#hm.... [impulsive thought alarm is going off]

[potatobugz]

eek! scary!

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀eyes off you 𓏔⠀hwang hyunjin⠀❫

☆ idol!hwang hyunjin x afab!reader⠀★⠀9.8k words

warnings: reader is changbin's sister's best friend. brief mention of death (as a joke between friends, like "you have death wishes" and that), insecurities, mention of toxic ex boyfriend, absent father, mother's death (two years ago), i think i wrote "fuck" once only. description of kissing/making out two times. let me know if i missed something.

The day Changbin introduced you, he immediately regretted it. At first because he thought you had disliked each other, but soon the cause was the chemistry you shared. Too much for his own good. As chance would have it, on the same day that Hyunjin had been invited to have lunch at his mother's request, taking advantage of the fact that his family was spending the vacations in the area, you had stayed over the night before with your best friend 一his sister. You had been having a tough few days at work because your boss didn't usually respect your schedule and burdened you with assignments all the time, and you had also just gone through a pretty intense week of exams at the university. You needed a couple of days of relax with Eunhae, enjoying the quietness of her home and the kindness of her mother, without having to worry about anything else. In fact, your friend had seen how bad you'd had it and was eager to shower you with treats, so it was a win-win situation for both of you.

You had tried to stay up late finishing the series you had started weeks ago, but as exhausted as you were and once you had filled up on pizza and sweets, you couldn't help but fall asleep, each in your own bed, humming with happiness as you felt the warm touch of the sheets against your skin, and curled up until you fell asleep. That's why the next day Eunhae had woken up first 一she wasn't as tired as you. And that's why you hadn't been able to go back to sleep once she decided to wake up the whole neighborhood when she tripped over something on the floor and fell over noisily. You blinked, confused, having been ripped from your slumber abruptly, and grunted when you noticed the light coming through the door your friend had left open. Well, to be honest, maybe it was noon already. But your need for sleep went beyond the necessary hours: until someone woke you up, or the alarm went off, you preferred to embrace your moments of quiet.

You frowned as a shadow obscured your field of vision, and tried to figure out who it was, but your gaze was still slightly blurry, so it wasn't until said person whispered a soft "Good morning" that you realized it was Changbin. You managed a small smile, merely wiggling your fingers lazily in greeting, and he took that as a cue to lean lightly against the door.

"How did you sleep? Did you manage to get some rest?"

"Mm-hm," you murmured, narrowing your eyes to focus on his features, "whenever I sleep here I sleep better."

"Even if Hae ends up waking you up sooner than you'd like?" he asked, stifling a laugh.

You snorted, covering yourself with the sheets up to below your eyes, and nodded with a pout of feigned annoyance.

"I was just coming to let you know that Omma invited a friend of mine over for lunch and he's already arrived" he announced, repositioning his bangs in a distracted manner, "in case my sister hadn't told you."

"Oh, yes, she had said something" you replied, incorporating a little, "but thank you for making sure."

Changbin made a casual gesture, as if it didn't matter, and said goodbye, leaving you with some quiet time before Eunhae returned. Because when you heard the bathroom door close you knew that when she got to the room, if she saw you awake, she would jump on you, not caring in the least about your physical well-being. She had always been like that, impulsive and abrupt, but it was her love language, so you accepted it.

"Good morning, YNNNNNN!" she exclaimed, perhaps too loud for your ears, and then you felt her weight on your body, as she tried to give you a hug. Even though you were expecting it, you couldn't help but let out all the air all at once, sinking into the mattress, and when you succeeded in disentangling yourself a little, pushing her away to your right, you managed to crawl out of there and sat down on the floor, taking a deep breath.

"I totally hate you right now" you managed to utter, hand on your chest, in a dramatic way.

"No, you don't."

"You know I could kill you and I wouldn't feel bad, right?"

"No, you don't," she repeated, smirking with superiorly, "besides, you wouldn't stand to get blood on my mother's floor and have to watch her wipe it up."

"Who said anything about blood?" you asked, getting up clumsily, and throwing yourself on top of her, who welcomed you with open arms.

"See, that's how you do it" she pointed out, cuddling up next to you.

"Don't mess with me" you mumbled, trying to pretend to run away from her, while Eunhae let out a little scream and clung to you like a koala bear. You both ended up laughing your heads off after goofing around for a while longer, even as your belly started to growl, and you noticed the void of hunger that had settled inside you.

"I'm hungry" you announced, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You're always hungry" she protested, turning back to her bed to grab her phone. "Go ask Omma for something, you know our home is your home."

You smiled, happy, and put on your slippers, without paying much attention to your appearance. The last thing you expected to find in the kitchen when you came in, yawning, was a boy. Technically you did, because Changbin had told you so, but certainly not that boy. Tall and slender, hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish pants, expensive-looking shirt splayed impeccably over his torso, and leaning up against the table in front of the island in the center of the room, listening to Eunhae's mother talk with a tender smile on his lips and his eyes turned into beautiful crescent moons. You stood in the doorway for the few seconds it took to react, and turned around immediately, running away and praying that no one had noticed.

You returned to your friend's room, flushed and wanting too much to smother her with her pillow. You slammed the door shut behind your back and leaned against it, shooting a murderous glare at Eunhae, who didn't bat an eye as she looked up from her phone, talking oblivious to you:

"I got a call from Jaemin..." she began, sliding her finger across the screen lazily.

"You said a friend of Bin's was coming" you interrupted her, pointing at her with a threatening gesture.

"Yeah, right."

"You didn't mention he was a model that came literally out of a Vogue magazine" you mumbled, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

"I said I had a friend of Bin's coming over for lunch who Omma really likes" she explained, trying to figure out what had happened after you left. "I didn't think it was necessary to specify."

"Hae! I look awful right now" you protested, with a pout on your lips, pointing at her. "I thought you were talking about Eunwoo and the rest, not an idol friend. I don't want him to see me like this."

"Okaay, sorry for not specifying" she acknowledged, rolling her eyes playfully as you began to pick up the clothes that were cluttering up the floor. "Look, it's perfect, because as I was telling you, Min called saying that his parents have gone on a trip and left the home for him to take care of."

You pause in your actions, lifting your gaze slowly from the floor to your friend, and she smiles, knowing in advance what question it is you're going to ask her, and that thanks to that she's already convinced you.

"The home that has a pool?"

You see her nod with a big smile plastered on her face, sitting up in bed.

"Who's going?" you ask, frowning, not quite believing the proposition.

"I think it's just us" she replies, unlocking her phone to look at Jaemin's stories on Instagram, "because he mentioned Junhan, but talked about him as if he's already gone."

"Okay" you concede, with an exaggerated sigh, "but you're leaving me your blue bikini."

"Done!" you exclaim, tossing the phone between the sheets, suddenly useless, and standing up abruptly, "And you pick what we eat and where and I'm paying and I promise you won't have to play third wheel."

"Wait a minute," your words make Eunhae freeze on the spot, "Min said, explicitly, that the invitation was for you and me?"

You drop all the clothes you had gathered when you see your friend shy away from your gaze, and you open your mouth in surprise, feeling betrayed.

"Hae!" you exclaim, grabbing your pillow and throwing it in her face. "I'm sick of playing the third wheel! You need to stop taking me with you on your dates just because you feel guilty!"

"I know, I know!" she shouts back, shielding herself from you and your attacks. "I'm sorry!"

"Look, I adore you, I really do," you tell her, sitting on your bed, knees drawn up to your chest, "and Jaemin is great. You make a lovely couple, and when we hang out in group you guys are adorable. But in times alone, you deserve to be in each other's company, and that's it. Not me running around cutting you two off. Have you ever wondered how it feels for him when I show up unannounced for your dates? Or how it feels for me to see you all lovey dovey?"

Eunhae frowns to keep from pouting so you can see the tears threatening to slide down her cheeks.

"I had no idea it was that big of a deal," she murmurs, and her voice breaks at the end of the sentence, making you move to hug her half-sideways, both of you sitting on the edge of her bed.

"That's what I'm here for, Hae-Hae" you reply, your voice soft, calm, and you look at her warmly, the look of infinite affection from a friend you know will never disappear from your life "to explain. Your boyfriend is yours, and there are moments meant to be lived between you two, with no one who can see you. There's a certain intimacy to that that even the best sex can't reach. If you really want me to go, I'll go, and I'll apologize to him, but I'll stay by the pool and you guys can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie or something, okay?"

"And I swear it has nothing to do with Sehun" you told her, knowing what the main reason she was doing this was. "He broke up with me over two years ago, it's in the past now. It doesn't matter how toxic it was. If I'm over it, you have to be too. Your job is to be happy for me, as a friend, not try to protect me from the unknown. That's what we already have Changbin for, right?"

You see her nod, suppressing a smile, even with sad eyes.

"Besides," you clear your throat, pulling away from her a little, "what was it like, I choose what we eat and where and you pay? And you owe me one, so, of course, I steal your blue bikini because it's gorgeous and you know I love it."

At your words, she can't help but let out a laugh and shake her head, affirming without hesitation and rushing to rummage through her closet until she found your favorite bikini. She tosses it to you with an amused gesture, and you stick your tongue out at her.

"I'm going to the bathroom, but then we're leaving, I'm hungry" you informed.

"Wait, is that why you didn't take anything from the kitchen?" she asked, cracking up laughing, "Were you embarrassed that he saw you like that? YN, you look amazing!"

"Shut up!"

And you walked away, trying to hide your strained smile. You knew she was saying it because she really meant it, but you couldn't help but hear your ex's voice in your head, mumbling that it wasn't true, that you were lucky he wanted to be with you, and that if it wasn't for him, you'd be alone, because no one would want to be with someone like you. They were words you had never told, not even to Eunhae. She knew that he had treated you badly, and that's why she hadn't hesitated for a second to help you get out of there, to get away from him. But the damage was already done, and it was a wound that the more it healed, the more it hurt. You were much harder on yourself than you had ever been, and although you knew that you should not compare yourself with others, you could not help but look at the rest of the people who used to surround you, so beautiful and shining, and realize that you were just a twinkling star next to them, occasionally shining, but slowly fading away.

You decided to take a shower, knowing that your hair is a bit of a mess, and took advantage of Eunhae's hair products to apply them lovingly, enjoying your moments of self-care. You've always liked the way Seo girls' hair smells, and you stifle a smile as you remember how Changbin used to wash his hair with his mother's shampoo, just like his sister, to get you to fall asleep leaning on his shoulder. It's a smell you automatically relate to the comfort and quality of a family that has always opened their arms wide to you, without reproach or mistrust. You were happy, whenever you were with them.

You tried to do some skincare, but you gave up at the second attempt to remember what was the exact order in which your best friend had taught you to use them, and you had decided to stick to the basics, brushing your hair and letting it air dry, even though it was probably foolish because as soon as you could you would dive headfirst into the pool and it would get wet again. You hurriedly put on the famous blue bikini, and the shorts you had grabbed from on top of Hae's desk on your way out of his room, stuffing the t-shirt she had lent you into the laundry basket.

But when you opened the door to leave, Changbin's idol friend was leaning against the opposite wall, cell phone in hand, sliding the pad of his thumb casually across the screen. He looked up, scanning your figure, and began to blush when he saw that you were only in shorts and a bikini, the straps of the lower part showing through the low waistband of your shorts and the upper part tracing the curve of your breasts and your collarbone. When you noticed it too, you pretended to lock yourself back in the bathroom, but were interrupted by Eunhae.

"You're finally coming out!" you heard her exclaim from her room, approaching, the wall hiding the embarrassing situation you were in. "Actually you'd have to thank me because going to Jaemin's house is the perfect excuse to leave now that you know Hyunjin is here" then she appears, a playful gleam in her eye once she passed the corner of the hallway that prevented you from seeing her, too focused on the phone between her hands, as she chuckles to herself at the sentence she's going to say, "You won't have to see him again unless you look for him in Naver!"

Then she looked up, waiting to see your reaction. But instead of finding you trying to hold back a laugh or rolling your eyes, she saw perfectly your attempt of an awkward smile, wrapping yourself in a hug so you wouldn't feel so exposed, and how the idol next to you tensed in response to her words, still with flushed cheeks, not knowing where to look. You cleared your throat softly, bowing slightly to the boy and mumbling an apology, then approaching in two quick steps to your friend, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her close until you were both locked in her room.

"You have a death wish today, that's for sure" you told her, leaning against the door and letting yourself slide down until you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to your chest and head in your hands.

"In my defense, if he knew the context, he would have thought it was a pretty good joke" she commented, grabbing a dress from her closet to slip on over her bikini top.

"A joke?" you ask her, eyes wide, your arms raised in a gesture of exasperation. "Hae, I bet he thinks I hate him or something!"

"Probably" she states, watching your reaction. "Wait, why do you care so much what he thinks? Don't tell me that...!"

"Shut up" you whisper, looking up from the floor at her with a frown. "Don't even think about saying the word «crush». This is all your fault, you damn Seo siblings. You could have mentioned that Changbin's mysterious friend was Hwang Hyunjin!"

"And does it make this boy so special that he stole your heart?" asked Eunhae, raising an eyebrow, teasing you.

"I beg you pardon?" you exclaimed, standing up and gesticulating in an exaggerated manner, waving your hands as you spoke as you did every time you got excited about something. "To begin with, you haven't stolen anything from me. And to follow up..., do you even listen to Binnie every time he comes home and tells us about his band mates? Just from what he says, I like them all. But Hyunjin... I don't know, Hae. He's... he has an impressive sensitivity. I've seen pictures of the paintings he paints, and it's the way he does it, with the blends of colors and his way of depicting and seeing love. And how hardworking he is, the history he's had. I admire him so much. I don't think I could be half as strong as he has been. Beyond his work as an idol, beyond how talented he is at dancing, or composing, or rapping, it's the version of him that he shows with those who are part of his circle, the version of a wonderful person, who has suffered too much but is still grateful for everything good that happens to him. That's the part of him that I idolize, to be honest, if that's the correct word to use."

"Wow" your friend murmured, looking at you with wide eyes and a hand over her heart, amazed by your monologue.

You couldn't help but blush, covering your face with your hands, realizing everything you had said. "Sorry" you mumbled, "I don't know what I was thinking".

"You were thinking about Hyunjin, baby," she answered you, her tone soft, as if afraid to scare you away. "And what he's inadvertently done for you since Changbin tells you about what he does and what he's like."

"It's been a stupid thing to say, he... I just didn't expect to see him in the kitchen, that's all" you said, turning around and looking for a random t-shirt in the closet to put on.

Eunhae watches you with a sad look on her face, as you pick up everything you left around the room the night before, and put it in your backpack neatly, following your own order, until it's all collected. Then she helps you make her bed and pick up yours, which is the kind that folds up, the pull-out trundle bed her mother bought after your second sleepover, years ago, when she realized you were going to be much more than just friends. Since then you've been there for each other each and every time you've needed each other, putting each other before the rest of the world.

And that's why I knew you were projecting. You hadn't had an easy life, with a father practically absent and a mother too busy working to bring money home to give you the affection that any child would have needed. You had been extremely lucky to have met Eunhae on your first day of school, and once her mother found out what your situation was, she tried to establish a friendship with your own mother so she wouldn't be suspicious of how many times you slept over at the Seo's home, or how often Hae brought lunch for her and you. More than once, you had told your friend's mother, only when you had been in a moment of weakness, that she had saved your life. She had replied, each time you had mentioned it to her, that you were just another daughter to her, and that she would do it again and again if given the chance.

In your second year of college, when your boyfriend was starting to show his toxic nature, you had received the news that your mother had passed away, and you had had a really hard time. Hae had had to pick up the broken pieces of your heart, and even Changbin 一the little brother you never had一 had used his vacation time to spoil you as much as you allowed him to. Little by little, you had managed to climb out of that hole, but you still had seasons of downs, and your friend was very protective of you, just as you had always protected her from bad influences and flings and so-called friends of dubious intentions. So when Hae looked to see if Jaemin had sent her any messages and saw that she had one from her brother, she began to form a plan in her head.

Binnie What happened in the bathroom?

Noona I made a comment that Hyunjin shouldn't have heard.

Binnie Istg, noona, I don't bring friends home for you to insult them.

Noona Bin, listen, it wasn't about him, it was about YN.

Binnie I don't care, because now Hyunjin is sad, no matter how much he tries to hide it so Omma won't notice.

Noona I swear I'll apologize to him later, but it's just that I need your help now.

Binnie He was really looking forward to meet YN and now I'm sure he would rather have stayed with his parents instead of coming to see us.

Noona Seo Changbin, shut up and listen.

Eunhae watched as the bubbles that indicated her brother was typing stopped, and she sighed, glancing sideways at YN to check that she was still focused on whatever she was watching on TikTok at the moment.

Noona I told YN we were going to a friend's place, but after what happened in the bathroom, I'm more and more certain that she should stay here, with you guys.

Binnie Why should she?

Noona Because you've been playing Cupid without realizing it, Binnie. Just keep up with me.

"Are you talking to Jaemin?" you asked, stuffing your phone back into your backpack and slumping onto the pouf Hae had in one of the corners of her room, "Shall we go now?"

"Yep!" she exclaimed, jumping up to help you to your feet. She knew she had a huge smile on her lips, but she couldn't help it. The plan she had in mind was going to work out, she was going to make sure of it. She grabbed the bag from on top of his desk and waited for you to get your backpack before leaving her room. Just as you reached the entrance of the apartment, Hae peeked into the kitchen for a moment to let her mother know that you were going to leave now. You waited by the door, shifting your weight between both feet every few seconds, hoping not to run into Hyunjin. But then you saw Hae's mother appear with a frown, and you feared the worst.

"You haven't had breakfast," she said, as a matter of fact, pointing at both of you.

"Don't worry, omonim" you tell her, offering a reassuring smile, "we'll buy something on the way".

"Mm-hm" her mother murmurs, not entirely trusting, "not only are you not going to eat breakfast, but I'm sure you'll eat whatever from those fast food places."

"That's not what..." you started to reply, but Hae interrupted you.

"The truth is, it was YN's turn to pick" he replies, ignoring your confused gesture and trying to keep a serious semblance. Then, when he saw his brother appear, he gave him a meaningful look, indicating him to intervene.

"You know YN always ends up at McDonalds" he mentioned, as if the subject was not with him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, frowning.

"Uh-uh, you eat here" his mother announced, ending the conversation.

"B-but, omma" protested Hae, looking in terror at Changbin, not having anticipated that their mother wanted her to stay too, "I already told Min that we were going, I can't cancel on him now."

"Well, you go," she replied, already from the kitchen. "She stays here. It's been too long since I've fed my YN."

Hae celebrates the victory with a quick smile of triumph to his brother, and promises herself to buy him something as a thank you. She then approaches you with an apologetic pout, and wraps you in a hug, mumbling something about how this way she'll listen to you and have some alone time with Jaemin. You snort, rolling your eyes and making one last attempt to hold her back, grabbing her wrist once more. But she lets go and Changbin attacks you with a backhug, forcing you to say goodbye to her.

"Do you have any idea why Hae wanted you to stay and eat with us?"

"That girl's been playing with fire all day" you sigh, resting your head on the idol's shoulder, and you hear him giggling. "You were in on it, weren't you?"

"I neither affirm nor deny if I don't have a lawyer to defend me" he replies, leading you into the kitchen.

Hyunjin is already seated at the table, the food ready to be served, chatting with Hae's father, who is seated at the head. You clears your throat, to make yourself noticed, and avoid the gaze of Changbin's friend as you greet the Seo patriarch with a big smile, since it's been a long time not seeing him.

"Hi, abeonim!" you say to him, bowing your head slightly.

"Hello, YN! It's been a while since you've been home!" you try to focus on answering him, but you know that Hyunjin has shifted his seat to make room for Changbin next to his father, and you can't help but notice his gaze on you.

"Yeah, I was seeing Hae in my apartment lately" you comment, considering whether taking a run would be a good option. "But yesterday I got the afternoon off and she convinced me to come over and watch some movies and relax for a bit."

"Okay, okay" he answered you, smiling, "you shouldn't work so hard. I'll talk to Eunhae about convincing you more often. Don't let so much time go by without seeing each other."

You made another bow, nodding, and listened to the matriarch turn off the stoves.

"YN, honey, sit next to me!" she exclaimed, appearing with a last bowl of food. "You have to tell me how everything is going!"

You tried to muster a smile, but your whole body tensed as you realized you would have to eat in front of Hyunjin. You cleared your throat as Changbin's mother served the food, and made a small gesture with your head by way of greeting towards the idol, who blushed slightly and looked away, while the younger Seo watched both of you attentively. Since his sister had spoken to him via chat, he had decided to pay more attention to your interactions.

Hyunjin had been incredibly lucky, he thought, when he had messaged Changbin telling him that his parents had rented a house outside of Yongin, the 3racha member's hometown, and the response had been an invitation to lunch from his mother. Not only that, but Changbin had told him that he thought he heard her sister come home with YN, so they would probably be gossiping together in her room or watching a movie in the living room. The dancer hadn't been able to hide his excitement, because ever since Changbin had told him about YN, he had wanted to know more about her.

And when, after excusing himself to the rapper's mother to leave the kitchen for a moment and wait a few minutes in front of the bathroom, the door opened, he would never have imagined he would see the girl he dreamed of meeting come out, her hair loose and still wet, falling down her back, her naked torso covered only by a baby blue bikini and in shorts. For a few seconds, his brain stopped working, and there was only her, with that look of surprise and half-open lips. Nor could he have imagined, of course, that Eunhae would show up at that moment, let alone the sentence she blurted out, "Going to Min's house is the perfect excuse to leave now that you know Hyunjin is here. You won't have to see him again unless you look for him in Naver!".

He didn't understand why she wouldn't want to see him again, if they had never seen each other before, but it hurt. He felt his heart clench in his chest, and he tried not to let his face express anything that was going through his mind. He avoided looking at either of you, and held his breath until you were no longer there, which was when he ran to lock himself in the bathroom. Unfortunately, Changbin knew him too well to hide his discomfort from him, though he flatly refused to tell him what had happened. Of course, Changbin wasn't an idiot, so he knew that whatever had upset him had to do with the other two people in the apartment at the time, and he saw him texting his sister before he could stop him.

The news that you would be staying for lunch with them when it was so obvious that you would rather be anywhere but there made him feel bad. The masochistic part of him, because he couldn't call it anything else, was glad to have you in front of him, to be able to enjoy your smile and your face light up the room when you were asked about something you were passionate about. Just as he shied away from your gaze when he was asked about his art, or how the group's choreography was going. He couldn't bear to see your eyes sparkle when you looked at him, knowing you were having a hard time just being in the same room as him.

That's why he couldn't help but get nervous when he offered to do the dishes, and you joined in his proposal, arguing that since both of you were the guests, the least you could do was clean up a bit. Changbin's mother had smiled at you the way his mother did at him when she was proud, and had merely nodded, shooing her husband and son away. Hyunjin had decided to pretend he wasn't hyper-aware of any of your movements to his right as you dried the dishes and utensils he was washing. But when you cleared your throat, ready to speak, his heart began to pound like crazy.

"I think I owe you an apology" you mumbled, sheepish, putting down the rag you were using to dry everything on the counter and leaning back against it, looking at the idol slyly.

Your heart was going so fast you thought it was going to burst out of your chest, but you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Hyunjin wasn't much better, his hands shaking a little, and he set the glass he was washing down in the sink to avoid breaking it if he dropped it.

"You don't have to apologize if you don't want to" he answered you, his gaze focused straight ahead at all times, unable to confront you and satiate his need for answers, to find out why you didn't like him. "It wasn't your fault, anyway."

"I know it was Hae who said it, but... actually it was my fault," you explain, embarrassed, your knuckles white from gripping the marble. "She loves to make those kinds of comments, she has no filter. I know she'll apologize as soon as she gets a chance, too. We...we didn't mean for you to hear it."

"YN nim, you don't have to put on this act to apologize for a comment that was out of line but true nonetheless," he stated, almost pleading for the conversation to end. "Being an idol has taught me to accept that I can't be liked by everyone."

"But I do like you!" you reproached, realizing Hyunjin's interpretation of your apology. "I mean, I like what you do. I'm a big fan of your work."

"Ah, so you're stay" he inquired, beginning to crack a smile, thanks to your flustered state and the way you bit the inside of your cheek nervously.

"No, not exactly" you acknowledged, spinning around on yourself to stand shoulder to shoulder next to him. "I mean, I've heard your music, obviously. And I love it. I also remember watching some music videos when you debuted, or some award show, to support Binnie. But today... seeing you... I really didn't know who you were" you mumble, a little embarrassed. "I assumed you were an idol, of course, but the truth is Changbin has a lot of friends. You could have been Yeonjun or Felix and I would have reacted the same."

"So, by saying you like what I do...?" he asked, frowning.

"Oh, I was talking about your paintings" you replied, smiling finally. "I work as a secretary for the director of an art gallery in Seoul, but I'm studying Fine Arts. Changbin knows that I love anything that enters the artistic field. Whenever he comes home he always shows me pictures of your latest works or the photographs you have taken and shared with him. He saves everything so I can see it. Don't get mad at him if he didn't have your permission, please. I've admired you for a couple of years now. I didn't know..." you start, unsure if it's the right thing to say, "I didn't know that besides a hardworking person you were handsome too."

Hyunjin tried to observe you without you noticing, still speechless, and was able to catch the slight blush that covered your cheeks. Get mad at Changbin? He could never thank him the way he deserved after everything you had just told him. Did you admire him? Him?

"I don't know what to say, really," he mumbled, suddenly feeling shy.

You sighed in relief, and turned to him, extending your hand.

"Shall we settle things?" you proposed. You saw him flash a big smile, similar to the one he had when you had first seen him, and he nodded, taking off the glove he was using to wash up. "It seems to me that we haven't been properly introduced" you said, looking him in the eye, "my name is YN, please don't use formal honorifics with me."

"Nice to meet you, noona" he replied, holding your hand gently, his skin warm next to yours, "I am Hyunjin, a friend of Changbin's".

"Yes, he told me about you" you confided to him, as if you had erased from your memories everything that had happened previously, "I'm a big fan of your work. I like the way you represent love in your paintings."

Hyunjin blushed, returning to his work of cleaning cutlery and glasses.

"Thank you," he murmured, "I've heard about you too. I can tell he loves you very much."

"I've known him since he was very little" you laughed, making a nonchalant gesture with your hand, "it's probably because he prefers me to his sister."

"Maybe" he replied, letting out a laugh at your joke. "I'm so sorry you couldn't go to your friend's house because of me."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault" you reassured him, helping him clean up the sink once everything was neat. "Actually, it was the Seo siblings' doing, who ganged up against me. Anyway, Hae needed time alone with Jaemin, if you know what I mean."

You guessed he did when you saw him swallow and his blush worsened to a shade where not even the curve of his ears were safe from the crimson red. You let out a laugh when you saw him nod, not knowing what to do with his hands or where to look. You couldn't help but think it was cute. He was cute.

"I prefer the company I have at the moment, if I'm being honest" you continued, finding it too addictive to mess with him a little, now that you knew you made him nervous. "So, it's okay."

"My favorite people!" exclaimed Changbin walking into the kitchen, and putting his arms around your shoulders, wrapping you in a hug. "Are you going to take the car to go with Hae, noona?" he asked you, pressing his cheek to yours.

You started tickling him to get him off of you, and smiled when he started giggling and squeezed next to Hyunjin like he was a koala bear.

"No, I'm not in the mood," you admitted, leaning against the island after setting up the stools, "although I'm also lazy about having to go back to my apartment. Why, do you have any plans?"

"Actually, I was going to tell Changbin if he wanted to come to the house my family has rented" Hyunjin interjected, "because my parents are out to see the area and they took Kkami with them."

"Awww, my Hyunjinnie always thinking about his hyung."

Changbin's allergy, you remembered. He could be around animals, but being in contact with them directly, or the hairs they always left everywhere made his eyes watery, his nose red and he'd start sneezing, or have congestion. It was horrible both to feel it, and to see him suffer so much, especially since he really liked animals. Kkami must be Hyunjin's dog, then. The one Changbin talked about sometimes.

"I saw earlier that you had put on a bikini" Hyunjin continued, "if you wanted to go with your friend so you could swim, there is an indoor pool in this house. You can come with us."

The dancer felt quite proud that he had not stuttered when talking about when he had seen you in a bikini, and also that he had managed to carry out his initial plan: inviting you to spend more time with him. He had already wanted to before arriving at the Seo house, but after your little chat that idea had taken hold.

You exchanged a glance with Changbin, too nervous to let out the "Yes!" that deep down you wanted to exclaim, and he nodded, as if encouraging you to accept. You merely nodded, a shy smile trapped on your lips, and Hyunjin responded with another, one that made his brown eyes turn into crescents.

"Is it good for you now?" he asked, breaking away from Changbin, glancing at the time on his watch with a graceful twist of his wrist.

"I have nowhere else to be."

Changbin let out a shout of excitement and forced you to follow him around the apartment as he stuffed the essentials into a backpack and grabbed his car keys. He went on and on about how happy he was that two of his favorite people were beginning to form a friendship, and that you had so much in common that it seemed like fate. And as he explained that as much as it seemed like fate, it was actually his evil plan, you and Hyunjin exchanged amused and embarrassed glances, knowing that one way or the other, you were both grateful that it had happened this way.

Even though you would normally ask for the front passenger seat whenever you went in Changbin's car, given the circumstances you decided to give up your seat to Hyunjin, and you plopped down in the middle seat in the back.

"Who's in charge of the playlist?" you asked, dropping your backpack next to you and checking that you were carrying everything.

"Hyunjinnie!" shouted Changbin, starting up. "He's carrying the driver's phone. That means Maps and playlists."

"If you want to play your Spotify, or recommend something, just let me know and I'll pass you the phone" muttered the dancer, embarrassed by the way Changbin kept exposing him in front of the girl he liked.Did he like her? If he thought she was an amazing person before, now he was crazy about her, and wanting to get to know her more.

"Can I really?" you said, peeking between the seats and looking at Hyunjin, your faces too close for either of you to maintain a mask of indifference. You cleared your throat, blushing, and leaned back again, Hyunjin just as red as you.

"First the directions to our destination" Changbin claimed. But Hyunjin was still processing the small interaction you had just shared, still feeling the soft tickle of your breath against his cheek, your lips almost touching his skin.

"Hyunjiiin, where am I going?"

"Ah, yes, sorry" he replied, absentmindedly, entering the address into the cell phone, the female voice, monotone and canned, announcing the course you had to take to reach your destination.

While the driver listened attentively to the route to follow, Hyunjin handed you the phone. You searched for the Spotify app that you were aware Changbin had signed up for on premium, and it pained you to have to log out of his account in order to open your own. You knew you could search for your profile from his, but the playlist you had in mind wasn't public, so you had to settle for a non-premium plan, and put up with the advertising that played. While you were searching through all the playlists you had made for fun, a message arrived. You knew you shouldn't look at it because it wasn't right, but you also knew that the only person Changbin could have saved as Noona was his sister, so you wondered what she wanted, in case it was something important.

Noona How's it going over there, Binnie?

Was she really sending that to his brother and not to you? When it was you she had left against your will?

"Who's the message from?" asked Changbin, making eye contact from the rearview mirror with you.

"Hae asks how it's going" you reply, a confused gesture written on your face. You watch Changbin's surprise turn to a light blush in his ears and you frown, not knowing what to expect from the brothers once they were determined about something.

"Text her that all good, I'll tell her more later."

You nod, following his instructions, and when you see she's not online, you go back to Spotify, trying to find that playlist you created when you went on a trip with Eunhae to Japan and rented a car just so you could drive at night on uncrowded roads. It hadn't been a very smart move, given that you were two young girls traveling alone and unfortunately that attracted catastrophes, but you had enjoyed it a lot. When you looked at the notification bar again and saw that there was a new message, your heart skipped a beat, thinking that maybe Hae had written something related to what she and her brother were up to.

But it was actually an unanswered message from Felix, from at least half an hour earlier, which Changbin must not have seen because he was lying on the couch with his father while you and Hyunjin cleaned up. And then, when you decided to go on that trip, he must not have had time to reply. You told yourself you weren't going to read it because it would already be rude, but there was one word that caught your attention. Your own name. What could be the chances that he was talking about you? The whole message didn't appear either, only the beginning. It would be only a peek.

Yongbok Hyung, if you don't answer me I'm going to be very angry. I just want to know how Hyunjin hyung is doing with YN! He’s not answering either. You have to at least tell me if they've already fallen in lo...

And you couldn't read any more. What was Felix talking about? You and Hyunjin? Why did everyone suddenly seem so intent on finding out how well you two were getting along? You didn't understand what the fixation was, when literally the fact that you had met today was entirely fortuitous.

"What about that music?" you heard Changbin ask.

"I can't find the playlist" you mutter absentmindedly, still looking at what Felix had written, frowning. You went back to the Spotify app once more, sighing, and scrolled through the folders with different playlists until you found the cover of the one you were looking for. Riptide by Vance Joy began to play, and you smiled, the lyrics sliding across your lips, as you returned the device to the copilot, your fingers touching for a few seconds before you pulled away, as if your skin burned.

Hyunjin knew he had blushed again, but it was your fault. When you had mentioned that Changbin's sister had sold you out to get some alone time with that boy, the only thing that had crossed his mind was what it would be like to have time alone with you. He didn't want to go too fast, didn't even want to think about such things, but he couldn't help but think about how it would feel to kiss you, resting his hand on your cheek and bringing you to him, whether you would make any surprised noises when he licked your lower lip more than willing to intensify the kiss. And yet he still found himself imagining situations where he would finally take the step and bring your lips together in a sweet way.

It was surreal that having met you for the first time that morning, he had the feeling that he had known you all his life. It was true that when he had met Changbin, and the conversation had brought up the subject of family, he had included you in his family as another sister. It wasn't until later, when they had already forged a friendship, that the rapper had told him your story in more depth. How your path had crossed his sister's by chance, and you had fit in perfectly. How kind and caring you were, always taking an interest in Changbin when you visited Eunhae, and dedicating your time to help him with those subjects he was struggling with in high school. How you had arranged a schedule together with his sister to help him practice all the specialties required at JYP, and to prepare for the presentation he was to give. You had never doubted him, his abilities, or that he could become an idol, one of the best Kpop producers if he put his mind to it.

Changbin spoke highly of his two noonas, and for him your figure had become someone to look up to. How you had come through in spite of your family situation, the losses you'd had, even the difficulties you'd had to face, like that terrible toxic boyfriend or when you'd gotten lower grades than you'd expected because you'd stayed up late the night before working so you could pay for the tiny apartment you lived in. Changbin knew he could go to Hyunjin to tell his worries about the latest story you'd gotten caught up in, or the latest mistake her sister had made that had cost her nights crying. If Hyunjin was normally a wonderful listener, when it came to you, he drank up every detail his friend told him as if it were divine nectar. Soon Seungmin and Felix learned of his little fixation with you and began to tease him about the crush he had developed.

The worst had been when you had gotten that job as a secretary at the art gallery, something you had told him about as if he didn't already know, and you had sent Changbin the photos his sister had taken of you, posing with your beautiful smile at the first exhibition you had helped your boss organize. The dress looked great on you, and the color highlighted the irises of your eyes. Hyunjin, being the first time he had seen a picture of you, had been breathless. At the time, Changbin had thought it was because he had recognized some painting in the background, and had offered to ask you if you could get him a ticket, but Hyunjin had quickly declined, not remotely ready to meet you yet. Even at that moment, stealing glances at you through the rearview mirror, feeling how his heart melted as he watched you sing with such enthusiasm the songs you had played, he felt you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you were still stealing his breath the same way.

When Changbin parked, and announced with a clap of his hands that you had arrived, you let out a groan, protesting.

"Car rides should take hours and hours," you said, unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your backpack, "because on that playlist I had The View and Mixtape: Time Out and I wanted to sing them with you. But they didn't soud!"

As you opened the door to leave, you bumped into Changbin, who wrapped you in a hug, smiling.

"You'll have time to put them on when you get back," he replied, still clutching you in his arms. "Abeoji was right, noona. It's been a while since we've seen you."

"Aww" you told him, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek, "my Binnie missed me?"

"Yah!" she exclaimed, pulling away. "Not in front of my member!"

Hyunjin and you let out an outrageous laugh at the same time, and he went over to tease Changbin, muttering something about how they were usually the ones who suffered his love attacks and to hold his annoyance if for once he was the one on the receiving end of them. Though they both knew, and so did you, that it was all an act. Changbin was too affectionate to deny a display of love on purpose. You lagged behind, pulling out your phone to check if you had any missed texts. Sure enough, Hae had written to you. And sure enough, it was one of her comments.

Hae-Hae Omma told me what you were going to do. You'll tell me how handsome Hyunjin is when you see him in his swimsuit. Mwaaah!

Fuck. You hadn't thought about that. You had been too focused on being able to enjoy the pool and his company to process that both of those things involved seeing him in a swimsuit. Maybe he'd do like some idols and wear a t-shirt over it ーwhich wouldn't help either because after all, the clothes would get wet, and that would be much more distracting. But you doubted that because they would take advantage of the fact that they were in a trusted environment to dress however they wanted, as they wore the shirt in content for fans, and maybe in public.

When Hyunjin opened the door, the first thing you did was to accept with a smile the slippers he offered to you and to Changbin, and then ask where the pool was. Maybe while they were changing, it would give you time to swim for a while and get all those dangerous thoughts out of your head. Hyunjin pointed you with a smile in the direction it was, and then led Changbin up the stairs, to put on his swimsuit as soon as possible and join you.

You followed his directions, going down to the basement, which was full of arcades, and walking along it to the right, where you found the pool. You smiled automatically, and dropped your backpack on some nearby couches, approaching the edge and sitting down, letting out a content sigh as you felt the slightly warm water come into contact with your skin. You had always had an affinity for water sports, but at the end of the day it was the simple act of swimming or floating on the surface that gave you the most peace. When you were diving, and you heard nothing but the thoughts and voices in your head slowly disappearing, that was when you were the happiest. That's why you had looked for a university that had a sports complex, and a swimming pool open to students. So that you could go there when everything became too overwhelming around you.

You sat there for a few minutes, admiring how calm the water was, and the little waves that formed when you moved your legs, and the rustic views you could see from the huge windows in front of you. And then you remembered that you only had an afternoon to make the most of, and you jumped up, discarding your shorts and T-shirt by the edge and diving in head first in a graceful manner. Wearing a bikini to swim wasn't the best choice, unless it was one specifically designed for the strong, decisive movements that any experienced swimmer made, but at the moment it was all you had and it would have to do.

Hyunjin had reached the glass door leading to the pool in time to see you take off your clothes and dive into the water. There was a practice and casualness in how you moved that made his fingers tingle, craving to have a pencil and notebook close so he could sketch the way your muscles flexed and untensed every time you swam. It was a sight to see you, and he tried to absorb as much as possible so he could paint you when he was back in his room, in Seoul.

When you took a break, a few minutes later, you saw Hyunjin sitting on the couches where you had left your backpack.

"Hi" you said to him, a shy smile beginning to form on your lips, as you brushed away the drops of water still sliding down your nose and cheeks. "Aren't you going to get in?"

"The truth is, watching you swim is impressive" he confessed, a small blush appearing on his cheeks.

"You know how to swim?" you commented, leaning against the edge as he approached. You tried to pay attention to him as he responded, but when you realized he was shirtless, you looked away, flustered, and moved a little away from him, trying to put as much distance as you could between the two of you.

He noticed the effect he had on you and blushed even more, though his confidence also increased. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting down on the edge and letting himself slip until the water hit his neck, the pool designed so that the deep end was on the opppsite side of the windows.

"Nothing's wrong" you replied, leaning your back against the part you were standing on.

"Then why do you blush?" he said, wanting to tease you as much as you had done in the kitchen, and moving closer, swimming slowly and smoothly.

"As much as you did when you saw me in a bikini in the morning, you say?" you blurted out, trying to fight back.

When Hyunjin stood in front of you, the height difference becoming obvious as he stood up and the distance between your chests less than you'd need to keep from fainting, you swore you'd stopped breathing.

"You say that like your heart isn't going a mile a minute right now" he replied, raising an eyebrow.

You took a deep breath and rested a hand on his chest, noticing how his own heart was going as fast as yours. He looked at you with his mouth parted, as surprised by your actions as you were, and you saw his Adam's apple twitch as he swallowed nervously.

"Looks to me like we're even" you managed to mutter, your mouth dry with anticipation, before Hyunjin kissed you.

You had been caught off guard by his outburst of initiative, but unlike that first gesture, his mouth was soft against yours. You welcomed his lips with yours, savoring the kiss, and the warmth that came over you with it, a sharp contrast to how wet you were from the water around you. You felt him rest his hands on your bare hips and stifled a whimper, running your hand up to the nape of his neck and tangling your fingers in his damp hair. Hyunjin let out a slight whine of happiness, realizing that you tasted exactly as he had imagined you, felt exactly as he had imagined, and reacted in the same way his mind had imagined so many times.

But just as he was about to run his tongue along your lower lip, just as he was about to sit you on the edge so he could position himself between your naked legs, you both heard Changbin's slippers enter the room, interrupting you and causing you to break out in embarrassment.

Changbin hid a smile that you never saw and excused himself, leaving the room. That had been the day he had introduced you, and also the day he had feared you would get along badly, given your reaction after that first meeting. He had feared because for years he had seen both of your faces light up when he told you things about each other, and he didn't want a bad first impression to mess up the beautiful relationship that could emerge if things went well. So he was relieved, because the little moments of complicity he had caught glimpses of throughout the day had blossomed in this moment that he had been unlucky enough to interrupt. And so he retreated to Hyunjin's room, which he had seen upon arrival, and picked up his phone to send messages to both his sister and Felix.

Binnie Everything went great. I think they're in love.

( shout out to these photos hyunjin sent on bbl because i saw them while writing the one shot and they helped a lot when planning out the end 一the romantic part . i leave them here to delight your eyes ♡ )

© stayconnecteed 2023 · do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms

[frozenjokes]

To Keep // 8

Prev/Next - Ao3 Link

A pull.

A pull, further and further away.

Leaving, running.

Leaving, but longing, desperately longing to stay.

Cub blinked his eyes open, the light of the day feeling like an assault on his senses. He stumbled forward on legs that failed to keep him upright, suddenly thrown into a world where weight seemed to matter. He fell almost immediately, smashing his face against the ground. Hm.

“Whoa! Dude, are you okay?” Ren’s (horrifically loud) voice cut through the blissful nothing, and Cub felt himself be hauled off the ground. He groaned, limp in Ren’s arms. Apparently, his limbs had decided they were taking the day off. Cub furrowed his brow. Had he not finished regenerating? Why had he stopped?

“I don’t.. know..” he decided, struggling to remember how this happened. There was Scar, yes, and he had died again, but.. A splitting headache cut through his thoughts; another oddity that should not be happening right now. You were supposed to feel good after regenerating. Refreshed! “I can’t move, I think. I can’t move well.”

Scar. Scar. He had to go back. He had to find him.

Cub tried again to move, but his muscles remained limp, his body even refusing to fly. Something wet slid down his collar, but he couldn’t lift his head to see what it was. Instead he saw Ren, sunglasses far enough down his face that Cub could see the deep concern in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to camp out on you, but we started getting worried when no one had seen you for a couple weeks, and-“

“Wait,” Cub struggled to raise his voice enough to get Ren’s attention, which turned out to be quite the challenge when he was so loud and the sun was so bright. “How long? How long did you say?”

“Well- two weeks ago is- is when we noticed. Your regeneration took three days. New record! Ha..”

“I- I see. I must have lost track of- three days?” Cub’s weak attempt at covering his tracks was all but ruined by his shock. Two weeks. Two weeks when they noticed . Had he been lost all that time? Longer? And three days to regenerate- that was unheard of. The longest any ghost had taken to be put back together was usually a couple of hours, and most of that time was spent getting to Spawn in the first place.

Ren looked nervous, glancing from Cub to the road ahead so many times it was starting to make him dizzy. “Uh, yup. It’s a little alarming, I..” Ren trailed off, staring hard at Cub’s face. No, not his face, his eyes fell lower than that. “Are you in any pain?”

“Pain? I mean, my head a little bit, but I think once I get out of the sun..” Cub’s unease heightened as Ren stared, “What? What is it?”

“It’s just.. you’re bleeding?”

“I’m bleeding? Where!” Cub struggled to sit up in Ren’s arms, but his body was determined to fail him today.

“Your neck is a little.. I’m sure it’s not a big deal. Your regeneration just didn’t finish, you’ll probably be fine in a day or so with the health potions, yeah?”

“Ghosts don’t have blood, Ren! I need a mirror. Do you have a mirror?”

“Well, Impulse has a little blood, doesn’t he? And Grian does a bit as well near his eye. Yours is blue, if that helps.”

“It does not help. I’ve been dead for decades, I should not bleed . I need a mirror.”

“I was going to take you to Xisuma-“

“A mirror! I need a mirror!”

“Okay, okay! We’ll take a pit stop at my base first. Is it okay if I fly?”

“Whatever’s fastest.” Cub shut his eyes tightly and tried to relax as Ren lifted slowly off the ground, then propelled toward his starter base. The more distance they flew from spawn, the harder his chest ached, going away, away, from Scar. His vex. This would be fixed if he could get to Scar.

During the flight, Cub began to regain feeling in his arms and hands and gradually his legs. When they landed, he managed to wriggle out of Ren’s arms, instead using him as a crutch. Cub let Ren lead him to his room, the drive to find a mirror giving him more strength. He stopped short when they reached it.

“Ren!”

“Uhm,” Ren cleared his throat, respectfully looking the other way, “Yeah, dude?”

“ There is a HOLE in my neck!”

“Your uh.. there’s a bit on your back as well..” Ren trailed off as Cub struggled to turn, aiding him gently. Two long claw marks scored across his back, both dripping the same dark blue blood leaking from his throat. Cub gaped.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“I think you should lay down, Cub,” Ren suddenly sounded cautious, but firm, like he knew something Cub didn’t.

“Ren.”

“Lay down,” Ren guided Cub to the bed, though Cub didn’t have much choice in the matter, “You’re going to be fine. I’m going to call Cleo and-“

“No! No, Ren!” Cub planted his heels, pushing back with extended claws, but Ren remained firm. When Cub continued to fight, Ren lifted him off his feet, placing him gently into the bed, then somewhat aggressively pulling the covers over Cub’s arms. Cub quickly ran dry on energy to fight him. With a sour look Cub didn’t quite understand, Ren turned away, quietly contacting Cleo through the walkie. She was here. Waiting? How long had he been gone? Scar’s absence began squeezing tighter on his chest, in his throat, his head- Scar was moving away, going further- Cub gagged on the feeling, Ren throwing him an alarmed look in return.

He didn’t care. Not what Ren thought, not what he and Cleo were saying, not even about his neck and back as the shock started to fade. He had to get out of here. He had to get to Scar. But despite desperately willing his body to move, he still was unable.

Cub was vaguely aware of Ren leaving the room, of an opportunity to escape that his body refused to take, before the other ghost quickly returned, potions in hand.

“Drink this,” Ren said, passing one of the potions into Cub’s shaky hands, and helping him hold it as the vial started to slip from his loose grip. Cub obeyed, hoping vainly this might help loosen the longing sickness in his chest but other than a small boost of energy, nothing changed. Cub felt his jaw slacken. For the first time he wondered if he might be dying, really dying. If only Scar were here.

“Cub, you should know, we..” Ren trailed off, looking away, “We know about Scar. All of us. I mean, not his crew, obviously, but we know. Cleo told us after you’d gone missing, and, well, we have been looking for you since. Until you found your way back, of course..”

Ah. Well, that would make this harder. Still, Cub was surprised by his own indifference. He had been found out. He had dreaded this moment in the past, this confrontation, but now, he only found he truly did not care. He didn’t feel anything at all. Ren stared, looking for something in Cub’s eyes that he would not find. Cub did not look away. He did not speak. He had nothing to say.

Ren furrowed his brow, looking some cross of frustrated and distressed. “We were worried about you, Cub. Why- why did you even seek Scar out in the first place? I thought you were better than that. Or at least, good enough to keep it to yourself and kill him when you were done.”

“It wasn’t my intention to be gone that long. Scar caught me off guard. Our magic, apparently, has some strong effects on each other. At least, I assume it goes both ways. I was always the one tracking Scar down, not the other way around. He must have noticed the effect his magic was having on me while I was around it.”

Ren gaped slightly, confusion evident in the tilt of his head, but he didn’t get the chance to speak before the front door slammed open, and Cub didn’t need to hear anything more than their heavy footsteps to know Cleo had arrived.

“Cub!” Cleo stormed into the bedroom, eyes blazing, “What have you done?” Even under Cleo’s fire, he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to face them. She stuttered to a stop as she saw him, or rather, his neck, giving Ren a bewildered look.

“I know,” Ren muttered, glancing at the blood that was slowly leaking onto every pillow and blanket. “I’m just trying to figure out how this happened.”

“I’m working on that myself,” Cub muttered, but even the small break in his train of thought led him back to Scar. He didn’t seem to be moving away anymore, but with how tight his chest and lungs were already squeezed, that was hardly much relief.

Cleo took a deep breath, closing her eyes before letting go a strained exhale. “I read your notes, Cub. The ones from your starter base, and I found.. what you left. In the woods, with Scar. Do you understand how frightening that is, Cub? To find all your shit, your notes- half of which made no sense- and no trace of you. Of Scar. We all thought something horrible had happened to you and, well, clearly something did.”

“Oh! I’m glad they weren’t lost. Did you bring them back?”

“Cub.”

“What.” Cub grunted, turning his head away. He didn’t have the energy for this back and forth. He had to save it for later. For Scar. Cleo’s frustration burned at his back. Cub shifted the blankets over his head, but they were swiftly ripped away. Something like a growl left Cleo’s throat, and Cub didn’t bother to acknowledge it.

“Maybe-” Ren cut in, and Cub felt his presence against the bed, putting himself between Cleo, “Maybe right now we should focus on talking through what happened. We can.. discuss the rest later.”

Cub liked that idea better. “I am not sorry. I did not mean to disappear, but I’m not upset that I did. I was with Scar. I’m sure he was taking good care of my spirit, despite my being lost.”

Cub heard Cleo scoff, but Ren spoke first, “Lost? What do you mean by that, Cub?”

“I mean I was lost. I couldn’t find Spawn. I had Scar trapped for awhile, at least a week but maybe longer, and he managed to trick me, or confuse me. I’d like to ask exactly what his process was really, I must have been in a nearly unconscious state for days. Enough that I don’t remember most of it. At the height, Scar managed to get me to release him from his binds, then killed me before I could figure out where to go. I imagine with nowhere to go, well.”

“Wait,” Ren, cut in, horror edging his tone, “Wait, you were dead for- for weeks?”

Cub nodded mildly, catching Ren’s horrified look out of the corner of his eye. Cleo looked between them, her anger falling way to confusion. “Why does the amount of time matter? You’re all ghosts still, as long as you get back to Spawn eventually..”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Ren fidgeted, his eyes flicking back and forth, “I mean, ghosts don’t just get lost. You don’t.. We need Spawn. I don’t know how to explain it, I just, I can’t imagine not..”

Cub closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel the pull of Spawn, deeper and more integral than even his connection to Scar. “Spawn is the source of our power here. Our hearts, our limbs, it keeps us connected and alive. Well, more alive than the average dead person. I didn’t know what would happen without it, but I couldn’t get Scar to understand before he..” Cub trailed a hand to his throat, “Apparently a ghost that can’t regenerate is in a lot of trouble. No wonder we’re all afraid of losing Spawn, even without knowing for sure what the consequences might be.”

“Shit, dude,” Ren sighed, “We really need to do something about Scar..”

“It’s not like we haven’t been trying,” Cleo huffed, clearly more frustrated with the search than anything, but Cub shook his head. They didn’t understand.

“Scar’s not dangerous, not really. I don’t think he even wants anything to do with his old crew; he knows coming around would be a death sentence anyway. A witch hunt isn’t necessary.” Ren and Cleo returned the sentiment with a blank stare.

“Cub,” Ren spoke, his tone retaking the odd, careful quality from before, “Scar tried to kill you. Maybe kill isn’t even the right word.. destroy you. Erase you. I mean, I can’t say for certain how close of a call this was, but given the damage to your form..”

“That’s not true,” Cut cut in, irritated, “Maybe at one point, sure, but the circumstances have changed. He wants me. To keep me. To have me. If I didn’t exist anymore, he wouldn’t be able to.”

Cub expected some sort of incredulity from Cleo, but instead their features twisted into a more unnerving look of concern. “Wants you? Cub..” Ah, maybe she’d gotten the wrong idea.

“Not like that. He doesn’t like me- well, maybe after all this time I’ve grown on him, I’d like to think so anyway, but I mean it in the literal sense. To have me around. I feel similarly. Thought I might dig out a basement, keep him somewhere in a little enclosure. I still like the idea. Clearly he can’t have me the way he wants either, I’ll just cease to exist after a while.”

Ren and Cleo exchanged a look.

“Cub, listen to me, alright?” Cleo began, and Cub was really beginning to hate this ‘careful tone’ the two of them had taken on, like they were trying to soothe some sort of frightened animal, “I know Scar. Not just what he’s done, but I knew him personally, and I’ve gotten some of the story of his old crew’s first meetings as well. He’s charming, a bit alluring even. He gives you all of his attention, makes you part of the ‘story’ he’s woven for himself, but you’re being strung along. You’re being used, Cub.”

“You think I’m attached,” Cub stated, flat. Frustration burned beneath his tongue, but he chose instead to stare. Challenging. Cleo met his eyes evenly.

“Yes, I do.”

“I thought you read my notes, Cleo. This is more than an emotional connection to a sick dog. Scar is a vex, my vex, and our connection is far deeper than human attachment. It’s instinct,” Cub scoffed, “ Used. Of course I’m being used. I don’t need to be told.”

“I believe you, Cub,” Cleo sighed, a gesture that made Cub feel very aware of his claws. His wings fluttered, but if Cleo noticed they didn’t acknowledge it, “I also believe you can fight it. I believe Scar is fighting it, because he hates what you did, he hates ghosts, and he hates what he is now. I think he tried to destroy you, and that he failed. That your spirit escaped and made it back to Spawn.”

“You did say you were susceptible to his magic, right?” Ren chimed in, looking encouraged, “And you wanted to study Scar in the first place; you were actively pursuing him! Maybe that’s why it’s so difficult for you to fight this! I mean, I feel obligated to howl and bark all the time, and Cleo had that thing about wanting to maim people too! It’s nothing you can’t overcome, and I’m sure with Scar dead that’ll fix most-“

“Neither of you understand!” Cub hissed, though despite the venom spraying off his tone, he felt distant, almost like dissociating, watching his own body speak. Both Cleo and Ren took a step back, eyes wide, like they were seeing something Cub couldn’t. “You don’t know Scar anymore, not like I do. Scar is changed. Scar is not alone in his body anymore, and I spend more time speaking to the vex than I do the old host. He wants me. He needs me. He must have noticed something was wrong with my spirit with all the time away from Spawn. He must have-“

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Cleo cut in, but she looked afraid, why did she look afraid? Cub blinked, then blinked again, and felt it.

“What are you talking about?” he spoke, and felt the sound more distinctly in his throat. Sharp. His hands were shaking, his claws flexed.

“I think this is worse than I thought,” Cleo breathed, but she wasn’t speaking to Cub. Ren nodded stiffly.

“What did you hear?” Cub stressed, but when no answer came, the question turned to a demand, “ What did you hear?”

“We should speak to Xisuma, and Zedaph maybe. Doc?” Ren managed, and Cleo nodded while Cub’s irritation only heightened. But it wasn’t just irritation. He was pleased, almost satisfied, like emotions behind the veil of his forethoughts. He imagined himself getting up, following them as they both retreated to the bedroom door as he laughed in their faces, but he didn’t have the energy to move.

He did, however, have the energy to laugh, a choir of voices shrieking under Cub’s own.

[blzzrdstryr]

By proxy

Platonic yandere!Kaeya & child!gn!reader

Wordcount: 2195

A.N.: My first time writing platonic yanderes, hope you'll enjoy.

It's an impulsive decision for the most part - taking you, that is.

Kaeya trudges through the Wolfendom forest, a couple of his underlings, Addler and Otto, following behind as they trail a group of treasure hoarders. Criminal gang must have known that knights are on their tail, there's no other explanation for their sudden fleeing, leaving an already broken camp behind and taking only the most valuable possessions.

It's raining and he silently curses, even if this will give him advantage in battle, but archons, it's so cold. Huge droplets fall on the ground with a resounding sound, drenching everything and turning the forest landscape deep into nigh impassable terrain. Mud clings to their feet, slowing the group down, as the Sun starts to set. Sky turns all shades of purple and red, dimming light throwing the last rays over the Mondstadt as the darkness settles, yet Kaeya and his group still carry forward through the palisade of tall trees.

“Sir”, Otto carefully starts: “It seems that criminals are already several miles away from us”.

Kaeya nods for the knight to continue, already knowing that it will be an ask to stop - the weather is hellish and the rain is one of the heaviest Kaeya has ever had to experience.

“With how strong this rainfall is, the gang's traces will be gone in under an hour”

"All the more reasons to push on and catch them then", Alberich replies, paying zero attention to Adler's slight trembling or Otto's teeth chattering. The group continues on their path through descending darkness, their footsteps hasting despite the clinging and growing fatigue.

Suddenly, as the knights make their way around the cliff, a slight whimper is heard. It's human enough to stop the group - maybe some unlucky civilian got in the way of the gang, maybe criminals left their injured one. Kaeya just nods to the pair, as Otto and Adler unsheathe their weapons, wordlessly understanding the gesture.

Cavalry captain takes a step into the forest pit with a raised sword, all sight and ears, light blue vision on his belt shining and flickering both in caution and anticipation. He walks slowly and quietly, like a cat, careful not to step on the leaves and twigs lying around, and then he sees you.

You are a child, all thin and small in the way that the sick are. There are dark circles under your tired eyes, and the scrapes all over your body. You look already dead. He runs up to you, as he sees your figure swaying and knees buckling, saving you from the fall. Your skin burns Kaeya as he carries you back to the knights - it must be fever then. You blink at him several times, saying something, but your voice is too small and weak to make out anything among the droplets falling, and then you stop, eyes rolling back and head lolling to the side. You blacked out.

He thinks about handing your body to either of the knights and then continuing to run after the gang into the knight, but then decides against it - heavy rain must have blurred all the footsteps they left. Adler almost fails. You escape your delirium a couple of times, babbling words about forest and rain and wolves, and Kaeya, despite his focus on the trail ahead, can't help but listen to what you say. It's childish nonsense for the most part, an incomprehensible product of the feverish mind, yet sometimes you say meaningful things - I thought I would die, I got scared of wolf howls, The rain was so cold.

Some small part of him shrinks and aches at these words, a long buried hurt resurfacing once again. Kaeya frowns and huffs as he tries to get rid of the images of the days long gone in his mind - rainy night, hunger, pain, cold, he will die here. His lips quirk and a humorless laugh escapes him - the irony is painful.

He drops you off at the church, concerned Barbara taking you to the hospital and Kaeya, after a brief report to Jean, goes home, his mind still stuck on the memories of days long past. You will be fine, he tells himself, the church has good healers and the orphanage is nearby. Once you get better, you’ll get sent there, where devoted nuns will raise to be another disciple.

You had a look of a deadman - a strange catatonic serenity was radiating off of you, as you looked at the captain with a glazed yet piercing eyes, both seeing him and through him. It’s cold, so cold, yet no one is here. There are hot tears on his face, wet tracks burning his skin. His tummy is empty and aching, cold bites at his limbs, but Kaeya patiently waits for the adult to return. Father said that Kaeya was their last hope, so sure he would never leave him to die, right?

Cavalry captain barely sleeps through the night, memories and inner demons eating him from inside. When he does manage to doze off, a vague picture of darkening forests and howling winds wake him up, a fervent chanting buzzing in his head - Where is his father? Where is his father? Where is his father?.

Kaeya comes to you the next day, as his shift ends, legs heading to the towering church at the top on their own. Barbara leads him to your bed, your unconscious form lying limply. Idol explains your health issues to him - fever, malnutrition, inflammation, common cold and slight poisoning. The scratches you had yesterday were healed, Barbara says, but the rest of the problems can't be easily fixed with a bit of a hydro.

"Then, what medicines do they need?", Kaeya asks, understanding the unspoken words. The Church of Favonius, despite the large funding it receives from the city's treasury, still lacks a lot of resources and materials. People are free to come and get cured, without having a single mora to pay, which means that most of the remedies disappear at an alarming rate - be it some herbal balm for aching joints or a simple linen bandage.

The idol rustles in the hidden pockets of her dress, taking out a pencil and sheet of paper and begins to write, the list grows as Kaeya’s eyebrows get higher and higher. There are dried Liyuen herbs, exotic Sumeru fruits, specially treated Snezhnayan and Fontaine tinctures and medicines.

Kaeya is taken aback for a second by the sheer length of the final list - most of the items will have to be ordered and shipped and despite his salary of the captain allowing such expenses, it’s still strange to spend so much mora - a complete stranger. Captain contemplates just leaving you there - nuns will take care of you, but the hurt resurfaces again and he sees another person lying on the small hospital bed - little him, scared and confused.

He ends up buying all the listed things, and despite his efforts not to, continues to regularly check up on you when he has time. Sometimes, Barbara says, you wake up from your slumber, enough to utter some confused noises and questions, but then you drowse off again, both sickness and medicine pulling you back to sleep.

Kaeya, to his displeasure, never catches you conscious in time, until he comes one evening, expecting to spend the time looking at you sleeping again only to see you half sitting on the bed. Your posture gets straight the second you notice him too, an expression of confusion and fear appearing on your face.

"Hello", Kaeya starts, slowly walking up towards you, keeping his posture small and voice as friendly as possible:"I am that knight who carried you here, remember?", he explains, seeing the further abashment on you face.

You nod at him, prompting him to continue:"So, I just decided to visit you to ask you how you got in the forest and why were you alone"

"Sister Barbara said that you came here almost everyday," you reply, voice absolutely flat and face having no expression. Kaeya looks at you briefly - it’s rare for children to speak in such a cold manner, you must have something on your mind then.

"Yes, I did" , he says in the same friendly tone.

"Just to know why I was in the forest?" , your voice betrays you, a hint of hurt seeping into it. Ah, that’s why you asked.

"Hm, of course no! I also wanted to see you get better" , he smiles at the end, leaning a bit closer to you. You mull over his words, thinking of their sincerity, and then a later second you say, with much less caution and guard up:

"Well I am better now and…" you get silent for a good minute:"I don't remember why I was there. I think it's because of the fever". Your voice becomes strangely controlled again - you lie to Kaeya, you didn’t forget anything. A part of cavalry captain swells and purrs, recognizing himself in you,

"Do you want to live with me?". He asks instead of trying to get the truth out of you. Your eyes shine and a surprised noise comes out of your mouth at his suggestion - something between a squeak and high pitched yelp.

His apartment isn't the best place to bring the child in - there are far too many bottles and not enough food - Kaeya lives off the takeout from the Good hunter and the skewers he grills when missions call him to leave the city walls. Nonetheless, you don’t look too disgusted with his living conditions, so he considers it a win, as he heads for the tiny kitchen to make you a soup.

It turns out a bit burnt in the end - Kaeya added too much wood to the stove, but you still gulp it down, not leaving anything and thank him for the meal. He makes a mental note to buy you a bed - right now you’re sleeping on a small couch, and clothes to change.

You are a quiet child, too fast to apologize for the smallest mistakes and wary of him when he’s in a foul mood - it gives Kaeya an idea why you were in the woods. Your days together flow slowly and steady with Kaeya falling into routine - he wakes up, makes a breakfast for the both of you, you eat it, as you shyly tell him about your newest interest or finding - a drawing, a strange bug, a shiny rock of unusual colour, then he leaves for work, instructing you to go to the neighbours if you have issues, and leaving a premade dinner for you. Then he comes back, now listening to you talking about your day - you were drawing again, or you played with the other kids, or you were running and catching the butterflies, the now dead insects left for him to look at.

It’s a mundane life, something that Kaeya thought will never please him. There is a large pit inside of him - it was growing and festering with years - Khaenri’ah, father, Diluc, Crepus, that fight. It’s ugly and snarling and thoroughly scorched, a part of his soul that keeps him awake and anxious and angry and sad during bad nights. The pit quiets a bit when Kaeya takes care of you - toys, foods, games, the same way he wishes he was treated as a child.

Crepus Ragnvindr was a nice person, he took Kaeya in, clothed and fed and kept him safe for years, yet there was always an invisible line that separated Khaenri'ahn from Diluc - warmer voice, higher expectations, more praise. Kaeya doubts Crepus noticed this truly tiny gap in treatment, Diluc for sure didn’t. Alberich did his best to ignore it, yet he couldn’t, this difference nagged him at the back of his mind, alienating him in the newfound home.

That must be why he does his best to spoil you - it's new toys and furniture and evening walks around the Mondstadt with you on his shoulders. Soon, a new rumour starts to travel around Mondstadt - about a stray being picked up by another stray. Amber seemingly forgives him for the incident with Collei, Jean gives him a raise the same month, for child expenses, she succinctly says, Albedo off handedly mentions Klee and her desire for friendships, even Lisa gives him a couple of fairytale books, warning him what will happen if he will be late to return them beforehand. Diluc doesn't comment on the irony the next time they happen to meet, but he sees some Dawn Winery workers looking after you, when he is busy with Favonius stuff.

Kaeya, for the first time in years, feels truly happy. He has family again - you and him this time and he's willing to smother you with affections. He buys you things he wishes he had, and teaches you the skills he thinks will help you in life - how to fight, how to lie, how to kill someone with words alone.

It's a strange love he has for you - never seeing you as you - but it's genuine and all encompassing. Kaeya doesn't want little him to suffer again.

[angelkurenai]

Beautifully reckless - Dean Winchester x Reader

Title: Beautifully reckless

Pairing: Michael!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: lately i just felt like reading a michael!dean fic, and since you're an amazing writer, I'd love to see you write a one shot/imagine with him. so here you go, reader is sam's and dean's friend who is a psychic, and after michael possesses dean, he starts feeling something for her that he never felt before? just some soft michael!dean, please? i love ur fics, they are truly unique and awesome to read

“Took you long enough, you bastard.”

The voice tone, to some extent, took Michael by surprise, to the point he jumped on the spot. Though he would never admit to that. He was used to respect, well, fear actually and he was used to hearing calculated and careful words. It wasn't like he had not been called that many more times before, but that was mostly in his face, and not behind his back (literally) and in such a tone. Not when everyone around him knew better than to push their luck. The fact that he really wasn't still around the people who used to tremble in fear when he was facing them, or not actually, and that he, Michael himself, wasn't entirely the same person as when he was in the Apocalypse world.

“I- Excuse me?” he couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips before he stopped in his steps and turned around to face the source of the voice that was so bold.

Within barely the span of a minute, he found himself being stunned twice... or maybe thrice, but there was barely any time to duel on that. Not in those first few seconds. Not when the sudden giddiness overwhelmed him and his breath came out shakily, as if somebody had just knocked it out of him. What was it that had just happened to him made him frown but his attention was instantly back on you.

The smile on the face of the person standing before him was not a surprise on it's own, seeing how much the sparkling and warm eyes told him that smiling was not a rare occurrence, but rather the fact that he had not expected such a friendly and caring, if the words were even enough to explain it, smile on your face after the way the words had sounded. Or perhaps it had indeed been all him and there had not been a real threat behind those words. He, after all, still kept forgetting that things had changed drastically.

“Let me guess-” the smile turned into a smirk, the teasing kind, the friendly and familiar kind of teasing he had truthfully never been on the receiving end and that sent him off balance “This is payback for those three weeks I stood you up in a row huh? Fair enough, fair enough. You had the right to not show up today either so I suppose I should be grateful you're here. And we're perfectly timed too.”

“Perfectly timed?” he repeated “I actually-” but before he could get to complete his sentence, he felt a pair of arms wrapping around him in what could clearly and very easily be described as a quick hug. It wasn't the long, tight and longing one he might have expected, probably because it hadn't been long since you had last been in touch, however that was not what he really dueled on at that moment. Not something he could duel on that is, not when he had to stop himself from returning the hug himself.

It was an impulse which he could again easily recognize, and even more easily blame on you. Because you had to be the one to blame, there was no other explanation. There was no other way to describe the way his body had just straight up frozen, not in shock but rather eager no less than a puppy (he could never admit to that) to turn to face you, eager to close the distance and eager to take everything in, whether it be by just getting to look at you or by, hopefully (why really?), getting to have you melt in his arms. Though shockingly enough he found himself doing the latter, feelings his muscles relax and a soft breath leave his lips when you were wrapped around him. It was strange, in a frightening way, and he had to push back all those feelings despite how he realized that it was easier to breathe with you there, without any weight resting on his chest. It was you who was responsible, that was easy to understand. What wasn't easy was the why. Why all of a sudden he felt this way with you?

“Gosh, Winchester-” ah yes, how did he not realize it? He was indeed the reason why and Michael hadn't even given his vessel a second thought, not until your eyes locked with his and his heart skipped a beat or two “I'll be able to see an angel's true form before you ever get rid of the green plaid huh?”

“I-” he looked down at himself, well aware that he hadn't had the chance to change Dean's clothes just yet “Funny enough, it was exactly what I had in mind too. Was actually planning on it.”

“Oh finally ready to dress to impress? Hm I wonder how I will be able to spot you next in the crowd. Was lucky this time I suppose.” you pulled away, playful smile ever present.

His eyes narrowed slightly in a way that must have scared his enemies in the past but that held no real threat this time, and maybe that was the most scary part: that he didn't meant it to be, especially to you “And... what makes you think I was actually heading this way?”

“Oh I see.” you placed your hand on your hips, nodding your head with a growing smirk “Feeling bold today. We haven't seen each other in quiet some time and here you come, ready to take me by surprise. I must warn you, though you already know, so I better say remind you-” you took a step closer to him and although he didn't let it show on his face, well, on Dean's face (or so he hoped) that didn't mean he didn't feel the flutter in his chest and the sudden weakness of his knees “You-” you poked his chest with your pointer and he could swear he felt the skin of his vessel start burning there, as if a fire was there that was only spreading “Would find it hard to surprise me, Dean. Not many people can, it's a tough challenge.”

“Well, you might have just done it there. It's time you finally found the right person because I was never one to say no to a challenge.” he felt his own lips form into a smirk, even though he was unable to believe how much he enjoyed seeing the sparkle of excitement in your eyes. Soon followed by the very familiar playfulness he could grow used to. And why shouldn't he? He had his sword, his perfect vessel, and nobody could take that away. He was in full control over Deans body and you clearly had not realized any difference, because apparently for what it mattered, maybe he was a lot like Dean after all- or at least could be, and that was more than enough.

“Bold of you to assume-” you pulled away and he had to stop himself- his vessel from taking a step forward to still be close with you “That it's a game with only one player. Let's see just how easily surprise you can be, Winchester. Feels like after years of friendship I might still be able to learn something new about you.”

“Then it would only be right to warn you I am not that easily taken by su-”

His words would have certainly held more value and determination, if not a chance at convincing you, if his voice had not wavered and, halfway through the sentence, they hadn't been cut off by a far-from-manly yelp that broke through his lips.

Well, if that wasn't a first. Again.

“Yeah, I get it. I get it. You macho man.” you scoffed, but the smirk on your lips was so playful that it almost made him forget what had just happened. Almost. Or maybe just for the moment, because he was sure he had a lot of thinking to do afterwards and maybe a much-needed conversation with his vessel about it.

“I- I didn't-” he blinked, more stunned with himself for reacting this way than anything else.

“'S alright-” you grinned at him in the end “Just, enough talking. Come on, this is no place for that kind of stuff.” you giggled and he got the impression that this wasn't a first for you, so really he ought to be prepared to be surprised in more ways than he could ever imagine.

“Wha- what a-are you-” it was so unlike him but everything about this situation was unlike anything he'd experienced before, he didn't really know what he should consider a normal reaction at this point.

“Wha- what?” you teased, mimicking him “Cat got your tongue, Winchester? Come on, move your pretty ass before they give our table away if we keep talking here.”

And just because he was such a fool for you already, or perhaps out of some inexplicable fear that your table would indeed be given away and you would have to part ways before he got enough of it, he didn't need to be told twice. He followed after you no better than a lost puppy, even if he'd deny it for the rest of his existence, not paying an ounce of attention as he should to the rest of his surroundings. And so, he didn't know what should alarm him more out of the two. The fact that it was easy to let go and relax so easily around you or the fact that he couldn't bring himself to be too far away from you.

Michael was confused. And whenever he was confused, as with anything in his entire existence ever since he was in heaven, he was intrigued. And whenever he was intrigued, he followed the one that interested him. Admittedly it had been centuries, if not ever before in his life, since the one to interest him in this way had been a person, and no less a woman like you.

“Feels like forever, doesn't it?” you breathed out as you both settled into your seats “I shouldn't tell you this but gosh... You're making me so sentimental and weak, Winchester, I'll have to change that somehow. But I have no idea how you do it in the first place, so...” you huffed with, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Good to know.” the easy smile on his lips felt both like his own and not “So I have to keep it up then.” and when he realized he too too much pleasure in your being playful with him, rolling your eyes, he didn't feel like questioning whose pleasure it was.

Your lips parted, and truth was he would have loved nothing more than to hear you tease him again, but he was also thankful for the interruption from the waitress and the moment of silence that followed afterwards, because at least then he had some time to gather his own thoughts, replay any moments that should have struck more than how beautiful your smile was or the way you looked at him.

Well, not him, Dean. But maybe-

“You said...” he started just as you'd given your orders, though he had barely cared about that when the thought crossed his mind “See an angel's true form?”

“Wha- Oh that.” you laughed, shaking your head “I'm not even close to that yet, I'm afraid. Not as much as I'd like but that's only because you're to blame, Winchester. I'm being as careful as I can so as expected things are going slow.”

“You've been... trying?” the confusion, if not the worry, was evident on his face much as he tried to hide it.

“If you say one more time that us psychics are too curious for our own good then I will kick you.” you said and proceeded to do just that under the table with your foot, managing to earn a small groan followed by a warm laugh from Dean.

“You said if. But I didn't say a damn thing!” he protested, still laughing and enjoying (far too much) the innocent shrug you gave him.

“Just taking precautions.” you grinned before you paused for a second too long and looked back up at him again with a softer smile, if he could even call it that, because it didn't reach your eyes not the way it should as he had observed the past couple minutes “I just...” you let a soft sigh “I'm sorry. I've- I know I've made you worry far too many times in the past. Scared you even. And well, you're no better sure, but I'm supposed to be the friend who has the functioning brain cells here and I haven't really lived up to that. I know-” another sigh and he was really starting to feel bothered by how much this seemed to stress you out, more than it stressed him out to keep up the act “I know how much you worry you. I really do. So I promise, even if it's hard for me, that I will hold back if I see things getting out of hand and I'm in danger again.”

The words rang in his ears louder than actual sirens ever could.

“Again?” he repeated with a raised eyebrow. He knew he probably looking more accusing than concerned, if not what he felt even more deep down: terrified. And he didn't even know what was more alarming anymore. The way his heart squeezed inside his chest or his palms clenched in order for his body to cope with the fact that his blood had ran cold and the shivers were far too unpleasant.

He didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit and he knew something had to be done about it.

“Figure of speech, I promise. There haven't been any close calls. At least- You know, ever since we last saw each other that is. But that too has been quiet some time. Speaking of which-” the smile returned on your lips and he had almost not realized it was not there until he understood how the uneasiness in his chest was also due to how you looked so distraught “How have things been for you hm? I haven't the slightest idea about what my two idiots have been up to lately. Is Sam alright?”

“Well, he's been... keeping busy, to say the least. Same goes for me. I wouldn't even know where to begin. Think of it as... a multiverse of madness being out there that needs the Winchesters to deal with.” he forced a small smile on his lips but he barely felt it to begin with, even if you were trying to stir the conversation away from any dangerous endeavors you might's recently had. And, truth be told, he couldn't even begin to think of all the times you might've gotten in trouble that weren't because of your own actions. The mere realization of that fact brought another unpleasant shiver down his spine.

“Ah, makes sense. We've been meeting up in this place at least once every week. 'S good though, I suppose, to take a break once in a while.” you gave a soft shrug, resting your chin on your palm and looked at him through your lashes “I am afraid we were both turning into two very sentimental fools, after all. Coming here, in the place we first met, after all these years.” a small laugh escaped your lips but he could hear the nervousness behind it, see how shy you were about it and deep down he loved seeing this side of you as well, if not wonder what else he could possibly do to evoke it “What are we anyway?”

The question did something to him and he soon realized it wasn't really him, but Dean. He couldn't always tell the difference, what with the Winchester being his perfect vessel, but in that moment he could, crystal clear. And once again it piqued his interest.

“Well, I don't know about you but I for one-” he paused to look into your eyes, to try and read some sort of emotion on your eyes that he might miss otherwise “Don't think I mind so much. Hell, I'll take pride in being always a fool for you.”

To see the way your eyes widened and your back straightened in surprise. Surprise that the words were said out loud or that they were said and were straight to the point, he couldn't tell. What he could tell was that you were not used to this and it was a good thing because things were changing and in a way this should too.

“Ah Dean, whatever happened to you these past months?” you looked away from him when you snapped out of the shock you were in, not that the small forced laugh was any indicator but the fact that you still felt stunned if not shy. You shook your head “Have some mercy on my poor heart, will you? Don't say things like that so carelessly.”

“I'm not being careless. If anything... I'm being honest.” and doing an incredible job at not showing how much that scares me but he couldn't really say that out loud and he knew “Besides, you were the one who started it.”

“Well, yes but actually no. This is what we do, Dean, you can't just go and- and be so... open about it. We-” a nervous laugh that he found too adorable for his poor heart's sake, well Dean's actually but it felt all the same at that moment “What was it that Sam called it? Uh yes, we're both too emotionally constipated to function like proper humans.”

“We don't talk about it remember?” you added in almost a whisper voice, making Michael wonder what was really there more than your playful banter and the way his vessel's heart couldn't rest for a minute “Besides, I know you're not as cool about it as you'd like to think. I can see it all over your face, so stop pretending Winchester.” you huffed, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest, and he realized maybe he had underestimated you.

“And that is supposed to mean... what exactly?” he couldn't help the edge his voice took, too many years, centuries that felt an eternity, had taken their toll on him.

“Well, many things actually. But what matters most right now is one...” you tilted your head to the side, a soft expression on your face which stunned him momentarily “There's something on your mind.” it was a statement the left no room for debate “Wanna talk about it?”

The mere sincerity and care in your words were too much to believe in this entirely unprecedented event, and so it was no surprise when the words got stuck in his throat and his mind went entirely bank. Despite the lump that was stuck in his throat, despite how hard it was to swallow it over, the words in the very end formed before he could even comprehend it. And they were some of the most honest ones he'd spoke in a long time “Do I?” he questioned, mostly himself without any expectations for an answer “Funny...”

“What's funny about it?” naturally, though, you didn't hold back. It was clear that no matter how well you could read him, no matter how he was an open book to you, you wanted to know more of him. But which him was the real question.

Michael couldn't even remember when it was the last time that someone cared to know about him. Him, and not whoever had granted him access to wear around. Him, and not whatever face he had. Him, and how he felt. Him, and how he he thought. Him, and why he had done everything he did, what had led him to it and how he felt about it. It was a scary thought and feeling. Scary to hope there could be someone that would look past all of those layers, all that the eyes could see, and try to understand him. Scary that he wanted it, even more. Scary that after all this time, at the most tumultuous time and as he was in the right path to his goals, he felt the need for something so deep. Scary that it could lead him away from said path.

Who was even that reckless to try any of it though? Who could so carelessly approach him and-

“Nothing.” the question answered itself “It's just amusing how... strange it sounds to hear someone ask me if I wanna talk about what troubles me, after all this time. But-” he said as fast as he could, the second he saw you frown in worry “We have plenty of time to talk about that and I promise we will. Later. For now-” he grinned, leaning back in his seat “Seeing an angel's true form huh? That's quiet reckless, you know. If not stupid and careless...”

“Yeah, I know, I was just throwing out the idea that I might-”

“But also fun.” he added before you could get to complete your sentence, enjoying the way that after your frown a smile light up your face once he added with a smirk “Want any help with that?”

[teamxdark]

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn? 

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place. 

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

[phy-be]

| treasured | a david/genya fic

my participation to the mini-bang for @grishaversebigbang ♡ This was so fun to write, and a million thank you to my two wonderful materialki! Please check out their amazing work:

@nuclearnik [link] @zemenipearls [link]

Rating: General Audiences Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, proposal, set between Ruin and Rising and King of Scars, Canon Compliant, david is a nerd and he loves his soul mate very very much, cw: nerdy descriptions of rocks, Grishaverse Minibang Summary:

“David, you didn’t have to…”

He frowned and cocked his head. “Yes, I did. It’s customary to gift a ring when asking someone’s hand in marriage.”

He was never good at understanding social norms, but he was pretty sure he’d gotten that one right.

David pressed the button on the side of his microscope goggles, switching the lens to a more magnifying glass. In the palm of his gloved hand, a crystal gleamed, like sparks of purple fire trapped in stone. The light hit each of its faces in slightly different ways, creating an explosion of colours and geometrical shapes. It was even more beautiful seen up close, when David could not only admire the beauty of the thing, but also the elegant laws of science that made the light refract just so.

Crystals were complicated to work with. Their beauty was due to a highly specific geometry at the molecular level, and any careless alteration could damage their inner core, breaking the stone or making it duller. Even if some were strong enough to cut glass, crystals were precious; they needed to be handled with the utmost care.

David loved working on crystals.

His quiet work was interrupted by anguished sobs coming from the bed.

Quickly, he slipped the stone in a bit of fabric and rushed from his desk. Genya was having another nightmare. Throwing off his glasses and gloves, he hurried to find her on the bed. He took her in a protective embrace as she sobbed, screamed, legs jerking in panic. She clawed at the air around, desperately chasing off a horde of invisible nichevo'ya.

“Stop,” she begged. She wasn’t talking to him.

David held her tighter. Every time he saw her this way, so anguished and pained, helpless to her inner demons, a bitter guilt settled in him, consigned in a single thought: I should have protected her.

Then the guilt faded into hot-white anger — at the Darkling, who had done this to her, who had known how much it would hurt and keep hurting her — until David discarded that emotion, too. Rage and regret were not useful feelings to linger on. Helping Genya get through this, making her pain more bearable — these were the only things that mattered.

Eventually her movements calmed, her hiccupping sobs turning into shallow breaths and silent tears. David caressed her hair, the auburn locks softer than any silk he’d ever felt, and dropped feather-light kisses on her forehead. Genya nestled closer to him, burying her face in his neck. He could feel the wetness of her tears trickling on his skin.

“You’re safe, dear,” he whispered, knowing that he would do everything in his power to make sure this would always be true, from now on. “You’re safe.”

Her grip tightened on his shirt.

“W-were you awake?” she said, her voice still shaken.

David recognized the change of topic as her way to distract herself from the nightmares that lingered in her wakefulness. He played along.

“Yes,” he said, kissing her hair. “I was working late.”

“It’s almost morning,” she murmured. “You work late a lot lately.”

“I’m working on a project.”

“What project?”

David hesitated; Tamar had said he was supposed to keep it a secret. Keeping anything from Genya was hard enough normally, but when she was vulnerable like this, it was downright impossible.

He got up to get the piece of fabric — Genya followed him out of bed, not wanting to let go of his embrace, and he smiled, endeared. Gently, he led her back to the bed, sat next to her, and put his creation in her open palms.

“It’s not finished,” he warned.

Genya carefully unwrapped the silk. Her eyes widened at the sight of the ring, a glistening band of grisha steel wrapping like branches around a rose-shaped stone. When she turned it to get a better look, the candlelight shining through the crystal switched its colour from red, to purple, to blue.

“I altered the refracting index at different levels of the structure to make the crystal polychromatic,” David explained, excited in spite of himself. “I’ve done this with metals before, but never with crystal. It still needs polishing before I can give it to you, though.”

Genya’s eyebrow shot up, looking shocked. “This is for me?”

“Of course.” He admired the ring against Genya’s hand, as beautiful as he’d expected. It would be perfect once she wore it. Silver and red always complemented her pale, rosy skin, the way gold and purple complemented the bronze colour of his own.

“David, you didn’t have to…”

He frowned and cocked his head. “Yes, I did. It’s customary to gift a ring when asking someone’s hand in marriage.”

He was never good at understanding social norms, but he was pretty sure he’d gotten that one right.

“Y-you’re—” Genya croaked, her skin visibly flushed, “you’re proposing to me?”

“Not right now,” David corrected. “Tamar told me it had to be a special moment, so I’m still working on the details of that.”

He’d been thinking of doing it at sunset, for one. The fiery hues of the sky when the sun slipped under the horizon always reminded him of Genya’s hair, and it would look good on the ring. He’d calculated which part of the palace would be the most adequate spot — a corner of the Summoner’s field provided the perfect exposure for the ring to reflect sunrays and shimmer beautifully — but he needed a reason to bring Genya there that wouldn’t alarm her. Tamar had suggested a picnic, which David had found confusing since they never ate on the training grounds, but Genya did enjoy it when he cooked for her.

His thoughts came to a brutal halt when he realized Genya was crying.

David blinked. Had he done something wrong? He was always so bad at this stuff — he couldn’t count how many times he’d offended someone without meaning to, but Genya usually saw past his awkwardness and understood his meaning.

“Genya…” he said, hesitant, “I’m sorry, did I…”

“You’d want to marry me?” she sniffled, eyes cast down, tears gliding down her cheeks.

David was even more confused. Tamar’s advice hadn’t covered that part. “Yes. Of course.” Had that not been clear?

“Why?” Genya met his gaze. “Why would you… We haven’t even been together that long, you can’t know —”

Like the unknotting of a rope, suddenly, David understood. This was just like the imagined nichevo'ya. She was panicked, sure that the worst was yet to come, that she couldn’t be safe in her own home.

Softly, he cupped her cheeks, bringing her closer. He wished he could take some of the burden that weighed on her, carry it on his shoulders instead of hers, for once; wished he knew the right words to make her feel better, the perfect formula to soothe her fear. But this burden was Genya’s, and David was never good with words. All he could say was the truth.

“I agree that our romantic relationship has not been exceedingly long,” he admitted. A year only accounted for a twentieth of their age so far. Five percent of a life, and some change. “But I have been in love with you for seven years, five months, and twelve days. Our friendship is even older than that,” he pressed his forehead against hers, “and I’ve wanted to marry you from the first time you kissed me.”

His lips brushed hers, an echo of that day at the Spinning Wheel, when the bravest woman in the world had first chosen him.

“I realized at the time that this wasn’t a rational impulse,” he conceded, “so I waited to see how our companionship would grow. I believe I’ve now waited long enough to know. I feel at peace in your company, and I want to make you as happy as you make me.” He pulled back a little, retreating his hands. “Unless you do not want that, in which case I will respect—”

Before he could finish, Genya pulled him into a kiss — the dizzying, head-spinning kind of kiss he’d only ever experienced with her. When she kissed him like that, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, lips flush and panting, David’s usually overworking mind would quiet, snuffed out like the wick of a candle, replaced only by her . Soft hair, delicate skin, lips scarred and still wonderful, her scent a unique aroma he’d come to associate with peace, with home.

“Of course I want to,” she whispered against his lips, smiling coyly.

David kissed that smile, then her cheek, then her temple. “I’m relieved to hear that,” he sighed. “I’ll keep working on that proposal, then.”

Genya laughed, sweet and bright — David didn’t care much for music, but he could have listened to Genya’s laugh for hours. He tucked the ring back in the fabric and put it on the nightstand, where it wouldn’t get lost in the sheets, then took off his shoes and his shirt.

They lied together, Genya’s body half on top of his, snuggling close, as though any space between them might bring in the cold.

Genya brushed her fingers on David’s chest, tracing some patterns.

“So,” she said, her voice now clearer, more sure of herself — Genya in daylight, where the monsters couldn’t touch her. “What was that about seven years, five months, and twelve days?”

“Oh, hm…” David said. He could feel his face heat up, and felt irrationally glad for the brown of his skin, unlikely to show any hint of a blush.

Still, he told her the story of that day. Genya had visited the Fabrikator’s laboratory to make a new cosmetic for the queen. She’d been thirteen years old, and already so creative with her powers. At the time David had only reproduced what his masters had taught him as perfectly as he could, never trying to invent, to create.

But there had been Genya Safin, the first of her kind, inventing everything she did.

It wasn’t the first time they’d met, not even the first time they’d enjoyed each other’s company, but it was the first time David had watched her work. He hadn't even bothered saying hi (which he now realized had been rather rude), too eager to ask her question about her experiment. They’d talked, and when David had gone on a long tangent about his favourite way to colour glass, Genya hadn’t been bored or made fun of his enthusiasm, the way the other students usually did if they bothered to listen to him at all.

She’d listened with care and attention, and then she’d given him her opinion — smart, succinct. Perfect.

“How do you even remember the day this happened?” Genya laughed. “It was so long ago.”

David caressed her shoulder, a soothing, circular motion. “I remember everything, when it comes to you.”

“Cheesy,” she grinned.

“Maybe.” He felt his lips quirk in a smile of his own. “But it’s true.”

She rose up to look at him, her expression turning serious.

“I love you,” she said, the words like a promise. “For even longer than that.”

Gently, David took her wrist, and kissed her palm. “Now, let’s not make it a competition.”

“Wise. You know I’d win.”

“My dear,” he smiled against her hand, “I think I share this victory with you.”

[jungledubs-archive]

13, Team ZIT

13: “Quick! You hide the equipment, I’ll hide the grenades!” (Prompt list here)

“Tango! Psst, Tango!”

His gaze snapped away from the road in front of him and to Zedaph’s ineffective hiding spot beside one of the nearby shops. Tango’s brow furrowed, taking in the shulker boxes it appeared that Zedaph had been trying to transport single-handedly. “...Zedaph, what are you up to?” He knew that mischievous glint in his friend’s eyes, and it just screamed ‘prank’.

Zedaph shifted his weight between his feet and flashed Tango a sheepish smile. “Um... well, hypothetically, if I told you I wanted to rig Impulse’s bed to ‘explode’ and jumpscare him, how would you react?”

Tango blinked. Then he started to grin. “Please tell me you’re asking for my help,” he said, a hint of glee creeping into his voice. It had been a while since he’d really tried to prank another Hermit.

“Take this box and let’s go,” Zedaph replied, dumping a red shulker box into Tango’s arms. Then he pivoted and shouted, “To the sea pyramid! Or whatever Impulse calls that thing!”

It took them less than ten minutes to get there, shulker boxes in tow, and Tango shot through one of the waterfalls after Zedaph.

“Where’s his bed?” Tango asked, gazing around the expansive interior of Impulse’s base.

“I... hm.” Zedaph looked around with him, before piping up again, “There!” and pointing.

The idea of the prank was simple: set off TNT in water beneath Impulse’s bed when he slept in it, not damaging any of the blocks around but giving Impulse a good scare. They managed to get most of it set up fairly quickly, with only minimal collateral damage, and as Tango was finishing hooking up the redstone, he turned to Zedaph.

“Any idea when Impulse is getting back?” Tango asked. Then he heard fireworks and cursed under his breath. “Speak of the devil.”

Zedaph’s head shot up in alarm. “Quick! You hide the equipment, I’ll hide the TNT!” he hissed in a loud, urgent whisper, and then they both grabbed their respective items and bolted.

Impulse touched down just as Tango slipped into a hiding spot in one of the alcoves around the edges of the base’s interior. He didn’t look suspicious, but then he stepped in a small pile of redstone dust that neither Tango nor Zedaph must have noticed and that changed.

Tango held his breath and quickly typed out a message to Zedaph, hoping that his friend also kept his communicator on silent.

You whisper to Zedaph: we gotta get out of here

There was no telltale buzz of a communicator from the other side of the room, and so Tango breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Impulse was looking around, now, and Tango shifted his hiding spot a little bit until he was sure he was fully hidden.

Zedaph whispers to you: just fly out Zedaph whispers to you: if we both go at the same time he’ll be really confused and hopefully not notice it’s us with all the fireworks

Tango quickly typed back a response.

You whisper to Zedaph: ok Zedaph whispers to you: on go

Fumbling to stow the redstone supplies away and retrieve a firework, Tango poked his head out again. Impulse wasn’t looking in his direction anymore--if he flew out, Impulse would only be able to catch a split-second glance. It wasn’t the best plan, but he and Zedaph didn’t exactly have any other options.

Zedaph whispers to you: 3 Zedaph whispers to you: 2 Zedaph whispers to you: 1

A beat of silence.

Zedaph whispers to you: go

And Tango went, shooting into Impulse’s base and out the other side through the water, and from the trail of smoke and sparks he could see out of the corner of his eye, Zedaph had escaped as well.

Tango let out a laugh and clicked his elytra into another position, catching the wind and coasting towards the colourful towers nearby. Impulse must be so confused, he thought, hoping that even if Impulse was suspicious enough to poke around, he wouldn’t find their prank until it was too late.

-

ImpulseSV went off with a bang <ImpulseSV> oH COME ON- <Zedaph> :) <Tango> :) <ImpulseSV> ...i hate both of you

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 6

The madness continues as the Reader wakes up Sunday morning, ready to figure out how to find balance in the new facts of her love life!

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 (you can also find the whole thing on ao3)

Words: 4974 and most of them explicit

Would it really be like Ivar said? Now that the thrall game is in full effect, will these boys really be giving it to you at all hours of the day? A montage of images flash through your mind: you’re sweeping the floor until Ubbe drags you to the couch. You’ve just gotten back up on shaky legs when Ivar appears, handcuffs dangling from his finger. Ubbe soothing your wrists later while slipping himself inside one more time. The chores keep getting done, barely, but your clothes are never fully on anymore.

Just thinking about it, the warmth between your legs makes you shift positions. How can you be this wet again already? In the past two days, you’ve gotten more action than you’d had in . . . well . . . longer than you want to say. Your pussy shouldn’t be throbbing with need like this. It’s not neglected at all. You should be overwhelmed, really, given everything that’s happened. Instead, here you are, like a sailor on shore leave, horny as fuck at nine in the morning just dreaming of which of these two Lothbroks is going to put their hands on you next.

You’ve always been the first one up in the morning, at least on weekends. Especially since you’ve got brunch with your family today. You slipped out from under Ivar’s arm when your alarm went off, not wanting to disturb him by hitting the snooze. Your morning routine starts with a cup of coffee on the couch while you finish waking up. You’ve got your knees curled up under a blanket, phone in hand, although you’re mostly just daydreaming. You’ve probably already sat here just a little bit too long. You’re trying to make yourself get up and get ready for the day when Ubbe lumbers into the room.

“Morning, beautiful.” Sporting an adorable bedhead and a sleepy grin when he sees you curled up against the arm of the couch, Ubbe makes himself right at home under the other end of your blanket. You’re about to move your legs and give him room, but he spoons himself around your hip and stops your retreat with a strong hand on your thigh. “Is that coffee?” He wraps his fingers around the mug in your hand.

“There’s more in the pot.”

“But this is right here.” He takes a long sip from your mug, with your fingers trapped underneath his. Icy blue eyes sparkle at you from behind the rim. He makes a satisfied sound when he releases it.

You huff and pull it away from him. Ivar is hard to talk back to; you feel more of an urge for it with Ubbe. “This one’s mine, get your own!”

Ubbe just smiles and scoots in closer. “Fine by me. I like a different kind of pick-me-up in the morning, anyway.” He drops his head and nuzzles into your neck, his close-cropped beard tickling pleasantly as he mouths over your skin.

Oh. His body scoops even closer around the back of yours, his hands running up and down your pajama-clad form. You set the coffee cup down.

This may have started out with a lazy Sunday vibe, but Ubbe’s stroking hands find their way quite quickly underneath your clothing. With one hand scooping around your breast and the other diving between your thighs, he his not wasting time this morning. When you part your legs his finger slides so, so easily through your swollen folds. You’re so wet it’s almost embarrassing. “You needed me, didn’t you,” he murmurs in your ear. “You’ve got a pussy that always wants to be filled.”

He plunges in, finding his way so fast and slick that he immediately switches to two fingers, pressing as deep as he can before pulling out more slowly, teasing at your g-spot while you writhe back against him.

There’s mischief in his eyes when you look up. He’s still in control of himself, while you are devolving into a panting mess already. He stares down at you while his fingers piston and you squirm underneath him.

“How much trouble would you be in if he came out right now.”

Your eyes roll over to the dim hallway. As far as you know, Ivar’s not awake yet.

Ubbe twists his fingers, hitting you deeper, more deliciously. “Hm?”

“I—I don’t know,” you gasp, closing your eyes and focusing on cumming before you have to find out.

“Think he’d mark you up again?” Something in Ubbe’s voice makes you look up; his gaze is heated, blazing with that icy fire only his pale eyes can get. “I like thinking about that. More welts in your perfect skin because of me.”

“You want to put some there yourself?” You can barely believe you said it, but you’re just dying to know how kinky Ubbe can really get.

His fingers slow. His other hand curls into your hair. “How much time before you have to go to that brunch?”

“Shit.”

His chuckle is deep and rich. “Is being late an option?”

Disappointment loosens the coil that’s been winding up at your center. “Not really.”

His heavenly fingers retreat. Your pussy is still as needy as ever. “Then you’d better get that sweet ass up. We keep going right now, I’m gonna make your legs stop working.” He gives your butt a lazy, dismissive slap. “But I’m coming for this thing as soon as you get back. I hope you don’t have any plans the rest of the day.”

* * *

You fumble the keys a little on your way back into the apartment. Ubbe’s more than likely to follow through on his promise, and you’ve got the distinct feeling of entering a predator’s lair now, rather than your own apartment. The only thing that might stop him would be if Ivar were also in there, but then he’d probably be the one taking you back to his room to do something even more intense. It’s enough to soak a girl’s panties before anyone’s even touched her.

Everything looks normal when you open the door. No one in sight. You laugh at yourself a little for the apprehension. What, did you think that Ubbe was waiting in the living room to pounce on you? You set your purse down and grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Is that you, Y/N?” Ubbe calls from his bedroom.

“Yeah, hey.”

“Hey,” he says back, matching your casual tone. “Bring me a beer when you get a chance?”

You grab two. The first room down the hallway is Ivar’s. A little thrill creeps up the back of your neck as you pass his open door, but he doesn’t seem to be inside. While you love the ways he’s been claiming you, it’s equally exciting to think that he won’t be stopping you from going to Ubbe this time. On a sudden impulse, you duck into your own room before making it all the way to the last door. From the look of the flickering lights reflecting through the Ubbe’s doorway, he’s playing a video game in there. You decide there’s no rush to join him, and maybe you want to be wearing something a little sexier when you do.

You’ve got this red bra with a matching thong. Satin, with lacy edgings. Not really something you’d want to wear all day, but perfect to slip into now, when there’s basically a 99.9% possibility that they’re going to be peeled off your body within a few minutes. You consider strutting into Ubbe’s room wearing nothing but that, see what kind of cartoon wolf face he makes, but ultimately decide that you’re not going to make this so easy on him. You’ll go in casual, in your regular t-shirt and shorts, and let him make the first move.

When you open your door, Ubbe’s already looming in his, one arm up against the doorframe like he was prepared to be waiting a long time for you. His eyes are wolfish indeed, even without any lingerie to look at. He reaches out one hand. “That mine?”

You’re still carrying two beers. You hand him one, and he brings it to his lips without moving from the doorway.

He looks you up and down. “I thought you were changing in there.”

You shift your weight. “I did.”

“Isn’t that what you were wearing when you left?”

You just nod.

His eyes flick down your body again. He steps forward, reaches his hand up to your shoulder. You stay still, watching his face as he hooks one finger in your collar and pulls the shirt to the side until he can see the bright red, lacy strap hiding underneath. He smiles. “Alright, Little Red.”

You cock an eyebrow. “What does that make you, the Big Bad Wolf?”

Ubbe’s smile is dark. “Oh, Ubbe. What a big dick you have.”

You suppress a giggle. Definitely can’t argue with that. You look back down the hallway. “Ivar’s not here?”

He shakes his head. “Shopping. Said he’d be gone for a while.”

“Oh.”

Ubbe angles his body a little further into the room. “Wanna come in?”

“What happens if I do?”

His smile is dark and full of promises. “I’ll show you what I can do when I actually have room to work.”

The assault you had been expecting earlier comes just about as soon as you set foot across his threshold. You get a brief glimpse of rumpled bed, soda cans stacked around a glowing monitor on a racing game’s menu screen, and clothes littering the floor before Ubbe grasps you by the back of the neck, slams the door shut behind you, and presses your back into it.

“What is it about you,” he murmurs between kisses. “Last night was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done.” His teeth scrape against the bottom of your jaw. “And yet here I am, still as fucking hot for you as if I hadn’t been laid in months.”

He’s tugging your shirt off already. Your heart is racing like crazy; you let him take the bottle out of your hands, lift your arms, and give into it. So much for making him work for anything.

A guttural sound comes out of his throat when he sees the way your tits are served up in red lace. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up against the wall.

You squeeze your legs around him tight as he hitches you up high enough to balance that way for a while. He buries his face in your chest. Lips drag across skin and lace, sloppy and wild. He shifts the angle of his hips and something hard is digging right into the center of your needy pussy. It might just be his belt buckle but whatever it is feels fucking good. You buck your hips against it, clutching at the back of his neck, scraping your fingers through his close-cropped hair.

With another rich, low groan, Ubbe pulls you tight against him and rotates away from the wall, carrying you several steps to his bed before throwing you down. He’s definitely intent on showing off. His knees press between your legs as you recline back and envelop yourself in the scent of his sheets.

One arm flexing quickly behind his head snaps his t-shirt off, revealing the broad chest he works so hard on at the gym. A light dusting of hair adds interest to his chiseled pecs. The action has pulled a fringe of his perpetually messy, dirty blonde hair down toward his eyes as he takes a half a second just to gaze at you on your back beneath him in his bed. His smile is proud and hungry, and then he drops down to cover you.

Not that the car sex wasn’t hot. Or the wild makeout sesh up against the brick wall outside that party. But there’s really nothing better than being able to stretch out and entwine your limbs like this, to feel the weight of his body on top of yours as he embraces you in devouring need.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket with a text message notification. Your first thought is Ivar, and you wriggle under Ubbe to get it out before you’ve even fully made the decision to do so. You break your lips away from his face just far enough to check out the screen.

It’s a message from Lauren. I can’t believe you haven’t called me yet. Ubbe?! You owe me the tea!

Your lips quirk in a quick smile.

“Who’s that,” Ubbe asks.

“Just my friend Lauren.” Pushing the button to turn the screen off, you twist up to set the phone on the nightstand.

“From last night?”

“Yeah. She wants to know what happened after I went home with you.”

Ubbe smirks. “Not going to be able to explain that in a text message.”

“No.”

“Well,” he says, running one hand up your thigh, heading for the waistband of your shorts, “since you haven’t released any reviews on me yet, how about I give you a little bit more to talk about.” He slides down your body, taking your shorts down with him.

You take a deep breath as he strips your legs bare and settles in between them. His fingers curl around the straps of the red thong, his breath hot against your lower belly as he teases the top of your panty line.

“Can’t do this in a car,” he murmurs, and rubs his nose along the crease of your thigh, nudging your legs wider apart for him. His fingers dance along the satin, tracing over your mound and following the strip of fabric as it narrows down and down between your thighs. “You put this on just for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he loops a finger under the side strap and snaps it.

“Did you soak the first pair through just thinking about what I was going to do to you when you got home?”

You say yes, of course you do.

Ubbe’s fingertip sneaks under the elastic hem right at your center, dragging moisture up from your core and around your swollen clit. “Now where did I leave off this morning…?”

“Two fingers in,” you recall helpfully.

Ubbe obliges. You weren’t quite as wet as you thought, but the friction feels good, the slight forcing of his way erotic as you give yourself over to this beast for the fourth time in . . . fuck, less than 24 hours. How is it that you still don’t feel like you’ve had enough? He drags in and out slowly, then uses his other hand to pull the fabric of the panties as far to the side as they’ll go. His warm breath hits your exposed clit as he repositions his body, then his lips close over you and everything is hot and slick and entirely his.

Ubbe clearly loves the pussy. He licks you broad and firm and thoroughly, and when you look down his eyes are closed like he’s savoring his favorite meal. Two fingers are still inside you and he works them in perfect tandem with his tongue. His pace is unhurried, somehow exuding a confidence that’s tightening the coil inside you faster than if he had actually been trying to get you off quickly. He makes happy little sounds as he eats you, and pushes his fingers in deeper.

You clutch at his hair, your legs twitching and writhing oddly as you try and control the uncontrollable. His tongue settles into a steady rhythm, batting across your clit in time with the curling of his fingers from the inside.

“Ubbe,” you wail, voice tight with the coming storm.

“Already?” he laughs, but his fingers don’t miss a beat. “I love it, princess, don’t hold back. I’m gonna make you cum so many times that you can’t think straight anymore.”

Then he latches back onto your clit and sends you spiraling up to the heavens. You can actually feel your body clenching and pulsing around his fingers as you come wailing through clenched teeth. His rhythm slows to gentle rocking as your consciousness floats back down, but he never entirely stops. Dreamy, you chase aftershock after aftershock, fucking yourself softly over his hand, until you realize you’re actually revving up to come a second time.

This seems to be his plan. “You close enough to cum again now,” he lifts his head from your clit to ask softly, “or do I have time to get in there first?”

Fuck. The very idea of Ubbe’s big dick pressing in between your still-shuddering walls is almost enough to make you blow again right now, but you manage to breathe out a quick “give it to me” as you try to hold on for him.

He climbs up the bed to the nightstand, fishing for a condom. You scoot yourself up a little higher too, getting comfy against the pillows and slipping off the twisted thong with shaky limbs. He tears the wrapper with his teeth and smooths the rubber down over his bobbing erection.

Your phone starts to ring. Ivar’s face appears on the glowing screen, and you both just stare at it for a moment.

Ubbe reaches out.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes are sparkling as he scoops up your phone. “If Ivar needs something, you should answer him.” He drags his thumb across the green icon to accept the call.

You suppress an outraged gasp as the naked, condomed Ubbe kneels between your legs while reaching up to press the phone against your ear. “H-hey Ivar.” You hold it up with both hands and do your best to sound completely normal.

“I was thinking of picking up Thai food on my way home,” Ivar says without preamble. Ubbe wraps one big hand under each of your thighs, spreading you wider. “Do you want me to get something for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, realizing too late that you’d probably have to talk less if you had said no.

Ubbe’s got one hand on his dick, and you watch almost in horror as he lines that thing up to slide into your soaked and throbbing pussy right the fuck now.

No way in hell you’re stopping him, though. Walking the line like this is turning you on as much as him.

“Whaaat do you want me to get you?” Ivar asks, dragging out the first syllable in unspoken query about your prolonged silence.

You desperately try and remember the name of any dish they might serve at a Thai restaurant as you feel Ubbe’s blunt head prodding against your entrance. “Pad—pad see… the one with the thin little noodles.”

“Pad Wun Sen,” Ivar corrects you, right as Ubbe presses on home.

It wouldn’t be so difficult to sound normal if Ubbe just weren’t so damned thick. The stretch of him all at once takes the breath out of you, so as you try to answer Ivar in the affirmative you end up sounding way too much like a porn actress with the high-pitched “yeah!” that squeals out of your lungs. You fake a cough to cover it, also an unconvincing sound as Ubbe grinds his hips tightly against yours, and try again. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He slides out slowly. The thick, dark, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face is making Ubbe Lothbrok look like evil incarnate above you as he shoves himself back in with a second merciless thrust. At least you kept your mouth closed for that one, only trying to speak once he’s sunken in to the hilt. “I never seem to remember that name.” The deep, aching stretch of him makes it so hard not to moan, but you think your voice sounds more normal that time.

“What are you doing right now, pet?” You wish you could see Ivar’s face, because he sounds like he’s laughing at you while trying to pretend that he’s not.

“Um, nothing. I just slipped a little.”

Ubbe slips himself out of you, chuckling silently.

“Slipped how?”

You try to close your legs before he can slam into you again, but Ubbe catches your knee and you can’t quite lock him out. “I’m, uh,” you grunt at the struggle, “just mopping the floor.”

“Ah. Yes. You must have found something absolutely filthy, I can hear how hard you’re working. Did you get a little bit too wet?”

You don’t fight Ubbe very hard, but it’s fun to make him pry your legs apart before he can sink himself in again. Besides, feeling the strength of his arms is turning you on, and you’ll take any excuse to get it a little rough. “Yeah, think so.” Ubbe’s cock proves unescapable, jamming back into you again before you can think of anything more clever to say back to Ivar. With that many puns, he has to know exactly what’s going on. And teasing you mercilessly. But if you drop the façade, does it count as Ivar “catching you?” You’d better play it safe and keep pretending, no matter how poor a job you’re doing of it.

“Meat?” Ivar says.

“What?” You feel like you’re really starting to lose the battle as Ubbe pulls your legs up around his hips and starts fucking you deep, with a steady, sensuous rhythm.

“What’s your choice of meat.”

“Oh, uh, chicken.” Each one of those breathy words was punctuated by a thrust that fills you achingly to the brim.

“Alright.” Is that rich, thick amusement you’re hearing in Ivar’s voice? You hold your breath and try to listen. “Anything else? Maybe something for Ubbe?”

You meet those icy blue eyes, helplessly torn between your need to get this conversation over with, and the submissive desire to make sure your man isn’t left without any dinner. What would a good little thrall do? “Hey Ubbe,” you say, trying to make it sound like you’re talking to someone across the room and not inches away from your face. “Want something from the Thai restaurant?”

Ubbe shakes his head, grinning before he bites his lip and thrusts into you deeper.

“Nope,” you chirp to Ivar. You think about the heavenly treatment your pussy got so recently and add: “He already ate.” You feel yourself clench around him as another wave of arousal hits you at the memory.

“Ah,” Ivar says. “Enjoy the rest of your cleaning, then. Make sure you do it nice and deep, for me. And I expect you to be finished by the time I return. I’m ordering now, and I’ll be home with hot food as soon as it’s ready.”

Ubbe’s stuffing you so good you want to screech through your teeth, but you manage to keep your voice sounding human enough to end the call. “Thanks!”

You turn off the phone and resist the urge to throw it across the room. You let yourself have one long, loud, lusty groan to blow off the tension, then you start slapping at Ubbe with both hands. “Bastard! What the fuck was that?”

His cock slides out of you in the struggle, but he catches your arms quickly enough, grinning down into your face. “Super fucking hot, is what it was.”

You just might happen to agree, but you still want to fight. You shove him away from you, getting up onto your knees for more leverage to slap at him some more.

Ubbe detects the playfulness in your aggression and meets it with a growl and a grappler’s grip on your upper arms. You wiggle and struggle and even pretend to bite him until he’s had enough. Suddenly he’s got you flipped around on your stomach, face pressing into the mattress as he climbs onto your back. “Biting me? You think you can get away with that?” His jaws close over the fleshy part of your shoulder.

It’s a love bite, really, not anything meant to hurt, but the savage edge to his voice really sold it and you squirm in excitement underneath him.

“Like that, do you? Dirty girl.” He keeps you held down with one hand in the center of your back and slides down to close his teeth over your flank. Much harder this time. “You’re too fucking wild.” He growls like a beast when you try to squirm away. “Oh no I’m not done with you.” His lips travel to the swell of your ass, where he bites down so hard that you squeal.

When he releases his jaws you almost get away from him. He has to swing most of his body back over yours to ride you back down to the mattress.

He nips at your ear in a primal signal to stay still. “You want it rough, I can give you rough.” You feel his erection against the back of your thigh, waiting, and you realize that was actually a consent question.

“Fuck, yeah,” you say eagerly. “If you think you can claim me, then claim me.”

He prods at you from behind; it’s a little hard to find his mark when you’re not making it easy for him. With a swipe of his knee he opens your legs wider, and then fuck, he pushes right in. It feels impossibly deep from this angle, like he’s about to come out through your bellybutton. You were joking about the claiming thing, it just seemed to fit the animalistic vibe, but it sure is a hot fucking thought as he slams into your helpless, immobilized hips.

You can’t do much besides arch your back and take it. Every thrust has him grinding against your g-spot from this angle; heat builds quickly behind it until you’re keening, wild sounds that fill the room.

The filthy words keep spilling out between Ubbe’s gritted teeth. “Take it – you fucking glorious – ah – so fucking good – take it just like that.” He takes a fistful of hair to pull your face up from the mattress. “I wanna see, how you –”

There’s probably more coming out of his mouth but you can’t hear it anymore as another orgasm rips through your body, the pressure on your g-spot hitting just right at the new angle that Ubbe forced into your back.

Once you’re conscious of anything besides the roaring pleasure inside your own body, Ubbe’s not capable of words anymore. He’s fucking into you hard and fast and with a long, guttural groan that has to mean he’s coming too. His pace sputters, then he buries himself to the hilt and just stays there, holding his breath for a bliss-filled moment. He exhales with everything he has left and then collapses on top of you.

You make a happy little sound. You don’t mind his weight. It’s cozy, and somehow flattering to feel so thoroughly and freely used for his comfort. He shifts just enough to wrap an arm around your shoulder, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. He doesn’t move again until he’s caught his breath.

When he finally pulls his softening cock out of you, he sighs a little at his own sensitivity. He rolls back on his hip to strip the condom off and flings it across his room. “Wow,” he says, voice light and giddy. “That was—wow.” He settles back down beside you, making sure you’re facing him. “Um, was all that ok?”

You smile. “What do you mean?”

His eyebrows go up. “That got pretty wild by the end there. I hope I didn’t, like, hurt you.”

Stroking your fingers down the side of his face, you try not to look like you’re laughing at him. Boy really is a total newbie to kinks like yours. Although he certainly seems to share them. “I’m fine. Loved every minute of it. If it wasn’t working for me, really, I’d have stopped you.”

His brows furrow down, listening carefully.

“I’ll say ‘red light’ if I ever need you to stop what you’re doing.”

Ubbe nods.

“But I love it rough like that. That was hot as hell.” You rub your palm over the places where he bit you. The one on your ass is still sensitive.

“It was, wasn’t it.” Ubbe looks like a kid who’s discovered a new candy store has opened right on his street. “Fuck. I just like . . . you seemed like you were into it and I just went for it. It was just . . .” he closes his eyes, trailing off with an adorable crease between his brows as he remembers some tantalizing detail. “You like it like that all the time?”

You nod, shyly, but a nervous laugh slips out too. “I mean, I’d probably get sore after a while but, yeah. Fuckin’ throw me around.” Your eyes trail down to his chest, unable to be quite this honest under full eye contact. “Chase me, push me, pull me… I like to be forced to submit.”

An entirely pleased sound rumbles in his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He pulls you in close, tucking your head under his chin. “You’re not like any of the girls I’ve known,” he sighs.

You kind of want to say maybe you’ve been dating the wrong girls. But then the uncomfortable topic of dating would be hanging between the two of you, and you don’t want to talk about that until things are more clear with Ivar. He’s the one you always saw yourself getting serious with. Ubbe’s just, well, fun. Although he’s been surprising you lately. Like right now. You know you can’t stay long, you have to be dressed and out of this bed before Ivar gets home as per his instructions, but for just a few more minutes, you snuggle deeper into Ubbe’s arms.

A/N: I know Ubbe’s been getting a lot of spotlight lately, but Ivar’s back with a vengeance next!!! Read On

Taglist is open: @walkxthexmoon   @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @youbloodymadgenius​ @walkxthexmoon​@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog​ @earl-aive​ @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​ @ceridwenofwales​ @grungyblonde​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @hvittysmutanon​ @honestsycrets​ @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @writingfromasgard​ @tootie-fruity​ @lordsexmachine @ uncomfortable-writers @sadbutatleastsassy​ @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme​ @likealostkiss @thehangedmanandthehoneybee

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 17

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A FEW MINUTES LATER

BJORNHEIMR

Sigurd dragged his feet across the uneven terrain, slogging through the dead woods that now served as Dag’s tomb. His hand shone vividly with a bright layer of red due to the blood that clung onto his skin, and his ears still buzzed with the echoes of his friend’s final cries.

As for Eivor, the jarl’s son appeared to be equally as harrowed as his companion. His eyes mirrored the frozen desolation of the bleak landscape sitting before him, and his face remained expressionless much like the corpses that now rested at Bjornheimr’s temple.

Both of them traversed the world like a pair of hollow shells, wandering through the dark in search of any light to hold onto. A black haze had blotted out the beam that once twinkled in their eyes, and it seemed as if the fire that once burned in them had been completely snuffed out.

Eivor just prayed this would be the end of their grief. It wouldn’t be long before they got the information they needed from Gorm, and the young man imagined they would soon be braving the seas again in search of the wretch’s father.

It was an endeavor that would only lead to more war, no doubt. There was a high chance that more people would die during their pursuit, and Eivor could no longer guarantee that even he would survive a second battle against Kjotve.

But after everything that had happened, he refused to shy away from this fight. Kjotve’s death wouldn’t bring Ulfar or Thora back from the dead, that much was true. But even then, Eivor hoped that -- at least -- it would serve as a balm to ease the pain now wracking his heart. 

He didn’t even care about reclaiming his honor anymore. All he wanted was to bring this horrid war to an end. Far too many people had been lost to Kjotve’s barbarity, and Eivor’s only desire now was to deliver peace unto those who had suffered for so long.

It was something he was willing to die for at this point, and a part of him suspected that he would.

“Wait,” Sigurd said as they entered the village. He stopped in his tracks and gazed in the distance, looking towards the docks. “Is that Randvi’s ship?”

Eivor followed his line of sight, nodding in response. “Yes. Randvi and her men returned not too long ago. They arrived whilst you were dealing with Dag.” He paused briefly, giving the prince a grim face. “...I’ve already told her about Thora and Ulfar. She’s at the temple now with my father and Ingrida. They’re preparing for tomorrow’s funeral.”

“...How is she?”

“How do you think? She knew Thora and Ulfar even longer than I did. She... she’s beyond devastated.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, hanging his head low in regret. “...Damn it. I should’ve killed Dag weeks ago. I should’ve confronted him from the start. He had been acting so strange ever since we came to Bjornheimr. I shouldn’t have waited this long to do something about it. Perhaps none of this would’ve happened then.”

Eivor took a few steps closer to him, speaking softly. “You are not to blame, Sigurd. You had no way of knowing Dag was the traitor.”

The prince wasn’t swayed. “On the contrary, I was the only one who could’ve known. I was the closest one with Dag out of anybody in our clan. I should’ve been paying more attention. I shouldn’t have let my love for him blind my judgement.”

Sigurd shut his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, clearly exhausted from the day’s events. “...I’m sorry, Eivor. I know you don’t fault me for what’s happened, but even then, I still carry some of the blame on my shoulders. I must be more vigilant from now on. I can’t allow anything like this to occur again, and I won’t. You have my word.”

Walking away before the other man could respond, Sigurd left Eivor behind and simply pushed forward into the village, emerging from the forest like a shadow slipping out of the night. The despair that once dimmed his expression had been replaced with the flickering embers of a growing rage, and the Wolf-Kissed could almost see sparks igniting in his eyes.

As for the young man himself, he simply followed the prince from a distance and trailed along quietly, unsure of what else he could do to comfort his lover. A few of the villagers -- including Styrbjorn -- had turned their heads upon Sigurd’s anticipated return, and immediately brought their attention to the blood now staining his hand.

The color faded from the king’s flesh as soon as he noticed the striking pigment. He didn’t seem to understand what had transpired just yet, but the dreary cloud hanging over his son was enough to imply that something terrible had unraveled.

Styrbjorn approached the two of them, carrying a look of concern.

“My son...!” He called out, keeping his tone hushed. “Where have you been? What’s happened to you? Whose... whose blood is that?”

Sigurd exchanged glances with his companion, hesitant to answer. He didn’t appear to be any calmer than when Eivor first found him in the woods, and the younger man feared that it wouldn’t take much more to send him into a storm. 

“It’s... Dag’s.” The prince admitted. “...I killed him.”

The older man fell into silence, taken aback by his son’s actions.

“You did what?”

“I had to,” Sigurd justified, steeling his voice. “Dag was the traitor. I had to get rid of him before he did anything else. I couldn’t allow him to harm more people.”

“A traitor?” Styrbjorn repeated in disbelief. “Are you positive? What makes you so certain he betrayed us? Did you find any evidence?”

“He confessed his crimes, father. He told me everything. Dag was the one assisting Kjotve. He was the one who informed him of our alliance. Ulfar was right.”

The king didn’t seem convinced. “I see. And was there anyone else around to hear Dag’s confession?”

“...No. It was just me and him.”

Styrbjorn shook his head in disapproval. “Then how can we be so sure that you killed the right man?”

Sigurd stared at his father in bewilderment, finally catching on to the man’s concerns. “...You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, son. But other people may not -- and for good reason, I might add. You just killed one of our own clan members because of a confession that nobody was around to hear. Nobody except for you. How can I accept that as evidence? How am I going to explain Dag’s death to our people? How can I convince them that what you did was not, in fact, murder?”

Sadly, Sigurd was in no state to process things rationally. The king’s doubt only added more fuel to the anguish that was already festering inside him, and his temper quickly took over like a hurricane commanding the seas.

“You can explain to them that I just killed the man responsible for Thora’s death! I killed the man who would’ve thrown the rest of us to the wolves. Had it not been for that rat, this village would still be in one piece. Thora would still be alive. I killed him because it was necessary.”

Styrbjorn was quiet in response, urging Sigurd to fill the silence.

“You think I murdered him out of indulgence? You know how much I loved him, father. He was my brother! I didn’t want to see him dead. But I did what was required to keep our clan safe. I finished what Ulfar started.”

But the king had nothing else to offer other than criticism. “You acted carelessly, Sigurd. There is no honor in slaying a man who cannot defend himself. You know this. If you truly believed Dag was the traitor, you should’ve brought him to me -- not slaughtered him in the woods. I could’ve held a trial to determine his judgement. His crimes would’ve been brought to light.”

“You think we have the time for something like that? Dag may have been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool. If there really was any evidence to find of his collusion with Kjotve, he would’ve destroyed it. We’d be investigating for weeks, if not months!”

“And what if there is evidence? What if we discover that Dag was not the only traitor in our midst? What will we do then, hm?”

Sigurd grew irritated. “We’ll deal with it. Just like I dealt with Dag.”

Styrbjorn sighed in defeat. “You rely too much on impulse, my son. You cannot take matters into your own hands like this. If you are to wear the crown someday, you must learn to respect the ways of our kingdom. A good leader enforces the law with a firm hand, but is never above it.”

The prince didn’t take kindly to that. “You are the last person to dictate what makes a good leader. While I’ve been fighting alongside our warriors on the battlefield, risking my life, you’ve been idling with a bottle in your hand, watching everything unfold! You say I’m reckless, but who else is going to defend your kingdom if not you?”

The older man turned away in shame, causing his son to descend even further into his tirade.

“Killing Dag was the only way to proceed, father. I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other options, but we are at a dead-end here. You don’t want me to act like this? Then you can swing the axe yourself next time!”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Sigurd cut himself off and took a moment to glance at his surroundings, suddenly realizing just how much attention he had drawn to their argument. Everywhere around him, men and women alike gawked at their altercation with a blatant sense of fear in their eyes, alarmed by everything they just heard. Not a single word was uttered amongst the small crowd that had gathered around them, and yet, it felt as if their very thoughts lingered in the air.

Looking at his father, Sigurd stepped away from the other man and slunk to Eivor’s side, backing down as if he were shocked by his own behavior. He appeared to be even more devoid of life now that he had argued with Styrbjorn, and within moments, he was desperately searching for a way out.

“I... I need to be alone.”

In the blink of an eye, Sigurd removed himself from the vicinity and retreated to the longhouse, aching for the solitude of his chambers. He left Styrbjorn and Eivor with nothing more than the company of their own thoughts, and disappeared as if he were smoke being whisked away by the wind.

In the meantime, the two men simply watched the prince vanish in the distance as the crowd began to disperse, granting them the luxury of privacy they so fervently desired. A portion of them already felt somewhat sheepish due to announcing their troubles to the public, and frankly, the only thing Eivor wanted was to lock himself in his room.

Unfortunately for the young man though, Styrbjorn didn’t seem ready to let him go just yet.

“Oh, Sigurd...” the king muttered to himself. “When will that boy learn...?”

Eivor approached the conflicted man, attempting to calm his nerves.

“Forgive him, my lord.” He pleaded. “Grief has befallen Sigurd. He made a great sacrifice for us today, cutting down his own friend like that. It will take him a long time to recover from this.”

Styrbjorn pinched the bridge of his nose out of stress, pacing back and forth in the snow.

“I understand that my son was only trying to protect our clan, but I must ensure he’s prepared to inherit the throne. We are at war, Eivor. There’s no guarantee I’ll be around by the time Kjotve is vanquished. The dawn of Sigurd’s reign could arrive sooner than he expects. He must be ready.”

“He is ready,” The Wolf-Kissed reassured. “He just needs time to heal.”

The king halted in his tracks and glanced at the younger man, inquiring about one other matter.

“Listen, Eivor. I hate to ask you of this considering everything that’s going on, but could you speak to Sigurd for me? I’d feel better knowing he wasn’t dealing with this alone.”

Eivor raised a brow. “Me? Why not you?”

“You’ve witnessed firsthand the animosity that stands between me and my son. Very rarely does Sigurd ever greet me with a smile. Whenever we’re together, it always feels like he’s angry at me, or frustrated. And the worst part is... I can’t even say he’s completely unjustified.”

“What do you mean?”

Styrbjorn sighed regretfully, dropping his gaze to the ground. There was a clear rein of hesitancy holding him back, but he knew that in order to help his son the best, he’d need to offer his full candor. 

“Perhaps he’s already told you this, but... ever since Sigurd’s mother passed away, I’ve found myself continuously drawn to the allure of drink. It’s something that’s haunted me for years now. I’ve tried many times to put down the bottle, but in the end, it always ends up trapping me in its clutches. I’m not proud to admit it, but it’s the truth.”

Eivor nodded in remembrance. “Sigurd has told me about this, yes.”

“I’m not surprised. He often speaks fondly of you. It’s clear you’ve gained my son’s unwavering trust. Unfortunately however, I cannot say the same for myself. My relationship with Sigurd has suffered due to my addiction. I have not always been the father he deserves, nor given him the guidance that he needed.”

The king’s stone facade faltered briefly. “It breaks my heart to consider it, but I fear that my own son views me as a nuisance more than anything. A lingering shackle that keeps holding him back. Sometimes I even wonder if the boy hates me.”

The young man’s expression softened with sympathy. “...No, Styrbjorn. No. He  doesn’t hate you. Even Sigurd himself has told me that he loves you. He just feels ignored.”

That caught Styrbjorn’s attention. “Ignored?”

“Yes. The last time he and I spoke about this issue, he expressed that he often feels like you don’t heed his advice; that his words tend to fall on deaf ears. Sigurd wants to help you overcome this, but he says you won’t let him.”

“It’s... true that I haven’t always kept my promises. I cannot deny that. But this battle is not so easily won.”

Eivor gave him an understanding look. “And Sigurd is aware of that. He knows you won’t be able to discard this overnight. But he just needs to see that you’re making some kind of effort. That will be more than enough for him. Trust me.”

Styrbjorn took the man’s advice to heart and quietly thought to himself for a moment, evidently shaken by this revelation. It was clear that a part of him drowned in guilt due to the discovery of Sigurd’s frustrations, but a hint of relief also twinkled in his eye now that he knew the boy still loved him.

“...I see.” The king said sincerely, gazing at the young man with an immense amount of gratitude. “Thank you for telling me this, Eivor. The path to reconciliation will be one laden with difficulties, but at least I can see where I must go. I will think on what you’ve said, and I’ll speak to Sigurd when the moment is right. In the meantime, could you talk to him for now? I fear that my presence would only amplify his anger.”

“Of course,” Eivor said with a firm nod. “I’ll check on him for you.”

“I appreciate it. Stay safe, my boy. Our struggles are far from over. I pray that the gods will extend their mercy to you from now on, and that you recover quickly from today’s tragedies. Peace is a distant reality for us at the moment, but not unreachable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE LONGHOUSE

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Wandering through the longhouse’s dimly lit halls, Eivor followed the trail of torches as he made his way to Sigurd’s chambers, overwhelmed by the looming silence that was broken only by his footsteps.

The adamant walls of the building had blocked out any intrusive sounds --  including that of the howling wind -- and as a result, nothing but the low crackling of fire was present to accompany the thoughts screaming in Eivor’s head.

He just didn’t know how to feel anymore. When he first discovered Thora’s body, the agony that overcame him was so fierce it almost crippled him entirely. He felt like the gods had ripped a hole in the very fabric of the world, and the impact of Ulfar’s death only pressed harder on the weight that was already resting on his shoulders.

Still, he couldn’t imagine what Sigurd was experiencing. Even though Eivor was no stranger to the atrocities of war, he had never been cursed with the responsibility of striking down his own brother. The mere idea of putting himself in the same position with Randvi was enough to crush him, and he worried that the guilt would twist the prince’s spirit into something much darker. He just hoped he could help the man before it was too late.

“...Sigurd?” The Wolf-Kissed said gently, knocking on the surface of his door. “It’s me, Eivor. Can I come in?”

A soft rustle emitted from the inside, followed up by the muffled thuds of Sigurd’s boots. The door swung open after a few moments, and standing in front of him, Eivor saw the prince, looking somber as ever.

“Eivor...?” He whispered, still afflicted by the ordeal with Dag. “You’re here?”

“Yes. I know you said you wished to be alone, but... I was worried. You disappeared from our sight before we could even get a word in. I wanted to check on you. I hope I’m not intruding.” The younger man paused for a second. “...How are you feeling now?”

Sigurd’s gaze fell to the floor. “I... I don’t know, Eivor.” His posture slouched in remorse. “...I’m not doing well.”

“Of course not,” Eivor said in understanding. “Dag was like a brother to you. No one could do what you did and come out unscathed.”

The prince scoffed. “No one except for my father, apparently.” He turned away from the door and stepped aside, allowing Eivor to come in as he spoke. “Can you believe that man? We are this close to winning the war against Kjotve, and he’s more concerned about due process.”

Eivor followed Sigurd into his chambers, closing the door behind them.

“Your father just wants to make sure you’re ready to rule the kingdom.”

“Well, there won’t be a kingdom to rule if we don’t catch Kjotve soon enough. My father says I’m careless in my behavior, but I don’t recall the last time I saw him lifting a sword. What else does he expect me to do?” 

Sigurd took a seat on the edge of his bed and sighed, completely drained of all vigor. “...I know I’m not perfect, Eivor. I know I still have much to learn. But everything I do is for the betterment of this clan. Why can’t my father see that?”

Eivor sat beside his lover, placing a comforting hand on his back. “He does see it. He may not be the best at getting his message across, but trust me when I say your father knows you have good intentions. He just worries that you’ll act with too much haste.”

The prince’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Is that so? And what makes you so certain of that?”

“He and I talked after you left,” the younger man admitted. “He wanted to speak with you personally, but he thought that his company would only aggravate you more.” Eivor frowned in empathy. “...Your father thinks you hate him, Sigurd.”

Sigurd’s entire mood seemed to shift at the response, and for a split-second, it almost looked like he had completely forgotten about the rage he harbored. 

“He does...?”

“Well, he suspects it,” Eivor clarified, “but he said that things are always tense between you two. There never seems to be a moment of peace whenever you’re together.”

The prince shook his head, eager to dispel his beliefs.

“...No,” he said softly. “No. I don’t hate him. I love my father, in fact. I just hate the things he does sometimes.” Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want to keep him safe like I promised my mother I would. It brings me no joy to see him endure any pain or hardship, but...” he let out a breath of frustration, “...he never listens to me! Whenever I try to help him, he only pushes me away. Once, I even dumped all our ale into the river to stop him from drinking, and he broke into a fury unlike anything I’d ever seen.”

A grip of fear took hold of Sigurd’s voice. “...That stuff is poison, Eivor. It’s going to kill him someday. The last thing I want is to see my father step into an early grave, but how am I supposed to help him when he won’t even help himself?”

Eivor brought his partner into a hug, allowing his chin to sit on the man’s shoulder.

“You need to be more patient, Sigurd,” he advised. “Ultimately, your father’s recovery is his own responsibility, but a hostile relationship won’t do anything for either of you. He’s still trying to move on from your mother’s death. Just like you’re trying to move on from Dag’s. Give him time.”

The prince let out a sigh and warmed up to Eivor’s embrace, finally cooling off from the heat of his argument with Styrbjorn.

“I... I suppose you’re right.” He conceded, turning to face the younger man. “...Okay, Eivor. I’ll try to make things right. Not just for my father, but also for you. I promise.”

Eivor smiled at that. “Good. It won’t be easy, I know. But it’ll be worth it.”

Sigurd sat up from his position and laid a hand on the Wolf-Kissed’s lap, diverting the focus of their conversation elsewhere.

“Anyway, enough about me. How are you doing, my love? I’m... so sorry about Thora and Ulfar.”

Eivor separated their hug and stared bleakly at the floor, trying to keep himself together.

“...I still can’t believe they’re gone,” he said. “I thought I’d be used to losing people like this after what happened to my parents, but it hurts just as much as it did all those years ago. Only this time, I feel like I could’ve done something. I wish I did.”

A tinge of regret blanketed Sigurd’s face. “Are you angry that I held you back during the holmgang?”

“No,” Eivor answered truthfully. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. You were only trying to preserve Ulfar’s honor, and to be honest, I’m grateful that you did. As much as I wish I could’ve saved that man, I’d feel even worse if he never reached Valhalla. I’m going to miss him more than words can describe, but at least I know he’s at peace now. At least I know he’s reunited with his wife.” A cloud of sorrow fogged the young man’s eyes. “...I just wish I could say the same for Thora.”

Sigurd’s nose crinkled at the memory of discovering Thora’s body. “Gorm is even more of a coward than his father. It’s a shame what he did to her. He will get the punishment he deserves, Eivor. I won’t let him get away with it.”

The Wolf-Kissed found some solace in the prince’s reassurance. “Thank you. I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Thora back, but it seems only fitting that the man who murdered her joins her side in Helheim.”

“And he will. One way or another.”

Standing up from the bed, Eivor straightened his tunic and inched towards the door, preparing to take his leave. He didn’t want to abandon Sigurd’s side just yet, but he also wanted to see how his family was coping before the day came to an end.

“Anyway, I’ll give you some space, Sigurd.” He said, pressing a hand against the door’s surface. “I imagine you probably want to be alone right now, and there are some things I need to take care of before the funeral starts.”

Contrary to his belief however, the prince didn’t seem to share his sentiments. “Actually, I’d like you to stick around a little longer. If you’re willing to stay, that is.”

Eivor halted mid-action, unable to hide his interest. “You would?”

“Your company is one of the few things that offers me peace nowadays, Eivor. If you want to take this conversation further, you’re more than welcome here.”

The blonde viking took a hesitant glance outside the door, still carrying the same concerns he had lugged around for the past two weeks.

“But what if someone finds us? Don’t you think it’ll strike them as odd that I’ve been with you for so long?”

Sigurd let out a fatigued breath, slowly rising from his bed. “...I don’t care anymore. All this death sitting on our doorstep has shown me just how precious life truly is. I have no idea if I’ll even survive this war, Eivor. I’m not going to spend what could possibly be my final days pretending that I don’t feel anything for you.”

He walked up to his companion, leaving no more than a few inches between them. “I love you, Eivor. And I’m not ashamed to say it.”

Eivor froze at the confession and simply stared at Sigurd in silence, entirely at a loss for words. It wasn’t too long ago that the prince nearly tore himself apart trying to keep their affair a secret, and yet, he was practically declaring his love from the top of the world now. He no longer cared about the rumors that would spread, or the judgmental glances he’d receive. He was finally done hiding, and Eivor wondered if it was time he felt the same.

“Forgive me,” the younger man replied, “I... I don’t know what to say. I just never expected to hear you say those words.”

Sigurd chuckled. “Neither did I. I used to berate myself without pause when I first realized I was growing attached to you. I tried so desperately to shift my attention to Randvi for the sake of this alliance, but... it never worked. Things only deteriorated for me, and as a result, my life turned into a never-ending battle. I was miserable.”

Eivor smirked affectionately. “And now?”

Sigurd returned the grin. “Now, I know what I want at last. I can finally see why the gods led me here, and I’m done pushing against this fate that the Nornir have woven for me. I’m done with living a lie. My only question is... do you feel the same?”

The Wolf-Kissed let his hand drop from the door and focused completely on the man in front of him, peering fondly into his eyes.

“Of course I do. You’ve always been there for me ever since you first arrived at Bjornheimr. The circumstances under which we had to meet will forever leave a scar on this clan, but I can say for certain that our encounter was a blessing.” Eivor beamed brightly at the prince, holding his cheek in his palm. “I love you too, Sigurd. And nothing will ever change that.”

Sigurd’s expression radiated with a vibrant joy upon hearing that, and he pulled Eivor even closer to him, gently pushing him against the wall. He pecked a small kiss on the younger man’s neck and held him securely by the waist, allowing himself to forget about his troubles for just a brief moment.

“Then let us cast away the burdens of our struggles for tonight, and cherish our final hours of peace together. The stability of this war is precarious enough as it is. If anything happens to us, I don’t want to leave this world with regrets. Freya gave you to me as a gift the day we met, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

Eivor closed his eyes in bliss and linked his arms around Sigurd, caressing him in his embrace. The prince’s touch soothed his skin like ice on a fresh burn, and for the first time in a while, he was able to let his mind roam free from its continuous torment. The bond they shared was something that provided Eivor with a tranquility unlike anything else, and he silently begged the gods to keep his lover safe.

“From here to Valhalla,” Eivor whispered warmly, “I’ll always be at your side, Sigurd.”

[hunnyuwu]

Sucker For You || NCT Jaemin

Premise: Jaemin typically has strong feelings once he catches the love bug, and you are definitely not an exception to that.

Pairing: Staff! reader x Idol! Jaemin

Genre: Fluff, romance

WC: 2.7 K

Warnings: A lil steamy by the end ;) [but still PG13 lol]

~~~

Jaemin descended from the black, silver laced stairs that led to the hidden area beneath the stadium stage. He slicked the sweat off his forehead as he noticed that it was way too hot in there.

“Jaemin, over here!”

The boy looked up, his foot finally hitting the solid floor of the area swarmed with SM staff. He smiled bashfully as the only thing he saw was a Polaroid camera being lifted up before the blaring white light of said item set off, momentarily blinding him. He felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks as he looked down, his pectorals and abdomen on full display for the world to see. And he knew exactly why he was being bombarded with cameras and long glances.

While the boy was confident in his body, especially since he had started working out as of late, he was still flustered when people intentionally stared a little too long. He peered over to Jeno, the boy who Jaemin thought had the body of a god.

Who was he to show off his body to millions of thirsty fans all over the world, when Jeno had a lot more to offer?

“One more, Jaemin!”

Jaemin snapped out of his internal thoughts as he redirected his attention back to the camera, this time tugging the bottom of his jean jacket to half-heartedly cover his abdomen and nips. An act he would soon regret as the shoulders of the jacket fell down to his elbows right as the camera set off, showing off his defined collarbones and shoulders like he was posing for the cover of Vogue.

“Thank you, Jaemin!”

The girl taking photos of him ran off to do god knows what, leaving Jaemin flattered yet embarrassed all at the same time.

“Hyung, I know you have been working out, but I didn’t know you were hiding all of that!”

Jaemin chuckled as the youngest, who spectated the entire scene, walked over with a look of pure amazement. Jaemin discarded his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder, fully exposing his torso as the camera was finally out of view.

He brought a hand up to Jisung’s fluffy black hair, “Ah, thank you my cute little baby!”

“Hyung...” Jisung whined cutely, actively leaning away from Jaemin’s encroaching touch.

The two of them, along with a fleet of staff, headed back towards the makeup and changing rooms to get ready for the post-concert Vlive event which was to be held an hour after.

“I’m going to get changed. What about you, Hyung?” Jisung said, ready to depart to a different section of the room.

Jaemin sighed, a smile lighting up his lips. He peered over to the makeup area where a few girls were huddled around, whispering about something he couldn’t even begin to guess.

Jaemin trained his vision back to Jisung, who started laughing, to see what had the boy suddenly so jolly.

“You should really ask her out, Hyung.”

Jaemin blushed, sucking in air harshly through his nostrils as he gave the youngest a puzzled look.

“What?”

“C’mon, it’s obvious. You like Y/N.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, scoffing with the best of his acting abilities.

“I definitely do not like Y/N.”

“Hm, okay Hyung. Your loss.”

Jaemin tilted his head, an eyebrow arching up to the sky.

“And why is that?”

“Because I see Jeno Hyung talking to her right now.”

Without another thought, Jaemin, almost snapping his neck, whipped his head to see if that was true.

Which was definitely the case.

Jaemin’s vision became clouded with green as he witnessed you giggling at something Jeno said, accompanied with that famous eye smile of his. His jaw clenched tightly as he watched Jeno rest his bulky arms over your shoulders, an action the blonde male only did to those he was extremely comfortable around.

You were a recent addition to the NCT Dream Team, a makeup artist and aspiring stylist intern that was striving to eventually make it within the fashion industry. Ever since your arrival, the members of Dream recruited you as a close friend as you were right within their age range, being an ‘00 liner about to go into Junior year of university. Jaemin had taken a liking to you ever since the day you set foot into their practice room to introduce yourself. Unfortunately, he also noticed that Jeno had also been encroaching on you as of late, going out on late night grocery store visits with you, or even sticking around you a little longer after recordings and shows. Jeno and you had become extremely comfortable lately, and that was a big problem for Jaemin.

The bubblegum haired male bit his inner cheek, a deep frown forming over his features as fast as the spread of the bubonic plague.

“You should do something about it, Hyung.”

With that last remark, Jisung ran off to join up with Chenle, who was on his way to get changed.

Jaemin sucked in the heavy air surrounding him, before releasing it all at once, finally making up his mind. He stomped over to the makeup area, surprising some of the makeup Noona’s at his rash movements through the cluttered space.

He stopped abruptly, causing two individuals to also quickly end their discussion.

You looked up curiously, a small smile forming over your lips as the two of you made eye contact. On the other hand, Jeno shot the pink haired boy an unamused look.

“Can you touch up my makeup?”

Jaemin said, a fake smile pushing his lips upward as he was fully aware of the penetrating glare he was receiving from the stark blonde male beside you.

You nodded like an obedient puppy, ready to get to work, “Of course!” You chirped, patting Jeno’s shoulder to indicate his departure.

“Off you go, Jeno. We can talk more later, but duty calls!”

You ran off, collecting your personal materials at your station.

With one last glance at Jaemin, Jeno walked off to the other side of the room, but that was the least of Jaemin’s concerns. As he walked over to the makeup chair, he noticed the way his heart harshly beated with every step he took.

‘So beautiful...’

He muttered small praises of your form before finally settling into the cloth material of the seat.

“Do you just want a touch up of your current makeup?”

“Yes, please.” Jaemin breathed out quickly, drawing a cute giggle out of you. He noticed the way your eyes disappeared as you gave a whole-hearted laugh, making his heart squeeze with the harshness of a python attack.

“It’s been too long, Jaemin-ssi. How have you been lately?” You said calmly, starting your work on his face. You neared his features, alarming Jaemin to the point that he thought that you may have literally taken his breath away.

“I’ve been good. Did you watch the concert?”

“Yeah! I watched a little bit of it. I can’t believe you pulled off a stunt like that!”

Jaemin pursed his lips, concentrating his eyes to your focused features. He grazed his pupils all over your face like you were applying makeup to his.

“What stunt?”

“Showing your body off like that? You have a lot of courage, Jaemin-ssi.”

Jaemin choked on his spit, but subdued his reaction before he ended up spitting on you. Something that would surely make you hate him forever.

“I didn’t think of it like that, b-but thank you. Did you... did you like it?”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes shook a little as your hand stuttered on his face. You quickly resumed your movements, but your impulsive response sparked a flame of confidence within him.

“You see me shirtless all the time, Y/N. What’s the difference between the stage and now?”

He questioned, using his free hands to gesture down to his completely bare torso. You shook your head with a little lip bite, looking like you were having an entire battle within yourself.

“Oh hush, Jaemin-ssi. I just thought you were cool, but nothing more.”

Jaemin felt a little defeated, but he came too far to back down now.

“Call me Jaemin, no honorifics.”

“Huh?”

You were startled to say the least, shifting backwards with widened, doe-like eyes. Jaemin smirked a little, masking over the quaking anxiety bubbling within him.

“You call ‘Jeno’ casually, why not me?”

Your face contorted, diving back into his face to complete your work. Jaemin silently waited for your answer, his eyebrows drawn together as he focused on your every movement.

‘Why are you so perfect?’ Jaemin let his mind roam to a random place, imagining you and him in your shared apartment, about to do things-

“J-Jeno and I are just friendly is all! I can call you Jaemin if you want.” You nodded affirmatively, resolving that internal battle within yourself. You shot him a bright smile, conveying your true feelings.

In actuality, you had nothing but the hots for Jaemin ever since you laid eyes on him. He truly was that sweet neighborhood boy that all the girls on the block would fall in love with. He was charming, charismatic, adorable, caring, thoughtful... Basically everything that your mother would want you to bring home. But he also had this mysterious, sinister side that you had wanted to crack open ever since you once witnessed that devilish smirk flit over his pink lips after teasing a girl on set.

While by no means were you into men who displayed a sweet side to only be the devil once you got to know them, but you didn’t mind getting into the mystery that Jaemin was to you. He had a playful, bad boy charm that made you grasp onto his every movement like he was the opposite side to your magnetic charge.

And that’s why you had kept your distance from him, because you simply loved observing him.

"Are you sure you two are only friends?”

You gasped, feeling slim, cold fingers wrap around your wrist gently. Going numb, you clumsily let the makeup brush between your fingers slip from your grasp. The clattering sound of wood meeting tile rang around the two of you, but it went unnoticed by you as you merely held Jaemin’s burning eye contact with concerned fragility.

Were you the next subject of his flirting tendencies?

Your eyebrows scrunched together, confused by his serious gleam.

“What are you implying, Jaemin?” You whispered, not physically grasping the close proximity between your faces.

“You like Jeno, don’t you?”

Your frown deepened as you drew away, your body responding for you immediately.

“No... it’s bold of you to assume something like that.” You let out cooly, bending down to scoop up the makeup brush that you dropped.

Jaemin felt guilt eat away at his gut as he watched your back, currently switching out the dirty makeup brush for a fresh one.

“Well, would you ever like me then?”

He saw the way your back muscles stiffened up, unconsciously drawing a little smirk to form over his pink, plush lips that were freshly redone. He let out a fake pout, noticing that you were staring at him through the reflection of the makeup mirror.

“Well?”

“What’s with you today, Jaemin?” You chuckled out nervously, trying to diffuse the rising tension around the both of you. Your laughter never reached your eyes as you winced from the way your heart rung within your mind. It was beating at an abnormal pace, and you knew it only meant one thing.

“Oh, nothing.” He chirped.

You sighed, horribly confused from his bipolar behavior. Yeah, you witnessed his behavior around others, but you never knew how much it would give you whiplash personally. You turned back around to touch up his eyeshadow, praying to God that your hand wouldn’t shake from the effects of your rattling heart.

You dove back into your craft, using all your effort to ignore the drilling eyes that were piercing into your soul through his spindly eyelashes.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You scoffed, attempting to throw him off your embarrassed shock.

“My, you’re really in a flirty mood tonight, aren't you!” You exclaimed, finishing the last few details of his light brown eyeshadow that made his eyes stand out beautifully.

“I mean it, Y/N.”

You gulped harshly, your brain didn’t allow you to even process his words. To avoid any further confrontation, you spun around so that you were looking down at your makeup supplies on the white surface table by the mirror.

You ignored him, wading through your materials to act like you were busy looking for the next product you wanted to use on him.

After a few moments of sheer silence, a high pitched yelp escaped your lips as you felt heat hovering over your back and hands land on both sides of you, effectively trapping you against the solid surface.

You whipped your head upwards to look at your reflection within the mirror, your jaw unhinging upon the unholy sight.

Jaemin was caging you with his body... his bare torso moments away from colliding with your form. All you could see was the flexed definition of his arms and one feral eye peak out from behind your head, mimicking the prowl of a predator upon their prey.

“J-Jaemin?” You called out, not missing the animalistic glint shining within his chocolate brown irises.

“Not so bold now, are we?” He muttered with that beautiful smirk that he showed to the cameras, but this time, a sadistic edge played along the ends of his lips and eyes, sending your body into raging, hormonal mess. Your spine tingled as your felt goosebumps rise along your arms and neck.

He leaned down, pressing his nose into your nape, eliciting a striking gasp from you.

You whipped your head side to side, wondering how the hell no one was reacting to what the boy was doing to you at this very moment.

“Jaemin, what are you doing?!” You hissed, finally regaining some of your senses back.

“What do you think?” He growled, sending your mind into a muddled pool of incoherent warnings and signals.

He pressed his newly done lips into your arched neck, drawing out another confused gasp out of you. You finally turned yourself around within his muscly entrapment, only to cower once you came face to face with the beast.

“Tell me, Y/N. What do you think I’m doing?” He said lowly. A dim fire danced within your body and soul as you watched his eyes easily devour you from his superior stance. You backed away a little, your butt pressing up into the cold surface behind you. Jaemin followed along, allowing his torso to come centimeters away from yours.

“Being a flirty jerk.” You muttered with distaste, but you were anything but distasteful toward him right now. In fact,

You were rather excited.

“Am I catching your eyes, at least?”

You rolled your eyes, glaring up into his jestingly, “Whatever floats your boat, Love.”

“Hmm,” Jaemin purred, letting his eyes draw closed, “I like the way that you call me that.”

“What?” You barked, astonished by his sheer audacity.

With one swift movement, you shoved him off you, thankfully landing in the makeup chair with a plop, or you would have been in big trouble.

He slouched back, shooting you a lazy smirk, “You don’t have to shove me to touch me, Y/N. You can just ask to feel me up, I’m not as shy as I may seem.” He drawled, his hooded eyes practically setting you on fire like a witch on the stake.

“I have no idea what you’re on about today, Jaemin.” You hissed with your arms crossing over your body, but you knew the scarlet red tinting your cheeks would give you away like a children’s book.

“Is that so? Well, I’ll tell you plainly if you go out with me this weekend.”

“Huh?”

“Saturday evening at our dorms. I’ll take you out on a date.”

“A date?!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jaemin shot up from the chair, shooting you a wink before walking away.

“What if I say no?!” You called out, making the bubblegum haired boy to slowly turn around to face you.

“I won’t take ‘no’ as an answer, because I know you want me just as much as I want you.” He said plainly, before finally exiting the room.

You huffed with no particular emotion, because you were basically feeling every single emotion at once.

“So that’s what it’s like to survive a tornado, huh?” You muttered, not able to tear your eyes away from the door Jaemin just seconds ago slipped past.

But he was right.

You really wanted him, too.

~~~

“Sooo, did she say yes?” Jisung cheerfully chirped, nudging Jaemin as the group of them were getting ready for the Vlive event.

“I’ll tell you that after this weekend.” Jaemin chuckled weakly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

He put on one hell of an act for you, praying to the heavens that it worked. While he did it to rile you up, it was partially fueled by a hidden fuel that he never knew he had.

Jaemin sighed tiredly, using the thought of you to keep him awake for the Vlive event.

“I always knew you liked her, Hyung!”

“I-”

Jaemin gave up his useless protests.

It was just fact at this point... 

Jaemin was one hell of a sucker for you, and he knew that wouldn’t be changing any time soon.

[voidstilesplease]

in another life

part two

Stiles assures Theo answers for all of their questions -god knows they have so many- tomorrow. Theo's reluctant at first, doesn't intend to let go of Stiles's words hanging in between them: "You think she's alive?" Eventually, Theo nods, finding something in Stiles's eyes and placing his trust in him. An odd feeling of protectiveness settles in Stiles's stomach at the vulnerability that Theo freely displays - in the past, he used to act guarded like everyone was out to get him. Granted, Theo had conned most of them before with charm and fake tears, and it's not above him to try it again if Theo could gain something worthy from it. But Stiles doesn't feel the usual tingle in his bones when he meets some shady criminal mastermind. His instincts have gotten him this far, so he gives it credit.

Stiles sighs. Innocent until proven guilty. He hopes Deaton has answers that expose the truth.

In the meantime, they have saddled him with more responsibility: bringing Theo home with him. Theo refuses to be stuck with either Liam or Mason any longer, it is unwise to put Theo alone with Melissa, and stupid to leave him unattended. So Stiles is the only viable choice. Plus, Theo thinks they're together. It only makes sense. Maybe.

It probably won't to his dad initially, but hey, after a while of normalcy, even he will acknowledge the need for something to go down - even dressed as Theo Raeken.

•••

They're in Stiles's Jeep, driving home to the Stilinski's, and it is a little disconcerting how Theo seems to be accustomed to his car. Theo had seen and been in the Jeep before, but this is different. He's too comfortable in the cramped space, even knows how to operate Stiles's defective radio. And the way he leans against the seat on the passenger's side and knows where to keep the screwdriver Stiles uses to manipulate the ignition is boggling his head worse than the snow outside.

Stiles draws in a breath, glancing sideways to his quiet company. "So, um, Deaton," he says, "we're going to Dr. Deaton tomorrow."

Theo turns to him, frowning. "What kind of doctor? Are you taking me to a shrink? Babe, I'm not crazy. What happened is freaky, but you have to believe me."

Okay, the babe thing, they're going to have to iron that wrinkle as soon as possible. Not even Lydia called him babe when they dated, and certainly not Malia. It's a cosmic joke that the once bane of his existence gets to call him that first. "No, he's not a shrink," Stiles promises him. "He's a veterinarian. But he knows about these things."

Theo arches a brow, "He knows about teleportation?"

"Telepor-" Stiles creases his forehead, jerking his head to Theo. The latter is expectant when he looks back. Stiles blinks, disbelieving and a little horrified. There's also a small bubble of hysteria beginning to form in his stomach. Somehow, this takes the cake in the weirdness of the situation. Because, of course, Theo also doesn't remember he's a chimera, does he? Blowing a heavy breath, he turns back to the road. He rubs the side of his temple, where it's starting to hurt, and purses his lips. "Yeah, sure. Teleportation."

Silence hangs in between them for a moment, Stiles sighing when he takes the last turn to his street. He can feel the burn of Theo's stare at the side of his face.

"You really don't remember we're together?" Theo sounds genuinely small when he speaks. "Then why are you here, if not to take me home? The two -Liam and Mason- are accusing me of having amnesia. But it's you who can't remember."

Stiles opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say. He knows that if he tells Theo that he remembers an illusory life, it's only going to invite more questions Stiles has no answers yet. In honesty, he's still reeling until now, and he's too tired to consider diving into research mode immediately, much less form a cohesive plan other than to bring Theo to Deaton first. And the best thing for them both to do before then is rest. They can't do that if Stiles stays up all night convincing Theo that they're not even friends, that he was a lying, conniving chimera asshole that tried to break his pack once, before turning a new leaf and helping them, and then disappearing on them like a bubble one day. Oh, and yeah, that it's so twisted for him to think his sister was alive when he had allowed her to die when he was nine.

No. Rest, Deaton, and then fuck up some shit - Stiles is doing this in that order.

"Hm," is what he ends up saying. Stiles pulls in the driveway, noting the blue truck already parked there. He's relieved to find a change of topic. He clears his throat, pointing at the vehicle. "That's your truck. Corey, Mason's boyfriend, drove it here."

Theo doesn't look away from him for the entire minute it takes Stiles to turn the engine off and gather his belongings. When he looks at Theo, that's only when the other man lowers his head and breathes. Theo nods and gets out of the car, moving towards the truck. Stiles silently prays for more strength if this is how awkward it is going to be for the whole evening until the morning.

Theo is studying his blue truck, eyeing it with trepidation. Stiles slings his messenger bag and stands beside him. Theo turns to him, shaking his head. "This isn't my car."

Stiles moves to the bed of Theo's pickup. "It is," he tells Theo. 

Stiles is, unfortunately, familiar enough with this car, and not with pleasant memories. Stiles lifts the haphazardly strewn cloth covering most of the space of the truck bed and makes a noise of disgust with what he finds underneath. It was definitely tidier before.

Theo also peeks under the cloth and pulls his face in a similar reaction. An alarming amount of empty plastic noodle cups and take-out boxes litter the covered area. "It can't be mine because I'm not crazy for instant ramen."

Stiles drops the cloth and walks to the driver's seat. He cups his hands on either side of his eyes and looks inside through the window. He finds a folded blanket at the backseat and a pink sweater on top of the pile of clothes. The chimera wore the hell out of those, Stiles remembers grudgingly. Transferring his scrutiny on the passenger side, he sees empty water bottles and coke cans, and old receipts. What the hell has Theo been up to that he can't even throw his trash out or attempt to be less sloppy?

One thing is sure, though. The car is where Theo lives; the pizza in the backseat looks stale but not molded. He faces Theo and gives him a grim nod, "Let's discuss the condition of your car and your unhealthy lifestyle tomorrow, yeah?"

Theo huffs, wanting to protest and eyeing his car in disgust, but shrugs in agreement.

•••

His father is working the night shift, so explaining Theo is a problem for future Stiles, which makes him sag in relief under the hot spray of his shower. When he's finished, he changes into clean sweatpants and an old Christmas ugly sweater and goes back to his room.

Theo is already sitting on his temporary bed on the floor. Stiles refuses to make him sleep on the couch where the kitchen and knives are near. At least, inside his room, he can fight him should Theo attempt anything at all. Stiles has gotten better at hand-to-hand combat since the FBI, and also a very light sleeper and sometimes prone to insomnia, especially on stressful occasions like this. Any minor shuffling from Theo will alert him. Not that he thinks Theo will do anything. His impulses tell him that Theo's memory dilemma is not made-up, and he's truthful this time, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

Theo looks up when he enters, offering a small smile. Stiles's eyes catch sight of the outline of a necklace hidden underneath the collar of Theo's borrowed shirt. Stiles's clothes look a bit tight on him but otherwise, more comfortable than the dirty jeans he was wearing earlier. 

"It's so weird to see your old bed," Theo says, looking at the said bed. "Noah brought you a bigger one so that we can share when we visit. I wonder what happened to it?"

Stiles drops onto his bed with a small bounce. He didn't expect that. "Oh, um,"

Theo meets his eyes, "And Roscoe," a shadow crosses his face. "You took down all of the polaroid pictures we put of us. You even replaced the screwdriver that I gave you with an old one."

He sounds so betrayed that Stiles is stunned by what he's hearing. What startles him most, though, is: "You know my Jeep's name?"

At this question, Theo looks downright affronted. But Stiles has every reason to be surprised. His mom, his dad, and Scott are the only people apart from him who knows his Jeep's name -not another soul. Not even Lydia.

"Of course, I know your Jeep's name," Theo responds with a deepening scowl. "We've been together for four years, Stiles."

Stiles raises a hand to halt Theo as his cogs turn in his head. A swell of panic takes root in him. This memory thing is more serious than he initially thought. Theo's not only hallucinating a different life but he also somehow knows things he shouldn't. The screwdriver compartment, his broken radio, his Jeep's name -what else does he know that he isn't supposed to?

"Okay," Stiles finally says, lowering his hand and barrier from Theo, who's still glowering. It seems he has lost his patience with Stiles, as well. If this continues, Stiles might snap, too. So he says as appeasing as he could. "Let's say that whatever happened to you affected our memories of each other. But we'll go to Dr. Deaton for answers tomorrow, and then we can go back to our normal lives. Yes? Do you trust me?"

As soon as he says it, Stiles wants to take it back. It seems like a strange concept to ask Theo, of all people, to trust Stiles after everything. As crazy as Stiles actually trusting Theo. But here they are.

Theo doesn't reply for a long time, but he looks pensive and considering as he glares. In the end, he huffs in surrender, shoulders drooping in defeat. For the first time, the bags under his eyes become more prominent in his features. He looks so weary, hurt, and confused. Stiles is well acquainted with that look. It's the look of someone who hasn't been sleeping well. With the state of Theo's truck, Stiles has no problem picturing the man twist-and-turning to find a good position and not finding any.

Theo dips his head, replying with a rough voice, "Yeah. I trust you."

Before Stiles can say any more, Theo gives him his back and reclines on his mattress. He pulls the covers on himself, like a shield, and mumbles good night to Stiles.

Sighing, Stiles turns the desk lamp off and lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling for who knows how long. After a while, he exhales and rubs the bridge of his nose. His body is exhausted, and so is his mind, but they're not shutting off like they're supposed to. He almost wishes he is back in his dorm room in Virginia, staying up to piece the puzzles of a case. He has dealt with mundane human crises for so long that coaxing the supernatural mojo back appears to be an impossibly draining affair.

When he glances back at Theo on the floor, he pauses as he notices it. There's a blank inked mark on Theo's nape: a tattoo that Stiles knows for sure he didn't have the last time they saw each other. He turns to his side to look closely at it.

The tattoo is of a circle interlaced with three interconnected ovals. It reminds him closely of Derek's triskelion tattoo. But unlike Derek's, Theo's mark gives him an ominous feeling.

Because Stiles is sure, it isn't an optical illusion when it glowed in the darkness of his room for a second.

~•~

[hecticcheer]

Abyss of Possibilities (T/M/A fic)

Finished the platonic Jon&Daisy sickfic thing!! This was based on an emeto prompt,* but I’m posting it here instead of on shiftytracts because. Frankly it comes out a lot better when considered as h/c or whump than as emeto/kink fic. As usual w/ me, I set out to write the latter and instead got? 4.6k of Daisy character study whose external plot happens to be that Jon throws up? Ft. also a little Melanie&Helen friendship. It’s not bad as a story though so I’m posting it anyway.

--

Basira was out on another mysterious errand, which Daisy figured put her and Jon in about the same wretched position. Scratching and baying at the doors of their owners’ empty houses. Commiserating with him seemed a better use of her time. What was more, Jon had spent all day wobbly and coughing—fingertips leaving trails of slime on everything he touched like a snail—and she still couldn’t stand to see that in a person she’d made one of her own. (Monster she’d made one of her own. Whichever.) So after one of his more pathetic fits of coughing she’d decided to make them both tea. It started out as an excuse to leave the room; in fact she’d told him she’d had to pee. But when she’d come to the fork in the hallway her legs had taken her several steps past the turning for the bathroom before she’d noticed her mistake, and, yeah, well. Steps were a limited resource these days. So she’d talked herself into going to the break room for tea instead, and figured if she made Jon some too then.

Well—it was just?—she felt like a hypocrite, alright. She’d told Jon in the coffin that she didn’t want to hobble around like wounded prey any more than she wanted to become a hunter again, but, since he’d pulled her out she’d pretty clearly picked the prey side? Complete with literal hobbling, especially those first few weeks. And he was good to her about it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to despise weak people anymore. It troubled her to know that was her—that she’d still felt it in the coffin where her thoughts were all her own.

Daisy managed to stay upright unsupported while the kettle boiled—hadn’t even had to take a break to sit before turning it on. But while waiting for their teas to steep she leant her palms on the low, cool countertop, even though shifting her weight to them at once made her upper arms ache a little. The muscles of her calves dully throbbed, and her ankles itched. She swore she could feel them swelling. Could picture the mottled pattern of orange and purple her legs must be turning, like the wallpaper at one of those cafés that haven’t been redone since before she was born. They’d told her at PT that the muscle atrophy would take a long time to repair, but that these other issues should go away on their own after a few weeks. It had seemed to improve, at first. Getting worse again now though.

When she got back to his office she found Jon frozen halfway through peeling himself back off his desk, elbows wobbling, like an old dog on a slippery floor. Must’ve Seen her coming back, she figured. He did a little smile, but that didn’t last long. “Here,” she informed him, setting the worse of two novelty mugs in front of him. “Tea.”

“Oh!” Jon’s eyes went wide; he didn’t smile again, but looked almost frightened. Like she’d opened an abyss of possibilities. The mug said #1 Pervert, with the 1 wearing an evil smile and a trench coat held wide open. This seemed to faze Jon not at all.

“It’s just tea. No need to look like that.”

“R-right. Thanks?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Now drink up, it’ll help with your.”

“Oh,” Jon said again. “Yes.”

He picked up the mug, looked inside, then set it back down without drinking any. Daisy got halfway through a sigh before worrying this counted as despising him, then made herself laugh instead and pat the back of his hand: “That’s the spirit.” Jon flinched, but seemed to want to own that no more than she wanted to own her sigh. He closed his eyes, and his hand relaxed under hers. Breath seemed to whistle and crunch on its way out his nose.

“You ill?”

“Wha—?”

“I said are you ill.”

Another half second of smile. “Maybe.”

“Hm. Good sign, right?” Jon blinked at her. “A point in the still-human column.”

“R…ight,” he said. The way his eyes changed made her suspect he had more to say on that, but for once in his life Jon seemed not to feel like talking.

“Take a break. Archers’ll be on soon.”

Usually when she mentioned The Archers Jon would do a whole big dramatic show of disgust, a long sigh or a snarl or a choking noise or at least an eye-roll. He exhaled, now, but shortly; it flared his nostrils a little, but that seemed all the drama he could muster. “Thought you heard it last night.”

“You didn’t, though,” Daisy grinned. “Get confused if you don’t keep up.”

They’d had this conversation before; he knew his next line. But his voice caught on something about three words in: “You seemed to”—swallow; another deep, crunchy exhale—“you seemed to do alright after eight months under a rock.”

“You’ll have unanswered questions. Can’t compel the radio.”

Another swallow, then a throat clearing. “Fine.”

Daisy stood and waded toward the couch in the opposite corner of his office, where he’d slept since he woke up after the Unknowing. By the time she took her seat and looked back, Jon had stood from his desk chair but not yet moved. Just stood there with his hands on the chair’s back, staring off into nothing. Typical. But she knew he did no better than her with standing still for long periods, lately. She thumped on the arm of the couch to snap him out of his trance. “Come here, Jon.” It worked; he blinked to life, gave her a disorganized smile, and slunk over to join her. When he sat his legs shook the whole couch. He sat down at the far end, as often, but, no more unusually, when she scooted closer so their legs and shoulders touched he leant his head toward hers til his hair crunched against the outside of her ear. Daisy patted his leg with one hand, and reached for his clock radio with the other. (This was one of few non-clothing items he’d bothered to replace when he lost his flat. Apparently its alarm made the only noise he trusted himself to take seriously as a wake-up call; every other one he had tried he would sleep through, either accidentally or out of spite.) She set it on her knee so she could monitor the time, but kept the radio muted for now. Only 1:43.

By 1:49 she noticed Jon starting to nod off; by 1:54 his chin seemed stuck to his chest for good. At 2:02 she turned up the volume dial on his radio, and, sure enough, heard the Archers theme song. Considered just turning it up loud enough to wake Jon, but figured he’d be certain to sleep through that out of spite. So she shook him by the shoulder instead. “Oi! Ceaseless watcher!”

“Mmmnnnwha? Oh,” Jon said, straightening. Then he bent forward to cough again. Daisy channeled her urge to snarl into a laugh, telling herself she felt sorry rather than annoyed.

His cough seemed stuck, just like it had all day but more so. It was almost all voice—none of that other, less personal noise a satisfying cough makes. She wondered if he was trying to keep quiet for her benefit. “Come on, let it out,” she told him, thumping the back of his shoulder—and he did.

Almost as soon as she touched him, he made another noise more like—well, more like the sounds they’d both made underground. Or like when she’d cut him, back before.

Anyway, and then a splash. And then a stench. Daisy yelped and flung her legs out of the way; the radio went silent as the clock’s plug flew out of the wall.

“Oh shit!”

Between dry heaves and gasps for breath Jon croaked, “Not technically.”

She barked a laugh—through her mouth, not her nose—but held back the impulse to elbow him. Learnt that lesson, thanks. Just kept her hand on his shoulder instead, fanning her fingers back and forth in a semi-circle like windshield wipers. Meanwhile she surveyed the damage he’d made. The clock itself seemed miraculously unharmed, dangling by its cord between her knees. Only a little of the cord had fallen into the puddle—unfortunately including the plug. That’d be a bitch to clean up. Should she try to get the smell out or just buy him a new one, she wondered.

Her shoes had fared pretty well, too. Only one fat droplet on the right one’s toe, where it’d come off easy. His might be ruined though—and the socks. Poor bastard picked a hell of a day for white socks. The trousers might survive; vomit washed out easier than blood.

Beside her, Jon seemed to have quit dry heaving. Now he just panted, and said, “Ugh.”

“Done?”

“Think so,” he said in his hoarsest voice; “sorry.”

He set his palm down on the arm of the couch, apparently plotting how to stand without slipping in puke. Daisy moved her hand from his shoulder inward, to the place where his neckbones turned into backbones, and pressed him gently downward. “Never mind; I’ll clean it up. You stay here.”

Jon said nothing, but didn’t move either. Not even a flinch. Daisy slid to the end of the couch farthest from him and his puddle, stood, and crept past it on the balls of her feet, careful to avoid all the puddle’s little splattery fingers.

This was the first Archives mess Daisy’d ever volunteered to clean; only after she’d closed the door of Jon’s office behind her did she realize she should’ve asked him where they kept the mops and buckets. Probably outside the Archives proper, near the boiler and all that crap. Her stomach dropped—settling halfway down her legs, like all her innards did these days when she stood up. Melanie’s desk was empty, but Daisy shouted for her just in case.

The first door Daisy encountered whose destination she didn’t already know led to… a long corridor full of more doors. “Hi, Helen. Melanie in here with you?”

Melanie emerged, not from any of the doors Daisy could see, but from what looked to Daisy like the blank wall in between them. Just the perspective, part of Daisy’s mind rushed in to inform her. She closed her eyes so she could roll them at this part unseen.

“Daisy, hi,” said Melanie. “What’re you doing here, I didn’t think….”

“I invited her in.” Daisy heard the words a full second before she saw Helen emerge from a picture frame in the corridor’s opposite wall. “She was looking for an unfamiliar door. It seemed only polite to offer one of mine.” Helen said this with her head cocked to one side, coiled hands facing the other. Her left elbow disappeared into the wall.

Daisy made herself look into a framed mirror on the opposite wall instead of at Helen herself. Except the mirror didn’t show Daisy or Melanie or Helen—just the floor and other wall of this same corridor. Except also that in what passed here for real life the wall was a dark, 70s yellow, while, in the mirror or picture or whatever, it was more like highlighter yellow. What she saw in the frame still moved like a reflection though, not like a painting.

It was hard for Daisy, still, to be around… beings like the Distortion. Monsters used to be so simple. See someone glitching through the wall? Great; that means they need to die. Not like she’d never cooperated with an enemy before, just. Helen maybe wasn’t an enemy? And Jon was the only non-enemy monster she knew how to interact with. Jon was one of hers, now; he was a friend, the opposite of an enemy. But Helen, God, who knew. Stranded in the middle somewhere. Around Helen Daisy felt like the last person standing in musical chairs.

She shifted on her feet; her ankles still itched, but her toes had gone numb and cold. “I was looking for a mop,” she corrected.

When she looked back over at Melanie and Helen she found them sat on an invisible bench. She glanced back at the mirror. A wooden bench with green velour cushions. Made sense enough. Melanie still had her cane, after Jon and Basira’s whole surgery debacle; she wouldn’t come in here so often if it had nowhere to sit. If Daisy squatted down would another bench appear beneath her?

“Oh,” said Melanie; “yeah, there should be one in the broom cupboard. You remember how to get to Artefact Storage, right?” Daisy nodded. “Well it’s the last door on the left before you get there.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“No problem. What do you need the mop for?—is it—do you need some help?”

Daisy said, too quickly, “No I’ve got it.” Then worried Melanie might think she was hiding something of hers or Jon’s more sinister than dignity. She let out a long breath through her nose, lifted her foot and pointed at the circle of puke on her shoe. “Nothing big. Jon just threw up all over his office.”

“Statements gone moldy?” asked Helen, in that voice of hers like a doorbell.

“Oh, god, yeah—did he finally find that Corruption statement covered in actual mold?”

“Thought Martin burned that one?”

Melanie sighed. “No. Said he didn’t want to stink up Jon’s office.”

“Yeah, well,” Daisy scoffed.

“Probably just didn’t want to burn any that weren’t already on tape,” muttered Melanie. “Got him to burn the first one I ever recorded, though. That one about the stupid blanket.” She scuffed the carpet with her foot, crossed her arms, and leant the back of her head against the wall. “So. What’s wrong with Jon this time.”

“Don’t know,” said Daisy, shrugging; “think he’s just ill.”

“Huh. Wait—human ill or monster ill?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

“It can be hard to tell,” allowed Helen. “They look remarkably similar. The first time Michael lost his lunch after he became me he thought his sick would have comic-book stink lines curling up off it. Terrible disappointment.”

Don’t ask what “lunch” means, Daisy told herself, scratching lightly at the pad of her thumb with her middle fingernail. Not your business, not anymore.

Meanwhile Melanie cackled and stamped her foot. “What about Helen?”

“She hoped she could click our fingers and make it disappear.”

Now Daisy smiled too. “Have to try that with Jon’s.”

(“Or turn to gold,” mused Helen, chin resting in the palm of a hand so long she could still click its fingers without their nails poking her face.)

“So you’re cleaning it up for him?”

“Apparently.”

“Typical,” growled Melanie; Daisy could see another I-hate-the-Archives rant on the horizon.

“I chose to do it; it’s not like he made me.”

“That’s what people always say about him!” Melanie squawked, her fingers curled like claws. Her voice had begun to climb not only in volume, but pitch too, the way it did when she hoped to pass off real anger as jokey anger. “He’s a grown man—why can’t he keep his messes to himself?”

“Yeah, well, he’s cleaned up enough of mine,” shrugged Daisy. “You all have,” she added, remembering her first week out of the coffin, when Melanie and Basira had had to follow her and Jon around the Archives with brooms. Every morning Basira had shaken her cot and pillow cases and sleeping bags over a bin to tease out clods of dirt. And Daisy herself had never even learnt where the broom cupboard was. “I don’t mind returning the favor.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Melanie pleaded. “You’re talking about the coffin, right? But it’s his fault you got trapped in there in the first place!”

Daisy had no reply to this; she remembered asking herself whose fault it was she had died (as she’d thought of it then), while trapped in the Buried, but couldn’t remember what conclusion she had come to. Since she’d got out she’d rather enjoyed not having to think about it. Maybe she could put questions of blame off to one side, in the Hunt pile, and focus her energy on the Daisy pile.

“Last door on the left before you hit Artefact Storage, right?”

“Yup!” she heard Helen chime on her way out.

Of course, the second she stepped out of the corridors she thought of a good comeback: Guess he did clean that one up then.

To revenge herself for that detour she let herself sit on Melanie’s desk a minute before continuing. Good thing, too: carrying even a dry mop and bucket back to Jon’s office took more out of her than she’d remembered to anticipate. When already dizzy and aching she found the smell of his puke overwhelming. If he notices, blame it on the Hunt, she told herself. It took constant effort to remember to breathe through her mouth rather than just holding it.

Jon looked up when she came in, and smiled a glum thank you, but then returned to the position he must have taken up while she was out: head on his knees, arms crossed between torso and legs. So when she’d mopped up everywhere else, she had to tell him, “Shoes.”

He lifted his head and looked up at her through the gap between curtains of hair. “Wh…what do you want me to do with them.”

She pointed upward; his brows crumpled.

“Lift them up so I can clean around them, Jon.”

“Oh.”

Jon looked slowly down at his feet, bared his teeth in disgust. Then he sat up enough to free one arm, whose hand he planted beside him on the couch. Gingerly lifted the opposite foot. Daisy nodded; he was doing his best, she told herself. “Thanks,” she said aloud. He nodded back, but did not smile or speak. His mouth remained a washed-out line of effort.

Daisy’s mop slurped up the part of the mess Jon’s foot had blocked off; then she used it to dab at the sole of his shoe itself. “Put it back down now and I’ll get the top.” He yelped when the mop wet his sock. Daisy tried not to smile. “That feel weird? Sorry. Just figured those socks were done for anyway.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just. Unpleasant,” he concluded, beginning his final sentence at the same time Daisy started her own.

She said, “I’ll help you off with them when I’m done here.”

“I can get it,” Jon said, but did not move.

This time Daisy did smile, before she could think better of it. “Other foot?”

“Right.”

After finishing with that shoe, Daisy told Jon to hang his feet off the arm of the couch while she corralled as much as she could of this vaguely puke-flavored water off the floor and back into the bucket. She expected him to stretch the rest of himself out on the couch, but instead he bent double—as before, but with one side leant against the couch’s back cushion. Chin on bent forearms on bent knees on arm of couch.

“Do you think it’s safe to clean the plug off with the mop?”

His head snapped around to face her. “What?”

Daisy sighed, trying to rearrange her shapeless panting mouth into a smile. “The plug at the end of the cord—not the one in the wall.”

“Oh. Maybe? It’s not plugged in, right.”

“‘Course not.”

“Then I don’t think you’ll be electrocuted.”

“But do you think it’ll ruin the clock?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Can’t you ask the Eye or something?”

Jon shook his head, which he then set in his hand as though to keep it out of danger. “Maybe it’s like a phone.”

“Come again?”

“Like when you drop your phone in the toilet.”

“Yeah? What happens then.”

“You leave it in rice for 48 hours.”

“In rice?”

“Dry rice. Uncooked rice.”

Again she sighed. “Right.”

“Wait, no”—his eyes went wide—“the rice thing is a myth.”

“What?”

“Silica packets might work though.”

“What are those.”

“Like you get with a new pair of shoes.”

“Huh.”

“They say ‘Do Not Eat’ on them. Usually in inverted commas, for some reason.”

“Oh. Yeah. What happens if you do eat those?”

“No idea. They’re a drying agent, so, they dehydrate you I guess?”

“To death?”

“Possibly.”

“Weird.”

“Nope—scratch that. Turns out they’re just a choking hazard.”

“Oh.”

“A-and we can’t digest them, so if you eat a lot of them they could cause intestinal blockage.”

“Bleugh,” pronounced Daisy.

“Oh, and. Sorry we missed The Archers, by the way.”

“It’s fine, Jon. I heard it last night. I’ll catch you up on it later.”

There was his usual snarl. When Daisy looked smilingly up at him, though, meaning to add, Feeling better, are we? she saw him flinch like he’d been nodding off to sleep again. “So should I mop off the plug or not?”

“Oh. Yeah, seems worth a try.”

By the time Daisy got the floor as un-wet and -soapy as she knew how, she figured neither one of them had the energy to deal with Jon’s shoes. Nor had she the strength to drag the bucket away just yet. Instead she nudged it toward Jon, in case he had to puke again. Then she sat down next to him, so the side of her bum touched the back of his—though from this angle that was a lot less cushy. Mostly tailbone, in fact.

To free her feet from the suffocating heat that made them itch and buzz Daisy yanked off her own shoes (the right one now sick-free but soggy), without untying them, and plopped them down on the couch’s unused other arm. Rested the back of her head on the back of the couch, and closed her eyes. Her whole body throbbed and itched instead of sweating. It was new; maybe a coffin thing, maybe a Hunt-withdrawal thing. Probably the latter. (Oh—I have that too, Jon had said once, when she’d had to explain why her face and hands were red.) Never thought she’d miss feeling slimy.

When she found the strength to speak again she asked, “You comfortable like that?”

“Er,” said Jon. Then, after a pause, in a hoarser voice, “My legs are asleep.”

Daisy smiled, and then, when she remembered he wouldn’t see that, huffed a single syllable of laughter. “No wonder, smooshed up like that. Stretch out, if you like; you won’t be in my way.”

He complied at once, but said, “But then your legs will fall asleep.”

“Probably. I’ll let you know.”

He laid down across her now, or at least his torso did. His head spilled off one side of her lap, legs off the other. Daisy helped him shove the couch’s one throw pillow (now the one he slept with, when he slept) under his head.

“You don’t find this—claustrophobic?” Jon asked, after going to all the trouble to get himself comfortable.

“No.” Daisy blinked, trying not to show how much questions like this irritated her. She wouldn’t break like a china doll if you touched her, Basira. Human weight wasn’t like the Buried. Humans were warm and squishy, and they smelled like life; even vomit smelled better than grave dirt. But at least Basira had a good excuse not to understand that? Coming from Jon it didn’t make any sense. When he’d reached her down there, the first thing he did was take her hand and squeeze. She didn’t know if he’d done that to reassure her or himself or both, but—it shouldn’t matter, right? If he’d known to do that then, why didn’t he know now?

At last she went on, “You said it’s called Too Close I Cannot Breathe. Don’t breathe through my legs, do I?”

“N—?—no. No, I guess not.”

He closed his eyes. Daisy could feel his flesh deflate and ooze outward as the muscles relaxed. This felt like a lot, coming from someone she’d first known as a paranoid little freak. How could he trust her so much, when—? It made her smile, even though she knew only Elias would see. Could muscle atrophy make it hurt to smile?

“Hey Jon?” she waited for his answering Hm. “What’s with the #1 Pervert mug?”

“Oh. Er—Tim.”

“Uh huh…?”

“There was, uh—a statement? Wh-when we first came to the Archives, we looked into a statement given by a man who found a Leitner in a charity shop.”

“Aaand you sent Tim to check out the shop’s records.”

Jon nodded, to the extent that was possible in his position, but his Yeah came out inaudible. “Martin had recently broke one of the mugs that came with—that Gertrude and her assistants left. So, Tim, in a, uh, perhaps a slight overreaction, bought every novelty mug in the establishment.”

“Every mug? I only saw six in there.”

“Or so he told me.”

“Doubt it. That collection looks curated. I didn’t see a single teddy bear, or. Souvenir from a breast-cancer walk.”

“I didn’t press him on it.”

“Right,” Daisy scoffed.

“Sasha used”—a trumpetty nose-laugh interrupted Jon’s sentence—“Sasha used to joke they should be in Artefact Storage.”

“Well she’d know best. Didn’t you say she used to work there?”

“Yes!” Jon squeaked, in a delighted whisper-shout. One hand covered his face; the other fist shook in the air. “She had literal horror stories about that place. The way she talked about those mugs was like—hearing a nun say there should be a circle in hell for people who order the wrong kind of donuts.”

When they’d both quit laughing Daisy said, “You sound like you’re starting to feel better.” She poked him in the stomach, though so lightly for fear he’d throw up on her that she doubted he could even feel it through his cardigan and shirt. “Gonna puke again, you think?”

Jon breathed out through his nose and looked at the ceiling. Apparently she had poked him hard enough to tickle: he batted her hand away like a fly, then left his own where hers had been. “Probably not. Don’t think so. Not sure how much I have left to.”

“Yeah.” After a pause to put the words in a convincing order, Daisy said, “Surprised you had that much—I’ve barely seen you eat today. How long were you feeling sick?”

Guilty smile. “Sorry, Daisy, I uh. Thought I had it under control.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Oh. Uh… few hours, maybe?”

“Why’ve you been coughing and sniffing all day then. Thought you had a cold at first.”

“Yeah—so did I, til.”

“Huh.”

Jon propped the back of his head on his folded elbows. “Maybe it’s a monster thing,” he said, with the cynical sigh of someone pretending to be okay with this.

“Could be,” Daisy agreed. She could feel his eyes on her, but looked at the opposite wall instead of answering his gaze. Meanwhile she patted his knee. When he’d been quiet long enough she was sure he didn’t mean to say more about the monster thing, Daisy said, “Let’s get you out of those wet shoes.”

--

*Whose OP I can’t find, though I know I’ve seen it before, but. It’s the prompt referenced here:

person has been involuntarily letting out nauseously [sic] coughs intermittently all day, and their friend thinks they just have a cold or something, but surprise! they are about to puke everywhere

ETA 6/16 fixed a few Americanisms, whoops! If I’ve missed any more of those please point them out to me

[satashiiwrites]

And the return of Snippet instead of six sentences Sunday! Gallito wanted to be written about finally. 

From: An Andromeda Tale, ch 59, Reyes

Warnings: first draft. Gallito being adorable. Reyes’ willpower will not survive the cuteness. 

“I should get ready to leave for Elaaden.”

Keema hummed. “Not without rest you are not.  I will have the others prep a ship.  I am not letting you go alone and your turians are not yet ready to accompany you. Besides,” a sly look crossed her face, “someone has been missing you here.”

Puzzled, Reyes tilted his head. “What?  Who?”

She tapped one long finger against her chin as her smile took on a wicked edge. “What did you call him hm?  Sishi spoke of him as our mascot but said that you’d actually given him a name….”

The uneasy feeling in his gut worsened.  He’d forgotten about his impulsive actions.  Keema probably hadn’t appreciated having Gallito dumped into her possession. “The eiroch?”

“Yes. Gallito.”  Keema pinched two of her fingers and gave a high pitched whistle that made Reyes slap his hands over his ears as it echoed badly in the room and his ears hurt from the shrillness.

There was a beat of silence and he tentatively took his hands off his ears. 

From seemingly far away there was a cheerful barking noise that, while similar, wasn’t a dog’s bark. This was followed by the sound of four pounding paws on stone at a gallop that rapidly got louder and was accompanied by more of the familiar whistling barks. 

Gallito was a blur of blue as he cannonballed into the room straight into Reyes’ legs and would have knocked him over if it hadn’t been for the workbench at his back which he caught with one hand to steady himself. The excited eiroch kit was trying to climb his now bruised legs, the baby claws catching in each little crevice in his armor but unable to gain purchase to climb.  A long crimson tongue lolled out of his sharp face but there was minimal drool as the young eiroch barked happily at Reyes. 

“He’s missed you so much,” Keema deadpanned, her expression still flaring every suspicious red alarm in Reyes brain as she continued. “He only slept once we made a nest for him.”

Knowing that resisting what Keema wanted was likely futile, Reyes gave in and asked the obvious question she wanted him to. “What kind of nest?”

Keema’s smile was pure malevolent amusement and Reyes’ stomach curled in his belly. “Why he just needed to have your scent with him.  It quieted him right down.”

Suspicion blooming, he again found himself again playing along. “And how did you accomplish that?”

“Why by using your spare laundry that you’ve left here.  It carries enough of your scent that the poor pup curled up in the nest we made of them and drifted right off.  At this age most eiroch pups need about twelve to fourteen hours of sleep a day even if they are quite energetic otherwise.

Wincing, Reyes wondered if he had any clothing left or not.  Gallito cut these thoughts short by giving a pleading bark which directed his attention back down to the eiroch kit.  The big crimson and ocher swirled eyes were worse than a puppy’s and the little noises coming from the back of the kit’s throat were heartbreaking. All he wanted was a bit of attention…

Reyes was kneeling and gathering the eiroch cub into his arms before he could think about it. Giving a happy little growl, Gallito proceeded to headbutt him directly in the sternum which made his breathing whoosh out and he staggered again into the bench that cut deeply into his hip.  He was going to have a bruise there to match the one on his shins from Gallito’s entrance. 

[ofieugogyshz]

Fic;; Memories: Riolu II

Word Count: 1500

Warnings: None

Summary: Another call done, and another moment spent being assessed by your newborn Riolu.

Takes place sometime after this fic. | Which is preceded by this fic.

(Series Masterpost)

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

Lance and I had talked for a long time. I listened as he shared some updates about his job, his training, the clan, and I shared with him updates from my journey. My heart would lurch in my throat at times when I looked at him. And I'm sure he knew it, too, because my emotions could be read like an open book. But whenever he got me talking about something that happened over here, I would forget about my feelings for just a moment, caught up in whatever the topic had come to. The only thing I didn't share with him was updates about the Riolu that my friend, Blaze, had gifted me. Lance had remembered however, and asked me about it.

I had it sitting behind the chair, but it poked its head up every so often to see who I was talking to. When the phone call ended, I hung up the receiver, letting out a huge exhale.

<<Your heart went really fast! You were really nervous, when this conversation started. But now you're fine. Why is that?>>

At least, that's what I think it wanted to say. It was hard, sometimes, to communicate with it through our bond. It was only a few months old, and still learning how to read me.

The inquisitive stare it gave me was more than enough to set my cheeks flushed.

"A-ah, that's-- that's because--!"

<<He is my namesake, right? Daddy's trainer said he was naming me after an awesome person that you loved!>>

I felt my face burn so hot, it must've been red like a Charmeleon. My voice cracked, nearly shrill from the embarrassment.

"Th-that's!!! It-- I-- He--- Oh, it's not any of your business, Riolu!!"

<<I thought I was named Lance.>>

I felt like crying. This was going to be so embarrassing and difficult to explain.

"Y-y-you a-are, b-b-b-but--! I, uh…" I couldn't help but fumble around with words, embarrassed and ashamed at myself for being unable to say the Riolu's name, seeing as it was named after my crush. It tilted its head at me, unable to understand the mixed up emotions within me. The internal struggle. I don't blame it-- I couldn't either.

<<Did you want to rename me?>> It sounded dejected.

"Oh." That hadn't occurred to me. Officially, we couldn't overwrite the information for a Pokemon's name if it was registered to a different trainer. For some reason, the system that the PCs, Pokedexes, and Pokeballs all shared didn't support that. (Of course, that didn't stop many trainers from referring to our Pokemon however we saw fit.)

"I… Hm." I had never thought about it. I loved nicknaming Pokemon, and that was partly why my Riolu had been nicknamed at all. And I didn't want to offend my friend, who had gone through all the trouble of finding one who felt right for me.

<<You calmed down?>> Riolu tilted its head the other way now, still struggling to understand me.

"It wouldn't feel right. I'm sure Blaze meant good when he named you that, and not just as joke between friends. Your namesake is… an amazing trainer. He's very compassionate towards his Pokemon, and --basically-- a hero. He helps stop crime or other bad things from happening, and he's very sweet, and surprisingly patient, and I think he's understanding, too. He's," and I let out a short laugh. "He's been determined to help me think better of myself, too. Someone like me, who can't even…" I stopped suddenly, letting the sentence taper off. I let out a huge sigh, fighting the impulse to finish that sentence.

<<Are you dating him?>> It was a very innocent question.

"WH-WH-WHAT?!?!?!?" I screamed, earning a few rude stares from others in the Pokemon Center. I devolved into completely incoherent babble for a moment.

"I-I-I--aha...ha-- h-he-- n-n-n-no…!!---m-me?? Hahaha--" I flailed, waving my arms wildly before screaming into the palms of my hand. My face felt hotter in that moment than any fire Pokemon I had ever trained. I groaned, whimpered, whined --even a shrill, squeal-like sound--, unable to coherently give this tiny, relatively newborn Pokemon an answer.

"W-what makes you--- wh-where w-w-w-would y-you-- w-why??!?"

My brain had short-circuited, but, somehow, Riolu had sensed where I was trying to go between all the stammering and stuttering.

<<Pika told me. She said you have a crush on him. That you want to go on things called 'dates'?>> There was a pause. <<What are those?>>

I turned around to look at my Pikachu, who turned away from me, whistling.

"P-Pika….!!!" I made a fist, shaking it. Some of it in anger, more of it in flustered frustration.

<<What is dating?>>

I buried my face in my hands again, this time a muffled scream held within them.

"I-it's…." I let out an annoyed sigh. It was a struggle just to even speak the words, especially right after your own Pokemon asked you about your crush. "It's w-when y-you… y-you really like s-someone. And t-they do too. L-like you, I mean. A-and y-y-y-you… Y-you b-both…." I let out another muffled scream, this time out of frustration. "W-Why do I have t-to tell you any of this a-anyways?!?!"

Riolu sulked, flinching back a little. I immediately felt bad, sensing its recoil from the shout.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that--I mean, I don't know what I meant it like, but-- n-no no no, umm…. Pika!" I turned around to my Pikachu. She was still pretending not to be involved, flinching when I suddenly called her out. "Y-You explain it, you brought it up!!!!"

Pika let out a sigh of relief. She must've thought I was going to punish her somehow, but at the moment, I wouldn't've been able to think of anything even if I wanted to. She turned around, hopping up onto the seat, and began explaining in her own Pikachu language whatever Riolu was asking of her.

I sighed, and picked at the dead-ends in my hair. I couldn't understand the exchange, but I could sense the growing curiosity from Riolu, as well as the feeling of its curiosity being sated.

I wanted a relationship. I wasn't going to lie about that. But I messed up when I was a kid, and I'm pretty sure I had that avenue closed off because of that immaturity. I still had a crush on him, and I was lucky. He still let me talk to him. It hurt, sometimes, talking to him. I wanted to tell him again that I liked him. I really, really liked him, like a whole bunch more than back then. Now we had a good friendship. I knew more about him than when I had blindly charged ahead, led on by a silly notion of how I thought dating worked. I was scared to lose that friendship with him, if I blurted out my feelings once more. …..Hell, I'm sure it was obvious that I still liked him, no matter how hard I had tried to quelch those feelings. Except, now, instead of a forced notion of what kind of person I should like, it felt more natural. I wasn't liking him because I thought he'd make a good boyfriend. I was liking him for him. Something I was convinced no one would like me for.

We had a more natural relationship now, as friends. ...Well, as good of one as I could manage while freezing up whenever we talked, blushing madly, until I could forget for a moment during a conversation that I had a crush on him. It was hard.

"Emotions suck," I muttered.

<<I want to meet him.>> The thought came unbidden, and it took me a moment to realize that it was Riolu who thought-- well, felt-- it.

"A-ah, I-I don't think we could do something like that!!"

<<Why not?>>

Why not? Why not indeed. "B-because! H-he works! And-- And he has the league!"

<<But I want to know his feelings for you.>>

At that comment, I felt myself freeze up, like I was made of ice. I felt so cold, scared of that notion. Of finding out if the answer had changed in our few years' friendship. If it was completely hopeless. But at the same time, my face had heated up. Because what if it was changed…. What then? What do we do then?

<<Sarah?>>

I felt a gentle tugging on my hand. I looked down to see Pika and Riolu looking up at me, concerned.

"O-oh. Sorry if that alarmed you."

Riolu felt confused. It didn't know how to interpret that or my emotions.

<<You felt really scared. It looked like Thunderbolt!>> Riolu told me, waving its arms as it described the aura wave to me. I pet it gently on its head, a quietly confused noise coming from its mouth this time, rather than our bond. “Ri?”

-

"If you want to understand Riolu better, you might want to try asking the Sinnoh Champion, Cynthia, for advice. She has a Lucario."

"Y-yeah, m-maybe. I'll try that."

That was the last thing Lance and I had talked about, before we ended our call.

[op-peccatori]

Anthesis | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Hades!Victor/Persephone|Kore!Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your ambition takes you down a path few would prefer to take, to the world where the dead go to rest. But in a place where you expect to find only darkness, you’re surprised to find so much more.

A/N: Better late than never? Happy (belated) Birthday, Victor! Ily. This was supposed to be up on his birthday but, well, I had zero motivation to write at the time lmao. Please keep in mind that this is mostly inspired from alternate versions of the Hades/Persephone tale, and not the original. These are pretty much my own versions of them.

(tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, virgin mc, vaginal sex, oral sex, a sad mix of formal and informal language, no abductions here folks, I’ll edit later just take this away from me

Violets and crocuses wiggle in delight and part as the grass, eager to cushion your stride, nearly presses up against your feet. Roughened bark meets smooth skin as your hands brace against it, the tree nearly twisting around you to shelter you as you peek around it; the leaves murmur to themselves, wondering what you're up to. 

You shush the leaves and pat the tree into compliance with haste, lest they give your position away. Another glance at your target shows no change. You have to wonder—does he really not know you're spying, or are you just being ignored? Pushing the question aside, for now, you hurry along after him. Your patience and labour are rewarded when you follow him into a meadow, where his ride awaits him. 

A gilded chariot, drawn by four of the most beautifully frightening beasts you have ever seen. Helios had been right; their tales don't do them justice. The same, however, can be said for their rider, who now greets them with gentle strokes upon their heads, the menacing horses whinnying and bowing their heads, competing for just a smidge more attention. The flowers stir with curiosity and terror, knowing these beings belong to another place, one where they would struggle to survive.

"Why have you come?" 

It takes you a moment to realize he's addressing you. You've heard it a few times now, yet the deep baritone sends a thrill down your spine. He does not speak with the condescension you're subjected to so often, and neither does he attempt to seduce you into his bed. All he asks is a simple question, his back to you, his hand stilling where it was stroking. 

"I wanted to see your chariot," you answer easily, stepping forward into the clearing so the moonlight can wash over you. His hair falls down his back in a river of ebony, his statuesque form clad in intricate armour of the darkest black so unlike the ones you see on the surface. He, in all his menacing glory, is so unlike anybody you’ve ever met. 

"You've seen it." He still doesn't face you, and you're startled to realize you're clenching your fist, uncurling it and flexing it nervously. "Run along now, little goddess." 

His words are harsh in their very nature and yet you brush them off, something about his tone striking you as odd. You step closer, and though he doesn't move, he stiffens further. 

"I'm Kore." The warm breeze in the air greets you softly, rustling your hair affectionately as it passes. "But you can call me ___." 

He says nothing, turning to step onto the chariot. He doesn't look at you, but you can see a side of his face now. It grates on you, how aloof he looks. How they avoid him. How every time you ask your mother to visit his domain, you're turned down. 

"Goodbye, Hades!" you call after him, satisfaction squeezing your gut when, as his chariot descends into the chasm, he's startled into looking at you. For a long moment, it seems as if time has stopped. Eyes that seem opalescent at this distance, flecks of blue and violet in that grey grey storm locking with your own. You're overcome by the urge to follow, and you nearly do, were it not for the hyacinths twisting around your feet in their alarm. 

The moment is broken as he disappears, the earth closing back in seamlessly in the aftermath of his departure. You can't quite look away, despite knowing it's unlikely he'll be back. It'll be a while before you see him again, as he rarely leaves his domain. You know you're young, younger in comparison to these older gods but the impatience you feel still catches you off guard. You don't know how much longer you can keep playing this long game, especially now that it seems like you're the only player on the board.

"___?" Distant voices call for you, prompting a deep sigh. Your mother is probably looking for you, and even as you turn to leave, you resist the urge to glance back until you're deep within the woods once more.

There is something you want. It's terrifying and it's exhilarating—it probably won't end well. But for the first time in your life, you want something badly enough to defy all odds and your mother. It's been slow to bloom, starting off as a sapling that has now spread its branches throughout your being, spreading sheer want in their wake. All you need is a plan. And so, it is with eyes shining with hope that you rush to your mother where she reads by a fountain, taking a seat next to her.

"Mother, may I invite Helios over? It's been some time since I saw him," you ask in the politest tone in your arsenal, batting your lashes and clasping your hands together. To nobody's surprise, she agrees. 

"But you stay where I can reach you," she says sternly, cupping your cheek when you purse your lips. "We can't have anyone getting any ideas, hm?"

"Yes, mother."

Helios arrives in a golden chariot of his own, his ivory-winged horses gliding to a stop where you wait in the meadow. His windblown, flaxen hair tumbles over his shoulders, and the honest blue eyes and cheery grin are a welcome sight—beautiful, but one that doesn't quite shake you, doesn't possess you with the impulse to stumble after it.

You don't speak of it right away. Instead, you offer up sweet wine and weave flower crowns as he shares all the gossip in the realm; some are things Aphrodite really will kill him for one day. As always, one name is conspicuously missing from his lively tales of love and debauchery, and that's the one you finally bring up as you adjust the wreath over his head.

"Hades? He rarely leaves his realm, I don't think he's one to indulge himself that often. I don't know how he does it," he muses. Kiro, as you're allowed to call him, eyes you speculatively. This isn't the first time you've asked after the reticent god, and he knows you too well to think your inquiries are innocent in nature. "Oh, just tell me." 

You look around the clearing, ensuring that none of your mother's agents are around. The trees would tell you if they were, but years of dodging them have taught you better. 

"I want to visit the Underworld," you confess, unable to help the smile that steals over your mouth when his mouth drops open. This is the first time you've said it aloud, and doing so only cements the desire further. Kiro groans, half despair and half lament, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I regret this visit already."

"I know you know how to do it." You cross your arms over your chest, your chin jutting out in a way that makes him sigh.

"There's a reason why nobody goes there, you know."

"It isn't forbidden."

"Your mother will destroy us both." She will, but with any hope, you'll be far away when she figures it out.

"Kiro, please?"

"Argh, fine! There's only one way for the living to pass through safely; you'll need a gift for the ferryman."

You pester him until he tells you what might be suitable, until you're certain you have just the thing in mind, flopping onto your back once you know everything you need to. You study the vast expanse of the sky, awash in strokes of pinks and orange, wondering if you'll get to see it once your plan is in motion. 

"He really caught your eye, didn't he?" Kiro muses as he lays down beside you. "Demeter will throw a fit."

"Hm. Something like that. And mother can throw all the fits she wants to. This is a decision I've made for myself." 

"Have you ever even spoken to him?" You can't quite bring yourself to look at him, giving it away and his next words are incredulous. "You haven't! That's why you aren't going through the usual channels! I thought it was just because of Demeter—"

"It is!" you insist, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"But you don't want H-Him to know either." 

"...not right away, no," you mumble, continuing before he can panic. "Only because he wouldn't agree to let me visit!" 

Kiro can't argue with that. "I don't know what you're thinking, just—don't irk him." That's just one of the many things you shouldn't, the first step of your operation being at the very top. 

Slipping out of your mother's grasp isn't easy; her watchful gaze, as you murmur promises of being careful and wanting to visit forest nymphs, tells you she knows you aren't being entirely truthful. But you're aware that she will chalk it up to you playing your silly games. 

Oh, you are. This is a game you want to win. The stakes are just higher this time. 

Helios agrees to fly you down to the ocean, flying you across it as if he's afraid Demeter is right behind you. It feels surreal as you finally stand at the entrance to the cavern, your form shrouded by a cloak of thick velvet with the hood drawn up. You hesitate, for just a moment. You might be sent back right away. Or, if you are successful, there will be no going back from this. 

As you close your eyes, memories of your mother pass through your mind. The good and the bad, the dreaded and the cherished. It transitions into a vivid memory of a battle you hadn't witnessed in person, but one that you had watched while you had been hidden away in one of your temples, a shallow pool of water reflecting the bloody battlefield so far away. 

It hadn't been the first time you had seen him, but it had stayed with you until the next time you saw him leaving Olympus. You had seen him obliterate the thieves attempting to steal away the souls in his custody with nary a blink, the cold fury in his eyes belying his smooth countenance. You had been thoughtful as you watched his chariot ascend from the gape of the earth, watched him greet the sable-black horses with a muted affection at complete odds with the ruthlessness he had displayed just minutes prior.

In that conflicting visage, you saw an opportunity. 

And so, you step through the threshold, your golden gift in hand. 

You weren't expecting it to be a pleasant journey, but the wailing and complaining souls you walk in line with are still unnerving. The silent ones even more so. They look human, just a little more opaque, almost glowing in the gloomy caves. They don't seem to realize you walk with them, which is admittedly a relief. You feel uneasy at the lack of life here, and not for the first time during your walk, you wonder if you can really do this.

There will be steep consequences, the world will change, you will change. You walk, and walk, and walk, and just as you begin to feel the frustration, you see it: the long stretch of water beyond the white sand you step onto, aglow with wisps of green light swimming beneath the surface. And on the boat that glides along the surface, coming to a halt as it reaches the shore, stands the ferryman.  You have to wait as the ones ahead of you climb onto the boat before you're face to face with him. Not an inch of him is visible, the cloak doing an excellent job to conceal whatever hides behind it. Still, you can feel him peer down at you. 

You brace yourself before slipping the hood back, inclining your head as you greet him. "Charon, I presume?" 

"You...are not supposed to be here." His voice seems to echo through the cavern, soft yet scattered as if it comes from all around you. 

"No, I'm not," you concede, before offering up the golden branch you had fashioned with painstaking care. "I did bring a gift." 

You can feel him studying you as if you are the strangest passenger he's come across before he holds out his hand for the bough. "I'll accept it. Welcome aboard, young goddess." 

"I didn't think you would let me pass so easily." You climb onto the boat, taking the seat right behind Charon. 

"As long as you do not cause trouble, young goddess, I don't see why I should not."  

The boat starts to move, needing no rowers, leaving behind the souls who will have to wait their turn. You're so preoccupied with examining the luminous water that it takes you a moment to realize Charon is looking at you. 

"Are you?" You blink. "Are you here to cause trouble?"

"I'm not here to cause trouble," you answer, your slight smile giving you away. 

"And yet, I do not think He will see it that way." He seems amused despite his words, and you're distracted from answering as you exit the cave, your gaze captured by the scenery. 

The air isn't stale. There are no skulls lining the shores. The river isn't filled with the blood of the dead, instead, it seems to be so pure it's glowing. You wonder why people are so fond of spreading false accounts of their experiences in the underworld. The sky, as you observe when you tilt your head back, is a blend of greys and purples with no sign of sunlight. You refrain from squirming in discomfort—you'll just have to get used to it, trade your bright skies for vaguely ominous ones. 

The shores on either side of the river are barren of anything but sand, and on one side you see a wall of obsidian rock that stretches along the shore as far as the eye can see. 

"How do I get to Hades' palace?" you ask in slight dismay, not fond of the thought of getting lost in this strange new realm.

"The boat will stop at the entrance to the realm," he murmurs. "From there, someone will come to get you." 

"Who?" 

"Someone from the palace, I suppose." He doesn't seem to be inclined to give you more answers, and you ease away with a quiet sigh, knowing he's done more than enough. 

True to his word, Charon's boat stops in front of what looks to be the only entrance to the realm. There are two enormous gates on either side of the opening in the wall, also carved with obsidian, unembellished but for the symbols etched into the surface. A closer look shows them to be sceptres, the symbol of the ruler of this realm.

You look back at Charon with a faint smile. "Thank you." 

"You need not thank me for doing my duty, young goddess." As the boat starts back down the river, his echoing laugh sends a frisson of unease through you. "I wish you luck." 

The 'you'll need it' goes unsaid but you hear it clearly enough. Well, you will need luck when the god finds out you're here, but hopefully, it'll be a while before that happens. 

A few steps towards the gates let you know you will need luck for a lot more. 

There is no sense of alarm from the souls who continue to pass through the gates as if they don't feel the way the air grows heavy. You feel the hot, panting breath at the back of your head first, followed by a low growl. Every inch of your being tenses in place and the first thought in your head is-

'I don't have power here.'

You turn around on wobbly legs, biting back a whimper when you see him. A massive beast you had only heard rumours of, rumours you really should have given more thought because now there are three heads growling at you.

"Oh, h-hello," you croak out. The heads tilt in unsettling unison, sniffing at you in confusion. "You must be Cerberus." 

He's nearly as big as the towering gates, with a glossy black coat and eyes that possess a red sheen. One of the heads, the one on the right, whines low in his throat and is immediately snapped at by the one on the left. Their teeth look to be nearly as big as your forearm, and you curse yourself for not bringing extra gifts. You hadn't thought to prepare too much for the trip, as you aren't a demigod on a quest. 

If you want to stay in this place, it would be wise to forge friendships with its residents.

"I'm Kore," you offer when they continue to stare at you as if unable to figure out what to make of you. And then, the head on the right seems to win out as he darts forward, butting your shoulder gently as your shriek dies in your throat. You can tell he had tried to be gentle, and still, it sends you sprawling on the sand. 

You all stare at each other in surprise. The startled looks on their faces drain them of any menace they had previously displayed; it makes you clutch your abdomen as you burst out laughing. The headbutting head whines slightly, taking a hesitant step forward, sniffing frantically as if to make sure you're in one piece. 

The hand you place on his snout is gentle, your touch soothing as you coo at him, reassuring the oddly concerned looking dog. You're still giggling as the heads tilt in confusion, still unsure, and nearly miss the sound of horses whinnying from a distance. Nearly, for it's impossible to miss the thundering of hooves as they reach the ground, and your heart rattles in its cage as Cerberus sits back on his haunches, his tail curling and wagging with delight. 

And why shouldn't it, when his master has come to greet them?

"Well, I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself." The icy words reach you before you've mustered the courage to look back at the chariot and its terrifying rider. Your fingers dig into the sand as you scramble to get ahold of the fortitude that had brought you here.

"Oh," is all you can say when you do turn around, for you're not expecting the casual attire. The armour is nowhere in sight, his body clad in flowing robes of red and gold, a sash tying them in place. His hair is free from its usual half-updo, flowing freely over his shoulders and back. 

You can't quite bring yourself to say another word, let alone give him the explanation you know he's waiting for. He raises a brow at you before scoffing, jumping off the small platform and striding towards you. Cerberus intercepts him before he can reach you, bounding forward to greet him with low whines escaping all three heads. He doesn't let Hades pass until every head has received an acceptable amount of head pats, giving you a moment to collect yourself. 

"Someone will come to get you," you repeat in a low mutter, fists clenching. "Charon, you evil, evil being."

"What was that?" A shadow falls over you, and you squint up at the god standing over you. Without the armour, however, he doesn't look as threatening as usual, though you won't be the one one to tell him that. You smile up at him brightly. 

"Nothing! Hello. Thank you for coming to get me," you say as if you hadn't sneaked into the realm and broken a few different rules. He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, before exhaling forcefully and holding his hand out. You can't deny the tremble in your chest when you take it, his hand pleasantly warm to the touch as he pulls you up. 

"Come, little goddess." Your fingers tighten around his hand and he drops yours as if it were dripping with the venom of a Hydra, turning on his heel and stalking back to his chariot, clearly expecting you to follow. 

You do so quietly, waving at the horses as they eye you, flexing your hand in an attempt to suppress the strange tingling. It doesn't work, and you try not to sigh as you climb onto the chariot next to him. You're here on a mission, and the warmth spreading over your cheeks is not helping in any way.

You're further embarrassed by the startled yelp that escapes you when the chariot takes off without warning, but it's forgotten when you feel a hand settle over the top of your head, pulling you closer to the body it's attached to until you're close enough to feel it's warmth. His warmth. 

"Try not to fall off," he chides, before seeming to realize that his hand is still on your head and pulling it away to rest it on the railing. The air whipping through your hair feels blessedly cool on your heated skin, and you focus on looking around instead. You pass by what looks to be a pavilion, wondering if it is what you think it is but not having the courage to ask when he's clearly irritated. All you can do is sneak glances. His hair whips around him, brushing against yours and you avert your eyes as he turns to glance at you in question.

Any excuse you might have come up with fades away when his palace looms into view. Sitting upon an island in the middle of a lake, the walls of obsidian stone matching the wall seem to give off their own strange glow. A cobblestone bridge connects the island to the rest of the land, a spiked portcullis standing in the way of whoever dares to visit. The four towers to each corner stand proud and high enough that you worry about running into them. 

The chariot circles the tower closest to you, flying lower with each lap until you arrive in a courtyard, stopping before the stables. A nervous-looking man in golden robes seems to have been waiting there, bowing as you both climb out of the chariot. 

"My Lord." He looks at you almost suspiciously. "Lady Kore."

"Hello." Hades steps into your path before you can continue. Why is it that you're unable to finish your sentences around this man?

"I will open the entrance to the surface, I think you've had enough adventures for this decade." 

Your what echoes, confusing you until you realise it had come from the other man.

"I did not come here to just leave," you argue hotly, squaring your shoulders when he glowers down at you. "This is not some silly adventure." 

"Oh? What would you call it?"

"I came here to ask you a few questions." And a few other things, but he doesn't need to know that just yet. "Surely you can grant me that much." You cross your arms, refusing to break eye contact until he grunts and looks at the...attendant?

"Prepare the guest wing for the lady." He turns back to you just as you open your mouth. "I have things to attend to, so I'm afraid your questions will have to wait. I assume you know the rule?" 

"The rule?" you repeat, trading glances with the other man, who nods in encouragement. "Yes?" You don't have a clue. 

He seems aware of that, leaning in until his hair falls forward in a silken curtain and your entire view is filled with thick lashes and stormy eyes. 

"Don't..." You're aware that you're staring at his mouth, but seem to have lost control over where your eyes stray. "...eat anything. Unless you want to be stuck here forever." 

"O-oh." You feel uncomfortably warm again, unable to meet the wicked glint of his eyes when he pulls back. "Yes, I knew that!" 

"Wonderful. We shouldn't have any problems then. Enjoy your stay, little goddess," he calls over his shoulder as he begins to walk away. "It'll be a short one."

And then there were two—left staring after the man who disappears behind a corner.

The attendant turns to you. "I'll show you to the guest wing, My Lady." 

"Thank you..." 

"Oh! My apologies," he leads you to what looks like a side entrance to the building. "You may call me Goldman." 

"Thank you, Goldman," you say warmly. 

As you step through the door, it begins to sink in. You're really here. You're doing this. How successfully, that has yet to be seen. But you have hope. 

"Please don't mention this to My Lord but," he leans in almost conspiratorially, his hair seeming to fluff up in his cheer. " I'm personally very glad to see you here."

"You are?" It certainly hadn't seemed that way earlier. 

"Yes, My Lord rarely gets visits from the Others. And if you're here for the reason I think you are," he grins at you. "Then I'm doubly glad!" 

You both come to a halt, just before stepping through the archway that leads to a long flight of stairs. The interior of the building is vastly different from its outward appearance, with its marble floors and gilded walls.

"How could you possibly know what I'm here for?" 

"My Lady, I make it my business to know as much as I can about My Lord's everyday affairs," he gestures for you to continue. "You must know. All of us here—we're rooting for you!"

Oh. 

"Yes, well," you laugh nervously, guilt trickling through your insides. "Thank you. I'll...I shall try my best."

The guest wing you're taken to looks completely out of place for something built in Hades' realm. The bedroom itself looks like one you would have designed yourself, with its sheer white curtains and plush rugs. Set in the middle of the room, the bed itself is orbicular with a sheer curtain enclosing it almost completely, with a parting in the middle to allow easy access. The walls here are white marble with speckles of gold, with a massive armoire resting against the one in the back of the room. 

Behind the bed is a shallow pool with steps built into the sides, but what surprises you the most is the tree that seems to be curling in towards the room through the balcony that has no doors, just wide arches. There is limited flora in this realm and you had already made your peace with it, but as you press your hand against the oddly smooth bark of the tree and feel it vibrate with delight, something tense unwinds in your chest.

"I'll let Him know you like it," Goldman calls from where he stands at the threshold, hands clasped in front of him. 

"It's lovely." You take a quick peek out the balcony, which shows you a lovely view of the glowing lake.

"Yes, well," he hesitates, shaking his head. "Ah, I shouldn't...I'll send someone in to attend to you." 

He hurries away before you can press for answers, leaving you to climb into bed with a huff. Your cloak is unfastened and thrown to the side, freeing your unruly tresses and limbs. Resting on your stomach, you feel silly as the loneliness creeps in. You miss your mother and the Naiads; you had, all your life up till now, been surrounded by the Nymphs' giggles and it pains you to think that you might never hear it again. 

But your melancholy is weak when faced with your ambition. If things go your way, this will be your new home and it is with that thought in mind that your eyes flutter shut as sleep crawls over you.

A glance at the mirror shows you, clad in a forest green dress that wraps around your body, and your hair braided back with golden twine. You leave your room with your attendants' instructions, heading straight for the throne room where Hades should be. They're pleasant enough creatures, but your heart still aches with longing. Kiki and Willow must be worried out of their minds; you had told no one of your plans, with only Helios aware of your whereabouts. 

Your path takes you along another winding bridge, chandeliers with softly glowing orbs lining the ceiling and the familiar green wisps darting beneath the lake. The sky above seems almost agitated, clouds of grey and violet swirling around each other restlessly. 

Strange though it may be, the Underworld is beautiful in its own way. How could it not be, when its ruler is the same?

He stands there now, peering down into the lake as if it holds answers to any questions he may have. You know the moment he registers your presence, his shoulders turning as if to leave before he aborts the movement and faces you. 

You should be afraid, you think, standing as you are across the bridge from one of the most feared gods in all the realms. And yet, your feet move on their own as if they can't help it, taking you to him. Your heart throbs with anticipation as you draw closer. He smells like smoke laced with magic, that drugs you with every breath you take, and you think you're a fool for being so relaxed in his presence. 

And yet he's the one looking at you so warily, as if you're the one to fear?

"Hades," you greet him evenly, watching curiously as his eyes dart down to your flowing dress before meeting your gaze. 

"Kore." 

"I told you, you can call me ___," you mutter. "I was told you have no other matters to attend to at the moment?"

"Hm." 

There’s no point in beating around the bush, it would only give him more chances to escape. 

"Lovely. So," you clasp your hands behind you, tilting your head to the side. You feel your hardened resolve waver when he only watches you carefully. "Why did you reject me?"

He seems to be at a loss for words, so you continue. 

"You thought I didn't know," you state, stepping closer to him. It annoys you that you have to look up at him, but a deeper part of you enjoys it, more so when he begins to look wary. "Oh, I know. About your proposal. Zeus agreed—and then you turned it down. Why?" 

He stares at you. "You came to ask me this?" 

"I did." 

"Wh-why?" He seems genuinely baffled, blinking when you narrow your eyes at him. "It doesn't matter-"

"Of course it matters!" you snap. He steps back as you step forward, and it continues step for step until his back is pressed to the wall beside the arch. It feels a bit silly, but you reach your hand out to rest it on the wall just over his shoulder, to make sure he can't slip away. "Am I that undesirable in your eyes?" 

The words burn in your chest but oddly enough, he seems to relax at that, his mouth twitching into a tiny smile. You're quite offended by how pretty it makes him look. "Kore, that's not the case at all. You're beautiful-"

"Do not patronize me."

"I'm not-"

"I could not care less how beautiful you think I am." You stand, face to face, and you know your face is flushed with the force of your anger in that deeply unattractive way your mother hates. "All I want to know is why you changed your mind after approaching Zeus yourself." 

"It...does not matter," he finally says after a long moment spent blinking rapidly in the face of your frustration. 

"I just told you it does," you growl, and you're unsure what he sees in your face, but it makes him twitch.

"You...aren't fit for the role. I think I hear Thanatos calling for me..." 

He slips from your grasp easily, feeble as it is all of a sudden. His words echo within your thoughts, a numbness spreading through you as you try to gather yourself. 

Not fit to—what, be queen? Be his wife?

You sigh, a faint ache in your jaw from how hard you had been grinding your teeth, and rest your hands on the railing. Are you supposed to go home now?

'No.'

After all, Hades was very clear in declaring you unfit to be his wife. There's nothing more to do. You got your answers. 

'It's not enough.'

"Answers aren't all I want, after all," you murmur, reaching out a hand, smiling as a glowing orb floated up from the water to flutter around your palm. "I'll just have to show him." 

Hades wouldn't have spent all those months watching you in the meadow if he thought you to be so unsuitable. He wouldn't have kicked up such a fuss after catching wind of Ares' proposal, although he would be pissed if he found out Zeus had told you about that too. No, you won't let him escape so easily. 

You came here to be Queen, and it wouldn't do to let the King slip from your fingers with a few thoughtless words, would it?  

Your resolve remains strong, and you have another plan. Now if only he would stop avoiding you. 

If nothing else, you can at least say that you can have the almighty ruler of the Underworld running in the other direction with just a word, as he's been doing for a few days. It had been exceedingly amusing at first, watching him try to make it look as if he isn't running from you, but now your frustration mounts. Yesterday, you had followed him to the courtyard only for him to quite literally melt into the shadows. It's infuriating and you're done with this chase.

Now, you lurk in the shadows of his throne room, watching him attend to his duties. He's a stern one, this god you're trying to lockdown. Not one to be swayed easily.  You're content to wait, determination tight in your throat, as you watch the last of the Judges leave. 

Hades leans back in his throne of ebony, his shoulders relaxing from their stiff posture. You move when his eyes slide shut, creeping towards him and drawing Goldman's surprised gaze to you.

You hold up a finger to your lips, indicating for him to keep quiet until you reach the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne. Goldman hesitates before nodding, hurrying down the steps and ushering the two armoured guards at the doors from the room. 

Hades, who now watches you from his throne, says nothing as you come to a halt before him, close enough to touch. 

He does nothing as you step closer, between his spread knees to take a seat on one of them. His hands, resting on the arms of the throne, clench around the metal. 

"Not running away this time?" 

"You would just hunt me down again," he mutters, still watching you as you lean closer. "One could think you're Artemis in disguise."

"Invoking another goddess' name while I sit on your lap? You're quite shameless."

"And you're astonishingly persistent."

"I can be when it comes to what’s mine," you counter coolly, fighting a smirk when you catch the slight flush spreading high on his cheeks. 

"You go too far, Kore." The slight tremble in his tone belies his harsh words. He's not wrong, but he also hasn't pushed you off his lap yet. 

"You've left me no choice, Hades." You lean in, smiling faintly. He turns his head away, but two fingers under his chin tilt it back towards you. For a moment, you say nothing. You can't because his mask is slipping, it's apparent in the agitation in his eyes and the skies beyond the windows. "They say you're elusive, but there's only so much a girl can take."

The tip of your nose brushes his and it has you swallowing, has his lips parting, the feel of your breath mingling with his dizzying and terrifying. 

"I'll be good to you. Let me show you," you whisper, pressing your lips to his cheek. A shuddering, almost pained breath leaves him.

"You don't know what you're doing." It's a rumble in his chest, a half-hearted attempt to warn you but you've come too far to quit now. Your lips carve a soft path to his ear, kissing the lobe lightly. 

"Tell me you don't want me," you murmur, tracing the shell of his ear with your tongue.

He says nothing, but it's clear in the way his muscles strain, in his eyes that speak of yearning and desire.

Just one move and you'll have him. 

But he's temptation given form, and you're shaken by how violently your heart thunders in your chest. This will change the game, for better or for worse, you know it in your bones. If you give yourself to him, he will never let you go. Your tongue sweeps across your full lips, his eyes focusing on it and for the shortest of seconds, your lips meet the corner of his mouth. And then you dart away—or at least you try to, were it not for the hand sliding into your hair and bringing you back to him. Your breath stutters at the fierce look in his eyes, at the sudden unyielding grip he has on your hair and your heart.

"You should finish what games you start, little goddess." His voice is somehow fuller, his eyes dancing with sheer want and it scares you how much you want it but—it's that word, the 'little' that sparks your stubborn desire and has your eyes sliding shut as you press your mouth to his. For a moment, there's a buzzing sound in the back of your head and then, it feels like you've been struck by lightning. As if you've jumped into the deepest fires of Tartarus, and somewhere in the back of your thoughts, you realize you're in trouble.

But then he tilts his head and moves his lips and you have nothing to spare for anyone or anything except for him. A moan comes to life and dies within your throat when his other arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer. The next is stolen by him when you're pressed into him, melting into the chiselled planes of his torso. 

You can't think. 

His hands rove over your body, drawing you closer until your parted knees rest on the throne, on either side of his hips. You're not sure how long you sit there, kissing deeper and deeper and wanting more. Your heart feels full and you can't believe you finally have this, have him and then his hips press up into yours. A hot jolt in your belly has desire dripping through you as you feel him, firm against your centre, and then you realise your dress has ridden up almost to your waist.

'Oh.'

You're both dazed as you pull away, unable to form a thought let alone words. But this feeling, this contentment, you don't want to give it up. His flushed ears, his warm breath, his burning gaze. You want to capture it all and hoard it forever. The flashing skies break you out of the moment.

"I think we both have things to think through," you half-slur, flushing in embarrassment as you clamber off his lap, righting the hem of your dress. You nearly give in when he reaches for you, the lost look on his face tugging at your heartstrings but you force yourself to turn away and sprint down the stairs. 

This was the plan. Leave him wanting more, and he'll come after you. But this desire you feel, this need to go back, to curl around him and spent an eternity there—this wasn't part of the plan.  

'But this is a good thing.'

It could be. You came here to be more. Because you had deemed Hades to be the perfect one to marry, to escape your mundane life and reach for more than you were given, more than you were expected to be. Here, you could spread your wings.

But you hadn't expected to feel this deeply. 

When did it even begin, you wonder? Was it when you first saw him in battle? Had it all already been set in motion when you had so very conveniently positioned yourself close to his preferred spot of opening a portal to his realm? When you had heard the first whispers of him watching you plucking flowers? 

You had been content to let him observe you, listening to the trees giggle at his attempt at stealth. You had no idea what was so interesting about watching you frolic about the meadow, giggling with the Naiads, but it had worked to your advantage. That had been clear when Zeus spoke to you of his interest. 

But then he withdrew the offer, snatched away your chance and you were forced to take matters into your own hands. 

You reach your room with haste, rushing to your balcony to collapse beside the railing closest to the tree, clutching your chest. The branches above shiver and reach down to you. Your heart longs powerfully, it aches with it, and it's so sweet it's foolish. You're a fool. All the other gods and mortals, they're all fools. 

Hiding away in the Underworld is, not only the deadliest but perhaps the fairest god of them all. 

This time, you're the one avoiding him. 

It grates at you, this cowardice, but your heart flutters at just the thought of facing him and it makes you nervous. You're emotionally compromised. You want him, more than you've ever wanted anyone. 

It's when the palace is still, when the skies are darker, that you sneak out to the stables. His chariot rests in the back, but you're distracted by the scarlet eyes watching you from different stalls. They're quiet when you come closer, reaching into the one on right, stroking its soft forehead gently as he neighs. 

"Nyctaeus is more tolerant than the others." You nearly jump in fright as He materializes from the shadows, smiling slightly as the steed, who you now know to be Nyctaeus, neighs softly. 

His hand joins yours in stroking his head and you wish he would do that to you too. 

'I wonder if Cerebrus would consent to eat me?'

"They're good companions, especially when you can't sleep. Alastor," he points at the one on the far left, "can be quite chatty. Orphnaeus is a bit more reserved. Aethon...he may kick you if you try to make conversation." 

This might be the longest you've heard him talk in one conversation. You glance at him; he's dressed in a robe similar to yours, muted red where yours is olive green. His hair seems a bit dishevelled, as if he had run a hand through it one too many times. 

"I would love to get to know them better," you smile when Nyctaeus butts his muzzle into your palm. You watch from the corner of your eye as Hades pauses, then hesitates. 

"Kore." You turn to face him and he offers you his arm. "Walk with me?"

You walk for some time before the silence is broken, coming up to the bridge where you had cornered him and he'd run from you for the first time. The chandeliers are inactive, the lake providing enough light as it isn't quite dark here. 

"The other day..."

"I regret nothing," you cut in before he can take that route. He huffs out a low laugh, pulling you to where it's brightest.

"No, I suppose you don't." The green light from the lake reflects onto his features, illuminating them with an eerie glow. "And neither do I."

'Perfect,' you think, but there is only anticipation where there should be more triumph. 

"So..." He sighs, and something within you squeezes painfully. 

"Kore," he begins, tugging you closer when you turn away. "I didn't withdraw the proposal because I don't desire you. If it isn't clear already, it's very much the opposite."

You look up at him as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling ruefully. "But?"

"But I think you would be wasted here. Spring has no place in this realm of mine." There is a flicker of something in his eyes as he says those words. It hurts him, and hurts you too. And more than that, it offends you.

"Don't you think that should be my decision?" Your breath grows heavy, anger and longing warring within you at how sad he looks in the dim glow. 

"I think you deserve better," he argues, rather weakly in your opinion. He looks pitiful, the look out of place on this dark king and you hate it. He looks pained yet he can't seem to look away from you, and you can't turn your eyes away now that you've seen him. You've had a glimpse of his heart and you want it.

You simply kiss him. 

You do feel triumph now—in how helplessly he kisses you back, in the low groan he lets out, and in how naturally his arms find their place around you. 

"Hades," you begin, pulling away and bracing a hand against his chest when he follows. "I know I made it seem that away, but I don't actually have time."

"What do you mean?" The husky timbre of his voice makes you shiver. 

"I mean, I have until my mother finds out I've run away and sends someone after me," you admit sheepishly. His eyes widen before squeezing shut. 

"Demeter doesn't know you're here."

"She might now. But no, I didn't tell her anything." He glances around as if expecting your mother to come raging out of the lake. 

"Kore..." he sighs.

"She would never have agreed!" 

"Well, you clearly have a plan. What do you want to do?" 

You shrug. "Marry you."

"Kore!" 

"I'm serious. That was my plan."

"So am I. A wedding for those of our standing," he begins, pulling you into his arms. "It must take place before the Pantheon for it to be valid in their eyes." 

"I don't care about what they think," you mumble into his chest, feeling it shake as he chuckles. 

"I more than agree with that but," his lips brush your hair, "I would like for your mother and anyone else you love to be there."

You take a moment to think, before scraping the marriage plan—for now. Another idea sparks, one that you'd considered and abandoned before kissing him that day.

"A lovely thought," you purr, standing up on the tips of your toes to brush your lips along his sculpted jawline. His fingers dig into the sides of your waist. "Then we need to leave them no other choice but to give us their blessings." 

"And how do we go about that?"

Your tongue flicks against his lower lips and he opens his mouth instantly; you've kissed others before, but never has it been this addictive.

"First," your teeth graze his lip, "we go to my room." 

His hands find the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up with ease. Your surroundings blur with his speed, as he sinks into the shadows that form a blanket around you. It's a second of complete darkness and then you're in your room.

Now that he isn't using it to escape you, it really does seem like a handy trick.

"And then?" He lets you slip off, watching with glittering eyes as you start walking back to where your bed is. 

"And then," your nimble fingers find the knot of your dress, easing it open and unwrapping the cloth swiftly. "you make me yours." 

You laugh loudly at how wide his eyes get before he's on you and you're on the bed. He kisses you desperately as if he's afraid you'll be torn from his grasp, and you pull him closer until the soft material of his robes meets your bare skin. 

Rough fingertips slide down the gentle slope of your neck, reverent in their touch, brushing over a hardening nipple, sliding over your soft abdomen, dipping into the mess of curls below but not reaching for what lies beyond. 

"You're so beautiful, ___." His lips are fervent on your skin. "Thank you."

You laugh helplessly, shifting into a moan when he takes a nipple into his mouth. "Thank you?" 

Your back arches when he sucks, until he pulls back to smile down at you. The sight alone is enough to stun you, and the slight dimple in one cheek ensures further silence on your part.

"Yes," he leans in to kiss you but doesn't elaborate. You reach for the sash of his robes, tugging it off impatiently. You regret it the moment you succeed and the part of his robe allows you a closer look at what lies beneath. His torso looks as if it could have been sculpted by Hephaestus himself, and his cock—the sight of it flushed and erect has your mouth dry. 

"Oh," you say, and your face could've been on fire with how hot it feels.

"You seem nervous, little goddess," he says lightly, but the darkening of his eyes displays his lethal desire. "With how boldly you climbed onto my lap that day, I almost thought you were going to have me right there." 

"Ah, well," you avert your eyes, unable to escape his teasing gaze, "I actually...I've never..."

You miss the way his eyes soften at your trembling words, blinking when you feel his lips on your forehead. 

"I know. They do call you the Maiden, after all." 

At this, you glare at him. "Well, then, My Lord—I trust you to change that tonight." 

He grins as if he thinks you adorable, prompting you to push him until you switch positions. You climb onto him with flushed cheeks, sliding your hands down his chest until they splay dangerously low on his abdomen. His smile is fainter, edged with a warning, his hair fanned out over the sheets. You simply smile as you wrap your hands around his cock, squeezing it curiously. 

"K-Kore," he groans. "Please be careful with that." He helps you adjust your grip on the base of his shaft, guiding you to pump it slowly. 

"I told you, call me ___," you insist, watching with fascination as the tip of his cock starts to glisten temptingly. "Everybody else calls me Kore." 

"Right," he croaks, bucking his hips when you finally give in to the urge to lick at the slit of his cock. "By Tartarus. You wicked little thing. Ah, then, you m-may call me Victor." 

"Victor?" you ask, tongue stilling where it was sliding along his length. He smirks down at you. 

"I certainly feel like one." His ensuing chuckle is cut off when you take him into your mouth, trying to remember what the Naiads had mentioned about pleasuring your lovers. "D-don't push yourself." 

You hollow your cheeks in response, taking him deeper until your mouth feels uncomfortably full. You begin to bob your head slowly, unsure until you hear him groan and begin moving more confidently. 

It's when your tongue begins to slide in unison with your mouth and your hand inches towards his ballsack that you feel him tug at your hair, not easing his grip until you've let his cock slip out of your mouth with a whine. He curses again, sitting up and pulling you to him, tasting himself on your tongue. His robe slips off completely and you're quick to take advantage of it, stroking over his flexing muscles avidly.

You tense when you feel his warm palm on your inner thigh, as if your body is waiting for something but you don't know what, not until you feel him touch your sex. His fingers slide along your slit and you gasp into his mouth, fingers clenching around his shoulders as he touches you gently, stoking the flame you hadn't realised was there, preoccupied as you were with his bare skin.

"You're so wet for me," he murmurs, pleased. He slides a finger in, hissing when your walls squeeze him tight. "Oh, ___." 

You've only ever indulged yourself a few times, mostly out of curiosity and restlessness, but here as you sit in the arms of the man you've claimed as yours, it feels completely different. His fingers are longer, thicker, and it seems so deliciously erotic; he swallows your moans, kisses your cheeks, whispers his encouragement as your hips begin to move, grinding into his hand. He makes you come on his fingers, holding you as you tremble and cling to him. 

He lays you down, kissing your forehead, the lids of your eyes, your nose, your cheeks. He lingers on your lips before his mouth glides along your neck, stopping to suck softly on your breasts. His lips on your abdomen feel ticklish, making you giggle until you feel his breath on your quivering cunt. He parts your legs, and his ravenous gaze makes you throb harder. 

"Vic-Victor-"

Any capacity to speak coherently is lost with the first lick along your slit, before his tongue pushes through and you're left writhing on the bed. He sucks and laps at you, his iron grip around your thighs thwarting your attempts at squirming away. His lips close around your nub and you keen, begging for respite or for more, you don't even know yourself. 

He does pull away, crawling over to kiss your hair and murmur soothing praises as you kiss his jaw and widen your legs in a silent invitation. Ha-Victor looks at you when he brushes the head of his cock against you, not looking away even as he begins to push in. The air feels charged with magic, you feel it in little sparks against your skin. Your head falls to the mattress, eyes rolling back as he pulls back to slide in further with shallow thrusts, overwhelmed by how full it feels. 

"You're going to be the death of me," he chokes out, feeling your walls fluttering around him. Locking eyes with him has been an intense experience every single time but now, with him throbbing within you, it feels almost painfully intimate.  

"G-Good thing you won't be going anywhere," you manage to quip, smiling even as he draws you into a kiss and begins to thrust. He sets a smooth pace, allowing you to try and keep up as your hips begin to undulate. It's with measured thrusts and clever fingers that you come again, with fervid kisses on your skin that soften with every breath you take. He empties himself within you, murmuring incoherent praises into the side of your throat as he shakes.  

He takes you into his arms, a hand caressing the length of your back, and a memory springs up; once, one of the visiting nymphs had claimed to have bedded Hades. She had scoffed and declared him to be a cold lover, that living in the Underworld for so long must've drained him of all passion. You had suspected it even then, but now you know she had been lying. 

Your soft snickers draw his attention away from your shoulders, where he had been planting soft kisses.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," you say breezily, rolling over to grin at him. "Just congratulating myself on a job well-done." 

"As you should," he agrees. "But I don't see how this stops Demeter from taking you away." 

You stare at him. He hasn't realized it, has he?"

"That was just for us." You sit up, opening your arms when he shifts to rest his head on your stomach. "Now...I'm hungry."

He freezes, nearly flinging himself back with how quickly he rises. "___." 

"You can't tell me you hadn't considered it." You raise a brow at how his eyes fall with shame.

"I...did. It would've done the job. But at the time it would've been against your wishes," he admits, tucking your head under his chin as you wrap your arms around him. 

"And now it won't be." 

"___." He places his hands on your shoulders, looking at you gravely. "This will bind you to the Underworld. To me."

Your only response is to roll your eyes and kiss him. 

The conversation derails very quickly from there and time blurs as you lose yourselves in each other. It's when you sit on the edge of the pool, leaning back on your arms with your legs spread wide as Victor fucks you with his tongue, that a strange ringing sound reaches your ears. Victor growls and continues until you're a mewling mess on unsteady limbs that he pulls into the water.

"Hermes is here," he informs you, his arms tight around as you both realize your time is up. You kiss him, hard and fast, pulling him up the steps before your common sense takes leave once more. 

"We have to do it now," you insist, shaking your head when he opens his mouth. "I'm sure. I want you. I will have no one else as my husband."

He blushes, clearing his throat and nodding. "I feel the same. I...I want you as my wife. And my queen." 

You stand there like a pair of fools, smiling at each other until there's another insistent ring. Victor holds his hand out, and you stare at it in confusion until a pomegranate appears from thin air. 

"Right, we must consider your other duties as well," he mutters to himself, seemingly agonizing over it until he digs out six seeds. 

“...Yes, we must.” 

"Six seeds for six months?" he asks quietly. 

"That should do it." A shame that you can't stay by his side, but you must think of your mother and the people too. You did consider just having someone replace you but it's not that easy, and it would be too selfish of you. "You can come to visit while I'm there."

"I will," he promises, holding up the first seed to your mouth. He feeds you each seed individually, waiting patiently as you chew. You look down at yourself and then around. 

"I don't feel any changes." He laughs and laces his fingers through yours. 

"I do. They'll have no choice but to let you come now," he whispers into your hair. "Hermes will probably take you to Olympus." 

"I'll see you there, then." You can't help the mischievous smirk that curls along your mouth. "We do have a wedding to plan." 

Victor groans and pushes you onto the bed. 

It's with a cheerful grin and a skip in your step that you materialize out of the shadows to meet Hermes in the throne room. The Messenger looks confused by your enthusiastic greeting, which contrasts greatly with Victor's brooding pout.

"Hades. Kore. I believe you know why I'm here," he states, peering at you through his helmet when you just nod. "Kore, I'm to take you to Olympus. Your parents are waiting." 

Hermes nearly chokes when you turn to Victor, waiting until he lowers his head so you can plant a noisy kiss on his cheek. 

"I'll see you soon, darling."

"I'll be there,” he vows.

You take the hand offered by an incredulous Hermes, looking back at Victor as a golden ring surrounds you and your escort.

"___?" 

Your heart aches already, your lip quivering at the miserable look in his eyes. There’s an awful feeling burning in your chest and you think you’re starting to understand all those songs about longing for your lover.

"Yes?" your voice cracks pitifully, and he cracks the softest smile at that, watching you leave him so tenderly it may just break you. All you want to do is hold him and tell him every silly thought you’ve ever had, to dig deeper and listen to anything he wants to tell you. You manage a wobbly smile for him.

"I love you."

Your eyes widen, heart skipping as you open your mouth—and then he vanishes from sight. You materialize in a secluded garden within Olympus, Hermes staring at you in shocked silence as you try to compose yourself. It feels as if you’ve left your heart behind, and you hadn’t known love could ever be so bittersweet. 

"Well, now I almost want to take you back," he mutters as your eyes begin to burn. "Come, your parents await you. I suspect you have a lot to tell them."

Hermes is right. The sooner you inform them of your decision, the sooner you'll see Victor again. You've fallen in love with the King of the Underworld, with all his jagged edges and dimpled smiles—and there is no force in all of the realms that will stop you from making him yours.