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therealvalkyrie · 3 years ago

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exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tend�� and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.”

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page.

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima x fem!reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fanfic #hq fanfic #valkyrie writes #exactly the spring #haikyuu fluff #ushijima fluff #don't look at me i'm posting this early bc i'm IMPATIENT #*sobs*

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taotaoirl · 3 years ago

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galatea x gn!reader general headcanons

yes i have fallen down the idv rabbit hole there goes my grades (ノωヽ) i havent seen many galatea headcanons yet (why are all of them norton and joseph hcs wtf) so ill do it myself bc head empty only galatea my beloved <33333333333 who doesnt love themselves a disabled woman with dwarfism and 47 mental illnesses am i right!

content warnings: none includes: fluff, romantic headcanons for galatea~! reader uses they/them pronouns, galatea uses she/her pronouns

"she looks just like a dream, the prettiest girl i've ever seen"

galatea can be really shy and reclusive sometimes bc she has a fi-si loop (a fi-si loop is where an infp relies solely on their introverted functions and become hypercritical of their past mistakes and is stuck in this nostalgic timeloop kind of situation but i digress)

since she had been in an asylum for so long, she's very used to her own company so it took her a while to put her guard down again

but once she does, she's a completely different person!

her love languages are quality time and gift giving! she just loves your company and enjoy moments in silence too

galatea gives huge cat energy ngl i can imagine her being very selective but is able to be herself with the people she's familiar with (she's actually rlly nice!!!!) (until she gets jealous but i'll elaborate on that some other day)

she also gives little spoon energy and i think she likes being cuddled bc it makes her feel safe, add a few pecks on the top of her head and she will cling on to you forever

she isn't too big on pda bc she's more inclined to having more alone time with you but she will squeeze your hand whenever she passes by you <3

but she's also very very easily flustered, give her a kiss in the middle of the match, she's beet red

if you are a pda kind of person, she'll still agree to it, although she'd probably be embarrassed quite often

she isn't the best with words but she's trying her best! she prefers expressing her feelings through actions/art/handwritten letters bc she's just not very verbal

she likes to play with your hair and if it's long she'll french-braid them bc she can't do french braids on her own hair (she finds it difficult ☆⌒(> _ <)

she will definitely make a LOT of statues of you, there's probably enough of those to fill up the entire manor with

she won't keep all of them tho bc she thinks she's not doing you justice if your statue is even slightly lopsided or imperfect

galatea often catches herself staring at you, it's a little creepy but she just likes to people-watch and improve her statues even more bc you're her favorite model

galatea adores art and history museums so definitely bring her to one if you have the time to!

but in the manor, i think galatea would bring you to watch the sunrise in the garden and once the sun has risen she'll show you her favorite flowers emma has planted

she's also quite interested in sketching and if her s/o likes it too, expect to go on some quiet dates where both of you just sketch outdoors

i hc galatea to have a sweet tooth so expect a lot of chocolate and various kinds of desserts to randomly show up in your room with no note, nothing, just dessert (she probably decided to save her desserts for you aw)

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

tldr; galatea is kind of reclusive but once she opens up to you she's sooooo cute dhfsd she just wants the best for you and isn't afraid to share her interests with you!

sorry for how long this is! i kind of got carried away bc i have a LOT of thoughts about galatea DFHDUF, i just think about her a lot (yes hello this is your poster galatea defender) nevertheless, i hope you enjoyed!!!! this was really fun to make and definitely a switch-up from my genshin sexuality headcanons (￣▽￣*)ゞ i will most certainly do a lot more identity v headcanons in the future because i just can't seem to stop thinking about this stupid mobile game lol

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ahatintimepieces · 3 years ago

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It Comes Down in Buckets

Before Luka and Hattie ended up in Subcon, they faced many challenges on the road as they adjusted to Luka’s curse. This is a lil gift for Mak, @doodledrawsthings, and their “””Coffeeshop au””” where Luka pushes himself a bit too hard while trying to make the day special for Hattie. Please enjoy!

Word Count: 7,678

The rolling waves tumbled against the velvet sand and the morning sunlight skipped across the foaming crests, painting them gold. Hattie’s grip tightened around the old bucket she had found as she inhaled the salty, fishy air. Standing at the patches of grass that separated the edge of the forest from the beach, she gazed out at the shore. Her sketchbook waited in her backpack, begging her to pull it out and to memorialize the look of the sea and snapshot the ebb and flow of surging waves, but she had work to do.

She had to find the prettiest seashells before anyone else so she could sell them for some extra cash. Every little bit helped.

Weaving down to the beach, the warming sand caught between her toes and kicked up with each flop and flip of her flipflops. She swung the dented bucket with rust stains as she hurried to the lapping tide. She stepped into the water and immediately squealed before jumping back from the cold. The foam receded, as if teasing her, and an impish grin spread across her features.

As the water crawled back up the shore, Hattie fixed her old baseball cap and then leapt into the ankle-deep wave. Her initial screech dissolved into laughter. Splashing around, her flipflops tossed clouds of murky dust up and the sloshing, icy water splattered against her leg. She placed her hands on her hips and struck a pose as she gazed out at the sliver of light where the sky paralleled the ocean. With the cascading crackles of the snapping sea rumbling around her, it was hard not to let her mind wander into daydreams.

She could picture it perfectly. A calm day at the beach. No time limits for her dad, no worrying about money, and he could finally rest. He could finally be happy again. And she could play in the surf and chase crabs, pretend to be a pirate finding buried treasure, or draw and paint next to her dad as he napped. She could picture it so perfectly.

But she glanced down at the bucket as it bumped against her hip. Its creaking handle brought her back to reality.

Hattie let out a huff before shuffling out of the grasp of the waves, where it would be easier to spot shells. But before she did, a playful crest rolled back to reveal the tip of a fancy looking shell. Gasping, Hattie knelt and carefully tugged the shell free and revealed what she always thought of as a mini conch, though her dad would probably tell her that it was whelk of some kind since it had a rounder top and thinner end.

After checking the inside cavity for any snail or sea critter by poking a cautious finger around to confirm it was empty, she held the whelk to her ear.

She grinned when she heard the ocean. But she was also standing in it so the shell could still potentially be a dud. Nevertheless, she placed it into the bucket, and it slid around as she went searching for more.

As Hattie combed the beach, a couple people showed up to lounge on the sand or wade in the surf. It didn’t get crowded, since it was a workday, but when she wandered towards the opposite side of the long beach, where the sand was cut off by rounded boulders that jutted out into the sea, she ran into a tourist screaming at a seagull.

“What’s wrong?” Hattie called as she hoisted her bucket overflowing with shells to the side to make it easier to sprint forward.

“That darn seagull took my stuff!” The tourist gestured angrily towards a seagull perched on one of the rocks surrounded by water. It bobbed its head around as it stood proudly over a grey camera. Sunlight glinted against the lens.

“I’ll get it,” Hattie offered without hesitation. She placed the bucket down and scrambled up the boulders.

“Wait, kid, you don’t have to!” He waved his hands across his chest, trying to get her to stop, but it was too late. She didn’t listen as she assessed the slippery boulders and slowly navigated her way across.

She came to the edge of the final boulder and eyed the gap between it and the one in the waves. The seagull cocked its head towards her and let out a squawk. Pausing, Hattie glanced around, trying to figure out how to distract the seagull.

Before she could, the seagull snapped its beak towards something behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to find the tourist was waving a sandwich around. The seagull swooped over her, and she belatedly ducked as it soared over to the tourist. He yelped and turned on his heels before sprinting from the squawking bird.

Hattie tugged her cap down in determination before turning back towards the rock. She took a cautious step back before lunging from the boulder and vaulting onto the next. Grunting after she smacked against the rock, she scrambled up and grabbed the camera. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and nestled the camera between her sketchbook and Professor Popcorn. For good measure, she tucked her dad’s hoodie around it to keep it extra safe.

Once her backpack was zipped, she looped her arms through the straps and got ready to jump back.

The tourist had returned to his spot, hunched over and panting with his cap askew and white and grey feathers stuck to his vibrant orange shirt. She inhaled a steadying breath and leapt back towards shore.

She misjudged the distance.

Nearly sliding over the side of the rock, she scraped her knee against stone as she clambered and clawed. Panic squeezed her chest until she could finally find her grip.

“Careful, now!” the tourist called as she hoisted herself up with her heart pounding. She glanced towards the worried man and gave him a thumbs up before crawling forward.

Her stinging knee threatened to buckle when she first stood, but she gritted her teeth and pushed onward. She navigated back to the beach and dropped down onto the sand.

“Geez, kid, that was dangerous!” the tourist sighed as Hattie pulled out his camera.

“But I got it!” She beamed, holding it out proudly. Her smile faltered when she noticed the identical camera that hung around his neck. His chin tilted down as he followed her gaze.

“I was trying to tell you, I have a spare,” he said apologetically. “But, hey! Since you got it, why don’t you keep it? It’s great for preserving memories!”

Hattie pulled the camera back, appraising the contraption.

Preserving memories? No matter how much she sketched all the places she and her father had been, it might be nice to be able to just take a picture to quickly capture everything. She could take a picture of the sea, in fact. But she stared into the curved lens with growing dismay.

Flashes of headlights and blinding snaps. Posters with blurry images of her shadowy dad offering money for anyone who could capture the pictured creature, dead or alive. And, even when he shapeshifted, he was still so jumpy around cameras.

Maybe she could sell it at a pawn shop for a little extra cash? In the meantime, it might not hurt to keep it on hand…

“Oh, hold on,” the tourist exclaimed, startling her out of her thoughts. She tucked the camera back into her backpack and blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. “You got quite the scrape there, let me help.” He motioned her over to his set up on the beach, complete with a towel and umbrella.

After the tourist helped her clean up and shared back-up sandwiches he had prepared, she let him choose one of the shells to take as thanks and set off to sell the rest.

She set up a little area at the top of the beach, halfway between the rest of the city and the parking lot for beach goers. After doodling a cute sign declaring her wares were ready, she caught the eyes of passersby and wove imaginative tales about the shells for anyone who came near. Since this wasn’t the first time that she had sold items that she salvaged while her dad worked, she had developed a good enough sense to get a read on personalities and how to appeal to them. Parents with children were easily swayed by silly stories about the shells. She even managed to convince a businessman walking by to purchase one since her wares were far cheaper than the nearby souvenir shops that sold the same shells. And, after all, hers were higher quality and, really, didn’t he want to support an aspiring entrepreneur? (It probably helped her chances that she practiced that word a few times prior to make sure she was pronouncing it right).

She bolted when she spotted some cops patrolling the area, though.

By the end of the day, she successfully sold more than half of her shells. She tucked the coins and cash safely into an inside pocket in her backpack, where her secret stash would help her buy food for whenever her dad inevitably got stuck in noddle form and couldn’t work. She had tried giving her earnings to him directly before, but he had only gotten upset, insisting she didn’t need to worry about money and it was his job to take care of her, not the other way around. But they both knew that he often pushed himself past his limits, and he couldn’t do everything himself.

She was just beginning to collect firewood close to their camp when footsteps tracked through the grass. Hattie froze, turning towards the sound and holding her breath. Golden light flickered between the trees and an approaching shadow broke into the small clearing.

“Hey, kiddo!” Her dad, still in his human form, which surprised her, jumped forward with a wide grin and his hands behind his back. Wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, but he was alert with enthusiasm as he straightened. A plastic bag crinkled noisily as it swayed behind him. “Guess what I got for our most important celebration tonight?”

“Celebration?” Hattie tilted her head, though his energy was infectious, and she cracked a smile.

“Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is,” he teased, bringing his hand forward and adjusting the delivery cap he wore for his morning job of delivering papers.

“Payday?” she guessed, crossing over to their firepit and dropping the dry twigs and branches she found.

“N-no, kiddo,” he faltered, quirking a brow as he revealed a plastic bag with local dollar store logo. “It’s your birthday!”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him.

“Did you really forget?” His features fell and the worn creases on his face highlighted the underlining fatigue. “We talked about it, right? When we were-when we were moving.”

“Y-yeah,” Hattie said. She did sort of remember now that he mentioned it, but she hadn’t thought too much about it since they had other things to worry about. “I just forgot what day of the week it is.”

He didn’t seem to believe her but he accepted the excuse.

“Well, I got hot dogs and marshmallows,” he added quickly, pulling out a bag of large marshmallows for emphasis. If he sensed how she tensed, he ignored it and gestured towards the direction of the beach. “I thought we could start a fire at one of the communal firepits and have a cookout!”

“What about our camp?” Hattie gestured to the little circle of rocks they had set up a few days ago when they first decided to settle in this city.

“It’ll still be here,” he promised. After tucking the marshmallows back into the bag, he walked over to her pile of wood and searched for the longest and cleanest sticks.

“But the beach is out in the open,” she pressed, nervously fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Don’t you need to change back?”

“Of course not!” he insisted with a little more force than he probably intended. In a lighter tone, he waved his hand dismissively with a smile plastered across his face. “I can hold it together long enough for your birthday. Come on! Let’s have fun!”

He placed a few sticks he deemed worthy for hot dog and marshmallow roasting into the plastic bag and then motioned for her to follow.

“But—” she hesitated.

“You know, I used to do this when I was a kid,” he jumped enthusiastically into the memory, not giving her a chance to argue. She frowned but grabbed her backpack and the bucket that still had the leftover seashells.

Hey, if they were going to be on the beach, she might as well keep an eye out for more.

“Any time we went camping, we would grab a bunch of hot dogs and marshmallows. Of course,” he added a bit quietly as they walked through the woods, “usually we had buns and graham crackers and chocolate. But I did snag some ketchup packets from the restaurant!” He beamed proudly.

Hattie forced a smile, though guilt gnawed at the reminder that he had worked two jobs that day, trying to get enough money together so that they could find a motel to stay at sooner than later. She considered giving him the money she had saved, but she didn’t want to cause him more grief especially since she could tell he was masking his exhaustion. Maybe she could hide the money where he would find it with his things? She could pass it off as him misplacing the bills!

Though, both of them had become increasingly vigilant when dealing with money in the past couple years. He would have noticed if that much went missing in the first place.

“Here we are,” he gestured to the firepit closest to the forest the second they walked onto the sand. “Sit tight while I get the fire going.” There was wrapped firewood next to the pit, all ready for them and their cookout. His water bottle was also leaning against one of the logs, indicating that he had stopped by before running to get her. While he finished setting up, Hattie gazed out at the sea.

The water mirrored the stretch of twilight. Orange-pink rays of dwindling sunlight lingered on the horizon and the occasional star twinkled in the darkening sky. Crackles and pops that came from the growing fire behind her mingled with the surging waves before her. And when her dad joined her side and held out his hand, she smiled as she took it, keeping her gaze locked on the horizon.

“It’s like that one picture in the book at the library in the last town,” she whispered, craning her neck back to meet his warm golden gaze. “The one with the watercolor illustrations!”

“It is!” he agreed, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“I want to paint something like this one day,” she admitted, turning back to the sea.

“I bet you can, and sooner than you think.” His smile permeated his voice. He gently tugged her hand and nodded towards the firepit. Despite the lines under his eyes, he did seem happy, and that was good enough for Hattie.

“Okay!” She joined him on a log, and eagerly waited for him to pass her a stick he doused with water to keep it from burning.

Her dad filled her in on his day as they roasted the hot dogs. He got her laughing with a few jokes his coworkers shared, and she nodded knowingly when he told her about some of the customers he had worked with. When he asked about her day as he broke open the bag of marshmallows, she explained that she was looking for seashells and presented the bucket with her findings.

“Quick, if you have twenty seashells and I take five, how many do you have left?” he quizzed.

“F-fifteen!” Hattie blinked, hesitating only a moment as she registered the question.

“Good girl,” he praised, passing over a marshmallow.

“If you bought one bag of marshmallows for tonight, how many marshmallows will you have tomorrow morning?” She blinked up at him, trying and failing to conceal her growing smirk.

“Hmm.” He speared his own marshmallow as he gave her a wry grin. “That’s a tough one, why don’t you give me a hint?”

“Zero!” She pulled her burning marshmallow out of the fire and quickly blew on it.

The flames dissipated into a plume of smoke, leaving a burnt crust behind on the marshmallow. Without waiting, she popped it into her mouth and the gooey burst of molten sugar melted on her tongue.

“Becath I’ll eat ‘em all!” she declared through her sticky mouthful.

“Just don’t choke!” He chuckled before putting his arm around her and giving her a side squeeze. She immediately snuggled into his side, comforted by his warmth.

As they worked through the marshmallows and the night cloaked the beach, Hattie pulled out the hoodie and tugged it over herself. The hoodie was far too big since it was her dad’s but despite the floppy sleeves and how it was more like a dress on her, it was cozy and kept the night chill away. She became even cozier when her dad plucked her up and enveloped her in a hug.

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered as he nuzzled his cheek against hers.

“Hap—erm,” her cheeks flushed since she had almost wished him a happy birthday back. “Thank you.”

He chuckled and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Okay, I have one more surprise,” he said, arching back and stretching his arm maybe a bit farther than a human arm should, and rummaged around the plastic bag.

She leaned over, trying to peek and his other hand moved over her eyes.

“Don’t look!” He shifted around a bit before Hattie felt something lower into her lap. “Alright, now you can.” He pulled his hand away and she immediately glanced down.

Watercolors. A plastic palette of watercolors rested in her lap with a tiny brush snuggly tucked into a divot on the side. A single golden ribbon was taped on for the birthday wrapping. Her chest tightened as she imagined all the things she could paint, all the things she wanted to bring to life with water-soaked pigments.

But how much did he spend on her?

“Well?” he prompted with an edge of nervousness. “Is it okay?”

“I love it.” In one swift movement, she hugged the palette before swiveling around and burying her face into his chest. A lump threatened to lodge in her throat, but she swallowed it as she hugged her dad.

“Oh, Hattie.” He leaned over her and held her tightly. “I’m glad. I know it’s not much.”

“It’s perfect,” she promised, grasping his shirt.

He did so much for her, sacrificed so much just to take care of her, and now this? She wished she could do more to help.

After a few moments of lingering in his embrace, she pulled back while rubbing at her eyes.

“Everything oh-ahem.” Her dad suddenly pulled his hand away from his task of brushing her hair back. She wrinkled her nose as she blinked up at him.

He held his hand behind his back and his nervous, forced smile revealed his growing fangs.

“Dad,” she shuffled out of his lap, “you need to change back.”

She glanced around the beach quickly, relieved that there was no one nearby to see him.

“No!” He winced when an edge of a reverb tainted his voice. He cleared his throat and waved his other hand dismissively. It had completely turned ebony-violet. “I’m fine! I can hold it for a little long—” he stalled as he glimpsed his other hand and snapped it behind his back too, “—longer.”

Hattie frowned with her brows drooping. His irises radiated golden light as his pupils faded.

“Please. I know I can—” he faltered, pulling his hands back and holding them out before himself. His fingers trembled as they dripped, trying to reconnect. He bit his lip and grimaced when his lengthening fangs jabbed him. The familiar, purple-singed shadows spread from the expanding tips of his chestnut hair.

“It’s okay,” she insisted, turning around and rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie to start cleaning up so that they could head back to camp. She knew he was probably more exhausted than he let on.

“But it’s your birthday,” he whispered in such a broken voice that she felt a world of guilt press against her shoulders.

“And I can still spend it with you as a noodle!” She kept her tone light, giving him a smile strained from her concern.

The gold had encased his eyes and his teeth became backlit by a surging light in his throat. He considered her with tight dismay before scowling.

“No!” He pushed to his feet. “No, I can do this!”

“But, Dad,” Hattie called anxiously, unable to do anything but watch as he paced by the bonfire.

He held his hands out in front of himself, clenching them as he stared daggers into his purple palms. During his pacing, his legs began to quiver, and he paused, hunching as his hair began to drip. His fingers merged into mittens, taking on a gloopy appearance and Hattie thought that that was it, that he would just start getting bigger. She opened her mouth to try and get him to focus on saving his clothes, but the words died in her throat.

“Stop changing,” he wheezed in a wavering voice. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he strained to keep a human shape. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, snuffing out his golden light. The flickering fire cast twisting shadows against his trembling form. His arms lost all pretense of having bones and flopped down like limp noodles. His legs buckled and he thrust out his hand to catch himself.

“Something’s wrong!” Hattie hurried to his side, reaching out as his mitten hand clenching the sand lost its shape entirely and expanded into a puddle.

“N-no,” his reverberating voice gurgled behind globs of dripping purple that stretched across his mouth when he parted his lips. “I can do this!” But just as he said that, he grunted and lurched forward. Viscous liquid oozed from his shoes as his legs melted.

But they didn’t form a tail.

They just pooled out uselessly behind him.

“Dad!” Hattie placed a hand on his arm, but it collapsed under her touch. He let out a strangled cry as his whole arm gave away and he slammed against the beach.

He continued to melt despite his groaning and straining. The trembling shadows spilled from his clothes and into the sand. Panic seized Hattie’s chest as she feared she was going to lose him to the beach. Glancing around frantically, her gaze fell onto the bucket, and she lunged for it.

“Hold on!” Hattie called as she dumped the shells out and slid over to her father, who had gone eerily silent as the pooling liquid oozed and spread.

She dropped the bucket into the sand and quickly tried to shove waves of the viscous liquid inside, catching particles of sand with it. Once half of him filled the rusted bucket and kept spilling out, she righted it before scooping up purple globs. She tossed handful after handful of the soupy remains of her father into the bucket. The trembling sludge sputtered and splashed. Tears stung the corners of her eyes when she saw some liquid darkening and fading into intangible shadows that disappeared into the sand, gone for good.

“Stay with me,” she whispered in a cracking voice as she scooped up every last bit that she could.

After wringing purple from his shirt, pants, and the edges of her sleeves which had tumbled into the puddle a few times, Hattie searched for any of her father’s features in the goop squelching against the edges of the bucket.

“Dad?” She lightly prodded the thick surface of the liquid and it shivered. A muffled groan bubbled up, though no golden light from his eyes or mouth followed. Hattie sighed, sitting back in the sand as she convinced herself that the fact that he had groaned meant he was still there. But now just as soup. In a bucket.

They’ve been through worse, right? This, too, should pass?

“Okay, you just sleep while I clean up,” she muttered as she pushed to her feet.

She collected their things and put out the fire, all the while glancing at the bucket as the goop settled. Once she had the plastic bag slung over her shoulder and her birthday gift tucked into her backpack, she slowly picked up the bucket.

“Oof,” she huffed as she heaved the bucket up, wincing when droplets splashed over the side. “Why is magic goop so heavy? That’s stupid,” she grumbled as she slowly made her way across the dark beach and back to their camping area. As she paused multiple times to give her arms a break and catch her breath, she swallowed the rising lump in her throat and pushed onward.

Luka groaned and on top of the usual reverb that came with his noodle body it sounded oddly like the gurgle of a garbage disposal choking on water. He blinked tired eyes and the golden glow rebounded against the daffodil-yellow inside of Hattie’s baseball cap.

Oh. Had he shrunk down and dozed while Hattie was shopping? That didn’t seem right. Actually, what had he been doing before this?

A surge of panic bubbled up as he recalled trying to hold onto his humanity at the beach. He remembered the tighter he held the form, the more it slipped through his clenched fingers. He heard a slosh of thick liquid when he tried to lift his hand.

He couldn’t lift his hand.

He couldn’t even turn his head! His eyes darted around frantically, catching the rim of some sort of curving, metal wall in the corners of his vision but he could only really look straight up at Hattie’s cap.

“K-ki—” he sputtered as some sort of gunk trickled into his mouth. Expelling wet coughs only caused more of the viscous goop to slip in. His anxious attempts to move coupled with his hyperventilating only increased the panicked sloshing that sounded like puddles disrupted by pricks of rain.

“Dad?” Hattie’s sleepy voice responded.

“H-help I’m—” he gagged on a particularly large glob.

“Hold on!”

He tried to spit out the gunk and a heavy droplet plunked against him. He shivered from the sensation but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Relief swelled when the cap was removed and Hattie looked down at him, with sunlight filtering through the trees. Squinting at the sudden light, he tried to squirm around.

While not happy, she at least looked safe and sound. She wore his delivery cap, and he could see the dangling strings of his hoodie. If the sunlight was any indication, he must have slept through the night. He grimaced, hoping she hadn’t been too uncomfortable or cold without his coil to protect her from the elements.

“What’s going on?” he forced out, feeling like he was talking through a wad of bubblegum.

Hattie sat back, making it harder for him to see her at his angle. He twisted to try to get closer.

“You’re in a bucket,” she answered tiredly. When she glanced up and realized she was wearing his delivery cap, she jolted and swiftly took it off.

“A bucket?” he echoed in distress. His eyes shifted around as he glimpsed the walls and the occasional splash of purple-black goop if he moved too quickly. He blinked.

“Oh my god, I melted.”

“Yeah,” Hattie sighed as she rubbed her eyes with the baggy, purple sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Um.”

No.

“I’ve been better.” He winced, realizing all the gunk that was getting caught in his mouth was himself. Fantastic.

“Do you need anything?” she prompted with hesitation as she glanced around. “Like water or something?”

“I need to get out of this bucket!” He pushed his eye against the rim, and he felt himself ripple. “Here, dump me out! I can try to—” he coughed, “—pull myself back together.”

“I lost so much of you on the beach though,” Hattie objected. “And y-you just disappeared, like the goopy stuff turned all shadowy.”

He caught the crack in her voice, and frowned, both from hearing how part of him just up and evaporated—okay, a lot of him if what was left of his monstrous noodle form could fit inside a tiny bucket—and from how much he had frightened her.

“I can’t stay like this, though,” he argued. “I have work! And you can’t stay in the woods on your own!” He shifted around, trying to figure out how to stretch his neck or anything but his neck and everything was gone! First, he lost his body and now he lost his monster body? This wasn’t fair! He couldn’t live like this!

In his frustration, he tried to will himself to have arms or hands or even his tail would work. The goop bubbled and frothed, and he grunted from the strain, but he could do it! He could pull himself together!

“Stop!” Hattie commanded. He yelped as he felt small hands jut into the goop and scoop up his features.

He felt himself spread out and winced as strands dripped back down into the bucket with heavy plops. It was like the world and his body were spinning around him, disconnected and far from his grasp as his head remained stagnant but stuck. After blinking and spotting Hattie’s thumb acting as a barrier as trickles of him slipped through the cracks of her fingers, he grounded himself in her frustrated blue gaze.

“If you keep hurting yourself, you’ll just make it worse!” Her nose scrunched up into a hard scowl, but he heard the lump in her throat underneath her irate bite. “Just stop!”

“Sorry,” he gurgled quietly. Her brows furrowed even more, and he added as gently as he could, “I’ll rest, kiddo. I’ll take it easy.”

“Promise?” She stared him down.

“Promise,” he breathed out, slumping.

She lowered him back into the bucket and a soft bloop sound was followed by flickers of drops as she pulled her hands out. He hummed to relieve some distress as he tried to force himself to relax.

“Maybe you just need sleep,” Hattie offered. She grumbled a bit, but he could tell she was trying to soften her tone.

“That’s usually all it is,” he agreed.

He did feel a similar exhaustion to all the times he pushed his time limit and got stuck in noodle form. Only this was much worse. Even when he was a human, he wasn’t sure he could ever remember a time he was so tired that he couldn’t move his muscles.

Leaning his eyes against the rim of the bucket for some semblance of security, he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be stuck like this. But even if he did eventually turn back to monster-normal, he had a sneaking suspicion he really screwed over his already sparse shapeshifting time.

“Do you want me to put the hat back over?” Hattie lifted her cap into his view. “To help you sleep?”

“No,” he said a little quickly. She lowered the hat and he added, sheepishly, “I know I can’t see much from here, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Okay. Go to sleep. Let me know if you need anything.” She scooted over to their campfire, and he heard the click of the lighter.

He sighed but tried to let the distant crackle of flame and the low tap of Hattie sketching on paper lull him into a semi-relaxed state. His eyes closed into tiny slits and as he dozed, a gentle and continuous rumble bubbled up from within.

“Dad?” Hattie whispered after a stretch of time, scooting back into view and looking down with her hair slipping from behind her ear.

“Hmm?” His eyes cracked open, slowly registering the rumbling sound. In his peripheral vision, the surface of the ebony-violet goop rippled steadily.

Hattie cracked a grin.

“You’re purring!” she said in slight disbelief before exploding into giggles.

“I’m—?” he began before he recognized the familiar and involuntary purr. A dusting of faint gold emanated from beneath the surface of the goop as he blushed.

“The whole bucket is shaking!” Hattie covered her mouth as her laugh trickled out in mirthful chimes.

Despite himself, Luka smiled, glad to hear her laugh.

“I guess it looks pretty silly,” he admitted, imagining the bucket wiggling around. Though now that he was becoming more alert, the rumbling slowed to a stop. In their absence, he realized how comforting the vibrations had been.

Hmm. Maybe the purring was a way to pull himself back together? It wasn’t something he could force or speed up, though. Typical.

“Do you want any food?” Hattie perked after she calmed down from laughing. “I was roasting some hot dogs.”

“I’ll try a bite,” his eyes and mouth shifted up and down in an affirmative nod that sent tiny waves splashing against the side of the bucket.

He couldn’t really tell if he was hungry, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to eat but he would do anything that would help him replenish some energy.

When Hattie returned with a torn piece of a hot dog, Luka opened his mouth and let out a gurgling, “ah.”

With a giggle, she gently lowered the hot dog as close as she could before dropping it. He felt the hot dog plop down and coughed. Hattie winced in apology as he closed his mouth and pensively chewed.

“I’m fine,” he said after a thick swallow. He couldn’t feel the lump of the hot dog anymore but in the past few years of dealing with his magic, goopy body, he learned to not ask questions he couldn’t answer and near the top of that list was wondering what the heck replaced his melted digestive track.

Hattie fed him a few more pieces and he swallowed the dismay of not being able to feed himself. Even though he had grown accustomed to relying on Hattie for help when his chameleon paws couldn’t work with delicate silverware, the familiar sorrow from the early days returned now that he didn’t even have hands.

After what he was certain was a late lunch, he napped on and off as Hattie remained nearby. When he would check in with her, she would present her latest sketches proudly, and even had one completed work in watercolor. It was a scene of the ocean, and while her sketchbook paper wasn’t meant to hold so much moisture, causing it to crinkle and warp when it dried, she excitedly explained that she was going to do other paintings exactly like it, but all showcasing the ocean at different times of the day. He told her that he was eager to see them, overjoyed that she was having fun with her gift like he had hoped she would.

If only he had been able to save up enough for a motel in time for her birthday, or at the very least, if only he hadn’t melted on her. But that was really his fault for pushing himself so hard.

He had just so badly wanted to make it special. She hadn’t even remembered her own birthday! What else was he supposed to do? Let himself turn into a monster? She deserved to have her actual dad on her birthday.

“Hey, Dad?” Her voice drew him out of his sinking despair.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he shifted his eyes in the bucket, trying to find a position that best allowed him to see her.

“What should I tell your boss?” She held out his phone, which was lit up with messages with letters in all caps.

Luka groaned.

“Can you read the messages for me?” He mentally prepared for the nerve-wracking ordeal of trying to explain himself without admitting to his boss that the reason he couldn’t make it to work was because he turned into a bucket of silly putty.

With Luka directing her, Hattie responded to the understandably angry but maybe harsher than necessary texts from his boss at the restaurant. Once that was done, he let out a heavy sigh, accidentally blowing a bubble in the goop, which shortly popped and splattered. He flinched when a drop landed in his eye.

“Do I have anything from the newspaper office?” Luka asked, dreading the thought of not only the manager getting upset when he found out no one had delivered newspapers in the morning, but of all the people who would no doubt call to complain about empty doorsteps.

“No,” Hattie replied slowly.

“Really?” Luka wasn’t sure if he should count that as good or bad. Either way, he was probably out of a job. “I’ll need to start looking for something else.”

“Why?” Hattie scooted closer, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked down at him.

“They’ve probably already decided to fire me,” he lamented with his mouth sinking and gurgling in the gunk.

“Nah.” She glanced away, tapping around on his phone.

He blinked up at her.

“Nah?” he repeated. When Hattie kept her gaze down and her lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “Hattie? What did you do?”

“I maybe did your deliveries for you?” she offered guiltily.

He stared at her.

“You what?” he sputtered, causing his sludge to ripple as panic seized him. “By yourself? Hattie! You just turned eight! My route is a couple miles long, and you would have had to bike before dawn! There are child labor laws! What do you mean you did my deliveries?”

“I had help!” Hattie hurried to explain. “I ran into a nice tourist I met yesterday, and he gave me a map and delivered half of the newspapers for me.”

“You worked with a stranger?” Luka demanded, shifting around in the bucket. “Harriet Princeton, you are not supposed to talk to strangers!”

“So, I’m only supposed to talk to you?” She threw her hands up in the air.

“No! I mean—that’s not the point!” he faltered, sloshing around as the bite in her words stung. Bits of goop splattered over the rim and Hattie jolted.

“Stop freaking out!” She helplessly tried to grasp at the stray droplets. “I can’t lose you again!”

He paused, tensing. Well, tensing as much as he could as a viscous liquid.

“Wh-what do you mean lose me again?” he pressed tightly.

“I thought you were gone when you melted,” she said with a cracking voice. She hugged her legs and rest her chin on her knees. “I thought I didn’t get all of you in time and you were gone, and I just wanted to help because you’re so tired all time but—” she trailed off in a squeak as tears filled her eyes.

“Hattie—” he shifted towards her, but the goop sputtered as he instinctively tried to reach out to his daughter. Liquid stung his eyes and he blinked rapidly. “Hattie, look at me please.”

She turned and revealed tears streaming down her cheeks.

Gold blurred his vision, but he pressed on.

“I’m sorry,” he began in a congested voice, thick with gunk and reverb. “I know you were just trying to help, and I appreciate it! But I don’t want you worrying about my jobs or money. You shouldn’t have to.”

His voice cracked and all too late, he realized that the reason he sounded so congested was partly because of the golden tears filling the bucket. They glittered in the goop, separated like oil drops in water. His breath hitched and the goop swelled.

“But I can—” he tried to continue as the tears slipped out and the goop splashed up when he instinctively tried to wipe them away with a hand that wasn’t there.

“You’re spilling!” Hattie interrupted, jolting upward and hurrying over, placing her arms around the rim but the added tears were causing his anxious sloshing to spill over. “Stop crying!”

“What?” He jolted, shifting his eyes around and catching glimpses of purple and gold staining her sleeves. Her dismayed features above him only encouraged his tears and he made a muffled sniffling noise as panic surged and his tears swelled.

“Dad!” she yelped. But her own distraught features cleaved through his squishy, melted chest.

“I-I can’t! Give me a moment!” Twisting away, he tried to lock his eyes on something to ground himself, but in his panic, he kept attempting to turn and wipe his tears. The spilling goop sloshed uncontrollably.

“Try to laugh!” Hattie begged. “Tell me a stupid joke!”

“Ah, uh.” He pressed his lips into a tight line as he struggled to think of something. “Um. You know what? This situation really pails in comparison to—uh—that one time we teleported into that bear den!”

“What?” Hattie furrowed her brows. But it looked like her tears halted in confusion.

“P-pails, like a pun? It’s a joke. It’s supposed to be funny. Please laugh,” he said weakly. He blinked and let out a tight exhale as he felt himself calm and the rest of the goop start to settle.

“That’s a stupid joke.” Hattie sniffled as she leaned back and slowly lifted her arms, revealing sleeves soaked with purple sludge.

“I got buckets of them.” He added a sardonic, “ha,” as the gold ebbed. While a few dancing droplets of tears wiggled in his goop, now that he was calmer, trembling splashes no longer spilled over the rim.

Hattie wrung out the sleeves. He flinched at the droplets that pelted his face and sent ripples along the surface.

“That’s even worse,” she sighed, though a small smile found its way onto her features. She tugged up one of her sleeves and gingerly reached over and wiped at the edge of his eye.

He grunted, squeezing it shut but when she pulled away, he watched her flick a golden droplet towards the grass. He sighed, blowing a few bubbles.

“Please don’t do my job tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We’ll be okay.”

She nodded slowly before thinking better of it.

“Only if you promise not to push yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” he said tiredly before he yawned. Sludge dribbled into his mouth, and he sputtered.

“Sleep.” She poked the goop. He shifted his eyes next to her finger, which was the closest he could come to giving her an encouraging nuzzle.

“What about you?” he asked, staring up at the canopy of leaves. There was still sunlight trickling down, but it seemed fainter.

“I can eat soon,” she shrugged.

“Wake me if you need anything,” he muttered, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

Did he even have eyelids at this point? Maybe it was more that his eyes were sinking. Might be more apt.

Hattie promised to, but he had a feeling they both knew she would deal with any problem on her own before waking him. Frowning, he supposed the best thing he could do for her would be to recover as swiftly as possible.

He settled into the bucket, and soon enough, the sludge began to ripple as he automatically purred. He caught Hattie’s stifled snort at the vibrating bucket before he fell asleep.

Night blanketed the forest by the time he woke up again. Still purring, he blinked as he felt something shift. The rippling rumbles of goop seemed to be tightening and when he moved to lift his head, he peeked over the rim of the bucket. Relief swelled inside as he spotted Hattie’s back. She was drawing by the fire, safe and sound.

Edging backward, he tilted his head down, blinking at the vibrating goop as it slowly re-solidified into shape. After a moment, he lifted his noodle arms and wiggled his chameleon paws. Funny, he was actually relieved to see them for once. Once his tail formed, he heaved out a sigh. There wasn’t a drop of him left behind in the bucket, but now he took up less volume.

“Kiddo,” he called softly, floating up to the rim of the bucket and placing his hands on the edge, curling his tail beneath himself.

“Dad!” Hattie gasped when she saw his familiar form. Scrambling around, she darted over, and he flew up into her embrace.

“You’re tiny,” she muttered into the plush fluff around his neck. His tail waved back and forth as he returned her firm hug.

“I’m sure I’ll get back to normal size,” he guessed. Probably. After a long enough rest without using his shapeshifting.

Moments passed until he caught a low grumble coming from Hattie’s stomach. He craned his neck with a smirk.

“In the meantime, are there anymore marshmallows to share?”

“I ate them all. Remember our math quiz? Zero left.” Hattie said without missing a beat as she turned back around and brought him to the fireside. “Just kidding, I saved you some.”

“That’s my girl!” His tail waved harder as he chuckled.

He extended an arm towards the bag, noting that he couldn’t really stretch it like usual, and made a grasping motion. Hattie plopped the bag into her lap, still using an arm to hug him, and they both took turns popping the confections into their mouths.

Yes, after a week’s worth of rest, he would grow to his usual massive size and when he could shapeshift again, he would have to deal with the consequences of missing so much work. But until then, he and Hattie would take it day by day and one marshmallow at a time.

#ahit coffee shop au #doodledrawsthings #ahit prince #ahit hat kid #my writing #*kickflips into ur tumblr experience wearing rubber fishing suspenders and a cap that says 'words want me. ghost dads fear me'*#Me: Bucket's haunted #You probably: What?#Me not breaking eye contact as i grab a pail and head for the exit: Bucket's haunted #this got very long whoops #but i hope its a fun read!#thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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afriendlyblackhottie · 4 years ago

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Alone Together

Summary: After an awful breakup you were expecting to spend Christmas alone. You and Steve end up spending it together.

Pairings: tattoo artist!Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson sister!reader. Abusive ex boyfriend!Brock Rumlow x reader

Warning: mentions of abusive relationship, smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex

Tagging: @titty-teetee @blackmissfrizzle @olyvoyl @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @mariahthelioness29 @whiskey-cokenfanfic @olyvoyl @hqneyyincc @queenoftheworldisdead @iam-laiya @donutloverxo @slytherinandoutasgard @zaddychris @brattycherubwrites @love-more122

(A/N: yay I made it! Merry Christmas guys! Reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

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Okay yeah so it was stupid. You should have known better when you’d done it. Well, you did you just... well you don’t really know what you were thinking.

Red flags just look like flags when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, yeah fuck off you stole that from Bojack. So when you were with your ex and doing all this dumb just you thought would make him happy it ended up being kind of awful in the end.

When they finally came off you noticed the things you dealt with. Scared to piss him off so you started treating okay times like they were really good. All the stupid things he had you do to prove yourself.

You were paying for this one right now. Right in another parlor. Covering up that mistake with something you actually liked. Not that most people could see it because it was on your underboob. Said he wanted it to be this hidden thing all for him that no one else was allowed to see.

The first time he asked you’d laughed and said no thinking it was a joke. The second time you it happened you tried to be a little more firm. Except that just meant you couldn’t prove your love for him. That you were devoted. That he’d get a tattoo for you on his arm that he never had time to get for some reason.

It was so fucking dumb you know. The cursive Brock tattooed right under your boob. You could see it every time you took your shirt off and it really bothered you. It always had, but you were trying to convince yourself that you loved him before. Now you looked at it and saw the new of a person you wished you’d never even met.

Steve was your older brother’s best friend. He ran this super popular tattoo shop. They’d met in the military and the friendship just stuck. It’s kind of why you ended up moving to New York. You were kind of the outcast of the family, but Sam never treated you any different. You were his baby sister.

So after a few weeks you asked him if he could cover it up. Except his only available day was Christmas Eve. You didn’t go home anyway and Sam was going to meet his girlfriend’s parents this year. Not that you weren’t invited, but you just wanted this thing covered up. Maybe that would make you forget.

You winced as the needle dug into your skin. Not like it wasn’t worth the pain. “Hey, relax, okay,” he said, softly rubbing your arm. He’d been so much help since the breakup. It was funny. Brock hated him. Was always ranting about what an asshole he is. You could tell he didn’t like your brother either. You really didn’t know what but you knew it was something over their friend Bucky or whatever.

Yeah it was a whole thing. Not that you really knew the details.

Normally you’d spend the holidays with his family. Though a little uncomfortable it was nice being with him. So this was your first year in three that you were alone. Hanging with Steve was nice.

“I’m fine,” you were trying to keep a brave face.

He was almost done. Just had to finish up the shading. Honestly you’d been expecting him being that close to you to feel weird, but it was actually nice. It’d just be nice if you didn’t date another tattoo artist.

Yeah Brock also tattooed. He’d met Steve because they’d worked at the same shop once. You remember how Brock was seething when he found out that Steve had opened his own.

You wish you could go back in time and tell Leila to never go into that damn shop. To never ask you to go with her because she was nervous for her first tattoo. Somehow it ended up with Brock promising you a discount if you let him tattoo you if you gave him your number. Being a cliche you got a butterfly on your shoulder.

Somehow it didn’t bother you as much. Maybe because it didn’t look like anything resembling him.

“You sure? We can take a break,” he offered.

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.” You chuckled with a smile.

He chuckled before clicking his tongue. “Alright. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“How’s your mom’s trip?” You asked. His mother had decided to vacation to Hawaii with his step-dad. Which is also why he was here. Not that he couldn’t have went with Nat and Bucky to his parent’s house. Except last time he’d done that, he ended up having to sleep next to Bucky’s incredibly touchy aunt. He was better off spending it alone.

“She’s great. Talked to her this morning.” He chuckled, “apparently she’s bringing me back a Hawaiian shirt.”

“You could pull it off.” You replied trying not to laugh too much.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Yeah just keep it unbuttoned and don’t wear a shirt under.”

He stopped to laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I dunno. Just doing a service for the girls,” you said. “Don’t act like you don’t know that you’re cute.”

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Why Miss. Wilson, you’re not flirting with me are you?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. Just... stop. You know you’re hot.”

His jaw dropped as he grin. “Now you think I’m hot?”

You sighed dramatically. “Look, Steve. I’m just joking.”

He went back to work with this kind of goofy look on his face. You couldn’t deny it. Steve is hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. Your eyes traced along his tattooed forearms. The sleeves of his flannel pushed up to elbows. Until you were distracted by his broad shoulders.

Your mind finally started to relax. Kind of enjoying the buzzing of the gun. You kind of missed that sound you loved going to the shop with a Brock while he worked.

Your only days off were weekends and since he usually had shit to do on those days, you’d be there while he worked. Sometimes even helping out when their secretary was out.

“And, done,” he said taking a deep breath and smiling down at his work before turning off the machine. “How you feelin?’” He grabbed your hand to help you to your feet.

“Well, a little sore, but good.”

You turned to look at it. Smiling at the flowers that were there now. “It’s beautiful,” you said, looking at Steve before throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey,” he pulled away to rub your arms, “I got you.”

He was so close, eyes trained on your lips. So you started wondering maybe this was why Brock hated Steve. Saw how magnetic he was that he could definitely pull you in.

That couldn’t have been it, though. Brock never saw you with him alone. His dislike went much deeper than you. Today had kind of added insult to injury. Not only did you cover up that thing, but he was the one to do it. It’d be a slap in the face.

Maybe that’s why you did it. Except you’d always liked Steve’s work. You’d seen so many pieces he did or sketches he made and had wanted him to work on you for the longest. Maybe next time it would be something you didn’t need to cover up.

Your phone went off and you groaned softly pulling away. “Hey, Sam,” you greeted your brother. Of course it had to be him of all people.

Looking back over at his best friend who was cleaning up the station now. It was probably a good thing because your heart had started to thump in your chest. You didn’t need that.

You raised your shirt up so you could see it finally. “Just calling to check up on you. Steve’s lazy ass taking a break? I don’t hear buzzing in the back.”

“We just finished actually.” You laughed.

“How’d it come out?”

“Good,” you answered. “Tell Maya I said hi.”

You finished talking to Sam before finally hanging up. When you finally looked at your new tattoo, a smile grew on your face. It looked so much better than before. “Like it?” Steve asked.

“I love it,” you replied. You grabbed your bag so you could pay him.

“Um, excuse me, Miss,” he said. “Your money is no good here.”

“What? I’m not going to have you do all this work and not pay you, Stevie.”

He sighed. “Think of it as a Christmas present.”

You rolled your eyes still taking your money out. “I can’t-“

“I’m not taking it,” he pressed.

“Fine at least let me give you a tip.”

“I’m not taking that either.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes. For such a nice boy he was always so stubborn. “Fine. Then... dinner. I’ll make dinner. If we’re spending Christmas alone then it might be fun to spend it together.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

“Great.” You looked into his eyes again. They were like the prettiest blue ever. Especially with those little specks of green.

After a trip to the store, he escorted you back to the apartment you shared with your brother. You could have moved out, but you were kind of afraid to live alone. That’s why Sam had been a little surprised that you’d declined the invitation to go with him. It was nice to have Steve there.

You’d decorated the apartment even though you hadn’t planned to do anything. You still wanted to be a little festive. Maybe it would pull you into a better mood. It worked a little.

You quickly started on dinner. Steve helped by cutting up vegetables. He’d taken off his sweater letting his incredibly muscular tattooed arms taunt you. Okay so yeah you had a little bit of a crush on him. Like a lot of other women, you just liked to look.

“Thanks for dinner,” Steve said, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t get home cooked meals a lot.”

“Can’t cook?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah I’m pretty hopeless at it.” He shrugged.

“So do you want to watch Christmas movies after this?” You asked.

He laughed. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

The night was going by kind of quick as you settled down to watch A Christmas Story. You were a little tipsy honestly, but you and Steve were sharing a fluffy blanket. Which meant he was close.

You’d carefully showered so you didn’t get your tattoo wet and changed into a sweater shirt and s pair of matching shorts. Getting all bundled up so you could curl up beside him. “You look so warm.” He chuckled as he got a little closer.

“Do you need an extra blanket?” You asked.

“No I’m okay,” he replied.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked because the thought had crossed your mind again. This time you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“Why don’t you and Brock like each other?” You asked.

He sighed. “You’re not the first person I’ve had to save from him. He and Bucky used to be close and I noticed him kind of spiraling. Rumlow was pumping him full of all of these drugs and I dunno I didn’t want to lose my friend.”

Your stomach started to turn. This was the first time you’d ever heard of any of this. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“I wanted to, but Sam said we needed to let you make your own mistakes. To not push you away. There were so many times that I thought about... look I just know that I’m never letting him hurt you again. Okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. This glazed over look in your eyes. Steve noticed and pulled you closer pretty much placing you in his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay, Honey.” He rubbed your back. Trying to at least comfort you a little.

“No I’m fine,” you replied leaning into him. The soft fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare legs. It was nice to have him comfort you like this. “You know I think the worst thing to me is that and I’m sorry if this is too much information, but he’d use Sam against me. Say that if I didn’t do what he wanted he’d tell Sam about the things we did in bed.”

Steve sighed. “You know he wouldn’t have cared.”

“I know, but it still felt embarrassing. He knew how secretive I was about it. None of my friends even know the kind of things I’m into.” You took a deep breath, trying to relax because you felt way more tense than you wanted to.

He chuckled. Trying to lighten the mood. “I get it. I used to be the same way until my last girlfriend put it all out there when we broke up.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah I remember that.”

“Yeah. She was something else.” He tossed his head back as he laughed. “One night she came to the shop, talking about how she’d let me tie her up one more time.”

“Brock used to say stuff like ‘come on, Babygirl, do what Daddy says or else I’ll tell your brother what you’re up to.’ It used to grate on my nerves.”

“God. What a fucking asshole,” he said, hoping you didn’t notice when he felt himself get suddenly hard at hearing you say that.

“Yeah, but I’m so glad this thing is covered.”

“Yeah. Glad I could help,” he said with smile. “Shit do you mind actually if I take a picture of it? For Instagram.”

You nodded. “Yeah that’s fine.”

He took his phone out of his pocket while you laid down across his lap, rolling your sweatshirt up so that it was exposed. “Perfect,” he said as he snapped the picture the flash making you close your eyes all tight, making you move your hand so you could rub your eye.

Making your entire breast become exposed. “Shit,” you said, pushing it back down as you sat back up. Your eyes connected to his again and that’s when he kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to do it back. Your mouth moving against his ever so softly. Like the two of you were afraid to really do what you want, but also didn’t want to pull away. Until he finally started to deepen it.

You stroked his beard as he held onto you tightly. You came to straddle his lap as he cupped your ass. He started to lay you back.

Your phone interrupted you, making you jump away. You scrambled to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey. Just checking on you,” Sam’s voice came through.

“Oh. I’m fine, Sam.” You took looked over at Steve who closed his eyes and stood up.

“Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah he walked me home,” you said. “Actually I have to go I’m going to shower.”

“Okay. Text me before bed.”

“Okay.”

Steve was gathering up his things to leave by the time you got off your phone. You watched him move around. He shrugged his coat on. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“Yeah...” you pursed your lips.

He licked his lips. “I, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me... I-“

“No. It’s okay,” you replied taking a deep breath. “I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You watched as he walked away heading towards the elevator. You still couldn’t believe that happened. Lips tingling from the way he kissed you. Apart of you was cursing Sam from ruining your moment.

Another part of you was kind of happy that he did because as much as you hated it, Brock still had this hold over you. It wasn’t that you felt guilty. It was more like you were afraid of what would happen if he found out.

God, you wish he didn’t have this hold on you. You were starting to close the door when Steve came back. This time he didn’t stop himself as he kissed you. Or picked you up, kicking the door shut behind him. Didn’t stop himself as he carried you to your room.

He laid you down on your bed, getting on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Trying to be as close to him as possible. Fuck he felt so good on top of you.

Scratching at his muscular shoulders. He pulled your top off first. Exposing your tits. His mouth went to them as he tried to avoid your tattoo. He swirled his tongue around your nipple.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He’d switched to the other one to give it the same treatment. “So fucking beautiful.” He started kissing down your body so he could take off your shorts and panties. He kissed along your thighs, still looking into your eyes as he parted them.

Before he could put his mouth on your pussy, he went back up. Kissing you again. “Is this okay?” He asked resting his forehead to yours.

You nodded, reaching out so you could start undoing the buttons of his flannel. He helped you, pressing his lips to yours again. This time he put his tongue in your mouth.

Kissing him was different than Brock. Steve’s lips seemed to mold with yours better. There was this feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt like it was about to burst, but like you wanted it to. You really shouldn’t be comparing them, but Steve was making you feel so good and you were kicking yourself from having missed out on this as you wasted your time.

He pushed his shirt off his body then undid his pants. Sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. He got back on top for you, kissing your neck. Leaving little nibbles and sucking on your skin like he knew your body already. “Daddy,” you cried out, then sat up when you realized what you said opening your mouth to apologize.

“Oh yeah, Baby. You want me to be your daddy?” He asked, going back between your legs. “Want to be a dirty girl for me only?”

You nodded suddenly feeling drunk off of his words. Never did you think in a million years that Steve would be talking to you like this. He was getting you so wet just from that. He started licking your clit first.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he feasted on you. Pussy juices making a mess on his beard. “Yes,” you gasped out as he started to finger you at the same time.

That same bursting feeling in your stomach was getting intense. You cried out for him as you felt yourself reach your peek. You grabbed his hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

You took a deep breath as you tried to sit up, but he put a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “I’m not done.” He growled. “Hold still while Daddy makes you cum, Honey.”

You nodded bracing yourself as he went back to eating you out. It didn’t take long for him to bring you to another orgasm or another one after that. When he was done he kissed you, making you taste your juices on him.

As you made out again he went back to rubbing your cunt. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said. “Gonna make you cum over and over again. Gonna take care of you.”

“Oh god yes,” you whimpered.

“Fuck I don’t have any condom,” he said, as he’d started to line himself up with your entrance.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m on birth control.”

He licked his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you so bad, Daddy.”

He grinned as he kissed you softly. “I want to know your safe word first, Honey. Just in case.”

“Strawberry.”

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. He pushed into you as your tongues came into contact. Your tongues carassing against each other.

You stretched around him and you started to understand why he’d spent so much time eating you out. Fuck he was thick. You stretched around him looking into his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered into your lips. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much!” You cried.

“You can take it, Honey,” he kissed you again. “Be a good girl and take Daddy’s dick.”

He started fucking into you a little harder. You could feel yourself leaking around his dick. He’d really worked you up first even if he was still too damn thick for your pussy.

You scratched his back, biting his shoulder. He was thrusting so deep. You don’t think you’d ever been fucked this deep before. You’d definetly never been stretched open like this.

“Right there! Don’t stop!” You begged as he started fucking into your spot. “I’m fucking cumming!”

“That’s it, Honey. Cum for me.” He groaned because your pussy was so tight. Especially as you came. You were tightening around him and if he wasn’t so determined to give you a few more he would have let go inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy!” You cried. He didn’t let up. Fucking you through it.

“Nasty girl, squirting for me,” he said getting on his knees so he could watch you.

“Oh god!” You didn’t stop. Your pussy gushing around him. He bent your legs back with his hands on the back of your thighs. Watching his cock all slick anytime he’d pull out only to push back into you.

He chuckled as it happened again. Your eyes all clouded over as you came again just like that last time. More juices squirting out of you.

“Please,” you said, but didn’t know why.

“What do you want me to do, Baby?” He asked.

You couldn’t say anything back because you were to far gone. Thoughts had officially left your head. All you knew was him and the he was fucking you so damn good. Still pressing into your spot.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” he hissed, getting back on top of you with his bicep wrapped around your thigh so he could keep you spread open. He kissed you again this time deeper. Fucking your mouth with his tongue.

You moaned into him and thrusts became to falter as he started to pump you full of his cum. He thrusted into you deep as he gave you every bit of it. Wanting to completely fill you up with him.

He laid on top of you trying to catch his breath. You were panting underneath him. Not even wanting him to move because he was so warm. You buried your head into his neck.

It took you a minute to come down from your highs. He smiled down at you, kissing you softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shook your head, already closing your eyes because you were so comfortable like this. “I’m great.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smiled lazily as he finally rolled off of you. He brought you close to him, kissing your nose again. “Stay with me.”

“There’s literally no other place I’d rather be,” he said.

You’d spent all night messing around. Taking little cat naps in between. Right now he had you on your stomach as he fucked you from behind. You never expected to spend your holiday with him, but now you couldn’t picture spending it with anyone else.

You hadn’t even thought about your ex and the meltdown he’d have if he knew about this. It was nice feeling so free. Especially as Steve’s tattooed arms wrapped around you from behind.

Hints of daylight had started to break through the slits of your curtain. He chuckled. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your ear as he didn’t even let up the way he was fucking into you.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Gonna spend Christmas letting me make you my girl?”

You nodded trying to peek up at him over your shoulder with a smile. “Your girl?”

“After this I’m not letting you go,” he said, kissing your cheek from behind. “We might need to make this a tradition.”

“I like the sound of that.”

#Steve Rogers smut #Chris Evans smut #steve rogers x black!reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x Wilson sister #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black women #chris evans x black!reader #Chris Evans x reader

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enhypenandpaper · 3 years ago

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rewriting fate (to get the ending we deserve) | yang jungwon

pairing: Yang Jungwon x gn!reader

genre: soulmate!au, angst (with a happy ending), some fluff

warnings: blood, self-inflicted wounds (in an unconventional sense), mentions of scars, self-doubt

word count: 2.3k

summary: in a world where the universe designates two people as soulmates with matching tattoos, you were raised to trust and respect the universe’s will to no end. however, when the boy you love turns out not to be the other half of your fated pair, you begin to question how much the universe can really be trusted. are you and Jungwon actually making a mistake? Or has the universe?

You were laying on your back next to your boyfriend, the blanket he always kept in his car for moments like this protecting your clothes from the wet grass. With the stars shining above you and the boy you loved beside you, you felt like you could conquer the world.

You turned your head so you could look at Jungwon; his big, sparkling eyes, his soft hair resting on his forehead. Your eyes travel down his long neck and pause at the collarbones peeking out from his t-shirt. You watch as his chest rises and falls, it takes a moment for you to realize that yours is moving at the same pace. Your breathing was linked.

Jungwon, having felt your stare, moved his head to confront you. He raised his eyebrows and started to smirk, obviously about to make a joke about how whipped you were for him until you interrupted.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell him.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, watching Jungwon try and fail to hide the way your words affected him, pressing his lips together to hide his smile and turning to face the night sky again so you can’t see how pink his cheeks are.

Your boyfriend unlaces your hands and, before you can whine, configures the two of you so that you can rest on his chest with his now free arm around you.

You snuggle closer into him, feeling his heartbeat pulse through your body.

“My parents had a talk with me,” you blurt out, unable to keep it a secret like you originally planned.

“…About?” Jungwon asks tentatively.

“They think we’re too old to be dating someone who isn’t our soulmate.”

God, you hated that word.

In this world, everyone was born with a mark, sort of like a tattoo, somewhere on their body. The placement changed with each generation and growing up, you and your peers walked around with dark blue drawings right above your hearts, courtesy of the universe. There were only two of each mark per generation, a matching pair indicating that those two people were soulmates.

Soulmate, perfect match, life-long confidante, a person who complemented you in every way and was worth any sacrifice, a person fated for you and you, them.

If you didn’t think it was total bullshit, you would’ve found it romantic.

You weren’t usually one to question the universe or think up complicated conspiracies to refute how the world worked, but this was something you wouldn’t budge on.

Because how could the universe always be right when you and Jungwon didn’t have the same mark?

Yang Jungwon, the boy with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen and a smile to match. The person who could make you laugh at the most inappropriate of times, smile at the darkest, relax at the most stressful. The boy whose side you would never leave, the boy you would let the world burn for, the boy for whom you would do anything because anything that brought him happiness brought it to you by default.

Your best friend-turned-boyfriend, Jungwon has been by your side through it all. But now that you two were becoming adults, you were expected to leave your little “crushes” behind and start looking for your respective soulmates. People in your world still dated, even if they knew their significant other wasn’t their soulmate, but it was mostly seen as a way to gain experience for later. It was a given that if the person you were dating found their soulmate (or wanted to start looking), you would let them go with no questions asked.

That was sort of the plan when you and Jungwon started liking each other back in your last year of middle school, giggling and looking away whenever you held hands or made eye contact for long enough, but the young relationship that everyone cooed at easily developed into a strong bond between you and the boy lying next to you, an unbreakable bond that nobody could seem to understand.

So, to everyone else, you and Jungwon were just wasting time.

“Do you agree with them?”

“What?”

“Do you agree with what they said?” Jungwon repeated quietly. “Do you think we’re wasting time?”

“No,” you answered immediately, feeling your boyfriend exhale. “Do you?”

“Y/N, if I ever thought that this wasn’t worth it, I would’ve ended it right away. I would never hold you back like that.”

He always thought in terms of you, not him.

“But what if I’m holding you back? I want you to be happy, the happiest you can be, and if that means you have to be with someone else-”

“It doesn’t,” he assured you.

Your hand that was resting on his stomach fiddled with the fabric of his shirt.

“I told them that I had already found my soulmate, that I haven’t needed to look for anything since you moved in down the street.” You smile, thinking of how chubby Jungwon’s cheeks were when you first met as children.

He huffed out a laugh, raising his head to kiss the top of yours.

“You make me feel unstoppable,” Jungwon told you, “like the two of us could take on the universe when we’re together.”

“We kind of already are,” you joke, referring to how you’ve been ignoring the universe’s will for years now, “even the universe has failed at keeping us apart.”

You hesitated, unable to force something to the back of your mind.

“What about them, Jungwon? Are we horrible people for leaving them alone?”

He knew who you were talking about.

“I hope that they both have someone in their life who chooses them,” he told you, “instead of letting some glorified drawings control their happiness. I mean, if they really are supposed to be exactly what we need, maybe they aren’t looking for us either. Maybe they’ve found what we have.”

You sat up suddenly, Jungwon’s arm falling off your shoulders and flopping down beside his own body.

“What happens when you’re running errands one day or you’re out with your family and you see someone with the same mark as you?” You ask softly, staring ahead at the ground as your fingers tangled themselves in the grass, tugging and breaking the weak strands. “What if you meet them one day? What if someone’s shirt slips and it’s like you’re standing in front of a mirror or someone taps you on the shoulder because they could’ve sworn that-”

“Y/N,” Jungwon stops you, pleading.

You hear him sit up to join you.

You looked at him and physically felt all the anxiety leave your body in waves once your eyes met his. His sparkling eyes held so much love that it would be painful for anyone who didn’t share his feelings to look directly at them.

“There is nothing that anyone could say or do to ever make me rethink my decision, make me rethink you. We’ve never needed something to tell us how to feel, this relationship is entirely our own. Nothing can take away what we feel for each other… what we’ve built together.”

That was when you smiled, overwhelmed by the sweetness and the realness of the boy sitting next to you.

He was right, of course, your love wasn’t sketched out in the blueprint of the universe. It was grown and cultivated by two pairs of gentle hands, like a flower blooming in the box outside someone’s window or a blazing fire heating a home.

You had never needed the universe’s help to find true love.

Your boyfriend reached toward you, cradling your tear-stained cheeks with his hands.

“Do you feel that, Y/N? Do you feel like you’re on top of the world? Because that’s how I feel whenever I’m with you. You give me strength, strength that has defied the universe. How could a stranger pull my attention away from all of this? From you.”

“If they see them, how do we explain to them that there was some mistake?” You whispered.

You and Jungwon may be set on ignoring the curses inked on your chests, but the ones who shared your marks may not be.

One would think Jungwon was going to kiss you with the way he was staring at you, but his gaze was much too serious for that. It looked like he was searching for something, searching for a solution, an answer to your question.

But, instead of kissing you, he moved away and toward the picnic basket you had packed and brought for your little stargazing date.

He dug around for a few seconds before finding what he was looking for. The moonlight flashed across the silver knife as Jungwon moved back to where you were sitting with it in his hand.

“Jungwon…?”

He pushed his shirt off one of his shoulders. Your eyes grazed over his bare upper chest and sharp collarbones before settling on the blue ink resting above his heart.

The skin around his soulmate mark was a little lighter than the rest of his body, because of how often he covered it, which made it stand out even more.

It was the thing you hated most, permanently attached to the thing you loved most, so you couldn’t stop staring.

The glint of the knife tore you from your daze. Jungwon had raised it to his chest.

“Jungwon, what are you doing?”

He paused. “Choosing my own path.”

You placed your hand on top of his that was clutched around the hilt of the knife. You weren’t really sure what he was trying to do, you had never been so in the dark when it came to him before, but you knew that you didn’t like the idea of something dangerous being so close to your boyfriend.

“We should be free to be with whoever we want, Y/N, and for me, that’s you. Mark or not,” he told you.

You stared into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation passing between your gazes. You let go of his hand and watched, torn, as he brought the edge of the knife up to his chest and began to slice a clean line through his soulmate mark. He hesitated before drawing another line in the opposite direction, ending up with an “x” over this tattoo.

The blood dripping from the cut exposed how deep it really was. It would definitely leave a scar, as you knew was his goal.

You grabbed napkins from the picnic basket, carefully wiping the blood away from Jungwon’s skin before it all traveled far enough to stain his clothes. He sat there quietly, watching you, trying to gauge your reaction to what he had done.

You dabbed at his skin gently. With the blood gone you could really see what the knife had done. A red “x”—the blood was already coming back—had marred the small stain of the universe. He had made sure that nobody, not even his soulmate, would be able to see it, let alone recognize it as a copy of their own.

All those years of being told that the universe’s will was absolute and that a splotch of blue ink was the highest law that could be adhered to had been rendered invalid with two swipes of a knife. Jungwon had freed himself from the heavy, groundless expectations set by an invisible force and upheld by your friends, family, society.

The one thing that kept Jungwon from being completely yours (at least, in the eyes of everyone else), was now gone.

The knife lay discarded next to the two of you, blottings of Jungwon’s blood staining the blade and the picnic blanket beneath it.

“Y/N, if you’ll still have me-”

You picked up the knife, already brushing your shirt to the side with your other hand.

“Wait, I never expected you to-” he tried to stop you.

“I want to.”

His hands reached out toward you but stopped halfway, watching, confused, as your fingers traced the mark that, while completely different from his, was in the same exact spot on your chest.

You could feel your heart beating beneath your soulmate mark. It was pumping hard, as if to force the mark off your body from the inside. You thought of how much time you had spent hating the tattoo, wishing you would wake up one day and it would be gone or would have somehow morphed into something that resembled Jungwon’s.

You recalled the night when you realized that you loved Jungwon, no matter how much your own skin was telling you you didn’t, and you had tried to scratch the ink off. Of course, it was much too deep to take off like that, and the resulting redness just made it stand out even more like Jungwon’s had, results of the contempt for your marks.

You mirrored your boyfriend’s movements from before, crossing out your tattoo with the knife and ignoring the bleeding. Jungwon went to clean up the wound with napkins, like you had done for him, but you stalled him, wanting every last remnant of ink to bleed out of your body.

Once the bleeding had slowed down, Jungwon placed a hand over your heart that beat solely for him. His thumb rubbed the tender skin gently, marveling at the new look of it while still being careful around the fresh cuts.

“Look, Wonnie.” you point a finger at his hand on your chest and another at his own. “We match.”

The two of you had overridden the universe and created your own matching pair. A soulmate pair.

Jungwon smiled warmly, a giggle escaping past his lips as you shared this moment of disbelief and freedom and love.

He cradled your face in his hands once again, pressing his lips to yours and making you question how something so obviously perfect could ever be a mistake.

A/N: i hope that this isn’t… too much, the idea of two people making this choice for themselves, in this way, knowing that they were defying a fundamental law… i thought it was so romantic! drama is a little necessary when it comes to love, you know?

mwah <3

#yang jungwon #jungwon #jungwon fluff #jungwon angst #enhypen jungwon #enhypen #jungwon fanfiction #enhypen fanfiction

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jaeminzie · 4 years ago

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ignorance is bliss | h.rj

↳ huang renjun x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: staying true to the courageous gryffindor persona, you secretly admire renjun using unusual tactics, forgetting that the fellow ravenclaw is fairly quick witted.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,339

part of ‘the dreamies in hogwarts’ series

huang renjun, the ravenclaw wallflower who you’ve been stalking according to your best friends. indeed, it is odd to stay in the library until ungodly hours solely for the breathtaking view from a few tables in front of the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. though every view and every angle of huang renjun is breathtaking, it doesn’t take much work when you look like that. being as stubborn as ever, you would never admit to stalking the poor boy. you believed that that was an exaggeration, that your friends don’t understand how it feels to be so blinded by him and you are utterly confused on how they aren’t blinded by him. instead, you claim it as a way to get an understanding of the boy’s, who you do plan to interact with sometime in the future, mannerism — which you mentally admit sounds just as creepy as stalking, not helping your case at all.

so there you are, sitting alone in a table a bit further than usual from renjun using a book to cover your lower face to avoid any suspicion. not only are you stubborn, you are also unbelievably oblivious. so oblivious, in fact, that you aren’t aware that the boy who you’ve been “observing” has already noticed you staring at him the second week of your trips to the library. in your defense, you visit the library no more than four times a week as you loathed the smell of rotting book paper and dusty wooden furniture. unknowing of the boy’s acknowledgment of you, you continued to admire from a far. loving the way his plump lips pouted naturally while reading, his circular silver glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his god-shaped nose, how careful his eyes scanned through the pages and the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped on the table as a way to keep himself sane from the amount of studying he chooses to do willingly which appalled you. but once in a while, he’d give himself a break by sketching on his notebook causing all the lines on his forehead and the pout on his lips to disappear. this is your favorite part. seeing him find his peace in drawing made you feel the same sense of warmth and tranquility that you suppose he feels when creating art, completely unaware of a gryffindor staring him down — or so you thought. ignorance really is bliss, or else, you wouldn’t be so shameless right now.

renjun means to speak to you one day as his confusion progresses each time he sees you walk through the ginormous library doors and choose a spot where you both have clear views of one another. when you look away, pretending to read the book in your hands, renjun looks your way with furrowed eyebrows trying to figure out what exactly do you want from him. why you still manage to fail your classes despite spending many hours “studying.” yes, you can say that he observes you as well since your houses share a couple classes with each other. from his observations, he’s learned that you’re quite the helper. renjun wonders how you weren’t sorted in hufflepuff. perhaps, a hufflepuff isn’t bold enough to stare at a stranger in a nearly empty library for many consecutive weeks. though, a gryffindor should have the courage to at least speak a single word to that person, a simple ‘hello’ would be a nice place to start.

it took him some time to admit it, but he found pleasure in staring at you as well. his slytherin friends practically had to force it out of him once they kept noticing that his gaze was almost always set on you since his group sat in the back of your classes, it was easy to admire without being caught unlike your questionable tactics. renjun admires how you keep trying and trying to answer a question correctly even when your raised hand is being blatantly ignored by the professor after getting a handful of questions incorrect. and don’t even get him started when he catches a glimpse of you laughing with your peers, then he can’t keep his eyes of off you. there’s been countless nights of him unintentionally going on about you and your character to his peers relaxing in their ravenclaw common room. at this point, the whole house of ravenclaw has heard your name come out of his mouth at least once.

from your clear view, you notice how focused renjun is with his hands seeming to move themselves while his mind continued to run on you. renjun straightened his back after finishing the last few strokes on his sketch. a sketch of you sitting on top of a table identical to the one you seated at right now with your legs swinging and your red robe nearly hitting the floor, eyes crinkled as your smile that he loves to look at reached up to your ears. his first drawing of you, he was proud of it and was sure it wouldn’t be the last drawing of you he’ll make.

you were taken back when you had noticed renjun was already gathering his belongings. he usually goes back to reading after finishing a drawing, you recalled back to the mental schedule you created in your mind. wow you really are a creep. you thought. too caught up with being offended by your inner self insulting your actions, you were completely unaware of the boy dressed in blue standing next to you.

renjun gaped as he thought you were ignoring him. having enough, he finally spoke, “can i help you?”

freezing in your seat when you heard his smooth voice laced with confusion, refusing to face the boy since you are definitely not prepared for this moment. fixing your posture and clearing your throat, you mustered your left over confidence as you chose to not further embarrass yourself in front huang renjun.

completely changing your body language to a more laid back manner and facing the boy, trying not to evidently show your breath being taken away from seeing him up close. his left eyebrow raised with his lips pursed slightly, fingers fiddling with the books by his side. he looked even better close in front of you, you had previously thought that was impossible. but you were so wrong, making you slightly mad at how perfect he seemed to be.

“nope” popping your ‘p.’ “do you?”

renjun’s facial expressions relaxed slightly. “no, i don’t.”

“why’d you come here then?” you mentally cursed and slapped and pinched and kicked yourself for accidentally not sounding the friendliest, your nervousness acting for you. “you sure you don’t need my help?”

renjun was taken back from your tone, oblivious to your feelings. there’s the gryffindor. they always have to be boasting. renjun huffed at his thoughts. he had not expected your first talk to be like this. your tone lightly hit his pride, so he automatically had to retaliate, “you’re the one to talk. you have an explanation for not being able to keep your eyes off me?” renjun laughed mockingly but not at you, at himself for being such a hypocrite.

defeated, you couldn’t keep up your relaxed attitude, “i. . . i just. . .” the eye contact you both shared was so intense you couldn’t even think straight, and neither could he. “s-sorry for bothering you. i’ll. . . leave you alone.”

before you could stand up from the chair, renjun pulled out the one beside you and sat facing your body. he sighed, “i’m sorry too. that didn’t come out as intended. but i need to know if i’m being too hopeful or not?”

hopeful? you remind yourself to pinch yourself later in case this a dream or some sort of spell. you hoped that your friends didn’t do anything without telling you since they’ve been suggesting that you use a love potion to “make everything easier,” but you profusely refused their incredibly stupid proposition each time they had brought it up to discuss.

“do you need tutoring, is that why?” he continued. his arms sat on his knees.

each and every one of his words entered one ear and went out the other as you wondered on what he was feeling hopeful for. “hopeful?”

his lifted his elbows off his knees and placed them on the table slowly, looking as if he was thinking. “i just thought that maybe you had reasons other than academic ones for coming here when i do.” he spoke very, very slowly that it was torturing. “am i right?”

you hated every second of this for the awful awkward tension, but this is the moment that you’ve been daydreaming of for weeks. though, you were shocked at how renjun noticed you despite trying to be as sneaky as possible — but your friends and renjun would say otherwise. “if i say yes. . .” your eyes wondered around his figure seated in front of you.

“i would be correct then.” he finished the sentence for you, not baring to wait longer. he moved his head towards your gaze on the floor behind him to try and get your eyes to focus on him.

and when you did, you saw the sparkle and hint of joy in his eyes making you feel truly confident. “then yes.”

—

it’s been nearly a month since your first interaction with one another, and renjun never misses a day of making fun of your past actions that you now admit were creepy. though after his friend, lee donghyuck, informed you in his own sneaky actions that you weren’t able to notice before, you have not let him live peacefully. renjun’s friend group was ecstatic when he told them about finally speaking to you and being with you. but renjun’s fully aware that they were more excited over the fact he can finally stop moping over not knowing how to approach you, achieving their peace since he can finally stop talking. though, he has a new topic to gush over — your relationship.

being together side by side and actually conversing with one another allowed renjun to see you in a deeper level, giving him more reasons to appreciate the special being that you are. he loved every second he spent with you. hearing you laugh at something that he had said or done makes renjun feel like he had reached the top of the highest mountain. holding your delicate hands while walking through the hallways made him feel like the most successful man on earth, and he proudly bragged over it. renjun loved how he felt so at ease and encouraged whenever he felt your presence around him. you don’t even need to be right by him to make him feel reassured. your presence alone was enough.

and you especially loved how he still chooses to love all those things despite your questionable actions in the past.

you loved being with him so much that you tolerate being in the library and actually reading beside him, or at least try to read. though, he has to hold your hand in order for you to fully commit yourself into studying with him. but both of you don’t complain.

you sat in a vacant table in the library, but this time, you sat next to the boy who you used to admire from a far. bouncing your leg out of boredom, “can we take a break?” you whispered in his ear.

renjun let out a small breathy laugh. “we just got here.” he whispered back, his gaze not leaving the thick book in front of you both.

your mouth slightly hanged open and you tightened your grip on his hand, “lies.” renjun squeezed your hand back playfully, still not looking at you. “please, jun, we’ve been here for an hour and you need to give yourself a break.”

silence.

you let go of his hand and puffed when he still didn’t spare a glance at you. defeated once again, you slid his notebook toward you and flipped through the pages, trying to entertain yourself by reading his notes. how fun.

widening your eyes in awe when you came across a page that showed a sketch of a person who looked exactly like you, with small hearts and tiny sparkles surrounding the figure sat on a table. your fingers lightly brushed the page, admiring how talented your boyfriend is.

“i drew that the day i came up to you.”

still strucked, you faced him and you were finally met with his beautiful eyes. “i think you need to update it. i look a bit different now.” you suggested with a smile that he cannot let down.

he hummed, “yeah, a tad bit huh?” you nodded eagerly which he laughed at. “i suppose i should work on it right now.” he reached for his notebook and flipped to an empty page, fixing his position so he can get a proper view of your face.

renjun did not hesitate to start drawing. he knew every detail of yours by heart, he honestly could draw a portrait of you relying solely on his memory. renjun has got every line, dot, and scar on your divine profile engraved in his mind since he thinks about you every second, literally. though, he still chooses to look up from his notebook to get a view of your face. not because he had forgotten a detail, but because he can’t refuse an opportunity to admire that face of yours. returning back to sketching with the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on a person, with his pupils dilated. you definitely didn’t mind going to the library more often if you get to see renjun like this each time. you speak for both of you as renjun seems to be enjoying this moment just as much as you are. renjun’s hand that isn’t occupied reached for yours, with a grip that made it seemed like he’d never let go.

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Text

A new us will begin (4/ 11)

word count: 9.8k

AO3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 5 / part 6

content warnings: brief mention of blood, rat bites, illness, Major Character Death, feeling unloved, alcohol

Ahh Belletyn. The day when the town was decorated in bright colours, songs flew through the air like birds and almost-lovers that had been dancing around each other for months finally get so swept up in the festivities that they turned to their beloved and confessed their feelings. Truly, if there ever was a day to give inspiration to artists of all kinds, it was this.

Yarrow tightened his hold on his pencil as he let his eyes wander over the merriment before him, willing himself to find as much as a spark of inspiration.

When he put his pencil to the paper once more, he didn’t sketch the scene before him; the dancing couples, the decorations, not even the mouth-watering food.

As his pencil danced over the page of his sketchbook, it created what it always did: a pair of eyes. Even though he didn’t use his paint – he had them in his bag, of course, but using paint would have been a little impractical without a table and it took so long for them to dry – anyone who bothered to look at his sketch knew what colour they were supposed to be: the most piercing amber.

One time he had tried to change things up a little and colour them blue, the same shade as his own eyes, just to see if he would like the result. He hadn’t. Before that painting had even been finished, he had crumbled it up and tossed it to the side. It just hadn’t been right. It was yellow eyes or nothing.

Yarrow might not have been very creative when it came to coming up with new ideas, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew people scoffed at his inability to paint anything other than this. The thing was, he didn’t care. He didn’t need anyone’s approval to be confidence in his abilities as an artist. Or, well, perhaps he did care a little, but not for his lack of originality. He cared because somehow, this – painting – didn’t feel quite right. Just how the name he had given himself in the spur of a moment, seemed to be lacking something, though he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on what it was. He loved creating, so why wasn’t painting enough? He loved the sound of his name – at least the first half – and what it stood for. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. He was lacking something. Something he was sure he would find if only he painted enough amber eyes.

So that’s what he did right now. Not paint, of course, but sketch. He kept sketching, sad eyes, eyes narrowed with focus or anger, eyes that crinkled at the sides with mirth. The changes were only miniscule. So small in fact, that he had been told multiple times that they all looked exactly the same, but Yarrow knew better. He knew there was a depth to these eyes, that other people could only dream of recognising.

It must have been hours until finally the tip of his pencil got dull enough that it would ruin his artwork if he continued sketching with it, and, clever as he was, Yarrow had forgotten to take a spare pencil or something to sharpen it with with him.

With a sigh, he put the pencil and the sketchbook into his bag and turned to watch lovers dance around the decorated pole that has been erected in the middle of the town square.

A strange sense of longing filled him, an inexplicable urge to approach someone to ask them for a dance. But he didn’t even know how to dance and there was no one in this town that liked him enough to accept such an offer out of anything other than pity and awkward politeness. Best to spare them that fate.

Still, Yarrow’s eyes wandered over those sitting to the side same as him. Most of them didn’t seem to mind sitting this dance out. They talked amongst themselves, drank wine or stole kisses from each other before leaving the festivities with giggles that were not nearly as subtle as they probably thought.

There was only one person other than Yarrow that stood out. A girl, barely twelve if Yarrow had to guess. She sat on the floor, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her hands were tangling her hair into knots.

Yarrow’s brows knitted together. He stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the girl and sat on the floor next to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, if a little awkwardly.

The girl sniffled and nodded unconvincingly.

“You know,” Yarrow said, leaning back a little, “when I was younger I always dreamed of going to this festival with the prettiest braids in my hair.”

The girl looked up and eyed him critically. “Is that why your hair’s so long?”

“It sure is.” It wasn’t. Yarrow just didn’t know how to cut it. Still, he shook his head to let his hair fly into his face. “But braiding my own hair is so hard and there’s no one around who could help me.”

He threw a side-glance at the girl, whose shoulders sagged at his words. “You tell me. My sister said she’d braid my hair but then she saw Jakub and left me behind.”

“That’s mean.” Yarrow waited a second before perking up, playing the part of someone who had just been struck by genius. “What do you say, I braid your hair? I might not know how to do my own hair, but I should be able to do yours.”

The girl’s eyes began to shine, but then her lips tilted down again. “I can’t do yours. I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you, if you want. You can practice on me and then you’ll never need your sister to help you with that again.”

Without a hint of hesitation, the girl nodded and shifted so that her back was turned to Yarrow.

Carefully, he began untangling the knots the girl had put there earlier and began explaining what he was doing as he split the hair into sections and began to plait.

It felt strangely familiar. Yarrow had no sisters and no daughters – the gods knew he was too young for that and besides, he would make a terrible father – but something about teaching a child how to do things felt right. As if he had done it before. For a second, he thought he could almost remember a voice. A girl excitedly asking him to braid her hair back so it wouldn’t fall into her eyes while she learned how to sword fight.

No, that couldn’t be a memory. It was nothing more than a silly thought. He had always been a dreamer and the alcohol he had drunk earlier hadn’t helped slow his imagination.

“There, all done,” he finally said and pulled a pink flower out of an arrangement in a pot and put it into the braid.

The girl turned to him with a brilliant smile that Yarrow returned. For the briefest moment, he could almost believe that he would make a good father one day. Or maybe he would have made a good one in another life, when he could have actually provided for a child.

His smile dimmed a little and he turned to hide it. Soon though, his grin was back in full force, when the girl did her best to apply what she had learned and plait his hair. Yarrow didn’t need to look to know that his hair was now a mess resembling a bird’s nest.

Still, he bowed gracefully when the girl announced that she was done and thanked her. She giggled a little before running off to join the dancing.

He watched her with a strange melancholy, an echo of a thought, an impossible memory of watching a daughter grow up and leave her home. Maybe he was getting old after all. Or maybe he was just lonely.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world, the dancing, the laughter, the clapping. Instead, he got lost in that fantasy of his, in which he had a family - a daughter, who would fly into his arms and tell him about all the things she had done that day, and a man, who would have been Yarrow’s lover, would ruffle her hair and look at Yarrow fondly, while the artist sang a song for the two of them.

No, not a song. The song. Yarrow wasn’t sure what that thought was supposed to mean, but in that daydream of his, he was close to understanding, so close! The beginning of the melody was already at the tip of his tongue, he could almost taste the notes, the words –

A different voice cut through the illusion of a memory and shattered it like a mirror. A different song.

Yarrow opened his eyes again and scowled at the minstrel that had dared to interrupt his dreaming. He wasn’t a bad singer. Yarrow might not know much about music, but he was pretty sure that he was actually pretty good. But the song…Something about it grated on Yarrow’s nerves.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

Wrong, and yet achingly familiar. There was something about it that Yarrow recognised, but it was twisted, whether by time, bad translations of a different language, or the minstrel’s own changes to it, Yarrow couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either way. All he could think about was that this was wrong. This wasn’t how the song was meant to be sung. It wasn’t supposed to be danced to, it was supposed to be slow and soothing and speaking of love. It was supposed to be a lullaby. This…this wasn’t it. This was a cruel, mutated version of that song.

The minstrel didn’t care, didn’t even notice. He just let his voice soar higher in a way that was utterly unbefitting of that song.

Yarrow reeled back, eyes wide and his breath frozen in his lungs. That line…that section of the song…he knew it. Truly knew it.

It sounded far too much like the little melody he sometimes hummed while he was in deep concentration while painting.

He had never heard anyone else sing that line and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. All he knew was that an age-old ache settled into his chest, burning him from the inside.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here.

So he didn’t. He all but fled the festivities, but not before snatching one of the wine bottles and taking it with him.

He hadn’t even reached his home before he had gotten well and truly drunk. Not drunk enough to get rid of that inexplicable pain in his chest, but certainly drunk enough to make him stagger into the wrong alley, not caring that it was taking him farther from his home.

He didn’t want to go home. The small house he shared with an older woman and a couple that he barely had any contact with, wasn’t the home he was yearning for, even if he had no idea if such a place as a true home even existed for him or if it was yet another one of those cruel dreams of his.

It wasn’t until he reached the town’s inn that he stopped in his tracks, wrecking his brain what on earth he wanted here. He had never really been to an inn, never really needed to. After all, he had stayed in the same place all his life. Yet, it had felt as if something had pulled him here, as if the sight of an inn meant safe, not alone, home.

It didn’t, of course. Inns were the furthest one could have from a home. Yet Yarrow only shrugged and marched on, let his feet carry him where they would. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

The door to the inn was slightly ajar and coming from the inside, he would hear arguing. Something about someone being denied a room and something about too much coin and something about the alderman having made promises and something about bringing a head to him.

Maybe if Yarrow had been sober, he would have figured out what was going on, but as if was, he couldn’t be bothered to even try and make sense of what he heard. Instead, he left the angry voices behind and made his way to the stables instead. Even from afar, they smelled familiar, soothing in a way that dirty stables really weren’t supposed to. Maybe a pleasant side-effect from the wine. He’d have to try more of that later.

Before the stables, a horse was bound to a post. It eyed Yarrow distrustfully but with curiosity in its eyes.

A smile twitched around Yarrow’s lips.

“Sorry, don’t got any treats for you,” he said when he was close enough for the horse to nudge at his bag. “There’s only some art-stuff in there. Nothing you’d want to eat. And nothing that I’d allow you to eat. Even though you are beautiful.”

And she really was. Brown with a white stripe down her face. Yarrow cocked his head to the side. Actually, now that he thought about it, she looked utterly basic. In the midst of a group of horses, she wouldn’t have stood out at all. That didn’t change a thing about the certainty in Yarrow’s chest that she was the most special horse he had ever seen and that he would recognise her anywhere.

He came closer to pat her on the neck and –

“What in Melitele’s clapping arsecheeks is that?”

The horse only snorted at his undignified shriek, but he paid her no attention. He was too distracted by the blood-dripping something fastened to her saddle. It was disgusting. Yarrow should have jumped back. Any sane person would have run for the hills, but evidently, Yarrow wasn’t very sane, because he stepped closer to inspect the thing. It was a head. A monster’s head, but he had no idea what kind.

In the back of his head he could almost hear an annoyed but amused voice tell him the answer, but it was too faint to grasp and understand.

Yarrow swallowed and rounded the horse again until he came to the post that she was bound to. He scowled. The horse wasn’t supposed to be fastened to anything. She was smart enough to stay where she needed to wait for her owner and if there was danger, she wouldn’t be able to run away like this.

So Yarrow did the only logical thing. He freed the horse and lead it away.

Just as before, he had no idea where he was even going, but the horse didn’t seem to mind following him. She just kept nibbling at his hair and shirt.

Her trust filled Yarrow with irrational pride as if getting this horse, that he had known all but a handful of minutes, to like him was a great feat worthy of being one’s life’s work.

It wasn’t until the horse began throwing her head around nervously at sounds growing louder around them, that Jaskier realised that he had marched right back where he had come from: the town square where the celebrations were still in full swing.

Well, not for much longer.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before the first people started noticing the drunk and the horse he had stolen. More importantly, they noticed the gruesome thing the horse was carrying.

The minstrel from before ended his song in a terrified screech and the reels and jigs turned into people staggering backwards, stumbling into tables and crashing into flower pots.

Someone called for the city guards, people pointed and Yarrow, cursing him and all of his ancestors.

Their shouts and frantic movements didn’t make the situation any better. The horse grew more agitated by the minute, rearing up and making the chaos even worse. Try as he might, Yarrow had no chance of calming her.

“Roach!”

He turned to see a man run towards them. Yarrow’s line of sight was obscured by the nervous horse, allowing him only glimpses of the one who had shouted, but even so he knew that his face was a snarling grimace of fury that made Jaskier hide behind the horse.

Before the angry stranger could get to him, Yarrow was grabbed tightly by the arms and yanked back. He turned to see the city guards, who scowled down at him furiously. For a second, Yarrow almost wished the angry stranger had gotten to him first, but it wasn’t as if he could change anything about his fate.

At least as he was dragged away by the guards, he didn’t have to find his own way through the maze that was the town.

Surprisingly, this was the first time Yarrow ended up in a cell. Well, actually, it wasn’t all that surprising, considering, all he ever did was paint and stay out of other people’s way as much as he could. But the thought that he should have gotten into trouble earlier still didn’t leave the back of his mind.

When the guards threw him - actually threw him! - in the cell and shut the door with an overly dramatic bang, they probably meant for it to intimidate him. If that had really been their goal, they had missed it by a mile. Being thrown in prison was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Yarrow!

At least it was for all of five minutes. Then the boredom set in. Yarrow had heard of people that cried and raged in prison, of people who pleaded to see the light of day again. He had never heard of anyone who sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. Granted, that would make for a pretty terrible story and once he got out of here, he would definitely spin some tale about how dramatic his stay in the prison had been. Not that anyone would even ask him, but still. It was nice to fantasise about having someone who cared about him enough to ask about his whereabouts.

What else was he supposed to do other than lay around on the hard floor? The guards had taken his bag with the art supplies and even if he still had them with him, it would have been too dark to use them.

So of course, Yarrow perked up in excitement at the first sign of something happening. He heard the door to the cell next to his creak open and the grunt and rattling of chains as someone was shoved in before the door fell shut again.

Then it was quiet. The newcomer didn’t beg or shout to the heavens or curse the injustice. Yarrow had no way of knowing, but he liked to imagine that his new neighbour was throwing unimpressed glares at the door.

The thought made his mouth quirk up.

“Welcome, stranger,” he said loud enough that it might carry through the cracks in the wall. No reply. Louder he repeated what he had said.

“Stop shouting,” came a gruff voice. “I can hear you.”

Ah, so his new neighbour was a man and judging from his tone, one who was pissed off.

“So sorry.” Yarrow winced at his own voice. He barely recognised it himself, rough from alcohol and the dry air of the prison. Too much drink might have made him lose all sense of direction and change his voice, but most importantly, when he was drunk, Yarrow had the unfortunate habit of babbling. Well, maybe babbling was the wrong word. His manner of speaking became more like the imitation of a second-rate poet than of a loner who mainly spoke to himself while painting. “We don’t have to be strangers, of course. Not even mere acquaintances! I’d love for you to be my new friend instead and –“

“We’re not friends,” came the instant reply. “Fuck off.”

A grin spread across Yarrow’s lips. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid that’s rather impossible.”

“Then shut up.”

Yarrow was quiet for all of ten seconds, then he narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t think I will.”

His new friend made no sound in reply. Yarrow’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. He had hoped for at least a dismissive grunt. But no matter. Yarrow had more than enough practice talking to himself and what was the difference between doing that and talking to someone who didn’t reply?

So he took advantage of the fact that his friend wasn’t able to just leave and began talking about his paintings. One might think that there wasn’t that much to say about paintings that all showed the same thing, but once Yarrow began talking about different ways to use a brush, shading and line work, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know if his new friend was listening – unlikely – but it felt nice to be able to share his thoughts. It wasn’t often that anyone cared enough about him to let him talk that much. No one cared to get to know him. Speaking of which –

“My name is Yarrow, by the way.” He stumbled a bit over his own name, ending in an unfortunate slurring. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And the fuck kind of name is that anyway?”

Yarrow’s grin widened. So his friend was listening after all. Granted, he had hoped he would get something other than insults out of him, but it wasn’t as if he would go anywhere. Yarrow had plenty of time to get his friend to properly speak to him.

“It’s my pen name. Well, artist’s name. I don’t really use pens all that often. Oh! And a yarrow is also a flower.”

His friend made a strange sound, something between choking and cursing. Yarrow furrowed his brow and glared at the wall as if his friend could see the expression.

“Hey, no need to react like that. I’ll have you know yarrows are beautiful. In fact, the whole reason why I stared painting is because I once saw a field of yarrows and they were just the most inspiring thing I had ever seen.”

His voice trailed off and his smile softened. It had been years ago and yet the image was still fresh in his mind. A field filled with the white flowers, and there, right in the middle, a just a couple of yellow ones. The combination of the colours had touched something inside him and his fingers had itched to put a pencil to his notebook and – he hadn’t been quite sure what exactly he had wanted to do, but an hour later, his notebook had been filled with pages upon pages of eyes and when he had gone home that day, he had purchased his first set of colour pigments to add that bit of yellow that his drawings had been missing.

Yarrow cocked his head to the side when his friend made no move to acknowledge anything he had just said.

“You know, normally, when someone gives you their name, you tell them yours in return.”

No reply. Big surprise there. Yarrow sighed and scooted over to the wall, leaning his head against it.

“When we get out of here, I’m going to show you my paintings and you’re going to give me a review. And I expect you to use actual words.”

“Don’t.”

“What are you in for anyway?” Yarrow tapped the floor with his knuckles, his smile turning a little dopey. “I’m here because I befriended a horse.”

A rustling of clothes was heard and steps coming closer to the wall Yarrow was leaning against.

“You’re the fucking idiot, who stole Roach?”

“Befriended her. And don’t you dare make fun of my name when your horse is called Roach.” He let out a quiet laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

For a moment he thought he was going to get no answer, but then his friend let out a resigned grunt.

“She’s my horse so they said I was to blame for the chaos you unleashed too.”

“Oh.” Guilt welled up in Yarrow. “Well, fret not. I’m sure interrupting a celebration and scaring some people isn’t that bad of a crime. They’ll probably let us go tomorrow. How about I’ll make it up to you then? Buy you a drink?”

His friend scoffed. “I think you should stay away from alcohol for a while.”

Yarrow hummed in reply. “Yeah, probably. But I’d still love to get to know you. You know, without a wall between us.”

“Trust me, you don’t. And I don’t need a new friend.”

“Too late,” Yarrow said cheerily. He was sure his friend was able to hear his smile. “I have already decided I like you. So? Tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get released tomorrow.”

“What, why?” Yarrow sat up straighter. “What crime did you commit other than owning a horse?”

A long pause, then –

“I’m a witcher.” He said it like a death-sentence.

Yarrow waited for an explanation, but none came. He had never had much contact with witchers before other than the one that had passed through town when he’d still been a child and even then he hadn’t spoken a word with him. Out of all the people who formed opinions about witchers, Yarrow was probably the least suitable judge when it came to witchers, but throwing a man in prison just because he was a witcher? It sounded unfair.

“If…” Yarrow began tentatively, but broke off, not really sure what he even wanted to say. “If you’re right and I get released first, I can take care of Roach until you get out.”

The witcher let out a snort. “She’d bite your fingers off if you tried.”

“Ah, but she didn’t before.” A triumphant smirk accompanied his words. “Really, it wasn’t that hard to get her to like me. I just complimented her a little.”

His friend let out a snort and mumbled something that Yarrow couldn’t understand, but it sounded amused, so he doubled down.

“And what a gorgeous lady she is! Even more beautiful with flowers braided into her mane –“

“What?” His friend’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Yarrow rolled his eyes. “No need to get jealous. I’m sure you’re gorgeous too. If you let me see you in the light of day some time, I will compliment you too. I can do it now, if you want. You have the most beautiful voice and truly you eloquence is unparalleled.”

“That’s not-“ The witcher made a frustrated noise. “Roach didn’t have braids. There were no flowers.”

“Oh. Huh. Guess not.” Yarrow scratched his head, running his hand through the mess of a braid that girl had left there hours ago. “I could have sworn I’ve seen her like that before though.”

“I’ve never come here before,” the witcher said tightly.

“Must have been another horse then. It’s not as if brown horses are rare.” Yarrow pulled a face for the darkness to see. He hesitated. “But did Roach ever have a braided mane?”

“Stop asking,” came the harsh reply. “You’re drunk.”

His friend’s voice sounded strange. Strangled and on the verge of breaking. Desperate.

“That’s true,” Yarrow said, aiming for a cheerier tone. “But no less delightful for it. Unless of course you really think I’m annoying. In that case I promise you, I’m far better company when I’m sober. I talk less than, you might like me more like that. You should really give me a chance.”

His tone was teasing, but he knew he couldn’t hide the clinginess in it. He really wanted the man in the other cell to like him. Even separated by a wall and with that staggering conversation, Yarrow felt more comfortable with him than with most people he had known for years. He wanted – needed – to get to know him better. He needed to find out what would make him smile softly or throw his head back laughing. He needed to see if he would ever look at Yarrow with fondness or casually touch him as if they really were friends and not just strangers who Yarrow called friends because he knew that he had no one else to give that title to.

And still, Yarrow didn’t even know his name. And why would he? Yarrow was the reason why the witcher was in this cell right now. He had every right to want to get as far away from Yarrow as possible as soon as he got out. It would be a blessing for the witcher to have the annoying artist, who wouldn’t shut up and had only gotten him into trouble, off his hands.

Yarrow’s throat became tight and he had to clench his hands to fists to stop them from trembling, even if no one was around to see him break down over a stranger not liking him. It was irrational. He had been alone for practically his entire life and he’d managed just fine, hadn’t he? His eyes shouldn’t be burning at the thought of continuing life on his own. But damn it, he just wanted a friend.

For a long time that felt like an eternity, there was nothing but silence, only interrupted by Yarrows shaky breathing as he tried to calm himself.

“Are you alright?” The voice of the stranger, who wasn’t his friend, was quiet, tentative.

Yarrow sniffled and nodded nonsensically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaked out and grimaced at how utterly unconvincing he sounded even to his own ears. He ran a hand down his face and grasped the first excuse he could find. “Just don’t like the dark.”

He expected silence. Maybe a scoff. Witchers probably didn’t mind the dark, what with going hunting in the dead of night or whatever it was they did. Either way, there was a good chance he had just made the witcher think he was pathetic and unlikable as well as whiny.

But no scoff came. No reprimand or dismissal.

Instead there was a sound Yarrow couldn’t place and then the darkness was illuminated. Not by much, but faint light came flickering through the cracks in the wall.

Yarrow let out a gasp and lifted a hand to let the dim light dance across it.

“This is incredible!” he whispered. “How did you do that? Did the guards not search you for flint stones?”

His friend – he gave him light! He must be a friend…right? – made a grumbling noise but this time it sounded almost shy.

“Witchers can make fire with signs. Magic.”

“Incredible,” Yarrow repeated, the awe in his tone as clear as day. After a brief pause, he added softly, “Thank you, my friend. This really means a lot.”

He could practically hear the witcher grit his teeth and shift uncomfortably, but his voice wasn’t cutting, when he replied, “Maybe I just wanted you to stop whining.”

Yarrow’s expression softened. “You know you could just accept when someone’s thanking you. It’s alright if you don’t want to be my friend, but you don’t have to make yourself belief that I don’t like you.”

Maybe it was just Yarrow’s imagination, but for a split second he was sure the light became a little bit brighter.

“Just try to go to sleep,” the witcher tried to grumble, but Yarrow knew, he was smiling. At least he hoped so. “Maybe when you wake up, it’s already time for you to get out.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Yarrow’s lips. “What if I prefer spending my precious hours in this lovely place talking to you?”

The witcher let out a snort that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and made Yarrow’s heart speed up in his chest. He wanted to hear it again. He needed to –

“Just sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Fine.” Awkwardly, Yarrow laid down again, trying and failing to find the most comfortable part of the floor. At least he still had the hints of soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone on the other side of this wall who cared for him, even if just a little. “Will you let me have this light until I’m asleep?”

“I will.” The faceless voice was silent for a heartbeat, then so quiet that Yarrow almost couldn’t hear it, the witcher said, “And you’re welcome.”

Yarrow’s chest grew warm. He closed his eyes, wishing he had something to give the witcher in return. But he had no magic and the only thing he was good at was painting. He doubted the witcher would appreciate a painting, even if Yarrow had the means to give him one.

No, he had nothing. Nothing but…

A soft melody filled the air. It wasn’t much, just one line, repeated over and over again, but it was all he had to give. Perhaps it would soothe the witcher enough to let him forget for a little while the injustice he had been shown.

A strangled noise came from the other side of that wall. If Yarrow hadn't known any better he'd have said it sounded like a stifled sob. His chest clenched painfully and he raised his voice, putting as much comfort and gratefulness into it as he could.

It was strange singing for someone else and his heart beat frantically from the nerves, but at the same time it felt like pieces slotting together, as if this was what he had always been meant to do. As if his whole life had lead up to this: to singing a soft lullaby for the person who seemed to need a friend just as desperately as Yarrow did.

He wished he knew more of the song. He wanted to give all of it, every piece of affection and safety that surely was weaved through every word to the witcher.

A dull thud made Yarrow flinch. His voice broke as he sucked in a startled breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly. "Did you just punch the wall?"

"How do you know that song?" The desperation in the Witcher's voice did nothing to lessen the sharp worry that pierced Yarrow's chest.

"I-I don't know. It's just a song." His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through hair until the agitation left the witcher. If only there wasn't this damned wall between them! "Are you alright?" He repeated, though he held out no hope for an answer. He didn't need one. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can stop singing of you want—"

"No! “ The sharp shout came so unexpected that Yarrow winced. Softer, the Witcher repeated, "No. Don't stop. Please."

There was something utterly wrong with that. The witcher shouldn't plead, shouldn't have to plead for something like this, for comfort and the reminder that he wasn't alone in this. And worse than that, something scratched at the back of Yarrow's mind, an inexplicable certainty that this witcher wouldn't beg for anything - other than his loved ones' lives.

That thought didn't make sense. There was no reason to think such a thing. Hell, just a few minutes ago, Yarrow had felt a bond between them because they were both lonely. As far as he knew, the witcher didn't even have any loved ones he could plead for. Or maybe he didn’t anymore.

Yarrow swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. He could become a loved one. Maybe not now, maybe not in a month's time, but if the witcher gave him the chance, they could become something to each other that might come close to that.

His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick from the tightness in his throat, but the witcher didn't complain about his singing. Perhaps he was somewhere far away, with someone else, in his mind. Perhaps he was just pretending to be asleep. The light remained, even as Yarrow's song slowly faded and he drifted off. His last thought before he closed his eyes was that he wished it wasn’t sleep that was embracing him but a set of strong arms that made him feel protected and loved.

Pictures fluttered through Yarrow’s dreams, soft ones, lovely ones, ones that he hadn’t known he’d longed for. Or rather…it wasn’t pictures as much as feelings. He couldn’t really see the people he knew were with him. He couldn’t make out faces, eyes, bodies. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what those dream-figments were: a family. His family, one he had never had. He felt the certainty of it burning in his heart, filling him out and making him want to lift his voice in a song. He felt someone lying next to him, curled against him instead of being separated by a wall. He felt loved. He felt –

Being needed. Someone was calling his name. It came from far away, too faint to really make out the name, but he knew it was his. He had to go to the one calling him. He had to see who it was. He had to –

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dark surrounding him. Being plunged into this cold nothingness after having felt light and bright and like he belonged, was like being thrown into icy water.

He wanted to close his eyes again, force his mind to bring him back to that place he had just been in, to melt into the embrace of his dream-family again. He needed to see them again! He didn’t want to – couldn’t! – stay alone.

But there it was again. Not a call as he had thought in his dream, but a whisper. A sob. A name. Coming from the other side of a wall and unreachable for him.

“Jaskier…”

It wasn’t his name. Gods, he wished it had been his name. His chest ached with the unruly need to hear his own name being spoken like this, just once. With longing. With love. With unnameable things that no one would ever feel for him.

It wasn’t his name and none of the things, that clung to the deep voice, was meant for him, but he couldn’t help but yearn and imagine.

He turned towards the sound and was greeted by light. For the flicker of a moment, he almost thought it must be a campfire someone had set up to keep him warm. But no, that was ridiculous. Those weren’t smouldering flames. It was faint and distant in a way that reminded him that he was separated from the source of the light. It didn’t matter. The name might not have been spoken for him, but this light? This was just for him. Even though he had been asleep, the witcher had kept his promise. Maybe it was his way of reaching out, of making himself feel like there was some sort of connection between the two of them. Yarrow prayed that that was how he felt.

He scooted closer to the wall, desperate to breach the distance between them as much as he could. He reached out to press his hand against the cold stone, imagining that maybe the witcher on the other side was doing the same thing.

Instead of the wall, his hand met something soft and squishy. A squeak pierced the air and suddenly a sharp pain erupted in Yarrow’s hand.

He let out a sharp cry, bringing his hand to his chest as fast as he could. Blood tickled down, not much, but enough to churn his stomach.

He barely registered the taps of small claws on the floor as the something that had bitten him scurried away.

“Yarrow?” The alarmed way the witcher said his name was nothing like he had said this other name, but it still sent Yarrow’s heart aflutter. It was so full of concern that Yarrow was sure the witcher would never admit to.

“I’m fine,” Yarrow pressed through gritted teeth. “No, wait, actually, this fucking hurts.”

“What does?” The witcher’s voice was impatient and closer to the wall than it had been before. “What happened?”

“Something bit me. Probably a rat or something.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled “Fuck” that shouldn’t have sounded so endearing to Yarrow.

“Don’t worry.” Yarrow waved his uninjured hand through the air. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The witcher didn’t reply. It didn’t come as a surprise and really, Yarrow had no right to feel bitter disappointment well up in him. But after having had the witcher’s attention on him, having him call out his name – remember his name! – in a way that made Yarrow believe that the witcher truly cared about him and then being hit with this silence, was unbearable.

“Are you still there?” His voice was small and he was well aware that it was a nonsensical question, yet when a gruff grunt came from the witcher, it made his heart soar. He pressed the forehead against the wall, hoping it was somewhat close to where he had heard the witcher’s voice come from.

“I’m glad you’re there. Not glad that you’re in prison, of course, just…. I would have hated to be alone in here.”

Another grunt. Not agreement, but not quite dismissal either. A smile danced across Yarrow’s lips.

“You were worried about me.”

A snort. “I’ve seen the chaos that you can bring. I’d be an idiot not to be worried. Figures you’d get in trouble here too.” The witcher’s voice held no hint of humour. Then again, people said Yarrow’s paintings showed no emotions and he knew better than anyone that that couldn’t be more false.

“My dear witcher.” His smile turned into a full smirk. “Are you teasing me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yarrow lied. Well, maybe he really wouldn’t let it get to his head. But he would let this moment strike roots into his heart. He hesitated, praying this wasn’t crossing some line. “Does this make us friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“You could though.” Yarrow held his breath as he waited for an answer. It had been too forward. He should have taken the dismissal for what it was and not pushed. Yet he hoped beyond hope that he would hear a smile in the witcher’s voice when the reply came.

It took unbearably long until the witcher spoke up again and when he did, a smile was the furthest thing one could imagine in his voice.

“No.” A broken, regretful sound that cut into Yarrow’s heart like a knife. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Yarrow sighed. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t want to keep pushing, didn’t want to annoy the witcher any more and clearly his words were distressing to him. Still, the words tumbled from his lips, “Because you don’t need to be my friend, but I would love to be yours, witcher.”

Another pause. Then, “Geralt.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Geralt.”

“Geralt.” A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Yarrow’s chest as he tasted the name on his tongue. “I like that.”

A grunt, half amused, half sounding like an eye-roll.

Another silence settled over them, but this time there was nothing uncomfortable about it. After what felt like endless hours in which Yarrow let his eyes drift over the lit-up cracks in the stone, he lifted a hand and traced one of the cracks.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

Yarrow bit his lip. “Thank you.”

If Geralt were to ask him what exactly he was thanking him for, Yarrow wouldn’t have known what to say. Thank you for the light. For being here. For listening and talking. For trusting me with your name.

But Geralt didn’t ask. Instead, he just said “You’re welcome.”

This time, Yarrow had no doubt that there was a soft smile rivalling his own on his friend’s face.

Just as Geralt had predicted, Yarrow was released from his cell first. Not quite as soon as Yarrow had hoped, but what difference made one day more in prison? At least he got to spend it with his new friend. A friend who teased him mercilessly about his hangover, calling it his rightful punishment for trying to steal Roach.

Yarrow was quieter without and far less eloquent without the alcohol infusing him with bravery, but the witcher didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, he even encouraged Yarrow to talk more, as if he actually liked listening to his rants the day before.

When the guards eventually came to unlock his cell, Yarrow was stupidly close to insisting on staying right where he was until Geralt too was set free, but he didn’t have to see Geralt’s face to know he’d be scowling at him if he suggested such a thing.

As it were, Geralt didn’t make a single sound as Yarrow left, not even acknowledging that they were friends now that the guards could hear them.

Though that did shoot a pang of disappointment through Yarrow’s chest, he didn’t let that deter him. He wouldn’t leave his friend without at least saying goodbye. As he was lead through the corridor that lead to freedom, Yarrow threw one last glance over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see into the cell.

“See you around, Geralt.”

A choked noise was the last thing Yarrow heard from his friend.

Then he was free again. He didn’t feel like it. His bag was pressed into his hand. He’d rather hold Geralt’s hand in his.

He was told to go home. He’d rather turn back to his cell; at least in there he had known that he wasn’t alone.

Still, he left. His feet didn’t carry him to his home. It was almost ironic that he took the same route as he had two days ago, when he had been drunk and lonely.

Just as last time, the horse, Roach, was standing in front of the inn, though this time she wasn’t bound to anything. Maybe someone had brought her here, though judging from the way Geralt had talked about her, it was unlikely that she would follow just anyone – other than Yarrow of course, for whatever reason. She probably had trotted back here on her own, waiting for her owner to come back.

Yarrow’s heart clenched at the sight, but he let out a relieved breath. At least Geralt had one companion who was loyal to him like that. Perhaps…perhaps Yarrow could be such a companion too. Being forced to talk for lack of anyone else being there while sitting in a prison was one thing. Waiting for him on the outside world was something entirely different.

But someone had to take care of Roach and no one else was going to do it, most likely. A pang of displeasure passed through Yarrow when he realised that no one had bothered to take off Roach’s saddle. At least the disgusting trophy was gone, but other than that, no one had lifted a finger to make the horse comfortable in any way. Without hesitation, Yarrow reached for the bridle. It shouldn’t be too hard to get it off. For a second there, the motions almost felt familiar, as if he had done this a hundred times before. That moment of confidence didn’t last long. He started fumbling and cursing when he realised that he actually had no idea what he was doing. It took him forever, but somehow he managed to unsaddled the horse with clumsy fingers, shooting glares at everyone who snickered at him when the saddle almost fell onto him when he failed to lift it off her. Really, it wasn’t his fault that he’d never had to do something like this before and judging from the way she nosed at him, searching for something to eat, she hadn’t been taken care off at all these past days.

Staying here with her was totally selfless.

Yarrow couldn’t even convince himself of that.

He stayed with Roach to assure that Geralt wouldn’t leave without a trace, only leaving her side to buy something to munch on for both of them. As long as he was with her, Geralt wouldn’t be able to skip this town without meeting Yarrow at least once more.

So he stayed and waited. Waited a day that felt like forever. It was boring, almost as much as those first hours in the cell had been. Yarrow let out a huff. Talking to someone who didn’t want to talk to him had worked once. It might as well work a second time. At first talking to Roach wasn’t that different from talking to Geralt. Yarrow let out a snorting laugh that made passers-by give him dirty looks. Geralt would have probably taken it as a compliment being compared to his horse. Then again, Yarrow could dream all he wanted, even he couldn’t pretend that Roach listened to his words. Roach wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to. He didn’t need stimulating conversation; all he wanted was occasional rough grunts and snarky comments.

He gave up talking, taking up his sketchbook instead. The familiar weight of the pencil in his hand brought a calmness to his restless mind. He let the pencil dance over the pages, as it always had done, drew what he always had drawn. But for the first time since he had decided to become an artist, he hesitated when he reached for his colour palette. His fingers itched to colour the eyes that stared up at him from the page amber, but he couldn’t. Not yet. For once, he didn’t want to paint his fantasy’s eyes. He wanted to draw his eyes. Geralt’s, wanted more than anything to know what they looked like. So Yarrow snapped his sketchbook shut. He’d just have to wait until he met Geralt to finish this drawing. In a spur of the moment decision, Yarrow stuffed the sketchbook into Roach’s saddlebags. It was a silly idea, but perhaps if Geralt insisted on leaving without him, Yarrow could follow him with the excuse that he had forgotten his sketchbooks in the bags. It would be obvious how desperate he was, but he could live with that, if it meant getting to keep his friend a little while longer.

The extent to his pathetic need to see Geralt again became painfully obvious, as soon the sun began to set and made it impossible to keep drawing. He should have returned home. Instead, he rented a room at the inn for the first time in his life. It was an expanse he shouldn’t allow himself, not when he had a perfectly good home in this very town. But his home was too far away. If he left to sleep there, it might take him too long to get back in time to catch Geralt.

He waited another day, kept himself busy by putting braids in Roach’s mane. Smug satisfaction filled him when he was done. He couldn’t wait to gloat to Geralt how he had been right: Roach really did look gorgeous with braids. For lack of anything else to do, he began braiding her tail as well. Far too soon, the joints of his fingers started to ache and he had to shake his hands to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. It didn’t work. This was ridiculous. Yarrow wasn’t nearly old enough to have aching joints yet. Maybe it was because he had slept on the hard floor in the cell. That couldn’t have been good for his body. He’d have thought that one night sleeping in a bed should have rectified that, but apparently he had been wrong. Be had to make sure to get some better sleep this night.

The next day, the ache wasn’t gone. In fact, it had gotten so much worse, to a point where his fingers ached too much to hold a pencil and his elbows protested any time he lifted his hands to stroke Roach’s nose or even just turn a page in his sketchbook. It made little difference. He wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on drawing anyway, not when his head felt like it was bursting, the insistent hammering against his skull even worse than when he’d had his hangover. This would go away. Surely, if he just waited a couple of hours, or maybe even a day, this would go away.

The next morning came. Geralt didn’t. It was strange just how much Yarrow missed Geralt after only so short a time of knowing him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He knew it was inappropriate to dwell on such things, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from imagining how Geralt’s arms might feel around him. He was sure Geralt’s body would be warm. He would never allow him to snuggle into him, of course, but maybe if Yarrow asked, Geralt would make the flames for him again to warm him?

He shouldn’t need to be kept warm. It was spring. The sun was shining bright in the sky and people were fanning themselves to get rid of the heat. So why was Jaskier so cold? He pressed against Roach, who begrudgingly tolerated him. She was warm. Not warm enough to keep him from shivering. If he was so cold, why was his hair plastered against his forehead and neck, drenched with sweat? When he rubbed his face, why did his trembling and aching hands meet burning skin? He wished Geralt was here. Maybe when Geralt had been worried about him back in the cell, he had had a reason for that. Maybe once he got out, he’d know what to do.

Another day. Always another day. How many other days would he have to wait until he could finally see Geralt?

He refused to allow himself the thought that maybe he wouldn’t get to see him at all. Such thoughts were poison, especially on a day like this, when the thought of getting to meet his friend was the only thing that gave him the strength to get up in spite of how much his muscles ached and protested at every slight movement. His legs hurt with every step and he couldn’t even steady himself by holding onto things, though the reason for that must be the ugly swelling of his hand. A small amount of puss had dried on it overnight and the small puncture wounds from where the rat had bitten him almost a week ago was swollen and purplish red.

He should go see a healer. He needed to see a healer. It was the only right thing to do in a situation like this. For days he had ignored his pains. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to risk getting any worse. No, he wasn’t stupid. What he was instead was desperate.

If Geralt came to get Roach while Yarrow was gone, he would forever regret the moment he had decided to let a healer look at his hand. He could stay a little longer. It wasn’t just that he needed Geralt; he also knew in his heart that Geralt needed him too. The witcher couldn’t get out of the prison that he didn’t deserve to be in and go out into the world all alone again. Geralt needed him to be here. Just one more day. Yarrow would wait one more day. Surely, he would make it. The rat bite couldn’t have been that bad. What was a little headache and pain in his muscles? What did it matter that he couldn’t hold his pencils or brushes anymore because of the swelling and the shaking from the chill? One more day. Just one more.

He asked around. Everyone who passed him and tried to avoid eye contact so they wouldn’t feel bad for ignoring how Yarrow trembled and tried not to keep the bile from rising. He called out to each and every one of them. It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set that a guard who had just finished his shift could give him an answer. Geralt was going to be released the next day.

Relief flooded Yarrow. Tomorrow. He could make it till tomorrow. He would get to meet his friend again. He would get to see him. He just….he needed to rest for a little. Just a couple of hours. Just until the world stopped spinning around him and his legs refused to buckle beneath him. If Geralt was about to be released tomorrow, Yarrow could go to his room for a little. He would be back before Geralt could miss him.

He barely made it up the stairs of the inn. Everything hurt. His muscles were ablaze. More than once, Yarrow had to lean against a wall to catch his breath and allow his legs a break. But he had to keep going. The sooner he got to bed, the sooner he could get up again to make sure Geralt wouldn’t leave without him.

He fell against the door to his room, pushing it open with his body weight and stumbling into the room. He couldn’t catch himself. With a pained groan that was barely drowned out by the door falling shut again, he landed on the floor, too weak to catch the fall. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up. The bed was too far away. With an inhuman effort he tried to crawl across the room. He hadn’t made it more than a few feet before he collapsed. Again on the cold hard floor. Again alone.

He had to make it. He had to get to the bed so he could get back to Geralt. He had to get back to Geralt.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to. He might have been an artist, a dreamer, but even dreamers had to wake up and face the ugliness of reality some day.

His breath came shallow and he curled in on himself as if that could stop the ache in his body. His swollen hand was cradled against his chest, but this time, there was no soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, no voice showing that there was at least one person who cared that he was in pain.

He thought of the picture he had drawn days ago and how he would never know which colour the eyes should have been. It wasn’t a very nice thought to be his last. He’d rather think of the voice of his friend. Of his care.

He wished he could be there for Geralt. He should have hoped he wouldn’t become another Jaskier for Geralt; another name to whisper in the dark and mourn.

But he was selfish. In his last moments, Yarrow was just happy that he had someone to think about as he lay on the floor with rattling breath and fear in his heart.

#reincarnation au #geraskier #my writing #fic #geralt #jaskier #fanfic #witcher #witcher fic #so much for keeping this fic short #angst #mcd #major character death #illness #sickness

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thurst-day · 4 years ago

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Hi, hello~

Well, this is too sudden but this blog has mean a lot to me, so to decided to take a break from it was really hard. But sadly life has running me down, i don't have a time to create something anymore. But i'll be back tho, i promise, so in the mean time while you wait, i want to share some of my favourite works so you guys could check it, because i see many people still following me while i wasn't making anything these days. So here's my pick:

GOT7 member's Solo as Netflix Original Series

my fav creation by far, i usually sketch something before i made a gfx but for those i really just created it on a whim, kinda lucky because it works and i'm proud of it

Devil Jeonghan's Birthday post

Well for this one i really love the idea of Jeonghan as a fallen angel or devil lol, and i really had a clear vision of how i want to put all the objects in the edit and the end result really satisfied me

Youngjae's Birthday post

Because i really want him to have a solo album or something because he really deserves it and decided to make my own version of it, took 3 days because i always made a mistake in the spotify layout, it was a pain in the ass but i really love the outcome

Jinyoung's Birthday post

Basically i love fairytales, after Jeonghan one i really need to make something for Jinyoung too, well him as a Prince was a common nickname for him and i decided to make it came alive, really love the colour, and probably the prettiest creation i've ever made

Yugyeom's Birthday post

Well this one is really different, at first i really want to make a cute dandelion-y edits for him but then i remembered jus2 and want to make something cool for once so that happened and i'm glad how it turned out in the end

ATK Solo Album Promotion (AmeriThaiKong)

This one was purely my self indulgence, atk really deserve their own album or unit project or something, that's why i made this, really love the dark red green sexc vibes in this one

Just Right retro version

This one was the first edit that i made that made me got serious into gfx making like i never thought people would notice what i created that time and looking at the number i really appreciated every single one of you guys that made me continue to create something

GOTSeventeen as eachother's album cover

This seriously the most fun i've been experiencing when i created an edit, like i love both groups and decided to combined them and it surprisingly worked

Fallin' Flower Mingyu

First time i made something like this and i'm kinda proud of it, i really love the song and mingyu's scene stole my attention since the beginning and kept thinking i should make something out of it

Gotseventween Project

This was such a fun project to do, i really enjoyed making every single theme, especially doing it with my fav moot here (val i love you), hope we had another collab in the future!

But tbh i love all the things I've created and posted on this blog whether it's a gifs, photo edits, or gfxs, so if you could check all of them just look at my bio for easier navigation! Thank you so much for all the nice tags and comment you guys left every time you reblog my post, believe me I've read them all, and i kid you not they're all always made my day as you guys are so sweet. Once again thank You all!

— Sincerely, Karen ♡

#scream at me in my inbox and tell me your fav #also see you when i see you #like basically i only here for 9 months but im glad and thankful #ugh im sad..#i almost reach a milestone too :"#long post #got7 #seventeen #k.txt #♡

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alrighttevans · 4 years ago

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invisible strings

chapter 2: well I wonder

Ao3 link

chapter 3: dancing with our hands tied

Nothing out of the ordinary, except he was not expecting to glimpse his own green eyes looking back at him from Marinette’s notebook. He was not expecting that Marinette would have been drawing Chat Noir; that she would have been drawing him.

When Adrien woke up, he was certain he would have a happy day. His father would be out of town for the day; Nathalie had said something about an urgent matter to be solved in the English main branch of the Gabriel Agreste brand, meaning he didn’t have to worry as much as usual about following the carefully made agenda his father had for him. He also didn’t have to attend any photoshoots early that week, so he would have the extra free time he always eagerly waited for to expend with his friends, hence the long due lunch between the four of them that Nino offered to host.

Therefore, it was settled that Alya and Nino, who had their last period in next door classrooms, would leave their classes and wait for him and Marinette, who happened to share their last period on Mondays, to join them as soon as their French class ended. Nothing out of the ordinary, except he was not expecting to glimpse his own green eyes looking back at him from Marinette’s notebook. He was not expecting that Marinette would have been drawing Chat Noir; that she would have been drawing him.

Marinette, the sweetest and most adorable girl he was ever so lucky to know had taken a soft spot for Chat Noir (for him!) and was so worried about his unusual posture in the photos running online, that she must have seen sometime during her morning — a photo that he was embarrassed for existing; he shouldn't have been that telling — or, perhaps, she even saw them herself, since he knew she was a late sleeper and her room was close from the place they had met —, that she had sketched Paris’s favourite kitten during class, for she was the most caring person to walk on earth. It filled his heart with such fondness; fondness that he already knew he held for her, but that only seemed to grow overtime, for such a remarkable girl cared so deeply not only about his Adrien persona, but about his alter ego, with the same amount of consideration as well.

Adrien could see all the compassion she hold on her golden heart through her lovely bluebell eyes as she blushed and hid the notebook from his eyes, a bit taken back about him finding out about her worries, or as she nodded intently at him, while they made their way to their other two friends, or as she gave him her adorable smile multiple times during their lunchtime.

And, furthermore, she showed herself as a protecting figure for him, defending his privacy from everything she dared to imagine could disturb him in any way whatsoever — and people did listen; after Alya made the post she promised to do, mentioning how Marinette had brought up the matter to her, most people deleted their own and apologized to him. He was ecstatic to see her fighting for him with such fervor. She had a very familiar fierce stare as she argued to rid Chat Noir of any inconveniences that may happen to upset him. She was so thoughtful, so sympathetic, so marvellous.

“You’re doing it again.” Plagg grumbled from his desk, where he laid on top of the remaining piece of his camembert.

“What?” Adrien, who was lying down on his bed; his hands unconsciously placed over his heart, sat up to question his kwami with a puzzled expression, half offended that Plagg had the audacity to interrupt his track of thought when they were heading in such a pleasant direction.

“Smiling like an idiot, that’s what. It’s annoying.”

“I am not!” He protested, throwing a scowl at the kwami’s direction.

“Yes you are. You do that too often for me not to recognize it.”

Adrien huffed, before he allowed his softened expression to return to his face with the memory of the reason he was previously smiling “But she was drawing me!” He cried “And defended me from prying eyes! She cares about me! She’s just so lovely and she likes Chat Noir! How could I not be happy about that?”

“Well, you don’t have to be so lovey-dovey about it.”

Adrien’s stare slipped to the group photograph he had framed over his desk, in which Alya took the photo, while Nino hugged her from behind; standing beside him, Adrien grinned, placing one hand over Marinette’s shoulder, who stood in front of him with a light blush creeping through her face — probably due to the sun; it was a hot day. He went back to the way she gave him her cute, shy smile just before they took the photo, accompanied by her bluebell eyes, so full of love, that shone just like Ladybug’s did — maybe he had a thing for blue eyes.

He snapped back from his little travel in time after hearing a long and dramatic sigh from his kwami, with wide green eyes, to look back at Plagg, who rolled his eyes at him, probably guessing where his mind had led him to.

“Lovey-dovey? What? No! It’s just friendly. A friendly smile, that’s all.” He insisted with a nervous smile, gesticulating throughout his speech. “In fact, I should thank her. Yes, she deserves to be thanked for being so kind to me. Would she mind if I stopped by? Would she appreciate it? Would it be too much? Or would it be better if I left her a note? I'll do it, I’ll leave her a note.”

In a quick jump, he rose from the bed and started searching for those fancy papers his father had given him to use to ‘write proper notes’ to ‘important people’, as Gabriel Agreste himself had put it. As soon as he found the familiar parcel that held what he was looking for, he took a sheet of paper and the best pen he could find on his desk.

What should he write? He should probably keep it simple. If he said too much, he’d probably jeopardize his secret identity. Besides, she was very intelligent. She would understand what he meant, he was sure of it.

“Time to go, Plagg.” Adrien called, as he wrapped the note inside the black envelope he had found inside his drawers, thankfully not marked with the Gabriel Agreste logo.

From the now empty plate of cheese, Plagg groaned in discontent, theatrically placing his tiny paws over his tiny heart — it would be cute, if Adrien wasn’t so familiar with the kwami’s chaotic nature. “Why can't we stay here with good ol’ camembert instead of going out to chase girls?”

“We’re not chasing anyone. We’re just showing our appreciation to Marinette.” He argued, as the little god sighed dramatically. “Come on, Plagg. I’ll buy you some stinky cheese on the way back.”

At the mention of his much beloved camembert, the kwami rose his head, clearly interested. Adrien smirked, he was getting through him.

“Fine”, he finally agreed, floating to Adrien’s eye line with his arms crossed, “but just because you know I can't resist an offer like that, lover boy.”

“Plagg, claws out.”

Chat Noir leapt into his opened window, just after guarding his envelope inside his suit’s pockets, where he sat in a cat-like position, watching the parisian beautiful night sky that looked back at him with some kind of earnestness, whilst the stars sparkled just for him and the light breeze of the city of lights danced around him, bringing him the comforting sense of calmness and peacefulness.

Before he could expand his baton and fly through his city’s rooftops, his eyesight dropped to the Agreste’s garden, lying just below him. He could see the high gates and walls that guarded the mansion, the nice little path drawn between the grass and the beautiful and carefully tended rose bush.

The rose bush.

Of course.

As quietly as he could, Chat Noir vaulted to the ground, making use of his knowledge of the mansion’s security system to carefully avoid any cameras that may spot him on his way to the rose bush. The flowers looked back at him, waiting for him to make his pick, whilst he searched for the prettiest rose he could find, for she only deserved the best, cropping said rose as soon as he found it. The scent of the flower soon reached his amplified senses, filling Chat’s surrounds with its delightful smell. It should do it.

So, with the assistance of his staff, Chat Noir leapt into the parisian sky, cautious not to hurt the rose.

It was like the light of the stars energized him, the night gave him strength, and the own city guided him to the Boulangerie Patisserie as he crossed all the streets and avenues that would lead him to her and soon landed on Marinette’s balcony, just above the bakery.

Watchful not to attract unwanted attention, Chat pulled his envelope from his pocket and glanced around the environment, seeking the best place to set his note — on the door? the chair? the white box? the wall? — until he finally made the decision of placing the envelope over the small table in the center of the space, under the rose.

Smiling to his work, Chat Noir gave his back to his little treat, extending his baton to exit the Dupain-Cheng’s house, when the cry of his name had his head snapping to the floor below him, where Marinette stood, half way through her trap door, staring him in bewilderment.

With wide eyes, he froze right in the spot, hoping that his black suit could blend in with the night and make him invisible to human eyes, or that a new power of his would decided to manifest itself now, gathering the shadows to hide him or allowing him to travel between them and pretend he was never there.

Perhaps, if he kept still, it would work. It had to work. She wasn’t supposed to see him! The plan was for her to find his note on the next day and know he appreciated her, when she connected the dots, without him having to explain himself for her! Ladybug would kill him if he ended up revealing his secret identity. He bit back a groan. So much for being stealthy.

“You know, even though you’re not moving, I can still see you.” She pointed out matter-of-factly, almost as if she was reading his mind, when she stood on her full height on the balcony floor, folding her arms over her chest.

Shit.

He wished Plagg would take pity on him and cataclysm him right there, but he knew his kwami all too well for that to happen.

Well, now all that was left for him was to play along and hope for the best.

Chat cleared his throat, pretending he wasn’t looking pawsitively stupid just a few seconds prior. “Good night, Mademoiselle.” He greeted her with a theatrical bow.

She narrowed her eyes, watching him warily. “Is everything okay?” She inquired, before her baby blue eyes widened with realisation. Shit. She had figured him out. She totally knew he was Adrien Agreste and none of the lies that would slip through his tongue would convince her otherwise. “Oh, my God, is there an akuma?!”

He didn’t think he had ever let out such a relieved sigh.

Wait.

An akuma?

Great, Agreste, he scolded, you got spotted and scared the girl.

God, his whole existence was a catastrophe.

“No!” He was quick to deny, waving his hands frantically before her. “No worries, Princess, this cat’s got everything handled.” Chat reassured, pointing at his chest with one thumb in a familiar cocky pose, attempting to regain his composure. “Or should I say pawled?”

It was fast, and he would have lost it, if his reflexes hadn’t been heightened, but her lips quirked up very subtly in amusement, which was gone as fast as it arrived, giving place to an intrigued raised brow. “Oh, then why are you here?”

“I… I was just passing by, doing my paw-trol duties, that’s all.” Chat explained and she frowned, as if she was trailing her way into his actual reasons by looking at the holes of his story and uncovering the truth from his poor excuses. He absently scratched the back of his neck, nervously. Was he that much of a bad liar? “You know, a superhero’s work’s never done.” He was quick to add, trying to distract her with his theatricals, as he raised his hand to her eyesight and put a finger down for each item he mentioned. “Damsels in distress, ladies in waiting, I’ve got a lot of saving to do.”

“Oh, I can only imagine.” Marinette nodded, using an yet foreigner tone for him, that almost sounded teasingly, that he would sometimes catch her giving to some of their friends, before they fell into an awkward silence that hung hesitation, uncertainty and some stiffness into the air for the seconds that dreaded like hours, making Chat to unconsciously wag his tail, anxiously, before she decided to break it.

“I… I saw the pictures.” The concern on her sparkling eyes and pressed pink lips was so pure, filled with only the best of intentions and wishes, just for him, and yet she gave him such a soft look, which almost sounded like an invitation to be loved by her. Marinette had made room for him in her heart with only the few encounters they’d had throughout the years and Chat couldn’t feel more exhilarated at the kindness she showed him. “Are you… Are you okay?” She held a lot of caution in her tone, a bit afraid to ask him the question that had been bothering her, reminding him of how shy she used to be around Adrien years back, but what caught his attention wasn’t the emotion on her voice, nor the nostalgia hanging in the air, but a detail he hadn’t paid any attention to before: her hair was not up.

Marinette’s dark strands fell over her shoulder, like the night sky itself had decided to kiss her a blessing; like it had been so struck by her beauty that it prayed to become part of her. Adrien didn't usually see her hair down; it generally was up on a ponytail that let a few strands run free to contorn her delicate features, or a messy bun, when her usual lateness got in the way and she couldn’t afford the time to do her hair calmly — or even the ever so familiar twin pigtails, that had danced around her face throughout their younger years —, always to prevent it from falling over her face and interrupting her flying thoughts, poking her tongue out in concentration with narrowed bluebell eyes, trying (and managing) to solve all the problems that she faced. It suited her, the hair down.

Feeling his face warming up by remembering he had yet to give her his answer instead of being enchanted by her locks, Chat looked away, sheepishly. “It’s really sweet that you’re concerned about me. You are very sweet.” At his second sentence, he peered up, too curious, too anxious, too engrossed in catching her reaction.

Through his night vision, Chat Noir managed to see signs of a light blush creeping over her own cheeks, accompanied by a light, warm smile that suited her perfectly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’m purrfectly fine, I promise.”

“Well, if you think of something, you know where to find me.” She offered kindly, tilting her head to her trap door.

“Yeah, I do.” Chat Noir waved at her, which she responded with an encouraging smile, before leaping into the city with the assistance of his baton, feeling his heart even warmer than when he first arrived.

chapter 4: like it was the first time

#invisible strings #mari writes miraculous #mari writes something #miraculous ladybug #marichat #love square #ml love square #ml fanfic #mlb fanfic #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #ladybug #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #ml #mlb

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laceymorganwrites · 4 years ago

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SFW alphabet: Semi

A=Affection

Semi is the kind of guy who always takes care of you. He shows his affection in soft touches, reminding you to bring your jacket, to pack your bag, to eat and drink etc. He doesn´t do this in an obnoxious manner either, it´s not annoying with him, he just wants to make sure you´re taking care of yourself.

B=Breath

Everything about you takes his breath away. You´re his muse, his drive, his happiness. When you hum one of his songs, he always feels so special and another thing that takes his breath away is every time you take him out on a spontaneous surprise date.

C=Cuddle

He loves cuddling you. His favorite position is when you lay sideways and he can hold your hand, interwining your fingers with each other. He also loves to trace his fingers over your cheek, loves looking at you. Semi thinks you´re the prettiest thing in the world and he loves being close to you.

D=Dream

Semi can´t wait to move in with you, to get a nice apartment or house and spend the rest of his life with you. Somehow the thought of getting all the furniture you need with you, makes him feel all fuzzy and warm inside. He loves dreaming about your future with you, thinking about living with you, waking up with you every day and nothing could make him happier.

E=Effort

He definitely makes a lot of effort in your relationship even though it doesn´t always seem that way. Semi is rather miniscule and doesn´t do over the top things, he´s not one for big gestures but he does the small things that count, like remembering those things you told him that you didn´t think he would.

F=Fear

Doesn´t know how to handle you being scared, he hates it when you feel this way. Always tries his best to calm you down, he will do anything to distract you and never fails to take your fear away even though he´s not too confident in his own abilities to do so.

G=Gifts

He does give you gifts occasionally, he gives you things that remind him of you and things he knows you like and might need. Most importantly though he writes songs and poems for you and he always sketches you.

H=Hugs

Even after graduation he never stopped playing volleyball and working out. Sure it´s not as regularly as it used to be but still, his arms are very strong and hugging you is his favorite. You´re his anchor, when he hugs you, he feels so safe and like he can just let go, like he can be himself and that to him means the world. When he hugs you, he doesn´t have any responsibilities, there´s just you and him.

I=Intimacy

Semi is actually a very intimate person, he loves being close to you. You´re the only thing he looks forward to after a tiring day at work. You quite literally are his happiness and he loves being with you.

J=Jealous

He´s not the jealous type at all, he trusts you. You two talk a lot and about everything too, so jealousy really isn´t a problem. He trusts you and knows you won´t ever go behind his back with someone. Also he thinks being jealous can become toxic pretty quick, so if he ever should feel this way, he´ll definitely talk to you about it so that yoou two can figure out the reason behind it.

K=Kiss

His kisses are very soft and slow, they feel like falling into the ocean, but the ocean is a nice and warm temperature (wow my descriptive skills rlly are shit lol). Semi also loves taking his time with you whenever he kisses you, will deepen the kiss most of the times, he just can´t help himself. Loves giving you hand kisses, is overall pretty obsessed with your hands, he thinks they´re so pretty.

L=Love

Oh the big l word is scary to him. He´ll take a long time saying it, hell even thinking about it scares him because that means what you have is real. Commitment overall is really scary for him because he´s scared of rejection. All things come to an end and he doesn´t want to think about that. But don´t worry, he´ll say it in his own time, you just have to be patient. Don´t expect to hear those words too often, they hold a very big meaning to him and Semi only ever tells you he loves you when he´s overwhelmed with feelings.

M=Marriage

I don´t think Semi thinks of marriage too much in the beginning of your relationship, but once you reach that point where you just know that you won´t spend your life without the other, he starts thinking about it seriously. He´ll ask you on the couch one night and you discuss the pros and cons rather than him romantically proposing to you. The wedding itself will be small with only your close circle invited.

N=Night out

He takes you backstage to his gigs, goes to fancy bars with you, finds really niche cafes that sell the weirdest food combinations but it kind of works? He also loves night strolls on the weekend with you (when he doesn´t have work in the next morning he doesn´t mind staying up with you since he can´t fall asleep etiher way). I also think he´s a big fan of going to the cinema, but those small ones that show all the indie films.

O=Out of the ordinary

He´ll do everything for you as long as it´s reasonable. Say you´re too tired to get the groceries one day and he´ll do it. He won´t quit work earlier for you though, he also won´t stay up until ungodly hours with you, he sleeps badly enough as it is and he doesn´t want to risk losing his jobs when he´s tired the whole day.

P=Playful

Well, Semi isn´t really playful in a relationship. Being in love is very serious for him and what you have is something very special. Also he has a very dry humor, so he won´t ever straight up goof around with you. However he´ll crack jokes at the most random times.

Q=Questions

He´s not a monster, of course he cares about your opinions. He also likes having conversations about politics, the environment and all sorts of other things, like the planning of his next album etc. He really appreciates your help with his music too, he´s so glad to have someone else to help him choose which album cover to choose, which songs to cut etc.

R=Random

Because of his job he can´t really be spontaneous, but he doesn´t like planning dates either excpet when it´s an important one (e.g. your birthday). So usually when he´s free you´re quite spontaneous and just do whatever you feel like in the moment.

S=Sleep

Semi has trouble falling asleep and wakes up at least three times in the middle of the night. With you around it´s easier for him though. Loves holding you in his arms when he sleeps, your presence calms him down immensely.

T=Trust

He trusts you completely even though it took him a long time. It´s not like he ever doubted you, it´s just that he doesn´t trust people overall. He´s the kind of guy to only see the bad in people sadly. But as cheesy as it sounds, you make him believe in the good in people again.

U=Unique

Semi seems very uncaring as a partner, but he´s really not. He´s the kind of partner that´s very perceptive, he always knows what you need even though you never said it. Sometimes it´s scary how well he knows you. At the same time he acts like it´s not a big deal too, because to him it isn´t. He really isn´t big on romance but he tries his best to give you everything you need and more.

V=Vulnerable

Semi doesn´t like showing his emotions at all, so being vulnerable around you is very hard and will take a long time. Doesn´t cry often and makes sure to be alone when he does. Pushes you away at first, but doesn´t mean any harm. You have to be persistent though and he´ll open up over time. No matter how many times he´s vulnerable around you, he always hates the feeling.

W=Wildcard

He always loses his notebooks and lyrics sheets which sucks because he doodles and writes in them, so you made it a habit to stick the sheets to the fridge or something similar so that he doesn´t lose them anymore. For the lost notebooks you always make sure to search his and your place and when you find them you collect them in a box until you can give them back to him.

X=X-Ray

Semi is quite calm on the outside and will definitely know what to do when you´re injured. He´ll make sure you´re calm too and stay by your side all the time.

Y=Yuck

He doesn´t like it when his S/O is obnoxiously loud or self centered. He loves it when you get excited about things, he loves it when you share your passions and is always so happy when you do, but something that gets on his nerves is really when you´re arrogant and selfish, only make things about yourself and are just too loud. He doesn´t like overly loud people too much.

Z=Zeal

Semi is passionate in his own way, you can always see the little sparkle in his eyes when it comes to you and his hobbies. He doesn´t express it as vividly as others might, but you can always tell when his lips curl up in that little smile of his which he always tries to suppress.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu semi #semi x reader #semi eita #semi imagine #semi headcanons #semi hcs #hq #hq imagine #hq headcanons #hq hcs #hq semi

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Galactica, Chapter 47 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet bombed her design pitch, and Adore and Pearl broke up.

This Chapter: Violet gets a lovely surprise, Aiden gets angrier, and Courtney comforts a friend.

***

“So,” Fame looked over at Raja, leaning back on the green velvet couch. “What do we think?”

Ivy had come by with lunch, two salad containers now sitting half empty on the table. They had received printouts from Ivy with the original couture sketches, whatever samples the designers had handed them, and polaroids of the garments as they looked today.

“About the couture looks?” Raja smiled. They were talking about the Spring collection, but Raja was also finalizing the dresses and roles for Monday’s holiday collection showroom show.

“Mmh,” Fame nodded, fiddling with her thumb, the edge of her manicure looking like it was cracking.

“Who do we want this on?” Raja held up one of Kiara’s holiday designs, the dress a lovely red. “I’m thinking blonde?”

“Good call.” Fame smiled, that particular dress without a doubt ending up in Chad Michaels’ closet. It always got Fame in the best of moods to watch Raja work, her friend at her very best when she was pulling final styles together, her eye for the entire picture unmatched.

“We still need a holiday dress for Raven,” Raja smiled, holding up her fiance's headshot. “Opening or close?”

“Who says she’s getting either?” Fame teased, a laugh leaving her when Raja shot her a look. “I want her closing. She does that very well. Makes everyone feel like spending money.”

“Mmh,” Raja smirked, a proud expression on her face, putting Raven with one of the prettiest dresses in the bunch. It was weirdly romantic how Raja always looked out for Raven, though Fame was sure she’d deny it if she was ever confronted directly.

“Okay,” Raja sat back on the couch, putting her elbow on the back, golden bracelets clacking on her wrist as she rested her head on her hand. “What’s the verdict for couture?”

“Hmm,” Fame chewed her lip, flicking through the folder on her lap. “I think Alexis should open. This sky-inspired piece of hers,” Fame pulled the sketch out, “is lovely.”

“I agree.” Raja nodded. “And closing?”

There were several to choose from, but if Fame was being honest, there was only one that made sense for her.

“What about Violet’s?”

“Violet’s?” Raja sounded genuinely surprised, her eyes widening. “I thought you hated it?”

“What? Why?”

“Because you cut her off?”

“Raj, please,” Fame rolled her eyes. “She was talking my ear off, explaining all these incredibly unnecessary details when her work clearly spoke for itself. It’s very unbecoming to need that much reassurance of a job well done.” Fame pulled Violet’s dress from the folder, the flared sleeve and horizontal beads exactly what Fame wanted.

“Aha.”

“Good.” Fame put it down on the table, not noticing the small smile on Raja’s lips. “We’ll email everyone, and start looking for our exclusive models if we need anyone from overseas-” Fame paused. “Hold on. I have to call Courtney. This manicure is driving me absolutely crazy.”

***

It was always a rare relief when Fame decided to go into Raja’s office for a meeting rather than the other way around, and today was one of those lovely days, Ivy taking care of everything they needed and urging her to go take a real lunch break while she had the chance, that she’d call her back if necessary.

Which for Courtney meant a visit to her favorite department at Galactica: makeup. It was incredible how just walking into their suite made her whole body relax, the bright and sunny creative energy something she absolutely craved. Even the way people dressed was better down here: bright colors and fun patterns and hair every color in the rainbow. Alaska gave her a warm welcome as always, inviting her to sit down and eat with them, even sharing some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, which was a very nice addition to Courtney’s own sad little garden salad.

“You know,” Kim said, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she took in Courtney’s face, eyes squinted as if imagining the way the colors would look, “the Spring Rain palette would look amazing on you.”

“Omigod, it so would! Let’s try it out!” cried Amy, clapping her hands. Amy was the department’s coordinator, and Courtney hadn’t spoken to her much, but based on her electric-blue pigtails and ruffly Lolita dress, she knew she liked her.

“Whaddaya say, Court? Wanna be a canvas for a bit?” Alaska asked.

“Sure!”

Soon, Courtney was sitting in a director’s chair as Kim and Amy went to town on her face.

“Are your eyes green or blue?” Kim asked, tilting her chin this way and that in the bright light.

“Green. But I think in some lights they look blue.”

“Yeah, this cerulean is really picking that up.”

“Try adding a bit of the peacock,” Amy suggested.

“Yes! Good call!” Kim said, picking up the palette again.

Courtney closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of brushes being swiped against her skin, Kim’s movements both precise and certain. It was awhile before Courtney felt any urge to speak again, asking a question that had been on her mind for awhile.

“Um...do you guys know Bianca Del Rio?”

“No, I wish!” Kim chuckled. “She’s such a badass.”

“We have mutual friends. Why?” Alaska smiled curiously, and Courtney suddenly felt a bit embarrassed.

“Well...I don’t know, I was just wondering what you think of her.”

“She’s everything I want to be when I grow up,” Amy piped up, swatching a few lip colors on Courtney’s arm. “She’s supposedly a real ball-buster, but my friend at Marie-Claire says she’s a decent boss. At least, people like working for her.”

“That’s cool,” Courtney said, biting her lip, cheeks growing hot under the lights as she worked up the nerve to ask what she really wanted to know. “What about, um...her...dating history. She’s gone out with a lot of girls, huh?”

“Yeah...she has,” Alaska replied slowly, exchanging a look with Kim as Amy stepped up to apply the chosen lipstick.

Kim waved a pair of lashes in the air, waiting for the glue to become tacky.

“The thing about Bianca is…” Alaska paused, seemed unsure of whether she should continue, before saying, “She’s not really into relationships. She just doesn’t ever seem to want more than flings. I mean, we’ve crossed paths dozens of times over the years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with the same girl twice.”

“Oh.” Courtney nodded, settling back while Kim applied her lashes, wondering why her heart was pounding so fast.

“But that said, I mean...she does seem to treat people pretty well. You certainly never see girls crying about her in the tabloids, which I think says a lot, considering her...volume.”

“It helps that she’s apparently god-level in bed,” Amy giggled.

“Don’t trust the rumors,” Alaska warned.

“Well, I’ve heard it from someone first-hand, so…” Amy trailed off, giving a suggestive wink before reaching forward to finish the look with a delicate, shell-pink lip gloss, as Courtney tried her best not to squirm in her seat.

“Umm...anyway…” Alaska began awkwardly, when loud buzzing from the table interrupted. “Oh, Court, it’s Fame.”

Alaska handed her the phone, the usual seizing of Courtney’s stomach whenever her boss called telling her that the fun was over.

“Hello?”

“Courtney. I’m done with Raja, and my thumbnail is chipped.”

“Ye-”

Fame hung up before Courtney could respond, leaving her slightly puzzled.

“Thanks guys, this was super fun,” she said, sliding off the chair and grabbing her handbag, knowing she’d be expected to send a memo to design right away, along with apparently finding a manicurist to come to the office? Maybe?

“Wait!” Kim cried, holding up a lighted mirror for her to see the whole look.

“Wow.”

It was certainly a lot more colorful and dramatic than the makeup Courtney normally wore, and for a split second, she let herself imagine that she was backstage getting ready to perform, or on the set of some glamorous photo shoot, before pushing those silly fantasies down and giving Kim a grateful smile.

“Thanks, really, you guys are awesome,” Courtney said, internally lamenting the fact that she had to leave this colorful and fun office to go back to the stark white institutional tension upstairs.

***

From: Courtney A. Jenek To: (undisclosed)

Subject: Spring Runway Selection

MEMO TO GALACTICA DESIGN AND TAILORING DEPARTMENTS

FROM THE OFFICE OF MISS FAME

Please find attached the selected looks for the opening and closing of the Spring runway show, along with the alternates that we are keeping in the show, placement TBD.

Additionally, make sure to note the following upcoming deadlines in relation to the Spring couture collection:

December 5, 7 pm - submission for the rest of the Spring couture runway looks

December 11, 7 pm - final revised Spring couture submissions

December 12 - Selection of final couture looks/alternates

December 14 - Individual designer meetings with tailoring dept

December 18, 11 am - First fitting

January 11, 11 am - Second fitting

***

“Oh...“ Violet couldn’t believe it.

She had clicked on the placement, hoping that her dress would be in there somewhere, Trixie’s promise that nothing would get scrapped completely not enough to reassure her, but there it was, in black and white.

Her first couture look for Galactica was closing the fucking Spring show.

“Holy shit-” Violet whispered, the information not sinking in at all.

She had been chosen, she had done well, she was making the company proud.

Violet was just about to panic, everything so overwhelming, when a second email ticked in.

From: Courtney A. Jenek To: Violet Chachki

Subject: Fwd: Spring Runway Selection

OMG ALKDJALSKDJALDJ IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!11 AKFJSALKFJASLKFJALFSD CONGRATS!!!!!!!111

Violet snorted, Courtney’s excitement radiating through the screen, that message somehow making it real.

From: Violet Chachki To: Courtney A. Jenek Subject: Re: Fwd: Spring Runway Selection

Thanks

***

Aiden closed the door to Trixie’s office firmly behind him, using all the strength in his body not to slam it with full force. He briefly imagined how good it would feel, to be able to make the walls vibrate with all of the rage he felt inside. Instead, he swallowed down all the bitterness and headed to his desk.

It had been an awful meeting, Trixie pulling his typical nice guy act to say that he was “concerned” about Aiden’s “attitude” and wanted to make sure that he was gonna be the right fit for the Galactica team long-term. That he wanted to see more collaboration with the other designers, and as a learning experience, he should be prepared on Monday to assist backstage for the Holiday collection show.

Assist.

Aiden was a designer, not a fucking tailor, not a fucking assistant, and this was going to be a new low. Not to mention that he was already in a foul mood, having seen the selection for the opening and closing Spring runway looks. That new little brat, the baby with no experience, not like Aiden, had been chosen to close the show.

He sat at his chair for almost a minute, saying nothing, just breathing deeply. Before Kiara asked, “Everything alright, dude?”

“Oh yeah. Everything is fucking great!” Aiden snapped, not bothering to stay and take in the stricken look on her face before getting up and marching to the restrooms, where he could at least lock himself in a stall and get a tiny minute of peace and quiet.

***

“Omigod, I’m so happy to see you!” Adore exclaimed, pulling Courtney inside her apartment, over to the sofa. “I stole a bunch of alcohol from Bianca before I left, so I’m well stocked! What do you want?”

“Gin and tonic?” Courtney asked, taking off her coat and settling down against the plush velvety purple fabric of Adore’s sofa.

“Coming right up, ma’am!” Adore exclaimed, walking over to the open kitchen to pour Courtney’s drink.

“So, you seem...how are you?” Courtney ventured, knowing that Adore was probably still in a fragile state, but not wanting to destroy what seemed like a decent mood.

“Well you know… It’s been shit. But I stayed with B all week and she’s like, kinda the best in this situation. She didn’t even gloat over being right.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. I’m glad she took care of you.”

Adore set Courtney’s glass down.

“Yeah, it was nice.”

There was a firm knock on the door, and Adore jumped up again, running to answer.

“Pizza’s here!”

“Pizza?”

“Yeah, I ordered ahead because I knew you’d be working late and you probably haven’t had a real meal all--thank you!” She closed the door, carrying the boxes and a bag over to the coffee table and setting it down with a smile.

It was such a sweet gesture, and Courtney was truly starving, so she almost felt bad reminding Adore, “Um...I’m still doing that vegan thing, remember?”

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot, I-” Adore bit her lip, looking more distraught than was probably necessary, given the circumstances.

“It’s okay, I’ll just pull off the cheese, don’t worry!” Courtney reassured her.

“But you’ve told me like a billion times and I keep forgetting and I’m just the worst friend ever,” Adore sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, it’s okay, really.” Courtney crawled over to Adore, hugging her tightly.

“It’s not. I got you a kale caesar salad too because I know you used to like those but that’s not vegan either. God, what is wrong with my stupid brain?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re human, you make mistakes. It was still so nice of you to get all this.” Courtney pressed a kiss to her temple. “And you know what? I’ve been so strict for a few weeks, I think it’s okay to have one cheat day.”

“Are you sure? We can order Chinese or Thai if you want, or there’s-”

“I’m sure. I came here to try and cheer you up. Not to make you feel guilty.” Courtney snuggled against her, head on her shoulder.

“Okay. We can postmates some vegan gelato for dessert.”

“Perfect.”

Adore sighed, leaning her head against Courtney’s for a moment before sitting up and opening the food. Courtney accepted the plate from her, pulling the cheese off her pizza and shaking up the caesar salad - she decided that she could handle the dressing if she omitted the little container of parmesan.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Courtney looked up at Adore and asked, “Do you want my cheese?”

Adore’s eyes widened, looking down at her plate.

“Yes!”

She took it with such enthusiasm that it made Courtney laugh.

“Was this the plan all along?”

“I wish. I’m not that smart,” Adore told her.

“Yeah you are. You’re very smart. You’re the best.”

Adore held her gaze for a few moments, eyes welling up before the tears spilled down her cheeks. She covered her face, and Courtney shoved the plates aside, laying Adore’s head down in her lap.

Courtney stroked her hair for awhile, letting her cry, not saying anything, tears soaking into her skirt and tights. When her sniffling finally subsided, she asked, “So on a scale of 1 to 10...how much do we hate her?”

Adore rubbed her red, swollen eyes. “That’s the hardest part. I don’t really hate her at all. I mean, I asked her to be honest with me, and she was, and...it just wasn’t what I wanted to hear. So...no, I don’t hate her. It would be too exhausting to hate her.”

Courtney took her hand, holding it tight and solemnly saying, “Okay. Then I’ll hate her for you. So you don’t have to.”

Adore’s face crumbled as her tears began falling again.

“You’re the best friend in the world.”

“No, you are,” Courtney said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go wash your face and order that gelato!”

***

“I just can’t believe that my dress is going out on that runway, like, I was so sure Fame absolutely hated it, and-”

“You don’t need to chop the parsley that finely lovely eyes,” Sutan smiled, stirring the pasta puttanesca sauce they had made together. Sutan wasn’t necessarily the best cook in the world, neither he or Raja ever really picking up on their mothers love of spending time in the kitchen, but he could do a few dishes well, and after seeing Violet’s fridge, he had made it a mission to make sure his girlfriend had a minimum of culinary experience.

“Oh,” Violet paused, looking down at the cutting board. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sutan pressed a quick kiss against her temple, standing side by side in the kitchen surprisingly nice. “I know it’ll be just as amazing as your holiday dress.”

“Please,” Violet smiled, though Sutan could see on her face that she was pleased. He wasn’t going to buy anything at the show, but he was still coming along, both to test one of his newer models, but also because he wanted to see what Violet had created in action.

“I’m serious.”

The sauce was almost done, Violet pulling a face when she had seen him slice up the anchovies, but Sutan was pretty sure that she’d like the dish, if what she tended to gravitate towards could be used as any indication.

“Would you mind setting the table?”

“Not at all,” Violet smiled, putting the knife down, quickly washing her fingers, her jewelry left in the little bowl by the sink that Raja and sometimes Raven had used when they all lived together.

Sutan hadn’t actually noticed it until Violet had dumped her rings into it, the fact that it was there completely escaping his attention, interior design never something that had interested him.

When he had gotten married to Kahmora, he had moved from this apartment directly into her place and back again after their divorce, how she wanted things decorated not anything that had mattered to him in the short time they had been married.

He had never really lived with Jinkx, their relationship thankfully never moving any further than their disastrous engagement, but he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have been asked about his preferences, shame momentarily curling in his belly at the thought of how unfair and terrible he had been to Jinkx.

“Sutan?” He was pulled out of his thoughts by Violet’s voice, the woman standing by his cabinet with a smile on her face. “Did you buy wine? To have with dinner?”

“I got us a bottle of red.”

“Okay,” Violet nodded, grabbing the wine glasses from the shelf. Juju used to complain when she came over, and had told both Raja and Sutan multiple times that the apartment was furnished for giants, but Violet never had trouble getting anything.

Sutan’s alarm went off, telling him it was time to drain the pasta, Violet handing him two plates so he could serve up their meal, both of them sitting down at the table.

“Do you like it?” Sutan smiled as he watched Violet taste the food, a thoughtful expression on her face as she chewed on it.

“It’s fine.”

“So you hate it?” Sutan lifted an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

“No!” Violet seemed outraged. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” Violet kicked him under the table, smiling now. “It’s nice.”

“Sure,” Sutan laughed, Violet’s deadpan deliveries still something he was getting used to, her dry humor a lot more enjoyable than he had ever imagined. “Good.”

They ate for a while, chatting back and forth, Sutan refilling their glasses, Violet almost finished with her pasta when she put down her fork.

“I-” Violet looked at him, her teeth biting into her lip. “I’ve been thinking about Aspen?”

“Yes?”

“And I’d like to go.”

“Oh?” Sutan wasn’t aware that it had been something she had been considering, the fact that she was even thinking about turning it down not even crossing his mind.

“Well I’m glad.” Sutan smiled, hiding his confusion. “Mostly because I already booked your plane ticket.”

“Really?” Violet sounded genuinely surprised, almost as if she wasn’t sure if he had been serious about the offer.

“Really, not that I would have forced you to come.” Sutan tapped her foot under the table, Violet still such a mystery to him. “Raven on the other hand,” Sutan smiled. “That could have been a problem, since she’s bought matching everything for you two.”

“... What?”

***

ADORE: Courtney’s a vegan, you know.

BIANCA: Yeah, she told me.

ADORE: I keep forgetting like an asshole so I just wanted to make sure you knew and would have some vegan stuff on thurs

BIANCA: It’s gonna be 100% vegan, I hired a chef to cater. She even making vegan relleno de pavo

ADORE: WAIT WHAT

ADORE: How the FUCK do you make vegan relleno de pavo?

BIANCA: I dunno, but she’s a professional.

ADORE: And what about the corn pudding? IT NEEDS BUTTER

BIANCA: Would you relax? It’ll be delicious

ADORE: WHAT ABOUT THE TURKEY

BIANCA: I don’t eat turkey. You’re outvoted 2 to 1.

ADORE: BIANCA DEL RIO I’VE HAD A VERY TRAUMATIC WEEK! IT’S THANKSGIVING! TURKEY!

BIANCA: I’ll get you a package of fucking Hillshire Farm, calm down

ADORE: I want to be mad at that but I love Hillshire Farm. lol

BIANCA: You’re welcome

BIANCA: Btw you’re also welcome to cook whatever you like and contribute to the meal

ADORE: Um...no thanks

BIANCA: Thought so, cunt

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #vitan #bitney #miss fame #raja gemini #alaska thunderfuck #courtney act #kim chi #violet chachki #aiden zhane #adore delano #bianca del rio #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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