no ties to you, no reason to be this invested. But he’d still sent you home with a freshly mixed jar of the tea you’d had earlier, a written up version of the meditation technique and several cones of incense with a crescent moon holder. 

You’d also agreed that you’d come back the following week to report back. In the meantime, Nick would do research of his own to see what he could do. 

You’re not sure which of the things helps, but when you set out to see him again a week later, you find yourself feeling actually excited. 

Your visits become more and more frequent. Over the weeks, you learn that Nick doesn’t like to venture into town, and so you offer to take care of his errands there in return for his help. Weekly visits become twice a week, and before you know it, you find yourself stopping by at Nick’s whenever you can.

 Your mental health makes working pretty much impossible, and having something to do again feels genuinely good. On some days, Nick puts you to work in the garden behind the cottage. On others, you get to watch while he works on whatever it is he does in the kitchen. 

It’s almost November when he asks you to help him with the apples. 

“What exactly are we making?” you ask as you continue to peel yet another apple. 

“Half of these will be crumble and the rest compote.” 

You turn to watch Nick tip flour into a large ceramic bowl. Your momentary inattentiveness makes your knife slip. You drop it as soon as the pain hits. 

“Shit.” you cry out, wrapping your hand around your pointer finger.

Something behind you clatters, before Nick pushes himself in front of you. 

“Oh no.” he says quietly, pulling a kitchen towel from one of the cabinet handles. 

He presses the towel to your finger, before he steers you over to the large table. 

“Sit.” he urges, “Hold the towel there, I’ll be right back.” 

Nick rushes off into what you now know to be the bathroom. He returns with a few supplies a moment later. He kneels down in front of you, carefully taking your hand into his. 

“Let’s see.” He peels the towel away, and you can’t hold the wince, “I’m sorry, dear. I know.” 

He wipes the wound clean with a fresh towel, careful not to agitate it more. 

“It’ll be good in a moment.” Nick soothes, “Just have to see how bad it is.” 

The sound he makes then tells you that it’s quite bad. 

Nick picks up one of the small tins he brought over from the bathroom. He applies some of the salve to the cut. It stings just a little bit, but not enough to be of note. He wraps a small bit of muslin around your finger, before he takes your hand into his again. You watch as his eyes close and his head drops. You’ve seen Nick work his magic before when Jerry got into scuffles with other animals during his nightly outings, but you had never felt it yourself. 

As his focus narrows down on you, warmth spreads out from your finger. It travels up your arm and through your chest. You can’t take your eyes off him. Nick’s whole body seems to have a faint golden glow to it. 

Just as the warmth threatens to get too intense, it fades out. 

Nick remains with his head bowed for a moment longer. He peels back the muslin. All that remains of the cut is a small crescent moon shaped scar just above the first joint. 

“There you go.” Nick says quietly, “All good.” 

He looks up at you with a soft smile. 

Your heart makes a little thump then. You’d noticed it before when he looks at you. At first, you thought that it was nothing but the beginnings of a good friendship. By now, you are sure that it is so much more than that. But then again, you’ve only known Nick for a little over two months, and you have no idea if that is even something he’s interested in. 

The moment pops when Jerry forces his way between the two of you. He lets out a very displeased sound, making it known that it’s time for him to get attention again. 

Nick huffs out a laugh before he drops his head again. He scratches the top of Jerry's head before he eventually rises from the floor. 

It takes you a moment to catch up with him again. The way he had looked at you still lingers in your mind when you rejoin him in the kitchen. Nick hands you the freshly cleaned knife, and you resume your apple peeling duties as if nothing at all had happened. 

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon continues without larger incidents. You can’t tell if it’s in your imagination or not, but you think that Nick looks at you more often. And even if he does, you’re sure that it’s just to make sure that you haven’t injured yourself again. Working with him like this is incredibly comfortable. You don’t speak a lot, but you don’t feel as if you need to say a lot either. There’s no pressure to make idle conversation. 

With the crumble finally in the oven and the last jars of compote sealed, you finally sit down in the chair on his front porch. Nick had sent you ahead with a blanket, knowing that you tended to get cold easily. He joins you just a moment a later, with two steaming mugs in his hands. He hands one to you and sets the other down on the rickety little table between the chairs. 

For a while, you sit in silence, enjoying the serenity of the glade. 

You look over at Nick, only to find him shifting uncomfortably. You think that he looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should. And so you reach out, poking your finger into his shoulder. 

“Nick?”

He twitches, head quickly snapping towards you, “Yes dear?” 

“Everything okay?” 

Nick takes a rushed sip of his tea. He contemplates for a moment longer, and you have to admit to yourself that the way his expressions shift as he tries to make up his mind is rather cute. 

“Interrupt me if I’m touching on something off limits.” he begins, “Sometimes when I heal I get glimpses of that person's emotions. It’s nothing deep or elaborate, just a snapshot, if you will. And when I touched you –”

He doesn’t have to finish for you to know what he’s trying to get at. The pang of relief that had hit you when the pain shot through your body still lingered with you. It’s been a while since you’d purposefully taken a blade to your skin. Long enough for you to think that the gratification wouldn’t be there any more. You’d fought so hard to keep yourself from doing it this time. 

You can’t stop yourself from crying then. Nick’s hand curls around yours immediately. He doesn’t try to stop you, doesn’t tell you that it’ll be alright. You’d kept all of these feelings bottled up inside of you for so long, that you couldn’t stop them from bubbling over now. 

Nick lets you cry until the tears stop falling. 

Against what you’d expected, you don’t find pity or worry on his face. He meets you with a warmth that takes some of the ache away. 

You tell him then.

Every detail that you’d hidden so far. The awful memories you’d kept so close to your chest. Even the ones that you’d never felt comfortable enough to share with therapists. 

And Nick listens so patiently. 

For a brief moment, you feel bad for unloading all of this on him, but he quickly dismisses that idea. 

The sun has long disappeared behind the trees when you finish, and you shiver in the cool night air. 

“I don’t think that I’ve ever told anyone all of that.” you finally admit. 

“Thank you for trusting me with it.” Nick replies, squeezing your hand, “I want you to know that you can always come to me. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if you need a friend – someone to talk to – I’m here.” 

Nick offers you to stay at the cottage for the night. He’s adamant that you take his bed, not budging no matter how hard you try to change his mind. While his bed is nice and comfortable, you can’t help but feel bad for him. And after two hours of tossing and turning, you creep down the stairs into the main space of the cottage again. 

You find Nick still awake, buried deep in a book. He looks up when you step onto a particularly creaky tread. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

“Could ask you the same.” 

He places the book on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. 

“I just feel bad about making you sleep on the sofa in your own house.” you admit quietly.

“What, you want to cuddle up?” it’s a humorous suggestion, but you can’t deny the appeal of it. 

Nick doesn’t wait for your answer and makes his way towards you. He follows you back up the stairs without another word.

Settling into bed with him is a little awkward at first. Both of you try to find a comfortable spot without getting too close to the other, even when you wouldn’t mind curling up next to him. This time, sleeps finds you easily. 

You wake up to a gloomy morning. The gentle rapping of rain on the roof makes you want to stay in bed for just a while longer. You pull the fluffy duvet around yourself, sinking just a little deeper into the warmth of the bed. You’ve been up in the attic of Nick’s cottage a few times, but never for this long. Just like the rest of the place, it’s so warm and comfortable up here. Most of the wooden cladding is covered with beautiful tapestries that mirror the Persian carpet that fills most of the space. 

Nick is still fast asleep next to you. He looks so peaceful, brow furrowed just a little bit. You almost want to reach out to smooth your thumb over the crease. You don’t want to overstep, though. 

Instead, you crawl out of bed as carefully as you can without waking Nick up. You know that he likes to start his morning with a strong black coffee. Just like you. 

By now you know your way around his kitchen and finding the ceramic filter, coffee grounds and his favourite mug doesn’t take you all too long. Manoeuvring the kettle was a different story, but you manage to make it work. 

By the time you climb back up the steep stairs towards the attic, Nick has already stirred from his slumber. He’s still hidden under the down duvet, but you can hear him quietly talking to Jerry. 

Nick looks up when he hears you approach and flashes you a sweet smile. 

“You’re a darling.” he says softly when you hand him his mug. 

You sit next to him on the bed, once again getting comfy. 

Nick takes a long sip from his coffee, letting out a content sigh. 

“Sleep alright?” he asks then, turning to towards you. 

You nod, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”  

“Of course.” 

You both fall silent for a while, comfortably nursing your coffees. You shuffle a little closer to him, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder. Nick’s hand finds its way to your legs, resting comfortably above your knee. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you feel yourself melt on the inside. 

You don’t know where this is going to take you, all you know is that you’ve never felt this comfortable around another person. You don’t know how he does it, but Nick manages to make you feel as if you can beat this and come up on top, and really that’s good enough for you. 

By Yule, you’ve basically moved into the cottage with Nick.  It’s quiet and comfortable, and it does wonders for your health. You know that you still have a long path in front of you, but with Nick at your side, it doesn’t feel impossible any more. You’re busy with a batch of cookies when Nick comes in, a few extra logs for the fireplace under his arm. 

He shoves his freezing cold hands under your knit sweater, as he wraps his arms around you. You let out a little squeak in reaction, to which he gives an amused chuckle. 

“Smells good, what are you making?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You lean back against his chest, “Just sugar cookies.” 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Can’t wait. Do you need help?” 

You shake your head, “Go get showered. We can start dinner when you’re done.” 

Nick kisses your cheek again before he detaches himself from you, “Won’t be long.” 

As he heads towards the bathroom, Nick stops where Jerry is napping on the sofa. And when you look over to them, you realise that you’ve finally made it home. 

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[nerdygaymormon]

Elder Oaks' address in October 2024 asks for civility and less polarization. “We need to love and do good to all. We need to avoid contention and be peacemakers in all our communications,” he advised. “This does not mean to compromise our principles and priorities but to cease harshly attacking others for theirs.”

Elder Oaks spoke about "temporary commandments," such as the exodus west by the early pioneers, and "permanent commandments." Some examples of permanent commandments include avoiding contention, tithing, fully embracing “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” and using the “revealed” name of the church.

He asked members to cease attacking others if their beliefs differ from your own. “As we pursue our preferred policies in public actions, let us qualify for his blessings by using the language and methods of peacemakers,” he urged. “In our families and other personal relationships, let us avoid what is harsh and hateful.”

Elder Oaks closes his remarks with the idea that in social and political discussions, “truth” needs to be taught and implies that apostles and prophets teach truth—so defend them.

———————————————

In response to Elder Oaks' address, his grandson Jared Oaks made the following comment via Latter Gay Stories:

GENERAL CONFERENCE COMMENTARY: My grandfather seems to have made a religious career out of anti-LGBTQIA2S+ policies, not prophesies. I’m saddened by that. Although I am not a practicing Mormon, I regret that he does not represent the best parts of Mormonism. What’s up with “don’t be mad at us for hating you”?

Mormonism, like other traditions and philosophers, has immense room for everyone; but Grandpa’s “love, but” rhetoric tells me that I am more welcome with Mormon membership than family.

There was one who “wept and stretched forth his arms, and his heart swelled wide as eternity.” My grandfather does not know what that means, judging from his addresses.

Love can and should include all.

The many LDS members who are friends of mine do not act and speak with anything but love for everyone. They constitute a “true church.” I can’t tell you how many amazing Mormons I know. I come from this tradition and care about the better parts of it.

Speaking of harmful rhetoric within families, as my grandfather did today, I was shocked when, just before meeting with one of my amazing cousins, [Dallin’s wife] Kristen Oaks, warned my grandpa that I might be wearing a “wife beater.”

That stung.

For the record, I am unmarried. If that makes me a royal disappointment, I accept the mantle.

-Jared Oaks

———————————————

I think what Jared is saying is the church can’t have it both ways. They can’t embrace "truths" which disparage minority communities and then want others to be okay and not get upset for members simply proclaiming their beliefs which are hurtful. Jared points out that his grandfather, Dallin H. Oaks, despite these words calling for more kindness, has not been kind to queer people—his own grandson included.

[malereadermaniac]

Cool about it. - Kuroo x Male Reader

I recommend looping the song while reading this <3 Tinge of angst with fluffy end word count: 1.6k m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Your chest hurt

You're used to the feeling, though it doesn't make it hurt any less

Walking home with Kuroo was a daily occurrence, just like his bragging about the number of confessions he had received that day

He always tries to tease you about how you "get no action (n/n)"

He doesn't know you're gay

You've tried to tell him before, but you chickened out after looking into your bestfriends eyes for a second too long

"And then there was this girl in my chem class............."

Kuroo babbles on

It hurts you

You get that funny feeling in your chest everything he talks about girls

But you never let your facade slip, and continue to pretend that you're interested and support him

By this point, it may as well be method acting

"How come you don't crush on any girls, (n/n)?"

" 'cause I don't like girls."

You didn't even think

It just slipped out

"Oh..."

You look up at the taller man with fear in your eyes

But he has a smirk on his lips

"How come you don't have the guys lining up then?" He teases

It didn't affect him whatsoever

Kuroo is a good friend to you, unconditional support no matter what

Anyone would be lucky to have a friend like him, so why did his support kill you on the inside

It gives you butterflies in the worst way possible...

"Hey! Wait for me, (n/n)!" Kuroo shouts from behind you

You tried to escape early today. Your heart couldn't really take more of his girl blabber

"Oh, sorry, Kuroo" you say with a small smile

The walk I again filled with his own talk about girls

But he pauses at one moment

"About what you said yesterday...."

"We don't have to talk about it" you interrupt quickly

You smile up at him and keep walking

Kuroo sighs but smiles back

Truth be told, Kuroo always rejected the girls that asked him out

He had put it down to the fact that a relationship would only add more stress to his life - he already gets only 4 hours of sleep because of his parents fighting

But recently, he's been thinking that he'd also rather spend time with you

And if he were I a relationship, then that would mean he couldn't

But he kept the thought to himself as he walked you home

Lying in bed late at night was something you usually did

But you looked at the alarm clock at said "3:00" in big red numbers and sighed

Those evil butterflies have returned, you'd been thinking about Kuroo again

Tears flowed down your cheeks as you breathed shallowly

You'd wished he was less of a good person

You'd wished that Kuroo would just be cruel about it and drop you after he'd found out you liked guys

But he didn't

He did the bare-minimum but it still made your heart flutter after he'd accepted you so easily

You lie on your side and continue to cry until your ducts are dry

Thinking about Kuroo until you'd fallen asleep

Just 10 minuets away, Kuroo was also awake in bed

Listening as his parents argue about idiotic things

He doesn't want a relationship like theirs

Kuroo's thoughts drift as his parents' argument fades into the background

He doesn't ever want a marriage like his parents. He wants to be friends with his lover

Get to know them really well, as well as he knows you

Then his thoughts drift to thoughts of you

Kuroo really liked you, the two of you clicked immediately when you were sat together in English

He was closer to you than with Kenma, and that's saying a lot

From admiring you as a friend, Kuroo's thoughts moved on to how cute you were

You took his teasing with a blush, and even teased him back sometimes

He then thought about how cute you looked - his type exactly but as a guy instead of a girl

He liked the nicknames you'd given each other, sort of like pet names

After a solid half an hour, Kuroo noticed his parents had gone to sleep and shut up, and that he'd been thinking about you for half an hour...

And his thoughts were definitely not very 'no homo'

A funny feeling filled his stomach as he thought about you again

Kuroo fell asleep finally, but the thought of you didn't leave his mind

School the next day was a little different

Kuroo still met you early in the morning to walk with you, and there was the normal complaining about his parents

He only did that with you, he was comfortable around you

But his blabber about girls was missing, it gave you a well needed break...

During English, you noticed him staring at you a lot

"You good, Roo?" You whisper warmly

His eyes stared into yours for a second too long

"I'm great..." he whispers with a smile, it made your heart pang

You wish you could have him as more than a friend, but it'll pass (you hope)

You'll forget about it.

Break and lunch was normal with the guys, but Kuroo was a lot more touchy with you than normal

An arm around the shoulder was normal, but asking you to feed him as he sat behind you and hugged you was strange

You'd almost had it by the end of volleyball

He kept looking over to you and smirking, it made you feel uneasy

And when one of the guys asked him about the girl in chem

Kuroo responded in a way that made you feel sick yo your stomach

"Nah, I'd rather spend time with (n/n) than her"

You were silent on your way back home, mumbling responses to Kuroo's "are you okay?"s

You felt ill from the mix of emotions

When you felt his hand on yours, you snapped

Your heart was pounding, and your face went pale

"WHAT IS UP WITH YOU TODAY??!"

Lucky you were both in front of your house and not in the middle of the street

"What do you mean, (n/n)?" Kuroo tries to reach for you and calm you down

"Don't (n/n) me, Kuroo. You've made my day hell today with all the mixed signals... I guess you figured it out and decided to tease me. You've taken it too far!"

Kuroo was worried

Worried to lose you over something he had no idea about, worried that this argument reminded him of his parents, worried him that he may lose you as more than just a friend

"Mixed signals? What do you mean, (y/n)??"

Kuroo was pleading, his face full of sadness and worry

"Don't play dumb... you figured out I like you and... and you're being a dick about it"

Kuroo's world stops

"You... like me?" Kuroo says confused, but then a smile starts to form

"Great..." tears spill from your eyes

"You didn't know and now I've told you. I'm sorry, Kuroo... you can pretend you never heard that." You say as your tears drop onto your shirt and the floor

You rush into your house, locking the door as Kuroo shouts for you to come back put and talk

A day passed by

Kuroo tried to talk to you in the morning, but you shut him down with a short "later"

Everyone noticed the two of you weren't talking

Your day was consumed by him, and vice versa

It felt like you were drowning in the emotions and thoughts of only one thing: Kuroo

By routine, you head over to the volleyball court

"(Y/n) we have to talk"

Your skin crawls and you jump from the surprise

You turn around and see a glum looking Kuroo

"Yeah, we need to talk about it at some point..."

The two of you head towards a more secluded area

Your hearts racing

Your chest is in an indescribable kind of pain

You feel so ill, you might hurl

"I'll start, I guess..." you say quietly

Kuroo stays quiet and listens

"I promise I didn't like like you since the beginning... I did see you as a friend. It's just that for the past year, I've had these feelings that I can't explain"

"I think I know the feeling you're talking about, (n/n).... that panging feeling in your chest and heart"

You feel warm from the nickname

You look into his eyes and smile

"Yeah... those fucking butterflies..."

"I'm sorry that I like you, it's a lot to put on you... plus you like girls so I know it's an impossible situation" you say with a defeated chuckle as your eyes fall to the ground

"No!"

Kuroo's shout brings your eyes back up to his

"I- I like you too! Or at least... I think so? I've always liked girls but with you... I like you more than any girl I've ever dated! When I think of the kind of relationship I want with someone, I think of the one I have with you! It's all slipped passed me until now but..."

"(Y/n)... I think I'm in love with you!"

Your heart skips a beat

Tears flood your eyes, and you and Kuroo both go in for a hug

Not for a kiss, there's still a lot more talking to do before you can both get the sweet relief of a kiss

But a tight, long hug will do for now

Those evil butterflies have been replaced with good ones

You're chest no longer hurts

[ddejavvu]

Whipped!Hangman would:

Tell everyone to "Be nice to them, or you're all dead. Every single one of you. Especially you, Big Bird." He emphasizes the last part with a point to Rooster

Let you win at pool because you look so happy when you win and he doesn't have the heart to actually win

Give you seashells he finds

Win you a prize at a claw machine. He would literally stand there the whole night and empty out his wallet if it means he gets to see that smile when he gives the plush

Give you flowers. Idc idc, he so would

Listen to you talk and talk and talk

Send you songs that remind him of you

save your contact with a little '<3' after your name

no bc around his team members he's a whole different person than he is with you, and that's not to say he's not 'himself' around you, but he knows his friends need to be threatened into good behavior so he runs ahead when you meet them with the nastiest glare on his face like i fucking dare you to act out and lets you grab his arm if you're a little nervous to meet everyone :'))

hangman is the reigning pool champion but everyone else must be super bad bc he always loses to you?? he's really not even that good at pool, you don't know why he keeps making the stupid mistakes he does... oh well! he's asked you to teach him your methods, so you'll have fun giving him pointers <3

hangman probably never collects seashells, because he's too impatient to sift through the sand for him and there's always better stuff to be doing, like chasing a frisbee, catching a football, diving into the waves is he a dog? but he always collects seashells after you're dating, he spots one by his foot and he's like woah y/n would love this. and he just sticks it right in his pocket for you, presents the little thing in his giant palm later with a smile, like here y'go darlin'. Ain't it pretty? It made me think of you.

HNNGGH PLEASE :(( penny puts in an arcade machine in the bar to make more money, and it's proooobably rigged, but you can't prove anything >:( anyways ofc hangman doesn't know this, and penny didn't think anyone would put that much effort into the machine for a stupid pink bear, but $30 later (all paid in ones) he's about to smash the glass to get the poor thing out and you beg penny to just let him have it already 😭 she's like yk what i can buy a truckload of cheap stuffed animals with that $30. sold. so she fishes it out for him and is like ohh must be bugging out. i'll fix it. take this in the meantime. and he hasn't held it for a second before he turns around and gives it to you :')) he's all sheepish like wish I could'a won it for you. Guess I just paid Penny off, huh? I hope you like it anyways. and you sleep with it every night to make him feel better, you tuck it between the two of you when you cuddle up to his chest :')

he brings you flowers all the time!!! he's a real southern gentleman, if you ask what they're for he says 'just because' or 'just for being you' :')

he has one of those expressions where he zones out while listening to you talk and you can totally tell he's not paying attention to you anymore, he's looking at you all dreamy the same way babies look at chocolate 🥹

jake hangman country boy seresin only listens to country music. that's it. he'll send you any honky tonk song under the sun if it describes a sweet, pretty love interest, if there's anything positive at all in the song he's sending it like morning, darlin. this made me think of you <3

THE <3 !!!!!!!!! rooster's the first one to see it and his brow furrows and he goes 'hangman, who is that?' and jake snatches the phone away from him so fucking fast, snapping at him to stop snooping on people, it's rude. but bradley's seen it now, and he'll be damned if he doesn't torture the info out of hangman. within minutes everyone knows hangman's got a girl, and it's only a matter of time before you're discovered <3

[mochinomnoms]

Ooo here’s an interesting thought for you. So you know how, in the interspecies romance, you mentioned how Jade and Floyd would still kinda ‘bully’ a potential partner? Can you imagine if that person were an overthinking type? Like the ‘mean’ interactions make them think that either of the tweels just do NOT like them.

Basically misunderstandings abound.

Floyd gifts them a tooth; are they next?? Jade gives a poisonous (but pretty/rare) mushroom; is this a threat??

Could also just be a person who has a difficult time interpreting social cues, or flirting.

But either way, the poor object of their interest starts avoiding them and is so confused by the mixed signals. So they go up to Azul or something and ask if they’ve made the respective tweel angry or something. Because they thought they were getting along???

Just a poor confused bean.

Anyway sorry that was long but I just thought it was an interesting concept. 😂

As someone whose autism severely impacted their understanding of social norms, I feel this on a deeply spiritual level. In the partner's defense, the twins are just generally intimidating and take delight in scaring their peers. They say the most out of pocket shit and it's hard to tell when they're being serious or joking (they also have a tad bit of the tism). Poor Azul would be so tired of having to deal with a potential eel mate asking him to call off his right/left-hand men, they don't have a contract with him anymore, so why are they threatening them with loose teeth and poisonous mushrooms?? Azul!! Make them stop!!!

(He briefly considers staying out of it. It would do them some good to suffer through their pining until they have the common sense to look up human dating and woo methods. But they are his friends that he actually cares quite deeply for his employees whose moods are affecting productivity, so he'll explain it to you, and then go give them a good wack in the head for being stupid.)

Floyd is the more likely of the two to not look up human courting and dating methods. He's more of the kind of guy that's hoping you will get what he means by vibe alone. Like that manifesting stuff Cater goes on about. You'll have to be particularly perceptive to notice that he squeezes you a bit softer, looks at you with hearts in his eyes a bit longer than more, and notice that he slips up and calls you by your name instead of Shrimpy; he's surprisingly subtle with his growing affections. Jade would have definitely research ahead of time, plus he's very perceptive of others and their emotions around him. He'll probably be able to tell that you're not getting his advances, but on the other hand, it would be so funny to see how long it takes for you to catch on. He'll make fun of you in the future on how you “strung along a poor eel's heart, waaahhhh!” while he pined after you with foraged and handmade gifts, classic merfolk courting! That, or you accidentally start dating/a friends-with-benefits situation, both of you misunderstanding the other's intentions. It would take some incredible denseness and misunderstanding on both your parts for that to happen, which is a lot easier than you think when it comes to Jade “Keep them Guessing” Leech. Truly, a man can be too confident with regard to love, please tell him this or else you'll spend at least four months in a relationship before realizing it.

[samsalami66]

Red Card Plays

Another day, another dreamling soccer au fic! Have fun reading!

Read on ao3 here!

(TW: Homophobia, Abuse, Panic Attacks)

“You’re here early.” 

Morpheus didn’t look up at the sound of Hob’s voice, too used to it by now to be startled out of his warm-up. He took a deep breath so he might answer the unspoken question which Hob asked almost every time when he found him on the pitch way before training started.

“Yes I… I wanted to get some extra training in.” It was an easy lie, almost coming naturally with how many times he had already said it. “You are early as well.”

Hob nodded as he sat down next to him, mirroring his position. 

“Oh yeah, it makes Gilbert happy when I show up early from time to time, to straighten my bad track record.” 

This, too, was familiar. Finding pretty words in order not to outright name the punishment at hand, make light of the situation one found themselves in. It was only a matter of time until Morpheus would find himself subjected to the darker side the Fiddlers surely possessed, or be faced with it through one of the other players. 

Though he hoped it would not have to be Hob, when it came to it. Morpheus had rather started to enjoy the other man’s calming presence. 

“I understand. Say, what would Gilbert do if he was unhappy with a player’s performance?” Morpheus would want to know what to expect sooner rather than later, to get an understanding of what Gilbert’s chosen ways of training were. That way he might prepare accordingly. 

“What would he do?” Hob was frowning at him, his arms crossing over his chest. “You mean outside of talking to you?”

Now, Morpheus was frowning too. Surely Hob understood that he could talk about this freely. They were teammates now after all, and perhaps even on the way of becoming something like friends. “I mean… extra training, punishments, or whatever you call it here.”

The stare Hob gave him was bordering on worry. “Dream” he started, slowly. “What did Roderick do, when he was unhappy with your performance?”

Weird question, but alright.

“The usual?” When Hob just kept staring at him, Morpheus continued with a roll of his eyes. “Running until collapsing, no water for the day, sometimes he got out the cane.”

Hob’s stare turned dark at his words, his jaw tensed and he took a deep breath. 

“Burgess abused you?”

“What? No!” It was Morpheus’ turn to frown again. “No, those were just training methods, to keep us on track. How else would you ensure people keep up with it?”

“Enthusiasm? Loyalty? Adjusting the training to the players? Motivate them?”

“What motivates a player better than the fear of punishment?”

Morpheus was growing frustrated. There was no reason for Hob to be so stubborn about admitting to this. 

“Anything, Dream, literally anything else would be more motivating for a player. You left the Riggers the moment Burgess bit the dust, didn’t you?”

That. Well, that was true. But Morpheus hadn’t left the team because of that, it was just that he couldn’t stand to play there when Roderick was gone. His ghost had been everywhere, his voice constantly at the back of his mind, telling him he was doing it all wrong, that he was a burden for the team, that only he could make him worth something as a player. That was why he had left.

“Dream, love, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Of course he could, there was nothing wrong with him, after all. Any player Morpheus had ever talked to (which, admittedly, were just his old teammates. They hadn’t been allowed friendship or anything similar outside of their team) experienced the same treatment and knew about these training methods, accepted them as effective, even. So of course he could look at Hob. He could even hold his gaze, even if the worry in his teammate’s eyes made his stomach clench with a feeling he could not place. 

“Nobody is going to hurt you here. Nobody, Dream,” Hob’s eyes held a seriousness Morpheus simply couldn’t understand, that did not make sense. 

“But Roderick didn’t hurt me. He disciplined me, he, he motivated me and pushed me to be better, to be the best version of myself.”

His voice was loud. Morpheus did not remember raising it, nor did he know why tears were gathering in his eyes or why he felt the need to hug his knees to his chest like a toddler. He was not some child after all, and there was no reason for this. 

“Oh, love,” It was so soft, so filled with care, and Morpheus felt the tears spill over. Arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, so that all he could feel was Hob’s warmth surrounding him as he cried. Though what for, he still wasn’t sure. 

- - - 

“How are we feeling?” 

We. It implied a shared feeling, as if emotions could be experienced conjointly. Perhaps Hob Gadling really did share worry, fear and joy with those around him. Empathetic, in a way Morpheus failed to fully understand. 

He was grateful for it now. 

Now, they were sitting, together, in Hob’s car, waiting for him to be ready to step outside and begin therapy. He was not alone. Hob was here, with him. Holding his hand. Patient, caring. Morpheus was not sure that he deserved this care, this love. Which, perhaps, was one of the reasons he was sitting here. Or at least Hob had informed him that such thoughts were deemed ‘unhealthy’. 

Morpheus could not remember a time where he had felt worthy of love. Or a time where he had been loved, the way Hob explained love was supposed to be. Unconditional. 

There had always been conditions. His mother had loved him when he did her bidding, his father when he kept quiet. Epithumia had loved him when he left their home. 

Hob said he loved Morpheus for himself, for his friendship and his character. Morpheus did not quite believe him, but perhaps he would, in time. 

So, how was he feeling?

“I am. Afraid. Of talking to this person. But I also wish to. To learn. I wish to become a better friend.” 

It was what they were, now. Friends. A baffling concept to Morpheus, that a person so caring could expand their care to him of all people. But he did. And Morpheus was thankful for it. 

Hob grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly, the action grounding him.

“Being afraid of this is the most natural thing, love. I was so nauseous the first time I came here I almost turned around and went back home.” It didn’t sound like a bad idea at all, and Morpheus said so. Hob squeezed his hand again with a soft smile. “If you really don’t want to go, we can turn around and reschedule. We will do this in your time, however long it takes.”

“You would leave, now? When we are already here? When all I have to do is step out of your car and into the building?” It would be an inconvenience. It would mean doing it all over again, driving into the city and spending hours in his presence. Things nobody would want to do, not voluntarily. 

“Of course I would, Dream. These things can’t be rushed. If you aren’t ready, it doesn’t need to happen today.”

Morpheus nodded, once, before taking a deep breath. Hob was not like the people he had known so far. He knew this. 

“You will be here?”

“Awaiting your return, my friend.”

Another deep breath, another nod, and Morpheus pushed the door of the car open and made his way inside, knowing that Hob would be there. Just like he promised. 

- - - 

An hour later, almost on the dot, Morpheus stepped back out of the building, feeling like a single touch might break him apart. Hob had tried to warn him that there would be a lot of feelings he wouldn’t understand, and wouldn't be able to place. Never had Morpheus felt so out of his depth, like his skin didn’t fit quite right anymore and his mind was not his own. 

But that was alright. Because Hob was there. Waiting, just as he had promised. Even if Morpheus didn’t feel like he knew himself anymore, Hob was waiting, patient, just like he always was.

Morpheus wanted to hug him, to be held, so he wouldn’t feel like he might shatter apart anymore. But at the same time touch felt impossible, the very idea made his skin crawl like a hundred ants were trapped in his veins. He wasn’t sure what to do about it, so he did not do anything, except open the passenger side to Hob’s car. 

And there, on his seat, was a… a toy. A plushie. A fox-plushie, to be exact, large red ears with black tips, a very fluffy tail and black button eyes. It was… cute. It looked like something his younger self would have loved to own, something he would have paraded around as his favourite possession.  

“A little surprise, for being brave enough to walk in there,” said Hob, his voice soft as he leaned towards the other seat so Morpheus could see him. He was smiling, pride clear in his eyes, and Morpheus could feel himself blush. It had been a long time since someone had last told him they were proud of him, longer still since he had been given a gift for doing something right. He must have been silent for a moment too long, missing the time it was socially acceptable to answer, because Hob was looking at him apologetically and reached for the plushie. “Sorry, I thought it was a good idea, but it’s childish, really, you don’t have to-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Morpheus snatched the fox away from him and held it close to his chest, suddenly protective over the toy. 

“A gift from my only friend could never be childish, Robert.” Morpheus huffed, his eyes narrowed playfully at the other man. Teasing was still unfamiliar to him, but he believed himself to be finally getting the hang of it. “Also, don’t disrespect Gerhard the Great like that. He detests being called a children’s toy.”

His teasing must have worked, as Hob barked out a laugh at the name he had given the fox, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I wouldn’t dare! Gerhard the Great deserves all the respect I can offer. As do you, my friend.”

When Hob said ‘friend’, it sounded like a lot of things. ‘My king’, ‘My Lord’, ‘My Love’. It was never just one thing. Friend, for this man, meant everything. Morpheus doubted that Hob would stop calling his partner his friend, or that he could ever have a partner who was not also his friend. It was a weird thing to know so early on in their acquaintance, but Hob was an open book about these things. 

Hob’s openness calmed Morpheus, made it easy to trust him. And so far, his trust had only been well-placed. The fox in his arms was just another reminder of the great man Hob Gadling was. He wouldn’t judge or harm him. The only thing Hob knew to do was to care and protect. 

He had cared enough to know Morpheus would feel difficult about touch. And he had cared enough to think further, to find a solution Morpheus would have never thought of himself. 

And so, Morpheus slid easily into the passenger seat, with Gerhard the Great resting safely on his lap and one hand playing with his ears. 

“Could I tell you what I talked about with Lydia, in the past hour?”

“Of course! Whatever you want to talk about, my friend, I’m happy to listen.”

- - - 

Autism and ADHD had not been the diagnoses Morpheus had expected to get first, considering all the problems he had come to realise he had. But, as it was, Lydia had handed him books on both topics only about a month after he started therapy, and the more he read about the disorders, the more he began to see why they hadn’t been particularly hard diagnoses to make. Perhaps the fact that he was never able to stop playing around with the tissue boxes that were strategically placed around the room had been a sign. Or that he had to cover his ears from the sound of the fan and had been seconds away from what Lydia had called a ‘meltdown’, because the sound had felt like someone was scraping his brain with sandpaper. 

Perhaps, if Morpheus had had access to these books earlier, he would have noticed that he was different a lot sooner. He understood now that arguments with his old teammates had often sprouted from misunderstandings and an inability on his side to communicate his problems. Though they hadn’t been the best human beings either, so they probably wouldn’t have listened to him about his problems anyway. 

But Lydia said that he would have to try it with the Fiddlers in order to know if they were the same. Morpheus didn’t know why anyone would want to accommodate his problems, especially when he could simply push through them and pretend nothing was wrong, like he had done his whole life. Unhealthy, Lydia would chide him. He began to understand where Hob got that word from. 

He, too, said a similar thing after all, when Morpheus told him about that week’s session. It’s unhealthy to go about your whole life masking, he had said. Morpheus hadn’t known what ‘masking’ was supposed to be at that point, but he had nodded along like he understood. Whenever something is making you feel uncomfortable, just tell us, yeah? Promise we will try to help. And that had been it. 

Honestly, Hob hadn’t seemed particularly surprised about the diagnoses either. Perhaps Morpheus hadn’t been doing as well at hiding his problems as he had previously thought. 

But even with Hob’s reassurance and the fact that nothing between them or the team seemed to change after the diagnoses, it still took Morpheus another month to voice a matter of discomfort to them. Old habits die hard, after all. 

It was a Saturday and the team was getting ready for Drink Night, as was customary for them. Morpheus had been staying at Hob’s place, as he often did these days. They would watch movies or prepare dinner together on Friday nights. It was a comfortable routine, especially when Drink Night was always held at the New Inn and they simply had to walk down a flight of stairs to get there. They had their corner booth reserved every week, the bartender and waiters knew them all by name and were close friends of Hob’s, who was also the owner of the pub. If it ever became too crowded or loud for him, Morpheus would simply excuse himself to Hob’s flat. 

It was a comfortable routine. One Morpheus was not very inclined to break. 

But this Saturday, the team wanted to celebrate the opening of a new place around town. It was so new, there were no reviews or pictures online. No menu. It would be on the other side of London, far away from any of their homes, and they might have to stand in a queue in order to get in, if they would even get in all together. 

Morpheus was… slightly uncomfortable at the idea. 

“You look like your spine might snap with how tense you are.” Well, perhaps it was more than slight discomfort. Or Hob was simply getting too perceptive. Either way, he has been called out and was not feeling particularly great about it. 

“I’m fine.” He tried to deflect, but Hob was having none of it. His hands came up to massage Morpheus’ shoulders, turning him into jelly with his strong fingers digging into Morpheus’ tense muscles. 

“I can see that you’re not. Tell me what’s up so we can find a way to fix it.” 

Hob made it sound so easy. As if Morpheus just had to say the word and he would make it happen, no matter what the request was. Perhaps he would. 

Morpheus realised he wanted to find out. 

“I do not wish to go to another pub today.” He answered quietly, eyes closed and focusing on Hob’s touch, grounding him. “I fear getting… overstimulated by the surroundings and unknown parameters and not having a place to withdraw to. And I… I enjoy spending time at The New Inn.” It was a slow explanation, halting and awkward, for Morpheus was still unused to voicing his feelings in this manner. But it was easier with Hob at his back, and the knowledge that he would never be judged by this man. When he finished his explanation, the hands on his shoulders disappeared so that arms could circle around his waist and pull him into a hug. Hob was warm and solid behind him, and Morpheus felt safe like this, safe to voice any and all of his concerns. 

“Thank you for telling me, Dream. I’m so proud of you.” Warmth he wasn’t quite certain he deserved to feel swelled in Morpheus’ chest at the words, at the knowledge of having made his friend proud. “Let’s text the others to meet us here instead, yeah?”

Telling the other team members felt scarier than telling Hob, but Morpheus thought he could do anything with Hob holding him close like this. 

“Very well.” He murmured, and Hob’s arms left his body in search of his phone. Morpheus knew it was in the bathroom, where Hob had been shaving a few minutes prior and upon telling him so, he received a kiss to the cheek from his friend. 

“What would I do without you?”

It was a good question, though Morpheus felt he should be the one asking it. He answered nonetheless, but really it was more for himself than Hob. 

“I don’t know, Hob. I don’t know what I would do.”

- - - 

As the beginning of the season approached, Morpheus began to talk more with Lydia about how this time was different from how it had been at Fawney Rig. 

The overall mood of the Fiddlers did not change much as the first match drew nearer. They were growing excited, more active at training, but not really stressed or anxious. The daily talks with Gilbert seemed to help them a lot, hearing that he believed in them to play a fantastic season and could see they were coming together well as a team. 

In contrast to that, Morpheus remembered nothing but fear around the same time last year. The Riggers had been agitated, frightened of the threats Roderick would throw their way the moment he laid eyes on them. They had known that a lost match would mean punishment, that they would have to double their efforts in training and halve their hours of sleep for the weeks to come in order to placate their coach. And even then, they would get the cane. 

Apparently, a safer environment did not immediately erase years of abuse (and wasn’t it a weird thing to finally accept Roderick’s behaviour for what it had been). 

But it helped, to be able to talk about his fears with Lydia, and, later, with Hob. They had even convinced him to talk to Gilbert about it, who had pulled him into a tight hug after his explanation. On all accounts, the team and Lydia were doing their absolute best to reassure Morpheus that failure was alright and that it would not end in punishment or disappointment. Nobody would think less of him if they lost. 

And yet, when the first match approached, Morpheus found himself pacing the locker rooms, his hands shaking and mind racing. He couldn’t lose this match. It was not only the first of the season, but his first as a player for the Fiddlers, his first chance to prove himself as valuable to the team. 

What would happen if he fucked this up? What would the others think of him if he couldn’t manage to win their first game? Would Gilbert think his trust had been misplaced? That he hadn’t been worth the money of the transfer? 

“Dream?” Hob’s voice called, and unlike usual, it brought forth fear instead of warmth (which only made Morpheus feel worse, for Hob did not deserve to be feared). “Are you coming? We’re about to go on the pitch.”

He wanted to say no, that he was about to throw up or scream or pull out his own hair with how afraid he was. But there was no time left, the point of saying something long past, and so Morpheus simply nodded and followed his friend. 

Hob was perceptive as always, throwing him worried glances as they stood in line in front of the stairs to the pitch. The others were talking animatedly to the opposing team, cracking jokes and wishing them luck, but Morpheus couldn’t help but keep to himself and hide slightly behind Hob from the cameras. The public didn’t need to see just how nervous he was. Thankfully, Hob picked up on it quickly and moved to fully shield him from their view, taking one of his hands into his own and squeezing it tightly. 

“You will do just fine, Dream. I know you will.” It was a whisper, only meant for Morpheus’ ears. 

“What if I don’t?”

“Then you have given your best and will try again next time.”

Morpheus huffed, disbelieving. “I do not believe that that would be the end of it.” 

It looked like Hob was about to respond, but he was interrupted by the announcement that the players would now enter the pitch. The time for talking was over. 

For the most part, the match went alright. Hob shot an early goal, grinning wide as the crowd erupted into cheers. He bowed and threw them kisses, as was his custom, and Morpheus now understood that there was no arrogance behind that celebration, but genuine love and adoration for his fans. He had never understood it, because the Riggers’ fans had been similarly horrible to the players. They had always hated him, but it got worse after Roderick told the world about his sexuality. After that he would have food and sometimes flares thrown at him from the stands, booing from the crowd whenever he shot a goal. Morpheus couldn’t remember a single time fans cheered for him. 

Perhaps if he proved himself with the Fiddlers, the fans would start tolerating him, cheering for him. 

But for that, Morpheus had to score. 

He tried everything, every single trick up his sleeve, but the ball never found its goal. The goalkeeper was good, too good, and with every goal Morpheus failed to score his desperation grew. This was not how it usually went. He was better than this, he was so much better. But it seemed like he wasn’t good enough to win them this match. 

Ten minutes before the end, the opposing team scored the equaliser. 

Five minutes later and they were leading. 

There was nothing Morpheus could do anymore. His last shot went sailing over the goal, a pathetic attempt overall. And then it was over. The referee announced the end of the match, and everything came crashing down. 

He was breathing too quickly, too shallow. They lost. The first game of the season, his first game for the team, and they lost. 

“Dream?” Hob’s voice was close, and so soft, but Morpheus couldn’t help flinching at the sound of it. Surely not even Hob was a good enough man to look past his miserable performance today, he would be angry or disappointed, would blame him and- and punish him- “Dream, love, please look at me. Everything will be alright, just look at me, yeah?”

He couldn’t ignore Hob. Not even when he was afraid the other man would hurt him could he deny him a request, and so he lifted his eyes to look at his friend (and in this moment, friend meant so many things. It meant ‘knight’ and ‘protector’ and ‘sun’ and ‘hope’. It meant everything). 

Hob looked sad. Worried. Morpheus wanted to take him into his arms, hold him close, but before he could say so, Hob had already pulled him in. He was too warm and smelled of sweat, but it was still Hob’s smell, Hob’s warmth, and so it was nothing but comfort to Morpheus. 

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay that we lost.” There was no stopping the tears once they started, the fear and stress crashing down on him with Hob’s words, spoken even in the face of their loss. “You did so well. I’m proud of you, okay?” 

Morpheus didn’t understand how Hob could say these things when he had every reason to be mad at him, but he was grateful for it. Even if the rest of the team didn’t react as well as him, Morpheus felt like he would be able to stand their judgement with Hob at his side. Though it was only a matter of minutes before he felt more arms around him, hands clapping on his back and shoulders. A mix of Well done, Dreamy! and Good shit, boss! reached his ears, each member of the team coming over to congratulate him. They were all in good spirits, grinning wide, and Morpheus slowly began to relax under their steady praise, the reassurance that nobody blamed him for their loss. 

But only when a soft hand reached for his shoulder with the words You did well, son, did Morpheus relax completely, hiding his face in Hob’s neck and finally breathing normally again for the first time in weeks. 

- - - 

After that first match, Morpheus was slowly growing into his role as the second offence player. Without the fear of failure weighing on his shoulders, he was able to play in a way he had never been capable of before. He had fun. 

Of course, he had always been good at football, and he had always gained a certain form of joy from seeing his skills develop and having them acknowledged. But he had never had fun playing with others. The Riggers had tolerated him for his skill, but they hadn’t played with him. None of them had been anywhere near good enough to keep up with him, even if they had tried.

Playing with the Fiddlers was different. 

Hob was incredible, he saw the game in ways Morpheus had never before considered, offered advice and tricks and actually managed to teach him things. His technical skills were great as well, though they were not nearly as precise as Morpheus’ own, which were built from hours upon hours of non-stop training and repetition, in contrast to Hob’s quick improvisational talent. He was quick at coming up with a new move, whereas Morpheus was quick at finding the right move for the right situation. By all accounts, it should come as a surprise that the two of them managed to work so well together. But after an initial period of familiarisation, they functioned like they were made to play with each other. 

Game after game they became better, weaving through the opposing team without difficulty, communicating by a single glance. It was the most fun Morpheus had ever had playing this sport. 

The fact that they won almost every game after that first one became a certainty, inevitable with the force of nature Morpheus and Hob had become. 

And the fans of Fiddler’s Green had picked up on it immediately. By the fourth game they were screaming when Morpheus scored, and by the eighth game a song erupted in the fanblock. 

Mister Sandman, bring me a Dream! Bum Bum Bum Bum, make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen!

It came as a total surprise, his nickname having apparently reached the fans, and Morpheus tried his best to hide the tears in his eyes as the people cheered at him when he waved in response. Fans were cheering at him for the first time in his career, and had even come up with a chant, all while he was having the time of his life playing for a team that supported and cared for him. 

It was as close to heaven as Morpheus thought he might get.

At least until, one game, he had to be reminded that his life was simply not like that. 

During their fourteenth match of the season, after he and Hob had scored a goal each before the break, Morpheus found himself in a one on one with one of the defenders. The man was big, bulky, and by default, slower than him. But his instincts were good, and so they were head to head for several seconds, fighting for the ball, until Morpheus gained the upper hand and was about to move past the other man. That was when he suddenly grabbed Morpheus by the shoulders and shoved him into the advertising boards, hard enough to rob him of the air in his lungs. 

Moments later, in which Morpheus was still regaining his orientation, he felt something wet hitting his face. It was… familiar, which only added to the panic he felt rising in his chest. Spitting in his face was one of Roderick’s favourite methods of degradation, whenever he had wanted to remind Morpheus of how dirty and sinful his existence was. 

“Do you think I will be outplayed by a little cocksucker?” The man was yelling, his face close enough to Morpheus’ that he could feel his breath hitting his cheek with every word. Another shove, and Morpheus was falling to the ground, his back hitting the board hard. “You won’t get away with it, little fag, because nobody here gives a shit about you. Nobody will come and help you. You’re nothing.”

Morpheus wasn’t sure when exactly the voice of the defender turned into that of Roderick, but he knew that it was his old trainer that he heard screaming at him by the end of it. Flashes of a cane were appearing at the edge of his vision, and Morpheus cowered in fear from it, trying to shield his body as much as possible and closing his eyes against it. The yelling continued, insult after insult thrown at him, all of it in the voice of a dead man. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Morpheus heard Lydia’s voice, the words PTSD and triggers and panic attack making their way through the screams and the growing sound of his own breathing, which was getting more hectic by the second. The words were closely followed by breathe and comfort and safety and a mantra of Hob Hob Hob Hob. Morpheus tried to force them past his lips, through the gasping breaths he was taking and the sobs shaking his body. Everything would be alright if Hob was there. Hob would protect him, against Roderick and Alex and everyone else, he was safety and comfort. 

Around Morpheus, the lights were suddenly dimmed. Hands gently grasped his head, covering his ears, and another sob left his lips at the relief he suddenly felt. He hadn’t noticed how overstimulated he had become, how loud the voices around him had been and how bright the lights. The hands had to be Hob’s, because no one else had ever touched him so gently, and no one else would know that light and noise might bother him. Morpheus simply had to make sure. Concentrate on the voices he could hear, the actual voices, not that of Roderick’s ghost still pestering his mind. Between the shouts of players and fans, he could finally hear it, a soft repeating of Dream Dream Dream. When his ears registered Hob’s voice, his nose was quick to follow, noticing Hob’s smell was everywhere around him. Opening his eyes was easier then, knowing that his friend was close, and so he managed to squint into the dimmed light after blinking a few times. 

What he saw then was Hob, shirtless, holding his jersey over their heads to block out light and cameras and onlookers alike, softly repeating his name over and over again. It was just them in this little bubble, and Morpheus finally felt like he could breathe again, like the air was reaching his lungs, and so he gasped desperately for air, trying to get his breathing back under control. But finding a rhythm seemed impossible, and with every second he continued to struggle he felt himself drifting back into a panic. But then arms pulled him against a strong chest, his ear pressed to bare skin, and he could feel it rise and fall beneath him. Follow the rhythm, in and out, in and out, until he was finally breathing normally again. 

“You’re doing so well, Dream. That’s it, take your time.” Morpheus knew the sound he made upon registering Hob’s words again was embarrassing and weak and pathetic, but right that moment, he did not care about it. Hearing Hob, not only his voice but his words, had become one of his greatest comforts over the months. Everything would be alright with Hob there. 

“Hob,” he managed to whisper, and when his friend only pulled him in closer he said it again and again, until hands were running up and down his back, through his hair, and Hob was pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m here, my friend. I’m here.” 

Only then did Morpheus finally feel secure enough in his breathing to move away, to look at Hob, and notice that his hand was bloody, his knuckles a deep shade of purple. 

“You’re hurt.” He frowned, cradling the hand carefully in his and turning it around for inspection. 

Hob shrugged, jostling it, and winced. 

“You should see the other guy.” A terrible response, and Morpheus made sure his facial expression told Hob so. 

“Don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

“He deserved it for being a little bitch.” Morpheus looked at his friend disapprovingly, and only received a kiss to his cheek in response, which must be wet and salty from tears. Not that Hob seemed to care about it. “I had to show him that someone does care about you, alright? That we won’t stand for homophobic bullshit, on or off the pitch.”

It shouldn’t have made warmth grow in Morpheus’ chest to hear Hob would fight to protect him, to prove his care and acceptance of him. But it was the first time someone stood up for him, and he couldn’t help but feel touched by such a display of love. He didn’t feel worth that effort and sacrifice, but couldn’t help craving it anyway. 

Of course, he said none of it. But Morpheus hoped Hob could feel it in the hug he pulled him into. “Idiot.”

His friend hummed and hugged back, not denying it, and Morpheus couldn’t help but giggle into his chest, the adrenaline of the situation coming down on him all at once. 

“Let’s get out of here?” Hob whispered after a while, and Morpheus frowned. 

“But the match isn’t over?”

“Well, I received a red for punching that douchebag, so it is for me.” Morpheus scoffed, and Hob only laughed at him for it. “And while you could totally continue here, we could also go home and finish watching Lord of the Rings.”

“You’re a tempting man, Hob Gadling.” 

A wink, eyebrow waggle and eye-roll later, Hob put his jersey back on and helped Morpheus up to his feet, from where he could make out the rest of the team standing around them. They stood in a half circle, shielding them from the other players, the cameras. Standing to protect them. Well, everyone but Cori, who was wearing Hob’s captain’s armband and standing above the guy that had attacked Morpheus, talking to the referee. The defender really did look worse than Hob, right eye swollen and nose at an awkward angle, most definitely broken. 

There was some satisfaction in seeing him writhe in pain as a medic pressed antiseptics to his face. 

But there was no time to relish it, as their movement was noticed by the team and suddenly Morpheus was enveloped in a group hug, the now familiar feeling of hands clapping his back and grabbing his shoulders grounding him like few other things could. None of the men judged him for who he was, none of them cared, and they proved it by hugging and touching him without fear, in front of everyone. The Riggers had never stood up for him, had never touched him, and had laughed at the idea of offering protection. 

The Fiddlers were nothing like them. They were a family. 

Perhaps he would heal one day, with their help. 

[watcherwingedcat]

Hi! So I just found out about essas like this week and the concept is very intriguing to me! I saw that you made a post explaining the basics of that an essa is and that you've also answered someone else's ask about them, so I thought I'd put some questions here. These are directed at the community at large (if anyone who reads this also wants to share) but I thought it'd make more sense to put them as an ask. If they are too personal, please feel free not to answer them!

I think I've got a few questions, so here it goes-

1) How do you bond with an essa? I've seen multiple people mention bonding with them and it made me curious. What are methods you use to bond with an essa? Which do you think are least/most effective? I'm sure these vary from person to person but I'd still love to hear examples.

2) How do you know if what you're doing for bonding is working? Like how fo you tell if you're actually forming a bond?

3) How does an essa help? I understand that they are supposed to comfort their handler/owner (is there a word preference in the community?) but I'm not exactly sure how that works. Again, I'm sure it varies but I'd love some examples ^^

And 4) How did/do you pick your/an essa? Which things do you usually consider while getting one?

That's all the questions I had for now. These are asked out of genuine curiosity and I hope they aren't read the wrong way. Thank you and anyone who reads this for any answers you choose to give. I hope everyone who reads this has a wonderful day!

- 🌌🌃

Hello! So, quite an amount of questions, anon, thanks for the ask! It's crazy how people asked me about it, never thought that my little post would interest people. I'm planning on making some other posts on the matter, but I'll try to answer the best I can. I'm in not means an expert, but I do know how human psychology works (a little bit).

1) How do you bond with an essa? What are methods you use to bond with an essa? Which do you think are least/most effective?

So, the first thing to remember is that essas, even tho we in the community like to make them feel alive, they are just what their name says: They are plushies. We like to pretend they are real dogs/animals or whatever, but at the end of the day they are still plushies.

But well, how do you bond with your essa, knowing this? First, you need to choose which kind of essa you want. Do you want a big plushie? A small one? Think about whether or not you can take them anywhere with you, or not. "Bonding" requires you'll spend a lot of time with your essa, so you know your friend well. Also, yes, it's important to bond with it, otherwise the essa would just be a simple plushie, therefore useless if you already have one. Essas help you. They bring support. So, spending time with it, carrying it with you, you getting used to it, etc, would be the best methods.

The best advice I can give you is to form an especial connection to your essa. Maybe it's a childhood plushie that gives you comfort. Maybe, like me, you chose your essa because of the texture it has for grounding techniques. But you need to bring yourself to care for it.

2) How do you know if what you're doing for bonding is working? Like how do you tell if you're actually forming a bond?

Again, an essa is still just a plushie. But, if you got yourself used to it and bring it with you and it isn't doing anything, maybe you need to try from a different approach.

If you did all of the things I said, and the essa still feels like isn't working, maybe you're still not very attached to it. That's okay. Just try again. How do you know if you're bonding, and the essa it's helping you?

You know your "bonding" it's working when you feel the plushie is actually working. I know it sound obvious, but hear me out. If you are attached to the plushie, you care for it, the plushie will give you comfort, therefore, it will "task" correctly. For example, say you're having an anxiety or panic attack, and you pet your essa for grounding and in order to distract yourself. And... your essa actually calms you down. That's how you know the essa is doing its work, because you are attached to it, and it brings you comfort.

The bond you have with your essa it's chosen, and it's yours. You choose it. Maybe you use your essa every single day, maybe you don't need it at all times. Maybe you bring it with you everywhere, maybe not. It's up to you, and your essa will adapt to whatever your lifestyle is.

3) How does an essa help? I'm sure it varies but I'd love some examples ^^

An essa brings comfort to the user, and it can have different tasks. As an example, Ramen, my essa, has a texture that helps me grounding. Some essas are heavy because they are filled with rice or gravel, and they help the user with deep pressure therapy. Maybe petting your essa helps distract you from hurting yourself.

Essas also help with neurodiversities. I'm autistic and I'm very awkward in social situations, so Ramen gives me confidence in myself.

An essa can help you getting out of your house, too. For example, I treat Ramen as a real dog, and real dogs need walks every single day. Therefore, I go outside to walk him. You may receive weird looks, just ignore them.

"Plushies are more than just toys. They become confidants and a source of unwavering support. As silent witnesses to our joys and sorrows, stuffed animals are trustworthy allies in our battles against stress and anxiety. Whether you developed a lasting bond with a cherished stuffed animal as a child or found a new friend well into adulthood, an emotional support stuffed animal can help you through your toughest times.

Stuffed animals bring comfort, alleviate anxiety, and nurture emotional well-being no matter your age. They are a testament to simple comforts in a chaotic and unpredictable world!"

4) How did/do you pick your/an essa? Which things do you usually consider while getting one?

How you choose your essa varies from person to person. It doesn't have to be a dog, or have gear, either, it literally can be any stuffed toy. I picked Ramen literally in an impulsive decision: I was researching essas on the internet and one day me and my friend went to Tiger. There, they sold dog plushies for nine dollars, and because it was inside of my budget, I just bought him.

You may want to consider your lifestyle. Do you really need an essa? Are you ready for it, to care for it, to love it? Because if it's something you'll just buy but never use, maybe it's not the solution for you. Obviously, there aren't any rules on owning essas. But if you'll be throwing money away, maybe it isn't worth it.

Please, don't listen to others when they say essas have to be a certain brand or have to be expensive. You don't need to follow certain "rules" or "requirements". An essa can be any plushie. The only difference from essas and a normal plushie is the relationship you have with them, and the amount of comfort they bring you. They are not pets, but also, they are not just plushies. They are your friends, and powerful tools against certain disorders.

[szollibisz]

Do you have any hcs abt how Curt and Owen "came out" to one another? (Using the term loosely cuz obviously they can't just be like "IM GAY") And also how they got together (who fell first etc etc)

Ok, so to preface this, my favourite thing about curtwen is just how many ways you can interpret their pre-canon relationship.

I try to keep their story relatively loose in my head, save for a few headcanons I very strongly believe in, because it's more fun this way.

For me, the #1 headcanon that's in all the iterations I think of, is that they hated each other at first. I think their personalities clash way too much for them to be all buddy-buddy on the first day. (Physical attraction? maybe. Was it minuscule compared to their irritation with each other? yes.)

I just think it's interesting how the two of them gradually (and begrudgingly) start to care about each other.

I think their "friendship stage" is one of my favourite parts about the whole thing. Now I refuse to believe either of those men have friends. Maybe coworkers and acquaintances, but not friends. Which is why this stage lasts so little.

As their work their way up to care for and respect each other, both of them go a little crazy about it.

It's the first time in years or even decades they felt genuine affection and maybe even trust, and both of them are extremely starved for it. So it really doesn't take much for them to fall for each other. (especially since the aforementioned physical attraction was always there and only getting stronger as they learned to tolerate each other)

I imagine, because of this, Owen was the one who fell first, and he employed his usual tactic for dealing with unwanted feelings: Being an ass and depriving himself of good things. He got more intense about his work, trying to immerse himself in it, so he'll stop thinking about Curt. He stayed up late, didn't even try to take it easy when he had a migraine, drank shit coffee and other great things.

It technically worked. He looked like shit, which in turn made Curt worried, and if Owen completely invalidated his worries the two of them would get into a fight, be mad at each other and not interact so much. Owen thought this would make him not yearn for Curt so bad (he still did, in fact, yearn for him that bad)

When Curt realized he was in love with Owen he was pretty horrified. Like listen. If someone has commitment issues it's Curt. Maybe he had a boyfriend or two during his teenage years/twenties, but they didn't end well, and since then he's been trying to keep everybody at arms length. He convinced himself Owen wasn't so bad because hey. They were just buddies (and Curt desperately needed a buddy.)

He tried to shove down and ignore his feelings, but moaning your friend's name while banging another guy may just be a little more than what you can avoid.

He never understood why Owen turned so cold suddenly, and he was terrified Owen just didn't like or trust him anymore. In turn he was also mad at him for trying to shut him out.

Their little hate renaissance could only last so long though. They were still each other's only friends and no matter what they did they kept being drawn back to each other.

This was a super long preface but. I am not normal about those two.

So. different scenarios and headcanons and whatnot

1. Either one of them somehow discovers the other is gay. This would probably mean Owen finding out about Curt, because, I wholeheartedly believe that man would leave during a mission sometimes just to get a quick fuck in. Maybe Owen finds out with evidence (fast & easy method) or he just starts strongly suspecting with his great spying and deduction skills (slow & torturous method, he'd try to convince himself he's just seeing what he wants to see) either way, the confrontation would be very uncomfortable for both of them. Curt would deny it ofc, and Owen would go through the internal battle of "tell him it's fine, you won't rat him out, but be a little homophobic about it, so maybe you can keep the only friend you have, but also be ok with the fact that he'll always be with other men and never you" or "tell him you're gay too, maybe he likes you, maybe not, and potentially risk losing your job and livelihood and everything you've ever worked for" He'd most likely end up doing the latter, surprising both Curt and himself. (He's already way more into Curt than he admits to himself) And things escalate from there.

2. Dramatic post mission (maybe a "I thought I'd never see you again" moment) This is where their friendship gets really interesting to me. For a scenario like this the months long yearning is a given, maybe even a lot of unresolved tension between the two (which would probably be resolved with violence anyways) They care very deeply about each other by now. They know each other better than anyone, and their idyllic relationship is only made into a living hell by all the pining. At this point I mean, they'd buy each other birthday gifts, go over to the other's house when they were in the same country and share way too much info over drinks. Their job is always dangerous, but even they can get scared. Maybe we're talking being crazy outnumbered, or a torture/hostage situations, or hell even a collapsing building. Point is, id either one of them thought the other (or both of them) may die, at this point they'd be impulsive enough to just say I love you or kiss the other. In the moment neither of them would care, and later on, when you'd normally talk about things like near death makeout sessions, they'd just. not. do that, because communication is for guys with better life prospects. This one has absolutely no coming-out talk in it, simply because they don't need it

3. Possibly drunk hookup Now clearly, we are talking about two of the most down bad men ever. This is one scenario, I think could also work really well when they still really hated each other. Maybe throughout their first few mission they both gathered enough evidence and sussed each other out, and after (yet another) explosive fight they might just. Alleviate the tension by not beating each other up but by. other means. They don't end up talking much about it, but it keeps happening, and wait maybe they don't even hate each other all that much. (This is the more sober option) The other one is where the "possibly drunk" comes in. If they've been friends for a while, they probably got used to working around each other and finding comfort in the other's presence. This includes little habits, inside jokes, and even (very small) physical touches. This probably wouldn't go down during a mission, it's more likely to happen at either Curt's or Owen's house, maybe during some holiday. Both of them realizing it's a pretty bad idea early on, because, without all the stress of the missions and navigating a foreign country all that's left is them and the feelings they have for each other. Owen would probably say no to drinks for the first few times, just to avoid a potentially dangerous situation, but Curt would wear him down eventually. Now, with both of them drunk and comfortable, it wouldn't take much for things to escalate. Maybe Curt forgets to take his hand off of Owen after patting him on the back, or Owen holds Curt gaze for a little too long. Either way, those two end up fucking. The next day both of them are a little horrified, but they manage to come clean about their feelings (even if it's in the most backwards and convoluted way possible)

Happy ending (or not) There's many more ways it could've happened, but I already wrote wayyyy too much I think.

In the end I don't think they'd ever have a proper conversation about homosexuality, even way into their relationship. It's something they slowly pick up on from each other. How ashamed are they, what makes them tick, what you shouldn't say etc. And then of course, since they don't communicate properly and sometimes purposefully hurt each other, they'd throw it all back in the other's face.

I'm not sure this is what you meant when you asked for hcs, but I got carried away.