#and the sound of the ac and the ceiling lights count

[kbunzzi2oa]

My First Kill -> Y.J

Synopsis -__-> Yang jungwon the very first man that made you feel love and hate and guilt..he made you feel loved, working as a therapist and as a night guard had it's perk for him

Word count -__-> 23.5k

Contains -__-> Smut, suggestive scenes, making out, eating pussy, M & F receiving, Oral, fingering, teasing, mentions of touching, sex, table sex, p in v, unprotected sex, emotional feelings, jealousy, mention of killing and blood, San from Ateez mentioned, ect.

Nef Notes -__-> ALRIGHT Finally GOT THIS HELL OF A THING OUT, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS..it's the first part of the unleash me series, hope you guys would like the other parts in the future, comments, reblogs, reposts, are enough, I want your thoughts on this!..have a great night/day. (⁠๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠๑⁠)

The alarm blared like a police siren, slicing through the silence of your room and dragging you out of a dreamless sleep. Groggily, you slapped your hand over the noise, silencing it with a muffled groan. 6:50 a.m. glared back at you in red digital numbers. Today marked your very first shift as a night guard and therapist at an asylum.

You threw off the covers, stretching as you shuffled to the window. Pulling the curtains apart, the sunlight immediately assaulted your tired eyes—too bright, too early. Outside, dogs barked at one another across neighboring yards, their growls sharp and competitive. You winced. The world was already too loud.

As you trudged to the bathroom to get ready, your phone buzzed. You picked it up, pressing the speaker to your ear as a bubbly, overly enthusiastic voice burst through the line.

“Morning, my cupcake sunshine sparkle butt!” your best friend Chae sang.

You groaned into the receiver, blinking at your reflection in the mirror. “Chae, how do you have so much energy? I can barely form words before 10 a.m.”

“Because I’m excited for you, duh!” she giggled, the sound warming the room more than the morning sun. “First day on the job, babe. New beginnings! Aren’t you just a little excited? Maybe you’ll meet a hot policeman… or a dangerously sexy serial killer, like one of those dark romance movies I made you watch!

You could practically see her wiggling her eyebrows through the phone.

“Yeah, right,” you muttered as you brushed your teeth. “And next thing you know, he’s haunting my dreams and stabbing everyone I love. No thanks.”

After showering, dressing, and pulling your hair into a half-decent style, you stepped out of the house. Locking the door, double-checking the windows, and turning off all the lights—as you always did—you gave a few polite "good mornings" to your neighbors and headed to your car.

The moment you shut the door, the heat hit you like a furnace. You quickly turned the AC on full blast. Summer was beautiful, sure, but the heatwave lately had been unbearable.

The drive was short, but every mile closer made your stomach churn with nerves. When you finally pulled up to the facility, your breath hitched.

The asylum was covered in rusting gray metal. Tall fences lined with barbed wire towered around the perimeter like it was more prison than hospital. Cameras followed your every movement as you approached the main gate.

Two security guards stood by the entrance, both looking exhausted and borderline lifeless.

“Morning, gentlemen,” you said softly, offering a polite smile.

They gave you tired nods as you stepped inside.

The interior was just as grim. The ceiling lights flickered and buzzed, many of them broken or dimmed to a jaundiced yellow glow. The hallway stretched on endlessly, filled with distant sounds—screams, maniacal laughter, and the occasional crash of something heavy being thrown. It was colder than expected, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and rust.

Your boots echoed as you passed room after room, each one sealed with reinforced glass and steel locks. You tried not to look too long into any of the cells, afraid of what you might see staring back.

Eventually, you reached the staff room and were introduced to a few of your soon-to-be colleagues. Most were too busy to greet you properly, offering polite nods before returning to their reports or security monitors.

“Um… good morning, everyone,” you announced quietly. “I’m Kelly. I’m new here…”

A few heads lifted briefly. A couple of small smiles. Then, silence.

And then you saw him.

A man with jet-black hair, striking features, and a frame that was tall and impressively well-built walked up to you, a calm confidence radiating from his every step. His white trench coat hugged his shoulders perfectly, framing the lean muscle beneath. He extended a hand with a charming smile that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest.

“Hi,” he said, his voice smooth like warm coffee. “I’m San. Nice to meet you. I’ll be showing you around today… maybe we can even become friends.”

The room seemed to pause, as if holding its breath.

You stared, taken aback by how absurdly handsome he was. Maybe Chae was onto something after all.

Snapping out of it, you took his hand and shook it gently. “Nice to meet you too… I’m Kelly. I hope we survive this place together.”

San laughed. God, that laugh could pay your entire phone bill and still leave you with change.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “It’s only scary until it’s familiar. Then it becomes fun.”

You weren't sure if "fun" was the right word for what this place would become.

But you were about to find out.

San chuckled, his voice low and velvety, before nodding toward the hallway. “Come on, let me show you around before your shift starts. I’ll introduce you to some of the regulars.”

You followed closely, the soles of your boots squeaking faintly against the linoleum. The halls twisted like veins, and the deeper you went, the colder the air turned. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. You passed rooms locked behind thick glass and steel, glimpsing figures that twitched or smiled a little too wide. Some stared blankly at the ceiling, others pressed their foreheads to the glass with unblinking eyes.

Then you reached one of the last doors on the far end. San paused and turned to you, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach tense. “This one… this is Jungwon. He’s… different. Be careful with him. He plays nice, but he’s the reason they keep the backup generator running.”

You blinked. “Why?”

San glanced at the security camera in the corner, then leaned in close, his breath fanning your cheek. “Because he likes the dark. He’s quiet until the lights go out… then he talks.”

You stepped toward the thick glass and peeked inside. Jungwon sat cross-legged on the cot, his head tilted back, dark hair a little messy, lips curled into a lazy smirk like he’d heard every word.

And you swear—he looked right into your soul.

His eyes were impossible to look away from. Deep, stormy, dangerous. He slowly stood up and approached the glass, placing one hand against it. It was like he could see right through you. His head tilted, eyes scanning you from head to toe, slow and intimate, like he was undressing your thoughts layer by layer.

“Y/N,” San murmured. “Don’t interact unless absolutely necessary.”

Too late. Jungwon was already speaking.

“You’re new,” his voice was soft, too calm, yet it scratched something in your spine. “And you’re the first thing I’ve wanted in a long time.”

Your breath caught. San immediately grabbed your arm. “We’re moving on.”

But as you turned, Jungwon whispered loud enough for only you to hear.

“You’ll come back. You’ll want to. They always do.”

　▄︻══━一 ♡

Night fell fast.

Your shift began with dull paperwork, briefings, and observing the monitors—but your attention kept drifting. Toward cell 09B.

Toward him.

The air buzzed with unspoken danger, a magnetic pull you couldn’t shake. Something in your chest tightened each time his face flickered on the screen. He never moved much, but his eyes… always on the camera. Like he knew where you were.

As your break arrived, you moved through the halls, your hand trembling slightly as you pressed your ID against the scanner.

Beep.

The door hissed open, slow and dramatic.

Jungwon was sitting again, this time on the floor, legs outstretched, fingers idly playing with the loose thread of his pants. When the door shut behind you and locked, he didn’t even flinch.

“Curiosity,” he murmured, licking his bottom lip. “It’s a delicious thing, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard. “You’re not supposed to talk to staff.”

He rose like smoke, slow and graceful. The lights flickered. Once. Twice.

“You’re not just staff. You’re mine.”

You took a step back, your knees knocking into the cold metal table against the wall. “That’s a strong assumption for someone behind a locked door.”

He laughed. Low and melodic. The kind of sound that curled around your core.

“But you unlocked it. You came here, didn’t you?”

He walked toward you, not with menace, but with deliberate temptation. Like a predator who didn’t need to chase. He knew you wouldn’t run.

You hated how much he was right.

“Why do you talk like this?” you asked, trying to mask the heat pooling between your thighs with curiosity. “Is it a game to you?”

“Only when I like the player.” He stopped a few inches from you. The silence buzzed. “You’re prettier up close.”

Your breath hitched. His voice was a feather trailing your skin.

“I could read you like a book, Y/N. A naughty little book.” He smirked. “With pages stuck together.”

You gasped, and he leaned in, his voice barely audible.

“You want to see what kind of monster I am... but you’re scared that you'll like it.”

Your thighs clenched.

He watched the way your eyes flickered downward, then back up, amusement dancing on his lips.

“Say something,” he breathed. “Or I’ll say it for you.”

You bit your lip. “And what would you say?”

His mouth brushed your ear. “That you want me to touch you. That you’ve thought about it since you first saw me. That even now… you’re wondering how dangerous it’d be to let a killer press you against this wall and ruin you.”

You shuddered.

He wasn’t wrong.

Jungwon pulled back just slightly, his breath still teasing your cheek. “See? I don’t need knives to cut people open. I only need words.”

And then, as if to test how much power he had, he reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—gentle, electric, reverent. Your skin burned where he touched, and you froze.

"Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, but his fingers were already tracing up your arm, slowly, deliberately.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

He saw it in your eyes.

The obsession wasn’t one-sided anymore.

And just like that, the line between sanity and surrender began to blur.

You were no longer the therapist.

You were his favorite puzzle.

And he was just getting started.

▄︻══━一 ♡

10:02 a.m. — Interview Room 3, Wing J

The metal door creaked open slowly. You stepped inside with your clipboard clutched against your chest, the fluorescent lights buzzing above like faint static against your already taut nerves.

And there he was.

Jungwon.

Seated casually on the edge of the worn-out couch, he looked far too comfortable for someone in a maximum-security mental facility. His wrists were cuffed in front of him, a security formality, but his posture said otherwise—elbows on his knees, back lazily curved, eyes focused like he was already three steps ahead of you.

“Morning, doc,” he purred, voice smooth and warm, almost lazy, like a cat stretching in the sun. “Miss me already?”

You ignored the flutter in your chest—the same one that had been haunting you at night, in the shower, in bed, in your damn dreams.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied coolly, sitting across from him and crossing your legs. “Let’s begin.”

He smirked. “So serious. Is it because of the dream you had last night?”

You stiffened. Briefly. Just enough for him to notice. He always noticed.

“Jungwon,” you began, maintaining a neutral tone, “today is a routine psychological check-in. I’ll be asking you a series of questions about your mental state, impulse control, and any recurring thoughts or behaviors.”

“Mm, you mean you’ll pretend I’m normal for twenty minutes so you can write a glowing report?” he said lightly, tilting his head. “Is that what we’re doing today?”

You jotted something on your clipboard, not looking at him. “Not everything is a performance.”

“Sure it is,” he countered. “You're performing now. All stiff and clinical. But underneath, you're still thinking about what I said yesterday, aren’t you?”

You snapped your eyes up to meet his, firm and unreadable. “Let’s begin with the basics.”

A pause. Then, a sigh from him—exaggerated, dramatic. “Fine. Hit me, doc.”

Question 1: Tell me about your past, who you are, who you were, what you were....

He looks up at you and sighs..."My name is Yang jungwon, I was a student in university studying as a lawyer...My first kill happend with my girlfriend years ago. We had a healthy relationship, rarely fought." He fixes his posture, as you write in your clipboard "I found her cheating on me, after 4 years of dating...with some disgusting pervert...who was my friend..and I was so confused, so angry to the point where I grabbed a chainsaw and cut open there heads. It w-was..." He sniffs softly, wiping his tears as he laughs " It felt great doc..but I couldn't do that to you...your a precious porcelain doll." You shift on your chair, scribbling down "Did it not ache, just one bit that you hurt them both..?" He shakes his head. "Alright next question"

Question 2: How have you been feeling since our last session?

He leaned back, pressing his shoulders against the wall behind him. “Like I’m still in hell, only this room smells better.”

“Be honest.”

“I am,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “But if you’re asking if I’ve been hallucinating, or plotting my next kill, the answer is no. Boring, right?”

Question 3: Have you experienced any intrusive thoughts? Violent, obsessive, or otherwise inappropriate?

You scribbled something. He craned his neck, trying to peek.

A beat. He stared at you in silence, eyes unreadable. Then:

“Does imagining you bending over that desk in your office count?”

Your pen halted mid-sentence. You inhaled deeply through your nose. “This is a professional environment, Jungwon.”

“So is prison,” he mused. “But people still get off. You know that, right?”

You stood suddenly, your chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Do you want to continue this interview or should I report non-compliance again?”

He raised his cuffed hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Don’t get all fiery on me. I was just being playful.” He grinned. “You did say this was a check-up. I’m checking up on your patience.”

You sat down slowly, teeth clenched. “Let’s continue.”

Question 4: Have you had any dreams lately that disturbed you

Something shifted in his face then. The smirk faded a little, and his brows knitted faintly.

“Yes.”

You glanced up. That was the first serious tone you’d heard from him all day. “Would you like to describe it?”

He hesitated. For the first time, he didn’t fill the silence with a joke or innuendo.

“You were in it,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Go on.”

“We were outside,” he murmured, voice lower now, almost hushed. “Not here. Somewhere open. Green. Trees. You were smiling. Not like now—not forced. It was… real.”

Your throat tightened.

“What happened in the dream?”

He looked away, jaw flexing.

“I killed someone. You saw it. But you didn’t run.” His voice dropped. “You touched my hand. There was blood on it. But you didn’t let go.”

Silence.

You swallowed. “That’s a very symbolic dream.”

He turned back to you, something raw in his eyes now. “No, it wasn’t. It was a want.”

“Want?”

“I want you to see me. The worst of me. And stay.”

His words pierced through the clinical barrier you’d spent months perfecting.

You tried to shift back into professionalism. “These are intense feelings, Jungwon. But it’s not uncommon for patients to project—”

“I’m not projecting,” he interrupted, voice calm. “You keep showing up in my mind even when I want you out. That means something.”

You clutched the clipboard tighter. “It means we need to adjust your medication dosage.”

But you both knew that was a lie.

He smirked again, but softer this time. “Keep lying to yourself, doc. Just remember… I know when you're dreaming about me.”

Your footsteps echoed in the hall, clipboard hugged against your chest again, like a shield. You’d hardly slept. You hadn’t dreamed last night—not in pictures. But in feeling, yes. That warm, sickening tension. That haunting smile. That want.

▄︻══━一 ♡

You’d been trained to maintain distance. You were trained to remain clinical, sterile. But training didn’t account for him.

You scanned your badge, heard the click of the lock disengage, and stepped in.

Jungwon was already seated—leaning back today, ankles crossed, fingers drumming against his own thigh rhythmically. His head turned at the sound of the door, and his lips curled into that maddening, feline grin.

“Morning, doc,” he said, voice casual but tinged with anticipation. “You look tense.”

You sat down across from him without a word, flipping your papers, trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his.

“That’s a new perfume,” he added, gaze sharpening like a blade. “Lavender and…” he sniffed lightly, closing his eyes, “Vanilla. Sweet.”

“Observation is not the same as insight,” you said flatly. “We’re here to talk about you, not your ability to stalk my scent.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t like being seen?”

“I don’t like being watched.”

“You chose the wrong patient for that, sweetheart.”

Your eyes snapped up, narrowing. “Call me that again and I’ll end the session.”

He gave a small, teasing pout. “Yes, Doctor. Please, don’t punish me.”

Question 5: Have you experienced any sudden emotional shifts since our last meeting?

You inhaled slowly. “Let’s proceed.”

“Define sudden.”

“Anything that felt overwhelming. Difficult to control.”

A silence settled between you. Then he leaned forward, elbows to knees, hands cuffed but fingers relaxed.

“I think about touching you,” he said plainly. “More than I should.”

You froze.

“I don’t want to hurt you. That’s what makes it weird.” He looked up at you, eyes serious now. “Because I want a lot of things, but violence is usually one of them. With you... I just want you soft.”

You blinked. Hard. “These are dangerous transference patterns, Jungwon. Not unusual for patients, but they’re not real. They’re reactions to control, attention, dependency—”

He cut in softly. “I fantasize about kissing your wrist while you hold your clipboard. Does that sound like dependency?”

Your heartbeat thundered. He knew it. You could see it in his grin, how he basked in the discomfort he caused. But behind it, you saw something new.

Not rage.

Not chaos.

Longing.

You straightened. “Do you regret your actions? The people you killed?”

His eyes flicked upward, sharp again. A defense. A shield.

“I regret being caught.”

“That’s not remorse.”

He studied you. “Would you want me to regret it?”

“Yes.”

“But you like me the way I am. That’s why you stay.”

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You think I don’t see it? You pause when I speak. You breathe differently when I say something filthy. You clench your fingers when I mention dreams. You stay.”

Your voice came out low, firmer than you expected. “I stay because I have to.”

He smiled darkly. “No, doc. You stay because some twisted part of you wants to see what happens if you don’t run.”

The silence was deafening.

Then:

“Let me ask you something.” His tone dropped, velvety and low. “If I hadn’t been arrested… if I were just a man you met at a bookstore or a street café… would you have let me kiss you?”

You stared at him. Jaw tight. Mind racing.

“That’s not a professional question.”

“But it’s an honest one.”

You hated that the answer wasn’t no.

You stood abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping again. “We’re done for today.”

Jungwon didn’t protest. He just looked up at you, calm, unreadable.

And then—he said it. Quiet. Soft. So quiet you almost didn’t hear it:

“I’ll wait for you. Even if I rot in this room forever, I’ll wait.”

You opened the door with shaking hands.

But as it closed behind you, your heart beat louder than your footsteps.

▄︻══━一 ♡

Monday night.

The sterile hallway hummed faintly under the buzz of overhead lights. Everyone else had clocked out, leaving you alone for your usual night shift. At least, you weren’t completely alone.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you raised your ID badge to the scanner. The red light on Jungwon’s reinforced door blinked green, and with a soft hiss, the lock disengaged.

You stepped inside.

Jungwon was already awake.

He sat on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on you like he’d been expecting this exact moment — like he’d known you’d come.

"Well, well," he said lowly, his voice dipped in honey and something much darker. “Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?”

You stayed by the door, fingers still curled around your ID. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But your voice lacked conviction. He noticed.

“Then why are you here? After hours. Alone.” He tilted his head, a dangerous smile spreading across his lips. “Unless you finally came to stop pretending.”

You swallowed hard. “I came to talk.”

He stood slowly, the faint stretch of his muscles under the thin white T-shirt making your breath catch. You could feel his presence before he even crossed the room — like something heavy and invisible pressing into your chest.

“Liar,” he whispered, now standing mere inches away. “You came to feel something.”

He reached out, not touching, just hovering — his fingers stopping just short of your waist, your hip, your cheek. “I can give that to you. All that pent-up curiosity you try to ignore. You want danger, don’t you?”

You hated that your breath hitched. Hated how his voice curled around your thoughts like smoke, choking reason.

“I want you to stop playing with me,” you said quietly.

He laughed — soft, unhinged, gorgeous. “I am playing with you. You’re just finally starting to like it.”

You backed up instinctively, but his hand shot out and caught your wrist, firm but not painful. His grip was heated — not in the way a flame is, but like a fever. Like obsession.

He walked you backward slowly until your back bumped against the desk. Cold steel met your lower spine.

“Jungwon—”

“You don’t say my name like that unless you want me to ruin you,” he said, eyes blazing. “So which is it?”

Your heart pounded so loud, you were sure he could hear it.

He leaned down, mouth by your ear. “Tell me to stop. Just say it.”

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

Your silence was a yes.

In one swift motion, he spun you around, hands braced against the desk. The metal was icy under your palms as his body pressed flush behind you, heat and danger radiating from him like a second skin.

“Look at you,” he murmured, lips brushing the back of your neck. “So obedient now. All I had to do was wait.”

His hands moved up your waist, not groping — claiming. You gasped when his mouth found the space between your neck and shoulder, biting just hard enough to make your knees weaken.

“You’re not scared of me,” he breathed against your skin. “You should be. I’ve done terrible things.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“And you still came.”

His voice turned gravelly, dark with hunger and something dangerously close to worship.

“You’re mine now. You knew it from the second you opened that door.”

▄︻══━一 ♡

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

The door clicked shut behind you, but you didn’t hear it — not with the way Jungwon’s hands were sliding down your arms, pinning your wrists against the desk, and his breath was fanning over your throat like a threat wrapped in silk.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine. “Is it fear, or something else?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your mouth was slightly parted, breath caught halfway to a gasp, heart pounding against your ribs like a warning you weren’t listening to.

He dipped his head, lips brushing the column of your neck. “You came to me. Remember that.”

And then his teeth sank in — not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make you moan involuntarily.

“You make the softest sounds when you’re cornered,” he whispered against your pulse. “It makes me wonder what you’d sound like… under me.”

Your knees almost buckled, but he was already moving, lifting you with terrifying ease and placing you on his desk. Cold metal bit into your thighs through your uniform as he stepped between your legs, forcing them apart with just a nudge of his knee.

“You wore this tonight?” His fingers ghosted the hem of your shirt. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice how tight it is on you?”

“I didn’t dress for you,” you shot back, trying for confidence. It only made him grin wider — like a predator humoring its prey.

“You only dress for me. You just don’t know it yet.”

Then he leaned in and kissed you.

No hesitation. No buildup. Just claiming.

His mouth was hot, wild, consuming yours with a kind of hunger that made your nails dig into the edge of the desk. You kissed him back, feverish, desperate, tasting danger on his tongue and craving it more.

One hand slid to your throat — not squeezing, just resting there, a silent threat that made your breath catch. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him so you could feel the evidence of everything he’d been holding back.

“You’re trembling again,” he whispered against your lips.

“You’re—” you gasped as his hand slid under your shirt, fingers dragging over your skin like fire, “—out of your mind.”

“That’s the fun part.”

He tugged your shirt up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he revealed — sharp bites followed by hot, open-mouthed kisses that had you gripping his shoulders to stay upright. His mouth found the space just below your ribs, tongue flicking, teasing, cruel and worshipful all at once.

“Do you feel this?” he growled, pressing you back onto the desk with one hand as he hovered over you. “This madness between us?”

You nodded helplessly, dazed and burning. You’d stopped pretending you could resist somewhere between the moment he pinned your wrists and the way he was now dragging his lips along your stomach like you were sacred and sinful all at once.

“I’ve killed for less than this,” he whispered against your skin.

“And yet… I’d never hurt you.”

There was something terrifying about that vow — the way it sounded like obsession disguised as affection. Possession wrapped in silk.

And it made you wetter than you wanted to admit.

He hovered above you, pupils blown wide, hair messy from your fingers, lips swollen from how hard you kissed him.

“If I taste you now,” he said darkly, “you won’t make it to the end of your shift.”

You bit your lip.

And smiled.

“Then don’t stop.”

▄︻══━一 ♡

His smirk faltered the second you whispered, “Then don’t stop.”

And just like that, control snapped.

Jungwon's hands gripped your thighs hard, pulling you forward so fast your breath hitched. Your lower back grazed the cold desk, your legs draped around his waist now, caging him in just as much as he caged you.

“You don’t get to say things like that,” he growled, voice shaking with restraint, “unless you’re ready to be ruined.”

Your response was wordless — a tilt of your hips, your fingers digging into his chest, nails dragging over muscle like you needed to leave marks or you'd forget this was real. He leaned down, capturing your lips again — slower this time, more deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of your surrender.

His hands were everywhere. Palming your waist, lifting your shirt fully off. His mouth followed every inch of exposed skin — tongue laving over the swell of your chest, down your ribs, stopping at the waistband of your pants.

He glanced up, wild eyes flickering with hunger.

“Take these off,” he ordered roughly. “Now.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You’d never undressed that quickly in your life — not with that gaze devouring you like a starving man watching his last meal undress. The second you leaned back against the cold desk, now stripped from the waist down, he groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he muttered, his thumb grazing the inside of your thigh before slipping dangerously close to where you ached the most. “All this for me?”

Your breath stuttered. “Yes.”

The word made him pause. He looked at you like he wanted to tear you apart and cradle you at the same time.

"Say it again."

“Yes, Jungwon. All for you.”

A dark, pleased sound left his lips — something between a laugh and a growl — and then he dropped to his knees.

On. His. Fucking. Knees.

The padded floor muffled the sound, but not the impact. The air itself shifted as his mouth met your inner thigh, biting and kissing, making your legs twitch and your stomach coil tight with want. His hands pinned your hips, keeping you from writhing away as his tongue finally dipped down — hot, slow, devastating.

He moaned when he tasted you.

You clamped your hand over your mouth, back arching, toes curling as he buried himself in you like a man obsessed. And he was. Every flick of his tongue, every groan vibrating against your heat, said the same thing: you belonged to him now.

“Don’t hide those sounds,” he said hoarsely, pulling back just enough to look up at you. His lips were glossy, eyes burning. “Let them echo. I want this whole damn facility to know who makes you fall apart.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he went back in — rougher this time, messier, as though he was starving for every drop of you.

You were already shaking when he stood again.

He unbuckled his own pants with one hand, the other still gripping your thigh like a vice. When he pressed the tip of himself against your entrance, your breath hitched.

He paused — barely — mouth brushing your cheek.

“This is the point of no return,” he whispered. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

But you didn’t.

You pulled him closer.

And with a harsh breath, he pushed in — deep, slow, almost reverent.

You both gasped.

He was thick, hot, stretching you in a way that bordered on pain — but the pleasure eclipsed it, turning your mind into static. His grip on you tightened as he bottomed out, head buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck… you feel like sin,” he rasped. “And I want to drown in it.”

His pace started slow, deliberate — but didn’t stay that way.

The moment he felt how tightly you clenched around him, how desperately your hands clawed at his back, he snapped.

He began to thrust — hard and deep, the desk rocking under you, metal legs squeaking against the tile. You could barely breathe between gasps and cries, every movement sending shockwaves through your body.

Jungwon didn’t speak much now — only growls, curses, and your name, spat out like a prayer on his tongue.

You didn’t last long. Neither did he.

When your walls fluttered and clenched around him, trembling on the edge of breaking, he lost control completely.

“You're mine,” he snarled against your mouth as you shattered beneath him. “Mine, mine, mine—”

He followed you seconds later, buried deep inside you, his entire body tensing as he spilled himself with a low, broken groan.

The air turned thick with heat and silence.

And for a long moment, you just stayed there — tangled, breathless, completely undone.

▄︻══━一 ♡

Since that day, you went home, full and hot of his cum, still feeling his hands and hot touch in you. You slept in your bed with guilt, biting your lip and thinking that everything was going to end, you regretted it...everything...you closed your eyes and went to sleep, knowing that in the end..this was the worst and that you would ever do it again.....Or so you thought?

Tag list -__-> @cherry012309 if you'd like to be tagged in future fics be sure to tell me!

[dreamescapeswriting]

Lights Out ~ JJk

⤜WORD COUNT:2.7K

⤜PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Girl!Best friend

⤜GENRE: smut. Pure filth MINORS DNI, includes tit sucking, tit kink, threesome, oral (both giving and receiving) tit play, ice play (on nipples) hope this is okay for you my love, unprotected sex

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - July 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

This content is a work of fiction and is meant for entertainment only!!! All content is made for 18+ only. No one was harmed in the making of this fictional piece, all parties were consenting and above the age of 18.

The sun blazed mercilessly over Seoul, casting an oppressive heat that seemed to suffocate every inch of air that was available. Even with the AC running it still didn't feel like enough for you to breathe properly. Jungkook lay sprawled on his bed, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he tried to force his body to relax, he'd decided to do a small workout and was now regretting the decision to even move from his bed that morning. The ceiling fan whirred feebly above him, doing little to alleviate the stifling heat that had invaded every corner of his bedroom. He sighed, lazily reaching for the glass of water on his nightstand, only to find it empty.

In the living room, the sound of laughter and animated conversation drifted in. You were sitting with your best friend Jihyo, lounging on the couch, their voices a comforting hum in the background. Despite the heat, the two of you were in high spirits, trying to make the best of an unbearably hot day. The windows were thrown wide open in a desperate attempt to catch any semblance of a breeze, but the air was stagnant, heavy with humidity making it damn near impossible for any fresh air to fly through.

"You have told him I don't bite right?" Jiyho laughs as she looks at you. Jungkook had decided to give the two of you some space while you had her around to the apartment that day despite you telling him he was more than welcome to join you both.

"He says I need 'girl time' with you," You giggled, shaking your head as you remembered Jungkook's face when you told him he could join you. He wanted to but he also wanted you to have a nice morning with your friend while he stayed out of the way.

"He's one of us now," She giggles a little but the lights flickered ominously before plunging the apartment into darkness. A collective groan echoed through the space as the sudden silence signalled the loss of the fan’s gentle hum and the whir of the refrigerator. Soon the AC shut itself down and that one bit of coldness you'd experienced was ripped away from you leaving you in a hot mess.

"No, no, no!" Jihyo exclaimed, her voice rising in dismay, she stared around at the lights waiting for them to come back on but nothing did. 

"The power's out!" You glanced around, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains, you knew that it was likely coming since the AC had been struggling all week to deal with the overwhelming amount of work it was going through all week thanks to everyone using it. 

"Great, just what we needed," you muttered, but your tone was more resigned than upset. Jihyo began to fan her shirt away from her body, whimpering a little as it stuck to her body thanks to the sweat that was now leaking from her body.

"Mind if I take it off?" She asked you, your eyes landing on her as you shook your head at her. It wouldn't be the first time the two of you had stripped off in front of each other. Hell, the two of you had seen each other naked more times than either of you could even count.

"Not at all." You giggled unbuttoning your own shirt and revealing the black bra you'd been sporting since that morning, throwing your shirt onto the armchair on the other side of the room as Jihyo did the same revealing her bright purple bra. 

"Damn, did they get bigger?" She gasps at you, running her fingers over your bra and making your back shiver a little as you let out a small whine, your cheeks heating up at the sudden attention from her. 

"I think so," You laughed a little as she smirked at you, slowly taking off the rest of her clothes, you joining her, until the two of you were sat in nothing but your underwear and yet it still felt too hot for even that.

The two of you sat there together practically naked as you let out a small whine, it was doing nothing to cool you down and you were starting to get a little bored.

"Jungkook, are you okay in there?" You called out, your voice carrying a note of concern as you realised he hadn't even come out to talk to you about the power going.

"Yeah, just trying not to melt," Jungkook replied, forcing a chuckle. He ran a hand through his damp hair and decided it was time to join the two of you out there. It had to be a little cooler out there than it was in the bedroom at least. Maybe your energy would be contagious, and he could forget about the sweltering heat for a while. But as he stepped out of his room, his gaze landed on the two of you as the breath was knocked from his lungs.

He hadn't expected to come out to see the two of you standing there in next to no clothing and he bit down on his tongue. Doing his best not to make it weird, he sat down on the armchair and looked over at you.

"Well, looks like we're all in this together," he said with a wry smile, you could read him like a book and you knew exactly what seeing the two of you like this together was doing to him. 

"Any ideas on how to survive this heatwave without power?" His voice cracked a little and he moved one of the pillows to his lap, his erection only growing harder as you bent over and reached for your cup of water, squeezing your tits together more and driving him up the wall.

Jihyo grinned despite the situation, your boyfriend's growing hard-on hadn't gone unnoticed between the two of you and she squeezed your hand teasingly. 

"We could tell ghost stories to distract ourselves from the heat. Or, better yet, find some ice and have a cold drink contest." She suggested but it only made your mind wander as she bought up "ice" and you couldn't stop the smirk from growing.

"I can think of a better idea for the ice if you're okay with it?" You suggested, your eyes finding hers as you had a silent conversation with one another.

"Back when we were in Uni we did it," She smirked already knowing where your mind was going with it.

"Baby, can you go and get me some ice?" You turned your focus on Jungkook who nodded, carefully getting up and heading to the freezer as you giggled with Jihyo slowly reaching up her back. 

"You're okay with this?" You asked, your voice coming out low as she let out of soft whine and nodded her head,

"Fuck yes," She whispered as you unclasped her bra, leaving her tits completely exposed as you slowly licked your lip, your best friend was hot there was no denying that and you were attracted to her. Not that you'd ever do anything now that you were with Jungkook but the two of you had done plenty together in the past.

"Your turn," She giggles, leaning down and kissing the top of your breast before exposing you to the world, throwing your bra in the direction of the kitchen having it land in front of Jungkook who was standing there. His face was now the colour of a tomato as he stared at you both, your huge tits just sitting there as he let out a low groan.

"It was too hot," You gasp out, exaggerating a little as you pull Jungkook to sit on the sofa beside you, you slowly take an ice cube from the tray he was holding and place it in your mouth. 

"Yn." He whimpered a little, watching intently as you leant down toward Jihyo's breasts and began to trail the ice cube from the nape of her neck right down to her nipples, sending them hard within seconds as she let out a strangled gasp at the cold sensation running through her.

"Fuck that's good," She moans out, rolling her head back against the sofa and arching her back toward you a little. You glanced over at Jungkook to make sure this was okay but he was already rubbing his cock through his shorts making you smirk at him. 

"We could pass some time," You whisper as you take the ice cube from your lips, slowly trailing it over Jihyo's other nipple as she let out a string of curse words. 

"D-Doing what?" Jungkook's voice cracked a little, his eyes never straying from Jihyo's breasts but you didn't mind as you giggled a little. 

"You know what," You whined leaning down to her tit, taking her nipple into your mouth and sucking softly as you used your other hand to play with the other. Moans filled the room as Jihyo cried your name out and ran her hands down your back, pulling you closer to her body. 

"Jungkook," She whimpered as she watched him rubbing his cock through his shorts,

"Join us," She whispered, as you smirked around her nipple, biting down softly as she let out a loud scream of your name and whimpered a little at you. 

"Evil, bitch." She hissed out as you left her without your mouth, turning your attention to your boyfriend who looked like he was trying to sus out if this was real or not.

"Baby...Do you want to join us?" Your fingers slowly trailed up his thigh until your hand was over his hard cock, rubbing softly as he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

"N-Not a dream, not a dream." He moaned out in ecstasy as you giggled at his innocence.

"No baby, not a dream." You confirmed, slowly undoing the tie of his shorts and freeing him from them.

"Jesus, now I know why you struggle to walk for a while," Jihyo whined as she saw the length of Jungkook's cock on full display, precum already leaking down his shaft as you giggled. 

"Fuck that's hot," You moaned out as you gently run your index finger along the underneath of his dick, watching in amusement as he twitched as you got to the tip of his dick.

"Does seeing us together get you hard baby?" You whispered, your free hand starting to rub Jihyo's tit as she ran her fingers down your nipples, squeezing them softly. Jungkook's cock twitched and he nodded frantically at you both.

"I know what will get him harder," Jihyo whispers as she leans down and takes your left breast into her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around your nipple as you let out a moan of her name. 

Jungkook soon leaned down on your right nipple and did the same, his eyes locked onto Jihyo's as he paid attention to her movements on what she was doing.

"S-Shit," You stuttered out as you looked down at them both, your moans getting louder as they continued to suck and tug on your nipples.

"Shit baby didn't know you liked it this much," Jungkook chuckled as he kissed your breast,

"Fuck it's so good." You pant, looking at him as he took your breast back into his mouth and sucked harsher this time.

Jungkook had always been a tit man which was why he rarely came out of his room whenever you and Jihyo were around together. How could he? The two of you had huge breasts and he didn't want you to get upset if he stared too long. 

"I-I want you to fuck me." You whimper a little, looking at Jungkook who was licking his lips. Jihyo smirked at you, sucking harshly on your nipple as she felt herself getting wetter at the thought of it. 

"Are you sure?" Jungkook whispered, looking at you with lust in his eyes. It was almost every guy's dream to get into a situation like this and as much as he wanted to dive in head first, he wanted to make sure this was something you were comfortable with.

"Never been so sure in my life," You moan out, rubbing his cock softly in your hands as he let out a strangled moan of your name.

"You better be a good little whore and get on your hands and knees then," He smirked, his dominating side coming out through his words as you squeezed your thighs together.

"Where do you want me baby?" Jihyo whispered to you as you watched her kneeling in front of you,

"L-Lay below me, let me eat you out while he fucks me," You smirk as she kissed down your neck, her hands squeezing and rubbing your tits as Jungkook positioned himself behind you.

"Don't need these anymore," He grunts, practically ripping the fabric from your hips and throwing it down to the ground making you whine at him.

"Those were new," You pouted as Jihyo giggled, sucking on your neck softly.

"He can buy you more later, baby." She coos, your lips meeting hers in a messy make-out session, only making Jungkook's cock harder as he watched the two of you.

"Don't blow your load yet, Jungkook. She wants to feel you," Jihyo tuts, smirking as she lays down below you and sucks on your clit making your knees buckle a little.

"F-Fuck Jihyo," You whine out as she continues to suck on your clit, 

"Her tight cunt knows who it belongs to." Jungkook growls, the tip of his dick at the entrance of your pussy making you roll your hips back for more from him.

"Ask nicely," Jihyo and Jungkook said in unison making your head roll back in ecstasy. 

"Please, I need it." You whined out, not having it in you to be teased tonight. Without a second thought, Jungkook slowly pushed into you until he was buried deep inside of you, your back arching deeply as you felt him at the deepest parts of you.

"Shit," You cry out, pulling Jihyo's legs open and ripping her underwear off her body the same way Jungkook had done to you.

"Someone's needy," She giggles as you pull her toward you, pushing your tongue deep into her cunt and making her moan out loudly. In return her lips found your clit once again and she started sucking in time of Jungkook's rough thrusts. 

The three of you moved in perfect time with one another, every time Jungkook sped up you did too. Thrusting two fingers into Jihyo as she cried out your name, her fingers gripping your hips as she sucked on your clit.

"J-Jungkook." You panted, clenching around him as he continued to fuck into you roughly. The sight of you eating out your best friend sent him wild as his thrusts began to get erratic. 

"You gonna cum baby? You wanna cum all over my cock?" He moans out loudly, holding your hips in place as he ploughed into you from behind. The combined thrusts from him and sucking from Jihyo sent your head into a frenzy and you could barely form the words to agree with him.

"D-Don't stop! F-Fuck, I'm right there." You begged, as your orgasm began to build. Jihyo's back arched as you moaned against her clit, cumming around your fingers and over your face. The action sent Jungkook reeling as he frantically sped up inside of you,

"F-Fuck, Yn! Shit, Jihyo." He cries out as you cum around his cock, whimpering loudly as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm until he came deep inside of you, holding himself perfectly still as you looked up at him from below. 

"T-That was so good," You whine out, Jungkook opened his mouth to speak but the sound of the AC turning back on and the lights flickering back on stopped him as you all let out soft giggles.

"I guess it really did pass some time," Jihyo laughs as she slides out from under you and watches as you slide away from Jungkook letting out a small whimper at the loss of contact,

"Who wants ice cream?" Jihyo grins, rushing to your freezer as you giggled, leaning your head on Jungkook whose cheeks were flaming red.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @tinyoonsblog @whitefoxgirl @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @wolfgurl2600 @choisoorin @heyjiminnie @btsiguess-kpop @alicejustwakeup @halesandy @gothic4under4lord @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lenfilms @elizaschuyler18 @whitefoxgirl

[starlostnfound]

Step into the night light and let it go.

Genre: Angst, a little bit of comfort. Bittersweet ending.

Warning: None really, tears, break up.

A/N: This is my first post and one of the first things I've written in years, I'm open and grateful for any feedback, and requests. Hope you like it.

Word count: 919

The night is heavy, your heart is heavier. In a way that has become the norm. In the way that your heart is already halfway out the door. It’s the waiting that weighs on your soul, it’s the guilt that wears you out. Not knowing if what you want to do it’s the right thing, even though deep down, you do know, you already know.

So, instead of facing it, you do what you always do. You sit curled up on the faded couch in the studio, the dent on it perfectly shaped for your body now. Of all the nights you’ve spent waiting for him to notice you, to remember you exist outside of the tracks where he always loses himself on. The monitors are dim. The speakers hum low, like a haunting reminder that it’s 3 am, that you should be home instead, curled up in bed with him. But you’re here. And Chan… he’s across from you, sitting on the floor with his arms draped over his knees, watching you. He knows too. But he doesn’t speak on it, he rarely does. He won’t try to fix it, he doesn’t know how. He just watches you, like he’s trying to engrave your face in his mind.

“Say it”, you whisper, comes out like a plea, because it is. “Say something. Anything. Please.”

Chan throws his head back and looks up to the ceiling like it holds all the answers, then closes his eyes for a second, as if the weight in your chest mirrored the one on his too. When he brings his eyes back to you, his eyes are glassy and he’s smiling, the kind of bittersweet smile that holds a hundred words and a thousand memories. It’s a green light, it’s a goodbye.

“I think,” he says, voice low and shaky, “you…” he stops and swallows a knot forming on his throat, “we already know what you have to do. What you are going to do, baby.”

The sound of the nickname on his lips is enough to make your throat close up and well up tears in your eyes. It hangs in the air too heavy. It feels too final. It is. You blink a couple of times, taking it in. Then drag your gaze up to him. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

His smile softens almost into a grimace and he sniffles, then for a moment, he looks so heartbreakingly resigned that it nearly undoes you completely. “Because it matters.” he says, “Because we had something, something real. Because you mattered here. You matter to me.”

You shake your head, squeezing your hands into fists in your lap. “Chan, don’t… Please don’t make it harder.”

But Chan pushes up off the floor and crosses the room to you anyway. He crouches down in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him in the cold AC air of the studio. Close enough that if you reached out, you could tangle your fingers in his hair like you’ve done countless times before. Close enough that if he asks you to stay, to try one more time, you would.

But he doesn’t ask. And you don’t offer either.

Instead, Chan cups your face so carefully you almost do, almost. His thumbs brush at your cheekbones like you are the most precious thing in this world, and to him, you are. His forehead presses against yours, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of both of your breathing, heavy, trembling holding on.

“You’re allowed to go,” he says, so quietly that it feels like he’s talking straight to your soul. “You’re allowed to want more, baby. More than I can give to you. You’re allowed to chase it. Even if it means leaving me behind.”

Your chest aches and tears roll down your cheeks and get lost on his fingertips. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know,” he breathes. “But you’ve already given up so much. You need to leave for you.”

You close your eyes. Because if you open them, you know you’ll break. Because if you open them, you’ll beg him to give you a reason to stay. But he already has. He is the reason. Because he loves you enough to let you go.

When you finally open your eyes, tears are rolling down Chan’s cheeks too. He tries to blink them away, still smiling with that same quiet, heartbreaking, shattered smile.

You whisper, “Will you still think of me?”

Chan huffs a laugh that’s almost a sob. “I’ll think of you every time I breathe, every time I close my eyes, for the rest of my life.”

He leans in, just enough to press kiss on your lips, soft and slow, like it holds all his love. It’s not desperate, it’s a goodbye. It’s a promise. “You’re going to do beautiful things, baby,” he says, his voice cracking a little. “I’ll be cheering for you. Always.”

You don’t say goodbye when you leave. You just carry him with you. In your ribs, in your blood, in every night sky you’ll see, in the spaces between every note you’ll ever sing.

Because sometimes love isn’t about staying. Sometimes it’s about giving someone the courage to fly even if it’s away from you. And tonight, Chan gave you that.

You walk out into the night with your head high, your heart heavy but free, and what you’ve always dreamed of finally waiting for you.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Kiss, Kiss, Fall In Love

Non-Idol Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Just a babygurl trying to show her bigboy her love.

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7

Est.Read Time: 8 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: Idk...I just had to, okay. I don't even know what this is. This song didn't even inspire the fic- but THANKS TO @edenesth I HAVE UNLOCKED A CORE MEMORY AND WHILE WRITING THIS NONSENSE I WAS LIKE- WAIT, THIS MATCHES THE VIBE

“What did we learn?” She asked, turning off the extra lights, leaving the little lamp on, turning to admire the way it complimented the bronze skin of his broad shirtless back, the faint droplets of sweat trailing down the curve of his spine- man, her man was a treat.

“That you're a bad spotter?” He groaned, tossing the shirt aside before kicking off his sweatpants and flopping down on the bed with a strange sound- well he was in pain so that's what we'll call it. Blinking at the ceiling he tried to imagine he wasn't in pain, but truth be told he had done this to himself, she did tell him it was too much weight and she did tell him not to remove his shirt since he was all sweaty and he'd get cramps. His girl would always be right, especially when it came to his well-being, he should give her a bit more credit for that-

“Next time, don’t act like a man-child and just listen to me.”

His eyes snapped open at the statement, turning his head to glare at her-

His girl was rude and annoying

And like hell he'd ever admit any of those nice things about her to her now.

“Now turn over,” she mumbled, tossing her bag on the other side of the bed, after taking something out of it, “The oil will help relieve the tension.” Showing him the oil she gestured for him to get on his belly so she could help him out.

His girl really was an angel.

With a quick pouty smile, he mumbled a thank you and turned to his side all excited and giddy, laying on his belly, arms extended, almost resembling a star. His form occupied most of the bed as he lay in the middle, the sheets crumpled up under him.

“Man, look at that cake.” She hummed, earning a giggle from him as she sat on his lower back, making sure to not put a lot of body weight or pressure, “Is there a reason why we discarded the pants, hmm?”

“Technically, I had to go shower….”

“Technically you were on your bed all sweaty,” Mumbling back she poured a generous amount of oil in her palm before flicking the cap close and tossing it aside, “And last I checked, you don't do that.”

“Gotta change the sheets anyway,” a sigh escaped him when he felt her hands on him, feeling her palms press onto his shoulders, applying the right amount of pressure before trailing down his back, “God…I love you.”

“You better, people pay money for this, you know?” With a joke she sighed, feeling his tense muscles under her fingertips, gently trying to massage out the knots the idiot had graciously created as soon as he realised taking his shirt off in an air-conditioned gym was smart, “I complained to the management about the AC but they said it was at a moderate temperature…I think we were sitting under a duct…” 

“Mhmm…” with a small hum he closed his eyes, a quick nap before he hit the shower wouldn't be a bad thing. So, the last thing he thought of before falling asleep was how he'd have to change the sheets after this, followed by a whispered, “Thank you.”

A small smile graced her lips as she felt him go lax under his touch, relishing the way he felt so safe and loved by her. Her heart fluttered at his little thank you, even though he didn't need to thank her. Especially when she was glad he was in pain right now, don't get her wrong, she hated how he was hurting, but she hated those hoes at the gym even more. From the moment he had taken off his shirt to check on his progress, their eyes were glued to him, hell, they didn't even look away when he had turned to look at her, flexing his arms at her, earning a giggle from her- HE WAS CLEARLY TAKEN.

That's exactly why she had asked him to put his shirt back on, people had no shame these days. The irony lay in the fact that her handsome man was dumb as hell, he had no idea that a group of girls, who usually never came this late to the gym, had been eying him like a bunch of rabid dogs. Initially she thought he had figured out, she had assumed he was either enjoying it or using it to make her jealous, which made her blood boil, and perhaps increased her strength momentarily, for the way he had called her out with a breathy “Babe…” had her glance down at him, shocked to see him admiring her, staring up at her in awe as he continued, “That’s some weight you're lifting…I think you're better than Jongho at this point.”

She had smiled at his compliment, a sense of relief coursing through her veins at the realisation that he had eyes only for her, but that didn't last long, as soon as she heard them giggle, she had gotten distracted and let go of the weight, leaving him struggling to lift it up, trying to ignore the burning in his spasming muscles. Yeah…that’s probably what caused the issue of the day. 

With a sigh she leaned back, admiring his sleeping form, shaking her head at the snoring man, clueless to what he'd do to her, how he'd make her burn green with jealousy. Usually when they'd go the gym would be empty, or rather the moment they'd enter the gym those girls would be leaving, at least that's how it was for almost a month. Moreover, Mingi and Jongho would accompany them, but since both of them had work tonight they couldn't come, but why is it that those little hyenas somehow changed their routine? Hmmm?

She placed her hands flat on the small of his back and thought about it, irritated by how she couldn't get them out of her head, irritated by how her idiot of a man was clueless to all this, irritated by the fact that they clearly knew he was in a relationship and if wearing booty shorts or sports bras was a way to get him to look at them- then she really had a problem with them.

She needed to tell them he was her’s, with that thought she pulled on the strap of her purse, pulling it closer and taking something out as she smiled at the sleeping man before eying his shoulder blades, “Good enough.”

.

“Sannie~ wake up…go shower…the water’s warm,” shaking him awake she gently patted his arm, moving so he could sit up properly. She smiled at her sleepy, clueless boy who pouted at her with droopy eyes, “Go, I'll change the sheets…gonna stay over tonight.” With a quick soft kiss, she pulled him up and patted his arm, “Hurry up, you gotta drop me home before going to work tomorrow.” With that she watched him stumble out of the room, mumbling some nonsense about ‘never letting her go’ followed by an ‘I think I need to retire’, though all she could focus on was the pretty art piece on his back, between his shoulder blades, till the middle of his spine, oh she did some good work.

With a sigh he walked out of the shower, a towel hanging low on his hips as he hummed a tune, closing the door behind him as he walked down the hall, only to stop at his bedroom door, slightly opening the door to peek into the cold dark room, the small night light illuminating the bundled up figure on his side of the bed, as a smile graced his features, his little princess worked so hard, she’d go to work, help him at the gym, take care of him- she deserved the world. Right now, however, he had to tend to his growling stomach, demanding his attention. The gentle ‘ding’ of the washing machine caught his ear, as he opened the fridge, oh so she washed the sheets too, huh?

“What’s that?” He turned to look at his flatmate, who was placing his bag on the small table, “On your back dude.”

“What is it?” San asked, walking over to the counter as he placed the almond milk carton on the counter, reaching for the cupboard to take out a glass, “Is it a scratch? I took my shirt off today at the gym, maybe- oh shit, it’s not a rash is it?” panicking he craned his neck back, assuming that he’d magically be able to see his back.

“Ohh…no, no, I think it’s a case of jealousy.” Mingi mused, taking out his phone and striding over to the man in the towel, “Though I’m impressed at the craftsmanship, that’s some detailing.” With that he pushed San to face the counter, telling him to hold still before an audible snap was heard.

San felt his eyes bulge out at the sight, a giant heart made out of little kisses- did she use some kind of permanent tint? How did this not wash off?

“Man, didn’t know girls could be this territorial.” Mingi snorted before opening the fridge, “How did you not know what she was doing?” Taking out last night’s leftovers he sat down on the opposite chair, staring at the man who had been staring at the picture, a pink hue tinting his cheek, almost as dark as the red kiss marks on his back.

“I was asleep…” he whispered, before looking up at Mingi with an unfamiliar fire in his eyes, “I’m never gonna wear a shirt again.”

Mingi only shook his head in disbelief, munching on his pizza slice as he looked at the man who was now sending himself the picture, before he joked, “Just, make sure to wear one for work tomorrow, Sannie.” He glanced at the man who tossed the phone back to him and shook his head, too delusional and high on endorphins right now to care as he giggled, “You’re just jealous you don’t get a girl who loves you,” turning around he showed him his back, pointing at his back with his  thumbs, “this much.”

With that he ran back to his room, ready to wake up his lover, ready to beg her to use the lip tint to decorate his lips, his face, wherever she wanted- only this time, he’d be awake enough to feel her love.

Taglist: @edenesth @skteezcursed @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

[bluesidez]

Bless Your Heart | 2. LOOKA HERE

It's your first full day on The Huntsman Farms and boy, is it busy.

tread lightly ⋆⋆⋆ humor and Miguel is very difficult once again, animals

word count ⋆⋆⋆ 8.7k (thank you @slushycoookie !!)

note on the fridge ⋆⋆⋆ This one was a long time coming, but I'm happy with the result! I hope y'all enjoy it!

last | next ℧ masrterlist ℧ AO3

The crickets in the grass provide a white noise for the night. The air conditioning fights against the stuffy room and you’re sprawled out across the bed like an exhausted child. The open-mouth, one foot hanging off the bed, dead weight kind of sleep.

It’s some of the best sleep of your life.

It didn’t even take you long to drift away. You were full, quenched, and bone-tired. There was no need to open your bags to grab a book nor scroll aimlessly on your phone. A hot shower and a glass of water did just the trick.

Somewhere, deep in your dreams, you knew you weren’t going to want to wake up so early. Not after yesterday.

You could almost cry.

The feeling of that frustration hits you more than you thought and your pillow is soaked as a result.

You shift, eyebrows pinching as your head turns, wiping your cheek against your shoulder. Your lips smack and you scratch your neck.

It didn’t take much for your breaths to slow again. The box AC kicked back on, humming over the night time.

Except, you don’t feel the air on your neck. You feel heat and a dip in the mattress. Your cheek is wet again. Your heart picks up and you hold your breath.

Blinking, the dark room phases in and you look to the ceiling.

A dog stares back at you, sniffing and shoving its cold nose into your face. As its snout moves about, drool follows. You don’t even know that you screamed until the light in your room comes on.

“You mutt, when I said wake her up, I didn’t mean kiss her. Get down!”

Gabriel’s voice booms through the room, scaring you half as bad as the droopy dog next to you.

The dog looks at him like it couldn’t stand the sight of him and then goes back to lick your face without a care in the world. You turn your head every which way, trying your best to push the dog away in your lagging state.

“Get!” Gabriel stomps his foot and claps, making the dog huff. “Down, Fido. Down!”

Fido bays like Gabriel is a stranger and you jump again. Gabriel crosses the room and stomps at him again, frightening the pup.

“I don’t know who you yellin’ at, but it ain’t me. Now, move,” he points at the door, “‘fore I have you sleeping with the hogs.”

Whining, the dog jumps down and leaves, Gabriel fussing right after him.

“All that noise at five in the morning like he’s lost his mind,” he turns to look at you, before quickly facing the wall. “I’m sorry about that. Nobody deserves to have that damn dog’s hot breath in their face at no time of day.”

Still trying to catch your bearings, you sit up in the bed. Your view is Gabriel’s backside tight in another pair of jeans with a belt holding them snug against his waist and a light brown t-shirt. This time, the belt was dark like wet wood with light roses and flowing petals etched around it.

“Why are you facing the wall?”

Your voice was a bit hoarse, still coming to back to life. Between his dog and his ass in your face, this morning was already too much to begin to register.

“I’m interrupting your beauty sleep! And uh, well I don’t wanna look at ya too long before you get ready for the day. Some of my aunties on my pa’s side make a big deal about seeing them before their curlers are out. Kinda old, but it’s just a habit I can’t shake.”

He side-steps, shuffling out of the room, elbows bent and hands stiff before him.

“Just come on out when you’re ready,” you see his profile, his eyes closed, “I’m fixin’ up something to eat.”

Watching him leave and go back to the kitchen, your eyes burn with exhaustion. Five in the morning was far too early to be dealing with any of this.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, the sound of your slides scraping across the wood floor steady. The house smells like bacon and grease. Gabriel is at the stove bouncing from skillet to pot with a towel over his shoulder.

The bathroom is small, with a black and white checkerboard tile and blue cabinet doors. You look in the mirror and become relived that Gabriel didn’t stare at you long.

Dried drool trails down your jaw, the neck of your t-shirt stretches across your collarbones, and your bonnet is barely holding on. Fido’s love was all on the other side of your face.

“Ugh,” you turn the faucet on to scrub away the muck. The cold water shocks you.

By the time you brush your teeth and freshen up, Gabriel is giving a one-man show by the stove. His shoulders are ticking away and his boot is twisting on the floor like his last name is Jackson. His hips circle from left to right and his jeans leave nothing to the imagination.

Fido gives you a tired look as he watches you from the floor next to the dining table.

“Don’t hurt ‘em, Gabriel,” you laugh. His energy is so focused on stirring something in a mug while he dances, he barely hears you.

With a quick change of clothes, a black hair tie to your hair, and sunscreen, you’re ready for the day.

You close your eyes, breathe in, and breathe out. Your chest rises and falls. Your fingers stretch and close. Whatever the day brings, you’ll be ready to take it on.

You smell smoke.

A scent like oil hitting the bottom of an oven and another like soured dough fills your nostrils. You come back to your senses and open your eyes to a foggier room.

Running out, you see Gabriel fanning at the stove with his towel, arm over his mouth as he coughs. Fido is alert and pacing around him.

“What happened?” you ask, going to open a window. “I leave for two seconds, and you’re trying to start fires!”

He opens the oven and grabs a pan. The blackest toast you’ve ever seen presents itself. Fido lays down to hide his nose and whines.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sighs. “I called myself trying to help you out and got in here and almost burnt the place down to the ground.”

“Well, for one, you have to watch bread. It’s on broil, which means this oven is too high for you to be in here performing.”

Gabriel awkwardly laughs as you switch the knobs on the control panel back.

“And the eye on this stove is far too red for just some bacon.”

“I made some eggs too!”

He points over to a plate on the counter. On it lies dry, colorless scrambled eggs and a sunny side up with dark edges.

“I didn’t know how you liked your eggs. I tried to do over easy, but, uh,” he takes a spatula and lifts the egg up. The bottom is as dark as the skillet. “That wouldn’t make a pretty picture, now would it?”

Stunned, you reach over and turn the stove off. The smell is slowly leaving the house, but the tiny kitchen is a mess.

One pan has eggs stuck to the edges, another has bacon blending into it, and containers of butter and jelly are scattered across the counter.

“Gabriel, do you, by chance, have any idea how to cook? Have you ever had to do such a thing?”

“You say that like there’s nothing left to munch on. A little burnt pieces never hurt anybody.”

You pick up the bacon and it snaps, crumbling like sand.

“This is not burnt. It’s not even blackened. Just black.”

Gabriel gasps.

You call Fido to you, the bloodhound perking up in excitement. You place the bacon in front of his nose, waiting as he sniffs and inspects.

Fido walks backwards, droopy eyes so concerned and confused.

“So bad, even the dog doesn’t want to eat it.”

“You ungrateful bastard,” Gabriel curls his lip to Fido who huffs and lays back down. “See if I give you some bones today.”

“How about you clean this up, I open up some more windows, and then I’ll make us something while you hand me what I need? That sound good?”

“Yeah, that sounds a lot better than whatever the hell I was trying to do.”

After a dish drying rack full of pans, a third of a carton of eggs, one sausage link, several pieces of bacon, and two slices cheese jelly toast later, you’ve set the kitchen straight with a hearty breakfast.

“Sure you don’t want any grits?” you ask Gabriel as you pour up some orange juice.

“No, you’ve done enough for me already, doll. Grits are more up Miguel’s alley and after yesterday’s stunt he don’t deserve nothing from you. Not even an ass to kiss.”

You snicker, happy that at least one of your bosses was on your side.

“Well,” you give him a cup and sit down. “Let’s dig in.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

Grabbing a fork, you watch with anticipation as he turns his plate. It was a simple breakfast, but sometimes the simplest things were the easiest to mess up.

He takes a bite of his eggs and you could have sworn his feet did a little dance.

“Is it good?”

“Is it good? I don’t think I’ll have to drive downtown to a diner anymore. I can just come to you.”

You clap your hands four times with glee and take a bite.

“Come over here too much and I’ll have to charge you.”

“Name your price and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

With a hand over your heart you gasp, “You really think I’d charge you?”

“I think you should. Making good food ain’t easy and you should never work for free. I ain’t nobody special. But speaking of special, what’s the jelly on your cheese toast about?”

“You’ve never had that before?”

“Never in my 34 years of life have I thought to mix dairy and fruit on toast.”

“Pastry puffs? Tarts? Pies?”

“My grandma on my pa’s side makes a mean apple pie.”

“Exactly. And if you add a scoop of ice cream on top, that would be?”

He smirks after he bites a piece of sausage, “Mixing dairy, fruit, and some kind of bread. You got me.”

“With your freshly opened mind, try this.” You take your toast with cheese and grape jelly in your hand then put a few pieces of bacon on one side. Afterward, you fold the bread over, creating a mini sandwich in your hand. “Sweet, savory, and filling. The perfect delicious quick breakfast.”

Gabriel turns over the toast in his hand and scans it with curiosity. For all the questioning he was doing, the giant bite he takes has you biting the inside your lip to hold in your laughter.

You see his eyes sparkle as his eyebrows scrunch up, looking between you and the halfway-gone sandwich.

“I might have to start up another house and open a Bed and Breakfast. Turn the Ranch into a goldmine.”

“Over a bacon sandwich?”

“Over a bacon sandwich,” Gabriel finishes the rest in one bite and sucks the jelly off of his thumb. He wipes it with a paper towel before he grabs a butter knife and another piece of toast.

“It’ll blow your mind even more if you throw some eggs on it.”

“You are just full of ideas.”

His voice sounds skeptical again, but when he scoops the yellow fluff onto the bread that same sparkle comes back tenfold.

Gabriel humming and commenting with each bite fills the space of the kitchen. Fido begs by your feet for food, sniffing the ground and looking up at you with big eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Gabriel snaps at him. “Door. Now.”

Fido looks at you like you can save him. You can only sigh through your nose at how expressive he is. He’s cuter when he’s not slobbering.

“I can’t help you buddy,” you say to him. He only budges when Gabriel gives his butt a nudge. He drags himself to the door, grunting as he stares at the floor.

You’re about to ask Gabriel if you can give Fido a piece of sausage when he starts to bark at the door.

His tail is wagging and you can make out a blurry figure through the foggy glass.

You opened the door and look up, not expecting a boy with a head of thick and wavy hair, dark eyes, a few moles, and the stance of an O’Hara.

“Gabriel! You didn’t tell me you had another brother!”

The tall boy’s eyebrow goes up and you wonder if he got that from Miguel.

Gabriel jumps up and laughs as if he won the lottery. His arm wraps around the boy’s shoulders and almost knocks him over pulling him inside.

“You hear that? I still got it!” He pops his collar and pokes his hip out, grin bright on his face.

The grimace that marks the boy’s features brings you back to yesterday’s Gabriel who watched you shovel dark, stinky gunk.

“You’re not old,” he brushes Gabriel’s hand off, “Just strange.”

You try to hold back your laugh, you really do, but the shock on Gabriel’s face causes the snort at the back of your nose to build into giggles.

Straightening up his shirt, Gabriel scoffs, “Don’t hate, appreciate.”

“Hate on what?”

Gabriel clears his throat and puts his arm back around the boy, “This is my greatest pride and joy, my flesh and blood, my little rascal, my superstar, the Number One Junior Cowboy in the land-”

“My name is Rafael and I’m his son, ma’am,” he interrupts Gabriel’s words, holding his hand out to shake. The accent in his voice was subtle compared to his father’s and his tone a lot less strong.

“You never let me finish my speeches.”

Shaking Rafael’s hand you look back and forth between the two. There were a lot of similarities. Still, one thing had your head tilted in confusion.

“Before you ask,” Rafael starts, “I’m 17, not younger, not older, but 17.”

He sounds so distressed about it you wonder how often his age is put into question. “Thank you for the confirmation. Your baby face is quite strong.”

Rafael opens his mouth then closes it abruptly, face unable to hide his shock.

“See Rafa,” Gabriel looks straight at his son, “not everybody thinks you’re grown like you think you’re grown. You’re still my baby bug.”

He squeezes Rafael’s face, cooing as he tried to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Stop,” Rafael glowers, putting his palm over Gabriel’s mouth and pushing it back. “I don’t know where your mouth has been and I just cleared my face up.”

Sighing, Gabriel turns to you, defeated.

“I remember when he used to cry when I had to leave for work. Now, I have to fight him just to hear ‘I love ya, Pops!’ Just breaking my little heart.”

Rafael copies his dad’s defeated look, whether he means to or not, and halts the sob story, “We need to practice today, and you’re in here running your mouth.”

“So, are you coming in here to fuss at me or do you really need me to practice?

“Both.”

“You hang around Miguel too much,” Gabriel grimaces. “You sound just like him.”

“And he doesn’t rub off on you enough. You should hang around him more.”

“He tried to hurt your poor pops yesterday and you’re sticking up for him.”

“What did you do?”

“I ain’t do nothing!”

It was like watching a tennis match seeing them go back and forth. A comedic tennis match. Whereas Gabriel was playful and silly, Rafael was serious and having none of it.

“Why do you always get like this when it’s time for rodeo prep?” Your ears pickup on Rafael’s words, but you can’t butt in. “And why does it smell like that in here?”

Gabriel looks like he’s about to smack him, but you save him, “Your daddy tried to kill us this morning with his cooking.”

Rafael laughs, “He’s banned from Mamá’s kitchen for life. I don’t know why he decided today was a good day to try to cook again.”

Turning him around, Gabriel lightly kicks at the back of Rafael’s knees, moving him out of the door.

“Go busy yourself instead of wasting this nice lady’s time.”

“You’re the one wasting her time,” Rafael laughs in response, smile from earlier getting bigger. You think he looks most like Gabriel this way, with his giggles showing his full set of teeth.

“Wait, Rafael. Before you go, do you want something to eat? I’ve got plenty of food left. That your daddy had no part in.”

“So is this how it’s going to be? Shooting a man while he’s already down?” Gabriel asks out loud in disbelief.

“Yes ma’am, I would love some,” Rafael bumps Gabriel out of the way to follow you back inside.

When he gets to the display of food, it’s like introducing a toddler to a candy store for the first time. One small bite of eggs turns into ten seconds of scarfing down food. You’ve never seen anything like it. You kindly show him the same dish you showed Gabriel and it was like déjà vu.

“Boy, you’re acting like I don’t feed you!” Gabriel huffed by the door.

“You don’t. Mamá does.”

“She ain’t feed you this morning?”

“She slept in today and Tío wanted us out on the field bright and early. Which reminds me, I’m really late. Gotta get back.”

He grabs three connected paper towels and gently asks you if he could take some more food which you happily agree too. He gathers the rest of the toast and bacon, making about seven more sandwiches. You mentally thank yourself for making way too much food.

“Alright, I gotta go! Thank you again for the food, ma’am.”

“It’s no problem. I’m happy you enjoyed it.”

Rafael shuffles out of the house, arms full of food. Gabriel shakes his head as he opens the screen door for him.

“Just big and greedy. Just like your damn uncle.”

His son only makes a face at him and carries on.

“Don’t have kids,” Gabriel has his arms crossed as he watches Rafael carefully walk on the path beside that stark-white house. “I was wild back then. Too wild.”

Raising an eyebrow, you look at his profile, “You sure you’re not still wild now?”

“I’m not foolin’ with you, Ms. Ranch Hand. Now c’mon before I have to hear Miguel’s mouth via child again.”

You thought you had seen all the ranch had to offer yesterday, but as you hold onto the top of Gabriel’s camo-colored golf cart for dear life, your eyes dart across the land in front of you in awe.

There were a few more houses on the land both big and small. Manicured grass covers the entire lot. Full gardens, still ponds, and hay bales in the midst of fields pass you by. Trees stand tall along the outskirts and that same bright red fence peeks out every now and then.

After each bump in the road, Gabriel cackles at you cutting off your curses. He chatters on and on about how everything was built from the ground up by the hands of his father’s family and enhanced with the knowledge of his mother’s family.

When you drive past his home, you take in the grandness of it, unable to hold back your gasp.

It was rustic, with irregular bricks switching from one shade to the next and lighter vertical shiplap on some walls. The dark wood arch of the front doors matched the tone of the roof. A long driveway led to the garage and forked off into a path leading to the porch.

As your eyes locked onto the home, he had a story of how it was once a shack ready to tell.

His granddad first made it to get him and his cousins out of his man cave.

“We got a hold of his poitín, like moonshine. That was the first time I’ve ever seen a man turn red from his back in under a second. And some of my cousins were no better. Red in the hair, redder in the face, drunk as a skunk.”

“I would have been mad too! Imagine wanting to unwind and you find your grandkids in your liquor cabinet. Y’all are so lucky that a shack is all you got.”

“Oh, but my pa was even more furious. That was the second longest mass of my life.”

“What was the first?”

He squinted through the sunlight, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. He’s so quiet, you think something is wrong. You turn to him and he smiles without reaching his eyes.

“When Pa found out he’d be a granddad before I could finish packing up for college. A semester’s worth of that…what’s it called? Raymond?”

“Ramen?”

“Yeah! That! A semester’s worth of that was stocked up in the shack. At least while my wife could still stomach it.”

“Mm, I think it’s for the best. They didn’t need you starting fires from the dorm microwaves.”

Gabriel breaks, pulling his laugh from his gut. The tightness from earlier subsides and you grin at him.

“You won’t let that go, will you?”

“Not a chance.”

The two of make it to your destination in one piece. Minus your heart ramming into your chest as Gabriel turns into the small parking lot.

There was a cherry red horse arena with a white roof and black trimmed doors. Three flags protruded from walls: American, Mexican, and Irish.

Gabriel hops out as best as he could, a grunt filling the air as he stands.“Let’s see if he’s working my son to death or not.”

With the engine cut, the closest sounds of nature are drowned out by the hooves of horses hitting the ground. As you get closer to the giant barn doors, Gabriel grins like it’s Tax Day.

“Ready for a preview of the best show in the world?”

You nod, squeezing your fingers in anticipation.

You can’t remember the last time you climbed flights of concrete and metal stairs to watch cowboys and cowgirls alike. Though, you do remember the feeling of standing up on the seat with stars in your eyes as your dad braced your legs from slipping away. The smell of leather, the sea of brown hats, the shouts of the crowd, the wind in the rider’s hair. It was always like magic to you.

Thinking of the well-mannered boy from this morning, you had no idea how he would appear riding around on a horse.

Gabriel pulls the door open, the wheels on the track making a loud screech.

With how he described it, yelling over the revving engine, you were expecting Rafael to damn near flip onto his horse from the side fences.

Stepping onto the sand and walking up to the barricade, it was quite the opposite.

If you had a nickel for every time you were greeted with the bottom of an O’Hara man, you’d have ten cents. Enough for one Big Slice Pop.

Miguel leaned over a fence with a dark denim button down and matching jeans adorning him. A black baseball cap with the ranch logo sits backwards on his head and one of his boots is hooked on the bottom part of the fence.

There were five kids saddled up on horses of different sizes walking slowly in a circle that he kept his eyes on. You recognize Rafael and Gabriella, but the others, you’ve never seen before.

Gabriella looks in your direction and waves frenziedly.

“Keep ‘em steady,” Miguel shouted across the room. “Focus, Gabriella!”

She huffs and puts her hands back on her hot pink reigns. Her horse is light brown with a blonde mane and cotton candy pink streaks. You think the name Flora was fitting for it.

“Never mind. He’s boring my kids to death,” Gabriel mumbles next to you. You both walk to the right side of arena.

“Kids?” Looking at him from your peripheral, you didn’t mean to sound so stunned, but you couldn’t help it.

He, on the other hand, was unmoved.

“Kids. I said that earlier, didn’t I?”

“You said nothing of the sort.”

“Hm. I could have sworn I did.”

Rafael shuffles by with his gold horse. Gabriel snickers at the tired look on his face and starts to tease him from the sidelines.

“I bet you wish you weren’t rushing in here now, huh?”

His son only rolls his eyes and steers his horse away. The pinch in his eyebrows doesn’t quiver as he finishes off a lap.

It’s not long before another child comes by mouthing ‘help me, please’ with all of his might. While Rafael looks like Gabriel with hints of someone else, this one was a carbon copy of him with a scar embedded in his cheek. Looking at him, you can picture the stories of mischief about a younger Gabriel a lot easier.

His dad only shrugged at him and gestured to keep riding.

“How long do they need to do this for?” you ask, watching a mini-Miguel come closer. He hardly blinks, little face focusing on his horse. “How long have they been doing this today, rather?”

“Good question. Usually they do warmups catered to their horses and their specific riding categories. This pony show is news to me.”

Gabriella reaches the gate and her puppy dog eyes are in tact.

“Tío, I’m hungry,”she pouts.

“Y’all didn’t eat yet?” Gabriel walks by the gate alongside her.

“Nuh uh! Daddy said we needed to do laps first. But I’m starving right now!”

Her uncle tries to keep a light face, but you can see the cracks in his mask through the way his lips tighten over his teeth.

“Tell you what, go put Flora in a stable and come on back,” Gabriel sighs. “In fact, all of y’all stop and take a break.”

He unlocks the gate and holds it until everyone is out and turning into the large side doors. It’s not until the last child leaves that Gabriel’s demeanor shifts from bubbly to blunt.

“Are you crazy?” Gabriel starts. He holds onto the top of the fence as he limps towards his brother. “Having these kids up here in the morning with no food?”

“I told you and her to be here early this morning.” Miguel stops to check his watch. “And if I’m not mistaken, I said to be here at seven on the dot. It’s nearly two hours later.”

“What does that have to do with the damn kids, Miguel?”

“We work as a team. Can’t start nothing without everybody here and accounted for. You already know that.”

Gabriel slams the gate, rattling the entire fence.

“I’m gonna walk away because you fixin’ to aggravate my nerves and I don’t need that this morning.”

“Good. There’s nothing to argue about.”

Gabriel waves his hand in frustration, grunting to sound Miguel out. He turns around, barely mustering a smile to you before he stomps off after the kids.

Left standing awkwardly, you place your hands in your back pockets for comfort.

Though you hadn’t known him long, you never thought you would see Gabriel get that upset. He seemed so happy-go-lucky in everything that he did, even in his sliver of sadness.

Still, you would be furious too if someone had your kids up and working without any type of fuel.

The culprit was currently walking towards you with his hands on his hips.

Miguel looks down at you, gaze lingering on your legs. His lips twitched as you shuffled a bit, folding your arms under your chest.

“You’re wearing shorts to work?”

Of all the things he could have said, that wasn’t what you were expecting.

Looking down, your mouth twists to the side in irritation before you can even stop it.

They weren’t exactly daisy dukes, though if you bend forward enough, they could be. The ripped hems hug your skin and don’t leave much to the imagination, but it was the first pair you grabbed.

You count to three, fix your face, and unfold your arms.

“It’s hot. Is that a problem?”

When you look back at him, his head tilts, brown eyes trailing back up to your face.

“It’s adequate.”

“Adequate?”

He takes his cap off, runs a hand through his hair, and places it back on. He breathes in and the white shirt under his jacket constricts.

“For a barbecue. Not cleaning stables.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t have the same pair of pants in five million colors,” you scoff. “What would you like me to do, sir?”

“I would like for you to be on time. This is your second strike.”

Biting back a comment about how your life was left in the hands of his accident prone brother and his drooping companion, you simply nod.

“I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“I don’t need you to try, I need you to act. It would be much more appreciated,” he walks a bit closer to you, your head rising up and up to meet his eyes. “Understood?”

“Understood. Heard loud and clear. Sir.”

His eyelids lower slightly and you wait for yet another thing to respond to. Yet, he stares at you for longer than necessary to get his point across.

“First things first, I need you to level out the arena.”

“Alright. And how do I do that?”

Miguel’s eyebrows pinch, his expression perturbed. You look to the lumpy sand mixture spread under light walls and a windowed roof then look back at him.

“You’re asking me…how to even out sand?”

“Is there no special procedure?”

“Will I have to tell you how to do everything moving forward?”

Sighing, you reach up to twist your braids over and over to pin them up into a bun. “The kids will be here practicing some more, right? I just want to make sure that everything is done properly. No harmed toe or hoof on behalf of me not knowing what I’m doing.”

Miguel stares again. This time, you really can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He walks off to the doors where the kids went, leaving you alone.

It’s not like the arena was a sandbox you claimed at the park. It was a stomping ground for an animal twice your size. Wasn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

Miguel comes back with a long, handmade contraption in his arms. It’s a piece of wood bolted to a wired fence with chain links dangling from it. He kicks open the gate and drops it, particles flying everywhere.

He dusts his hands off and turns to you. “Since you’re not tractor certified-”

“How would you know that?” The words fly out of you before you can stop them.

“Well, are you?”

Peeved, you look off as you shake your head. The last time you worked a standard shift was when your dad told you when to shift the gears of his truck on the ride to school. You weren’t even driving. You were 10.

“Right, like I said. Since you’re not tractor certified, you’re gonna take this here chain, and drag this harrow in a circle ‘round the arena. Simple.”

“Ok.” You step on the sand and take the chain from him. It’s rusty and dry, leaving residue on your fingers at every touch.

Miguel steps out of your way and back by the fence. He resumes the position he had earlier. Now, you feel like the show pony.

“Get to pullin’,” Miguel taps the fence twice. “We ain’t got all day.”

Taking your tongue between your teeth, you yank the chain, expecting it to move swiftly. When it yanks you back, the sound of metal clanking together echoes through the building, and you want the sand to create a funnel to pull you in.

How the hell did he even pick up this piece of junk?

You try again to no avail. The wood only budges about a centimeter. You curse under your breath.

“If that’s too much, I got a rake with your name on it,” Miguel offers. It feels like he’s right behind you and if you look at him now, you might blow a fuse.

Bending your knees, you tighten your grip and pull. The harrow moves slowly, leaving shaky lines in its wake.

It’s not until you’re finally turning your first corner five minutes later that Miguel calls out again.

“I got a yard rake and this hand harrow!”

Stubborn, you keep pulling, muttering a “fuck you,” using the distance to your advantage.

“What was that?” Miguel yells.

“I said no thank you! I got it.”

For thirty more minutes, you build up a sweat by dragging a gate around. Your face is dewy and your t-shirt is sticking to your armpits. When you make it back to where Miguel is standing, your back is drenched.

“Good,” he nods, looking at your work. “Now, you need to take it up the middle and run over it again.”

“What?”

“Look at it,” he bends his head to point at the arena floor. “It ain’t all even. Still bumpy. You gotta run it again.”

“Miguel.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. You purse your lips in response.

“Mr. O’Hara, this alone took half an hour.”

“Are you complaining right now? Do you not wanna work?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. You just stood over there and said the kids need to practice. By the time I finish, it’ll be time for them to eat again.”

“And that’s why punctuality is important. Right?”

You felt like that point was made yesterday when you were scrubbing manure out of the crevices of your shoes. Still, you pulled the chain and made your way down the center of the arena.

By the time the kids reenter the room, your hands are sore from trying to stop the chain from slipping from your grasp.

Rafael stands with a look of concern on his face as you inch past the fence.

“Why are you dragging that?”

“Ask your uncle.”

Miguel shrugs as Rafael looks at him, “I tried to give her the rake.”

Your eye twitches and you want to whack him with the wood you’re pulling. Too bad you couldn’t pick it up without some help.

“Are you ok?” Rafael lowers his voice, hand on Miguel’s shoulder. You don’t hear his answer over the metal.

The two of them continue talking with Miguel’s attention still on you. His nephew is shaking his head, hands moving dramatically. When you pause for a deep breath, you swear you can hear him tell Miguel to grow up.

The gate swings open and Rafael walks toward you. He taps your shoulder and grabs the chain.

“Hey, I’ll take it from here.”

“Did you guys ever eat?” you wipe some sweat from your jaw. “That’s more important. I can handle this much.”

“No, you’ve been doing this for too long and I’m scared you’re going to pass out. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’d rather me pass out than y’all.”

Rafael’s shoulders slump, “You’ve done enough, ma’am. Without you, we’d be riding on empty stomachs. Please, go sit and drink some water.”

His sincerity gets you to quit, your urge to prove Miguel wrong also subsides. Miguel couldn’t even look you in the eye as you go to sit on the ground.

The children peer at you from the doors and you try your best to smile. You think you look worn out, though.

Gabriella comes to you as you fan your neck, a cold water bottle in her hands.

“Here you go,” she squats in front of you, an arms-length away. “Sometimes when I’m hot, I shake it and put it on my forehead.”

Thanking her, you do just that, the touch of the plastic cooling you down.

Gabriella moves to sit with her legs scrunched up, cheek on her arm as she stares. That same sparkle in her eyes from yesterday afternoon is back.

“Ah,” you sigh, feeling shy. “Where are my manners? How are you feeling today, Gabriella?”

She perks up, timid demeanor unfolding like a flower waking up. She scooches closer until her purple and black cowgirl boots touch the tips of your docs.

“I’m doing good!”

“I’m happy you’re doing good.”

She starts to say something then stops, face unable to hide her emotion. Her button nose scrunches up in determination.

“Do you like popsicles?”

Snorting, you move the bottle to your neck, “I love popsicles.”

She looks back to Miguel who’s tying the harrow to the back of a muddy quad. You want to laugh in disbelief as Rafael hops on it to finish the job you started.

It wasn’t even a tractor.

Gabriella grabs your wrist. “Follow me.”

“Here,” she passes you a red freezer pop. You hadn’t had one in over a decade. “I saw Daddy put them in here yesterday. He doesn’t know that I saw him.”

You gasp dramatically, “Gabriella! Are you sneaky?”

“Nuh uh!” she hushes, “’m not sneaky. I’m smooth! Like Jade.”

Thinking about how she snuck past her family to get into your house yesterday, you’d have to agree.

“We gotta hurry and eat fast. I think I have to practice barrel racing after Manny.”

She holds out her pink popsicle like a glass to clink and you say cheers with a grin. The two of you lean on a deep freezer and eat quietly.

“Wanna know a secret?” Gabriella asks.

“Always!”

She beckons you closer and you lean down to hear.

“Sometimes, Daddy farts in his sleep.”

Whether the grimace or the laugh comes first, you’re gasping for air at Gabriella’s words. She giggles behind her hands next to you and it’s the cutest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Does he really?”

“Yeah! And he snores too loud. It wakes me up.”

The idea you have of him shifts a bit more. This tall, serious, and stern man has his flaws. And the bubble guts too, apparently.

“I’m sorry for what he made you do earlier. Usually, that’s a boy’s job.”

“Hey, you don’t need to say sorry for him,” you look at her and you want to give her a hug. She looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. “He might do things that I don’t understand, but that’s not your fault.”

“But it wasn’t right. He always tells me to be kind even when others aren’t kind to me.” She lowers her tone as best as she can, “Sunshine, it don’t cost a dime to be kind. You’ll be rich.”

You nod your head slowly. A broken clock was right twice a day.

“Well, how I see it, you’re doing right by listening to your dad. You’ve been kind enough to me for the both of you and then some. Still, I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Any job he throws at me, I’ll get it done. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“And here I thought y’all two were running ‘round with the cows.”

You and Gabriella jump, throwing the plastic behind you as Gabriel leans on the doorway.

“Gabriel! Aren’t we happy to see you, right Gabbie?”

“Right!”

“I bet y’all are,” he shakes his head and points behind him. “Get on back to the arena Baby Girl.”

She looks at you apologetically and runs off, her uncle patting her head as she zooms by.

“How you holdin’ up?” Gabriel asks.

“Possibly worst than you were when you left. Arguably the same. Gabriella was an angel though and improved my mood.”

“She tends to have that effect on others. And letting you in on the secret popsicle stash? She must really like you. She won’t even let poor Manny have a fourth of one.”

“You know, that’s the second time I’ve heard that name. Should we put a face to it?”

He bows, hat to his chest, “After you.”

The boys are standing up from tallest to shortest like a xylophone, per Gabriel’s request. One short shout of “round up!” had them lining up with begrudging steps.

“Where are those smiles at? Ain’t y’all happy to be a O’Hara?” Gabriel has his hands on his hips and the tone of a coach.

A chorus of yes’s echoes through the arena and Gabriel claps loudly.

“Good! That’s what I like to hear.”

He walks past them like a colonel, tapping shoulders and lifting chins. Behind you, Miguel sighs and throws a saddle over the fence.

“This is Rafael, you met him this morning. My oldest, my flesh and blood, my little rascal, my superstar, the Best Junior Cowboy in the land-”

“So, this morning was a bit,” you cut in.

Gabriel stamps his boot in the ground, “Dammit, I just can’t finish boasting ‘bout my child, can I?”

“My fault. Continue.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the Best Junior Cowboy in the land and soon to be the best Cowboy in the land.”

“We don’t know that,” Rafael hums.

“Yes, the hell we do, boy. Don’t start. Tighten up.”

Rafael exhales through his nose as his father steps past him.

“This is Gage, my second oldest, but most of the time, we call him Junior.”

You watch him shift his stance, thumbs hooked through his belt loops and crocodile boots peaking out from under his jeans. The smile he sported look just like Gabriel’s when he told you he beat Miguel in a mud truck race.

Looking between Gage and Rafael, a question forms.

“Twins?”

“Irish,” Gabriel, Rafael, and Gage respond in unison.

“That makes sense.”

Gabriel looks at his son up and down as he poses. “I thought I told you not to wear them boots out here. All you’re ‘bout to do is tear ‘em up.”

“Not if your dog gets a hold of ‘em, first! I tried to get ‘em out his mouth, but he thought I was playin’ and tugged for twenty minutes.”

Rafael’s shoulders shook as he laughed and Gage elbowed him in the stomach in retaliation.

“And I told you stop leaving your shoes wherever you please. You’re not the only one that lives in that house.”

You watched the two of them fuss and the nickname Junior became more and more accurate. Gabriel was arguing with himself.

“Ok, ok, we get it. Don’t leave my shoes on the floor. When do we to get to the part where you list all of my accolades?” Gage grins at his father, teeth sparkling in the same way.

It’s your turn to snicker as Gabriel smacks the back of his head. His son groans loudly and ruffles his hair.

“It took me all morning to do this! I woke up extra early!”

“Son, you look the same as any other day.”

“Exactly. Perfect.”

Tired, Gabriel turns to you, “As you can see, a handful. He has the potential to be the best bronc rider if he wasn’t so worried ‘bout lookin’ in the damn mirror all the time.”

“Clothes make the man. Didn’t you teach me that?” Gage squints at his father. He turns to smile at you, “I like your shorts, for one.”

You start to thank him when two smacks on his head from Gabriel and Rafael stop you. Miguel tells him to watch his mouth from the chair he pulled up by the wall. You look to him and his leg crossed with a shaking foot, a frown on his face. Gabriella is sprawled out over his lap pretending to fly.

“Moving on,” Gabriel gives Gage a knowing look to which he avoids. “This is Ricardo. He’ll be the first cowboy with a Michelin star.”

“A cowboy already has two, Pa,” Ricardo says.

He looks embarrassed as Gabriel takes a thumb and smooths out his thick eyebrows. His auburn hair and his heart-shaped birthmark makes him stand out from his siblings.

“You’ll have ten!”

“They only go up to three.”

“Are you questioning me?”

Huffing, Ricardo shook his head as Gabriel steps past.

“Last, but not least, is my prodigy, Manuel.”

You looked down to see a child who you thought was Miguel’s. Suddenly, it’s like you’re standing outside with your suitcase and your hand out again.

“It’s nice to nice to meet you ma’am,” his little voice even reminds you of his uncle. His attitude is miles better.

“It’s lovely to meet you, too.”

Looking at them all like this, you could see Gabriel’s influence. Whether it’s the personality, the playfulness, the talent, or the entire person, his boys were parts of him.

He took his boys into his arms, half of them reluctant, half of them unbothered.

“These are my kiddos. You’ll see them running around more often than not.”

You repeat their names again and introduce yourself with hopes to getting to know them better.

Gabriel begins another speech, going on and on about the importance of family and the pride of the ranch.

Miguel cuts him off with Gabriella latched onto his back like a koala.

“This is great. Fantastic even. I needed this speech this morning when you were off doing God knows what. Right now though, the boys need to practice for at least 15 minutes each.”

“Fifteen minutes?” Gage wails.

“Make it 30. You’re up first. Go get Prince ready.”

Gage looks from his uncle to his dad in disbelief.

“Gotta fight for those accolades, son.”

“It’s cool,” Gage says as he grins at you. “I get to show off my skills.”

“Make it 45 and a lap ‘round the arena.”

His second eldest nephew shrieks as Rafael kicks him in the shin.

Miguel addresses the rest of his nephews with sharp snaps. “Y’all go stretch. We don’t want any more accidents like the hot shot over here.”

“I can’t win for losing,” Gabriel grumbles.

With how Miguel was acting, you were worried that the boys would be here all night. If you took in Rafael’s composure, this seemed like a normal occurrence. If you considered Gage’s complaints, this seemed like unnecessary torture.

Be that as it may, that practice wasn’t for nothing.

Gabriel’s boasting made sense as you watched each of his boys rip and run with their stallions. Although Miguel and Gabriel had a note after each pull of the reign or spin of the lasso, you were truly awed.

To Rafael riding with one foot in a stirrup to swiftly slide on the ground to Ricardo tying knots in under 10 seconds to Manuel catching a calf like it’s nothing.

Even as Gage almost busts his butt hopping off his horse, you want to clap.

“I was ‘posed to do that!” he’s wiping his hands down his jeans as he reassures you.

“No, you weren’t,” Miguel writes on the clipboard he’s been holding since practice began. “Go get the balance board.”

As the boys finish up, they start to file in next to you on metal folding chairs, the creaks loud under the roof. The hats they wore placed securely in their laps and they all look exhausted.

The last to practice was Gabriella.

She hopped on Flora with spunk, rubbing the horse’s neck and talking to her.

“Ya ready, Sunshine?” Miguel has a timer in his hand.

“Yeah!”

When he says go, nothing could have prepared you for the switch. Gabriella is like a swirl of pinks and lilacs as she takes off, turning and dodging barrels with ease. Two laps feels like two seconds as she runs off with Flora down the arena.

“What’s the time?” Gabriel asks, leaning forward.

Miguel looks at him, “16.923.”

He jumps up with a shout. “That’s my baby girl!”

Gabriella lets out a shriek as she steps down from Flora. She runs to Miguel who drops the board and swings her up in his arms.

“Muy bien, mija,” he kisses her cheeks with a soft smile. “That was your best score yet.”

“Did ya see? I held on tight like you said! And, and, and I kept my pinkie toe in the stirrup!”

“I know, I know! I saw you. We gotta work on that left barrel turn, though.”

Gabriella groans and bends backward like she’s about to fall out of his arms. He’s quick to catch her, face unmoving as if he’s used to that move.

It was the most gentle you’ve seen him all day.

“Give her some slack,” Gabriel walks towards them. “They’ve all worked hard today and I’m ready to eat. And I’m tired.”

At the thought of food, his sons hopped up from their seats, heading to the stables to prep to leave.

“How you tired when you just sat there all day?”

“Speaking of eating,” Gabriel grins at his phone with a fire in his eyes. “Mami is ready for me to come on home.”

Miguel pushes Gabriel’s face out of his own with disgust. He points to his daughter still in his arms. “Time and place.”

“Tío, can Tee Tee do my hair tomorrow?”

Gabriel pushes her hair back and gives her a sad look.

“I’m not sure Baby Girl, she hasn’t been feeling too dandy today. This month has been hard on her.”

Her eyelashes flutter sadly and Gabriel becomes a puddle.

“H-how ‘bout I do it, huh? What d’ya think ‘bout that?”

“The last time you did it, you took a chunk out.”

Your jaw drops in horror and Gabriella’s bottom lip wobbles.

“That was an accident, Gabbie. You know I didn’t mean it! W-what about your daddy? He can do it!”

“He brushes my hair too hard! It hurts!”

Miguel bounces her a bit, trying to calm her down. “Sunshine, I’ll just have to do it in a pigtail like always. You’re gonna be wearing a helmet. You don’t need to worry ‘bout all that. ”

Her dad might as well have told her that she couldn’t wear pink anymore because she’s start sobbing like a baby. Gabriel panics and pulls her from Miguel’s arms trying to shush her.

Manuel peeks around the corner with a frown, pecan eyes finding Gabriella in tears.

Miguel rubs her back, line in his forehead becoming more prominent.

Taking a tiny step, you went out on a limb.

“I could do her hair. If you don’t mind. If she’s comfortable.”

The three of them look at you and the air around Gabriel shifts.

“Could you really?”

“Yeah! It wouldn’t be hard at all.”

“I could have it like yours?” Gabriella’s voice wobbles and you nod your head.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You look to Miguel who regards you with a displeasure worse than this morning, more severe than yesterday.

“No.”

The sun was lower, leaving rays to slant across the gray floors. His mouth was cast in a shadow, but his eyes read clear.

“But Daddy-"

“I said no, Gabriella.”

She looks at her father with uncertainty, chest shaking with every breath she took. She writhes, making Gabriel quickly place her on the ground, then she runs off. Manuel follows after her, calling her name.

Gabriel sighs, “Really, Miguel?”

“Really. Go get her horse, since you feel like you run shit.”

“The girl’s asking for something small and we have someone here to help out. We have the means to give it to her.”

“And I didn’t ask for any goddamn help,” he points a finger to Gabriel’s chest. “Not with this farm, not with my work, and for damn sure, not with my own child.”

He brushes past his brother, shoulders knocking into his. When he marches towards you, your nails dig into your palms.

Leaning down, he levels himself with you and blocks the light from your view. “That’s strike three. I want you out of here come the morning.”

You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you're watching his figure walk beyond where the light could touch.

dividers by ⋆⋆⋆ saradika + rookthornesartistry 💚

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[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (9/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

Your sense of smell is getting duller. At least, that’s what you think as you awaken to the sound of snoring in your ear and Suguru’s breathing on your shoulder. You can’t seem to catch the whiffs of the spiciness that once permeated the Geto home, or how your Mama used to smell like soft, warm honey as well anymore.

It’s frustrating— Now that everybody sometimes smells like their detergent; or like nothing. You can’t really associate anybody with any foods anymore.

It’s sad.

But your eyesight is still there, you suppose. So you can turn your head to the side to catch how rays of sunlight were flittering in through those fancy white curtains Suguru has.

There were no more bright oranges in the sky, no more swirly light pinks and fluffy yellows that had their rays hitting your eyes and making you squint at the light that Mama had warned you countless times not to stare directly at.

Luckily for her, what’s left were the beginnings of a dark horizon and the whirring of Suguru’s AC as you stare up at his ceiling, eyes steadily trying to get used to the spots of black and the dry feeling in your mouth.

One thing about taking naps in the late afternoon is that your body only ever seems to awaken just in time to miss the sunset that you so dearly love.

Your hand twitches awake as you experimentally move your leg, only to find a drooling Gojo Satoru asleep atop of you as you blink blearily, his limbs thrown over and onto you like some sort of pseudo-hug.

If you counted how his arms and legs are clinging onto you much like a koala to a tree branch as a hug, anyway. You can’t exactly move a lot right now.

“Satoru… You’re heavy…”

No response. Just his snores and even more drool on your shirt as you squeeze Suguru’s sleeping hand.

“Suguru…?” A grunt and a furrow of his brow— That relaxes soon after. He’s not awake either.

It’s also at this time of day that you wonder what you were doing beforehand. You’re pretty sure you’re on Suguru’s bed, pretty sure the side of your face feels kind of sore from being pressed against the pillow for too long and your fingers stiff from subconsciously gripping onto Suguru’s shirt.

Your brain is slowly starting to work again, you think.

S… Hoko— Left a while back, you’re pretty sure. Left a bit after she got a got a call on her cellphone that you were so intrigued by whilst she slowly taught you how to call a number on it.

She really is super cool.

If you had to say, had to tell yourself something to wake your sleepy brain up and to forget how dry your mouth feels— You’d probably start thinking about your friends to count your blessings.

Because that’s already 3 blessings in total. That’s not a lot, but you’re not counting the plenty of others that you’re sure you have.

Ieiri Shoko was someone almost comparable to Gojo Satoru. Almost— Because there just isn’t anyone out there you know of who can match his level when it comes to wealth and social standing and power.

(And Shoko only comes close because she was the only other rich person you knew of. Are rich people really rare or do you just know too few?)

Gojo Satoru truly had it all. And if anyone could be pitted evenly against him; excluding standings of class and economic prowess, the answer immediately reroutes and makes the straightest beeline for Geto Suguru.

You’re not rich. You’re not exceedingly smart or pretty or have Satoru’s strangely large appetite for sweets. You don’t even have Suguru’s strange likability despite how skewed of a personality he can tend to have.

Where do you stand, really?

“Does it even matter?” His mouth opens far too wide, stretched into one of his lazy yawns as he stands idly, a singular duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, his green eyes squinting at your scrutinizing face.

“If you think too much your puny brain’s gonna explode.”

“But if I think too little I’ll end up with an empty head.”

“You sure ya even got anythin’ in it?”

So you pout and glare, much to his amusement and to your chagrin as your cheeks huff up, his too big hand messes with the top of your head with a chesty laugh.

“See ya ‘round, kid.”

It was a good few years with him, you think. And your teacher was definitely someone who kept his promises, even if he had to go super, super far away for his adult adventures.

(It was precedented. He always was an almost adult, anyway.)

“Don’t forget to bring Saya-chan around to show her the world.” You plop your precious, precious Ito Saya merchandise onto his open palm, her pretty face giving you memories of all the times she had given you news about the weather— Before transitioning to doing your favourite astrology tellings.

There was even an Ito Saya dehumidifier that she had personally voiced. Oh to hear your Saya-tan greet you every morning with her voice…!Oh, but unfortunately for you, the stars were not aligned in your favour that day. With 1 too many 0s on the price tag for your liking as you stared at the advertisement— And at the coins you had collected in your little shoebox.

Nope.

So you settle for your super precious ultra deluxe Ito Saya headshot from the nearby supermarket collaboration that Mama got by paying an extra ¥300 for a blind box keychain.

Fate was kind. For it was written in the stars when you so carefully ripped off the plastic to find your precious Saya-tan’s face staring right back at you.

It turned into your most precious possession, but even someone as tough and strong as your teacher needed something for good luck.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Saya-chan.” Duh. Even Satoru knows her, and all he ever watches is Digimon and the magical girl shows you excitedly ask him and Suguru to join you for.

And there he went— Face barely fighting back an almost constipated grimace, before it morphed into one of resigned defeat as his fingers closed around the trinket in his palm.

“…right. I’ll dedicate a smoke to ‘er or something.”

“Saya-chan thinks smoking is bad for the body.”

So much for trying to be nice to you. So can you really blame him when he’s squatting down to your height to pull at your cheeks and ruffle your hair until the cute pigtails your Mama did up for you fell apart?

“Beggars don’t get to be choosers, you brat.”

Someone who really wasn’t like you, no matter how hard you tried to be him. So it really glares what your super duper knowledgeable teacher had said—

Does it really matter? When you let out a yawn and finally muster enough strength to push the snack-loving boy off of you and release Suguru’s death grip on the sleeve of your shirt, you don’t contemplate for long. It’s not like you have enough time to, if you want to catch the final rays of the fading light of today.

The sun always sets all too soon for your liking.

(“I’ll come visit you one day when I’m older.”

“Heh. If I’m not dead by then, why not?”)

——

When you all turned 10, it was like stepping into a pair of brand new shoes that you didn’t quite like the feeling of, yet didn’t quite dislike. The familiar uncomfortableness of something you’re not used to, and the uncertainty that came with it.

It’s weird having a 2 digit age.

There’s rain outside, cold and an overcast sky that made you huff into your mittens because it was just that cold, your cheeks feeling like they were kissed one too many times by Geto-mama as you shiver and make the short walk towards Suguru’s house.

(Mama had to bundle you up like this instead of just letting you run over. She’s always right, it seems. It’s really cold today.)

“Mama says I have to start thinking about what middle school I wanna go to.” It’s said through your muffler as you hurriedly unwrap it from around your neck, clumsy fingers fumbling with the buttons of your coat as you feel Suguru’s hands pat off snow from your head.

“Did you have any in mind?”

“Nope.” And once you’re finally free from your winter bindings, you just can’t help but lean forwards, until the cold socks of your feet were sliding back against the polished wood of his home, until your body lost its sense of gravity and you no longer have any control— Just to let your dear friend catch you in a trust fall, of course.

“You’ll hurt yourself one day, you know?”

“No,” You cuddle back against his warmth, taking advantage of your position to absorb every ounce of warmth he could possibly give to you. “You would never let me fall.”

Your future doesn’t really cross your mind, not when you’re at this tender age.

“Can I just go to the same school as you, Suguru?” It’s easier than picking for yourself. Easier than going around and looking at each nearby middle school 1 by 1 with Mama at your side or picking up hearsay from your classmates.

And it made you happy. So, why not?

“Hmm…” He’s still holding onto you, shivering only slightly from how cold you felt as you rub his back and feel the tickle of his hair on your nose.

“If you can get your grades up, sure.”

Wah… You think you feel defeated now, letting out a sigh and slumping until you can feel how the poor boy was struggling to hold you up. Even if he did have extra martial arts practice, you’re both still only kids after all.

“It’s okay— Hngh— To stay as you are.” He’s starting to pull you along, heaving slightly as you entrust him with full control of your entire physical being, letting your socked feet drag against the smooth wooden planks as he carefully walks backwards with you in tow. “I’ll like you as whatever you want to be.”

(“I wanna be a hero.”

“You already are one.”)

“Oh, don’t you both just look so darling!” Her hands are too preoccupied with squeezing each of your cheeks, the heavy blanket she had set over the both of you making you feel fuzzy inside.

And sleepy. Really sleepy.

“I just want to keep you both wrapped like this forever!”

(“Mama, please…!”

“Oh, yes, yes you fussy child.” She leans down to kiss his forehead as she pats your head and sneaks in a final squeeze of your cheek.

“Take your time, my cute little couple!”)

You take another satisfying sip from your cup, liquid flowing down your throat and into the cozy warmth of your tummy. Heated porcelain thaws your freezing hands and the blanket wrapped around the both of you making you want to doze off and drift off into sleep.

(You swore you just slept, though. Suguru’s house is just way too relaxing.)

“Geto-mama should be careful when she tells you you should be a couple with someone.” That should be a no brainer as you impart your oh so wise knowledge onto your friend. “You can’t just marry anybody, okay?”

It’ll be bad if he marries someone just cause Geto-mama was too friendly. Because trusting people comes easily to her zodiac sign, so she should throw more caution to the wind.

“Oh, and because picking a partner for marriage is hard. Picking just anybody Geto-mama likes will end up with you in pain.”

And you just don’t like seeing him upset.

You catch the hot blush on his face, searing red on his cheeks as he avoids eye contact and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I-It’s fine. She just gets too excited whenever you want to come over by yourself.”

Huh. Geto-mama is quite the hopeless romantic after all. You’ve seen how hard she swoons whenever Geto-papa comes home with a wide grin and a bouquet overflowing with flowers despite being in the middle of winter.

“My Mama also says marriage isn’t always a good thing like on TV, though.” The pretty Omegas dressed to the nines in flowy white or handsome black suits, the flowers, the music, the red carpets… Honestly, if it isn’t all that good, why do people try to portray it like that? Is it really that hard to show something as it is?

So ambiguous.

“Oh. Mama also says it’s good if I can find someone who I like a lot, is pretty and who lives close by cause she’d be sad if I moved too far.”

That’s already too many prerequisites, you think. Does Mama expect someone that perfect to fall out of the sky? Ito Saya just doesn’t live in your prefecture. Not counting those, you also need someone with— Uhm… Com-pact-ability?

(Whatever that means. They always talk about it on your star sign channel, so you usually tune it out while waiting for the daily luck reports.)

Maybe it would be okay if they just liked you as is? You think you can learn to like them if they already like you. Oh, but if you already have a laundry list of things then maybe you should try those arranged marriage meetings you always see advertised on late night TV when Mama has to work overtime—

“How about me?” Quiet, gentle like a ripple against the surface of a pond. Geto Suguru always talks so soft, speaks with such an endearing tone that it offsets the stuff you catch him saying sometimes. “I fit your Mama’s requirements, no?”

But it’s a nice voice, nonetheless.

“Hmm…” If you weigh the pros of Geto-mama and Geto-papa already knowing your Mama, minus off the fact that you wouldn’t have to go through the awkward ‘meet the parents’ phase they always discuss on the Couple channel that you swear gets played too much… If you calculate the short little walk from your house to his house— “I guess I wouldn’t mind if it’s with you, Suguru.”

(“Plus, you’re really pretty. You would look like my Saya-chan if you had longer hair and added all the pretty curls and ribbons she has.”

“…right. Let’s pick a middle school that allows boys to have long hair then.”)

——

“I don’t like sweets.” Shoko looks bleak and blank as she stares down at the pudding, fingers momentarily stopping midway through the flip of her magazine. “I think my maids like them, though.”

…what? You’re flabberghasted, heartbroken, perplexed and going through perhaps, every motion possible as you slowly, slowly try to process her words.

How can anybody dislike sweets?

She stares. Blinks at your pouting, downcast expression and the unwillingness to comprehend that there were people out there who didn’t like sweet things.

So she sighs. Internally.

“It’s because…” Her eyes break contact with yours as they flicker around her surroundings in search of a good excuse. “They always serve too much. So I can’t finish ‘em.”

“Then you can share mine!”

That was how you hooked an Ieiri to spend time with you at the infamous playground, using plastic spoons to shovel your much more affordable 3-pack pudding cups into your mouths.

(At least she isn’t complaining that it wasn’t the super expensive ultra deluxe cream filled ones that Satoru likes to eat.)

“Then they told me they were both busy.” You pout as Shoko flips through another page on her magazine, spoon in her mouth and hanging from her lips.

“Huh.”

“It’s okay, though! You’re my friend too so I wanna hang out with you lots and lots and lots.”

It’s no skin off her back to be together with you, not at all a bother in her eyes to hang out beside you. Though, something has been bothering her. Something that didn’t involve you— Even if it entirely did at the same time.

It’s odd, really. You possess so much of it, yet were involved so little in its affairs.

“(name).” She has a look in her eye that you can’t really discern, a shine in her pupils that usually hinted at something more.

(You would know. She does that whenever she wants to show you a brand new 2-page spread of Ito Saya you’ve never seen before on one of her magazines.)

“Do you know why Gojo and I had to get engaged?” It’s dismissive, uncaring and almost like she was just throwing it out there and into the air.

Like she was asking another question completely different to what she just said.

“No…?” You just never really bothered to pry further, never really bothered to involve yourself in things that others don’t want you in. Therefore, it’s not your business to stick your nose in. Because everyone has their own secrets, right? They’ll tell you only if they really want to. A good lesson for everyone to learn.

And she furrows her pretty brows, her expression disbelieving and like it was in… Shock? You think? Honestly, it’s hard to tell her disgusted and surprised reactions apart.

“So… You don’t know what they’ve been doing all this time?”

“…no?”

She squints and takes in a breath, using one of her dainty hands to cover an eye to stare harder, even rubbing them before finally blinking once more.

“You have— More than enough though.” She waves her hand in the air, glaring at the empty space around you as you mimic her actions, before her hand grabs yours.

“They really didn’t tell you?”

Now you’re just sorely confused as you tilt your head to the side, head itching with confusion and your lips pursed as you try to think of every possible reason. Though, you think you’re going to get a headache if she runs anymore circles around you.

“Am I… Supposed to know?”

Then she chuckles, letting her expression flit into a smug grin and eyes that implored you to explore that unfamiliar glint more. Your hand in hers felt somehow all the more compelling, yet all the more wrong as you blink.

“So I’ll be your first, then.”

You’ve been walking for a while now… You think. In the complete opposite direction from school, from Satoru’s home, from the playground… Before you realized you haven’t exactly asked about your destination.

“I can’t attack anything so we gotta stay clear from a lot of stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” There’s barely hidden excitement and anticipation in your voice, a hop in your step as you obediently follow along. “Where are we going?”

“Mm… Far away from here, I guess.”

“Oh. Cool.” You both continue to hold hands as you pass 1 house, 2 houses, 3… There wasn’t really a direct answer despite your question. But at the same time, Shoko has never really been the best at explaining things.

“Then this part will become 21, then once you do some more math stuff you’ll get the answer like this.” Her pencil leaves your paper, neat handwriting and the final answer to the equation staring back at you as you blink at it.

“…huh?”

“It’s cause,” She squints up at the sky briefly, scratching at her hair to think a little bit more with a troubled expression on her face, before her head tilts back down to look at you. “The Gojo estate is too big and near and… Stuff. So the energy scares them off.”

“…?”

“Y’know. Like the bad stuff.” She pauses, looking you right in the eye before she points at the bleary sky. “Did you really never see how different that looks?”

So your eyes follow, trail after her finger that was pointed up and above your heads. At the sky you’re used to seeing, at the sun that was far from setting. And you realize… It looks the exact same way it always had been.

“Doesn’t it always look like that?”

And she contemplates, her hand now on her chin as her eyes close and her lips pout that little bit.

“Maybe you need glasses.”

Huh. Not a bad solution if you can’t see exactly what she was looking at, but… “Glasses are expensive. I don’t think I can ask Mama for them.”

Oh.

Ieiri Shoko is lots of things, and she is especially one who just wasn’t all that used to interacting with someone from a widely different social class just yet. So when she hears you say something like that… It makes the words that were on the tip of her tongue lose all direction.

“Right. Sorry.”

You don’t really get it at all, don’t get why she always goes quiet and looks away when at the mention of such things. It’s not like you’re embarrassed or ashamed of it— So you choose to shrug it off, to trust her as you both walk and walk, in little bits of chatter and filler conversation that you can’t help but find enjoyment in.

(“Maybe I’ll get you a pair as a gift.” If a certain someone didn’t beat her to it, that is.

“But I heard people need their eyes checked for ‘em. How are you gonna get my eye results?”

“Hmm… Want some snacks instead, then?”

“Yay.”

At least she tries her best to explain stuff more now.)

“Okay. Here.” It’s before an alleyway quite a bit further from where you’re used to venturing. Far from any of the usual buildings that you’re used to seeing, and certainly— Really dark and scary and much more ominous.

Her dainty finger points forward, points with an ascertainy that you just can’t doubt, even if you think she was pulling your leg. “What do you see?”

“A… Really ugly rat?” You feel bad for calling it that, but it really is what it is. Tendrils of black seem to emanate from it, beady blue eyes and a grotesque snout that looked like it was collapsing in on itself upon a body of black goo that tried to shape itself into limbs.

So you can see it.

“It looks like Gojo, doesn’t it?”

“Satoru’s…” You furrow your brows and frown, intently watching the almost pitiful thing as it cries out. “Way cuter than that.”

The creature gurgles at the both of you, voice distorted and squeamish, bubbles appearing upon its deformed body as it slides, twitches towards the both of you.

“That’s a cursed spirit, by the way. A really weak one.”

“Cursed… Spirit?”

“Mhm.” She moves forward, standing by your side and watching the newly introduced, slow-moving ball of black before the both of you. “It’s made of negative emotions and other bad stuff. That’s why it looks like that.”

“Do the stronger ones usually look uglier?”

“I dunno. My mama doesn’t let me go on missions yet. Gojo probably has been on some, though.”

That sounds… Dangerous. Is that why your friends have been disappearing so often lately? They’re not risking their lives out there, are they? Wait, does it mean Suguru can see them too? But how? You’re pretty sure you’ve been with them all your life, so how—

“It’s approaching you.”

“Ah…” It snaps you out of your rambles, makes your head tilt downward to be facing the disgusting thing now that it was only a few meters away.

“Don’t touch it, or get too close to it. It only wants to eat cursed energy.” She pulls you back when it inches too close for her liking. “And they’ll try to kill you, too.”

Maybe you both should’ve seen it coming, should’ve taken more caution— But even she didn’t notice how the cursed spirit was charging up a ball of vile, concentrated energy, didn’t see how it aimed right at you.

“Ah…” You barely even have a reaction, not even when it causes your blood to splatter on the ground and for the cursed spirit to shoot towards you, goo spreading and extending to expose gnashed teeth and a torn tongue that kept licking up the droplets of your blood from the ground.

It’s when your eyes widen and you both see the way it had cut into the skin of your arm, leaving a thin, crude gash that Ieiri Shoko thinks she sees red, thinks she doesn’t like the idea of something so ugly touching you.

And she stomps, and stomps— You see blood splatter and hear shrieks of a scream that sounded far too human for it to just a simple rodent— And yet, Shoko remains undisturbed throughout.

“It’s… Dead.”

Gone. Deceased. Battered into a puddle of its own guts.

“Mhm. It’ll come back after a few days though, since I can’t exorcise it.” But she’ll get someone from her family to do it later, anyway.

“It… Made your dress dirty, Shoko.” Maybe any other ordinary kid would have reacted differently, would have screamed and cried for their dear friend to spare the creature’s life, would have reacted much more to the way they could have had their life threatened.

“…huh. I guess it did.”

But your skin stings, and your eyes just can’t help but stay stuck to the way Shoko’s pretty dress had been dirtied by her efforts to save you.

Maybe you had a subconscious thought that you were perhaps worth less than the sparkly garment, maybe you thought that it didn’t hurt as much—

Or maybe you just don’t know how to react in this situation that you have yet to fully process in your head.

“Where do you get your clothes, usually?”

Pondering for only a moment, you finally pull out a what you think is a pretty shirt from your, to be very honest, lacking wardrobe.

“Mama usually lets me pick what I want, but I pick one thing and ask if I can spend the rest on sweets instead.”

(She usually chides you, but eventually does give in after a puppy-eyed look or 2. You don’t need new clothes, you’ll just wear Mama’s when you’re older!)

“Oh, and Suguru’s mama likes to give us stuff.”

“Thank you, Akari-san. Your baking really is amazing—“

“Oh, lose the honorifics! We’re bosom friends at this point. And look at this! This darling shirt just reminded me of your cute (name) so much that I couldn’t help myself and just went ahead to buy it, aha!”

“And Satoru too.”

“Greetings, (name)-sama. The Young Master would like to formally thank you for the relations—“

“I made Kimi-chan buy it after she said it reminded her of you!” And he himself unravels the article of clothing before you, showing you the Digimon themed print full of cute Marching Fishes.

“It’s even Digimon themed so ya haveta stop watching Pokemon and watch the better show with me!”

“That’s where I think I get most of my clothes from.”

And the girl says nothing, staring down at the shirt you had given her as you gather up the fabric of her dress into your smaller arms and huffing triumphantly.

“I’ll be back soon! I’ll ask my Mama to help wash this!”

“Okay.” Truth be told, she wasn’t really listening to you anymore. Too preoccupied with the way your scent was heavy on the article of clothing, too busy taking whiffs of the air—

It smelt really nice.

“Mama.” You show her Shoko’s dress, prim and proper and sequined with a gentle shimmer to ensure maximum elegance. Very expensive, you’re pretty sure. “Can we wash this out?”

She blinks. Once, twice and a few more times. Even picks up the article of clothing and puts it close to her face, squinting at the very obvious patch of cursed spirit blood that was very evidently there— Especially against the pure white of Shoko’s dress.

“Honey…” She has to adjusts her eyeglasses, even swipe a finger at the fabric and observe her skin to really check for the damage done.

“There’s nothing there.”

——

You’re being stared at— No, scrutinized by blue that was all too judgmental of you.

“Did ya go crazy?” His hands feel hot, feel like they were going to melt into your skin and fuse your flesh together with his as he glares at you—

Angrily.

“We didn’t tell ya to involve yourself did we?” He’s huffing, upset and very much squeezing your hands tight as you let him hold them, letting him glare at the patch of skin Shoko had expended so much energy trying to heal.

(It’s definitely not perfect, but who can complain about her magic healing powers? It was so cool.)

“No, but I wanted to find out and Shoko wanted to help, so—“

“Shoko’s dumb.”

“She isn’t—“

“And you’re weak.” Gojo’s eyes never stop staring even as he rudely interrupts you once again, his face closing in on yours as he invades the little personal space you had left until you swear his eyeballs were gonna pop out of his head and touch your own.

“You never had anything in ya.” His eyes shine once more, before he inevitably blinks and lets out a grunt. A hand releases yours, going up to press against his face as his shoulders stiffen and his whole body shook.

As if he was in pain.

“A-And you still don’t!“ He wheezes slightly. “No cursed technique, no innate forms—” You can see the very clear grimace on his face as his eyes squeeze close and his face twisting into one of clear discomfort as he stamps a foot and shakes his head. “What even m-makes ya think I would go ahead and tell ya anything?!”

You know he’s not being mean— Not by your standards, anyway.

“Satoru… Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, you—“ He pauses when he squints at you through an offended gaze, the light in his eyes peeking through the gaps in his fingers whilst going silent for just a beat of a moment.

“My eyes hurt… Cause of my cursed technique, a-and stuff!”

“Then I-I can go call Kimiko-san to—!“

You don’t even get a reply, not even spared an explanation; just his hand making a grab for yours and pulling you back down beside him.

You meet puffed up cheeks and an angry pout, a sullen look and red splayed across his face and the tips of his ears infuriated and very telling of his annoyance whilst those crystals he had for eyes did their best to fight back tears.

Oh.

And when his head plops down onto your lap, it was almost as if it was a subconscious action turned into an all too repeated habit. Your hand brushing against white locks, trailing through strands of white as you gently scratch at his scalp.

“Hmph.”

“A-Are you sure you’ll feel better like this? I thought headaches and serious illnesses and poison and stuff like that needed a doctor…” Not that you know any doctors for cursed energy, or ‘techniques’ as he called them, but you’re sure Kimiko-san would.

“Hmph!”

Ack. He’s still too angry at you to want to explain anything, but not enough for him to stop your hand from stroking his head and making your lap his replacement pillow.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” You really are. It’s not like you wanted to get hurt on purpose… But technically you did unearth the secret he and Suguru were keeping from you. “I didn’t mean to worry you or Suguru…”

(Not that Suguru knows of this situation yet, anyway.)

“I just—“ You take in a breath to steady your heart that was somehow racing, stop your administrations on his head as you try to find your words. “I guess— The reason I followed Shoko after she offered to tell me, I realized I just didn’t want to be left out…”

And it drawls into silence. It’s heavy and makes you reflect on your actions, forces you to be alone with the words that you didn’t realize reflected your truth. Maybe, you’re not as okay and go with the flow as your zodiac sign said you would be today.

Maybe you just didn’t want to be left alone and unknowing. You know you don’t know a lot— But at the same time, if you learned too, can’t you fit in with them all the better?

“…cursed techniques are something people are born with. And they usually show up ‘round the age of like 4.” He uncrosses his arms and stares up at you through his short bangs. “People born with ‘em get really good at using them as they get older, since it’s ingrained into them over and over that they eventually ‘get’ how to use it.”

“But you—“ He sighs when you scratch against a spot behind his ear as he twitches slightly. “You have a lot of cursed energy and stuff, but ya don’t have a cursed technique; at least not one I can see with my eyes yet. And I’m betting it’s cause y’er super weak.”

“Your… Eyes?”

“Yea, you noticed how much prettier my eyes are compared to like— Everyone else around, right?” There’s a pompous harrumph in his tone and a really proud, really smug grin on his face. “That’s cause I was born special and super, super strong.”

(“But you get a lot of cavities often, though…”

And he’s immediately jumping up and off of your lap, embarrassed face and telling shame on the red tips of his ears as he rebuts you.

“It’s just because I’m too strong that e-everything is out to get me—! Shoko told ya it’s cause cursed spirits were made of negative emotions and stuff, right?! That’s that!”)

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[avalordream]

Prompt: Imagine an MC who gets a tattoo that goes all around their ankle so that they always have an "anklet" for Cove.

Pairing: Cove Holden x GN!Reader

Tags: fluff, Cove getting his anklet fix, mostly fluff tho

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: With this newfound will in me, ALLOW ME TO INDULGE YOU IN SOME LOVELY COVE JAMES HOLDEN- Also! This fic was intended for fem readers but it can be taken as gender neutral!

Now seeing as the age to get a tattoo is roughly 18 years old, let's assume this is Step 3 Cove we're talking about

At this age, Cove and you haven't quite gotten into a relationship yet.

In fact, you're stuck at the crush stage

Even so, you and Step 2 Cove had the talk of what you both were into during the Roadtrip moment. (Y'know- the beige eyes and anklet conversation)

That particular conversation was surprisingly difficult for you to initiate, considering your rather quiet nature

That didn't mean you were shy! No no!

It was just...

Awkward.

It wasn't the "normal" type of conversation you usually had

Maybe it was because of the fact that it was so different that made it so difficult to talk about.

In any case, that led to you thinking over the anklet attraction Cove had, trying to understand it as you lounged around on your bed in the middle of a hot summer day

It was the sort of day where the California sun shone exceptionally hard, the heat making it so nothing really stood out to you. You could almost remember this exact type of day from when you were younger... When Shiloh was still around...and when Cove had just recently moved in.

You were currently lazing about on your bed, soaking up the sun's rays shining through your window as the AC worked to cool your room and a nearby fan rotated slowly, its blades providing an ample amount of background noise. It was truly the staple sound of summer. Your eyes blearily blinked as you stared up at your ceiling fan working overtime to beat the summer heat. Normally your moms weren’t so keen on cranking up the AC but today was an exception, considering the high was a 90. Even the water was warm which meant that even walking along the shoreline - forget it, the sand was practically steaming - wasn’t appealing. 

That left you in your current condition, leaving your mind to wander and daydream about everything and anything in the quiet. It was already noon but there was no rush to go out. While it wasn’t the norm for you to be alone, usually hanging out with Cove or even Terri or Miranda., today was an exception though because of the heat. And in any case, you relished the feeling of just…coasting through the day with nothing to do… free as the birds in the sky… 

A few soft knocks on your door blinked you out of your sleepy stupor as Ma stepped in after you had hummed an affirmative. Her eyes softened as she seemed to take in the sight of you: Curled up yet sprawled out in a cocoon of light blankets and pillows, the sun shining brightly through the window and you relishing it all in the center, having the time of your life. “You doing ok, hon?”, she hummed in turn, trying not to break the peaceful trance you were under as you simply nodded, tucking your hair back as you smiled at her. You loved your ma more than anything, even now as she came close to sit by your head, gently stroking your hair as she eased your head into her lap while you leaned into her hand. Guess today she was feeling pretty lax too… Figures…

You felt your eyelids drooping as she continued, her ministrations cooing you to sleep before her voice, a quiet whisper, kept your attention from waning. “No plans for today?”, she hummed as you yawned, stretching before getting comfy again, nuzzling your nose against her thigh.

“No…not yet at least…”, your voice came out slowly, humming as the fan faced the pair of you, sending a refreshing blast of cold air into your hair. “Just…thinking…You ok, ma?” There had to be a reason why she entered right?... Or…maybe there wasn’t one. That was ok too.

Ma chuckled in some amusement as she shook her head, taking her hand away as you whined, audibly wishing for more. “I’m doing just fine, kiddo… Nothing to worry about. Just wanted to check up on you before I get started on lunch. Do you want anything specific?” You told her your current crave fix before she left the room again, offering another head pat before you were left to your devices again, decidingly more lucid than before as you sat up to stretch and work out the kinks in your back.

You checked your phone just to let your friends know that you were alive and hadn't up and left them- As if Cove would let you anyway, you thought with a chuckle. A funny thought but you weren’t that evil. 

Tossing your device back to the swath of blankets, your mind wandered to the past few years- gravitating back to Cove. It didn’t surprise you as much why now than when your feelings had begun to simmer but the fear of possibly destroying what you already had always stopped you. A worry that proved to damper down on your interactions, restricting them ever so slightly rather than how freeing they used to be. You had become close confidants to one another since the moment he moved in at the ripe age of eight. Given your rich history, it was reasonable to worry that taking such a big step could tarnish what you had and…quite frankly, you weren’t ready to risk it all just yet.

You sighed, feeling the familiar trill of heat flitting over your cheeks as you rubbed them furiously to wipe them away just as fast. Until you figured out what to do with yourself- and- everything- Then the plan was simple: ACT NORMAL. Whatever your new normal was anyhow. You had a feeling Liz knew just by looking at you when Cove was over, judging from the smirk she would send your way- not to mention the teasing remarks! But…you hoped that until you were ready to tell Cove (if you ever did), that…he wouldn’t know. 

It surprised you a little that he hadn’t knocked on your window yet or made his arrival via the door but apparently, judging from the text he had sent you three hours ago, he was helping his dad with the scuba shop. You appreciated the heads up so you knew where to go in case you needed to reach him. 

Your thoughts followed you as you made your way downstairs to get started on lunch- or brunch as mom liked to call it. A smile crept on your face despite the mild joke, appreciating the play on words as your lazy state decided to pull for some cereal, chewing slowly and thoughtfully as you remained quiet. You were more so or a thinker rather than a talker. You preferred to listen rather than start a conversation. It made things easier. With the friend group, you were the same; going with the flow unless it was something you wholeheartedly refused to do. It had never gone to that point before since the group respected your opinions and were quick to pick up on your preferences…one more so than others…

Right as you were washing the dishes, your thoughts wandered again- this time to that anklet discussion all those years ago. You’d be surprised you still remembered it but the entire road trip itself was a memorable experience and would be…rather hard to forget anyhow. (More so for Mr. Holden getting his lunch snatched away by a stray bird but you digressed.) The discussion itself… you still felt a little bad for pushing it onto Cove to answer your questions, even if he had tried to console you when you made it known to him a week later, saying that he didn’t mind since you were only curious. Even so, you never really thought he actually liked anklets all that much… or beige eyes. You already had quite a few anklets you got from Hot Topic that were pretty neat but you never really found the time to use or wear them. It became a sort of…rare occasion kind of thing. Though- you already had the beige eyes- which made you hopeful that he liked you in some capacity?? 

You shot that down quick with a grumbled shake of your head, consoling Ma when she asked if you were ok. 

Your mind was quick to pick back where you left off, sighing as you focused on scrubbing a particularly difficult splotch of cooking from a pan. Anklets…you might not understand entirely why Cove liked them but you gathered that it had to do with the aesthetic of them that appealed to him so much. Maybe. Even so, you enjoyed making some yourself and had gifted some to Cove already, much to his delight. He tried to wear them as much as possible, but after nearly losing one to the ocean, you didn’t see them as often- unless it was too cold to go in the water. At this point, Cove lived and breathed the salty ocean breeze… One time, you had joked that if Cove wasn’t a human in this life, he was definitely a mermaid in his last which was nicely reciprocated with a very flustered Cove with his familiar wobbly smile.

But unlike him, you lost so many of your precious anklets, that also being why you nearly abstained from wearing them entirely. The weight would grow familiar but then you would forget about it until much later. By then, the anklet was long gone and you had gone to too many places to retrace your steps to find them. You remembered one particular time where you had lost an anklet that Cove had gotten you as a birthday gift and you had worn it everywhere. Until the inevitable happened and you had lost it, inconsolable as even Liz had been roped into helping you find it. Mr. Holden did end up finding it in his shop but that was the final nail in the coffin for the entire anklet business. From then on, you kept most of your anklets under lock and key unless it was a special occasion like going to the Cypress’ dinners or such. 

What you needed was a way to wear one without losing it…you wouldn’t mind as much if it were one of your own- but if it was one that someone gave you… At that point, you figured you should buy a display for them. There wasn’t a point for them gathering dust in the wild…

“Hey baby sis- You done over there?” 

Liz stood behind you with a caring smile, a smile on her face but her eyes held a little concern as you followed their gaze to the now pristine pan in your hands- as well as the time. “You must’ve been really focused, huh?”, she chuckled with a conspiratorial tone as you quietly rinsed the pan and put it aside, segwaying into a classic Liz interrogation as she pick-pocketed your brain… to which she had a solution. 

“Well…”, she started as you wiped your hands on the drying towel. “How about a tattoo that looks like an anklet?” Feeling your questioning stare, Liz held out her hands. “Here me out: Firstly, I’m not saying to go and get a tattoo on a whim. Think over it- Obviously. Removing it costs at least twice or three times as much so give it some thought. But…in a way… You’d still be wearing an anklet and you’d never lose it, right?” The more she talked about it, the more it made sense to you. Obviously, you had to promise her (and your moms ‘cause they were listening) not to get that tattoo right away if you wanted to- and if you did, to at least let them know. No matter what you chose, they made it clear that they’d support your decision either way and loved you very much. As per usual, this brought a smile to your face and it never failed to make your day.

You didn’t end up getting that tattoo until around a week later, having taken Liz with you as moral support. She joked that you took her because Cove declined but that wasn’t the case. Instead, you wanted to try to surprise him! It was a very out-of-the-blue sort of thing for you to try but it was new and you were curious about the entire process. While it wouldn’t be the same as wearing an anklet, at least you’d never lose it! Besides! You still had all the anklet shrine to refer back to if you ever needed it. 

The tattoo shop wasn’t near the neighborhood shops or district, meaning Liz had to drive you into the city. It was…surprisingly pretty cute, judging from the pictures online! Which was…not the aesthetic you expected. It was also a little close to Mr. Holden’s shop if you and Liz wanted to walk over to say hello. Speaking of, Cove was supposedly hanging out with Terri and Miranda so as far as you were aware, there was very little chance for your paths to cross so everything checked out! 

As for the anklet in question… you decided to go for a (intricate/cutesy/simple) design with (floral/beachy) aspects. If you decided on floral aspects, you pulled up pictures of the white poppies behind your house for the tattoo artist as a reference as well as asking for some fireflies to be floating around them. The hill behind your house was where you met him after all…and the memories behind catching fireflies with you, him, Liz and Shiloh were important to you… 

If you decided on beachy aspects, you pulled up a picture of your favorite orange seashell, the same one that Cove was drawn to in your collection on your first playdate, and the dolphin keychain that he got you when you went to the shops together. The tattoo artist had nodded and gave you the rundown of what was going to happen. You pointed down to the ankle you wanted the tattoo on as your sister stayed by your side, taking her role as your moral support incredibly seriously. 

Once you decided on what the design would look like, they got right to work. The first few pin pricks of pain were easy to bear but as time went on, your grip on your sister’s hand tightened as she tried to make you feel better by pointing out how great it’d look after- and Cove’s face when he saw it. Despite her laughter at your blushing face at the thought, that little comment did help you pull through and before you knew it, it was over. 

You finally let go of Liz’s hand who didn’t complain one bit the entire time so…you were grateful to her for putting up with you. The area where the tattoo was sensitive, the tattoo artist told you. They also said that tattoos typically took two to four weeks to heal on the surface, but it could take three to six months to fully heal. It usually involved a week of redness and oozing, followed by two to three weeks of itchiness and peeling. They had already told you this before getting you set up to get a tattoo but they wanted to remind you again, just to be sure you’d take extra care of your skin during that process. You were quick to reassure them, making a mental note to be extra kind to yourself in these upcoming months. 

After the talk was over, they saw you back to the front, finalized the payment and sent you on your merry way as you couldn’t help but awe over their work. The (white poppies/seashells) were beautiful and they had stuck to your original design well, considering what you asked for. Your skin was holding up fairly well and you loved the colors on it so much, Liz had to stop you from accidentally bumping into everything.

“If you like it so much, take a picture of it! It’ll last longer! And you could send it to your lover boy!~”, Liz laughed teasingly although you knew she was trying to keep you safe. “He’s not my lover boy…”, you sighed, shaking your head as you tried to walk away from her to look for a bench, ignoring her laughter as she followed. “Not yet!~”, she warbled, obviously taking amusement in your half-hearted misery. As soon as you sat down, you quickly aimed your phone at the tattoo and sent it straight to Cove. Sure, you meant to keep it from him just a little longer but- crush aside- he was your closest friend and you told everything to each other. It was a habit you fully indulged in- except for the crush part. Obviously.

_______

MC: Hey

MC: Look what I got :D

<MC sent a picture 1 second ago>

Cove: Thats a tattoo

Cove: Wait

Cove: THATS A TATTOO

MC: Ahuh

Cove: YOU GOT A TATTOO

MC: Yup

Cove: Since when??

MC: Like 

MC: Five minutes ago

MC: Got it at a tattoo parlor in the shopping district with Liz

MC: And Liz says hi

Cove: Where

MC: Down past art gallery

Cove: Stay there

MC: Wait why

Cove has gone offline

_______

Huh. That was weird. 

Liz had noticed the confused look on your face, accepting your phone once you handed it over to see what her thoughts were on it. Your older sister stifled a bark of laughter before passing it back over with a grin. “Don’t worry about it!~ Tell you what: How about I scour around for a snack before we head back?”, she cooed teasingly, patting your shoulder as you huffed quietly, crossing your arms as she stood up. You offered to go with her but she shook her head, saying she’d be fine and that she didn’t need a chaperone.

You did ask if she could get some (strawberry ice-cream/pretzels), making a mental note to share in case Cove did end up stopping by. Thankfully, Liz didn’t comment on the gleam in your eyes and playfully rolled her eyes before walking down the street. No matter how many years passed by, you made sure to watch your sister as long as you could before she turned a corner. It never failed to make you anxious being utterly alone in a space, given that you were always with someone throughout your entire childhood. There was safety in numbers, you guessed.

You didn’t have to wait long before the buzz in your pocket alerted you to a text, distracting from your plight as you pulled it out. It was Cove.

_______

Cove: Im at the shop

Cove: Where are you?

_______

That was your cue. 

You got up from the bench and stepped back on the main street to look back where the tattoo shop was. And right there was a familiar mop of seafoam green hair looking up and down the street. Couldn’t imagine why. 

“Cove!”, you called out, watching his eyes widen and look for the source as you (waved/shouted again/stepped into sight) to get his attention. Seeing how his face visibly brightened just by seeing you alone never failed to make you smile. He was quick to join your side, offering a hug which you easily accepted, snuggling yourself in his warmth as his arms curled around you softly, resting his cheek on your (head/shoulder). 

Just as fast as he had come, came your realization as you pulled your head back to look at him. “Wait- How did you get here so fast?,” you started as Cove tilted his head slightly with a small smile, catching up to the speed of your words. “I sent that text not even five seconds ago!” 

Your neighbor was quick to blush lightly, rubbing the back of his hair as he seemed to look anywhere but at you. “The hangout with Terri and Miranda was cut short so I asked if they could drop me off at dad’s shop.”, he chuckled, finding his eyes drawn back to you as you listened with a nod. “I would’ve drove myself but I wasn’t driving everyone around this time.” His hand found its way back to your back, keeping you close although you certainly didn’t mind. “That’s when I got your text and decided to walk here to meet up. Where’s Liz though?... You told me she said hi.”

You figured it probably didn’t settle right with him, seeing you all alone and by your lonesome with your sister nowhere to be found. You pat his arm, offering a smile to try and alleviate his worries as his worried frown persisted. “It’s ok! Liz offered to grab some snacks while I waited for you. And I didn’t stray far anyway. The plan was to stick by the bench until (I found you/she came back)!” He seemed to accept the explanation, sighing even then but grateful that nothing bad happened to you. 

“Ok cool. How about we head back to that bench? We can talk and- Oh!” His mouth opened in shock as he realized what he came here for. Cove looked down at you, a determined look on his face as he tried to properly word his thoughts into something coherent. “Were you being serious about the tattoo? That…wasn’t a joke, right?”, he asked hopefully, barely to stay still, judging from how he let go of you to fiddle with the bracelets on his wrist. You knew it’d probably shock or catch him off guard so you decided to play coy, putting a finger to your lips and skipping on back to the bench as you left Cove in some confusion. It took him a minute to react before quickly following you like a lost puppy, a sentiment you kept to yourself, trying not to giggle at the thought of it- although it didn’t go unnoticed by your precious neighbor.

As soon as the pair of you sat down, Cove was quick to ask about the tattoo. It was why you were here anyway and he seemed a bit more interested in the fact that it looked like it was around your ankle. The (skirt/pants) you wore covered it up so he couldn’t even get a sneak peak at it- if it was real at all. Sure, you liked to joke around and tease him from time to time but Cove didn’t think you’d go so far to joke about…a tattoo. It just didn’t rub off of him right. And if you did… Well. He didn’t want to go down that route. It was why he was here anyways! You were close by and had a tattoo he needed to verify! 

Thankfully for him, you weren't the type to deny him much (of anything.) You spoiled your neighbor rotten too much already- what was one more going to do to him? You pulled up your (skirt/pant leg) slightly to show off the tattoo as Cove’s eyes widened, the (fireflies flitting around the white linen poppies/ dolphin keychain diving around the orange seashell and coral reefs) catching his eye as he inhaled sharply. “Can I…?”, he barely whispered, his voice reduced to almost nothing as his fingers were a breath away from tracing the (eccentric/adorable/simplistic) designs. You were (quick/slow/hesitant) to nod as he took the initiative to take extra care not to irritate your sensitive skin, easily in awe and appreciative of the colors splashing across your skin-kissed canvas. He was already going down the memory lane, judging from the tears that bubbled up in his eyes. “Surprise?”, you offered, giving a sheepish smile as your ocean-loving lover boy (Liz would cry tears of laughter if she heard your thoughts) looked up with one of his iconic sappy smiles.

“It must be my birthday…”, he whispered, sniffling as your hand moved to wipe his tears away. Cove leaned into your touch with ease, his wobbly smile evident even when he tried to cover it up. He would always be touched by sentimentality; the reaction to something small meant volumes- it was truly the memories behind those items that held the most meaning to him. Your existence was paramount to his growth and he would always be ever so grateful to you for being his favorite neighbor.

“But…did you get for yourself or me?”, Cove continued, his smile replaced by a worried frown. Judging from the look his eyes, it was pretty discernable to guess where they stemmed from. It was the same concern Liz had indirectly brought up when you were washing the dishes a week ago: Getting a tattoo was a pretty huge decision and it wasn’t something to decide on a whim. While you knew that your family and Cove would support whatever decision you chose, you guessed you had to reassure him that, yes, you chose it for you but you also chose it for him…mostly for you though!! 

“Cove James Holden,” you started, which easily startled him as your grip gently squished his cheeks, drawing out a pout from him. He knew that you knew that you were being serious but having way too much fun messing with him. And also- you never really called him by his full name? Actually…when did you find out his full name??  “I promise you that I got this anklet tattoo just for me and that I was 100% sober while doing so. Nobody made me do it except me, myself and I.”, you vowed in a rather (silly/serious/exasperated) voice, making sure to exaggerate quite a bit just to see him try and fail to fight off a snort of laughter. 

“Alright, alright! I’ll lay off!”, he chuckled as you finally let go of his face, satisfied even as he struggled to hide his blush. “You know you’re adorable right?”, you spoke up (with a smirk, teasing him shamelessly/shyly, bashfully trying to hide your own blush/with a soft smile, being as honest as you always were). It always ended up the same way- Cove started blushing up a storm and tried his hardest to vehemently deny any and all allegations while you would laugh and easily bring up every moment where he was. This would prompt him to flip the tables onto you and you would be on the receiving end of compliments galore, to your (amusement/embarrassment/surprise). In the end, you both had come to the agreement that you both were equally deserving of praise despite not outwardly agreeing to those allegations, much to both of your dismays. 

Unbeknownst to you, the tattoo had affected Cove more than he let on. Yes, it nearly reduced him to tears, seeing how you managed to tie key points in your conjoined childhood into a tattoo that was on your skin for…forever-!  But… there was a part of him that was…relishing in the fact that you not only got in the form of an anklet but that it was just as much as it was for you as it was for him. It meant the world to him that those pieces of your childhood were just as important to you as they were for him. Although Cove didn’t like imagining a world without you in it, he was grateful he had you in his life. You were there when he needed you and… Well, before he knew it, the waterworks bubbled over again, trailing down his face as your fingers held his face again to wipe them away.

“What’s wrong, Cove?...”, you (whispered, gentle and soothing/hummed, direct and straight to the point) as you always were.

“Nothing nothing…”, he whispered, content to simply be with you for as long as he could. “I’m just…really glad you’re in my life.” His aquamarine eyes focused on you, offering a wide smile as you returned with ease, (hugging him through your own tears/ruffling his hair with a grin/holding his hand with a comforting squeeze). One day he’d tell you just how much you meant to him but… not right now. He found comfort in familiarity but he couldn’t hold it off forever.

The more things change, the more they stay the same…

©2024 avalordream Please do not COPY, REPOST (without permission), TRANSLATE, MODIFY or CLAIM as your own work. Doing so otherwise will result in a REPORT and an INSTANT BAN. No exceptions. Give credit where credit is due.

⊹ ‧₊˚ Taglist: @now-and-4ever ˚₊‧ ⊹

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

oh my god there are so many good choice on the touching prompt list for Ace!Tav and Astarion. But since it’s first numerically may I please request 3?

Summary: You finally arrive in Baldur's Gate and you can't sleep. Normally this would mean taking the nearest instrument and playing until your hands are raw. Luckily for your fingers, Astarion is there to listen.

Prompt: hiding face in neck

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I swear to god I wrote like five different versions of this thing. Let's give it up for over writing! Enjoy.

Word Count: 1.8K

The night felt oddly still for Baldur’s Gate. You’d traveled so far, done and seen so much and you were finally here.  It should have brought you relief; instead, all you could think about was all you had left to do. There were still the tadpoles to deal with and devils and gods and frankly all the things you’d never given a second thought to the last time you stepped through the gates. Perhaps the city felt it as well, collectively holding its breath for whatever was coming next. 

You let out a deep sigh, staring up at the darkened ceiling. There would be no hope of sleep tonight. The best you could do was find a way to pass the hours without going mad.  

As carefully as you could, you slipped out of bed, mindful of Astarion resting soundly next to you. For all your troubles, they were nothing compared to the horrors coming for him.  You wouldn’t disturb his rare moment of peace for the world. 

In easy strides you grabbed your lute and made your way to the balcony where a comfortable enough chaise awaited you. 

No lamps were needed. Between the moon and the street lamps below, you could see well enough to play for an audience of one. 

You started with something easy, plucking out a handful of scales to warm up your hands. It didn’t take long after that for a melody to form, pushing your worries further and further away. Lyrics slipped their way past your lips in whispers and half remembered hums. You were here. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You had control over your body and the sounds pulled from the instrument in your hands. There was still time. The morning hadn’t found you yet.

Soft footsteps approached from behind you; the obvious padding of bare feet on wooden floor boards given just enough extra weight so as not to startle you.  Astarion could be very considerate at times. 

You paused your hands, turning to face him. 

“Sorry, was I playing too loud?” 

“Not at all,” he assured. “How else was I supposed to find you after waking to a cold, empty bed?”

You had to at least smile at his dramatics, which seemed to please him as he stepped further onto the balcony. 

The light of the moon gave his already pale skin and iridescent glow. His silver curls were just a little ruffled from their perfect coif as his eyes held you with a tired softness that made you ache. It was in moments like this you remembered why poetry existed; paints, canvas, marble, clay, they were too clumsy of tools to capture all of him.  

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, pulling you from your musings. 

“Just needed to clear my head,” you said. “Didn’t want to bother anyone with my plucking.”

“Perish the thought. I rather enjoy your plucking.” He nodded to the empty spot next to you. “May I?” 

You couldn’t think of a reason to argue, so you didn’t try. Astarion had proved himself one of the few people you could enjoy a peaceful silence with. So long as he didn’t expect you to entertain him, there was no harm done. 

You scooted over to allow him room. 

He took it, only to pull you against him, caging you between his legs. 

You gave a small yelp of surprise, only just managing to keep hold of your lute. “What are you doing?” 

“Making myself comfortable.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so your back rested against his chest while his chin made a home on your shoulder. “Go on dearest, start plucking.”

You snorted out a laugh. Gods above, he really was a cat sometimes. He didn’t ask for attention so much as demand it and in a way only the most heartless could be upset by. 

“It’s rather difficult for me to perform with my back to the audience,” you said as some attempt at protest. 

He gave a noncommittal hum. “I’m inclined to disagree. But if it does bother you, consider me a humble patron observing a rehearsal.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

Settling back as best you could, you began again, humming a tune to yourself as you worked out the cords. 

A different kind of peace settled over you as he held you. You had come here to be alone, something you had gotten used to over the years. Astarion didn’t have to be here with you, but he was. He chose to sit here in the dark and listen as you played your troubles into the air. It was an alien comfort, one that still left you a little unsure, but it was a comfort nonetheless. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Astarion observed, gently breaking the silence. 

“I would think not, seeing how it’s only been in my head for the last few months,” you teased. 

He nodded as you felt him shift awkwardly beneath you. “Far be it for me to speak on your artistic vision, but is it meant to be so repetitive?”

You stopped your playing as a flush of warmth came to your cheeks. There was a reason why rehearsals were usually kept private. “Sorry, can’t seem to find the ending.”

“Might be easier if you wrote it down,” he suggested. 

“That would require me knowing how.” 

“You don’t know how to write music?” He sounded so genuinely surprised, you had to laugh. 

“Love, I don’t even know how to read it.”

“Really?” 

You shrugged. “Just not how I learned. They weren’t exactly letting riff raff like me into the conservatory.”

You could all but feel the furrow of his brow as his chin pressed against your shoulder. “So every song you’ve ever played, original or otherwise, you taught yourself, by ear, and stored away in that head of yours?”

“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is. Plenty of bards do the exact same thing,” you dismissed.  

He hummed in thought. “Perhaps. It does explain why so many of them don’t seem to have anything going on behind the eyes.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” 

“Present company excluded,” he amended, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear for good measure. “Why do you think I’m so impressed? Beauty, talent and brains are such a rare combination.” 

You gave a small huff, earning you another kiss on the temple.

“I’m sure we could find somebody in the city to teach you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “Not interested. Besides, I’ve found it an effective filtration method. If I can’t remember the tune the next day, it probably wasn’t worth learning in the first place.” 

“Oh darling, who knew you could be so cruel to your fellow artists,” he said, full of approval. “But, what about when a song of yours is done? Surely then it would be worth preserving.” 

“If I’ve done my job well, then the memories of those who have heard it will be preservation enough,” you said. “It’s how all the best songs are passed on anyway. The specifics of who wrote it and when get lost, but the melody remains. It stays in the world because people want it to stay in the world. I think there’s a kind of poetry in that.” 

He let out a long exasperated sigh. “How nauseatingly romantic of you. One little problem though, people’s memories are shit. Give it a few centuries and it will barely resemble the original. At least if you write it down they can’t muck it up.”

“It’s obvious you haven’t met many musicians,” you said, dryly. “People are always going to have their own interpretations. Putting it down on paper doesn’t make it any less a memory. Personally, I’d rather keep it living in the mind than in a stagnant drawer somewhere.” 

“Or I can just make sure nothing happens to the original.” 

He tried to keep his voice light, but there was promise beneath that tingled at the back of your neck. His arms held you a little more tightly. His body tensed. It was as if he was trying to guard you from something, but who or what you could only guess at. 

“Astarion–”

“Don’t,” he said, sharply. “I know you want to say something comforting and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you go on about memory or legacy or things to remember after you’re gone, because you’re not gone. You’re here. You’re here with me, and I don’t care who I have to kill or what bargains I need to make, but I’m not letting you go.”  

He turned his face into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. To your surprise, no teeth accompanied the gesture. He just breathed, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs. His touch lingered on your skin as some of the tension left his body; the steady beating of your heart calming him. 

“I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “I just want you.”

Your lips parted to speak, but quickly closed. You knew there was a correct thing to say. Letting go was a part of life, whether you liked it or not. Sooner or later, everyone became a memory; but, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and that wasn’t what you felt. 

The promise he made wasn’t some collection of meaningless words, but a desperate, blood soaked plea. For the first time in so long, you knew somebody would be upset if you died, not for the loss of income or poetry, but because you would be gone. 

You wanted to tell him you loved him. You wanted to tell him you didn’t just want memories either. You wanted to make the same promise and then hide away somewhere safe where the world wouldn’t dare touch either of you; but, you didn’t say that either. 

Instead you placed your hand over his, squeezing his fingers. 

“You have me,” you said, softly. “I’m right here.”

A shuddering breath left his body, as if all the emotion he had been containing was suddenly pushed from his lungs. His arms stayed around you, but his whole body relaxed as his head found a new place to live buried in your neck. 

“Keep playing, my heart,” he said. “Don’t stop.” 

How could anyone say no to such a request? 

Your hands found a melody, different from the one before; something complete and familiar. As soon as the song finished you transitioned to another and then another, never stopping until Astarion’s hold became slack and his breathing turned deep and steady, signaling his trace. Only then did you set down your lute and curled into his arms to finally sleep. 

You would finish your composition another night. The morning would find you, but you had time. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You were here and you were going to stay. 

[twstfanblog]

*~Magical Girl AU~* Part 1

A/N: First chapter of the Magical Girl AU! I'm super excited to share more of this with you guys. I still need names for Jack and Jamil's Magical Beasts, but everything else has been picked! Please comment or send in asks if you have questions. Just ask if you want to be added to a tag list for this series. Enjoy! Word Count: 2.3K Next

For the longest time, Yuu felt the most comfortable in tight, dimly lit areas. It needed to feel soft to the touch on all sides, a bit of noise that felt out of place for how low it was yet filled the room. Her dad would tell her — when she was a baby — at times the only way to make her stop crying at night was to take her out of the bassinet and lay her on his chest as he continued working. His heartbeat, the sounds of nature from the open window. The faint glow of his screen and the stub of a cigarette on the windowsill lulled her to sleep in seconds.

She remembered only one dream from her childhood. It was dark, the sound of water dripping in the distance. She was laying on something soft, a cushion that held her entire body. Then something picks her up, holding her easily as she's lifted higher in the dimly lit room. Yellow lights look down on her fondly, and that's all she remembers.

The youngest Shroud boy crying was a rare sight, one that was by equal measure unwelcomed and disheartening in Crowley's opinion.

He could only feel pity, anger, heartbreak, as the small caster cried. His face buried in the feathers of a far too tired dire beast. In fact, everyone in the room was too tired. A truth that only shed further misfortune on them…

Looking around, Crowley saw the youth he was to lead and protect by his own choice scattered in the bleak safety of his home. The Shroud’s area had been the newest to fall to the ever growing darkness of their lands. Thick and viscous, thorny vines that ensnared many an innocent beast and loved ones alike.

He watches in silence as Diamond finally works up the energy to stand, appearance disheveled and marked by faded bruises. His stride was offbeat, limping to Ortho before dropping to his knees and gathering the sobbing boy into his arms. 

Crowley turns away, seeing Diamond's shoulders start to tremble.

Clover was tired, exhausted even, topaz pupils almost glowing from behind the dark outline clinging to the skin around his eyes, “Crowley, we can't keep this up…”

Casting a look behind him, Clover couldn't hide the distress in his gaze. His two younger charges, Trappola and Spade; younger compared to the former three that finished up their group but seasoned fighters in their own right. Each laid still, bodies covered in dirt, blot, and the shimmering ichor their kind bled. They were alive, blessedly enough. But they couldn't risk their lives day in and out, they were slowly becoming sloppy. Clover and Diamond feared one day they'd leave their small — ever growing smaller — safe haven and not come back…

Clover looked away from them, pinning Crowley with a hard stare, “Ace and Deuce still aren't to their full potential. R-...Riddle was only letting them tag along with Cater and me on recon missions before he… We in good faith keep sending them out alone to handle blot monsters…none of us can…We…Jade's contacted me…he almost lost Floyd some time ago.”

We can't keep holding on like this. It was unspoken, but said so many times Crowley feared he was growing deaf to it.

Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and looked up the stairs of his root-infested home, the thick branches curving in intricate designs along the ceiling and walls. The swirls converge to direct toward the locked weapons room, the cradle of his greatest creation.

“I had hoped we could resolve all of this…peacefully. But I fear the others are too far gone for us to aid them now. All we can do is put them to rest from their madness.”

Clover tried to speak over him, opening his mouth in protest only to flinch as Diamond finally let out a choked sob at Crowley's words. When he turned back, he noticed the elder was already at the top of the staircase, waving his hand in a show of magic to open the doors.

Taking the steps two at a time, he took the moment to look around the room in brief awe when he walked through the doorway. A weapon of magic and might was crammed into every corner and laying unused on tables. The faded memory of sitting patiently at the table pressed against the grand circular window overlooking the once vibrant valley, watching as Crowley weaved complex spells and metals to craft his mallet. A sorrowful memory of standing with Cater at his side, smiling as Riddle excitedly took his newly created axe into his small hands.

“Clover, come here.”

He was beside Crowley in an instant. Looking at the table covered in a deep indigo cloth, numerous gems, trinkets, and smaller weapons were tucked into a dark corner before them. Trey couldn't help but blink his eyes in surprise at the beautifully embroidered chest sitting on the cluttered space. The chest was clearly an item of Crowley’s, deep blue in its main body with metal fastenings of gold on each edge and corner. He could even see a number of tiny iridescent pearl necklaces half hanging from the closed lid. But, on top of the chest, snoozing away as though all was well, was a dire beast with a striped ribbon around its neck. A cat if he remembered the name properly. But it was…big. Clearly already bonded to a weapon and a powerful one at that. Even asleep it seemed to ooze an aura of intimidation from its place atop the mysterious box.

Crowley only huffed at the creature, face pulled into displeasure at the sight. With one hand, he quickly picked the beast up by its ribbon collar and moved it haphazardly off the chest and onto the table.

With its own huff of annoyance, the beast shook itself awake to level a glare at Crowley. A gem was tied to its collar, the stone void of color only to flicker blue briefly before its ears flared up in flames of the same color, “What's the big idea on waking me up!?”

“It can speak!?” Trey shouted, eyes wide in shock and awe as he took a step back from the table. A dire beast so powerful it could speak the same tongue as them was unheard of. Turning to Crowley, he struggled to string his thoughts together, “Crowley, what is this? What weapon is this beast linked to?”

“Hey! My name is Grim!”

“A mirror.” Crowley smiled at the chest with fondness, gold-tipped hands caressing the top of it lovingly, “A weapon I had crafted nearly at the beginning of this mess to be our ultimate tool. A weapon that has the ability to create another from nothing, in any shape or form deemed necessary to ensure our victory. I had hoped…I would only need to use it on the reason for all of this…but he's grown too strong and we must use all we have…”

With a tap of his hand, a series of clicks sound from the chest. The lid popped up with a soft snap, a poof of glittering dust escaping the box and allowing Crowley to open it wider.

A black velvet pillow was all that greeted them. As time passed, Trey wondered if…the mirror was small. Or maybe it wasn't able to be seen by those who weren't wielding it? Maybe the beast decided who could see it…

“...Ah…” Crowley turned, meeting eyes with Trey and speaking just as the beast stared into the chest and yowled in confusion and distress at the lack of mirror inside, “It's missing.”

“...It’s what?”

Running water was the background noise to Yuu's teeth brushing, an overplayed pop song hummed at the back of their throat.

“Puppy! Puppy, come here; I need your help.”

Yuu spits into the sink, yelling back as she grabs a facecloth to wet in the still running water, “I'm covered in toothpaste!”

“Well, wipe yourself down and get in here!”

Already halfway through cleaning their face and hands, Yuu let out a loud groan before shutting the water off. The five-second walk from their cramped bathroom to the comfortably cozy living room was quick, moving beside her father as she watched him pick and stitch at a coat on one of his mannequins, “Yeah, dad?”

Crewel glanced at her briefly, stepping to the side to allow her to move closer to his project, “I need you to reach into this seam and smooth a layer inside down for me. I'm going to just stitch it down instead of having it mess up when I transport it…”

A quick and easy task, one Yuu had been performing since toddlerhood. A few minutes later, Crewel had tapped them on the thigh, a gentle signal that they could remove their hand. Watching their dad stitch the seam close, they couldn't help but marvel at the coat.

A pea-length coat made from almost shimmering short white fur, glittering in every slight movement made even from a single breath. Closed with three gold buttons and notch lapels that matched the fabric lining the inside of the coat. The inside was just as stunning; an ornate jacquard pattern of reds with her father’s signature stitched in white along the edge. The back cinching the coat into a more feminine framing with a red satin ribbon ran through gold corset loops and tied into a bow at the curve of the back.

They ghost their fingers over the fur, fighting the urge to feel the soft texture but knowing better, “The coat looks amazing. One of my favorites so far…” Yuu looked over to Crewel, raising an eyebrow as they elbowed him lightly, “Is it gonna be in the show?”

Sighing, Crewel put his pins and needles away, pulling a pair of glasses from a bin along with a comb and fine-toothed hair sheers. He starts moving over the coat with the comb and scissors to ensure not a single tuff was misaligned along the sleeves, “Well, she says it will be in the show. But we both know how Madame Sanat is. She says it'll be in the show but then decides as it’s about to go down the runway the design doesn't need the coat or the hat or the shoes-”

Taking a deep breath, Crewel signed again, staring at his creation with every ounce of exhaustion in him, “But, the plan is for the jacket to be in the show. She asked me personally to design for it, so maybe she won't be taken by the flights of fancy during the weekend.”

“You leave Thursday, right?”

“Thursday morning, correct. I'll try to make sure to do a grocery run before then.” He turned to Yuu, smiling as he gently caressed a hand against their cheek, “I'm sorry. I normally try to stay in town during your first week of school…”

Leaning into his hand, Yuu smiled back, shrugging in playful nonchalance, “It's no big deal. I'm a young lady after all. I even got through the first two days without being sent to the office for once.”

“I will admit. That part is impressive.” Crewel pulled on gloves, removing the coat from the mannequin to place it in a garment bag, “Thank you for doing your best to not get me called to your school as I was prepping for the show.”

Yuu rolled her eyes, “You sent me to school Monday saying if I got in trouble and pulled you away from working on the coat, you’d leave me back in the alley you found me.” They grabbed the reusable cup placed on the other side of the TV console, “Not my fault people are so easy to beat up.”

“Puppy.”

“What!? I've only punched in self-defense…” They sip at what they had thought was water, only to be met with the unpleasant mixture of the burn of alcohol and a mildly sweet taste hitting her mint-filled mouth and making her gag, “Ah!”

Crewel smiled lightly, taking his cup from her hands and looking at her from the corner of his eyes, “That's my wine, puppy…”

“It's like 11pm! Don't you have work in the morning!?”

“And you have school. Off to bed with you.”

Yuu rolled their eyes, groaning as they turned to walk into their bedroom, “Drink water!”

“Bed!”

Comfortably cramped and cozy was the staple of Yuu and Crewel's lives. Their bedroom cluttered with their personality and several iridescent fairy lights hanging from their loft bed. Climbing into the bed space, taking their extra-long charger cord with them, she made herself snug in her blankets and pillows. With their phone plugged in to charge through the night, they surfed along websites and apps as sleep slowly crept into their body. They could hear the noise of cars and the stray person outside their window slowly decreased the longer they stayed awake. Crewel had moved into the bathroom at some point, water running for some odd minutes before leaving to his own room across the hall separating them. Soon, for what seemed like an almost supernatural moment all was completely still and quiet.

Yuu felt their eyes drooping, blinks lasting longer and longer with each passing second. So when the light from outside their window changed from the warm-toned, burnt yellow street lights to an ethereal shimmery blue, they barely registered or had the energy to be amazed at the shift. The light and colors shifted, leaving shapes to dance and swirl along their walls and floors for nearly two minutes before they completely faded.

The lights had been beautiful, calming in a way they weren't entirely sure how to describe nor explain why they soothed them. As their eyes finally blinked closed in a deep sleep, Yuu made the mental note to check their phone tomorrow, already eager to see a video or an explanation for the glowing lights.

*Bonus!*

Aw~ Look, it's Yuu's baby picture!

[amethystarachnid]

Hi, how are you doing? ☺️

I’m here to make a little request for Tony Stark/Female Reader, please.

Prompt: Secret Santa

Background: Tony all cute and happy trying to find the best gift for her (maybe something handmade that reminds them of their relationship, I’m not the best person to think about those things, but I’m sure you will find something amazing) and Reader immediately knows what she’ll give to him, a box either a positive pregnancy test, some ultrasound pictures, a cute little iron man onesie with “Iron Baby” written and some other cute little things.

Thank you in advance! 💜

SECRET SANTA

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: While Tony is trying desperately to find the perfect gift for you you already have the perfect one hidden from him. Whose gift will be the best?

ᯓ★ TW(s): pregnancy

ᯓ★ To adapt the them to the request it isn't a secret santa so it'll be just a exchanging gifts kind of things

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Snow falls gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Stark Tower penthouse, each flake sparkling like tiny diamonds against the glow of New York City’s Christmas lights. Inside, the hum of J.A.R.V.I.S.’s automated systems and the faint strains of a holiday playlist create a cozy atmosphere. You’re lounging on the oversized couch, nestled under a throw blanket with a mug of peppermint hot chocolate warming your hands, your gaze occasionally drifting to the man who seems to embody the Christmas spirit this year.

Tony Stark is a whirlwind in the kitchen, entirely out of his natural habitat but utterly determined. He’s wearing a Santa hat that’s slightly askew, paired with an old, grease-stained AC/DC t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. His expression is one of laser focus as he uses an intricate set of tools — not culinary ones, mind you, but Stark-grade gadgets — to try and assemble what looks like a cookie cutter. The sight is simultaneously adorable and ridiculous, and you can’t help but smile as he mutters something under his breath about structural integrity and the optimal dough thickness.

“You know,” you tease, setting your mug down on the coffee table, “most people just buy cookie cutters. They don’t invent them.”

Tony looks up from his project, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, well, most people aren’t me, are they? If I’m going to make Christmas cookies for my amazing girlfriend, I’m going to do it right.”

You laugh, the sound echoing warmly through the room. “Cookies? Is that what you’re calling this… whatever this is?”

“This,” Tony says, holding up a vaguely star-shaped cutter with an air of triumph, “is engineering at its finest. And you, Ms. Skeptical, are going to eat the best Christmas cookies of your life.”

Your heart swells, the playful banter a familiar rhythm in your relationship. He’s been like this for weeks — uncharacteristically domestic and brimming with holiday cheer. You suspect it has something to do with the Christmas gift he’s been hinting at. Every time he tries to subtly ask you about what you might want, you see that telltale Stark gleam in his eye, the one that means he’s up to something.

Meanwhile, you’ve already decided on your gift for him. It’s sitting in a little box, tucked away in your closet, and every time you think about giving it to him, a wave of nervous excitement washes over you. It’s perfect, you’re sure of it, but it’s also a bombshell — the kind of gift that changes everything.

Tony’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Hey, you good? You’re smiling like you’ve got some secret.”

You grin, trying to play it cool. “Just enjoying the show. You’re surprisingly cute when you’re playing mad scientist with cookie cutters.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your sass, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Careful, or I might make you wear the Santa hat and help me. Equal partnership, remember?”

“Nice try, Stark, but you’re on your own for this one.” You stretch lazily, enjoying the way his eyes flicker to you, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I have my own holiday preparations to deal with.”

Tony narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Preparations, huh? Like what?”

“Like… wrapping your gift.”

His expression shifts instantly, from suspicion to unbridled curiosity. “You already got me something? Why didn’t you tell me? What is it? Is it a car? A private island? Oh my god, is it a pony?”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Why would I get you a pony?”

“I don’t know!” Tony throws up his hands. “You’re unpredictable. That’s one of the things I love about you. You could totally be the kind of person who buys her billionaire boyfriend a pony just to mess with him.”

Shaking your head, you rise from the couch and walk over to him, slipping your arms around his waist. He smells like a mix of motor oil and peppermint, a strangely comforting combination. “You’ll just have to wait until Christmas morning like everyone else.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against yours. “But waiting is the worst.”

You laugh softly, your fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “You’ll survive.”

Tony pulls back, giving you that crooked grin that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “You’re lucky I’m crazy about you.”

“I know,” you say, kissing his cheek. “And for the record, I’m crazy about you too.”

The rest of the evening unfolds in a blur of laughter, cookie dough catastrophes, and a flour fight that leaves the kitchen looking like a snowstorm hit it. By the time you crawl into bed, Tony is already brainstorming ways to improve his cookie cutter design, his notebook balanced precariously on his lap.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but think about how much your life has changed since Tony came into it. He’s still the same brilliant, unpredictable man you fell in love with, but there’s a softer side to him now, one that he only shows to you. It’s a side that makes you even more excited about the future — a future that’s about to become even more chaotic, and infinitely more wonderful.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Christmas music playing softly in the background. Tony is already up, standing at the counter with his back to you, tinkering with something that looks suspiciously like a robotic arm holding a whisk. You smile, shaking your head at his endless creativity.

“Morning,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

He turns his head to look at you, his face lighting up. “Morning, gorgeous. Coffee’s on the counter.”

You grab your mug and take a sip, savoring the warmth. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Shopping,” he announces, spinning around to face you. “I’m on a mission to find the perfect gift for the perfect woman.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And who might that be?”

Tony smirks. “Funny. You might know her. Smart, beautiful, has an impeccable sense of humor. Bit of a troublemaker, though.”

You laugh, leaning against the counter. “Well, good luck with that. She sounds like she has pretty high standards.”

“Oh, she does,” Tony says, his expression softening. “But she’s worth it.”

Your heart melts a little, and you reach up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he quips, grabbing his coat. “Now, come on. Let’s go spread some holiday cheer — Stark style.”

The day is a whirlwind of activity. Tony drags you to every shop in Manhattan, insisting that he needs your input for “research purposes.” You play along, knowing full well that he’s trying to throw you off the scent of whatever he’s planning. At one point, he buys an absurdly oversized stuffed reindeer and insists on carrying it around for the rest of the day, much to the amusement of passersby.

By the time you make it back to the penthouse, your feet are aching, but your spirits are high. Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, the reindeer perched proudly next to him.

“That,” he declares, “was a successful mission.”

“Did you actually buy my gift, or was this just an excuse to act like a Christmas lunatic?” you ask, flopping down beside him.

“Both,” he admits, pulling you into his arms. “But mostly the gift thing. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I’m sure I will.”

As you sit there together, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the quiet hum of the city below, you realize that this is what you love most about the holidays. It’s not the gifts or the decorations — it’s the simple, joyful moments with the man you love.

And if everything goes according to plan, this Christmas will be one you’ll both remember for the rest of your lives.

The Stark Tower is unusually lively this morning, the energy of Christmas buzzing through its futuristic halls. Tony is in a festive yet frantic state, pacing the penthouse like a man on a mission. His hair is slightly tousled, his signature goatee impeccably groomed, but there’s an unmistakable panic in his eyes. In one hand, he clutches a tablet loaded with potential gift ideas — all of which he’s already rejected.

“I’ve got nothing,” he mutters to himself, collapsing onto the plush sofa. “Nothing! Billionaire genius, and I can’t even come up with a gift for my girlfriend. Pathetic.”

J.A.R.V.I.S., ever the voice of reason, chimes in. “Perhaps if you focused on what Ms. Y/N truly enjoys, sir, instead of cross-referencing gift lists from obscure online influencers—”

“Don’t start, J,” Tony cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “She’s already got everything. I mean, I got her that custom jet last year. How do you top a jet? You can’t just show up with…I don’t know…a fruit basket.”

“Fruit baskets do have their appeal,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responds with what could almost be sarcasm. “But perhaps the Avengers could provide some inspiration?”

Tony freezes mid-panic spiral. That’s not a terrible idea. Sure, it’s risky — the team isn’t exactly known for their emotional intelligence — but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Fine,” he says, springing to his feet. “Avengers assemble… into my gift crisis.”

Tony’s first stop is the gym, where Steve Rogers is predictably punching a bag that looks like it’s seen better days. Captain America, always dependable. Surely he’ll have a wholesome, foolproof idea.

“Cap!” Tony calls out, striding into the room. “I need your help.”

Steve turns, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Help with what?”

“Gift ideas for Y/N,” Tony explains. “You’re all about romance, right? Flowers, dances, old-school charm?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate.”

“Come on,” Tony pleads. “What would you get Peggy?”

Steve hesitates, clearly caught off guard. “Well… something meaningful. Like… a locket. Or a handwritten letter.”

Tony blinks. “A letter? Seriously? What am I, a 1940s soldier? This is Y/N we’re talking about.”

Steve shrugs. “You asked for my opinion.”

“Yeah, and I’m returning it for store credit.” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Cap. I’ll try not to let your advice tank the relationship.”

Steve sighs, going back to his punching bag. “Good luck.”

Next up is Natasha, who’s in the middle of yoga in one of the quieter rooms. Tony approaches cautiously, aware that interrupting her zen could be hazardous to his health.

“Nat,” he begins, leaning against the doorway. “I need a favor.”

She doesn’t even open her eyes. “Is this about Y/N’s gift?”

Tony gapes. “How did you—?”

“Because you’ve been pacing around the tower like a maniac all morning,” she replies coolly, finally sitting up and fixing him with a knowing look. “What do you have so far?”

“Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

Natasha smirks. “And you want me to tell you what to get her.”

“Exactly!” Tony points at her like she’s just cracked the code to cold fusion. “You’re sharp. Observant. What’s the perfect gift?”

Natasha considers for a moment, then says, “Something personal. Handmade, maybe. You’re good with your hands.”

Tony grins, but before he can make a suggestive comment, she cuts him off with a glare. “Not like that. I mean something that shows how much you care. Jewelry, maybe. Or art.”

“Jewelry… art…” Tony mutters, pulling out his tablet. “Great, now I just have to learn how to sculpt in two days. Thanks, Romanoff.”

“Happy to help,” she says dryly, already returning to her yoga pose.

From there, Tony tries Clint, who’s stringing up Christmas lights in one of the communal areas. Clint’s advice is as chaotic as expected.

“Easy,” Clint says, perching precariously on a ladder. “Just get her a puppy. Chicks love puppies.”

Tony stares at him. “I am not bringing a dog into this tower.”

“Why not? Dogs are great. They’re cute, cuddly, and they make up for any shortcomings in the gift department.”

Tony rubs his temples. “I’m not trying to distract her from my shortcomings, Barton. I’m trying to impress her.”

“Suit yourself,” Clint shrugs, hanging a lopsided string of lights. “But don’t come crying to me when she says she wanted a golden retriever.”

Bruce is in the lab, predictably surrounded by gadgets and scientific equipment. Tony hopes the two of them can put their combined genius to work on this problem, but Bruce is far less helpful than anticipated.

“Maybe you could write her a song,” Bruce suggests, pushing up his glasses.

Tony stares at him. “Do I look like Taylor Swift?”

“I’m just saying, it’s heartfelt. You could compose it digitally if you don’t want to sing.”

“Banner, I love you like a brother, but I’m not serenading Y/N.”

Bruce shrugs. “Your loss. I think she’d like it.”

“Noted.” Tony sighs. “Back to the drawing board.”

Even Happy gets dragged into the chaos. Tony finds him downstairs, supervising the unloading of holiday supplies.

“Happy,” Tony says, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve known Y/N for years. What’s her ultimate Christmas gift?”

Happy looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “You want me to tell you what to get your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re asking me, the guy who drives you around?”

“Exactly.”

Happy shakes his head. “You’re hopeless, boss.”

Tony groans, throwing his hands in the air. “You people are useless!”

By the end of the day, Tony is no closer to a solution. He’s tried everyone — Sam, Bucky, even Thor, whose advice (“Forge her a hammer!”) was predictably unhelpful. He slumps onto the couch in the penthouse, utterly defeated.

“What if she hates it?” he mutters aloud. “What if it’s not enough?”

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interjects, “if I may offer a suggestion?”

Tony sighs. “What is it, J?”

“Perhaps the best gift you could give Ms. Y/N is a reflection of your relationship. Something that reminds her of the journey you’ve shared.”

Tony frowns, the gears in his mind turning. A reflection of their relationship… Suddenly, it clicks. His face lights up with realization, and he jumps to his feet.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., you’re a genius!” he exclaims. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

“I am programmed to be helpful, sir.”

Tony grins, already pulling out his tools and materials. He’s got a lot of work to do, but for the first time all day, he’s confident. This Christmas, he’s going to give Y/N something truly unforgettable. And if all else fails, well, there’s always next year’s puppy.

The workshop hums with activity as Tony works furiously on his latest project. He’s elbow-deep in wires and microchips, his face illuminated by the glow of holographic schematics projected in the air around him. His Santa hat sits forgotten on the workbench, replaced by his trusty welding goggles, and the upbeat carols playing in the background do little to mask his occasional muttered curses.

This gift has to be perfect. After his disastrous attempts at getting advice from the Avengers, Tony finally landed on an idea that feels right. It’s not about flashy extravagance or grand gestures this time. It’s about them — their inside jokes, their adventures, the little moments that have defined their relationship. The project is both ambitious and surprisingly sentimental, and it’s consuming every ounce of his focus.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. pipes up, “Ms. Y/N has just returned from her errands. Should I inform her of your whereabouts?”

“No!” Tony yelps, nearly dropping a soldering iron. “I mean, no. Don’t tell her I’m down here. And don’t let her come in. This is classified.”

“As you wish, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replies. “Though I should point out that she may grow suspicious of your… absence.”

Tony pauses, chewing his lip. “Good point. I’ll head up for a bit. Cover for me if she asks anything.”

“As always, sir.”

Tony wipes his hands on a nearby cloth, tugs off his goggles, and makes his way upstairs. As the elevator doors slide open, the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, and he spots you in the kitchen, arranging a tray of cookies with a focused determination that rivals his own.

“Hey, Peppermint,” he greets, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What’s cookin’?”

You glance up, a playful smile curving your lips. “Cookies, obviously. You planning to swoop in and steal half of them before they cool?”

“Steal? Never.” He steps closer, the grin on his face equal parts mischief and charm. “I’m just here to, uh, supervise.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, clearly not buying it. “What’s the catch, Stark?”

He slides an arm around your waist, planting a kiss on your cheek. “No catch. Just missed you.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, setting the tray aside and turning to face him. “And this has nothing to do with trying to figure out what I got you for Christmas?”

Tony’s feigned innocence is laughable. “What? Me? No. I’m just an affectionate boyfriend who loves his girl and—”

“Tony.” Your tone is firm but amused. “You’re not getting it out of me.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall against your shoulder. “Come on, just give me a hint. A tiny clue. Like… does it have wheels? Or a remote control?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

Tony leans back, his hands coming up to cradle your face as his eyes search yours. “Okay, what if I said you’re the most brilliant, stunning, wonderful person in the universe?”

“Flattery won’t work.”

“Bribery?”

“Nope.”

“Kisses?” He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a way that’s almost enough to make you forget what he’s after.

Almost.

You pull back, grinning. “Still no.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“Consider it payback for all the times you’ve teased me with surprises.” You poke him lightly in the chest. “Now go find something else to obsess over.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, though his eyes sparkle with affection. “But this isn’t over.”

It’s definitely not over.

The next day, Tony launches a full-scale investigation. If you won’t spill the beans, maybe someone else will.

Thor is his first target. The Asgardian is lounging on the couch, a giant mug of hot chocolate in hand, as he admires the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. He looks every bit the picture of holiday contentment — until Tony plops down next to him with an unnerving grin.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Tony begins, his tone overly casual. “Enjoying the cocoa?”

Thor nods, his expression serene. “Indeed, Stark. This Midgardian drink is most delightful.”

“Great, great.” Tony leans in slightly. “So, uh… you’re pretty close with Y/N, right?”

Thor raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing an ulterior motive. “She is my dearest friend. Why do you ask?”

Tony shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, no reason. Just curious if she’s mentioned anything about, you know, Christmas gifts. Specifically mine.”

Thor chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. “You wish to uncover her secret.”

“Exactly!” Tony’s eyes light up with hope. “So spill. What did she get me?”

But Thor shakes his head, his amusement evident. “I swore an oath of silence, Stark. Y/N entrusted me with this knowledge, and I shall not betray her.”

Tony groans, flopping back against the couch. “Come on, Thor. Just a hint. A riddle. Morse code, even.”

“I cannot,” Thor replies firmly. “But take heart, my friend. I am certain you will be most pleased with her gift.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony mutters. “Thanks for nothing, Thunderlord.”

Undeterred, Tony moves on to Sam and Bucky, who are bickering over whether or not Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie.

“Guys,” Tony interrupts, sliding into the seat between them. “Serious question: What did Y/N get me for Christmas?”

Sam snorts. “You think she told us?”

“Please,” Bucky adds, not even looking up from the screen. “Y/N knows we’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “So if she did tell you, you’d crack by now. Which means she didn’t. Which means you’re useless to me.”

“Glad we cleared that up,” Sam deadpans.

Even Bruce, who’s usually patient enough to entertain Tony’s antics, is less than helpful.

“She didn’t tell me,” Bruce insists, adjusting his glasses. “And even if she did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do none of you understand the concept of loyalty?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Tony, if anyone here has loyalty to Y/N, it’s you. Why don’t you trust her gift will be amazing?”

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it. Bruce has a point. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less curious.

Back in his workshop that evening, Tony tinkers with his own project, trying to push thoughts of your gift from his mind. He’s almost finished now — just a few more adjustments, and it’ll be ready. As he assembles the final pieces, he thinks about all the moments that led up to this Christmas: your first date, the time you stayed up all night helping him debug a faulty suit, the way you make him laugh even on his worst days.

This gift isn’t just a present. It’s a thank you, a promise, and a celebration of everything you’ve built together.

And even though you’re driving him crazy with your secrecy, he knows one thing for certain: Whatever you’ve got planned, it’s going to be unforgettable.

With that thought, Tony sets down his tools, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t need to know what your gift is — not yet. For now, he’s happy just knowing he has you.

Christmas morning in the Stark Tower is a scene straight out of a holiday movie. The enormous tree in the living room is aglow with lights, its base surrounded by neatly wrapped presents. Snow falls gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a soft white backdrop for the festive chaos unfolding inside.

You’re curled up on the couch in your favorite pajamas, a mug of hot cocoa in hand. Tony, ever the big kid at heart, has already passed out Santa hats to everyone present, including himself. He wears his tilted at a jaunty angle as he lounges beside you, an arm slung around your shoulders.

“All right, folks!” he announces, clapping his hands together. “It’s showtime. Let’s get to the main event: gifts.”

The Avengers have gathered around the tree, a motley crew of holiday cheer (and mild bickering). Thor booms with laughter as he rips open a package containing a novelty hammer-shaped mug. Natasha smirks as she unwraps a sleek new set of throwing knives from Clint. Even Bruce looks delighted by his custom-designed science gadget from Sam.

But you and Tony? You’ve been waiting for this moment all morning, both of you teasingly delaying the exchange of your gifts.

“You first,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “I want to see what you’ve been hiding in that workshop of yours.”

Tony’s grin spreads wide, a mix of excitement and nerves. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart, this one’s worth the wait.”

He reaches under the tree and pulls out a medium-sized box wrapped in shiny silver paper. Handing it to you with a flourish, he leans back to watch your reaction, his eyes sparkling like a kid on Christmas morning.

You tear into the wrapping paper eagerly, revealing a sleek wooden box with a brass clasp. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a handcrafted piece of art—a delicate, intricate snow globe. The base is engraved with your initials intertwined with his, and the scene inside is unmistakably Stark: a miniature version of you and Tony, standing arm in arm next to a scaled-down Iron Man suit, all framed by a sparkling winter wonderland.

Your breath catches. “Tony… this is…”

“There’s more,” he interrupts, leaning forward eagerly. “Shake it.”

You do, and as the snow swirls around, holographic lights within the globe flicker to life. Tiny projections play out in the air—a montage of your most cherished memories together, from your first date to lazy mornings in the penthouse, all culminating in a tiny glowing heart, just like the one in Tony’s arc reactor.

Tears well in your eyes, and you look up at him, overwhelmed. “Tony, this is… it’s perfect. It’s us.”

He smirks, brushing it off, but you can see the pride in his eyes. “I figured I’d go for something understated this year.”

You laugh, setting the globe carefully on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. “Thank you. I love it. I love you.”

“I know,” he quips, pulling you into a kiss that’s soft and sweet. “Merry Christmas, Peppermint.”

The rest of the room groans at the display, but neither of you notice.

“Okay,” Tony says after a moment, clearly eager now. “Your turn. Let’s see what my genius, gorgeous girlfriend came up with.”

You grin, your nerves suddenly kicking in as you grab the box you’ve been hiding behind the tree. It’s wrapped in festive red paper, topped with a glittery bow.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him. “Be careful. It’s… uh… delicate.”

Tony narrows his eyes playfully. “Delicate? What did you get me, a Fabergé egg?”

“Just open it,” you reply, your heart pounding.

He takes his time unwrapping it, deliberately dragging out the suspense until you swat his arm. Finally, he pulls off the lid, revealing a soft, tiny onesie folded neatly on top. It’s bright red and gold, designed to mimic his Iron Man suit, with “Iron Baby” written across the front in bold letters.

Tony stares at it for a beat, then looks up at you, brow furrowed. “Uh… is this for… like, a doll? Or are you suggesting I start a baby clothing line?”

You can’t help but laugh nervously. “Keep going,” you urge, gesturing toward the box.

Still confused, Tony sets the onesie aside and peeks beneath it. There, tucked beneath a layer of tissue paper, are the ultrasound pictures.

He picks up the first one, his eyes narrowing as he examines it. The confusion melts away in stages—first to realization, then to shock, and finally to an overwhelming wave of emotion. He freezes, his hand trembling slightly as he holds the image.

“Wait,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Is this… are you…?”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

For a moment, he’s completely speechless. His mouth opens and closes as he looks from you to the pictures and back again. When the tears come, he tries to hide them by rubbing his eyes, but there’s no stopping the emotion that floods his face.

“Oh, my God,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again, smiling through your own tears. “Surprise.”

Tony lets out a choked laugh, setting the pictures carefully back in the box before pulling you into his arms. He holds you so tightly it’s as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“You made my gift look miserable,” he mumbles against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t compete with this. This is… this is everything.”

“You don’t have to compete,” you whisper back, your arms wrapped around his neck. “This is our everything.”

When he finally pulls back, his face is lit up with a joy you’ve never seen before. He looks at the pictures again, then at you, then back at the onesie, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “Holy—wow. This might be the best day of my life.”

You laugh, wiping at your tears. “You think you’re ready for this?”

Tony grins, his trademark cockiness shining through even as his voice trembles. “Are you kidding? I’m Iron Man. I was born ready.”

He pauses, then adds, “Although, uh, maybe I should baby-proof the workshop.”

The two of you laugh, and when Tony pulls you in for another kiss, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just you, him, and the tiny new adventure waiting for you both.

“Merry Christmas, Peppermint,” he whispers against your lips.

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

[amber-aura]

Let us Live since we must Die: Chapter 5: Something in the Soil

Summary: In 1932, something happened in Mississippi. Something no one could explain. In 2001, a baby was born under a sky that remembered. In 2025, she’s about to find out why. Breana Rae has the power to tear through space, but what she really wants is to connect the pieces of her past. When a rare celestial event reawakens the ghosts of a buried tragedy, Breana is pulled into a mystery far older and far deeper than she ever imagined.

Pairing: Remmick x black!oc

A/N: As promised, an early chapter. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ comments only. Minors, you can read but do not interact with any of my works. Angst, graphic mentions of blood and gore, eventual smut, slow burn, slurs, mentions of suicide, emetophobia, sexual assault, murder, etc. Will continue adding more as the story progresses for the sake of any new readers.

Word count: 5k

My eyelids were made of stone.

Heavy, and stubborn.

I groaned and tried to lift my hand to rub my face, but even that felt like it required more energy than I had. My limbs ached—no, more than ached—they buzzed, like the blood in me had forgotten how to flow correctly. My throat was dry. My skin? Damp. I felt like I’d been sleeping in a sauna made of static and bad dreams.

A faint breeze hit my cheek. Not from an AC unit. This was…a fan maybe? It carried the smell of soil and something cooked in cast iron.

Where am I?

I finally peeled my eyes open, blinking into a room that looked like it belonged in a museum. There was no TV. No lights humming. Just a rickety ceiling fan above my head, lazily spinning. Lace curtains. Floral wallpaper. Wooden floorboards. The bed I was on squeaked every time I breathed too deep.

Then I heard it—soft shuffling.

A woman’s voice came from outside the room, followed by footsteps that creaked with age and weight.

“She stirrin’?”

“Dunno, but she don’t look feverish no more.”

A shadow passed the doorway. Then a woman stepped into the room holding a folded cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

She looked to be in her late twenties maybe. Caramel skin, soft face, thick braids pulled back and tied with a faded scarf. She wore a simple dress, dusty at the hem.

When she saw me blinking up at her, she stopped in her tracks.

“Well now,” she said slowly, setting the cloth and water on the side table. “Look who’s finally woke up.”

I sat up fast, too fast, and immediately regretted it. “Ugh—” My vision spun. My head throbbed.

“Whoa there, easy,” she warned, stepping forward and gently pressing my shoulder back to the pillow. “You hit your head or somethin’? You was sweatin’ like you fought the devil himself.”

“I…I don’t…” My voice cracked. “Where am I?”

She blinked, clearly confused by the way I sounded.

“You don’t know where you are?” she repeated, glancing at me sideways. “You in Clarksdale, Mississippi. May 7th, 1932. You sure you ain’t been drinkin’ or doin’ somethin’ you shouldn’t have been doin’?”

My mouth went dry. I just stared at her. Did she say nineteen-thirt—

No.

No, no, no. It happened!

She frowned at my silence. “What’s your name, baby?”

“Breana,” I barely whispered.

“Well, Miss Breana,” she said, sitting beside the bed, “I found you passed out by the edge of the field this mornin’. Thought maybe you was sick or touched by heatstroke or somethin’. But what’s mighty odd…is the way you was dressed.”

I glanced down.

Oh.

Oh God.

I was wearing my loose pajama  top and pants. Everything was dusty and scuffed like I’d been dragged through a dirt road. Which, I guess, maybe I had.

“You wasn’t wearin’ no nightgown,” she continued, shaking her head slowly. “Ain’t never seen a woman dressed like that unless she was runnin’ from somethin’ or from somewhere.” She paused. “Where you from exactly, Miss Breana?”

The moment she asked, I knew I couldn’t say California. My accent alone had probably already said too much. But I couldn’t lie either. I had no idea what was going on.

“But you will.”

Oh.

“…California,” I finally said, watching her face closely.

Her eyes widened just slightly.

“California?” she echoed like she wasn’t sure if I’d just said a city or a whole fairy tale. “That’s… a long way from here. What brings you all the way out to Clarksdale? You got family down here?”

“…I think maybe I do,” I said, honestly, but cautiously. “But I don’t know anyone personally.”

She looked at me for a long second, her fingers fidgeting with her dress hem like she didn’t know what to make of me.

“Well,” she finally said, standing back up. “You stay here and rest for a bit longer. I’ll get you somethin’ light to eat, alright? You still look a bit pale. And after that, we can figure out what to do with you.”

I nodded slowly, laying back down as she stepped out of the room. My heart thundered. My fingers curled into the quilt beneath me.

1932.

I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t hallucinating.

And now, I had to figure out how to survive.

Shit.

My thoughts scrambled. Do I remember my notes? The research I did? My heart twisted painfully. My parents...my friends. Are they freaking out right now?

Mary. Elias. God…will I ever see them again?

But then my eyes shot open.

Wait—wait. This is their era. This is literally their time.

My pulse fluttered with cautious hope. That means I have a chance…a real chance of finding them. Of seeing them again. 

But the momentary spark of hope was crushed by the churning in my stomach. My guts twisted, heavy and nauseous like I’d just gotten off the world’s roughest rollercoaster with no seatbelt. I clutched my abdomen and let out a quiet, miserable groan.

Right on cue, the woman returned, this time carrying a small bowl of soup with steam gently curling from the surface.

“Here, baby. Eat this. Regain your strength,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

But then she paused, taking a better look at my face. Her expression creased with concern. “Hold on,” she muttered. “Let me go get a bucket…”

Yeah. I must’ve looked like I was about to hurl up my soul.

I didn’t stop her. I just stayed there, curled slightly on my side, breathing slow, shallow breaths, trying to ground myself while the warm scent of broth wafted up around me.

This was real. All of it.

I tapped my pants pocket for my phone…

Oh my god it wasn’t there. But I briefly remember putting it in my pocket!

I weakly looked around the room, my phone was nowhere in sight. So the woman didn’t take it. Maybe it just didn’t come with me somehow? No…because when I open rifts, everything that’s on my person goes with me so…

So the woman must have it. Wasn’t she talking to another person before checking on me? I’ll have to ask her that.

She returned with a bucket, but I willed myself not to throw up. It would be inconvenient because then if I ate the soup, chances are that would come back out as well.

I’m trying…I’m trying…I’m not gonna be sick…not gonna be sick…

Sweat rolled down my forehead. Not…gonna…be…sick…

Shit.

It happened. Okay.

I heaved into the bucket, furrowing my eyebrows at the taste. Eugh, all that good soul food I had just wasted. 

The woman set the bowl of soup aside and left again.

She returned with two cups of lukewarm water. One I’m assuming to clean my mouth with and the other to actually drink.

And then, someone else walked in.

My head turned slowly toward the doorway as soft footsteps approached. It was another woman—this one with deep brown skin and coiled, short-cropped hair. Her dress was simple, like the first woman’s, but her aura was different.

There was something in her eyes. Not suspicion, not fear. Something deeper. Recognition?

When our gazes locked, my body reacted before I could process it. Something clicked . Something soft and painful.

“Ask them their names.”

After a sip of water to steady my voice, I spoke through dry lips, “Um…may I ask your names?”

The first woman smiled warmly, clearly pleased I was coherent enough to speak.

“I’m Amara,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “And this here is Imani.” She nodded toward the second woman. “And this is Breana,” she added kindly, introducing me to her companion.

Imani approached the bed without hesitation and knelt down beside Amara, her movements gentle and intentional. Her presence was calming, but her eyes… still watching me like she knew something I didn’t.

“Hi, Breana,” she said.

Her voice was soft, low, but it rang in my ears like a song I half-remembered from a dream.

I blinked. “Hi…” I mumbled.

Then, like it was nothing, Imani lifted her hand.

And in her hand—was my phone.

My phone.I almost cried.

“This yours?” she asked casually, holding it up as the sunlight flickered across the screen. “Found it slippin’ outta your…pants pocket when you was knocked out.”

I couldn’t even lie fast enough to form a sentence.

My mouth opened, stalled, then tried to restart. “Uhh…yeah. That’s mine. And, um…it’s kind of hard to explain. It’s like a—uh…”

I paused. What was I supposed to say?

Okay so it’s a telephone, and a typewriter, and a music player, and a flashlight, and it’s like...it tells me the weather and can summon food to my house and—oh yeah—it also fits in your pocket. Yeah, no.

I cleared my throat. “It’s complicated,” I finally said, sheepish. “But it’s important to me. Thank you for keeping it safe.”

Imani studied me for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded and gently set it on the table beside me.

No questions asked.

Which made her even more suspicious. Or kind. Or something in between.

I had so many questions.

But for now, all I could do was rest, sip my water, and process the fact that I’d just thrown up all that good food, but at least my phone was alive and well.

“So…I know you probably have a lot more questions,” I muttered weakly, my voice still a little hoarse from everything.

Amara looked at Imani with a small grin. “Well, so far she’s told me she’s from California,” she said, then turned back to me with a playful little squint. “I told her that’s a long way from Mississippi. Asked if she had folks around here.”

Imani raised an eyebrow. “California?” she echoed. “That explains the way she talks.”

“Right?” Amara chuckled. “And ain’t it strange she just showed up passed out in your fields like that?” she added teasingly, nudging Imani lightly.

Oh. So this is Imani’s house…not Amara’s. That detail hadn’t quite clicked for me before. I watched them for a moment. Were they just friends? Sisters? Cousins?

“Thanks for helpin’ me tend to her,” Imani said genuinely, turning to Amara with soft gratitude in her eyes.

Amara smiled, resting a hand on her hip. “’Course. Aiding’s my specialty. Only the best care for my best friend,” she said proudly, giving Imani a fond glance. “And especially for our own folks.”

Ah. Best friends. That makes sense. Ride-or-die energy.

It made me feel…safer. Warmer. Like even in a time and place I wasn’t supposed to be in, there were still bonds like that. People looking out for each other.

Amara sat down on the nearby stool and tilted her head, eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied me — not unkindly, but definitely with suspicion. The kind of suspicion that said you’re not off the hook yet, missy.

“So lemme ask you somethin’, sugar,” she started, resting her elbow on her knee. “How you come all the way from the West Coast — California — down to Mississippi, and by yourself no less? Ain’t no man with you, ain’t no family waitin’ at the station? Not even a trunk to your name? That don’t make a lick of sense.”

I blinked, fumbling for a response I didn’t have.

She wasn’t done.

“Y’know how long that trip is? Even by train it’d take you days. Days. And even then, a black woman travelin’ alone across states like that? Honey, that’s dangerous now. You must’ve been prayin’ for somethin’ to happen.”

Imani remained quiet, but she was watching me too, head slightly tilted like she was trying to read between every word I hadn’t said yet.

“And then you show up dressed like that,” Amara added, gesturing to my pants and shirt. “No gown, no suitcase. Just passed out in Imani’s field like you fell straight out the sky.”

She leaned forward now, lowering her voice slightly. “So you tell me — if you don’t have kin here, and you ain’t got no job lined up, then why you come all this way to Mississippi, baby?”

The room fell quiet.

All I could do was stare back, heart pounding, knowing full well that the truth would sound crazier than anything they could imagine — and yet, the only thing crazier would be trying to lie my way out of this.

But I wasn’t ready to tell them the real truth. Not yet. So I went for something in between.

“…I think I’m lookin’ for somethin’,” I said softly.

Amara raised a brow. “Lookin’ for what?”

“I don’t know yet,” I answered honestly, voice just above a whisper. “But I think I’ll know when I find it.”

They both looked at me, silent.

Then Amara leaned back, arms crossed. “…You got a funny way about you,” she said at last.

Imani gave me the smallest smile, like she didn’t mind that I didn’t have all the answers. Like maybe she was used to folks carrying unspoken things.

Amara wasn’t done. She shifted again on the stool, posture stiff, concern tightening her face.

“Now I ain't tryna be nosey just to be nosey,” she said, squinting a little, “but somethin’ don’t sit right.”

She pointed toward me gently. “You say you from California. Okay. But you pass out in somebody’s field — ain’t got no suitcase, ain’t got no bruises, no bumps, not even a scratch on you. Nothin’. Just...laid out cold like the Lord himself dropped you there.”

Her voice softened, but her eyes didn’t.

“So what happened to you, baby? You sick? You get dizzy on the train? You eat somethin’ that didn’t agree with you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Imani stayed quiet, but I could feel her eyes burning softly into me.

Then Amara leaned in, elbows on her knees now, voice low and serious.

“Did you run into somebody?” she asked slowly. “White folks? A man?”

I flinched. My lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I know it sound accusatory, but I gotta ask,” she continued. “This the South. And you a black girl alone. You sure nobody laid hands on you? Or followed you? You didn’t drink somethin’ they gave you and get sick?”

“No,” I managed to whisper. “No…nobody hurt me.”

She looked at me a little longer, trying to catch any cracks in the words.

Then her brows pulled together in thought.

“…Maybe they ain’t touch you, but what if they took somethin’? Like your things? You got jumped at the station or on the road maybe? That ever happen? You travel all this way and don’t even got a handkerchief to your name. You sure you didn’t get robbed?”

I bit my tongue. Her concern was genuine — I could hear the fire and the fear in her voice. She didn’t sound like someone digging for gossip. She sounded like someone who had seen too much, lost too many, and was scared she’d found another tragedy breathing in front of her.

“No…I swear,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “I…just passed out. Maybe from the heat? I really don’t know.”

Amara sighed and looked at Imani, who still hadn’t said much.

“She still ain’t tellin’ us everything,” Amara said, not unkindly. “But I’ll drop it for now. Girl got color back in her face at least. And she’s holdin’ down soup. That’s somethin’.”

Then she looked at me again, softer this time. “But if anybody did mess with you, Breana, I want you to tell me. You hear? Me and Imani, we don’t play about our people.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat too thick to speak.

I could barely meet their eyes. Because they were right — I wasn’t telling them everything. But how could I?

Who would believe me if I said time itself dropped me in their yard?

So for now I just swallowed the truth and more soup.

Imani finally spoke up again, her voice low and level like warm rain tapping on the window.

“Well,” she said, turning the small object over in her hand, “if she was robbed, they sure didn’t do a thorough job.”

She held my phone up again, letting it catch a sliver of light from the window.

“’Cause she still had this in her pocket.”

Amara blinked, leaning forward to get a better look. “Oh yeah…that.”

She squinted at it, lips pursing in curiosity. “You said you didn’t know how to explain it, right?”

I nodded slowly.

Amara tilted her head. “Looks like one o’ them fancy lil’ compact mirrors ladies carry sometimes. Except it don’t open. Girl must have money like you, Imani. ‘Cause it’s certainly fancy lookin’.”

Imani tapped a finger on the dark screen. “Glass on one side, and the other side metal…you sure this ain’t somethin’ ornamental? It ain’t no good luck charm, is it?”

I couldn’t help the tight laugh that slipped out — short, nervous. “I mean…some people would say it is.”

Amara raised an eyebrow, then gave me a look like, Mmhm, alright then, girl.

“Well, I ain’t gonna press it no more,” she said, standing up and stretching her back with a little sigh. “Y’all got this, I’ma go grab somethin’.”

She turned to Imani and rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “You alright?”

Imani nodded. “I’m alright.”

“Alright then.” Amara turned back to me, gave me one last studying look. “You keep restin’, baby. And drink that second cup of water. You sweat like a pig when you first woke up.”

“I will,” I said.

With a swish of her cotton dress and the creak of old wood under her heels, Amara headed for the door and stepped out, letting the screen slam gently behind her.

Now it was just me and Imani.

Imani set the strange object — my phone — gently on the side table like it might break if she breathed too hard.

“You still look like you halfway between here and somewhere else,” she said, her voice soft and rhythmic, like she was talking to the wind. “You sure you okay?”

I nodded slowly, then added, “Honestly? I don’t know.”

She gave me a long look. Not suspicious. Just thoughtful. I could tell she was trying to piece something together. Or maybe she already had — and she was just letting me catch up.

“I can tell you ain’t dangerous,” she said after a while. “You look shook more than anything. And whatever you been through…I can feel it on you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever said they could feel something on me. 

So I just asked, “Do you always speak like that?”

Imani smiled a little. “Like what?”

“Like you see past things.”

She chuckled, looking down at her lap. “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just nerves. And sometimes it’s truth.”

There was a pause, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Amara—she likes to know everything upfront. Wants to hold the whole truth in both hands. Me? I just…I wait. I watch. I listen.”

Her gaze returned to mine, steady. “I think you came a long way. Not just in miles.”

That hit me somewhere deep. Too deep.

So I deflected. “You’re real poetic, you know that?”

Imani laughed gently. “That’s what folks say. Mama used to call it ‘talkin’ in circles.’ Said it made people uncomfortable.”

“Doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” I said. “It’s kinda…calming. Unnerving but calming.”

She smiled again, but smaller this time. Like maybe she needed to hear that.

“I appreciate that,” she said softly.

Another silence passed. She didn’t fill it. Neither did I. For once, that felt okay.

Then finally, I asked a question, a bit delirious. “Do you believe in fate?”

Imani looked at me like I’d just asked her to describe the shape of a soul.

“I believe in paths,” she said after a moment. “Some of us get to choose ours. Some of us get pushed. Some of us… get pulled .”

I swallowed. Her words felt too close. Like they’d been made for me before I even asked.

“Out of curiosity, do you think I was pulled here then?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Imani’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “I think you didn’t come here by accident.”

Goosebumps.

I shivered, and she noticed. She stood slowly, reached for a light blanket and draped it over my shoulders.

“You rest now. You don’t owe nobody no explanation just yet.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

She brushed her hands on her apron, then paused at the doorframe.

“Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You did say you came here lookin’ for somethin’. You got that look.”

“What look?”

“The kind folks get right before somethin’ changes for good.”

Then she stepped out, and I was left staring at the phone on the nightstand wondering what came next.

Once I was sure Imani had gone, I reached for my phone.

Please still work, I whispered in my head like a prayer.

I pressed the side button.

The screen lit up.

I let out a shaky breath, half in disbelief, half in straight-up gratitude. Battery: 57%. Okay, cool. I could work with that. It wasn’t dead. Not yet.

I tapped through my screen — Instagram? No connection. TikTok? Same thing. Text messages weren’t going through. And the news apps? Just blank white screens.

Of course. No WiFi. No cell towers. I was in 1932.

God.

I backed out of the apps and opened my photos instead. At least those were still there — my camera roll filled with pictures from my party, shots of my outfit, videos of my parents laughing, friends singing off-key with champagne in their hands.

A video popped up — a short one of me twirling in the living room, dress spinning, voice going: "If this the last birthday I ever have, y’all better make it count!"

I watched it twice before I had to stop. It felt like I’d watched a ghost.

I put my phone down in my lap and stared at the wall.

Then it hit me.

Wait.

The notes.

All my research. All the things I looked up on how to survive in this time — what to wear, how to talk, how to act, what not to do, how to avoid dying over the dumbest stuff — it was all either in my laptop or my notebook.

Neither of which made it through.

‘I glanced toward my desk, where my laptop and notebook sat—pages of the notes I had taken earlier. Too far. No time.’

I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose.

So now I had my memories, vibes, and vibes only.

I looked around the room — at the thick quilt, the lace curtains, the wooden dresser. The air smelled like soap and cornmeal and old wood.

This wasn’t just inconvenient.

This was real—

“Don’t start panicking again, breathe.”

I glanced at my phone again, heart sinking a little more. No charger. No USB ports. Just me, this tiny digital lifeline, and a ticking battery that would die any day now.

Unless I somehow figured out how to harness lightning and build a portable generator out of chicken wire and moonlight — it was over.

I sighed again and slumped back against the pillow.

“Okay,” I whispered, “Let’s just survive.”

That was the bare minimum right now.

And somehow, it already felt like too much.

The night was still, like the sky was holding its breath.

A woman sat outside her home, bare feet pressed to the dry ground. Her dress fluttered slightly in the warm southern air, but the rest of the world was hushed. Even the insects seemed quieter tonight. The stars had shifted—she could feel it, same way she could feel when a storm was coming, even without the clouds. Something was different.

The moonlight bathed the porch in a faint silver glow as she stared up at the sky. The stars weren’t just twinkling—they were aligned. A rare stillness in the cosmos, like a row of watchful eyes blinking down on her.

She’d lit a small candle earlier, set it on the porch beside a glass of water and a folded handkerchief—things her mother used to do when she was feeling lost, when the air felt too heavy for one woman to carry. She didn’t know if it was truly magic or just a ritual, but when her hands moved, they moved with purpose passed down.

Her palms were now flat on her thighs. Her back straight. Her voice low.

“I don’t know who can hear me,” she whispered, “but I need to believe somebody can.”

Her eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “It’s gettin’ harder here. We try to build somethin’, and they tear it down. Try to speak up, they push us lower. I’m tired. And I’m scared that this tired’s gonna last generations. I want to believe somethin’ good’s comin’. That we ain’t just sufferin’ for nothin’.”

The wind stirred. Just barely.

“If you’re out there…if you’re listenin’…show me somethin’ from a better time.”

That was all she said. No loud spell, no flames, no thunder. Just a wish, as quiet as breath.

The candle flickered. Then pulsed.

Behind her, in the sky, the alignment grew stronger, the light warping ever so slightly. For a fraction of a second—almost imperceptible—something tore in the fabric of the world. A ripple. A rift. Not far from her home.

But she didn’t see it. Her eyes were still closed.

She didn’t know that somewhere else—sometime else—her great-granddaughter was glowing like a star.

She didn’t know that tonight, her soul aligned with another.

Morning light filtered softly through the cracked windowpane, warm and gentle—but it didn’t quite chase away the heaviness in my limbs. My eyes fluttered open slowly, like I was waking from a deep, strange dream, but the unfamiliar ceiling and the faint scent of earth and wood reminded me I wasn’t anywhere near home.

A soft voice broke through the haze.

“Breana, honey, it’s time to get up now,” Amara said gently, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

Another presence—calmer, quieter—Imani stood nearby. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up,” she added, the voice soft like a whispered promise.

I blinked, trying to focus. My body still felt sluggish, like I was moving underwater. But their presence was steady, comforting even.

“We’re gonna dress you in somethin’ proper,” Amara explained. “A dress fit for a lady ‘round here. Low heels, too. And we’ll fix your hair—you’ve got cornrows underneath that bonnet of yours. It��s time to let it breathe.”

I glanced down and realized my hands were still clad in the rough, worn fabric of the pants and shirt I’d been found in—clothes that were out of place in this time and town.

“Okay,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “Sounds good.”

Imani smiled gently. “Breakfast’ll be ready soon. We’ll eat together, then we’re gonna step outside for a bit.”

I nodded, still feeling the fog of sleep mingled with the lingering unease from yesterday’s events.

But truly, how blessed am I to have been taken in by these women? I could’ve landed anywhere— anywhere . God forbid it had been near a plantation, or worse, in a white person’s home. The very thought made my skin crawl. No. Hell no.

After I got dressed—with Amara gently pulling the dress down over my shoulders and Imani carefully lacing up the back like I was some delicate porcelain doll—I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The dress was soft blue with little white flower details. Modest, flowy, came down to just above my ankles. A ribbon cinched at the waist, giving me that classic silhouette. The low heels they gave me weren’t bad either. Black, scuffed a little, but sturdy. And honestly? I didn’t look half bad.

“You got good legs for this kinda dress,” Amara complimented with a wink. “Gone make some young fella trip over his own shoes.”

I gave a little awkward laugh and rubbed my arm. “God, I hope not.”

If only they knew how many people thirsted for me in my own era, just because of my music which, only one was romantic and that was Offbeat Heart.

Imani walked over holding a wooden comb and a small container of something that looked like pomade. “Sit,” she said softly.

I obeyed. My bonnet was removed and suddenly I remembered—oh right, cornrows. Imani simply worked through my scalp like she’d done this a thousand times before.

“She gone need a hat,” Amara added, looking me up and down. “Sun’s brutal today. Don’t want her faintin’ again.”

“Won’t be out too long,” Imani replied.

I turned my head slightly. “Where are we going?”

Amara grabbed a small tin cup from the kitchen table. “We’ll take you ‘round the town. Let you stretch your legs. Ain’t good to be cooped up all day after bein’ sick.”

“Plus,” Imani said gently, still focused on my hair, “folks might start talkin’. You showed up outta nowhere. This a small town, you’ll eventually be talked ‘bout since you’re an unfamiliar face. Best we get ahead of the whispers.”

Oh.

Right.

This wasn’t like the modern day where I could just vibe as a mysterious girl in the corner. People in small towns noticed things easy.

Once my hair was tied back into a neat, low bun, Imani placed a soft cream-colored sunhat over it and nodded. “There. You ready.”

I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway.

We sat for a quick breakfast—biscuits, grits, and coffee that was bitter enough to wake up the dead. I didn’t complain. It was hot and filling, and they were kind enough to serve me first.

And then, before I knew it, we were stepping outside. The sun hit different. Not just in the "dang, it's hot" way. But in a raw , heavy kind of way. The air felt thicker, more real. Like it carried history in it. It did.

The wooden steps creaked beneath my heels. I looked out past the dusty path and wide green fields, small houses with laundry flapping on clotheslines in the distance, and folks already walking down the road with baskets, satchels, hats low and pace slow.

Hello Clarksdale. 

<Chapter 4 Chapter 6>

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Singing Songs and Being Kidnapped

ectoberhaunt24 day 3- archaeology fandom- dp x dc TW-none summary- Danny is bored and is making it everyone's problem

ao3 masterlist part 2 of APVG

Danny had grown bored and had started tapping his foot. He’d been humming at first but the bag over his head muffled the sound. (He’d been humming the chorus of Staying Alive. (the only part he knew) It was funny. Sue him. Actually, please don’t. He only had two nickels and a mint edition signed Dumpty Humpty record to his name. But you’d have to pry that from his cold, dead (well deader) hands!)

 But wait! He just had to be louder so he could be heard through the bag over his head. So, instead of just humming, he started singing out loud. He had an excellent singing voice no matter what Sam and Tucker and all his classmates and teachers and other Amity Parkers said. He made it through the song’s chorus ten times, trying his best to make the instrumental sounds with his mouth. He started wondering what other songs he could sing when he was so rudely interrupted.

“Will you stop it!” screeched the smelly man currently in the room guarding him.

“I’m booooooored!” Danny complained trying to flop back dramatically, forgetting he was tied to a chair so all that happened was a tiny shuffle.

“I don’t care!” the guard said. “Look,” the guard sounded like he was pleading, “They’re on the phone with Wayne now, which means Batman will probably break in, break my kneecaps and rescue you soon. Please don’t make my life anymore miserable in the meantime!”

Awww, poor guy. He was just trying to do his job. Maybe Danny should be nice. Nah. They’d kidnapped him, now they had to deal with him.

After singing the chorus of Staying Alive approximately more times than he cared to count, Danny started branching out into the choruses of other songs he knew before deciding just to start singing the song that never ends, because it goes on and on my friend. Someone (Danny) started singing it not knowing how it ends (that’s a mystery even the Ancients can’t solve, except for maybe Clockwork) and know Danny’s stuck repeating it forever just because, it’s the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend someone started singing it not knowing how it ends and now we’re repea–

Batman broke through the wall (leave the poor guy alone, he's allergic to doors) to find a henchman curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, and a kid who Batman could swear was one of his even with the bag still on the boy’s head.

Batman secured the goon, who still hadn’t stopped sobbing, before stepping over the man and removing the bag from the boy’s head. 

Yup, that definitely looked like one of his. He squinted. He didn’t think he adopted anyone recently, but…

“Thanks, Mr. Bat Furry Man. Sir.” said the young boy who immediately stood up, the ropes falling away.

The teasing and being able to escape the ropes, were two more points toward this being one of his kids.

“Hn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok. Don’t get your spandex in a twist.” he said, rolling his eyes.

This had to be one of his! He even understood the bat-grunts!

“Glad you’re okay.” Batman placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you at dinner.” Then he leapt up, creating a hole in the ceiling. He then immediately jumped behind an ac unit, hissing as the light of the sun hit him. 

Curse the sun! Gotham wasn’t supposed to have sunlight! What was this? Some new villainous plot? Where was the smog? The smoke? The darkness!?

Down below, Danny blinked up at the hole in the ceiling, then looked down at the still crying henchman. “Well that was weird.”

Though… If the henchmen thought he was a Wayne kid, and Batman just called him son… did that mean… could Wes possibly be right?! But no, that was ridiculous! Surely, Batman would know his own kids!

Then again, he did remember Sam mentioning that there was a whole boatload of Wayne kids, and Wes had mentioned that the number of Bats pretty much lined up with the number of bats, and that the times of adoption lined up with the reveal of each new bat.

But whatever! Danny didn’t care! He had his own problems to deal with. Batman would just have to have dinner without him!

With a look toward the now unconscious henchman, Danny turned invangible (invisible plus intangible) and flew out so that he could return to the class.

Following his classmates' ecto-signatures, he found his way to a museum where he dropped into the middle of the group letting go of his ghostliness.

“Finally, took you long enough.” Sam muttered.

Danny rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I missed out on anything. I’ve seen most of this stuff on the jobs I do for Clockwork.”

Tucker smirked. “Speaking about your jobs for Clockwork,” Tucker motioned to where their classmates were huddled together in front of a mosaic, “look at what they found.” 

Danny shoved his way to the front, forgoing intangibility just to annoy them. Then he caught sight of what they were looking at and promptly turned green as a green tomato.

“Hey, Danny, why didn’t you tell us you looked so good in a dress?” Paulina snickered.

Danny turned even greener. “It’s a toga!”

His classmates snickered, and Danny flicked his fingers at the floor, covering it in a layer of thin ice. They yelped as they lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. Danny snickered, before darting away when they tried to pull him down too.

While Danny couldn’t wait to go home, being able to have fun with his class one last time before they all went their separate ways for college was really nice.

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 25: Decisions

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.5k

“Do you want to go back?” Ace asked, studying your face. 

“Back where?” You focused on the newspaper in your hand, aware of his watchful eye. 

It had been a few days since Ace had woken up, but you still hadn’t made the call to Marco or the others that you all were safe. He had been making great progress since then-he could sit up almost completely on his own. His back was still heavily wrapped, but most of the tubes and wires were no longer connected to his body anymore. 

“Back home.” You winced at the word, which didn’t go unnoticed by Ace. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “To the Moby Dick.”

You stayed silent, staring intently at the paper in front of you. 

“We don’t have to,” he said, gently laying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He groaned at the contact between his back and the sheets, and your eyes reflexively darted over to him at the sound of pain. 

“Luffy’s not awake yet,” you reasoned. You didn’t want to have to make a decision yet. “We can’t leave him.”

“Luffy will be fine on his own.” Ace chewed on his lip, deep in thought. “If we leave before he wakes up, it’d be better.”

You scowled at that. “You can’t mean that. Luffy risked his life to save you! You can’t even stay around long enough to-”

“What if he didn’t save my life, though?” Ace’s dark eyes looked at you, waiting.

You let out a shaky breath. Certainly he wouldn’t be suggesting the same thing you had offered when he was unconscious. There’s no way Ace would want to leave…

“What if we were dead to the world?” His voice was so quiet, you could barely hear him. “We have the chance to start over. To leave everything-”

“What about the people we love? What about our family?” You argued. 

“My family is in this room.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was right. It had been the three of you for so short of a time, and yet all you wanted was a quiet life with them. 

Still, you found yourself shaking your head in disagreement. “We can’t just leave them.”

“We can.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “We will never have this chance again. We have to make a decision. Don’t think about anyone else. What do you want?”

You thought about how peaceful life had been in Wano, when you had established a life, a routine. You had made friends. You never had to look over your shoulder in the market. Nobody knew who you were or what you were capable of. Could you really have that again?

But your life had always been on the high seas. You had never grown bored of island life in Wano, but surely that was only because you had goals. If you were confined to a life on the ground with no end in sight, how would you feel in five years?

“I can’t do that to Marco,” you said. “He can’t lose everyone in one day. That’s not fair.”

“So we tell Marco,” Ace shrugged. “I think he would agree we’d be making the right choice. And he’s not exactly one for gossip.”

“Don’t you think we’d grow to hate it?”

Ace quirked up an eyebrow. “Do you think you would hate it?”

You wouldn’t. He knew that, and so did you. The thought of a place to call your own made you want to weep with joy. It sounded like something you could never achieve, and yet here it was, serving itself up on a silver platter. 

“I’ll go speak to Law.” You rose from your chair, striding to the door. “It sounds like he has a call to make.”

--

A few days later, you were wrapped in Marco’s tight embrace, sobbing into his shirt. 

He had come alone and boarded the metal ship without any weapons, like Law had demanded when he initiated contact via the transponder snail. And they had vanished beneath the waves before Law had led him to your and Ace’s room. 

He had been cussing up a storm and threatening to rip the ship apart before the door opened to reveal the two of you. And then his entire demeanor changed, and the two of you hadn’t stopped holding each other since. 

Ace cleared his throat gently, trying to get your all’s attention. “Marco-”

“How’s the baby?” Marco asked, redirecting his attention. “Is it alright after Marineford? You really shouldn’t have-!”

“He-” you gave him a knowing smile. “-is completely healthy, thanks to the doctor.” You gave another nod of thanks to Law, but Marco’s was more focused on the words you had spoken. 

“He? It’s a boy?”

You gave a tearful nod. “It’s a boy.”

Ace shifted in his bed. “Marco-”

Marco ignored him. “And nothing is wrong? I mean, you used your powers for at least-”

Law stepped in, handing him a folder. “You can read all about it, Phoenix. We’re kind of on a tight schedule here.”

Marco’s brow furrowed. “Schedule? Aren’t I here to pick you up?”

The pain on your face was enough to spread panic across his as he looked between Ace and you. But slowly, miraculously, the panic melted away.

“You’re disappearing, aren’t you?” Marco asked softly, looking at Ace. 

Ace gave a simple nod. 

“We need your help,” you interjected. “We want to offer our protection to an island that Pops protected. In exchange, we just want to live there peacefully. Surely we can make the World Government believe their assassination attempt was successful. They’ve been reporting as if it was.”

Marco nodded as he wiped the tears from his face. He could switch into strategy mode almost as fast as you could. “It shouldn’t be hard to convince the world that the two of you are dead. We’re having a burial for pops in a few days.” Marco glanced at you nervously, but you kept your face blank. 

“You’ll need to take some of our belongings,” you said. “For the graveside. Take anything from my room.”

“My hat,” Ace choked out. “You can take my hat. It’s too much of a distinguishing feature anyway.”

Marco shook his head. “I can’t-”

“You can,” you said sharply, trying to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “We only have one shot at this, Marco. I need to know that you can do this.”

Your uncle let out another shaky breath, but he nodded. “I can do this. For you to live a happy, peaceful life…I’d do anything.”

You handed him a sheet of paper with a list of names. “These people have vivre cards-”

“Most of the cards were destroyed during the war with the ships, but I’ll make sure they’re all disposed of.”

“Keep one,” you whispered softly, your voice threatening to betray you. “In case you need to find us.”

Marco gave a light laugh. “Kind of defeats the purpose of erasing yourselves, doesn’t it?”

But one look at your shining eyes stifled his laughter. “I’ll keep one,” he promised. “Go to the island of Ontau. They’ll accept you. You don’t have to tell them everything, just let them know you were one of Whitebeard’s underlings. It’s far enough in the Grand Line and it’s such a small island that the Marine’s won’t bother you, but it won’t be hard for you two to defend.”

“Marco-” you whispered.

“I have 50,000 berries on me, take them all to start over. It’s not a lot, but you can buy a small cabin and some things for the baby.”

“Marco,” you said a little louder. He was blabbering to prolong his time with you. 

“And make sure you all find a nice place near the ocean. You can fish and live off the land, or get a job in town. Don’t live so far away that you isolate yourself. You need to make friends, both of you-” he gave you a pointed look. “You can trust people there. They’ll have your back when you need help, but you need to ask. Don’t be so prideful that you-”

You lunged toward him, wrapping your arms tight around him. It would be the last time you would see him for a very long time…maybe ever. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” you cried into his chest. 

“You have to.” He brushed your hair out, softly patting the top of your head as if you were still six years old. “You’ll live a better life. That’s all any parent wants, you know.”

“I wouldn’t be who I am without you.”

“You wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But now you can figure out who you are without me.”

You nodded into his chest, but you kept your arms locked around his torso. You needed to remember everything about him. Because if this was the last time…

“Look after each other, okay?” He said. You gave another nod. 

“I swear it,” Ace’s voice came from behind you, and you felt his hand on your shoulder.

You gave Marco one last squeeze and finally broke away from him.

“One last thing,” Marco said, his hand enveloping in blue flames. “Let’s see how much I can heal those pesky burns, Ace.”

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598  @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi  @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep  @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 24

Find the series masterlist

Here we are at the second to last chapter! Next chapter is the last one. Eek!

An important conversation is had, and you begin to navigate your new normal.

Warnings: Swearing, emotions, emotional talks, offscreen death.

Word count: 1.2k

“Ace,” John answered just after the second ring. 

“John,” you greeted. You swallowed, suddenly uncertain how to proceed now that you had him on the phone. “How is clean up going?” 

John huffed, a soft mostly amused sound. “As well as can be expected,” he murmured. “How are you?”

You paused to consider the question. Normally you'd deflect, joke, answer in riddles. But… Well. You didn't need to anymore. Not with John, at least. “Working through things,” you admitted, soft and slow. 

He hummed. “Suppose we have some things to talk about.”

“We do.” You didn't particularly want to. In fact, you'd much rather run. It was easier to run. You didn't have to deal with any of these complex things. But it also isolated you.

And for once, you'd rather not be isolated. You didn't want to run from John, not really. 

Silence held between the two of you for a few long moments, stilted and awkward, as things hadn't been before. You kind of hated it. 

“I don't like that he's still alive.” That hadn't been where you were going to start. Dammit. 

John breathed out slowly, crackling down the line. “I understand that,” he said, speaking slowly, weighing his words. “But he has more to tell us still.” 

You clenched your jaw, pushing down the irrational anger. “I know,” you managed. “I know you need him for evidence. But I can't relax until he's dead.” 

John was silent for long enough that you thought about checking if he was still there. “Understood,” he grunted finally.

Your heart leapt. You knew that tone. That was the tone of a man willing to do whatever it took to fulfill his mission. Was he saying…? You swallowed. You couldn't bring yourself to ask. “So, where does this leave us?”

“Was going to ask you that, love.” John huffed out a short breath, a little rasp over the line making you think he was rubbing his beard. 

You sighed softly. “Not sure,” you admitted. “How much longer are you here?”

“We leave tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Your heart ached for reasons you didn't want to examine just yet. “No rest for the weary, hm?”

“Or the wicked.” He chuckled with black humor. 

“Well.” You breathed in slowly. “Suppose you're not allowed to tell me where you're going?”

“Nowhere you should be,” he said sharply. You could all but see the look he'd aim at you. 

Your lips quirked. “Alright, then, don't tell me this time.” You paused, considering. This was well outside the rules, but, well. You'd already broken so many rules for him, for Kate. The rules didn't matter anymore. “Tell me, when you can.” 

By the sudden, absolute silence on his end, you knew he caught the significance of your words. “I will,” he agreed in a low rasp. “Not staying with Kate?”

“I will, for a while,” you murmured, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling. “But I'm sure my feet will start itching again soon.” 

“Think they ever won't?” The question was light, teasing. But you could hear the genuine inquiry beneath. 

“That depends.” You swallowed. 

“On?”

“How long Gray lives.” You breathed in deep for courage. “And if someone wanted me to stay.” 

Price was silent again for a few moments. When he did answer you, his voice was rough. “Well, then. We'll see what happens, eh?” 

“We will.” You smiled, choosing to be hopeful that he'd said “we”, not just you. “Do you need to go?”

“Not yet,” he said quickly, and you smiled at the ceiling. “Tell me what you've been doing.”

So you did. Not that you'd done much. He seemed amused and understanding at how much you'd slept, commenting only that sleep was good for you. In return, he gave you the edited version of catching up with his team after they'd all gotten back from their assignments. He wouldn't give you any details, and you didn't push for any. 

It was a fragile sort of peace, talking around some things, but it worked. The two of you made it work. 

It gave you hope, for later. Down the road. Once you were less of a mess.

When the two of you finally hung up, it was late. Late enough that you felt bad for keeping him. But you knew he wouldn't accept an apology, wouldn't want to hear it. 

But you were surprised to find a text from Gaz when you woke. 

You're a bloody miracle worker. 

You laughed to yourself, shaking your head. I didn't do much.

Gaz replied immediately. Either he was bored or not busy. Don't care what you did, keep it up. He's almost mellow today.

You snorted but didn't reply to him. You didn't need to. 

Instead, you spent the day doing housework and debating what you wanted to do, long term. Not your most productive day. Oh well. Not every day could be productive. Or even good. 

You did check with Kate about when the team was leaving. You sent John a text shortly before they were due to leave. 

Safe journeys, John. I'll see you soon.

You stayed with Kate another week and a half before the urge to go grew too strong. But you didn't run. You told her where you were going, and left in the morning. 

You weren't going anywhere for work, not yet. You didn't need to work just yet. Instead, you traveled just to wander. To find some new favorite restaurants. Moving had always helped you decide what to do, and this time was no different. 

You also kept up with texting John. He didn't respond right away, sometimes not for days. But he always responded. 

It was… weird. But nice. 

Two weeks into your leisurely travel, you finally started to consider work again. You could probably reconnect with enough contacts to start over, or switch entirely to giving information to Kate. Or you could try something else, maybe. 

But you did like the freedom afforded you with travel and gathering information. 

Hm. Something to think further about, certainly. You did have some options. 

You'd just settled back in your hotel for the night when your phone rang. Kate. That was surprising. 

“I don't have bail money,” you answered in lieu of a proper greeting. 

But Kate apparently wasn't in the mood for your jokes. “Sit down,” she said firmly. “Now.” 

You sat on the bed, swallowing hard. “What happened?” Dread spread icy limbs through your chest. 

“Gray's dead.”

The world swayed even as your heart stopped. “What?” You didn't recognize the tiny wheeze as your own voice. 

“He was found dead this morning. Single gunshot wound to the head. No security footage,” Kate told you, matter of fact and as close to inflectionless as you'd ever heard her. 

You breathed in deep as your heart restarted, pounding along. “You're absolutely sure.”

“Yes.” Kate sounded grimly satisfied when she said, “Gray is dead.” 

You sat there for moments that stretched an eternity, absolutely no thoughts in your head. Gray was dead. He was finally dead.

Wait.

“Single gunshot wound?” You confirmed, the world snapping back into hard focus. “No footage at all?”

“Correct.” 

“I need to go.” You hung up, scrambling off the bed to start throwing your things back in your bags. You spared one minute to send off a text, and then hailed a cab to the nearest airport. 

You had a plane to catch.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Only In Aphotic Hours

Fandom: PTN (Path To Nowhere)

Genre: Yandere, smut, angst

Main Characters: Cinnabar, GN Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Dub-con, fingering (reader receiving/giving), oral (reader giving), lesbian situationship, reader has a vag, Cinnabar is being weird, pre-established relationship

It's cold.

That's the thought that echoes in the empty halls of your tired mind as you stare at your ceiling fan spinning tiredly above your bedroom. There's a metal rattling sound from the other end of your apartment, probably someone going up the rusted stairs. You rub your eyes more roughly than you should and turn to look at your alarm clock, red numbers glaring 1:10 A.M. at you and reminding you that you had work in a few hours, and more annoyed at your early wake-up.

Your fingers tap at the duvet cover as you consider what to do. You stayed up too late this past weekend- waiting for someone who never showed- and you really, really need your sleep. Tea. You'll get some tea, it'll warm you up and hopefully relax you enough to go back to sleep.

With a grumble, you sit up pull a blanket around your shoulders, and stand, wincing as your feet hit the floor and the chill spreads into bone. Sure, you could, in theory, turn off the fan, but you know if you do, you'll wake up covered in sweat—the joys of living in a shitty apartment building.

You hobble down the narrow hallway, the only thing that stood between your bedroom and your kitchen— save for the tiny bathroom tucked into the end of the hallway and right in front of your bedroom door— really, your "apartment" was just a straight line with squares attached to it. You ignore the AC that you knew wouldn't do anything no matter how you fiddled with it, and enter your kitchen; flipping the switch and blinking as yellow light floods your vision.

The one thing you could be thankful for is that the cramped living situation allowed you to see everything immediately. The kettle waiting on your stove, the tea you always use sitting on your counter and tucked against the wall, the coat rack crookedly screwed into the wall, there were no hidden surprises in your place. Everything is as it's presented to you, as you last left it.

You flick the stovetop on and huddle back into a corner of your cramped kitchen, staring absentmindedly at the darkened sky that shows through the large— too large, in your opinion— square window on your door. Maybe if you lived high enough to see over the neighboring apartment building, you wouldn't mind it so much, but you don't and you hate how you sometimes get the feeling of being watched when you're in here. Actually, you've started noticing the peculiar itch of eyes on you even in your bedroom too. When did that start?

There's another, subtle rattle of the metal stairs outside and you still, the quiet buzz beneath your skin telling you to listen. There's a rumble of laughter in the distance that seeps through the walls, and the sound of someone's AC kicking on, but not that distinct rattle of rusted metal you'd come to know. Sure, it could be someone in your building staying out late, maybe getting a breath of fresh air, or looking at the deeply unpleasing view of the dirty street and alleyways below.

You're probably overthinking.

You stared at the tiled floor, it's uncomfortable and icy to stand on, most of the year you don't care, but as you start to smell the snowy tendrils of oncoming winter in the air, the sinking dread of facing another winter alone in your apartment, trying not to freeze as you shiver beneath every blanket you own consumed you. What you wouldn't give for an escape from that torment.

Huh. Escape.

You always dreamed of escaping Syndicate, of going to better, higher places away from the filth and violence that permeated your life like swelling warts, but maybe you've already given up on that dream, or maybe you didn't. Maybe that's why you latched onto her the same way a drifting soul in the sea latches onto a piece of rotted, broken wood from a ship. You believed she could bring you to safety with her loving smiles that brightened the world, her strong arms that held you tightly in the night, her eyes that glimmered like ocean waves, mysterious and gentle as they wrapped around you and coaxed you into the depths of warmth.

You hated the way life would freeze and dull when she wasn't around like spring flowers breaking from the Earth only to realize it was still snowing. You lived for the momentary warmth and unspoken promise of care and safety she brought into your world. You ached for it like a sunflower aches for the sun to shine its light over the horizon.

A loud slam of a door comes from beneath your feet and a tremor runs up the walls. Water bubbles inside the kettle and the metal stairs creak and shake with each heavy step the person on them takes. The man who lived below was old and angry, you'd always hated going down the stairs each morning after a certain incident. You still remember what it felt like, standing on the stairs, hand gripping the railing as you gaped at the window, a black box where hatred and anguish had coalesced into a person staring back at you, the surroundings unfurling like a blooming rafflesia, simultaneously drawing your attention to the-

Door knob rattling.

It's slow, the swing of the door followed by the cold sweeping in and wrapping around your ankles, the boot landing heavily on the small bit of wooden floor that marked a difference between the entrance and kitchen. The tall figure slouching through the doorway, yellow, cracked goggles flashing in the yellowed kitchen light. Matted, wet, black and blue hair sticking to each other; dirty jacket, white shirt, stained brown.

It's her.

Warmth is undercut with the prickly cold of fear, bunching in your veins beneath joy and settling over your shoulders, crawling up your neck, and wrapping upwards to meet your ear. It's different, something's wrong. It whispers feverishly, tugging at your nerves to run back into the box of your room- away from warmth.

She yanked off her goggles and dropped her shield on the floor, the loud thud making you flinch before she started tugging off her jacket. This is…Well, normally, she knocks and says who she is and almost tip-toes her way in, like she was afraid of disturbing the air you occupied despite your attempts to break the delicateness that wove itself between you. She always treated you like something that could be easily destroyed without her realizing, like carefully crafted lace that could fray if rubbed the wrong way, like the very bedsheets you rested on were holy.

This- as you watched her drop her gloves onto her jacket on the floor instead of putting them on the coat rack- was, careless. The most reliable member of Serpent Eye, who always did her job, who was always sweet, and kind, and warm, and cautious to the point it hurt; was being careless. The cold around your neck held tighter and your heart sent a shudder that ran to the pit of your stomach, blossoming into warmth that bubbled in your veins.

"Cinnabar!" She looks at you instantly, her blue eyes wide, and your voice comes out unexpectedly loud and excited. You wince, but she just smiles and you continue, being careful to set a casual tone this time. "I didn't know that you were coming." Is everything okay?

She pauses, sticking her tongue in her cheek before leaning down to untie her boots. "I had an errand to run here and thought I'd make up for the missed date." She glances up at you with a sheepish smile, shy and cheeky- mostly the latter. "It was last minute so I couldn't text you."

You hum, rubbing your thumb into the flesh of your upper arm as you watch her. She'd usually at least knock before coming in, in fact, there was only one other time she ever showed up unannounced and it wasn't like this with her boots printing reddish-looking mud on your floor.

Maybe it was the shitty apartment lighting or the midnight sky that shone through the door's window and framed her face, but her eyes seemed to share the unending darkness of the night- and you are at its epicenter.

She smiled, the corners of her mouth upturned in a familiar way, the stretch of her lips that you'd seen before, the crinkles around her eyes in their expected place; but something about it settled unnaturally in your stomach.

"Hey," She says softly and takes one step forward, one step closer to the threshold between the entryway and the kitchen. "I'm sorry if I startled you." She dropped her shoulders and bent her knees slightly, quirking her head with a wry smile as she carefully stepped her way toward you. Maybe she was trying to appear smaller to you, but it feels like you're about to be pounced on. "I just...really wanted to see you." She's past the kitchen sink now. Her fingers twitch as she drags them over the countertop.

She's close enough to smell now, smoke, gunfire, and something tangy that tickles your throat. You don't know when you were caught in the corner where the counter and wall meet, but Cinnabar's in front of you, the sheen of sweat highlights the muscles flexing beneath her arms as she places them gently on either side of you, the wall creaking behind you.

Your breath is caught in your throat the same way your eyes have been captured by hers. You can feel her breath brush against your skin like a bubbling inferno that spreads throughout every inch of your skin and ignites with an ache to burn.

"Is that alright?" She whispers, but it's so loud it's the only thing you can hear. It's the only thing that rings through your mind, ricocheting off walls and silencing the cold that was on your shoulders, sealing it somewhere deep beneath your skin.

You can feel one of her hands inching toward you as she tilts her head to the side, her smile patient, gentle, and a little needy as it always was in the moments before you'd find yourselves tangled in each other. Yet you could tell something was interwoven in the texture of her skin and the fire behind her lashes, something that seemed insatiable and greedy. "I don't…know?"

She chuckles, her Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. "Flustered?" She leans in and cups your cheek, glancing at something off to the side for a moment. "Don't worry, just think of it like last time."

A tense beat of silence and then the kitchen light is snuffed out with a click and her lips are on yours in the same instant, feverish and sloppy and unlike any other time she kissed you. You're left reeling, grabbing at her shoulders as she drags you out of the kitchen.

Her kiss is rough and consuming, suffocating in ways you didn't know she was capable of. Her starting kisses were never like this, never did she part your lips with her tongue so eagerly, never did she hold you, hostage, against a wall with her fingers prying at the edges of your shirt with too much eagerness for precision. It was never like this, but it has never been more intoxicating than now.

You could stop her, you could pull away, but as you push her into the closet door of your hallway, you feel her smile against your lips as your hands drift and squeeze at her ass and thighs- why should you stop?

She pushes you in the direction of your bedroom, finally slipping a hand beneath your shirt and wrapping it up your back to keep you upright as you both stumbled your way in the dark, reluctant to let your lips separate farther than a breath as if you might disappear if she can't hold you and keep you close.

Your knees catch the edge of your mattress and your lungs are burning for oxygen as you both crash onto the bed and she finally lets you breathe. You stare at the fan spinning overhead, perpetual and ordinary, as Cinnabar's calloused fingers hook the band of your pajamas and pull it down. You hear her sigh as you come into view and she swipes two fingers over your wet folds, before dragging them up to tease your clit. That's not ordinary- it's a special occasion, it always was. You wish it was ordinary.

She leaned over you, resting her forehead against yours and despite the bubbling pleasure that slowly spread through your veins- your hips bucking into her hand, you found your eyes solely focused on her face, on her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, and the oceanic blue of her irises which were usually gentle and patient had a frayed sense of restlessness you couldn't place your finger on.

She didn't let you think of that for long as she slipped her fingers down, pushing into you gently and curling your fingers, before dragging them up to your clit again, her lips pressing kisses into your neck.

She moves to suck at a spot just beneath your jaw before she lifts her head and kisses you softly. You hold each other's gaze as soft moans fall from your lips and your hands wander to cup her breast, kneading and pulling at the soft flesh. Her other hand drags up your arm and intertwines with yours, pulling it away from her breast to kiss your fingers, her eyes staying locked on yours as she leans in to gently bite into the tender flesh of your wrist.

She tore her gaze away from you to her fingers, smiling softly. "You always feel so nice to touch." She looked at you again and you were rendered breathless with how much adoration she held within her eyes, like it was pouring out of them in a thick sludge that threatened to choke you.

"I've never stopped thinking about you since we met." Her pointer and index finger move in a slow, circular motion, now she suddenly wants to take her time to appreciate you. "I was just…"

She takes a deep breath, her voice sounding unnaturally frail and small. "I was worried you'd get hurt." She shifts, cupping her free hand against your cheek and tracing your features. "I couldn't stand the thought of that, but I also couldn't live without you."

"Are we doing this now?" In a way, it's everything you ever wanted from her and it also couldn't be farther from it. You had tried so many times to have a meaningful discussion about this and she always answered with a sigh and a kiss before leaving your bed cold.

Her eyebrows twitch downwards, bunching the skin on her nose, her lips forming a sad, thin line. She looks like she wants to say a lot, but instead, she forces into a smile so painful looking, you don't want to look at it.

"Look, I…" She waits for a while, choosing her words carefully before sighing. "I know I haven't been the most transparent." Her fingers rub your bud languidly. "But, I promise things are going to be different from now on." She slips her fingers down in between your folds, pushing them as deep as they can go and spreading her fingers apart. "Trust me, okay?"

She smiles as she pulls her fingers out, lifting them enough for you to see them glittering with your arousal in the moonlight before she pushes them back in again and rubs your nub with her thumb as you gasp and squirm on the sheets beneath you.

She leans in and you feel her breath, hot against your skin, before she closes her lips on your neck and bites into it. You tug at her tank top mindlessly, wishing she would've taken it off earlier as your hand's fumble upwards, feeling the soft firmness of her abs, one hand tangling into her hair as the other pulls her shirt up. You can feel her muscles shift beneath your touch, her heart pounding so loudly you can feel the tremors through her skin.

Your head rolls to the side, catching your own hazy eyes in the mirror, watching as the muscles in her neck flex as she works to leave a hickey on your skin- something she always does when she visits you and that you always admonish her for when you have to go to work the next day.

You watch as she pulls away from your neck with a wet pop and turns her head to look at you through the mirror, a mischievous grin on her lips.

She leans forward, lips ghosting your ear as she keeps her eyes on your reflections. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby." She whispers huskily. "Don't look anywhere else."

You squeak out a hum of approval and she chuckles airily. She drags your pajama shirt up until your chest is exposed, you watch her lick her lips before she leans down and flicks her tongue over your nipple. You gasp with a jolt and you feel her smile against your skin.

You swallow as you watch her lips close around your nipple, and her fingers begin to slide in and out of you, her thumb brushing your clit as she goes up to her knuckles in you. Her tongue rubs against your nipple in a circular motion as she sucks on it as if it's her favorite thing in the world.

Your back arches and your hands find themselves in her hair as her teeth drag over your nipple, her fingers curling to reach that spot at a brutal pace that puts stars in your eyes, the coil in your stomach tightening until your thighs start to shake and-

Your arms wrap around her, feeling the warmth of her body kiss your skin through her tank top. She releases your hardened nub and moves her hand up your back to cradle your head, making you look at her in her dilated eyes and wetted lips, feel her hot, shallow breaths on your face as your hips roll to meet her fingers as she curls them to hit that spot.

The dark room gives way to a blinding all-encompassing, white, accompanied by the press of her lips on yours as your orgasm stains her fingers.

She only pulls her fingers out when your breath evens and puts them in her mouth, sucking them clean. "You did a good job." She whispers as she pulls you into a hug and lays down.

Your breath softens into quiet, heavy breaths as your consciousness is returned to its body. You feel the dampness in the sheets beneath you, the smell of sex in the room, the brush of air from the spinning fan, and the distant sound of cars somewhere outside.

Cinnabar lingers, nuzzling into your neck as if she felt the same euphoria you did. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid her fingers out and you watch as she pushes them past her lips and sucks them clean.

She smiles at you again, teeth peeking through as she lays down next to you, a kiss on your cheek and a red glint hidden in the depths of her pupils. "I missed hearing you like that." She thumbs your cheek, breaths mingling together in the small space between you.

Warmth, joy, and safety, are what you choose to associate her with in your mind, and you want nothing but to embed your roots in her skin and sear yourself into her heart. Entwine your existence with hers so she can't leave you frozen and alone-"Then why don't you stay?"

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second and another hairline crack goes through your heart and creates another rift in your soul and her warmth retreats faster than you can stop her.

"I forgot something." Your hand misses her arm as you reach out. She disappears into the darkness beyond your doorway without another word, the cold air stings you and dives beneath the skin to ripple through bone.

You plop your head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling fan as it continuously spins as if nothing happened. As if you weren't just left alone again by the only person you'd ever shared your bed with.

Every time she leaves, you feel a part of you goes missing, like each time she visits she carves into you and doesn't give back the pieces. Maybe you should just end things. Cinnabar is the description of a perfect potential partner, but ever since she came into your life it's been rough waters, choppy seas, and stormy nights that leave you empty in its wake.

You weren't sure what you were hoping for when you…well, now that you think about it, you never really agreed to this, did you? Maybe that's another reason you should-

"Hey, sorry for leaving you." She whispers and you hear something heavy and metal being set on the floor- right next to the bed. "I just really needed to get something." she nuzzles back into your neck and sighs.

Your fingers twitch at your side, tiny fractures sting your fingerpads, hesitation filling their gaps as you slowly raise your hand to reach over her side and you turn until you're both facing each other.

Your fingers ghost over her cheek and trace her faint smile that grows a little wider at your touch and down the center of her neck- Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow- and down the divet of her chest, over her abs, and stop at the belt of her pants. She watches your hand as it slowly undoes the belt, her hand drifting to squeeze your hip while you work to open the fly of her pants.

You bite your bottom lip as you get a peek of hair splayed in every direction and her white, low-rise panties. You tug, revealing the divet where her hips and stomach meet, leaning down to cradle the small mound hidden between her legs.

You slip your fingers down, watching them disappear as you follow the heat and dampness leaking through her underwear, you can feel your finger parting her folds and you curl it slightly, smiling as she sucks in a breath next to your ear.

You roll your finger, feeling that hard little nub through the fabric, a growing itch in your throat to bury yourself between her legs until she shakes and cries for you. Until she begs for you not to stop in that heady, breathless voice until she tugs your hair and pulls you in deeper with her legs until you almost suffocate from her.

You sit up and her grip tightens on your hips. "Stay close to me." She tugs you forward until you almost fall on her, a hand gliding down to your thigh to push your knee in between her legs. "I wanna hold you."

You sigh and watch as your hand drags up the side of her hips and latches around the hem of her top. "Fine," you lean in until your noses brush against each other, her soft pants brushing over your lips. "If that's what you want." This time, when your hand travels up the expanse of her stomach and cups her breast, she doesn't stop you. Instead, you feel her hips softly grind against your leg.

Her lips feel soft against yours, she opens up and allows your tongue to slip inside, tangling in each other as you palm her breast. You can hear her breath get heavier between kisses, feel her heart race in your palm, and taste her hunger on your tongue.

She's hot, her skin is hot with a light mist of sweat as her hips roll more fervently. You kiss from the corner of her lips to the cut of her jaw, to the tender flesh of her neck. Her pulse beats in your lips and you catch it with your teeth as Cinnabar writhes in delight beneath you.

Her fingers grab at the plush of your thighs, your name on her lips as her fingers find your folds once more.

You gasp as her slender fingers toy with your bud and your hands move to rub her clit through her clothes. You find yourself grinding on her leg as you suck languid spots of her neck, feeling the fabric dampen with each movement of your hips.

Her breathing starts to run ragged and she pauses her ministrations with the slightest hesitance to yank her pants off, finally growing tired of the barrier between you— which you gladly assist her with.

You move back and slip your hands beneath her knees, holding her legs apart as you take her in. Her half-exposed chest rises and falls with every breath, her eyes now half-lidded and completely clouded in a smokey haze that watches you with a barely restrained eagerness, the divets of her hips that glide down to the band of her white panties.

You lean in, eyes locked on each other as you place a kiss on her clit, watching her breath hitch as you slowly drag your tongue up the velvet part of her folds.

Your lips close around her bud as two of your fingers slip inside. "Oh my god…" She gasps and throws her head back, writhing her hips. "Yes, please, right there!"

You thrust your fingers in sharply, smiling at the stilted moan she lets out and her pleading, watery eyes. You swirl your tongue around her clit as you set a fast pace with your fingers.

Your name falls from her lips, the pitch getting higher each time as she mindlessly grabs at the sheets and pillows.

"Please, please...Yes!" Her hips jerk up, eager to draw more pleasure from you as slick builds on your fingers. You curl your fingers upwards and watch her eyes go wide before her lashes flutter as her eyes roll.

You feel her muscles twitch and pull away just enough to see how her swollen folds glisten. You pull your fingers out and replace it with your tongue, pushing it as deep as you can go, grinding your nose into her clit as she grabs fistfuls of your hair, her body curling upwards as her moans and whimpers of your name become more desperate.

You feel the telltale stutter of her hips and tremble of her thighs before she even says anything and you bury yourself further in her, lungs beginning to cry for air as you work your tongue further and further in until she suddenly jolts and a new, warm liquid coats your tongue.

You pull away, panting as you lap up her climax. Sweet and salty, just like you remembered. Did you taste the same to her? Or would she know certain notes and undertones about you that no one else would?

"Oh…" She mutters under her breath, slowly blinking at the ceiling. "Thank you. Fuck I needed that so much."

You hum, more entranced with how her muscles would twitch whenever your tongue brushed over a certain spot.

"Hey," She grabbed your hair again and gently tugged you up to look at her, her hair a mess and lips bitten raw, voice raspy between her chuckles. "Let me breathe for a moment?"

You wipe your chin and cheek as you crawl forward, ready to spend the night cuddling until she— you don't wanna think about that. You just want to savor this moment, this moment that wasn't infrequent enough to be rare, but is just far enough apart to make you crave her presence, her voice, her touch. Her very existence has been memorized on your heart, little engravings on the muscle that ached constantly.

She caught your lips in a kiss so slow and soft and deep you felt your thoughts scramble and shatter, only focusing on the dance the dance and pull she invited you to indulge in. You open your eyes as your lips separate for a moment and find hers looking back at you, watching you, drinking you in as if she can't get enough of what she sees. Does she always kiss you with her eyes open?

She breathes into you, soft and melting as if you were made for each other as if the place you belong is in her arms and on her lips. A hum, a final note in your union as she rests her head on your shoulder. Your fingers comb her hair, gently detangling it as you pray for sleep not to take you— to allow you these few hours of the night to relish in her arms around your hips so tightly it almost hurts. It almost hurts.

It's a slight numbness that's accompanied by the distant hum of cars that draws you to sleep in her arms. Praying once again, that this time— this night, she'll stay until you wake.

Golden rays shine into your tiny bedroom, lighting up the otherwise bland room in a hue of yellow that invites you to stay conscious for just a moment. To appreciate the new day before you remember to dread it. You groan and stretch your arms, hissing when you move too much for your sore muscles.

Like every morning, you reach for your phone and mindlessly scroll through your various social media. Nothing unusual, but a post catches your eye.

It's a public announcement. It says,

Warning all civilians, wanted Sinner—

Cinnabar's lips find your neck as her hand covers the screen, turning your head toward her only allows her to find your lips, her hips pressing against yours. Unlike last night, the kiss is gentler, still eager and still speaking of an appetite not yet fully sated, but she was taking her time in tasting you.

"What do you say," She mumbles between kisses. "We go on a trip somewhere? Together?" She pulls back just enough to let you talk, not enough to let you see anything else but her.

"A trip…?" Going on a getaway with her. It's a dream come true all too suddenly, but letting the dream go feels like eating coal.

"Yeah, just the two of us." She smiles forlornly. "Maybe a nice cabin in the woods for a few weeks?" She traces the side of your face and you see that restlessness again in her eyes. "It'd be nice to be surrounded by nature."

You thought about it. About the life you've lived amongst concrete dirt and brick trees, of the people who treated you like a rat more than a human, and about the life you could live, with her— if even only for a few weeks amongst dewy air and crunching leaves. Alone with no distractions.

"Sure, just let me pack—"

"No need." She smiled and placed a soft kiss on your nose. "We'll have everything we need there, you don't need to bring anything."

"But—"

"Shhh, relax. I'll take care of you. I promise."

More kisses, more gentle touches, but her nails dig slightly into your skin and her teeth nip at your lips. When she sat up to press your wrists down into the sheets, fingers bruising, you saw that night in her eyes again. The endless, wanting, encasing, drowning, darkness that eclipsed her pupils—

It was a thing beyond love, beyond care, a thing that seemed not to hold you, but to own you. To encase itself inside you and rot your heart until you cannot tell where love ended and obsession began.

Perhaps what's worse than that, than the subtle thought she communicated through her blunt nails painfully pressing into skin, is that you went lax and doe-eyed, that you returned her rewarding kiss with fervor, that you let her mark and marr your skin again.

Perhaps the worst thing of all is your loneliness.

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 5: Light Brings Warmth

Chapter Word Count: 2,862

TW

None

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Two weeks had flown by before you knew it. Seokmin kept you busy with tasks outside of SVT at work and really didn’t talk about them much to you. He would text you while you were having the weekends off and acted as he usually did when you returned, flirting and messing with your coworkers about your fake relationship. 

While the idea that you were being watched every step of your life now was unsettling, you weren’t going to let that scare you too much. You continued your daily activities because you weren’t someone that did things inherently illegal or out of line. You went to the gym, ordered groceries, and just went about your days normally. Did you add to the playful flirting for Seokmin’s entertainment and the coworkers’ confusion? Yes. 

You were chilling in bed Saturday afternoon, tired from the work week and ready to take the fattest nap that turned into you debating ordering take out for dinner when your phone started going off. Patting around your bed to find it, you pulled the covers up and answered, not even bothering to check who it was. 

“Get dressed, Ace had been annoying the fuck out of everyone to have you over again and King folded and agreed for you to come to family dinner.” Seokmin’s voice rang clear through the phone.

Staring up at the ceiling, you sniffled then groaned, shoving your face into the pillow. “Do I have to? I’m in bed-” 

“I’m pulling into the garage. Unlock the door or I’m picking the lock.” He sounded serious but you couldn’t tell since you were unable to see his face. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Dress comfortably, we aren’t going to the penthouse.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“To our home .” 

Seokmin did try to pick the lock on your door because you were a few seconds too slow in opening the door. When you pulled it open, he was crouching down with a lockpick tool in his hand and a concentrated look on his face, tongue just barely sticking out of his mouth. He was sporting sweatpants and a t-shirt unlike what you typically see him wear. 

He gave you a look from head to toe, smiling at your outfit of leggings and a graphic tee. “You listened!” 

“You threatened to break into my place again , of course I did.” 

He had rushed you from the building, blabbering about how lucky you were to be invited to their house and how Apollo almost shot Ace because he wouldn’t stop talking about you. 

The car ride was worse, being trapped in with his mindless chatter and you giving some hums of reply. Not five minutes into the trip you started to doze off and by ten minutes you were asleep in the passenger seat. 

When the car came to a stop, a hand was shaking your shoulder and you jolted some, grumbling out something in your drowsy state. As you opened your eyes, you saw the scrunched up face of Seokmin shaking you, humming your name to fully rouse you. Looking around some, you noted that you were no longer on the road and now in a garage. You looked out your window and nearly did a double take. 

Kinda an asshole car, huh… What idiot left his lights on on that asshole car too?

“We are already late, come on.” He hopped out and you followed after, shuffling your way from the car beside you and tailed Seokmin as he headed towards a door in the back. You made a mental note regarding the ‘ Reserved for old person’ signs and their various numbers. 

He pushed the door open and any conversation that was happening fell flat. Your eyes first fell on the kitchen, letting out a small ‘wah-’ in amazement at how pristine and well equipped it was. The cabinets were a brown color and most appliances leaned towards a black or gray scheme. You didn’t get to see the outside of the house but it was definitely something large if the kitchen was to show for it. Rounding the corner from the kitchen and seeing the dining table, you froze. 

Multiple sets of eyes were trained on you and Seokmin, more you than your friend. Some were still standing, placing things on the table while others were already seated and ready to eat. While it smelled amazing and mouthwatering, you suddenly lost your appetite. You saw Blondie and Joggers from two weeks ago. As expected, King was sitting at the head of the table, seated beside him was the one he called Loki the night you saw them in the warehouse with an almost fawn looking man across from him. 

“Don’t just stand there, you are both late. I saved you both seats next to me.” Loki winked, raising the glass of wine in front of him and sipping it. 

“Sorry~” Seokmin chuckled, placing a hand on your lower back and leading you to the seats free beside Loki . “Got held up in the city because of an accident and I had to get around it.” 

Seokmin sat with you between him and the former man. You could feel his eyes slowly looking over you. When you raised your eyes and took in each of their faces, you froze once more. Sitting three down from Joggers who was across the table from you was someone you recognized more than anyone else here. Thick lensed, round glasses rested on his nose but his eyes never left the screen of his phone that was placed on the table. He looked almost exactly the same from c-

“I told you this would be awkward.” Loki snickered, cutting off your train of thought. He leaned on his elbow as he faced you a bit. “Why don't you introduce yourself, little one?” 

Internally you gagged, but the distaste was evident on your face. 

“Oh did you not like that? What about… Honey? Like Seokmin calls you?” 

You felt like hitting your head hard enough against the table to give yourself a concussion. You wouldn’t just sit here and let him tease you. 

You turned to face Loki , giving him a once over before snorting. “It’s Y/N, but Honey can be just fine, but I think we both know that.” 

Something lit up behind his eyes. 

Fake it until you make it .

“And to whoever owns the red Lambo, you left your lights on.” You faced the rest of the group, hoping the monotone you wanted to express came through well. 

It took only a second for one man beside Joggers to stand quickly and rush from the dining room table, down the hall, and back through the house to the garage door you entered in from. A string of curse words and the sound of a car door opening and closing before he appeared back, frowning. A few low rumbles of laughter were heard but when your eyes settled on the one with glasses, he didn’t move much. 

God what was his name? Some white guy name? William? No…he had a Korean name…  Wooyoung? No, too long… You tried not to stare as you thought, thinking back to some old classmates when it hit you. Won- 

“Was no one going to tell me?” He scoffed, pulling out his chair and sitting back down. 

“ Honey did.” Joggers laughed. 

“Keep bullshitting all you want, I’m hungry.” King’s voice rang over everything and soon everyone was reaching for food. 

Seokmin was kind enough to grab things he knew you liked and placed some on your plate, clearly seeing the uncomfortability you were attempting to hide behind your mask. 

“ Honey, Honey-” Joggers caught your attention, sharp eyes wide with happiness. “I’ll go around the table and tell you everyone’s name. Oh wait-” 

He looked towards King , who only raised a brow to him as he ate. He gave a sound of question but didn’t actually voice anything. 

“Can I tell her?” 

King made another sound in question, having not listened to the conversation and just spacing out with his gaze down the table as he ate. 

“Names, do I go with-” 

Loki spoke up, “What will she do with the information anyways? Tell?” He laughed now, much deeper and louder than before. “She wouldn’t be dumb enough, right, Honey?”  

Each time he said the nickname, you wanted to punch him in the throat. He said it like a pur, wanting to annoy you or get some sort of reaction. 

You swallowed the food in your mouth and didn’t bother looking at Loki . “And what? Walk into King’s office again and have him threaten my life? Once is enough, the joke kinda feels old now, don’t you think?” 

He looked over you towards Seokmin, “And why was she never brought in sooner? She is more entertaining than all of you put together.” 

“I wanted to keep my wife all to myself.” He put an arm over your shoulder and you rolled your eyes. 

“Does anyone actually care?” King called down the table, probably more of a question towards the names than anything. 

“No offense, but that is a dumb question seeing as you already let her into our home .” Glasses spoke up, finally tearing his gaze from his phone. 

You don’t know what came over you but you rolled your eyes again. “ Wow , you really are the same asshole from college. Wonwoo, right? From Cryptography? My rival? ” The last word you said mockingly. 

You swore a pin dropping could be heard. He was staring at you now. The fork in his hand being held a little tighter. 

“You remember him?” Joggers asked, knowing a bit of Wonwoo’s story. 

“Can’t really forget those stupid glasses and his cocky attitude.” 

Big and Beefy next to Wonwoo was already trying to stifle his laughter, covering a hand over his mouth and turning his face away. Seokmin had removed his arm from your shoulder and shook in laughter, not wanting to outwardly break the tension. 

“I’m keeping her. None of you are allowed to kill her for any reason.” Loki slung his arm over your now free shoulders and tugged you towards his side. 

You let him pull you but didn’t drop any sense of defense you had for yourself. 

“Let’s start from where they are seated, shall we, Honey?” He started again, motioning towards their leader at the head of the table. “You already know him as King , but his name is Seungcheol. I love to call him Cheolie~” 

You might actually punch him by his breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“I’m Loki, but I’d much prefer it if you called me Jeonghan, beautiful.” 

The one across from Jeonghan rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh out of his nose. “Very subtle, Jeonghan.” 

“That,” He pointed across the table, “Is Hades , but I call him Shua!” 

“It’s Joshua.” 

“Semantics!” 

“Wait wait-” You tried not to laugh. “ Loki? Hades? I know one of you is Apollo , do you just enjoy mythology?” 

Jeonghan waved you off and continued down the line, pointing to each man as he went. “Then we have Ace, or Soonyoung.” The mentioned man smiled and tilted his head at you. “ Apollo, or Jihoon. Fenris , or Mingyu.” That one made you snicker. “Wonwoo is called Archivist. At the end is Junhui, or Echo .” 

You ran through the names the best you could as he said them and watched him use the arm over your shoulder to point towards the otter looking man at the end. “ Omen, or Channie~.” He pointed over Seokmin’s head and you leaned forward to see who he was talking about, wanting to put names to faces. “ Shadow, Minghao. Watcher, Vernon. Jester , Seungkwan, and you already know Seokmin.” 

A lot of names, you’d have to have Seokmin make a list later for you to look over and memorize. Speaking of Seokmin-

“Hey one question, why did you give Seokmin his actual government name for his government job when he was supposed to be undercover?” 

Dinner went…well you think. Soonyoung had taken the job of talking your ear off, seemingly interrogating you. You answered most of the questions he asked but kept things simple and low key, knowing Wonwoo has probably found any and all information about you on the internet. 

From your point of view, Jeonghan was having the time of his life trying to get a reaction from you and lighting up each time you replied to him with something just as sarcastic or playful that he gave you first. Seokmin as usual was joining in on the antics and flirting with you like he does during the day job and Soonyoung was living for it. 

Out of instinct, you had insisted on helping clean up the table when done, believing it was something you could do since you were invited as a guest. Seokmin was right beside you, helping rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Wonwoo was a silent being that floated through the kitchen, wiping down the counters and putting any leftovers away. Jihoon had wandered off down the hall, grumbling about his lights being left on, probably needing to check the battery. 

Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan, and Soonyoung had sprawled out along the couches. You had seen Seungkwan turn the enormous TV on and streamed some drama you didn’t know the name of. Junhui and Minghao had left not long after the table was cleared. Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua were sharing a glass of whiskey at the table, speaking in hushed voices that you couldn’t make heads or tails of. 

Honestly it all felt a little weird. Despite the lives they lead, this group, SVT , was just a normal, young group of guys. You didn’t know their exact ages, but you could piece together by looks that they were all probably in their twenties and it was unsettling how large a business they made so young. 

“ Honey, come here.” Seungcheol called and you nearly dropped the plate you were rinsing since you were spacing out. 

Seokmin took it from your hands and nodded you off. With slow steps you made your way over to the three, coming to stand beside where Seungcheol sat. 

“Tomorrow Seokmin will bring you here and we will discuss the logistics of what you will need to do while at work. I’ll also be having Wonwoo bring you to Pandora to get started on the firewall.” He sipped the amber drink, only looking at you from his side eye. 

You didn’t feel like challenging him at that moment but you definitely were thinking of it. Jeonghan finished the whiskey in his glass and reached his hands out to you across the table. 

“Honey, give me your phone.” 

“Why?” 

“Why not? Don’t you want entertainment outside of Seokmin?” 

“Are you offering something, Jeonghan?” You dropped your tone and raised a brow. 

He narrowed his eyes and a smirk crept on his lips. “Am I, sweetheart?” 

Joshua groaned and glared across the table to Jeonghan. “Can you let me enjoy my drink without you making me sick?” 

Jeonghan gasped, faking offense. “I make you sick? I thought we were friends!” 

“Not for long if you keep this up.” 

In the end, you gave your phone over to Jeonghan who typed in his number and added the contact name of ‘ Honey’s Handler’ with a bee emoji to finish it off. If you ever had a chance to fight him, you’d really really punch him. 

You bid everyone in the main room a goodnight after the dishes were finished and left in Seokmin’s car. He called back that he would stay in the city tonight so he didn’t have to make the drive until tomorrow. 

The ride was relatively quiet this time around with you staring out the window and Seokmin focusing on the road. When he pulled into the streets of the city, he spoke up. 

“They aren’t too bad, right? Not all big and scary like they might act like?” 

You shook your head and smiled. Of course he was asking that. “I’ve only seen a glimpse of who they are, Minnie, but they seem okay.” 

“I know, I know, but still. I’m glad you can get along with some of them like you did tonight. I have spoken about you alot because I don’t have many friends outside of them and I want them to like you.” He stopped at a red light, looking over to you. “You are someone I consider family like them.” 

You stared at him, taking in the soft expression that warmed your heart each and every time you saw it. He was your friend, someone you go out with and share drinks with after work. He was really your only friend since you were a homebody and you didn’t speak to anyone from college anymore. You didn’t have anyone around you that you felt so close to. 

You sighed, smiling and reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I consider you family too, Seokmin.”

Author's Notes

Here is the list of all the names just in case~ Cheol - King Jeonghan - Loki Joshua - Hades Junhui - Echo Wonwoo - Archivist (reference from cowriter's story, Fallin' Flower on AO3) Soonyoung - Ace Jihoon - Apollo (DUHHH) Seokmin - Tempest Mingyu - Fenris Seungkwan - Jester Vernon - Watcher Chan - Omen

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