#my hair is a bit longer and dyed dark brown right now but otherwise i look the same

[isbergillustration]

Annual art vs artist recycling of content

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

shiver, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader mentions of jimin x reader, namjoon x reader

summary: Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin set you up after vain attempts to cure your, what they call, chronic high-strung workaholic tendencies. Bleh. As if a date with Min Yoongi is going to help the situation. You aren't going on this date and, even if you did, you wouldn't take him home and fuck him all night. Or admit he was giving you that shiver.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, slight crack (you tweezed a hair off Jimin's dick); mentions of previous partners and implied smut; smut (fem reader, mild bondage, f-receiving oral, lil bit of a praise kink, doggy); non-idol!AU - music producer!Yoongi x pansexual, softdom!reader, ft best friend and ex-bf!Namjoon, (maybe too) close friend!Jimin, friend!Taehyung

--

“Look, I like dick, okay? The gender attached to it doesn’t bother me. A dick’s a dick and if you want to put it in me, I’m down, and if you don’t and wanna do other stuff, that’s cool too, I’m just letting you know I like dick–”

“Who are you talking to?”

You exploded, rocketing your desk chair backwards, nearly dropping your phone, gawking at the tall, dark, handsome man with the baritone voice standing in your bedroom door, blinking at you slowly with his brown doe eyes and long lashes, black-brown curls framing his tanned cheekbones and strong brows.

“T-Taehyung?!”

Kim Taehyung raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Why were you practicing a speech about dick?”

You clutched your phone, flapping your jaw loosely, pointing to it, to him, to yourself, rambling nonsense.

“There’s this app and I was writing a message to someone and they were worried about – but I wasn’t sure if it sounded right – and what, why are you here…?”

He raised the other eyebrow. “I want to talk to Jimin about something. He said he was going to stop by later so he gave me your key.” He raised his hand and, there it was, your house key. “Said it was fine if I just walked in.”

Park Jimin… said it was fine… to walk into your apartment? Without asking you first.

Who raised this child?!

To be fair, it was fine. You weren’t upset at Taehyung specifically. You didn’t know him as well as Jimin, who was one of your closest friends, but he was Jimin’s best friend. You trusted Jimin’s choice in friends, but, jeez, he really was lackadaisical when it came down to your personal space. He acted like it didn’t exist.

“Ah… okay,” you said, clearing your throat and placing your phone, screen down, on your desk.

“Why is Jimin hanging out here? You guys dating?” Taehyung asked off-handedly.

You nearly choked on air.

“No, we are not,” you snorted, walking up to him. He looked nice. Taehyung always did. He was casually sexy in his green sweater and dark gray pants. He was the kind of guy who could wear anything and look great simply because he walked around with such calm confidence. “I don’t know exactly; he said we should hang out and watch movies because I’m, how did he put it, a chronic high-strung workaholic who needs divine intervention.”

Taehyung nodded, pursing his lips. “True.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped.

He ignored your outburst. “I suppose he considers himself the divine intervention?”

“Uh, well, yeah, I guess, I didn’t think of it like that–”

“You’ve never thought about his dick?”

You blinked rapidly. “What.”

Taehyung shrugged. “I mean, you guys hang out a lot. And you like dick,” he added, gesturing to your phone, to which you abruptly jerked to stand in front of it so it was no longer in his vision. “You might want to consider seeing his dick.”

“I’ve seen his dick.”

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to blink rapidly. “What.”

You raised your hands in innocence. “He had a hair on his dick.”

“… What.”

You scratched the back of your head. “Well, he had a hair growing on the underside of his dick and he couldn’t get to it so he asked me to help, but you can’t exactly pluck a hair when the dick is limp so I helped him get hard and then I tweezed it off and he was very upset, even though he was the one who asked me to do it so I don’t know why he was so sobby about it, but I ended up putting it in my–”

Taehyung was staring at you, slack-jawed.

You stopped speaking, realizing what you were saying.

Your front door opened.

“Hey, Taehyung! Thanks for leaving the door open for me. Where are you guys? Oh, there you are. What are you guys doing?”

You both turned to look at the cheerful, oblivious face of Park Jimin, his previously blond hair freshly dyed black. He must have been at a hair appointment running late. He sent you both a big, beaming smile.

“Eh?”

-

"I need you to do something."

"What?"

Once again, someone needing you to do something. Who would have guessed? Just an endless cycle of people asking you to do things. When is someone ever going to ask you what you want to do? Hm?

Hmph.

He shoved another spoonful of red bean ice cream in your mouth and you continued listening because of it.

"I need you to sleep with Min Yoongi."

You choked and had a mild brainfreeze.

"Just kidding, I only need you to go on a date with him."

Not much better.

You gawked at Park Jimin, who continued calmly scooping out another spoonful of ice cream to feed you. As if this was normal behavior. You missed the blond hair on him. Blond-haired Jimin didn't suggest this kind of random bullshit. Black-haired Jimin was evil. His hair was full of secrets.

You know, that kind of person.

Jimin lifted the spoon and opened his plump lips as if he was instructing a child how to eat. You gave him an indignant scowl and he shoved the spoon in the crack of your open lips. That got him a disgruntled tut.

"Jimin, I'm not library book, you can’t let your friends borrow me when they need to look taken."

He rolled his eyes, all the sass and lacking in class. "That was one time, and you know Taehyungie's ex was a persistent bitch."

"Yeah, I had to slap her, remember?"

Jimin's hair has been black then too, when he asked you to help him. Mmmhmm. Help.

"She deserved that slap!"

"But why did I have to do it?" you grumbled. "You can slap a ho. You don't need me."

"I shouldn't hit a girl no matter how much of a lying, cheating scumbag she is," Jimin puffed, angrily jabbing at the ice cream and shoving it into your mouth. You glared at him. Why was he taking it out on you? He was lucky you loved this brand, otherwise he'd be getting slapped right now.

"Oh, but I should, okay, cool."

"You'd slap anything and call it your bitch."

You were about to retort but then you lowered your hand, frowning. "Okay, true, but that doesn't explain why you're pawning me off to Yoongi now."

"Because you need it."

And you snapped your head around to see Kim Namjoon, your ex-boyfriend, now best friend, waltz into your bedroom like he owned the damn place. You did, in fact, give him your key and you were expecting him, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise, but you complained anyway, because that’s what humans do. Complain.

"Is nothing sacred in my home?" you muttered as Namjoon grabbed your desk chair and rolled it over to the bed, sitting down in front of you and Jimin. You were wearing black pajamas with little cats on them and Jimin was wearing the yellow ones with little dogs on them. Button-up shirt and long pants. Same brand and style, different print. Namjoon, however, was wearing a white graphic t-shirt and loose brown trousers with thin tortoise-shell and gold framed glasses that didn't have any lenses in them.

You were very tempted to poke him in the eye but, alas, you had some self-restraint.

"I thought you were going to talk about this last night," Namjoon mused, raising an eyebrow at Jimin.

Jimin suddenly seemed incredibly interested in getting the perfect spoonful of ice cream. "I got distracted."

"Horny. He means he got horny."

A violently large chunk of red bean ice cream was shoved in your mouth.

Namjoon laughed at your near-death expression.

"Don't tell him," Jimin hissed. "That's fucking weird. He's your ex."

"Then why would you do it?" Namjoon chuckled. "For the record, the relationship is no longer romantic, so I would no longer have a say even if it did bother me."

"I... well..." The younger man sputtered awkwardly.

You coughed and beat your sternum, glaring at Jimin. "The hell was that for? I rode your dick!"

Namjoon seemed highly amused and suddenly invested. "Ah, yes, and then?"

"Well, maybe it would have helped the situation..." Jimin said shiftily, eyes darting about as he turned bright red.

"Helped what?" you grunted, rubbing your throat at the uncomfortable sensation of a half-frozen esophagus.

"Doesn't seem like it helped," Namjoon remarked, placing a hand on his chin, still smiling.

You narrowed your eyes. "What are you talking about? All Jimin was going on about last night was how he hadn't had a good fuck in years–"

Namjoon snorted. "Years? Huh, that's odd, I seem to recall you getting laid four months ago at that party."

"That was four months ago and it was terrible!" Jimin whined, shaking the spoon. "And why are you talking about this with her, ahhhh!"

You and Namjoon shared a confused look as Jimin freaked out and snarfed down the rest of the ice cream, completely forgetting that he was using it as leverage to convince you of his grand master plan.

"Was it nice?" Namjoon inquired, diverting his attention from Jimin’s panic.

"Yeah, it was nice to have a partner who wasn't a complete idiot for once."

"That's good. I'm surprised you didn't ask before, honestly. You two are always hanging out."

"Never thought about it. What about you?"

"Ah, I fucked that girl who works at that coffee shop."

"Oh, yeah, the one with the nice tits?"

"Mmm, unfortunately that's about as much good as you can say about that one."

"That's sad. I'm sorry."

"Heh, no big deal, it'll happen when it happens. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that."

"Can you guys stop doing that thing?" Jimin grumbled from his spot on the bed, clutching the ice cream container and surrounding himself with your copious amount of cat plushies, including your one-meter-long giant calico cat. His ears were still red.

"What thing?" Namjoon asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, what thing?" you echoed, raising your brows.

Jimin rolled his eyes. "I don't get why you guys broke up."

"Pretty simple reason, really."

"I think it's obvious," you agreed.

Jimin looked from you to Namjoon, frowning.

"Well?' he demanded.

You looked at Namjoon and he caught your eye, trying not to smile. "Oh, he wants us to tell him."

"Huh, kinda seems like it, yeah. A little invasive, don't you think?" Namjoon pretended to think, rubbing his chin.

"He is a little bit of a, how to say this, nosy little brat."

"Hello, I am right here?!"

"That's a little harsh. Perhaps more akin to the local neighborhood bird that's always flying around, intruding on conversations with their loud chirping."

"You are very kind."

Jimin looked livid. He chucked one of your cat plushies at your head and you cracked up, falling to the bed laughing. Namjoon shook his head, laughing with you in that rich, full tone with low depth, a little goofy and with a lot of dimple.

"It's a dumb reason, but basically we weren’t feeling that spark," you explained, sitting up and pushing your hair out of your face. "Sure, we could fuck just fine, but it was too obvious that something was missing. We're better as friends."

"You wanna get married if we're both eighty and single?" Namjoon joked.

"Yikes, if I'm eighty and single, fuck, might as well."

"Perfect, always wanted to know how much libido I would have at that age."

"Anyway," Jimin scowled. "Back to the matter at hand."

"Oh, right, what do you think about Yoongi-hyung? He's single and he’s nice."

You rubbed your nose. “Ah, I don’t know him very well. He’s quiet, isn’t he? I get the impression that he’s a chill and lazy guy. Doesn’t talk much.”

Namjoon nodded. “Maybe you need that.”

You made a face. “Why?”

“You are kind of a chronic high-strung workaholic,” Jimin cut in.

You twitched. “No, I’m not.”

Namjoon nodded sagely. “You kind of are. I would know.”

“Ah, don’t do me like that,” you sighed, admitting defeat.

“Did sleeping with Jimin help?” he prompted.

“Why would that help?”

“Wow, that’s really rude,” Jimin snapped.

“But why would that help me be less of a workaholic?” you retorted, frowning. “I’m not following your logic.”

Namjoon rubbed his chin. “Maybe just a date then. With a calm guy. It will be a change of pace and you can get to know Yoongi-hyung better at the same time.”

You twisted your lips. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I think you’ll like him if you knew him better.”

You frowned.

“I don’t want to be passed around your entire friend group like a hot potato, Namjoon. I’m not going on a date with him.”

-

“Wow, Namjoon, you look a lot like your ex-girlfriend. Is it that new diet?”

Why are you standing here? Why did you agree to this? Why is did people ask you to do things and you do them? Because you were nice, that’s why. Deep, deep down in that frozen glacier canyon you called a heart. Shit. Why couldn’t you just be a bitch? That would make life a whole that easier.

“New diet and a lot of plastic surgery, modelled after the hottest woman I know,” you said sarcastically, turning around to face the deep voice.

“Mmm, I agree.”

You froze a little, seeing Min Yoongi standing there nonchalantly. Black hat with two silver rings punched into it, black leather jacket over a white t-shirt, black jeans with rips at the knees. Nice black boots. Silver hoop earrings and an assortment of silver rings. Yoongi had always dressed well, but it felt strange knowing he still dressed like this even though it was to meet you.

Well, maybe it was just because he was out being seen by people and not you specifically.

“I didn’t know you liked rap,” Yoongi commented, holding up his ticket.

You held up yours. “I like all music. And who doesn’t like Epik High?” You laughed a little. “Funny that you also printed out the ticket. Does that make us old?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I like having a physical copy. For memories.”

“Mmm. Sentimental.”

He looked to the direction of the venue. Then he looked back to you. There was something different in his expression now. You tilted your head. Then you saw his dark brown orbs slide up and down. A strange shiver went up your spine.

Yoongi was checking you out.

And he wasn’t hiding it.

“You look nice.”

You didn’t miss the way the side of his lips curved upwards, giving his words little bit of a dangerous edge.

You looked down at yourself, at the black denim jacket layered over a long black-and-white striped shirtdress. Thick-soled knee-high black boots, because you were going to a concert and wanted to be comfortable. Your mesh silver choker cut into your neck a little from looking downwards. You wore a single ring on your left hand, middle finger.

A silver raven’s skull.

“Ah… should have put forth more effort. You look neater than I do,” you mused, starting to walk.

“Hm.”

You almost didn’t hear his next words.

“If you had put forth more effort, it might have been too risky for me.”

You ticked you head back and found Yoongi smirking at you under his hat, flashing a bit of his white teeth.

“You gonna drink?”

-

“I told you, I gotta drive.”

“I’m not pressuring you. I’m just confused why you would buy overpriced water.”

You clicked you tongue. “Well, they don’t exactly let you bring your own.”

Yoongi chuckled, taking a sip of his beer.

“And besides, you’re buying even more overpriced alcohol, so you’re worse.”

His eyes slid to yours. “I need it.”

You unscrewed the cap and drank the cold water, feeling it ice your veins. “And I need hydration.”

“You don’t drink because you lose control, huh? Control of what, exactly?”

You shifted on your heels. “I get too oppressive. It’s no good for anybody.”

You usually arrived early to these things, so there was time to kill. There were lots of people around, but for some reason it felt like the only person you could hear was Yoongi standing right next to you. The other people around you were only white noise.

“Namjoon and Jimin say you work too much.”

You clicked your tongue. “Namjoon and Jimin need to mind their own business.”

Yoongi chuckled. There was a dry rasp to it, low and sexy. “You still work at that hospital?”

“Yeah. I work on their software. There’s always something wrong with that outdated piece of shit,” you muttered. “Should really just tear it up and overhaul it, but the superiors won’t do it because it’s expensive. Like it isn’t expensive fixing it every five seconds, but okay.”

“Heh, that’s how that generation is. Outdated.”

You huffed. “Mmm, you can say that again.” You cocked your water bottle to him. “You work at the same music company as Namjoon, right? Producer?”

Yoongi nodded. “Mhm.”

You sensed a little bit of embarrassment for some reason. Then you noticed he was looking at your ring.

“You wondering about this?” You turned your wrist and held it up, water swishing behind it.

“You always wear it. Namjoon give it to you?” he asked, taking another sip of his beer.

You shook your head, laughing a little. “Nah. Different ex.” You looked down at it. “And they didn’t give it to me. They said something to me and it stuck with me. When I saw this ring, I decided to buy it.”

You recalled the quote like it was yesterday.

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door.”

Yoongi blinked at you.

You translated the English from Korean and he raised his eyebrows.

“Edgar Allan Poe?”

You dropped your hand, clicking your tongue. “Basically saying I was a lingering poison of a human being and they wanted to break up with me.”

Yoongi tutted. “Interesting. How creative.”

You rolled your eyes. “What I get for fucking literature majors during university, I guess.”

“But you brought the ring anyway.”

You paused, looking down at the silver raven skull.

“To remind myself to stop fucking literature majors.”

You looked up at Yoongi and his eyes searching your expression. It was suddenly a weird moment, his eyes so solidly on you, as if he could see everything, but that was impossible. Your skin tingled all over, even under your clothes.

“They were insecure, huh?” he murmured.

You shrugged. “Made me question every fucking interaction I've ever had, wondering if I left the wrong impression or could be misinterpreted or some shit. Everything was so messed up.” You frowned, adjusting your shoulder slightly, sighing out the thoughts of the past. “Ah, it was a long time ago anyway. I’ve already erased them.”

“Is that why you broke up with Namjoon?”

You rolled your eyes. “Why does everybody think there’s some big drama between Namjoon and I? Would we still be friends if there was something that serious?”

Yoongi took another sip. “I think I speak for everyone when I say it seemed like you suited each other.”

“Hah, it’s not that we don’t have similarities. Kind of the opposite, really.” You waved a hand. “You know, two people have certain preferences and one of us was always on the bottom and neither of us liked that. Maybe it was him or me, and I love the guy, but not like that. We could fuck and it would be great, but we both agreed there wasn’t that… feeling. That shiver you get with that person. Sometimes I think we only got together because everyone kept pressuring us, saying we should, and not because we actually wanted to.”

“Hmm.”

The lights dimmed and you turned to face the stage.

“What about Jimin?”

“What about him?”

“Heard you plucked a hair off his dick.”

You twitched. “Let me guess, Taehyung told you.”

“Taehyung told everyone. He was a bit drunk.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Jimin’s a great friend, but he’s a bit clingy with me. Always wants to be near someone. It can be good for some people, but I don’t think I could take it twenty-four-seven if we were actually dating. Not my type.”

“Do you have a type?”

You shot Yoongi a look as the crowd began to hum with excitement. “Do you?”

Those cat-like eyes gleamed in the impeding darkness, a flash of white from his open-mouthed smirk.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to this date if I didn’t.”

-

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, it was great. Never seen you excited like that, eh, Yoongi?” You smacked him lightly in the arm, smirking. “That’s the most energy I’ve ever seen you have.”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. His cheeks were lightly pink, although he didn’t seem drunk. “I have energy. I’m just not wasting it.”

“Hmm.”

A short silence as the crowd filtered out around you, but again, even though you were surrounded by people, the only one that seemed to be heard was the man in front of you, peering down at you from underneath his black cap, a small smirk on his lips, tiny flash of pink tongue as he moved it inside his mouth.

“You driving home, yes?”

“Yeah.” You stared into his brown eyes. “Want a ride?”

An eyebrow lifted. “Inviting me to fuck?”

Blunt.

You scoffed. “Nah. I already told Namjoon and Jimin I’m not gonna be passed around their friend group like a hot potato. This was nice though. I enjoyed it.”

He looked you up and down again. That strange shiver went up and down your spine again. He stared you down. You stared back, unrelenting. The world was loud, but this moment was your eyes and his eyes, electricity between them.

Yoongi’s smirk widened.

-

"I always wanted a beautiful woman to tie me up."

Men. Women. Nonbinary. Agender. Gender neutral. Gender fluid. Didn't fucking matter, people were people, and they always wanted shit from you. Always. It was always about what they could get from you and how they could pretend to be what you wanted to get what they wanted. Everyone always looking out for themselves.

You could respect that.

Just, for once, it would be nice if someone wanted to give you what you wanted.

You cracked your neck and looked down at his dark eyes covered in messy black hair, his pale cheeks less pink now, his head on your pillows and sandwiched in between your plethora of cat plushies, pink lower lip in his teeth.

Smirking.

Wasn't hiding a damn thing.

"Who knew you could be a bad boy, Min Yoongi?"

His smirk widened, tongue between his teeth.

"I'm good when I'm good. When I'm bad, I'm better."

His black cap with the two silver rings was somewhere on your bedroom floor and so was his leather jacket, his shirt, his jeans, and his socks. His pale wrists were tied together with red bondage rope. Yours. You were straddling his chest, missing only one article of clothing.

Alright, you were missing socks too.

No one fucked with socks on. If you did, maybe it was time to reevaluate your life.

“You don’t mind being tied up, hm?” you taunted, sliding out of your jacket, tossing it aside.

Everyone wanted something.

What did Min Yoongi want?

Yoongi let his tongue slide out, dancing in the air. Taunting you back before replying.

“Just because you’re tied up doesn’t mean you’re not in control.”

Your hand paused in front of the button placket of your shirtdress. You traced a button with your thumb, slowly, watching his face. Spread your legs more, lowering yourself, hovering over him. You could feel him breathe under you, patient, humming with energy. He flitted the wet pink muscle, skimming his lower lip, waiting. Dark brown orbs hazed with lust under strands of black.

“You wanna stop after sitting on my face, that’s fine, but you have to at least sit on my face.”

You chuckled. “Yeah?”

You sat down on his torso and he sucked in a breath, eyes flicking down to the darkness still covered by your shirt, then back up to your face. You shifted your hips slowly, smearing the hot, dripping softness on his skin.

“Could just… stop here.”

You scooted upward, drawing a fat line of your juices up his chest and to his neck. You knew how much pressure to apply. Didn’t seem to matter though, because Yoongi didn’t seem to give a fuck. He tipped his head back, pressing his Adam’s apple into your throbbing heat and shuddering in pleasure. His gaze found yours and you stopped, suddenly trapped, a moment of his eyes and your eyes, electricity flaring between them.

“I’m glad Namjoon asked me to take you on a date,” Yoongi drawled, deep voice vibrating your heated, wet core from his throat. “Made me feel less guilty about wanting to fuck you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Got some weird bro code rules or something?”

He smirked. “Oh, I respect him.” He swallowed and you felt a shiver slide up your spine, feeling the action from your throbbing pussy faster than you heard it. “I just want you more.” Exhale, and you felt the warmth against your shirt, making it flutter. You unbuttoned it slowly, one by one. “Want to see the satisfaction on your face when I make you cum.” Slowly, not parting the shirt yet, letting him see the line of exposed skin. His eyes travelled up and down shamelessly, not hiding anything. He noticed you observing him and grinned.

That open-mouthed smirk, teeth and hint of tongue.

“Come on. Give it to me.”

Voice so deep it seemed to be shimmering through you, dark eyes flashing in the darkness.

Teasing you.

“Gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll untie me and beg me to fuck you.”

You cocked a brow.

“Let’s see.”

You sat on his face.

You felt Yoongi’s smirk against your soaked folds for a second before his tongue slid in, instantly making your thighs tense at the sensation. Hot to hot, wet to wet, no, wetter, your hands on your headboard as his tongue curled inside you, thrusting upwards, drinking the wetness from you, low moan vibrating through your torso and you felt his eyes on you, on your shirt slowly opening, one shoulder gliding down, and you shrugged out of it, suddenly boiling, skin pricking from the heat of his gaze, tossing it aside, leaving you in your black bra.

He tipped his chin up and you gasped, feeling his tongue swipe upward, fuck, a smooth, deft motion, circling your clit. You clicked your tongue and rolled your hips into his face. Yoongi chuckled before latching onto it and sending a burning wave of pleasure through you.

Your nails dug into the headboard, making a loud scrape.

He purred your name against your packed nerves and you drenched his chin, glaring down at him.

Yoongi had the audacity to bounce his eyebrow in response.

Alright, you could admit it.

Going on a date with Min Yoongi was not a waste of time.

You grinded against his face and he sucked and licked your clit at the same time, fuck, moans in his throat, not unaffected by you humping his face, but resolute, focused on his task of pleasuring you, shivering as your hand fitted around his head, fingers tangling in his already messy black hair, roughly fucking his face as his tongue assaulted you, somehow the perfect mix of demanding and servitude, hot exhale on your skin, your juices covering his chin and cheeks, your soft thighs pressed against his face, teetering between suffocating and barely enough breath, closer, closer, the tightness rising within you, looking down as you felt your opening flexing against his chin and his eyes flickered up to you instantly, imprinting the memory of his dark brown orbs overtaken by black pupils staring into yours, lips wrapped around your clit, in the midst of pushing you to the edge.

“Fucking shit,” you hissed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Something flitted in his eyes and he looked back down immediately, increasing his pace and you moaned, closed fist against the headboard, but not missing his reaction. A slow smile grew on your lips, hand in his hair relaxing, massaging his scalp.

“You like being praised?” you purred, sweet octave to your voice.

The quickest flick of his gaze before licking your clit furiously as a reply.

Hot sparks igniting your veins, drawing in a tight breath, staring down, putting a little more weight on him, but Yoongi didn’t say anything, not even looking at you anymore, so close. You knew it would only take a little more. You could tell from the viscous slickness that was coating his skin that you had maybe seconds left.

“A handsome face and talented tongue,” you breathed. “No wonder I couldn’t resist you, Yoongi.”

His whimper made you tremble in delight, eyes to eyes, addicted to it, him to you and you to him, and you gasped his name, biting your lip and throwing your head back as your hips rocked into his mouth and spilled onto his face with a wet squelch, fuck, so much even you could smell it, hearing Yoongi groan as it filled his mouth, his tongue shoving into your folds and lapping up the rapid pulses, your throbbing clit on the back of his tongue, pressing into you, his nose in your crotch, one of your hands in his hair and one on the headboard, muscles flexing and quivering with the ecstasy, eyelids closing, immersed in it. Savoring the feeling coursing through your body, from your core to your limbs to your head, filling you with shivers that were unlike anything you had ever felt before.

You removed some pressure from his face, letting go of his head, but Yoongi followed, hungrily licking you all over, nipping at your inner thighs, flinches of pleasure extending your high before going back to your pussy, up, down, side to side, drenching you in his saliva and drinking your cum like it was his fucking life force.

Well, shit.

You opened your eyes, panting.

Damn.

You had a whole speech prepared for Namjoon and Jimin about how setting you up with their friends was a bad idea and how they should mind their own fucking business and now you had to prepare a speech about how you needed your house keys back because you were going to fuck Min Yoongi every second of every day and you hadn’t even had his dick yet.

You looked down at him.

Yoongi’s eyes were slightly unfocused, exhaling heavily against your crotch, staring at it.

“Fuck me, you have a pretty pussy,” he muttered under his breath. “Fuck.”

Half of your cat plushies were on the bed and the other half were on the floor.

“You have an excellent tongue,” you chuckled. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

He blinked once and his gaze was on you, half-shyness, half-cockiness, wholly sexy as fuck.

“Didn’t want to make Namjoon feel bad,” he snickered, pink lips shiny with your juices. “You would have left him a lot sooner if you knew.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Something about his tone make you think Yoongi meant it on some level.

You wouldn’t have tried to find out, but now that you experienced it…

Maybe.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Yoongi gave you that smirk you were beginning to become addicted to seeing. “That all you want from me?”

You laughed, sly and full.

“No, Yoongi, I’m gonna need your dick.”

-

“I don’t beg, so I’m not untying you.”

“Damn, what a terrible result.”

Yoongi didn’t seem the least bit worried about it.

He sank his nails into your ass and pushed himself in, your hand snaked below to guide him. You weren’t unreasonable, after all. You helped him put on the condom and shoved your tits in his face, rubbing your nipples all over his cheeks, his pink tongue stretching from side to side, eyes on you the entire time, getting harder and harder with the way you manhandled him, moaning into your skin.

Not hiding anything.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hissed, gritting his teeth, gripping your ass, wrists still bound. He violently smacked his hips into your ass and you grinned, hands now on the bed.

“Mmm, what a nice…” You pulsed, making Yoongi groan. “Hard.” Again, hearing his ecstasy. “Cock.” He scraped your ass and up your back, gasping for breath, desperation in his touch. You turned your head, giving him the reflection of his own smirk. He gazed back, eyes glazed over, torso shuddering from the repeated massaging of his length buried in you, all from your muscle control.

“Hold on, Yoongi.”

Something between teasing and adoration, and you visibly saw Yoongi tremble in excitement.

“You got it.”

You turned back and sank your hands into your pillows, sliding on his stiffness and ramming yourself back onto it, making both him and you groan in unison, rough, deep strokes of visceral fucking, you commanding the pace. Didn’t matter if you were the one on your hands and knees, you used him and he wanted to be used, barely able to grip your waist, moaning your name and fucking you back, loud, sloppy smacks of ass to crotch, flexing your shoulder blades akin to a lioness on the prowl chasing their prey, and you heard Yoongi chuckle, breathing swallow and euphoric.

“Look at this back view, fuck, you are the sexiest woman alive.”

Breathless with desire, smug at having you, in awe of your prowess, all at once, clutching the small of your waist as you clenched around him, the shudders of your walls closing in, painting his crotch and balls with you, his quivering moan trapped in his chest because he could barely get it out. You caught your lower lip between your teeth, feeling him fill you as you pushed back, the rush immeasurable, unfathomable, anchoring your palms into your mattress and growling his name, the smacking of hips to hips, desperation to desperation, a brief reprieve as you snatched a cat plush and jammed it under your chest before you reached back and felt for the end of the rope, unlacing the knot with ease, and Yoongi yanked his wrists free with a swift hiss of satisfaction, grabbing your ass and fiercely fucking you, harder, rougher, just as much for him as it was for you, your name falling from his lips, unable to hide his lust, chasing it, chasing you, and you didn’t let up.

“Yoongi, fuck, yes, your cock feels so fucking good, fuck!”

Deep, intense, powerful, everything you were and everything he was, and it all crashed down, stealing your breath, pleasure clawing up your spine and taking over, lungs suddenly emptied with the force of each hard pulse of pleasure snaking upwards to fill the void, squeezing him so hard that you weren’t sure if that was voluntary or not, your joined inner thighs trembling and dripping, sweet slickness sliding down, drenching you and Yoongi, his groan piercing the air and cutting through your thoughts. His cock twitched and jerked, pumping thick gushes of cum and swelling the condom inside you.

Fucking shit, did you hold your breath? Everything lightheaded and hazy, reaching up and slapping your hand against the headboard, sucking in a lungful of air and rocking your hips back, riding the wave. Your felt Yoongi’s grip on your waist tighten, his pants so heavy you could feel the weight of his exhale on your back, heating your skin.

Snarl in your throat, definitive.

“I need this cock, Yoongi, need you and this perfect cock and I’m going to use it until I’m done.”

Rolling your hips, listening to his wanton moan at your words and the sensation, the messy squish of your movement, clenching around the sensitive head, slow, tight, your fingers curling to a fist, his name on your lips, low and seductive, and he responded in kind, your name in the same tone, drunk on the moment, the feeling, the power you had over him.

His nails in your back, creating long lines down your spine, and the shiver you got with that person, dancing up and down your vertebrate, unmistakable.

Yoongi gave it to you.

-

“Hey, so how’d it go–whoa!”

You popped your head out of your mountain of cat plushies and glared at the offender who burst into your bedroom. Who the fuck was that?

Guess.

“Jimin, do you know what personal space is?” Yoongi muttered from beside you, lifting himself on his elbows to peer disapprovingly over your naked shoulder.

“He doesn’t,” you mumbled, flopping back down.

“So… went well?” came Jimin’s cheerful and teasing voice from the doorframe.

You heard a cat plush get thrown like a cannonball.

“Ow, fuck, okay, I get it, hyung!” Jimin cackled, stumbling down your hallway. “I’ll come back later!”

“Don’t,” Yoongi snapped back, grumbling as he slid back down on the bed.

“You better pick him back up later,” you warned, referring to the plush.

“You dumped half of them on the ground so we could sleep.”

“No, they fell because we were fucking.”

You opened your eyes to see Yoongi smirking at you. There was a cat plush next to his head. One of your favorites. You picked it up and bonked him in the head with it. He made a disgruntled grunt and flinched away from it, ending up closer to your face. Eyes to eyes, electricity between them. You smirked, matching him, leaning in, arm curving around his head.

Tapping the tuxedo cat plush on his shoulder.

His breath against your lips, lust and fondness, not hiding anything.

“Hey, Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

Playing along, a willing participant in your games, one eye open, as if he was winking at you.

“I like you. You’re mine.”

He chuckled, a little raspy, a little embarrassed, and a lot amused.

“Sit on my shoulder, my raven. I’ll never ask you to leave.”

--

masterpost

[shorkbrian]

Hooked

I cannot stop thinking about!!! Tendou in the desert. Mainly because I went for a walk and found a bunch of creepy stuff, and Tendou would fit right into the creepy-desert-aesthetic. (also..... he’d be the type to have a meth trailer out in the middle of nowhere lol)

(What to expect - bad writing, a dead body, Tendou being weird. No NSFW)

He’s just absolutely batshit crazy. There’s no explanation for his actions.

Like you go for a walk in the mountains, intent on seeing a beautiful, iconic desert sunset, skies dyed pink, purple, orange and red.

It gets dark faster than you anticipated though, and you’re left trying to stumble back to your car in the pitch black night, temperature quickly dropping.

And of course, you aren’t prepared at all. It’s the desert, it isn’t supposed to get cold. So you’re shivering, freezing, skin going numb, starting to feel a bit sluggish as you wonder how the fuck it’s so fucking cold.

There’s a light off in the distance, maybe your car? Had you left the light on?

Stumbling closer, tripping over rocks and trying to avoid cactus, you try to focus on the light, on the outline. It almost looks too high to be your car.

Then you hit the dirt, foot twisting over a rock, causing you to crash onto your side, landing your hip directly onto a cactus. You screech at the stinging pain that stabs into your hip, the side of your butt, your outer thigh.

It hurts to stand up, and you can’t even assess the damage done, because it’s dark and as soon as you try to feel your hip, sharp spines make you cry out, pulling your hand back.

All that’s left for you to do is cry as you make your way towards the light, hoping, praying it’s your car.

As you limp closer, tears dripping down your face at the pain of the cactus spines, the cold, your now-sore ankle, you quickly discern that the light’s source comes from a house.

Specifically, a trailer.

There’s junk everywhere, piles of it, and you trip over a few stray.... well, you can’t really make out what it is, with how dark it is. But you make it to the door.

And yeah, this is super creepy. You’re out in the middle of nowhere, it’s dark, with no flashlight, no jacket. You’re vulnerable, but you’re so freaking cold, and you think there’s blood on your leg from where you’ve been stabbed with the cactus spines.

You need help.

So you gather up the courage, pray that there’s someone home, that it’s not a serial killer, and knock on the door of the trailer.

There’s a loud thump, high pitched, muffled cursing, then some shuffling. The clicking of locks on the door, and then it swings open, revealing a man holding a shotgun.

Well fuck.

He’s lanky, thin and wirey, wild red hair tangled on top of his head. Large, hooded eyes squint at you sleepily, before the man cocks his head.

“You lost?”

“Uhm, yeah..... hi.” You sniffle out, and the man’s eyes visibly widen as he realizes you’re crying, in nothing but a short sleeve shirt and a pair of pants, standing out in the cold.

The inside of the trailer is warm, and it makes your cheeks, ears, and frozen hands tingle as feeling begins returning to them. How had it gotten so cold in the fucking desert?

The man introduces himself as Tendou Satori, deputy of Shiratorizawa county. He’s not lying to you either, has the badge, the uniform - it even explains the shotgun.

He clicks his tongue when you limp inside, as light falls upon your hip and shows your jeans darkened with blood. Tells you to warm up first, sit in front of the heater vent, then he’ll help you with the cactus.

“What’re you doing way out here? City’s kinda far.”

“I was gonna watch the sunset, take pictures ‘n stuff.” You offered, wrapping the blanket he had provided more firmly around yourself. His gaze makes you uncomfortable, and you’re not sure why. It’s not like he’s going to do anything bad, he’s a police deputy.

His eyes are so flat though, still hooded even though he’s very much awake. Maybe that’s just the way he looks, but it’s a bit creepy.

“Didn’t think it’d get dark as fast as it did? Is that why you were wanderin’ around out there?”

You nodded. “Didn’t know it could get so cold either.”

Tendou chuckles, high pitched, and you wince. He sounds like a creepy funhouse clown when he laughs like that. “Ehehe, lots of people get caught off guard by desert weather. Think it’s hot all the time, can’t even imagine that it gets a bit chilly. You’re lucky I’m posted up here, otherwise you’d be a popsicle by morning!”

He was so nonchalant about the idea of you freezing to death, you didn’t know how to respond.

Luckily, you had warmed up enough to stop shaking, teeth no longer clattering together. Tendou told you to stay put while he got supplies to fix up “Your little owie!”

It was much more than a ‘little’ wound.

The trailer was filled with thick awkwardness as Tendou asked you to peel off your pants so he could get to the spines embedded in your skin. He didn’t seem to understand that you felt a little embarrassed, didn’t even turn his back as you slowly pushed them to your ankles, wincing as they dragged over your bloodied hip.

“Ok-ay! Now, this’ll hurt, so try not to scream a whole bunch, right?”

And then he was digging in with tweezers, delicately extracting cactus spines from your puffy, swollen hip, the side of your butt, your outer thigh.

It hurt, badly, and you started crying again, much to your embarrassment. Tendou didn’t seem to mind, kept his eyes fixed on your bloody leg as he quickly tended to it.

“I’ll be done soon, don’t worry. You’ll have to hydrate a bunch after I’m done though.”

“Why does it hurt so much? Are they poisonous?” You yelped as the man tugged on a particularly painful spine, furrowing his brows in concentration as he pulled it out.

“Oh! It’s cause they’re like little meat hooks.” He looked up at you, smiling, holding his most recent extraction with his tweezers so you could see. “They get pretty attached once they get in you, hehe, but I’ll make you better.”

Forty minutes later had Tendou finishing up, finally deeming you cactus-free after a thorough inspection. He had plucked out the large spines with tweezers, before running his hand over your skin, stilling you when you flinched, explaining that he was feeling for the small needles.

You felt insanely uncomfortable, with his hands and face that close to such an intimate area. 

“All do-ne!” The man sang, straightening his back, giving you a gleaming smile. His lips stretched too far over his teeth. “Now, I’ll get you some pants, and some water. You want to sleep in the bed with me? Or on the couch?”

What?

The panicked confusion must be evident on your face, because Tendou cackled, standing up, towering over you. 

“Can’t go back out there, you wanna die? Gotta stay until mornin’.”

“The couch please.” The choice was easy, and Tendou nodded, before disappearing through a doorway into a dark room, coming back with an armful of blankets. He tossed a pair of pajama pants at you from the pile, but you hesitated in putting them on.

“Um.... Mr.? Can I have something to wipe off the blood?” It was crusted on your leg, dried and dark brown now.

Tendou turned from making up the couch, blinked at you slowly, looked at your leg. “Guess I should do that!” 

You had to wait a bit longer, until he had arranged the couch to his liking, before the strange man fetched a wet washcloth to wipe off your leg with.

It was warm, and he was thorough as he sponged off the blood. The way he licked his lips while doing so made you feel a bit uneasy.

When you were finally clean, you tugged on your new pants quickly, finally feeling a bit more comfortable now that you were no longer exposed.

“Wanna eat before you go to bed? I have-” Tendou bent to shuffle through his fridge. “-Oh! I have applesauce! and crackers! Yum Yum!” Both items were held aloft triumphantly. 

Who kept crackers in the fridge?

You just wanted to go to sleep.

“I’m good, thank you though.”

“Okay, beddy-bye time then I guess.” Why did he talk so childishly? 

You tried to relax as he turned out the lights, bidding you good night as he shuffled back through the doorway, apparently into his bedroom.

Tomorrow you’d find your car, and everything would be fine.

-----

Tendou was sitting on the couch when you woke up, your bare feet in his lap.

“Good morning~!” His voice was so loud, you were wincing at the volume, at the sunlight streaming through the dingy curtains, at your first good look at his trailer - he’d kept it dark last night, only turning on one light.

It was clean, well, as clean as a trailer could be. Nothing suspicious or worrisome.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The man questioned, suddenly leaning far too close, his hand sliding up your calf.

“Oh-uhm-” You stuttered, blushing at the proximity, the foreign touch. “I should go find my car...”

Tendou rolled his eyes, backing off quickly. “Too boring. Also too far. It’ll hurt to walk, you won’t be able to make it.”

You raised an eyebrow, immediately testing out his claim, hissing in pain as soon as you moved your leg.

Apparently, it was swollen and sore.

He was right, walking hurt, and you barely hobbled to the little bathroom without Tendou’s assistance. Maybe he could go find your car and bring it here? It had to be close by, you hadn’t been walking for that long last night...

“So!” Tendou clapped his hands, and you started, almost bumping into him as he stood, leaning over you on the couch. “Tell me about yourself, it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone over. You have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Where’s your family? I’ve always wanted someone to keep me company here.”

“Woah, wait, what?”

Tendou chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re going to stay here with me now! I think we should get to know each other a bit, don’t you?”

Staying with him? Here? What was going on?

“Um, Mr.-”

“Tendou... or Satori, your choice.” The man interjected, before moving to flop down next to you on the couch.

“Tendou-” You continued. “-I can’t stay here. I need to find my car, and drive back to the city, back to my home. My roommate will be worried...”

“Home is here.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, it shocked you silent.

“You had a roommate though? How fun!!” He chirped, and you didn’t miss the emphasis on “had”. “You ever have sex with them?”

Tendou had moved in a second, pressed to your side, his face too close to yours, and you panicked.

“I gotta go. Really, I’m sorry, thank you for helping me out last night but I need to get going-” You were on your feet, ignoring the pain lancing through your leg as you hobbled quickly to the door, throwing it open.

A hand tugged on your shirt, pulling you off balance and forcing you to step backwards. 

“You’re leaving? But I did so much for you, you haven’t even paid me back...”

His grip on your shirt was firm, but you wriggled and writhed until he was forced to let go. “I-I promise I’ll pay you when I get to my car. My wallet’s there, you can have everything in it-”

You pushed forward, through the door, barely dodging Tendou’s grabby hands. This wasn’t right, there was something off about him, you needed to get away.

“I don’t want you to go.” But you weren’t listening to his suddenly deep, serious voice. Instead, you were frantically looking around, trying to figure out which way you had come from last night. 

There was nothing but cactus, rocks, and dirt.

“I was wishing for company the other day, y’know? It gets so lonely here, the sheriff isn’t a good conversationalist.”

The sheriff?

You whirled around, Tendou standing in the door, looking off to the side. You followed his gaze, saw the lawn chair, the upturned bucket next to it, two empty bottles of beer. There were more bottles littering the ground.... there was another lawn chair-

-and the fully-dressed body of a sheriff, half-decayed, sat in it.

You didn’t even think to scream; who would hear you out here? All you did was run, adrenaline roaring through your veins and letting you forget about your wounded leg.

“Wait!” Tendou called after you gleefully, bouncing out of the doorway. “You’re hurting his feelings! Ahehehe!!”

The man was deranged.

And you very quickly realized that there was no where to run.

Nowhere to hide.

-----

You couldn’t see your car, or anything that looked familiar. The only sounds in the air was the panting of your own breath, your feet thudding slowly underneath you as your initial shock wore off, as the adrenaline left you, as the pain returned.

It had only been a few minutes since you took off, speeding away from the unhinged madman. You were left wondering if he was really the deputy - maybe he’d killed the deputy, stolen his uniform.

Then you wondered why there was a dead sheriff in his yard. Had no one come looking for him? Where was the sheriff’s car? What was even going on?

It’s warm, the sun beginning to beat down on you relentlessly, and you curse the desert. Curse it’s unbearable heat during the day, it’s frigid temperatures at night. 

“Pretty girl!!! I found you~!” Tendou’s shrill voice had you jerking your head around, frantically trying to see where the man was. Had he been following you? Where was he, there was nothing he could hide behind!

“You want to go for a ride in my fancy car? Is that it? I’ll take you to dinner, then we’ll kiss under the moon!” The man cackled, and you determined that the voice was coming from your left.

But... there was nothing there?

Tentative, painful steps forward, towards his voice. Where was he? If you couldn’t see him, you couldn’t fight him. You needed to know where the creep was.

A careful step.

A careful step.

A careful st-

A terrified scream tore from your lungs as your foot seemingly plunged into thin air, immediately landing you on your butt as you slide down a steep incline.

It was a ravine.

You tumbled down into it’s depths, getting scraped by rocks and brush. Luckily, you slammed into something solid, metal, and it stopped your tumultuous motion.

Gaining your bearings, you stared hard at the door of the police car you’d just collided with, before a hand popped out of the window, waving at you.

“Beep beep!” Tendou snickered, his flat eyes taking in your disheveled appearance. “Let’s mess around, I’ve heard doing it in a car is fun.”

There’s no one around to hear you scream.

[sweetygirl90]

If you don’t like chasriel then DON’T READ THIS. Okay? Okay.

I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors or typing errors that make the text poorly understood. English is not my first language and although I am learning it I still have a long way to go. I would appreciate if anyone would notify me of any errors that you find.

So... Chara here are a female-born non-binary gender (They/Them pronouns)

____________________________________________________________

Ever since he was conscious of life, Asriel could tell how much his father loved his garden.

Asriel watched him work on it all day when he wasn’t busy with his family or attending to royal duties, always smiling peacefully as he did his work watering flowers or cutting brush. It was something simple, but the adult took the time in the world to do it with impeccable care and neatness. Asriel could even tell that Asgore was more into it than his paperwork.

Rarely could he observe the affliction in his father eyes when he occasionally discovered some plague damaging his precious flowers, or how some of them turned out to be withered.

Fresh in his memory was the scene of the king sighing heavily when it was time to cut the blackened flowers before they ended up affecting the rest. According to him, although it was for the good of the rest of the garden, he didn’t like to get rid of them. It must have been a disappointment to see those flowers that he worked so hard on diying.

Asriel thought that if the garden were a person, perhaps it would be one of the most loved by the monarch of the underground, perhaps becoming just as loved as he and his mother.

It was a bit difficult for him to understand it at first, perhaps because he hadn’t found something similar to consider his garden, but he assumed by common sense that when you spend so much time on something you end up loving even a little, or not? For a long time he wondered what it would be like to come to love something or someone so much.

Was the answer worth knowing after all?

Asriel lifted his gaze from the sheets to return to the human who lay on the bed, sick and tired as usual. Or at least that's how it was a few days ago.

Their breath slowly raised their chest, their pale face that was barely rosy on their cheeks reflected full calm as if they were in a long, peaceful sleep that wanted to engulf them in the dark forever. A damp towel rested on their forehead to reduce the fever, and some brown hair clung to it while others lay on their shoulders and the pillow.

Even bedridden by illness it was amazing how they could look so pretty, and they wasn't even trying.

“Chara…”

Asriel called their name in a broken whisper. They moved their hand close to his, to show him that they was awake and that they could hear him perfectly.

"I don't like this plan anymore, Chara." He said, and he leaned over the bed, resting his face close to his friend's arm.

Warm tears began to emerge from the young prince's eyes, releasing that overwhelming feeling that consumed him from within and that he hadn't had a chance to release until now. Doing so didn't feel better if they asked, because that didn't solve anything that was happening.

Chara was dying, he knew it.

No matter how much the adults wanted to convince him otherwise or how much they insisted that his best friend would recover, he knew with certainty what the end was that awaited the human in how much their body could not tolerate it anymore. He was aware of how Chara was withering day after day, and how medicines and care were not able to save them.

He could feel it. He felt their life slip through his fingers like sand.

Worst of all is that in the midst of his naivety he was responsible for this. How could he be so stupid to allow it? How come he didn't stop them? He thought that refusing to find out what it implied would be enough, but he was wrong to underestimate Chara and he knew it as soon as he saw them lying on the ground with the rest of the golden flowers that they could not swallow surrounding them.

This he no longer liked. This is not how things should be. Chara was not born to be bedridden in pain and slowly deteriorate. No! Chara had must to re-bloom like they did every day.

His friend was not this frail sick child. They was a mischievous laugh that echoed through the castle when they both committed a mischief, they was the energy that lifted him from his bed every morning to start the day, they was that genuine smile that amazed him, they was those hands that could be gentle to pet him or be aggressive for when they both played pillow wars. Chara was that lively, ruby-crimson gaze that glowed, the one he longed for with all his soul, the one they had lost and turned opaque.

Chara was everything and more, and Asriel wasn't ready to give it all up.

“Azzy.”

Their raspy, weak voice lifted him with the same gentleness with which they began to pet his head. Asriel opened his eyes to find Chara smiling at him, they had a look of indulgence devoid of pity.

“Don’t go.” He implored. His friend's hand felt warm cradling his cheek and he couldn't help but want to hold it right there using his. He needed to feel that the warmth that overflowed from Chara's soul had not yet left them, that they had not yet left.

Chara allowed him to do so and kept petting him with their thumb on that trail of tears, thinking that Asriel looked like a helpless puppy taking shelter from the rain and cold. In a way they made sense of it when they looked at his fluffy ears and couldn't help but imagine a dog saddened by its owner's usual departure to work.

Chara wanted to try to see him the same way to deny the truth.

"I'm not going anywhere. Everything will be fine.”  They promised, but the monster could see clearly that it was more to convince themself than him. "Everything will go as we planned."

"Chara, please." He begged them again, holding his face closer as soon as he stopped feeling their caresses and was aware of the typical tremor that he noticed in them when they began to feel weak. “I don't care going to the surface anymore, I don't care breaking the barrier. I'm already happy here with you, I don't need more than that.”

He didn't want to let his garden die, didn't want to see his flower wither.

Chara still spoke as if they were unchanging, but long ago their smile and their gaze became unstable. Asriel didn't need to see them to know it, he just felt their pulse. "Seven…  Just seven human souls and you will free everyone, Asriel."

They repeated the plan that they both already knew, and with it they hoped to scare away that fear that still overwhelmed them with death on the horizon. They hoped it would comfort their poor friend, but instead they only made his suffering worse.

“We will free them all from this prison to which the selfish humans unjustly condemned you all. I want you to be free, I want you to see the sun as I promised you.”

Chara never had an attachment to their own kind and Asriel knew it from the start, for they didn't bother to hide it. Asriel many times came to wonder if the love that Chara claimed to profess to him, their friends and family was as big as they swore it to be. He was distressed that they was lying when they said that the love they  was given in one day was a thousand times greater than that given to them by humans on the surface. Right now he regretted having doubted, that the human strictly demonstrated how much they loved them by giving their own life in exchange for the freedom of the monsters.

It was a pure and real love, one that no one underground would want to lose. Asriel more than anyone.

"I can't... I-I can't, I can't. No like this. We will find another way, but not this one.”

“I will not leave. Once I die you will have my soul forever. I will continue to be with you but… Differently.”

“I don't want it to be different, I want everything to continue as it is. Please.”

“Azzy… I won't let you stay here forever.”

Chara cradled the face of their sobbing friend, who, drowning in his own tears, threw himself into hugging them as if clinging to a wooden plank in the middle of the ocean. He hugged them gently for fear of hurting them, but with the strength necessary for them to feel his despair and the tears wetting their shoulder.

"And I won't let you die. I don't want to. I can't imagine a world without you. I don’t want let you go!”

He heard Charas laugh softly before hugging him back. At first they had surprised him how calm they was, until he too felt his shoulder getting wet with tears.

They both knew that this was a destiny from which they could not escape. No matter how much this hurt them, no matter what happened next, no matter how many times Asriel implored… Chara was already determined to sacrifice themself for monsters.

The most beautiful flower in the garden gave their vitality to the others. The flower that he loved the most died and he could do nothing to prevent it.

His flower...

Chara...

They was already withered.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: This is an idea that has been living inside my mind for a really long time and I finally gathered courage to write it. But I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so every time I read and edited it I always found more and more faults in what I had written, so I said “To hell with this, I’m gonna post it before I delete the whole thing”

This ended up being way longer than what I had imagined and I have no idea how I feel about it. So buckle up folks, because this is going to be a ride.

In which she makes a friend

After almost three months living in Illyria, Nesta could not recall a single conversation that had lasted for more than three minutes or that had been longer than two sentences. Not that she cared much in holding meaningless conversations about the weather and whatnot with the few Illyrians bold enough to talk to her. Because few were those that tried to talk to her, those that were not scared of her, whose voices did not whisper Other or Witch whenever she bothered to leave the house she now lived in.

So when Nesta sat on the lonely stone bench in front the house – the weather had given a break and gone from “insufferable bone cold” to “tolerable chilly” – to try and calm the raging fire in her veins, a sign that her power was trying to break free, a sign that she was close to breaking and destroying everything around her, she was very much surprised to find an Illyrian child walking towards her.

It was not unusual to have a few Illyrians knocking on the door sometimes, given that she now lived with him due to her sister’s order long ago in Velaris. But since her babysitter had gone to Cauldron knows where, to do Cauldron knows what a week ago, no one had come knocking on the door asking for that overgrown bat. Adding the fact that his house was a little secluded from the rest, Nesta could not imagine why that child was coming over.

“Good...good evening” the Illyrian greeted, stopping in front of her.

“He’s not here” Nesta said, eyeing the child in front of her. The boy – Nesta supposed it was a boy, not older than thirteen, with its short cut curly brown hair, bandaged hands, muddied clothes and scar free wings being the only clue she had – shifted nervously on his feet.

“I...I’m not looking for the General” the boy said “I heard there was a Witch living here. I take you are her”

For the second time of that day Nesta found herself surprised. The boy in front of her had called her a Witch in her face, something most did not.

“I wanted to ask for a spell” the boy’s voice had lost a bit of it’s previous nervousness, and he had squared his shoulders, wings slightly flaring “I don’t have much, but I’m ready to give anything in return”

‘You can’t possible have anything to give me’ Nesta thought, glancing at his ripped and dirty clothes.

“I’m no Witch” Nesta said, getting up and turning her back at the kid, making for the house’s door “Go back to your parents”

~•~

The next day, when Nesta was coming back from a walk in the woods – there was something about the ancient trees and the wilderness that helped her control her inner turmoil — she was baffled to see yesterday’s boy waiting for her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday” the boy blurted out before she could send him away “I didn’t want to offend you. I’m Kaelin”

Nesta’s only answer was a blink.

“I...I only said you were a Witch because that’s what the others said you were” Kaelin’s ears turned pink, no doubt embarrassed to admit listening to gossip.

“I don’t blame you” she said, and Kaelin’s eyes lit in surprise.

No. Nesta did not blame the boy for thinking her a Witch. Because long ago, before the war, before the empt void inside her was as big as the ocean, before she heard her father’s neck crack, she had declared to that annoying camp lord Devlon that she indeed was a Witch. But now, even though her powers were as loud as a beast’s roar in her ears, she did not want to touch them. Could not touch them.

And nothing, not even the hopeful look in Kaelin’s light brown eyes, would make her touch the wild beast that lived within her. She would not give the boy false hope. She would not fail another child. Not again. Not ever.

“If you have problems maybe you’d better tell your parents about it, instead of reaching for witchcraft”

After all, even thirteen year old Illyrians must have foolish mistakes that they would rather not tell their parents about.

“I don’t have parents. At least not anymore” Kaelin’s hard and sorrowful voice was enough to make Nesta resist prying further into his problem.

“I see” was the only thing she said, and she once again turned her back at him, entering that lonely and sad cabin, even though she was feeling rather inclined to talk, a feeling she had not felt for the longest time.

~•~

Kaelin appeared on Nesta’s door three days later, with a black eye, bruised cheek and a split lip that didn’t stop him from smiling and giving her something wrapped in brown paper.

“I thought about it and I realised that my apology was lacking” he started talking non stop, not giving Nesta a chance to say anything except gape at him and the gift on her hands “Father always said to treat everyone nicely, unless they were rude to you. He said it was what mother believed in”

Nesta could only nod and unwrap the paper to discover a pair of gloves.

“Did you steal them?” She asked, connecting the dots between the gloves she held — surely way out of the kid’s status of affordable — and his beaten face.

“No!” Kaelin replied, a bitterness in his voice “I know I’m just a lowly orphan but I’d never take something from another one in such an unhonoured way”

Nesta just grossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“One of the boys from the high families arrived at training with new boots” he gave a sly smile “I fought him for them”

“You did what?” Nesta’s voice rose and she was holding herself back from shaking the boy until he was back into his right mind.

“Fighting between Illyrians is not prohibited. But it’s best if you don’t get caught” Kaelin replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Nesta felt her temper rising.

“You. Come with me” she grabbed Kaelin’s arm and took him inside before he could protest.

She made him sit on sofa in the living room while she went searching for the medic supplies she was sure Cassian had. Once she found it, she went back to Kaelin and started treating his cuts, mumbling the entire time about how stupid and reckless boys were.

“This is nice” he said, wincing slight when Nesta touched his bruised cheek.

“What is nice?”

“Having someone take care of you” he answered “I... I didn’t know my mom. She died shortly after I was born. Father said she was quite fragile”

Nesta trying to not let show how his words affected her. She remembered another woman, dying in a lonely bed just a few years after her youngest child had been born.

“He died in the last war. Against Hybern” he practically spat the late king’s name, hate filling every syllable.

Nesta finished treating him and started organising the materials, to keep herself busy and have an excuse to buy time to know what to answer him. She had never been good at consoling others. And she didn’t know why, but she was afraid her bluntness would end up hurting Kaelin.

“He was a hero” he said firmly, his eyes shining with defiance “He may have been just a mere foot soldier but he was at the front line, keeping Hybern’s forces back”

“I’m sure he was” Nesta replied, trying not to think about who may have said otherwise to him, hurting a child who had nothing “But would he like to see his son picking meaningless fights?”

“It was to get you a gift” Kaelin looked down and poked at the sofa “I’m sure he’d have understood. Besides, I have to fight and stand out if I want to have a shot at the Rite”

“You mean the Blood Rite? I thought everyone participated” Nesta had gathered little information about the Illyrians for the time she had been living in Illyria. There were no libraries, no bookstores, and the books Cassian had about the Illyrian culture and history were scarce and outdated.

“The very one. You are not obligated to become a warrior, but that’s the path most of male Illyrians take. Not that we have many options to begin with” Kaelin’s voice had became serious “Most of the males from the richer families are bound to participate, but the rest.... we end up being mere foot soldiers. Expendable. So no point in making us take part in it.”

At his words, Nesta could not help but think about Cassian. He too was an orphan but had risen to be Rhysand’s Commander and had seven siphons. From what she had heard and seen at the war, that was rather unusual.

“It’s worse for females” Kaelin added quietly.

She knew that. Saw how females were treated on the rare times she got out of the cabin. A scarce number trained. And she did not know a lot about training, but was sure it was not near enough to make them part of the Illyrian army. Or even defend themselves were the worst to happen.

Nesta opened her mouth to say Cauldron knows what — she had to say something, she could not let the boy leave with such dark thoughts — when a loud noise interrupted her.

It was a sound Nesta knew quite well from her time as a human living in a shabby cottage.

A sound she had become reacquainted with after being Made. After that day at the battle field.

The sound of hungriness. The sound of someone who was starving, and had been so for quite a while.

And it was coming from Kaelin.

The Illyrian boy beside her blushed a deep scarlet, trying — and failing — to come up with an excuse. But Nesta knew better. She knew the signs of starvation. Saw them in herself. Had seen it in her younger sisters, when they were not older than Kaelin.

Thin wrists. Sunken eyes. Cheekbones way too sharp. Up close Nesta could properly examine Kaelin and notice that the boy was all bones and little muscle, his skinny built not a consequence of slow metabolism to gain weight, but rather the fact that he did not have enough sustenance to make it possible.

“I have way too much food stocked here. I was supposed to be living with an adult warrior that can eat for five people “ Nesta began, cutting Kaelin’s blabbering “It would be a crime to let it all get wasted”

Leaving him no window to reply, she took hold of his arm, hauling him towards the kitchen and making him to sit down while she gathered whatever food she came across. And she had enough fire in her eyes — she may or may not have lost a little bit of control of her powers due to her racing emotions — that Kaelin did not dare say a word, but just sit quietly and eat what was put in front of him.

~•~

Nesta’s routine had suffered a slight change after that evening. For the past month and a half, Kaelin had been having a meal with her after his training. Every day.

She had made sure to make it clear that she was expecting a visit from him after his activities were over.

He did not dare argue with her.

Today, however, was an unusual day.

Kaelin was late.

Almost two hours late.

Nesta had come to know Illyrian boy better, and one thing she learned about him was that he detested to be late. For him, his promises and commitment were everything, reminding her of another Illyrian she knew – which had not come back in two months. Not that she missed or was worried about him.

She tried and failed to convince herself that Kaelin may have been held back by training. But she did not know why she felt a strange feeling. Her powers were restless, more so than usual.

The air and the trees around her seemed different.

She felt it deeply in her bones.

As if the Cauldron itself — hidden far far away in a island that did not exist in any map ever written — dreaded whatever future thread the Mother was knitting.

As if something had been woken.

As if the winds of change had gone from a light breeze to a tornado, ready to wreak havoc in Illyria.

Nesta could not hold herself back any longer. She needed to know what was happening. To know if that strange song that spoke of a power strong and ancient was connected to Kaelin tardiness.

So into the woods she went.

She walked and walked, until the song in her ears got louder and a new sound appeared, a sound she would not be able to hear were it not for her fae ears.

The sound of someone whimpering.

Quickening her steps, Nesta followed the cries of pain until the wall of trees around her gave way to a small clearing.

And there, lying curled up in a ball, was Kaelin.

“KAELIN!”

Nesta ran towards him, falling on her knees beside his body.

“What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” she smelled blood, and feared the Illyrian whose boots he had “won” had gone after him for payback.

Her mind was racing, her thoughts overlapping themselves. She recalled another winged body, laying on the ground. She recalled another child, crying in pain due to its empty stomach, who had not seen food for weeks.

She would not fail anyone ever again. That had been her promise to herself.

“Kaelin...” Nesta slowly touched his arm, trying to soothe him “Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts”

Kaelin whimpered, slowly uncurling his body and tucking his wings. He clutched his abdomen, and Nesta dared to try and touch her power.

She would touch that dangerous beast if that meant she could help the young boy in front of her.

And so she tentatively reached inside herself for that source, trying to recall if any training she’d had with Amren may assist her in the current situation.

She scanned Kaelin’s body, and that’s when she noticed the small drops of blood beneath him. But her powers had not detected any wounds. No, he was not hurt.

However, she finally found the origin of the bleeding. And Nesta momentarily lost her breath.

Because she knew the reason why Kaelin was in pain.

“You are not a boy” she breathed.

Kaelin was a girl.

A girl who had had her first period.

A girl who was passing as a boy. Training like one.

And when Kaelin finally meet Nesta’s eyes, brown eyes shining with tears, she cursed the Mother for whatever future thread she had knitted.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth

[fanficsfromyesteryear]

SICK & TIRED

A STRANGER THINGS ONE SHOT

— PAIRING: Billy Hargrove x Reader — WORD COUNT: 2,077 — WARNINGS: Cursing, Billy being...himself — REQUESTED BY: @udontneedtokno 

Um hi, can I request a billy x fem reader where she Is feeling a bit sick and crappy and he takes care of her? Also could you make it so they aren’t dating yet so he’s still a bit of a meanie and flirts pretty hard with her while he’s taking care of her? I love ur billy x readers sm🥺💖

— A/N: First of all, thank you so much?? Honestly, he’s my favorite character to write for. He’s so unapologetically rude and flirtatious, and I think it’s hilarious. Secondly, I’m sooooo sorry about how long this took!! Life got really busy for a while, so I didn’t have much time to sit down and write, but it’s slowed down again for the time being. Anyway, I can’t even tell you how excited I was when I saw your request! I’m such a sucker for sick reader/character storylines, probably because I relate to them so much. Any time my stomach hurts even slightly, you would think I’m dying with how much I milk it. I had lots of fun writing this, and I hope it was worth waiting for!!

Despite your best efforts to convince your mom to let you skip school, she wasn’t having it. For one, she thought you were just being overdramatic—so what if your nose was a little runny? She handed you a pack of Kleenex, forced cough syrup down your throat, and shoved you out the front door with a promise that you would be fine. You weren’t so sure, and your suspicions were only confirmed when you ran out of tissues by the end of first period, and instead of clearing your head, the medicine had only succeeded in making you drowsy. More than once, you felt yourself slipping away from reality—you weren’t quite falling asleep, but you could tell that you weren’t wholly present either. You wanted nothing more than to go home and take a nap, but your mom was at work, and you didn’t trust yourself to walk all that way on your own.

“Wow, Y/N, you look like shit.”

You were standing in the hallway, unsure of how you had come to be there—you must’ve zoned out again. With a blank stare, you turned to look at Billy Hargrove, who was leaning with his back to the locker beside yours. “Thank you,” you said, sniffing. You couldn’t breathe—it felt like you had a thick wad of cotton shoved inside each nostril. “I feel like shit, too.” As if on cue, you let out a sneeze.

Billy backed away, warily studying you. You had dark circles beneath your puffy eyes, and your nose was red and raw from being smothered with one too many tissues. You looked absolutely miserable, and even though a part of him wanted to stay as far away from you as possible—just in case whatever you had was contagious—he felt bad for you more than anything. He reached up to brush aside a stray piece of your hair. “Hey—” Billy was about to say more but stopped himself mid-sentence, his hand lingering on the side of your face as his eyebrows scrunched together. “You’re kinda hot,” he informed you.

Letting out a groan, you rolled your eyes and swatted his hand away. “Billy, I’m not in the mood for any of your—”

“No, seriously. I think you have a fever or something.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” you said simply. Turning, you started off down the hallway toward your next class. You’d gotten this far—you might as well stick it out until the end of the day. As much as you didn’t want to be there, you didn’t have much of a choice. You figured you might as well try to carry on like normal.

Billy thought otherwise. You hadn’t gotten far when you felt his hand wrap around your elbow. He pulled you backwards, and in your weakened state, you were in no shape to fight against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Billy demanded.

“To class,” you said, your voice muffled by your hand as you wiped your nose on the sleeve of your sweater.

Billy scoffed. “No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re sick.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” you whined. “My mom’s at work, and—”

“I’ll take you home,” Billy offered. “I need an excuse to get out of here anyway.” Before you could argue any further, Billy slung his arm around your shoulders and led the way outside.

As the two of you trekked across the parking lot to where his Camaro was parked on top of the hill, you were grateful for how close Billy was—you could lean on him for support whenever the need arose, which proved to be quite often.

Billy made sure to help you into the passenger seat—“Watch where you put your hands, Hargrove”—but as he was climbing into the car himself, he looked to you with an air of seriousness. “You better not puke in here,” he warned. “If you do, you’re cleaning it up.”

“I’m not gonna puke.” You hoped that was true because you knew Billy well enough by now to know that he wasn’t kidding, and you didn’t feel like scrubbing your own throw up out of his car’s upholstery.

As the Camaro pulled out onto the main road, you could feel your eyelids growing heavy. At some point, you must’ve drifted off because by the time Billy’s car came to a stop in front of your house, he glanced over to find you fast asleep. Billy yanked his keys out of the ignition and got out with a heavy sigh. As he bent down to scoop you up, he grumbled about how you were going to give him whatever the hell was plaguing you. He concluded with, “Be glad you’re cute,” before kicking the car door shut and walking up the driveway.

Once inside, Billy dumped you onto the couch in the living room. He stepped back and stared at you for a moment with crossed arms as he tried to assess the situation. What had he gotten himself into? He didn’t know the first thing about taking care of sick people—he avoided sick people, mainly because he couldn’t be bothered with them, not to mention how gross they were. You were different, though, and Billy mentally kicked himself for feeling that way. All this trouble just to get you to like him? It was a new low.

When you awoke, you were surprised to find yourself inside your house with a blanket thrown across you, alongside Billy, who was sitting on the other end of the couch with your feet in his lap. You couldn’t remember having walked in—maybe that cough medicine was still messing with your head—and you hadn’t expected Billy to stick around. You had assumed he’d drop you off and then be on his merry way. As far as you could tell, he wasn’t exactly a nurturer. At the very least, you doubted this was how he wanted to be spending his time away from school.

As soon as Billy felt you stirring, he glanced over tentatively and caught sight of you staring at him. He raised his eyebrows in question. “What?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to still be here,” you answered.

Billy looked almost offended at this. “And leave my favorite girl to die alone? I would never.”

A small laugh escaped your chapped lips. “I’m not dying,” you said, poking Billy’s knee with the toe of your sneaker. “At least, I won’t be once I take the right medicine.” You must’ve slept off the effects of the cough syrup your mom had given you—you were no longer insufferably tired, which was a plus, but the congestion in your head had culminated into a headache, and it had brought a side of chills with it. You swung your legs over the side of the couch and were about to get up when Billy stopped you.

“No,” Billy said, pushing you back down. “I’ll get it.”

You told Billy where the bathroom was and what to grab—“Aspirin’s fine”—then he disappeared down the hallway branching off of your living room. You were no expert on what the average time should’ve been for completing such a task, but after several minutes had passed and Billy still hadn’t returned, you started to wonder what was taking so long.

The answer to your silent question came in the form of Billy irritably yelling, “Y/N, why do you have so much shit in here?”

Grumbling, you rose from your spot on the couch and shuffled into the bathroom. “What do you mean?” you asked.

Billy turned to find you standing at his elbow, wrapped up in a blanket somewhat reminiscent of the way E.T. had been in the flying bike scene. Only your pouting face protruded from the folds of fabric. The blond couldn’t help cracking a smile at your appearance—comical, yet undeniably cute—and just like that, he had forgotten what it was that had caused your sudden presence.

You took no time jogging Billy’s memory. “It’s right there,” you said, your eyes resting on a bottle sitting on the bottom shelf of your medicine cabinet. A moment later, your hand poked through the blanket and seized the small container. You bumped Billy out of the way as you popped a pill into your mouth and stepped in front of the sink to pour yourself a glass of water. By the time you’d swallowed, he was gone.

“Billy?” you called, stepping out of the bathroom.

Billy’s voice came from somewhere down the hall, saying, “Holy shit, Y/N, is this your room?”

You appeared behind Billy in an instant, latching onto his arm and giving it a tug. “Oh, my God,” you said, your face burning. “Don’t go in there. It’s a mess!”

Being the sort of person that likes to do the exact opposite of what he’s told, Billy easily pulled free from your grasp and wandered inside. He was like a kid in a candy shop as he admired the things lining your shelves—trinkets, books, records, and the like—with wide eyes. Bedrooms tell a lot about the person to whom they belong, and boy, was Billy learning about you.

“And, who is this?” Billy asked with a devious smile as he picked up the faded brown teddy bear that had been lodged between the pillows on your bed.

Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, the soft fabric of the blanket covering your eyes. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole. If you had known that Billy Hargrove, of all people, was going to be in your room later, you would’ve made an effort that morning to clean up a bit—at the very least, you would’ve hidden anything embarrassing.

You risked a peek up at Billy, but he wasn’t where you’d last seen him. Instead, he’d moved over to your dresser and was rummaging through its drawers. How typical, you thought with a roll of your eyes. I look away for one second, and already, he’s trying to find my underwear.

Billy achieved his goal, too—you could tell by the cheeky grin on his face. His gaze cut over to you, then back down to the contents of the drawer in front of him, nodding thoughtfully all the while. He was about to pull something out, but you intervened—extending an arm, you slammed the wooden compartment shut, and if Billy hadn’t been so quick to pull his hands out of the way, he would’ve gotten his fingers smashed.

“That’s enough of that,” you said, grabbing Billy’s hand and dragging him back into the living room.

“You’re no fun,” Billy complained.

Both of you returned to your spots on the couch in moody silence. You tried to cross your arms, but you stopped abruptly when you realized that your fingers were still entwined with Billy’s. Blushing, you glanced down at your hands, then up at him, however, he didn’t seem to be paying you any mind. He was facing the wall directly opposite the couch with his eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

Billy raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “Trying to picture you in that underwear,” he stated simply, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

You snatched your hand away to shove him with it. “You’re the worst, Billy Hargrove,” you said, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your mouth afterward.

“Damn it, Y/N,” Billy said. “I can’t concentrate with you giggling like that.”

“Good!” you remarked, nose held in the air as you squinted tauntingly at Billy.

Despite the two of you constantly teasing each other, you actually felt substantially better by the time Billy left your house that afternoon to pick Max up from school. He may not have been a doctor in the making, but where he lacked in nurturing qualities, he made up for with playful flirting and good company, and as they say, laughter’s the best medicine. You thought your troubles were over until you woke up the next morning to the sound of your phone ringing.

“Hello?”

You were answered with a sneeze from the other end of the line, followed by a hoarse voice saying, “This is your fault.”

“Aw, Billy, are you sick?” you asked, feigning surprise as you bit back a chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sick,” Billy whined. “Get over here and fix it.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Another sneeze, then, “Now.”

And your mom thought you were dramatic when you were sick. As if.

[wulfrann]

A wingman winged (Palmetto by the Sea part 1)

All for the game

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten & Allison Reynolds, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (side)

Additional Tags: AU - Modern Setting, AU - No Exy, First Meeting, Eden’s Twilight, Neil ‘Best Wingman’ Josten

[Part 1 of the Palmetto by the Sea series - Chapter 1/1 - 3k words - Published 2020-12-10]

Summary :

It's a Saturday night at Eden's, and Allison needs Neil's help to approach the object of her long-suffering crush - that is to say, she needs him to distract the girl's intimidating friend long enough that she's able to approach in the first place.

(TW: alcohol, sexual harassment (short-lived), brief display of violence, smoking)

[Read on Ao3]

*

A wingman winged

The music thumps the ground in rhythm, low and deep like a pulse as it throbs through the club and reverberates into the bodies twisting as one on the dance floor. Eden’s Twilight isn’t really Neil’s scene, but the dark aesthetic and ever-shifting neon lighting make it easy to blend in. The shadows bend and stretch over his scars, reducing them to odd tattoos at first glance - and he makes sure he never gets a second. The clothes he’s wearing are nice enough and all black, but neither form-fitting nor revealing. Standing next to Allison’s brand of tastefully flashy clubwear, he’s no more than a foil. Seduction is her domain, and she thrives on it.

Which is what makes the fact that she’s asking him for help absolutely baffling.

“I’ve seen you wrap more than half this crowd around your little finger like it was nothing. Why can’t you just do the same with her?”

“You don’t understand,” Allison repeats for the third time that night. She has her chin in her hand and is leaning over her drink, swirling the expensive cocktail around with her straw. “I’ve tried everything, and the most I’ve gotten is for her to look at me. She hasn’t even tried to buy me a drink.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

Allison scoffs. “I don’t set myself up for failure. She’s given me no sign that she’s interested. Besides, that little troll of a man she keeps around would probably bite me if I tried.”

Neil snorts at that. He’s seen the man in question glare people away, from both himself and his friend, all evening - on one occasion, he’s almost certain that the man even pulled out a knife. There’s no mistaking the way that the light glinted off of the blade, not even from across a crowded nightclub. Neil would recognise that brief flash anywhere.

His friend though, she looks friendly enough. White hair dyed rainbow at the tips, a silver cross, a few piercings. She’s wearing a black dress that wouldn’t look out of place in daylight and a soft smile that Neil is tempted to believe is fake just because of how earnest it looks. She’s also got the muscle structure of an athlete, a fact which Allison has reminded him of enough times that he’ll probably never be able to forget.

“Couldn’t you just accept your defeat and move on?” Neil tries, but he’s known Allison long enough that his heart isn’t in it. She’s never been one to give up.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen the arms on her? I’m getting her in my bed whether her little bodyguard likes it or not.”

“What if she’s straight?”

Allison shakes her head at him in that way that means he’s failed at some kind of social task and starts to count her points off her fingers. “Neil, the woman is ripped, has an undercut, rainbow hair, and armpit hair.”

“How do you know-”

“I have eyes. Besides, that blond troll she always comes here with is definitely gay, and everyone knows queer people travel in group.”

Neil throws a skeptical glance towards the unlikely duo, but doesn’t argue. None of what Allison listed strikes him as particularly telling, but he’s been told that his ‘gaydar’ is ‘absolutely abysmal’ on numerous occasions by about everyone he knows except Kevin, who's just as bad as him if Allison can be trusted.

Neil might as well accept his fate. “What do you want me to do?”

Allison grins at him. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

*

Locating the two of them isn’t as easy when he’s not sitting on the upper level but standing right here in the crowd, surrounded by people and blinded by the rapidly changing lights. Years of hyper-vigilance end up paying off once he’s gotten his bearings right, however, and he starts making his roundabout way towards the section of wall they’re leaning on. The man is sipping on some kind of drink and staring blankly into the distance while the woman does most of the talking, though she does glance in Allison’s general direction more than once in the amount of time it takes Neil to reach them. He doesn’t blame her - even he has to admit that Allison’s dancing is a thing of beauty.

Neil, on the other hand, only ever pretends to dance. He’s gone out with his friends often enough that he’s picked up a few generic moves and can blend in, but it just - doesn’t appeal to him. Still, what little grasp he has on it is enough to get to his target unnoticed.

One falsely awkward step later and he’s got a glassful of whiskey and coke soaking into the man’s black tank top and dripping down his pants.

The hand wrapped around his arm, steadying him, is an unexpected addition. Neil’s previous drink messed his balance at the last minute and he’s pretty sure he’d have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t been caught. The man’s grip is undeniable strong, but it’s the eyes that really hold Neil down to his spot. He can’t quite tell the color because of the many strobing lights and colored neons flashing around, but he thinks they might be brown.

“Oops,” Neil says, straightening himself up with exaggerated movements. The man’s eyes flicker down his drenched top before sliding back up to Neil’s eyes without so much as a frown. “Sorry for your muscle shirt,” Neil adds as an after-thought, digging the word out of an afternoon spent (unwillingly) shopping with Allison.

The man arcs a single eyebrow. “You’re drunk,” he says, with one of the flattest voices Neil has ever heard.

Neil smiles widely, swaying a little on his feet. He still has the man’s hand wrapped around his bicep. “No,” he retorts, slurring the words a bit, “I’m Neil.”

The eyebrow arcs up even higher. Neil’s smile widens. He’s about to say something else, whatever sentence he can think of that would maintain the man’s attention on him, when someone else’s voice cuts in.

“Andrew, you’re soaked!”

Neil turns towards the woman, spying Allison making her way over from behind her, and raises his now empty glass. “My fault. I wasn’t looking.”

She smiles. From close up, it looks even softer than Neil thought. “That’s okay, it happens,” she says, then glances down where the man’s hands - Andrew’s? - is still holding on to him. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I just tripped,” Neil reassures her, then looks over at Andrew, whose eyes haven’t left his face. He’s… staring, with an intensity that catches Neil off-guard. And then he’s not, because Allison is coming over and calling his name. The hand drops from his arm like it was burned.

“Neil! There you are.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, then turns, falsely confused, towards Andrew and his friend. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” the woman says, looking a little stunned.

“Your friend spilled his drink on me,” Andrew states, throwing a look at his own friend.

“I was just going to ask the barman for paper towels,” the object of Allison's scheming adds, already half-turning away.

Allison doesn’t hesitate one second before following suit, offering her help. When the woman starts to protest, she takes hold of her arm and all but drags her to the bar. Neil watches the interaction without holding back his smile.

When he turns back towards Andrew, the man is staring at him with a frown.

“Sorry again for your shirt,” Neil offers, though he forgets to make himself sound like he means it. “You should probably take it off.”

The arched eyebrow comes back, and Neil realizes what he just said with a choked laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. But it would dry faster,” he adds, feeling stupid. Andrew doesn’t look convinced, though, so he feels compelled to add, “I don’t swing.”

“I don’t watch baseball,” Andrew deadpans.

“I’m not talking about baseball,” Neil says, grimacing in disgust. “It’s not even a real sport.”

The look Andrew gives him is the blankest one yet. Neil looks down into his empty glass, then at Andrew’s tank top.

“You really should rinse it down, at least,” he ends up saying. “Otherwise it’s going to stick.”

Andrew stares at him a little longer, then downs his glass and starts to move in the direction of the bathroom. For some reason, Neil follows.

The bathroom is painted mostly black, like just about everything in Eden’s. Only the large sink is white. Neil leans back against it and watches as Andrew grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser and soaks them with water, then starts to wipe at his shirt. He thinks about helping, but remembers the way Andrew avoided touching anyone on his way to the bathroom and figures that there’s not much he could do, anyway.

“You’re not drunk,” Andrew states after a while.

Neil debates lying as Andrew throws the wet ball of paper away and walks to the dispenser to get more, but decides against it. “No, I’m not. I don’t like it.”

Andrew barely glances at him. “You play drunk well for someone who doesn’t like it.”

“S’not hard,” Neil says, shrugging, then figures he might as well come clean and adds: “Allison needed an excuse to talk to your friend.”

Andrew meets his eyes then, eyebrow arched up. “Did she try buying her a drink?”

“That’s what I said.” Neil smiles, then shrugs again. “Apparently she’s been trying to get your friend’s attention for weeks, but nothing’s worked.”

Andrew lets a sharp breath out of his nose, which Neil guesses is the equivalent of a laugh, if the lack of facial expression he's shown so far is anything to go by. “If that’s what she thinks, then your friend’s blind.”

Neil grins. “I’m glad. I thought I’d caught her staring a few times, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Renee likes to think she’s subtle.”

“Well, at least they’re talking now. I don’t think you’re getting those paper towels though,” Neil adds, watching Andrew wash his hands with a distracted kind of fascination. Somehow, the dark armbands encasing both of Andrew’s forearms make his hands stand out. Broad, and worn, with an odd elegance in the way they move. Neil would bet a lot of money on Andrew having some kind of manual career, at the very least a hobby. Something meticulous.

It’s only after Andrew’s wiped his hands and thrown away one last paper towel that Neil realizes he’s been staring, and he moves his eyes to Andrew’s face instead. He finds him with his head tipped slightly to the side, looking at him with the faintest hint of curiosity on his face.

Neil is about to say something - he's not sure what - when some guy he’d barely registered on his radar suddenly steps into his space.

"Hey there, pretty face,” the guy slurs, exhaling cheap booze right into Neil’s face. “Were you waiting for me?"

Neil looks up at the guy's face and begrudgingly resists the urge to bash an elbow into his nose. "Obviously not," he spits.

Hoping that it's enough for the guy to take his hint and leave, Neil starts to turn back towards Andrew. He is immediately jostled back towards the guy as a large hand grabs his chin and twists. "Hey, I was talking to you, Scarface."

"Wow, I've never heard that one before," Neil retorts, rolling his eyes. "You know, you should really make up your mind, asshole. Either I'm pretty or I'm not. Now get lost," Neil says, and is about to jam his knee into the guy's crotch when something tears the asshole away from him. Neil's balance is shaken by the movement, but he manages to stay upright by gripping the sink.

"You don't touch people without their permission. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?" Andrew says, pressing down upon the hold he has on the guy's arm, which he's twisted behind his back with one hand. He has a knife pressed to the guy's throat with the other. His voice is flat enough to cut. "If I see you again, I'll gut you. Understood?"

The guy nods and Andrew sends him sprawling onto the floor. He scrambles quickly to his feet and promptly runs out the door. Light glints off the small knife’s blade, clutched so tightly Andrew’s knuckles look white.

"Thanks," Neil says in the silence. "But I could have handled it."

"I don't care," Andrew snarls back.

Neil looks at the tension oozing out of Andrew's every cell and decides to keep silent. It's the right decision, judging by the way Andrew closes his eyes and starts packing up the tension, folding it back inside little by little. Neil knows the feeling.

The knife vanishes from his hand (and into one of the sheaths Neil suspects are sewn into the armbands), and Neil follows Andrew out of the bathroom. They stand by the door for a bit while Neil watches Andrew scanning the crowd with a clenched jaw. The tension is still there, even packed up, even pressed down tight under the surface of his skin. It needs more space than that to leave.

"Let's get out of here," Neil offers.

Andrew glances at him, then nods. Neil takes a hold of the hem of Andrew's shirt and leads the way out of the club.

*

The night's chill is a welcome change of pace after the density of the packed club's air. Neil inhales a gallon of it as soon as they've stepped outside, and hears Andrew do the same. It smells of cigarette butts and wet asphalt. He had no idea it'd rained.

A faint click on his right - Andrew lights a cigarette and offers him another one. Neil takes it and watches the smoke spill out of Andrew’s mouth like magic, grabbing hold of the lighter only as an afterthought. The metal is smooth under his touch and slightly warm over the imprint of Andrew’s hand. Neil brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, closing his eyes to focus on the burning air flow rushing down his windpipe. He blows it out smiling, eyes trailing after the faint grey cloud. Andrew’s eyes are on him.

“Thanks,” he tells him, raising his cigarette in the air.

They smoke in silence. Neil lets the little circle of fire eat away at his cigarette without taking another drag, content just to breathe and to watch as the tension coiled so tight in Andrew’s chest unwinds, seeping out, one exhalation at a time, into the quiet night.

The quiet can’t last forever, however, especially not on a Saturday night at Eden’s doorsteps, and so the peace is brutally broken a few minutes later as a group of inebriated twenty-somethings spill out over the sidewalk laughing loudly and singing songs. Andrew adroitly sidesteps one of them as he staggers to the side before getting dragged back by his friend, brushing shoulders with Neil. They got their stuff back from the cloakroom when they stepped out and Andrew’s wearing a leather jacket over his muscle shirt, black as the rest of his clothes.

Andrew looks at the group staggering its way down the street until they’re far enough they can barely hear them. “Are you hungry?”

Neil shrugs. “Kinda. Why? Are you asking me to dinner?” Neil asks, smile tugging at his lips. “I doubt we’ll find anything open.”

Andrew smothers the butt of his cigarette on the wall and tosses it into the trashcan Eden’s staff left by the door, then gestures at Neil to follow. It goes against about every instinct Neil has cultivated along the years, but he does.

He doesn’t know why. Andrew’s back is broad and he walks at a steady pace, with an assurance that doesn’t look learned and yet still probably is. Neil remembers the way Andrew looked when he bent the asshole’s arm behind his back, like what he really wanted was to break it in half but knew that he had to hold back. His voice hadn’t faltered then, either. Neil wonders if it ever does.

They stop in front of a motor bike parked some way off of the club, street lights glinting off of the metal and black bodywork. Andrew gets a helmet from some kind of locked compartment and hands it over to Neil, who takes it by reflex.

“Where are we going?” he asks, turning the helmet around in his hands. He’s starting to wonder whether Andrew’s even aware that there are other colors outside of black.

Andrew grabs a pair of gloves out of the compartment and slips them on. “A kebab joint,” he says without looking at Neil. “It’s open until 3.”

 Neil considers the bike, then the helmet in his hands. “I’ve never ridden on a bike before.”

“Don’t get on before I tell you to. Don’t make me lose my balance. When the bike leans into turns, lean with it,” he drones out. “If you do that and hold on, you’ll be fine.”

Neil considers Andrew. The solid stance of him. Once he climbs on the bike, he’ll have no control until they stop.

“Okay.”

There’s a buzzing beneath his kin.

*

The kebab joint is a tiny square of neon light squeezed in-between two higher-end shops, and the only open place to sell food for miles around. There are no tables and no interior, just a counter with a window display that reminds Neil of ice-cream shops, filled with meat fillings, some kind of fried rolls, and a handful of sad-looking pastries. The items are listed above and to the sides - hamburgers, kebabs, paninis, all with various meats and side dishes and an array of sauces Neil’s never heard of before. He has no idea where to start, and so asks for the same thing Andrew ordered.

They pack the smell of cheap food and fat in plastic bags and leave the shop front to sit by the pier. The kebab is greasy and would have made Kevin scream, but the meat is tasty and the sauce is good, and it’s somehow the perfect thing to eat right now.

Through the cloud of their food wafts the sharp smell of iodine. They claimed a spot of the pier to sit, legs dangling through the railing, and the wood too smells of salt, is so ingrained with it that it sticks slightly to the skin and leaves imprints of tiny crystals on their clothes.

They eat in silence; the wash and backwash of the sea beneath the pier is a rolling whisper, swishing quietly past the piles and back again, a dark rippling sky in movement. There is no agitation around them, yet still it seems as though the sea swallows all sounds, pillows the silence with its mass, shaping a quietude with depth. It’s a quality of peace Neil has never felt before.

He’s just about finished with his food when his phone buzzes.

[From: Allison] where r u??

Neil snorts. Andrew raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head.

[To: Allison] I left 30 minutes ago, but thank you for noticing.

[From: Allison] was busy :-*

[From: Allison] u haven’t been kidnapped right? did u go home?

[To: Allison] No and no. I’m at the pier with Andrew.

[From: Allison] ?????

[From: Allison] was that a joke???

Neil huffs out a laugh, enjoying the confusion, and puts his phone on silent as more texts keep coming in. Andrew’s phone buzzes once, but he doesn’t check it - just grabs a cigarette and his lighter, replacing the smell of their meal with another. The smoke drifts up and disperses, yielding to the handful of stars valiantly fighting against the electrical constellations of city lights. The moon is gibbous amongst them and fractal upon the sea; Neil distractedly notices that it’s waning, as the curve makes a d and Jean’s trick somehow never left his mind, despite his lack of interest in the conversation at the time.

It makes Andrew look even paler, this lighting. His hair is made of silver and the volumes of his face either stand out or cave, stark and almost unreal.

Andrew’s eyes flick to his.

“Staring.”

Neil smiles. He takes the cigarette from Andrew’s hand and takes a drag, blowing memories up, up, up until they’re gone.

“What do you do?” he asks when he hands the cigarette back. “For a living, I mean.”

Andrew doesn't answer. He just looks at Neil and pulls on his cigarette. A bit of wind blows the smoke sideways, across his cheek and back to land.

"If you won't tell me, I'll guess," Neil says when it's clear he's not getting an answer, and pretends to study Andrew's appearance for clues. "You could be an artist. You look like one." He grins at the unimpressed look on Andrew's face. "Bit of a cursed poet vibe, with the piercings and all that black. Strong aesthetic. I guess you could be a musician, too."

The corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Shallow."

Neil shrugs. Appearances tell a lot more than people think, but he's pretty sure he got it wrong. He doesn't actually know how artists are supposed to look like - that's not really the kind of things he learned to watch out for - but it's as good a guess as anything. "It's either that or undertaker."

Andrew blows smoke out through his nose. "Sorry to disappoint, but I just serve drinks."

Neil hums. "Full time?"

"No. I also cook."

"You're a chef, and you still eat food like this?" Neil asks, waving at the plastic bag sitting between them.

"Aide," Andrew corrects. "Anas' is the only decent place still open. I don't see you complaining."

"It was pretty good," Neil grants, then adds, because it's only fair: "I'm a student."

"Late calling?"

Neil smiles. "Something like it."

An eyebrow shaped like a question. Neil ignores it in favor of the sea, but the weight of Andrew's gaze stays fixed on him like an anchor. He wonders if Andrew's trying to guess what something like it may hide; wonders how far away from reality he's wandering, trying to find something reasonable; wonders, even, how he'd react if Neil told him the truth. Whether he'd balk at the scars that prove it or stare at them the same way he's staring at the ones across his face now, blank and unwavering, on the upside of bored.

*

Riding on Andrew's bike the second time is just as exhilarating as the first. The city flies by in a blur - the docks, the bars, the empty streets, they blend together and melt together until there's nothing really left but them, passing. Alone. A figment caught between two worlds.

When Andrew drops him off, the ground still moves beneath his feet. Neil shoves his hand into his pockets and grins, feeling absurdly carefree.

"Thank you. For the ride and for the food - it was amazing."

He means it. Andrew is looking at him like he's trying to figure out if he does. He holds out his hand, and Neil frowns.

He looks to the sky and sighs. "Your phone."

"Oh," Neil says. He puts his phone in Andrew's palm.

Andrew takes one glove off and puts his number in quickly. He tosses his phone back to Neil and brings two fingers up to his temple in salute.

The bike roars to life, the noise filling the street until it's gone. Neil looks down at the brand new contact in his phone, carefully prodding at the little bit of warmth beneath his sternum.

Matt, Dan, Wymack, Allison, Abby, Kevin, his therapist, his dentist and his doctor. Andrew's number brings the staggering total amount of contacts into his phone to a very satisfying 10.

[taybatwo2]

This week are more Oc’s, mostly Ninevah and the race of Fox Faces, from 2013-2018.

Fox Faces are a humanoid fox specie. They have the characteristics of foxes (pointed ears - but they attach lower to their head, akin to humans, which restricts their movement to only moving forward and being pulled back), fox markings and patterns, and fox tails). They are mostly plantigrade, but there are some exceptions (such as Ninevah and her father, Rowan). They have a velvet/flocked like fur and only have long fur on their tails (although some have longer fur spots, but trim it down to match the rest of their body). Red foxes are the most common, but Silver foxes and other “species” of foxes exist (fennec foxes are shorter, manned wolves are taller, attic wolves fur change colors, etc). They also have sharper teeth than the average human and black claws (that they keep well manicured). Their race (broadly speaking), are extremely vain (they decorate with lots of fox motifs and have selectively bred a horse-like animal with fox characteristics) and believe in their racial superiority to humans and more animal-like races (even to fox anthros that have more of a defined muzzle). They keep other animals as pets and servants. They have a hatred for domesticated cats (as they can easily be confused for anthro cats), and are not allowed to own any as pets, servants or otherwise. Even the terms “cat,” “molly,” “tom,” and “kitten,” are all slang in their language. They mostly live in the walled region of Nodreg due to its walls, trading-based economy, fertile lands, and the lapse in government power (in which some of the head Fox Face families stepped in to start taking control).

The first picture has several characters (and one Frieza) in it and is from 2015. Ocoora is an older Oc of mine and I’m not sure if they are still cannon. They are a mummified cat who was brought back to life through magic. They are a seer and have a brought green energy constantly emitting out of them.

Ninevah is on the right. This is a picture of her after she left Nodreg and her old life behind her to become an axe-wielding head of a ragtag tribe of misfits. She also has one of her six golden ligers (they are in the category of “intelligent than the average animal and can understand speech” but they cannot talk themselves, next to her).

In the lower left hand corner is Ninevah’s ex-fiancé: Tannan (one of my favorite pictures I’ve done of him) and his pet/only good friend: Remington (who is also an “intelligent than the average animal and can speak” animal). The Devoss Family are the only Fox Faces to own talking foxes as pets as its a bit too close to home and taboo for most Fox Faces to do so.

In the right hand corner are Ninevah’s parents: Rowan Vassops and Sonja Vulpess.

A quick doodle of Ninevah with her double axes from 2018. I’m not super happy with her face, but I like her body shape here.

The next one is of Ninevah is from 2017. Her arms are more bulky and I liked her face more in this image, as well as the shapes of her legs, but she was drawn waaaay off balance. There are also Mouscedes, Pinkie Cooper, and Kala on the side.

This picture is of Ninevah cross-dressing as a man to sneak back into Nodreg. It was done in 2017, and she is standing off balance again. She calls herself “Rumo Sevet,” cuts off her hair, dyed side burns, and a “fox-stache” around her nose and above her mouth (fox-staches start to come in when Fox Faces reach puberty and stain the area around their nose and above/around their mouth a dark brown/black/light brown/red/orange), she binds her chest, wears padded undies, and even flattens out her tail’s fur to make it look like the typical male’s. She also masks her scent by claiming to be from Nodreg’s province of Brackwater (which is known for it’s black, thick mud, oil deposits, and horrid stink that sticks to everything).

The next picture is Ninevah in 2013, I finally designed some armor that I liked for her. However she is not as bulked up as I now think of her as. There is also one of her “magic-forged” battle axes.

Another picture of Ninevah from 2017. She’s all dressed up and probably watching Tannan trip over himself since the last time he saw her. The region of Nodreg is know for its rosemaling patterns, which the Fox Faces have adapted into their decoration (by adding a bunch of little stylized foxes into it).

This one was done in 2016, of the engagement between young Tannon (who definitely doesn’t look like that anymore), young Ninevah (who is really forcing a smile). Tannan is not happy to be there and has his ears lightly pulled back when presenting Ninevah a blank copper ring on a chain (and Remington really doesn’t want to be there with one of Ninevah’s golden ligers cubs leering at him). Kelpie stands a respectful distance back from Ninevah and touches his nose and out in a respectful greeting to Tannan (he bows his head, keeps one arm behind his back, and doesn’t make eye contact either with Tannan - but does sneak a peak at him here).

This one was done in 2017, and more accurately shows how well Tannan and Ninevah actually got along (and more accurate to how they looked too). Ninevah was always hiking up her dress (as it was always dragging), and usually went bare-foot. She was not above fighting dirty with him.

This picture was also done in 2017 and was of Tannan and Ninevah sharing a book together as she lightly starts nodding off. Tannan wears glasses (they curve up and around his ears). Also, Tannan being still embarrassed at Ninevah’s lack of modesty (and her enjoying the upper hand) when either riding or wading out in water.

This one was done in 2017. It shows the major players in Ninevah’s story (at the time, stuff has changed since then). Adalwulf/“Mr. Wolf” stands above Ninevah, with his firewood axe (he helped rescue her when she was younger and helped her to learn how to survive in the woods), Tannan is on her right and is kissing her shoulder (while holding down her arm with the axes) and has a friendly hand over “Rumo’s” shoulder), Antonio/“Kelpie” holds one of his knives at “Rumo’s” throat, while holding Ninevah’s waist.

[3laxx]

In Your Dreams - Chapter 3

When Luz awakes it's only a matter of time until Amity rushes to visit.

I wanted to upload yesterday but I just couldn't find the time to so please forgive me ;-; I hope the wait wasn't too bad!

Ao3 / FF.net

---

In the middle of the night, Eda woke up to some movement coming from the other bed. At first, she thought King was climbing on Luz’s bed again, but the small demon was curled up to her own side. Only when the sleep didn’t cloud her vision anymore, she understood that Luz was moving. And choking.

Suddenly, she was on her feet and rushed to Luz’s side, immediately spotting what was wrong. Humans, albeit having a soul that was unable to tether itself to the astral plane, had an incredibly strong spirit.

Luz was fighting.

She was done sleeping and wanted to wake up now, her body seeing itself unable to sleep any longer. Quickly, she lifted the healers sleeping spell, and immediately, Luz opened her eyes and tried to sit up, gasping, but Eda held her down. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Eda felt tears welling up in her eyes and slowly leaned down to hug her. Luz hiccupped, before slowly, tenderly hugging Eda back and nuzzling her nose into her mentor’s neck.

“Kid, I was so scared… Don’t ever do that to me or your friends ever again.”

Luz squinted her eyes, then she slowly ended the hug between the older witch and her, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Did-… Did I do something wrong?”, she whispered, her voice breaking since she hadn’t used it in so long.

With tears in her eyes, Eda laughed, then she shook her head and softly sat down on the edge of the bed, wiping her eyes. If she did something wrong, she had asked. Oh, what to do with that child, Eda mused.

“You were injured in a grudgby accident, Luz. Because you agreed to be Boscha’s target practice.”

Luz tried to remember, she really did, but nothing came to her mind. The last she remembered was telling Boscha that they’d forfeit. That was all she remembered, after that, everything went hazy.

“Wh-What happened?”, she asked and Eda shot her a glance, then she notified the healers that the patient needed them.

“Boscha hit you with a pretty mean ball. You kinda, sorta, almost died. But you didn’t. And then you slept for 5 days.”, she summarized shortly, finally feeling at ease now that the kid was back and seemed not to have Amnesia.

Luz leaned back in her pillows, staring up at the ceiling. She remembered nothing of all this. She must’ve been out pretty well.

The healers checked Luz’s vitals while Eda texted Amity, Willow, and Gus, waiting until at least one of them would text back. Willow and Gus seemed to be sleeping tightly, but the Blight kid of course had a light sleep. She immediately texted back if Luz was awake and Eda attached Owlbert to her staff again.

“Go pick up the Blight kid for me.”, she instructed the Palisman, then she let him fly out the window and watched him vanish in the night sky towards the Blight manor before turning back to the very confused Luz.

“Hey, you okay?”, the older witch asked but Luz slowly shook her head, then she lifted her arms to her face, rubbing over it.

“Was I-… Very badly injured? Cuz it certainly feels like it.”, Eda panicked for a short moment, but Luz had lifted her legs during the examination of the healer, so she should be alright.

“Why you feel out of it?”, the teenager nodded, rubbing her neck before Eda stopped her, “Don’t do that yet.”

“How are the others?”, ah, that’s a classic Luz move. Worrying about others way too early.

“That Blight kid took it hard. And I don’t think the Park one was too amused as well. And the one who hit you, Boscha, she will only be returning to school tomorrow.”

The girl groaned at that but Eda took her hand and didn’t let her dwell on it.

“Luz, it’s going to be okay. The most important thing is that you made it and that you’re healthy and awake, okay? And hey, Amity’s on the way here right now, she’ll want to see you and she can probably tell you what happened. Although, maybe she wants to tell you a few other things as well.”

Right on cue, said witchling appeared in the window, a jacket hurriedly thrown over her pajamas because she hadn’t even bothered to change and her hair down. She jumped off the windowsill and handed Owlbert to Eda while rushing to the side of Luz’s bed, tightly hugging her.

Luz was a little surprised at Amity’s appearance, and her need to hug her immediately, but she happily accepted this sign of affection and buried her face on Amity’s neck, feeling her sitting down on the edge of her bed.

They hugged for a few minutes, Amity pressing Luz down into her covers not to move her too much, but unwilling to let go. The relief flushed through her like a boiling wave and suddenly, she didn’t care at all anymore about touching Luz. Suddenly, there was only her and the human she had come to like so much. A tiny sniffle escaped her nose and Luz softly patted her back, turning her head in a little to snuggle her friend who just wouldn’t let go of her.

“… You’re finally awake again…”, Amity finally mumbled a few minutes later, before slowly parting from her and brushing some strands of hair out of her face, huffing at the annoyance. She wasn’t used to wearing her hair down and liked it a lot more if it was tied up in a small ponytail, to keep the bangs out of her face.

Luz found it adorable, though. And suddenly, hair-down-Amity was her favorite Amity.

“You look pretty.”, she finally said and the young witchling spluttered, turning a bright red at which Eda had to turn, bit her lip, and look out the window not to laugh loudly. She really loved her kid but she was as dense as swamp water.

“… Th-Thanks.”, Amity could finally press out when she had calmed down a little, but Luz wasn’t done yet. Her filter was gone and Eda didn’t know if she should be thankful for that or curse it. It caused amusement, that was for sure because she knew exactly what that Blight kid felt.

“I mean it. Your hair looks pretty when it’s down. But-… It’s dyed. Your normal hair color is brown, isn’t it?”

At that, Amity had to roll her eyes, but she was able to talk still and keep her blush at bay.

“Y-Yeah, my mom dyes it to make Edric, Emira, and I look color-coordinated. But, that’s not the topic at hand right now. How are you feeling?”

The two of them caught up a little, Amity unwillingly telling Luz what had happened in detail, then Eda gave them some privacy by “searching for snacks”. Little did they know the older witch actually went back to the Owl House.

Luz patted the bed next to her and Amity lied down, now feeling much more confident and comfortable about being with Luz, and they stared up at the ceiling. Maybe that was caused by the late hour and her being a little bit sleep drunk despite the adrenaline rush or the relief that Luz had woken up okay still warming her limbs and cheeks, but Amity couldn’t really care.

“So-… How’s everyone holding up?”

Amity sighed at that question, shrugging.

“Willow, Gus, and I are fine, I think. We’ve been looking out for each other, and Eda and I have spent quite some time together as well. Boscha is-… I haven’t seen her since then, but I think she went into shock and took a break and some therapy. Maybe it’d be a good idea to invite her here once you feel up to it. Otherwise…”, the young witchling grimaced at the gossip, “Everyone who’s not involved is gossiping about my reaction when it happened and-… I saw you lying there.”

Luz turned her head towards her, questioning, and Amity wished she wasn’t as truthful as she had just been.

“W-Well, I kinda threatened Boscha to kill her because she had hurt you… And it looked really scary, you looked-… Horrifying. But I mean, that’s what every friend would do.”

Luz chuckled at that and looked back up to the ceiling.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me, Blight.”

Amity’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized what Luz was getting at, and she was on the verge of tears when she realized that she had felt that crippling, threatening fear that day, that she would never hear again what Luz had just said.

A dry sob ripped through her throat and Luz looked over in shock, her eyes widening.

“Oh gosh, oh Titan, I am so sorry, Amity! I didn’t know you’d react like this, I wouldn’t have said anything, I-”

The witchling managed to shake her head and reassure Luz with a little chuckle, then she let the human take her hand and squeezed back when the girl next to her did.

“No, no! It’s okay, really. I just-… I just remembered you lying on that grudgby field and-… I thought you’d never say that again. Or anything for that matter. You-… Didn’t look good, at all. We all thought that, but Boscha actually managed to pull you through.”

Luz slowly nodded, then she softly squeezed Amity’s hand again. She needed a minute to pull herself out of her memories, closing her eyes and feeling Luz’s hand to know that what had happened was in the past, then she breathed through. Luz smiled as she felt the tremble going away, and the girl calming down again, “I’m sorry for that… I didn’t mean to scare you guys.”

Amity sighed, then she nodded.

“We-… We know. Boscha just didn’t realize you’d take that hit so hard. Any other witch would’ve gotten back up again and continued. I suppose she just misread the situation. I just wished I had been there earlier… Willow or I could’ve diverted the ball. We could’ve just prevented this, but we were too slow…”

Luz rolled over to look at Amity and the witchling turned back to her as well, lying on her side to make it easier for both of them. She still felt the blush burning on her cheeks but boy was she glad for Eda turning off the lights before she left. The darkness of the room covered her blush at least a little bit.

“It happened, Amity. It won’t do you well to dwell on it. So please don’t, it’ll just result in guilt that I don’t want you to have.”, as much as she felt like what she had said, Amity was impressed by Luz asking her not to blame herself for that. And especially how right the Latina was with that. Stumped, Amity nodded, then she breathed through and softly rubbed her legs, feeling the cold getting to her. Luz noticed that and giggled.

“Sleepover!”, she nestled the blanket out from under Amity and threw it over her, before pulling her closer so they could both fit under the one-person blanket. Amity deeply blushed at that again, but she let Luz turn to lie on her back and direct Amity to place her head on her shoulder. Faintly, she could hear a heartbeat from Luz’s side, and she couldn’t describe how much that calmed her down. Luz’s heart was beating slowly and calmly. All of Amity’s worries immediately vanished at the rhythmical and strong beat so that suddenly, she felt tired.

The adrenaline had stopped pumping through her veins and the night and exhaustion at the news finally caught up to her.

Her eyelids fluttered close and she could hear Luz shifting, then the girl’s arms wrapped around her to keep her close and warm. On another day, in another situation, Amity would have imploded, but for now, she was just glad her friend was alive.

She couldn’t even describe how glad she was about this. After seeing Luz lying on the grudgby field like this, with the dark red puddle spreading around her, with the blood on the spike, and with all the blood on her friends’ clothes, she would’ve never thought Luz could be okay after this. But it had turned out that the opposite had been the case, thanks to the grudgby team and Willow’s help.

Luz snuggled her closer and Amity found herself smiling at that.

Huh, she thought to herself, maybe I can still spend a night with Luz like in the library without turning into a hot mess.

The breathing next to her just confirmed this. She didn’t care about being flustered or about revealing herself or anything like that. She was next to a person she held dear, that she had thought to be dead. She was content as she was now and she didn’t need her crush butting in.

“… You have gone soft on me.”, Luz smugly stated, the sleep already laced into her voice, just when Amity felt herself slipping into some welcome rest as well.

“… In your dreams…”, she whispered with a pout, and they both knew she was lying.

Because this wasn’t a dream.

---

Thank you so much for reading thus far!

Give me a short feedback in the comments if I should leave the story at this!

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Fifth; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here, the second here, the third here, and the fourth here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“We don’t even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.” --Charles Bukowski

Aaron places his tea in the microwave knowing that it’s going to put him behind schedule for the morning. He still needs to get ready for the day but he can afford just a moment to make himself a cup of tea. Anything to soothe his raw throat. Besides, knowing his ragtag group of students he’s going to need his voice today. He’s going to have to be able to keep up with them.

The thought makes him smile, a light warmth spreading along his chest. He settles his hips back against the counter and settles his gaze along the room. He can’t remember cleaning up but the dishes are actually clean, resting in the sink waiting to be put away. 

He never washes the dishes. It’s a fatal flaw but he hates washing the dishes and… where’s the dishwasher? It had been a pity gift from Dave. No point in washing dishes by hand when you’re---

When you’re… he can’t remember where he was going with that line of thought. It’s just blank. The sentence just--- the microwave beeps behind him and dejectedly, he turns and opens the microwave except the beeping doesn’t stop. He shuts the door and the fact that the beeping just keeps getting louder and louder and it’s overwhelming causing the soft edges of pain to start blooming across his chest. 

And he remembers, there are no kids to go to. No school. No family. No fucking heart---

“Easy,” thick, rough fingers wrap around his bicep. A tight squeeze that grounds him to the moment and away from the microwave still beeping frantically from somewhere to his right. But he’s not at home. He’s not at home because everything is white and it stinks. It smells like bleach and he hates it.

He doesn’t know where he is and everything hurts. He can’t breathe. It hurts so bad. Tears sting his eyes as they fall but all he can do is limply lay in this bed, in this place he doesn't know. He’s not sure what he did wrong but he's sorry and he promises he won’t do it again.

He’s sorry… please just make it stop.

“Family of Aaron Hotchner?”

Five and a half hours of waiting--- fuck, she’d read somewhere it was only supposed to take four. Reid, anxiously pacing, had reminded them all of this fact. It’s taking too long but that has to mean some fraction of hope for them, right? As long as it’s not too short he hasn’t just coded on the table and left them reeling with his loss. Without a fight. With a gaping hole where he once was, wheezing but here.

He’d been here and now…

Standing from her chair, she’s not sure what to expect. How can she? The last time she was here for this kind of news, Anderson was dead. Anderson was dead and she was about to be gifted to another office-- sent away. What is the likelihood of that happening again? This time there’s more at stake. There’s Jack and Reid and Penelope and she’s quickly realized that in this look group, this misfit family, Aaron is the glue.

What’s going to happen if he doesn’t make it out of this?

“He’s in CICU,” the doctor informs them with a nod. “He’ll be there for the rest of the night until he’s breathing on his own.” The doctor’s had warned them of this very likely outcome. His lungs have been working double time for months and they’ll want this reprieve. 

Dave, jogging Jack up his farther in his arms, nods his head. He’s really the only one wrapping his head around this information past the point of--- he’s alive. “Can I go back,” he asks, voice thickening with the release of stress now overcoming his body. 

The doctor frowns as he considers it. The Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit doesn’t have much room for patients and visitor’s to be moving around. However, it’s pretty understandable that his patient and his family might benefit from a small visit. That is, as long as they can stand the sight of the bandages.

“Briefly,” the doctor caves. “He’s not going to be up for too much.”

Alive. Not up for much but alive.

“I’ll take it.”

Dave has to leave Jack in the waiting room. He’s still half asleep when he climbs into Reid’s lap without complaint. It seems to calm the genius nerves, being able to wrap his arms around the small boy. And alone Dave follows the doctor down the hall. 

It’s eerie and the only sound down the long, winding hall is the heart monitors. To his untrained ears they all sound steady and he wonders if the doctor hears the same steady rhythms.  

“It’s for his safety--”

Dave is practically covered in scrubs and plastic. They place gloves on his hands after they instruct him to thoroughly wash. Taking his temperature and handing him a mask to place over his face. He starts to sincerely doubt if he should be back here. If Aaron’s health is so dependent on all this, Dave doesn’t want to place him in unnecessary danger.

Stepping into the room, Dave’s taken aback by all of the wires and the machine. The ventilator pulls in each of Aaron’s breathes and releases them with hiss and beep. He’s awake though, light brown eyes pinched in pain as he slowly answers the nurses question.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” The nurse commends. “One last question,” she promises, squeezing Aaron’s hand. “1 to 10, how much pain are you in?”

Hotch’s entire chest feels like there’s a herd of baby elephants sitting atop it. It’s worse than anything he’s ever felt. Hell, bleeding out on his classroom floor wasn’t as bad as this. Still, he raises only seven fingers. The nurse has to lean over his hips to see his trembling left hand hardly raised from the bed and fingers hardly uncurled. Still, seven. 

“Honey,” she says, gently and so understanding. “I need you to be honest with me, otherwise, I can’t give you any pain medication. Okay?’

He nods and this time he raises a more honest answer. Nine.

The nurse squeezes his knee as she stands, smiling. “See,” she says, “that I can work with.” When she looks up, she finds Dave and to him her smile softens significantly. “Looks like you’ve got a visitor, sweetheart.” 

Aaron moves his head, feeling the uncomfortable pull at his mouth as the tubes remain still. Dave. 

“Don’t cry,” Dave whispers, feeling his own tears sting his eyes at the sight of the ones pooling over in Aaron. “Oh my boy,” Dave walks up to the side of the bed. He takes one of Aaron’s hands and the other moves to his hair, gently soothing down the sweat soaked locks. 

Dave smiles sadly as he wipes away one of Aarons’ stray tears. He can see just how tired Aaron is. The dark bags under his eyes look more like bruises but all of that can be excused. Aaron’s alive and he’s got a new heart and a chance at life. 

Of course… his future is built solidly on a hand-ful of medications he’s going to have to take daily. He’ll have to be careful each flu season and fight from here on out to keep living. To eat healthy and get enough sleep and-- 

“You did so good,” Dave praises, softly. He keeps his hand in Aaron’s head, luring him back to sleep. Not that Aaron has very much fight left in him right now. “Get some rest, son.”

Where Emily had expected leniency or maybe even some rule-bending she finds only hard schedules and a very weak, recently cracked open Aaron Hotchner. He gets two days to rest. In those days Dave is the only person they allow back and just as he’s starting to get restless they bring him down to a different floor. They pass through so many floors she stops bothering to learn which intensive care unit it is. 

What’s important is that he’s on his feet and making slow progress down the hall. 

He’s leaning a little bit more on Dave than he should be but gone is the tube in his throat. Pulled behind him is the oxygen tank that the doctor has already decided he no longer needs. But for today he pulls in deep breathes through his nose and tries to make it down the hall without incident. 

“Emily,” he greets breathless, stopping and shaking in place while he looks her up and down. He’s not checking her out, there is no baited heat that should make her cheeks flush. Instead, she feels the familiar warmth of his presence wash over her. Nothing but at ease familiarity.

She presses a kiss to his cheek, smiling when he chuckles breathlessly. “You look---”

His chest moves a little too much when he pulls in a breath and he winces, face pulling back in a tight grimace. “--like shit?” he offers, not even fighting when the nurse that had been trailing them pushes the wheelchair behind his knees. 

She smiles softly but it’s Dave to confirm, “just rest a moment.” He rests a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, gently rubbing, “you can try again in a moment.”

Once he’s settled, his eyes moving back up to Emily she shakes her head. “Are you kidding,” she asks. “You look hot enough to pick up anybody in this place you wanted.”

He pulls his arm against his chest as he groans, the smile on his lips all she needs to know that he’s laughing through the pain. “Don’t lie to me,” he chides without any heat. It’s him that blushes first and it makes her smile that much harder. 

She rolls her eyes and reaches down to mess his hair up even more. 

He wonders if this new heart is really going to be able to deal with all the beats she made the old one skip. 

“So, hot stuff,” she looks over her shoulder to the rest of the hall. “You supposed to be walking down this hall?’

He nods, throat impossibly tight at the way she says hot stuff so casually.

He really does look worse for wear. His dark hair is perpetually swept in every direction, no brush or amount of gel and water seems to tame it. Normally, his neatly trimmed facial hair never sees the light of much more than a light shadow. Unable to lift his arms and unwavering on his decision to not let a nurse shave him, he’s grown a nice beard. 

He’s scraggly and well past just windswept. 

He’s lacking nearly all of what makes him so much the Aaron Hotchner the world gets to see. His shoulders aren’t squared, he can’t even stand up all the way.  But Emily Prentiss finds that she’s never loved just a ragged thing as much as she does this man. 

As teenage girls love the abhorrent idea of a straw too mangled to go loved by another soul. As a child might choose the smallest, most beaten down stuffed animal. Emily Prentiss loves this man  who looks up at her with heavy, beaten down eyes. Not because he’s broken but because he gets back up. 

And Aaron Hotchner might just love her back.

[skz-writings]

Reaction: s/o dyeing their hair (gone wrong)

Theme: Kind of crack?

Requested: Yes

↳ Ask: Hii~~ good luck with your new blog!!! I was thinking about what you could do to start your blog and it may be funny a reaction of them when their s/o tries to dye their hair but goes wrong hahaha have a nice day💕

A/N: This took me a bit longer because I needed to research which things potentially could go wrong when dyeing hair since I am not very knowledgeable on the topic. Also, some of these are hair dyeing mistakes I made myself hehe.

➤ Bang Chan

Chan dyed his hair a lot, no question about it. His damaged hair was clear evidence of that. Yet the guy couldn’t help himself as he stood in front of you, asking you to help him dye it as his hairdresser had said it would be best not to. You really wanted to be on the hairdresser’s side and tell him “no”, but the pout on his lips messed with your head and made it really difficult to say no. Eventually after asking him a million times if he was sure, and him telling you that he was indeed sure, you finally agreed.

You would do at your apartment since it would give you more space and not have people running in and out when you were concentrating. He had promised to get the bleach if you could buy the hair dye for him. This led you to the nearest store that sold hair dye, and you want to get it over with as soon as possible, quickly grabbed the blonde hair dye box you thought looked correct.

Even while dyeing his hair, he still seemed to be the only one stoked about the whole thing. He still tried to reassure you that it was okay and he would take care of his hair. It did make your mood a bit better and at least you could now enjoy your time with your boyfriend. You did have quite a few hours in front of you to spend with him.

However, you couldn’t help but want to laugh when everything was done and over with and the final result stood right in front of you. He was still gaping at the pastel blue you somehow managed to color it. “I feel like there is a lesson to be learned here.” You spoke, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, never ask you to dye my hair again.” He answered still trying to take it all. “Not what I meant.” You answered him bitterly. “You are lucky I can pull everything off,” he said turning to you finally, “because otherwise, you be dead.”

➤ Lee Minho

Minho had been jumping between hair colors as of lately, every two weeks felt like he had a different color and nothing ever seemed to be exactly as he wanted it to be. His more recently were a light brown, one you thought fitted him very well. For once he didn’t completely disagree but had it been just a tiny bit lighter, then it would be perfect according to him. That’s how the two of you came up with the brilliant plan of dyeing it.

As long as you chose a package close to his current hair color, then his hair should be safe. He had not had time to pick up a box himself and had asked you to do it for him. Sending you a picture of the one he personally thought would be best to use, you set out to buy his hair dye.

However, when you reached the store and stood in front of all the boxes with his recommendation in your hands, you had to disagree. In your opinion, it looked like it would dye his hair darker and not brighter. So, you took a different box, that looked like it would give you the right result.

You had not told Minho about your different purchase as you didn’t deem it to be that important. You’d much rather just get started and get it over with, so you could get ‘thank you for doing this for me’ cuddles sooner. Your head filled with cute cuddle images, you hurried to get the job done, while still doing it properly.

Those images would probably only see the light in your imagination, for as the two of you dried his and revealed it the audience of your bathroom aka the two of you. Both fell silent. “y/n..” he said as you only stared at him. “You did pick up the ri-“ you stopped him before he could even finish. “No, I did not.” He only nodded silently, giving you time to quickly escape the wrath of your boyfriend. “Oh no, you get back here right now!” He yelled running after you.

➤ Seo Changbin

One thing Changbin was certain of, was that you absolutely loved his lighter hair color. From the minute he had first entered your apartment door with the new look, had you been all over him. So, he almost felt bad holding the hair dye box in his hand, but he was ready to change his looks up a bit. And it was not like it would be a huge difference, it would only be a few shades darker. Knowing you, however, he knew you would be complaining and the least he could do now was letting you be the one to dye it, like a final goodbye.

It had taken you quite a long time to get started, wanting to take a few more pictures to commemorate his best hair color to date, according to your at least. Even while dyeing it, you had kept sighing and asked him if he was sure. To which he kept telling you, that yes, he was sure.

Washing it out and looking himself in the mirror, he was not sure anymore. Positive he should have told you to talk him out of it. Because looking back at him, was not a few shades of darker hair color, like he had promised you. It was such a dark brown, that it almost could be mistaken for black. Running out of the bathroom with a towel around his hair, he frantically looked for the box and instructions you had used. His mind knowing what happened already, but only needing the text to confirm it. “Oh no,” he said turning to you, “we were not meant to have waited as long as you said we did!”

He only got a confused look and a simple “what?” in return. To show exactly what he meant, he pulled the towel away from his hair. Your eyes looked big as you looked at the dark hair, a color you were not promised. A giggle left your lips as you admired it and simply answered, “I like it though.”

➤ Hwang Hyunjin

Having sported black hair for as long as Hyunjin has, it was impossible for him not to have wanted to change it at some point. The problem was just that he had no idea what he wanted to do with it, and that he really never had time to get it done. You had looked around the internet a bit and sent him hair colors you thought would fit him, but nothing ever really seemed to be good enough for him.

That’s why the two of you eventually came to the conclusion of just making it a bit brighter, so a dark brown instead of black. It would be a change, but not so much that he couldn’t soon change it again.

Since it seemed like a pretty minor thing to do and pretty easy, you decided to just do it at home. Conversations were flowing between the two of you, and he could enjoy a few head scratches from you once in a while as you applied the dye to his hair. It was just an enjoyable experience for both of you.

Rinsing out his hair didn’t really help your excitement to see it. Since the hair still looked black when wet, you both still had some time before the final reveal was ready. Hyunjin was sitting in front of you, while you were sitting on the couch, drying his hair with a towel.

Slowly as the hair started to dry, your fears grew. Nothing had happened. The hair still looked completely black. “That should be enough” Hyunjin told you as he made his way to the bathroom so he could see the results for himself. You were now just waiting for the inevitable and just like that a yell was heard.

“Nothing happened!” Your boyfriend said annoyed as he came back to the living room. “I thought you said you knew what you were doing!” Feeling a bit guilty you told him with a nervous smile, “this was my first-time dyeing hair.”

➤ Han Jisung

It hadn’t been long since Jisung had gone back to blonde. A very praised hair color from fans and you alike. However, after the session he was not left satisfied, it was still too dark in his opinion. A concern he had discussed with you, to which you had offered to dye it brighter, a job that should not be too hard.

Jisung had been a bit hesitant at first, but you had assured him that you knew what you were doing. Now sitting in a chair, with your hands in his hair massaging the dye you had chosen together, into his hair, he regretted nothing. Having you do all the work and just enjoying the affection was nice after a long day at work and as a plus, he would soon have a hair color he actually would be satisfied with.

You were also pretty confident in it turning out perfect and just to be sure, followed the box instructions in case there was something you may have not known. It was all going well, almost too well.

Life just had to be against you. After finishing washing your boyfriend’s hair, you were met with roots that didn’t match the rest of the hair, just a tad bit too orange.

Not knowing what to do, you quickly gather your things in fear of being there when he saw his new hair. He looked on confused as to what you were doing and why you said you needed to meet up with a friend.

He turned towards the bathroom mirror, to see the orange roots staring back at him and now understanding what you were doing, “y/n!” He yelled after you before you could even reach the front door.

➤ Lee Felix

When Felix had first approached you with a box of hair dye, you had been confused. When he had asked you do dye his light brown hair, brighter, you had been confused. You had never in your life tried to dye anyone’s hair, including your own. But your boyfriend kept insisting, and there was nothing that could go wrong as he had picked out a product he could trust.

You still refused and told him to get someone professional to do it, because your lack of experience scared you. He kept trying to persuade you and only succeeded when he promised to buy you whatever you wanted for dinner. Food, your one weakness.

During the whole thing, he had guided you and told you how the hairdressers he usually went to, did it. Slowly you felt more and more confident in the whole thing, it looked like it would turn out nicely. And it wasn’t as hard and nerve-wracking as you thought it would be. It was actually pretty easy to apply.

While waiting the time the box said it would take for the hair dye to settle, the two of you played a few games to make time pass faster. Felix constantly trying to cheat and pretend to mess up your masterpiece, aka his hair.

And a masterpiece it was, well if you were talking about some abstract painting hanging at a run-down art museum. For some reason, the hair dye had not taken to the roots and instead left Felix with a crappy kind of ombre, not even the tiniest bit even. He wanted to see what had made you so speechless since you had not said a word since rinsing the dye out.

The sight was one to be seen, your boyfriend just as speechless as yourself. Until he mumbled a tiny, “I should probably have gone to a professional instead.”

➤ Kim Seungmin

Seungmin was not one to dye his hair often, so it was a huge surprise when he all of sudden had showed up with his blondish hair. Not that you were complaining, it looked nice, it was just something to get used. But used to it, you got. Almost so much that it felt sad when Seungmin came to ask you if you could help him dye it back to brown. But being the great significant other, that you were, you agreed to help him.

Just to make sure you were going to do it correctly, you watched some youtube videos with tips and tricks. Seungmin had asked you to pick up the hair dye, so he could hurry over after he was done with practice. Being the one to buy it, giving you some more time to study the specific instructions included in the box. And when it finally came to the dyeing part, you felt more than ready and extremely confident in your work.

The confidence was however stripped away when you finally stood in front of Seungmin, who had decided to rinse the dye out himself and show you the results when he had it dried. Two things were clear, it was dry and dyed, the dye part, however, was not exactly what you had expected it to be. In the right lighting, it looked as you had imagined it to be in your head. He was not currently standing in the right lighting and that clear outline of green was evident in his hair. You giggled as you finally spoke to your annoyed boyfriend, “sorry.”

➤ Yang Jeongin

It was no secret between the two of you, that Jeongin always had been interested in trying different types of hair colors. He had once told you that his interest grew more after he met you, as he was fascinated with all the colors you often dyed your own hair too. You had even recently decided to try out a bubblegum pink, Jeongin’s favorite so far. He told you it made you look like a fairy when he first saw it. And only a few days later he came to you, with a determined expression. He told you he wanted to try a platinum blonde, it wouldn’t be too different from one of his earlier hair colors, but still something new.

Since you usually dyed your own hair, he had asked you to be the one to do it on him. It shouldn’t be too hard to achieve since you had tried bleaching and dyeing hair a lot. The bleaching part went by perfectly and it finally came to the last part to get the blonde he had so wished to achieve.

When you first prepared the dye, you thought something seemed odd, the color you thought would be different, it didn’t seem exactly like you thought it would have. But when Jeongin asked you when you would get started, you threw the concerns to the side and told yourself you were overthinking it since you were a tiny bit nervous about doing it on someone else.

Dyeing went well too and after waiting some time, it finally came to the rinsing out part. You almost dropped the showerhead when you realized you should have acted on your concerns. Telling him to stay still, you went to grab the box and your thoughts were confirmed.

Quietly you went back to the bathroom and stood in the opening, nervously playing with your hands. “Do you remember how you said you liked my hair and that it made me look like a fairy?” You asked, not even looking at him at this point. “Yeah?” He asked confused, lifting his head to look over at you. “Welcome to the fairy clan.”

[wild3flow3r]

THREE

“You didn’t even try today.”

Harry’s face snaps up, a mischievous grin on his face. “You don’t think so?”

“I mean, the kitchens? It’s a fairly obvious place.”

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t my first choice. I lost track of time down here before I could go and properly hide.”

Persephone steps into the large room. It was just basically filled with counter space, different types of food covering every surface. Spirits raced around the two of them, as if they weren’t even there. She eyes them but says nothing.

“And where would you have hidden?”

“Well I can’t give up my spot for tomorrow, now can I?”

For the last two weeks, Persephone and Harry have been playing a hide and seek type game. Every morning, if Persephone wanted to spend the day with Harry, she would have to go and find him. Every day she won, and every day they spent together was better than the last, at least in Persephone’s opinion.

Persephone pouts, but says nothing. “What’re you doing in here then?”

Harry pauses before lifting a basket off of one of the counters. “Thought we could go out to the river today and have a picnic. Talk about a few things?”

Persephone didn’t entirely like the way his voice turned down a few octaves as he said the last bit, but Harry didn’t look worried so she dismissed the feeling. She nods.

“That sounds fine to me.”

Harry smiles, a closed mouth one at first but then he’s smiling so hard that his teeth have to come through. He offers her his arm, just as he always does. “This way then.”

They have only just exited the castle to the back gardens when somewhere in the distance Cerberus lets out a loud growl and then a bark. Persephone falters in her steps, dread pooling at the bottom of her stomach. Still, after the small amount of time she’s spent here, she’s never gotten used to the dog and the sounds he’d make. She hopes Harry hadn’t noticed, but of course he had.

“Are you alright?” He asks, daring a glance down towards her with an eyebrow raised.

Persephone only nods. She stares ahead.

“You haven’t had a chance to meet Cerberus yet, have you?”

“No offense to him, but he was not on the top of my list to check out and see if the rumors are true.”

“And what are those rumors?”

They’re walking slower now, past some tall trees with black leaves, but not like if it were dying. These leaves sparkled and glimmered like they were made of jewels.

“He’ll kill anything on sight, except you of course. He acts on instinct, and it doesn’t matter if this person is your friend or foe. If they get too close, their head gets bitten off.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“What is?”

“I’m trying to figure out which God made up that story. Probably Hermes, honestly. He loves to exaggerate stories and spread gossip all over Olympus.”

“So it isn’t true then?”

“Not in the slightest. I mean, he can do those things, but he won’t attack just anyone. Either I have to command it, or this person holds a real threat against the castle. Otherwise, he’s just a big puppy.”

“Then why is he barking and growling all day long?”

“Those sounds are more like howling, and it’s because he’s looking for attention. He hates being alone for too long.”

Persephone had stopped paying attention to where they were going. For the last few minutes, she’d kept her eyes trained on Harry as he spoke. Occasionally he’d look back down at her, but leading the way he’d kept his eyes mostly forward. Now she wished she’d have been looking around. If she had, then she would have directed them elsewhere. And if she hadn’t been so focused on him, then she would have heard the heavy pounding on the floor.

A long lick against her forearm elicits a scream from Persephone’s mouth. She jumps far and high, but Hades more or less brings her back where she was. Three pairs of dark brown eyes look down at her with excitement. Cerberus was a good foot taller than her, just taller than Harry himself.  His tail is wagging and the middle head leans in again to lick her arm.

“You tricked me,” Persephone whispers, as if any sudden movement or sound could turn Cerberus’ feelings towards her south.

“I did no such thing.”

“We’re supposed to be going to the river.”

“We are. It just so happens we have to pass Cerberus to get there, and I thought we could pop by and say hello.”

The left head barks, and if Persephone hadn’t already been in the land of the dead, then that surely would have sent her there. The right head starts sniffing her hair.

“What am I supposed to do?” Her voice is still light. The longer the dog went without attacking her, the more Persephone found herself calming down around him. Plus, she knew Harry wouldn’t let the dog harm her.

“Reach your hand out, let all of them sniff you and get to know your scent.” He squeezes her arm reassuringly before letting her go and taking a step back. Cerberus takes a step forward. Persephone reluctantly sticks out her arm.

The middle head carefully sniffs the outstretched hand before the left head pushes it out of the way, this one clearly thinking that there might have been a treat in the hand. The right one is still in her hair. And then it licks the side of her face, causing her to cringe only slightly. She hears Harry cough, and she turns to him, glaring at him as he bites down on his bottom lip to stop any laughing. Persephone wipes away any slobber left on her face. Then Cerberus takes a few steps away, leaning down on its front legs and wagging its butt in the air, letting Persephone know he was ready to play.

“How-”

Before Persephone could finish her question, Harry suddenly burst ahead of her, jumping in the air. Cerberus met him halfway, knocking each other in the chest before rolling to the ground. At first, Persephone stood there in shock, but then it clicked that they were playing. Never had she thought she would see this sight. She’s sure none of the God’s or the Goddesses in Olympus could even imagine what she was seeing. Dog and master were rolling around in the dirt, carefully pushing against one another in a play fight as if they were instead puppy and child.

Persephone brushes her skirts underneath her thighs before sitting on the ground. She can’t help the laugh she lets out when Cerberus knocks Harry over with a giant paw and holds him down with it. Harry glares at her, but Cerberus turns all three of his heads to her at the sound, giving her a puppy grin. Harry tries to push the paw off, but it won’t budge. He commands Cerberus off, but still he doesn’t move.

“Fucking hell,” Hades mutters, reluctantly accepting defeat. Persephone once remembers reading that Cerberus was created to be stronger than all of the other Gods and Goddesses combined. She supposes that was true against Hades as well.

After a deep breath, Persephone gingerly sticks an arm out. Something told her that whatever she commanded, Cerberus would listen without a second thought. Almost as if she were his master rather than Harry. “Come here boy. Get off of him,” she whispers, but all six ears perk up at her voice. Without even sparing a glance at Hades, almost like he seemingly forgot he was holding the God down, Cerberus trots over to Persephone. He stretches out his body on the grass next to her before placing all three heads along her lap. He turns slightly so she could have access to scratch his belly, so she does.

Persephone looks up at Harry. He’s still on the ground where the dog left him, but he’s leaning up on his elbows now. A lopsided smile overtakes his face, his eyes shining. Finally, he gets up to walk the few feet to them, and slumps back down onto the ground.

“He’s a big baby, that one.” He pats Cerberus' head that’s closest to him. All three heads were now asleep on Persephone’s lap, lulled to it by Persephone’s belly rub.

“Kept you pinned down. Wouldn’t even move until I beckoned him off. I’d hardly say he’s a baby.”

“Well he’s taken quite a liking to you.” Harry places his hand on the grass next to Persephone’s thigh to lean his weight against it. He is quite close to her, and Cerberus warns him of that when one of the heads growls at him with half lidded eyes.

“Oh hush,” Persephone mutters while scratching behind his ear. “Don’t start.”

Cerberus squints his eyes at Harry once more before shutting them again. Harry looks almost appalled. She’s sure Cerberus has never growled at Harry before, not even when he was a puppy.

“You’ve turned him against me. You give him one scratch and he’s putty in your hands.”

“Can’t help it if I’m better than you.” The words pass Persephone’s mouth without much thought, and when she realizes what she’s said her cheeks flush.

Harry laughs, a quiet one underneath his breath. He scans around them, and then the short pathway they have to take to get to the river. After a few minutes, he slowly stands up and grabs the basket he discarded earlier.

“We should get going. You’re probably getting hungry.”

Persephone nods. Although she would have liked to sit with Cerberus napping in her lap for the rest of the day, she was getting hungry. And she also knew Harry wanted to talk to her about something.

“Time to get up,” Persephone whispers while scratching behind one of their ears. Reluctantly, Cerberus listens, and with one last lick to Persephone’s face he trotters off back to his post. Harry holds a hand down, and Persephone takes it and stands back up.

Harry spreads out a blanket by the river and motions for Persephone to sit down. He sits right next to her, but not close enough to touch. She’s slightly disappointed, but wipes the look off of her face before Harry can spot it. They eat quietly watching the river slowly stream further into the Underworld.

“Is something wrong?” Persephone asks quietly when her food is nearly done. He’s been silent this entire time, and a look on his face caused a feeling of dread to pool in her stomach.

Harry peeks at her a moment before looking ahead again. He lets out a slow breath. “Your mother has learned of your location here. She’s summoned me to return you immediately.”

Persephone’s eyes widen, her mouth slightly agape. “I have to go back?”

Harry nods slowly, still refusing to meet her gaze.

“But what if I refuse?”

His head snaps towards hers. “What?”

“What if I don’t want to go? What if I would rather stay here… with you?”

His eyes are scanning all along her face. He believed they’d been getting on quite nicely lately, but he hadn’t thought they were close enough where she would choose him over her own mother. “You want to stay?” He couldn’t even believe the words as he spoke them himself.

Persephone nods, biting her bottom lip to keep away an oncoming grin. “I do. It’s been nice being here and being able to do my own thing. My mother doesn’t allow me the same up above. You treat me as my own person, I can’t say the same about my mother.”

They’ve moved closer to each other, their faces only inches apart. “You’re sure?”

“I want to stay here. If you try to return me I’ll put up such a fight,” she whispers. “You can’t return an unwilling captive. I won’t allow it.”

His lips twitch upwards. And then he looks at her mouth. She thinks he’s going to kiss her again, but once more he backs away.

“Why do you do that?”

He straightened his back so he’s staring down at her. “Do what?”

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“No, I mean… Ugh.” Persephone covers her burning face with her hands and slumps down so she’s lying on her back.

He hovers over her, carefully removing her hands and putting them back at her sides. He’s beaming down at her. “What do you mean?”

Persephone pouts. “I thought… I guess… I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I thought we were becoming more serious than just friends. I like you like you. Oh Gods,” she speaks all in one breath. She moves to cover her face again, but Harry’s still holding her hands down.

“I like you like you too, Persephone.” He lets go of her hands, and Persephone’s body feels on fire. “But I don’t want to pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for.” He puts a few inches of space in between them again.

Persephone sits up. “But I am ready.”

Harry side eyes her. “You aren’t.”

“Harry, you’ve made me the happiest a Goddess could be. But I’ll be waiting around forever if you’re the one that gets to decide when I’m ready or not, even when I’m straight out telling you I am ready.”

His cheeks burn at her statement, the first part of it. She knows she’s made him happy too, maybe the happiest he’s ever been. “But you’re not-”

He’s cut off by the weight of Persephone straddling his lap. The breath is knocked out of him, not only by the force she used to place herself there but also at just the feeling of her body against his. Before he can push her away or speak another word, she takes his head in her palms and kisses him. At first she’s slow because she has no idea what she’s doing, but then Harry takes over, taking control of her mouth with his. Her hips have slowly started to move against him. She hasn’t noticed the small movements, but Harry definitely has.

They’re flipped over in an instant. Persephone gasps and then giggles, eliciting a reaction from Harry in his lower region. He’s backed up a bit, but only far enough so that he can place gentle kisses on her lips every few seconds. His hands are interlaced with hers.

“I’ve never… I’m not,” Persephone starts.

“We won’t do anything then.”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“We’ll go slow. We’ll take things slow. We’ll build up to things over time.”

“Harry-”

“And then-”

With her hands clutched in his, she bites his bottom lip to get his attention. The action causes his eyes to flare. She can now feel him poking against her thigh. “What was that for?

“You aren’t listening to me.”

“I am. I just-”

Again she bites his lip, but now she takes a moment to suck on it before slowly letting it fall away from her mouth. His eyes close, and she can tell it’s taking all of his restraint to not react. “I want to do something now. I need… My body is literally burning.” She wraps her legs around his waist and lifts her hips up. His breath catches and a small moan passes his lips.

“I’m not... We’re not going to have sex here. It’ll be your first time, I want it to be special for you.”

She breaks her hands free from his and rubs her palms down his neck and over his shoulders. “I bet you can think of something else we can do.” She’s heard the other Goddesses talk about it, or really she’s heard Aphrodite mention it before Demeter rushed her out of the room. Sex, but not actually sex. Harry’s eyes are blazing now, a fire Persephone is ready to be consumed by. She knows she’s convinced him now.

“Are you sure?” “I’ll be very upset if you don’t. But only if you want to.”

Harry leans down, pressing slow kisses against her neck down to her shoulders, and then finally in between her breasts. “Trust me Persephone, I want to.”

He takes his time kissing down her body, over her tunic. When he meets a patch of skin, he makes sure to nip at it before moving on. When he gets to her thighs he spreads her legs far enough apart so he can hook them over his shoulders, and then slides her clothing up to her hips. When she looks down, she can’t see his head underneath the cloth. Not being able to see him, to not predict what he could do next, causes a new feeling in between her legs.

His nose presses against one of her thighs, and then boldly he licks from that spot to her folds. He’s holding her hips down so she can’t move them, can’t beckon his face closer with them. Her hands clutch the blanket underneath them. She can feel his breath on her and she cries at just that sensation. She can’t imagine how she’ll sound at anything more than that. He chuckles at her quiet pleading. And then, almost like it never happened, he pushes his tongue past her folds before slipping it back out. She curses at him then, making his chest rumble in more laughter.

He goes again, but this time he doesn’t leave. Still his movements are slow, and Persephone wants to rip his hair out.

“Faster,” she begs. He hums in response, the vibration of it pushing her a little further, but he continues his pace.

She writhes underneath him when his mouth circles around her most sensitive nub. Her mouth opens in a silent scream. Blast her mother for keeping her hidden away for so long, for never letting her feel like this at the hands of a man. But then again, she’d always want that man to be Hades.

With his mouth still on her clit, he pushes one finger in. He curls it before picking up another slow pace and pumps it in and out of her. This time she actually does scream.

She’s sweating, her entire body his sweating. Her folds are slick, she can tell just by the way Harry can slide his finger in now without much resistance. His mouth his moving quicker now, flicking his tongue against her clit at a faster pace.

“I’m gonna… I feel…” She can hardly breathe. She quite literally feels as if she might explode.

“Let go,” he whispers, and although it should have been impossible, somehow she heard him. She lets her body relax just enough to stop holding back the feeling.

She’s panting out ragged breaths. Stray strands of hair are glued to her forehead. Her knuckles are now white from how hard she’d been grasping the blanket. Harry licks up her slit one last final time, sending shivers down her spine, before carefully extracting himself from her. His eyes are shining when he looks down at her, and with half lidded eyes she stares back at him with a dreamy smile on her face.

Harry grabs a cloth from the basket, first wiping his own face and then with careful strokes wiping down her thighs. He fixes her tunic back to its original position. Persephone still can’t move, at least not without fear that she’ll fall back down if she tries.

“Are you okay?” Harry whispers as he lies down next to her again. He leans his head on his palm to look down at her, and wraps an arm around her waist.

“Better than okay.”

“It wasn’t too much?”

“It was perfect.”

Harry presses a kiss against her nose.

“What about you?” She whispers.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you…?”

“Not today. Today’s about you.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

Harry stares down at her incredulously. “This was plenty fair for me. Being granted permission to be the person to make you come,” her face burns bright red, “that’s the best thing you could have done for me today.”

She nuzzles her head against his shoulder. “My legs feel like jelly.”

“I’ll carry you back to the castle soon.”

“If we wait a while longer I should be okay to walk myself.”

He kisses her mouth and then her cheek. “I’ll carry you back and then I’ll have Moira run you a bath.”

Persephone reaches up to push a few stray curls out of his face. “You’re very kind.” A sudden tiredness takes over Persephone. Harry notices immediately.

“Sleep. I’ll keep watch over you.”

Persephone nods and then yawns. She lets her eyes droop shut. The sounds of the river and Harry’s breathing lull her to sleep.

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Ever Onwards-Dragons?

"Naruto Uzumaki" Normal speech

"Naruto Uzumaki" Normal thoughts

"Kurama" Big guy speech

"Kurama" Big guy thoughts

Chapter 1

"Naruto!"

"Sasuke!"

"Shannaro!"

Three voices intertwined as their owners finally triumphed over the greatest threat the Elemental Nations has ever faced.

Pale, royal lavender Byakugan eyes helplessly glared with hatred at the reincarnations of Indra and Ashura as the sun and moon reached out to forever shatter her dreams of eternal peace. "Im…possible. For me, the mother of all chakra, to be bested by the wretched offspring of Hagoromo." Alabaster fists, capable of ending all of existence, tightly clenched as Kaguya Ōtsutsuki bitterly railed against her oncoming defeat. Suddenly, just as she felt Naruto and Sasuke grip her shoulders, her hate filled all-seeing eyes spotted her only path of freedom, the seal on the belly of the glowing blond who, out of the two, managed to humiliate and infuriate her the most.

"If my fate is to once again be sealed…"

"RIKUDŌ: CHIBAKU TENSEI!"

"...then you shall suffer with me!"

The instant Naruto and Sasuke finished the strongest sealing jutsu, a giant black sphere of impossible gravitational power emerged, forcing even Kaguya, the progenitor of chakra, up into the sky. As she drew closer to the orb, wisps of dark blue streams swiftly turned into raging rivers as Kaguya's god-like chakra constantly streamed from her body into the seal, strengthening its already powerful gravitational pull to the point of distorting space itself.

Below, the earth tore itself asunder as distant mountain ranges cracked and groaned before violently hurtling up towards the Rabbit Goddess, forming a giant prison not unlike the distant moon in space.

"Finally, it's done." Back down on the ruined earth, Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, and Kakashi all relaxed when they saw Kaguya about to be completely hidden from view.

However, just as the two incarnations of the Sage's sons were about to send the second moon into space, the enormous ball of compressed earth and stone suddenly trembled, causing bits of rocks to tumble to the ground. Yet none of them noticed the tremor since the unbreakable prison was already shaking from all of the tons of earth to begin with.

That didn't last long.

With a last burst of her godly chakra, Kaguya shuttled her prison between dimensions towards the quartet, who only now began to realize something was wrong when a black rift in space abruptly swallowed her.

"What the…"

Naruto, still garbed in both Kurama's and the Rikudō Sennin's Yang chakra, uttered his astonishment before widening his crossed eyes in shock when Kaguya's prison teleported not twenty feet above him.

"Oi, Sasuke! What the hell is going…AHHHH!"

Then, before Sasuke's shocked mystic eyes, a scene unpleasantly reminding him of when Madara absorbed the God Tree into himself occurred just hours earlier happen to his only friend.

But it was what he heard and saw that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Unlike the mad Uchiha, Naruto - the same person who would go to ridiculous lengths to hide away his suffering - was screaming out in terrifying agony as bloody cracks ripped apart his skin, swiftly dyeing his clothes a hideous red, before closing up thanks to his powerful regeneration...only to open again.

And again.

And again.

And again until the ground beneath was soaked in blood.

Through it all, an ugly grimace etched itself on his whiskered visage as what was equivalent to more than double an entire world's worth of chakra - determined to do nothing else but make its new host experience a living hell - maliciously barged into the seal that currently contained only the Yin half of Kurama.

"Kurama, what…the hell is going on in here!" Tearing his attention away from the pain and into his mindscape, a kneeling Naruto bore witness to what equated to a second moon pushing its way into the Kyuubi's cage, the bars that once held back the fox beginning to crumble and shatter under its impossible weight and presence. Had he been anyone else, his body would have simply evaporated, leaving nothing behind except a giant construct of rock and goddess as his tombstone. As it were, the only thing preventing this from happening or his chakra pathways outright shattering was a giant nine-tailed fox with dark russet fur desperately pushing against Kaguya's prison, only allowing the foreign object to slowly enter as the seal attempted to readjust itself.

"Hold on brat! Just hold on a little longer! Kaguya must have used the last burst of chakra under her control to teleport herself into your seal!"

"I…see." A crimson eye twitched. "NO I DON'T! HOW THE HELL DID SHE DO THAT AND OWOWOWOW…"

"SHUT IT BRAT, I'M A LITTLE BUSY OVER HERE! AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT SUPER GRANNY OVER HERE DID?!" Kurama ferociously roared as he was steadily pushed back further into the seal by the moon.

"…!" Naruto didn't bother answering back as he was yanked back into the real world from a sudden jerk on the back of his shredded jacket. Flipping through the air, the first thing he saw and felt was solid stone as his face bounced off of Hashirama's arm. Arms trembling, his vision blurred and twisted by the body-ripping agony, he shakily pulled himself back on his feet, only for his gut to sink when he saw his brother from another life stand opposite of him.

A Chidori chirping on his hand.

60 Years Later

Fragile russet brown leaves, cracked and dried as they always were at this time of year, faintly rustled as the cool wind of Fall whispered through the boughs of the trees surrounding the Uchiha compound before falling to join the small, colorful tornado of leaves swirling above the ground, much to the delight of children running around the compound. Just a few blocks away, the barking of Inuzaka clan dogs intertwined with the sharp chirps of birds could be heard all over Konoha as the sun rose to greet the new day. Only the faint wisps of smoke that rose from budding industry marred the otherwise picturesque scene.

All in all, it was a normal day for the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

Yet, as laughter and barks drifted through the air, the Uchiha compound was silent, the heavy, almost tangible, atmosphere hanging above a stark contrast to the one outside. No light or signs of life could be seen from the rows of old, but well-maintained, houses, except for one deep within the ancestral area. Inside, behind a pair of thin paper walls and beneath a blanket laid a man with pitch-black hair and streaks of silver running through it, inky eyes, and a missing left arm shorn off near the elbow. His face and build, once the object of rabid affection from women across the Elemental Nations, now withered and lined with age.

On each side of him knelt two people. On his left was a woman with pale pink hair, startling green eyes, and a fading violet diamond on her wrinkled forehead. Faint lines marked the edges of her lips and eyes, the legendary seal taught by her master now losing its potency in her advanced age; yet, such trivial blemishes did nothing to diminish the gentle smile that played on her lips as she gazed down at her husband. On the opposite side sat someone who didn't seem to quite belong: a young man with sun-kissed blonde hair, eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky, three whisker-like birthmarks on each cheek, and a right arm completely wrapped in bandages covered in a myriad of minute black seals. If not for his radically different features, he could've been mistaken as the son or even grandson of the old couple before him.

For several minutes, none spoke as dust lightly settled on the soft mats. Yet, despite the depressing air surrounding them, there was a sense of peace and comfort brought along with years of friendship and complete trust in the other. Finally, it was the bedridden man who broke the silence.

"Dobe, Sakura, I'm cough cough!" A string of coughs broke Sasuke's sentence. Only after Sakura, her hands speeding through seals with almost nonchalant ease, passed a glowing green hand over his chest did he stop. Taking a deep breath, he locked eyes with the man he called friend. "I'm dying…and there is something I must -"

A grunt interrupted his words. "Tch, you've been saying that for the past couple of years ya damn bastard. Yet here you are, still breathing and going on about that insane plan of yours. I've said it before and I'll say it again! With the power of the Six Paths and your eyes, you can still live for a few more years with Sakura and Sarada! Come on Sakura, you have to back me up on this." Naruto retorted with his arms crossed before his chest, glancing between the two as he pleaded for them to see reason, hoping to trigger even a fraction of the unyielding resolution Sasuke used to have. However, the worry in his eyes betrayed him.

Off to the side, Sakura merely sighed, not bothering to give a straight answer, having long agreed with Sasuke's proposal.

Suddenly, just as Sasuke was about to respond, a shudder wracked Naruto's powerful frame as pain capable of driving a god insane coursed through his body. Slowly, his shaking form started to keel over, and would have if not for the thin layer of gold flames which erupted from within. As his companion from birth undid the changes that took place in his very genes, Naruto spat out a small wad of blood before righting himself.

Through it all, neither of his friends bothered to react, as if used to the sight of someone capable of punching a hole through the moon losing control of his body, the only sign of worry reflected within their eyes while the scent of rusted iron filled the air.

"Even after all these years, you're still a dobe." Sasuke chuckled quietly, more amused than angry at the weak attempt to rile him up; he knew Naruto meant nothing by it. His eyes grew misty as he remembered all the times they clashed, whether it be with words or their fists, each bruise and scar a proud reminder of their times together. As he watched Naruto wipe the blood from his lips, he mentally sighed, "How time has flown by..."

Before he could sink deeper into nostalgia, a streak of agony lanced up his crippled arm. He winced at the unwelcome surprise.

"Enough, the past is the past. There is work to be done."

Taking a deep breath, Sasuke glowered at the stubborn blond, lifting his decrepit body inch by inch with a trembling arm. "Hn, do you take me for a fool, or do you think me so blind as to not see the seal holding both Kaguya and Kurama is already on its last legs, not to mention your body is already breaking down at the seams? How long do you have? A day? A week? Maybe a month? Maybe you even have a year, but by then, when that bitch finally claws her way out of that seal, I won't be able to even stand never mind fight! And you?" His voice trailed off, the room still trembling under the force of his fury and chakra.

Flopping back into bed, beads of sweat rolled over his heaving chest as he cursed how weak he was. Yet not once did his eyes leave Naruto's, his tone now soft, almost begging for him to see the inevitable. With a sense of finality, he delivered the finishing blow.

"And you...you will be dead. Either by internal combustion, or by her hand after she rips Kurama from your belly. Along with everyone else."

For a moment, nobody said anything, for how could they? No matter how Naruto wanted to deny, yell at his friend he was wrong, that there was always another way, his throat choked up before he could say the words.

Because the bastard was right, as he usually was.

When he saw Naruto stay quiet, Sasuke seized the opportunity to say the words that had to be said.

"Only when Yin and Yang combine back into one will you be able to preserve your body from breaking down anymore than it has already. And with my eyes, you will be able to resist Kaguya's pull on the Jūbi and only then stand a chance against her." He paused for a second before adding, "Perhaps your seal will even stabilize and give you time to adapt to your new powers."

Naruto irritably rubbed the back of his head as he sighed in frustration.

"Maybe my the changes to my body can be halted. Maybe the seal will stabilize. There are too many maybe's! You already know I'm at my limit, what with the old man's Yang chakra, Kurama and Kaguya, not to mention my own considerable reserves. I'll give you a maybe too. Maybe I'll explode the moment you transfer your Yin chakra and damn pinkeyes into my skull! There are just too...many...maybe's for this 'plan' of yours to work!"

It was a weak reason, and Naruto knew it.

Sakura knew it.

And Sasuke definitely knew it. And he made sure Naruto knew he knew. Ignoring how his body protested the motion, the elder Uchiha forced his body back up into a sitting position.

"Idiot!"

In response, Naruto slapped his hands down on the mat...or rather through it.

"Brooding emo!"

A hint of red and violet emerged within the inky darkness as Sharingan and Rinnegan whirled to life.

"Knucklehead!"

Ha! That's a compliment you son of-!"

Just as the two seemed ready to leap at each other to brawl it out, a hand appeared behind their skulls.

"ENOUGH!"

Smash!

A certain someone finally couldn't stand it any longer as her legendary temper, rumored to even surpass her mentor's, burst to life as she slammed her teammates' heads together until all they could see was stars. Finally, as the two legends slumped to the ground, a lone figure stood tall, her figure illuminated by the morning sun as rested her hands on her hips, green eyes ablaze with victory and exasperation alike.

"Ow, Sakura, what was that for?/Hn, was that really necessary?" Their complaints quickly petered out when they saw the culprit raise her glowing fist in warning. Seeing them simmer down, Sakura withdrew her fist to point at Naruto.

"Naruto, listen, and I mean really listen. I'm only going to say this once. You've already heard Sasuke's reasons for transferring his powers to you, and there's nothing wrong with what he said. So I won't say anything more about that. But there's something else you must consider. You know that the Elemental Nations have changed, for better or worse. Peace is now the name of the game and with everything you've worked for, power such as yours and Sasuke's is no longer needed in the new society, not with everyone across the land being so goody goody towards one another. Even the shinobi way is dying out, with the lack of wars and safer roads. It can be seen everywhere. Last year, only two children signed up for the Shinobi Academy and even then, they soon dropped out to become...businessmen. Not to mention the recent Kages are a joke compared to the past ones; some haven't even seen death."

The light in their eyes dimmed as they thought of how a core part of their childhood was dying out. However, they had come to terms with this long ago; the tradition of the shinobi was one built on blood and hatred and no longer had a place in the new age of peace. Lowering her hand, Sakura sat back down, her face slightly pale with exhaustion as her other hand sought for Sasuke's.

"Naruto, the last shinobi who could be considered true shinobi was Sarada's generation. Soon, the shinobi will cease to exist after her generation passes on, but you...should you survive the coming fight, you will be the last shinobi. So just take it, take the gift that he is offering, even if it's just a way to remind you of us after we pass on." Sakura softly said as she held her husband's hand.

A minute passed while Naruto tightly clenched his fists as his mouth opened and closed while trying to form words to somehow dissuade them. But to no avail. Shoulders slumped, his head drooped down in defeat.

"Do it then. Do it before I change my mind." Naruto softly whispered.

With hardly a pause, a paper seal slapped down on the back of his neck. As he slumped towards the floor, the last thing he felt was a slight body holding him before gently laying him down next the bed.

"Finally, it's done." Sasuke whispered; the corner of his lips quirked up as what seemed to be the weight of the world fell off his shoulders. As Naruto lost consciousness, he looked back to his wife's face to see two tracks of tears spilling out from her eyes as she fussed about with the blond's eternally spiky hair in preparation for the surgery. Stretching out a trembling hand, the last reincarnation of Indra took hold of his friend's right hand.

"At last, the cycle is broken. Perhaps, this is another form of revolution as the old man foretold..." Preparing to transfer his half of Hagoromo's power as well his own chakra reserves, Sasuke glanced up at his wife for over fifty year's glistening eyes before an uncharacteristically large grin broke out on his face.

"I love you Sakura. See you on the other side."

A small chuckle squeezed past Sakura's lips even as more tears dripped down her cheeks when she saw that smile. Leaning down, she tenderly kissed him placing a seal on his chest.

The last thing Uchiha Sasuke, Savior of the World, Last Reincarnation of Indra, heard was, "I know, Sasuke-kun. Have a good rest."

Then he saw nothing.

One Hour Later

As Naruto regained consciousness, he realized that all he could see was black before realizing the thick layer of gauze and bandages wrapped over his eyes. But he didn't motion to remove it. Instead, he reached out towards the last constant in his life.

"Kurama, you there?"

A puff of hot air rustled his hair as the giant fox made himself known.

"Yes, I'm here."

Turning around, Naruto stared into the giant crimson eye that towered above him. "...and Sakura and the bastard?"

Kurama hesitated before cautiously replying, "Naruto...they're gone."

"...I see."

Drip...drip...

Bloody tears slowly stained the bandage over his eyes red before splashing onto the floor. Gingerly standing up, Naruto fell again before steadying himself. Reaching up, he slowly began to remove the bandage around his head. When the last piece of gauze fluttered to the ground, he opened his eyes, an inky black much like the bottom of a lake during the new moon. If he looked closely, on his previously unmarked left palm was the small symbol a moon, the proof the operation worked. If he cared to pay attention, he would notice the constant bouts of agony that once consumed his mind and body were now nowhere to be felt, now replaced by a new sense of completeness as well as a new source of power lurking just underneath the surface of his skin.

But he noticed none of this. All he could see was the blurry image of his friends nestled together, their eyes forever shut and their hands tightly intertwined. Stumbling forward, he fell onto his knees and as he drew closer, he saw the small, but genuine smiles mirrored on their lips.

"Goodbye Sasuke, Sakura," Naruto whispered; leaning in, he kissed their foreheads before staggering away, his form blurring into nothingness as he raced away from Konoha, unaware and uncaring of the swathe of trees that exploded when they stood in his way.

That night, a sorrowful bellow rumbled through the land as Naruto lamented the loss of two of its legends, and more importantly his dearest friends.

30 Years Later

Three decades of time found Naruto silently standing on the easternmost shore of the Elemental Nations, watching the endless sea break against protruding rocks while enjoying the cooling sea breeze that sprang up now and again. After a particularly rough gust, the loose sleeves of his orange shirt and white trenchcoat with the kanji for Seventh Hokage sewn on it in red fluttered up, revealing a nearly invisible storage seal etched into the back of his left arm. Patting down his rebellious sleeves, he returned to quietly gazing into the endless blue sea with his now lighter black eyes, recalling everything that happened since the end of the 4th Shinobi War. From the defeat, sealing, and absorption of Kaguya, his marriage with Hinata, becoming the Seventh Hokage of Konoha and all the good times in between.

However, despite all the years he had to grieve, he refused to dwell on their deaths, rather choosing to remember them when they were alive.

A rumble through his mind broke his reverie.

"Naruto, you sure about this? If you do this and ever come back, no one will remember or even recognize you." Kurama asked.

"I'm fine Kurama. I have packed more than enough ramen and weapons…"

The giant fox interrupted him. "You know that's not what I meant brat. I'm asking whether…"

A tired sigh held back the rest of Kurama's words. "That's enough Kurama. You know why I must do this. Besides, I thought you out of the two of us would want to leave this place the most, since you've already been everywhere and don't want to potentially become a tool for others." Naruto remarked.

"Tch, fat chance of that happening if Kaguya manages to kill us. Whatever, I was just making sure you had no regrets since it would be annoying to hear you complaining about home."

"Hn, love you too furball." Naruto thought back.

"Humph, I guess anything is fine as long you don't get us killed in our journey. Anyways, your other…tenant is starting to wake up." Kurama said in a worried tone.

"Think she'll be a problem?" Naruto shot back with narrowed eyes.

"If you mean whether she will wake up in the middle of the sea…that is a very real possibility. So what will you do? Stay here and possibly lose control, or lose control in the middle of the sea with no land in sight?" Kurama asked.

"My decision remains the same. Better than possibly sinking the entire continent by accident before managing to drag her ass into space or some other dimension. Besides, it's not as if it's decided that I will lose control!" Naruto unintentionally tightened the seal-covered bandage around his right arm.

"Well said Naruto, as expected of the one holding both of my sons' chakra." Said a voice behind Naruto.

"Oi, Hagoromo-san, what did I say about suddenly talking behind my back." Naruto exclaimed, turning around to see the Rikudo no Sennin, Hagoromo Otsutsuki.

"I see that you are going with your plan on leaving the Elemental Nations? If so, I have some knowledge to share with you, along with two gifts." Hagoromo said. "First, you must know after my brother and I first sealed our mother, I created a spacetime barrier with an element of illusion around the Elemental Nations that stretched into the sea. It is because of this barrier, that there has been no visitors from outside the Elemental Nations or mention of other continents beyond this one."

"So this means…" Naruto said

"Yes, once you cross the barrier, it will be difficult for you to return to the mainland. Not even the Hiraishin no Jutsu or the Kamui can guarantee your return due to the nature of the barrier. Only when you have complete control of space and time will you be able to surely return. Should you try it without the knowledge, you might just get tossed into the void and forever drift between dimensions before landing in a random world. I never intended for the way of the shinobi to spread beyond this continent to the rest of the world. However, I should inform you, before I set up the barrier, there was a group of explorers who left soon after my creation of Ninshu around 1000 years ago." With that out of the way, Hagoromo moved closer as he raised a finger.

"Now for my gifts. My first gift is a complete list of Ninjutsu and Fuinjutsu that the Elemental Nations has ever created. No doubt this will prove useful to you. As for my second gift, I will strengthen the seal on my mother with the last of my chakra. With this, she will remain sealed for at most another three or five, years." Hagoromo said as he poked Naruto's head, instantly transferring huge amounts of knowledge as well as strengthening part of the seal that kept Kaguya dormant.

Shaking his head to get rid of the stars that had flashed in his eyes, Naruto took a deep breath before raising his fist, a layer of yellow flames flickering over it. "Thanks for everything old man."

Blinking in surprise, the Sage stared at the proffered fist before smiling and knocking against it with his own. In an instant, a stream of emotions flowed between the three: concern, fear, confidence, sadness, excitement, and others unknown to words.

As Hagoromo retracted his hand, he made one request, much to the fox's protest. "Take care of Kurama, will you. He always was the stubbornest of his siblings, and yet the most sensitive out of all of them."

"Of course…after all, he's my lifelong friend and partner." Ignoring how the fox in his belly roared out in denial of needing anyone to look after him, Naruto flicked his thumb up. However, the hidden melancholy lurking beneath his dark orbs did not escape the God of Shinobi.

"I can only hope you will one day heal and that you find somebody that can bring you happiness…son." The elder Ōtsutsuki inwardly sighed, guilt eating at him when he remembered the day the presence of Kaguya forced Naruto onto the immortal path.

"I believe you. Now it is time for you to go. Remember to train with all of your powers, and good luck." Tapping his staff against the ground, Hagoromo slowly faded from the Elemental Nations, never to be see again.

"Goodbye Hagoromo-san/Otou-san." Naruto and Kurama said one last time.

Just as he disappeared, his voice rang out one last time, just barely audible to the two, "Oh, and Naruto...Happy 100th Birthday."

Naruto sadly stared at where the first God of Shinobi disappeared with a few tears in his eyes before wiping them away.

"So even you have faded away…"

"Come on brat, let's go."

"Yeah."

[smuggsy]

IN PLAIN SIGHT / Chapter 2 A Band of Brothers Story (Chapter 1) + read it on AO3.

There’s no doubt whatever training these men are being put through is thorough and demanding (not that hers hasn’t been, except she can’t really say she’s been made to run up and down a mountain in full gear in the middle of the bloody night. If anything, she’s been doing quite the opposite: just staying in one specific spot unflinching, unmoving and patiently waiting for her targets to give themselves away and receive a couple of harmless empty shells right in the chest).

Private Christenson keeps putting each foot in front of the other without delay, without stop or hesitation.

She, on the other hand…

“I can’t…” she wheezes, her M1903 dangling from her shoulder - Captain Sobel would surely have something to say about that. Private Brown, pick up that goddamn rifle!

  Christenson is a few steps ahead but glances back nonetheless at her breathless remark.

“Believe me, you don’t want to antagonize Sobel” he provides, turning back front. Olivia frowns but hasn’t got enough breath to muster an answer. She’ll antagonize him, all right, or she’ll fall dead before she can reach the top. “He’ll feist on you, newbie.”

This time she lets out a groan and almost falls face down on the dirt - courtesy of a protruding rock. Christenson looks back to her again at the sound of the near-trip.

“He can’t be that bad!” she says, trying to maybe make conversation and sway her attention from her dry throat and throbbing feet, “go on, I’ll meet ya at the top.”

The other private lets out a snort and - bless him - stops running to look at her hunched over and panting her lungs out. He smiles, the mocking idiot, and shakes his head.

“C’mon man we’re nearly there” he nods towards the darkening path ahead, but Olivia gestures for him to continue with an insistent hand gesture.

  “You go, I’ll catch up” she stands up straight, thinking maybe she shouldn’t be slumping down like that, like a wounded animal. Not a great first impression. “Save yourself from the wrath of the big bad wolf” she smiles, getting just a bit more air in her lungs now.

Christenson returns the smile and slowly resumes his pace, slowly so as to give her a chance to join in.

She doesn’t. She feels faint.

She really wasn’t prepared for this - she’d only been here for thirty minutes, for crying out loud!

You’re supposed to have this mastered, remember?

  Well, sue her. They didn’t have a Currahee to climb back in her training camp.

  Her companion isn’t going to risk getting further punishment himself - he gives a short nod in camaraderie and starts getting further away with every second. Olivia doesn’t blame him at all. She does make it to the top eventually, about twenty minutes after he runs past her again.

In short: she’s screwed.

Christenson is nowhere to be seen when she finally makes it back into the training grounds - but Sobel is standing there like a persevering life-statue of Satan himself, arms crossed and stone-faced.

He doesn’t allow her the time to make any excuses.

“Follow me” he simply says, looking way too pleased with himself, much to Olivia’s chagrin. She’s properly carrying her rifle now, and Private Guarnere’s rucksack is still on her back. Her boots are moody and her pants dirty. As for her lungs… probably barely functional.

She doesn’t appreciate her Captain making her walk the entire length of the camp again only to reach his own office and dump all her belongings at the foot of the steps, at her feet.

“You are not fit to be part of my company, private. I suggest you go back to whatever shithole you came out of and repeat whatever shitty training you got. I’ll see you in a couple of years.”

With that, he starts stomping away.

“Sir -”

And he turns around just as quick, furiously stomps back.

“I did not grant you permission to address me, Private” he speaks slowly, clenching his teeth and eyeing her down like she’s the worst scum of the earth.

“Sir -” she shoulders her rifle and stands up straight. “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Denied.”

You tight-up bastard.

  He resumes his walking to the kitchens - light up and cheery - undoubtedly packed till the last table with freshly-clean and tired paratroopers-to-be.

She knows she’s pushing her luck, but she catches up with him again - only a few more chances to try and make him change his mind before he ventures into the sea of soldiers where she cannot follow - what an embarrassing sight that would be, her being turned down and sent back within the hour.

“Sir, I am a sniper, I have passed all my tests - physical and otherwise - I am prepared to-”

“Well you have not passed my test, private, and this conversation is over.” He doesn’t turn around as he dismisses her again. She’s only grateful he hasn’t called her on her insubordination again - speaking out of turn.

The chanting from the kitchens becomes louder and the lights become stronger as they approach - and Olivia is short of aiming up that gun at the bastard and shooting that hat off his head.

“Sir - Captain Sir -”

“WHAT?” He turns around for the second time, spitting on her face like a venomous snake.

Olivia takes a deep breath and stands up straight again, proud.

“I am the finest sniper in my company sir, you can verify that in my papers! I have been assigned to the Airborne as an asset and to aid my comrades in battle! And rest assured I am qualified to do that, sir!”

Her captain seems to weigh her words for a moment. She holds her breath - he can turn around and push that door open and that’ll be the end of it. Lieutenant Nixon will come out and tell her ‘I told you so’ with an egotistical knowing-smile. Mikey will mention it till she’s gray and pissing her pants. God, her father will never speak to her again!

“Very well” Captain Sobel stands up straight himself, and Olivia thinks she’s misheard. There’s a glint in his eyes that she doesn’t notice - he turns around and enters the noisy lunch place and renders it rather silent. He’s out before she can let out that breath, and he’s holding a glass in his hand. “Let us be witness of your almighty abilities!”

And she’s got an audience now - Christenson among the lot, carelessly sharing a fag with a shorter bloke next to him, coming down the steps.

“I ain’t got all night!” Sobel shouts as he walks away - Olivia catches Lieutenant Nixon’s eyes for a split second before she turns around and walks to that bag of rice her Captain has just hastily thrown onto the ground at her feet. He yanks her rifle off her shoulder just like he did with her muffle bag earlier and he makes a face at it as he finds the safe lock. “Three shots, Private Brown. The chance to prove your worth. You miss, you’re out of my camp.”

“I - my bag sir, the ammo -”

“You won’t be using your rifle” Sobel almost sings in his mocking voice, as if addressing a five-year-old, as if that’s obvious information. The Captain makes a nod to someone near, and Olivia turns around to see a short-haired ginger hand over an M1.

When she looks back to Sobel, he’s well away. Far enough that she wouldn’t even hit a melon with this piece of crap.

Well, make do.

Ignoring the mumbling going on behind her - getting louder and only meaning her crowd of onlookers is getting bigger - she silently and slowly kneels and then gets down onto her position, resting her upper chest and left arm on the bag of rice and finding it very uncomfortable.

Sobel shakes the glass in the air and sets it on the ground, easily more than 300 feet away.

“Three!” he shouts again, just in case she didn’t understand him before.

“For heaven’s sake” she hears someone mumble near in disbelief, she doesn’t turn to look at him - not that she’d be able to find him anyway.

“Told ya to keep it up, boy” Christenson’s voice comes up among all the excited bets being placed. “That’s the big bad wolf right there” he laughs. Olivia clenches her teeth.

The M1 is less practical to maneuver, and she’s just getting into position when she hears someone coming up to her. Shiny boots.

“Get up, private” Lewis Nixon demands, impassible.

She doesn’t flinch.

Isn’t Sobel the one who’s got the last say, anyway?

“No, sir. I’m fine.”

“You’re panting like a dying goose, you’re not gonna hit that target now get on your feet.”

She still doesn’t move - despite knowing he’s damned well right. She’s only postponing the inevitable. That is a fucking transparent glass - it’s dark and she doesn’t even have the proper equipment.

She sighs, focuses on slowing down her breaths. She’s shaking too much.

“Got nothing to lose sir, I fail I go.”

The Lieutenant lingers for a bit longer, as if battling with his thoughts. He gives up shortly after and takes a few steps back towards the men.

Sobel is impatiently waiting at a safe-distance from her target - an insulting stretch of land, she thinks, and it only helps to feed her resolve to make it burst into a million tiny pieces of glass right in front of him. She’s still not ready, though, and with half of Easy Company on her rear being inconsiderately loud, she’s definitely not coming down her hype any time soon.

“Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye…” a mocking voice sings near, laughter follows.

I will be saving your fucking asses, you bunch of ungrateful idiots.

“Cheeri-o, here I go, on my way!” a few more voices join in.

When she sees Sobel taking a step towards them she gets lower - even closer to the ground - and rests her finger on the trigger to gain herself some time. She can barely make out the shape of the glass by squinting her eyes. It’s too damn far!

“Ey blondie, think ya could aim a little more to the left and up?” Someone jokes near, and that nearly prompts a laugh out of her. Good to know someone’s sharing her sentiment.

She takes the first shot in between heartbeats - just as she’s learnt and just as she’s always succeeded in hitting her targets before.

This one she doesn’t hit.

She tries to drown out the whoops and giggles from behind and clear her mind - closing her eyes, breathing down deep, deeper. Letting the air out slowly through her mouth and completely shutting one eye to get a better perspective - it doesn’t make much difference: the next shot doesn’t reach its target either.

Sobel starts making his way back, swaying proudly like the egotistical asshole he is.

‘Don’t dwell on it, just shoot. Don’t think, if you’re calm enough you take the shot, you’ll have mayhem around you, you don’t have time to think! Time is not on your side! Just. Shoot.’

At the sound of the glass exploding, she sees Sobel turn around abruptly to confirm what he’s just heard has actually happened - to be honest, it’s his reaction what makes her believe it as well, and his unhappy face as he stomps his way back to the group. She’s still on the floor - frozen in place by shock - when a bunch of guys behind start cheering.

Actually cheering.

By the time she’s on her feet again, Sobel is nowhere to be seen and she feels a bit like throwing up. She only sees the back of Lieutenant Nixon walking behind the hellish Captain before she’s surrounded by men patting her shoulder and grinning at her like she’s their pet-puppy.

She’s never felt so out of place in her entire life.

“Holy shit!”

“Imma be honest I thought you were outta here” a tall blonde one says with a strong southern accent.

“Did you see Sobel’s face?” A shorter one asks to no-one in particular, excitedly.

“What platoon you on?”

Olivia turns to the ginger as everyone becomes silent and awaits her answer.

“2nd Platoon” she says, uninterested, still rather dazed by the whole thing.

There’s more cheering after that.

Another brown-haired trooper throws an arm around her shoulder, “Whas’ your name again?” he asks, offering a happy grin.

“It’s Oliver you muck!” someone provides near.

“Outta my way boys! Imma get young Oli here a drink,” he offers his hand, Olivia shakes it with her free one, still tightly holding onto the M1 Garand that isn’t even hers. “Alex Penkala.”

[fightmewiatch]

Home

Pairing: Clay Appuzzo (I’m Dying Up Here) x Reader

Prompt: “Take a break.”

          It wasn’t much, but the apartment certainly felt like home. It was the only place, aside from the stage, where Clay ever felt like he belonged. And sometimes, even the stage felt strange beneath his feet. But the apartment? The small place with a tiny kitchen in the corner of the living room, with no room for any kind of real dining table, and a tiny hall that led to the bedroom or the bathroom, both of which were about the size of a closet?

         God, that was home. 

         He carefully pushed the door off the frame, sighing as it cracked when it moved. It had never fit right, and he always meant to fix it himself, but you insisted on leaving it. 

“No one can sneak up on me,” you would giggle. It always made him chuckle, because even if the door was completely silent, no one could sneak up on you, anyway. The floor creaked three steps from the door, which always alerted the rest of the apartment that someone had come in. 

         The rest of the apartment, of course, consisting of you, and the German Shepherd you had adopted after moving in. Right on schedule, as he locked the door and took three steps, he heard the soft whuff before the muted thumps of feet on the carpet, before he chuckled, reaching out a hand.

“Hey, Chomper.” Almost instantly, the protective air around the dog dissipated, and it immediately threw itself at his feet, wriggling excitedly as he scratched down its back and behind its ears. “Mama in bed?” he mumbled, already knowing the answer. 

         With a pat to his head, Clay sent the dog off, smiling at the creak as it hopped up onto the couch, before he headed down the hall, tucking his bag out of the way as he peered into the room. The curtains were open, enough to fill the room with moonlight that cast a glow across the bed, and your form, curled up away from the light. You had complained, at first, when the streetlight burned out, because you liked to be able to see the ground, see if it was clear to take the dog out for a walk, but after a few nights, when you realized it being burnt out meant you didn’t have to close the blinds for sleep, you didn’t mind it as much. 

         Stripping down to his boxers, Clay crawled up behind you, stretching out on top of the comforter as you sighed, and shifted, snuggling a little further into the pillow. 

“Clay?” you mumbled. 

“What gave it away?” he teased, as you made a soft sound, almost a laugh, as you rolled to face him. 

“You’re the only person in the world that calls that dog Chomper.” He scoffed, tucking his arm beneath your head as you shifted closer, nuzzling against his shoulder. 

“Well, Charlie just isn’t very threatening. I coulda started callin’ him Killer, but…”

“But that might get funny looks from my neighbors.” You finally finished shifting, your sleep-weak fingers grazing across his side as he combed his fingers through your hair. Humming softly, you tipped your head back, blinking up at him in the nearly dark room, and smiled, leaning up to kiss his chin. 

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hey, Clay.” 

         Even in the dark, you knew his smoky blue eyes were shining with the smile he gave you. With another stroke of his fingers through your hair, you shifted up closer, lips brushing his as he leaned down. 

“How long til you gotta run?” The words were soft on his lips, you didn’t want to disturb the night too much, but his exhale was loud, a full breath, as he slumped back against the pillow. 

“I gotta get out to LA again, try and get another spot on TV. Thinkin’ bout going tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“Every time I stop to breathe, baby, I fall backwards. Can’t take care of you if I ain’t bringing you anything.” You huffed, pressing your palm flat to his chest.

“You bring me this. It’s all I need,” you insisted. “Besides…I got a raise at work. You don’t really gotta work so hard.” He shook his head, cupping your jaw.

“It’s my place to take care of you.”

“Can’t take care of me if you ain’t here.” 

         You hated this talk, this argument, with Clay. He loved what he did, and you knew that, but you saw him in the late hours and the early mornings, you saw him when he was between jobs, and you knew how lost he felt when he didn’t know where he needed to step next. You would insist he breathe, and he would insist you didn’t support him, and instead of spending the night wrapped up together like you had wanted, you’d spend the night away from each other, the air between you thick with frustration and lost words as you both tried to find a way to say what needed to be said without making it worse.

         But this time, you didn’t let him pull away. You caught his hip, whimpering softly as you nuzzled beneath his chin, feeling him still in surprise before he sighed and wrapped you in his arms. His lips were soft against your hair, but it made you relax, just a little, against him. 

“You don’t have to quit. You can do anything you want. But…I miss you,” you whispered into the dark. “I miss you, and I don’t just mean in my bed. I miss you holding my hand when we go to the store, and the way you smile at me when I bring you coffee, or a beer. I miss the way you grab me by the hips when I make dinner, and you distract me from cooking with those kisses you press to my shoulder and my throat.” You could feel the light rumble of a laugh in his chest, and smiled as you continued. “I got a really good raise at work. And I got a bit more saved up now, that I don’t gotta dip into t’pay for stuff. So…just…just take a break? Take a break. Stay here with me, just for a few days at least. Let me have a chance to spend some time with you before you start up again. I’ll even buy your ticket to LA if you stay just a bit longer.”

         The room was quiet as he held you, letting your words, and your offer, sink in. His fingers resumed their movements through your hair, but he didn’t speak, didn’t move otherwise, as you placed a soft kiss against his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his waist to press your hand against his back.

         After what felt like ages, he sighed, kissing the top of your head one more time.

“I ain’t letting you pay for the ticket back to LA…” You shut your eyes, worried at what was coming, until he tipped your head back, and you could make out the smile on his lips. “But I’ll stay this week.”

“Really?” you whispered, moving your hand to touch his cheek, to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

“I miss those things, too,” he admitted, drawing you in for a kiss. 

         The apartment was tiny, and cramped, splashed with an awful mix of bold colors in the small kitchen and various shades of brown and cream in the rest of the place that hadn’t been changed since the fifties. Beneath the bed was everything you didn’t have room for in the rest of the house, tucked away behind the long comforter to remain unnoticed to the passing gaze. 

         But with you inside, wrapped around him to anchor him to the warm bed, this was home. It was all he needed. 

[klunkcat]

We can be stronger, now

After months of dating, Zira finally introduces Crowley to his family. Crowley is, understandably, less than thrilled about the whole thing.

(Takes place in my snake vet human AU featuring: an established relationship, a lot of soft tender feelings, and some not so great emotionally manipulative content from the Upstairs Gang, with bonus comfort and general tooth rotting fluff to make up for it!) 

“It’s a dinner invite,” Zira announced, with a lot less than actual announcing and more feigned indifference and carefully hushed tones. Crowley’s imaginary hackles were already rising.

“Someone mailed you a dinner invite? As in, sent the whole thing over through the post. With a seal?”

Zira huffed with a genuine modicum of indignance, “some people do prefer the written word, you know.”

Crowley rolled his eyes good naturedly and flourished a hand Zira’s direction without bothering to stand from his strewn position on the old couch. “Well, lets have a look at this awe-inspiring penman ship then.”

Zira acquiesced and shuffled into the kitchenette to set the kettle, tittering quietly about dying arts and the old days and what not. Crowley smiled to himself, a little sickeningly sappy, bundled up with thoughts of slow mornings in dewy sunrises and warm mugs. It was fine that he let himself become absolutely overrun by his constant soppy gooey feelings, so long as no one was around to witness it.

Oh, we definitely have to go to whatever this event is, he’d decided, taking in the flowing script and very official looking parchment. They’ll have the little prawn cocktails and all the cheeses the mind could comprehend. Zira would love it. He’d developed himself a nice daydream of crashing fancy dinners with Zira, all flustered and giggly, just to show him off a little. Have everyone in a tizzy over the dashing man with the bleached white hair, absolutely spoil Zira with the little appetizers and drinks. So enveloped in the absolute sticky, syrupy sappiness of it all, he’d nearly missed the name attached at the very end. Not that it was particularly legible, all over done with loops and twists like that. Seriously, those rich types must have a different alphabet entirely. Bit like doctor’s handwriting, but he’d learned to decipher Anathema’s.

Signed, The Phael Estate

“That’s funny, isn’t it?” He called towards the kitchen. “Having a last name like that. Here I’d thought yours was strange.” Then again, he was the one who adamantly refused to be called anything other than his last name. Glass houses and rocks and what not.

“P-H-A-E-L. Huh. What are the odds of that. Switch two letters and you’d be practically family!” He snorted and glanced up towards Zira as he brought their tea over. Oddly, Zira didn’t look all that amused. He looked almost uncomfortable, in fact. Nervous, even.

“Something like it,” Zira agreed, smiling weakly.

Crowley sat up straighter.

“Angel,” he said, a bit blankly. “Is this a dinner invite. From your family?”

Zira winced. “Afraid so.”

“Your family. As in, Michael, the sister that called you on your 21st birthday to tell you that you were being financially cut off? The one that returned your Christmas gift in front of you? That sister?”

Zira sipped his tea, “Water under the bridge, really, dear.”

Zira didn’t talk about them much, or ever, really. They’d been properly dating for about four months, friends for a while longer, and the only snippets Crowley had managed to steal were all vague and distant sounding. Something about a family company, about moving out fairly young. A throw away comment here and there. Boring stuff, sounded like.

He’d always sort of assumed they were that uppity classical type of people, the ones with wire gates and a refusal to look beyond them. A miracle in itself that someone as passionate and curious as Zira had come out of it in one piece. So he thought.

“Alright,” he said, easy as you please.

Zira blinked up at him with a touch too much of surprise for Crowley’s liking. Meeting the parents was a right of passage of some sort, he figured. A step in a long list of eventualities he would dive head first into just to hold Zira’s hand a little while longer. He wanted to do everything with Zira, whatever he wanted to do.

Although Zira was trying very hard to appear completely neutral, Crowley had gotten quite good at picking up on the smaller details. The nervous twitch of his fingers, the overly casual short sentences paired with wide earnest eyes. Picking up on the context of these sorts of things sort of just came with the territory of staring adoringly at him whenever he got the chance, he supposed. Sappy. Eugh. He knew enough though to see that Zira absolutely wanted to go, or at least felt obligated to and didn’t know how to shuffle that particular responsibility off.

If there was anything Crowley excelled at, it was being irresponsible. Something for another day, for all the infinities of days he’d fight to spend with Zira. Stuffy and uncomfortable family dinners be damned. At the very least, they could go down swinging.

“So, which tie should I wear then?”

“Didn’t fancy dressing the part? I told you a good haircut would do wonders for those bags under your eyes, darling.”

“How’s your book store struggling on these days, hm? I thought for sure I’d heard about a ‘for sale’ postage, happy to hear you’re still keeping it afloat.”

“Really, you should ask about your cousin Urie, makes a pretty penny in the industry you know. Messing about with hobbies is all well and good until you need to think of settling down.”

Crowley regretted this evening beyond his capacity to regret anything else in his life. And he’d once had the great idea of picking an 8am class in college, before he’d dropped that whole thing.

Stuffy and uncomfortable clearly hadn’t met the Phael family, or they’d up their game.

The dining hall they’d found themselves shoved into unceremoniously could not possibly be dripping with more chandeliers and dazzling bits of metal and glass if it tried. Despite wearing his best suit, having Zira fret over his tie and spend hours debating which one best complimented Crowley’s hair (a debate that had neatly been side tracked by a whole lot of snogging), and despite Zira’s absolutely manic desire to press every seam and steam every wrinkle, he still felt wildly underdressed. The feeling had spawned when they’d rolled up through a private gate onto a tree lined roadway, escalated when Crowley had seen the massively sprawling plot of land, and only increased since.

None of which would be remotely bothersome, of course, if Zira hadn’t been growing increasingly quiet throughout their evening. Crowley could handle snobs, could handle the side glances and the frowns at his tattoos and piercings (Zira had half vaguely warned him they were on the conservative side when it came to body modifications. Conservative as in, preferred amount being none, actually), hell, he could handle the weird and invasive insinuations about dating Zira for his ‘connections’ (whatever that meant). It wasn’t like he hadn’t been through that inspiring jaunt a time or two with his own family.

The comments about Zira, on the other hand set his teeth utterly on edge. If they made it out of this evening, Crowley was going to buy them both the fanciest wine they could afford. Actually, he’d buy it either way. They’d probably need the respite, alive or otherwise.

“Brother, really. Have you lost all sense of self image? Phael’s do not slouch.” Michael frowned at him from across the table, and Zira’s ears turned red. He said nothing, but slowly and forcibly slid his shoulders down from his ears and sat up primly. “Although, I suppose you want nothing to do with the family, regardless. Buying a legal name change, and all.” She scoffed, loudly.

“Now, now.” Gabriel chuckled. “It’s not like he changed it entirely. Speaking of changing, I had wondered if you had reconsidered my offer?”

Zira visibly tensed, as though he’d almost instinctively pulled his shoulders back upwards. He cleared his throat after a long moment, a practiced smile firmly in place. “Oh, I… I certainly considered it! Unfortunately, that is. Er. Selling the shop is quite impossible, at this current venture.”

“Hemming and hawing is unbecoming, Zira,” Uriel said from farther down the table. Zira’s smile read more like gritted teeth. Crowley fantasized about throwing the entire table over, just to get more than a placid blink in reaction from Uriel.

“I am quite firm in my decision, that is to say… well. No. I have not reconsidered, Gabriel.”

Gabriel, who up until this point had seemed like the most disconnected nonplussed of the family, frowned. Then his features flattened entirely. “I commend your decisiveness, if nothing else. Well then, onto other news! Brother, we haven’t seen you in a few years. Gosh, not even sure how many.”

“Three,” Zira said, into his dinner more than anything else.

“Yes, of course. Three long, very interesting years. Tell us what you’ve been up to, hm?”

“Well,” Zira started, and paused. Surreptitiously, Crowley slid his hand onto his boyfriend’s knee, squeezing gently in support.

“Um. Actually, I adopted a snake.”

Michael looked positively horrified. Gabriel’s expression crumpled inwards. If Crowley wasn’t so furious about the entire thing, and desperately attempting to keep the evening at a level pace to get them both out as fast as possible, he might have laughed.

“A snake?!”

“Yes,” Zira brightened, unfolding himself from his stiff posture. “He’s quite the handsome snake too, a lovely shade of deep brown and this dark blue. His name is Oscar, after Oscar Wilde of course. He’s a rosy boa, and. Oh, it’s an excellent story come to think of it, but Oscar’s the reason me and Cro-Anthony, got together! It was because he escaped one night and—”

“Zira,” Gabriel interrupted, looking for all the world like he was talking down to a small, particularly hyperactive child. “You’re telling me you keep that creature, in your home?”

“Well, yes. Where else would I keep him?” Zira asked with a strange half laugh.

“Can’t exactly let him keep on living in the vents,” Crowley added. “Dirty in there. Might come out as a dust bunny instead, then what would we do with all the mice?”

Zira snorted, loudly.

Oh, the look on Gabriel’s face was priceless.

“Well, good to see your severance package went to good use then,” Michael cut into her stake, pointedly. Crowley achingly wanted to go into detail about the amount of customers that just adored Zira’s work, about the donations from the nearby locals aiming to keep his store open as a ‘vital part of the local scenery’ when the income had been sparse one winter. Zira had made him promise not to, though. Something about them preferring things small and unobtrusive, although Crowley was starting to think they preferred to think of Zira that way, more than anything else.

“I do wish you had found. Better coping methods. Rebelliousness isn’t an inherited trait, after all.” She gave a long level stare Crowley’s way. Ah, subtlety thy name is certainly not Michael Phael.

“I suppose snakes aren’t for everyone,” Zira smiled, uncomfortably, shooting confused glances Crowley’s way. Easy enough for Crowley to reign in his self defensive habits, he hadn’t even flinched. He’d much rather she go on poking at him than making that awful shuttered look appear on Zira’s lively face, anyways.

Dinner seemed to carry on with similar fashion, little pointed passive aggressions here and there, barbed words snuck in behind compliments. It was an emotional wasteland if Crowley’d ever seen one, and he’d thought his family was snarky. At least with his adopted siblings there’d be a straight-faced insult one could snap back at, maybe a punch or two if they were particularly heated. Not that any of them meant it, of course. Growing up in ‘rough circumstances’ had just given them all a particular coded language of their own. Wildly unhealthy, sure, but there you go.

Verbal sparring matches were entertaining only so far as they didn’t sink in too deep. Crowley was beginning to see that these awful ice picks of words and insults had been hacking for years.

The distance and vague cold sentiments made perfect, horrible, sense.

They’d almost made it to the end of the evening without too many emotional scars, the bottle of wine in Crowley’s mind nearly tangible with reality. Finish line practically within arms reach, clock hand ticking down to the ‘Acceptable Time Spent With Awful InLaws’ territory, when the sucker punch came.

And what a wallop it was.

“Sandalphon, why don’t you tell them about your business? He’s made amazing headway with his business degree, graduated with honours.”

Sandalphon’s smile slid back, “We’re talking to investors in New York.”

“New York, he says!” Gabriel guffawed. “I can’t wrap my head around it. All that from a few years in school, hm? Speaking of, Anthony, what did you say you did?”

Crowley took a large sip of wine (awful stuff, no taste in reds at all, this lot). “I work at a vet clinic.”

“Is that a difficult path? Veterinarian school is quite the under taking from what I’ve read,” Michael swirled her salad around casually. ‘Casually’, air quotes added via Crowley’s internal bullshit detector.

Zira’s lips had thinned. Crowley was definitely missing a particular puzzle piece here, and he tread carefully.

“Can be. If you finish it,” he shrugged.

“Oh? And you didn’t?” Gabriel’s eyes were a little too wide, sparking with something devious like he’d sensed a spot in his armour. Crowley’d been through this song and dance a few times, however. One didn’t get through life without an unwarranted opinion or two with as many visible piercings as he did.

“Wasn’t for me. Went all the way to the final practicum, though. If you’ve got a sick pet anywhere I can probably suss out where things went wrong. Work as a receptionist with a brilliant vet, Anathema’s the best of the best. I’m the one who’s got all the discounts and tips, keep in mind.”

Gabriel tutted. “How long did you say you’ve known each other?” He gestured at Zira, almost as if he were taunting him. If Zira had heat vision, Gabriel would be melted on spot.

“I’m quite proud of him, actually. Besides, Anthony has nothing to do with my decisions, Gabriel.”

Gabriel leaned back, the picture of innocent confusion, complete with a pout. “You’re a Phael whether or not you want to be, Zira. We just want what’s best for you, and I’m concerned you may have fallen into the wrong influences in our time apart,” he held his hands up, palms out. How the bastard had managed to pronounce the spelling difference in his last name so pointedly was a real magician trick in itself, Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

This one was definitely the brown-nosing teacher’s pet type growing up, Crowley figured. The bastard that spread rumors just to watch other people fight it out. Jumping to claim martyrdom wasn’t in this season, Gabriel.

“Wrong influences?” Zira squeaked out.

That wicked glint appeared in his gaze, “Well, people of his… type don’t exactly give the best impressions.”

Well, that wasn’t particularly creative, was it. Type as in, what. Drop out? Pierced? ‘Alternative?’ Come on, at least have the bollocks to call me out on what you’re really thinking, you right prick.

Crowley was about to zing back a hilariously witty retort, when Zira slammed his cutlery down. “I will not have you speak of my boyfriend that way, Gabriel.”

“He’s only saying what we’re all worried about,” Michael added, in a tone like she was completely baffled by a teenagers irrational outburst. “I mean, he is wearing sunglasses to a dinner party.”

Crowley scoffed out loud, rolling his eyes loud enough to hear as well. He’d been wondering when that remark would crop up, if he were to be honest. Was usually the first thing on any tetchy relatives mind.

“I suppose you’d rather have me curled up with a migraine, then?” Crowley leaned backwards slowly on his chair, watching her eyes widen. “Poor service, that’d be. Not getting that five-star host rating.”

“I am entirely fed up with your judgements!” Zira stood up, abruptly, clanging the plate in front of him. The room fell silent. “It’s one thing for you to nitpick my every move, to-to call attention to any mild flaw, to insinuate time and time again how much I’ve failed the family name.” His voice trailed off slightly, a bit hoarse. Crowley was nearly steam rolled by a desire to Get Him Out Of There Immediately. Ice cream was likely in order. With all the toppings. Double the wine.

Zira’s expression steeled itself. “It’s quite another to belittle and insult a guest in your home! Crowley is the most cunning, brave, and selfless person I’ve ever met, and-and if you won’t take the time to appreciate that, then I don’t believe there’s any point of carrying this charade on any longer.”

He turned to Crowley, eyes blazing. Crowley never felt so achingly pained, inspired and awed, and wildly turned on in his life. He looked every bit like an avenging angel, with the chandelier light fanning behind him. His heart lurched and skipped in a confusing upset-and-absolutely-smitten sort of way.

“My dear, I do believe we’d best be leaving.” He held a hand out for Crowley to take, lifted him out of his seat, and kissed him gently. People talked of sparks and lightning but this, with the awe and hurt still roiling in the air, was purely embers and simmering brimstone. Crowley was maybe just a little beyond dazed.

“I’ll be out at the car,” he said, before storming down the hallway.

Everyone stayed utterly still for one long, unending moment. Crowley let out a breath, leaned forward and finished his wine in a single gulp.

“Well, wish I could say it was lovely to meet you all, but. You lot really are the worst.” He wanted to say something along the lines of ‘if you won’t love that man out there, I’ll do it for you, and I’ll do it twice as well’. Maybe something like ‘he’s the best person I’ve ever met, and he loves me, I almost feel sorry for you. Missing out on something that extraordinary’. Instead he just looked Gabriel in the eyes, slid his glasses down his nose enough to make sure he caught every word.

“None of you deserve him.”

The wine really was all around terrible, couldn’t be helped if he accidentally knocked it all over their fancy tablecloth on his way out. Not like it was a waste.

The drive home had been quiet. Not so much tense as… processing. The rain splattering against the windows, and the wipers pushing back and forth was enough ambience, besides.

Crowley wasn’t so much worried, either, as he was.... unsure. Zira looked drawn and stoic against the dim grey light, and he’d kept his eyes firmly in front of him, on the road, the whole way to his shop. There wasn’t the usual stress induced furrow between his brows, or the nervous fidgeting of his hands. Zira was still, withdrawn.

Alright, so he was worried.

The man had just stared down his entire array of siblings and cousins and told them to stuff it. Wildly impressive, that was. Crowley didn’t exactly have an excellent frame of reference for the emotional fall out, mind you, but he imagined it was likely spectacular in and of itself. Zira truly and deeply needed a proper hug and a good cuppa, if he was amendable to either idea.

Crowley was slightly afraid Zira would tell him to go home, mind blowing kiss and heart warming words aside. After all, he’d just sat there and let it happen, like a thorough pillock. Some boyfriend that made him.

He waited until they’d parked, shuffled inside, and locked the doors behind them, before placing a hand gently on Zira’s shoulder.

“You, erm. Want to talk?” He winced even as the words left his mouth, weak and not nearly wide enough to envelop the enormity of everything.

Zira didn’t look at him, and walked stiffly to the cupboard.

Crowley felt a little lost by the doorway; he’d decided already he wouldn’t be leaving Zira alone tonight unless the man asked for it, but he didn’t exactly know where he was needed, either. Zira was always the energetic one of the two of them, loudly unimpressed or visibly pleased, he’d never seen him anything but. This was new territory, a new song and dance. Another task on his list of infinities he wanted nothing more than learn the steps to.

Zira was leaning on the counter heavily, shoulders high around his ears, back turned. He practically radiated unhappiness, and it ached.

“Angel?”

“I’m sorry you had to see all of that, my dear,” Zira said, in a strange soft voice. “I really should have torn up the infernal invitation. Probably should have not gone at all.”

Crowley frowned. “No sorry, I don’t need a sorry. Not looking for one.” He shook his head, exhaling slowly, attempting to work through what Zira needed to hear. “Not like they’re a lovely bundle of peaches or anything, but.” He shrugged, maybe a little self consciously. “Glad we went.”

Zira glanced towards him, eyes wide and just on the side of too glassy for Crowley’s liking, before returning to fumble through cabinets with trembling hands. “You are? But… but, oh, I made such a mess of things.”

That was enough, more than enough. That was too much, in fact.  He snorted. “You?” He stepped forwards, dropping his coat on the armchair. “You were incredible. I think they had the mess side of things covered from the start. You just helped, you know, point it out.”

“Please, dear,” Zira’s voice was shaky, Crowley realized with an awful lurch.

He dropped his voice into something softer to match, gentling his expression. “Zira, what do you need?”

Zira closed a cupboard with a little too much force and whirled towards him. “I need you to. To... To be exactly- well, you!” His face screwed up, eyes closing. “What they implied of you was. Quite wrong, and you mustn’t believe a word of it, Crowley! You- they never have had a grasp on what things were worthwhile. You mustn’t listen to- to, well. What they said at the end was… it was bullshit. To be frank. And I’m sorry you had to hear it, along with the rest.”

Crowley’s heart did a funny thing, he had the very stark feeling then that he was missing a page or so from his script. “Angel, you know I can handle it. Slid right off me, you know.”

Zira shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to!” His whole body was trembling slightly, Crowley took another cautious step forward. There was something almost defensive about Zira’s expression, as though he was bracing for something. Crowley tried very, very hard not to be hurt by the implications there. He wasn’t sure if he fully succeeded.

“You shouldn’t either, you know.”

Zira’s lower lip trembled, and he caught it between his teeth, looking down. “Oh, it’s so terribly selfish. To think of my own pride when you. When they’d been so awful to you. You must know how wonderful you truly are, and, oh…. In comparison, I know, truly how I must seem, it’s only that…I hope your view of me hasn’t changed.” He shrugged a little, a helpless rise and fall of unsteady shoulders.

Crowley couldn’t help but move in, crowd Zira against the cupboard. He pulled the wineglass Zira had managed to snag from his hand with a patient delicacy, pressing his palm along the curve of Zira’s chin.

“Zira, angel. Do you really think that little of me?”

Zira’s eyes were impossibly round. “I… no! Oh, my dear, never, I’ll tell you every day how much I… I’d—It’s only. The things they said, about my failings—”

Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Nothing anyone could say would change that I know you, angel. They’re wrong.”

I would never think less of you, he thought, I want to know all of you. Difficult to think less of the entire bloody galaxy anyways, with how gone on you I am.

“They’re not,” Zira said, miserably.

Crowley’s next kiss was a gentle rebuke. He moved his other hand up to cradle Zira’s face between his palms, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone. Crowley frowned. “Mmmmn. Let’s check that, shall we? Let’s see...I love your curls, I love your books, I love your shop. That’s at least three things they got wrong right there.” He emphasized each statement with a press of his lips to Zira’s temple, his forehead, his nose.

Zira looked away, his ears went pink. Crowley pressed another kiss to his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I love your stories, I love hearing about every thought that travels through your wonderful, fussy brain. I love when you’re bossy, when you’re particular, when you’re endlessly brave. I love that you chose your happiness over their stuffy money and rules. I love that you stood up to them, that you care. They don’t even know a good wine from a bad one, all that wealth and no sense anywhere in that whole sodding house. Zira Phale, they are wrong. Couldn’t be more wrong even if they told me Oscar was a bloody pigeon, in fact.”

Zira’s eyes were glowing, he looked awed and enraptured and something else that made him look almost ethereal. “Crowley,” he gasped.

Right, sappy. This was why he didn’t let his useless heart do the talking.

“It’s true.” Crowley grumbled, sweeping his hands down to Zira’s shoulders instead, just as Zira’s hands curled themselves against his lapels and dragged him back in for a searing kiss.

His brain went a bit soggy, for a moment his heart and head were in perfect unison.

“You forgot one.” Zira laughed, a tiny overwhelmed noise. “I love you, Anthony J. Crowley,” he added, a bit breathlessly, eyes twinkling.

“Oh,” Crowley said, dazed and feeling a bit like he could do with a good pinch but utterly refusing to wake up from whatever dream he’d stumbled into. Reality be damned. “That too. Me, uh. You. Also.”

Maybe he’d let his heart do the talking a bit more often, then.

Zira smiled, a full and beautiful thing. “So, which tie should I wear?”

Crowley wasn’t sure if his brain had entirely given out on him, or if this was the usual amount of Zira inspired confusion but all he could manage was a ‘ngh?’

“For meeting your family, I rather think we’re on a roll.Two birds one stone as they say, after all.