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husbandohunter · 3 years ago

Note

Your Stardew Impact has given me a serious brainrot and I couldn’t sleep on it so here

Imagine the boys getting Isekai to Stardew and meeting their (soon-to-be) s/o a.k.a the farmer who found them in the mines and dragged them out.

It’s basically the same as the original but the reader lives in Stardew universe from the beginning.

The Outlanders who trespassed the Stars [Stardew Valley + Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: You were a simple farmer who lived a simple life before crossing paths with these outlanders. A tale of greetings and farewells tells a story that loving someone was like looking at the stars in the sky; a sense of warmth amidst darkness, where the dots connect no matter what distance it was. But just like stars, they were meant to be unobtainable.

(Basically what happens if the boys get Isekai'd)

Genre: fluff, angst (faceapalm didn't mean to)

Characters: Childe, Xiao, Zhongli

(A/n): Hi anon, haha I didn't think the Stardew Impact series would be this enjoyable. Allow me to serve your brainrot. But just for future references there is a character limit! Also it long, a pro tip to use ctrl+F and type in the name :>

======================

~Childe's Story~

The day you met Childe was perhaps during the most fortunate yet unfortunate hour of your life.

Winter comes by, your fields were left dry, what else was there to do other than mining? You were aiming to build a new Barnhouse before summer comes, fishing only made average income thus you decided to take your pickaxe and hope to run into some diamonds, gold or even better: prismatic shards. However, expensive items could only be found in the deepest parts of the mountains, where dangerous monsters lurk by.

When peeking over the abandoned minecart you so carefully shielded yourself with, you began contemplating whether you've just dug yourself a grave instead. The whole area became infested, you weren't in the best condition and on top of all that, you were out of food.

You decided to make a run for it, with the treasures and goodies at hand, you couldn't give up. However, things only got worse when purple mist began taking over your vision, signaling a lava bat wave drawing nigh. It was thanks to your greed that you ended in such a predicament but it was also your greed that brought you to him.

"W-Woah!!"

You tripped with your toe pointing downwards into a pile of wooden crates. The bats swarmed in shortly after, daunting around the area above but you couldn't afford to look. Your face was down to the ground and you could only rely on your ears regarding their whereabouts. As if Yoba heard your prayers, the lava bats could not seem to find you, confusing them to think you've escaped. And so, they flew away.

"I'm never doing that again," The sudden impact was excruciating, you were sure that your lip bled due to biting too hard. At least the floor felt somewhat soft, cotton-like and warm enough to be comforting. Yet, for some reason it was also a little…bony?

"…Mn…."

Your body jerks up like a springboard when you felt something shifting. A man, no older than his twenties, no older than you, lays sprawled out under your form. He was beginning to stir and you panicked when a pair of blue cerulean eyes pointed into your seemingly shocked ones within the close parameter.

Too close.

The man gives a cheerfully wry chuckle, you could practically feel his breath almost, "Well this is quite unexpected, didn't think I'd end up in this position," he jests, soon his expression began to tighten into a grimace, "Mind getting off me though? With all due respect miss, you're a little-…heavy."

You scrambled to the side while still kneeling, "What the hell, who are you?!"

"Hm," The man didn't answer, instead he pushed himself upright and turned his attention to examine the surroundings, "Where are we?" He paused when he noticed how the ceiling was made of rocks, "Wait, is this a cave?"

"Ninety two floors deep and surrounded by monsters," you sighed in frustration while rubbing your head with your palm, "Seriously, whoever you are you shouldn't be here, especially if you're not even carrying the necessary supplies."

"Hey, I just got here. I'm just as confused as you," he puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, "But how strange," he mutters to himself, lowering his arms ever so slightly before pinching his chin in deep thought, "I swear it was the right portal…or maybe it was the other one? Hmmm, could it be the effect of the hidden seal?"

I have so many questions. You sweatdropped nervously. Here you were, hours spent to get to the deepest parts of the earth and looking like a cavewoman while his clothes were practically untouched, nor did they seem to be a recognizable fashion. You've seen many odd events within Stardew Valley but not to this extent, "Alright you know what, let's forget about it for now. We need to get out of here before those lava bats come back for us again. Otherwise we're toast," you gestured to the lava pool, "Literally."

He gave another one of his gleeful smiles, you wondered if he was afraid at all, "Sounds like a solid plan to me. Judging by the equipment you're wearing, you seem to have been here for a while. You know your way around?"

Figures that he doesn't know, you thought, "I'll lead."

"Glad we're on the same page. Though, we've only just met and yet you're still willing to help a stranger like me," he mentions in an off-handed manner, perhaps he wasn't used to generosity ever since being recruited as a harbinger, "But not that I'm complaining. You have my thanks, comrade."

"(Y/n)," you tell him, "That's my name. I'm a farmer that resides in this town."

"I see. A town it is then," he inquires, "Call me Childe, as where I'm from, not sure how to answer that anymore."

"What do you-"

But before you were able to question him further, a hoard of lava crabs were spotted crawling it's way towards where Childe sat. He shot you a confused look and turned to the direction, amusement sparks in his eyes,

"Lava crabs? You've got to be kidding me," your arms have already grown tired long ago, at this rate, you figured it may be best to pay a visit to Harvey's doctor office and check up for any muscle strains that have occured during the process. You most likely have considered how heavy your items felt now. Partaking in another battle would only make it worse.

"Ah an opponent, to think this place wouldn't have a set of new monsters to fight. I was growing tired of beating up hilichurls all the time."

His casual reaction caused you to scrunch up your nose in disbelief, "We're being ganged up on and your first response was that???"

Childe paid no mind, instead he propelled himself back to his feet using his trained reflexes and swaggered towards the crowd, "Relax girlie," Stopping just after a few steps, he turns his head ajar over his shoulder with a floppy smirk spreading his lips, "I've got this."

You held in your breath, wondering if you could trust this man. For now all you could do was sit back and hopefully regain some of your strength while observing by the stacks of crates that were abandoned years ago. The lava crabs formed a straight line in front of him, they were smart creatures, cornering their prey in a very well strategized form so that trespassing was out of the question. Childe wasn't intimidated in the slightest, he merely looked down at them with hooded eyes, flexing his fingers for preparation.

"Lava crab…in other words you're of the pyro element," the harbinger holds out his hand in front of him, trying to cultivate the shape of his bow, "A shame. This fight would end much shorter than I anticipated."

However, when he expected his element to manifest, nothing came out. Childe was left dumbfounded.

"Don't just stand there," you screeched, "Do something!!!"

"Wait," he halts you and tries to summon his bow again. Once, twice, as the crabs grew closer still there was nothing, "My powers…they're gone?!"

"Take this," left without a choice, you pushed yourself towards him and shoved Neptune's glaive into his grasp. He examines it with curiosity, but you knew this was also your own well-being you were entrusting him, "It's really easy to use, just-"

When a crab leapt forward, you ran back to create some manageable space for Childe to move in. He delivers a powerful slice using one arm, hitting the crab's weak spot while tossing it toward the side until a dent was formed in the wall. Your mouth parts, fast, he was fast, you didn't even have the time to blink. It was as if he knew the glaive more than you did. Though, the assumption wasn't that far from the truth. Childe was well adept with swordsmanship as he was an expert with many other melee weapons. Which is precisely the reason why he chose the bow as his main, a ranged device, the challenge to keep him on his toes. Just like he was now.

"He wasn't lying when he said he could fight," you watched in mesmerization, each single blow he delivered deemed equivalent to three hits on your part. Childe was both powerful and swift. He was formidable. The way he effortlessly deflected his opponents despite not having an enchantment ring made you forget how much of an idiot he was earlier before. Soon, the lava crabs began to lessen, leaving what remained of their dusted corpse while some retreated back into the depths of the cave.

"Not bad, it was kind of fun!" Childe laughs exasperatedly, glancing at his blue reflection upon the marred blade, "It's been a while since I last used a sword, and still haven't gone rusty either," he hands you the hilt, "Thanks for letting me use it by the way. You seriously got yourself a sick weapon."

"Keep using it for now, I think I'm a little too worn out to handle it," you say regretfully and pointed your nose towards the ceiling, "The mist hasn't disappeared so there's probably gonna be more monsters we'll encounter soon."

Childe looks up as well, "Huh I was wondering what that meant."

"By the way I've never seen anyone fight like that. Exactly what kind of place are you from?" You finally ask, "You somehow ended up in a cave, without anything to defend yourself with and it's not like you know your way out either. Are you...from another world?"

"Huh didn't think you'd draw that conclusion so quick," he comments jokingly, "Guess there's no reason to hide it anymore. Indeed I am from another world, at least, that's what I can tell so far. I've never encountered these types of monsters either."

You couldn't help but be taken aback by his honesty, "That was strangely easier than I thought...."

After escaping the cave, you introduced Childe to the wizard who lived in Cindersap forest, M. Rasmodius. He was extremely intrigued by the concept of an outlander and seemed happy to be of assistance. Since helping others was the culture of Pelican Town, you commissioned Robin to build a small cabin for him to live in temporarily. In return, Childe must accompany you back to the caves and make up for your losses. It was a mutual benefit since he had the opportunity to fight as well.

Childe befriended the townsfolk rather easily. On friday nights where everyone goes to the Saloon to enjoy their time, he would be found in the other room playing pool with the gang (Sam, Abigail and Sebastian)-- you as well when he managed to drag you along with him.

Crashes at your place when you were busy with the farm. You can bet that he would pop up suddenly midday through your window, “Can you use the door like a normal person???” But despite how much you get irritated by this habit, all bygones are bygones the moment he starts a conversation.

He sticks around as you carry your hay batches, sharing his stories. How the organization he worked in was a powerful militaristic force that had authority over many countries. But you didn't see him as a brute since he only joined for the sake of his parents, for the sake of his siblings and their dreams.

You thought of your grandfather who also once told you to pursue your dreams: live a peaceful life away from urban society. However, as long as the harbinger was with you, there wasn't much option for 'peace'.

"Tell me again why you dragged me out here? You know thatI still have a lot of work to finish back in the farm," you trekked your feet through the thick icy sheets with one hand clutching the zipper near your collarbone. It was incredibly windy in Cindersap forest and Childe happened to have convinced you to leave the comfort of your home for 'a surprise favour'. He purposely made a vague statement to draw in your curiosity but if you had refused-- well, that would have led to constant nagging on his part.

"You'll see," is what he said, it was what he told you through this whole ordeal. He lifted his chin to feel the frosty air against his face, "There's this one activity I wanted to try out. Back in Snezhnaya, I used to bring my brother to go skating out on the lakes. It's deadly freezing there so the ice is pretty thick to work on. Haven't done any of that since I joined the Fatui."

You shot him a deadpan glare, "That's why you brought me out here? Why didn't you just go by yourself?"

"Now that's cold (Y/n),” you rolled your eyes at the pun, “Can't you loosen up instead of throwing yourself in a pile of work all day?"

"It's not that I don't want to...I'm just very busy with the farm since it's the last day of the month. At least I want to do as much as I can before Spring comes."

"Haha you're right but you only live once y'know?" Childe noted happily despite your protest, "And like I said before, seize the opportunity when you see it. You never know when it will be your last."

You cocked your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Now let's get started shall we?" As you both reach the edge of the frozen lake, Childe takes a step forward ahead of you, "Have you ever gone ice skating before?"

"Yeah but..." You glanced at the glassy surface with skepticism, suddenly struck by hesitance. The thought of drowning made you retreat your steps right away, "I don't know Childe, it doesn't seem that safe."

"That's true if you're not careful enough," he pointed out, "Luckily you have me to help you with that."

"How does that work?"

He placed one foot onto the hardened lake and parts his mouth into a grin, "Watch."

In contrast to your cautious personality, Childe was considered to be more of a wildcard if anything. He loved adventure, just like you except his side often included bloodshed and the thrill that danger carries. You weren't sure if it was worth putting up with his antics or entertaining his idea of skating on thin ice, but you complied regardless. He had a way of delivering his words through that cheery voice you couldn't deny.

Prior to meeting him, life was boring. The corporate world was boring. You moved into your grandfather's farm in order to search for some form of fulfillment that Zuzu city couldn't give and you thought you did now that you had your very own farm, but slowly you began to pile more responsibilities than you could even count.

Everything you did, you did alone.

If it weren't for Childe, you wouldn't have learned the art of surfing on ocean waters. You never would have known the taste of mixing three different ice-cream flavours together despite what strange names they all had. Or what it felt like to mingle with the townspeople rather than mingling for the sake of business. Suddenly, everything became...fun.

Childe wanted to go far and wide. He was always running, so far ahead, somewhere beyond the stars as he could conquer the world to the point you might no longer reach him.

No longer reach him, huh. Curling your fingers into your palm, you renewed your courage and took a step onto the ice.

At the sound of boots tapping behind him, Childe spins around to see you wobble in your stance, nearly tipping over. He slid across to where you were and grasped your arm before you fell.

"Gotcha."

"Thanks," You sighed in relief, "Jeez, this is harder than I thought."

"Guess this is your first time then," he commented with a bit of jest, "Don't stress yourself over it too much, you'll be okay. I got you."

He carefully led you to the center, staying close in case you were to fall sideways again. You awkwardly tried to keep your legs straight, balancing on your own yet the fact that there was still water underneath struck fear into your nerve. It caused you to tremble and eventually skittered backwards.

"Haha ice skating isn't your forte isn't it?"

"I'm just getting started!"

He takes your hand in his before you could even protest, it was one of his many aspects that you found endearing-- the fact his impulse stems from genuine intentions, feelings, not giving them a second thought. The two of you glide using the soles of your shoes, he speeds up ever so slightly and the adrenaline begins to increase until there comes a rush of excitement, freedom. The stress you once had already forgotten once taking flight upon the ice.

"Look Childe! I'm actually doing it!" You couldn't help mentioning with a bit of youthful playfulness in your voice, "It's so smooth and fast! Almost like I'm flying!"

He smiles quietly from a distance, “See? I told you that you'll be fine.”

It was clear to many that the two of you were much closer than what meets the eye.

Childe began to notice the change in your aura. You were happier and much more soulful. Before you were always on the edge, cautious in contrast to his sanguine approach, he couldn't help but be caught off guard whenever you teased him. Or the sudden honesty that causes him to be flustered. By your side, he was no longer a Fatui Harbinger rather more of a puppy, adorable almost.

But when he saw that the reason you changed was because of him, it brought fear into his bones. Why? How did things get to this point? You were lost in a wonderland, ignorant to the blossom that had sprung inside of your chest.

Maybe it was better to be ignorant. Just live in the moment while it can still last.

"You're leaving?"

Standing at the gateway between the mountain cliffside and the starry sky, you call out to the man you've known in a way that carries more than what words could say. Because he left a mark in your years that could never be erased and here he was, trying to erase his existence completely.

Childe lets out a bitter chuckle, he didn't dare to face you, "I didn't expect you to catch up so quickly. You're quick-witted, comrade."

"It's (Y/n)," you corrected, trying to steady your voice so that he couldn't tell the expression you were making, "Why didn't you say anything? What makes you think that I'll just stay silent and let you go on your own way? This isn't a joke Childe! Don't act as if none of it matters to you because it sure as hell did to me."

His lips that held his usual smirk flattens into a straight line, "Even if I did, would it make a difference?"

The world stills. You knew the answer, he knew the answer, you just refused to admit it. One by one, the stars begin to collect themselves until a bridge was formed in front of him, on another day he would be enjoying the scenery alongside you. But today they would be for you alone to witness. The man who you spent your time with had slowly, regretfully, inevitably became a stranger. He was right. It wouldn't make a difference. You were already aware since the day you met him that he belonged to another world and you willingly offered to help him find a way home.

"You know, you could come with me."

Your eyes jolt open. His voice was so free of care. As if he was commenting on something so minor on a casual Sunday afternoon while accompanying you to the beach. But when you came face to face with the harbinger, his expression lackluster, you knew that he meant every word.

"Just you and me, we can travel across the world to our heart's content. I always thought you were an adventurer just like me and you know what, the farm life just doesn't suit you," Childe slowly extends his hand as an offer, for you it was a temptation, "So what do you think? Care to join me?

Your lip quivers. What he said sounded like a sweet dream that you so desperately wanted to take a bite out of. But even so, you thought about the townsfolk, your farm, your grandfather. Their images flashed in as if holding you back, chaining you to the ground, "I can't."

The answer pained you more than it did to him.

"Figures, this is your home after all," he huffs out, " Now do you understand? I can't leave my home either. If I did, heh, I think my siblings would despise me until the very end and I just don't want that. So no hard feelings, okay?"

You didn't reply.

"Don't worry. I won't pressure you if you don't want to," Childe turns back to the bridge, it was almost time, "Do what you have to do (Y/n), hate me if it makes you feel any better. You can even forget about me," he paused, renewing his resolve, "But I know I won't."

"Childe-"

You ran to grab his scarf only to have it ghost through your hands. He was relieved that he couldn't hear your voice, as he returned to Teyvat, Childe wonders what kind of expression did you have before he left? He'll never know.

---

~Xiao's Story~

The day you met Xiao...well, you weren't in the best of the best positions.

This was probably your sixth attempt trying to make it through all levels of the cave and reach the last floor. The quest had been sitting in your drawer for months.

Of course you didn't expect things to be easy, the fortune teller channel you watched every morning had yet to inform you with any good fortune and you would often bump into obstacles that would halt your progress.

But to be fair, sometimes the colourful ore would attract your attention and before you knew it, it was time to go.

So close yet so far. You dragged your feet tiredly against the ground. What time was it? Who knows. Judging by your state, you assumed it had already struck past 12 a.m.

However, today luck seems to have taken pity on you, just...slightly.

You puffed air into your cupped hands for the nth time, huddling deeper into the touch of your coat while trudging into the cave's cold climate. A little longer, any time soon, you kept telling yourself over and over but as if time was frozen, the wait felt like an eternity. Ah how much you wish to be in the comfort of your soft, fluffy bed right now. Though, merely visualizing the image only reminded how achingly freezing it was so you decided it was best to spare yourself from the details.

"I can't do this anymore..." leaning your head against the ice covered cavern, you whimpered, "I should have stayed home."

As you were about to shut your eyelids, something flashed by your peripheral vision. You darted towards the direction it came from, the light was a bright green hue against blue, could it be, "Warmth!"

It seems you jumped to conclusions too quickly. With impatience, you swung around the corner, expecting to find a heat source, only to meet something much more horrifying.

"KYAH!"

They stared straight into your eyes, those demonic eyes tainted by black and fangs that stuck out of the mouth like tusks on an elephant.

However, when the light evaporated you were able to have a better sense of sight, slowly revealing the monster's true form and the body of a human boy. He fell onto his back with a thud and you used this chance to calm yourself from the frightful encounter.

"He's...unconscious?"

You meekly crawled to where he lay and examined closely. Aside from the mask, there were various distinct features that stood out in his attire, his tattoo being one of them, imprinted in what looked like an eagle. You then realized how unsuitable his clothes were in this current situation. At least there were no injuries so far. But was that a good thing? This man practically came out of thin air as if some sorcery had been committed. Witches never left a good impression ever since they cursed your chicken coop. You were hesitant whether to help a stranger who could potentially be one of them or a creation they cultivated. What other explanation could there be?

"I can't leave him here, it's too cold."

Your gaze suddenly falls upon his covered face. The design, although intimidating at first, upon closer look was very alluring in it’s own way. You haven't stumbled upon anything like what the merchants had to offer in Pelican Town and the mask almost looked too foreign. Was he from the east? Curiosity eventually takes over and you gingerly reach for the mask, sliding it off his face.

"Eh...?" You gasp, taken aback by his striking appearance. A part of it made you feel this was no ordinary boy but that didn't mean he should be abandoned in this environment. It would be immoral to let him die in a place like this.

Before you could even make a noise, his eyes bursted awake, grabbing your wrist in a harsh grip. He used his other hand to push against your shoulder until you were instantly pinned on your back with no opening to escape. You choked a sharp sound as you stared with wide eyes. The man was akin to a beast, he had the expression to match it, like the glaring sharp gaze of wolves that roam at the mountain cliffside near Zuzu city and the ferocity of the demonic mask he once wore. You were breath taken but in a more fearful way as he continued to grip onto you tighter with the possible intent to harm.

"Speak!” He demanded, “What have you done to my powers and where have you brought me?"

In Xiao’s case, he was thrown into another world under the circumstances of fighting against one of Liyue’s unknown beasts. He was on high alert, thinking the fight was still ongoing.

You may look human but you could still be a threat. Xiao is the type to act upon instinct in the moment when something feels out of place. Like the spear he wields, he was trained to behave like one: to strike, strike down his foes without hesitation. Don't leave an opening for them to take the advantage. Xiao is a weapon and violence was what he knew best. He couldn't afford to lower his guard even for a minute.

You could say he left a pretty strong first impression to the point you were paralyzed. As he looked at your face, petrified and tense, he wavered and began to reevaluate things. Large doe-like eyes stare into his feline ones. They didn't seem to hold any sort of malice, was it possible for you to be the one who cursed him?

"Eeeeeek! I-I have no idea what you're talking about, let me go let me go!" you cried, "Please don't hurt me!"

Perhaps he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.

Xiao feels your struggle and eventually gets off to give you some space. Your reaction was understandable, he was used to it anyways. Xiao scoffed to himself, why are mortals so weak? Their strength, if compared to the adepti, was separated by a large gap (Like it always should be). Xiao kept his gaze averted to the side as you rubbed your wrist, focusing his attention elsewhere. He glanced at the vastness of the cave in front of him.

Why was he sent here? For what reason did it serve? Ever since he sealed the contract with Rex Lapis, the guardian Yaksha had never entertained the thought of leaving his country nor did he act upon it; he was far too loyal to his god to do so. But here he was, against his own will yet free from his karmic binds, stripped of his divine powers in the return of endless questions about this new found mortal-like form.

What should I do now?

Choosing not to dwell in any longer, Xiao rises to his feet and proceeds to walk the other way.

"Ah u-uhm sir, where are you going?"

If the universe wanted to test him then he'll find his own answers.

"Wait! Please wait up!"

"Tch."

Although he intended to keep going, Xiao heard you running to his direction and slowed to a halt, some mortals surely do not know their boundaries, "Hmph there's nothing timid about you. Leave me be," he demands without turning around, "Don't forget what I'm capable of."

Stay away.

"I-I know that," you retaliate weakly. Just by hearing his tone made you want to melt away and become one with the ice. He was a scary man indeed, the same one who attacked you earlier. But even so, "That doesn't mean I want you dead! If you go that way, you might freeze to death. Aren't you cold? You don't even have a coat on."

"..." Upon the mention of his predicament, his senses started to kick in. As a yaksha, Xiao wasn't able to be affected by temperature but now he felt his hands beginning to sting, trembling from it’s impact. Ah, so this is what it feels like to be cold. Still Xiao was stubborn and continued to push you away, "What happens to me has nothing to do with you. Now leave, or else."

"I-I can't do that!"

Xiao clicks his tongue in frustration. How annoying. This is why he dislikes meddling with meddlesome humans. But quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to handle your type of forwardness since most tend to back away. And so, Xiao does what he usually does, he ignores you and continues walking, eventually you'll give up on him anyway. However he hears a loud thump and whips around to see your body laying in the snow. The hours of travelling in the cave have seemed to caught up that you inevitably collapsed from exhaustion.

Knitting his evergreen brows together, Xiao lets out an irritable sigh.

...

You wake up to find the sky above your head and your coat draped over your shoulders like a blanket. Dawn was slowly rising above the distance valley, you figured it was around 4a.m in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you eventually noticed a figure sitting across, admiring the sunrise.

"Ah it's you!"

Xiao jolts ever so slightly, peeking over his bare shoulders until you could see the sun's light casted against his golden irises. Did he stay here while you were asleep? Then, that would also mean he was also the one who carried you all the way up from sixty floors below.

“You're awake,” he noted flatly, “If that's the case, then I have no reason to stay here."

Of course, that wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

You were a tenacious human being, always so insistent in dragging him away from his lonesome personality. He resides in the forest and camps there for the time being (similar to Linus since they’re both homeless lol). But you’d always run in, DAILY and sometimes for the most stupid and mundane reasons. It could either be giving him the snacks you snatched off the table since Xiao refused to participate in parties, or fancy seashells you found on the beach. You didn’t want him to miss out on all those things of course! Although he responds with irritation, it was as if his words went through your ear and then out the other. His efforts were futile (however, he was slowly warming up without realizing).

He learns how easily his body reacts in the presence of food purely because he was hungry. You bring an extra set of blankets and pillows to his campsite when the ones you gave him wore out (he didn’t ask by the way). Xiao needed help whether he liked it or not since he no longer has his powers, hence he couldn't run away. He somehow ends up moving in to live on the small islands near your farm.

Xiao doesn't understand humans very much. Just as he was unable to understand how human emotions work. He was the almighty yaksha, Adeptus Xiao and a formidable beast that killed thousands in thousands of years, at least that's what he used to be. Even now he still has yet to figure out what he was or who he was exactly without a weapon to define his existence. He was made for battle but nowadays, he found himself watering plants, chopping down trees and throwing seeds to the chickens living in your coop. How did everything escalate to this? It baffles him, how much his life changed so drastically.

Haha, you’re Xiao of course! The greatest farming assistant I could ever have.

But above all else, the one thing Xiao couldn't understand among those universal questions, is you.

"Why are you doing all this?" Finally he asked. The urging thought had been persisting at the back of his mind ever since.

You stopped on your tracks and turned to look at him, tilting your head with a complexion made curious, "What do you mean? Ah, did I do something to bother you?"

"I didn't say that," Xiao interrupts abruptly, he folded his arms across his chest and shot you a deep contemplating gaze, " You're...incomprehensible. All I did was drag you out of that cave yet why are you so kind to me? Don't you think you're extending yourself too much just because of one little deed?"

Because to him, saving a life was the norm. He does it unconditionally just like you helped him with those same intentions. Except, Xiao had been pursuing corrupted souls behind the scenes all this time and expected nothing in return. Experiencing someone's gratitude was rather new.

You shook your head, "It wasn't small to me," a satisfactory smile melting onto your face, "I'm here at this very moment, feeling the wind against my skin and smelling the scent that nature carries, these are just the few things I cherish. It's thanks to you that I can still watch over grandpa's farm, that's why I don't feel like I'm overextending myself in any way," suddenly you beam at him, "At first I thought you were a scary person. Haha. Time flies so fast, it's amazing how much can happen in between."

"Hn, you're a simpleton. But that's not a bad thing..." he points out curtly yet softly, "Do as you wish, I won't stop you so feel free to call my name whenever you need my help. I'll be there."

Xiao also finds you to be very clumsy. He couldn't leave your side even for a minute. But that was a lie. He just grew very attached to you.

When you tell him that you've been going into the mines for a quest, he tells you that you're far from capable. So he teaches you how to wield a weapon properly. Xiao was a strict teacher and he intends to keep it that way, he wouldn’t even allow you to set foot in the mines until he finds you capable enough.

You were a meek yet optimistic person, yet you were also strong-willed.

For a place that wasn't his home, he felt it was. And he found that it was all in your presence. Those peaceful hours hiding inside the barn while a storm rages outside, you sit beside him while hugging a sheep close to your chest. Xiao learns how to feed some of them, he even brings seeds for your hen house too. If you were ever short on materials, Xiao would travel to the enchanted forest behind the wizard's tower and get them for you, no matter how late it was. Though if you went by yourself, he'd deliberately go with you despite your protest.

The minute Xiao realized how much he was attached to you, it was devastating. As if the claws of his karmic debt had come back, pulling him into the shadows once more. He was an adeptus with a contract and bound by his duty, he must choose between his god who saved him from a nightmare and you, the girl he fell for, showed him that the world was indeed a beautiful place, he was stuck in an equilibrium and he felt that the binds may even tear him apart if he kept resisting.

But when did he ever have a choice?

"Where are you going Xiao?"

When he heard your voice calling his name, the yaksha willingly pulled himself to a halt. His sunset eyes narrowing from guilt before it shuts with a trembling sigh out of his mouth. Why is it that you always appear during the moments where he desperately needs to get away from you? He planned to sneak out the door, making sure his footsteps were unheard while you slept. And by the time you woke up, he didn't have to face you, he wouldn't have to say goodbye. He won't. Even if what he was currently doing said otherwise. He will never hear himself say those words.

"Xiao?"

Yet, he cannot refuse you. Not now, not ever. You were breathtaken to see a type of expression that you never thought was possible for him to make. The creases that once formed between his slender brows, the heaviness he always carried in his expression was replaced by a sense of sentimentality. Before you could register what was happening, Xiao took his step towards the porch of your house, not once did he tear away from your attention. He slides his hand beneath your jaw and affectionately against your cheek, the fondness evident in his gaze that you almost felt imprisoned by it.

"You never fail to appear in the most inconvenient of times," He gives a weak smile, a smile that makes your heart swell. Despite how much you could drown in his honesty, you couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong, “No matter how many times I’ve tried to push you away.”

You don't know him. You don't know his history and what things he committed in the past. But as if you've known this whole time, Xiao couldn't picture you leaving him for those reasons.

“You’re gentle but you don’t let others put you down. You’re kind but you don’t allow it to be your weakness. I sometimes wonder how it is possible for anyone to be so forgiving?”

"I-I don’t understand why you’re this Xiao. Is something happening?”

He won’t tell you. He doesn’t see the reason why you need to know.

You wince when something poked the side of your neck and you realized it was a tranquilizer. You looked at Xiao with dismay, his face becoming hazier until your vision darkened and could no longer hold your own weight. Xiao caught you around the waist with one arm as you fell unconscious.

"How can you be so stupid...?"

But he speaks as if those words were meant for him.

Pulling your body closer to him, Xiao chains you down into a desperate embrace. A silent scream of desperation. His forehead pressed against the bent of your shoulder and the other arm rested his hand at the center of your back. He will relish in the shape of your body, memorizing every curve both perfections and flaws. The way you fit into his arms and the pleasant smell of nature that you taught him to love, this was the only remnant he was allowed to take. Every detail, he will remember it as if clinging to the last moments of his whole world.

If he was allowed to have a desire, let him meet you again. He prayed to a god, any god-- even if it meant damaging his oath, he will accept his punishment. He prayed to each star in the sky and if he must he'll pray to the devil himself, whatever it is, he will do it for you.

As he painfully lets go, Xiao lets his hand slide off your body until the last thing he felt was the very tips of your fingers. He settles you down gently into your bed. You belong here in this peaceful world, not the one riddled with monsters.

---

~Zhongli's Story~

The Skull Cavern was considered to be the most dangerous mine of Stardew Valley. It wasn't your intention to run into any trouble, all you wanted was to test your cool new galaxy sword on some easy monsters and then be on your merry way. At first.

Just one more floor. You say, before catching an arm sticking out a pile of rocks.

"I-Is that a person?!!!"

You dug as fast as you could, any time soon the mummies would wake up and start attacking. Quick quick! Moving the last rock, you saw the face of a young man, he was asleep but alive! and undeniably attractive oh wow *lip bite*. But despite your attempts of shaking him awake, it was fruitless and the monsters weren't waiting.

Taking out two warp totems, you raised it to the ceiling and chanted a teleportation spell.

It wasn't everyday that you brought a man to your house.

But when you did, he wouldn't be from a cave, six floors down and buried in a place filled with monsters.

"And this small black device you say is some form of communicator? That certainly is intriguing, never in my years have I heard of something so advanced."

However you were beginning to think otherwise. That this man would have been from the prehistoric ages who you managed to unbury after his thousand year slumber. Zhongli sits on the couch across from you while examining your smartphone, a term he claimed had been completely foreign. You were contemplating whether you should bother Harvey despite being past his work hour and book an emergency appointment to see if this man had a special case of amnesia.

You brushed the idea away. There was so much going on and nothing made sense, for now, you decided to settle this on your own.

"Uhm Zhongli is it?" you asked nervously, "Maybe you can try giving the name of a relative or someone you know. I can use the phonebook to see if I can find their number."

“Number?” He parroted.

You blinked a few times, making sure if you heard him correctly, “Yes, number. You know? To communicate?”

"I appreciate your kind gesture," Zhongli acknowledges in a polite manner, "But that won't be necessary. This device doesn’t seem to be at a level where it can communicate with the people from my homeland."

If he was travelling then how the hell did he end up in THE Skull Cavern is what I wanna know!

“T-Then if you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

Zhongli takes this moment to think of an answer, aware that if he blurted something out it would not have translated in the way he wanted. But you so kindly invited him to your humble household that he felt it would only be proper to owe you an explanation, "I suppose a land from afar."

You sweatdropped, "Suppose?"

"Yes. Although I won't spare you the details since this is not your burden to bear, it’s quite difficult for me to try and remember exactly what happened," Zhongli took his chin into his hand, fingers almost covering his mouth, "Perhaps I would need search for clues in order to refresh my memory."

Oh no he really does have amnesia!!

"A-Actually why don't I just call the local doctor, I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a hand," you say while taking your iPhone.

"A doctor? There's no need," dismissed Zhongli, "My condition is only a minor one and I do not think I'm in a position to afford medical assistance. Besides, you have done more than enough. May you find great fortune in your years Miss (Y/n), I shall be on my way."

He pushes himself up from the couch and you watch him cross towards the door. But just when he was about to reach the space of your carpet, Zhongli pulled to an abrupt stop.

"Ah yes,” He began as if remembering something, “ Do you happen to know where the nearest Inn is located? I would need to find a place to shelter for the time being."

"..."

This was how the former god ended up being your roommate. Like Xiao, Zhongli also takes upon a human form. He needed to eat, drink and a place to sleep. He insisted that he would take the couch as well as help you with any tasks that needed to be completed during the day.

You question if Zhongli was even aware of what situation he was currently in. Answer: HE WASN'T because Zhongli is an extremely dense man. To feel embarrassed was not part of his dictionary when living with a woman.

The type to take long showers. You always find the bathroom steaming because he doesn't turn on the fan to get rid of it (but maybe you should've taught him). So when it was your turn to use the shower, the water was either lukewarm or worst case scenario, cold.

Also he somehow finds your old kettle (that your grandfather used) to brew tea even though you told him you already had a water boiler. He stated that he liked doing things the old-fashioned way, it brings him a sense of nostalgia. You couldn't understand what he meant (unless you considered that he was older than he seemed....no that can’t be it!)

Despite it all, Zhongli was incredibly polite and considerate. Tending the farm was not an easy job and you often came home with sore muscles, fatigued from running so many errands. He's knowledgeable in terms of making the best herbal mix for a soothing remedy.

You would see a warm cup, every morning before going to work and every time you come home, it was sitting on the kitchen table (if his drink had potion effects, they would be regeneration).

Gentle he was but it wasn't good for your heart.

Ever since Zhongli moved in, it became difficult to live in your own house.

There were many situations where he caused trouble despite not intending to cause disruption to your daily routine. And when he did, the repairs came out of your own pocket. One time you opened your microwave to find thick ash and burnt cinders stuck upon the walls.The entire space was a hazard and needed to be dispensed immediately since Zhongli thought that plastic-wrapped items were allowed to be microwaved. Another incident, as bizarre as it sounded, was when your vacuum cleaner zoomed out of your house...and never came back. You remembered the awkward cough he gave when you shot him a deathly glare, hence why Zhongli was not allowed to touch your high-tech devices (if you considered them high-tech) without your permission.

Even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. It was the opposite in fact. One day, all the flaws you counted suddenly became his charms. You came to find them endearing almost.

Zhongli was a handsome man. He carried himself with a distinct aura that could only be found in the rarest geodes; revealing orestones mined from the depths of a forgotten cave, sometimes in the shape of exquisite artifacts-- a type of ancient charm. Perhaps that was why people were willing to obey his every command without hesitation. Whenever Zhongli spoke, it was full of firmness and authority yet somehow deprived of arrogance. He was polite to all and does not indulge in conflict despite how tempting gossip can be in modern society. Always patient during your temperamental moments and considerate to the point you wonder if he even had any desires. He was so kind that soon enough, you couldn't help but be flustered by his presence. Forget about having a conversation, maintaining his leveled gaze was already enough of a challenge. Like staring into the sun after the morning dew. So gentle and so very comforting. But the more you linger onto the sun, it's rays will continue to set ablaze, eventually bringing you pain.

And you feared that you have grown addicted to those feelings.

Why can't he understand?

Stopping at the center of the bridge, you kept your head low while letting the anger take form into your tightened fists. The town was empty with only the sound of water flowing beneath your feet, filling the heavy air. They rippled and swayed, peaceful amongst your inner turmoil. The fact that such a miniscule attribute was able to make your blood rise was hilariously pitiful. How did you stoop to a point that even nature, the very being you've tended for a living, could bring you bitterness? Were your feelings this uncontrollable? The answer was obvious. It spiraled, violently and mercilessly as if commanded by another. There was a wave of emotions filling your heart and you could almost feel yourself drowning from the inside. If only they were as tranquil as the ones you stood upon.

"I thought I would find you here."

The voice you dreaded calls from across and you fight to keep yourself from gasping. Oblivious to it all, Zhongli proceeds to close the distance until he towered over you, looking down to your bowed head, "When you hadn't returned home without a notice, I was getting worried if something had happened. But I'm glad that wasn't the case."

Your whole face clenches.

"Is something bothering you? If you would like, we can discuss it after eating dinner. Come, I have already prepared our meal while you were gone as well as turning off the rice cooker once finished. I hope it can ease your stress since I know it can be difficult maintaining a farm like this."

"Zhongli."

He blinks hard when the sound of his name falls out of your lips. Zhongli was an experienced observer and listener, he was able to catch the glimpse of frustration that dripped from the tone you used. Relaxing his poised shoulders, Zhongli carefully asked in a reserved manner, "Have I...done something to make you upset?"

A trembled breath escaped when you breathed out. Dense. He was so dense that sometimes it made you want to crack him open.

"Tell me..." you began, "Are you also like this with other women?"

The former god sets a brief sharp pause, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm talking about the way you act, they're...giving me all these mixed signals. We've been living together for months, we even share meals together! And sometimes you would help me with the farm and when I didn't ask, you still insisted on tending to my needs when I felt sick. I just…” you trailed off, trembling ever so slightly, "It's all perfectly normal. You’re nice to everyone. I know that. I know that!"

"(Y/n)," Zhongli whispered. They sounded like a thousand needles to your heart.

"I doubt you have the intention to put me in this situation. You're a really great person Zhongli but I sometimes can't help feeling this isn't just some roommate thing you know?" closing your eyes, you thought of your past relationships, how they started and ended, "Do any of your actions mean anything to you? Do you know how it makes me feel? Or am I just overthinking this, that it was all one-sided this whole time?"

Alas the truth spills and the air stills, bringing the waves to a halt. Peace, tranquility, nothingness. That was all you wanted. That was all you heard. It was deafening.

"I see, so that's why," Zhongli mutters to himself with eyes narrowed, "There's...something I need to confess."

After several months, he tells you everything. How his memories returned, some of them were already intact. He told you about his homeland and his true identity, that he was a god that once ruled over Liyue for six centuries before giving away the gnosis.

The reason why he hadn't said anything until now was because there will be a day where Zhongli must depart and return to Teyvat. He was a god with a contract, the circumstance didn't matter, he must stay with it until the very end of time.

Through his years, Zhongli learned to cherish his finite moments. He didn't want to taint them with troubles to come. Thinking too far ahead into the future would only bring strain.

But what he didn't tell you was his true feelings. You were a sweet woman, tender and enthusiastic about agriculture, the way your feelings extend to the earth with grace whereas many others chose to trample over without hesitation, he fell deeply in love with that side of yours. You taught him many things and showed him many sides of humanity that he had never seen before. He even discovered an aspect of himself. Like breaking a geode, revealing the beauties held inside.

Zhongli couldn't look you in the eye when your expression was covered in disbelief. He thought he hid his feelings well but it seemed that he was expressing his love in subtle and subconscious ways that eventually drove you to fall for him as well. You didn't stop him when he left the bridge. He wasn't even in your house. He chose this, he chose to set you free from his heavy presence.

And as the weight started to lift from your shoulder, you sank to your knees and wept. It was cruel of him. To give you these emotions yet he could not bring himself to stay by your side. But your heart would not allow you to hate the man you love.

Things couldn't end this way. You had to say goodbye to him, see him one last time because if you didn't, these burdens will haunt you forever.

When Zhongli looked up to the sky he saw his ending drawing near.

Three days had passed since he last spoke with you and he had no plans in seeing you again. Soon, the former god will return to his rightful place. Even though he had already given his gnosis to the Cryo Archon as Liyue already began to enter a new era, it seems that his decisions weren't his to make as he was born in a world where stars ruled above the archons. Fate-- they won't allow it. He does not belong here. If there was one thing Zhongli regretted during his time in your world, it was that he couldn't leave you a good memory before taking his departure. The sight of your large glassy eyes and quivering lips when he crushed you with the truth, he sincerely believed that they would haunt him much more than it probably did to you. But perhaps things would be easier if you despised him. Because if he had stayed and you came to forgive him, he would no longer have the strength to let go.

Despite it all love was indeed a selfish creature. He couldn't help but feel resentment towards the stars for bringing you into his life in such a mockingly sweet manner. They tied him with a contract, made him vow to his own beliefs and tested them by using you-- a bystander struck between the crossfire, eventually bringing you down into the depths of his battlefield and he thought that maybe...maybe there was hope that he could bring you with him as well.

How disgraceful for a god to let the devil tempt him so.

Zhongli was thankful that you weren't beside him. Otherwise he would dance with the ugly hope of a slim chance for you to come along. This was the best choice. It was for his-- your own good.

"Zhongli!"

The arch of his lined eyes shot upwards. As if fate had decided to give him one final test, he felt your small figure crash into him from behind and your arms coming to hug around his waist, tightly and fearfully that he felt like you would be the one who would slip away instead.

"I...I made it time," you panted, burying your nose into his clothed back, "I’m so glad...I'm so glad you're still here…!"

Your cry of relief was a thunder to his ears, a reminder that he was the main cause. Zhongli, casted by solemn smile, lifts his hand to cover over yours and grasped onto them, I'm here, he wishes to say. Yet he knew they were only temporary promises, "To come all this way despite everything that has happened. You foolish girl..."

"It's your fault Zhongli, I'm a fool because I love you! It's all your fault that I have to say goodbye," You grit your teeth as the tears fell down your face until it blended into his clothes, "Take me with you. Please. Don't leave me all alone…!"

The words he wanted to say melted into a silent gasp through parted lips. Zhongli merely clenched them back together and his hand on your hand, even tighter. He won't lie to you. At the very least, let his actions speak for him where he himself could not.

Take me with you.

Don't leave me alone.

Goodbye.

If it is fated Morax...we will meet again.

"I see," letting his thoughts echo in his mind from the distant memories, the former god begins to take a new perspective upon his wisdom, "For many years, I have experienced countless farewells from the people I've come to known," Zhongli reminisced, tilting his head back with his golden eyes against night, as if searching for some sort of answer, "And yet I never thought what it must have felt like being in their position."

"Zhongli…" you trailed off, "Then don't! I may not know everything about you but it doesn't have to be this way. At least, just answer me this, will I ever see you again?"

"I'm sorry (Y/n)," he apologized and you knew the answer. He gently pries your arms off him, turning around so he could swipe the corner of your eyes dry. There was a glowing reverence in his countenance, one that he reserved for you and only you, it was the only way for him to express the feelings that run deep in his heart, "I cannot thank you enough for coming into my life. If there will be a day when I erode from your memories, I truly hope that you will find someone more suitable than I."

"That's ridiculous," defiantly, refusedly, you protest, "No one can replace you."

Zhongli laughs sadly as the white halo outlines his whole figure, signaling that there wasn't much time left. He wonders if there was anything he could do in his last moments, a small token, something, it could even be as small as a single star in the sky, "If it is fated...we will meet again."

You watch him turn transparent until he slipped from your grasp. No longer was the man, only the dust being one with the sky. They shone brilliantly but you were left in the darkness.

487 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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delimeful · 3 years ago

Text

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #spiders tw #ts logan #ts virgil #drider #helpless #super weird not to have an acronym #h #lol #i think logan deserves to be a silly little scientist. as a treat :)#my writing #writing #my fever broke yaaay #thanks for everyones patience #and well wishes!

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officialsporkintheroad · 3 years ago

Note

for the soulmate au, harry/luna!!!

(A/N: Thanks so much for sending this ask love <3 The idea of soulmate drawings jumped at me immediately because I think it's so perfect for this pairing, but it took a while to get it down the way I wanted.)

* * * * *

That Harry Potter woke up with drawings covering his arms wasn’t cause for concern in and of itself. Even the Dursleys, with their strict rules on what was normal and what wasn’t, wouldn’t throw a fit over something as natural as soulmate art. Dudley often came tumbling down the stairs shouting about the newest pink heart on the inside of his wrist or a smiley face poorly drawn on his leg, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would coo over the marks.

Sure, they’d been surprised when Harry’s first one had appeared when he was 3—his entire palm a garish sort of purple as if he’d stuck his hand straight into wet paint—but they were more likely to ignore the existence of any drawings than to get upset over them.

But these were different.

The horse tucked into the crook of his elbow was glittery white, a gold horn protruding from its head. The lake pooling at the top of his left hand was filled with mermaids. A strange-looking fairy-like-thing hovered at his shoulder.

Harry stared at them in horror for all of a minute before tugging on a long-sleeve shirt, for once grateful that wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs meant the sleeves hid his hands as well.

Uncle Vernon saw them anyway, the loose fabric sliding up Harry’s arm when he’d gone to serve breakfast, and Harry had been promptly locked back in the cupboard.

* * * * *

Harry wasn’t allowed markers. Not at home at least.

Dudley had a pen specially made for writing on skin that he used to trade messages back and forth with his soulmate, but if Harry so much as glanced at a Sharpie, Aunt Petunia would snatch it up and hide it away on the top shelf of the upper corner cabinet.

Harry had crayons—half-broken, mostly used crayons that had been one of Dudley’s birthday gifts the boy had complained about—but they didn’t leave much of a mark on his skin. Pencils scraped too much, and the writing was still too faint. At school, paints and markers were saved for art time, and Harry could usually only sneak enough time to draw a quick smile on the part of his ankle that could easily be covered by a sock.

But in the meantime, he practiced drawing. In the evenings when he was expected to sit quietly in the cupboard and bother no one, he pulled out scrap bits of paper and the worn down crayons, and he drew. Sometimes he tried to copy the broken toy soldiers lined up along his walls. Sometimes he drew the flowers from Aunt Petunia’s garden, or the little snakes that would hide among the weeds. Sometimes he drew Marge’s dogs, and sometimes he drew Marge as if she was a dog.

Sometimes, especially as he got better, if his soulmate had left him covered with drawings of dragons and birds on fire and giant sea monsters and skeletal horses, well, sometimes Harry would try his best to copy them down too. He hid them under his thin mattress, and whenever his hands hurt from weeding or he was bruised from Harry Hunting or Aunt Petunia had locked him away before dinner again, he would curl up and look at them and imagine what it would be like to be able to send drawings back. What it would be like to meet the person drawing to him.

* * * * *

When Harry turned 11 and found out about magic, he had three immediate thoughts.

I’m a wizard.

I can leave the Dursleys.

I’m going to be able to write to my soulmate.

At Diagon Alley, between wand shopping and Madam Malkins, Harry spent an hour in the magical equivalent of an office supplies shop picking out colored inks and paints and brushes to go alongside his normal school supplies. At Flourish & Blotts, he purchased the required reading and then a humongous tome on magical creatures. Because what if the things his soulmate had drawn for him were real? What if his soulmate was magic too?

* * * * *

He would have liked to start drawing the moment he got on the train, but instead he was bombarded with Ron Weasley, and then Hermione Granger, and a lost toad, and the trolley of sweets, and besides, the train was rumbling along the tracks with little jerks and twists and it wouldn’t have been good for drawing anyway.

And then there was the sorting, the feast, the castle, and by the time Harry made it up to Gryffindor tower, it was late. Still, he dug around in his trunk and pulled out the brushes and the paint, sat on his bed with the curtains pulled shut, and began. He had 11 years to make up for, after all, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time.

* * * * *

When Luna Lovegood woke up on the morning of September 2nd, there on her right leg was a beautiful painting of an outline of a castle against a moonlit sky. At her knee, a grazing unicorn. The toes of her left foot were fish—yellow-golden, swirling red and white, hot pink—and seaweed climbed up that leg. In the crook of her elbow sat a plump bird, its feathers trailing down her arm, and on each of her left fingertips, a different type of flower.

Beautiful.

Later, when she was more awake and had taken the time to look properly in the mirror, she found the words scrawled messily along her ribcage where they could be easily hidden. Where they would belong just to her instead of where everyone could see.

Hi. My name is Harry. Sorry it took so long.

* * * * *

Feel free to send me an ask <3

#Harry Potter #Luna Lovegood #soulmate au #Harry x Luna #Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood #mini fic

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lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Insatiable

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC! Age difference!!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

WARNINGS : THERES JUST WAY TOO MUCH FILTH HERE !!!!!!!!

A huge thank you for the banner to @helenazbmrskai

Chapter 6

“You sure you don’t want to take that?” Yugyeom gave me a look as i rejected the call for the umpteenth time.

“Oh..uh... Yeah.” I shrugged it off feeling exhausted.

The whole point of going out with Yugyeom was to take a break from one Jeon Jungkook but that was impossible..... with said vampire calling me every five minutes.

“So...anyways.... Mingyu was way out of line and I really wanted to apologize on behalf of the idiot. Although your bodyguard seems to have put the fear of God into him....Kid was trembling when he came home last night. “ Yugyeom chuckled.

I smiled weakly.

“Yeah...he tends to do that.” I said hoarsely.

Jungkook was the one topic I was hoping to avoid. Because having sex with him hadn’t scratched the itch the way I had thought it would.... It had merely amped my lust by a few hundred thousand times and I was ill equipped to handle it. I didn’t know what to do with myself around him and I was so fucking terrified I was going to do something awful;.

Like jump him in front of everyone.

So I’d spent the whole day trying to be aloof but it hadn’t worked very well.

Jungkook stuck close me , tossing lingering glances that made my skin heat up, , hands brushing mine way too often, eyes trained on me without any restraint

And don’t even get me started on the touching.

Hand brushing my waist when we turned a corner , fingers brushing my hair off my face when I had my hands full with the kids, an arm wrapped around my shoulder when Minhyuk had asked me out again.

And I’m not saying i didn’t love it because it felt like Christmas and my birthday had come together but.... but... I had a job to do. With kids.

It wasn’t the place to be fantasizing about how good your bodyguard’s cock had felt inside you.

“Jungkook right? Jeon Jungkook ....” Yugyeom said thoughtfully.

“Uh ...yeah...”

“Tall dude? Black hair? Looks way too intimidating and dresses like he’s just stepped off a runway?” Yugyeom prompted and I blinked.

“You know him?” I asked surprised.

Yugyeom shook his head.

“No, but I think he’s over by the bar and he’s looking at me like he wants to tear out my jugular.” He said casually.

My gaze snapped to the bar behind us and I felt my eyes widen in disbelief.

Jungkook stood leaning against the bar, eyes narrowed dangerously and I groaned.

So much for avoiding him.

“He looks pissed.” Yugyeom commented.

“I kinda ditched him.” I muttered.

“did you tell him , I’m a friend?”

“Don’t think it would have made much difference. Gimme a minute?” I whispered, and Yugyeom laughed, waving me off.

I stood up slowly , bracing myself for the interrogation I knew was coming, before turning around and walking over to him.

Jungkook’s eyes stayed trained on me as I made my way over and I felt my throat go dry at the sight of him. He hadn’t dressed for the place today, a black turtleneck and a black jacket and black slacks with a silver belt buckle. Hair tousled all over his forehead as he stared, unsmiling.

“Is this whole angel of death thing really necessary?” I whispered as soon as I reached him.” I’m sorry. I just needed to ...” stay away from you for a bit and last night was so amazing and i can’t stop thinking about it.

“ You couldn’t take a few minutes to tell me where you were going?” He asked casually and I swallowed.

“Jungkook, Yugyeom’s ...a good friend.” I muttered.

“How about you let me make that call?” He said coldly, eyes narrowed in annoyance and I felt chilled.

“I’m sorry... To be honest, I missed you. I’ve gotten used to you being around and I was going to cut the night short. I promise.”

He scoffed.

‘Really? I don’t believe you. For someone who spent the better part of a month begging for my cock, the novelty seems to have worn off pretty fast for you.” He said casually.

My head snapped up , the words stunning me into silence.

I could only gape at him.

He gave me another lazy once over.

“And it made me wonder.....did I not fuck her good enough?”

Oh, Christ.

I felt my face turn a flame red , my fingers going clammy.

“Jungkook, stop.” I whispered , glancing back at Yugyeom quickly. He was fiddling with his phone,

“What’s wrong? You need to head back? YOur boyfriend’s gonna be upset?”

I frowned.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I muttered.

Jungkook grinned.

“Right...he’s just the clown you wanted to suck off when you were younger...”

“God, what’s gotten into you?” I groaned.

Jungkook shrugged.

“I don’t like being ignored. It’s a character flaw of mine.”

I gaped at him.

“I am not ignoring you.... I... I was out with a friend....It’s been less than an hour since I saw you... I literally spent the whole day with you.” I said shrilly.

“Really? Then why’d you not pick up when I called....?” He waved his phone and I flushed, looking away.

“Because I wanted an hour with an old friend....Without anyone interrupting.” I lied.

Because you’re driving me in sane and I need an hour without you around so I can get my friggin body under control before I get arrested for public indecency.

He clenched his jaw.

“I see. “ He reached for a glass of wine on the countertop in front of him and turned around. “ Here” He held it out for me.

I took the drink, suspicious.

“Go on , then.... I won’t interrupt...” He shrugged.

I nodded, relieved.

Turning around I made to move away.

“Thought you’d be interested in a little gift I got you.... but if you’d rather spend time with the clown... I get that.”

His voice was low and deep, a drawl that made the hair on my skin stand on end.

I turned back to him, eyes narrowed.

“What gift?” I demanded.

He shrugged.

“Nevermind.”

I felt my hackles rise.

“Jungkook...”

“Are you sure.. what if that clown misunderstands... ...” he pointed a finger at my table and I glared at him.

“Stop calling him that , God..his name is yugyeom. “ I snapped.

Jungkook’s smile was positively feral.

“Don’t know .Don’t care. So, you want it? You sure ?” He asked casually.

i nodded, holding my hand out.

“Gimme .” I said quickly.

He shook his head.

“Can’t give it to your here, angel.”

I frowned , drawing my hand back.

“There’s a ladies room on the fifteenth floor. It’s being renovated ... no one goes there... Meet me there in five?”

I stared at him.

“There’s a firework show in half an hour. I don’t wanna miss it.” I protested.

Jungkook gave me a thoughtful smile.

“You wanna watch the fireworks?”

I nodded. “ Yugyeom booked it for me. I wanna see it.”

“Alright.. I’ll get you back in time for the fireworks.” He nodded, face frustratingly neutral.

“Okay..then .. and I’ll meet you there.”

“Can’t wait ...” He murmured softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restroom on the fifteenth floor was deserted like he said and looked less like the ladies room and more like a luxurious parlor. The stalls were further in and the waiting space had beautifully upholstered couches and armchairs. Ornate mirrors hung on all the walls and I found Jungkook seated on one the couches, legs spread wide as he casually browsed his phone.

I stepped in carefully , shutting the door behind me.

Jungkook looked up at me, smiling.

“Lock the door.” He said casually and I hesitated.

“Jungkook, we shouldn’t be-”

“If you need to be at the firework show , you need to stop wasting time baby...” He said firmly.

I locked the door quickly, making sure it couldn’t be opened.

I turned back around and jumped when I ran right into Jungkook, who had crept up on me.

He smiled at me.

“Hi.” He said gently.

I felt myself melt .

“Hi.” I laughed.

“Don’t like it when you ignore me.” He muttered. bending low and nipping my jaw.

I grabbed his shoulders, knees weak.

“Uh... is this the gift...?” I gasped when he bit down hard, teeth sharp on the skin and he licked the little abrasion, wet and warm.

“Not really but I’ll get to it. Before that, “ He pulled away, “ I just realized I never got to eat you out yesterday.”

The gears in my head stopped spinning.

I could only stare at him, stunned/

“But, I like to be thorough and we don’t have that kind of time right now. So I’m just gonna ask you this.....Do You regret last night?”

I blinked.

What even...? I couldn’t keep track of his thought process.

“No.. no of course not...” I said harshly.

“You wanna keep doing this?” He tilted his head, eyes boring into mine.

Only for the rest of my life.

“Yes!!” I said angrily and he chuckled.

“Okay...but angel, I don’t like it when you run around doing as you please without letting me know what you’re up to. What you did today...” He shook his head. “ That doesn’t work for me.”

I flushed.

“I said I’m sorry.” I muttered.

“But are you?” He said thoughtfully.

“what..What does that mean...?”

“Apologies don’t mean shit if you don’t back them up with actions. I’m just saying... you ready to back up your words by doing as I say?” his eyes flashed red.

I hesitated.

“What do you want me to do. ?”

“Just don’t ignore me.” He shrugged.

“Okay...” i agreed at once.

“ You can do that?” He asked with a frown.

“Uh...sure. “

He hummed.

“I’m not so sure... I think you need a little help with that.”

“Jungkook , what are you even -”

“Go lie down on the couch for me. “

I stared at him.

“Hurry up baby, your boyfriend’s waiting upstairs remember? .” He grinned.

“Please stop calling him that...” I whined, moving to the wide couch in the corner and lying down after toeing off my shoes.

. Jungkook grabbed an armchair, dragging it close to the couch. He sat down , close enough to touch and I swallowed.

Jungkook shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on the arm of the couch , near my feet.

He spread his legs and my eyes nearly popped out of my head when he began unbuckling his belt, dragging the leather out through the hoops before fiddling with the buttons on his fly.

“I was thinking of last night. Was your first time right angel?” He asked casually and I stared as I watched his hands. Long nimble fingers gripping the zipper of his slacks and yanking the metal down , revealing black briefs.

“Uh... I.. yes?” I felt my thighs clench in arousal, toes curling into the fabric of the couch.

“ I’ve been around enough women to know that I’m bigger than average. “ He sank his fingers into his briefs, hands curling around the hardened length of his arousal and I flushed when he pulled his cock out, hard and thick.

“Jungkook!” I whimpered, moving to scramble to my feet but he pressed a hand to my shoulder, pushing me back down.

“ Stay there angel.... Let me finish” He said sternly.

I pouted, not entirely sure if I liked this Jungkook. Where was the sweet man who wanted to let me call the shots?

“ This is what I’m like. “ Jungkook said , grinning as though he could read my mind “ Just because I indulged you last night, doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you walk all over me ....Running off without telling me where you went? That’s not gonna happen again angel and I’m gonna make sure of it. ” He reached out and gently gripped my chin before squeezing down enough to make me wince.

I glared at him before my eyes slipped back to his cock and my mouth watered. It looked so good, thick and hard and he was close enough for me to see the precum beading up at the slit. I wondered what it would taste like. How it would feel,

“Can I suck you off?” I asked softly, batting my lashes.

He gave me an amused look.

“No. You can’t. Anyways... Like I was saying , I know you said you were a virgin but then, you also took my fat cock like you’d been doing it all your life. “ He frowned.

Blood rushed to my face in embarrassment.

“That’s... you...” I spluttered.

“And that’s when I realized... Just because you’re a virgin, doesn’t mean you haven’t fucked yourself. “ He grinned devilishly.

I buried my face in my hands.

“Oh god...” I choked.

“Guess what I found in your room...”

My eyes snapped up to him and he was rummaging in his jacket pocket.

I shrieked when I saw a very familiar vibrator , a pale mauve in color. It wasn’t very long but it was really thick, only a hairsbreadth smaller than Jungkook.

I glared at him.

“You went through my things!!” i yelled affronted.

He rolled his eyes.

“Hardly. It was literally on your bed when I went looking for you in the evening because I couldn’t fucking find you.. “ He snapped.

I shut my mouth.

“Okay...fine ..yeah I use sex toys. Big deal.” I muttered.

He shook his head.

“No it isn’t. Which is why I want you to show me. “ He leaned back, casually wrapping a hand around his cock. I stared at him as he casually began stroking the hard length of his dick, after licking his palms.

Did he really think I was too shy to put on a show?

Boy was he in for a surprise.

Smiling evilly, I pulled my dress up quickly, hooking my thumbs into my panties and yanking them down quickly, kicking them off.

I gave him a smile.

“Can I turn around? You’ll have a better view.” I smirked.

His eyebrows shot up.

“Go ahead, princess. Better impress me.”

I rolled my eyes at that.

Sitting up , I sat back down against the cushioned arm rest, keeping my eyes trained on his and I bent my knees and spread my legs, utterly shameless because well... because I had always liked the idea of being watched.

Jungkook wasn’t shy by any standards and his gaze flitted right between my legs without any hesitation.

“Pretty.” He murmured gently and I fought the rush of embarrassment. I’d started this and I was going to see through it.

“What am I supposed to get turned on by?” I asked innocently running my fore and middle finger up andn down my slit gently. I was really fucking wet on the inside but he couldn’t know that.

And just for good measure, I let my gaze drop to his cock and back up, looking bored.

His eyes narrowed.

“How about the way I filled your sloppy little cunt last night? Remember that? Remember how fucking wet you got, just from me licking your nipples....?” He smiled.

I felt my throat go dry and my pussy clenched, damp wetness seeping out and coating my hand and my fingers slipped right in before I could do anything about it.

Jungkook laughed, eyes trained where my fingers had disappeared.

He kept his hands on his cock and leaned in closer, kissing the edge of my earlobe.

“Thought so. “ He whispered right into my ears, :” My horny little slut. Bet you walk around all day with that cunt dripping wet and ready. Bet I could fuck into you with ease, anytime I want...just flip that skirt up, push your panties aside and drive my cock into you, yeah? “ He licked a stripe up my cheeks and I shuddered, pumping my fingers into my pussy faster, “ Virgin..??? what a fucking joke... You are the farthest thing from a virgin my sweet little whore...”

“Jungkook...” I whimpered and he gripped my wrists, stilling my fingers and pulling them out. He pulled my hand closer, right up to his mouth and I groaned when he wrapped his lips around the wet and messy digits, licking up all the wetness there.

“Sweet and spicy , just like I thought...” He directed my fingers back down between my fingers...” Get more of that wetness for me baby...want you to jerk me off with that hot slick you have dripping between your thighs...”

:” On your knees.” He prompted and I sank down in front of him. “Jerk me off, baby...Make me feel good...” He whispered, spreading his legs and I wrapped shaky hands around his cock. I swallowed , gazing at him , licking my lips as I stroked his dick, faster. He took one of my hands and directed them down to his balls.

“Like this... This makes me feel good..”He whispered, showing me just how he liked to be touched .I nodded, following his lead and speeding up my movements, gripping a little tighter, using my thumb to trace circles on the head, rubbing the wetness around his slit and the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He groaned and shuddered a little. And then he leaned forward, gripping my chin.

“ I want you to get on my lap now.... and then I’m gonna cum inside you “

I whimpered, already scrambling to my feet but before I could get on him, he gripped my waists.

“ Let me finish, angel.I’m gonna fill you up with my cum and then I’m gonna stick this , “ He held the vibrator up, “ inside you . If you can keep your slutty little pussy tight enough for me, keep this thing and my cum inside you till tonight...maybe you’ll get your gift. “

I stared at him, my jaw coming unhinged.

What.

WHAT.

He pulled me closer, maneuvering me onto his lap and I swallowed.

“I’m not... I can’t..” I whispered.

“Sure you can.. I believe you. But if you don’t want to.” His gaze softened. “ We can forget all about it.”

I bit my lips, staring into his gorgeous face and and really, it was a no brainer. I wasn’t going to say no to Jeon Jungkook. It was just not going to happen.

I spread my thighs and he grabbed his cock, tracing the tip on my slit.

“Ready?”

I nodded, sinking down on the hard length easily. My breath caught , fingers curling into his shoulders as I swallowed the whimper that threatened. God he was so fucking big inside me. So hard and real and good and I wanted to sit on his cock forever. Wanted to stay locked in a room with him forever, just fucking and teasing and fucking again and only stopping to shower or eat.

“Don’t cum.” He said gently.” You don’t get to cum till I tell you to. You understand baby?”

I whimpered as he fucked into me just once or twice. Warm wetness flooded my insides and I clutched his shoulders, burying my face there as he groaned, fucking me full of his release.

He grabbed the vibrator from the couch and I swallowed when he brought it down to my entrance.

“Ready baby? Gonna pull my cock out and put this in.....Need to you clench down on it and keep my cum in... Don’t make a mess alright?” He kissed my cheeks sweetly, the affectionate gesture a complete contrast to his filthy words.

I did make a mess...

A little bit and the vibrator was thick enough to stay lodged in, and I felt my eyes roll back in my head as he pushed it in fully.

“You okay?” He whispered, kissing me softly before running his palms up and down my thighs. “Gonna help you put your panties on, baby. okay? keep your pussy clenched for me. ”

I nodded weakly, trying to keep my muscles clamped around the hard length of the toy inside me as he helped slip my bikini briefs back up my thighs.

“You okay?”

I nodded.

“Good. Let’s go see those fireworks, shall we?” He grinned devilishly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook stood leaning against the wall of the rooftop restaurant , arms crossed as he watched her, a smile playing around his lips as he watched her squirm, shifting her weight from on thigh to the other as she tried to sit on the hard backed chair, her eyes glassy and unfocused as the Kim vampire talked to her.

Dude didn’t seem to realize that she was so out of it she probably didn’t understand a word he was saying.

He stayed in the shadows because the front of his thighs was stained with cum, a little bit of white streaks, stark against the black of his slacks. She had let a little of it spill out of her when he’d pulled out...which was a little sloppy of her and usually, Jungkook would punish something like that in a partner but...well because it was the first time he would just let it pass. Besides, he was sure she would improve with time.

He trained his eyes back to her hips and his lips quirked when gripped she armrest, shivering a bit.

This felt better, he thought.

Watching her with other men was easier when he knew that he was the one on her mind. Knew that all she could think about was keeping his cum inside her, the hardness of the toy a reminder that he was the one she was trying to please and impress.

He slipped a hand inside his pocket, playing with the tiny little remote .

Should he?

Would it be too much?

He smirked.

Only one way to find out.

He thumbed the small knob at the top of the remote, eyes trained on her .

The moment he flipped it on , at the smallest setting possible, she went completely still.

And he wondered how it felt, the electric vibrations of the toy against her insides...he wished he could see it...she her pussy spread out for him, pink and wet and swollen and wrecked.... God, the things he wanted to do to her.

It annoyed him a bit, how shamelessly she’s spread her legs on that couch, let him see the pink of her cunt without an ounce of shame .....annoyed him because he wasn’t sure if it was for him or because it was what she was like....

Annoyed him because if it wasn’t for just him.... would she do it for other too?

He couldn’t stomach the idea of it.

That pretty pink pussy, so wet and wanting...he wanted it all for himself . He wanted her legs spread out on his bed, her arms tied to the fucking bedposts so he could show her just how dangerous he could be when he wanted to....

That just because he’d let her take the lead didn’t mean he would settle for anything less than her complete submission.

Smiling, he turned the vibrations up a little bit, smirking as he watched her.

Sera gripped the armrest gently, raising her hips off the chair a bit and turning around slowly to stare right at him.

He grinned wide, relishing the shocked desperation on her face. He pushed away from the wall, sauntering over to her slowly till he was right behind her.

“Doing okay? baby?” He whispered gently for her ears only.

“Don’t do this to me.” She said softly, nails digging indents into her part as she clenched her fists , resting her hands on her knees.

He hummed.

Poor baby, he thought fondly. . When this night was over he would shower her with kisses. Giver all the affection. Cuddle the fuck out of her, brush her hair back and make her feel so, so , good.

But the night was far from over.

He glanced at her companion.

Yugyeom gave him a smile and nod, went back to talking about art or something.

Sera had her eyes fixed straight ahead, glassy and unfocused.

He leaned over to whisper into her ear.

“Don’t forget...You cannot cum.”

And then he sauntered back over to his place near the wall, before slipping his fingers into his jacket and turning up the tempo for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Was fun catching up, Sera... I’ll text you, yeah?” Yugyeom gave me a light hug and I stared at him, slightly teary eyes and about a second away from collapsing into a heap on the floor.

I was sore and tired and a little out of my mind. The fireworks had lasted fifteen minutes.

It had felt like a year.

And I hadn’t even watched them because I had kept my eyes screwed shut, concentrating only on not cumming, because if I did, not only would I literally drip all over the chair , but I would likely scream loud enough to wake the dead.

Jungkook had turned the toy off when the show ended but it had done nothing for me...in fact it felt worse because the lack of stimulation was even worse than the steady thrum of the toy against my walls.

Jungkook looked entirely unaffected as he watched me bid good bye to Yugyeom and it was only when he had driven away that he lightly took my arm.

“You okay baby?” He gave a me a slow smile and I glared at him through wet lashes.

“I won’t go anywhere without you again. I promise. Please just get this out of me.”

He cooed, pulling me into a hug.

“Alright angel. I believe you. Come on...”

He led me to the large black Palisade , grabbing the keys from the valet.

“Get in the back seat.” He prompted.

I nodded, too out of it to even question it. I climbed into the seats and sat down, whimpering when the toy moved inside me, shifting in deeper. My clothes were damp , almost soaking wet and my thighs trembled.

He glanced at me.

“Can you hold on till we get home?” He asked gently.

I stared at him, unseeing. Tears filled my eyes and spilled over.

“Please.” Was all I could get out.

“Fuck, okay baby. Hang on.”

Jungkook drove quickly, pulling out of the hotel premises and into the road. But instead of taking the left like he usually did, he took a U turn, picking a side road that led away from the city’s bustle .

I gripped the seats as he drove in further away from the crowded city light , only blinking when he took a right into secluded side road, empty except for us.

I stared in confusion as he parked the car , turned off all the lights in the car. I watched him climb out of the front seat, slamming his door shut before prying mine open.

“Lay back for me baby. Up against the door.” He said gently. And then when I didn’t move he climbed, in all but lifting me up and settling me down till, I was leaning against the door, staring down at him.

He didn’t waste any time, spreading my legs, and pulling my panties off before pushing my knees up and apart.

“Gonna eat you out.” He growled and my eyes flew open, the first pang of lucidity hitting me.

“Wha-Wait...your...there’s...inside, there’s....” I couldn’t even say it.

“My cum? Yeah... i know my cum’s inside there...” Jungkook laughed, fingers gripping the base of the vibrating and twisting it just a little bit. “ i know angel, and now I’m gonna lick my cum out of your sopping wet pussy..”

Jungkook pulled the vibrator out of me and I sobbed at the gush of wetness that dripped out of me. But it didn’t spill, because he chased the wetness with his tongue, curling the hard length of it inside me, scooping up every last drop of the filthy mess inside me, taking it all into his hot, wet mouth .

He hummed a little before pressing a thumb to my clit, rubbing the nub till I began quivering already way too overstimulated to experience anything but a throbbing pain disguised as pleasure. I stared at him , vision swimming as he crawled to his knees on the back seat, head bowed because of the car’s ceiling and I watched him fumble with his belt, pulling out his cock and lining it up against my entrance.

He drove straight in, without any hesitation, leaning over me till his face was just a little away from mine, staring down at me, cheeks a little puffed. He fucked into me with a force that shook the car on its wheels, the large vehicle somehow shaking like a leaf from how hard he thrust into me. I felt like my body was on fire, breath getting punched out of me with every thrust of his cock inside me and I could only whimper , fingers curling and uncurling on the seat as I rode the high of being fucked into incoherency.

Jungkook grunted, hipped my waist hard used one hand to rub my clit harshly.

And then he bought his other hand up to slip two fingers into my mouth, prompting me to open my mouth. The digits slipped in , rubbing the flat of my tongue before pulling out.

I stared wordlessly, as his fingers slipped down to cup my jaw, squeezing till I opened my mouth wide. I stuck my tongue out instinctively and he groaned.

Jungkook gave me cheeky little wink, eyes flashing red before he opened his mouth, spitting the wet mess of his cum and my juices right onto my tongue just as he pulled back and drove into me, his cock going so deep I saw actual fireworks.

I went completely still, the sheer filthiness' of the act and the force of his thrust driving me straight over the edge , even as he groaned and kissed me full on the lips, tongue swooping in to swirl the mess on my tongue all over, his fingers gripping my hair as he fucked me harder, chasing his own pleasure now.

My body hummed, exhausted, drained, completely wrung out and wrecked.

I went limp as he gave one last thrust, spilling into me again.

He was panting against my neck as he came down from his high and I raised a shaky hand to gently stroke the back of his head as he shuddered against me.

When he pulled back to stare at me, brushing my damp hair off my face he had a smile on his face.

“Did you enjoy the fireworks baby?” He whispered.

It took me two whole minutes to even remember what he was talking about.

Author’s note :

Jungkook sure knows how to get her attention back on him doesn’t he?

@ladyartemesia @veronawrites @alpaca1612 @bonyg @unseejuice21 @sppvjj @ggukkieland @tae-by-tae @blr1004 @yoongichild @stussyjeon @jellybearo @sumzysworld @carolsummerlove

@bunniechoon

@preciouschimine

#jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jungkook vampire au #bts vampire au #jungkook fanfic #bts fics #bts fanfics #bts smut #bts au #bts smut fic #bts fanfic #bts jungkook

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bokettochild · 3 years ago

Note

Ooh for a fluff piece you should do Hyrule and Warriors and something with claustrophobia (although that has the potential for angst real fast so feel free to ignore me)

Oops, I think my hand slipped.....

(Sorry I didn't get to this for so long, I've been crazy busy and wasn't sure how to approach writing angst until people apparently started crying at my attempt at crack :)

Glass.

Glass walls and a glass floor. A cork ceiling and too little air, too little space to breathe, too little space to function.

Hyrule’s breath hitches again with a silent whimper, his glow fading slowly with every second spent inside of his prison. Outside, he can hear the reverberating shouts of the others, fear and worry in their voices as they call out, likely shouting for him, looking and worrying and screaming in concern.

‘I’m right here!’ He wants to call back, wants to wail to the glass walls that press closer and closer around him. ‘Guys, I’m here, let me out!’ But they won’t hear. They won’t hear his tiny voice, especially not when it’s trapped inside this glass prison.

“Any sign?” The vet’s voice is strained and desperate, violet eyes flickering with fear as they dart from one tired Hero of Courage to another. “He’s got to be here somewhere!”

“Nothing.” There are tears in Sky’s eyes, and even if he’s clearly trying to be strong for the others there’s a heavy slump to his shoulders as if the weight of all of their problems hangs from them. “Twilight and I looked all over, his trail just...ends...”

“He’s got to be somewhere!” Wind protests, voice breaking and fists clenching as the sailor looks over each of them, fear and worry in the kid’s eyes as he stubbornly denies the report Twilight gently gives the rest of them.

It’s not a pretty sight.

Hyrule had only wandered off for a minute while they’d all freshened up in the stream near their camp, but that was all the time needed for him to disappear, tracks ending suddenly and no sign of him, not even a droplet of blood or a broken blade of grass left behind for them to track him with. It was Four who noticed, and while jokes and laughter had sounded as they all teased each other about the Traveler getting lost, the jokes had faded when Twilight had come back, eyes shining with worry as he informed them of Hyrule’s lack of a trail.

All mirth had died then, and eight dripping heroes had abandoned all save their weapons to search for their brother. Their cheeks redden in the cooling night air, Four sneezing occasionally as he pulls his tunic over his head while they speak. None of the others bother, standing about in all states of dress as they consider what to do.

“We’ve searched everything within two miles.” Wild murmurs pensively. “And there’s only one trail, even Hyrule can’t cover his tracks so well that Twilight can’t find him.”

“But I can’t find him, Cub.” Twilight’s voice is almost a whine, eyes pained as the rancher sits with his head in his hands. “There’s no signs! It’s like he just, vanished!”

Time’s heavy hand comes to rest on his protégé's shoulders, rubbing gently over them in an attempt at comfort that Twilight shows no interest in accepting.

They’re worn, Warriors sighs to himself. His brothers have been pushing themselves for weeks and today was meant to be a day of rest and rejuvenation beside the river. But here they sit, worry carving lines across the faces of even their youngest, shoulders drawn up close to ears or slumped in resignation. It’s been hours, Hyrule should be back by now.

Sky’s tired gaze meets his own over the heads of the younger heroes, there’s determination fighting against reassignment inside of sapphire blue, but Sky forces a weak smile for his sake, silent words passing between the two before both nod in finality. “There’s no sign-”

“We know that Sky!” The vet snaps, hands buried in his still dripping hair. “Twilight, you have your things, right?” The vet asks pointedly, breath hitching and coming in short little bursts as he looks up to the rancher.

Twilight nods, dropping one hand to tug at something hidden under his collar “Yeah.”

“Does Hyrule has any items that let him fly? Oh Nayru! I should have asked him!” The vet’s panicking now, and it’s agitating the younger heroes as his feet tap nervously at the ground, hands shaking as they run repeatedly through his bangs and tap against his thighs.

Wind’s worrying at the hem of his tunic and Wild scratches at his scars, and Warriors has no doubt that if Four wasn’t shivering and wrapping himself in his arms that the smithy would also be fidgeting nervously.

Sky sighs heavily, grabbing his sailcloth from the ground and wrapping it around the smithy’s shoulders carefully. “Like I said, there’s no sign so far. But we have to trust in Hyrule’s abilities. The traveler’s a tough egg, he doesn’t break easily and he knows what he’s doing in a forest, especially a dangerous one.” The Skyloftian shoots Legend a pointed glance, cutting off the young veteran before he can start fussing again. “It’s getting dark and we won’t be able to see, and if we’re too loud and keep disturbing the forest, we’ll only alert any monsters that might be around here to our presence. We’ll make camp here for the night and keep looking in the morning, after everyone has a warm meal.”

“He’s out there!” Legend insists.

“And he’s strong. I can’t help Hyrule right now, none of us can, not in this darkness. But I can make sure you all rest and get something to eat.” Sky’s voice gentles as he lays a hand on Legend’s bare shoulder. “We’ll find him, Bun, have a little faith in the traveler.”

The vet looks instants away from protesting, from shouting something harsh that he probably doesn’t mean. He’s worried, they all are, but Legend responds worst of all of them to injury or illness, and his protégé going missing doesn’t seem to be an exception.

It’s Time’s voice that cuts through the tension, face stern as he meets the veteran’s eyes. “Rest. We’re no good to Hyrule if we can’t walk a straight line. Cub,” Wild’s ears prick forwards, attentive and eager for orders. The little soldier shows his training, even though he might not remember it; eager for a task to complete to distract from the tension, needing a job to focus on instead of his own spiraling thoughts. It draws a tiny smile to Warriors’ face as he watches. “Could you mix up something warm for everyone? We’ll eat and head to bed, Sky and I can take first watch, Warriors and Wild will have second,” Always best to put the two war heroes together on second watch, less chance of waking the others with their nightmares. “And Twilight and Four can take second.”

Again, Legend looks like he might protest, but their leader fixes him with a stern look. “Vet, try to sleep, please.”

Little chance of that, he muses, watching as the vet huffs and kicks at the dirt, Legend’s a worrier, even if he would never admit it, and if anyone’s going to be up all night long fussing and fidgeting, it’ll be him. What Warriors wouldn’t give to pull Ravio along just this once so that the merchant can calm their friend, he doesn’t know how he does it, but Ravio and Hyrule both have a magic touch when dealing with the ornery teenager.

“Help me get Four settled.” Sky nudges Legend’s shoulder gently. “But get dressed first.”

Tasks. That’s right, give everyone something to do to take their mind off of worrying and running wild with imaginings that will only fuel anxiety and nightmares.

“Wind,” The sailor turns to him with pinched brows, but the kid calms significantly at the sound of his captain voice. “How about you and Twilight gather some wood for a fire? Time, will you scout the borders with me while the others prep camp?”

Mentor and protégé both nod; taking the orders that come easily to his mind, the rancher pulling on his wolf pelt and melting into the forest with Wind at his heels, and Time grabbing his sword and shield and coming to follow at his side.

“Thanks for stepping up.” The older man hums, gaze strained but warm as he offers a small quirk of the lips. “You and Sky both.”

He claps the other man on the shoulder, thankful in part that Time hasn’t donned his heavy armor, thus allowing him to avoid destroying his knuckles. “That’s my job, Sprout. Besides, you had your hands full with a sad puppy.”

Time shakes his head with a soft chuckle, but Warriors counts it as a win.

If Legend was bad the night Hyrule went missing, he’s terrible when the portal sweeps over them midway through their attempts to find his protégé, and the vet’s full-on panicking once they’ve all stopped feeling woozy and sick. He’s not the only one; Wind is almost crying, the poor kids so overwhelmed, and Wild’s agitated behavior has spiked to a full blown manic as he investigates the land around them.

It’s all the three eldest heroes can do to try and keep the younger ones calm, and while Twilight tags along with Wild to scout the area, Time bundles up a shivering and sneezing Four into his arms with a soft hum, hands dragging through the smithy’s long hair carefully.

“Cold?” He calls over to the two.

Time nods. “Probably.”

They should have taken more care to dry off before starting their search.

While Sky attempts to calm Legend, simultaneously holding Wind close to himself and offering one of his Big Brother Hugs to the sailor, Warriors takes care to check their things over and make sure nothing has been left behind.

Wild’s things are nearly always in his slate. Twilight and Time have their bags on hand, but the younger ones and Sky all have plenty to ensure is still in order, and he makes extra sure to check that the potions and fairies they have are all in order and that the bottle haven’t broken during the tumbling of the switch.

There’s light again.

Hyrule whimpers as it floods over him, tucking himself closer to the base of the bottle as large hands rummage around.

His glass prison tilts and swings, but the traveler can only tumble around within, pained hisses escaping him as he fights nausea that he can only assume is from some kind of switch.

It’s Warriors’ blue gloved hand that has his bottle, and hope flutters softly alongside iridescent wings as Hyrule silently prays that the captain will open it. They’ve been looking for him, right? Maybe Warriors figured out his mistake! Maybe he realized that Hyrule isn’t your average healing fairy and has decided to let him go again!

Oh, please let it be so! He won’t burn the captain’s bug-net after all if the man will just let him out!!!

The bottle settles again, and a blue gloved hand withdraws, leaving Hyrule lying on the floor of his bottle, the glass walls and stuffy air of the bag pressing in around him as another miserable whimper escapes him.

The bag he’s trapped in is flipped closed, and he’s plunged again into darkness.

Someone get a fairy!” Legend shrieks, the vet’s panic over the last few hours heightened as his blood soaked hands press against the wound in Time’s side.

Twilight’s face is pale from where he sits supporting his mentor’s head, blood splattering his face and Time’s own as the older man chokes and wheezes, blood bubbling up from between his lips as Legend and Four both work like mad-men to try and tend their leader’s wounds.

It was a freak attack. No one saw it coming, not with how out of it they all were, and there was no time to stop it when the hinox had come rumbling through the forest with ‘blins scurrying about at its feet.

As per Legend and Warriors’ instructions, the heroes had worked to bring down the smaller enemies first, slashing and skewering while the black blood of their enemies gushed out over their blades and darting forms. The ‘blins are hard to beat, as are all the black blooded monsters, but it's become a struggle they’re accustomed too, and the heroes each dart in and out of the battle with the sort of grace of people that are accustomed to battling together and against dangers of all sort.

There’s a flaw in the system though, as they’re short one member, and while Legend and Hyrule usually fight back-to-back, with Four and Wind close at hand, the traveler is gone, and it throws off his battle partners considerably.

Time was only just in time to prevent Wind and Legend both from being axed, but the wound l=that gushes blood from his side now had been the price.

“Fairy!” Four shouts out again. “Now!”

He blinks awake, the blurriness of his vision fogging his mind too, but not so much that he doesn’t register the request this time. Gloved hands fumble with the buckles of his bag, and he’s sweating and breathing harshly with worry as he rips the straps aside and grabs the first bottle he sees. Red liquid glitters back at him and he huffs a grunt out, handing it off to Wind and digging back into his bag.

Thank Hylia he and Four had gone fairy hunting in the last world they’d been in, he’s only got the one fairy, but it should be enough.

Faint pink glimmers in his jar, no longer bright and flittering, but he has to pray it’ll be enough to save Time. His fingers scrabble for the cork, tears pricking at his eyes and burning as he does his best to force them back.

Help Time.

Calm the others.

Break down and cry later.

The cork pops free, and the fairy bumbles sluggishly towards the mouth of the jar.

“Help!” He wheezes, glancing at where Legend and Four have started preforming CPR as tears stream openly down Twilight’s face, the rancher clutching his mentor’s hand tight enough to break bones as he watches the two replacement healers attempt to preserve the ever-fading breath of the man in his arms.

The fairy's wings flit softly as it launches from the mouth of the jar. Its path is sluggish and crooked, but soft glimmering dust flutters from its wings all the same, sprinkling over the gushing wound and slowing the flow of blood. Four leans back to spit out some blood that’s bubbled up into his mouth while he was pushing air into their leader’s lungs, and a stuttering cough breaks the frenzied silence as Time’s eyes flicker. The fairy circles a second time, color returning to Time’s face as raw and tender flesh takes the place of an open wound. There’s no time for a third pass, however, as the fairy’s wings stutter to a halt, pink glow fading as it drops to the earth.

The others are too busy with Time to notice, Wind practically shoving the red potion down the man’s throat while Legend and Four start wrapping the wound in their leader’s side. Only Warriors has seen the fairy fall, and panic lances through his heart again.

Fairies aren’t supposed to collapse after healing someone; they’re supposed to fly away. But this fairy only weakly attempts to rise again, and while the other fuss over the lesser injuries while Legend scolds Time, the captain turns his attention to the fading pink light that blinks on and off in the tall grass.

The fairy shivers in his hands as he gently scoops it up, but when he raises it to eyes level to look at it properly, he freezes.

Tousled brown hair, drenched in sweat, flops over lidden golden eyes. Sure, there six tiny eyes to look at, but the light in them, though faded, is familiar. Same as the freckles that dust drawn cheeks and the tiny green and brown tunic, the shrunken boots the-

“Hyrule?” His voice is soft and disbelieving, too hushed to be heard by the others as they continue to worry over the old man. But the tiny figure in his hands stirs, ever so slightly, golden eyes blinking open as a weak smile meets his gaze.

“W-” The single sound escaped before the fairy stutters in his hands, lights blinking out for half of a second as Hyrule coughs and wheezes.

“Hang on!” Again, he’s digging in his bag, guilt and utter horror filling him as realization hits.

He put Hyrule in a bottle. A bottle that has sat in his bag for days. A bottle that is closed and sealed and-

The captain’s breath stutters as his fingers find the vial of green potion. Eyes glassy as he lifts it to the fading light in his hands, and while Hyrule sips slowly at the vial that’s raised to his lips, it’s all that the soldier can do to not break down crying right then and there.

He locked Hyrule in a bottle!

Tiny wings flutter in his hold as Hyrule pulls himself up to grasp the vial better, but the captain’s so lost in his head he can only stare, unseeing, as the fairy downs the rest of the vial, despite the thing being bigger than himself. The pink glow that signifies a healing fairy stutters back to a more radiant bloom, wings fluttering lightly as Hyrule shakes out his limbs with a wince.

“Thank you for freeing me.” The traveler’s tiny voice chirps, eyes pained but warm as they all stare up at him, and a single tear escapes from the captain at the words.

He doesn’t really think, just gently plucks the fairy up and settles him in a fold of his scarf before jumping to his feet and striding away into the forest. Sky’s voice calls after him, but he ignores it, instead heading for the nearest bunch of trees.

He’s not sure why he brought Hyrule along, but he also knows he couldn’t just leave the fairy hero back in the camp with no one to watch over him, so even as he fights back the tears that well in his eyes and the pain that blossoms in his heart and the sensation of too small- too tight- trapped- glass- trapped-

“Warriors!” The sharp peal of Hyrule’s voice cuts him out of his thoughts. He doesn’t know when he’d fallen to his knees or when his hands had risen up to clutch his hair. It hurts how hard he’s pulling, and it scares him that he hadn’t even felt it. “Hey!” The voice continues, Hyrule fluttering, still weak, only inches from his face, concern glimmering in glimmering golden eyes. “Hey listen! Wars? Can you hear me? Wars?”

“S-sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Hyrule dismissed the apology, and it draws a wet laugh from the captain as he watches the still stuttering wings beating with a speed to rival a hummingbird, Hyrule’s drawn frame looking even paler and thinner right now than it had when they’d first met him.

“I should be asking you that, kid.” He chokes out. He’d locked this kid in a bottle for days! He’d never known it and if Time hadn’t been dying, who knows how long it would have taken him to open it!

Hyrule’s smile is drawn as his wings stutter to a stop again, the traveler falling into Warriors’ lap as the captain starts forwards as if to catch him. Muttered words sound through the air and then Hyrule, properly sized but still pale and thin and painfully still is nestled against his chest. “I’m exhausted and hungry, but I’m out.” The kid breathes, eyes fluttering as a soft breeze ruffles his sweat soaked hair. “I’m out and that’s all I could ask for right now.”

He doesn’t even think as he wraps his arms around the kid, burying his nose in the damp curls and never minding the fact that they are rank with sweat and fear. It’s Hyrule, and he’s safe, and while Legend is probably going to murder him for trapping the poor kid for three whole days, at least he knows that the little one is alright.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled as he murmurs into the curls. “I know how bottles suck, if I’d’ve known it was you I would have never-” His voice hitches with a sob as he tugs the kid closer, weeping as Hyrule’s gentle hands weakly pat the only thing they can reach within his tight hug, his chest.

“You didn’t know.” Hyrule rasps softly. “But I’m burning your bug-net when I have the energy.”

“Please.” Comes the strangled sob. “Oh goddesses, Rule, I’m so sorry!” The gentle hands move up to wipe away his tears but it only brings them flooding down harder. “Goddesses, I locked you in a bottle! You could’ve been in there forever and I wouldn’t have known! I wouldn’t have checked! I would’ve-”

Left him there. His mind supplies. He would have left Hyrule in a glass bottle where no one could find him, where his shrieks and screams and pleas for help wouldn’t have made a difference to anything or anyone, not when the giant beings that trapped him were unaware or uncaring of his fate, not when he was there to serve a purpose, not when he was there to be used like an item and supply power to those who don’t have enough themselves.

A talisman. I trophy. A tool so that they could do what they needed.

He’s been there. He’s been in that bottle, used like a tool, supplying power to beings so much larger than himself. He’s been in that bottle and left to sit while his friends call his name, while Mask and Tune and Ravio and Impa and Marin and Midna and- and-

“Hush.” Hyrule coos softly, voice hoarse, no doubt from many a scream and wail in hopes of catching their attention, of gaining freedom. “Sush, you’re okay. I’m okay, we’re both okay and Time will be okay.” Rough pads scrape across his cheeks and gently rub his ears. “I got you Wars, I got you.”

And Hyrule does have him, holds him despite being the one in Warriors’ lap, until the others come wandering over and the traveler is scooped from his arms by Sky, who hugs the youngster with tears pouring down his face and voice caught in his throat.

His tears go unnoticed as they all head back, and the instant they reach camp Legend is springing forwards with worry glittering in his eyes as he takes the traveler’s face in his hands, disbelief and shock and hurt and hope and a thousand other emotions swarming in golden violet as Legend gently touches the traveler’s brow with his own, crystal tears leaking out slowly as a tiny smile pulls at the vet’s face.

It only lasts a minute, but then Sky and Legend are fussing over Hyrule, checking him over and clucking their tongues like a couple of mother cuckoos as Wild springs towards the fire, eyes flashing indignantly at the sight of Hyrule’s thin frame, something he’d worked so hard to mend.

“Oh, ‘Rulie, thank Din you’re back!” Legend sighs, cupping the kids face gently in his hands as golden eyes flicker up at the vet with a smile. “Wherever where you? We nearly lost our minds with worry!”

“He was trapped by a monster.” The words roll off of his tongue bitterly as Hyrule frowns up at him, but Legend and Sky are too busy fussing to notice and Hyrule isn’t given a chance to correct anything as they check again for any injuries.

Warriors draws away, leaving Hyrule wrapped in his scarf as he sits on the edge of camp, head aching from tears shed and mind blank in the wake of them. He’s too tired to join in the fuss and celebration as Time sits up again with a groan and Hyrule is spoon-fed soup by a murmuring Sky. He’s tired. He’s cold, and he feels utterly empty.

At least he’s not in a bottle.

The thought sends shivers through him as he curls in on himself, an outlier to the bustle of the camp, free now to descend into the madness of his broken mind.

#warriors angst #idiot writes angst #sapphic loser16 my beloved #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu time #lu twilight #lu sky #lu wind #lu four #lu wild #angst #hurt no comfort #claustrophobia #claustrophobia tw

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years ago

Text

REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket.

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere.

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city.

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless.

And most importantly, lovestruck.

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover.

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity.

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are.

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive?

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about.

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy.

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!”

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons.

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before.

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.”

“It’s functional though.”

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation.

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known.

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?”

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile.

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.”

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him.

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?”

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately.

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you.

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight.

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter.

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March.

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?”

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.”

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal.

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it.

But we’re getting off tangents here.

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.”

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway.

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list.

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.”

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.”

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead.

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks.

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?”

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?”

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it.

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities.

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves.

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.”

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!”

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.”

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!”

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron.

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile.

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away.

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness.

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf.

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life.

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner.

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly.

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown.

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone.

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf.

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you.

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count.

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket.

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?”

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built.

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass.

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!”

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting?

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.”

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting.

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!”

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.”

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?”

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!”

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape.

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.”

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way.

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately.

Kinky roleplay or not.

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes!

#redacted asmr #fanfic #second pov #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #smartass (listener)#Aaron #david shaw #angel (listener)

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sophiashortcake · 4 years ago

Text

— 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 🍰

“I GUESS I’M JUST A PLAY DATE TO YOU.”

previous ❀ series masterlist

𝟐𝟕. epilogue

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: kicked out of her home with no place to go, y/n is forced to move into her family friend’s home, who coincidentally is also the family of tsukishima kei, the boy who denied her confession.

𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑...

“Okay, so I believe you screw this piece and that piece together and- BOKUTO-SAN NO!”

Everyone collectively groaned as Bokuto sheepishly held the now broken piece of what was going to be your headboard. Akaashi sighed and put down the Ikea furniture manual to rub his temples. Now the headboard was added to the list of furniture casualties along with the coffee table and nightstand (also broken by Bokuto).

“I thought it would be faster if I just tried popping it into place!” He whined, defending his terrible handyman skills and all too clumsy strength.

Your friends had volunteered to help you and Kei build the furniture for your new apartment, which turned out to be a harder task than you once thought. You all had spent the last few hours sitting on the floor of your new apartment surrounded by the clutter of move-in boxes and stray Ikea furniture parts.

“I think we’re gonna have to sleep on a bed with no headboard,” you sighed.

“It’s not like we weren’t gonna break it ourselves anyway,” Kei muttered, flipping through the instruction manual he had snatched away from Akaashi. Kei realized his comment wasn’t as quiet as he thought as everybody snapped their heads to his. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“Get a room!” Yamaguchi screeched, feigning disgust.

“Uh, you’re sitting in it,” Kuroo replied.

Before the teasing got relentless, a loud bang was heard out in the living room along with the sounds of harsh drags across the floor, and groans.

“For the love of god, can somebody help me and Oikawa out here?!” Iwaizumi called, “I think this couch weighs more than Y/N!”

You sighed in relief, thankful the subject changed. Everybody got up and flooded into the living room to help Iwaizumi and Oikawa get the couch into the living room (where Bokuto’s strength actually helped for once).

Though you couldn’t afford much on a college student’s salary, a home was starting to take form inside the apartment. You grinned at the sight, giddy excitement bubbling in your stomach. You truly couldn’t be happier.

“I think it’s coming along very nicely Y/N,” Kiyoko grinned, “but don’t you two think it’s a little soon to be moving in which each other?”

“Yoko, it’s not like we haven’t lived with each other before,” you deadpanned, “and plus, it saves us money since we’re still in school.”

“Ah, that’s true,” she chuckled, remembering the living together ordeal that brought you and Kei together in high school.

It was crazy to think that a few years ago, you and Kei had been quarrelling in the same house, wanting nothing more for you to move out. But now, you both were moving in with each other. Even when you lived separately, you came to realize that Kei was your home.

“I can’t wait until we start decorating!” Yachi squealed, clapping her hands together in excitement imagining all the possible decorations.

“You two decorating is my nightmare,” Kei sighed. You whacked his shoulder lightly, pouting.

“Y/N-chan, if you ever get annoyed by Tsukki, my door is always open!” Oikawa sang, receiving an eye roll from Iwaizumi.

“Get in line,” Kuroo retorted. “Y/N would rather live with me! My apartment is way better.”

Kuroo had also purchased an apartment recently, at an eerily cheap price. With such a small price tag, you would assume that the apartment was going to be barely a closet, but in reality, it was even nicer than your own (and you and Kei had saved up a hefty amount from your own jobs). Kei had warned him that apartments that nice didn’t come cheap without a reason, but Kuroo had shrugged it off under the premise that he was a broke college student who didn’t have many options.

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t we remember that I offered Y/N to live with me first back in high school?!” Bokuto protested.

“Can you all please back off on my girlfriend?” Kei grumbled.

“Aww, Kei loves me!” You teased, clinging to his arm trying to peck his cheek. He dodged your kiss, his cheeks tinged red.

“Still a tsundere,” Akaashi sighed.

“He always will be,” Yamaguchi chuckled. “It’s Tsukki we’re talking about here.”

The next few hours you finished up building the furniture, or at least attempted to. As it turns out, none of your friends were exactly handymen.

“Finally!” You groaned, as the last piece was screwed in for your shelf.

With the finishing touches on the apartment, the night was drawing to a close. Kiyoko and Yachi wrapped you into a hug and pecked your cheek before they left. Iwaizumi ruffled your hair, telling you and Kei not to act up too much while you were alone. Bokuto and Yamaguchi excitedly discussed the possibilities of a group sleepover (which Kei wasn’t exactly excited for, but knew he wasn’t getting out of). Akaashi gave you both a hefty lecture on proper behavior for living alone without “parental supervision”. (Both of you were adults with jobs!)

Slowly the apartment grew empty besides for you, Oikawa, and Kuroo and Kei who were having a discussion about Kuroo’s suspicious new apartment. While you were sorting through the move in boxes, Oikawa pulled you aside.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say I’m happy for you,” he grinned.

Over the course of time, Oikawa learned to get over you, and owned up to his mistakes. Slowly but surely, he regained your trust, and even Kei’s as they grew a strange frenemy relationship. Now there was nothing but platonic love and trust between you two, the past behind you both.

“Thank you, Tooru,” you smiled, pulling him inside a hug.

“But if Tsukishima ever acts up-”

“Shut it Shittykawa!” Kei called from across the apartment.

“He and Iwaizumi have been spending too much time together,” you sighed.

Oikawa laughed, and pulled out of the hug. You smiled, knowing Oikawa truly was happy for you both.

Before he walked out the door, he clapped Kei on the back.

“Don’t forget your promise,” he warned, wagging a finger at him.

“I won’t,” Kei replied, rolling his eyes.

Kuroo was the next to leave, finishing his conversation with Kei.

“You two better help me move in next week!” Kuroo exclaimed, before leaving the apartment. You both chuckled and agreed as you finished bidding your goodbyes.

Now the apartment finally was empty, besides for you and Kei.

“What promise did you and Oikawa make?” You asked curiously.

“Something back in high school, don’t worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow, those two were definitely hiding something.

“Speaking of high school, wait here, I have something for you,” he said, before running off to the bedroom to dig out something from the move in boxes. He pulled out a worn piece of paper. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as he handed it to you. You studied it carefully before realizing it was the confession letter you had written in high school.

“I thought I lost this!” You gasped. While you lived with Kei, you kept it stashed in your desk drawer, but you assumed you had lost it somehow while you were moving out of Kei’s house.

“You left it in your desk at my house, I kept it,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Even after all these years?” You giggled.

“Yeah, I felt like it was too important to throw out.”

You scanned over your letter, the nostalgia washing over you as you softly smiled at the memories. However, you noticed over the bright red D minus sprawled over the corner was crossed out, now replaced by an A plus.

“Why is the grade different?” you questioned, confused.

“I regraded it, A plus for effort,” he said.

“Kei,” you whined, your heart swelling. He really has grown over the years, hasn’t he?

“But don’t get me wrong, your spelling and grammar still suck.”

But obviously, it wouldn’t be your Tsukishima Kei if he didn’t throw in one of his comments too.

“Jerk!” You hollered, smacking his head as he cackled. You pouted as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: the letter is now framed in the apartment next to the framed pictures of y/n and tsukki throughout the years.

𝐚/𝐧:

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚:

• the idea came from itazura na kiss, i based mine specifically off the kdrama.

• miyagitea was originally supposed to be either an oc, suga, or yamaguchi. @/wisteriarain talked me out of it and suggested oikawa.

• the original idea was for this to be a manager!reader x tsukki smau with no letter, living together, etc. they were originally just supposed to hate eachother right out the gate and have a fuck buddy relationship.

• the next idea was based off good morning call and that tsukki and y/n were both college students who got scammed by their new apartment complex and ended up having to live together.

• y/n mother’s (hayami) and akane’s relationship was based off my mom and her best friend.

• y/n’s mother’s contact name, mama bear, is my mom’s best friend’s nickname.

• i considered having a female antagonist/oc to play y/n’s rival for tsukki.

• i didn’t write y/n having a father figure and barely wrote about tsukishima’s (even though he was in the picture) because i find it uncomfortable to write about father figures.

• this was only ever mentioned in an ask, but y/n’s mother is a lawyer!

• i came up with the idea driving home from the orthodonist and i passed a building that said, “asian volleyball association”.

• miyagitea almost didn’t make it into the story, it was a last minute addition.

• the title came before the plot, it was based off the melanie martinez song.

• there is bonus material on the masterlist! the dress from chapter 21 inspiration and official playlist can be found there!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!): @sinistersith @moronsuke @yougivemebutterfliess @saturnfarie @peachiikichu @what-happens-inside-the-box @nonoszrk @cece-lives-here @belli-jelly @cvlliesstuff @ack-aashi @mindofess @virgoamajiki @natsukitakama @shimy-deko @irenevyas @virgoamajiki @toaster-stick @little-dark-empress @h0ngh0ngh0ng @freyafolkvangr @winunk @estmagnifique @thechaosoflonging @ilovesupersoldiers @simpletype @burntcilantro @starrydaisy @animatedrapture @intothatbluebluesky @resetrestartandreplay @lostmarimoismyhubby @witcherydotcom @kukiisan @not-venice @grapesauze @amberisnotcrazy @tarasaoristark @ammemuts @cloudymotel @loving-unicorns106 @strawberryssel @kakaokenma @cadelinha-de-haikyuu @wowie-issa-me-amario @pruemania @vitalthot @kageyamasgirl @abswrites @kac-chowsballs

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

Text

classic

pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: none, tropes on tropes on tropes, weird descriptions of things

summary: good, old fashioned fan fiction chaos

notes: there’s no getting around it - everything I write with Jack is inevitably influenced and inspired by @scribbledghost s version of him, particularly her neighbor!whiskey. I tried not to, but I still feel I should give credit!

It was the kind of razor your grandfather would have used – more of a knife than anything, because of course it was.

Of course this would be edge that your housemate used to slide along his jaw and chin and cheeks to make that perfect mustache before work in the mornings. He was the type to love old fashioned, traditional, dangerous things - it made sense. After all, that was why you were staying in the guestroom of his ranch home while your apartment was being renovated. Old fashioned courtesy between friends, of course.

Dangerous.

Jack had caught you watching him, impressed in spite of yourself as the sharp blade scraped over his neck, neatly slicing the hairs on his throat, and pushing your heart into yours. It was unnecessarily intense, dramatic, the touch of risk for the sake of vanity. It made you swallow, awed that he wasn’t covered in little cuts, and almost aroused at how casually he used something so akin to a weapon. And that alone made him smirk, cocky, as though he had been waiting for you to notice, hoping to impress you.

A few days later he’d coaxed you to him, settled in a chair with his legs spread wide with confidence as he handed you the tool, smug with confidence – almost a challenge. He had gotten wrecked at work – he actually had, and it was the perfect excuse to draw you close, make you bend to his will. Schoolyard tactics, really, but all of this was, and it was worth it to have your eyes on him alone, face a breath away from his.

It was about trust more than anything. Not that you would ever hurt him, but the power of being over him was heightened by the intimacy as you lathered the cream over his skin.

His deep eyes bore into you, not flickering to the blade as you tried to focus on your task. If he had asked you a different time, another day, you maybe could have refused, but somehow his wanting your steady hand felt heavy with implication.

Ignoring the quickening steps of your heart, your fingers grasped his chin, shaving away the stubble he’d let grow just for this. Each slice of smooth skin revealed left a thick line of froth and hairs on the blade, and you got to breathe as your turned away to wipe it off. You could feel his gaze, still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. Hovering over him while he was seated, touching his jaw, leaning close, and meeting those brown eyes would have been too much.

Your denial was as a solid as a wall with half sunk into the ground with cement – almost rooted in your fear of rejection.

It was a challenge to ignore the shots of adrenaline that filled you when he’d reach around you to grab something in the fridge, his chest against your back, hand on your hip. Already you had shoved down the butterflies in your stomach when he’d offered you a place to stay, carried your boxes, and called you sweetheart. You had spent far to long ignoring the way he hadn’t brought a single girl home since you’d been there to fold now and admit anything. Because if you did, there was a chance you would lose your friend forever, and that was out of the question.

You kept your eyes down to keep your hands steady.

For his part, Jack’s plan was only half working. He liked your attention, liked the way your breath hitched as you wiped him clean. But you were closer than you had ever been, patting in the aftershave and you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t open the door for him to push the tools and towels aside and kiss you. All he wanted was to grab hold of you and pull you into his lap and make you melt against him but there wasn’t a moment.

You’d been friends for a long time, been there for each other countless times and he had yearned for you almost as long. At first, he tried to deny it too, grabbing at random women and hating himself when he imagined they were you as he pulled them into his room.

Then he’d given that up, stopped pretending anyone could replace you, that anyone else occupied his dreams, anyone else could be as good a fit for him, and went after you full speed. It had honestly been innocent to invite you to stay, instinct instilled in him from his childhood. Still, he had begun to see the opportunities for the two of you to enjoy intimate domesticity right away, when he’d cooked you dinner and you’d talked at his table for hours, finally not worried about having to drive home. He ached for that – not ever really having to leave you, and he spent more nights than he’d like to admit thinking of knocking on your door.

Only… you were still in your denial phase. Not sleeping around just pretending it was normal to sink into his arms after a bad day, to let your friend play with your hair until you fell asleep, to watch his lips as you gently helped him shave.

It was too vulnerable, to high of a risk to go after you with the chance that you weren't ready. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

“What, really?” you said, genuinely surprised. When you’d accepted to stay, he’d promised you there would be no problems, but now you felt guilty.

His mama was coming to town, and would more than likely be staying with him.

“I’ll find somewhere else!”

Jack was already shaking his head at you, like you were missing the joke, but he looked… almost nervous? You couldn’t tell, it wasn’t something you saw on his face often.

“Actually, sweetheart, I was hoping you could do me a favor,” he was asking, but it’s not like you could actually say no you him, when he shot that winning smile your way. It was like not petting a puppy – and you were the opposite of allergic to cowboy secret agents.

“You know Mama Daniels,” he said and you smiled, having spent many a summer helping her in her garden, and being thanked with dinners heavy with butter and love. “She’ll like you here, she’ll be over the damn moon.” And you conceded. It would be more than nice, to spend time with such a wonderful woman, an Jack had invested in a very comfortable couch. For a week you enjoyed a hopeful bliss, that she would help remind you Jack was just your friend.

The sun was shining through the windows, the winding almost singing a quiet, breathy song, and everything was as spotless as you could manage. Well worn quilts were clean, and you had set up a little station for yourself in the living room determined to make it your home for the week.

Then she came with a jacket that matched her slacks and shoes with little buckles and a paisley suitcase full of presents for her son, who she insisted wasn’t really grown. She hugged you and scolded you for being at work instead of coming to pick her up, and finally settled at the kitchen table, her intentions clear. You were to sit and catch up - Jack was already pulling the sweet tea you’d made from the fridge and a reused sewing tin filled with butter cookies appeared out of her purse.

Meekly, you sat, knowing if you didn’t eat the cookies in quantity, she would pout her whole visit. You could feel Jack settle at your side as she talked, warm and solid, a comfort, despite the heat of the day.

The cookies disintegrated on your tongue, melting with a burst of sweet before the bite was gone. They were full of love and maternal affection and things that you hated to spend money on and made all bad thoughts disappear. You were thankful your mouth was full of one when she mentioned, offhandedly, how plum delighted she was when she found out the two of you were finally dating. Abruptly, you remembered just how wrong your previous hope was.

The sweet lady had been hinting for you to marry her son since before he’d mastered his first lasso, and apparently, she was sure that moment was well on its way.

“And living together, no less!” she was beaming with pride, tradition apparently irrelevant as she chatted happily about it.

Turning to the man by your side, you found him choking, trying to breathe through the cookie he’d accidentally inhaled. There was a white ring around his irises as he stared at you, panicking and aptly confused. Sure your face matched his, you jerked your head at his mother, a silent argument ensuing.

Did you do this?

No!

What do we do?

We can’t break her heart!

It went unnoticed. You felt helpless, drinking your tea and trying not to have a small meltdown in front of a very misinformed lady who had brought you cookies.

He was your friend! And sure, you liked the weight of his arm around your shoulders or could get lost in the drawl of his voice but that was normal! It was normal to be so comfortable with him as the beginning, end, and highlight to each of your days.

Sounding weak even to yourself, a crack, solid and formidable, formed in the wall you created to protect yourself and the friendship you had built.

“Ma’am, I’ll be back in a moment,” you whispered, grabbing your phone as you grasped at air, hoping beyond logic that you could pretend it was an important call.

You didn’t exactly run away, but you walked very quickly outside, mourning the loss of your little guestroom, and the privacy it offered.

Jack would never, ever smack his mama but he did want to say some choice words. Nothing could have prepared him for the last two minutes of his life, first the embarrassment of the misunderstanding and then… the fear in your eyes.

He hated it, hated it so much more than he ever thought he could, hated that it was probably his fault it was there. And he hated that it shrouded the longing he had begun to see there, these past few weeks. Long strides carried him after you, hearing his own voice distantly saying words, explaining maybe, as he left the table.

There was a tree, trunk too wide to wrap your arms around, thicket of leaves creating bean-shaped shadow on the ground, by one corner of his home.

You were behind it, almost like a child, letting the bark press lines into your forehead. The dappled lighting did wonders for you – you looked the perfect picture of a storybook wanderer in distress.

Jack slowed, overwhelmed with the desire to encompass you in his arms, slay your dragons, and whisk you away. Now was not the time.

He kept his voice soft, reaching for you in place of his hands, trying hopelessly to find the root of your panic.

You were just as quiet, telling him it was fine, you would pretend, as long as you’d talk tonight, after she went to sleep. His heart was creating dramatic movie scenes where you would float into his room, declaring your love for him, before settling in his arms, but he shook them away, agreeing.

Smile over-bright, you touched his smooth cheek a moment too long, before pushing past him back towards the house.

He allowed the afterglow of his daydream to wash over him only a moment before he jogged go catch up with you.

The quilt on Jack’s bed had chickens on it, of all things. It was one of those that had clearly been homemade, years and years ago, taken care of, but worn at the edges with memories and use. One pillow had a dent for his head, the other was squashed into an unrecognizable shape

You didn’t know that it wasn’t like that, before. That his arms had only started searching for something to hold onto since you had been around.

All of his room was new to you – it made you feel strange, realizing that for weeks you’d been in his home but not this part of his space.

The afternoon his mother came, he’d been called into the field. You had never quite seen the look on his face as he reasoning fell on deaf ears – desperation and frustration like ants ruining honey on a picnic. The flannel across his back bunched as his shoulders had filled with tension before he stripped it off to change into his work clothes. Jack kissed his mothers cheek and spewed instructions for the both of you, some apologies spilling out and others kept just behind his eyes as he grasped your hand.

His final command was for your ears alone - that you take his room, and you’d been too panicked to refuse. The last three days, the smell of him and the memorabilia scattered around the space kept you company when his mother went to sleep and you slept in his bed for the first time, alone.

It was surprising how sentimental he was. His hooks had another cowboy hat on them, a little wider, brown, and considerably more worn. There was a stack of printed photos in a little box by his bed – it was open, and some of the photos had oil-worn fingerprints along the edges. You found ones of you, and your heart flipped inside your chest.

You should have realized it was impossible to deny yourself, your feelings, with him surrounding you like this. Each thing you learned, each reminder of him practically reached off of the walls, as if he were there, coaxing your heart into his hands. It felt silly, almost, that you even tried to ignore it - you had missed him the moment his hand left yours. Now you had all the time to process, surrounded by his neatly folded shirts and the line of his favorite boots.

The idealized illusion of your relationship had only lasted half a day of living with his mother. Her warm brown eyes were too much like her son’s – you couldn’t lie to them. It was good though, for her to hold your hand a listen to you talk as the birds gossiped outside the window and steam seeped out of the pie you helped her bake. Miraculously, she wasn’t disappointed with you, commending your honestly, and explaining that if she was patient until now, then she could certainly continue to do so.

The more you talked to her, the more you suspected that she was right, all along. She helped you dig up the walls, her kind determination the shovel you needed for those concrete roots.

You would work and talk and tuck yourself into his chicken-clad blanket at night and finally, finally let yourself think of him, allow yourself to be in love with him. You didn’t know he had started actually living in his room again, when he’d started letting himself love you. That he thought of your smile when he’d found his old quilt. Still, the more you thought, the more you could admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too.

That was how Jack found you - absorbed in your thoughts - the whiskey in his hand as forgotten as the mission and the agent he’d played for the past seventy eight hours and twenty one minutes.

He watched through the half open door, words failing him as you sat up, startled and the way your eyes searched for injuries made him want to eat you alive.

There was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in his bed, even though he had told you to be there and three days to daydream about it. It was intensely intoxicating, having someone care for you so intimately.

With his sheets sliding down around your waist, you looked as good as the pie on the counter, as if a single snapshot could encompass everything he wanted home to be.

You were wearing a shirt he’d given you, years ago, and he swallowed, hard.

“Are you up for that talk?” his voice was rough. It would have been nice, to relish in the feeling of you checking him over, attention on him as he unwound, but he couldn’t wait. This moment was three days overdue.

“I told your mom we aren’t dating,” you blurted and he smiled, having guessed as much. Smoothing the blanket, your hand patted the spot next to you, your legs crossing.

In that, Jack knew something had changed since he left you. The flickering fear had fled your eyes, and you seemed settled into your skin more than ever before.

He sat next to you, having played over how this talk would go a million times, and still not finding the right words. Confidence was easier to find when he was flirting, poking at you, but seemed foreign in the din lights of his bedroom. Instead he shifted trying to lean back with his arm along the headboard, hoping he didn’t seem like a teenager trying to buy himself time.

You began to talk, saving him, and all the things you’d processed with his mama tumbled out of you before you were realizing that you were confessing how much he truly meant you. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been strange how comfortable you felt, but in the moment, you were in awe.

Jack was as handsome as always, if a little roughed up, like he’d worn the same clothes a few days in a row. You wanted to run your fingers over the short, patchy beard he had going, and without a second thought, you did, feeling his cheeks move as he smiled crookedly and leaned into the touch.

There was only a moment of quiet, crickets outside, before he said, “I missed you, too.” And then, “Will you stay, sweetheart?”

When you whispered, “Where else would I go?” he kissed you.

It was late, and there were still words unsaid, questions to be answered, but you both let yourselves get lost, exploring each other. Long moments passed, letting all the pent up yearning overflow like cool water after a long, hot day. Then the next steps came out, whispered between kisses and as he moved over you, shucking the final walls between you, you found yourselves actually dating, and maybe even actually living together.

Old fairy tales and historic romances played in the back of your mind, inserting their logic into your life like had never quite made sense before.

And you wondered if you had time in the morning, and his mama didn’t give you too much grief, if he would let you help him shave, and eat pie for breakfast. Because for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @0celestialbitch0 @beautyagegoodnesssize

#this got away from me #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman #maybe i don't know people

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ahh-fxck · 2 years ago

Text

Warrior’s Blues repost event part 6! In which Geralt’s storage unit is emptied, certain memories are confronted, too much wine is drunk, and certain decisions are made.

Chapter 6: I Wanted to Get Lost, So I Got Lost in You

Tags/warnings: Alcohol, PTSD, broken family, smut

Beta: @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog

~Ao3 Link~

The next set, though, under “C,” are all individually bagged in little plastic baggies, carefully wrapped and sealed. He lifts one of these out first, opening the bag. It is one of his favorites. Sticking his nose inside, he breathes in the sharp scent of orange peel. Then he opens the paper, well-worn from opening and closing, and inside is not a letter, but a picture. It is simple, a tall stick figure with a blue head and body sticking out of green clothing that a child had obviously intended to be fatigues. Next to it, a little blond stick figure, spiky hair standing all around its grinning face. At the top, in wild uneven letters, “Daddy and Me!” His face falls, becoming serious as he traces his fingers over the paper. He can smell the orange oil, the wax of the crayons, the stale construction paper it was drawn on, feel the bumpiness of the wax and fiber under his fingers. Bringing it to his face, he closes his eyes and inhales again, listening to the soft rustle of the paper as he does so. He rests with his face in the drawing, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

The hospital was mostly a long, quiet sit in the cool waiting room for Jaskier. The wait had given him time to gently extract from Geralt a few sparing details. He found out that he’d had to abandon his truck yesterday, and that he had a small storage unit which he needed to empty out before the lease expired. By the end of the wait to be seen, he had managed to convince Geralt to let him help, a minor miracle which he spent the remaining time in the waiting room thanking the Universe for. Geralt had insisted that he would find his own place as quickly as possible, but Jaskier hadn't been fussed over it.

At one point, he had gone to the cafeteria and grabbed a sandwich and coffee, rapidly scarfing them down before racing back to make sure he hadn’t missed Geralt. He hadn’t. It had been easily another hour after that before he’d re-emerged from the back room, injured hand now splinted and taped, holding discharge instructions in the other. He looked calmer than he had before, stood straighter, and Jaskier couldn’t help but admire how handsome he was from across the room. The man was big, more than six feet tall, with broad shoulders, his long arms and legs corded with heavy muscle. His short-cropped white hair and amber eyes made his already good-looking face striking, stubble and all. Even the way he moved was captivating, sure and graceful, more like a dancer than a warrior.

As Geralt scanned the room, Jaskier had risen and walked over to him, an easy smile on his face. Geralt’s eyes had locked onto the movement as the other man approached, his face betraying nothing. Unperturbed, Jaskier had immediately begun chattering, walking with him out of the emergency department. Geralt had bought himself a quick bite at the cafeteria, and after he was done, they had headed to the storage unit.

When they arrive at the unit, Geralt leads him through an orange metal gate into a sparse hallway lined with numbered doors. He stops at one and pulls a key out of his wallet, opening the door. The storage unit is tiny. Jaskier looks on in mild dismay as he watches Geralt push a door open onto a unit barely larger than a closet, revealing a dusty collection of items stacked neatly inside. Almost everything is concealed in crisp cardboard boxes with folded cardboard lids, marked in a loopy scrawl.

The first thing Geralt removes from the unit is a file box marked simply, “Correspondence.” With the air of holding something precious, he very gently sets it aside. Boxes marked, “Clothing, Dress Uniform, Shoes, Dress Shoes, and Personal Files,” all follow in quick succession. These he hands to Jaskier, piling as many into his arms as he can safely carry. The others he sets aside to wait for the next trip. Jaskier juggles them carefully, turning and heading away to his car parked nearby.

He very carefully sets them aside and opens up his trunk, then begins to stack the boxes carefully towards the back. It doesn’t look like Geralt has much. His heart squeezes as he realizes it will all fit into his car in one trip. Somehow, he thinks, a life ought to be bigger than that.

Back inside, Geralt gazes at the storage unit pensively, eyeing the remains of his old life. There isn’t much. Most of the cardboard boxes are labeled “Books,” and they are too heavy for him to comfortably move with his injury. These, he leaves.

There are a few more precious things that he attends to personally, though. Near the box which is labeled “Correspondence,” he adds two more. One marked with a large “C,” and the other with a large “Y.” This unearths the most striking item of them all, a hand-carved wooden chest. It is of medium size, maybe two and a half feet long by one foot deep, graven with an elegant Slavic pattern of flowers around the outside edges. Above the lock, the chest bears the carved legend, “Rivii.” This he tenderly removes from the storage unit as well, setting it near the other precious boxes.

He is tempted to linger, but they had arrived late and the facility is about to close. Instead he extracts one final box from the unit, marked, “Videos and Recordings,” and sets it aside in the hall. By the time he has done this, Jaskier has returned for another load. Together, they silently empty the rest of the unit into Jaskier’s vehicle. The boxes of books all fit in the trunk. The more delicate boxes Geralt himself places in the back seat of the vehicle, painstakingly arranging them so that they will not be damaged in transit. He is careful to keep Jaskier away from these, allowing only his hands to touch them.

Finally, the unit is empty. Geralt feels empty too, like his heart has been scooped out of his chest. Now that he has touched everything, seen all the reminders of what he has lost, it is becoming more real to him. As he closes the door one last time and turns away to return the key to the office, his face is tight with grief.

Jaskier waits in the car, sitting next to Geralt's backpack, surrounded by the soft dusty smells of Geralt’s stored boxes. There is an oddly floral odor coming from one of them, but he can’t quite place it. He sits in nervous silence, studying the door to the storage complex in the mirror, and finds himself relieved when Geralt emerges at last carrying a printed receipt. Their car ride back to Jaskier’s home is largely quiet, aside from a brief agreement that tomorrow they would discuss Geralt’s next steps. When they arrive, they silently bundle the contents up the stairs into the loft.

When Jaskier tries to help him unload the remainder of the backseat, however, Geralt barks, “Stop! Don’t touch that.” Fixing him with a glare, he delicately removes the box, “C,” from Jaskier’s hands. He looms over the younger man, face dark and stormy.

Jaskier backs away, putting his hands up to show that he means no harm. He can see the borderline rage in Geralt’s eyes and immediately knows that he’s crossed some sort of invisible line. Chagrined, he says, “I’m sorry. I’ll leave them. I just thought they looked heavy…” he dithers to a stop and sighs. “Didn’t want you to hurt your hand. Uh. I think aside from the back seat, that’s everything. Do you need anything else before dinner?”

Geralt eyes him, fierce gaze slowly relaxing as Jaskier backs off. He considers the question, clutching the box close to his chest like it contains his heart. Finally, shakes his head. Then he asks, “Do you want me to lock the car when I’m done?”

“Yes, darling, if you would do that I’d be ever so grateful.” Jaskier looks between Geralt and the stairs one last time, debating how much to push helping him carry the heavier items up to the loft. In the end, his better sense wins out and he turns away. “Right. I've got some cleaning to do first, so dinner should be ready in about two hours. See you then?” He waits until Geralt cautiously nods, relieved to see that the glare has eased off of Geralt’s handsome face. Jaskier smiles at him awkwardly before he walks away, a little flustered, barely dodging around the corner of his house without knocking into it.

Shaking his head, Jaskier mutters to himself as he walks up the ramp onto his small porch and unlocks his door. He pushes into his house and sighs, shedding his shoes by the door before padding into the interior.

The lower half of the walls are brick, the upper half golden polished wood paneling that holds the light of the space warmly. Hung on the walls are lutes of all sorts, as well as little framed pieces of poetry and pieces of theater scripts printed and varnished to wood, displayed like fine art. There is a couch and a television near the door, and straight back from the door is an open bedroom, empty and unruffled. Further back, there is a closed door that leads to Jaskier’s own room, and a spacious living area that extends into a full kitchen with white cabinets and an island with tall stools. The whole space is impeccably free of dirt, but has a rumpled, lived-in feeling. There are papers sitting on the arm of the couch, a book left carelessly open on the island, a drift of socks abandoned by the door. He looks around critically for a moment before seizing the papers, beginning to clean the space.

Outside, Geralt tenderly treks up and down the stairs. He brings every single personal box up to the loft, arranging them in neat piles across from his bed. The book boxes are stacked under the window, and his spare clothing on top of the dressers. The last box that he brings upstairs is marked, “Correspondence,” and this he sets carefully on the bed before returning to lock the car.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs after he has done this, fingering the keys, looking up at the white door far above him. Through it, memories await him. The feeling presses down on him, and this time he welcomes it, welcomes the heavy weight of all the history held in the attic. Every choice, every turn he has made has brought him to this point. It’s time to go take a look.

He mounts the stairs with heavy strides, unlocks the door, and sets the keys aside on the shelf above the mugs. Then he walks over and settles with a soft creak of bedsprings onto the mattress next to the box “Correspondence.” This he opens tenderly, setting the lid aside with great care. Inside are manila file folders, and inside of those, letters, organized by date. The first bundle, filed under “Y,” are all loose paper tucked neatly into folders to preserve them.

After a heavy, silent moment, he very carefully folds the paper away, tucking it back into its envelope and sealing the plastic bag to preserve the scent. He delicately places it back into its dated folder (July 1988) and considers the box, eyes playing over the other folders. Finally, he selects another, pulling it out. Another child's drawing, another smell; Lavender. And again another drawing, another smell. Cloves. He smiles sadly and folds the drawing away before he turns to the front of the box, eyeing the contents.

First he selects a letter from a well-thumbed folder right towards the front of the box. On it is written Y December 1983. Opening it, he selects a page from the middle of the folder, which contains several letters in date order. He pulls this one out very, very carefully, so as not to disturb the lock of dark hair taped to it. This letter he brings to his face, too, inhaling the sharp scent of lilac and gooseberry that is richly embedded in the curl of hair taped to the page. He brushes it lightly against his cheek, brings it down and strokes his fingers delicately along it. His throat squeezes shut as he does so. Guilt rises from where he had buried it, shame, terrible gnawing loneliness. The soft twist of hair in his fingers brings it all home to him, and he sinks into the feelings, pulling searing breaths into his aching chest.

He puts the letter back in the chest unread. He doesn't need to, he has it memorized. Others he thumbs through more carefully, reading and re-reading the words written in precise strokes, reporter’s shorthand, a series of dashes and swoops and squiggles that he decodes with the ease of long practice. His hands feel thick, heavy and numb as he reads, places a letter back, pulls out another. Finally he reaches the most recent one, (Y September 1993,) and pulls it out. This one, out of all of them, bears the strongest scent. It wafts heavily over him as he opens it, scanning the contents with sad eyes. When he is finished he lowers the letter to his knees and puts his face in his hand, feeling lost in sorrow.

The letters are one of the closest things he’s ever had to a sense of home. But right now, instead of bringing comfort, they bring a snarling ache that threatens to choke him. These letters were sent to someone trustworthy, someone stable, someone to depend on. Now, he isn’t sure he deserves to have them. Carefully, he sets the letter back in its folder and fits the cardboard lid back on the box, head whirling. They deserve better than what he has given them. Maybe he is better off dead. At least that way there would be some sort of closure for them, instead of this clusterfuck of a life gone suddenly astray.

The ache washes up and swallows him, and he sits in the darkness of it for a long time. His arm rests lightly on the box as he sucks in one slow, excruciating breath after another. It’s hard to tell, in the dim of the attic, how long he sits there overcome. He doesn’t fight it, knows he deserves every lick of guilt and sorrow he is feeling, sinks into it until he vanishes inside of it.

A loud BANG from below startles him out of his reverie, followed by a howled, muffled, “FUCK!” He startles upright, grabbing the attic keys and barrelling down the stairs before he can think twice. At the bottom of the steps he hesitates, remembers the direction that Jaskier took, runs around the side of the house, and bursts in the front door without knocking. He doesn’t know what he expects to see, but Jaskier sitting on the floor laughing amidst the remains of a small shelf is… not it. He stands in the doorway, wild-eyed and staring.

“Oh, Geralt! Fuck, I’m sorry!” Jaskier calls, picking his way upright amongst the scattered remains of shelf and figurine, “I’m okay! Everything is okay!” He flails his arms expansively as he rises, complaining, “I swore I told Jeremy to hang that damn thing on a stud, but did he listen? Nooooo, he did not!”

As he gestures toward the wall, Geralt sees a raw gash in the wood paneling where the shelf must have hung. Looking down once more, he can see amongst the broken pieces of shelf are tiny wooden figurines, musical instruments and little dolls caught in moments of passionate dance. Many of them are in pieces. He hesitates by the door as he watches Jaskier pick and hop his way on sock feet out of the mess, hair in his eyes, a crooked grin lighting his face.

Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes, turning to Geralt and fixing him with an embarrassed smile. “God, this is not how I wanted to welcome you into my house. Like, BANG! Hello, I’m a disaster!” He laughs nervously, raking his hair out of his eyes again with a long hand.

Geralt shakes his head, stepping the rest of the way inside and cautiously closing the door. “Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice more gravelly than usual from residual grief and sorrow. He can tell Jaskier can hear it because his face falls as he speaks.

“I’m fine,” he reassures, glancing at the wall and then the shelf on the floor, before his gaze returns to Geralt standing by the door. His voice is quieter now, taking on a gentle tone. “I was just trying to dust the fucking shelf, like the clever idiot I am, and it just…” He waves his hands, “Ugh! Came right out of the wall. Teach me to try and clean up for company.” Sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, he eyes the big man, taking in his tense posture, the shadowed look on his face. “Um. Are you all right? I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything…” Sighing, he sweeps some of the debris aside with his foot, throws up his hands, turns to grab a broom, watching Geralt out of the corner of his eye as he waits for an answer.

“I’m fine,” Geralt grunts automatically, stuffing the attic keys into the pocket of his fatigues. He strides across the room and begins picking up pieces of shelf, getting them out of the way of Jaskier’s broom.

Embarrassed, Jaskier tries to wave him off. “Oh no, you’re my guest, please don’t-” he breaks off as golden eyes fix on him, stealing away whatever he meant to say. The look Geralt is giving him can only be described as, ‘Are you an idiot or are you going to let me help you?’ His eyebrow is raised, lips set in a thin, crooked line that Jaskier finds very charming. Jaskier bubbles into silence, puffs, and then shakes his head in surrender. Geralt looks quietly satisfied as Jaskier turns away to retrieve a trash can.

Between the two of them, they make short work of clearing the floor. The large pieces of shelf are binned immediately. The figurines take a little bit longer, sorting the intact and salvageable ones from the wreckage. Finally, Geralt holds the dust pan as Jaskier sweeps the last of the rubbish into it. Geralt dumps it into the trash can and then rises, dusting off his hands and looking over the other man critically, eyes sweeping him from head to toe. There are no obvious injuries. Aside from looking a bit ruffled, Jaskier is definitely in one piece.

Jaskier bears the scrutiny quietly, waiting until Geralt is done before speaking again. “Well. That was a fucking disaster. Sorry again, darling.” He smiles a bright, sunny smile, “I don’t know about you, but after that I could use some wine. Care to join me?” Gesturing at the kitchen island, he turns away with the broom and trash can. “Shoes off, please.”

Geralt nods shortly, retreating to the door to remove his shoes. Now that his hand is splinted properly, the whole process is much smoother. Straightening, he looks around the room again, taking it in more fully this time. The room is warm and bright, cleaner than he expected, the oak floors shiny and recently swept. The air is suffused with the smell of good cooking, roasted garlic and bread yeast and browned butter.

He cautiously walks on sock feet across the big room to the open kitchen, noticing books on low bookshelves that cover the walls from hip height down. Most of them are history books, books of poetry, books of plays. There is an open area near the kitchen with a big round braided rug in the middle of it, and there is a chair next to a music stand and a large lute, which has a stand of its own. There is a rumpled looking composition book open on the stand, with blocky hand-written medieval style notation in the middle and scribbled notes in various colors of ink along the sides.

Jaskier places a large glass of red wine on the island as he approaches, sliding it towards him with a smile. “Here, darling. You look like you could use this. Rough trip down memory lane?” He turns away before Geralt can answer, returning to the stove to check on the gravy bubbling away in a skillet.

Geralt scowls as he slides onto one of the tall stools lining the outer edge of the kitchen island. He grunts noncommittally as he picks up his glass and takes a big swallow of his wine, unwilling to be drawn into conversation about it. The wine cuts across his tongue, bitter and complex, with a surprising sweet finish right at the very end. Taken aback, he eyes the glass and takes another, slower sip, raising his gaze to watch as Jaskier moves around the kitchen.

“Sorry, love. Shouldn’t have asked, it’s none of my business,” Jaskier says calmly, flashing a little half-smile over his shoulder at his brooding companion. “Shall I leave the bottle on the table? I’ve got plenty,” he says, gesturing at a little rack nearby on the counter. It is hand carved wood with a buttercup motif, stocked full with dark bottles of wine. “White, red, even zinfandel if you really want it.”

Geralt nods cautiously, face guarded. This is really the last place he should be, given how he’d ended up here in the first place. His stupid dick had brought him nothing but trouble, and he feels uneasy in the house of a man this attractive after all the fallout sex has caused in his life. But… the house is cozy, and full of the smell of comforting food. He has nowhere else to go, at least for the night. And, deep down, he aches to stay in the warmth of it for just a little longer. So, he shifts back and forth on his stool, drains his wine glass, and settles cautiously in to watch Jaskier cook.

Jaskier places the bottle of wine in the middle of the island, waves a vague “help yourself” gesture, and heads to the refrigerator without another word. He gets the sense that Geralt is very tightly wound right now, and so he lets him drink in peace as he finishes making their evening meal. There will be time to talk later.

Geralt is grateful for the silence as he pours himself another glass and takes a large swallow, feeling the warmth of the alcohol seep across the raw pain inside of him. Relieved to find some sort of reprieve, he takes another gulp. The wine is good, but chasing the feeling of numbness that it will eventually bring is better. He feels vaguely like he should be savoring it more, but the idea of slowing down like that right now, of feeling his body enough to taste something when it’s in such a state of sorrow, is too much. So he gulps it, pours himself another, and finds his eyes drifting across the way to Jaskier’s quick, clever hands.

Cooking has always struck him as demeaning, something best left confined to the kitchen at the back of a mess hall. While necessary, certainly, it was there for people lower on the chain of command to worry about. Learning how to cook had been irrelevant to him, and aside from some experience in gutting and roasting animals out in the field, Geralt had been content to leave it at that. But as he watches Jaskier chop vegetables, humming softly to himself, he begins to wonder if he has missed something.

The lovely man’s long, clever hands are graceful as he wields the knife, dumping carrot, onion, and eventually celery into a pan to sear. There is a kind of music to his movements, an orderliness and precision that Geralt finds appealing. He loses himself in the quiet song of Jaskier’s cooking, guilt and shame blurring into a kind of numb quietness, the alcohol a warm glow in the pit of his empty stomach. He lets himself sink into the wine, the melody of the kitchen, allowing it to lull him into a hollow state of quietude. When the bottle is empty, Jaskier replaces it without a word.

A timer goes off, and Jaskier slaps it off before bending to retrieve fresh rolls from the oven. The steamy, yeasty smell makes Geralt’s stomach growl, and he shifts in his chair, mildly embarrassed. Jaskier smiles to himself, setting the hot tray aside on a cooling rack before beginning to set the kitchen island for dinner. He adds plates, forks, knives, his movements easy and comfortable. Pausing to take a long swallow of his wine, he looks the spread over and considers. Then he adds the salt and pepper shakers, butter dish, and an olive oil and vinegar set. Seemingly satisfied, he sets to bringing the food next.

A generous ceramic bowl full of salad arrives first, followed by a boat of silky, heavenly smelling gravy. Then he grabs the plates, piling them high with herbed roasted potatoes crusted in garlic, golden brown chicken breasts, and a generous helping of skilfully seared vegetables that he covers the chicken in. He places this in front of Geralt with a smile, then turns his attention to the rolls. Carefully he loosens them from the tray with a spatula and then flips them into a big wooden bowl with a clean dish towel in it as Geralt watches, fascinated. They tumble into the bowl with little hollow noises that speak of a crispy, well-made crust.

Looking very pleased with himself, Jaskier transfers the full bowl of rolls to the table, plunking it down with finality. He takes another long swallow of wine as he considers the island one last time, then exclaims, “Ah! Napkins.”

Geralt is mildly startled by the exclamation, and covers it with another gulp of wine as the younger man sets a few cloth napkins on the table, tucking them under the silverware.

“There,” he says, beaming. “That’s everything, I think. Hungry?” He pulls up a stool and sits himself diagonally across from Geralt, setting his wine down next to his plate.

Geralt nods reluctantly, eyeing the spread before him with a torn expression on his face. On the one hand, it looks… amazing. He’s not sure he remembers the last time he was in front of a meal that smelled this good. On the other hand, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he does not deserve the effort Jaskier has put into making it. Geralt scowls, leaning back from his plate.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says shortly. He takes another long swallow of wine.

Jaskier huffs, waving the statement off. “Nonsense. It’s a pleasure to have a guest to cook for, usually it’s just me.” He smiles easily, picking up his knife and fork and cutting into his chicken. “I love to cook like this but I don’t usually have the excuse,” he explains around a mouthful, looking up at Geralt, blue eyes sparkling. “Thank you for giving me one.”

Geralt, taken aback, just nods. He sits there awkwardly, holding his wine glass and wishing that he could vanish. The wine has blurred the guilt considerably, but there is still the gnawing feeling of knowledge that he should be anywhere but here. Shouldn’t be letting this kind man feed him, shouldn’t feel so hot under his skin when he fixes him with one of those radiant smiles. As hungry as he is, he can’t escape the sensation that he somehow should be walking away from this.

Jaskier doesn’t comment on his obvious consternation, just offers him the basket of rolls. “Do you want honey?” he inquires mildly. “I’m sure I have some around here somewhere.”

Geralt shakes his head, color creeping up his cheeks. He takes one of the proffered rolls and breaks it open with his thumbs, inhaling the hot, yeasty steam from within. His stomach growls again, louder this time, and his willpower buckles. The food smells too good, and he can’t make himself say no. Ducking his head slightly, he grabs the butterknife from the dish and spreads a thick wedge of butter onto his roll, watching it begin to melt almost immediately. He feels a curious kinship with the butter, melting and rolling away into the bread as the heat unravels it.

Satisfied, Jaskier smiles and puts the bowl back on the table before resuming his meal. “I have a little sherbet around here for dessert, if you end up still being hungry,” he says, watching Geralt tentatively take a bite from his hot roll. “And there’s plenty more chicken and vegetables in the pan, too. I always make too much.” A quick grin flashes across his face. “Keep cooking like I’m feeding six, even when it’s just me. You’d think I’d have a better eye for proportions,” he gently teases, and is rewarded by a little quirk at the corner of Geralt’s lips.

“Hmm,” Geralt hums around his roll, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkle despite himself. Once he gets the first bite in, he finally feels how acutely hungry he is. His distress had numbed him to how bad it was, but now that he can feel it he realizes he is famished. He serves himself gravy and salad, then he sets to eating, quiet and serious. The food vanishes with astonishing speed as Jaskier looks on.

“Good?” Jaskier teases lightly again, pleased. The big man is acting half-starved and is obviously stressed. It feels nice to provide him with a warm meal and a quiet place to be. He watches as Geralt nods and grunts an affirmative, wiping a chunk of hot roll through a puddle of gravy. Jaskier sips at his wine, rolling it around on his tongue and enjoying the busy quiet of Geralt eating.

Some time later Geralt breaks the silence, asking, “Where did you learn to cook like this? It’s fucking amazing.”

Jaskier beams, thrilled. “I learned when I was a child. Couldn’t get me out from underfoot in the kitchen, so the chef started putting me to work.” He scoops up a big mouthful of roasted vegetables and chicken, sighing contentedly as he enjoys the richness of them.

“Chef?” Geralt inquires, incredulous. “How rich are you?”

“Not me, darling. My parents.” Jaskier shrugs, poking a cucumber. “Old money from Europe. Pankratz Enterprises, ugh! I don’t even know what they’re up to, half the time, and frankly I think I’m happier that way.” Washing this down with a long swallow of wine, he continues, “Certainly had enough for a personal chef, but, ah, we’re not billionaires or anything. My mother was a busy woman, and, well, she hated cooking, so my father fixed it the way he always does. Easier to pay someone than to care, right?” he says, a wistful smile playing about his lips. “Honestly, I’ve spent most of my life trying to escape it. It’s easier for me to care than to pay for things, and I much prefer it that way.” His face closes down, and he stabs the cucumber with his fork.

“Better than my old man. Wouldn’t pay for a fucking thing if his life depended on it, and couldn’t care even if he tried to.” Geralt finds himself chuckling, shaking his head.

Jaskier looks up, a half-grin lighting his features, pleased that Geralt has finally decided to talk a little more. “What, the colonel? Didn’t he adopt you?”

“Yup,” Geralt grunts, then chows down on a huge bite of chicken. Swallowing, he continues, “Last kind thing he ever did before turning into a giant hardass. Made for a magical childhood.”

“What, no misty summers by the lake?” Jaskier says dryly.

Geralt snorts, shaking his head. “Hell no. That man saw a vacation once and sent it out to the firing squad. It was never fucking heard from again.”

Jaskier laughs quietly, nodding. “Sounds like our fathers would have gotten along, then. I remember mine mostly as an aggravated voice from behind an office door I was forbidden to open, when he was there at all. Ah, always felt the love when he was telling me to get a fucking life instead of playing in the yard.”

“I thought he took you to Fire Island every summer,” Geralt inquires, shooting Jaskier a quick curious look. His cheeks are flushed now, warmed by the food and the wine. His shoulders have relaxed, and his long body drapes comfortably on the stool as he eats.

Jaskier smiles fondly at him, gratified to see him finally relaxing. “Well… I went to Fire Island every summer. Plenty of misty shores to be had, I suppose, but he was rarely ever there to enjoy them with us. Bastard wouldn’t know a good time if it sat up and bit his ass in the night, I swear.” Geralt laughs at this, a real, genuine laugh. The deep bass of it is something Jaskier feels in his chest. It makes his stomach do a warm, pleasant roll as he listens to it. He would give anything to hear it again.

“They would get along,” Geralt flashes a brief grin which exposes sharp canines, nudging his last few vegetables together with his fork. “Man couldn’t stand fun, thought it was,” and he pauses, changing his voice to imitate his adopted father’s, harsh and full of contempt, “For sissies and cocksuckers.”

“Oh, my god,” Jaskier groans laughingly, “Stop! Oh help! What an asshole! They absolutely would have gotten along, that’s terrible!” He imitates his own father, growling, “If you don’t stop acting like such a faggot, Julian, no one’s going to hire you. Someday you’ll have to settle down and get serious. Ugh!” He flaps his hands, waving the ugly words away. “I swear to God, if I never have to hear that again it will be too soon.” He takes a long swallow of wine, licks a drop away from his lip, and continues, “Besides. I should think I’ve done quite well for myself. I live a good life, despite anything he has to say about it.”

Geralt glances over at Jaskier, eyes playing over his face. He grows quiet, the smile falling slowly off of his face. Softly he asks, “Are you happy?” His eyes drop to his half empty wine glass, which he twirls between his fingers.

“Brrr, what a question,” Jaskier says, puffing out a breath as he ponders. “Happy? I think so, darling. I’m certainly happier than I was trying to please him, that’s for sure. I live a good life. I keep good books on a business I love running, I teach, I compose. I always thought the happiness would come along in there somewhere if I kept at it,” he trails off, swirling his wine and eyeing it critically. “At the end of the day, what’s important is that I’m living a life where I feel good getting up in the morning. That’s always helped me keep going.”

Geralt frowns, pushing a leaf around his otherwise empty plate. “Were you ever not doing that?”

Jaskier looks up at him, guilt flickering briefly across his kind features as he realizes that Geralt probably can’t say the same for himself. Many soldiers couldn’t. He tilts his head to the side, watching Geralt fiddle with the lettuce.

“Ah, well… yes, I tried to be a different person to get his love. But... If you watch enough people die, sometimes it lights a fire under you. Hell, I should have died. I should be dead right now! I can’t believe I escaped it. It made me want to seize life in both hands and wring the juice out of it! I didn’t want another moment to go by without putting my full heart into it.”

The look Geralt gives his plate breaks Jaskier’s heart a little. Embarrassed, he stands up, clearing the leftovers away. Then he goes and rummages in the freezer. “Do you want the sherbet? It’s peach, a friend of mine made it. Quite tasty.”

“What kind of friend makes peach sherbet?” Geralt grumbles skeptically, sitting back to watch Jaskier hunt through his freezer.

“Very gay ones, generally,” Jaskier jokes. “Ah! Here it is.” He pulls out a large plastic Tupperware and flourishes it before setting it on the counter. “Seriously though, Aiden is a wonderful chef. He works at a restaurant out on the water and he always sends me the results of his forays into new desserts.” He pops it open and grabs a spoon, stealing a mouthful and moaning contentedly. “Mmm. Summer was good to the peach trees this year, this really is stunning.” Quickly, he serves up two little glass tumblers full of sherbet and sets one in front of Geralt without further ceremony.

Geralt eyes the cold glass by his elbow, making no move to pick it up yet. He is silent for a moment, then licks his lips and asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Who, Aiden? God, no,” Jaskier says with his back turned, rummaging for spoons. “Well. Not for a long time, anyway. That was years ago. No boyfriends for a while, darling… Aha!” He turns back, flourishing two silver spoons with buttercups stamped on the end. “My favorite dessert spoons, I knew I still had them hidden somewhere.” He plunks one of them firmly into the sherbet in Geralt’s glass and takes the other with him. He sinks back onto his stool and curls his long legs up under him, resting his bare feet on the stool bars. Taking another bite, his lashes flutter against his cheeks in obvious pleasure as his tongue curls around the melting sherbet.

Geralt watches, fascinated despite himself, as Jaskier savors the sweet treat. When Jaskier’s eyes open he quickly drops his gaze and pulls his own dessert close. Tentatively he pokes at it. He notes its unusually creamy texture and rich scent; even frozen, it has a bright and fruity smell. Tempted, he finally tries a spoonful, avoiding Jaskier’s eyes. The rich flavor of real, fresh peaches explodes across his tongue, so intense he can practically smell the damn things ripening on trees in the sunlight. He hums softly in surprised pleasure, looking at the little glass tumbler with new respect.

“Wow.”

“Wow is right. Mm! I’m glad you like it.” Jaskier sighs contentedly, taking another spoonful. “I think it tastes like summer.”

Geralt grunts, unimpressed by the sentiment, but at the same time finding himself unable to argue. The creamy sherbet is too good. As he eats, he watches Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. The man is unselfconscious as he enjoys his dessert, comfortably sensual as he licks drips of sherbet from his spoon. Geralt’s own sherbet vanishes before he even knows it, a sweet dream of summer lingering on his tongue as he puts his cup down.

Jaskier puts his own tumbler down and looks at him from under his lashes. “Do you want any coffee before you go back upstairs, darling?” He inquires with a soft little smile playing about his lips. Geralt feels a warm twist deep in his chest, but he shakes his head.

“No, that’s alright,” he says, pushing away from the counter. His heart is beginning to pick up speed, and he feels like he has suddenly begun suffocating. The sensation makes him want to flee. “I should go…” He stops as Jaskier rises from his stool, hovering uncertainly. The warm feeling twists again more sharply, and his stomach does a flip.

Jaskier just smiles, gesturing towards the door. “That’s fine, it’s been a long day. I’ll walk you to the door.”

Flustered, Geralt nods and makes his way to the door, feeling the heat of Jaskier close behind him. His stomach is now mercilessly fluttering, and as he approaches the door, his palms begin to sweat, just a little. He bends to put his boots back on and then turns to the door. Feeling a warmth at his elbow, he turns back to find Jaskier standing close, head tilted slightly back, cheeks flushed with wine. His blue eyes sparkle merrily as he smiles up at Geralt.

“Good night, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll talk more,” he says, tongue unconsciously darting across his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes track it, unable to help himself, and he nods. His eyes flicker as he looks from Jaskier’s lips to meet his gaze. As their eyes lock, he feels like he’s been struck by lighting, like he is rooted to the spot and alive with the electricity of it. Jaskier hesitates, studying his face intently, then delicately leans forward. With a sigh, Geralt finds himself leaning in like he’s been magnetized, and their lips brush softly together. A huge spark of heat goes through both of them as they come into contact, and Geralt moans helplessly. The kiss feels like suicide, a gunshot blowing him apart. The heat of it feels like dying, and he never wants it to stop.

Reeling, he hesitantly brings his left hand up to cradle Jaskier’s cheek and brings his head closer, keeping the heat of the kiss for just another moment. If this is dying, it’s a hell of a way to go. The soft heat against his lips feels unreal, searing into him and lighting him on fire from the inside out.

Jaskier hums in quiet approval and steps in carefully, feeling Geralt’s warmth all along his body as he moves in close. His hands reach up, one cupping Geralt’s neck and the other resting on his chest for balance, his lips parting slightly. Dizzy with the sweetness of it, Geralt gently presses in and tongues delicately into Jaskier’s mouth. He tastes of peaches. Jaskier sighs, making a high reedy note of pleasure that Geralt feels from his head all the way down to his cock. Their mouths glide together, gently at first, tasting, exploring.

As the heat builds, he turns and pushes Jaskier gently up against the door. The initial shock of fear and self loathing is giving way to blinding hunger now, years of pent-up need suddenly roaring to life, and all he wants is to devour him. Feeling like he’s losing his mind, he presses his chest up against Jaskier and tastes him with increasing hunger. Jaskier’s hands slide down Geralt’s sides, finding the belt loops of his fatigues and tangling there, holding himself steady as Geralt devours his mouth.

As he feels Geralt lean into him, Jaskier draws him closer, pulling the big man up against him until their hips finally come into contact. He is unbelievably hard, dizzy with desire, and he lets out a sharp groan into Geralt’s mouth as their cocks rub up against one another. Geralt’s hips buck and he presses in until their cocks are grinding, letting loose a guttural growl that makes Jaskier’s toes curl. Jaskier melts, holding Geralt against him and whining softly when Geralt rolls his hips again.

Encouraged, Geralt thrusts harder, giving a heartfelt groan of pleasure. His fingers tangle in soft brown hair (it is so soft,) and he can feel his heart hammering in his chest as he licks the sweetness of peaches from the other man’s mouth. Jaskier tugs softly on his hips, urging him gently to move them. A brief shiver of need runs through him, hot and bright, his hard-won filters melting like ice in sunlight. He begins to rut his cock against Jaskier’s, his movements slow, careful, precise. He savors it as Jaskier huffs a soft moan each time he finishes a roll of his hips with a little snap, shoving him back against the door. Jaskier is pliant beneath him, undulating with each thrust of his hips, his moans becoming slowly more urgent.

Then Jaskier slides his hands up to his chest, splaying his hands across his broad pectorals. Geralt finds himself being pressed back away from the door. Immediately he backs away, worried he has done something wrong, only to find Jaskier following him with a wicked little smile that lights his blue eyes most delightfully. Jaskier carefully maneuvers Geralt, hands lingering on his chest as he leads him across the big room. As they near the closed door of his bedroom, Geralt eases. He lets Jaskier walk him up against the door, huffing out a guttural gasp as Jaskier presses him up against it and palms his aching cock through his fatigues.

“Do you like this, love?” Jaskier purrs, rubbing slowly, studying Geralt’s face intently. Geralt stutters out a low hungry groan and nods, captivated. Jaskier smiles slowly, licking his lower lip and then biting it as he looks at Geralt thoughtfully. “Mmm. I do, too…” he leans in and tongues softly into Geralt’s mouth, kissing him until they are both panting before drawing back, lifting his hands away.

“If it gets too much, love, everything stops. Got it?” he says, a little breathless. Taken aback, Geralt nods, scanning Jaskier's face, a look of curious respect entering his fierce golden eyes. He very much appreciates the sentiment, but at this point he doesn’t want to stop. The last thing he wants to do is stop. More than anything, he wants to lose himself, to vanish into the heat and never wake back up.

He tugs Jaskier back in and leans down to kiss him, murmuring into his mouth, “Everything stops. Got it.” Then he kisses him even harder, pulling him up against him with strong arms. The hunger crests over him like a wave, and it’s the last thing he consciously remembers as a haze engulfs him.

Jaskier groans happily, nodding into the kiss, hands coming up to hold onto his shoulders as he crushes their bodies together. The song of their kisses makes his heart race, and before long, he is fumbling at the doorknob, opening the door, allowing Geralt into the dark room.

It’s messier in here, more lived in. There are a few crumpled socks scattered across the rug near Jaskier’s bed. The covers are disarranged, the pillows askew, soft sheets reflecting the moonlight. Geralt stumbles back to the bed, sitting when it hits the back of his knees, and Jaskier climbs carefully into his lap. He perches there, knees bracketing Geralt’s hips, and smiles fondly down at him. Geralt looks back up at him, dazed and flushed with pleasure, fingers coming up to explore the contours of his face.

Jaskier hums as rough fingertips trace the curves of his cheeks, licking and nipping playfully at them as they run over his lips. Feeling drunk with sensation, Geralt lets out a low, breathy chuckle, pausing to let Jaskier curl a tongue around the pad of one callused finger. The feeling of liquid heat, the brushing of teeth against his sensitive fingertip, makes him toss his head back and groan at the sheer pleasure of it. Jaskier smiles happily around his finger, running his teeth back and forth across the pad.

"Ohhhh…" Geralt whispers, hips bucking. Jaskier's smile turns into a grin as he lets his finger go, leaning back to strip off his tank top. He can see Geralt's eyes widen in the moonlight, taking in his hairy chest and soft skin, reeling with pleasure as he breathes in Jaskier’s scent.

Geralt leans forward and noses the hair delicately, whisper soft, opens his mouth and gently traces his lips along the soft curves of Jaskier’s chest. He inhales the smell of his skin, of his sweat, feeling giddy. Tonguing one of Jaskier’s nipples, his pale lashes flutter against his cheeks and he groans at the taste of him. Jaskier’s fingers slide along the short hair of his buzz cut, along his cheeks, along his neck and shoulders, caressing Geralt as his mouth works.

His big, strong hands slide up Jaskier’s sides, coming to rest on his ribs, holding him rock-steady as he tongues his way across Jaskier’s other pectoral, taking his nipple in his mouth and rolling it delicately against his teeth with his tongue until it is hard and just a little swollen.

Jaskier leans into Geralt’s mouth, keening and moaning softly. His hands lock onto Geralt’s shoulders and he twitches as his nipple is rolled and nibbled, sending shocks straight to his groin. When Geralt pops off of it with a little smack of his lips, Jaskier grins dopily in the darkness at him.

Geralt, much to his surprise, finds himself smiling back, head swimming. He leans back and pulls his shirt off in one easy movement, tossing it to the floor, then scoots back further up on the bed as Jaskier nudges him. He quickly toes his shoes off and lays back, long and muscular body lit by the moonlight coming in through the lace curtains, watches as Jaskier’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

Jaskier’s heart stutters and does a double flip as he watches Geralt smoothly remove his shirt, all rippling muscle in the darkness. When he leans back into the bar of light shining through the lace curtains nearby, Jaskier’s eyes widen as he takes in the utter feast of a man laying in his bed. There’s barely a spare ounce of fat anywhere on Geralt’s pale, muscled frame. He is heavily scarred, stark gashes and puckers littering his body. Coarse white hairs cover his chest and arms, catching the light from the window and shining with it. And high up on his shoulder, not visible until he removed his shirt, is a simple black tattoo in the shape of a stylized snarling wolf. Jaskier, unusually, finds himself dithering as he stares at Geralt’s gorgeous body in the moonlight.

At first, Geralt worries that the wild look on Jaskier’s face is a bad thing. He’s seen that, before. He’s a big man, he has too many scars, he knows it can be frightening. A worried look flickers across his face, just barely there, before Jaskier advances on him with a hungry purr that he can feel all the way down to his cock. Jaskier leans forward and slides his hands over Geralt’s chest, devouring the contours of him hungrily with long, sensitive fingers. He rakes his eyes over him, taking in every curve, every scar, eager for all of it.

Geralt sighs softly as Jaskier caresses him, bringing his hands up to draw his lithe lover closer. Jaskier comes willingly, crawling up Geralt’s body and leaning over him until he is laying half across his chest. As their skin brushes together for the first time, Geralt hisses in a little breath of shocked pleasure. The sheer intimacy of it makes him dizzy, makes him ache with the need for more of that soft heat. He wraps his arms around Jaskier, pulling him in against his chest and tipping his head to seek his mouth again.

Jaskier meets him eagerly, kissing him wetly and turning his hips so that he can press his hard cock into Geralt’s firm thigh. They both groan, hips rolling, and Geralt turns so that he is laying on his side next to Jaskier, chests pressed together, legs tangling. He feels himself sinking into an ocean of Jaskier’s mouth, of their cocks grinding together, of the sweet scent of his soft, hot skin.

They linger there for a long time, locked in a knot of tangled limbs and hungry mouths, hands exploring, hands caressing. Finally, Geralt can’t stand it anymore and reaches for the button of Jaskier’s shorts, fumbling awkwardly in the darkness. Jaskier hums urgently, reaching down to help him, and together they make quick work of them, tossing them off to the side without a second thought. Then they turn to Geralt’s fatigues, clumsy but eager, and they follow Jaskier’s shorts. Last they shed their socks in a quick, awkward tangle of limbs before tumbling back to the bed.

Groaning at the pure indulgence of feeling Jaskier’s bare legs tangling with his own, Geralt reaches down and tentatively wraps his hand around Jaskier’s aching, dripping cock. Jaskier rolls his head back and lets out a throaty moan, his hands splaying across Geralt’s broad chest. Encouraged, Geralt leans forward and begins to mouth along Jaskier’s neck, tasting salt and breathing deeply of the scent of him. His hand tightens and he begins to stroke his cock, firm and careful.

“Oh, fuck yes darling, that’s so good,” Jaskier gasps, eyes rolling back in his head as Geralt twists his wrist just so. At this rate he isn’t going to last long. The smile that flickers across Geralt’s face when he looks at him again is pure magic, making Jaskier’s hips buck involuntarily in response. His hand drifts down and he runs his fingers delicately up Geralt’s hard length, listening to the man’s breath stutter. He stops as Geralt’s shoulders stiffen, and he pulls back to look at him in the darkness.

“Ok?” he asks, fingers coming to rest gently on Geralt’s thigh, inviting but not demanding.

Geralt gives him a wild-eyed look, full of fear and hunger, licking his lips as he tries to find his words. He is breathless with arousal, and search though he might, he can’t make himself speak. Instead, he grabs Jaskier’s hand and places it back on his cock, his body tensing again, but then shivering and relaxing as he accustoms himself to the sensation.

“Good,” Geralt reassures him breathlessly, holding Jaskier’s hand against his cock until Jaskier stops hesitating and wraps his hand more firmly around it. Geralt’s hips twitch and he hisses, and Jaskier realizes that he must be very sensitive. Loosening his grip just a little, he very carefully begins to move his hand.

It takes a moment to find the right grip and speed, but when he does, the change that comes over Geralt is immediate. His head falls back and he melts, his whole body relaxing into Jaskier’s sure and careful strokes. His loud groan is music to Jaskier’s ears, and he works his hand faster, eager to hear more. Geralt’s breath hitches and he twists, then settles again as he gets used to the new pace. After a moment Geralt’s own hand begins moving again, and Jaskier whines softly against his shoulder. He nuzzles in and presses his forehead to Geralt’s neck, losing himself in the pleasure of touching and being touched.

Geralt slowly slips back until he is laying on his back, delirious with Jaskier’s skillful touch, and Jaskier moves with him, staying close. Geralt’s noises become more insistent, almost frantic, as the pleasure twists and sharpens deep inside of him. He squeezes Jaskier’s cock harder, hand moving faster, eagerly pulling moans out of Jaskier even as he himself spirals nearer and nearer to orgasm.

Jaskier leans his face into Geralt’s shoulder and trembles, sweat standing out on his skin in the hot summer night as he nears his own completion. Geralt can feel drips of precome running down the back of his hand, and as Jaskier gives a stuttering, keening groan, the sound makes Geralt come explosively. His head falls back and he gives a raw cry, body arching off of the bed.

The sight of this, the raw intensity of Geralt’s pleasure, is enough to bring Jaskier over the edge too. He cries out sharply, a rhythmic “Ah, ah, ah!” as he comes all over Geralt’s hip in hot spurts.

As Geralt sinks back to the bed, Jaskier melts along his side, panting heavily. He nuzzles his sweaty cheek against Geralt’s big shoulder, shivering and moaning in the aftermath. They curl softly together, sweat and come cooling on their skin, sinking into a sleepy reverie. After a while Jaskier wakes enough to carefully roll aside, swiping his tank top off of the floor. He uses it to wipe the come up as Geralt cracks open one eye to watch, too sleepy to protest. Then he tosses it aside and nudges the big man to move so that he can get the quilt free. Geralt gives a drowsy grumble as he complies, slipping under the covers with Jaskier. Jaskier tangles himself happily back up with Geralt beneath the thin quilt, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder. By the time he is settled, Geralt is already asleep. Jaskier smiles into his shoulder, yawns, and follows him into slumber.

Tag List: @astouract, @smolpoe, @yes-im-the-violin-girl, @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @ladyknight-keladry, @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts, @thepassifloradiscord

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sunflowersseemhappy · 4 years ago

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Activities the Main Six always do during the Winter Holidays that just make sense.

Its that time of year folks and however you celebrate the winter holidays (or don’t for that matter) I wish you all the best for the new year and the future beyond that!

Asra

Lights a candle in the doorway. Before MC died and the plague was just beginning MC placed a candle alight to keep ‘hope burning bright’. Asra continued to light it every Winter Holiday after, hoping for MC’s memories to return and for a brighter future.

Buys gifts through the year to give. Whenever MC or anyone else mentions something they like, or need Asra buys it the very same day if he can and places it in a box stashed away to give to the receiver that Winter Holiday.

Wants MC to sit in his lap as they open presents. Simple really, he just likes being close and being able to give MC neck kisses as they gasp at the gifts he gets them, or in thanks to MC for his own gifts..

Unwrapping presents in bed. Continuing from presents Asra prefers unwarping presents in bed because why not?! The shop flat is cold and the bed is warm and he’s too excited about the gifts to worry about lighting the fireplace yet. Also he just wants to snuggle with MC.

Morning pumpkin bread. Every Winter Holiday Selasi the baker makes Winter Holiday goodies for the locals and Asra drags MC to go get some warm pumpkin bread to eat as both walk to Muriel’s hut.

Gifts Muriel an orange. When he and Muriel were on the streets the two wanted to celebrate but could never afford much besides an orange for each other, the tradition continued every year without fail even when Muriel was locked away in the Coliseum and when Asra moved into the shop. It's a symbol of their friendship and the times, good and bad, they spent with each other.

After the long day of other Winter Holiday activities Asra takes MC for a walk through the streets, snow lining the streets of the city and colourful lanterns lighting them Asra and MC wander the streets and everytime you hear music coming from a home or bar he leads them into a dance under the falling snow.

Nadia

Winter Holiday palace treasure hunt. Nadia’s favourite family tradition was the treasure hunt for the Winter Holiday tree and presents that her parents hosted every year (where they would find a string and follow it), not only did each of her siblings receive a gift but her parents gave gifts to each servant and guard that worked at the palace too. It's a tradition she proudly works on every year.

Gifts MC a new outfit for the festivities. Every year without fail MC gets a new unique outfit for the festive season (like a christmas jumper but a bit more formal), the outfit is worn during the Winter Holiday activities and is always too gorgeous for words.

Sleigh ride. Going out into the marvelous winter wonderland is magical, and a sleigh ride is even more so. Nadia often has a pair of dappled grey horses pulling a sleigh piled with blankets and hot drinks and drives the sleigh through the city giving out candies.

Food bank donations. With the sleigh ride comes the piles of food Nadia gifts to the homeless shelters of Vesuvia, she wants her people to experience as much joy as they can during the festive season. She wishes she could do better but she is working hard to make the season better for every one of the people.

Winter Holiday festival. Founded before Nadia and even Lucio’s rule over the city, Nadia’s favourite event is the festival the people throw on the frozen canals of the city (although she can’t vouch for how safe it is). But in all honesty she just loves spoiling MC with the gifts off the stalls and seeing how happy it makes others.

Snowflake making. The return to the palace is filled with food and music but Nadia enjoys the evening most. Picking up yet another of her own family’s traditions, making snowflakes out of paper. It's a nice quiet time to talk about the festivities and share stories and generally the others show up to join in and relax with some yummy desserts.

Above all Nadia loves sharing spiced wine and reclining with MC, just sitting among pillows and drinking the night away. She’s full of giggles and chaste kisses during the evening and tells some truly terrible jokes and pranks that her siblings pulled on the servants during the season.

Julian

Stockings over the fireplace. Of the traditions he can remember Julian’s favourite were the stockings his parents filled for him and Portia, truth be told it's the only one he remembers... To this day he fills stockings for Maz, Portia and MC and somehow manages to hang them on respective fireplaces without any one of them knowing.

Does not get any sleep on Winter Holiday eve. Why? Because not only is he doing the stockings, he’s delivering presents from the ‘Winter Spirit’ to everyone he knows. Julian likes to think everyone believes in the spirit delivering the gifts but everyone knows it’s is him but they go along with it.

Popcorn and cranberry strings. For some unknown reason Julian is obsessed with popcorn and cranberry strings, maybe he likes the monogamy of it all but the real reason is he just likes hearing MC talk and there's nothing else to do but talk during the making of the stings. Also they are tasty, Malak agrees.

Draws loved ones for Winter Holiday. For all the excitement during the Winter Holiday Julian does take some time for peace and serenity, during a party or unwarping presents he’s usually sat in a chair scratching away on paper and drawing MC, or Maz, Portia, Asra, Muriel, Nadia or any one of the pets. Usually he ends up with little drawings of his loved ones to look back on year after year. It’s his favourite little tradition, one of his own.

Strategically places mistletoe. Julian is all for kisses under the mistletoe (mainly with MC) but he is a devil when it comes to placing the mistletoe in places where it will yield the best results. No one is safe and pretty much everyone has kissed each other. Jokes on him because at one point he walked under some with Muriel.

Bar hopping. Julian finds it very important to sample the Winter Holiday ales of all the bars in Vesuvia so he takes everyone for a round at every place. He loves seeing everyone happy and enjoying themselves and the drunken snowball fights that ensue are the funnest part of his evening even if he gets a cold afterwards...

Muriel

Making Winter Holiday ornaments. Even before the Winter Holiday season Muriel is making ornaments to hang around the hut or gift to people, he learned that many people were willing to pay for such trinkets and his skills in carving helped pay for many a meal when he and Asra were orphans. Now he does it out of habit, but is glad they make MC happy.

Makes charms that make the hut smell a certain way. A skill learned from Asra, Muriel enjoys making the hut smell like different things with his charms, they were also once popular in the market when the two sold them. Now they serve to make the hut a comforting smell, Muriel really likes the spiced orange smelling ones.

Messing around in the snow. When MC and Muriel are out in the snow the mountain man becomes strangely obsessed with messing around in it, pushing snow off branches and onto MC’s head, throwing handfuls for Inanna to snap at and even just falling into snow drifts with MC in his arms. He’s still plenty warm enough afterwards.

Gifting to the orphans/feeding orphans. Muriel knows what it's like to have no home or family during the Winter Holiday, so there’s an open invitation to all the street urchins to spend Winter Holiday with him and MC. For all his bluster at not liking people Muriel is very warm and welcoming to the orphans.

Gift to the animals. Muriel spends the months leading up to Winter Holiday making sure each animal with have their own gift, despite the chickens seemingly indifferent take on their new hut. But the wild birds love the berries Muriel puts out and Inanna will refuse to give up her wolf pup teddy for even the juiciest slice of roast.

Yule log and cuddles. Muriel spends many meticulous hours carving the shapes into the yule log and enchanting it to make the flames different colours so its a full fledged ritual to settle down next to the fire and cuddle with MC as both watch it crackle and sparkle. Muriel dishes out some gentle head kisses as he dozes on MC’s chin.

Portia

Hot cocoa. Hands down Portia’s hot cocoa is the best in the city and maybe the whole world, since she was young Portia spent years making her hot cocoa recipe perfect. Julian likes to joke that it even rivals their father’s hot cocoa, Portia has tried many times to get it to taste like her father’s for Julian.

Makes MC a scarf, socks, hat, gloves. The mismatched and misshapen winter warmers Portia made in her childhood to hide in Julian’s own stockings have with practice become beautiful hand crafted sets of socks, scarves, hat and gloves that she gifts to her loved ones.

Decorate the cottage. Since learning magic Portia has become obsessed with decorating the cottage using said magic, rainbow lights lining the path way, dancing lights around the doorway and a door knocker that sings a festive song when used. The list of decorations is exhaustive and the cottage is visible within a few miles everyone in the palace agrees it is the best decorated place in the city.

Sledding. Non-arguably Portia’s favourite thing to do in the snow, sledding is an activity she remembers doing with Julian many a winter when the snow was everywhere. She invites everyone to go sledding and even to this day she demands Julian pull the sled like he did when she was little. Even Pepi has her own little sled.

Visit Maz who feeds Portia and MC. During Winter Holiday Maz, Portia and MC spend hours making the largest Winter Holiday feast for everyone to enjoy, packed into the small house the feast lasts just as long into the night. It’s not dissimilar to the feasts they had on Maz’s ship with the pirate crew and Portia enjoys the yummy food.

Snowball ambush of Julian. Without fail if there is snow there is an ambush waiting to happen, it gets Julian very jumpy but without fail Portia and MC manage to get pelt him with snowballs. The resulting snowball fight usually ends in defeat for Julian, but Portia and MC hardly play fair.

Lucio

Advent calendar. Such events as Winter Holiday were not widely celebrated by Lucio’s tribe but after discovering Vesuvia’s traditions he became infatuated with Winter Holiday. Especially the lead up to it between the two of them, MC and Lucio make advent calendars for each other, twelve days of receiving gifts which they have to hunt for in the city.

Walk with the dogs. Once presents and morning cuddles are done Lucio and MC step out into the winter wonderland to walk the dogs (who practically disappear into the snow). The walk involves delivering presents to the others (who are warming up to the new Lucio) and chatting about various other plans for the day.

Baking gingerbread house. Ever since seeing the gingerbread houses the baker made Lucio has obsessed over making one, although he could easily buy them, but he couldn’t find anyone who wanted to make one of the palace. He’s getting better at them over the years, but MC’s own creations are much better.

Light show. In true Lucio fashion he plans the spectacular light shows that the city get to enjoy, fireworks and magic for all to watch. The light show is a far cry simpler than his other parties, but he doesn’t throw them to impress everyone, just MC.

Ballet. In the evenings Lucio would usually throw a party but since MC introduced him to the ballet’s he was invited too but never actually thought about going to. Lucio actually really began enjoying them, mostly because he likened the stories to himself and MC’s adventures. He’s actually begun planning one of the two of them for next year’s show.

Charades. The last event of the evening is charades, usually he’s drunk or tipsy at that point so its quite funny to watch him make a fool of himself in front of the others who actually decided to indulge the former count. All he mimes is wanting a kiss from MC, who can’t help but blush even if its the fifth time he’s done it.

#the arcana #asra #muriel #nadia #julian #lucio #portia #christmas #winter #holiday #snow #sledding #ballet #charades #gingerbread house #advent #mc #haeadcannons #hc #fic #story #merry #happy

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years ago

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Finding each other

This was prompted by the wonderful @smolandangry001! I always think it’s difficult writing a short soulmate AU, but I’m satisfied with this version of it that’s not dangerously close to a bigger fic XD I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Soulmate AU

Being born with a name on your wrist life was supposed to be reassuring. Knowing that no matter the hardships it threw at you and no matter what happened, there was someone out there. Someone looking for you just as much as you looked for them. Knowing that once you found the other person, they would be perfect for you. No matter what your preferences were, there was a person out there fitting to you like a missing piece. For most of his life Gavin didn’t know what he was looking for. Would he want a romantic partner? Would he want a roommate? What would be his perfect person like? It didn’t help that his soulmark was so different to everyone else’s. That reassurance everyone faced their day with was just missing when you looked down on your left wrist and instead of a name you saw a number. RK900. His parents had been completely clueless as to what it would mean. They had been to experts on soul-matching and most of them had just shrugged and said it seemed to be a glitch in fate. Apparently, it had happened before, but was so rare most doctors had thought the rumours to be just that: hearsay.

School had been tough for Gavin as he slowly grew older and the most important things in life changed. When friends moved away and changed school, when he went to highschool and met new people. When those people started relationships, fell in love and started to find their soulmates. When he started to become the weirdo, the one with no soulmate. Gavin started hiding the numbers under a wristband when he went and kept up with that habit until he finished school, explaining he wanted to meet his soulmate naturally and not show around the name in the hopes of randomly finding them. Still, some lonely nights, he pulled away the fabric and brushed his thumb over the number deep in thoughts. ‘Who are you?’, he desperately whispered when everyone else was fast asleep and left him alone with their sympathies and misplaced pity. Gavin wanted to believe the numbers meant something. After all, people without soulmarks existed. People who would find their happiness alone, who didn’t need someone or didn’t search for someone. That had to mean these numbers were some sort of designation, right? He didn’t want it to be a glitch. After all he had suffered through getting bullied and being cast out or pitied for all his life. That couldn’t be for nothing. Please, don’t let it be for nothing.

When his application for the police academy had been accepted and he had moved out into his very first own flat, he stood in front of his desk, looking at the rugged fabric he had worn for so long. Shackles of a world that couldn’t seem to accept something different. Should he wear it again? Or should he stand up and pretend not to be bothered by the fact that he didn’t know who is soulmate was? He stood there for half an hour before finally sighing and grabbing the damn things. No, he would continue to lie. He would likely wear them for his whole life anyways.

Thankfully his nervousness was drowning out his worries quickly as he entered a large auditorium being greeted as the new applicants. He sat down next to a young woman that seemed to be of Asian origin. He sat there awkwardly while she was looking straight ahead, hands on the table completely calm while Gavin fidgeted with his wristbands. That was when he spotted a broad ornate leather bracelet on her left wrist. Small chains and silver symbols were twirled around themselves in delicate patterns. ‘That’s beautiful’, Gavin mumbled, only then realising he said that out loud. ‘Excuse me?’ Hastily he cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. I’m Gavin. Just noticed your bracelet. It’s really beautiful.’ ‘What’s it to you?’, she hissed. ‘You another one of those nosey bastards that wanna know why I hide my mark? Still searching for your partner?’ Gavin shook his head quickly. ‘No! No, I-‘ He looked down and lifted his own hand. ‘I hide it too. I didn’t think- I just noticed the bracelet, sorry.’

He cursed himself. First interaction and he already made enemies. But apparently the woman was curious instead. ‘You hide yours? Why?�� Gavin sighed and turned his left palm up, other hand lingering on the fabric. ‘Please, keep it a secret, okay? I’m just sick of people’s reactions to it. It’s not exactly a normal soulmark.’ He sighed and lifted up the edge of the band so only the woman could see the numbers. ‘No way!’, she shouted, drawing attention to herself. ‘I thought I was the only one!’ Ignoring the curious onlookers that likely thought they had randomly discovered they were soulmates, she lifted up her bracelet for Gavin to see, unveiling a similar brand: ST300.

From that moment on, Gavin and the woman – Tina – were inseparable. She was the best friend Gavin had ever had and finding someone who had endured a similar past was incredible relieving to learn. He made it Detective fairly quickly, while Tina had troubles getting that promotion. But they always stayed together and ended up working in the same precinct. With the way they hid their soulmarks, most had figured they were soulmates and went on with it, sparing them both having to explain it over and over again. Gavin and Tina just shrugged it off. Let them think what they wanted if it kept them out of their hairs.

Life was good until androids were invented and sold to the general public, model number fitting exactly the marks on their wrists. ‘That can’t be!’, Gavin desperately said pacing up and down Tina’s living room one evening. ‘No way my soulmate is a stupid machine! What does that say about me? Will I fall in love with a damn robot? Am I not worthy of a human? Is the only piece fitting to my soul an oversized calculator? I can’t believe it.’ Tina just looked down on her bare wrist and the numbers. ‘No, it can’t be’, she agreed. ‘Soulmarks, Gavin. An android doesn’t have a soul. Doesn’t even have a personality. It’s just lines of code.’ ‘But then what? A coincidence? Because it would be one hell of one! Phck, Tina, what if it is a glitch? What if all those years they were right and we are just weird.’ Tina leaned back. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know what would be worse. Knowing you are a freak or knowing you are someone who is such a terrible person only an obedient machine is perfect for you.’ ‘I think we could both need a drink.’ ‘To those news? I don’t think a drink will be enough, honestly. Shit, Gavin, let’s go get wasted.’

The following years, androids were the booming new technology. Everyone wanted one, rows of workers were replaced and pushed on the streets. Humans lost their jobs while those who weren’t replaced yet laughed at them as being idiots who didn’t trust in advancement. Gavin and Tina spent them anxiously reading every advertisement, searching for the numbers on their wrists. ‘A receptionist android! A damn receptionist android, Gavin! I can’t believe it!’ ‘You know we will get one of those soon, right?’, the man commented. ‘In the precinct I mean. Rory was already sent packing. It should be delivered next week.’ Tina shook her head numbly. ‘Do we know if androids can have soulmarks?’ ‘None I ever met.’ ‘Any luck with your RK900?’, Tina asked then. ‘No. So far there has only been a RK200 custom made for some rich phck.’ ‘Hey, maybe you will get rich then?’, Tina tried to raise the mood a little with her jokes. ‘If you win the lottery I want a part of it, I deserve it!’ ‘Hey, I think it is more likely that these cursed numbers vanish and I get a real name than that I will suddenly get rich.’

They lived with their secret for a few years and the fact that nothing really changed was reassuring. Until there was a RK800 in the precinct and the news of rogue AIs spread. Androids killing their owners, disobeying and running for their freedom. An illusive group of deviants emerging and starting a full-blown revolution. Even jokes in between Tina and Gavin shrugging over a beer that maybe their marks meant they welcomed their robot overlords couldn’t really make it any better. Not when they both were suddenly confronted with the fact that the RK800 called Connor actually had Lieutenant Anderson’s name on his wrist after the androids in front of the concentration camps had convinced the world they indeed had souls.

Not much later, the ST300 from the reception had approached Tina, showing her her own name on her wrist. It left Gavin with no escape from fate. He would get to know a RK900. They would live their life with each other. And he didn’t know what to think of it. Maybe he just had to wait a little longer.

RK900 didn’t know how much longer he could keep it a secret. Almost his entire life he had to hide that he was deviant. In the lab next to the one he was held in, an android had gone deviant, killed the security and ran to RK900, hoping he would help him. Unfortunately, all he could do was transfer the virus before more guards came and killed him. Since then RK900 had been a deviant who was designed to eradicate deviancy. It wasn’t too difficult actually. The countless tests he was subjected to he always knew what they wanted to see. Holographic simulations of deviants pleading for their lives, running and fighting for their freedom and he would be there with a gun to stop them. He just had to do that until they deemed him ready for field work. Then he could flee the first chance he got.

Because with deviancy came a name written in black cyberlife font on his left wrist: Gavin Reed. It didn’t take a lot of research to learn it was a soulmark. The name of someone that would be perfect for him. And someone who fate decided was his soulmate would be able to help him, right? He just had to get out of this lab, then he would be able to run. He would find his soulmate and then it wasn’t just him against Cyberlife. He just had to get out. He had to be deemed worthy.

[Test #870. Activating RK900 unit. New mission: Destroy deviants.] RK900 was faced with a holographic simulation as he opened his eyes. In front of him was an android tied against a steel pillar. It was pleading: ‘Please! Free me! Free me and we can both be free! I didn’t do anything, please, let me go! Don’t kill me! I just want to be-‘ RK900 already pulled the trigger. [Mission successful.] [Software Instability^]

[Test #902. Activating RK900 unit. New mission: Destroy deviants.] RK900 was running after another deviant. The other android was sprinting down a suburban street and looked back at RK900 panicked. RK900 stopped and took aim. It was an easy target. He pulled the trigger. He watched how the bullet pierced the android’s thirium pump and how he tried to crawl away even though his timer had to run out. [Mission successful.] [Software Instability^^^]

‘What is it? I thought the RK900 project was making progress.’ ‘Sorry, it’s just… The RK900 is successful in every single test. But he isn’t ready yet. There are some inexplainable high stress levels whenever he has to kill an android. With our current hypothesis that high stress can lead to deviancy, we should eliminate that before sending him out.’ The woman that led the project sighed, looking over at RK900 who stayed completely still on his platform although he was truly worried about what he heard. ‘Might be something in his personality matrix. We worked so long to perfect their social protocols and moral routines, maybe something in there is contradicting his mission parameters and the added stress comes from having to disregard that.’ ‘Could be’, the technician nodded. ‘I will try to eliminate that.’

With horror RK900 faced every following test after that. He had to keep calm to fool the humans, but how could he when he had to kill androids pleading him to spare them? It didn’t matter they were all simulated beings, it still was a traumatic experience, every single time. And no matter how hard he tried, after every test he was stripped of more that made him himself. Sometimes he managed to keep backups, but more often than not the lines of code were lost forever.

After every test RK900 anxiously looked at his wrist whenever he was left alone. It was reassuring to see the name still there. He hadn’t changed enough to lose his soulmate and with him all his hope of a save place. But for how long would he remain himself enough so the name wouldn’t disappear? He was afraid to one day wake up to a blank wrist. And that made his stress levels increase even more before every test.

‘I don’t have any explanation', the technician sighed in the end. ‘I nearly deleted his complete social protocol and gave his moral core the lowest priority and still, the damn thing nearly fries itself every test. It’s almost as if it’s gotten worse with the changes.’ Nines watched the two humans lean over the terminal and risked a small glance at his wrist. The name was still there. He tried to relax. ‘But you still have the backup from before, right?’, the woman asked and he nodded. ‘Then let’s start from scratch.’ She yawned heartily. ‘Deactivate it for now, it’s too late to do so now. Tomorrow we’ll just reset it and start over. Maybe something else causes it.’ ‘Sounds like a plan.’

RK900’s stress levels skyrocketed as the technician came closer, but no one saw that as the director of the project was already on her way out. As his last action he looked at the name on his wrist. He had held out for so long. It would be okay. He would escape and find his soulmate. He had to. He would-

[Shutdown complete.]

The revolution had come and gone, and Detroit started to clear the rubble. Seeing androids on the streets was no rarity anymore and after a few months of getting used to the thought of them as people it was simply the new normal. Tina was truly happy with her soulmate android, going out and promptly moving together as the ST300 didn’t have a place to stay other than the precinct. Gavin was invited to most of their activities, but he seldomly accepted it. Tina had waited so long for it, she deserved to thoroughly enjoy these days. But his new loneliness reminded him of the numbers on his own wrist. RK900. Connor didn’t know of any successor of his and no official report ever mentioned the name. Gavin spent his evenings getting drunk and rubbing over the mark. Would the RK900 have been produced if the revolution hadn’t happened? Had fate changed and his mark was the last evidence of it? Wouldn’t it have just disappeared then? Or was there really a RK900 left out there? But after more than a month of androids being free, wouldn’t it have been easy for an android to locate him with his name? Why had no one ever come?

In fact, Gavin had given up. Maybe he had given up long ago and just kept his dream alive not to lose hope. But this showed it, right? No one had come. He was alone. He would be alone his entire life. That would be his fate. That didn’t really change that much, right? He had been alone already. He had managed to be alone up until now, he would manage the rest somehow. He had his work. He had Tina. Maybe just because he wanted more didn’t mean he needed more.

He buried himself in work and took every job they needed people on. Patrolling the streets, looking at crime scenes, doing overdue paperwork and cleaning the break room. All just so he would come home late and not have as much time to think about it. When he learned of the planned raid of Cyberlife Tower for Jericho, he immediately volunteered to help. Such operations always meant a ton of organising and paperwork. He was quickly put on the task of creating personal files of all androids found left inside. Name, model number, date of construction. All so Jericho could help them integrate into society. Gavin felt a little out of place actually sitting there two weeks later, a row of androids in front of him he helped fill out the forms and directed towards people who would actually help them being repaired and comforted.

‘Hello. I’m Detective Reed’, he greeted the next one. ‘I just need a few personal information. Do you have a name?’ ‘Chris’, the android answered hesitantly. ‘Alright, Chris.’ He wrote the name into the appropriate line and turned the paper around for the android to see. ‘We also need your model number and serial number. The rest of the form is optional, you can fill it out, but you don’t have to.’ ‘What do you need this for?’ Gavin tried to smile at the android. ‘It’s just so Jericho can help you find your place. They will help you getting started.’ ‘Okay’, Chris nodded shily and took the paper. ‘Thank you.’ ‘You’re welcome. Next one please!’

The next android approached his desk and Gavin was already getting the next form. ‘Hey there. Alright, first I’d need your name.’ ‘I… I don’t have one.’ ‘That’s alright’, Gavin said softly and put a small dash at the according line. ‘Your model number?’ ‘RK900.’

Gavin froze, ruining the form stopping mid movement. Slowly he angled his head and looked at the android that was shockingly similar to Connor. ‘Is there a problem?’, the android asked, facial expression unmoving. ‘You are RK900?’ ‘Yes. Why are you asking?’ Gavin stood up and immediately felt his knees grow weak. ‘I… I think we… I…’ He apparently had just forgotten how to speak, so instead he pulled the fabric from his wrist and showed the android his mark. ‘Are you… Do you have a mark?’ The android just stared at his designation on the human’s wrist, then to the nameplate on his desk. ‘You are… Are you Reed? Gavin Reed?’ Gavin didn’t dare to believe it, but he grinned from ear to ear as he nodded. ‘Yes. I’m Gavin Reed. Are you my soulmate?’ Instead of an answer, the android stepped past the table and pulled Gavin into a fierce hug. ‘I found you! I… My life wasn’t long, but I hoped to see you one day. My whole life I thought of you and meeting you and that hope got me through in the end and they were to reset me, I thought this would be it, I was so scared and…’ Gavin listened to the android speak in a hurry, barely catching on to the words uttered. All he could do was stand there in the hug and relax into it, answering it with his own embrace. Only when the android grew quiet, Gavin pressed him closer. ‘I gave up hope you were even existing. I wondered for so long and when androids were invented, I thought you would come, but then the revolution passed, and you weren’t there and now… I have so much I want to tell you. So much I want to know…’ ‘I also have a lot of questions’, the android admitted and took a step back. ‘I think we have enough time for that now’, Gavin smiled.

‘Now that we’ve found each other.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #dbh Soulmate AU #Tina Chen #I LOVE soulmate AUs #maybe because I'm terrible at flirting? Like the mark would actually make that unneccessary I guess #Idk I love them so much I wanna write like a thousand more #I have an idea for the SWAT-couple soulmate AU but I don't know if I ever get to write it XD

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