#so that super deep blue and that warm orange light. there’s a reason it doesn’t look that good in a photo

[quantummindclassicalheart]

like it’s the last time

A Widojest epilogue “missing scene” inspired by a comment from @cranesofibycus and some art from @belligerentbagel. It’s the night before Fjord and Jester leave Nicodranas, and the Nein are throwing a party. Everything should be great. Except Caleb’s been distant lately, and Jester wants to know why. 

Words: 2678

“A toast to Captain Fjord Tusktooth!” declares Beau, raising a glass. “May your skies be clear, may your seas be smooth, and may your ship not get wrecked by a giant fucking sea monster-- because seriously, we’ve met a few.”

“To Captain Tusktooth!” the revelers chorus. Fjord smiles broadly and raises his own glass in a little salute. He looks dashing in his captain’s coat, all buttons and epaulettes and flourishes, though his oversized tricorn is just unwieldy enough to keep him humble.

“And to Jester Lavorre, high priestess of the Traveler! I would tell Fjord to keep her safe, but I think we all know it’s going to be the other way around,” Beau jokes.

“To Jester!” On her part, Jester beams and gives a little curtsy. Tonight she’s opted for rich reds and purples for her own outfit, a flowy dress with white gloves and a fuzzy shoulder cape. Glasses and steins clink, drinks are had, and the musicians soon start up another boisterous tune. Before long the Lavish Chateau is filled with music and dancing and laughter.

It’s a bespoke party, planned exactly to Jester’s tastes. The banisters of the Chateau are draped with all manner of sparkly decorations that glint and shine in the warm orange light of the lanterns and sconces illuminating the room. There are countless exquisitely decorated cakes, pies, and pastries adorning the dessert table (which is, naturally, the largest of the food and refreshment tables), and the air is rich with the smells of nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, and more. The band is playing some of Jester’s favorite redowas and waltzes, and it brings back her memories of dancing with her feet on her mama’s as a little girl.

Across the room, Marion is talking with Fjord about something or other (not about anything embarrassing, Jester hopes), and she looks beautiful as always in her deep blue evening gown and ornate gold jewelry. With the band’s latest song, Beau is showing off some sort of martial arts/breakdance fusion out on the dance floor while Yasha watches appreciatively, nodding her head to the music. Veth seems to have challenged Kingsley to a drinking game involving a deck of cards, and the pair are knocking back rounds of drinks (“Kingsley’s Cup,” they’re calling it). Caduceus, ever the responsible one, is munching thoughtfully on a small platter of crudités, a placid smile on his face.

Jester has every reason to be happy. It’s a great party, the perfect send-off, packed with food and friends and fun. Except… Caleb’s not here. On Jester’s last night in Nicodranas, Caleb Widogast is nowhere to be found. And Jester doesn’t understand why.

Caleb has been so busy lately. That’s what he said, anyway, just before disappearing for the last three days. He’s probably got lots to think about, she knows. But tonight is the party. Her party. And Caleb should be here. So why isn’t he?

Just then, Jester’s startled out of her musings when Beau taps her on the shoulder, drink in hand. “Oh hey, didn’t mean to scare you. You doing okay?” asks Beau.

“Uh huh,” says Jester unconvincingly. “I was just thinking about… stuff.”

“Ooookay. Right. Well, I just wanted to tell you this is a sick party. You really outdid yourself with the planning and everything.”

“Thanks!” chirps Jester. “I wanted it to feel really special, since this is the last time I might see everyone for a while.”

“Yeah, well, helluva job,” says Beau, patting Jester on the back with her free hand. “...you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah! Definitely! Everything is totally fine. I mean… it does kind of suck that Caleb couldn’t make it, but I know he’s been super busy these past few days.”

Beau sets down her drink on the bar, a puzzled look on her face. “Wait, what do you mean? I saw him at lunch earlier, and it didn’t seem like he was doing anything too important.”

“What? No, he told me--” Jester waves a finger in the air and attempts her best Zemnian accent. “Jester, I vill be very busy zis veek, and I vill not have much time to do ze hanging out.”

“...okay, that was pretty good,” laughs Beau. “But seriously, we were just talking today. Or, well. He kind of went off on some long tangent about modifying spells to make the enchantment last longer or some arcane shit like that. I think it’s based on dunamancy, maybe?”

“Huh,” says Jester.

“Anyway, Caleb’s definitely been around,” Beau says. “Which means…”

“...he’s been avoiding me, specifically,” finishes Jester.

“Well, it might not be you--”

“I kinda think it is, though? Why wouldn’t Caleb want to see me? He knows I’m going away,” says Jester. “I think I’ve gotta talk to him myself. Thanks, Beau.” And she hurries off before Beau can respond.

Away from the bustle and roar of the celebration, Jester finds a private room off to the side where she won’t be overheard, and then she Sends Caleb a message. “Hey, Caleb? Are you there? I haven’t seen you in a little while. Why aren’t you at my party? Where are you? We should talk.” The magic carries her words off into the aether, and in a moment there’s a familiar tingle at the back of her scalp telling her that the spell has found its target. She lets out a sigh of relief and waits for the response. And waits. And waits. Eventually the arcane tether fizzles out, with no reply. Frankly, this is rude and weird, even for Caleb.

Heading back to the party, Jester asks around a bit, but no one else has seen Caleb that evening, so finally she decides to take matters into her own hands. She walks to the door of the Lavish Chateau and faces out into the cool night air. With her left hand she clutches her symbol of the Traveler and whispers, “Arty? Can you help me find Caleb? I really need to talk to him.”

There’s a sudden gust of wind and a flicker of emerald green, and then a silky voice speaks into her ear. “Of course, my dear. You only need to ask.” And a thin gossamer thread the color of the Traveler’s cloak materializes before her, stretching off down the street.

Jester follows the thread swiftly along the winding cobbled streets of Nicodranas, past uplit homes and shuttered stores and late-night street vendors hawking their wares, away from the Opal Archways and down to where the Open Quay meets the waters of the Lucidian. It’s not long before she comes across a figure sitting at one of the docks, wrapped in a familiar brown coat. The ethereal green thread ends at his chest and vanishes into shimmers as she approaches.

She sits down beside him on the wooden dock, dangles her legs over the side and kicks them back and forth. She finally gets a good look at him, and man, Caleb looks terrible. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his beard is less charming scruffy and more scruffy scruffy. His posture is somehow worse than usual, if that’s even possible.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Caleb.” It’s not a question. Caleb doesn’t look up.

“I have been very busy--” he begins, but she cuts him off.

“Too busy to say a real goodbye?” asks Jester coolly. Caleb doesn’t respond, and that only irritates her more.

“You know, you’re being a real dick, Caleb. I haven’t seen you for days, and you totally ignored the message I sent you earlier. Fjord and I are leaving tomorrow on a ship where we could seriously get murdered by Uk’otoa or something and you can’t even be bothered to come to our fucking farewell party.” She knows the words are harsh. But she’s aching for him to show some emotion, and right now she doesn’t care if it’s affection or anger. Anything but indifference.

“I don’t understand,” says Jester, and her next words are laced with unexpected venom. “It’s like you don’t even care.” She regrets saying it as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but it’s too late. Upon hearing this, Caleb pounds the wood of the dock with his fist and looks her straight in the eye.

“What do you want me to say, Jester?” retorts Caleb, not breaking eye contact. “That I’ve been avoiding you because the very thought of you leaving hurts me more than I can bear? That I thought-- somehow-- it might be easier for the both of us if I just slipped away and made it so you wouldn’t have to think of me too much in these last few days? That you are about to embark on the life of excitement and adventure you’ve always dreamed of with a good man who can give it all to you, and I will never be a party to that?”

It’s Jester’s turn to be speechless. Caleb, who looks as though he’s shocked even himself with this sudden burst of vehemence, slouches over again and rubs his temples with his hands. The two of them sit in silence for a long while, the only sound coming from the waves crashing and rolling beneath them.

“For a smart person, you sure can be pretty dumb,” says Jester at last. “You really thought it would be better-- for me-- if one of my best friends in the whole world cut himself off entirely without a real explanation or a goodbye. That’s bullshit, Caleb, and you know it.”

“Fjord is a good man. He really loves me. And... I love him back. I think. This is all still new to me, to be totally honest,” she admits. “You know, the adventure stuff is super fun and all, but the best part was always the people I did it with. That’s why I’m going with him. This is important to him, and he’s important to me.”

She pauses. “You’re important to me too.” She rests her hand on his, and he looks back at her with those searching blue eyes. “I really missed you these last few days, and I’m going to miss you even more when I’m away.”

“I’m sorry,” Caleb murmurs. “I thought-- I was simply being selfish.”

“So be a little selfish,” says Jester. “I’m leaving on a boat tomorrow, and I don’t know when I’m coming back. If there’s something you have to say to me, you should say it now.”

And so he takes her hand in his (she lets him) and raises it to his lips. Jester is struck by a memory of her taking him by the hand and pulling him through a Dimension Door in the guts of a living city, she remembers the way his rough hand felt clasped around hers as he cast Teleportation Circle. Every touch spell comes rushing back, and it feels for a moment like he is casting another one now. The stubble of his beard grazes her hand as he kisses it, as deliberate and careful as his spellcraft.

He lifts his gaze to meet hers, his expression gentle and his eyes kind in the pale moonlight. Without faltering he says, "I love you, Jester Lavorre." The words hang in the air between them, and she looks back at him with hope and wonder and more than a hint of sadness.

"Oh, Caleb,” says Jester softly. “I know.” She wants to ask him if that’s all he wants to do, she is imagining his lips on her own and on her neck and her collarbone and more-- but she understands why he’s still holding back. He looks at her like he is trying to learn by heart the constellation of freckles that dapple her cheeks, as though he is trying to memorize the slant of her jaw and the curl of her horns and the way her bangs frame her face. 

He looks at her like it’s the last time. And she wants so badly to tell him that of course it’s not, that it won’t be long at all, but truthfully she doesn’t know for sure. Instead she just tries to capture this moment in her mind’s eye so that she can draw the two of them later, exactly as they are right now.

“You should… you should get back to your party,” Caleb says. “People will wonder where you’ve gone.”

“Oh, hang on,” says Jester, and her eyes glow with magic. “Hey Beau, found Caleb, he’s not dead. We’re-down-by-the-docks.” She counts the words out on her fingers. “Back-to-the-par-ty-soon. Uhhh… your hair smelled nice, is that a new--”

“That’s twenty-five,” Caleb announces.

“Shit.”

Beau’s response comes back to her promptly. “Hey Jester! Okay good, I’m glad Caleb’s not dead. See you in a bit. ...wait, is there a thing I’m supposed to press to end--” and it cuts off.

“Did she mention the hair?” says Caleb.

“She didn’t mention the hair.”

“Probably for the best,” he quips. And just like that they’re back to an easy banter, the comfortable back-and-forth of old friends. Jester breathlessly catches him up on all of the preparations they’ve been making over the past few days, stocking the ship’s caches and repairing the sails and plotting sea routes. She has already bought a new pirate-y outfit, because what even is the point of sailing the high seas if you don’t look the part?

Caleb tells her about a spell idea he’s been working on recently, shows her the initial notes in his spellbook as she does her best to follow along. He shares with her an introductory transmutation lesson plan he’s hoping to have Luc test out while they’re all together, methodically walks her through the mix of practical drills and lecture. Caleb seems genuinely happy, and it makes her glad to see him thinking about the future.

But it’s getting late, and also cold. Not that the latter bothers Jester, but she can see Caleb starting to shiver, even in his wool-lined brown coat. She unbuttons the fuzzy purple shoulder cape she’d worn to the party and drapes it around his shoulders gently. “Danke,” he says.

"Are we out of time?" Jester wonders aloud, and they both know she’s not talking about the party anymore.

“For what it’s worth, I have thought a lot about time and regrets,” Caleb says. “Regrets can eat up your soul if you let them. But… I think you have some great adventures still ahead of you, and a sturdy heart in your chest. Time is whatever you make it.”

“I’m… I think I have to see where this goes,” says Jester. “With Fjord and all.”

“I suppose that’s as it should be, then,” Caleb replies. “I want you to be happy, Jester. Whether that is with Fjord or me or both or neither, the most important part is that you are happy.” He says it with such conviction that she almost believes him.

“And, you know, you get to be happy too,” Jester points out. “Like, things seem to be heating up between you and Essek, huh?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Caleb chuckles. “Essek is very clever and he certainly has done us a good turn, but I think he still has quite a long ways to go. Perhaps with time.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “what with my new appointment at the Soltryce Academy, I have a lot of work ahead of me as well, so I really will be plenty busy in the days to come. So long as you send me a message once in a while, I will know you haven’t entirely forgotten poor old Caleb Widogast.”

"Caleb, listen to me. I will cast Sending to you every day for the rest of our lives if I have to," says Jester intently, and she shoots him a look so he knows she means it. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

"Is that a threat, Lavorre?" says Caleb, raising an eyebrow.

She grins at him, her toothy smile full of mischief and mirth. "It's a promise."

[dizzydancingdreamer]

I Need You | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey lovelies! Here’s another Mikaelson Brother’s fic. This time it’s a firefighter AU. I don’t know why I was so inspired but oh well, here it is anyway. Please do ignore the blatant plot holes and dropped plot points. I wrote this purely for the fluff so the rest doesn’t matter too much! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Until next time, all my love!

Description: The brothers are firefighters and they come back to the station after a long day only to find an unconscious woman in their fire station. It turns out she’s their mate and she's seconds from death. From there it’s pure fluff/smut. Honestly the plot of this is weak, I just wanted something majorly fluffy.

Pairing: Female!Reader x The Mikaelson Boys

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ ONLY FIC!!! It’s not a full blown smut but it does get heated. It’s hella light smut. Honestly the warning should read something more like “inappropriate actions for on duty firefighters towards a civilian at the workplace”. Take into mind that I do not condone this behaviour outside of my fics but that they are soulmates and it’s all consensual! The other warning is angst. This is super graphic at the beginning but after that it gets better.  

Word count: 7.3k

Tags: Angst, smut, fluff

P.S. This is only in the boys’ perspectives for like five nanoseconds, after that it’s completely in the reader’s

Tag list: @activist-af​ @corishirogane3​

(Pictures not mine, mood board is!)

“Remind me, Elijah,” Klaus runs a hand through his hair, shaking some of the soot from his blonde hair, “why we decided to do this again?”

Elijah huffs indignantly, also shaking out his hair and shrugging the heavy coat off his shoulders. His hoodie underneath is soaked through with sweat and it follows the same path. Klaus already stands in just a t-shirt, the navy material glued to his skin. 

“Don’t you remember, brother?” Kol hops out of the truck from behind the wheel, his bare chest exposed, spare the straps keeping the bottom half of his turnout gear on, a cheerful grin on his lips, “He wanted us to give back to the community. I believe his exact words were firefighters or soldiers.”

It’s true, Elijah had wanted them to do something meaningful with their lives. Well, with a fraction of their lives. He wanted them to be a family again and what better way to do that than to take on a career built on teamwork. Honestly, he had expected them to last maybe six months before quitting but now they were three years deep and he couldn’t see them going anywhere for a while. Somehow station 32 in small town Virginia had become a home base for them.

Elijah leans against the brick of the old fire station, closing his eyes for a moment, “just be happy I didn’t suggest doing both.”

“What makes you think I would follow you to war,” Klaus laughs but it’s hollow, the strain of the day settling over his bones.

They haven’t had a day this strenuous in months, sixteen calls in one day and it’s only eight. Human or not, that’s a lot of heavy lifting. Klaus would do anything for some sleep. He sags against the wall next to his brother. Despite the sleep tugging at his body he can’t seem to relax. Something is keeping his spine rigid, something he can’t quite place his mind on. Oh well. 

Elijah chuckles, his eyes still shut, “you followed me here didn’t you? Face it, you needed this as much as I did.”

Klaus doesn’t speak, he just hums his agreement, something entirely unlike him but brought on from the exhaustion. His shoulders remain tight, his muscles stiff. The air feels like it's buzzing lightly, charged with something he doesn’t have enough energy to think about.

Kol laughs through his own fatigue, stretching his arms behind him, ignoring the way his bones click slightly, “I, for one, need a shower. I smell like flames and I hate it. I suggest you two do the same,” he turns from his slumped brothers, “I can smell you from here.”

Elijah pulls himself from the wall, rolling his shoulders and peeling his eyes open, “come on, Niklaus, you can take a nap for a few hours. I doubt the rest of the night will be eventful, half the town should be asleep by now.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The two brothers catch up with Kol easily, grabbing their discarded gear on the way and heading towards the locker room. Kol is the first to step through the door, adamant on jumping in the shower before his brothers take all the hot water like they usually do, when he stops suddenly, all of his senses on high alert. Something is wrong, terribly so. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, catching the faintest hint of sweetness, like vanilla and oranges, mingled with something sharper. Something too familiar. 

“Kol, what are you-” Elijah doesn’t get to finish his thought.

“Blood,” Klaus pushes past both of them, his eyebrows furrowed, “I smell blood. Someone’s here.”

Kol nods and steps further into the room, directly followed by Klaus and Elijah. As they push forward, towards the showers, the scent of fresh blood intensifies. So does the vanilla citrus perfume, magnifying and tangling around each brother. The room is electrified because of it, drawing them quicker to the heart of the locker room. The distinct sound of three heartbeats fills the room, each one louder than the last. Thump, thump, thump. 

When they turn the corner they freeze, each heart skipping a beat in the same moment. There, in the middle of the showers, is an unconscious woman. A naked, unconscious woman slumped over in a pool of her own blood. Her body is battered, more blue and black than any other color. Who knew a vampire's blood could turn as cold as theirs is right now?

“Fuck,” Kol’s voice is the first to break the tension, dropping to his knees with a dull thud, his heart strings snapping violently in his chest, “fuck!”

Klaus is in front of her in a flash, his teeth ripping into his wrist without a second thought. Kol turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. There’s no way he can watch this. The sweet smell wraps around him, taunting him almost. The overwhelming sense of loss wraps around him like a noose, his throat closing harshly. Why now, why like this?

“Is that,” Elijah, too, sinks to the ground, his hands splayed against the concrete, his eyes glued to the horrific sight in front of him, “is that who I think it is?”

His muscles tighten, an indescribable pain rippling through his entire body. He feels like he’s drowning. No, like he’s burning alive. Fuck, it feels like both at the same time. He wants to scream but no sounds are surfacing. This can’t be happening!

Kol’s voice is sharp and cracked, too many emotions to decipher leaking into his words, “yeah, it’s her. It’s our mate.”

Klaus presses his bleeding wrist to her mouth hard, tears streaming freely down his face. He couldn’t care less about how he looks, not right now. Not when it feels like someone is ripping his heart straight from his chest. 

“Come on, love. Wake up. I need you! Wake up!”

                         *          *          *           *          *          *

“Wake up. I need you! Wake up!” 

You tear your eyes open suddenly, bright lights flooding your senses. You gasp as you regain consciousness, something that you realize too late is a mistake. Your mouth is filled with a thick, hot substance, one much too metallic and familiar for your liking, that you inhale by accident. It fills your lungs quickly, your chest burning, and you roll over, hacking up mouthfuls of the disgusting fluid. It feels like your entire body is engulfed in flames. Like you’re dying twice. 

The concrete is freezing against your fiery arms and, when it finally blurs into focus, you realize it’s also covered in a deep red liquid. You run your tongue over your mouth, the tang making your eyes widen. Your heart stutters as you finally come to an understanding. Blood. The floor is covered in blood. Your blood. This time you vomit, and almost scream when you see it matches the liquid around you.

“Shit,” a voice sounds from behind you as a pair of hands slides over your back, startling you further into the sticky redness, “holy shit you’re awake. Oh thank god!”

You flinch away from the hands, turning too quickly to face whoever it is behind you. Mistake number two. The walls start spinning around you and you have to grasp the wet stone beneath you and close your eyes for a moment. When you finally open them again you’re met with a pair of warm, brown eyes. Your heart stutters again, but you don’t have time to wonder why you don’t feel as afraid this time.

“Who are you? What the hell is going on?” you run your eyes over him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “I don’t- where am I?”

Each of your senses are on high alert, your heart beating so loud you’re afraid it’s going to jump out of your chest, as you allow yourself to finally take in your surroundings. You're in a shower room of sorts, with rows of lockers on your one side and the tiled rows of shower stalls on the other. The smell of fresh blood hits you full force and you almost vomit again. You suck in a deep breath, ignoring the burning in your lungs as you try to force the feeling away. Your eyes catch some writing on the wall; Station 32. You look back to the man in front of you, zeroing in on his navy t-shirt with the same logo. 

What the hell are you doing at a fire station? 

He shifts closer to you and you stiffen. A pained expression laces across his face and your chest stings, worse than it did when you were coughing up the blood. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again there’s a sheen of tears. You swallow thickly, your own tears forming at the sight of his. What on earth is happening?

He sits back on his knees and runs a red hand through his blonde hair, maring the light strands with blood. You tense further at the sight. For some reason you want to stop him from spreading more of the blood over him. He’s already kneeling in a puddle of it, and his arms are soaked, painted in a cruel crimson. Even his t-shirt is drenched.  You grind your teeth together, your jaw clenching harshly. He places both his hands on the floor and takes another few inches towards you.

His movements are slow as if not to startle you, “hey, it’s alright. You’re safe now. I’m Klaus, I’m a firefighter here. You’re at station 32, Lexington, Virginia.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, making what you can only assume is a strong british accent even stronger. Your heart tugs harshly when he speaks, begging you to move closer to him. You wrap your arms around yourself, ignoring the increasingly sticky feeling over your entire body. You can’t stop a few tears from slipping down your cheeks.

“How did I get here?” 

A new voice, one just as accented and gravelly, pulls your attention from Klaus, “we aren’t sure, darling. We just got back ourselves. Gave us quite a shock, actually. How much do you remember?”

Your eyes wander around the blonde and land on two more men, two brunettes. You lock eyes with each of them, your heat racing once more. You suck in a breath at the wave of emotions that hit you. Sadness, confusion, longing, comfort. Love. It all hits you at once and you have to close your eyes before the room starts spinning again. When you open them again, they’re closer. Far enough to keep you from tensing, settled next to Klaus. 

You tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very exposed. One of the men, the one with dark brown hair cut close to his head and concerned brown eyes, notices and wastes no time pulling the t-shirt from his chest and settling it on your knees. It’s warm and a touch damp but you don’t mind, gratefully shuffling it over your head and passing him a grateful nod. It lands mid thigh, circling you in a heady wood scent. Your cheeks flame as you try not to lean down and smell it directly. When you look back at him his eyes are glinting.

“I’m not sure,” you press your palms against your eyes and immediately regret it, the stickiness now smeared on your cheeks and eyelids, “I don’t remember much. Only bits and pieces from this morning but nothing after that. Wait, is that normal? God, why can’t I remember anything!”

All of a sudden you’re panicking and the room begins shrinking, at least it feels like it is. You can’t breathe, your lungs constricting painfully. There isn’t enough oxygen in the room. Was there ever enough? You’re racking your mind for any little thing that you can remember but it’s pointless, you’re going too fast and your mind can’t make sense of anything you’re seeing. You see a sink, one covered in blood. You see teeth. No, you see fangs. You smell the forest, one heavy with pine trees. None of it makes sense!

You claw maniacally at your chest, trying to suck in enough air to clear the fog in your head. Nothing is helping, your body is on fire and sticky and you just want to scream until it all makes sense. The shirt feels three sizes too small and you want to tear it over your head. Just before you can, though,  you’re pulled onto someone's lap, someone who smells like pure water, and you can finally suck in a proper breath. The flames that were lapping your skin slowly start to fade, giving over to a cool sensation that soothes your achy bones. 

“Deep breaths, love,” Klaus’ voice washes over you like a lullaby, his hands rubbing down your back, “that’s good, just like that. We’re going to figure this out but for now you just have to breathe. You’re safe now, I promise you that. We can start with an easy one, what’s your name?”

You sink into his chest more easily than you would like to admit. His arms circle you tighter, his head resting on yours in an entirely unprofessional way but you don’t care. You’ve never felt this kind of need before. You’re afraid that if you leave his arms now then the flames will come back.

“Y/n,” you murmur into his shoulder, “my name is y/n.” 

A pair of hands rub over your shoulders, drawing you into them slightly on instinct, “darling, I know you’re scared but we need to see if you’re seriously hurt. We found you in a lot of blood,” whoever is speaking his voice is rough and he has to stop to clear his throat, muttering a curse under his breath, “do you think you can let us check you over?”

When he brings up the blood, it’s all you can smell again, and you scramble from Klaus’ arms, narrowly making it before you’re vomiting again. This time you don’t puke up any blood, thank god. Just bile, which isn’t much better. The metallic scent is all around you and it’s all you can do to hang your head and suck in as much air as possible. You feel so dizzy it physically hurts.

“Shit, Elijah we gotta get this cleaned up. It’s only making it worse. C’mere love,” you’re pulled into the warm chest of a man you’ve yet to interact with.

You lock eyes with the last man, losing your breath at his honey brown eyes. He smiles softly and you feel your cheeks go hot. You bring your hands to your lips quickly, all too aware of how close you are to this man and the fact that you were just throwing up and are soaked through with blood. You blink back a few tears, embarrassment streaming through you. You glance down at his chest which is now covered in your blood. The man furrows his brows, shaking his head lightly. You can almost hear his thoughts; don’t worry. 

Elijah, the man who gave you his shirt, nods at Klaus, standing quickly, “you two take her to the captain’s bathroom, it’s nicer anyway and more private. I’m not expecting anyone else tonight but I’d rather them not see her like this,” he turns, locking eyes with you, his rough tone softening drastically, “baby, are you okay if they help you clean this blood off? They’re not going to hurt you, we just need to get you cleaned up and warm to make sure you don’t go back into shock.”

The word baby rings through your head, hitting you directly in the chest. Tendrils of warmth unfurl through your body and you find yourself nodding to everything he says. Elijah sags, relief taking over his body. It doesn’t last long though, the tension filling his frame as he looks back around the room.

“Kol,” the man under you tenses, “take her upstairs now. Niklaus, do you mind helping me with this? It’s-” Elijah looks at you again for a moment before he has to look away, “It’s going to take two people.”

Klaus stares at you longingly, the pained look back in his eyes. It makes you want to pull him into your arms, blood or no blood, and hold him. You tense at the thought. Where did that come from?

He looks at you a moment longer before crawling over to and running one of his stained hands over your cheek. He leans down and kisses the top of your head, rubbing his cheek against your matted hair. Sparks dance down your spine at the simple touch, lighting your body like a christmas tree. Too many emotions surface again, confusion and longing being the top contenders. 

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can, love,” he whispers to you before standing himself and addressing Elijah, “yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Elijah nods at Klaus, his shoulders sagging slightly, probably out of relief again. Looking around one last time it’s obvious the job is going to take some major man-power. Thankfully the blood is contained mostly to the showers, but even so it’s coating almost every surface from there on. Looking at it makes you chest heavy again but before you can lose it Kol stands, pulling you up with him. 

He holds you easily, bringing you level with Klaus and Elijah. Elijah strides over to you, taking your face in his hands. Your heart pounds mercilessly at his touch. It takes all your willpower not to jump into his arms and curl around his bare chest. You try not to stare at his taut muscles. Now is definitely not the time to let lust join the myriad of emotions  running through you. Even as you force your eyes away, though, your body ignites and you have to stop yourself from clenching your thighs around Kol. Fucking hell, what is going on?

Kol’s arms tense suddenly and when you peak back at him, his eyes are shades darker. You swallow thickly, trying not to think too much about the heated look in his eyes. Or how much you don’t want him to stop looking at you like that. You peer back at Elijah, who holds a similar expression. You have to suck in a breath, the room temperature instantly raising ten degrees. 

Elijah leans his forehead against yours, his thumbs grazing your cheekbones gently, “Kol’s going to take you upstairs now, okay baby? He’ll take care of you, help you wash some of this off. You’re in control here, alright? No one else is going to hurt you.”

You nod lightly, your forehead rubbing against his, “okay, Eli.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and presses a hard kiss to your head before releasing you. Kol shuffles you further up his body, drawing your attention to him. He grins at you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Before you can process what you’re doing, you’re cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and so warm. He sighs quietly, sinking his cheek into your touch, his eyes losing some of the tension.

“Let’s go get cleaned up, darling.” 

You lower your hand, choosing now to wrap your arms around his shoulders instead. His muscles under your fingertips are glorious, warm and firm. When you rest your face against his shoulder, you breathe in the faintest hints of nutmeg and flames. It’s absolutely intoxicating. His shoulder is hot against your cheek and you finally give into your cravings to curl your body around his, wrapping your legs tightly around his torso and clinging to him for dear life. He holds you against him with everything he has, taking the steps two at a time. 

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes until you feel him enter a separate room, one much smaller than the locker room you were previously in. You’re greeted with a spectacular sight; a spacious bathroom with a wall of showerheads and the biggest clawfoot tub you’ve ever seen. You almost jump from his arms at how badly you want to get in it.

He sets you down on a vast countertop, the cool marble biting into your bottom. You shiver lightly, a warm blush spreading down your neck and chest. He places his arms on either side of you, staring at you with a mixture of tenderness and caution. You have to will yourself to keep looking into his eyes and not at the way his arms flex from how he’s leaning. God, where did all these wanton feelings come from?

“Okay, darling, where are we going from here? What do you need me to do?” his accent is fuller due to the acoustics in the bathroom and you nearly keel over from how hard it slams through your body, tugging at every nerve south of your belly button.

“Um,” you clear your throat lightly, swallowing the sudden scratchiness, “do you think there’s a toothbrush anywhere around here?”

Kol grins knowingly, leaning down and opening a drawer next to your thigh. The heat rolling off his body rushes into your legs and when he resurfaces with a new toothbrush and a cheeky smile you’re practically panting.

“Thanks.”

You brush your teeth quickly, making sure to scrub the remnants of the past thirty minutes or so from your mouth. It instantly makes you feel a little better, knowing you can speak to Kol without your breath being a biohazard. You set the toothbrush down, looking back to him appreciatively. 

Kol cups your chin gently, spreading heat like butter through your bones,“Do you think you can stand? If you can, I can wait outside while you get cleaned up. You can take as much time as you need, darling. I’ll be right outside the door.”

Your heart pounds quickly at his suggestion, your throat closing painfully. You don’t want him to leave you alone, even if he is just outside the door. You don’t know how to ask him to stay, though, and you don’t want to cross any boundaries. You’re so damn conflicted that your chest aches.

“Okay.”

He nods, his eyes a touch less bright than they were a few moments ago, and he backs away hesitantly. You use all your energy to push yourself off the counter, using it to keep yourself upright when your feet touch the floor. Your legs feel like jelly and you wonder for a moment if you have any bones. You shake your head lightly, scolding yourself. Don’t be stupid, y/n, of course you have bones. However, when you go to take a step towards the bathtub you almost revoke the sentiment. Your legs crumple around you, bringing you to a pile on the floor. 

“Fuck,” Kol is next to you in no time at all, his hands rushing over your legs, most likely checking for damage, “I knew that was going to happen I don’t know why I let you do that, darling. I was trying to give you space. Are you okay? Elijah and Klaus are going to kill me.”

He mutters the last part under his breath but you still catch it, “it’s not your fault, I was trying not to bother you. I thought I could make it to the tub, at least, and then figure the rest out from there. I, uh,” you scrub your hands over your face, covering your eyes with your palms, “I didn’t want to be a burden, more than I already am I mean.”

A few more tears slip past your guard, tracking lines through the dried blood on your cheeks. You swallow a sob before it can make any noise, your shoulders shaking slightly from the cold tiles underneath you. You’re utterly exhausted. You wish you could just click your heels and go home. The only problem is that something tells you that you’d only end up here again if you could do that.

“No,” Kol’s voice is low and strained, “no, darling, don’t say that. This isn’t your fault,” he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his hot, nutmeg chest, “you’re not a burden to me. Or Elijah or Klaus. You’re a surprise and not an unwelcome one. If you need me to stay, hell, if you want me to stay I will. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, okay?”

You peer up at him, clinging to his toned chest like you’re afraid it’ll vanish from underneath you, “please get this blood off of me, Kol. I can’t do it, I can’t even hold myself up. I need you.”

His eyes darken again, the honeyed brown turning a darker chocolate color, “you have me, darling, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he leans down and brushes his nose against yours, “never ever.”

A tiny giggle bubbles in your chest and it feels like freedom. It feels like falling asleep on the beach and hiking through the mountains and every good thing you’ve ever experienced. Kol’s eyes light up and he bites back a grin before doing it again, pulling a flood of giggles from you. Soon you're throwing your arms around him, laughing your head off for no reason at all, him joining you in the madness. You can’t stop and you don’t want to. You need this, you need him. It frightens you how intensely you feel connected to him already but you push the fear away for the time being. 

“Okay, okay,” Kol scoops you against him and stands, “enough of that, love, time for a bath.”

That effectively puts an end to your giggling, your body igniting at the thought of taking a bath with this second coming of adonis. You swallow the lump in your throat, this time caused by the rippling of his taut muscles against you. The t-shirt you’re wearing feels see through suddenly, the thin layer between your core and his stomach doing little to quell the heat seeping from the crack between your thighs. 

You dig your fingers into his shoulders a little harder than you mean to, pulling a soft grunt from him, one that you can feel in your own chest, “bath. Okay.”

Your cheeks flame at your idiotic response. Bath. Okay. What the hell was that?

He walks to the tub and sets you gently on the floor of it, the porcelain ice against your flesh. He turns, his back facing you as he pulls his suspenders off. You admire the fluid movement of his muscles as he steps out of his stained turnout gear, leaving him in a pair of grey sweatpants. His back is toned like a greek god’s and you would like nothing more in this moment than to know what it feels like to dig your nails into it. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to air the wanton out of your system. Don’t be a hussy, y/n. He turns back to you and your face flushes when he catches your lingering stare.

He hooks his fingers in his sweatpants and your breath catches in your throat. He lifts his eyebrow, silently asking if it’s okay for him to continue. Your mouth feels dry, your head is spinning. Slowly you nod, your eyes glued to his. He smirks lighty, an action so doused in sex that almost has you pulling Elijah’s t-shirt from your body and falling at his feet. You hold your breath as he pulls the sweatpants from his body and your heart almost falls out of your chest when they reveal a pair of grey plaid boxers. What were you expecting? Your subconscious taunts you mercilessly.

He steps into the bathtub behind you, kneeling and grabbing the showerhead on the way down. The heat rolling off of him seems to have increased, wrapping around you and daring you to melt into him. You want to, so badly you do, but you remain upright, your hands on the side of the tub, leaving rusty smudges on the crisp, white edges. 

Kol leans forward, his mouth right next to your ear sending shivers straight to your core when he speaks, “darling, I’m going to need to take this off,” his fingers tease the tops of your thighs, curling around the hem of the t-shirt, “may I do that?” 

He presses his face against your neck, laying a few soft kisses to the skin under your jaw. You roll your head back onto his shoulder, savouring his affection and warmth for a moment without overthinking it. 

You nod against his skin, “yes, Kol.”

You can feel the breath he takes against your back and then, when he releases it, against your neck. He takes his time, his fingers gently skimming your sides as he gathers the fabric up and over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, gasping gently as cool air rolls over your exposed breasts. He tosses Elijah’s t-shirt to the side, running his hands down your back and planting another kiss to your uncovered shoulder. 

You know you should feel ashamed for being this naked with a man you just met but you physically can’t bring yourself to feel any of it. All you know is that you’re comfortable and that his hands on your skin feel like genuine magic. 

“Okay, I’m going to turn the water on now,” he rubs his nose down the back of your neck, “let me know if it’s too hot or anything.”

Your eyes prickle at how sweet he is, how gentle he is with you. He definitely doesn’t look like the gentle type, all tall, dark, and broody, but the way he’s acting proves otherwise. You nod your head, leaning your chin on the edge of the tub. He starts the water, a plume of steam instantly clouding the bathroom. The first stream to hit you is heavenly and you can’t help but close your eyes.

“Is that okay, darling?” 

You hum quietly, “it’s perfect.”

You let the water lull you into a daze, picturing the stream turning red as the water rolls off you and down the drain. It’s mesmerizing, the warmth of the water combined with Kol’s heady scent. When he touches you, though, it’s like a crescendo of feeling. His fingers run over your back, no doubt washing away the events of this evening, but all you can think about is how perfect his hands feel against your bare skin. 

Everywhere he touches blazes to life. You feel like putty in his hands, willing to mold however he needs you to. When his fingers glide down your sides your body reacts without warning, your back arching against his chest. You can feel his chest rumble under your back more than you can hear it. His large hands span your back easily, spreading over your ribcage, his thumbs gently grazing your breasts. You suck in a harsh breath, clenching your teeth to keep his name in your mouth. It’s begging to be said though. Said, screamed, praised. Anything. Fuck it.

“Kol,” you breathe, reaching back to grasp at his forearms for stability, “more.”

The growl that rips from his chest is unexpected but it lights every fibre of your being alive. He pulls you hard against his solid chest, falling against the back of the tub and shifting you so you’re perfectly centered on his lap. A flare of pleasure flashes up your spine when you land on something hot and hard. You hiss at the thin layer of clothing between you and Kol.

His lips find your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and sending even more heat pooling in your core, “as you wish, darling.”

Your hands fall away as his hands cover your breasts, his thumbs skillfully sliding over your hard nipples. This time you don’t whisper his name, you moan it. Loudly. Every time he rolls your nipples between his fingers, you see stars. You see the whole damn galaxy. His lips find your shoulder, biting down gently but hard enough to pull a string of incoherent praise from your lips. 

His chest rumbles with every noise you make and the ball of heat between your legs grows brighter. You rock your hips against his, trying to build some much needed friction. The noise you pull from him is the epitome of heaven and it hits you right in the chest. It compels you to keep grinding your core against him harder, taking every sound he offers up and matching it with one of your own. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, rolling your head onto his shoulder as the anticipation sings through your body. 

Your senses are flooded, your hearing muffled by the running water and your blood pumping through your ears, which is probably why you don’t hear the door open and someone step into the bathroom. It’s only when a pair of lips attaches to the base of your neck do you peel your eyes open. You meet Klaus’ stare with a gasp, just as Kol pinches your nipples harder than all the times before. 

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, tearing through your nerves without warning and rendering you to pieces. All the while Klaus takes your arm, placing tantalizing, open mouth kisses down your skin. When you finally come down from the climax, your muscles are layered with a sweet exhaustion. Kol nuzzles against your back, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Fuck, darling,” he nips at your shoulder and your skin zings lightly, “you have no idea how much I needed that.”

Your eyes meet Klaus’ and your cheeks flame from the intensity of his stare, “I didn’t do anything, you did it all.”

You want to look away from Klaus, you want to feel some inkling of shame, but you can’t. All you want is to do is hook your arm around his neck and bring him closer to you. Your body craves his and it’s all you can do to not melt into his palm when he cups your cheek. 

“That’s the point, love,” Klaus runs his thumb over your skin, “he just wanted to touch you.”

Kol hums his agreement into your flesh, his lips still glued to you. 

“Do you want to touch me?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, your eyes widening as soon as you register what you just said.

In less than a second, the brown eyes staring into your turn a dark coal color. The skin around Klaus’ eyes turns a deep purple. Your breath hitches at this side of him, a deep longing settling in your chest the longer you stare into his eyes. He's ethereal and entirely unhuman but you can’t even think about that. You want him so bad it stings. He has to shut his eyes for a few moments and when he opens them again his eyes are back to normal, if not a touch darker. 

When he speaks his voice is gravelly, “I need to.” 

You swallow hard, forcing the words out before you have time to lose your nerve, “come here then.”

Klaus’ eyes widen before he stands abruptly, shoving his own jogging pants down his legs before stepping into the other side of the tub. Kol lets you go as Klaus settles against the porcelain. As soon as he’s comfortable he wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you onto his lap and against his chest. Your legs end up on either side of him, much like how you were with Kol, your core pressed against the hardest part of him.

His crisp scent folds around you and sucks you deeper against him until your chest to chest, your breasts pressing into his firm chest. His arms settle around your back, his palms splayed over your spine. Your flesh buzzes from the contact, goosebumps rising when he traces lazy circles with his fingertips. You meet his eyes again and involuntarily clench your thighs around his hips. He’s looking at you like you’re the only girl he’s ever laid eyes on. Like he’s in the presence of a goddess and that he would gladly lay his life down for you. 

Your eyes draw down to the tattoo on his chest, an image of birds in flight, and you run your fingers over it gently. He sucks in a breath when you touch him, closing his eyes and leaning back against the edge of the tub. Something about his reaction spurs you on. If that’s what your fingers can do, what can your mouth do? You lean down, gently attaching your lips to his collarbone and tugging his skin into your mouth.

He jolts up when you bite down lightly, jostling you further onto his lap and sending waves of heat rolling over your body, “fuck,” his hand wraps around the back of your neck, pushing you impossibly closer to him, “love, you have no idea how good that feels.”

You pull back slightly, your mouth still against his skin as your eyes bore into his, “show me.”

His chest rumbles under your lips before he pulls your head back gently and slams his lips against your throat. He sucks your skin into his mouth and, for the second time tonight, you see stars. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, lacing your fingers through his blonde hair. You tug him closer to you, crossing your ankles behind his back. You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours. 

He bites down, his teeth scraping pleasure into every nerve, and you pull at his soft hair, praises falling mindlessly from your lips, “Klaus.”

A second pair of hands glides over your back, “darling, let me wash your hair. I can feel Elijah getting restless. Unless you want three men in this tub with you, I need to finish getting you cleaned up.”

Your heart pounds at the thought of Elijah in the bath with you, his large body pressed against yours. You can practically smell his pine scent in the air, clinging to your skin. You bite your lip. You want to moan his name and he isn’t even in the room. You shake the thought from your mind, leaning into Kol’s hands.

Klaus kisses up your neck, peppering your jaw and cheeks with pecks before pulling you to lay against his chest. You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion that’s been building flood your system. Kol soaks your hair, the warm water pouring down your shoulders as you press your face into Klaus’ neck. His hands draw lazily up and down your sides as Kol massages shampoo against your scalp. You mewl at his touch and cling to Klaus. You could stay in the moment forever, it’s absolutely blissful.

Just as Kol is rinsing the shampoo from your hair, the door to the bathroom opens revealing a shirtless Elijah. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. In his hand is a large towel. His eyes zero in on you from across the room and, though you can’t see them clearly, you can tell they’re dark. Your head goes fuzzy as your eyes draw down his sculpted chest, lingering on his rippled stomach. You meet his eyes again and give into your instincts, reaching your arms out for him.

“Eli,” you call out to him, “I need you.”

You stand on wobbly feet, bearing everything to him. You don’t care, you just want to be in his arms. You haven’t had a chance to touch him yet and your body is screaming at you to get as close to him as humanly possible. Even more than humanly possible. Elijah closes the space between the two of you in seconds, wrapping the towel around you before pulling you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms circling his neck. 

He leans down, rubbing his nose against yours, “I need you too, baby.” 

You slip your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands mindlessly. He leans into your touch and your heart soars. He hikes you further up your body, leaning his face against your shoulder. You run your hands over his shoulders, sighing when the tension leaves his muscles. 

“I’m going to go sleep for a few hours,” Elijah mumbles into your shoulder but his words aren’t aimed at you, “do you think the two of you will be okay until then.”

Klaus waves his hand dismissively and Kol nods, still draped lazily over the edge of the tub, “yeah, yeah, go, we’ll be fine brother.”

Wait, what? 

Did you hear that right? Brother. Your entire body sets on fire. They’re all related. Well, there’s the shame you were missing at least. You push against Elijah’s chest, forcing him to meet your eyes. When he sees your expression his brows pull together, his brown eyes filled with concern.

“Baby-” 

“You’re all brothers?” you breathe, your face burning, “brothers? What on earth is going on?”

He stares into your eyes for a moment before laughing, turning with you in his arms and starting towards the door. You lock eyes with Klaus and Kol over Elijah’s shoulder. They, too, are laughing without a care. Kol tosses you a wink just as Elijah carries you into the hallway.

You circle your arms around his shoulders again, “Lijah this is crazy. Explain. Please.”

He pulls you through another door, exposing you to a comfortable looking bed. Just looking at it sends sleep pooling in your limbs. He sets you in the middle of it before climbing on after you. He pushes you backwards and you fall into a pile of pillows, the towel long forgotten as he crawls on top of you. Your body flares with something hot as he holds himself on his forearms, his hot chest grazing yours with every breath he takes. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to you despite your still unanswered questions.

“Lijah,” you whine as his lips find your neck, arching into his touch like two magnets connecting, “I need answers.”

Elijah’s teeth scrape at your neck, pulling soft moans from your lips. You’re so tired but the want that swirls in your core demands anything but sleep. You grip his shoulders, digging your fingers into his firm muscles. You pull his hips closer to yours, rolling against him desperately. You press your head into the pillows, exposing as much of your neck as you can to him.

He pulls away and you have to swallow your protests. When you finally open your eyes, you’re met with the same dark eyes you saw from Klaus, only now they’re accented by a pair of sharp looking fangs. You suck in a deep breath, reaching up to cup Elijah’s jaw. 

“I know, baby,” he rubs his face into your hand, “I’ll give you all the answers you need and more but first I need you. I have waited a thousand years for you and now that I have you I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go yet. Please, baby, let me have you.”

His words wrap around you, every part of your being, and sink into your core. A wave of longing hits you again, and something else that you’re not ready to explore. It makes your heart warm and your body crave every inch of his. You already knew your answer before he asked. You’ve known since you woke up to the three of them.

Maybe you even knew before that.

You pull his face to yours, capturing his lips with your own, “you already have me. I’m yours.”

[cha-lyn]

A Series of Break Ins

bucky x black female reader

Summary: Someone breaks into your apartment

Warnings: break ins, lil bit of violence, wounds + blood

Words: 1617

A/N: Inspiration from @write-it-motherfuckers ( prompt is in bold somewhere below) :) some wonderful stuff on that blog

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January.

You lived in an old building in a shitty part of town. The loft kind that was once an office or a factory or something. Lots of windows. Terrible heat bill in the winter. You heard gunshots and fighting frequently. It wasn’t your dream home. No, your windows faced a manufacturing building with no windows. From your fire escape, if you stretched really far, you could cross the alley and touch the building. You only did that once though because the fire escape was rickety and not very safe.

That particular night, you were coming home from a mediocre date with a guy named Marcus. Usually you’d take a cab home, but your budget was tight this month. So you weaved through the alleys, the cold and the dark making you more jumpy than usual. You just wanna be home, with your warm fuzzy socks on and a glass of wine.

Your anxiety settles once you make it into your building. You take the steps two a time to your third floor studio. You open your door, shutting it quickly and leaning back against it.

That’s when the hairs on your arm stand up. Your eyes shoot open and your breath catches. Your kitchen light is on. You know it was not on when you left earlier. In your kitchen sits your first aid kit dumped out on the table.

You grab the baseball bat you keep next to the door and check every crevice of your home. Nothing.

You return to the kitchen, hesitantly. Next to the first aid kit is a napkin with a note: Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll replace everything I used. Thanks. - BB

You just looked at the note and blinked. Who the fuck had been in your apartment?!

The next day there’s a package outside your door containing the promised replacements from the stranger. There’s another note: Sorry again. -BB

You’re not quite sure what to do. Call the police? And say what- someone broke in, left no trace and then replaced what they stole? They would think you’re crazy.

February.

After the break in you upped your security. You got a deadbolt, a door chain, and a magnetic sensor on your front door that rang and alerted your phone when set off.

You felt pretty good about your upgrade… until it happened again. You’d come home late from drinks with a friend unlocked the door, then the deadbolt.

The light in your kitchen was on again. You grabbed your bat immediately, ready to swing on whoever was dumb enought to break into your house yet again.

“Whoa, whoa ma’am. Please don’t--” but you did. Whack him that is. Three times. And then a black gloved hand stopped your swings dead and blue eyes lock with yours.

“Holy fucking shit. B. B! It was you. Fucking Bucky Barnes broke into my house!”

He nods and watches your face as it goes from rage to confusion and then back to rage. You let go of the bat and he puts it behind him. “Look, I am really sorry. I know this is probably terrifying--”

“Yeah ‘cause I thought you were a god damn serial killer--not an Avenger!” You plop down onto a kitchen chair.

Bucky stared at you amused. “This is not how I thought this would go…”

“Don’t you have some Avenger place you can go and get fixed up? Instead of breaking into civilian households?” you sigh irritatedly.

“No. For one I’m not an Avenger…. And uh, two… I got hurt doing something not necessarily sanctioned by the government.” Bucky looked up at the ceiling bashfully.

“My god, you’re doing vigilante shit,” you breathed out a laugh.

Bucky shrugged, “You could call it that.” He wrung his gloved hands together. “I should go… I’ll send you replacements for the stuff I used. ”

“Or you could just not break into my house.” Bucky chuckled, before climbing out the window. “You could use the door!’

The man has the audacity to laugh as he closes your window, “Thanks again, doll.”

You let out a groan, wondering why on earth he chose your apartment and why on earth you weren’t more pissed off about it.

March

You’re dead asleep when you hear a thud on the fire escape outside your window. Your heart thuds like a bass drum as scenarios of you being murdered flash through your head. A stabbing. A shooting. God, please not a strangling. Then there’s a persistent tapping. You pretend to still be asleep, holding your breath and not moving.

“I know you're awake. I need to .. uh utilize your first aid kit again. Please, doll.”

Relief hits you like a wave and you flick the light on and get out of bed. You open the window and Sergeant Barnes slips through the space, holding his flesh arm, but not really effectively stopping the blood.

The two of you stand there for a second, until you remember that you don’t sleep with pants on and awkwardly move around him to find a pair of shorts. You find him sitting at your kitchen table again, waiting for you to get the first aid kit, like he doesn’t have a goddamn metal arm on him.

“For fuck’s sake…” You pull it out from under the sink and set it in front of him with a thud. Bucky smirks sheepishly. “Did you get shot again?” you ask after a while. He nods once as he gets to work. “Aren’t you like... super?” He nods. “Won't it heal super fast?” He nodded once again. “So what’s the point of the first aid kit?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he sighs irritatedly.

You narrow your eyes, “Oh dear, am I inconveniencing you?”

He stops and looks up at you through his dark lashes. “Sorry. I’m being rude. What's your name anyway?”

You roll your eyes, but you tell him.

He cleans after himself and then stands. “Thank you again. Y/n.”

You ignore the lil shiver you get when he says your name, “Is this gonna be a regular thing Sargeant?”

Bucky flashed you a charming smile, “Do you want it to be, doll?”

You cross your arms and set you glare, “You have five seconds before I get my bat.”

Bucky let out a very boyish laugh before dramatically making his exit via the window again.

Over the next few days, you consider getting locks for the windows, but for some reason you just don’t.

Two weeks later, you open your door, arms full of groceries, and find Bucky sitting on the floor of your kitchen once more, first aid kit open in front of him. You’re not even surprised really.

“Ah, Hello again. We really need to stop meeting like this.”

You scoff, “Maybe we would, if you would sTOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!!” You toss your purse on the couch.

Bucky laughs and the winces and groans. It’s then that you realize he’s very pale in the face and his flesh hand isn’t gloved it’s just dark with blood.

You drop the groceries roughly on the table, “Shit Bucky. Are you-- You’re bleeding a lot!”

“I’m fine, doll.”

“I don’t think you are….” You panic, reaching for your phone, but remembering it’s deep in your purse across the room.

“You gotta-- you’re gonna have to sew it up, okay?”

“Let me just call an ambulance,” you get up to get your phone, but he grabs your wrist firmly.

“No. You can do this Y/n. I’ll walk you through it.” Something in his blue eyes assures you. You nod and Bucky has you cut his shirt off before he leads you through the cleaning of his wound. Your face felt hot at the sight of his beautiful broad chest, despite the mess around you. Bucky guided you, wincing and jaw ticking as you closed up his wound. By the end, your hands are red and sticky and you’re quite nauseous, but you didn’t care. The color was already back in his face and the sparkle back in his blue eyes. “You did good, doll.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” you say breathily. Bucky smiled fondly at you. You get up, wash your hands thoroughly and gently help Bucky up and to your couch. “You want something to eat? Let me get you some water.” You don’t wait for an answer before going to the kitchen. You bring him a bottle of water, a beer, and left over orange chicken from last night’s dinner- he inhaled all three while you cleaned and sanitized your kitchen floor.

“I should head out,” he stood up stiffly, favoring his wounded side. “I’m sorry about all this…” he gestured towards his wound and then to your kitchen. “It won't happen again. I’ll get my own first aid kit.”

You shrug, “You basically bought mine with as much as you use it.” You stick your hand out. “Phone.” Bucky eyes you warily before obeying. “How about next time you need to use my first aid kit, you just call first?”

Bucky smiles a lopsided, goofy smile, as you put your number in. “I think I can do that.”

Three days later, Bucky calls you around 7pm. Thirty minutes later there’s a knock at your door - not your window.

“What’s bleeding now--”

Instead of beat up and bleeding, Bucky stands before you in a black button up with a bouquet of flowers and a bag of take out. “Hey doll. I wanted to really apologize for everything and try to make it up to you,” he gives you a sheepish grin.

You can’t contain your own smile. “Well, orange chicken and flowers are a good start. Come in.”

----

Everything Tag List

@thefridgeismybestie

@basically-introverted

[furblrwurblr]

Moppet!Douxie x GN!Reader, Soulmate AU | Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Fire/Explosion, lots of crying, self esteem issues, misunderstandings cause a lot of emotional turmoil

Note: This is my first fic! I know fics have it worse than art, but if you'd consider leaving tips in the comments, I'd be super grateful! Thanks for taking a look!

It was springtime in Camelot, near the turn of the season. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and you... were late. As a magic user, your life was in constant jeopardy regardless of your employment as the Crowmaster, Crowlord Corbin’s apprentice, penning and sending letters for the kingdom. And in this kingdom, tardiness was not appreciated. Racing through the castle halls with the king’s letters in hand, you noticed movement on your forearms.

“I wonder what color their eyes are. I bet they’re lovely.”

Your lips curled in a tender smile at the curling words that appeared on your skin. Similar musings crossed your soulmate’s mind daily, not leaving your body free of the enigmatic “ink” for years.

No one, not even the renowned Merlin Ambrosius, knew the precise nature of the words that would mark people’s skin, only that they were your soulmate’s thoughts about you. Soulmates were a fickle thing, their connections varying with different cultural beliefs and changing as countries developed. In England, the written words made finding your soulmate a tad difficult as one couldn’t know if their other half was paying any mind when they tried to share personal details. It was said that once you know them wholly, you’re complete in all things. Whatever that means.

You’d once been impatient to meet your own, to know what it means to be complete, but after years of black markings coming and going, covering your body in kind words of admiration, you deemed them worth the wait.

You were shocked from your reverie in a flutter of parchment. You’d bumped into someone, the king’s letters falling to the ground right into… was that slorr juice? You didn’t even apologize to the raven-haired young man whose spell material you’d just gotten all over the floor. You were far too panicked.  Knowing your animal magic was of no help here, you scrambled to salvage what you could.

Hisirdoux was in trouble. Merlin would have his head when he told him he lost the slorr juice to another bout of soulmate pondering, and have it again when he discovered that said juice is the reason the king didn’t receive his news regarding the upcoming royal summit. Douxie leaned forward to help but instead opted to frantically search his brace for anything that could help the poor apprentice in front of him.

When he’d finally found the rune, the Crowmaster had just finished shaking off what liquid they could from the sensitive documents. He quickly dried them hoping to save the ink on them as best he could, long fingers flitting over each. In a hurried frenzy of apologies and farewells, the hallway was emptied.

Merlin was less than pleased, and frankly, a little concerned. Douxie usually gets so cautious after a mistake that even Merlin feels his stress, but this was the third time this week. Why was he so focused on his soulmate? After a right scolding, Douxie retired to his room to study. Merlin nearly did a double-take at what was written on his young apprentice’s neck.

“He was quite kind.”

So they’d met. Did his soulmate know? Did Douxie know?

Over the next few weeks, you two kept running into one another. A passing here, an acknowledgment there. After about a month you’d come to look forward to seeing the boy trip over himself en route to Merlin’s study. You helped him carry supplies when the Crowlord was away and talked when he dropped off Merlin’s letters to the court magicians across England. For some reason, you found yourself hanging on his every word and smiling whenever you caught a glimpse of his adorable manbun weaving through the streets.

He felt the same. It was never enough to speak to you in passing and he even left long conversations with you feeling wanting. He doesn’t quite remember how he started, but it’d become a habit to watch you work through the large western tower window. He’d admire your tenderness with the crows and was warmed by your bond with your hawk familiar. 

As you left the tower to retire for the night, he always thought you might be cold, but never gathered the courage to walk you to your chambers.

Douxie was concerned. The day was halfway through, winter clouds covering the high sun, and you were nowhere to be seen. He’d watched you enter the western tower at dawn and the candlelight hadn’t been extinguished once. He was principally done with Merlin’s tasks for the day, perhaps he could pop his head in? “just for a minute,” he decided. 

He exited his chambers (Merlin’s storage closet) and rapped a knuckle on his master’s desk, pulling his attention from some blueprints. Merlin didn’t speak, just gave an expectant look.

Douxie ran a near-trembling hand through his tied black hair before cautiously speaking up. “Master, may I have the rest of the day off?”

“Whatever brought this on? After the way you’ve been acting these past months?”

Douxie averted his gaze, suddenly finding his shoes far more interesting. “I’d… I’d like to see someone today.”

After a beat, the master wizard quickly scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy.

“Finish these and I’ll consider your time served for the day,” Merlin sighed.

Douxie had been sure he would shut down. He quickly snatched the list and ran to the door, uttering a rushed ‘thank you master’ before it shut behind him. Merlin watched him leave, fondness in his eyes.

The sun was just dipping past the high kingdom walls, turning the town a vibrant orange. Douxie hung the herbs he’d just gathered, heaving a sigh of great relief when the last one was in place. He raced across the west side, eager to visit his… friend? Is that who you were to him? He banished the thought as he came upon the west tower, dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Citizens, a lot of them, stood in a line from the tower out down the hallway. 

“What’s going on?” he asked a young woman.

“I’m here with my children, the Crowmaster is penning wishlists for Saint Nick. Just a shilling each!” 

Douxie nodded and thanked her, then made his way to the tower. He gently pushed past the mob gathered in the doorway, stammering apologies. At last, he reached the Crowlord’s desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen and you were alone, writing away at the whim of an excited child. He caught a glimpse of your face, you looked tired. Had you really been doing this all day?

Exhausted wasn’t a big enough word to describe how you felt. The only thing keeping you going was reading the various forms of concern written on your skin. By now, you knew you’d met them, but you couldn’t place who it could be. However, thinking was only making you more fatigued as your aching wrist swept across the parchment.

Douxie said nothing, just pulled out the Crowlord’s chair, and sat down. You looked at him, eyes wide, but the only explanation offered was a kind smile. He picked up a quill and called out for the next person to step forward. You turned back to the young girl asking for a sword, your smile wide and heart swelling.

By the time you two finished, the sun was half past the horizon. The last patron left the tower and you both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I can’t than-” 

“Um, do you think-” 

You looked at one another and laughed, waiting for the other to speak. Douxie hesitated, then took a deep breath. 

“Uhm, do you think you’ve some time? I’d like to show you something,” he asked, lifting his eyes to your face.

“Sure,” you replied, smiling and holding out your elbow.

He beamed, quickly grabbing two pieces of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. You raised a brow but let him be as he threaded your arm through his and started walking.

The young wizard’s apprentice couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was far too nervous. Thankfully, you found the silence comfortable as he led you up a winding staircase at the corner of the castle. Once you both reached the top, he gestured to the sea. It was breathtaking. The salty breeze floated through your hair as you admired the sun’s glow over the water and the colors of twilight.

Douxie broke the quiet. “I thought you’d like this. Hmm, it isn’t enough light to write by though.” He waved his hand, sending blue wisps to swirl around you both. You watched them float about, eyes finally landing on Douxie who was making himself comfortable in a crenel, placing the supplies he’d brought with him on the merlon in front of him. You settled across from him, reaching for the quill.

His slender hand caught yours and laid in on the stone, gently massaging your wrist. “You’ll injure yourself at this rate. Let someone else write for you today.” His gaze caught yours, hazel eyes full of concern, and… something else you couldn’t place.

A gentle smile spread across your face as you reveled in the sun on your skin and the breeze on your lips. Douxie shuffled his papers around and spoke up again a moment later.

“So! What’s your wish?” Douxie asked, smiling wide.

“What?” you said, puzzled.

Douxie rose a brow, pointing out “All today, has anyone penned you a wishlist?”

“I suppose not,” you said, the smile settling back onto your face.

He beamed and set the quill to the parchment again. “Fantastic. Not that I think it’s fantastic no one’s offered, I’m just glad I get to- oh, I never even asked. I should have asked first, I’m so sorry-,” His shoulders tensed, but he stopped abruptly when he felt your hand on his.

“Hisirdoux, thank you. I’d love it if you did, there’s no need to worry.”

You started telling him things you wanted for Christmas and conversation flowed from there. Teasing banter and loud laughter filled the sky as it turned to night, blue magic floating around you both excitedly in time with your synchronized heartbeats as he finally walked you to your chambers, even offering you his hood. What could he do? He thought you looked cold.

It was just past noon on Christmas day. The ground sparkled a bright white and children’s laughter rang through the air. You took a deep breath of the crisp air and let it out in a contented sigh, taking a sip of the warm cider your master bought you before he left to celebrate with his family. He invited you to join them, but you opted to celebrate it yourself. You placed the cider on the table next to the window you were sitting in and picked up the small wood block you were fashioning into a present for Douxie. The small wooden cat-dragon only needed his hind leg to be freed from its timber prison. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s the thought that counts. As you worked, sentences curled up your arms and swirling letters kissed the base of your fingers. You paused your whittling with a frown. The only feeling behind this gift was love. You’d accepted you loved Douxie after that night bathed in twilight and lonely smiles, but you felt so incredibly twisted about it. You’d already met your soulmate and they thought about you often. Did your soulmate also worry they’d fallen in love with the wrong person? You shook your head, clearing your mind at the sound of wingbeats. Your hawk familiar landed on your raised knee and began to preen themself, looking at you smugly through pristine feathers.

“I can feel you overthinking things from across the castle,” they spoke, masking concern under teasing.

You scoffed, knowing they were right. “What am I meant to do? I can’t go on like this when I’ve got a soulmate out there. I can’t even try, it’s against the law! They know we’re bonded, what if they see me with him? I don’t want to hurt them like that. Not to mention, what if he’s not perfect for me? I want the soulbond to experience all of another person, but should I give that up for love?”

Your familiar shook their head and flew away, leaving you with your question hanging in the air. Watching them leave, you noticed someone walking towards the slorr’s stable. The manbun was too recognizable for there to be a shred of doubt: Douxie was being put to work on Christmas Day. You turned the wooden Archie in your hand and pushed off the windowsill. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you can’t stay friends.

Douxie was in flux. Archie saw the boy’s neutral expression turn sour as he read what he could of his soulmate’s thoughts. They loved someone else? Would they give him up for someone they’d already met? He couldn’t exactly criticize, he was in the same boat. Y/N was so important to him, but if he found his soulmate, could he quell the confusing little thing they had together for someone he barely knew? He decided he’d understand if his soulmate didn’t love him, he’d want them to do the same. He loved Y/N too much to let them go.

He looked up from his arm and startled. You were waiting for him, leaning against the slorr’s gate, your hawk familiar preening themself. While you laughed at his absentmindedness, he frantically rolled his ¾ sleeves down over the words that betrayed his true heart. 

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you- um, aren’t you meant to be celebrating?” Douxie stammered out as his heart rate slowed. 

You pushed off the gate and grabbed the pail he was holding in his hands that were still light with adrenaline. “I am! I opted not to celebrate with Master Corbin and his family, take the day for myself and see where it leads,” you said, a hopeful grin rising to your lips.

Douxie broke into a giddy smile, his heart afloat. They had all of Christmas to enjoy the town and they were here with him? He couldn’t believe his fortune. “Then I’m glad it led you here!” he exclaimed. 

Archie curled himself around your leg, butting his dark head into your calf. “Are you here to enjoy the show?” he asked with a purr. 

Your laugh was the only thing keeping Douxie from strangling his bespectacled familiar, so he settled for a pout you internally cooed at. 

Both of you paused in front of the gate, reluctant to enter. He swung it open with a bow. “Ladies first.”

“Cheeky,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Archie and your familiar started playing with one another as you two prepared to take on the slorr together.

Hm. This was a mess. The slorr seemed to enjoy the happy atmosphere you’d both created so she was a tad more cooperative, but it took longer for her to calm down. You and Douxie were covered head to toe in the glowing blue liquid, trying to remove what you could into the pail Merlin gave him. Your shared laughter slowed to silence as you noticed him staring at you, eyes slowly roving over your face. Did he look… sad? No, that wasn’t it. Before you could scrutinize him further, you felt it. Gentle fingers caressing your cheek, going up, up… Your breath hitched as he laid his palm to your cheek, thumb slowly moving across your face. You let out a shaky breath and he jolted, noticing your wide eyes fixed on his and quickly withdrawing his hand.

He shook some juice from his hand and gesticulated wildly, stammering through an apology. “You- you had some juice on your cheek, I’m so sorry, Merlin’s tower, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“It’s okay, really. Thanks for getting it for me,” you interrupted. You wanted to say more, but his sleeve had risen in his fervor, swirling lines reminding you he wasn’t yours to comfort. Hisirdoux was such an emotional and empathetic being, he wouldn’t leave his soulmate. Especially since his soulmate would have to be an absolute saint, it’s no less than he deserved. Taking a deep breath in, you looked back at him. “Don’t bite your lips, you’ll chap them. Was that your last task for the day?”

Douxie released his lip, fighting the urge to continue chewing it. “It was, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to use the rest of the afternoon,” he said, watching as his familiar and yours playfully wrestled for a mouse.

Your heart leaped, this was your chance! “How would you like to spend it together? There are tons of things to do in town and I’ve saved up my pay for a while so I’ve some wiggle room. Not to mention, I’ve made you something.”

The nervous cloud around you both dissolved as Douxie eagerly agreed and begged you to reveal what you had for him. You denied him with a laugh, smile widening with his every impatient groan. Your familiars ran ahead of you both, swirling in a frenzy of playful fighting and laughter as you walked out of the castle, arm-in-arm.

The town was a sight to behold. Holly curled around door frames, red berries nestled among twisted wreaths. Mistletoe hung from building corners, tracks disrupted the perfect layers of fresh snow, and children weaved and ducked through throngs of people gathered around street musicians. Snowballs were flying at the end of every street, laughter and song floating in the air with the excited chatter of families buying wares for their families, and lines of crushed berries stained the ground. It was an English tradition to wish to meet your soulmate sooner by spreading holly berries in a line on Christmas as a nod to the Chinese legends of the soulstring, a red string that connected soulmates there. Sure, it made a mess of your shoes but you always found it cute.

The first few minutes were unsure, both of you fishing for ideas on what to do first. Archie and your familiar were already deep in conversation, but you and Douxie were struggling. That is, until, the smell of sweet buns reached him. His stomach let out a mighty grumble, a testament to how he’d been working for longer than you and likely hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He covered his pale face with his free hand, too embarrassed to bear seeing you fight a rising smile. You slid your hand down his forearm and grasped his cold fingers, pulling him towards the source of the heavenly aroma. A fiery blush rose to his ears when he registered your fingers lacing with his while you waited in line. Reaching the front, Douxie’s protests fell on deaf ears as you swatted his hands away, insisting you’d pay. The baker gave a soft smile and handed you two of the high coveted baked goods, bidding you both a happy Christmas. Just two apprentices walking hand in hand, browsing stalls, eating together, and enjoying one another's company.

Douxie heard something on the wind and perked up. Lively music came from the town square and Douxie wasn’t about to miss the chance to dance with you. He pulled you from the daggers you were eyeing, making a note of which you lingered on before pulling you close and weaving through the other partygoers. Soon enough, you made it to the musicians, seeing the space before them where a group was dispersing as the song ended. The vocalist started up again, solo for a few lines until the band swelled. Douxie bounced on his heels, recognizing the tune as The Bear and the Maiden Fair. His excitement sent a wave of courage through him and he slipped his fingers from yours, instead grabbing you by the wrist to drag you to the open space.  Others joined, forming a circle. Claps and stomps interrupted the smooth movement of the ring. Laughter mixed with the joyful notes of the flute. Hisirdoux couldn’t stop looking at your joined hands, sometimes lifting his gaze to your eyes closed in a laugh. When the vocalist reached the line “lifted her high into the air”, Douxie broke his hand away from the person opposite you, lifted you by the waist, and spun. Your clothes fluttered and for a moment, you were weightless. Douxie’s laughter rang in your ears, lingering just like the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. His hands were warm and firm on your midsection, the heat replaced with a chill as he set you down. You absently continued the dance, happiness clouding the passage of time. Douxie kept your hand in his, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. You looked at each other, breathless smiles lingering on your faces as the song changed once more. You both walked on, catching your breath and coming down from the high.

A few hours later, you’d both had more interaction with each other than you’d had with anyone else all year. It was a welcome break from the same hallways, the same people, and the same routines. You’d bought each other dinner, talked about everything under the sun, and danced through seemingly all of Camelot, only separating for maybe an hour to buy gifts that may or may not have been for one another.

The day was coming to a close, the sun once again a deep vermillion, the snow reflecting it like gems. As you were heading back to the castle, you passed a holly berry stall. Douxie saw you looking at it, sobered by the reminder you were both promised to complete strangers. Just today, he’d fallen so much more in love with you than he thought possible, and if you wanted your soulmate, who was he to deny you? He tugged on your arm, wordlessly offering a pound to the vendor. The woman raised a brow at your intertwined fingers but offered the small basket of berries without a question. You looked at him quizzically when he drew his hand from yours, pouring a good amount into his hand and giving you the remainder. Enjoying the bittersweet silence, you two took turns placing the berries in a line. Archie swatted your familiar’s eager beak from the line of red that was stark against the slow-melting snow. Once you’d finished, Douxie sent you a sad smile and asked if you’d like to exchange gifts in his chambers. You agreed, once again arm-in-arm, streets quiet except for the soft crunching of snow beneath your heavy feet and the pound of heavy hearts.

Hisirdoux lit all his candles as the sun peeked just over the horizon. Archie made himself comfortable on his wizard’s pillow, curling around a tired hawk familiar. Your own wizard associate preened themselves while you and Doux sat on the bed, eventually opting to preen Archie when they were satisfied. Archie let out a yelp when she preened the edge of his ear, earning a look from you. Douxie pulled out a handful of items from his satchel with a flourish and showed you all the things he’d found one by one. Polish for Lancelot’s sword, a garlic braid for one of Galahad’s more ambitious brews, cooked salmon for Archie, and other things spread out in front of him.

He gave a nervous smile. “Close your eyes,” he breathed.

You smiled as your eyes slid shut. His slim, cold fingers touched your hand, causing goosebumps to rise on your arm as he pressed something small into your palm.

“And… open!” He slid his hands from yours and into his lap, an expectant look on his long face. Looking down, you gasped. There laid a ring that looked to be made of vines, weaving around each other and wrapping around the base of a tiny white flower.

“I found a curltrap in the forest on my last herb run and thought you might like it, so I made it into a ring. It won’t wilt. Um… do you? Like it, I mean,” he asked, brows pinching.

You slipped it on and looked at him in awe. Leaning forward, you softly put your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Douxie, it’s beautiful. No one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift, thank you for making it.” He laid his hands on your back and laid his face in the crook of your neck to return the gesture, hand trailing after when you pulled away.

“Your turn!” You reached into your bag and paused. “Close your eyes.”

Douxie pouted but held his hand out after doing as he was told. He felt something hard and contoured, slowly curling his long fingers around it. He opened his eyes and stared at it in awe. It was wood whittled in Archie’s likeness, complete with small green gems for eyes and tiny glasses frames made of wire. His wings were unfurled, his posture inquisitive. Archie looked at it, speechless.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I played it safe. When I told the carpenter it was for you he offered to inlay the gems for free. You’re more appreciated than you think!” you exclaimed with a smile. He whispered a “thank you” as he turned it over in his hands, admiring the details. In all honesty, he’d already committed every dip and groove to memory, he was just replaying your words in his mind. “You’re more appreciated than you think!” He never thought about the impact he had on others, he was too busy being concerned with Merlin’s opinion of him. That’d be something he’d have to work on if it made you smile like that.

The rest of the evening flew by, laughter and the sound of a lute seeping through Douxie’s chamber door and into Merlin’s study. By now you’d fallen asleep on his bed having drifted off while Douxie softly sang a folk lullaby you’d requested. He lifted the blanket over you and laid down, the blanket layered between you two. He stared at you while you slept, soaking you in. The shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Your chest rising and falling in tandem with his. The black lines swirling to your collarbone- wait. Douxie watched as a thought appeared on your skin, hidden under your shirt. Archie moved in circles at the foot of the bed and stopped abruptly feeling Douxie’s sudden fear. He was so tempted to look but he couldn’t risk you hating him… it’s just to see what they think of you. To see if they deserve you. Yeah, that was a viable excuse. Archie hissed quietly at his friend, watching Douxie’s trembling fingers gingerly expose the skin towards your shoulder. He looked at the two words, puzzled. “They’re breathtaking.” Did they see you in the square? Had it been when you’d separated? Douxie was torn from his own thoughts when you made a noise, your brow furrowing for a moment and relaxing. His hand still had your collarbone exposed, and he watched in equal parts elation and horror as his own thought scrawled itself onto your skin.

“I don’t know if I can let you go.”

His blood ran cold, breath hitching and mind flailing. 

You were his. You were fated to be his. But you loved someone else.

Spring had returned to Camelot, plants thriving in the sun’s warmth. The flowers were happy, fluttering in the sea breeze. You furrowed your brow when your heart clenched at the thought of such beautiful blossoms mocking you. A shadow passed over your face as you looked to the flower that still curled itself around your finger. It’d been three months since the best Christmas you’d ever had, but the memory was now stained. Douxie and you still talked, but for some reason, he made excuses to avoid you and felt distant when you were able to cajole him into a short walk. At first, it seemed like he was busy with the amulet, but then he was absent even when Merlin said he was stuck and didn’t require his apprentice’s help. You were disappointed and confused, feeling hurt every time he blew you off with some excuse of running errands for Merlin.

Hisirdoux wasn’t feeling any better. He missed you greatly and seeing what you thought of his excuses only deepened his guilt. But wasn’t this what you wanted? Why would you be so disappointed he wouldn’t spend as much time with you if you loved someone else? He chalked it up to the soulmate bond, ignoring Archie’s concern and attempts at advice. His eyes were sunken in and puffy, due in part to crying himself to sleep watching your pain at his sudden distance write itself on his skin. He’d go to bed with swirling lines of magical ink torturing his dreams and awake a blank slate, ready for it to start all over again. 

Archie couldn’t take this. For the past week, he’d been pushing his magic through their psychic bond, pouring parts of a sleep spell into his charge, but that would only work for so long. Douxie was destroying himself from the inside out, all because he couldn’t be selfish for once and speak up. The shifter waited for Douxie to leave for the day, telling him he’d find him at noon. Archie stayed in front of the door until the young man’s voice faded. He sighed, whispering an apology. Douxie wouldn’t want anyone to know, but the boy needed an intervention.

“Merlin? We need to talk.”

Merlin had noticed Douxie’s exhaustion and had purposefully lightened his load, but the boy kept working regardless. Merlin thought less work could allow him to spend more time with the Crowmaster (who at this point couldn’t be anyone BUT Douxie’s soulmate considering how quickly they bonded and how much time they spent together), but he’d come back to his study to see the books sorted a different way every week, the suits of armor impossibly polished, and the herb rack overflowing with all kinds of magical flora. As Archie relayed the events of the past few months, Merlin felt his chest constrict tighter and tighter. His heart bled for the boy, growing angry at just how oblivious you both were. And then, an idea. Not one of his best or subtlest, but it’d get the job done fast and serve as a bit of punishment for confusing his apprentice’s heart.

It was that time of year again. The yearly royal summit had you and the Crowlord running circles around one another, both of you rapidly penning and sending letters and the occasional need to coerce the grumpiest crow, Corvus, to carry just one more letter for the day. Between your familiar’s regular several-day flights to Spain, your scurrying around the castle, and the magic you were giving the crows for some extra juice, you were exhausted. Your eyes were sunken, you weren’t sleeping properly, and you missed Douxie. You didn’t know why, but his absence made your heart hurt. Every time you collected letters from Merlin, your throat closed at seeing his apprentice’s chamber door. Catching a glimpse of him through doorways and windows made your mouth dry. Both Master Corbin and Galahad had noticed your change in attitude, asking you to rest and why Douxie wasn’t with you, confused why you were no longer attached by the hip. You were tired. Everything fell by the wayside as you rushed from official to official. The king himself was concerned for you. Well, as concerned as he was willing to be towards a mage. 

Finally, there was a lull. You were able to rest for a while but didn’t dare leave the tower, knowing something would pop up eventually. Sitting down for what felt like the first time in weeks, you let everything go. The “mother hen” of the tower crows, Corinth, coaxed it out of you bit by bit until the dam burst. She preened your scalp while you cried, hot tears rolling down your twisted features. The feeling was comforting, helping to ease your upset. Finally, you were able to speak. 

“...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?”  you whimpered, drawing your knees to your chest.

“Perhaps he’s blind,” she said sagely.

“He can see perfectly well,” you whispered with an insincere chuckle, still not trusting your ability to speak without breaking down again.

Her eyes glinted in the noontime sun. “Stupid, then.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling and forcing tears that were left on your lashes to fall. “Douxie may well be stupid, but he isn’t simple. It’s one of his many charms.” A soft smile lingered on your face, heart lighter than before. “Thank you Corinth, you listen well.”

She shook out her plumage and settled on your knees, cuddling into your bosom. You stroked her gently, the silence pushing in on your curled form.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Poor Hisirdoux was in flux again. He sat on his bed turning the wooden Archie over in his hands. Merlin had left not too long ago and given him the day. Douxie’s hands felt light without a task. Come to think of it, his head felt light too. He couldn’t sleep yet, but he desperately needed a pick-me-up. A sigh escaped him when he realized his basin was nearly empty. He’d wanted something to do so he might as well refill it. Upon picking up the basin he dropped it immediately, water splashing violently across the floor along with the clatter of wood on stone. Archie yowled, shifting into his dragon form. The boy’s eyes were wide in horror as he recalled his reflection in the water. You see, in England, not only are the words of a soulmate tie important, but their placing on the skin holds equal meaning. Douxie had only ever gotten them on his limbs and the base of his skull when he was younger, but ever since he met Y/N, they began showing on his torso and the left side of his chest. But this… this couldn’t mean anything good. Scrawled black lines, no longer smooth and flourished, curled around his throat. They began from seemingly nowhere and writhed downwards in a creeping spiral, the end reaching for his heart. 

“Arch!” he cried. “What’s happening? Why are they like this? What do they say? Arch, Arch, please I need to know what’s wrong!” Tears welled in his hazel eyes as he dragged his hands down his throat, futilely trying to smudge the twisted lines.

Archie felt his fear so strongly his back arched on its own accord, but he found his way to Douxie quickly. He scampered to the boy just as he fell to his knees, his mind nothing but questions. Archie shifted, paws pulling Douxie’s frantic hands into his lap as he curled his wings around the boy’s shoulders. He sniffed and shuddered to a halt, shaky breaths drawing in and out as he lifted his head for Archie to read the swirling text.

Archie’s reaction to your thoughts was well hidden. He knew you two loved each other, but this hurt him just as much as it did Douxie. “...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” The next bit made him breathe a laugh, but he realized that while it wouldn’t be easy to tell Douxie just how much you were both hurt by each other’s assumptions, it was just the proof he needed. Archie tugged the reluctant apprentice out into Merlin’s study.

Hisirdoux approached the mirror, looking back at Archie before he confronted the letters snaking down his collarbone. He twisted this way and that, heart falling to pieces over and over with every word.

He shifted his hood back into place, fluffing the collar to cast the letters in shadow. One look at Archie’s concerned face was all it took. He sank against the wall, gathering Archie into his arms and burying his face into his familiar’s side. Glistening tears wet Archie’s fur as the cat dragon purred loudly to offer comfort. 

Hisirdoux’s breathing evened out. “Arch, what have I done? What can I do?” he whispered, clutching the familiar ever closer.

Archie placed a large paw on the boy’s chest, near his heart. “You can go after them. Tell them what you know.” 

Douxie nodded after a beat and gathered himself, quickly walking out of Merlin’s tower and towards the western wing of the castle.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

The king and his court mages piled into a carriage in preparation for the trip to the port where they’d depart to Spain for the royal summit. Merlin and Morgana sat next to each other and shared a look when the carriage lurched forward. Of course Merlin enlisted Morgana’s help, she’s a trusted source of chaos. He felt for the Crowlord’s aura in the tower and nodded to her once he confirmed Corbin was away. While Arthur was distracted, they sent their magic out. Tendrils of light bobbed, weaved, and merged to form two fluorescent lime balls. They floated around as if to get their bearings, then flew at the west tower. Nestled just below the ridge leading from the doorway was a sack of Dworkstone, its contents belonging to various trolls imprisoned in the castle dungeons. One ball started to vibrate just before it pushed to the center of the sack, starting the movement needed for a mother of an explosion The other flattened into a shield, curling itself around the sack. And they waited.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

You were still curled on the floor, Corinth in your lap when the crows began to beat their wings against their cages. Corinth was panicked but managed to push what coherent thought she could into your mind.

“The door… danger... hurry…” She struggled, taking off out the window in a flutter of black. 

You felt the disturbance, dread rising in the pit of your stomach. Scrambling to your feet, you barely managed to stand before a loud boom shook the tower. The shield swelled, Trollfire stretching the ward into the room. Your frantic hands undid locks and bonds as quickly as they could, ushering the crows to safety through the large window. The ward began to thin, crackles of green sparks coming undone as the fire fought against Merlin’s magic. You barely managed to throw the last crow out the window before the ward burst into a violent, moving wall of green flames.

You were pushed into the far wall, falling and splitting your brow on the cobblestone. All you could hear was ringing as your vision went white, slowly fading back to normal. You were trapped under the desk and a few chairs, too weak to lift them off. The screech of a hawk sounded far off as your hearing faded in and out. Fire blazed all around you, easily spreading along the hay bedding in the open cages. You coughed, smoke already in the air. Wait. It shouldn’t be this low yet, it’s only been a few moments since the explosion. You quickly sobered into a panic when you realized the wood piled on top of you was burning. Great. Now you were scared and disoriented. A perfect mix for getting out of sticky situations. The only thing to do now was wait.

Douxie could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was on his way to tell you-- well, everything. You were his everything. He felt it before he heard it. The tingle of troll and human magic filled the air before a loud explosion shook the western tower. The western tower? Fuzzbuckets, you were on duty today! Crows flew from the open window, a whole murder blackening the sky for a few moments. They’d dispersed by the time he made it to the tower entrance. There was a small crowd a few paces back, Lancelot and another knight inspecting the swelling ward full of fire. Douxie pushed through the crowd just in time to see Lancelot raising his sword. 

“No! Everyone run!” he screamed. 

Lance was already going full swing when he heard it, looking back at Douxie in fear. Douxie grabbed the knight and made the best ward he could on short notice before the shield burst. They were all blasted backward, a few serfs’ tunics setting on fire. His dark hair was thoroughly windswept, his entire body frozen in shock on the ground. Lancelot might have been screaming, but Douxie couldn’t hear it. Blood dripped down his pale face, but Douxie couldn’t feel it. He could have been floating, his head was so light. Sure, his ears rang, his hands trembled, his chest heaved, but all he could feel was you. Your confusion, your panic. You were definitely inside. Douxie struggled to his feet and stumbled forward into the tower, ignoring Galahad’s voice yelling for him to stop.

If he wasn’t suffocating before, he sure was now. Douxie brought his hood to his mouth to filter some of the air and began searching for you. It wasn’t a very big room, but between the fire, smoke, and items strewn throughout, it was proving more difficult than he’d hoped. 

You let out a groan, the table pushing splinters into your leg.

He whipped his head towards the source of the sound, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. “Y/N?! Y/N, where are you?” he cried.

Weakly, you spoke through a great cough. “...Douxie? Is that you?” 

He hurried to the large pile of wood and began tearing it apart. “It’s me, it’s me, love. Please be alright, please, please, please, you can’t die. You’re not going to die, love.”

Hisirdoux heaved the table off you just as you slumped to the floor. He lifted you by the arms with a mighty roar, dragging you towards the open doorway. Galahad and the knight from earlier ran to catch you both as Douxie slipped into unconsciousness. 

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Two days. You hadn’t stirred for two days. The sun shone softly through the long linen curtains. Your familiar was perched on the headboard, asleep. Douxie was sat up by your bedside, bandaged hands gingerly holding one of yours while Archie slept on your legs. The boy had gotten burned pulling the debris off of you. He hadn’t left your side, save when the castle nurses forced him to eat, bathe, and sleep. They knew him well, uncoordinated as he was, and it broke their hearts to see him look so tired although the past couple of days were the most rested he’d ever been. He was scared. Everything had gone downhill when he found out you were soulmates and he blamed himself. 

“None of this would have happened if I’d just told you. You could have been away from the tower, safe with me. I was too afraid of losing you. All I knew was you loved someone else and I couldn’t let you guilt yourself into abandoning ‘him’ because we’re bonded. I was on my way to tell you, you know. I saw what you were thinking to Corinth and Archie convinced me to go after you. I-” his voice cracked, fresh tears coming to his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I have long before I knew about the bond. I hurt you. I hurt us both. If only I wasn’t such a coward…” He was weeping now, head hung low and shoulders shaking. “I love you so much, and I still let this happen,” he stammered between quiet sobs. He brought your hand to his forehead, cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you were.

He jumped when your hand slowly withdrew from his. His head snapped up, and there you were. Sun shining behind you like a halo, your eyes glinting in a tearful smile. You wiped the tears from his cheek, just like he’d done to you with the unruly slorr all those months ago, and let out a yelp of surprise. Douxie had thrown his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

“Doux! Your hair tickles,” you croaked, bringing your arms around him. He was crying again, just a little. His chest felt light. You were here. You were okay. Archie had woken when you jumped and was padding up to your face, pushing himself against your cheek. You sat up slowly when Douxie released you and patted the space next to you on the cot. He settled and looked up at you, eyes still sad.

“So, uh. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” You cupped his face. “Douxie. I didn’t fall in love with a coward. I fell in love with the bravest, most selfless wizard in Camelot. Not to mention his adorable manbun. I love you too, Hisirdoux Casperan. Soul bond or not, I want to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He brought his hand to yours, feeling the tiny curl trap blossom on the ring he made you. Gently, he took their hand in his, admiring the accessory. “Even after all I did, you kept it on.”

“And I don’t plan on ever taking it off,” you smiled. 

He slowly removed the ring, taking hold of your left hand. His eyes were hopeful and a little scared when he looked up at you, fingers pausing. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Promise?”

“With my whole heart, love.”

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss as he slipped the promise ring onto your finger.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Lance had lost his arm in the explosion but was rather excited about his new prosthetic. You two had healed as well, soon going back to work. Every time you passed one another, fingers brushed, kisses were stolen, and smiles were shared. The entire castle ended up hearing about how you two became so close, and soon enough, you were somewhat of a folk tale amongst the townsfolk. Now, every Christmas, soulmates exchange handmade gifts while sharing sweetbuns, now deemed a good omen for true love.

Even now, 900 years later, you’d hide your smiles as Arcadian couples surprised one another with things they’d made while ordering an eclair at Benoit’s. It’d been so long, but it seems some things stay the same, you and Hisirdoux included. Sure, you’d both grown in character, but around you, he was still the same lovesick fool he had been all those years ago. You still had your ring, which he’d embellished a bit on your wedding day. Douxie still thought about you as much as he did then. Today, while you were at your job at HexTech, you smiled adoringly at the words on your wrist.

“Your eyes are such a lovely color. Oh, how far we’ve come from clumsy accidents and runny ink. I love you, darling. More than you can ever know.”

[untaemedqueen]

Live, Laugh, Love (M)

Hoseok x Reader

WordCount: 10.9k

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Roomates to Lovers!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU

Warnings: Reader Has Shitty Boyfriend, Marking, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Secretive Pining,Big Dick!Hoseok, Hoseok Has A Huge Dick, Multiple Orgasms, Body Worship, Cream Pie, Unprotected Sex, Honestly Just Super Sensual And Lovey Dovey Sex

A/N: Gotta give a shoutout to my girls @rougebangtan​​ and @unoriginal-username15432​ for being so lovely reading and editing. I spent a lot of time on this fic and it means a lot to me so I hope you all really love it.

The sea is a miserable temptress. Water flows freely, crashing along the shoreline begging to enrapture you. To take you under the comfort of her salty tears, to bring you home where you feel the most comfortable. She is raw, potent energy waiting to be appeased by the gods. The way the rocks, dry greyscale stones, wait to be blessed by her presence. Wait to be licked with her furious energy, as they sit under the cloudy skies of silver brings a sense of calm. The sea was disastrous, much like you.

You lean back, hands perched behind you as you dig your fingers into the countless golden clusters of sand underneath. Your toes hoping for the same masked feeling as your head lolls back to look at the incoming rain clouds. In the distance, a flash of lightning, spearing brightly with flashes of orange and white; draws your attention and you can't help but appreciate the way the world works. If lightning were to strike down on the sand around you right now, it would turn to glass. Just a quick simple action could completely change up the form of the small, insignificant granules right by your side. A weak fragile granule could turn into something brilliant and hard like glass. Then, it comes to mind. You wish something would change up your form. For something to change up who you are from being insignificant to something hard and strong like glass.

It wasn't always like this. You once laughed and had a spitfire personality. You could joke and jeer with your friends, finding time to go out of your way to put a smile on someone's face because they deserved it. To do small things that would light up a person's heart because you wanted them to radiate a brilliantly happy energy. You almost can't remember what it feels like, to wake up and smile. To sit wordlessly with your friends as they joke and bask in the happy atmosphere. But now there was a hole in your heart, the size of a black hole and it eats at you constantly. Growing bigger in size and waiting to swallow you whole.

The color of the sea draws your attention as your head tilts back down to the vast horizon. With the clouds overhead, they cast dark shadows upon the water, turning the ocean that is usually a brilliant cerulean to a deep viridian. The smell of sea salt and the ocean breeze breech your senses, shrouding you in a false sense of cover. You lay down, letting the sand curve around your limbs, digging them deeper into the recesses of the beach shore. Thunder cracks, a few seconds later lightning lights up the sky signifying the incoming storm. A harsh breeze rolls over your body, waves crash against the shoreline until they crawl back into the ocean leaving nothing but foam behind. Your eyes close, ears waiting for another calming wave break. 

"There's a storm coming, you know." 

Your eyelids go from a light grey to black as something, or someone, covers your form. He found you, like always. It wasn't hard for him to always know where you would be. Your eyes open, head tilting towards the tall man that towers over you. He had on light blue jeans with rips at the knees, a white long shirt with graffiti scrawled over it and a white bucket hat. He crouches down, giving you a better look at his handsome face. As he tilts his head, his brown hair highlighted with pretty blonde streaks falls into his eyes. He smiles widely, lips forming an almost heart as his cheekbones bounce up pronouncing the apples of his cheeks. There he is, the forever best friend and forever roommate coming to your rescue. He sits down on the shore, dark brown eyes with hints of mocha look up at a bolt of lightning as it ricochets through the sky. His fingers dig into the sand before looking over at you.

"Let's go home, little one." You hear the softness in his voice, it’s a gentle hush, as if he was talking to a wounded animal. He holds his hands out, one caked in small flecks of the golden sand you lay upon before giving you a gentle smile. You take his hands with the roll of your eyes before looking back to the sky. The thunderous boom in the clouds shakes your heart as you stand, before your eyes catch the bright white lightning bolt headed your way.

Your apartment is warm as you exit your room, he must have turned up the heat. The hallway is dim, pictures of you and Hoseok line the walls from when you were children. Playing in the grass, catching frogs, eating ice cream. The pictures make you stop, your back leaning against the eggshell wall as you tilt your head. Your smile is so genuine, so happy. You both stand there, small in form with ice cream cones in hand. You can still remember the cool, sticky cream running down your knuckles like a phantom memory. Your smile is wide, eyes on Hoseok’s then chubby face as he licks his ice cream cone. You pull a smile, the corners of your lips quirking up before it falters. You feel no true sense of happiness as Hoseok’s bedroom door opens to the left of the picture gallery. He steps out of his room, brown hair sodden as he hangs his towel around his neck. His hands pull at the ends before looking up at your face. He watches you silently, taking in the misery that encumbers your being before sighing and leaning against the door frame.

“Break up with him.” He whispers, you turn your head to the noise. Face falling as you clear your throat. You watch as small droplets of water languidly fall from the ends of his hair to his bare chest. His golden skin glows in the yellow hallway lighting, and you break eye contact before hearing thunder boom throughout the house. He pushes off of the door frame before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you away from the pictures that once contained your happiness.

He grabs you by the arms before planting you down onto the beige couch his parents had gifted you both upon buying the apartment. He nods to himself before walking through the living room to the open kitchen and grabbing a mug. His hands work fast. Already knowing what you need before you know it. You put your ankles up on the coffee table, head tilting back to look up at the popcorn ceiling. You survey how uneven they are, every bump in the ceiling a different shape and size. There might be something symbolic about it but you can’t even begin to find the meaning as he holds the mug out in front of you. You grab it without a word, both hands cupping the white ceramic before smelling the notes of lingonberry and grapes. You hum to him, muttering a thank you before sipping on the white wine. He sits down next to you, arm wrapping around your shoulders before turning on the t.v.

This was now a daily occurrence. He would sit with you, watch you while you were in pain but never uttering a word. He once tried, tried to bring you to see reason but it ended up in a fight that broke the both of you. You didn’t talk for months after that. Avoiding each other and slamming doors noisily as if to tell the other person to fuck off. Mindlessly drifting off in your thoughts, your temple lands on his broad shoulder. You can smell his body wash, notes of vanilla and musky oak wood, a scent that is Hoseok in his entirety. He is warm like vanilla, the type of warm that coats your entire being, bathing it in comfort. He is solace, solace like an oak wood forest. He shades you from the sun, gives you cover from the rain. The eternal best friend. The ringing of your phone breaks you out of your reverie, the loud pitched ringer comes from inside your bedroom and you guzzle the alcohol before sighing.

“Gonna end up paying for another cab that he won’t get into?” You grimace at his words, eyes watching how the small amounts of alcohol slosh within the mug before finishing it off and setting it down on the table. You don’t get up from the couch, instead you stare at the television as a random cartoon plays. Watching the small characters jump off of park benches and turn into superheroes before flying off to save the day. Everyone was so brave, even cartoons and here you are. Miserable and too chicken to go answer the phone and tell him to fuck off. The phone silences before beginning to ring again and your lips press into a tight line. You close your eyes as his hand rubs comforting circles on your shoulder. 

He was probably drunk, out with his friends that you couldn't stand. Probably, no, most definitely calling you to get him a cab for him to go home either to you or to his own apartment. Although, according to your best friend he was no longer allowed to step foot into your shared apartment. And, if he did, Hoseok has stated that he will ‘end his entire existence.’ Calling cabs for your boyfriend is a waste of money and most times he doesn't get into the cab because he's too drunk to pay attention. 

“Stay with me. Let’s watch a movie.” Your best friend whispers, running his smooth thumb over the expanse of your arm before pulling back to look at you. His chocolate eyes are pleading, wanting to keep you away from your phone, keep you away from this person who has been in your life for two whole years already. “Please.”

The apartment goes quiet, maybe Allan had given up for the evening. Thunder booms again and you feel guilt beginning to encroach on your heart. If he was drunk, out with unsavory people in the pouring rain you should be there for him. You shake your head to Hoseok, who in turn frowns as you stand up. You can’t help the way that your feet move towards your bedroom knowingly you would be hurt in a few minutes. Because, you love- loved this person before and your heart feels as if you owe him. You feel indebted to him for so many reasons you couldn’t pinpoint a single one. “You don’t love him, Y/N.” You hear from the couch as you round the corner into the hallway. That may be true, you don’t love him anymore; but, you can’t just leave him on his own.

The bedsheets are cold as you slide underneath your comforter, goosebumps produce on your skin as you take a deep breath trying to calm your nerves. You sit up, legs folding as you rest yourself against the light grey headboard. Your phone sits on top of your black comforter, indenting the fabric and looking as if it weighs one hundred pounds. Your eyes drift across the room to the Live, Laugh, Love wooden plaque that has been stationed in the room since you moved in.

With one last kick you shove the box containing all of your favorite books into your new room. The room smells of paint, the scent wafting through your nose and making you light headed as you put your hands on your hips. Your tongue finds your bottom lip as you survey the all but empty room. Only your bed is stationed in the corner by the window, Hoseok so graciously helped put it together telling you to go get the rest of your things from the moving van downstairs. You look at the floor with a raised eyebrow. Your best friend is splayed out, breathing heavily as his bare upper body shines with hard working sweat. His hand pushes back his black hair before putting his hand over his heart. The way he moves has always been gracious, always enrapturing your sights. His closed eyes then opened, his irises were the color of mocha today with warm flecks of honey spread throughout them. Your heart warms, a wide smile graces your face as he sits up shaking his hair out of his eyes. He pats the spot on the wooden floor next to him and you graciously take it. His form turns towards you, crossing his legs as he puts his hands in your lap; you feel your cheeks heat up, a pink blush creeping onto your skin as you tilt your head at your forever best friend.

“I bought you a present that so perfectly represents you.” He tells you, his cheekbones jumping up as he reaches behind him to pull a cardboard box from underneath your bed. 

His hands shake with excitement, mocha eyes never leaving yours as you giggle. This is why you love him, he does things for you that you would never even think to do for yourself. He’s a heart shaking, love bubbling person that oozes this sort of sticky, sweet love that everyone becomes entranced in. He slides the box in front of you, moving himself back before nodding to it. “Open it.”

Gripping the large box, you note its heaviness. An ‘oof’ leaving your lips as you pick it up, Hoseok’s tongue rakes across his lips. His body warbles with excitement as you delicately lift the edges of the box wanting to preserve the wrapping. You take your time, gently peeling back the layer. He stops moving, mouth opening as if he’s seen a ghost before scoffing.

“It’s a box, just rip it.” He mutters, his face falling as you scour across at him. 

“I want to savor it.” Your voice comes out in a mumble as you run your thumb underneath the sealant letting the flap fly open slowly. His hand makes a fist before sliding it underneath his chin as he watches you bite your bottom lip concentrating on making sure the brown box is intact. He lets out a loud fake yawn before leaning back against your bare mattress and stretching out his legs so his feet touch your knees. You lay the box down on your lap before sliding your hand into the now open box mouth. Your fingers grip at something hard wrapped in bubble wrap before beginning to slide it out of the package. Now, you’ve got his attention. Hoseok’s body leans forward, eyes taking in your reaction as you slowly reveal the gift inside.

“Oh, my God.” He whispers before grabbing the back of the box and yanking it harshly. The bubble wrapped gift falls into your lap with a thud and you narrow your eyes at him as he begins to smile. You gently gasp, the heart shaped smile you’ve known your whole life feels so different in this apartment with just the two of you. It feels so intimate, so wholly Hoseok. Your neck heats up, your ears begin to feel hot no doubt turning pink. With a clearing of your throat you look down at the plaque of wood in your lap. The words are blurred by the clear wrapping and your heart lurches with excitement to read what is written underneath. You grip at the protective plastic before tearing it.

“That’s my girl.” You can’t help but snort at his comment, your body bows down before gripping the plastic with your teeth and yanking it open.

“So strong!” The jeer has your eyes rolling with a laugh before pulling out the wooden plank and opening your mouth. Your fingers dance over the engraved oak wood before looking up at him. He winks at you, folding his veiny arms with a smug face as you hug the plaque to your chest.

“Do you like it?” His smugness is over in a second, eyes widening with nervousness as he analyzes your face. Your nod is fervent before looking back down at the wood. ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ is burnt into the oak in scriptive writing. A shiny lacquer has been painted over top, the sheen reflecting in the sunlight that shines through the window on this summer's day. 

“I love it.” His smile says it all, a million watts and perfectly straight teeth greet you before leaning forward and kissing your forehead. An action that he has done his whole life suddenly makes you still. Your arms clutch at the wood before he stands up with a groan.

“I knew you would like it. It fits you perfectly.”

Your phone’s loud ringer breaks you out of your memory and you can’t help but sigh as your head lolls back. Here we go. You grab your phone, thumb shaking before answering the call. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him. Standing idly in the doorway, arms crossed with furrowed eyebrows and a callous expression.

“Hello?” Timid, your voice is small as you answer.

“B-Baby! What the fuck are you doing?!” Allan sounds happy today, a happy drunk Allan is better than an angry one. Your eyes flicker to your best friend as he rolls his eyes.

“Just at home. Relaxing.” There’s a hiccup and a loud burp before voracious laughter from many voices. You feel your cheeks heating up, the coolness of the back of your hand greets your cheeks as Hoseok enters your bedroom.

“Call me a ca-cab, baby. I can’t get home.” You pick at the skin of your lip before opening up the cab app on your phone. Your bed dips with the weight of your bed friend, he crawls underneath your comforter before pulling your body to his chest as the app loads.

“Where are you?” You try to make your voice sound sweet but your chest wracks with unease as if you could feel your boyfriend shrug.

“How the fuck should I know? Call me a cab.” Hoseok’s chin hooks over your head as he closes his eyes, you can feel the muscles of his jaw tensing as you clear your throat.

“You have to tell me where you are so I can call them there for you.” Your best friend’s fingers dig into your arm as he grits his teeth. 

“Fuck you.” The line goes dead and you drop the phone carelessly before wrapping your arms around his slim waist. His lips find your hair, brushing them gently as he waits for the next phone call you know you’re going to get. This best friend of yours, your forever friend holds you down to the Earth, like a heavy stone tied to your ankle. He keeps you grounded when you want to just fly away. “You don’t have to take this. You don’t have to kee-”

His voice is cut off by the sharp ringer, the loud noise pierces your ears and you close your eyes for just a moment before answering the call. “I’m at Glory Pa-Park. Get me a cab.” 

You open the app back up before putting in the information. “I’m going to call them.” You notify your drunk boyfriend, body sitting upright as you wait for his okay. Thumb hovering over the Order Cab button. There’s whispering, laughing, someone saying something about ‘Allan you could do better’ that has your eyes going glossy as you turn away from your best friend to lay your head on the pillow. Your body slinks down, phone just a few centimetres from your face before a tear streaks down your temple to soak your hairline. 

“B-Baby! I’ll call you back!” Allan’s voice is riddled with laughter before the line goes dead. You close your eyes, lips trembling as Hoseok grunts angrily. He reaches over your body, snatching the phone from your hands. You turn your body to retrieve it and your best friend throws it behind him.

“Your phone is off.” Anxiety bubbles in your chest, raring to break free as you scramble to retrieve your phone from behind his back. His skinny but strong arms grip at your body before pinning you to the mattress. Your head gets foggy, as your senses begin to dull. “Give it to me.”

“No.” His hands find your face, smushing your cheeks to look at him. Your chest begins to shake, lungs gripping for oxygen as you gasp for breath. Your chest constricts, tightening like a belt as you grip at his arms. “Hey!” 

His hands pull your face closer to his before looking into your eyes. The concern riddled throughout his chocolate eyes makes you whimper, a strangled sound echoing off of your vocal cords as he widens his eyes. “Relax. You’re with me. You’re safe.” He pulls you into his chest, his large hand rubs at your upper back with comforting circles. There’s the smell again, the vanilla notes with the accompaniment of oak that has your lungs releasing from the tight confines of your rib cage. The cotton of his shirt brings you back to reality as he moves his body on top of your phone, as if to shield it from the world. 

“Lay with me. Just lay.” His lips connect to your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. You lay like this for a while. The both of you say nothing but feeling the others heartbeat as you lay together. Your heart begins to slow, back to a regular rate that clears your mind. His lips never leave your skin as his eyes close. Time seems to flow slowly in this big bed. Your grip on him lessens, your body falling into a secure type of comfort. It isn’t until Hoseok pulls away from your forehead that your heart lurches deep in the recesses of your chest. His eyes look at the wooden plaque on the wall before putting his chin on the top of your head. You could feel the beginnings of scratchy stubble on your scalp as you bury your face deeper into his chest. “Just lay with me.”

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep, when the bright sun woke you up. The light shines in your lavender painted room, highlighting the uneven streaks that make you feel nostalgic. You can remember when you and Hoseok painted the room on a whim months before you had met Allan. When you still giggled and laughed. Running to Home Depot at 6 o’clock in the morning, running on no sleep and alcohol intoxication to pick up paint after playing one too many games of Go Fish, and betting on your best friend's room or your room to get slathered in paint. He had picked the lavender color, equating it to the way you smell and how pretty it is. You had gotten back, put on old clothes and slapped the paint on the wall and each other in a fit of alcoholic giggles that could only be described as rhapsody. He had painted a heart on the wall, ‘Hoseok Loves You’ that he quickly covered up as you noticed. You raised an eyebrow at him then, asking him what that meant only to be met with paint splattering on your clothes and the tarp he had laid out underfoot. There was a messy paint fight, laughter ricocheting off of the walls until both of your sides hurt before sitting down on the drop cloth and leaning against each other. 

You’re acutely aware of Hoseok’s sleeping body next to you. Your hand finds its way under your cheek as you turn to face him. His lips are parted, shallowly breathing as he clutches your phone to his chest. Your heart pangs, guiltiness washes over you like the tide. He was always by your side, always there for you and you’re letting him down. You’re making him take care of you and you know he always would. Because he's Hoseok. It was ingrained in his being, he was a loving, kind hearted boy that turned into a benevolent man. You grab your phone, sliding it delicately away from him in hopes to not wake him up. Successfully, you take the phone before gently lifting away from him and leaving the bedroom.

The beach was littered with people today. Children run around, screaming as the waves chase them out of shoreline. Foam licking at their small ankles as they cheer and giggle. You make your way to the small outcove that he and you had found when you first moved here. It smells of wet moss and sea spray, the dark stone that encases the place wet with humidity. Moss has begun to grow higher up the walls, almost smothering all of the stone’s color. 

You look towards the horizon, cerulean blue waters ebb and flow graciously as the sun shines down upon it, the sun’s bright rays making a line coming straight for you in this damp sea cave. It fills you with wonder, something so beautiful made on it’s own. A sigh is coaxed from your lips, legs tucking underneath you as you sit down on the cool stone floor. You turn your phone on, before looking back out to the water and watching as a perfectly picturesque sailboat passes. The sail, bright blue, billows in the wind, and your hands clutch together as your phone begins to endlessly vibrate. Small shells catch your eyes as they gleam in the sunlight below the lip of the alcove. Venus combs, Hoseok once equated them to you after you began to date Allan. 

“You’ve turned all spiky and dangerous like them, did you know that a mollusk once lived in it before abandoning it. That’s like you, hollow.”

You feel a tightness in your chest before looking down at your phone.

Allan - 52 Missed Calls

Allan - 48 Text Messages

You love him? You loved him. For the first year. You grew tired of his antics after a year and a half. You wanted to be done after two years. But, something kept you tethered. The insecurities to find someone else? You wasted two years of your life. Would anyone want you after all that. You suffered so many tears, crying until your throat was raw, till the capillaries under your eyes burst. You want to prove that you’re strong. That you can make it through, maybe the darkness will pass and you’ll learn to love him again. But, that seems impossible. You want to learn to laugh again. To smile widely at everything Hoseok says. You want to be able to just watch shitty movies and giggle as the characters make horrible, horrible decisions. You want to be able to hug your best friend without having guilt wrap around you like a cocoon. You want to be at peace.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a hand as it grips the inside of the sea cave. You turn your attention to it before he appears. His face is shaded by the darkness of the sea cave but you still find that he is the brightest thing in the entire place. He could rival the sun. He enters, hands digging into the pockets of his black overalls before leaning against the rock.

“I hate waking up in your bed alone.” His voice echoes throughout the small cavern and you can’t help but cringe at his words. 

“I know.” He pushes himself off of the wall before sitting down next to you and looking down at the venus combs on the golden flecks of sand. With a simple point of his index finger, your throat clenches. Your eyes become glassy as you exhale a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together and you didn’t even realize they were sweating. You turn your head to him, only to find that his eyes are already on you. You can’t tell if it’s the humidity in the cavern or his gaze but your chest becomes short of breath. His hand comes up in your vision, thumb outstretched to wipe a stray tear that has escaped in your daze. “You deserve the world. You deserve to be happy, you know. Pain and sadness doesn’t suit you. Remember when we used to laugh and have fun? Hmm? Remember that time that we pantsed Jimin in the parking lot of 7 Eleven and left him there with his jeans around his ankles?”

A giggle bubbles up in your throat and you nod closing your eyes. Hoseok delicately wipes at your wet lashes before kissing your temple. “How about the time when we threw toilet paper all over my sisters room because she told us we weren’t allowed to go out to the backyard.” Your laugh ricochets off the walls, head lolling back your body wracks with laughter. Hoseok chuckles to your left and you had almost forgotten what it sounded like. High pitched with a small gasp, he laughs next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I haven’t heard you laugh in what feels like years.” 

The laughter is short lived as your phone begins to ring, the sharp blare pierces the air before echoing in the cavern and Hoseok’s form shrinks in size. His shoulders fall as well as his arm off of you and you swallow thickly as he frowns. His fingers card through his brown hair before looking at the phone in your lap. He curses under his breath before looking out at the horizon. You can imagine how tiresome it is to watch over someone like a hawk. Making sure they’re always okay and never questioning them even though their actions are wrong. Your eyes glance to the side, watching how he digs underneath his perfectly clean fingernails as if it’s just something to do. You’re hurt but you’re hurting him too. That’s not fair. He’s always been there to hold you, to keep you safe and calm. He’s stopped your anxiety sevenfold and you were selfish. That’s why, your brain snaps once and for all. Your fingers grab your phone before rearing back and throwing it into the ocean.

Hoseok gargles on his own spittle before scoffing. The turn of his head is sharp as the phone makes a ‘ploop’ noise before drowning. “Wh-” You turn to him before hugging him tightly. His arms stutter in movement before hugging you back. 

“What do you think you’re rich? You could have just blocked his number.” You giggle as he hooks his chin on your shoulder, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back as you begin to feel a sense of relief. It washes over you in an instant, like a spring day breeze. Hoseok finds his footing before standing up and holding out his hands to you. “Come on, little one.”

Months go by, your phone has been replaced and the only calls or texts you receive are from your family or Hoseok. They way it should be. Although, there are times where you feel an immense amount of dread, wondering if you had made the right decision. Wondering if you should have waited for things to get worse just so they could get better. Your bed is a constant in the ever changing world around you. Ever changing, as in Hoseok has gotten a girlfriend. You guess when you don't have to watch over your childhood best friend every minute of the day, you could go out and experience real life. You were happy for him, happy to hear his laugh through the walls of your shared apartment. You were happy that he was happy. Probably. That’s what you want to feel. He likes her, Jillian, so even though you hide yourself away in your room whenever she comes around; you guess you like her, too. 

“I’m going out, are you going to be okay here? By yourself?” You look up from your phone at the voice. There he is, forever best friend looking like a million bucks as he fixates a beanie on top of his head. You wish for him to just let out a big yawn and throw back your comforter before laying in your bed and holding you close. Laying with you until it feels as if time itself stops short for you to have a moment of comfort with your best friend. Footsteps break you out of your thoughts. His ears fold slightly at the weight and you smile at him before nodding. 

“I’ll be fine.” He steps into your room before a small hand grips on to his black hoodie yanking him along with her. “Thanks, Jillian.” Your voice is a mere murmur as the door to the apartment slams shut. 

“You shouldn’t do shit like that. I’ve already told you that Y/N is sad.” Hoseok berates his girlfriend before yanking his arm out of her grasp and fixing his clothing. There’s an eye roll that has him stopping in the middle of the street before folding his arms. 

“She always is sad. It’s who she is. Doesn’t mean you have to always deal with it.” Hoseok gives a short laugh, his head tilting back before his hand agiley catches his beanie as it falls off. 

“I don’t always have to deal with it. But, I want to. She means the most to me in this world. You fucking know that.” He seethes to his girlfriend before stepping out of the way for a couple to walk past. “How do you think that makes me feel?! That ‘she means the most to you.’ I’m supposed to just be okay with that?!” 

Hoseok presses his lips together before putting his hands over his face and grunting gently. He takes a deep breath, forcing air into his constricting lungs before sighing. “Let’s go.” 

The bar is noisy and crowded, the smell of stale beer wafts through the air as Hoseok wrinkles his nose. If you were here, you would complain that he doesn’t really like to drink all that much and you should find a different place to go. But, that’s exactly it, isn’t it? You weren’t here, he was with his girlfriend and he still thinks of you. Even as he slides into the booth, even though her hand is intertwined with his. It isn’t your small hand that he finds beside him. It’s hers. Her voice breaks him out of his reverie, he inhales deeply through his nose before smirking at her. His eyes rake over her hair, her eyes even the way her mouth moves as she phrases words and it seems to be off putting. The corners of his mouth turn down as she orders her drink, watching the way she points at the menu, he didn’t even see her pick up. It’s stupid little things that draw his attention, you wouldn’t point your finger and the menu like that. You would tilt your head and puff out your cheeks unsurely. You would side eye him and nudge him to make a decision for you since there were too many options to choose from. You would never wink at someone before handing them a menu, there was not an overly flirtatious bone in your body. You were just you. And Hoseok misses that the most. 

His night goes on for a long time, it seems like it would never end. He misses slipping under your black duvet cover and holding you to comfort you. He misses when you would have to stretch your neck to look up at him because he would always jump up and out of the way for you to crane to look up at him. Somehow along the night Jimin had joined in, the streets have basically emptied as the town hall clock strikes letting him know another hour has gone by and he still isn’t home. “What’s with the face?” He hears Jimin ask as he stops on the street corner, his wrist is held tightly before being forced around his girlfriend's waist. 

“What face?” He grimaces at the action before looking back up at his longtime friend. “You look miserable.” It’s a faint whisper that gets caught in the wind and Hoseok can’t help but swallow before looking back at the Walk sign. He shrugs to Jimin, who in turn rolls his eyes before all three cross the street.

Conversations are short and sweet as they walk Hoseok’s girlfriend back to her apartment. There’s a tension, a man-made tension that he knows he’s created but he can’t seem to find a care in the world for it. He doesn’t care, in all honesty. He just wants to go home.

“Hey! Isn’t that Y/N’s little friend?” The voice is a mere distant memory that comes back sharp in the frontal lobe of his mind as he pulls away from Jillian to turn his body. His jaw tightens, muscles flexing and protruding as he narrows his eyes at the incoming figure. “Hyung.” 

It was a call of warning that Hoseok doesn’t heed. Anger burns through his veins like venom as he finally sets his sight on the man that ruined two years of your life. He wasted them, without even thinking about you. And, Hoseok let him. He sprints towards him, tennis shoes squeaking as he advances. Jimin calls out for Hoseok but it’s a warning he ignores. 

“Hyung!” 

His hand makes a fist as he closes the distance, his feet ache at the sudden movement before stopping and throwing his fist into Allan’s face. The man staggers, hand reaching up to nose as Hoseok shakes out his hand with gritted teeth. He knows it’ll hurt in the morning but the red he sees triumphs over everything. 

“What the fuck, dude?! Over some chick?!” He tilts his head, watching blood begin to leak from the man’s nose. 

“Some...chick?” He snaps. His hands reach out to grab Allan’s neck before arms wrap around his waist, tugging him away from the man. “She isn’t some chick! She’s a fucking angel and you ruined her life for two fucking years, you ignorant bastard! You never deserved her! She fucking cried every day because of you. You fucking asshole!” His words echo throughout the empty street as Jimin drags him down the sidewalk. The bottom of his shoes scuff up as Jimin pulls him past his girlfriend without a word.

“Some fucking chick. I’ll fucking kill him.” Hoseok mutters to himself before flailing his arms and straightening up his body. He shoves Jimin off of him before dusting off his hoodie and spitting on the floor in the direction he came from. Jimin places a solemn hand on his back before looking at Lillian, drawing his attention to her as she folds her arms with a raised eyebrow. He takes her into his sights before pressing his lips together and clearing his throat. The words fly out of his mouth so fast he has no chance to take them back.

“Let’s break up.” Her face contorts as if she’s been shot. Her mouth hangs open as a breeze wafts through the empty street. On the breeze is the smell of lavender, the smell of comfort for him and he can’t seem to find it in him to feel solemn about the words he has just spoken. He becomes entranced by the smell, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath. There’s that relief he wants to feel. It radiates through him like the sun on a cloudless day. And, before he can open his eyes a flash of pain erupts from his cheek. His eyes open wide, his hand reaches up to touch his hot licked skin as Lillian steps back. 

“You’re an idiot. Jung Hoseok.” He swallows thickly before rubbing at his sweltering cheek. Jimin steps in front of his body, blocking him as Lillian tries to advance once more. A hand finds his chest before shoving him back, “We’ll get going.”

The screech that finds his ears almost deafens him, but he can’t feel sorrow. He knows he did the right thing. “Everyone is getting battered today.” Jimin murmurs before fixing his leather jacket and putting his hand on Hoseok’s back as he holds his cheek.

The apartment is warm when he gets home, you raised the heat for him knowing how chilly it can get during the night around here. Your bedroom door opens with a squeak and you rouse at the sound. He stands in your doorway, shoulders drooping before taking off his hoodie. “Seok?” He hums in agreement before padding over the wooden floor and lifting up the comforter. His thin frame slides underneath before wrapping his arm around your waste. You blink blearily, eyes trying to adjust to see him in the dark. His brown hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at you. He grips you tighter, holding you so close as if you were going to turn to dust and disappear. Your eyes adjust, widening slightly when you see his pink, puffed cheek. “What happened to you?!”

He chuckles quietly as you place your hand on his skin. His eyes flutter shut as you rub your thumb over his pronounced cheekbone. “I broke up with Lillian and she slapped me.” You take a sharp breath through your teeth, eyes widening at his admission. You open your mouth to reply but he pulls you into his chest with force that knocks the wind out of you. “I went out tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Thinking about what you were doing and what you would have been doing if you were out with me. I kept thinking of how much I missed laying in bed with you and how much I love holding you.” 

“I missed you laying with me too.” Your confession is quiet but he hears it loud and clear, a heart smile spreading across his face before kissing the top of your head. Hoseok’s eyes search your own alight with something that makes your heartbeat faster.“This is what it should always be. I don’t want to spend my days falling asleep without you. I don’t want to constantly think about you as if you’re far away. I want you here, in my arms like always. I want to get drunk and go get paint at 6 o’clock in the morning. To wake up with you in bed laying next to me. I want-I want you to love me. Like, I love you.” 

You pull away from his chest, eyes glancing up through thick lashes at his handsome face. This is what it always should be. You and him. Until time stops and falls flat. His eyes glance at your lips before licking at his. One smooth motion that has your neck heating up with a blush. “I’m going to kiss you, and I would really like it if you didn’t pull away.” Your breathing stops, your lungs feel aflame as he closes the distance between you. 

His lips press to yours, soft and agile and time does feel as if it stops. His kiss is heartfelt and full of yearning before it turns into something more. Something needy and explosive. His tongue slips out, licking at the seam of your lips. His hands run over the expanse of your back, running his tongue over yours. A soft mewl is coaxed from your lips, only to be swallowed by him as he rolls you onto your back. His hands find purchase next to your shoulders as he straddles you. He breaks the kiss, only for a moment to utter words that leave your head nebulous, “I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too.” His lips are back to yours, earth shattering and heart fluttering as his hands dip beneath the cotton fabric of your sleeping shirt. With warm hands he rubs at the skin of your stomach, your body arches into his touch begging for more as your core begins to unfurl in wanting. His lips leave yours to worship at the skin of your neck, hands raising your shirt higher before looking up at you for confirmation. You wordlessly lift your arms, back bowing off of the bed to let him strip you of the material. The shirt is discarded aimlessly as he sits up to drink you in. It dawns on him, how utterly helpless you are under his stare and you wilt slightly bringing your arms to cover your chest. Hoseok clicks his teeth before leaning back down. “You’re gorgeous.”

The wanton sound of his voice gives you solace as he peppers your neck with kisses. Light as a feather before suckling at your soft skin leaving red and pink petals in his wake. You let your arms go lax, hands coming up to run through the thick locks of his brown hair. “That’s my girl.” It’s with that sentence that it all comes crashing down on you, he loves you and in turn you love him. It’s always been this way, always finding comfort in one another and never dwelling on it long enough for you both to realize just how perfect the two of you are for one another. Your chest swells with ardent tenderness as you grip at his hair. His lips trail lower, angling his body downward to be able to taste all of you. He cups your breasts, thumbs running delicately over your nipples as they harden into stiff peaks. Your core shudders, arousal begins to weep from your sex and you’re acutely aware of how your panties dampen. 

His lips shroud your nipple in the wet warmth, gently suckling as his fingers roll and pluck at your other unattended breast. Your soft moans, echo throughout the lavender painted room and earn groans from the man you’ve deemed your best friend for most of your life. His teeth softly rake against the sensitive skin, goosebumps prickling as your mouth drops open. He presses his body half flush against your thigh and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. Your eyes open, to watch him love on you and you are met with his gaze hot and molten staring back at you. His pupils are blown, making his usual chocolate eyes almost black with lust. With each suckle, his fingers pinch harder until your writhing underneath him. Hips lifting off the bed, begging for relief. He leaves your nipple to attend to the other- but not before suckling at the skin around your areola leaving small marks claiming you as his own. 

His lips pluck teasingly at your other nipple before dipping his hand down your stomach, his hand splays rubbing at the band of your underwear with his thumb. Your moans are growing louder, chest beginning to feel breathless as he pulls away from your breasts with a loud suction noise. It’s then that he leans up to plant a kiss against your lips, so soft as if it were the wings of a hummingbird. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He does it again, sucking your life force from your lungs as he kisses down. Past the valley of your breasts, past your belly button that he gives a gentle nip to. He suckles at the skin about your panties, fingers hooking in the sides before looking up at you.

“We can stop, right now. We can stop and I can go back to my room.” You answer him by lifting your hips, with the bite of his bottom lip he is gently peeling off your underwear. Eyes  alight with wonder as he looks towards your gleaming sex. You can feel how wet you are, how you’re dripping and it’s all for him. He licks his lips, eyes flickering back to yours before throwing your underwear to the side. His hands find your thighs, taking the time to knead and kiss them before spreading your legs for him. “Look at you, baby. Dripping.” His voice is deeper, the bass in his voice encased with lust as he runs a finger down your soaked folds. The pet name has you biting your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth turning up on their own. With a gasp, you watch as he spreads your lips open. Eyes lewdly staring at you, taking you all in. “Fuck. Your pussy is nice.” A giggle escapes your lips, hand covering your eyes as he chuckles up at you. 

Your giggle dies in your throat as he sucks at your lower lips. Your hands grip tighter at his hair, pulling at the roots as your hips bow off the bed. “Taste so sweet.” His eyes are filled with this veneration that sends your walls fluttering, rippling around nothing. His tongue licks at your clit, experimentally waiting to see your reaction. When your hips buck up, begging for more, he begins to lap harder against your swollen bud. You moan his name, his mouth stills before pulling away. A smile spreads on his face before giving a flat lick that has your body sagging into the bed. “That sounds so perfect coming for you, little one.” 

Your head swims with heady pleasure, Hoseok himself seems drunk off of your taste. His eyes roll back as he prods at your entrance with his tongue. The muscle stiffens before entering you, your thighs twitch opening wider for him as you whimper out his name. His hands steady your thighs, soothing rubs of his thumbs keep you grounded as he whorls his tongue around inside you. He finds your sweet spots, where you moan louder for him, where you grip his hair tighter. “Fuck, you taste amazing, baby.”  His voice is a mumble before his mouth is encasing your clit once more. His tongue prods at the nub, licking and caressing until your moans have turned to sobs. His fingers leave the flesh of your thighs to tease your sodden entrance. "So wet for me, baby. You want me inside?"

"P-Please!" You croak out, hands pressing into his scalp as your core begins to tighten. You wanted to feel it, feel that shot of pleasure coarse through you. Your hips begin a lazy grind, rubbing against him for relief as he slips a finger inside. Your mouth opens, tongue licking at your bottom lip and he curls his finger expertly inside of you. He does it once, twice before finding the golden spot. "Right there? You like that, baby? Going to cum all over me?" You nod fervently, your bottom lip tucking between your teeth as your hips begin to buck relently on his outstretched tongue. The tightness feels stifling, your toes curl. Ears ringing with white noise as your heart lurches to feel relief. He adds a second finger, before rapidly tapping the smooth spot within you.

"Gonna...Gonna cum, Seok." He groans in agreement, lips latching back on to give harsh sucks. 

"Cum for me, baby. Show me what a good girl you can be." The tip of his tongue swirls around your clit and the tightness explodes. Like a million stars that light the galaxy, your body feels as light as air, falling boneless onto the mattress underneath as you ride out your high. Hoseok watches you come undone, his mouth detaching from you to kiss at your thighs as the shake from the pleasure. "God, you're fucking pretty when you cum." 

Your blink slowly, your chest begins to breathe normally as he crawls over you. His fingers ghost over your bottom lip, before pressing his own flush against them. Your hands raise up to touch him, fingers dancing over his clothed body before beginning to frown. He had way too many clothes on for your liking. You tug at the bottom of his shirt, his lips forming a smile before giving you a quick kiss. His arms cross, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt before lifting them to reveal his upper body. This is a sight you've seen a million times over and yet, you press your thighs together as want begins to bloom within your chest. Your fingers graze his stomach, small abs defined under his skin. Even in the darkness, his skin still sings out the color of honeyed caramel. The smell of musky oakwood draws you in as his lips find yours once more. His fingers move deftly, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before biting gently on your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth as he pulls away. 

He rids himself of his pants before your eyes fall to his briefs. The tented fabric makes your eyes snap up to his as he trails his hands along your sides. It was an impressive sight to see, you palm your hand over his clothed erection. His eyes closing as he sucks in a short breath, tongue licking at his bottom lip. The grey fabric begins to darken with his precum leaving a quarter sized spot that has your walls throbbing, begging for more pleasure. You sit up, hair falling in rivets over your shoulders before pulling at the waistband and sliding them down. His cock springs out with a heavy slap to his abdomen. You can do nothing but marvel at his size. He’s large, two toned in length with rose colored veins that trail the long length. His thickness makes your mouth water, a slight curve is evident as you wrap your hand around him. He hisses out, head tilting forward as his brown hair falls into his eyes. The protuberant tip is blushed pink as precum begins to bead from his slit. You pump his cock in hand, feeling the heaviness of him and your arousal begins to drip once more as you hear him moan for you.

His cock is smooth and you find yourself sitting all the way forward before kissing down his length. “Oh, fuck.” You tongue peaks out to caress the warm thin skin and his hands card through your hair with ease. His body falters before falling back, his muscular thighs shake in what you know is wanting. You move with him, straddling his thighs as you lean down. His cock is beautiful and yours, which is an interesting thought that you can’t seem to dwell on for more than a second as he twitches within your palm. Kissing along his shaft, licking at the one prominent blushed vein has him moaning your name loudly. 

You lick at his weeping slit, gathering the precum he is beginning to produce mercilessly and he sighs gently in relief. The taste is musky and thick on your tongue and you can only equate it to him. It’s so perfectly him that you find yourself needing to taste more. Arousal drips down your thighs as you begin to suckle at the head. Tongue licking circles around it before dipping your mouth down his length. “Oh, baby. Fuck.” His grip tightens on your hair, you take in all that could fit in your mouth before stroking whatever is left of his long length. You lave at the smooth length, moaning as he tugs gently on your gripped hair. “Look at me, please.” Your eyes snap to his, watching how sweat begins to bead on his sideburns. The tips of his brown bangs are slick against his forehead as he opens his mouth enraptured as you bob your head on his cock. Your cheeks hollow, trying to take more of him. You gag on his cock, a sound that makes him whimper as your eyes become blurry with tears. 

“Y/N.” The word is spoken with reverence as his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. He reaches forward sitting up on one hand that perches itself behind his back. His fingers shakily run up your thighs before meeting your apex. You moan on his cock, the vibrations making his eyes roll back as another spurt of precum coats your tongue. His fingers circle your soaked clit gently before pushing farther back to your entrance. You whimper against him, head bobbing faster as he swallows a groan. Your entrance welcomes his two fingers, coating him easily in your cum and arousal and he growls gently at the feeling. He goes knuckle deep before flicking at your sweet spot, the action making your thighs feel like jello as you grip at the sheets on either side of his body. His fingers begin to scissor inside you, stretching you for what is to come. “Gotta prep you baby, your little pussy is so tight. Fuck.” Your knuckles turn white as you pump his cock with every dip. You feel him begin to throb, his head lolls back mouth opening widely as he still continues to stretch you.

“Shit! You’re so good at that.” You feel high off of his praise, you try to take him deeper swallowing a few times until he is lifting you off of his cock as his throbbing becomes erratic. 

“Wanna cum in your sweet pussy.” He pulls his fingers from you before entering them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. He sucks them clean, before pulling them out with a gentle pop. His hands splayed across your back before laying you down. His nose brushes yours, a romantic gesture that has your heart fluttering. His eyes search yours as he knocks your legs open before settling inside them. He grips the base of his cock, running his head over your damp folds before smiling down at you.

“I love you.” The ardour in those words makes the corners of your lips quirk up into a smile as he returns it. “I love you, too Seok.” He kisses you, languidly licking at the seam of your lips before prodding at your entrance. Your mouth opens as he begins to stretch you, your hands wrapping around his neck and tucking into the base of his hairline. His hands grab at your thighs, kneading them before wrapping them around his slim hips. His tongue probes against yours moaning quietly into your mouth as he begins to fill you slowly. He inches in easily, your arousal coating his thick cock as he stretches you. It’s a delicious cocktail of pleasure mixed with the slight twinge of pain from the stretch. “You’re so tight, baby.” He whispers breathlessly, his breath tickles your cheeks before kissing down your jaw to your neck. Your walls ripple around him, feeling him fill every part of your needy cunt. His cock reaches the furthest point, burying himself to the hilt before stilling and letting your pussy relax around him.

“Feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect like you were made for me, because you were.” Your thighs tighten around him as the pain is solely replaced with pleasure. You wiggle your hips, pleading for him to move, to let you lose yourself completely into the man that was just your best friend a mere hour ago. He pulls out slowly, the bulbous head of his cock dragging delicious against your walls as plucks at your skin with his lips. He thrusts back in gently, your mouths opening in tandem. “Fuck.” The curse leaves your lips at the same time and you both can’t help but giggle with each other before moaning as he thrusts back in harder. Your fingers tug at his hair, thighs tightening as you lift your hips for more. 

Hoseok lifts up to grab your hands before intertwining them and lifting them over your head as he continues at his slow pace. “I’ve loved you since I was ten. I’ve loved you since I knew what the word love meant. It’s always been you, Y/N. Always.” Your grip on his hands tighten and you smile up at him. 

“I love you, too. Probably for a lot longer than I think.” His smile at your admission makes your heart swell, your heartbeat quickens for him. He pours his emotion into his thrusts then, hips snapping and rolling as you moan each other's names in the dark room. His lips suckle at your areolas, tongue flicking in tandem with every thrust to your stiff nipples. His grasp on your hands tighten and the moan he elicits is so pure, so raw. Full of beaming energy that has your nerve endings firing rapidly with indescribable pleasure.  

“Seok.” His cock twitches as you call his name, hearing the lust filled rapture of your voice. His hips grind harder into you, stuttering slightly as his body shivers with pleasure. His lips continue to suckle at your heated skin, bucking quicker into you as you raise your hips higher. The newfound angle has you screeching with pleasure, throat going dry with need as you begin to lose all sense of words. You’re a stuttering mess underneath him, fingernails digging into his skin as he moans over your skin. With every thrust, his bulbous head meets the rough patch within you, coaxing you towards your next high. He mutters out, over your breast how much he loves you, how beautiful you are underneath him like this. Your thighs begin to shake, head lolling back as you reach the precipice. Your walls flutter for him, gripping him for your release. 

“Yes, fuck. I can feel it,” He gasps loudly, “Cum with me, baby. I’m close to cumming for you.” Your whine is needy and your mind sears with pleasure as his cock begins to throb harshly within you. It’s all you need before you’re warning him once more you’re about to cum. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, I love you. Baby!”

Your breathing slows down for a single second before speeding up twice as fast as you careen off the edge of pleasure. Your nails dig into his skin painfully, eyes rolling back as you orgasm with him. His hot seed spills inside of you, giving deep, harsh thrusts as he curses. It sets off a second wave of pleasure, toe curling and stomach flipping as your eyes become spotty. He breathes heavily against the skin of your chest, hot breath fanning over your feverishly sweaty skin. He groans gently before flopping down on top of you and wrapping his arms around you. You giggle gently, one hand resting over your heart and the other pushing his sweat soaked bangs off of his forehead. He kisses your cheek tiredly, before closing his eyes. “Do it again.” You angle your head to look down at him before smirking.

“Do what again?” He lifts his head, chin resting on your breast before showing you his megawatt smile. “Laugh for me. I love that sound.” You snort before kissing his forehead. “Do that again, too.” With a giggle and the roll of your eyes you kiss his forehead. He sighs happily before lifting up on shaky arms and slowly pulling out of you. He wiggles his eyebrows as your pussy weeps with his cum. Frothing your lips and the sheets white. “Now that, that is hot.” You laugh at his comment before swallowing thickly as he licks his lips. Time that seems to have stopped begins to flow again in your eyes. “Let’s get you a bath, baby.”

The sun wakes you up once again this morning, but everything is already different. You can feel Hoseok’s lips against your hair as he runs his thumb over the skin on the back of your neck. You tighten your arm around his waist before burying your face into his smooth chest. “Good morning to you too, baby.” You kiss his tanned skin, eyes closing as you relish in the heat of his body. “Morning, Seok.” He hums to you before giving three quick kisses to the top of your head and pulling back. “Lips, please.”

He puckers his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and you can’t help but giggle before sitting up and pressing your lips to his. He exhales gently through his nose before kissing you deeper, hands curving around your head before pecking at your lips once and then twice more. “Have you been up for a while?” You question as you lay back down on him. He nods, “Just been thinkin’.” 

Your eyebrows quirk up at his statement, “About what?” He points at the plaque on the wall and your head turns to look at the wooden slab. “Thinking about how amazingly perfect you are and how I can make you happy for the rest of my life.” His cheekbones bounce up as he smiles before hugging you tightly to him. “I can make you ‘Live’ a great life, with me, of course. I can make you ‘Laugh’ for the rest of your life because I love that sound and it’s what you deserve. And, I can ‘Love’ you forever and ever AND ever.” You lean up, kissing his cheek as warmth spreads through your body rooting you to the ground. He was your forever weight to the Earth and forever is the only term that matters. 

The sun begins to invade the room, its rays highlighting the uneven strokes of paint on the wall and you smile fondly. His eyes follow yours before squeezing you tightly to him. “Hoseok loves you.” The memory that was burned so brightly into your brain now has a new heart shattering meaning. “And, Y/N loves you.” 

[phantom-curve]

For your prompts: 5. trepverter for Willex, please?

this one kind of got away from me, but hopefully it still mostly captures the essence of the prompt! and if not, it's at least a cute little fluffy Willex moment that I thoroughly enjoyed writing. set in an AU where the boys are alive, here is some flustered Alex ft. supportive Reggie and Luke.

trepverter - a witty response or comeback you think of only after it's too late to use (Rated T for swearing with a Trigger Warning for mentions of homophobic parents)

They say hindsight is 20/20 but Alex never really paid much attention to that until the day he found himself knocked flat on his back, elbows scratched and head pounding as if he had been hit by a freight train instead of an irresponsible skateboarder. It probably didn’t help that he had been in the middle of trying to calm himself down, all the signs of an impending anxiety attack mounting within his system until he had finally just put his feet to the pavement and started walking to get some of the overwhelming energy worked out of his system. He probably could have been more attentive, more aware of exactly where he was going and who was headed his direction, but he figured it would be fine on a random Wednesday morning in October when the tourists weren’t really around and most kids his age were in school.

Alex wasn’t in school because his parents had withdrawn tuition payments after he had finally worked up the courage to tell them he wouldn’t be bringing a nice girl home because he didn’t want to date any girls, in fact he would much prefer to date some boys, but the pressure of keeping his identity a secret hadn’t made that possible either so he was done hiding and he hoped they could accept that. Turns out they couldn’t accept that, or him, once he made it obvious he wasn’t going to go back in the closet or give any girl the chance to “change his mind”. As if that was even possible.

It hadn’t been a big blowout, more of a silent retreat, his parents completely withdrawing any and all support from his life over the course of the last few months. And apparently that included tuition, as Alex had discovered that morning when the school called to inform him they had finished completing his withdrawal forms, and they would be sad to see him go. Which had led him to the boardwalk, and then directly into the path of whatever hooligan that had crashed into him. Maybe if he had just been able to keep his mouth shut for 3 more years he wouldn’t be lying here, breathless and bruised, and still on the cusp of absolutely losing it.

Hindsight, Alex thought to himself as he stared up at the clear blue LA sky, can absolutely kiss my ass.

“Awh, man!” A voice above him whined. “You dinged my board!”

Alex toppled off of the anxiety ledge and straight into an ocean of lost control.

“Dinged your board? Dinged your board!? Dude, you ran me over!”

He punctuated his statement by leaping to his feet, which would have probably been a lot more threatening if he didn’t immediately stagger, hand held to his head as the world spun and his stomach rolled.

“Oh shit.”

The voice cursed quietly, and then Alex felt warm hands against his biceps, steadying him until everything slowly came back into focus. There was a boy standing in front of him, black cracked helmet perched on his head, soft brown eyes staring at him with a tinge of concern and remorse. When it was clear Alex was steady once more, he released his grip and offered an easy-going smile.

“You’re right, man, I totally pancaked you. My bad, are you okay?”

There was a weird feeling in Alex’s gut. Not the kind of sickening wave of nausea he had experienced when he first stood, but more of a fluttery feeling. His brain had quieted somewhat, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just look where you’re going next time.”

His voice came out soft and almost breathy, not at all the warning tone he had meant to use, and Alex could feel his cheeks warming slightly in embarrassment. The other boy’s smile grew. He reached up and unclipped his helmet, lifting it off and then tossing his head back as a cascade of long brown hair tumbled out. A few stray pieces fell to rest alongside his face and Alex felt his mouth fall open slightly. His stomach swooped and then dropped completely, like he had just plummeted from a rollercoaster and his mind went blissfully blank. Everything narrowed down to the absolutely beautiful boy standing in front of him, face awash in golden morning light, cheeks flushed from his exertions, dimples and white teeth on full display as he grinned yet again. Alex wasn’t sure he had ever met someone so blindingly attractive in his entire life, and then the boy winked, winked!, and lifted a hand out towards him.

“I’m Willie.”

It was the best name Alex had ever heard of. When their palms met, a spark shot up his arm and straight to his heart.

“Alex.”

Thank God he remembered how to talk, because he truly hadn’t known what to expect when he opened his mouth. Willie released his grip and Alex left his hand suspended for just a second before he pulled it back and shoved it into the pocket of his jean jacket.

“Nice to meet you, Alex. Listen, I really am sorry about knocking you over. Any chance I can make it up to you?”

It took Alex an uncomfortably long amount of time to process what Willie was asking. Long enough for him to panic and wonder if it was like a date or if it was like a pity thing or oh God what if Willie wasn’t even into guys and Alex was about to make this whole thing super weird and –

A chirping sound came from Willie’s pocket. His eyes flitted away from Alex’s to pull a phone out and check the screen. Alex felt a strange twist in his heart as he watched Willie’s easy smile fall only to be replaced by an annoyed grimace and eyeroll as he silenced the phone. Without skipping a beat, he thrust it back into his pocket and pulled out a sharpie instead. Alex barely had time to register how much he liked the way Willie’s hand felt on his forearm before the other boy was suddenly bent over it and there was a cool sensation sending goosebumps up his arm as the tip of the marker scratched across his skin. When Willie pulled back, that brilliant smile was back in place and his eyebrows were dancing so merrily Alex wanted nothing more than to watch them forever.

“I gotta go, but that’s my number. Text me sometime.”

And then, before Alex could work up the nerve to say anything, Willie was tossing his skateboard to the ground only to chase after it with a few bouncy steps before jumping onto the deck and quickly making his way down the boardwalk, away from Alex. He watched for longer than it was probably acceptable until Willie was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Only then did he look down to see the numbers sketched onto his forearm in orange ink.

(213) 555-3276 Willie<3

It was the heart that did him in. That heart had to mean something, right? It was intentional. Willie had written his name with a heart. Alex wasn’t making that up, it was inked onto his own arm! He studied it as he sat on the beach, mind silently replaying every single second of his short interaction with Willie over and over again while different groups of people came and went around him. There had to be a reason for the heart. Alex fiddled with the braided rainbow bracelet on his wrist, the motion familiar and soothing. Had Willie noticed it when he grabbed Alex’s arm to write his number on? Was the heart some kind of sign?

Alex let out a groan and fell back against the sand, the texture scratchy against the back of his head where a slight throbbing still persisted. Another silent reminder of his morning encounter. He wished he had thought to say something when Willie had asked him about making it up to him. Wished he hadn’t panicked or let his stupid brain go into overdrive worrying about what might happen for so long that nothing ended up happening. If he could go back, he would have told Willie, yeah, he could make it up to him. Maybe take him out to coffee or dinner and a movie or ya know, just any kind of date in general? But Alex wasn’t that smooth, and he wasn’t quite that confident yet. And now all he had was a number in orange ink and a name with a heart and absolutely no answers to the millions of questions crowding his brain.

He let out a deep sigh and sat up again, before finally climbing to his feet. It wouldn’t do to sit and worry, even if that was kind of his specialty. Luke had a girlfriend now. And Julie was incredible, and Luke was a disaster, so obviously the guy had to have some kind of game. Alex couldn’t quite believe it, but maybe he could give him an idea of what to do in this situation. Alex turned his feet towards the apartment the boys had been sharing since Luke turned 18 and left his parents’ house for good and started the long walk back to their shared home.

Luckily, both Luke and Reggie were home, which meant Alex had two sounding boards for his word vomit as he paced in front of where they were sat on the couch. Reggie was kind of like a puppy in the sense that all he had to do was exist and people flocked to him, so he also had more experience than Alex did when it came to figuring out someone’s true intentions after a first meeting. By the time he had finished giving the boys the run down, he was feeling like they might be able to put their collective braincell to use and figure out exactly what the best course of action would be here.

“Yeah, man, I got nothing.”

Alex groaned and Luke held up his hands defensively.

“Look, dude, just cause I’m dating Julie doesn’t mean I know how I pulled it off! I’m just hoping my luck holds out until I can convince her to marry me, okay?”

Reggie was nodding thoughtfully, so Alex held out hope that maybe he would have some words of wisdom.

“I mean, he sounds like he wanted to at least like...talk to you some more, right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have given you his number. And the heart is promising!”

Alex let it soak in for a second. An idea struck him out of nowhere.

“What if I just text him and tell him he can make it up to me by going on a date?”

“Bold moves, dude. I like it”

Of course, Luke liked it. It was a very Luke-inspired move. But Alex didn’t quite have the same guts as Luke. He didn’t think he could really pull it off.

“Ugh, no. My anxiety would skyrocket the second I sent the text. I just wanna know what the heart means!”

“Why don’t you ask him that then?”

Alex didn’t like how Reggie was the voice of reason here. That was supposed to be his job.

“Because if I ask him that he’ll know I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“You have been thinking about it all day.”

Alex finally reached his physical limit and stopped his pacing to fling his body onto the couch between Luke and Reggie, both boys catching different limbs and silently shifting to accompany his sudden presence.

“I don’t want him to know I’ve been thinking about it all day! That’s pathetic. Ugh, why didn’t I just say something in the moment!”

Reggie’s fingers were gentle against Alex’s scalp as he carded a hand through his hair reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Lex. You’ll think of something to say when the time is right. Release your worries to the wind and all that other junk, ya know? Just breathe.”

So, Alex breathed and tried to surrender his obsession into the ether. Reggie had been on a bit of a self-help kick lately, but honestly, it did help Alex more often than not, so he resolved to try and follow his best friend’s advice, even as his anxiety raged against the idea.

Turns out, the right time was exactly 11:43 pm when Alex suddenly awoke from a dead sleep where his dreams had been invaded by none other than Willie himself. He looked down at the number, the hastily scribbled name, and the accompanying heart bright against his pale skin even in the darkness of night and typed the message into his phone before he could think twice about it.

To: Willie<3 Considering you pancaked me, I think it’s only fair you make it up to me with a pancake breakfast. 9 am at Sandy’s Diner?

The responding message was almost instantaneous.

You’ve got yourself a date. Catch ya in the morning, pancake ;)

And for the second time that day, Willie wiped Alex’s mind completely blank, the word date playing on repeat until he fell asleep with his lips still curved into a smile, visions of a certain long-haired pretty boy dancing through his head.

[some-serendipity-snail]

Mime, balloons, rodeo clown, flower, face paint, horn, Seltzer, tumbling

mime: what are your favorite colors?

balloons: do you like parties?

rodeo clown: do you have pets? (if so, talk about them! if not, do you want any?)

flower: what's one/some of your favorite scented products?

face paint: do you have any tattoos? (if yes, show/describe them! if no, do you want any?)

horn: what is your alarm in the morning?

seltzer: if you were a fruit flavor, what would you be?

tumbling: are you a clumsy person?

this is a relatively large post, so I'm gonna cut it to save people just scrolling lol

Cad Bane

surprisingly, this man has a lot of favorite colors. he loves warm tones the most. but his most favorite? a deep, deep wine red. sangria.

parties? absolutely not. way too many people and way too loud. unless the attention is on him, of course...

does todo count as a pet? because if so, yes he does. and no, he doesn't want any more little creatures crawling around his ship. (unless the creature is his s/o, of course.)

he doesn’t really have a favorite scent. but he does have a mint-scented candle in his ship’s bathroom. it’s never once been lit, though.

yes, he does have tattoos. or so it’s rumored...

cad bane does not need an alarm to wake up when he needs to. he wakes up at nearly the same time every morning. it is muscle memory by this point.

if this man was a flavor, i guarantee he would be lemon and kiwi. sour, but some people like that. and if you taste it long enough, it may even have some sweet undertones. <3

absolutely not. clumsiness in his field of work is detrimental.

Embo

deep, ocean blue. no real reason, he just finds the color to be calm. he likes blue eyes. if your eyes are this shade of blue, he will most certainly gaze very deeply into them.

he wouldn't go out of his way to attend parties, but if he's invited to one, he would be polite and visit for a bit. he isn't too fond of them, but enjoys being included.

of course! marrok is his most beloved companion. he isn't too loud, he's loyal, knows when embo needs him; he is easily embo's best friend. he even listens to his late night rambles when his thoughts become to much for him to bear on his own.

he really likes honey and coconut. he has a lot of coconut scented candles that he lights on special occasions.

he does have tattoos! though, i’m not sure what they would look like. any ideas?

marrok is his alarm. always wants to go to the bathroom and for a walk super early in the morning. but it’s alright, because embo is a morning person.

peach. do i have an explanation for this? no. <3

no. he was trained from a very young age to be adroit and graceful.

Bossk

he would have to think about this for quite some time. but once he makes up his mind, he will likely say that it is either brown or orange. he's indecisive.

who doesn't love a party? all the more reason to be loud and cause chaos! he's not exactly an extrovert, but he's not like embo and cad; he loves parties!

currently, he does not have a pet. but he has had a couple of hunting hounds in the past. though, his father didn't exactly allow him to care for them like they were pets. just another weapon in their arsenal for hunting. he did like them though, they were good boys.

subtle scents, anything too floral or strong just makes his head hurt. specifically he likes warm vanilla scents.

no he does not have any tattoos, but he'd like to. scales are difficult to tattoo, though. he’s not sure what kind of tattoo he would want, but he thinks he’d look cool with sleeves or a big back tattoo.

he doesn’t believe in alarms. he lets himself sleep as long as he needs. he’s partially nocturnal; and it’s not a trandoshan thing. it’s just a bossk thing.

bossk would for sure be citrus and spice.

not usually, he’s not a clumsy person. but sometimes...

Dengar

pink and purple! specifically, the pink that is verging on orange, just as the sun is setting. and royal purple, but kind of muted.

if he is invited to a party, you bet your ass he's gonna be there! even if you didn't invite him, expect him to be there. he's the life of the party, to him at least, and wants to talk to everyone there. he claims it's for "networking".

if plants count as pets, he has two. you’d have to ask him to show you, he has named them both.

dengar looooves the smell of dewy leaves and wood. it makes him feel inspired. whether that’s poetic inspiration or inspiration to cause havoc, it depends on his mood for the day.

nope, no tattoos on this guy. but he would be the most likely to get a really dumb one on a drunken whim.

he sleeps in, but he also goes to sleep early-ish. so he either wakes up at seven in the morning or two in the afternoon. there’s no in between.

dragonfruit. you can take from that what you will.

yes. yes, he is clumsy. but usually, it’s on purpose. he likes making people laugh. but he does know when he can’t be clumsy.

Sugi

green; she prefers vibrant shades like sap green over the darker sage green. however, she says that bossk's green looks like vomit.

she likes going to parties on occasion. they're like a little treat, she'll go after big jobs to celebrate. but if she knows the birthday of someone she cares about, fully expect her to go all out on it. latts will help her.

not any pets of her own, but she likes to think that marrok loves her about as much as he loves embo. close enough.

favorite scent? lavender and jasmine always calms her, and smells nice. but nothing quite like the scent of smoldering flames. she loves bonfires. maybe she’s an arsonist, but that’s a story for another day.

yep! they’re traditional iridonian zabrak tattoos.

she’s the one with a loud, obnoxious alarm clock.

if sugi were a fruit flavor, she would be warm, caramel apple.

she’s really only ever clumsy on off days. like, if she hasn’t slept much or is overly emotional.

Latts Razzi

orange!! she's super happy her hair is her favorite color, it just looks so nice with her skin and it goes great with so many outfits. blessed.

parties are okay, but she prefers higher class parties that are more like masquerades. she likes how easily she can sneak in and blend with the crowd.

she has a sizable aquarium with a bunch of beautiful, colorful fish. they all have names and she assures everyone that has seen them that the fishies have distinct personalities. they do, but it’s hard to see when you’d only known them for a few seconds.

extravagant perfumes that make her feel like the baddest bitch on the block. rose oil is also one of her favorites.

she’s never had any permanent tattoos but she loves painting her body and using body glitter. she always has a new look she wants to try out, so getting anything permanently tattooed would be something she would almost instantly regret.

her alarm clock is an elaborate, hand made carousel clock. it sings a pretty song.

mango is her fruit. sweet and juicy, full of flavor. and vibrant! who doesn’t like mango?

no, she’s nimble and moves like water.

Jango Fett

hm, he would say he doesn't have a favorite color but obviously, it's silver. just classy and he likes the way he looks in it.

it all depends on the party in question. does he know the person that invited him? is there a good reason he was invited to this party? why is there a party?  he would rather throw his own party, with people he trusts.

he has had a couple of pets, all strays he took in as a young boy. he loved them all fiercely.

his ship and his place smell like an ocean. like a beach.

yes! he has ta moko on his shoulders and back.

similar to cad; he wakes up just from muscle memory. but he also sets a standard alarm, nothing special. sometimes boba wakes up before him and pesters him awake. lovingly, of course.

this man is pomelo and you know it. maybe strawberry, too.

he’s not particularly clumsy, no.

[owlheartt]

HAHA Hey suckers I lied Star Sanses Extended chapter 1 done NOW (link to it on AO3)

It was quite the normal day.

Unfortunately. The Great Papyrus was bored. He had already recalibrated his puzzles twice, made pasta 3 times, scolded his brother 4 times, and was trying to figure out what to do 5 and 6 times (because threes are overused) when something happened. Well, not really. Sans took one of his shortcuts to appear right behind Papyrus, something he did often to try and surprise him. Have no fear, Papyrus can’t be surprised, so his brother never succeeded.

Papyrus turned around, ready to scold his brother for not simply walking. Really, his sentry station wasn’t that far from Papyrus’s. Except… that wasn’t Sans. It was! But, well, he looked different.

“SANS? BROTHER, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DRESS UP AS ME TO FEEL AS GREAT. I KNOW YOU’RE TRYING YOUR BEST.” Sans was wearing a chest plate with a light gray t-shirt peeking out. There was a bright blue scarf wrapped around his neck, tied back rather effectively into a bow. It fit him, but Papyrus felt that scarves look better when they can flow dramatically in the wind. He had on gloves that looked identical to Papyrus’s but in the same blue as his scarf. And, interestingly enough, his eyes were not his regular white but light blue. “THAT IS BETTER THAN YOUR USUAL ATTIRE THOUGH, SO I THANK YOU FOR TRYING.”

“AH,” the smaller skeleton said. He looked a bit uncomfortable. Sans was never uncomfortable around Papyrus unless he was hiding something.

“SANS? IS THERE SOMETHING YOU NEED TO TELL ME? IF YOU WANT INTO THE ROYAL GUARD, I WOULD BE HAPPY TO TELL UNDYNE!!” Papyrus gave his brother a toothy grin (what else can he give him? Skeletons can’t hide their teeth, silly) in the hopes of comforting him. But still, Sans shook his head. Ah well, if his brother wanted to keep another secret-

“I’M ACTUALLY NOT YOUR BROTHER,” Sans (not Sans? Stary Sans? Blue Sans?) looked down before straightening himself. Now that this skeleton mentioned that he wasn’t Papyrus’s brother, the bigger skeleton noticed how much different he sounded. For one, those definitely sounded like all caps. Sans hated speaking in all caps, though he’d told Papyrus that it made him sound much more commanding. Next, his posture was much better. Sans had a terrible habit of slouching. His eyelights were also a cyan color, like a lighter shade of Sans’s magic.

“IF YOU’RE NOT MY BROTHER…” Papyrus scrunched up his face. This, was a puzzle. A puzzle he intended to solve all on his own. He stared down at the skeleton, who appeared to be bracing himself.

“WOWZERS, IT’S A LOT HARDER THAN I THOUGHT TO TALK TO AN ALTERNATE VERSION OF MY BROTHER,” Not Sans smiled awkwardly and looked away before quickly forcing himself to look back at Papyrus. Papyrus paused, trying to fit in what Blue Sans just called him.

“AN… ALTERNATE VERSION OF YOUR BROTHER?” Papyrus felt ridiculous repeating back what not Sans said, but he couldn’t help it. What did he mean by alternate version? Papyrus vaguely recalled a training session with Undyne. They liked to chat while they were sparring, and this particular time Undyne mentioned something Alphys was studying in her free time. “AUs.” She said. After a bit of questioning, Undyne revealed that AU was an abbreviation of Alternate Universe, but she hadn’t really been listening beyond that. Papyrus despised abbreviations, and found it so frustrating that Undyne and Sans were so intent on using them, that the words had stuck with him despite their vagueness. “ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ALTERNATE UNIVERSES?”

Not Sans perked up, his eye lights popping into stars. His smile went from awkward to excited as he began to talk.

“YES, I AM! HOW MUCH DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THEM? USUALLY PAPYRUSES AREN’T AWARE OF THEM, BUT IF YOU ALREADY KNOW OF THEM THAT WILL MAKE THIS MUCH EASIER!”

“I’M AFRAID MY KNOWLEDGE IS LACKING. IT WAS MENTIONED BRIEFLY BY MY FANTASTIC FRIEND UNDYNE, BUT SHE DIDN’T KNOW MUCH EITHER.” Papyrus announced, slightly embarrassed. The blue Sans faltered, but quickly regained his energy.

“ALTERNATE UNIVERSES ARE EXACTLY WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE! THEY ARE ALTERNATE VERSIONS OF THIS WORLD. MINE IS CALLED ‘UNDERSWAP,’ YOU AND I HAVE SWITCHED PERSONALITIES THERE, SO REALLY, WE’RE THE SAME.” Not Sans concluded, looking adequately proud of himself for such a well worded explanation.

“…I SEE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE THEN, NOT SANS?” Papyrus inquired. There was also the question of how Not Sans got here, but Papyrus was certain he would learn in due time.

“BLUEBERRY IS FINE! I’M A PART OF A GROUP OF SANSES CALLED THE ‘STAR SANSES’ SO MY FRIENDS AND I ALL HAVE NICKNAMES.” Nicknames, Papyrus’s worst enemy. Blueberry didn’t seem to mind though, despite him supposedly being an alternate version of Papyrus. “BUT TO GET TO THE POINT- I AM HERE BECAUSE I NEED TO ASK A FAVOR OF YOU, CLASSIC PAPYRUS.”

“IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO ADD A TITLE TO MY NAME, THE GREAT WOULD BE BETTER, THANK YOU.” Papyrus announced, not sure what Blueberry meant by “classic.”

“NO, NO. CLASSIC IS A REFERENCE TO YOUR TIMELINE. YOUR TIMELINE IS THE ORIGINAL, SO IT’S LABELED ‘CLASSIC.’ I’M AFRAID MULTIPLE PAPYRUS USE ‘THE GREAT’ SO IT’S NOT AS DEFINING. IF YOU HAVE A DIFFERENT SUGGESTION, I’D BE OPEN FOR HEARING IT?” Blueberry sounded apologetic. Papyrus, meanwhile, was thinking hard. What other title would he like? Classic just didn’t suit him. He had to admit, Blueberry’s reasoning was sound. It might be better than coming up with his own. Still, if he could figure out a better one…

“THEN YOU CAN CALL ME COOL GUY INSTEAD!” Papyrus announced proudly. Blueberry hesitated then smiled.

“A NAME TO MATCH YOUR PERSONALITY? FANTASTIC! IGNORING THE FACT THAT I’M COOLER THAN YOU, IT’S PERFECT!” Blueberry concluded. Papyrus was tempted to correct him, but he could guess that it wouldn’t go so well. They were alternate versions of each other after all, so it would be difficult to discover who was cooler (it was obviously Papyrus though).

“ANYWAYS,” Papyrus said. “YOU MENTIONED A FAVOR? I’M FANTASTIC AT DOING FAVORS, AND I’D LOVE TO HELP YOU. WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

“MY FRIENDS AND I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT JOB. WE PROTECT THE MULTIVERSE FROM AN EVIL GROUP CALLED THE ‘BAD SANSES.’ THEY’VE BEEN SUPER ACTIVE LATELY, AND DREAM THINKS THEY’LL ATTACK TODAY. UNFORTUNATELY, I’M BUSY ALL OF TODAY. I’M WORRIED ALPHYS WON’T THINK I’M FIT FOR THE GAUD OF I MISS A TRAINING SESSION, AND TODAY’S IS PLANNED TO LAST UNTIL LATE TONIGHT.” Papyrus had to hold back laughs picturing the short scientist holding one of Undyne’s spears with an eyepatch stuck on. He couldn’t seem to make it look anything short of ridiculous.

“BUT! BACK TO THE FAVOR, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD TAKE MY PLACE TODAY. IF YOU’RE BUSY TOO, I UNDERSTAND.” Blueberry concluded.

“IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT JOB. WHY DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD? DOESN’T BEING A STAR SANS GIVE YOU ALL THE LOVE AND AFFECTION YOU COULD DESIRE?” Papyrus said haltingly. Star Sanses protected the whole multiverse, the Royal Guard just protects the underground. If that didn’t give Blueberry enough love… What hope did Papyrus have?

“WELL, IT DOES, BUT…” Blueberry took a deep breath. “I HAVEN’T SHARED WHAT I DO WITH MY TIMELINE YET. IT’S KIND OF A HUGE SECRET. I’M THE ONLY MULTIVERSAL BEING WHO ISN’T AN OUTCODE. IT’S NOT SOMETHING INCODES ARE SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT. THERE AREN’T REALLY RULES BUT…” Blueberry trailed off, looking a bit upset.

“I’M SORRY I PUSHED. DOES THAT MEAN I’M NOT ALLOWED TO TELL ANYONE? MY BROTHER IS REALLY GOOD AT KEEPING SECRETS, MAY I TELL HIM?” Both brothers kept secrets from each other. Papyrus had his share, and he knew Sans had a pile. They had recently talked about trying to be more open with each other, and Papyrus wasn’t sure how he could keep his brother’s trust if he made a new secret. It was important to prevent new secrets from forming.

“LIKE I SAID, THERE ARE NO SPECIFIC RULES. IT’S JUST WHAT YOU FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH. BUT I WILL ASK THAT YOU COMMIT TO BEING ONE OF US BEFORE YOU TELL HIM,” Blueberry said firmly.

“OF COURSE! I WON’T LET YOU DOWN! HOW DO I HELP THOUGH? I’M NOT EVEN SURE HOW TO LEAVE MY TIMELINE.” Papyrus admitted. Blueberry looked relieved, and he stuck out his hand.

“I’M AFRAID I CAN’T OPEN MULTIVERSAL SHORT CUTS MYSELF, BUT IF YOU’D TAKE MY HAND MY FRIEND CAN BRING US OUT!” Blueberry widened his grin, and Papyrus reached out to grab his hand. There was a moment of stillness, where it was just the two of them in a snow covered forest. Some snow flurries falling from branches above. Papyrus shifted, the pause was uncomfortable. Just as Blueberry began to frown, a warm, distinctly yellow feeling began to spread through Papyrus’s bones. Blueberry even seemed to be glowing with the magic. Then pop, and he was somewhere new. It felt like a small jerk on his SOUL, more abrupt than his brother’s short cuts around the underground.

Speaking of, this wasn’t like anything Papyrus had seen in the underground. It was a large space with an orange gradient. It looked… undefinable, in the sense that it didn’t end. There were papers with small dancing images, and a number of them looked like Papyrus and his friends. Some were held up by strings while others hovered around the islands that floated about. It was a very dream-like place, like something Papyrus had imagined. It has been a long time since he dreamt something so serene, which was the only reason he could believe what he was seeing.

“Sorry about that Blue-” a new voice spoke, sounding a bit out of breath. Papyrus turned to find a golden Sans, laced with the same magic that brought him and Blueberry here. He had his hand wrapped tightly around another Sans. This one was incredibly short, he looked like a child compared to Papyrus (Not to fear! The Great Papyrus was fantastic with children!). He had a brush taller than him strapped to his back, and his outfit was all kinds of decorated- like a superhero! Both Sanses were.

“IT’S FINE. IS… IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT HERE?” Blueberry regarded the Golden Sans’s grip on the Sans with a brush. Oh dear, so many Sanses. Someone who wasn’t as brilliant as Papyrus might not be able to follow!

“Uh, yep!” The golden Sans smiled, but he looked a bit too stressed. The brush Sans, however, snapped his full attention to Papyrus. His eyelights bounced between color and shapes before finally landing on a bright sky-blue shaped as a triangle and a Royal purple as a star.

“HELLO!!!!! I’m Ink!!!!” Ink struggled out of the gold Sans’s gasp and bounced overs to Papyrus. It was disturbing how little he resembled Papyrus’s brother. “I’m the protector of the Multiverse!! You’re Classic Paps, right?!” Ink grinned wildly as Papyrus avoided cringing.

“HELLO, INK. PLEASE DON’T CALL ME PAPS, OR CLASSIC FOR THAT MATTER. BUT WOWIE, PROTECTOR OF THE MULTIVERSE SOUNDS LIKE SUCH A BIG JOB!” Papyrus couldn’t help but be in awe of Ink’s title. It sounded more important than Head of the Royal Guard. Ink’s grin grew and his purple eyelight turned yellow. He looked like he was about to respond, but the gold Sans cut him off.

“Yep, super big job, which is why he has us to keep him on track. Anyways, hello, my name is Dream. I’m the guardian of positivity. If you don’t want us calling you Classic, what should we call you?” Dream kept his smile up, but he looked exhausted.

“HE WANTS TO BE CALLED COOL GUY.” Blueberry announced. Dream managed to look more worn out before responding.

“That’s… a fun nickname. But this needs to be like a substitute for your real name? Just, please pick something different.” Dream sounded incredibly firm, and Papyrus didn’t want to wear him out anymore. So he listened.

“WHAT ABOUT COOL BONES?” Papyrus’s smile faltered as Dream’s eyelights flickered out.

“Papyrus, please, be serious.” Papyrus had been serious, but he decided not to mention it. “Just- here, think about our names for a moment? Ink, Blue, Dream,” Dream pause, looking up at Papyrus hopefully. Papyrus did his best to reconsider. He could find an alternate version of his name? Translate it into another language perhaps. There was also the history of the word itself, which he and Sans had searched up late one brotherly bonding night. While the word papyrus is a plant, it’s also a form of paper in Ancient Egypt. Paper has simply so many uses, and it’s so incredibly important (and obnoxiously underrated). The Great Papyrus wouldn’t mind being called Paper.

“I CAN BE PAPER!” He offered, and Dream relaxed into a more genuine smile.

“Oooh!!! Like the paper to my ink!!!” Ink grinned, absolutely delighted.

“No, actually-“ Papyrus (Paper?) tried to correct him. With all the meaning behind his choice, he wanted to give it the proper glory.

“WELCOME TO THE STAR SANSES, PAPER!!!” Blueberry said, cutting Papyrus off. He tried to place his hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, but after discovering he couldn’t reach Blueberry settled for patting Papyrus’s back.

“THANK YOU NEW FRIEND!!” Papyrus widened his smile, reveling in the fact that he had made not one, not two, but THREE new friends in less than an hour. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother.

“NOW THAT WE’VE GOT THAT OUT OF THE WAY,” Blueberry said, “I HAVE TO HEAD HOME, ALPHYS IS EXPECTING ME. GOOD LUCK PAPER!” Blueberry threw a glance at Dream, then he lit up with the same golden hue as last time and disappeared. Ink’s eyelights flashed to a different color as he focused again on Papyrus, who had noticed by now that Ink’s attention was short and his focus quickly shifted.

“So, buddy, what do you wanna do now?” Ink leaned forward, almost as if bowing, and he bounced a little on his heels before performing some kind of trick jump and landing on an island floating a few feet up. He was now roughly at Papyrus’s socket-level.

“We tell Papyrus how this is going to go.” Dream said, cutting Ink off. Ink frowned, one eyelight flipping to a purple question mark while the other changed to a dim reddish-orange square.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Papyrus wiggled his fingers, the fabric of his gloves rubbing. Dream sounded awfully serious, a stark contrast to Ink’s carefree nature.

“Blue’s already learned how to deal with… the Bad Sanses. Since we already know what does and doesn’t work, I’d rather skip the hard-learned lessons.” Dream gave a weak smile at the end, while Ink stuck out a rainbow colored tongue, nearly pouting.

“...WHAT MIGHT THOSE BE?” Papyrus began to worry for the first time since he accepted Blueberry’s offer.

“First of all, Blue’s already tried speeches.”

“MAYBE THEY JUST NEED MORE, OR HE HASN’T FOUND THE RIGHT ONE!” Papyrus said. Dream winced.

“Maybe, but we don’t have the time to give the speeches, and more often than not the Bad Sanses don’t even listen, they murder while you talk.” Dream said, the spot where his eyebrows would be tilting up.

“MURDER?” Papyrus faltered.

“Did Blue forget to tell you?” Ink asked. He had plopped down and was lying on his back with his skull dangling off his island, looking far too relaxed.

“TELL ME WHAT.” Papyrus didn’t want to guess this time. Dust isn’t a puzzle he ever wanted to solve.

“Our role as Guardians of the Multiverse is to protect timelines from being destroyed. The way that happens is the Bad Sanses wipe through the entire Underground, killing anyone and everyone they meet. Once they’ve killed enough, the timeline is unstable enough for them to destroy it directly.” Dream sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“Or so we think. Timelines are weird, and there could be a whole slew of reasons for how things work!! It’s really interesting. I’ve been wanting to study it all but- OOH A BUTTERFLY!!!” Ink said, jumping up to chase the shiny indigo insect. Even though Ink didn’t finish his sentence, Papyrus could get a sense of why he wasn’t learning anything. Ignoring the eccentric skeleton, Dream just looked sad. He was staring down at the ground, one hand wrapped tightly around the fabric above his SOUL.

“WHAT HAPPENS IF WE DON’T GET THERE IN TIME?” Papyrus tried to say it softly, but he could never figure out how to speak in lowercase. At least it still sounded caring.

“The entire timeline dies.” Dream sighed. He looked up, finally seeing Papyrus’s expression. “Ah! Don’t worry though!! We win a lot!! I’m just trying to explain why I need you to listen to me!!” Dream waved his hands about, trying to dispel the dark mood that had settled.

“THAT’S ALRIGHT. YOU WERE BEING HONEST. IT’S IMPORTANT TO UNDERSTAND ALL OF THE PIECES OF OUR JOB. I’M GLAD YOU TOLD ME.” Papyrus crouched so as to come eye to eye with Dream. He used this tactic with his brother whenever Sans was upset. Papyrus had found that it’s easier to talk to someone who’s right there with you. Papyrus reached out his gloved hands, and wrapped the bright, cheery red around Dream’s hands. Papyrus realized for the first time that Dream wore gloves too. Maybe he was a swapped version of Papyrus like Blueberry. Papyrus made a note to ask him later, when he was feeling better.

“Thank you, Paper.” Dream took a deep breath before continuing. “We pride ourselves in not killing anyone, ever. Not even the Bad Sanses. A tactic we like to use is trapping them. Blueberry does that the most, because he has the most magic to spare, so you’ll be using a lot of blue magic. Is that ok?”

“ABSOLUTELY!! I HAVE FANTASTIC CONTROL OF MY MAGIC, YOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY.”

“The butterfly flew away.” Ink said, butting in. He had a pout again. Papyrus leaned toward Dream a little and whispered to him.

“DOES… DOES HE PAY ATTENTION ENOUGH TO NOT GET HURT?” Papyrus was genuinely worried, but Dream burst out laughing. His grin widened as he turned toward Ink, who had begun to… eat… grass..?

“Most of the time.” Dream said, not particularly reassuring.

[sol-korolevas]

—𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

pairing: rk900 x gn!reader 

words: 8.2k+

summary: “there you are, the wound. the warning. what am i, then? the breach?” 

warning: super mild violence (for now)

note: gosh writing dbh brings me back to the days where i habitually upload at least one fic to the tag. it’s been several months since my last fic so i’m gonna need to rectify that :3c this work is inspired by a previous fic, but i added more meat into this one. rk900 is such a bastard in my book and i hope i do his bastardness some justice so enjoy!

Never show weakness. 

Weakness can be controlled and manipulated. It leaves you vulnerable to the mercy of the enemy; it’ll kill you. But weakness is also a human facet that’s ingrained into the mind. And it’s a remembrance to humanity’s mistakes and proof of the existence of humanity. 

Someone told you weakness cannot be shed, but you can tether it and guard it with your ferocity. 

And, they said, ferocity is precious. 

Wear it like a crown of fangs. 

Hold it as a gun, heavy and warm on the flesh of your hand.

“What did you do?” 

All of a sudden, you feel the oppressive stare of RK900 pushing down on you. When once you can easily respond in kind, you now feel at a loss. 

Control everything, even your weakest emotions. 

And yet, you still lost control. You pulled the trigger too early, believing that you had won. After the explosion comes reality, the world shatters, bending forward until it's weight pushes you down onto your knees. The gun in your hand slips out and clatters onto the ground beside you - now just a deadweight. The ringing is loud and you’re not sure if it's from the aftermath of the shooting or from your own mind. You cannot block out the noise no matter how close you press your palm to your ears. Suddenly, you have no idea where everything is anymore. All you can think about is the ‘why’s ‘and the ‘how’s’. 

“[Name]!” a familiar voice calls to you and you turn your gaze towards it, eyes watching with a pathetic plea for help. RK900’s icy stare run chills down your spine, even more so when he’s standing tall and looking down upon you like the wraith he is. 

He crouches then, setting his gun beside him, his body blocking away the sight behind him as he takes your chin and tilts it up. The gesture is tender, if not for the blankness of his stare. 

You sometimes forget he’s incapable of the fundamental kindness humans have. Within his barren heart is just the life force that keeps him moving. 

The void in his eyes stare back and you panic, reaching towards his wrist with both of your hands so you can wrap them around it. 

He doesn’t let go. 

“Why did you shoot the hostage, [Name]?” he murmurs, but the venom in his words is clear. “You were supposed to save it and you failed.” When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin and, out of instinct, you attempt to stand, almost falling to the ground before RK900 grabs your shoulders and pushes you down.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Just answer my question.”

The flicker of emotion in his words terrifies you and it further reminds you of the catastrophe laid out in front. 

“I-I lost control of myself—” you choke out, eyes following RK900’s movement as he stands and walks toward the fallen android. 

Time becomes still. The ocean doesn’t smell like an ocean anymore as the scent of red and blue blood bloats the air. Even the gull birds’ cries have been swept away by the chill of the aftermath. Shadow drapes over the cargos; the area you are in is illuminated by dim lights - the strongest of which is cast over the pile of bodies. 

The only sound left is the click of his pristine shoes and your heart beating through your ear. 

Your body falls forward, elbows keeping you from fully meeting the ground, as you watch him crouch down and take out the thirium pump. There are black wires still connecting it to the android before RK900 rips the pump away. You see the red LED light on the fallen android’s temple blink rapidly until it goes blank. 

“What are you doing?” you ask in horror. 

“Cleaning up the mess you made, [Name],” Rk900 says, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder. His words quickly silence you, the brevity of it all coming back after the initial shock of seeing RK900 doing this. 

He then takes the kidnapper’s gun and shoots the android in the forehead, before replacing the gun back into the kidnapper’s hand and once more into its chest. The skin on his arm is dissolved - a safety precaution. 

The light of his LED circulates yellow and orange as his skin eventually returns. You watch as RK900 begins to search for something, before finding it - a bullet - and picks it up. 

He’s feeling the weight of it, moving it around in his hold as if studying the shape. “I’ve wiped the cameras and cleared the android’s memory cache, now no one will know what happened.” 

“No, this is wrong,” you quickly say, scrambling up. But before you can move properly, your body tips forward from the fatigue. And RK900 is there to catch you, gripping your waist with one arm. Immediately you rip your gaze away, not wanting him to see you at your most vulnerable anymore. 

But in the end, RK900 wins - he always wins - as you turn your gaze to him. You notice the corner of his mouth twitch as if he’s going to smile. Instead, he says,“ ‘This is wrong’? Would it be better if I tell the command what you did then?” 

The numbness in your mind stops. 

Some sense finally floods in as you disassemble his words. There’s nothing but a grim reality for you if word gets out. If he speaks - if any of you speaks - then the years behind you will truly be lost, forever. And you’ll be marked by the sin you just committed. 

But this is no less criminal than what you just did. 

And despite it all, the naively moral person in you still wouldn’t relent. “Unfix all of this, RK900.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do, [Name],” he says, pressing the hand containing the bullet against yours., “Not when I am saving both of us.” 

There’s no ‘but’s’ and ‘if’s’; no hesitations either. It’s either a shaky road ahead or punishment. 

You must accept this and with acceptance, you slump your shoulders. But the grip on your waist tightens and you squeak, feeling soreness everywhere on your body. 

“So now it’s a secret, and we lie,” you manage to say, forcing yourself to look into RK900’s eyes. But it’s not easy with RK900, despite having a hand in this. The look of superiority so natural to him diminishes all hope of sympathy for your plight. Although you’re not looking for that; you’re now looking for a semblance of peace, more than ever. “Unless—” 

Your breath hitches as he tugs you closer, his pale lips brushing too close to the shell of your ear. 

“Unless you are not doing what we all agreed to,” he tells you, voice calm and collected. This is now personal to RK900, you can hear it by the hush of his words. He sees some kind of chance, some kind of reason to do what he did.

Except, he has no sense of monetary or material value. You know because he always plays by the book - he’s a military and police assistance designed to assist human officers. 

He wants one thing and one thing only. 

“You want me to continue to work as a police detective.” 

You watch as he chuckles, eyes creasing with a hint of pleasure glimmering underneath his stormy gaze. But the brief look of human emotion feels foreign; it’s a mask he wears. Underneath the light, he looks far more like a fiend. 

The thick blocky letters of his name fizzle in and out as you mindlessly cling onto the fabric of his shoulder. 

“Absolutely, but you’ll listen to me without question. No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing manages to come out. In the past, he had always made it hard for you. You came in late, he scolds you; you forget a deadline, he scolds you; you talk too much with a coworker, he tells Fowler and then returns to mock you. To RK900, you’re too careless and naive - vastly different from the perfection that he is. 

To anyone else, RK900’s condition can be easy - normal even. But you know, underneath his request, is another demand. 

Absolute obedience. 

But now, everything is better than being fired. 

“Think of this as a punishment for you, [Name],” comes RK900’s voice. He still doesn’t release you, knowing that you hate unnecessary contact between himself and you more than anything in this world. You sense a certain kind of twisted pleasure forming in him, from the smugness in his tone to the way he looks at you. “And think of this as a lesson too, on why you should think before you act,” he adds. 

If you have a clearance of mind and of a stronger character, you would’ve argued back and taken control of the situation. Especially since you are his superior in both name and title. And under normal circumstances, you will absolutely rebel against him.  

He’s supposed to be underneath you, not the other way around. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Okay, I’ll work harder and accept your input.” 

It’s hard to keep sarcasm away usually, but this time you’re serious. 

A part of you still doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re closer to corruption - the opposite of what you want to be. Your cheeks are heating up and there’s a tremble to your limbs. The ringing in your ears is still present. 

“Very good, I know we can somehow come to a mutual agreement one day.” RK900 finally lets you go before passing a thumb across your cheek. You flinch and move away as far as you can. He knows you hate the agreement as much as he enjoys it. 

When you see him turn his back on you in the distance, you open your hand. The bullet is deformed. There’s a chance that no one will even know this bullet is shot by a different gun. You still have your gun with you. 

RK900 could’ve easily mentioned this and gave you peace of mind. 

And he must’ve transferred the memory cache into himself before wiping it away from the android. 

You’ve always thought he’s trying to work his way above you. 

Now you think he succeeded

“Detroit’s first android ambassador.” Fowler’s words are heavy and thick as he paces around his office. You and RK900 both watch in silence, standing side-by-side in front. The screen behind him flashes the news of what happened two days before. Every once in a while you see the frozen features of the android you shot, looking back at you. There’s no life in those empty-looking eyes. 

Nothing that gives a hint of it being once alive. 

Immediately, you look away. 

In one corner, you notice a small video screen with the leftover remnants of Markus’s rebellion speaking at a podium. It cuts off to Fowler speaking at a press conference, but the words are muted. 

You fucked up, you fucked up so bad and they don’t even know the other half of it. 

“Do you know the name of this android you’re saving, [Last]?” Fowler asks, nodding towards the screen where the android’s face appears. You want to look away, but you know it’ll only force you to dig a deeper grave. Fowler isn’t stupid; he knows all the tics in you from the moment you joined. There’s a reason why he’s here in this position. But Fowler doesn’t wait for an answer, because he says, “RK900, tell [Name] the name of the hostage that was supposed to be saved.” 

“Victor, sir,” RK900 says without hesitation. He doesn’t look at Fowler, instead, he keeps his gaze to the floor with an emotionless look on his face. He seems so passive and subservient; you couldn’t even hear the coldness in his voice. You’re not sure whether you like him like this or if you’re envious of Fowler because of RK900’s difference in demeanor. 

“Victor—” Fowler sits down on his office chair and brings his fingers together, his elbows resting on the desk— “Android-kind’s hope to rectify a long, long period of scorn and hate from the society that built them.” 

He sighs, huffing out a breath. “At least there are still other ambassadors willing to meet us.” 

You look up from your gaze on the floor, noticing the way Fowler’s shoulders sag as he picks up a picture frame. There’s a brief flash of tenderness in his eyes before he sets down the frame and looks back at you. 

“I’ve asked Hank to make sure the other android ambassadors are all safe - put them in witness protection if need be.” 

“That’s a very good plan, sir,” RK900 replies. 

Fowler is still looking pointedly at you, his face unwavering in the seriousness of the situation. You know your face is cracked, splitting between guilt and remorse. To the unknowledgeable outsider, they would think it’s from the failed hostage extraction. 

Silence slowly brews and Fowler is awaiting a response from you. RK900’s knuckles brush against yours in an effort to make you talk without verbalizing his intentions. 

You know you need to speak - you want to speak - but all the words catch in your throat. Even your mind is in chaos; it wants to justify what you did while putting in caution to not let slip of what really happened; it wants to come up with ways to make some kind of amendment, some kind of solution to all this. 

But, none of this can rewind time and bring Victor back. 

“Why did you allow the kidnapper to shoot the hostage?” 

You tense, suddenly hearing the gunshot ring inside your ear again and the painful feeling of your knees hitting the ground. But amidst the chaos, RK900’s footsteps going towards the pile of bodies echoes with clarity. You still remember all the words he said, the promise he made to you, and the promise you made to him. And then, when you finally find yourself coming up with an explanation, you realize you couldn’t. 

Years before you promised yourself not to fall into the depths of corruption - as both a civilian and as police. 

But, oh, how the tables turned. 

“I-I won’t lie, we did fail, and—” you pause just as you feel RK900’s hand bump into the back of yours. It’s a deliberate act; it’s him warning you not to tell. And you look at him - at his face - and see the faint furrow of his dark brows and the set of his jaw. He doesn’t look back, but you can already feel his voice playing against your mind. 

Keep quiet.  

RK900’s hands are now folded behind his back as he takes one step forward. “We tried initiating contact with the kidnapper as diplomatically as possible, but when he saw us, he struck. I believe he meant to kill the hostage anyway; it was merely a game for him.” He spoke with such calmness that Fowler must believe it. 

And Fowler does - you watch him shake his head, his eyes looking to a spot beside your leg. “So it seems as if he’s playing with you - only to end up killing Victor and then himself.” He inhales sharply, before breathing out as he gazes back at you. “And I suppose you were the one who shot the kidnapper?” 

“Yessir,” you say, words slurring a little - a lack of eloquence and professionalism as RK900 would put it. You briefly look away, fingers picking at the fabric of your dress shirt. 

“Captain,  [Name]’s safety was also important - especially when they’re still new to all of this.” 

The words sting more than they should. Most because you know in some way RK900 is hiding his own opinion of you underneath a fake tone of sympathy and concern for you. In the end, he’s still the dominant voice and the dominant mind. 

You can tell Fowler right now about the degree to which RK900 made you obey him and work until he is satisfied. You once thought about lying to Fowler that you suspect RK900’s a deviant - despite being assured he cannot deviate. But you’re neck-deep in a lie right now and you don’t suppose RK900 will let you off this easily. 

And Fowler may not trust androids completely yet but he seems to have full faith in RK900’s responsibilities to assist you as both partner and mentor. Regardless of how many boundaries crossed, Fowler will not be able to regulate that because RK900 isn’t human. 

“For now I can look past your rookie mistake, but if the higher-ups question it, I’ll be forced to bring you back into this office for a thorough investigation. Mark my words, [Name], count your blessings now because I damn hope nothing comes out of it.”

This is the kindest Fowler has ever said to you in your work environment. 

“Thank you for your words, Captain,” you say, straightening your back. 

He nods his head, saying, “I expect a report from you by the end of your shift tonight, [Name].” He then reaches for something, a picture frame, before pausing. “You know, I sense a change in you. You’re not like who you were when you were younger.”

You understand Fowler is expecting an answer from you, but you feel trapped by what he said. A part of you feels confused, wanting him to explain. 

You then take a look at RK900, briefly wondering if he’ll say something. He’s looking at you instead, icy eyes watching you back, that telltale sign of condescension glimmering in his gaze. You immediately look back, staring at the group of picture frames on Fowler’s desk. 

“Yes, I understand,” is your only response, but you know it’s not the answer you nor Fowler wanted. 

You thank Fowler again and leave his office, the burdening feeling of something amiss follows you.

“I work better without someone hovering over me.”

You don’t feel the movement behind you or the heavyweight of RK900’s gaze sliding away. The intensity of his presence continues focusing on you, eventually forcing you to stop typing and push your chair away from your desk. 

“I believe right now would be a perfect time for you to work,” comes his smooth response. He’s standing beside you, stiff and straight. He’s a thoughtless being who’s realistically programmed to act and do a certain way. But now he looks as if he’s hiding away his thoughts as you look at him. You try not to glare at RK900; it’s unprofessional. But your annoyance isn’t well-hidden either as you return your focus back onto the screen. 

The DPD is empty except for you, Fowler, and RK900. Everyone else has their usual schedule of nine-to-five. It’s been such a common occurrence for you personally to be here earlier that you’re now used to it. 

“And within ten minutes the others will arrive,” you say, picking up a pen, “You can’t expect me to finish this report by then, won’t you?” Your attempt to sound less biting fails; if it is any other person speaking you would’ve been kinder. 

At least, you want to believe it so. 

“Do you even know how to write a status report?” His words are sharp and blunt as ever. Much to your abject horror, he’s reading the document. He doesn’t need to physically control it to do so; he can hack. You watch him narrow his gaze, eyes scrutinizing every word you typed. 

Silence folds over you as you pick at your thumb, now childishly put into a corner and unable to speak. You know you hold yourself accountable for your lack of attention to the finer aspects of reporting, but as RK900 begins deleting and re-editing your current progress, you know he’s trying to get underneath your skin. 

“Use what I wrote as a guide,” he finally says, stepping back for you to read, “I assume the police academy never taught you how to write.” There’s a teasing lilt in the last of his words, but it means so much more than that to you. 

Leaning in, you begin to type, using what he wrote as guidance, just as he directed. You’ve written reports before, for your high school classes and some of college. And it’s not that which is hard; it’s him, all him. 

“I understand you loathe my being here, but we agreed to it, [Name].”

You stop typing once more, feeling the familiar ring pulsing in your ear. “I don’t need to be reminded.” 

He never said you have to be formal to him. And in some way, you still want to show him his true place. 

RK900 raises his chin, his arms clasped behind him. He’s really looking down on you in the most literal sense. “I’m also doing what I’m programmed to do.” RK900’s tone is surprisingly soft this time as if his response is intimately between you and him. “And if you can’t write something simple as a report, then I would suggest you take remedial classes somewhere so you can.” 

“I thought you’re going to assist me, RK900.”

“With police work, not writing,” comes his terse response. 

“No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

He takes his duty of being your partner and guide to a much higher level than you had anticipated. And you fully understand that RK900 was built like this. 

Except—

The need to hide and destroy evidence wasn’t - no, shouldn’t be - programmed into him. 

Many times you’re not even sure you know what RK900 is. Time and time again something tells you he’s a deviant, but the high collar of his uniform and the promise by Cyberlife attests to something else entirely. And his strict adherence to serving humans far exceeded his capabilities of free-thinking. 

Just the simple thought of his role in that makes you shiver. 

But as you start typing again, you feel the tip of RK900’s fingers settle on the back of your hand and you turn your face towards him, silently asking for a reason. 

“Except for that little bit of rebellion back there, you’re doing wonderful,” he tells you, voice soft. The smugness returns as a vague smirk plays on his lips. You furrow your brows and ignore him, steadily keeping your eyes on the monitor as your fingers resume the typing. 

“Would you like me to tell the rest not to bother you?” 

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps coming into the precinct. 

Swiveling your chair around, you see Gavin first, his hands slipped inside his jeans, followed by Chris in his uniform, and Hank walking behind. And Connor, much to your disappointment, must have finally made his decision to leave the DPD. 

“Why you gotta upstage us again, Rookie?” Gavin says, holding his hands out. 

You are then greeted by Chris and Hank as they take their seats. Except for Gavin, who is still waiting for you to respond. A side of you is relieved he’s here; as annoying as he is, he brightens the place. But, on the other hand, RK900’s still here too. 

And before you can react, RK900 is standing firm beside you. A look of displeasure is on his face, lips thin and eyes pointedly looking at Gavin. “Detective Reed, my partner has a name you should use.” 

You reach for the cuff of RK900’s sleeve and grip it, pulling it against his wrist. “Don’t meddle, please.” 

Despite your attempt to keep your words between you and him, Gavin hears and reacts with a smirk. 

“Yeah, ‘don’t meddle’ you stone-faced robot,” he says, sneering. The look of ill-disguised contempt washes over his face as he crosses his arm. “This conversation is between me and Rookie, yeah?” His last words are directed at you, brown eyes flickering over to you, silently asking for input. 

“It’s—” you look back up to RK900, figuring that in the end, it’s better to placate him than Gavin— “I shouldn’t talk while at work.” Your words suddenly feel foreign and you want to sink into your chair. 

Meanwhile, Gavin stares at you, one eyebrow raising as he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Huh, you sound odd today.” He then waves his hand out and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, whatever, you do what you gotta, I guess.” 

You and RK900 both watch as Gavin takes his seat near the entrance. 

Then, RK900 moves until he’s blocking Gavin’s entire desk and figure, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by your eyes. 

“Unrefined wretch - his immaturity will cost him his reputation as the face of Detroit.” 

“You have no business judging him,” is your response. You lean back into your chair and cross your legs, partially relieved that the tension has subsided for now between Gavin and RK900. Yet still, another remains, hovering in-between RK900 and you now. Your lips press together, heel rubbing against the tile floors, attempting to strike down the budding irritation in you. 

“RK900—” you turn your chair until you can fully face him— “Why do you hate everyone so much? You respect Captain Fowler but only because of his status, right?” 

Strategically, it’s uncouth of you to ask such a question, especially during work-hours. You aren’t privy to the notion that anyone can hear you discuss this, or that RK900 himself might be displeased with the question. And true to your thought, he is, as his mouth curls into a frown. 

“They are all nobodies to me,” he says, words cool and even. But his eyes are an unbridled storm of hard edges. He lowers himself, bending at one knee as he looks you straight in your eyes. “You may have a good standing with them, but not me - I’m only programmed to work with them.” He presses three fingers on your knee and stands up. 

“Do with it as you will, [Name], but I am your partner.” 

You blink, but silently you acknowledge his response.

RK900 is right, however. He cannot develop relations with others aside from a strict work code. And there is a contrasting clash between him and people like Gavin, whose casual and carefree manner doesn’t adhere to the serious business professionalism of Rk900. Thus, easy enmity flourishes and that in itself surrounds every other individual RK900 meets. 

Hank and Chris now only ever talk to you outside of work. 

You feel just a bit more out of touch with everyone, but it’s not your place to argue when you should be putting those extra time to do your duties. 

RK900 left for maintenance after you finished your report. 

With his absence comes a peace that feels surreal, almost fake. His access to your phone and personal computer means he can send you case files and even message you if he finds it necessary. But knowing he’s going for maintenance means he won’t be able to do any of that for a few hours. 

And hopefully, nothing changes during that time. 

The last thing you need is someone finding the stored memory cache of that night. 

“Don’t think about it,” you tell yourself as you slip on your messenger bag. 

Before you can leave, Chris stops you. “Hey [Name].” 

He looks around, then says, “I was going to tell you this, but RK900 was there and I don’t want to end up like Gavin.” You see a nervous look on his face when he mentions RK900, which you wouldn’t fault him at all for. 

“Don’t worry, RK900’s in CyberLife headquarter now,” you tell him, adjusting the strap of your bag. 

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Chris answers, sighing. “Connor wants to meet you, Hank’s supposed to be the messenger but he got work to do. You can find Conner at the old playground - you’ll know which one.” 

There’s a beat in-between, before he adds, “Best not to mention it to RK900.”

“—and I cannot believe the process of finding an apartment,” Connor says, leaning against the black railing with a smile on his face. “But it’s liberating, there’s so much detail that I can decide for myself. Hank helped too; he argued with the agent and he must’ve worked something out because the next thing I know, he’s handing me the key.” 

He smiles and rubs his hands together. 

“It sounds like you really liked the experience,” you tell him. You watch as his shoulders shake, but he’s not laughing. Smile pulling into a frown, you touch his shoulder and say, “Are you cold?” 

“Yeah, my internal system sometimes gets sensitive during cold weather - I’ve replaced it with older parts.” He doesn’t look at you, instead, he keeps his focus onto the view ahead, where the ocean stretches until it hits the coast. Dark clouds curl from the factory chimneys in the distance, reminding you of the days spent bicycling through the empty streets, wanting to go inside one of those factories where your parents worked. 

And you don’t miss the way Connor’s tone changes when he utters those last words. It’s been a year since he left CyberLife and ever since then, both good and bad changes have come for him. Freedom for the exchange of degradation and a life of half-scorn and half-hope. 

You gleaned some of Connor’s experience from Hank. But you never had the chance to fully understand. 

A part of you doesn’t want to; comforting words isn’t something you can effortlessly gift to someone. 

“You think I can make it through this year?” Connor asks, clasping his hands tightly. He’s looking down, face full of solemnity and a vague sense of defeat. He doesn’t speak much about this kind of worry to anyone, so you are left struck with the realization that he trusts you enough to say this to you. 

You suddenly feel burdened and undeserving of that trust. 

You shake your head, silently gazing at the space between the two chimneys in the distance. The material of your scarf’s able to hide your mouth, but it cannot hide the frown from your face. “Of course you will,” you tell him, placing your hands on the railing, “You won’t break - I promise.” 

The phone in your pocket vibrates and you place a hand over the pocket and hesitates. 

Connor turns to face you and tilts his head. “[Name], is something wrong?” 

The voice in you wants to answer him that yes, something’s wrong. It’s RK900 calling, because it’s always him that cares too much to call you when you’re off work. No matter how much the deafening voice is telling you now to answer and yell at him, you can’t. Connor is here and this moment is for him. 

“Yes, but it’s there’s always a little wrong if you’re me,” you say, chuckling. 

His gaze softens and you don’t miss the way he smiles fondly at you. And despite the problems he’s facing, it’s always easy to see him do that. You’re not certain if he’s just like that or if there’s something you don’t know about it. But this is the Connor you’re most familiar with and you terribly miss having him in the DPD. 

And since he’s here—

“Would you ever think of coming back to the DPD?” 

Surprise appears on his face, taken aback by your abrupt question. He doesn’t respond but the LED blinks rapidly in orange. You don’t want to make it too serious of a question to worry him so you look away and pretend he said no. Connor deserves a break - a long one anyway - and it’s not like there are no androids like him out there who can fill in his space. 

Once upon a time, you thought he would be a good replacement. 

“If you don’t want to, I understand, but—” you stop yourself, taking in a shuddering breath as you attempt to collect your nerves. It’s unsavory - perhaps even pathetic - of you to want Connor back. But it’s the wishful knowledge that you can see his warm smile in the DPD rather than just the cold gray eyes of RK900 is a thought of comfort. 

You feel uneasy and you begin to adjust the strap on your messenger bag. The weight beside you is a welcoming right now. 

“No, I would like that,” Connor says, smiling. And you can see it, the flicker of hope in his honey-brown eyes. “I would love to work with Hank again, and I would love to work with you on a case together,” he adds, placing his arm behind his back. Then the grin on his face settles back as he looks to the ground. 

“But—” 

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Both you and Connor know this, that it’s an unspoken rule in DPD that Connor cannot work anymore. He’s ineffective, old, and useless according to his makers and the numerous flaws on his body has rendered him incapable to be on most cases anyway. 

But there’s another truth that overshadows everything else. 

“My presence isn’t particularly well-liked there.” He laughs, but it’s forced and absent of his usual light humor. You know he’s upset about this - it pains him to not be able to do something he truly loves to do. 

“It’s RK900, isn’t it?”

Connor looks back up at you and he frowns. He’s still for a moment, the wind brushing through his dark brown hair. Stray strands linger across his forehead, hiding the LED behind them. “My successor will be the first to have objections. I don’t think Detective Reed would like me back either, considering our last meeting involved my fist to his face.” 

“Fuck RK900,” you say, voice louder. You feel the sole of your boots digging into the thin trace of snow as you step forward. “He doesn’t own you and even I have more jurisdiction than him. Gavin’s long forgotten about that incident and I’m damn sure even he would rather it’s you in there than him.”

The fierceness in your words doesn’t betray the way your hands shake. You know it’s wrong to force Connor to come back. But your own selfishness far outcries the sensibility within you at this moment. 

Connor blinks, taken aback by your sudden response. You feel the creep of warmth through your cheeks the more time passes, especially when you realize he’s assessing you. That is something Connor will never part with, that instinct-like need to observe first.

But before you can talk more, a pair of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, breaks the silence between you. 

Immediately, you feel the warmth that had risen a moment before ebb back into a cold void. In the same moment you attempt to step forth, you decide to step back instead. Cold eyes stare at you, but you couldn’t find the previous energy you had to even look properly. 

“RK900.” And it’s Connor who said the first word, calling to his successor in the same clinical manner Rk900 would speak in towards everyone around him. All of a sudden, the [person] who spoke with tenderness is gone, his entire facade now hardwired into that of a near-emotionless being. 

And RK900, who up until now has been looking at you, turns his gaze toward him. He’s not in the Cyberlife issued white and black uniform but in a black turtleneck sweater and dark fitted jeans and polished black oxfords. Even so, the entirety of his form recalls the usual coldness of his existence. 

You’re aware that the same situation as this morning will happen again. But that was different; the one in front of him had been Gavin. 

This time, it’s Connor and he’s—

“A deviated failure, how quaint,” comes RK900’s venomous words, but it’s only concealing the darker intentions underneath. You’re not sure who to push back or who to tell to stand down. 

But you know who is more likely to act first. 

“RK900, that’s enough; we’re leaving.” In your attempt to break the dangerous tension, you wedge yourself between him and Connor, before pushing yourself against RK900. The uncomfortable closeness only makes you nervous, but the need to separate them far outweighs your own distress. “This is an order!” you add, realizing that RK900’s not moving. 

Neither Connor nor RK900 has said anything about your involvement, although they may be too focused on each other to care. This is dangerous, you know, because if they clash then no one - not even a military-trained soldier - can break them apart. 

The last time someone tried, it broke their arm. 

And that someone was you. 

You’re not certain you want to mentally live another day if something like this happens again. 

Suddenly, you feel a palm on the back of your shoulder. RK900’s glancing down at you and you look up, desperately trying to plead to him to go. 

Don’t make the same mistake, don’t harm him. 

“Is this why [Name] wants me back? Because of you?” 

You freeze, realizing this will never end unless one of them relents. You can still remember the first time, but now is not the time to relish in the past. And now that Connor has spoken, you know RK900 will make sure he gives him an answer. 

Turning your gaze, you see his jaws tense and the glimmer of hunger in RK900’s eyes. A tightness forms in your chest as you change your position and attempt to pull him by his arm. It’s useless; RK900 is as much a stone as he is a war machine. 

“Oh, worry not, we don’t miss you—” he breaks, eyes flitting back to you with a look of heavy disapproval on his face— “And certainly not [Name].” The last of his words are also for you, but well-hidden enough that only you know. 

Connor’s hand curls into a tight fist and no doubt is he thinking of using it like he did with Gavin. You can see it in the tenseness of his jaws, the wrinkle of flesh between his brows, and the narrowing of his eyes. The potent hostility between them only builds and builds despite the time in-between their previous meeting. 

And RK900 sees this, it makes him sneer in a show of dominance. 

“Are you really sure you want to fight me here? In a discarded playground?” The mocking tone in his voice is strong enough that you know it’s meant to enrage Connor. 

It’s working too. The red on Connor’s LED is flashing dangerously underneath the strands of hair covering it. 

As much as you want to see RK900 defeated, you know you cannot let Connor pull the punch first. 

“We’re leaving now, RK900, or I promise you I’ll tell Fowler about this,” you whisper, uncaring now of what happens in the future between you and him. 

“And what then? Don’t make me remind you of your position right now,” is his response. 

You see Connor looking at you, concern written across his face. “What does he mean by that?” 

For a moment, all eyes are on you as you attempt to come up with an answer. Once again you feel like a prey underneath the oppressive eyes of RK900. Still, you stand your ground and keep your hands on his arms. “Nothing, there’s nothing really.” A fake calmness is in your voice, one that you know Connor must’ve seen through. You tug once more at RK900’s arm, uncaring whether or not it’s too harsh of a gesture. 

“[Name]—” But before he can finish his sentence, RK900 has turned, finally allowing you to pull him away. “[Name] wait!” You hear Connor walking forward, attempting to stop you. But you throw him a look, a silent plea for him to not come. 

Not long after, the playground’s out of your line of sight. 

You’re going home, the waning frustration having worn away any semblance of peace in you. But the budding anger feels like fangs gnawing at the back of your mind. You don’t think you’ll get any sleep tonight and be able to wake up tomorrow either. 

But you also cannot go home, because RK900 is following you even though you’ve walked and walked. The feeling of his cold stare is like a knife stabbing at your back. So you stop, having walked into an alleyway that’s a detour to your apartment, and you turn to face him. 

He also stops, standing just a few feet away, eyes settling upon your own. The longer the seconds tick by, the more irate you become and the more nervous you feel. So many times you feel like you’ve been cornered by him. Now that you’re physically cornered, the hair on the back of your neck is slowly standing stiff and a sharp coldness runs down your back. 

“I’m off work.” The calmness in your tone surprises you, but you know that calmness will quickly subside the moment something snaps. The glance you give him is only a warning; hell, it’s a learned reaction from him. But, you’re not finished and the flame within you is blazing stronger and stronger still.“And don’t you think it’s unprofessional of you to try to antagonize an ex-coworker?” 

“I never regretted my decision,” RK900 says, clasping his arms together behind his back. 

“And the first time it happened?” 

“That was a mistake.” 

You almost laugh, knowing all too well the pain that coursed through your arm when it got broken. Everything was so muddled back then, your memory, that is. So you’re not sure who was the one that broke your arm. You want to blame RK900, but you don’t want to bend that low. 

“We all make mistakes, [Name],” RK900 says, sharp gaze stubbornly holding yours, neve letting you go. 

We all make mistakes. 

Right. 

“It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” you say, words harsh but, in your mind, appropriate. And it’s not like it has a singular meaning. Your own bitterness towards yourself is still there, etched into the very words. Whether or not RK900 notices this is his problem. 

And you’ve run out of patience to wait for him to respond.

You turn and continue making your way out of the alley and into the street, where fluorescent lights decorate each shop. There are only a few civilians out, the distinction between whether or not any of them is an android or not now blurred by their lack of uniforms and LEDs. 

This time, you remain en route to your apartment, wanting nothing but the comfort of your bed. And when the familiar off-white color of the building appears in your line of vision, you walk faster. 

But before you can fish out your keys and unlock the double doors, a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Why are you following me?” It’s easy now for you to tell apart his hand from others - there’s always a strength to it. You also don’t miss the intrusive warmth behind your back. 

This time, you turn out of your own will. The sun hasn’t set yet and you can see RK900 staring back at you, face blank - almost serene. 

“I have a question for you, and I hope you may answer it,” he says, voice low. 

“A question for me,” you say, sounding out each word slowly. Again, the nagging feeling of wanting to laugh, to scream at him, gnaws at the edge of your brain. You just want to go home and he’s not even giving you that luxury. 

RK900 seems to sense it too because for a moment you notice the way he frowns before he reigns his expression back. “If you had answered my call, I wouldn’t have to chase you down like this.” 

“Thought you were in maintenance.”

“I can still access the phone application installed in me - you should already know that.” 

You press a hand to your face and slide it down hard. You do, you do know he can call you whenever he pleases. It’s not like that was the first time he attempted to do so. 

But sometimes it’s easier to lie. 

“Okay,” you say, fully giving up now. “I’m all ears.” 

You think he’s going to talk about Connor, again. But, no, he doesn’t because you notice there’s no trace of displeasure on his face, yet. Instead, he says, “No matter what, I want to remind you all that I did and am doing is for you, [Name].” He closes in, his body now just inches before you. Thankfully no one’s walking the street right now except for a few passing cars. 

Your hands are up, ready to push him away, but you stop, letting them linger in the air. “You could change, you know. Be nicer, be better.” It’s hesitant, the way you say those words, and perhaps naive in the way you told it. 

“And why should I?” he asks, leaning closer. “Would kindness protect you from the world? Wasn’t it your own kindness that left you injured?” He’s glaring down at you, attempting to trap you in a corner again. You cannot take a step back, the door is right behind you. 

“I know you wanted Connor to replace me, I’ve known since you first met him,” he adds, sensing that you wouldn’t be responding any time sooner. 

He’s right. And although you question how he knew, you realize it’s too late to find out. But do you even care if he knows? It may be better for him to know he’s not all that superior if he’s second at best. 

“That doesn’t mean I won’t honor our agreement,” is your response. “And I only wanted Connor back in the DPD and not as my partner.” You take in a deep breath, mind now burning with the need to stray away from this, all of this. 

Your attempt to sound confident in front of his presence only makes you seem like a trapped animal even more. Yet still, you place your hands on his chest, holding him at a distance. RK900 reacts with a chuckle, much to your relief, as he stays. 

“Even if the broken one comes back, he will never make you a better version of yourself. Remember [Name], your dream? You told me about it when we first met; you said you wanted to become a police lieutenant at least. You want to earn it through hard and honest work. You have a powerful dream, [Name], and I fully intend to see it happen.” 

The conviction in his words shatters you. You know RK900 is incapable of lying, maybe hide facts and manipulate it, but never outright lie. At least, not to you. And you do remember what you told him before. That wide-eyed new member of the DPD, staring at their future android partner and telling it their wish. That was all you. 

But to know he knows of your dream baffles you. He’s efficient, merciless, and stoic - a well-built machine. And to think he remembers something as insignificant as your dream makes you want to believe he’s something more. 

RK900’s hand suddenly drapes over your own, causing your shoulder to stiffen. 

“Kindness is a choice [Name]. ” 

He’s slowly pushing your arms down. 

RK900 then steps back, his focus still lingering on you. “I see it, from time-to-time, but it should be directed elsewhere. If you can use something more efficient, I believe you’ll make it.” 

And he puts his hand up and waves briefly at you. Wordlessly, you wave back. 

“And [Name]–” he stops himself, eyes searching for something on you— “I forgot to mention this, but if you don’t need me anymore, I will be forced to deactivate and taken apart. They will see into my memory cache if it happens; remember that.” 

RK900 doesn’t wait for your response. 

Seconds pass and you feel yourself slumping against the door. 

This is all a ploy, one could even admit to saying it was a selfish act of benevolence. 

But it’s still not right. You want to believe RK900 is still an android, too crude and unrefined to be anything more than what he already is.

He’s only doing this because that’s what he’s programmed to believe in. 

Unconsciously, your fingers touched the back of your hand. 

You can feel the phantom warmth of his hand, urging you to comply. 

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Saturday and you’re off, but the chance to be called on-duty is enough for you to rouse yourself. Sluggishly, you lean over and grab your phone. Several empty cups of ramen fall down before you find it. 

Looking at the screen, you notice that it’s not a number in your contacts. 

Surely it belongs to a telemarketer. 

But right after you slide it close, the same number calls you again. 

This time, you answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, [Name].”

You feel your heart drop. “Markus?” 

note: YIKES i hope you guys like this. i’ve never experimented with long chaptered fics before and as a writer in general i’ve been rusty. i don’t fully intend to make this story any longer than 2-part unless i get some neat ideas going. plus, if you haven’t known, i suck at updating multi-chapters ^^; 

[merigreenleaf]

Unexpected Inspiration Series: Concordia’s Art Magic

Blythe could only assume that if Adair was holding a paintbrush, the jar in his other hand must contain paint or ink. Then again, it was Adair. It could just as likely be grape jam. And to think, she'd finally got herself unsticky from Sol's glue fiasco this morning. With some trepidation, she held out her hand. Adair dipped the tip of his brush into the jar, then drew a quick blue swirl on her palm. At least that solved the mystery. It was, in fact, paint. "I wouldn't call a paint smudge much of a glow." "Give me a minute." This time Adair didn't return the brush to the jar and instead held the tip of the bristles just far enough away that they tickled Blythe's skin. She fought back the reflex to close her hand so she wouldn't disturb whatever it was he was trying. When nothing happened for a long while besides Adair gazing intently at her hand, Blythe mouthed to Etri, "What's he doing?" Etri tapped his finger against her wrist, calling her attention back down. She had expected nothing to change and hissed a sharp intake of breath when it had. The swirl was still there, but now there was an aura of purple about an inch away from her skin. When she moved her hand, the strange glow stayed with it. Etri leaned closer for a better look. She pried her eyes away in time to catch Adair looking pleased with himself in an embarrassed sort of way. "So all Weavers' hands look like this?" "Yeah, but not just our hands. Picture that covering your entire body and you get a better idea of how we glow." Blythe made a face and wiped her hand clean on the paint-stained cloth he handed her. "Blech. I'll pass." -Excerpt from an early draft of Colorweaver (Book 1)

Concordia as a whole is filled with artists, craftspeople, inventors, and creative hobbyists. The culture has art at its center and almost everyone joins in, even if it's just a way to pass the time rather than as a vocation. It's a drive passed down from generation to generation and the reason for this is that art magic runs deep in the blood of Concordians. History and myth have blended together into stories telling of how the first Concordians-- several struggling, displaced groups of people who joined together to survive-- asked for help in driving away a threat and to help keep their small population safe. Legends say that the constellations came down from the sky to teach magic to the people. Centuries later, these magics have become the nine types of art magic in Concordia.

(Info about the art magic below!)

Here are the types of magic. These are represented in the moodboard from left to right, top to bottom.

Wordweaving (Glow color: red) These Weavers work their magic into words, both spoken and written. These are the poets, the storytellers, the actors, the writers. They're the ones who can affect emotion or, in the case of my morally ambiguous main character, influence someone's thoughts for a short time. This is probably the most dangerous or easily corrupted of magics, but considering the tests that go into becoming a master artist and the checks in place after someone does, this hasn't been a huge problem. (Dray has just made it a problem by avoiding any real training, which is also not a usual thing-- nothing Dray has done with their magic is correct, if you get down to it, and it means that they are going to have Consequences sooner than later. But I digress.) Another example of how this magic can be used is in the scrolling marquee in front of the theater the characters visit in book 1.

Colorweaving (Color: purple) These are the artists whose tools are ink, paint, pencil, charcoal, etc. They're essentially illusionists with the ability to make what they draw/paint move around on whatever they're using as a canvas. Adair has this magic and while he'll sometimes use this to make animated paintings, his career as a cartographer has him creating interactive maps. As the series progresses, he figures out that if he paints on himself or someone else, he can change their appearance. He may even work out something that Colorweavers have forgotten they once knew how to do: by drawing on the air, it's possible to create a believable 3D illusion.  

Timberweaving (Color: dark green) Woodworkers and carpenters, obviously, but their magic does more than just allow them to make sturdy creations from wood. Not that this is anything to scoff at-- this is why the oldest Artisans' houses haven't fallen over despite being built on stilts and almost every generation adding a new room or even a new floor. This magic can also make wood as buoyant on air as it would be on water and is a frequent way transportation is built. Not all vehicles hover a few inches off the ground, but this does include the "float-wagons" my main characters call home. Those are something of a cross between a motorhome and a house and can be driven (albeit slowly) around.

Terraweaving (Color: orange) These are the Weavers who work with stone and clay, sculpture and pottery. Way back in Concordia's history there was a Terraweaver who used to sculpt trainable dog-sized animals to give companionship and help to those who needed it. Not just by way of a service dog-- one of the things she made for a gardener friend was a pet that doubled as a planter. The more traditional ways of working this magic are the ability to work stone as though it were soft clay and putting their magic into buildings to make them more steady and solid, much like the Timberweavers, or to make them resist fires.

Oreweaving (Color: red-violet) These Weavers frequently have chemical or heat magic and often use this to etch, shape, and manipulate metals. They're the jewelers, the smiths, and are probably the most "inventor" group of the bunch. Sol tends to use his light/heat magic in a similar way to how the arcane metalworkers would (softening and shaping metal in his hands), so there's some overlap here in terms of heat with the glassworkers. The reason for this is Oreweaving was originally a kind of lightning magic. You'll still find it used as a kind of "battery" when an Oreweaver works with a different type of Weaver on a project. This could be to extend the life of the magic in something else, because eventually all magic inside a creation will run out and need to be recharged, or it'll be a backup battery. Concordia relies on wind, water, and solar power, so magic is only ever a backup or a way to store power they already have.

Savorweaving (Color: pale green) The Weavers who work with food and drink. What they cook doesn't burn, produce stays fresh longer, herbs don't lose potency or flavor after they're dried, food keeps longer or can be made to be more filling. They're the reason Concordia has the equivalent of refrigerators. These artists can also influence the taste and strength of flavor, and I bet they can look at a person and guess what their favorite foods might be.

Glassweaving (Color: gold) This magic involves heat and/or light. These artists are the reason why Silveridge has so much stained glass! As well as using this to make super-strong glass, some Glassweavers use this magic directly by putting it inside glass globes to be used as lamps. Portable heating, like something to keep in your pockets to keep your hands warm? Probably also had a Glassweaver involved. Concordia's mail system is via pneumatic tubes that run about twelve feet off the ground, and while a few different kinds of art go into creating these, the tubes themselves are made of magically-influenced glass.

Songweaving (Color: blue) This magic involves sound and voice, although in terms of pitch and changing how you sound, not the verbal influence of the Wordweavers. I have a character in later books with this magic who can make her voice sound like anything, as well as throwing it so that the sound appears to be coming from somewhere else. This is also the reason that Concordians are able to record sound and music, as well as amplify it or play it at another location simultaneously.

Threadweaving (Color: blue-green) These are the fiber artists, the spinners, weavers (small "w"), knitters, tailors, etc. They can put their magic into clothing and fabric to make it warmer or cooler than it would otherwise be. (This suits Concordians well because current fashion calls for lots of layers of embroidered fabrics and they live in a warm climate.) This can also make clothing protective, usually against things like weather, but it is also how the Protectorates are able to stay safe without needing to wear something heavy that would look like protective gear. Remember the floating homes I mentioned earlier? Some of these are propelled via large fans, sort of like a hovercraft, but some are made with sails on the roofs. Whether it's land or sea, these sails can propel the vehicle forward even if there isn't much wind and can quite likely store some of the wind for later, should it be a still day.

Not everyone in Concordia has magic particularly strongly: some are only good at never burning what they cook, some have simply a pleasant singing voice, some are above average at writing poetry. Sometimes these people will make this part of their careers, sometimes it'll only remain a hobby they enjoy. If the magic is particularly strong, though, it requires additional training and those people are considered Artisans. There isn't a lot of difference between an Artisan and a craftsperson when it comes down to what they create; the only real difference is that an Artisan has magic as an extra tool, so their end results are different. Considering no two artists ever create exactly the same thing anyway, this means that there has never been more importance placed on the Artisans versus craftspeople. Each person will only ever have one type of art magic; even if they carry several types in their bloodline, one will be dominant and only this one will be usable. Each of the nine types of art magic has its own color that glows in both the artist and the creations they make. Only those with decently strong magic can see this, but it does mean that a lot of people, clothing, objects, and locations in Concordia have almost a stained glass look to them if it's something you can see. Part of the reason buildings in Silveridge are made with white stone is because of these glows. Silveridge is where a large percentage of the Artisans live, so it became a tradition to build and paint in white, then add colorful embellishments. Otherwise think about how badly paint colors might clash with the glows used to create the things in the city! Even if most people aren't really aware of how magic glows, they've embraced this aesthetic. Concordia, and Silveridge in particular, is all about aesthetics.

These are just some examples of what each kind of magic can do. Concordians are always coming up with new ideas-- sometimes those ideas work great, sometimes they fail spectacularly. Either way, the artists and craftspeople are constantly creating. Their art magic allows for greater technology than their world might have had without it. Concordia freely trades their creations, so most of their world has access, as well. At some point I'll talk more about Galanvoth, the country that considers itself Concordia's competition. 

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This moodboard is for @homesteadchronicles theme of “craftsmanship” because how could I not talk about Concordia and their art magic when most of my series involves this. :D In the future, I'd love to talk more about the Artisans, the history of Concordia’s magic, and just more world building stuff in general.

Tagging my series list! Let me know if you want on or off the list, it’s all good. And as always, please add me to any writing tag lists you have, whether you’re on my list or not. I love reading about writeblr projects. :)

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[cilldaracailin]

These Are The Days Of Our Lives

Hello my Tumblr Lovelys,

Hope everyone is good,

This is the last part in this Robyn and Taron story. Thank you for all the love and comments and reads on it. The next story in the series will be coming in the next few weeks.

Suze xx

10

“The only difference between falling in love and being in love is that your heart already knows how you feel, but your mind is too stubborn to admit it.”

Taron’s shower was powerful even though it wasn’t a rainfall one like hers and Robyn stood with her head bent, letting the water pound on her shoulders, hoping it would beat out some of the tension she knew was buried deep beneath her skin. She had already washed her hair and her two minutes to let the conditioner sink in, had turned to ten and she finally opened her eyes, lifting her head so the water now ran over her hair. She definitely had an ulterior motive in asking Taron to use his en suite and his shower smelt just like him and once she had rinsed all of the conditioner from her hair, without a second thought, she reached for his shower gel, not missing the same lime one beside it like she had at home, squirting an overly generous amount of his onto her shower lily, soaping her whole body up, smiling at the lovely manly scent that filled the air around her, one that very quickly becoming a very calming scent to her.

Out of the shower, she dried her hair, the extra-long condition making it super soft and dressed in a pair of black ripped jeans and a blue tank top. She walked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen where Taron was standing at the sink, the water running. She walked right up behind him and wrapped her arms around his stomach, giving his body a tight hug from behind.

Surprised at first, Taron found himself laughing a little. “What is this for?” He asked. He had heard the hairdryer stop and knew she would be in with him soon but hadn’t expected the hug.

“Just ‘cos.”

“Well that’s as good a reason as any. Have a nice shower?” He asked as she took her hands away and came to stand beside him.

“Yeah. It was badly needed.”

“Good to wash away the night.”

“Yep. What are you doing?”

“Just filling the kettle. I felt like some tea. I have your brunch surprise ready.” He turned to lean his right hip on the counter. She still looked exhausted but her eyes were bright and her face not as sad as it had been and slightly disappointed that she wasn’t wearing shorts, he was still so very proud of her opening up to him, to accept his invite to stay another night with him.

“It’s not cake is it?” She asked him as he walked around her to put the kettle back on its base, flicking the switch in.

“It’s not cake.”

“Or left-over pasta bake or pizza?”

“No Robyn!” He laughed turning to her, so glad to see a genuine smile on her face. “I have actually made something.”

“From the cake and pasta?”

“Robyn!” He moved closer to her, his hands going straight to her sides to tickle her, Robyn backing away from his hands, her laughter such a sweet sound, one he didn’t think he would be hearing so soon. “You can go hungry if you want!”

She was still chuckling as she made her escape around the island. “No I want this magic brunch.”

“Well take a seat then.” He said gesturing to the stool at his island.

Robyn walked around towards him, her hands held up in a truce and sat down on the stool. She watched him busy himself around his kitchen, placing a glass in front of her.

“So whose shower wins the best shower award?” Taron asked as he pulled two warmed plates from the oven.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I am partial to your shower.”

“Guess I win then.” Robyn said as he placed some cutlery beside the plates. “Do you want some help?”

“Nope. I got it under control and I guess you do.”

“So, I have the best couch and shower.”

“Maybe I win best shower gel?” Taron teased filling his cup with some hot water. He hadn’t missed the very familiar scent that lingered around her and it made his cheeks heat up with the realisation that she had willingly used his own shower gel.

“Maybe you do.” Robyn felt her cheeks heat up. “Hope you don’t mind. I forgot to bring mine in.”

“Not at all.” He moved to his fridge and took out a carton of orange juice. “You know you are welcome to use whatever you need here.” He filled her glass up with the orange liquid.

“Thank you.” She waited patiently for him to dish out whatever he had made for them to eat and though she wasn’t very hungry at all, she didn’t want to upset or insult him but telling him so. She knew he was already worried about her and had been so wonderfully patient and caring, she didn’t want to give him cause to worry more. Even after her wake up shower, she still felt a deep tiredness rooted inside her and she rolled her neck, trying to loosen up the tense muscles that still twinged after standing under the beating water for so long, her hands going to her neck to roughly rub her neck.

Taron was standing at his hob dishing out his brunch and when he turned around, he watched as Robyn sat with her head down, her hands under her hair, so obviously rubbing the back of her neck. In all the time he had known her, he had never seen her physically show an ache she had in her body and it saddened him that it was another pain she was feeling. Knowing how much she hated massages, apart from when someone played with her hair, as he concentrated on getting some food on the table, in the back of his mind, he tried to come up with a way to get his hands onto her neck to help rub out the clear and obvious spasm she was feeling.

Putting a smile on his face he walked over to where she was sitting. “And breakfast a la Taron!” He placed a plate of waffles and bowl with scrambled eggs and rashers in front of her and then added another plate with some toast cut in triangles. He came back with a bowl full of berries and then added the dish of Irish butter beside the toast and a tea bag to his cup, going to the fridge to grab some milk and his sugar bowl from the press. Once sure he had everything he needed, he took a seat beside her. “Hope this is ok.”

“You pulled this together quick.” Robyn was very surprised by the lovely looking meal he had fashioned together in about half an hour.

“Such little faith chicken.”

“Not at all. I have just seen inside your fridge. I don’t know if you should use that milk.”

“I might have popped out to the shop for a second. Restocked the basics.”

“You went to the shop?” Robyn asked twirling on her stool to face him.

“I couldn’t follow through with your challenge with only birthday cake and pasta and I was desperate for a decent cup of tea and I need milk for that. It’s only around the corner. Got a few things.”

“Berries and milk.”

“And bread.”

“And eggs.”

“Just some simple food I know you like. Don’t feel like you have to eat if you are not hungry. I know last night was tough so if it’s cake and pasta you want, it’s cake and pasta you can have.”

“Not at all. This is perfect.”

“Oh wait…” Taron got up from his seat and took a bottle of maple syrup from the countertop and placed it beside the waffles. “Most important.”

Robyn nibbled on a bit of everything, happy to mostly eat the fruit Taron had bought, but trying to make an effort of showing how much she appreciated the meal he had prepared especially when he went to the shop to buy most of the things but after a bit of picking, had to stop, her stomach starting to protest. While she barely touched the majority of what he had made, Taron must have been starving as he polished off a decent amount of food, refilling his cup for the third time.

“Thank you for this Taron.”

It didn’t go unmissed how little she ate, choosing the fruit over the more filling eggs and waffles but Taron let it slide, not wanting to push her or make her feel bad for not eating what he had prepared for them, so he nodded, picking up his cup. “You are welcome.”

“I will help you clean up but might just go and quickly give my mam a call to let her know I am going to stay here for another night.”

“Sure. I am going to finish my tea.”

Robyn left him at the island and headed back to his bedroom to ring her mam and while she was gone, Taron drained the last of his tea and did a quick tidy up of his kitchen, scraping the uneaten food into his bin. Still very troubled by her sleepless night, he was ready to crash on the couch and just be there for Robyn. Her phone call was very quick and he was wiping the island when she walked back into him.

“All ok with your mam?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t mind you are staying another night with me?”

“I am a big girl Taron. Don’t have to ask permission to stay over.”

“Even at a boy’s house?” He chuckled, wriggling his eyebrows at her.

“Maybe I didn’t tell her that part!” Robyn threw back his way, smiling as he laughed at her, watching as he threw the dishcloth on the sink, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “You cleaned up fast.”

“Not much to do.”

“I feel like I have been no help to you at all this morning.”

“Don’t be worrying. So couch and a movie?” He said coming to stand beside her, seeing her nod in agreement.

Taron led the way and sat right in the corner, throwing his feet up onto the coffee table, Robyn coming to sit on his left, the side she had always sat by since the 7/11, sitting comfortably beside him.

“What are you in the mood for?” He asked turning the TV on.

“I really don’t mind.”

“Something funny? Adventure movie?”

“Once it’s not a romantic lovey dovey film, I don’t mind.”

Clicking into his Netflix, Taron went straight to the action movies and flicked through a few, hoping Robyn would give more of an input but she was quiet as she sat beside him. He let a few trailers play and then clicked into one that seemed to have a decent plot, settling into his couch. She was right beside him, their shoulders touching and he slipped his left hand into her right, just letting her know he was there so glad to feel the light squeeze she gave him.

The movie was enough to keep her attention, a good distraction from her thoughts and she tried so hard to keep herself awake, to stop her eyes from closing but after struggling for so long, her hand went limp in Taron’s and her head leaned onto his shoulder as she fell asleep.

He wasn’t too sure if he was happy or not at how she quickly she fell asleep and his concerns were very much warranted when she jumped up awake so quickly after she had seemed to be deeply asleep and he wrapped his left arm around her as she sat hunched over a little her face in her hands.

It wasn’t another dream that woke her but that horrible sensation of falling and she knew she hadn’t been asleep very long at all, so grateful for Taron’s arm that was holding her close into his body. “Fucking hell.” She cursed to herself, running her hands through her hair.

“Robyn?”

“I am ok.” She let a long exhale leave her lips. “Remember in the 7/11 when you feel asleep and woke up so suddenly, it not only hurt you but startled you?”

“Yeah, it’s not a nice feeling.”

“Just happened. I am just not relaxed enough to try and sleep and my body knows it.”

“Come here to me.” Taron guided her into him as he sat back into the corner of the couch, her back resting against his chest. “Move down a little bit.” He instructed and was glad she listened to him as she moved her body so her back moulded into his chest, her head under his chin. “Pop your legs up darling.”

Following his instructions, Robyn got herself settled on the couch, her upper body leaning into Taron, her legs bent at her knees as they rested against the back of the couch. With the way he was sitting in the corner of the couch, she could neatly lean into him, her right side already feeling warm from his body, her left cushioned by the couch. She moved her arms over her stomach, linking her fingers together and felt Taron lazily drape his left arm over her.

It was the closest Taron could get to holding Robyn in the most protective way he could think of, while giving her the space he knew she needed but also letting her know he was right there for her. He knew he had snuggled so closely to her before, let her hold him so tightly in her arms but this was a new position for him and he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around her and just squeeze her but he held back. He wanted her to be comfortable, to feel safe and after getting another insight into her horrible past relationship, just to feel loved and protected. She still felt warm and it was actually starting to worry him that she was so warm, her skin always so cold to touch and he moved his left hand so he could place it over her enclosed hands to see if her hands were cold and he smiled as Robyn encased his hand in-between her two, finally feeling some sort of normal body temperature in her hands.

“Thanks Taron.” It was a cuddle of sorts and a pure feeling of security she felt from him and when she felt his hand rest on hers, she just grabbed it tight and brought it her to lips to give the back of his hand a kiss. Still blown away by his understanding of what she needed, Robyn held his hand in hers, feeling him settle behind her. She watched as he crossed his ankles, his feet still resting on the coffee table and she copied his movements, letting her legs lay flat on his couch in front of her.

“I am right here if you fall asleep.” He said to her, giving her hair a kiss, the scent of her shampoo, as always making his eyes close. “It is just me and you Robyn. It is only after twelve. We have all day to just sit here and sleep and talk if you want, or just cuddle together.”

“For the moment, I will take that last option.”

“It’s my first choice too. Do you want me to put on a different movie? Maybe something a little bit lighter? Maybe your DVD?”

“Definitely not my DVD.” She said. “Have you ever watched Sugar Rush?” She could feel him shake his head. “It’s a baking programme on Netflix. I think you’ll like it.”

Taron exited out of the movie and went into the search bar, typing in Robyn’s suggestion, a smile on his lips as the saw the photo associated with the show. “I think it will make me hungry.” He said as he pressed play.

“We have a full birthday cake in the fridge.”

“You don’t mind watching this again?” He asked as he dropped the remote by his right leg.

“Nope. I like this show.”

Robyn leaned a little bit more into Taron’s strong chest, keeping his left hand locked in her two, very gently rubbing her two thumbs over the back of his hand, her head turned a little towards the television.

“Why do you do that?” He asked her.

“Do what?”

“Rub my hand?” Robyn stopping gently massaging his hand at his words. “I didn’t say stop.”

She gave his hand the lightest of pinches before deeply rubbing her two thumbs into the back of his hand. “You like it.”

“I do.”

His words made her heart flutter a little. “Keith was a manly man.” Taron’s body moved under her as he laughed when she made her voice sound really low as she said the words ‘manly man’. “Men can’t appreciate or feel affection was his mantra”

“I am quite a touchy-feely person.” Taron admitted.

“Me too but it doesn’t make you any less of a man because you give an extra hug or kiss or enjoy this.” Robyn turned his hand over so she could stroke his palm.

“I really don’t like him.”

“I know.”

“Are you always so touchy-feely?” He asked, really enjoying how Robyn caressed his hand so lovingly.

“With you, it is very easy to be.”

“With him?”

“No.”

“He give you hugs?”

“Sometimes.”

“Squishy ones?”

“Never.”

He pulled his left hand from hers so he could engulf in her a cuddle, placing multiple kisses on her head until Robyn swotted him away with a giggle. “Stop Taron!”

“Just being affectionate.” He replied, swinging his left arm over her left shoulder.

“Hmmm sure.” Robyn gave his hand a little pull so she could hold it in hers again and without even asking him, started to lightly knead his skin, just loving the feeling of his large hand in hers, glad to find a simple but effective way to thank him for looking after her so well, her attention turned to the television as she moved her fingers over his knuckles.

It was a fun show and a very good distraction though having Taron’s commentary as he watched, was doing an even better job of making her smile as was his wonderful soft body under hers. It was a position of pure comfort and a long calming sigh left her body as she felt a sense of peace in her body and her mind. She felt Taron ease his hand from hers and so he could give her a little hug, leaving his arm resting down her left arm, drawing little soothing patterns on her skin.

The competition of the baking show immediately piqued his interest and three episodes in, he knew Robyn was smiling at him as he loudly voiced his sudden baking expertise. Although he was very much engaged in his new favourite show, he was relieved beyond belief that Robyn had finally become relaxed in his arms. He knew she wasn’t sleeping but happily lying with him and without a doubt he was very glad to keep her snug in his arms. With the way her head was tucked under his chin, he had the most perfect view of her body and he had at one point definitely taken a full look down the circular dip of her top. Having done so before in Paris, it wasn’t as naughty a look as the previous one he had and his heart hammered a little harder as it always did when he found himself taking sneaky glances at her.

One thing he did notice was that she wore a belt and in all the times he had known Robyn, not once had she worn a belt that he could remember. Maybe it was something he had never noticed before but having seen her in these particular pair of ripped jeans before he didn’t remember her wearing a belt. His mind started to think back through the weekend. Apart from that morning she had happily eaten everything put in front of her and even had made the pasta bake with him the night before but he couldn’t help but notice now, the little differences in her body as she lay against him. Telling himself, he was over thinking things and after her horrible night, of course she wouldn’t be up for eating that morning and just because she was suddenly wearing a belt it meant nothing and rubbed her left arm again, his eyes moving back to the television.

As the fourth episode was halfway through, Robyn was very sure Taron hadn’t realised that he had moved his right hand into her hair as he continued to comment on the cupcakes on the TV and he was very lightly brushing her hair over and over, the sensation of it so soothing. She could feel her eyes closing and leaned into his touch, Taron’s hand completely moving from her hair.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.” She said tilting her head back to look at him. “It was nice.”

“Your hair has gotten long again.”

“Due another cut.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“But yet you can cut yours?”

Taron laughed a little, his hand going back to her hair. “Mine is needed for work.”

“Mine is needed to keep it healthy.”

“It’s perfect. Maybe needs some colour.”

Robyn laughed a little. “You did like the pink didn’t you.”

“Just a bit.” Taron’s hand moved to her head and scratched it in little circles. “Do you want some pink?”

Robyn turned a little so she was lying on her side and she could properly look at him. “You have some pink hair dye in your bathroom?”

“Not quite but I have something else.” He went to move but felt Robyn’s hands on his chest. “What?”

“You want to move?”

“Well chicken to get the pink, I need to move.”

“But I am so cosy. You make a good pillow.”

“How about I offer to do your hair?”

“My hair?”

“I know you love it when someone plays with your hair. I have an idea. Trust me.”

With an over exaggerated sigh and stretch, Robyn moved and sat up, letting Taron up.

“It will be worth it.”

Taron left Robyn on the couch, a smile on his face as he walked into his spare room and the en suite inside. He routed through the bathroom cabinet, still smiling when he pulled out the hair chalk set he had bought for his sisters when they came to stay but never used. He then walked into his bedroom and his own en suite and picked up Robyn’s hairbrush and a towel and made his way back to his couch where Robyn was sitting, once again her hands on the back her neck. He dropped the chair chalk very gently on the ground to let her know he was on the way back, knowing she would hate it if he caught her trying to rub the obvious twinge she felt out.

“Sorry!” He called, bending down to pick up the packet. Once back up straight, she was sitting on the couch as if she had been in that position the whole time.

“What you got there?” Robyn moved her hands quickly away from her neck when she heard the slight bang on the ground. She was pretty sure it was because she had slept on the couch awkwardly that her neck ached, the top of her shoulders too and she used any moment Taron wasn’t around her to try and hastily rub hard out the soreness she felt, sitting up straight as he walked over to her.

“Hair chalk.” He answered coming to sit on her left. “I know you only washed your hair a few hours ago but I thought maybe you would like it and it gives me a perfect excuse to brush your hair a lot.” Her smile was beautiful and he could see that she tried very hard to hide the enthusiasm she wanted to show for him to do her hair.

“I think I would like that, a lot.” She grinned at him. It sounded like absolute heaven and she couldn’t wait for him to get started, hoping it might also help ease the light headache she could feel too.

“Though you might.” Taron put the hair chalk and towel on the coffee table. “I think we should move to the floor for this.” His throw was on the end of his couch and he stretched over to pick it up. “We can lay this on the floor so we can still be cosy.”

“Facing the television so you can continue to judge the baking.”

“Of course.”

Taron set the cosy soft throw on the floor, pushing the coffee table forwards a little so they had more room, making sure the fluffy blanket stretched right into and under the angled corner part of the couch. “I don’t want to have to wash the throw because it will wash the lovely softness away so I am going to put a towel down too.” Picking up the white towel from the coffee table Taron placed it diagonally on the throw. He grabbed the packet of hair chalk and Robyn’s hairbrush and sat himself on the floor, leaning his back into the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him.

“I am ready when you are.” He said patting the space in between his legs.

“Can I have mermaid hair?” Robyn asked him.

“Whatever you want chicken.”

“Give me two minutes to grab my hair clips. It will help you.” Robyn stood up and walked into the bedroom and to her case, picking up her make-up bag. Once unzipped, she took out four small hair claw grips and carried them back into the living area. She didn’t mind at all that she had only washed her hair that morning and was very much looking forward to what she knew was going to be an epic hair colouring session. Taron could have offered to colour her hair black and she wouldn’t have cared. It was her most favourite thing in the world for someone to do for her and she was more than ready to let him brush and colour her hair. “Here ya go.” She handed the four clips to Taron. “You can use them to clip up my hair to get the full colour effect.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all and I only wish I could return the favour.” Robyn said reaching forward to rub his head. “I could try but I don’t think it would work.” She sat down on the throw, moving back a little so she was in-between his legs.

“When my hair grows out, you can colour it however you want but not green and not semi-permanent dye. We are not going there again.”

Robyn laughed. “I still hold firm to the fact that it was your own doing. Nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah sure.” Taron said as he picked up Robyn’s large hairbrush and ran it carefully through her hair. “Because you didn’t plant that bottle on your dresser.”

“Of course not. It was always there.”

Taron moved the brush to the top of her hair and brushed it through, smiling at the ease with how the brush slipped through her hair. “Hmmm…” He answered her quietly.

Robyn moved to sit with her legs crossed, her knees resting lightly on Taron’s own legs, already feeling relaxed as he brushed through every part of her hair. She could feel him running his hand flat down her hair after he brushed it and she chuckled as he got distracted for a moment by the cupcakes on the screen decorated with very intricate honeycomb shards. His hands stalled by his legs and Robyn turned her head around to watch him, his eyes locked on the screen, his face in awe of the cupcake presented to the judges.

“So I guess next on our baking list is cupcakes and I suppose we could make the honeycomb too.”

Taron realised he had been slightly ignoring his task at hand and felt a blush in his cheeks. “Sorry.” He brought his hands back to her hair.

“You don’t have to say sorry. The cakes on this programme are insane. I knew you would like it.”

“How do people come up with those ideas.”

“Professionals are pretty good at that Taron.” She chuckled as she felt her hair thrown over her face, using her two hands to brush it back. “Mature. So you don’t want to make cupcakes and top them with honeycomb then?”

“You can make honeycomb?” He asked fixing her hair back straight.

“It’s pretty simple. Just sugar and golden syrup and then adding some bicarbonate of soda when they are melted together. Pop it on a tray and let it harden and done.”

“Is there anything you can’t bake?” He asked gathering all of her hair together in a low ponytail at her neck.

“Lots of things. I just look up the recipes and they normally work for me.” She said to him, smiling as she felt him gently twisting her hair around and doing what she could only suppose was a bun.

“Next time can we make chocolate cupcakes with honeycomb shards on top?”

“Sure. You having fun there?” She could feel him clipping one of her hair combs in but her hair fell out of it when Taron hadn’t gripped the bun properly to the rest of her hair.

“How do you do those fancy hair styles? I can’t even clip your hair up,”

“Just a girl thing.” She shrugged.

“How am I meant to clip your hair up myself to get to the back to colour it?”

“Want me to do it?”

“Just show me how so I can do it for the next part.”

“Sure.” Robyn took the clip he handed her and left it balanced on his right leg and separated her hair, taking most of it in her hands, leaving the back of her hair down. She did a quick twisting motion and then twirled her hair into a bun and picking up the clip, opened it and caught her hair up on the top her head, the bun staying firmly put. “Like that.” She turned around to Taron, grinning at his blank face.

“Not a hope. Would you like to do that again but in slow motion?” He asked shaking his head.

“Sure.” Robyn took the clip out, leaving it on his leg again. “But this time you are going to do it.”

“I don’t think…”

“You are going to do it.” She interrupted him. “I won’t be able to see which hair is coloured and which is not and won’t be able to help you when you need to clip up the non-coloured hair so you are going to have to do it. It isn’t rocket science Taron. It’s hair. Now lift up my hair, leaving some at the back.”

Knowing she wouldn’t do it herself until he tried, Taron followed Robyn’s first instruction and lifted her hair, making sure some still fell down her back.

“Ok now twist it around and don’t worry about twisting it too much, it only needs a few turns.”

A bit confused at first with how he was meant to actually twist her hair, it took him four tries before he managed to find a way to rotate her hair and after five turns, stopped. “Ok now in the bun?”

“Yep as high as you can go.” It was so lovely having someone else do her hair and even though he did snag a few strands as he coiled her hair into a pretty tight bun, she did her best not to squirm and after another twist felt him hold the bun in his left hand. “And clip it.” She handed him the clip from his leg. “Use a second clip or a third if you need it.” Robyn felt the comb scratch her scalp and a second added before Taron took his hands away.

“Hey it stayed!” He said excitedly.

“Not a bother to you. Now you can colour until your hearts content.”

“I will be doing plaits next.”

“Don’t run before you walk rocketman. Plaits are a bit more complicated.”

Taron reached for the hair chalk and opened the packet, laying the five colours out on his right side. “I have a good teacher.” He said as he opened the pink chalk.

“Plaits are much more intricate. Lots of crossing different sections of hair.”

“Maybe I will stick to colouring.” He said as he took up some hair in his hands and dragged the hair chalk through it. “Last chance to back out Robyn.”

“Nope. I want mermaid hair.”

“Okie dokie.”

After colouring that one section pink, Taron divided the remaining hair into four other sections, giving each one its own colour. He then carefully took the two clips out and let her hair down, untwisting it as he went. As Robyn showed him, he separated some more of her hair and tied it back up again, finding his movements a little quicker, especially when there wasn’t as much hair to tie up. Just like he had done before, he sectioned off Robyn’s hair and coloured it but made the pattern different to the colours behind, making sure each colour was pretty pigmented though with the blonde colour in her hair, it was easy for each one to stand out. Once done, he brushed through all the loose hair, glad he placed the towel down on his throw as some dusty chalk fell from her hair. “Robyn, I might be ruining your top a little with the chalk. Possibly your shoulders too.”

“That’s ok Taron.”

“I might have put way too much chalk in. I just wanted the colour to stand out more.”

“It’s fine Taron. I don’t mind. It is only chalk. It will wash out.” Robyn happily sat as she was, tucked neatly inside Taron’s legs, smiling at the playfulness she could feel from him as he unclipped her hair and tied some back up again. “You are loving this aren’t you?” She said to him, moving her hands to tickle under his knees, laughing as he kicked his legs away from her touch.

“I have never had a girlfriend who would let me mess with their hair like this.” He said without thinking, his words pausing quickly. “I mean not that they wouldn’t, just… well yeah they wouldn’t.” He felt Robyn place her hands on his knees. “I guess it’s a girl thing.” Taron stopped colouring her hair green when he realised what he said and felt the second squeeze to his knees. “You know what I mean.”

“Colour away Taron. I don’t mind at all and yeah I do. I know what you mean.” Never one for frills, Robyn knew how easy going she was and she uncrossed her legs and turned around so she could give him a hug, followed by a kiss on his cheek. “I believe you still have half a head left to colour Mr Egerton.” She settled herself back on the throw and crossed her legs again.

Glad to feel his heart slowing down, Taron picked up the piece of hair he was colouring green and with the hair chalk still in his hands, dragged it down again. For once it was just a few of her words that brought him round and as always, he was more than thankful for her. He let the last section her hair down and shuffled a little closer to her back so he could reach the top of her hair. Working his way around, he coloured each little inch around the crown of her head, making sure two of each colour was visible. His hands were the same colour of her hair and he grinned as he finally finished and ran his hands through her hair from front to back, picking up the brush to make sure there were no tangles. “And done!” He cheered followed by a quick bless you as Robyn sneezed.

“Bless you!” He laughed again as she sneezed twice more but his smile turned when he heard a murmur of a groan come from her lips, watching as her hands went to the back of her neck again.

She couldn’t stop the first sneeze or the second but the third went straight to her sore neck and without thinking she brought her hands to her neck, to rub the skin roughly before she even realised what she was doing and when she when to take her hands away, felt her fingers being gently grabbed by Taron’s hands.

“Robyn?” His voice was soft and so clearly filled with worry.

“I don’t think I can sleep on your couch in the same way you can’t sleep on mine.” She shook his hands free from hers and dug her fingertips into her neck. “Just a bit of a twinge. I will be fine.”

“Can I?” He asked, placing his fingers over hers again. “It’s awkward trying to rub your own neck.”

“It’s ok. Just a small niggle.”

“Robyn…”

Every now and again Taron’s accent would creep back into his tone and as he said her name with a Welsh twang and she took her hands from her neck, letting his replace hers and with the lightest of movements, felt him move his hands to rest on her shoulders, the pads of his thumbs moving up and down with a feathery pressure, her chin falling to her chest as Taron was nothing but gentle with his strokes.

Robyn hated massages, always had but she had never been converted so quickly in those five seconds when Taron got his hands on her. Keeping the power she knew he had in his hands at bay, he was so tentative with his touch, barely pressing into her skin.

“Can I offer you even a little relief from a very light massage?” He asked her, feeling how she didn’t even try to stop him. “Just a teeny tiny one. I can loan you a voucher.” Robyn laughed at his words. “It’s already been a shit night; we don’t need to add a shit day to it.”

“My day has been brilliant.” She replied to him lifting her head. “I have mermaid hair.” She pulled her hair around so she could look at the colours. “That’s a good job Taron.”

“You avoiding my request?” He asked. “It’s part of your birthday present.” He teased.

“Nice try Taron.” She replied, moving so she knelt opposite him. “The birthday presents ended yesterday.”

“Maybe they didn’t.” He shrugged. “I just know from experience that it helps.”

Robyn smiled a little, looking to his innocent face, those deep green eyes. “Maybe a little one then.” She said tilting her head, watching as Taron’s face broke into a full grin. “A little one Taron.”

“A little one.” He agreed. “Let me just get something really quick.” He pulled his legs from around her and got to his feet. “Give me two seconds.”

“Taron…” Robyn warned.

“Two seconds.” He repeated walking around her and back into his spare room’s bathroom. He gave his hands a quick wash with some soap to get all the chalk off and then picked up a small bottle of massage oil, an extra Christmas present from his mates, slagging him off with what he could use it for. It turned out it was going to come in useful after all. Trying to keep his face steady, he walked back to Robyn who was still sitting as he had left her. He held up the small bottle. “Fair is fair right?” He said handing it to her while he settled himself as he had been sitting, Robyn reading the writing on the bottle.

“This is some fancy oil. Chamomile, lavender and argan oil? ‘Calming massage oil for sleep and sore muscles’.” She read.

“Perfect I should think. Sleep and sore muscles?” He held his hand out for the oil. “It was a present from Deian at Christmas. Thought I needed a helping hand.” Taron froze, his eyes widening as he realised what he said, that all too familiar blush flaming through his cheeks. “There is really no coming back from that one, is there?” He said, letting his head hit his couch.

“Not really, no.” Robyn agreed, feeling her own flush at his words. “So let’s see how good this expensive oil is.” She turned around, taking up her previous crossed legged position. “You will have to use your newly learnt hair skills to clip up my hair. I don’t think har chalk and oil will mix very well.”

“Sure.” His face was still hot and red and he could feel a little shake to his hands but gathered her hair and twisted it, before making it into a bun, using three clips to make sure it stayed in place, giving it a little jiggle to ensure it wasn’t moving anywhere. “Robyn you can tell me to stop whenever you want or if I press too hard and it won’t be a long one. I know you are not too fond of this but even ten minutes could relieve that little pain you feel and I will stick to just your neck, maybe a little of your shoulders, but no further.”

“I trust you.” Robyn spent a lot of her time wondering what would have happened if Taron hadn’t come to Ireland to find her and knew well she would have been stuck in the same old rut she had found herself in if he hadn’t of knocked on her work door and lately, thanked her lucky stars for his stubborn persistence in everything he ever did for her. Staying seated with her legs crossed, keeping the contact of her legs against his, Robyn let her chin rest against her chest ready to let Taron try and smooth away her ache.

To say he was excited was an understatement. Taron had thought about a moment like this for weeks, maybe even months but never thought he would ever get the opportunity to repay her with a massage of her own and was warming his hands together, rubbing his palms round and round to make sure his skin was warm before he touched Robyn. He picked up the small bottle of oil, still feeling completely embarrassed with his earlier words and poured some onto his hands, continuing to rub his hands together, now warming up the oil. He knew the first touch would make her jump and it was same when she first touched his shoulders but he rested his hands for moment before he moved his thumbs very lightly, the slick oil making it a lot easier than before. He only moved his thumbs, concentrating on her neck, keeping the pressure delicate and safe, smiling when he heard a tiny little appreciated sigh come from her.

“You ok Robyn?”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah?” He asked wanting to make sure she was truly comfortable and not just telling him so to make him happy.

“I won’t break Taron. It’s ok to press a little harder. I think the twinge needs you to be less delicate.”

“You sure?” He asked not expecting her to even suggest to him to knead her skin a little harder.

“I am sure.”

“Tell me if it is too much.”

“Will do.” Robyn said but she desperately just wanted to press her hands into his, forcing him to dig his fingertips into her neck. The combination of his always warm hands and the oil was perfect and she sighed happily again as she felt that deeper pressure she had asked him to give her. She could already feel an ease in the tension she was feeling.

Taron took his time as he rolled her skin under his fingers, at one point really pushing a little of his weight behind his thumbs, smiling to himself as he felt Robyn push back into his hands and he repeated the roll movement a few more times. He had happily worked on her neck for a few minutes and having gotten into a smooth rhythm, let his eyes cast over her shoulders. Freckles still littered her skin and he smiled at the memory of the ones on her nose which were long gone as her tan from Florida faded months ago. He took his hands away from her beck and poured some more oil onto his hands and once smoothed around his palms, placed his hands back on her neck, moving his hands towards her left and right to her shoulder, his thumbs once again doing all the work in rubbing her skin. Making easy circles, switching it up between large and small ones on her shoulders, Taron grinned as each freckle disappeared under his thumbs, only to reappear again. She hadn’t moved and under his hands, he could feel her breathing settle into easy deep breathes and it was the calmest he had felt her since she woke up from her nightmare and knowing he was well past his promised ten minutes, he continued to massage and mould her shoulders and neck, moving back to focus only on her neck, gliding his thumbs up and down, making gentle circles.

Robyn knew Taron was being so extra careful with his movement but the extra pressure he finally used was amazing and very quickly he had rubbed out her twinge but she didn’t tell him to stop and when his hands moved to her shoulders, she could have hugged him as she could feel every inch of tension she had been carrying leave her body. Her shoulders automatically dropped when he moved back to her neck and just the simple easy strokes were enough to further relax her. After her horrid night and holding herself so straight and rigid, she found Taron’s wonderful suggestion of a little massage the perfect medicine to help her touch base with herself again and when he took his hands away, she definitely felt disappointed.

“Two more minutes?” She said lifting her head and turning to look at him, glad to see his lips turn to a smile.

“Sure chicken.”

It was the quickest two minutes but when Taron finally took his hands away, Robyn felt completely relaxed and as she lifted her head, the twinge which had been bothering her was magically gone. She rolled her neck and sighed once again. She moved so she could face him and took his hands in hers, both still slippery from the massage oil.

“My turn huh?” He chuckled as Robyn now dug her thumbs into his palms.

“Something like that.” She said, keeping her eyes on his hands. “Thanks Taron.”

“Feel better?”

“Much.” She agreed. “I didn’t realise I needed it so badly.”

“Well I am always willing to help you out with that Robyn. Anything to ease any pain you feel.”

“I know.” She said, linking her fingers with his. “I know you are always there for me, no matter what.”

“Did I help change your mind about massages?” He asked, noticing how she had yet to look at him.

“Maybe.” Robyn answered him, trying to keep the smile from her face but it was so hard.

“I told you back when we went to the musical that I would.”

“Yes you did.” She finally took a look to him, his face full of pride. “Don’t get too cocky Taron. One little massage.”

“One can lead to more.” He chuckled. “You sure it helped?” He asked stopping her from rubbing is hands, by holding hers.

“It did. It really really did. See?” She rolled her neck around. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. So how about some birthday cake?” He asked, not wanting to linger on the subject of her massage for too long, feeling she would begin to get embarrassed soon, so was happy to bring their conversation in a little sneaky way around to food, hoping she would take him up on his suggestion of eating some cake. “I really need someone to help me make a dint in it before I am back to work.”

“You could always bring it into work.” She hinted.

“And let them know I can bake? No way. I will be hounded to bake more often.”

“Because I definitely don’t know how that feels.” She laughed a little. “I still think you should bring at least three quarters of it into work tomorrow Taron.” She let go of his hands and stood up, reaching down to take his hands again, helping him to his feet. “Thanks for pushing me out of my boundaries in a good way.” She said to him, pulling him into her for a hug. “Sometimes I just need that little extra encouragement and support.”

“Always Robyn.”

Once they ended their hug, Taron led her into the kitchen and as she sat at the island, he got the chocolate birthday cake from the fridge and cut one large slice from it, putting it onto a plate, moving the plate in front of Robyn. Grabbing the carton of milk he bought in the shop earlier that morning and two glasses, he came to sit beside her on a stool.

“And we will eat this with our hands?” She asked him picking up one of the treats from inside the cake up to eat it.

Taron bit his lip a little, a smile on his face as he realised he forget to get the forks and got to his feet to take two from his cutlery drawer. “I do believe you had no problem eating the cake with your fingers yesterday.” He said to her handing her a fork.

Robyn grinned. “True.” She used the fork to cut through the cake. “I want a fork today though.”

Laughing at her answer, Taron just shook his head, digging his own fork into the cake. Bit by bit he could see Robyn coming back to herself, her mood lifting, her slight slagging and giddiness a lovely relief to him from the stressed woman he had seen last night. He was thankful for her full trust in him, giving him the chance to help her in little ways, letting him do so and he very much enjoyed looking after her. It was just a tiny bit of protection compared to everything she had ever done for him but it meant the world to him.

Cake eaten and plates and glasses placed into the dishwashwer, the two settled back onto the couch, once again Taron taking the corner, Robyn took her hair from the bun Taron had placed in her hair, nestled into his side, this time on her own right side rather than her back, her head finding a cosy spot on his chest, her left arm wrapping around him. Safe and secure, Robyn smiled as he pressed play on the TV, the baking show back on the screen, feeling Taron’s voice vibrate in his chest as he began his commentary on the contestants on the show. It was the purest of comfort and one she always felt in his arms and she could feel her eyes closing but instead of being afraid this time to let her eyes close, she concentrated on the strong heart beat under her ear and the incredibly tight arm around her waist. Without a doubt, she knew Taron would never let anything happen to her and it was that knowledge of trust and safekeeping, that helped her drift off into a light slumber, a deeper sleep that was desperately needed following soon after.

Taron kept his hand tight around her side, feeling her breathing deepen after a while and the swirling nerves in his stomach took a while to settle, he was so worried she was going to wake again in a panic but after nearly forty minutes of just watching her sleep, Taron felt he could finally relax, knowing that for the moment, Robyn was too. Just thoroughly exhausted, her whole body had given in to her sleep and knowing she found his body warm and cosy, was relieved to see her sleeping. It was why he had asked her to stay with him. To just watch over her and make sure she wasn’t alone as he knew she would have been if she had of gone home. She needed the support and maybe for the first time, willingly accepted it without one argument. If she did wake, he was right there ready to give her as many cuddles as she needed, to talk her through her nightmare and hold her shaking hands. He just needed her to believe that she could fully trust him and lean on him and doing so would not lead to heart break. Feeling his own tensions leave him, Taron turned his focus back to the TV. He knew he would be able to feel any change in Robyn’s sleeping pattern as she lay against him so instead of staring at her, turned his eyes to the cake on the screen, his right hand moving over Robyn’s left arm as she cuddled him, keeping even more of a connection with her as she slept.

Her eyes fluttered open, a little happy sleepy moan leaving her lips and she nestled her head a little deeper into the wonderful warmth under her cheek. It took her a while to fully open her eyes and she was met with that simple rise and fall of Taron’s chest as he breathed deeply. She knew he was asleep before she even lifted her head and his arm resting over hers on his stomach made her smile. Keeping her close to him, she definitely felt more than safe in his arms. Trying not to jostle Taron’s arm too much, she turned her left arm so she could check her watch and was so surprised to see it was near three in the morning. The TV was quiet, that annoying are you still watching sign on the screen and the only noise in the room was from Taron’s deep breathing through slightly parted lips.

As her mind slowly woke up, it suddenly dawned on her that she had slept and slept so soundly, not waking once, still cuddled against the perfect man under her and he was more than perfect. He was the most caring and compassionate man, only ever having her best interests at heart and Robyn knew if she had of gone home, she wouldn’t have slept so perfectly for the last nine or so hours. Taron’s presence always calmed her when she was anxious and was always guaranteed a long night’s sleep when he was with her, a long and uninterrupted sleep. Turning her face, she kissed his clothed chest and was more than ready to get some more sleep to use his heat to keep her warm, finally feeling that chill her body was used to feeling but she could feel her bladder protesting and was desperate for a wee. His right arm was limply resting on her waist and having already slipped her left arm from under his right, she could ease herself from him without bumping him once, leaving him sleeping on the couch as she got to her feet, a long full body stretch filling her. She rolled her neck, so glad to feel twinge free and looked to Taron as he slept, her face breaking into a full grin as she saw all the colours on his white t-shirt where her head had been laying on his chest.

“Oh oh.”

Marbled pinks, blues and greens smeared his top and Robyn knew it was from her hair from the hair chalk. Glad it was only on his top that could be easily washed and not his couch, Robyn tried to think of how she could save his clothes from a colouring as she walked to the bathroom in his bedroom. All of the lights were still on and she groaned when she saw her face in the mirror so glad she woke up before Taron. Not only was his t-shirt stained like a rainbow, so was her right cheek and it brought a smile to her face as she rubbed her cheek. She tore some toilet paper off and after wetting it, cleaned her face, glad at how easily the chalk rubbed off, happy to know Taron’s white t-shirt could be saved. Dropping the wet tissue in the bin, she used the toilet and was washing her hands when she heard a very troubled voice come her way.

What woke him was a little chill on his left side and the weight that had been snuggled into him was gone. He loved feeling Robyn’s body tight against his and he had become so used to her sleeping with him when they saw each other, that he immediately missed her. His eyes opened, going straight to where Robyn should have been.

“Fucking hell. Not again.” He jumped to his feet, feeling a slight head rush with the speed of his movements and faltered a little until his vision cleared, his steps long and purposeful, almost in a run. “Robyn?” He called, glancing in the kitchen before making his way to his bedroom. “Robyn!” He shouted pushing the door open, his heart hammering in his chest, even more so when she came out of his bathroom.

“Hey. I am here.”

“Robyn.” His voice softer, he quickly closed the gap between them and pulled her into his for a very tight hug, her arm’s trapped in-between them as he held her close.

“Taron?” She had heard his loud worried tone and could feel how he was hugging her with a little too much force.

“You were gone again.” He said into her neck.

“I needed a wee and you were fast asleep.”

“Had me worried.”

“Yeah I can see that. I am fine Taron. Just nature calling.” She jiggled her hands, glad that he realised what she was trying to do, giving her some space to free her hands and once they weren’t caught between their bodies, returned his hug, giving his back a rub. “I am ok. I promise. I slept so perfectly Taron. Sorry to worry you.”

“I just thought…”

“Nope. Perfect sleep Taron. Not a dream in sight.” She felt his exhale on her skin.

“Ok.” He lifted her from her feet a little, then giving her cheek a kiss. “You sure?” He asked ending the hug.

“I always get such a nice sleep with you.” She said, feeling a little blush in her cheeks. “Not that I don’t sleep when you are not around but with you it is always that little bit cosier.”

“Same for me but I think you know this already. Nice to know you feel the same though.”

“I do and I must apologise for running your t-shirt. The chalk in my hair as rubbed all over your chest.”

Taron let Robyn go and looked down to his t-shirt, a smile on his face as he saw the new colours on the white, so obviously from Robyn’s hair and where she lay on him. “That’s ok. It’s a new design.”

“It will wash out.”

“Yeah it will. So you ready to come back and sleep some more? I am so glad you have slept Robyn. You needed it badly but it is still pretty late. I am sure you could so with a few more peaceful hours.”

“Yeah I think so too but let’s try and sleep in the bed this time. You and me have this thing about couches.” Taron laughed a little. “I hope you’re not going to end up with a sore back after sleeping on the couch.”

“Nah I am good but I do think moving to the bed is a good idea. Let me just turn off some lights.” He saw a chance in her eyes, a tiny flicker of panic. “We can leave the bedside light on in here.”

“Ok.” Robyn agreed. “I am just going to change out of my jeans. Meet you on the bed.”

“Sure.”

It was the quickest Taron had ever locked up his apartment and as he closed the bedroom door, smiled to see Robyn already under the duvet, sitting up waiting for him.

“Give me two seconds in the bathroom.”

“Take your time.”

When he was done, he turned off the bathroom light and climbed into the bed, sitting right beside Robyn, feeling bare skin against his legs, smiling as he realised she had changed into a pair of shorts. He shuffled down in the bed, opening his arms for Robyn and without hesitation, she took up a familiar position as to how they were laying on the couch.

“Want the TV on?” He asked her.

“Nope I am good.” Robyn rubbed her face into his chest, trying to find the most comfortable position and once settled, draped her left arm over his stomach, Taron’s left arm going to her waist. “Thank you for this weekend Taron. It has been the most amazing birthday I have ever had.”

“Really?” He asked finding it hard to believe.

“Even with the horrible nights sleep last night, I couldn’t have asked for a better weekend. I got to see you and Richard and you gave me everything and more than I ever could have asked for. I can’t say anything but thank you for all you have done for me, for my birthday and last night. Thanks for being patient with me, listening to me and just caring so much.”

“Always Robyn.” He said to her, giving her hair a small kiss. “I am glad you had a nice weekend.”

“Nice? It was the best. Perfect.”

Taron chuckled at her words. “You are welcome chicken. Now sleep. I am right here. I am always here.”

“I know.”

Closing her eyes and trying to snuggle a little deeper into him, Robyn felt calm and relaxed, comforted in knowing that after everything that happened during the weekend, she could trust Taron and fully lean on him, feeling a little more of that broken heart she always struggled with, being healed with the kindness and love from him.

[elexica]

Always Tomorrow

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433880

A gift from a while back to @alectoperdita​; part of my AU-Gust 2020 Project; and it’s about time I cross posted it to Tumblr. Summary:  Joey is a tattoo artist who specializes in Duel Monsters and scar coverage. Kaiba is a walk-in client. Tags and Trigger Warnings:  Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, AU-gust 2020, ygocollablove, Scars, lot of talking about scars, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, BUT only about the scars, Pre-Slash, but there is SO much yearning, Hurt/Comfort, but honestly mostly comfort, oops all comfort Full fic under the cut:

. . .

“Tell me something. You ever felt this way? The burdens of this life, they've really got a way of dragging you real far down to the ground.”

-          “Master of My Own Mind” by Best Coast

. . .

“We don’t take walk-ins,” Joey said.  His shirt was rolled up to the elbow, revealing intricate tattoo sleeves.  A Red-Eyes Black Dragon screamed around his forearm, moving back and forth as he handled the cash register system.  Kaiba’s eyes lingered on the smooth lines of the wings paired with the sharp forms of the scales.  And that wasn’t the only eye-catching ink that Joey was sporting—Kaiba was entranced by a series of watercolor scapegoats and kanji trailed down his neck and disappeared into the plain black shirt that read “Eat, Sleep, Duel Monsters.”  

Kaiba’s eyes widened. “But this is a tattoo parlor.  And I saw your picture on the website, you’re Joey Wheeler.  I like your work.  Is there anything that would prevent you from completing a tattoo at this time?”

“Company policy,” Joey shrugged, revealing the tip of Flame Swordsman’s flaming sword, poking out from under his collar.  “We can’t just drop everything for everyone who wanders in.  There’s a system.” It must be a very large piece, Kaiba reasoned, given the size of the flame.  He wanted desperately to see more of it.

“Name the price.  I can pay upfront.”

Joey shrugged again. “I’ve got a schedule, man.”

Kaiba removed his credit card, placing the heavy material on the glass countertop.  The glossy black card opened many doors for him.  An assortment of rings for various piercings were posed in black velvet in the case beneath.

“You are clearly not busy.”  

Joey looked offended and went back to logging inventory.

Kaiba was not a man who was skillful in pleading—but he was more than capable at negotiation.  The card clicked threateningly on the counter as Kaiba impatiently tapped it.  

“Fine.  Are you available for a consultation?”

Joey smiled warmly, recognizing his own victory.  “Now we’re talkin’, c’mon back.”

Kaiba followed obediently, gawking over the large sigil of the millennium eye that all but glowed at the nape of his neck.  The longer blond strands of his hair brushed against the icon’s upper eyelid.  

The hallway turned into an actual, honest-to-god office, which was the last thing Kaiba expected. Joey pulled out a sketchbook as he leaned against his black desk.  Joey waved one hand for Kaiba to sit, a swirling monochrome haze behind the image of the cartoon time wizard with his little scepter.

“So, what are you thinking? You’re tall as hell, so there’s plenty of canvas!” Joey laughed, all sunshine and shiny white teeth.  

Kaiba’s cheeks burned as he drummed up the will to answer the question.  “In my research, you have something of a specialty in scar cover-ups.” Kaiba was not a man who would cower in his own shame.  But the thought of baring himself completely, his secrets and those eternal marks of his loss, for this stranger… it stung at his dignity.  He needed to do something today, or he would lose the will.

Joey’s smile dimmed compassionately.  This was not going to be a routine intake appointment.  He prided himself on careful and clever scar coverage, but those appointments usually took on a different tenor.  Few people have scars from positive experiences, and the raw intensity of Joey’s client gave the clear impression that it would hardly be a routine appointment.

“I do,” Joey swallowed, “So, what are we working with?”

It was such a simple question.  Kaiba adjusted the cufflinks on his wrists nervously.  He had promised himself he wouldn’t be ashamed.  There was nothing that he had done wrong.

He wished Mokuba had come with him.  It was his idea in the first place.

Joey was suddenly very close, just inches away.  “Hey, it’s alright.  Take a breath.”

Kaiba did not want to obey his command, but he couldn’t resist a sharp intake of breath.  He released it slowly, as if to prove a point. He wasn’t freaking out.  

“For a lotta people, tattoos that cover scars transform a person’s relationship to their body, and to what happened to ‘em.  It can be part of the healing process,” Joey said, slowly.  The sheer volume of his empathy weighed down his words and made them linger in Kaiba’s mind.

Transform.  Happened. Healing.

Kaiba continued to take long, intentional breaths.  The scars burned at the back of his neck and across his back.

Joey reached out a hand towards Kaiba’s face before thinking better of making contact.  The hand froze there, suspended close to his cheekbone. It was then that Kaiba realized his eyes were leaking tears.  Joey had moved to wipe them away.

This whole event was too humiliating, Kaiba thought.  And he couldn’t do it.  

“This was a bad idea,” Kaiba said, sucking in enough air to straighten his back.  He bore a hole in the wall with his eyes, trying to absorb any collateral moisture.  

“Hey, for a lotta people, it’s a part of reclaiming your body, after something hard,” Joey curled his fingers around the hem of his shirt and revealed a gnarly scar just above his right hip.  It was composed of a lot of smaller cuts, webbed together in a semi-circle. The raised skin had been left exposed, with dashes of black woven in to create the swirl at the center of the “Polymerization” card.  The only colors were those of the orange dragons swimming around the vortex in their own lazy waves.  “It was for me.  My friend Yugi did this one.”

Joey reached out, and slowly took Kaiba’s hand.  

“It doesn’t have to cover the whole thing, if you don’t want it too.  See!”

He drew Kaiba’s hand in, softly bringing Kaiba’s fingertips to his skin.  Kaiba’s arm was entirely tense, and he could have pulled back at any time.  But he couldn’t resist—the curiosity bubbled within him.  The pads of his fingers skimmed over the scar tissue in its randomness, and the disciplined smooth black stripes emanating from the twisted center.  Kaiba was almost shocked at how warm Joey’s skin was.  He wanted desperately to touch more, but when Joey dropped his hand, Kaiba withdrew it.  

“Alright, I showed you mine.  You feelin’ up to showing me yours?”  Joey’s grin was so painfully warm.

Kaiba couldn’t help but nod. He began to unbutton his shirt. Button by button, Kaiba kept his breathing steady by force of will.  The rise and fall of his chest felt especially vulnerable with his buttons undone. He moved to his cufflinks.

“Ah, shirt’s fine, but ya gotta warn me if the pants are comin’ off too!” Joey said with a gentle laugh. Joey’s eyes were undeniably glued to Kaiba’s abs, which made Kaiba’s breathing even more fragile.

Kaiba paused, fingers fumbling with the cufflink on his right hand.  “It… just my shirt.”  Kaiba spent his life speaking in eloquent sentences that drove investors to throw money at any idea that so must as sparked in his mind.  He gave talks at industry conventions that brought the consumer electronics world to its knees.  And he couldn’t force out a full sentence in front of this man.

“It’s okay,” Joey reassured. It didn’t feel practiced or put on. It almost felt like talking to a therapist.

Kaiba tugged off his shirt in one smooth move.  

Finally, it was Joey’s turn to have the wind knocked out of him.  

Kaiba braced for the inevitable questions.  Those long, deep, even lines across his back scorched under the other man’s stare. And the little lines at the nape of his neck seared.  The best lie that Kaiba had brainstormed on his way over was that it was a very bizarre car accident.  Kaiba stressed internally that perhaps Joey thought Kaiba had done this on purpose, though the mechanics would have been infeasible.

But, like a professional, Joey didn’t ask any questions.  He didn’t gasp.  He didn’t even gawk for a significant amount of time.

“Alright!” Joey said, perhaps a touch too upbeat.  “So, what’re we talkin’?”

Kaiba inhaled very slowly and began to replace his light blue Oxford shirt.  “You, clearly, appreciate Duel Monsters.”

“Ha!  Appreciate is a diplomatic way ta put it!  I’m one a’ the greatest duelists that Domino has eva seen!” Joey’s smile was back to beaming at full wattage, like he hadn’t just witnessed Kaiba’s secret torture.

Kaiba was determined not to highlight his position in Kaiba Corp.  The last thing he needed was this man to know everything—or make any educated guesses.  He was already trying to slough off the sensation of being pitied.  Still, he’d have to put this amateur in his place.  “I have been called the Prince of Cards, and was National Champion, but now is hardly the time—”

Joey put down the Duel Disk he had grabbed from a drawer in his desk.  “Yeah, not the time.”

Kaiba failed to suppress a smirk.  It was jarring how quickly this man could bring him back to himself.  “Anyway, I thought I could cover the… damage on the back with the Blue Eyes Ultimate Dragon.”

Joey nodded.  “That sounds super sick!! But that is going to take a lot of planning.  And you want—”

“Nothing to show through. I was sort of imagining it in the style of a Yakuza boss.  Just very powerful.”

Joey looked up, imagining it in his mind’s eye.  “Alright, I can take down the information and draw up some sketches.  That would be a very expensive piece, and pretty time consuming for both of us.”

“Money is no object,” Kaiba stated, ice cold and prideful.

“Is there anything else you’re thinking of?” Joey asked.

Kaiba’s hand flew to the back of his neck.  “A very small piece of code.  I’ll write it down.”  

The pad was heavier than Kaiba had anticipated, and Kaiba almost trembled as he wrote out the phrase: “pid_t pid = fork();”.

“I have never done a tattoo like that!” Joey remarked. “This won’t fully cover the scar.”

Kaiba nodded sternly. “That’s fine.  It actually should go between the lines.  It’s a very specific piece of code: it’s the basic invocation of a ‘fork,’ which is how a program splits itself and spawns new programs. It’s critical to the function of any Linux system, anywhere.  One process starts when you boot up, and then it’s all forks from there.”

“Uh, ok.  And what does that have to do with you, exactly?” Joey raised an eyebrow, affecting a serious “thinking” face.

“I don’t believe in fate. I make my choices and I live with them. For me, it means that I am always at a new decision point, and I build my life on these decision points.  No one else builds it for me,” Kaiba looked directly into Joey’s attentive caramel eyes.  “And my past does not define me.  I am one fork away from a new program.  The next challenge.  A new life.”  

The explanation spread a smile across Joey’s face. “That would take me maybe, thirty minutes?  I could do it now, if you’d like.  In that spot, it would hurt like a bitch, but something tells me—”

“Pain is no object.”

“Yeah, right, so, if you’re still determined to walk out of here with a tatt, we can do that,” Joey said.

Kaiba smiled, just a tiny bit.  “I’d like that.”

 FIN

 . . .

“For me there's always tomorrow, even when I'm drowning in my sorrows. I gotta focus, gotta rewind, gotta stay the master of my own mind.”

-          Best Coast “Master of My Own Mind”

  The whole fic is really inspired by a difficult time in my life, and this really great Best Coast song, “Master of My Own Mind,” which everyone should listen to, because it’s very compelling.

Credit to my irl boy Jack for the coding tattoo idea that I don’t *think* has been done before! Without him, this would be “hello world” lol!

Like the boys with tattoos? You'd love Alecto's work, "A Fool's Puzzle" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464288).

Image credit:  Photo by Sebastian Voortman from Pexels Edits by me.  

[honeylikewords]

Hi my lovie! If you want- Lycophrenia or whichever one was the random sadness sorry it won't let me paste the word :( You rock! (and roll?)

Hi! Thank you so much for sending this in! I think the one you meant was “Lypophrenia - A vague feeling of sadness that doesn’t seem to have a cause”, if I’m not mistaken!

You didn’t mention which character you wanted to go with this, so I’ll pick one and go with it, and I think for this prompt I’ll use Miguel! 

Miguel knows that, realistically, it’s probably not very smart of him to keep climbing up to the highest point of his apartment complex’s roof every time he gets that sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s not smart for many reasons-- the immediate danger of falling aside, there’s the potential to be spotted, the obnoxious chill that plagues Nueva York air at such a height, and isolation not being good for him coming to mind as examples-- but he’s an intelligent man, not necessarily smart.

He sits on the ridge of the roof next to one of the many spinning turbine vents that litter the tops of these buildings, watching cars and people and lights wheel endlessly about in the streets, skittering this way and that, as consistent in their flow as circuits, as organic as water. Changeable, routine. He sighs out through his nose.

Leaning back, Miguel lets his palms bear the weight of his body and turns his head upward, looking at a sky far too light-polluted to show anything celestial. Dense bodies of clouds roll by; the autumn rains will be coming in soon, and certainly, there’d be some kind of storm tonight. The city lights bounce back off the clouds in shades of white and orange, some patches blue and red from the needlepoint pricks of aircraft warning lights perched atop skyscrapers. 

Behind him, Miguel hears the unlatching of the heavy fire escape door to the roof and turns to glance over his shoulder.

Wrapped in one of his heavier robes, a pair of his slightly too-large slippers precariously held on her feet, and holding her hands under her arms for warmth, Miguel’s girlfriend gazes at him with anxious eyes, brows knit with concern.

“There you are,” she says, voice carrying across the few feet of roof between them. “I thought you’d gone out, you know--”

She extends one hand meekly and folds her middle two fingers in towards her palm, pinky, index and thumb pointed out in an all-too-familiar pose.

“--Thwipping.”

“You know I don’t do that to get ‘em to thwip,” Miguel chuckles, bending his hand at the wrist and firing a small shot of web off to the side, where it sticks to the rim of the roof. “Mine are from the top of the wrist, remember?”

“Semantics,” she chides, waving her hand in the air dismissively. “I’m not interested in the thwipping. I’m...”

She trails off, putting her hand back into the warm fold of her arm and the robe, her eyes scanning Miguel warily. He watches her fiddle with a fold in the sleeve, working it between her fingers as she tries to decide what to say, and relents; he climbs down wordlessly and comes to stand closer to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing softly.

“You worried about me, babe?”

She nods, seeming so small in his hands as she looks up at him. 

“You didn’t really seem like yourself,” she notes, moving one hand from the safe burrow of her underarm to pick loosely at the hem of Miguel’s sleeve as he rubs up and down her shoulders, soothing. “You didn’t want to eat dinner, you seemed so distant when I was trying to talk to you--”

“--Sorry,” Miguel interjects, abruptly embarrassed. “I... yeah, no, sorry.”

“I get worried, Miggy!”

“It’s okay,” he sighs, putting a hand on her cheek and noting the searing warmth incited by the cold. “Do you wanna go back inside? I’ll go back in with you, honey--”

“I don’t want to push you if you need alone time, I get needing alone time, it’s alright,” she starts, talking over herself and beginning to babble as she tends to do when nervous, “But I want to know you’re going to be okay doing whatever you need to do, and you know I don’t like it when you go up too high because heights are scary even if you’re a Spider-person and--”

“Honey.” 

Miguel’s voice is firm and solid, stopping her in her tracks. She looks up from picking at his shirt and meets his red eyes, shining with strict sincerity, his mouth set in a calm but confidently reassuring smile. 

“It’s alright. I just got in one of my moods.”

“...Was it something I did?”

Miguel chuckles and shakes his head, sighing affectionately. He bends forward and kisses her forehead, squeezing her shoulders with his hands deeply.

“No, querida, you’re fine, okay? It was just... one of those things, you know? I let my mind wander too far and got myself into a mood. It happens. Nothing you did. I promise.”

She’s still looking at him with worry, and Miguel takes a deep breath, setting his mettle and pressing on. He squeezes her tightly and tugs her in for a hug, resting the ball of his large nose against the crown of her head. She shivers. He forgets, sometimes, that he doesn’t get cold the way she does, and pulls back slightly to look at her.

“I was just being a bit of a drama queen,” he whispers playfully, bending down to lightly nip at the upper tip of her ear. “I promise. I love you, and seeing you all worried about me, enough to come up to this frigid fuckin’ hellscape, well, it snapped me right out of my mood, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Yes,” he rumbled, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “It’s sweet of you to come looking for me, baby. All bundled up like you’re going on an Arctic expedition.”

“Hey!,” she bites, poking her head up from his chest. “Not all of us are super-people, you know! Some of us get bothered by inclement weather!”

“Inclement we--? Are you serious?” Miguel begins to laugh, squeezing her into the hug. “It’s, like, MAYBE sixty-nine degrees out.”

“It’s sixty-three!”

“Ooh, alert the media, we’re in for a rough winter tonight,” he giggles, ushering her towards the fire escape door. “Absolute white-out. Send out the plows. We’ll be snowed in by sunrise.”

“Har-har.”

“C’mon,” says Miguel, his voice dipping into a lower note of sincerity. “Let’s go back to bed. You can turn on the electric blanket and I’ll bring us something to eat in bed.”

“...Like sandwiches?”

“Sure,” he chuckles. “Sandwiches.”

[style-beat-webzine]

How to style a bold print skirt 6 ways

I bought this skirt at the beginning of quarantine (March 2020), which is probably a likely story for most of us, for me I find comfort in new purchases. The real reason we’re buying so much shit in quarantine is because we need some control in our lives, and that’s okay at least we got some cute things, right?! I bought this skirt on sale so I didn’t feel too guilty about the purchase and knew I had a few ways in which I would style it once it was mine. If you’re like me the bolder the print the better, but if you’re not like me and want to venture out with trying to wear something out of your comfort zone, I’ve got you covered. I think a bold skirt would be the perfect item to start with if you’ve been wanting to try something new with your style. Skirts are easy to style with pieces you probably already own. A bold pattern on any article of clothing makes that piece the “stand out” item of the outfit, the showstopper if you will. Here are a few of my favorite ways to wear a bold print skirt and why I think the outfit works so seamlessly, so here we go!!

1. Band tee styling

I think a band tee is super universal on how you can wear it, styled up or styled down it’s definitely a wardrobe staple. That's why it makes pairing it with a bold print skirt such an easy-breezy combo, it’s simple but fancy. Depending on how you accessorize you can wear it to a party with heeled boots, or honestly anything platform would be cool,( but that’s my humble opinion.)  In the photograph, I styled it like I would if I was wearing it to a day of school, or somewhere casual. My one suggestion for causal dressing is to wear comfortable shoes, NO HIGH HEELS!! Or wear them if you dare I’d make sure it’s something easy to walk in, but that’s just me. As you can see I’m wearing my dirty checkered slip-on Vans because they are comfortable to walk in. I guess that’s the point I’m trying to get at, is just make sure it’s something you’re ok to spend the whole day in. If you're like me you’ll get super lucky that the only classes you need will be across campus from one another and be back to back haha, but for your sake I hope that’s not the case!!

    2. Mixing prints in a sneaky stylish striped kind of way

If you love mixing prints then I hope you find some inspo from this outfit, but if you’re not familiar with mixing prints and feel the urge to try it out then this combo is an easy one to pull off. It’ll make you feel funky too, in a good way!! For me a black and white striped shirt is an essential item in my wardrobe because it’s so versatile. A stripe shirt is also easy to pair with a bold print making the outfit look effortless, but fashionable. Throw on a solid color blazer or cardigan and you’re good to go. For the shoes I chose to go with a pair of mint faux crocodile skin square toed boots. When stying this outfit I wanted to mix colors as well as prints, but if you’re not feeling like that’s your cup of tea that is quite alright, just put on a neutral color cardigan as well as neutral color shoes. If you’re like my mom and have to have things matching you can match your cardigan with your shoes to make sure at least something is matching. This look will be the perfect school or work outfit that doesn’t feel to restricting, or over the top.

    3. Solid shirt styling

This type of styling is simplistic, but looks very put together and requires minimal effort, doesn’t that sound fantastic?! You can wear this combination to a casual gathering or for a day of classes. Just throw on some flat shoes such as tennis shoes, mules, ballet flats, and you catch my drift. Then after a day of classes or if you just want to spruce it up for a night out you can toss on a pair of fun shoes!! For the picture I decided to pair olive green platform sandals with a fuzzy vest, and a bold statement necklace. If you know me you know how much I love playing with colors especially in my outfits. This look satisfies that love of playful color mixing with the pastel pink of the skirt, the faded blue t-shirt and olive green shoes, eeeekkkk I’m in love!! Have fun with your outfits, play around with mixing different things and see how you feel after you’ve tried it all on together, remember your clothes should make YOU feel fabulous :)

     4. Bridgerton meets Gossip Girl styling

Do you ever buy an item of clothing because you fall in love with it at the store then later realize it was because you binged half of a series on netflix the night before? Yup, hello it’s me, I subconsciously bought this burnt orange (in some lighting a deep red) blazer because of the Duke of Hastings :)

heart eye emoji, amiright? After not only lusting over Simon, but his blazer I knew I wanted something of the sort in my wardrobe. To my lucky stars I found one that resembled his on the clearance rack at my local Target. I’m so smitten with those puff sleeves :) and the frickin’ color, come on, it’s a perfect design!! This outfit gives me Gossip Girl in the 70s feels, and I’m so here for it. This outfit works because the main focus will be on the bold print skirt. The other articles of clothing are just to accentuate the skirt. I don’t know why but I love the color combo of pinks and reds or in this case an orangish-red color together!! The darker hue of the blazer makes the lighter pink stand out. I just put a cream color blouse with fishnet tights and some chunky boots to complete this look. This could be an outfit for work or a nice dinner out with the girls :)  

    5. Andy Warhol’s Factory Girl styling

(Sorry the photo is such shit, I’m currently using an iPhone 8 and the quality sucks, broke girl problems. Although, I do love the blurriness of the image, but know others are probably hating it haha oh well.) Moving on, I just had to put an over the top outfit onto this list. This outfit was inspired by my daydreams of being one of Andy Warhol's fashionable friends at his famous Factory (his art studio) in New York City. It’s definitely the silver boots that’s giving off those Factory vibes, isn’t?! To be honest this outfit would’ve been something I would’ve worn to a day of classes, just because I’m extra af. Remember earlier in the post when I said to play around with mixing your clothes to get fun funky ensembles? This outfit was a result of playing around with clashing prints because I knew I wanted to mix some  bold prints for this post haha. I mean would it have been a fashion post from me without prints clashing?  To quote some lyrics by Gary Clark Jr, this outfit “got me feelin’ like a million bucks.” There’s something powerful and transforming when you wear bold prints together. For me it feels like I can take on the world :) never underestimate the way your clothes make you feel. 

     6. Sweatshirt styling

You’ve gotta rep the biggest city near you, especially if it’s Chicago!! I was a kid in the 90s so I remember the later years of the Chicago Bulls victories. I randomly got the idea to put this Bulls sweatshirt with this skirt while laying in bed one morning. And let me tell you, I’m so happy I did because I’m in love with red and pink together as I mentioned earlier. Of course I had to throw on a faux fur leopard coat for good measure and to get my little fix of mixing prints. Color me in love :) Not to mention how warm this outfit is which is perfect for these Chicago winters that visit us every year and always seem to over stay their welcome. For bragging rights, I thrifted that Bulls sweatshirt and got that baby for $2, what a deal!! This is another easy outfit you can put together for a cold winter day. Just add any sweatshirt you’d like to a skirt. I tucked mine in, but if you left it untucked the outfit would still work. I felt this outfit needed a pair of shoes that weren’t loud and in your face, so I went with a solid color that was also a neutral.  

That’s all I’ve got for this post, I hope you enjoyed it. I plan to make some more of these in the future. I had a lot of fun styling one piece from my wardrobe to make 6 different outfits, I’d say that’s a bang for your buck. It also makes the purchase worth every penny!! Until next time you little rockers, enjoy your moment and have fun creating your story.

Sincerely,

Michelle 

[thiswasinevitableid]

21, Indruck (for the Mermay minifics)

Note: Duck’s design is based on a Grouper (aka one of the strongest fish) and Indrid’s is based on an Oarfish.

Every mer in Kepler Cove knows not to go near the strange lights. Lights that glow bright orange or deep purple, flicker gold to green or fade from blue to silver. But Duck is desperate. 

And so when night falls, and all sensible creatures are safe in their beds or dens or buried beneath the sand, he swims across the flat, empty patch of sand to the cave on the outskirts of town, green lights guiding his way tonight.

The house is cluttered with bottles and shells, with drawings and discarded pufferfish quills, and all around him the lights swirl. They’re solid when they bump him, but when he holds one in his hand, it isn’t an object his eyes understand.

It’s when he looks up to find two red lights, glowing more dimly than the others, staring him down that he remembers the warnings.

“Uh-”

“I am surprised to see you, Duck Newton. In most future, you decided on the prudent option and stayed far away.” The mer comes into view, his silvery tail, streaked with a red fin, matching his silver hair. The tail is much longer than Duck’s own, even though it ends in a standard fin. And he’s grinning. It’s not a Great White grin, but it doesn’t put Duck at ease. 

“You gonna make me regret it? And how do you know-”

‘Your name” The mer says along with him, “I can see the future. Or futures, I suppose, churning and changing, flitting in and out of view like sardines in a school.” He circles Duck slowly, his form long and lean next to Duck’s, which is built for power and unassuming in it’s mottled green, black and white. He remembers the stories of sea serpents, of mers with strange tails and angular faces who would lure the unsuspecting out into the deep trenches, never to be seen again.

“Then you know-”

“-why you are here? I can see it coming, but perhaps you would like to tell me yourself.”

“Do you know what’s been happenin to folks around here?”

“The plague? Yes. I...I tried to warn your predecessor that such a thing might come on the tides. He chose not to listen. And now you are here, a new chosen guardian, forced to bear the results of his disregarding me.” 

“There ain’t any record of you tellin him that.” Duck says cautiously. 

“Is there mention of someone called Indrid Cold?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it.”

The mer points to himself without another word, then swims to his wall and removes several drawings, the images evaporating as he does. 

“Oh. Uh, didn’t know that’s your name.”

“Of course not. Everyone calls me the witch. Or worse. And only the desperate would seek out a monster mer, and I watched the futures as you narrowed your options little by little until deciding on me. This spell” he catches a smaller light in his hand, “will produce a special plant that when ingested will cure those who are ill. But it will cost you.”

“Ah. You’re that kind of mer.” Duck crosses his arms with a roll of the eyes.

Indrid whirls, knocking lights aside as he hisses, “No, I am not. This is how magic of this caliber works. It cannot be given for nothing, no matter how much I wish I could do just that. I do not desire anything from my fellow creatures other than peace and respect, and yet I must demand a great deal to deliver what they ask of me. The choice is yours, Duck Newton; seek my help or do not, but do not act as though I am some predator laying in wait in the dark.” He flicks his tail dismissively, goes back to what must be his desk, fin tense as he waits for Duck to respond. 

Duck looks at the spell, “What’s the price?”

“Ask it.” Indrid sighs, jerking his tail towards the spell.

Duck gazes at the light, repeats the question, and gets a flash of two luminous red pearls. 

“Ah fuck, those only turn up in the oysters near the damn Nettle Eels.”

“Unfortunate.” Indrid continues drawing, back resolutely towards him, “if you decide to attempt it, bring the asked for items here. Only then can you release the spell.” His fin is limp now, his shoulders sag. 

“I’ll do my best. And, uh, Mr. Cold?”

“Indrid is fine.”

“I believe you. About it not bein’ your doin’.”

With that, he swims back to town. But as he glances over his shoulder, still not certain if Indrid is dangerous, the other man is watching him. When he notices Duck has turned to look at him, he lifts his hand in shy wave farewell.

--------------------------------------------

“You still got that spell?”

Indrid turns, knowing what he’ll see yet smiling all the same when he does; Duck Newton, arms clearly stinging, with two red pearls in his hands. He retrieves the spell, takes the stones and places them with other items the magic has demanded. As soon as Duck touches the spell, the light bursts into a thousand little specks.

“It is done. The grove of plants should be ready by the time you return to your home.”

“Thank fuck.” Duck slumps against the wall. Then he holds out his hand.

Indrid cocks his head, perplexed. Duck makes an awkward sound in the back of his throat, hand returning to his side. 

“I just, uh, wanted to say thanks. For helpin’ me. Lotta people are gonna be alive because of you.”

“More would be if I had convinced your predecessor of the severity of the plague.”

“Hey now” Duck swims closer, and Indrid finds he has no instinct to back away, “he was a dipshit. Don’t gotta take the blame for that.” He holds out his hand again, and this time Indrid takes it, shaking it. Duck smiles when he does.

As the other man swims towards the exit, he pauses, “There was another spell, wasn’t there? One that woulda cured it without the plant step.”

Indrid swallows, “Yes.”

“What was the price?”

‘I believe it requires a stone from the valley surrounded by the mer-eating eels. The one, ah, almost no one returns from.”

“That’s what I thought. Thanks, Indrid. Thanks for lookin out for me.”

Indrid wishes he could curl his tail all the way around him so he no longer has to deal with the sensation of Duck looking at him with unfamiliar kindness. 

“You are welcome. If you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me.”

---------------------------------

“Damn thing bit straight through my sword. Minerva’s too.”

Indrid examines the snapped metal, then begins swimming between the lights, “Do you think an increased offensive capability or a defensive one will be better for ridding the reef of the Giant Scorpionfish?”

“Ain’t sure, futures don’t happen to have any clues?”

Indrid pauses, tail waving lazily, then shakes his head, “it seems the two show about the same outcomes of success.”

“In that case, let’s go with somethin’ that’ll keep us safe while fightin it. Don’t really feel like havin some super-powerful weapon floatin around after this is done.”

Indrid picks a golden light from the air, hands it to Duck. This time, he doesn’t immediately move away, instead waits for him to learn the price. 

Duck shuts his eyes, gets an image of deep blue eggs. Then he shivers, Indrid’s tail having brushed along his by accident.

“Eagle Ray eggs. Do you think it wants all of ‘em? Seems kinda rude to take the whole nest.”

“Hmmmm, looking at the futures, it seems two or three will suffice.”

“Gotcha. It may think that’s some tricky quest, but I happen to know where a lot of different nests are around here. I’ll be back in an hour.”

----------------------------------------------------

“Got your message, you said a tidal storm was comin?”

“Yes, we have about five hours at maximum before it hits here. I already found the protection spell and learned the price, to expedite things. It wants a black pearl, a rare red sea flower, and gold from a sunken ship.” Indrid swims back and forth between drawings, erasing and recreating as the futures change.

“Fuck, okay. Uh, I’m allowed to have help, right?’

“Of course.”

“I’ll send Juno after the flower, Dani and Aubrey can help her. And Ned’s real good at findin gemstones in a hurry. I know there’s a wreck about a two mile swim thataway, but it’s been picked over.”

“I may be able to help; we can use my powers to locate the stray, remaining gold. Come, there is no time to lose.” He darts out of the cave and Duck follows him, watches the light glint off his scales, the way his body twists and speeds through the water.

Even if they fail, at least his last mission will have had a hell of a view.

-------------------------------------

“‘Drid, I was wonderin if you...uh, didn’t know you had pets.”

“I do not. Or, ah, I did not, The Eagle Ray eggs hatched. The spells almost never want animals, so it never occurred to me that the eggs would remain viable--AH! Careful with that, I know you are getting used to your wings but those are fragile. Anyway, what do you need?”

“Not a spell, but could you use your future vision to see if the issues with the Kelp fields are gonna lead to somethin bigger?’

“Why Duck, are you really giving me the honor of being an advisor to a Chosen?”

“ Damn right I am. Also that ray is chewin on your desk chair.”

“AH!”

-----------------------------------------

“Hey ‘Drid, can I uh, um, I need some help.”

“Of course, let me just finish feeding Spot and Speckle their dinner. Is it a spell or a future?”

“Uh, it’s, uh, fuck, a, uh, spell? Yeah, a uh, fuck, spell. I need some help findin my, uh, fuck, keys? No, fuck, I mean-”

“You don’t have a reason for coming, do you.”

“Nope.”

“There is no need to lie about one. Wanting to visit is reason enough. You are welcome here any time, my friend.”

------------------------

“Nice, ain’t it?”  Duck stretches out on the warm rock, sun soaking into his chest. 

“Mmmmmhmmm.” Indrid hums beside him, long tail draped off the edge and into the water. 

“You said you don’t come up here much.”

“I had some run-ins with sailors I tried to warn off oncoming disasters. I became a bit of a local legend, an omen of doom, and so decided it was best to lay low.” The words are detached, but Duck rolls over to find Indrid staring wistfully up at the sky, “I do enjoy it up here. I like watching the stars, seeing all the snippets of a new and different world. Some days I think I love the surface as much as I love home. Perhaps that is silly.” 

Duck rolls onto his side, “Ain’t nothin silly about lovin’ somethin’ incredible. I mean look” he points the forest, the tangle of green looking down on the shore from the hills, “look at that. How does it grow? What lives there? There’s so much to know about nature, up top and below.”

Indrid is on his side now as well, “Thank you. It is nice to know I am not alone. In, ah, in my thoughts, that is.” 

Duck reaches for his hand, and when Indrid scoots close enough to give it, Duck presses their tails together. Indrid sighs at the contact, and soon his tail is draped over Duck’s, his fingers tracing abstract patterns up and down Duck’s arm. 

“‘Drid? Would, uh, would you ever wanna maybe...move closer to town? I know Barclay’s been visitin more, Dani too. Seems like you’re startin to know more folks in town. There’s, uh, a house near mine that just opened up. We could be neighbors?” The note when his voice turns up at the end is steeped in vulnerable hope that he prays Indrid can’t hear. 

Red eyes regard him, “No, Duck. I do not think I could be. I am a solitary creature. The spells I help usher into the world and keep safe can be dangerous in their demands, attract dangerous beings in search of them. I ought to remain so, more for the sake of whoever wishes to be close to me than for my own.”

“But-”

“I need to return home. Farewell, Duck.” He slithers off the rock, and by the time Duck is in the water there’s only a flash of silver, disappearing into the darkness on the edge of town.

------------------------------------------------

“Barclay, you seen ‘Drid lately?”

“Uh huh, saw him yesterday when I ran some food over. I wanted him to try my new red snapper wraps.”

“Oh. So he’s, uh, fine then?”

“Seems to be. Why?”

“The last few times I gone to see him, he ain’t been home. I’m worried I mighta done somethin’ to offend him.”

“Nah, I bet it’s just a run of bad timing. Indrid likes you more than anyone else on this reef.”

“...If I send someone else to get spells or info, he’s always there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

---------------------------------------

“Mr. Cold, I am here on the utmost urgent business.”

“Hello to you too, Ned, and Indrid is fine. What is…” He sees the oncoming answer and blanches from top to tail with fear.

“Duck is ill?”

“He hasn’t been able to get out of bed for a week. Barely consumes food or drink. The lovely Dani took a look at him, but it does not seem to be an ailment know to her.”

“Show me the way to him. Please.” Indrid follows Ned, and the lights follow Indrid, his foresight not showing him enough to know which spell may be needed. They wind through town, whispers darting from house to house as they do.

The night is only made worse by what he discovers when he reaches Duck’s side.

“He is heartsick. That is why Dani was unable to find means of healing him. Only one exists.”

“One of your, like, spells?” Aubrey asks hopefully, red tail twitching with worry.

“No. It can only be cured with a kiss from one who loves him. Romantically, I should add, as the illness is brought on by a romantic love that one tries to repress or destroy. Do any of you know someone who loves Duck that way?”

All heads in the room shake. He sighs, “May I have a moment of privacy to think?”

When they’re alone, he strokes Duck’s brow, tail curling protectively around him without him truly meaning too.

Then he leans down and plants a single, tender kiss to Duck’s lips. 

Mismatched eyes flutter open.

“‘Oh thank goodness.”

“Fuck, whole body feels like I just got over the fin-pox.” Duck rolls his shoulders. Indrid realizes he hasn’t moved away from him, can’t bring himself to do so.

“‘Drid? Did, uh, did you just kiss me?”

“I, I did. I am sorry, it was the only-”

He’s yanked into the bed, one hand tangled in his hair as the other traps their hips together. Ducks tail flaps excitedly and Indrid’s curls around it as many times as he can. 

“I tried so fuckin hard, darlin, I thought you were angry with me, or that you were pushin me away for my own good, and as much as I missed you I didn’t wanna push you so I tried not to think about you, but, but I, I just started feelin’ sicker and sicker whenever I pushed thoughts of you away.

“Oh my, love, I am sorry. I only meant to keep you safe. I never meant to hurt you so.”

“It ain’t your doin’; I’m the dipshit who couldn’t tell you how I felt. I know you didn’t want to be with anyone-”

“-you are right, I thought it would be dangerous. But, well, in the last few weeks, I have realized that while my powers make for an oft-dangerous time, so does your position in the reef. And I, I missed you terribly. I want to be by your side, Duck Newton, if you will still have me.”

Duck runs a firm hand down his tail, grinning brighter than the lights still spinning around them, “You know, darlin, I think I’ll do just that.”

[sometimestxt]

Everyday

Fandom: SPY x FAMILY Characters / Pairings: Twilight (Loid), Yor, Anya / some Twilight x Yor Summary: The Forgers are the perfect fake family with perfectly fake feelings; flowers, sunset watching, and bedtime stories are to be expected, of course.

Word Count: 1,653 Read on ao3.

-

“Here, Yor, I got these for you.” Loid unceremoniously holds out a bouquet of flowers towards the woman in question. He shuts the front door behind himself so quietly it doesn’t make a sound.

Yor points a finger at herself. “For me?”

“I stopped by the florist on my way home—some of the neighbours were talking about us again—I believe this should quiet them down for the time being,” he elaborates. “They said it was ‘quite delightful’ when they saw me walking by with this in hand.”

“Well, they are lovely.”

Loid nods his head once in agreement, passing the flowers over to Yor. Following that, they head into the kitchen together. Anya sits at the dining table, her head buried in the latest volume of Spy Wars.

Her attention turns towards the sound of the entering footsteps and her eyes light up at the sight of Loid. “Papa!” she exclaims.

“What are those?” she asks next, pointing at the bouquet in Yor’s hands.

“Loid bought some flowers,” she answers with a smile.

Anya turns towards Loid with an expectant look on her face. “Did Papa get anything for me?”

“I’ve already gotten you enough things,” he reprimands.

“Maybe next time,” Yor intervenes. “Don’t you think these look nice, Anya?”

The young girl mumbles a few incoherent words in response.

Yor holds up the bouquet in her hands, observing it more closely. “Oh, there are lilies of the valley here… snapdragons too.”

She doesn’t see the way Loid’s posture straightens at those words. He swiftly inquires, “Are you familiar with floriography? The language of flowers.”

She blinks, gaze moving towards her fake-husband, then back to the bouquet. Her expression turns sheepish.

“I know of it, but I get a lot of the meanings mixed up. Oh, maybe I should understand it better, all things considered. And even you’re familiar with it…,“ she trails off.

Flowers aren’t necessarily her forte, but she does know a thing or two about thorns. And poison. Still, she probably shouldn’t say.

“No, it’s quite outdated. I don’t think many women these days understand it that well besides the most common flowers, such as red roses,” he reassures. “I’m not that knowledgeable of it either; I was actually wondering if you were. I’d only taken the florist’s recommendation for this.”

Anya stares at Loid, her eyes narrowed.

“Well, it looks beautiful,” Yor compliments. “We should put it in a vase.”

“Of course; I can do it,” he says, taking the flowers back from Yor. The kitchen becomes quiet once more as Loid busies himself with the bouquet and Anya turns her attention back to Spy Wars.

“Ouch,” Loid mutters suddenly, “pierced myself with a thorn.”

“Are you all right?” Yor asks immediately, concern lacing her voice.

“I’m fine; I’ve been hurt by much worse before,” he says wryly. “It’s barely a prick.”

Anya immediately jolts up and stares at Loid, her eyes wide. His focus stays on the flowers. The girl shakes it off before eventually asking, “Thorns?”

“Some flowers have thorns on them. They’re little prickly things. They hurt a bit when you touch them,” Yor explains. “Pretty things like flowers can be a bit dangerous sometimes.”

“Mama is pretty,” Anya says pointedly.

“Oh, well, this and that—they’re, uh, kind of different.” She chuckles then, a nervous hint to her laughter. “It’s not like I’m, uh—”

“Done.” Loid sets his finished work on the tabletop, interrupting Yor’s babbling. Anya seems to have lost interest, her eyes once again glued to the pages of spy shenanigans set in front of her.

Yor clears her throat then, gaze turning to the vase. The flowers are lined neatly. “Thank you, Loid.”

Daisies and daffodils make up most of the arrangement, she notices. A pure white. It’s accented with a few yellow roses and a handful of carnations, light red in colour. The lilies of the valley and snapdragons fill the rest, bringing it all together.

If she remembers correctly—

Her lips form into a small smile.

“Thank you for thinking of me, Loid, thorns and all,” she says softly, so quietly that only a trained ear can properly hear.

“It’s only natural for a husband to buy flowers for his wife,” he replies simply.

“Still,” she beams, “you’re very thoughtful.”

He turns his face away from her. “Think nothing of it.”

New beginnings, admiration, and happiness.

How sweet.

-

Twilight carries Anya in his arms as he strolls down the cobblestone path of the city. Yor walks next to him, diligently keeping up a perfect pace.

They look like the picturesque family, as they should.

The perfect fake family with perfectly fake feelings.

In his arms, he feels the steady rise and fall of Anya’s chest. She’s already fallen asleep. It’s been a long day after all, keeping up this farce. The sky is fading from a bright blue into a deep orange hue.

“Ah, the sun is setting,” Yor points out, her voice soft. “Twilight, right?”

He blinks. His face is neutral, doesn’t even move a single millimetre at her remark—he’s schooled himself in deceit, after all—but what if, what if. He gazes across the horizon and sees the shadows of buildings, homes, everything, silhouetted by the setting sun.

His mind runs at a hundred miles per minute; his backstory is perfect, Anya hasn’t let anything slip, his forged documents are infallible, and he’s a master of disguise. He hasn’t raised any suspicions with her, he concludes.

“Yes, twilight,” he eventually echoes.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she continues. “It’s always so lovely to see the sky painted in such warm colours. Twilight might be my favourite time of the day, I think.”

She says it so easily.

“It signals the end,” he comments. “Of the day.”

It’s elusive, not quite there. There for a moment, then gone in the blink of an eye, disappearing into the night sky. Something out of reach.

“You almost say it like it’s a bad thing,” she observes.

He shrugs his shoulders lightly, making sure not to wake Anya. “Some of my patients don’t do so well in the dark, with twilight—the transitionary period. The darkness in particular can be a pain point, especially the unknown that it brings. It’s not uncommon.”

“Oh, I see.” Her eyes turn back to the horizon. “That’s too bad. It really is beautiful. I think the dark… is also comforting. I’m more comfortable in the dark.”

He raises an eyebrow in response.

“Not to be weird or anything!” she exclaims. “And, uh, even though it’s the end of the day… I do think twilight is quiet, and… warm.”

He almost laughs at the thought, but he can tell from her body language and from the inflection in her voice that she is being completely earnest.

“And I think,” she continues, turning to face him once again, “that this is the perfect way to end the fun day we had, Loid.”

His mouth suddenly feels dry and Anya stirs in his arms.

Twilight’s gaze moves from the little girl sleeping peacefully against his chest, to the woman walking by his side.

Right.

The perfect fake family with perfectly fake feelings.

-

Papa is a liar. He lies all the time. He lies about his work, he lies about her, he lies about flowers, he lies about everything.

Mama is a liar too. She lies—bad. Mama is not a good liar, but she still lies anyway.

Anya is also a liar. Anya has to lie, because if she doesn’t, maybe Papa and Mama will stop lying too. And when they stop lying, they won’t need her anymore, and she doesn’t want to be just another number again.

She’s heard enough of Papa’s lies and truths to know.

So Anya will lie and she’ll try her best at school and she’ll be friends with snotty little boys for world peace, but mostly for her Papa and Mama. She might even eat carrots too.

A yawn escapes her lips.

“Are you tired, Anya?” Mama asks, her eyes glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost your bedtime, actually.”

“But Spy Wars isn’t over yet,” she whines.

Mama lets out a soft laugh. “A couple more minutes, then. It should be over soon.”

She picks up the petite girl once the show finishes, carrying her in her arms with ease. As she walks towards Anya’s bedroom, she suggests, “How about we get Loid to read you a bedtime story tonight?”

“What?” his voice exclaims from inside his room.

Mama stops in front of his closed door, giggling. “Come on, Loid. Anya’s been studying really hard lately.”

“Papa! Let’s read Spy Wars!” Anya shouts.

Papa doesn’t say anything, but Anya hears anyway. The door opens then and Papa has a frown on his face, but he still holds a Spy Wars book in his hands.

“You spoil her too much,” he mutters under his breath.

“I think we both do.” Mama laughs.

“I don’t get why this series has a cartoon, comics, and books,” Papa continues. He hits the cover of the book with the back of his hand as though that emphasizes his point. “It’s a bit much.”

Anya pumps her fist in the air. “It’s cuz Spy Wars is super cool! Right, Mama?”

“Yup, super cool.”

They walk into Anya’s bedroom next. Mama tucks her into bed, all tight and cozy, and sits on her right. Papa sits on her left and he opens to the first page of the book. He starts reading slowly, then Mama begins to read some of the words too.

Anya listens carefully. It’s quiet besides what they read off the pages, what they say out loud.

Papa and Mama lie a lot but sometimes they don’t, and Anya knows.

She closes her eyes as she listens to Papa and Mama’s voices.

That night, Anya falls asleep with a smile on her face.

——-

a/n:

I googled around for flower meanings, so there’s multiple interpretations for all the flowers I chose. I chose the ones I did for a reason tho ;)

09/25/19: added a few lines. This is what happens when u write a story in a couple hours and publish it right away