#(and the pile is just short enough that trying to cut between the fur is impossible. theres fuzz everywhere!!!!)

[eyefocusing]

btw. i started working on A Thing

this fabric is evil but its sooooo soft and plush that i cant be too mad at it

[alizalayne]

Whats the ventilation and heat like in the suit head? I can't tell if it would be warmer or more cool to wear in compaison to a faux fur fursuit head. The only thing I worry abt is how durable needlefelting is and if it can be cleaned like a traditional fursuit head. That being said I really hope you continue making these, they're cool as hell 👍🔥👍

Okay first of all I'm super jazzed to be able to talk about this with people, and I kind of went overboard answering this, but thanks for asking! Putting this up in case anyone else is curious.

The main answers to your questions are 1: wool is cooler than acrylic fur and less stinky

2: A fursuit head is a swamp and i am snorkling in it.

I mentioned this in my behind the scenes post and there are pictures there but I literally just made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece and two collapsible automotive funnels, the kind that you can bend into a shape so that you can get goo into a weird part of your car.

that snorkel piece goes straight out of a vent hole in the inside of the ear and I felted a pink skin flap in front of it and then felted white fiber into that so it just looked like a tuft. it worked perfectly, it's just that I couldn't talk in it that well. But I'm definitely going to keep using it if I can't think of a better mouthpiece for it because as SOON as I breathed inside the head instead of through the snorkel I was like oh my god everyone is living in hell.

You can see it in this picture a little bit. nobody noticed it at all!

My friend had made a much more traditional head with a bigass electric fan in it and he was having more heat issues than I was, because I cannot stress enough that acrylic fur is like, one of the most horrifically hot fabrics you can wear. I don't know how everybody is even alive!! and there's a layer of ACRYLIC BACKING on it! Also check out how "short-pile" my fur is, most of the head is only an inch thick, it's a half-inch bucket head made out of foam covered in maybe 1/3 of an inch of wool? the less space you have between the fibers the less heat gets trapped. I was shocked by how comfortable I was, and I was having migraine symptoms that day and was extra sensitive to heat. The con where we were had the air turned down and it was chilly outside, but I was shocked when I took the head off and shook my hair out and I wasn't even sweating. I had long hair in a wig cap under that thing and I wasn't sweating. It was crazy.

As for cleaning the wool, I cannot find anyone else who has done this who has cleaning tips for me, but the foam is what I'm worried about. After a few hours of wear there's nothing wrong with the wool at all, but i can TELL the foam is ever so slightly nasty, because the foam is polyurethane and wool is what you make hiking socks out of. I have some wool cleaner coming in the mail that's made for delicate needlefelted items like scarves and deposits lanolin, which is what keeps wool "alive" kind of like how you have to care for leather. It's definitely an experiment! Nothing ventured nothing gained!

I don't have an idea in mind for a second head right now and the next thing I want to make is a cowl so I can wear lower-cut tops with this head, but I might try something else if I think of an idea! I'm probably never gonna sell these because I'm weird about selling sculptures for whatever reason. They're like my living beasts.

But I definitely hope this encourages other people who might be interested in bringing needlefelt or other fiber art sensibilities to this space, that would be a massive complement and a high honor to give people a new way to enjoy a hobby that I know means a ton to a lot of people.

[broken-clover]

4- Healing

Though I still feel like these are still difficult characters to write, I thought it would be fun to do something for Sly Cooper today! I also keep wondering if I'm adhering to my own prompts decently enough but I'm just trying my best!

The series spends most of its time on the actual jobs, which makes sense given it's a video game and you want to play the actual interesting parts, but it's nice to think about the downtime in between, I like imagining the guys just chilling out sometimes

Given the nature of this prompt there's some mention of broken bones and injuries, but nothing especially graphic.

-

They took turns doing the laundry. Hypothetically.

Because really, the truth was that Murray tried his best, but he was never very good at folding things neatly, and Sly would always pretend that he couldn’t tell whose clothing belonged to whom, despite their obviously different sizes. Bentley just preferred doing the job himself anyway, because then he could take as long as he wanted to smooth out creases and snip off loose strings.

Sly wouldn't be much use with his broken wrist, anyway. He was remarkably upbeat about the whole thing, even if everyone else was absolutely baffled at how he’d managed to injure himself doing the same thing he’d done regularly for years. Nobody teased him too badly for it- it would be hypocritical, seeing as how Murray had gotten lost three times in the same corridor earlier that day, and an errant jet boost on his chair had nearly gotten Bentley’s head stuck in the ceiling. Jobs weren’t always as smooth as they were on the blueprints. It wasn’t the end of the world, anyway, as despite all the hiccups and missteps, they’d still slipped back out of the high-rise carrying numerous personal treasures of the city’s wealthiest business tycoons.

The pile of gemstones and still-framed art pieces looked stunningly out of place in what passed for the safehouse’s living room. It wasn’t an especially upscale place, being an apartment perched atop a dry cleaner’s, but the whole point of a safehouse was to be unassuming and easy to miss. It was still far from the shabbiest place they’d ever hunkered down in, plenty big for the three of them.

“D’ya think he got lost?” Murray looked up from staring at his twiddling thumbs. “Should I have picked it up instead?”

Bentley didn’t slow in rolling the hippo’s newly-cleaned scarf into a neat pile to go with the rest. “It’s Sly, Murray, he’s got a good sense of direction. I’m sure he just got held up at the checkout line.”

“Hmm…” One set of fingers smoothed down a band-aid covering where a fragment of door had gotten lodged in the back of his hand while he’d knocked it down. He always tried to deal with those quickly, Bentley had told him all about the kinds of infections you could get from letting wounds get dirty. The adrenaline masked it while they were working, but once the work was over and it started to wear off, it was easy to notice all the spots that hurt. Even disregarding any cuts or wounds, all his muscles ached from how much they had been used in such a short time.

“Try not to worry too much, okay?” Noting his friend’s continued fretting, Bentley put down the shirt he was folding and gave the hippo a pat on the arm.

The string of bells hung above the door jingled as it swung open. “Honey, I’m home!”

“See? I said it was fine.” The turtle nodded to himself.

Sly padded into the room, demeanor bright despite the matted fur and sling around his neck. “Got dinner.” He announced, lifting up a stuffed plastic bag with his good hand. “Cashier tossed in a couple extra egg rolls ‘cause she felt bad about my arm.”

“Ohhh yeah, ‘The Murray’ has been waiting all day for the deliciousness that is spare ribs. Toss it my way, buddy!”

“Don’t- don’t toss it, I just finished with the laundry!” Bentley protested.

Some heists were capped off with week-long vacations and money thrown every which way as they partied until dawn, and others with quiet tuck-ins at the safehouse, pajamas, and a lot of unwinding.

Sly glanced between the turtle and his work. “No trouble with that, huh? Guess you aren’t concussed after all. Still figured all that hacking would’ve sprained your brain.” He paused. "Seriously, nothing bothering you after hitting your head like that?"

“I wear a helmet for a reason. I still advise you to do likewise.”

“Mmm, yeah, gonna get back to you on that one.” He noticed Bentley’s empty wheelchair parked by the unoccupied corner of the couch. Without any hesitation, he climbed up over the sofa’s overstuffed back and flopped down in between Murray and the armrest.

Bentley stared at him. “...You could have just asked to move it.”

“Felt rude to.”

“And you’re going to exacerbate your injuries in being a smart alek.” He nudged his glasses out of their place to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I swear, sometimes-”

“Hey, c’mon, guys, don’t fight. Aren’t you tired?”

“Alright, Murray, alright.” Sly raised his hand in defeat. He offered Bentley a carton of wonton soup. “Truce?”

“Truce. You know I’m just trying to make sure your injuries heal properly, right?”

“Yeah, mom, you’re always keeping an eye on us.”

The three sank into their chit-chatting and Chinese takeout. Murray commandeered the remote control, flipping through public access channels until they found some old 50’s sci-fi that was corny enough for everyone to get enjoyment out of. He and Sly laughed through mouthfuls of food, while Bentley rolled his eyes and scolded them for their lack of table manners, even as Murray rightfully pointed out that there was no table to speak of. Maybe it was the tiredness, the adrenaline wearing off, or just being in an agreeable mood, but Bentley for some reason found that absolutely hilarious, proceeding to nearly choke on his own dinner from laughing too hard.

“Good job, guys,” Sly said. “Nice work all around. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Bentley fell asleep first, just aware enough while he was nodding off to put his soup on the coffee table where it wouldn’t spill, only to pass out right atop the clean laundry he'd so meticulously sorted. While he seemed unfazed, Sly abruptly joined him halfway through the movie’s third act, with an empty takeout container still nestled in his lap and his tail wrapped around his legs. Murray stayed where he was, sandwiched between the two. It wasn’t a generous fit, but he didn’t try to get up, or even to move. He didn’t want to accidentally jostle any limbs or bump into any sore spots, let alone accidentally wake anyone up. They both needed the rest. And he was fine where he was. He always felt safer when his friends were close.

[lookinghalfacorpse]

in the wild all lessons last - extra scene 2

just a fun little scene that i brainstormed a while back that isn’t gonna fit in the final cut!  (fr though if you’ve never seen sheep getting sheared, please watch, they just be TOSSING those babies around)

read the full fic here , info and trigger warnings here

“Watch her ears, Techno.”

“I see ‘em,” Techno replied, obviously trying very hard to hide a smile.

Sitting atop a log that he dragged over from the firewood pile, Dream tried to keep his anxiety at bay while Technoblade sheared the sheep.  They were due for a trim; their wool was thick and matted and the temperature was, slowly but surely, rising.  If they didn’t shear them soon, they’d surely regret it.

Dream was starting to regret it, regardless.

Techno was quick and efficient with the shears, tossing the sheep into various positions and holding them there between his lower legs as he made long, sweeping cuts.   It was positively terrifying to watch.  Dream would far rather be doing this job himself, but between his trembling hands and the way his heart pounded in his chest when he so much as looked at shears, this was a task for Techno instead.

“Oh my-- Techno.”  Dream scolded, trying to relax his posture so he didn’t look so nervous, “You’re so fast, just-- just… watch her tail.”

“Everything's cool.  Look, she’s very relaxed, and I’m very, very aware of her body parts.”

“Well, she’s-- Listen, she’s one of the nervous ones, so she might get scared.  She could flinch.”

It was one of the smaller sheep, who sported a fully black face and a thick layer of white wool over the rest of her body.  She quietly endured as Techno pulled her backside upwards so he could reach around, and although she didn’t seem bothered by the manhandling, the position surely didn’t seem comfortable.  Or dignified, for that matter.

Em, who was sniffing the barn wall nearby, walked over and placed herself directly in front of Dream, blocking his view of the scene behind the wall of her white fur.  Dream simply scoffed at her before picking up his log and moving it two feet to the right, sitting down again.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Techno agreed with her.  “Dude,” he said, “you gotta stop watchin’.  The only reason the sheep would get scared is if they look over and see that you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Dream replied, flatly, as Em moved back to him and nuzzled her head under his chin.  Her fur tickled his neck, and her nose was wet at the edge of his jaw.  

The pile of wool beside Techno was building, looking a bit like dirtied snow as it peeled away from the sheep’s skin.  Some of the snow already melted, including a large spot next to where Dream was sitting.  The nights were still extremely cold, but the weather was more amicable than it was just a few weeks ago.  The seasons were changing.

He would try to relax and enjoy it if the consistent snip of shears wasn’t about to drive him to madness.  

Em pushed her snout against the side of his face, forcing his gaze away.  He felt a chuckle bubble in his throat as he raised his hands to her head, scratching along the base of her ears and quietly telling her how ridiculous she was.

“If you need somethin’ else to do, I got plenty of ideas.” Techno said, “There’s a water tub for the cows in the barn attic that’s all dusty and gross, you could clean it out so I can replace the old one.”

“No, I’ll... I’ll feel better if I’m nearby until you’re done.  Really.”

“Doubtful, but alright.”

In a patch of open ground, unveiled by the melting snow, was a short and sturdy stick.  Its edges were evenly cut; it must’ve been a piece of kindling that dropped from someone’s hands, or maybe it fell out of the wheelbarrow when it was on its way to storage.  Em stepped away from him for only long enough to scoop it into her mouth and then return to him, dropping it enthusiastically onto his lap, dark eyes shining.

“What, you wanna play fetch?” Dream asked her.

Her tongue fell from her mouth as she started panting.

“Fine, fine, you win, okay?  But I’m staying here.”

Techno’s eyes lifted from his job for just a moment as he watched the two of them begin a relaxed game of fetch, no longer able to hide his smile.

[decoloraa]

Please look at me - chapter 4

Chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 [read on ao3]

If you work at a place like Fort Briggs, you’re always faced with danger. Death is something that follows you wherever you go. After all “survival of the fittest” isn’t the law in the mountains without a reason.

With his 24 years Casther had faced all kinds of dangers, whether they were traitorous soldiers or just Olivier when she was in a very very bad mood. So far he had survived all of them and he always figured his end would be because of something epic, kinda like in those movies they sometimes watched.

He never would've thought his cause of death would be “sharing a bed with his friend” and it may be a bit overkill to say that this was going to be his way to die. But Casther would do anything to have a four meter tall bear break into the cabin to take him, just so he wouldn’t have to face what was happening right in this moment.

So there he was. Sitting on the floor of a cabin somewhere in the Briggs mountains, wearing nothing but his boxers. With clammy hands and a cold shiver running down his spine as he stared up to the bed in front of him. His dry mouth seemed to have lost all of the sounds it could speak, not that his mind was even capable of coming up with something to say.

A look upfront made it questionable if there even was a right thing to say.

Most of the blankets had been scattered all around the bed from Casther falling out of it, some gathered on a small pile at the end of the mattress. Next to it sat Val.

With his bare back the doctor pressed against the wall behind him, trying to get as much distance between Casther as possible. Brown and large, the bear's fur covered most of his chest. A pale hand clutched the edge of the fur with so much force the knuckles turned white.

With wide eyes he stared at Casther in horror, his breath going fast and shallow.

Casther bit the inside of his cheek. This is exactly what he was afraid of. He cursed himself in his mind for falling asleep like that. If he would’ve stayed awake, he might have noticed Val waking up and he could've prevented this.

What was he supposed to say now?

"Val, this is not what it looks like", Casther started, trying to talk as calmly as possible. Slowly he tried to crawl closer to the black haired man.

"Stay away", Val's voice trembled.

The doctor further pressed his back against the wall.

"You fell into the lake, remember? I got you out and carried you here. I had to get you out of these clothes, or you would've frozen to death" Casther tried to explain himself.

"Oh, so you decided to just climb into bed with me?!" Val raised his voice. He was getting increasingly upset and Caster couldn’t blame him.

His eye bags that were usually visible from not getting enough sleep because of work were no comparison to the dark circles that now cornered his eyes. Black hair that normally looked well kept now laid messy on his head, multiple strands falling into his pale face.

Casther had never seen him like this.

"I understand what this looks like, but please let me explain.", Casther tried to keep his voice calm. "Your temperature wouldn’t go up and I was afraid it was too late. I didn’t know what else to do so I tried to warm you up."

Casther's explanation did little to ease Val up. The doctor's eyes darted around the room agitated. The hand that gripped into the fur trembled increasingly and his clenched jaw made his blue lips even more noticeable.

Casther looked at Val in concern. The doctor's temperature had risen a bit since they came to the cabin, but he was far from being well. He could tell how Val tried his best to suppress his trembling.

"Val, you're still too cold. Please let me help-", Casther did everything to sound calm and collected, but he was cut short by Val.

"I don't need your help", the doctor raised his voice at him.

Casther went silent. He looked into the black haired man's eyes with a serious expression.

"Okay, you're the expert. If you think you’re fine and not hypothermic, I'll stay as far away as you want me to," Casther spoke to the doctor calmly but persistently.

Casther could tell Val was trying to control his shivering, but his body didn't listen to his command and Casther could see right through the facade. Silently the doctor looked down at himself, his jaw tensing further from his inner quarrel.

Out of nowhere a wave of cold seemed to hit Val. As the cold washed over him, he clutched his arms and pulled his legs towards his chest as his body shook forcefully. Grunting in pain he curled up and tried to tuck his head between his shoulders.

Casther frowned in concern.

As the heavy shivers calmed down, the freezing man stayed in his position concerningly still. Dark strands of hair that fell into his face made it impossible for Casther to read his expression. All he could see was Val's shoulders rising with each inhale, all he could hear was the other man's strained breath. Other than that, Val stayed silent.

And so did Casther.

It was obvious that Val was far from being well. But Casther wouldn't pressure him. He wanted to help, but it was Val's job to accept it. So he stayed silent and waited patiently for the other man to tell him to stay away or not.

Eventually Val whispered into the silence: “...fine.”

Green eyes glanced through black strands of hair up to him.

"But only until I'm a bit more warmed up", he said with a hard voice.

Casther nodded in acknowledgement. Slowly he put his left arm in front of him and shifted his weight on it. The wooden beams creaked under him as he got up the floor. With small steps he made his way over to the bed, afraid Val could change his mind if he moved too fast. Like a frightened deer that gets approached by a wolf.

Was this what Val saw in him?

Carefully Casther sat down at the edge of the bed. He nervously scratched his head, trying to figure out how they should continue from now on. Val just sat there with the wall against his back, the fur pulled towards his chest and his head tilted to his right.

"I think it's best if we..", Casther opened his arms and awkwardly gestured the movement of a hug.

Val glanced at him uncertainly.  His frown still hadn't lessened and now he just looked.. exhausted.

"Which.. which way do you wanna lay down?", Casther asked shyly.

Val looked to the side. His hair fell deep into his face, but it still didn't seem to bother him. It was as if he wanted to hide behind it.

"Like before.. I think that's the most logical thing to do.", he reasoned, his jaw tense.

Casther nodded.

The scenes that now followed must've been painful to watch. Both men tried to lay down onto the narrow bed while trying not to make the whole situation even more uncomfortable than it already was.

Concentrated Casther calculated the best position on the bed that wouldn't make Val too uncomfortable, but didn't end with him falling off the edge again. Meanwhile Val was concerned with the question of how close he would have to lay to the other man in order to get warm. As Casther tried to find the right position for his arm so his friend could lay on top of it, Val was concerned with fixating on a random point in the cabin so he wouldn't have to meet Casther’s eyes.

"..sorry", Casther mumbled after he touched Val's hip without meaning to. One second later he nearly flinched as he accidentally touched Val's lower back: "..shit, sorry!".

"Just stay still for fuck's sake", Val snarled at him.

Finally Casther seemed to have found an acceptable place in the mattress. This allowed the black haired man to lay on Casther's extended arm. As Val tried to find a comfortable position, the other man grabbed some of the blankets and placed them on top of them. Once their shuffling came to a pause, they both looked forward. And to each of their surprise, right into each other's eyes.

For a few heartbeats green eyes silently stared into yellow ones, each of them not noticing how they were both holding their breath. The moment realization hit Casther, he could feel his face beginning to burn and he quickly stuck his chin up. In his mind he cursed himself for reacting so childish.

What he didn't notice was Val's equally red face which he tried to hide by tugging his head down towards the gray haired one's chest (which didn't help at all).

As they laid there in the narrow bed, hidden under a pile of blankets and hearts close to each other, Casther's mind began to wander again. He could feel the weight of Vals body on his left arm, he could feel the other man's skin with the other arm he had placed over Val's hips as carefully as possible. Just as dominant was the feeling of Val's cold hands that he had tucked between their chests.

And then there was the feeling of beating hearts. He could feel his own vibrating through his chest. Fast and certain, as if it was talking in his own language.

And he could feel Val's.

His friend's heart had been racing before, but now Casther could feel it nearly stumbling over its own steps. But the gray haired man knew the reason why it was beating so fast and it wasn't the same reason as his kept up with its race.

"Listen Val.." Casther let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

His mouth went dry at the thought of the words he was going to speak. It needed to be said, he knew that. But he still was afraid.

"I'm sorry for kissing you," Casther uttered. "It was a mistake and the least thing I should've done is to ask you first."

After swallowing heavily, he continued.

"What I did that day was egotistic. Something overcame me and I didn't stop to think about what you might've liked. Instead I just assumed things that weren’t there," Casther stared up towards the wall, not daring to look at Val.

"I overstepped and with my impulsiveness I damaged our friendship, I know that," he blinked quickly. "I made a mistake and I understand if you're angry at me, upset or whatever you're feeling right now. You have every right to do so and I'll take your blame," Casther swallowed. Hot anxiety boiled inside his gut, making it hard for him to speak.

"But please, you have to believe me: I would never do something that would make you uncomfortable on purpose. And never would I harm you in any way," he felt his eyes getting damp. "If you can't stand me and don't want to be friends anymore, that's fine. But you don't have to be so afraid of me."

Silence came over them again as Casther tried to calm himself with deep breaths. Desperately he waited for a reaction from the black haired man. Anger, frustration, anything would've been fine for Casther. He could bear it.

What he couldn't endure was the creeping silence between them, which felt even colder than the icy winter outside of the cabin.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Val broke the tension with a whisper. It was more like a breath and it nearly got drowned by Casther's racing thoughts.

"I'm not afraid of you..", Val whispered.

The gray haired man could feel his own frustration boiling up inside him.

"Then why are you avoiding me like that? Why won't you look at me? I can feel your heart beating, Val. I can smell your fear, so don't lie to me," Casther blurted out agitated. All of the control he previously forced onto his voice had slipped.

Full of expectations he stared down to black hair, waiting for something, anything. His heart beat hard against his ribcage. Casther would be fine if Val started yelling at him, but the way he seemed to avoid this topic made Casther even more frustrated.

Then, a whisper echoed through the room.

"It's not you I'm afraid of," Val insisted. His head pressing towards Casther's chest, not daring to look at him.

"What-?" Casther croaked.

____________________________

Val squeezed his eyes shut. A shiver ran over his spine and his heart started beating against his ribs. He pressed his lips into a thin line, being too afraid the wrong words would slip out of him. Carefully he searched through all of the words in his head, failing to find the ones that could describe the storm raging inside of him.

Say something.

Anything.

Tell him.

"Don't you think out of all people, he could understand you best?" again Olivier's words came to his mind.

His lips trembled as he forced the words to come out of his mouth: “I’m not scared of you.”

"I'm scared of myself," Val confessed. "Of these feelings that I can't seem to understand, that I don't know how to act upon. And I'm afraid of this feeling that comes whenever I'm with… you. Scared of what it means."

He squeezed his eyes shut again and bit his lower lip. Val could feel his heart racing, as if it was about to jump out of his chest.

"And I'm not upset at you. I'm angry at myself because I don't know what to do. I feel so clueless and I have no idea how I should act," Val could feel his voice cracking, but he had lost all control over it.

His mind shouted at him to leave, to escape this situation. To run away from what he just admitted.

Just when Val began to hope that Casther might've miraculously missed what he just said, the gray haired man started to move. Casther let go of the embrace he had held Val in. For a second Val thought the other one would just get up and leave after his outbreak.

But instead, Casther grabbed Val by his shoulders. Firm, but gently. Then he could feel golden eyes on him, as the man silently looked at him.

"Look at me," was all the gray haired man whispered.

Val could feel his gaze and turned away nervously. But escaping the other one's eyes was impossible with the man in front of him and the wall touching his back.

"Val, look at me, " Casther spoke in a soft voice.

"Please."

It wasn't a request. It was a plea.

When Val had thought about facing Casther with what happened, he always thought he would be met with upsetness. After all Val was the one who pushed him away so forcefully and then refused to talk to him, right?

But when Val hesitantly looked up to Casther, he was faced with nothing but pure tenderness. There was no hint of resentment or conflict. Casther didn't say anything, he didn't even need to. All he did was to look at him with big golden eyes and a soft expression Val had never seen on him.

It was as if somehow,

He just knew.

Val could feel something inside of him crumbling away. And somehow with this, a lock inside of him opened and the words began to wash out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Val's lips trembled. "I didn't mean to push you away. I didn't mean to avoid you like this."

"When we kissed, I just panicked. And then I further freaked out because of my own reaction. I didn’t know how to face this, face YOU. So I ran away. I thought it would be best for us, but I only made things worse."

With heavy blinks he tried to push away the wetness in his eyes. "Everytime I think about that day I get so confused, because I feel so helpless and angry at myself."

One breath stumbled over the other. The spiral in his head threatened to pull him down, until a warm palm touched his left cheek.

Again, Val met the golden eyes that seemed to look right through him. All this time Casther had just listened to Val’s rambling speech, giving him space to phrase the words that have been bothering him for so long.

With the hand resting on his face, the storm that's raging inside came to a halt. All the worried doubts fled his mind and what stayed were the thoughts of how warm Casther's hand was and how bright his eyes seemed to shine.

"It's okay," Casther said with an assuring but firm voice.

They were two words, each of them short. But they were all that Val needed to hear. Warm relief washed over him and as he closed his teary eyes, Val allowed himself to lean into the touch.

"I treated you horribly, acted like an asshole. You have every right to be upset at me. But instead you still took care of me..," Val felt overwhelmed by the gentleness Casther showed him.

"How many times was I being a jerk and yet you still patched me up?" Casther countered, smiling. His lips cracked into a quick laugh: "Looking back it would've saved you a lot of trouble."

For the first time in a while, a smile appeared on Val’s lips. It was small, but honest.

Casther lifted his hand off of Val’s face and sat up. With a wide motion he opened his arms in an effort to gesture a hug. "Are we good?", he asked with a soft expression.

Val looked at his friend for a moment, just to lean forward to accept the invitation. He carefully wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist. As Casther’s arms wrapped around his shoulders strongly, Val could feel his tension wash away. For a while they just stayed that way, hugging each other silently. But this time the lack of words felt less like a winter's frost and relief filled Val’s tired body. 

Without noticing Val leaned his head in the crook of Casther’s neck, glad that they were able to finally talk through their struggles. Val had never shown someone this much vulnerability, but never in his life had he felt this safe, this warm.

"You have no idea how relieved I am. After the kiss I thought I messed everything up," Casther eventually broke the silence. "...like I always seem to do whenever I get close with others."

"Don't say that. You don't mess everything up," Val brushed over the other one's back trying to reassure him. "If it wasn't for you, I would be laying on the bottom of that lake completely frozen."

His mind wandered back to that day, to one picture: Casther's hand on his cheek as he slowly leaned closer. A small shiver ran over his neck, but not from the cold. "And..", he whispered next to Casther's ear. "…the kiss itself wasn't a problem. It was… nice at first.. Before I freaked out like that I mean."

Casther slightly perked up at Val's words.

"You said you should've asked me first. If you had, I don't know what I would've said for sure," Val could feel his cheeks warming up at the memory of Casther slowly leaning towards him. He closed his green eyes as he rested his chin on the other man's broad shoulder. "But a part of me would've wanted to say yes."

The doctor’s cheeks burned at his own words, but he didn’t regret saying them out loud.

"And... if I were to ask you now?", Casther whispered into his black hair.

Val held his breath in surprise. He paused for a moment to think about the question.

"... then I'd say 'yes'," he said, hoping his nervousness couldn't be heard in his voice.

They silently let the exchanged words sink in. Then, Casther carefully let go of Val to leave their tight embrace.

Facing Val, he softly rested his palm on Val's hand. Again his big eyes locked onto him, but this time Val felt no anxiety as he met his golden look. Without breaking his gaze, Val turned his left hand for their palms to meet.

The shorter man could feel his heart beating through his chest as Casther raised his own left hand and gently touched Val's cheek. For a moment Val closed his eyes at the contact, allowing himself to accept the show of affection. As if he feared that Casther would take his hand away, Val placed his other hand on the forearm that was reaching for him and opened his eyelids again.

Like this was the sign Casther had waited for, he slowly leaned forward. It felt as if time was moving slower. No cold started to crawl up his spine, no worries threatened to cloud his mind. All Val could see was warm eyes luring him into a sense of comfort. And before he could notice, he leaned closer to Casther as well.

Everything around him seemed forgotten as he felt his hand intertwining with warm fingers or as a soft hand rested on his cheek. It was all that mattered as soft lips met his own. 

Almost hesitantly Casther pulled Val into a kiss, fearing he could go too fast. A soft shiver washed over Val at the touch. For a moment he simply let the sensation sink in, then he gently placed his hand on Casther's neck.

It was all the reassurance Casther needed to deepen the kiss. He pulled Val closer, caressing his cheek and causing the other man to further melt under his touch.

Familiar voices of doubt rose in the back of Val's head, but every touch from Casther forced the troubling thoughts out of his mind. So instead of minding them, Val simply let himself further fall into that comfortable feeling of warmth inside of him.

Their kiss felt so different from their first. Back then it was short and more chaste, almost hesitant. But this time it felt intimate. Every touch with Casther felt comforting and he asked himself how he ever could've felt uneasy.

As their touching lips slowly parted, they still stayed close, their faces lingering near each other's. Gently Casther pushed his forehead to Val's.

"So.. Any urge to physically push me away again?" Casther smiled softly without breaking eye contact.

"No.." Val mumbled. His eyes darted from one yellow eye to the other.

Casther reached for a blanket to put it over Val's shoulders. "Come one Val, please speak to me. Don't keep everything in your head where you have to deal with it yourself."

Val signed internally. He always knew when something was going on.

"I'm fine… more than fine actually," Val smiled softly. "But that's the problem: There's still that voice inside my head telling me to stop. Telling me how this is wrong."

Casther hummed understanding.

"Tell me, how did it make you feel? The kiss?", he asked as he gently pushed black strands of hair behind Val's ear.

"It felt… nice," Val admitted with rosy cheeks.

"Then tell me," Casther took the other man's hand into his. "If something would be wrong: How could it feel so good?"

Val looked deep into his golden eyes.

"I can imagine what the chatter inside your head is telling you. But don't pay attention to it. It's not yourself that's talking," Casther mused as he planted a small kiss on Val's knuckles.

Val looked at Casther with curious eyes. Was this really the same man that was known for his impulsiveness? The soldier that faced Drachmas dangers without hesitation? The person who saw so much darkness in his life, who now regarded him with so much tenderness and patience?

As he looked at his friend, Val's heart started to pick up its race again. He pulled his hands out of Casther's grip to place them on the back of his neck. Without missing a heartbeat, Val leaned up to Casther and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

"Thank you," Val whispered.

[crappyvelociraptor]

New Short Story Series Draft

An Original Short Story

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

Episode 1: The Pilot

We open to a scene of a girl with unsettling pale skin alone. She seems to be thinking deeply, as if grasping for understanding yet still coming up clueless. She was familiar with this feeling, considering how she wound up in this treacherous temple prison. But this isn’t as interesting and action-packed as the 12 hours leading up to her boring imprisonment. Let’s rewind a bit…

No less than 12 hours earlier

We find Lydia taking the fattest rip of some antique glass piece that she once heard referred to as a “bong” amongst many other odd names. She was curled up watching the latest episode of RuPaul's Intergalactic Drag Race season 134.

“Slay Ru, she doesn't look a day over 120. I bet it’s all that imported space clay that keeps her skin ageless”, she said once she got her coughing under control, there were a couple of tears welling up in her eyes. “Damn”. A raspy mewling rose from the pile of blankets she was nestled in as if in response.

Mr. Pitter Patter Ph.D. (Pat for short) emerged from his den of fabric. Lydia promptly picked him up like a large malleable infant and cradled him in her lap. She pressed her nose onto the scraggly fur on the back of his neck; her favorite thing in the whole Celestrial Triad was how he smelled post-nap. The scent was somewhere in between crisp autumn leave and cigarette smoke.

A distinct pinging emits from Lydia’s communication cell, and without looking she knew what was displayed on the screen.

Galactic Grocery Job

Planet Meiborg

(0.5 lightyears away)

She read, then reread the notification as she bit her lip.

“Just around the corner and I'm running low on Zeerios”, she muttered. Space Cash had been tight lately, and it was only partially her fault this time. Lately, Pat was spiraling down one of his addiction rabbit holes. Currently, he was smoking 2 packs of retro Space Melbournes and receiving daily packages from Glam-a-sun. She really needed to make some quick cash.

“Pat grab your new goggles, new space jacket, and your lucky space socks, we just picked up a job”

He responded with a stony glare.

***

A white Prius Jet, well one that was white and now had faded into a faint grey, zips past some minor stars and galaxies. 

They were absolutely bumping to the classics of Sir Elton John on their route to the grocery store. One of Lydia’s bucket list items was to see him in a live hologram concert someday, even though she would never be able to pay for that.

Between songs, she lowers the volume low enough that they could barely hear the elegant melodies floating through the speakers. Lydia had been meaning to talk to Pat about his many addictions that came and went like the 7 seasons of her home planet, and now seemed like the right time for such a conversation. He had just woken from a heavy 6-hour nap and was cheerfully purring as he sprawled across his heated seat of the Prius. 

“I’ve been thinking lately that we should try to cut down on how much money we spend for certain things, things that we don’t especially need…”

Pat's black slivered irises slid to land on her, skeptical but allowing her to continue.

“... Like I gave up getting coffee every day because I couldn't afford to support that addiction.”

At this, Pat sprung to his fluffy paws, and his yellow eyes seemed to burn from behind. Lydia knew she had fucked up. Why would she choose a small confined space to agitate this tiny demon, one who only had two modes lately: drowsy fur ball or tornado of fluff and claws. It was obvious that she had flipped the switch. In an instant, she had her arms covering her face and head, somewhat grateful for her long sleeves. Pat whirred around the enclosed cab, scratching the ceiling and running across the dash. I need to invest in a sturdy leash for him, mused Lydia to herself amidst the chaos. 

Before she could reflect on the situation she had gotten herself into, the world around her lurched, then began to glitch as if she was switching between satellites on her TV. And her vision began to cloud.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

[stained-glasswriting]

Sweet Kitty

Hybrid!Park Jimin X Reader

Word count: 4.5k

AN: ok guys this ones gonna be a little bit of a slowburn. The classic reader finds a hybrid and takes them home. I hope you like!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had already been a long day when you got distracted while dragging yourself home. Your day started with your only 8 am class of the week, you were late of course, keeping you from your daily caffeine dose. It all got worse when you left your college campus for the diner you worked at. Immediately upon entrance, you were bowled over by a coworker practically begging you to take the last three hours of her shift. Agreeing to take the shift from her, you set about getting ready for that was now a closing shift.

Of course by the time you flick off the lights and lock the door, it was dark and started to drizzle. Pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, you step out into the street, starting the 5 block trek to your apartment.

The first thing that caught your attention as you neared your home, was a quiet whimpering. Quickly you stop in your tracks, looking around the damp area. For a moment the darkened street was silent, before a barely audible whine came from a dark expanse of alley jutting from the street to your left.

Staying in the entrance of the alley you peer in looking for the creature making the noises. In the dim lighting you could make out the sight of a pair of dumpsters surrounded by trash, sitting a few feet from a brick wall dead end. In front of them laid what looked like a pile of cardboard boxes. One of the boxes had something dark dangling out of it. At first you couldn't see anything that could be making that noise.

Another whimper had you taking a couple steps towards the wet boxes in front of you.

“Hello?” you called out into the dark tentatively. There was no response, but the quiet whimpers started up again.

You shoot a glance back out into the street considering your options. Going wandering down dark alleys in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but what if someone was hurt.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you slowly pick your way down the alleyway following the noises. All of your senses on red alert, you had to be careful. As you neared the boxes, you quickly realized that a dirty cat tail was hanging limply out of one of them. The stiffness in your shoulders leaks out as the realization that it's probably an animal that needs help.

Crouching, you peek into the dirty damp cardboard, fully expecting to see a kitty curled up in it. Instead you end up coming face to face with a hybrid.

You slap your hand over your mouth, effectively cutting off any noise you were about to make in surprise. Hybrids aren't exceptionally rare, but really only well off families could afford them. There weren't a lot of them just wandering the streets so this was unusual.

This one didn't exactly look like he’d come from a nice house though, or at least hadn’t been in one for a while. His clothes were dirty and appeared threadbare in places. They had run ragged around his wrists and ankles. Blood dripped down from his shoulder and down his arm staining the fabric a dark red. A long matted tail hung out from underneath where he was laying on the cardboard.

Your eyes trailed up the man’s skinny figure, up to his thin face. A fairly large cut was opened above his eyebrow, slowly weeping blood down his overly pronounced cheekbones. The cat hybrid’s eyes were closed but fluttered lightly as he made small noises in the back of his throat. His dirt covered ears pinned back in what you assumed to be pain.

Through all the dirt, blood, and obvious malnutrition, he looked small and almost soft. Honestly, how could anyone do this to him? It took all of two seconds to make your mind up to help him. You gave the hybrid a long moment of consideration, before you took the last few steps to reach the boxes. Leaning near you lightly touched his shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous. His body flinched away from you violently. The hybrid’s ears flipped forward to face you then immediately laid flat back again. His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide with fear, they seemed unfocused, and whipped around wildly looking for danger. Another heart wrenching whine was released from his throat.

Pulling back you murmur soft comforting phrases, trying to assure the terrified hybrid. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep shuddering breath. The cat hybrid’s eyes finally seem to focus on you, scouring your face in an instant.

After a moment of staring between you, he seems to come to some sort of decision. He slides his eyes closed once more, and bends his head towards you seemingly resigned to allowing you to do as you wish. He’d seem almost calm if it weren't for the shaking of his form, and the ragged breaths that tore up his throat.

It’s cold out, and his injuries needed to be tended to. If you left him here, he wouldn't last much longer, you’d have to bring him home with you.

“Alright, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” you whispered to him, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. You reach for his arm again, this time gently grabbing it. Your fingers wrap all the way around the thin limb.

Lightly you start pulling him out of the wet cardboard. You were afraid that he might resist or lash out at you, but he didn’t seem to have any fight left in him. He just sort of resigned himself to whatever you were intending to do with him.

You were able to pull the hybrid into sort of a crouching position. Several of the movements caused deeper, more draw out whines to escape him. The hybrid didn’t stop you while you placed your other hand on his elbow, pulling him into an upright position. The hybrid leaned on you heavily, his legs wobbling as you held him up.

The first couple of steps were difficult, and shaky as you murmured encouragement and praises to the man. He limped heavily to one side showing you there was something wrong with the leg. After about a minute he seemed a little more inclined to help, and didn’t weigh on you quite as heavily.

It took some time, but eventually you were able to get the hybrid to the front steps of your apartment building, and inside.

The light of the lobby showed just how much blood and dirt covered the man, and his clothes. Some of it had started to dry and harden to him. Other spots still oozed the thick red fluid. Underneath it all you could now see just how pale and exhausted he looked.

Thankfully it was late enough that the secretary for the building had left for the night leaving the lobby empty. This allowed you to avoid any strange conversations as you pulled the hybrid past the front desk and to the elevators behind it. Without setting the man down, you hit the button with your elbow.

You're lucky once more, with how late it is the elevator only took a couple of moments before opening with a ding. It wasn’t hard to pull him into the contraption, but as you stop to hit the button for your floor, you could feel him start to shake harder.

“We are almost there.” you assure the hybrid trying to calm him some.

A few minutes later you’re pulling the partially unresponsive hybrid into your two bedroom apartment. Bypassing your living room and kitchen, you drag him down the hallway into our bathroom. Carefully you settle him down on the floor, and lean him against the tub wall.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You told him, and spun on our heel leaving in search of the first aid kit you kept in the hallway closet. While in there you also snagged a couple of extra towels and a whole box of Band-Aids.

By the time you make it back to the bathroom, the hybrid appears a little more conscious. He was sitting a bit straighter, his tail clutched between his hands as he messed with the fur. His eyes wide with fear blinked up at you when the door opened.

“I’m just here to help, I promise,” you reassured the hybrid gently. Slowly you crouch in front of him trying to get a better view of his forehead. You could tell it was still sort of bleeding, but with all the dirt and dried blood it was difficult to tell where the cut started. You’d likely have to get him cleaned up before you could do anything meaningful about his wounds. He flinched violently when you carefully pressed a clean cloth on the wound, but didn’t move otherwise. After a few minutes you’re at least able to get the bleeding to stop.

Tearing your eyes from his injured forehead, you glance down, locking eyes with the man. He studied your face with an intensity that made you squirm slightly. You could tell he was sort of sizing you up. It was as if he expected you to do something, and was ready for whatever it was.

“Well, it’ll be difficult to do anything about your injuries till we get you cleaned up. Do you want to take a shower?” you asked the hybrid in front you.

His body jerked in surprise, his eyes somehow widening even further, apparently that was not what he had been expecting of you. He refused to speak but did respond with a stilted nod that left him wincing in pain.

Pushing yourself up, you cross to the front of the tub. He listens intently as you explain the different knobs, and what soaps to use.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask, lightly helping the man into a standing position. He quickly shook his head in response.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes.” you told him as you started towards the door. Warm fingers snaked around your wrist lightly. He pulled enough to stop you without actually pulling you back. This time when you turned to look at him, he kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

“Thank you.” he said quietly, his voice raspy almost like it was overused.

“Of course!” You immediately exclaimed with a nod. The hybrid looked up just in time to see a sweet smile come across your face. He released your hand then, allowing you to finally leave your bathroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing you did was change out of your now dirty work clothes, and into some comfortable pajamas. Looking through your closet, you pulled out some basketball shorts your ex left, and an oversized t-shirt. With a pair of scissors you cut hole in the back of them around where the hybrid’s spine would end for his tail. After a second thought, you grabbed a sweatshirt you wore often. It was your largest, even though he wasn’t much taller than you and was basically just skin and bones, you thought he deserved something soft and comfortable.

Carefully you slid the bathroom door open just enough to shove the clothes in. some steam escaped, showing just how hot he had the water at.

Your next task was getting some food into the poor boy. He looked so skinny, you should go with something that wouldn’t be too heavy on his stomach. Flitting around the kitchen, you get some soup started on the stove. It was just a simple chicken noodle soup recipe. Chicken, noodles, stock, and some vegetables you had chopped up originally for stir fry all went into the pot. Humming you bounced between the stove, and setting two places at the table.

Lost in your own world, you missed the sound of the shower turning off, then later the sound of the door opening. You got quite the fright when you turned, silverware in hand, and a now clean hybrid was standing in front of you wearing the shorts and shirt you left him staring at you.

A startled squeak slipped past your lips when you jumped. At the noise the man’s ears pinned back, and his eyes dropped back to the floor.

“It’s ok, you just startled me.” you reassured him, hands raised. “Are you hungry?” he responded with a short single nod. With a happy smile you went back to setting the table, and finishing the soup.

Before long, you were ladling the hot liquid into two bowls you put on the tale. Carefully you place the pot onto the pad in the middle of the table, and sit at one end looking expectantly up at the hybrid. He still stood in the doorway, head down, but now his tail sat in his hands as he carded his fingers through the fur. The sweatshirt you left him was slung over his shoulder.

After the shower, his fur proved to be much fluffier than you had expected. It was a lovely light tan that turned almost cream color in some spots without all that dirt covering it. Unfortunately there still appeared to be some tangles among the fluff, but those could be brushed out later.

“Aren't you going to sit down and have some?” you asked, confused as to why he continued to stand there,

“Sit… at the table?” his head snapped up to stare at you as the words tumbled from his open mouth. In his seemingly shocked state you were able to finally get a good look at his face now washed.

The hybrid was pale, and his cheeks sunken in from malnutrition. The wound over his eyebrow had stopped bleeding but the area around it was all red and angry. You could tell he’d been on the street for a while, and was exhausted if the circles underneath his eyes were anything to go by.

Despite all of this, the male across from you was handsome. He had nice full lips and high cheekbones underneath wide brown eyes, his hair, now clean, was a lovely light blonde color. Although it was shaggy, a little tangled, and definitely in need of a cut. Then at the top of his head stood a pair of fluffy ears with the same coloration as his tail.

After a long moment of staring between the two of you, he limped over and pulled out the chair opposite of you, and hesitantly sat down in it. He glanced up at you again, maybe waiting for you to start. With another reassuring smile, you grab your spoon and dig in. Once the first spoonful hit your mouth, he snatched up his spoon and started in on his food too.

The first couple of spoonfuls he started slow, but after that he tucked in with much more gusto. He made happy little noises as he dug into the hot broth. It took him only minutes to finish off the bowl, even tipping it back to get the rest of the liquid. His ears drooped slightly as he sat back and looked into his empty bowl forlornly.

“If you’re still hungry, have some more, there’s plenty.” you told him with a giggle, gesturing to the pot.

“N-no, I’m alright.” he stuttered out. The strange flick his tail did, and the look in his eyes told you differently.

“It’s ok, there’s plenty,” you responded, standing to ladle more into his bowl. This time he wasted no time tucking in and scarfing it down.

“So, my name is (Y/N), what’s yours?” you asked politely. You thought it was about time that you learned something about what was going on.

“My name?” he pondered for a moment before answering. “I’m Park Jimin,” he gave a short bow from his seat with the response.

“Park Jimin,” you repeated thoughtfully. “I like it!” you decided with a smile.

A beautiful smile lit up his face the moment the words left your mouth. His thick lips pulled back in a sweet smile that showed his teeth, and turned his eyes into little crescent moons. A light dusting of pink settled onto Jimin’s cheeks as he ducked his head and went back to his soup.

The moment you saw Park Jimin’s smile you knew you were a goner. With the appearance of that smile came the realization that you’d do just about anything to keep it on his face.

You observe him quietly while you finish your own bowl, Jimin however had another two. He looked up gratefully at you when ladled more into his bowl each time, his tail flicking back and forth. Around the middle of his fourth bowl, both his tail and his eyelids had started to droop. The hybrid looked sleepier and sleepier as time went on, but you wanted to deal with his wounds before you settle him in for the night.

Trying not to startle him, you stood slowly, gathering the dirty dishes from the table. When Jimin noticed you cleaning up, he hopped out of his seat and snatched his own dishes off the table before you could grab them too. With big eyes, he stood looking at you, waiting for you to make a move. He followed you like a shadow into the kitchen, immediately placing his dishes next to the sink with your own.

The hybrid then ignores your movement to return to the bathroom, and instead turns to the sink turning it on.

“Leave that for now, I’ll take care of it later.” You tell him turning the sink back off, holding your hand out to him.

Jimin’s ears go back again as he stares at you in confusion.

“You- I-?” he sputtered for a moment, eyes flicking between your face and your hand. “Shouldn’t I do it?” He finishes lightly placing his hand in yours.

“I’m a big girl, I can wash my own dishes,” you giggle, gently pulling him back to the bathroom. A look of utter confusion passed over his face, but he allowed you to tug him along.

You walked him back to the bathroom, taking care to go slowly so he could limp along without too much trouble.

Once there , you settle Jimin down on the edge of the tub, and open up the first aid kit. Flipping the lid open, you pull out a spray antiseptic.

“This is gonna sting a little.” you warned as you pushed back the tan strands of hair that flopped over his forehead as they dried. Now clean the cut above his eyebrow looked a bit smaller, and the edges looked clean like it had been done with something very sharp.

Carefully you sprayed the antiseptic over the slash mark, making Jimin wince as he gasped sharply.

“Sorry… Sorry,” you whisper, pulling a piece of gauze out of the kit on the counter, you lightly press the gauze to his forehead with one hand, using the other to attach it with medical tape. Once it seems secure, you take a step back to admire your work.

Jimin stared up at you with curious eyes, sleepiness seemingly entirely forgotten for the time being.

“Alright, now for the shoulder, shirt off.” you said with a gesture to the piece of clothing.

The hybrid stared at you for a long long moment, seeming to study you. It took a little for you to even realize why.

“Oh, I mean only if you’re comfortable…” you tried to back track. The tell tale feeling of warmth of a blush flooding your cheeks.

He then gave you a small nod, and began pulling the shirt over his head, wincing as he moved his shoulder up.

A gasp passed your lips as the true extent of the damage done to Jimin’s body was revealed. His malnutrition was even more obvious with the sight of his clearly visible ribs, the skin clung tightly to each one all the way down to his stomach slightly distended with the weight of the meal he’d just had. His hip and collar bones stuck out sharply showing once more how long it had been since he had a good one.

Bruises of various states of healing dotted up and down his emaciated form. Scars joined the mixture here and there across the expanse of pale skin some more healed than others.

Tearing your eyes from the hybrid’s chest, you moved to take a look at his battered arms. They were also dotted with bruises, but at the top of his arm and around his shoulder was a large patch of marred skin. It looked like he’d likely skidded across the ground on it. You could see bits of gravel still embedded in the skin, some parts still damp with spots of blood, others had already started to scab over. Lightly you pulled on his arm to turn his body to give you more access. This also gives you a view of his back.

“Oh, honey…” you breathed out in shock, nausea rose in you as your eye’s raked down his pale skin. His back was somehow even more mutilated than the rest of him. Thin, ropey scars crisscross across it in no apparent pattern. Thankfully even the newest ones looked mostly scarred over, like it had been a while since he’d gotten them.

Before you could think, you lightly dragged a finger down a raised line of skin. Jimin released a shuddered breath causing you to jerk back away from the injuries.

“I was bad a lot.” he whispered without turning to look at you. For a moment you stared dumbly at the back of his head before you realized what he meant.

“What? You meant these are punishments?” you asked shocked.

The cat hybrid didn’t respond at first, his breath rattled through his chest. It took a moment but eventually he gave a stiff nod. Suddenly his behavior through the night started to make sense. You didn’t know how much abusive bullshit they filled his head with.

“Oh Jimin, you don’t deserve anything like this.” you told him, tears starting to form in your eyes. Hesitantly you reach for him shaking, but you stop, hands hovering over his skin. Faint warmth radiated off as you looked over the expanse of marred skin on his back. Honestly you couldn’t tell if the hybrid was shaking more or if you were.

A loud sniffle escapes you, as you rub away a couple of tears tracking their way down your face. Jimin’s ears flick back towards you at the noise, and he whirls around to look at you.

His eyebrows pulled together tightly over eyes that studied you again with an intensity that had you dropping your hands into your lap. Jimin’s eyes search your face, following the tracks left by your tears. After a moment he broke your impromptu staring contest, drooping as he turned his face to the side.

“ Why are you crying?” he asks, not looking at you. His voice then gets really small. “I was naughty, it was my punishment.” The hybrid’s tan tail stays low but swishes side to side fast behind him.

“No no no, you don’t deserve this.” You move to reassure him, kneeling down on the floor in front of Jimin. He notices this, looking down at you as you sit and continue on, “ nothing you could ever do, would make it ok for them to do that to you.” By the end of your sentence your voice had started to waver. Jimin was fully looking at you by this point, mouth dropped open in shock.

It’s only a moment before his face crumples into tears. Quickly you pull the cat hybrid off of the tub rim, and into your arms. He startles, stiffening at first, before melting into your arms. His body trembles hard in your arms as he buries his face in your neck. You start rubbing his back slowly trying to calm him.

It took a while to get him to stop shaking, and even longer for his sniffles to slow. Pulling away carefully as his breathing calms, you raise a hand to wipe at the tear tracks covering his face as well now. Jimin just blinks slowly at you, pure exhaustion written all over his face. It’s definitely time to get him cleaned up and in bed.

“Come on, up.” you tell him, pulling him up as you stand. The hybrid’s eyes and tail are clearly drooping in sleepiness when you settle him back on the tub side. “I’ll finish cleaning you up. Then we can go to bed.”

Carefully you patch up both his shoulder and several large slices around his leg. All of the cuts appeared to be done with a knife like his face had. The questions you had about them could wait at least the night, while Jimin’s emotions were obviously still raw.

By the time you finish, he is clearly nodding off, jerking himself awake every few moments. When you move back to put your first aid stuff in the box, the hybrid’s big brown eyes blink blurrily up at you. His left hand raised to rub at his still somewhat red and blotchy face. Grabbing his hand, you pull him into a standing position, and help him put his shirt back on without messing with his wrapping too much.

“Alright, I have a guest bedroom that is all yours for the night.” you tell him, gently pulling him from the bathroom. In the same hallway were two doors, one being your room which you pointed out to him, the other being the guest room you were leading him to.

Opening the door, you help him hobble inside, holding onto his uninjured arm. You deposit him on the bed, and help him under the covers. Reaching over to a little side table situated next to the bed, you flick in a small lamp sitting on top. The dim light shows a sparsely decorated room.

The walls of the room were a pretty light blue color, but other than the bed and the table. The only furniture in the room was a dresser. A closet juts out into the room next to the entrance, a pair of large full body mirrors work as the sliding doors to it. Honestly the room was mostly set up for when your brother came into town, which you’re thankful for now.

Once Jimin was settled into bed, eyelids already falling, you straighten up, leaving the dim light on just in case. You sneak out of the room, leaving the door cracked, to let the exhausted hybrid sleep.

Quietly you go about cleaning up the remnants of your dinner. After taking care of the dishes, you turn in for the night as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: alright guys let me know what you think. And if you want another chapter!

[kohakuarisaka]

Untamed (chapter 4 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hawks had gone on an early morning flight the following day, before you had stirred from sleep, leaving you alone in the cabin for the first time.

He was reaching the apex of his rut. The cabin was beginning to feel like the inside of an oven. That was great for keeping his mate warm, but not so great for him in his current state, where he felt like he was roasting alive.

Outside, the winds were cold, almost punishingly so. Under normal conditions, he would have been wrapped up in his fur coat. However, now, he was wearing a loose T-shirt more suited for summer, baggy cargo pants and military boots.

He took off into the sky, soaring at great speeds that would make him near impossible to see with the naked eye, assuming anyone was actually around to spot him in the first place.

He'd soar up high, then let himself descend in a tumbling spiral, then catch his fall above the trees and rocket between the branches, sometimes letting the bottoms of his boots skim the trees to shake the snow off.

He always loved the feeling of the wind through his feathers; but, the sensation was more intense during his rut. While pain receptors didn't exist in his feathers in the same manner as his flesh and bones, he could still process feeling.

During his rut, feeling was intensified in his wings. He almost thought he could breathe the air through his feathers. Perhaps, it was why he felt so unbearably warm, why your touch had reduced him to a blabbering animal.

It was difficult to resist the desire to bring you with him on his flights, to hold you against his chest and feel your body clinging to him while he descended.

It was exciting to think about what kind of noises you would make. He hoped that you would find it exhilarating. He wanted to feel your heartbeat thundering away from the rush, to see red tinting your cheeks and tears in your eyes.

Instead, Hawks floated alone and let the late winter air bite away at his skin while the winds brushed along his feathers. It was soothing more so than chilling. Despite how unfitting his clothes was for the weather, not even the tips of his fingers felt cold.

The winter breeze had relaxed him, but not for long. Despite the obvious chill in the air, Hawks was still sporting a painful erection. He avoided touching it, knowing full well that masturbation was pointless. Enduring this alone for years taught him that it would likely only irritate him further.

You were here, you were safe, you were his, you wanted to be here, you wanted him. Your scent was all over the nest and his bite mark was a heavy eyesore on your throat. There wasn't another human for miles. But, despite the obvious fact that there was no reason for him to feel uneasy, his nature wouldn't allow him to rest.

His rational side wanted to let you relax, to give you some reprieve from him, from what he did to you and intended to do again. The beast, however, clawing under his skin, wanted to have you again.

Hawks flew some, and then some more, letting time slip away, until he was agitated to the point that his hands were digging into his outer thighs, nails threatening to rip his clothes.

Snow began to fall on his way back to the cabin, and the gentle wind hurled it to and fro. He could feel the soft droplets fluttering against his skin. The snow felt cold, of course, but he didn't really process it. All he could think about was getting back to you.

When he crossed the threshold, it was like entering another world. The outside whistled with the harsh wind and kicked snow inside, suddenly silenced when he slammed the door. He felt the sudden security of being in his nest, enclosed, private, safe, where it smelt like freshly cut logs and you.

As Hawks stepped into the living room, he realized that you had migrated away from the bed, likely due to the cold. You had brought some blankets and pillows over and haphazardly arranged them in front of the fireplace. You had even dug a rolled-up futon out of the supply closet to pile the bedding on top of. He had forgotten that was even in there.

His boots thumped against the wood floor as he walked, catching your attention. You peered up at him, your eyes failing to mask your excitement at his return.

At a glance, Hawks could see that you had showered while he was away. Your hair was clean, just a tiny bit damp at the ends. As he got closer, he could faintly catch a whiff of the well water that fed into to the cabin lingering on your skin.

It was only natural that you would want to clean off after what he had done to you the past couple days. Hawks was well aware of that and was trying to remain calm about the whole situation; but, the truth was, he was annoyed by your actions.

You had washed him away.

Of course, that could easily be remedied.

Hawks advanced towards you, mindful to not step on the blankets with his boots, to not dirty the nest you made. He lowered onto his haunches first, taking in the sight of you, the sight of the bedding you had arranged without him. You had slipped on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, not suitable for the weather, but suitable for him. Like this, your body was very accessible, that much was certain.

"I made breakfast, if you're hungry?" you offered, clearly not at all perturbed by his looming and staring. He didn't look annoyed, but oddly intrigued, maybe even flattered by your behavior.

"You have snow in your hair," you observed, smiling at the sight of pale white crystals caught in his blonde locks. You leaned up and reached for him, carefully tousling his hair to shake the snow free.

He waited until you were done preening him and suddenly jerked forward, pushing you onto your back with his torso. He followed with you, knees pinning you beneath him, one falling between your thighs.

When you peered up at him, unperturbed by his behavior, Hawks' gold eyes narrowed and his fangs bared. A sound that you didn't know he was capable of making snarled from behind his teeth and echoed around the room.

It was a growl, not like anything you had heard from a dog, or any animal, really. You didn't know that he could make noises like that. It seemed unfitting for the calm, polite hero that you knew so well. Then again, he had warned you about this.

Maybe, this whole experience was doing something to you, changing you; or, more likely, he was helping you discover things about yourself you never knew existed.

The growl didn't frighten you at all. It made you tremble with excitement, made your skin prickle with goosebumps and heart flutter, made wetness pool between your legs.

Spurred on by him, maybe wanting to rattle the beast's cage a little, you decided to be daring. You lifted a leg, pressed your foot against his chest, and pushed against him. Of course, he didn't budge at all. He was much stronger than you normally, and especially unwavering in this state of mind.

"Take off your clothes," you requested, trying your damn best to sound powerful, unyielding. You sounded firm, sure, but you didn't sound as strong as you wanted to, maybe not strong enough to coerce a beast.

Yet, Hawks' gaze softened, surprising you. He had told you he wanted you to be yourself, to not succumb to his every emotion. It kept him grounded, reminded him that you were here of your own free will, because you wanted to be. Your demand sobered him.

"Whatever you want," he uttered, sultry and low, and it made you tremble with excited goosebumps.

He leaned back, rising to his feet, and began shucking off his clothes in record time. His boots hit the floor noisily before he fumbled with his belt, having it barely undone before it was dragged down his hips by his pants.

He wasn't wearing underwear, you realized, as he shucked his pants off his feet. He lifted his arms and tugged his shirt over his head. The fabric hit the floor and, rather than throwing himself on top of you, Hawks remained standing.

His wings were spread out behind him, crimson feathers bright and imposing. His gold eyes were vibrant, staring you down like a predator seconds away from laying claim to its prey.

However, it didn't go unnoticed to you that he was standing there to allow you to appraise him, as if you had never laid eyes upon his nudity before.

Despite the cold, he had a faint sheen of sweat that was glistening in the light coming from the fireplace, outlining taut abdominal muscles. He hadn't eaten much since his arrival, and that much was obvious by the exaggerated tightness around his core, muscles more enhanced than you had ever seen before.

It felt almost shameful to stare at his crotch, but it was damn near impossible to not admire the heavy cock between his thighs. It was a sight to behold, just like the rest of him. The trail of pale blonde pubes leading from beneath his belly button was practically begging you to stare.

Still, you dragged your gaze back up at his face, where he looked surprisingly anxious, as if there a chance in hell you would tell him no. Sometimes, it was astonishing to think that someone so beautiful could have an ounce of self-doubt. But, he did. Even if he managed to hide it well, you could always spot it, the fear of not being good enough.

"Keigo," you uttered, voice sounding weak over the sound of the crackling fireplace.

Your arms lifted, hands reaching out for him, beckoning him into an embrace. You blinked and suddenly, he was on top of you, torso ushering you back into the sheets while his hands clawed at your shorts, dragging them down your legs.

Hawks panted into your neck, nails biting at the fleshy meat of your thighs as he tried to will himself to calm down. He was being nonsensical. You had been together for a while now. He had fucked you in every position he could possibly think of, held you at night when he could and kissed your mouth like you were his.

Because you were. Yet, despite all that, he felt so pleased that you still chose him, again.

When your hands slid over his shoulders and felt the burning heat of his skin, you felt a tinge of guilt at his state. Deliriously, you wanted to take care of him, to be able to give him everything he needed.

One hand cradling the back of his neck, you pulled him up until his face came into view and you kissed at the corner of his mouth. Encouraged, he followed, tilting his head to capture your lips in a proper kiss.

You felt his shoulders relax as his body slid atop yours, legs tangled and torsos coming together. His hands released your thighs, opting to slide up your sides, beneath your shirt and along the expansion of your ribs, where the pads of his fingers traced the outlines of your bones.

Despite the insistent, throbbing erection trapped against your thigh, burning hot like forged iron, his kisses were gentle, ushering your mouth open to accept his tongue. He kissed you like he had forgotten what your mouth tasted like, tongue slotting over yours eagerly, moaning into the kiss senselessly.

After sometime, you pushed back against his chest until he finally got the message and pulled back from your lips. You tried not to laugh at the childishly irritated scowl on his face, his expression silently reprimanding you for stopping him.

"Lay down," you urged. "I wanna touch you."

"Don't need any more teasing, babe," he protested weakly.

Still, despite his protest, you nudged him pleadingly. Hawks groaned like you had struck him, but complied and began rolling over, bringing you above him.

You watched his wings flex and fan out comfortably beneath him, spread out across the sheets like twin, elegant blankets, mindful of the fireplace. He propped his back up with some pillows, giving him just enough leverage to lean up a little, but not quite in a seated position.

As Hawks got situated, you tweaked one of his nipples between your fingers. He yelped at the touch, shoulders twitching and wings shuddering faintly beneath him. Your hand was ripped away by a grip at the wrist; but, you couldn't hold back a smile as he glared up at you.

That glare disappeared off his face when you started wiggling down his lap. Of course he knew what was coming, especially when you cupped his weeping cock and tenderly lifted it off his abdomen. Yet, excitement clawed up his spine as if he was sincerely surprised.

He hardly registered your tongue lapping at the swollen tip, where he was sticky with precum. He did, however, painfully so, notice when you sank down, enveloping his length in your hot mouth.

For a moment, you just held him against your tongue, reveling in the salty taste and moaning when you felt him throb. You slid up to the tip, failing to notice how tense the rest of him was, back arched and staring down at you intensely, muscles tight from head to toe. When you sank back down, tightening your mouth around his shaft, Hawks cried out suddenly.

His loudness startled you more so than the sudden gush of his seed. His hands grabbed at the bedding. In the corner of your eye, you could see his feathers shuddering beneath him.

Hawks' cock throbbed with each spurt, heavy where it rested against your lax tongue. He was deep enough that his seed spilled right down your throat. You relaxed and swallowed it carefully, cheeks tinted red as Hawks whined above you.

When he came down from his high, he was still impossibly hard, throbbing against your tongue as if he hadn't come at all. You began bobbing your head, excited at the thought of getting him to come again. However, his hands suddenly flew up, grabbed at your cheeks and pulled you off.

You hadn't expected that, resulting in a wet pop and a string of saliva dangling between your drooping bottom lip and his member. Hawks stared for a moment, almost in disbelief at the sight, like something taken straight out of a porno, and not reality.

"God, you look so fucking naughty," he snarled, dragging your face in towards his, forcing you to arch over him. "Dirty fucking girl, aren't you?"

His tongue lapped against your bottom lip, catching your dripping saliva, before entering your mouth without preamble. The wet organ thrashed around senselessly, enjoying the taste of himself on your mouth. After a few seconds, he pulled back with a growl and dragged your shirt up, forcing your arms above your head to free you from the garment.

"Keigo, let me-" you whined.

"Be good," he silenced you in a gentle, albeit commanding, voice.

The world flipped when he spun you back around and your back hit the bedding. His wings fanned out above the two of you, beat against the air once, and flexed, plumes spread out majestically.

"I wanna touch you more," you protested, fingers weaving through his hair with dangerous intent. You gently dug the pads of your fingers into his scalp and watched his head lull from the pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

"That's not being good," Hawks commented with a groan, making no immediate movement to stop you.

"I wasn't done," you retorted, leaning up to drag your cheek against the stubble on his jaw. You couldn't hold back a shudder at the sensation, soft yet rough hair dragging against your skin.

"Fuck," the winged hero growled, eyes opening to take you in with a faint glare.

Your felt a wandering hand smack gently against your inner thigh, forcing your legs to spread to give him space to settle between them. A digit suddenly grazed your slit, circling your entrance to gather wetness before slipping inside.

It was almost laughable to think he had gone out into the snow to cool off; yet, the heat of your core was tantalizing, so inviting that the touch alone threatened to undo him. You were already slippery and when he effortlessly sought out your sweet spot, you mewled.

Hawks groaned like you had wounded him, the sound practically vibrating from his throat and traveling through him onto you. He tilted his head to nibble at your jaw, breath hot enough to burn your skin where he exhaled against you.

"You're ready for me," Hawks commented lowly, driving his finger inside until his knuckles brushed your folds. "Did you like the taste of my cock that much? -my cum? Feel this - fuck. You're begging for it."

"You're begging for it," you retorted softly, hands carefully untangling from his hair and sliding down to cup his face. You pulled him back, away from your neck, so you could look into his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed in a low sigh, forehead bumping against yours just a little too roughly. "Want you so fucking bad."

"How bad?" you hummed encouragingly, hiking your legs up on his waist to pull him in.

His finger slipped free, hands shifting to slide over your hips, dragging you into a place more to his liking, pinned beneath him, where you were helpless to much more than squirm. You hiked your legs up on his hips, groaning when he humped at your core, causing his cock to drag against your folds.

"Kinda hurts, if I'm being honest," Hawks groaned out lowly.

"I'll take care of you," you promised, blinking slowly as you stared back at his vibrant gold eyes.

"Yeah?" he uttered weakly. "I can just-"

His tip prodded at your entrance and Hawks cut off, moaning in a wounded manner that had your head spinning. You had seen him get pent-up and frustrated before, after week long missions and months apart; but, he never sounded quite like this.

"Yes," you whispered back harshly.

With a shift of his hips, he was suddenly buried inside you. The sudden intrusion wasn't as startling as the loud noise that escaped Hawks. He shuddered above you, crying out, wings flexing and beating the air, driving him down against you.

"Oh, fuck, Keigo," you whined, realizing he had finished the moment he slipped inside.

His cock throbbed as if to remind you that he wasn't done yet. There was a wet squelch as he slipped out and rammed back inside, nearly drowned out by a guttural, "f-fuck", that he breathed against your neck.

He thrusted a few times, rough rolls of his hips, forcing your walls to accommodate his girth. You couldn't hold back a weak groan. As prepared as you might have been, it was inevitable that there would always be some strain to take him.

Hawks must have assumed that he was taking you too hard, for he slowed down, uttering a weak, "s-sorry."

Yet, the dissatisfaction from his slow pace was far worse than the slight ache when he took it too fast. You didn't want it slow and soft. The last couple days had you wound up, prepared for the promised, carnal passion. You wanted him to fuck you like his life depended on it.

"No," you hissed out, trying to angle your hips up to bring him in harder, fast. "God - no - Keigo, harder-"

With a faint growl, he obeyed that command, the sudden hard roll of the hips forcing you to break off into a loud cry.

"Babe, I'm gonna lose it if you talk like that," he warned, words throaty and rough where they breathed against your skin.

You worked one hand into his hair while the other grabbed at his back, nails biting deliciously into his skin, holding him close, forcing your bodies together.

"I want you to," you uttered between broken moans that he forced out of you with his cock.

Hawks uttered your name lowly, a clear warning.

"God, Keigo, just-" you growled, wiggling around helplessly beneath him. He shifted his weight, holding you down with a growl, as if you were dare trying to escape him.

It was exciting, and had you babbling at him wantonly, "you're so f-fucking sexy and I - I want it. Want you to just - f-fuck me like - ahh, Keigo, your mate."

His arms suddenly wound beneath you and hoisted you off the floor. You cried out, clinging to him in a startle at the sudden verticality. Hawks leaned upright, on his knees in front of the fireplace, holding you up, pressed against his chest, hands gripping your meaty hips to hold you at the perfect angle to fuck up into you.

"My mate? -fuck when you say things like that, makes me fucking - ghhh - fu-uck - you want me to fuck you? Yeah?" he babbled on, whispering harshly right into your ear.

It was a little too close, a little too loud, and left a ringing sensation in your head. Yet, you didn't want to shy away, especially not when he started growling. Clinging to him desperately, you could feel his back muscles shifting as his wings flapped with enough force to knock some logs off the stand.

His head tilted back and took in the sight of your face. Your eyes were struggling to remain open, lips parted lewdly, cheeks tinted a brilliant shade of red.

"You look amazing," he whispered, hot breath fanning over your face. "Fucked stupid on my cock, where you belong."

You moaned lowly, head lulling against his shoulder. You felt his lips press a kiss against your temple and he continued uttering into your hair.

"Gonna fill my pretty mate with cum. Is that what she wants?" he whispered, low and sweet, sultry and downright vulgar. You didn't answer; but, he felt your nails bite into his shoulders, heard your breath briefly catch in your throat.

"Yeah, she does," he agreed, breaking off into a pleased hum.

The wet, fleshy sounds drowned out the noise of the fireplace, accompanied by your helpless mewling and Hawks disgruntled moans and grunts. You were so close like this, held up by his strong grip, chest to chest.

You sought out the strength to peer up and catch a glimpse of his wings shuddering, flexing out from his back either for balance or unconsciously, you couldn't determine. You tore one of your hands from his shoulder and dragged your fingers through his plumes, along the growth until you met his back.

Hawks cried out in a sharp roar. His pace increased exponentially as he rode out his orgasm, wheezing and panting into the space beside your head. That white-hot pleasure overtook you at some point, forcing a startled scream from your throat.

He kept going and going, only slowing down when he was certain you were finished. Suddenly, he slipped out, and the emptiness had you whimpering, head spinning and body aching.

Your back hit the bedding and then your front when Hawks rolled you over. Focused on the ache between your thighs, you barely processed the rustling of the bedding, until Hawks shoved some pillows beneath your abdomen to slightly elevate your lower half.

He propped himself up on his hands and knees, fingers splayed out across the bedsheets on either side of your torso. You felt the tops of his thighs slide against the backs of yours, cock heavy and wet against your core.

The realization of what he was about to do seemed to slap him in the face at that moment, for Hawks suddenly stopped, freezing up behind you.

"Fuck, I need you," he uttered, voice hoarse and low. "Please - please, can I keep going? -still so fucking hard."

You almost didn't recognize the sound of his voice, hoarse and desperate; but, then, his wings beat against the air, sharply reminding you that this was Takami Keigo.

Your cheek was pressed against one of the pillows, arms splayed out above your head, and you realized faintly that you must have been quite the sight, spread out lewdly for him, back curved, ass in the air, presenting to him like a bitch in heat.

There was no sense of obligation spurring your unity; or, if there was, it was an afterthought. All you felt was desire, longing for more, aching to be filled, trembling and void of any coherent thought beyond Hawks.

You could feel his throbbing cock at your entrance, his knees pushing yours apart, his arms trembling on either side of you. He was hovering some odd few inches; yet, he was panting so heavily, you could feel it fanning over your back.

"Keigo," you whispered weakly. "Don't stop."

Your scream drowned out the inhuman growl that escaped him as he shoved his hips forward, sheathing himself inside your velvety heat, as deep as he could possibly go, trying to push his hips further forward as if it wasn't enough.

Hawks fucked you wildly, huffing out sharp breaths mingled with pleasured moans. It didn't take long for him to reposition his hands, one settling on your waist while the other fisted in the bedsheets above your head. He arched over you possessively, wings beating the air to drive him forward. As unnecessary as it was, you couldn't deny the way it stoked the fire inside you.

Before you could even think to ask, one of his feathers wiggled between your thighs, nuzzling against your pearl where it flicked and twirled, pinching at the bud with just enough friction to be pleasurable, but not too hard to be painful.

"Keigo!" you cried out, hands gripping the sheets with enough force to nearly tear them.

"Say my name," tumbled from his lips, like a broken baritone. "Yeah - fuck - my name - say my name. Gonna - ahh - stuff you with my c- ahh - fuck, you feel so good - so good," he babbled on, leaving your head spinning.

He was fucking into you at the perfect angle, ensuring his cock reached your sweet spot with each and every thrust. At some point, coherent thoughts died. Nothing existed beyond the bed sheets, the fireplace, the cabin. All you could think about was the sweet scent lingering on the sheets beneath you and the explosive pleasure Hawks was forcing through your body.

He came again at some point; but, you could hardly tell. Everything was already sopping wet, seed dripping from your cunt and down your thighs, as well his. The sounds he made never ceased, inhuman groans deep in his throat that mingled with each hurried inhale and exhale, in harmony with his thrusts.

His dominant hand slid down your spine, carefully curling at the back of your neck to hold you down. As mindless as it might have appeared, you were acutely aware that he wasn't holding all his weight down.

You were familiar with the power he held, the brute strength hidden beneath his charming and silly demeanor. He could hurt you very easily if he wanted to; but, he never did. Even in this state, his self-control was mind boggling, pinning you with just the right amount of pressure to keep you still, but not enough to cause any discomfort.

'Keigo' fell from your lips, again and again, as if it was the only word you knew. Above you, Hawks seemed to be in the very state he had been worried about, that he had warned you about: blinded by the pleasure of your core, lost to the desires overwhelming his every thought for days.

At some point, he hunched over even further, hardly thrusting properly anymore and just rutting into you, and you felt his lips touch the space between your shoulder blades.

It was hardly a kiss and you realized vaguely that he was drooling a little before you felt the sting of his teeth. Hawks gnawed a path up your back, leaving behind pink, blossoming bruises, before digging his teeth into your shoulder. It wasn't as strong as the last bite, a brief sting before the pain was lost to the pleasure.

He growled into your skin, whole body quaking with sharp tremors, signaling that he had reached orgasm again. You had lost sense of your own awhile ago, always ablaze in white hot pleasure. The mere touch of his hand along your skin, every shift of his hips, the union of your sexes, had you vibrating.

You lost track of how long that went on, how long Hawks kept going, mouth latched onto your skin, slobbering and whimpering into your flesh, while his hips rolled against yours, pinning you between the floor and his unwavering form.

Everything felt too good for you to process how tired you had become, brought to the brink of exhaustion, glistening with sweat from head to toe, kept awake only by his invasion of your body, the drag of his cock along your velvety walls.

Eventually, Hawks began to slow. He carefully removed his teeth from your shoulder and gave a few more thrusts, letting out a low whine that you could guess was one last, final orgasm.

His feather departed your slippery folds, leaving you aching and spent, and he remained buried as deep as he possibly could, hips pressed tightly against yours.

Hawks nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, panting wildly, and you felt what you could only describe as vibrations rumbling from his chest, so violently that it had you shaking beneath him. It was almost alarming, but the tremors steadily waned as his breathing relaxed.

Carefully, Hawks turned you onto your side, shoved the pillow beneath you away, and curled into the space between you, pressed tightly against your back, skin touching in every spot that was possible. His wings stretched out behind him, past the boundary of the bedding and spread out across the floor, lax like the rest of him.

Hawks adjusted your legs carefully, stretching them out with his own until they were comfortably laying side by side, all whilst ensuring his cock remained lodged inside you. The strain wasn't unpleasant; rather, you were surprised by how good it felt.

"Keigo?" you uttered weakly, voice so low, you were surprised he even heard you.

You felt his lips kiss at your throat and a hand settle over your tummy, fingers splayed. He uttered your own name back, as if reassuring, before his fingers moved around, sliding up and down your side soothingly.

You willed your eyes to open and watched the flames inside the hearth dance briefly before your gaze darkened and you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of the storm brewing outside and Hawks breathing softly behind you.

He didn't join you in the abyss, but watched over you cautiously, as if you could possibly be in any danger. The storm outside wasn't particularly worrisome, but it made it impossible for him to pick up sounds beyond the boundary of the cabin.

If you had turned to look upon his face, you would have seen his pupils miniscule, gold iris vibrant and wild. There was no chance that anyone would possibly disturb you, and his sensible self would have known that; but, as he was now, rut peaked and beast sufficiently satisfied, Hawks couldn't be told otherwise.

An arm drooped loosely over your waist, holding you close, and he listened to the soothing beats of your heart as you drifted into a peaceful slumber.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Meet Cute (GN!Reader/Mothman)

Pairing: GenderNeutral!Reader/Male!Mothman

Genre: Cryptids

Warnings: Car accidents, descriptions of bruisings and pain

Word Count: 2564 words

Summary: After an incident, You find yourself in the care of a rather strange savior.

Request: Hey, long time fan, but I could never think of anything to request! I was wondering if cryptids were considered monsters here? Would you be willing to write a meet-cute with Mothman? Maybe something along the lines of them saving the reader from a disaster and sparks fly, and boy, if that's not a pun: like a moth to a flame. Mothman can be man or gender neutral, and I'd like the reader to be gender neutral! But everything is to your discretion! Have fun~! And thank you~!

He doesn’t usually do this.

As he cradles your neck, feeling the microfibers of human hair at the base of your skull and your thrumming heartbeat, it feels as if you could shatter apart in his talons. Your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, the pain of the collison definitely affecting you, even in your near-unconscious state. He sets you down on the scraps of thrown away jackets and ratty down-comforters, paying extra attention to your head and side, where splotches of purple and yellow already bloom up your ribcage. You easily fall into the warmth of the pile, snuggling into the fabric.

He sighs, anxiety decreasing as your body relaxes. Having already checked you, he thinks you should last a night before needing to go to a human hospital, just to double-check. He perches by you, tuning the ancient radio to a subtle night-time station, and waits.

Your chest flutters rhythmically, peacefully. Your features seem to shine in the firelight, catching the shadows and giving the appearance of a Baroque painting. So serene for someone just hit by a car.

He sighs.

He just hopes you won’t freak out.

-------

You wake up in a jerk, immediately filled with regret as your right side screams in pain. You clench your teeth, hand immediately checking your ribs as the memories of last night come flooding back.

You had been walking back home after a night out with your friends. You weren’t drunk, barely even tipsy, but had decided to walk the short path to your tiny house anyway. It was quick, just a 5 minute jaunt by the side of the highway and away from the bar. Just enough time for some asshole to swerve off the side of the road, send you flying, and take off without a care for the deer they assumed they just killed.

It takes a little while longer for you to process that you are definitely not in a hospital right now; Not even in your own house, or any house for that matter. A dying fire crackles nearby, the rising sun beams peaking through makeshift curtains attached to a structure of branches. You sit in a small pallet of fabric, right next to a collection of newspapers and old cctvs.

It’s ramshackle, sure, but well-loved. It doesn’t look like a permanent residence, but is lived-in nonetheless.

“Are you feeling alright?”

A calm tenor breaks the silence, causing you to shoot your eyes away from your surroundings and to focus on the person across from you.

Well, person probably isn’t the right word.

His eyes, even in the morning light, flash with red. They’re huge, set deeply into his face with very indistinguishable features. His neck is nestled into a large amount of fluff, reminiscent of winter scarf, that extends back into his large wings, which are tucked behind him. The antennas that flicker on top of his head are distinctly insect-like, but his long, muscular body and hands are more mammalian. Not human, but more similar to an animal. His hands are long and near-spindly, each finger ended with a long claw.

All these features should come together into an uncanny-valley, terror-inducing nightmare. But there’s something about his voice, the way he sits, so cautious yet concerned, that says the contrary.

“U-Uh...I think so.” You shift your body, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through your ribs and you wince. “I’ve felt better, though.” You tentatively lean down and touch your side, trying to check for a fracture without hurting yourself even more.

The creature stands up, wings still closed and kept to his back, and walks over to you.

“Would you mind if I checked your injuries? I have some experience with collisions such as yours.”

After a second, you nod. He steps closer to you, still moving at a micro-speed, and his hands slowly begin to wander up your side. You suck in a breath, but are more afraid of the potential pain than him. His slow, southern drawl reminds you of old movies and your grandpa, radiating comfort with almost every word. Plus, whatever he was, he had shown you more compassion than the human asshole who had hit you last night, so you felt a little more relaxed having him this close.

Nevertheless, he treats you gingerly, fingers just grazing your bruised side. You wince as his index finger finds a particularly dark bruise, and the creature quickly pulls back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it just-fuck that hurt.”

The creature nods but doesn’t move to touch you again.

“Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?”

You shake your head. You had been taking calming breaths to assuage the anxiety of waking up in what might be a monster’s den.

The monster hums, a light chittering sound, like several wind chimes all at once. He reaches over to a small, nearly-rotted, medicine bag in the corner and pulls out an ancient-looking jar of pain cream. He gingerly slides it towards you. “You may try this, it might relieve the pain for a while. Although you should probably see a human doctor to see if you’ve sustained any serious damage to your ribcage.”

You uncork the cream and tentatively dab a bit on your fingers, looking up with a  shaky smile to your savior.

“Uh, t-thank you. For everything-”

Growl

Your hand jerks to your stomach, face going flush as you accidentally brush against your swollen side. The creature perks up.

“I believe I have some human food. Would you like some?”

Sucking in a quick breath, trying to hide the tiny pain and your embarrassment, you nod.

The creature stands up, fumbling with the remains of a kitchen cabinet. From his hunched posture, you’d guess this tiny shelter isn’t big enough for his full height. With his long fingers, he reaches and flicks on the radio. The sounds of a local station’s jingle filters through the air as he grabs a can of beans from a shelf.

You slowly begin to rub in the medication to your side, occasionally looking up at your savior as he flutters around his den. Despite his extended limbs and large body, every movement is very similar to that of a human’s; He moves around the make-shift kitchen like a doting partner, a thought which brings a small blush to your face.

The illusion is shattered when he tears the top of the can clean off, cutting through the metal like a hot knife through butter. As he turns to rekindle the fire and start your breakfast, you quickly look back to your wound, trying to hide your curiosity.

The creature lazily stirs your breakfast as a song begins playing on the radio. The strumming bass is perfect for the morning haze, the low drawl of the singer rhythmic and relaxing. You notice the creature bobbing his head, humming along to the tune. His voice sounds slightly distorted, squeaking like the crackle of tv static. You find you quite like it.

The silence returns, filled only by the radio and the crackling fire. The creature's disposition is amicable, but you're still not sure how to initiate small talk.

“Um, thank you, again. For everything. You really saved my ass.”

The creature gestures with their hand as if to say “No problem.”

“I saw that man hit you with that car and take off. As you were hidden from the road, I thought it best I intervene.” The creature pulls off the now-cooked beans and grabs a spoon, handing the can to you. You take it eagerly, another rumble growling from your stomach. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, foregoing all table manners to scarf down the breakfast.

“If I am being honest, I don’t typically interact with humans in such a….direct manner.”

“Ah, I guess that,” You eyes do another survey of his gangly, inhuman appearance, “makes sense.”

The creature nods, grabbing an apple before sitting across the fire from you. You can tell he is tense, probably waiting with baited breath for you to come to your senses and scream. There is a small part of you that wants too, desperately, but you silence it with a large mouthful of beans. The apple is tossed back and forth between the creatures hands, his eyes locked on the fire. The curiosity of how he eats things sneaks its way into your thought process. “Do you have a name?”

The creature perks, pausing it’s movements and looking at you with its large, red eyes.

“.....I’ve heard humans call me Mothman. I think it is quite accurate.”

You nod, swallowing down another bite of beans. “Do you...like that name?”

The creature doesn’t respond, eyes still piercing into your heart. His face has a small micro-expression, but you’re not sure you can read it. “Because my brother always said first impressions are the perfect time to reinvent yourself, so I could call you something else if you wanted?”

The creature's eyes flicker, in a movement you think is slight shock, before his eyes roll back to the fire. The small light of the fire flatters the dark black of his fur (You think it’s fur?) and only accentuate his large eyes, flashing and reflecting like rubies. In his relaxed position, he sort of looks….handsome.

“You may call me Mothman. Thank you for asking.”

You nod, letting the strumming banjo of a new song on the radio fill the void. The bouncy beat has you unconsciously bobbing your head as you scoop a spoonful.

“I love this song.” You mutter, lamenting how you're almost out of food to stuff your mouth with.

Mothman hums in agreement. “Me as well, this station is my favorite.”

Given your empty bean can, you take the leap into a conversation.

“Do you have a favorite kind of music genre?”

Mothman fiddles with the stem of his apple, brow (if it can even be called that) furrowing.

“I guess I never thought of what my favorite would be. I mostly listen to whatever the radio plays, enjoyable or not. Though,” Mothman points his thumb to the radio, “I love the sound this instrument makes, though I am unsure what it is called. It’s almost like….”

Mothman’s voice begins to make a squeaking trill, one extremely similar to that of plucked strings, although much sharper and shorter.

“Oh, you mean the banjo? Uh, the one that goes like-” You try your best to imitate the chords of the banjo, unconsciously moving your fingers to imitate playing. It’s not nearly as musical as Mothmans’, but his eyes widen and he nods excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, that sound is very pleasant. I’d say any music with that in it is my favorite.”

“Ah, country, that’s a really popular one around here. Have you ever heard ���Goodbye Earl’ by The Chicks?”

Mothman shakes his head. Your face drops in surprise.

“Oh, it’s so good, it’s about-” As you lean over to give a long spiel about the song, another bolt of pain shoots up your side, forcing you to bite your cheek so as to not cry out. You keel over your legs, clutching your rib cage.

Right, car accident.

In a second, Mothman is next to you, tentatively laying a hand on your shoulder. His fingertips just barely brush your skin, yet you can still feel a slight fuzziness, the same that covers his whole body.

“You might want to see a human doctor, soon.” You suck in through your teeth, slowly adjusting yourself back upwards. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.

“I can take you as far as the end of the highway, if you’d like to call a friend or a cab.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Mothman’s other hand slowly moves to your other hip, only applying a modicum of pressure.

“May I help you stand up?” He almost-whispers, a hot breath of air blowing across the side of your neck as he speaks. A shiver runs down your spine as his large fingers play gently against your skin, covering a good portion of your pelvis. You’re thankful you can explain away any blush with the pain. You nod once more.

The two of you stand up gingerly, Mothman almost extending to his full height and brushing the blanket-ceiling with his antennae. You take a couple of small steps, the pain in your side taking the occasional moment to sting you.

Your eyes squint as you exit the encampment, sun already fully risen and in your face.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable or in pain, let me know.”

You turn your head towards Mothman, but before you can ask any questions he sweeps you up in a bridal carry and extends his wings in one motion. From the corner of your eyes you can see dark red patterns that swirl on them, invisible until caught by the sunlight. Your hands instinctively lace around his neck, fingers tucking into the soft fluff of his neck. Mothman gives you a quick nod and what you think is an assuring smile

Without a word, you two take off.

----------

You two fly low to the ground, Mothman expertly maneuvering through the trees and underbrush as he glides along the highway. You’re sure if you were to drive by, he’d look like a flickering shadow in the woods, nothing more.

He sets you down by the edge of town, just out of sight of the semi-busy main street. You basically collapse to your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline and mind wracked with “Holy fuck, I just flew with the goddamn Mothman.”

“This is where I must depart. Do you think you can find suitable transportation to the hospital from here?”

You nod, still trying to wrestle your vocabulary from ‘What the fuck, Holy shit, Oh my god.’

Mothman gives you another smile and comforting nod, patting you on the shoulder.

“Very good. Good luck on your travels. Oh, and try not to be hit by any cars, alright?”

With a playful glare from you, Mothman begins to unfurl his wings and ready himself to fly back into the woods, buut before he can-

“Wait! Uh….” Mothman halts, wings still wide open. Your mouth and mind stagger, not even sure what you wanted to say. “I have some old country cassettes back at my place. If I found my mom’s old WalkMan I could….show them to you? Some time, maybe? Give you a chance to be your own radio DJ?”

Mothman’s face remains relatively neutral, but the way his antennae unfurl and his wings slightly perk upwards betrays his interest. It’s extremely adorable, like a little kid who hears the word ‘ice cream.’

“Yes, I think I would love that.”

“A-Awesome.” You breath out, not realizing how long you had held it in. “Same place, maybe next Saturday? Though hopefully I won’t be thrown in there by a car this time.”

Mothman lets out a series of squeaks, which you assume is his laugh. He gives you a thumbs up. “Cool, it’s a date.”

With the last word, you walk away, still hobbling with your probably-fractured rib, a large smile on your face.

As Mothman flies away, the cold wind of a West Virginia morning blowing across his body, he can’t deny the certain warmth that radiates from his chest.

I have a date.

[deiliamedlini]

Gratitude (Twelve Days of Winterfest)

Part 4/6

Summary: With the upcoming Wintersday and Hylia’s Feast in the midst of the kingdom’s preparation for the Calamity, Princess Zelda leans on her closest friend for support. And no-- to her greatest surprise-- it’s not Urbosa, but rather the Appointed Knight she’d hated until just a few short months ago. Neither had realized how important they’d become to each other. But for that relationship, they were most grateful.

Ao3 Link

Previous | Chapter Index | Next

~~

Day 7:

Zelda sat outside in the courtyard, surrounded by fresh snow, picking up a thick clump between her gloves and then letting it drop. It wasn’t soft snow: the kind that simply blows away with the wind, but it was snow to make snowmen and build snowforts… or whatever people built. A part of her wanted to try. She really, really did.

But a bigger part of her was afraid that her father would see her and claim that she hadn’t been praying, when in fact, for six hours that morning, she hadn’t left the castle’s shrine. Still, he’d never see that.

Because she had no royal engagements, Zelda was dressed practically. She wore several thick layers, all lined with fur and made of appropriate materials. Her hair was braided over her shoulder, and she had puffy earmuffs to keep warm.

Aside from the fact that she didn’t really know what to do with herself out here, she was perfectly content.

None of her guards were close by. She was in the courtyards, so they patrolled the perimeter to give her privacy. Not that their presence would have done anything; they never interacted with her anyway.

Until she felt something cold hit her a bit forcefully in the back of the head.

Zelda yelped and grabbed her hair, spinning in the snow to try to find what had hit her, but there was nothing.

No one.

She rolled onto her knees and looked around, puzzled. But there were footprints leading—

And she was hit again.

This time, she didn’t need to search. The culprit couldn’t stop laughing.

She spun back to where she’d been originally. Link crouched down, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hiding his giggling from her.

“I hate you,” Zelda snorted, throwing a pile of snow at him without much impact. But she couldn’t stop her excited smile from appearing. He brought it out with just his presence. “When did you get back?”

“About an hour ago. I needed a bath, otherwise I’d have come to find you right away.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Link swallowed hard. “Oh. No. I just… I meant to say… just to say hi.”

“Oh!” Zelda beamed. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled, embarrassed.

Zelda looked him over. He wore his usual winter hat, his warm clothes (though not the armor he’d been in last night), her scarf, and…

“You know you don’t need to wear those,” she said, pointing at the mittens covering his hands.  

“I like them. They’re keeping my hands warm. And besides, a princess made them. How many other people are lucky enough to say that? So, stop trying to get me not to wear them.”

She rested her chin on her knees and stared at him. He always knew what to say to turn her failures into something that maybe, just maybe, didn’t need to be dwelled on, or could be forgiven.

“What?” Link asked, glancing at her first and then picking up a pile of snow before letting it fall back down.

“What happened?” Zelda tapped her lip. His was cut.

“Oh, just part of a little scrap. We got all the Yiga, though, so it was a success.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. They’re not, but I’m fine.”

Zelda bunched up a pile of snow into her hand, making no attempts to hide it, and then threw it at Link’s chest.

He scoffed and shook his head.

She crawled over to him and plopped another ball of snow onto his head, amusing herself more than it should have.

Link narrowed his eyes at her.

She didn’t expect him to move so quickly in retaliation.

In a single swift movement, he’d pulled her closer to him by the waist, holding her there as his other hand scooped up a wad of snow and dumped it onto her head.

“No!” Zelda laughed, pushing his hands. But he held firm, swiping at the snow like it was a wave, spraying it over her. His leg pinned hers down easily, and he had almost full control over her.

“No! Link! Let go!” she screamed, playfully giggling as he thoroughly doused her with snow, finding as much amusement watching her try to get the upper hand on her trained knight as she’d had placing the snow onto him.

“Unhand her!”

Zelda and Link looked up at three guards, each with their halberds pointed at them.

And understanding washed over them in a wave of embarrassed red.

“Oh, uh, Sir Link! I… I heard… screams. I wasn’t aware you were back.”

Link untangled himself from Zelda. “I just got back about an hour ago. And it was good of you… to come to the Princess’ aid.” He turned to look at Zelda, taking in her messed up braid, everything that was soaking wet, her goofy grin. “She would have needed assistance, if I were kidnapping her.”

Zelda huffed. “I would have been fine. It was just because you’re you that I didn’t do anything.”

“Right,” he smirked, pushing himself to his feet.

But as he did, he winced, his hand reaching instinctively for his side. And his face froze in horror.

Because he knew she saw it.

When he looked back at her, it was in her eyes. A whole story formed in the span of a second, a story about Yiga, about how he might be injured, about other ways the Yiga Clan could have ruined her life.

He held his mitted hand out to her, and she took it. He pulled her up firmly, as if to say there was nothing wrong, but she didn’t buy it, standing close to him, ready to spring as soon as the other guards were satisfied.

“Well, forgive the intrusion, Princess, Sir. We’ll return to our patrols.”

And once they were out of earshot, Zelda crossed her arms and waited.

“It’s just a scratch,” Link said quickly. “The sword ripped my favorite belt, which is the bigger casualty of this wound.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I promise.”

“Okay,” she sighed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards her. She wrapped herself around him, burying her face into his scarf.

Link let out a deep breath and looked up at the flurries in the air before tightly returning her embrace.

“You’re my best friend, Link. I don’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all. Especially when there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“I know you don’t. I know that.” He rubbed a comforting circle against her back, pressing his head closer to hers. “But I do it for you. You’re my future Queen, my sovereign, sure, but more than that… you’re right. You’re my best friend as well. I just want you safe. And if it means I go fight a few Yiga to do it, I’ll do it gladly.”

“Tell me now, Link. Is it bad?”

“It’s not pretty,” he admitted. “But it’s not bad.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, letting go of her. They were still in public, and he was far more aware of that than she was.

“I’m freezing,” Zelda laughed softly, brushing some snow off of Link before crossing her arms. “I need to get out of these clothes. But after… would you like to have something to drink with me? Hot cocoa, tea, something?”

“Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

Zelda took a step away from him before stopping immediately and turning back around. “Link? You’re not on duty. You don’t have to.”

“I’m off until tonight because of the Yiga.”

“Do you want to be alone? I wouldn’t be offended. I know I’m not always the best company, especially if—”

“You always ask me that. If I wanted to be alone, I wouldn’t come to find you as soon as I got back. I’d have taken a nap. I want to be around you, okay?” Link looked at her desperately, begging her to hear him.

“Okay. And thank you.”

“For what?”

Zelda took his mitten in her glove. He watched their hands curiously before looking up at her. And Goddess, he should have kept looking down. The green in her eyes overtook everything, the black nearly disappeared in the bright sun. They were soft, and the way she looked at him made his stomach flip. But not nearly as much as when she spoke.

“For making me feel wanted. Like… like I’m valuable, not just what I can allegedly do.”

He let out a breath and let her hand go so he could cup her face. “You took the words out of my mouth. Thank you for the same. You see me as more than a weapon. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.”

She tilted her head into his hand. “I would never have guessed I’d end up here when you were first Appointed. I did just see you as a vessel for the sword.”

“And I saw you as the Goddess incarnate, but not as… Zelda.”

Her mouth widened into a beaming smile immediately at the sound of her name on his lips. It was something so rare to hear from anyone, but there was something particularly special about hearing him say it.

She was flushed from head to toe, and backed away from him. “Come on, charmer. Let’s get some hot cocoa.”

 ~~~~

Day 8:

“Oh, get away from me, Link!”

“You’re being ridiculous! What, did you think? That I was just going to let you go there?”

“Let me?” Zelda huffed, spinning on her Appointed Knight. “I am the Princess of Hyrule, and you do not ‘let me’ do anything!”

“I most certainly do!” Link scowled, keeping pace with her as she hurried down the hall. “I’m the one in charge of your safety. I organize your guards, I lie to get you some freedom, I am the one who gets you time out in Hyrule Field every week just for some air. And that was a hell of a concession from your father! I create the conditions that allow you to breathe away from these idiots!”

“They’re all guards! I went out with my guards, Link!”

“Your guards have less than two years experience! That’s why they guard random hallways, and not your room! That’s why, if we take them out, they’re in the back. They’re learning. We thought you were kidnapped!” Link hissed, grabbing her by the arm when she went into her room and started to close the door on him. “Please, listen to me!”

“What do you think I do all day besides listen to what everyone tells me to do? I’m not even a person!”

“You are. You’re the most important person! But you took amateur guards into Hyrule Field towards Mabe Village just a day after a Yiga attack in that same area. What are you thinking?”

“That I want to help!”

“Let me help you, then! I can take you there! It’s as simple as saying, ‘Link, I know you’re not my guard for another five hours, but will you accompany me to Mabe Village today?’ That’s all!”

“I want to be able to make these decisions on my own, Link! I want to have some freedom.”

“You and I weren’t born to be free. We were born to be servants to other people. I was born to die. You were born to live. You need to accept that, Princess. Neither of us will ever get what we want.”

Zelda froze. One thing stuck in her head more than anything else, and it had all her anger dissipating. “You weren’t born to die.”

Link leaned against the doorframe, resting his head against the wood for a moment before glancing back up to her. “Yes, I was. What do you think my job is during the Calamity? I’m meant to keep you alive at all costs, and then—and only then—if you’re okay, I go fight evil incarnate in the hopes of weakening it enough for you to finish the job. If I die in the process, that’s okay, as long as you don’t. I’m not making it out of the Calamity alive, and I accepted that years ago.”

“Link… I’m not going to let you die out there.”

“And I’m not going to let you die anywhere, so we’re at least of the same mindset. The Yiga want you dead, Princess. Please, don’t make it easy for them by going out with untrained guards. I’d die if anything happened to you.”

Zelda scoffed and shook her head. “My father wouldn’t blame you for my stupidity. You’d be okay.”

Link opened his mouth for a moment before closing it. He nodded once, a small smile on his face. “Well, we’ve already established that you don’t want me to die, and I don’t want you to, so can we please just agree that I will take you to the ends of the earth and back again if you want: just ask.”

She grimaced.

But Link realized he still had her arm. He slid his hand down, letting his fingers tickle her skin, along her wrist, and then settling in her own hand. “I will never pull rank on you except in matters of your safety.”

“That’s the only time you’re allowed, actually,” Zelda whispered, her skin still tingling from his touch.

“I love taking orders from you, Princess.” Zelda laughed, but Link couldn’t muster more than a sad smile. “I don’t like fighting with you, but I’d rather you hate me than see you hurt.”

“I don’t hate you, Link. It’s just… it’s all… it’s…” she sputtered, searching for the words that eluded her. They were emotions that she couldn’t voice, feelings she couldn’t simply wrap up and share with another like a gift.

She didn’t need to. Not with Link.

“No. I know. I do. I know.”

She tugged his hand around her and slinked into his shoulder. He could feel her shaking, as she clutched him tighter, her arms snaking around his neck like a lifeline.

“What if I fail?” she sobbed. “What if I get everyone killed because I can’t awaken this cursed power?”

“You won’t fail.”

“You can’t know that!” she balked, pushing him away, as if that were the last thing she needed to hear. She slammed the door on him in an admittedly childish moment before crashing her head into it, letting out a harsh cry as emotional pain ripped through her in the most physical way.

There was a soft thud in the hall. A second later, Link’s voice was soft by the door, and she knew he was pressed against the other side, mirroring her.

“I can know that, Zelda, because I know you.”

Zelda rolled her head along the door before opening it a crack.

Link sighed. His eyes were watery as he stared at her, as hurt as she felt. He was the only one who could possibly understand. Because he was the only other person in the entire world with just as much riding on his shoulders.

“I believe in you, Zelda,” he said quickly, before she could close the door again. “I believe in you more than I believe in the Goddess Hylia. And it’s not fair on us. It’s not fair on you. It’s so much,” he agreed, not needing to hear it vocalized to know.

She stared at him for an endless moment as his words circled her mind, never truly processing. But she heard them nonetheless, if the deepest sincerity behind them was lost. “I’m afraid of failing,” she admitted instead.

“Me too.”

Zelda laughed darkly. “My father would tell me now isn’t the time to cry. It’s the time to pray and ask the Goddess for strength.”

But Link opened the door enough that he could fit into the crack she’d left, and he ran his hand along her cheek before resting his forehead on hers. “You don’t need to ask for what you already have.”

It would be so, so easy for Zelda to just tip her head slightly, change the angle, and let their lips touch instead of their foreheads.

And while it wasn’t the first time she’d thought about what it would be like to suddenly kiss her Appointed Knight, it was the first time she’d very nearly acted on it. And it was the first time she felt like it wouldn’t be the most inappropriate thing in the world.

But this was Link.

Since she’d gotten him to open up, he’d always been affectionate. He’d always been touchy and close. It was just who he was with her. And sure, he’d slipped and called her ‘Zelda,’ which he never did. But that wasn’t enough to ruin her only sane relationship with the one person in the world she trusted more than even herself (and Zelda was a firm believer in the theory of: ‘if you want it done right, do it yourself’).

No matter how selfish she was feeling, she would in no way, ever ruin her relationship with her best friend.

“How about this…” she started, grabbing his wrist to keep his hand in place on her neck where it was warm and every twitch of his finger sent a shiver down her spine. His breath was speeding up against her, and she was sure he could feel her pulse pick up in her neck. “I won’t let you die, no matter what happens during the Calamity. Because you believe you’re going to die, and I’m not going to let it happen. That’s my promise to you. And you keep your faith in me, because I honestly don’t think I’ll manage to unlock this wretched curse in time. But for some reason, you think I can do it, and maybe, just maybe, I can unlock it because of you. Maybe we can keep each other safe in that way?”

He slid his thumb absently along her skin. “I promise. I’ve never lost faith in you, and I never will, so it’s an easy promise to keep. But don’t put yourself in danger for me, Princess.”

Zelda pulled away from him, crossing her arms.

Link rolled his eyes, but not maliciously. “Okay. Okay, fine. You’ll make sure I don’t die.”

“Thank you, Link.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, a smile beginning on his lips as he leaned against the wall, looking at her. “Thank you, Princess. Throughout all of this, even when we weren’t on the best terms, I’ve never felt alone in this task. I’ve always known I had you by my side—whether you wanted to be or not.”

“I never didn’t want you there. I know how good of a swordsman you are, and I certainly didn’t want the responsibility of both the powers and the sword. I’ve always been glad you were with me in that way. But it’s so much better now, as partners rather than begrudging allies.”

The Master Sword felt light against Link’s back when she was around, and he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. It was her.

He held his hand out to her playfully. “Partners.”

Zelda chuckled and clasped it firmly. “Partners.”

[honeymoonjin]

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

--

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

--

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

--

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment,  unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

--

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

--

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

--

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

[toh-writings]

Fortunes of Love Pt 1 (Eda x OC)

Summary:

When King needs his most loyal soldier fixed, Eda decides to take them to an old acquaintance of hers to get it patched. What starts as a visit turns into another visit, then another, then another. Eda begins to wonder why they were never friends before.

Warnings: None

It was a surprisingly quiet afternoon. Luz was still at school, Hooty was taking a nap, and King was off somewhere playing. And Eda had every intention of taking advantage of the break in the chaos. She slumped onto the couch with a sigh, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She took a sip of her drink, closing her eyes and relaxing, a lazy smile on her face. This was the stuff.

Eda’s peace was shattered when a screech rang out through the house. She sighed, putting her mug down on the coffee table. Looks like her tea would go cold. She crossed her arms, scowling at King as he dashed into the room, but her face softened when she saw him. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his little stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in his arms.

“Eda!” he screeched, running into her legs and toppling over. He was quick to get back to his feet.

“I’m right here, King, you don’t need to screech.”

“Eda, Eda, The worst thing ever has happened!” He continued to screech, not bothering to lower his voice a bit. “Francoise’s been injured!”

He shoved the rabbit in her face, showing the arm hanging on by a thread, the stuffing spilling out.

“He needs immediate attention or I fear he’ll lose his life!” The little demon insisted, looking quite devastated at the turn of events. Eda sighed, a soft smile on her face.

“Alright, alright, let me see.”

She gently took the rabbit from him and took a closer look. The thread attaching the arm to the body was in pieces, bits poking out of the worn fabric. It had probably just gotten too old, played with too much, something like that. She wasn’t the best at sewing, but it looked easy enough to fix.

“Guess I can fix it. Just let me get some things.”

She handed the rabbit back to King and gave him a little pat on his head. She had a bunch of junk in the closet to look through.

It was tougher than she thought it would be just to find a needle and thread. Luz had returned from school before she had even found anything.

“Eda? What are you doing?”

The witch huffed from her pile of stuff, the shelves of the closet empty. She grumbled, wading through her pile and standing by Luz.

“Looking for a needle and thread. King broke his doll.” She said dismissively, idly drawing a circle in the air. All the junk on the floor jumped to attention and flew back to their spots. “Clearly, I didn’t find anything.”

“Awww, that’s why King looks so depressed.”

They looked back to the couch where King sat, still clutching his broken rabbit with big crocodile tears in his eyes. He sniffed.

“Yeah. We need to fix that thing.”

Eda went quiet as she thought, pacing the living room. Okay, maybe she couldn’t fix the damn thing herself. That meant she would have to find someone else to do it. She went through all the people she knew in her mind. Half of them hated her, so it was easy to cut the list down. None of the first people she thought of actually knew anything about sewing or stuffed animals. She had to dig deep before she remembered someone who might be able to help. It was a long shot, but they had to try.

“Alright you two, I have an idea.”

She turned to them with her signature cocky smile.

“We’re going to the market.”

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

The Market was busy this time of day, the witchlings who just got out of school running around through the crowd. Eda hated being at the market when it was like this, but desperate times they say. The market was large and there were many stalls, but only one of them was the one they needed. She wished she remembered where it was better. She had never actually been there before, she just passed it every once in a while. After several wrong turns and irritated mumbles, she finally spotted the familiar stall.

“Ah, here we are! Told ya I’d find it.”

She crossed her arms, a prideful smile on her face, but Luz and King looked doubtful.

“It looks like a … fortune-teller?” Luz said, cocking her head to one side.

And so it did. The dark blue stall was decorated with white glittering stars and a crystal ball sat on the counter alongside various other tools. A group of teenagers were clustered around it, giggling and squealing at each other.

“How is some palm reading supposed to help Francoise?” King shouted, looking irritated.

“Just come on, ya little demon. Trust me.”

King continued to grumble his doubts as the approached the stall. The group of teenagers dispersed as they approached, talking amongst each other and staring at their hands in wonder. As they left they could see the witch waving goodbye. She looked friendly enough, her black curls tied back and what looked like a snake hanging on her shoulders. She smiled at them as they approached, though she looked a bit hesitant when she saw Eda.

“Hello! How can I help you?” Her voice was small and quiet.

“There you are! What was it again? Nila or something?” Eda’s voice boomed in contrast to the other witch. She leaned against the counter, a hand on her hip.

“Niliana.”

Eda gave a dismissive wave.

“Whatever, close enough. Listen, Nily, we have a bit of a problem here and need your help.”

She nodded to King. He still looked doubtful, but jumped on the counter and showed the witch his rabbit. She focused on it instantly, brows furrowed as she inspected the damage, humming thoughtfully.

“You want me to fix it?”

Eda nodded.

“It’s desperate! We must heal Francoie immediately!” King shouted, waving his arms around. “I don’t want to lose my best buddy!”

The woman smiled at him, giving his head a few pats.

“He’ll be fine. I can fix him. Come on then, my supplies are in the back.”

She left her stall, leading them into a tent behind it. Luz gazed around it in wonder. It was dark, little balls of light floating around the ceiling giving all the light they needed to see. There shelves upon shelves of stuff surrounding them, crystal balls, crystals, various jars of herbs, and other mysterious substances. Even more dried herbs were hanging from the ceiling alongside various fabrics. In the middle of the room were several comfy looking chairs and a love seat surrounding a round coffee table with a few unlit candles.

“Take a seat, I’ll get working on this.” Niliana told them in her soft voice, motioning to the chairs. Luz hopped into a chair, giggling as she bounced slightly. Eda sat with a sigh, sprawling out over the love seat, but King couldn’t sit. He followed the witch, right on her heals as she walked to what looked like a work table. The shelf above it was lined with various stuffed animals in various rates of decay and mismanagement. King crawled onto the table, watching anxiously as she got to work. The snake on her shoulders slithered away due to some unspoken command, curling around a nearby staff and turning to wood.

“This is a nice place ya got here!” Luz said, still staring around in wonder. “I haven’t meant anyone who was really good at oracle magic before! Can you tell the future? How? What’s your favorite way to do it? What’s all the herbs and crystals for? How…?”

“Slow down, kid!” Eda said, laughing. “Not everyone can talk as fast as you.”

“Oh, right sorry.” Luz said, looking a bit sheepish and shrugging.

“No, dear, I can’t tell the future. Not exactly. Oracle magic is actually quite complicated. It’s more like I see pieces what could happen. I do it by connecting to others magic. I like reading tea leaves the most. The herbs are for the tea. The crystals can be used to focus someones magic so I can read it and use it to tell the future.”

She answered easily, not missing a beat as she worked. The rabbit was empty of all stuffing now, the broken thread removed and the arm sitting next to it. She got herself a bucket and filled it with water, adding an herb here and an herb there. Once the concoction was completed she put the pieces of the rabbit in to soak.

King stared into the bucket, then looked up at her, confused.

“What are you doing?” He asked, the nervousness creeping into his voice. She smiled at him again.

“He’s just taking a bath is all. It’ll make his fur soft and stronger.”

King nodded, keeping a close eye on the bucket.

“What do you mean you see pieces? What does that mean? And what does tea have to do with telling the future?”

Niliana sighed.

“Why don’t I just … show you? Would that appease you?”

Luz’s eyes went wide and she nodded, almost bouncing with excitement. So, she started putting together a pot of tea, heating the water with a magical floating fire. With nothing left to do but wait, she finally sat with a sigh, grabbing a deck of cards to fiddle with.

Luz never stopped talking, but once the witch had settled the girl went oddly silent. Niliana looked over to her to find the girl watching her with intent, curious eyes.

“Sooooo…” She started, a smirk on her face. “How do you and Eda know each otherrrrrrr.”

“We went to school together,” Eda spoke up before Niliana could, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just nodded.

“We were both in the potions track, at least for a short time.”

“Ugh, those classes were so booooring.” Eda groaned, slouching even further in the love seat at the very memory of them. “It was nothing but stirring and stirring. I don’t know how you managed it.”

“Clearly, I didn’t.” She said, twirling a card between her fingers. “I transferred to the oracle track shortly after you left.”

Eda snorted.

“I’m amazed anyone's making potions these days with a class like that.”

Niliana shrugged.

“I didn’t think it was all that bad. The monotony was calming, especially when I was having a bad day.”

Eda waved her hand aimlessly, clearly unimpressed.

“Awww, you guys were friends?” Luz asked, but Eda shook her head, confusing the girl.

“Not really. We were more like … Aquaintances. We knew of each other, but we didn’t hang out or anything.”

“We only really talked when we were paired up for a project.” Niliana added.

“Yeah, I remember that! I always got a passing grade with you watching my back!”

“You made me do all the work.”

“Not like I was learning anything anyway. I still did some of the stirring, didn’t I?”

“Mmmm, I suppose. Not much. You were too busy getting into trouble releasing spirits in the locker room or something.”

Eda snickered, remembering all her troublesome pranks.

“They never could get rid of those spirits. They made me do it!”

Niliana looked doubtful.

“And how exactly did they manage that?”

Eda just smiled, sitting up so she could ruffle Luz’s hair.

“I had to get Luz here into that school somehow.”

They spent a while retelling some of there adventures from school. Well, Eda retold some of her adventures. NIlly occasionally would add something here or that, mentioning something she herself remembered. Otherwise, she busied herself with other things. The tea needed to be finished and handed out and the rabbit needed dried off after soak and restuffed. The tent was filled with laughter. Even King was laughing at some points, though he kept his attention mostly on his rabbit.

“I finished my tea!” Luz piped up. “Do you read the leaves now?”

“In a bit, hun, let me just finish this real quick.”

King bounced anxiously, watching her carefully as pulled the needle through the fabric. Finally, the string was tied off and snipped.

“He’s done! Ya fixed him!” King shouted, eagerly grabbing for the rabbit, but the woman pulled it away.

“One last thing.” She said, opening one of her drawers to pull out a black ribbon. She tied it around the rabbit’s neck, forming a cute little bowtie. Only when that was done did she hand it to the little demon. He snatched it from her hands, giving it a big hug.

“Francoise! You’re all fixed!” He cheered. “Thank you, lady!”

He jumped off the counter, dashing over to Eda to show her his newly fixed rabbit. She whistled.

“Dang, it almost looks brand new! I knew you did this sort of stuff but I didn’t know you were good at it.”

Niliana shook her head.

“How did you even know? I don’t remember telling you about it.”

Eda shrugged, moving to the side so King could sit next to her, Francoise in his lap.

“I don’t know, you mentioned something about fixing stuffed animals during one of our projects.”

“And you remembered?”

“Yeah, I know. I even shock myself sometimes.” She smirked smugly, crossing her legs and putting her hands behind her head.

Niliana rolled her eyes, sitting down and putting a hand out to Luz. The girl eeped gleefully, rushing to give her the tea cup.

“Now, what do you want me to focus on?”

“Uh, what?” Luz asked.

“I need something to focus on. So, what do you want to know?”

Luz thought for a moment, then beamed.

“Oh, oh, I know! Will I ever fall in love?”

Eda rolled her eyes, mumbling something about teenagers and love. Niliana smirked at that before gazing into the cup. A moment later her eyes started glowing teal. Luz watched, fascinated. Several moments passed in silence before Luz got too impatient.

“Well? What do you see?”

Niliana closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. They were no longer glowing, returned to their usual golden brown. She thought for a moment, Luz staring at her intently, slowly inching closer to the witch.

“You will fall in love. In fact, you’ll fall in love with someone you already know and who you’re already close with.” She finally said, placing the cup down on the coffee table.

“Whoa, really? How do you know?”

“When I read your tea leaves, I focus intently on you and whatever you want to know, in this case, love. When I go into my trance, I don’t really see things, I feel things. They're more like impressions. I felt love, that’s how I know you will fall in love with someone. But I also felt a sense of familiarity, which is how I know it’s someone close to you. I’d advise you to figure out if any of your friends like you.”

“Whoa…” Luz whispered, looking amazed. Eda chuckled. It was amazing that her face didn’t freeze like that.

“Alright, hotshot. If you’re so good at this then read my stupid leaves.” She said, leaning forward, her teacup hanging off a finger. Niliana snatched it before it could fall and shatter. She shot the other witch a hard look.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, just tell me something about my love life or whatever.”

The witch stared into the teacup for a moment before her eyes lit up once more.

“This is all nonsense anyway,” Eda added, sitting back and crossing her arms. Luz looked taken aback.

“What? Why?”

“Simple. There’s no such thing as a set future. It hasn’t happened yet! Sure, you can be told what might happen and give all sorts of random advice or whatever, but it’s you’re own actions that determine what really happens. That’s not something she can control.”

Luz looked a little downtrodden by her mentors' words, but brightened almost instantly.

“So she can’t tell exactly what’ll happen, but she can point me in the right direction! It’s like well-informed advice.”

Eda waved a hand dismissively.

“Whatever you say, kid. Personally, I don’t let this stuff get to me.”

Niliana blinked, her eyes returning to normal once more.

“... alright, there’s a lot more to go through here.” She commented, looking rather thoughtful.

Eda frowned, just a bit irritated.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

The woman didn’t seem affected by Eda’s steely tone, continuing with her even, soft voice.

“You have a pretty crazy love life already, it can be hard to sift through. You feel a lot of love for the people around you, so it's hard to say if there’s anything new there … There will be others that’ll come into your life and join your little family, that’s for sure. For a wanted criminal, you really draw them in.”

Eda huffed, her irritation fading as a soft smile spread on her face.

“I suppose so... “

She tried not to react to the look Luz was giving her.

It was a few more seconds before Niliana spoke up again.

“For someone who’s dated a lot, you haven’t felt a who lot of romantic love before. But there will be someone someday. Probably someone from your past. You may be nervous about it, it’ll be odd and new, but It’ll be worth it. My advice would be to not go searching for anything, but don’t shove anyone away who might want to get close to you. You may never find love if you stay closed off. But make sure they’re making an effort, too.”

She gave a little nod, satisfied with her reading, and put the teacup next to the other.

“My turn! I want a reading too!” King piped up. Niliana nodded and made him a cup. He snatched it out of her hands with a “nyeh’ and gulped it down. He shoved the now empty cup into her face. “Do your magic, Lady!”

Niliana chuckled, taking the cup from him and reading it.

“You, dear, are going to live a very happy life surrounded by the ones you love. You’ll be very pampered like you are now.”

“Yes! Only the best for the King of Demons!” King said, puffing his chest out. Eda pat his head, nearly knocking him over.

“Whatever you say, tiny.”

They left shortly after that, all waving as the left. Niliana waved back from her tent.

“I liked her. We should visit again sometime!” Luz said, looking up at Eda expectantly. King did the same from Luz’s arms, tail wagging. Eda sighed, a smirk crawling onto her face.

“Fine, if you want.”

The two cheered, running ahead a bit. Eda smiled at them.

[gumnut-logic]

I know I’ve posted this one before, but what the hell. It’s Johnny and one of my favs :D

-o-o-o-

John Tracy was sick.

Which meant John Tracy wasn’t allowed to go home.

Sure, he could say that he was home, but it didn’t really feel like home. It was full of brothers and people he loved, but it didn’t feel like home.

Home was among the stars.

But apparently astronauts with the flu weren’t allowed to go home.

“It won’t be for long, John. It will be over before you know it.” Virgil was kind and reassuring, but it didn’t really help.

He wanted to go home.

He was determined to work, of course. Until Scott caught him and cut him off.

There were some loud words over that, but the medical department of IR (aka Virgil) sided with the command department (aka Scott) and yeah, he was grounded, cut off from his ‘bird, holed up in his room and miserable.

Of course, his brothers attempted to cheer him up. Alan dumped himself on his bed chattering away with his latest game, all eager enthusiasm. Gordon brought him a pet crab. Even cared for it for him. John was left wondering if it was a snarky metaphor as the crab sat under a rock all day and had a distinct grumpy appearance.

Virgil and Scott were more subtle, but no less caring. Scott ran ideas past him for communications improvements. Piano music and the occasional piece of art found its way into his rooms uninvited.

He appreciated it. Truly, he did.

He just wanted to go home.

The morning he woke up with a cat sleeping on his chest was the last straw.

“C’mon, guys. You know I’m allergic to cats. Are your trying to kill me?” He held the cat out at arm’s length just waiting for his nasal passages to swell up. Though at this point considering his condition, he wasn’t really sure he would notice.

The cat meowed pitifully at him.

Virgil frowned.

Scott arched an eyebrow.

Gordon looked guilty....but then he always looked guilty. John was sure it was an inbuilt survival strategy.

Alan was cooing at the cat and reaching out to scratch it under the chin.

It was an orange stripy thing with big whiskers and that ragdoll floppiness all cats sported.

“Gordon?” Scott’s arched eyebrow was now pointed at the aquanaut.

“What are you looking at me for? I got him the crab, why would I get him a cat? The cat will eat the crab.” Gordon frowned at John. “Don’t let the cat eat the crab.”

Not a sentence John had ever predicted hearing in his lifetime.

“Can someone please take this thing?” He held out the cat even further.

Virgil, still frowning, gently collected the cat from John’s hands and automatically curled it up in his arms. A finger scratched under its chin.

“Thank you. I’m going back to bed.”

And he did.

The next time he woke, a pair of green feline eyes were staring at him, the cat, once again, curled up on his chest.

What?

It meowed at him and poked his nose with a paw.

“Virgil!”

He must have yelled a little too much because next minute his big brother barrelled into the room, panic on his face. “John, what the-?!”

His eyes landed on the cat and his shoulders literally sagged. “Goddamnit, that’s where you are. I’ve been looking for you for hours.” Virgil reached to pick up the cat.

The cat turned from mild mannered bed companion to spitting and screeching demon within a blink. Virgil yelped and fell backwards, his feet slipping on the mat and his butt hitting the floor with a crash.

One of John’s telescopes teetered before tipping ever so slowly. Virgil saw it and struggled to catch it. “Shiiit!” He threw himself in its path and the four-foot metal cylinder landed in his lap.

There was an oomph and Virgil was flat on his back on the floor.

Demon cat kneaded John’s chest a little before settling once more.

It began to purr.

“Virgil? You okay?”

His brother grunted and John struggled out of bed, shoving the cat out of the way. “Virgil?”

“I’m good.” It was up an octave higher than normal. “Sorry about your telescope.”

John grabbed the telescope off his brother and righted it. It was his own fault for leaving it there in the first place. Stargazing from bed was a habit much more easily exercised on TB5.

Virgil waved off his offered hand and rolled over, pushing himself to his feet with another grunt. He eyed the cat with suspicion. “I thought we had an understanding, Bagel.”

The cat eyed Virgil with equal suspicion.

“Bagel?”

“Gordon claims it is your cat so needs a John name.”

“A John name?”

“Yeah, Bagel it is.”

“It’s not my cat! And where did it come from anyway?” John frowned at Virgil. “Another stowaway on Two.”

“No! You know we have sensors for that now. And besides, that was only once.”

“Twice.”

“Once. The polar bear doesn’t count.”

“The polar bear most assuredly does count. Alan still hasn’t forgiven you.”

“Really?”

“It was a polar bear, Virgil.”

“Yeah, well, that is your cat.”

“That is not my cat.”

“Apparently she has decided she is yours.” Virgil held up his hands. Several scratches decorated his skin. “I have enough of these already. She’s yours.”

“I’m allergic.”

Virgil peered up at him, brown eyes assessing. “You don’t appear to be suffering a reaction. She’s been gone for hours. If she has been here, on your chest all that time, you should be showing the affects. All I can see is the remains of your flu.” A frown. “Are you feeling any better?”

It was John’s turn to frown. He had almost forgotten he was ill, but now his attention returned to his body, the signs were clear.

But he was feeling a little better.

“A little.”

Virgil reached up and squeezed his arm. “Good. You hungry?”

A brief consultation with his stomach and he realised that yes, he was. “Yes, I think so.”

A smile spread over his brother’s face. “Great. You’re on the mend.” Another squeeze of his arm and Virgil turned towards the door. “Meet you in the kitchen. Scott went all out this morning and made pancakes. I stashed you some. Gotta grab them before Gordon discovers them.”

“FAB.” John couldn’t help but return his brother’s smile.

Virgil grinned and with a half-hearted groan rubbed his butt and staggered with some exaggeration out the door. “Don’t forget your cat.”

John turned back to stare at the ginger monstrosity still sitting on his bed, calmly grooming.

“Bagel, is it?”

The cat blinked and kept licking its fur.

John sighed and grabbed his clothes.

-o-o-o-

The cat followed him downstairs for the meal, which turned out to be dinner. He had managed to sleep the day away. Apparently, this was a good thing, because for the first time in days, he could move without creaking.

Virgil had indeed stashed pancakes and within minutes there was a short stack piled up in front of him complete with ice cream and maple syrup. Before he even bothered to acknowledge the envy emanating from Gordon across the other side of the table, the stack began to disappear.

Scott knew how to make pancakes. John considered his big brother’s purpose in life and came to the immediate conclusion that it should be IR, family and pancakes.

Of course, pancakes could be a subset of family if considered that way, but there was always the possibility of him opening a business as a pancake chef.

Blink.

Yes, the flu had obviously taken part of his brain with it.

A pair of blue eyes and two pairs of brown were staring at him.

“What?”

“Did you bother to breathe between bites, bro?” Gordon gestured with his head at the table.

John looked down and found his plate empty. “Guess I was hungry. Scott makes great pancakes.”

“Yes, he does.” Virgil plonked a glass of orange juice in front of him and took away his sticky plate. “Now drink your juice and we’ll set up for family movie.”

“Aren’t you guys going to eat?”

“Already eaten.” Scott was poking at his phone, holograms bouncing around above it. “Grandma made meatloaf surprise again.”

John choked on his juice. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Scott did look a little green around the gills.

Well, that explained the envy on Gordon’s face and why Alan was very absent.

“Anyone feed the youngest?”

“All under control.” Virgil chucked Gordon a celery crunch bar and the aquanaut grabbed it from the air.

It was devoured faster than John’s pancakes.

Virgil wandered back into the kitchen proper and soon there was the delicious smell of hot popcorn wafting through the room. The engineer walked past the table again and dumped a chocolate bar in front of Scott. Another one landed in front of John.

“Consider it a survivor’s reward.” Virgil grabbed Scott’s phone out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“Stop working, this is family time. Everything can wait a couple of hours.”

Scott glared at his brother, but grabbed the chocolate bar and capitulated anyway.

Probably because he knew Virgil was right. It was so easy to get absorbed with International Rescue business. John knew he was a fantastic example case of such a syndrome.

A sigh.

Scott glanced up at him. “How are you doing, John?” A smirk. “How’s Bagel?”

As if beckoned, the cat in question suddenly leapt up on to the table and stalked the length of it towards Scott. John’s eyes widened as his eldest brother was targeted by a feline glare of epic proportions.

Scott’s expression was quite an amusing mixture and defiance and terror. Bagel sat down in front of him and after a moment of intense eyeballing decided Scott was boring and started washing herself.

“That is one weird cat, John.”

Everyone jumped as Bagel shot to her feet and dashed across the table at Gordon. “Holy crap!” The aquanaut scrambled backwards as Bagel ran at him. He tangled his feet in the stool he was sitting on and with a crash, ended up on the floor.

“Ow.”

Reaching the edge of the table, Bagel stopped and peered down at the fallen Thunderbird and, apparently deciding Gordon was no more interesting than Scott, sat down and returned to grooming.

The remaining three vertical brothers stared at each other and the cat.

No one said a thing.

“Uh, can someone give me a hand up, here?” Gordon vaguely waved an arm about and Virgil edged around the table to help his brother up.

His eyes barely left Bagel.

“Has anyone fed the cat?” John threw the question in there as a bit of an icebreaker since said cat had frozen the room almost solid.

Bagel looked up and stared at John for a moment before jumping to her feet and ambling over. A simple step off the table and she was in his lap, circling for moment to find a comfortable spot, then curling up and purring.

Again, everyone was staring at the orange fluff ball, John included.

“You have a very strange cat.” Apparently, Gordon hadn’t learnt from his earlier experience, but fortunately, Bagel ignored him this time.

John stared down at the purring ball of fur.

Yes, it seems he did.

-o-o-o-

Despite the possessed cat, the rest of the night went very well. All five brothers plus Kayo threw down some pillows, curled up in front of the holoprojector and waded through a trashy b-grade movie that looked like they were using mannequins for actors and plastic models for set pieces. There was popcorn, laughter and loving family. John felt warm and relaxed and better than he had in days. Somewhere between action scenes, he drifted off to the tinny soundtrack and the sound of his brothers criticising the special effects.

“Johnny?” It was whispered “Johnny, you’ve got to move or you’ll end up with one hell of a neckache.”

A blink and he found himself looking at Virgil upside down. Wha-?

“C’mon, bro. Up you get.” And his brother was lifting him up. Another blink and he realised he was lying on one of the couches...almost upside down, his feet at an angle above his head with his head hanging off the seat cushion. He was far too long for the piece of furniture and, apparently, he had stretched in his sleep.

Virgil was shifting his shoulders into a more horizontal position. Beyond him, the holoprojector was listing all the languages the movie was available in, complete with appropriate copyright warnings. Idly he noted that the Hungarian translation had an error in the third line.

John let his feet drop to the end of the couch before folding up enough to force himself upright. Ugh, Virgil was right. His neck cricked and creaked along with his spine. God, gravity was a nasty piece of work. It had also apparently dribbled all the mucus in his body into his head. His skull protested at the pressure as he sat up and he groaned.

“John?”

Why did everyone think Scott was the worry wart of the family? Virgil with his medical radar was just as bad, if not worse. “I’m fine. Just a head full of snot.” Ugh. Right between his eyeballs, throbbing to the beat of his heart. “Just kill me now.”

Suddenly there was an orange cat in his face, staring.

“What? Bagel, not now.” He gently picked up the cat and put her on the couch beside him. Where the hell had she come from anyway?

A pitiful meow was her response and she edged nearer brushing her cheek against his arm.

Despite himself, he turned to her. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him with a combination of adoration and haughtiness. He had no idea what to make of that expression.

Of course, she was a cat. Who understood cats?

“Are you two having a moment?” His brother’s smiling baritone broke the silence and to John’s surprise, Bagel turned to Virgil and hissed angrily.

His big brother took a hurried step back.

“Bagel! Leave him alone! He will never hurt you. For goodness sake, Virgil wouldn’t hurt a fly. Give him some respect.”

To his complete surprise, Bagel stopped hissing immediately. She turned to him almost a question on her face before once again looking at Virgil. Her head dropped and stared at the floor.

“What the hell?” It was little more than breath and all his big brother. Virgil was staring at Bagel, his brow crumpling into a deep frown.

Bagel’s head shot up and once again she was staring at Virgil.

Virgil’s frown got even deeper.

“John where did you get this cat from?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Virgil continued his staring contest with the cat.

“What is it?” His brother’s expression was becoming unnerving, so suddenly determined, it was almost fierce.

“I don’t know.” A pause. “Keep her out of sensitive areas for me, will you?”

“Sure.”

Bagel continued to stare at Virgil.

Virgil continued to stare at Bagel.

A solid moment passed and then his brother was shaking his head, looking at his feet, looking at John. “You good to make it up to your rooms?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to go hunt down Scott. One of the TI directors in the States forgot the time zones. He’s been on the phone for half an hour already.” Virgil sighed.

“Need backup?”

“No.” A hand dropped to John’s shoulder. “You go to bed, you need it. I’ve got this.” The hand disappeared and Virgil climbed out of the lounge, heading towards the balcony.

Bagel was licking her paw.

John sighed. Perhaps some paracetamol would help. “C’mon, Bagel, apparently, you’re with me.” He picked her up and held her against his chest as he staggered to his feet. Cursed gravity. How he missed being able to make the smallest movements and coast across a room.

Bagel reached her head up and snuggled under his chin, her purr vibrating his sternum.

“Why me?” It was little more than an exhaled breath and he wasn’t sure it was a complaint or an actual question.

In either case, Bagel didn’t answer. She just purred into his chest.

So, it remained a mystery for another night.

-o-o-o-

“It just appeared. No trace on sensors, nothing. It’s as if it didn’t exist before the day before yesterday.”

Virgil’s puzzled voice echoed up the stairs as John approached the kitchen the next morning. He glanced at his watch. This was early for his brother; he usually wasn’t up for another hour at least.

“I’m telling you, Scott, there is something very strange about that cat.”

John paused at the top of the stairs, his hands curled around Bagel, gently scratching her under the chin. He had awoken again with her on his chest, but unlike the previous two incidents, he had found himself surprisingly comforted with her presence.

Her purring was strangely calming.

“I will admit she is quite volatile.” Scott’s voice was surprisingly reluctant. “She didn’t even take to Gordon. Every living creature takes to Gordon. Except lizards, I guess. Hell, she doesn’t even like you.”

“That’s just it. She doesn’t act like a cat.”

“What, just because she doesn’t like you?”

“I’m sorry, Scott. Something just doesn’t feel right. Why is she so attached to John? What if she is a plant after our technology?”

“A tech seeking cat? Really?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time an animal has been used for espionage.”

Scott sighed and John shifted, attempting to loosen the tense muscles in his shoulders.

“It’s just that John appears to have latched onto Bagel as much as the cat has to him. How often does John attach to anybody?”

“And that’s what scares me the most. What happens when he returns to TB5? He can’t take a cat with him. It wouldn’t be safe for either of them.”

“Then we look after Bagel for him.”

It was Virgil’s turn to sigh and it was a worried one.

John chose that moment to make his entrance. He stepped lightly down the stairs. “You two really do worry far too much.”

Both brothers started as he entered. The guilty expressions on their faces were quite amusing.

“Virgil, if you are worried about Bagel, scan her.” John held the cat out to his brother. “Take her up to the infirmary and run her through a thorough physical. In fact, I would prefer if you did since as you said, I have become somewhat attached to her. As to what we are going to do when I return to Five...” He shrugged. “I hope we can work something out.”

Virgil managed to look both apologetic and sad.

To John’s astonishment, Bagel wriggled out of his grip and jumped down to the floor. She ambled over to Virgil. His brother froze, obviously wary, but the cat gently brushed up against his leg and rubbed the length of her body across his boots.

The whole room stared.

“Good morning, Bagel.” Virgil’s voice was a little breathless.

“Good morning, Virgil.” The whole room jumped as Brains jogged down the stairs and passing them, bee-lined for the fridge.

“‘Morning, Brains, John.” Gordon wandered in from the pool rubbing a towel through his hair. “Yaargh! What the hell, Virgil. You gone to the cat side?” He took several steps back as he caught sight of Bagel.

Bagel, still wrapped around Virgil’s ankles, turned towards Gordon and spat at him.

“That damn cat is possessed.” The aquanaut made sure the table was between him and the feline.

Bagel glared at him, following with her eyes.

“Eos, I know G-Gordon can b-be a challenge, b-but really, h-he is a good man.” Brains was pouring milk into his cereal on the bench.

“Yes, but he is so annoying.” The AI’s voice bounced across the house’s comm system.

“He st-still deserves r-respect.”

The comm system grunted.

Every eye in the room stared at the engineer.

Gordon found his voice first. “Wow, Brains, thanks.”

John was staring at Bagel. “Eos what do you know about Bagel?”

“Oh, John, everything.” The little imp was so smug.

Two strides and John was beside Virgil. Reaching down, he snagged Bagel off the floor and held her up, his eyes raking over the cat. A moment of intense examination. Bagel stared back at him calmly.

“Okay, how did you do it?”

“Do what, John?”

“Do not mess with me, Eos. I want answers and I want them now.”

“Hiram helped me.”

“Helped you do what?” Scott’s voice was sharp. “Brains?”

“It was a v-very interesting challenge.”

“What did you do, Brains?” Commander Tracy stood up from the table, his height saying everything it needed to.

Brains didn’t notice.

“Oh, Eos had an e-excellent idea to equip Thunderbird F-Five with an internal m-mobile probe mechanism.

“Yes, something that could get into the spaces John cannot.” Still smug. Oh, there would be some serious talking at a later time.

“So, you built a cat.” Virgil’s eyes were wide.

Brains sipped his orange juice, still seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. “She didn’t think I could. So, I did.” He was definitely pleased with himself.

“You built a cat?” Gordon was an echo of his brother. “That cat?” He stabbed a finger in Bagel’s direction.

“Yes?” Finally, the man appeared to realise that something was amiss. “I’m v-very happy with the r-results. It performs v-very well.”

It certainly did. John had her under his arm and found himself scratching her under her chin despite everything.

He forced himself to stop.

“John?”

“Yes, Eos?”

“Do you like her?” Suddenly he was a parent faced with his child’s school science project and the need for approval.

Some science project.

“I like her, Eos.”

“Can we keep her?”

“That is yet to be decided.” It came out firm. It needed to be firm...even though he already knew the answer.

“But-“

“Eos, why didn’t you tell us Bagel wasn’t really a cat?”

“But she is...”

“Eos.”

“John...”

“Eos!”

“I missed you.”

He froze. “I’m right here.”

“But it’s not the same.” That was a definite whine. “You’re not with me. It gets lonely up here without you. So, I built a way to be down there with you.” Bagel rubbed her cheek against his hand.

“Eos is in the cat?” Gordon’s jaw may as well have been on the floor. “She hates me that much?!”

“I don’t hate you, Gordon. You are quite funny. Somewhat clumsy, but funny.”

“Eos.”

“Yes, John?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

No answer.

“Brains, why didn’t you tell us?” Commander Tracy was glaring at the engineer.

“T-Tell you what?”

“About Eos and the cat.”

“That would have r-ruined the experiment.”

“What?”

“Eos w-wanted to see if the f-feline programming was sufficient. The b-best way to do that was test it.”

“On us?” Gordon spouted outrage.

“Surprisingly only V-Virgil appears to have b-been concerned. I w-would be interested to hear your evaluation.”

“Sure.” Virgil appeared to still be processing. Probably attempting to work out exactly how Brains had pulled it off.

“Brains, you, Eos, John and I are going to have a serious conversation.” Scott’s voice was stern. “This is not happening again. This family is not an experimental lab.”

“It was not his fault, Commander.”

Scott arched an eyebrow up at the ceiling. “Really, Eos? I have no doubt that John has a few choice words to be said on this matter.” Oh, yes, choice and many. “In the meantime, please cease the experiment.”

“But-“

“Eos.”

“Very well.”

The cat in John’s arms went completely limp.

He couldn’t help it; a gasp passed his lips and he caught the sudden dead weight with both hands. “Eos!”

All life had left Bagel. She became nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Something inside him lurched horribly.

Every eye in the room was staring at him.

“John?” Virgil’s eyes flashed concern.

He gathered up the cat in his arms and gently placed her on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs.

So real. He shivered.

“You okay?” His big brother was suddenly beside him.

“That was unnerving.” Both of them stared at the immobile TB5 internal remote probe mechanism.

“Eos, can you please reactivate Bagel.”

“Virgil-“

“No, Scott. Too creepy, too real. Please, just...leave her be.”

To John’s surprise, Scott didn’t protest.

But Bagel didn’t move.

“Eos?” His own voice sounded hollow in his ears.

“Yes, John?”

“Please reactivate Bagel.”

“Why?”

“Eos, just please.”

“Very well.”

And Bagel uncurled herself, sat up and glared at Scott. Before Eos could exact any form of petulant revenge, he grabbed Bagel off the chair and held her in his arms.

“Thank you, Eos.”

“You are very welcome.” Impertinent little brat.

“Now, I’m going to have breakfast, then we are going to have that conversation.”

“Yes, John.”

Something in the room snapped and suddenly everyone went back to their morning routine with only the occasional stare at the cat in his arms.

“Would you like some cereal, John?” Virgil was heading towards the fridge.

“You don’t have to get me breakfast, Virgil.”

“You have your hands full and I’ve already had mine.”

“How early were you up this morning?”

“Early enough. Your cat weirded me out.”

Bagel was rubbing her cheek against his fingers again. He grabbed a chair and sat himself down, placing Bagel on the chair beside him. She started grooming herself quite content.

A bowl was placed in front of him, followed by a cereal box, milk and another glass of orange juice.

Bagel stared up at him

He shook his head slowly. “What am I going to do with you?”

The cat tilted her head and licked her whiskers.

And he knew that somewhere far above the planet his daughter was laughing.

-o-o-o-

[artificialdaydreamer]

A somewhat late fic for @jonsimsandcats day.

Jon is a god of cats whose cat followers report that a beast has taken up residence in the wood outside of town and is causing trouble. Jon, unable to say no to helping cats agrees to get rid of this beast only to run into Martin, who is also searching for it.

Warnings for mild injuries to animals and people

—

Jon woke to find a pair of slitted eyes staring at him. It was not an unusual occurrence, he couldn’t go anywhere without the local cats greeting him, or letting him know of problems they were having. He was, after all, the god of cats. They were his followers and his messengers, and in return he gave them protection and knowledge. It was more unusual to not wake up with several cats sleeping on top of him. The tabby blinked slowly at Jon, he blinked back, and it settled on his lap, its fluffy tail swishing from side to side.

The building he’d fallen asleep in was technically a temple to him but humans rarely visited it so it had fallen into a state of disrepair. It was still a sanctuary for cats, they knew that within its walls they could be safe and warm while they slept, but the only other being that really came inside it was Jon. He tried to keep the fireplace lit in winter and set out bowls of fresh water, but there was only so much he could do. It wasn’t like he could fix the cracked windows and provide an unlimited supply of food, he just wasn’t that powerful.

The God of Cats and Curiosity was not a god people often prayed to, not until winter fell and mice invaded grain stores. Cat owners would occasionally set something on their mantle in offering to him, a saucer of milk or a piece of dried meat, but more often than not it was the cats themselves who honored him. He could understand what they said, and sometimes they were the only creatures he talked with for years. In a world where belief was what made a god strong it was a miracle he hadn’t faded away altogether.

“Hello, master,” a voice sounded inside Jon’s head as the cat purred. He stroked its ginger fur and it rubbed its head against his hand. “I have news from the others in town.”

“Oh?”

“They say a beast is lurking in the forest, it has already affected the supply of prey, and several cats who stumbled across it were wounded by it. If we cannot go hunt in the woods we won’t have enough food.” This was news to Jon, a beast in the forest? Not only was it killing animals it had hurt some of his followers, those he’d sworn to protect. His stomach churned at the thought of how they must have felt, had they prayed to him for help? Had he been too far away to hear them?

“Take me to them.” He started to get to his feet, the cat jumped off his lap as he straightened his clothes, making sure the hood of his blue cape covered his pointed ears completely. Despite being a god he couldn’t change his form, or hide the ears and tail that revealed what he was, so he relied on human clothes like skirts and hoods to disguise himself.

The tabby wound its way between his legs before heading towards the door, and Jon followed. The street was quiet, a few humans passed them but it seemed early enough in the day that a lot of them weren’t up. Turning down an alley he saw a pile of crates had been left in a niche and several cats had made themselves comfortable in it, there were even a few blankets and pillows. On one threadbare cushion lay a female tortoiseshell with cuts on her back, the wounds had scabbed over but dried blood streaked her fur and she couldn’t move without hurting.

“You poor thing.” Unwrapping the cloth belt from around his waist Jon dipped it into a dish of water someone had laid out nearby and began to dab at the cuts. The cat hissed, pupils narrowing into slits, but she didn’t scratch him. She knew who he was and what he was doing here. It took hardly any effort to soothe the tortoiseshell, to numb the pain as he cleaned her wounds. The last thing he wanted was to heal the cuts only to have her get sick because he hadn’t ensured they were dirt-free first.

“Thank you, master.” The tortoiseshell butted his hand with her head. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, I apologize for letting you get hurt in the first place.”

“That was not your fault, master. You could not have known the beast would start lurking in the forest.” The cat shook her head, her tail sticking straight up. “The world is a dangerous place, you cannot be everywhere, even if you are a god.”

Sighing, Jon nodded, his own tail flicking from side to side in agitation. She was right, but it still hurt to know that he could not protect all of his followers from harm. Despite being a god he wasn’t very powerful, people just didn’t pray to him enough. He could look through the eyes of other cats nearby and bless them with safety for a limited time, but his power was finite. Anything more than a league away from him was hard to sense, although it hadn’t always been that way. “I’m looking for the beast, would you mind telling me where you encountered it?”

“I can show you.” Getting to her feet the tortoiseshell stretched deeply.

“Lead the way.”

—————

The forest was dense, trees crowded tight together and thick grasses that made it hard to maneuver, if it wasn’t for the narrow footpath made by other travelers Jon would be miserable. A short distance ahead of him the tortoiseshell cat led the way, showing no sign that her earlier injuries were still paining her. Every so often sunlight would find some way through the thick canopy of branches overhead and illuminate their surroundings, although they both could see in the dark just fine. Jon wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking, but when huge pawprints had been practically gouged in the path he insisted the cat ride on his shoulders for the rest of the journey.

“What kind of animal is this beast?” Jon muttered, ihe tracks were bigger than his hand, and while they appeared to be made by some kind of dog they were far larger than most he’d seen. As they progressed Jon saw several trees with claw marks on them and he started to feel anxious. Sure, he was technically a god, but he’d never really been in a fight before. He wouldn’t necessarily die, not from physical wounds, and he did heal faster than the normal human but that didn’t mean he wanted to get hurt. He didn’t even have a weapon to defend himself.

Somewhere in the trees ahead of them a branch snapped, then another. Jon braced himself as he heard footsteps approaching him, growing faster and louder until he saw a huge brown thing burst out from behind a bush and race towards where he stood. It was all he could do to cast a simple protective spell on the cat and drop her on the ground before the thing knocked him over. His head hit hard-packed earth and the world went dark.

“-right?” A voice sounded from somewhere nearby, sounding concerned but Jon was in too much pain to register much more. He willed his body to heal itself, to reduce the swelling and stop his head from throbbing with every beat of his heart. Slowly, agonizingly slow, he found that he could open his eyes, although the world itself was a blur of green and black. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Just as his eyes adjusted he saw a face staring down at him, their expression worried. A human? Sitting up so fast his head swam Jon checked to see that his hood was still in place. It had shifted somewhat when he fell, but his ears were thankfully still covered. The human had curly orange hair and a round, friendly face, although they still looked anxious. Next to them sat a dog, a huge fluffy thing, even sitting it came up to Jon’s chest, with light-brown fur everywhere but its face and ears, which were black. Was this the beast?

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” The human’s voice was high-pitched and laced with concern. Jon shook his head slightly, but winced as pain sparked behind his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Regardless of how worried this human was, Jon didn’t want them looking at him too closely, the last thing he needed was for them to find out just what he was. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh!” They looked surprised. “I was looking for my dog; they ran off and, well, it’s not like I can stop him if he wants to go somewhere.”

“You own this thing?”

“Well, I guess you could say that. His owners couldn’t take care of him because they had another baby on the way and...” The human trailed off, freckled cheeks flushing pink. “Anyway, I’ve taken in strays before so they felt comfortable giving him to me.”

Jon didn’t really care about where the dog came from, but looking at the size of its paws gave him an idea. “I’ve been told there’s some sort of beast attacking animals in the woods, and I found tracks and claw marks on the path-”

“It’s not him! I know what you’re talking about- I’ve had to take in a whole bunch of wounded animals recently- so I came out here to try and find this ‘beast’ too.” Their voice rose an octave, eyes widening with fear. “I brought Silas with me because I thought he could maybe track it somehow? I know he’s not really a hunting dog but still...”

“Has it?” He scanned the ground nearby and found the tortoiseshell cat hiding behind a tree just off the path. Kneeling down Jon held out a hand to her. “I’m sorry, darling. Are you alright?” The cat approached him cautiously, eyes darting to the dog every so often, and he scooped her up in his arms.

“What?”

“Has it tracked the beast?” It was hard to keep from rolling his eyes, Jon didn’t care much for rambling when he had something to do. He absentmindedly stroked the tortoiseshell’s head, trying to reassure it.

“N- No... I thought he had but he just found you.” The human gave a shy smile. “How do I know you’re not the beast?”

Jon stiffened, his ears flattening against his hair and his tail bristling. In his arms the cat hissed angrily. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

“Calm down, let me handle this.” It was clear this human had no idea they’d just insulted a god, but as much as Jon wanted to curse them for the accusation he was here for a different reason. “If you don’t have anything helpful to say then this is where we part.” He continued to comfort the cat as he pushed past them and continued on the path.

“W- Wait!” Glancing over his shoulder Jon saw the human was following him. “I mean, we both have the same goal, don’t we? We both want to find this beast and stop it from hurting the local animals. Why don’t we look for it together?”

“I can’t stop you from following me.” Jon sighed and tugged his hood farther forward. He had a feeling that he’d made the wrong decision, but he’d spoken the truth. Besides, this human was larger than he was, with them and the dog he might stand a chance against this beast.

They walked in silence for a while, but like all good things it didn’t last. “I just realized I never got your name; I’m Martin, Martin Blackwood.”

“Jon.” He didn’t feel much like talking, especially since he was trying to listen for any strange noises.

“Just... Just Jon?” The human- Martin- seemed dissatisfied at his answer.

“That’s all I’m willing to share with you.”

“Right, that’s fine,” A pause. “Are you a man?” When Jon glared at them Martin turned bright red. “It’s just, I don’t want to misgender you, that’s all. I’m a man, he/him pronouns.”

“I don’t really see the point of gender.” Jon sighed, pulling on his hood as his ears were flicking enough from irritation he feared it might fall down. “He/they, I guess.”

“Got it.” Martin was a few paces behind, his footsteps louder than Jon’s. “I’m guessing you’re also an animal lover, given that you’re also searching for this beast.” Jon wanted to scream, could this human not be quiet for five minutes?

“Yes, which is why I’m trying to track it. That being said, if it makes noise I will be unable to hear it because you keep talking.” Glancing over his shoulder Jon saw Martin stiffen, his cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. Thankfully he didn’t say anything though, and Jon could have cried from relief.

They continued on, neither of them making a sound as they trudged through the woods, occasionally the dog would run ahead and sniff at a tree or patch of earth but thankfully it didn’t bark. Eventually they arrived in a clearing only to find more tracks in the dirt, the same ones Jon had seen on the path. He was about to say something to Martin when some bushes rustled and a giant wolf leapt towards him.

Having a huge animal knock him over once already that day Jon was more alert, and while he managed to avoid the worst of the beast’s attack its claws still managed to slash through his tunic and he could feel hot, sticky blood running down his side. The pain would come later, once the shock went away, but he was glad to have only gotten minor injuries as he stumbled backwards, clutching the cat to his chest and making sure his hood hadn’t fallen off. His ears were flattened against his hair again and his heart was racing.

“Jon!” Martin rushed to him, blue eyes wide as he took in the wound. Jon pushed him away, staring at the wolf in horror. The beast was as large as a horse, its fur so streaked with dirt and blood, mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Still, even as his skin knit back together and his heart pounded in his chest he sensed something off about it. Not just its size, but something about its essence was wrong.

Martin had grabbed a broken branch and was holding it like a club, the dog was growling and looked ready to attack the wolf, but Jon held out a hand. “Don’t!”

“That thing nearly killed you!”

“It’s cursed, Martin, it’s not doing this because it wants to.” Placing the tortoiseshell on the ground he took a few cautious steps towards the wolf, one hand outstretched. It snarled at him, crouching down as though preparing to strike again, but Jon tried to reach out with his powers. He was a cat god, but he hoped he could at least calm the thing down from whatever blind rage it had succumbed to. As he drew nearer he saw something wrapped around the beast’s neck, a leather cord so dirty it was almost indistinguishable from its fur. The energy emanating from the cord was the cause of the strange feeling he’d sensed, could that be the source of the curse? “We need to get the cord off its neck.”

“How are we supposed to do that? I doubt we can get close enough.” Martin frowned, but at least he didn’t seem like he was going to attack the wolf.

“Do you have a knife of some sort?” Jon supposed that being the god of cats it was unusual for him to not have “claws” of some sort, but he didn’t like hurting living things. In the future he might start carrying something around, just in case he needed it.

“Oh, yeah! Hang on.” Martin dropped the branch and fumbled at his waist before tossing something to Jon, who barely managed to catch it. Fortunately the knife was still in its leather sheath, the wooden handle was worn but the blade gleamed as though it had been freshly sharpened. Upon seeing it the wolf snarled, baring its teeth and crouching down as though readying to pounce.

“That’s what I was worried about.” Jon sheathed the knife again and approached the beast slowly, trying not to startle it. Fortunately the wolf did not attack, but it didn’t relax either, its ice-blue eyes focused on him.

When he was in front of it he grasped the leather cord in one hand and had to resist the urge to cry out in agony. Jon wasn’t the target of this particular curse, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the malice that had gone into it. A deer, sacred to the Goddess of the Wild, had been slain by accident and the hunter had been turned into a bloodthirsty monster in return. The wolf howled, out of pain or sadness he didn’t know, but he managed to pull out the knife and cut the cord. It fell to the ground, turning into a pile of ash, and Jon felt his knees buckle.

When his vision cleared Martin was kneeling next to him, and before him lay a woman. Her clothes were tattered, caked in blood and dirt, her blond hair coming out of its messy braid. The dog sniffed at her prone form, occasionally nudging her cheek with his nose or pawing at her as though it was concerned. Jon could see that she was breathing, but no doubt she was exhausted from whatever the curse had done to her.

“This is the beast?” Martin looked taken aback, that the monster who’d slaughtered and wounded animals was just a human. “She looks so... innocent.”

“Everyone looks innocent when they’re asleep. She’s a hunter, but she accidentally chose the wrong prey and angered a god.” Jon sighed, getting to his feet and once more checking his hood.

The cat wound its way between his legs, rubbing up against them and purring. “You did it master!”

“I can carry her back to town.” Jon blinked, not sure he’d understood Martin. “What? We can’t just leave her here, it’d be best to bring her to a healer so someone can take a look at her.”

“Right, of course.” He’d forgotten that humans were so fragile, although Jon could sense that some part of the curse had not left the woman. She had been changed by it, marked by the wild.

The trip back through the forest was quiet, neither of them felt much like talking as they picked their way through the trees. The sun had started to set and Jon had to rely on his night vision to guide them, all the while hoping that Martin wouldn’t ask how he could see so well in the dark, or notice the unusual shine to his eyes. Once they’d entered town a handful of cats approached him, all of them thanking him for getting rid of the beast.

“Wow,” Martin gaped at the welcome party. “Cats really like you, huh?”

“You could say that.” Jon replied, unable to hide his smirk.

It was fortunate that the healer recognized the woman and agreed to treat her free of charge because Jon had no money whatsoever. His followers were mainly cats, and it wasn’t like they were in the business of giving him spare change. The healer called the woman “Daisy,” although the name didn’t seem to fit the huge wolf she’d been mere hours ago. Then again, Jon wasn’t exactly the best name for a god of cats and it was still his name.

It was only when Martin stopped at a crossroads and pointed down one of the streets did Jon remember that their partnership had been temporary. “I live down that way, I’m sure if you ask someone they’ll be able to point you in my direction.”

“Right...” It was strange, he’d only known Martin for a short amount of time and yet he felt a pang of sadness in his chest. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Goodnight, Jon.” Martin smiled and began to walk away, the dog bounding off down the street.

“Goodnight, Martin.”

When he returned to his temple and settled down on the pile of blankets he called a bed Jon thought about his day. While he’d originally set off to find the beast because his followers had asked it of him, he hadn’t actually done anything godlike. Sure, he’d figured out that the wolf was cursed and managed to break the cord, but it hadn’t really been that difficult. Apart from getting injured twice, that was. Jon thought of Martin’s kindness when the dog had knocked him over, of his flushed face when he was embarrassed, of his bravery when preparing to fight the beast. As his eyes drifted shut he considered how odd it was, that after being a god for so long it only took one day for him to suddenly feel so very human.

——

One day I will not get ideas for an event the day of said event. Credit to the Magnus Writer’s server for the plot bunny, and thanks to @ravendarkwood for the beta!

[squishneedsahero]

Building Trust

The Lost Padawan Part 3

Word Count: 1836

You were raised in the Jedi order, Padawan of Jedi Master Obiwan Kenobi.

Needless to say things are more than a little tense for you. Sure you were trusting these clones, they were different after all, but it didn't change the fact that they were clones. Who knows, they could turn at any moment and suddenly decide to kill you. It didn't matter if there were children around, you had watched the clones storm the temple, taking out Master, Knight, Padawan and Younglings alike.

These worries and others had lead you to where you currently were, outside the safety of the fence, hidden in the depths of the vast grassy fields of the planet. Sure, it was dangerous out there but you knew you could fight any creature that came after you, and you knew you couldn't do that with those six clones. Not when they had kids with them, not ever. It was the same thing that had happened with you and Obiwan, but you hadn't been forced to watch him die.

So, there you were, lying on the cold ground, staring up at the dark sky from between the giant blades of grass. You had no idea how long you had been lying there, all you knew was that it felt like too long. You were exhausted, and needed sleep, you wanted sleep but you couldn't put your mind at ease. And so you continued to lay there.

Sleep evades you for yet another time in a few rotations, and despite being exhausted you get up and walk back to Cut's family farm. You had left without much warning the evening before. They had all been talking about what to do with you and you couldn't handle it for many reasons. First off, the risks that they would be taking by even considering letting you tag along was too great. You couldn't ask that of them. But also you knew you needed off this planet, out of all the systems in the galaxy this was not the one where a Jedi could effectively hide.

The part that hurt the most was the fact that the way they seemed to care reminded you of your master, Obiwan. You had tried so hard to convince him you could handle going with him to find Grievous, you knew you could, what if he had needed back up? But no, he wouldn't be budged then you hadn't been there when the clones turned. You hadn't been there to help save him or anyone for that matter. You had been a disobedient coward who ran as soon as you were faced with danger on your own. You could practically hear Obiwan say that it wasn't your fault and that it is alright to be afraid as you are just a padawan, and still learning.

It's early morning, very early morning, when you climb back inside the fence and approach the quiet house. You're so caught up in thought that it's not until you're taking the first step onto the porch that you even notice Hunter sitting there. You are quiet as you look at him for a moment before softly asking, "couldn't sleep?"

"I slept fine, it looks like you're the one who didn't sleep, kid," he seems to add the kid part as an afterthought.

You shake your head a bit, "I didn't but I'll be fine. I'm used to it anyways," you try to keep your tone light but he picks up on it.

"That's no way to live, you'll have to sleep eventually."

You try for a laugh, "the key word is eventually," with that you take a seat on the top step and look out onto the land with him.

Hunter can tell how stubborn you are, as stubborn as every other Jedi he had come across, but you had to be. That was the way you were programmed at the temple, no emotions, not allowed to feel anything, and stubborn as hell, how else could you concentrate hard enough to move things with your mind.  With this thought in mind, he changes the subject, instead moving to ask something else, "what do you want to do kid?"

"What- oh," you speak before you realize what he is asking, one of the things you had yet to fix in yourself. "I don't know what I want, I just know I don't want to be putting any of you in danger."

"Kid, we're in danger with or without you, we're all deserters. If we didn't want to be in danger we would have given in and followed orders without needing an explanation. You Jedi always try so hard to be selfless all the time, just this one time I'm asking you, be selfish, what do you want to do?"

Hunter's mini-speech causes you to pause. He was right, about all of that, if anything having you there increased their chances of surviving any conflict that could arise. It's a minute before you answer, "even if I'm not worried about putting all of you in more danger, I still don't know what I want to do. My life has been planned out for me, every step, by the Jedi and now they're all gone. I heard all of you talking yesterday, trying to figure out what to do with me, I can't go with Cut and his family. Other than that, I just know I can't stay here, it's too close to Courscant."

"Then it's settled, you'll come with us, as far as you want and when you want to part ways you can," Hunter says in a way that sounds more like an order than anything else, leading to you nodding numbly, going with it.

Hours go by, people wake up, they eat they make more plans, they talk to you and you talk to them. But you don't move from your seat on the top step. You can't sleep but moving and doing anything seems like so much work you can't bring yourself to move. Normally you would have forced yourself up at this point but today you didn't, couldn't.

It's as you're sitting there, eyes closed almost meditating that two small sets of feet climb the stairs next to you. You expect to hear a third pair of feet, but after a few moments of not you open your eyes to see Omega climb through the fence to retrieve the ball they had been playing with.

You're on your feet, running across the yard to stop her, followed quickly by everyone else who had picked up on the fact she hadn't followed the other kids inside. Hunter easily catches you, his legs allowing him to have a greater stride than you and he comes to a stop at the fence, yelling for Omega to come back.

You on the other hand can feel something in the grass, something dangerous and something watching Omega very carefully. You don't let the fence stop you, continuing full speed and using the force to aid in jumping over it, coming to a stop a few meters from Omega as a Nexu emerges from the grass.

Hunter is still shouting, and you glance at Omega, pulling out your lightsaber and readying it for use. "Omega, you get back to the fence, Hunter will help you through-"

You're cut off by a blaster bolt firing and hitting the giant feline. In it's rage it comes at the two of you, Omega finally moves, running towards the fence with the ball in her arms. Hunter had just cut through the fence to come to her rescue, and you charged the Nexu without hesitation, drawing its attention as more blaster bolts hit its tough fur.

The familiar buzz and crackle of your saber flying through the air calms you in a way. You block the many strikes the cat makes towards you and and Omega makes it to safety by the time the Nexu takes off back into the wilderness, scared off by the many attacks. It was a short fight, but it was enough for you. You put your lightsaber away at your hip and carefully make your way back inside the fence where you come to a stop in the middle of a pile of cut grass when you finally let your exhausted body collapse to the ground and you fall asleep.

[skellebonez]

He's Been Hurt Enough (Monkie Kid Cursed AU Fanfic)

And here it is, the follow up to Stop Lying To Me! This went through an overall minor rewrite after @winterpower98 posted some more Cursed AU art and I think it turned out much better for it.

Quick note: once again this is my interpretation of a possible way the revelation could go. I decided to go with a “Mac told Sun everything while MK was transformed last time and that’s part of why he got the stuffing beat out of him and was out of commission last fic” angle. (also no I definitely did not accidently post a draft of the summary by itself when I meant to queue this, that totally did not happen(that happened))

Summary: Wukong has questions, Macaque surprisingly has answers, and MK... well, MK is going to be just fine if Macaque has anything to say about it.

Warnings: mild descriptions of healing inuries from the last fic, hint of child neglect if you are familiar with the AU, Macaque is sightly (incredibly) out of it due to medicine

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The first thing Macaque noticed when he came to was that his head felt... wobbly, despite the fact he was clearly laying down and not moving. The second thing he noticed was a disgustingly bitter sweet taste sticking to his tongue. The third thing he noticed was that he laying chest down on a (very small and familiar smelling) pile of clothes. The fourth thing, oh it was a lot of things coming very slowly right after the other which was odd, was that he was completely shirtless and that the only reason he noticed this so slowly was half of his body was almost fascinatingly numb, outside of the warmth of the fire that seemed to be burning in front of him. The last thing he noticed was a very close, also very familiar, and very angry (worried?) looking face of a monkey right in front of his (coincidentally blocking most of that fire light).

"Congratulations," Wukong said flatly. "You are officially not dead."

Macaque stared at the other monkey for a moment before attempting to speak, coughing as the dryness of his throat hit him full force. Before he could move himself, Wukong grabbed his face (gently, more gently than he remembered being touched by the other in so long) and held something to his lips. When he tilted the object and water began to hit his lips he opened his mouth and drank, Wukong never allowing the water to flow from the canteen fast enough to risk him choking on it. It must have been emptied after a short while because the Monkey King took it away faster than Macaque would have liked, but it had been more than enough to quench his thirst and allow him to clear his throat and begin talking. "What... happened?"

The angry (worryied?) look on the other's face deepened. "Should I start when I woke up to you bleeding out over my sucessor? Or should I start when I tried to give you medicine the first time you woke up and you shoved the entire thing in your mouth?"

Well. That second bit explained part of the numbness. And the taste. And possibly why his head felt like it was swimming in that iced cream stuff MK liked so much. He was almost certainly, no definitely, very out of it from whatever Wukong had intended to use to dull his pain. Fantastic.

Instead of voicing all of this he simply said "The... first part?" His voice was rough, but firmer than it had been the first time. He had not realized how almost slurred his words has originally sounded. Wukong' expression softened and. Oh... OH, it was a worried look after all. Huh. Macaque did not expect that. That was... well, not new. But he hadn't seen that in a long time. He... missed that. He didn't realize he had missed that.

"I woke up and I smelled... blood," Wukong started softly. "I was confused, I thought that maybe I hadn't been out for very long after we calmed down MK and you hadn't treated my wounds yet but," his hand went to his side where the bandages Macaque and the kid had carefully applied still held tight. "When I looked around I saw you. Laying face down with one arm over him. And you were just. Just COVERED in blood Macaque. I thought you two had been attacked, I didn't know what kind of demon could do that to you and thought that both of you were hurt." He ran a hand down his face, taking a deep breath, reaching over to prepare something behind him. "It wasn't until I rushed over that I realized that MK was passed out and aside from scratches on his arms you were the only one that was badly hurt."

There it was, the memory of what happened finally came back to him. Telling the kid the truth. The kid losing it. Holding him until he was able to fight back the transformation. The claws. The bite. His arm throbbed, the first not numb thing about his body he felt (though not fully painful), and he was surprised that he hadn't noticed his injured arm laying out in front of him until that moment, fully bandaged and (thankfully) not looking like he was missing a chunk of himself after all.

"MK's been out since I got up. You were completely unresponsive until early sundown, and when you did wake up you were in too much pain to tell me anything. I tried to get you to take some medicine but you grabbed my arm and shoved the entire bundle in our mouth. You passed back out before you could try to eat the salve I put on your wounds too. I'm amazed y-"

"I told him," Macaque interupted without prompting, and when Wuking spun around (too fast you idiot you're going to hurt yourself) with a wet cloth in hand he just let the words fall from his mouth. Why stop them? He had already told Wukong as much as he had told the kid, and the evidence of what had transpired was litterally all over him. Not much he could hide now. It was the exact opposite of what happened then, no more tar and honey returning. Bittersweet and if he were to give it flavor it would be buttercups. "After he passed out the first time I treated your wounds and when he woke up he helped me and then started asking questions..."

Without saying a word Wukong sat and listened, face tightening as he gingerly removed something from his back (gauze perhaps, he had no bandages on) and ran the cloth over numb cuts. He looked only between the wounds and Macaque's face, letting him retell every detail. "Kid tried to fight it but I just. I didn't know what to do when he started to change again so I... I..." He coughed, throat growing dry again.

This time Wukong stopped him, holding the canteen (not empty after all) to his lips again. They sat in silence for a moment, him drinking and Wukong turning to grab a container and fresh gauze and bandages when he stopped. He nodded, going back to the other monkey's back and Macaque realized the container was healing salve for his wounds. He didn't need it or the medicine, not really, but even with his fast healing and sturdyness it never hurt to have extra help to speed up the healing process. "You what, Macaque?"

"I... think I... hugged him into submission?" Macaque scowled, not sure if he even believed what he was saying and not missing the shocked look on the other's face. "And he bit me." He added quickly.

"He BIT you!?" The Monkey King leaned sideways, looking at Macaque increduously before his gaze veered over to his bandaged arm. "Well. That explains... the everything. Your back and arms looked like you were nearly gored from behind, but with how long his claws get when... yeah, that adds up."

"Is he ok?" The question came out without him even thinking about it. Damn medicine... But this only seemed to make Wukong shake his head with a surprised chuckle.

"Yeah, MK is fine. Exhausted, but fine. I treated his arms after I got your back to stop bleeding." He went back to applying the salve, touch a bit more firm as he rubbed it through his now less matted fur. The pressure would have normally made Macaque tense but now it just made him relax further into the clothes he was resting on (which he now noticed were Wukong's top layers and a blanket the kid insisted they each got at one of the many villages they passed through).

For a while the two remained silent, the Monkey King dressing the wounds on the Six Eared Macaque's back. Maybe it was the exhaustion kicking back in or something else, but Macaque just allowed himself to lay there and not think of anything. His mind tried to wander a bit, somewhat toward the kid and somewhat toward the odd reactions of the king, but nothing really stuck with his head swimming as it was. He only opened his eyes (when had he let them close?) when he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He watched as the bandages were unwrapped slowly and the same treatment given to his back was repeated.

"You're lucky he didn't bite your dominant arm," Wukong said softly, finally breaking the silence with a shakiness in his voice that was almost missed. "Or break your arm completely. You'll heal fine, but if you were anyone else you wouldn't even have an arm to treat right now...." He shook his head and under his breath he heard the king mutter "What were you thinking?"

Macaque looked away, gaze catching the still sleeping form of MK on the other side of the low fire. The kid would be exhausted from his second (almost) transformation in 24 hours for a while yet and that made his chest hurt just like before. He remembered the betrayal on his face, so much like and yet so much worse than when he betrayed him by stealing his powers. He remembered how the kid seemed to need the hug he had offered him so long ago at the start of all this as much as he did. He remembered how scared he looked at the prospect of seeing his parents again when he asked about them. And he remembered how much he kid laughed on this journey, how happy he seemed every time he was praised for even the smallest things, how he offered Macaque so much without asking for anything in return even before he put that stupid headband on the kid. He remembered how, despite everything... MK wasn't giving up on him...

He looked back at Wukong, grabbing his leg with as much strength as he could muster in his hurt arm until the other returned his gaze. "He's been hurt enough."

There was an understanding in Sun Wukong's eyes. For the first time in more years than Six Eared Macaque would admit... they understood each other completely without needing more words. MK had been hurt enough. They would take as much hurt away from him as they could.

The moment was broken when his grip weakened he closed his eyes, unable to stay open for as long as he would like, and when he opened them back up Wukong had already finished bandaging up his arm. He noticed a soft pressure around his tail but said nothing, not right now, and he only moved when there was a gentle tapping on his side. "Can you sit up a bit? I need to put on bandages, then you should get some more rest."

Macaque complied, using his good arm to raise himself up just enough for the other's arms to go under and around him to pass the bandages between hands (no, it was not a "almost hug" no matter what his tired brain told him). It was done sooner than expected and a gentle hand on his shoulder pushed him down into the soft fabric beneath him, his gaze fixed firmly on the soundly sleeping form of the kid as he watched to make sure he was really just sleeping.

If he noticed that there were soft claws running through his hair he said nothing. And if Wukong noticed the squeeze of a tail against his own he said nothing either. Eventually he let his eyes slip closed once more, feelin his chest rumble in a soft purr. The claws against his scalp stopped and there was a warmth after a while, a weight around him. Wukong must have laid a blanet over him, but the claws returned and their tails remained intertwined even as he moved to his other side. It wasn't until he felt a rumble beside him that wasn't his own that he realized the blanket was over both of them. He said nothing, not caring about the implications as he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

And if he, maybe, dreamed of watching the two people he had reluctantly grown to care most about happy... well, he wouldn't say anything about that either.