#the thing that i dreamed but never thought that would be so real

[shiftinglea]

Well, yes, shifting is dreaming. So is your life.

Whenever I see some antis say that shifting is not real and it’s just lucid dreaming, asking for proof that it’s not that,

I always think: “Show me the proof that you aren’t dreaming right now.”

Like, how can you tell that right now you are not dreaming?

How do you know that right now you are not in some sort of illusion or simulation?

If you believe that shifting is not real—well, true. Nothing is real, so what’s your point? 🤷‍♀️😅

If that confuses you, then let me explain.

You are not your body, thoughts, or emotions. You are not even human. You are just dreaming that you are.

Your true nature doesn’t have a body. You are just an awareness, an observer of everything that is happening in your physical and non-physical life dream.

This planet is not your home. You come from the place where nothing and everything exist. People call it the void. It’s a place of oneness. That’s your true home.

But it’s not fun to live in that peaceful void all the time, so you created this dream—an illusion of separation. Separation from God, others, your desires…

What you see around yourself (and in your imagination) is just a projection of your consciousness. It’s not true reality. It’s just your dream.

When you truly understand that, then you realize that dreams, imagination, and physical life are all the same thing—an aspect of your consciousness and creation. Not one thing is more “real” than the other.

Your “physical” life is not more real than your imagination. People believe that just because you can see, hear, touch, smell, and taste something, it makes it more real than something imagined.

But your five senses are also just an illusion, a creation of your consciousness. They don’t REALLY exist. You are just dreaming that you have these senses.

When you close your eyes (which are also imaginary) and start visualizing your dr, then congratulations 🎉—you just became aware of your dr and shifted. Who says that you are not there? Your senses? They are not real! It’s just an illusion.

Stop saying you have not shifted just because you believe one illusion (your senses) more than the other (imagination).

Stop wondering if shifting is not real. Nothing is real! Your physical life is not real. That’s the point. You are not limited to this body or reality—it’s just an illusion.

You were never not in your dr. You have always been there. When you see it in your imagination, you are there! Believe your imagination as much as you believe your five senses, since they are all just a creation of your consciousness, and not one thing is more real than the other.

When you have doubts or thoughts that you are doing something wrong, realize that you are just aware of a person who is having doubts. Let this person doubt and question things if it wants. You are not this person—you are just aware of this person.

You are an infinite awareness that is never separate from your desires. The human mind that you are currently aware of has very limited data and perception. But you, as awareness, are limitless.

Whenever the human mind thinks that you failed again, let these thoughts pass. And then remember—it’s all just an illusion. Failure is an illusion. Time is an illusion. Process is an illusion.

Know that you have shifted/have your desires. Just KNOW it, regardless of what your five senses are telling you. Remember, they are not real.

Know that you are already in your dr. Know that you have already succeeded, and your physical reality illusion will also reflect that.

I would recommend the shifting method by @hrrtshape because it has this element of realization and remembering that you are already in your dr—that you never had to shift anywhere in the first place since you are already there. It’s just an illusion that you aren’t.

[ivesambrose]

𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 💌

Happy Valentine's Day everyone ❤️

This is a love letter with your name on it, there's someone out there who has something to say to you 💌

To Book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com

More timeless readings

Services Offered

Client Love

Thank you for the tip 🌹

Envelope 1

To the one my heart recognises,

You move through life like a dreamer caught between worlds, always reaching, always searching, always holding a litle more hope than you let on. And I see it. I see you.

You chase after the things your heart aches for, even when the path twists, even when the road splits in too many directions. You weigh choices in your hands like they hold the weight of the universe, afraid to step too far in the wrong direction. But, love, you are never lost to me. No matter where you go, no matter how far you run, I will always find you. Because I already know the shape of your soul.

The world hasn't always been kind to you, and I know you carry the weight of thingS unspoken, the fractures from moments that tried to break you. But even in your quietest battles, you are still becoming. still unfolding into someone even more extraordinary than you were yesterday. And I will be here, beside you, through every rebirth

So leap. Make the reckless choice. Follow the dream that won't let you sleep at night. You were not meant to stay within lines drawn by other people's expectations, you were meant to break through, to touch the sky, to chase the impossible and make it yours.

And if ever you need a hand to hold, a heart that won't waver, or someone who will remind you of the fire in your soul, you already know where to find me.

I am yours. Always.

Envelope 2

With all that I am,

The one who was always meant for you.

To the One My Soul Knows,

Loving you is like standing beneath the moon, soft light, deep mystery, and the quiet knowing that some things are felt more than they are understood. There are parts of you that shift like tides, emotions that swell and retreat, thoughts that linger in the silence before sleep. And I love every version of you, every hidden depth, every unspoken word.

You are a force, a wild thing that cannot be tamed, and I would never want to. There is something raw, something instinctual about the way you move through this world like you are both ancient and new, both fearless and tender. I see the hunger in you, the ache for something real, something lasting. Love is not a word you take lightly. Nor do I.

With you, I see forever. Not in the way stories promise perfect endings, but in the way two souls recognize each other across lifetimes. In the way your touch feels like something I’ve known before, something I would know again, no matter where time places us. You are home, not because you make things easy, but because you make them true.

I want to build a life with you, not just in the quiet, beautiful moments, but in the raw, messy, achingly real ones. I want to know the thoughts you never say aloud, the dreams you keep close to your chest. I want to trace every part of you, mind and body, learning you in ways no one else ever has.

Loving you is a temple I will worship in for as long as you’ll let me. You are the question, the answer, the universe wrapped in skin. And if there is a destiny greater than this, I do not want to know it.

You are mine, and I am yours. In this life, and in every one after.

Forever,

The one who chooses you.

Envelope 3

To the One Who Holds My Heart,

Loving you is an unfolding, slow, steady, something delicate but unshakable. It isn’t always easy, and I know that. You carry so much in that beautiful mind of yours, thoughts that keep you awake when the world is quiet, worries that press against your chest like weights only you can feel. But you don’t have to hold it all alone. Not with me.

I see you. The way you give, the way you pour yourself into others, always making sure there is enough love to go around. But love, when was the last time you let yourself receive? When was the last time you let someone hold you the way you hold everyone else? I want to be that for you. Not just in fleeting moments, but in all the ways that matter.

I don’t need you to have it all figured out. I don’t need you to be perfect. I only need you to know that you are already enough, just as you are. Even in your quiet, even in your uncertainty, even in the moments you hesitate to let yourself be fully seen. You don’t have to keep your heart wrapped in caution, hidden away like a gem buried deep in the earth. Let it breathe. Let it shine.

Love doesn’t have to be rushed. It doesn’t have to be forced. It’s something we build, something we water, something that grows in its own time. So take my hand. Let’s rest in this moment together, without worrying about what comes next.

Because no matter how long it takes, no matter how many times the world shifts around us, I will still be here.

Always,

The one who chooses you, again and again.

[ghostiequill]

How they spend Valentines with you:

Law 

You think he doesn’t notice but he does little things all day; making your morning coffee, leaving you with the less tedious tasks on board, even accompanying you roaming around the town they docked at 

Meticulously planned secret gestures

Spending time together each doing own thing

He allows you to be in his office while he works, an honour few get, as long as you're not too loud

He lets you into his world-showing you his Sora comics/coin collection

Before this, you thought your captain was this stoic, serious man but he reveals his softer, nerdier side-his way of saying “I trust you”

The day ends with you both doing your own thing in his office, sharing snacks in a comfortable silence, no words are needed to say how you both feel 

Sir Crocodile

His love language-working you into his busy schedule

Lavish but more personal, time is his most valuable asset and and he chooses to spend it with you 

Before dinner, you spend the day in his office, he even lets you have a little control- tying his cravat and wearing his jacket as you both do your own thing

Later rents out a whole restaurant and listen to you talk about nothing and everything, his way of saying you're worth his time

He buys you something extravagant but something you need, practical but flashy, maybe with his jolly roger on it

He will almost never say the words directly, not yet, but as you’re enveloped by his jacket, you see a ghost of a smile grace his lips and his hand brush yours, those feel more powerful than any words could

Corazon

Clumsy but endearing

Picnic date on a hill

Constant conversation, yapping about nothing and everything, end up laughing the whole day-he feels warm and comfortable

Tries to light candles and lights the blanket on fire

He cuts little heart shapes in the sandwiches and fruit for your date and beams when you notice

He gives you something small but personal like a charm he carved himself or a stone that matches your eyes

When he says those fatal words, they come out mid conversation in the midst of laughter, raw and real, you know he means them 

Mihawk

Soft, quiet and domestic

He doesn't ask you to be his valentine but 

He cooks you a beautiful handmade dinner, complete with a expensive wine from his collection

He offers some conversation, but mostly listens to you, his eyes never leaving yours, lingering on every word you speak

After dinner, he takes you to look at the stars in his woods, pointing out constellations and their stories

He whispers those words you’ve been dreaming of hearing as he kisses you gently, hand cradling your cheek

Doffy

He doesn't ask, you ARE his valentine 

Lavish and bold, expensive 

He buys you something you do not need but he thinks you would look good in, his perfect accessory wearing something he's given you

He brings to to a lavish party with a possessive hand on you the whole day, proud to show you off but will kill anyone who so much as looks in your direction for too long 

Later in his office sitting with him sunglasses off, resting his eyes in his chair, his way of telling you he trusts you enough to let his guard down 

He’ll always be too proud to say those words to your face, but you know that in those quiet moments you both feel what you’re both too scared to admit 

Sanji

Planned down to the second

Kicks the crew out, docked at an island known for romance,

Breakfast in bed, heart pancakes

Everything is catered to your every need, no need for you to lift a finger throughout the entire day

Later slow dances with ou in the kitchen with a melody no one else can hear but you both

VERY good listener when you talk so he for sure gets a gift he knows you'll enjoy, not necessarily practical but something to show off your beauty and what you mean to him

He pulls you close and tells you, his eyes soft and full of love, pulling you in for a kiss, he wishes he could hold you this close forever 

[daisy-the-spider]

Pie in the sky, wouldn’t it be neat if we had a UTMV fighting game?

You could choose from casts of characters from all the big AU canons as well as smaller one-offs (og Error vs Underverse Error for example, each with slightly different move sets based on characterization and lore). There could even be a customizer so you can put in your own oc and pick from a library of move sets, specials, and finishers.

Each pairing could have a little interaction at the start of each match like in SF3 Third Strike. Just a 3-second animation that tells us how they feel about each other. Star sanses and papyri shake hands or wave, chill sanses/swaps grin coldly at murderers (or fist bump other chill sanses), dream twins share an uncomfortable stare, Geno blanches at the sight of a FatalError.

There could be specials specific to characters, complete with little drawbacks. Like if ink activates a special, it eats up all his ink and he goes numb and uncommandable (played by a dumb cpu) for a bit until it refills. Or a bigger tougher fell sans has a more potent special than a weaker/younger one, but it has a bigger penalty or you can only do it once—so you better not miss.

Finishers would be the coolest part, recreating the most exciting moments or deepest cuts in their lore. Cross creates an X-event by getting possessed by X-Gaster. Nightmare goes god mode or calls in the whole bad sans squad. Fresh’s parasite body-hops into the opponent and lets the old body fall to pieces. A pacifist convinces the opponent to knock it off with all the violence. If a character has a best pal who would never make it in a fighting game, they pop up in the finisher by dropping a piano on the opponent or something.

I’ve never played a real fighting game in my damn life, but I think they’re fascinating and I can’t get this idea out of my head. The best part of this fandom for me is the insane unbridled depth and variety, and this could be such a cool way to celebrate it. Could be a fun thing to make fake sprites/screens/stats of someday.

(If someone’s already thought of this, please please please link it to me.)

[orchidyoonkook]

LASTONELASTONE!! I did it! and within the promised time frame too, look at me go! (Im taking any wins atm, please dont mind me)

ONTO!

why am i sobbing right now 😭😭😭😭 this was so fluffy this hang out ahhhhhh yoon it was adorable 😩😩🥺🥺🥹😭🥹😭🥹😭🥹

I love them i love them i love them. I LOVE THEM. I love how easy they are with one another, how effortless and thoughtless and easy.

oc and jungkook literally have my heart at this point i mean i am speechless the fact that she made this so special for him and he was looking out for her during the exams and the freaking gift i can't stop sobbing 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

One thing about OC is that if she can create some solstice magic for somebody, she absolutely will. She's like me in the sense that she thinks holidays should be celebrated for their true intentions, and that no one should be denied that magic.

I love that he can't help it either, like it physically pains him to see her like that so he's compelled to help. He's such a good man, that JK.

THE GIFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT. OH I WAS SO STOKED FOR THAT. I love that he did it, I love the thought that went into it. That he noticed she has older brushes, 'lower' (but still good) quality brushes, brushes that look like theyve been used to much, and he used that information and just automatically decided that her passions and talent deserved the best instead of the best she could get herself. That he didn't think twice about the price of the gift because money has never been an issue for him, but he thought about the gifts impact and how it could help her achieve her dreams.

i think about his gift versus her unintentional on and their contrast a lot. I really enjoyed writing them.

so it was a mix of sobs turns blushes because of that muscle use talk hey (what a switch up)

sobbing and blushing with you!

And I like a lil spice with my fluff, what can I say. Balance is nice. I also like the natual growth of conversation, in a way that's expressed with a game of wits that turns into more trust and respect by the end of it. That's a complicated sentence, I hope that makes sense. XD

but omg the tree and the star (yoon how adorable you actually make those i love it that little add you did there)

I did! second year of college yoon wanted a christmas tree in her dorm real bad, so she went to her local dollarstore and got a little one and little baubles to match. But they didnt have tree toppers! So i took a cereal box out of my recycling bin, cut out a star, glued tin foil to the bitch and put'er on top of my baby tree. I still have and use it to this day. She remains super cute and festive.

and they are hugging now look it's one step closer to a kiss i will take it

I personally find hugs to be more intimate and passionate then kissing when done within the right context. A kiss? you can kiss anyone and have it mean nothing. But a hug? To be held? An embrace where you just hold another person because of the emotions your feeling can only be expressed tactiley like that? Hits different for me.

i can't get over how fluffy and homey this was and with the bodyguard too it just captured my heart i love this chapter it's definitely in my top 10 PJK moments (basically it's every interaction they have that's why it's 10 you get it) 🥹

THE GUARDS. MY BABIES. I love the guards, I love their positive masculine energy, I love that JK has them, and I love that they like OC. He's a little brother almost to most of them, they're the kind of older brothers who clearly aren't afraid to give their little bro shit, but are also his biggest cheerleaders when it counts. I just. I love my guards. I was so excited to introduce them finally.

holy shit top ten!!!!!! I'm honoured, flattered and in dire need of that list in ranked order so we can geek out together. (also so i can compare the current list to the list when the series if finished.)

(also also that is of course, not a request, only a "if you ever wanted to do so, I would be more than willing to read and geek")

and now they won't see each other over solstice i wonder how that's going to go i just know the texts are not gonna stop flowing i can not wait to see why happens in chapter 10

Chapter ten is currently 13.1k. :)

And in a slightly different format. But only slightly. You'll see what I mean when it's released <3

yoon please give a spoiler like a minor one okay give us a line a quote something please 🥹🖤

👀👀👀👀

Picasso [3:24pm]: Hey, if I wanted to mail you something while ur home, how would I do that??

👀👀👀👀

yoon you know i adore you and seeing how you have grown as a writer is the most beautiful thing and i just know you are going to do so many more great things i want you know i am here always and i adore you, your happiness means the world to me and i hope you are smiling and your days are filled with happiness - kiki 🖤

You know? I thought it was raining from how wet my face and clothes were, but it was actually just the ocean of tears this just made me shed in a downpour.

I can never, and will never be able to tell you how important reviews and humans like you are to me in particular, but to writers and creatives out there who do what I do. There is no us without you. I will say it in every. single. review. you write me, but you and folks like you are the reason fic and fic community stays alive, and I can never thank you enough for it. I'm so thankful and grateful for your constant and unwavering support, and for being on this wild writing ride with me as I grow with it.

I hope I can keep up the consistency of the writing style, and only improve as I go, as well as not screw up this story you love so dearly. I promise to try my best.

I am absolutely smilling and filled with happiness. I hope you are the same <3

Xo, Yoon

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 9

Title: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Exams season and Solstice? Consider YN locked in, loaded, ready to go, hangry, and sentimental. Jungkook is just along for the ride with a hefty side of acts of service, quality time and physical touch are his love languages. Who'da thunk?

Warnings: T, language, fluff, so much fluff actually, I've surprised myself, semi-sexual conversations, JK is a menace but Reader can keep up...mostly, touch of angst tbh, reader gets hangry and is bad at taking care of herself sometimes, but apologises and makes up for it, mostly just wholesome this time. And fun!

Word Count: 6,675

Release Date: December 8, 2024. 12:30PM

A/N 1: Hiiiiiiiiiiii. It's here, thank you to those who reminded me. I literally would have forgotten for the third week in a row without them. I love you all.

A/N 1.5: Chapter ten will be coming sometime between Dec 20th-30th as it is festive and that's all I will say about it.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Jungkook’s learned many things about you since your friendship started. 

From your favourite colours to your favourite brush to paint with. He learned that you are always team morally gray love interest in the books you read in your limited spare time, although that one was learned a little against your will. 

He’d wanted to know why you always went for them, and very begrudgingly you admitted you found it appealing when they’d do anything to protect the main character. That they always did what they thought was best or what needed to be done despite their sad backstory, because for some reason, they all had sad backstories.

Every. Single. One of them. 

And you claimed it suckered you in every time. 

But through all of your time spent together—specifically during midterms—Jungkook learned just how much you ignore all of your basic needs as a human being when it comes to exams season. 

How you’ll forget to eat all day in favour of studying, or staying up late to finish your practical exam projects, making absolutely sure they’re up to your impossibly high standards, disregarding sleep.

So it doesn’t surprise him when he turns the corner to the greenhouse cafe to see you, thinner than normal with bags under your eyes, slaving away at something on your computer. 

He hates that he can tell you’ve lost weight through your winter clothing.

You look up, briefly smiling in greeting. He can tell just from how long it took you to notice him that you need a break, a good healthy meal and some sleep.

He smiles back, but bypasses you and walks straight into the cafe. You don’t think twice about it, already knowing what he’s doing.

“Hey Vivian,” he says to the barista.

“Hey JK, the regular?” She's restocking some cups and lids to the counter.

“Please, but tag on a hot chocolate for YN and some tarts.” Vivian nods, typing the order into the cashing system, very much used to either of you adding on each other's order to your own at this point.

“Machines ready for you,” she says, already prepping the first drink—his by the looks of it.

Jungkook pays and waits patiently, watching you from the window. 

“How long’s she been here?” he asks over the currently frothing milk—that’s for your hot chocolate.

“Since seven. She grabbed a tea and hasn’t moved since.” 

It’s almost 1:30 now, and Viv looks at him knowingly. She’s watched you do this to yourself every mid-term and exam season since you started. 

“Ah. I see.” He purses his lips.

It’s only a few minutes before the drinks and tarts are ready. Jungkook grabs them and heads out the door, calling a thank you over his shoulder.

“Okay look,” he says to grab your attention as he stands directly in front of you. The act of walking to the front of you alone clearly not enough to gain it. 

Looking up, your eyes widen in glee at the treats he carries. You attempt to reach for them but he pulls them back.

“Nuh uh, you need food.” 

You look at him confused. “Those are food.”

“No, these are the reward. You need a meal.” 

You try to interrupt him. Most likely to say you do eat meals, but instant ramen or a box of mac'n'cheese do not count, and he cuts you off before you can. “A healthy meal, Picasso, something to give your body nourishment and energy. One that fills you up.”

You scowl at him. 

“But–”

“No buts,” he cuts you off again. “Healthy food. Full, happy belly food,” he says, gently patting his stomach so not as to spill his drink. “Pack up, we’re going to the cafeteria and getting you some.”

“But–”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, giving you a look that says he will not be budging on this, and that if you refuse, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder to ensure it happens. 

It was the voice of a future King, he thinks. Then internally shudders. That’s not who he is with you, but he can admit that sometimes this side of him comes in handy during times like these. 

“Fine.” You snip, very clearly not happy about this.

Fortunately, you don’t seem to have any art supplies with you today, just your computer, a notepad and pencil case. You gather them quickly, throwing them into your backpack with an annoyed look because you don’t want to stop, but he’s forcing your hand.

He doesn’t care. You need this, and it’s clear as hell you were not going to do it on your own.

You were so fucking stubborn sometimes. 

His mask, hat and baggy shirt combo mixed with some large combat boots and a slight slouch in posture has worked wonders disguising him from the public so far. In fact, he’s pretty sure it intimidates some people seeing as how they nearly jump out of his way. You’ve joked about it before, calling it his ‘scary dog privilege’…whatever that meant. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind, though. Despite being four months into the school year, and his speech at the beginning, people still fawn and stare at him. Trying to get his attention, his approval. Anything to get something from him, even if it’s just a look in their direction. 

He wonders if it will ever die down, if it'll ever go away. Or if with new freshmen every year, a new horde of people will seek him out. 

So, he’s grateful that with this little disguise on, no one bats an eye at him as you two walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get across campus to the cafeteria. He knows you’re more than mentally drained, because you’re not checking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one realizes you’re with him like you usually do. 

You enter the main building, luckily the cafeteria on the ground floor, just near the back. Once there, you walk straight to the fridge of premade to-go foods. Grabbing a fruit cup, a chicken caesar salad, and a container of mixed vegetables with dip, you turn to him.

“Is this good enough for you?” you snark.

“Yep, great choices,” he says, ignoring your tone. “Very healthy and nutritious. Plus you nearly have all the food groups.”

“I do have all the food groups,” you say back, deadpan.

Wow…

You really need some sleep, he’s never heard you sound so lifeless. Or mean. You’re only ever truly mean when you’re beyond exhausted, too tired to care. 

He’d say your mood and overall vibe is like a mixture of brown and gray, but he knows if he said it out loud you’d make him specify which specific shades of brown and gray, so he keeps the thought to himself. Both not to provoke you and to be polite.  

“You’re missing dairy and grain,” he says.

You point to his hands holding the tarts and drink.

“Fair point,” he concedes, and trails you to the register, grabbing a protein shake from a nearby fridge on the way. His card is out and paying before you can reach for your wallet and you accept it, even too worn out to yell at him for buying you something. 

Hot chocolate and the occasional bag of tarts you're fine with, because half the time you’re also buying him his coffee and sharing your tarts, so you see it as a fair trade. But anything outside those and you damn near throw a fit, claiming you don’t need him to spend his money on you. 

You never want anything from him, so unlike everyone else in his life.

He leads you to a more private booth in the corner, scary dog privilege in full effect as no one dares stand in his way, and you very unceremoniously plop down, sluggishly shucking off your bag and coat. 

Definitely a brownish-gray. 

You two eat and drink in silence; you, slowly picking away at your food, him, finishing his drink then eating the vegetables from the container you don’t like. It’s a peaceful silence, contented as your mood gradually improves and some colour returns to your face the more you get into your system. 

The sight relieves him. 

“Sorry,” you say, eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him. And he knows it’s for the way you treated him pre-food.

“No worries,” he replies. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good.”

Jungkook wasn’t going to push, but now that your mood’s improving, he hopes it’s safe to.

“Hey,” you look up at him, the bags under your eyes more evident under the artificial light and his heart breaks a little at the sight. “Promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight?”

A small close lipped smile finds your face, eyes soft, appreciative. The corner of his own lifts to match. 

“I promise I’ll try.”

You fall asleep early that night, 9pm. 

You don’t know what allows you to, but your exam worries fade and assignment anxiety slips from your mind the heavier your eyes grow. In the back of your head however, a thought slips through your defenses; you know it’s because of the look in Jungkook's eyes when he’d asked you too. 

The one of worry—genuine worry—for you. 

You hate yourself for causing it. You never want him to have to worry about you, god…he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to add to it. 

But mostly…

But mostly you let yourself succumb to slumber because you don’t want to disappoint him. 

He asked you so kindly, and you know he had your best interests at heart when he did. He always does. 

You don’t have it in you to deny him that simple favour. To take care of yourself a little better.

So you sleep, just this once. For him. To help relieve him of the stress you caused.

And you know that that thought is what lets you until 10am the next day.

You feel better than you have in weeks.

You have everything you could possibly need to make all the recipes you have planned for today. Eggs, flour, sugar, soju, cutters, extracts, ginger, honey, chocolate chips, food colouring, some fruit concentrates and more are stuffed into the bags that dangle from your now struggling arms. There’s also another much lighter bag filled with a surprise for him that sits near the crook of your elbow. 

 Jungkook’s not going to know what hit him.

The door clicks open and you watch his eyes nearly leave his skull before he reaches to take them from you.

“Oh wow, you really weren’t kidding were you,” he says as he takes them to the kitchen with ease. 

Stupid muscles, you think, but the thought doesn’t hold for too long, glad at having your arm circulation back. 

“Solstice cookies are no joke in my house,” you say, following him.

“Clearly.”

He starts taking things out of the bags and you grab the one with the surprise in it before he can get to it.

“Won’t we need that?” he asks.

“Yes, but it’s not for cookies,” you start backing away towards the living room, bag behind your back. “It’s a surprise.”

Jungkook has a goofy grin plastered on his face as he follows you, and you put one on to match.

You stand in front of the coffee table and order him to sit and close his eyes, a sarcastic ‘yes ma’am’ comes from his lips, but he does as told. 

You set the contents of the bag on the coffee table; a small fake tree with built in lights, some tiny baubles in a box, a star, a polaroid camera and a custom, empty ornament.

“Okay, open!”

Jungkook opens his eyes and the same goofy grin returns, but this time there’s a sparkle in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

His voice is gentle and lovely when he asks, “What’s all this Picasso?”

“Your very own tree to decorate. We have lights, decorations, even a star for the top,” you say as he leans and picks up the star. “You said you didn’t really celebrate anymore so I wanted to bring some celebration back to you—if you wanted to, that is.”

He twirls the star in his hand, smile never leaving, as he inspects it closer. “Did you make this?”

You turn sheepish. “Ah… yeah. They don’t really sell mini toppers for the mini trees, just the baubles, so that guy’s made from the finest cereal box cardboard and tinfoil on the market.”

He just stares, at the star, at the tree, then to you. You can’t tell if you screwed up or not. Did he hate this?

But then he’s standing and you’re in his arms as he hugs you. 

You freeze, unsure of what to do for a second, before you let your arms go around him, hugging him back. 

He’s solid, you can feel the strength in him as he breathes, and the weight in his arms as they hold you. 

But also warm. So warm your cheeks start to heat to match the rest of your body that seems to be on fire. 

It ends before it barely started, and you find yourself missing him the second he’s gone. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head as if not realizing what he’d just done until after he stopped. You want to tell him it was okay, but he says, “thank you,” immediately after, and squats down to open the baubles. 

“You’re welcome,” you say as you watch, sitting down on the couch. He looks like a kid, the brightest of smiles on his face as he goes to place the first one, but pauses, and hands it to you. 

“You know better than me where to start.”

You giggle, placing the red sphere near the middle, and gesture for him to put on the next one. It continues like this until the box is empty, you then him, then you then him. He places the last ornament and looks to you, star in hand. 

“You do it,” you say. You’ve done this a million times with your mum, you doubt he’s done the same.

He carefully grabs the top branch that sticks up, placing the star over it. Your heart swells at how gentle he is with your handmade decoration. 

“Now the last step,” you say, as you reach for the camera. This was your favourite tradition with your mother, the yearly solstice picture. You have one from every single year after you were born, and even one with you in your mum’s belly. 

“Turn around,” you say, spinning your finger and he does, you follow.

You’re both on the ground in front of the tree, and you lift the camera, leaning into him. Still so warm. He leans right back. 

“Say 'Solstice!'” you call out, and smile.

“Solstice,” he says with you as you snap the picture.

You pause for a moment, making sure the image is done capturing before leaning away again. 

The image prints out, and you take hold of it, shaking so it develops faster. 

“Can you get some scissors, and a permanent marker?” you ask Jungkook. He leaves for only a moment, returning from the kitchen, scissors and marker in hand. 

You reach for the empty, custom ornament. It’s a camera, and where the lens would be is a spot for a picture. Cutting the polaroid to fit, you slide it in, and write solstice followed by the year on the back of the ornament.  You put it in the middle of the tree, letting the baubles frame it.

You don’t see Jungkook watching you do all of this, a look in his eye that would melt you if you saw. 

“And now for the magic,” you say, turning on the built-in lights. The tree twinkles as the little LEDs reflect off baubles, like stars on a clear night winking at one another.

You're too busy looking at the tree when you hear a click. Following the sound you see Jungkook, polaroid camera in hand, lens facing you. The image pops out and he grabs it, placing it on the coffee table beside the tree.

“Aren't you supposed to shake it?” you ask.

He looks purely serene as he responds. “Nah, polaroids have chemicals and dyes layered in them, so if you shake them you can get microbubbles or marks on them.”

You didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that he does. His talent for photography, a result of years of study and practice. 

“Oh, good to know,” you say as you take the camera from him, and direct him to look at the tree. You snap a picture to match your own, placing it on the table beside the one he took. 

He stays sat there, staring at the tree for a while, the occasional flit towards you before the tree once again.

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook says, breaking the comfortable silence. He clears his throat before adding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t know what else to say besides that, but you can see the happiness in his eyes. Their glow. Their warmth. 

You don’t think you need to say more. 

He knows. 

Time is quickly passing, and you have five recipes to get through today. So as much as you find yourself not wanting to move, perfectly happy sitting here with him for the rest of the day in this beautiful silence, you can’t. The tree is only the beginning of your day together.

“Cookie time?” you ask. 

Jungkook looks to you and takes a deep breath, as if he was also content to stay where you were for the day.

Just you, him and the tree.

“Cookie time.”

“You bitch!” you say as flour flies from his hand to your cheek. 

You were three and a half recipes in, having made two easier recipes first to ease him into a more difficult one. Shortbread, maejakgwa, and gingerbread now sit around in tupperware and cooling sheets around the apartment. 

But because of that, Jungkook is slowly losing all seriousness as you retrieve the sugar cookie dough from his fridge. It was actually the first thing you’d made, knowing it had to chill for a while beforehand, hence the three and a half. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, all knowing smirk plastered on his face like a neon billboard. 

You refuse to sink to his childish levels, and remove the beautifully chilled dough from its refrigerator bowl. Wiping your face with a cloth to clean yourself of the flour, you order him over.

“Come use all your unnecessary muscles to roll this out, quarter inch thick,” holding out the rolling pin to him. The smirk lessons only slightly, but he does as told. 

“All my muscles are unnecessary, huh?” he says after a minute of rolling. You’re by the sink washing some dishes as he does and you can all but physically see the egging in his voice. 

“Yes.”

“And why’s that?” He asks as he finishes rolling out the dough and begins on his cookie cutter decisions. You’ve learned he’s particular about which one’s he wants to use for which type of cookie. 

“Because you have like a million eight foot tall, 450 pound security guards following your every move at all times,” you say, as if this was obvious. In reality, it was a solid team of six guards who were at their tallest 6 '4, and maybe 285 at their heaviest. 

Admittedly, they were all really nice guys, having met them numerous times over the months. And you were planning on stealing some of the cookies from today to give them little solstice bags. 

Jungkook’s never going to be able to eat them all by himself  anyway…you think. And even if he could, he really shouldn’t.

“So, because I have security guards,” he looks at you unbelievingly, “my muscles are unnecessary?” 

“Yes. Why have them if you don’t need them?” At this point you’re just teasing him.

“Lots of reasons,” and he starts listing as you continue to clean. “They look nice, but that's obvious.”

“I’m sure your groupies don’t mind that at all,” you sneak in under your breath, referring to his enormous, and rather lewd mouthed female following on social media. 

“Hey, you leave my groupies out of this, they’re nice people,” he says, pointing a white powdered finger. You scoff and go back to the dishes mumbling something about how they feed his ego. 

“There’s also the fact that I like being strong. I like that I don’t get winded from jogging up the stairs, and I like that I have the ability to help damsels who show up at my place with their arms full of far too many heavy bags.”

You shoot him a glare and he laughs. “You can’t say I’m wrong.”

You also don’t have to acknowledge that comment.

He takes it as a win in your ever ongoing battle of wits. And just to try and even out the playing field a little more, as you are currently winning by a landslide, he adds on a little more to his answer, hopefully one you’re not expecting, and therefore winning by shock factor.

“There’s other reasons too, but those are a lot less PG, to say the least.”

He—

Your hands pause their ministrations for mere seconds before continuing.

How did he say it so…casually!?

Like he didn’t essentially just tell you he likes being strong for bedroom purposes. A topic you’ve never been anywhere near speaking to him about, and he just… brings it up like that? So cryptically as if he wants you to ask for clarification. 

And you do want clarification, damn him!

You hate that it makes you curious. Hate. It.

You like knowing things, not to be nosey, but because you like the mental safety it brings. When you and Nel first started having sex you did a deep dive on everything you could, to make sure nothing was a surprise and that you didn’t hurt yourself or him if you tried anything new. 

Little did you know half of the research was for nothing. Nel has never been the most sexually adventurous person, whereas you wanted to try out new things, explore, see what you like via trial and error, he was fine with good ole missionary and a handful of other basic positions. 

What you two do now works though. And that’s what counts. Compromise. Overcome. Enjoy and respect each other's boundaries. 

But it makes you wonder if Jungkook knows anything you don’t. 

That reason alone is apparently enough for you to hear, “Like what?” leave your lips before you can stop it. And you internally freak.

What the fuck! You did not just ask him that. 

That did not just come out of your mouth.

You did not jus-

“You really wanna know?” he asks, eyeing you over his shoulder with a single quirked brow, like he can’t believe you said it either, but he’ll dish you if you want him too. 

How interesting. You don’t remember gaining this level of trust from him, to be honest about something so personal. So private. 

You wonder when that happened. 

No, you say in your mind. But your head is gingerly nodding yes. 

Stop that! You think to your body, betraying you once again.

Jungkook hums before picking up a cutter, a simple circle. 

“Well,” he punctuates the word with a cutter punch. “Uhh…there’s a certain level of—” a punch, “—power dynamic I prefer having, and they definitely help with that,” another cutter punch. “I also like being able to lift my partner with relative ease, or carry them if need be. Legs around my hips is a personal favourite.”

Your dishwashing slows as he continues, unable to stop the images that flood your mind thanks to your visual thinking. 

Stupid art brain.

A small pool of heat starts to form low in your stomach. Stupid art brain.

After some more circular cutter punches, you think he’s finished and you’re relieved, but then he switches to a spikier one and continues. 

“I’ve also learned that finger strength seems to be a fan favourite,” he jokes and you gulp, forcing that thought out of your head as soon as it enters like a slingshot.  “And most of my previous partners seemed to enjoy the fact that I could, uhm…well, that I could hold them in place while I did… that is…whatever I wanted to them.” 

You ignore the wetness in forming your underwear. This conversation, regardless of who it was with, was not helping you and your complete and utter lack of sex. 

Another enormous downside to long distance, your libido and its easily excitable nature due to lack of use. Maybe an appointment with your vibrator is due soon, if you’re this affected by these attempts at sterile descriptions of sexual-like encounters. He isn’t even saying anything expressly dirty. He’s trying to be as respectful and informative in his answers as he can.

Plus, you did this to yourself. 

“But if I had to pick, I think there’s a tie for my favourite part about having unnecessary muscles for non PG purposes,” he says, and looks at you with another quirked brow, seeing if he’s allowed to proceed.

You’ve entirely stopped washing the dishes. Too focused on not focusing on the growing need blooming inside you. 

Oh yes, you’re penciling it in right now: Vibrator appointment. Tonight. 10:30pm. 

Sharp.

Time to accept the consequences of your actions.

“Consider it a potential learning opportunity. Academically speaking, of course,” you say, as a way to make this educational. That’s all this is anyway right? To see if he knows anything you don’t. 

Right?

Right.

“If you say so Picasso.” He tears the leftover dough from the neatly cut cookies, and starts laying them on a baking pan. “First, I like that I’m strong enough to flip my partner over whether they’re, uhm...” he struggles for an ‘academic’ sounding word, but settles for, “restrained, or not.”

Heat. Everywhere. There's heat everywhere and you immediately go back to the dishes, changing the flowing water to ice cold and ignoring the throbbing of your core. You’re pretty sure if you slipped your hands down your pants right now, they’d be just as wet as they are cleaning the mixing bowls. 

Maybe you should reschedule to 10. Or even 9:30. Hell, why not 9 while you’re thinking about it.

“Secondly, I like the muscles because they help me make great use of walls.”

You nearly drop the bowl in the sink, not having nearly enough time to recover before he’s looking at you again, sugar cookie filled baking pan in hand.

“You ever done something like that?” he asks, sly smirk visible. He’s trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke for the sake of comfortability.

He’s spilling ‘all’ his secrets, why shouldn’t you spill one.

The oven dings, signaling the preheating is complete and it’s ready for use. He comes closer to you, only because the oven is opposite the sink, puts them in and sets the oven’s timer for 12 minutes. Turning back around, he’s not two feet from you.

You force your voice to be as smooth and cool as possible as you face him, your own smirk plastered. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Yes, yes he would.

“Call your goons in, I have their bags ready.”

“They’re not my goons,” Jungkook says, texting Shen, head of his security detail. “They’re my guards.”

You’re both finishing up cleaning the kitchen, all of the ingredients are put away, the dishes are cleaned, and Jungkook is washing down the counterspace as you write the names of everyone on the little bags filled with the results of your combined labours.

The coffee table is covered in little polaroids from today, all still resting from when they developed. Half of them have some form of baking related mess on them, be it some flour or a small lump of dough. 

You look at one he took after throwing more flour on you, your nose is scrunched and it looks like half your face is white with the stuff. It’s cute. There’s another beside it, Jungkook is pretending to lick raw batter from the whisk, eyes wide, tongue outstretched. It’s chaotic.

They’re perfect.

Shen, Dae-Seong, Asa, Rowan, Micah and Hikari are Jungkook’s security detail. They all have shared apartments in the same building. Never too far away. Shen and Asa are stationed on his floor, Mikah and Rowan are on the floor below and Dae-Seong and Hikari are on the one above. 

“Guards, goons, same difference,” you say, but you hear knocking not seconds later, no doubt Shen and Asa. 

You go and open the door, welcoming them in.

“Hey Y/N,” Asa says, scooping you up for a hug, your feet dangling. Asa’s one of the guards who’s super tall, and he’s always been very affectionate towards you. Come to think of it, a lot of them are. 

“Hey Asa, how’s Natalie?” you chuckle, hugging him back lightly. Natalie is his wife, who's still back in the capital.

“She’s good, excited to have me home soon.”

“No doubt, say hi for me.”

“Yeah, will do.”

He sets you down just in time for another knock. 

Rowan, Micah, Hikari and Dae-Seong all make their way in too, giving high fives, light hugs or happy greetings to you as they do. Soon, you’re being towered over by men, feeling very small, but never scared as they are always so lovely to you.

You suspect you’re quickly becoming their favourite. 

Jungkook they’re used to seeing, they’ve known him for years, protected him for years. They give him shit, a nod or grab him by the neck with their arms as they play wrestle to greet him. No hugs or high fives to be seen with him, only laughter. Mostly at Jungkook. 

When they’re around, Jungkook is the most at ease you’ve ever seen him at. 

“So what’s up?” Shen asks. He’s the least affectionate out of everyone, stoic even, but that doesn’t surprise you. He’s responsible for the safety of the future monarch, that’s a stressful job.

You look to Jungkook, who’s now sitting on the couch. He signals with a hand that this is all you.

“I don’t know if you all celebrate, but just in case you do, Jungkook and I spent the day baking,” Rowan snorts at that, and you ignore it, motioning for them to follow you to the kitchen. The island carrying their individually labeled goody bags comes into their view.

“And this is just a little thank you for all you do from the jackass in the other room,” you point with a thumb to the wall the couch is on the other side of. The men snicker. 

“I heard that,” Jungkook calls.

“You were supposed to,” you call back, then to the group once more, “and it’s also a Happy Solstice from me.”

Rowan and Asa are still laughing at your less than kind words about their charge as you begin to hand them their bags. Each one says thank you as you do, and Asa gives you another hug. He may be 6’4 and god knows how many pounds, but really, he was just a big teddy bear—a lethal one— but cuddly nonetheless.

“We’ve got a decent selection, but feel free to trade,” you say, giving Shen his bag last. He has a thing with going last, you have no idea why, but you respect it. You whisper to him that he has an extra of each cookie, and not to tell the others, including Jungkook. He gives you the absolute smallest of small smiles, followed by a hushed ‘thank you.’

It’s the most tender you’ve ever seen him.

Micah pipes up. “What’s this one?” he asks, holding up a cookie.

“So, we’ve got gingerbread, maejakgwa, sugar cookies, shortbread and that, my dearest Micah,” the mountain of a man blushes at that, and you laugh, “is a yakgwa cookie. Think chewy honey and ginger.”

He pops it into his mouth instantly and you swear if he could, he’d melt into a puddle. 

“There’s no way King Pain in the Ass over there made these, they’re way too good,” Hikari says, on his third one. He seems to be trying one of each, seeing which he likes. So far? Apparently it’s all of them.

“Cross my heart,” you say, “it was a gallant team effort.”

“Thanks kid,” he calls to the prince, currently entering the room to see his guards happier than he has in a very long time. He will never admit it out loud, for fear of endless mocking, but the sight warms his heart.

Dae-Seong comes up to you, and very politely asks, “Could I get the recipe you used for the maejakgwa? My wife would love these.”

“Of course, Dae-Seong,” you place a kind hand on his forearm. “Give Minji my best will you?”

The man nods, grateful. 

All the recipes today were from your memory, so you get your phone, and start typing it out. 

You have him text it to himself from your phone when you’re finished, and use that as your que to grab the camera.

“Everyone,” you call out, and immediately seven pairs of eyes, with seven full mouths beneath them, are looking at you. Jungkook’s eating some from his own stash, or so you hope. “Crowd your favourite royal on the couch please, it’s picture time.” You shake the camera gently in your hand.

“My favourite royal’s back at the pala–” Hikari tries, but a punch to the shoulder from Jungkook has him laughing in favour of completing the sentence. 

You love the relationship he has with them. Like brothers.

Quickly, Jungkook is squished between the six men, one on either side and four on the floor in front of him. They tried to fit more on the couch but they're all so big that they couldn’t.

“Everyone needs to smile, and if they don't, I'm taking more until they do,” you say pointedly, eyeing up Shen. He only nods that he understands.

“Say Solstice!”

A chorus of deep voiced ‘solstice's' ring your eyes as you look through the eyepiece and snap the picture. It prints out and you leave it with all the others on the coffee table. You see that everyone is smiling in the picture as it develops. 

Perfect. Everything about today has been perfect.

After a few more minutes of chatting, the guards have to get back to their posts, and you’re at the door, wishing everyone a happy break as they leave. 

Shen, as usual, hangs back, wanting to be the last to leave. He’s standing beside Jungkook, both watching you as you bid the others farewell. 

“I like her,” Shen says to Jungkook quietly. 

“Me too,” Jungkook says back. 

Shen can see the prince means that in more than one way.

“Keep her around.”

“I'm trying my best to.”

It’s nearing 7:30, you’re both full after ordering dinner in, not wanting to be anywhere near a kitchen until next week, and working on assignments. Jungkook’s editing some photos, and you’re writing part of an essay from your phone, having completely forgotten to bring your computer in all the excitement. 

“Hey,” you say, sitting in your spot on the couch. You nudge him with a socked foot, he has headphones on so he can focus.

He doesn’t look to you, but removes a headphone. “Yeah?”

You lock your phone, brain mush for the night. “Can we move movie night to tonight? I have an exam at 8am on Monday and I want to use tomorrow to study.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a while, deciding that today would let you know if you needed to make the switch or not. And given that you’ve spent the day on your feet and partially socializing, you doubt you’ll be able to focus for the rest of the night, exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted.

You’ve been taking better care of yourself since that day with Jungkook. Not drastically, but you’re starting to listen to your body’s signals a little more, and right now it’s telling you you need TV and sleep. 

Appointment be damned. You’ll reschedule.

Jungkook hits the space bar and removes his headphones before closing the computer. 

“Yeah, of course. But–” he cuts himself off, looking at the tree in front of him. The lights are low in the apartment and it’s dark out, so the tree shines, glowing from within. The picture of you two still sits in the middle, and the now multiple stacks of polaroids sit around its base like presents. 

“But?”

“But that means I won’t see you after today. I only have two exams left, Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, then I’m back at the palace.”

Oh. 

Right.

“We don’t have to, I can just study earlier in the d-”

“No! No, it’s okay. It just…it changes a few things,” he bites his lip as he thinks, and places his computer on the coffee table. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes Picasso, please?”

You’re very confused but comply, closing your eyes and waiting. You hear him get up and then him walking, then a door opens. There’s some rummaging before the door closes and his footsteps near again.

The couch dips right beside you.

“Hold out your hands.”

You hold them both out, palms up, and something bumpy and cylindrical is placed in them. 

“Okay, open.”

In your hands is a leather rolling brush case, held shut by not only matching leather strings, but a red ribbon and bow. 

“Oh,” you didn’t know you were doing gifts. “Jungkook. It’s—it’s beautiful.”

“Open it.”

You untie the ribbon, setting it to the side as you also untie the leather strings, and unroll. The case is filled with brushes from Olliveri and Schultz, the best brush makers in the realm. And a small, very surprised gasp escapes you. 

You’ve never once owned any of their products. Their brushes go for $50 at the lowest, for the smallest of brushes.  

Exquisite craftsmanship goes into each and every brush, hand carved wooden handles, the best bristles you can buy, and rust resistant ferrule. You’ve always dreamed of having one of their brushes, and now here you are, with a whole set.

They’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Jungkook I—I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly acce-”

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Please. I even made sure they put in an extra fan brush cuz it’s your favourite.” 

You notice the two brushes on the end, identical. 

He remembered. 

A lump is forming in your throat, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I haven’t—I don’t—,” you take a breath, “I didn’t get you a gift, though.”

“Today was gift enough,” he says, and you can see in his eyes he means every word. “I haven't had a solstice like this in…a really long time, and the memories from today are enough, more than enough. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, you haven’t been at this much of a loss for words since…ever. You can only think of one thing to convey how thankful you are.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you squeeze, his arms immediately around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love them.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath too, savouring this moment for as long as he can. The feel of your arms around him, squeezing. The soft curve of your body up against his. His hands on your waist, you’re warmth under his touch, or maybe that was him, he can’t tell. And he doesn’t care. 

 It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated physical contact that was more than a nudge or playful shove. 

“You’re welcome, YN. Happy Solstice.” 

Chapter Ten: TBR

A/N 2: Fun fact! The tree and tin foil star are based on what I do irl. I have a dollarstore tree with little baubles and lights, but I made the star from a cereal box and tin foil because there weren't any toppers when I bought it.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[lycheeloving]

Second chapter!! Happy Valentine's day <3

Bruce finds you at work and doesn't leave you alone.

< first chapter

The next day at work, it all feels like a fever dream. Did you really meet Bruce Wayne? And talk to him all night? You feel a bit nauseous just thinking about it, but you just remind yourself that you'll never see him again. Even if you did get along really well...

Whatever, you'll just daydream about kissing him in the moonlight, that's just as fun as the real thing, right? Not that you could compare it to the real thing,  you'd have to kiss someone at some point to know what it's like.

Maybe you should have kissed Bruce yesterday, he certainly seemed like he would have been ok with that, but that was probably just wishful thinking anyways. Oh well, too late now.

The bell that lets you know somebody entered the store rings and rips you out of your thoughts. Fuck. You hate when there's costumers, which is why you chose to work at the shittiest bookstore in Gotham. And are hiding in the back.

You're supposed to say something like "I'll be right with you!", but you're not going to do that. You hate talking loudly. Especially to strangers, especially when you can't even see them. But you never even say anything when you're out in the front and making direct eye contact with them, so whatever. You just hope they won't ask you for help with finding anything, just having to ring them up is bad enough...

Why do you have to get costumers at all? Fuck, you should really look for a job with less contact to people, but this is the best you've been able to find so far.

You reluctantly leave the safety of the back room, only to find a guy in an oversized hoodie and sunglasses absolutely beaming at you. Why is he looking at you like that? Should you know him?

Only when he takes the sunglasses off do you realize that it's Bruce. No way, how did he find you? You feel your palms getting sweaty.

"Finally! I found you! Do you know how hard it was to find this book store with the minimal description you gave me?" 

Not hard enough, apparently, considering that he was able to find you this soon. It hasn't even been a full day!

He's still smiling at you. "I've been to multiple book stores this morning! I'm so glad you told me you'd be working today, or I would have had to ask everyone if you're one of their coworkers!"

"Yeah, well, if I had wanted you to show up here, I would have given you more details, probably." You deadpan, hoping your voice isn't shaking.

He's not deterred, he just keeps talking as if you hadn't said anything: "Wanna get lunch with me? When's your break? We could go to that café around the corner that I saw on my way here!"

Is he not getting that you don't want him here? Well, you do want him here, but you don't. You want him to think you don't want him here so he'll leave before you can embarrass yourself.

"I can't leave for my break, I have to stay here. I'm the only one working right now, I can't just- just lock up and get something to eat." Your boss actually allowed you to do just that, but when you came back from doing it the first time, an angry costumer was waiting for you and yelled at you for 10 minutes about how it's rude to just close the store in the middle of the day. You don't want a repeat of that, so you started eating your lunch at work whenever there were no costumers. Which is almost always, luckily.

"I could go get you something and we can eat here! It doesn't seem like you get a lot of costumers so we won't even be disturbing anyone!" Why is he so persistent? Can't he go talk to some supermodel or something?

"I'm not hungry." You kind of are, actually.

"That's fine, we can just talk! I just wanted to spend some time with you. You know, I haven't clicked with anyone like this in a long time, I couldn't just let you go."

Wait, is he serious? Well, why else would he go through the effort of looking for you... But still, you can't quite believe it. Are you being pranked?

"You should go. What if costumers start showing up? I'm sure you don't want some weird fan to recognize you."

Bruce ignores what you say and stays. He talks to you for about half an hour, well, mostly he talks at you, until he has to leave because his lunch break is over. You just stand there, perplexed. Does he really want to hang out with you?

He returns the next day. And the next. And the next. Every day, always during his lunch break. It takes a few times until you stop trying to ignore him, a few more times until you start actually talking to him, and a few more times until you agree to eat lunch with him. Not go anywhere else, just eat your own lunch at the bookstore.

You can't stop yourself from trying to push him away a little bit, though.

You put down your fork. "You know, it's rude of you to keep visiting me at work, where I can't just leave. This is basically harassment."

"If you want me to go, I'll go. Just say so, and I'll never show up here again, I promise."

You don't want him to leave. Well, you do, because you don't want to get even more attached, but you don't, because, well, you're getting attached. You can't bring yourself to make him leave.

You huff and roll your eyes. "Whatever." You pick your fork back up and continue eating.

He tries to suppress a smile. Gross. He's so cute.

Whenever he catches you playing a silly game on your phone (which is basically every time he enters the store, as you love slacking off), he insists on befriending you on it if possible, so when you're not hanging out he'll send you a booster on your candy-crush-esque game, or play against you on a quiz app.

Sometimes he uses the chat option there to tell you to go to sleep when it's late and he catches you playing, even though he's obviously awake as well! Hypocrite. It makes you smile every time. 

One day while you're eating lunch together, a few months after he first showed up, he puts down his fork and says: "I think I need to make this more clear. I am interested in you romantically. I want to date you."

You almost spit out your lunch, but manage to swallow it without choking. "H- Wh- Huh? What?"

"We can just be friends, I'd love to be friends, we already are friends, in my opinion, but I would also love to date you. So if one day you decide that you want to date me, please let me know."

You already want to, but you will absolutely not be informing him of that, thanks. Asking for what you want? What are you, a well adjusted person? You blink owlishly at him instead of saying anything. That should suffice as a response, right? No, you should probably say something.

"...Look, even if I was interested in dating you—", which, again, you literally are, but why would you tell him that;

"—you're famous, and at some point it would come out that I was dating you, and the paparazzi would publish one single picture of me and I'd immediately panic so hard I would pass out and die. This—" You point your fork between the two of you. "—is already risky enough. Whatever this is, anyway."

Bruce, as always, chooses not to address the parts of what you were saying that were clearly your anxiety speaking and simply grins.

"So you do want to date me? It sounds to me like you're just looking for excuses. Don't worry, if I don't want anyone to know about you, noone will! People don't tend to recognize me when I'm not wearing a suit, especially in environments where they're not expecting me, so anywhere outside of my workplace and fancy parties. It's worked so far, hasn't it? Not a single person has recognized me here! Dating won't change that. So, if you do want to go on a date with me, just say the word. Please."

What word? Wait, he means that metaphorically, right? No, but seriously, what would you say, how would you say that without sounding totally weird?

"That's not what I was saying. At all. Stop misinterpreting me." You roll your eyes at him. He changes the topic, but he keeps smiling until he has to leave.

Lying awake that night, you think about what he said. Does he actually like you? Or is he just pretending, because he likes a challenge? Knew you'd be difficult to get close to, and he gets a kick from being someone's first relationship, kiss, everything, and then leaving them? You feel nauseous and you suddenly feel cold. How are you supposed to figure this out? You try to tell yourself that it's only your anxiety speaking, that Bruce is actually a nice person and wouldn't do that, but you can't quite convince yourself.

The next day, your way home after work (and after pretending your conversation with Bruce yesterday didn't happen, which luckily he played along with), you see something on the ground that reflects the light in a way that catches your eye.

What is that? It's kind of hidden behind a trash can.

You take a step closer, hoping it's not some kind of trap, but you can't think of a villain who would hide shiny things on the floor to kill civilians. At least not in that color, the Joker would make it colorful, and this object appears to be... black?

Oh, it's a Batarang! You've never seen one up close, but they can't be super rare with how often people online post about having found one, there's even one guy who collects them and has an entire wall plastered with them. Allegedly. People online are saying that most of them are probably replicas, but you can't tell, as you've never seen a real one. Until now.

That makes you think, just how many Batarangs does Batman have? More than enough if he let's random people keep them. You think about picking it up and taking it with you. It would be really cool to have a Batarang...

You reach out towards it, but stop right before you touch it. Is it stuck in the floor? Fuck, just how sharp are those things...?

Maybe you should leave it here, you'd just cut your hand open on it, trying to get it unstuck.

Plus, maybe Batman will find this one if you leave it here, and then re-use it! Reduce, re-use, recycle, Batman!

You leave it where you found it, after taking a few pictures of it as proof.

The next day, Bruce asks you if you did anything interesting yesterday, like he does every time he sees you. Usually you'd say no, but you did find that Batarang... Would Bruce care about that?

While you're contemplating, Bruce says: "You'd have said no by now if nothing had happened! Come on, please tell me?"

Fine! Whatever! You'll tell him, even if he'll probably think it's boring.

"Ok, so, on my way home yesterday... I found a Batarang. And, um, it got me thinking, well, first of all, how many of those does that guy have? If he's just leaving them lying around like that, right? Oh, and, it was so sharp, it was stuck in the floor, though I guess maybe that just means Batman is really strong? Either way, I thought he doesn't kill, right, but considering what he's working with it's a miracle no criminal has ended up dead yet, right?" You stop rambling, realizing that Bruce hasn't said anything yet. At least he appears to be amused.

"You have a lot of thoughts about Batman, huh?" He grins. "Yeah, he must have tons of those things, I've seen the posts. Did you take it with you?" He didn't respond to your killing thoughts... Oh well, you did give him a lot of information all at once.

"No, I didn't... But I thought about it! I mean, it seems like that's what everyone else is doing, but with it being stuck in the floor like that I was worried I would cut my hand open trying to get it unstuck! And with my luck there would have been germs or poison on it and my wound would have gotten infected, like, immediately, and I would have died. So I left it there for Batman to hopefully find again. I mean, he should probably be reusing the ones he already has, right? Reduce, reuse, recycle, I'm just helping Batman be more climate friendly!" There you go, rambling again.

Bruce seems almost too amused at all of this.

"Well, do you want it? I can come with you when your shift is over and help you get it unstuck, if you want. If nobody else has already taken it. I'm sure Batman won't mind. And if it ever comes out that he's not trying his best to be climate friendly, I'll personally go kick his ass, I promise."

"Uh. Um. You don't have to do that!"

"...Kick his ass or go get the batarang for you?"

"I meant getting the batarang, but also please don't fight Batman. He'd wipe the floor with you. No offense."

"Well, first of all, I think I'm just as strong as Batman-" You roll your eyes at him. Dork.

"And second of all, I don't have to get it for you, but I want to. Please let me?"

Ok. Fuck. Whatever. This is the first time you'll be seeing him outside of work, excluding your first meeting.

"Uh. Ok? I, um, my shift ends at 8."

"I'll pick you up in front of the store, then. It's a date!"

"Uh! No, well, yes, but, it- um-"

"I'm just teasing you." He winks at you. Winks! Is he trying to kill you? You turn your face towards your food so you don't have to look at him. Asshole. Stop being so hot.

Later, at 8, he's already waiting for you in front of the store while you're locking up.

"Ready to go?" He smiles.

"Uh, yeah! Sure!"

You start leading the way to where you found the batarang, talking about whatever comes to mind on the way.

Finally, about halfway on your way home, you reach the place where the batarang should be. You hope it's still there, but somebody else could have taken it. You push the trashcan it was behind to the side, and...

There it is!

"Look, it's still here!" You turn around to Bruce, smiling. He smiles back. You fight the urge to giggle or hide your face behind your hands, he needs to stop being so cute.

"Didn't you say it's stuck in the ground? Why wouldn't it be here anymore?"

"Uh, you said you'd help me get it out? Somebody else could have done the same thing!"

"Right. But they don't have my getting batarangs unstuck from the ground skills."

You roll your eyes. How often could Bruce have come in contact with a batarang? His only advantage compared to you is that he's stronger and not afraid of cutting his hand open. At least that's what you think.

You watch as he grabs the batarang and gets it unstuck in seconds. Seriously? It was that easy?

"Woah. I think I would have been able to do that myself, that looked super easy. Sorry to have made you come all this way..." Apparently it wasn't stuck in there as much as you thought? Even if a considerable part of it disappeared beneath the ground. Hm. Weird. Maybe there was a batarang shaped hole there before it landed there? Or Bruce is just a lot stronger than he looks.

"No, I'm glad I came along! I wouldn't have wanted you to cut yourself accidentally." He wraps the batarang in a piece of fabric. Some kind of rich people tissue, maybe.

"Let me carry it home for you?" He looks at you in a way that makes you melt a little bit. Ok, fine.

"Oh, uh, sure!" You did enjoy walking around with him. And not just because walking with someone in Gotham is safer than doing it alone.

"Also we could maybe order dinner? And eat together at your place?" And let him into your apartment that's not cleaned up? That looks shitty even when it is cleaned up?

"Don't push it."

"Or we could go somewhere? I'll pay, of course."

And absolutely embarrass yourself and make him never want to see you again and talk about you to journalists that you're a horrible person, which gets published in every newspaper ever so you have to move and change your name? Ok, maybe that was a bit dramatic.

Bruce can clearly see the anxiety on your face.

"It doesn't have to be a date, if you don't want that."

Be brave! Be brave! You can do this!

"Uh." You almost choke on your words. "And... if I do... want that...?"

You might actually pass out, this is horrible. If he doesn't respond in less than a second, your flight response is going to win and you'll run away. And quit your job, so he can't find you again.

"That would be wonderful! We can take it slow, ok? Absolutely no pressure to do anything you don't want to do whatsoever, I promise."

You nod, not feeling brave enough to say anything. Maybe those were your last words ever.

"So... Dinner at your place? As a date?"

You nod again. Shit, fuck. Are you actually going to date Bruce Wayne? What were you thinking? Wait, does going on one date even mean you're 'dating' him? What's the definition here?

You start walking again, leading Bruce to where you live. If he hates your apartment and leaves and you never see him again that's fine and you'll be able to handle it, right? But that won't happen, so calm down. But if it did happen, you'll be fine and ok and fine. It's fine! Oh fuck, what if you misunderstood him? Did he even mean dinner tonight? Are you embarrassing yourself by assuming he'll come with you right now?

Bruce walks right beside you and starts talking again.

"I'll order. What do you want?" While saying this, he puts an arm around your shoulder. You tense. Woah.

"You said you'd take it slow!" Look at that, you can talk again.

"Too much?" Yes. But also no. But yes. But no.

"I don't know! Maybe?" He takes his arm away and you can breathe again, but somehow at the same time you miss his warmth.

"Don't worry, I'll take it so slow. The slowest. You won't regret dating me, I promise. This'll be so much fun, you'll see." He smiles.

You don't know about that, but you do know that at the very least it'll be interesting. You hope he won't notice you looking up what the definition of dating is on your phone while he's ordering food later.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Rayllum + proposal???

(That one scene on the bridge REALLY seemed like it was leading up to a proposal, didn't it, or am I crazy? He made such a big deal about setting up that whole ridiculous spectacle for her and then it was just a regular date. I'm still salty about it lol)

Oh you definitely weren't the only person who thought that! It really did seem set up that way. Thanks for the prompt!! It was super fun to write.

Rayla’s breath hitched at the feeling of hand on her shoulder, her dreams dissipating as she jerked awake. Her eyes flew open— but still, she could make out only shadows. Her assailant had blindfolded her.

She smiled, stretched leisurely, and stood up, waiting for the familiar words. 

“Do you trust me?” Callum asked.

“I do.”

He took her hand and guided her from her bed, as he’d done every year on this night in the three since Aaravos’s defeat. His hand was warm in hers, sending beams of anticipation through her whole body as he led her down to the river. How would he outdo himself this year? She hadn’t thought anything could beat the musical serenade he’d set up the first time he’d done this, until she’d stood on the bridge with him two years ago and watched the glow toads, the shimmercrows, and Stella sail down the river on a raft covered in drawings of memories she and Callum had made. And surely nothing could compare to the moonberry surprise the raft had carried her last year. But that was being with Callum for you— you never knew what would come next, but you could count on it being more wonderful than you’d ever imagined.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of the rushing water filled Rayla’s ears, and she leaned into Callum as he helped her navigate the incline of the bridge. The movements practiced by now, she turned to face him, waiting for him to remove the scarf from around her eyes. When he did, though, concern flashed through her. His fingers were trembling against her skin. 

“Callum?” She caught his hands as they wrapped the scarf around her neck. “Is everything okay?”

“I hope so.”

Before she could ask him to elaborate, a familiar song echoed down the river, and she turned to see the glow of the raft as it made its way towards them. She leaned over the edge of the bridge, squinting, but she couldn’t see anything that would cause Callum to be so on edge. Bait, Stella, Hat, Sneezles, Jellygrab, Aaron, and Sam were all accounted for. In fact, the raft looked exactly the same as it had the first time she’d seen it, only something shimmered in the center of it. It was too small to be a weapon… some kind of primal stone? Or—

Rayla’s breath caught.

It wasn’t one thing. It was two. A pair of brilliant silver horn cuffs, moon opals shining in their centers. 

Rayla whirled on Callum, her heart pounding in her throat. “Callum— are those—"

“Yes,” he rasped. 

In a single motion, Rayla turned and leapt over the edge of the bridge, landing with a crash in the water below.

“Rayla!” Callum cried.

But she barely heard his voice, barely felt the cold, barely noticed the press of the water around her in her dash for the cuffs. The feeling of them in her hands, smooth and solid and real as the promise they represented— no fear could come close to overpowering that. 

Callum’s arms were around her a second later, pulling her out of the river and into the warmth of his embrace. She slid the cuffs over her horns and turned to him, beaming even through chattering teeth.

“What— how— why would you—" Callum gasped, fear and pride at war on his perfect features.

“I love them,” Rayla said, “and I love you, and yes, I want to marry you, and I wasn’t going to wait so much as a second to show you that.”

Callum let out a peal of laughter, giddy and disbelieving. “I had this whole speech planned, you know! I was going to tell you how much you mean to me, all the things I love about you, all the ways I want to be there for you…”

Rayla pressed a finger to his lips, then moved her hand to cup his cheek. “I don’t need to hear it. Because you show me, every day. And because you’re Callum. You’re brave and funny, clever and caring, and a thousand other things that I wouldn’t have enough time to list if we lived forever. You’re a hero— you’re my hero. And I want to be yours, for as long as we live. You are so…”

Words failed her, then, but she didn’t need them. She closed the distance between him, pressing her lips to his, and knew when she pulled away to see the sheen of tears in his eyes that he understood. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to be your husband.”

Unable to help herself, she grinned, elbowing him. “And have ten babies with me?”

Callum half-laughed, half-groaned. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Rayla smiled, kissing him lightly. “Not for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, speaking of children, our various animal dependents are waiting on us to steer them to shore before they reach the town.” Callum got to his feet and winked. “Race you to the raft, fiancée.”

He took off without a backward glance, and Rayla launched to her feet after him with a shriek of indignation. He would beat her, she knew, but she couldn’t bring a speck of herself to mind.

Fiancée.

Rayla was made of nothing but hope, nothing but love, lit from the inside out. She had never looked forward to her future more.

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 12

Chapter 12: reverance Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. big smut scene for v day, oral, vaginal, the works. reader sits on arthurs face lol it what she deserves WC: 7383 Hello snow angels : ) chool has been killing me, work has been killing me, life has been killing me, THIS CHAPTER has been killing me... BUT WERE BACK!!! finally, I have this ch in a place i sort of like it, im sorry this took so long. I hope yall like it and happy valentines day from snow angel arthur 🫢🥰💖😊🥹💓😈 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being a complete sweetie hes so happy awww - The life you live with Arthur is almost picture perfect.

You wake with a warm hand rubbing your thigh. Slow stroking motions, rough fingertips glancing over your skin. They dip inward towards the center a little. Eyelashes that rim your lids part and you moan softly, it’s warm and dark and you’d love to sleep more. 

Arthur’s awake already, petting his hands down your thigh, on your side, the blanket has bunched towards the other side of you. You whine and wiggle away. 

He wears down your thin resistance like a whetstone. Drags you, wets you, taking you across the fine surface until you reach a place that he likes. Each of his sweet actions take you there. Like these mornings, something out of a story book. Something that feels too good to be proper. Most of the things that he does here in this bed have that quality. 

He pulls you back, pinning your hips to his. It’s become somewhat of a routine with Arthur, he wakes in the morning and observes you awhile. As if it was the first night you had come and that morning, he could hardly believe you weren’t a dream. You suppose loneliness had that effect on him. 

Although now, he proves it to himself. Touches your hair or your back, squeezing your hips and if he’s feeling particularly pushy, he’ll wake you by softly squeezing at your breast. 

You would like to deny you have a favorite but it most certainly is when he kisses your hair until you wake. Puts soft kisses that pull you right out of your dreams just behind your ear. Today though, his fingers press against the curve of your hip. 

“You awake yet?” his own voice rasps with sleep. 

“No…” you huff and he chuckles at you. You rub your cheek into the feathered pillow, trying not to ruin your sleeping state by opening your eyes too much. You flinch and try to get farther away but his arm is tight around you, dragging fingers over your belly

“Aw, I’m sorry, princess. Did I wake you?” He huffs between a laugh. He isn’t sorry one bit and you know it. 

“Arthur, you’re incorrigible,” you mutter into the pillow. His chest hair and the trailing fuzz down his middle brushes against your back, his strong arm pulls you closer by your hip. You’re swallowed by his heavy presence, the smell of him (all musk and salt, fire and pine sap) , his breath over your ear. You lean into his softness as well, his belly against you feels so warm. Bristles of his beard scratch over your shoulder. 

“Can never keep your hands to yourself, can you?” You put your palm over the top of his hand, little hairs tickle your fingers; rigid knuckles and working man’s hands with their veins and knicks, rough spots. Prying them away would not work so you do not bother. Strength isn’t something you have in common with Arthur. Especially not when you sense the power of him, lying in wait.

“My pretty wife in bed, n’ you want me to keep my hands to myself. Shows how much you know about me,” you smile a little, your eyes flutter open slowly, the world is this room for now. Arthur’s bedroom. The smell of cedar, faint smoke, and wintertime sweat that clings to the blankets. There’s thick quilts, plain blue and red, with a hint of decorative elements in the careful stitching. And a thick wool blanket, rumpled and slept in. 

His voice is perfect like this in the mornings, rumbled into the delicate pieces of your ear while he holds you in the messy nest of blankets you have, gathered here. Entirely limp for him to touch, like clay to mold. With Arthur, it can be easy to feel that way, his hand clasps over you. 

Within the dusty pages of your etiquette books, dull printed letters outlined how a lady should manicure herself each morning so as to please her husband when he woke. How she should fix her coiffure, make sure her appearance measures up to the impeccability required of her. But Arthur doesn’t seem to care about any of that. He kisses you though you haven't cleaned yet, breathes deeply into your scalp. No part of him minds if you wake with tangled hair, or if you wake looking less like a portrait, rubbing sleep out of your eye. 

Instead, he lays on his back, sitting up in bed a little, your head on his chest. That’s all before he pats his lap and you clamber over him. He looks at you too softly, marvels; with his eyes, they make blue seem so much warmer. Arthur is easy to indulge, he likes when you touch him anywhere, over the planes of his chest, thick with muscle, over his collar bones. His breath quickens, he’ll grumble these low noises when you scratch a little at all of his fuzz. 

Just the fact that you're here brings him a satisfaction you had never seen in a man. As if there isn’t any other want in him that needs to be sated. Nothing you can’t fix. That’s what he tells you anyway. “Don’t need a damn thing but you, angel,”. Like he could do without air, he’d just breathe what you have in your lungs with kisses, could drink the slick you leak between your thighs for water. Could lick the salt from your skin for food. You don’t think you’ve been able to be without Arthur for more than a minute or two before he comes around looking. Perhaps he fears that if he should stop looking at you, you’d disappear. Out of sight, out of mind.  

You’ve become accustomed to it. Inclined to it, even. You start to get nervous without him too. Though you talk yourself into being more composed, it doesn’t put sense into you like you want it to. 

In the kitchen, you start to cook, while Arthur tends to the fire, then he’ll get more wood if he has to later. You have ice cold butter and flour so you make biscuits, fluffy and tempting, in a cast iron skillet. You fry some thick cut pieces of venison and with its drippings, you stir together a gravy. Arthur likes to watch, wrapping arms around you, dipping lower to observe. He hums deeply in satisfaction. Surrounded by him, you relax slightly. 

“Looks good, smells even better,” you turn over your shoulder, accepting a surprise kiss he gives you. He tries to make it last longer. Swishing his tongue past your teeth. You make an errant noise. It turns into a squeak when his hand descends onto your ass. You part with huff.

“If I burn this food…” 

“Alright, alright… what needs doin’ ‘round here, you like to leave a mess,” He pokes at you, you roll your eyes. But you do appreciate how he doesn’t sit around like your father does. You told him how you liked it when he helped you, you washed  the dishes together. Your hands pruned and so did his. He rubbed your arm and you felt the little ridges. It made you smile. He made a point to try and join you in the things that you do around his home. Your home, the home you maintain together now. 

You watch as he eats and hardly leaves a crumb on the plate. Powdery white light shines through the window in the small kitchen, it’s not the sunlight but it’s still nice to have something to float through the glass. Perhaps you’d take some fresh air, Arthur takes the horses out sometimes and you know Lucky can use a bit of a walk around, even if in the cold. 

“Could eat your cookin’ for the rest of my life,” 

“I’m afraid that’s what you’ve brought upon yourself,” you sigh, “it’s all average fair, I assure you,” 

“I ate slop for years. Average fair’s like heaven’s banquet,” you scoff a small laugh.

“Your gunslinging days didn’t feed you well?” You don’t plan on eating anymore so you stand to clear some of the dishes. Arthur starts to do so as well, pouring cold coffee out into the basin.

“Nah, if I had time to eat, it was fresh game or Pearson’s stew,”

“Stew? Stewed what?” 

“Half the time…I had no idea,” he’s leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. You find Arthur’s piercing gaze after you settle into an easy laugh. You tilt your head, placing more of your dirty dishes onto the stack. Observing you is a strange passion of Arthur’s. He pretends as if he’s not watching every move you make, his face isn’t tense, he’s rather relaxed.

But he’s sharp. The only thing that consoles you about it is the satisfied and pleased air that he has. You’ve grown used to how much he likes to be at your side. Like he aches for it. And in some ways, you do too. You want him there. 

Roving his eyes over you, he has his big rough hands on your hips and waist. Sinking his fingers into you, like he’s always done that, always held you. Too natural then, is your willingness to give him what he wants. He captures you there in his gaze, the same blue as a springtime sky. Gently, you touch him too over the soft cotton of his shirt, the weave of his suspenders. You brace your hands on him. 

“Can we take the horses out?” You give him your best pleading pout, digging at his weakness for you. Very rarely does he concede to you. He has firm rules and expectations but you use the way he cares for you to your advantage at times. He gives you his opposition, hopefully only at first. His brows tighten together, and his hands hold your bare shoulders. His fingers play with the delicate strap of the soft simple shift you wear. He stares down at you while you try not to back down. 

“We?”

“Arthur, we’ve been out riding before, haven’t we?” You know the answer and so does he. He looks away, out to the window. He removes one of his warm hands to start rubbing over his shoulder. His deliberation creases more of the lines over his face.

“Then why can’t we go? I’ll even help you brush them, muck the stalls—,”

“You don’t need to do all that, won’t have you out there shovelin’ horse shit… jus’,” he nods to himself. Then he locks his eyes on yours, takes a breath to look at you. You blink up at him, anticipating some negative answer. “You can come along once I’m done but only because you’re real cute when you’re beggin’,” your smile makes him do the same, you press close to him where he accepts you in his arms.

You feel flushed, but you still nod eagerly. Arthur lets you dress to go out. You rush to the bedroom to put on some riding pants. All of these clothes, you have Arthur to thank for. You don’t want your mind to linger on why for too long.

You step out into the living room where Arthur gives you a teasing smile. “Ain’t you all excited. Did I agree to take you to the circus or somethin’?” You frown slightly, looking up at him while he shrugs his bear skin coat over his shoulders. He sweeps some of his golden hair away from his eyes, before adjusting his hat over his head. You adjust your boots, the new ones that he bought for you in town. They’re shiny and brown, with pretty tooling at the top, swirling filigree. The nicest boots you’ve ever been given. 

“Arthur…” 

“I don’t want you wanderin’ off,” his voice drops down from his teasing. 

He sits down beside you, adjusting you so he can help tighten the laces that he ties at just under your knee. He pats his knee for you to put your other leg up. His fingers are more efficient and he pulls your laces tighter than you would. When he’s done, there is a gentle tap on your ankle. He stands and one of his hands is extended to you, to help you to your feet. You sigh, preparing yourself to leave the fire that swells in the hearth, just in front of the sofa in the main room. 

“I mean it,” somehow his voice drops even lower. “Don’t make me go chasin’ after you,”

“I won’t,” A smirk curls over his face and he looks down, one of his hands coming up to tilt your chin a smidge upwards. Always so gentle when you say what he wants to hear. 

“Good girl.”

You step out onto the porch together, some of the snow has been swept into neat lines by the wind, beautifully glazed over. The sky is a solid tone of gray, undisturbed by any blue upsets. It leaves the entirety of the landscape looking a little dreary in startling shades of white, burnt shades of green. Arthur pauses strangely. Stares out at the treeline a moment. He relaxes after a second but he had been wound so tightly, you can tell just how much tension he let go. You look out but can’t see anything.

“Arthur?” he doesn’t respond the first time. It’s a little worrying. The breeze zips past, brushing against your cheeks and nose. You delicately touch his shoulder. He looks down at your mittened hand on the hide of his coat. Saying his name again does snap some awareness in him and he releases an uneven sigh, puffing air from his nose, it turns into vapor. His brow is quick to pull into its well used expression of ‘not quite happy’ and his jaw shifts under all of that brambly hair. 

“C’mon,” he says, as if you were the one who paused for a moment on his porch to stare at nothing. Trudging through the snow is much easier when it’s not 2 feet high.  In the stable, Lucky is very excited to see you. And you are happy to see him too. He shakes a little, doing a little trot in his stall. Swiping gently over his long snout, patting over his strong neck. You cling to this constant in your life, Lucky. 

Arthur lets you help brush their coats. Every once in a while, you look up from your task to catch him looking. And then he makes some crude joke about your horse “shitting twice as much as his does”. 

“How I hate to inconvenience you so, Mr. Morgan,” he stands and rests his hands on the handle of the spade he’s using. 

“Gettin’ snippy on me, girl?” Your fingers continue their work as you observe him, his lopsided smile and the film of sweat from his hard work. 

“I could never,” he shakes his head and goes back to what he was doing. You smile quietly to yourself. 

Trotting out in the snow does bring a smile to your face. You watch the wind trail over the surface of the landscape, brushing over the evergreen needles and bare branches like teeth of a comb. 

“Who is Pearson?” you ask, gently leading Lucky. For being such a heavy horse to handle, he listens well. The world exists in this strip of wintery landscape. Soft and hard aspects of nature all at once. Bird song and elk calls. “You said a name, someone who made your infamous slop, I think,” You turn to Arthur who has a little nod and something of a tilt to the left side of his mouth. He handles his horse easily too. 

“Navy man, turned camp cook. And you could tell he was the cook; portly bastard. He might not have made a particularly appetizing stew but it did the job, feedin’ some twenty people,” He doesn’t talk too much about his old life. You know it brews under the surface. These stories of a life he lived long ago. But those memories are tender still, when you touch some of them, he flinches away like you’ve pressed into a wound, a deep purple bruise. Physical pain is something he hardly minds at all. You remember you had seen him knick himself while shaving, while you had fussed he had watched on, endeared. 

You nod. Prying isn't your intention. But you grow curious. “That's quite a few people. I can’t imagine too many of them were women; do outlaws marry?” He takes a moment to think. You give him time to form his answer. 

“We wasn’t always in the habit of marryin’. Hosea, he had a wife. Bessie. Dutch had Miss O’Shea, but they wasn’t married. Dutch weren’t exactly the marryin’ kind. He likes… affairs. John wouldn’t know a good woman if she slapped him in the face,” he says so many names, as if you know them but they’re like faded photographs. Maybe they were in a way, those blurred images in his bedroom. The courage to pick them up keeps escaping you. These people must have been close to him. 

“Affairs?” 

“Dutch kept that girl strung along but when it got bad, he…let her go so to speak. When Bessie died, Hosea never so much as looked at another woman, at least in the same way. Don’t even think he was the same after she passed on,” 

“I’m sorry to hear that happened to him,” you don’t want to push. But you do preserve these brief moments where he divulges pieces of his past. You do your best to remember the names so that if he decided to tell you more, you’d recognize these pieces to put together. 

“Yeah…” He dips his head low, the brim of his hat covers his eyes. He sighs, low and quiet. The wind whistles by. Some of your hair blows past, your fingers come to adjust it. Currant shakes, the jingles of his reins fill the simple gap between his words. He bows to pay his horse a little bit of attention, telling him how good he’s been. The sight puts a small smile on your features. 

He focuses forward, at the horizon out in front of you. The gentle scene of winter’s serenity calms you, riding along with Arthur.  He continues and you turn to listen. “Couple other women, too. Livin’ rough is hard for a man, worse for the girls. Miss Grimshaw ran them girls with an iron fist,” he laughs almost, something close to it.

“What did they do?” 

“Everybody did their part. Mostly it was washin’ for the girls. Only that O’Driscoll boy could make tendin’ to horses look like a ladies past time.” 

“O’Driscoll? I thought you didn’t like them,” you question.

“Only thing O’Driscolls was good for was dyin’. But really, it was Dutch who hated them. They killed his woman. I think he was more mad that they was the ones who killed her; more than that she was gone,” You nod. Lucky continues on, ambling on in the snow, snorting loudly. The snow crunches under his hooves, crossing over a small creek has Arthur telling you to be careful. 

“Other than that, we wasn’t too different in the end. Dutch could play at it; wantin’ freedom or some other load of bullshit. But we was alike more than anythin’,” His voice becomes embittered. The grit of his vocal cords denotes it. And so does his hand, which shakes out at his side, before he places it easily at his thigh. 

“Do you miss it? Being an outlaw?” He looks at you, slouched over his saddle but he straightens, staring ahead. His face twists. His gloves hand rubs at his jaw before he brings both of his hands together, rubbing them. 

“We should head back,” there’s hardly any room for argument in his tone but you try anyway.

“Arthur, it hasn’t been that long,” 

“Nah, it’s too goddamn cold anyhow, hate this damn snow,” you do drag your feet, or Lucky’s hooves a little but even that upsets Arthur. He mutters more about the temperature. You pat at Lucky’s neck, giving him your sweet words. 

“Aw, you aren’t too cold, are you? No, you’re very brave! Yes, you are,” Arthur gives you an irritated look. You smile up at him. Lucky almost seems to nod at your praise, turning over his shoulder a bit. You’d give him a treat when you got back to the little stable he called home now. 

You sigh as you get inside, having tried to knock the snow off your boots outside but some still clings to you. Dressing down takes a lot longer than expected but you’re flattered that Arthur takes his time to help you get out of your boots. You try to tell him you can handle it but he insists that you need it. You quiet down, letting him do as he pleases. Then he kisses you on the crown of your head and sends you off to the bedroom to get out of your clothes. You nod and start to change into the slip you usually wear around the house. You do it more than quick enough to remain unattended by your overly attentive keeper. Or husband. 

You check behind you at the open door but you can hear him doing things in the living room. Carefully, you approach the bedside table. There are framed photographs which, although you sleep beside them, have not taken the time to look at with any thought. 

Examining the faces, you pick it up, as quiet as a mouse. There are three men and one stands proudly in the center, like a religious picture. The yellowed tinge makes the pigment look almost green, it must be quite old. The figure on the right is slouched over, holding a cigarette and the other two look to be not quite as young as him. You wonder if one of them is this Dutch figure. You aren’t sure, perhaps one of them is John or Pearson? You don’t want to take the photograph from its frame. That would be far too conspicuous. You’re about to set it down but you almost drop it instead. 

“Nosy girl, ain’t ya?” You whip to face Arthur, your neck almost aches with the motion. He leans casually against the door frame, hands on his belt. Your heart jumps and your belly aches with panic.

“I was only-” You rush to explain. He pushes off and comes close with a soft sigh, rubbing his hand over the lower half of his face. He holds out that same hand. 

“Give it here, honey,” you hand it to him, expecting him to scold you and put it back. Instead he sits on the bed, patting his knee. You sit on him, trying not to put too much of your weight on him in an attempt to seem daintier than you are. Arthur obstinately drags you fully onto him with a soft grunt. 

“All those stories made you curious? You wanna know more ‘bout all this… shit?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes flick to yours. As if in disbelief, like he thought you’d turn him away. Arthur acts as if you should. But you want to know him. 

“We were thieves. Deluded thieves at that. Nothin’ worse than a man who has no idea what he is,” You move some of your hair out of your face, so close to Arthur, you watch as he stares at the photograph. It’s like he’s trying to scare you out of wanting to know more. He had told you he was an outlaw. That night that he and he alone ordained you. Two souls joined for eternity. You frown. Perhaps you’re meant to be scared, meant to be horrified by all of the sordid details. “You don’t…”

“I do. Because-because I feel like…I’m a stranger,” you have touched something of his again, some spot that you dig your thumb into. A brown spot over an apples skin which gives way, pushing mush out over the sides. He’s quiet for a while. Chewing on your words like gristle, thinking them over. You’ve given him pause. You see him at war with himself and you can always tell. His brows pinch, his posture closes in a little. You do mean what you say. Everything is always out of order, unconventional with him. The very nature of your relationship is odd, you had never heard of such a thing, except perhaps in your grandmother's book of legends in the Grecian variety. The lord of the underworld had taken the goddess of spring from her mother. Stored her away. 

“That there is Hosea,” he sighs eventually. He doesn’t address your words, only aims to correct his actions. “He’s gone now. Died when we was set up in that goddamned cesspit, Lenny died that day too. The rest of us was lucky to get away on a boat, ended up washed up on an island. Wasn’t even there to help bury the ol’ bastard. But you’d never seen a tongue more silver.” you lay on his shoulder, at ease in his warmth, in his presence. You point to the young man on the right.

“And who’s that?” 

“Darlin’, do I really look all that different?” You almost don’t believe him, looking between him and the photograph. 

“That’s you?” You look again at the smooth face in the photograph. His hair looks a lot darker too. He spreads his legs in the chair; you do see Arthur do that a lot. He has the same sharp eyes. But he hasn’t gotten the bulkiness that is Arthur now. Broad chest and shoulders, strong and sturdy. 

“Jesus, girl, you know how to make a man feel young,” you giggle, tilting your head and taking the photograph.  

“Arthur Morgan, you’re too foolish. It’s just…maybe the beard?” 

“Jus’ the beard, sure,” you absentmindedly rub your ankle down his leg, relaxing further into his lap. Losing yourself in such a close moment, you continue. 

“Well, I don’t mind your scruff. I quite like it on you,” a shy smile pushes at your cheeks. 

“Mm, do you, now?” His smile is all too smug. You nod, turning away at your own honesty. He rubs his cheek against yours on one long motion, his arm is steady at your back, keeping you steady on his thigh. You huff and wiggle. 

“Not so much when you’re trying to give me a burn with it,” You press your fingers into his cheek. He doesn’t pay you any mind, rubbing his beard when he puts kisses all over your neck. It tickles, and you try to bring your cheek to your shoulder. To no avail, though, he quits all on his own. He’s got that look in his eye, he wants something. 

“Yeah, the only place you want all scratched up is here, ain’t it?” His right arm holds you close while his left hand inches up your thigh, dragging the hem of your slip up with him. His fingers brush against your inner thigh, petting along the sensitive skin. He takes advantage of how your body is inclined to his touch. Not so quick to let go of your protective instinct, you try to shake your head at his obscenities. 

“That’s-that’s not true…” 

“Then where else d’you want it?” Your face is surely showing how much he pushes at your modesty again. Dripping down from somewhere is a puddle of heat, gathering in what feels like just behind your belly button, some awful temptation for him to fulfill. You can feel some small whiny thing in you pleading for him to do what he pleases but you have to cling to what little denial you have before he comes to destroy it anyway.

“Must you make me say things all the time?” You’re desperately trying to defend yourself but like he said. There isn’t much use to defying nor denying him. 

“I don’t make you say a goddamn thing. Go ahead, darlin’, keep pushin’ me,” His tone borders on irritation. You sigh and look down to where his hands continue to squeeze at your thigh. 

“When you put scratches all over… I-I like that too,” 

“There’s my girl,” You don’t say anything, letting him lay you down, relaxing for him. His praise sways you so, you bend and break for it. Your body still shivers at the suggestive position he lays you down in, dragging the hem of your slip up to stare at your form. You’ve never exactly seen what he sees. Your nudity in the mirror has never been anything special to you. But Arthur takes in the sight, feeling what he wants to feel. 

“Look at you, you’re jus’ perfect, jus’ fine…” his thumbs press into hips. He spreads your legs, fighting the brief closure you have. Arthur’s flattery does help you sink into the mattress, parting your legs. It isn’t unsettling as it was, being immersed in his praise is comforting as it is confusing. 

He helps your arms out of the little straps that keep your shift on your shoulders. Laying nude with only your stockings, you can feel the chill in the air. But Arthur does as he said he would. The prickly hairs he shaves into stubs get dragged not too harshly against the sensitive flesh of your underbelly, while you squirm. He lays kiss after kiss against your skin, razing over you, the sweetest burn of his scruff on you. Your fingers rather pointlessly tangle in his hair for some sort of leverage to ground you. 

Before you know why, he’s stopped. You expected him to continue into some lewd act of his. Dipping his tongue inside of the little slit between your legs until it gets slick enough for his pleasure. The waves of ecstasy would push you to the edge and he would give you sugary praises, words of your belonging. 

Instead, he looks up at you. You’re… disappointed. More than you have any right to be. Any desire to be but it simmers low in you. You had wanted that, had wanted him to do that, swiping his hot tongue over the button at the very top of your slit. Quietly, he denies you. You must be pouting because he chuckles at you. 

“I ain’t sure I’m convinced you know what you want outta me. C’mere and show me,”

“Show you? I don’t understand,” you shy away, wishing you knew more about what he meant.

“You’re always so polite; ‘please’ this, ‘thank you’ that. Ask me real pretty, I might just have to say yes,” Arthur props himself up over you, his weight on your hips pins you down. He’s playing with you. 

Soot kicked up the broom, your own contentious emotions fill your chest. He wants you to ask him. To beg him to give you pleasure.

“Do wives often beg for their husbands attention?” 

“My wife does; least when she wants somethin’ special. Maybe I just like seein’ you all flustered. Tell me what you need, sweetheart, can’t give it to ya if I ain’t got a clue what it is,” You bite your lip. You’re already held under Arthur. You can play your own games.

“Arthur… I need my husband,” you can tell that you’ve hit something special, like a dog who kicks his leg. His eyes sharpen but his smug expression goes slack a little. “You are my husband, aren’t you? That’s what you say,” There’s that look, you’re continuing to push on him, to get his reaction. Even as he bears his weight down on you, as he grips tighter at your thigh.

Arthur is hardly as playful and cocky as he was a moment ago. As if you’ve sobered him with your words from the joy he was getting from your slight humiliation. Now, he falls for your teasing. You say teasing. But you find your own words to be too genuine.

He breathes deeply in the dip of your neck, you don’t flinch at the burn of his cheek against the sensitive skin. Though it tickles you, your raw emotions leave your thoughts popping like soap suds. His huff fans the warmth of him on your throat. His broadness encompasses you, you feel entirely too small but you do so love the feeling of him taking your body as comfort. Cradled naturally by the softness of your body. As if carved for each other.

“I want you to come set yourself on me,” you feel warm with your own excitement, “set this pretty pussy on me, wanna lick it clean,”

He’s helping you up, adjusting you so you can prop your thighs either side of his head, avoiding the weight he insists on putting on himself. What an odd idea, more concepts you wouldn’t dare imagine, lest you tempt the devil in ways you had always been told would end in death. His hands are only determined, all too strong, he handles you with efficiency.

“Are men and women…meant to do this?” You whisper, unsure still but he quiets you with a gentle nip to your inner thigh. 

“No, darlin’, jus’ husbands and wives,” It’s a soft murmur. Whatever plan you had to poke at his devotion backfires on you. A strange feeling descends on you instead. A curl of sincerity over his words and you’re faltering. You end up here often, losing your footing and falling in line with him. In his rough hands, playing right into them.

He has his arms dragging you flush against him, your slit pressing plushly against his mouth. You squeak at his wet tongue, slipping over you, your hands holding on to the wood of the headboard and your back arching. Over and over, he licks the same path, the slick sounds are all you can hear. A filthy and relieved sigh passes by your lips, your mouth parted as you tilt your head back. You rock gently without even particularly noticing, diving into your natural instinct. Finding pleasure on the tip of his tongue like you’ve always done so. 

And his beard does scratch. It scratches until your inner thighs are raw; you can’t bring yourself to stop. More moaning is pried from you, your body feeling the tightness of arousal and the jerkiness of your rhythmic movements over his tongue. Your own wetness is a sloppy mess, soaking your thigh. Arthur’s fingers dig deeply into them, he presses you roughly against him, dipping his tongue inside of you, licking you like you taste of sugar. 

Then his tongue plays with that button, when he touches it, it’s as if it had ached for it all along, you can’t remember a time when it hadn’t been nearly hurting with the need to be rubbed around by his tongue. You let his name slip from your mouth. That action puts you in a trance where all you want is him. Perhaps you had been a clueless little fool playing with matches but you didn’t mind if the result was Arthur fervently proving himself between your legs. But he stops again, depriving you. 

He’s pinning you down against the fabric of the sheets, smiling at you while you whine and cry, wiggling against him. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he pants, clearly having been too busy doing other things to keep his breathing steady. He takes advantage of how intense you feel, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles around the soft flesh of your entrance. It’s far too gentle to feel as good as his tongue but you move your hips towards it anyway. 

“Still too proud to beg, pretty girl?” 

You whine, of course Arthur has to get his way. Just as he makes you feel as if you got yours. You whimper when he sinks one of his fingers inside. 

“Arthur, please, please…I want— want you, please,” 

He’s clumsily shoving his pants and suspenders down, tugging buttons out of their closure. Forceful kisses press into your lips, you wonder briefly what it's like to do what he’s done but it must taste like this, you taste him, bitter like coffee but sweet with liquor and the strange note of your own arousal. You’ve never had anything like it before. 

Arthur heaves a sigh in your mouth, propping your legs up, your hands tangled in his hair, scratching at his scalp. He hardly wastes any time trying to push inside. 

The rush only makes it ache, your hips try to wiggle away, your thighs tensing up. He hisses a sharp cuss, a startling sound. Satisfaction settles within you. He doesn’t let your wriggling stop him from pushing until he has his balls against you.

“Keep at it, jus’ — shit, jus’ say that again,” he gasps and you indulge. Telling him you want him, need him, isn’t so hard anyway. It isn’t a lie, as much as you want it to be, for your own sake. To say it is to mean it now. 

“Need you, Arthur, please,”

“Good girl, my good girl, all f’r me,” he’s dazed, eyes hardly open, put there by your admittances. 

It’s almost shameful how much you like the way he stretches you on him. How good it feels for him to take you, but you’re his wife. It’s what he tells you, over and over. He's said it to you all week. Every night when he had pried these intense peaks of pleasure from you, mussing the sheets, staining them with your slick and his spend. 

Your mind is plied, limp and hazy, you spread your thighs easily, let him take as he is supposed to. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, practically bouncing you on him, all too hurried. 

“I feel like your man yet?” a panted chuckle in your ear, is all you can understand, the wet slap of him at your thighs and the playful pinch of your nipple pulls a yelp from you. 

He’s propping your hips up, prodding at something so deep, your knees tighten on him, reflexes overpower you. The tip of him scrapes, scratches at something that loosens your jaw, slack for all of your noises to get past, dripping off your tongue. You’ve no mind for thinking your noises daring or awful, nodding along at his words. 

“Yeah, s’what I thought. Goddamn…” he snarls his words. His self assured gaze meets yours, his hands rubbing idly against your skin, no piece of you remains untouched by him.

Though you may not be a string puppet, you do feel a ragdoll, left at his mercy, warm with him pinning you down, damp with his sweat. 

“Jesus, darlin’. Drivin’ me mad, so damn pretty’,” he slows, grunting in your ear. A shiver rushes down your whole frame, hips grinding listlessly, searching for more of him. And you find it, utter perfection when you hear him groan, a tight warning begins in your belly. 

His shoulders flex, even as he winces past some pain, his fingers are far too rough when they grab at you but all you do is continue, wanting to chase the heat that pushes your thoughts out of your head, you can’t think of anything else but him.

Bright red and flushed with exertion, his hair dark with sweat, all of him is bathed in warmth. “Long as you keep forgettin’...” He bathes you in it too, especially when he pulls you so close. “I’ll be here to remind ya. You’re my woman, always will be. Nothin’ you do is gonna change that,”

His words are close to what you need, just next to it. Good enough to make you nod feverishly, buck against him. Always. That word sticks to you like glue. 

He nudges so deep, instinct guides you to press some soft part of yourself against the tip of him over and over. Leaning in, he presses your bodies together, nearly crushing you with his weight. He still pulls your hips into him, but slower.  A jolted sigh is all that escapes you now, you shut your eyes. 

“Look at me,” You push yourself to meet his gaze, even as he floods all of your senses with pleasure. The smell of you together, the feeling of his damp skin on yours. His smallest hairs on his chest and belly brushing against your skin. The sight of him, his squared features, his ruddy cheeks.  Fluttering inside is your sentiment for him. You don’t dare label it. 

Then he pulls back, only to rub at your button, lulling strokes that speed up, far more jarring than the paced rutting of him inside of you.

“Arthur- Arthur, I—,” you gasp, fingers squeezing tight at his shoulders, digging your nails. You’re enraptured in his gentle coaxing. 

“M’right here, sweetheart,” he has the softest tone, his eyes are focused only on you, watching carefully. You let yourself melt in his hands.

 His fingers are rough, sending fire coursing through you. You feel yourself gush on him and you spread more, eyes rolling back before you arch your back and barely stop a scream from ripping through you. 

“There ya go; good girl…don’t you look sweet,” he coos. Pathetic keening is all you give, hips jerking a bit, though pinned underneath him. 

He holds you down underneath him, “that’s real good, honey,” muttered over you. Sounding very proud of himself. He looks down at you. His eyes trace over your features. The hardened pads of his fingers draw lines over your skin. You have to catch your breath, swallow to wet your throat, dry from the way you let it leak all of the noises he loves to hear. 

Eventually, you relax your legs from where they had squeezed tight on him. He starts to work you back up to taking him, sensitive and tender. You feel the soft gathering of all that he is against you. The heaviness of him inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

Your lower belly twists at the pleasured sounds he makes, pressing his sweat damp forehead into your ear, lazy kisses at your neck, you turn to allow him to continue. With a shaky groan and a hiss, he pulls away. You hold back your whine when he spills everything he has on your thigh. A small prick of disappointment almost takes away from the satisfied groan you revel in. 

“Took it all out of me, pretty girl…”

He lets himself be tugged down to lay on you, smothering you. But you like the way his big frame feels piled onto yours. You can feel his heart nearly. Beating close to yours, like he wants them to be close. You play with his hair and you wait. Wait for him to tell you something you’ve been quietly biding your time for. It hasn’t come all week, yet you wait like a passenger does for a train off schedule. At the boarding station with luggage in hand, eyes on the horizon, the long line of tracks.

He murmurs it into your skin. You can feel his beard rub against you, his sweaty chest dampening your skin. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world that I need ‘cept for you,” 

It isn’t what you’re looking for. You’re starting to feel like that train won’t come but you make excuses for him again. At least he doesn’t fill your head with empty hopes. Arthur is a man of his word and he only says things he means. You know he means it. You know it.

Arthur holds you now, you lay tiredly on his chest. He kisses your hair. It would be so easy to pretend that he was just that while you lay and touch the scars he has. Reveries like that though are always quickly shattered. Ruined utterly by Arthur and his possessive words, curling up and over. Clouding your imaginings with his own version of devotion. These words are not sweet, nor are they bitter. They’re like cough syrup, numbing and sticky, putting you in a stupor until you forget all about the tight scratchiness in your throat. 

“You belong to me,” you can feel his chest vibrate with such comfort in his voice, you have no choice but to fall asleep on him while he strokes your hair. 

sighhhh dont even ask me how long i spent on this, or how much i like it (i dont really but will i ever???) thanks for reading!!! I reallly liked how untruthful arthur is about some of the details and how much he hides from poor reader : ( and of course, him being a sap at the end was sooo cute, couldnt resist!! happy valentines day snow angels 💓💓💓💓💓🥹🥹❄️❄️😇😇😇

[jayvikstolemyheart]

I’m trying to organise my thoughts in dungeons and dragons au inspired by @noodles-and-tea but it’s taking too long so I’m just doing the important jayvik part here:

Basically, Viktor the DM is running a campaign that is basically the story of arcane. Jayce is one of the players. Arcane!Viktor is an NPC that was designed to be a twist villain. Starting off as a harmless looking ally for Arcane!Jayce (and a way to help Arcane!Jayce get out of his failed charisma check in front of the council). Arcane!Viktor would eventually use the hextech to create the glorious evolution and be the final boss.

(Viktor may or may not be subconsciously projecting himself onto Arcane!Viktor.)

Viktor miscalculated how into the roleplaying Jayce would be. How quickly Jayce would make Arcane!Jayce go ‘This is OUR dream now. Viktor’s MY partner’. Viktor takes pride in his storytelling so he alters the plan a bit. Make the inevitable fallout be based on outside factors. Arcane!Viktor starts to get sicker. Piltover’s society focuses on Arcane!Jayce more, which creates a divide between PC and NPC.

But Jayce never gives up on his NPC friend. Even when Arcane!Jayce fails his insight rolls and gets manipulated by everyone and can’t tell when Arcane!Viktor is keeping secrets from him. Jayce, and thus Arcane!Jayce never gives up on his partner.

Viktor is furious by how Jayce’s roleplaying is ruining the plot line he planned, but he wants to stay faithful to Arcane!Viktor’s character (remember that projecting I mentioned before?). So as a last ditch effort, he decided that an NPC he introduced for a different character’s story: Arcane!Ambessa for Mel’s pc. Arcane!Viktor was already dying, but Jinx’s pc provides the perfect way to kill off the character with a bang.

A literal bang.

Viktor has that sadistic DM glee when he leaves that session on a cliffhanger. And the feeling returns when he opens the next session and describes what Arcane!Jayce sees slowly revealing all the chaos before finally revealing Arcane!Viktor on the floor.

Jayce is devastated and that reaches his character as well. Arcane!Jayce tries some CPR, takes of the clothes and sees the shimmer/hexcore corruption, but still keeps going.

Jayce rolls well enough to get the heart beating again, which annoys Viktor but he makes clear that Arcane!Viktor’s spine is broken, he’s on death saving throws with disadvantage cuz he’s already ill. This is the end.

But then Jayce does the unthinkable. He asks “Our lab is still in the building right? Where the Hexcore is?”

And Viktor has to watch as Arcane!Jayce uses his homebrewing against him. Viktor has to move on to the next scene so he can take some time to figure out what the HELL to do next.

But this NPC is Viktor’s subconscious right? And Viktor has a lot of self-hate. Specifically for his body but he’s going to use that self-hate to create this villain and watch everyone attack the representation of Viktor’s self-hatred. And no, Viktor is not in therapy even though he should be. He claims he has enough medical conditions to deal with then do any mental health stuff.

So the campaign goes through the events of season 2. Jayce and Ekko’s player characters have to disappear because the real people won’t be able to attend the next few sessions. Jayce will tell anyone who will listen how worried he is for his NPC friend. And Viktor plots.

Viktor finally arranges things to convince both in-game and out-game Jayce that Arcane!Viktor had to be killed. By using the love of the character against him. By showing how Arcane!Viktor will be met with a fate worse than death, along with dooming the rest of the world if nothing is done. Jayce losses hope over saving Arcane!Viktor. Real Viktor refuses to analyse how that makes him feel.

And then it’s near the end of the final battle. While the road was complicated, Viktor finally got the final boss he planned for in the beginning. Unfortunately it’s looking like a TPK for his players but Viktor’s really in the zone. Plus Ekko’s got that broken homebrew z-drive, so it will probably be fine, Viktor reasons.

Then Jayce says; “Look we’re running out of options. Maybe… can I try and reach out to Viktor one more time?”

No one’s really confident but they don’t have a choice. Ekko even uses the help action. And by that, I mean he throws the Z-drive into the Machine Herald’s face to buy Arcane!Jayce more time to talk.

And Jayce makes his speech. We all know it. Nearly everyone at the table is near tears, including Viktor.

“Why do you persist?” Arcane!Viktor asks, but it’s a question from the real Viktor as well.

“Because I promised you.” “Also, I reach out to hug him, and I’m hoping he can read my mind and see the future Vik that I saw.”

Viktor doesn’t even make Jayce roll any charisma checks by the end. He’s so touched by the speech (again refusing to analyse his feelings). He still takes his DMing seriously though and says that Arcane!Jayce must leave or he will perish, and Arcane!Viktor will stay and sacrifice himself to release everyone.

“WHAT?!” Jayce cries from the table, “You mean after everything Viktor still has to die?!”

“He played with powerful forces Jayce.” Viktor explains. “The least he could do is fix his mistakes.”

Jayce furrows his brow. “If that’s really how it is… then my character is staying with him.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. They made hextech together. They should finish this together. My character will say that straight to his face.”

“Wait, what?” Jinx comes out from the bathroom. “Jayce is your character dying right now?”

And so Viktor ‘s twist villain who was meant to break everyone’s hearts and be easy to hate, dies trying to reverse his mistakes knowing that he is loved, and has always been loved by the partner that’s right there be his side.

Afterwards Jayce tells Viktor that is DMing broke his heart. Viktor just laughs and pretends that Jayce just didn’t a witness a deep part of Viktor’s psyche and gave it so much kindness and love.

[bi-bard]

I Blinked and Suddenly, I Had a Valentine - Dr. Frank Langdon Imagine [The Pitt]

Title: I Blinked and Suddenly, I Had a Valentine

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon X Reader

Word Count: 1,125 words

Warning(s): mention of burnout

Summary: Frank is stuck working Valentine's Day. His original plans may be slightly derailed, but that doesn't mean that he won't try his hardest to be a true romantic.

Author's Note: Real simple plot here. We're testing the waters. And it's Valentine's Day, so why not?

If there are other The Pitt characters you want to see on my account, then let me know. The show is new, so I don't really know what people want to see. I'm considering something about Dr. McKay, but I'm open to suggestions (I know y'all love Noah Wyle).

------------------------

I've always had mixed feelings about working from home.

There were great things. I had a lot less stress when getting ready in the morning. I didn't have to commute. I was always in a comfortable environment. I able to find peace and quiet when I needed it. I also never had to worry about forgetting to bring my lunch because my kitchen was down the hall.

However, it wasn't all amazing. I had always been an isolated person, even before COVID forced us all to be. I relied on work to force me to interact with people. It helped me feel a little less lonely. This arrangement also made me realize just how long I spent sitting at a computer or on the phone.

I was also made painfully aware of how long Frank's shifts were. I never realized how stupid I had been about his work before this started. I was used to leaving a little after him and getting home a little earlier than him, but I never realized how much later or earlier that had truly been.

Most days, I could ignore it.

I would work, eat, paint, and ignore how quiet it was through most of the day. But some days were worse than others.

Birthdays were the worst.

The holidays would be either normal or awful.

Today was one of the awful ones.

Valentine's Day was a holiday that was commonly met with a little bit of disappointment, but I felt like that had changed when I started seeing Frank. We had managed to mostly make time for each other, at least around the day if not directly on it.

This year had been different. My workload had increased significantly on top of Frank's work and schedule. I felt awful. I had derailed everything.

I spent all day consumed by my work. Even when I was able to step away to grab food, I would my mind was so clogged by what I had to do that I hadn't been able to focus on anything around me.

Imagine working so hard to be able to afford a place of your own- no landlord or big management company- and you aren't even able to appreciate it because of that work.

When I finished my day, I felt my body go heavy. It made me feel ridiculous. Being exhausted after sitting at a desk. How tedious does my work need to be for me to feel like this? How much of a strain on my mind is this work if I end up this miserable?

I took a deep breath before pushing myself out of my desk chair.

I first noticed something was off when I stepped into the hallway. I paused. It was like the air in the space had shifted.

I did a circle waiting for my eyes to catch onto what was different.

I found it a moment later.

Sitting on the wall was a painting. Not just any painting but one of my paintings. One of my paintings was sitting on the wall and I did not put it there.

I walked down the hall, popping my head in each room. There was art in the bathroom and the living room and the dining room. There was even one in Frank and I's bedroom, and I didn't even see it this morning.

I soon found myself sitting on the couch, hand over my mouth and tears falling down my face.

I had always talked about decorating my home with my art. I had just always been renting or too busy. I had dozens of pieces that I thought would look nice somewhere other than my office. And now I was seeing it. And it was everything I had ever dreamed for it to be.

What else could I do but cry?

"I'm home- What's wrong," Frank asked as he closed the door behind him.

"I... I hadn't come out of my office all day- well, I hadn't been paying attention," I muttered. I pointed around the room. "I just saw everything you did."

"Oh," he sat next to me on the couch. "These are happy tears, right?"

"Yeah, they're happy tears." I chuckled. "Thank you so much for this."

"Yeah, I knew that you've been putting this off because we were renting before but... this is home now. And I want you to be able to look around and clearly see just how much love you've put into this space."

I grabbed his hand, leaning over to press my lips to his. He leaned back.

"What?"

"There was a... bodily fluid incident today," he explained. "I cleaned up as best I can, but I would much rather take a very, very long shower before you kiss my face at all."

"Valid," I nodded. "Blood?"

"No."

"You changed your scrubs, right?"

"Yes."

"That's all I need to know."

"Valid."

I smiled a little wider before leaning over and kissing his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too," Frank said.

"Now, how about you go take that long shower and I will order us dinner," I offered.

"That sounds absolutely perfect."

By the time Frank came back out, dinner had arrived, and I had put a small gift on his side of the table. I was smiling nervously as I awkwardly leaned on the table. I was suddenly feeling significantly less confident about my gift of choice.

"What's this?" he grabbed the box and started pulling off the wrapping paper.

"It feels silly compared to all of... this, but you had been talking about getting a decent watch," I explained as he opened up the box. "This one had some amazing reviews, and I even saw a few nurses and doctors saying they loved it."

"Wow, this is really nice," he placed it over his wrist and clasped it.

"You like it?"

"I love it," he replied. "Also, 'compared to all this'?"

"I bought you a watch," I said. "You framed my art and hung it around the house like I've been talking about doing since I was in college-"

"And? As far as I'm concerned, the amount of care is the same," he shrugged. "You didn't blindly pick this out of a bargain bin."

I nodded. I must have done a poor job of hiding my skepticism of the whole concept because he motioned me over to him. I made it over to him, letting him pull me close and kiss me gently.

I touched his sides, grinning into the kiss.

It was the perfect moment. The best moment I had ever experienced on Valentine's Day.

I leaned back slowly. "I love you. So much."

"I love you too," he muttered. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

------------------------

Tag Lists:

Everything - @geeksareunique

------------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Original Characters Masterlist

[zeroseuniverse]

Do You Believe In Fate?

Word Count: 1.2K Summary: And as you stood there, gazing at the soul that had once saved you, a strange and wonderful thought settled in your heart: Pairing: Yeosang X reader

Navigation

You had known only greed and cruelty.

For centuries, you had been bound to a golden lamp, your power twisted and exploited by the selfish and the wicked. Rulers, warlords, and men with insatiable hunger for wealth and power had summoned you, each wish staining the world with more corruption. You had come to believe that kindness was a myth, that goodness was a fragile thing crushed beneath the weight of desire.

Until the day a child summoned you.

You emerged in a dimly lit hovel, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and desperation. Expecting yet another master with grandiose demands, you prepared for the familiar commands—gold, kingdoms, immortality. But the child, small and trembling, merely looked up with wide, tear-filled eyes and whispered, "Please… My family is starving. Just some food. And warm clothes for winter. That’s all."

You hesitated. Never had you been asked for so little.

For the first time in your endless existence, you granted a wish with care. Plates of steaming food appeared on the worn wooden table. Bundles of soft, warm clothes materialized in the child’s arms. The child gasped, eyes shimmering with gratitude, and ran to wake their family. Laughter and cries of joy filled the home, a sound you had never heard in response to your magic before.

When the child returned, their gaze was solemn. “You granted my wish. Now I have one more.”

You braced yourself. This was where greed always crept in. More food, endless riches, power. Something selfish.

The child took a deep breath. “I wish for you to be free.”

Your heart, if you had ever truly possessed one, cracked open. A brilliant light surrounded you, chains of invisible servitude shattering as you exhaled a breath you had never known you were holding. The lamp crumbled to dust at your feet.

For the first time in countless lifetimes, you were free.

—

You were reborn into the world as a mortal, no longer a being of smoke and magic but of flesh and blood. Your past was only a whisper in your dreams—hazy memories of golden light, the scent of damp earth, and the sound of a child’s laughter. The memories never made sense, nor did the strange pull in your heart whenever you gazed up at the stars.

Decades passed. You lived as any human would—learning, growing, and searching for something you couldn’t name. And then, one fated day, you met him.

Yeosang.

It was in a quiet bookstore, where dust danced in the golden sunlight. You reached for the same book, hands brushing. The moment your eyes met, something deep inside you stirred, as if a thousand lifetimes had been leading to this moment. A heartbeat later, a memory resurfaced—small hands holding warm clothes, wide eyes filled with innocent hope, a voice whispering, I wish for you to be free.

The realization hit like a thunderclap. This was your savior’s descendant.

Yeosang blinked, a soft smile forming. “Sorry, you can take it. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s yours.”

And as you stood there, gazing at the soul that had once saved you, a strange and wonderful thought settled in your heart:

Perhaps, just perhaps, this was fate’s way of bringing you back to the one who had once set you free. Only this time, you would choose to stay.

Yeosang’s smile lingered, and the warmth of it sent a ripple through your chest. You had spent so many years in the shadows of your past, haunted by the weight of all the wishes you had granted, only to now find yourself standing before someone whose presence made everything feel right.

“You seem familiar,” Yeosang said softly, his tone contemplative, his gaze not quite meeting yours. It was as if he was trying to place something just beyond his reach.

Your heart skipped, but you forced yourself to smile, though it didn’t feel quite real. “I get that a lot,” you said, trying to laugh it off, but there was an undeniable pull in the air. The memory of the child’s wish—the weight of their selflessness—hung between the two of you like a fragile thread.

The silence stretched, heavy but comfortable, until Yeosang shifted slightly, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’m Yeosang, by the way.”

You nodded. “I’m…” You hesitated, uncertain of how to answer. In your new mortal form, your name felt like something that belonged to a different life. A different world. But this—this was you now. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if testing the name on his tongue, and a spark of recognition flared in his eyes. You both stood there, momentarily caught in the space between past and present.

“I don’t mean to sound weird,” Yeosang continued, his gaze now settling on you with more focus, “but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. Like—like we were supposed to meet.”

A shiver ran down your spine, the truth of his words settling over you like a cloak.

“Maybe we were,” you said, your voice a whisper. The weight of the memories that swirled in your mind seemed to pull at your soul, and the realization struck you once more: the child’s wish had carried you through countless lifetimes. And now, here you were, standing before Yeosang, the very one who had unknowingly freed you from a curse.

The air between you crackled with something electric, something that felt like fate—or maybe like a second chance. You took a small step closer to him, your hand brushing against the edge of his sleeve. “I don’t know why,” you murmured, “but I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Yeosang’s breath caught at your words, and for the first time, he looked at you as if he saw more than just a stranger. “Maybe I have been too,” he said quietly, his voice filled with something unspoken, something tender.

There was no need for words after that. You simply found yourselves walking side by side, the weight of everything unsaid wrapped around you like a protective shield. It wasn’t until you stepped outside into the bustling streets that you realized how easy it felt—how right it felt—to be with him.

As you moved through the city, the world around you became a blur. All you could focus on was Yeosang’s presence beside you—the quiet, comforting aura of him that seemed to settle over you like a familiar song.

When you found a quiet bench in a secluded park, you sat together, the city’s noise fading into the background. For a long while, neither of you spoke. And then, finally, Yeosang broke the silence.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice contemplative, his gaze focused on the distant skyline.

You turned toward him, your heart stirring with a deep sense of connection. “I didn’t used to,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “But now, I’m not so sure.”

Yeosang turned his head toward you, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Maybe fate isn’t something we find. Maybe it’s something we choose.”

Your heart skipped a beat. His words were so simple, yet they resonated in a way you hadn’t expected. Maybe fate wasn’t just about destiny. Maybe it was about the choices you made—and the ones you had yet to make.

And as you sat there with Yeosang, feeling the pull of something ancient and beautiful between you, you realized that this wasn’t just a meeting by chance. This was the beginning of something new.

A new life. A new hope.

Maybe, this time, the wishes would be different. Maybe, this time, you would choose to stay.

[mqriuss]

As an Apt-06 model, does Aptroid reader look like all the other Apt-06’s? Does Rindou walk on the street and get startled by the ghost of your face on a different person? Does he go home and hold Aptroid reader a little closer that night when he recalls seeing snother Apt-06 model left abandoned, bent and broken in a dark rainy alleyway? Or did Renji modify Aptroid reader before sending the package to Rindou’s place, customizing her face and body to be unique so she’s one of a kind despite sharing the same model number with others?

These are all really good questions, but every Aptroid looks different regardless of their model! (Unless for some reason they wanted to invent twins or triplet Aptroids then... yeah, they would look identical lmao). Aptroids look like humans and looking the same (as other Aptroids) would only make them easier to identify. Though maybe the earlier models of Aptroids looked the same until they started increasing in number and things were becoming more advanced so they started getting unique features.

Also 04, 05, 06, and 07 Aptroid models are the same as in they don't have any distinct and visible physical features that differentiates them from each other. The only way to know what model they are is by checking under their tongue with a flashlight, without the flashlight you won't be able to see their code. An example of an Aptroid code looks like this: 0720801230. 07 is the model type, 2080 is the year it was created, 12 is the month it was created and 30 would be the date. Another example: 0520670415.

Ok let's talk about reader's appearance now. Her case is honestly pretty weird cuz she's actually the default LIV Aptroid. To jog your memory, LIV is an Aptroid Girlfriend brand owned by one of the mega corporations in this au.

So... Renji did not customize her at all before giving her to Rindou. And sometimes Rindou really wishes Renji did it for him beforehand. Why? Well, there's two reasons: can you imagine being Rindou, walking along the streets lit up by neon signs and suddenly an advertisement for LIV, a hologram that looks exactly like you walks up to him, and starts flirting with him in ways he has never seen you do.

That, and there's a scene I kinda scrapped from my first post for cyberpunk Rindou where he actually gets a message from Renji saying that he kept her on default because he wasn't sure what kind of appearance and personality Rindou would like in a girlfriend. So then there's a scene of Rindou trying to customize her but... he just can't.

The thing is, most people do that with their Aptroid partners BEFORE interacting with them and normally they keep that appearance forever. Though some people want to use their Aptroid partners as some kind of barbie doll and change up their look every now and then.

But Rindou got to interact with you first. I mean, you literally welcomed him home after work on his birthday and startled him. You were his girlfriend before he even knew it. He felt... weirded out by the idea of changing your whole appearance and personality in general. He's never really thought about dating an Aptroid anyway, so if he ever found someone he likes, he wouldn't try to change them. So he treats you the same way. Also that guy is really chill, he'll get along with just about anyone so it never would have mattered to him.

I like to think Renji brings it up to him like, "you could have the girl of your dreams! Why keep her on default?"

But Rindou would simply shrug, it just feels weird to him. There's no other explanation.

However, Aptroids adapt to their surroundings and the people they spend a lot of time around. So for you, that's Rindou.

(fun fact: the newer models like 06 and 07s have shown to adapt in a quicker timespan compared to older models).

Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but Rindou really does think you've started becoming... real. The LIV advertisements bothered him more in the early stages of your relationship, but over time, he's started to see them as just different people—well, Aptroids—compared to you.

But those are advertisements. The LIV advertisements are customized differently to attract different customers. Not every customer has the same reasons for having Aptroid partners anyway. My point is, Rindou doesn't think the advertisements are actually default LIV Aptroids. You were a default. Your base personality was a standard one. Your body, face and hair type were also default LIV settings. But as time went on, you started feeling more and more like your own person, and Rindou could be a part of the reason. You adapted to him.

So to test this, Rindou would probably go to one of the LIV showrooms and ask for a true default LIV.

(Out of boredom and genuine curiosity of course! He's totally not trying to justify his thoughts about you becoming real)

Anyway, he isn't even given the original and first ever LIV Aptroid because she, too, has adapted to her surroundings. So they show him a new one. And it's hard to describe the way he feels when he interacts with her and compares her to you.

You're just not the same. She isn't his.

collection masterlist

note: kinda wish i could expand more on that last part where he meets a default LIV Aptroid, i might do that in a separate post one day, but here's what i got for you guys today! and happy valentines <3

[procksecutor]

Klavier tilted his head as he leaned against Kristoph, no doubt seeking that familial contact, as may such cases. He supposed he was still overjoyed by how all this is real. Even if it's all just a dream, this strange comfort was something he'd never want to wake up from. He kept an eye on Kristoph's actions, wanting to observe how he handled the fish and such.

Even to Klavier, it all felt so nostalgic. Like nothing ever changed. It was...Nice. It made him content - this is how things always should have been. Yet life happens, and before consciousness struck this life was torn to shreds.

"A story?" He pondered, thinking back to the things he could tell Kristoph. There was so much he wanted to say, to tell Kristoph about so he's up to date. After all, it has been so many years, it's natural things accumulated. He could tell Kristoph so much - yet he thinks he must hold back, not wanting to risk overwhelming him. And so, Klavier decided it'd be best to get arguably the most life changing event for him out of the way, career wise that is.

"Oh - you'll find this interesting, I'm sure. I almost got torched during a concert. Obviously I'm fine - can't say the same for my poor guitar though..." A fake sniffle to follow that up, but it was heartbreaking such a treasures gift was demoted to firewood.

"She's been through it! She was a gift too, so I can't just throw her. It's important you know it was one bad thing after another! My keys were stolen, my hog wouldn't start, worst of all a cue was missed. Ach..." Klavier dramatically put the back of his hand against his forehead, as if adding a dramatic flair to his already dramatic words, "Oh but then a murder had to happen! As if that day couldn't get worse, the worst thing imaginable happened!"

Klavier pouted, wrapping his arms around the older man's arm. He looked up at him with puppy-like eyes, yet his brows furrowed to show his displeasure as he thought back to it. Naturally - that day was tragic for more than one reason. It was one of those days where he felt like he needed Kristoph. But he couldn't talk to Kristoph, so navigating his emotions was tricky. But looking back, he does think he did a decent job on his own, even if every time he was in silence, the silence felt too loud.

"And I'm sure you wouldn't believe who did it. I know I didn't believe it at first, and yet I accepted it without complaint, because when I really thought about it, he would do that."

Klavier wouldn't elaborate though. He wanted to make Kristoph curious, as if telling this very real event as if it was a work of fiction. And honestly, a part of Klavier can't help but think it sounds fictitious! It was so crazy, so much happened and Klavier was sure he had got a severely bad headache from it! He was just thankful no greys sprouted.

Tomatoes, onions and- a head...? Klavier had rarely ever heard of cabbages referred to as a head. Usually, it's accompanied by the phrase of cabbage. A head of cabbage. He looked at Kristoph, raising a confused brow. Because that's what he was - he didn't think twice about it, didn't think about any other implications. The wording simply was confusing...And slightly worrying. Maybe he was overthinking, maybe his brain is making falsehoods up, but he's so certain that it was a worrying phrasing.

He edged closer to Kristoph, leaning in slightly, as a curious pet would. Was he feeling okay? Did he have to sit down a while? Klavier wondered if he should pull out a chair for Kristoph to sit in, just in case. But then he managed to speak, and suddenly everything was fine. Almost everything. There were still thoughts on how he could help the older, somehow.

"Ach-" Klavier shook his head slightly, "Alright...But if you need to sit down, please do. I was worried for you."

He didn't want Kristoph to overwork himself. Not now, not ever. He thinks all this might be just too much for the older Gavin. It's like being deprived of sight and suddenly you can see again - that things should be taken at a good pace. He pulled out a chair, just in case. It was a silent gesture, mainly. At least if one excludes what he said. But it was good to emphasize his point, plus helpful! He doesn't let Kristoph bother with the extra pulling out of the chair. Saves him time. Klavier soon got to work with the tomatoes, cutting them with a decent thickness. He was told to start with the tomatoes, so he will start with them. He'd rather work in the order Kristoph gave. He kept his eyes on the movement on the knife, making sure not to cut his fingertips.

"Can't have you passing out, or something." Klavier soon spoke lightly, forcing a grin as he attempted to lighten the mood. It felt like it needed to lightened, "Otherwise, what would they think? They'd think I'm not fit enough to look after you if I can't stop you from passing out. Right...? I don't know how it works, but I know I'd feel awful if I let you pass out on my watch."

[castlephantom]

Finally all Castlevania characters in one game!

Sourse: Vampire Survivors on X

Game: Vampire Survivors: Ode to Castlevania

[beeduoo]

i really like that one tiktok

[rainsofcamelot]

I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M WRITING THESE WORDS BUT RUMOR HAS IT THAT EVA, REEVE, PATRICK, AMBER AND ANDRÉ ARE GOING TO JOIN WEST END HADESTOWN IN FEBRUARY TO FILM A PROSHOT FOR NETFLIX