#someone said once that if he was a human he would wear those flame pattern shirts and i really liked that idea

[mysticalcats]

human foxglove for funsies

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[awakeshedreams]

sugar and spice ( 2 )

pairing : resident bad boy!jjk x model student!reader

setting : highschool!au x stepbrother!au

summary :

a messy highschool!au x stepbrother!au where model student reader who has quite a few dirty little secrets sees her world take an unexpected turn when her mother comes home one day with an engagement announcement, to the father of none other than the school’s resident bad boy…. Jeon Jungkook.

genre : smut, for laughs, kinda pornish, slow burn with collosaly overwhelming sexual tension

rating: soft m ( for now ) due to adult content

warnings : unconventional relationship of sexual nature, tropes and clichès, teenagers partaking in porn-esque activities, made up things with made up people happening in a made up world, don’t like don’t read XD

wordcount : 3k

a/n: honestly overwhelming response for the first part. thank you so much 💜💜💜😳

here's the second.

somehow, this took up a new genre for itself while editing and became sort of a bit enemies to friends to partners in sin.

that is to say, I have a template for this but this could go any ( dirty ) way.

let me know if you like this and are curious to know how things play out.

also, spot the cameo. it's so dumb but still. I couldn't think of anything else.

enjoy.

1 2

Paranoia was an old friend of yours.

Very real, very scary and not very nice to you, your peace of mind or your tested soul.

In your head, you already played out a million different ways the image you’d spent years building could come falling apart.

All because of him. Jeon Jungkook.

Though much to your surprise and fortune- he didn’t tell anyone.

You spent the entire weekend fretting over nothing.

It was almost like none of it ever happened.

Like your parents weren't about to tie the knot soon. Like you weren’t about to become step siblings.

Like he didn't walk in on his said step sister to be masturbating in front of a camera.

In the aftermath of that inexplicably humiliating incident, you had to make up some dumb excuse to satiate your viewers for ending the stream so abruptly.

It was your cat they heard speaking, you told them.

Cats don’t speak of course, certainly not in a deep baritone. But they were effectively distracted by the string of full nudes you posted soon after that.

Those few accusatory comments saying that you did have a boyfriend after all were buried by those coming from very horny people who were over the moon about the little apology gift.

That was out of the way, but you had a more pressing matter at hand.

That night, Jungkook had walked out after saying what he had to say without another word, leaving you feeling stunned and oddly cold.

It was like all the heat in your body just ceased to exist the moment he closed the door behind him and left you there all on your own. You didn’t even get to finish but that was beside the point.

The point was, you thought that meant like with many other things, and as people should since this was a free world, he didn’t give a shit what you did with your free time or your body.

But as the days progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were gravely mistaken.

Because contrary to that, he seemed to be up to something.

These days, he came around very often. Completely unprovoked and on his own accord.

It didn’t help that your mom loved having him around and feeding him.

Sometimes he was there for lunch after school. Other times he was there to fucking read the books in the study.

It was all ridiculous and quite honestly it was starting to get on your fraying nerves.

He didn’t even live there! You grumbled in pure frustration internally every time your mom asked you to add an extra plate for him on the dining table. This was your place!

Intentional or not he seemed to just love spending his time at your house for some reason.

But that just wouldn’t do.

The thing was you didn't know how to tell him you’d like to have the peace of mind he’d robbed you of by being all up in your living space every other day back.

He couldn’t just keep coming around.

Things were awkward enough without you having to see him often so already in between fleeting glimpses at school and lingering glances over the occasional dinner.

He might have been able to play it cool because it didn’t matter to him but this was a big deal for you.

He knew your secret and what else were you to do but be on edge and fidgety around him even though it seemed like he wouldn’t say a word of it?

But in the end, you couldn’t voice out your concerns. Not to him and certainly not to your mom.

So you were stuck here.

In between a massive rock and a very hard place.

Forced to endure even though you really felt like you’d been pushed past your limit.

Because he was there all the time.

For the most random reasons doing the most random things at the most random places at the most random time.

One time he had been casually listening to music while smoking by the pool and stroking the strings of his damned, matte black guitar.

You had been so stressed from all the work at school with the elections for new committee members amongst the juniors coming up so you thought to go for a swim to relax your self.

You honestly thought no one was around.

It was a Wednesday at noon so your mother was at lunch with some friends from high school. Plus, in the back of your mind, you’d reasoned that Jungkook usually only ever came over when she was around.

So you put on your best little bikini, grabbed a floatie and a soft drink and you went out.

Only to pause when you saw him sitting on one of the white lounging chairs, just looking at you with his earphones on, fingers having stilled mid strumming with a soft veil of smoke over his face.

You didn’t need to think twice to turn back.

There had been something about how his heavy lidded gaze took you in through the smoke as he did that thing where he cocked his head to the side that made you step back and quickly go back in.

You felt yourself get impossibly hotter when you realized you were probably giving him an eyeful of your poorly covered ass in motion.

You knew he was looking. You could feel his stare. Heavy. Intent. Dark. Swirling.

Like when he'd walked in on you.

You were hot and bothered the entire day.

In the end you couldn’t get anything productive done with a straight mind. And it was all his fault.

.

It took you about two weeks to crack.

That particular evening you were decided on telling your mom about this dilemma you were in.  

Coincidentally, your mom had gone and invited him and his dad over for dinner.

Great. Just great.

You had no choice but to deeply consider the possibility of having to spill the beans another time.

Because choosing now to tell your mom meant you would probably need to tell his dad as well since they were attached at the hip every time he came over.

But no, you wouldn’t expose him in front of his father too. You weren’t cruel. Also you didn’t need the school's menace resenting you for making his strict, uptight dad turn on him.

If he didn’t have a reason to expose you before, he certainly would have one if things spiraled out that way.

So you bit your bitter tongue.

This time around, dinner was a more relaxed affair.

The weather was nice so your mom decided on a barbeque at your back yard.

This meant you wore a flowy sun dress like your mom did and he wore a loose navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up and some black casual beach shorts.

His tattoos were on full display.

You stared.

You were only distracted by them and how the patterns dance on his skin when his muscles flex as he flips whatever he is cooking on the fire because she’s never seen them in full before, you strongly reasoned.

Even with his sleeves rolled up when he was uniform, you'd only seen what he had on his forearm briefly other than the ones on the back of his hand.

That night didn’t count. It was too dim to see well. Also, that night technically didn’t exist.

Your eyes were particularly drawn to the little something peeking out the collar of his shirt.

You were too busy trying to figure out whether the curling ink around his collar bone was the flick of flames or the end of a dragon’s tail to notice that he’d lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe at the dots of sweet at his brows.

When you do, you suddenly found yourself being given an eyeful of impossibly ripped, ridged pure muscle.

You almost dropped your glass like you did your jaw.

What the holy fuck?

At that exact moment, he lifted his gaze and caught you staring.

He was probably expecting you to look away. Any decent human would expect that if they caught someone staring at them so openly. Gawking, to be completely honest.

But you didn’t. You quickly recover, pulling yourself together, and you met his gaze squarely.

You clutched the drink in your hand tight. Your pride wouldn’t let you look away.

In your own way, it was your little pay back, weak as it was.

He held your gaze with an unreadable look on his face for a moment with that signature slight tilt to his head and an added lift to his brow, before he looked away. Wordlessly, he let his shirt fall to push his hair back with his hand and went back to grilling.

You let herself breath then and tried not to think about how his biceps flexed at the motion, how his hair slicked back made him look even more dangerous and how the little smirk you caught on his lips was making you feel things she shouldn’t be.

.

Your mom suggested you all hang out at the pool once you were done eating.

You hadn’t been there since that day with him and quite frankly, you would rather not be.

Not with him.

You knew your mom had a swimsuit underneath her dress. She made you wear one as well.

She probably told them to come prepared for a swim too.

Just thinking about it made you short circuit.

You tore your gaze away from where he was standing with his father at the poolside, staring blankly at the surface as the older man talked to him about something.

You'd just come back from clearing the table with your mom.

When you guys got close enough, the men look your way. Jungkook’s eyes immediately landed on you. Meanwhile you just stare at your mom, trying to ignore his inexplicably fixed attention on you.

‘It’s shame we can’t swim.’

Your mother said, reaching for her boyfriend’s hand. She gave Jungkook a soft, apologetic smile.

‘Maybe once the weather is not so chilly.’ She sighed regretfully. ‘If I had known you were sensitive to the cold I would have suggested something else.’

‘It’s fine.’ Your eyes flicker to him. The smile he puts on is small and polite. ‘I’m not a very good swimmer anyway I’m afraid.’

‘Nonsense.’ She dismissed in good nature. ‘I heard you were quite the athlete in middle school. It’s all your father ever talks about sometimes. Right, honey?'

His father just grumbled.

You couldn’t hide your surprise at this revelation. You didn’t know this before.

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then he smiles a little with a shrug.

‘That was in the past.’

Your eyes just glided to him when he said that.

The tug at his lip looked wry and sad.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Solemn. Sombre. Not serious or intimidating or indifferent.

It felt like you were viewing him in a new light.

.

You settled on drinks by the pool. It was what your mom does to lighten things up.

It seemed like the gloom from earlier wasn’t all part just a part of your imagination.

Her mother suddenly chirped in between the light conversation.

'Why don't you guys get together and have a little group study?'

You suppressed the urge to groan and roll your eyes to the back of your head. You knew what she was trying to do and you wanted no part in it.

You had the words no way sitting at the tip of you tongue.

You had the words no way sitting at the tip of you tongue.

He beat you to it.

'That sounds nice,' he dared to say, even politely addressing your mom with Mrs. alongside her surname in the end uttered just the way she liked. 'I'd like that.’

You gawked at him in disbelief. Complete and utterly speechless.

Was he insane ??

'Doesn't it? Great!' Your mom is over the moon. 'Dear, take him to the study. You guys can do your teenager things and get along over books there.'

.

Your mom was loving and caring and she only ever wanted the best for you. You knew this.

Maybe she wanted them to get to know each other. Or maybe she just wanted to have some alone time with her man.

Either way, she practically shoved you two into the house with so much enthusiasm you wondered if she really loved you because suddenly you found yourself stuck inside your house with the last person you wanted to be with and you did not feel safe or rested.

The walk up the spirally stairs to the study had got to be one of the most intense, dragging moments of your whole life.

He remained a few steps behind you all through out the journey, following your lead in his own leisured pace.

A few steps too damn far behind in your opinion.

From that angle, you had a strong inkling that he could see your underwear from beneath your dress.

You knew this because you were familiar with what it felt like when he was staring.

What you couldn’t quite explain is why you didn't do a thing about it.

.

If awkward silence could manifest into a solid form for being so intense, there would have been a third occupant in the room the moment you two walked into the study.

It would’ve been so massive, all the high shelves and wooden tables lined up would have been demolished.

Jungkook remained the quiet person he was, looking around and skimming through the books on the shelves.

You were standing a safe distance away from him, absently doing the same. The books were interesting and all but you were admittedly more taken by the ink on his skin.

Up close you could clearly see the artistic patterns and symbols etched onto him.

While staring at the tats on his knuckles you couldn't help but also notice that the titles he picked up were rather complex.

Certainly not the kind of thing even high intellects reached for. Evidently, those tomes had been collecting dust in there for ages.

You were decidedly curious. Itching to ask. Hell, dying to know.

You dived before you could overthink it and find reasons not to satiate your rabid curiosity.

'You like Reader?' he paused and looked at you from the corner of his eyes. At his questioning look she gesture to the book he was holding. 'That's the third book of theirs you picked up.'

'Yeah.' he said casually, nodding a little while flipping through it. 'Their books are nice.'

A crippling lapse of silence ensues.

You tore your gaze away from his profile to stare at the titles in front of you with a burn at your cheeks, fiddling with the polished spines.

How fucking awkward. All of this.

He probably felt the same.

What were you even doing?

You thought about telling him to ignore your mom’s attempt at trying to make the two of you get along. He obviously wasn’t looking for company or a friend. Quite frankly, neither were you. Certainly not from him. You were just trying to be not rude. Something you aren’t really surprised he probably failed to understand in all honesty.

But then he spoke, dragging you out of your reverie.

'What about you?'

Your head shot up and you found that he was standing a lot closer than before, having moved to reach for yet another complicated book to idly browse through at the top shelf.

This close, you could can smell him. Soft mint and clean soap and moonlight, not smoke. He disregarded the pages in his hands to give you a side way glance.

‘What do you like?’

There was a perpetual spark swimming in the dark depth of his eyes. It was striking. Pretty even.

When he lightly raised a brow at you, your thoughts jumbled all over before it fell back into place and you realized you were staring very openly.

But this time was different from the last time. When he had been miles away, flashing you his ripped abs.

In your reverie, you hadn’t notices that he had leaned a little to meet your eyes, and that he was real close. Like real close, looking at you intently with his head cocked to the side questioningly, like he was wondering what was going on inside your head. You could feel his breath fanning your face.

Shit.

'Uh,’ you scrambled for an answer, quickly tearing your gaze away from him to appraise the bookshelf. Your face felt like it was on fire. Considering how he hadn’t moved, he could probably see just how blazed in the face you were. Out of pure instinct, you grabbed a random book and shoved it into him to make some space in between your bodies.

Maybe with a little too much force. There was a dull thump and it made you wince.

'This.’

You hated how squeaky and breathless you sounded. Like you’d just ran a marathon. Might as well have, with how hard and fast your heart was pounding.

Jungkook took it from you, and you allowed yourself to look at him as he looked the cover over, completely fine, like you hadn’t just smacked him in the chest with a book.

The corner of his lips lifted a little as he flipped it over, cocking his head the other way before he chanced you a glance, making you blink rapidly and stand on edge.

'You sure?' he asked, sounding pretty amused. You were confused for a moment until he held  it up for you to see, flashing you a full on toothy grin like you’d never seen on him before. 'You like books about horse gentilia?'

The jump in your chest was something you quickly dismissed as being one of sinking dread rather than anything else.

All the color that had been congesting your face washed away.

If there was a time you truly wished the ground would swallow your entire existence whole, it would be right then and there.

 

word is telling me I made up the word genitilia but I’m pretty sure it’s real because it just rolls off the tongue ( smooth ) like butter like a criminal under the cover.

the hole is one of the recurring characters so please be nice to it.

alot of things happening here if you squint and look closely.

any-whomst've, hope you all liked it. let me know if you did and I don't know come say hi? 😳 have a nice day 💜

[sanoiro]

Lucifer Meta: “Choices”

“Choice is a funny thing…-“

Those were Dad’s words not mine back in 3x26. Before P2 dropped I was always saying that episode should be considered one of the core episodes if we wanted to understand S5 and Dad as a whole.

“Give someone different options, different circumstances, will they themselves end up different?” -Dad in 3x26

Lucifer S5 P2 spoilers ahead (I will add more screenshots later on)

I always liked the idea of Lucifer having a choice although his vulnerability theory of mine back in S2 was born out of a different thought.

But angels self-actualise however that applies to wings, a face and powers. In Michael’s case it was his posture as broken as he felt. Otherwise how we could explain that only he tried to urge Chloe on killing him but was rather docile when he believed he would face an immediate death.

Now what we didn’t know is that Gods also self-actualise. Therefore it is a genetic trait if you like. So let’s take this concept when we study Lucifer.

Lucifer has made his own choices over the years and the choices he made were the ones that brought us to the events of S5. However something doesn’t add up. Like yes, he chose that face in Hell because of his shame and how he viewed himself. Lucifer admitted it in 4x08 and Dad confirmed it as well in 5x11. So what is the two things amiss? Well one mostly throughout the series? His glowing red eyes.

The majority of the fanfiction out there express his eyes as an evidence of his Devilness, a connection to Hell while I believed for a very long time it was a manifestation of him being the Lightbringer but what does that constitutes?

Back in S2 Mum constantly calls Lucifer her ‘Lightbringer’, Lucifer lights up Azrael’s blade alone fleetingly when angry at his mother in Trip to Stabby Town. When the Medallion of Life is put on the blade his pain over Chloe flames it up for several seconds before it stops. Only when Lucifer assembles the sword, the medallion and the binding element, also known as Amenadiel’s jewelry. But there is again something amiss. Lucifer does flame it up in 2x18 but Mum’s words suggested that with all the pieces gathered she could do it herself. In a sense it is how Michael did it. No lightbringing power needed but what is that power?

I’m sure you remember back the finale of S3 where Lucifer’s face is licked by fire, his Devil face shows and his eyes glow red. Cain then agrees with Lucifer that ‘You cannot escape what you are’ moving forward in 5x16 Lucifer says I love you to Chloe and he is set on fire very much like he did in S3. Then we see a light we have associated mostly with Mum and Chloe wakes up.

So let’s think of this.

Lucifer apparently since his birth is known as the Lightbringer for no apparent reason. He lit the stars sure but only Mum and Dad are adamant on calling him that the only two beings in the universe that were omnipotent and above all? Omniscient. But they had a pitfall. Not even Mum could see she would be sent to Hell. That leads us to believe that there are choices which lead to as Uriel said to ‘patterns’. Different choices, different patterns. A thousands paths we can take but we cannot which one eventually will be taken and probably Dad and Mum held an optimism.

So let’s assume that when it came to Lucifer they knew one thing. That he had the ability to become a God - perhaps that is why Mum searched for him as he was also a key on changing things, if he became God then essentially she had won but she knew his potential. Now that’s another interesting thing…. Potential.

Dad in S5 tells Ella that the darker the darkness the brighter the light. In Lucifer, Dad mournfully notes that his son has so much light it blinds even him (aka Lucifer).  Perhaps what we as perceived as unseen darkness -even him- is, in reality, a blinding light. Like a torch, you have no idea how to adjust your eyes to and everything seems like it's not light but darkness. So Lucifer had to go from being blinded by his own light to target it outwards in order to light the room. That was his potential. 

Lucifer’s potential for goodness had to be harvested as was his ability to love. He liked humanity, respected them to a point, loathed them to another. Still does actually. But here is the thing. Potential think of Lucifer like a piece of coal or a battery whatever suits you best. Coal can be used to start a low grade fire that can spread from there but by itself it is but a black piece of nothing. So what if what we witnessed in the past five seasons was Lucifer being a slowly burning coal?

Let’s go back to Pops in S1. Lucifer is vulnerable when he takes Chloe out of the flaming restaurant and although he was burned he managed exceptionally well. In S4 he gets out of the exploding building albeit Chloe is far away and his clothes are not burned… Now let’s go to 5x10. Funny if you think that Lucifer manages to stop the chemist flame from burning which is weird as yes he stops the oxygen source to the flame so it us put out but two things happen. One his sleeve gets burned but it is also put out once the flamer does. Lucifer blames it on the polyester mix when we know he does not wear any and if he does it should have spread more.

If Lucifer was completely invulnerable then his suit would have been fine like it was in S4. Sure we have seen bullets not hurt him but have an issue with his clothes but to quote 4x02, it’s all about fire not the suit-superman effect.

Now in 3x23 Lucifer realises that Chloe does not need him but she choose to have him in her life and as such he is willing to leave his 2x12 miracle knowledge behind. In 5x06 Chloe talks about vulnerability which is based on a choice of Lucifer to be vulnerable around her. But with that choice to forward their relationship in 5x07 Lucifer is also making the choice subconsciously to expose himself to her emotionally and physically. At that point that choice stops his vulnerability probably because there is nothing to fear from her anymore. His vulnerability per 5x10 made him felt something he self actualised physically the vulnerability he felt but when she accepted him in her heart and stared a physical relationship his exposed himself differently emotionally.

Therefore Lucifer is still by choice vulnerable to Chloe but not physically as now he is in a healthier place. He opens up to her he is giving a conscious choice to be vulnerable to her while his body stops this stress induced self actualisation -perhaps- of being physically vulnerable. When he is hurt he shows it, he tells her what is going on even if it takes some time. Perhaps at the kitchen at her apartment Chloe didn’t draw blood from his body but certainly did from his soul and he allowed that.

When Mum in S2 said that Chloe was the key she was correct but not for lighting up the flaming sword but lightening up Lucifer. Lucifer needed to reach the point of choosing to be emotionally vulnerable around her and realising he was capable of love and that he loved Chloe, loved humanity.

In 5x16 when Lucifer is starting to burn up, most I’m sure went back to Michael’s words of Lucifer burning to the crisp if he went to Heaven as he was banned. But here is the thing Lucifer made a sacrificial move like the kid in 509 did for the family business. The ring simply bought him time. Lucifer left Heaven but I do not believe he was banned from there or at least I believe that Heaven had a safety net. We saw that even Gods have limitations so let’s think of this:

If Lucifer had listened to Mum and went to heaven the ring would have bought him some time but eventually he would have been either expelled or died(?). Again there are many things to consider here:

-What does it mean to be a God? Is it about power? Is it about being a Creator? Is it about the choice to become a carer? Lucifer became a carer in Hell albeit a rather unconventional one and as we may see things will change.

-Dad and Lucifer have a common thing they love humans and humanity in general. No other angel aside from Amenadiel and only due to his son does do far and in Amenadiel’s case it is not unconditional.

-The fact Lucifer was willing to be God not just for Chloe but because the system was rigged and he loved humans like Daniel and thought that he had to protect the innocent or at least provide a chance for a second chance.

-The song in the end when Lucifer is presented as a God, we listen to the Klergy sing that in a sense it was always mean to be.

I know I have been all over the place but let’s return to the whole lightbringer Lucifer now. So remember Dad when he gets angry. He is meteorologically inclined. In the family dinner and not only there we hear a thunderstorm rumbling close by, lighting ominously lit up the room in a way that Lucifer’s eyes light up in a very eerie yet calm way in many instances, in Le Mec’s case included.

There was always something brewing in Lucifer so when he gets to Heaven, with the same attributes Dad had and to a very different level, Lucifer experiences a metamorphosis. Now Mum and Dad didn’t have physical bodies but Lucifer did. Dad as well Mum in S5 provided us with a manifestation of a human body but they were not born in a flesh like celestial body like their kids did. So when Lucifer gets in heaven he is experiencing what Mum did in S2, he bled light but in a place of souls not on the earthly plane.

Again Lucifer’s body changes but he is not a ‘flesh sack’ as Mum puts it like Charlotte’s body was in S2 for Mum. He is still Lucifer that’s still his body but when Lucifer gets to Heaven he makes a choice again not just a throne to save humanity but his own life which of course leads us to the passage of the Revelation. 

In the end, Chloe was the key and fuel for the coal to lit up to a full blazing fire. Not bad :) I mean he lit up Heaven long before he took off his ring ;) 

“I choose you, I love you”

Michael, the Dragon & the ‘Virgin Mary’. But that’s a meta for another time, one that I have written in the S&S but will be updated for S6.

“And no matter how badly you want to nudge them in the right direction You know they need to find it on their own.”

[zigtheeortega]

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !] 

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

•─────────────────•

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took. 

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.” 

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

 “Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere. 

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her. 

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes  “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –” 

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

[kanene-yaaay]

Go Virge, go!

Kanene’s note: TODAAAAAAAAAY IS A SPECIAAAAAL DAYYYY!!! DO YOU KNOW WHY?? THAT IS RIGHT! BECAUSE TODAY IS @why-not-a-tickle-blog BIRTHDAY!!!! Gooooosh!!!! I know I already did a whole speech before, mah friendo, but you’re just so amazing and lovely! Aaaaaa I’m happy for being your friend! <33

Okay, I got a little carried away! Enjoy the gift! x3

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW Tickle-Fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* Oneshot. Something around 3.800 words.w-)b. Lee!Virgil and Ler!Patton in Human AU.

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

* Since  it’s a gift: Essa fanfic não será traduzida, mals. Thankys for reading, my lollipops, especially you, Livvy!! Have a wonderful and incredible day just like you! 

[~*~]

Patton was confused. A lot.

 And that wasn’t even a whole brand-new thing in his life.

 Patton got confused quite frequently, being honest.  

He got confused when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch and woke up four hours later with all his house painted in the dark of the night and without a single drop of memory about where he is or who he is for some minutes. Patton got confused when his attention was caught in some adorably adorable video of kittens being the best thing in the world and quickly ran to Virgil’s room just to show them to him, not understanding why his friend can’t stop looking at him quizzically until Virgil finally asks why does he has a spoon in the knot of his cardigan and Patton jumps because HIS COOKIES ARE IN THE OVEN AND HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED-

 Oh. Wait. That is not what he was talking about. Focus, focus!

 Anyway. Life is confusing, feelings, thoughts, actions, trying your best, keep going, look at the refrigerator just to realize you have no idea of what you were supposed to be searching in the first place, humans…

 Yeah, especially humans.

 Patton stared at the figure of his friend laid on the couch, absently looking at his phone while a piece of smile adorned his face. The movie both decided to watch paused in the background as the one currently in the kitchen waited for the popcorn get ready, his hand held lightly his chin and a frown rest peacefully in his features, mirroring the same expression he always saw on Logan every time he was confronted by a problem whose solution seemed impossible to find.

 It was The Pose of all the incredible genius in the world, right? Therefore, in some moment about now the answers of all his questions should magically pop before him, unfolding and refolding in logic patterns just like in all the mystery series and books.

 Right about noooow…

 …

 Now?

 …

 Well, it didn’t work.

 Patton pouted, turning to pour the warm and probably delicious snack in big bowls that both would pretend they wouldn't be able to finish before even getting in the middle of the so expected movie. He grabbed the bowls and headed to the other room, reprising the entire day in his mind, a faint echo of Logan saying that could help basing his decision.

 Everything started in the morning with Patton arriving at their breakfast table only to find Virgil, but not his usual Virgil.

 That was a Virgil without his hoodie.

 Not that it was a totally strange thing! Usually by his free mornings he would prefer to wander in the house on his comfortable pajamas, however the thing today is… he wasn’t on his pajamas. He was prepared to fight the world – actually Virgil was just going to work, but he said this sounded more badass - on his black Slipknot shirt, jeans and the hoodie nowhere near to be seen.

 Besides that, today was predominantly cold. Cold enough for the one wearing glasses end up missing his favorite cat cardigan by the time he arrived their house, searching for the so dearly craved cloth in every little corner until Patton came across the scene of his friend - his best edgy, lovely friend cutely wearing it and being equally playfully bratty when tried ask it back, pulling out his tongue out as his form dazed in a chase the moment Patton’s promise of ‘physically fight for it!’ – which was a lie, obviously. He gave up the vestment the very moment his eyes locked in a Virgil playing with the cat ears sewed in it – flew from his mouth.

 And, after getting tired out, they cuddled! Okay, this wasn’t nearly a strange occurrence between both, albeit was one of those rare moments when Virgil was the one who initiated it, laying on his lap with a pout and a sharp look, as if he dared the other to say something (and Patton didn’t!! He swears!! Squeals. Do. Not. Count. As. Words.), feeling comfortable enough to even start a Poking War as they were accommodating themselves on the cushions, rays of giggles, squeaks filling the place for some heartbeats before both decided to metamorphose their last bit of routine into a movie night.

 Which was exactly what they were doing!

 Now, don’t get Patton wrong. He was absolutely delighted by everything! Knowing Virgil felt comfortable, safe enough to act nonchalant around him was so heart-warming he could almost feel himself melt in happiness!

 ….But…

 But there was this signal in the back of his mind. A particularly different gleam in the other’s eyes he had already seen before, however couldn’t quite place its meaning yet. Some words unpronounced amongst his lightly snarky demeanor. Some little thing that made Patton feel playful and happily bubbly as well, except he couldn’t really grab the exact information, the exact why or the exact memory.

 Not yet, at least.

  [~*~]

  Virgil was about to fucking quit it.

 No, actually, he was about to fuck quit everything when he woke up of his incredibly, horrible, wonderfully teasy tickle dream. The tingles of the dreamy tickles still ghostly buzzing on his body as he quietly giggled, burying his face in the pillows and kicking about everything on his bed, eyes firmly closed as the memories bathed his mind in a flow made to increase awfully his lee mood.

 And then one of his favorite artists posted some new things on Tumblr, which obligated him to see all their new posts and, who knows, accidentally click in the tag ‘My arts’ of them, which end up with him re-finding other works he had already forgot about, path that consequently leaded to some more reblogs and therefore another bunch of tickle blogs which, of course, made his lee mood at work almost unbearable.

 At least he had the cold to blame if someone questioned about the persistent blush spread on his features.

 After everything, finally: The calm and quiet of home, broken by his determined decision to try to make – somehow - Patton tickle him. His friend was soft and playful by nature, and he already knew Virgil liked tickles (quite of an interesting story involving a meme, a movie and the power going out. Heh. Do not ask about it.) so, I mean, the worst part was already gone, right? It wouldn’t probably be that bad. Virgil would just act naturally, smoothly following a few advices he found in some blogs discussing this topic and hope, for the sake of his life, the Universe wouldn’t follow Murphy's Law for ONCE.

 Of course, that didn’t happen. OF COURSE.

 Virgil tried first to be a bratty. He stole Patton’s cardigan and even ran across the house in an attempt to maintain his new possession. He stretched while laid in Patton’s lap: no hoodie, ticklish spots right there. In the last shot he even let himself giggle every single time his mind wandered to the dark corner designed especially for the subject. The one wearing smudged make up even started a poke war!! A poke war!! What kind of poke war doesn't evolve to a tickle war where he would, so sadly and despise his best efforts, lose spectacularly??

 He crossed his arms and DID NOT pout, blowing grumpily some strands of hair that fell in his vision’s field.

 “I would sell my soul for a tickle.” Virgil growled, his usually careful façade crumbling under the quite persistent thoughts of fingers spidering on his ribs, counting each one of them before lazily dragging the tip of the nails to his quivering tummy, dancing and poking unbothered by his squi-

 “What was that?”

 Virgil squeaked, jumping some centimeters in the air when the voice of his approaching friend filled the room, the words getting stuck in his throat, his head shooting in the other’s direction, wide eyes.

 “What.” He eloquently offered.

 “I was too far, didn’t hear what you said, sorry. Could you repeat, please?”

 Virgil tried – failing - to not blush. Patton was… actually being serious, right? That wasn’t any kind of tease, even if the traitor little demon he usually called brain unhelpfully unlocked all the memories of all the tickle fanfics he read that began with that exact same words. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He promptly ignored the way his voice came out slightly high.

 “Oh, okay!” Patton kindly smiled, putting the popcorn on the coffe table and looking for some space on the couch to lay down while Virgil pressed play, the show’s opening quickly filling the air and silence hanging between both. Patton stopped. Suddenly Virgil felt a shiver run across his whole body, his gaze turning to his friend, only to find the one wearing glasses staring at him intently.

 “You like tickles.”

 The word only was enough to jolt his body back to a sitting position, butterflies starting to wake up, proceeding to fly the most desperate as possible in his stomach, his brain fuzzing, crumbling for answers of How and When and What the Fuc-

 “What? NO! I mean, yes but how- when did you just…”

 “Oh!” Patton gasped and Virgil felt his whole face in flames once the realization of the shiny gleam in the other’s eyes, almost as literal stars shining, hit him. Maybe… Maybe something he had done before finally work? “That is why you initiated a Poke War? Were you trying to make me tickle you? Vee, you just needed to ask!”

 Yep. No. Nope. No way. That was definitely worse.

 Virgil tried to hide himself in his hoodie, deciding he could very much rather perish in his Lee Mood than stare at the pure love and awe gazed right in his direction. His lips curving in a shadow of a smile for a second when he pressed himself further on the furniture, noticing with a grumble leaving his mouth the only armor he owned was the cat cardigan. Hood pulled up and his face firmly pressed on his knees, he ignored the way his excited giggles started to bounce and dance in his throat, resulting in his own body bounce a bit.

 “Knock knock…” Virgil felt a light tapping on his knee.

 “Fuck off.” The hissed answer ran without letting he even think about it, too much occupied in pretending to not notice how much this position left his entire tickl- I mean, sensitive torso vulnerable and how much not seeing what was happening increased second by second the tingles and shivers crazily racing in his skin.

 “Gasp! Virgil!” The one dying in the cat cardigan internally rolled his eyes at the literally audible gasp his friend vocalized, almost being able to see the playful mood taking over his expression as it always has when they swore around him. “I should tickle you for this, Mister Potty Mouth!” Yes. Yes!! Come on, come on! “But I won’t.”

 Hey now, what.

 “What?!” His head shot upwards absurdly fast, a fact which, obviously, he would deny it to the end of his living and non-living days.

 “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide or ignore your desire for tickles every time you have them! Especially…”

 ‘Please – see? I know how to use some freaking good words. - Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Patton. You’re cool, you’re a funny guy, you have good intentions but you have any ideas of what the fuck will happen??’ Virgil found himself almost pleading, the sentences already running in his head, but his lips firmly gripped in the fear to let out more than these simple words.

 “… Since I’m totally okay in tickling you! Oh, wait. Did you just squirm? Aww, Virgil!! That is so, so adorable! You’re blushing, too! Awwwwww!!! Okay, okay, okay, I’m… Imma gonna die of cuteness. You’re truly the most precious being I’ve ever met!!! Wait, what I was just saying…?” 

 ‘I will die! No! I’m already dying! See? You already accomplished what you wanted!! Let’s move on to the next damn part!’

 “Oh right!” Patton lightly hit the side of his head. “I’m glad to tickle you! Truly! All you have to do is…”

 ‘Dude, Patton, Pat-Pat, Popstar don’t…’

 “Ask me! Please, please, please!!” Virgil stared him dead in his eyes, crossing his arms, his cheeks so hot that he was surprised his face didn’t melt yet. “Aw, don’t give me that look, kiddo!” Virgil just narrowed his eyes further. Patton pouted, his ‘Puppy Eyes’ expression – more like an unfair weapon - showing and nailing cracks on Virgil’s resolution.

 They stayed like this for a while, until Patton abruptly lifted his hands, his fingers wiggling on Virgil’s direction, the movement so out of blue that catched his friend out of guard, a true yelp jumping from him before he grumpily growled and let himself fall on the cushions.

 “I can’t.”

 “Of course, you can, kiddo! I’m rooting for ya! Wanna see?” And then he started to fold and unfold his fingers, approaching them to Virgil inch by inch “Go Virge, go! Go, Virge, go! Goooo, Virgeyyyy, go!” Inch by inch. Close and then even closer. The boy with a wobbly smile in his face felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes from the movements, the butterflies seeming to freak out in his stomach in the rhythm of the cheers.

 He hides his face behind his hands. Patton was going to be the end of his existence.

 “Stohop it.” Dammit. He was breaking.

 ‘Come on, guy! You can do this!’ He internally whined.

 “Ooh, is that a beauty giggly giggle what I hear? The cheering should be working then, don’t you think?! We believe in you, Virge-poo! And we can’t wait for when we…” Virgil dared to spy the scene between his fingers, only to see Patton’s hands barely touching his sides, his fingers positioned in a claw shape. “… getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha!!” They suddenly moved, clawing unbearably away and terribly close at each couple of words.

 No. Virgil did NOT squeal nor squirmed closer to the fingers. Fuck you. Nobody asked. That is none of your business anyway.

 ‘Just… just don’t think about it! Pull it off. Like… I don’t know! Like a stupid band aid!’

 “It is going to be so much fun! I didn’t even tickle you yet and you’re already giggling excitedly! Think in all your wonderful, beautiful laughter flying everywhere when I finally tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle you silly!! You’ll be giggling up a storm! Happy gasp! Pun inserted!”

 Virgil obligated himself to take a deep breath and not stare the warm, teasy hands which were oblivious of the intern turmoil caused as they rested on his sides. Their tips very lightly, almost impossible to feel and – even more difficult to ignore - poking the ticklish skin, as if they simply couldn’t bring themselves to stay still. The one laid on the couch and yet hiding his face felt the urge to kick just to get off all the pleasantly nervous energy building up in his body.

 “Virgey-wiggly-wiggley…~”

 “TICKLEMEPLEASE!”

 Patton squeaked excited, the teasy grin immediately giving space to the joyful smile. “Of course!” He grazed his fingers up his sides to his ribcage, the nails lightly drawing circles around each one of the ribs, receiving a quick tasering in the middle of them before going up to the next one, letting for a piece of moment Virgil’s bubbly and more high-pitched giggles fill the room alone.

 The cat cardigan owner ran the tip of his fingers up and down, up and down, up and down his sides, watching in complete awe the way the other squirmed at each infinitesimal move. He stopped the movement on his right side, his eyes gleaming behind the lenses as accompanied Virgil adorably wiggling away from the reminiscent tickles, as if he tried to escape from the evil fingers scribbling in that exactly spot which connected his left side to his tummy and leaded cute, sweet titters escape from his gigantic smile.

 A devious plan shinned in his head.

 Patton ceased the tickling in order to give him a breath, smiling at the pout that didn’t take too long before blooming in the other’s features.

 He quickly poked his left side, immediately hearing quiet, bubbly giggles dance across the air as Virgil wiggled to his right, only to be warmly welcomed by scratches of one single finger on his lower back, making his breath stop so fast a snort escape. Virgil widened his eyes, his hands automatically clapping in his mouth at the same time a big, gleaming grin took over Patton’s expression. They stared at each other, fingers never stopping, squirms never ending.

 “No.” His voice was slightly wobbly, giggles beginning to intertwine his words as his friend scribbled softly again. “No no no! You are a- dON’T!- such a dork!!! No!!”

 They initiated the cycle again. Every time Virgil squirmed to escape from the left tingles to the right tickles one more finger was added to the attack, soon leaving the blushed poor victim kicking sporadically when the ten fingers resumed their light, tickly attack. “I’m going t-t-to kick you!!” and then was subdued to the snorts and squeals painting his fast titters.

 The one who wore the cat hoodie which moments before had slipped from his head in the ““fight””, now showing clearly the red strongly flaming his cheeks and the tip of his ears shook his head from side to side, the frown he tried to form being immediately won by the smile taking over his features. Virgil let himself embrace the feeling completely over, laughing freely, almost doesn’t believing this was actually happening.

 That it didn’t matter how much he tried to escape nor squirm, the tickling just followed his movements, just as all his (fake) protests didn’t stop the excited, evil teases pouring from the other’s mouth. Not to tell how only the big, happy gaze from Patton was definitely not helping in the slightest his current state at all!

 He was certain. There was no way out of this. He was going to melt and   d i e.

 And he was loving every single second of this.

 “Aww! Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Look at the happiness shining in your face!! Someone really, really loves some tickly-tickles, am I right? But don’t worry, Virgey-wiggley! I will give you all the tickles you could ever want! Like here!” He booped Virgil’s bellybutton “Here” A couple of fingers slid on his waistline “And here, and here, and here and everywhere!” Fingers flew quickly, traveling on his hips, collarbone, sides, behind his ears…

 The incapacity to know where Patton would strike next killed every single drop of coherent thoughts of his mind, which could only focus on the tickling and how much it was unbearable and everywhere and it  t i c k l e d . His giggles grew to chortles, his hands flying from his own face to lightly push Patton’s, dislocating his glasses and freeing surprised chuckles mixed with his own squeaks.

 “Virgil!!” Patton ceased the playful attack in order to retire the other’s hands off his face, before both knew they’re wrestling, laughter cutting their acts and weakening their movements. “Virge!! I will go to another spot this way!”

 In a blink of an eye one of his friend’s arms hugged his sides and Patton felt a malefic grin crawling his lips without even noticing its presence. Very much different from Virgil, who in the same heartbeat realized his mistake, using the opportunity of the instant of distraction to lightly push the cookie lover off him, quickly dashing across the house. All his instincts gleaming and sparkling the sign of ‘Survive’ in his veins.

 The only reason of what Virgil forgot about the numbness from spending so much time laid on his legs, resulting in trips that definitely made him lose some crucial speed as he encircled the couch, capturing with the corner of his eyes the scene of Patton jumping of the cushions and following his escape route. The crackling dancing in the air owned by nobody specific.

 His heart beat faster, the joy raced his nerves and made his tummy tingle in advance just for imagining the exact moment where two arms would hug him firmly yet gently from behind and his ears would be set on fire the very same moment Patton would say-

 “Gotcha, Giggly Storm! I gotcha, gotcha ya!!” Patton dug his thumbs right above Virgil’s hips, the remaining fingers clawing the poor, sensitive skin in his back, leading belly laughter to took over his friend’s sentence, his knees buckling and legs uncontrollable kicking as Patton sat with him on the floor, pressing his back on his chest and resting his head on his shoulder.

 “Patton!! Pahahatton, come on, no!” Patton just hummed, two fingers calmly walking on Virgil’s waistline. “Don’t you dare!! Don’t you fuckin- gah!” The nails began to slid in the length of the belly, going from a side to another as elected soft snorts and bouncy giggles.

 “Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Did you thought you could run away from the Tickle Monster? Poor unfortunate soul ~. Now the Tickle Monster has to give you a bunch of more ticklish tickly tickles just for this, don’t you think?!” And then Virgil felt the tickles speed up to scribbles and clawing and wiggles delivered in every inch of his tummy. Going in random patterns, drawing forms on his sweet spot, up and down, from a side to another, over and over again. Quick enough to make him sporadically squirm and kick, a rain of squeals, yelps and squeals flowing from his lips, yet soft and light enough to let him rest his head on the other’s chest and just enjoy the feeling.

 “Awww! Look at how much shaking your tum-tum is! It is probably so happy in receiving its so much craved tickle tickle tickles, right, Virgey-poo?” The answer was only a blushy Virgil hiding his face on Patton’s neck, giggling nonstop.

 “Nonono!! It’s not!” And, if that move only led to a now very exposed neck to be gifted with some special scratches? They both pretended it wasn’t on purpose.

 Patton just rolled his eyes, playfully exasperated, quietly chuckling when the other jumped with the quick squeeze delivered on his hip.

 It didn’t take long before Virgil let out his first ‘Stop’, which Patton happily obliged, don’t having the heart to move when he realized Virgil’s breath becoming calmer, his eyelashes closing as he snuggled closer to the one wearing glasses.

 The duo knew very well they would probably regret napping on the hard, cold floor later, yet none of them managed to bring themselves to care, especially when Virgil’s quiet snorts with the second tickle dream of the day lullabied Patton to an equally peaceful dream.

  [~*~]

  Random non-said thing: Patton only remembered that information because the movie they’re going to watch was one of the trilogy they were watching when Virgil gathered up enough will to tell him he likes tickling.

[boushh2187]

The Festival - Rumbelle Secret Santa Gift

Title: The Festival

By: boushh2187

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Rumbelle :)

Rumbelle Secret Santa 2020 Gift for @peacehopeandrats​

Prompt: winter, fire, stroll in the snow

Word Count: 2220

Rated: PG

Author’s Note: @peacehopeandrats it was a pleasure being your santa! I hope you enjoy this little story. I really liked the prompt and tried going for something wintery and heartwarming. :)

Summary: A visit to a nearby winter festival continues the unusual relationship between the master of the castle and the caretaker.

“There you are!” Belle stood indoors at the top of one of the castle towers. The wind whipped through the open window where Rumplestiltskin stood. She had been looking for him for quite some time. It wasn’t terribly unusual for him to up and disappear occasionally, but overall he would let her know if he would be leaving the castle. Belle suspected that he knew she would get frustrated if she was alone in the castle and didn’t know it, especially if she expected to have a dinner companion. 

He stood by the window, and the wind blew at his frayed cloak and his hair. He looked quite human when he was silhouetted, and Belle knew that he must have been a man once. Even through his unusual sparkling, scaly skin, and odd eyes, one could see the man that was once behind the beast. He turned slightly so that she could see his profile more clearly and he nodded to acknowledge her presence.

She moved forward and stood next to him, trying to get a peek out the window. Something had caught his attention, and as usual, Belle was curious. “What has your attention at such an hour? Your dinner is going to get cold.”  He stood aside slightly, so that she could stand next to him and have a look out of the narrow window. She shivered and rubbed at her arms. Her peasant dress was not for this weather, at least not without a warm cloak.

Belle looked into the distance and she assumed she saw what had interested Rumplestiltskin. The nearby town was brightly lit, much more so than usual. There seemed to be much more activity. She could even make out more pillars of smoke when the moonlight shone through the clouds. She squinted her eyes and asked, “Is it… is it a winter festival?”

“Indeed.”

“Have you ever been? What am I saying, of course you must have gone. It’s so close…”

“It’s been many, many years since I’ve been to such a thing. I don’t have time, nor interest in festivals unless they serve to close a deal.”

“You’ve been to a winter festival in the past though?” 

“Of course. I am hundreds of years old, and my… and I knew someone who enjoyed these festivals very much.”

Once again, an allusion to his life before. Belle would get glimpses into his past, and even though she found his magic and his adventures interesting, she was even more curious about his life before… when he was an ordinary person.

“Come along now. You said our dinner was getting cold!” His cloak billowed behind him as he walked by. He took the stairs swiftly, and Belle followed with a final shiver from the cold. She found it worth noting that even with all of his magic, Rumplestiltskin rarely used it in the castle for mundane things such as traveling within the large estate. She supposed that’s why he needed or wanted a caretaker… well except for the obvious fact that he was lonely.

*****

Belle sat near the fireplace of the great room in the castle. It had gone out while she and Rumplestiltskin were finishing their meal. She set about arranging the logs and lighting the fire. It wasn’t a moment too soon as there was a chill in the air already. She watched as the kindling started to catch and the flame lifted upwards into a nice warm fire. She held her hands out to warm them. Perfect. 

Rumplestiltskin was nearby spinning, deep in thought as usual. This was around the time where she would bring out some tea and read for a while before it was time to turn in for the night. She walked up to Rumplestiltskin and watched him spin for a few moments. She enjoyed watching him spin. It was soothing somehow. “What is it, dearie?” His voice startled her out of her quiet reverie. He seemed to reproach himself immediately when he saw her reaction. 

Belle shook herself and replied, “Oh, I wanted to ask you what type of tea you would like this evening? The Greenleaf, perhaps?” 

“Fine.” He glanced at her briefly before continuing with his spinning. 

Belle watched the gold string fall softly into the basket below. Something was clearly on his mind. She smiled softly and set off to prepare their tea.

A short while later, she sat reading her latest discovery from the castle library, which was also her bedroom. She tried not to chuckle at that. If she was going to be stuck in this castle for the rest of her life, she couldn’t think of a better spot to call her own.

She closed the book with a satisfied sigh. The ending of this one was perfect, unlike the last one she read, which left her wanting to toss the book into the fire… not that she would ever really toss any book into a fire. Sometimes though, she wondered what the author was thinking with an ending like that! So many loose ends… but this one was wrapped up neatly and it was just perfect. 

“Enjoy the book?” Rumplestiltskin asked. He was standing quite close to her and she had been so wrapped up in the story that she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh yes.” She held the book out to him. “Would you like to read it?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “I’ve read every book in that library.”

Belle raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

“We need to get you some new books!”

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly. She enjoyed when he was so amiable.

“Perhaps you can do so tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“How would you like to accompany me to the winter festival in town?”

Belle stood up. “Oh, I would love to! I haven’t been to one since I was a child! My mother used to take me and then the ogres began to act up and my father forbade us to go out of the castle walls without an armed guard. It just wouldn’t have been the same to visit with a group of soldiers following us around.”

“Then we shall go tomorrow. No need for an armed guard. I shall protect you from any foe,” he said it with a silly tone in his voice, but his expression betrayed him and she sensed that he was truly quite serious.

*****

They took the carriage late that afternoon. Belle convinced Rumplestiltskin to take the horses out for the evening and not rely on his magic to propel the carriage. In truth she did find the horseless carriage fascinating, but she also knew the horses needed a good work out and she loved helping get them ready. It was also something that the two of them could do together in companionable silence. She enjoyed moments like those. It was as if they were almost friends.

At the moment, they sat together in the carriage. He had draped a blanket over the two of them, as he had done on a few occasions where they had gone out. He still directed the horses using his magic, but at least the poor beasts weren’t idling in the castle all day. It was cold out, but the horses could handle it, especially since they were moving at a nice pace.

There was a light snow falling, just enough to look pretty. It would be nice to take a stroll in the snow at the winter festival. As they neared the village, Belle could make out the abundant candles lit throughout the village. She could smell the fresh bread and pastries that were being made in the kitchens too. 

Rumplestiltskin stopped the carriage just outside the village and helped her down. She shivered a bit as she stepped into the slightly snow covered ground. Perhaps this peasant dress and this floral patterned cloak that she wore weren’t enough to keep her warm outside of the carriage. She picked up the pace towards the village, and Rumplestiltskin followed. He was dressed more warmly than she was, in a heavy cloak and boots. “Hurry!” she called out to him. I think it would be nice to get some warm bread!”

They walked through the village pathways that were lined with cottages, smoke billowing through the chimneys. Both she and Rumplestiltskin had their hoods up, though Belle suspected that Rumplestiltskin did this so that he would not get any attention. She wondered if the villagers knew him at all? They stopped at the baker’s shop and Rumplestiltskin purchased a nice warm loaf of cinnamon bread. The village was now dark except for the moonlight that filtered in through the trees and rooftops, and of course the candles and crackling fire pits. They shared the warm bread as they browsed the shops selling trinkets, clothes, books, and supplies of all kinds. They purchased candles to celebrate the occasion and walked along the light crowds just like the regular townspeople were doing.

They went in and out of the shops. The snow had coated the ground and frosted up the windows. It was perfect timing for such a festival. Belle browsed the dresses in one of the shops and stopped to look at a red velvet dress that looked to be much warmer than what she was wearing now. Of course, it was something that was meant for a party, and not maid attire at all. 

“Go try it on,” Rumplestiltskin said from behind her. She jumped slightly. She had been so engrossed in running her fingers through the fabric that she had forgotten that he’d come in the shop along with her.

The shopkeeper was all too happy to usher her into a dressing room, and was chatting about coming in for fittings as Belle stepped into the room. The shopkeeper drew the curtains behind her, and she was alone there for a moment and about to hold up the dress to see how to loosen the fastenings, when it glowed and disappeared from her hands. She was suddenly wearing the very dress that she had held in her hands, and it fit perfectly. The garb that she wore from the castle was in a satchel at her feet. Rumplestiltskin, she muttered under her breath. How am I going to explain this? She couldn’t help but smile subtly as she stepped back into the shop. 

Rumplestiltskin stood there. His hood was down, and the shopkeeper looked taken aback. He held up a heavy, red velvet cloak with white fur trim. “To complete the look,” he said, and twirled his fingers for her to turn around. She turned her back towards him, trying to keep her small smile from turning into a full fledged silly grin. He placed the cloak on her shoulders and drew the clasps closed in front of her. “There,” he said. “Now your attire suits the occasion, and the weather.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Belle said as she turned to face him.

“Think nothing of it. I grew tired of seeing you dressed in the same old thing!” he threw a hand up in the air and stepped away from her. She watched as he emptied a bag of gold onto the shopkeeper’s counter. “Please, let my maid choose whatever else she likes. I will be waiting outside.” He glanced at Belle and smiled softly. Sometimes, he was something else, and certainly not the monster he appeared to be. She wished those moments were more frequent.

When she met him outside the shop a short while later she had something for him. She held out a package wrapped in brown paper and a red ribbon.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Just a little gift. You said that I could get anything else I liked in the shop. Well, I thought you could use this.”

The snow had stopped falling and they both had their hoods down. The cold air had turned Belle’s cheeks rosy. She could feel it. Rumplestiltskin placed their large candles down onto a nearby table, and opened the gift. As he unwrapped it, he looked surprised and touched that she had thought to give him something, even though he had brought up that very thing last night. His hands ran along the leather-bound book that Belle had chosen for him. It was a dark brown color and the title was stamped in gold foil. “The Unusual Affair”

“The shopkeeper said it’s brand new! The ink is barely dry, she said. I’m sure you haven’t read this one.”

Rumplestiltskin looked at her with a gentle expression. “I have not. Thank you, Belle.” He chuckled as he added, “I must say that it sounds rather scandalous.”

Belle laughed. “It does… And thank you for the new dress and cloak.” She looked down, suddenly feeling her cheeks grow warm. Hopefully, he would think it was just from the cold.

He reached down and took the satchel that held her everyday clothes. “Come along now. It’s getting late and I want to start reading my new book!” he exclaimed, as if she was holding him back. He held his arm out with a flourish for her to step ahead of him. She chuckled at his antics and took the candles from the table, lighting their way back to their carriage and their way home.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 27: The Writing on the Wall

It was admittedly a relief to still find themselves inside the familiar stone corridors of Hogwarts, even if the moment they were dropped into was quite horrifying to find in their school.

"Is, is that blood?" Pettigrew squeaked in protest, quickly backing away from the wall, his eyes flickering to the nearest torch bracket. Even though he'd half expected it, he still almost screamed at the sight of Mrs. Norris hanging there.

"This place has gone mad," Potter breathed behind him, he looked likely to be sick as he jumped forward and dragged his friend farther away. "Who, who would-"

"Not even we hated Filch and his cat that much," Sirius agreed, keeping his back firmly against the wall.

Regulus stayed right where he was at the far end of the corridor, wishing more every moment he could leave it altogether, especially as he caught sight of where the book was.

Pettigrew must have as well, as he swallowed hard and looked back at his mate still holding tight to his shoulder. "I'll give you one guess where that book landed."

He reached up and patted his hand, perhaps even squeezed it for a moment as if to reassure, and then slowly and carefully went back and plucked the book before the flames could lick at the pages where it sat just above where the cats tail was wedged in.

He quickly darted back to his friends side with a relieved sigh, but didn't immediately feel up to turning it open. "What do you think is happening here James?"

"Don't know," he said so quietly it was almost impossible to hear from so far away. "I've got a bad feeling Harry's going to find out though." He had his back turned to all of them now, eyes trained on the corner he could no more pass. Regulus suddenly realized how vulnerable he was, with the four Marauders clumped up down there, and the other three crowded in front of a door and across from the threatening, still glistening letters. He again glanced down the empty hallway, flickering with shadows of an empty castle, and almost wished that the story would dump them in that time instead. At least they'd be surrounded by other students and teachers, rather than eight teenagers having to figure all this out alone.

Pettigrew began in a taut voice of Filch arriving to discover the same as them, and his reaction was as vivid as it was sad to hear. He didn't particularly care for the caretaker more than anyone else, but he'd certainly never prayed upon his cat for such a vengeful reason as killing it like someone in this castle would some day.

"I suppose this rules Filch out as a suspect," Remus muttered more for something else to hear other than death threats being issued by Filch. He was eyeing the door Longbottom, Smith, and Evans were now trying to open, but having no more success than any before. Instead his eyes began examining the scene, hoping for some clue as to what happened here.

"Never thought of him as a possibility," Sirius needlessly agreed.

They both relaxed just a fraction when Peter kept going on into the teachers arriving, and Dumbledore taking control of the scene at once. Despite already having been in Lockhart's office and not wanting a repeat experience, even that would have felt better than hanging around in a corridor with a dead cat.

Until their headmaster passed along the news this was not so.

"Petrified?" Longbottom echoed, to confirm he'd heard as much. "What on earth can do that?"

"A few things," Remus couldn't help himself prattling off at once his knowledge of beasts. "Certain arachnid venom, gorgons, a few spells-"

"So, are we still in danger from any of that?" Evans cut in with a look that wasn't quite hopeful, but looked more like she wanted to be.

"Nah," Sirius decided, clearly bolstering up some false bravado now that it was clear the threat at least didn't seem to be upon them soon.

"Sirius, this is not a nah kind of situation!" Remus protested, swatting him upside the head.

"And what is, pray tell?" Sirius demanded back as he rubbed at the spot while smirking at his friend. "I find this a perfectly good time to try and enjoy life, while we still have it!"

"Shut up Black!" Frank snapped at once.

"Be real Longbottom," the other returned with a haughty sneer. "If this pattern continues, I'll bet my house we're going to end up in the presence of whatever did this," he gestured needlessly at the cat.

"Not necessarily," Alice insisted, looking to Evans to support her theory. "Not if a person did this, we haven't seen another human since all this started. So, as long as it was a wizard that's somehow done this-"

"What person do you know that petrifies an old man's cat for fun?" Lupin protested, turning on the two of them to defend his friend, even though he himself had just scolded him. "I'm sorry I even said that, there must be something running around the castle that's doing this. If a person wanted to go after Filch, they'd take him, not his cat."

"I don't think so," Evans sided with the other two, "it must be a person orchestrating all of this, and just because we don't know of the magic yet doesn't mean it's not possible. We don't run around this place thinking we own it," she finished viciously.

Peter looked between his friends and the other group before deciding to hurry along before he was asked to voice his opinion. Personally, he hoped they were right, and feared his friends were instead.

Regulus kept himself, and his opinions, out of this for now. Even as he felt he had a bit more to the answer, it was nothing concrete. He well remembered a story his mother had told him about the Chamber of Secrets, and of a horror spoken within said to be Slytherin's own monster. He didn't know if Sirius even remembered the same, his brother had never been very good paying attention to their mothers stories. He had no more idea than anyone else though what it could all mean, or even if it was a valid threat. Anyone, like that Malfoy kid, could have done this themselves just to get a scare out of the school, but he didn't think that likely, especially as Potter asked of his friends;

"Think my kid's nuts?" He spoke softly though, true worry in his voice for why a child of his would be hearing voices.

"No," all three of his friends assured him at once.

"It's not as if he's Sirius', then the poor thing wouldn't have a chance," Pettigrew poked fun.

"Harry didn't tell the teachers he heard the voice for the same reason none of us would, they would call him crazy," Lupin more lightly pacified. "We know that Harry's telling the truth though, so there must be some explanation."

"Besides going off to live in a madhouse, like mine," his brother agreed.

Regulus scowled but chose to ignore his brother and try to understand how Harry hearing such a thing could fit into all of this.

Lily listened uneasily as she questioned the same, and didn't have quite the same conviction some child of Potter's wasn't just a tad loony, but hearing voices didn't seem to be one of the issues with that. Instead she turned to Alice and Frank and asked, "why do you think we've been locked out of a bathroom of all places? That's never happened before." They'd been lucky a fair few times now to stumble across one of those about as often as food, and she'd been hoping their luck would hold.

"Perhaps the castle's doing us a favor, that's Moaning Myrtle's bathroom after all," Alice shrugged.

Upon hearing that Filch had not been able to clear the words from the wall, Frank uneasily stepped forward, and gave the script a prod with his wand. Nothing happened, so he tried a few different spells, and he could no more erase it with magic than with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. Knowing he wouldn't dare do this under normal circumstances, but curiosity very much getting the better of him, he instead used a more powerful bit of magic and gouged some of the stone wall right from the letter C, which finally came free.

"Frank!" Alice gasped in protest as he went back over to them, twisting the bit of smooth stone this way and that in the light.

"I want to know what this is," he insisted without remorse. "That's quite some powerful magic used to get it up there."

"They could have just wrote it up there and used a permanent sticking charm," Evans pointed out.

"No, I don't think so," he hesitated for a moment before pulling his dragon-hide gloves out of his pocket, now thankful for his mothers paranoia of instilling he wear them while brewing any potion. He slipped them on and rubbed his finger vigorously against the red mark, and still nothing happened, though this time he hadn't really been expecting it too. "I think this is blood, but of what kind I can't imagine."

"There's not a lot of creatures whose blood is like that," Lupin spoke up quietly from behind them, and they all turned in surprise, not having realized he'd come forward to speak to them, but having watched Longbottom had piqued his curiosity.

"You know which ones do?" Frank asked, genuine curiosity mixed in with some weariness, he'd never had a pleasant interaction with a Marauder before this.

"Sure," he agreed, the troubled lines on his face making him look older than his years should. Up close they all noticed how pale his skin was in the dim lighting and his unusually grey bangs, though not many people really got close enough to notice or care about such details, he spent too much time with people the school was more than happy to leave a wide berth. "If I'm right though, we're going to have a problem."

"This school is full of wankers!" Potters protest cut in, and Lupin looked back up and around curiously as if he'd forgotten what they'd just been talking about. "How could any of them think my son would be the heir of Slytherin!"

Lupin went back over with an exasperated expression in place, and Lily wondered if his friends ever grew as tired of Potters theatrics as she did. Who cared what the school thought about one lone student? She wanted to call Lupin back over and demand he finish whatever he'd been fixing to say, if he had an idea of what had put that blood up there he should share it.

She'd misread his expression though, Remus was just as exasperated as his friends for this student population even considering such a thing. He happily went back over to the fold of his friends and snarked right along with James and Sirius, albeit under his breath so only the three of them could hear, as Peter kept going right up to Binns's class.

The history lesson Binns offered over the subject was probably one of the most interesting things to ever actually happen in that class, and it was quite depressing they couldn't enjoy young Hermione making this possible considering the topic. They all felt too bad for Harry immediately after the fact, the kid actually trying to convince himself of what the school thought. James was no more related to Slytherin than any other pureblood, and they all wished they could be there to tell him as much.

Regulus finally listened back in with interest again as the kids circled back to this location again to search for clues. He couldn't imagine they'd find any with so much time passing after the fact, but with his eyes still flickering between the open corridor and the dead cat, he certainly had his fingers crossed they would. Sadly, scorch marks and spiders meant nothing to him, and he scowled and muttered about wasting time as Ron let his friends in on his arachnophobia problem.

"That's not fair!" Lily protested as her son decided to follow his friend into the very bathroom they were being blocked from.

"I'm sure we'll get sent to another room soon with a loo," Alice told her sympathetically.

"No, not that," Lily rolled her eyes, "I just hate being left out, if Myrtle saw something I'd rather hear it from her than Potter's friend over there."

"I doubt Myrtle's in there," Frank reminded. "We haven't seen a ghost anymore than, well, anything else. Hell, Mrs. Norris actually is the first living thing we've seen around here," and she's not even really alive right now, he finished in his head.

"Think she's been in the castle the rest of the time, or is she just here now because she's-?" Alice paused and swallowed awkwardly without finishing. Petrified or not, she looked quite dead from here.

"Hard to say," Frank scratched uncomfortably at his neck. "I wouldn't be too surprised if whatever happened didn't work on animals though, it didn't on Hedwig."

Myrtle proved to be of no help to anything, which explained why the Marauders looked so bored with the interaction, which surprised Lily a bit. If she'd thought about it at all, she would have expected them to enjoy hearing of the encounter with a ghost, they seemed to consider themselves rather experts on them, as much as she caught them chatting with all others in the castle.

Then Percy came and shooed the kids all away, and really it was starting to feel like quite the waste of a chapter until Hermione offered such an interesting solution.

"They really think it's Malfoy that much?" Peter quickly stopped before the last sentence to verbalize his surprise.

"More likely him than Harry," James sniffed, though he too seemed to agree this was beyond a second year.

"Polyjuice Potion though?" Sirius was blinking with a rather disturbed expression in place. "Of all the ways they decide to get the answer?"

Remus agreed with a good laugh as Peter finished with the excellent point of Ron's on how this would even be possible.

They were surprised not to be interrupted by being yanked away, but Evans laughing. Leaning against Myrtle's door with pure mirth on her face as she tried to gasp out her surprise of a twelve year old managing such a thing. Then the door she was leaning on swung open behind her, and she fell out of sight.

[vex-bittys]

Flufftober 2020: Day Three

Prompt: College/University AU

Pairing: SpicyHoney

Category: Romantic

----------

Stretch walked into his Human Cultural Studies classroom on his first day of college and nearly turned around and walked right back out again. Of course his brother had criticized him about his decision to delay college for a few years… and then a few years more, but he never imagined that he’d put off his education long enough that a childhood friend (and unrequited high school crush) would end up being his professor.

Obviously, Edge considered his education and career a priority and had focused on it immediately following their high school graduation. It didn’t surprise Stretch. He admired the goal-driven skeleton for his ambition and tenacity, the very same attributes that made scoring a date with the other skeleton extremely unlikely for a dedicated ne’er-do-well like himself. As if to underscore this fact, Edge scowled at him the moment he slouched into the classroom and sank into a seat in the back of the room.

The scowl maintained its position on Edge’s angular features as the skeleton professor prowled through the room, handing each student a hefty course syllabus. When he arrived at Stretch’s seat, the scowl transformed into a smirk. Stretch reached for the syllabus, and Edge yanked it away, holding it just out of his reach.

“NICE TO SEE THAT YOUR MODUS OPERANDI OF PROCRASTINATION AND LAZINESS HAS SUBSIDED, CARROT,” Edge said, voice pitched low so that only Stretch could hear his words. Stretch could see that Edge’s tongue was still as sharp as his cheekbones, but he loved antagonistic repartee. 

“wrong as ever, Edgy McEdgelord. i intend to procrastinate lazily throughout my entire indenture as a student here until i receive a degree that i will never use as i pursue my preferred career of wasting my life entirely through inactivity,” quipped Stretch, loudly enough for the other students to overhear. Several of his classmates tittered, but Edge just gave him a slow, knowing smile.

“GOOD LUCK TRYING TO PASS MY CLASS THEN.” He slammed the syllabus down on the tabletop in front of Stretch and stalked off with his usual grace, though his usual grace involved a hip sway that Stretch couldn’t help staring at.

It was going to be a long semester.

The first near-perfect test score might have been a fluke, but the next few established a pattern that Edge couldn’t deny. He stood next to Stretch’s usual seat near the door, shuffling through mediocre and abysmal papers to present the highest score in the class to the student that he had expected to do the worst. Secretly, though, the grumpy skeleton professor was proud of Stretch for applying himself and showing off the intelligence that few knew he possessed.

“TOP SCORE AGAIN, CARROT. AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS PAYING ATTENTION.” He actually handed the paper with its marked absence of red ink to Stretch instead of tossing it down onto the table as he so often did.

“when you’re up front lecturing, i just can’t look away,” Stretch admitted honestly. His SOUL ached, feelings that he thought had been laid to rest long ago stirring again any time the professor so much as glanced his way with those dangerous red eyelights. “to be honest, though, i’m surprised you remembered me that first day. i didn’t think you ever noticed me in high school.” Stretch winced at his own babbling.

“OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU. HOW COULD I FORGET SUCH A-” Edge closed his mouth abruptly, scrambling for a word to replace “handsome” and change the tone of the sentence “- SUCH AN UNRELENTING SLACKER.” Edge lifted the other students’ test results to cover his blush and hurried back to his own desk.

It was going to be a long semester.

By the time the course ended, the tension between the two skeletons had only gotten stronger. Edge avoided Stretch like a highly contagious plague, and Stretch’s notebook contained more sketches of his professor than lecture notes. The end of the class should’ve been the end of the awkward teacher-student interactions, but Stretch couldn’t help checking the online course list for more classes taught by his rekindled crush.

Stretch’s eyelights scoured the classroom for any sign of seating and found none. Perplexed, he watched Edge stroll into the classroom, wearing something that definitely was not his usual tailored shirt, tie, and slacks. To Stretch’s untrained fashion eye(socket), the outfit resembled pajamas- something Stretch might wear on the first day of class, but Edge would never leave his house in under normal circumstances.

Stretch hid his confusion by calling out a question as Edge strode past him. “what am i in for this semester, Edgelord? philosophy of ancient civilizations? monster-human history and politics?” Stretch had picked a more advanced course, looking for a challenge… and another chance to impress the other skeleton.

“THIS IS ADVANCED JUDO,” Edge stated flatly. 

For once, Stretch had no response, and a wide smile crept across Edge’s features when he realized that he had the upper hand. Moving as swiftly as a striking cobra, Edge grabbed Stretch, spun, leaned, and tossed the slacker over his shoulder and onto the mat. Stretch laid on his back on the ground with an audible “oof,” completely stunned and just a little bit in love. 

“nice pajamas,” he wheezed.

“IT’S A JUDO GI,” sniffed Edge loftily, staring down at his student. “I AM GUESSING THAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS CLASS SO THAT YOU COULD SPEND YOUR TIME LOLLYGAGGING AND BEING UNCONSCIOUS ON THE FLOOR, BUT I AM HERE TO TEACH YOU. NOW GET UP.”

Edge offered Stretch his hand. Not suspecting any foul play, Stretch tried not to blush when their hands touched. Edge tugged Stretch upwards, then dropped backwards, falling to his back and using one leg to propel Stretch over his body and onto the mat behind him.

It was going to be a long semester… but Stretch kind of liked it.

The moment enrollment opened after the summer break, Stretch sat at his computer, scrolling through a list of professors to see which classes were available from Edge. He considered filling his entire semester exclusively with those classes, but he needed to work his way through the recommended curriculum if he actually wanted a degree and not just a chance to stare longingly at a handsome skeleton professor.

“is this advanced judo 2?” Stretch asked, a picture of innocence as he sank gratefully into a chair at the back of the classroom. Edge paused midway through writing a lesson outline on the whiteboard.

“NO. THIS IS PHILOSOPHY OF ANCIENT CIVILIZATIONS, THOUGH I’M NOT ABOVE PUNCTUATING MY LECTURES WITH JUDO FLIPS IF YOU’D PREFER THAT METHOD OF LEARNING.” The writing resumed.

The judo flips proved to be unnecessary; Stretch aced the course as easily as he’d aced the others. The lanky skeleton was a single semester away from an Associate’s Degree with a sterling 4.0 grade point average and the acclamation of every professor and department head that he encountered. His chosen degree entailed English credits, though, and Stretch could no longer put them off. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Edge led the English department and handled all of the high level courses personally. 

Basic English and literature classes filled quickly, but the high level classes required Edge’s personal stamp of approval for any student who dared to request them. Stretch submitted his course schedule online, and Edge invited him for an interview the very next day. This would be a one-on-one meeting in Edge’s office, and Stretch found himself uncharacteristically nervous at the thought of facing Edge alone.

Stretch knocked on the door to the English administrative office, and when Edge called for him to enter, he did so with an attempt at his trademark humor.

“is this the Doki Doki Literature Club?” he asked, stepping into Edge’s unsurprisingly spartan workspace.

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS,” Edge answered drily, “AND I SUGGEST YOU ACTUALLY READ YOUR COURSE DESCRIPTIONS IN THE FUTURE. NOW HAVE A SEAT, OR WOULD YOU RATHER CONDUCT OUR MEETING FROM YOUR BACK ON THE FLOOR.”

Stretch pretended to consider the offer, and Edge stood up and reached for him across the desk as if to grab him for a flip. His face moved close to Stretch’s, and without thinking, the lazybones leaned forward and kissed him.

Startled, Edge kissed back, taking far too long to shove the other skeleton away. “SUCH BEHAVIOR IS INAPPROPRIATE BETWEEN TEACHERS AND STUDENTS,” he rasped, shaken, and Stretch, face flaming with an orange blush, fled the office and the campus. Edge regretted his severity immediately, but immediately was too late.

Taking any English classes at the college would now be impossible for Stretch. The conflict of interest could cost Edge his career as a professor. Edge had rejected him anyway; seeing him on campus would hurt too much.

The counselor, unaware of Stretch’s reason for dropping out of college in his final semester, argued for him to stay. Stretch refused. Dropping out of college seemed fitting for someone with such slothful habits. The only thing he truly regretted was running away without telling Edge how he felt. Hood pulled over his lowered head, Stretch left campus for the last time…

… and bumped into someone carrying a box full of odds and ends.

“WATCH OU- CARROT?”

“professor?”

“WHY AREN’T YOU IN CLASS?”

“i dropped out. i didn’t want you to risk your job…”

“I QUIT MY JOB,” said Edge. “I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO DROP OUT IF…”

“if?”

“IF WE STARTED DATING.”

The two skeletons stared at each other. Edge had already resigned. Stretch had already dropped out. The staring continued until Stretch broke the silence.

“soooo, boyfriends then?”

Edge let out a long-suffering sigh. “YES. BOYFRIENDS.”

READ ON AO3

DAY TWO | INDEX | DAY FOUR

[blondeblackwidow]

Poe and the reader getting stranded on a small deserted planet for a few days and they’re all domestic, and everyone back at base is surprised when they get back. Please? Your Poe pieces have been so cute!

Rumors and Lies ( Poe x Reader)

GIF CREDIT: @winterswake

prompt:  Poe and the reader getting stranded on a small deserted planet for a few days and they’re all domestic, and everyone back at base is surprised when they get back. Please? Your Poe pieces have been so cute!

a/n: this was literally so fun to write I got so carried away. Thanks for the request Anon, I hope it was worth the wait!

tw: implied smut

wc: 1749 

“Are you happy now, Dameron?!” You shouted, looking at the flaming rubble of the ship.

“How is this my fault?” He threw his hands in the air. 

“You HAD to try your fancy flying tricks.” 

“We had FOUR TIEs on our tail, what would you like me to do?!” 

“You’re insufferable!”

“You’re ungrateful, we’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for me.”

“OH PLEASE.” You rolled your eyes. Poe grunted, looking around for things to fix the ship, while you tried to hotwire the comm units to send out a beacon. Night came fast, and luckily for you, there was an abandoned farmhouse nearby. It looked as if it’s owners had deserted once the First Order set up a base on the moons orbiting this unfortunate planet.

“This will have to do.” Poe only nodded in agreement, and set down the bags of supplies from the ships. You cleared the house, and eventually settled in what looks like a sitting room. You sat on opposite ends of a couch that seemed untouched by the rest of the dust that settled on the house. You two ate MRE’s in silence. But in true Poe fashion, he broke the silence first.“Who do you think lived here?” He asked, looking around. You were a spy, a damn good one at that, and you had gotten used to using people’s things as clues into their lives.

  “Well by the amount of land out back, probably a farmer, no idea what.” You shrugged. “It was a male farmer though, presumably human by the size and shape of those gloves.” You gestured to the gloves on the small end table, Poe handed them to you, and you examined the left one. “He was married, there’s wear marks for a ring.” You got up and wandered around the room, all personal things like pictures and keepsakes were gone, but there was enough to piece together a life. “They had a young baby.” You picked up small socks, and a bottle that were left on a shelf. Poe watched in awe as you pieced together a life from the smallest of details. 

“You’re pretty good at this.” He smiled. 

“I have to be, bad storytellers in this profession get killed.” You shrugged. 

“So what’s your story, actually?” He put his feet up on a small footrest and leaned back. You could only laugh. Only Poe could be stuck on a deserted planet with no reinforcements and make himself comfortable. 

“My parents were some dignitaries from Alderaan, they were off world when it exploded.” You had always wondered about how different your life would be if the Empire haven’t blown your homeworld into ash and stardust. “They were childhood friends of the General. They did their best to protect me, but eventually, at 16, we were separated. From then on I had to lie, scam, and cheat my way to survive. Alderaan’s survivors wanted to form a New Alderaan on some planet, they wanted my parents to lead them, but they couldn’t find any trace of them. I think the First Order took them out, I’ll never know.” You shrugged. 

“Commander of the Resistance’s covert forces…” Poe snickered. “And Princess of Alderaan.” He laughed, and you threw the farmers glove at him. 

“Oh can it!” You laughed

“Whatever you say, Princess.” You wanted to correct the incorrectness of the nickname, but it sounded so sweet from his lips, your stomach did flips just thinking about it. Before you could even retort, there was a knock at the door. You both froze. 

Glancing out the window, you saw it was First Order patrols. “So much for a scrambled beacon.” You mumbled, you grabbed Poe’s hand, and dragged him to the door. “Act like you love me. And follow my lead.” Poe furrowed his brows and before he could think about it, you swung open the door to meet the visors of stormtroopers. 

“Hello!” You greeted cheerfully. “Is there anything I can do for you, Gentlemen?” You had taken on a different pattern of speech, and Poe wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Oh please, honey, we have guests. Sorry, my husband can get a little handsy. We were just in the middle of a very heated..” 

“No need for details ma’am.” The trooper held up a gloved hand. “We were wondering if you knew anything about the ship crashed about a mile from here.”

“Oh no, I did hear a very large crash though, I hope whoever was flying it is alright.” You smiled, and interlaced your hand in Poe’s free hand, clutching it, as if you were sick with worry. 

“Would you mind if we searched your home?” Your stomach dropped. 

“No matter at all.” You gestured them inside, and as soon as they passed, you pressed a very deep kiss to Poe’s lips. The lead trooper turned around to look at you two for guidance. He cleared his throat and waited for you to separate. “So sorry, like I said, very handsy.” 

  “There’s a closed door at the end of the hall, we can’t get it open and need your help.” He said grimly, all your supplies were in there, it would blow your cover in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, I suppose.” You said, and began to walk down the hall. “You will be quiet though, and leave the light off will you?” The trooper tilted his head. “We welcomed a baby boy last month and I just got him to sleep.” They stood, staring at you, you had your hands folded, to hide the fact they were shaking. 

“That’s alright ma’am.” He went to turn around. “I’ll escort my squad out.” 

“Oh thank you all.” You smiled genuinely. “Have a safe evening gentlemen.” You latched the door behind them, and let out a huge sigh of relief. Poe was leaned up against a wall. 

“That was a risk.” He said, he almost looked like he was frowning. 

“Yes it was, but it paid off.” You giggled. “Husband.” You imitate your voice from before. Poe only half laughed, and you couldn’t understand why, until he walked over to you and shoved you against the latched door, and pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back eagerly. You always had a thing for him, but you were committed to the resistance, you weren’t there to have a boyfriend. He tugged at your blouse and you let him pull it over your head. You two didn’t speak in words all night. 

-

The next morning, you were half expecting things to go back to normal. You woke up, head buried in his chest, legs tangled in each others embrace. He was sleeping soundly, and you just laid there, watching the sun peak through the blinders.

Eventually, you had to figure out a way of getting a hold of the general. You untangled yourself slowly, and grabbed your bag, making for the kitchen. You started to pull anything with wires apart to rig your comm unit to encrypt for real this time. You were so engrossed in your project that you didn’t even hear Poe come in. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Mornin’ Princess.” He mumbled. 

“Morning Poe.” You smiled, and turned around to face him. He had put his trousers on but not his shirt, and you knew that wasn’t an accident. 

“What are you working on?” He asked. 

“Comm unit.” You shrugged. “Gotta get a message for someone to come get us.” You picked it up. “I’ve almost got it.” Poe took it from your hands. 

“How about we send the message later?” He smirked. “I kinda liked last night.” 

“As much as I would love to stay and have crazy amounts of sex all day, we have jobs Poe.” You shake your head and reached for the comm, and he held it out of your reach.

  “Who said anything about sex?” He stared you down. “I meant I liked us, just being together, pretending we had a life outside of this war.” You blinked. “Okay and yes the sex was great too but outside of that.” You laughed. 

“Fine. But we send that message tonight.” You rolled your eyes and he came in closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Thank you, wife.” He winked and you rolled your eyes again. 

“Anytime, husband.” You laughed, and so did he. 

-

  Back on base, you got back to training a group of rookies who had chosen Covert Ops as their specialty. You were currently in the middle of sparring with a tall, fairly muscular man. You lesson for today was about overpowering your odds. You moved through your opponent, and he handed on his flat back on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. 

You look up to see Poe, head to toe in orange, he had mentioned earlier that he had a training flight. You offered your trainee your hand, and helped him up. “Everyone go get something to eat, and rest, we’ll meet back here in an hour.” You weren’t even looking at your class, you were lost in a pair of brown eyes. “You’re dismissed.” You walked over to Poe.

“It was pretty impressive to watch ya know. I could’ve waited.” He was smirking. You wanted to punch him and make out with him all at once. 

“What do you want, Dameron?” You tried to maintain your professionalism, you were aware that your students were still listening.

“General needs us in Command.” He smiled, and handed you a holopad.

“Another one?” You grumbled. “Where to this time?”

  “Canto Bight, we need to pose as some rich couple to extract some information from some people at the casino.” He winked. “We leave tomorrow morning, wife.” And with that, you turned around to walk to command for the official briefing. You watched as your training classes jaws hit the ground. 

“Poe Dameron you did not!” You laughed and ran after him, only half mad.

Rumors floated around on base that you two were secretly married on that planet. They were ridiculous, and you told people that you didn’t pay them any mind because you knew the truth, but if you were honest, you just liked the warm feeling you got in your gut when people referred to Poe as yours. 

Even if you got an occasional pointed glance from a new recruit or two.

[libralita]

Title: Rhythm of War

Author: Brandon Sanderson

Summary: After forming a coalition of human resistance against the enemy invasion, Dalinar Kholin and his Knights Radiant have spent a year fighting a protracted, brutal war. Neither side has gained an advantage.

Now, as new technological discoveries begin to change the face of the war, the enemy prepares a bold and dangerous operation. The arms race that follows will challenge the very core of the Radiant ideals, and potentially reveal the secrets of the ancient tower that was once the heart of their strength.

At the same time that Kaladin Stormblessed must come to grips with his changing role within the Knights Radiant, his Windrunners face their own problem: As more and more deadly enemy Fused awaken to wage war, no more honorspren are willing to bond with humans to increase the number of Radiants. Adolin and Shallan must lead the coalition’s envoy to the honorspren stronghold of Lasting Integrity and either convince the spren to join the cause against the evil god Odium, or personally face the storm of failure.

Rating: ★★★★★

Review:

In my Dawnshard review I predicted the back would say mother of machines and it diddddd.

Oh nooooooooooo it’s Taravangian that will have the story oh nooooo

Odium trapes them? Revolt. Let’s gooooo!

NONONONONONONON don’t go to Mraize.

Sja reminds me of vapor from Skyward.

Wait a minute wait a minute Radiant HQ is called the tower and there’s death rattles about the tower. Gotta reread those.

The sibling is the child of Honor and Cultivation.

Noooooooooooooo Jasnah, Dalinar don’t go

Also this reminds me of Sadeas’ betrayal.

SAZEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ahhhh so Radiant is where Shallan’s brain went. Got it.

THE STUMP IS COMING ALONG

IT’S ONE OF THE THINGS FROM ERA 2!!!!!!!!!

Pattern keep away from Wit

Gallant is gonna talk back someday.

I see Shad’s contribution is paying off.

FELT

I’m sure that the woman who sees Shallan’s agents as tools is totally the woman who wants to end slavery for the lols.

ADOLINNNNNNNNNN

SAZED YOU SPOKE TO OTHER SHARDS?! Wholesome bean.

Some kind of shade?

Brandon Brandon Brandon are you…giving us the shard names/ NOW?

Whimsy. Mercy. Valor.

Kal can you go talk to Taln and maybe Ash?

This…this is what Kaladin should be doing.

I just realized that Elhokar might have been in the unseen court. Now I’m sad.

Formless probably represents her father.

Wait nooooooooooooo SZETH STAY THE FUCK HERE!!! SZETHHHHHHHHHH Kal, it’s up to you to swear the fourth ideal.

GAV NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SEBARIAL. Finally this book can reach its true potential.

God this makes Misborn Era 2 so much more stressful.

Is it one of the spren Venli has?

Ummmmmmmm ummmmmmmm ummmmmmm are you talking about Wax??????

Did Adolin just figure out Mraize’s plan?

She’s…held a cube?

Poor Honor Spren Tsundere.

Hello Venli. Nice to see you here in your own damn book.

The team must surprise the Honor Spren. Something they have never seen before. Something that will right the wrongs of the past. You know what you must do Adolin.

Kal take your own advice and talk to your parents.

Not all spren…were imagined…by men. Oh…oh god. No no no I am not about to think about these implications.

Okay clearly lift would be a good pick to go on this mission because all she would need is food to become awesome.

TSUNDERE SPRENNNN SAVE HIMMMMMMMM

Pattern….

UGH ADOLIN YOU KNOW WHAT YOU NEED TO DO. C’MON!!!

Nooooooooooooooooo Adolinnnnnnnnnnnn just…just…ughhhhhhhhh

Navani don’t go zip.

Brandon I swear to god if you kill someone off screen I’m going to yeet you into a chasm.

Wait a minute is the sibling speaking to Navani? Did I already guess this?

NAVANNNNNNNNIIIII I TOLD YOU NOT TO LET GO OF THE SPHEREEEEEEEEEEEEE

Flame spren at edgy looking.

We’re doing this nowwwww?

Dabbid??

“Storm off with the lectures for once, Father!”—Page 494

Satisfying.

Also Brandon we’re half way through and there’s another climax.

Moash is hereeeeee.

Navani, my love, now is not the time.

…Hire Navani? Excuse me? Navani….

“Regardless, please make yourself known to me when you travel my lands. It is distressting that you think you need to move in the shadows.”—Page 535

Wholesome bean. I love him.

Oh Lirin….

“Poor Kaladin. There was freedom available for his old friend. Two freedoms, in fact. But he doubted Kaladin would ever accept the same freedom as Vyre, so he offered him the other one. The sweet peace of nonexistence.”—Page 551

Ahhh so he is a bastard. Got it.

“He knew it, sure as he knew the sun was hot, and that it circled Roshar forever.”

Um….

You…he…MOASH THAT MOTHER FUCKER. Redemption is a theme.

“PERHAPS. YOU COULD INFLUENCE HIM IN SMALL WAYS ONLY. PERHAPS EACH NIGHT, WHEN HE SLUMBERS…HE THINKS OF YOU STILL, AND THERE IS MORE. A CONNECTION BECAUSE OF YOUR PAST, YOUR SHARED DREAMS. ANY BOND SUCH AS THAT CAN BE MANIPULATED.

WILL THIS BE ENOUGH? IF WE SHOW HIM VISIONS, WILL THAT BREAK HIM?

‘It will be a start. I can bring him to the brink. Get him to step up to the ledge.’

THEN WHAT?

‘Then we find a way to make him jump,’ Moash said softly.”—Page 554

You know I have been told that redemption is a theme in Stormlight Archive.

So I have a theory that the Radiant Spren are some way connected to different main cultures on Roshar. So Althei are Honor Spren. Azish are High Spren and now Shallan’s notes say that Cultivation Spren are merchants so now that slots well Thaylen. Peak spren are…probably Horneaters but who knows.

Ooooooo do I smell romance for Lift?

Wyndle is so cute.

“An old flute that Wyndle said looked strange.”

*Covers face* oh my god she has Wit’s flute. Go give that to Kaladin.

Brandon you’re just going to drop Nightwatcher lore? Now? “Why…if Mother is involved…perhaps this isn’t Stormlight you use at all.” ???? Then what is it???

Hmmmmmmm lets not talk about the Sleepless.

OH NOOOOOOO MRAIZE. OH NO HE WANTS TO HUNT LIFT.

Come on dumb Taravangian.

For some reason, Taravangian reminds me of Dr. Marcoh from Fullmetal Alchemist.

I feel like Navani is going to sass the shit out of Raboniel.

“Awespren burst around her in a ring of blue smoke. Soulcasters didn’t hold spren because they were spren. Manifesting in the Physical Realm like Shardblades. Spren became metal on this side. Somehow the ancient spren had been coaxed into manifesting as Soulcasters instead of blades?”—Page 593

I…you…WHAT?

Ralkalest? Interesting name.

“By showing everyone that our lives will all be improved by working together.”

A) I don’t trust you and B) not if Odium yeets Roshar into the sun.

Noooooooooooo Dalinar it’s worseeeeee.

NALE???

Where’s Taln and Ash in all of this?

So many people wearing a lot of rings. Wait, is that Navani?

“Why hadn’t the Sibling mentioned this immediately?”—Page 622

Navani finally understanding Dalinar’s pain.

I love Navani and Kaladin interacting.

*nervous about Mink*

“‘What is a cow?’

‘Big, juicy, delicious. Wish I could still eat them. You don’t seem to have them around here, which I find amazing, as I’m sure there was one somewhere in Sadeas’s lingage. Paternal grandfather perhaps. Watch the highprinces. There’s almost certainly going to be a show.’”—Page 638

1) RIP you can’t eat meat because you were a Dawnshard 2) True 3) Uh oh.

She did that to pocket another Highprince.

Excuse me, who’s Axindweth?! Wait the rings on her fingers. Is she a feruchemist? Did she do something to Venli’s mother?

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

“‘Grampa,’ Litte Gavinor asked. ‘Was my daddy brave when he died?’”—Page 664

Suffering. Endless suffering. Leave me alone.

Okay, this is good information.

Rlain and Venli reunion!!!

Eshonai and Dalinar interaction!

BRANDON I WAS NOT PROMISED YOUNG BLACKTHORN FEELINGS. LEAVE ME ALONEEEEEE.

Wait is the person writing Rhythm of War Navani? But that doesn’t make sense because Michael Kramer is reading it, usually that means it’s a man reading it. Is it Gavilar?

El? I mean the only El I know is…Elend.

Is Kaladin going to say the Fourth Ideal when he realizes that he can’t save Moash?

I’m glad that El is unknown and there are more than one person talking. Perhaps with every new page a different person is talking. I’ll just leave it to the 17th Shard to crack.

A VOIDSPREN IN A CREMLING? Arclo?

Hesina? Why does Rlain want to meet with Hesina?

Mraize and Rabionel are talking. Also I just realized that Mraize reminds me of Vandal Savage.

LIFTTTTTT!!!

Lifelight? Excuse me? I fucking…hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I see that Navani has now adopted Kaladin. Good shit. Also I am living for the Navani/Kaladin interaction.

OW WHY MUST I SUFFER?

“Navani turned toward Raboniel, steeling herself against the memories brought forth by the sight of the sword. She could cry for her child again tonight, as she had done many nights in the past. For now, she would not show these creatures her pain.”—Page 732

Hell yeah.

When did Eshonai become British?

“‘That’s annoying,’ Kaladin said.

Yes, it is mildly inconvenient that we have to wind a crank to experience the wonder of making a human being safely levitate hundreds of feet in the air.

‘Pardon, Brightness, but I can usually do it with far less trouble.’

Which is meaningless right now, isn’t it?

‘I suppose it is.’”—Page 743

Look at these two sass each other.

Ivory’s my new favorite.

So, like how gods have metals, do all gods have lights?

Is Venli the one that Navani thinks is insane? I don’t think so?

Navani, you are going to bond with the Sibling. I know it.

I love Navani and the Sibling’s interaction.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

“You are not merely a storm! Dalinar bellowed, his voice changing to rumbles of thunder. You are capable of choice! You hide from that, and in so doing, you are a COWARD!”—Page 821

God I love Dalinar scolding the Stormfather, it’s so funny.

FINALLY DALINAR KNOWS! Also…that’s some interesting font you got there…

“But I have another task. I need to find a way to speak to the god-priest, then convince him to help me rescue Urithiru.”—Page 825

Good luck, kid.

Szeth-son-Honor. Oh my heart. It almost makes up for the fact that I’m so sad for Navani.

Excuse me, Chiri-Chiri is getting a pov. Brandon, stop writing while drunk.

“Szeth froze as the little boy, Gavinor, stepped up to him. He raised a wooden sword hilt-first toward Szeth. The boy should fear him, yet instead he smiled and waggled the sword.

Szeth took it, hesitant.”—Pages 834-835

MY HEART! OH MY GOD THAT’S SO CUTE I COULD DIE. BRANDONNNNNN.

Rysn! You weren’t supposed to tell him!

Poor Rysn. She doesn’t get a break.

Koravari. Did we just get Cultivation’s name?

The Deadeyes are probably sensing something…else.

“The target called himself ‘Sixteen.’”—Page 864

Yep that’s him. (Nope.)

How is that that Shallan shutting out her two other personalities is worse for her?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hi Nale.

Oh, Shallan must have bonded a different spren and killed it.

Restares is Kalak. Shooketh. But did Gavilar know that? Because wasn’t he speaking with Kalak with Nale. So…I’m confused.

Restares is the one writing this then.

I think I pointed out how Rlain was named Shen like Pashendi.

Remember everyone, redemption is a theme.

WIT!

“You can’t know any of this, because you live on a giant ball of rock full of slime where everything is wet and cold all the time.”—Page 913

Agreed.

“This is a dog, Kaladin. They’re fluffy and loyal and wonderful.”—Pages 913-915

At least we agree, Hoid.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S A DRAGON ON ROSHAR?! AND SHE PREFERS TO HIDE. HOID! BRANDON!

It has been decided that Wit getting a spren was a massively bad idea. (Not that anyone should have been under the delusion that it was a good idea from the start.)

This is very late in my notes but: I don’t know Brandon, why does Azure look Althei while other Nalthians don’t?

Is the dog…Lassie?

I’m going to take notes on Design so I can write a fanfic where Elhokar lived, became a Radiant and then joined the Unseen Court like the nerd he is.

What? Trusting Mraize is stupid? No shit.

So, I was wrong about Shallan pretending to be Ialai…but she might consider being Kalak.

Kalak is more of an asshole than Wit.

I feel like not only the FuckGavilar subreddit will arise out of the this book but also the FuckLirin subreddit. Seriously? Are there any good fathers on Roshar? Dalinar barely just became one.

So the metal is Raysium.

Fuck Dabbid just became my new favorite character. Who the heck would have seen that coming?

LIFT YOU CAN WAKE THEM UP!? Alright plan: either get Lift to Lirin so she can heal a few Radiants for backpack or head straight for that storming pillar and heal the Sibling. LET’S GO GO GO GO! TIME FOR THE THIRD CLIMAX!

Please Tsundere—YOU DID IT!!!

“They could be purchased from a group of strange traveling merchants called the Eyree.”—Page 976

Ire.

So the Rhythm of War is Navani and Rabionel talking?

Did they have sexy time?

Oh no Shallan killed that cryptic

I WAS FUCKING RIGHT! THUDE IS ALIVE. FUCK YEAH!

Radiant killed Ialai

SOBSSSSS FOR SHALLAN

OKAY MAYA SPOKE WAS ALSO CRY WORTHY

I supposed that night scarred Jasnah just as much as Shallan.

Also Witnah confirmed.

No…Teft…no no no no no no no. I sobbed so much. I hate you Brandon so much.

Aww man I feel so fucking bad for Moash that he can’t see. I’m so sorry. I will weep for you endlessly. Bastard. No man or woman has ever been sexier than when Navani Kholin said “Journey before Destination, you bastard.”

Nononononononono

“Final terms are these: A contest of champions to the death. On the tenth day of the month Palah, tenth hour. We each send a willing champion, allowed to meet at the top of Urithiru, otherwise unharmed by either side’s forces. If I win that contest, you will remain bound to the system—but you will return Altehkar and Herdaz to me, with all of their occupants intact. You will vow to cease hostilities and maintain the peace, not working against my allies or our kigndoms in any way.

Agreed. But if I win, I keep everything I’ve won—including your homeland. I still remain bound to this system, and will still cease hostilities as you said above. But I will have your soul. To serve me, immortal. Will you do this? Because I agree to these terms.”—Pages 1178-1179

Fuck.

Cultivation you absolute fool.

“The Lord of Scars, Wit calls him. Well, when you next meet this Lord of Scars, give him a message from me…Tell him we’re done with his meddling. His influence over my people is finished. Also, Wit says to tell him, ‘Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don’t make me come over there and slap you around again.’”—Page 1197

I was joking before but…no. It’s him.

I guess Kal and Szeth are going to Shinovar. That’ll be some interesting character interaction.

You, sir, do not deserve the name El.

Also we are so fucked. Beyond fucked. Unbelievably fucked. It may be set up that Wit figured out this set up was too perfect however he might. So WE. ARE. SO. FUCKED.

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Cori's Tale (Pt.2)

-------------------------

We sat there for a few minutes, I exchanged stories with Patton about the surface world. His expression of sadness and anger at the notion of the other children sending us down the mountain as sacrifices was one I wouldn't soon forget. I learned a lot about him, to, he had a cat allergy, he took care of six children before I got here. That last line stopped me in my tracks.

"What. . . Happened to the other kids?" I asked, Patton's face seemed to fall.

"They. . . Left. . . That's all you need to know for now, dont dwell on it ok kiddo?" Patton rested a hand on my shoulder for a few seconds before getting up.

"I think we should head off now, yeah?" He said, holding a hand out. I merely nodded and accepted it. I walked with Patton into a narrow hallway. On one end was a sign, on the other a lever and pressure plates. Patton stepped a pattern on them, his hooves clicking against the stone, before flipping the lever. A door opened and he walked through it. I chose to read the sign before following.

"Only the fearless may enter here, brave ones, foolish ones, both walk not the middle road," I read aloud before crossing. The words bounced in my head for a bit, fading to the background as my attention turned back to Patton.

"This next puzzle you can do on your own,  I've labelled all the levers for you," he said, I watched him cross a few bridges to the end of the room, the second doorway was blocked off by a set of spikes on the floor.

I walked over to the first lever, light blue words were scrawled on the walls next to it, telling me this was the right one. This repeated with about two more levers before I heard a clicking sound and noticed the spikes behind Patton retreating into the ground.

"This next puzzle is dangerous, take my hand," Patton said, holding it out. I took it, not paying attention to much until I realized what we were walking on. Rows, and rows, of sharp, silver, spikes. The spikes seemed to retreat under Patton's hooves, I found this matter interesting.

"Now, as you go through the ruins, you may encounter monsters, and they may try to attack you, I want you to know you should just talk to them and I will come to resolve the conflict," Patton smiled and gestured to a dummy at the center of the room. I walked up to it and noticed the heart that had been established as my SOUL appear in front of me again. I saw something behind the eyes of the dummy, something I couldnt quite place.

"Hi, I'm Cori, she/her and they/them pronouns, what's your name?" I said, not really expecting the dummy to respond. The mysterious aspect of its eyes seemed to evaporate, my SOUL retreated back into my chest, I looked to Patton for guidance, but he merely smiled and clapped in approval.

"Now, follow me kiddo," he said, walking to another room. We'd nearly gotten there when a small frog-like creature appeared in front of me. A barrage of flies aimed straight for my SOUL, I narrowly managed to avoid them by spinning out of the way.

My mind seemed insolent on two options, threaten, or compliment. I was never very accomplished at threats, so instead I decided to compliment the symbol scrawled on its chest. The frog began to blush, it was seconds away from preparing its next attack when Patton stepped out onto the scene. With a glare that could freeze even the toughest child in their tracks, he shooed away the frog creature.

"You did wonderful kiddo," he said, smiling as he lead me to a much longer corridor.

"This test is going to be very difficult, I am going to leave you alone, and you're going to have to walk to the end of the hall, do you think you can do it?" He said. I nodded, I'd been on my own plenty of times before this.

I watched him disappear down the hall and began walking myself, I'd almost reached the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder once again.

"Its alright kiddo, I didnt really leave, but this was a very important test of your independence, I need to make sure you can be alone, I have to handle something," he said. He dropped what looked like one of the old phones the guardians back at the community talked about used to have.

"I will call you periodically to make sure you're alright," Patton walked away from me and I stood there.

He did, in fact, call several times before his phone was stolen by a dog. After about twelve calls I decided it might be best to venture out on my own, after all, I already knew how to talk to and spare the monsters. I packed my art supplies and sketchbook back into my bag and set off.

The ruins were relatively calm, with only the occasional froggit or molsmal to interrupt my walking, though my complimenting and flirtation skills were advanced enough that I could pass them easily. The first real problem presented itself in the form of a ghost, laying on the floor and sulking. It was a sort of faded purple color, and it seemed to be pretending to sleep.

I elected to nudge it slightly with my foot, resulting in a retaliation from the ghost.

"Oh. . . Oh no. . . They noticed. . ." Lavender, as the words appearing above the ghost called it, seemed rather upset.

"I'm sorry- I just needed to get past, I've got somewhere to be," I said.

Tears rained down from the ghosts face, I held my hands up to block them, but they seemed to float back upwards, changing shape the closer they got to my outstretched palms.

"I really didnt mean to frighten you, you seem rather nice," the ghost seemed surprised by this statement.

"I want to show you something," she said. I merely nodded and watched as she cried, her tears floating up and beginning to form what looked like a flower-crown on her head.

"Woah- I wish I could do that," the ghost retreated out of battle.

"I met someone today. . . And they were actually really nice. . . Wow," the ghost disappeared without another word, needless to say it was a uh- different experience, but I didnt mind it. I kept walking on, solving puzzles as I passed them, fighting all manner of strange monsters. I left some money in a web of spiders, each seemed to be wearing their own small hoodie, I decided to write a note complimenting them on it, hoping they would find it sweet. I put the donut they gave me in a ziploc bag of other food items I'd collected, hoping that would keep it from messing up my backpack.

I finally managed to reach what looked like a small house, out of which Patton walked, phone in hand before he noticed me.

"Oh my goodness gracious how long was I gone! Come here kiddo- I'll heal you," he said, trapping me in one of the biggest bear hugs I'd ever experienced. I felt a calm wash over me. Patton let go and guided me into the house.

"The pie isnt cool just yet, but I'll let you know when it is, feel free to explore," said Patton. I, however, had had enough of exploring that day, and decided that I would rather draw at the table.

I began to get tired later in the day, and elected to go to bed. I woke up later in the night with the smell of pie filling my nostrils. I merely set it in another ziploc in my bag before going back to bed.

I wasnt sure how long I was in the ruins before I began to feel homesick, but soon enough I'd plucked up the courage to ask Patton about leaving.

"Stay here kiddo, I need to handle something," I watched as Patton disappeared around the corner before following him. We walked all the way down the stairs before he stopped at an archway, turning to me.

"This is the exit to the ruins. . . I am going to destroy it. . ." He said.

"I have seen five children pass through these doors, and never return, one who didnt even make it through the ruins themselves, I cannot let it happen again," I was frozen, processing the words to slowly to interrupt.

"If you cross, they, Logan, will kill you," Patton said, something about the way he said Logan's name resonated with me. He sounded distraught, as though he were talking about someone personal to him.

"But you cant keep me here forever, it's not right," I said. This seemed to breach the silence.

"You are right. . . You would just be unhappy here. . . Very well. . . Prove yourself to me, and I will let you go," this time, two hearts appeared. My own ever-changing one, and an upside-down white one on Patton's side.

I barely had time to comment before facing a barrage of fire and flames. I narrowly managed to dodge it, holding my hands out as a barrier.

I wanted to talk to him, but I couldnt seem to find the right words.

The fire kept coming, I held my hands out, envisioning it in my head as changing shapes, which it soon obeyed. I watched as the fire molded itself to the images in my head. Soon enough the spitting image of Patton was in front of me, made of fire, before it split off into separate whispers of smoke. I could see the surprised expression on Patton's face as he watched.

Soon enough his attacks became less calculated, almost as if he was actively avoiding hitting me.

Finally it was over, Patton sighed, defeated.

"I am so sorry kiddo. . . You're right. . . You would just be unhappy, my expectations, my loneliness, my fear, I will put them all aside, for you," he said. He opened his arms for a hug, which I embraced in full. As he let go I could see the tears making their way down his face. I watched him leave, turning his head slightly and giving me a small nod.

Then it was just me and the door. As I walked through, I was met with a long corridor. At the end if it, a familiar orange face.

"Well done! You spared the life if one innocent person!" Said the tree.

"What do you want with me." I growled under my breath.

"I am the prince of this worlds future, but do not worry, my plan isnt regicide, this is so much more interesting,"

I stomped my foot into the ground "What. Do you want. From me." I repeated.

"You interest me, human, sparing even those who would kill you without hesitation, but what will you do if you meet a relentless killer? Will you kill out of frustration? Or will you continue to die, because you would rather rely on magic than murder," the tree seemed to disappear abruptly, leaving me alone with the words echoing in my head.

I continued down the path, and was met with an overwhelming sense of cold at the end.

----------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@nerosdayinhell

@that-artsy-gay

@official-lucifers-child

@spooky-scary-virgil

@misunderstoodshadowling

@youtuberswithalex

[luckyjak]

fic: i never leave well enough alone [shadowgast]

Caleb and Essik, making out for science. The Mighty Nein are also there to walk in on them and embarrass them. A kissing fic, with some found family fluff thrown in to break the tension that could otherwise be carved up with a knife.

[AO3 Link]

a/n:  I haven't even seen the episode yet (I'll see the VOD Monday) but I know a good ship when I see one.

They are studying, and they are talking, and Caleb has been distracted by the gold of Essik’s eyes for a while now.

Normally, dunamancy is a fascinating subject for Caleb, but he finds his attention wandering this afternoon in ways it hasn’t in over a decade. Not since he was a boy, noticing his classmate Astrid and the way her robes filled out in different ways than his.

Today, he’s distracted by a lot of things--the overbearing warmth in the room, to combat the stark cold of the Xhorasian winter outside. The way Essik must be warm, too--there is a gentle bead of sweat falling down the back of his neck, into his high collar. Caleb imagines following that bead of sweat for a moment. Essik has a lovely neck, long and slender, and Caleb can imagine himself kissing it, pressing hot lovebites into the drow’s dark skin. What do drow even look like, bruised?  Would anyone even notice if Caleb left a trail of hickeys on his dark purple skin, or would it just be their little secret?

It’s not just his neck, either. It’s his mouth, too: his lips are full, and they look soft to the touch, and they move subtly, spellwork precise in the way it comes out (“ pro” “hibere” “tempus”), the verbal components soothing to Caleb’s ears. Somatic, too, in the way Essik moves his hands, tracing arcane patterns into the air. He has beautiful hands. Caleb thinks about his hands, and wonders where else his long and slender fingers may fit on Caleb’s body.

And his eyes, too--gold, like the center of a hot fire, and Caleb has always been attracted to a flame. They are small but vivid, in color and in shape, and they are staring at him now, intently.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” The drow accuses, but his tone is gentle, teasing, coaxing Caleb out of his fantasy and back to reality.

Caleb rolls his eyes, and with the practiced ease of a student who has never once had to study, casts the spell he was only half paying attention to flawlessly.

His reward is a smile and a pointed look of pride on Essik’s face. “You are brilliant, you know? You’ve progressed further in mere weeks than what many have done in lifetimes. You are simply amazing .”

Essik runs his hand down Caleb’s shoulder and squeezes, and it’s too much for Caleb; the heat and the intensity of Essik’s gaze, the skin contact, the way their knees brush against one another underneath the table. He leans in swiftly and kisses Essik fully on the mouth before he can think better of it.

It’s a risk, but a calculated one, and he’s always been a fan of the potential rewards.

Essik’s lips are soft, softer than Caleb expected, and while the Shadowhand doesn’t pull away he doesn’t kiss back, either, and so Caleb moves away sooner than he wants. His gut wants to keep kissing, to grab and to hold the other man and kiss him until they are both breathless, but he stops himself.

Not yet. Not without permission.

“ Oh ,” Essik says, quiet at first, barely audible. “That was-- unexpected.”

“I apologize,” Caleb says, sitting back down in his seat, though his eyes still stare at Essik’s lips.

“No, don’t. It was not unpleasant,” Essik’s hand traces his own lips carefully, cautiously, curiously. “Merely unexpected. I have never, ah, kissed , like that,” He says the word kissed with uncertainty, like he has to think carefully about what the word means in common.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Ever?”

“Not with one like you, no,”

“Human?” Caleb offers, scooting his chair closer to Essik’s, so that one of his knees is in between his partner’s. The dark elf doesn’t respond. “Male?” he ventures another guess.

“One of those is correct. I’ll let you guess which one,” the Shadowhand whispers, playfully, a coy smile on his face. He moves his hand to Caleb’s face, caressing the soft patch of hair that’s begun to grow there in the weeks since he’s shaved last. “I would--I would like to try again, if you aren’t opposed.”

Caleb doesn’t respond; instead, he kisses him again, and is thrilled when the elven man kisses back.

This time, Essik is more present in the kiss, less shocked and more daring. He keeps one hand on Caleb’s face, caressing his cheek while the other wraps around the broad expanse of Caleb’s back across his shoulders. Caleb’s hands, for his part, find themselves drawn to Essik’s waist, his fingers catching in the loops of his belt.

They part only long enough to catch their breath before Essik stands, kicking his chair over in the process, and drapes himself instead into Caleb’s lap.

It’s too much; Essik kisses like a storm, like lightning in a bottle, precise, stunning, fast, and all of Caleb’s senses are on fire from the sensation. His vision is dark and blurred, only catching glimpses of white hair against dark skin as Essik nibbles his way down his chin.

--

Yasha doesn’t remember what she came into the library for, but it certainly wasn’t to catch Caleb in this compromising position.

...It is Caleb under there, although it takes Yasha starring longer than she intends to to discover that. It’s not her fault: Caleb is somewhat buried, his lap full of an attractive drow man straddling him in the chair.

There’s a chair knocked to the floor, and neither man is wearing their jacket. Caleb’s shirt--from what Yasha can tell, where she’s standing--is half unbuttoned, and his hair is a mess, stark red tangled from dark fingers.

They are just kissing, she reckons, but Essik is kissing Caleb like he wants to eat him, tongue first, and Caleb’s hands are firmly attached to Essik’s backside.

“...I’ll come back later,” Yasha tells the room in a whisper, her voice unheard, as she closes the door quietly behind her.

--

“Did you know Caleb’s kissing the Shadowhand now?” Yasha announces casually to where most of the Mighty Nein are gathered in the kitchen. "They're making out in the library."

“WHAT?” Jester squeals with delight, clawed hands covering her mouth in joy.

“WHAT?” Beau hollers, outraged, fist slammed on the table.

Fjord doesn’t react beyond trying not to choke to death on his salad, his face a new and unusual shade of green.

“Good for them,” Caduceus nods sagely, stirring his teapot without much concern. “Tea?”

“Yes please,” she nods to Caduceus, taking a seat between him and Jester. “I just walked in on them in the library. They seem quite attached to each other.”

Jester’s squealing gets louder (“oh my gosh oh my gosh ohmygoshhhh!!!”) and Beau seems even more outraged.

“The fucking library?” Beau howls, loud enough for the whole house to hear. It’s a good thing Nott and Yeza are out shopping, and that the rest of them were in the kitchen, minus the two in the library. “ I use that fucking library. That’s public property. I swear to god if they get sweaty boy shit all over those fucking books I’ll murder them both, those fuckers-- ”

And then Jester is up out of her seat and down the hall, and Beau is following fast behind her, and Fjord seems like he wants to crawl into his shirt and hide like a turtle as he pushes his bowl of food aside.

“Was I not supposed to say anything?” Yasha asks, more to herself than to anyone in the room, but Caduceus answers her with a cup of tea nonetheless.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. This is what families do, in my experience. At least that’s how I reacted every time one of my sisters brought a partner over.” He picks up his own cup and sips it. “Never really saw the appeal, myself, but different strokes for different folks.”

“Ah,” Yasha nods at his wisdom. Behind her, a door slams and there is a lot of yelling and screeching and a crash of what sounds like two bodies roughly hitting the floor. “Should I stop them?”

“In a minute,” Caduceus says with the sophisticated ease of someone who used to living in chaos. “Let them have their fun, first. Then we’ll go save poor Mr. Caleb from dying of embarrassment.”

“Or setting off a fireball in the house.”

“That too.”

--

Unlike Yasha’s quiet opening of the door, Jester slams the door to the library open with enough strength that they might should be concerned about the hinges.

“Caaayyyyleeeb,” she coos , her voice getting high pitched towards the end. Her voice and the door startle Caleb and Essik enough that they lose their balance in the chair, and Caleb lands flat on his back on the hard stone floor, with Essik on top of him.

“Oh my gosh, Yasha was right! You two were kissing,” she makes an exaggerated smooching sound, and Caleb can feel Essik stiffen on top of him, uneasy with the situation. For all that Caleb is certain that Essik likes him (as a friend, if not more, now), he always thinks that the elf has no idea what to do with the rest of Caleb’s friends, uncertain what to make of them. “How cuuuteee.”

Beau comes slamming in after Jester, and gods, they are going to have to replace that door. “Do not fuck in public spaces,” Beau yells, and, oh, it seems drow can blush, based on what little of Essik’s face Caleb can see buried on his shoulder. “New house rule, effective immediately, should have been mentioned earlier but we didn’t think about it. No fucking in any place where I routinely eat, sleep, read, practice, or bathe, or I’ll cut your fucking dick off and nail it to the wall.”

Caleb can feel his own face flush at that. “Get. Out.”

Jester scrunches her face at Beau. “But if they can’t fuck any place we sleep, then where are they supposed to have sex? Outside?”

“Get out.”

Beau shakes her head. “No sex outside either. I don’t want anyone to ruin the garden with that. They can fuck in Caleb’s roo-----oom, shit!”

He flings a firebolt at Beau’s head and misses, his aim made unsteady by the body on top of his.

That causes more squawking, this time about “fire safety!” and “don’t burn this house down too Caleb!”, and he feels Essik start to laugh quietly against him.

Luckily, his heroes arrive before he dies of embarrassment.  “Okay,” he can hear Caduceus's calming voice come from that side of the room. “You’ve had your fun. It’s time to stop embarrassing Caleb now.”

He hears Beau shriek in protest, and then Caduceus must pick her up somehow, because she starts screaming about being carried off until Caleb can’t hear her voice anymore. He still hears Jester’s giggling though, and heavy footfalls until she, too, starts complaining about how Yasha is ruining all of her fun.

He hears the door shut tightly, and thanks whatever gods are out there that they are alone now.

He feels Essik roll over on top of him, and groans a little, his back bruised from their fall. “We broke your chair,” Essik says, sitting up off of Caleb properly and onto the stone floor. He looks--undignified, and young, but still terribly handsome, as Caleb takes a moment to stare. His stark white hair is in disarray, and his tunic is off-center, and his gold jewelry tangled. It’s the most like a mess Caleb has ever seen him, and he must confess, it’s a good look on him. It makes Caleb wonder, briefly, about other times when Essik might become disheveled, and how Caleb might help him get there.

Sure enough, there is a broken splintered wooden chair nearby. He offers Caleb a hand to help sit up, and Caleb finds he’s reluctant to let go now that he’s sitting up straight. He leans his back up against the leg of the table, and offers Essik what he hopes is a charming grin.

“We can fix it. Jester knows mending,” he breathes in deep, and takes a moment to recollect himself briefly. “That was fun though, yeah?”

He get a soft smirk in return. “I can think of less enjoyable ways to spend an afternoon.” Then Essik bites his lip, his eyes glancing up and down Caleb’s form. “I can think of more enjoyable ways, too, though.”

Caleb feels his face flush, and he wants to ask like what, coy and flirtatious, and he wants to lean over and kiss him again, on the floor under the table, for hours at a time. He wants to peel off Essik’s tunic and see what he looks like underneath his many layers of clothes, to see if his skin is that dark purple color throughout.

He probably shouldn’t, though. Not today. Caduceus and Yasha can only distract the others for so long, and besides, Nott will be back soon, and that’s a whole different interrogation to get through.

So instead he grins, charming and boyish, and says, “Like, four hours of uninterrupted time in a library with a good book?”

That gets him a hearty chuckle, and gosh, the Shadowhand is pretty when he laughs. Caleb’s face should not be this flushed; he is not some inexperienced teenage schoolboy, and yet the rapid beat of his heart seems terribly, achingly familiar.

“Among other things,” Essik smiles, and kisses him, softer this time, just a gentle press of lips against his. Where as last time was all passion and fire and shocked skin, this one is gentle, like a feather tickling the skin, and it ends quickly. “I should probably go, though.”

Realistically, Caleb knows he has to leave; that Essik has a job and a life outside of kissing and tutoring Caleb in magic, but right now the idea seems unfair, cruel and senseless, just another way of punishing Caleb for his past crimes. “Tomorrow, then?”

Essik bites his lip, and kisses him again. “I think I could find the time,” he promises, and there’s another kiss, deeper, and Caleb can taste his tongue. “We could maybe actually study, this time.”

Caleb wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer with another kiss. “Or we could explore those,” he’s interrupted with a kiss, “those other things you were talking about,” there’s another kiss, another clashing of tongues and teeth, until they find they need to breathe again. “I have ideas.”

“A locked door might be nice,”

Caleb kisses into Essik’s grin. “I think I know where to find one.”

If they don’t stop kissing now, they may never stop, and while Caleb can think of worse things, he also doesn’t want to get Essik in trouble. He pushes him away slowly, savoring what he plans to be the last kiss of the night. “You should probably go though,”

“Right,” Essik breathes heavily, still staring at Caleb’s lips. “I have a meeting. With the Bright Queen.”

Caleb reaches over, and straightens out Essik’s tunic, and rehooks the gold chain that had come undone around Essik’s ear. “Sounds important.”

“It--it could be more important,” Essik stutters as Caleb stands, offering him a hand up as well. “It could definitely be more important.”

“You don’t want to be late, though,” Caleb picks Essik’s cloak up off of the table, wrapping it around the gentleman’s shoulders. “I doubt the Bright Queen tolerates much tardiness.”

“You’re right,” Essik confesses, and looks down at his shoes. “I don’t want you to be right, but you’re right.” They haven’t stopped touching each other, Caleb’s hands on Essik’s shoulders, and Essik’s hands on Caleb’s waist. “I just want to keep kissing you.”

With a stronger willpower than most, Caleb leans into the embrace, and kisses Essik carefully on the cheek. “Tomorrow, then.” He lets go then, and squeezes Essik’s hand tightly instead. “I’ll walk you out.”

They leave the library hand in hand, and dream of better tomorrows.

--

Notes:

unpictured: Caleb's walk of shame back inside to be interrogated by the Mighty Nein.

also unpictured: Essik doodling cartoon hearts with Caleb's name in them during his meeting with the Bright Queen

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

So these soulmate headcanons.. WOW, they’re awesome! Please, pretty please make one for Reiji 🙏🙏

So sorry for the wait! I got really carried away with this one and it ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be, so I’ve put it under the cut. I hope you like it ^^ 

General setup: Set in a universe where everyone has a soulmate and there are various different connections between soulmates. Vampires (and Founders) have been known to have human soulmates. Generally the connection between a vampire/founder and their soulmate will not kick in until their soulmate is born and will fade after their soulmate dies. It considered unusual for a vampire to meet, let alone be with, their human soulmate.

Reiji Sakamaki

Connection with soulmate:  youcan influence your soulmate’s emotions when in physical contact with them.

- You weren’t born with any sort of obvious connection to your soulmate. Many people weren’t, but it didn’t stop you from feeling a slight sense of envy towards those with a name or pattern inked on their body that would lead them to their other half. No, you would have to rely on luck to find your soulmate, and you were left with little clue as to what form the connection might take when it showed itself.

- Years passed and all too quickly you found yourself preparing for your last year of school, your connection to your soulmate as elusive as it had always been.

- Just before the start of term, a letter arrived, with an offer to a transfer to Ryoutei Academy and a place to stay while you studied there. One of your relatives had some connection to the politician Tougo Sakamaki, and had apparently been able to pull some strings to be able to arrange the whole thing. Whether you wanted to transfer to the school or not, you were given little choice in the matter, and as all of your friends started back at your old school, you were being driven in a sleek black car to your new home, leaving all of them behind.

- Although the mansion had a dark, unsettling feeling the moment you laid eyes on it, nothing could have prepared you for what lay inside its walls. Vampires, cruel and vicious, some nightmare made flesh, and your apparent hosts. Although captors might have been a more accurate term, all connection to your loved ones had been severed and any attempts to run were met with swift retaliation. 

- Reiji had hardly taken a vested interest in you when you first arrived at the house. Your manners and posture left a fair amount to be desired but at least you were slightly better than some of the louder women they’d been sent over the years. Mostly the triplets did with you as they pleased, and he suspected it would not be long before yet another bride would need to be dispatched by the church. 

- A few weeks after you first arrived, Reiji was enjoying a rare moment of peace in his room. A pot of freshly brewed tea steaming on the table, it’s pleasant aroma filling the air as he flicked through his notes. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall and Reiji lifted his head in response.

Moments later, the door slammed open and you tumbled inside, the scent of your fear heavy in the air. Your eyes widened as soon as they found his and you started to stammer out an apology, something about how Ayato was chasing you and you hadn’t realized this room was occupied. 

What an unsightly creature you were, your blouse half torn open and your hair in disarray. But he was far from one to refuse such an opportunity. 

Reiji set his notes to the side, readjusting his glasses as he noted how rude, not to mention unwise, it was to intrude in such a manner. It seemed that you thought you might be able to leave his room with only a simple chiding. How terribly naive.

He played to your assumptions for a short while, issuing a verbal dress-down that left you slightly red in the face. When he made an act of generously offering you a cup of tea, you muttered a soft yes almost immediately, eyes on the floor. 

It was a simple matter to slip one of his newer concoctions into your cup without your notice. A few minutes after accepting the drink, your hand went to the base of your throat and you started to wince.

“Is something the matter?” Reiji inquired, his own cup untouched. 

“My throat, it feels like it’s on fire,” you said, your voice hoarse.

“How interesting, I’d hoped it would paralyse the vocal cords completely, but it seems I still have more work to do.”

Your expression morphed into one of horror and you quickly stood and backed towards the door, but it was too late. Only a flick of his power was required to lock the door without him ever actually touching it. In no time, Reiji had you against the wall, wrists pinned by his gloved hand. You struggled against him but it was to no avail, and then his teeth were at your neck.

The moment his lips touched your skin, a jolt of fear shot through him. Some kind of mortal terror, the likes of which he’d never experienced before. He drew back and the feeling vanished, leaving him breathless. What was this? Your scent was that of an ordinary human, you certainly shouldn’t have the power to affect him in such a manner. 

Experimentally, Reiji ran a bare finger over the skin of your neck and the same sensation filled him. Flinching back as thought he’d been burned, he tightened his grip on your wrists to the point where you cried out.

“What exactly are you?” He hissed, scanning your eyes for any indication of deception.

“Human,” your voice shook, “I’m just a human.” 

Reiji took a deep breath to see if there was anything he’d missed in your scent, but it was utterly mortal, laced with fear. Wait, fear. Those were your emotions he’d sensed, but how? Vampires were capable of many things but this wasn’t one of them. Unless… 

An idea of the situation took shape in his mind, and there was only one way to test it. He lowered his mouth to your neck again, ignoring how you flinched away.

The fear hit him again, but this time he pushed back, summoning the sense of calm he felt when left to enjoy his tea in peace. Almost immediately your muscles relaxed, and even as his fangs pierced your skin, you made no move to struggle, nor did you protest.

The moment his skin left yours, you stiffened. The air once again rife with the smell of your fear.

“What… What did you do to me?” You spoke in a small voice.

A connection that flowed equally between a vampire and a human, Reiji had no doubt about exactly what it meant. That a mortal child held such a power over him… It was far from a pleasant thought and no matter what you were, it was not something he would allow you to wield against him.

“Have you truly not grasped the innate differences between us? This is just another one of the many abilities at my disposal, and another reason why you should learn your place in this household. Should I choose to, I could make it so that you begged me to drink from you to the point where your blood ran dry.” You shivered in his hold, and Reiji braced himself for the onslaught of emotion as he bit down over your clavicle.

You were far from what he had hoped for in a partner, but perhaps that could be rectified with a bit of time and training. The nature of your connection to each other certainly held some potential in that regard, although he would need to find a way to keep you from being able to subconsciously impose your emotions on him.   

One thing was for sure though, the triplets had had the last of their fun with you. From now on, the only one who would be feeding from you was him.

- The nature of your days in the mansion changed after your encounter with Reiji. Gone were the many hours the triplets would spend bothering you. They still tried of course, but Reiji had an uncanny tendency to interrupt them before they could ever get very far. In fact, you seemed to be able to go very little time without Reiji making some sort of appearance. He’d somehow managed to get hold of your academic record and informed you that it was not fit for a member of the household, even though you suspected it was at least better than some of his brothers.

He seemed to have decided that it was his duty to ensure your grades were up to scratch and, everyday after school, you were to meet in his rooms for tutoring. Sometimes it would be topics you were familiar with, other times it would be extensions of the syllabus and then there were the lessons on deportment. You’d protested that the latter had little to do with your grades but Reiji had shot you a glance and made a scathing comment about how you were in desperate need of them regardless. Since then, you hadn’t voiced any further complaints.

You couldn’t wrap your head around Reiji at all. His punishments for failing to meet his expectations were harsh, as the marks from his riding crop all over your back proved. But he was capable of being pleasant, of offering a kind word or gesture whenever you began to wonder what the point in trying to please a man with such high standards even was.

And, more surprisingly, he had made no move to bite you since that first day. Not once. He’d also taken to wearing two gloves as opposed to the single one he’d worn in the time before he’d taken such an interest in you, as though he couldn’t bare to touch someone of such low worth.

- About a month or so after your tutoring sessions had begun, Reiji had offered you some of his precious tea and you’d known better than to refuse. It was something of a common occurrence. Sometimes the brew would leave a terrible numbness in your limbs, or cause you to feel so hot that you might burst into flames. But then there were instances where it was only tea and Reiji would chuckle as you stared at the contents of the cup in paranoia.

On this particular evening, when you felt perfectly fine after finishing almost half a teapot of Darjeeling, it seemed it would be one latter occasions. Except when you met Reiji’s eye, he was studying you in a way he often did when you were acting as a test subject for one of his potions. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, a slight sense of apprehension clear in your voice.

Reiji took a deep breath and picked at the hem of the white glove on his left hand. In the blink of an eye, he was standing over you, a bare hand gripping your chin and tilting your head to look at him. 

“Do you truly feel nothing at all?” He asked, his expression scrutinous.

“N, no,” you replied weakly. “Am I supposed to?” 

“Ah-” he withdrew his hand “-it would seem that particular potion is defective. You need not pay it any mind.” Reiji returned to his seat and took a long sip from his own cup of tea before turning his attention to you. “I’m sure you must be aware by now that a full moon will soon be upon us, and as a result, I find that my throat is not soothed by tea alone.” He set his teacup to the side with a soft clink and you swallowed nervously as he approached you once again. 

His fangs pierced the skin of  your neck, sending pain stinging through you. You braced yourself, expecting him to use that strange ability he had once before to influence your own feelings. But there was nothing aside from the throbbing that accompanied the process of having your blood sucked. And when he pulled back, you could have sworn you saw something akin to a sick sort of glee in his eyes.

- After you’d retired for the night, Reiji swirled the small bottle of clear liquid he’d spent weeks working on. It had worked to utter perfection. Naturally, it’d been prudent to test the potion on you first and when you’d shown no ill effects it had been time to assess it’s true effectiveness. When he’d touched you, Reiji had been able to feel a slight flicker of your emotions. Nothing comparable to that he’d experienced before, so it would seem that for one of you to truly feel the emotion, the other would have to be experiencing it strongly or send it through your connection by force. 

He’d tried to send a feeling through that intangible bond between you, watching closely for any sign of reaction from you. There had been none however, and he’d known then that the potion was fit for his purposes. The effects were not designed to be permanent, but by taking a dose of it each day, it ensured he could touch you while his feelings remained entirely his own. You, on the other hand, would feel whatever he sent through your connection.

With a little experimenting he realized he could even cause you to be overcome by pain or pleasure with a simple touch. Your improvements in his lessons were drastic, your feelings apparently a much more powerful motivator than any physical incentive he could provide, and you quickly grew into a far more suitable partner for him than when you’d first arrived at the mansion. In fact, Reiji found that he had almost started to enjoy periods spent in your company, at least more so than he had with any other bride. You were not a poor conversationalist in the right setting, and had even offered more than a few insightful comments without his prompting. 

Perhaps you were soulmates for a reason after all. 

- In the weeks that followed, you knew something was not right. Emotions that didn’t quite feel like your own would plague you whenever spent time in the company of the second eldest Sakamaki. A flash of disgust when you caught sight of Shu sleeping in some inconvenient location, a sense of discontent whenever your grades were less than perfect and a newfound appreciation for crockery.  

But in spite of it, you had come to look forward to the time you’d spend with Reiji, to the point where you were developing feelings for him. Unfortunately however, you were unable to tell whether they were genuine or another result of those awful vampiric abilities of his. 

- One day, as you were walking through the school corridors to collect some documents your teacher had asked for, your foot caught on something and you went sprawling across the floor. 

“Heh, nice underwear.” Snapping your head back, you caught sight of Shu, one eye cracked open as he looked at the point where your skirt had ridden up exposing… You quickly adjusted the fabric and made to get to your feet. His legs must have been what you’d tripped over in the first place and you felt some lingering sense that you should get away from the blonde vampire as quickly as possible. 

A pale hand shot out and grabbed hold of your wrist. “Hold it, I’m thirsty.” You struggled but were ultimately powerless as he lifted your wrist to his mouth. Blue eyes met yours. “You were the one who fell on top of me and exposed yourself, lewd woman,” he said before biting down. 

“Stop!” You used your free hand to shove against him in an effort to free yourself. In spite of how much worse it would make the wounds, the feeling of his fangs in you was unpleasant enough to risk it. “Let go of me!”

“Tch, noisy.” He twisted your wrist until it was at a painful angle and bit down again.

“Ah, it hurts. Stop it!” Even though you knew your protests were more likely to end in further injury than anything else, you couldn’t help it. The sensation of his hands on you felt wrong.

After taking a good long drink of your blood, Shu pulled back and sighed. “You’re unusually bothersome for prey that’s been with us this long.”

“If you have a real problem with it, then why don’t you just use your vampiric powers to manipulate my own feelings against me? Reiji seems to do it often enough.” The bitterness in your own voice surprised you.

Shu’s eyes narrowed in what might almost have been confusion. “What are you… He has taken an unusual interest in you.” Something seemed to click, and a cruel smile played at his lips. “You really are an idiot, didn’t you notice that the triplets never did any similar?”

“What… what are you saying?” Now that you thought about it, they hadn’t. But Reiji was older than them, it didn’t seem too unbelievable that he’d have a better handle on his abilities.

“I’m saying, whatever you’re talking about has nothing to do with him being a vampire.” Shu yawned and let go of you. “Enough, I’m sleepy. Go and find somewhere else to be.”

“Wait! What do you mean ‘nothing to do with him being a vampire’? What is it?” You asked in frustration.

“If you’re so dense you can’t figure it out then go and bother him. Although there must be a reason why he hasn’t told you yet.” Shu closed his eyes, a signal that your conversation was at an end. 

You stood motionless in the corridor, mind reeling. Something that allowed him to influence you in such an intimate way but wasn’t just another one of his supernatural abilities. There was only one possibility that came to mind and the revelation made your heart stop. 

A soulmate connection. With Reiji. And… he knew. He knew but he hadn’t told you, had instead just used it to manipulate you. 

Tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of anger and betrayal filling you. It seemed you would need to have a conversation with the vampire that was long overdue.

- Reiji could scent Shu on you the moment you stepped into the limo on your way back to the mansion. The blonde himself didn’t make an appearance, apparently so lacking in energy that he couldn’t even move himself to the vehicle. Pathetic.

It was only the presence of his other brothers that kept Reiji from doing anything during the ride home. No, this matter would be dealt with in private. Shu had trifled with his prey before, but this time felt infinitely worse; a gross violation of what belonged to him. And that you had allowed it to happen…

For your part, you were unusually silent on the journey, your hand subconsciously straying to your wrist every so often, where Shu had bitten you no doubt. 

The moment, you arrived at the mansion, Reiji ordered you to his room. You obliged but there was something in your expression he didn’t like, not one bit. 

“So,” he said, after his door had closed behind you, “are you going to tell me where that mark on your wrist came from or will I have to force it out of you?” The riding crop in his desk was easily accessible, but it didn’t feel like it would be enough. Nothing did.

You were silent, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“Well?” Had contact with that good for nothing really corrupted you to the point where you would act with such disobedience. 

“How long?” You said in a small voice.

“I beg your pardon.”

“How long?” You repeated.

“Perhaps if you would care to elaborate, I might be obliged to answer,” he replied, and were he not mired in anger, he might have felt a slight sense of apprehension at your words.

“How long have you known that we’re soulmates Reiji?” You met his eyes for the first time since you’d entered the room.

If Reiji’s heart beat as a mortals did then he was sure it would have stopped dead. You’d found out somehow. Shu! He was going to kill him. 

“What did he say to you?” In a flash he had you against the wall, gripping your chin so you were forced to see the fury in his eyes. 

“Barely anything, but enough to let me know whatever you’ve been doing to me isn’t a result of any vampire ability as you’d have me believe. Why were you so determined to keep it a secret? Because you enjoyed being able to hold it over me? Because I wasn’t what you wanted so you took to training me like some kind of pet?” You spat, anger overriding whatever self-preservation instincts told you defying him was a poor idea.

“That… That is not any of your concern.” He’d known it was unlikely he’d be able to keep the truth from you forever, but he certainly hadn’t intended for you to find out like this.

“No, it is, that’s the point Reiji! It is my concern! Soulmates are meant to be equals, partners. But instead you’ve done nothing but use our connection to manipulate me.” Raising your voice at him was certainly not a wise idea, but you either didn’t think about it or didn’t care.

“Silence!” His grip on you was bruising. “You truly think we are equals? How terribly childlike, but then what should I expect, compared to me, dear,” the word came out as a sneer, “you might as well be a child. Do not think just because such a connection exists between us that it grants you any sort of rights over me, is that understood?”

A loud slap rang throughout the room. Reiji stood with his head to the side, glasses knocked slightly askew and a faint sting on his cheek where your hand had impacted it. He released your chin in shock and you fled from the room immediately. Ordinarily he would have made a move to stop you, but instead he stood, frozen in place. 

It was not the physical contact that had affected him so, no, you possessed so little strength compared to him that the very idea of it was laughable. Instead, it was the flood of emotions that had passed from you to him in the short moment your hand had made contact, strong enough to override the tonic coursing through his system.

Anger was at the forefront, followed by sorrow and number of other fleeting emotions, but the one that lingered, and left him standing while you ran, was betrayal, deep and sickening. The dregs of fondness he’d sensed explained perhaps why it was so strong. After all, the deepest wounds could only be inflicted by someone you cared for, trusted. 

Reiji glanced towards the door. He could easily catch you, take you down to the dungeons and thrash you until you screamed yourself hoarse for your outburst. As much as he felt like he should, he was intelligent enough to know it would ultimately do little good. And, if he was even the slightest bit truthful to himself, he knew it would utterly destroy whatever had been built between the two of you. 

A brief flick of his wrist and the door closed. He had some thinking to do.

- You weren’t sure what on Earth had possessed you to yell at Reiji, let alone strike him across the face. After sitting in the silence of your room, your anger had faded, replaced with misery… and fear. It had been foolish to allow your emotions to get the better of you in a house full of vampires who could kill you with half a thought, and especially with Reiji of all people.

The longer you spent in your room, the more afraid you became. Your actions certainly wouldn’t go without recompense. Regardless of what Reiji had done and how you felt about it, you’d come to learn that your opinions meant very little in this household.

A sharp knock resounded on your bedroom door and you felt the hair rise on the back of your neck in response. Was this it? Had Reiji finally come to finish you off for slapping him and being unfortunate enough to run into Shu? Or had your soulmate announced that he was done with you and now one of his brothers was outside your door waiting to drain you dry? Then again, if whoever was standing on the other side was really intent on your demise, it was unlikely they’d bother to knock first.

“Come in,” you called out softly, glancing at the lamp on your bedside table, you supposed that you could at least try to use it as a weapon if it came down to it. Although even then, you doubted you’d last more than a minute.

The door opened and Reiji stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and two of his beloved ornate teacups.

Fear shot through you at the sight of him, recalling the last words you’d spoken to him and the large collection of toxins he kept on his shelf gave you an idea of where this might lead; death by poisoned tea.

Sharp eyes shot to you as Reiji set the tray on the small table in your room. “After all the time I’ve spent on you, you could at least try to maintain some semblance of composure. Although I suppose a healthy dose of fear is warranted given your actions towards me earlier.” A hint of a wicked smile played at his lips and an unpleasant shiver ran down your spine.

“Reiji I…” Your voice cracked and you felt vaguely like you might be about to burst into tears.

He held up a hand as indication to cease whatever miserable plea it was you were about to make.

“I will discuss your punishment for your behavior later, for now-“ he gestured to one of the chairs at your table “-take a seat. And do try to put the lessons on posture I gave you to good use.”

You obediently made your way to the chair and sat down, being sure to keep your spine straight. While your anger at the way he’d manipulated you hadn’t simply vanished, your fear was enough to keep it at bay. Whatever self-destructive impulses had driven you to act earlier, now a dying whisper. 

Reiji sat in the chair opposite you and poured dark steaming tea into the cup closest to you. As the liquid trickled into the white china, you thought of all the horrors that it could contain. You’d been exposed to his concoctions before with varying effects, however nothing had done lasting damage. But then you’d never pushed him like this.

“I’m really truly sorry,” you began, whether from genuine regret or fear you weren’t sure. ”I shouldn’t have yelled or slapped you but I wasn’t thinking, I just felt so frustrated and-”

“As much as I feel you should show some remorse over your actions, you need not get yourself into such an unsightly state. It is just tea. I am perfectly capable of ending your life with my own hands, and I would not waste any of my deadlier arsenal on a fragile mortal such as yourself.” His words were as clipped and cutting as always. You took hold of the teacup, the liquid rippling as your hands trembled. 

“Well, as I’ve gone to the trouble of preparing it for you, you had best taste it, had you not?” A thinly veiled order.

You sniffed miserably into the teacup before taking a sip. All things considered, it truly was delicious. Some rich blend with just the right hint of bitterness.  When you glanced up, Reiji was observing you expectantly and you swallowed shakily.

“It’s lovely, thank you.” You tried to offer a polite smile but you were fairly certain it was more of a grimace.

“Hm, well at least you haven’t forgotten basic manners.” Reiji pushed his glasses back up his nose with a single finger but said no more. You wanted to know what this was all about but you really didn’t want to ask him and so instead simply slipped away at your tea. The silence was thick, heavy and uncomfortable, the vampire across from you seeming content to watch you. Or perhaps he was just waiting to strike.

Once you’d emptied your cup, you set it down delicately on the tray, not wanting to add breaking his chinaware to the list of slights you’d committed. Reiji lifted the teapot to pour you another cup, before clearing his throat.

“With regard to the nature of our… connection to each other, perhaps it was remiss of me not to inform you of it sooner.” For once, he didn’t quite meet your eyes, instead focusing on the action of refilling the teacup. 

It occurred to you that this might be some poor form of an apology, or at least as close to one as Reiji was willing to give you. You sat there dumbstruck as he continued.

“As you have made such progress in our lessons, I have decided that causing any lasting damage over a single outburst is something of a waste. Once you have been properly disciplined, I plan to resume our sessions together unless-” he finally lifted his eyes to meet your gaze “-you are now so opposed to my company that you would prefer to serve as a meal for one of my brothers.”

“No!” You blurted out. Whatever your feelings, you certainly didn’t want to go back to being the triplets’ plaything. “I would… prefer to resume our lessons.”

“A sensible choice. Well, you should finish your tea before it cools. I don’t have all night and your punishment awaits.” And with the smirk he gave you, you wondered whether you might come to regret your decision. 

***

You can find links to my other soulmate AU headcanons on my master list. Feel free to request a set for any of the other boys, you can check to see if a character has already been requested on my current projects list ^^ Next up is Ruki~

[chibistarlyte]

you’re like coming home

just a little fic for todoroki’s birthday! sooooo many thanks to @sunshineijirou​ for betaing this for me!!!!

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1.

Izuku opened the door to his dorm room to find Shouto asleep on his bed.

A fond smile made its way onto Izuku's face at the sight of his boyfriend curled up under his massive All Might blanket. Closing the door behind him, he set his bag down at the foot of his bed and came up along the bedside.

It wasn't a rare sight to see Shouto asleep in his bed, because with the frequency of Shouto's naps and times he stayed in Izuku's room to sleep at night, it had become a pretty commonplace occurrence. 

What Izuku didn't expect, though, was seeing Shouto wearing his Golden Age All Might hoodie.

He could only tell Shouto was wearing the hoodie because the yellow antennae on the hood stuck out from under the edge of the blanket that was pulled up around Shouto's shoulders and tucked under his chin. Izuku knelt down next to his bed and brushed fiery red hair away from his boyfriend's sleeping face, his fond smile growing even wider. 

Izuku tried imagining just how cute Shouto would look with the hood on, antennae standing straight up. The thought made him giggle out loud. 

"Ngh...Izuku?" came a voice laden with sleep.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Izuku greeted his boyfriend, still playing with Shouto's soft hair. "Sorry I'm so late. All Might kept me longer than I anticipated." His smile turned sheepish, then, and he tilted his head slightly. 

A soft, tired smile graced Shouto's features. He reached out from under the blanket to boop Izuku on the nose and Izuku about died when he saw Shouto's slender finger poke out past the hoodie's sleeve cuff. The hoodie was big on Izuku, sure, but he hadn't expected it to be so big on Shouto as well.

"It's okay," Shouto replied, his fingertip squishing the rounded tip of Izuku's nose. "I kept myself busy."

"If you could call napping 'keeping busy,'" Izuku teased, nuzzling against Shouto's fingertip. "Also...why are you wearing my hoodie?"

Shouto froze for a second as if only now realizing he was still sporting said garment. Then he looked away with a blush, shrugging as best as he could while still lying down. "It looked comfy," he said and Izuku could have sworn he heard a pout in there somewhere. 

Chuckling, Izuku resumed playing with Shouto's hair. "I'm not mad, Shouto," he assured his boyfriend. "Actually...I think you look...kinda cute in it…"

The blush on Shouto's face deepened at those words, and he scrambled to take the hoodie off before he caught it on fire in his flustered state.

The hoodie was fine. The same couldn't be said for Shouto's shirt, though. 

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2.

There was a knock at the door that made Izuku nearly trip over his own feet. Fumbling with his pajama shirt, Izuku made his way to his door and opened it to see Shouto standing in the hallway, dressed in his own pajamas. The sight of the half-and-half boy in flannel pants that were slightly too long for him and a T-shirt with Izuku's own hero name logo embossed on it was enough to make his breath catch in his chest.

"You ready?" Shouto asked, making no move to enter Izuku's room. His hands were tucked nonchalantly into the pockets of his pajama pants. 

"Mm, almost, just gotta get my pillow and blanket…" Izuku said, waving his boyfriend into his room before setting to gathering said items.

Ashido had called an emergency movie night down in the common room, and everyone in class 1-A was required to attend, "Or else!" as their bubbly classmate had said with a threatening grin. Which meant that most of the class would not only be watching movies together, but also most likely be having an impromptu sleepover downstairs.

Hence the need for PJs, blankets, and pillows.

With both an oversized All Might patterned blanket—not the same one from his bed—and a pillow large enough for both him and Shouto tucked under his arm, Izuku spun around to face his boyfriend. "Okay, all read—"

The words died on Izuku's lips when he turned to see his boyfriend wearing his hoodie. The same Golden Age All Might hoodie that Shouto had been sleeping in a few days ago. If Shouto had looked cute before in just his pajamas, the hoodie only added to his boyfriend's cuteness level.

Shouto was taller than Izuku by several inches, so the hoodie didn't hang quite as low on him as it did on Izuku. But it hugged his hips in the same way Izuku liked to wind his own arms around Shouto when he hugged him from behind. And Shouto's shoulders were set just a tad narrower than Izuku's, but that small difference made it seem like the taller boy was practically swimming in fabric. Shouto had the hoodie zipped up halfway, open enough for Izuku to still see the Deku shirt peeking out. Just like when he was standing outside the door, Shouto had his hands tucked into the pockets of the hoodie and stood relaxed as he waited. 

Goodness, how did Izuku end up with the most adorable human on the planet?

"You okay, Izu?" Shouto asked, voice tinged with worry.

Willing his brain to hard reboot, Izuku shook his head frantically and tried to fight the blush that was surely tinting his entire face. "Yeah! I'm fine!" he squeaked, the cracking of his voice not doing much to support his claim. Marching right past Shouto and grabbing his boyfriend's bicep with an iron grip, Izuku all but dragged him to the common room to meet up with their classmates. 

If Shouto was confused by Izuku's behavior, he didn't mention it.

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3.

Izuku awoke at half-past two in the morning to an empty spot on the bed.

Which was really strange, because Shouto had come to bed with him just hours ago as per usual. Izuku extended his arm and set his hand down on the blank spot on the sheets, still feeling remnants of warmth in the fabric. So Shouto hadn't been gone for very long, it seemed. 

Izuku thought about texting his boyfriend, but when he peered through the relative darkness of his room for his own phone, he saw Shouto's sitting on the charger right next to it.

Where could his boyfriend be?

Izuku told himself that it might not be anything significant, that Shouto could have just gotten up to go to the bathroom. But the more time passed, Shouto still hadn't come back to bed.

Worry gripped his insides, tendrils of cold dread seeping into his nerves and making him shiver. More awake now, Izuku got out of bed and was down the hall at the elevator in a flash without even using Full Cowling. 

He took the elevator up to the fifth floor in the off chance that Shouto went up to his own room for some reason. But when Izuku turned the knob and opened up the door to an empty room, he was proven otherwise. He backtracked to the elevator, going all the way down to the ground floor. Maybe Shouto was in the common room?

Izuku didn't find him there, the TV powered off and the couches just as empty as his bed. Continuing his search, he wandered into the kitchen with half a mind to grab a drink of water while he was there. Seated at the singular table was Shouto himself, the dim lights beneath the cabinets behind him and casting his front in shadow. His head was bowed, his dual-colored bangs obscuring his eyes. A steaming mug sat cradled in his hands on the table in front of him, though his hands were mostly obscured by the sleeve of a very familiar-looking hoodie. The yellow cuffs covered up to the first knuckle of his fingers.

“Shouto?” Izuku called out softly, not wanting to spook his boyfriend.

Slowly Shouto lifted his head, and Izuku could see that this time Shouto had the hoodie zipped all the way up. The collar partially covered his chin. He didn’t answer, though, just exhaled a deep sigh and let his head fall again.

Expelling a breath of his own, Izuku approached the table. He pulled a chair up next to Shouto and gingerly sat down, careful not to make any sudden movements or touch his boyfriend accidentally. “Are you okay?” he asked gently, tilting his head down to try and meet Shouto’s gaze.

Shouto tilted his head to make eye contact with Izuku. He seemed subdued, much more so than mere sleepiness would indicate. His silence made Izuku wonder if he was trying to find the right words to say.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Izuku hazarded a guess, his voice low and sympathetic.

It wasn’t often that Shouto had nightmares anymore—they were definitely fewer and further between than Izuku’s own panic attacks that crept up in his slumber—but they still happened on occasion. Izuku had told Shouto numerous times that it was more than okay to wake him after having one. That if he needed comfort or just someone to listen, Izuku would always be there for him. But Shouto always chose to come down and sit in the dark with a cup of tea until he was calmed enough to come back to bed.

After what felt like forever, Shouto gave a minuscule nod. He hunched his shoulders, making himself seem so much smaller than a teenager who stood at almost six feet tall. He sank lower into the collar of the hoodie until the top of the zipper rested right under his nose.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A shake of Shouto’s head was all Izuku got in response, though moments later Shouto shifted to lay his head on Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku brought an arm around his boyfriend, bending his elbow up so he could cradle the back of Shouto’s head and card his fingers through soft, sleep-mussed hair.

When they returned to bed almost an hour later, Shouto kept the hoodie on.

.

4.

Dealing with Endeavor in any capacity usually put Shouto in a mood. Even after the flame hero’s multiple attempts to reconcile with his family, his efforts to be a better father and person, Shouto was still on edge whenever he had to see his father. Today was no different.

They were having a family dinner at the Todoroki household, and Shouto spent every moment until he had to leave practically glued to Izuku’s side. Once it was about time for him to leave for the train station, his lips protruded into a pout and he clung to Izuku’s arm like a koala.

Laughing, the green-haired boy nudged Shouto’s forehead with his nose. “Shou...you gotta go,” he reminded even though Shouto needed no reminder.

“I know,” Shouto said, burying his face in Izuku’s shoulder. “I just don’t wanna sit through another dinner of Natsuo yelling at my father and having to try and keep Fuyumi calm.”

“It’s only for a couple of hours,” Izuku said. “You’ll be back home before you know it.”

Funny how they referred to the dorms as “home” more often than not. In many ways, it was definitely more of a home for Shouto than his household was.

“I guess…” Shouto took in a deep breath as if steeling himself for an insurmountable task, then forced himself up off Izuku’s bed. He dusted imaginary dirt off his jeans and v-neck shirt, his nervousness obvious in the gesture. Turning to Izuku, he shrugged his shoulders and held his arms out in a half-assed “ta-da” motion. “Do I look okay?”

“You know I always think you look good, Shouto,” Izuku said with a grin. “So my answer to that question will always be biased.”

And oh, Izuku would never get tired of seeing his boyfriend blush upon receiving compliments.

Izuku’s loving smile melted into an expression of confusion when Shouto headed to his closet, looking through his clothes for...something. “Um. Shouto?”

Shouto let out a small noise of success and pulled that damn Golden Age All Might hoodie off its hanger, wasting no time in throwing it on and zipping it halfway up.

Izuku’s thoughts devolved into a mental keyboard smash.

Shouto blessed his brain-farting boyfriend with an almost bashful smile, running his fingers through his hair and slicking it back only to have it fall right back in his face. “Can’t wait to see the look on my old man’s face when I walk in with this on,” Shouto said by way of explanation with a one-shouldered shrug.

At such a blatant statement of disrespect, Izuku pitched to his side in hysterics. “You’re absolutely awful,” he accused Shouto through his breathless laughs.

Not deigning that accusation with a proper response, Shouto came back over to the bed and kissed Izuku on the forehead. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” he promised.

Fighting his laughter down and wiping at the tears leaking down his freckled cheeks, Izuku flashed the brightest grin. “You better get a picture of Endeavor’s face when he sees that hoodie.”

Shouto chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the edges with mirth. “I’ll try.”

.

5.

Of course it was on one of the coldest days of the year that the heating system in the dorms decided to throw a hissy fit. And even though he had at least four blankets on, an undershirt, long-sleeved t-shirt, sweater, and oversized sweatpants over his pajama pants, Izuku was absolutely freezing.

And then Shouto wandered into the common room wearing nothing but joggers and, surprise surprise, Izuku’s All Might hoodie and if that didn’t just set Izuku fuming.

Shouto stopped in front of his boyfriend, who was bundled up on one of the couches. Izuku shot a half-hearted glare at Shouto from his blanket cocoon. His nose, pink from the cold, was poking out of his UA blanket. And Shouto had the audacity to look amused at Izuku’s suffering.

“Cold?” Shouto asked nonchalantly, tilting his head. Izuku was warring with the impulses to either kick or kiss Shouto. He may have been irritated that the cold didn’t seem to affect Shouto in the slightest, but damn if he didn’t look adorable in that hoodie.

“Not all of us are walking space heaters,” Izuku muttered with a pout, huddling further into his blankets.

Without further discussion, Shouto weaseled his way into Izuku’s nest of attempted warmth. Izuku noticed the change in temperature immediately, a comforting heat emanating from Shouto’s left side. Izuku cuddled up to Shouto within seconds, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Better?” Shouto asked. Izuku could hear the smile in his voice.

“Much,” Izuku agreed, burying his cold nose into Shouto’s neck.

His hoodie had begun to smell like Shouto and that was a comforting thought, somehow. Almost more comforting than the heat now surrounding the two of them.

.

+1

“I have something for you,” Izuku said, pulling Shouto by the hands into his dorm room. “But keep your eyes closed.”

“Izuku, I thought we agreed no presents?” Shouto asked, and it sounded more like a whine than anything. He began to crack open a turquoise eye.

“Hey! Eyes. Closed!” Izuku scolded his boyfriend, though he couldn’t keep his smile at bay.

“Fine, fine, they’re closed,” Shouto assured Izuku, a ghost of a smile on his own face.

“Okay, now hold out your hands. No peeking!” Izuku reiterated. He left Shouto standing in the middle of the room as he ran to his closet to retrieve Shouto’s birthday present. Izuku was practically giddy with excitement, barely able to contain his enthusiastic giggles.

He deposited something heavy into Shouto’s hands, then straightened up with his hands clasped behind his back. “Open your eyes!”

Shouto complied, his mismatched eyes sliding open and quickly widening in surprise as they regarded the gift in his hands. “Your hoodie?” he asked, eyes then sliding from the Golden Age All Might hoodie to his boyfriend’s beaming face.

Izuku nodded, green curls flopping with the movement. “I noticed you really liked it—I mean, you wear it almost every day at this point. And, I know we said no presents for birthdays and Christmas but...I figured since I already owned it, it didn’t really count?” His voice squeaked at the end of his diatribe, and he looked up innocently at Shouto who was staring at him in something akin to...awe? Amazement? Izuku felt his cheeks heat up under the intense gaze.

Blinking once, twice, Shouto’s expression morphed from surprise into something of pure joy and he held the hoodie close to his chest. His fingers curled into the fabric. “I love it,” he said reverently. “Thank you, Izuku. Really. I love it so much.”

Izuku’s smile grew wide enough to nearly split his face in two. “You’re welcome, Shouto.”

Shouto wasted no time in putting the hoodie on, zipping it up halfway as was per usual. He brought his hands up to his face, fingers barely poking out of the yellow cuffs meant to imitate All Might’s vambraces. There was a slight flush to his pale cheeks as he smiled at Izuku.

Izuku then reached up, grabbing the edges of the hood and pulled it up over Shouto’s head. The bright yellow antennae stuck straight up, flopping a bit as Shouto tilted his head. 

God, he was adorable.

Izuku cupped Shouto’s cheeks, thumb caressing the rough skin of his scar. “Happy birthday, Shouto,” he said, leaning up to plant a kiss on Shouto’s lips.

[cuddlywritesthings]

Doctor Visit

Genre: World of Warcraft

Characters: Lisi’mya, Brevaar, Taviast Duskwither, Guntharius Plaguespitter, Anchorite Neleri, Shokhi Ebondraft (not my character)

Characters mentioned: Raustul Shadeshifter, Father Lanstarth Mourningsworn, Clayton Whatley

Timeline: The same night Declivity into Holy Fire takes place.

Trigger warnings: Heavy themes, severe injury, ideas of torture

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

Brevaar paced back and forth outside the door of the medical ward, his thick tail swishing occasionally. The clip-clop of his hooves on the stone flooring had a sort of rhythmic pattern that grounded him, like a warm and familiar mantra for prayer. He had lost count of his cycle of steps, but as he looped around once more on the trained path, he had a feeling he had surpassed a thousand steps already. 

“You be wearin’ a hole in de floor,” Lisi’mya softly murmured, hoping to elicit some sort of chuckle from the Monk. Seeing that her efforts had been in vain, and the usually jovial Draenei had barely taken notice of her, the Sandfury sighed. 

It was early into the morning. The night had slipped from them, and what seemed like days had passed since the unit had arrived back from the catastrophe of a mission. The night had worn on and no one could find solace in the form of sleep. Sleep had not come for anyone that night, and it would further elude them for the entire morning. And, quite possibly, for a few days to come. 

Members of The Circle could be seen sitting about the castle, tense and waiting, wondering what would happen next. Raustul had been caught trying to leave the castle, presumably to seek revenge on the rest of the cult. He was gently coaxed back to his room for a bit of proper rest and healing. Ever since then, the Demon Hunter hadn’t made a peep, which was quite odd for the amicable, energetic and quite talkative elf. There had been accounts, though, that he had been seen slipping out of his room, making his way towards the towers. But it was hard to tell, and no one wanted to knock on his door and disturb the poor, distraught elf. 

Raustul, after all, had taken it exceptionally hard. He had been the one to hold Guntharius as the light left his eyes, and the moment haunted him, his mind replaying the memory over, and over.

And then there was Father Mourningsworn. The Death Knight had kept to himself after the incident, his face set in an uncharacteristically tense frown. Several of his comrades tried to engage him in a bit of conversation-- to try and glean from him any scrap of information involving the event-- but he had remained stagnant in his silence. Not at all unheard of for him, but his usually serene and pious aura had hardened, becoming chilly and reclusive.

No one had ever seen the calm Death Knight in such a dark, brooding mood. 

Another looped cycle. Brevaar kept his nervous vigil up, wearing that figurative hole into the floor. The clip-clop, clip-clop of his hooves became the only thing he could hear, and even that had become background noise. 

The spirit speaker sighed once more, shifting her sitting position in the mostly uncomfortable chair, hoping to somehow find a better way to rest her sore bones. The straight backed chair had been taken from one of the many studies littering the castle, and the wood was harsh on her back.

“Ay, mista monk...” 

Another turn. Another cycle completed and began. The monk murmured to himself as he ran his thumb over his prayer beads. He couldn’t focus on any of the lessons, taught by the four Pandaren Gods themselves, so he mumbled out a jumbled up wall of miscellaneous quotations. 

Tilting her head to the side, the Sandfury’s earrings and tusk ornamentation jingled. She was perplexed by the Draenei’s sudden disassociation from the world. Of course, as a spirit speaker and devoted follower to the great Mueh'zala, she was no stranger to death. Her life and its purpose revolved around the very concept. She could sense the spirits all around her, and even go far as commune with them and send them on their merry way. It was one reason why the Circle employed her. After all, someone had to make sure all those spirits passed on and didn’t linger as vengeful apparitions.

It did concern her that she could barely feel the Forsaken’s spirit. She was having a hard time feeling its presence just beyond that door. At times, she could. But at times, she couldn’t. Fleeting, like a dancing, flickering flame. She didn’t want to worry anyone just yet about the potential meanings.

Still, all this mourning and stressing… it was so strange to her. Sure, she had mourned the death of her twin at the hands of the corrupt Kor’kron, back during the days of Garrosh’s madness. But her mourning had been brief and short, for she knew what she knew. And she understood that spirits didn’t truly leave them, even after they had passed on.

But this Draenei was another story. He wasn’t a Sandfury, and so didn’t understand death quite like she could. And he wasn’t a spirit speaker. He was a monk. Religious in his own way, but not religious in hers. 

Another cycle complete. And yet another began. The hooves and the murmuring of prayers was driving Lisi’mya to her breaking point.

“Mmmmnnnn--NAH!” 

The cry startled the monk, and the Draenei stumbled to a halt. Weary eyes widening in shock, he clutched his prayer beads and stared at her, like a deer caught in the clutches of some gator: perpetually frozen, and too afraid to bolt and save himself.

Running her hands through her short crop of yellow hair, the Sandfury pinned the Draenei with a stern stare. “Why ya be doin’ dat, mon? All de pacing, and de mumbling, and de hoofies going ‘clop-clop’ all ova de place! Been at dis for hours, mon! Ya tink you could sit down for one minute a’fore I go tying ya up wit my string’a bones?” 

For a long moment, the Draenei gawked at her, not really knowing what to say. But then, gradually, his posture changed. His hands shook as he clutched tightly his prayer beads, as if he were clinging, valiantly, to the only lifeline he had left. His body began to tremble, overburdened by grief and extreme fatigue. Big, fat tears began to slip down his cheeks, and he hastily took off his halfmoon glasses in order to wipe at his eyes.

Lisi’mya saw this, and her previously frustrated expression melted away. “Ay, noh, noh. I didn’t want’cha ta go and cry. Noh cryin’. Noh cryin’ in front of ol’ Lisi. Come ‘ere.” 

The Sandfury rose from her seat and, although she wasn’t as tall as the Draenei, she threw out her arms to him. The monk, with a mournful wail, bolted over and gave her a desperate hug. Gently she patted his back, rubbing it reassuringly in hopes that she could somehow quell the storm in his heart.

“I--I… I…”

“There, there. Ya let it out ta ol’ Lisi now. Ya let it out. Don’t ya keep it in. Ya jus’ keep breathin’, now. Keep breathin’ and keep countin’ ta a hundred. Focus on dat, and let ya mind relax.” 

Lisi’mya guided the distraught Draenei to a chair and gently lowered him into it. He was a bit heftier than most Draenei she had dealt with. As a monk, he didn’t have the abs that she had seen most paladins flash about. He had built up core fat and muscles through intense training. This, of course, only made moving him about a bit more awkward, what with her being shorter and skinnier. Somehow she managed.

“There. Now, what ya say your name be again?” Scratching the back of her head, her bangles jingling softly with the motion, she watched him weep. “I… I be sorry, not really knowin’ ya all dat well. We hardly go on missions togetha.” 

“Brevaar,” the monk replied, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. He bent forward like a snapping weeping willow, his hands resting upon his knees. “I… I’m his adoptive brother.”

“Who’s?” After a moment, the Sandfury blinked her golden eyes in shock. She looked towards the closed door, then at the Draenei. Another double take, and she ventured out with an unsure, “ya mean…? Plaguespittah?” 

“...Ravensbourne.” 

“I thought his name be--”

“His name,” the Draenei whispered softly, his voice threatening to fail him, “is Aldris Ravensbourne.” 

There was an uncomfortable moment where the Sandfury could tell that the Draenei was already experiencing the full spectrum of grief, only to, like his pacing, cycle back to the very beginning. 

“Ahhh, that be his name before death took him. I see, I see…”

“He chose that name for him b--because he didn’t want to mar the family name.” Brevaar sucked in his breath, allowing his lungs access to oxygen once more. He took his sleeve and rubbed it back and forth against his eyes, hoping to sop up all of his tears. “I d--didn’t know he had been resurrected, as a Forsaken, until many, many years later. W--When he finally approached me.” 

“He prob’ly--”

“He had wanted to keep me safe,” Brevaar interrupted. He looked up at the Sandfury, his expression tortured. “I’m sure of it. I’m of the Alliance, and he’s now a part of the Horde. Selflessly, he protected me by keeping away. T--The only reason he finally… approached me is because I was in trouble, and he couldn’t let me…” 

Brevaar hiccuped and whimpered, and Lisi’mya couldn’t help but wonder if that was actually true. Had Guntharius-- no, Aldris-- cared that much that he had kept away from his own adopted brother? Or was there another motive behind it? The Sandfury would always be the first to admit that she didn’t quite trust what lay on the surface of things. Dealing with the dead did that to you.

“He is brash,” Brevaar said, “and often harsh and cold. But he’s kind. He’s kind, and loving, and has such a … a sense of depth to him.” Sitting up straighter, he sniffled. “He… bore the faces of humanity well. Better than most humans I know.” 

Lisi’mya opened her mouth to say something when she heard footsteps approaching them. Brevaar must have heard it too, for he quickly rose from his chair, placing his glasses hastily back into place.

“Mista Tahvee!”

“Mr. Duskwither, S--Sir…” 

“At ease. Please.” 

The Archmage looked exhausted and aged by several centuries. Darkness already rung his eyes out of stress, and it gave him a haunted look. He had presented himself rather well, despite it all, and he had even gotten dressed in his typical magically attuned attire. After all, he had to fit the role he represented. Especially during this crisis. 

Bowing his head before the monk, the Archmage genuflected with a sorrowful kneel before him. “I am sorry, Brevaar, for this turn of events. Please know… I did not want this to happen to anyone of my order. Especially not to your brother.” 

“P--Please,” Brevaar croaked, tears threatening to flow anew. “D--Don’t kneel.” He started to tremble again as the elf stood back up. “It… this isn’t your fault. Ald--- Guntharius, he… is stubborn. But he chose what he did on purpose. I, I… know this because I know him.” 

“I’m sure he did,” Taviast agreed, his voice soft and emotional. “My sincerest apologies on this tragic turn of events, but I can’t stay long to chat. I would like to speak more with you, in length, but at a later time.” Seeing the Monk nod numbly, he added, “I promise. I’ll make us some tea, and we can chat. For now, I’m afraid I need to attend some…” 

He stopped himself from saying ‘business’. By the dead look in the Draenei’s eyes, Brevaar knew what this ‘business’ was. It wasn’t the typical sort of business they dealt with from day to day.

This business was very much a body viewing, more or less.

“That… would be nice,” the monk agreed absentmindedly as he sat back down. He blankly had begun looking up towards the ceiling, his heart and mind unable to take much more. 

Grief was a terrible beast.

Taviast headed towards the door to the medical ward, but a strong hand stopped him halfway. He looked at the proud face of the Sandfury he had come to know as one of his most loyal of friends. They had conducted and overseen many different happenings together, and Lisi’mya was always the first to offer up her services when it involved making sure the dead passed on peacefully.

“Miss Lisi,” Taviast said, the flatness of his own tone making him visibly wince. “What can I do for you?”

“De deader inside,” Lisi’mya began, “he not be dere.” 

Taviast felt his heart erratically skip a beat out of dread. “I--I’m afraid I must have misheard you, my dear. Could you please--”

“Gunthah ain’t really dere.” 

Hushing her quickly, Taviast cast a quick look the monk’s way. Brevaar hadn’t moved, and his tear stained focus was directed primarily at a crack in the ceiling. He had gone into emotional shock and, though they should be helping him at the moment, they also knew it as best to leave him be.

At least he hadn’t heard what she had said. 

“I don’t know what you are insinuating,” Taviast began, carefully, “but it doesn’t sound good.”

“It ain’t,” Lisi’mya said. “Ya know me, Mista Tahvee. Ya be knowin’ me many, many years. I be sensing de dead. And de dead know me. By now, I should’a had a good connection wit de spirit if he be gone from us.”

“And… you’re meaning to tell me that you don’t?” 

“I feel noting.” 

Taviast let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s wonderful n--”

“But,” Lisi’mya interjected, letting go of his hand, “I also feel someting.”

“But you just said--”

“I feel noting,” the Sandfury intoned, “and, yet, I feel someting. His spirit be dere, but it be detached. It is severed, Mista Tahvee. And it be hanging barely on.” Gesturing towards the door with her head, she snorted. “Go on now. Ya go in dere, ya speak wit de balance healah. Ya talk ta Neleri, and ya hear what she be sayin’. And you’ll hearin' what I be sayin’, soon enough.” 

The Archmage felt what could only be described as someone walking on his future graveside. The chill he felt was bone deep. And even as he watched Lisi’mya return to the suffering, grief stricken Draenei, he couldn’t help but dwell on her ominous warning.

Swallowing his fear, he turned towards the door, and slowly opened it.

                                         -------------------------------

“Do you ever sleep, Duskwither?”

“Not this again…”

Guntharius had found the Archmage by himself, as usual, pouring over books, maps and notes, and anything else that could help them with figuring out who to target next. The warlock had admitted in the past that he admired Taviast’s resolve, loyalty and tenacity when it had come to serving the order and its purpose. Even if it were maddeningly frustrating to deal with.

This time the elf hadn’t been found in a study of some sort. He had taken up a place in the dining hall, with a cold cup of tea next to him and an unfinished plate of fruit left to rot. 

Picking up a strawberry slice, the warlock had shot the elf a withering look, who could only groan in response. “You’re not eating properly.”

“I understand you’re a doctor, but I don’t have time for a check up right now.”

“This isn’t a check up, Duskwither. This is me, being your second in command, telling you to eat some feldammed food before you pass out on us.” 

“I eat.”

“Your own words.” 

The lightning fast retort had caused the Achmage to sputter and laugh. He had laughed so hard that his lungs had screamed for air, and tears had stung his eyes. It had surprised him that the warlock still had humor to him. But, then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Guntharius had always been a strange fellow. 

“Y--You,” he had wheezed out, “have been spending too much time around Raustul. Did he teach you that sort of retort?”

“He’s the best at shitty retorts.” He had given the elf a mischievous grin. “Don’t tell him I gave him a compliment. It'll go to his head.”

“I won’t,” the Archmage had lied. 

Shaking the tiny strawberry slice between his fingers, Guntharius had offhandedly said, “if you won’t eat properly, I’ll make use of your food.”  

Taviast had looked at Guntharius as he had popped the strawberry into his mouth. There had been a nauseating moment where he had watched the Forsaken chew, bearing witness to the acid-worn skin on his one cheek reacting to the jaw movement. Busying himself with his tea, he had tried to ignore the flash of red between the skin.

“It amazes me that Forsaken can still eat," he had absentmindedly stated, hoping to forget the mental image of the doctor eating the slice of fruit.

Swallowing, Guntharius had testily replied with a sharp, “we don’t need to. I, however, do. It gives me back a sense of mortality. It tells me that I am still a human. The routine of eating food reminds me of a time when I needed to eat basic food in order to sustain myself.” 

A thought had come to the Archmage’s mind. Gingerly closing the tome he had been pouring over, Taviast had looked up at the warlock (who had taken perch on the edge of the table, sitting on it like some uncouth hooligan would have), and had voiced his curiosity with a tentative, “do you get check ups?” 

The Forsaken had shot him a quizzical look, which had only further prompted the Archmage’s prodding. 

“You know… a doctor visit. Come, now! Don't give me that look! Just because you’re a Forsaken, you, of all people, have to take exceptional care of your--”

“Husk.”

“Body,” Taviast had resolutely finished, trying to instill a bit of confidence in the Forsaken. Pointing at Plaguespitter, the Archmage had pinned him down with a definitive topic. He had been bitten by the bug of curiosity, and now he had wanted answers. “Forsaken need to keep preserving their bodies, correct?” 

“Correct.”

“With lack of blood flow, and moisture being an issue for your skin…”

“Where the fuck are you going with this, Duskwither?” 

“I’ve seen you take the time to take care of yourself. You use oils to moisturize your skin, and you bathe in order to keep clean. You also make sure you take care of any injuries you get, keeping them from festering and becoming infected with gangrene.” Picking a grape out from the Forsaken’s grasp, Taviast had let it fly with a flick of his fingers. “No avoiding the topic with the mimicry of eating, my friend. You’ve brought it up, and now I want to know. Do Forsaken go to see the doctor?”

“....What?”

“Is there a doctor for Forsaken?”

The warlock had scoffed at such a notion. Sliding off the table, he brushed by the Archmage as he made his way out of the dining hall. “A doctor for Forsaken. How fucking hilarious.”

“You could be the first one, you know.”

“Feh.” 

“I mean it!” Taviast had stood up from the table, nearly knocking his cup of tea all over a few pieces of parchment. “You could be a doctor for the Forsaken! Give them some bloody hope! Bring back a sense of ‘mortality’ and all that. Let them feel normal again. Perhaps let them feel human, I daresay!” 

The warlock had stopped in his tracks. 

“...letting a Forsaken lay on a cold slab while I examine them… does that sound like a good thing for them to experience?"

"Well--"

"What, you think that would let them feel normal? Like the experimental rats and mindless thralls that the Banshee Bitch intended them to be, all along?” 

“I didn't mean--”

“The Forsaken have always been experimental rats for that bitch,” the Forsaken had snarled. “No one has ever paid them any mind. They have been her personal playthings, doing her bidding, for as long as they have existed. Puppets on fraying strings. And she’s brainwashed most of them so that they slave and toil under her ruling, doing her bidding, not realizing they’re being treated like trash. The last thing any proper Forsaken would want is to lie on an operating table, with someone coldly inspecting them.” 

Taviast had found that his voice had died away.

“... I thought so.” 

                                          -------------------------------

And there Guntharius Plaguespitter remained. Lying on a cold operating table. With Neleri inspecting him, detached and emotionless.

There was something so profoundly wrong about this. Taviast felt the distinct sensation of intruding upon some forbidden sacred ground, and his presence was further perverting a place that shouldn’t be tread upon. Seeing the Forsaken’s prone form upon that operating table cast a sickening shadow of dread over his resolve. 

Guntharius, while naked, was respectfully covered from the hips down by a sheet. His eyes were heavily lidded, but Taviast could see that, true to Raustul’s words, the glow had left the Forsaken’s lone good eye. It was dark now, milky, and veiled. Dead, like his one blind eye had been all this time. His face was drawn and gaunt, more than usual. The Forsaken had always had a sharply defined face. It was what made his stares all the more intimidating.

Beside the Forsaken, on a medical tray used for operations, sat a demonic skull. Normally this thing could be seen around Guntharius as he worked, hovering in the air, and moving on its own. It often glowed with an essence that bespoke of a spiritual source. Clearly something was still attached to that skull, and the warlock often held conversations with it.

The Archmage knew who that skull belonged to, but he tried to keep that a secret among the rest of The Circle.

With the horned, demonic skull inactive and the warlock so still and so silent, Taviast reluctantly approached the table, burdened with a considerable amount of creeping dread. This seemed so wrong, so vile. Jagged knives of guilt ripped through his heart, leaving it nothing more than an eviscerated lump of bloodied meat.  

“Anchorite Neleri?” 

The Draenei looked up at the elf with a calm sense of waiting. The curtain of dark hair failed to hide her amused expression. She had been expecting him, and as such didn’t quite find his sudden arrival to be all that out of the ordinary. After all, where the sick, infirm and dying lay, a loved one is usually not far behind. 

“Mr. Duskwither,” she breathed out in her airy, wispy sort of way; like the fae with her movements and manner of speech. From every flick of her wrist to a shift in her stance, she had a dancer’s grace to her mannerisms, as slow and smooth as a countryside stream. “I was expecting you to arrive sooner than this…”

“I--I---” Taviast shuddered. He felt the same ominous sort of gloom that he had felt upon hearing Lisi’mya’s warning. Neleri had that sort of effect, too. No wonder she was a close friend to the Sandfury. They got along quite well. “I don’t recall,” he said, finally calming his nerves enough to become presentable, “ever announcing my arrival-to-be…”

“You didn’t,” the Anchorite’s peaceful words sighed out. “It is only natural for loved ones to visit those who have fallen.”

The Archmage watched as the Priestess of Balance moved around the table. She had taken up the Forsaken’s left arm and was turning it this way and that, examining the flesh and the odd burn pattern splotched over his skin. It reminded Taviast of an acid burn.

“That… does make sense,” he conceded. 

“That,” the Priestess continued, lowering the unresponsive body’s arm down to the table, “and you are our lead commander and overseer. And you are incredibly guilt ridden.” 

Despite himself, the elf gave her a funny sort of halfhearted smile. “My dear, am I that easy to read?”

“Perhaps.”

The Draenei turned to face him, her dusky skin even darker in the light of the medical ward. It was as if she took in all the darkness around her and held it within her body. And then her eyes! It was a common fact most Draenei had blue eyes that glowed. Hers burned an intense white: like twin flames of an ethereal soul up against the backdrop of twilight. 

She moved over to him, an odd, spectral like walk without the grim charades. The burning candles littered about the room cast a timeworn glow upon her beautiful face. Her hooves made naught a sound as she seemed to glide across the wooden flooring. She approached until she was an arm’s length away. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek with her warm hand. The soothing scent of incense drifted from her robes, alleviating all cares and worries for a moment’s breath. 

“That,” she murmured softly, her blank, white eyes searching his golden ones, “and it is clear you have been crying.” 

She left him as he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. Returning to their comrade, she spread her arms out before her in a gesture of welcoming. 

“He has been waiting for you, Mr. Duskwither.” 

“Wh--What?” Panic stricken, the Sin’dorei looked towards the Draenei with an expression of denial. “How do you-- how can you--” Halting his mind from spilling out anything else, he collected his thoughts and took a deep breath before continuing. “Anchorite Neleri. Please, I mean no offense in what I am to say, but... I do not understand. Permit me this, and let me inquire as to what you are telling me. Articulate, I am afraid, for I am very much as lost as I appear to be. I don’t understand what you mean by ‘he has been waiting for me’. And, please, for the last time, call me Taviast.” 

A soft, tinkling laugh escaped the Anchorite. Looking over her shoulder at him, she beckoned him, closer, with the dreamlike wave of her hand. “Come. Look.” 

Taviast didn’t want to. He wanted to be the coward he knew he had always been, deep down, and run. He wanted to flee from the room, so wrapped up in his consuming denial that he could forget about what had happened. If he could go mad and fall back into a memory where his friend was well and able bodied once more, he would have gladly given himself to the essence of the maddening void.

But something pulled him closer. Morbid curiosity, perhaps. Or perhaps it was his guilt, or sense of duty, that drew him towards his fallen friend’s side. 

“He… has been waiting for you, all this time. He will be very happy you visited." 

Doubtful that the warlock would be happy about any of this, he tried to focus on connecting the puzzle pieces to this mystery. 

Up close, Taviast could see the network of burns spanning his flesh. Like spiderwebs, but in blotches instead of strands. Normally his skin would have been chilly to the touch, but as the Archmage brushed his fingers against his slack hand, he realized that the Forsaken was warm. Unnatural and alarming, it went against all that was known for the undead race.

Along with the burned patches of Light-eaten skin, the tips of his fingers were blackened, and stained slightly green. 

Catching the elf’s gaze, Neleri followed it. “Ah, yes,” she breathed out. Taking up the Forsaken’s hand, she spread his fingers. “According to the Demon Hunter--”

“Raustul.”

“--Doctor Plaguespitter tried to construct a shield against the holy attack. Something that would have hardened his defenses against it. According to the Demon Hunter’s--”

“Raustul.”

“--account of how it had smelled, the shield was made of felfire and shadow.”

Taviast had seen Guntharius use a similar tactic in tight situations. It was something the warlock tried to avoid, for it took a lot of his energy. He had to concentrate hard on it, and keep it up, often distracting him, or even disabling him, from concentrating on any other spells. 

But it also meant one other thing.

“Guntharius thought there was a chance he could have endured it," he voiced aloud, struck by awe at the conclusion he had arrived at. He glanced over at the demonic skull on the tray, but it didn’t move, nor did its eyes glow in confirmation of his theory.

“Precisely.” Moving around to the Forsaken’s head, she let her fingers trail along his exposed collarbone. “He thought there was a chance in surviving the attack. He did not do what he did with the idea of sacrificing himself entirely. I have heard the others. Many thought his actions to have been doomed from the start. These members of our order think he had wanted to die."

"What with his past conversations about attempting to find a cure for 'undeath', I can see where they could have gotten that idea."

"An idea, it is. But it is wrong." 

“I... understand.” 

“And here.” Neleri pointed to the burn marks trailing up his neck. “There is a strange thing with these burns.”

Taviast leaned in close, taking in the droplet shaped form of a particularly nasty burn right below his ear. “They are burned into his skin sporadically,” he spoke up. “It is not in equal coverage. If he were engulfed in holy flames--"

"That is not it."

Confused, he gave her a questioning look. 

“I healed that burn two hours ago.”

Sputtering, he gasped out, “I beg your pardon?”

Neleri cocked her head innocently to the side, watching the Archmage’s reaction, her expression quite feline in nature. “I healed the burn. The burn went away. And yet it returned. Do you understand?"

The heat of the Forsaken’s body. Burns, returning. By typical standards, such a thing shouldn’t happen. Fire did not continuously burn a person, long after breaking from the source of the exposure. But at the same time these burns had been obtained by a magical source. Not of a mage, but of a paladin. A paladin who had been tainted, of course, but a paladin nonetheless. 

A horrible idea came to his mind.

“Neleri," he began, his tone incredulous. "Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

Wispily, the Draenei walked over to a chair. She lowered herself into it, looking weary. “Tell me… what you are thinking.” 

He didn’t want to voice it. His tongue was heavy, his mouth cotton dry. The Circle had come to the unanimous conclusion that Guntharius had fallen into a coma. It was the only logical explanation. It put a word to his current condition, making it easier, more palpable to conceive. A coma gave one the idea of the infirm resting quietly in a suspended sense of sleep.

What he couldn’t comprehend was that the warlock-- their friend and commander-- was still feeling pain. There was a chance that he was still burning… from the inside out.

“I can’t--”

“It is like his body is responding to the healing,” she spoke up for him, “and not responding, all at the same time. He is stagnant, unable to get better or worse. He is resting between both worlds, his spirit unable to decide what it wishes to do."

Lisi'mya's words came floating back to Taviast, and he felt sickened to his core. 

"Almost as if his soul is severed from…"

Hearing the elf muttering to himself, she made a placating gesture towards him. "I am afraid," Neleri breathily spoke, "that his visitation is finished… for now. I have used what energy I had left. If I am to attempt to heal him more, I must rest. I am not a strong shadow healer, and I am exhausted, Mr. Duskwither.” 

“O--Oh, yes.” All too aware that the Anchorite had been going at it for hours, attempting to stave off the Forsaken’s eternal plight by using healing shadow magic, the Archmage bowed deeply before her. “I thank you for your services,” he began, his throat tight with tears. “You have... been an asset to this order, and I can’t possibly begin to show you the depth of my appreciation.” 

Gently waving aside his compliment, the willowy Priestess merely smiled a placid, serene smile. “I do not take forms of appreciation, verbal or otherwise. I am an Anchorite, Mr. Duskwither.”

“Just Taviast, my dear.” 

“I serve the dying," she continued on, as if not realizing she was cut off. "I tend to the broken bones, the burned flesh, and to all those suffering souls toiling away on this planet you call Azeroth.” 

“We,” he undecidedly spoke up. He wasn’t sure if he should even attempt to correct her. “We call this planet--” 

No. On secound thought it wasn’t worth arguing. 

Taviast wished Guntharius would wake up. He mentally begged and prayed to the Gods above to whisk away the curtain of agony, rid him of his current plight and allow him to rouse. He wanted to apologize to his friend, to tell him that he understood, now. Understood everything. A great welling of anger was festering in the pit of his stomach, great plumes of noxious clouds suffocating his lungs. An insatiable need for vengeance rooted him to the floorboards, festooning him with his mentally constricting bindings. 

As his gaze fell back upon his friend’s pallid face, he swore he saw a flicker of life in his deadened eye. He felt his breath for a moment, searching for that warm, amber glow to appear once more…

No. What a fool he was. 

What a fool that cult made his order out to be. 

Again the flash of rage. Again the sensation of his blood becoming a torrent of hot molten lead, pushing through his capillaries and arteries. His heart had erupted into a whirling inferno-- a victim of a vitriolic conflagration-- and he swore that only ash would remain in the end. 

Squeezing Guntharius’s hand, Taviast whispered a promise in his friend’s ear, his voice hitching with emotion.

As Taviast left the room, so consumed in his thoughts, he didn't pause to consider what it was he had just promised his friend. His vengeful vow, he had told himself, had fallen on deaf ears. He had hoped, somehow, that his words could have reached Guntharius but, then again, perhaps it would be for the best. He knew that the Forsaken had wanted him to embrace his inner darkness, as much as he had his inner light, for no balance could ever be achieved with one side of his scales being too heavy. Despite that, for a mere second, as his resolute footfalls echoed against the floorboards, he wondered what the warlock would have thought of him, had he heard and had he known.

If only the elf had turned around.

As the door was shut behind the Archmage, the prone, lost soul’s eye dimmed once more, losing the brief flicker of amber flame that once indicated life.

He had listened. 

                                         -------------------------------

Shokhi Ebondraft hurried up the curving stairway. She had just left the main prison area. It was a location deep within the very bowels of that castle, in an area known as Plaguespitter’s laboratory. There the warlock concocted many of the potions they used during their various missions. It’s also where he tested his more sinister brews on those captured. Guntharius had always been the order’s jailer and warden, but he was also their inquisitor. It was a well known fact that he often tortured those that they brought back.

It was a thankless job, but somebody had to do it.

In the absence of Guntharius, Shokhi had taken up the role and tried her hand (or, rather, paw) at it. She had just finished with the Circle’s prisoner and High Seer of the Gaze of N’zoth, Clayton Whatley, and had gotten all the information she could possibly glean from the stubborn, and insane, cultist. She had a strong inkling that most of the information that she clutched tightly in her paw was false. The cultist had babbled out mostly nonsense at first. Quite possibly in an attempt to confuse her with some well placed red herrings. But she had preserved over the inane babbling and had found a way to get him to talk.

Thankfully Guntharius kept some vials of various poisons, acids and other such dark instruments of torture on hand.

Her footfalls were soft and nearly inaudible against the stonework of the worn, cold stairway. She had been so good at keeping quiet that it was only natural that she took notice of the approaching footsteps coming her way, descending from the top.

She looked up, half expecting some intruder to have somehow found their way into the castle. It was creepy enough that she had to deal Taviast’s Eye of Arcanum had watched her throughout the interrogation of subsequent torture of Whatley. It had unnerved her how the thing gazed on, unblinking, as the cultist screamed. 

It had wandered off a few minutes before she was done, disappearing beyond sight by simply blinking through the door. She had expected to run into it at some point on her journey upwards towards the base level of the castle, but she hadn’t

What she hadn’t expected was to run into Taviast himself.

“Oh-- hey, there!”

The Pandaren flashed a toothy grin, her tone bouncy and her body language cheerful. It was an unsettling juxtaposed version reality: the few stains flecking her outfit, clearly of blood, painted another picture.

She stopped on the step she was, watching Taviast approach and stop before her. There was something dark about him. Something she couldn’t quite place. The was an intense heat to his eyes and a subtle tenseness to his body. There was an aura about him: hot, crackling and intense. 

“Hey, while you’re here…” She handed over the rolled up sheets of parchment. The Archmage did not meet her eye as he took it from her. “Our friend down there spilled a lot of in-ter-esting stuff. But I’ve got the feeling that he was holding back on a lot of it. And it sounds like it’s been a trap all along.” Tapping the parchment as the elf unfurled it to read, she added, “I put down everything I could get out of him. The guy really didn’t want to talk. So I had to convince him that it was best he did.” She flashed her toothy grin once more, her emerald eyes glowing ominously. “You know, just a little friendly chat between frenemies.” 

Taviast Duskwither had remained silent during her little explanation, keeping his eyes fixated on the pieces of parchment he had been handed. He extensively scoured the notes produced from the interrogation of Whatley, and something about his whole demeanor began to darken.

“...soooo,” Shokhi began, drawing out the word in order to fill the awkward silent space between them. “What do you--”

“Move. Now.” 

Startled, Shokhi looked up, once more, at the Archmage’s face. And it was then that she came to the conclusion as to what it was she hadn’t recognized at first.

Flattening herself against the wall of the stairway, she allowed the elf to pass. She watched him descend down the staircase, the two sheets of paper crumpled into a tight fist. Unable to stop the chill from scattering down her spine, she shuddered.

Never before had she seen such a malevolent expression on his face.