#it's WORMING it's way into me slowly through my vocabulary

[goofenschmertz]

[kanene-yaaay]

5+1 - [Part 2]

5 times Iida was tickled and the one he wasn’t

[PART ONE]

Kanene’s note: What a helloooo! I am baack! Gosh, look at me! Having a posting schedule! Who would say, huh? xDD Well, I hope you like this >u<

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic with family tickles, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of very greeat arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Iida with Ler!Aizawa and Nemuri sprinkling some tease here and there. All relationships are platonic. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Look at the window and find something that is worth smiling for. Don’t forget to drink water, sleep and eat! <33

[~*~]

“Iida Tenya.”

 “Ooooh noo,” Nemuri added from the spot on the floor where she sat, pampering and spoiling Shouta’s cats with plenty of snacks, a sharp grin gleaming at the boy who came running from the kitchen and now looked from a side to another with a panicked expression on his face, fast to move his arms in an ‘abort mission’ sign to the woman. “Looks like someone is in trouble! ~”

 “Nemuri-san, please I ask for you to control your voice!!” Tenya whispered in a volume that most people would categorize as a shout, especially with Shouta’s hero trained hearing. Nemuri, though, just expanded her wicked grin as the nine old boy didn’t realize the dark figure arriving right behind him. “He can’t know I am here!”

 “Aw, my dear,” she pouted in fake empathy at Iida’s inevitable fate, scratching Pudding under her chin, her loud motor like purring echoing in the silence. “But Shouta already knows.” Iida stilled as a statue when a shadow loomed over him, starting to turn around, slowly. “He always knows.”

 “Gotcha.”

His quirk activated a second before Aizawa erased it with his own, making the blue haired one stumble on his own legs, almost falling on the ground if it wasn’t for the arms that grabbed him in a firm hug, fingers worming their way to his armpits, prodding and digging on the awfully ticklish flesh there.

 “What,” Shouta started, with a tune that tipped on bored, his plain face contrasting to the smaller’s puffed cheeks as he wiggled and shook with the contained giggles. “Did I say about my orange flavored jelly packs, huh?”

 “Aww, is the itsy bitsy Tenya ticklish? Can’t he take all the tickly-tickly-tickly tickles his favorite grumpy uncle gives to him? Huh? Aww, my poor ticklish boy.” Nemuri teased, ignoring the glare her friend sent on her direction in favor to stare at Tenya, who went redder at her words, a couple of squeaky snorts escaping from his lips.

 “I will remind you what I said about eating my jellies without permission: don’t. Never. Do not look. Do not touch and especially, do not even think about eating it.” Aizawa highlighted the last phrase by blowing a raspberry right behind Iida’s neck, leading the boy to squeal, uncontrolled laughter following it almost immediately. The taller man did his best to keep a serious face, principally as the arms of his ‘victim’ rocked up and down, from the left to the right and in random patterns without even being able to get themselves enough control to attempt to stop him. “And you did, so now you will face the consequences. It’s only logical.”

 “A-Aizahahazawa-san I, I cahahahAAH!” Shout cut the other’s protest by throwing him in the air, resting his hands on his sides when he caught him again, slightly clawing his stomach with his fingers, fishing uncontrollable, bubbly giggles from him. “Please, please! I can-'' Snort. “I can ehehexplain!” Yelp. Half words, Half pleas. Giggles. Giggles. Giggles. “I hahahave the right, Aizawa-sahahahan!”

 Shouta contented himself in making the younger squirm – left, right, left, left, right and repeat – from a side to another by tapping his fingers on his sides repeatedly, sometimes giving a quick scratch only to gain another yelp, pretending to think about the proposal for a little less than a minute.

 “No.” He decided, spidering his fingers merciless on the death spot. Iida threw his head back, crackles flying from him in a waterfall of shrieks and squeaks.

 “Come one, Shou! Let the boy speak! As much I love this lovely, absolutely adorable laughter that makes you want to tickle and tickle him forever and ever, and aww, wouldn’t you love it, my dear? To get all the tiggles-tickles you could ever want for all eternity?” Iida kicked and shook his head in protest, more pleas falling from him, face and neck in flames. “I think he has the right to defend himself.”

 “Which side are you?”

 “No side deserves my awesome presence.” Aizawa rolled his eyes. “What is the matter, Shou? Afraid that you will lose in a logical battle with baby Tenya?”

 “Ihihihi am NOT ahahaha baby!!” Iida protested through his hysterical laughter, nothing giving him more strength than correct factually incorrect statements. “I ahahahaham a very hehehealthy chihihihih- – No! Not there! – chihihihild! Mom said so!”

 Nemuri hid her snickers behind her hands, receiving a very unamused yowl from Pudding, the cat demanding her to come back to her ear scritches immediately. The woman resumed to her wishes.

Shouta recognized a bait when he heard one, but watching the way tears started to appear in the corner of the younger’s eyes, he decided to bite it.

 He adjusted him so the boy would be resting on his hips, his hand resting calmly on his ribs, a much less ticklish spot.

 “You have fifty seconds.”

 “WHAT!” Iida stared at him in disbelief, turning to look at Kayama in the search of reinforcements, and being gifted with nothing more than a joyful shrug, his brother’s best friend being very glad in just watch the chaos unraveling in front of her and, unnoticed by the other two who were caught up on the silliness, the camera carefully hidden behind Pudding’s fluffy form. “That ihihisn’t even a minute! It’s impossiblehe to mahahake a good defehense under this condici- conditionaries… undeheher that pressure!”  

 “Conditions.” Aizawa offered, “and heroes work under pressure. You want to be one when you grow up, right?”

 “Yes!” Iida’s smile got even bigger than it already was, his eyes also becoming even brighter, shining with the determination of his new challenge.

 “Good,” the tired adult smirked, starting to count with his fingers as the seconds went by. “Start to talk then.”

 Tenya tried to clear his mind, together with keeping his resolve strong enough to not visibly squirm or titter every time Aizawa made any infinitesimal move. He never thought he would really be able to convince his uncle to let him make a true attempt to escape from this, therefore he didn’t possess any good enough reason to explain besides the ‘it was orange flavored and oranges are delicious!’

 A sentence pulled him out of the frenzy of thoughts dashing on his brain at full speed. “You have twelve seconds now.”

 “WHAT!” Tenya cried, seriously thinking about just pushing Shouta’s arms away and trying to run to the safety of the guest room.

 “You seem to have a problem keeping track of the time.” The small kid nodded at his direction and Aizawa almost felt bad by his next move.

 Almost.

 “Let me help you, then.”

 The underground hero poked an index finger on the lowest rib, vibrating on the sensitive spot for a few pieces of second, tearing a sputtering guffaw as Iida realized the true meaning of his words. “One.” He pressed another rib, and another, and another. “Two. Three. Four…”

 “Noho! Wait! Wait!!”

 “Five… Six. Seven…”

 “Oops. It looks like you’re running out of time, sweetheart.” Nemuri added, unhelpfully. “Well, let’s just hope the mean Shouta won’t attack those awfully ticklish knees of yours when the time is over, right?”

 “NOHOT MY KNEHES!”

 “Good luck. Ten. Eleven. Twel-”

 “YOULIED!”

 Aizawa stopped.

 “What?” He blinked one, two, three times. As if the meaning of the rushed words would become clearer. “No. I hid it and I was very clear in saying you couldn’t touch it. There is no lie here.”

 “There is! A lie of omiz-” Iida closed his eyes, concentrating on the word and controlling the few giggles that still slipped from his mouth. He wanted to be a hero and heroes succeed through the pressure! “omission! Which means hiding! You hid the information so you were lying to me, so I… I… I taught you a lesson!”

 They stared at each other for what seemed a lifetime.

 Aizawa huffed a chuckle, lowering the boy to the ground, trying to not be blinded by the excitement and proudness exhaling from the younger when he realized that he succeeded in “logicing” his way out of the playful “punishment”, beaming on the ball of his feet at both adults.

 “Good. In a fight, using your opponents’ words against them can be an important tool. Also, as a physical opening, don’t forget that I was carrying you, which means that if you hit the back of my knees hard enough I would weaken my grip and that would give you the opportunity to run. I would try to not hurt you when I fell, so that is also a weakness you could exploit.” After a thought, he added. “Try to do that the next time Hizashi tickles you.”

 “You are a bastard.” Kayama replied, earning an exasperated gasp from Tenya. “Not you, dear. I am talking about Shouta.” That did nothing to alleviate the boy’s rebellion, his lecture of how ‘This isn’t the proper vocabulary of a hero’ was soon interrupted as the apartment door flew open, Ingenium walking through it. He immediately extended his arms, hugging his brother when the aforementioned jumped on him, part of the exhaustion of a day’s work being eased by the younger attics.

 “Tensei! Tensei! I already did all my homework and I brushed my teeth and I played with the cats so they would not be sad or bored and I ate all my greenies and also-”

 “-ate all my orange jelly packs.” Aizawa completed.

 “And Aizawa-san tickled me because of it! Using very villainous techniques even though he is a very good and skilled hero! But then I won! I showed him logic and, and, and then he let me go!”

 “Oof, that sounds like a very exciting day!” Tensei ruffled the boy’s hair, fondness dripping in waves from his acts and words. “But you don’t need to worry anymore about Shouta, the Grumpy Tickle Monster because now I am here!” Tensei posed in a poor representation of All Might's usual pose. “Ready to protect you!”

 “Oh.” A dangerous tune marked Shouta’s grin and voice, making the blue haired hero to shiver with all the teenagerhood memories that this brought over. “Don’t get over yourself, assuming you’re out of danger, too.”

 A wobbly smile took over Tensei's expression as Shouta cracked his knuckles, preparing himself for a chase. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly who told him where I hid my jelly packs.” The older Iida got his younger brother on his arms, flexing his legs, preparing to not give up so easily.

 Aizawa decided he was feeling merciful today.

“You have three seconds.” Iida gasped in protest, an argument on the tip of his tongue. “Run.”

[icefire149]

so this is kinda very random (if it's too random or too hard to write no pressure to do it) but I was thinking of #12 from the "i love you" prompts for hannah x charlie (i don't know what their ship name is or if they have one lol)

Hi there! I'm sorry this took a while to get to. I can't emphasize enough how exciting this was to work with. I know when you asked for this there were a couple posts going around with this ship and that was the first time I ever considered Hannah/Charlie. I really hope more people explore their dynamic more. I enjoyed taking a crack at it here.

I'm sorry if it's not what you were hoping for. From start to finish this took a crazy number of turns that I wasn't expecting. It kept worming away into it's own thing. Right off the bat the spring time part of the prompt flew away. Still, I hope you enjoy it <3

#12 – When we lay together on the fresh spring grass – Hannah/Charlie

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

The seasons were rapidly changing from summer to autumn. Any human today would know from a single look at a calendar. It was strange sometimes to think of how far humans have come since the garden and how much of the world they’ve been able to understand through reason and design. For Hannah, she knew from the moment the Earth shifted under her feet. And now the composition of the air just wasn’t the same as it was a week ago. Shortly, even the humans and the trees would start to notice the change in temperature.

It was normal. Routine. The world kept spinning day into night and summer into autumn, and so forth. Since being flung back into the crown jewel of her father’s creation, Hannah couldn’t help but wander back to some of her earliest thoughts. She could still remember her hesitation when the spark of creation breathed life into mortality.

At the time she hadn’t the experiences or the vocabulary to explain her abstract feelings, but now she could equate the feeling to the sharp sting of a slap to the face or a thorn lodged in the heel of her foot. The Earth cycled seasons and spun around the Sun. The garden sprouted leaves, fruits, and flowers that quickly shriveled and crumbled before sprouting forth again. The humans were built with a carefully constructed system of oxygen, blood, and electrical impulses cycling around the body. It was marvelous to behold, but what was an immortal, unchanging being supposed to read between the lines?

Her father created the archangels long before everything else she knew. The rest of her siblings were made lesser, but until more recently she always believed they were still just as loved. Maybe she was just blinded by her grief and denial. Everything mortal came next, but humans were the ones her father plucked and planted in his favorite garden.

It was because of the humans that her father started altering her siblings. All of them. She never knew what the end goal was to vessels until all of Heaven had to confront the ugly truth: their father left them eons ago. And now, every time Hannah was caught in a crowd, she couldn’t help but wonder if the person who’s eyes lingered the longest was the one who’s skin and bone he’d slipped under.

“Of course! I can’t believe you’ve never done this,” Charlie turned her head on the ground to face her. The tip of her nose twitched as a blade of grass bounced free from the rest laying under her cheek.

“Since the fall there just wasn’t time for something so trivial,” Hannah answered, moving her gaze back up to the clouds slowly rolling by. “And before that…..every angel had a job and that’s just what we did. Nothing more.”

Moments like these were still completely foreign and strange to her. A month ago Castiel received a phone call during their travels, and suddenly their mission was no longer the top priority. Locating the wayward angels was still her mission, and she spent much of her time at the Winchester’s bunker researching while he…..focused on curing the mark of Cain.

It wasn’t the ideal situation or even the one she’d hoped for. It dimmed her and diminished herself to a flatline, because a part of her dared to hope that Castiel could offer her companionship. He was her friend, but he’d stuck by her and saw her in a way that Hannah wasn’t expecting again. Not since the siblings she’d lost when the Winchester’s came onto Heaven’s radar. She tried to establish a connection, even using human methods she’d observed from her vessel’s memory, but he just wasn’t receptive. Nothing clicked until she observed Castiel around the human men he gave everything up for.

Whenever he was in proximity to Dean, his true form would come alive in ways she’d never expected. Despite the damage done to his being, Castiel would still twist, and turn, and hum in ways that were almost too much to bear witness to. And she knew that he was trying to keep himself from doing that in her presence. A part of her liked to think it was because he was trying to spare her feelings since he just didn’t connect with her in that way, but she knew it was because he was embarrassed and desolate. As humans would put it: he wore his heart openly on his sleeve. But, it was beyond the limitations of human perspective.

But since staying at the bunker, Hannah had met a handful of humans. Mostly over the phone, but it was a Miss Charlie Bradbury that showed up one day at the bunker's entrance with a dozen movies and snacks, and a very puzzled look. Since then she’d been a frequent presence during Hannah's research.

And a welcome one at that. At first Hannah wasn’t sure what to make of the exuberant woman. Charlie would talk for hours about a million different things. It was odd to try to conceptualize how many ideas a human brain could hold, and Hannah spent an entire night doing just that after a busy afternoon that rolled into a busier evening discussing the delicacies of numbers and computer programming.

Hannah still wasn't sure how computers could help her mission, but there was something about Charlie's confidence in her own abilities that the angel couldn't help but automatically placing her faith in the human.

“What was your job before things started getting crazy? Dean says Cas was a soldier.”

“He was. He still is,” Hannah started. “I...I wasn’t built for the front lines. My duty was what the majority of the host was given: protect and watch over the souls in Heaven.”

Charlie’s eyebrows pinched together. “That’s it?”

“Of course.” Hannah sat up. She could feel the grains of dirt on the palms of her hands and particles caught in her hair. The rays of late afternoon sun reflected off the surface of Charlie’s car and made her pupils contract. Frowning, she turned to move the nearby road out of her periphery. “It’s one of the most important jobs in Heaven. Each soul generates their own paradise from their stored memories. Maintaining that happiness is everything."

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Charlie rolled over so that she was laying on her stomach now. One of her feet kicked up and moved idly in the air. The corner of her mouth twitched until it decided to curve into a teasing smile.

Hannah still didn’t understand what connections Charlie was clearly making. It was utterly confusing. “I don’t understand,” finally she admitted out loud.

“Did watching over the souls make you happy?”

Hannah’s head fell to the side. This wasn’t the first time Charlie had asked her something that made her stop and reevaluate several aspects of herself and her memory. And just like the last few times it elicited a tiny pulse, a thrill, through her being. It started when she realized that Charlie kept purposely putting herself into the angel’s orbit. Charlie seemed like she genuinely wanted to know her.

“What?” Charlie’s smile widened.

“You asked an incredibly unusual and strange question. My happiness is irrelevant. That’s much more of a human thing. Angels weren’t built for that. But-” Hannah thought about those old days and the souls under her watchful eye. She enjoyed that privilege to bear witness to their joys. She could still remember the way her wings would puff with pride. “I did find great joy in my work.”

“I’m glad,” Charlie said, before laying her head down in the grass. There was a note of sadness buried deep in her tone.

They sat like that in meditative silence for a while, and the sun dipped further in the sky. Finally, Charlie continued, “You know, people think angels are watching over us while we’re living. Like you guys are ready to jump out and help us when….when we need someone most.”

The idea put a soft smile on Hannah’s face. “It’s a lovely notion.”

“A pipe-dream,” Charlie frowned.

“Well, there were angels stationed here on Earth with the job to watch. That might be where that very idea came from.”

That put a look of surprise on Charlie’s face. “But do they help?”

“Not unless Heaven commands it, and that….” She shook her head.

Charlie sighed deeply before standing. She started brushing the dirt clinging to her jeans away.

“You wish for divine intervention.”

Charlie’s surprise quickly morphed into something unreadable. She kept silent.

Hannah stood up, and for some reason it pained her to see the light dim in Charlie’s being. “I’m sorry,” she said keeping her gaze locked with Charlie’s. And she meant it, truly. “You needed help beyond human capabilities, and no one was there. You were alone.”

Charlie nodded, and led them back to the car. They drove in silence and Hannah spent the entire time trying to figure out what went wrong. Again, and again she replayed that final conversation, but humans were still too difficult to puzzle out.

It wasn’t until they were back within the bunker walls that Charlie’s demeanor seemed to equalize back to normal. She brightened even more meeting Hannah’s eye. “Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Hannah answered. She honestly wasn’t sure for what exactly, but her instincts told her it was about their last conversation. And that was all she needed to lift her spirits after that car ride.

Charlie took a few hesitant steps towards the hallway that led to her room. She looked over her shoulder. “Will you still be around tomorrow?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed happily. Charlie asked her that same question every day since they met. She wasn’t sure why, but she enjoyed the extra burst of light that would emanate from Charlie’s soul the moment she gave the same answer.

Ask me more writing prompts (I’m using these as warm ups so send a number and a ship)

[umikawa]

Strawberries and Cigarettes

Aha, ignore the title that doesn’t really apply, I was just listening to the song the entire time I wrote this. Akiteru brainrot day seven.Yeah, i dunno how to write that kind of stuff so i just did the basic lines i always hear yk k bye. Also, italicized is where the scene changes or its that stuff.

Akiteru Tsukishima x Gn Reader, college au-ish. wc: 1.8k 

Warnings: Suggestive content. Mentions sex, drinking, cigarettes, and cliffs. Explicit language, not a lot I think, possibly only one word.

This is 16+ content, borderline 17+! Please don’t read it if your below the age. It doesn’t progress to smut just so you know, it’s only implied three times.

Drunken bodies sway around you, grinding down on each other to the beat of the music and the flash of the lights. Hands trail across bodies at the snack table, someone slamming a body onto the chips, laughs ringing out from the girl as they continued to make out in the ranch dip. An arm wraps around your shoulder, a warm blow of air skimming across your ear.

Akiteru Tsukishima. You didn’t know him well, he was just another guy in your class, always running late nearly every day. He seemed like a nice guy, appearance-wise, but you always felt he had different intentions. 

“Got a light?” He asks, holding a cigarette between his lips. 

You hold the flame up to the end, looking up at him with parted lips as he inhales, his larger hand coming up to the side of your face, blowing the smoke between your lips. 

“Tsukishima.” You mutter, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Let’s go for a drive, (Name).” He says, waiting for your response. With a single nod, his hand wraps around your waist, leading you out of the house and to his car. “Sorry about the cig smell in here, there should be a can of air freshener in the glove box.” He apologizes, climbing into the front seat. 

You perk a brow at him, how did a can of air freshener fit in a glove box. Staring at the five-inch bottle you blink, turning it between your hand. 

“Strawberry?” 

He laughs sheepishly, pulling out of the driveway. “Covers up the smell pretty good. Plus my brother bought it for me.” 

You nod, spraying it in the backseat, staring at the white stain on the carpet. “Bold of you to hook up in here, one hit and this car falls.” 

He rolls his eyes, holding his cigarette between his fingers. “It’s not what you think it is. I had to buy a cake for my brother's birthday and the whipped cream melted.” You shrug, spraying the freshener towards him. “Hey! And don’t think I missed that comment about my car, this baby has kept me going since high school.” 

“Okay, geezer.” He scoffed, flicking the spent ashes into the tray in his cup holder. “Where are we going anyway?” You ask, leaning back against the seat. 

He glanced at you, “Don’t know, just driving. Have a place?” 

“I want food.” 

He laughs at your response, putting out his cigarette, resting one hand on the shift knob, and the other on the steering wheel. “As you wish.” He jokes, laughing again at the roll of your eyes.

“That’ll be seventeen dollars and fifty-two cents please.”

Before you could take out money, he waved his hand at you and slipped his card into the reader, smiling when you looked up at him. 

“I’ll pay you back.” You tell him while walking back to his car. 

“No need.” He says, nearly dropping the bag in his hands when he looks through his window. “The keys are in the car.” You look from your side, staring at the keys still in the ignition. “And the doors are locked.”

“You don’t have a spare with someone?” 

He shakes his head.

Liar. 

He sat on the hood, patting the spot next to him. It’s quiet while you eat, stifled laughter when the other chews slowly in the silence, pained pats to the back when a fry goes down the wrong way. You feel his stare on you, turning your head only for him to be near inches from you, eyes trained on your lips. 

“Tsukishima, we just met.” 

He blinks, face flushing as he backs away. “Sorry.” 

He becomes a part of your daily life, beginning to sit next to you during lectures since he was “the best at convincing people” more like his wallet did most of the convincing. He started to worm himself through to your heart like he wanted, wrapping himself around it. 

He’s sprawled out on your bed while you’re at your desk, his eyes boring into the back of your head as he continues to sigh loudly.

“What do you want, Akiteru.” 

“Let’s go out for a drive.” He whines, flinging a pillow at you blindly, apologizing loudly when something clatters to the ground. 

You pick up the can of pencils, placing them back onto your desk. “You couldn’t have asked like a normal person? Instead of sounding like a girl who’s faking their orgasm?” 

“Wait, they fake it?” 

“Who knows.” You said, closing your textbook. “Come on, I wanna be home before midnight this time.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, pushing you out of the door. “Mind if we stop by my house?” 

“Long as you don’t plan on telling your mom I’m you’re s/o.” You mumbled, rubbing the side of your head. “Not that it’d be a bad thing, just don’t want her to get any ideas.” 

“Oh? So what I’m hearing is that you wouldn’t mind me being your boyfriend?” 

“Don’t push your luck.” 

The drive is quiet for the most part, his terrible singing filling your ears whenever a song he knew came on the radio. He laughed when you flicked his arm, holding the spot where you hit him. 

“Alright, this is it.” You looked out the window, staring at his place. “A little cautious advice, my brother can be a little closed-off. And slightly rude.” 

“Everything you’re not?” You try, laughing when he shoved your shoulder. “I’ll be fine don’t worry, I’ve dealt with drunk you after all.”

He shivered, remembering that he made out without blindly at another party he went with you to, shitty bathroom lights making it hard to tell it was you. But you had to have enjoyed it yourself right? You don’t make out with your best friend for ten minutes without feeling anything right? 

“I’m home!” He called out, holding the door open for you. 

“Akiteru! Oh, you’ve brought a friend!” 

He pushes you forward, hand on the small of your back. “This is (Name), my best friend.” He says, ignoring the strain of his voice when he uttered the words. “Where’s Kei?” 

At the sound of his name, the latter groaned, peeking from his door. “Who’s that.”

“I’m (Name), nice to meet you.” You say, waving at him. He narrows his eyes at you, nodding his head once. “Wow, seems like a happy guy.” You blurt, turning your head when the door whips open, Akiteru hiding his laughter, mother shaking her head with a smile before leaving the room.

“What was that?” 

“Said you seem like a happy guy, correct me if I’m wrong though.” You smile, holding your hands behind your back.

 He narrows his eyes at you again, pushing his glasses up. “I suppose you’re okay.” He muttered, shutting his room door. 

The next month is final exam time, students rushing to their dorms, partygoers slowly declining in numbers since some did want to graduate still. Akiteru sat beside you, chin resting on your shoulder as you took notes, finger looping around the band of your sweats. 

“If you’re horny there’s a bathroom in the other room.” You mumble, crossing out a vocabulary word. “Otherwise, wait.” He whined, lips dragging across your neck and down to your collarbones before he bit down. “Ow.” 

“Sorry babe.” He muttered, licking the bruising skin. “Can I leave a few?” 

“Fine. But if you make me mess up I’m not going to relieve you.” He huffs, moving under your arm for better access. “Jesus Chr- Akiteru what did I just say?” You say, rubbing your head when it came out a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to raise my voice it’s just these stupid exam preps.” You mumble. 

“Babe.” He says, cupping your cheek. “Take a break.” 

“Aki.” 

“It’ll make you feel better come on.” He says, dragging you to the bed before flopping down on it. “Come on.” He smiles when you lay on top of him, tucking your face into his neck, shivers going down his spine as he feels your breath against his neck. He flinches when you bite down, fingers digging into your hips, holding back the groan when your tongue pressed against it. “(Name) right there.” 

“I know Aki.” You whisper, kissing under his chin. 

“There’s no way I can cover all of these up Akiteru.” You say, pulling his shirt down in the mirror. 

“Like I’m any better (Name), you leech.” He muttered, staring at the dozens of hickies littering his body, wincing when you flick his forehead. “Well, do you feel better now?” 

You look up at him, his hand resting on top of your head. “I do. Thank you for reminding me to take a 

break, Aki.” You say, lifting your head to kiss him. “wanna go for a drive?” 

“One hit and this car falls.” 

“Don’t stop.” 

“You feel so good.” 

The sun still shining from the edge of the cliff, the blue sky turned dark, cold air breezing past you. 

“The keys aren’t in the car, are they?” You ask, leaning against his chest. A laugh rang out, his hand coming up to his pockets, panicking when they weren’t in there. You raise your hand, swinging the keys around your finger. “You left them in the ignition, saw it when we were, you know.”

 He flushes, turning his head the other way with a ‘hmph!’ “Why don’t you drive this time, huh, maybe then we won’t lock ourselves out.” 

“We’re on a mountain with a lot of wide turns is that a good idea?” He contemplates for a moment, remembering when he let you drive once and raced another car with his shabby 86 and won, only because you drifted the last corner. 

He snatched keys from you, shaking his head. “I choose life.” Laughing, you bump your shoulder against his, standing up from the car. “Come on, I told my mom I’d bring you for dinner.” 

“We need to shower first.” 

“I know, we’ll go to your place and get ready before we leave.” He says, opening his door. 

“Slow down.” 

“Sorry, sorry you feel- god, you feel so good.” 

“That’s the third time this week, horndog.” You mutter, stretching your legs. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, laying his head on your arm. “I couldn’t help myself.” He rubs your waist, pressing small kisses to your arm. “Thanks for giving me a chance, (Name).” 

You hum, turning your head to peck his crown. “Thanks for bothering me at that party.” He laughs at your words, pulling you to rest on top of his chest, legs on either side of his waist. “We were just in this position, give me a break.” 

“Bear with me for a minute babe.” He says, holding the sides of your face, thumbs resting on your bottom lip. “I love you.” Eyes widening, you gape at him, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. He sits up abruptly at the sight of your tears, wiping them away with his palms. “Hey, why are you crying? Should I not have said it?” He panicked. 

“No no, I’m glad you said it, happy I’m happy.” You mumble, laughing at yourself. “It just caught me off guard.” You lean down to kiss him, tasting the cigarette he had earlier, paired with the familiar strawberry chapstick he wore. “I love you too.” 

[crypticpaw]

Frozen Paws, Frozen Heart

Entrapta X Hordak fic! (with Frosta’s participation)

Author’s note: I’m very, very proud of this fic! I just like writting/drawing Hordak being a parental figure! I really hope you guys like this one! Again, I’m always open to criticism and forgive my bad grammar! Tell me what you thought about it!

WARNINGS: Swearing?? Frosta swears a lot, I think we’re all very aware of that...

Clouds of dust and snow formed where Frosta had run past, zipping through the white, cold landscape, tirelessly chasing the hare. She barked and growled attempting to grab the swift thing with her mouth or paws, but it was always a little out of her reach. Frosta almost fell, making another rough turn, following the hare, surely trying to shake her off. Her little paws ached, having run so fast for so long, but the pup ignored it with a determined look on her face. She was going to catch this damn hare if it was the last thing she did! She barked and barked, as if that would make the hare go slower. The pup had been chasing that thing for three weeks now, and she wasn't about to stop! Until a terrible smell hit her nose. Frosta stopped abruptly, sliding in the snow a little. She fell head-first in the ground, and shook it off her fur and big coat. The hare looked behind it's shoulders, stopping after realising Frosta stopped chasing it, hoping back to her. The pup raised her snout, sniffing the air. The hare raised itself on it's hind legs and sniffed. -You smell it to? -Frosta asked it. It turned to her without an answer. She slowly made her way through the snow, following the smell. She recognised it now, the smell of bitter metal scrap. She recognised it from Entrapta. From the Fright Zone. Frosta ran up a hill to see better and try to make it out where the smell came from, and sure enough: a big, steel tank, with Dryl's crest on it, slowly making it's way through the snowy territory. HER snowy territory! She growled to herself, her fur rising in her neck in anger. What was Entrapta doing in the Northern Reach?! A spark lit in Frosta's head. She remembered Adora reporting to her that Scorpia, Catra and Entrapta had attacked the Northern Reach once, when they still worked for the Horde, looking for tech. As she was about to go after the tank, she saw the lid on top of it open, and out of it, Hordak peeked his head out. Frosta growled even louder. Not thinking, she decided to run for it. As she got close to the tank, she turned to the hare who was still following her. -It's not safe for you! Go back home, I'll meet you there! The hare turned around and hoped back. Frosta climbed up the stairs and on top of the tank, where she slowly opened the lid and peeked inside before falling in. She hit the metal floor head-first, making a loud CLANG. Rubbing her head with her paws, she looked around, examining the inside filled with wires, metal scrap, tools on the floor and a pile of boxes with Dryl's crest. Pointing her nose to the floor, Frosta slowly explored around, leaving a trail of snow behind her. Her ears raised and she turned her head when she heard footsteps behind her. In a panic, she jumped behind the boxes, and hid there. Through a space between her hiding spot, she peeked to see Hordak, wearing a huge and probably very heavy dark blue fur coat, approaching the slid where she fell through. Frosta froze in place and held her breath. She couldn't let him see her! Not because she was scared of Hordak, she wasn't scared of anything! But Frosta didn't want to be thrown out yet. His eyes glowed in the dark. A red light casting on his surroundings, making him look even more monstrous. His steps slowing down as he saw the snow on the floor melting. The cat sniffed around, for sure catching her scent, as his ears drew back and he unsheathed his claws. Frosta gulped. She heard his claws could cut through pure steel. Like all the other princesses, she had heard stories about Hordak before they actually met. He didn't seem so scary up close, but she wasn't ready to find out if his claws hurt or not. He followed her scent, slowly getting closer to her hiding spot, a growl rising deep in his throat. Frosta's ears fell and her tail hid between her legs. Her paw opened as she made a snow ball out of thin air, ready to throw it in his big, scrawny face. As Hordak was about to take another step, there was a chirp from the corridor. A small kitten-bat-monkey-thing-creature flew over to him trilling and chirping, covered in snow. It stopped at his paws and shook the snow off it's little body, revealing a fluffy and wet dark blue sweater, matching Hordak's fur coat. -Aargh! Imp! -Hordak hissed. -Look at the mess you made! Your clothes are soaked! The "Imp"-thingy laughed, it's tail held high. Hordak growled again, drawing his claws back. He nudged the kitten with wings back to the dark corridor and walked with it as it took flight again. Frosta peeked her head out as their steps faded away. Slowly, she comes out from behind the boxes and scoots closer to the wall, following Hordak. The corridor is dark, she can barely see a thing, but manages to follow the cat by his scent and the faint talking from the end of the hall. There's a big room ahead, Frosta can make out more boxes, tools on the ground, computer screens and Entrapta. Sitting on her big pet robot Emily, tapping in some kind of tablet, wearing a hoodie and big ear protectors. As Frosta was about to jump her and ask what she wanted in the Northern Reach, Hordak entered the room, carrying the kitten with wings, in a now dry sweater. Entrapta's ears perked up and she stretched her paws to cradle the cat-thingy against her chest. -You're watching him! -Hordak grumbled. -He decided to go outside to play in the snow and I had to dry him! Entrapta's tail wagged. -Aaww! He just wanted to build a snowman, didn't ya, Imp? The kitten trilled back to her and nuzzled her chest, then turned to Hordak and stuck out his tongue to him. Hordak growled and Entrapta laughed. She wrapped her ear around him and pulled herself closer so she could rest her head on his shoulder. Hordak nuzzled her cheek, purring. -Blergh! -Frosta gaged. She shouldn't have done that. Imp's folded ears perked up and he sniffed around. A tiny growl rising in his throat, his tail swished as he looked directly where Frosta was hiding. She gulped. Hordak, following Imp's eyes, stepped closer. Entrapta tilted her head, holding Imp close to her, and petting Emily to calm her. The both whined and turned to her, looking for reassurance. -What is it? -she looked at Imp, then at Hordak, then back. -What's wrong? There's nothing there. It's okay. Nobody's here- -AH, YOU PEST!!! Entrapta turned to see Hordak snarling, his face covered in snow, holding a very angry, barking Frosta by her scruff. -Frosta! The pup tried to turn and run, but Hordak's grip on her tightened and Entrapta wrapped her ear around her waist, lifting her upside down. Her big coat fell in front of her face, and she had to slap it away to look at them. -What are you doing here? -she asked excited. -What are YOU doing here?! The Northern Reach is MY territory! -Frosta growled. -Is it? I didn't know that! Last time I was here, it was just unmarked land! -Entrapta said, gently putting Frosta on the ground. -Well, it's marked now! Why did you bring a tank in the middle of the snow anyway? -Our experiments do not concerns you, pup! Hordak towered over her, his ears back. Grumpy as always. Frosta wanted to throw a snowball at him everytime she looked at his stinky face, and it was very tempting to do it again. -This is no place for a child, get out of our tank and go home! -he hissed, walking back to Entrapta. Frosta jumped in front on him and growled, standing between him and the Princess. Who did he think he was?! -No, YOU go home! -she barked. -You came here out of nowhere, without my permission, with a TANK! If you wanted to start another war you could have said it to my face! -Permission?! -he laughed. -We don't need permission from a 9 month old pup! -UH, I'M 11, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! They both growled loudly at each other. Frosta's neck fur was tingled and Hordak's tail swished from to side, both bearing their teeth. Entrapta pulled Frosta to sit on her lap and rested a ear on Hordak's shoulder. -Sorry about coming out of nowhere, Frosta, we didn't know it was part of your kingdom! -Entrapta pat her on the head gently. -We just need an energy source! Our old one got busted when the Fright Zone was destroyed! -Didn't you get attacked by a bunch of worms? At least, that's what Scorpia said! -Yes! But the energy sources were left intact! As long as we don't wake the worms again, we should be fine! Frosta huffed as she sat down. -Why do you need an energy source anyway? -she crossed her arms. -Are you building another evil weapon?! -Evil weapon! -Entrapta cackled. -Of course not, Frosta! You're so silly! She pat her head again, ruffling her fur, which Frosta had to fix. -What are doing so far from home? This is no place for a pup to be alone by herself! Frosta stuck her nose up and copied his accent. -My exploring does not concern you, BITCH! Hordak hissed. "YOU PEST!!!", Imp echoed Hordak's words back to Frosta and she stuck out her tongue at him. Emily looked around all of them, beeping worriedly. -You know, Frosta, for a puppy your size, you sure have a very extended vocabulary... -I say we wash her dirty mouth with soap! -Hordak growled. -That's what children like her earned for their disrespect, back at the Fright Zone! -I'M GONNA WASH YOUR MOUTH WITH SNOW, MOTHER FUCKER! COME AT ME! -Ok, you both, quit it! -Entrapta barked. She sounded serious this time. -Nobody's gonna come at anybody! And nobody's having their mouth washed! Something behind her started beeping and a little red light started flashing. Entrapta grumbled and tapped at her keyboard, making a bunch of 1s and 0s appear in one of the screens. She turned to Hordak. -I think something in the front motor froze! Hordak, can you go check for me? The cat growled softly out of frustration, his expression some-what hurt... He looked at Entrapta, looked at Frosta, and back at Entrapta. -Fine... -hesitating, he turned to walk away, shooting a nasty side-eye at Frosta. She sticks her middle finger at him as he walks away, complaining to himself. -Ha-ha! -she laughs, victoriously. She turned to Entrapta, who was still taping at her keyboard, more 0s and 1s showing on her screen. She didn't share the same smile Frosta had. -What do you see in that guy? -the she finally asked. -He's my lab partner! -Yeah, but, he's an old... Clone... Bat... Thing! -Appearances aren't everything in a relationship, Frosta. -Entrapta turned to her. -I know that, but... -Frosta tried to think of what to say, but didn't know how to explain herself. She did not like Hordak overall. -I mean... He's Hordak! And you're you! -Yeah, but we get along perfectly! -Entrapta smiled at her. -Our species don't exactly match, but we like the same things, we like to spend time together, our aesthetic is the same like our ideals and our morals! We just... Like each other! -I get why he likes YOU, I don't get why you like HIM! He's always grumpy, and bossy, and saying complicated words... -That's just how he is! I once heard someone say that Glimmer was hot-headed, stubborn, short-tempered and hard to get along with! But that doesn't mean you like her any less, does it? -NO! WHO SAID THAT?! -Frosta stood up and created a fist of hard ice around her paw. -I'M GONNA PUNCH THEIR FACE INTO THEIR SKULL! -NOT the point! -Entrapta gently pushed her paw down, and the pup melted the ice around it. -My point is: Some animals just get along... And other animals don't! -And I guess Hordak doesn't get along with Princeses. -Frosta realised. -Well... Princesses that aren't you! -Maybe... But Adora and Scorpia get along with him! I bet if you spent more time trying to talk to him, and not trying to fight him, you'd get along with him too! Frosta grew quiet, her eyes flew around the room, as she thought to herself. -And, yeah, it's easier for me in a way! -What do you mean? -Frosta tilted her head. -I have a secret! It's the reason why I get along with him so much! -Entrapta winked at her. -What is it?!? -Well... I think... He's really... CUTE! -EEEWWW! Frosta gaged again and Entrapta cackled loudly, hugging her. She blew a raspberry on the pup's cheek, making her laugh and kick her legs. They both smiled at each other. Imp trilled at the corridor and flew over to Hordak as he entered, perching on his shoulders. -The motor is functioning as expected, it was only a small amount of frost. I turned the heater on. -he said. -Are we there yet? -Yeah, are we there yet? -said Frosta. "Are we there yet?" "Are we there yet?" "Are we there yet?", Imp repeated Frosta's voice and she was taken aback by it. -Somewhat! We can't really get in because the entries were destroyed, but maybe we could crawl around the vents! Entrapta eyes twinkled with exciment, her tail wagged. -YOU can crawl around the vents. -Hordak reminded her. He shivered and curled his tail around himself. -I'll wait here if that's acceptable. I do not want to hinder you in our experiment, for I don't do well in the cold. -It's just snow! It's not THAT cold! -Frosta argued. -Maybe for dogs with thick, long fur, like you!  I don't know if you recall this, girl, but I am practicaly furless! -It's okay! I can take Imp and Emily! But we gotta be super quiet! -Entrapta turned to the pets, who chirped and beeped back at her happily. -You guys stay here and take care of the tank together! -WHAT!? No, I wanna come!!! -Frosta whined. -I will not be demoted to pupsitting! -Hordak hissed. -It won't take long, I promise! -she pointed at them with her ears. -Frosta, don't try to fight anything! And Hordak, be nice to the puppy! The both of them exchanged hostile glares. -Yeah, fuck face! Be nice! -One more curse word out of your mouth and I'm shoving you in timeout corner for the next 3 hours! -What did I just said?! -Entrapta barked angrily. She shot a last glance at them before scurrying off to the corridor leading to the exiting lid. As soon as the THUMP of the shutting lid was heard, Hordak went up to the screens and Frosta followed him. They could see Entrapta making her way through the snow, walking off with Imp and Emily. The cat settled down with a longing sigh and Frosta jumped up to sit on the keyboard. She let her paws dangle off the edge, awkwardly looking around, not knowing what to do with herself. He's just sitting there, his eyes stuck in that one screen where Entrapta was before, unmoving, as if he couldn't do anything else. -So... What do we do now...? -We wait. -For how long? -Not very long. It should take her no more than a few minutes or an hour. -An hour?! -she whined. -What am I supposed to do for an hour?! -I don't know! But if you're going to whine the whole time, I suggest you do it elsewhere! Hordak growled at her and she let herself tumble to the side with an annoyed huff. It was less than a minute before she spoke again and the cat turned to her with a frown. -Is there a bathroom in the tank? I need to go! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hordak sat outside in the snow, turned around a few feet away from the small igloo Frosta made for herself as to give her some privacy. The snow so cold beneath him it almost felt like his paws were burning, he put the hood of his coat over his ears, but they still wouldn't warm up and he was worried they would freeze and fall off. His tail curled against him, trembling as he shivered. A small cloud came out of his nose with every breath he took. He heard rustling behind him but kept himself from turning around. -Okay, I'm done! -Frosta trotted up to him. -Good! Let's go back inside, before I freeze to death! Frosta rolled her eyes, and as they walked off, she had an idea. She stopped a little behind him, made a tall snow tower beneath her paws and shot ice through her paws ahead of her, making a long slippery ramp. Hordak stopped and yelped in shock. -What are you doing?! She made a board out of hardened snow and before he could stop her, she pushed herself off. -GERONIMO!!! -FROSTA! NO, NO, GIRL! DON'T! FROSTA!!! She went so fast down, she had to close her eyes, and only opened them again to see the fast approaching, snowy earth. She went head-first into the snow, bounced and fell again, her board shattered as soon as it touched the ground. Frosta tried to get up, but got herself stuck. -You're impossible! Are you trying to get yourself killed?! -Hordak stormed up to her, grabbing her scruff and taking her off the snow. -You better have not broken anything! You crazy dog! -Did you see me?! Did you see what I did?! It was super fun! I went flying! -she exclaimed, shaking the snow off her. -And you also fell! From a dangerously high altitude might I add! -Pffft! That was nothing! I just gotta adjust the slide! -Nothing! Keep telling yourself that! -Hordak growled. -If you are to ever do that again, WHICH YOU WILL NOT, I suggest you better calculate your circumstances! -Calculate...? -she asked. -What's that? -You don't know what "calculate" means...? -Hordak stopped in his tracks and she shook her head. -Well... It means to determine the amount or number of something mathematically. -Ma... The.. Matically...? -Yes. For example, to do what you just did, SAFELY,  -Hordak looked back and pointed at her improvised ramp. -First, you would need to calculate the high of the tower you built, the angle of the ramp and if it has any friction that might interfere with your board, how much you weight and your mass... -That just sounds like a lot of work! -Frosta said, rubbing her head as if she had a headache. -It sounds a lot more than what it actually is! -Hordak kept walking to the tank as she followed him. -It is all but calculation and physics! -Physics...? Hordak's ears perked up at her sudden interest, a small smile on his lips. - A branch of science concerned with the nature and properties of matter and energy! The subject matter of physics, distinguished from that of chemistry and biology, includes mechanics, heat, light and other radiation, sound, electricity, magnetism, the structure of atoms, gravity... -What's gravity?! -Frosta struggled to keep up with him. -Gravity is what causes you to fall. -Like a stumble or a trip? -Yes- no, no! Actually, no. It's a force that pulls you downwards. -Hordak shook his head. -That's why you don't float away like you would out in space. The phenomenon that any two material particles, or bodies, if freed to move, will be exelorated towards each othe- He stopped as his nose bumped on something. That something being Entrapta's own nose. He hadn't even noticed they had already gotten to the tank. -Yuck! -Frosta gaged. Hordak took a step back realizing their proximity, so close if he had held his head a little lower, they would have kissed. He shot a warning glance at Frosta. -Where were you two at? -Entrapta said, her tail wagging and her cheeks blushing. -We came back and didn't find you anywhere! -I needed to go to the bathroom, but there wasn't any in the tank, so we had to go outside, and Hordak kept whining, and I made a super ramp, and Hordak yelled at me, and went so fast I flew off and hit my face in the snow! -Frosta jumped up excitingly, her tail wagging madly as she panted. -Did you? Entrapta turned to Hordak and Imp jumped to his shoulders. -She almost busted her head open! This girl is crazy! -Aaww! Look at you getting all worried about the puppy! -the Princess nuzzled his cheek and he blushed. -W-well, of course! If anything happened to her while we were alone, the Princesses would have blamed it on me! -his tail swished about, tying itself up with one of Entrapta's ears. -But did you find what we were looking for? -Yup! Frosta turned to the other Princess. -Can I see it?!

-Sure! Entrapta led the way back inside the tank, where she rolled a big metal sphere, with coloful glass and constellations-like markings all over it. It was quite beautiful.

-Is that it? -Frosta asked. -How does it work? Entrapta set her on top of Emily as she explained. -You see all these markings that kinda look like starts? -the dog pointed at them with her paw and Frosta nodded. -They light up and make a beaming sound when it's on! Those two holes right there are for cables! This is basically a huge battery, and it charges with the light of the sun! While the light hits it, it builds up energy, and if you plug something into it, it can generate enough energy to use for a MONTH! If we can decode the programing in this, we could create multiples and use their energy! -Woooaah! But why do you need so much energy? -Dryl is expanding, and fast. -Hordak explained. -With all of my brothers moving in, we need more housing, and more housing makes more use of energy. Frosta's ears fell. She thought to herself how all those cats must feel, being brainwashed and then getting their "home" turned into a giant tree in the sky, having to get used to a completely different culture in a completely different planet. -We can go back, now! Frosta, you want a ride home? -Entrapta asked her. -Sure! They left the piece of tech on the floor, going up to the screens again, Entrapta pulled a lever and the tank's motor roared to life. Emily looked up at Frosta and beeped, Frosta smiled and pat the bot, turning to Hordak as she felt the tank move. -So... What were you gonna say before? -she asked, surprisingly shy. -About... gravity? Hordak and Entrapta both turned their heads back, their eyes widen with surprise. Frosta's ears fell, did she do something wrong? -Gravity? -Entrapta exclaimed. -I never thought you'd be interested about that topic, Frosta! -Oh, I was explaining gravity and physics to her on our way back to the tank. She seemed rather confused. They walked up to her and Emily, Entrapta sitting right beside her and Hordak settling near the bot. -Yeah, what IS gravity? Is it like magic? -Oh, no, no! It's the universal force of attraction acting between all matter! All bodies have a weight, or downward force of gravity, proportional to their mass, which Etheria's mass exerts on them! -Entrapta gesture with her paws as Hordak nodded. -Gravity is measured by the acceleration that it gives to freely falling objects! Frosta tilted her head. -So... A force that pulls things to the ground and doesn't let stuff float? -Yeah! That's it! -the Princesses said, in a proud tone. -That sounds a lot like magic! Are you sure it's not just magic? -Yes, we are sure! -Hordak grumbled. -How would YOU know?! -Because even planets without magic have gravity, even completely deserted ones, without any intelligent life form! -the cat explained, as he paced around them. -There's planets out there WITHOUT MAGIC?! -Frosta exclaimed, looking at her paws and back at him. -What a sad life! Entrapta snapped her head around, looking at Frosta with an undignified look, putting her paws on her waist and huffing. Frosta's ears and tail dropped. -Humph! "a sad life"?! -she exclaimed. -I've got no magic and I have the best time ever practically every day, young missy! So does Catra! So does Sea Hawk and so does Bow! -Well, yeah... but... I mean... -"I fucked up!", Frosta thought. -Y-you got your tech and your bots and all... And Catra's super fast! And Bow has his arrows and... Are we SURE Sea Hawk doesn't have any magic?! I still think he's an heir to some kind of fire Princess or something! Entrapta's ears perked up and her eyes widened with realization. She rested her chin on her paw. -You know what... That's actually a very good theory! -Don't encourage her! -Hordak turned back to them as he settled a sleeping Imp on the control pannell. -Why not? Frosta actually might be onto something here! -Entrapta lifted herself and made her way to Hordak on her ears. -What if he IS some kind of great, great, great, great, great grandson to some fire dweller? What if he was just never taught to control his powers? -He is already a menace as he is, Entrapta! -Hordak's tail swished in annoyance. -He doesn't need more reasons to play with fire! Literally speaking! A whole discussion about it escalated between them. As they chit-chatted, Frosta looked at the screens showing the outside of the big metal machine, watching the snow-covered ground pass as the tank drove itself. Her eyes shot open when she noticed a frozen lake outside. -LAKE! -she pointed with her paw and yelled. -FROZEN LAKE! Can we stop to skate on it?! Please, please, please! Her tail wagged madly as she jumped around them. Entrapta looked at the screen Frosta was pointing to and hummed. -Hmmm! Yeah, it could be fun! -she said. -What do you think, lab partner? -You're joking! In this temperature?! Do you WANT our tails falling frozen, Entrapta?! Frosta growled. -Oh come on, Hordikins! Don't be a stick in the mud! -Entrapta nudged his shoulder. -It could be fun! -Pleeeeaaaaaseee! -Frosta whined. -Aargh! Fine! -the cat hissed. -But don't blame me when someone gets hurt! Entrapta laughed. -Nothing's gonna happen! Don't worry! -YEAH! Frosta barked and howled the whole way they got there. As her little legs touched the snow, she bolted straight for the frozen water. She laughed as she skated trhough the ice, spinning around, jumping, going backwards. The two adults lagged behind, their paws needing to get used to the cold snow. -I hate it here...! -Hordak growled. -I can't feel my paws! -We could get you some snow shoes when we get back! -Entrapta said as she rolled around in the snow. -HEY, SLOWPOKES! -Frosta yelled from the lake. -YOU'RE GONNA TAKE LONG THERE?! Hordak growled at the puppy's lack of respect. Entrapta just shook the snow off her fur and hopped over to the side of the lake with the cat following behind her. -Hey, Hordak, have you ever ice-skated before? You should try! It's really fun! -No, thank you! I doubt I could have even stand! -the clone shook his head. -It's not hard when you get the hang of it! -Entrapta flexed her paw so her claws were apparent. -You just gotta use your claws! When you step, instead of putting pressure in your paw pads, you put pressure on your toes, and your claws dig into the ice! That's why it leaves marks! Right, Frosta? The pup stoped in front of them, sitting on the ice, making a THUMP. -Yeah, I guess... -her ears perked up with mischief. -But he's too chicken to do it! Entrapta shot her a reprehending look and Hordak bared his teeth. -Oh, I'm a "chicken", am I?! -he growled. -Well, then! He got up and attempted to step into the ice, slippering. Frosta laughed as he slowly made his way into the frozen water, remembering Entrapta's advice to use his claws, he struggled as he dug too deep into the ice, making his paws stuck. -Yay, Hordikins! -Entrapta cheered him on. As soon as he made himself some-what stable, Frosta ran circles around him, barking teasingly, nipping at his legs and laughing. Hordak growled and hissed, nipping back at her, swipping his paws at her, while trying not to fall at the same time. -Can't get me! -she blew a raspberry. Hordak leaped at her, attempting to grab the puppy, minding his claws, of course! It quickly turned into a game of tag, if you would consider a dog pup against a full grown extremely technologically advanced clone soldier cat with razor sharp red teeth, a fair game. Frosta didn't seem to be having any problems, unlike Hordak. She ran around and pulled on his legs, causing him to fall on his side. -Frosta! Play nice! -Entrapta scolded. As the puppy turned around again, Hordak struggled to get up, she was about to give him another sarcastic comment when she noticed a crack on the ice right in front of him. Frosta opened her mouth to warn him, but he had taken the first step. The ice gave out underneath him and the cat sunk like a rock. -HORDAK! -she heard Entrapta's desperate cry. Frosta ran to him, grabing his collar and trying to pull him out. He was too heavy! He trembled and clawed at the borders in a desperate attempt to get out, but the ice broke at his sudden movements. She felt Entrapta's ears wrap around her and take her off the ground, pulling her back to the snow with Hordak. She refused to let go of his collar, even when they were on safe groud. Entrapta crawled under his chin to support his head, as he couldn't get up and kept shaking. -Hordak, are you okay? Can you stand up? -Entrapta nudged his cheek gently. Frosta looked at her for any kind of signal on what to do, but she could see tears starting to form on the corner of her eyes. -Inside... now... -Hordak coughed in a weak voice. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Frosta stared at Hordak's sleeping form, frozen in place. Guilt burned in her chest, as her ears dropped and her tail hid between her legs. "This is all my fault!", she repeated over, and over in her head. Entrapta had carried him inside and dried him up. Imp and Emily were in an absolute panic. Hordak laid surrounded in heaters, covered with a heavy blanket, cuddled with the winged kitten and the round bot, who were both also asleep. A loud growling sound came from Hordak. "He's probably mad at me!", she thought. Entrapta's paws tapped in the floor as she walked past the pup with a tray of tiny cups of hot cocoa. She set the tray aside and layed beside the clone, wrapping her ears around him and resting her head on his. The growling became louder, and Entrapta wagged her tail. Frosta took a step back and turned to walk out of tank. "I should go home...". -Frosta? She looked back over her shoulder to Entrapta. -Where are you going? -I'm... Going home... -she said in a low voice. -We're gonna take you home. -But why...? -"But why", why? -I thought... -she avoided the Princess' eyes. -You didn't want to talk to me anymore... -Why wouldn't I want to talk to you? -Entrapta raised her head, confused. -Because... Hordak fell in the ice... And it was my fault...! -I wasn't your fault! -she reached out her ears and wrapped them around Frosta again, bringing her close to them. -You couldn't possibly know the ice would break! It was just an accident! -I know, but still... -Frosta looked at Hordak. She couldn't see his face, but the growling sound echoed out off him in waves. -He's gonna be okay! He just needs to rest for a while and warm up! -Entrapta gave her a warm smile. -I just hope he doesn't get pneumonia... The pup looked back at the sleeping clone. Entrapta wasn't the best at comforting others, and Frosta felt even worst when she remembered how worried Entrapta sounded when Hordak fell in the water. Frosta was doing her best to hold back her tears, but it was very clear in her voice that she wanted to cry. And she hated it. -I don't think I want to hate him anymore... -What do you mean, Frosta? -I mean... He destroyed Etheria and... And he killed a bunch of people, but... B-but he was also nice to you... And he rebuilt Salineas... And he... And he was worried about me when I fell on the snow... -she sniffed. -But I should hate him... He did horrible stuff! Shouldn't I...? Entrapta hummed. She rested her chin on her paws she thought to herself. -I'm not good with other dogs, but I know it's hard to change your mind about someone. Especially if already didn't like them before.  -Entrapta held Frosta in a hug, in an attempt to comfort the puppy. -But if they're doing their best to change how they act, maybe you should try to change how you view them too! Like Perfuma always says: "What goes around, comes around!"! -What the fuck does that mean? -I don't know...! Frosta let her tears fall as she looked at her own paws, not knowing what to do to help. Entrapta dried her tears with her ears and planted a small kiss on the pup's head. She nudged the tray to Frosta, who took one of the tiny cups and drinked the hot cocoa. It made her feel a tiny bit better.

I really, really want to know what you guys think about my fics! I feel like I always rush everything, but I’m not the reader! Rebloging always helps!

[amandlas]

almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)

tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)

entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.

[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]

*

gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?

vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.

jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.

*

two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.

*

she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.

it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.

jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.

but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.

perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.

survival feels wet against her cheek.

*

he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.

“will i still be king someday?”

as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”

“are you sure?”

she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”

oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”

of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”

her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”

if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.

oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.

“i suppose.”

he remembers none of the stance the next evening.

*

“no word from dad. taryn either.”

jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.

vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”

jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”

her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”

jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.

*

she hates to think of the name.

what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.

her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.

she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.

falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.

*

“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.

they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.

she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.

the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.

heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”

from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”

her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.

jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”

“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”

jude stiffens. “really.”

they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.

heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”

ah. because. she. has. magic.

a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.

*

unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.

mortal.

the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.

she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.

*

it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.

*

her exile hits the half year.

*

bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.

a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.

she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.

oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.

when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.

*

she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.

jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.

“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.

waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”

the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.

sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.

they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.

in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.

*

oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.

she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.

when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.

she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.

music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.

an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.

the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.

*

by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.

i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.

she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.

they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.

he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.

he

doesn’t

want

you.

move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.

*

the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.

“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.

jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?

“help…” she hears.

jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.

human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.

“more,” the girl begs.

like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”

weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”

“what’s your name?”

the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”

lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.

jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.

“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”

she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”

qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”

“is pop meant to be lolli?”

“her full name’s lollipop.”

“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”

qylin whistles.  “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.

“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”

wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.

the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.

*

in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”

months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”

vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.

*

if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.

*

ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.

jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.

the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.

*

saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.

*

oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.

it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.

*

qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.

*

when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.

that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.

“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.

*

lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.

the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.

it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.

she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.

it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that’s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.

she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.

in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.

as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”

not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.

she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”

after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.

without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.

she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.

“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”

a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.

next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.

does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.

his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.

jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.

after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.

why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.

saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.

*

a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.

“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.

the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.

she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.

he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.

if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.

jude’s understanding is little.

something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.

no test could prepare her for this sight.

and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.

in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.

her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.

this was a nightmare.

cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.

she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.

her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.

jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.

*

jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.

“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.

“what was her name?” they asked.

jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”

*

three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.

*

a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.

“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”

jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.

she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.

the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”

the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”

fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”

lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.

the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”

jude understands in a minute.

taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.

summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”

that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.

*

when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.

*

she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.

here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.

how could she have hated such a place?

*

“counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.

jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.

the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.

if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.

*

“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.

jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.

five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.

another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.

bam.

first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.

oh.

when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.

*

in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.

she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.

she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.

she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.

to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.

she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.

*

she should’ve known when she saw the river.

in water all began, and in water it ends.

there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.

“huh,” she whispers.

the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.

she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.

jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.

*

in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.

“jude.”

this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.

“jude!”

or?...

her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.

she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.

it’s him.

jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.

there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.

she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.

“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.

is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.

it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.

he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.

“please,” he whispers.

she hasn’t said his name in years.

“cardan.”

his eyes fall closed.

her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.

cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”

the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:

“almost.”

the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.

if only this weren’t the last time.

“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.

cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.

jude walks into the water.

a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.

“what are you doing?” he demands.

jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.

“stop!” she hears.

the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.

a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.

air. sweet air in her lungs.

jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.

cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.

“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”

jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”

“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”

she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”

cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.

maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.

as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.

“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”

her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”

slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”

love

four letters.

years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.

his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.

“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”

thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.

“hold,” she says weakly.

hold love. he loves me.

impossible. and true.

“huh.”

*

“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.

he does.

he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.

jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.

they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.

jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.

“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.

gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”

his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.

jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”

through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.

“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”

they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.

[when-a-humble-bard]

the driftwood and the rift (p.2)

Read part 1 here!

Read on AO3 here!

Warnings: blood/injury; strong suggestions of past torture; feelings of guilt; everyone feels guilty for different reasons; they are bad at feelings but they are both trying

A/N: part 2 is here! This chapter was like pulling teeth to get them to talk to each other but we kinda got there. Heh. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: @thuriweaver

…

They take the last room at the tavern that’s available. Geralt accepts the key from the innkeeper—who stares at the mess of the two of them, beaten and bloody, with wide eyes—and half-helps, half-carries the bard up the stairs to the last room on the left. Geralt pauses only long enough to ask the barmaid to send up a basin of hot water.

He drops Jaskier onto the singular bed in the corner. He hates the silence. It had been grating in the months since their parting at the mountain top, but now that Jaskier is here… Geralt hates it. Almost as much as he hates the way Jaskier won’t meet his eyes.

Geralt busies himself with getting a low fire going in the hearth and pulling out strips of linen and vials of oil. He can feel Jaskier watching him, his bright blue eyes following his every movement. His initial panic seems to have abated, as much as Geralt can tell from his scent and the beating of the bard’s heart, but there’s something that lingers around him that Geralt can’t quite place. Something that reminds Geralt of burnt grass and smoke.

The Witcher turns to face the bard, opening his mouth to say something when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. Geralt quietly thanks the young woman that hands the wash basin to him with a hesitant smile. When he turns back, Jaskier is standing. He’s got one hand braced against the headboard.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says softly. The bard’s eyes flicker up. “Sit down.”

Jaskier shakes his head. Some of his hair—it’s longer than Geralt remembers—falls across his eyes in the process. “Your shoulder,” he says. “It needs to be cleaned and we both know your scars heal more evenly if someone else sews them up.”

Geralt sighs. “I don’t care how evenly—”

“For fuck’s sake, Geralt, just… let…” Jaskier blows out a breath. “Let me do this. Please.”

Geralt knows first-hand just how insistent the bard can be. There was a certain fire that always lit up in those blue eyes of his when he got this way, and Geralt can’t help but feel an odd note of relief at seeing it back. The look always managed to exasperate the Witcher—honestly, Jaskier chose the most trivial things to put his foot down over—but it’s an improvement over the distant, haunted look that had shadowed his expression since the forest. Perhaps that’s why he relents.

Geralt’s lips press into a thin line before he sets the basin on the floor and sits on the edge of the bed. Jaskier is quiet again as Geralt shrugs off his armor and sheds the shirt underneath. The silence twists Geralt’s stomach. He is desperate to fill it.

“You were in Blavikin.”

It’s not a question, exactly. The hooded figure had told him as such, after all. The gentle splash of water as Jaskier dips one of the strips of linen into the basin fills the beat of silence that meets the end of the statement.

The bard’s gaze flickers up briefly to meet the Witcher’s golden one. “Yes. After we, ah, last parted, I found myself passing through Blavikin and the people of Blavikin found themselves in need of a bard.”

Geralt watches closely as Jaskier swallows before gingerly pressing the linen to the stab wound, far more gently than necessary, beginning to clean the blood that had dried against Geralt’s skin. The admittance from Jaskier leaves Geralt with more questions than answers. He wants to ask why—of all places Jaskier could have headed—the bard decided to go there. But Geralt doesn’t ask, swallowing the question down.

He thinks he knows the answer, anyway. Despite the bard’s ballads and songs sweeping through the Continent, plenty of contempt directed towards him lingered around. He had no doubt that Blavikin would harbor the worst of it. Butcher of Blavikin wasn’t a name so easily wiped from memories, even if White Wolf had started to worm its way into people’s vocabularies with increasing frequency.

Geralt had not returned to the town since Renfri. He did not plan to ever go back. Geralt looks up as Jaskier continues to clean at the wound in his shoulder. He wonders if perhaps Jaskier knew that. If that’s exactly why the bard decided to go there.

It’s another question that Geralt can’t bring himself to ask.

“I don’t think I’ll go back,” Jaskier says suddenly, studiously avoiding Geralt’s watchful stare. “Can’t say Blavikin really does it for me much anymore.”

“Hmm.” Geralt wants to ask why, but Jaskier presses on.

“Although, I’ll have to go back to retrieve my lute. If it’s even still there. I suppose that’s unlikely, given that it’s been a month, but you never truly know. Perhaps Adelaide rescued it. She’s just as likely to sell it, and that would be quite the travesty. Filavandrel would never forgive me. Although, to be fair, I haven’t performed quite as much as I used to, so perhaps there’s a certain level of irony to be found.”

As he rambles—for which Geralt is oddly grateful to hear, even if Jaskier’s voice is thin and shaky—he finishes cleaning the wound. It’s stopped bleeding, Geralt realizes, and Jaskier turns away from the Witcher and begins preparing what looks like a poultice. Geralt’s gaze still doesn’t waver from the bard. Jaskier’s hands are shaking. He drops one of the vials and it shatters against the dark wood floors.

“Fuck.”

Geralt stands up slowly. “Jaskier.”

“I’ll replace it in the morning, Geralt.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Jaskier is standing frozen by the table next to the bed, dropping his hands beside the poultice and dragging a breath into his lungs as if it takes a certain amount of focus. It’s the first deep breath Geralt has heard the bard take tonight, but he doesn’t miss the hitch nor the slight grimace of pain that passes through Jaskier’s face. Geralt swallows.

“Sit,” he says, and this time, Jaskier doesn’t argue with him.

The bard sinks down onto the side of the bed where Geralt had been sitting a moment ago, his gaze distant as he stares absently across the room. Jaskier blinks, breaking him out of whatever momentary trance he’d been in, and drags his gaze back to Geralt. It settles squarely on the wound in his shoulder. That scent of burnt grass and smoke that lingers around the bard gets stronger.

Geralt sighs, glancing around the room before he finds the spare change of clothes he’d brought in from Roach. He slips the shirt over his head, gritting his teeth as the move tears a bit at the stab wound. He just wants Jaskier to stop staring at it. Especially since the bard looks like he’s about to keel over at any moment.

Geralt busies himself with picking up the shards of glass he can find while he waits for Jaskier to shed his doublet and the shirt underneath. Except by the time Geralt has finished cleaning up the glass as best he can manage, Jaskier hasn’t moved.

Geralt sighs. “Jaskier.” Jaskier blinks up at him expectantly. Geralt arcs an eyebrow, then motions to the bard. “Your shirt.”

“What about it?” From the quick aversion of his gaze, Geralt has the feeling that Jaskier is stalling more than expressing a genuine lack of understanding. Geralt doesn’t respond, crossing his arms over his chest and staring the bard down.

Jaskier lasts all of about ten seconds before he releases a breath and Geralt sees his cheeks flush slightly. “I… may need some help,” he says quietly.

Geralt softens and crosses back to him, sitting beside the bard and helping him ease his blue doublet off his shoulders. The stench of copper grows stronger, and Geralt can see stains of red bleeding onto the off-white shirt he wears beneath. Geralt folds the doublet and sets it aside as he hears Jaskier suck in a deep breath before tugging the hem of his shirt out of his pants and continuing the momentum up and over his head.

Geralt doesn’t miss the tight clench to Jaskier’s jaw at the movement before the bard balls the shirt in his hands. Geralt glances at the bard’s back and freezes.

It’s… a mess. Mottled bruising—some fresh, some old—offers a sickeningly colorful backdrop of greens, yellows, and blues to the slashes that carve through his skin. Some span most of the bard’s back, others are smaller. A few are red, barely scabbed over, while others are most of the way to scarring.

 He lasted nearly three weeks before he screamed for you.

Geralt closes his eyes against the roll in his stomach. “Fuck, Jaskier.”

“It’s like I always told you,” Jaskier says, and the attempt at levity probably wouldn’t have worked even if Jaskier’s voice didn’t tremble just a little, “ladies love some scars. Though I’m afraid the stories behind mine are, ah… well. Safe to say I probably won’t be composing songs about them.”

Geralt swallows thickly. He doesn’t know where to start, his golden gaze flickering over the far-too-many injuries that splay across the bard’s back, over his shoulders, wrapping around his ribs. Geralt leans forward slightly to inspect the bard’s chest, and Jaskier turns his head away like he’s ashamed. His chest looks to be in just as bad of shape, and the fact that the bruises continue down around the bard’s hips and disappear beneath the waistline of his pants doesn’t escape the Witcher’s notice either.

“What did they want?” Geralt asks in a careful voice, tearing his gaze away from the colorful and painful display of Jaskier’s chest to the bard’s face.

Jaskier’s light blue gaze flickers to Geralt before looking back to the fire in the hearth. “Nothing.”

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier finally meets his eyes in a brief flair of defiance. Something wavers in Jaskier’s expression before he tears his gaze away. It grows distant as the bard’s voice grows softer. “They didn’t want anything I was willing to give. So what does it matter, really, what they wanted?”

It matters because Geralt didn’t really need Jaskier to tell him what they wanted from him. The hooded figure in the forest had been pretty damn clear. He was resolute in withholding information about you. Loyal to the end, it would seem. Plenty of people wanted the Witcher dead—plenty of people want Witchers in general dead. None, as far as Geralt knew, had gone to such lengths to glean any information about him in particular as to do this. He knew his lifestyle was dangerous, and put those who chose to join him in harm’s way, but… that was because he hunted monsters. Not… not this. Fuck.

Nobody deserved this, but Jaskier least of all. Jaskier, who had done nothing but care for him and be the singular most steadfast person present in Geralt’s life. Loyal to the end, it would seem. Geralt’s stomach gives another uncomfortable roll, his throat growing tight.

Geralt’s own thoughts trail off as he sees the pained hitch in Jaskier’s breath as he sighs just a touch too deeply.

The Witcher busies himself with kneeling in front of the bard, dipping the unused strips of linen in the wash basin that is now slightly tinged with the red of Geralt’s own blood.

“You should have told them,” Geralt says without looking at him. “Whatever they wanted to know, you should have…” He trails off.

Jaskier releases a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, laced tight with pain and something else that Geralt can’t place. “You really think so little of me? After all these years?”

Geralt’s brow furrows as he wrings out one of the strips. Jaskier looks back at the Witcher, seems to recognize the confusion, and shakes his head a little. “For fuck’s sake, Geralt. You think a little pain is all it would take for me to sell out on you?”

“This,” Geralt says between clenched teeth, nodding to Jaskier’s battered form, “is more than just a little, Jaskier.”

And gods fucking damn it, because it’s his fault. They didn’t want Jaskier, they wanted Geralt, and had thought that going after the bard would be the fastest way to get to him. It was well known across the Continent that Jaskier was the bard who sung the praises of the White Wolf, tagged along with him on so many adventures. An easy target. But the bard was nothing if not steadfast and loyal—to a fault, it would seem to Geralt—and his will had never been as easily broken as his body. If Geralt had just… been there, then Jaskier wouldn’t be fighting back a pained wince with each inhale of breath he dragged into his lungs.  

Geralt sighs. He lifts the damp cloth towards the gash on Jaskier’s shoulder. One of the fresher ones, by the look of it. That, or the fight in the woods had torn an old wound back open. Geralt’s hand hesitates before making contact, looking to Jaskier for permission.

Jaskier doesn’t look at him, but he offers a subtle nod and swallows. He shuts his eyes, holding his breath as Geralt gingerly dabs at the fresh blood there. Jaskier releases the breath slowly a moment later. Geralt pretends not to notice just how badly it shakes.

There’s a long stretch where neither of them says anything. Geralt pays close attention to Jaskier, giving him a moment to brace each time he begins to tend to a new wound. The Witcher tries not to let his mind wander too far from his job, careful to not touch Jaskier anywhere he doesn’t absolutely have to. The bard’s fallen silent again, and there are brief moments where Geralt can feel his quiet gaze on him. Any time he goes to return it, Jaskier’s blue eyes flicker back to the fire, crackling in the silence around them.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Jaskier says when Geralt hesitates for the fourth time.

“Hmm.”

“Any of it,” Jaskier adds. “I did pick up a few things from our travels together, you know. I… I can do this myself.”

Geralt lets his hand drop from Jaskier’s ribs, his gold gaze searching. Jaskier won’t meet his eyes. “Do you want to?” he asks, because as much as Geralt wants to feel like cleaning Jaskier’s wounds would at least begin the recompense he owes the bard, Jaskier’s comfort and sense of security take priority.

“I can.”

Geralt frowns. “That’s not what I asked.”

Jaskier is silent again. As much as the Witcher knew the bard could read him, he’d learned how to read the bard over the years in kind. Something was pressing on Jaskier’s mind. He could tell from the unusual silence. The distant gaze. The way that his hands wringed in his shirt—usually, he’d be plucking absently on the strings of his lute, but with the instrument’s absence, Geralt figures that the bard’s hands would remain restless when he was turning something over in his mind.

Still, Jaskier doesn’t give voice to whatever thoughts are evidently flickering through his mind. And as much as Geralt wants to ask him, he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t want to press. He’d been pressed for information enough over the past month.

The Witcher has cleaned most of the fresh and re-opened wounds on Jaskier’s ribs when the bard finally breaks the silence.

“Geralt.”

“Hmm?”

“In the forest.” Jaskier looks at Geralt kneeling in front of him. There’s a flood of that burnt grass and smoke scent and only now that Geralt is fully looking at him—his eyes wide and pained—can Geralt pair the scent with the emotion. Guilt. “Did you know it would work?”

“What would work?”

“Throwing the knife.”

Geralt’s hands still for a moment. “Mages are conduits of chaos,” he says quietly, recalling what Yennefer had told him once. “Destroy the conduit, you break their hold on whomever they’ve enchanted. Usually.”

“Usually,” Jaskier repeats. “So you didn’t know.”

“Hmm.”

“You could have killed me. You should have.” The statement makes Geralt’s eyes flash up to the bard’s again. “Why didn’t you?”

Geralt shakes his head, hating the way the smoke scent starts to radiate off Jaskier so fully that it nearly drowns out the smell of honeysuckle entirely. “You were under a spell.”

“I was a threat.”

“No.” Geralt’s eyes flash. “You were a victim. There’s a difference.”

“I wanted to hurt you.” Jaskier looks squarely at Geralt now, his blue eyes bright with pain. “I did. When that spell was winning, I wanted to hurt you, Geralt, and gods on high it terrified me. I mean—fuck.” Jaskier drops the shirt in his hands as his voice breaks and buries his fingertips in his hair.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries, ducking a little in an attempt to get the bard to look at him again. Jaskier’s eyes are screwed shut. Geralt purses his lips. “I’ve sustained injuries far more serious than the meager ones you inflicted in the forest. And regardless, that wasn’t reflective of your desires. It was the bloodlust of the spell.”

“But I felt it, Geralt. I…” Jaskier shakes his head. He scrubs a hand across his watering eyes. He offers a thin, shaky, self-deprecating smile. “Add it to the pile of shit I shovel, huh?”

It’s Geralt’s turn to avert his gaze. Jaskier doesn’t mean it as a jab, but it rips open old well-deserved pain in Geralt’s chest. He’d regretted his words on the mountain less than an hour after he’d spoken them. But he hadn’t known how to take the words back in a way that would mean anything. He’d still said them. And Geralt had long ago gotten in the habit of not saying much of anything when he didn’t know what to say. So instead, he’d taken his time going back down the mountain, turning over the thousand ways to make it up to the bard should they ever cross paths again.

Here they are, months later, and Geralt still doesn’t know where to begin.

“I wasn’t fair,” Geralt says, knowing and hating that all he can think to say is a distant echo of what Jaskier had said himself on that mountaintop months ago. “After the dragon. You were right.”

Jaskier’s eyes open, blinking in evident surprise as he glances up at the Witcher. Geralt can feel the gaze on him, searching and confused, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet it. He busies his hands and his attention, instead, by returning to the gash under Jaskier’s collarbone that still looks red and painful.

“I get myself into shit,” Geralt continues quietly, “and the fact that you happen to be there more often than not does not mean you’re the one who…” The Witcher huffs a frustrated breath, fumbling for some semblance of words that won’t fall short of what he means. He dabs gently with the damp linen cloth against the wound and Jaskier’s breath stutters for just a moment.

He tries again. “You’re a loyal friend, Jaskier.”

And fuck if that doesn’t fall short in a million other ways. The extent of Jaskier’s unyielding, relentless loyalty was painted all over the bard’s body as a painful reminder. Loyal felt like such a massive understatement, and friend didn’t fit well in Geralt’s mouth as a descriptor of Jaskier either. It never had.

But Geralt doesn’t know how to bridge the rift between the words he says and the meaning behind them. The words that leave his lips feel like grasping at driftwood while drowning.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters under his breath.

Jaskier’s hand stills Geralt’s over his wound before pulling his hand away and enveloping it in his own. “Geralt?”

The Witcher stops and swallows. “Forgive me. Please.”

And in truth, Geralt doesn’t know what exactly he’s referring to. If it’s the long overdue plea for what he’d said on the mountain or for the pained wince that Jaskier kept trying to mask or for all the other ways that the Witcher continued to fail Jaskier. There are far too many things, too many ways, that Geralt had fallen short. Too many things he needs Jaskier to forgive him for.

“I’ll do better,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier leans forward until their foreheads are touching. Geralt takes a breath, enveloped in the scent of cedar and honeysuckle and rose. The copper scent is mostly gone now, and the Witcher counts it as a small mercy on the aching in his chest.

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier breathes in the space between them, “Of course.”

The ease with which Jaskier says the words is a grace that Geralt does not deserve. He releases a breath as the knot in his chest loosens before swallowing thickly. He feels Jaskier squeeze his hand softly. Geralt pulls back despite the sudden desire to press into the bard’s aura of warmth and wildflowers.

Jaskier is still battered and bruised and in pain. I’ll do better. That begins with easing whatever pain of Jaskier’s he can in the moment.

The Witcher clears his throat slightly as if it will ease the tightness of it. Jaskier seems reluctant to release his hold of Geralt’s hand, but he does after a moment. Geralt goes back to cleaning the gash beneath his collarbone. It’s the last of his wounds that necessitate cleaning before he’ll offer a salve that should help with the inflammation. Hopefully, with some pain eased, Jaskier can get a decent night’s sleep. Gods know how long it had been since the bard had been able to do that.

Geralt stands to do just that, turning towards the bag he’d hauled in.

“Where do you plan to go, come morning light?” Jaskier asks suddenly.

Geralt turns back around to look at the bard. “With you,” he says, his brows furrowed. Hadn’t that been obvious?

The Witcher sees the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of the bard’s mouth and the lingering knot in Geralt’s chest loosens just a touch more. “To the coast?”

“Hmm.” That did sound… nice, actually. Getting away for a while. It had been a long time since Geralt had been to the coast. He turns back to the bag and rifles through the contents, searching for that salve.

“I’ll need to get my lute first.”

“We can stop on the way.”

“Been too long since I last played,” Jaskier is saying, his voice getting softer and heavier. “Though if we’re going to the coast, I’ll have ample time to work on some sea shanties. Been ages since I’ve sung a sea shanty. Do you know any, Geralt?”

“No.”

“Hm. Shame. I’ll have to teach some to you.”

Geralt huffs a breath. Jaskier would be hard pressed to get Geralt to sing much of anything, but there also wasn’t much that Geralt would refuse Jaskier right now. He turns back to the bard, his brow arched, and finds the bard slumped over in the bed. Fast asleep. The corner of the Witcher’s mouth tugs up into an almost-smile.

He sets the salve that he’d dug out of the bag on the table with a quiet click, easing an arm under Jaskier’s knees and one under his neck. He lifts the bard easily—he’s far lighter than he ought to be—and repositions him more fully onto the bed. He couldn’t have the bard aggravating his injuries further. Jaskier stirs slightly, and Geralt holds his breath before the bard sighs softly and seems to drift back to sleep.

Geralt sets his bedroll on the floor. In the morning, they’d set off for the coast. For now, Geralt drifts off to sleep to the crackling fire in the hearth, the bard’s steady heartbeat, and the faint scent of wildflowers in the air around him.

[xmagicxshopx]

😈 Secret Admirer 😈 Pt 2

Genre: fantasy adventure, romance, angst Rating: PG-13 Warnings: angst, mild language Pairing: Jungkook x reader Notes: demon!jungkook au. Private Investigator Jungkook. Not idol!jungkook. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: I don’t know if I got the right emotions across but I hope you guys still feel something all the same~

Tagging because they showed interest: @sebastianshoe @fortunexkookie

Summary: All you’ve ever known is struggle. You fight to survive every day and you’re grateful for the little things. But one night, when you make a wish at 11:11pm on the 11th day of the 11th month…….your whole world gets turned upside down.

Over the last few weeks, Jungkook had developed a sort of......routine with you. He mapped out your entire work schedule and just after one week......He was amazed at how little sleep you truly got. Good thing he himself didn’t need sleep because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with you.

In this span of time, he learned what days you were working at the retail store and continued his disguise as your newbie coworker. It was a win-win for him since he got to interact with you on top of making the two girls up front miserable. The male had to keep up with his demonic reputation, after all. It was during one of those days when you suddenly spoke up.

“Jungkook.....Do you ever have something that just.......won’t leave you alone? Like there’s just something there that.....constantly occupies your thoughts?”

‘If only you knew, little human.....’

“Um.....Not really. Why? Is everything okay?”

He set down the box of winter boots that were already meant to be spaced out on the clearance shelves even though it was still only December. Humans and their timelines never made any sense to him. It was still freaking cold out so why would you start shoving winter clothing out and bringing in spring clothing??? It was ridiculous.

He watched you chew on your bottom lip as you clearly pondered on whether or not to tell him what was on your mind. Over the span of these last few weeks, the demon had picked up on all your little habits. Chewing your bottom lip was one of them. Offering you a warm and reassuring smile, that seemed to be enough to get you to talk.

“Well......there’s this guy I sort of crossed paths with about a month ago. And......he was......different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Well he........he........and please don’t laugh because I’m being serious here but he.......he had......”

“Spit it out, woman.”

“He had red eyes.”

Ah. So you were talking about him. For a minute there, Jungkook thought perhaps you were talking about someone else. Why did that possibility bother him so much? Trying to keep up his composure, he simply raised an eyebrow before you started up again; quick to defend and explain yourself.

“It was dark but I know what I saw. I was being ambushed by some man in an alley and this other guy came to my rescue. He even gave me money. But all I can think about are his red eyes. I’m sure they were just colored contacts but still......I can’t get them out of my head and it’s been a month already.”

And that’s how Jungkook suddenly became known as Red Eyes, your secret admirer.

First, it had started out with your apartment. When he knew you’d be out working at the diner during the morning hours of the day, he had decided to sneak into your apartment and try to make as many repairs as he could with the time he had. Of course it wouldn’t take long with the help of his black magic, but still. Firstly, he worked on your door. The idea that anyone could come in here and rob you didn’t sit well with him.

Once he had fixed the latch and made sure your locks would work, he then turned his attention to your leaky ceiling. Honestly. Whoever your landlord was, he or she was a real jerk. Surely this wasn’t safe or acceptable? Grumbling about how foolish mortals could be, he waved his hand and instantly your ceiling was fixed. He even took it upon himself to get rid of the bucket nearly full of water.

Jungkook even went the extra mile to make sure your heat was working because now he wasn’t putting anything past your shitty landlord. After making sure everything in your apartment was working and running properly, he left a note in his neat handwriting that said.....

“Little One.....I hope you don’t mind that I fixed your door and your ceiling. Remember to lock your door from now on, okay? Stay safe. - Red Eyes, your secret admirer”

He’d never forget how happy you were when you told him about it. He had just slipped into the inventory room when you suddenly wrapped him up in a hug. Tensing but only for a moment, he had ended up awkwardly patting your back.

“Jungkook! He came back!”

“Huh? Who?”

“The guy with the red eyes!”

You were adorable with the way you had explained everything. Even though you had never actually gotten to physically see him again. He couldn’t help but stand there with an amused smile on his face. The irony that you were talking about him while he was standing right in front of you entertained him greatly.

“Seems like a nice guy.”

“Yeah. I wonder how he knew where I lived. Maybe he followed me home that night. He’s been nothing but kind to me even though this has only been the second encounter. Well kind of-----Since I didn’t exactly get to see him.”

The demon’s next target was your shoes. This task proved to be a little more tricky. Stupid him hadn’t thought to ask you your shoe size. Which meant either he could wait till next week when he saw you......or he could do things the fun way. Grinning, he thought to himself,

‘Fun way, it is.’

Even this proved to be a challenge. The plan was to sneak into your apartment when he knew you’d be sleeping. Why? Because it was the only time you took your shoes off. The plan was simple, really. Get in, check your shoe size, get out. Simple. But once he was inside......Jungkook ran into a little......situation.

You were crying. In your sleep.

His sensitive demon ears immediately picked up on your sobbing and instantly went down the hall to find you. Opening your door carefully, he could see you shivering under the blankets that you used to keep yourself warm. He had learned quickly that you rarely ran your heat during the winter time; mentioning that you tried to keep your electric bill down as much as possible.

Upon closer inspection, he could see the tears rolling down your face and onto your pillow. What was this crazy feeling inside him? It was like an itch that he couldn’t reach to scratch. He just----Wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. He wanted.......He wanted.......

He wanted to stop your constant suffering.

“Shh. Ease, little human. Ease.”

He may not be able to solve all your problems over night, but he could at least grace you with good dreams. With the wave of his hand over your face, he watched as the sobbing slowly ceased and you became peaceful once more. There. Maybe now you could at least get some real rest. If nothing else. Standing up once more, the demon made his exit, found your shoe size, and took his leave; making sure your door was properly locked.

A couple days later, you discovered a package at your door and your curiosity was instantly through the roof. Picking it up, you saw a familiar note attached to it that read....

“Little One.....I couldn’t help but notice your shoes and the poor condition they are in. Inside this box you will find a new pair. Hopefully I guessed your size correctly. - Red Eyes, your secret admirer”

“Kookie! Kookie!”

“Whatie! Whatie!”

You were growing more comfortable around him and he didn’t know how to feel about that. First it was the hug about a week ago, and now you were giving him nicknames. Gosh you were adorable as you practically skipped into the inventory room that day. You glowed despite how exhausted you looked. It was amazing, really.

“He did it again! Red Eyes paid me a visit! Look what he did this time!”

Jungkook couldn’t help but grin as he looked down at what you were pointing to. On your feet were a brand new pair of Puma tennis shoes. He was relieved to see how they fit you perfectly. Putting on a surprised smile, he let out a low whistle before saying casually,

“Wow. Red Eyes must have the money. Puma isn’t cheap.”

“Right? I feel bad, really. But at the same time, I’m so grateful. I just wish I could thank him in person, you know? Even though I can’t give him anything in return, I at least want him to know how much I appreciate his selflessness.”

‘Oh little human.....’

How was it that you had so much power over him? Your words cut him like the sharpest knife. Jungkook was a demon. Selflessness wasn’t in his vocabulary and yet here he was doting this mortal with all kinds of gifts. What was happening to him? Was he really going so soft as to be labeled selfless? Not having any idea what he was doing, he suddenly blurted out with a shrug,

“Maybe leave a note for him? Like on your door or something. Maybe he’ll see it.”

While he mentally scolded himself for such a stupid suggestion, you were absolutely glowing. Your eyes grew wide in size and it sadly made you look even more bug eyed but you were just too adorable for him to focus solely on that. Suddenly hugging him, you spoke with joy,

“Kookie! That’s a great idea!”

Within the next few days, sticky notes on your door became a thing. You’d leave one for him and he’d write something in return. You often times requested that you meet again in person so that you could properly thank him but he always insisted that you should use your free time for rest.

Truth was.......He wasn’t ready to meet you face to face as the demon he really was. Not when the two of you were having so much fun together while working in the retail storage room. He had grown to care about you. Him, a demon, caring about a mere mortal. It was crazy to think about, really. But it was true. You had somehow managed to worm your way into his black heart and Jungkook had no idea how to deal with that.

It wasn’t till this present day that the demon boy noticed something.....odd. Or perhaps off was the right word. Something just didn’t feel right when you entered the storage room today. You looked paler than usual and honestly.....did you look thinner? Was that even possible? It felt like something heavy had settled on his chest. Your appearance didn’t sit well with him at all. Not wanting to scare you, he asked casually,

“You feeling okay today? You look a little pale?”

Jungkook could instantly hear your heart beat pick up in what he could only guess was anxiety and panic. He could see your form stiffen out of the corner of his eye and he knew something was up. Why did that scare him so much? When you didn’t answer right away, he finally stopped what he was doing and turned to you; calling out your name gently.

“I......I think I’m just a bit under the weather but I’ll be fine. No need to worry about me, Kookie.”

Despite your smile, you knew he wasn’t buying it. You had learned pretty quickly that your coworker was quite intelligent and very deductive. It was like he could see right through you. Those unique brown eyes of his appeared to always be looking right into your soul or something. It was odd. You feel like you’ve seen those eyes before.

“Have you taken anything or seen the doctor?”

“Ah---I um.....I don’t have insurance so......I don’t go to the doctor.”

The demon’s black heart was breaking as he listened to what you had to say and the way you caved in on yourself as if afraid of getting scolded only made it worse. You didn’t have the money to care for yourself. Dear god this was torture. If only he didn’t care about you so much....

“Well......let me at least give you some mon----”

“No, Jungkook.”

Your firm tone didn’t match up with your frail form at all. Your eyebrows were knitted and a pout settled on your pale face. Honestly, if you hadn’t looked so ill, the male would have cooed and called you out on your cuteness. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“As much as I appreciate your gesture, I can’t accept it. You need that money for yourself.”

‘Foolish little human......just let me help you.....’

“I understand and respect your wishes. But my offer still stands. Even if it’s just to get some over-the-counter medicine.”

All you did was offer him a warm smile of gratitude and a nod of understanding but went back to work. While you busied yourself like the usual busy beaver you were, Jungkook made sure to watch you like a hawk. He could always leave money at your door and pretend to be Red Eyes but he feared of you making the connections.

He really needed to man up and just tell you the truth. Jungkook, the man you so very sweetly called Kookie, was also this dark and mysterious Red Eyes that you often gushed over. The thing is.....how would he even go about telling you? Would it be appropriate to tell you right here where he stood? Would you even believe him? Sure he could show you his red eyes but still....Gah. Why did he have to have feelings for you.....

As expected, Jungkook ended up chickening out and remained silent. Of course there was some small talk from time to time but mostly the shift was quiet. Although he couldn’t help but hear your labored breathing. Dear god you were going to give him a stroke. Could demons even have strokes? He wasn’t sure but you were definitely pushing the odds here.

The day came and went but he still kept an eye on you; making sure you were still functioning and getting up in the mornings. Honestly you were getting worse. Your movements were a bit more sluggish than usual and you practically looked like a zombie. Over the weekend, the young demon decided it was time to make his move. He would never forgive himself if something happened to you all because he was being a coward.

The plan sounded simple in his head. He’d knock on your door appearing as your retail storage room coworker Jungkook, make his big grand confession, pop out the colored contacts to prove he was Red Eyes, and then drag you to the hospital where he’d demand he pay any and all medical bills necessary to bring you back up to optimum health.

However.....You had yet to leave your apartment and it was at least 15 minutes past your usual departure time. You would have normally been half way down the street by now. The rational side of him tried to logic it all out. You were just running late is all. Nothing to freak out about......Right?

15 minutes turned into half an hour and that’s when he knew something was wrong. Sure you could have possibly called in sick but you were too hard headed for that. Even if you had, he still needed to see that you got the proper medical care. Taking a deep breath that was technically not necessary for a demon like him, he lifted his fist and knocked on the door.

“Kiddo? You in there? It’s me, Jungkook.”

No answer. Okay. Don’t panic. Perhaps you were sleeping? That was always a rational and reasonable possibility, right? But what if you weren’t? What if you were in trouble? Chewing on his bottom lip in nervousness, he mumbled something about “screw it” to himself before he was disappearing from the outside of your apartment and reappearing inside within a cloud of gray smoke.

Once the smoky gray wisps finally faded out into the room, he realized you were nowhere in sight. At least not in the kitchen or the living room. There was still the possibility that you were just in bed resting. Yes. Perhaps everything really was okay and he was just overreacting. Still determined to get you the proper care, he made his way to the hall only to discover.....

“No!”

You were laying nearly face down on the floor of the hallway. It would appear as if you had indeed tried to get ready for work today but your body had other plans. Even when the demon called your name, you never moved.

Panicking, Jungkook slid across the wooden floor and skidded to your side. Instantly but still carefully, he maneuvered your body till you were flat on your back and all hair was out of your face. Dear god you looked dead. Whimpering and mumbling to himself, the demon quickly reached for your pulse point.

“Oh thank Hades. You’re alive.”

But hanging by a thread. The pulse was there but only just. The demon also couldn’t help but take note of the fact that your breathing was shallow. You needed oxygen. You needed medical attention and equipment. The right thing to do would be to take you to the hospital just like he had planned. You’d be in good, professional hands and he could pay everything for you.

However.....without your consent and him having no way to come up with believable proof that you put yourself in his care when you were unable to speak for yourself......This wasn’t going to work. No. The hospital was out of the question. Being a demon.....Jungkook had never been one for taking the legal route anyway.

It was settled, then. You’d be coming with him to his apartment. He’d be able to conjure up the proper supplies and equipment you’d need to stay alive. He could only hope he wasn’t too late. While you were alive right now, that didn’t mean you were out of the woods yet. In fact....you were far from it. Lifting you up as if you were a vase that could shatter at any second, he closed his eyes and concentrated on where he wanted to take you.

As soon as he appeared in his apartment from within a cloud of gray smoke, he immediately dashed for his bedroom. Once he had you in what he felt would be a comfortable position, the demon began his work on keeping you alive. If his own black heart could beat, it’d be trying to beat out of his chest. His nerves were trying to get the best of him. You were getting the best of him.

You. The girl who caught his eye with your unique endless faith in humanity. The girl so humble it made his body physically ache. You were so sweet and so hard working and got so very little in return. It wasn’t right. Normally it was Jungkook’s job to undo all good things. He was often the creator of wrongs. But today......for the first time in his demon life.....

He was going to right this wrong. He was going to make everything okay for you. The way it should be.

After producing an oxygen tank along with the additional equipment necessary for you, he finally had oxygen going back into your lungs so that your body wouldn’t have to work so hard to provide it naturally. Next, he needed to get some kind of nutrients in you. Producing an IV bag full of the clear liquid, he began to carefully insert your IV. Gosh your hands were so bony. He could see every vein and every which way your bones went.

Once he got you all set up and comfortable, the demon boy took a moment to inspect his own handy work. Looking from your frail form to the monitors, he could see your oxygen levels already improving. Your blood pressure was still too low, though. Tearing his eyes away from the numbers, his ruby red eyes which had turned him famous once again landed on your pitiful body. Gosh you looked so small in that large bed of his.

“You can’t die on me now, little human.”

ONE MONTH LATER....

It would appear you had slipped into a coma. While your vitals were improving with every passing day, the days had turned into weeks and you weren’t showing any signs of regaining consciousness. Granted there was still no meat or muscle on your bones but you didn’t seem as pale and frail. That alone had made the demon happy......at first.

Now he makes it a part of his daily routine to check on you simply to see if you had opened those beautiful eyes of yours. Of course he still changed your IV bag as often as necessary and it seemed like you were having to rely less and less on the oxygen tank, but still. He couldn’t understand what had caused you to slip into such a deep state of sleep. Were you at least getting any kind of rest this way?

“You humans confuse me, little one.”

Days continued to pass. At first, Jungkook was borderline obsessed. He would stay by your side day in and day out just so he wouldn’t miss the moment where you would finally open your eyes. Time had never been much of a concept to him before since he didn’t need sleep. Honestly, the bed you slept in was really all just for looks in case he had a client come over during one of his cases for private investigating.

Speaking of, eventually, Jungkook had to force himself to go back to work. Not only as a private investigator, but as a demon too. His demonic superior had reached out to him several times about why he hadn’t been sending him souls lately. Had you really encompassed his life like this? When had you managed to sneak your way into his mind and consume his every thought? The demon was whipped. Whipped for you.

THREE MONTHS LATER.....

Still so close but so far away. You no longer needed the assistance of oxygen and could breathe on your own while sustaining normal oxygen levels. Your vitals were as good as they were going to get given the circumstances. You needed food go grow some meat on you but that was a bit impossible since you couldn’t chew at the moment. You couldn’t do much of anything. There was still no signs of you awakening.

But the young demon wasn’t giving up.

“Yah. It’s getting lonely without you......Just wake up already. I’ll buy you ice cream, cookies. Whatever you want. Just......wake up....”

He sat there in an armchair watching you with his intense red eyes and a childlike pout on his lips. Various times he had halfheartedly threatened you; thinking that perhaps you could hear him and would wake up. However, it all proved useless as you never moved an inch. However.....there was one time where he thought that perhaps you really could hear him but just couldn’t say anything about it.

“You know.....being a demon......I never thought I could fall in love with a human.”

Perhaps he had been hallucinating, but Jungkook could have sworn your fingers twitched. His wide eyes flickered to your face but your eyes remained hidden behind your heavy eyelids. Was it a trick of his mind or had you really moved?

Then there was the time you really surprised him......

“Time to change your feed bag, little human.”

It had become sort of a joke to call the bag of clear liquid your ‘feed bag’. Seeing as how that was the only way you could received any nutrients in your system. It was when he had finally changed everything, that you suddenly opened your eyes.

Jungkook stared on at you in shock as you laid there staring straight up at the ceiling of his modest bedroom. When you didn’t blink, he hesitantly reached his hand out and slowly waved it in front of your face. Your eyes never once budged. And then suddenly, you closed them once more. It was like you had never opened them. Strange.......Very strange......

Now he sat here with that same pout on his face while you just laid there and silently tormented him. Man. Being in love sucks. Now he knew why he had always tried to stay away from such a concept. Love. Yuck. Sighing, he stood up and looked at the clock. It was time for his nightly patrol to try and find himself a soul to sell. He was running low on funds, anyway.

“Don’t be afraid to wake up when I come back, okay?”

NOVEMBER 11, 11:00PM.....

“Happy one year anniversary, little human.”

A vase full of flowers and just enough water to keep them well hydrated, he placed the floral arrangement on the nightstand while being careful not to tangle any of your cords. Cords connecting to equipment telling him your heart was still beating and such. Important stuff like that. Taking a seat in his usual armchair, he sighed heavily and stared at your peaceful face.

“Hard to believe it’s been a year since we met, huh?”

Of course there was no response. Jungkook knew he wouldn’t get one but that didn’t stop him from continuing the conversation. In fact, it had become quite easy for him to talk to you despite your lack of ability to say anything in return. Adjusting himself in his seat, he went on.

“I remember how scared you were that night. If I had only known then what I know now......maybe you’d be awake. Smiling even. But.......Who could ever love a demon, right?”

He looked up at you and then at the clock. It was 11 minutes past the hour. The demon had heard tales that this was the exact minute you were supposed to make a wish. The idea swam in his head and with a roll of his eyes, he mumbled, “Oh what the hell. Why not.”

Closing his eyes, he even went the cheesy extra mile and clasped his hands together. Feeling like an absolute idiot, he sat there in his fancy, plush armchair with his head down and his shaggy mop of dark hair falling into his face. Making his wish but not daring to speak it out loud, he slowly opened his eyes and straightened back up.

“Ko......Kookie?”

No.....No way. That......that stupid cheesy shit about making wishes just because it was a specific time of night......It couldn’t have worked......Could it???

Not having actually been prepared for the moment you’d truly open your eyes and awaken, Jungkook had failed to put in his colored contacts to hide his ruby red eyes that were now on wide display for you.

You. There you laid in his bed. His bed. Looking like an absolute dream. It was so cute the way you looked all groggy and sleepy as if just waking up from a nap and not a six month coma. Once your surroundings finally started to come into focus, you realized just who was staring back at you. Your own orbs widening in surprise, you gasped,

“Red Eyes???”

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 12

Prompt: Anon was kind with “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC (shown in blockquotes as usual), Asgard, the throne. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, references to lemon and sugared lemon (nothing detailed this time), a truckload of feels, and a pinch of...recklesness? A/N:  I know my writing is very slow at the moment and you may all blame my BA for that. I hope this chapter ended up as good as I claim and if you do like it PLS reblog <3

Is it madness?

A golden glow manages to worm its way past your heavy eyelids, reminding you of a world outside of the cocoon you’ve snuggled into. A nest of soft sheets and cool limbs, a gentle breath fanning your shoulder in a slow but steady rhythm.

Blinking against the morning sun, you take in the serenity that are the ruins from the night: parts of the pretty dress are scattered in a path to the bed and the golden horns are dangling from the canopy above, gleaming playfully at you until you see the warped reflection of you and Loki who’s practically wrapped around you.

Craning the neck only brings a sliver of the god’s face and pale upper body into view. Time to be sneaky. There’s no way you want to wake him up already. He needs the rest…and honestly, you want this moment to last. All too soon this dream of a morning will be shattered in some nasty way that probably involves guards and a prison cell…if lucky. So you twist slowly, careful not to jostle Loki too much with the series of wriggles it takes before you finally lie chest to chest with him.

If someone would have told you this is where you’d end before you’d stolen the tiger’s eye pendant…the would have sounded like liars. Or at least you’d have made sure to let them know how crazy there were. Crazy indeed. Of course stealing from a god could have consequences! It just wasn’t supposed to have included falling for the freaking guy.

How could you not have? Chiseled features hides one of his best assets: the highly intelligent mind that enjoyes challenging you and holds immense knowledge on any subject you could possibly fathom even a fraction of. Combining that with a personality which you don’t even have the vocabulary to fully describe and a body tha–

“You’re staring, my queen.” Loki’s voice is raw and sweet, still heavy with sleep.

“Still got your eyes closed so how’d y’know?”

When they open, there’s only a tiny hint of crimson at the edges to contrast the turquoise. Perfect and cold like ice to some, it’s hard to understand how warm his gaze is. Loki isn’t one person with neatly defined traits. No. He’s a living, breathing, goddamn paradox.

“My eyes are open now,” he smiles, “and you’re still staring.”

“A cat may look at a king.”

Living easy, living free Season ticket on a one-way ride

Dark brows wrinkle as he ponders the meaning of the idiom, and you can see the moment he realises what it means. “There are some laws here that we will have to abide by.” The smile’s gone, the joy too.

“What’s gonna happen to you?” If you’d wanted to sound brave, well, that’s not what you managed to pull off as the question’s reduced to a meek whisper.

Soft lips seek out your forehead and mouth. It’s not a real answer. Less so the answer you actually want because you can taste the desperation on his tongue as both of you try to commit the other to memory in the hopes of stretching this glorious morning into infinity.

It’s to the sound of the birds and rustle of silk sheets that Loki makes love to you. Sweet and tender. Toe-curling bliss rolling through your body like waves onto a dry beach until the second orgasm pulls the god along in the surf, your name spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.

We belong…

…   Loki’s PoV   …

He had never intended for things to go the way they did. [Y/N]’s feistiness had drawn him in, her wit and skills had dazzled him…and none of it was enough to explain why Loki had found himself falling for this woman. The many excuses he’d thought up during the long days as he tried to distract himself from her memory were, in the end, bullshit. And the curses he’d been prepared to spit in the woman’s face after yet another lonely night haunted by her scent with nothing but his mind and hands to quench the burning desire? No…Loki’s intellect and foresight had not saved him from this fate.

I love her.

The knowledge isn’t new. He’s known for quite some time although the god has done anything to avoid both thinking and saying it. Nearly losing her was just the latest push in the same direction, down a path that inevitably will break [Y/N]’s heart because that’s all this cruel semi-Asgardian can offer. It’s selfish of him to covet her heart.

A broken heart is better than a dead heart, he’d thought as he chose to repay his debt the only way he could. But it hadn’t worked as intended, and while [Y/N] could ask him anything of him, Odin would be the one to deem it possible or not. One night. The request had been Loki’s even though he knew the price would be high. At least Thor had pleaded his case or the All-Father surely would have denied it without a second’s hesitation.

One night…and then what? What seemed like a great idea once has turned into a sweet nightmare which Loki has to distract himself from by doting on the Midgardian woman in the hopes that she might understand how much she has come to mean to him.

I could just tell her? They bathe together, barely speaking a word because no words will be enough anyways. He dresses [Y/N] in dark blue and silver, hoping to spare the pain it would be to see her in Loki’s own colours because there’s no way anymore that she will ever be his in this world or another…not even now as she willingly gives herself to him. Not give. No, this time the god is the one who has prayed for and received nothing short of a miracle. But the sweet satisfaction has come too late, on the very cusp of judgement.

Breakfast is brought to them, brimming with the best delicacies Asgard can offer. It’s with a feigned smile and unnatural cheerfulness that Loki speaks of his childhood when he was causing mischief in the great halls of Valhalla and more often than not pinning the suspicions on Thor. Time and time again, an honest laugh is coaxed from [Y/N] only to be snuffed prematurely as reality catches up with the game of pretence.

Their time together is brought to an end by the arrival of a dozen guards preceding Odin and Thor. Heavy manacles and chains are wrapped around Loki despite the oath he’s given. Upon [Y/N]’s life, the prison would neither struggle nor attempt to escape. His distaste of the safety measures are not for himself (he wouldn’t trust himself either), but for the pain in her eyes that never waver from him once. Thor’s by her side, a heavy hand upon the comparatively narrow shoulder as though to comfort her or keep the woman in place.

“Wait!” They’ve already marched Loki to the door when he hears her cry.

Someone must have accepted the plea, because next moment the taste of [Y/N] is on his lips once more, mingling with traces of salt.

Don't need reason, don't need rhyme Ain't nothing I would rather do

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Just like that.

You can only surmise Loki’s being brought back to the prison, but it has been more than obvious that this time there’ll be no visits. Even though the guards and Odin left now without as much as a word to explain, you can’t risk sneaking after them because Thor’s hovering around in the room that suddenly seems cold and barren. Maybe you should be comforted by his presence. At least it’s keeping you from doing some pretty stupid things that could make Loki’s situation worse. Glancing over at the blond meat-wall of a guy, you don’t feel any better.

“Lady [Y/N],” he offers lamely, an apologetic smile on his lips that does nothing to hide the pity, “do not fret…my father has not decided on the verdict yet.”

“What are the odds?” You can hear it yourself, how hollow your voice is.

Falling onto a chair, which groans under the sudden strain, even Thor seems to be at a loss for anything optimistic. “There’s a strain in the relationship between my brother and father.” No shitting. “Over the years, my word has come to way less and less. In fact…” He pins you to the ground where you stand with electric-blue eyes. “In fact you may be the best hope there is for him.”

Then we’re fucked. The odd wording of the thought makes you hesitate. It’s his freedom or worse on the line. Not yours. A year ago, there’d have been no “we” and you’d never have ended up this close to anyone, instead stayed detached enough to simply walk away without a second thought. It had been a simpler life. A lonely life. Well this is gonna be fucking lonely anyways unless I do something.

“Tell me how the justice system works here.”

Nobody's gonna mess me around Hey Satan, paid my dues

…

For three days, you and Loki are kept separate and the news on his wellbeing are close to non-existent. It’s fairly clear, how badly Thor wants to speak with you, tell you something to bring comfort. Maybe the king has made him swear to keep quiet in that respect but at least the prince compensates by giving you a crash course on Asgardian courtroom etiquette which turns out to be surprisingly simple (and prone to flaws).

Odin’s the judge. There’s no jury, save for anyone the old ruler might call upon as a sort of council. And the executioner? Anyone he points to.

At first, you make the mistake of thinking it’ll make things simpler because the way of addressing Odin as judge will be no different from the manners required when addressing him as a king, but the next second you realize that you’ll be talking to a man who’s used to complete obedience and that for all his rumoured wisdom…he will most likely be biased. This is his son. Adopted, sure, but a son nonetheless and Odin’s not forgiving towards the mistakes of his children.

Anything I say can and will – fuck! Poking at the smoldering wood in the fireplace, it seems to you like there’s no way out unless you and everyone else are willing to sweet-talk the King until his ears are dripping with honey. Loki chose to return despite the banishment, and it had been clear from the beginning that the consequences would be harsh if that were ever to happen. Idiotic god. The poker releases an eruption of sparks. Fucking, grudge-holding, semi-sadistic stepdad. At least Odin’s kind to you, treating you tenderly on the rare occasions you are together to the surprise of even Thor.

The shadows from the poker dance and dive blackly against the surrounding stones while you ponder the obvious. Why? You’re a freaking human, Midgardian, an outsider in whom the king isn’t supposed to show any particular favours or interest…except he does.

Ignoring the clatter and angry flares from the hastily discarded poker, you push to your feet and grab the nearest cloak to throw around your shoulders. Soft and dark green, it allows you to blend into the shadows as you leave the room in search of answers and limits.

I'm on the highway to hell Highway to hell

…

Considering that Asgard and the royal castle are supposed to be more or less impenetrable there sure are a lot of guards. But guards are people and people are, well, simple. Thankfully, the Asgardians don’t prove to be anymore complicated than those at home, in fact, none of the motionless figures clad in golden armour even bother to ask what you’re doing out of bed as you hurry quietly down the halls in search of set of double doors taller than a house.

When you find the entrance to the throne room, you walk by as if perfectly disinterested and only come to a halt once you’re past the corner and into a stretch of the hallway with no one in sight. Could work.

Only a few minutes have passed before the guards rush past where you’re crouched in the shadows, the catalyst a strange wail which they automatically attribute to the unusual shape in the darkness further on which they don’t know what belongs to yet, just that it’s not supposed to be there. Attention solely on the possible threat, neither guard notices the green flurry of movement that dashes away.

Why in the freaking universe do they not event big doors that don’t weigh a shit ton?! At least you only need a narrow gap to slip inside the room, back against the door to make sure it closes without a sound. A few embers in the braziers in the wall sconces cast an unnatural glow like puddles of faded heat which hardly is enough to navigate by, so you send an unspoken excuse to the designer of the castle who thought far enough to allow the natural light from outside shimmer in through impossible arches at the very top of the walls, each showing a sliver of star-spangled night sky. The room is warped in shadows and splotches of cold light to create a scene from an old photograph with the imposing throne at the far heart of it all. No longer golden but silvery it looks even bigger now and should hold your interest better than it does, but your eyes are glued to the object stretching from armrest to armrest.

It does seem too good to be true even as you finally stand before the seat. Tentatively, you reach out to brush the fingertips along the metal shaft. It’s real. Gripping the spear firmly, there’s no immediate reaction other than a shiver from the nerves you suddenly find ablaze with worry and exhilaration. Lighter than it appears, the weapon slides soundlessly through the night air as you wield Gungnir for the first time.

Probably last time too, you accept as you finally take a seat with the spear in hand. Before you are two sets of eyes belonging to predators and your only consolation is that rather than attack you, both wolves lift their heads to the ceiling and howl.

And I'm going down All the way

[baka-tsumibito]

VKC/VME SECRET SANTA FIC 2018 [REPOST]

Couldn’t find it in the tags, so reposting! Let me know if you see it orz

Gift recipient: @foliefolio

This is for the wonderful Folie!! (Whose writing sustained me almost single-handedly since the end of the anime 😭) I can’t put into words how nerve-wracking writing this was, especially since I’ve had a ton of fic planned out that have gone unpublished for like...3-4 years?? Anyway, I guess this is finally my foray into ‘posting’ for VKC....and what better way to do it than to write for my idol ✨ !! I love you so much Folie, and I hope this suits your tastes. (And feel free to say if it doesn’t!!! I had a bunch of other ideas, and have another idea draft written out 😂) You’ve been such a big inspiration to me for the past ~16 months ❤️ I hope I can keep reading your writing for a long time to come!!! (Especially Vatican fics ehehe) And above all, I hope your holidays went wonderfully!!✨

(and if you didn’t see this yesterday, I’m sorry it’s late!!!!!!!)

The prompt was pretty open, and suggested some seasonal touches such as  Christmas in Rome, night, gold, bells, cold, etc. I think I used most of them to be honest! There is quite a bit of ahem, non-2019-tumbr-appropriate content, so be warned (I was rather careful with the vocabulary though *shrugs*). Actually, 3/4 of it is priests doing the do, with lots of gratuitous Hiraga family mentions (JIN IS CANNON AND I LOVE HIM). [I guess I’ve never really posted publicly above my love for VKC, but I am a die-hard HiraRobe (esp. bottom Roberto) lover. Roberto will eventually cry (before/during/after or all 3) when they consummate their relationship 100%. I don’t think I did my thoughts of them justice here, and if I ever manage to publish again, there will definitely be more angst ; __ ; (There also needs to be more weirdness/religion too.) My current biggest thing is Vatican politics, and the logistics of priests in relationships despite their vows, how they make moral justifications and types of penance etc.etc. which I did not go into almost at ALL, so yeah...] Tumblr formatting is not ideal, so this will probably go up on AO3 once I get a chance to edit. I have a ton of miscellaneous commentary too, so that’ll probably be there as well. Sorry for the long preface, onto the actual gift! [Couldn’t find the read more button, I’m sorry :’) ] *** The winter wind is cold and brisk, blowing across the balcony and permeating the thin blanket draped around Roberto’s shoulders, useless against the frigid air. He cannot hold back a shiver, then another, and he desperately wishes for some form of heat. The door slides open and shut behind him with a click, bringing no respite from the chill. Hiraga, then? Both his brother and his father are asleep in the room behind him. Roberto had been nodding off on the sofa himself, but despite the late hour, it’s time for him to go and give the family some privacy.

Hiraga would be against that; luckily, Roberto can try to convince him out here, in the relative privacy of the balcony. Only God will be their witness – and perhaps, the smoker in the hotel across the way if he stays out much longer. “Roberto,” Hiraga murmurs at his back, arms wrapping around his middle and firmly anchoring themselves around his torso.

Oh.

Perhaps it is not time for this particular discussion then. Maybe, Roberto can allow himself to indulge for a few minutes. But alas, nothing with Hiraga ever seems to go according to plan. For Hiraga’s hands are already beginning to wander, and with them Roberto’s composure is already starting to break. “Hiraga,” Roberto begins, train of thought nearly derailing when a fingertip purposefully flicks against a hardened nub. He supresses a sigh. “Isn’t this a little…” Tasteless? Improper? Ryouta is on the other side of the balcony door, in their room; so is Hiraga Jin –

(kind, wonderful Hiraga Jin who had spoken with him about opera for hours at length, only pausing for a second when Roberto shuddered, expression falling, at the mention of Puccini who had followed Rossini, Verdi and before that,Weber, Wagner and Wetz and Jin had been delighted to find Roberto knew even obscure German composers “Ah, I suppose no Tosca for you then, Roberto-kun,”and when Roberto smiled back weakly, almost in apology,

 “That’s alright,” he murmured consolingly. “I can’t say I’m very fond of Madama Butterfly myself.”)

– Jin who has shown nothing but tremendous kindness to Roberto from the moment they met in the train terminal. Jin, who Roberto has only known personally for less than twenty hours and is desperately trying impress, and keep face in front of him at the very minimum. (Jin, who had smiled at Roberto with as much kindness as either of his sons after a single conversation; who had welcomed him into the family – immediately, as Roberto would find out from the paperwork he would receive a few weeks later – Jin, who had insisted Roberto call him by his given name, insisting that any other title would be too stuffy and that one “Hiraga” was more than enough.) (And Hiraga, his lovely partner Hiraga, had made an undecipherable expression upon realizing he was now the only one being referred to by surname.) Ryouta and Jin are only separated from them by a glass door; Hiraga’s delicate hands are currently worming their way through the layers of blanket and underclothes to Roberto’s skin and he can’t— “Hiraga…!” 

We can’t, Roberto needs to tell him, not here. No matter how much his body desires, blood thrumming through his veins at the proximity he has barely had enough days to get used to, if at all– since Hiraga kissed him on the stroke of midnight as the crowds on the television in front of them began screaming in celebration, soft mouth pressing against Roberto’s frozen smile, still with surprise and fear, buried underneath the building euphoria – since Hiraga took his bare hand a day later, telling him “My family is coming to Italy to celebrate with us; won’t you join me?” And Roberto hadn’t known what to do with the burst of adrenaline that sent his heart pounding loud enough to drown out Hiraga’s soft explanations of travel plans and cheap hotel rooms post-holiday season – since Hiraga had shown up at his door at 5:50 in the morning, dressed casually but smartly as he usually did on their days off together, taken one look at the circles under Roberto’s eyes and dragged him back to bed (where they had laid together and Roberto hadn’t managed much rest at all when they were forced to rise or be late to Rome) – since touching Hiraga to his heart’s desire became allowed, and now Roberto feels the precarious grip on his self-control he has clung to all this time begin to slip. “Roberto…” comes Hiraga’s voice, cutting quietly through the night air. Rome is much more crowded than the Vatican. Booking a room on an upper floor has its advantages, Roberto muses in an attempt to distract himself from the warmth and pressure at his back. The night view is rather enchanting, what with the colorful array of lights spreading out in the distance. “Roberto..!” Hiraga calls more insistently this time, startling Roberto out of his reverie. He is not accustomed to being ignored, and Roberto must apologize. A kiss to his spine signals that he is forgiven. Roberto lets out a sigh in response. “Bend down please,” Hiraga murmurs at his back, and Roberto reflexively complies. As he slowly hunches over the railing, Hiraga’s lips find the back of his neck. Roberto shivers, not out of cold alone. Each kiss leaves a trail of ice in its wake, as Hiraga makes his way down the slope of one shoulder, then the other. His fingers are occupied with Roberto’s buttons, and as they slowly come undone, more and more skin is revealed to the biting wind, immediately covered by Hiraga’s eager mouth. After some time, Hiraga begins to tire of this, and slips both arms under Roberto’s shirt. He cannot supress a whimper. Thus spurred on, Hiraga’s hands come to rest on his bare chest, caressing him lightly. Still, there is intent behind each stroke, and as one hand flits over his hardened nipple, the other slips lower, stroking the curves of Roberto’s torso and muscles as it descends down his stomach. “…ah… Hiraga, w-wait…” Roberto stifles a gasp as a fingertip brushes the skin along his waistband. Don’t stop, he contradicts himself internally. Please don’t let go of me. He wonders if Hiraga can hear him anyway, intuiting his desires, but reluctantly, Hiraga’s hands do come to a halt before pulling away entirely. “Nnn…!” Roberto lets out unintentionally. The movement of Hiraga’s arms has caused the blanket to shift, leaving his upper body uncovered, bare from the shoulders where Hiraga had worried at the skin with his lips. They are only apart for a few moments, though it is enough for a sudden draft to send him shivering. Hiraga struggles with something behind him. “It’s alright,” Hiraga soothes, “It’s alright. Roberto.” He returns with the blanket, fumbling to wrap it snuggly around the two of them together. Roberto begins to find this struggle endearing as his bare skin is covered once more, although Hiraga’s comfort takes priority. He twists around slightly intending to take over, but Hiraga’s palms come to rest on his shoulder blades, stopping him halfway. “Let me please,” he chastens. Who is Roberto to say no? “Alright,” he allows. He strains to keep still, as his instincts urge him to turn around, to take Hiraga into his arms and keep him there indefinitely. If only, if only… Hiraga’s fussing continues on, and Roberto’s left hand is captured by both of Hiraga’s during the struggle, right hand bracing them both against the railing. Their entwined limbs are somehow even colder – an uncomfortable cold Roberto cannot shake off when Hiraga’s fingers glide away to continue tucking the sheet elsewhere. He struggles to shake his hand free – an attempt to bring it up to his lips and warm it with his breath – but when his hand emerges from the tangle, Roberto’s eyes immediately zero in on the metal band settled snugly around his finger. Behind him, Hiraga has stilled; finished fiddling with the blanket then, or waiting for Roberto’s reaction? A quick glance tells him that the sheet is stretched taut around his chest, already beginning to slide down and bringing his unbuttoned shirt with it. Hiraga is a priest; he has, then, undoubtedly attended the same classes Roberto has, and Roberto aches, aches, to believe that not even Hiraga would mistake the significance of putting a ring. on someone’s. left.

(ring finger) He desperately wants to see what expression Hiraga is wearing at the moment, but his partner’s face is currently buried between Roberto’s shoulder blades, showing no signs of emerging. His own face must look something scary, for Roberto can feel himself start to tear up, wind attacking him mercilessly and deepening the ache. Roberto struggles to rotate his upper body, disturbing Hiraga’s careful wrapping and unsettling his hiding spot. With this new angle, his hip is digging into the metal bars of the railing. Roberto pays it no mind, cupping Hiraga’s cheeks and bringing their gazes level. Hiraga is flushed, eyes darting left and right before slowly looking up at Roberto through his long lashes. His chin is lowered, and he is biting his lip. Goodness, how many times must he be told not to, Roberto thinks with a level of fondness. He reaches out to free Hiraga’s poor lip with his left arm, and both of their eyes are drawn to the shining ring. Hiraga lets out a deep breath. “I,” Hiraga falters, looks away. “Is it… alright now? That is, to…” His voice is soft from embarrassment, but hope shines through in his gaze, drilling holes into Roberto’s breastbone. Roberto cannot tear his eyes away. He gently calls for Hiraga’s attention, and Hiraga jerks his head up, making eye contact. Roberto can spot the moment Hiraga begins to panic, eyes dilating in alarm – after all, Hiraga has always been weak to crying, and Roberto has felt the urge to bawl building since that precious celebratory kiss. “Yes,” Roberto breathes, somewhat tearfully. “I could never say no to you.” Hiraga makes to wipe Roberto’s eyes, but pauses halfway. Roberto can only hold still, anticipation rising with each passing second…… until Hiraga raises himself on his toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, fisting the fabric pooled at Roberto’s waist. *** Hiraga’s lips flutter around the shell of Roberto’s ear, and he whines, softly. He can feel Hiraga, pressing into his hip unashamedly. He craves it, has been craving it maybe since they began their partnership, when Roberto began to feel like the hole in his chest could possibly be filled by the presence of this wonderful man. But right now, they’re outside and clearly visible to anyone who might happen to be watching. The alternative is a room containing the two people he wishes to impress the most, Hiraga’s family. There is no escape. And what about preparation? He hasn’t, oh heavens, hasn’t cleaned, has nothing to ease the slide of Hiraga inside of him, and what if it chafes? Hiraga would hurt, and they’d never attempt it again out of fear, and maybe regret – And what of their respective positions? Caught up by the mood, Roberto has forgotten – or purposefully put aside, as he can never truly forget – what of their vows? Hiraga has told him, the moment reality and dread set in after the midnight kiss, that the Church and God are separate; that God will forgive them this, will grant them this much, that love is beautiful in all forms. He’d quoted scripture and philosophies en masse and while Roberto had been struggling to wrap his aching head and heart around them, daring to hope, he’d forgotten to consider why Hiraga had done so much research. Now, it was all coming back to bite him. Not yet, his heart whimpers. We can’t, not until – until what? Will discussing his deepest fears quell the clamour in his heart, the noise that has refused to subside through time and effort? Hiraga bites down, drawing Roberto out of his spiralling thoughts. His ear stings pleasantly, Hiraga soothing the bite with tiny licks. Not wanting his dismay to be noticed, Roberto turns fully away, grasping the rail with a quiet click from the ring. If Hiraga has noticed anything, he stays quiet, only pressing even closer, throbbing length nudging the backs of Roberto’s legs. Ah. What if he took me like this?

And Roberto imagines Hiraga, slick between his thighs, hidden from any prying eyes by the folds of the sheet carefully draped around their waists. He visualizes the slide, smooth and warm, and aches in empathy. He’d have to cover his face, hide his expression, his tears borne from enjoyment and desire. He keens softly, and Hiraga’s arms tighten around his torso. “Roberto,” Hiraga pants, breathing rather heavily. “Let me see your face please.” And Roberto’s plans go out the figurative window .“…Alright,” he swallows, grasping the blanket and desperately trying to compose his expression while Hiraga manoeuvres him eagerly until they are face-to-face. He ducks his head, and Hiraga takes the opportunity, pushing forward until their lips meet tenderly in their first proper kiss of the night. It does not last nearly long enough. Roberto is left to savour the taste of Hiraga on his lips as Hiraga’s mouth wanders, destination clearly in mind. Roberto’s body takes this moment to remind him that a certain areahas been lacking attention; with a cry, his lower body jerks forward when Hiraga’s teeth brush the spot where jaw meets neck. His front, bulging prominently, hits something – Hiraga’s leg? – and he rushes to apologize. “Ah..Hiraga! I’m sorry—ahh!” Unbothered, Hiraga continues to move lower, shifting his stance until they are touching, chest to groin to thigh. Roberto can’t help but moan at the pressure, their hardness aligned as much as possible with their differences in height. Hiraga rolls his hips forward, lips buried in the crook of Roberto’s neck. Roberto presses his face to Hiraga’s hair. He cannot stifle the outpouring of groans and embarrassing noises he is producing in the face of such intense pleasure. “Ngh, aah… Hiraga, Hiraga, Hiraga…” Hiraga’s name is a litany of pleas on Roberto’s lips. Hiraga shudders in euphoria, rubbing their hips together. Calling his name in return. “Roberto...!” Hiraga pulls away, and the feeling of loss on Roberto’s neck is palpable, but then Hiraga presses their foreheads together and the pang is instantly soothed. Hiraga’s hand scrabbles with the too-tight front of Roberto’s pants. “May I? Please, I, oh, please allow me this…” he pleads, and Roberto has hardly breathed his assent before Hiraga is reaching into his undergarments and pulling him out rather hastily. But it’s enough, more than, even. “….Ah!” Roberto exclaims, head falling back. It’s been a very, very long time since he has touched himself this way; as little faith as he held in his own lifestyle, something about living up to Hiraga’s ideals (or so he imagined) had prevented him from indulging in this particular pleasure, at least in his conscious moments. In his sleep, he might be graced with Hiraga’s warmth only to regret his weakness in the morning, then spend days repenting. Or, he would find himself absently wondering about the stretch of his jaw when contemplating food, imagining the sensation of something inside him when cleaning the bidet (or using it). He’d promptly banish these thoughts, face flushed and guilt building, but. It was impossible to repress his sinful desires for long before they would surface, often at the most inconvenient of times. However, now he is keenly feeling the aftermath of abstaining. The pleasure is all-consuming. His body is ready to give in, limbs wound up tense, focus narrowed in on the tightness and particular sensation of Hiraga’s fist. But he cannot give in, not without giving something in return, not without seeing the rapture he is experiencing reflected in Hiraga’s own self. “Let me,” he rasps, fumbling towards Hiraga’s own straining erection. Hiraga sighs in response, pushing up into Roberto’s palm the moment he is freed. His free arm searches out Roberto’s, and Roberto starts as Hiraga winds their fingers together, jostling the cool metal around his ring finger already warming up in response to Hiraga’s touch. Hands clasped, they tug on each other frantically, racing to completion yet not awaiting the finish. “Roberto…” Hiraga exhales, smiling up at him. The city lights aren’t bright enough for Roberto to make out his eyes with their usual clarity, but they shine nonetheless. Hiraga is beautiful no matter where he is, Roberto reflects, and he leans in to capture that beauty for a fleeting moment. Hiraga kisses enthusiastically, all lips and tongue, and Roberto is content to let himself be kissed, thoroughly. Were this the private fantasy of his dreams, or the corner of his mind he dares not allow his mind to wander, he would take Hiraga’s jaw in hand and show him delicacy. Gentle, slow, yet warm… except, crouching on this freezing balcony, Hiraga is his only source of warmth, and Roberto desires his heat from his toes to his mouth to the depths of his core. 

It is, he considers with what little sanity that remains, all too much. Hiraga has barely had his hands and lips on him, and Roberto is already at his limit, approaching climax at an alarming rate; he cannot spare anymore thoughts for the eyes that might be on them, whether it be the smoker from the hotel across the way, or even innocent Ryouta, who would surely come to resent him should he catch the two of them in such a compromising position. Roberto defiling his precious older brother – The sudden glare that blinds him even through his half-closed lids is regrettably not due to their climaxes. Roberto pulls away, however reluctantly, from Hiraga’s demanding kisses, letting go of Hiraga (to their mutual dismay) in order to lift the blanket even higher. He squeezes their entwined hands in apology; thankfully Hiraga does not respond by tightening his hand where it rests around Roberto.

The least he can do is shield Hiraga’s body from sight, as he scrambles for a way to do damage control, although the situation is not promising. Against him, Hiraga is pliant but confused as he tries to figure out where Roberto’s attention has gone. It takes a few, loaded moments before his attention is directed to the room behind him. By fault of pleasure or exhaustion, Roberto is not sure, his eyes take what feels like minutes to adjust. What had seemed blinding a few moments before is only a small lamp, mounted next to an empty armchair where Ryouta had curled up for the evening despite the inviting bed beside him. Jin takes up half of said bed now, spread out on top of the sheets and still in his day clothes. He doesn’t seem to have moved from where Roberto had last seen him before heading outside, unsure if pulling the blankets up around him would be too much, or. Well. All the more he should leave them be, before he intruded too much, Roberto had reasoned, then promptly fled to the balcony. Roberto stiffens as he spots Ryouta exit the bathroom, rubbing his eyes blearily and looking very much half-asleep. More or less relaxed, Hiraga leans against his chest, exuding more calm than Roberto feels as Ryouta climbs onto the bed and settles in next to his father. They observe silently for a little longer, perhaps bound by some mutual understanding built after years of partnership, watching him slip deeper into sleep. The lamp is left forgotten. Hiraga is the first to break the silence, laughing softly. He turns back to Roberto, looking pleased. “Roberto,” he begins. “Shall we head inside? So you don’t fall ill.” 

How he is so unruffled when they were nearly caught in the act, Roberto cannot fathom. Still, he would hate to ruin the moment, to burst the bubble with whys and what ifs. Steeling himself, he leans in to rest their heads together. Moving their coupling into the room where Hiraga’s family is sleeping is unthinkable, and the inevitable end to their encounter if they do go inside hurts just as much. Hiraga’s hand is hot and fidgeting around him, and a distant part of Roberto is ashamed that his erection has not flagged in the slightest. Not yet. I don’t want this to end yet. “Hiraga,” Roberto tells him. “Please…don’t stop.” And with that, Roberto gently grabs Hiraga’s length, bringing them together; the heat of them combined is electric. He can hardly keep his eyes open wide enough to take in the details of Hiraga’s beautiful face: eyelids fluttering, mouth gasping, bangs sticking to his face with what must be a cold sweat. “Roberto…hnngh…” Hiraga groans, letting go and allowing Roberto to take care of bringing them over the edge. Roberto is infinitely grateful that Hiraga, intentionally or not, takes the blanket in hand briefly before allowing his free hand to roam around Roberto’s bare chest once more. It’s much warmer without the slick from their pre-cum freezing in the breeze. Hiraga’s hand wanders up to Roberto’s right cheek, pulling him back in for another kiss. He licks into Roberto’s mouth, tongue wandering up and down teeth, along the roof of his mouth, and twining their tongues together. The intensity of it all brings Roberto right back to the precipice he had been teetering on the edge of not long before. It’s all he can do to keep stroking them, although admittedly Hiraga thrusting against him is doing much more than the periodic buckling of his own hips. “Hiraga, Hiraga…” he whispers into the kiss, and Hiraga sucks Roberto’s tongue into his mouth. “Nnn…” When Hiraga pulls away, Roberto follows. The next words he speaks are against Roberto’s lips. “Roberto,” Hiraga forces out. “Please.” His voice takes on a deeper timbre, lower than Roberto has ever hear from him. It’s incredibly attractive, just as much as the near-growl that comes out next. “Please,” “call my name.” Roberto’s heart lurches. (And oh, if this hasn’t been building all day, since he’d caught Hiraga staring at them wistfully) (“Here, Roberto-nii-san!” “Thank you Ryouta-kun.”) ( “Has Kou been giving you much trouble, Roberto-kun?” “Not too much, Jin-san. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Right, Hiraga?”) ( “Onii-san, your expression is scary…”) A swell of affection rises in him, and Roberto presses his lips to Hiraga’s ear before he whispers, “Kou.” The effect is instantaneous; Hiraga cries out, jerks his hips into Roberto’s hand, and squeezes Roberto’s other palm. The ring digs into his skin, and the reminder that Hiraga had gotten him a ring paired with the sudden, aggressive crash of lips on his is enough to knock enough awareness into him. Oh, Roberto thinks, feeling somewhat removed. This isn’t a dream.

He’s embracing (making love to?) Hiraga for the first time; the thought consumes him, sends his eyes watering, and his body chooses that moment to give in. *** Roberto is vaguely conscious of Hiraga calling his name during his release. When Hiraga captures his lips once more, softly this time, he feels himself returning to the present. Hiraga pulls away gradually. “Have you come back to me yet?” he murmurs, and the words are endearing enough that Roberto kisses him again, and again, until his cooling body interrupts, and he must pull away to stifle a sneeze. “Oh, Roberto,” Hiraga says dreamily. Roberto stares at him. “You were so beautiful when you came.” Roberto cannot help the flush that rises to his cheeks, his ears, and quite possibly his neck too. The tears he has been holding in all night decide to overflow, much to his embarrassment. “Aah, uuuu…” Roberto turns his head to the side, extricating his left hand from Hiraga’s grasp to cover his face. Surprisingly, Hiraga lets him, and does not startle at the sight of his tears. Instead, he wraps both arms around Roberto’s waist and holds him close.

It’s warm. What is also warm – and somehow still not deflating – is Hiraga’s member, still grasped in Roberto’s grip with his own, softening and growing oversensitive, length. Hiraga has not come yet. Staring at the crown of Hiraga’s head, Roberto’s muddled mind reaches this conclusion much too slowly. Mustn’t it be painful? Why hadn’t he said – this is Hiraga, selfless to a fault. Of course he hadn’t said anything. Roberto must take care of him. It’s partially a selfish desire: what face would Hiraga make, trembling in the arms of ecstasy? How would his limbs tense, back arch, expression contort? Would he come with Roberto’s name on his lips, begging for a kiss, or for release? Roberto needs to find out. “Hiraga,” he says, letting go of them at last. Hiraga whimpers, face still hidden in Roberto’s chest. “Hiraga,” he tries again, this time moving to release Hiraga’s tight grip around his back. Hiraga does not give. “Yes yes,” he wants to laugh, but settles for pressing a kiss to Hiraga’s hair part, then suddenly drops to his knees. Hiraga’s hands, now left grasping at empty air, immediately find purchase in Roberto’s curls. Roberto takes a second to look up at him, framed by several lights from surrounding buildings and the clear night sky. Hiraga has always looked lovely, but this view of him, hair and clothing disheveled, zip opened and framing his aching hardness, staring down at Roberto with eyes filled with something he desperately wishes is love, this view of him is nothing short of angelic. He commits the view to memory as he leans forward to nuzzle Hiraga’s shaft. “Roberto…” Hiraga sounds dazed. Roberto’s tongue darts out to lick along a protruding vein, and Hiraga’s hips buck forward. “Roberto!” But Roberto gives him no time to apologize. He takes the head – that had only nudged his cheek – into his mouth, and sucks. Hiraga hisses, fingers tightening in his hair. “R-Roberto…it’s aaah… so w-warm…” Hiraga stutters, hips moving erratically. Roberto’s hands reach up from where they grip Hiraga’s thighs to trace his protruding hipbones. Remembering himself, Roberto’s dominant hand dips down to cup, then gently tug on Hiraga’s balls. Hiraga sighs. They are already wound close to his body; is he close? More than likely, Roberto assumes. While Hiraga has been surprising him left and right recently, the idea of Hiraga getting himself off frequently enough to build up a decent amount of stamina is still improbable, at best. Roberto mulls this over while taking Hiraga further into his mouth, redirecting his line of sight low enough to ensure his lips stayed folded over his teeth. Hiraga is part of the science division, and Roberto would not be surprised at this point if their personal doctrine concerning abstinence is less strict than what is expected by the Church. For ah, health reasons, perhaps. After all, the human body is designed for periodic release and tension does build up. But Hiraga is not good at taking care of his own needs, Roberto muses as he bobs his head. Hiraga cries out his name above him. Occasionally perchance, but Hiraga touching himself with any degree of frequency is about as unbelievable as Hiraga having a wedding night… and Roberto’s pace falters as the band on his finger grows unbelievably heavy. Hiraga strokes through Roberto’s hair, and it serves as a reminder to concentrate on his task. Thoughts of how Hiraga gets himself off, and what Hiraga’s intentions are should be saved for later, in the privacy of his home. Or, ah, bed. Roberto makes a questioning sound, almost as if to say does it feel good? and Hiraga groans before telling him yes, of course--oh!.. yes, very much so--ahhh... If only he could take him all the way down, Roberto despairs, but his jaw is already nearing its limits. He swallows in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure – but this must feel incredibly good, as Hiraga’s hands clench in a vice grip. His hips pick up the pace and Roberto keeps himself still as to let Hiraga take his pleasure. Roberto, Roberto, Roberto….. Hiraga calls out his name over and over, and Roberto wishes for this to last just a little longer. Hiraga’s hips stutter, and Roberto takes over as best he can, until he can taste Hiraga’s release pouring down his throat. He comes rather silently, Roberto notices, staring up at the long line of Hiraga’s throat. His expression is hidden by his chin and his hair, Roberto observes regretfully. Either way, he is still the most beautiful sight Roberto has ever laid eyes upon. He keeps his lips fastened around Hiraga until he has emptied himself. Roberto gently licks him clean before pulling off and swallowing the load. He stays on his knees, staring up at Hiraga and gently stroking his legs until Hiraga comes back to himself, looks down at Roberto in awe and tugs on him lightly until Roberto gets to his feet. Hiraga leans against him as Roberto wipes first his hand, then Hiraga’s softening shaft with the dirtied blanket. Hiraga’s warmth is akin to a fire, and Roberto basks in it (being outside shirtless in January means it is most likely his sense of temperature that is off). He won’t regret anything if he gets sick, although maybe if either of them had had more presence of mind, they would have made better use of the now-sticky blanket. Hiraga takes hold of a corner to wipe up the small smear he made under Roberto’s eye. Roberto tries to tidy them up as best he can, tucking them carefully inside their underwear, closing buttons and zippers and hiding skin once more. And combing through hair (or at least Hiraga’s; with the way Hiraga had been tugging on his own, he’s not sure he can face the damage without a mirror or two). He leaves his shirt half-buttoned, only for the way Hiraga’s gaze lingers (dare he say, appreciatively). Thus groomed, Hiraga leans in to kiss him. Roberto quickly reaches up to place three fingers on Hiraga’s lips. “Nn?” Hiraga looks up at him in surprise, thrown off. “I, I just…” Roberto does not know how to put this into words without embarrassing himself even further. He settles for pointing at his throat. “Swallowed..” Expression determined, Hiraga reaches up with unexpected strength, pulling Roberto’s fingers away and sticking his tongue inside Roberto’s mouth. He licks him more thoroughly than before, and Roberto is helpless to stop him, mind blank. “It’s alright,” Hiraga tells him as he pulls away, wiping a suspicious wetness off his bottom lip with his thumb. (Roberto doesn’t want to know.) “Of course I don’t mind that. I love you.” In the silence, neither of them expect the second deluge of tears of the night. Ashamed, Roberto prays for the earth to swallow him up. Maybe then, he can spend eternity contemplating Hiraga’s revelation, or giving thanks for this encounter. And then plead for a second. Hiraga leads Roberto, sobbing silently, inside. If the constantly-changing temperatures don’t make him sick, maybe dehydration will. He decides to turn a blind-eye to the blanket dumped on the floor between the empty bed and the wall – he does not have the energy to deal with it now. It is only when Hiraga pulls Roberto into his lap on the unoccupied bed that Roberto remembers his resolve to leave the family their privacy. It quickly crumbles faced with the stream of uninterrupted tears. Roberto is quick to hide his face in Hiraga’s arms. Hiraga strokes his head for as long as it takes Roberto to reign himself in. When his shoulders cease their trembling, at last Hiraga speaks: “Roberto? Did I do something wrong?... Have you, come to hate me?” Roberto’s head snaps up immediately. “No!” He takes a deep breath, and reminds himself to speak quietly as to not wake up the rest of the room. Hiraga’s face is already showing signs of relief.

“Of course not,” he continues in a whisper. “How could you think that? I,” and here Roberto pauses. This is not the ideal place to confess. Hiraga deserves much, much more than a sobbing mess and a soiled sheet on a cold balcony in an unfamiliar room, but. But. 

Hiraga has given him so much today. (A confession, a ring, an experience of family. A hand, a mouth, and pleasure Roberto could never put into words.) It’s not fair to keep him waiting still.

“I love you more than anything,” Roberto confesses to him quietly. “I will never, ever come to hate you. I promise.” Hiraga smiles up at him, eyes glittering. “I know!” That throws Roberto off. “Eh?” Hiraga’s grin is infectious. “You told me earlier, when you, ah…” Hiraga’s eyes dart over to where his brother and father lie sleeping. He meets Roberto’s eyes, blushing slightly but with a playful smile. Roberto cannot believe his ears.

“I did?” Hiraga nods happily. “Ah. I see. How unfortunate,” Roberto continues. “I had hoped to remember at least that much.”

Hiraga nestles up to him, seemingly unphased. “It’s alright. I’d be happy to hear it again.”

And with that, every unsettled feeling in Roberto’s heart is swept away.

(I love you, he whispers, and will continue to all night, face hidden in Hiraga’s hair.)

Hiraga wipes away the wet streaks that adorn his face. They take a blanket from their own bed to cover Jin and Ryouta, lost in slumber. The lamp is switched off. The used blanket is adequately hidden, and Roberto washes his face while Hiraga dries his hands. Roberto runs his fingers through his hair, though it is likely a lost cause.

Once they’re done, Roberto allows Hiraga to tug him into their own bed with no complaints. He embraces him tightly.

“Hey,” Roberto whispers to him. “Let’s go buy your ring soon, alright?”

“Make,” Hiraga corrects sleepily, and Roberto is once again sent reeling. He holds Hiraga as he falls asleep, whispering promises of love, and tries to pray, to offer what thanks he can to God for this blessing. (The next day is truly just as exciting: Jin and Ryouta wake up disoriented but happy when they see the couple embracing in their sleep, Roberto discovers that his ring is gold – he won’t find the inscription within until they get home – and Hiraga gets flustered when Roberto calls him “Kou” in front of everyone. Hiraga gets teased about his new, form-fitting wardrobe much to Roberto’s delight, Jin tries to teach them all about adoption processes and family registries in Japan – to everyone but Hiraga’s confusion – and Roberto nearly damages something when he finds several red marks covering his nape, in plain view despite his shirt collar.)

[ambivalentangst]

A Tainted Grip

I've been pretty inactive for awhile in terms of original content due to school and some exchange pieces I have to get finished, but the concept of one of the reprogrammed sentries from Galra HQ malfunctioning on Lance’s watch wouldn't leave me alone, so I messed my boy up BAD. This is more whump than angst, though there’s definitely some of both, but I really enjoyed writing something quick and easy. Enjoy!

tw: graphic descriptions of violence

Lance liked the sentries that they reprogrammed, he liked them a lot. Aside from shooting them off into space, it was fun to have someone to do chores with when Coran told everyone it was cleaning day. They all argued that the sentries could have it tidied up faster than all of their efforts combined, but he twisted his mustache around a gloved finger and declared it a team bonding exercise. As much as they complained about it, Lance couldn’t deny that there was something to be said about the camaraderie forged with the person one scrubbed ten-thousand-year-old showers with. That in mind, Lance clapped the one currently folding his laundry on the back. He headed towards his bed, his space home away from space home--it was still so weird to think of empire ships as friendly, but it was fun to run around them without the threat of being shot hanging over his head, so he wasn’t complaining--and heard a hard thunk.

He winced, pivoting to assess the damage. He normally wasn’t one to break machinery. As good as Hunk was with that sort of thing, Lance knew very well how colorful his friend’s vocabulary could get when he broke a delicate piece. Still, he supposed the hit to the sentry wasn’t exactly gentle. He’d have to get the ship mechanic, if he hadn’t jumped ship like a lot of soldiers after Lotor became emperor, to take a look at the droid later and be sure he hadn’t rattled it around too badly. Other than the sound, it outwardly appeared to be fine.

Lance turned back around, going back to his original course of action. He’d been training quite a bit provided in, as much as he hated to admit it, the calm from Lotor’s new reign, and he was ready for a long, long nap. Then, he heard the robotic voice coming from behind him, saying something that certainly wasn’t anything Pidge had programmed into it.

“Programming override. Mission, destroy Voltron.” Lance’s eyes barely had time to widen before he felt a metal hand on his shoulder, and then felt a curling of the droid’s hand into a fist and the crunch of his shoulder. His scream was muffled by the hand that settled over his mouth, and in his pain Lance was only vaguely aware of the red light cast from the glow of the corrupted machine before he was slammed to the ground, his breath battering his lungs before escaping in a rough exhale. Lance wheezed, the world blurring to a smear of magenta walls while the sentry’s foot came down with sickening force on his outstretched fingers, scrabbling for purchase on the slick ground.

His entire face was stinging from the impact of the fall, and Lance didn’t remember where he’d left his bayard. He couldn’t get to it anyways, not with the way a foot was placed on his back to hold him down. Lance couldn’t for the life of him start breathing right again, and what little air he did manage to take in went to keeping him conscious. Screaming was not an option. There was nothing he could do but accept the beating the sentry gave him, metal fists pummeling his body while he attempted to think of a way out through the pain.

Whack.

A blow to his ribs, another crack, and Lance tried to remember where the others were. Pidge had mentioned going to the kitchen, but he didn’t know where that was, and Hunk was in the engine room across the whole ship.

Crunch.

His other hand, and then his ankle, all very quickly. There was a hand fisted in his hair, bringing his head down on the ground while the ringing in his ears intensified. Lance felt a dampness on his cheeks, but he didn’t remember crying. There was only pain, and maybe it was shock, which wasn’t good but Lance wasn’t sure what was good when a programmed warrior was trying to turn him into a pulp of boy and bones and blood. He thought perhaps that was the wetness, then. Blood on his forehead and in his mouth, choking him while he wondered if they could get the stains out of Marco’s jacket. He didn’t let that be washed, because it smelled like home. The first gasping sob was wrought from his lips because he couldn’t stand the idea of coppery blood marring the smell of wrestling in the living room and feeding the dog scraps when his mama wasn’t looking.

Yelling.

Was he able to scream yet, or had that simple comfort been stolen too? Lance wasn’t sure. Did he even want to know? Another question amongst many, and one he had to ignore because it didn’t matter. Nothing dumb like if he screamed or not would change anything if he died. Lance didn’t want to die, but it was hard to cling to the sentiment when he thought his head might explode from it all, and the purple of the room had turned to crimson somewhere along the way.

Sizzling.

The blows stopped, but the pain did not cease. It only got worse when Lance felt a heavy, inanimate body fall atop his own, and more tears wormed their way down his cheeks. He hoped they cleared away the blood for whoever found him because he didn’t want to just be a body, indiscriminate from the others they’d seen when they got to planets too late. He wanted them to know who he was, so they could tell his mama what had happened to him. That would still matter, even if he was dying. How could he not be, when everything was electric agony that sung through every nerve in his body and didn’t stop no matter what he did and how he cried and wished for it all to just end, one way or another.

Dragging.

Small hands went under his shoulders, and he fought to get away because the grip was not so strong, so incredibly overpowering as the last. He had a chance, and he’d do just about anything to stop the blinding pain. Didn’t they know his shoulders were pulverized, just like the rest of him? He tried to tell them as much, screaming and pleading, but they did not stop. Lance fought, up until he tossed his head back and saw green. He knew green. Green gave him the same feeling as looking at his niece, the overwhelming need to protect and shelter her from anything, even himself.

Nothing.

Lance woke in a warm embrace, smelling faintly, familiarly like lavender and sweat, like rushing into battle after showering with the castle provided soap. His eyes blinked open slowly, the scar crossing Shiro’s nose first becoming clear before Lance took in the rest of him. Shiro, strange as he was, as of late, for no particular reason Lance could discern, was somebody he could feel safe with.

Shiro smiled.

“How you feeling, buddy?” he asked. Lance let his head loll for a second, trying to come back to himself. He was now awake enough to feel the tackiness his whole body had after a stint in the pods, along with the traces of a headache and general bad aftertaste in his mouth. The pods healed, but weren’t exactly luxurious in their methods. He raised one hand in a sloppy wave, seeing the rest of his team, minus one, of course. It was with a pang that Lance remembered that Keith would not be joining them in greeting anyone released from a pod for a while yet. He looked back to Shiro, letting his head come to rest against his bicep. With a smile, he answered,

“Like I’ve spent a good while in the pods, but otherwise fine. You?” Shiro laughed, helping Lance stand on his own two feet with his hands on his arms to steady him.

“I’m fine, just glad you’re okay.” As soon as Lance flashed a tired thumbs up, he was swamped by the team, and he felt tears dampen the fabric of the suit he’d been put in for the pods while they crushed the life out of him via hugging.

When they pulled back, his eyes landed on Pidge, whose eyes shone with barely restrained emotion.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging him again, seemingly just for good measure. “When we started reprogramming the sentries, I thought I had my antivirus software installed in all of them, but I must’ve missed some or had a flaw in it somewhere. Some resisting Galra forces hacked in. As soon as it registered to my main console,” Lance would chide her later for eating around her computer, if she’d had to come all the way from the kitchens,“I came over. I didn’t know, didn’t think that without its gun the sentry would be able to do so much damage so quickly.” Lance put his head atop hers, patting her back lightly.

“Don’t worry about it Pidgeon, I’m all good now. I know you did what you could,” he reassured her. Coran was the one to point out that perhaps he was not entirely unchanged.

“Almost good, anyways. You gave us quite the scare, and the bot got a good lick in,” he reminded Lance and spun him to face the surface of the pod in order to see his reflection. Lance saw the truth in his words almost immediately. Stretching from his temple and nicking his brow was a not inconsiderable white scar, shiny in the light. Lance reached up to touch it and was surprised to see that his fingers didn’t tremble much at all when he did.

He couldn’t say he remembered much beyond the agony of the whole experience, but thinking cynically, the scar was a reminder that they could never trust anything fully, not even their own handiwork. Lance decided he didn’t care much for that interpretation and turned back around with a grin and his hands on his hips.

“Just another asset to my already flawless appearance,” he boasted, smoothing his hair down before ruffling Pidge’s hair and meeting Hunk’s eyes. Allura laughed, Shiro shook his head fondly, and Lance pushed his hair away to better display the new addition. All that scar meant was that Lance should probably do his own damn laundry anyway.

[chaoticly-shy-dragon]

"Compassion?" the thing murmured, its dark body twisting around the man's figure. "You speak of compassion, begging for it even... Why should I abide by your rules; your meaningless, mortal rules?"

It moved slowly, like sludge through water. Its yellow-red, searing eyes bore holes into his temple, a sick smile rippling through its - horrendous, grotesque, alluring - face. "You show no compassion, no mercy. You walk the ground willing it to move apart for you-"

"I don't-!"

The creature, the specter, the god- chuckled; the chilling sound reverberating through the cavern, shaking the stalactites hidden high on the ceiling. "But you do. It's all you mortals do. Arrogance and single-minded focus walk - how do you humans say it, ah, yes - hand in hand with you."

"Arrogance is the last thing on my mind in your fearsome presence, my lord."

It moved, circling, trapping the man between the dark expanse of its carcass and the slimy moss-covered wall of the cave. "Flattery will get you nowhere, worm. You ask me for compassion - a thing that does not even exist in your vocabulary - and expect to receive it? What is that if not the pitiful, mortal arrogance?"

Silence was its only answer.

"You are one of mine. Arrogant to the marrow of your bones... With a self-conscious mask wrapped tightly around your core to hide your burgeoning hubris. You lie with every breath you take."

The creature took a step, a leap, a dive closer to the man, its movements languid and hypnotizing. "You fight, and lie, and twist everything you touch on your path to victory. Compassion should not exist within you. You ask it from others because it's a bargaining chip that never fails to make your enemies flatter."

Its smile grew, splitting its - magnificent, breathtaking, terrifying - face in half. "And yet. A spec remains. A spec grows."

The being beyond comprehension, the one with no morals and mortal tethers looked at the human standing tall even now, and clicked its tongue. "Oh, what a letdown. Compassion, you seek, and compassion, you possess." It scoffed, its expression twisting into void and scorn. "You are as plagued with weakness as my soul-sibling is."

"My lord, I'm unsure-"

"You are unsure of very many things, worm. Be sure that your demise will not come from my hands. I will not feast upon your soul as pleasant as that would have been." It uncoiled from where he had been blocking the man's exit, limbs and appendages disappearing as if they were never there. "Get out of my sight."

The man didn't wait for another warning, making his way towards the dim light of the exit. As he turned his back to the deity, he could have sworn he heard a whisper and a screech. It was intelligible and yet, the man could understand it perfectly.

'How far has the galaxy fallen, disease spreading through the mortals...'

As soon as he heard it, the man forgot it, discarded it from his mind as the simple trivia it was. A similar thing happened to the rest of the memory of his encounter with the creature.

When he finally left the cave behind the only thing he remember from it all was one line of dialogue, fragmented as it was.

'...even the souls of the shells we created can't keep their purity, sibling dear.'

Soon even that would disappear from his mind - like a ripple in a lake it would soon disperse. Until then, the man would be left to wonder.

[hush-falls-the-evening]

Affliction

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma (scriddler)

Rating: G Words: 2252

Misc Info: Fluff/comfort, old men in love, domestic fluff, perpetual bantering

You can find author’s notes on AO3

Not everything had to be explained between them, but sometimes acknowledgement alone wasn't enough, and some efforts from both parties are required.

Edward has his rights to be worried. The first time it occurred in his presence, Jonathan Crane woke with a start. His breath caught in a dying gasp, and his hands a shaking mess clawing at the sheets.

Their buzzing schedules only allowed them a few shared hours of sleep every so often. Edward knew for a fact that the old psychiatrist wasn’t prone to night terrors. Ironically, if anything, he would hastily scribble down the visions in a small leather-bound logbook, the same way one would write in a dream journal for further analysis. 

Curiosity has always given the Riddler a fantastical nose for hidden secrets, as well as... unfortunate predicaments, from time to time. However, after the first few times of carefully deciphering the spidery notes, he quickly came to the realization that they were, frankly, a pale imitation when compared to Jon’s nocturnal’s activities. Concepts, keywords, the likes. If anything, his sinister partner didn’t seemed to “dream” often. 

Jonathan’s ragged gasps were particularly alarming this time, and within the quietude of the bedroom, it had stirred Edward fully awake. 

Now, to wake Edward unnecessarily was a particularly risky venture, as he tended to be in an astoundingly foul mood as a result of irregular sleep patterns and a regal enjoyment of the act itself. However, cautious concern made the brilliant man reach a hand through the sheets, resting over the doctor’s heaving chest. 

It was surprising sometimes, how gaunt his shape felt to the touch. No costume, simply clothed as a mean to retain any warmth. How was there still space left for lungs and a beating heart under these bones, the stretch of skin, and somehow enough muscles to roam over the rooftops of Gotham? Now that was an eluding riddle. Not a fun one, but still one bemusing mystery. 

Edward made light of his discontentment by brushing his nails inauspiciously over the exposed skin, where the smoothness of his fingertips met the occasional scarred flesh below.

It took a moment before Jonathan’s cold hands covered Edward’s, his unusually damp palms almost grasping over his. He pressed it to his chest as his lungs shuddered back to normalcy. It took longer still before his state seemed to settle. 

There was an inquiry at the tip of Edward’s tongue. Forcefully willing the crankiness of its tone a mile away, he made an attempt to ask the right words.

They never made it past the silent spell between them. At least, not before he felt motion next to him, thin lips ghosting through Edward’s rustled hair, the next instant vanishing toward the edge of the bed. Creaking, rattling, and creeping back to wherever he busied himself when he had projects to attend to.

From the look he wore the next morning-… Afternoon, the tall man must had found some solace in the comfort of his austere reading chair. Which was to say, he looked stiff and worse for wear, nursing a hot beverage with a look that rivaled Edward’s own scowl when the restlessness of a project kept him awake for days. If anything, it was even more chilling with Jonathan’s ghastly glare.

“Have you found any sleep in that curiosity display of yours? Or was the quality of the couch too much for you to bear?”

From his tone alone, Jonathan could easily see through the boldly veiled concerns, noting its familiar snark. Against all odds, it did pull at the edge of his lips. He hid the reaction behind the cooling coffee in his hands..

“Early crow gets the worm,” he quoted in a deadpan tone, fixing his gaze on something ahead. “Beside, the decoration of my study is up to my tastes, I reckon.”

There was a spark of satisfaction in Edward’s eyes. The flare so evident it caught Crane’s attention as he looked back at him. Some tension seemed to leave his face, although most of it mellowed down to guarded introspection. 

A short-lived victory it was, leaving the Riddler but with a sour taste. It was particularly irritating as he was attempting to rouse a conversation out of him. Just.. Really any signs that everything was alright, or as close to that as possible.

Edward huffed, pouring a decadent mug of coffee for himself. The fact that Jonathan wasn’t rolling his eyes at the sight was almost worrisome. 

“I must admit, it’s utterly puzzling how you can fall asleep in a room filled with various pieces of pickled body parts and empty eye sockets…” There was no answer from Jon, not even at the cheesy pun. They had both acknowledged long before how their tastes differed. No hard feelings. Well. Some hard feelings, when it was Jon commenting on His tastes. 

Edward took great pride in his interior design.

Hell, he could had even made a jab at them finding sleep next to one another to begin with but there he was, ruminating.

Seconds stretched and Edward grew more anxious, itching for a response. He called over his shoulder with some genuine curiosity. “Actually, where did you get them?”

The words seemed to take a moment to click into place, before Jonathan spoke absently. “Oh, they used to be mine. I just tracked them and took them back when you offered a room for my books.”

“Took. Them?” Nygma repeated, smiling ironically with the mandatory quotation marks. Silence again. So it was going to be this way, then.

It was clear from his behavior that he wasn’t going to talk about it. Never mind that, if their positions were reversed, Jonathan would use every trick in his book to meticulously pry out answers out of him, regardless of kicks and hisses. Of course, Edward coveted the ravenous curiosity when he was the object of it, so the aloofness was….. irritating.

If anything, his distance felt… unusual. He thought out a long string of elaborate cusses, growing nervous. At last, his lips pressed with stubborn resolved as he moved to stand directly in his line of vision, claiming long awaited attention. “Well?”

Crane went still and slowly leveled his eyes at him. His annoyance laced with a curious edge that was always there when he looked at him. For a second, the genius wondered if the doctor would lose his temper at him. He briefly considered what would be worse between it and being ignored.

After all, Jon rarely lashed out in anger, at least not out of his raggedy costume. At least a reaction would give him something to work with.

Crane moved deliberately, finally picking on whatever hints were waved in his face. Honing his glance as he took Ed’s mug away from his hands and broke contact only long enough to lower it onto the nearby coffee table. 

“You want me to talk about what woke me up last night,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Who, me? Oh, here I though you had a clear stance on psychoanalyses and the meaning of dreams, perhaps you could look into my wistful thinking?”

Jon was about to continue before whatever he had been about to propose died on his lips, and had him snap his mouth shut mid-word. He furrowed his eyebrows with his index pointing at his partner. “Don’t insult me, Edward. My dream journal is solely for inspiration...” 

The familiarity in the looming threat felt like an unexpected relief. The dark-haired man stopped short as he saw Edward cracking a victorious smile.

They both knew the extent of Jonathan’s distaste for Freud, and if anything could get a rise out of him, it might just be it.

The tall man closed his eyes, rubbing a tired smirk behind his callous hand, willing away the extensive rant he had been about to delve into. Edward stood there with his arms crossed and smug satisfaction painted all over himself. 

Taking pity on his weary partner, Edward pressed a hand to the back of the couch as he leaned down toward him, propping up his chin so as to make him gaze upon him. 

The Riddler could understand why Jon was so fond of that gesture. It was something he enjoyed as well, particularly when he had the upper hand over his foolish foes. Towering above them so they would look at him and only him…. And only him.

Jon realized the reversal of their usual game. Disgruntled at first, he seemed to give in a lot quicker than Edward expected, the visible exhaustion around his eyes mellowing into mild amusement. Not entirely pleased at this situation, but not turning away from him either. His piercing stare locked on him with eloquent irony.

Edward ran a thumb along his prickling jaw, smiling fondly at the self-proclaimed God of Fear, who looked up at him with weary amusement.

He would even say with adoration, but he had things to address first before revelling in the light of that gaze.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, you know..” The words were careful as Edward hushed them. There were also familiar, as things Jon had told him as well in the past. He waited for signs of stiffness at the prying, as Jon would do when he was the subject of prodding. “Or if you want me to leave you alone-..”

Edward was delighted as he witnessed the slightest shift at last, seeing Jon kicked back into a semblance of life. Cautiously, always. Precise and cautious. The Riddler swore he saw the old psychiatrist roll his eyes at his shameless ogling, shushing Edward’s dazzling smile with a look. Before any taunting remark crossed his lips, Edward felt a wiry hand at the base of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

It wasn’t anything big, nor passionate. It felt closer to an confession. An apology, if that word was part of their regular vocabulary. Or an acknowledgement. Careful, almost soft, which Jonathan knew made his heart skip a beat, regardless of the years.

Not one to be diverted, Edward was still expecting an answer. And so he settled more comfortably over his partner, straddling Jon who winced briefly at the transfer of weight. He rose a glance as Edward grinned down at him, one imperious brow rose at Crane when they fell in a warmer silence. 

Edward’s hands framing the outline of his collarbone in a soothing way.

There was again that reluctance back on his face, but he figured it was closer to a begrudged defeat. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Jon asked. Glaring at green eyes, almost devilish from sheer smugness. Did he even need to point it out?

Jon exhaled softly, and then once more. “…I can’t answer you, because I-..” he started, glaring at his mug. A brief hollow look flickering in his eyes until he spoke again. “I have no idea what happened. I don’t think any dreams had ever left me like this…” His words ran dry, leaving him speechless for a moment. Nygma realized Jon was now staring at his right palm, facing up. Flexing the muscles reflectively.

“Dreams? Or was it a nightmare?”

“Hmm.” Crane snapped into focus again, eyes no more cast downward. His wiry hand going to rest on the small of his back, reassuring. “I don’t think it was a dream, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. Unlikely to be repressed memories. But… I’m not sure. It would need further analysis.” 

Again that displeased expression. Nearly the same face he had after that time he accidentally drank three-days-old coffee. 

“Well at least it wasn’t a stroke. I wouldn’t even be surprised at your age.”

“… I’d suggest you be careful with where this is going. I have better endurance than you do.”

“Oh throwing a few uninvited guests out the window every other day isn’t really working out.”

“Well. I wouldn’t need to ‘work out’ every other day if said uninvited guests weren’t given full permission to step inside, by the front door might I add, and wait to surprise me in my library.”

“Well it’s cold and I’m tired of our windows being rendered useless in the middle of winter. It’s damaging both for my techs and your books”

Jon quickly revised how much he valued his collection. “…….. Fair enough. Although I’d be glad if you’d let them in only once a week.”

“Them or Them?”

“I am not playing charades with you, Edward.”

“This is anything BUT a charade, Jonathan.” he retorted, resting an offended hand over his chest. “Beside, they keep you entertained”, he added with a wink.

“Like hell they do, it took me a whole day to fix my library last time they payed me visit.”

“Fine then, they keep you in shape.”

“I’d say you’re the one keeping me in shape, but I digress,” Jon muttered, rolling his eyes. He didn’t miss the way Edward smiled at his remark, how radiant he looked as he drew him back on his lips, nor how Jonathan pulled him all the more closer in the embrace.

For now, this would suffice. This was warm and familiar. 

Small chats broke the soft glow a few times before they both went back to their separate businesses. Hours and days went by and soon the episode was left behind. Not quite forgotten but in a way, metaphorically left to pickle in one of Jon’s curiosity jars. 

Maybe this will never happen again anyway.

[gloomy-goober]

Two Plus One Makes Three

Learning, or as he would rather be called, Logic and Heart are no longer the only two in the mind space. 

It had been a day like any other in the mindscape. 

It had been about three years since Learning, or as he wants to be called, ‘Logic’ had finally been let out of the room he had grew up in to join Heart in the central hub. The two of them had formed a strong bond over those years with the emotional side passing notes constantly under Logic’s door. 

Now the two of them had made themselves comfortable on the couch in the main hub. Learning had a book on his lap but was more interested watching as Heart talked about possible favorite colors. So far they had made it into the greatness that was green and how it could possibly be the favorite color. 

“...The green of a lime is so pretty and bright but the fruit is so sour I don’t like it very much but do you think that you could make limeade like you make lemonade? I think Thomas should look into that and see if that drunk is green too...”

It was fascinating to see how the boy’s mind worked; the younger side had to admit that. Were emotions always this, for lack of better word in his limited vocabulary, crazy? The side actually cried over how much he liked yellow; he did not understand it.

“...besides lime green thought there is also those really pretty greens of people’s eyes, like, have you ever noticed how someone’s eyes can be green but also brown isn’t that just amaz-.”

The emotional side stopped mid-word when a loud bang echoed through the empty mindspace. It echoed through the mostly empty home and seemed to suck all the air of comfort from the room. 

The cause of this feeling was clear to both of them as the fact had been for as long as both of them had known; they were the only two sides to Thomas’ personality. They had tried all the other locked doors in this place but there had been seemingly no answer.

“What was that?” Heart whispered the question and took a step closer to his friend. 

Learning felt that terrible hole in his chest that came when he could not answer one of his companion’s questions. He always knew the answer to most of Heart’s questions and if he did not he would do his best to find the answer. 

Still, he could not leave Heart hanging. The side had a desperate look on his face that would not go away unless Learning gave him some sort of logical explanation for the noise. 

“I...,” he bit his bottom lip and glanced at the hallway, “I am sure it is nothing, Heart. It is probably just something being effected in the mindscape by Thomas’ current thought process.”

Yes, that sounded like a sound explanation. 

Still, Learning was more curious and worried then he wanted to let on. He tried to act casual as he set his book aside and straightened his bow-tie. 

“But, if you are still worried we can always go and see that this is nothing to worry about,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “If that would rest your he-whoa!?!”

Heart had grabbed the side’s hand and started to drag him out of the main room towards the hallway. There was a grateful look on his freckled face and he seemed to take ease with holding tightly to his friend. 

“Thanks, Learning! You are the best!” 

“I, well, I would not say the best...” Learning stumbled out as he quickened his pace to keep up with Heart’s pulling. His mind working on the words and then he gave a shrug and stood up straighter. “Actually, yes. Yes I would.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Heart chuckled but his mind seemed to be elsewhere as they passed his room and entered the hallway.

Heart’s room was one that came directly off the main hub. The door was wide open and the inside gave a warm glow. The cheery white paint of the door was covered in stickers and glitter and pictures that Learning had drawn for him when they were still door pen-pals. Nothing seemed off there. 

When they entered the hall they just had to walk a few steps to pass by Learning’s door. That is where things got strange. 

Learning’s door stood cracked open like the side had left it. The sliver metal on the outside having a few of the letter magnets mixed up to spell whatever word the side wanted to remember. This was not the case at the moment. The letters had been moved around to spell out: Pixie Dust, You Can Fly, and Wish Upon a Star. 

These were not sayings or words that the side would normally have on his door. He had changed the words around today to spell out the word suspicious because Thomas had finally learned how to say it without a lisp, which had been a very hard task for the fourth grader. 

They both stopped and stared at the words on the door in confusion. Heart’s grip on Learning’s hand tightened just a little. 

“You didn’t put that there, did you?” Heart asked quietly and looked at the other boy. Worry leaked off the emotional side and Learning could feel it. 

“No, I did not,” Logic could not lie to the heart. It was something that he learned fast; Heart could just quickly tell when one lied. Still the truth did seem to distress the other boy quickly and Learning had to be quick before the other began to cry. 

“But, I am sure there is a reason for them changing. Maybe Thomas is just trying to remember something,” the side said quickly, “Like that time he was trying to remember his multiplication tables and they all appeared on my door.” 

Heart sniffled and switched his hold on Learning from his hand to his arm. 

“You think that is it?” 

“Yes, I am sure that is it,” Learning said as reassuringly as he could. “I am sure if I go into my room there will be more notes for me to put away. There is nothing to worry about.” 

Heart frowned and did not release his grip. “Can we keep looking, just to be sure?”

Logic sighed. He wanted to believe his own theory and leave it all at that but it was clear that Heart would not be satisfied until every place in the mind space was searched. 

“Yes, I guess we can.”

The side was more prepared when the emotion filled boy started to pull him again to continue their investigation. 

They checked the hall closet and found the box of bandages had fallen over. Learning tried to reason that that had been the noise but Heart argued that it would not have been a bang if it was. 

Then they checked the two other doors in the hall that did not include the bathroom that was at the very end. 

The door on the left was a plain door that matched Heart’s only without the stickers. It had a handle and the curious side had gone in there once or twice. It was a blank space with a few shelves with glass spheres on them. When the side had touched one he found they were memories of his host. The child used to spend time waiting for Learning to write him back by spending times reliving memories. 

The other door was more details. It was not a simple rectangle but one that seemed to be more fit for a mythical land. It had gold leaves all over the old wood it was made from and vines grew around the frame. The door should have no handle and should be impossible to enter through...but this was not the case. 

A handle was there now and the door was cracked open to show some golden light onto the floor. Birds sang from inside the room and the emotion based side would swear up and down that flowers were blooming on the floor where the light touched. 

“The door,” Heart whispered, “Do you think...?” 

“I don’t know, Learning mumbled before he flushed in embarrassment. He was not supposed to say that out loud.

“So there could be another one of us!” Hear smiled brightly, “Another person to play with.”

“No, no that is impossible,” Learning waved off the idea, “We have tried to write to someone in that room but there had never been an answer. This is obviously just a new room we get to explore now.”

“Maybe they just did not get out letters!” Heart tried to reason as Learning pulled his arm from the other boy’s grip. “Or maybe they are shy!”

“I was shy and I still answered back,” Learning pointed out as he started to walk away from the glowing door. He had never liked that door much; it made his head spin in a way that never made sense. “It is probably just a new room.”

Heart pouted and looked at the room before he followed after Learning. The side grabbed back onto the boy’s arm and pouted at him. 

“But what if it isn’t?” He whined, “What if-.”

Another crash cut off the child before he could finish his what ifs and both of them froze. The sound no longer came from the very hallway they were in but outside in the main hub where they had once been. 

Heart’s hope seemed to turn to fear fast as he clung tightly to Logic’s arm. The side in question stood still as if trying to hear would could have possibly made that noise. That effort was rewarded with a hummed tune he thought was vaguely familiar. 

“Is that...Snow White?” He asked the question quietly as if he was unsure of what he was hearing. There is no way that he had also gotten an ear worm song in his head the same time as their host. That only happened twice and it was with School House Rock. 

“I think so?” Heart loosened his hold a little and gasped, “Do we have a Disney ghost?” 

“A...what? Ghost?” 

Heart stared at the side next to him with wide eyes. “Yeah! A ghost! If it isn’t a new side then it has to be a ghost!”

Learning had to, once again, stop to think about how fascinating Heart’s thought process was.  

“Heart,” Logic said the name of his friend slowly, “You do realize that we are part of a person, yes?”

Heart nodded and Learning took that as a sign to continue. 

“So, how would we have a ghost problem?” 

Heart opened his mouth to answer but stopped himself with a frown. He looked down at his sneaker covered feet and tapped his chin in thought. A brilliant idea seemed to cross the young side’s mind because he looked back up with a grin and let go of Learning’s arm. 

“I don’t know, but we might as well ask the ghost!” 

“What?” That question was getting annoying to Learning but he found it even more annoying when the only answer he got was the sweater covered back of Heart as the side ran out of the hall. 

“Heart! Wait! Hold up!”

Logic was off after the side and turned the corner a few seconds after Heart did. The difference between their stops being that Learning ran into the sweater wearing boy while the other was frozen to his spot in the entrance to the kitchen. 

Said side had his eyes locked on something that sat on the kitchen floor with the jar of peanut butter between its, or rather, his legs. A sticky hand had a spoon in the jar and stared up at the two with wide brown eyes similar to their own except they were not behind glasses. The being before them wore a green outfit like one seen in the movie Peter Pan, had no shoes on, and peanut butter smeared on his freckled face. Beside him sat a wooden sword; a strange thing to have.

The singing had stopped and that left the only conclusion that it had been this person that had been doing it. 

There was silence between the three of them as they stared. It seemed like hours had passed as they just stood, or sat, in the silence that had blanketed them. 

Finally, the new person spoke. 

“Well, now I know this is not Neverland.”

“Huh?” Heart and Learning said at the same time. 

The strangely clad child stood up and licked the peanut butter off his fingers. It was weirdly graceful how he did it. This new child seemed to just have an air about him that was hard to pin down in one simple term. 

“Neverland,” the child stated as if it was obvious, “Second star to the right and straight on till morning. I am supposed to be there; that is what I expected to be on the other side of that door. Instead I’m...well...I don’t know where I am.”

Learning watched every movement the boy made. His arms moved greatly when he talked and he seemed to be projecting his voice for some odd reason. This new side, if that is what he was, was very strange. He was not sure if he liked him much. It had taken a week to understand that Heart was a side that needed a lot of physical contact.

“Well, kiddo, you are in Thomas’ mind. This is where we all live and we make up parts of him.”

Speaking of Heart, the side had a wide smile on his face as he took a small step closer to this new side. 

“Thomas’...mind...” the boy said the words slowly and then a small smile appeared on his face, “Not Neverland but that does made a good deal more sense. So, who are you?”

“I’m Heart,” Heart said with a smile and reached back to pull Logic towards the new arrival. “And this is Lear-”

“Logic. I’m Logic,” the side said as he fixed his glasses. Might as well get rid of the old name now. He saw Heart make a face next to him but ignored it. 

“And you are?” Heart asked. 

“I’m...” the new boy paused to think. He obviously never had to introduce himself before. 

Logic remembered how he had to think about it some and even now he was regretting the choice of name. He opened his mouth to tell the new side that he could take his time or choose nose and change it later but the boy brightened up and struck a pose quickly. 

“I’m Creativity! Here to bring Thomas inspiration and drive him towards his hopes and dreams!”

Heart giggled at the display and moved forward to bring Creativity into a hug. The child seemed a little confused by this display of affection but quickly gave into it and hugged back just as tightly as the other. 

“It is so nice to meet you, Creativity!” Heart said through his giggles. “Oh we are going to have so much fun!”

The excited side pulled out of the hug to give the new child a blinding smile. 

“I am going to show you my room and you can show me yours and we have sleepovers and watch movies all night-.”

“Movies!” Creativity cut Heart off with an excited shout. “I love movies!”

“Me too!” 

Learning hung back as the two began to chatter quickly to each other; a frown on his face. He was not sure what to make of this new side just yet besides the obvious observations that Creativity was: loud, dramatic, and slightly annoying. He was not even sure if this side was a good addition to Thomas’ mind seeing how the boy had been searching for a fictional place. 

“Hey, Learning!”

Logic shook himself out of his inner thoughts to look at the boy that had just said his name. Creativity had a smile on his face and an arm around Heart’s shoulder. 

“You want to join Heart and me for a house tour? He says you are good at explaining how things work around here.”

“And then we are going to have some movie time fun in the hub, if you want to join that too. Hmmmm?” Heart asked with a small head movement and a laugh.

Learning looked over the two, matching grins were on their faces and he could already feel a headache growing. He would have said no but there was a part of hi that refused to leave them alone together; a part he could not explain. 

“Fine,” he said and put his hands behind his back, “I guess I will show you around.”

“Aaaaannnnddd, join us for movie times?” Heart added a pout at the end for show and got a sigh from the side in return. 

“And I guess I will join you for a movie.”

They both cheered and Heart bounced over to grab Learning’s arm. Creativity trailed behind and took the emotional side’s hand. 

Logic did not think much on the hold on his arm as he led them out of the kitchen and started to show them around the place.He answered any of the new side’s new questions and tried not to react to some of Heart’s terrible jokes. 

It was weird; leading around two instead of just one. The pair had now added another. There was now three of them: Logic, Heart, and Creativity. No longer just the emotions and the learning but now passion and ideas; a weird side that would bring about something new in this space and in Thomas. Maybe something even good to the world.

“Have you ever tried to take a sled down the stairs to the basement?”

“That would be dangerous, kiddo. Besides, down there makes us feel all funky. It is not a good place to go.”

After he loses some of the dumb ideas like that.

[little-bookbird]

Drunken Dreams

JILY CHALLENGE | @aly-cat-scat vs. @thecupcakeconsumer 

Muggle College AU: “You’re drunk and walked into the wrong apartment and fell asleep on my couch oh god you’re going to be so confused in the morning.”

In the door to the kitchen stood a willowy girl with ginger hair and green eyes. She was wearing an old t-shirt and leggings—both too small to be worn as anything other than pyjamas. On the long, fabric couch that took up most of the kitchen lay a lanky boy with a bird’s nest of black hair and square glasses that were pressed awkwardly against the cushion. The girl was Lily Evans, one of the students who shared the flat. The boy was of as yet undetermined identity.

Lily wasn't entirely sure how the boy had managed to get into her flat, but the fact remained that he had managed somehow because he was passed out and snoring over the hideous cushions that Marlene’s mother had bought as an Easter gift.

"Cas!" she called over her shoulder, "Why is there a boy on the sofa?"

Dorcas Dearborn―the only one of Lily’s flatmates currently in the apartment and the person upon whom Lily could always rely to find out what on earth was happening―stuck her head out of her room and raised an eyebrow quizzically. Lily waved her hands in the direction of the kitchen and the intruder.

"Oh, right. Yeah, that's James Potter. He's in my cultural studies class and he's some sort of relation of mine. Third cousins twice removed or something ridiculous like that. He hangs around with Black and that lot—wait, you know Remus, don't you-"

"What is he doing in our kitchen, Cas?" Lily interrupted. Dorcas Dearborn was one of Lily's dearest friends, but she was rather inclined to deviate from whatever point she was trying to make at any given time.

Dorcas made a face but stopped the tirade of information to answer the question. "He was drunk so he climbed in the window."

Lily blinked a few times, then mouthed the sentence to herself as she attempted to parse it, as though a mute repeat would somehow give the explanation some semblance of sense. It didn't, so she tried again with audio.

"He was drunk…so he climbed in the window."

"Yeah."

"In what world is 'so' the correct conjunction there?"

Dorcas opened her mouth to respond, but the two girls were interrupted by a groan from the kitchen. Lily glanced back at Dorcas just in time to catch her ducking back into her bedroom. She rolled her eyes but didn't move, just stayed stood on the threshold of the kitchen as the boy—James Potter—stretched and groaned his way out of sleep.

"Pete? Fuck, how much did we drink last night. Ugh, Remus, you couldn't do your best mate a favour and stick some bacon on, could you?" He opened his eyes blearily and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before blinking and sitting bolt upright, his back to Lily. "That's not our ceiling. And that's definitely not our calendar."

The calendar, incidentally, was another gift from Marlene’s mother, featuring disproportioned dog photos.

Lily didn't move. Potter swung his legs over the side of the couch and almost managed to get to his feet before crumpling with the heel of his palm pressed to his temple.

"Do you want some aspirin?" Lily asked, taking a cautious step towards the pitiable heap on the kitchen floor. The lump shifted and a scruffy head emerged to squint at her.

"Do I know you?"

"No."

"How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"

"Because if I wanted to get rid of you, I'd just let you die of this hangover."

The scrunched up features tried to assemble themselves into an expression that was possibly supposed to resemble a withering glare, but there wasn't much weight behind it as Lily could just step over him to reach the fridge. She did exactly that and tugged it open to grab the two litre bottle of still water before searching the cupboards for a half-decent glass to pour some out. Once the glass was full enough for a couple of mouthfuls without presenting any obvious spilling issues to hangover-impaired persons, she dug out a packet of tablets from the last cupboard over the sink.

She left the glass on the table in front of the couch, along with the medicine, and told Potter not to move while she went to get changed.

On the way to her bedroom, Lily took a detour via Dorcas’. She opened the door without bothering to knock and stood with her arms crossed and eyes glinting through the reflection at Dorcas, who looked up from where she was violently scrubbing at her short, blonde hair with a thinning red towel.

“Has he asked you for your hand in marriage yet?”

For the second time that morning, Lily ran through Dorcas’ words a couple of times to see if they made sense when she tried them. When they didn’t, she asked what on earth Dorcas was talking about.

“Huh. Either he’s doing well or he’s doing so badly that he doesn’t even know who you are,” Dorcas said, and picked up the towel again, evidently finished with the conversation. Lily considered asking again for clarification, or reaffirming the fact that he didn’t know who she was, but ultimately decided it a pointless exercise. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her and went to her own room to find some jeans and a t-shirt that actually fit. Perhaps if she were dressed, things might start to seem more like a normal morning.

Or perhaps not. When she returned to the kitchen, Potter had ignored her instructions to not move, and was peering closely at the photos on the fridge. She huffed and was about to grab the now-empty glass from the table when she realised that the boy was speaking.

“Wait, fuck, shit, is that Mars? Then fuck fuck fuck, that’s Dory. Which means…fucking shit fuck fuck shit—” Lily cleared her throat and his back when ramrod straight before he turned slowly on his heel with a bright, strained smile. “Hi Lily Evans, I’m James Potter, nice to meet you. How are you this morning, are you good? Great. Anyway, I’m just going to disappear now so bye!”

Lily stared as Potter grabbed her left hand in an awkward handshake and then sped past her and out of the front door. The door didn’t quite shut behind him, and she could hear faint curses trailing back over his shoulder, briefly interrupted by an over-bright greeting to Marlene, who made her way to the open door of the flat with a concerned look on her face. Lily just shrugged and went to get some cereal.

The next time Lily met James, he was halfway through the kitchen window. She stopped dead on her way to get a glass of milk and stared as his lanky body somehow wormed its way through the window, across the counter and onto the floor—apparently without severely injuring or damaging anything.

“Uh, Potter?”

Potter turned and blinked up at her owlishly—no glasses, this time. His pupils were large and dark in eyes edged with red and Lily rolled her eyes. Of course.

“Hey, Mars. Have you dyed your hair? Looks like Lily’s. She’s cute. You’re not cute, ew. Go do that weird thing with Sirius where you’re just friends and somehow pass out on each other half-naked regardless.” Lily suppressed a desire to comment on the vocabulary, made a note to ask Marlene what she was doing with this Sirius bloke, and instead asked Potter about the window. “Oh, I think I took your keys again. Mine wouldn’t work in the lock.”

So that explained the curious scraping noises that had been coming from the front door ten minutes earlier. She still wasn’t convinced it explained the breaking and entering, but Potter looked like he was about to start drooling on the floor so she took pity and hauled him over to the couch. She fetched her milk and left the room, only to glare at the closed doors belonging to Marlene and Dorcas on her way past to her own bedroom and snatch up the blanket draped over her chair. It was pink with cartoon bunnies but he could deal.

James was already asleep when she half-heartedly threw the blanket over him, and she sighed as he clutched at it immediately. In ordinary circumstances, she would wake Dorcas and demand to know why they had an uninvited guest for the second time, but her roommate had a test the next day for which she had been studying all week, and Lily wasn’t that cruel. Marlene also escaped Lily’s wrath (or, rather, her frustrated confusion) as she was out late and probably wouldn’t be back until the morning, as usual (Lily’s thoughts flickered briefly to Sirius, whoever he was). Which meant Lily would probably be the only one left to deal with Potter in the morning. Which she didn’t really want to do.

She returned to her room and cast about for an idea, eventually landing on the open notebook at her bed. She scribbled on the side until the pen worked fluidly and wrote a short note in hopes that he would read it and leave, preferably without either interacting with her or remembering where he was.

You’re drunk and walked into the wrong apartment and fell asleep on my couch. You’re going to be confused in the morning but I’ve left water and tablets on the coffee table. Take them and leave, please. Thanks.

‘Walked’ was a bit of a stretch and the note was possibly a little too passive aggressive, but Lily was tired and she did not want to deal with this in the morning. She left the note, the water, and the medicine on the table and went back to bed.

The next morning went almost to plan. The only way in which it didn’t go entirely according to Lily’s wishes was that Potter seemed to either remember where he was or work it out again, and Lily heard muffled curses through the walls as she glared resolutely at the half-written page of work in her notebook. Her name was also mentioned several times and she wondered again how everyone seemed to know this boy except her, and how he knew her already.

She had the chance to ask when Marlene returned at lunch time.

“Hey, Marley, who’s James Potter?”

She waited patiently as Marlene laughed and choked on her sandwich.

“No way, don’t tell me he finally worked up the guts to come and talk to you. What did he say? Did he ask you to have his babies?”

“What? No? Why would he do that? He thought I was you.” Lily considered the conversation again. “He did say I looked like myself, then said I was cute and you weren’t. Two questions: how does he know me and who’s Sirius?”

“Sirius is one of James’ best mates. They’ve known each other since the start of secondary school. You know Remus, don’t you? He’s one of their lot.”

“What do you mean ‘one of their lot’?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Lily, do you even go to Hogwarts? How do you not know the four Marauders? We might not have fraternities over here but those four manage just fine on their own.”

Lily slumped down in her chair, which Marlene interpreted correctly as complete ignorance and filled her in shortly on the four boys who managed the most mischief in the university and still got three of the highest grades in the year. Lily could attest to Remus’ intellect; they studied economics together and she was fond of his conversation when they met occasionally in locations that weren’t the library.

“Anyway, Potter mentioned you and this Sirius guy.”

Marlene laughed outright at that. “That kid is so oblivious. Sirius and Remus have been going out since forever and Sirius has been gay as fuck for even longer.”

Lily scrubbed hard at her face. They were talking in circles and her head was pounding already and she still hadn’t found out what it was about James Potter that felt so strange, but Marlene was finished with the conversation and standing up to collect the dishes to wash. Lily thanked her and disappeared back into her room to finally finish the essay she’d started yesterday before all the madness repeated itself.

It was two weeks before Lily saw Potter again. This time it was before he climbed through the window, in the process of him getting drunk. From as much as Lily could work out—Dorcas and Marlene refused to tell her anything and their third roommate, Mary, was just as clueless as Lily—the two girls who knew all the parties involved who knew all the parties involved had gotten sick of waiting for said parties to ‘sort it out’ and had not given Lily the option of declining the invitation to Remus’ party.

So Lily was spending her Saturday evening hiding in the corner of a crowded living room, hiding from someone she’d barely met and hardly knew.

Potter was canvassing the room, grinning as he chatted with everyone who even paused near him for two seconds. Lily watched him from afar out of the side of her eyes. She was willing to interact with others, but she stayed alert and aware of Potter’s whereabouts so if he ever got quite too close, she’d skitter out of the way. It earned her quite a few strange looks, but Lily was not prepared to deal with his weirdness tonight.

Dorcas and Marlene make some really quite unsubtle attempts to shove Lily in the direction of Potter, but she got good at ducking under arms or spinning back around against pushing hands and finding somewhere else to be. Emmeline Vance, a girl from Lily’s Religious Studies class, was dependable and un-curious and hid Lily with merely a glint in her eye, blissfully un-questioning. Lily told her she’d explain later, anyway.

If she ever found out what was going on.

The inevitable happened at eleven-fifty-three, just as Lily was beginning to hope. She’d even been as optimistic as to venture out of the main party room to the kitchen where Remus had said there were more drinks. Even before she had opened the bottle, however, there was a step at the door.

The thing is: Lily had intended to stay sober. The fact that someone had spiked her lemonade earlier didn’t help, but by the fourth time she barely avoided Potter and the sixth time her drink tasted rather more bitter than usual, she had given up. Which was why she was in the kitchen with a bottle of Kopparberg.

Which was why she was not prepared to deal with Potter.

He was there anyway.

“Oh, Lily.”

“Potter,” Lily said cautiously, aware that her brain was not her friend right now and her tongue was a little bit sloppy in her mouth. “I don’t know who you are.”

Potter might have replied, but Lily was tired and drunk and confused and everything got a little soft around the edges after that.

Lily woke up before she opened her eyes. This was a wise move because there was already a fritzing just behind her right eyeball that promised a lovely hangover headache and the colours through her eyelids indicated light. She groaned and rolled over on her bed…. Not her bed. Her arm was tucked awkwardly underneath her, so she extracted it and gingerly felt the surface beneath her. It felt like leather. She cracked one eye open, and winced at even the soft morning light coming through the window that didn’t belong to her apartment because there was actually a view instead of a brick wall.

She extricated herself from the cocoon of blankets that had somehow formed around her and stood up to assess the situation. It looked vaguely familiar. Some of the alcohol-coloured fog lifted just enough to realise where she was, but it was too late. She’d completed a full rotation on the spot, and come face to face with James Potter.

His black hair was a mess. His glasses were skewed and his top was on inside out, the stitching for whatever badge it was a tangled knot. His skin was flushed slightly (Lily’s was probably the same) and he scratched his head awkwardly.

“Uh, so you’re in the wrong apartment and you fell asleep on my couch and uh…you’re going to be confused in the morning,” he said. Lily blinked slowly a few times.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m James Potter, and I really like you a lot. Sorry.”

Lily considered him for a couple of heartbeats, to see what they thought. They thought he was cute and that Dorcas and Marlene trusted him.

“Well you know the best cure for a hangover is a McDonald’s breakfast,” said Lily Evans with a tentative smile, holding out her hand to the strange, lanky boy with strange, square glasses and a strange, strange, tendency to climb through windows.

James Potter beamed

Word Count: 2845

[mvssmallow]

Cloudy With A Chance

Part 5: …of Seoul Fog.

Masterlist

Hanbin stares outside the window of his office. Pen tapping rhythmically on the messy notebook in front of him.

‘Daily Grind’ was a (ironically) weekly satirical and lifestyle magazine that he had taken a pay cut to work for. After 2 months of job interviews and being offered unpaid internships, Hanbin had gotten desperate and taken a lower paying position. That was 12 months ago. He’s grateful the chief editor took a shining to him and enjoyed his writing.

He’s also grateful that he allowed Hanbin to move into a shared office with the magazine’s star colummist. He wasn’t really looking to make any friends but Donghyuk had slowly and very surely wormed his way into his life. Their office was only on the 3rd floor but Hanbin still enjoyed staring out the window and being able to see the sky as he worked.

It was late afternoon and the sky was already a peach haze. It reminded him of the bathroom tiles at his parent’s old house but less gaudy. He picks at the wool of his soft beige jumper as he watches a group of pigeons fly from one office building to another. There weren’t many more accidental Summer-Clothes-In-Winter situations these days, partly because he made a conscious effort to check the weather report but mainly because Jiwon had gotten into the habit of sending him weather updates via badly typed texts in the morning before work.

This morning’s text: ‘cold AF! mght rain. wear smthing warm. xj’

He had no idea Jiwon was a morning person and he’s still not entirely sure if that’s down to preference or necessity. He knows that the car garage where Jiwon works opens at 7:30 but he keeps on forgetting to ask him why it’s so early.

Hanbin is definitely not a morning person. He isn’t exactly a night person either. He enjoys the time between the end of work and sleep because it was strictly his time to do as he pleased. If he’s feeling particularly motivated, he also loved twilight and the hours just before the sun rises. It makes him feel optimistic and he needs all the optimism he can get these days.

His thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. It’s another message from Jiwon. ‘heater brke at work. its freezing. visit me when im in hospital for pneumnia. xj’

He snorts and types back: ‘can i have your snapbacks when you die?”

There’s an immediate reply: ‘only the blck ones. shit gotta get back. talk later. xj’

“You have the dopiest smile on your face right now.” He looks up as Donghyuk returns from his caffeine run and hands him a warm take-away cup.

Hanbin puts his phone down and waves a dismissive thanks. ‘I asked for tea, not redundant commentary. Save that for your lame articles.’

Donghyuk laughs as he sits at his own desk. ‘Oh you know my commentary comes free with the hot beverages.’

Hanbin takes a sip. “There’s milk in this.”

“Yup.”

“And vanilla.”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

Donghyuk gives him a cheerful smile. “It’s called a London Fog! I thought you might like it. As the young kids would say, “it suits your aesthetic”.

Donghyuk likes using air-quotes. Hanbin hates them.

“I hate air-quotes. And why can’t you just get me what I want? What’s with the daily surprises?”

Donghyuk rolls his eyes and gives Hanbin a withering look. “Do you like it?”

Hanbin says nothing.

Donghyuk nods, satisfied. “Right. Then stop being so dramatic about some cow and a vanilla bean. It’s good to try new things.”

“Why can’t you just say ‘milk’ like a normal person?” Hanbin regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

“BECAUSE! I’m a writer! We need to exercise our vocabulary and literary devices! It’s like going to the gym but for your mind! I’m basically like an athlete. You’re more like….Garfield.”

“The lazy cartoon cat? You know I’m more of a dog person.” Hanbin chuckles and suddenly remembers that Jiwon is deathly afraid of cats for some reason.  

“Okay you have that creepy smile on your face again. What’s up with you?” Donghyuk eyes him suspiciously as he takes a sip of his coffee. Hanbin knows he’s running scenarios in his head. It’s when Donghyuk’s eyes light up that Hanbin braces himself for the theories. “Ohhh. Are you having a text relationship? Oh wait! Is it someone in our office?!”

Hanbin grimaces at the choice of words. “What? No.”

The problem with Donghyuk is not just his dictionary brain or Mr Congeniality title in the office but the speed and accuracy of his observations. He was, as they liked to say in capital letters, The Perceptive One. Hanbin always thought he was good at reading people but then he met Donghyuk and realised that he wasn’t anywhere near his level. He remembers when Donghyuk had bought him green tea on their first caffeine run because, “You didn’t seem like a coffee person, too much nervous energy.”

It made Hanbin even more anxious but after 6 months together, he’s learnt how to deal with the panic attacks.

Right now, Donghyuk has a small smile on his face. “I bet you do….” he says in a bright sing-song voice. “I know these things Hanbin. I’m almost never wrong so you might as well just tell me.”

Hanbin looks down at his notebook and turns a page over. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just texts from my mum about my sister.”

Donghyuk wheels his chair over to Hanbin’s desk and stops when they face each other. “You know you’re horrible at lying right? You get all twitchy.”

“I do not.” He scratches his neck but drops his hand down immediately when he realises what he’s doing.

Donghyuk doesn’t miss it and his grin just gets wider by the minute. “So. Are they cute?” He wiggles his eyebrow suggestively as he sits back in his chair and tugs at his multiple earrings.

Hanbin scowls. “We are not having this conversation.” He picks up his pen.

“Oh please. Suddenly you want to get back to work now? Come on Hanbin, it’s getting so boring around here. There hasn’t been any news since we got this office.”

“If I tell you, will you promise to never ask me about it again? Like until we retire.”

Donghyuk leans his elbows on Hanbin’s desk and rests his head on his palms. “Of course.”

“Okay. So it’s a guy. We’re just friends. We’re not dating. I don’t date. The end.”

Donghyuk’s eyes widen comically again as he gapes at Hanbin.

Hanbin starts scribbling lines on his notebook. He’s nervous but knows there’s no reason to be. He’s sure Donghyuk has figured out his preferences by now. If he can figure out his caffeine preference then he’s probably already figured out Hanbin’s human preference too.

“Wow…” Donghyuk says finally, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Do you have a photo?”

Hanbin laughs. “No. I’m definitely not showing you!”

“But why? Please? My life is so empty and sad and lonely. I need to live vicariously through you.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “Okay, everything you just said is a total lie.”

“My mind needs constant stimulation. PLEASE HANBIN!”

Hanbin looks at him in alarm, eyes trying to ignore the inquisitive stares from their colleagues outside. “Oh my god! Okay! Just keep your voice down. Geez. And you call me dramatic.”

He scrolls through the photos of Jiwon on his phone until he finds one without a grimace or weird hand signs. He finally stops at a photo he took back in June’s tattoo shop. Jiwon had just turned to face the camera when Hanbin had captured it, there was no faked bravado or acting cool, it was just Jiwon with a slight look of surprise on his face.

Hanbin hesitates but eventually holds the phone screen out towards Donghyuk.

Donghyuk peers at the phone for a second then his eyes flick back and forth between Hanbin and the photo. “Are you serious?”

Hanbin frowns. “What? What’s wrong with him?”

“Oh where does one even start with Kim Jiwon?” Donghyuk murmurs under his breath.

“Wait. You know him?” Hanbin questions in shock. “How?”

“Well firstly, I know everybody.” Donghyuk states matter-of-factly. Hanbin rolls his eyes, even though he knows it’s not far from the truth. “Secondly, remember when I did a piece on imported american muscle cars coming to Seoul? I went to his garage.”

“And……?” Hanbin prompts.

“And….he’s a cool guy. Just not really someone I thought you’d be interested in.”

Hanbin knows he’s walking right into Donghyuk’s trap but curiosity gets the better of him. “Okay, what does that mean?”

Donghyuk drinks the rest of his coffee slowly. Deliberately.

“DONGHYUK!” Hanbin hisses and looks at him with all the frustration he can muster.

Donghyuk doesn’t smile though. “Promise me that you won’t get mad?”

And that’s when Hanbin knows that his day is going to end badly. “Okay. Promise.”

Donghyuk hesitates. “He seems nice Hanbin. Really. I just heard that he was dating someone here but he still has a girlfriend back in America. I’m sure it’s just a rumour that someone made up about him and you guys probably already know.”

Speechless, Hanbin just stares at him as his heart sinks and his brain short circuits from processing the information. The silence stretches to the point where Donghyuk starts looking increasingly worried.

“Oh god, I thought you knew. I’m not implying anything! Just thought you should know what people are saying since you guys are friends now. Hanbin? Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I’m an idiot and you should honestly just ignore me. It’s probably not even true. You know what gossip is like….” He can hear Donghyuk rambling on but it just sounds like a muffled voice through water.

He tells himself not to dwell on disappointment because part of him always knew this would happen. People like Jiwon just don’t get involved with people as boring as him. But life is nothing but a bag of twisted irony; even when you know something is inevitable, it can still hurt you twice as much when it arrives. Preparing for an oncoming trainwreck doesn’t make the collision any less painful.

He swallows audibly and shakes his head. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be upset about. We’re just friends. You don’t have to apologise. I’m not mad, I just didn’t know.” He offers Donghyuk a small smile which he knows comes across as blatantly fake.

Donghyuk opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Instead, he reaches over to grab their empty cups to throw into the trash. “I’m really sorry Hanbin….I shouldn’t have said anything.” Donghyuk says quietly before wheeling his chair back to his desk.

Hanbin just nods as he opens his laptop, stares at the black screen and waits for it to wake up from sleep.