#star on their chest faintly visible through their clothes

[aroace-poly-show]

human loop designnnn :3 design choices ramble in tags

[girlygguk]

WIT IT THIS CHRISTMAS ⋆ JJK

you’re done watching girls shoot their shot with your man. this time, you let them know. or, better yet, hear.

🦌⋆⁺₊❅. christmas & chill: instalment 2 of 6

pairing drummer!jk x secret situationship fem!reader

genre fwb2l, angst, fluff, smut 18+ mdni

content jk 25 | yn 22, bratty oc, jk knows how to handle her, jk is in an alt rock band with jinnie and yoongs, tae is jk's best friend & oc's confidant, vmin are bfs, jk spoils oc, babygirl just wants to be cuffed, ruined christmas plans, oc whines a bit, oc gives jk the cold shoulder for approx 7 mins before folding bc… idk dick too good i guess, jealousy (both parties, more so oc's side), neither of them entertain it tho, fwb but like exclusive ones because cmawn… it's me, kissing, grinding, groping, big tiddy reader, big tiddy sucking, sm dirty talk & praise, quick bj, cunnilingus, choking if u blink, oc gets fucked w his drumsticks, and then his cock, condomless p in v sex, oc is on birth control, clothed sex, sub dom dynamics, daddy kink, a little tiny bit of squirting i think, creampie, happy but very abrupt ending sorryyy

word count 8.9k

banner by the lovely @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .

North Star Pavilion, Seoul

Christmas lights twinkle across the city, their warm glow mocking the chill in your chest. Everything feels like too much—too cold, too noisy, too far from what you actually wanted today. What you were promised.

The van door slams shut behind you, the biting breeze nipping at your skin as your boots crunch against the icy gravel.

Jungkook follows close behind, his shoes scuffing against the ground as he jogs to catch up.

“Baby,” he calls softly, reaching for your hand. But you shrug him off, your arms folding tightly over your chest as you keep moving toward the back entrance of the venue.

Jungkook lets out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the icy air. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his tone dipping into that pleading softness that always makes you want to fold. “Y/n, I had to—”

“I’ll see you after the show, J.”

Your voice comes clipped and cold as you cut him off, not bothering to look back. His soft footsteps falter, and you can feel his eyes fixed on you.

For a brief, brief moment, something in you threatens to crack.

But you don’t let it.

The angry stomp of your boots against frozen pebbles drowns out anything he might have said as you disappear through the back, weaving through the venue without so much as a glance in Jungkook’s direction.

The warmth of the building barely registers. It isn’t enough to thaw the stubborn frost clinging to your chest as you move down the hall, barely nodding at the familiar faces of the staff who greet you in passing.

Eventually, you find an empty corridor, the hum of the growing crowd muffled by the walls. Leaning back against the cool tile, you tip your head back and let out a bitter scoff.

This isn’t how today is supposed to fucking go.

Rolling your eyes, you dig your hand into your pocket and pull out your phone, desperate for a distraction. But the memory you’ve been avoiding all day slips in anyway—very vivid and very unwelcome.

Yesterday, you’d been curled up on your couch, your legs draped lazily over Jungkook’s lap as the soft glow of the tiny Christmas tree on your coffee table lit up the room. It had become a routine of sorts—the quiet calm after his shows, a pocket of peace that felt like yours and his alone.

Jungkook’s tattooed fingers traced idle patterns over your calf, the gentle pressure soothing against your bare skin. You were warm and sleepy from the shower you’d shared earlier, your body clad in a little sleep shirt and panties. Jungkook, in his sweats and no shirt, smelled faintly of your shampoo, his long, damp hair falling loose around his face.

It was all so soft, so cozy, so domestic.

So fucking stupid.

You caught him staring, his gaze steady and quiet, that intensity in his dark eyes making your stomach do that stupid flippy thing.

“Watcha lookin’ at, creepy?” you squinted, nudging his stomach with your foot.

Jungkook’s lips twitched as he shook his head, his fingers still lazily stroking your leg. “Nothing,” he hummed, but his gaze lingered a moment longer before he dropped it back to his phone.

You tossed your own phone to the side, crawling onto his lap with a light shove to his shoulder. He grunted softly as you shifted over him when he lay down, his hands instinctively finding your thighs as you flopped against his chest.

“You okay?” you murmured into his neck, your fingers brushing softly over his collarbone.

“Very,” he replied, his voice low, his big hand sliding up to smooth over and cup your ass.

You smiled into his skin, pressing a kiss to his neck. “I bought us Christmas pajamas,” you mumbled, your lips brushing against his pulse.

Jungkook paused for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh, his fingers stilling briefly before resuming their lazy path. “Did you?”

“Yup,” you said, smirking. “Try not to wear them, and your ass is spending Christmas alone.”

His laugh deepened, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your panties to rub slow, little circles over the curve of your skin. “I’ll wear them, baby,” he promised.

“Know you will,” you whispered, your teeth grazing lightly against his neck.

His head tilted, granting you more access as a low, soft grunt rumbled from his throat, the sound enough to make you press closer.

You were ready to tease him further, your tongue lazily flicking over his pulse, when his phone buzzed loudly on the couch beside you.

He shifted, reaching for it with one hand while his other stayed firmly on your thigh, absently stroking your skin. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder, eyes closed, soothed by the soft, lispy cadence of his voice.

Until you heard it.

“North Star fucking Pavilion, bro! On Christmas Day!” The Spine Breakers’ lead singer’s voice crackled through the speaker. “The check is insane, JK!”

Jungkook sighed heavily, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh. “I already have plans, Jin-hyung—”

“We need you, man,” Yoongi, his bass player, cut in. “You’re our drummer. We can’t do this without you, dude...”

The air shifted. You felt it before you even opened your eyes.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groaned. You could feel his gaze on you, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to intervene. But you didn’t. You stayed still, letting him make his choice.

“Fuckin—okay, okay, hyung,” he muttered into the phone, his voice resigned as he cut off Jin’s begging. “I’ll do it.”

The second the call ended, you climbed off him, ignoring the hand that reached for you, brushing off the way he called your name. The bedroom door slammed angrily behind you.

He followed, of course.

Jungkook dropped down on the bed beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he tried to apologize, his voice soft and pleading. But you didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him. You fell asleep facing the wall, his hand still resting on your stomach.

And now, here you are.

Not curled up on the couch, watching a stupid Christmas movie like you had planned. Not eating takeout, because neither of you can cook for shit. Not sneaking up to the roof to get holiday high together.

No. Instead, you’re standing in a cold, empty hallway of one of Seoul’s biggest holiday locales, the muffled roar of the crowd growing louder behind the door to your left.

The hem of your winter dress shifts as you fidget, the festive vibe of your outfit doing little to match the storm in your chest. At least it’s black. That’s, like, emo, right?

Whatever.

Merry fucking Christmas. And fuck Jeon Jungkook.

The crowd thickens as you weave through, the bass of the background music vibrating under your boots with every step. People press in on all sides, the noise a tangled mess of cheers and shuffling feet. You don’t let it faze you, your eyes scanning the mass for a familiar figure.

The closer you get to the side stage, the more recognizable faces appear—crew members rushing around, regular staff you’ve seen countless times at past shows. But it’s not until your gaze catches on a mop of black hair that some of the tension in your shoulders finally lifts.

You spot your boy...friend’s best friend leaning against a speaker, his ear piercings glinting under the scattered lights. A plastic Christmas wreath headband sits snugly atop his neatly straightened curls, and the corner of your lips quirks up despite yourself.

He notices you before you reach him, a grin spreading across his face as he lifts the beer bottle in his hand in greeting.

By the time you push through the last cluster of people, your gaze flicking over his ripped jeans and the artful layering of his black shirts, he’s already stepping forward to wrap you in a hug.

“Ah,” Taehyung says, giving you a once-over, his brows wiggling as he pulls back. “We’re matching.”

You glance down at your black-on-black outfit, then at his. “I’m in a mood,” you roll your eyes, though a quiet laugh escapes.

Taehyung hums knowingly, offering you the spare beer in his other hand. You take it, cracking the cap before taking a long sip. Your gaze flicks toward the stage, where crew members scurry to finish sound checks and tune the equipment.

“It’s fucking packed,” he comments, nodding toward the crowd, which seems to grow thicker by the second. “J said tickets sold out in minutes.”

You hum noncommittally, your focus still fixed on the stage. “Of course they did. It’s Christmas, and these emos don’t have anything better to do.”

Taehyung snickers, leaning in to nudge your shoulder. “And your excuse? No Christmas plans…?”

You shoot him a glare, taking another sip of beer as he raises his hands in mock defense.

“Still haven’t made up yet?” he prods, his tone teasing, knowing.

“Nope,” you huff, the sound bratty as your gaze flicks around the venue. “I’m ignoring him until Valentine’s Day. And if I’m not cuffed by then, I’m castrating the motherfucker.”

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Why not just ask him to go steady again?”

“Because,” you grumble, pointing the neck of your beer bottle at him, “he’s the one who doesn’t want me seeing other guys. So, he can ask me.”

Taehyung arches a brow, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t you also say you didn’t want him fucking with other chicks?”

“Shut up,” you huff, giving him a halfhearted shove as he laughs again.

The minutes pass as the venue comes alive, the energy thickening the air around you with heat. The chatter grows louder, the crowd swelling until it feels like the walls are pulsing. You and Taehyung stand shoulder to shoulder, unfazed by the chaos. You’ve done this too many times before—waiting at the edge of the stage, watching the lights dim as the band take their places.

You hadn’t met Jungkook through Taehyung, though. You’d met Taehyung first at one of their early performances, back when The Spine Breakers were barely on anyone’s radar.

It had been a little bar in the city, the kind of place where the beer was watered down and the sound system was a half-step away from blowing out. You’d gone with your friend Marcy, both of you already knowing a good chunk of TSB's songs before the first chord even played.

Most of the crowd back then hadn’t been as familiar, more there for the vibe than the band. You’d been a few rows back, swaying to the music, when Taehyung walked by and stumbled into you, spilling half his beer onto your skirt.

He’d been flustered, apologizing immediately and offering to buy you another drink as yours dropped on the ground. When you’d rolled your eyes and waved him off, turning back to Marcy without much more than a shrug, he hadn’t used it as an excuse to keep bothering you. Sad as it might sound, that had caught your attention—guys who actually took a hint were fucking rare.

He’d genuinely seemed sorry, even offering to hold your place if you wanted to head to the bathroom to clean up. You’d given him a once-over, told him it didn’t bother you, and pulled him into your little huddle instead.

By the end of the night, Taehyung was dancing to the music beside you and Marcy, and when the set ended, he asked if you wanted to come backstage to meet the band. You’d told him to shut the fuck up, convinced he was joking.

He wasn’t.

That was the first time you’d seen Jungkook up close. The first time you’d stared a little too long at the drummer with the intriguingly quiet intensity and ink-covered arms that you wanted to run your tongue along.

While Marcy hit it off immediately with Tae—bonding over their matching daith piercings or whatever—the pull between you and Jungkook had been something else entirely.

Maybe you’ve been to every single one of his shows since then. Maybe you took a gap year from college, picking up shifts at a club in town to cover your rent while Jungkook paid for everything else. Maybe you’ve only been with one other guy in the 449 days you’ve known him—and that was way back, in the early days, before it all started to feel like this.

Maybe.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, his tone casual but his smile teasing. “You’re doing it again,” he quips, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, clearing your throat as your gaze flickers back to the stage. Jungkook’s seated behind his drum set now, a crew member leaning in close as she adjusts his mic stand.

“S’okay,” Taehyung replies with a quiet laugh, raising his bottle to his lips. He leans back against the speaker, his grin softening. “You guys wanna come over for drinks after the show? Jiminie made Christmas pudding.”

You blink, your focus still trained on Jungkook as the staff member smiles at him, her mouth moving—maybe asking if he was okay, if he needed anything else. His tongue flicks over his lip rings, his head tilting slightly as he shakes it in response.

She lingers.

He gives her a dismissive, doe-eyed look from under his lashes, his dimple peeking out as he shakes his head again. Finally, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, glances around quickly, and scurries backstage.

Slut. The both of them.

Your lips press into a line, your eyes narrowing as you take another sip of beer. “Sure, I’ll come,” you mutter half-heartedly to Taehyung without taking your eyes off Jungkook.

His gaze catches yours from the stage.

You look away.

The crowd roars as Jin takes the mic, yelling out a quick greeting before launching right into their set.

The music is electric, Yoongi's smooth, heavy bass and Jungkook’s crisp, pounding drumming vibrating through your chest as the band plays. You can’t help but let your body move with Jin's voice, nodding your head along as Taehyung sways beside you, the beer in his hand getting lower by the minute.

Halfway through the third song, a guy squeezes his way through the crowd toward you and Taehyung. At first, you don’t think much of it—packed shows like this always mean a little too much physical closeness. But when he stops right next to you, leaning in far closer than necessary, his intentions become annoyingly clear.

“Hey,” he shouts, his voice barely cutting through the music.

You glance at him briefly, tilting your head and pursing your lips before looking back at the stage.

The guy doesn’t get the message—or maybe he doesn’t care. “You here alone?”

You shake your head shortly, keeping your eyes fixed on the stage. “Nope.”

Taehyung notices the exchange but doesn’t intervene, his gaze flicking between you and the guy as he sips his drink.

The guy leans in again, louder this time, more insistent. “You want another drink?”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer to Taehyung. “I’m good,” you say flatly, your tone leaving no room for interpretation.

From the stage, you notice Jungkook’s playing start to shift. His drumming grows heavier, each strike more intense than usual. Your gaze flicks to him, catching the way his eyes keep darting toward your spot in the crowd.

Exhaling through your nose, you swap places with Taehyung in an attempt to move out of the guy’s line of sight. Taehyung’s grin fades into something firmer when he notices.

Taehyung lowers his beer, turning to the guy, his taller frame blocking the dude’s view of you entirely. “You good, man?”

The guy hesitates, visibly weighing his options. He looks like he wants to argue but ultimately decides against it, laughing under his breath before slipping back into the crowd.

Taehyung watches him walk off, shaking his head before leaning closer. “You alright, Y/n?”

You nod, offering a light rub on his arm in thanks, but your attention is already back on Jungkook. He’s still looking, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he watches you.

The last notes of the set fade into a wave of screams as the stage becomes a field of tossed roses and stray undergarments. Jin, as always, makes a show of it, crouching to pick up a red lace bra and biting down on the strap with a cheeky grin. His bandmates laugh as the crowd loses their shit, Yoongi shaking his head as Jin winks into the audience.

They bask in the chaos for a moment longer, waving to the crowd before the elder two begin to slip offstage. Jungkook lingers behind, his hands braced on his knees as he catches his breath. He drags a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back as he straightens to his full height, chest rising and falling in exertion.

Just before he steps off, his eyes find yours. His gaze drags, a quick once-over, a slow run of his tongue over his lip rings, a subtle sniff of his nose. Then he’s gone, following his bandmates backstage.

Taehyung nudges your arm lightly. “Ready?”

You hum, nodding as you start making your way through the crowd, the buzz of energy still heavy in the air. The hallway to the dressing rooms is dim, much quieter than the rest of the venue.

Up ahead, you spot Jin and Yoongi walking a few steps ahead of Jungkook. They’re laughing at something, their figures disappearing around the corner. Jungkook trails behind them, dragging his hand through his hair again, the motion automatic.

Then you see her.

The staff girl from earlier is struggling with a speaker, her grip tight on the handle as she drags it down the hallway. When she glances up and spots Jungkook, her face lights up instantly.

Your steps slow without thinking, your gaze locking on her as she stops beside him. There’s a shy tilt to her smile as she offers him the water bottle balanced on top of the speaker. Jungkook takes it with a murmured thank you, cracking the seal and tipping it back, like he’s barely aware of her lingering.

But she doesn’t move.

She starts talking instead, her pace quickening to match his as he walks. Her cheeks flush slightly as she speaks, her eyes flicking up at him now and then like she’s gauging his mood.

Taehyung shifts beside you, his gaze flickering between you and the scene unfolding a few feet ahead. You can feel his curiosity, but you don’t acknowledge it. Your eyes stay glued to Jungkook.

Jungkook, whose head tilts slightly as he glances back at the girl, then forward at his bandmates. You catch the faintest crease in his brow before he slows his steps and eventually stops altogether.

The girl stumbles slightly at his sudden halt, her grip on the speaker slipping. Jungkook’s hands dart out instinctively, but she catches herself before he touches her. He pulls back quickly, murmuring, “You okay?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Sorry, I’m such a klutz sometimes,” she replies, her voice flustered.

Your lips press into a thin line as you watch, something sharp curling in your stomach.

He’s not doing anything, you tell yourself. He didn’t even touch her.

But he would’ve if she hadn’t caught herself, a snide voice in the back of your head sneers, cutting through your logic.

You shake off the thought, ignoring the way your chest tightens as Jungkook shifts. His hand brushes over his jaw while she continues speaking, her words softer now.

You don’t hear much after that. It’s not because the hallway is loud—it’s not. It’s the pounding of your pulse in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Jungkook finishes the bottle of water, twisting the cap back on with a quick flick of his wrist. “I gotta go,” he says, lifting the empty bottle as a gesture of thanks before brushing past her.

She hesitates, her hand still on the speaker’s handle as she watches him walk away. Her face burns red, and she fidgets slightly, but eventually, she turns back to her task, dragging the speaker further down the hall.

Your eyes stay fixed on Jungkook as he reaches the dressing room door. His free hand lifts to wipe the sweat from his face with the bottom hem of his shirt, the toned lines of his stomach flashing briefly before the fabric falls back into place. The drumsticks clutched in his other hand tap lightly against the now-empty bottle as he disappears inside.

Taehyung pulls your attention back, rubbing your arm soothingly before nodding toward the door. “You coming?”

You nod quickly, shaking off the haze that lingers as you follow him down the hall.

The dressing room is warm and noisy, Jin and Yoongi sprawled out like they’ve been there for hours. Yoongi greets you with a rare smile, handing you a can of seltzer as you lean down to hug them both. Jin, already halfway through his beer, ruffles your hair affectionately before leaning back into the couch like he’s clocking out for the night.

You drop down beside Jungkook, your usual spot on his lap notably left empty. His brow furrows immediately, the arm around your waist tightening slightly as he tries to pull you closer to him.

“No, J,” you mutter, giving him a pointed look.

He grumbles under his breath, clearly displeased, but his hand slips down to link with yours instead. His thumb brushes idly over your knuckles, and for now, he settles.

The conversation flows around you as Taehyung throws out an invitation to his place. “Jimin’s been baking all day,” he says. “And we’ve still got drinks leftover from the other night.”

It’s an easy yes from everyone. The energy in the room shifts, a slow wind-down as cans and bottles are finished and the band starts getting ready to head out.

When you stand, Taehyung catches your arm, pulling you aside as Jungkook follows, his arm still firmly around your waist. “Hey, just wanna make sure you’re okay,” he says, his head tilted in slight concern.

Jungkook frowns, his gaze falling to your face. “Why wouldn’t she be? Did something happen?”

Taehyung glances at you, waiting for permission before answering. After you shrug and turn to Jungkook, Taehyung speaks. “Some dude wouldn’t leave her alone earlier,” he says simply.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, his grip around your waist firming. Your hand squeezes his as you tilt your head at Taehyung. “I’m really okay, Tae, but thank you for looking out for me.”

Taehyung studies you for a moment longer, then nods. “Always.” He pulls you into a quick hug before doing the same with Jungkook. “Jimin’s waiting outside. You guys need a ride back to our place?”

Your gaze shifts to Jungkook. He stays quiet, his tongue working the inside of his cheek, eyes unfocused.

“We’ll come together,” you answer after a beat.

Taehyung nods, flashing you both a smile before heading for the door. The room empties out slowly after that, the others trailing behind Taehyung until it’s just you and Jungkook left in the quiet.

You glance at Jungkook as you shift on your feet. “Do you want me to order an Ub—”

“What did he do?”

You look up, his jaw tight as he stares at you. “That guy,” he starts again, quieter now, his words laced with tension. “Did he do something to you? Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“J,” you sigh, shaking your head. “It was nothing. Just some loser.”

He watches you carefully, his eyes searching for something you’re not sure he’ll find. “And you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” you nod.

His frown doesn’t relent as he closes the space between you in a few slow steps. His voice dips lower as he murmurs, “Fucking hate seeing guys trying to get with you, Y/n… not knowing you’re mine—”

Your eyes roll before you can stop yourself. “Let’s not do this right now, J.”

His brows pinch. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you bite back, your tone a little sharper. “Especially not when you’ve got bitches crawling all over you, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Baby—”

“No, like this is so fucked, Jungkook. I’m tired of it. You promised me a cute night tonight, and I didn't get it. Fuck you.”

His teeth tug at his lip ring as he shakes his head, ready to apologize again, but you’re not done.

“And what about her? That slutty mic tech or whatever the fuck she is, leaning down with her tits all in your face? Or just so happening to have a fresh bottle of water ready for you backstage? God, don’t.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re jealous—”

“And then you do this!” you whine, throwing your hands up. “I’m tired of it, J. If I’m just another one of your groupies, what the fuck ever. But don’t be surprised when I go find someone who—”

His voice cuts through your rant with a hum. “Someone who what?”

He’s right in front of you now, so close that you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes flick between yours, waiting for an answer you don’t fucking have.

“You want someone else, baby?” he presses, his voice dropping even further.

Your lips twist, a bratty huff escaping as your frustration crumbles under his intensity. “No, you fucking asshole.”

His head tilts, his lips quirking into something between a smirk and a grin. “No?” he mocks lightly, his tone teasing, coaxing.

“No,” you mumble, quieter this time.

He hums, leaning closer, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger, grazing the side of your face as his gaze softens, his teasing edge dissolving into something heavier.

“And what do you want, baby?”

You blink, your eyes flicking to the thick line of his arm beside your face, his cologne and sweat mixing into something intoxicating. It fills your lungs, dizzying you more than you want to admit.

“You, idiot,” you mumble. “Want you.”

His lips twitch as he leans down, his voice a low hum against your mouth. “Y’wanna be mine, baby?”

Your eyes flutter shut, your body tilting toward him like it’s instinctual. His mouth grazes yours, soft and teasing, like he’s pretending to give you a choice.

But you know better.

There is no choice. It’s him. It’s always been him.

His lips press fully against yours, damp and plush from the way he’s been licking over them all night between backing vocals. You melt into the kiss, your hands slipping under the hem of his shirt to press against the warm, slightly sticky skin of his back. He leans in closer, jaw tilting as his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You keen softly, sucking the muscle between your lips and savoring the low groan he gives in return.

Then you pull back.

His eyes blink open slowly, a haze clouding his dark irises as he stares down at you.

“Do you want that?” you ask softly, tilting your head.

“Do I want you to be mine?” he echoes, his brows lifting slightly, his head shaking like the question is absurd.

You give him a pointed look, nodding just enough to make it bratty.

“I thought you were already mine,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down your dress. His touch is reverent, his gaze dipping over you as a satisfied grunt escapes his lips. “I’m already yours, baby..”

“Just mine,” you lean into his hold, your words brushing against his skin, “nobody else’s…”

“Just yours,” he nods firmly, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours, the softest smile tugging at his lips. “There’s been no one else since you, baby.”

The back of your neck tingles as his pretty nose drags along yours, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your pout before trailing down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm, his lips brushing against your skin as he mumbles, “I just didn’t think you wanted the title…”

Your brows pull together, and your hands slide up to cup his face, tugging him back so you can look him in the eye. “I want the title.”

One corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked little smile, his head tilting just enough to press a kiss to your palm. “Okay,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but sure. “Then you can have it, angel.”

A hum of satisfaction escapes you, your hands squeezing his cheeks with a smile. He chuckles softly, leaning back down to steal another kiss, but you pull away before he can reach you.

“Oi,” he grumbles, the faintest pout forming on his lips. “Why? I want a kiss.”

Your hands drop from his face, crossing over your chest as you fix him with a look. “Ask me.”

His eyebrows shoot up, amusement flickering across his features. “What—? I thought we just—”

“No.” You huff, squinting at him as you take a step back, dodging his hands when he reaches for you. “I want the proper thing. I’ve been waiting so long for the girlfriend title. Ask me properly.”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment, his lips twitching as he fights back a groan at your cuteness. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Your squint sharpens, your stance firm despite the way your heart jumps when his lips curve into a grin.

“Aishh,” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head slightly before stepping closer. “Y/n,” he starts, voice soft but teasing, “will you be my girlf—”

“Yes!”

You don’t let him finish, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him down to meet your lips, cutting off the surprised huff he lets out. Your arms loop around his neck as you pull him in, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His hands find your waist, steadying you, but you’re already slipping your tongue past his lips, swallowing the low groan he gives.

When you finally pull back for air, your breath is shaky, your lips humming. You stare at him, taking in his swollen mouth and the mess of his hair, his pupils blown wide they almost swallow the brown of his irises. He looks so good it’s almost fucking devastating.

“God, yes,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over his jaw before tugging him back down.

“You’re—okay with this—” Jungkook murmurs between heated kisses, his words coming in low breaths. “Your gap year’s almost over, baby—mmf—the distance… me being gone all the time?”

You pull back just enough to see his face, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His words hit you, and for a moment, all you can do is blink, your mind racing to keep up with the weight of what he’s asking.

“I can do my studies remotely,” you say finally, your voice soft but sure. Your hands slide up his shoulders as you tilt your head, searching his gaze for a hint of doubt. “I can…” You pause, swallowing as your heartbeat kicks up. “Like… travel with you, if you wanted—”

Jungkook surges forward, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that feels like he’s pouring every unspoken thought straight into your mouth. His hands grip your thighs, tugging you closer until your soft body’s pressed tight against him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, voice rough as his mouth moves against yours. The groan he lets out vibrates through you when you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging lightly before letting it slip free. “I had no fucking idea, baby. I would’ve...”

You hum softly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your breath coming in quick. “Would’ve what?”

His fingers tighten on the curve of your ass, holding you steady as he leans in, his lips brushing yours. “Would’ve made you mine the first time I fucking took you, baby,” he murmurs, his tongue slipping back into your mouth.

A breathy laugh escapes as you lean into him, your hands threading through the damp strands of his hair. “So... the first night we met?” you tease, your voice swallowed by his eager mouth.

“Pretty much,” he chuckles against your lips, his tone low and sinful as his hands drop to the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up easily. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries you the few steps to the couch, dropping down with you prettily perched in his lap.

His lips find yours again, hungrier, wetter. His tongue pushes into your mouth, licking deep into you, chasing the tang of raspberry seltzer still lingering on your tongue. His hands roam higher, sliding over the fabric of your dress, fingertips pressing as they search for skin.

Without breaking the kiss, your fingers fumble with the little zip at the front of your jacket, the metallic sound making him pause. Jungkook leans back just slightly, his gaze dropping to your hands as you slide the zipper down. His tongue darts over his lip as the fabric falls away, leaving your corset-top barely holding your tits in place.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word guttural. His eyes trail over your exposed skin, his hands moving on instinct to pull the hem of your dress down. The fabric drops, and your breasts spill free into his waiting hands, his thumbs eagerly brushing over your hardened nipples.

His mouth surges forward, latching onto your left nipple with a deep groan. He exhales through his nose, the sound almost a sigh, like his whole body just relaxed the second he had you in his mouth.

“God,” you whimper, your hips rolling against the bulge in his jeans, your hands gripping the back of his neck as you tilt your head back in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he grunts around your nipple, his wide tongue swirling over the peak before sucking gently. “These fucking tits,” he mutters, his voice thick as his hands knead the soft flesh. “Big, juicy fucking tits. All fucking mine, yeah?”

“Mmmh,” you whine, grinding harder as your fingers tug at the ends of his long hair, your thighs tightening around his hips. “All yours, Jungkookie. Always been yours.”

His cock twitches beneath you at the nickname, and his eyes flick up to your face. He coos through his mouthful before gently switching to your other bud.

“All mine,” he mumbles, the words muffled as he chews softly on your hard nipple, pulling a breathy moan from your lips. His big hands press your tits together, bringing them closer to his face, and he pulls back slightly to hum. “All daddy’s, isn’t that right, angel?”

“Nnnm,” you whine, your hips stuttering against him as the teasing tone has you clenching around nothing. “Yes, daddy. All yours. No one else’s.”

“Mm, that’s my girl.” His tongue flicks over your nipple one last time, pulling a soft gasp from your lips before his hand slides up to the front of your throat.

He brings you back down to his mouth, your tongues meeting immediately, wet and eager. His grip stays steady on your neck, thumb brushing softly along the sides as your hands bury deeper into his hair. The roll of your hips against his lap matches the rhythm of the kiss, each grind pulling a quiet groan from his throat that vibrates into your mouth.

The room is silent save for the wet, slick sounds of your lips and the rustle of your dampening panties against his jeans. Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around your neck, and you lean into it, moaning lowly when he catches your tongue between his teeth.

You pull back, your breaths uneven as you take hold of the wrist still resting at your throat, guiding it away. Your eyes meet his as you bring his hand to your lips, your tongue flicking over the tips of his middle fingers before sucking them into your mouth. No reason, really. Because you want to. Becaue you can.

Jungkook’s gaze stays heavy on you, his lids low as his tongue drags over his lip. You release his fingers with a soft pop, and he licks the remnants of your saliva from his hand when you let go.

Sliding off his lap, you reach for the zipper of his jeans, pulling it down with haste. You shimmy the denim over his hips, just far enough to bare his briefs. His cock presses against the black fabric, hard and thick, the sight alone making your stomach rumble.

Leaning down, you brush your lips over the length of him, the heat of his cock radiating through the cotton. A soft, hungry hum slips from you, and Jungkook groans quietly, his head tipping back against the couch.

One of his hands moves to the cushion beside him, the other slipping into your hair, brushing it back as you mouth over his covered cock.

Your hand slides under the waistband of his briefs, your lip catching between your teeth as his warm, hard length pulses against your palm. You pull him free, savoring the low curse that slips from his lips when you guide it to your lips and take the thick tip into your mouth.

“Shit, baby,” he huffs, his hips lifting slightly as your tongue swirls over the head.

“That’s it,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathy. “Get it nice and wet for daddy. Go on, baby.”

Your eyelids feel heavy as you obey, pushing spit to the front of your mouth and soaking his tip in it. The slick sound fill the quiet room, mixing with Jungkook’s sharp breaths and the low grunts slipping from his lips.

Your tongue moves slowly, wetting him nice and thoroughly, and his fingers twitch where they hold your hair out of your face. His head tips back further, a deep groan escaping as his hips up rock into your mouth on instinct.

Your lips work sloppily over his length as you take him deeper, your hand pumping the base as he groans low in his chest. “Good girl, baby,” he mutters, his fingers brushing the curve of your jaw as he watches you, his lashes heavy. “Such a good fucking girl.”

The praise makes you ache, the wetness pooling between your legs unbearable. Jungkook seems to sense it, his hand wrapping around your arm to pull you off him with a wet pop. His lips are on yours the moment you’re upright, licking into your mouth like he’s chasing his own taste on your tongue.

You melt against him, humming softly as his hands cup your waist, guiding you back until your spine presses into the couch. He hovers over you, his bigger frame warm between your parted thighs. Your boots dig into the cushions on either side of him, but he doesn’t care. Neither do you.

Jungkook’s hands are hasty as he pushes the fabric of your dress up your thighs, exposing the black lace stretched over your dripping core. His adam’s apple bobs as he hums, his thumb brushing over the darkened patch where your slick has seeped through.

“So pretty, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his tattooed thumb firmly against you. The friction makes you gasp, your hips jerking toward his hand.

The lace doesn’t last long. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls it down just enough to expose you, wasting no time before dipping down. His mouth latches onto your pussy in one go, his wide tongue licking a slow, filthy stripe over your slit.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands flying to his hair. The heat of his mouth is overwhelming, his tongue teasing your swollen clit before dragging down to press at your entrance. He groans as he tastes you, sucking your folds into his mouth like a greedy fuck.

You whimper when his teeth graze your clit, his tongue circling the bud before flicking over it repeatedly. The wet, sloppy sounds of his lips and tongue working against your pussy fills the room, and your hips buck against his face—

“Uh… J-Jungkook?”

You freeze, your eyes snapping to the door as your blood runs cold.

There is no fucking way.

Jungkook doesn’t stop. If anything, his movements grow greedier, his mouth slurping noisily at your cunt as though he didn’t hear a thing.

You bite back a moan when the bitch's voice comes again, shaky and hesitant. “Sorry, uh… your friends got you a driver, and it’s—uh—can you hear me? Should I come in?”

Your hand tightens in Jungkook’s hair as his tongue presses deep into your dripping hole. “Tell her to fuck off,” you gasp, your voice pitching higher when his lips close around your clit. “Jung- fuck- Jungkook.”

He hums into your pussy, the vibration shooting through you as his tongue drags lower. “You do it, baby,” he murmurs, the words muffled by your slick folds. His lips press deeper you as he mumbles. “Tell her your boyfriend’s busy, hm?”

Jungkook’s mouth doesn’t falter, his jaw working as he fits as much of you into his mouth as he can, lips wrapping around your folds while his tongue drags over your clit. His jaw moves, sucking and licking, pulling sinful sounds from your throat like it’s his final fucking mission.

His hand fumbles to the side of the couch, searching for something, but you barely register it through the haze of pleasure. “Jungkook, seriously—”

The girl’s voice cuts through again, louder this time. “Uh, I don’t know if you can hear me, so I’m going to come in—”

Before the words fully register, you feel it. The slick, cool tip of a drumstick sliding into your cunt.

“Fuck!” The cry rips from your throat, loud and uncontrollable as your back arches off the couch. The stretch is sharp, sudden, but it has your toes curling, pleasure overtaking every thought as your grip tightens on his hair.

The sound outside the door ceases instantly, but you couldn’t give a fuck less.

Jungkook doesn’t stop, his tongue relentless as it flicks over your clit, fast and precise, his lips drenched as they lap at your soaked pussy. He glances up, watching you through his lashes, his big eyes dark as he gauges your reaction.

He’s slipped plenty of things inside you before—his fingers, his cock, even the handle of a vibrator… but never this. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a fantasy of his, something he’d thought about during one too many late-night practices when you were at home and he was missing you.

“That okay, baby?” he murmurs with a mouth full of pussy. His long fingers grip the drumstick firmly, holding it still, not pushing deeper until you give the green light. His thumb brushes the edge of your clit, adding another layer of friction as his tongue continues its work. “Gonna let daddy fuck you with it, baby?”

“Yesss,” you whine, your head lolling against the couch. Your thighs tremble around his head as you pant, the word spilling from your lips like a fucking prayer. “Yes, please, daddy. God, I fucking want it, baby, please.”

Jungkook groans into your cunt as he presses the drumstick deeper, the slick glide making your legs quake. His tongue continues it's soft, wet work against your clit, a little slower as he eases the stick into your hole.

He works it in deeper, his pace quickening with every breathy moan that falls from your lips. The smooth wood glides in and out of your pussy with ease, covered in your juices everytime it pulls out, and the angle he’s hitting has your back arching into his mouth, your thighs trembling around his head.

“Fuckk,” you gasp, your nails scratching into the couch, desperate for something to hold onto as the thin stick brushes your g-spot. “Fuck, daddy—”

He groans against you, his lips dragging over your clit before his tongue flicks faster and faster. “That good, baby?” He hums, “daddy making you feel good, hm?”

“So fucking gooodd,” you cry, your chest heaving, your hips chasing the movements of his hand as he thrusts the drumstick faster. Your walls clamp around it as your head spins, tears welling in your eyes.

Jungkook gives one more slurp before pulling back just enough to catch your fucked-out expression. His lips glisten with your slick, hair messy from your tugging. “Want the other one, baby?” he asks, voice honeyed with mockery as his thumb brushes over your clit.

You whimper without hesitation, your thighs clenching around his head. “Fuck, please, daddy. Please.”

“Mmm,” he hums in satisfaction, his tongue dragging a long, wet stripe over your clit as he reaches for the second stick.

You barely have a moment to prepare before the second one presses into you, your toes curling as he works it in beside the first. “Oh my fuck,” you choke, your head falling back against the couch.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches as he watches you, his hands tight around the sticks as he thrusts them together, slow at first, then faster. And faster.

His greedy mouth is back on you, his tongue lapping at your clit, wet and messy, the dirty, soppy sounds of his lips and the squelch of your pussy taking the drumsticks echoing in the room.

“Fuck,” you moan, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as your hips buck into his mouth. “Gonna fucking cum, daddy. So—fuck, uhhhhh!”

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, his lips wrapping around your swollen bud, sucking hard as he thrusts the drumsticks relentlessly into you. “Show that bitch who’s daddy’s girl, huh? Gonna cum on my tongue? On my drumsticks? ‘Cause only you can, huh baby? My fucking baby.”

Your whole body seizes at his words, your head snapping back as a strangled cry rips from your throat. Your vision blacks out, your body trembling violently as the orgasm rips through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you sob, your walls clenching hard around the sticks as wetness gushes out, soaking his hand, his mouth, the couch beneath you. Jungkook groans loudly, his lips glued to your clit as he sucks you through it, his tongue flicking over the nub as you writhe beneath him.

“That’s my fucking girl,” Jungkook groans, his voice thick as he leans in for one last lick, dragging his tongue slowly up your pretty slit. He pulls back just enough to watch your pussy twitch, glistening and flushed, clenching around the sticks as you whimper weakly.

“Jungkookie,” you manage through trembling breaths, your body trembling under his heavy gaze. “Th-thank you, fuck.”

He hums against you, his big eyes darting up to meet yours as his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. “Any fucking time, baby, shitt.”

You shudder as he finally eases the drumsticks out of you, slick dripping from the tips as your thighs twitch. You watch through hooded eyes as he raises them to his lips, sucking your wetness off, the hollow of his throat bobbing at the sweet taste. Once clean, he tosses them carelessly to the side, licking over his lips as his gaze drops back down to your wrecked cunt.

“Messy girl,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing as his fingers trace over the sticky mess between your thighs.

Your eyes fall lower, catching the tip of his cock peeking out from the waistband of his briefs, red and dripping. Your breath catches, your hands instinctively sliding up his arms, tracing the ink there as your gaze stays locked on it.

Jungkook notices, his tongue running over his swollen lips as he chuckles. “You want it, baby?”

You swallow hard, your eyes flicking up to meet his through your lashes. “Please, daddy.”

He groans softly at the way you look at him, nodding before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s so wet, everything is wet as your lips part to welcome his tongue when he licks into your mouth, giving you every bit of the taste of yourself. You suck greedily on his tongue, and he groans low in his chest, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer.

Your hands slide up to wrap around his neck, holding him as he reaches down between you, adjusting his briefs and pulling himself free. He pulls back slightly to look down as he drags the tip of his cock through your soaking folds, catching on your clit.

“Need to fuck you so bad, baby,” he mutters, his voice rasping with need. “Need you to feel how much I fucking love you.”

Your breath hitches, your hands tightening around his neck as his words hang between you. His cock stills against your entrance once he realizes what he just said, his head snapping up.

“You love me?” you whisper, your voice quiet as your gaze flicks between his eyes.

He blinks, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. Then, with a soft nod, he admits it. "So much, baby."

You beam, your face breaking into the brightest smile, and it’s enough to make his chest swell. You tug him down to you, pressing your lips to his in a wet, giddy kiss.

His lips are soft against yours, but the way he kisses you is anything but. It’s raw as his tongue slides against yours, his hands tightening around your waist, pouring himself into you.“I love you, J. Holy shittt, baby!!”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face as he smiles, his lips red and swollen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, so fucking giddy, your hands cradling his face as you lean up to kiss him again. “Now fuck me, please.”

He chuckles, the sound low and sweet before leaning down to press a kiss to your neck. His lips brush against your skin as he shifts, lining himself back up with your entrance.

The moment he pushes in, your breath catches. The stretch burns so good as he sinks into you slowly, his cock thick and pulsing, the loud, slick sound of your arousal filling the room as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, his head falling forward as his hands grip your thighs. “So fucking wet, baby. You fucking feel that?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the fullness. “So full, Jungkookie.”

He groans at the sound of his name, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward, a little harder this time. You gasp, your back arching into him as he sets a slow, deep pace, every thrust hitting you delicious and deep.

“So fucking good, baby,” he mutters, his voice thick with praise. “So perfect for me. Take me so well, always.”

Your hands find his hair, tugging at the strands as your head falls back, exposing your neck to him. He takes the opportunity, his lips finding your skin, sucking at the flesh as his thrusts grow faster.

The wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the squelch of your pussy soaking him, his breathy groans and your desperate moans— they drown out every other thought.

“Fuck, Jungkookie,” you cry out, your legs locking tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Y-yes, yes, oh my goddd.”

He grunts low in his chest, his pace quickening as he chases your high, each thrust hitting your g-spot with reckless precision. “That’s it, baby,” he rasps, his voice rough and wrecked, eyes glued to the way your tits bounce with every snap of his hips. “Cum for your boyfriend. C'mon. Show me how much you fucking love me.”

“Fuck, baby—fuck!” your voice breaks into a high-pitched whine, the sound desperate as your nails dig into the sweaty shirt stretched over his back. “Gonna fuckingg cummm, baby. God, fuck—fuck—”

You shatter around him, your orgasm crashing over you in a sore wave, your body shaking as your pussy clamps down on his cock. Jungkook groans, his lips finding yours to swallow your cries as his thrusts don’t relent, driving you through every pulse.

“Gonna take my cum, baby?” he grits out against your lips, your head tipping back as his breath fans over your sweaty skin. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, keeping you locked in place. “Huh? Gonna take it all ‘cause you love me so fucking much, yeah?”

“Y-yes, baby,” you sob, your body jerking from the oversensitivity as he keeps pushing deeper and deeper. “I fucking love you, Jungkookie—please, give it to me. Give it, baby. Fucking give it!”

A deep, guttural curse spills from his lips as he stills, his cock buried deep as his release hits. Warmth floods your hole as he fills you, every drop making you whimper, your legs trembling around him. His forehead drops to your neck, his damp hair sticking to your skin as he pants heavily.

“God, I fucking love you,” he mutters, his voice thick as he presses his lips to your collarbone. “Never gonna get over saying that.”

“My sappy boyfriend,” you tease, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, scratching softly at his scalp as he groans into your skin. “Who would’ve thought?”

Jungkook lifts his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he gives you a look. You smile sweetly, dragging a finger across his swollen lips as you snicker. “I love you too, daddy.”

sorry for the delay, i was having a mental breakdown bites lips

[wolfclad]

❛ i only wanted to have a cigarette & a walk. ❜ ( from pat! )

The forest was alive, its nocturnal heart pulsing with unseen things. Farkas stood at its edge, breathing in its shadows and whispers, the chill of the evening biting through his jacket, his senses taut. The others didn’t understand – how could they? They were only human. But he was something else, something other, something straddling the line between man and beast.

Patrick had taken a walk and never returned. Hours stretched into a brittle silence that the band had tried to fill with nervous chatter and half-hearted jokes, but Farkas had felt it – something was deeply, profoundly wrong. And so, he left the warmth of the motel and ventured into the cold, into the woods, past the point of the last sighting.

After shedding his clothes – leaving them folded at the feet of a spruce – he shifted. The change came quickly, fluidly, violently, one skin traded for another. As the wolf uncoiled within him, his senses exploded with newfound sensitivity. Every inhalation carried the tapestry of the forest: fires of fungus blooming, the resinous reek of pine tar, the sharp metallic tang of blood. Blood, faint but undeniable, mingling with the sweet decay of leaves and the musk of a rabbit rotting somewhere in the underbrush.

He followed the scent like a thread, his monstrous paws sinking into the ground, his breath shimmering in ghostly plumes as he padded deeper into the woods. Trees closed in, their skeletal branches clawing at the star-pocked sky, snagging his thick, coarse pelt. The ravine revealed itself abruptly, a yawning black gash in the earth. There he hesitated, and sniffed the air again. It was stronger here, rich with the promise of an answer he didn’t want.

Farkas descended carefully, claws digging into dark earth, churning up pebbles. Those little stones tumbled down the bank, bouncing and skittering, stopping only when they met with the body lay crumpled at the bottom, a broken silhouette against the stark moonlight. Patrick’s limbs sprawled at unnatural angles, his tie-dye shirt torn and muddied, his jean jacket stained with the darker bloom of blood. His face was turned toward the sky, but his eyes – clouding, half-lidded – were no longer looking at anything.

The wolf’s breath hitched. Farkas shifted back, bones rearranging as the beast receded and his human form returned. Steaming in the frigid air, he stood naked beneath the indifferent eyes of a thousand stars, barrel chest heaving as he crouched beside Patrick’s lifeless form.

“Pat,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, disbelieving. The name vibrated in the air, unanswered. He reached out, his hand hovering before settling on the daisy painted on the jacket – still intact, despite the violence of the fall. It felt absurdly human, this detail, this fragment of Patrick’s irrepressible brightness preserved against the dark. “Oh fuck, Pat…”

Wind stirred the trees, carrying a sound that prickled the back of Farkas’s neck. He froze, bristled, every pronounced muscle locked. Then he heard it again, faint but unmistakable:

“I only wanted to have a cigarette and a walk.”

Patrick’s voice, tinged with the tinny echo of something that no longer belonged in the living world. Farkas looked up, his faulty heart thundering. There, standing amongst thickets and shrubs, was his friend.

Or what was left of him.

He was exactly as Farkas remembered – dressed in the clothes he died in, the same carefree slump to his shoulders – but his outline shimmered, faint and ethereal, as though he were only half there. His eyes glowed faintly, soft and sorrowful, dimples still visible in his spectral cheeks.

Farkas stared, his mouth dry, a sharp pain burning bright and hot beneath his ribs.

“Pat… you’re…”

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the world shrinking to the space between them. Farkas knelt, joints aching in complaint, and looked up at his friend – a boy who had only ever wanted to wander, to explore, to chase the wide open road.

Above them, the stars continued to shine cold and distant, and the forest sighed its ceaseless song.

[auxiliarydetective]

Philomel - Amor vincit omnia

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The rain was starting to get stronger now. Still, Crawley stood safely under Aziraphale’s wing, the raindrops slipping right off. Unlike Crawley’s wings. What little water got on them would immediately soak them, eventually rendering them useless. At least his scales were waterproof. But right now, he would rather not be a snake. In fact, oddly enough, he felt pretty nice where he was at. He had started to hate most angels and Heaven as a whole, but there was something about Aziraphale. Maybe it was just the fact that he had been there when Crawley – well, he hadn’t been Crawley back then – had created his beloved stars and nebulae and… Or maybe it was just Aziraphale himself. It was the angel’s insecurities specifically that intrigued the demon because Aziraphale wasn’t pompous and arrogant like most angels ironically were. He was almost human. Speaking of humans… Adam and Eve, along with the angel’s flaming sword, had now disappeared behind the horizon. Out in the rain, with vicious animals stalking throughout the area, with no clothes and nothing but a flaming sword to keep them warm. Crawley looked over his shoulder into the Garden of Eden. He wondered why Adam and Eve had never even tried going back. There were trees here where they would be safe from the rain, or they could just hide under one of the gates or the hole in the wall they had exited through.

Suddenly, he spotted something down in the garden. One of the lakes, the one closest to him and Aziraphale, was in motion, not just from the raindrops falling onto its surface, but from something else entirely. Then again, maybe it did have something to do with the rain because it clearly hadn’t been going on before. Crawley nudged Aziraphale in the side, the angel squeaking at the demon’s touch. Still, he followed his gaze. But in turning around, his protective wing was moved away from over Crawley, thick droplets gathering in his hair and feathers. Normally, he would have complained, but he was too captivated by what was happening before him. Circular waves were being pushed out from the middle of the lake, gently rolling onto the shore. Little by little, the origin of this motion started glowing. The light got stronger, prompting Crawley to maybe, potentially, want to run away. What if this was some heavenly intervention? But he found himself glued to the ground, mesmerized by the sight.

The glow kept growing stronger until, finally, a figure broke through the surface. The water cast into the air around their form sparkled in the few rays of light still shining through the clouds like dozens of tiny stars. That alone would have been beautiful, but the figure emerging from the lake outshadowed this display of nature’s wonders with ease. Slowly, they walked out of the lake, revealing their form in full as their eyes wandered around the garden. She looked like Eve. Though only faintly. In fact, they looked very different, with the new creation’s skin being as pale as that of Crawley and Aziraphale and her hair a peachy color. Still, some traits of Eve were visible in her - hints of her facial features, a certain wave in her hair. However, the clearest resemblance was the creation’s body, but, as with all the features she seemed to share with Eve, they were far more elevated, perfected, ethereal, otherworldly. Her sculpted legs, her rounded hips, her flat yet soft stomach, her flawless chest, her graceful face with its pinkish lips and rosy cheeks and… her eyes. By God and Satan, her eyes. They were mesmerizing. From all directions of the garden, little birds flew towards her, some carrying a light pink fabric, some carrying flowers that they placed in her hair with its waves flowing down to just past her hip. When they covered her up, Crawley, for the first time, remembered to blink and breathe.

“She’s gorgeous,” Aziraphale gasped next to him. “How can Hell make something so gorgeous?”

“Hell?” Crowley echoed. “Why’d you think my side made her?”

“Well, she came out of the ground.”

“Nonsense, angel, she came out of the water. Didn’t you see the light, the animals, and the pink? Hell doesn’t do that.”

The creation, now clothed in a flowing dress and crowned with flowers, smiled at the angel and the demon, once again knocking all sense out of them for a moment. Then, she spread her wings and flew up to them. Her feathers were almost white. But just almost, with a slight pink hue to them. Aziraphale and Crawley stepped apart and she landed between them, shielding them both with her wings.

“Careful, you’ll get wet.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Aziraphale stammered. Crawley eyed him confusedly as he tried to gather his words. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I’ll say,” the creation replied. From up close, her eyes looked the color of cherry blossoms. “I had expected Adam and Eve, but you clearly aren’t human. Who might you be?”

“Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate,” Aziraphale quickly introduced himself, taking the hand offered to him. “And this is-“

“Crawley,” Crawley cut in, mirroring Aziraphale’s gesture. The creation’s skin was soft and warm. “And you are?”

“Philomel, Embodiment of Love.”

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Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

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With a terrified shriek, Philomel was pushed over the edge. She fell faster and faster, the light of Heaven disappearing behind her. As she shot downwards, her body heated up. But not in the way it did when she used her powers or was in love or around people exuding love. This was painful, excruciating even – and not just on the outside. Inside her chest, she felt her heart shatter into a billion pieces. She flapped her wings helplessly, trying to gain some lift or at least slow down, but it was no use. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her feathers catch fire. Explosions sounded around her, echoing in her eardrums. Scalding hot tears burned in her eyes and she covered her face, not daring to look as she shot downwards. She didn’t want to go to Hell, she hated Hell, the only good thing to ever come out of Hell was Crowley and he didn’t count because he had been an angel once. There was no telling what Hell would do to her once she arrived, especially once they realized she would refuse to do their bidding. Her purpose, her whole entire purpose and desire, was to spread love, and she would never do anything else, no matter what happened. That was what the Almighty had tasked her with doing. Thus, this couldn’t be happening, right? She had done nothing wrong. This all had to be one big mistake! This couldn’t-

Suddenly, her fall slowed down and came to a stop. But she hadn’t hit the ground. Everything was spinning and she wasn’t even sure she could tell up from down anymore. She felt two pairs of hands on her body, gently stabilizing her. Blinking the tears away, she opened her eyes. When her blurry vision cleared, she saw Crowley beneath her, holding her hips.

“There we are,” he said with a hint of a smile, pupils widened behind his sunglasses. “How’s the dizziness, slowly gettin’ better?”

“Don’t worry, dear, you’re safe for now,” Aziraphale’s voice came from above, his hands on her waist.

All the while, the explosions continued, and Philomel was sure there was a large fire not too far from them.

“I- Wha-“ Philomel stammered. “I don’t- Where am I?”

“A couple yards above the ground, not too far off from London.”

“London? Earth London?”

“Yes.”

Crowley and Aziraphale slowly maneuvered her further downwards until her feet touched the ground. Immediately, her knees buckled beneath her and she held on to Crowley for support. Her body felt like overcooked noodles and her wings were sore and heavy. Carefully, Aziraphale hovered over her, extinguishing the flames all across her feathers, mending her clothes and cleaning the soot off her skin and hair.

“Then I didn’t go to Hell,” she concluded.

“No,” Crowley assured her. “Trust me, you would’ve felt that, crashing through the ground.”

“Then I’m not a demon.”

“Well, uh-“ Aziraphale mumbled, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I need to go back up there!” Philomel called out, her voice cracking.

“No, Mel,” Crowley cut in. “There’s no-“

“No, you don’t understand. They don’t understand. This is all one big misunderstanding! If they’ll just let me talk to the Almighty then-“ She beat her wings, only to wince in pain.

“There is no going back up, Mel,” Crowley told her, slowly and clearly, pity swinging in his voice. “I’m sorry, but this is the way falling works. Once you go down, there’s no going back up.”

Philomel looked over her shoulder at Aziraphale, who looked heartbroken but also comforting.

“You still have a place on Earth,” he told her. “And with me, if you’d like.”

“You would… But… But what if Heaven finds out you’ve been sheltering me and- and they make you fall too? I can’t risk that Aziraphale, I really can’t.”

“Well, you’re in no shape to go anywhere on your own,” Aziraphale protested. “The word of God says, ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself’, and right now, you are standing next to me. So, by helping you, I’m doing the right thing.”

“Heaven and Hell both don’t have to find out if we could just get out of here,” Crowley hissed. “C’mon, hide those wings and we’ll go for a drive. The Bentley’s just down this hill. I’ll give you a rundown of what’s happening to you once we’re on the road.”

With some effort, Philomel managed to hide her wings and slung her arms over Crowley and Aziraphale’s shoulders, letting them shore her as they walked.

“Crowley,” she gasped hoarsely, looking up into the demon’s serpentine eyes.

“Hm?”

“I’m scared.

“I know, I can tell. Which is why I’m not leavin’ you ‘till you feel better.”

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Tagging: @starlit-epiphany @endless-oc-creations @come-along-pond

[gmanwhore]

…. What Zircon saw beyond the door sent surging electricity through every nerve in xir body.

A thin figure was seated in a comfortable armchair near the opposite wall, with an unlit cigarette in his left hand. He wore a sky blue suit, his hair reached his shoulders and was a vibrant, fiery orange-red. His face, brushed with brightly coloured makeup, was strangely symmetrical and bore a thoughtful expression as he stared somewhere into the distance; he looked more like a doll than a living being, except for his eyes, which were a greenish gray, and contained a hopeful spark, with one pupil visibly bigger than the other. Zircon’s eyes darted to golden circle glittering brightly in his forehead: xe had seen this being before.

Xe had looked at him in awe in faded photographs, watched holographic images of him sing the songs that inspired xir career through speakers, emulated him in the mirror with an imaginary guitar in xir hands for decades, worried that xe might be copying his style a bit too closely…

But it simply couldn’t be. Ziggy Stardust was dead. His body was discovered in xir own universe over a century ago, with no signs of damage but undeniably deceased, his ashes were scattered across the Milky Way galaxy, it was all public information, and the world of music mourned. Zircon had mourned with it, crying xirself to sleep at the thought that the greatest musician in the universe, quite possibly in the Multiverse, would never release another album again, xe’d never see xir idol live, that of all the beings in the universe, it had to be him.

And yet…

“You’ll be Zircon Moongazer, right? Kuria’s told me to expect you.”

Xe would know that voice, with the accent almost reminiscent of the one he often heard on Earth, anywhere. Zircon resisted the urge to pinch xirself; it couldn’t not be a dream, but xir own thumping hearts and the whirlwind of thoughts in xir mind could only be reality.

“Don’t be shy, you can come closer if you want.”

Zircon took a few nervous steps forward. Xe was only a meter or so away from him now. Ziggy got to his feet with a strange grace to his movement, dropping the still unlit cigarette into a nearby empty ashtray, and extended a faintly glittering hand for Zircon to shake. Even in his platform boots, he was considerably shorter than Zircon, who raised xir arm… and stopped, the excitement in xir fingers almost panic, almost painful.

“Go on!” Ziggy encouraged, with a nod.

Zircon reached out and grabbed the hand. Smooth. Smaller than xirs. Covered in a strange, soft powdery texture. Cold, but clearly not dead. Real. Undeniably alive.

The excited child in xir mind who had held that first record in xir hands with joyful tears in xir eyes broke loose, and xe shook his hand with all of the energy xe felt when xe had entered the room. Xe didn’t even notice the increasing speed in vigor with which xe moved xir hand up and down over the soaring feeling in xir chest. Ziggy Stardust was alive! Alive, and standing right in front of xir! Xe was shaking Ziggy Stardust’s hand! Xe was-

CRACK.

A little explosion of glittering space dust, like a tiny nebula, clouded Zircon’s vision for a couple of seconds.

Then, xir heart stopped.

Xe was still holding Ziggy’s hand, which had broken clean off at the elbow joint as Ziggy’s sky blue sleeve hung, loose and empty, from the elbow down. At the break, the arm seemed to be tightly packed full of that same multicolored glitter that was now settling everywhere including the floor, the armchair and the fronts of both Zircon’s and Ziggy’s clothes.

“Oh my stars! Holy crap! Mr Stardust I’m so sorry!”

Xe heard xir own voice break at squeaky, panicked peaks as xe yelled xir horrified apologies, but Ziggy only responded with a wide smile, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth.

“No worries! Does that all the time.”

He took the left arm from Zircon’s hand with his right, nonchalantly inserting it back into his sleeve and twisting it slightly in place.

“Believe me, it’s gotten me in some way worse situations. I’ve learned to reinforce the fingers so I don’t accidentally slice them off playing guitar in the middle of a gig, but the elbow joints have always been a right piece of work. This body’s due for a replacement soon anyway.”

He tested the movement in his fingers, rolling them in sync in a single smooth motion as though strumming invisible guitar strings, despite the fact that, from what Zircon had just seen, there was not a bone nor a muscle in that hand.

“H…how?”

He chuckled.

“I get that question a lot. Kuria and the Starman Eternal say you’re a trustworthy fellow, so I guess I can spill the whole truth. I happen to be something called an Okkina. My kind don’t have physical bodies at birth, so we drift in space and gather the dust of fallen stars to build a form for ourselves. Aside from being proof of my remarkable lack of naming creativity, this body isn’t really ‘me’, but it does contain ‘me’, if that makes any sort of sense.”

Zircon nodded.

“If one body’s destroyed, or I just feel like moving on from it, I can just hop out and make myself a new one. Regeneration takes a little while, but… I suppose that clears up the whole ‘legally dead in your universe’ thing, eh? Now, does this mean I can hypothetically live forever? Well, not under normal circumstances, consciousness tends to drift apart around the sixth millennium, but I happened to have an encounter with one ‘Keeper of Strings’ during my travels, and, well… let’s just say the Starman Eternal allowed it, and you needn’t ever worry about losing me again!”

Zircon remained silent for a moment, taking it all in.

“Mr Stardust, that’s… incredible… I…”

“Oh, cut the ‘Mr Stardust’ formalities, just ‘Ziggy’s fine! I didn’t come here to recount my life story, given the fact that you likely know most of it already and can fill in the gaps with what I’ve told you just now. I came here because I love your music, and I’d like to propose… let’s call it a collaboration!”

This time, Zircon actually did pinch xirself in the side, prompting another chuckle from Ziggy.

“Of course, Mr Star- I mean, Ziggy! I’d love to hear all of your suggestions!!”

(I’ll finish this later, I still have ideas)

PJOHIOUGYVFKDTFGUIOG FBYTFTSD THIS IS WONDERFULLLL

[always-sleeping-in-his-grave]

⏳

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

"Believe it or not," Dallas confesses. "I tried to keep Kent and I out of the killin' business for as long as possible."

Letting out a deep exhale through his nose as he continues, "being two orphaned children with nothin' but the clothes on our backs, jobs didn't come by so easy for us. I offered my services to countless businesses, only to get rejected every time. I was only a child after all and what experienced company would want to hire some random Imp with no experience in the workin' force. And a hybrid one at that." The barley-controlled ire could be heard faintly on his tongue, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

Recalling these events from their lives always brought out a familiar pain in his soul. A shattering one. "Nearly broke my heart every time I had to come back to Kent with my tail between my legs, breakin' the bad news with an ache in my chest."

He tried to keep his composure, "We didn't have a place to stay at the time, so we'd just camp out under bridges or inside abandoned houses. Usin' campfires to keep us warm durin' the cold nights. Whatever food I had managed to steal for the day, I always made sure to give Kent the first and biggest ration. I knew it was never enough. They were a far cry from ma's chicken pot pie or pork posole, but we had to take what we were given." A faint tug at the corner of his lips was now visible as he was brought back to fonder memories of home.

Only for his face to fall blank again. "I never thought that I would ever get so desperate to steal. I only started once it became increasingly clear that we couldn't survive on the land anymore. And I needed to do whatever I could for Kent."

Dallas paused briefly, pulling out a cigarette from his back pocket. He prefers not to smoke, but he needed something to soothe the anxiety while he continued to talk. Lighting it up with a bit of tremor in his hands. Savoring the nicotine like fine wine.

"Occasionally," he said through mouthful of smoke. "There would be those rare moments were life would seem a little easier and we could just forget about everything for a few fleetin' minutes. Like during the clear nights where we'd lay out underneath the stars and try to find the constellations or play in mud puddles after a heavy storm," through the thick cloud of smoke, you can barely make out the gleaming look in his eyes. "But, reality likes to rear its ugly head in whenever I start to notice Kent's lack of body weight, or how his favorite boots were starting to fall apart. Even if I could hold him close to protect him from the unforgivin' elements, he would still shiver in my grasp no matter how tightly I held."

He continued to take more puffs in, as the hand left unoccupied unintentionally began to dig into his leg. Guilt heavy on his mind.

"It had gotten so bad for us that I almost gave up entirely, thought we would be better off stuffed inside some dingy orphanage. At least there we would have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies," His posture became less tensed. "But I've heard the stories about the rampant abuse and neglect that goes on behind closed doors. Just thinking about what they do to those poor little bastards made me quickly change my mind."

Dallas started to recline against the seat, letting the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders to finally release after so much time and tension. It almost felt cathartic to let it all out, now that the worst was behind them.

"Then one day," he said more easily, hoping to start on a more positive note. "Luck had finally shined down on us in the form of an ad in the newspaper about a courier job that was hirin' urgently with good pay. Just enough for us to stop stealin', start savin' for a house, and purchase a new pair of boots for Kent."

"I tried to look as presentable as I could with what little we had at the time. I washed out the faded stains from my less soiled clothes in a creek nearby, scrubbed my face from all the grit and grim that had been buildin' up, and combed out the tangles in my hair to at least appear somewhat like a member of society."

He chuckled suddenly as he suddenly remembered.

"And I must have made quite the impression. Because I think the last thing this fella was expectin' to see enter his cigarette smelling, wallpaper peeling office, was some scruffy looking kid from the streets askin' for a job. Though, he did get a good laugh out of it."

His chuckle was now a full-blown laugh, nearly coughing on the smoke as he did so.

"He asked if I was fuckin' with him. To which I replied, 'Do I look like I'm fuckin' with ya?' That only seemed to make him laugh harder."

The smirk on Dallas' face grew too genuine as he recalled his time with the Imp.

"He introduced himself with a yellow stained grin as Graves and hired me on the spot. While intimidatin' at first glance, him being one of the few Imps to start a business here in Hell actually made me more relaxed around him. Even if his business was shady at best. But that's why he left the tougher jobs to the more experienced employes."

"I followed every task he'd given me as flawlessly as I could. This was the only source of income after all, I couldn't mess this up. But with how much Graves was impressed with a brat like me, he put in a good word for me to his buddies incase things went south."

His eyes dimmed down and his mouth set in a hard line. "Unfortunately, the old son-of-a-bitch was murdered in his office while the others and I were busy with some job. Apparently, he had been scammin' the wrong crowd and one of them had finally had enough of it..."

He's seen his fair share of dead bodies, but the way they found his mangled corpse left a sour taste in Dallas' mouth.

"Was a shame, I think he was actually starting to like me too..." Leaving off on a somber note.

[caramellahoney]

"PART III: miracle."

pairings: Husband-Dad! Camilo x Fem! Reader

genre: Hurt/Comfort! Fluff!

warning/s: injuries, slight mentions of war

!! Everyone is aged up by 12 years ; Camilo is 27 , your kids are 4 , Antonio is 17 and so on.

🌻🌻🌻

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 4 | FINALE

Y/N stood, her legs shaking as she tried to heave herself up, nearly falling from her lightheadedness if it weren't for the strong pair of arms hoisting her up. Camilo took his wife into his arms, easily supporting her weight as he walked towards the tent Antonio set up. Her condition worsened since last afternoon and her body was fighting for rest. She took low ragged breaths and turned her gaze upwards, observing the stars that filled the dark sky. She watched carefully as clouds scattered and floated around, feeling a wave of calmness suddenly fill her.

"Death doesn't seem so bad.." Y/N joked. A pained smile spread across her face, her cheeks flushed, and the corner of her eyes crinkled as she laughed lightly at her own joke. Camilo heard her and his eyes grew wide in horror, immediately whipping his head to glance at her form. Her 'joke' did nothing but terrify him and he frowned deeply, unconsciously holding her tighter.

"Don't-" He paused. "You can't leave us yet." Camilo spoke, his tone soft as his voice cracked ever so slightly. She lifted her head, seeing Camilo's eyebrows creased- an unreadable expression on his face. Her heart broke, eyes turning soft as she brought her hand up, pushing loose curls away from his face.

"I won't. I promise." Camilo leaned into her touch, lips quirking into a light smile. He ducked down as he entered the tent, quickly walking over to the bed in the corner. Julietta stood by the bed, a distressed look on her face as her sobrino rushed over.

"Be gentle, her wounds are still tender." Julietta warned him, her hands adjusting the sheets on the ground. Camilo gently set his wife down on the makeshift bed, his feet stumbling slightly. Once her back hit the sheets, Y/N let out a deep sigh of relief. She let her muscles relax, sinking back onto the layered piles of cloth.

"There you go, I heard they've already managed to set up a fire. I do think we still have some raw fish left over. I'll go cook something up for you." Julietta smiled softly, patting her hands down on her skirt. She walked towards Camilo, placing a gentle hand on her nephew's arm.

"Try not to worry so much, sobrino. She'll be just alright." Camilo hesitantly nodded, tapping his fingers against his thigh. She patted his arm and walked out of the tent, leaving the couple alone. Elias and Fernando were with Pepa and Felix as they wanted to give the two a quick break to compose themselves. Y/N smiled and opened her arms up, urging Camilo to come closer. Her husband smiled and kneeled down beside her bed, wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, careful not to touch her wound.

"That was terrifying to see, you know." Camilo mumbled, his hand reaching for hers; smiling faintly when their rings clicked together. Y/N didn't miss how his hand lightly shook in her grasp. She shifted slightly, turning her body towards Camilo so she could run a hand through his curls. A comforting silence washed over the room as the couple silently held each other in their arms.

┈ ✁✃✁ ┈

Julietta walked into the tent, holding a plate of fish and a glass of water in her hands. Camilo separated from his wife and took the plate from his Tia's hands. He broke apart a piece of the fish and pressed it against her lips, watching as she eagerly opened her mouth, taking the meat in her mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing.

Camilo observed her as she reached for the glass of water, nervously glancing at her wound. A few minutes passed and her scabs and scarring slowly faded away. He softly pressed his palm flat against the surface of her abdomen. He caressed her now smooth skin and visibly relaxed, the tension in his chest easing. Y/N smiled and turned to Julietta, quietly thanking the woman.

"Thank you, Tia." Camilo turned to Julietta and pulled her into a hug. Julietta laughed and patted his back, parting away from her nephew.

"Oh it's alright, I'm just glad you're safe. Make sure to get some rest for now." The couple bid her goodbye as she quickly rushed out the room, possibly to tend to other injured villagers. Camilo turned and met his wife's gaze again, she gestured for him to come over and he grinned. The shapeshifter immediately buried himself in her arms, sighing softly when her hands traveled up into his hair, carding through his curls. He held her against him and let himself lay back, coming to rest on the thin blanket, the uncomfortable position strained his back, but he didn’t dare move.

Here, in the tent, lit only partially by their wedding candle, it was hard for Camilo to recall the dark misery of hours before. He smiled softly, eyes fluttering shut as he heaved out a deep sigh, perhaps he could pretend tonight was just like any other.

┈ ✁✃✁ ┈

Dolores quickly weaved through the crowd, eyes darting around for a familiar dark haired girl. People were hustling and rushing around her, far too busy setting up temporary shelters and building fires. The sky above her grew darker, wind blowing stronger now as the leaves on the trees rustled loudly. A cold breeze passed by her and she shivered, clutching her shawl closer against her body. Dolores cupped a hand behind her ear, listening carefully for a familiar voice. There!

"Mirabel!" Dolores quickly rushed over, reaching for her shoulder. Mirabel jumped and turned to smile at Dolores though her enthusiasm quickly dropped when she saw the distressed look on her primas face. Mirabel swiftly grabbed Dolores's arm and guided her to a vacant lot, raising her brows as she silently questioned the woman.

"It's about the soldiers. I heard them mumbling and muttering about something." Mirabel froze, fear swimming around in her pupils.

Mirabel bit the inside of her cheek. "What? What did you hear?" She gripped Dolores's shoulders tightly, urging her to continue. Dolores hesitated for a moment, feeling ill as the horrifying sounds she heard replayed in her mind. The anguished screaming, the deafening sounds of crackling fire-she shut her eyes painfully, taking a deep breath to compose herself.

"I've heard whispers about a conflict, conquistadors maybe?" I think they're ransacking our village, I've heard them crashing through houses." Dolores muttered, watching as Mirabel ran a hand through her hair.

"¿Qué? Conquistadors? What- we haven't heard of those soldiers for years. Why are they suddenly- how did they even-" Dolores watched with worried eyes as Mirabel nervously rubbed her hands together, pacing around the place. She slowly walked towards the girl, engulfing her in a big hug. Mirabel let out a shaky sigh and relaxed against her prima, silently thanking Dolores for the comfort.

Mirabel's head whirled as her brain painfully throbbed. A mix of fury and genuine fear flooded her mind while her eyes were blown wide. She took in deep heavy breathes, trying to not let her fear show even though there was no one judging her for doing so. Her body felt exhausted but she didn't know if she wanted sleep. Tired but not enough to allow herself to rest, not when there were people who needed her. A few moments passed before she broke away from Dolores's embrace, quickly rushing to her feet.

"Dolores. Do you know where tio Bruno is?" Dolores squeaked and tilted her head as she tried to listen for him. A few seconds passed before she quickly nodded her head and pointed behind her. Before she could utter a word, Mirabel quickly rushed off, a determined look plastered on her face. Dolores watched her with a curious gaze, sighing to herself.

"There she goes..."

PART 4

taglist (send an ask to be added, I might not see your comments ;-;):

A/N: Sorry if this is shite, I had a heavy fever and the flue when I wrote this

@dai-tsukki-desu @camilolovesroxiie @whocaresifwearecrazy @alexaizawa @mayuhiideyo135 @rosiefaeriee @mouchie @insomniacwreck @porcelainpeachess @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @xdyledz @cralaaa @thelovehashira143 @herladyfangirl @chayauwu @deffenferofjustice @thesloppiestbitch @childejuicynigfatthickcum @generousdoodleforillustration @moriarty666luna @camilos-mivida @tomiesbitch @azrielxx @afire24 @afluffyboi @troubledwithlife

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Hello doll, it's Minty! 💚 I saw your requests are open and I simply had to dance into your inbox! I would adore a Bad Batch Western AU fix with Crosshair and the sentence prompt "If that wound doesn't kill you, then I will". I love you friend! 💚💛💚💛💚

Crosshair – Dust and Blood (TBB Western AU)

Summary: Every story need a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the beginning, and it starts with a man who calls himself Crosshair.

From the sentence prompts:

22. “If that wound doesn’t kill you, then I will.”

Word Count: ≈1535 words

CW/ TW: Angst? Idk if you could say it’s angsty - it’s not happy that’s for sure but angsty? Idk anyway; western stuff, wounds/ injuries, (death) threats, pain, scars, blood

Tags: @mintywriteswritings @chaoticvampirejedi @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s (thank you again for the help!) @dusk-dawn-and-stars @tacticalsparkles @imalovernotahater @canwestayinthisdream @wakeupjackthisisntfair @namesmox @badbatch-simp24 @lightning-wolffe @maddieskywalker @for-the-love-of-clones @m-e-w-117 @99squad @equalityforcats

@ladykatakuri @firelordillyria @andiebell2023

Notes: This is so exciting for me you can’t even imagine; thank you Minty for the request! I’m really happy to dive a bit more into the stories of the boys, and Crosshair’s arc is one I’m really happy to explore ^^

Also feel free to check Little One – Highly Suspect (you’ll find out a lot of their songs help me dive into that AU)

Dust.

This is how everything started, and how everything would end. He knew it the moment he jumped down his horse, a grimace of pain twisting his face as the dry coat of blood on his ribs ripped open once again. He tried to take a deep breath but stopped halfway, the pumping in his head becoming too strong to focus on anything else. He almost tripped on his feet, grabbing the beige mane of his companion to keep himself up; which made the horse neigh.

“Sorry, pal.” He barely muttered, unable to do more than loosen up his grip a bit.

Above him, an old sign falling into pieces, and a barely readable inscription on it; bleached by the constant exposure to the sun and the occasional rains.

Marauder Valley.

He walked through the entrance of the abandoned village – if one could call it a village – and wandered next to his horse, looking for shelter and a new shirt. His was tainted with red; dark and dried, smelling like iron and sweat. His wound wasn't bleeding too much anymore, but he could still feel a thin dash dripping against his skin when he was turning around or raising his arm.

It took him a few minutes to find the abandoned saloon, and the sight made him hum in a mixture of disgust and relief. A thick coat of dust was laying on the floor, and most of the bottles and tables were left to be; frozen in the middle of their usual occupations. A deck of cards was spread on one of them, and he came closer to take a better look.

Poker. And it was a good hand. Whoever played it knew what they were doing.

The wooden floor was lightly creaking under his feet as he walked around; and hadn’t it be for the few footsteps he was leaving behind, no one could have guessed he came here. He took a small hallway, leading to a few unsanitary rooms – barely big enough for a bed and a chair for most of them – and looked under the beds for a medical wallet or something he could use to patch himself up. His head was spinning a bit, but the clicking of a gun’s chamber and the cold metal tickling the back of his neck felt more important in the moment.

“If that wound doesn’t kill you, then I will.”

He slowly turned around, hands barely raised to show he intended no harm, and came face to face with a lady; probably in her mid-forties, small and chubby, and visibly determined to fulfil her promise.

“I need a doctor.”

“You won’t find any ‘round here.”

“Then a drink will do.” he shrugged, unimpressed.

“We’re going out and get you a drink then.”

She moved the cannon of her gun toward the main room, letting him open the way. He went in with the hope of getting some rest and medicine, and got back outside empty-handed and under the threat of an armed lady; bathed by the burning sunrays of a hot afternoon, in the middle of nowhere.

Nothing had changed during his little visit in the saloon but his state. He tripped on his feet, unable to focus on the stairs and the figure next to him, and fell on his knees next to his horse. The pain was getting worse; stinging and burning, the sensation of warm blood dripping from his open wound and straining his shirt even more; and the headache, the heat, the shivers-

“Alright, sit down.”

He dropped his weight on his behind, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Stay here. And don’t faint!” the woman warned as she walked away from him, disappearing behind the horse. His head felt too heavy, his veins pumping too hard to let him think straight. He let himself lay back against the dusty wooden floor, closing his eyes under the bright light burning above him.

He woke up when cold water splashed his face, making him jolt and grimace in pain.

“ Told you not to faint.”

“I didn’t.” he groaned, trying to sit again, the coat of blood ripping itself a bit as he did.

“Feel like y’can walk?” she looked down at him with a sort of irritated worry. He nodded, grabbing the guardrail to get up, slowly. “Good. Follow me.”

He stumbled a bit, trying to catch up with the woman. He thought he could handle it; he had gone through a lot to get here, and it couldn’t be worse than what he had left behind.

Or maybe it could be.

The loud thud of a body falling on the ground caught the woman’s attention, and as she turned around, a sigh escaped from between her lips.

“Great… Now I have to get the big guy.”

.

Waking up was painful, sudden. His ribs were on fire, his eye stinging – though the light was filtering through old curtains – and the remaining of his headache was still blurring his vision. He didn’t noticed the comfort of the mattress right away, neither the voices filling the room he was in.

“Ha, coming back to us. Told ya ‘t would work.” A deep voice commented in a smile.

“And that?” the woman’s voice asked, and he guessed she was pointing at his wounded ribs. He brushed the tips of his fingers against his own torso, realizing he was bare skin and wrapped in a bandage.

“Can’t do miracles. ‘Have to rest for a few days, go easy with manual tasks for a while.”

He let out a groan when he heard the recommendation, and tried to move his arms to push himself up and sit in the bed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice advised in a laugh, “Unless ya want to open that wound ‘gain.”

He blinked a few times, and managed to see who was talking to him; a man, tall and visibly strong, dressed with dirty clothes and a squared shirt – probably a farmer. A scar was covering the side of his bald head and reached his left eye. The man was neither scary nor impressive, and seemed friendly enough.

He abandoned the idea of sitting, letting go of the light pressure he had put on his elbows and falling down against the mattress. His head gently buried itself in the pillow, and he let out a long, tired sigh.

“Who’re you?” he muttered in his breath, turning his head their way to look at them.

“’Name’s Cid,” the woman told him, “and he’s the big guy.”

“You know that’s not my name.” the man chuckled, and his voice filled the room with warmth and amusement as he looked at Cid.

“Don’t know your name, and couldn’t care less about it.” she shrugged.

“And you are?” the big guy asked, shifting his attention back to him.

He had expected the question, and he knew the simple answer would be to give his name. But he couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore, and his spite told him to go for that one instead. After all, it was “made for him”.

“Crosshair.”

 “Well then, welcome to Marauder Valley Crosshair.” The man smiled at him.

He didn’t feel like returning the gesture, but nodded nonetheless, out of respect and gratitude for their help. He scanned the room, bringing a hand to his face; a light grimace twisting his mouth as he felt the skin stretching on the side of his body.

His fingers ran against his scar around his eye, trying to sooth the stinging pain. It was still recent, bright red, not quite blending in with his warm skintone.

“Well, ‘gotta leave now,” the big guy smiled, grabbing his hat in hand as he walked toward the door, “but if you need anything, I won’t be far.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cid pushed him out of the room, following his steps, “we know. You,” she pointed to Crosshair, “don’t play stupid, stay in bed.”

And on these words, she dragged the door behind her, slamming it before her heeled steps hit the apparent stairs outside the room. Crosshair stared at the door for a moment, contemplating once again getting up, but he was tired, and the bed was comfortable; and these people didn’t seem to want him any harm.

He didn’t seem to want any harm either, right, “Crosshair”?

He groaned faintly at the thought, and his hand dropped from his face to his chest, barely grabbing the thin blanket above him. He was far from him; from them, and now he just needed to sleep the pain away.

Sleep the pain away. Sleep.

Don’t let them get to you. Because they will get to you.

He will find you, you know he will.

They did this to you. They will do worse.

You know that, don’t you, Crosshair?

He let out a frustrated sigh at the thoughts, and slowly turned his head to look at the window. The sun was shining bright behind the curtains, and he could see the dust floating in the rays of light filtering through. It was peaceful.

For now he was safe, far away in a lost, abandoned town, in the middle of nowhere.

For now.

[blossom-hwa]

Lina~ can I request Bomin + Secret Garden?

hi anon! thank you so much for the request :) I took secret garden to mean the title - I apologize if I assumed incorrectly, but I still hope you enjoy this!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

So this is kind of one ending I'm toying around with for Bomin's story in the To Spin a Yarn universe (weaver!au)? It's not set in stone so don't come at me, but it was fun to explore :) You can read what I've posted from the universe here!

~

Title: Secret Garden

Pairing: Bomin x fem!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Triggers: mentions of war

~

"You got my note."

Bomin nods awkwardly, settling on the bench a short distance away. The garden is dark in the night, only the moon and the stars shining faintly on the flowers. "Yes."

You swallow visibly, even in the dark. "Did you think about what I said?"

Did he think about it? Bomin almost laughs. Your words have been practically the only thing he's thought about for the past day, ever since you said them. But that's not what you mean. "I did," he says honestly.

Your fingers, the fingers he watched so effortlessly weave stories into tapestries and clothing, fidget in your lap. "What did you think?"

Bomin stares at the little expanse of stone between the two of you. "I think..." he begins slowly, "I think I understand. Mostly. "

Relief crashes full and heavy on your face, washing away cracks of worry and fear that Bomin didn't even notice before. "Oh," you reply, voice tight with emotion. "Oh, that's... good." You swallow. "Would you mind if I explained myself more?"

The hesitation in your voice makes Bomin want to cry. He wishes things hadn't gone like this, wishes you could speak as comfortably as you two had learned to before the revolution, but now that you have to face the consequences of taking power and changing an entire country... "Please," he says, almost choking over how formal his voice sounds. "Go ahead."

Your fingers fidget some more. "When I said I didn't want to be queen," you begin, "I didn't mean that - that everything I said before was a lie." Your eyes find his, and Bomin sees the desperation in his mirrored in yours. "I didn't want to be queen. I still don't. I'm not fit to rule a country, especially not one that's just undergone a regime change. But that doesn't mean I don't still love you."

It's Bomin's turn for relief to spread through his chest, overwhelming relief that almost sends him to his knees with how strong the wave feels. "Oh," is all he can manage through the tightness in his chest.

"I realized after you left that I didn't word myself well at all." You smile a little sheepishly, fingers curling into your lap. "I don't want to be queen, Bomin, but when I said that, I didn't mean that everything between us was fake. I didn't mean that I didn't want to marry you." You swallow. "I do. But if it means I have to be queen..."

"I understand." The words come easily from his lips, buoyed by the relief of finally not having to tear apart and piece together every little accent and inflection behind what you spoke yesterday. After all, isn't what you feel a little like how he feels about taking a throne stained with so much blood, blood that you were related to? "You know there are ways we can still be together, though, without you having to be queen?"

"I know." Your smile grows smaller as your eyes dip down to the grass under the bench. "But... I don't know. I'm still a little uncomfortable in the palace. And to be honest, I don't really know myself." You look at him again, and Bomin sees how lost you feel in your eyes. "I've spent my whole life in hiding. Now that I can finally live in the open, I think I want to take some time and just try to live. For real. Not in the palace, where eyes will always be watching me."

Bomin can feel his heart cracking, bit by bit, falling to pieces on the grass. He never expected the war to solve all problems immediately - that never happens, even in the best of cases - but hearing you speak, it all just sounds even more real, even more heartbreaking. "I understand." He tries to smile. "I won't ask you to stay, you know. You're free to do what you want."

Your voice is small. "Even... even if you still love me?"

"Y/N." His hands reach out and take yours, closing over them slowly so as to give you all the time you need to pull away. You don't. "It's not selfish to want to find yourself," he says. "Whatever we have between us, it can wait until you know what you want with yourself. That's most important. I'm not going to keep you anywhere against your will just because I want to be near you." He squeezes your hands. "That's not love. What I want most is for you to be happy. When you're happy, I'll be happy, too."

You look down at your joined hands for a very long time. When you finally raise your head again, your lips tremble, but they've curved into the slightest smile. "You truly aren't your parents," you murmur, almost as though you didn't mean for him to hear. Your eyes sparkle. "Thank you, Bomin."

"You're welcome." Smiling comes more easily now. "Do you know what you plan to do?"

"I don't know, really." You shrug a little. "Jangjun and I want to travel a little. See if we can find more weavers and convince them to come out of hiding. I want to build up our art again, maybe get them to weave their experiences. So nothing like this ever has to happen again."

Bomin's heart bursts with pride at your words, the smile on his face growing wider. "I think that's a good plan," he says. "If you ever need help, you know you can ask me or Joochan."

"Right." You smile. "There's one part of that plan, though, that I know for sure."

He raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"

You tangle your fingers together and squeeze once, softly. The warmth of your hands seems to travel into his as you stare into his eyes. "I'll come back, Bomin," you say softly. "I'm not leaving forever. Whatever we decide to do in the future... I'll still come back. To see you again, in this garden." Your smile trembles, but the sparkle of your eyes, Bomin thinks, is even more beautiful than the stars. "If you'll have me."

"Are you kidding?" Bomin laughs. Your eyes crinkle like stars blinking in the night. "Of course I'll have you." He squeezes your fingers. "Always."

It doesn't feel forced when your lips meet under the moon, pressing to each other once, gently, softly. Barely a finger's length separates you when you pull away, eyes sparkling into his. "I love you, Bomin," you whisper. "Remember that."

"I love you too, Y/N." He kisses you once more. "For all time, always."

[bittydragon]

The Borrower of L’Manburg (Pt.2)

Notes: Hey y’all! My friend has got the second part of their story finished, it’s getting good!

Over the last month since your capture, you had gotten used to Schlatt's yelling and chaos on a usual basis. You sure didn't like it, but it's not like you could just ask him to shut up or quiet down. He didn't respect you whatsoever, he hardly even acknowledges your existence anymore- not that you were complaining. Your friendship with Quackity had grown in that time too. You've grown to trust him to carry you with him and take you some places around DreamSMP, though only when he has his suit on so that you can hide in his chest pocket. Neither of you wanted anybody else knowing about you, and you especially didn't want Dream to know about your interactions with humans. You've still kept your mouth shut, refusing to talk about your past to anybody.

In the last week or so, Schlatt and Quackity had been talking a lot about a festival that they were throwing, to 'celebrate democracy' or whatever. You hadn't paid much attention to it since Quackity told you that you probably shouldn't come, and it wasn't like Schlatt would allow him to bring you anyway. So, when the day came, you just tried to sleep through it. Unfortunately, fate has decided against you.

You wake up to the loudest boom you've probably ever heard, followed by lots of people screaming. You can faintly make out Schlatt's maniacal laughter, and a vaguely familiar voice that you can't quite place screaming, "Techno!" That name woke you right up, all the way. You hear the front door open and slam downstairs, and Quackity stumbles up the stairs in a rush.

"Holy shit. Holy shit." He's breathing hard, like he just ran a mile. His eyes are wide and he frantically motions with both his hands. "I saw it. T-Techno. He just-!" He's cut off by the door opening and closing again downstairs. He gasps, almost… scared?

"Oh Quackity! Guess who I got?!" Schlatt takes his time making his way up the stairs, but when he arrives, you gasp in shock. Between his fingers is another person- and he's your size. Schlatt has the back of their shrunken suit between his thumb and index finger, dangling him a block and a half in the air. He seems young, and he has scruffy brown hair. You can see a little bit of blood on his lip.

"That's… That's Tubbo! Be careful with him, he'll get hurt!"

"What do we care? He's a traitor, Quackity!"

"He's still just a kid, man!"

"What's your obsession with keeping these little things safe? Speaking of that…" Schlatt lays his eyes on you, his wicked grin sending a shiver down your spine. "Is this what happened to you?" He jostles Tubbo towards you, almost showing him off. "Did the piggy man get you? Oh no! Poor little 'villager' girl, scared of Technoblade." He pouts his lip and snickers. Your face heats up. What the fuck happened at the festival?

"Knock it off! Just give him to me, I'll take care of them both."

"Nah. I don't trust you with him. He's too important. I'm gonna put him in another box- another Tubbox! Do you like boxes yet, Tubbo?"

The kid looks at you with tears in his eyes, looking scared out of his mind. "H-Help…" he croaks. Before you or Quackity can do anything, Schlatt turns and walks away, not to be seen for the rest of the day.

~

When you wake up the next day, you hear the distant yelling of Schlatt, just like normal. But today didn't feel normal, especially with what happened yesterday. You don't hear Quackity's laughter and joking along with Schlatt like normal. After a little while of not caring to listen to their conversation, you hear striking against the Whitehouse. You tune in, but you can only hear fragments every now and then.

"Stop, dude! Stop! I built this!"

"I'm surrounded by pussies and soyboys! Help me destroy this or get the fuck off my property."

You hear an arrow slide back on a bow, and Schlatt scoff. "You won't do it. You're too much of a bitch." It takes a few moments before the arrow is released, and you cringe at the sound of Schlatt dying. He'll be returning from spawn any minute, and he'll be pissed.

Quackity runs up the stairs a few moments later, scooping you up immediately. "We gotta go, (Y/n)." You yelp in surprise and hug onto his thumb.

"What about Tubbo?" You've been worrying about him since yesterday. 

"I already got him, don't worry!" Quackity holds you close, hiding you against his chest as he moves. He speedwalks out of the partially destroyed house, making his way down the hill behind it and into the forest. When you look up at his face, he looks very upset.

"What's wrong? What happened back there?"

"Schlatt is… such a dick. He- I'm not," he sighs and slips you into his right chest pocket as he walks. "I'm not Vice President anymore. Schlatt was tearing down the Whitehouse and I tried to stop him. He just used me to get into power." You stay silent and slump down into his pocket, letting him talk. Quackity paces among the trees for a moment before turning back around and heading towards Manburg. "Should I even go back? Should I even fucking go back, man? Because… I don't even know anymore. I shot him."

Suddenly he freezes, and you can feel his body tense up. "Oh, fuck!" He takes off sprinting away from Manburg again, trying to keep his suit jacket steady, and you can hear the hooves of a horse running closer. You press your hands against the sides of the pockets to stop yourself from flying all over the place. "Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! Ohoho shit!" He starts hiding behind trees. The horse slows down to a stop, and Quackity peaks out from behind the tree. "Take it off. All of it." You hear the clanking of armour being dropped on the ground.

"Why… Why did you just run off- Why are you in the woods, Big Q?" It's the same familiar voice as yesterday.

"Tommy…!" You hear a muffled voice whisper from the other side of Quackity's jacket, the left side chest pocket. That must be where Tubbo is.

"Uh… I… live here." They both pause and laugh lightly. "Listen, Tommy, we gotta talk." Quackity steps out all the way from behind the tree. You're not sure if you want to risk peaking out yet, but you figure you might as well just to see. You just barely peak your head up, only your eyes are visible over the pocket fabric.

"It's been a while, Mr. Vice President." The familiar voice, Tommy, looks about as young as Tubbo. He has blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"No, no, not Vice President anymore." He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles somberly. "Schlatt's an asshole. He's taking down the Whitehouse and going fucking power crazy."

"What are you saying, Big Q?"

"I wanna overthrow Schlatt. Maybe we can... work together or something…" Quackity mumbles.

"I mean, how do I know this isn't a setup?" Tommy glares.

You hear rustling as Quackity digs out a cloth from his left pocket, in which is holding Tubbo. "I-I brought Tubbo."

Tommy tilts his head, then looks around the forest. "Where is he then?" Quackity offers him the cloth.

"Tommy! I'm right here!"

Tommy's eyes widen and his jaw drops when he sees Tubbo. "W-What…?" He clenches his jaw and glares at Quackity, pulling out his netherite sword. "What the hell! What did you do to him?!" Tommy screeches, causing you and Tubbo both to cover your ears simultaneously. This kid is loud.

"I didn't do anything! I swear!"

Tommy sheaths his sword, and takes Tubbo in the cloth. "Tubbo, Jesus Christ man! Are you okay?" You see Tubbo look back and catch your eyes, then look back at Tommy.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Quackity kept me safe." Tubbo stutters. Tommy gives Quackity a nod in thanks.

"So… can we join Pogtopia?"

"'We?' Who else?"

Quackity looks down at you, and you hesitantly give him a nod of approval, closing your eyes as his hand comes straight at you. He pulls you out with cupped hands to show Tommy. "This is (Y/n). Schlatt captured her about a month ago."

You slink backwards as Tommy flips his shit, but keeps careful with Tubbo. "What the fuck! How is this happening to people?! Oh my god, it's a woman! Who is she?! I've never even seen her before!"

"She's told us that she was a villager."

"That looks nothing like a villager! Villagers are ugly!" Tommy laughs, making you giggle. 'I mean, that's fair.'

"That's not nice!" Tubbo scolds, then looks at you and smiles. "Hi!" You wave back at him with a smile.

"So, can we join you?"

"Okay, okay, fine. Follow me, Big Q."

Quackity stores you back in his pocket as Tommy puts his armor back on, and Tommy just keeps Tubbo in his hands as he and Quackity walk and talk. They laugh and joke like they're old friends. You have your head peaking out the whole way there, surveying the land. You've never seen this many trees pass by you so fast. By the time you arrive, the moon has risen and all the stars are out. Tommy breaks two blocks, revealing a little hidey hole in the wall with barely enough room for three humans.

"What? This is Pogtopia? This is-"

"No, shut up! Down this stairway." Tommy leads Quackity down a two by two spiral staircase, right down into a giant ravine. Quackity gasps.

"Holy shit, Tommy! Is this Pogtopia?" He looks around in wonder, as do you. The ravine is decorated with lamps and extinguished campfires, and it actually feels somewhat homely. 

"Yeah! Here, let me make a little space for Tubbo and then I'll show you around while we talk."

"Can we make a small room for Tubbo and (Y/n)? We can give them time to talk, too." You nod in agreement with Quackity, Tubbo probably needs some explanation.

"Yeah, yeah!" Tommy hands Quackity a diamond pickaxe, and they mine out a space about the same size as the room up the staircase, and Tommy places down two beds. He gently places Tubbo down in the middle of them, and Quackity reaches his hand in the pocket and plucks you out, thumb and index finger holding your sides.

"Here, you can probably explain everything to Tubbo, right (Y/n)?" He sets you down next to him on the beds.

You nod. "I-I'll do my best!" Tommy and Quackity walk out, and you wait until you hear their footsteps fade. You turn to Tubbo and sit down crisscrossed. "Are you okay? This must be difficult and weird."

"Y-Yeah… I'm doing alright. Just… processing everything." He fiddles with the cloth that he still has from Quackity.

"It was Technoblade, right?"

Tubbo nods. "I was just so confused. Wilbur told me he was on our side! And… Why didn't he just kill me? I would've respawned!" He sighs, frustrated.

"Wait, what? Technoblade is on your side? Is he here?!" You look around frantically.

"Well, I don't think so, not right now." He tilts his head in confusion of your panicked state. "Why? What's wrong with Technoblade?"

"He did this to me, too! He also… he killed my p-" You freeze at the sound of a new pair of footsteps, coming from somewhere close outside the ravine. They pass right by, all you can see is a raggedy trench coat flash by before heading up the stairs. You wait until you can no longer hear anything anymore. "N-Nevermind that."

Tubbo gives you a worried look. "Okay, I won't press you on it, I guess. But we are in this together, you know? We're in the same boat!" He smiles at you, reassuringly, and you nod with the same smile. You decide to change the subject.

"Your accent," you realize, "you're from L'manburg, aren't you? Tommy as well?"

"Yes! How do you know about that?" His eyes sparkle in excitement.

"I used to live there!" You smile at all the memories you have from your time living there, while messing with the blanket below you. "It was far after I got shrunk. I moved in after the war, I thought it would be safe for a while. Not long enough, apparently."

"That's awesome! I didn't even know you were there! You must be really good at hiding!"

"Not so much at running, though, since I got caught!" You laugh. The two of you joke and share stories until you hear three pairs of footsteps from above, coming down the stairs. You recognize one as Quackity, and figure that one of the other two must be Tommy. Speak of the devil, you hear the kid's voice.

"Okay, Wilbur, you can't freak out at this okay? Just… be calm!" Wilbur? You swear you've heard that name before. Oh, wait, shit. From Schlatt. You had almost forgotten through all the chaos today.

"That's a lot coming from you, Tommy!" Another man with a L'manburg accent quips as the three draw closer to the bottom of the stairs. You move closer to Tubbo just for the sake of feeling some sense of security. Tubbo, on the other hand, gasps in excitement.

"Wilbur!" He whispers to you.

Quackity walks in the room first, checking on you and Tubbo before motioning for Tommy and Wilbur to come in. You notice the raggedy trench coat Wilbur is wearing before watching his eyes widen and his jaw drop.

"Wh- Tubbo?! Is that Tubbo?!" Wilbur grabs Tommy's arm, but keeps his eyes on you two. "What the fuck happened? What is this?"

"Yes, that's Tubbo! He's been… uh… smallified!" Tommy makes up a word, making Quackity laugh, but Quackity stops when Wilbur shoots him an icey glare. Wilbur carefully makes his way over to the bedside, causing you to hide behind the cloth from Quackity. He pays no attention to you, however.

"Tubbo, what the fuck did Schlatt do to you?" You can see a flame in his eyes that seems to be intensifying by what he sees in front of him now.

"No, no, he didn't do this to me." Wilbur raises an eyebrow, sparing you a quick glance that you would've missed if you had blinked. "He really didn't! He just… took advantage of the situation." Tubbo looks down nervously.

"Well, what the hell happened then?"

"Well, it all started when you lost the election, and-"

"Tubbo, who did this to you, god damnit?"

"Technoblade!" He squeaks out.

"What the fuck? That bastard!" Tommy fumes. "Big Q, you didn't tell me that!"

"Well-!"

"Shut up, everyone," Wilbur commands as he stands up, "We'll talk to Techno about this when we see him. I haven't seen him in a while and I have no idea when we'll see him again, that's just how he is. So for now, that's a problem for future us." He looks at the other humans, and points at Quackity. "Quackity, you need to get to work on plan A. You know what'll happen if it fails, so make it work." He pushes past the two, and his trench coat flaps behind him as he walks out of the room.

Tommy and Quackity wait until they hear him get all the way up the stairs, then look at each other.

"He's lost it!"

"Oh yeah, he's gone completely nuts."

[crystalirises]

Everything for Nothing

Hi FwT :)

I missed you :)

But anyway... have this fic... 

Archive link (the fic is also on this post):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/71511123#workskin

TW: Major Character Death

Dream gazed at the ruins of New L’Manburg, water trickling past the rocks and pebbles that decorated the crater of a nation that will never win. He could hear their screams in the distance, the fruitless arguments for a war that’s already won. Dream didn’t understand why they tried so hard to fight for nothing, really. With his mask concealing the smirk on his face, he skipped and danced through the remains, waving to the survivors that glared or screamed at him as if he were a demon borne from The Nether. He relished in that, soon they’d understand why he’d done this. For now, he had to play the role of the tyrannical god, the man who takes and takes until that’s left is the memory of broken dreams and discs. He came to a stop, perching on top of a rock that gave him a clear glimpse of the area. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel some semblance of giddiness, of amusement at the thought of everything they loved… gone. Just. Like. That.

He chuckled beneath his breath, turning to see a familiar yellow sweater amongst the grey and black of the rocks. Ghostbur. The most pitiful of them all, really. To be dead yet remain to suffer.

Dream slid down, pebbles skittering past his feet as he landed a few feet beside the ghost. Perhaps the landscape of destruction would bring the real Wilbur back, not this husk of sorrow.

The ghost flitted about, hand wringing in front of him as a trail of phantom blood poured from the fatal wound in his chest. His eyes were the size of pinpricks, his form flickering in and out of view as though he were returning to the afterlife and merely holding onto the physical realm. Dream watched it all with a morbid curiosity, a faint smile on his face as the ghost finally settled to a jarring stop, peering down at a crater in the ground. Dream glanced at the reddening sky, the sun disappearing in the distance as a hint of night began to take over. There was nothing left here. Not for him, and certainly not for the L’Manburgians. He shook his head, turning to leave.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the silence, too guttural to be human and too close to be anyone else but一 Dream turned on his heels, coming to a stop beside Ghostbur who had fallen into hysterics. Trails of blue seeped from the ghost’s fingertips, staining the bottom of the crater with their hue as Ghostbur tried to keep his fractured mind together. Dream would have laughed… if he hadn’t noticed the blood - actual blood puddling beneath a familiar body. He felt his heart stutter to a stop, the wind knocked from his lungs as the world turned to static. The shrieking fell away, everything fell away as Dream’s gaze turned to fix itself on dirt-stained ginger hair. His hands began to shake, his own horror rising in his throat as he jumped into the crater, begging the gods that he would be wrong in his assumption. There’s no way… There’s no fucking way. He felt sick, slipping against the freshly stained blood on the ground. Please, no一

Fundy’s skin was cold to the touch, his eyes staring forlornly into the sky… dead to the world. Wounds littered every part of him, one of his legs covered in bruises and disgustingly bent out of shape. His clothes were torn and singed, the hat he used to proudly wear gone as if he had lost it at some point . Dream held onto the fox hybrid’s shoulders, horrified by the soft and contented smile on his beloved’s face. It terrified him more than Fundy’s current state. He died… happy?

“S-star?” He pressed a hand against that too still cheek, spots of dried tears still visible against Fundy’s deadly pale skin. Dream felt a shaky breath escape his throat, a choked sound as he scrambled to tear away his porcelain mask. He could faintly hear the soft crunch of footsteps from above, his cries harmonizing with the ongoing wail of a heartbroken father. “Fundy一 You can’t be… I’M RIGHT HERE! LOOK AT ME! YOU CAN’T DIE LIKE THIS! Fundy… star...”

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Fundy had two lives, where did he一 Dream gripped his husband’s (gods, did he have the right to call him that?) body closer, sobs wracking through him as rage filled his mind. Fundy had two lives. He did, Dream had checked everyday... except for these past few days where he had been occupied in preparing for New L’Manburg’s destruction.

Dream felt the chill of rain against his back, the falling of night basking the land in darkness. He could wait. For now, he grieves. Dream buried his face into Fundy’s chest, the heart he’d once so cared for dearly, silenced. Its melody never to play again. He hated that damned smile on his star’s face, that acceptance of death as if he didn’t care for those he’d leave behind. Dream pressed a kiss against the fox hybrid’s cold lips, what once was sweet now tasted of poison and regret. “Don’t leave me. I never even got to say goodbye. Never told you how much I loved一”

Their marriage had been strained, they both knew that ever since Dream had told the world that he cared for nothing but some child’s discs. Dream pressed a kiss against Fundy’s matted ginger curls, their shine gone as if Death chose to take everything that Dream adored. Their relationship wouldn’t die with Fundy, it died a long time ago when Dream chose power over love.

“I remember our wedding. You looked so lovely that I forgot my own wedding vows.” Dream stared into those dull gold-speckled brown eyes, “You were so nervous, twitchy and scared…”

Fundy had held his breath then when all Dream could muster was a short vow of his love, not knowing that Dream had lost himself in the memories they shared. It hadn’t been fair to cut it short, hadn’t been right to sound so hesitant when Dream had spent the previous night tossing and turning in anticipation of their marriage. “I should have told you how much I loved you.”

Dream wiped away the tears that dripped from his cheeks. What right did he have to mourn a man who’d long since despised him? “I should have loved you more than what I gave you.”

He clasped a hand over Fundy’s, a glimpse of yellow at the edge of his periphery as the wailing sobs of a ghost rang in his ear. “I spent hours on my vows, and I never got to tell them. It seems ironic to say now, but I owe it to you... Fundy, I thought I was incapable of a love so pure. I knew love, but not the one you gave to me oh so freely. You showed a heartless man how to love.”

He could eyes glaring at him from the darkness, their battered and exhausted audience no doubt ready to strike the moment he’d so much as move. Dream won’t let them stop him, it was not his final time to lose yet… not when a life he held dear has been lost. “I tried to dissuade you at the start, to turn you down before you’d realize just how unlovable I really was. You insisted with date after date, refusing to give up even after everything I did. At the previous war, the 16th war, I thought you’d finally leave. But you didn’t. If I were to be real, and I want to be real, I fell for you after the fifth date. No, I loved you before then. It scared me, everyday with you. Some days when we’d fall asleep in each others’ arms, I feared the day, feared you’d leave come morning.”

The sleepless nights where he’d lay awake in fear that Fundy would leave him alone and wanting in the morning… he never did. “You never left… You never would, and I’m sorry I can’t say the same. I worried a lot about you leaving me that I never thought that I’d be the one leaving you.”

Dream took a shaky breath, lifting Fundy’s hand to his lips, the wedding ring shining brightly against Fundy’s cold dead fingers. “For whatever it’s worth… I am honored to have met you. To have been loved by you.”

With his free hand, Dream slowly closed Fundy’s eyes. If he pretended, it almost felt as if Fundy was sleeping. Gods only knew how many hours Dream memorized his beloved’s sleeping face, and he knew it was never this peaceful. For only in death could Fundy ever really feel peace.

“I’m happy to be… to have been your husband, though I was never the greatest. If I could, I would do anything to wake up beside you again… for just one last morning.” He held back a choked sob, letting his tears fall for everyone to see. “I love you. I loved you so… but I guess…”

Dream smiled, broken and lost, “It was never meant to be.”

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Fundywastaken continues to break my heart. It is only right that I retaliate. But ye... hope you guys like this and... bye! :DDD

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Poisoning, Poison, Heist gone wrong, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Rita defiantly has ADHD, Nonbinary Juno Steel, crime against crime itself, No Beta, we die like the friends of Sasha Wire, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, The Penumbra Podcast, TPP, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe Summary:

After Nureyev get's poisoned on a mission, he's determined to see it to it's completion. He and Juno make quite the team after all.

Chapter 2

Babe-" his brow knitted together as someone shook him gently. "Babe, time to wake up." The touch was so tender- and yet it set his head off hammering.  

Nureyev groaned, hiding his face in the nook of Juno’s neck. A few more minutes in bed wouldn’t hurt.

“Come on Ransom, we’re home.” There was a hand running through his hair he leaned into the touch.  Juno’s words caught up with his mind, we’re home. More importantly, they weren’t alone.

Nureyev’s eyes flew open and locked onto Jet, his expression unreadable. This was not their bedroom aboard the Carte Blanche, this was the hanger, the Ruby; and once again, he was making a scene in front of Jet. Confound it all.  

He unfurled best he could, breath catching with the unexpected wave of nausea. His hand pressed to his corset front so that he nearly fell back into Juno.  

“Babe?” Through the thick molasses of thought, Nureyev dragged his attention back to the Detective.  

“Hmm?” His voice came small and weak, even to his own ears. Still he was determined to project some semblance of normalcy. He forced leadend limbs to extricate himself from the Ruby, Juno right behind.  

“The Big Guy has something to say.” The Detective jerked his head towards Jet, his pearl earrings dancing in the light.  

“Indeed-” he turned to Nureyev, an extra crease forming in his brow “First, are you alright Ransom? You do not look well.” the Ruby whistled as if in agreement.

Nureyev hummed “Nothing a little rest won’t help-” he rubbed absently at his throat, sure that bruises had made themselves visible. “What- were you going to say?”

“Buddy set the family meeting to take place in one hour's time.” Jet explained. “As we could not hear you during the mission, there are details we require about Mx. Balsa and-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Big Guy, we know how the Family Meetings go by now.” Juno cut in hand on hip.

“I find it beneficial to go over procedures to ensure quality performance.”

“Okay, yeah. Guess that makes sense, but-”

There was an explosion that shook the entirety of the carte blanche, nearly toppling Nureyev. Half formed thoughts of security and debt collectors flashed through his mind.    

Were they there?  We're they coming for him?

Before they could so much as ask a question, Rita started to wail and Vespa cursed loudly from the direction of the kitchen. Jet excused himself and went to investigate leaving the pair alone with the Ruby.

“The hell was that?” Juno was tense, every muscle in his being straining towards the commotion.  His goddess was ever the curious one.  The scene was enough to make Nureyev smile.

“Oh go on Juno- she may require- your services.”

Juno’s head whipped back to face him, the pearl earrings flashing in the warm light. “But what about you?”

“Me? Why I’ll be fine- Detective.”

His eye was large, soft and unsure. He so wanted to check on his friend and yet, was plainly reluctant to leave Nureyev’s side

“But-”

“We can play doctor later. For now- go-”

That seemed to do the trick. He flushed prettily at that, “Well, if you’re sure-”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” he turned and Nureyev could hear him muttering under his breath “Damnit Rita- If this is another one of your snacks I swear-” before disappearing from sight.  

Fine, as it turned out, may have been an overstatement.

As soon as Juno left, he realized just how unwell he felt. He'd half a mind to call the Detective back, or call Vespa-  

Vespa-

His head throbbed at the thought of having to see her in such a state. No, a good lie down should surface.

Nureyev wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it back to his room. He felt heavier and heavier with each foot fall, each movement becoming more of a labor. Pain flared at his core, tripping him up. He fell hard into the wall smacking his temple hard enough to see stars.  

Get a grip on yourself, he chastised, frustration flashing bright and hot within. He hissed as his stomach lurched, acrid saliva rushing to pool in his mouth. Reflexively, he pressed a hand flat to his stomach, trying to breathe through it. Now he was just being foolish. All that he could do was will himself to not be sick.  

Then where would you be- he shook himself glancing up. Still the corridor stretched out long and treacherous. Unyielding in it it's length and tedium.  

There was nothing for it but to tredge on.

The closer he got to his room the greater the pain in his abdomen. He leaned on his door and put in the security code with shaking hands. Sweat trickling down his face, his back, plastering the finery to skin.  

A fresh stab of pain slammed into Nureyev just as the door swooshed open. He toppled in, the world blurring in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color. It was as though he was in a Martian teleporter again, careening through space and matter, no discernable surroundings, just the fall. He flailed. An eternity later his knees hit hard into the sea of debris masking the floor.  

What just happened? He was left to wonder, face pressed into a pile of clothes. Gasping, he attempted to pull himself upright but he couldn’t manage. It didn't make sense! Arms strong enough to scale a building should not feel so weak, so very hard to support- as though bone had been replaced with cast iron.  

Nureyev shifted, trying again to sit, maybe get to his bed, his comms- pain ripped through him. This time he couldn't hold back the strangled yell as he convulsed around his middle.  

Somewhere, in the back of his mind he realized he could die like this, and there would be nothing he could do.

He sent a silent apology to Juno.

"The Thief still isn't here-" growled Vespa.

"Yeah, I know." Said Juno. It wasn't like Nureyev to be late, especially to something scheduled by the Buddy Aurinko.  

"So what could be taking him so damn long Steel."

"Well I'd say it's the sabotage plan Vespa, I hear those are pretty lengthy."

"Oh very funny!"

"Look, I know about as much as you do okay?" Juno shot back, irritation getting the better of him. Okay, so the man didn't give them a name, why the hell did they have to continue to gang up on him? "Last thing he told me before Rita's microwave mishap-"

"It said microwavable on the tin Boss!"

"Yes but you have to take it out before you- god, Okay, look, not the point! Ransom said he wasn't feeling well and wanted a nap before the meeting."

"You are thinking he fell asleep like he did in the Ruby." Jet added thoughtfully while Rita wove elaborate braids into his hair and trimmed away the singed ends.

"Mista Ransom ain't feeling well? You should give him a kiss and make him feel better Mista Steel. Oh! Like in Jovian Princess! Lights Out, where the beautiful princess is awakened from her slumber of a thousand years by the other princess from a warring kingdom! And-"

"Rita dear, you bring up a fine point." Buddy interjected smoothly, "Pete's not here and the only one who can tell us why is Pete. And seeing as he made up a significant part of the heist-"

Juno knew where this was going and was already half out of his seat "I'll get him."

"Thank you darling." Buddy smiled.  

The door to Nureyev's room was, predictably, closed. Juno knocked "Babe? You in there?"

No reply.

Frowning he tried again "Babe?"

Nothing.

"I'm coming in."

The doors swooshed open to reveal the environmental hazard that was his boyfriend's room. The bed was empty, if you didn't count crumpled paper, and mounds of equipment and clothes. Hell, the man could use a few cleaning tips-

He spotted a molded plate of- something-

Or an encyclopedia...

He cast his eye about, trying to make sence of the "I-Spy" chaos of the room, before giving up to look elsewhere when he spotted a leg in the mess.

"Nureyev!" Juno couldn't help but call out fear spiking in his chest. The man was lying on his side, curled up around his middle, racked in tremors. Tangled in the mess around him enough to be camouflaged.  "Nureyev! Hey, hey hey babe-'' he dove to his side, carefully rolling him up into his arms. He whimpered faintly, protesting the movement. "I'm here, what's wrong?"

Tenderly, Juno smoothed back the hair sticking to his clammy brow. Hell, why was he so cold?

"Ju-no-" normally, Juno loved the way Nureyev said his name. As though it were a damned love language all its own.  But now it was a small broken thing as though he'd put all his strength into it. As though he were surprised Juno was there at all. He was looking at him with those eyes again, but the brightness was…. strange- glassy. It was taking him too long to focus. "Ju-no-" his chest stuttered "I- ugh-" he collapsed further in on himself, face contorting in pain. All this took seconds, but might as well have been an eternity.  

"Nureyev! Come on babe, don't do that!" Juno's mind spun wildly. He wasn’t dealing with some mask now, not Rex Glass, or Duke Rose, not even Peter Ransom. No, this was Peter Nureyev striped bare- and he was in serious pain. The man keened in a way that was so very wrong for him. The sound was barely above a whisper yet cut Juno to his core.  

“H-hurts-”

“I-I know babe, just- just give me a sec- Just-”

That's when he saw it, the odd discoloration of Nureyev's lips. He'd missed at first because of the faint pigment that clung to his features. His words of a few hours ago came floating back 'just a tad under the weather... something I drank…'

He had told him.  

Hours ago.  

He had told him hours ago and Juno had done nothing.  

Steel you goddamned idiot! He scrambled for his comms, murmuring assurance to his thief as he went, trying to ease him back open. He couldn't squash the rising panic now.

"Steel, what the hell-"

"We need help! Vespa- please!" Nureyev stilled again, his chest working overtime, producing short, shallow bursts of air. Arm wrapped over the corsets front.  

Goddamned it! His corset!

Juno swore loudly into the comms, tossing them down on speaker, "I went looking for him, and, Christ-" his hand slipped on a fastening, slicing deep into his palm. Why were these clasps so hard do undoo? "H-h-he's sick Vespa, really sick. Dammit I- I think he was poisoned-"

“Poisoned?” Even through the fear fogging his brain he could hear the scrape of chairs and pounding feet. “What do you mean by that Steel?”

“Poisoned! You know, when something gets into your body that isn’t supposed-” Nureyev’s hand closed around his wrist, shocking him out of the pointless rant. As if trying to stop Juno from undoing more of the fastenings. “It’s gotta come off babe-”

“Nn-no-” he choked out.

"You need to breathe Ransom-" he said, easily breaking his grip. That too was wrong but there wasn't time for that. Nureyev curled with each fastener undone, gasping and trembling. It was hard for Juno to not feel like the worst girlfriend in the Galaxy.  

"Course I know what poisoning is!" Vespa snapped "what I don't know is how the hell did he manage to get himself poisoned."

At some point Nureyev had turned into Juno, a hand tangling in his shirt, the other clamped around his stomach as tightly as he could manage. The movements were odd clumsy things that lacked his usual precision, his grace.

He was quite then, an eerie silence that spoke of years of hidden spaces and dangerous places. Normally he'd be trying to be as useful to Vespa as possible, filling her in on the necessary details. But not now.  

Juno hated that more than anything else.

"The mission. There was some sort of stupid test- a-a-and he told me not to drink it! Damnit it! He told me! I-I never even thought that he might of-"

“Cool it Steel.” Vespa cut in, not unkindly. “I’m getting the Med Bay setup. You gonna bring him to us, or should I send the gurney?”

Nureyev was long, lean and wiry. Not the easiest person to move around but Juno managed it before. Admittedly, those were more entertaining moments, but the presidents still stands.

“I’ll bring him.”

“Great. Move the thief, and I’ll be ready for you.” at any other time that may have sounded like a threat, but now it sounded like the most reassuring thing he’s ever heard.  

All he had to do was move Nureyev, he could do that.  

Juno glanced down at the man holding onto him like a lifeline, his face tucked into the popped collar of his coat. He hadn’t even taken it off. God-

Carefully, Juno shifted him, Nureyev hissed, pressing closer.  

What was he supposed to do with that? Juno took a deep steading breath of his own, running his fingers through Nureyev’s damp locks in what he hoped to be a comforting manor.  

“Okay babe, we’re going to have to move you” perhaps telling him would make it easier. He tried again, sweeping his arm behind his shoulders and lifting. Only for his foot to catch on the coat trane, he tripped shaking the nameless thief something fierce-

Nureyev cried out at the jostling- folding so that his gangly form nearly slipped through Juno's grasp. They just made it to the bed before his hold broke. The Thief spilled onto the unmade covers, holding his stomach, eyes squeezed shut. Breathing, just, breathing.  

Juno knew that look. And Dammit he was the one that put that look there. After he swore to himself that he’d never hurt him again.  

Nope, no, ugh-ah, no way in hell could he do this- He’d have to call for a stretcher after all.

“You comin some time this century, Steel?”

How long had they been there? “I- it’s hurting him.”

“Jesus Steel! Better pain than death!”

"But-" his brain caught up to his mouth, "yeah-" what the hell was wrong with him? He'd try again but first the coat had to go.

The Detective essed an arm over his shoulders before gathering the rest of the thief. Long limbs sitting strangely in the Lady's hold. There was a lot to manage, but manage, Juno did. It got easier after the hell scape of Nureyev's room.  

Nureyev's head lolled against Juno's neck, as though he couldn't support its weight.

"Hang on babe." Juno wheezed "just- for me, please-"

His lungs were tight and his legs burned, his burden heavier with each step, but it hardly mattered, they were nearly there now-

"Vespa!" He shouted, he'd forgotten the comms, "I got him!"

"Bout damn time! A Rengian sea slug could of moved faster!" She said, all the same indicating the operating table.

Juno had to raise up on tip toe to clear Nureyev onto the bedding. The man fell away with a piteous groan, fingers digging into the ruined shirt front.

"I know Babe, I know- We are having you looked at though."

That didn't seem to calm him down, if anything he became more distressed. Tried to raise himself up, move his legs, only to collapse back.

"Babe- babe come on-"” at a loss, Juno cupped Nureyev’s face in one hand, while the other was planted firmly on the man’s chest, mirroring the frantic dance of his own crappy lungs. “Ransom- babe, you’re- okay now”

“Jun-no- I don' feel- well-” it looked like it was hard for him to say, and not just because the words came out heavily accented and slurred.

“I know babe, Vespa is on it.”

"Vess-pa?" He glanced over, eyes widening at the acid green.

"Yeah Ransom, it's me."

Was it his imagination? Or did Nureyev seem to recoil? Shrinking in on himself as though trying to protect vitals.  

"Ransom, hey hey hey-" he tried to refocus him.  

"Hold 'im steady, I need a blood sample."

"Rr-right." He said, pressing Nureyev back into the covers. The man offered no resistance and Juno was left anxiously thumbing his cheek while the deed was done.

Vespa pushed him out of the way after that, cursing at her inspection of the thief and kept barking questions Juno's direction like:

"When did he get poisoned?” and “How much did he take?” and “What symptoms did the thief present?”

There were only a few questions Juno was equipped to answer. The mounting unknowns were only adding to his pile of worry. God, if Nureyev dies because he wasn’t paying attention- dies because he hadn't watched him more? Or at the very least got him checked out after puking his guts out in an ally.  

The man had been poisoned right in front of him and Juno hadn’t noticed.  

The man had been poisoned right in front of him and hadn’t thought to tell Juno-

Juno couldn't help but wonder why?  

Vespa cut away Nureyev's shirt, exposing the narrow muscled frame and the delicate criss cross of scars.  The ones he didn't bother remove.

Weren't they partners?  

She attached wireless monitors over his heart, his pulse points. Getting Juno to help clear away the rags.

Did he still not trust him?  

There was more swearing as their resident doc looked at the blood readings, already plugging something into the system. Christ, he was useless with computers, but even he knew that heartbeat was weak.

He couldn't help feel as though he were useless to Nureyev too-

Then he noticed it- Nureyev's chest had stopped moving.  

"Vespa!" He called out fear clawing at his insides. To her credit, she saw it right away.

"Goddamn it thief! I'm not done with you yet!" Rather than trying to get his lungs working again, she tore into her supplies with the care and ferocity of a sewer rabbit navigating it's tunnels. Everything remained impeccably organized, if a little man handled. The monitor started to sound urgently.

"There-" she said in triumph, holding out a large vial.

He couldn't understand what the big deal was-. Too preoccupied with the still form Infront of him.  "Vespa, he's not-"

"It's liquid oxygen moron," she said, filling a syringe "this way we have time to intubate."

"Intubate?" That was- serious- hell, Juno had it done before and the weeks of respiratory therapy were enough of a deterrent to avoid a third encounter-

Well, as much as someone in his line of work could-

The needle was worked into Nureyev's arm, and the contents released. The monitor began to calm down, but Vespa didn't slow.  

"You need to leave Steel." She growled. "Now."

He looked at her incredulous, how the hell did she think that he could leave at a time like this? He was about to say as much too when she elaborated

"You don't want to see this."

"But"

"I Said Out! I can't babysit you both!"

It might as well have been a knife to the gut. Juno took one glance more at Nureyev, frozen on the table, and walked out.

(Thank you for reading <3  Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated)

[cherryjuicegf]

Geraskier prompt 💜🥰

(5+1) 5 times Geralt showed Jaskier he loves him +1 time he actually said it out loud (geraskier-trashh)

thank you so much for the prompt, i hope you enjoy! 💕

i.

If Jaskier was in the mood of reciting poetry right now, he would definitely say something about how the soles of his boots had become one with the ground to the point he sometimes wondered if he actually wore shoes. They had been walking all day, barely stopping for ten minutes before they set off again. He dared not speak, he knew they had to reach the next town without any delay, they were really out of supplies now and Geralt wouldn't put up with another night under the stars just because he couldn't move his feet. Well, it was not just because. But he knew better than to whine for the hundredth time that day, realizing he was wasting his saliva.

That did not stop him from grunting though. And if he had to be honest, he didn't grunt to get on Geralt's nerves, although he knew he had succeeded at that with flying colours. But he was tired. Really tired.

At least Geralt was walking beside him. At least. Otherwise he would collapse just by looking at him resting on Roach's back while he was dragging his feet on the ground.

The sun had almost set.

"Are we there yet?" That was the question he concluded to after another choir of grunts and sighs accompanied by a lively performance of stumbling every five minutes. When Geralt didn't answer he took the chance to sigh once more, for the drama of it all.

And then Geralt stopped. Turned at him, and Jaskier knew perfectly well that look of utter indignation. And waited to be sweared at, smiling to himself. Only that Geralt's expression wasn't that of a man ready to swear.

"Get on Roach."

Jaskier was persuaded he heard wrong and didn't bother to move an inch. But then Geralt pushed him forward with a sigh that was almost fond. "Go on."

"Um... Are you–"

"Last chance."

He'd be a fool to miss it. So he climbed Roach as the mare snorted and wiggled her tail and he stroked her neck with an endearment. They went on. He glanced at Geralt. Didn't wait to receive a glance in return though. He just smiled.

Geralt didn't look back. "Don't get asleep up there," he said, even though he didn't mean it, and when he heard a whispered *thank you* that was almost lost with the wind, he hummed.

ii.

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Why, thank you." Jaskier pouted and hissed silently as Geralt cleaned the blood off his bruised cheek with a wet cloth. He knew he had no right to complain now, particularly when Geralt was rather gentle with his movements, albeit the annoyance in his eyes. Yet he would burst if he didn't say anything. "You're not less of an idiot yourself." Geralt opened his eyes wide and stareed at him, making it really hard for him to hold back his laughter. "Excuse me, dear witcher," he snorted, "were you not the one who said you didn't care about what sort of trouble I got myself in from now on? You were, yes, yes, you were. So you had no business dragging me from the fight, as you have no business tending to my cheek right now. Right?"

"Shut up, Jaskier." Geralt pressed the cloth on the bard's cheek ever so slightly, just to receive another his and Jaskier getting his tongue out at him. He hid a smile. "You'd be beaten up in an alley had I not been there."

"Aww, you sweet soul," Jaskier chuckled and had no intention of regretting it although the witcher glared at him. He squinted in thought for a moment, then grinned. "Ohh, I see."

Geralt grimaced. "You see, huh?"

"Yes, I see. You don't want me to get beaten up, is that right? You don't like it, no matter how you tease about it. I know now. You wouldn't let anyone hurt me, Geralt. You love me too much to do that. You would never."

Geralt halted for a second, his hand hovering above Jaskier's cheek. Thought of raising his look but he glanced to the side instead, swallowed. Then went on cleaning the last of the blood.

No sound was heard for a couple of minutes. Paradoxically. He finished applying a salve on the bard's cheek and stood up without turning to look at him.

The air felt a bit heavy.

"Geralt." Jaskier didn't wait for the witcher to answer and the hum he received almost made him choke on his words. "You wouldn't, would you?"

He saw Geralt freezing for a moment, then his breath hitched. He turned around and Jaskier would lie if he said he had seen his eyes soft like that before. Geralt shook his head lightly. "No, I wouldn't."

I love you too much for that.

He stayed silent. The grin he saw on Jaskier's face was enough.

iii.

Geralt returned to the camp to see Jaskier's head hidden in the saddlebags, cursing in a language he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard before. The bard revealed himself with an exasperated grunt.

"I can't find my pen," he said even though Geralt didn't ask and kept on searching inside the bag. "It has to be here, I put it here! It can't just be lost! What, did it pop out legs? No, it fucking didn't, of course it didn't, so where the fuck – oh, what's this?"

Geralt had barely managed to make out what Jaskier was holding in the firelight and his heart flutttered when he understood. "Not that!" He saw Jaskier hesitating, his eyes darkening before he nodded and went to put the little box he was holding back in the bag. Geralt snorted. "No, keep it, it's–" He paused, thought about it for the millionth time since he'd bought it and tried to speak. Not that he would succeed anyway. "I bought it... I-I thought you'd like it."

Jaskier frowned in confusion for a couple of seconds before he understood and his face lit up like the sun. "Oh, for... me?" Geralt nodded. He could watch him smiling like that forever. Jaskier opened the box and gasped. "Oh, Geralt."

He took the ring in his hands, stroked his thumb over it. It was silver, carved with flowers on the top. His cheeks were burning. Probably his eyes too. "Geralt, it's beautiful." He looked up at the witcher and saw him smiling faintly, and his heart singed with love. "Thank you so much, dear." He slipped the ring on his finger, stared at it. Felt Geralt approaching.

"It suits you."

He looked up, met his eyes. Their stares were locked for a second. Then Geralt snorted and glanced at the ground, taking some steps back. Jaskier didn't speak. Only closed his eyes.

iv.

The sound of whimpers made Geralt open his eyes and huffing as he realized it was still night. He stayed still for some moments, heard the whimpers coming from behind his back and turned around. Sleep abandoned him entirely as he saw Jaskier's shoulders shaking, his face hidden inside his hands. He was taking deep breaths that didn't manage to stable the whining escaping his lips. Geralt sat on the bedroll and gently placed his hand on the bard's shoulder. "Jaskier."

Jaskier jerked in surprise and his head whipped to the side just to find Geralt looking at him with a deep frown. Suddenly, he felt worse than before. "Fuck, I woke you, I'm sorry," he panted and ran his hands through his hair, heaving a long sigh and closing his eyes.

Geralt hummed and came closer. "It's fine. What's going on?" Jaskier glanced at him behind his lashes and he discerned unshed tears hanging on their edges. A sudden desire to kiss them dry overwhelmed him and he swallowed hard.

"Nothing, just a nightmare." Jaskier wiped his eyes on his own and cleared his throat. "I'll go to sleep again and it'll vanish." A fake smile curved his lips. Geralt felt his heart aching. The way Jaskier's hands trembled on his knees made it hard to resist the urge to hold them.

Still, as Jaskier laid down without speaking and he saw his shoulders still shaking under the blanket, he knew he'd be damned if he went back to sleep. So he dragged his bedroll closer and wrapped his hand around the bard, holding him tight on his chest until the trembling stopped and Jaskier breathed a sleepy hum and Geralt felt warmth flooding his body. And even if after some time he leaned to press a kiss on Jaskier's head, no one would ever know. And he hoped Jaskier was too exhausted to feel it.

And Jaskier smiled.

v.

"I'm going to win and you can bet to that! Those people are amateurs, can't even compose a proper rhyme. It's too easy."

Geralt shook his head. "Better keep your mouth shut in front of them if that's the only thing you're gonna say for the next days."

Jaskier huffed and strummed his lute, raised his head proudly. "Please, what are they gonna do? Sing me to death? There are barely two or three worthy opponents."

The walls of Novigrad showed up before them. Geralt peered at them before turning to the bard, just to see him wearing the same expression of slight hesitation he didn't dare to make visible. Jaskier lowered his eyes, then looked at him, bitting his lip. "Are you sure you don't want to come? I can," he tilted his head with a smile, "I can buy as as much ale as you want with the money of the prize, we'll... have a celebration."

Geralt would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted, staring into begging blue eyes. But he shook his head. "There's a noonwraith in the next town. I can't stay." The darkening of Jaskier's face made his heart ache. "We can celebrate after I'm done," he rushed to say and really hoped he didn't sound too desperate. Jaskier's wide grin erased his fear.

"You're right!" He shifted the lute in his hands and took some steps, waving his hand at the witcher. "I'll see you then, Geralt." Then turned to leave.

Geralt clenched his fists, sniffed. He raised his look. "Jaskier." The bard looked back, eyebrows raised and eyes gleaming. Geralt gazed at him. Oh, how he loved. How he loved him. "Take care."

Jaskier smirked, stared at him for some moments and nodded. Then turned around again.

vi.

Geralt thought it was a good time.

He had put way much thought into it to reach to a conclusion. Thought that had kept him going for quite long, thought that gave him the illusion of impermanence. He was refuted though by his own self, every time his look flied to the man standing beside him to always find him there, with a speech ready on his lips and a sparkling light flowing from his eyes. Annoying, he would once say. Still said. But not just.

It was simple. Ever so simple, so that he wondered what held him back previously. This time he didn't think about it. Maybe that's what made the difference. He didn't think. Only spoke what he saw.

"Jaskier." The bard was sitting beside him on the log, strumming soft melodies and working out rhymes. He raised his head and met Geralt's look. Geralt tilted his head, observed him. The way his eyebrows raised in question, the way his lips curved into a curious smile.

Jaskier waited, not long though, as the shade he discerned in Geralt's eyes wasn't one of a starting conversation. It was calm and gentle, almost loving. He shook his head. "What?"

Geralt frowned, then bit his lip, as if making a last moment's decision. And when he made it, he spoke. "I love you."

He realised that no matter how many years he knew Jaskier, the expressions that passed from his face at once were too difficult to decipher. Yet Jaskier didn't seem surprised. Only he seemed happy, happier than before as he chuckled softly and placed the lute beside him without turning away. "I love you too, Geralt."

Oh, no. That was wrong. He can't have understood...

Geralt huffed shaking his head. "No, it's not... I mean–"

"Geralt." Jaskier came closer and took the witcher's face inside his hands. "I love you too."

Oh.

It was simple. Ever so simple.

So Geralt simply leaned and pressed their lips together just enough to feel Jaskier's breath warming his face. A simple touch. And then Jaskier went deeper into the kiss and Geralt couldn't believe how familiar loving Jaskier felt, as if every time he'd silently said I love you, he proceeded to be as loud about it as he could.

So it was simple. He had loved Jaskier before. He would love him now too. Not silently, though.

Now he would love him out loud.

~

send me a prompt and i'll write you a fic ✨

[keravnous]

I’ve noticed that Edwards likes telescopes. There’s one on the rooftop above his office at Sgail and one can be seen in his meeting room where he logs in to talk to the Partners. It might just be put there by IOI to hammer home the idea that Providence is all-seeing but I have two different ideas: one SFW and one NSFW. I’ll put the NSFW in a separate ask cause idk if you'll be into it and this is already a long post lol.

The SFW idea is that he enjoys stargazing. I think it kind of suits him given how purposeful he is. Always looking up, always striving for more. When the poor, overworked guy needs to recharge during the Ark Society event, he heads up to the tower roof to relax and have some alone time. He treats himself to a little slice of cheesecake and wine (you can see it on the table in the game) while peering up at his favorite constellations. Marveling at how clear they are without all the light pollution you’d get in the city.

Or maybe he brings a Herald that he admires to the event. They eat, drink, and swap eavesdropped information over faint music from the courtyard. The effigy glows a warm, flickering orange in the distance. The waves surround the tower with the pleasant scent of sea water.

He shyly motions to the telescope and the Herald accepts when he invites them to have a look through it. Edward’s eyes light up as he points out different stars. Ever so gently, he places his hand on their back, ready to quickly retrieve it should they recoil. But they don’t, much to his relief. While they peek through the scope, he leans in and regales them with the stories behind the constellations' names. Orion and the scorpion, Perseus and Andromeda… His voice is so soft in their ear and his body so warm against them in the cool night. It’s a completely different side to him. One the Herald grows very fond of.

this 🥺

I am not too sure if I can fulfill the nsfw request, but I tried to give this one here a little nsfw undertone

the mentioned song: youtube / spotify

_

This wasn't your first time attending the annual Ark Society gathering at the Isle of Sgail but it sure was your first time making your way, let alone entering, the Constant's tower.

Miss Vidal had handed you a dossier earlier that night and requested that you'd bring it to the Constant yourself, being one of her most trusted associates. You heard your heartbeat hammer in your skull, it made your whole body vibrate with both, excitement and anxiety, as you gave a sharp knock to the massive wooden doors. The guards had immediately recognized your Providence pin and had let you past with no further questions, given the file savely tucked away under your arm.

Slowly, and your nearly expected the hinges to shriek, the door opened and you came face to face with an old man, white hair and - that, that was clearly not Mister Edwards. You were glad that the mask covered at least half of your face, your brows furrowing in both confusion and slight amusement.

"Yes, Miss/Mister?", he sharply clicked his heels and looked at you, an unreadable gaze locking with your eyes. A cold shiver ran down your spine. He seemed like a butler, and maybe he really was, but there was something in his eyes that seemed to pierce right through your carefully built facade, that screamed killer to you.

"Good evening, Sir", you smiled your most charismatic smile, "My name is y/n, Miss Vidal has sent me."

"Ah yes of course, we have been informed. Please, do come in", he took a step backwards and opened the door completely. The air inside was warm and your anxiety was immediately calmed by the dark and cozy interior as you entered the tower. So, this was it, huh? This was his place, the place of the most powerful man on earth. You had expected something a little more ... modern, maybe? More Bond villain-ish, sharp edges and light colours but this looked at lot more like the set of a period drama.

"Mister Edwards is already expecting you. This way, please", the butler lead you towards the staircase and stretched out his arm invitingly. You took a deep breath and muttered a quiet Thank you, Sir underneath your breath, slowly ascending the stairs. You heard music and someone humming along with the tune. The soft barritone sent a shiver down your spine, much more pleasant than the one minutes earlier, right down your stomach, leaving a warm and fuzzing feeling. His voice was beautiful. You rarely heard him speak and it was hard to make out the warmth of his voice in his whispering tone but now it was clearer and louded and it wrapped around your head, your whole body, like a warm blanket. You took you first steps across the perfectly polished floor and peaked around the corner.

He was lanky and tall, even more visible now with his jacket off, the crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. You had never seen him that casually and he also seemed rather relaxed as well, seemingly focussed on a telescope that stood near one of the massive, opened windows of his office.

You stood there, unsure wether to interrupt him or not, he was the Constant after all. With all the rumours that surrounded him and powered the slight dusk of myths and speculations that wafted around him you had totally forgotten that he was human after all.

It was a rather endearing sight, really. It made your stomach twist a little, spread warmth through your abdomen as he kept on making adjustments to the telescope and quietly humming along with the tune.

You did not have any track of the time that passed, while you stood there still and unmoving, the file still under your arm, watching him watching the clear night sky, before his warm voice suddendly left the lyrics, was replaced by an equally warm chuckle.

"I find the stars to be much more interesting to watch than the gazer himself, if I may be that direct."

Your heart dropped. Fuck, you fucked up. You prepared yourself for him to throw a fit, threaten you or just having you shot by his creepy-not so innocent-looking butler right on the spot.

"I- uh, Sir, I am very sorry - I just, it's- I'm-", well, wasn't that just very professional of you.

Arthur turned around to you, his expression surprisingly open and friendly, his lips curled up in a slight smile.

"The file I assume, yes?"

"Yes, right here", you took a few steps forward and he met you halfway, wrapping his delicate fingers around the slim folder.

"Thank you very much", he held your gaze for a few seconds longer and then nodded towards the little coffee table, "A glas of wine, maybe?"

You felt your brain errupting in a high frequency static noise.

"What?"

He chuckled again, a deep and low sound, a little amused and a little snobby that did things to your groin.

"Wine. A red one", he turned around to the table and eyed the bottle, "Argentinian, I believe, one of Yates'."

You swallowed. This was certainly not happening. He turned around to you once more. "So?"

Fuck it. "Yes, please."

The following hour then passed by like a cold breeze on a warm summer day and you found yourself really enjoying his company, his witty and dry humour, the way he listened to you and gave well reflected and soft spoken replies.

"Am I still right about my very early assumption that you have never watched the stars before?", he tilted his head a little.

"No, not really. Not like this", you gestured towards the telescope.

"Would you like to try?", he recognized your hesitation and got up, offering you his hand, "I am convinced you will very much enjoy it."

Carefully, like a deer in the headlights, you took his hand and got up, while he led you towards the opened window as Arthur took a scrutinizing look through the telescope and gestured you closer. You leaned down a little and looked through the objective and your breath hitched.

The stars were so close and so bright and it was nothing like taking a lamely look towards the sky on a night out in the busy streets of London. It was fascinating. A surprised laugh left your lips and you heard him chuckle again behind you. He was much closer than you expected him to be.

"Surprised, hm?", he hummed.

"Well, yes. It's - They're beautiful."

"It must be Cassiopeia you're looking at, that constellation is the most present during these months."

He guided you across the night sky, leaning over your shoulder and adjusting the telescope or leaning in close to explain the constellations and their names to you. It left your head spinning and heart thrumming in your chest and you felt like you could've dropped dead the second that he put his hand on the small of your back, right underneath the dark blue robe you were wearing over your formal wear.

You felt the warmth of his fingers radiating through the thin layer of clothing and a sigh escaped your lips. Your cheeks immediately heated up with crimson red but he continued to rub soft, soothing circles over your back. "This one right here is Orion, sometimes believed to affect certain sign's love life."

"Is that so?", you had huffed out while feeling him pressing against you, his warm breath that smells faintly of expensive red wine and cigarettes grazed your cheek.

"Well, I like to believe that society evolved from that. You know, that we start to rely on more reliable sources."

"Such as?"

"Increase in body temperature", his hand sneaked forward, placed itself on your stomach and pressed your body flush against his, "Fast heartbeat -"

He came closer, you could feel the tip of his nose against the nape of your neck. You shouldn't. He was technically not only your boss, but also so much more, so much more important to the world's fate than you were. But he felt good against you and his quiet barritone sent shivers down your spine.

"Loss of words."

"Is that so?", you heard yourself whisper, a sharp, needy and rather unknow edge to your own voice.

You felt his lips grazing over your neck and how they softly turned into a slight smile.

"Sometimes, yes", you felt how he slowly detached his body from yours and you suddendly felt how cold the room had gotten, given the opened window and rather cold autumn night, "Another glas of wine, maybe?"

Who were you to even think of declining such an offer?

[leapyearkisses]

Orbs Are Bad News Part 1/2 - (m/m) Gerrit/Llewellyn

I ran out of Eliseo/Padgett stories, so I’ll post the rest of what I’ve got. Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and/or left nice comments. This community is truly so kind!

Anyway, I love these characters, so much. :)

MESS, sorta NSFW probably, sneezing on person (who likes it) - Elven sorcerer Llewellyn gets his hands stuck to a magic orb while he has a cold and has to be taken care of by his FWB(?) half-elf fighter Gerrit Truestride who gets off on that sort of thing. 

I fricking forgot Gerrit’s last name. This might be it??

---

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside. The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table."

"Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones."  "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!" "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.  Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied." "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!" "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.  "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine." Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the- Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively.  Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch! Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go."  He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.  He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest.  "Ready to go?"  Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"  Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess." Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion.  "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!" Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccuped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?" Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!"  Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Lleyellyn, eventually. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

[mystical-salamander]

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

Getting stranded on a desert planet isn’t ideal when your partner has fur.

... 

It was kriffing hot.

The thought repeated itself in Kallus' head for the millionth time. The former agent growled to himself as he stared into the endless golden landscape.

He sighed and looked over at the unconscious Lasat next to him. The rapid and shallow breathing Zeb produced made Kallus' insides twist horribly. The former agent leaned over to grab his jacket and fanned at the Lasat's sweltering body.

Still no change, Kallus frowned. It's still so kriffing hot. He groaned as he removed his shirt and thought back to the day's events.

…

Crashing onto the desert planet was part of an unfortunate and unforeseen plan that neither Zeb or he had. It just so happened that the escape pod they took had lost control after a TIE-fighter got a lucky shot in. The pod had spun into the range of the nearby planet and was forcibly dragged into its gravity.

Thankfully neither of them had gotten heavily injured in the crash, escaping with only minor scrapes and bruises. The pod was unsalvageable, however, exploding seconds after the pair managed to get out of the craft.

After gathering their bearings, the first thing they immediately noticed was how uninhabitable the place was. Sand covered the land as far as their eyes could see and no other lifeforms were visible.

The next thing they noticed was the high temperature. They both groaned as they began to remove the unneeded layers of clothing to fend off the heat. 

Kallus removed his jacket, tying it around his waist to keep his hands free to adjust the frequency on their transponder. "Must we always get stranded together somewhere?"

Zeb zipped opened his jumpsuit and rolled it down to his waist. The Lasat grinned, "Kal, if this keeps up," a sparkle in his eyes illuminated his excitement despite their predicament, "maybe we'll get a beach planet next time!"

The ex-agent rolled his eyes, "I don't want to get stuck anywhere, Zeb." 

He covered his face with one hand as he tried to stop a smile, "But… I wouldn't mind a beach planet."

Zeb hugged Kallus, "Aw, ya love me." 

The ex-agent almost let out an undignified yelp as he felt warm and damp fur press against him. "Zeb! Let go of me!"

Lasats ran warmer than humans– that was a fact that Kallus quickly learned during his experience on Bahryn. Zeb's fur had kept the Lasat relatively warm on the ice moon. And while Yavin IV was a sweltering jungle planet, there was at least water and the air conditioning to ease off the heat.

Unfortunately this small planet had neither of those and Kallus wasn't planning on testing Zeb's limits.

Once the Lasat reluctantly released the former agent, they searched around for any cover from the sun. Kallus pointed off into the distance, "Those large rocks should provide shade." They were too far in the ex-agent's opinion, but it was the only choice they had.

Zeb squinted and faintly nodded, "Y-yeah. Okay." He gave a wavering smile, "Let's go."

They trekked through the sand, stumbling through giant sand dunes under the merciless sun. Kallus worriedly glanced over to his partner periodically as he worked on the transponder. 

Sweat glistened from Zeb's body and harsh heavy pants filled the ex-agent's ears. He paused his work and untied the jacket from his waist, offering it to his partner. Zeb automatically took the material in his hands. He stared at the jacket for a few seconds before he gave Kallus a confused look.

The former agent stifled a laugh, "Hold it over your head, so you're covering yourself from the sun."

"Oh." 

An ear twitched, "What about you?"

"I'll be fine, Zeb. We shouldn't be long before we make it to the large rocks," Kallus then shifted, somehow turning redder despite his already flushed skin. He avoided Zeb's gaze, "And I'm worried about you since you're one with a body full of fur."

Said fur ruffled as Kallus' concern made Zeb's heart fluttered. He tried to hide it with a good-natured grumble as he lifted the jacket over his head, "If you say so, ya sap."

They fell in comfortable silence; as comfortable they could get with the horrid heat.

The sun was at its highest peak when Kallus heard a soft thump behind him. The former agent whipped around, and nearly threw their only connection to the Ghost into the endless desert.

"Zeb!" 

Kallus quickly ran up and removed the jacket that obscured part of the Lasat's face. He shook his partner and felt the searing heat coming off the Lasat in waves.

"Zeb!"

The Lasat didn't respond. 

No! Nonono. They were so close!

"Zeb! Zeb! Wake up!"

Kallus tucked the transponder into his jacket pocket and once again tied the material around his waist. He grabbed a hold on Zeb and began to drag the Lasat the rest of the way.

The blazing heat that emanated from Zeb almost made the ex-agent release the Lasat a few times, but he grit his teeth and continued to push on. Sweat dripped steadily off Kallus' face, the liquid making his clothes uncomfortably stick to his body. 

His vision swam from the scorching heat that bore down on the barren land. He gasped for air, the warmth of it nearly made Kallus vomit.

Suddenly he felt the air moderately cool, Kallus glanced around and let out a relieved sigh. He made it to the rocks– the shade. Without a moment to lose, he pulled Zeb fully into the fresh shadows laying him down carefully, "Zeb! Dear!" 

Kallus cupped the Lasat's face, "We made it! Wake up." 

His heart began to sink the longer he went without a response. Kallus frantically searched for Zeb's pulse, he let out a shaky exhale when he felt the faint heartbeat thumping against his fingers.

Kallus hastily untied his jacket, threw the transponder off to the side, and messily folded the clothing to fan the Lasat to try to cool him down. "Please! Zeb, wake up!" 

He shouldn't be wasting his energy on crying, but Kallus couldn't stop his tears from running down his face. He buried his face into Zeb's soft fur, hissing as the heat the unconscious body exuded was unbearable to the human, How bad was it for Zeb?

After what felt like hours, Kallus forced himself to release his grasp on Zeb. He looked down in the sand to see the transponder laying forgotten. The ex-agent sighed and dragged himself to the machine to correct its frequency. 

It was kriffing hot.

… 

The sun was setting when the human was woken up by the sound of a ship. Kallus shot up, ran out of the shade, and saw the welcoming sight of the Ghost.  Kallus let out a hysterical laugh as he waved his arms to alert the Spectres of their location.

He clumsily ran up to Hera and Kanan, the Jedi caught him before his knees collapsed from under him. His sunburnt skin screamed with the touch, but Kallus ignored the pain.

The ex-agent's fingers gripped onto the blind Jedi's arm, "Zeb– He needs help!"

The fear in the Spectres' eyes made Kallus shiver, Kanan passed the former agent over to Hera before he ran towards the rocks where Zeb lay.

Hera led Kallus to the Ghost, "N-no. I need to help Kanan– help Zeb!"

The Twi'lek kept her tight hold on the thrashing human, "Kallus you're not doing any better yourself. You're not going to be much help." 

He knew that but… but… 

Hera cut through his unfinished thoughts, "Don't worry, you've done the best you can. We'll do the rest of the hard work, you just focus on getting better."

When they entered the ship, Hera's commanding voice echoed throughout the durasteel walls. 

"Rex! We need you outside!"

Hera led Kallus to the medbay, "Ezra! Sabine! I'm going to need ice packs– or anything that'll cool down a body!"

She sat down Kallus on the cot before turning to the orange droid who had followed the Twi'lek once she had entered the Ghost. "Chop, keep an eye on Kallus. Don't let him leave medical. I'm going to help Kanan and Rex with Zeb."

Chopper saluted, before turning to the ex-agent and producing his electro-shock prod. He tried to goad Kallus into leaving the room, promising not to shock the human if he got up from the bed.

Kallus might have been exhausted, but he wasn't stupid, after all it only took two shocks before he realized that the droid was messing with him.

"Traitor."

 …

 After hours of laying in the Ghost covered head-to-toe in ice packs and wet towels, Kallus could finally say with finality that he was currently freezing.

He still wasn't allowed to leave the room– or get up for that matter– not until Hera gave the okay. Which was why Chopper was put in charge of guarding the medbay; his threatening whirring and chatter kept Kallus from getting out of the cot.

He sighed, his eyes growing heavy for a second before a groan from beside him made Kallus shoot up. The materials on him crashing onto the floor as he got onto his feet.

Angry beeping filled the room as Chopper chastised Kallus for getting up. The ex-agent ignored the racket, "Chopper! Go get Hera! Zeb's waking up!'

The grumpy droid beeped in confirmation before speeding away. Kallus turned to the Lasat in the cot next to him, watching as Zeb's emerald green eyes slowly fluttered open. The sight made Kallus cup his love's face and begin to pepper small kisses all over. 

A purr rumbled throughout Zeb's chest, "Kal?"

"Thank the Stars you're okay! My Zeb, I was so worried."

Zeb cupped the human's face with one hand and wiped away any stray tears. He gave his love a weak smile, "I'm fine, Kal. Sorry for scaring ya."

"No, no. It's not your fault," the ex-agent lay his hand on Zeb's, caressing the soft fur there. He moved the hand to his lips, giving the palm a tender kiss.

"You know," Zeb dryly swallowed at the sight, his ears twitched as he tried to compose himself. "I'm still holding out hope for that beach planet, Kal."

Kallus gave a breathless laugh, "Maybe once you've recovered, we'll go on our own terms."

The Lasat's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Anything for you, my dear." Kallus pressed one last kiss to Zeb's hand before the eleated voices of the Spectres rushing over the medbay reached his ears. Kallus tightened his hold on Zeb's hand; the Lasat returned the gesture, a smile gracing his features, "I can't wait."