#and i do not wish to patronize or say anything we do is Wrong exactly. just that there could be something better. kinder to our heart & mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chilucult · 3 years ago

Text

posting my chiluc smut here first bc I don't have an ao3 account (yet)! will post the ao3 link once I get an account and get it posted.

again, this is smut, minors begone.

also, this is my first fic ever, so feel free to roast me.

another warning, this is long (~10k words)

fic under the cut!

The Fatui Harbinger had been coming to the Angel’s Share for the past few nights. He called himself “Childe”. Diluc was not very fond of him, what with him being with the Fatui and all, but he was a paying customer, so Diluc treated him as he did every other patron. Diluc just wished this Childe guy would treat him like every other bartender.

“Can I get another shot? Pretty please, oh pretty barkeep?” Ajax batted his eyes at Diluc, noticing the man give a slight eye roll before he began to pour the Harbinger his requested shot.

Ajax had been trying to get the attention of this particular bartender for some nights now. When he had first entered the Angel’s Share tavern, his sight had tunnel-visioned on the entrancing man behind the bar with fiery red hair. Ajax knew he had to have him. The bartender, Diluc, his name tag read, was not as perceptive to Ajax’s advances as he had hoped he would be.

Diluc set down the shot he had ordered in front of him, jerking him out of his musings. “Would you like me to add this to your tab, sir?” Diluc asked him, all business. Oh, but Ajax would never tire of hearing the man’s voice, wanting to hear how it sounded when it was screaming his name.

Ajax cocked his head to the side to appreciate the view from a different angle. “Yes, please; and like I said, call me Childe.” He tried not to get discouraged when he saw Diluc scoff a bit. “Actually, you can call me anything you like,” he shot back with a wink.

Diluc only scoffed again, wiping down a glass from another customer. “I’m not going to call you by some made-up name. ‘Childe’ is ridiculous, anyway,” he explained, choosing to ignore the wink the Fatui man had sent him.

Ajax downed his shot easily, smirking slightly at Diluc’s raised eyebrow. “I told you that you could call me anything you want. Although, I certainly didn’t mind ‘sir’ either, if that’s what you’re into,” Ajax all but purred, his eyes half lidded in intent.

Diluc chuckled a bit sarcastically at that. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he shot back, only resorting to responding in such a manner because the Harbinger was pushing his buttons.

Ajax leaned forward on the bar, getting closer to the man of his desires. “Oh I would absolutely love to know just exactly what you’re into,” he whispered darkly, knowing that Diluc could still hear his every word. Ajax mentally pumped his fist when he saw Diluc inhale sharply at that.

Diluc narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him. “Are you... flirting with me?” he asked, genuinely unsure.

Ajax’s eyes widened at the question before he sat back on his barstool with a laugh. “‘Am I flirting with you?’! Um, yeah, actually, have been for the past few days,” he laughs again, thinking it absurd that it took Diluc this long to figure out. “But thanks for noticing, I guess.” He still shook his head to himself, wondering if he had lost his flirting skills or if Diluc was just particularly dense.

Diluc felt his cheeks start to heat up, and quickly turned his back to the Harbinger. The Harbinger that was flirting with him. Diluc couldn’t understand why. The man was clearly out of Diluc’s league, surely he hadn’t missed all the other patrons in the tavern staring at him, had he? So, as he fiddled with empty glasses, wiping them down just to have something to occupy his hands with, he softly asked, “Why?”

Ajax tore his eyes from where he was blatantly staring at Diluc’s ass to meet the man’s hesitant eyes looking over his shoulder. “Why? Are you kidding me? You’re kidding right?” Diluc broke their eye contact, shyly looking down at the floor, which was not what Ajax wanted. “I don’t think we have time to cover my entire list of reasons, Red.” Diluc looked back at him questioningly, both at the nickname and the statement.

“You just look so... breathtaking.” Diluc turned back around to face Ajax, but couldn’t meet his eyes just yet. “Since I first saw you a few nights ago, I knew I just had to have you. I wanna know how beautiful you look when you let your hair down, what kinds of noises you’ll make when I pull on it. Wanna know how you sound after I’ve broken you, how you’ll look after I’ve made a mess of you,” Ajax murmured, slowly standing from his stool and crowding into Diluc as much as he could with the bar between them. He smirked victoriously when he saw Diluc breathing a bit heavier, his cheeks flushed a bright pink.

A loud clang from somewhere in the tavern jolted them apart, someone probably having knocked over their drink. Diluc’s eyes darted about the place, hoping no one had seen them just now. “Oh my- gods, you can’t say stuff like that here, I’m working,” he seethed, attempting to convey his annoyance, but knowing the Harbinger could probably see right through him.

“Not here?” Ajax repeated, a feral grin beginning to grow on his face. “So I could do it, say, in your bedroom?” He asked suggestively.

Diluc couldn’t deny his attraction to the Fatui man. He was hot, what could Diluc say? He had just never thought the man would be interested in him, but he had clearly been wrong. Plus, the things that he had been talking about did sound rather enticing...

He lowered his voice, praying to the gods that none of the other patrons in the tavern could hear what he was saying. “If I say yes, will you quit... teasing me for the rest of my shift?”

Ajax pulled away a bit, suddenly serious. “Hey now, don’t make it sound like I’m forcing you. If you really want me to cut it out and leave, just say the word and I’ll be gone.” He couldn’t stop the small smirk from gracing his lips as he said his next words. “But something tells me that you really don’t want me to stop.”

Diluc flushed, averting his eyes once again. “Do you think I would even consider going home with you if I didn’t want it?” He whispered, embarrassed to have to admit his desires, but also wanting to make his intentions clear.

Ajax grinned wickedly. “Perfect,” he purred. “So when do you get off work, Red?”

Diluc pouted slightly at the nickname before he glanced at the clock on the wall. “In... a little less than an hour. Think you can be patient for that long?”

“If I get to take you home? I’d wait forever,” Ajax grinned easily. He could see Diluc’s cheeks redden, but could also see the weak glare the man sent his way. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to work in peace.”

For the next hour, Diluc tried to carry on with his work normally, he really tried. Yet, he found it impossible to ignore the stirring of emotions in his gut. He was excited for the night ahead, yes, but there was also nervousness and anxiety eating away at him. He knew he wasn’t the most... experienced person out there. He had only ever slept with one girl years ago, finding it not to his liking. He had never even been with a man (unless you count that one guy he made out with a few years back). He hoped his inexperience wouldn’t be a dealbreaker for the man.

He also found it hard to ignore the presence of the Harbinger. He had kept his word, not making any more moves at Diluc, but Diluc couldn’t shake the feeling of the other man’s eyes tracking his every movement. Every so often when Diluc would sneak a peek at him, he would find the Harbinger shamelessly staring at him, eyes roaming over his body slowly, hungrily. He couldn’t help the flush in his cheeks, nor the way he fidgeted self-consciously with his apron.

When Charles came to finally relieve Diluc of his bartending duties, he could see the clear excitement in the Harbinger’s eyes. Diluc took off his apron, leaning in close to the man to whisper, “Meet me out back.” He almost laughed at the way the man bolted from his seat.

Ajax was waiting patiently behind the tavern for only a few minutes before the fiery redhead made his appearance. “So, where to, Red?” His lips twitched into a small smile as they began walking, noticing that Diluc was just slightly shorter than him.

Diluc grumbled to himself, “Since you’ve been coming to the tavern for days, I would’ve hoped you’d bother to read my name tag once.” He continued when the man beside him chuckled, nodding his head in the direction of the city gates. “The manor is a bit outside the city, hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

Ajax cut himself off from the smooth retort of I’d walk to the ends of the earth to get you into bed with me to look at Diluc inquisitively. “Wait... manor?”

Diluc went on to explain that he owned the winery in Mondstadt, as well as the large manor house that was on the property. He also mentioned that he owned the tavern they were just at, internally preening at the impressed look on the Harbinger’s face.

After that, a silence fell between the two as they walked. Diluc didn’t seem to be one to make small talk much, and Ajax was perfectly fine just taking in the scenery, not feeling the need to run his mouth for once. It was comfortable.

Diluc was infinitely glad that he dismissed his house staff early each night, comforted by the fact that there would be no interruptions. As soon as he walked through the front door, his back was being shoved against the hard wood, the gasp he let out being swallowed by the incessant lips capturing his own. His eyes fell closed as he was kissed breathless against the door, a gloved hand gripping his hip and pinning him in place. Diluc slowly raised a hand to rest on the man’s shoulder as his mouth was invaded by the other’s tongue.

Diluc ripped his head back once the Harbinger gave him room to breathe. “H-hold on,” he panted, tilting his head slightly as the man hummed against the skin of his jaw in response. “I have... two things. F-first,” he stuttered out as the skin beneath his jaw was nipped lightly. “You need to tell me your name. I- I’m not calling you Childe.” His eyebrows furrowed in distaste at the name, even while his eyes slipped shut once again from the soft kisses being left on his neck.

Ajax chuckled against the skin of Diluc’s neck. He peppered light kisses across the skin of his jaw, making his way to the other’s ear, where he whispered, “It’s Ajax. Please do remember it, I want to hear you screaming it for me tonight.” He nipped at the skin just below Diluc’s ear, smirking at the way the man shivered slightly.

Diluc nodded absently, mouthing the name Ajax to see how it felt on his lips. He let his head fall back against the door as the man- Ajax- continued a trail down his throat. He hummed in content as his lips were captured in a searing kiss once again, only to have the noise turn into a weak whine as Ajax pulled away much sooner than Diluc would have liked.

“Didn’t you have another thing to say, baby?” Ajax questioned, reveling in the hitch in Diluc’s breath at the use of the pet name. Once his words registered with Diluc, he could notice the other man’s demeanor change, suddenly shy. His cheeks were flushed more in embarrassment than arousal, and his hand was nervously fidgeting with the clothes on Ajax’s shoulder. Ajax pulled himself back a bit, trying to give Diluc more room to get out whatever it was that he wanted to say.

“I- I’ve never... I mean, with a, uh, guy, at least... I’ve never, um... done... this,” he stammered out weakly, his words trailing off at the end. Diluc couldn’t bring himself to meet Ajax’s eyes, but he doubted he would’ve been able to read any expression on his face.

There was a moment's pause before Diluc heard Ajax ask, “Do you want to stop?” If there was any judgement in his voice, Diluc certainly couldn’t find it.

If Diluc thought he couldn’t get any more embarrassed than he already was, he was wrong. He internally cringed at how quick he was to respond. “No. No. I want... this. I just... thought you should, uh, know,” he finished weakly. He was emboldened, encouraged to continue by the soft smile on Ajax’s face. “Besides... you still need to follow through with your words,” he taunted, choosing to ignore the flush on his cheeks at the reminder of Ajax’s filthy promises.

The soft grin of Ajax’s face turned sharp as he crowded Diluc against the door once again. He buried his face into the side of the man’s neck, leaving a bite there before whispering against the skin, “Oh, baby. I’m gonna make it so good for you.” He reached down the grab Diluc’s thigh, using the grip he had on his hip with his other hand to lift the redhead, properly pinning him against the door. He smirked at the gasp Diluc let out, the way his legs scrambled to wrap around his waist.

Diluc was thriving. His head was tilted back against the door, his eyes slipped shut in pleasure. Diluc knew he was a large man, his muscles built well and even a bit bulky in some areas. So the way in which Ajax easily lifted him off the ground and was still supporting his weight against the door, was a bit shocking to Diluc. And, apparently, quite the turn on, if the rapid hardening in his pants was anything to go by. Diluc was glad that his long coat was still on, covering what had to be an obvious tent in his pants. He was embarrassed to be so turned on by just a little making out, but perhaps it was just the effect that Ajax had on him.

Ajax continued leaving a trail of bite marks down Diluc’s throat, encouraged by the way Diluc would tilt his head to the side, offering Ajax a larger expanse of skin to mark. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he muttered into Diluc’s skin darkly. He bit down at a spot at the base of Diluc’s throat rasher harshly, leaving his lips on the skin to suck on the mark, ensuring it would leave a nice bruise. He glanced up at the sound of a muffled whimper to see Diluc biting his bottom lip, no doubt in an attempt to keep his noises at bay.

Ajax let go of his hip, bringing his hand up to thumb at Diluc’s lower lip, urging him to release it from between his teeth. Diluc complied easily, his eyes slipping open when Ajax tutted at him. “Nuh uh, let me hear you, baby. I wanna hear all the beautiful noises you can make,” he smirked slightly at the small whimper that escaped from Diluc’s lips. “Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he finished with a whisper.

Diluc’s hands flew to the back of Ajax’s head, gripping his hair and bringing him down for a sloppy kiss. Ajax groaned into Diluc’s mouth, his tongue slipping between the other’s lips easily. With his free hand, Ajax attempted to push the heavy coat off of Diluc’s shoulders, but with his back pinned against the door, it was futile. He groaned into Diluc’s mouth again, this time in annoyance, before he ripped himself away from the mouth that was quickly becoming addicting.

Diluc could see that Ajax was about to say something, but cut him off. “Bedroom,” he panted out, knowing Ajax was thinking the same thing. Ajax let him down and nodded at him, and that was all Diluc needed. He grabbed the man’s hand, almost running through the manor to get to the stairs, zipping through the halls to get to his bedroom. He led Ajax into the room, seeing Ajax kick the door closed behind him, before he was promptly thrown onto his own bed.

Diluc gasped as he bounced back on the bed, his length twitching in his pants. He quickly kicked off his socks and shoes as he saw Ajax doing the same, before Ajax pounced on him. His mouth was everywhere, leaving kisses and bites so quickly that Diluc couldn’t even process it before he would move on to a new spot. His hands moved in a frenzy as well, hastily reaching for Diluc’s hands to strip him of his gloves.

Ajax pulled at the collar of Diluc’s coat, wanting the material off hours ago. The coat was still proving difficult, as he had to get Diluc to work his arms out of it, and Ajax declared the coat his new nemesis. He slowed his mouth leaving marks all along Diluc’s neck, carefully getting Diluc to help him pull his arms out of the offending jacket. He pulled back a bit to let Diluc sit up so he could throw the coat to the ground, Ajax delighted to finally be rid of it.

As happy as he was to be rid of Diluc’s coat, Ajax groaned in annoyance at the sight of more layers of clothing hiding the bare skin he so desperately wanted to see. He did take a moment to appreciate Diluc in his bartending uniform, the black dress shirt and white vest making him look oh so cute when paired with his flushed face and heaving chest. Ajax dived in again, mouthing at Diluc’s neck. “So. Many. Fucking. Layers,” he huffed out into Diluc’s skin, impatiently undoing the buttons of his vest.

Diluc let out a breathless laugh, his breathing still heavy from all the attention Ajax was giving his neck. “I don’t see you- ah. I don’t see you taking anything off,” he panted out, thinking it was a bit unfair that he was the only one being undressed. He let one of his hands move to Ajax’s hip, sliding up to feel the small stretch of skin that was exposed by the cut of his shirt. He let his hand wander further up beneath Ajax’s shirt, sucking in a breath at the feeling of abs and corded muscle.

Ajax hummed against the skin of Diluc’s neck at the feeling of his hand against his own bare skin. “All in good time, baby,” he chuckled, pulling away as he had finally gotten the vest unbuttoned. “For now, I want to see how beautiful you are under all these clothes,” he murmured as rid Diluc of the vest.

Diluc squirmed against the bed as Ajax slowly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, not used to being stared at so intensely. Ajax’s eyes were glued to where his hands were meticulously undoing each button, hungrily eating up every inch of newly revealed skin. Once he undid the last button, he unceremoniously pushed it to Diluc’s sides, putting his entire bare torso on display.

Ajax could do nothing but stare. The man laid out before him was breathtaking, and he wasn’t even fully undressed yet. Ajax wasn’t sure if he would make it through this night alive. But oh it would be such a glorious death. He was so caught up in letting his eyes wander about the wide expanse of skin that he didn’t notice Diluc wriggling his arms out of the sleeves. He only noticed when Diluc sat up a bit to toss the shirt to the floor, his abs clenching deliciously.

Diluc continued to squirm against the sheets, hating that Ajax was staring at him silently for so long. He didn’t find Diluc unattractive, did he? Diluc knew that much of his muscle mass was pretty well hidden beneath his clothes, but without them, there was no hiding it. He prayed to the gods that Ajax didn’t mind his extra bulk. “Ajax,” he whined softly, a small pout to his lips.

Diluc whining his name finally snapped Ajax out of his reverie. “Gods,” he whispered, letting his gloved hands slide up Diluc’s chest, coming to cup the pectoral muscles. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispered again, still entranced by the way the flush on Diluc’s cheeks continued down his neck and to his check, covering the pale skin in bright red splotches. His eyes flicked up to Diluc’s face. “Oh, one more thing.” He reached behind Diluc’s head to undo the ponytail that was holding his hair back. After running his fingers through the locks, he leaned back to admire the view.

And what a view he was. Diluc’s face flushed a bright pink, red splotches of blush littering his beautiful pale skin, his chest rising with each breath he took. All of this, framed by a halo of fiery red hair, the curls spilling out and spreading across the sheets.

Ajax’s patience snapped. He dove down to leave a harsh bite at the meat of Diluc’s pectoral muscle, his hands feverishly wanting to map out every dip and curve.

Diluc let out a small “ah-“ at the harsh bite. A high-pitched keening noise ripped from his throat as Ajax laves his tongue over a nipple.

Ajax chuckled through his nose. “Do you like that? Does it feel good?” he murmured into the skin. Diluc let out a whine in response, which simply wouldn’t do, in Ajax’s opinion. “Diluc baby,” he began, pressing a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. “I want you to answer me when I ask you something, okay? I need to make sure you’re still comfortable and enjoying this. Need to know what makes you feel good. Think you can do that for me?” He grinned as Diluc nodded his head. “Good boy,” he whispered, planting another soft kiss to Diluc’s lips before making his way down his chest again.

Ajax blew on one of Diluc’s nipples softly, enjoying the way Diluc shivered in response. He took the bud lightly between his teeth before closing his lips around it. Diluc let out a soft moan at the feeling of Ajax’s tongue, his hand flying up to rest on the Harbinger’s shoulder. Ajax pulled back enough to purr, “Now let me ask you again. Does that feel good? Do you like getting your nipples played with?”

Ajax smirked to himself when Diluc nodded his head again, before whimpering out an answer. “Y-yeah... yes, it- fuck- it feels good.” Ajax switched his attention to the man’s other nipple, almost getting thrown off his body from how hard his chest was heaving.

Diluc let out another curse. Ajax pulled his mouth back to watch his hands move across the pale skin. His hands came to rest, cupping under the pectoral muscles and pushing them up and together. “Gods, I fucking love your chest,” Ajax breathed to himself; he knew Diluc could hear him from the way his breath hitched in his throat. “Just like a pair of tits,” he mused, squishing the muscles together. He smirked at the way Diluc’s breath was punched from his gut. “So fucking hot...”

Ajax looked up to see that Diluc’s mouth was opening and closing, as if he was trying to say something. “Yes, baby?” he asked, his hands stilling. “Did you want something?”

Diluc nodded, tugging slightly at the material of Ajax’s shirt. “O-off. Please... a-at least the gloves, fuck, please.”

Ajax was now positive he would not survive the night.He couldn’t believe this was Diluc’s first time, not with the way he begged so pretty. He didn’t even need to tell the other to say please. Perhaps he was a natural-born pleaser, Ajax thought to himself.

He snapped his attention back to Diluc when the other tugged at his clothes once more. “Oh, such a good boy, telling me what you want. So polite, too,” he cooed at Diluc. He hummed in consideration for a moment before an idea came to him. He regretfully removed one of his hands from Diluc’s chest, bringing it up to Diluc’s face, the fingertips of his gloves a hairbreadth away from Diluc’s shiny lips. “Would you be so kind as to help me with the gloves, hm?”

Ajax watched in twisted delight as Diluc slowly took the fabric of the middle finger of his glove between his teeth. He pulled his hand back a bit, happy to see Diluc rear his head back, the glove sliding off Ajax’s hand with ease. “Good,” he whispered to himself, taking the glove from Diluc’s mouth. He brought his other hand up, and Diluc helped him out of that glove as well.

Ajax tossed his gloves to the side carelessly, too excited to finally feel Diluc’s skin with his bare hands. He trailed his hands slowly from Diluc’s jaw down his neck, heat pooling in him as Diluc tilted his head further back to allow him more room. He trailed his hands down the other’s chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat, then further down, watching his abs twitch at the featherlight touches.

His hands ended up cupped around Diluc’s pecs once again. His hands massaged the muscle there as he mouthed at the skin. When he heard Diluc let out a pleased sigh, he bit down, gnawing at the muscle between his teeth. The sudden bite caused Diluc to gasp sharply, his eyes flying open to see Ajax’s mouth on his chest. Ajax released the muscle, giving the aggravated area a few licks and kisses to soothe the sting before he smirked up at Diluc. “Do you like me marking up your gorgeous tits? They’re gonna bruise so pretty...” he trailed off, moving to leave a similar bite mark on the other side of Diluc’s chest, a punched out “fuck-“ leaving Diluc’s lips at the sting.

Ajax was mouthing at the newest bite mark when he raised a questioning eyebrow at Diluc. Diluc gulped. “Yes...” he breathed out softly, hoping Ajax could hear him. “Hurts but... f-feels good. P-please don’t st-stop,” he whimpered, moving his free hand to Ajax’s hair in an attempt to keep him in place.

Ajax groaned into the skin of Diluc’s chest, “Gods, you’re such a good boy for me.” He made note of how Diluc’s hips bucked up at that, and filed the thought away for later.

Ajax spent the next few minutes leaving harsh bites all over Diluc’s chest, soothing the mark with kisses each time. Diluc felt as if he was on cloud nine, the deep sting from the initial bite sending electricity up his spine, only for heat to curl in his gut at the kisses left there afterwards. However, he was getting a bit impatient. His dick was rock hard in his pants, and he could feel a wet patch beginning to grow in his boxers. Diluc wanted to get his pants off. Actually, Diluc revised his own thoughts, he wanted to get Ajax out of his clothes even more, the Fatui man not even having shed his shirt yet.

Diluc tightened his hold in Ajax’s hair just slightly, tugging on his shirt with his other hand. “Off... plea- hng- please. W-wanna... wanna see- oh fuck- you too,” Diluc panted out, pleased that he could even get out coherent words at that point.

Ajax would never get tired of hearing Diluc beg. He breathed out a shaky, “Fuck... okay,” before he pulled back enough to tear his shirt off, throwing it who knows where. He could see Diluc eyeing him appreciatively, but didn’t give him much time to enjoy the view before he was kissing the other man senseless.

Diluc groaned into Ajax’s mouth, his hands sliding down the man’s back, finally attaining the skin-on-skin contact he didn’t know he craved. He let his hands wander and feel to make up for what his eyes weren’t able to see. From his exploration, he could tell that the other was covered in scars, both old and new, as well as the fact that he was much stronger than he appeared, corded muscles tense beneath his skin.

Diluc was slightly amused by the fact that Ajax’s hands returned to his chest almost immediately. It made Diluc feel... almost confident, the fact that Ajax seemed to like it so much. So, he arched his back, pushing his chest further into those incessant hands.

“Fuck,” Ajax breathed harshly into Diluc’s mouth. His hands squeezed around the muscles. “So fucking hot,” he panted out, moving to mouth at the other’s jaw. “Bet if I squeezed ‘em together, I could get my dick in between and fuck your tits,” he rambled, words spilling from his mouth before he could really even think about it.

Diluc absolutely keened at that, his head thrown back as a high whine escaped his throat. His reaction only spurred Ajax on. “Yeah? Would you like that baby? Want me to fuck your tits?” he mumbled into Diluc’s skin, the idea almost sending him into a frenzy. Diluc was faring no better. His eyes were pinched shut, pushing his chest out even further, a constant stream of “yes, yes, yes” falling from his lips.

It was only when Diluc desperately ground his hips up into Ajax’s that the Harbinger remembered his main goal for the night. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Maybe later, baby,” he said, chuckling at the small pout Diluc gave him in response. “Definitely later,” he revised, happy to see Diluc perk up at that too. “For now, though,” he trailed his hands down Diluc’s chest, over his abs, and toying with the waistband of his pants. “Let's get you out of these, shall we?”

Diluc was all too eager to lift his hips to help Ajax undress him, any shyness at being bared being overshadowed by his desire. Ajax tossed his pants to the side, eyeing the large bulge in his boxers with a hungry gaze. Diluc let out a breathy whine as Ajax palmed him, finally giving his cock attention. He cursed when Ajax lowered his head to mouth at him through the fabric, hot breath and saliva dampening the material even further. Ajax hummed against his length, breathing out, “Gods, how are you even real?” as his hands slid up Diluc’s thighs.

Diluc cried out as Ajax dug his fingers into the meat of Diluc’s thighs, causing the Harbinger to groan. “Fuck, baby, your thighs,” he whispered reverently against Diluc’s length, feeling it twitch beneath the fabric. He trailed his mouth down to suck a mark into the flesh of the redhead’s inner thigh. “Can I mark ‘em up? Bruise ‘em all nice and pretty to match your tits? Mark ‘em as mine?” Ajax purred.

Diluc sucked in a wet, heaving breath. “Yes, please- oh fuck,” he panted out. He let one of his hands trail to his own chest, pressing his finger into one of the dark red marks that will surely bruise later. “Can you... can you- ah! B-bite? Fuck, please?” Diluc begged, craving the sting of Ajax’s teeth again.

Ajax groaned, reaching a hand down to adjust himself in his pants. “‘Course, baby,” he whispered. He returned his hand, using it to pull Diluc’s boxers off. Diluc squirmed at being fully bare, but Ajax just pressed a sweet kiss to his shaft, his hand wrapped around the base. He let himself begin to ramble as he slowly stroked Diluc’s cock. “Gonna mark up these perfect thighs. Gods, you’re gonna be so bruised tomorrow, you’ll look so gorgeous. Gonna mark you up so everyone knows you’re mine.”

Diluc couldn’t stop the near constant stream of moans and whimpers from leaving his lips. The feeling of Ajax’s hand finally on his dick is heavenly, and the man’s whispered words only add fuel to the fire in his gut. He lets out a sharp cry as Ajax’s teeth sink into the meat of his inner thigh, the noise turning into a low groan as Ajax soothes the sting with his tongue.

Ajax only removed his head from between Diluc’s thighs once he was satisfied that the redhead was as marked up as possible. He really hoped Diluc wouldn’t kick him out once they were done, he wanted to see how well all his marks turned into bruises for himself in the morning. He pulled his mouth away from Diluc’s thighs, stroking a finger over the bite-mark covered skin reverently. “These are gonna look so good, baby,” he murmured. “Can’t wait to see you covered in my bruises.”

Diluc whined, his hips jumping as the pace of Ajax’s hand on his cock had slowed significantly. Ajax must have noticed, because he was soon licking small stripes up the entire length. Small cries and high pitched whimpers were ripped from Diluc’s throat. He turned his head to the side, knowing that the sight of Ajax between his thighs with his mouth on his cock could probably make him cum.

Ajax trailed his lips up the shaft, planting a sloppy kiss right at the tip. “Love this fucking cock,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. He grinned at the moan Diluc let out. “Want me to suck it? Bet you taste so good,” he rambled, eyes eager to see Diluc’s reaction. “I can usually swallow everything, but you’re so big I might just choke on it.” He delighted in the hitch in Diluc’s breath, the way his hips jumped. “I’d love it though, choking on it. I’d let you gag me with it, ‘til I can’t breathe.”

He grinned evilly as Diluc let out a loud whine. “But maybe later.” With that, he sat up completely, leaving only his hand wrapped loosely around the base of Diluc’s length. He chuckled as Diluc balked at him, having had all the pleasurable sensations ripped away. “Sorry baby, but I gotta ask: do you want to top or bottom?” Ajax desperately wanted to fuck the other man, but since it was his first time, he figured he would let the redhead make the decision.

Diluc flushed, averting his eyes. “Oh, I, um, uh... w-want you to... to, um, f-fuck me,” he stammered out before blearing his throat. “Please.”

Ajax wanted so badly to hop on board with that and absolutely destroy the other man, but he felt it was only fair to give him a warning. “Are you sure, baby? It might hurt a bit,” he said cautiously.

Diluc took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Yes, I’m sure. And I- I... I trust you,” he finished quietly.

Ajax smiled, swooping down to press a soft kiss to Diluc’s forehead. “Alright. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” He planted a final kiss on the tip of Diluc’s nose, watching it scrunch up adorably. He patted the man lightly on the hip. “Turn over onto your stomach for me, baby. Also, lube?”

Diluc’s eyes widened a bit, heat rising to his cheeks before he complied, nodding his head toward the nightstand. As he was turning, he heard Ajax rummaging around through the drawer before closing it and tossing the bottle onto the bed next to him. Ajax grabbed a pillow from the headboard and placed it under his hips, making him flush further at the thought of his ass being put on display. Once he was settled, he grabbed a pillow to hug to his chest, giving himself something to keep his hand occupied with. He heard Ajax chuckle behind him, turning his head to look at the man questioningly, only to hear, “Of course you have a perfect ass as well,” spilling from the Harbinger’s lips.

Diluc jumped slightly when Ajax grabbed his ass without ceremony, a handful of cheek in each. He relaxed once again when Ajax began massaging his ass, kneading the flesh in his hands. He let out a soft hum, content. He didn’t even notice that Ajax had pulled his cheeks apart until he felt a thumb softly run over his hole. He jolted in surprise, making Ajax pull away, a worried look in his eyes. Diluc turned his head to the side, but wouldn’t make eye contact. “Sorry, sorry” he breathed out. “Just... surprised me. Keep going. Please,” he finished weakly.

Ajax wasn’t entirely convinced. “You sure?” he asked, not wanting to cause Diluc any discomfort. Diluc nodded his head eagerly where it lay on the pillow, and Ajax let out a bated breath. He put his hands back on Diluc’s ass, comforted by the way Diluc seemed to immediately relax into the touch. “Have you ever had anything in you before?” he asked quietly.

Diluc turned to hide more of his face into his pillow. “Mmfnhfnggrz” was the muffled response. Ajax could guess as to what was said, but he really wanted to hear Diluc say it himself. He continued to massage Diluc’s asscheeks, thumbs occasionally brushing the skin closer to his crack, but never getting any closer to his hole. “Hm, what was that baby? I couldn’t understand you.”

Ajax grinned as Diluc turned his head to face him more, his face almost as red as his hair, his eyes looking anywhere but at the Harbinger. “I- I’ve used, um... my- my fingers before,” he whispered.

Ajax’s grin morphed into a soft smile, encouraging Diluc to continue. “Mhmm. And how did it feel baby?” He tutted when Diluc buried his head in his pillow again, groaning in shame. “Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. I’m just trying to get more familiar with what your comfort level is. Like I said, I’m gonna make this good for you,” he explained, leaving a trail of soft kisses up Diluc’s spine.

Diluc turned his head to the side once again, his eyes pinching shut. “It felt...” he began, trailing off as he thought about the answer. “Fine,” he answered decisively. “Felt... felt full, it- it was good,” he sighed, the memory of his own fingers inside him fresh in his mind. “But it, uh, w-wasn’t enough to...” he trailed off, hoping Ajax would understand what he meant.

Ajax’s mind was reeling, head filled with thoughts and visions of Diluc desperately trying to fuck himself on his fingers, only to cry out in frustration when he can’t hit that perfect spot inside him. If he could ever get Diluc into bed with him again, he would need to make the redhead ringer himself open for him; Ajax was sure it would be an excellent show.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Diluc’s hips twitched a bit, pushing his ass back into Ajax’s hands. He planted one final kiss to Diluc’s shoulder before sitting up once again. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good you’ll see stars,” he chuckled breathlessly, watching as Diluc minutely thrusted into the pillow beneath his hips.

Diluc startled at the snap of the lube cap opening, relaxing again as Ajax pressed a comforting kiss on one of his cheeks. He inhaled sharply as Ajax’s thumbs spread his cheeks apart once more. “Gods, I’d love to eat you out one day,” he heard the Harbinger mumble into his skin, his hips thrusting against the pillow weakly at the thought. Ajax must’ve noticed, for he continued, “Would you like that, baby? Would you let me eat your ass?” As he said it, one of his hands disappeared, only to return moments later, spreading warmed lube across Diluc’s entrance with a thumb.

Diluc’s breath caught in his throat at the familiar feeling of the substance. What wasn’t familiar, however, was the feeling of someone’s else’s hands doing the work. They had barely even started, but Diluc already decided that he liked this much better than doing it himself.

The redhead’s breath escaped him in a shaky exhale as Ajax pushed just the tip of his thumb in, the rim fluttering around the intrusion. Ajax was keeping a keen eye out for any signs of discomfort from Diluc; when he found none, he slowly edged his thumb further in, up to the first knuckle. Diluc let out a quiet moan, his hips pushing back when Ajax stilled. Encouraged, Ajax continued.

He twisted his thumb around a bit, feelings Diluc’s walls stretch around him. He pulled his thumb this way and that, stretching the rim a bit further. Diluc was humming softly, quiet moans falling from his lips every so often. Ajax removed his thumb, smiling at the whine that escaped Diluc’s throat from the loss. He shushed the redhead quietly, leaving soft kisses along his thighs.

Ajax slid his index finger into Diluc, meeting little resistance. He reveled in the moan the man let loose, his volume having increased ever so slightly. He slid his finger in to the base, Diluc’s shoulders tensing a bit. “Doing okay?” Ajax asked softly, stilling his hand.

“Yeah,” Diluc gasped out. “Keep going.”

Ajax nodded softly, despite the fact that Diluc couldn’t actually see him. He slowly pulled his finger out until only the tip remained inside, and was just as slow in pushing it back in. Ajax was doing his best to go slow, despite his desire to just ram into the man below him, but the groan Diluc let out and the way his hips pushed back into his finger were really testing his restraint.

“So fucking good,” Ajax mumbled. He curled his finger a bit inside Diluc, the man letting out a whine. He removed his finger, two returning to Diluc’s hole before the redhead could even protest the loss. He slid his fingers in slowly, two being more of a stretch, pleased when Diluc only pushed his hips back further. “Take my fingers so well,” he murmured reverently. He paused as his fingers met some resistance around his knuckles, pulling them back only to push back in, loosening Diluc’s rim more.

Ajax slowly fucked his two fingers in and out of Diluc’s hole, the redhead letting out wet, panting breaths into the pillow he had clutched to his chest. After a short bit of time doing this, Ajax was able to slide both fingers in entirely, letting out a shaky breath at the delicious groan Diluc let out. He stilled, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of Diluc’s rim clenching around the base of his fingers.

Diluc felt his hips twitch involuntarily in impatience. He turned his head to look at the man behind him, his face partially obscured by his own fiery red curls. “M-move... pl- please, more,” he whimpered out, desperate for the feel of Ajax’s fingers stretching him open.

Ajax let out a low groan as he retracted his fingers slowly. He pushed them back in quickly, grinning at the way Diluc’s breath was punched from his gut. He repeated the action, Diluc letting out a low moan this time. He continued this, withdrawing slowly, only to push back in quickly- quickly, but not very rough. At some point, Ajax realized he couldn’t hear Diluc’s noises as well, looking up to find the man biting at his pillow.

Ajax tsked, using his free hand to grab some of Diluc’s hair and pull. A split second after he did it, he thought that he really should’ve been gentler, but the high, unabashed keen that was ripped from Diluc’s throat quelled his worries. He brought his lips down to Diluc’s ear, using the grip in his hair to get Diluc to arch his back just ever so slightly. “Nuh uh, baby. You gotta let me hear those beautiful noises, remember? You need to let me know how good I’m making you feel, hm?” he whispered, grinning dearly when Diluc took in a gulping gasp of air, his head nodding as much as it could with the grip Ajax still had on his hair. “Good boy.” He planted a kiss in Diluc’s hair, rewarding the man by twisting the fingers he still had inside him.

Diluc gasped at the feeling of the fingers inside him twisting, only for them to begin spreading apart, scissoring him open. This was always his favorite part of fingering himself, the feeling of his rim loosening, stretching further. He could never reach very far inside himself, but he did enjoy the feeling of being full. He enjoyed Ajax’s fingers much more than his own, as they were able to fill him as he desired, but they could also reach deep, hitting spots inside Diluc that had never been touched before.

“Feel good?” Ajax asked, snapping Diluc’s attention back to reality. Diluc heard a constant stream of soft whines and deep groans, embarrassed to find that he was the one making those noises. “Love the way you sound,” Ajax murmured, causing Diluc to flush, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as Ajax’s fingers curled inside him. “Yeah, just like that. Gods, so fucking hot.” Ajax slowed his fingers. “Tell me how it feels, baby,” the Harbinger ordered.

“Feels... oh fuck, good, feels so good,” Diluc blurted out, his pride nowhere to be found. “P-please, want- want... ah- want m-more,” he whimpered. “F-feel... mmmn- full, f-fuck. N-need... full, ple- hnngg- please?” Diluc really hoped that Ajax knew what he was begging for, because he sure didn’t know himself. “W-want- FUCK!” He cried out as Ajax curled his fingers just so, pressing against a spot inside him that made him dizzy with pleasure. He almost jackknifed off the bed, but Ajax’s free hand was quick to clamp down on his hip, keeping him firmly in place.

Ajax grinned sharply when he found the redhead’s prostate, his grin only growing at Diluc’s reaction, despite having to hold the man down. He stilled his fingers for a moment, knowing Diluc would need some time to collect himself. “Wh-... what was that?” Diluc asked hoarsely.

Ajax laughed. “That’s your prostate, baby. Really sensitive,” he explained, soothing his thumb over Diluc’s hip as the man was still taking shaky breaths. His grin turned wicked. “I told you I would make you see stars, didn’t I?” He fucked his fingers into Diluc’s hole again at the same angle, basking in the sharp cry that was ripped from Diluc’s throat. “Tell me how good it feels,” he whispered, his fingers continuing their motion.

Diluc had never felt such intense pleasure in his entire life. He felt as if Ajax’s two fingers had fucked the sanity out of him. “So- fuck- so good... yes, fuck, oh gods... m-more, pl- ah- please,” he begged, words spilling from his lips before he could even process what it was that he was even saying. A filthy noise was ripped from Diluc’s throat when Ajax added a third finger, still hitting the same spot inside him. Ajax had been thorough enough that the additional finger didn’t cause any pain, but Diluc reveled in the extra feeling of fullness.

When Ajax switched to keeping his fingers stuffed inside Diluc, fingertips massaging and rubbing circles into that sensitive spot inside him, Diluc’s hips began thrusting. He wasn’t quite sure if he was thrusting back into Ajax’s hands, or forward, rutting his dick into the pillow beneath his hips. All he knew was that he wanted more. As Ajax continued his ministrations with his fingers, Diluc could feel heat pooling in his gut. “Fuck, fuck, gods yes... so- hnngg- so full,” he panted out. “P-please, I’m- ah!- close, fuck, please.”

Ajax’s eyes lit up, hungrily watching Diluc rut between the pillow and his hand. “Yeah? You gonna cum on my fingers? Just from being stuffed full?” he teased sadistically, harshly thrusting his fingers in further for emphasis. He grinned manically, his dick positively leaking in his pants, at the noise Diluc let loose, almost sounding like a sob. Gods, he would love to fuck the redhead to the point of tears. He ground his fingers into Diluc’s prostate insistently. “Be a good boy and cum for me. Cum on my fingers, baby,” he murmured reverently.

Ajax was in awe. There was simply no other word for it. He watched as Diluc rutted into the pillow beneath him, suddenly freezing at his words, body tensed, as he let out a garbled whine high in his throat. The redhead was positively shaking through his orgasm, tremors running through his entire body as Ajax’s fingers worked him through his high. He retracted his fingers carefully once Diluc’s shoulders had finally relaxed again, his body still shaking.

The Harbinger gently coaxed Diluc to roll over onto his back, tossing the soiled pillow off the bed in the process. Ajax fell over top of him, leaving gentle kisses along the skin of his neck. “So wonderful, did so good for me,” he whispered the soothing words. “Perfect, just perfect.”

Diluc worked to open his eyes a fraction from where they were pinched shut, his body still wracked with tremors. “A-aren’t you g-gonna... f-fuck me? Y-you still ha- haven’t...” he trailed off, attempting to weakly gesture toward the rather obvious tent in Ajax’s pants with a shaky hand.

Ajax cooed at him. How sweet of him, he thought to himself. “Oh baby, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Diluc frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “B-but... w-want you t-to fuck me? P-please?”

Ajax groaned at that. “Baby... you’re still going to be so sensitive,” he explained, trailing his fingers down to Diluc’s hips. The way Diluc’s hips twitched even at the light touch proving his point. “Are you sure?”

Diluc nodded his head eagerly. “Y-yes, please. W-want it. Wanna f-feel, feel you.” He could already feel his dick begin to twitch in interest again, and knew that it certainly wouldn’t take very long for him to get hard again.

Ajax sucked in a breath at that. “Gods, you’re incredible,” he whispered softly before continuing, his voice raised so that Diluc could hear. “Alright, baby, I’ll fuck you. You just have to let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?” When Diluc nodded, Ajax all but ripped his own pants off, eager to finally give his dick some attention.

Diluc was trying to angle his head to get a look at what Ajax had been hiding in his pants the whole night, curiosity taking over him, but the sound of the lube cap snapping open once more jolted him. Ajax hung his head over Diluc’s chest, letting out a soft hiss at his dick finally getting some contact. Diluc felt a sticky hand lightly pat the outside of his thigh. “Can you spread your legs for me, baby?” Ajax asked. Diluc complied, spreading his thighs apart, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he slipped his eyes closed.

Ajax positioned his hands, one on Diluc’s hip, and the other grabbing the back of his thigh, pushing his knee towards his chest. He internally appreciated the flexibility of the man. He positioned the tip of his cock just outside Diluc’s hole, feeling the rim flutter at the contact. “I’ll go slow, okay?” He whispered into Diluc’s neck.

Diluc nodded, not trusting his voice enough to respond. He gasped sharply as the pressure against his rim increased, letting out a breathy cry as he felt the tip of Ajax’s length breach the ring of muscle. Diluc’s hands flew to Ajax’s shoulders once the Harbinger had gotten the head of his cock inside, nails digging into the flesh there. He could barely hear the deep groan that was ripped from Ajax’s throat over his own pounding heartbeat and gasping breaths.

Ajax had to still once he had gotten the head of his dick inside Diluc, worried he might cum if he pressed any further. Diluc was just so tight, wrapped deliciously around him. After taking a moment to collect himself, Ajax pressed further. It was overwhelming. All the punched out little “ah, ah, ah”s Diluc was letting out, the feeling of nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, the heat wrapped around his length, everything was flooding his senses.

He was about three-quarters of the way in when he was finally met with some resistance, Diluc tensing beneath him. Ajax peppered his face with kisses, stroking soothing thumbs over the skin of his hips and thighs. “Shhh, you’re doing so good, baby, so good,” he whispered. “You’re almost there, Diluc, only a little bit left. Don’t you want to take me? Don’t you want to be a good boy and take all of me?” He began slowly moving his length in and out of Diluc, never pushing any deeper.

Diluc sucked in a heaving breath, his chest trembling slightly. “Y-yeah,” he whispered, face positively burning. “K-keep going. Please.” Diluc let out a whimper when Ajax continued to press forward slowly, the stretch slightly uncomfortable, but eventually turning into a twisted form of pleasure that he couldn’t exactly describe.

Ajax’s head fell to Diluc’s shoulder with a moan when he finally bottomed out, drowning out the small whine from Diluc. “Good job, baby,” he panted out. “That’s everything. Can you feel me stretching you out? Tell me how good it feels,” he asked Diluc, needing to take another moment to compose himself before he came immediately.

“I- It’s a lot,” he rasped out. “S-so big, fuck. F-feel so... mmmn- so full.” He wriggled his hips back, wanting to feel more of the length inside him. He stilled once he felt the grip of Ajax’s hands tighten, the one on his thigh digging into a mark the Harbinger had left there. “Y-you can move,” he whispered, giving Ajax permission to do as he pleased.

Ajax groaned as he moved to mouth at the marks on Diluc’s chest, pleased to see that Diluc’s cock was hard once again. He pulled his hips back at a snail’s pace, until only the tip was left inside. He felt Diluc’s hole clench around him. “Baby, I am not gonna last very long,” he laughed out weakly. With that, he slid back in just as slowly, listening to the symphony of Diluc’s whimpers and whines.

After a few thrusts at such a sluggish pace, Diluc began to squirm. “F-faster... pl- ah- please,” he whispered.

Ajax’s patience was stretched thin. He was going so slow, making sure not to hurt Diluc, when all he wanted to do was ram the man into the mattress. He picked up his pace at Diluc’s plea, still going slower than he would like, but it still felt incredible. He swooped to capture Diluc’s lips in a kiss, swallowing all the gasps, grunts, whines, and moans the man let out at the increase in pace.

Eventually, Ajax’s pace had gradually increased to the point where he could hear his hips slapping against Diluc’s own. He tore himself away from the redhead’s mouth, moving to sit up on his knees in between Diluc’s spread legs, taking in the sight before him.

Diluc looked... wrecked. His chest was flushed a deep red, covered in bite marks, and positively heaving with every breath he took. His thighs, also covered in Ajax’s marks, were quivering in the Harbinger’s hold. And his face- wait, Ajax thought to himself.

His expression was obscured, an arm thrown over his face to cover it. Ajax halted his thrusts, keeping himself buried to the hilt. He ground his hips into Diluc’s slowly, taking in Diluc’s low groan. He let go of the man’s thigh, reaching up to grab Diluc’s wrist, pinning it to the bed above his head. “Let me see you, baby,” he cooed. “Wanna see your pretty little faces.” He let out a deep hum, feeling Diluc clench around him. “Gods, love seeing how wrecked you look. All from my cock.”

Diluc whined high in his throat, partially embarrassed at having Ajax see him in such a debauched state. But if he was being honest, he was feeling so good that he began to forget why he even cared. He nodded absently at what Ajax had said, then suddenly threw his head back as the Harbinger resumed his thrusts.

Ajax sped his hips up, pounding into Diluc now. He moved his hand from Diluc’s hip to wrap around the man’s cock, keeping his other hand where it was pinning Diluc’s arm above his head. Diluc cried out at the contact, his head thrashing about. Ajax angled his hips, aiming to hit that spot inside Diluc that made him see stars. He knew he had hit his target once Diluc let out a sob.

Ajax sped up the hand on the redhead’s cock, feral grin growing as he saw a tear spill from where Diluc’s eyes were pinched shut. “F-fuck, yes. I- I’m cl- mmmn- close. ‘M g-gonna cum, fuck.” Diluc’s cries rang through Ajax’s head as he panted harshly.

“Fuck, so tight. Look at you, crying on my cock,” his thrusts became sporadic as he saw more tears sliding down Diluc’s cheeks. “Open your eyes, baby. Want you to look at me when you cum, make sure you know I’m the one making you feel this good.” He groaned low in his throat when Diluc complied, ruby red eyes opening and locking onto his, hazy and fogged over with pleasure. Ajax watched in awe as more tears spilled over, bottom eyelashes wet and clumped together.

Diluc’s hips bucked into Ajax’s hand, the coil of heat in his gut about to snap. “Fuck,” he whimpered weakly. A sob was ripped from him as he shot his release over Ajax’s hand and across his own stomach, some even reaching his chest. He continued to sob, more tears leaking from his eyes as Ajax continued to stroke him through his high, his cock never stopping it’s thrusting into Diluc’s ass. He thought he could hear Ajax let out something that sounded like a curse, but couldn’t decipher what language it was in.

Ajax continued pounding into Diluc and stroking his dick until the man began to wince and whimper, body wracked in tremors once more. He let go of the man’s cock, spent length flopping into the mess on his stomach. He tore himself from Diluc’s hole; if he hadn’t been about two seconds away from cumming, he would’ve felt bad at the sharp wince he saw from Diluc. However, as it was, his only concern was getting himself off. He crawled his way up Diluc’s body in his knees until he was straddling the man’s ribs. His hand (partially covered in Diluc’s release, Ajax noticed belatedly) flew to his own dick as he began stroking himself desperately.

A filthy groan was ripped from his throat. His hand was flying in his cock, Diluc’s cum making the slide wet and slick. He pitched forward, breath knocked out of him as he saw Diluc’s eyes squint open blearily. His eyes darted to where he was stroking himself, only to notice that beneath his dick (which was an angry red) was Diluc’s chest, marked up with forming bruises and bite marks, a few streaks of pearly white completing the masterpiece.

“Can I- ah- cum on your chest, baby? Get it all messy? All over those pretty marks?” he panted, hoping Diluc would give him permission because he was going to cum within the next ten seconds. He gasped sharply as Diluc nodded, dazed. “Fuck,” he bit out aggressively. “Gonna cum on your pretty tits, baby.” With that, he came, shooting ropes of cum over Diluc’s chest exactly as promised. He took wheezing, gasping breaths of air in as he continued to stroke himself, riding out his high.

Diluc let his eyes slip shut, letting out a content hum as his chest was covered. Ajax hunched over him, dropping his head so that their foreheads were touching. “You did... so good, baby,” Ajax panted out, Diluc preening at the words. Once Ajax released Diluc’s hand that he had pinned to the mattress, Diluc slowly moved it to Ajax’s hair, bringing the man down for a kiss.

It was a rather pathetic kiss, more just panting into each other’s mouths. But it felt oh so intimate, just holding each other close after they both reached their highs, hands softly caressing any skin they could reach.

Ajax fluttered around Diluc’s face, leaving kisses on his skin and whispering praises between each brush of lips. “Such a good boy.” A kiss to Diluc’s temple. “So wonderful.” A kiss to his cheek. “Just beautiful.” A kiss to his forehead. “So perfect for me.” A kiss to his lips.

Ajax took a deep breath, resolving himself to finally sitting up and pulling away from Diluc. He clambered off of the man, eyes darting around the room in hopes to find his (or Diluc’s, honestly) boxers somewhere on the floor. Once he spotted them, he rolled off the bed and snatched them up. As he was pulling them up his legs, he noticed Diluc watching him with a small frown, eyes questioning.

“W- ... what are you doing?” he asked softly, his voice weak. Ajax delighted in hearing how hoarse his voice sounded, the way the words came out slightly raspy.

He finished pulling his boxers on, turning to Diluc with a soft smile. “Gotta get us cleaned up, baby. Bathroom is this way?” he asked, pointing to a door which he assumed led to the bathroom. At Diluc’s small nod, he went in. He couldn’t take in how impressive the bathroom was or how organized Diluc kept his things, too focused on trying to find a washcloth or a towel. After digging through some drawers, he finally found some washcloths. He used one to quickly clean himself up. Grabbing another one, he ran the cloth under warm water, soaking the fabric and wringing it out to make it damp, but not dripping.

He returned to the bedroom, washcloth in hand, to find Diluc slightly more alert, but still pretty out of it. He crawled onto the bed next to Diluc, slowly wiping up the mess on his stomach. As Ajax moved the cloth up to clean his chest, Diluc’s head fell to rest on his shoulder. He planted a kiss to the crown of Diluc’s head once he deemed the man clean. “Do you want some fresh clothes to put on, baby?” he asked in a whisper, not wanting to shock Diluc out of his relaxed state.

Diluc hummed in agreement. “Boxers... Top drawer,” he muttered softly, nodding his head towards a dresser by his closet. He felt immediately cold as soon as Ajax left his side again. He shivered slightly, watching the man rummage through the drawer he pointed out, coming back with a new pair of simple black boxers. Diluc felt his cheeks heat up as Ajax dressed him, pressing kisses to the skin of his legs as he dragged the fabric up.

Diluc sighed in content, happy to have Ajax next to him again. They stayed like that for a while, Diluc’s head resting on Ajax’s chest. Ajax was drawing small patterns into his biceps from where the Harbinger had his arms wrapped around him. They stayed like that until Diluc began to get drowsy, his breaths evening out and his eyes slipping shut. He was sleepy enough that he almost didn’t notice as Ajax slowly removed himself from beneath him, only noticing once he was completely off the bed. His eyes blinked open blearily, seeing Ajax tiptoe around his room in search of his clothes.

“Where are you going?” he asked sleepily, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Ajax froze, the sound of Diluc’s voice startling him. He turned to the man. “I, uh, gotta grab my clothes. I, um, I figured you’d want me to leave, but I can’t exactly go without-“ he cut himself off as Diluc shook his head, then uttered the one word he had been hoping to hear all night.

“Stay.”

#genshin #genshin imapct #childe #diluc #tartaglia #diluc ragnvindr #genshin childe #genshin diluc #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #childe smut #diluc smut #tartaglia smut #childe x diluc #diluc x childe #chiluc #chiluc smut

402 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #taehyung x reader #bts #taehyung x you #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #android taehyung #robot taehyung #look you know the drill by now: I don't know how to tag effectively #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #dbh is so good guys. I love connor. like. an alarming amount.

3K notes · View notes

cjrae · 7 months ago

Text

Series: React to a Reaction. Episode 20: Thornapple

Here we go again!

1.) "Maomao takes a moment to consider Jinshi's status:

Maomao: Who is this man really?

Oh my god is it finally happening?

Maomao: Knowing would only land me in more trouble. It's got nothing to do with me.

You have got to be kidding me. I suppose I should be happy that she accepts the truth, even if she refuses to look at it."

I believe another commenter used the term "avoidant little shit" and it fits. As frustrating as it is (especially for Jinshi, eventually), the fact that she DELIBERATELY avoids looking at this tells us a lot about how she feels about Jinshi, far more than anything she says or thinks.

2.) "And for as much as he likes Maomao, sometimes Jinshi really doesn't know what the hell he's suppose to do with this girl."

Oh, look, their dynamic in a nutshell!

3.) "Gaoshun teases Jinshi for acting like a child by holding his nose. I wish Gaoshun would get off that already. It's so fucking patronizing. And I know Jinshi has responsibilities and expectations and all that shit, so he has to behave a certain way in public, but does Gaoshun really have to enforce all of that when it's just the two of them relaxing at home?"

In short, yes.

Gaoshun and Jinshi's relationship is interesting, because of the power imbalance. Gaoshun's job is to ensure that the prince is competent - Jinshi's happiness is not a part of this equation. That doesn't mean that Gaoshun doesn't care, but as you put it a while ago in a different review, the prince is powerless to escape his duty.

It takes on more significance as the shadow of his Former Majesty looms over the royal family. Jinshi mentions how the Emperor is only interested in "ripened fruit." His preferences for large busts takes on darker mindset when you realize that he is making a point of choosing his concubines who are grown women, not prepubescent girls, as a political break with the previous administration.

Jinshi is not just a member of the royal family - until a baby boy is born somewhere in that harem, he's the Crown Prince. Which means that not only does the Emperor need to show that he is temperate, competent and not a pedophile, but that his heir is also worthy of taking the throne.

There's a lot of trauma hanging over the royal family that's shaped the Emperor, Jinshi, Ah-Duo and others that we'll see next season. (Or if you start the manga/light novels).

Gaoshun has a hell of a tightrope to walk. And, frankly, he doesn't get to make the call about how Jinshi is raised. He and Suiren have to follow the orders they're given about how to raise him.

4.) "Alright, okay, so Jinshi takes this… concoction to suppress his manhood. I'm trying to figure out mechanically exactly what that means, and I think I know, but wow. What a thing to do to yourself...What is wrong inside Jinshi's head or life that this is something he does?"

This "concoction" is the funniest fucking thing to me, because we saw Maomao pick up the prescription a couple of episodes ago and be confused about why the packet was filled with potato flour. It's specifically taro powder. Someone tell the bubble tea places that too many taro bubble teas are gonna make all the guys unable to perform! Seriously, as fun as the medical mysteries are and they're usually beholden to a modern Western interpretation of medicine and science, occasionally the author pulls out some really weird BS that reminds me not to take it too seriously.

Also, doesn't this just introduce another interesting parallel between Maomao and Jinshi when it comes to self harm with some greater good justifying it?

5.) "We learn that Gaoshun is a GILF grandfather."

You had it right the first time.

6.) "Oh Jinshi…. doesn't know about the baby switch? What the hell? I was convinced he did know. So how did Lady Ah-Duo treat him? I mean he went over to her palace to drink with her alone. The emperor really thinks Jinshi is his little brother huh? Who does know about Jinshi's true identity then? Just me? Do I even know? Have I gotten something mixed up here?"

No, he doesn't know. And neither does the audience really, at this point. Maomao offered a speculation, but that's it.

Something to remember though is that we were just told that Jinshi is 19. Over a year has passed since the first episode (I think it's about 15 months?) which means when the series started, he'd probably just turned 18. He's been doing this for five years as of this episode, which is concurrent to when His Former Majesty died and the succession happened. We also know that before this, Ah-Duo was the Emperor's only consort - which would mean that he was most likely monogamous for all that time.

We don't know much about Jinshi's childhood at this point, but given how determined the characters are to create a break with the previous ruler and how Ah-Duo acted to protect Lishu, I think it's reasonable to assume that this small, nuclear family also worked very hard to keep Jinshi away from His Former Majesty and under their protection - for very gross reasons that are obvious. That would have created a strong bond with Ah-Duo no matter what the status of their biological relationship.

7.) "So why send Maomao away? Is Jinshi concerned after the assassination attempt that it's too dangerous to keep Maomao close? Does he see sending Maomao to the Rear Palace as a way to keep her out of Lakan's grasp?"

As much as Jinshi is fundamentally a good man, he's also a political animal. He usually has more than one reason for the things he does. As Maomao notes, Lakan can't get to her in the Rear Palace, which means that in the Jinshi vs. Lakan power struggle, Jinshi just pulled out his big trump card.

Also, with Lady Gyokuyou pregnant, she's gonna need a food taster even more than before. We know that there were multiple attempted poisonings when she was pregnant with Princess Lingli, which means that as much as Maomao likes the assignment and is happy to do it, the risk just went up.

But Jinshi's duty is very clear. His job is to make sure that baby is born safely - and Maomao is the best person for the job. So, back she goes!

8.) "Lihaku is at Verdigris House and he over hears the news that one of the princesses is about to be bought out and he's terrified that it's the one he's in love with. I may care about Lihaku's personal problems some day, but it's not today."

I suspect Lihaku will grow on you. When he first meets Maomao in her freckles, he's not exactly happy about the cat fishing (from his POV), but we've seen him settle into a sort of big brother role over the course of the Suirei investigation.

Also, you are about to get one of the FUNNIEST scenes in the entire show with Lihaku next episode and if your opening GIF isn't Jinshi twitching, I'll be shocked. :D

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E20 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character/locations cheat sheet

Suiren - Jinshi's attendant

Lakan - strategist. Maomao's biological father.

Lihaku - the military officer who took Maomao out of the Rear Palace

Basan - an officer who is related to Gaoshun

Sir Kounen - Jinshi's older acquaintance who died

Suirei: court lady who doesn't like Maomao

Concubine Loulan - the new Pure Consort

Maomao wakes up. In Jinshi's bed. It's better than recovering in the infirmary.

Suiren helps Maomao prepare to see the others who are all eager for answers. The others also includes Basan, who can fuck all the way off. Why is this guy in a perpetual state of pissed off?

Jinshi hasn't pieced together what happened and asked Maomao to explain. She explains the parts of the conspiracy that she's noticed. That Sir Kounen's death was part of this shocks Jinshi. We get a glimpse of someone ordering replacements of the ceremonial items that were stolen. That person is the exact same guy who was around at the deaths of Sir Kounen and the official who ate poisoned seaweed. Still whoever is the mastermind, must have been aware of the metalworker's technique for this conspiracy to work.

Maomao takes a moment to consider Jinshi's status:

Maomao: Who is this man really?

Oh my god is it finally happening?

Maomao: Knowing would only land me in more trouble. It's got nothing to do with me.

You have got to be kidding me. I suppose I should be happy that she accepts the truth, even if she refuses to look at it.

Suirei and her coconspirators went to a lot of trouble to try to kill Jinshi. What is the connection between Suirei and Jinshi?

Oh Suirei is dead. She took poison. Made from her morning glories perhaps? And she was the sole mastermind behind the incident. Right.

Lihaku is here. He's starting to grow on me. Or maybe he just seems preferrable after having to tolerate Basan. What is with all the men in this palace anyway?

Lihaku: Well anyway the mystery's been solved. I'll see you.

That should not have made me laugh the way it did. The way he just drops this very much not solved case and walks away. Lihaku proves he is not the man for Maomao at every turn.

Maomao wonders if Suirei is the type to commit suicide. She thinks maybe, because Suirei was so apathetic, but their last conversation was so strange. She talked about resurrection medicine, which is impossible, but if Suirei took a poison that only made her appear dead... and Maomao can figure out the antidote, then maybe she can "resurrect" Suirei and maybe get some answers? Or is there something else going on here?

Maomao is on to something, and she is so excited. She asks Jinshi for a favor to speak with the doctor who examined Suirei's body. Her enthusiasm for solving mysteries is on full psychotic display, and even having seen it before, Jinshi is a little taken aback.

Gaoshun doesn't want Jinshi in the morgue.

But:

Jinshi: Where the apothecary goes, so will I. Gaoshun: *sigh* Naturally.

Gaoshun, sweety, if you already knew, then why did you bother?

It seems Suirei was depending on this doctor who is in love with her to perform her autopsy, because he never cut her open to find out what kind of poison she ingested. Maomao reveals that the woman in Suirei's casket is not in fact Suirei. She then taunts the doctor into revealing the truth, that he didn't perform the post-mortem.

Gaoshun is quick to get between the angry man and Maomao.

Maomao's theory is that Suirei concocted a strong poison, containing thornapple, that made her appear dead, but later when the affects wore off, she had help from her coconspirators to replace her body with someone else's and escape. We get another glimpse of our mysterious man. To be able to get in and out they disguised Suirei as a vendor.

Jinshi thinks it's crazy to risk taking such a dangerous poison. Maomao is quick to admit she would do it. And Jinshi knows her all too well, because he says she would do it simply for the pleasure of it.

Maomao has some professional respect for Suirei and all the skills, planning, and daring it took to pull this off. Maomao seems a bit unhinged here; she laughs maniacally as she considers how to get the elixir recipe from Suirei.

Then she quickly switches affect to sweetly ask if she may have her leg restitched. And for as much as he likes Maomao, sometimes Jinshi really doesn't know what the hell he's suppose to do with this girl, because he's completely exasperated that she would wait so long to mention that her leg is bleeding. But of course she waited. She will always put her own well being behind everything else.

Oh. Concubine Loulan. We haven't seen her in quite awhile. She has one of her attendants whisper in her ear and we see her eye narrow for just a moment. Was she receiving word about Suirei? Is Lady Loulan involved in this scheme somehow? Why come at Jinshi?

Jinshi is sitting up alone at night thinking. We've seen him do this before and find something to smile about. This time, he's pensive, troubled. Thinking about the mystery that is Suirei; how she came into the palace and what her motives were.

Then we have the greatest conversation ever between Jinshi and Gaoshun with so many wonderful twists and turns.

Gaoshun comes in to share a drink with Jinshi after tending to Maomao. Jinshi has been thinking a lot about Maomao, and particularly about what to do about Lakan.

Gaoshun drinks first, testing for poison or an aphrodisiac? Just what does Jinshi have to drink here that tastes so bad? Gaoshun claims that Jinshi need not drink it, but Jinshi claims it is his duty as a eunuch??? Okay man...

Gaoshun teases Jinshi for acting like a child by holding his nose. I wish Gaoshun would get off that already. It's so fucking patronizing. And I know Jinshi has responsibilities and expectations and all that shit, so he has to behave a certain way in public, but does Gaoshun really have to enforce all of that when it's just the two of them relaxing at home?

Jinshi tells us here that "Jinshi" the eunuch is 24 years old, and that "Jinshi" is a persona he uses to operate in the Rear Palace.

Alright, okay, so Jinshi takes this... concoction to suppress his manhood. I'm trying to figure out mechanically exactly what that means, and I think I know, but wow. What a thing to do to yourself. Gaoshun threatens that this stuff will one day make Jinshi impotent. Maybe, quit taking it then? Like why is Jinshi risking it? Is this really expected of him? Like, what if something happened to the current emperor while he doesn't have an heir? Wouldn't the empire need to Jinshi as their back up? Why would he even be permitted to risk impotency before the line of succession is secure? It's really fricking odd to me.

What is wrong inside Jinshi's head or life that this is something he does?

We learn that Gaoshun is a GILF grandfather. And that anger-management nightmare Basan is about to wreck some lady's life with marriage. He's only 19, like Jinshi.

Jinshi is only fucking 19? He's, like, just barely an adult. Still a teenager. What a horrible world he lives in, that it would crush this young man with so much responsibility before he has even lived two decades. I want cry, and wrap him up safe and warm and make him some soup. Is it okay that I just want to mother this young man? Can we get Ah-Duo back?

Gaoshun wants to retire, but he can't do it until he sees Jinshi settled. Jinshi says he'll do his best. But at this pace, it's going to take him 10 more years to marry Maomao, so hopefully Gaoshun's grandkids won't be completely grown by the time he gets to meet them.

Oh Lady Loulan can speak! I've never heard her use words before. And Jinshi is sparkling. I feel sick when I see it now. Loulan is constantly changing her look to the point that the emperor cannot recognize her, and I'm sorry what? That's weird enough to be important.

We learn that at least the current emperor isn't a fucking pedophile like his own father was.

Oh Jinshi.... doesn't know about the baby switch? What the hell? I was convinced he did know. So how did Lady Ah-Duo treat him? I mean he went over to her palace to drink with her alone. The emperor really thinks Jinshi is his little brother huh? Who does know about Jinshi's true identity then? Just me? Do I even know? Have I gotten something mixed up here?

Jinshi wonders why the emperor hasn't fathered a new crown prince already. Yeah like what the hell? He didn't even have another wife after Lady Ah-Duo lost her uterus, until he inherited the throne and the Rear Palace. He's got at least 4 main wives, 2 that he doesn't touch, and 2 that he definitely does. And also, like, all the other lesser ranked ladies of the harem. What is this guy doing? Or rather not doing?

Jinshi sounds like he would like a prince to come along so he could gtfo of the line of succession and do his own thing.

Speaking of babies. Lady Gyokuyou is looking exhausted and... pregnant? Yup she's preggo. And Maomao gets to go be a midwife! Yay!

It seems every time Maomao puts down roots she is ripped away to go some place else. This time she literally put down roots when she planted her herb garden. She's come to enjoy this life here, and the people in her orbit. And being near Jinshi. But now, who knows when she will be able to come back.

So why send Maomao away? Is Jinshi concerned after the assassination attempt that it's too dangerous to keep Maomao close? Does he see sending Maomao to the Rear Palace as a way to keep her out of Lakan's grasp? Is this because of Jinshi's conversation with Gaoshun? Does he intend to get serious about finding a wife, one who isn't Maomao?

Maomao is comforted by the thought that she will be away from Lakan, and wonders if this is Jinshi's way of looking out for her. For sure it is. As much as Jinshi would like to keep Maomao around , he will always let her go if he thinks it is better for her. He did it before when he fired her from the Rear Palace the first time.

I am a little excited for Maomao to reunite with the ladies of the Jade Pavilion, even if it means more space between her and Jinshi.

Wow, Lady Gyokuyou's baby has gotten big. How much time has passed? I was thinking a year, but maybe it's closer to two or three? Maomao sees the emperor enjoying some family time and thinks there may be more to him than she thought. I can't read that guy at all. Maomao spares a thought for how difficult the emperor's position is politically with his concubines.

Lihaku is at Verdigris House and he over hears the news that one of the princesses is about to be bought out and he's terrified that it's the one he's in love with. I may care about Lihaku's personal problems some day, but it's not today.

To start at the beginning: Episode 1

Next Episode

Coming Soon!

#the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #jinshi #maomao #apothecary diaries meta #jinmao #jinshi and maomao #jinshi x maomao #knh #kusuriya no hitorigoto #gaoshun #lihaku #gyokuyou #lakan

36 notes · View notes

nightowlfandom · 3 years ago

Text

Noctis Lucis Caelum- Anything For You

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

More Final Fantasy content....YYYYYYAAAAYY

Leggo

...

“Good girl.” you smiled as the yellow feathered Chocobo ate from your hand. “Eat up, you need your energy.” you scratched the top of her head as she squawked gratefully.

“Y/N are you still here?” the farmhand, Faye emerged from the stables to find you. “Do you not have any other plans?”

“Trust me.” you began to laugh. “I’d much rather scoop up giant bird poops than deal with my personal life right now...or lack thereof.”

“Well isn’t that somethin- Is that the crown prince I see?” she looked past you which made you follow her eyes. “It is?! Prince Noctis on my Chocobo farm. Quick! How do I look?”

“Like a farmer.” you laughed in reply. “Perhaps get the shit off your boots.”

“Damnit! I should have worn my new ones.” She began wiping the bottoms of her shoes against the grass.

“Faye, he’s just a prince. I don’t know what’s so great about him anyways.” you rolled your eyes. “He seems like an asshole from what I’ve seen of him.”

“You’ve never even met him.” she put her hands on her hips. “Maybe you’ll like him!”

“Sure, whatever you say, Faye.” you laughed. “That’ll happen.”

...

“Ugh why are we here anyways?” Noctis rolled his eyes as Ignis pulled up to the famous Chocobo farm.

“Because!” Prompto snapped in reply. The blond male didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop before he jumped out. “The eggs are supposed to be hatching today and I want to be the first to capture a picture of those featherless faces!”

“Of course.” he scoffed. Noctis liked Chocobos, sure. He just didn’t think an idea of a good Saturday morning was to spend the day at a bunch of dirty, smelly, stables, for a bunch of unhatched eggs no less. “Great.”

“I suggest you fix your face, the farmhand is here.” Gladio grunted, hopping out of the car. “Wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Whateve-” Noctis turned his head towards the loud squawking when his eyes landed on you. You were feeding a random Chocobo while talking to that farmgirl who ran the stables. “Woah.” he felt his heart flutter. Who were you?! He heard you laugh from where he was and felt his heart stop. Your laugh, it was beautiful.

“Yo? Who is that girl?” Noctis scrambled out of the car, nearly falling on his face. He tried desperately to fix himself up. “Specs?”

“I believe she frequents the shops not too far from here.” Ignis replied in his usually cool manner. “I believe she is also a friend of that Dino character we run into from time to time.”

“No way. Her?! Friends with that-” Noctis shook his head in disbelief. He found it impossible to walk forward. Gravity was stopping him. He didn’t even notice everyone else walking ahead of him. He had never seen you around before but he wished he had. “Woah....”

...

You were still chatting with Faye when a group of guys ran up. One of them held a camera and looked as if he were about to explode. You had no time to register the camera flash. Good think he captured your good side.

“I AM HERE FOR THE EGGS!” he declared. His abrasiveness surprised you. Was he talking about the new hatchlings?

“Ummm-” Faye looked scared. “You here to volunteer?”

“Heck yeah I am!” he explosive blonde looked as if he was about to piss himself from excitement. “I WANT TO HOLD YOUR CHOCOBOS!”

“Alright! Keep your pants on. Follow me. Y/N, you’ll be good here right?” Faye asked, seemingly frightened by the giddy young man.

“Yeah.” you stifled a laugh. “I’ll be just fine here.” you shook your head as the man ran full force for the stables. You were about to go about your business when a black haired boy stumbled up to you. “For a royal, you’re pretty clumsy.” you stifled laughter.

“Huh?!” he looked taken aback. “You know who I am?”

“...I mean aren’t I supposed to?” you turned back towards the Chocobo. “Prince Noctis?” you tried to hold in your distaste, but he caught up on it instantly.

“Is there an issue with me-”

“As a matter of fact there is. Don’t think I didn’t notice that face you were making when you pulled up with your friends.” you cut him off. “Big and bad prince man can’t be seen around a few Chocobos?”

“Oh, no that’s not it at all.” Noctis tried to explain himself in the best way he could.

“Then what exactly is it?” you turned towards him again. “I mean really?”

“Okay so I admit my attitude isn’t the best-”:

“So you admit it?” you held back harsh laugh. “Hm, It’s a start.” you shrugged.

“I mean, you aren’t really giving me a fair chance. You only know me from the papers.” he explained. “You don’t really know me as a person. For all I know you could be a stalker.”

“I am no a stalker!” you looked him up and down.

“I wouldn’t know that.” he winked. “So maybe we both have it all wrong.”

“And what do you wanna do to fix that, go on a date or something?” you scoffed.

“Yes!” he replied honestly. “Let me prove I’m not some asshole!”

“Is it that imperative that you go out of your way to prove to me that you aren’t an asshole?” you raised a brow.

“Yes!” he nodded quickly.

...

You boredly sat at the restaurant table. He was late. 15 minutes to be exact.

“I knew this was a load of-” you prepared yourself to stand up when a man frantically rushed in.

“I’M HERE!” Noctis yelled, grabbing the attention of the other patrons. He practically fell into the chair right across from you.

“Nice of you to show.” you sat back down. You decided to humor this guy. “Care to explain?”

“Sorry! Stupid Prompto gave me the wrong address and...woah...” he nearly drooled all over the place seeing you in your tight black dress. “You look...amazing.”

“Sure I do.” you scoffed. “I’m sure I still have dried up chocobo shit in my hair,” you turned away from him, feeling your insecurity creep up on you, tons more than usual. “But thank you.” you relaxed in your chair.

“No I mean it! Even when I saw you...I thought you were beautiful.” he expressed.

“Really?” you paused to look him in the eye.

“Really.” he smiled. “You’re the best looking girl here.”

“I definitely don’t believe that...but thank you.” you said shyly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

....

“What about that one?” you pointed to a random star.

“That one, there’s a legend that it’s a parallel version of this world.”

You both sat at the edge of the lake, staring into the moonlit sky. After dinner, Noctis had taken you to the docks on Galdin Quay.

“No way. “You stared at the star in wonder. “How many worlds do you think there are?”

“Infinite, my dad says so.” Noctis replied. “All different versions of us doing different things.” he smiled to himself. “Maybe there’s a version of me that...is actually proud to be a prince.” he glowered.

“Maybe there’s a version of me whose the royal instead.” you nudged him. That made him chuckle a bit.

“If that’s the case...I’d be happy to bow down to you.” he flirted. He looked back at the sky. “Try that one.” he pointed.

“I know that one.” you beamed a little. “There’s a legend called the Lover’s Star, if a couple sees it on their first date...they’ll be together forever.” you mused romantically. It was only then you had realized your fingers had laced into Noctis’s.

“Maybe today was our lucky day.” he winked. After a second of silence, you decided to confess.

“I was wrong about you.” you said honestly a while. “I think you’re pretty amazing, Noct.” you chuckled.

“So...” he smiled deviously. “Are ya gonna say I’m sorry?” he mocked.

“You wish. You’re still a stuck up prince to me...you’re just not an asshole prince.” you stuck your tongue out at him. “You’re not like most guys around here.” you shyly looked away from him you dug your toes into the sand.

“Well I’m not from around here.” he replied. “You’re different from everyone around here. You’re not all into me because I’m The Prince Noctis- that’s all I want. I want someone to see me for who I am...not what I am.”

You shyly kicked your legs in the water, looking at the ripples in the water.. “I’m glad I could be that person for you Noctis.” you smiled.

“Guess this means you’re gonna be part of my team now?” he bit his lip. “You’ll be my...ummm...I’ll think of something.”

“I look forward to it.” you giggled.

“Hm for now...come here.” he winked, gently holding the side of your face. Noctis kissed you. You felt your senses go off. You instantly grabbed his face, kissing him back.

...

You fell back on the hotel bed, refusing to disconnect from a feverish prince throwing himself at you. He kissed you with urgency, as if you would disappear before his eyes. He tore a rip up your dress hastily.

Your tongues clashed together as you kissed, the air was getting heavy. You helped Noctis out of his jacket. Your dress had turned to ribbons and your panties weren’t too far behind.

“N-noctis..” you hissed, feeling his hands explore every inch of your body.

“You feel even better than I imagined you would.” he kissed your bare stomach. “You’re so beautiful.” he moaned. It was like you were the goddess, the royal, and he was the peasant.

You felt shy under his gaze. He stared up at you, biting his lip. “I don’t think I can wait...” he groaned. “A-are you okay with this?”

“God, yes.” you mewled as he kissed your thighs.

“I wanna worship you.” he moaned, ghosting his lips over your center. You shyly stared down at Noctis who looked up at you with a shit eating grin.

He sunk his tongue into you, lashing against your pussy. You instantly grabbed a fist full of his hair. You and him both were a mess. Hisses and prolonged moans escaped your lungs along with his name. You were sure the people in the next room could hear you.

Noctis crawled over you again, a predatory glare in his eyes. He bit his lip, staring down at you. “You’re so fucking cute...”

...

“I’d do anything for you.” he moaned against your lips. “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.” he whimpered, his thrusts growing sloppily. He bucked his hips rhythmically, your bodies moving and grinding in sweet friction. His cock twitched inside of you as he grew near his release, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to cum to the sounds of your cries and screams. ”Gonna make you my queen and w-we’ll rule together until our hearts give out baby. F-FUUUCCKK.”

“Noctis.” you croaked. Hearing his words in your ear made you hiss in delight. This alone caused him to dig his nails into your sides and thrust even deeper into your heat. You didn’t know what else do you but let a stream of cries escape your lungs.

“I love it when you say my name.” he grunted. “Say it again.”

“N-noctis.” your insides lurched as you tightened around his length. “I wanna- I’m gonna-”

“Again.” he barked. “Never stop saying my name. Never say another man’s name!” he sank his teeth into the crook of your neck. “You’re mine, baby. You’re all mine.” he growled.

“Noctisss.” you arched your back. “F-fu-” you whimpered, at the impact. “S-shit!”

Noctis yanked himself from you, spraying his cum all over your stomach. Shortly before, you came too, feeling your water run down your leg. He fell forward, burying his head into your neck. “Baby, I’d fucking do everything for you.”

You shook under his body, whimpering at his gentle touches. You felt him kiss your need lovingly as you both drifted off to sleep.

...

#noctis x reader #noctis lucis caelum #noctis lucis caelum x reader #ffxv x reader #ffxv imagines #ffxv lemon #ffxv scenarios #final fantasy 15 #noctis final fantasy #x reader #noctis imagines #noctis lucis caelum imagines #noctis smut #noctis imagine #ffxv headcanons #imagines #x readers #multifandom

432 notes · View notes

redpandaramblings · 4 years ago

Text

Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 3.

Part 1- Here

Previous part Here

Next Part Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship

Where we left off-

You glanced up at the sound of the door. In came your parents, then the Yokomadas. You did a double take as the final person, the omega you were here to meet, entered the room. They looked equally as startled as your eyes locked.

“Y/N?”

“Denki?!”

You slowly walked through the teahouse garden, your electric blond friend oddly silent as he kept pace with you. Your parents and the Yokomadas had allowed the two of you a bit of privacy to talk. So far, neither of you had mustered the courage to break the awkward atmosphere. Neither your parents or the Yokomadas had seemed to pick up on Denki or your mood. If anything, they were thrilled you two already knew each other. With a sigh, you sat on a bench by the koi pond, not looking at the blond as to settled down next to you. After several minutes, he spoke.

“So. What are you doing here?”

You snorted, and gently dumped your shoulder against his.

“Right back at you, Pikachu.”

“I’ll tell you. After you tell me.”

You chuckled humorously, and tilted your head back to look at the sky.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just here to appease my mother?”

Denki considered for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. You’ve been saying no to her for years. So tell me, why are you here.”

You take a deep breath and let it out again slowly through your nose.

“I… I think I wanted to be here. Needed to.” You wrung your hands, throwing a sideways glance at Denki. “I… I want to be mated. Have a family. Have someone who needs me and lets me need them. I used to think Kat… I used to think Bakugou was my person. But I’m not sure anymore, Denks. You know what he’s like and so do I, but I’ve waited for years, and nothing, and I’m so tired, and I’m not even sure he even likes me anymore, and…” You’re stopped by Kaminari gently rubbing your back.

“Breath, Y/n. Come on. Deep breaths.”

You inhaled shakily. You hadn’t even noticed you’d been hyperventilating. Quiet settled again, aside from the sounds of nature and your slowly slowing breathing. After a few moments, you spoke again.

“I’m just so lonely, Denks. I see him every day, and I’m still so goddamn lonely. So I think… I think it’s time to let go.” Your lips twitched slightly upward as you tilt your head to look at him. “Am I terrible?”

Denki huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You? Never.” He sighed, removing his hand from you back as he began picking at the hem of his sleeve. “I wish I could say I didn’t understand. But I do. I’m kinda here for the same reason after all.”

You gave an encouraging hum and reached out, taking his hand in yours and running your thumb over his knuckles. He interlaced your fingers, giving a squeeze before continuing to speak.

“You know how I feel about Shinso, right?”

“I think everyone but Shinso knows how you feel about him.”

Denki snorted. “Yeah. Not surprised. But that’s the problem. I’ve liked him for years. Little bit of a crush but at UA, thought I could play it cool and it would go away; but then the agency paired us together and, well.” Denki gestured with the hand not holding yours. “It was so easy! I’d go boom! And then he’d go pow! Then shoom! It was amazing! He was amazing… And so I tried to get his attention. I tried so damn hard. And you know me.”

You snorted, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a living room window.”

“Exactly!” He shouted, pulling away to stand up and pace. “I flirted. I used all my best pick up lines. I asked him out to the club, and he said yes. But do you know what he said afterward? He said though it wasn’t his usual scene, it was really good being able to hang out with a friend. I… I asked him to spend my heat with me.”

You inhaled sharply. Kaminari looked at you with an expression you hardly recognized. He collapsed onto the bench, leaning heavily against you.

“He said ‘I’m glad you’re that comfortable with me, but it probably would be better for you to ask someone else.’” Denki whispered, sniffling.

“Oh.. Denki.” You wrapped your arms around the blond, squeezing him tightly. Half out of instinct, you tried to pump out soothing pheromones while you gently scented his hair. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing, sweetheart. You’re a wonderful omega!”

That was all it took for Denki to start sobbing heavily in your arms. You squeezed him tightly as tears filled your own eyes. The tears fell when Denki wrapped his arms around you, hugging you just as tightly as you held him. There in the tranquil garden you both huddled together as you finally allowed yourself to cry. Years of hurt and longing fell from your eyes one drop at a time.

You weren’t sure how long it had been when the two of you slowly pulled away from each other. You used your thumbs to wipe Denki’s cheeks. He gave you a halfhearted smile.

“So,” you asked tentatively, “what should we do? They’re going to expect an answer from us about this whole…” You waved a vague hand “Marriage date thing.”

Denki hummed, puffing up his cheeks as he blew out a breath. “God, I don’t know. Certainly wasn’t expecting it be you, you know? No offense.”

You drew back, gasping in mock anger. “Full offense!” You could only hold your expression a few seconds before you started snickering.

Denki grinned his first really grin of the day. “Well excuuuuse me for insulting your alpha sensibilities.”

“You’re excused. For now.”

You both chuckled. Looking out at the pond, you spoke again. “I just wish I had the right answers. And I really wish we had more time.”

Denki furrowed his brow. “Well… Technically, we could.”

“What do you mean?”

Denki bounced on his seat. “Okay. So. Hear me out. We both need time to process, clearly. Also clearly, our families are just not gonna give us that. So… Why don’t we do this?”

“Wait. Wait. We do this?” you asked, both curious and incredulous.

“Yeah! Think about it. One! They mainly want us in relationships they approved of. They set us up, so clearly, they approve. Two! If we say we’d like to try out this match, they obviously aren’t going to set up any more dates; therefore buying us time. And bonus of no annoying randos. Three! We can say we’re going to take the relationship slow because we’ve both been burned before and want to make sure. Four! Four…” Denki trailed off, looking at his feet.

“Four is maybe if we can’t find a love match at least we’re friends who work well together?” You murmured.

Denki nodded, glancing at you with a rueful smirk. “Yeah. Exactly. Vibe on the same wavelength. Hell, we even want similar shit in life.”

“Actual house, few pets, stability…”

Denki nodded again. “Sucks, but would make sense for us to consider it. As much as I fucking hate the ‘You’re not getting any younger’ speech, they are kind right. We can’t waste all our time waiting for things that aren’t gonna happen.”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “God, don’t you hate it when they’re right about shit like that?”

“You have no idea.”

You stood, stretching. “Well, I guess we go tell them, then.”

Denki groaned. “There isn’t enough saki in the world for that conversation.”

“And just so we’re clear, this stays between us for now, right? No one knows but us, our folks, and I guess your cousins.”

“Agreed. I don’t want to think about what anyone would say. Bakugou would kill me!”

You winced. “Unlikely. I doubt he’d care. But if Mina finds out, everyone will know.”

“You’re not kidding. No worries from me, I don't want this getting out any more than you do.”

“So… Engaged, I guess?”

Denki dusted himself off and stood. “Deal. Engaged.” Denki stuck his hand out, and you shook it.

You both turned and started making your way back to the teahouse, taking your time and going the long way to be sure to avoid and of the other patrons. This was fine. A good plan. Nothing could go wrong as long as no one found out.

And there you have part 3! Sorry the wait and thank you all for being patient! If anyone has any questions regarding the fic or how this particular omegaverse operates, please feel free to shoot me an ask. Also, please note that @snuggleyourredpandas is my main account, so it you see a message reply from them, that's me!

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @one-simp-more, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I'd have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

#reader insert #bnha reader insert #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #reader insert angst #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #omegaverse #omega bakugou #alpha reader #multi part fic #denki #fake dating #fake engagement

531 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

Note

Hello i would kill for some awkward Connor attempting to comfort Chris during training please and thank you

Follow-up to this piece from yesterday

CW: Pet whump, implied whump of a minor, bruising, some dehumanizing language, BBU, facility whump, creepy comfort, The Moral Standards of Monsters, some implied conditioning due to ableism (blink-and-you’ll-miss-it)

“Hey, Manning.”

Connor looks up from his lunch - he’s at his desk in his training room, a sandwich, bag of chips, and bottle of his iced coffee set out in front of him while he finishes up paperwork from the last trainee’s fitness reports - and sighs. Fucking Luke goddamn Petrus. “Yeah?”

For a second, his stomach flips. Linda swore up and down that the complaint would be anonymous, and Connor isn’t the only person in the hallway who has brought up the screaming being… irritating… but still.

Luke is Director Renford’s favorite in a big way, her loyal henchman, and he can make a handler’s life a living hell if he wants to.

Luke leans against the open doorway, giving him a bright smile. Above the expression, though, Luke’s blue eyes stay cold as ice. Like the Director, Connor thinks sometimes. Two fucking peas in a pod, and Connor’s always a little bit on the outside.

Lately, though, he’s been feeling kind of grateful he’s on the outskirts. The Director’s approval is something everyone works for, but having her focus on you too long and too thoroughly sounds as terrifying as her anger.

“I just got called up to a meeting with Renford.”

Renford. Like they’re buddies. Like he’s equals with her. Connor keeps his mouth shut, but he wonders how the Director would react if she knew he calls her Renford when she’s not right in front of him. “Good for you. I don’t see why that should affect my lunch break.”

“The meeting could last a few hours. I know you’ve got the afternoon off from trainee work. Would you mind keeping an eye on one of mine? He’s just out of a week in solitary, so he’s needy as fuck.”

Connor perks up a little at that. Needy trainee and unscheduled afternoon sounds like just the pick-me-up he needs today. “He need any training work?”

“Nah. Do whatever you want with him.” Luke gives Connor a wink. “He’s got some top notch fucking flexibility. Just saying. You can twist him into pretzels. Tell him he’s being good and he’ll do it all himself. Kid’s eager as fuck now that we’re past the halfway point.”

Kid?

Connor swears internally but keeps his expression carefully the same. “What do you mean, kid, Luke? Wait a sec-”

“I’ll bring him in, hold on!” Luke’s already gone from the doorway.

Connor has a sinking feeling of realization that Luke didn’t just randomly decide to leave a trainee with him. He must’ve figured out who put the fucking complaint in. And he knows that Connor hates the screaming, if he knows that.

Which means…

Luke reappears, and sure enough, the little redheaded trainee who is the cause of all the wailing and sobbing is right beside him.

No weights hanging from his hands this time, but there are deep red marks around his wrists and bruises at his upper arms just below his sleeves that suggest he’s done plenty of training work this morning, whatever Luke says.

Jesus, this kid is eerily beautiful. Pale skin, flushed in the aftermath of tears, with a smattering of freckles all over like constellations of stars. His hair’s that rare shining strawberry blond, with eyebrows pale enough to make him seem faintly inhuman. Connor wonders exactly which piece of shit with a thing for teenagers put the order in.

He wants to make sure he doesn’t vote for the guy.

Not that Connor Manning votes.

But maybe he’ll start, and then start purposefully voting for someone else. That's probably way more effort than he'll ever put in to anything that isn't work or Socks, but it feels kind of nice to think about it.

The trainee keeps his eyes carefully down on the floor. Connor notes he’s not even wearing the shock collar any longer - just your average band of black leather, buckled at the side, no padlock. Not only not being shocked, or not needing it, but already far enough along not to try and remove his own collar.

“Luke. I’ve told you how I feel about the underagers-”

“Yeah, and I’ve told you that you can judge me when you're an angel, numbnuts. You’re not better than me. You just have different victims.”

“Oh, the Director would have a shit-fit hearing you call the trainees victims.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m the only one who really grasps exactly what it is we do here, Manning. I just also happen to enjoy it. Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life, right?"

“Go fuck yourself, Petrus. I enjoy my job just fine.” Why is he defensive about this? Connor doesn’t quite understand the surge of irritation within him. Why does he give a fuck what Luke goddamn Petrus has to say about anything, anyway?

“Yeah, for now you do. We’ll see how it goes. I’ve been at this gig for a long time, I see the ones who flame out, and you’re one of them. Anyway, I’ve got to go meet with Renford, I’ll be back by three. If you get tired of him, just put him on the mat and I’ll pick him up when I’m done.”

“Yeah, okay.” Connor frowns, pushing himself to his feet. “I do like my job, Petrus.”

“For now. Bet I’ll be the only person here totally unsurprised when you quit one day.”

“I’m not going to quit.”

“I’ll bet you a thousand damn dollars you do, and I’ll raise the bet to fifteen hundred that it’s over your fucking conscience making a reappearance.”

“Don’t have one."

Luke just sighs, and gives Connor a patronizing little smirk before he turns and leaves. The trainee looks over his shoulder to watch Luke go, pleading with his eyes but not saying a word. The door shuts, and Connor and the trainee are alone.

Connor clears his throat, picking up the sandwich but finding he doesn’t really want it any longer. “What’s your number, trainee?”

The boy’s eyes snap back to him, briefly, before they drop to the floor. Connor notes with vague professional detachment that they’re red-rimmed. He’s been crying again, but then, when isn’t this fucking trainee crying?

When he’s screaming instead, Connor’s thoughts answer him.

God, he wishes these trainees didn’t get to him so much. He can’t talk to anyone about it, either, word will get out Connor Manning has regrets. Questioning the company is a good way to find yourself on the wrong end of a shock collar.

“223499, sir,” The boy says. His voice is low and soft, and each number and word is deliberately placed, as if he’s carefully pacing himself as he speaks. “Designation… Romantic-”

“Yeah, I knew that already. That’s all Luke does.” Connor leans his chin on his hand, looking the kid over. There’s solid muscle in that kid, he thinks, legacy of whatever life he lived before. It’s wasting away under the carefully calibrated malnourishment they’re all subjected to, but the memory of strength is in there, still. An easy, unconscious grace that didn’t have to be taught. “You’ve already done training work today?”

Those green eyes flash up at him again, nervous. Frightened. The boy shifts from foot to foot, then goes still. His fingers twitch before he pauses that, too. Connor watches it all with a kind of slightly repulsed interest. “Yes, sir. But… Handler Petrus said that… that if you want, you can-... can test me-”

“I don’t want,” Connor says heavily, cutting him off with a gesture. The boy’s mouth snaps shut instantly. “Not in the mood.”

There’s an expression of genuine confusion - when is a handler not in the mood? - that flits across the boy’s face. It’s a look of such comedic bafflement that Connor ends up laughing, shaking his head. He doesn’t even put his sexy, dark laugh on, but just snort-laughs naturally, before he walks over to the kid, watching him pull into himself, shoulders hunched.

“Relax, kid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The kid’s nose wrinkles. It’s adorable. “But… all you do… is hurt us.”

Luke’s fucking technique, Connor thinks. Luke’s trainees don’t forget anything he’s taught them, to be sure, but they never quite learn how to act like they’re in love with it, either. Connor can turn out a trainee who genuinely thinks he’s in love. Luke turns out trainees who hate everything they can’t stop themselves from doing.

Some perspectives are into that, he supposes. Connor thinks he’d rather have the act.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to do that today. Come on,” Connor says, and his voice gentles a little. “I’ve got plenty to keep myself busy with. Why don’t you lay down on the mat and get some sleep while I work?” He puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling him trembling slightly through the thin cloth of his white trainee t-shirt. The boy moves when he’s nudged, carefully stepping across the room, tense as a wire about to snap.

“Are you-... are you going to, to, to, to, um-” The boy flinches back from an expected punishment when he stammers. "Silence is, is better than stammering, try again, silence is better than-... try again." The kid mutters to himself, takes a deep breath, tries again. "Are you... going to... give me a pill?"

Connor pulls his hand back, frowning. Now it’s his turn to look confused.

What the fuck is even going on with this kid?

“Nah. I don't even keep them in my training room. No worries, kid.” He pitches his voice low, soothing, reassuring. “The only thing I intend to do is finish up some papers, go take a smoke break outside, and then come back and get set up for my next rounds at seven before I head out. This is a real break. Okay? I’m not even interested in whatever it is Handler Petrus is doing with you. I just want to do my job.”

The kid looks at him. He’s almost always seen him drugged out of his gourd, barely able to focus on anything not right in front of his face. Right now, though, there’s a sense that the boy is considering his words, actually able to think about them. “Yes, sir. I can-... I, I can lay down?”

“Yeah, go for it.” Connor waves his hand again, moving back to his desk.

“Thank you, sir.” The kid’s gratitude is pathetic. Connor has to give Luke that, he does know how to make a trainee say thank you for just about anything. Connor’s method takes more work to get to that than Luke’s.

But Connor doesn’t have to drug his trainees to do it. And he doesn’t work with kids.

Shit. Maybe I am going to wind up with a conscience. Handlers get fired over that.

Or worse.

After a pause, watching him go, the kid kneels down, then lays down on his stomach, making as much contact with the heated mat as he can. There’s a soft exhale, something almost like contentment. Connor watches those tensed, probably painful muscles slowly relax. His bare feet start to rub against each other, back and forth, back and forth.

There’s a blanket nearby, and the boy hesitantly grabs at it, pulls it over himself. Breathes out, eyes fluttering shut as warmth surrounds him utterly for what’s probably the first time in a while. Or at least warmth that doesn’t come with certain conditions.

Connor’s eyes trace the line of the boy’s jaw - there’s a bruise there, too, like a thumb pressed too hard into delicate skin. Coppery eyelashes lay flat, long enough to just brush his cheek. His hair falls over his forehead and eyes.

It’s like looking at a fucking painting.

“Jesus, you’re pretty as hell, aren’t you?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrow, briefly, but he doesn’t open his eyes or pull back from the mat. He curls up tighter under the blanket, disappearing up to his chin.

Connor turns back to his work, filling out a questionnaire. He’s still working at it when he hears, just barely, the boy’s soft reply to his question.

“I, I, I wish I wasn’t.”

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

133 notes · View notes

poisonheart · 2 years ago

Text

Saaaame. I always run to read your reply though sometimes I wish I could reblog right away, but sometimes the hamster in my brain gets on a different wheel (these various hyper-fixations will be my death lol~) Been missing out on the community of ILY for too long, so it's nice to find chill people to talk plot with.

I totally agree that Kousuke can go both ways—the resentment route and also the forgiveness route. Or maybe even a combination of both that hopefully lead to at least peace (in the end) for him.

This is another thing that annoys me about a part of the fandom.

Not the people who might be triggered by him if they have survived similar abuse from someone like him in their life, but the judgmental folks that think Kousuke deserves to die or become severely injured and ruined for the rest of his life as payment for what he's done.

While I'm a believer that Nol doesn't have to forgive Kousuke or even reconcile with him in the future, Kousuke can still atone for those bad things. There are so many comments on WT especially full of horrible wishes for Kousuke's future.

Someone else I was talking to also made a good point I think a lot of other readers don’t consider, that Yui could very easily and effectively cut Kousuke off from everything.

This is actually such a good point because I've seen people dismiss it with: "But he went to school and is really smart! He doesn't need any help from his parents." And that may be the case, but Kousuke hasn't lived as anything but the reality of being heir to the Hirahara fortune.

That is all he has known.

As Nol pointed out, he is nothing without his name or family or the power afforded to him by his name. And it's not because he couldn't be someone without it, but he's never done it. He doesn't know what it's like to actually go to a job interview and be told "no, sorry, you're not a good fit." Because he knows, deep down, that he is where he is not entirely by his hard work.

He knows this.

And he admitted to Nol that he is afraid.

But there is an extra layer a lot of readers don't consider. It's not just being cut off from his rich, influential mother—but being sabotaged by her in any attempts at solo success.

Kousuke decides to become a pianist?

Yui can create rumors that ruin his reputation (and that's just a "light" example, I mean, she can go harder.)

Kousuke decides to pursue his culinary dreams?

Yui causes patrons to have food poisoning, bury him in law suits, and have his restaurant shut down.

His mother can take not just his privileges as a rich heir, but any other opportunity to forge his own path and name.

This is why the cast cannot catch a break until she is effectively and permanently rendered powerless.

Normal people can get disowned by their parents and still find a path for themselves. Their parents cannot influence their success, but Yui absolutely can.

She would sooner lock him away in a mental institution then let him become anything but exactly what she needs/wants him to be.

We've already seen that she doesn't care for him. He is just a means to an end. I would dare say that if the company ever went entirely to Kousuke and something went awry, she wouldn't hesitate to put him out and take his place until a "suitable replacement could be found" (which by then could be a grandson—making her desire for him to date and marry all the more understandable.)

Like, she's terrifying.

I think people don't really comprehend the magnitude of her reach.

Obviously not when they're still screaming at Rand about being a bad father to Kousuke as if we haven't been given sufficient proof that it wasn't as simple as choosing work over his family.

Don't get me wrong, we know Rand messed up, but like ????

Have we not seen Yui undermine him and his influence to further her own goals? What am I asking, of course they haven't realized, lol. These are usually the same people who believe Yui is only doing this out of spite for having a cheating husband!

Like, I hate the “that’s her husband’s illegitimate child you can’t expect her to love him” arguments whenever I see them, but especially so because it doesn’t matter! She is a grown woman using people - including her own son - as pawns, she has antagonized and traumatized someone’s child for her own satisfaction.

This. So. Much.

I am so tired of the Yui apologists in this vein. We do not need to justify her actions in order to like her and think she's compelling.

We do not need to defend her.

I can live with people who argue that we do not know her backstory or how much of her own upbringing shaped who she is today. I can absolutely vibe with this because it's true.

We could probably have a long, long discussion on the concept of "are people born evil" or "do people become evil?" And there is also a lot of other factors to take in. Not necessarily mental health because I'm tired of things like schizophrenia or bipolar disorder being used as the reason why characters do unhinged things—it's so stigmatizing and damaging—but other conditions that allow people to live without remorse/empathy.

I have never seen Yui be sincere—actually, no wait, I'm lying.

I do think she was kind of sincere in that conversation with Shin Ae. I think, as you agreed, maybe in her mind, she is helping these girls.

That she is helping them prepare to succeed in a world where you're either the predator or the prey and it's better to be the former.

That was probably the once scene she has had where I saw the mask drop and something close to her truest self slip through.

I'm not saying she isn't selfish or that she doesn't stand to gain, but it was the most humane moment I saw her have and it's so interesting it was with Shin Ae. I don't know, but our girl just happens to stir all these characters, doesn't she?

I remember reading a chat for the "Lesbian Yui" theories where they claimed that Shin Ae might have reminded her of someone she had loved, maybe tried to build up to keep her by her side in the business because an open relationship wouldn't be allowed, by the mystery lady had pride and didn't accept, and ended up poorly. Not because Yui did anything, just life is harsh stuff. Especially to the poor.

Ideas that would be fun to explore in fanfic, for sure, lol.

Anyway, the point is—I get those who defend her on the basis of not yet knowing her upbringing and if anything there led her to this point. Or why she needs to go so far.

I think some people have hope that she has someone stronger pulling her strings and that she will do whatever it takes, horrible as it all is, to free herself from her puppetmaster.

We don't even know if her father is dead.

(And who was that blue-eyed old man in Japan who saw Kousuke for the interview? An uncle? Some other Hirahara?)

Omg, there are so many clues that Nol indeed minimizes himself. I'm probably sure it's because that's how he stays out of Yui's radar. Our poor boy was afraid of this woman up until she ruined his chance to go to Oxford. I think that's when he realized no matter what he did, she'd always try to hurt him.

All those years he had been downplaying, not trying hard, keeping in the shadows, and then he wants this one thing—and she still has to ruin it for him. And Nol tried, up until the trial, to reach to Kousuke.

Like, he was so defeated when he dialed his number, right?

Which reminds me of those vague lines of him saying "I need you" to Kousuke [?] before and being told it was a shame he (Kou) didn't need him at all? I should look for that again...

But I think Nol knew that if he wanted to take down Yui, he might have to go through Kousuke. That may be why he asked him those questions that morning—if there were other things he liked to do and what would happen is his position was taken?

I think he knew that if he went head to head against Yui, he would have to take Kousuke's things, and he didn't want to.

Maybe he would have been content to have a relationship with Kousuke, to have someone on his side. Maybe he thought that would've been enough. Just some quiet life, supporting his brother, helping each other undo the shackles bit by bit.

It's hard to say what Nol thought would happen if he and Kousuke had a good relationship and an alliance. Who knows what kind of dreams he had. We got a bit of it in ep 212. He thought they would have made a great team, sharing their pain, and fighting side by side.

It didn't happen that way.

And Kousuke might have manifested the very thing he feared: Nol taking everything from him (Yui.)

Our ginger boy is really an enigma sometimes.

So much of his motivations and thoughts are kept from us.

I just hope that whatever path he takes doesn't turn him into another Rand—bitter, hopeless, and completely unhappy... hurting everyone he loves along the way.

Replying to @trashlie and @hotdamncomics for their reblogs on this post under a cut so I can spare my friends the walls of text of a comic they're not reading lol.

Trashlie, friend, reblogger of theories and fellow Thursday night feels partner absorbing all the details... you bring up such great points.

But on the other, Yui has spent Kousuke’s entire life gaslighting and manipulating him; it’s only natural that it would be difficult for him to reconcile these two versions of her, and sometimes he’s unable to in the end.

Every time Yui makes a move she says she does it with either his or their family's best interest in mind. Over and over. Kousuke has seen himself benefit time and time again from her unorthodox methods. And we know that he's not against life being unfair in his favor.

He has never had reasons to doubt that was her only motive, but he isn't a child anymore. He has seen and experienced things she has done that are worse than merely giving him an unfair advantage.

I'm actually curious about how Kousuke would respond if he realized his mother is trying to ruin and remove Rand from the picture.

This is why I so desperately want Rand to connect to Kousuke that evening. Even if Kousuke doesn't immediately believe him and thinks any mushy words mean Rand is disappointed in him (as he thought earlier that night when Hansuke took the call sneakily) the seed will have been planted.

Kousuke might see that he is been a pawn in a power struggle he's never signed up for. He didn't want to reach the top to ruin his father, but to meet him. He didn't want to reach the top to be to busy to spend time with his father, but rather if his father's burden were less, then maybe they would have time to spend together.

Yui's played a game that can backfire on her.

Because if Kousuke doesn't end up resenting Rand for his neglect, for having another family, then she can actually lose her pawn to him.

Especially if Kousuke uncovers that his mother sabotaged whatever closeness they could have had.

I really need Rand to be able to reach to at least one of his sons before the time skip. Even if it's just to plant a seed.

If Yui wanted to ensure that Nol never stood a chance against Kousuke, then damaging not only the way others see him but also the way he sees himself was a sure fire way to do it, wasn’t it?

Indeed, psychological manipulation in the hands of professionals with the intent to harm instead of helping is very dangerous.

And it makes me think back on the formal.

We know that Yui could not have predicted Nol's involvement or how things played out with him entirely, but she took the chance when it presented itself.

She knows damn well that Nol doesn't like her touching him, so she crept up on him deliberately to cause the rest of the events to unfold. She's so threatened by his existence that she'd risk her precious heir in order to cause another situation—a very public one—for Nol being unstable and malicious toward Kousuke, the heir.

After all, her son could have sustained far more serious injuries, but she didn't care. Yui was willing to risk it if it meant ensuring Nol had another mark against him.

She could always blame any lingering health issues after that accident on Nol purposefully hurting Kousuke.

Of course, the one who got hurt was Shin Ae, which she could still use against him to at least trigger him to go back to whatever state kept him down and defeated before.

Either way, she took a huge risk, which means she is actually very concerned about Nol's existence.

He is the one who truly gets under her skin, as we've seen.

[That lip quiver at the Christmas party was so satisfying...]

/ / / / /

Okay, so hotdamncomics, yes! I remember you from the kdrama life. Glad to see you have similar taste in comics. You bring up interesting points! I think the formal arc really helped us see the personalities, as well as "core" values (at that time) of the major characters.

Kousuke who didn't help Shin-ae when he tripped her at the formal is his real self, someone concerned foremost by how people see and perceive him than someone else's comfort or safety. He's not a nice and proper gentleman at core. That's a mask, one he put on when he invited Shin-ae to dance to prove a point that he was a gentleman. Even here he's failed to act in her interest regardless if he was genuine. He took priority. Let me fix my previous blunder by offering that poor girl a dance and not so much about proving he wasn't embarrassed of her.

He knew someone like her wouldn't know how to dance but he put her on the spotlight because repairing his image was more important than proving he wasn't ashamed of her. He could have chosen to play the piano with her by his side. It would still draw attention, still show her he's not ashamed of admitting he knows her, but would have placed her comfort ahead of his image.

This is actually a fantastic observation and you proposed a great alternative to inviting her to dance that would have conveyed the sentiment that he knows her and doesn't mind being seen with her without further embarrassing her by offering to partake in an activity he should have assumed she wasn't accustomed or knew how to do.

But, we see this again when Shin Ae's falls. Yes, he is the one closest to grab her when she falls over the railing, but once they hit the pool, he's first concerned with getting himself out and then remembers she's fallen too which is entirely different from Nol's eventual choice.

Nol comes up to air with Shin Ae.

And after the Christmas party arc we were aware that he was dealing with suicidal thoughts in that moment—he wanted to remain there, essentially drown, but seeing her pushed him to go back to his hell.

He didn't deserve the "peace of death."

It's not that I think there is something wrong with people who will prioritize themselves, but it does serve as a contrast between just how different Nol and Kousuke operate.

There have been so many hints that prove Kousuke isn't in fact that kind gentleman—that is part of the persona, of the expectation of a well-rounded heir and the type of man his father would admire.

Kousuke often slips out of that mask, particularly when stressed, to show who he is. A man who says more than he should under the veil of honesty, often hurting or insulting those around him.

"I don't mean to offend," is always said by those who will offend.

Yujing's actions feel too personal and led by revenge to be something shallow. Someone important must have urged her to try for a story that can ruin her career if she doesn't execute it perfectly and with no room for a counter defamation lawsuit.

I think this is actually quite right. We don't know what kind of "terrible situation" Rand helped her out of—but he had a hand in getting her to where she is. Someone who has tasted defeat or loss is protective of security and more prone to self-preservation.

She does have a strong ethic and she mentions she wants to restore faith in journalism by exposing the truth no matter how ugly. It'll be interesting to see what prompted her to take this risk to bring a very powerful woman like Yui down. Perhaps Yujing isn't meant to hit the knock out, but weaken her enough where the others on the board (if we go back to the chess theory) can act.

#i love yoo #non games

11 notes · View notes

arrowflier · 3 years ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where Clayton is invited/ comes to Frank's funeral and we get some Mickey/Clayton interaction.

Sorry this took me forever and a day to get to! I haven't written Clayton before so I don't have a great feel for his character, but here goes.

It’s already dark when Clayton arrives. He stops just outside, checks the little card in his pocket like he didn’t practically grow up in the bar he was about to enter, and takes a deep breath.

He opens the door.

The noise hits him like a wall.

It’s much more crowded than he expects for Frank’s last hurrah. His brother hadn’t been terribly popular, to the best of his knowledge, but the bar is packed. The mood is anything but somber, though; there are streamers hanging limply from the ceiling, as if they had been hanging there for days, and the drinks are clearly flowing freely if the state of the bar’s patrons is any indication.

There’s a loud whoop from back by the pool table, where quite a group has gathered, and it shakes Clayton out of his stupor. Surprisingly—or maybe not, it has been a long time—he doesn’t recognize anyone in the room. To be fair, he doesn’t look too hard; he’s not sure there’s anyone he there that he wants to remember.

So he moves toward an empty booth at the side of the room, where a stack of beer cans stands tall on the wooden table, and takes one. He doesn’t open it, just toys with the tab, pressing it down just enough to hear it hiss. It at least stops him from adjusting the cuffs on his jacket, which he now realizes was the wrong choice for a reception held in an old southside bar. He’s certainly overdressed compared to the other mourners.

Or are they revelers? He can’t really be sure.

He’s just about made up his mind to leave, thinking that showing up was a mistake to begin with, when something catches his gaze. There’s a young man eying him from the bar, cool blue eyes intent under lowered brows. He looks oddly familiar, and Clayton isn’t sure why, but it makes him uncomfortable. He watches as the guy pounds back his drink, setting it down hard on the wooden bartop and standing. After a moment, he realizes the man is making his way over, and Clayton looks for an escape but finds none.

“You Clayton?” the man asks when he’s close enough to be heard.

Clayton swallows, hard, and wishes he had gone ahead and opened the beer that he still held. “Yeah,” he admits. “Do I know you?”

He wants to hit himself for asking the question when the other man’s eyebrows just rise in response.

“Uh, no,” the man says slowly. “I know your son, though.”

Well. That can’t be right.

“You know Jacob?” Clayton asks, confused. Unless his son had been hiding something from him, and this was his drug dealer or something, there was no way they knew each other.

He’s proven right by the odd look he receives. “No,” the man says slowly, “your other son.”

Just then, Clayton notices someone else approaching from the direction of the restrooms, and goes quiet in shock, because it’s like looking in a mirror.

Well, a funhouse mirror, maybe, but not the kind that made you tall, or fat. No, it was a mirror that made you look twenty years younger, fit, and happy.

Happy, at your own father’s—his brother’s—funeral.

He'd say it was odd, but he's not so sure it is.

He can tell the moment he’s noticed, Ian Gallagher’s spine stiffening when he sees him. He visibly steels himself as he completes his approach, wrapping an arm around the waist of the man from the bar and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Everything alright over here?” Ian asks them both, and Clayton suddenly realizes who he’s been talking to.

Mickey Milkovich. Ian’s husband. His son’s husband. And a convicted felon to boot.

“Yeah, man,” Mickey tells Ian, leaning into his embrace. “Just chattin’ with your pops, here.”

“I can see that,” Ian responds carefully, then, “Hello, Clayton.”

“Ian,” Clayton offers hesitantly. “You look well.”

“I am,” his son says shortly. “We missed you at the wedding.”

Clayton winces. He had been surprised to get an invitation at all, honestly. He hadn’t exactly embraced Ian when he found out about him, hadn’t kept in touch at all at his wife’s insistence. When that fancy, calligraphy-covered envelope had arrived, about a year ago now, he had immediately hidden it away from his wife, not wanting her to know that he was considering attending, if only to see what kind of man Ian had become. By the time he remembered, it had been too late.

Clayton clears his throat. “I was sorry to miss it,” he admits. “But I hear you’re doing well for yourself,” he continues, feeling desperate to make up for it somehow. “Got a new business and everything?”

“Yeah, we do.” Mickey is the one to reply. “Had to find something, not much out there for a pair of convicted felons like us.”

Clayton grimaces. “Yes,” he says, “I…heard about that too.”

Mickey snorts. Ian’s grip on him tightens warningly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Kind of hard not to when his face was plastered all over tv for weeks,” he says bitingly.

“Mick,” Ian mutters, but his husband isn’t done.

“What?” he asks roughly. “This guy left you to rot, Ian, he’s no more your dad than Frank was.”

Fair enough. Clayton knew all about how cruel biology could be when it came to tying people together, and their bond had been broken before it even had a chance to form. So he stays silent as Ian sighs, and accepts that whatever comes next, it's his own fault.

“We never took a test, Mick,” Ian points out, and that wasn't at all what Clayton expected his response. “It might not even be him.”

Mickey just looks back and forth between them, and raises his eyebrows. And, well. He has a point.

“No, he’s right, Ian,” Clayton starts. “I should have checked up on you, done something. But my wife—”

“I know,” Ian interrupts. “It’s ok, Clayton.”

“No,” Clayton argues earnestly. “No, it isn’t.”

Ian shrugs. His husband is looking at him, concerned, but Ian appears to make a decision of some point, straightening his posture and giving them both a weak smile.

“It could be,” he offers, and Clayton blinks. “Why don’t you come by our place sometime,” Ian continues. “We’re on the west side now, Mickey and me." He looks down at his feet, then up again. "You can tell your wife you're running errands or something.

Clayton stares at him, and makes a decision of his own. "Or I can tell her I'm visiting my son," he says softly, and watches Ian's eyes go wide.

"Uh, yeah," Ian stutters. "That works too."

They just look at each other for a long moment, until Mickey clears his throat, pulling himself away from his husband.

"Come on, man," he prompts. "Gotta go toast the man of honor." But as he leads Ian away toward the bar, where a soot-stained urn leans crookedly against a bottle of whiskey, he turns back and gives Clayton a nod.

Clayton finally cracks open the beer he's still holding, and takes a healthy swig. Maybe he can stay a little longer after all.

#daily speedwrite #fic request #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #clayton gallagher

175 notes · View notes

pandoraimperatrix · 3 years ago

Text

WANDERING WORLDS

DickKory | Core Four Centric | Cannon Divergence | Longfic

Summary:

Dick Grayson is dead. His life taken by his own brother. The Abel to Jason’s Cain. Consumed by grief, Rachel gives in to despair, losing control, a portal opens, but from it no destroyer of words come through. Now Kory has to deal with the death of the man she loved and with this stranger that looks exactly like him, but isn’t.

————————————–

Chapter Thirteen – By any other name

Still lying on his bed at the hotel, Dick turned the invitation card in his hands. Traveling across realities, finding a world and people he once was sure were lost forever, that all had become somehow normal concepts through the last months since he had time to get used to them. But that thing… That piece of paper and the words written on it. That was crazy.

“What do you think he means with this, Donna?” he had asked her when it was only the two of them after a good training session.

“He decided to accept you, stupid.”

READ ON AO3

Dick didn’t think so, it felt much more like that this world’s Bruce was making a statement. The card could be printed “You Are Not Him” all over, front and back for what Dick was concerned. He didn’t want to admit even to himself, but it hurt a little bit. Why would he care if a man that, under the wrong circumstances, could start the end of the world, thought about him?

He squished water from this bottle on his neck, using the thermic shock to ground himself to the moment. It was too easy sometimes, to float away or get trapped in his own maze of thoughts.

“Are you really letting me go alone?” He cringed as soon as the phrase left his lips, and the condescending rising of Donna’s eyebrow didn’t help.

“You’re not going alone, you’re taking Kory…”

He had taken a deep breath there, irritation taking his whole body, irritation he knew, had nothing to do with Donna.

“About that, I wish you’d stop the insinuations-“

“Bird boy,” she said in that patronizing tone that drove him crazy since they were kids, “I’m not insinuating anything, I’m affirming. Look, if some parallel Garth fell from the sky you would not see me losing time with bullshit.”

“Well, I’m not you, and neither is Koriand’r.”

She snorted.

“Obviously.”

The thing with him and Donna was that, even when he was in his worst behaviour, it still felt somehow justified because she found a way to come through and above him. Prettier, smarter, yadda yadda. And as much as it infuriated him it was nice. It was nice to have someone that he couldn’t hurt easily, that he didn’t have to hold back his worst side like a boiling potato. Someone who he knew wouldn’t leave him at a wrong word, but only roll her eyes, kick his ass, and tell him to do better.

He had never had that with Bruce. He thought he had that with Kory. But she didn’t even told him who she really was. And when things got tough, when he became tough, she gave up on him, and decided to fix things on her own.

His phone buzzed, and he let down the card at the bedside table and reached for it. Dick scrolled over the Titans chat, and all the activity after Koriand’r posted his picture the previous night. Rachel’s dramatic memes made him chuckle, but his thoughts darkened again when a new text came.

Selina was having breakfast with them at the hotel.

No word from Bruce.

Donna was wrong.

But if she were, what the hell he was dragged to Metropolis for?

The conversation with Donna was still replaying in his head with mixed thoughts regarding Bruce when he met Koriand’r in their way to the elevator. She was staring at him, so much that he almost missed when she ignored him. Last time she stared at him like that, he had to be a gentleman and ended with a bruised jaw as payment.

“What? There’s something on my face?” He asked slightly annoyed.

God… She blushed. Dick swallowed dry. Don’t let Donna get to you, you are not a teenager anymore, he tried to say to himself.

“No... It just came to me, that we hardly see each other outside of the tower, I’m used to find you in an apron serving breakfast in the morning.”

“Glad to hear you’re used to me,” the flirty remark escaped him before he could stop himself, and the elevator dinged, doors opening, but no one entered. For a few tense seconds, he worried hard about what would she say or if she would say anything.

“Kinda didn’t have a choice,” she said in that suave self-assured tone of hers that he could only dream of simulate convincingly, nevermind embodying it authentically, which only made it all more attractive in her “you stole my best friend and my kids, it was that or losing for a x’anyan.”

After that he lost completely the war against the muscles pulling his lips into a smile.

“A what?”

The door opened again, she walked across him leaving first. Their bodies didn’t even brush, but Dick could feel the electric discharge of her movements prickling his skin.

“So, there are some things other me didn’t teach you,” she said, standing outside, she had braided her long fluffy hair, and it fell over her shoulder leaving one side of her neck completely naked, he tried to not obsess so much about the elegant lines curving from her jaw to her shoulders.

When he was able to move again the doors were almost closing again.

“Told you,” he whispered, but close as they were, even without her alien powers, she’d be able to hear him easily, “I was a bad student.”

The look she gave him, then. In another world he would have kissed away that smile. In another world they wouldn’t even left the hotel room.

But there was no they and, no matter how Donna tried to make him believe it was just that easy. It was not her.

“Excuse-me,” a man said, reaching for the elevator button and forcing the both of them to move and break their stare competition.

He didn’t feel guilty, not really, but a deep sadness settled in his stomach as he watched her walk in front of him.

She was not her, she would never be his Kory.

Because his Kory was dead.

He could fall in love with this Princess Koriand’r too, of course, it would be terribly easy. And maybe he was already half-way, but he couldn’t cross that path. He couldn’t because the truth was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want the responsibility of loving that woman, when truly, his heart ached for someone else. She, he realized, as he watched her approach the table where Selina was already waiting for them, deserved so much better than borrowed love.

“There he is,” Selina said standing up as they approached, she had already kissed Koriand’r as if they were old friends. They matched in that easy way they approached people, a certain grace he would never have. Selina reached up to him, her many bracelets clinking to each other like wind chimes until her hands, warm and skinny held his face.

“Isn’t he handsome, Miss Anders?”

“Please call me Kory.”

Selina turned the corner of her eyes to Koriand’r, a twinkle in them that, although it was not the woman he had grown up with, Dick could recognize exactly what it meant.

“Clever way to dodge the question, but I’ll let it slide.”

“Nice to see you, Selina,” he breathed putting his hands over hers. Automatically, Dick leaned in, as he would do as a little kid, she smiled, and the crinkles around her eyes deepened.

“Wonderful to see you, kitten,” and then she let go with a sigh, sitting down. She had chosen a table at the balcony with a view to the river “I told your father I’d be meeting you for breakfast,” she started with an annoyed tone, “but you know he doesn’t do mornings, and god knows he needs his beauty sleep…” She trailed off looking down and choosing a macaron. “Don’t worry, you’ll see him tonight.”

Dick didn’t hide his wince as he also sat. He wanted to have a nice breakfast, he really wanted too, but if that’s how she’d be handling the situation from the start, he had no choice but fight her bullshit with honesty, raw and clean.

“Selina… What are we really doing here?”

She frowned, looking genuinely confused at his question, which only made his anger brew a degree hotter.

“Honey, isn’t it obvious?”

He let out a shaky bitter laugh at that. Obvious. Did that word even mean anything any longer?

A dark, impossibly warm, hand covered his under the table, and he relaxed the fist he didn’t know he was holding tightly on his lap.

“No,” it was all he managed to say through his teeth.

“I don’t want to blindside Bruce. And this is not my conversation to have. But remember what we’ve been talking about all this time.”

“We don’t even talk about Bruce,” he snapped.

Dick couldn’t have foreseen the betrayal he was feeling, because he had known all that time that her calls were nothing but lip service to Bruce. That he did, in truth, not trust him at all. That all Bruce thought of him was that he was an impostor trying to steal the place of the undoubtedly perfected version of the son he’s lost and blemish his legacy. That, after Donna couldn’t give him the proof the wanted, he sent Selina to get it by any means necessary. That this whole thing of taking him away from San Francisco and the rest of the Titans was just the set up.

“Baby,” Selina called so sweetly that not for the first time, he wanted to fall for the trick, he wanted to go along, just to find out what would happen, when they figured it out that there was no scheme, that it was not a trick. It was just him, even if for better or for worse, he was not what they expected or wanted to be. “You don’t talk about him. He talks about you all the time.”

“Even if that was true,” he moved his hand under Koriand’r’s, holding it properly. He didn’t know where she had become Koriand’r instead of Kory, but the divide felt right. Maybe it was after both Gar and her told him they had trouble picking him and the dead man aside. If this was not the woman he had thought internally as his wife, he didn’t need to push her away. He could accept the comfort of her hand. “He’d be talking about his real son.”

“You look pretty real to me,” she said in a dismissive tone. “Pretty real anger issues too.”

“I’m not him, Selina. You think you know me, you act like so, but I’m not.”

He was this close of standing up, but the hand holding his grounded him, even though there was no other force other that it’s delicate weight being exerted.

“You still need Bruce, that’s very much the kitten I should have held closer back in the day,” there was real regret in her voice, and a whole lot of grief.

How could she know? How could she even imagine what hearing that meant to him? Even if she meant to someone else.

“That’s what you think this is? A second chance?”

“Why not?” She said with an unnerving smile that brought a glimpse of the tricky thief of her youth. “You told us, Bruce killed me in your world, you can think me a fool for standing beside him still after hearing that. I’ll let you. And twenty years ago, this story would be enough to send me straight to eastern Europe with a one way only ticket. But kitten, we’re old now, we’ve lost enough. We take what we can and we make the best of it.”

He wanted to talk back, he wanted to scream at her face that his whole family was dead, that it didn’t matter how she saw it, to him, it was not worth it. This second chance, it couldn’t be worth it if the price was his Kory, his children, even his Selina, to whom he hadn’t talked since he was a teenager. But how could he? How could he when she was there in front of him, beautiful, infuriating. How, when the hand now clasped to his was warm and pulsing with life.

Dick bit his words and turned his gaze to Koriand’r, she seemed to be waiting for him. Her beautiful green eyes questioning. He shook his head. It’s fine, he meant. She gave him a little smile, and patted his hand a couple of times before letting go.

Later, Dick caught his image at the mirror, and for a moment he was back at that bathroom in a Wayne Manor he could recognize even though he had never been truly there before. Eyes enlarged, eyebrows arched, he massaged his rising chest over the tight white shirt. The man in that mirror looked like a monster. It was anxiety inducing to think that, in so little time, only two things remained from him. The scar, that sometimes was the only thing that had the kindness to remain and prove to him this was not all a dream, and the long hair he didn’t know what to do with now.

He jumped when someone knocked at his door.

“Dick? Are you ready?”

His eyes trembled shut, and Dick tried to even his breathing.

“Just a minute.”

But a minute became two, and then three, he thought she had left without him when the door clicked open forcing to him to move his head in its direction as she let herself in.

“What’s wrong?”

She had chosen an off shoulder periwinkle sink dress that at the same time hanged elegantly to her angular frame and looked like it could fall apart at any given moment. Like a nymph in an old panting. The skirts flared when she walked towards him, the fabric shimmering silver.

“Dick?” She asked again, brows frowned in concern.

If she were his Kory, he’d have stood up and kissed her, and kissed her and kissed her. To hell with Bruce, to hell with Selina, to hell with this stupid gala. He’d locked the door and loved that dress off her only leaving the room when the hotel sent someone to see if they were still there.

But she was not.

So, he just tried to smile.

“My hair,” he swallowed, his face heating.

“Uh?” She blinked.

“I don’t know what to do with it, it’s too long.”

Her laugh was like little silver bells, frown relaxing.

“Lemme help you, then. In Tamaran most men have long hair, you know?” Koriand’r rushed closer to his side and put one knee on his bed, gently nudging him so he’d be with his back towards her. “My father’s hair goes to his waist. Can’t wait to tell Donna you had a diva freak out.”

He didn’t comment about the tense she used to refer to her father, she had lost a lot too, didn’t she? He wondered how it made her feel, being so far away from her people. He hardly ever talked to his Kory about her planet, too afraid bringing up beyond their flirting in her native language would make her miss everything and want to go back.

Dick held a sigh when her long fingers slid into his hair, peeking at their reflection through his lashes.

“You just came with me to gather blackmail material,” he managed in a low voice, “now I see.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, but the contact was brief, and she went back to concentrating in his hair.

“Isn’t blackmail material if I keep giving it away free, but now you gave me ideas. Do you have a comb or a brush?”

“Yes, in the bathroom.”

He watched her move to fetch the materials she’d need biting the trembling of his lip, and when she was back, it felt a little bit easier.

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

There’s a conversation between Dick and Bruce that I’m trying to write but I keep avoiding it and putting other stuff between that and where we are in the story, it’s so annoying even though I’m the one writing and technically have all the control lmao.

I hope you’re doing well. I’m my usual self, and right now very into soft romance with just a little tinge of longing and angst because that’s the thing fueling this simulation lmao. I watched Matrix 4 (finally) and WW will be drinking a lot from that, you can thank Miss Lana and tell her she owes me 20 bucks for the first act of that movie.

Shout out to @escapism-through-imagination for being such a good friend and listening me babbling about how I suffer writing fic, you know, a work nobody ever forced me to do.

#DickKory #Dick Grayson #Koriand'r #Nightwing #Starfire #Kory Anders #Richard Grayson #WW #Wandering Worlds #my fic

14 notes · View notes

bqstqnbruin · 4 years ago

Text

Aerosmith

Alright, y'all: here's that fic that I'm low key scared no one is going to read that has taken me a few months to write, a Trent x single mom!reader fic

It's a long one, with the Bruin's feral little fighty boy from St. Louis, around 13.3k words. The songs listed as the headers of each section are all by Aerosmith, each part partially inspired by the song (hence the name of the fic)

Shoutout to @toplinetommy for helping me with this the entire time and being my beta AND to @chara-hugs for letting me bounce ideas off of you and talking through what I was thinking of. Love you lots 💛

I hope people like this

___________

Just Push Play

Considering how much was happening around you at the bar your friends had dragged you to, the only thing that could keep your attention was your phone. It was the only thing, at this point, that you would allow to keep your attention. You had no desire to be there. Part of you wanted your phone to start buzzing, anything that would give you an excuse for you to leave, but the other part of you knew that something bad had to happen in order for you to leave. Every second that you stayed was costing you more money and less time being where you wanted to be.

“Hey, Y/N, put the phone away. This is your first night out in, like, years,” Molly tells you.

“Four years. Maybe five?” you guess.

“Six years, exactly,” she wrongly says, earning a disappointed head shake from you, a small ‘no’ escaping your lips that goes ignored as she takes your hand that’s holding the phone. “Can we please just enjoy tonight and have some fun? He’s going to be fine.”

You take in a deep breath, almost sure she was right about that. You hadn’t had a night to yourself in years, and Molly was also almost right that this was your first one in over four years. Actually, given the timeline, it was probably more like five. “But what if something happens?” you ask, the natural worry and constant fear you felt taking over your ability to just enjoy the night.

“If something, anything happens, you’ll be able to feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, and I will go home with you to take care of it,” she reassures you, playing around with the settings on your phone. She hands it back to you, pulling you up from the table you had yet to move from in the first place. “He’s fine. He always is. Why don’t you request a song?”

“Because you keep telling me you hate my music.”

“Well, that’s because you have the same music taste as your sixty-something-year-old father when you’re a twenty-something-year-old woman.”

“You don’t even know how old I am? We’re the same age.” Molly rolls her eyes at you, dragging you up to the line of people to request songs, a book sitting there with the songs you could request. “They’re not going to have anything I like,” you tell her as the line behind you gets longer.

“Don’t you listen to that one guy?” she starts.

“That could mean anything. Have I told you lately that you are the most unhelpful person I know?” you snap at her, trying to find anything in your Spotify that you could request as the line got shorter and shorter in front of you. “What about this song?” you ask, your finger hovering over someone from one of your Daily Mixes. Molly looks over your shoulder at your phone, shaking her head at your song choice, and every song choice that you suggested. “I’m just going back to the table, you’re being impossible.”

Before she can protest, you turn around and head back to your table, sitting off to the side away from the rest of your friends, your eyes glued to your phone. At this point, you were praying that you would get a message from Rachel asking you to come home, telling you that something was wrong. Even something as simple as she had to leave unexpectedly so you could, too. Anything so that you could leave sooner rather than later.

“Sorry, but you really couldn’t find a song in that book?” you hear a guy's voice, tearing you away from the screen. He sits down next to you, not too close that it was uncomfortable but just close enough that you could smell his cologne, covering the smell of beer that had been lingering in the air around you. “There was some Aerosmith in there, I have a feeling that’s the closest to something you’d enjoy,” he says, smiling at you.

He must have been in the group that was in line behind you, hearing your conversation with Molly. Regardless, you smile back at him, something about his own being so infectious that you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Well, you’re right, but it depends on what Aerosmith song,” you respond, a hint of flirting in your voice.

“Is there a bad one?”

“No, but there are some superior ones,” you tell him, his eyebrow cocked as a sign to get you to explain. “Sweet Emotion is great but not as good as their cover of Come Together. Dream On and I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing are easily, in my opinion, their best songs.”

“Is that up for debate?”

“Oh, you think their most popular songs aren’t their best?”

“I think the one that’s about to play is one of their best,” the guy says, both of you pausing as there’s a lull in the music, the chatter and screaming of the bar’s drunk patrons overtaking everything.

“Just Push Play?” you ask, a smile on your face. It wasn’t one of their most well-known songs, but you still had to admit it was an underrated one.

The boy shrugs, a smirk on his face. “I might have requested it so you’ll have a reason to dance with me,” he flirts, getting up and extending his hand for you to join him.

You hesitate, unsure if you should get up with this mystery man standing in front of you. There was something about him that you couldn’t figure out. He looked young, probably younger than you but looks can be deceiving, nevertheless telling you that there was some sort of innocence or naivety to him, but the obviously fit physique under his clothing telling you that he could and would break your heart in a moment if he had to, the time leading up to that would be like nothing you had experienced before. You didn’t have time or the energy to spend on something you knew would lead to heartbreak, but you felt like you wanted to, like you had to. “I’m not sure I can dance with someone whose name I don’t even know.”

“I’m Trent,” he says, taking your hand and guiding you away from the table. You introduce yourself as his hands snake their way around your waist, holding you close enough that you could feel his heart starting to race against your own chest as your hands met the skin at the back of his neck, your fingers grazing along the collar of the back of his shirt, the two of you not moving at all in sync with the faster beat of the song. Not that you cared. There was something about this boy you were talking to talk to over the music that made you completely disregard the movement around you, forgetting about your phone and what was waiting for you at home for the first time in nearly five years.

You danced for what felt like forever, for what you wanted to last forever, every song passing you by as he listed out song after song that he recognized, most of them country as he claimed he had a country playlist that went on for seven hours, all of them involving him trying to sing bits and pieces of the lyrics off-key, every time pulling a laugh from you.

“I don’t know what I like more,” he starts, resting his forehead against yours as the space between the two of you disappeared, “the music they’re playing or your laugh.”

You roll your eyes, a smile on your face as the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Those lines usually don’t work on me.”

“But?” he asks, his lips ghosting yours.

“But from you, they do,” you tell him, planting your lips on his before he has the chance to say anything else. You didn’t know what it was about Trent; you were never the one to make the first move, you barely interacted with guys at this point since your life was permanently hectic. But Trent was something else. You don’t know what Trent was, you just knew he was different.

His hands were on your back, finding their way to your waist, his grip tightening when you feel someone tap your shoulder. You pull away, a pout on Trent’s face as you turn around to see Molly, waving your phone in your face. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh, shoot!” you squeal, taking your phone. “I’m sorry, I have to get home.”

A confused look covers Trent’s face. “Is your Uber going to turn into a pumpkin if you aren’t home, Cinderella?”

You laugh at his joke, going back to your table to grab your stuff. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, “But I really have to get home.”

“Let me walk you.”

You stop in your tracks as you were rushing out the door. You never brought a guy anywhere near your apartment, knowing that most of them would want to go in, most of them would want to sleep with you if you invited them, most of them would be gone by morning when they found out why you didn’t want them there in the first place. You don’t know why you knew Trent would be different. “No, you don’t have to,” you tell him, instead, even though you wish you could bring him home with you.

Before he can answer, someone calls out his name, pulling the two of you away from each other’s attention. “Trent, we’re leaving.”

Trent looks between you and his friend, the group of guys aggregating around him as they wait for his answer.

“You don’t have to,” you repeat, trying to get out the door because you had to.

“Jack, give me a minute,” Trent calls to his friends, “I want to,” he tells you, taking your arm, turning you towards him. The look in his eyes was sincere, begging you to let him walk you home. “Please?”

You let out a sigh, caving in even though you knew you shouldn’t. “Fine, yeah. Let’s go,” you tell him, taking his hand and leading him out of the bar, his friends left without an answer as they watched the two of you walk away.

Come Together

“I’ve had a really great night. Sorry about my friends, though” Trent apologizes to you again. He explained that he had gone out with them after their game that night, supposed to be spending their off-day tomorrow together, but Trent leaving with you had seemingly changed those plans. As the two of you walked and talked on the way back, his hand never left yours, from the time you left the bar to now standing outside your door. He pulls you in for another kiss, the worries of what was on the other side of the door melting away. You wanted to invite him in, but you weren’t sure if he would even want to once he found out.

Your door opens, Rachel stepping out. “Sorry, it’s almost curfew.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” you tell her, Trent confused by the girl sneaking out of your apartment. “That was Rachel. She’s my babysitter.”

“Babysitter?”

You could feel your face twisting involuntarily at his question. You knew you should have told him before you got home, it would have been easier leaving him at the bar than watching him walk away from you outside your door. Why did you even let him walk you home in the first place? Because he’s hot and you’re dumb, that’s why. “I have a four-year-old son. If you wanted to leave, I would understand. Most guys do when I tell them about Ben,” you spit out, not making eye contact with him. You weren’t ashamed of your son, you just knew people your age got weirded out and panicked at the thought of the responsibility that came with having a child.

He tilts your head up, his eyes flicking between your own and your lips, a lazy smile on his face. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“If you’ll have me,” he says, kissing you yet again. You bring him inside, showing him Ben’s room first. The two of you stand in the doorway, his arms wrapped around your waist as you lean against the door frame. You feel him kiss the back of your head as you watch Ben wriggle in his sheets before settling down, you taking Trent’s hand and leading him down to your room. You tell him that you don’t want to do anything because of Ben being so close, Trent giving you a sweet smile, kissing you before settling next to you in bed. You had no idea why, but it all felt so domestic, so right that he was there with you in that moment.

“Can I ask you something?” his voice pierces the silence that had fallen between you.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you mention Ben before?”

You swallow hard. You weren’t ashamed of having Ben, something you found yourself repeating in your mind every time you told a guy about your son. He was the best part of your life. Everything you did was for him. “We’re young. Being a single mom at our age has such a stigma around it. When guys find out, they normally bolt. I didn’t want you to until the last possible second.” You turn to him, still able to make out his features in the dark, the pout that was forming on his face visible without anything lighting him up.

“You could have told me before we got here,” he says, pain in his voice as he reaches for your face, the pad of his thumb gently grazing over your cheek. “I don’t care if you have a kid. I mean, I do, Ben is part of who you are. But, I would have understood. I understand. You shouldn’t be afraid of telling someone about that part of you. What I know about you so far is pretty amazing, I can only imagine what Ben brings to the table.”

“That seems weirdly out of character for what I know about you,” you tease him, pulling a smile from him.

“Well, maybe, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day, right?”

You kiss him, a feeling of relief washing over you at his words. The two of you spend the rest of the night telling each other about yourselves, keeping quiet for Ben, despite the amount of laughter you let you. You couldn’t remember the last time a guy made you feel so happy, falling asleep with a smile on your face, his arms wrapped around your waist as if that’s where they belonged.

You wake up the next morning, the sun shining into your room, but no Trent. You get out of bed, probably figuring that he had left in the middle of the night, trying to spare your feelings about you having a son. You understood. What guy really wants to get into a relationship with a single mom at this age?

You go to check on Ben, opening the door to his bedroom to find that he wasn’t in his room. You started to panic at the sight of his empty bed, unmade with his blankets in disarray. If Trent was gone, and Ben was gone, where could they be? He wouldn’t kidnap your son, would he? He was a professional athlete, that’s not something he would do, right? Your panic starts to recede when you hear laughter coming from the kitchen.

Trent is standing at the stove, spatula in hand with eggs cooking on the stove, a piece of bread held up to his face with holes bitten out of it where his eyes are, making Ben shriek with laughter. “Sorry. I heard him get up and I didn’t want to wake you, so I started making breakfast. Is that ok?”

You can’t help but smile, going over to Ben. “How’s he doing so far?”

“Mommy, look! French toast!” Ben says, pointing excitedly to the cut-up pieces of bread on his plate.

“French toast?” you repeat, your eyes wide to play along with his excitement. “Give me a bite,” you tell him, opening your mouth as he picks up a piece with his fingers, nearly missing your mouth. You hear Trent laugh, you not containing your own.

You go over to Trent, leaning into him as the two of you watch Ben eat the food Trent made. You feel him kiss the top of your head, his fingers dancing up and down along your arm. You look at his hand, a bandaid on the back of his hand. “What happened to you here?”

“Oh, oops,” he says, looking at his hand. “Got a little cut, but don’t worry, it’s not bad. Dr. Ben here fixed me right up,” he tells you, going over to Ben and ruffling his hair.

Trent hands you a plate of french toast and eggs, pouring you a cup of coffee, kissing you in front of Ben, who either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. No guy had ever stayed the night, let alone stayed and made breakfast for the two of you the next morning.

“So, what were you two talking about before I joined?” you ask, taking another bite of the French Toast. You already knew it was good from what Ben gave you, but you were still devouring it.

“Bears, boots, and battles of galaxias,” Ben lets out, his full mouth spraying crumbs everywhere.

“I’ve been trying to make sense of that all morning. I have no idea what he means. Why does that sound familiar?” Trent asks, sitting down next to you, his hand on your thigh under the table, sending a chill through your entire body as his fingers lazily traced an unknown pattern on your skin.

You take a sip of the coffee he had handed you, setting down your cup and putting your hand on top of his under the table. “He saw that one part of the Office, the identity theft cold opening, where Jim says, ‘Bears, beets, Battlestar Galactica?’ That’s how he remembered it,” you explain, Trent looking over to your son who was fixated on the food in front of him.

“Benny,” Trent calls him, your entire body going numb hearing him call him the same nickname you used for your son, “do you like bears?”

“Bears are the coolest!” he squeals. Everything he saw with a bear on it, he would start begging you to buy him, your heart breaking from the look on his face when you had to tell him no, we don’t need the kitchen towel just because it has a bear on it.

“Can you do your best bear impression for Mom and I?” You felt your heart skip at the sound of Trent calling referring to you as just ‘Mom’ instead of ‘your mom,’ like he was already part of the family. You didn’t even hear Ben growling, his best attempt at being the ‘scary’ Baby Bear that he was just laughing along with Trent.

“Hey, buddy, what if I called you Benny Bear from now on? Do you like that?” Trent asks, Ben nodding excitedly at his nickname.

“You’re nice,” Ben says to Trent while he clears his plate, Ben running off to go play.

You look at Trent, not able to help how you were beaming at him getting along so well with your son. It was like he belonged there with you, and with Ben, making his presence that much better. “That means he likes you.”

“Not trying to pry,” Trent starts, standing beside you at the sink while you wash the dishes, “But how often does he like the guys you bring home?”

You bite your bottom lip, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “I almost never bring guys home. And when I do, he generally doesn’t talk to them.”

“So he likes me,” he starts, getting closer to you as you nod your head. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you away from the sink. “How about you?”

“That depends,” you flirt, stretching to turn the sink off before draping your arm on his shoulders, twirling his hair through your fingers at the nape of his neck, “do you like me?”

He lets out a small laugh, pulling you in for a kiss. “I do.”

“I like you, too. Help me finish cleaning up and then we’ll go watch Ben, ok?”

The two of you wash dishes in silence, weirdly domestic and comfortable considering you knew this boy all of twelve hours. “Can I ask you something?” Trent breaks the silence, just as he did the night before.

“Sure.”

“Where’s Ben’s dad?” You take in a deep breath, knowing that this would have come up eventually. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he continues, a wash of panic over his face at the thought of asking something too personal too soon.

You shake your head, smiling at him to try to calm him down. “No, no, that’s fine. Um, we were together when we were in college, but we broke up. I started feeling like shit so I went to the doctor and she told me, ‘Congrats! You’re two months pregnant!’”

“Does he know about Ben?” Trent asks quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, he does. I told him when I found out because I knew Ben was his. I told him that I was going to keep the baby and since we weren’t together anymore, he had the choice of either being present and helping out or if he didn’t want the responsibility, then that was fine, too.”

He didn’t know what about the way you were talking was making him feel this way. A lump in his throat was forming looking at your eyes start to shine with the threat of tears while you refused to make eye contact with him. You rarely talked about Ben’s father, making the decision a long time ago that he wasn’t worth your time thinking about since he didn’t want much to do with his own son. “And he didn’t?”

“He sends a present to Ben on his birthdays and Christmas, but other than that nothing really. I’m not even sure if Ben’s made the connection between the presents and his father yet. Like I said, though, I gave him the choice.”

“Do you regret anything?”

“I could never regret Ben or anything with him. I almost regret giving his father the choice, though. Being a parent isn’t easy, even if you have someone to take up half the work, but it’s even harder when it’s just you by yourself, you know? And I’ve gotten help, but it would be different if Ben had his dad as a constant in his life. Ben’s only seen him a few times, anyway. He calls him Andy instead of dad, and it’s just,” you stop, trying to find the word, “heartbreaking seems too severe, seeing him not acknowledge his dad as his dad, but what can you do?”

Trent didn’t know what to say. He was practically still a child himself when you really look at him. He couldn’t imagine having his own at this point in his life, let alone raising one on his own. “I’m sorry,” is all he can get out, trying not to cry even though he could hear Ben’s laughter ringing from the other room, sending a weird sense of joy through him at the same time.

“No, it’s fine. I would rather do this alone than do this with someone who didn’t want Ben to begin with. You can’t be a parent if you aren’t all in.”

He had no idea why, but he already felt so connected to Ben. There was no reason why, but he did. “I’m in.”

You turn back to him, shocked, confused, not even sure if you heard what he said properly. “What?”

“I’m in with you. With Ben. If you’ll let me. I want to see you again, keep seeing you. And that includes Ben. He already likes me, after all.” Trent was used to making snap decisions, on the ice, off the ice, wherever. He knew this was one, but this one felt like his best one.

“You don’t have to, you have your own life with hockey and everything,” you try to insist, cut off by Trent’s lips connecting with yours.

“I want to. Let’s go play with Ben.”

Angel

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask him for what was probably the millionth time, getting out of his car in front of the rink.

He runs around to get Ben out of his car seat, you grabbing the stuff he had stashed in the trunk. “Yes, I promise it is. The guys bring their kids all the time and they’re way younger than Ben.” He had invited you and Ben to the family skate the team was having, you reluctant to go since Ben had never been skating before. Naturally, you were worried he would get hurt, either by falling down or being curious about the skate and somehow cutting himself, something you were sure he would do if given the chance.

You two had been together for about a month, Ben falling head over heels for Trent, jumping up and down whenever he saw him on TV. Much to your dismay, Ben loved it when Trent was fighting, begging you to let him play hockey so he could fight just like Trent. You loved taking videos of his excitement despite that fear of him skating and fighting like Trent, sending them to him to see during the game, Trent always making sure to FaceTime you the next afternoon when you got home from work if you two couldn’t meet up so that he could talk to Ben. He was acting like the dad Ben never had.

And that was terrifying to you. The thought of you and Trent breaking up and him suddenly leaving Ben’s life was the reason why you never got close with a guy before. You didn’t want Ben to go through that. You didn’t want to go through that.

But there you were, sitting rinkside at the Garden as you tried to tie up the skates that Trent got for Ben, his feet swinging back and forth in excitement no matter how much you tried to get him to stop for a moment.

“Are you excited, Benny Bear?” Trent asks, picking him up and walking out to the ice.

“Yeah!” he says, squirming around and clearly ready to go.

You weren’t sure if you were more nervous about Ben being on the ice for the first time, Trent already showing him how to skate, or you formally meeting all his teammates for the first time, that night at the bar not really counting. The three of you step onto the ice, Ben in between you two, practically swinging in the air as you both held his hands while you skate.

“You’re nervous?” Trent asks, reading the expression on your face.

“They look like they didn’t know about Ben.” You saw the looks you were getting from the guys' families as you and Trent were skating around with Ben between you. You knew they were looks of confusion, but you couldn't help but think that they were the same looks when you went out with Ben in general, the societal disapproval of being a young mother, no ring on that finger to show that this was planned with another parent on the other side. People were judgemental; it was in their nature, but you were hoping Trent’s teammates were accepting like Trent had been.

“Um, I guess I didn’t tell them? I didn’t think I needed to,” he says, looking down at your son. Ben was beaming, not paying attention to what you two were talking about, not that he would probably understand it if he was. Trent didn’t think it would be a big deal to have your son around. The guys knew he was seeing you, but was it really that big a deal that you have Ben? He looks over at you, the scared look that was on your face worrying him. “We can just tell him he’s your nephew or your little brother?” he whispers so Ben doesn’t hear.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem to want them to know he’s your son?”

You stop skating, pulling Trent over to the side while holding onto Ben’s hand as he begs to pull away and take a lap on his own, something you weren’t going to let him do. “I told you I’m not ashamed of Ben,” you hiss at him.

“I’m not saying that you are. I’m just saying if you’re scared of what people would think we could just tell them something else.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to properly process his words. “Am I scared of what people think, or are you?”

He steps back, careful not to fall on whoever's kid was zooming past him at that moment, Ben begging to go skate with him. “Hey, Zach,” he calls Patrice’s son over. “If he takes Ben is that ok?”

You knew you shouldn’t say yes, but you didn’t need Ben hearing this conversation, no matter how oblivious he might have been to begin with. “If you trust him, fine.”

“Zach,” Trent starts, crouching down to their level, his hands on Ben’s shoulders so he can’t skate away before he’s done, “Can you take care of my guy Ben here? Make sure he doesn’t fall? Go skate to your dad.” Zach and Ben practically rush off with each other to Zach’s dad, eager to skate around and surprisingly good for their age. “What do you mean I’m scared?”

“Who’s the one suggesting that we don’t tell your teammates that Ben is my son? We’ve been out together when people ask if he’s my brother, my nephew, if I’m his nanny, and every single time you’ve seen me correct them. I told you I’m not ashamed of Ben. And to come here and have everyone giving us looks because they’re trying to figure out who he is to you makes it seem like you are. You couldn’t even tell the guys you claim are like your family about Ben. He’s not old enough for that hurt, but I am.”

He looks down at the ice, shuffling back and forth on his skates. ��I’m sorry.”

You move closer to him, tempted to reach out and hold him. He looked just as hurt as you felt, part of you glad that he was actually showing he was sympathetic instead of just saying it. “Are you ashamed of Ben?”

His head snaps to you, a look of disbelief on his face. He starts shaking his head, the curls on his head that were loose enough going wild with his movement. “I’m crazy about that kid. I know why you aren’t ashamed of him because I don’t think I could ever be.” Trent turns around to find Ben on the ice, skating around with the other kids, some of the guys playing a small game with them, Ben with his own little stick. He watches Ben score on whoever was playing goalie, Ben shrieking with joy. Trent couldn’t help but smile, turning to you. “He means more to me than I thought someone else's child could.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them about Ben?” you ask him.

He shrugs, sticking out his bottom lip. “Because I’m dumb.”

You can’t help but laugh, hooking your fingers in his belt loops to pull him close to you. “Well, I do call you a stupid muppet,” you joke, earning a groan from him, “Hey, I say it with affection and you did say I could call you that.”

He cups your face and kisses you, momentarily forgetting his teammates and their families around you. “We could go tell them now?” he suggests, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Do you want to?”

Trent starts skating over to the rest of the guys, Ben giggling and playing with the rest of the kids. The two of you start talking to his teammates, introducing yourself to Jack and Jeremy, keeping your eye on Ben while he plays as you wait for Trent to finally say something about him.

“Trent! Trent!” Ben’s voice tears you two away from the conversation. “I’m you!” he yells, using the stick to try to shoot the puck, instead missing the puck and falling down on the ice. He was trying to process what just happened, hopefully not meaning to do what he did.

You look at Trent’s face, his teammates laughing while his face turned red. Ben shoots back up and starts skating again, Trent beaming at him. “That was cold,” he says to you, a smile on his face anyway.

“You know he didn’t mean it,” you tell him, squeezing his bicep before skating over to your son. You lift him up off the ice, thankful that he was still small enough to do that as you kiss his cheek and skate around with just him for a bit.

Trent couldn’t take his eyes off you, his teammates doing everything they could to try to peel his attention away from you. He watched you interact with Ben, the same light in your eyes when he looked at your son.

“Dude?” Jack finally succeeds in bringing Trent back down to Earth, “is that her brother?”

Trent shakes his head, turning back to you. “Nope, that’s her son.”

“Son? What are you thinking?” Jack asked. He knew what he meant. Trent was young. You were young. Having a kid was something real adults did, not whatever definition of adult he fell under.

Trent shrugs, watching you and Ben laugh and smile as you skated around, talking with some of the guys' girlfriends as they coo over Ben. “I’ve been better since I started seeing her.”

“You were fine before you started seeing her,” one of them mumbles.

He rolls his eyes, turning back to them. “Come on. I was fine but I wasn’t great. All I did was punch a few guys and get a couple of secondary assists. Even Butch said something about my play last game. Everything in my life is better with Y/N in it. And Ben.”

He didn’t hear what the guys were saying, and honestly, he didn’t care either. He loved your son, probably not as much as you did, but he felt like he was getting there. He wanted to get there.

Because he loved you.

Dream On

“Where are you?” Molly's voice comes through your phone, panicked and irritated. “I thought you were coming in today?”

“What are you talking about? Today’s my day off.” You were at home, sitting on the couch with the tv playing in the background while Ben played with his toys in front of you. It was one of the rare days that you could spend from the time you woke up until you went to sleep with your son, and you had no real intention of changing those plans, which is what it sounded like Molly was going to ask you to do.

“Well, you know that funding we secured for that new project?”

“Yeah?” you say, Ben coming up to you, trying to show you something. “Hold on, Benny. What’s going on, Mol?”

“They’re getting cold feet.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, we need you here. You and DeAndre were the ones who got them in the first place, and he’s already here. Please?”

You take in a deep breath, trying to figure out if anyone is free to watch Ben. You couldn’t bring him in and have him running around the office while you were trying to convince a major investor to give you the money promised. “I have to find a babysitter but I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you sigh, wracking your brain as to who would be free. Rachel couldn’t typically do weekends, but maybe she could if you promised to pay her extra? But then there was the issue of: did you have the money to pay her extra?

You start scrolling through your contacts, trying to figure out if anyone in there would be able to watch your son, running into your room to get changed to look at least a little presentable.

Trent’s name pops up, calling you with what you hoped would be somewhat perfect timing. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” you answer, your phone on your bed as you try to find something to wear.

“What am I looking at?”

“I’m changing for work and my phone is on my bed, so the ceiling.”

“I thought it was your day off?” he asks as you throw what seemed to be the only clean work shirt that you could find. You knew you were forgetting to do something today, now you realized it was laundry.

“Molly called saying that I need to go in and now I have to find someone to watch Ben or else I’m going to have to bring him in with me, which doesn’t seem like a good idea. And most of my friends are from work or have their own lives and can’t watch him, Rachel can’t do weekends, but I guess I could ask her if she has any friends who could watch him last minute.”

“Y/N.”

“But then I have to pay them and since it’s so last minute I would need to give them more money, right?”

“Y/N.”

“I guess I could, but I think I would also have to pay for meals, and then I have no idea what time I’m going to get home, and whenever that is I’m going to have to do laundry, and-”

“Hey. Earth to Y/N. I can watch him,” Trent finally cuts you off long enough to get a word in.

You were hesitant; Trent had never been left alone with Ben, and probably never left alone with a four-year-old ever by your assumptions. “No, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you tell him, picking up your phone to see him.

“I’m serious! You just said you need a babysitter, I was going to ask if I could come over and see you before the road trip, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, biting your lip. Did you trust Trent enough to let him watch and take care of Ben? If you could trust Rachel, a girl who still had a curfew and couldn’t even drive her friends in the same car as her, why couldn’t you trust your boyfriend?

“Of course!” he says, clearly getting up and walking around what you think was his apartment. “I’m leaving right now, I’ll be there in ten.”

He hangs up and leaves you to finish getting ready, hurrying through trying to make yourself look presentable and finding the stuff that you needed. You couldn’t find your work bag, or your computer, mentally cursing yourself for the one time you didn’t leave it in your closet like you normally did.

“Hey, Benny? Have you seen Mommy’s computer and bag?” you go into your living room to where you left Ben. He shakes his head, his overall attention not leaving whichever toy he was fixated on. “Great,” you mutter under your breath, trying to find it. “Ben, how about you and I play a game?” you ask him, getting down in front of him. “If you can help me find my blue bag and my computer, someone really special will come over tonight!”

Ben gets up and starts looking for you, hoping that you can find it before Trent actually gets to your place. “Mommy! I found it!” Ben comes running to you, your bag nearly as big as him as he struggles to carry it to you.

You take it from him, kissing his head as he goes running off, a knock at your door just in time. Opening it, you see Trent on the other side, a bag in his hand. Kissing him hello, you tell him, “I owe you big time.”

“We can discuss payment when you get home. And I have some ideas as to how you could pay me,” he says, bringing you in for a kiss.

“Trent!” Ben runs over, interrupting.

Trent practically launches himself off you, picking up Ben and hugging him while your son’s laughter and happiness fill your home. “Benny Bear!” He gives Ben the bag, telling him to open it.

“A bear!” Ben jumps up and down with the small stuffed animal that Trent had gotten him.

“What does a bear say?” Trent asks, both of them going, “grrrrr,” with their hands curled like claws, their faces scrunched. You felt yourself melting at the sight of Trent getting along so well with Ben, your son running around in circles with his new toy that he would probably say is his favorite since it came from Trent.

“Did you buy him a Benny Bear?” you gush, bringing him in for a hug.

“I saw it when I was on the road and had to get it for the little guy.”

“You love him,” you tell him, not needing to ask since you already knew what his answer would be if you did.

“Of course. But you have to get to work,” he tells you, pushing you off him.

“I’ll pay you for whatever you get for dinner, order what you want, within reason for him.”

“You don’t have to pay me back, and I’ll make sure to get him lots of candy,” he jokes, earning a look from you. “I’m joking,” he says, throwing his hands up in defense. “Go, go to work. I’ve got this.”

“If you need anything call me, or even one of the guys who have kids. If you trust them, I’ll trust them.” You kiss him again, yell goodbye to your son and remind him to behave for Trent. You were nervous about leaving Ben alone with him, but if you wanted to be serious about this guy, you had to do it at some point, right?

You close the door, leaving Ben and Trent alone on the other side as you try to think about how you and DeAndre can now keep your investors from pulling money, practically running down the hall so that you can get to your car.

Trent turns around, Ben already sitting back down on the floor and playing away with his toys. He had no idea how to watch a four-year-old. He takes in a deep breath, sitting on the ground with Ben, his back leaning up against your couch. “Alright, Benny, what do you want to do?”

Ben hands Trent a toy, starting to ramble on about whatever magical world he’s conjured up that Trent was no part of. He had no idea what he was doing, trying to follow along with your son’s imagination as best as he could.

Trent didn’t know how you did it. Ben was a ball of energy all the time, and at home seemed to be no exception. Trent was chasing him around as they played ‘Bear catcher,’ which Trent wasn’t really sure the rules of in the first place, just following around your four-year-old through your apartment while he sprinted, jumped, hid, crawled, and did every other action that Trent felt too old for.

Ben finally sits down and focuses on the tv when he hears some song coming from it, the first moments that Trent can sit down as well, hoisting himself onto the cushions. His phone starts buzzing, a call from Jack coming in. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What are you doing right now?” Jack’s voice comes through the phone as Ben gets up again, starting to run around with the bear Trent bought him.

“I’m watching Ben.”

“Since when are you a babysitter?” Jack asks, judgment dripping in his voice.

“Since Y/N needed a babysitter and I was free.” Ben climbs up on the couch and starts jumping, Trent suddenly feeling a wash of panic over him at the thought of Ben falling and getting hurt. Jack starts saying something that Trent knew he didn’t want to hear anyway, giving him the perfect excuse to cut him off. “Hey, Ben, you’ve gotta be careful. Sorry, dude, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

He hangs up before Jack can get another word in. “Hey, Benny. Mom said we could order dinner,” he says, pulling Ben into his lap in hopes that he would calm down long enough so he could talk to him. Ben squirms as his energy never seems to stop, Trent doing everything he can to try to figure this out. “What sounds good to you?”

“Ice cream!”

Trent lets out a small laugh, Ben’s face glowing at the thought of ice cream for dinner. “No, bud, you can’t have ice cream for dinner.”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Ben wriggles free of Trent’s grasp, repeating the phrase over and over again as he sets off running around again.

Trent was way in over his head. He didn’t think that Ben would have this much energy for this long. Whenever he was with you, it was either during the day and Ben stayed relatively calm, or when you were playing, he had you to help counteract and keep Ben from being the seemingly crazy child that he was right now. He could call you and ask what to do, but from how you sounded on the phone and when he came over, you were way too stressed out to also have to worry about Ben at that moment. He could call one of his teammates who actually knew what they were doing when it came to child care, but Jack’s words from the family skate practically haunted him. He wasn’t in too over his head when he was with you, or when he was with you and Ben. But just Ben? Not going too well.

“Benny Bear, come here,” Trent says, reaching out to catch Ben as he runs by the couch. “How about, we get something else to eat, and if you eat all of it, I’ll get you ice cream?” he asks, making a mental note to at least text you to ask if it was ok that he have it. Ben nods his head since Trent technically said he could have ice cream. “What do you want?”

“Mac and cheese!”

“What about,” he starts, pulling out his phone. “Some chicken fingers?” Something told him cheese and ice cream wasn’t going to end well for Ben’s stomach that night, and by default, it wasn’t going to end well for Trent, either.

Ben nods, going back off and running around the room. He had to tire out at some point, right?

“Hello?” you answer your phone, Trent calling you to make sure his dinner plans were ok.

“Hey, Ben said he wanted ice cream, but I told him only if he eats his dinner, and I had to make sure it was alright with you, first.”

“What did you settle on?”

“Chicken fingers?”

He hears someone calling your name in the background, you yelling something back to them in panic. “Yeah, there might be some in the freezer? If not, just tell him that the ice cream fairy is coming later and he can have it tomorrow, or something. There are also some carrots in the fridge, too. Tell him he has to eat some of those if he wants ice cream, even if I don’t have any. Have some with him, pretend they’re spaceships, and play with them before you eat them, that normally distracts him long enough.”

“That works?”

“Trent, he’s four. Most things like that do.” He hears more yelling from your end, Ben coming zooming by him yet again, nearly tripping over Trent’s feet. “I’ve gotta run. Love you, bye.”

You hang up before Trent can react. You hadn’t told each other that you loved the other yet. He knew he loved you, but he didn’t know if you loved him back. But you just said it, and he didn’t even know if you meant it since you said it in such a hurried context. He hoped you meant it. He can’t even focus while he’s ordering dinner, not really sure what he was having other than the carrots you mentioned were in the fridge.

Trent just sits there while he waits for the food to arrive, getting the carrots out and trying to see if there was anything close to ice cream, or even yogurt that he could throw in the freezer for Ben while he continues to zoom around your apartment. “Hey, Benny, look!” he says, holding up the carrots. “Spaceships!”

This felt like he was talking to a dog, which seemed weird, but at this rate, Ben was tiring him out so fast he didn’t know what to do. He and Ben start playing with the carrots, watching your son eat what was in front of him when the doorbell rang for food.

Ben keeps playing with food, something Trent thought you probably wouldn’t like too much, but at this point, he didn’t know if he should care. He had no idea how you did this. There was no way Ben had this much energy every night, right? He had never seen you exhausted, so Ben couldn’t be a ball of energy all the time. At least, that’s what he convinced himself as he sat there eating his food.

Eventually, Ben goes to sleep, Trent helping get him ready for bed and tucking him in. You had texted that you weren’t sure when you were going to be home, but Trent was free to stay the night instead of driving back home regardless of what time you would be back, something he gladly took you up on.

Trent finally settles down after finding a pair of sweats he left at your place a while ago, collapsing onto the couch in complete exhaustion from Ben’s running.

“Trent?” he hears Ben’s small voice coming from down the hall, pulling Trent away from the trance he fell in trying to stay awake until you got home. “Trent!”

He runs down the hall at the sound of the increased panic in your son’s voice, not sure what he was supposed to expect when he practically burst through his bedroom door. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

Ben was breathing heavily when Trent got close to his bed, clutching his sheets to his chest, “I had a bad dream.”

Trent sits down on Ben’s bed, a sad smile on his face. “Ah, Benny, it’s all over now. You’re safe.” Ben nods his head, a terrified look still on his face. He pulls Ben in for a hug, kissing the top of his head, Ben’s small arms wrapping around Trent’s own. “How about I read you a story to help you fall asleep?”

Ben nods, jumping out of bed and getting a book for Trent. “Goodnight Lab?” Trent reads, a confused look on his face.

“Mommy likes science,” Ben offers as his explanation.

“Of course she does,” he says, opening the book, putting his arm around your son as Ben cuddles up against Trent’s chest. “In the great green lab, there was a laser, and a lab notebook, and a picture of Einstein with a stern look,” he starts, already seeing Ben’s eyes getting heavy.

You finally get back home, seeing the light on, no one in the living room. Wandering through your apartment, you hear Trent’s voice coming from Ben’s room, finding him there with your son, him asleep against Trent’s chest as he whispers the end of the book to him, “Goodnight liquid nitrogen, goodnight compressed air, goodnight scientists everywhere.”

You stand in the doorway, Trent not noticing you as he slips himself from Ben, your son curling up with his blankets. Trent bends down to kiss him on the head, tiptoeing out of the room.

“Hi,” you whisper, closing Ben’s door behind you, giving Trent a kiss hello. “What was that?”

“He had a nightmare, so I read him a story to calm him down and get him back to sleep,” he explains.

“That’s so sweet of you,” you tell him, leading him down the hall to your room.

He shrugs, closing the door behind you. “My mom used to do it for me and my siblings. I always told myself that I would do it for my son or daughter.” You don’t know what to say, just pulling him in for a kiss, down on your bed. He pulls away, a smile on his face, “Oh, and I love you too,” he tells you, hoping that Ben didn’t wake up and hear what you two were about to do next.

Sweet Emotion

“Happy birthday, Benny!” Trent says, taking a video of your son as he blew out the candle on the small cupcake in front of him. Your son’s fifth birthday was spent out with Trent, starting with him making breakfast again, taking the two of you to the park and Boston Commons as he played with Ben the entire time, out to dinner where you were now, treating you the entire way. Ben didn't even care about the gift that you had gotten from Andy, something he had previously looked forward to every year. Ben was starting to see Trent as a father figure, something that was both terrifying and exciting to you.

If Trent, for whatever reason, stopped wanting to be part of your life, that would mean he would also probably leave Ben’s, a boy who already didn’t know his father and didn’t seem to want to know him. But he wanted to know Trent, he loved Trent, and you knew Trent loved him, too. You were just afraid he would fall out of love.

Ben was giggling as Trent smashed part of the cupcake against his nose, the bright red frosting making him look like Rudolph as he tried, and failed, to lick it off himself.

“Did you get that part, too?” you ask Trent, leaning over to see his screen.

“Yeah, I’ll send it to you. Do you mind if I post it to my private story? Some of the guys and their wives would go crazy for this.”

“Only the private one,” you tell him, laughing as you turn to Ben to see his face more of a mess than before, the red frosting now spread to his cheeks, “Benny, what happened?”

“I’m painting,” he says, using his finger to smear the frosting on his face.

Trent can’t help but laugh, you pulling Ben in for a hug. Trent snaps a picture of you kissing the frosting off his face. “Wait a sec,” he says, calling over a waiter to take a picture of the three of you, both of you kissing Ben’s cheek as he beams at the camera.

You see him set his phone down, notifications lighting the screen up as you guys get ready to leave, the picture of the three of you his new phone background.

The next morning, Trent had morning skate before needing to get ready for their game that night. The last game before the All-Star Weekend marking the halfway point of the season was always both nerve-wracking and exciting, the hypothetical of ‘if the season ended today, would you be in or out of the playoffs?’ always on everyone’s mind even though it meant virtually nothing, but still wanting to stay at one of the top spots in the league regardless.

“Hey, what was with that story yesterday?” Jack asks him after practice.

“It was Ben’s birthday,” he shrugs.

“Isn’t it weird?” Zach asks. “She has a kid. She’s a mom. You aren’t a dad.”

“I never said I was his dad,” he defends himself, starting to take on a hostile tone.

“Well, you’re acting like his dad, aren’t you?”

Trent rolls his eyes as his only response. What was he supposed to do? Ignore that you have a child? Trent gets up to leave, Jack now standing in front of him to stop him.

“You’re with them all the time. You watch him when Y/N is busy. You brought them to family skate. You know his favorite toys, his favorite tv shows, you facetime them every night before the game because he’s going to be asleep by the time the game is over. You’re not his dad,” Jack lists to Trent, Trent getting more angry with every word that comes from his friend.

“What am I supposed to do? Pretend that Ben isn’t part of her life? Pretend that she has no kid? I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.”

“It’s messing with you, Trent!” Jack yells, the rest of the remaining guys getting quiet. “You don’t do this. You don’t date a girl who has a child and play ‘house’ with her. You’re the guy who just fucks around and has fun. Where did he go?”

“I can’t change? I can’t settle down because I wasn’t settled before?” Trent responds, knowing that his face was bright red, “I love Y/N, and I love Ben. I don’t care if you think it’s ‘not normal.’ It’s what I want and you don’t really get a say in that.” Jack stands there, stunned by his friends' words, still struggling to find them as Trent grabs his bag and walks out of the room to go home before the game.

He wanted to call you and talk about it with you, but what was he going to say? ‘The guys think my dating you is weird since you have a son?’ The flash of your expression appeared in his mind when you realized the guys didn’t know about Ben at family skate, the pain he knew you felt when you thought he was ashamed of Ben. He wasn’t then and he isn’t now.

But what was he doing? Jack was right: he wasn’t Ben’s dad. He could never really be Ben’s dad. Why did your son mean so much to him if he had no relation to the child in the first place?

Why did he have to say he was all in? He was supposed to be focusing on himself and his hockey, not a girl he met at a bar and pouring all his excess energy into you and your son. What was he supposed to do? Pull back? Pull you away from your son? There was no way that was going to be an option, and there was no way that was an option he wanted to follow.

He was supposed to be following his normal pre-game traditions and routines, not having his mind run rampant over the thought of you and Ben and what his teammates think.

He pulls out his phone, a notification from Instagram telling him that you had responded to his story a few hours ago while he was at practice. Trent opens it, seeing the picture of Ben, looking so happy with the cupcake that was all his, the red frosting seconds from being smeared all over his face. Trent didn’t think about being a dad anytime soon. He really never had any intention of settling down, at least not yet, not seriously, yet there he was, thinking of Ben like his own son, head over heels for you and your son.

It was too much, wasn’t it?

His phone started buzzing with texts from the guys to make sure that he was ok after they watched his and Jack’s blow up in the locker room. Trent didn’t even care about them at this point, knowing that he should at least answer them even just to tell them to leave him alone for the time being.

But what if they were right? Jack’s words kept ringing through his head, that he was just a guy who had fun because that’s what he wanted, not a guy who settled down with a girlfriend, and especially not a guy who settled down with a girl who had a toddler.

He spent the entire time he was supposed to be taking a nap going back and forth between whether or not he was in too deep or if he was fine because he was in love. The night he met you, he had never intended to get this far in with you. He had just wanted to hook up, the reason he went home with you in the first place. But as soon as you told him about Ben, seeing the crushed look on your face at the prospect of him leaving because of your son, he knew that he couldn’t just be one and done. There was something about you and Ben that he had to be part of it once he was introduced, that part of his life that he never knew was missing until he realized he couldn’t picture his life without you.

And it was just too much.

Attitude Adjustment

Trent finally gets to the Garden, not even remembering who they were playing that night. He couldn’t think about anyone else, almost tempted to tell Bruce that he was sick so he could be a late scratch instead of letting this mess with him. Because no matter what he did, he couldn’t get out of his head and focus. The music that he normally played before a game wasn’t working, even so much as trying to close his eyes and picture being on the ice while he was in the locker room before the game.

No one approached him while he was in his stall, probably out of fear of another outburst from him. He wasn’t even paying attention when Bergeron gave his traditional pre-game motivational speech before they all went out to the ice, Trent skating around by himself in hopes of being able to focus before they played the Flames that night.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he hears someone say, not even noticing who came up to him in the first place.

He looks at Brad, suddenly thankful that there was someone on the team who knew what he was going through. “Katrina already had Sloane when you two met, right?”

“Y/N and Ben on your mind?”

“You were in the locker room after practice.”

The two of them skate around their half of the ice, the time before the game ticking down. “When you date a woman, when any two people date, there’s always going to be something that can get in the way and potentially break you up. That includes their family, their kids if they have them. You need to decide if you want to let Ben break you and Y/N up or if you’re going to take him in and not let him do that.”

The guys were migrating back to the bench, Brad still on the ice for the starting lineup. “It worked for you, though,” Trent says, hanging back as long as he could, his eyes darting back and forth between the clock and his teammate.

Brad shrugs, looking out to the blue line where Bergeron and Pastrnak were already waiting. “I don’t see Sloane as any less of my son than I see Sawyer as my daughter. It worked for me. If you want it to work for you, then you have to make it work.”

The buzzer sounds, Bruce yelling for Trent to get off the ice and onto the bench. Did he want this to work with you and Ben? What the three of you had was already great, but Trent had barely spent any time with you, a time when you and he could just be a couple without worry of anyone else.

Trent’s line goes out on the ice, his mind still occupied as he skates. The puck touches his stick, him making a mad dash towards the Flames net, only to get tangled up with Tkachuk, sending Trent to the ice. He doesn’t get up for a minute, trying to process what happened, an easy shot and probably goal just messed up, leading to a breakaway to the other end to put the Flames up 1-0 against the Bruins.

By the time he can finally get himself up, Bruce is yelling at him that if he messes up like that again then he’s benched the rest of the game, definitely not a good look going into the All-Star break. He gets back out on the ice, the same thing happening with him tripping on a breakaway, this time over himself instead of a Flame, again leading to them scoring and putting them up 2-0. He couldn’t get out of his head. Trent sat there the entire time, not even focusing on the game, not focusing on the comeback his own team had to win the game 4-3.

He didn’t talk to anyone in the locker room, rushing out as soon as he could to go home, hearing Brad’s voice carry through the hallway to the elevators as he explained what he knew about the situation, no doubt that Jack offered his own remarks that Trent was sure would have lead to them fighting right there.

He had never wanted to fight one of his teammates over shit they said before, let alone one of his best friends. Other guys on other teams? Sure. But Jack?

Trent gets into his car, his phone already blowing up, asking him if he had still wanted to come on the trip to Puerto Rico he and the guys had planned with their girlfriends a while back. He had completely forgotten about the trip, no one even mentioning it for the longest time, not even sure that it was actually booked by anyone.

What surprised him most was Jack asking in the group if you were going to come with them, followed by a separate text saying that he meant it, that he wanted you to come.

Maybe this is what you and Trent needed; a trip with the guys, the two of you able to spend some time alone and just be with each other without the constant worry of someone or something else. He texted back that he would be there, not sure about you yet.

“Hello?” you answer your phone, Ben’s coming through the background. Hearing him made Trent hesitate, swallowing hard.”Trent?”

“Yeah, uh,” he swallows again, “Sorry, um, mind if I stop by for a few minutes?”

You sit up from the couch, looking at the mess you didn’t even realize Ben had created during the game. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you soon?” you say, hearing him start up his car.

“Yeah, awesome,” he says, hanging up before either of you could say anything else, practically speeding out of the Garden as fast as he could to get to you. The more he thought about it, the more excited he was about spending a week with you.

“Hey, Benny, guess who’s coming over soon?” you put on a cheery voice, crouching down to the floor where Ben was playing with his toys.

Your toddler started bouncing up and down, his arms waving around in excitement. “Trent?” he squeals.

“He should be here any minute, help me pick up some of your toys, ok?”

You and Ben start to scramble to pick everything up. You knew Trent wouldn’t normally care if there were toys on the ground, but there was something about the tone of his voice when he called to tell you that he was stopping by that worried you.

You had watched the game, you weren’t stupid that he had had an awful game, thankful that it was an earlier evening game that Ben could watch with you. Even he was upset when Trent fell, both times, getting benched and hearing Jack and Brick speculate what was up with one of their favorite players.

Ben continued to buzz around as you waited, thankful that he couldn’t sense the anxiety that was building up while waiting for Trent. You hear him knocking on the door, getting up while Ben seems to be oblivious to the sound. You smile when you see him, mirroring his own expression, the complete opposite of what you expected given the conversation you had minutes ago.

“I have something to ask you,” he starts, his hands on your waist as he starts walking you backward down the hall, seemingly toward your bedroom.

“Trent! Trent!” Ben comes up to the two of you, bouncing up and down, Trent's hands releasing their grip on you. “Are you coming on Friday?” Ben asks him, referencing his concert at school that Trent had promised to come to.

You saw the smile on Trent’s face fade at Ben’s words, a nervous look taking over as he knelt down to look Ben in the eye. “I really want to see your concert, buddy, but I’m not sure if I can make it. I’m gonna try, though, ok?” he tries to save face when he sees the crushed look on your son’s face.

Ben nods, not understanding what Trent was really saying to him. In his world, Trent saying he wasn’t sure meant he didn’t want to see him sing with his other classmates. “Um, Ben, why don’t you go play in your room for a little bit, ok?” you ask him, guiding him to his room, watching him run down the hall. You turn to your boyfriend, clearly confused by what he just told Ben. “It’s the All-Star break, what came up?”

“The guys and I are going away for the break, and I want you to come with me.”

“What are you talking about? You said you were staying here?” you ask him, praying that Ben doesn’t come out of his room and couldn’t hear any of this.

“I know, I know, but, come on, things change,” he says, taking your hand and trying to lead back down your hallway.

“Wait, Trent, come on,” you stop him, turning him around to face you. “You want Ben and I to come with you on a trip with the guys? What guys, where are you going?”

His expression drops again, “I was kinda hoping it would just be me and you.”

“And where would Ben be? I can’t just leave him alone. I can’t go away with you.”

“But, Y/N, come on,” he whines. “This could be so good for us. A few days, just you and me, no distractions, nothing stopping us from just being together, like a real couple.”

“Distractions? A real couple? Trent, what the,” you stop, realizing you were standing right outside of Ben’s door. You look between Trent and the door, Trent’s pleading expression as you take him down the hall, practically slamming the door to your own bedroom. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss.

He sits on your bed, you still standing, towering over him. He puts his hands in his face, letting out a deep breath. “I’m,” he starts, “I just want time where it’s you and me. Other than that night at the bar, we almost never have had more than a few hours when you and I are alone. I need to get out of Boston for a bit, and I don’t want anyone with me beside you.”

“Trent, I can’t,” you protest, sitting down next to him.

“Yes, please, just say, yes.”

“No, Trent. You aren’t hearing what I’m saying.”

“I am, I just-”

“Ok, then you aren’t listening! I can’t just drop everything on a moment’s notice and go off with you on a vacation. I have a kid, and if you haven’t noticed, I can’t exactly afford a babysitter for more than two nights in a row, let alone watching him all day every day for an entire week.”

“Don’t worry, I can pay for one, I just need to get out of here, and I need you with me.”

“Trent, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Ben can stay with a sitter.”

“Don’t you get it? Ben comes first. Ben has to come first. When it comes to a decision between you and Ben, or anyone and Ben, my choice is always Ben. There is never a case when I’ll pick something or someone over him, especially not going on some trip with you and your frat boy-like teammates because you’re upset you had one bad game. I choose him every single time. Especially over you, Trent.”

“What about Ben’s father? Can’t he stay with Andy?”

You can’t help but gasp, hurt by what you thought Trent meant. “You mean the father that didn’t want him? I. Told you. This,” you say, standing up again, “Andy wants nothing to do with Ben. And right now it seems like neither do you.” You could feel the tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, turning around and heading out of your room. You couldn’t look at him. You had no idea where you were going to go, given that you had Ben in his room and couldn’t leave him.

“Y/N, please, I’m sorry,” he runs after you, stopping you before you reached the door. “I just want a few days, where it’s you and me. Where everything is easy for us. Where there’s nothing, no one, besides you and me.”

“This isn’t supposed to be easy. You knew it wasn’t going to be so why are you so shocked that this is how it is?” you tell him, the tears finally falling.

The two of you stand there for a minute, Trent starting to reach for you a few times before running his hands through his hair. “It’s me and Ben, or neither of us,” you give him an ultimatum. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, wishing he can find the words. “Fine. If you can’t make the decision, I will. Get out.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“No. If you have to think about it, then you aren’t ‘all in,’” you call back to the morning after you two met. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t have to think about it.”

Trent doesn’t say another word, pushing past you and leaving you there.

You press your back against the door, letting out a silent sob so that Ben can’t hear you. This was exactly what you were afraid of, wiping the tears from your face and peeling yourself off the door. You walk down the hall, hoping that Ben wouldn’t notice the redness that was probably in your eyes from crying, opening his door.

“Where’s Trent?” Ben asked, handing you a toy of his when you sit down on his floor with him.

You swallow hard, not sure what to really tell him. “He had to go, Benny,” you say, running your hand on his hair, pulling him close to kiss the top of his head.

“When’s he coming back, Mommy?”

You put on a fake smile for him, not wanting to let him know when you really thought Trent would be back. “I don’t know, sweetie. Not this week.”

I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing

You hadn’t checked anyone’s story on Instagram since last night, sitting on the metal chairs in the middle of the day, surrounded by parents much older than you, figuring now was probably the only time you hate the chance.

You tap through them, some stories from friends from college, random celebrities that you followed. You finally get to Jack’s story from last night. They were in Puerto Rico, in some dark restaurant. Zach and Jeremy were dancing, Jack behind the camera. In the corner, you could see Trent sitting at a table, looking miserable. He sees Jack with his camera, shakes his head and storms off. You replay the story, Jack’s shaking making you think that he was saying something and turning the sound on low, holding the phone to your ear. You could hear the music more than anything else, sounds of Zach, Jeremy, and Jack’s laughter breaking through after one of them said something inaudible. Trent must have gotten up at that point, because you hear Jack yell, “Oh, Trent! Come on, man! Have some fun!”

You go to Trent’s profile, hoping that he had posted anything. The last photo he has posted was of the two of you, him strategically cropping out Ben because you had asked him to. It was from Ben’s birthday, outside the restaurant. He had captioned it, ‘Spent the day with my two favorite people, Bear not shown.’

Ben’s preschool teacher gets up on the stage, the high-pitched whispers of the four- and five-year-olds starting by the back door as Ms. Barry introduces the class, all of them walking up in a line to the stage. They start waving to their parents, Ben waving to you as everyone, including you, has their phone out waving back and recording the moment. The children start singing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,’ their pixie-like voices filling the auditorium, all slightly out of key and slightly out of sync with each other. Towards the end of the song, you notice Ben starting to jump up and down, anxious over something he saw towards the back of the auditorium, as did some of the other children. You figured it was nothing, none of the other parents turning around to look at what it was either.

They go onto their next song, one you weren’t paying attention to, nor did you recognize it. Ben was no less antsy than he was before, waving again with the biggest smile on his face. It had to be someone.

You turn around, Trent leaning against the back wall, one hand in his pocket while the other was waving to Ben. All of his attention was on Ben. You turn back in your seat, shocked that he was there. He was supposed to be in Puerto Rico.

You put your bag on the seat, the mom next to you promising to watch it. You sneak back to Trent, not sure what to say to him. You turn to Ben, giving him the thumbs up and a single finger to tell him that you were going to be back in a second, feeling bad that you were leaving your so. Ben jumps up and down, nodding and continuing to sing.

You grab Trent, pulling him out of the room and into the small hallway. “What are you doing here? You were in Puerto Rico last night; I saw you on Jack’s story.”

He looks down at his feet, biting his bottom lip. “I couldn’t be there knowing you and Ben were here.”

“That’s not what you said when you wanted to go.”

He nods, looking up at you for a second before his eyes flick back down to his feet. “I told you I was dumb.”

“So why are you here then?”

“I told you when we first met that I was all in. I can’t be all in if I’m not here.”

“So?”

He takes a step closer to you, hesitating for a moment. “So. I don’t want to miss anything with you, or with Ben.” You don’t know what came over you, kissing him outside your son’s concert the way you did. You can hear the parents start to cheer, signaling that the concert was finished. Trent pulls away, your foreheads pressed against each other. He smiles before stealing a kiss again, pulling you back inside.

Ben comes running up to you, giggling with his arms open. “Trent!”

“Benny Bear!” he responds, crouching down with his arms open, hugging Ben when he came in contact. He picks him up, kissing him on the cheek, your hand on Trent’s back.

“You came! You’re back!” Ben squeals, burying his face in Trent’s shoulder.

“Back and here to stay,” he says to you, giving you a quick kiss before putting Ben down, getting your bag, and going home.

#trent frederic #trent frederic imagines #boston bruins #bruins imagines #boston bruins imagines #bruins #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines #aerosmith fic

225 notes · View notes

vvintagerose · 3 years ago

Text

wrote a little snippet for my au, let me know what y’all think!

context: this is part of an au where victor tries to raise the creature, has his breakdown and runs off, henry finds creech, takes him in, and promises to help him find victor. in this they’re staying at an inn on their way to the frankensteins house

His hair now dry, Henry set about plaiting it for bed. So engrossed in this task was he that he almost didn’t hear Buddy’s question.

“May I ask you about a word, Henry?”

“…Oh! Yes, of course you can.” Henry answered.

“What’s a… fuh-cking bastard?” The sounds felt strange together in his mouth.

He dropped the strands of hair he was weaving.

“Excuse me?”

“D-Did I say something wrong!” Buddy turned around, the plait coming undone.

“No! You didn’t say anything wrong,” Henry took one of the boy’s hands in his own, “It’s never wrong to ask questions, believe me. I just- where did you hear that?”

“Downstairs, one of the men near the front shouted it at another.”

Henry nodded. He had learned to tune out the rowdier among his fellow patrons, and wasn’t surprised he didn’t hear the vulgar exchange.

“Ah, I see. Well…” He worried the inside of his cheek, formulating how best to phrase his answer in a way the boy would understand.

“Well, fucking is just a vulgar word people toss into their speech to seem like a big person, I don’t ever want to hear you say that, Buddy, do you understand?”

He nodded,

“And a bastard is simply one born to parents who are not wed.”

The boy tilted his head.

“Oh! Marriage is simply when two people love each other to the point they wish to have it officially recorded that they are together.”

“If they are not… official, and make a child together, this is a bad thing?”

“To many, yes. All you need to know is it’s a very mean thing to call someone, think of it along the lines of calling someone a mistake.”

Buddy went pale at that word. His hands began to shake, his lip to tremble. Henry realized that might not have been the best word choice. The hand in his own began to shake.

“How awful!” Buddy cried, tears welling in his eyes, “What a h-horrible thing to- call someone!”

“Yes, there are very cruel people in this world, but we must remember-“ Henry moved to grasp the boy’s other hand, but before he could, Buddy was up and stomping towards the door, “Where are you going?”

Buddy paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“To find that man!”

Henry stood, “And what are you planning to do when you find him?”

“Make him pay for using language like that!”

“How exactly?”

“I’ll-! I’ll…”

Buddy paused, deflating. It seemed whatever anger had briefly taken hold of him had disappeared as quickly as it came. Henry sighed, sitting and patting the bed next to him. He ended up squished against the boy when he sat down, but managed to wrap an arm around him.

“I’m sorry for getting mad.”

“Don’t be, little one. Anger is a perfectly normal thing to feel, especially in a situation like yours, but we shouldn’t take it out on other people. Remember that, okay?”

Buddy nodded.

“Now,” He looked up at him and gave what he hopes was a comforting smile, “How about we get back to your hair?”

The boy returned a lopsided smiled.

“I’d like that.”

#frankenstein #frankenstein’s creature #adam frankenstein #henry clerval #my.writing #found au

11 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

Stay

A/N: this is one of the little one shots we wrote for @majorharry’s 20k fic celebration (congrats to cass she’s is amazing!! we love her writing so much 🥺) we used prompt 30 “you’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” Our take on punk!harry catching feelings for a hookup

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

send feedback and requests here

masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warning: a bit of angst

word count 4k

“You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” Y/N watched as Harry scrambled to get his clothes on.

This was a regular routine for the two of them, Harry would text her telling her to be ready when he arrived. She wouldn’t exactly call their relationship a relationship. She felt like calling it a booty call made her feel gross though that’s the closest to what it was. Y/N wouldn’t even call it friends with benefits. Harry wasn’t her friend, he never tried to be. They were from different sides of the spectrum. Harry was rough around the edges, blunt, pretentious. An arrogant son of a bitch if you asked Y/N. She leaned more on the safer side of things, not a good girl, but not exactly bad. Just your average girl. She’s boring and uptight if you asked Harry.

“It’s 2...” Y/N trailed off to look at the clock, “2:46 in the morning, just stay.” She sighed, sitting up and bringing the sheet up with her to cover her front. She wasn’t sure what his deal was, but it started to get under her skin.

“That isn’t my thing, Sweetheart.” Harry chuckled, feeling the panic bubble in his chest at the idea of staying. Of being too close to her. Y/N was equally as terrifying to him and she had to have some clue.

Harry didn’t do relationships. Hell, this was the closest thing he had to being truly intimate for years and he was terrified. He had gotten a bit too comfortable with Y/N and found himself wanting to stick around too long after their fun. It was made abundantly clear to the both of them that they weren’t going to be anything more than a booty call. After the last time, it had been insanely good and he had fallen asleep in her bed. Waking up with her curled up on his chest, the warmth, the comfort? It was so amazingly lovely and so terrifying he could cry. No. He wouldn’t allow himself to get attached again.

Besides. She was... god. She was fucking immaculate. Smart and kind, talented and sweet. There was no damn way she would actually want a relationship with someone like him. Covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings and shit. Smoking and drinking and all that too. No. She deserved a nice guy. Someone with an office job.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She hated that fucking nickname. It felt patronizing, but she knew that wasn’t the angle Harry was coming at this all with. He was avoiding her. She could see it. The way he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Harry was well aware she could read his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to hide from her then.

“Harry, it’s fucking pouring.” He didn’t have a car, she knew he had full intentions of walking back to his apartment on campus. Y/N looked at him with furrowed brows, realizing he wasn’t stopping. She reached over and slipped her Fleetwood Mac shirt back on, getting up to walk over to him. “If you’re that fussed about it, you can take the couch, or I can take the couch, but I’m not letting you walk home in the fucking rain in the middle of the night.” Y/N spoke sternly, but her voice was soft. What was the big deal?

“No. You aren’t taking the couch— get back in bed.” He sighed, closing his eyes. Fuck. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, Y/N didn’t do anything wrong at all. She was being her normal, sweet, tender self and wanted to make sure he was safe and he understands that but... fuck. “Go back to bed. I’ll sit until the rain stops and call an Uber or something.” He was nervous. He knew that if he laid back in bed with her that he would like it and want more of it. Those kisses would be soft and not the rough ones he was used to and he would melt. Normally his hookups didn’t make him nervous— but she absolutely did. Very much so. “Don’t give me that pout please.” He groaned when she looked up at him with puppy eyes and approached him slowly. Oh no. He was a strong man but he knew his inner weakness for her. He felt it. Didn’t want it.

“I don’t understand why this is such a big deal.” Y/N frowned, genuinely confused. What I’m earth was he on about? Sitting until the rain stopped or getting an uber? Was she really that unbearable? Y/N wasn’t going to beg for him to stay, but if he really wanted out there must be a reason? She thought maybe since they’ve been having regular sex for a few months that maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal for him to just stay. “I don’t understand you, ya know?” She muttered, looking at him as if she was examining him. What changed so much? He had come into her home all guns blazing a few hours ago, pinning her against the wall, ravishing her after a night of drinking with her friends. She even thought they made progress when they had a little laugh about it afterwards, but then he was up and itching to get out. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of me, but do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”

Wait. What? Harry furrowed his brows and looked at her with disbelief. The way he had just fucked her as if his life depended on it? How did that translate into him not liking her?

“Hold on. No— I don’t dislike you or anything. M’not trying to get away because I don’t like you.” He said lowly, face full of confusion and a bit of irritation. “Jesus Christ. It’s the opposite. That’s why I can’t bloody stay in your place.” He felt a bit stupid admitting that because even to him it didnt make total sense. All he knew was that she wouldn’t like him the way he could end up liking her and he already had the beginnings of something more than a crush. He knew he fell in love quickly— far too quickly. And he didn’t want to set himself up for more disappointment.

Now Y/N was confused.

“And that’s supposed to make sense?” She asked with furrowed brows, her arms crossing over her chest in defense. It was chilly in her apartment, but she wasn’t about to go put on more clothes when they could just get back into bed and go to sleep. If he would just listen. “You stayed here last time and you were fine.” Y/N stayed simply, “just go lay down, can go home whenever you want tomorrow....” She was giving up on fighting with him, but of course his words were still ringing through her mind. If he liked her why was he so desperate to leave? Why did he want to get away from her so bad? It didn’t make any sense at all.

“Yeah, I did and we cuddled! We aren’t supposed to do that.” Harry stressed. When her face was even more confused he let out a dark groan, covering his face with his hands. How did she not understand this? This dilemma, this crisis? They were meant to be fuck buddies. Nothing more. She wouldn’t be interested in more and it was so fucking embarrassing to think of himself catching emotions for her when she would just laugh or not want to be involved at all. His last girlfriend had summed it up by explaining that Harry was fun for a while. Fun to explore and live out that bad boy fantasy with his motorcycle and crazy parties and tattoo artist apprenticeship but he wasn’t boyfriend material. If she thought that —and she wasn’t a total prize once he thought about it— Y/N would for sure laugh if he wanted more than that.

“You understand you’re making zero sense right now right?” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “You were balls deep in me and cuddling is what you’re worried about?” She asked with a small sigh, taking a few seconds just watching him. “Look, I’ll stay on the other side of the bed if you want. Just stay. It isn’t a question, you’re not leaving.” Y/N didn’t like being challenged, she liked getting her way and he was making no sense with his talk. She reached out and took his hand, pulling him back towards her bed. She was tired, sleep was visible on her face but she wouldn’t sleep until she was sure he wouldn’t leave.

Truth be told she didn’t want him to leave for other reasons. She liked having him around, even if sometimes he didn’t act so fond of her and pushed her away. Y/N liked having his calm energy around, liked him roasting her, liked how he always found a way to get her to wind down. Not to mention sharing a bed with him during the night was incredibly comfortable. When they started this whole thing, Y/N knew that there was a possibility that she could catch feelings. However, she let those die. He wasn’t interested. She was just some good pussy to him.

He felt squirmy. Sitting in bed with her and not touching her felt wrong. It felt weird and uncomfortable and he just wanted to pet her hair and gently touch her skin and it was such a weird and odd feeling. He wanted to vomit. How the fuck was he even doing this?

She was terrifying.

He didn’t realize he had said that out loud until she turned over and looked at him with a questioning look. Fuck. Oops.

“I... didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He cleared his throat, face flushed as he realized he didn’t know how to get himself out of this.

To say Y/N was thoroughly confused was an understatement. Y/N was getting antsy, she didn’t like all this scrambling around, she wanted to have an adult conversation with him.

“Can you please just tell me what is on your mind? Cause I’m lost.” Y/N sighed, “you text me telling me you’re going to come over, you get here all eager to see me, fuck me for two hours straight, then want to get out of here faster than I can say your full name. Say you’d rather wait the rain out or get an uber than sleeping here. Tell me it’s not because you don’t like me but because you do like me, then say I’m terrifying? Am I reading this wrong or?” Y/N wished he could just be straight up with her, she didn’t have time trying to figure him out.

“For fucks sake!” Harry sat up on the end of the bed so he didn’t have to look at her. It was too embarrassing. Getting flustered over this. “I’ll get too comfortable. I’ll sleep here and we’ll cuddle again and I’ll feel close to you and you’ll end up getting tired of me.” He huffed. “No one keeps their feelings for me for too long and I’m fun to fuck around with but I’m not relationship material.” It was obvious he had heard this before and it had stuck in his mind. Very much so because it was like he was reciting it bitter from memory. “And then you’ll be tired of me and I’ll be used to sleeping in your bed, and I’ll be fucking worthless with sleep again and it’ll fuck me up. I don’t want that shit to happen. I’m not the type of guy you want to cuddle or sleep with anyways. M’only decent for a fuck.” Plus, she hadn’t shown any real interest besides the fact she did want to fuck him.

Y/N sat up, completely taken aback. She didn’t realize it was getting like this. Hell, she was fully convinced he just didn’t want to be around her outside of their sex life. But to think he had been sat here convincing himself of things that just weren’t true? Assuming that she wouldn’t want him when, if given a proper chance, she would? “And how the hell do you know what I want?” She asked out right, “you never asked me... and I never said anything about it. You’ve barely even attempted conversation with me, fuck... and you just—” Y/N knew she had to relax. “If I didn’t want you sleeping here I would have let you leave. If I didn’t care about you I would have let you leave.” Her voice was softer this time. She took a few moments to calm down and then decided to speak again. “You know you could have asked me... what I wanted? Know it’s scary— and... I don’t know who hurt you.... but I don’t want to be lumped in with them. I don’t think like that...”

Harry clenched his jaw. He didn’t know what to think. With Y/N being as sweet as she was, he didn’t think she would be one to lie about it. It did make sense if he thought about the fact that she never kicked him out. He was just the first to leave so she wouldn’t have to be the one to say it and make him feel weird about it. He was used to that.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still not turning around to face her. He felt like a bit of an idiot as it was. He didn’t want her to think that he didn’t want to stay either but he wasn’t sure how the hell to go about it. “You’re... I dunno. You’re nice and different and it’s terrifying. I don’t want to be rejected by the nicest person.” He said lowly. “You’re really sweet and I’m scared to get to know you properly. Everyone talks about how lovely you are and I know you must be.” God, talking about feelings? He didn’t know how to properly do that without sounding like a damn idiot. “I’ll probably like you a lot more than I should. The sex is fucking fantasitic. But then I think about you kickin’ me out or waking up and realizing what you’ve done and get upset.”

Y/N could understand him, sure. It was self preservation. He assumed because of his past and naturally, he wanted to be ahead of the curve. He didn’t even give her a chance. Y/N felt like this type of behavior didn’t help anyone, only landed them in situations like these.

“Hurts a lot more when you just get up and leave ya know?” Y/N swallowed thickly. “Feel dirty... used... convince myself it isn’t what you mean and that maybe it’s just cause you’re ashamed or something.” She said with a shrug, “know you’re a nice guy, know you don’t mean it like that... but..” it still hurt. “We decided it wasn’t going to be anything more and I wasn’t expecting anything more, just thought maybe we could be I dunno... not like this?” Y/N chuckled sadly. “Thought that we could be friendly even if it wasn’t real? Dunno, just... the last time you were here it felt nice? Felt like what I wanted it to feel like, minus the awkward bolt you did once you realized where you were.”

“Fuck. I’m a dick. I didn’t want— I don’t want you to feel like that.” That had him turning around, piercing in his brow slanting down with the snarl in them. “I just can’t do this shit right, huh?” He groaned, a sarcastic chuckle leaving his throat. “Jesus. I don’t know how I manage to fuck shit up so damn bad. I don’t want you to feel dirty or used cause you’re not. I enjoy myself, darlin’.” There was a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. How the fuck did he end up getting it all wrong? “Wasn’t leaving cause I didn’t like it. Left because I did. Too much. S’not what I’m used to and I don’t think I could have stomached you telling me to leave, so I just left before you could tell me to.” He looked down at his lap. “M’sorry, Y/N. It wasn’t my intention. Know that doesn’t do shite to make you feel any better and doesn’t take away the fact that I’ve been a dick but, I thought you’d want me to leave.”

“Why?” Y/N asked softly, deciding that if she got him talking she might as well get the answers she wanted out of him. “Why did you think I’d want you to leave? Cause I wasn’t going to ask you to.” Y/N told him honestly, “it isn’t polite and even then I thought... I would feel like shit if someone asked me to leave.” She explained with a small sigh. “Just because we decided it was nothing more than sex didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to at least try to be your friend or something... I just assumed that wasn’t what you wanted. Practically ignore me everywhere else.” Y/N knew that no one really knew about them. They sat there for a few moments before she decided to be bold, to look at him properly and just get this over with.

“Do you want this to be more than sex?”

Harry sat and thought about it for a moment. Of course, he did. His little crush on her was massive now and he had been kidding himself every time he left to walk away and do dumb shit like this.

“I didn’t think you had any interest because you didn’t really show any besides wanting to fuck.” He said bluntly. Which is true. “I thought I’d be overstepping boundaries by suggesting more. Plus... you’re so.... good. You’re sweet as fuck, you’re smart, I would have thought you’d want an office dude or someone who’s going to give you some sort of good stability. Not some guy like me.” Harry shrugged, looking over to her. “I can’t tell what you’d want. Maybe s’partially my fault because I leave so quickly. But... I dunno. Maybe? It’s... it’s hard.” He didn’t know how to explain it properly. On the outside, he was a dickhead. A bad boy. He fucked, drank, smoked, dabbled in coke and shrooms. He was an artist, wanted to be a tattoo artist, didn’t see himself leaving at least for another 2 years. Then he wanted to go to New York, or New Orleans. Something bigger than him. Would she want any of that?

“Could’ve asked me out for a drink or something... didn’t have to be this elaborate thing.” Y/N sighed and played with her fingers some more. Obviously she enjoyed herself, obviously she didn’t want it to stop, but he wasn’t wrong about her not showing him any signs of wanting more. They agreed to it being strictly sex so she kept it at that. “So what then, you’re just going to keep coming around and fucking me and leaving again?” She asked quietly, “what do you want me to do?” Y/N didn’t know how she could help in this situation. She didn’t deny him, never said she wasn’t interested, but when asked if he wanted more he deflected. Y/N had been single her whole college career. She wanted to focus on her school work, besides, all the college guys were assholes... most of them were. They just assumed they knew more, tried to mansplain everything. She hated it. Y/N didn’t want that. If she was going to get into a relationship of any kind, she would hope that they brought out the best in her, made her feel like she could have fun the way Harry did.

“No— obviously m’nit gonna do that. I didn’t realize it made you feel shitty. S’what everyone else has wanted but... I should have realized.” Harry licked his dry bottom lip. “You’re a lot nicer than them. Softer. I shouldn’t have just treated you like everyone else and m’sorry for that.” Of course she was different. She was just... sweet. She never made him feel poorly and always praised him during sex. Always was excited to see him. He really felt like a massive dick. Especially seeing the worry in her face. “What do you want?” He asked, picking at the non existent lint in the bed. “Like... would you want to do somethin’ other than that?”

“I wanna go on a date...” Y/N said without really thinking, “if you want... we can like, go for coffee or a drink or something just... talk.” She didn’t know what he was going to say, she felt like she would bite the bullet in this case since he was far too nervous to take initiative. She had to force it out of him. “And if it’s not up to your expectations then I guess we can just pretend it never happened or something... you can even come here for dinner if you want?” Y/N didn’t want to make a fool of herself. “and if you don’t wanna do any of that then maybe we can just like... be friendly?” She rubbed at her eye, feeling extremely sleepy. He really did fuck her good.

The two of them were realizing that they were both full of shit. They should have communicated better, shouldn’t have been guessing. Neither of them wanted to comprise the sex but sometimes, adult decisions had to be made.

“I’d... you’d really want to go on a date with me?” It wasn’t something he had ever initially expected but hey. Harry would take it. Especially because she was so shy usually but she had been the one to switch roles and take charge when it came to talking about feelings. “Yeah. We can do that.” He noticed she was sleepy, rubbing at her eyes and felt guilt course through him as he noticed it. “Why... don’t we talk about this in the morning’. You’re so tired.” And damn, was she cute. He felt a bit of pride as well knowing a good fuck could help aid in the sleepy thing.

“I promise I’ll be here in the morning.” He stood up and took his jeans back off but kept the shirt on, not sure what was proper when sleeping with a girl when you weren’t fucking them. This was good, yeah? Cuddling was still foreign so he wasn’t going to attempt it— he would let her decide if that’s something she wanted. “Any of that sounds good to me. M’sorry I was a prick. I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me but that’s my own fault.”

“It’s okay, you can make it up to me.” Y/N was happy that he agreed to go on the date with her. She felt like it would be nice for them to actually have a conversation without it leading to sex. Just for them to get to know each other properly and not just based on what they’ve heard. She hummed as she felt sleep coming on, immediately falling back on the bed and getting all cozy. Y/N curled up and pulled the pillow closer to her, looking up at him as he stripped back down. “Shirt too.” She mumbled. “cause you’re warm.” Y/N cooed and patted the spot next to her. She moved to curl up to him, lifting his arm so she could rest her head on his chest. “What? You said you liked the cuddle.” She teased, nuzzling against him. “Could you turn off the light?” She asked, pointing to the switch above her bed.

Harry felt okay now. A bit shaky— but better. He didn’t know what would come of this, but he could feel that he was comfortable and warm and bright. Happy. She made him feel at ease with these simple things and had even suggested a date. A date. Something the man hadn’t imagined a girl like her would ever be into but, look at them now. When he turned off the light and settled into the bed, feeling the warmth of her body as she clung on to him— there was one thought that kept going through his mind.

It’ll be alright.

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

A/N: ahhh thank you for reading, this is something a bit different for us, but hopefully these little oneshots/blurbs we can post a bit more often in between series updates! also, but congrats to cass once again, you a queen. we love you 🥺 - n + d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

#writing #majorharry20k #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry writing #harry styles angst #punk!h #jarofstyles

1K notes · View notes

geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years ago

Text

Bygone Love

This is for @pearlll09 for @thewitchersecretsanta!

Fair warning, this is 6k+ words so here is the AO3 link, if you think it’s easier to read on there!

This is a Geraskier soulmate AU :)

Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!

Jaskier stared wistfully at the book in front of him, wishing it were true.

Those meant to be, linked by destiny, soulmates.

It was bullshit.

Maybe it hadn’t always been. All the stories say that soulmates just stopped appearing hundreds of years ago and no one knew why. However long ago it had been, there was very little record of it left. The book sitting in front of Jaskier is one of the only books left that tells anything about it.

And, while it isn’t a very detailed book, and has quite a few missing pages, what is there sounds lovely. The person you were meant to be with, your very souls linked, it’s romantic. The idea of there being someone who is your perfect match in every way was enticing. Someone who would love you as were, no need for you to bend or break yourself to make them happy.

Jaskier sighed, standing slowly, grabbing his bags and the book, and returning the book to the hook-nosed librarian that watched every Oxenfurt student with the utmost sense of distrust.

Jaskier’s final day as a student at Oxenfurt was bittersweet. His years there had been wonderful, his experiences grand, but now he would get to travel and truly make a name for himself.

The bard, Jaskier.

He would be a name known across the land, called upon by kings and queens.

Strutting out of the city walls, a bright smile on his face, Jaskier looked in the direction of Lettenhove, his family’s lands. The smile slipped off his face. There would be nothing there for him, anymore. He wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms, not as Viscount and certainly not as a bard.

Resolutely turning on his heel, Jaskier took the opposite path. He wasn’t exactly sure where it would lead him, but he was excited to find out.

Six months on the road hadn’t exactly snuffed out Jaskier’s optimism but it had put a certain damper on it, being thrown rotten or stale food instead of coins was a bit disheartening after all, but still he persevered. He was currently playing in a tavern in Posada and the patrons were… nicer than a lot of the others he’d encountered the past few weeks.

Taking a break and gratefully collecting the stale bread thrown his way, Jaskier’s eyes skimmed the room, settling on a cloaked man seated in the corner.

Oh, he looks like trouble.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier started one night, a few months into their travels, drawing the witcher’s attention, “how old are you?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, staring silently at Jaskier.

“I only ask because I’ve heard witchers have long lifespans.”

Geralt cocked his head to the side, remaining silent.

Jaskier huffed in frustration, “There are some things I learned about at Oxenfurt but most of the information has been lost to time! I just thought you might have some further information on it, is all.”

“On what, bard?”

“Soulmates.”

Geralt snorted, “They don’t exist.”

“But they did!” argued Jaskier.

“Possibly,” Geralt agreed, “but they don’t now, so what is the point in wondering.”

Jaskier was indignant, “For the history, Geralt! The remaining texts are so few and old and damaged we don’t really know anything about them!”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not that old. And we didn’t learn about soulmates in our studies, they weren’t important.”

Jaskier sighed, looking down at his hands, “Oh well, I suppose that’s that, then.”

The camp turned silent as Jaskier let his thoughts wander. It was a foolish dream, really… the idea of soulmates.

Jaskier spent the rest of his year travelling with the witcher until finally autumn had arrived and it was time for the pair to part for winter, Geralt going north to somewhere secret and dangerous and Jaskier back to Oxenfurt to gloat about his wonderful travels to all those who doubted him.

Jaskier clapped Geralt on the back, smiling brightly, “Well, friend, this is it I suppose.” He would miss the witcher dearly, the past year travelling with Geralt had been the best time of Jaskier’s life.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier’s smile didn’t slip with Geralt’s taciturn response, more than used to it at this point, and instead continued with his farewells, “We can meet up again, as soon as the snow melts!”

“Great.” Geralt grunted.

“No need to sound so enthused Geralt.” Jaskier stated, hands on his hips.

And then they parted.

Jaskier turned on his heel and pulled his lute in front of him, ready to write a new ballad to commemorate the past year, and the hope for what the next year would bring with his new travelling companion, his new muse.

Halfway to Oxenfurt, Jaskier noticed a strange tickle in his nose, hopefully I’m not getting sick, he thought, dreading the possibility. His eyes were itching, and he was sniffling, sneezing occasionally, but he never developed a fever, so he wrote it off and continued on his travels.

This is getting ridiculous, Jaskier thought as he sneezed again. Not long after he and Geralt had parted ways, Jaskier’s allergies had begun acting up and even now, halfway through winter, they were still bothering him.

His eyes were sore and itchy, his head was stuffed, his nose was running constantly. Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to say he was miserable, but he certainly wasn’t having a great time. He’d had allergies most of his life, come down with hay fever almost every spring, but never had he had such persistent symptoms and never had his allergies bothered him during winter.

“Jaskier, just go see the healer.” Priscilla said, rolling her eyes as he blew his nose yet again. His best friend had been at the mercy of his complaining since he had returned to Oxenfurt and it was a wonder she was still being so nice to him.

“I’ve been, Pris. They said I’m fine.” And Jaskier had been to a healer, to two different healers in fact. They’d both said the same thing, common allergy symptoms, nothing to worry about.

Geralt had almost reached Kaer Morhen, he would get to the gate by midday, when he noticed a strange pressure behind his eyes. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and his medallion wasn’t vibrating, so he continued on his path, expecting the pressure to dissipate by the time he reached the keep.

It didn’t.

By the time Geralt had reached the gates of Kaer Morhen the pressure in his head had increased and his nose felt full of cotton. Certain something was wrong, he hurried through the gate, rushing to the main doors and into the keep, not even properly stabling Roach.

Eskel was in the main hall and his head swung around to stare at Geralt, brow furrow as he watched Geralt's dramatic entrance. "Geralt! Welcome. Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I think I've been cursed." Geralt pushed past Eskel, heading straight to the kitchen where he could hear Vesemir moving around.

As Geralt burst through the door, Vesemir continued his motions, stirring a pot filled with stew. Not looking up from his cooking, he addressed Geralt, "What kind of curse?"

"It's affecting my head."

Vesemir shot an unimpressed look over his shoulder at Geralt, "What do you mean? Be specific, Wolf."

Geralt growled, “There's a pressure building in my head and I can barely breathe through my nose."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, still stirring the pot in front of him, "And when did it start?"

"On the pass, not far from the front gate." Geralt’s head was aching, the pressure seeming to build and build, it felt like his head would explode at any moment.

"And did your medallion vibrate?"

"No."

"And you had no symptoms prior to that?" Vesemir finally turned around, staring at Geralt.

"No."

"It doesn't sound like a curse."

Geralt growled again, angry at the dismissal, "My head feels as though it's going to explode!"

"Stop exaggerating." Vesemir responded curtly, far too used to the dramatics of his charges.

"Something could be wrong!” Geralt yelled, stepping forward and angrily gesturing to his head.

Vesemir levelled Geralt an unimpressed look, "Hush, boy. You're going to be fine. Get settled in and we'll figure out what's wrong after dinner. Whatever it is, it isn’t life threatening.”

Turning in huff, Geralt stormed out of the kitchen and past Eskel where he had been hovering by the door. If they wouldn’t take him seriously then he would figure out what was wrong himself.

After he settled Roach.

Dinner was tense, Geralt in pain and Vesemir ignoring him. Lambert had yet to arrive so Eskel sat beside Geralt, uncomfortably glancing between Geralt and Vesemir as if he were unsure of what to do, if he should say something or not.

Geralt's head ached every time he moved, especially when he leaned down. If he tilted his head back, the pressure behind his eyes made it feel like they would explode from his skull.

Vesemir ate silently, focused on the meal in front of him and saying nothing until he had finished.

"How does your throat feel?"

Geralt startled at the question, looking across the table and meeting Vesemir's eyes, "Ummm… it's sore. It hurts to swallow, like I'm swallowing knives."

Geralt sniffled.

Vesemir's eyebrows drew together as he studied Geralt, "It seems as though you have allergies, Wolf."

"You think I have allergies?" Geralt asked as he took in what Vesemir was saying.

"It sounds like allergies."

"Allergies?" Eskel chimed in. "I haven't heard of witchers suffering from allergies."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, "I can't think of a time in recent history one did."

"Why would I have allergies?"

"A few things come to mind but none that seem likely. The best idea is to probably look through the library. Eskel and Lambert will help."

Eskel nodded and leaned toward Geralt, bumping their shoulders together, "We'll figure this out."

Geralt ignored Eskel and glared at Vesemir, "It feels like my head is being crushed by a boulder and the best you can offer is I should read some books?"

Vesemir stared back at Geralt, his face impassive, before standing up wordlessly and exiting the kitchen.

Lambert arrived later in the week and was quickly swept away to join Eskel and Geralt in the library where they had set up.

They had pushed two tables together and there were piles of books stacked across it, organized by Eskel in some manner that only made sense to him.

Eskel and Geralt had been spending their mornings training and working around the keep and then retired to the library nightly, trying to find mention of witchers with allergies.

The three witchers were reading in silence but for the occasional grunt from Lambert when Eskel sucked in a sharp breath, “Hey I found something.”

Lambert looked up lazily from the book he had been staring at while pretending to read, “Is he contagious? I don’t want to catch whatever he has.”

Geralt growled at Lambert before standing from his chair and walking over to Eskel, “What does it say?”

“Well…” Eskel started hesitantly, still staring at the book, “I’m not sure if this is really what’s wrong with you but it’s the only thing we’ve found so far.”

“What is it Eskel?” Geralt asked again, growing impatient.

“It says that when unbound or broken soulmates are parted, they would experience allergy and cold symptoms until they came together again.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, “Soulmates?”

Eskel nodded.

“You think I have a soulmate?”

Lambert snorted, “That would be cruel, forcing someone to put up with this grumpy bastard for eternity.”

Eskel shook his head, “No that isn’t how soulmates work. There’s someone who is made for you but you still have the choice, you can either accept the bond with a handfasting or perform the ritual to break the bond. Either one would allow you to travel away from each other without getting sick anymore, but until the soul bond is acknowledged one way or the other, you get sick.”

“Eskel, do you really think I have a soulmate? Soulmates haven’t been seen for centuries!”

Eskel huffed, “I know it doesn’t really make sense but it’s the only thing I’ve found!”

Geralt sighed, “I think we should keep looking, I don’t have a soulmate, Eskel.”

“Alright, I’ll add this book to the useless pile, then.” Eskel stood slowly to walk across the room to a large pile of books he had created to reshelve.

Geralt hesitated, “Wait… is the whole book about soulmates?”

Eskel looked back to Geralt with his eyebrows raised, “Yes.”

“Can I have it?” Geralt asked, reaching out his hand for the book.

Eskel stared at Geralt, a confused look furrowing his brow, “Why would you want it?”

Geralt wasn’t sure how to respond. He had never travelled with someone before and his brothers were certain to question him about it. And there was also the chance they had heard that stupid song. “Ahh… a bard I was travelling with asked me if I had any knowledge of them because the human texts were all mostly destroyed.”

“You travelled with a bard?” Lambert cut in harshly.

“And you want to bring him a present?” Eskel asked, in a far softer voice than the one Lambert had used.

Lambert stood up suddenly, “Wait, that song about tossing a coin! That was about you!”

Geralt groaned, his already pounding head throbbing even more at the idea of having this conversation, “Yes.”

Lambert let out a loud bray of laughter, “I should have known! Of course, you managed to find yourself a bard to sing your praises, you vain bastard.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, causing another wave of pain to shoot through his head, and looked back to Eskel, ignoring Lambert still chuckling behind him. Eskel had walked back over to Geralt, book in hand, and he finally held it out to Geralt. Geralt took the book tentatively and nodded in thanks.

Eskel was staring at Geralt consideringly, “How long did you travel with your bard?”

“He isn’t mine.”

Eskel rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever. How long?”

“Most of the year.” Geralt answered shortly, unsure where this line of questioning was going.

Eskel made a considering noise, “Did you two just split for the winter?”

Geralt nodded, “Yes, he headed back to Oxenfurt and I came straight here.”

Eskel hummed softly, his eyes wandering over the books still piled high on the table, “I don’t know how much information we’ll find in those; we’ve read all the books that were most likely to help.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to help anymore?” Lambert chimed in.

Eskel snorted and shot an unimpressed look at Lambert, “That would suggest you were any help to begin with.”

Lambert scoffed, “I was plenty help. Moral support and all that.”

Eskel directed his attention back to Geralt, “Geralt it might be best to just… find a healer or a mage when you leave for spring. I’m not confident these books will have answers. Perhaps you could head to Oxenfurt and meet up with your bard, the scholars there might have answers.”

“Do you really think we won’t find an answer?” Geralt had been worried he wouldn’t find out what was wrong with him since Vesemir had first dismissed him.

Eskel shook his head and smiled sadly, “I think we’ve found all the answers that are here.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, unsure of what Eskel meant, “What answers have we found?”

“I’m not completely sure. But I’m sure you’ll find out come spring.” Eskel walked past Geralt and quickly exited the library, leaving Geralt and Lambert staring dumbfounded after him.

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Lambert finally asked. “He gets more cryptic every year. One of these days he’s going to show up and talk only in Nilfgaardian riddles.”

The winter had been long and far less restful than any year before. Geralt’s symptoms hadn’t improved though they at least hadn’t gotten worse.

This year, Geralt was the last to leave Kaer Morhen, wanting the opportunity to talk to Vesemir privately. Their relationship had stayed distant this winter, though it had gotten less hostile. But it didn’t seem right, Vesemir didn’t act like this normally, he had to be keeping something from Geralt.

Geralt cleared his throat as he gazed across the courtyard at Vesemir, “I’m ready to go.”

Vesemir nodded at him, “Travel well, Wolf. I’ll see you next winter.”

Geralt took a deep, steadying breath, “Did I do something wrong?”

Vesemir frowned and walked closer to Geralt, “No, Wolf. I just worry for you. But I’m confident you’ll find your answer back out on the road.” Vesemir quickly drew Geralt in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. Geralt returned the embrace briefly before pulling away.

“Travel well, Vesemir. I’ll see you next winter.” And with a nod, Geralt mounted Roach and set off out of the gate, his path to Oxenfurt laid out clearly in his mind.

Geralt wasn't sure how long he had been able to breathe through his nose by the time he finally noticed the difference. It was strange that it hadn't been more obvious of a change since he had gone the entire winter with his nose stuffed and runny.

His sense of smell heightening was the only thing that really drew his attention to the change. He had worried the difficulties he might encounter on the Path with his senses dulled, but when he'd approached the bridge leading to Oxenfurt, suddenly the smells overwhelmed him.

"Woah, Roach." Geralt urged Roach to slow down while he took a moment to gather himself, adjusting to the sudden difference. As he waited, he could feel as his head became clearer and clearer, all the pressure slowly dissipating. His sense of smell returned full force and his hearing became more acute. Geralt let out a sigh of relief, he had almost forgotten what it was like to have his senses so sharp.

He would still need to find a mage to make sure this never happened again but with his senses returned he needn't be in as much of a hurry. "C'mon Roach," Geralt guided Roach back to the road leading into Oxenfurt, trying to think of where he might find Jaskier.

He hadn't had to look for long, simply meandering down the street when he heard a commotion ahead. He dismounted and led Roach behind him as he approached the shouting, breaking through the circle of onlookers to see Jaskier and another man arguing.

"Because you're wrong!" Jaskier shouted, waving his arms wildly.

Geralt took in the situation in front of him slowly. Jaskier was flushed, his chest puffing heavily from his ragged breathing. He looked livid, his eyes shooting daggers at the man in front of him.

And the man in front of Jaskier looked… well… a lot like Jaskier. His hair was darker, black instead of brown, but cut in a similar fashion. His eyes were also a brilliant blue though deeper than the bright cornflower of Jaskier's. Unlike Jaskier's clean shaven face, the other man had a full mustache, covering his entire upper lip. That's where the differences seemed to stop, though. Their build was the same, long and lanky yet deceptively strong, they had the same jaw line, the same cheek bones, the same nose. Jaskier had never mentioned family but this must be a brother.

Geralt watched amusedly as the two men taunted each other until finally Jaskier charged forward, clearly ready to attack the other man. Moving swiftly, Geralt put himself between Jaskier and the other man, gripping Jaskier by the shoulders to prevent him from going around Geralt. Jaskier huffed and yanked himself backward, out of Geralt's grip, looking up at the man who had been holding him.

It was clear he hadn't expected Geralt to be standing there when his mouth dropped open in shock. "Geralt! So good of you to stop by. Here, let's get out of here, the riffraff is out of control." Jaskier glared over Geralt's shoulder and grabbed Geralt by the arm, leading Geralt back to Roach.

Geralt followed silently, amusedly listening to Jaskier's grumbling the whole way until they reached a small inn and Jaskier led them upstairs to what must have been his room over winter.

“That bastard!” Jaskier grunted as soon as Geralt had closed the door behind them.

“Hmm.” Geralt watched in silence as Jaskier slammed his things around, seeming to move his bags and clothes for no purpose other than to throw them in irritation.

“Honestly, the bastard had the nerve to insinuate that he is more attractive than I am! Me! As if he isn’t the ugliest cock on the planet. I swear Geralt even the thought someone might find him attractive is horrendous.”

Geralt cocked his head curiously, “Are you two not related?”

Jaskier looked horrified, “Related? To that thing? Gods no.”

Geralt suddenly felt confused, the man was practically Jaskier’s twin. “Jaskier, you look just like him.”

Jaskier gazed at Geralt for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face, before finally he started cackling, laughing so hard he collapsed on the bed behind him.

Geralt was unsure of what was happening.

Finally, Jaskier’s laughter slowed, “Darling,” Jaskier started, still chuckling to himself slightly, “that was the funniest joke you’ve ever made. The idea of I and Valdo Marx looking anything alike is truly, absolutely hilarious. Oh, thank you, Geralt. I needed that laugh. Especially after the winter I’ve had.”

Geralt was still very much confused, positive his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him when he’d seen this Valdo Marx character, and sure that he and Jaskier did in fact look very similar. Deciding to not continue with the matter for the moment, Geralt decided to direct the conversation elsewhere, “And why was your winter so terrible?”

Jaskier threw his arms up dramatically and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, “I was sick! The whole time. As if I had a cold. It started right after we parted and continued all the way until this very morning. All the healers said it just seemed to be my allergies. Honestly, Geralt I think I may have been cursed.”

Geralt froze, frowning at Jaskier’s words. Allergies? All winter. Starting just after the two had parted. Thinking back to the book currently resting in Roach’s saddlebags, Geralt shook his head, silently telling himself it was just an odd coincidence. “Sounds odd, bard. Perhaps you slept with the wrong person and their spouse decided on some petty revenge.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, still staring at the ceiling, “Perhaps. It certainly was petty in that case. I had a sore throat all winter, I was barely able to sing.”

“Hmm”

Jaskier rolled to his side on the bed, staring curiously at Geralt, still standing awkwardly in front of the door, “Well, how was your winter then? And what brings you to Oxenfurt? Did you miss me, you scamp?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the smirk on Jaskier’s face, “Winter was winter, the same as every other year. I’m here looking for a mage or a scholar well versed in curses.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up the way they always did when he was about to get into something, he had no business messing with, “Ohhh what kind of curse.”

“Never you mind.” The last thing Geralt needed was Jaskier learning that Geralt was also sick all winter. He would make a big deal of the coincidence even without knowing what Geralt did.

“Excuse me, Geralt but I mind very much, thank you.”

Geralt remained quiet.

Finally, Jaskier snorted, “Alright well, lucky you, I happen to know a retired professor that specialized in curses and things of the sort. Not a sorceress herself, mind you, but interested in it.”

Jaskier led them through the streets of Oxenfurt, babbling a mile a minute, “She is very old, positively ancient, possibly even older than you. No one is quite sure how she’s still alive, or her actual age for that matter, but as she taught most of the professors that taught my professors, it’s sufficient to say that she’s been around a while. She’s also quite crotchety but she likes my singing so that should help us get some information out of her. What exactly are we asking her about again?”

Leave it to Jaskier to try to wheedle the information out of Geralt after wearing him down with a bit of rambling. Luckily, Geralt had spent nearly a year with the man already and had built up a tolerance to the man’s sneaky ways. “It doesn’t concern you, bard.”

Hopefully.

The very thought that Jaskier could be his… well… no that certainly didn’t make any sense. None whatsoever. Hopefully this wise woman would be able to identify what the problem is, and he could solve it quickly and move on.

And hopefully it would have absolutely nothing to do with Jaskier.

Nothing at all.

And absolutely nothing to do with the absurd idea of soulmates.

Geralt would never be able to give the book to Jaskier. If Geralt had managed to draw the connection then certainly Jaskier would as well, whether Geralt mentioned having the same symptoms during their time apart or not.

Geralt was pulled from his reverie by Jaskier drawing to a halt suddenly and opening his arms, wide, “We have arrived, my dearest witcher.”

The house was small, tucked in between a pawn shop and a sketchy looking apothecary. It was the type of house it was easy to miss, would be overlooked if you weren’t looking for it specifically. Jaskier let himself in the house, not bothering to knock, so Geralt followed quietly, feeling uneasy, though he wasn’t sure why. His medallion wasn’t vibrating and there wasn’t anything particularly strange about the front room of the house, but something didn’t seem quite right.

“Jaskier are you certain we should be here?” Geralt whispered his question, unwilling to disturb any occupants of the house.

Jaskier, however, was not as worried about disturbing anyone and responded loudly, “Of course, Geralt. I’ve a standing invitation.”

Geralt cautiously followed Jaskier further into the house, unsure of what to expect. In the last room of the house there was an old woman, sitting in a chair by a window, knitting quietly. When they entered the room, she glanced up curiously, a small smile on her face as she looked at Jaskier.

“I was wondering when you would come find me with questions.” The woman’s voice was surprisingly deep, hoarse as if she spent her days smoking away at a pipe.

“Were you?” Jaskier asked, shooting Geralt a strange look.

The woman hummed, “Yes. As soon as I saw your symptoms this winter. I’m glad you have been reunited though.”

Geralt felt a shock run through him, she couldn’t possibly mean…

“You know why I was sick?” Jaskier’s voice was higher than usual, sounding incredulous.

“Do you not?”

“No!” Jaskier exclaimed dramatically.

“Ahh..” she stared at Geralt for a moment before looking back at Jaskier, “there’s no need to worry about it. Your witcher will explain everything.”

Jaskier spun around, “Geralt?”

He sighed, suddenly unsure of what to do, “I have everything I needed Jaskier. Let’s go back.”

“Go back? We came here to ask questions about a curse! You didn’t even ask anything. Oh… were we here about my curse? Was I actually cursed?”

“Come along, Jaskier.” Geralt turned on his heel, quickly leaving the house. He heard Jaskier hustling behind him.

Geralt led them back up to Jaskier’s inn room, Jaskier puffing behind him from keeping up with Geralt’s faster than normal stride. “Geralt what is going on?’

Instead of responding, Geralt rifled through his bags and pulled out the book he had previously decided to chuck in a river so Jaskier would never see it. Turning to face Jaskier, Geralt’s heart was racing. He had faced monsters out of nightmares, stared death in the face, but the idea that the contents in this book could be true, the idea that Jaskier could be his soulmate was horrifying.

Holding out the book slowly, Geralt watched warily as Jaskier snatched it from his hands, his eyes roaming over the cover. “Soulmates?”

“I found it at Kaer Morhen and brought it for you, I thought you might like it. But now it might be important.”

Jaskier’s eyes shone brightly, “You brought it because you thought I might like it?”

“Yes.”

“What makes it important now?” Jaskier was looking back at the book, fingers tracing the cover carefully.

Geralt’s heart was pounding in his ears, “Just… read it.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt, concern on his face, “Okay.”

Jaskier crossed the room to sit at the table and opened the book. Geralt stayed motionless, watching as Jaskier eagerly devoured page after page of information he had been so interested in for years. It was clear to Geralt when Jaskier reached the part Geralt was most afraid of. Instead of Jaskier moving on to the next page, Jaskier’s eyes slowly worked their way back to the start of the page and he read the same section again, slower this time.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, his eyes not moving off the page in front of him, “are you telling me that my allergies this winter were because I have a soulmate?”

Geralt grunted, unsure of what to say.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt suddenly, his face wary, “And who exactly is my soulmate in this scenario? Who else had the same symptoms while they were away from me for the length of winter?”

Geralt felt his face reddening, an uncharacteristic blush blooming.

Jaskier stood slowly, placing the book down on the chair as he abandoned it, “Geralt were you sick this winter?”

Geralt nodded.

"Oh." Jaskier sounded breathless.

Geralt didn't know what to say, floundering in the silence. Usually, Jaskier was the one to fill the void, to put words where there was once silence. Instead, Jaskier remained silent for a beat, simply staring at Geralt, before turning back and grabbing the book, returning to his seat. Jaskier opened the book again with shaky hands and once again began reading.

Their breathing and slightly too fast heart beats were the only sounds in the room as Geralt stood motionless, waiting for Jaskier to do something, say something. But Jaskier simply sat, reading studiously, while Geralt waited.

It felt like ages by the time Jaskier closed the book, finally looking back up at Geralt. "Well, if we intend to travel anywhere from each other, I think it would be best to perform the ceremony."

Geralt's heart dropped, "Of course. We'll have to research the proper way to do it, I'm not sure if we'll need a mage."

Jaskier stood from his seat, walking to stand directly in front of Geralt, "Geralt, it says a simple handfasting will suffice."

Geralt didn't understand, a handfasting didn't seem like a practical way to end a soul bond, "A handfasting? To break the bond?"

"Break the bond? Why would we do something silly like that? Do you… not want to be bound to me?"

Bound to Jaskier, their souls intertwined, it sounded nice. But it wasn't realistic, Geralt was a witcher and Jaskier a bard. Clearly their souls couldn't have meant to be linked. "Do I not… Jaskier you can't want this! I'm a witcher. My life is dangerous."

"Well yes but that hasn't stopped me yet, and I don't intend to let it. Besides, the slowed aging will be a big plus for me." Jaskier sounded matter of fact, putting his hands on his hips and staring at Geralt as if it were obvious.

"Slowed aging?"

"Yes Geralt, slowed aging. The book said very clearly that those soul bonded to witchers experienced slowed aging like that of the witcher. Did you not finish the book?"

"I didn't read it." Maybe he should have read through the book, to understand more about what was going on, more about his bond with Jaskier. Geralt hadn’t felt so out of his depth in a long time.

Jaskier sounded incredibly unimpressed when he responded, "You didn't read… any of it?"

"No."

Jaskier whined, "Geralt. You suspected we could be soulmates and you didn't even read the book?"

Of course he hadn’t expected that! The very idea that they could be soulmates was ridiculous. He hadn’t even considered it to be an option. "No! I brought the book because I thought you would like it. I didn't think that was what was wrong with me. I didn't know you were sick."

Jaskier was silent, his face contemplative as he stared at Geralt. His response was so quiet, Geralt was unsure he would have heard it without his enhanced hearing, "Is it… really so awful of an idea? Being my soulmate?"

It wasn’t an awful idea at all, it was… nice actually. But that didn’t mean it was right, it couldn’t possibly be. Jaskier didn’t deserve to be stuck with a witcher for the rest of his life, "No, Jaskier… it just… it can't be right. I can't be bound to someone like you and you shouldn't be stuck with someone like me."

“Well, I stuck myself to you long before we knew about this soul bond business, so I don’t see what’s so different. Unless you wish to be rid of me.” The last sentence was hushed, like Jaskier hadn’t even wanted to say it.

When Jaskier had first started following Geralt, the witcher had definitely wanted rid of him. He was loud and annoying and impractical. He caused chaos everywhere he went, rarely thought of his actions before making a decision, and always managed to put himself directly in harm's way. But the bard had grown on Geralt. Every time he started a tavern fight out of righteous anger on Geralt’s behalf or talked down an alderman trying to short Geralt his owed coin, or ran headfirst into danger to foolishly protect Geralt, Geralt felt a bit more fond of Jaskier. And considering how often Jaskier did all of those things, Geralt was fit to burst with his fondness for the man.

Geralt rubbed a hand over his eyes, “No, I don’t… wish to be rid of you. But Jaskier, you can’t know what you’re agreeing to. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. My path doesn’t need to be yours.”

Jaskier’s body language screamed how indignant he felt at Geralt’s statement, “But I want it to be! I wanted to walk The Path with you last year and I haven’t changed my mind.”

Even if Jaskier meant it, and never changed his mind, he didn’t know if he would ever be what Jaskier wanted. Jaskier was young and the idea of grand love thanks to a soul bond must sound enticing, but that wasn’t Geralt. Witchers weren’t supposed to feel, it was dangerous, made them weak. Jaskier deserved that grand love but Geralt couldn’t be sure he could ever give that, “Jaskier… I’m not… I don’t know how to be in a relationship. I’m not sure I ever will… be able to be that for you.”

Jaskier’s face softened and he reached out to take hold of Geralt’s hands, “I like you just as you are, Geralt. We can figure out everything else as we go.”

Geralt felt something in him break. He wanted to be stronger, strong enough to turn Jaskier away, for his own good, but more than that he wanted to be loved. “Are you sure you want this?” Geralt’s voice cracked as he asked, one final time, simultaneously hoping Jaskier would say no, but dreading the idea of losing the bard.

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hands, “Do you?”

“Travelling with you last year was… different. It was good… to share The Path with someone. With you.” Geralt had never felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, staring into Jaskier’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve spent with you for the world, and I want to keep spending time with you.” Jaskier hesitated, “If you’ll let me.”

“We… will have to get handfasted then? If we don’t break the bond?” Geralt really needed to read that book.

Jaskier nodded, “Yes, either that or never separate from each other.”

An outward sign of the bond the two shared… Geralt liked the idea, “I think… that handfasting would be okay.”

“Just okay?”

“It would be… nice. I suppose.”

Jaskier chuckled at Geralt’s response, “When should we do it? We could go now if you wanted?”

They could go right then, there was sure to be someone in Oxenfurt, probably many someones, that knew how to perform the ceremony, but it didn’t feel right. “Could we… wait for winter?”

Jaskier furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side, “I mean… we can. We would have to be careful about parting through the year though.”

It was impractical, Geralt knew, but it was something he never thought he would experience. And he wanted to do it at Kaer Morhen, “Just… I think I would like Vesemir to be there. And Eskel and Lambert.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand reassuringly, “Okay. May I ask who they are?”

“They’re my… family. Fellow witchers. We winter together.”

Suddenly Jaskier’s eyes were filled with tears and Geralt was worried he had done something wrong.

“Oh. Yes, that would be lovely, I think.” Jaskier finally responded, his voice thick like he was trying not to cry.

“Really?”

Jaskier nodded and pulled his hands from Geralt’s, instead drawing him into a tight hug, “Yes, darling. Really.”

Check out my masterlist!

Tag list: @stinastar @feraljaskier @bastardofmothman @hailhailsatan @moonysourenza @its-onions @elliestormfound @dapandapod @geraskier-trashh @jaskierswolf @fontegagrilledcheese @negativenuggetz @veritasrose @feral-jaskier @kozkaboi

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #fanfiction #soulmate au #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #kaer morons #special guest appearances by #eskel #lambert #vesemir #and #roach #developing relationship #can be read as platonic

240 notes · View notes