#he thinks our green walls are gray

[blueberryrock]

My dad being color blind will never not be funny to me

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[mercvry-glow]

He's got eyes, but he can't see | In Another Light (1)

In Another Light masterlist - Jack Abbot x Ex!reader

warnings. age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 27), exes to lovers, slow-burnish, jack and reader are really bad at feelings, reader is hinted to have some forms of depression and anxiety, more to come as series continues

summary. Night shift had once been your solace—a strange, electric kind of sanctuary where the world felt quieter, darker, and somehow more honest. Now, on your first official night back, everything and nothing feels the same. The hospital still hums with its familiar tension—beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, the low murmur of exhausted voices—but the comfort is gone, replaced by a dull ache that settles in your chest with every fluorescent flicker and passing gurney. You used to move through these halls like you were part of the machinery; tonight, you're a stranger in a place that once felt like home, and as the hours stretch ahead, thick with memory and unspoken resentment, you wonder if the night can ever truly be yours again—or if Jack’s shadow will always linger in its corners.

notes. AHHH it's here guys! Our official chapter one is here and ready for y'all to read! I'm pretty happy with this, so let me know what you guys think for the future of In Another Light!

wc. 2200+

It was 6:45 p.m. when you finally got the courage to step out of your car to leave the employee section of the PTMC parking garage. Sitting in your car, trying to stomach your six-shot iced oat milk vanilla latte, was easier than facing whatever the hell was going to happen tonight.

Jack’s truck was parked four cars to your left, and that already left a churning feeling in your stomach. He was here before you. You knew he would be—he always was. Routine ran in his blood like caffeine ran in yours. Still, the sight of his gray F-150 made your chest tighten like a pulled muscle.

You walked past it without looking twice, but your body noticed anyway. The crunch of your white sneakers on the concrete. The way the overhead lights buzzed just a little too loudly. 

Deep breaths in. 

Out. 

Then in again.

Mentally, you were already triaging yourself. Discomfort: chronic. Heart rate: elevated. Emotional reserves: low. 

You weren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or dread or both, but you swallowed them down with some more of your latte and pushed open the glass door.

PTMC’s entrance was quieter at this hour—day shift winding down, night shift still dragging their feet. You scanned your badge at the side entrance, the little green light blinking you in with an almost welcome.

The elevator ride down to the first floor felt like purgatory. Too short to fully breathe, too long to avoid thinking. The lounges were dim, a few night shifters already tucked in their corners, half-dressed in layers, sipping burnt coffee from the provided mismatched mugs.

You tossed your bag into your usual locker, the motion automatic. Your hands moved without you—pulling on your issued quarter-zip over your black scrubs, clipping on your badge, repositioning your pen light.

Parker leaned back against the wall next to your locker, having put her own stuff away, “Wow. Look who’s back.”

You gave her a dry look. “Miss me that much?”

“Like a hole in the head,” she grinned. “But you’re prettier.”

“Flatter me some more and I might actually stay.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and glanced at her watch. “We’re already one down. Tony called out too. So you’re jumping right in, and Abbot’s making Shen take triage.”

Of course he was.

You turned toward the clock on the wall. 6:59 p.m.

One more minute of quiet before it officially began.

You took a breath, steady and sharp, and told yourself: You’ve done this before. You can do it again. You do it every day.

Even if the ghosts of your past were waiting behind every curtain and trauma room door.

The board hadn’t changed much since yesterday.

You approached the nurse’s station slowly, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets as if that could somehow brace you against the rest of the night.

Little comforts, right?

Robby stood behind one of the desks, one hand balancing a coffee cup, the other flipping through a chart like it would suddenly change information. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Which probably meant he hadn’t.

“You’re early,” he said, not looking up.

“Hard to be late when you’re actively dreading it,” you replied, leaning a hip against the counter.

That got a tired huff out of him. “Still on that oat milk battery acid?”

“Still drinking it. Which says more about me than I’d like.”

He finally glanced up, brown eyes scanning you. There wasn’t judgment there—just something like quiet concern wrapped in too much familiarity.

“I want you with Shen tonight. Bay two is your guys when we get hit. Ellis and Abbot are taking one if multiple roll in.” He tapped the Ipad. “We’ve got two holdovers from earlier—MVA and a dumbass who fell off a roof trying to do some TikTok thing.”

You raised a brow. “Humanity’s finest.”

“I’ll walk you through them. Come on.”

You followed Michael around the desk and into the curtained bays. He talked through the cases, voice low and even. You nodded, asked a few important questions, scribbled notes on your pad like you weren’t here sometime yesterday. 

It should’ve been fine. It almost felt fine.

Until you glanced up—out of habit really—and saw him.

Jack.

He stood down the hall by north-six, his posture all sharp lines and quiet command, chart in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize. Gray quarter-zip pushed up to his elbows, scrub pants tucked into his usual work boots. Like nothing had changed.

Like a year ago hadn’t happened.

The sound around you dulled, just for a second. Your breath caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between memory and muscle. He didn’t see you—not yet—but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

It was like seeing a ghost. 

Only worse. 

Ghosts didn’t get to keep existing without you. 

“You good, kid?” Robby’s voice pulled you back, grounding and aware of who you were staring at.

You blinked, tore your gaze away. “Yeah. Yeah, just tired.”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “You sure?”

You nodded once. “I’ll live.”

Robby didn’t press you. He never did when it really counted.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s check on TikTok guy before he tries parkour off the bed.”

You followed him, one foot in front of the other.

But your pulse still beat loud in your ears.

And down the hall, Jack was still there.

Still himself. Still okay without you.

Jack leaned against the counter with a pen between his fingers, chart open but untouched. He wasn’t really reading it—hadn’t been for the last three minutes, not since he saw you walk in.

Across the floor, you were already helping an older woman with her oxygen cannula, crouched just enough to meet her tired eyes. Ellis stood beside you, chart in hand, but it was clear you were leading the interaction. Calm. Steady. Kind in a way that never felt performative.

“She’s good, all settled for the night.” Robby said, walking up beside his fellow attending.

Jack didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Robby took a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving you. “Go easy on her tonight,”

That made Jack glance sideways, jaw tight. “You planning to lecture me?”

“Nope,” Robby said, popping the “p” casually. “Just reminding you of who she is,”

Jack exhaled through his nose, short and humorless. “Not your business.”

“Unfortunately,” Robby said, tapping his badge against his chest, “everyone’s business becomes mine eventually.”

Jack said nothing.

Robby watched you laugh at something Parker muttered, hand briefly brushing the patient’s arm in reassurance before you stood to check the monitor beside the bed. You looked lighter on your feet now—different than a year ago—but there was still something careful in the way you carried yourself. Like you were always bracing for an unknown impact.

“Don’t know how ready she is for this,” Robby said, softer this time. “But she didn’t miss a beat.”

Jack’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She’s good at compartmentalizing.”

Robby turned to look at him fully. “No. She just has no choice.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that settles between men who know there’s so much more to the conversation but choose, for now, to let it lie.

You were walking back toward the station now, tapping notes into the tablet cradled in your arm, focused and steady. The same soft ponytail. The same familiar way you chewed the inside of your cheek when you were thinking.

The same you—and yet entirely changed.

Robby nudged Jack with his elbow. “Don’t be weird tonight, alright?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Robby smirked. “I’m serious. Don’t screw up my best third year again,”

Then he pushed off the counter, dropped his empty coffee cup into the trash, and started down the hall. “Text me if the ER catches fire,” he called over his shoulder. “Otherwise, I’m pretending I’ve earned a full night’s sleep.”

Jack stayed where he was.

And when you passed him a moment later—eyes straight ahead, posture composed, not even a flicker of acknowledgement—he felt the space between you like an open gaping wound.

A quiet, barley-hidden one.

But it bled all the same.

The first few hours of your shift passed in a blur of motion—nothing dramatic, just the usual chaos that brewed under fluorescent lights and the buzz of cardiac monitors.

John had been decent company as always. Never quiet, but sharp. Efficient and funny was his personal motto. You handled the procedural tasks while he managed some of the floor, the two of you slipping into a rhythm that felt vaguely comforting.

Just like riding a bike.

By the time 9 p.m. rolled around, the ER had cooled just enough to breathe.

You stood at the nurses’ station once again, flipping through an empty triage packet when Shen handed you a fresh set of vitals.

“Room four’s post-fall. Nothing major—glucose crash and a bruised ego.”

You gave a tired smile. “Copy that.”

“Want me to take it?”

“Nah, I’ll knock it out.” You glanced at the clock again. “Might refill my water first though.”

He just nodded and wandered off, already charting something else. You made your way to the break room, tugging on your badge as you continued on your short adventure. The soft click of the latch gave way to the familiar quiet—a rare, sacred kind of silence in a place like this.

Inside the breakroom, the hum of the old refrigerator and the ticking wall clock were the only sounds.

You leaned against the counter for a second, letting your shoulders drop. The muscles in your neck ached from standing too stiffly. Your back protested in all the usual places. You grabbed your bottle, placing it under the watercooler tab for a few seconds, before taking a drink without looking up.

The door opened.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Something in your body went still—recognition without welcome. You focused on the water tumbler in your hand.

Jack stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, he worked here too for christ's sake. His steps paused briefly when he saw you, but he didn’t speak. Just moved to the counter next to you and pulled open the top drawer where the extra coffee pods were always stashed.

You watched the bottle twist around in your fingers. “You’re still drinking the hazelnut ones?”

His hand stilled on the drawer handle. “Yeah.”

You didn’t say anything else. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick but not hostile—just full. Like everything neither of you said since your last encounter had gathered into the empty air around you.

Jack moved slowly, methodically—cup under the Keurig, pod locked in, button pressed. The smell of cheap coffee started to rise.

“You look tired,” he said finally, voice low and even.

You let out a quiet breath. “You still open with that line?”

“Only when it’s true.”

You glanced at him then—just for a second. His hair was a little shorter than you remembered. He hadn’t grown back the stubble he used to keep, jaw freshly shaven like he was trying to keep everything clean and simple.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re here,” you raised an eyebrow, “Plus John and Parker, even if we’re down a few people you three can hold down the fort.”

You hummed an affirmative. “Robby seem to think we’re the dream team.”

That earned the smallest twitch of a smirk. “He’s getting delusional in his old age.”

You didn’t dare tell him he was getting old too.

Jack took his cup and leaned back against the counter, a few feet from where you stood. The room felt smaller now, like the walls had pushed everything a step closer.

Neither of you looked directly at the other.

“You doing okay?” he asked quietly, like it was an afterthought. Like he already knew the answer.

You took another drink of your water. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jack didn’t push.

He just stood there for a moment longer, sipping his coffee like it wasn’t burning his tongue. And then, with a soft nod and no goodbye, he pushed off the counter and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you were left with the silence again.

Alone, just like when he left you the first time. 

[gracexthoughts]

northern hospitality

jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader

warnings; nothing really except use of y/n and reader description, barely edited

summary; jace flies to winterfell to ensure the north’s allegiance and finds himself entranced by northern beauty

a/n; I saw someone talk about how Cregan might have given Jace the cloak he wears on the wall bc it’s not the one he leaves/goes back to dragonstone in and I just had to write this edit: this is my first jace fic so suggestions and criticism is very welcome!!

The Prince Jacaerys shivers as he flies through the frigid Northern air on his way to Winterfell. His mission in the Eyrie was well met and his confidence bolstered in the promise of the Vale’s support of his mother’s claim. Vermax chitters as the castle of Winterfell appears on the horizon. The northern beauty is rumored through the realm but the young prince is still stunned by the sprawling majesty of the northern stronghold. Even if it is cruelly cold already in late summer.

Soon, Vermax lands on the frozen ground just outside the gates of the castle, which are open to await his arrival. Guards greet him reverently and escort him into the courtyard, where it seems the entire of Winterfell’s inhabitants stand and at the front of them stands Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

“Lord Stark, I am very glad to meet you,” the young prince smiles, stepping forward to meet his hosts.

“The pleasure is ours, my prince. Winterfell is yours,” Lord Cregan responds diplomatically.

“I thank you. It is not often I find myself in the North. While I detest the circumstances, I am glad for the opportunity,” Jacaerys smiles, his eyes taking in his surroundings before landing on the woman standing to Cregan’s side. The Lady Y/N, he assumes, Cregan’s younger sister. Her beauty is rumored even in the South but no amount of whispers could have prepared the young prince for the vision that stands before him. Her hair is black as night, woven away from her face to hang over her shoulder, a thick fur cloak fastened with direwolf pins, and her smoke gray eyes seem to gaze through his confident facade seeing the prince for the frightened young man he really is. He’s always heard northern women were different than southern women and he feels he can sense a wildness in her—a fire that burns hot even this place of ice and snow.

“We welcome the opportunity to show the crown the value in the North, my prince,” she says with a proud smile, her voice melodious and sure, her northern accent intriguing to the southern prince.

“Let us retreat inside to the hearth so we may hear what messages you have brought us.” The prince tears his eyes away from the lady to her elder brother and nods with a smile, thanking him while they walk towards the castle and the warmth it offers.

Cregan and Jacaerys spend most of the day in conference, discussing the politics of the realm and the usurpations of the Greens, Lady Y/N left to attend to her brother’s typical duties. Jacaerys is determined in his diplomacy for his cause but in the idle moments of the day, his mind drifts to the lady of the castle. That night, the prince sits in his chambers, thinking of his home and family, hoping Luke fared well in his own mission, and warming himself by the fire. He had come largely unprepared for the cold of the North, incorrectly thinking it wouldn’t be as frigid in the summer, and had been attempting to mask his chill the whole day. A knock on the door pulls Jacaerys from his thoughts and he stands, leaving the warm embrace of the fire, crossing the room to the door.

“Pardon me, my prince,” a small servant girl says with a curtsy, her eyes downcast, as the door is opened. She carries a large bundle of furs in her arms, the pile so large it nearly covers her face.

“What is this?” the prince asks, his eyes scanning the furs in the girl's arms.

“The Lady Y/N sends cloaks for you. She had worried the chill more than you had expected,” the girl says softly.

“Oh, thank you,” Jacaerys replies, gently taking the furs from the girl, and watches her scurry off down the hall. He smiles to himself, stepping back into his bedchambers and examining the cloaks. They were black leather and fur and looked much warmer than the cloak he had brought with him. Northern hospitality, he thinks to himself, a small laugh escaping his lips.

The next morning, Jacaerys wakes early, and begins wandering the halls of Winterfell and finds himself in one of the courtyards, his new cloak keeping him much warmer and allowing him to journey outside with comfort, and sees Lady Y/N practicing her archery against the far wall, a massive gray wolf at her side.

“Early morning training, my lady?” The prince inquires, standing a few feet from her, wary of the great wolf laying at her feet. She turns to him, her eyes surprised, and nods.

“I’ve not ever been one to sleep late, unfortunately,” she responds, setting the bow down against the basket of arrows. She wears black coats that hang to her knees and lined with white fur on the collar, contrasting greatly with her woven black hair, a silver wolf broach on her breast, and dark trousers rather than skirts.

“Neither am I, in truth. Years of first light training has made me an early riser,” the prince laughs, staring into the smoky swirls of the lady’s eyes. “Thank you,” he adds suddenly, “for the cloaks. You must think me quite foolish not to bring warmer clothes.” The prince shifts his weight on his feet, feeling stranger under her knowing gaze.

“Just that one so used to warmth and fire may chill faster than us children of snow,” Y/N responds, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands, a kind smile on her lips.

“You are kind, my lady. And right, of course. I am much warmer today, thanks to your generosity,” the prince says looking down at the black fur cloak that hangs around his broad shoulders. “Are you well used to the cold, then? Or are the clothes just better made for it?”

“Both,” the lady answers. “Though this is nothing compared to true winter.”

“This is warmth for you, is it?” The prince asks bewildered, pulling a laugh out of the Stark girl. The mist of their breath mingles between them. The land is all frosted over in the morning chill, a few specs of summer snow visible from its last fall.

“A bit, the height of summer is warmer but not anything like the heat of the south. Your dragon blood would want of that cloak even when us Northerners shed ours.” The prince laughs, struggling to fathom such cold when the wolf next to Y/N stands suddenly, startling the prince slightly.

“Don’t mind Shadow, she’s tame,” Y/N chuckles, as the wolf nudges her leg and her gloved hand stroking the wolf’s fur.

“I didn’t know there were any direwolves south of the Wall. Let alone tame ones,” the young prince awes.

“Neither were dragons tame until your ancestors bound themselves to them. You’re not the only house with connections to great creatures,” she reminds him. “When I was a young girl, my father went to visit the Wall, took Cregan and I with him. One of the Rangers took us out riding just beyond the Wall and we came across Shadow. She was just a pup and quite injured. I begged my father to let me take her back home. Luckily, I can be quite convincing when I wish to be. She’s been my loyal friend ever since.”

“You have a kind heart, my lady,” Jacaerys says, eying the wolf with caution.

“You don’t have to be afraid of her. You can even pet her if you’d like. She won’t bite, unless I tell her to,” she teases, trying and failing to hide a sly smile.

“I am content as an observer, but thank you.”

“You were raised with dragons and yet you fear a wolf?”

“Dragons I know, wolves not as much. Would you like to meet a dragon?” The prince offers suddenly, smiling widely. Y/N meets his eyes, pausing for a moment, searching his eyes wondering if he really means it.

“Really?” Y/N’s smoke gray eyes are wide. The prince smiles, nodding and reaches out a hand to her. The lady hesitates for a moment before smiling wider and takes the prince’s hand. He leads her quickly across the frozen ground to where his dragon has been staying. As they approach, Y/N watches the creature carefully. His emerald green scales gleaming in the afternoon light.

The dragon groans softly as his rider approaches, Jacaerys eagerly approaching the creature and extending his hand to rest on the dragon’s large snout. “This is Vermax,” the prince says and Vermax sighs contentedly at Jacaerys’ touch, warm breath blowing his dark curls back slightly. Y/N hangs back, watching the interaction with awe.

“What are you waiting for?” The prince laughs over his shoulder.

“Exercising caution, my prince,” the lady says breathlessly.

“He won’t bite. Unless I ask him to, of course,” Jacaerys teases, the Lady smiling at his use of her words. The Prince eyes her momentarily before reaching his hand back, grabbing hers and pulling her closer. The prince takes her hand and places it on Vermax’s snout, his softly over top her own, guiding her gentle pets of the beast. Vermax chitters softly but Y/N mind is elsewhere, her thoughts not on the creature before her but the prince at her back. His hand on her shoulder, her hand in his against the powerful creature he has grown with, his breath ghosting against her cheek.

“See? Nothing to fear,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, just a fire breathing dragon that could swallow me whole,” Y/N laughs slightly. The prince releases his grip, stepping away from both creatures. “He’s beautiful,” she adds, stepping away as well and turning to face the prince with her cheeks feeling warmer than moments before.

“Thank you. Maybe I can take you on a ride one day,” Jacaerys offers, enjoying the thought of riding with her.

“I would like that, if you’d have me,” she nods, their eyes locked for a tense moment, lost in the swirls of each other's eyes.

“My Prince, My Lady,” a voice breaks the moment and the pair turn to see a page making his way toward them. “I have been sent to inform you breakfast is laid.”

“Thank you, Noran,” Y/N responds, the page bowing slightly before retreating. “Hungry, my prince?”

“Jace, just call me Jace,” he says suddenly, surprising himself and her. “And yes, I’m famished,” the prince smiles, and allows her to lead him back towards the castle, his mind concocting all kinds of ways to spend more time with her.

[daryltwdixon]

"Ever After" is a continuation of our story exploring moments beyond the ending of All That Remains. These chapters are non-chronological, but each will include a clear timeline (e.g. 4 years, 2 years, etc.) after the events of Part 1.

Summary: Four years after everything, you and Joel find a fleeting moment of peace on the dance floor—until cruel words shatter it. The next night, as forgiveness begins to take shape, Joel finally breaks, and you hold him through it. warnings: (canon) slur word. This does contain spoilers for part 2 so if you don’t want those don’t read! notes: I just love them so god damn much

The warmth of the Tipsy Bison is infectious that night, lightness and laughter seeping into your bones, wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. Music and chatter echoes off wooden beams, glasses clink in toasts, the excitable clamber of a three-piece band filling the air with something rare—something that feels a little like peace. Even Joel, ever guarded, carries a flicker of something lighter in his expression. Not quite joy, but something close. A twinkle in his eye that softens the lines of his face, makes him look a little less haunted.

When he pulls you onto the dance floor, his touch is warm, steady. One hand resting on your waist, the other clasping yours, his grip is sweet and tender as he guides you easily, his steps sure even if yours falter. It brings you back—these kinds of nights, this kind of music. The echo of a life you knew a long, long time ago.

Frank had tried to teach you to dance once, back when your dad would play piano after dinner. You stepped on his toes so many times he finally threw his hands up with a dramatic groan before scooping you up and spinning you through the living room instead, laughter bouncing off the walls until you were breathless. Those were safe, golden moments. Ones you don’t let yourself think about too often.

Joel twirls you, pulling you in close again as the song winds down. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in his expression, something hesitant, like he’s allowing himself this just for tonight. You let yourself lean into it.

“Did you see who’s here?” you ask, a little breathless as you drift toward the wooden bar when the song ends. You both reach for your drinks, the sweat from the glasses cooling your fingers.

Joel follows your gaze across the room. She stands a little apart from the others, tall and lanky in a dark blue plaid over a gray tee, hair tied back messily, a few strands slipping free. Ellie. Her gaze is distant, locked on a pair of dancers throwing themselves into the next song with wild, careless abandon. Then, as if sensing it, she glances up. Her green eyes meet yours, unreadable.

You smile.

She doesn’t return it. Instead, she shifts, turning her attention to Jesse as he steps beside her.

Joel’s expression changes. The twinkle is gone. The warmth that thawed him, even just for a moment, snuffed out. He stands still, his beer glass lingering at his lips, forgotten. His gaze drops, something heavy settling in its place.

Your chest aches at the sight of it. You reach out, brushing your fingers against the back of his hand. A quiet tether.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice soft. He sets his beer down with a dull thud, turning his back to Ellie and Jesse as if he can’t bear to look anymore.

A ripple of movement catches your eye. Across the dance floor, a girl approaches them. Dark hair pulled up in a loose bun, her confidence easy and natural. She tugs Ellie’s hand, pulling her into the center of the floor.

The next song is a slow one, the kind that sways in your bones. You reach for Joel, offering a small, hopeful smile. “I like this one. C’mon.”

He lets you pull him back in, his hands settling on your lower back. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers playing absently at the nape where his hair has grown longer, streaked through with more gray than before.

You lift onto your toes and press a small kiss to his chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes only on you. “S’alright.”

But you know how much he’s been hurting. Since the day Ellie left him that note, telling him to find her in Salt Lake, things have shifted. She learned the truth—years of her quiet suspicion festering as your lives went on. She found out that the truth about the Fireflies, that Joel had taken her away, stealing that supposed chance of saving the world. That you had lied to her too, standing by Joel through and through.

He came back with her that day, safe but somber, something hollowed out in his chest. He tried to hide it, but you saw it in the quiet moments. In the way he carried himself. He told you right away what happened, and all you could do was go forward now knowing she might never forgive you.

Ellie and the girl are closer now, smiling at once another and then suddenly, the girl is kissing her.

You gasp, eyes widening as Joel’s head lifts, following your gaze.

“Stop starin’,” he mutters into your ear, though you can hear the small smile on his lips.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper back, grinning up at him.

For a moment, Joel just watches. And then, something in his face shifts. That twinkle, that happiness sparks in his big brown eyes again. Eventually he looks at you again, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, warm and easy. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him—

A voice cuts through the warmth, sharp and sour.

“Hey!”

You break apart, glancing toward the sound. Seth, the bartender, stands in front of the girls, his expression twisted in disgust.

“This is a family event,” he snaps.

Ellie and the girl pull apart, both looking a little sheepish, maybe caught off guard. You see the girl say something, an apology maybe, but Seth doesn’t move. He lingers, waiting. Pushing.

The girl’s expression hardens. She takes Ellie’s hand and turns away.

“Remember next time there’s kids around,” Seth sneers after them. You hear the girl apologize again, though this time it’s got more grit to it as they walk away.

And then, loud enough for the entire room to hear, Seth scoffs, “Just what this town needs—a couple loud-mouth d*kes.”

You barely have time to react before Ellie spins back around, fury burning in her expression as she pushes forward, pointing an angry finger. “The fuck did you just say?”

You’re already moving through the crowd, but Joel is faster. He shoves Seth, hard, sending him stumbling back.

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel growls.

Seth’s face twists. “Get your hands off me.”

You push into Joel’s chest, palm flat, grounding. “Hey,” you say, voice softer, urgent. “That’s enough.”

Maria and Tommy are already storming over, grabbing Seth before the situation can get worse. The room is still buzzing with tension as they haul him outside.

Behind you, Joel turns to Ellie. His voice is gentle. “You alright, kiddo?”

Ellie’s eyes are sharp. Her chest rises and falls with short, angry breaths. She looks between the two of you, and the defiance hardens into something colder.

“What is wrong with you?” she snaps at Joel.

Joel flinches, just barely.

“He had no right—” he begins.

“And you do?” she cuts him off. “I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.”

Silence falls like a blade. Joel looks around as people stare, and then his eyes fall to the ground, his fingers twitching uncomfortably at his sides.

“Ellie, that’s not—” you begin, putting up a hand to try to soothe.

“Don’t you start with me,” she snaps, turning to you. “You’re no better.”

Joel tenses beside you, his fingers curling at his sides. “Ellie,” he says, softer but still with that paternal firmness, “don't talk to her like--"

"It's okay," you exhale softly and touch his arm. “let's just go home.”

He hesitates. Then, sighing, lets you guide him toward the door, stepping out into the frigid night air. The cold hits instantly, sharp against your skin, your breath misting in the dim glow of the streetlights. You cling a little tighter to his arm, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him, the quiet weight of his presence. Joel exhales, watching the vapor curl and disappear, his jaw tight, shoulders squared like he’s bracing against something much colder than the wind.

The warmth of the dance hall is gone entirely.

The following night settles over Jackson, the air warmer but still biting as you keep your coat hanging over your shoulders, the kind of evening that makes it a little easier to linger outside. The town has quieted, save for the occasional murmur of voices drifting from neighboring houses, the low hum of cicadas threading through it all. The porch light casts a soft glow, flickering slightly, catching on the edges of Joel’s face as he sit on the end of the porch swing, guitar in his lap.

His fingers pluck absently at the strings, slow and thoughtful, a melody without words. Your feet rest in his lap, and his hand comes down once in a while, absently tracing small circles against your ankle in the quiet, warm and grounding. The touch is natural, unconscious. He isn’t one for casual affection, not really, but these quiet moments have chipped away at that over time.

You hold a book open in your lap, but you haven’t turned the page in a while. Not when Joel keeps glancing at you between chords, eyes flicking from his fingers to your face like he’s committing something to memory. Not when he hums low under his breath, so quiet it barely reaches you. It’s easy to sink into the feeling of it—of him, here, with you, like this.

Then, his fingers stop. The abrupt stillness pulls your attention up just in time to follow his gaze to the steps.

“Ellie,” you say, surprised but offering a small smile. She stands at the bottom of the porch steps, her green eyes wide as they look between the two of you with hesitation. Quietly, she steps onto the porch, boots scuffing against the wood. Joel’s hand slips from your ankle as he leans forward, his whole body stiffening.

You can feel the conversation coming before it even begins.

“I’ll… I’ll just be inside,” you say gently, easing your legs from his lap. “Gotta clean up dinner.”

Joel looks at you then, something brief but grateful in his expression, something heavy and sad. He stands, coffee mug in hand, guitar by the door. He gives you a small nod, and you return it before slipping through the door, leaving them to whatever needs to be said.

The house is quiet as you pad into the kitchen, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet. You set your book aside on the table, rolling up your sleeves as you move toward the sink.

Both of their voices carry through the open window, their words slipping as much as you try not to listen in. You can still see them, though their backs are turned to you, just a sliver of Joel’s face is visible and you cast your eyes down to not pry.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Ellie’s voice, careful, almost hesitant.

“Coffee,” Joel answers. His voice is low, even.

“Where’d you get that?” she asks, surprised.

“Uh, those people that came through last week. A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it but… not bad.”

You smile to yourself, recalling the way Joel’s eyes had lit up at the mention of coffee beans. He’s smelled like it every morning since, cradling his mug like it’s something sacred.

There’s a long pause before Ellie speaks again.

“I had Seth under control.”

You still, hands gripping the plate in hand a little tigher. Joel’s response is too quiet to catch, but Ellie presses on anyway.

“And you need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.”

Joel says something too quietly for you to hear, and you look up to see him nod before he asks, a little louder, “Dina… is she your girlfriend?”

The question hangs in the air, weighty. That was the girl’s name. You can only imagine the look on Ellie’s face—a teenager being asked about her love life.

“No.” She exhales sharply. “That was just one kiss, it doesn’t mean anything—”

“But you do like her?”

Silence. And then, something too soft to make out. You force yourself to move, to grab the rest of the plates from dinner and focus on something, anything else.

Joel’s voice is steady when he finally speaks again. “Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are but… I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ellie scoffs. “You’re such an asshole.”

You bristle slightly at the sharpness in her voice, glancing toward the window. Joel must have said something in response, but his voice is too low to catch. Ellie, however, isn’t finished.

“I was supposed to die in that hospital.” Her voice wavers, filled with something raw and painful. “My life would’ve fucking mattered. But you took that from me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You need to move. You aren’t meant to hear this.

You turn on the faucet to full strength, the rush of water drowning out the words that follow. You scrub at the dishes harder than necessary, trying not to watch them through the window. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see them—Joel standing rigid, staring out into the road, something carved deep into his face. Ellie, staring away, a storm in her rigid shoulders.

You drop your gaze back to the sink, focusing on the task at hand, pretending you haven’t heard a thing.

Eventually, you watch as Ellie eventually walks off into the night, her silhouette shrinking against the dim glow of the street lamps, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Your gaze moves to Joel as he stands frozen on the porch, watching her go, his jaw tight and eyes full of something distant. He doesn’t call after her. Doesn’t move until she disappears from view entirely.

Then, slowly, like the weight of it is just catching up to him, he steps inside.

The front door clicks shut behind him, quiet but final. He sets his guitar down by the wall, his movements stiff, deliberate, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. His shoulders are drawn up tight, his breath measured and slow, but his chin tremble slightly as he exhales, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves.

“Joel?” you say softly as he closes the door behind him. Your hands wipe the sudsy water against a spare kitchen rag, your eyes never leaving him, watching every small shift, every tight line of his face. His brows are pinched, his mouth set in a deep frown, eyes downcast like the weight of the world is dragging them toward the floor.

“How did it go?” Your voice is gentle, cautious. “Hey—” you whisper as you step closer. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance up.

So you reach for him.

Your fingers skim his jaw, tentative but firm, tilting his face toward yours. You dip your head, searching, desperate to find his eyes. “Hey,” you repeat, softer now, aching.

He just shakes his head, refusing to meet you there.

Instead, his hands find your sides, gripping the fabric of your shirt so tightly his knuckles go white. It’s like he’s holding himself together through you, like if he lets go, he might fall apart completely. You can still hear the muffled echoes of their conversation in your mind, fragments of words lost beneath the rushing of the sink, drowned out by your attempts to give them space. Now, you wish you hadn’t. Now, you wish you’d listened.

Then, his head drops to your shoulder, and his entire body folds in.

It happens so quickly you almost don’t believe it. The Joel you know—steady, unshakable—coming undone in your arms. The grip he has on you tightens, pulling you against him like he needs to feel something solid, something real. And then you feel his shoulders trembling, his breaths shuddering against your neck, sharp and uneven.

Your chest tightens, a sharp, aching squeeze that makes your throat burn.

Your hand moves instinctively to his hair, fingers slipping into the graying strands, petting gently at the long locks. Your other arm wraps around him, anchoring him as best you can. He’s always been the one catching you, the one holding you together when you’d break—when you’d throw yourself into him after a long day, after another nightmare. But this? This is different.

This is him letting go.

And you realize, with a sudden and heartbreaking clarity, that he’s probably never let another person see him like this. Not in all the years he’s been alive, not in all the pain he’s carried.

The thought shatters something inside you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper into his shoulder, voice barely above a breath. “It’s okay.”

You don’t know if it is. You don’t know if it ever will be.

But you hold him anyway.

For a long time, neither of you speak. The only sounds are his unsteady breaths, the deep heaving, steadying sighs he takes. He adjusts, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he pulls himself back. His eyes still won’t meet yours, but you see the shiny glistening of tears wetting his brown eyes as he says, “She…she said…” he wipes his nose on his shoulder as he takes a deep breath, “She’s tryna forgive me. Forgive us.”

Something in your throat tightens. You nod, bringing your hand up to brush your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “That’s good, that’s a good thing.”

His eyes flick away for a moment, like he’s searching for something, like he’s trying to make sense of what it means. His grip pulls you in closer, just slightly, hands still gripping your waist like he’s afraid if he lets go completely, he’ll come apart again.

He exhales, slow and uneven, rubbing a hand down his face before resting his forehead against yours. His breath is warm, still a little shaky. "I don’t know. I don’t know if she ever will." The words are barely above a whisper, like saying them out loud makes them more real.

You pull him into another hug, pressing your lips against his temple, against the deep crease of his brow. “She’s trying,” you murmur. “That’s something. Just needs time is all.”

He closes his eyes, his fingers twitching where they rest against you, like he’s holding on to that thought, letting it settle. 

For tonight, you just hold him.

[the-kr8tor]

here’s a request if it’s okay—r desperately trying to wake hobie up. he’s okay! it’s just that mr. i hate the am needed a nap before a show and the man sleeps like a log. a dead log. a dead log that snores

Hi, bestie! I love this prompt sm! Thank you 😘 (you're so right, he does sleep like a dead log)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: Use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Hobie?” You gently poke his cheek. “Hobs? Poke “baby?” Poke “Handsome?” Said man doesn't even stir awake or to even let out a signature Hobie grunt.

After kissing every inch of his face like the sleeping beauty that he is, Hobie still sleeps on the lumpy gray armchair of the green room with no care in the world. If the circumstances were different you'd let him rest.

“Is he awake yet?” Ned peeks around the corner, bass in his shaking hand. “Please tell me he's awake, Y/N”

“Not yet, Ned. I've got him don't worry”

“I can't help but worry! We're on in five!” He bounces by the balls of his feet, audibly groaning somewhere to nervously pick at his bass. “We're fucked!” You jump at the sudden sound. “Our guitarist is fuckin' dead!”

You look at Hobie to check if the yelling got him to wake from his deep slumber. His mouth is slightly parted, snoring away. If not for his soft snores you'd think Ned was right.

Sitting on his lap, you hope the added weight wakes him up. Hobie doesn't even flinch, his head is still lolling over the armchair, fingers twitching.

“Hobie,” you tap his chest with your palm, sending out an SOS that could translate to his dream. You push out your curiosity, wondering what kind of dream he's having that got him sleeping like a log.

No dice on the tapping.

Maybe calling him by his alter ego might activate something in his brain that would wake him up?

Leaning closer to his ear, your hands are on his shoulders to prop you up, his breaths fanning your cheek. “Spider-Man” nothing. “Hey, spider”

You don't want to scream in his ear, his face twitches into a soft smile, but maybe as a last resort you would. “Spider-Man we need you”

He chokes, his snoring stops completely. For a second you thought he'd wake up. But your smile falters, growing concerned when you don't feel his chest heave up.

“Hobie!” you panic.

He opens his sleepy eyes, grabbing onto your waist instinctively. “Huh?” Hobie lifts his head up to meet your wide eyes. Relief washes over you when he beams up at you. “Hello there, gorgeous.”

“Oh thank fuck!” You lay your head over his heart, listening to the steady beating. “I thought you wouldn't wake up” your voice is muffled by his leather vest.

“Just sleeping, love.” Hobie traces your shoulder blades with his dancing fingers. “I was havin' a good dream”

You look up at him. “I would love to hear it but for now you have to get on stage. You're on in–” you flick your eyes at the clock on the wall. “Two minutes.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you instead of getting up. “It'll be the best two minutes of my life,” he leans up to meet your flustered face. “They can wait,” he said with a cocky smile, “I want my dream to come true right here.”

You meet with him halfway, smiling through the kiss as he slips his hands under your shirt to cup the small of your back.

“Christ! Can you two wait after the bloody show?!” Ned looks like he's about to burst a vein.

[seungrem]

Huening Kai x m!reader

‘Finishing What We Started’ ~*+

summary: After male!reader gets promoted to work for an idol group, he catches a particular boy’s eye. As no-one seems to suspect the two, they spend some time alone while on a retreat.

( idol!kai x intern!reader, smut kinda, top!kai x bttm!reader, mutual feelings )

emoji code:

🧸 ( lil bit of fluff )

🌱 ( oneshot / short story - around 4.5k words )

❄️ ( smut, +18, minors DNI )

☁️ ( stands for y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

A long breath emitted from the mouth of a young man. Holding a small stack of tan files, he looked himself up and down in front of an office of frosted windows. His gray dress pants were neat, his sneakers pristine, and his white button-up complimented his gray ‘B.H.’ vest nicely. After deeming himself ready to enter, he took a step forward and used his free hand to knock, him then pushing his boss’s door open.

“Ah, ☁️. Right on time, per usual.” The boss stood up and greeted ☁️, who greeted back and very carefully placed the small stack of files onto the boss’s desk.

“Hello sir, this was requested yesterday. I thought I would take care of it for you.”

As the boss sat down in his gray suit, ☁️ stepped back to stand between two very nice chairs with green cushions. The office was somewhat large with dark blue carpeting, glass walls, and many desks that held achievements and framed papers.

“I admire how hard you work, ☁️. And because of that, I have a gift for you.”

The boss smiled and pulled a tan file from under his dark brown desk, pieces of paper inside of it. The boss took the papers out and turned the top one around to face ☁️. The boy leaned in to read it.

‘Personal assistant? For a boy group? .. This was supposed to be a gift?’

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t quite understand.. You want me to be a personal assistant?” ☁️ frowned at the sight of the paper, him looking back up to his boss.

“Oh don’t give me that look, this is a great opportunity for you! This is a relatively new group, and they have been climbing the charts for the past year and a half. It’ll be great for you! I promise.”

“Well.. are you going to find a new intern then?” ☁️ felt as though he was being demoted. Who would want to be a personal assistant?”

“I don’t think so, with your help our department has been ahead of schedule and paperwork. If I ever need you back here with me, I’ll just call you over.”

“Do I have an option?”

“☁️, you’re going to be getting paid well! You’ll be making more than some of the people working in this office.” The boss held the weight of his chin on the back of his right hand, as if he was thinking hard.

“Here, I’ll give you a deal. If you last a week helping this boy group, and still don’t like it by then, I’ll talk to our department ‘heads about a different promotion opportunity. The last personal assistant for this group got promoted too quickly, which made things hard for the group’s current staff.. though, now she works alongside me.”

☁️ nodded in understanding- the boss’s tangent was slightly convincing. He liked the idea of going from an overworked, unpaid intern, to a simple assistant who got paid well. Seemed easy enough.

“I understand, I think that I’ll take your deal. Thank you for.. this opportunity.” ☁️ smiled awkwardly.

“Great! I’m so happy that you’re agreeing to this, ☁️. You’re going to do so well, and not only for yourself. You’ll be of tremendous help to this group and their manager. I know it.”

The boss put the papers back into the tan file and handed it to ☁️. Unsure that he made the right decision, ☁️ thanked his boss and placed the file under his arm.

“I expect great things! I’ll see you soon, take care.” The boss nodded his head and ☁️ said his goodbyes. Taking his leave, he wondered how a personal assistant would be so significant in this group’s success. Slowly closing the glass door, ☁️ walked toward the elevator. After working for four months as an intern, he was now “promoted” to a personal assistant. At least now he’d be earning a salary.

After taking the elevator down to the ground floor, he stepped out into the majestic lobby and walked to the reception desk. With floors and walls of marble, there was lots of tapping from people going about their business. Walking toward a large, dark brown desk., he waved to farthest left secretary. She was a tall young woman with dark black hair, a person who had quickly befriended ☁️ during his first few days as an intern. The two spoke often, but ☁️ would always forget her name.

After chatting for a few minutes about ☁️’s meeting with the boss, the secretary became ecstatic.

“You should be happy, you’re spending time around a big idol group! That’s great!”

“Yes, I hope I’ll grow to like it. Do you end your shift soon?” ☁️ looked around to make sure there was nobody waiting in line to speak to his friend.

“I do, would you like me to check you out of work for the day? I was going to do the same in a moment.”

“That would be great, thank you! I’ll hopefully see you soon.” ☁️ took a step away from the counter he was leaning on.

“Of course, see you later.” The secretary smiled brightly and the two waved to each other.

☁️ approached the large, glass doors as beautiful oranges and pinks faded into each other over the sky. He stepped out into the city engulfed in warm tones, bustling streets ahead of him.

“You do know you’re an hour and a half early , right?”

☁️ stepped onto the stone staircase of a large cottage, located in the middle of the countryside. A large, wooden fence overgrown with pink flowers and tall grass surrounded the property. ☁️ looked around at the bight yellow sky, the sunrise illuminating birds and pink clouds. Turning around, ☁️ clutched his small bag and began up the stairs. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light inside the stone house.

A man in all black, including a black mask and hat, stood in front of the doorframe. He took off his hat and placed a hand on the door.

“Hello, yes, I know I’m early. I figured it would be best to come at this time.” Behind the man in black he saw other people in black running around. Many were carrying things such as equipment, dishes of sorts, and cloth materials.

“You figured correctly. I’m the staff director here and it’s a pleasure to have you join us.” He led ☁️ through the small building, the two dodging other staff members setting up skinny poles and cameras. “I heard many things about you, so i’m glad to have you join us.”

☁️ mentally rolled his eyes at the comment.

“It’s a pleasure.” The boy said as the two stopped at a table in what seemed like a dining room. The table had even more equipment scattered over it. The director called a name out and two women turned their attention from the table to the director and ☁️. The director introduced the two to him. The morning quickly began with many introductions, though ☁️ only could recall about half of them.

After a half hour of introductions and explanations, the director sat ☁️ down at the small dining room table. He explained that there wasn’t much that he needed ☁️ to do other than provide personal assistance to the idol group. Thus, the director instructed ☁️ to simply wait outside for a black van.

With a sigh, Cat sat on a small ledge of the house, waiting for what he assumed to be the arrival of the group. The sky was now clear and bright blue, the sounds of leaves and tall grass rustling filling the silence. After a few minutes, a large black van pulled into the dirt road. ☁️ watched from the steps as two older men dragged suitcases out of the vehicle, five younger men climbing out and stretching. Unsure of what to do, ☁️ walked over to the two older men.

“Hello, I’m the personal assistant for the group. Did you need help with the suitcases?” ☁️ held his hand out, prepared to grab a bag or two.

“Hello, I’m their manager, and we will take care of this. The boys have been complaining about being tired, though. Can you take them to their rooms? Make sure that they know all but one of them are sharing. We will decide where they sleep after filming.”

It was then and there that ☁️ realized that he didn’t know why it is that he was there.

‘Is this a music video set? Or maybe this is just for a retreat?’ the boy wondered to himself. His boss at the company building had informed him of who the group was, but of course he had forgotten their name.

He nervously walked over to the 5 tall boys, them all carrying a backpack. One of the boys had two backpacks, both of which seemed heavy.

“Oh, are you from another group? I thought we were filming a ‘To-Do’ here..” A tall boy tilted his head to the side, visibly confused. ☁️ was confused by his confusion, him furrowing his eyebrows unintentionally.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you an idol?” The tall boy asked again.

“Oh, no. I’m here as a worker. I’m supposed to be your personal assistant.. or something like that.”

“Oh, okay.” The boy was tired, and ☁️ could sense the same feeling from the four behind him.

“I was instructed to take you to your rooms, so please follow me.” ☁️ felt awkward about their conversation, feeling that it was going to be a long day. The boys were ready to follow him, but ☁️ walked up to the one with two bags, him taking one of them and throwing it around his shoulder.

“I’m ☁️, by the way.” He said, beginning down the dirt path to the cottage. The five followed behind, slowly walking up the stone steps as if their energy was being spent with each step.

The staff weren’t running around at this point, most of them sitting around or talking to each other. Everyone stopped what they were doing as the six boys stepped inside. ☁️ smiled awkwardly, the boys behind him quickly greeting everyone. The room began to fill with ‘hello’s and ‘welcome’s as ☁️ led the group to the other side of the house. They arrived to a dimly lit, narrow hallway. There were three frosted glass doors, natural light emitting from the inside. ☁️ thought about the director’s quick tour, him pretty sure this was where their rooms were.

“The manager said that there are three bedrooms, so only one of you will get your own room. He also said that I’m not allowed to let you pick where you’re sleeping.”

The boys all grunted, clearly annoyed with the staff. They all looked at each other, and then back at ☁️.

“They said it was fine if you rest, though. So you can pick them now, just understand that it’s temporary.” ☁️ spoke formally to them, watching as they looked to each other again.

“How do you want to split up?” A boy with big eyes asked, looking around.

“I’m getting my own room, you guys can figure it out.” One of them stated, walking past ☁️ toward the room directly down the hall. Another one of the boys gripped his shoulder, pulling him back.

“No, you and Taehyun can share.”

The group began bickering about the room toward the end of the hall, though one of them stood behind and looked at ☁️. It was the boy who had two backpacks, him seemingly about to fall asleep standing up. ☁️ looked back at him, both mesmerized by his beauty and a bit worried.

“Uh, all of the rooms have two beds. Why don’t you get some rest.” ☁️ opened the door behind him, holding it for the tired boy to walk through. The room was a decent size for such a small cottage- the beds were a few feet apart with a nightstand in between. Wooden floors held beige walls with a few small paintings. Above the bed on the other side of room sat a large window with see-through lavender curtains. A beautiful view of a large garden with flowers of pink and purple added to the scenery of the blue sky. On the other side of the room, a large wooden dresser sat against the wall.

The boy muttered a ‘thank you’ and threw his bag onto the floor. He fell onto the bed, resting his head opposite from the window and toward the door. ☁️ softly placed the heavy bag from around his shoulder next to the bed, then dragging the dropped one beside the nightstand.

“Are you really our personal assistant? We haven’t had one in a while..” The boy mumbled as he laid on the bed, eyes closed. ☁️ walked to the bed on the other side, which was only a few feet from the boy’s.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” ☁️ asked jokingly. A cool breeze flew into the room, brushing against ☁️’s cheeks and neck.

“You’re attractive. And not wearing a mask like a lot of the other staff.” The boy paused. “That’s why Soobin thought you were in a group. I think.”

☁️ was taken aback by the idol’s comment, it making him blush and become nervous at the same time. Analyzing the boy’s soft features, ☁️ realized that he still didn’t know their names.

“Thank you, you’re attractive too. What’s your name?”

The boy opened his eyes and lifted his head. He looked at ☁️ sleepily. “You don’t know our names?”

☁️ choked on his words, a bit embarrassed. “I do.. I’m just bad with remembering them. I’ll know when you remind me.”

The boy laid his head down on his arm, looking at ☁️. “You can call me Hyuka. That’s what they call me.”

Two of the other members busted into the room, Hyuka immediately pretending to have fallen asleep.

“He’s already sleeping?”

☁️ recalled that the tall one was Soobin, but didn’t know who the one with the middle part was. He looked over to Hyuka, who continued to “sleep.”

“Yes, he just fell asleep.” ☁️ stood up, walking away from the bed so that Soobin could place his bag down.

“I’ll just room with Taehyun, then.” The other said, ☁️ following him out of the room and shutting the door softly. The other boy walked into Taehyun’s room across from Hyuka’s, and shut the door.

Now that ☁️ was warming up to the group, he felt better about the time he was going to spend with them. He walked down a few halls to the living room, where the staff director watched a tiny camera being installed into a corner of the ceiling.

“Excuse me.” ☁️ said, standing behind him.

“Ah yes, are the boys resting?”

“Yes, they are. Is there anything you need me to do now?”

“You should rest for a while too. You were here super early. Take the extra bed in one of the rooms and I’ll grab you when we film tonight.”

☁️ felt as though this ‘personal assistant’ job was unproductive. He sighed and nodded, grabbing his bag from a chair on the dining room table. The director followed behind him.

“☁️,” The director tapped the boy’s shoulder as he picked up his bag. He turned around quickly.

“This job.. it may seem fruitless at first. These ‘To-Do’ projects are mostly just a break for the immediate staff, which you are considered. Enjoy your leisure time with the boys before you become a lot more occupied during the promotion projects.”

☁️ understood his position now, him thanking the director for the explanation. The two parted ways, as ☁️ returned to the narrow hallway. He walked all the way down, opening the door very slowly as to not wake the boy sleeping. To his surprise, one of the boys and Soobin slept peacefully across from each other. Retracing his steps, he lightly shut the door and walked over to Hyuka’s room.

Hyuka snored loudly, causing ☁️ to assume that it bothered Soobin. ☁️ walked over to his bed and placed his bag down. He then grabbed a pillow, and walked to Hyuka’s bed. He placed the pillow beside Hyuka. Gently lifting the boy’s heavy head and shoulders, he quickly slid the pillow under. Hyuka’s snoring stopped, and he repositioned himself in his sleep.

Relieved, ☁️ walked over to his bed, passing out as soon as he climbed into it.

A pair of hands lightly shook ☁️’s shoulder. Slowly opening his eyes, Hyuka was on one knee in front of the bed. Behind him, the curtains blew a soft breeze into the room. White clouds flew across the bright blue sky as ☁️’s upper body rose from the bed.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Hyuka stared into the boy’s eyes, almost without emotion.

“I’m not sure..” ☁️ rubbed his eyes and threw the blanket off of his legs. He looked over to the window, the bright atmosphere meaning that there was still time before they filmed.

“..let me make sure it’s okay with the staff director.”

Hyuka nodded and stood up, him then walking over to his bed and sitting. ☁️ stood up, grabbed his phone, and opened the door.

“I’ll come with, so we can just leave after.”

Hyuka stood up immediately and walked over to the door, holding it open as the two talked.

“What if he says no?” ☁️ raised an eyebrow. Hyuka smiled at the action.

“You’re our assistant, I command you to go on a walk with me.” Hyuka smiled flippantly, ☁️ rolling his eyes as he walked out of the room.

“That’s not how this works.”

-

Hyuka looked over to ☁️, grabbing his arm. Since the film director had left to his hotel, the manager had given them permission to leave for a bit.

“Be back in a half hour, please.”

Hyuka dragged ☁️ by his arm out of the cottage door, him only letting go when the door was closed behind them.

“Why did you want to go on a walk again?” ☁️ looked around at the nature surrounding the two.

“There’s a path over here. The others were still sleeping, and I really wanted to go.” Hyuka looked from the sky to ☁️, his eyes asking permission to begin walking down the steps and toward the path.

“Lead the way.” ☁️ said with a light smile. The two quickly made their way down the stone steps, and through the grass to the other side of the house. There was a wooden gate blocking the entrance to the garden, which Hyuka power walked over to. ☁️ assumed this was so that he could open the door for him, which he did.

☁️ laughed at the action and thanked him, Hyuka just nodding shyly. The two walked through the bushes and large patches of flowers, ☁️ pretty much following Hyuka as he wandered around. Eventually the two found a bench next to a small bird fountain. ☁️ sat after Hyuka, with their backs now to the cottage.

“We can see our room’s window from over here.” Hyuka turned around to look back at the cottage, ☁️ following his action. The boys gasped as they saw two heads looking at them through the window. Once spotted, those two heads jumped out of view.

“Who’s in our room?” ☁️ asked, somewhat annoyed.

“I think it’s Beomgyu and Yeonjun. They’re nosey.” Hyuka got up and took a few steps to the left. He turned around, motioning for ☁️ to follow. The two walked toward the end of the garden, where the path that Hyuka was talking about was located. It was a narrow dirt path surrounded by tall trees. Sunlight broke through branches above, illuminating small parts of the path. Hyuka once again opened the gate for ☁️, the two then walking side by side.

☁️ would occasionally look over to Hyuka as the two walked in silence, Hyuka occasionally catching his gaze. Hyuka’s face didn’t display an ounce of expression. His lips were sealed, and he was faced forward, aside from when he looked at ☁️.

After a minute or two of walking aimlessly down the path, ☁️ thought to himself out loud.

“I didn’t think idols were this.. nonchalant.” He looked over to Hyuka, who immediately glanced back to him, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” Hyuka responded, ☁️ noticing that he seemed almost offended by the comment.

“I just meant that you’re so.. nice. That’s the impression you gave me, anyway.” ☁️ stopped as the two arrived at the end of the path. A large opening in the trees displayed large green fields and mountains. The two were very high up, though it didn’t seem like their elevation was increasing as they walked. A brightly lit bench sat in a dirt area directly in the middle of this opening, large rocks surrounding the ledge.

Hyuka stood next to ☁️, visibly choking on his words. ☁️ felt bad for almost laughing at him, so he grabbed Hyuka’s arm and led him to the bench a few feet in the distance. The two sat facing each other, with ☁️ to the left and Hyuka to the right. ☁️ watched as the sun’s golden rays stretched across Hyuka’s soft skin, the boy finally finding his words.

“You’re nice, too. Idols.. I guess they get a bad reputation. You should get to know me more.” Hyuka looked from the beautiful view to ☁️. “I wanna get to know you more, anyway.”

☁️ was now the one at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure if Hyuka was just being nice or flirting with him. The two boys now staring at each other, Hyuka became embarrassed.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be..”

“No, no, no. It’s fine, you’re fine.” ☁️ didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, and it was clear that Hyuka thought that he made things awkward.

“I’d like to get to know you more, too. You’re sweet.” ☁️ placed a leg on the bench seat and turned his entire body to face Hyuka. The two smiled playfully, leaning into each other.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Hyuka placed his left arm behind ☁️, as he leaned closer. ☁️ now understood what Hyuka was trying to say. After a few seconds of him processing, Hyuka’s face was only inches away from ☁️’s.

☁️ used his pointer finger and thumb to hold Hyuka’s chin, directing the boy’s lips over to his own. Surprised by his own actions, ☁️ titled his head and placed an arm around Hyuka’s neck. Hyuka responded by placing his left hand under ☁️’s thigh and lifting the boy onto him. With ☁️ now brushing against Hyuka’s torso, the two made out passionately, Hyuka kissing sloppily. Hyuka slowly slid his tongue into ☁️’s mouth, him then doing the same. Their tongues softly brushed against each other as ☁️ ran his hand through Hyuka’s hair, Hyuka gripping his ass.

After a minute, ☁️ lifted his mouth away from Hyuka’s to catch his breath. Hyuka furrowed his eyebrows at the action, placing his lips on ☁️’s neck and kissing gently as a substitute. ☁️ rubbed his hands up and down Hyuka’s chest, panting as he felt the boy’s kisses turn into bites.

☁️ pushed Hyuka’s head away softly, the two looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Hyuka’s straight hair swayed as the breeze began to pick up.

“Don’t leave marks. If they find out th-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Hyuka lifted the boy again, adjusting so that ☁️ sat on his hard bulge. ☁️ began rotating his hips on Hyuka as they quickly returned to each other’s lips. Hyuka roughly anchored ☁️’s waist to his hips as he thrusted into him.

Hyuka was bulkier than he looked, and his chest was a fondled through his black shirt multiple times as ☁️ couldn’t get enough of it. As Hyuka’s thrusts became more aggressive, ☁️’s kisses got sloppier.

☁️ occasionally opened his eyes while they made out, the boy noticing that Hyuka’s skin became a bright orange color. ☁️ pulled away from the boy, removing his arm from his around neck and turning to face the sky. It had turned bright orange, the low, pink clouds lingering as the sun was beginning to set. Hyuka wrapped his arms around ☁️’s waist, continuing to feel down the boy on top of him. He looked up expectantly with soft eyes, but ☁️ only let out a troubled sigh.

“We should start heading back.”

☁️ gave Hyuka one last and sudden kiss as he lifted a leg off of the boy. The two now sat on the bench again, in silence.

“Did you know this was over here?” ☁️ looked over to Hyuka, who glanced back as he wiped his face.

“No, it’s our first time in this side of the city.”

☁️ wiped his face and nodded in understanding, him then standing up. Hyuka followed his actions, though he had to readjust the bump in his crotch area. ☁️ smiled at the boy as he shifted his pants around, Hyuka smiling back in embarrassment. His print wasn’t super noticeable in his jeans, anyway.

The two hurried out of the dirt area, and down the path as the forest began to get darker. Hyuka broke the silence after a few minutes.

“Why did you ask if I knew that the bench was there earlier?” He looked over to ☁️, though the dimness of the forest made it hard to see his facial expressions.

“No reason.”

“My intention wasn’t to.. you know, do that. With you.” Hyuka kept his gaze on the boy next to him until he responded.

“I believe you. Though, I think you wanted to do a little more than get to know me.” ☁️ smiled, knowing Hyuka wouldn’t be able to see it. Hyuka grabbed ☁️’s arm firmly as they continued walking.

“No, I want to get to know you. Seriously, I like you.” Hyuka’s voice became whiny, as through he was once again offended by ☁️’s words.

“I’m kidding, don’t worry.” ☁️ removed Hyuka’s grasp from his arm, and instead interlocked hands with the boy. “This won’t be able to go anywhere, though, you know that right?”

Hyuka remained silent for a few seconds, ☁️ sensing that he was unsatisfied with the comment.

“Why not?”

“You’re an international popstar and idol. Did you forget that?”

The two noticed the light from the cottage ahead. By this point, the sky was bright purple, only a few orange clouds still remaining.

“I can make it work. I’ll just hide you.”

☁️ rolled his eyes, though he thought it was cute how seriously Hyuka was taking their conversation.

“Okay Mr. Idol.”

Hyuka let go of ☁️’s hand to walk ahead and open the wooden gate’s door for him.

“Where have you two been?”

The boy with the middle part walked into the living room just as Hyuka and ☁️ did.

“Which one’s this, again?” ☁️ asked jokingly, though he didn’t actually know the boys name.

“You work for us and don’t even know our names?” He exclaimed, his ego visibly hurt.

“That’s what I said.” Hyuka smiled at the face the boy was making- his mouth was open ajar and his eyes were practically squinting. “Fix your face Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun glared at Hyuka, then looking over to ☁️ expectantly. “Well, where were you?”

“We went for a walk down a dirt trail.” Hyuka responded.

“And what’s on your neck?” Yeonjun lazily pointed to ☁️. The boy froze and looked at Yeonjun, then to Hyuka.

“A branch.. fell on him. On our way back.” Hyuka said with a perfect poker face. He broke the facade when he smiled awkwardly to ☁️, almost as to ask for help.

“Yea, the winds were really, well, rough. It didn’t hurt.. but I bruise easily. I guess.” ☁️ held a hand over the bruise and brushed his fingers over it.

“Right..” Yeonjun turned his gaze to Hyuka, who smiled innocently at him. Another boy entered the room, ☁️ not knowing this one either.

“What took you guys so long?” He said, walking into the open kitchen area.

“☁️ has a bruise on his neck.” Yeonjun yelled to him. Huening muttered the word ‘asshole’ under his breath as the boy in the kitchen looked at ☁️.

“Come check it out, Taehyun.” Yeonjun yelled again, trying not to smirk. Taehyun walked over to ☁️, Yeonjun motioning toward his neck. ☁️ hesitantly pulled down his top’s neckline so Taehyun could see it clearly.

“How’d that happen?” Taehyun looked to Hyuka, concerned.

“He got hit by something flying in the wind. We couldn’t see well because it got dark.” Hyuka responded, his voice monotone.

“You said it was a tree branch.” Yeonjun snarled.

“I never said that.”

“You just said that?!” Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows in both anger and confusion.

“No I didn’t.”

☁️ decided to play Hyuka’s game by teasing the boy. “Yeonjun, are you okay?”

Taehyun looked at Yeonjun and sighed. “The staff will be here soon. Maybe you should rest some more before they come.”

“I should beat you.” Yeonjun grabbed Hyuka’s shirt as Hyuka laughed at him, Taehyun grabbing Yeonjun’s arm and dragging him away.

“☁️, follow me so I can put some ointment on the bruise.” Taehyun said as he and Yeonjun walked away. Yeonjun grilled ☁️ about whether or not Hyuka talked about a branch. ☁️ just shrugged, which made the boy go feral and walk away from him and Taehyun.

-

Taehyun knelt on the bathroom tiles as ☁️ sat on the toilet. The idol carefully applied a cream over the bruise as they sat in silence.

“Alright, all done.”

“Thank you.” ☁️ said as the two stood up. Taehyun placed the cream tube in a small bag. He didn’t turn away from the bag, though he opened his mouth, hesitating to speak. ☁️ noticed and waited for him to do so.

“You should be careful, ☁️. Please, no more branches falling on you. Or Huening Kai.” Taehyun must’ve understood what was going on, ☁️ catching on quickly.

“It won’t happen again.” ☁️ muttered feeling embarrassed. Taehyun also sensed his embarrassment.

“At least don’t make it obvious.”

☁️ nodded, Taehyun finally turning to him and smiling. The two left the bathroom and walked down the hall just as the staff arrived with large duffle bags.

“We’re filming in 10!” The staff director yelled.

-

The filming lasted around 2 hours. The concept of the video was simple, and ☁️ sat behind the camera alongside the director, manager, and other staff. Simply watching the boys in silence, ☁️ occasionally adjusted his hoodie to cover the bruise, or played with the black mask around his face.

The five idols were each given a mission on a piece of paper. They had to find a specific object, though their papers only contained riddles and hints to the other boy’s objects. Soobin and Taehyun quickly shared the hints to each other, leaving out the other three. Beomgyu and Yeonjun teamed up against Hyuka, leaving the boy without any hints. Hyuka wandered around the house, not sure what it was he was loookign for.

Irritated, he gave up and walked over to his room, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. There was a camera hidden in the room, the staff laughing at Hyuka’s behavior.

The staff director snapped his fingers at ☁️, who immediately turned his attention to him.

“Deliver these papers to Huening Kai, please.” He whispered as Beomgyu and Yeonjun had walked into the living room. ☁️ looked at the papers and stood up, them all containing a hint to Hyuka’s item. ☁️ walked over to the room, knocking before entering.

Hyuka was surprised to see ☁️ walk in while they were filming, him lifting his body up to sit and face the boy. Hyuka’s face was red and his eyebrows were arched, making him look mean. ☁️ simply handed the papers to Hyuka, and tiptoed back to where the manager sat on the floor.

Eventually, Hyuka found his item before the others, his prize being that he got to have a room to himself. He knew he was temporarily sharing that room with ☁️, which made him express less agitation towards everyone.

-

The team began to pack the cameras and equipment away to head back home. The five idols were staying behind as the next few days were their mini-vacation.

As ☁️ grabbed his bag from Hyuka’s room, the group’s manager approached him. It was just them two, as Hyuka was still in the living room helping the staff. Standing in the doorway, the manager knocked on the door to catch ☁️’s attention.

“Hello, ☁️. Please feel free to decline the offer, but one of the boys asked if you could stay with them for the retreat. It’s only a few days, and the entire week will be paid. It’s up to you.”

☁️ recalled that his boss gave him a week to work with the group before he could be considered for another position. A week working while also on a retreat sounded great.

“I’ll accept. I just need a ride to the hotel to grab my other bags.”

“I’ll have someone drive you, please come with me.” The manager nodded, motioning ☁️ to follow him. On his way out behind the other staff, Hyuka grabbed ☁️’s arm and squeezed.

“You’re going to stay, right?” Hyuka asked in a low-pitched voice. He was clearly still upset.

“Yes, I’m just grabbing my stuff.”

Hyuka let go of his arm, watching motionlessly as the staff made their way outside. The sky was now pitch black, and light drizzle filling the air.

“☁️.”

“Yes, Hyuka?”

“What’re you doing.”

“I’m just scrolling through social media. Why?” ☁️ turned to face Hyuka as the two boys laid in silence.

“Can you come over here?” Hyuka was lying on his back, once again staring at the ceiling above. Rain droplets lightly tapped against the window beside him. ☁️ rolled his eyes and continued scrolling.

“Why, Hyuka?”

☁️ waited for a response, only to hear Hyuka sigh heavily. He looked over, seeing the boy turn to his side to face the wall. ☁️ turned his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, him then walking over to Hyuka’s bed. He placed his body down behind the boy, wrapping an arm around his torso. Hyuka turned to face ☁️, their bodies only inches apart.

“You still upset?” ☁️ removed his arm from around Hyuka, placing his hand on Hyuka’s chest instead. Hyuka pressed his hand on top of ☁️’s, guiding it along his pecs.

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

Hyuka placed a hand on ☁️’s waist, slowly moving that hand down to his ass. ☁️ felt his body heat up, which resulted in him once again grabbing Hyuka’s chin.

“Wanna finish what we started?” ☁️ asked, Hyuka then pulling the boy’s body into to him. Without saying a word, Hyuka climbed on top of ☁️ and placed himself in between his legs. The two locked lips and let their tongues run loose into each other. It didn’t take long for Hyuka to thrust into ☁️ again, though the thrusts were much more aggressive than earlier.

After another minute or two, Hyuka removed his shirt, revealing his muscular pecs. He smiled at ☁️’s reaction, him then tugging lightly at the boy’s pants. ☁️ was quick to kick the pajama pants and underwear off, watching as Hyuka’s mouth came closer and closer to his cock. Hyuka stroked it for a few seconds before shoving it into his mouth, quickly bobbing up and down. ☁️ couldn’t help but occasionally moan at the sensation. Grabbing Hyuka’s hair, he thrusted upwards into his mouth.

After a while, Hyuka pinned ☁️’s body down to the bed with one hand. He lifted his mouth off of ☁️’s cock, a trail or two of saliva following it. Hyuka then climbed off of the bed to take off his own pants and underwear. Hyuka’s legs were muscular and well defined, surprising ☁️.

He watched as Hyuka climbed on top of him, sitting directly above his chest. He stroked his flaccid cock for a few seconds before placing it right in front of ☁️’s mouth. ☁️ opening slowly, Hyuka waisted no time to thrust into it, making him choke almost immediately. ☁️ pushed the boy away to catch his breath, though Hyuka put it right back in. ☁️ was now the one bobbing his head on Hyuka’s length, which grew much longer as he began using his tongue. Hyuka ran a hand through ☁️’s hair, gripping the boy’s head to make him suck faster. Hyuka softly moaned, clearly enjoying the boy’s mouth.

He pulled his dick out and moved to ☁️’s side, Hyuka then flipping the boy onto his stomach. ☁️ got on his hands and knees, arching his back slightly as Hyuka positioned himself behind his ass. He grabbed ☁️’s shoulders and lifted them upwards so that the boy’s back was against his chest. ☁️ could feel Hyuka’s chest brush against his back as the idol’s big dick twitched in between ☁️’s ass cheeks. Hyuka leaned into the boy, turning his head and locking their lips together. The two rubbed their hips against each other as ☁️’s body became even hotter. ☁️ removed his lips from Hyuka’s and placed the boy’s hands on his waist. Hyuka placed his lips on ☁️’s neck, kissing on it once more. He grabbed his dick, smacking it against ☁️’s ass a few times.

“Ready?”

BONUS

“I thought idols weren’t supposed to get any action.” ☁️ laid on his back with only a tee shirt and underwear. Hyuka rested his head on ☁️’s chest with an arm around the boy’s body, wearing only sweatpants.

“We don’t.”

“Then how’re you so good?” ☁️ slowly ran a finger through Hyuka’s hair. He felt the boy shrug against his body, Hyuka clearly becoming sleepy. ☁️ rolled his eyes as Hyuka closed his, with the company the two provided each other easing them both to rest.

“Goodnight, ☁️.”

☁️ smiled as he continued playing with the boy’s hair.

“Goodnight, Hyuka.”

- 🫂

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

a/n: kai fic woooooo

[m00nchildwrites]

Random headcanons I have of the LADS guys:

I hope you guys enjoy this little head cannon post that I have about the guys. I'm going to put it under a read more just because it's quite long. It is no triggering content or adult content. All fluff all feels.

Enjoy.

Sylus:

Keeps journals. He has bookcases upon bookcases, filled with journals. All of them are leatherbound, but none of them match. Varying sizes and thicknesses various dark colors from maroon to dark green to black to golden and everything in between. All handwritten, all cursive with expensive ink dipped pens.

He also writes poetry that tends to be more prosy. Each of the poems are about you in some way, whether it's a memory or something about you that he misses or fears about the memories of you fading.

When he meets you again, the poems become hopeful and longing and eventually evolve back into love poems

He also tends to write song lyrics and, unfortunately, has performed one or two for you.

Yes, it's the thought that counts, but the poor man can't carry a tune. Still, the words are so sweet that you end up tearing up anyways.

And no matter how poorly he sings, you will never turn down him singing one of the songs that he wrote for you.

Zayne:

I see Zayne also as someone who keeps journals. Although his are different than Sylus'.

All of Zane's journals are on a singular, large, wall-to-wall bookshelf in his Home Office. All are perfectly identical. Each is sleek, a leatherbound, and either black or dark gray. Think like a moleskin journal, and if you weren't him, you wouldn't know which one is which, but he knows exactly which one is which, for he keeps them in chronological order.

Each of the pages is handwritten by pen in his slightly slanted, messy but legible doctor's handwriting.

Each starting from the first one on the top shelf details, everything that he can remember about 1 of yours and his pass lives together.

And rather, morbidly an excruciating detail heed. He writes out exactly how you died in the events leading up to and afterwards.

You might wonder why in the world does he do this? It's because he is studying every instance that went wrong and trying to find a loophole in a way out of the the curse that Astra has places upon you both.

In these journals, your name is never mentioned, and they are written out like case notes from his patients. So whenever you do stumble upon them, write them off. As simply him keeping detailed case notes of patient's life and death, since all of the deaths have to do with something with the heart or heart trauma, our heart disease or our heart failure of some kind.

It is not until either you regain your memories or zayn. Finally tells you about your past lives and his that you also learn the true story about the journals. Until then, they are simply a collection of case studies in his home office.

Rafayel:

Rafael has no need for journals because his memories he brings to life through his paintings.

Let's be honest.He also doesn't have the patience to sit down and fill up a bunch of journals. Not because his hyperactive persona is true, but because if he allows himself to sit still long. Enough with his thoughts, he gets real dark, real quick. This man wears a mask for the world, but also for himself.

That said he does sing.

Shocker, right? He's a mermaid or a siren or both. However, I have the head cannon that he can switch the siren thing on and off. And so is fully capable of simply singing, however, for him, because he is Lemurian, his "simple singing" is etherealy gorgeous.

Because of this, he only does it in the privacy of his own home when no one is around, except for that short little stint, that he had as an opera singer. But of course, that was for darker purposes and not for enjoyment.

He sings songs that he has written about you. All of them are in ancient tongues, long since passed and faded away to time. And all of them from the different lifetimes that he met you in.

Some songs he sings when he's feeling especially heartbroken and caught up in memories of the past, or overwhelmed with his feelings for you, and those songs are sung in his native tongue- Lemurian.

At first, whenever he is painting or in the zone, doing something and drifting off into a daydream, he hums around you.

Eventually, however, as he allows himself to trust that you're not going anywhere this time and uh relaxes his guard. Enough to allow himself to fall for you again and let you in. Eventually, one night when it's just the 2 of you and the windows are open and the ocean breeze is billowing the sheer, white curtains of his livingroom, the tune He's humming to you, as you lean back against his chest slowly begins to have words.

You don't know the words that he sang, they feel ancient.

But you feel the emotion in the words and by the end of it, you have tears running down your face and the overwhelming urge to hold him tightly and never let him go

The second time he sings for you is less heartbreaking and more warmth and an overwhelming feeling of love.

On days when it's just the two of you, he will sing just for you.

Xavier:

Xavier does not keep journals. However, he did enjoy his captain logs on his ship. And so that is a habit that he has kept with him.

Every once in a while, he will go back to a ship and and enter a new captain's log. All of it has to do with information about you and him trying to find a way to save you from the eventual Fate that awaits in the future on planet Philos.

Periodically a poem will also make an appearance one that he read in a book that stood out to him and reminded him of you.

Sometimes, before you two get close, he'd go to the ship and listen to his pass logs. And remember the you he left behind on that dying planet.

Xavier also sings, and he actually sings quite well for a human. So well, in fact, that one time karaoke with the hunters association, an agency attempted to scout him. (I picture his voice like Keshi- soft spot. If you haven't heard it, listen to it.)

This hidden talent comes as surprise to you. The first time that you hear him, add that karaoke event.

Of course. You knew that he enjoyed music because you often caught him humming when he was doing things around the house or helping you chop vegetables whenever y'all cook together. There was also his record collection that was a dead giveaway. As well.

He doesn't write songs for you, but he will sing songs to you. That make him think of you at first, it's subtle and without him really letting you know, but that's what he's doing. Perhaps you think the 2 of you are just playing around and both of you are singing songs that come on the radio. But eventually, as you get closer, it becomes clear, but it's not by chance- the songs that he picks to sing.

Your favorite is when he sings to you softly. As you rock back-and-forth, slow dancing in your apartment or his or on the balcony, the location doesn't matter.

Somehow, some way swaying softly to the sound of his voice feels like coming home after a long, long journey.

He does also occasionally read to you a poem.

And sometimes you find out the poem, he said aloud to you was actually written by him, and eventually you learn that they were all about you.

[artificial-transmutations]

Friday Friendship

Hey there! This one is kind of a spiritual successor to Calling the Plumber - and as such, it is one of the rare gay to straight stories of mine. While I do try to keep it friendly and without any homophobia or hate, feel free not read the story if you don't like g2s!

It was hard to overlook Montgomery and Archibald. Of course, that was always the case. But here, on the dirty construction site of their new home, the expensive silk suits of the couple stood out even more than elsewhere. Yes, the two of them were together - and they made sure everybody knew it. Not only were the two gentlemen standing in a tight hug whenever possible, but their flamboyant and colorful clothing left little doubt about their sexuality.

They were those kind of gays that conservatives were afraid of. Both were old enough to have been alive during the stonewall riots, although only Montgomery was actually there as a teenager. Still, the aged couple embodied everything the gay community prided itself on having achieved during the last decades.

Their house, too, would be a statement. The mansion was the largest construction in the area, and the most expensive one. It was going to be built on a large hill, overlooking the town, and its style was... extravagant. The house was to be built in a modern architectural style, but the two men had insisted that the walls would be entirely covered in rainbow colors, although that was still in the future by now. Surrounding the mansion would be a magnificent garden, a park even.

"My dear, are you satisfied with the construction?" Archibald asked his husband in his lime green suit. Montgomery had dyed his hair in an orange-pink tone today and wore a purple tie to his green suit. It was hardly the first building site he visited, since he had made a fortune in real estate.

Archibald, on the other hand, was a bit more conservatively dressed. His suit was a more subdued shade of beige, although his tie was of a bright sky blue color. He usually didn't dye his hair, and today was no exception: He wore the gray with pride, although he spent a fortune on hair and skin care products. He, too, had a respectable job as a top manager in a logistics company.

"Well, darling, I'm not sure yet." Montgomery replied. "I want it to look great, and the work has been good so far. But frankly, it feels that the workers motivation is somewhat underwhelming."

"I think I know what you mean, my dear." Archibald commented as they walked through the empty shell. "It is barely three in the afternoon on a Friday, and there isn't anyone around anymore. The workers must be out partying already. I can't fault them for that, but it is rather annoying, isn't it?"

"Indeed. It would have been nice if they were a little less lazy, though. The garden is behind schedule, and I believe the electrics are going to be delayed by another month."

"That is quite unfortunate."

Montgomery nodded and they walked a bit in silence. It was true. There was still a lot to do, and it looked like the workers left early for the weekend.

Finally, Archibald sighed.

"I guess I could take a look at the progress the electricians are making. I do know a bit or two about this. Maybe then we can talk to the foreman about their work. It's a pity that we cannot supervise every little thing here, but our jobs demand a lot of our time. If only we had a bit more hands-on control."

"My, what a fabulous idea! I will take a stroll through the garden then, to get a better picture there."

The husbands kissed each other on the lips as they split up and Archibald opened the fuse box. He had indeed done a bit of electrical maintenance in his prime, so he knew that what he saw in the box was nothing less than a mess. He sighed and was about to close the box again, but hesitated. No, he couldn't leave the mess like that. He would just tidy things up a bit, to show those inexperienced workers how it was done.

Carefully, he began to work on the wires, but before long, he felt uncomfortable. The fuse box was located in the bright afternoon sun, and it was just positively hot here. Still, not wanting to leave his work, he slipped out of his jacket and hung it over a nearby wall. He didn't notice that the piece of clothing disappeared once he turned away, nor did he notice that his hands became nimbler as he rearranged the wires.

Montgomery on the other hand found the garden construction even less advanced than he had hoped. Even worse, someone had left a few plants out in the heat. They would surely be dead by the time the construction continued on Monday. Montgomery couldn't let that happen. This garden would be beautiful, and no plant would die under his watch.

He carefully carried the plants to the place they were supposed to be. Of course, he knew - he had planned the park all by himself, so he knew where everything was supposed to go. As he arrived at the shady place, he understood why the plants hadn't been placed yet. The ground was wet and muddy, and there weren't any holes yet. He would need to talk to the foreman about that, but the man was surely already in the weekend as well. There was, however, a shovel nearby. Now, aside from ceremonial groundbreaking, Montgomery had never held a shovel. It wasn't that he didn't understand the concept, but he was just not the type for physical labor.

Well. He looked over his shoulder to his husband, who was apparently still busy looking at the fuse box. It seems like he had some time on his hands, so he might as well. Grimacing, he grabbed the shovel and carefully stepped on the soil, trying not to ruin his expensive shoes or pants. That worked well, for about two steps. But as soon as he tried to break the ground with the shovel, a big clump of wet soil splattered on his lime green silk pants.

Montgomery frowned. Well, that suit was ruined anyway. No reason to stop there. Determined, he pulled the shirt out of his pants and opened his vest. He wasn't going to ruin his custom tailored suit for no reason.

Meanwhile, Archie was getting into his work even more. From time to time, he had to wipe his brow, though, as he was sweating like an animal. His dress shirt was stained with multiple sweat stains already and didn't really *look* like a dress shirt anymore, but more casual. The same could be said for the rest of Archie as well. A certain youth had returned to his face, as he was concentrated on his work. This way, he didn't notice when his hairstyle dissolved into an unkempt mess or when a bit of stubble grew in on his chin. His shirt clung to his body now, drenched in sweat. It had long ceased to be a dress shirt though but had become a plain - although rather filthy - beige t-shirt. His tie was nowhere to be seen.

Due to the wetness, the shirt didn't leave much to imagination regarding his body. Not just his face had rejuvenated, no, his entire body had. He was leaner and his muscles firmer now. Out of the V-neck of his sweaty shirt poked a few golden hairs, and before long, his main hair had turned into a Nordic blonde, as well.

Meanwhile, Monty was digging like crazy. He had to get those plants in the ground, or the foreman would... Wait, what was he thinking?

He stopped for a moment, to scratch his head. Thinking was not his strong point, and Monty knew that. But he had other qualities, that made up for that. When he grabbed the shovel again, to keep digging, he heard a ripping sound that made him stop again. The shoulder of his shirt had ripped. His boss was going to kill him! Although, it appeared somewhat strange to him that he was wearing such a colorful and impractical shirt. Perhaps there weren't any other shirts left?

He looked around and saw only one of the electricians still on the site. He knew the guy, he was friendly enough. He surely wouldn't mind if Monty went shirtless for a bit. With an effort not to damage the clothing even more, he peeled out of the garment. He was only half successful with that, and a few more rips sounded before he had finished taking it off.

Monty looked down at his muscular and hairy torso. The cold air was good, and he wasn't afraid to get dirty.

With every movement of the shovel, his arm muscles tightened, and his frame filled out more. A short beard sprouted on his chin, and his now full earthy brown hair shortened to a more practical cut. It wasn't like he had money for an expensive hairdresser, after all.

Finally, he had the holes ready and wiped his hands on his sturdy pair of work pants. Now, he only had to put the plants in. Despite his impressive physique, Manny was always very careful with the flowers, and he made sure that none of the roots got damaged or that he didn't break the stem.

He looked at his work. Good, that would look great, once the plants grew. Someday, he would have a garden of his own, and a house like that. And a beautiful wife and two, no, three children. But that was still a long way to go, with his poor pay.

Someone behind him cursed and Manny looked back to the electrician.

Chad was still sweating like crazy as he worked the wires. His mates had all gone to the clubs by now and he was stuck here and had to fix the mess he had created. That was only fair, but he wished the foreman wouldn't have noticed until Monday. He had to hurry up, though. He didn't want to spend his Friday night on the site, after all. Perhaps he would even get lucky and find a guy... No, what was he thinking? Working on these fruits' house had made him all confused. No, perhaps he would find a busty bombshell to take home tonight. Chad felt his cock growing hard at the thought, creating an obvious bulge in his work pants. Great, more distraction.

Chad tried to readjust himself, just in time as he sensed the big burly gardener approach. He knew the guy loosely but had forgotten his name already - if he even had known it at all.

"Hey, everything alright with them wires?" the low voice of the brute asked in a friendly tone.

"Yeah, I just need to finish up here... Should be done aaaaany minute now..."

Manny watched Chad connect the last wires. Poor guy. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, and he looked like he was really hot and stressed out.

"Cool. It's no fun working late, and on a Friday. Hey, do you want to hit a bar after that? I could go for a cold one."

Chad looked over his shoulder at the bear of a man. Was that guy hitting on him? Na, his face only showed dumb innocence.

He shrugged. "Sure, why not, eh..."

"Name's Manny." Manny said.

"Great. Manny." Chad said and closed the now somewhat better looking fuse box before wiping away his sweat once more.

"I'm Chad."

Manny and Chad left the building site together this Friday afternoon. Neither of them knew that they were going to become best friends over this and many more beers. Manny turned out to be a great wingman for Chad, and Chad even ended up as Manny's best man during his wedding and godfather for his first child. Sometimes the closest friendships are forged in the Friday afternoon sun of a construction site.

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Prologue

Andras x Reader

Summary: a prologue for what will be a Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Warnings: angst! very brief mention of pregnancy loss

Word Count: 1,078

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You knew you were already too late. You could feel it in the ache of your legs. The pounding of your heart. The breath panting through your lips as you race through the trees. He had made his decision, sending another to tell you, worried that seeing you again would change his mind. You knew that you couldn’t stop him, but perhaps you could at least say goodbye. 

Your dress catches on a branch, tearing, but you heed it no mind as you keep running as your destination comes into sight. Two sets of eyes fall upon you.The green eyes of your brother, filled with pity. The gray eyes of your husband, filled with regret.  Your brother nods before stepping away, giving the two of you the moment you so desperately need. You throw yourself at your husband, clinging to his tunic, the silver that had been rimming your eyes finally spilling over. 

"Don't do it. Don't leave me," you sob.

He says nothing, gently brushing the tears away from your eyes, somehow managing to keep his own at bay. 

"Andras. Please," you beg.

He speaks finally. "You know I must. For the Spring Court. For Prythian."

"To Hell with the Spring Court! To Hell with Prythian! I need you!" You pause for a moment, voice growing soft as your hand finds your stomach, cradling the babe growing inside. "We need you."

He places a hand over yours. "That's why I must go. There is so little time left and I will not let my child live in a world that's been corrupted by Her. I cannot bear the thought of it. It may be a fool's errand but it is the only thing that I can think of that might save our child. Save you."

You nod, a fresh wave of tears leaving you unable to speak. 

He holds you for a moment, wishing it could be different. Wishing there was a way he could protect you without sacrificing himself. A way to live and see his child born.  But there was not and so he must. He breathes in deeply, taking in your scent for the last time and kisses you on the forehead before stepping away and nodding at the other male. 

Somehow, you manage to stay on your feet as he leaves you, watching the magic that transforms your love. You walk over to the wolf that stands in his place, placing a hand on either side of his muzzle before pressing a parting kiss there. The wolf gives you one last longing look before slipping through the hole in the wall. 

You drop to the forest floor as your legs finally give out, sobs wracking your body. Your brother sinks down next to you, pulling you into his arms, holding you tight. As if by holding you he could prevent the shattering of your heart. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking.  "I tried to talk him out of it. Tried to convince him to stay..." 

You ignore him, too focused on your own broken heart to listen to him try to make himself feel better. He picks you up then, standing to carry you home. If you can call it that anymore when such a vital piece of it is now gone forever. 

You were in the gardens the day he died. Wandering aimlessly, fiddling with the gold ring hanging on the chain around your neck. You felt it as he drew his dying breath. Perhaps you had been mates after all. Perhaps this was as close as you'd ever get to feeling that bond, that golden thread that would never be, emptiness filling your chest as you sink to the ground amongst the roses. If it had snapped, could you have convinced him to stay? Could you have convinced him that you needed him, needed the other half of your soul? A hollowness fills your chest where you had always imagined the bond might form linking you to him. But it never did. Emotions burn in your throat, and somewhere someone screams. It’s a raw, primal sound filled with grief. Could that be you? You’ve retreated so far into yourself that you don’t even know anymore. Your hand falls to your stomach where it will swell with child, curling around yourself  to protect the babe, as if this grief is an enemy you need to protect them from. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there, curled in on yourself, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. You knew this day was coming. He may as well have been dead the day he crossed the wall and went into the human lands. You press his ring to your lips, the gold band cool from the night air. 

It is not your brother who finds you, but Lucien. He picks you up, carrying you into the house that no longer feels like a home. He carries you to your room, tucking you into your bed. He sits next to you, stroking the hair back from your face just like your mother had when you would wake from a nightmare as a child. But there was no waking from this one. He tells you how Tamlin is already going to find Andras’ killer to see if his death has brought the hope we so desperately need. You pray to the Mother, hoping that it hasn’t all been for nothing. And as your eyes grow heavy, the grief finally dragging you down into sleep, you hear as Lucien softly sings a lullaby his mother sang to him as a child.

Months have passed when you wake with a start, tears streaming down your face. You'd dreamt of the forest again. Of losing your love, your home, your soul. Your dream followed him into the mortal lands, to where the human girl had shot him with the ash arrow. You had asked her about it, needing to know. Needing to know if he had been in pain. If he had suffered. 

 Your hand falls to where your child should be growing, letting the tears stream down your face as you stare up at the canopy of your bed. He had done it. Andras had been successful and now the rest was up to your brother. He just had to get the human girl to fall in love with him and your husband's sacrifice would not be in vain. Everything you lost would mean something. And maybe, one day, everything could be okay again.

Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fic with more planned! If you liked it feel free to send a request!

Thanks @azsazz for inspiring me to give fic writing a try!

divider by: @tsunami-of-tears

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 - 𝚅𝙸𝙲𝙴 (5 pt. 2)

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Raven and Armando's under cover show signs of paying off and Raven's concerns for Armando peak ever so slightly.

: ̗̀➛𝙰𝙽: Hey guys!! So, school started back and it's been kicking my ass, but I finally got a moment to upload another part for Vice. I am so so sorry I've been gone for so long, but I'll try to do better.

Blood splattered across the sandy ground as Armando's fist connected once again with the sleaze's face. The fight was almost unfair in all honesty. Sure, the sleaze put up a decent fight, but he was no match for the man who was raised as a weapon. It didn't take Armando too long to get the man down to the ground, shirt collar balled up in his hand, the other repeatedly flying at his face. The goons around them yelled for their underboss to get up and fight back but none interfered, at least there was a bit of honor among them.

They were letting the men shoot a fair one. Mono e mono.

Raven was still playing the role of a woman who was protected by a ruthless man, so she had to act as if this had no effect on her. Like she didn't want to call for Armando to let go of him. Part of her has honestly turned the fuck on watching him manhandle someone simply for disrespecting her, but the other half didn't exactly like to see him behave like this. She was scared taking this action would cause him to regress somehow. Slide back into his violent ways, when answering with your fist was the only correct answer. He'd come so far from that.

Raven looked past Armando's shoulder to see the bloody face Armando had created. "Okay, baby. Drop 'em. I think he's learned his lesson." Raven spoke easily. She glanced at her nails as Armando somehow found it in him to release the poor guy. However, he didn't let the opportunity pass to add the last bit of disrespect. Wiping off his bloody fist on the sleaze bag's shirt. "Now, all of this could have been avoided if someone would have answered our question earlier. " Her voice was light, almost taunting as she spoke glancing at the crowd as she handed Armando his gun back. "Now, can someone please take us to your boss?" She smiled sweetly.

They walked hand in hand through the industrial style building. Being led by some of the goons that were previously outside rooting on the fight they'd witnessed. The sleaze bag had disappeared into the building before them, he'd actually been the one to give the green light to introduce them to their target. Raven stole glances at Armando, her long blonde hair swayed along with her hips as they walked. Her smaller hand tightened around his larger one, a way to assess if he was okay following what just happened. He looked over to her, eyes dark and stricken before he shot her the smallest smirk.

He was fine.

Hell, he probably even enjoyed letting lose. Raven returned the smallest head nod to communicate with him before they both steadied their gazes on the figure that was coming closer into their view. "And who the fuck is bold enough to step on to my property and demand to see me?" It was like he appeared out of the darkness despite the inside of this area being well let.

Well, if you could call it that. Gray floors and walls. Boxes stacked up along the walls containing god knows what, and lights that hung from the ceiling to illuminate the area. It was mundane within-- whatever the hell this was. Nigel stood out in it, his Versace shirt was loud and flamboyant, offset by his dark pants and shoes. The subtle shine of his patten leather shoes and the little gold chain around his neck resembled the one Armando wore. The one that was dangling over her face last night.

She almost laughed thinking about how they woke up again just as the sun was rising, she'd grabbed him by that chain like it was a leashed and it sent him flying into a bit of a lustful craze. They'd just fallen asleep from that before they were discovered. "A man who wants to do business." Armando rasped. His tone even and matter of fact, as if he didn't care who he offended. "Well, you wanted my attention. You got it, now make it worth my time."

Bingo, they were in.

[domesticatedford]

There Has to Be a Better Way to Get Medication

(A good ending story)

An unseasonable heat put an early end to D and Jean-Paul's walk. Summer had descended upon the northern hemisphere of 04’\ Earth, and it was hotter than it seemed like it should be. D supposed he had very little sense for such things anymore, though. Weather in the weirdness bubble had been unreliable at best, and the compound was climate controlled. Jean-Paul was riding atop his shoulders, his gloves pulled down to release as much body heat as he could.

“I got a call from the pharmacy this morning,” Jean-Paul said. “Your medication finally came in. Wanna swing by on our way back to the house?”

“Certainly,” D replied. “Um, that’s…”

“Just keep heading home the usual way,” Jean-Paul supplied. D nodded, letting out a small breath. Somehow, urban areas were far more perplexing to him than the forests of Gravity Falls had been; their layout more difficult to recall than the wasteland inside the weirdness bubble. The intersecting squares of hard, gray paths simply refused to map onto his brain. He didn't think this was a problem he'd always had. It could be a bit hard to remember how things used to be, before the demon, but D thought this was another in the long list of things his brain had become incompatible with.

That was okay. Jean-Paul was there. Just like he was there to remind D to take his medication, brush his teeth, comb his hair… D had little doubt that he was only as presentable as he was on behalf of his friend’s persistent efforts. His, and H's.

At a certain point on their usual path back to Stanley's house (as D had bought it for him, his brother insisted he stay there whenever he wanted to visit Earth,) Jean-Paul directed D down a sidewalk he normally didn’t take. A brief flutter of anxiety brushed his chest. The path between the park and Stanley’s house was the only one he could remember. Jean-Paul was here, though, his weight on D’s shoulders, tail brushing against his upper arm. He would know where they were going.

D recognized the block the pharmacy was on, even if he would have been unlikely to find it himself. It squatted on the corner beside an intersection; a sturdy, plain affair of white brick with a slanting green roof above the storefront. D refilled his medications here wherever he visited Earth for an extended period, usually with H. Stanley had recommended the place, and Jean-Paul had supplied them with the requisite documents. D really was very lucky to have them both in his life. A pair of house sparrows chittered at each other as he passed a trash can. Two females. One was perched on the black metal of its rim, the other pecking at crumbs on the ground.

D stopped and smiled at the birds. They were common creatures, and utterly plain, but they were still quite cute. He shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling out and scattering golden, flaky crumbs. The birds were on them in an instant.

“So that’s where the croissant went,” he observed.

“No, I ate it,” D corrected. “I just carried it in my pocket for a while. It was pretty flaky.” To demonstrate, he tossed out another, smaller shower of crumbs.

“Remind me to clean out your pockets before I wash your clothes,” Jean-Paul said.

Both of them knew D was never going to do that.

The chilled air inside the pharmacy was a balm, sweeping pleasantly across the skin on D’s neck and arms. The way his sweat suddenly turned cool against his too-hot skin reminded him of sucking on a mint. He paused to let Jean-Paul clamber to the floor, winding down his arm and briefly clinging to his pant leg before dropping onto the tile. He straightened his shirt, smoothing a crease out of the fabric. D fell into step behind him as he led the way to the large, curved desk that formed a barricade between the public and a wall of plastic, orange bottles.

“For Stanford Pines,” D said to the woman who smiled expectantly at him from behind a blocky monitor. He was sure he didn’t really need to say his name, but it was procedure. The woman clearly recognized him. Her reaction upon first hearing his name, during his first visit while she was working, proved that she didn’t have the most favorable opinion of him. That still stung. It did more these days, now that D had been freed from the shackles of his own protective delusions. The knowledge of just how hated he still was chafed against his mind, tempting him to wrap it in the thick, choking cotton of a false reality. He was able to do that at will now; un-learn things he simply didn’t want to know. He tried to avoid poking his brain into various shapes too much, though. He didn’t want to lose it to the fog again.

D felt Jean-Paul’s paw brush his leg. He let out a long, slow breath. The woman was being perfectly professional. She had even smiled at him, even if it looked forced. Just as she made to step away from the counter, though, another voice (harder, louder) made him jump.

“You can’t bring pets in here, sir.”

D turned to face the speaker. A man, maybe in his fifties, with a similar build to D himself, though lacking the muscle H had helped him build. A line of fluorescent lighting reflected off his shaved head. He was wearing a white coat over a plain cotton shirt, his name embroidered over his heart. He seemed to be the manager. D smiled and clasped his hands over his chest.

“I, ah… pet?” he echoed.

“I think he means me, Phospho,” Jean-Paul said. The polymorph levered himself onto the counter. D tensed.

“No, no, he’s-” D began, only to be cut off.

“It can’t be on the counter,” he said. The receptionist scurried off to fill D's order.

D’s brow pinched as he stared at the other man. He ran a thumb over his necklace, skin sliding over the shallow grooves that formed the blinded eye.

“Y-you don’t understand. He’s a human,” D said.

“A sophont,” Jean-Paul added, pointing to the pin on his chest that said as much.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s still an animal,” the manager said. He narrowed his eyes at D. The old scientist fidgeted, frustration mounting.

“I… no, no, he’s not, he just looks like one.” D stared at the floor. “Please, I’m just here to pick up my medication.”

“Of course, Mr. Pines, but you have to follow the same rules as everyone else.” The man’s voice was dripping with bitterness. “You and that emperor friend of yours.”

“I… I am… f-following the rules…” D mumbled. His fists closed around his necklace.

“Hey, I have a right to be here,” Jean-Paul said, taking a step forward. His voice was firm. “This is discrimination. There are laws against refusing business to polymorphed sophonts. Do you need me to recite them?”

“That’s enough,” the manager said brusquely. He reached forward and plucked Jean-Paul up by the scruff, earning a yelp from the raccoon. “Out you go.”

D slapped his hand atop the man’s shoulder, locking him in place.

”L-let him go!” He snapped. His voice wavered. He could feel his heart dancing in his chest. His hands were shaking in a desperate effort to keep nails from digging into flesh. Get Jean-Paul back. Just get him back. Don’t start a fight, you’ll get in trouble, just get Jean-Paul back.

“Get your hands off me!” the other man hissed. He yanked Jean-Paul away, earning a wince from the scruffed polymorph. “Demon dog-!!”

Fist cracked against jaw, and the man was on the floor. D’s breaths were heaving, too big for his lungs, as he glared down at the downed man. Someone was saying something, yelling something, and there were hands on his arm, pulling him away. Gentle but guiding; back into the heat. D couldn’t tell if he couldn’t tell if he felt too cold or too hot. The world was ringing too loud. Jean-Paul was next to him, a human, guiding D through the malformed crowd of an early weekday afternoon. In a blink, he was a raccoon again, walking slightly in front of D, his tail brushing against his leg.

The two were back on the path to Stanley’s home before D’s nerves steadied enough for him to speak again.

“... I don’t want to go back there,” he said at length.

“You don’t have to,” Jean-Paul assured him. “I’ll find a different pharmacy. One that’s run by less of a dick.” D replied with a soft hum of assent, arms crossed over his chest. Once their destination was in sight, Jean-Paul hopped up on a bench that sat on a strip of well-maintained grass. A sprinkler jutted from the earth like a stalagmite a couple meters away. D looked between the house and his friend, uncertain. Jean-Paul patted the bench, so D sat beside him. The worst of the day’s heat was neutered by the shade.

Jean-Paul handed D a small sketch pad and pencil without needing to be asked. He took them with a small, wordless smile. He began to sketch H, soft and sharp shapes twirling together to form his dearest friend. They were apart for the week, and D missed him terribly. He drew H smiling at the viewer; subdued and dignified, but with a warmth D could practically feel in his fingers. Beside him, Jean-Paul had pulled out his phone. Glancing aside, D noticed the familiar layout and colors of the website they had first met on, years ago.

“What’re you doing?” D asked idly. Light hatching shaded H’s skin, etching the lines of age and expensive fabric onto the paper.

“Just scrolling,” Jean-Paul answered. D looked over again. Pictures of businesses and paragraphs peppered with all-caps sentences rolled across the screen. An amused smile tugged at D’s lips.

“Sharing your frustrations with the world?” he asked. Jean-Paul sighed.

“You got me,” he said. “Thought I might reblog some people’s similar experiences. Add a bit of something about my own.” He twirled his wrist in a searching gesture. “But, you know, coming at it from the side. Keeping myself anonymous by going through them.” D detailed the delicate wisps of H’s hair.

“Anonymous?” he echoed. The word was loaded with a friendly sort of doubt; hundreds of prodding questions wrapped up in one word.

“Yes, I’m aware that my experiences as a sophont raccoon on the internet do make me stand out,” Jean-Paul admitted. “I’m just insisting on anonymity for my own amusement, at this point. That, and so I don’t have another reason to be paranoid about getting hunted down and murdered by strangers.” After a pause, in which concern flickered through D, Jean-Paul added, “that was a joke. I’m doing fine.”

A shrill bark made Jean-Paul jump. D’s nerves were settled enough that he remained in place, but he glared at the errant line the noise had caused him to draw. He rubbed it out with a kneaded eraser (also carried in Jean-Paul’s bag!) as a woman with an Akita Inu trotted over. With the mistake taken care of, D grinned at the dog and retrieved a treat from his non-crumb pocket. He liked to carry treats with him; he never knew when he would be presented with the opportunity to pamper an animal! He knew this one well; his owner walked him around the neighborhood twice a day. D usually caught them at least once, and always gave Peach (that was the dog’s name) a treat.

“Hot out today, huh?” the woman (D had forgotten her name) asked.

“Mmhmm,” D hummed, holding out a treat for Peach. He lapped it up eagerly. The woman leaned over, taking a peek at D’s sketchbook.

“What ya drawin’ today?” she asked. D beamed and held up the sketch for her to see.

“My friend,” he replied.

“Yes,” Jean-Paul added in a deadpan. “They are very good friends. Historically good, even.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen ‘em together when you guys visit Stan,” the woman chuckled. “I wouldn’t call that just friendly, myself.”

“Ah, well, there are other terms,” D said with a shy grin, pulling the sketch pad back toward himself. “I just don’t use them.” Jean-Paul eyed the woman, looking like he was about to say something, when she laughed again. It made something in D squirm, but the sound seemed warm, her expression lacking malice. Peach licked the back of D’s hand.

“Sorry, sorry, you can use whatever labels you want!” she said. “It’s just, you guys are cute. It’s sweet. And you draw him really well!” D felt a blush heating his cheeks; he fiddled with his pencil. There were some people who didn’t seem to find their relationship strange. There were also people who were nice enough not to let their opinion color their interactions with him if they did.

“Ah… thank you,” he said. For multiple things. He ran his fingers over the soft fuzz atop Peach’s round, caramel head.

———————

‘H Ford belongs to @alexthebordercollie

Pet Guy (Jean-Paul) is @is-it-cute-gf-au-edition

[sweetbillwriting]

In The Dead of Night

FIVE

Characters: AU Eric played by Bill Skarsgård from The Crow (2024)

Setting: This story is set in A WHOLE OTHER WORLD than the movie. Shelley isn't a part of this story. Eric will be different from the movie, especially because I haven't seen the movie.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

“Ehm… Well, it's not much to look at…” He said with a shoulder shrug when we walked into his apartment. It looked like an old storage space but was lightly renovated to be used as a studio apartment. It was quite big but had a cold feeling with the brick walls and concrete floor. The only thing that contrasted with the grays and browns was the wall opposite the windows. It was full of graffiti, both really great ones and bad ones. There was a cool one of a smoking racoon, but someone had sprayed over the joint with a badly painted cock. Against that wall stood a big king-size bed with black silky sheets. The luxury feeling of the bed didn't fit in, and I wondered if he had it like that to get girls into it more easily. I looked at him while he hung up both our coats on a metal hanger that fit with the industrial feeling of the apartment. He moved smoothly and gracefully, but it was something that made him look boyishly nervous, like he was fourteen showing his room to a girl for the first time. That he would be a player didn't feel right, even if he had the looks for it. 

“Have you lived here a long time?” I asked so I didn't need to comment on how it looked. 

“Two years, I think,” said he with a shoulder shrug and walked in on purple ankle socks. I hadn't taken off my Dr. Martens but felt a need to do it when he walked around in his socks. 

“Do you want something to eat?” He opened the fridge and looked up and down in it with pursed lips. I smiled to myself by his sweet ways and walked up to his side when my boots were off. “An omelet?” 

“No thank you, but have something if you need to.” I looked up at him with a smile, and he looked at me with those big green eyes I've dreamt so much about. I felt a sob in my nose and throat that wanted to come out and make me ugly cry, but I swallowed it down and smiled even broader to cover it up. 

“Nah, I shouldn't…” he said and shook his head, closing the fridge. Instead, he took a leap and jumped up to something in the high ceiling. It was a silver bar, and easily he pulled himself up and down without a complaint. If another dude had done something like that, I would just immediately think he was trying to impress, but Eric was harder to read. He could also just have a need to do it. Something had made an addict look like a Calvin Klein model. Either it was steroids or it was a need for excessive training. 

He jumped down lithely and moved to the green couch that stood in the middle of the room in front of the TV. He turned to me and scratched his neck. 

“You can take the bed if you want.” 

I could see that he wanted to be a gentleman and say that, but the couch was just a two-seat couch, and something told me his height, and that couch didn't add up. I giggled a little at his pained face. He really wanted to be that great guy, but it was like he already could feel the pain in his back. 

“I'll take the couch…” If you don't want me to sleep in the bed together with you, I continued in my head. In my dreams, we slept in the same bed many times, but now I didn't even get to sit on the edge of it. 

Eric laughed a bit embarrassed when he saw my teasing expression. 

“Thank you,” he said, but then gathered a cover and pillow from his bed and gave them to me. He walked to a dresser, and I could see how he searched for new sheets. 

“I don't need a change of sheets. It's just a night. And it's time to go to bed for both of us.” 

I held the cover tightly in my hands like I was afraid he would pull it away from me. He looked at me a bit confused but just nodded. He didn't seem to understand that I actually wanted to sleep in his used sheets. I just wanted to smell him and hopefully take some of his heavenly scent with me home in my hair. 

I saw in the corner of my eyes him strip down to just a pair of black boxers, and I took my chance to look at him when he turned his back on me. Even his back was perfect. Okay, the barbed wire tattoo was far from perfect, but on him everything was perfect. I looked at the muscles shift under his pale skin and how great the boxers sat over his ass. I just wanted to bite one of those juicy cheeks. 

I had sat down on the couch, watching him when he turned around and showed of abs and a muscular chest. 

“Do you want to borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?” 

I wanted to ask if I could wear the one he had worn that night, but instead I just said yes to his question. He gave me a big white t-shirt which I changed into with my back against him. I didn't feel shy about my body in front of him because, for me, we had already done that bit. I just turned around because it felt more natural than showing my tits to him while he crawled down in bed. 

I turned around when I had his t-shirt on along with my simple black panties. He smiled a little from where he was lying under his cover, but I couldn't interpret what it meant. 

“Weird thing, but is it okay I have the radio on? I can't sleep without it,” he asked and sounded uncomfortable. I had heard others needing to have sound in the background while they sleep. Like a man my mom told me about who needed to have the vacuum cleaner on, anything to drown out their anxiety. We had laughed at that man, but looking at Eric, I didn't feel a need to laugh at all. I knew more about him than he had told me and could imagine what kind of anxiety he had. 

“Of course, sure, it can be cozy,” I said sweetly to make him relax. He smiled a little surprised by my words and nodded. 

He had the sound louder than I had thought, and I listened to a debate about the use of oil in the world. I didn't know if he was already asleep, but I knew he couldn't see me, so I sniffed his sheets and dragged a hand over my own chest. If I could, I would have laid down next to him, but Eric acted so polite to me that it didn't feel right to be so forward. With another guy, I might have done it, but Eric didn't feel like the type that would be happy to suddenly have company in his bed. 

××× 

I hadn't noticed when I fell asleep and I woke up with a jerk. I remembered exactly where I was and who I was with, and that made my problem feel even bigger. The alcohol had made me sleep heavy like a rock, so I hadn't noticed when the red fluid had run from between my legs and down under me. I could feel the sticky mess between my thighs but also knew that I obviously had a stain under me, a stain on Eric's green couch. 

I didn't know what to do because if I stood up, it would probably cause even more of the blood to run out of me, and I didn't have any panties to change to either. For a moment I just sat there and let the panic grow inside me until I started to cry out of anxiety. 

“Oh my god…” I said lowly to myself, between the heavy tears. I couldn't see any solution to my mess and sat frozen under Eric's black cover. 

“Hey… Are you okay?” I could hear a raspy morning voice say from the side of the room. If it wasn't for my panic, I would have appreciated how sexy he sounded, but now I couldn’t help but cry. 

“I'm sorry…”

Eric stood up from bed groggily, like his muscles didn't remember to hold him up, and looked at me with big, worried eyes.

“Do you want to go home? I can get you a cab. I can… I can stay in bed if you want your privacy. I've done that all night. Promise. I promise.” 

He stood with his hands up like he wanted to show he was unarmed, and his facial expression was anxious. I looked at him and realized he thought this moment was just as hard as for me but for other reasons. He thought I had panicked when I realized where I was. He was afraid I would accuse him of something. 

“We didn't do anything. We just slept. Like really slept, ehm…” He dragged his hands over his hips nervously over and over. 

“No, no, I know that, Eric. You can be calm; it's just…” I started to sob again, and Eric's first reaction seemed to be to sit down next to me and comfort me. 

“No! No! Don't sit down!” 

Once again, he raised his hands. I took a deep breath. 

“I've got my period and… It's everywhere. On your couch too.” 

He looked at me with big eyes and sat down on the coffee table in front of me. 

“Oh.” 

His short answer made me feel awkward, and I started to cry again. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for destroying your couch-” 

“No, no.” He interrupted me and gave me a calming smile. “It's okay shit happens, but… How can I help you? Do you need something to wear? Do you have tampons?” He said it so relaxed and kindly that I couldn't do anything else but smile. 

"Yeah, I have some in my purse, but… Everything is bloody…” I said embarrassed and dragged my hands over my face, showing signs of my crying. 

“I don't have panties…” he said with an awkward chuckle. “But can I offer you a pair of my underwear and a pair of pants?” 

“Yeah, that would be kind but… There's blood everywhere.” 

“Trust me, I've seen worse. I’ll look away while you go to the bathroom, and then I’ll leave the clothes and your handbag outside of the door so you can just take them. Ehh… Do you need a towel? You can shower if you want too?” 

I looked at him with soft eyes. He did everything right. A true gentleman behind that trashy style. He really was the same sweet guy as in my dream. The warmth in my chest said everything—I was in love with him. So in love with him. 

“That would be nice… But the couch?” 

“I take care of that. It's a removable cover. I will just get a new one.” 

I looked at him with a pained expression, and he probably could see I was on my way to cry again because he stood up and walked away to the window. 

“I'll have a cigarette on the roof while you go to the bathroom, okay?” 

I nodded and didn't ask about what he meant about the roof. I just assumed he meant he had a roof under the window to jump out on. 

××× 

He fixed everything. A dark gray towel, a pair of black boxers, black Adidas sweatpants, my handbag, my bra, and top, a plastic bag for my dirty clothes, but also… 

“There is an extra toothbrush on the highest shelf in the cabinet,” he said through the door when I was done with everything else. I stood in his boxers, his long sweatpants, and my black long sleeved top. Just that simple sentence made me tear up again. What a man he was. He was thinking about everything. Lotti had done a great job with him, to be honest, much better than she had done with Robin, and I wondered if Eric just had that in him. That sweetness. 

When I was done, I walked out to Eric, standing in the little open kitchen. He loaded an old, white coffee maker and was dressed in boxers and a black tank top. He didn't seem to have noticed that I had come out, and for a minute I had the luxury to just look at him. He stood with a hand under the tank top, scratching his tattooed stomach while watching the coffee run down the pot. I looked towards the couch and saw that he had removed the cover on one of the cushions, and once again I felt heavy shame. I had destroyed his couch. 

“Oh, hey, I didn't hear you,” Eric said to me, and I looked at him again. 

“Thank you… And I'm sorry again for destroying your couch.” Eric smiled a little and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I'll try to wash it later.” 

The thought about him scrubbing my period stain was probably the worst thing I could imagine, and I laid my hands over my face. 

“I said it is okay.” He laid his big hands on my shoulders, and they weighed me down comfortingly. I took a deep breath and looked at him but couldn't stop myself from sneaking my arms around his waist. In my dreams, he would have hugged me, and real Eric did too. He laid his long arms over my shoulders and dragged his hands comfortingly over my back. I didn't know if I'd gotten such a good hug before, and after a while, engulfed in his embrace and his wonderful scent, I breathed slowly and calmly. 

“God, you're so perfect,” I said to him with my nose pressed against his chest. Eric laughed a little, and I could feel him shake his head. I looked up at him confused because, for me, it was obvious he was perfect. 

“You're such a great guy, Eric.” He looked away embarrassed and didn't seem to know if he wanted to smile or not.

“I'm not really, but… Thanks?” 

He laughed unsurely and looked down at me. I continued to stare at him, and he gave me a little smile and a shoulder shrug. Once again, I was reminded of the couch and pushed my face onto his chest again. 

“I'm really sorry for destroying your couch…” 

Eric laughed now. 

“What can I do to make you forget about that? 

I looked up at him again, then stood up on my toes. I searched for deep eye contact, and in my embarrassment, I didn't feel like I had anything to lose.

“Kiss me.” 

Eric doubted and looked away, but then down at me and put my hair behind my ear with some struggle. 

“I can't really date right now…” 

“I don't care. Just kiss me.” 

So he did. After a while of looking at me seriously, he laid his hands on my cheeks and steered my face towards his. He pressed his lips softly against mine, just like he had done in my dream, and they were soft as silk. It was he that made me separate my lips so our tongues could meet. When he did that, he also opened a gate to my heart and planted infinite love for him. 

××× 

“Do you want coffee?” He said with his voice raspy again after we had shared a few soft kisses. I looked up at him and giggled when I saw his pink cheeks and dazed eyes. He gave me a crooked smile and a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah, coffee, please,” I said and released his waist reluctantly. 

He made an omelet for each of us and explained that he eats six eggs per day, sometimes even more than that if he didn't have time to do a proper dinner.

“Is it because of the workout?” I said and took a bite of the fluffy omelet. We sat on the floor by his coffee table because he didn't have a dinner table, and I didn't dare to sit on his couch. 

“Yeah, I need the protein.” 

“You look so great, but is it worth it? I mean, work out so much, eat so boring…” 

I had a thought it maybe was connected to his addiction, but he hadn't told me himself he had an addiction, so he believed I didn't know anything about that. He shrugged his shoulders and chewed the big bite of omelet he had in his mouth but didn't finish before he had started talking. 

“I like it. It's a hobby. And I have something to really focus on ehm…” 

He swallowed and looked down on his plate, thinking about something. 

“It's good for me.” It felt like his thought was to say something else and he looked away a bit awkwardly. I wanted him to be honest with me; I wouldn't judge him for his baggage, but clearly he judged himself for it. 

“Do you train or anything?” He asked and made me feel a bit stupid. I didn't work out much, and maybe he would think I sounded lazy. 

“I worked out at the gym once a week or something, but then I did something to my shoulder, and yeah, I started to just go out with my dog.” 

Eric smiled a little and nodded. 

We talked about Odin. I shared that he had a strong will and it was hard to discipline him. He seemed to have too much energy and too many ideas but was also afraid of much and barked at people, dogs, and sounds. Eric listened without trying to pretend he knew anything about raising a dog, even if I wondered if he knew. He had been able to calm down Odin both in my dream and also outside of the store; still, he didn't say anything; he just said he thought Odin would become better with age. 

I could feel when we talked that I knew too much because I got a little upset he didn't share more with me. If I hadn't known so much about him already, I wouldn't have thought about it, but now I just waited on him to tell me about his dog Max, which he had had when he was little. 

“Have you had any pets?” I asked just to lead the way to him talking more openly. Eric laughed a little and put down his cutlery on the empty plate. 

“I have cats. But they’re not mine. I have three that break in here, so I have started to give them food. I don't know who's cats they are.” He smirked with a shoulder shrug, and I laughed. It was actually even better hearing him talk about things I didn't know anything about. 

“How do they come in?” 

“The window, they're not some sort of master burglars.” I laughed at him and shook my head. 

“Have you named them?” 

“Yeah, Orange, Black, and Orange Number Two.”

I giggled, put down my cutlery, and then searched Eric's eyes. He smirked at me a little embarrassed and then lowered his eyes like he realized now he had a girl in his home. 

Slowly I started to crawl on all four to him in a cat-like fashion while thinking about what kind of games he liked in bed. He turned to me a little and didn't protest when I crawled up in his lap. 

“You're sexy, you know that?” He said with a shy smile and dragged his hands over the small of my back. 

“Yeah,” I faked an attitude and made him smirk. “But you're so much sexier… Can I just…” I took a hold of the edge of his tank top, and he leaned back a bit when I pulled it up to look at his abs. I made a pleased sound while Eric breathed heavily with his mouth open. 

“Good boy,” I whispered and dragged my fingers over the tattoo on the side of his stomach, but “good” had been crossed over. I looked deep into his eyes and gave him a harder kiss than before. 

“You're a good boy.

××× 

We stood together in the subway station, closer together than I had expected. It was he who had pressed his body against mine, but it was me who stood on tiptoes to have my arms around his neck. 

“You're cute in my pants. But I want them back,” he smirked, and careful fingers dragged over the elastic waistband. I wondered if that meant he wanted to see me again. 

“What are you doing next weekend? I work, but I have the half-night free? I always meet Nick and Jackie when I work the early shift, and…” He dragged a hand over his face in the middle of his rambling, and it warmed my heart but also calmed me down to see him like that. 

“I would love to visit you, if that's what you mean, but I don't have a dogsitter.” I said with a disappointed shoulder shrug. 

“Bring him?” 

He said it like it was obvious, and I furrowed my brows. 

“I don't think you understand what a pain in the ass he can be. If I destroy your couch, he will destroy your whole home.” 

Eric laughed and hugged my waist. 

“Then he can destroy my home; you've seen my home. There’s not much of worth there anyway.” 

He smiled sweetly and looked at me intensely, waiting for me to say yes. I giggled and dragged a finger over “Lullaby” tattooed over his brow. 

“Okay.” 

We exchanged numbers, even if I already had his but pretended I didn't, then we kissed over and over until I needed to go to my subway line. It was hard to let him go because I could feel how my heart stayed in his tattooed hands. 

××× 

Robin rang the doorbell the next Saturday when he left Odin to me. Otherwise, he always invited himself in, but that day he seemed to understand it would be inappropriate when we hadn't settled our fight yet. 

Before opening the door, I closed the one to my bedroom, where I was packing things to bring to my stay at my oldest sister, or maybe the stay at Eric's. Black outfits and lacy lingerie shared space with my beauty products. I had decided with my sister that I would stay until Monday, and I hoped Eric wanted to hang out with me one more night. 

Robin stood awkwardly in the hallway when I had let them in while I sat on the floor, saying hello to our wild dog. I could feel his energy and looked up at him with a small but kind smile. I was mad because of what he had done to Lotti but also knew what I was doing wasn't right either. 

“Do you want a cup of tea? I need one myself,” I said with a shoulder shrug, and Robin gave me a nod. 

“Yeah yeah.” 

We sat down on my deep purple couch with a big tea cup each. I didn't have time for a long chat, but I wanted us to get along again. We were dog parents together, best friends, but he was also the brother to the guy I was in love with.

“I know what we do to our mom seems horrible, but… She's sick and has always worried about Eric so much she more or less became sick from that. He has always disappointed her,” he said and looked down in his cup with a sad expression. “My parents didn't know what shit they would find themselves in years later when they… Started to take care of Eric. I guess they just saw a cute two-year-old with big eyes.” He shrugged his shoulders, but I didn't say anything because I wanted him to continue to talk. “His mom was a crazy junkie and would come and try to take back Eric and even hit dad once. It was then social service decided he would live with us even if he showed signs of being just like his mom. He could get fucking crazy too, and then he started with the drugs. He even stole dad's asthma medication. He was… He is… Sometimes it feels like he's an addict before a human, you know? He can't stop, and it will always be more important than everything.” 

Robin sighed deeply and rubbed his eye. I still sat quiet and tried to understand that it was Eric he talked about. The guy who had given me his boxers and made an omelet when I had left a big red stain on his couch. 

“I see that you think I'm awful for saying it like that, but… You don't get how much harm an addict can do just to get drugs, and my parents were way too nice to do anything else than serve him.” 

“But why did he say yes to ‘play dead’ then?” 

“Dad died and mom was destroyed, but instead of helping her, he just did more drugs and then ODed. We all thought he would die, and when mom got a stroke and thought he actually had, we thought-” 

“You thought. If he was totally gone on drugs, I don't think he could even discuss such a thing.” I said it more angrily than was appropriate for the situation he thought we were in, but I was just thinking about the man I had kissed six days ago. 

“Fine!” Robin said, irritated. “I don't understand why you care so much. I was forced to handle an awful situation in some way. My dad was dead, my mom sick, and… Eric, he just wanted to shoot up. What do you think I should have done?” 

He looked up at me with shiny eyes, and a lonely tear spilled over. I felt awful for judging him so hard because I couldn't say what I would have done. I put down my cup on the coffee table and then crawled up to him so I could hug him hard. Like usual, it was the only thing he needed to start crying violently. I felt so bad for him, for him needing to make such hard decisions all by himself and carrying that alone. I wish he had told me instead of lying, but there was also another side of this story. Eric had lost everything. Robin had decided that he wasn't worthy to have a mother anymore. Eric had also lost his dad and not only had a sick mom but also a mom he wasn't allowed to meet. Everything because he had a drug addiction he no longer has. Right? He was clean now?

×××

Robin and I said goodbye as friends, and an hour later I took mom and dad's car with Odin to meet Robin's brother. I knew Eric was a good man and took Robin's story with a pinch of salt and didn't feel any worry about meeting Eric. My heart beat at the thought of being close to him again.

Demi and her daughter stood once again with me while I applied my makeup, but instead of being an audience, they had a verbal fight about Demi wanting alone time with me, but her daughter refused to leave the bathroom. After her dad had raised his voice, she did what my sister wanted and closed the door to the bathroom on the way out.

“Don't have kids,” she joked and rolled her eyes. She sat on the toilet lid, turned to me, and played with her long ponytail.

“Trust me, I won't,” I said sincerely, but my sister laughed like it was a joke.

“You will feel different when you're in love… Don't you think Eric wants kids?” She teased. I looked at myself in the mirror and took a break from applying my mascara.

“To be honest, no. I don't think he wants kids. It would surprise me.”

“Hm…” Demi sounded a bit disappointed. “So, do you remember you promised to show pictures of him in exchange for staying here?” She sounded teasing again and made me roll my eyes with a smirk. I was a bit nervous to show the pictures to her but also proud. He was so hot and so ripped. I had never been with a guy so fit, and I don’t believe my sister had either. It was the pictures from Lotti I had photographed, close, so it would look like it was the original pictures.

Demi looked up at me with a confused expression while she scrolled between the close-up of a smiling Eric and a shirtless Eric. She shifted between looking at the pictures and me, and I could feel she would say something bad.

‘You dated Dante, a sweet, trustworthy, tanned Italian, and left him because you thought he had asshole-y behaviors, so you instead started to date this? This?”

I didn't want to talk about Dante because he was an asshole, even if no one in my family could see it.

“Don't you see how hot he is?” I said instead and made Demi shrug her shoulders.

“Yes, he's hot, but do you see what's doodled over that hotness? That's 300 bad decisions."

I sounded out in frustration and continued to do my makeup.

“What's his story? Is he a criminal? An addict?”

I didn't answer and instead shut off when she continued to talk and made him sound like a stereotype. I threw down my deep pink lipstick in my handbag but stopped for a second to look inside it. The pack of condoms stared back at me and made me feel awful. I had never been so stressed about protection but felt different now. Even I had my prejudice about Eric.

×

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Cloudy Christmastime

damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent

(A/N): Before anyone protests, I headcanon the Wayne family as celebrating both Jewish holidays like Yom Kippur and Hanukkah as well as Christmas and Easter because yes, Bruce is ethnically Jewish (though may have done Christmas as well) but Dick/Jason/Tim/Steph would have likely celebrated Christmas. So they do both.

Anyway, this is a christmas gift for @glorified-red and literally the 5th take on this fic bc they first said Hallmark movie, then damijon hallmark movie, then whump. And then it took me three tries to get something I was close to happy with so I hope you enjoy. This ended up being a mix of domestic fluff and h/c.

warnings: sensory overload

wc: ~2600

~~

“Tell me again why Santa doesn’t bring us gifts if he’s real. Like our dads have met him. And he still doesn’t bring us presents,” Jon lamented from the couch, bundled up in four blankets. 

From your spot on the floor by the tree, you looked up, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Because we’re not kids anymore? And how do you know Santa ever brought us gifts?” 

“Perhaps,” Damian added, passing Jon a cup of hot chocolate. He placed a second cup on the coffee table and lifted one to his lips. “He only brought gifts to people to make a point. I never received any from him as a child but father has gotten many over the years.” 

Jon listed to the side, head landing on Damian’s shoulder. “I think that’s worse.”

For the first time in a while, Jon felt Damian’s huff of laughter more than he heard it. Your small chuckle was similarly inaudible. Jon hated solar flaring. Not only was it a pain to deal with for the day and change—one could argue he got either lucky or really unlucky by solar flaring the morning of Christmas Eve—but it always threw his senses out of whack as they trickled back in. And, with the gray skies of Gotham’s winter, Jon was expecting it to be even weirder than usual. It was worth it though, to him, in order to spend the day itself with his partners. It was enough that the Kent family Christmas Eve was ruined by Lex Luthor. He wasn’t going to let his Christmas day be ruined too. 

“I’m sorry, mi sol,” you offered with a shrug and a smile. Jon met your grin with his own. A full-body shiver wracked his frame. Your gaze turned concerned. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, “Just chilly.” Damian’s arm wrapped further around Jon, pulling their sides flush against each other. Jon maneuvered the blankets away to soak in his warmth. 

“Ameli, we can turn the heat up,” Damian offered. 

“Nope,” Jon argued, nuzzling into Damian’s neck. “This is good.” Damian’s resulting huff of air teased at the hair on the top of Jon’s head. 

“Mi luna?” You asked from the floor. Damian turned to look at you. Jon followed, eyes traveling over the mound of presents arranged under the tree. There was a pile around the back of the tree against the wall for Damian’s family (Jon still needed to give Dick his gift from the Hanukkah celebration a couple weeks ago. The blue dreidel paper was obvious against the sea of brown, red, and green wrapping paper.), and a smaller one for yours. The empty gap left behind after the Kent Christmas was already filled in with a large box Jon was like ninety percent sure was a new easel for Damian. You ordered it, not him, but Jon couldn’t think of anything else on any of your lists that was even close to that size. “Can you hand me that please?” You gestured to a precarious stack on the coffee table. 

Damian acquiesced, passing over a teetering pile of vaguely book-shaped items. Who those were for was anyone’s guess. Jon was grateful Alfred had helped you and him pay for some of the gifts for Damian. Looking at the gift tags, it otherwise would have been horribly uneven. And Damian himself wouldn’t have minded, Jon knew, but you and him would have been upset about it anyway. He deserves the world, your rohi. Damian pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of you, still arranging presents under the tree. He showed it quickly to Jon before texting it to him immediately. 

“This look okay?” You asked, peeking out from behind the tree. Jon looked it over. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly, but he also wasn’t exactly the reigning opinion on artistic presentation. 

“It looks fine, hayati” Damian said, eyes still trained on his phone. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You didn't even look.” 

Damian turned to look at you. “Because I knew it looked fine, beloved.” His eyes scanned the presents. “And it does.” 

You shook your head at him, exasperated, before conceding and sitting heavily on the couch. Scooching in, you nearly pressed up against Jon’s other side. 

“Come closer,” He whined, untangling a hand from the blankets to grab yours. “You’re warm.” 

Jon could feel the look exchanged over his head. 

“I’m not that warm,” you argued even as you grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and arranged the blankets so that you could fit underneath. “You’re just cold.” 

Jon shrugged. The hand that wasn’t holding yours reached underneath Damian’s shirt and he swore, grabbing Jon’s wrist to keep its chill away. Another look passed over Jon’s head. He wondered sometimes if the two of you were aware he knew what you were doing and just didn’t care. Probably. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, amorcito?” You asked. Jon shrugged. 

“It’s cold outside and I’m human but otherwise yeah. I have you two,” he added smugly. Damian’s playful shoulder hit came at the same time as your muttered “sap.” Jon grinned. “So because I’m sick—sort of—I get to pick the movie. And we’re watching Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Despite the protests on both sides, the movie was playing before Damian could even get up to turn the lights off. To the side of the couch, the lights on the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft white glow. 

~

Jon awoke to a cold bed. On a good day, he’d wake with the sun—or whenever it wormed its way through the bedroom’s black out curtains—or to an international emergency. Okay, not that the emergency was good, just that he was feeling good enough to know it was happening. On a bad day, all bets were off. Jon stuck his hand out of the covers, searching blindly for his phone. After a moment of finding nothing but the wood of the end table, the scratchiness of the sheets was unignorable and he gave up, flinging back the covers to get out of bed. Hanging over the side of the dresser was a dark red sweatshirt. Jon grabbed it and tugged it on, rubbing his arms to get the lingering echo of the sheets off his skin. His off kilter super hearing zeroed in on the crooning of Michael Bublé before zooming back out into the general background noise coming from the kitchen. Jon winced, squaring his shoulders. That was a bad sign. But it was Christmas; he’d be fine. 

A quick squint at his phone told Jon that it was just after noon. No wonder the bed was cold. Jon shivered, then grabbed a pair of your fuzzy socks before opening the bedroom door. 

The smell of cinnamon and chocolate coming from the kitchen was pleasant rather than unbearable. Jon let himself breathe it in as he approached quietly. He didn’t even notice you behind him—though that was often true of an average day—before there were arms around his waist and a head on his shoulder. He let himself lean back into the warmth of you. 

“Merry Christmas, mi amor. How are you feeling?” you inquired. Hot breath ghosted across his neck. Jon shrugged. 

“Fine. Excited for today.” He spun around to face you, eyes taking in your christmas pj pants and sweater with a Robin logo. Over your shoulder, Jon could see flashes of blue, likely Damian’s nightwing sweatshirt. “Merry Christmas,” he added, tucking his nose into the spot just underneath your ear for just a moment. No matter what his super senses were like, he took comfort in the smell of the two of you. A hand weaved through his hair, a kiss pressed to the top of his head. Jon pulled back just enough to give you a peck on the lips before being spun around into a kiss from Damian. 

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Jon muttered, pressing a second lingering kiss to Damian’s jawline. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his fingers, wrapped around Damian’s wrist. 

“Good morning,” Damian said, wrapping an arm around Jon to keep him close. Jon blindly reached out and a second calloused hand found his. A second warm body curled around him. He missed your heartbeats’ song in his ears, but Damian’s pounding steadily under his ear and yours fluttering underneath his fingertips was good enough for right then. “Are you alright?” Damian continued. “It’s late.” His voice was echoey underneath Jon’s ear and Jon flinched instinctively. The two of you reacted immediately, pulling back. 

“Jon?” you asked, voice laced with concern. 

“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m mostly good. About as expected, you know?” Jon offered up a smile. By the looks on your faces, it didn’t do as much reassurance as he’d hoped. “I’m sorry I slept so late.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Damian argued. “There is no reason to.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon sighed. 

“How are you feeling about breakfast, mi sol?” You asked, tangling your fingers with his. 

“Sounds good,” Jon agreed. 

~

“Oh yeah I should definitely send Dick a text to thank him. And also say Merry Christmas,” Jon said, flopping down on the couch after breakfast. With his partners looking happy, Christmas music in the background, and a breakfast of vegan pancakes in his stomach, Jon could almost forget about the buzzing under his skin. 

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “He would have swapped with me anyway. Gordon and Father are both working tonight so it was pointless for him to have the evening off.”

Jon shrugged. “Still, doesn’t hurt to say thanks.” 

“Say hi from me too,” you yelled over the running kitchen sink. After a moment more, the water shut off and Jon released a silent sigh at the absence of an irritating bit of noise. He was lucky the x-ray vision hadn’t started acting up. Not only was that like the antithesis of Christmas presents (his mom kept presents out of the house or in a lead box until morning for that very reason), but it was also a huge pain and the hardest to hide. Screwy touch and hearing was more than enough. Dishware clanked around in the kitchen as Damian sat beside Jon on the couch. 

“No change?” He asked, reaching for a Nightwing mug of cider on the coffee table. 

Jon shrugged. “Nope, nothing yet.” Damian narrowed his eyes and Jon attempted to start coming up with excuses. At the very least, he could probably get Damian to leave it alone until after gifts. Less so if you noticed too and started teaming up on him. 

“Ready for presents?” You asked, sitting down on the other side of Damian. You raised the untouched Superman mug to your lips, eyes scanning over Jon. 

“Yes!” Jon butt in before you could say anything. “Let’s do it.” 

You and Damian exchanged a look. On the floor below, the elevator dinged, releasing a family with a horde of kids. “Okay,” you conceded, standing to grab the first load of presents.

In the apartment directly underneath, the front door squealed open. A load of presents was slammed down on the floor beside him. Three kids squealed “gramma!” in unison. Jon’s hoodie was all of the sudden suffocating him. 

Jon jumped up and yanked the sweatshirt over his head, pawing the sleeves off before yanking his socks off too. He didn’t care where they ended up. His hands went up to press against his ears. Stumbling over his own feet, Jon meandered backwards until his back slammed into a wall and then slid down, knees up and head with ears still covered in between them. Sounds zoomed in and out. All of the sudden, he could hear Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing eight floors down, then A Christmas Carol on someone’s TV across the street. Focus! Jon yelled at himself through all the noise. One steady beat came into focus, then another. 

Until there was a soft item brushing his feet, Jon didn’t realize he had company. A steady beat pulsed in his ears, too loud even for its familiarity. He pulled the blanket close. Something plastic nudged his shoulder and Jon grabbed it instinctively, slamming special-made headphones over his ears. The sounds faded down into something manageable. Jon took a deep breath. And then another. He didn’t need to hear to know that the two of you were there. When he reached out tentatively with his sense of smell, the usual wave of cinnamon-vanilla-brown sugar-clove and somethings just the two of you tempered by pine and peppermint was comforting rather than overwhelming. Jon let it wash over him, clutching the soft weighted blanket to his chest. 

When he cracked his eyes open, two blurs blinked into focus as his partners, leaning against the back of the couch and hands linked. Damian’s head rested on your shoulder, one of your hands tangled in his hair. Jon noticed as soon as Damian saw he was up. He almost slammed his head into your chin as he shot up and Jon huffed a laugh.  

“Ameli?” Damian asked. Your eyes locked onto Jon’s. 

“You guys shouldn’t sit on the floor,” Jon responded. “It’s bad for your backs.”

You offered Jon a hand, ignoring his remark completely. Jon’s chest ached. If you weren’t willing to banter, he’d scared you. “How are you feeling?”   

Jon took the hand and stood, adjusting the headphones so they stayed on his head. He tossed the blanket over his shoulder and reached his other hand out towards Damian before tugging the both of you up and towards the couch. 

“I’m okay,” Jon reassured you, sitting down on the couch. “I promise.” When neither of you moved, he tugged you both down on top of him, interrupting the bat-assessment written all over Damian’s face.  

“Promise like this morning?” Damian argued. Jon winced. 

“Okay, yeah maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“Been a self-sacrificial dumbass as if we don’t a) know you and b) want you to talk to us?” You cut in. Jon could read the hurt underneath the anger clear as day. His fingers brushed over two sets of knuckles, one scarred from years of fighting without protective gear, the other dry from the winter air. 

“I know. I just wanted today to be a good day, you know? We never get uninterrupted holidays.” Jon resisted the urge to pull his hands away from yours and curl into himself. The two burning gazes on him were ones of love and concern, though, not judgment. 

“And for some reason you think accommodating you makes the day worse, why?” Damian asked. Jon didn’t have an answer. 

“We love you, Jon. Eres nuestro pareja. We picked ‘partners’ for a reason, yeah?”  You squeezed his hand in yours. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, head dropping to your shoulder. Silence was heavy in the room for a moment. 

“You choose what we do next,” Damian stated, tugging the blacket from its bundled blob to instead cover you and Jon. 

Jon moved from your shoulder to halfway on top of Damian, tugging you on top of him. “You guys are going to squish me in between you while we watch a movie and then we can do presents?” 

You shot him a wicked smile. Jon shrieked as Damian pulled him bodily half on top of him along the couch, cut off when you landed nearly on top of Jon. 

“Good?” You asked. Jon let himself sink into Damian, arms coming up to wrap around your waist. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

Damian grabbed the remote. “We’re not watching Elf.”

Jon stuck his tongue out at him.  

[ephie-om]

Finding Home Ch. 1

Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

CW: None

Words: 4.4k

Lucifer’s back cracks loudly as he steps out of the driver’s seat for the first time in hours. He stretches from side to side and groans as his weight settles back onto his legs. The noise earns him an annoyed glance from the backseat as Satan’s green eyes flick up from his second book of the journey. “We’re here, Satan.”

“One minute,” he mutters, barely looking up.

Lucifer sighs. Why would he expect his son to be interested in their new apartment when he had a book in his hands? He stretches out his arms, feeling some of the tension start to drain from his shoulders. “Satan, we need to get going. I need the key from the front desk before we can get inside.”

“You can leave me here.” Satan says simply.

“Not unless you want to get kidnapped. Let’s go.”

Satan sighs and places his bookmark carefully so that the little cat ears at the top are just barely sticking out from between the pages. He tucks it under his arm and scoots out of the car while Lucifer scouts for the entrance. He reflexively tries to grab for Satan’s hand before remembering that might get him bitten and quickly puts it back in his pocket. Satan takes in the massive building in front of him, neck craning as he tries to see the top floors. 

The pair pushes through the heavy door and navigates cold hallways to find the front office. A tired-looking woman with her hair in a tightly wound bun looks up at them, face drenched in a blue glow from her computer monitor. “New residents?” Lucifer nods and the two adults start to speak tersely back and forth as she inputs all of their information into her computer. Satan’s attention wanders as he looks around the dismal office. Gray walls, gray chairs, gray carpet. He hopes his bedroom doesn’t look like this. He specifically told Lucifer he wanted his room to be green. His old bedsheets are a dark blue, which he tells anyone and everyone was not his choice. At the very least, he could probably manage to convince Lucifer to let him cut out his favorite pages from the National Geographic magazines and put them up on his walls. 

Lucifer taps his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. “We can start bringing our things up now.”

“I want to look at it first,” Satan decides. “Then I’ll know where I want all my stuff.”

“Good idea,” Lucifer agrees. “Do you want to hold the key?” Satan nods, and Lucifer drops the key into his cupped hands. Satan runs his finger over the faded green tag labeled ‘304’ in faded white letters. 

“We’ll be on the third floor,” Satan remarks. “Does that mean we get to ride an elevator every day?”

“I’m not sure,” Lucifer muses. “Let’s go find out.”

To Satan’s dismay, the only elevator in their building has a hastily scrawled Out of Order sign taped to the doors.. The pair make their way up the flights of narrow stairs, Lucifer matching Satan’s pace. Satan stares intently down at the faded carpet, trying to decide what its pattern would have been when the floor was still new. Both are breathing hard when they finally reach their floor. Lucifer silently laments just how much luggage he’s going to have to drag up these stairs. Satan unlocks the door marked 304, and it swings open with a pronounced groan. 

If Satan had to pick one word to describe their new home, it would be boring. Just white walls and gray carpet, white counters and a silver sink. It smells faintly of glass cleaner and paint. He stands in the doorway, processing. Lucifer is thinking much the same thing behind him. It’s better than not having a place to live, he supposes. Satan walks slowly to the living room, then to the kitchen. He stands at the small hallway that connects to the common space and peeks into both of the bedrooms. For a moment, he is silent. It was as he suspected. White doors and gray windows. Lucifer waits behind him, nervous for his reaction. 

“Which one is mine and which one is yours?” he finally asks. 

“You can pick,” Lucifer responds quickly. Satan nods and goes back and forth between the rooms, looking at the small closets and trying to imagine his things in either room. 

“I want this one,” he decides. “I can put my bed over here so that it faces the window.” Lucifer grants him a small smile. “Let’s start bringing up our luggage before it gets dark, then.” Satan follows him back down the stairs to their small car, expertly packed with all kinds of bags and boxes. Lucifer takes the heaviest boxes despite Satan’s protests that he’s perfectly capable of carrying all of this himself, and the two haul the rest of their lives up the grungy stairs into their new apartment. 

Both are breathing heavily by the end of it, and Satan’s staunch refusal to move another inch by the end of it mirrors Lucifer’s own. Using the few dollars he has budgeted, Lucifer orders takeout over the phone while Satan watches him carefully to make sure he orders everything correctly. They sit cross-legged on the floor while they eat, chewing in silence in the absence of a TV or speakers. Lucifer considers telling Satan to wipe his mouth, but decides that manners can wait until they at least have chairs to sit in. He leans back on his hands after setting his styrofoam container to the side, trying to gather the strength to get up and throw sheets on the two mattresses, when he hears a knock on the door. 

Lucifer runs a hand through his hair and hopes he looks presentable as Satan bombards him with questions about who it could possibly be. He opens the door to an empty hallway, and looks around, confused. A small sound comes from the door to his right; if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like a small child’s giggle. Confused, he shakes his head. Satan’s blond head pops out from behind Lucifer curiously. “Cookies,” he mutters. Lucifer follows his gaze down to the floor, and sure enough, placed right in front of their doorway is a large white plate piled high with cookies, gingersnaps by the look of them. He picks the tray up and shuts the door, noting how precisely the cookies have been stacked, when he spots a small note tucked carefully into the plastic wrap. 

“Can we have one? Or two? Can we have them now?” Satan is practically bouncing up and down, all his tiredness from earlier vanished. As Lucifer unwraps the tray, the sweet cinnamon smell wafts through the whole room, and his mouth begins to water. He hands two cookies to Satan with instructions to eat over the sink in the absence of plates, and munches on one himself while he unfolds the note. It’s delicious, so good he has to take a moment to savor it with his eyes closed. Still slightly warm, the sugar on top crunches delightfully, contrasting the soft dough underneath that almost melts into his mouth. His eyes scan the beautifully flowing cursive,

“I hope these find you well. My name is Simeon, and my son Luke and I are your new neighbors from unit 302. Moving day can be so stressful, so I thought you deserved a few cookies for dessert. Don’t worry about returning the plate too soon; but when you can, please come in for a cup of tea. Welcome to the building,

Simeon + Luke”

Lucifer finds a small smile on his face, already reaching for his second cookie. Satan has long finished his allotted two and is hungrily eyeing the rest, so Lucifer holds his in his mouth and rewraps the plate. With his plan foiled, Satan slinks off to unpack his boxes. Lucifer finishes his cookie with a twinge of regret as he takes the last bite and considers sneaking a third one, but he shakes the thought from his head just as fast as it came. Knowing Satan, he’s probably already counted every single cookie on the plate and is keeping a strict watch over them. 

The sun rises far too early for Lucifer’s liking, piercing through his eyelids no matter how hard he tries to scrunch them shut. He rolls over, tugging his sheets around him protectively, but his mind is already awake. He wonders if he has enough time to try to go back to sleep, which is the exact moment his alarm goes off. He grumbles something incoherent and slaps the floor near his mattress until he finds his phone and shuts the alarm off, reveling in the silence for a moment.

The sunrise’s bright oranges and pinks are still knifing through the cheap blinds, forcing him to get to his feet and trudge to the shower. The travel pack of toiletries he had tossed carelessly into the sink the night before lies half open and spilling products. He roots around for body wash and shampoo, deciding to shave in the shower when he sees the dark shadow around his face. Bracing himself, he steps into the cascade of cold water spewing from the showerhead. His muscles are shocked into action and he shakes from head to toe for a moment while he adjusts. 

He showers quickly, the looming threat of being late spurring him on. He dresses in a light blue button-up and black slacks, adjusting his collar no less than three times when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He scrawls a quick note for Satan on a napkin from last night, letting him know what to eat for breakfast and lunch, that he shouldn’t have any reason to leave the apartment, and please try to organize some of your books by the time I get back because you always get mad when I try to help you. He snatches a protein bar out of a box haphazardly shoved in a duffel bag and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. 

He walks down the stairs and through the parking garage carefully so as not to scuff his nice shoes and starts his car with a pronounced groan from the engine. The map pulled up on his phone cheerily notifies him that he is expected to have a half-hour drive with minimal traffic. He pays close attention to every exit on the way, despite the fact that he’s fairly sure he’s had the route memorized since the day he got the job.

The campus sprawls out across multiple blocks, grass glittering with dew. Lucifer parks his car in the furthest corner of the designated staff parking lot and strides down the sidewalk leading to the main building, hoping he looks confident to anyone who might be watching. He adjusts his collar one more time before pushing open the double doors.

The empty hallways echo his footsteps as he glances around uncertainly. The front office seems to be deserted; should he risk probing a bit deeper into the building or stay where he is? He spins slowly, peering down the hallways. “Mr. Morningstar?” 

Lucifer nearly jumps out of his skin. How did someone manage to sneak up behind him so quickly? He whips around to meet a pair of piercing green eyes. “Y-yes.” he stammers out, trying to regain his composure. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man stretches out his hand and Lucifer quickly takes in his perfect posture and impeccably ironed clothes. “I am Assistant Principal Zaman, but to you, I can simply be Barbatos. I’ll show you to the principal’s office.” Lucifer shakes his hand firmly, noting his deceptively strong grip despite his slight stature. 

The assistant principal- no, Barbatos- walks quickly through the halls, leaving Lucifer to trail behind. He notices Barbatos’ dark hair swept into a small bun at the back of his head. Was it a trick of the light or were the ends tinged green? “I’m glad you accepted the job offer so quickly,” Barbatos says. “The dean we had lined up for the position had to take his leave suddenly before the school year began. I only hope you’ll be more… tenacious than him.” A chill runs down Lucifer’s spine at the remark. Was that a threat?

Barbatos opens the heavy door to the principal’s office gracefully. Lucifer sees walls of bookcases, trophies, certificates, then the man himself, seated behind a massive wooden desk. His broad shoulders are slightly hunched as he scrawls out a signature onto a piece of paper with the school’s letterhead. Barbatos clears his throat softly, and the man’s gaze sweeps up to meet Lucifer’s. “Ah! The new dean, I presume?” Lucifer nods, his throat suddenly dry. Barbatos slips through the doorway and closes the door behind him, leaving Lucifer feeling alone and oddly vulnerable. 

The principal rises from his desk, and Lucifer’s neck cranes back as he takes in the full height. The man is massive, and Lucifer is sure he’ll have to ask how someone of his stature ended up as a school principal. He would probably have better luck as a wrestler or a personal trainer, based on the outlines of his muscles peeking through his shirt. The principal can’t seem to tame his messy red hair either, by the looks of it. He stretches out a hand and shakes Lucifer’s firmly. “My name is Diavolo. Have a seat, if you would, Lucifer, and we’ll get right to business.” He gestures to a chair opposite the desk and Lucifer sits hesitantly, unnerved by how quickly the principal had dropped the formalities. “I’ve compiled a folder that has all the documents you should need for your first weeks here. Your responsibilities won’t start until the first day of school, so you have a bit of time to get used to the school and meet all of the staff. You’ll largely be working with Barbatos and I, so it’s lucky you’ve already met us both!”

Lucifer tries to return the beaming smile on Diavolo’s face, still not quite sure what to think about him. “And then, of course, there’s the matter of your old job,” Diavolo continues. The small smile that Lucifer had mustered falls from his face. “If I recall correctly, you were let go from your previous position as dean at another school?” Lucifer nods silently. “Would you mind telling me the reason?”

Lucifer gulps as his thoughts spiral. Hadn’t he already been hired for the job? Why is Diavolo just asking him now? Doesn’t he know already? “Well, I was let go- fired. I was fired from my job for taking sides on a matter between two students. One student had been bullying another severely for months on end, and as my position dictated, I stepped in. I reprimanded the student and administered the appropriate punishments, only to be told that the student at fault was the child of one of our school’s benefactors. The mother wanted me fired, and so I was. Immediately.” 

Diavolo’s bright honey eyes scrutinize Lucifer as he speaks, looking for any trace of a lie. “I’m glad you’re not there anymore,” he says simply. “Personally, I strive to make this school a place of learning above all else. Every person on my staff assists me in doing so in their own ways. I think we’re lucky to have you here.” He gives Lucifer another warm smile and pushes a brown folder across the desk, thick with papers. “Barbatos will show you to your office. Please don’t hesitate to bother either of us with any questions.”

Lucifer nods tersely. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.” Diavolo chuckles under his breath. Barbatos appears miraculously at the door to guide Lucifer out again, and Diavolo leans back in his chair, thinking. 

Barbatos reappears in the hallway after only a moment, slipping into Diavolo’s office. The principal has his eyes closed and his hands folded across his stomach. “What did you think?” he asks. 

“A bit strict. It’ll take him time to adjust,” Barbatos replies smoothly.

“Of course,” Diavolo waves his hand. “But how do you think he’ll do with the students?”

Barbatos pauses in thought. “I seem to remember reading in his file that he has a young son. To that end, I don’t think he’ll have any trouble at all, sir.”

Orientation Day, Diavolo’s favorite day of the year (besides Halloween), and Lucifer’s most dreaded. Diavolo is always immensely excited to meet all of his new and returning students and update everyone on the changes he’s brought to the school over the summer. Lucifer, on the other hand, is thinking much less about the new and exciting things and much more about four hours of meeting parents. He’s dealt with children for decades now. Of course they can always be challenging, but he at least has experience with their stunts. The adults, however… 

Truthfully, he’s always had trouble fostering adult friendships. Either due to his own cold personality or Satan’s antics, most of the people he’s around tend to slowly stop contacting him after a while. Lucifer has long accepted that he might just not be a likeable person, which is fine most of the time, except when his job requires that he talk to his students’ parents. 

“It’s so big,” Satan’s voice drifts up from the backseat, startling Lucifer. He remembers that it’s only Satan’s first time seeing his new campus, and he briefly wonders if his son is as nervous as he is. 

“I know,” he answers. “Your new class is much bigger than the old one. You’ll have more kids your age to make friends with.” He watches Satan wrinkle his nose in the rearview mirror at the remark. 

The pair walk up the front sidewalk together, matching stride for stride. Lucifer holds the door for Satan, who looks suspiciously around at the halls. “Nobody’s here yet.”

“No, we still have half an hour until orientation begins.”

Satan clicks his tongue. “They should get here early.” Lucifer bites back a laugh; he was just thinking the same thing.

“You can wait in my office until it starts. I need to go check in with the principal.” Lucifer directs Satan down the hall, hoping he won’t try to destroy the tenuous organizational system he’s managed to create.

Satan slams his body against the door to shove it open, muttering under his breath in annoyance. He would think the dean of students would at least be afforded a doorstop. He manages to wiggle his way in and is met with a bare, open room. The only indication that Lucifer has been in this office for more than a few hours are the piles of papers and sticky notes covering his desk. He hasn’t even managed to get any chairs in here, which he’ll definitely need if he’s supposed to be talking to kids and parents. 

Satan hops into the office chair behind the desk, pushing against the desk with his feet to spin himself around again and again. He wonders if he could convince Lucifer to let him in here during his lunch breaks. Other kids are exhausting; he much prefers to be alone with a book when he can. 

A giggle comes from the doorway and Satan stops himself spinning so quickly he nearly falls out of the chair. Another boy, probably about his age, with shocking white hair, was standing in the doorway. “What do you want?” Satan yells, equal parts angry and mortified at being caught doing something frivolous. The boy just looks back at him, still smiling. 

“I don’t know,” he giggles. “Just watching.”

“Get out!”

“No,” the boy says, sticking out his tongue. “My dad said I could look in here.”

“My dad said I had to stay in his office until he got back.”

The boy shrugs and turns around to leave, when Satan’s anger finally subsides enough to notice a very important detail. “Wait,” he snaps. The boy turns around, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Satan twists his mouth, suddenly nervous. “Are those cat socks?”

The boy laughs again. “You like them?” Satan glares back at him, still not quite ready to trust him. “I have a bunch.” He stares down at the socks, looking at the little pink ears and bright green eyes contrasting against the black fabric. “These are my favorite pair though.”

“I like black cats too. Everyone says they’re bad luck, but I think all cats are good luck.” Satan says resolutely, almost challenging the other boy to disagree. He just smiles and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, then sticks out his hand suddenly.

“I’m Solomon.”

“Satan.” Satan grabs his hand firmly and shakes it twice. Solomon flinches slightly at his grip, and Satan quickly loosens it. 

“Maybe we can be friends when school starts,” Solomon says, his eyes bright again. He’s bouncing slightly, like he can’t stay still. 

“Maybe so,” Satan mutters, looking away quickly. When he looks back up, Solomon is gone.

Lucifer and Barbatos sit across from each other at Barbatos’ desk, going over their plan for the orientation. Two hours of hundreds of people flowing in and out of their building requires a strategy, one that the two men are perfectly suited to provide. Diavolo sits on top of a student’s desk, chatting with the other staff members, and Lucifer tries not to worry about the desk collapsing under him. He catches a head of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. “Satan, I thought I asked you to wait in my office.” Satan makes a face. 

“There was another kid in there. He laughed at me.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Another kid? What did he look like?”

“He had white hair and cat socks. And he couldn’t stand still.”

Barbatos raises his head. “I’m sorry about that. That one’s mine.” At Lucifer’s questioning look, he elaborates. “Solomon. My foster son. I try not to let him have the run of the place, but you know how they are.” He and Lucifer exchange knowing looks. 

“Satan, if you want to stay here, you can pull up a chair next to me.” Satan obliges, watching Diavolo’s animated hand gestures from behind. 

“Is that your boss?”

“Yes, that’s the principal. I’ll introduce you two some time tonight.”

Diavolo peers out the window and turns around to Barbatos. “People are arriving!” Lucifer and Barbatos rise from their seats in sync, ready to begin.

Lucifer’s night is largely uneventful, much to his relief. Two hours in, he’s learned countless faces and names and only hopes he can remember them all. Diavolo was supposed to be staying at a table near him, but keeps being retrieved by Barbatos after wandering off. He serves as a welcome distraction to the constant stream of people waiting to meet Lucifer, at least. Satan has curled up with a book behind Lucifer, tuning out the outside world. Barbatos has easily handled herding both Diavolo and Solomon, and Lucifer is starting to think he could run a marathon without breaking a sweat. 

He notices a man to his side, looking like he’s trying to grab Lucifer’s attention. Lucifer offers his hand, “Mr. Morningstar. Dean of Students,” he drones with a smile, his mouth starting to get tired of the words. 

The other man, all dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin, smiles back. “I thought as much.” Lucifer gives him another droll smile, but it drops off his face as he registers the sentence, confused. “Oh, I-I didn’t mean it like that,” the man backtracks quickly. “I’m Simeon. I thought I recognized you as my neighbor.”

Lucifer breathes a small sigh of relief. “I see now. You’re the one who sent over the cookies.” Simeon beams at him. “How did you like them?”

“They were fantastic,” Lucifer recalls, melting a bit at the memory of the taste. “Satan and I loved them.”

“Your son?” Simeon guesses, and Lucifer nods in affirmation. “Mine should be around here somewhere…” he trails off, making a show of looking around, but Lucifer has already spotted a pair of tiny hands clinging to Simeon’s pant leg. “Oh! There he is!” Lucifer notices a tuft of white-blonde hair peeking out from behind Simeon’s thigh as Simeon tries to coax him out. “This is Lucifer, the neighbor we made cookies for a few days ago. He’s one of the teachers at your new school.”

A pair of wet blue eyes peek around Simeon’s knee, inch by inch. Lucifer kneels down onto the floor slowly. “Hello. My name is Lucifer. What’s yours?” 

The child’s tiny bottom lip trembles, but he manages to squeak out, “Luke.”

“Luke? That’s a very strong name,” Lucifer says softly. “I knew another Luke a long time ago, and he was one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” Luke’s arms start to relax, not quite hiding behind Simeon anymore. He gives Lucifer a timid nod, and Lucifer stands again. Simeon is smiling warmly as he looks down at Luke by his side. 

A bright white streak zips past the pair, and Simeon steps to the side instinctively to get out of the way, only to collide with Barbatos. “Solomon, get-” Barbatos has the wind knocked out of him by an unfortunately placed elbow from Simeon. Simeon stumbles back from the force, mouth forming an apology. Barbatos waves him off while trying to suck in a breath, but Solomon is already gone. 

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” Simeon interjects, glancing back to make sure Luke is still behind him. “Are you hurt?” Barbatos wheezes something that sounds like a ‘no’, and Simeon grimaces. “Please sit, sir. I’ll get you a cup of water.” Simeon grabs a chair and rushes to fill a paper cup with water, and to Lucifer’s surprise, Barbatos actually sits and accepts it. His eyes flick up to Simeon’s dark brown ones, back to the cup, then up again as he takes in the other’s face. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and the two lock eyes for a moment. The silence is broken by Luke tugging on the hem of Simeon’s shirt, trying to coax him out the door. Simeon gives Lucifer and Barbatos an apologetic smile, then turns to leave while speaking softly to Luke. Lucifer feels the corners of his mouth tilt upward at the sight of Barbatos’ gaze at Simeon’s back as he leaves. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this doesn't feel too crazy, I know AUs can be a bit of a challenge but I'm cursed with Dialuci brain so this is how it went. Dividers from @dollywons Look out for Ch 2 soon xo

[toreadorcaretaker]

The Beast Attacks Itself

OC x Sebastian LaCroix

Summary: Clement Gray (OC - bio here) loses a patient who looks like his sire and has a self-destructive episode. His protectiveness over LaCroix pulls him out of it. Image Source

TW: minor character death in a medical setting, thoughts of suicide, dissociation, lots of negative self-talk

The woman looks so soft even under the harsh lights of Trauma Care. Her short-cropped curls frame a face in the shape of a heart. She’s the spitting image of Sorcha, the sire whose soul sleeps dead inside of Clement Gray. And it’s been many, many minutes since she flatlined.

Ultimately, it only takes one person to wrestle the defibrillators out of Clement’s hands. But that person has to be a kindred. Clement has already bested three of his human coworkers and nearly electrocuted one of them on accident in his furious efforts to keep trying.

He gets out as soon as he realized that the woman is not coming back. Her vivid green eyes stare upward, unmoving. He doesn’t even know her name and now she’s gone, she’s gone because he was too late to help her. And Clement is an absolute hazard now.

He puts himself in the bathroom, much the way one puts hazardous waste in its proper safety disposal box.

He makes a strange noise too quiet to be a wail. Guilt presses against the back of his eyes like a physical nausea. In the mirror, his aura writhes violently with red and black pulsations. All three eyes are flooded onyx from the pupil dilation brought on by rage. He can feel his humanity slipping away, and whether it’s because of the loss of life, or because of his vicious response to his own guilt, he can’t say. But he looks at what’s in the mirror and all he can do is hate. Kill, says the beast. Kill whoever let that woman die. That would be him.

He's seen people looking this way plenty of times, and he found the beauty in it without even trying. LaCroix, for one. He doesn’t want to resent anyone for a fury like this, even himself, not ever. But here he is resenting it, and he’d better stop looking at himself or he’ll frenzy bad enough to break the glass (which is not his, and probably expensive).

At some point, he gets himself into a bathroom stall where he can’t cause a scene. At some point after that, he’s on the tile, slumped back against the wall. When did that happen? He can’t tell if there are people coming in and out of the surrounding stalls or if it’s just his imagination. It’s too chaotic inside his own head to distinguish that from the echoing footsteps around him. He’ll be useless tonight and maybe for several nights unless he does something.

Come on now. Don’t be a fucking coward who can’t even reach out for support. Do what you’d have Sebastian do. He slips something out of his pocket without looking down, still staring blankly at the stall door. A burner phone. LaCroix hates them. He’ll be glad for the excuse to throw both of theirs away.

He tries to type, “I’m not okay,” but it keeps slipping away into “are you okay” which frankly doesn’t make any sense as a first message. Instead he manages, “This a good time?”

“This had better be of the upmost urgency, Gray.” That’s a no.

Ugly thoughts break in. He’s already annoyed. He’ll hate you if you complain about your own mistakes like it isn’t your fault in the first place. He’ll hate you RIGHTLY.

No he won’t, stop it, stop thinking the worst of him. What, does no one except YOU have any mercy?

It’s not thinking the worst of him to think he’d hate your damned-to-hell self-pity. The man has taste.

He can’t tell which side of him is the beast preying on his own shame, and which is his better self. But it doesn’t matter. Clement feels something twist inside his gut again, enough pain to cut through the guilt. Just be honest. “I lost a patient.”

“I’m sorry.” Then, “It’s never easy. But such is the nature of taking responsibility for our fellow kindred. Such is life, and unlife.”

It should help, but it doesn’t. The thought of dismissing a life as easily as that sets him physically shaking. After pushing air in and out of his lungs a few times, he forces out a reply. “You’re right. But I can’t take that stance on it at the moment. Just not there yet.” That’s not the whole truth. How can he convey how bad things really are? “She wasn’t a kindred, she was human. She looked like my sire. I feel dangerous right about now.”

There’s no immediate answer. He can almost feel Sebastian’s impatience, his judgement – whether real or imagined. Suddenly it occurs to Clement that he’s not thinking about the girl anymore, he’s only thinking about himself, his own guilt, and guilt piles on top of guilt until it wrenches at him sickeningly again. Think about her, don’t think about her – it doesn’t matter. She’s dead. Nothing he can do will fix it. Nothing will help at all, except maybe to replace himself with another Salubri who won’t mess up so often. Find someone. Anyone. Go get diablerized before this can happen again.

LaCroix probably already threw away the burner phone. Maybe Clement is alone now. Better get his legs to unbend and get off the fucking floor.

He tries to send his legs the “stand up” signal. It’s not working. Not enough motivation. Why should he stand up, why should he walk out and be in public, if he’s the kind of person who lets someone die on his watch?

The phone buzzes, finally. “Forgive me, this isn’t exactly my specialty. A gentler tone is called for. What do you need?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m springing this on you like it’s nothing. You can tell me to stop talking, okay? But if you want to help, give me a task. Anything. I just want to do something. Be useful.”

There’s no hesitation this time. “Come home at once.” Clement's heart twists in desperate gratitude. The picture of Sebastian in his mind morphs: no longer scowling at the phone impatiently, but nervous, compassionate, probably pacing in front of his picture windows. How could he ever have thought otherwise? When it comes to matters between the two of them, Sebastian is really so kind.

“That’s not what I mean. Something for you.”

“I need you with me. You can’t worry me like this.” He types and erases several times. “Please.”

A switch flips instantly in Clement. “I’m coming. Destroy the phone.”

The legs are working now. He’s still zoned out badly enough that he’s losing pockets of time, but he’s moving. He’s in the hallway, saying something to his supervisor that he won’t remember later, about how he’s not fit to work at the moment. She’s far too kind in response, by his estimation. Then he’s at his locker, once again dressed in the clothes that LaCroix hugged that evening before he left for work. They still smell like his cologne.

Outside in the rain, he starts to come back to himself. He doesn’t trust himself to drive and calls a cab instead, but at least he’s not fighting his beast anymore. He’s in harmony with it. His own reflection looks back at him again, from the rain-streaked window this time. It’s still pouring off a radiant darkness. But Sebastian’s probably looks the same way right now, out of fear for his sake. How many soldiers did Sebastian lose, in how many wars? And yet the Prince deserves so much happiness.

Yes, reason is coming back now. How could Clement hurt anyone who even resembles the man he loves? He won’t, he can’t – he’ll stand against anyone who would. I am an instrument for his defense. I am needed. Fuck you if you come between Sebastian and what he needs.

The beast and the man chant in unison: Make it home for him. For him. For him. For him.