#me: riddle's nose is important to me (draws him without a nose)

[egophiliac]

i love your riddle design so much, he's so pointy and british. so gracious. do you think he would enjoy a brazilian goiabada

thank you! ❤️🖤❤️ it's just. important to me on a level I can't explain that Riddle have an extremely pointy nose that he can stick into everyone else's business.

also goiabada is sweet and fruity and red, I think he would like it very much indeed!

not me stealth-editing because I forgot his antenna whoops

[meowriddler]

Baker reader x Edward headcanons

A/n: here is some random headcanons I wrote.

Warning: I didn’t proofread this 👍😃 and it’s my first time writing headcanons ( I have no idea what I’m doing)

-Imagine you’re working in a bakery. It's pretty lonely. There weren't many customers throughout the day, which made you a bit sad.

- And bored terribly bored

- Normally, every day would be filled with people, but ever since that robbery that happened a few blocks from where you are, no one wants to be close to this place.

- It's been about a week now without customers coming in, and that isn't really good for the business but is worse for your boredom.

-But one day a new customer walked in. He was dressed in a slightly too big on him windbreaker, which made him appear smaller than he actually is.

-It was Also in the middle of summer, so what the hell-

- He had brown flattened hair, and he wore glasses.

-He was cute, but in a dorky kind of way.

-You still welcomed him in with a bright smile, and you were excited to finally have a customer.

-“Welcome in! How can I help you?"

-Edward was not ready for such a heartwarming welcome. He isn't sure how to react.

-He just wanted something sweet from your bakery, but after seeing you react so brightly to his presence, he isn't sure what to pick.

-Is there any "you" option?' He thought that to himself ( of course not having the balls to actually say that out loud lmaoo)

-He could barely stutter out his order without looking like a complete idiot.

-But that was ok; you still gave him a warm smile and took his order, which might’ve made his heart beat a bit quicker than usual, but you will never know that.

-After that incident, he couldn’t stop coming back for the sweets ( you)

-Our boy here becomes infatuated by u ( good luck on trying to get rid of him now! )

-He soon became your favorite customer. He was always quiet and polite, and his voice was as tame as his looks, never wanting to draw too much attention to himself.

-The way his face lights up every time you ask him to tell you one of his riddles or really talk to him about any of his interests ( which involved puzzles and riddles)

-Yeah, you totally aren’t falling for him or anything, right?

-You insisted on giving him baked goods for free, but he can't accept that; that isn't fair.

-But with your insistance (basically forcing him to accept it), he eventually took them.

-He even lets you test out new recipes on him (even the bad ones, but he won’t tell you that). He would always compliment your baking skills, always letting you know how ur pastries were the best thing he ever had in his life (which was true) with rosy cheeks and that cute little smile of his that you adore.

-Eventually he asks you out because he couldn’t take it anymore, even if there was a chance of you rejecting him (which would literally destroy him).

-He was shaking like a leaf while sweating buckets because, god, look at you, with that glint in your eyes staring back at his, seeming to be quite apprehensive while he tries to form actual words.

"Hey, I w-was wondering if you, um, would you know? Um, how can I say this?" he mumbles to himself (he practiced this like a million times in front of his bathroom mirror). He glances back at you while, of course, you offer him your kind smile, waiting for him to continue being so patient (god, he wanted you so badly).

He takes a deep breath and finally spits the words out that have been clinging to the back of his throat since the first time he met you.

"I-I wanted to know if you would like to go out with me if you wanted too! I-I'm not trying to force you or anything; you can always say no."

"Edward!" you call out to him. "I already said yes!" you exclaimed while giggling at his awkward confession.

(He wishes he could record your laugh just so he could play it on repeat.)

Anyway, back to more important matters:

He looks at you through his glasses as they slip down the bridge of his nose, trying to process what you just said.

Wait, you actually said yes.

Edward felt like dropping down on his knees. Maybe God is actually real!

But wait, he didn’t really plan that far.

You can tell he started to panic over the date, so you suggested a movie over at his apartment. Maybe you can even make him a treat.

He wanted to impress you by making your favorite cake, which shouldn’t be hard for him.

That was a lie. It was horrible. The cake looked like it was about to collapse on itself; it also looked half baked, maybe even raw, and he’s literally covered from head to toe in flour.

He felt like crying at this point. If you were coming in any minute, maybe he could try making another one.

He heard a knock at his door. It’s too late now; you're already here. 💀

He walks to his door with his head hanging low in shame. He opens the door to reveal

Standing there, looking more radiant than ever and also so very pretty (could he say that out loud?)

"Hey Eddie I brought you your favorite pumpkin. Wait, why are you covered in flour?" Now looking more confused, instead of answering you, he might as well show you.

He stands aside for you to come in, and what a surprise it was.

It looked like a cake (a deformed one), but still a cake!

He stands there awkwardly waiting for your response, which made him nervous as hell; he couldn’t read your face.

What if you don’t like him anymore? Do you even like him? Oh my god, what if you hate him so much now because of this? God, he was such a dumbass to have thought someone would actually like him. -

“I love it!"

“Wait, what was that?”

“I said I loved it." Now, looking back at Eddie, smiling so hard, your cheeks are starting to hurt. No guy has ever tried making you something so sweet, even if it looked raw. But It was still sweet.

You went up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist (he’s tall, ok?) absolutely smothering him with affection, not caring about the flour he was covered in.

Edward lets out a gasp, not expecting this reaction at all, especially having you this close (he can almost smell that fruity scented shampoo you always use; it adds to your already aching sweetness). He hesitates before wrapping his warm arms around you, completely engulfing you in his embrace.

He wishes to stay like this forever just standing here, feeling you around him.

Nothing good lasts forever, though. As you sadly pull away, your scent still lingers where your body was pressed up against his (giving him not-so-family-friendly thoughts).

As you look up at Eddie, you find him giving you a goofy smile while his cheeks are tinted red (god, you really are in love with this nerd).

You break the comforting silence first: "How about you go change while I get everything ready, ok?"

It takes him a few minutes to snap back (honestly, he’s really touch starved) just by a hug, you got him all spaced out on cloud nine.

He comes back fresh and clean ( also after giving himself a prep talk).

You guys end up chilling on the couch, sharing the best pumpkin pie ever (in Edward’s words, not urs), while watching a cheesy rom-com movie.

Thank u for reading and I hope u enjoyed this don’t forget to drink water

If u guys enjoyed this concept I might do a full fic 👹 but who knows lol

[parkerdoesparkour]

-I Miss You and You Haven’t Even Left Yet w/ Riddle Rosehearts-

Titania receives a letter asking her to return home but Riddle isn’t ready to let her go.

The letter arrived sooner than Riddle expected. Though, to be fair, it arriving at all would be sooner than he could anticipate. No matter how much time he had, he didn’t think he could prepare himself for it. 

He watched Titania pick at the seal of her family crest and gingerly pull the paper from the envelope. It was only a page, a concise plea from Puck and Oberon to come home. He watched her face contort into an expression he couldn’t read. Even though she’d asked him to be with her for it, he couldn’t do anything other than stand there with a chill in his bones. 

Crowley cleared his throat. “Obviously, you won’t need to send a reply right away.” Titania nodded. “Take your time to think things over.”

“Yes,” she said. She turned from the office without another word. Grim trotted uncertaintly after her and Riddle moved slowly to the door, his mind reeling. When he left, he bumped into Sam who smiled at him before noticing his distraught face. 

“The little Ramshackle imp looked just as gloomy as you,” he said. “The letter came, huh?��� Riddle nodded and Sam placed his hands on both Riddle’s shoulders, drawing his attention. “Let me ask you something.”

“Ok?”

“Do you want Titania to leave?”

Riddle flinched, realizing he had been that easy to read. Of course he didn’t want her to go back to Delamere. Even thinking about not being able to see her smiling face made his heart hurt unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. “Still,” he said. “I don’t have the right to take that away from her. If she wants to go home, I mean.”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed. He removed his hands and smiled at Riddle. “But have you considered that you might be a big factor in this for her?” 

Riddle tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“She ordered a speciality teacup,” Sam explained. Riddle wanted to demand what this had to do with her going home but he remained silent, patient, and slightly hopeful. “For you. She didn’t tell me but it was obvious looking at the rose patterned design. I came on campus to let her know it had arrived.” Sam smiled though his expression was sad as he crossed his arms. “She looked like she was about to cry,” he finished. “You’re important to her, Riddle. You should tell her how you feel.”

So, Riddle stood in front of Ramshackle’s door with a bouquet of roses and sweaty palms. He knocked before he lost his courage. A moment later, Titania appeared with puffy eyes. She’d obviously been crying but now that she saw Riddle with his roses, she looked surprised. 

“Um!” he shouted. He basically shoved the roses into her arms with less romantic flare than he wanted. “I, well, so the thing is, um…” he trailed off and took a deep breath. He steadied his heart and also gave himself a minute to collect his thoughts. Titania remained patient through it all. 

“I know that this is a big decision for you. Delamere is where you grew up and I don’t want to force you to leave your family behind. But,” he looked directly at her, “I wanted you to know that if you did stay,” he could feel the tears falling from his face but he pushed through. He’d seen it this far, after all. “I love you. I love you so much and I know if you’re gone I’ll miss you more than anything. I mean,” he chuckled bitterly, wiping his face. “I miss you now and you haven’t even left yet.”

For a beat there was only silence. Then Titania jumped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him into a tight embrace. He could hear sobs coming from her own mouth but when she pulled back to look at him, she was smiling. 

“Of course I’ll stay,” she said. “I mean, I love my brother but Delamere isn’t where I belong now. My home is here. And,” she chuckled, “I would miss you too much too.” She leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on the bridge of his nose. He laughed then wrapped her up in his arms once more. 

As he held Titania, Riddle thought he could hear wedding bells chiming somewhere in the distance. Of course, it could have been his imagination, but regardless, he knew his future was bright.

[c-rose2081]

Starchild || 11. Heaviness

(Disney Z-O-M-B-I-E-S)

—

—

-

Zed felt heavy and worn down.

His body was aching more than usual, and his head felt as though it was ready to split in two and spill his brains out. Morning practices were the worst. Not only was it cold, but there was dew still on the field meaning the smell of mud was now plastered inside his nose. The night had been sleepless; mostly just worried thinking about anything and everything that wasn’t related to sleeping.

He thought about his mom; how much he missed her. He thought about Zoey, not having the female role model in her life that she really needed now that she was getting older. He thought about dad, and how hard he worked for so little, but also about how he had to continue on without the love of his life. And — naturally — Zed thought about A-ddison. Because when wasn’t he thinking about her? She was everything he wasn’t. Clean, smart, beautiful, and so sweet it made his heart yearn for her attention. He was just a cranky Zombie kid with nothing but football in his future.

Not only had A-ddison fallen from the sky perfect, but she was an expert at blending in. She was already far more adapted to human life than Zed had been back when Zombies were first invited to Seabrook High. She was a Cheereader now, and the lost daughter of the Mayor. The MAYOR. One of the most important people in their town (who also happened to be part alien. Surprise!). Suddenly, Zed felt very self-conscious about himself. Not just about his clothes, either, but about his attitude in general. He wasn’t social, or really all that great at making friends. He had Eliza and Bonzo who he’d known forever, but no one else had really earned his full trust since then.

Sure he was popular, but he never asked for that. He didn’t want to be liked just because he could throw a ball and knock people over. It was an awfully brutish way to get attention, now that he thought about it. A-ddison was a natural at meeting new people — there was just something buzzing around her that made people enjoy her presence. Zed wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt addicted to its draw. The loss he felt at Addy leaving with Mayor Wells the night before to spend some time together was immense. Probably another reason why he felt like his ribs had been packed full of sand, and sawdust was coming out his ears.

“…well, you look like you just crawled out of a grave.”

Zed groaned in annoyance, lifting his head to sneer at the werewolf now standing before him.

“I’m trying to tan, dog. You’re blocking my sunlight.”

“That’s funny for a dead guy,”

“Undead guy,” Zed corrected, “if we were actually dead, you’d lose your lunch. What do you want, Wyatt?”

“Hm,” Wyatt huffed, strolling to the outside table which Zed had settled at the minute practice ended, “a little birdie told me you’ve got a new girlfriend.”

“It’s not exactly a secret,” Zed scoffed, frowning as Wyatt rested one knee up on the bench directly across from him, “pretty sure all of Seabrook knows by now.”

“Maybe. But a dogs nose knows, ya know?” Wyatt insisted, tapping the end of his nose with a finger.

“No. I feel like I’m dying; I really don’t have the patience for riddles, fleabag.”

“You’re keeping secrets, that’s what,” Wyatt growled, “the pack doesn’t like secrets.”

“What I do isn’t any of the pack’s business,” Zed snarked back, “why do you care about my relationship status, anyway? Jealous I’m taken?”

“As if,”

“Sure doesn’t sound that way.”

“I’m saying, zom-boy, that if you keeping secrets threatens our Moonstone? I’ll be sure that you really are dead meat walking, capisce?”

“Where exactly is this coming from?” Zed wondered in genuine confusion, lifting a notched brow, “you don’t even know who I’m dating, do you? Just that I am.”

“Maybe. But you’re always meddling in things you shouldn’t be,” Wyatt explained, “so I’m giving you a warning. You know, from guy to guy?”

“Right,” Zed rolled his eyes, “cause this interaction has been purely good will.”

Wyatt growled in annoyance, but turned to look at something across the quad.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” he mused, causing Zed to turn and look in that direction as well. A-ddison was getting out of a fancy blue car, practically glowing in the morning light and reflecting the sun with her brightness and apparent love of pastel pink.

Zed didn’t think A-ddison could shake him any more than she already did, but today she was positively beaming, bright blue eyes glistening, and pale blond curls kept behind her ears by the cheer bow in her hair. Mayor Wells exited the car as well. She handed a box of something to A-ddison before kissing her on the crown of the head, cradling her face in both hands. As newly reunited mother and daughter separated, it didn’t take A-ddison more than a second to spot Zed (who made sure he was as close to the front of the school as possible).

“Zed!” She greeted happily, quickening her pace to meet him, “hi!”

“Morning Addy,” he smiled at her, rising from his bench with a small grunt of pain, “you look nice today.”

“Thank you! Mom and I stopped to get a new dress before school; she says it takes up less energy to have something called a wardrobe, so I don’t have to change so much.”

“Right,” Zed agreed, moving to slip both hands into his pockets only to have A-ddison saddle up easily into his side. The only place he could put his arm was around her, which was more than comfortable, if not way more intimate than yesterday.

“Is this a friend of yours?” Addy wondered, finally spotting Wyatt who was staring very intently at her. Zed didn’t like how focused his wolf eyes were, like he was sizing up a rabbit or deer to chase.

“This is Wyatt, he’s a Werewolf.”

“Werewolf. That’s right, you told me about them,” A-ddison mused faintly, tilting her head, “it’s nice to meet you, Wyatt. I’m Addison.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Wyatt drawled, showing off his fangs, “welcome to Seabrook.”

A-ddison smiled back, glancing up to look at Zed as she opened the tupperware given to her by Mayor Wells.

“Mom and I made these last night. She said Grandma was really good at them.”

“Cookies!” Zed laughed, reaching into the box to pick up a baked disk and observing it, “did you sleep at all? You’re practically buzzing.”

“Not really. We fell asleep watching something called a movie? It’s on the…screen-thing,” Addy insisted, forgetting the word for television and causing Zed to laugh as he took a bite of the cookie and moaned.

“Addy, oh my god, these are so good.”

“Mom did most of the work,” A-ddison chuckled, lifting a hand to show off the bandages across her fingers, “I just burned myself on the cookie sheets. Wyatt, do you want one?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the wolf said, reaching into the bin with his claws, “you made em?”

“I’ve never made cookies before,” Addy told him, bouncing on her heels with a gleam in her eye, “it was so much fun.”

“We should probably head in. You still need to get your schedule,” Zed remembered, glancing at his z-band which told the time, “we have a bit of time before first period.”

“Alright. Will I see you inside, Wyatt?”

Zed frowned at the question, but smiled triumphantly as the wolf shook his head, seemingly downcast as he looked at his cookie, flipping it between his claws.

“Nah. We wolves just like to hang around out back; keeps things interesting. You need something, drop my name.”

“I will,” Addy nodded, “bye Wyatt.”

“Wolf.” Zed mumbled flatly as Wyatt smirked at him and gave a small salute.

“Dead guy.”

And off he went, vanishing quickly into the trees nearby as A-ddison blinked and shook her head.

“You don’t seem very much like the traditional definition of friends,” she admitted, “was I incorrect in my assumption?”

“It’s…eh, complicated,” Zed shrugged, beginning to walk with A-ddison back towards school, “we aren’t really friends. I guess you could say it’s more like unwilling acquaintances.”

“I see,” Addy mused hesitantly, not saying much else on the subject. She was either mulling it over in her mind in order to decipher what that meant, or simply didn’t have much else to include. For a while it was just a comfortable silence between two friends. Zed liked having A-ddison beside him again, and he stole another cookie to munch on while they wandered along. But eventually he spoke up, needing to figure something out before reaching Principle Lee’s office.

“Uh, A-ddison, I have a question.”

“Yes?”

She looked up at him with those baby blues and nearly sent him to the floor. Why was she so freaking blinding? It made it so hard to focus on anything but her, “Zed?”

“Huh?”

“You had a question?”

“Yes, sorry. Yesterday, you called me…babe, and kissed me. And I was just kinda wondering where that came from?”

A-ddison paused her walk, furrowing her brows up into her hairline.

“Yes. Is…that not what a girlfriend is supposed to do?”

“Well I mean it is, b-but we…I just…”

“Zed, I know being involved is part of the plan and is not a permanent fixture in our friendship. However, Zoey informed me that in order for it to be very believable, nouns of endearment and physical affection via the lips should be exchanged frequently.”

Pet names and kissing. Right. Typical boyfriend and girlfriend behavior.

“What does Zoey know about that?” Zed grumbled, “she’s twelve.”

“She seemed very knowledgeable to me, and I thought I’d try her advice. It worked well, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Zed agreed with a sigh, “really well.”

A little too well actually, because now all Zed wanted to do was kiss her back. He was curious what her delicate pink lips tasted like…he knew she borrowed some cherry, glitter lip-gloss from Bree the day before.

“Zed?”

“Wha?” He shook out of the intrusive thoughts, “sorry.”

“You seem awfully distracted,” A-ddison observed, intertwining her fingers with his and squeezing gently, “are you alright?”

“F-fine…totally…”

Zed stared into his Alien friends face, getting lost quickly in her eyes. They were deep and sparkling, as though she had trapped the whole universe of stars inside them. Cautiously, he leaned in a bit. She smelled really nice today; something sweet, like the cookies held in her arms. They were so close, noses were almost touching. She wasn’t pulling away from him…could he…?

“Ahem?”

Both teens jumped away from one another. A-ddison ducked her head, and Zed nearly fell into the wall as Principle Lee stared at them intently.

“H-ey, Big Lee,” Zed greeted her with a small salute, trying to stay casual while his palms were getting slimy from embarrassment, “we were just coming to see you.”

“Uh-huh? I can see that,” the woman drawled, seeming a bit amused if nothing else, “awfully brave to study one another directly outside my office? Most students do that in more private environments.”

“We were just talking,” Zed mumbled, shoving both hands into his pockets, “you know…about stuff?”

“Yes, well. A word to the wise, ‘stuff’ should probably be discussed out of the view of your Principle, hm?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, Addison,” Principle Lee turned to the girl, who glanced up at her sheepishly, “I was informed of your…unique…circumstances by the Mayor. It will be kept confidential until you decide you want to share it with others. Though I must warn you that talk travels very quickly in this town.”

“I understand, ma’am.”

“Very well. We have a few more things which need to be discussed in private, so if you’ll please come with me?“

“Of course,” Addy agreed, “Zed?”

“We’ll meet up for lunch,” he told her, seeing the wariness caught in her eyes, “same spot as this morning, kay?”

“Ok. I’ll see you later.”

Zed smiled, once again caught off guard as A-ddison grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to her level. It was just a cheek peck this time — she probably felt he was uncomfortable with the lip kissing after their conversation — but it still sent fireworks through his stale blood. He immediately reached to cup the area with his palm, watching her follow Principle Lee back into her office. The last view he had was the bow in her hair, the bounce of her turquoise curls, and the swish of her skirt. He stood there for a while, jaw slackened as he fell to rest against the nearest wall of lockers.

What in zombies name was she doing to him?

Zed spent plenty of times around girls. They tended to flock around him, after his popularity and status. They did nothing but make him squirm. A-ddison was nothing like that. She was magnetic…addictive. Having her next to him was like holding onto a charged battery. It electrified him, completely and totally. All of the exhaustion from morning practice was gone. The pain, the ache, the feeling of slowly being crushed under the weight of the world. Gone. A single glance from those sapphire irises made him feel like a new zombie.

Glancing down at his wrist, the black veins had faded. They were faint now against his pallor, unlike just after practice where they were bulging, painful, and rashy. It was the second time such a thing had happened, he realized internally. Addy touched him, and his pain went away. He also dropped down to the IQ of a trash can, and had the eloquence of a beached seal during these moments. But the pain was gone, like she had simply pulled it off him like a sheet and took it with her.

Sighing heavily, Zed flopped to the floor. He banged the back of his head against the lockers a few times, cursing himself.

He didn’t think being ‘just friends’ was working out very well.

-

Tag List:

@theredrenard

@disneyfan50

@rose-sparks13

@magical-ashley

@kokinu09

@octolingo-writes

@fantasticvoidnerdshoe

@sayorseee

@zeddisonss

@uglyduckling339

@descendantofthesparrow

@mbradshaw1997

[thesmokingguns]

Picnic in the Park

Pairing: Axl Rose x Reader

Word Count: 2128

Fluff

Request Summary: “Axl rose meets a girl threw slash who is his childhood friend whos also an amazing painter and just is infatuated with how pretty she is and he just follows her around like a puppy.Tan skin brown hair that goes to lower back brown eyes, wears alot of cute sun dresses and is very kind”

A/N: I am catching up on requests. So if you have requested anything in the past week or so thag oiece should be coming out soon. Thanks everyone for reading

Tag list: @ayablackwood @agroupiewhore @thenobodies-inc @littlemisscare-all

Your mind was a mixture of light and dark, complimentary colors, and images burned into your mind that you wanted to paint later. If there wasn’t a brush in your hand you were taking notes with a pencil, sketching the world around it through eyes that only you saw it from. You captured everyday life like the older woman with the mesh bag she had filled with fruit or the man with his red beard, a few weeks unkept, napping in the alley to get a break from the heat. You took these people, characters of the world and had them live forever on the canvas you painted on.

Art was your passion. You loved walking around Hollywood with a set of watercolors or a notebook to sketch in and take in the lives of others. There was some sort of poetic feeling of taking a stranger from the street and importilizing them as a character in your art. You created a narrative for them that they may not be living. It was cathartic and you’d spend hours of your day people watching until you finally found the right subject.

Sketching out a bump on someone's nose that might have come from a childhood accident or from their Freshman year of college when they drunkenly fell down the front steps of the dorm, you created their unknown life story as you placed each line of their face into place. If you didn’t infuse their story into the piece it was just some colorful person without any meaning. But you wanted to give the viewer of your art a full piece. They should be able to look at your picture and understand the life that the subject lived; your art created that life.

It was crazy to think that a few years before you were in school thinking about becoming an English teacher.It was a chance meeting at a grocery store when you ran into your old friend Saul’s mother. When you had been kids the pair of you had been so close and secretly your mothers had both had fingers crossed for a wedding that never happened. The pair of you split apart the summer after senior year to set out of a life you each wanted. His mother had invited you over for dinner, which she also invited her son to, thrusting the pair of you back into each other's lives.

Oddly enough, it was like time hadn’t passed between you. The easiness of your friendship coming back without even trying and soon the pair of you were hanging out on almost a daily basis. With your schedule up helped manage his house, buying groceries, doing some cleaning, and running a few errands he never remembered. In return you had a few rooms to yourself. Slash had wanted to make sure you had time for your art as well as a space for it.

Dressing in a white floral pattern sundress you grabbed your bag that contained your art supplies. You wanted to get to the park early and set up a blanket you could spend the day sketching and painting on. You planned to soak up the sun in your skin and use the good lighting to get some new work to sell for the craft fair this weekend. As you turned to grab the picnic foods you had made the night before you saw Axl sitting at the counter. His green eyes looked up, smiling when he saw you.

“Hey, Y/N. Slash just left. I’m going to leave in a minute. I was just finishing up some lyrics.” he was always over and you thought that he was lonely in his role as lead singer. Even though Axl put on this tough guy imagine and had a reputation it was like he needed to work for that because he thought that was what rock stars were supposed to do. Whenever he was around you he seemed lost, always making extra conversation or taking the time to go walk to the coffee cafe with you and wait in line, even if he didn't want anything.

“I’m heading out for a day in the park.” you told him, moving the wax paper covered sandwiches into a small wicker basket, along with some fruit and cheese, some water, and a bottle of wine. You could feel his eyes on you, “I’m over packing and have more than enough if you want to come with me?” you let your eyes flutter up from packing the basket to look at him. “I’ll leave you alone to write because I’m just going to spend the time working on some new portraits.” It was important to you that you set up expectations. There was no need for him to feel like he was going there to entertain you or vice versa.

“I’d love to go. You don’t mind?” he asked as you finished packing up the wicker basket. You shook your head no, letting him pick up the food you had just packaged and leading you outside, “What park did you want to go to? I can drive us there.” you told him what you were thinking, getting comfortable in the convertible.

When you had moved in with Slash you had forged fast friendships with his bandmates. Even though you weren’t at every show and didn't always go backstage you had gotten close to them in different ways. On Wednesday nights you hosted a dinner party where you made them all come by so you had an excuse to cook for them. When someone had a ripped piece of clothing at a show you’d quietly take out your sewing kit, stitching patches in jeans and repairing favorite band shirts. You liked being around them all because of how animated everyone was; they were so easy to draw. You had a whole sketchbook of black and white images from the band. Your favorite subjects were Slash and Axl, mainly because they were the two you were around the most and had the most flexibility when it came to moods.

Axl had grown close to you, drawn into the caring nature you had. It was hard for him to understand that someone would do things for him without expecting anything in return. The first time that you had been out drinking with them and insisted Axl came home with you so you knew he was safe he had thought was a come on. When you helped him drink water and gave him aspirin before tucking him into bed he was shocked. Even more shocking was waking up to find his clothes washed and folded on the guest room chair and you carrying in a breakfast tray of freshly made foods. That’s just how you showed you cared about your friends. Being the mother of the group and taking care of them helped you feel like you were contributing as a friend.

Spreading out the blanket under the Weeping Willow tree. You motioned for Axl to sit as you toed off your sandals and moved to sit down. Digging through your bag you set out your sketch pad and pencils. You could see Axl out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem to know what to do. You pulled him down to the blanket, settling him so he could rest his back against the tree. You pulled off his shoes and socks and handed him his notebook as you went about unpacking your picnic so he could pick at food if he wanted to.

With him settled in the shade you laid down, belly first in the sun. Picking up your pencil you scanned the park until you found an older man feeding the pigeons. Your eyes followed his movements for a few minutes before you started your sketch. The feeling of the warm sun on the back of your thighs as you twirled the pencil in your hand, capturing all the features of the man.

As you drew you could feel Axl’s eyes on you. At first it was just light glances every few minutes and then it turned to heavy long looks where his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the way his stares made you blush, chalking up the pinkness in your cheeks as just sun exposure.

A hand slid over your calf, over the back of your thighs before going over your dress and laying on the flat of your back. You turned your face upward looking at Axl watching you. His eyes flickering from your art up to your face. There was a pause, curiosity and interest in what he was going to do next. Your heart is beating in your chest even though your body is frozen, wondering what he was up to.

“Do you want to take a break and eat? You’ve been working for a couple hours.” Looking past him you saw the sun had changed position in the sky and time had gotten away from you. Sitting up you handed out sandwiches, positioning yourself comfortably besides him in the shade of the tree.

Axl had been following you for most of the spring and now into summer. He's around all the time and often comes along for days like this. But you liked having him around. You thought that he needed the quiet comfortable silence between the pair of you; so much of his life was filled with noise.

“Y/N, do you like this?” He asked, peeling off the crust to his sandwich. The action seemed to be more of a need to keep his hands busy instead of a dislike for the bed.

“Do I like this? Picnics in the park?” You didn’t know exactly what he meant. Axl sometimes seemed to talk in riddles not wanting to fully play all of his cards.

“Being with me.” He didn’t look up to meet your eyes at this, almost embarrassed to be talking about it. You weren’t like Axl. There was no need to talk in riddles or have him guessing how you felt.

“Of course I like having you around, Axl. It’s nice to be able to spend time with someone I like.” He looked up, almost surprised that someone would like to be around him. “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months and it’s nice to get to know you more and find more reasons to like you.” You didn’t feel nervous telling him this. It actually felt like a relief to get it off your chest.

He put down his sandwich, wiping crumbs off on his shirt and looking at his hands to make sure that they were clean. Before you could figure out what he was going to do he had a hand in your hair, tugging you closer to him in a soft kiss. For months you had been thinking about what it would be like to kiss him on one of your lazy afternoons together and now it was happening.

Instead of letting him pull away and think about what he had just done you slid onto his lap, letting your hands wrap around him. His free hand was on your back holding you close as the pair of you made out like teenagers under the shade of the willow tree.

Finally, the pair of you pulled away, swollen plush lips and wild curious eyes watching each other. This new change between the pair of you sparkling like wonder between the pair of you. Axl was playing with a piece of your hair, wrapping the brown lock around his finger like he had been wanting to do for months.

“Does this mean we can finally start dating?” You asked, watching the way he smirked at this question. “Because I don’t know how many more times you can just casually show up without Slash catching on. And I don’t know how many more picnics I can plan without touching you.” You admitted, his lips were on your chin and up your jaw.

“Mhhh, I’ve been waiting for this for so long and now I can have you all to myself.” His voice whispered huskily to you kissing your earlobe. He pulled away to look at you again. “You have to tell Slash.” He said, making you laugh as you rolled your eyes. If that’s what it would take to have Axl you didn’t mind telling your best friend about the relationship.

“You take care of me and I’ll take care of everything else, babe.” You promised, meaning it. This was everything that you had wanted for months and now you were getting it. The man that you had started falling for was yours. It had only taken months worth of picnics to get him.

[copias-thrall]

Would it be alright to request some Papa IV x f!Reader? Like the reader is a very kind and sweet person and she has always supported Copia kind of thing? Maybe they’re having a whole day to themselves to celebrate?

Yes! Let’s get some more sweet Copia 😊 

They made fun of him and called him The Rat.

Terzo made him the butt of all his pranks.

Nihil undermined him at every turn.

Imperator pushed him to the point of breaking.

What you saw a man trying to do his best with his only flaw being an outsider within the Abbey walls, and in a place where actual hellbeasts were basically demon cats, were rats such an odd choice of pet?

You were fairly certain Copia knew the “Squeak if u like cheze” sign was taped to his back, but he just walked down the corridors anyway and let the Siblings and Ghouls chitter at him. You’d seen this man save one of the Abbey mice from a glue trap, and your heart just couldn’t let it continue.

So, you’d approached him and offered to remove the offending paper.

Copia, however, had just smiled at you.

“It is good of you to say, Sister. But let them have their fun, eh?”

He’d given you a slight bow and had gone on his merry way.

After that, however, Copia had warmed to you, often seeking you out so he could sit with you in the mess hall at mealtimes or chat theology with you on lazy Saturday afternoons.

When some of Terzo’s faction had started stuttering to make fun of Copia’s shyness with public speaking, you’d tried to shut them down. Not everyone was good in front of a crowd—especially when that crowd was hostile. All that did, however, was get them to double down and start calling you, "rat lover."

“Doesn’t it bother you, Cardinal?" you'd asked during one of your food dates. "It’s so…petty.”

But he’d just given you a fond look.

“It is of no consequence, dear Sister. Let them be thinking what they will.”

You’d learned all of his rats’ names and started smuggling them contraband from the kitchens.

Copia had you transferred from Imperator’s admin pool to work as his assistant.

“All this new paperwork!” He’s swept his arm across the stacks of his desk. “I thought I could be using a little help from a friend, yes?”

You’d inherently understood you weren’t there to file paperwork—you were there to tell him when to take a break, to replace his cold coffee, and to be a sounding board.

And you didn’t miss the way Copia’s mismatched eyes would look on you with adoration.

Well, you thought he was pretty neat, too.

When he’d been away on his first tour, you’d done your best to keep up with him. You had your other duties and your friends, but you tried to send him a supportive word before, during, and after each performance.

His missives back had grown fewer as the tour had dragged on, but each one had been effusive—if riddled with typos.

After the first tour, things had been different. Copia had come back from the road a glowing success…and in a tight suit that showed off his assets instead of his smothering cassock.

The tide turned, and while there were still his many detractors, gone were the days of “kick me” signs and farces.

You’d noticed a significant pay increase and an extra day off.

“But Cardinal! You need me here!” you’d protested.

He’d simply grabbed your hands and kissed each one.

“I do. And that is why you must be well-rested. Lots to get done. Now, shoo!”

And truth be told, the two of you had worked harder. Copia had spent less and less time in his study and more time attending meetings or at band practice or at weekend symposiums. You’d done your best on keeping his mountain of paperwork down to a molehill, but sometimes the two of you needed to work late into the night to meet seemingly arbitrary deadlines while you put your foot down and told the kitchen Ghoul that making some rigatoni past hours wasn’t going to kill them.

Of course, then you needed to put your foot down about Copia stopping long enough to eat the carbonara. Sometimes he’d growl at you, and you’d have to snap your fingers at him and tell him being hangry wasn’t a good excuse to be snippy with you; he was predictably contrite after he’d consumed a good portion, and you took his apologies as your due.

All of which is to say: you had Copia’s back from the get-go, and he knew you were always in his corner.

When he comes back from Mexico newly ascended, there are dozens of Siblings who want a piece of him. Some—like you—have been in his fan club since day 1; others jumped on the bandwagon during the final tour; while a few just see the razzle dazzle and want to shine too.

You’re in his study because you want to make sure everything is caught up before he comes back to work. You imagine that he’s going to spend a few days reaping the rewards of his promotion, and—while a part of you feels a little let down about not being a part of that particular party—you are genuinely invested in Copia succeeding.

So when the door bangs open, you’re startled to find Copia…er…Papa Emeritus the 4th striding into the room.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency! I was just making sure—”

“How did I be knowing I would find you here, eh? Today is not a day to be working!”

“But you—”

He makes a shushing noise and reaches his hands out. They linger in the air between the both of you until he makes a “come here” motion with his fingers.

Tentatively, you curl your fingers into his gloved ones.

“We are taking the day off, yes?”

“W-we?”

Copia raises an eyebrow at you. “Sí. With who else should I be celebrating?”

You blush, pleased that he seems genuinely baffled.

The March air is living up to its reputation, so Copia leads you to one of the sunniest rooms in the Abbey. There, you find a picnic blanket set up with a picturesque spread of food, and Rain helping Mountain to position a bevy of potted plants around the area.

Copia clucks at them good-naturedly to leave. Rain gives you the thumbs up and Mountain just pats you on the head as they leave. (As Copia’s Girl Friday, you’ve had to backmanage his ghoulies as much as you’ve had to organize his report piles.)

When he gestures for you to sit, you arrange yourself comfortably in a big square of sun that’s streaming in from the windows. As you take in the meats, cheeses, sandwiches, and fruits that populate the corner of the blanket, Copia putters around with a bottle of Champagne and two glasses.

The whole thing is a little unexpected, but not unwelcome, and you watch him with fondness as he utters a Whoopsie when the cork goes flying at the ceiling and as he obsesses over making each glass level.

You two clink glasses with a Salute, both taking a modest sip.

“This is lovely, Cop—uh, Papa.” He’s all smiles. “But why me?”

His eyebrows draw together, and he tilts his head at you.

“Mia cara…who else would it be?”

You blush and shrug your shoulders, looking down at your platter. When he takes your hand in his warm, leathered one, you look up and get lost in his earnest, mismatched gaze.

“You are the most important person in my life.”

His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You are too sweet, mia cara. Helping an old man—”

“You’re not old—”

He tsks at you.

“Helping a person I am being. At my side even when you are in the knowing.” He taps his nose and winks. “Our little conspiracy of silence, yes?”

That Copia is not quite exactly the bumbling, nutty-professor he leads the rest of the Clergy to believe he is? Yeah, obviously.

He nods.

“And yet, you are by my side. Keeping my head on straight. Because you are wanting to.”

Because you saw the way he treated his rats, his Ghouls, and even Sister Imperator. He may have a dangerous ambition, but he’s not a dangerous man.

“I believe in you Papa.”

He gives you that fond look again.

“Well. I believe in you too, Sister.”

Copia lets your hand go and claps.

“Now! Let us enjoy this feast! Next up is a movie marathon where we enjoy our food comas, yes?”

You pop a grape into your mouth.

“Of course, Papa.” You give him a devilish smile. “How ‘bout you give the schedule so I can make sure we’re on track, hm?”

He blinks at you for a moment before giving you his little rat laugh.

“Ah, eh heh heh! There is my little taskmaster.”

“What would you do without me?”

He tosses a gape and just barely catches it in his mouth.

“I wouldn’t, cara. I wouldn’t.”

[luna-redamancy]

Two Fools In Love (Legolas x Reader)

Word Count: 1429

Warnings: None

Story idea provided/requested by the lovely @royalpuglife​, I hope you enjoy the fic lovey!

“I’ve heard by a wee birdie that you were in a love storm, elf” Gimli teased, sharpening his ax by the fire. 

“I think you’ll have to elaborate a bit more on that, dwarf” Legolas smirked, the teasing tone in their conversation clear to everyone.

“Oh you know, your courtship.” 

“How did you know about that?” 

“I’ve got eyes, I may not be an ‘all-seeing-elf’ but I do have them nonetheless.” 

“I haven’t even finished making the moonstone clasp for Tauriel yet, how do you know I was planning to ask to court her?” Legolas was genuinely confused, he had been tight-lipped about this for weeks. Not wanting anyone to find out and tell Tauriel before he had the chance to properly ask her. 

“You mean… You and (Y/n) aren’t courting?” 

“Why in the name of Valar would you think that?” Legolas’ voice sounded horrified and you could only imagine his face. Riddled with disgust for the thought of courting someone so low. You were no former captain of the royal guard, that’s for sure. 

Taking a step back, you flinched when you felt a branch snap beneath your boot, drawing attention from the two males, halting their conversation. 

“I...I’m sorry,” You gasped out, struggling not to drop the intricately carved bow with it’s matching quiver. Arrows held inside of it, created by hand. Your hand. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.. I’ll t-take my leave.” You finished, feeling tears building in the back of your eyes. Tossing the bow and quiver to the side you hurried away as quick as you could without breaking into a run. Once you were far enough, you rested against a tree, tears slipping past your eyes as you broke into sobs. 

All this time, you thought he accepted your courting. All this time you thought he was going to be yours. 

“I’m such a fool…” You whimpered, your chest heaving, your heart clenching as you covered your mouth to keep your sobs from escaping. He obviously didn’t know, and you didn’t want him to know this was the cause of your distress. 

“You are such an idiot.” Gimli stated after a few moments, both of their eyes locked on the quiver and bow that were now laying in the dirt. 

“What did I do?!” Legolas swirled around to look at Gimli, bewilderment on his features. Gimli shook his head, a frown tugging down his features. 

“For being a part of a race that is so smart and magnificent, you really are stupid.” Gimli chuckled sadly, “She’s been courting you for months, and you just now noticed.” 

“S-She what?” 

“Braiding your hair? Cooking you dinner? Repairing your quiver when it broke, helping you find the best spot for when you’re on watch?” Gimli reminded Legolas of all the things you’ve done for him to try and prove that you were the perfect woman for him. But he was so blind. 

“And now--” Gimli looked behind Legolas. “A freshly carved bow, with what looks like the words ‘forever yours’ carved into it. And a matching quiver to boot…” Gimli was protective over you, after all this time you became like his little sister. 

“All this… To find out you were wanting to court someone else? The lass is heartbroken. That’s what you did.”

“I-- I never knew.” Legolas put his head in his hands, pondering on what to do. 

“How could I not see,” He chuckled sadly, turning to look at the bow that was on the floor. He had no idea how to make it up to you. Picking up the bow, he felt a frown tug at his lips. ‘Forever loved and cared for…’ He recalled the meaning of presenting your beloved with a bow and quiver. 

Your nose was stuffed and bright red, your eyes still watery. “‘Tis no one’s fault but my own.” You told yourself, lightly smacking your cheeks in an attempt to pull yourself together.

“(Y/n)?” Legolas called softly, not wanting to startle you. 

“Y-Yes, Legolas?” You looked up after wiping your eyes, putting a smile on your face, not wanting to imagine how pathetic you looked in his eyes. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” He trailed off as he sat across from you a good distance away to make sure you were comfortable and could leave at any time. 

“-I never knew you felt this way about me.” 

A sad laugh left your throat, “Yes… I realize that quite well now.” You refused to meet his eyes as you stared at the dirt underneath your fingernails, from carving his bow. 

Before he could respond you sniffed, looking up to the sky before finally meeting his eyes. Feeling your resolve threatening to crumble, you chose to speak quickly. 

“I am a fool, simple as that. I should have known you didn’t understand what signs of courtship were outside of elvish ones, I should have asked you if you understood the implication of letting me do things such as braiding your hair but… I wanted to keep myself wrapped in the comfort of seeing you smile when I would show you the courting gifts…” 

Sighing you fiddled with your fingers. “I heard about the importance of establishing your care in a relationship in elvish culture, and thought ‘what a perfect way to show my care than to make you a bow’...” You felt tears build up in your eyes again. 

“I’m so sorry,” You finished, giving him a weak smile. “I shouldn’t have assumed…” You tried to explain, only to shake your head. “Doesn’t matter now. I wish you the best with Tauriel, she’s a lovely woman so I’ve heard.” 

Pushing yourself up from the ground you turned to leave, Legolas’ flabbergasted face now permanently imprinted in your mind. Before you could get too far, you turned, a fresh tear staining your cheek on its way down. 

“Could we still be friends, Legolas?” You questioned, hope bubbling in your stomach. 

“No,” Legolas’ voice was firm, causing your heart to crumple and drop into the pit of your stomach. 

“Oh.. A-Alright then,” You couldn’t hide the heartbreak on your face as you nodded, “I understand.”

“I cannot be your friend when I’d rather be your beloved.”

Whipping your head around, your eyes were widened in shock. Legolas wasn’t on the ground anymore, but standing tall in front of you. 

“You don’t mean that,” You shook your head, a sad smile on your face, “Just a moment ago you were talking about making a moonstone clasp for Tauriel,” Disbelief in your tone wasn’t hard to miss as Legolas strode over to you, his hand cupping your cheek.

“I couldn’t believe that you were trying to pursue me, how could the woman of my dreams want me?”

“What about Tauriel, you wanted to give her a moonstone clasp?” 

“I want to give you my moonstone clasp… My father has been pressuring me to settle down soon, to prepare to take over the kingdom so he can sail with our kin to the Undying lands. I thought--  thought that it would be best to fulfill his wishes instead of clinging onto hope.”

“I don’t think  your father would be too keen on you settling down with me over Tauriel.” 

“He was never too fond of Tauriel to begin with... “ Legolas shook his head. “Why does it seem like you’re trying to convince me to not love you?” 

His thumb brushing over your cheekbone was causing your thoughts to blur together. Inhaling deeply you sighed, “I just don’t want to pursue this only to feel pain again…” Legolas heart broke at your words, moving to press his forehead against yours. 

“I will spend the rest of my life making up for being so blind, if you’d let me?” 

“I’d like that,” You mumbled, opening your eyes to meet his as he gave you a soft smile. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it as he pulled you into his embrace. 

“Give me time, I will make you a moonstone clasp that will never break. I will prove that your love has not been misplaced in me.” Legolas vowed, enjoying the way your body molded to his in his embrace. 

“I will hold you to that,” You mumbled into his chest as he rubbed your back. 

Gimli grinned from a few yards away, resting his arm on his ax. 

Does love make one a fool? Or do only fools fall in love? Gimli couldn’t tell you. But he definitely knew these two fools were definitely in love.

Tags:

@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck  @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18@raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @underthemoon-n​​ @ladylouoflothlorien​ @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @bad268​​ @legolaslovely​ @bthtallmadge2​ @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf​ 

Legolas Tag:

@skylarkvip @iloveyou3000morgan @katiegoddessofmischief  @queenofmankind​

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 25 (NSFW)

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-four

Title: Take it Back

Words: 5.9K

Summary: The good thing about rock bottom? You can only go up from here.

Warnings: PTSD, rape trauma.

ST Rambles: Hello, my patient, understanding readers. It is great to be posting this tonight. I start the last two weeks of my semester tomorrow and I wanted to have this out before the end of November. Maybe not what you expected, but I hope it sufficed after five weeks. AND it's even a Sunday. Going back to my roots haha.

My final final exam is December 17th and I do not believe I will be doing much writing between now and then or even now and the end of the year. So, if that is the case and I do not end up posting in December - I wish you all a happy holiday season and a bright - hopefully BETTER - New Year.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER/ @elmidol

The important things are always the most difficult to say; they come with that stomach-churning uncertainty that strikes through your skull and tightens your throat. The moment that first admission comes, though it may be the easiest, there is a lightness to your shoulders that you thought would never return. You knew this. Even so, when you told Mason of the event that preceded your escape from Starkiller, you were a shaking, petrified mess.

Now, sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes bloodshot from two days of crying, you listened to the rhythm of his breath. He was sleeping off the emotional exhaustion you had put him through. The night you had rang his residence had been the worst of it; you could barely speak for those first twelve hours, too preoccupied with thoughts of whatever suffering Kylo Ren had in store for you on Canto Bight, too scared of how Mason would react to the news that you had taken a life.

That second night he had your head pressed to his chest, patience warm in his hold, and you finally felt safe enough to tell him everything – Robbie’s involvement, his trespassing, the violation still singeing your veins. Tears framed every word, an eternal blotch forming on Mason’s shirt. He could take it all, and he did; no question or comment, only a hand stroking your back and cool breath blowing over your ear.

But that was not what you had been afraid to tell him. Of course it wasn’t. The fact that you had endured Robbie’s attack was a preface to words you had only spoken once before, and even then you’d believed they would remain only in your mind. A crushing guilt coiled around your rib cage, Mason shushing your sobs, a bitterness flooding your tongue.

Yes, Robbie had hurt you. Yes, Robbie had raped you. Yes, Robbie had permanently marked your life with the pain he had inflicted. You knew all of these things. They were undeniably true. A part of you, though, loud and overwhelming, was reluctant to let you rationalize your actions. In the hours you had spent in the medbay, and even now in the dark of early morning, you fought back the mentality of a true healer does not kill. A true healer would have found another way.

Staring Mason in the eyes, trying to make out his expression through a bleary view, you told him how you had no choice but to act in defense. Robbie was not going to stop; it was him or you. You told Mason how the lights went out and you clung to a life you were unsure if you wanted, only explaining that the scissors had hit the stormtrooper’s femoral artery with miraculous precision, not including how you felt the body-hot blood spurt across the backs of your hands. There was no mention of how you watched the tile beneath him bloom with crimson, not a word to describe how your skin buzzed when the door slid shut, leaving him to time.

Kylo Ren was nowhere to be found in your recount; Mason, even with the knowledge that you had taken someone’s life, was not ready to hear anything involving his commander or supreme leader. In keeping their involvement in the matter to yourself you were protecting him; Mason would get himself killed if he knew what was hidden beneath his hand-me-down pajamas. It was obvious in the way he would not allow you to be alone during these past two days that you he loved you. And you did love him; not the same as before, but enough to the point where sleeping in his arms was safe, not suffocating.

But even in their safety the nightmares still found you; it was uncertain if they would ever cease, and it worried you to think you were supposed to be broadcast to who knows how many planets in a matter of days. It was surprising that your lunge from the mattress had not woken Mason, a cold sweat encasing your body; he had only shifted, fingers reaching for your now absent form.

If you were relying on his alarm clock – which you were, the watch tight to your wrist still out of commission – it was cusping on three in the morning. These past three nights had supplied the most sleep you had gotten since fainting, exhaustion finally catching up with you. Mason had called out the past few days, explaining to Dr. Soto that he had a family emergency. When you had overheard him speaking on the phone, that detail had heated the tops of your ears. You had stayed in the bubble he’d provided since entering, but you needed to prepare for travel as in less than thirty-six hours you were going to be strapped into a transport ship and headed to your potential demise.

Maybe baselessly, you hoped that Kylo Ren’s quarters would be vacant at this time of day. In an effort to be as quiet as possible, you slipped on your shoes and shrugged into one of Mason’s scrub coats leftover from school. It was navy blue and still smelled of your old simulation lab. Even though he was smaller then, the sleeves crested the tips of your fingers. It was hard to believe Kylo Ren was even bigger than him.

The mattress creaked the moment you stood from it, a grimace tightening your cheeks in fear that you would wake your sleeping friend. But there was no sound to indicate Mason had stirred, and with that you went to look for your keycard. Thankfully one of your nurses had the thought to empty the pockets of your uniform before setting it aside, your Finalizer access key placed with what remained of your personal belongings.

The living area was difficult to navigate without light, the unfamiliar surroundings knocking into your knees and making you hiss curses. And then your heart fell.

Mason spoke your name from the room you had come from, grogginess thick in his voice. “What are you doing? It’s barely three-o-clock.” A light flicked on out of view, Mason stumbling into the room, arms stretched above his head. “You know, I have lights for a reason.”

“Sorry I woke you”—you continued your search—“I was trying not to make any noise, but I’m not used to your layout here.”

Mason shuffled closer. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m glad to see you upright. Just confused why you are at this hour.”

“I’m going to try and get my clothes from my residence. Have you seen my bag? The one I brought with me?”

“I put your bag through the wash,” Mason yawned, sauntering toward a drawer where he pulled out your keycard, “so all you brought is in here.” In the dark you saw a softness in the way he observed you, drawing closer with each step. “You don’t think they’ll hear you out in a pair of my sweats and—” he pinched the jacket’s collar, a smile forming when his eyes met yours “—this piece of history?”

The heat from his hand wafted under your chin, an amused huff leaving your nose. “I assumed you wouldn’t mind me borrowing it.” you took the keycard and pushed it into a pocket. “Thank you for washing my bag, by the way. And for letting me stay here. And for being… understanding. Of things.”

“I don’t want your thanks. We’re there for each other. It’s what we do.” He shook his head, folding his arms around you and pulling tight. “You were defending yourself. I know how you operate. Stop looking for ways to feel bad about this.” You did not respond, eyes closed, breath caught. “You did what you had to. I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”

“Mason, I’m scared. What if I can’t win this thing? What if this is all just for show and the Board is corrupt and I’m just another pawn in the First Order’s game?” You clung to him, swallowing tears.

“You really have no faith in my kickass public speaking skills, do you?”

“You’re not allowed to make me laugh one second after making me cry,” you pouted, smacking his back.

“Maybe I’ll start my testimony with how unthreatening you are.”

“I could take you down, McCarty. We both know that.”

“I’ll also mention how delusional you are.”

“I think that white coat is getting to your head; what’s the basis of your diagnosis?”

Mason rubbed your back once more and pulled away so his fingertips could trail up and down your triceps. “Aside from the fact you think you could beat me in a fight,” a smirk tightened his face, one forming over your own, “you’re going into this with the worst in mind. You’re forgetting how smart you are. How likeable you are.” He swallowed. “You’re going to survive this.”

“And if I do, what then? My license is revoked if I win. What’ll I do with myself?”

Mason’s jaw twitched at its hinge, his eyes flicking between yours, something caught in his throat. His face was riddled with fluid thoughts, yet it was evident there was something holding them back. “We will… figure that out.”

A deep breath dropped your shoulders, time passing in the quiet. “Right now I just need to go pack, essentially.”

“I’ll come with you. Four hands will make the job quicker.”

Alarm sounded. That had to be the absolute worst idea in the galaxy. Mason did not know where you had previously resided – more importantly: he did not know who you’d resided with. “Oh, no. I want to take my time, you know? Gives me a while to think before…everything.” You tried to hide the vehemence of your rejection.

Mason sighed, leaning down, gentle hands cupping the base of your skull. He pressed his lips to your forehead, firm yet fast, and pulled away. A wave of warmth washed down your spine. His touch trailed away when he stepped over to activate the door. You stepped past the threshold and turned back to him, his stare almost yearnful.

“Be careful, got it?”

A slight, curious smile lifted your cheeks. “I literally murked someone with my own two hands, man.” Still a bit unsteady in making light of the situation, you thought he could use a laugh.

He made a pitiful attempt toward amusement; attention on the floor, fingers picking at themselves. “Well, just…promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Hey,” he looked back up, lips set firm. “I won’t be long. I’ll use my commlink if anything happens. I promise.” There was hesitance in his nod, concern excruciating in his features. You took one of his hands. “Get some sleep, okay?” Another weak nod. “Promise me?”

He relaxed by a small measure, jaw looser. “Yeah. Promise.”

Mason watched as you made your way down the hall and out of his view, your arms wrapping his jacket across your chest, feet quick in their journey. Most of your walk was spent in the residential maze, the monotony of your surroundings turning you around a few times. But when you made it out into the main functioning center, seeing multitudes of occupied hover-cots stationed one above the other, reality made itself obvious.

A hollow feeling of privilege brought your eyes down. There had been innumerous deaths from Starkiller, but there was a sadness in seeing what remained of those who’d escaped. So many lives were still in shambles, so many misplaced after their homes were destroyed. Though you had your own problems – looming or dealt with – you at least had never gone without a room or a friend, never without choosing to do so. Seeing their sleeping faces, knowing they would wake to another long day of unknowns, you wished to aid them in some way; a warm blanket, an open ear, someone to be quiet with. You would never have the opportunity, that knowledge enough to force your head down until you entered the Elite foyer.

A hand bumped into yours when you went to scan your badge, finding a less-than-prim General Hux.

“Oh,” you gasped, ripping your hand away.

Hux looked down at you, a silent wish for your absence obvious in his face. He opened his mouth but shut it when he looked over your clothing, a pinch bringing his brows closer. “Cold, officer?”

You could not help but focus on the single piece of hair hanging over his forehead. He was usually so crisp, no wrinkles to his uniform, nothing out of order. But here he was, presumably returning to his quarters at three in the morning. How curious.

“Oh, not at all, General. And you?”

“Am I cold?” He would have sneered longer had the elevator not arrived. “No, not particularly.” He stepped past the threshold, a stark turn bringing him to face you again.

“Yeah, your face is just so red. No idea why I asked.” You would never endanger Talia by dropping her name. But a few tiny, otherwise baseless implications couldn’t harm anyone.

He paused, stunned by your candor. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

“What are you doing out at this hour? Seems a bit early for board meetings.”

“There is only one board meeting you should be concerned with, officer.”

The door began to close. Adrenaline sparked in your chest, hand flinging toward the ID scanner, legs lunging across the frame; you stood next to the general, gripping the wall support and analyzing his horrified face.

“This is gross misconduct. I should have you-,”

“Gross misconduct is a tricky thing, I’ve found. But you wouldn’t know a thing about that, would you?”

His eye twitched. He was irritated. Good. “You’re not even worth it at this point.”

“What ever are you referring to, General?”

“You don’t have many breaths left. It would be a waste of my own to write you up.” He was not looking at you, but rather at his obsidian-set reflection.

He was right, and that made this all the more fun; you could say whatever you wanted and it would not matter. He would always be against you. Why not play into it? “Don’t be too disappointed. You can always put it in your testimony.”

Hux dragged in a breath. “You are quite at ease with your death.”

“No, I wouldn’t say I’m at ease,” you sighed, the floor numbers shifting upward. “Not with dying, at least.”

His head craned to look at you, eyes narrowed, analyzing. “What, then?”

“Um,” you feigned disinterest, bringing a hand up to look at your nails. “My ease stems from the fact that I know what my future holds.”

“What are you getting at, officer?” It was an insidious whisper, all too calculating.

The doors shifted open and your heart stopped; a familiar entryway came into view. When you last left here you did not think you would ever return. Swallowing, nerves trilling, you stepped away from Hux and into the unlit room. It was devastatingly quiet. Vacant, you hoped, eyes closing with relief.

“I’ll see you at the initial hearing, General.” You did not turn around, only lifting a hand to wave him off, to listen as the doors shut and the shaft took him away.

It had never been a bright space, but now it seemed darkness was encroaching from every angle. There was something haunting in being here, something stabbing in the air. Similarly, it had never been warm, but a chill bit through to your bone; you were not sure if you imagined it, but a cloud of fog fell with each breath you took. In your absence these surroundings had accentuated only their worst traits; what surrounded you now was but a void framed in concrete walls.

Stepping into the main space, attempting toward stealth, the galaxy piercing that infinite pane of transparisteel stopped you. There had been a few times you had just leaned against it, observed; always finding comfort, sometimes even answers. Though, to contrast the cold and dark, the stars seemed dim, sparse; they were still, none chasing the others, stagnant but for a few fatal flickers.

No longer busied by the stars, you were met with the destruction that lay before them. Scarlet splinters framed the celestial background, metal strings curling upward, keys in chaos across the floor; the instrument that had enamored you in its beauty now a shattered echo of pain. The sight forced you forward, ebony dread slicing through your lungs. This was the work of someone crazed, lost in their rage; caged in it.

You tapped at your left wrist. Though you wished you could take all the time needed to piece the remains back together, time was wearing on; you needed to leave before the present damage had the possibility to be inflicted upon you. Jaw tight, hands clasped together and pulled over your sternum, you stalked to your door, noting your nameplate remained, cursing the hydraulics for being as loud as they were.

Once inside, nails biting into your palms at the second, closing hiss, you opened your eyes to find that nothing had been touched since the last time you were here. The bed was untouched, sheets set in wrinkles, within them a past life. In the absence of light you ensured a silent gait, trailing a light hand over the bedding, ice beneath your fingertips. There were tear stains on your pillowcase, that night prior to departure inked into memory, a skip in your heart at the thought.

This was taking too long. There was no time to trip down memory lane. Things have changed; no use in mourning the unattainable. You shook your head, stepping over to the wardrobe and activating the door. Another hiss clamoring into the fragile silence. Five scrub dresses remained in perfect shape, pressed and hanging at equal increments; you gathered them over your forearm and made do with that pillowcase, shoving them in to make space for undergarments.

You had forgotten they were there, tucked to the very back, uncovered when you mindlessly dragged every bra and pair of panties into your makeshift storage bag. For all intents and purposes they were gifted to you. Allowed, really, but the only tangible piece of him he had offered so willingly. Kylo Ren’s socks had come to mean more than you’d ever imagined, and all you wanted was to forget the security they had once provided.

They were light in your hands, soft at first touch and as they unfolded onto your wrists. Eyes shut, breath slow, you brought the pair to your cheek; an ache flickered in your chest, a yearning for something so far away. It was in moments like these where you remembered you were but a messenger in all of this heartbreak. Snoke had delegated his damage, had weaponized you, used you as he was Kylo. It burned to the very pits of your soul, buzzed in your teeth, stung at your eyes. That creature had this planned from the beginning, from the very day you had stepped foot in this room.

“Vile waste of breath,” you shuddered, spit splitting off at the bite.

Suddenly, spine lit to the tips of your fingers, you remembered the contents of the bedside table at your back. Fury lit your stride, hands electric with hatred, tearing the drawer open and scraping up the letter. A thumb crushed dimples into the stiff paper, whole body shaking; face heated, twisted with a rage that could only be quenched by unleashing it on Snoke’s untouchable existence. You readied to shred the correspondence, swallowing a scream, trembling with wrath; it fell from your grip before you could, though, landing face-up between your feet.

Just like that your resolve toward destruction crumbled, your hands reaching for it and bringing it just inches from your face. It was real: that pointed script, too delicate for the hand from which it’d come. It dipped under your finger, the pressure of Kylo’s grip present in the scrawl. So powerful; so delicate. It was as impossible as he was. But what more could you do but stand here and admire it in secret and lightlessness?

The worn letter and the pair of socks were tucked into a jacket pocket, the packed pillowcase over your shoulder. You were ready to go, never to return here again. This time that would be true. A swallow, a breath, and a shiver preceded your fingers reaching to activate your door. Another too-loud hiss, another moment spent with closed eyes. It was quieter, now, less invasive; and you might have brushed it off and not questioned it. Might have; eyes opening to an expanse of taut muscle, tiny moles and freckles embellishing it along his healing wounds.

The belongings hanging over your back met the ground, a soft thud barely audible through the incessant beating – pounding – of your heart. Again you were stalled in thought, not knowing how to proceed, not seeing a way out of this that wasn’t messy or complicated. He knew everything that was never intended for him, he heard your tear-framed words; yet he met you with vacancy, walked past you those days ago and taunted you with the pain you’d poured out to him.

“Commander Ren,” you cleared your throat, his focus set on the bag at your feet, “I needed clothes for Canto Bight.” Narrowed eyes met yours, a long stride leading you back in the room. “I was just leaving.”

“You were.” The door closed behind him. “We’re past pleasantries; you know my name. Use it.” A snarl ghosted his face, possessive eyes fixated on Mason’s navy coat, his voice a deep velvet.

Another step back, mouth drying with each second, your hand toyed with a jacket fastener. Every muscle of his was tensed, jaw tight and shoulders paced to purposeful breaths. Transparent bacta dressed his abdominal wound, its borders creasing with every step he took. He did not limp; in fact, he seemed otherwise healed given he’d been unconscious just over a week ago.

“Kylo,” you gulped, “Kylo I can’t do this. You know that.”

One more step forward, drawstrings swaying at his waist. “I know what I heard.” He was still focused on your jacket, eyes darting across it in calculation.

“So let me leave here. Let me at least try and survive this.”

“I’m not keeping you here. Go now, if it’s what you want.”

The heel of your shoe hit the bedside table. There was nowhere left to run. He was close, staring down at you, sole concentration not shifting. The air was thick, time pressing on, heat splintering down your back. He had to be lying. It was a trap, surely.

“Fine,” you pressed a weak hand just under his right rib, “excuse me, then.” He allowed you past him, staying in place as you collected your spilled belongings.

“Only if it is what you want.” His voice boomed off the walls.

Your hand stalled over the activator. “What are you saying?”

“You talked a lot about choices. It brought me to the realization that you have never made one for yourself,” a low hum, consideration, “maybe one.”

“That’s a low blow coming from someone who slaughters whole villages without a second thought,” you barked, fire lighting over your tongue. You turned to face him, his stance unchanged. “I told you those things thinking you couldn’t hear me. And now because of some Force fuckery, coma-adjacent bullshit you’re rubbing them in my face.”

“You think I’m insulting you for killing an enemy?” Kylo’s hair shook at his shoulders when he turned to face you again, his eyes now on yours. “You’re more confused than I thought.”

“Wow. Yes, I want to go. It’s a better option than staying here and listening to how stupid I am.”

“You convict yourself. Do not believe otherwise.”

“Fucking- what are you talking about?”

He crossed the room, stopping a stride away. He observed you through a perspective solely known to him. “I never questioned your intelligence. I never gave a second thought to the death of that stormtrooper. But you’ve done both of these in excess. You are your own worst enemy.”

Thoughts scrambled to form, defenses weak against his logic. “And your worst enemy sits on a throne while you do his bidding,” an unbridled, bitter laugh rang around the room, “He’ll probably worm into your head later and see all of this. And I will be the one who suffers.”

Metal clanged the back of your skull, an icy hand locked tight to your throat. “You are acting recklessly,” Kylo hissed your name, “you’ll suffer sooner by your own hand than the supreme leader’s. Sooner than mine.”

“That seems- improbable,” you strangled out, scraping your nails against his wrist.

The pressure lightened, blood rushing through your head. He kept his hand in place, heavy breaths shifting under his grip. His eye twitched, that black-set scar moving with it. The weight of his fingers shifted lower, spanning the width of your chest, thumb preoccupied with the jacket collar’s edge.

“Always the physician,” he breathed, voice so low you were unsure if you were meant to hear it.

“Mason has never hurt me.” It was an immediate answer, Kylo’s brows knitting, more in thought than in pain. “I trust him.”

His throat bobbed, cool black suffocating the warmth of his irises, a petrified pause stuck between him and you. “Do you want to leave here?”

“Wha- yes! I’ve been trying for the past-,”

“Without considering McCarty. Without considering the supreme leader,” he swallowed, “without considering me.” A certain loneliness glinted just beyond the eyes that studied yours, breathtaking and frightening, heart-stopping the longer you peered back at it. “Only thinking about yourself.”

“What, Kylo?”

His hand left you now, Kylo leaning away and standing back. He observed you; surely his eyes had never rested. “Do you want to leave here? Is that what you want?”

“Why would that make it any different?” There was no sense to this game, no point you could see.

“If there’s any truth to what you said, you’ll do as I say.”

Something broke within your chest when he spoke these words. If. He had heard you; he’d heard everything. But it had not undone the damage Snoke had caused. “You think I was faking that?” you whispered, numbness growing with the lack of response he offered. “Why would I lie to someone I thought couldn’t hear me? Why- why would I- I cried, I told you everything and you still think Snoke has noth-,”

Kylo locked his lips to yours, every word you were going to say disappeared, every thought you might have spoken lost to him. He was furious in his effort to keep you close; nails bit at your scalp, a bare chest warmed your skin, strong legs framed yours. He was all but lifting you from the ground. This urgency claiming his every move kept you from making any of your own, arms limp at your sides, nothing to protest this advance.

It felt right. That was all you knew. He felt good, like nothing would ever compare to him. Though you tried to feel guilty about it, attempted to pull away when images of Mason and Snoke fleeted in and out of thought – you couldn’t. This was what you wanted. This is what you wanted. This is what you wanted.

His hands were bound to you, your own clasping around his wrists, slowing him until still. The two of you warmed the other’s cheeks with quick, needy breaths. With your head tipped up to his, the cradle of his fingers still firm, you opened your eyes; in the black of night, not a viewport around, there were stars before you, dim and scarce, but there.

“No,” you pled, “no. My answer is no.” The tip of your nose nudged his bottom lip, breath stalled in his lungs. “No, I don’t want to leave here. Kylo, I don’t want to leave.”

A slow attack was made to press your lips to his; first kissing a corner, then teething at his bottom lip, and finally finding his in full. Your hands trailed up his arms and framed his face, his own tearing that jacket from your arms like it was his mortal enemy, just as fiercely pulling your top above your head to uncover your breasts. Chills ignited your back only to die when the heat of his hold trailed down your spine and hooked into the waistband of your pants.

The second you stepped out of the sweats you clung to his neck and attempted to wrap your legs around him, a quiet grunt coughed from his throat when you grazed his abdominal wound. It stalled you for a moment, a fragment of time spent checking to see if he was okay. It surprised you when you found the grunt didn’t appear to be from pain, but from want.

“You liked that?” you whispered, a lasciviousness edging the genuine concern in your voice.

Kylo hiked your leg over his wound, clutched it to him and held you there. His mouth was ardent over your artery, teeth trailing down so his lips could press into the tops of your breasts. He was so big, every part of him was massive and capable and you knew that you would give him what he wanted, and for some reason you knew – maybe if just right now – he would give you the same.

The room moved, spun, the bed growing closer. His pants fell with the help of your heels kicking them down. His hair was soft to the touch, your lips pressing to the midnight strands over his temple. He laid down, your legs straddling his waist, a pulse beating against your left inner thigh. Warmth spread below, a dark red flaring even in the surrounding shadows. It was so familiar, too similar to ignore.

Blood pooling. Red. A man beneath you, a conqueror. Darkness. The scar over his face a mirror of what you’d given Robbie, something sinister creeping onto your shoulders, a sense of doom. A mirage of tremors around you, the world unsteady in an instant. Screams. Screaming so loud, everything was so loud.

“I can’t do this. No, no, I can’t do this. It’s too much, I can’t-,”

A hand pulled you down, lips just missing yours, security obvious in the hold. “He took something from you,” Kylo drawled, a hand guiding your eyes to his. He kept you steady in his stare for a number of seconds, an eloquent silence punctuating the order that next left him. “Take it back.”

It felt like you had been permitted to let go, like Kylo Ren’s words had freed you from the cell you’d been living in since that day. A tear formed and fell, sinking into the black binding over his cheek. You kissed it, and then his nose, and then found his lips again; the tip of your tongue slid past his teeth and flicked along the side of his, flutters forming in your belly.

Kylo’s hands left your neck and came down to your hips, a thumb brushing over his flesh-set signature; it prompted you to sit up, to look down at him through strands of mussed hair. His cock slid along your slit, slick easing the motion. When his tip caught on your clit he shifted his hips, forcing upward and erupting shocks along every inch of your skin. A moan sent your head back, Kylo grunting with pleasure, your hips shifting along his length.

He captured your stare, the head of his cock lining up with your entrance; he was offering you the chance to right so much wrong, to do exactly what he had told you – to take back what you had lost. There was a patience so slight that only the trained eye could recognize. Several breaths preceded the courage it took to let yourself go, to feel connection and not fear when you lowered onto him.

The man below you shuddered, the wound now at your knee still contained, the blood from earlier all a trick of your mind. To have him seated so deep inside you, to feel him solid, warm, and real beneath you – it created this sense of peace. Like nobody could take this from you, like this was a gift. One of you physically, the other inwardly – you were both healing. Your hips rocking against him, tiding with his own, panting filling the room and sweat humidifying the air, you realized this was the first moment since getting that early morning alarm for Jakku that you had felt completely at ease.

There were things you were still uncertain of – the trial, Talia’s situation, Mason, Snoke – but, for now, you chose to set them aside. Tears stopped forming but still streamed past your chin, wetting your breasts before him. Kylo caught one that had slipped down your sternum, massaging it into his thumb before pressing the pad of the digit past your lips. A groan flourished from him when you bit at his joint, sucking the salty tear from his skin, feeling his dick grind against that sensitive spot with every thrust of his hips that met your own.

You pulled his thumb from your mouth and positioned his hand over your tit, grabbing for his other and placing it on the opposite. He pawed at the flesh, his head tipping back into the mattress, jaw tight and teeth gnashed. Wet sounds squelched with each bounce, grinding circles onto him and watching pleasure build, a vibrant flush swelling atop his chest.

Just when you thought he would finish you felt the buzzing pressure of the Force right over your clit, hitting it perfectly. A loud, unapologetic squeal escaped, your hands squeezing over Kylo’s, the two of you moving in a synchronicity you had only ever known possible with him. Release budded in your belly, stretched down your thighs, and reached the very tips of your toes, blood singing for him. Kylo’s hands were no doubt marked into your tits now, his fingers forming fists, climax ripping through him with a series of building breaths. He fucked up into you through his orgasm, spend spilling out onto your thighs.

His chest was expansive, yet still wounded, a gentleness leading you down to rest upon it. You kept his hands in yours, holding onto them at either side, no resistance from him. Kylo wrapped his fingers around your left wrist, lifting it out of sight, curious movements tracing along the region. It barely registered; you were not cognizant of time, only knowing that you were here with him right now. It is what you wanted. It is what you chose.

A sound – digital, high-pitched – beeped at your left, the room bathed in a dull red a second later. The face of your watch was lit, eyes squinting at its concentrated brightness. You held up your arm, an elbow propping you up on his chest. The red dot rested at the center of your radar, the sight leaving you with an unexpected relief.

The time read 05:03 in the corner, a sigh leading your head to his chest, eyes closing in reluctance. “I told Ma-,”

“You don’t want to leave,” Kylo murmured, his breath slowing with each minute.

He was right. Mason would understand; he would have to.

“No,” you kissed the scar beneath your lips, “I want to stay.”

[bang-to-the-tan]

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 7

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischievous Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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The library is cool when you step inside, the breeze and the birds muted, lending to this veil of stillness that drapes over everything like a gossamer sheet. Enough to quiet without suffocating. Enough to mute without obscuring. It’s so peaceful in here, like it’s been untouched by the years and will remain for years to come. You take in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of polished wood, dust, and old tomes, your hand drifting to worry at the faded thread wrapped around your wrist. The bell on the bracelet clinks faintly, clear and bright, when you jostle it. Were you too harsh on that boy outside? As if he could be standing just past the doors, you turn, casting a glance at the entrance, recalling the way he held you. It was...kind of nice, you have to admit. The familiarity, the strength—protective. Protective…

‘You don’t remember me?...but I’m your—’

Your thumb slips in your worrying, and you brush the pearl wrapped in the center again. Something deep inside your chest aches suddenly, like a second heartbeat beating just beside you. Strong and insistent. Real. You’re missing something. Someone.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of these feelings and half-remembered things like cobwebs. You turn to ring the bell, but Namjoon is already standing there, leaning casually against the desk as he surveys you with a vaguely worried look. You don’t know how you missed him, walking in, but that seems to be a running theme with these people.

“...Are you okay?” he asks finally, breaking the silence. 

“I’m okay.” After a beat, you manage to reply, trying to gather your heartbeat from his sudden appearance. When you move to step forward into the light streaming from the topmost window, he doesn’t move away from you, only craning his head to better meet your eye. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I just...yeah. Weird people in this town.” 

He snorts. “What do you mean?”

“A-a guy outside. Reached for me.” 

His face immediately drops. “What? Who?”

“No, no, I—looking back on it I’m not even sure he meant anything by it. I just...Forget it.”

He shifts, straightening, his lips curving into a frown as he furrows his brows out at the doors behind you. “What did he look like?” 

You have to stifle a laugh at how suddenly he’s ready to step to the plate in your name. Though the two of you have only spoken a couple times, and almost always ending with you frustrated at his mysterious act...there’s something friendly about being in his presence. Comfortable, like you’ve known each other for a very long time. There’s a lot in this town that feels that way.

“It’s fine, Namjoon. I promise I’m fine.” 

He stills, looking at you peculiarly, brows raising. “...I didn’t tell you my name.” he says, quiet.

“No, no. Um. Jin mentioned you. We’ve been helping each other out.”

“Oh.” 

A cloying silence threatens to settle between you and you have to break it before it becomes awkward.

“Yeah. A-anyways, I have something to trade,” you turn the conversation back on-course. “Something of value, for the book. Just like you said.”

Namjoon perks up noticeably at that, eyes bright when they flit to meet yours past lavender hair. He straightens, crossing his arms across his chest and shuffling his weight to the other foot, like he’s trying to be nonchalant despite obvious intrigue. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding once with a soft smile. “Okay, let’s see it.”

The bracelet jingles when you hold it up, demonstrative, feeling at least a little bit proud of yourself for solving his silly riddle. His gaze is blank when he looks to your arm so you point helpfully at your wrist. 

“I found this while Jin and I were cleaning my grandmother’s shed. It was mine when I was young. It meant a lot to me. It still does.” ...What did you just say? It was too easy, how that slipped from your lips, but now that you’ve said it, you find that it’s true. There’s an attachment that you can’t quite explain, even to yourself. You hesitate, struggling to put the feeling into words. “It...it’s important.”

He doesn’t speak. Your companion has frozen so completely that you have to crane a little ways to the side, watching his eyes follow you, before you can determine that he hasn’t just...stopped working. 

“Hello? Namj—”

“What is it?” he asks, quiet. Almost fearful. “Describe it to me.”

You frown. “What do you mean, describe it? It’s...look at it.” You shake your arm in his direction, appalled when he jerks backwards like you’re waving a weapon in his face, his expression wary.

“Humor me,” he breathes, looking back to you. “Just humor me for a minute.” 

“...It’s a little bracelet,” you begin, slow, eyeing him carefully. What has him so worked up?... “Tied with thick thread. There’s a bell and a pearl in the center of it.”

“What color is the thread?”

You blink at him. “...red…?”

A sigh, deep, heavy, leaves his lips and he slumps against the counter like a marionette with its strings cut, his hands coming up to thread through his own hair, hiding the upper part of his face, and you realize his fingers are shaking. You pause, scooting forward just a little to peer at him better. His mouth is pulled into a taut line, his brow furrowed.

“Namjoon?” 

“I..I can’t believe...” He sounds shaken. Worried; and you can’t for the life of you understand why. “…who...” His head shoots up before you have the chance to speak again. “When you were here last. You mentioned a dog was following you. What kind of dog?”

You try to think of dog breeds, but it’s difficult with the whiplash you’re getting from this strange conversation. “...fluffy? Small?” 

“Okay. Okay.” Namjoon takes several deep, calming breaths, sliding off the counter to begin pacing in front of it with long strides, his chin in his hand. “Okay.”

You allow him a few beats of quiet, waiting patiently for an explanation or perhaps another barrage of questions, but he’s so caught up in whatever thought process is currently possessing him that instead the library returns to its diligent silence. 

You clear your throat, tracking his anxious path back and forth. “...So?” 

“So?” he echoes, absent.

“So is that good enough? For the book?” 

“The book,” he repeats again, halting. He looks upset. Deeply upset. When he turns again, he steps to face you in two long strides, watching you carefully to see if you’ll pull away. You don’t. “I...you can’t...”

“You said,” you begin pointedly. “You said you would trade it for something that has value. This has value.Are you going back on your word?”

Something dark briefly flashes in his eyes and he shakes his head, sharp. “No. I am not.” He pauses again, takes a deep breath through his nose as he studies some indeterminate point to your left. His gaze flits back to you. “What I said was that I would trade it for something with equal importance to you as this book has to me.” 

“Yes.”

“That...bracelet...does not have equal importance to you.”

“You—” you bristle.

“Not to you,” Namjoon interrupts. He reaches out an unsteady hand, palm-up, taking another half-step closer, the closest you’ve ever been to him. From here, you can see the threads in his sweater, making up the bright, colorful patterns. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he moves and briefly, you reel at the strangely familiar scent. Bright, clean. Like a breeze from a mountain, untainted and free. At first you don’t move, but your senses return to you after a beat and, eventually, you press your hand into his. His palm is wide enough, long enough, to dwarf your own, warm and shockingly soft against your skin. When he flips your hand so that your wrist faces up, it’s with a delicate, feather-light touch. You’re spellbound, watching his thumb caress down your palm briefly, halting just where the bracelet begins. He sighs again, eye trained on your wrist, his expression turning almost determined. He blinks, looking back to you with the faintest of smiles, his other hand coming up as he folds your fingers over your own palm, like he’s entrusting something heavy to you, pressing your hand in gently. 

“I believe you. When you say you don’t remember. So I don’t think this is your fault,” he says, low, “But...promise me you won’t use it.”

“Use...use what?” 

“The book.” 

You frown at him doubtfully. “All this work for a book I can’t read…?”

“You can read it,” he clarifies hastily. “You can read it, and learn from it. I would encourage you to learn from it. But there are...there are things in there… things written, knowledge that could be used…”

“Used?” What the hell is he talking about??

“I can’t make you swear to anything,” he adds, his shoulders dropping. “But please. Just promise me you won’t use it.” 

You don’t get it. You don’t understand the significance. But he’s being so earnest, so incredibly heartfelt that you find yourself nodding along. “...Okay...I won’t use the book.”

He copies you, once, closing his eyes. When he opens them, he straightens, releasing your hand. As you draw it back into yourself, you find yourself missing his warmth, the softness of his hand.

“The...the bracelet,” he stumbles faintly over the word. “The importance isn’t yours. I believe you, that you cherish it, but it isn’t yours. Not entirely. Not all of it.”

Your mouth opens to interrupt, confused questions threatening to spill from your tongue, but he continues quickly. “I’ll accept it as collateral when you return what doesn’t belong to you.”

“What part of it doesn’t belong to me?” you balk.

“When you know the answer to that, then I know you can be trusted.” he explains, without explaining, eyes flickering. “It’s perfect. If Taehyung trusts you, so can I.” 

“T-Taehyung. The dog.” 

“Give what’s his back to him,” Namjoon nods, like he’s proud of himself. “Then I can trust you not to use the book.” 

“I’m going to give Taehyung—the dog—my childhood bracelet.” You clarify, slow, staring at him like he’s gone insane. “And then the shady librarian will give me a book that I promised I wouldn’t use. Namjoon, this all sounds crazy.”

He grins, leaning forward to grasp your shoulders, gentle and encouraging. When he beams like this, dimples carve themselves out of the sides of his cheeks, his eyes sparkling with latent mischief. 

“I believe in you.” 

You stare at him, but he only smiles wider, hands squeezing you gently.

You blink. 

He’s gone. 

You whirl around, jumping out of your skin, but the library is empty. You’re alone, standing in the light filtering through the topmost window, watching the shapes of dust trail through the golden air like small creatures of yore. 

“Namjoon?” you call, but there’s no answer. You blink again, staring at your hands. Your bracelet is still there, the bell still ringing plaintively when you wriggle your wrist. Did you imagine him?...

No. No, you couldn’t have. 

You wait for some kind of sign, in the stillness. A sign that he was real, or one that this is a dream. That you’re going crazy? But nothing else happens. Eventually, you decide to exit the library. 

So...okay. First thing’s first, then. You have to find Taehyung. Maybe wrap the bracelet around his paw? He’s small enough and the clasp is adjustable enough, you could probably slip it around his neck like a collar. It shouldn’t be hard to find him anyway—it’s been impossible to get rid of him since you met. And yet, when you step outside, into the fresh air and warm sunlight, you’re vaguely surprised to find that there’s no fluff ball sitting patiently at the steps. You cast a look to one of the lion statues protecting the entrance.

“Last I saw him, he was chasing that rabbit. Jungkook,” you correct yourself quickly. “So maybe he’s at home? What do you think?”

The lion offers no comment. You caress one of its paws anyway, feeling the sensation of heated stone under your palm. You think of the dark-haired boy and the lighter-haired boy you saw earlier, but even as you keep an eye out, you don’t see either of them on the way home.

To your further shock, there’s no shape pacing in front of your garden gate, either. No tiny madman announcing your approach with a howl. Your heart sinks a little. He’s alright, right? He hasn’t been hurt? You can’t imagine anyone in this town wishing any harm, not to something so small. You pause at your gate, frowning, and go to turn away, but a flash of brown on the inside of the garden, dashing to the side of the house, catches your attention and immediately your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Taetae!” you shout, grinning as you throw the gate aside and jump inside, running to catch up. The flowers in your path crunch under your feet, the dried soil hard and unforgiving against the soles of your feet. “Hey, buddy, wait up! Namjoon says I ha—” 

You round the corner, pulling up short when you realize you’ve lost sight of him. Seeing things again…? No. No, that can’t— 

Movement, again, a twitch of brown, and suddenly there’s something clambering up the side of the iron fence with nimble little fingers. It isn’t Taehyung. It’s a squirrel. Small, oddly sleek and soft-looking for a wild animal, its eyes are wide yet strangely intelligent as it regards you. 

“Squirrel.” you say. It doesn’t reply. Looking at it, you’re suddenly made aware of the state of your garden around you. It’s appalling. Seemingly since this morning, the flowers have begun shriveling in earnest, a dried brown claiming them from the stems and reaching down into the roots. Even the ground beneath you is becoming dusty, harsh and unforgiving to life. Your steps haven’t even made prints in the soil. The squirrel watches you with a steady gaze.

“Squirrel.” you say again, realization striking you dumb. The kepry under the stairs. The candy. 

“I-I’m so sorry!” you finally sputter, ducking your head in a bow before you even realize you’re doing it. “I completely forgot! But I bought candy for you, I swear! To replace the ones I took out. I’ll be right back.”

The creature gives no indication that it understands, or cares, but instead of bolting when you move to go back through the house, it only watches you steadily. No real squirrel would sit so still, so patiently, you’re sure.

You retrieve a handful of candy from the bag in the cupboard, making sure there’s enough to pass to the gardener, whenever he turns up, and head back outside. The squirrel hasn’t moved, and doesn’t move, even when you have to walk past it to the stairs around the back. You kneel on the ground, making quick work of the shoddy cover you’d put over the hole. It takes a few minutes to pull out all of the cotton and slip the candy inside piece by piece, tucking the discarded tape and cotton into your pocket to throw away later. 

Satisfied, you go to get up, jolting when you realize that the squirrel has scampered down from its perch on the fence closer to you, all the way down to the grass, alighting into your lap with all the deftness of a family pet. It’s light, but solid, heavier than you might think. You freeze, holding your breath as it pads across your thighs, inspecting the hole with a twitch of its whiskers, a crane of its tiny head. Its bushy tail waves in front of your face and you have to tamper the desire to pet it. Delicate little paws shaped like hands reach into the hole, grasping one of the candies and pulling it into its body with a curious look. Round and round it shuffles the sweet, eyeing it this way and that, before sliding it back into place with a peculiar chirp sound. It turns to you, straightening, whiskers twitching, and you’re spellbound in its wide, dark eyes. Slowly, deliberate, it leans forward in a bow. Automatically, your body is moving to replicate it as much as you can without dislodging it from its perch. It chirps again, almost a cheerful bark, suddenly dashing up your arm, round your shoulder, to the other side, clutching at your shirt fabric easily with tiny claws, and as it goes, brushing your nose with its tail, you can smell lavender, like its been rolling in it. Briefly, it nuzzles into your cheek and you can’t help but laugh a little. You’re aware of the sound of birds in the distance, the wind rustling through the trees, the sun warming your skin, and the scent of fresh lavender. 

“I’m glad you like them,” you say after a moment. When you go to stand, careful, the squirrels precise little claws dig a little deeper into your shirt, small body wavering to keep balance, though it doesn’t move to jump off of you. “I’m sorry for taking them out to begin with. I hope this makes us even.”

It chirps again, louder for being so close, and you burst into a fit of laughter when it snuffles against your ear, ticklish instinct moving your shoulder, but it leaps off you quickly, before you can squash its small body against your temple. It lands precisely near a patch of tulips. You rub at your ear absently, watching as it flicks its tail at you and suddenly scurries off, dashing again around the front of the house. You take a step to give chase, but hesitate when you’re distracted by a flash of color against the ground. Leaning forward, you brush a hand against the fading tulips to move them out of the way. A patch of grass, standing out against its dying kin for its bright, emerald color. You don’t remember seeing that before. 

Unbidden, Namjoon’s words rise in your head, all the way back from when you first spoke to him. 

‘I bet there was something in the house really well taken-care of when you got here.’ 

Granny’s garden. Of course. Granny was so old, she couldn’t have possibly gotten on her knees to tend this garden as often as would have given her the beautiful paradise you always remembered. Her hands shook so violently, how could she have pulled the weeds and watered the plants like they needed? And even after her death, it was beautiful. 

Until you took the candy. Then, the plants started dying. It all makes sense...

But wait. Then what about the man claiming to be her gardener? 

“You seem like a nice person.” You don’t have time to be confused, as a new voice pulls you from your musings and you look up to find a young man standing at your fence. His hair is a soft almond color, his eyes wide like a doe’s, as he stares at you with the slightest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. 

“...Thank you,” you reply finally, realizing a beat too late that you’re still smiling, trying to smooth it into something less creepy. He doesn’t seem to notice, his own smile growing, prominently showing his front teeth. 

“I didn’t get the chance to say that before,” he adds, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jacket and swaying a little. 

“Before?” You repeat, straightening. “Have we met?” 

“Sort of. You’re usually…” his head cocks briefly, pausing in his rocking to cast a thoughtful glance upwards. “...protected pretty closely.” 

“You mean Taehyung?”

“Yeah.” 

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” you’re immediately defending the small animal, brushing the dirt off your knees. “He’s just…”

“Persistent.” 

You laugh a little at that. He sounds almost personally attacked by the tiny dog. “Are you afraid of dogs?”

“No,” he replies quickly, nose scrunching though he’s still grinning. “I’m not afraid of him, either.” 

“Well. You’re in luck, I guess.” You sober a little with a faint sigh. “I can’t seem to find him.” 

He hums, but quickly starts another conversation, seemingly uninterested with offering to help. “How did you get Yoongi’s totem?”

“Yoongi?” You blink, but your hand automatically flies to the small bag around your neck, wrapping your fingers around it and inhaling the slight scent of cinnamon. “Is that...the cat’s name?”

“He doesn’t just give those out, you know,” the young man says instead of answering. He moves to lean against your fence, and you catch a glimpse of his bright red sneakers when he bounces forward. He cradles his cheek in one long palm, watching you closely. “I’m curious.” 

“I took him into the house when it was raining the other day. Fed him, gave him a bed.” 

The youth grins wider. “I knew you were a nice person.”

“I...I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Or me.” 

“Sorry?”

“I like you. I’ve decided.” He declares with a soft giggle, his nose scrunching again. “I want to pay you back.” You can’t help but smile with him, though you’re not sure what he means by that. 

“Oh. Okay? Thank you?” 

“Taehyung likes Eunju and Sungmin a lot. Maybe you can find him by their store?” 

Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open, your back straightening a little. “That’s a good idea! Thanks!” 

“Anytime,” he leans up off the railing and turns to start walking down the path. You start forward, suddenly worried that without your eye on him, he’ll disappear into nothing. 

“U-um!” 

He pauses, half-turning to raise his brows at you expectantly as you walk to the gate, unsure hands curling over the bars. 

“Do...do you want to come with?” you ask, hesitant. You’re not sure why, but you don’t...want him to leave. Just yet.

His grin grows wider. “I’d love to! Actually,” he cranes towards you, his expression conspiratorial. “Let’s make it a game.”

“A game?” you echo, stepping out of the gate and latching it behind yourself. 

“I’ll race you there.” 

You aren’t blind. You can see the toned muscles in his legs, bared by his shorts, especially now with the hedges and fence out of the way. You snort. “I don’t think—” 

“Readysetgo!” he cackles, eyes wide, suddenly diving headfirst into a sprint. 

A scandalized noise leaves your throat as he cuts you off, but your body is already in motion, launching you forward, heart pumping, indignant laughter surging from your chest. The two of you race down the hill, and for a moment, you’re afraid of losing your footing on the incline, tripping, head over heels, but he’s pulled so far ahead of you that it sparks a playful frenzy in your heart, spurring you onwards, faster, faster. Your feet grow wings, sure and light as you throw yourself mindlessly into the chase, over the terrain, past the trees, into town, following the trail blazed in your sights by the young man’s jacket flaring out behind him, the glaring color of his shoes, something pulled from the depths of your soul that makes your cheeks hurt with how hard you’re grinning, wind whipping at your hair, legs pumping as you give it your all. The two of you bank so hard around the corner that you almost fall over, an exhilarated whoop leaving your chest as you struggle to regain your footing, watching him disappear around the bend, but you’re so close to catching him now, like you could just reach out— 

You round the corner, bursting free of the intersection to come face to face with the convenience store. Your feet skid to a halt, suddenly heaving deep, heady breaths as you bend at the middle, panting, gasping. Your legs burn, your sight swims, but you’re laughing past your inhales and exhales, feeling energy in every limb, every inch of your being. Even as sore as you are already, you feel alive. Indisputably alive, fully alive. There is light and fire burning inside of you and if you wanted to, you feel like you could run the whole way back up the hill. You take in another gulp of oxygen, casting a glance around you, feeling the urge to roll your eyes when you realize the young man is gone. Disappeared entirely. Besides annoyance, at the apparently inherent ability of everybody in this town to just vanish on will, you feel…

You feel disappointed, you realize after a beat. 

Disappointed that he didn’t stay. 

The day is starting to grow long, the sunshine turning golden, the shadows turning violet. You can feel the slight drop in temperature as it cools, preparing to tuck the sun beneath the horizon. Today has really gotten out from under you. You might have to call it a night soon... And then you must remember to go and help Jin in the morning...it’s not his fault that you keep getting sent on these wild goose chases by the possibly-a-ghost librarian. 

Your breathing has calmed enough that you can walk now, and though you know you’re sweating up a storm, you decide to go into the store. At least before you start to smell.  You don’t see Taehyung anywhere outside of it, but maybe they’ll have seen him inside. 

The bell above you is light when you open the door, the air inside just as fragrant as ever with fresh fruit and vegetables, cooled from being sheltered from direct sunshine. It’s Eunju, this time, manning the counter, who gives you a warm smile when she spots you. She moves to say something, starting to circle around the side of the counter to greet you, but is interrupted entirely when an even older woman shuffles out from underneath the blanket hiding the back of the store. She’s bent over, old age curving her spine, claiming her thinning hair and turning it shock-white. She wears a soft-looking cardigan that all but hides her bone-thin fingers, the glasses perched on the end of her dainty nose as thick as bottle bottoms. She’s clutching something close to her chest, and after a moment you recognize it as a bear, reared up on its hind paws, mouth open in a silent roar, carved out of stone. 

“For the front of the store, Eunju,” she croaks as she walks past, her voice dry as bone. 

“No, mother, now, we’ve discussed this,” Miss Eunju tries to step in, chastising, but the woman won’t be budged, clutching the figure more resolutely to herself with a sharp glare that almost makes you laugh despite yourself. She ducks Eunju’s attempt to herd her back into the back of the store, waddling forward with the determination of a much younger woman. 

“It’s an eyesore,” Eunju complains, trying not to chuckle as she reaches again for the item in question. “The neighborhood children don’t like them.” 

“I don’t care what you think of it,” the older lady rasps loudly, still hurtling towards you with all the speed you imagine she can muster, “There is mischief about Spirit Lights.” 

As she comes closer, you can make out her nails, painted a modest brown, the pearls hanging from her lobes, the subdued but fine quality of her cardigan. She looks like a woman with power, even now. Reserved, but not likely to take any kind of nonsense. You can see where Miss Eunju must get it from. 

“Good evening,” she greets you politely, and out of respect, you immediately move out of her path, convinced that otherwise she’d mow you down just as surely as the tide comes in, hiding your grin with a nod. 

“Good evening,” you reply, but you doubt she can hear you. She shuffles past you, to the outside of the store. 

Eunju comes to an exhausted halt just by your side, watching her mother with an expression of mild despair as she props her hands on her ample waist. 

“Bah!” she calls, but you can hear the fondness in it. “Stubborn old bat. Only time you can count on her moving so quickly is when she’s being spiteful.” She sighs, shaking her head, but turns back to you with a fond look. “Hello again. What can I help you with? Was the candy alright? How is your handsome little chaperone?” 

“The candy was perfect, thank you,” you reply. “And actually, I was wondering if you’d seen him. I can’t seem to find him anywhere.”

“Oh,” she waves dismissively. “He’ll turn up. They always do, the rascals. I wouldn’t worry about it. This close to Spirit Lights, they always get a little squirrely.”

You blink. “...The strays?” 

“This town doesn’t have strays.” Her attention is quickly claimed by her mother appearing again, turning on her heel and trotting back in with the self-assured gait of a successful mission completed. “You know I’m going to take that back inside.”

“You do and I will put it right back where it belongs,” is her response. 

“They can’t come into private property, mother.”

“Well, you never know.”

“I do know! I have lived here nearly as long as you!” 

The older woman scoffs, waving an ancient hand as she scoots past. 

“There, now, see, Sungmin makes fun for my belief,” Eunju huffs, “but I am nothing compared to that absolute madwoman. Anyways.” She leans forward, putting a reassuring hand on your arm. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen your friend. But I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” She starts with a soft gasp of delight, looking suddenly at your arm. “Ah, your bracelet! I love that.”

“Thank you! I found it in my grandmother’s shed. I think it was mine when I was young,” you beam. She nods, patting you once with a knowing crook of her eyebrow. 

“You know what it reminds me of,” she says. “Here. It looks like this town to me. I’ve seen designs like that before. Good luck charms made for children.” She pats you again, her eyes squinting when her smile grows. “It suits you. This town suits you, I think.” 

She turns with an air of finality. “Now!” she adds, determined. “I’m going to take that heinous thing inside before it scares off my poor customers.” 

You giggle, watching her grab it and cart it back into the store. 

“Ever since that fiasco,” she huffs balefully. “She’s been working overtime to try and keep the spirits out. I swear she gets this manic light in her eyes...”

“Fiasco?” 

“Oh.” She pauses before resuming her trek, still chattering away, “I wouldn’t worry about it. Just some fearful business some time ago. Quite a few years ago now. Nothing came of it, anyhow, last I heard everyone was quite alright.” She turns as she walks to wag a finger at you. “Just don’t forget to be careful on Spirit Lights, that’s all. Some of the children don’t know any better, you know.” 

“I’ll be sure to be careful,” you reassure her. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Anytime you need anything, you know where to find us.” 

The trek back home feels long. Lonely. 

You perk up at the half-hearted hope that maybe Taehyung will greet you at the gate again, but slowly realize you’re on your own. As you get ready for bed, aching from your run, tired from the strange things that have happened to you during the day, you find yourself missing the little dog at your feet. The bed seems smaller and less inviting without him on it, and as you tuck in for the night, you heave your own world-weary sigh in his place. 

Even if you don’t figure out what Namjoon wants you to do, you hope you find him. It was nice to have a friend. 

You slip quickly, silently, into dreams made of velvet skies and starry lights.

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[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH14

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

WC: 3672

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely feedback I get for this series. Thank you for reading and staying. It’ll be a while until I get to the end, just so you know. There might be bumps on the way. Some bigger, some smaller. Please stay safe and don’t forget to wash your hands!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean hears things. 

He feels things.

There’s a movement that makes the mattress he lies on rock. There’s a sound of something. It gets brighter, he knows this, even if he has his eyes closed. 

And yet, even though he hears and feels things so vividly, he can’t seem to be able to open his eyes. He doesn’t feel like he wants to, at all — feels too cozy in the warmth of the bed. A feeling he can’t really place, one he hasn’t felt for a really long time.

He pretends to still be sleeping. Like those times when Sam was in high school and he came home late. Dean was still awake but as soon as he heard the turning of keys in the lock, he slumped down on the sofa and pretended that he was sleeping, just because he didn't want Sam to know that he was worried sick and waited for Sam the whole night. He was just glad that Sam came back unscattered.

And that’s exactly what he’s doing now, he can feel the presence of someone else, can feel that someone’s moving around in the room he’s in but he’s just too lost in his own cozy cocoon.

He can hear a door closing in the distance, can hear someone walking around, hears water running, and he knows that he should be aware, maybe even frightened at the intruder who’s in his apartment, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care. It’s a weird and scary kind of satisfaction he feels. That’s what it is.

Dean wakes up a little more when he feels the mattress dipping and there’s someone nudging at his face, he opens his eyes but it’s way too bright so he closes them again. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air. 

He feels someone moving beside him, someone nudging closer, a body cozying up to his, and there’s a soft giggle.

It takes him a while before he realizes where he is but when he does, the feeling of contentment almost suffocates him.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Y/N says, nosing at his scruff that’s now evidently even longer because he hasn’t trimmed in days, she kisses along his cheek, down his neck, and over his bare chest. His heart pumping away underneath her fingers and lips. He’s sure she must have been feeling it, too.

“No,” He mumbles, his voice scratchy, too deep, still full of sleep, feels the bass of his own voice rumble in his chest. 

“Come on.”

She sounds whiny and Dean couldn’t help but smirk when he opens one of his eyes. He has to squint because of the bright light but makes out her face as she smiles at him. She kisses him again, the corner of his lips, his chin, his nose. Her breath smells minty, fresh and there’s a smell of coffee mixed into it. She must have been up for a while.

“What a wake up call,” He says and tightens his grip around her waist, pulls her closer, lets her bury her face into the crook of his neck. “Just a little while longer, okay?”

And it’s true. He could get used to being woken up like this. 

Preferably every day.

She wraps her legs around his middle, he takes it as a yes. Her fingers trail along his bare chest and up his shoulder, stopping at the scar of a stray bullet that once grazed his skin. She lets her fingers dance along his bicep, there’s another scar too. He’s riddled with them. Too many to count or remember where he got it from. Sometimes he has a hard time distinguishing scars he got from his job with the ones he came home with from the war.

“War?” She asks, and there’s a crease between her eyebrows to which he lifts his head and kisses it away.

“Yeah,” He answers, even though it’s not the entire truth. Some of them are, yeah, but most of the scars on his body are not from war. She doesn’t need to know that because it doesn’t seem important to him. And that particular one she has her finger on, that’s not from war, he knows because it’s the most recent one, an ice pick from an angry dealer because Dean just put him out of business. The dealer paid for the mistake with his life with a bullet out of Cas’ gun.

He takes another look at her, the crease between her eyebrows is still there and he tucks some loose strand of her hair behind her ear, lets his finger skims along her face, she looks much better than yesterday. “How are you feeling? Still hurt?”

She shrugs. “I’ll survive.” 

“Well, I would hope so,” He chuckles. He knows that she’s probably still hurt, she must be. But he also knows that she’s one tough cookie. 

She sits up and reaches over to her bedside table to hand him a mug of steaming coffee. Heaving himself up, he rests his back against the headboard and takes the mug from her. “I don’t know how you drink it, but since I don’t have any milk and sugar left, black it is.” 

“That’s perfect.” He blows the steam a way and takes a sip. It’s perfect. He likes to drink it hotter, too. “Same color as my heart. Black as coal.” 

Y/N swats at his chest and Dean has to balance the mug as not to spill any coffee onto the bed. “Woah!”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He scoffs but feels his cheek heating up. He drinks the coffee, downs it in one go to hide the flush in his face. 

Dean turns around and places the mug onto the table on his side of the bed. He could get up now, the only problem is that he doesn’t want to. So instead of getting up, he lies down again, cozying himself up in her bed. “What time is it?” 

“It’s still early for you probably. 9AM. I just couldn’t sleep any longer.” She lies down with him and he spreads his arm for her to climb into. She comes in willingly, settles next to him, her arm drapes over his middle, her cheek on his chest. 

It’s still damn early, Dean agrees. But weirdly…

...weirdly, he feels like he slept for at least ten hours. 

He kisses her forehead, and she nudges closer so he rests his chin on the top of her head. “I didn’t have any nightmares,”

It’s a fact. He just realizes it now. It’s the second night without nightmares. Maybe the second night in what he thinks went on for years on end. He lost track already, can’t really tell when the last time was that he didn’t wake up with cold sweat and a beating heart.

“Do you usually?” Y/N asks, the tip of her finger paints figure eights on his chest. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, “Every night.”

“The war.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, even though it’s not funny. “But with you, I don’t.”

She tilts her head, looks up at him like he’s shitting her and he chuckles, paints along her eyebrow with his thumb, massaging at the crease that’s showing right between her eyebrows, before he goes on, “Last time too, when I slept next to you, the nightmares, they were gone.” He takes a breath, feels his heart pumping faster again. “This is it, right? I found you and you found me.”

  “I found you and you found me.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, wouldn’t know what to say to this, instead she buries her face into the crook of his neck and presses closer to him, hoping it's enough. Kind of hopes, he knows that she feels the same, it’s just a little more complicated for her and she buries her face even deeper, presses her lips to his skin. She doesn’t want him to see her guilt ridden face. 

He’s stroking her back with one of his hands, his finger traveling over every bump of her spine, as if he wants to memorize it, memorize her, every bump of her body, every crease etched into her skin. 

With his other hand, he blindly reaches for his phone that he carried and placed on the bedside table before he climbed into bed with her. She feels him thumbing through his messages, and knows for sure that there were some texts from Castiel because she peeked when he was still asleep.

She watches his face as he reads through the messages. Watches the long lashes when he blinks. Sees the freckles on his face, the crease of his dimples that are showing when he’s discontent or when he purses his lips. Knows so much of him already but it doesn’t seem like she knows him enough. After the texts, he went straight to his inbox. He has twenty-three unread texts and a dozen unread emails, she saw that.

Dean thumbs through the mails, scanning the names of the sender, only opening those mails he thinks are important to read right now. He did the same with his texts.

His fingers are still lazily stroking her, and every now and then he would absentmindedly kiss the top of her head. She has her eyes closed, listens to the beating of his heart. It feels good to lie like this. It strangely feels like home, something she never knew she missed. 

“What time do you have to be at work?” He asks her but his voice is low, like he doesn’t know if she’s still awake and he doesn’t really want to wake her up.

“Seven.” She answers. It’s usually her shift because Ellen has grown comfortable with her closing up. 

Dean places his phone back on the bedside table on his side of the bed and turns around abruptly, tackling her to climb on top of her. He pins both of her hands with only one of his to the mattress above her head, laughs at her because of the look of surprise on her face. He lowers himself, kisses her nose, her lip, her chin. He’s hard, she can feel that too. He dips his free hand underneath her shirt which she put back on after she got out of bed, skids his fingers up to her tits, twists at her nipple and makes her yelp up and then he laughs some more. 

“Fuck, I wish I had more time to do all the things I wanna do to you.”

“What things?”

“Nasty things. Filthy things.” He chuckles and lowers his head to place kisses on her throat, sucks in a patch, draws blood to the surface of her skin.

He’s marking her up. And she doesn’t really mind.

“Why don’t you have time?”

He lets go of her throat long enough to answer her, “Gotta be at the bunker at ten. Cas called for a meeting.”

“The bunker?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at that.

He shrugs. “Yeah. A great one. It has a gym, gun rage, garage, kitchen, library, bedrooms, TV room, bathrooms, some more rooms and even a tub.”

His face lights up when he counts off the things he has in the bunker. Like he’s really really proud.

She wonders if they took Jo to the bunker. If Jo’s still alive or if they’ve already killed her off. It’s not her place to ask and she knows that too.

“Wow,” Y/N huffs out, “Is there anything you don’t have?”

“A pool.” The answer came out quick. 

“Well, who needs a pool when you have a bunker, huh?” She jokes and in the next breath she goes, “Like really underneath the ground?”

Dean chuckles, “Yeah. I can show you around once.”

“What do you use it for? Like, why? Oh my god, you have a dungeon there, don’t you? A red room.”

He laughs, dropping his head on her shoulder, his breath warm against the crook of her neck.

“A dungeon, yeah. But it’s not a red room. I don’t even know what a red room is.”

He’s lying. She knows that he must know. She hasn’t read a single of those books but still she knows that it’s about a millionaire business man with a freaking sex dungeon of sorts?

Dean kisses her once, chaste, before he pushes himself up and starts to get dressed. “You gonna be okay?”

“Sure.” She says, pretending that she doesn’t mind that he leaves when in fact, she minds. A lot, actually. She’d love to spend the day with him. Maybe being lazy together, in bed. Or go on a walk, or fucking talk. She doesn’t know really. Just… something.

She walks him to the door and he bends down, places his hand on the back of her neck before he kisses her. 

“I’ll see you tonight, baby.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” She still can’t hide that she’s disappointed. “When?”

“I’ll pick you up. Take you home.” He says in a kind of a sexy voice that makes the hair on her back stand up, his arms sneaking around her waist as he takes a step towards her and pulls her close, her chest flat against his.

“Yeah?”

He lowers his face, kisses her cheek. “Yeah.” 

“And then?”

“We play with the pussy.” Dean laughs like he just made the best joke in the world, the crinkles around his eyes deepening, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, that was funny!”

“Sure.”

“And I wanna play with yours.” 

Her cheeks feel hot all of a sudden. Last night’s memories are flashing behind her eyes. 

She looks up to meet his eyes, sending him an amused look. “Will you let me play with your cock?” 

“Christ, Y/N!” He hisses and she laughs at that.

“Hey, it’d only be fair.”

He places both his hands on her ass, drags her closer and grinds against her, makes her feel his boner and shit, it’s really really big. “Now I can’t think of anything else and will have to sit through a meeting with a boner. Thanks to you.” Dean whispers grumpily. 

“You’re welcome,” She winks and it’s his turn to roll his eyes.

 *

 Dean left with a bruising kiss. She’s grown to like his kisses. They always start tantalizing slow but the pace and heat picks up soon, and he sucks and nibbles at her lips, making her shiver and leaves her wanting more. He’s a damn good kisser and that’s not really fair. 

She goes back to bed, clasps her hands over her face, the heat in her cheeks almost unbearable. 

This is it, isn’t it? He picks her of all people. And while he could have anyone, he wants her. She can’t help but feel guilty about it, but also she’s selfish, because she wants that too. She wants him. 

Y/N thinks about when the last time was that she felt what she feels now. Thinks about her last relationship, not that there were many. She can count them off on three fingers. There was Brad who took her virginity. And she let him because she was curious and just wanted to get it over with. After all, she agrees that virginity is just a social construct, plus, she didn’t want to be the last one to go to college with her v-card on display. She never thought Brad would stay with her afterwards but they really had a great Summer together, until they parted for different colleges. She still thinks of him every now and then, they keep in touch, too. There are obligatory emails and texts for Birthdays and Christmas. 

There were Michael and Cain later on but she barely remembers them because it’s so long ago and she doesn’t think the relationship was a fun one. Michael didn’t see her as his equal and Cain liked to keep tap on her and was very jealous. He turned into stalking and that’s the story of why she moved away from where she was before. And she’s glad that there's no way for him to find out her whereabouts when she’s undercover.

She’s yet to find out how Dean ticks but from what she gathered, he quite sees her as his equal but also someone he has to take care of (which she sometimes really doesn’t mind because she thinks that Dean needs this. Needs to be able to take care of someone).

Oh my god, Dean. 

She turns and buries her face in the pillow. There’s still traces of him left. She inhales, closes her eyes.

Fuck. 

She’s really fucked. She shouldn’t but all the fibers in her body wants.

  Dean drives to the bunker in a hurry. The meeting was a lie. Of course it was. He really didn’t want to lie to her but he couldn’t tell her the truth either. Not yet. Cas only told him that he has to take on the shift as everyone seems to be occupied. But the boner is a real thing and fuck, he really can’t wait to see her tonight.  

He arrives when Bobby is about to head out. 

“Did she talk?” He asks the old man. 

“Not a word. At least not the things you’d want to hear.” Bobby places a hand on his shoulder in passing. 

“Dammit,” Dean huffs out.

“You gonna be okay? Rufus is going to come over but he can’t make it before noon.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “That’s alright.” 

Bobby nods and makes his way up the stairs when Dean turns around to call up to Bobby. “Thanks, you know.. For the food.” 

“Anytime, son.” Bobby has a smile on his face, the man likes to talk about his food. “She’s a lovely young lady.”

“Yeah,” Dean replicates the smile. “She is.”

“Take good care of her.”

“I try.”

When the door closes, Dean walks down to the dungeon. He wonders if he needs to fix Jo something up for breakfast but seeing that Bobby was here, Dean’s sure that Bobby won’t let anyone go hungry anyway. Not even Jo.

He steps into the room, closes the door behind him before he takes a look at the girl on the chair. Jo still has that mad look in her eyes. 

Dean takes off his hoodie, drapes it over the chair and pulls the chair close to Jo. Not too close, because he knows that she can spit quite far, but close enough. Her hands are bound onto the arms of the chair.

Jo’s eyes are fixed on his crotch. What is it with women. Every time he wears sweatpants nobody even looks him in his eyes. He knows how women who are objectified on a regular basis feel now.

“My eyes are up here, Jo.” He says calmly and takes a seat. 

She chuckles darkly, her head’s a little tilted downwards but her eyes are looking up at him. “You’re half hard. Is it because of me?” 

Dean snorts. “You probably wish, Jo.”

“I mean, I can help out.” She shrugs, her lips curve into a playful smile but then her face settles into something else. Something Dean hasn't seen for a long time. Something that resembles the old Jo. “You were with her, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” He says, smiles a little and can’t help it because he always smiles when he thinks of Y/N.

“What is it about her?”

“She’s not you.” Dean shrugs.

“Ouch, that hurt.” 

He doesn’t know why Jo starts to chuckle but this time it isn’t dark. It sounds kind of genuine and he wonders if that’s it. If this is the moment Jo comes back to her fucking senses.

And then Jo adds, “No, really, why her?”

He takes a moment to think. Yeah, it’s a legitimate question. Why her of all people when he could have anyone? “I don’t know. I think that there are people out there who will fuel the fire inside of you, you know? Who will push you and better you. She’s doing exactly that.” 

“You love her?”

“I don’t know,” He threads his hand through his hair, “It’s still new.”

“You do, because that’s how you are.” Jo says then when her chuckle dies down. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s sad that everyone knows you better than you know yourself, Dean, isn’t it?”

Dean raises his eyebrow, not really getting it.

“You love her. You don’t know it yet but you do.” Jo huffs out. Her lips curve into a playful smile. 

“Love is so rare.” He says, knowing that it is.

“When you love, you love. You wouldn’t go through all this if you don’t love her. We all know that. And your love, Dean, has always been unconditional. It’s rare, you know? So, love is not rare. Your love is.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jo sighs, “Oh my god, you can be glad that you look as good as you do. What do you mean you don’t understand?” Jo rolls her eyes and he knows that if she could, she would gesture wildly with her hands. “You don’t know any other love than unconditional, is what I’m saying. John? Mary? Sam? Those are the only ones you ever did love. And it’s unconditional. They could do no wrong in your eyes.”

Dean’s crease between his eyebrows deepens.

Jo chuckles and goes on. “Remember when Sam totalled your first car? Or when John neglected you guys and dropped you off at my mom’s? You were annoyed, yes, but nothing could make you unlove them. Not even the shit that they both threw at you afterwards.”

Dean’s exhales. “Aaaand that’s enough story time for today. It’s too early for me to wrap my head around this shit.” 

He stands up, grabs his hoodie and walks out without looking at Jo. 

Walking along the corridor he thinks he needs a drink but he decides to take a shower instead. He meets Crowley later, needs a clear head to talk things through.

CH15

[iwillsithereandtrytocontribute]

Lost in the Wrong Story

I Knew You

Masterlist Last Next Ao3

A/N: A mini series collaboration of Roman angst between @hitmewiththatfanart33 and I. Feel free to ask either of us to be tagged. The next part will be posted to her blog!

Chapter Summary: Roman’s absence is affecting Patton a lot more than he lets on, and given the opportunity, he goes after him alone. Roman makes it clear he’s there to stay.

     Janus blinked owlishly as the early morning sunlight flooded into the room. That was strange. His room didn’t get sun. It took him a moment to realize where he was, but Patton’s arm around his torso quickly gave it away to his still-exhausted brain, as did the thousands of pictures lining the walls. Patton pulled Janus in tighter, wrapping him in his warm embrace until he was flush against his back, and oh how Janus longed to shut his eyes and melt into him. After the night he’d had, Janus could sleep for hours more. He shook his head slightly with the knowledge he couldn’t, and he forced his eyes to stay open, however heavy their lids were. Unfortunately, being awake meant that everything was starting to come back to him. 

     His heart ached, wishing Roman could be here with them. Janus must have moved slightly because Patton opened his eyes and removed his arm from around him to reach for his glasses. Janus sat up with a quiet groan, almost instantly missing Patton’s warmth, and he shivered as a chill ran over him.  

      “Morning, Honey-Dee,” Patton yawned. It was a huge one that merited a small, cute head shake afterwards. 

      “Good morning, my love,” Janus hummed, (voice true to his favorite pet name), barely holding in a matching yawn. Patton giggled and cupped his cheek to give him a quick morning kiss as well as nuzzle their noses together. Logan knocked on the door frame— when had he gotten there?— effectively drawing their attention away from one another. He looked entirely too fond. “And my other love.” Virgil appeared behind Logan. “And my—”

     “Yeah, yeah. We get it, Jay,” Virgil interrupted. “We’ve got more important things to do.” Janus decided not to mention the deep blush that had appeared on Virgil’s cheeks. He was right of course, but that didn’t take away from Janus’ satisfaction at flustering his partners. 

     Logan, on the other hand, was much more serious. He’d always been the most insufferable morning person. Knowing him, he’d been up for hours. “I am a little surprised at you, Janus. I would have expected you up by now seeing how worried you were last night. Given what you described, I was up rather early in order to begin our search for Roman.” 

     Janus rolled his eyes. He flicked his hand at Logan, putting him in the dress he had worn the night before, and god did he look good, shoulders bare and more elegantly dressed than they’d ever seen him. “You try running a restaurant in that.” Logan’s blush was matched by his partners. Now was not the time to be useless gays, but god dammit if that wasn’t just what they were.

     “I may have made an error in judgement,” Logan acknowledged. Virgil discreetly kicked him. Patton didn’t notice, but Janus still caught it and delighted in the rapidly deepening blush that came across their nerd’s face. “I apologize for being short with you,” he finished sheepishly, returning himself to his regular shirt and tie.

     “I convinced him to let you sleep in,” Virgil explained. Janus thanked his stars for his emo, for if he’d gotten a second less of sleep, he was sure he’d commit several different crimes today before blacking out. Several more than usual, that is. 

     Patton cocked his head to the side. “It’s not like you to be up so early, Virge.”

     “It is if I never slept,” Virgil said, doing finger guns in a poor attempt to lighten the situation. Patton crossed his arms, giving Virgil his Pattonted death stare. 

     “We’ll talk about that later.”

     Janus swung his legs out of bed and stood up. A wave of his hand removed any rumples from his clothing— he’d been too tired to change last night— restoring it to its crisp, clean norm, and as a finishing touch, he snapped his shoes on before elegantly twirling his bowler hat between his fingers, placing it on his head. Patton did the same, the only difference being him switching out his cat onesie for his normal clothing. Janus took a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s get Remus.”

***

     Patton hid behind Logan, as did Virgil, which was why he held his hand so that their brave Janus, who had put up with Remus’ chaos for years could do the talking. Logan was probably the warmest of all of them, even though Ro— smile, Patton— Patton himself was a pretty cozy temperature. He didn’t know what it was. He just radiated heat that Patton could feel even from merely hovering close to his strong shoulders. The same couldn’t be said for Janus and Virgil, however, for the two of them were cold as corpses— ew no, he was too close to Remus’ room gross gross gross…

     “Hello, Remus,” Janus greeted smoothly. Patton loved his voice so much. 

     “Riddle me this: if my anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, what does he want?” The way he spoke— like they were prey— made Patton squeak and squeeze his boyfriend’s cold hand tighter. 

     “For you to open the imagination. Roman locked us out.” Janus sounded annoyed already, and Patton peered around Logan’s shoulder to brave a look at the scene. 

     Remus lounged languidly against his door, holding it seductively, but at least there wasn’t any blood involved, and Janus had his arms crossed with his weight shifted to one leg in impatience with the duke. “Not my problem,” Remus shrugged, about to close the door. Janus stuck his foot inside. 

     “It is when he’s your brother and might not be coming home unless you help us,” he snapped. Then his tone softened, his eyes flickered to the floor, and he looked so uncharacteristically troubled. “He’s really hurting right now, Remus. Please.”

     “Only if I get to call Patton daddy.”

     “No,” Patton’s partners all quickly said in unison. Patton blushed. He was still scarred from figuring out what that meant after being called it so many times, but he was used to it by now. 

     Remus considered Janus, peering to the left of his door to get a good look at the other three of them, and Patton shuddered. “Fine,” he groaned after a long silence. “I can’t unlock it, but I can use my door.”

     Janus stepped aside to let Remus out, and he shut his door behind him, closed his eyes, then opened it again. It was just a swirling black portal of some sort. “In you go! There’s no telling where you’ll end up— it’s a bit chaotic in there— but if you think about brother dearest long enough, you should be able to find him.” Remus sounded incredibly impish, which made Patton a bit nervous, but when it came to any of his partners, he would do anything. He took a deep breath, stepped around Logan, and charged through the door before he could be stopped. He only had one thought on his mind: Roman. 

     When he stumbled through to whatever side, dimension, or however else he could have possibly reached this place from Remus’ door, he was in a lovely khaki skirt with a loose-fitting, light blue shirt tucked into it beneath a black corset of sorts. His feet were bare— that was probably the first thing he noticed because suddenly there was grass— and everything around him was so green and alive. Nearby a gray... scarf?... he assumed to be his rested on a low-hanging tree branch. Under that same tree sat a basket.

     Everything was starting to feel eerily familiar...

     Nostalgic.

     He let himself breathe in the fresh air that smelled of spring while he figured it out, letting the sun filtering down from the gaps in the trees hit his freckled arms. This place felt like home. All he could hear were birds chirping their beautiful songs without a trace of another human in sight or earshot, which troubled him, but he didn’t let it deter him from his mission. He’d be found by his loves if he got lost, right? Of course. Why would he even doubt it?

     Though he tried to think bright thoughts, his smile felt queasy and he suddenly dreaded having rushed through the door alone. Why wasn’t anyone else here yet? And where was here? His breaths began to come in heavier, and he spun in a circle. Everything looked the same. These were just trees in the woods with no markings, no one to hold his hand, and certainly no one to lead the way. 

     That just meant he had to figure things out for himself. Janus had said fairy tales, right? Well then which one was he in?

     Oh! Oh! Black corset, tan skirt, no shoes… Was he— was he Aurora?! Patton squealed, unable to stop himself from jumping up and down in the soft greenery. ‘I know how to find Roman,’ he sang in his head, though really Roman would be coming to him. 

     He clasped his hands behind his back innocently, looking around before beginning to sing. He took a big, slow, almost dancing step, liking the way the skirt moved with his leg. “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.” He twirled, and soon he was getting into the swing of things, freely sashaying around the forest floor. 

     “And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem, but if I know you, I know what you’ll do: you’ll love me at once, the way you did once…” Patton suddenly stopped, his chest throbbing as the full force of everything hit him. “... upon a… dream.” Then, of course, he was crying. What if Roman really didn’t come for him? What if he didn’t want them to find him so badly that he would just leave Patton alone? What if he never got his fingers kissed again, or had someone to sleepily sing with him in the morning? What if no one ever carried him to bed when he accidentally fell asleep during a movie? What if he never got to tell Roman how much he loved him again? God, he missed him so terribly much already. 

     He pressed his back against one of the trees with the gray bark, burying his face in his hands to wet them with tears in private. Someone gently tried to pry them away, and Patton, thinking he was alone, screamed loud enough to send the birds flying. There was nowhere to scramble backwards to, so his first instinct was to push the person away from him as hard as he could. They didn’t so much as budge. And though his original effort failed, Patton was instantly overwhelmed with joy because he’d know that broad, firm chest anywhere. His head shot up. 

     Heart still pounding, he grinned, exclaiming, “Ro—” 

     “Shh. Dance with me?” Patton frowned, hesitantly offering his hands with halting movement as he tried to discern Roman’s face. He hid his sad eyes behind a concerned expression, and in a moment the look was gone, turning into a too-wide, too-bright smile. Roman took Patton’s hands, pulling him away from the tree, and began twirling him in time to music that played softly from thin air. Roman hummed along as they danced without saying a word. 

     Patton tried to enjoy it, he really did. Roman was an elegant dancer and Patton enjoyed being his partner, but something was obviously wrong. Patton couldn’t pinpoint the denial as accurately as Janus, but as in tune as he was to emotion, it was hard to miss the raw feeling in Roman’s face, posture, even the world he had created. “Roman—” Patton tried again. 

     Roman pulled Patton closer, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek, but never once did he look him in the eye, instead gazing off somewhere behind him. “It’s alright, Patton. You’re allowed to cry,” he murmured. Patton almost laughed. 

     “It’s not about that. I mean, I suppose it is... I just didn’t think you were coming for me, and I missed you so much it hurt.” Patton was far from laughing now. He felt tears burn trails down his cheeks, and their dancing came to a halt along with the music. Roman lifted a hand to wipe the tears off of his face. 

     “You missed me?” Roman asked haltingly. His face slackened for a moment before being drawn back into that fake smile. It almost looked like a glitch, the sudden changes scaring Patton. “We only met but a few minutes ago. Did I make that large of an impression on you, darling?” he teased. 

     No no no… He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t— “Roman, we’ve been dating for months.” Patton was full-on crying now. He hadn’t quite believed Janus until now, for there was no way Roman felt so unwanted with all of them around. And yet… here they were. Standing in the middle of a serene forest that his ever so talented love had created, Patton uncontrollably crying his eyes out and Roman standing still as a statue because he didn’t know how to cope. How was it that Patton was only now feeling the depth of Roman’s insecurities? How was he only now realizing how hurt Roman was? 

     Roman dropped Patton’s hands reflexively, taking a small step back. “Patton… Why are you here?” 

     “We— We came for you. Janus told us what happened and—”

     “I told him not to follow me. I need— I need some space.” He ran a hand through his hair. 

     Patton took a step forward. “You need to come home.” Roman stepped further away, turning his back to Patton. “Roman?” He tried to put his hand on Roman’s shoulder, but he pulled away. 

     “Where were you when Janus came for me?” Roman asked hollowly. “You leave me alone for days before showing up randomly to discuss our feelings? I’m sick of it, Patton. I just want to be left alone.” Did he, or was he trying to push them away? Roman turned his head slightly towards Patton, and he swore he would never forget that apathetic goodbye. “Don’t try to follow me.” His stomach sank in dread. 

     Then Roman began walking through the trees, and behind him tumbled in thick fumes of fog. Patton desperately tried to follow him, but his regal form was quickly enveloped in the mist like a fleeting vision of a ghost that Patton had been graced with, leaving him to stumble around blindly, tripping over tree roots and low bushes. Roman wasn’t gone. He wouldn’t just leave him like this. It was a joke, right? Please let it be a joke. 

     He kept going and going and going, too scared of being left alone to stop, too scared of losing Roman to slow down. At one point he walked face-first into a tree branch, breaking his glasses, though it wasn’t like he could see in the first place. He threw them to the ground with a sobbing scream of frustration, then kept moving. 

     He had to keep searching. He had to. 

     “Roman?” Patton called. “Roman, this isn’t funny. Come out.” He finally found the end to the fog, but no Roman. Grief and fear twisted together to wrench his stomach. “Roman!’ Patton yelled louder and louder, diving back into the fog, screaming Roman’s name until his voice was hoarse. He fell more times than he could count, tearing his skirt and even his skin on more than just a few occasions. Wherever Roman was, he wasn’t here anymore. Slowly, the fog cleared, leaving a beaten-down Patton to numbly wander the forest. 

     He was alone.

*

*

*

@cuter-on-the-inside @abbyisconfused @n4o5r7a9 @omni-hamiltrash @fandomsofrandom @t0astyt0es @withspaces @anyelram841 @yep-another-fander @strangecreatureyoucantidentify @fandom-trash-304 @chelsvans @nomejodasb @iampengwing @neonb-fly @analogical-mess @midnight-tragedyy @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @athenashipsthings @thgjclw @littleladynightshade @casuallyimpossibledream @hekking-happy-nonsense @comicsimpson @slutforketchup @sanderrsidess @i-need-you-buddy @witchyvirgil @ghosttb0y @pixelatedrose @emilightniing @csi-baker-street-babes @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute @spooky-scary-virgil @justanothernerdyfandomblog @phantomfantasize @panicattheeveywhere @hedgiehoggles @i-really-like-dragons @youre-lazy-and-youre-gay0-0 @crabsncrabs @gattonero17 @dragonleesupporter @lokiamorstuffs @emo--nightmaree @anotherbisexualbooklover @7-slights-at-virgil @romanvirgil @croftersjam15

[mariinara]

REDAMANCY. (Sam Drake x Reader) PART 1

Tags: @the-winchesterboys , @the-drakeboys , @missdictatorme , @s4mdrake , @samdrakeftw , @purplezebra68 , @hrgnm , @unchartedterritoria

Word count: 3,107

(PROLOGUE, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

Location: London, UK, Bloomsbury district

______________

The smell of cheap liquor and perfume filled your nostrils as you walked through the hotel's hallway, your eyes glued to the crimson carpet beneath your feet, a small shiver running up your spine as cold goosebumps riddled your skin.

Even in summer, London was chillier than Boston at night and you wore a grey sweater just in case it started to rain out of nowhere. You've been there before and you didn't want to repeat the same mistake. Not that the sweater made much of a difference. 

When you were at the intersection of two hallways, you snapped your eyes up to look at the gold-plated signs on the wall that were engraved with a deep black color, indicating the range of the room numbers in both hallways.

'Third floor, room 303..' 

You repeated in your head as you walked down the correct hallway, your eyes scanning the rooms on your left and right, in search of his room. 

You were so engrossed in your search that you left Connor hanging on the phone that you loosely held against your ear.

"Babe?"

You blinked twice, "Yeah, I'm here.." You licked your dry lips, feeling them get a bit tacky from the cold weather and your shallow breaths, "Just, uhh.. Haven't been here for a while." You replied, a bit absentmindedly.

"So you're there?"

"Yeah."

"Keep me updated, okay?"

"I will, baby.." You stopped in your tracks once you saw room 301 and, suddenly, you didn't want Connor to get off the phone. You knew that as soon as you'd hang up, you'd feel the anxiety again.

"You wrap it up and come right back, okay?" He told you, and you could hear the cute little whine in his voice that made you smile.

"How could I do anything else?" 

He chuckled softly, "Alright, I love you." 

You pursed your lips, "Love ya, too, hun.." 

A pang of guilt hit you. You knew you shouldn't be lying to him about your whereabouts and about what you'll be doing for the next few days. You'd told him that you were flying to Nate and Elena's house in Nassau to do big renovations for the place while they were away. Connor knew that you've always wanted to be an interior designer, and he got you multiple, big gigs in his show as prop manager and designer, which got you into the business quicker than you expected. 

The lie you concocted was not fool-proof but it was the only thing that rolled off of your tongue once Connor asked who it was on the phone the other day. 

You didn't like lying to him. Relationships were all about the truth. That was something you firmly believed in. But he wouldn't understand this. You promised you were done and just setting out to fulfill a childhood dream would actually sound really stupid to him. 

You heard the line go blank, which made you inhale deeply. There bubbled your anxiety again, causing your stomach to do cartwheels. Uncomfortable ones. 

'Room 303..' 

You chewed down on your bottom lip and pushed your phone back into your pocket, switching your duffel bag to the other hand that wasn't as sweaty and, as you took cautious steps towards the assigned room, you felt the air getting thicker and everything grow silent, only hearing the pounding of your heart.

'You got this. He's just an old friend.. a-an acquaintance.. a.. brother..?'

You stood there, eyeing the wooden door with your eyes nervously flickering. With a shaky breath, you pulled up your hand to check the time on your wrist-watch.

9:10 P.M.

You were supposed to be in there ten minutes ago. As an extremely punctual person, something bothered you about that, and, hurriedly, you found yourself knocking twice on the door. When your hand dropped to your side, your chest filled up with instant regret.

'It's not too late to turn back around, is it..?' 

You asked yourself, looking down the hallway you came through earlier, pondering the idea of making a beeline out of there.

But, suddenly, the door in front of you creaked open, and you whipped your head to look at the man standing there, staring back at you with an almost surprised expression, like he just knew that you wanted to turn and run last second.

There it was again. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that made your breath hitch in your throat. Just staring into his eyes brought back all those bitter memories, but you quickly shoved them to the back of your head, letting a shaky sigh leave your nose. It was then that you noticed that he was in a dress shirt that had the first few buttons open and the bowtie around his collar was loose. The shirt was tucked in formal suit trousers, too, which meant that he was getting into something fancy for.. what exactly? 

He leaned closer towards you, looking left and right down the hallway. You'd pulled your face away with wide eyes when he got that close and grabbed onto his upper arms when one of them snaked around your waist. 

"What.. are you doing?" You slowly asked him, staring at him with furrowed brows as he studied the hallway.

Without replying or looking at you, he pulled you into his warm hotel room and let go of you to close the door.

You blinked in confusion, staring at him with furrowed brows as he turned to look at you, his eyes studying you closely and intimately. His gaze trapped you and you almost felt as if he had a hostile air about him.

"Have a seat." He simply told you, gesturing to the table next to the terrace that had a half-finished bottle of whiskey, an ashtray with a cigarette still propped on, the smoke slowly rising in the air, and an array of maps and books, all stacked in a messy heap.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, "Nice to see you, too.." You muttered, discarding the black duffel bag on a bench pressed against the wall and dragging a chair to slump down on.

"How was your flight?" Came his voice as he made his way to the table, circumventing it to stand on the opposite side of you, picking up his cigarette and flicking the ash off before pulling it up to his lips.

You crossed your arms over the table and nodded, trying to avoid his intense gaze, "It was fine." You simply replied with a small nod.

Sam held the cigarette between his lips and unscrewed the cork of the whiskey bottle, "Drink?" He offered before pausing to raise an amused brow at you, fighting back a teasing smirk, "You do still drink, right?"

You sent him a glare, your hands intertwining together a bit tighter, "That's funny." You humorlessly replied, "I do. But no i–"

"No ice." He continued, pouring some of the golden liquid into a glass cup that he set in front of you, "I know." His eyes were on you as he sat down with a small sigh, his back relaxed against the chair as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You ignored his stare and brought the glass to your lips, "So.." You clicked your tongue, "What was that all about?" You asked, your fingers tapping against the glass. He shook his head slightly, his eyes narrow. "At the door? You looked like I'm not the only one you were expecting." You elaborated.

"Mmmm.." He nodded, leaning forward to put off the cigarette in the ashtray, blowing out a cloud of smoke, "I was expectin' star boy to be there.."

You rolled your eyes, "His name's Connor." You corrected him, sitting back to cross your arms over your chest. You saw his brows twitch up in silent agitation, a forced, lop-sided smile on his face, despite that. "If you don't trust me, why'd you call me?" You questioned a bit defensively.

He hummed while taking a swig from his drink and shook his head, putting it down, "I trust you. It's you who doesn't trust me." He pointed an accusatory finger at you, making your brows pull together.

"Can you blame me?" You retorted. He paused for a second to search your eyes and he immediately knew you were talking about what he'd done back in Libertalia. It stung, the way you viewed him. Especially you. But he swallowed his tongue, nonetheless.

His eyes flickered down to your hands, spotting the engagement ring almost immediately. It drew an amused smirk to his lips when his eyes met yours, "That's a big rock." He commented, "I take it he finally got his big break, huh?"

You looked down at your hand, turning it to take a look at the ring. Your eyes rolled and you put your hands on your lap, wiping your sweaty hands against your denim-clad thighs, "So, what're we doing?" You gestured to the papers and documents and maps all sprawled on the table.

He cleared his throat and started to search for something in particular and, finally, he pulled it out from the pile of papers, then silently passed it to you. 

You glanced at the folded paper that seemed to be ripped out straight from an illustrations’ book and raised a brow at him, “This is..?”

Sam chuckled, “Open it, genius.” 

“Right.” You unfolded the paper quickly and narrowed your eyes at the ink drawings of the Unicorn ship. It was illustrated at different angles, with very detailed focus on important attributes that made it special, “Fifty cannons.. Triple masted.. Two decks..” You nodded, “That’s our girl.”

“Okay, now look at this..” He quickly shuffled to look through the pile for a certain book and, when he pulled it out, you immediately recognized the cover of his favorite pirate book. You watched him flip through it quickly, humming under his breath. It was something he often did when he was deep in thought or onto something and you remembered how you would point that out, back when things weren’t so rocky with him, but the thought made you smile, nonetheless, “There it is.” He motioned you to come closer and you instantly scooted your chair to his side to peek at the book with him, “Sir Francis Drake from Marlinspike hall..” 

You sighed at the pirate’s name, “This guy just didn’t know when to quit.”

Sam sent you a proud smirk, “Runs in the family.” 

You smiled at him and, you could swear that you saw his younger self for just a split second, but once you realized that you were gazing at him for too long without uttering a word, you looked back at the book, “The last captain of the old, beaten Unicorn..” You read.

Sam’s focus was back on the book and he skipped a few unimportant lines, “The ship set sail from Barbados in 1676 on one of the most ruinous voyages in maritime history.” He had that part underlined lightly with a pencil and your eyes moved lower to spot another underlined paragraph.

“Ship never reached its destination.. Attacked by pirates, all hands lost except for one survivor, yadda yadda..” You muttered. But then, at the next line, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, “When Sir Francis Drake was rescued and brought back home, he was convinced his name had been cursed.” You glanced at Sam with a small snort, “Go figure..” He chuckled at you and listened closely as you read. “The Unicorn’s manifest states that the ship carried cargo of tobacco and rum bound for Europe, but, it’s been long claimed that it carried a secret cargo..” You slowly turned your head towards Sam, your eyes wide and a grin slowly spread on your face, "So, Drake was connected to Red Rakham's treasure.."

Sam returned your grin, "I'm willin' to bet that it wasn't even Red Rakham's treasure in the first place." When he saw your intrigued, yet contemplative expression, he looked at the book and pointed at a certain line, "Here. Look. When Sir Francis was questioned about the voyage, he replied with: "This treasure drowns with my bloodline and shall remain so. Only a true Drake will be able to find it.""

"The treasure belonged to Drake.." You trailed off, your eyes glued to the book, "Red Rakham's ship was the one that attacked Drake's." You concluded, sitting back and crossing your arms with an impressed nod, "And.. you found the link between him and Drake on your own.." 

Sam raised a brow, closing the book, "You sound surprised." He smiled and you reciprocated it cordially, but something about it seemed too forced.

"Just take the compliment." 

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, his smile faltering. You noticed it. How his eyes lowered to look at the carpet underneath the table. He seemed to want to say something. Like an apology of some sort, but you ripped your gaze away from him before he could speak. You didn't want him to apologize. You didn't want him to say anything that would remind you of the man you used to love. That was the last thing you needed. 

Sam put the book to the side and cleared his throat, getting up from his chair and walking over to the dresser to retrieve a rolled up newspaper from there quietly, and walked back to the table to put it in front of you, "That's our next stop."

You raised a brow up at him and grabbed the paper, opening it to the front page, your eyes immediately landing on an announcement that there was an auction held near your district, which brought unpleasant memories to you, "The Bedford estate auction.." You muttered.

"Mm-hmm." His finger hovered over the page and he tapped at the auctioned items list, "Look here. Sound familiar?" 

You squinted your eyes and read over the line he pointed at, "Battleship model, seventeenth century, reign of Charles the second.." You trailed off and inhaled deeply, leaving the newspaper and sitting back to look at him, "You do remember what happened the last time we went into an auction uninvited, don't you?" You asked him, an uninterested look on your face. 

He smirked and nodded his head, resting his hands on the back of your chair, "Sure, but this time is gonna be different."

"How come?"

"We're invited." He wiggled his brows once, like he just let you in on the most dangerous, tempting secret in the world.

Your brows pulled together in confusion, "What?" You shook your head, "How?"

He sighed and turned his back to you, walking over to his bed, "I'll fill you in on the way." He then removed the white, signature hotel duvet, only to reveal a whole set of guns from different calibers, small boxes of bullets, extra magazines. Your eyes widened for a split second at the view and you looked up at Sam as he turned to you, his hands on his hips and a stupid grin on his face, "You still remember how to handle those?"

"Jesus!" You exclaimed, practically jumping from the chair and taking wide steps towards the bed to take a closer look at the weapons, "What— How did you even get those in here?"

Sam pushed his hands in his pockets, "Had to grease a few palms." He shrugged nonchalantly, sending you a calm smile.

"Why do we even need those?!" You whisper-shouted, behind clenched teeth, your eyes wide and crazed.

He rolled his eyes, "You do remember what happened the last time we went into an auction, right?" 

"You said we were invited!"

"Never said I had the money for bidding." He retorted quickly.

You threw your hands up in frustration with a humourless laugh, "Well, of course not! You wasted it all on those!" You argued, gesturing to the guns on his mattress.

"Uh, no. First of all, those were already in my possession–" You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it, "Second of all, you're gonna need to be more lenient and cooperative or else we're gonna end up dead. Those people don't mess around."

Your eyes widened, "What?" You watched him walk past you and to the body mirror, buttoning up his shirt silently. You followed him and stood right behind him, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Sam did his bowtie silently and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you through the mirror. He then stopped completely and hummed, narrowing his eyes.

"Samuel–"

He stepped behind you, grabbing your upper arms and letting you see your reflection, his chest pressed against your back and his eyes roaming your body through the mirror, "You don't happen to have a pretty lil' red dress, do you?" 

You snorted a laugh of disbelief, "What?"

His hands came up to hold your hair and twirl it in his hands, holding it into a low, messy bun, "That oughta show some skin, too.." He muttered, studying your pretty face that was hidden by your loose hair, "You didn't answer me." He reminded you.

You shook your head in confusion, "I.. do, but–" 

"Perfect." He stepped away from you to go over to his wardrobe, pulling his black suit jacket from the hanger, throwing it on his shoulder and letting it drape there, "Wear your hair like I just showed you and put it on." He instructed you before tilting his head and reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, "And – y'know – doll up a bit." He put it in his mouth and lit it, narrowing his eyes at you as he took a drag.

You scoffed, watching him turn away and open the door to leave, "Sam!" You yelled for him as he slipped outside, and he stopped to look at you.

"Yep?" He looked over his shoulder and you swore you could see a smirk play on his lips.

You gave him an incredulous look, "Is there something you're not telling me?!" You repeated, slower and louder in case he didn't quite catch you.

His lips slowly curled up to a smile, his cigarette still held between them. He then glanced at the bed full of weapons and back at you, "Pick something inconspicuous, will ya? I'll be waitin' for you on the sidewalk."

"Sam!–" 

He shut the door and left you in your predicament, making you growl out in utter and absolute frustration, your fists clenched and your breathing uneven.

And you wondered if this was all a plot of revenge from the older Drake for the way you treated him in Libertalia.

_____________

[midnigtartist]

Spicy Mermauk

long time since ive posted anything for this au but I promise its still going strong

this fic is m rated and set after Molly and Caleb are already together

also @millimauk did some amazing art to go with it uwu

Caleb knows its Mollymauk who’s entered his study by the sound of gentle foot falls with no accompanying voice announcing their presence. Instead he hears the snap of the door as its shut. Hands come to rest on his shoulders as Mollymauk drops a kiss to the top of his head. Caleb sets aside the pen he was holding, instead reaching up to lay his own hand over Molly’s.

“Hallo Schatz” he murmurs, swiveling his chair around so that he can see the mermaid.

He’s grown so used to Molly walking around stark naked at this point, and maybe that’s not great, but that familiarity is what makes the times Molly does put something on more noteworthy. Currently he’s wearing the long, loose skirt he enjoys so much, Caleb suspects it has something to do with keeping his legs free. He's offered Molly trousers before, but he finds them to constricting. So on the rare occasion that Molly does wear something around the house, it's often this, as well as the bandages around his middle that hide his abdominal gills. They’re as much to keep them from Jester and Beau as they are to keep irritation away from the sensitive organs.

As Caleb turns around Molly drapes his arms over his shoulders and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Working?” he signs.

Caleb nods. “Ja, ja I am going through my notes so that i can compile them into a usable thesis for the conference.” he flushes at the fact that he can find very little in his notes about Molly that aren't riddled with undertones of pinning or outright too vulgar to put in a presentation. “But aahh, you know I think I’ve been at it long enough for now.”

Molly grins, planting his hands on the arms of the chair so he can lean down and capture Caleb's mouth in a searing kiss. When he pulls back, Caleb is almost dazed.

“Good” Molly signs, before taking Caleb’s hands and pulling him out of the chair. The creak of his joints tells Caleb he’s definitely been sitting here too long. “I’ve missed you today.”

“I’m sorry I have not been able to make much time for you today, Mollymauk.” he says, wrapping arms around Molly's waist.

Molly shrugs, nuzzling up against Caleb instead of replying, twining his arms around his neck.

Caleb had never considered how utterly touch starved he was before Molly took up residence with him. But Molly is not shy with his affections and Caleb finds himself growing more and more willing to indulge himself in his idle touches. So he pulls Molly close by the hips and ducks his head down to bury his face in his soft curls, letting some of the tension of the day ebb out of his body. Molly stretches up to press the length of himself to Caleb’s front. Caleb can feel his breath against his neck. It makes him shiver. Hes about to pull away when Molly tightens his grip around his shoulders, nudging his hips forward just enough that Caleb can feel an unmistakable hardness pressing against his thigh. He sucks in a sharp breath. His face flushes with heat as the tone of this chaste embrace quickly shifts

“Mollymauk,,,?”

Molly hums into his ear, the sound quickly becoming a rumbling purr in the other man's chest as he presses impossibly closer.

“Mollymauk are you-?”

A nod against his neck, and then Molly pulls away, looking up at Caleb with his fathomless red eyes.

“I really missed you today” Molly signs. “I was really quite bored, so I had to find ways to entertain myself.” and he smiles a knowing smile that has Caleb’s heart doing flips in his chest.

He sets his hands on Molly’s waist, over the bandages, and Molly shivers. It's almost more than Caleb can stand. Beautiful Mollymauk in nothing but a long, flowing skirt, a noticeable tenting in the front of it that makes his mouth dry with want. “Do ahh-” he lets his hands wander. Slides them down over the swell of Molly's ass to the backs of his thighs, slowly gathering the material in hand until he can brush the pads of his fingers over Molly’s warm skin. “Do you want help with this?”

Molly nods eagerly, rewrapping his arms around Caleb’s neck as Caleb slips his hands up the back of his skirt. It's easy to push the fabric aside and run his palms over every inch of Molly's soft skin, stopping just short of the denting in the front. Molly makes a mournful noise in the back of his throat. Caleb captures it with his lips.

“Okay” he murmurs against the other man’s mouth. “Okay, okay ja, give me one moment.”

With one hand still cupped around the back of Molly’s thigh, Caleb pivots them, turning them towards his desk. Its littered with pages of notes and scraps of paper and other, more important things, he's sure. He disregards all of that, sweeping it aside to make a clear space on the desk. Things go scattering to the floor, Caleb pays them no mind. Instead he bends and wraps arms around Molly’s legs, hoisting him up onto the desk, no small feat in his mind as his thin arms aren’t meant to lift more than a peer reviewed study. Molly quickly tangles fingers into his hair, dragging him down into an open mouthed kiss that causes a groan to catch on the back of Caleb’s tongue. With fumbling fingers, Caleb reaches up to the bandages around Molly’s torso, undoing them with clumsy, stumbling fingers. The wrappings go slack in his hand. Slowly Caleb unravels them, relishing in the way Molly shudders at the soft fabric brushing against tender skin. All the while Mollymauk lays kisses over his jaw, and nips softly at his lips. Clearly desperate. Desperate at the thought of him. Gods, Caleb had not even given himself a moment to consider. To consider Molly bored and listless in his bed, occupying himself with thoughts of him. Touching himself to the thought of him. Caleb draws back to muffle a groan into the side of Mollymauk’s neck, stomach hot and heart throbbing against his rib cage. He’s hopelessly smitten with this beautiful creature, and he cannot fathom how the feeling could be mutual, and yet it is. Surely it is, as Molly takes his face in hand and guilds him back up so that their lips meet.

“A moment-” he breaths, prying Molly off just long enough to get the words out. “A moment bitte”

Mollymauk complies, drawing back with a final nip at Caleb’s lips that leaves him breathless. He presses a swift kiss under Molly’s jaw, where he can feel his pulse hammering under the skin.

“I need to get the door. Just one moment, mein Schatz.”

Molly sighs deeply, but nods, unknotting his arms from around Caleb's neck with an air of deepest disappointment.

Caleb finds that he can't get to the door fast enough. Outside of Mollymauk’s embrace he feels cold, and even his stumbling feet seem to protest the separation. How weak he is for the man. But it wont do to have either of the girls barging in on them. They are already convinced that the time the time he and Molly spend in here is less than scientific. They would only be right about forty percent of the time. Most of their time spent locked in Caleb’s study is utterly professional. And yet sometimes,,,,

As Caleb clicks the lock into place, he hears Molly let out a breathy cry, and he whips around to see what’s happened.

Gods hes looks so debauch like this.

Without a shred of decency, Molly’s leaned back against the wall and thrown his legs wide, palming over the prominent bulge in the front of his skirt. Little, voiceless sighs leave him. Caleb is back at his side in an instant. Sliding between his legs and tipping his head up to catch the mermaid in a deep and desperate kiss. His hands find purchase on Molly’s sides, thumbs ever so gently stroking over the tops of his gills. They flutter and twitch ever so slightly under the rough pads of his thumbs. Each brush of his fingers causes Molly’s breath to hitch until the other man is squirming under his touch, chest heaving every so slightly. He buries his face in the side of Caleb’s neck and keens soundlessly. Occasionally he bites down, drawing a low groan from Caleb himself. Caleb lays a line of wet kisses along the length of his throat. Molly’s hands tighten on his forearms, a request without words.

He's not sure why he's hesitant to bring a hand down to palm Molly through the fabric of his skirt. The majority of the times he's known the mermaid he’s been nude, and certainly this isn't the first time they’ve been intimate with each other. But there’s something about touching Molly’s clothed form that sends a thrill down his spine. Like him being covered adds a layer of obscenity to the whole thing, like Molly is something to be unwrapped, by him, and him alone. He shuddered at the strange thought, and strokes Molly lightly through the loose fabric feeling the hot curve of his cock against his palm. Molly’s back arches, pressing up as Caleb touches him, feather light.

He loves the shiny magenta flush in his cheeks, and how his mouth silently forms the shape of sounds his throat can’t make. Soft cries and low guttural moans that still ring clear in Caleb’s ears from the so few times he's gotten to hear them. Caleb kisses the curve of his horn, then his temple, before bowing his head to kiss his shoulder as well. He feels Molly drag a hand down his arm over his hip, before finally coming around to  cup Caleb through the front of his trousers. Caleb's breaths out harshly through his nose at the contact.

“Nien,, nien Schatz”  he mutters, careful removing the hand from his crotch.

Molly looks worried, confused as he pulls back, so Caleb brings his hand up to kiss the back of his knuckles and smile fondly at him. “I am going to focus on you right now.”

A light of recognition sparks in Molly's eyes.

“Research?” he signs.

Caleb sighs, cupping Molly’s face in both hands and kissing him sweetly. “I wish you would stop calling our intimate moments ‘research’ I thought that I had made it clear that you mean far more to me than that.”

“Oh I know that” Molly signs. “It's just a good joke yeah?”

Again Caleb sighs, but its colored by the smile that he cannot contain. “If you say so.”he says, kissing Molly sweetly once more before descending upon his throat. He kisses over his clavicle, layer marks over fading marks in a familiar pattern over Molly’s flush and lovely skin. By the time he's made it down to his stomach, lavishing kisses over the expanse of brilliant lavender, Molly is panting.

“This is very lovely.” Caleb says, kissing just above the waistband of the skirt. He’s sunk to his knees, kneeling between Molly’s spread legs. His straining cock pushes against the fabric of the skirt, creating folds that Caleb finds himself rather taken with. “It would be a waste to take it off so soon- if you are willing to leave it on a bit longer, mein Schatz” his gaze flickers quickly up to Molly, who nods.

“Yes” he signs shakily. “Yes” over and over until Caleb drags blunt nail gently over his inner thigh and suddenly Molly’s hands become too preoccupied with gripping the edge of the desk.

Caleb hums against his belly once more. “Alright”

It’s harder to see Molly’s hands from here, he can't see if he's sloppily signing anything. All he has to go on as he kisses and nips his way up the length of the other man’s thigh is the sound of his stuttering breath catching in his chest and sharp, silent gasps. The barely there sounds still sit warm in Caleb’s belly as he drags chapped lips over the inner seam of the mermaid’s thigh.  As he approaches the hem of the skirt, he ducks beneath it, drawing a startled gasp from his companion. Fingers tighten against his shoulders, and Caleb presses his self satisfied smile into the heat of Molly’s flushed skin

It's dark under the fabric, the light muted and dim. The air here hot, and thick with the smell of sweat and prespend. He can see Molly’s cock now, pressing insistently against the inside of the skirt that does  little to provide him modesty. The fabrie falls over it like drapery where its stands heavy and hard between his thighs. The head is flushed a deep shade of mauve. Caleb feels a pang of sympathy for him. How long had Mollymauk lay there, palming himself before coming to seek Caleb out, Caleb wonders. He draws fingers over the heated flesh, slow and reverent, gently touching each flushed ridge on the underside of Molly’s cock so that his legs tense on either side of him. Had he let idle hands wander across his belly before touching himself over the fabric of the skirt? Or had he hiked it up and out of the way before taking himself in hand. Caleb curls his own hand around the base of him and gives two loose pumps. A hand uncurls from his shirt to grip at the back of his head instead.  Caleb imagines Molly with knees bent and a hand fisted around his swollen dick, and he rushes to muffle his strangled moan against the crux of Molly’s thigh.

He wants nothing more than to take the flushed, rigid thing into his mouth and bring Mollymauk all the pleasure he deserves. Wants to bring Molly off to a quick and desperate orgasm, but he forces himself to have some restraint. He leans in, Mollymauk whimpering at the feeling of hot breath along his cock, and kisses the base, feeling Molly shiver all around him as he does. So he does it again. And again and again, kissing his way to the tip of his cock, his head now forming the tent in Molly’s skirt. Caleb gives the tip one shy lick, gathering the sharp taste of it on his tongue, before parting his lips and sliding down the length of him.

Molly thighs go tense around him as hands descend upon his head, scrabbling to find a hold in his hair through the fabric of the skirt. Caleb can hear the way his breath has grown ragged, sharp and desperate, feels the slight quiver in his hips under his hands as he fights to hold them still for Caleb. Caleb draws the flat of his tongue along the underside, eliciting a full body shudder from the man above him.

Only now does Caleb realize that he’s played himself. While under the skirt like this has undoubtedly been sexy, he realizes he's cut himself off from Molly’s pleasure. With no real voice to express it, all Caleb can hear are the sharp, strangled breaths as they catch in Molly’s throat. But he can’t see him. he can't see his face tight with need, a thin line of pleasure creased between his brows. Can’t see the way his mouth hangs open as he pants with it. Can’t watch what the feeling of his lips wrapped around his dick do to him. His head thrown back against the wall, eyes clouding over with desire as Caleb draws those high pitched and keening cries from him. Gods he wishes he could hear him. The deep belly groans and the shouts of pleasure as Caleb sucks him off are a phantom ringing his ears. He grips tighter to Molly’s thighs as the other man’s hips start to thrust forward of their own accorded, and draws back to lick over the head with the flat of his tongue. There’s a disappointed huff of air above him, and Caleb’s lips curl up in a smile.

“You know I do not mean to tease you.” he says, a bold face lie that Mollymauk is not convinced by.

The mermaid whines, a high shrieking sound, and he thrust his hips forward, cock bobbing eagerly into empty air.

“Hush libling.” he soothes, even as his thumbs rubs deep circles into his trembling thighs and his lips ghost over the underside of his cock. “I will see to it that you are taken care of, ja?”

And he does makes good on the promise, taking Molly back into his mouth as far as he can. Sucking roughly as he own resolves begins to break, and bobbing his head up and down the length of him until his jaw is aching in the sweetest way. Above him he can hear Molly’s breath grow shallow and quick. Each breath a gasp and squeak of pleasure as his hands grip tighter to the back of Caleb’s head and his hips move in small aborted thrusts to meet his lips. Caleb takes him deep into his mouth and holds him there in the warm wet heat of it. Until the taste of spending grows sharp against his tongue and Molly’s legs start to quiver, and he quickly releases him.

“Hhhhhaa!”

The sound the leaves Molly’s throat nearly topples Caleb with need. He has to reach down and grip himself through his trousers just to take the edge off his own painfully hard desire. Molly’s cock twitches weeps, a painful looking bruise color now, ball loosening as he draws back from the very edge of his orgasm.

‘Hhhaa haa haaaa”

Even his breathless panting sounds so ruined, and Caleb feels his chest filled with pity and affection. How long had Molly teased himself before seeking him out? How long hand he let his fingers linger on himself before drawing them away in favor of the touch of Caleb’s hand?

“Hush mein Stern” he mutters. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of Molly’s thigh and he jumps at the contact. “Hush Schatzie” he coos, drawing back from under the skirt. “I want to see you.”

Loose plum curls hang over Molly’s eyes and stick to the back of his neck, matted with sweat. His arms quiver and his chest heaves and a flush stains his skin a startling shade of wine from the tops of his cheeks all the way down to his belly. His lips partly slightly, his eyes glassy and features pinched tight with need.

“Ahh ahh”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and sweat dews along his skin and suddenly Caleb feels a bit bad for teasing him so much.

“Oh Mollymauk.” he murmurs, pushing himself to stand so that he can cup the other man’s face between his hands.

Molly wastes no time pressing up into the touch. His hands scramble to find purchase on Caleb, tangled in his hair and gripping at the front of his shirt. He whines as he pulls Caleb in, pulling them flush so the can press up desperately into his chest and stares at him with wide pleading eyes. Trying to beg without words. Caleb is quick to draw him in for a kiss, pushing his tongue past the seam of Molly’s mouth so he can taste himself on Caleb’s lips, and Molly groans.

“I want to see you” he repeats, shoving the skirt to the side and taking Molly in hand with little preamble. Molly arcs wildly against his chest. Caleb loops his arm around his waist as he strokes him in earnest now, laying kisses over his jaw. “Mollymauk,,,,,”

“Haaaaa!”

It only takes a few rough strokes to bring Molly to completion. He trembles in Caleb’s arms as his cock leaps in his fist and hot and sticky cover Caleb’s fingers and Molly’s stomach and the skirt too. Caleb gently eases him though it, touching featherlight to his softening dick and kissing his cheeks and his temple until Molly stops shaking in his grasp. When he draws back, Molly is smiling at him, exhausted but content, eyes half lidded and heavy. Caleb’s heart swells and he rushes forward to kiss him, chastely. “You are lovely, mein Schatz.” he says as they draw back. “Was that ahh- that was alright?”

Molly nods languidly, wrapping his arms around the back of Caleb’s neck. Eventually his chest stops heaving and the flush starts to leave his cheeks. Molly droops forward into Caleb’s shoulder and he can't help but chuckle. “Tired?’ he asks. Again Molly nods. “I suppose I ought to get you to bed then.” another nod.

So Caleb helps him down from the desk onto his shaking legs and lays a hand against the small of his back to steady him. They're About halfway down the hall to Molly’s room when Caleb feels a tap on his shoulder He turns, giving Mollymauk a questioning look. The mermaid smiles a tired, but knowing smile at him.

“Again?” he signs.

Caleb feels his flagging erection leap at the single word. He swallows around his suddenly dry throat.

“Gods, Mollymauk,,” He glances at the clock. The girls are not due to be back for another few hours. “I suppose there’s  ahhh- time for a bit more “research’,,,” he says in a rush

Molly throws his head back in the silent laugh and Caleb hurries them down the hall.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Ashamed

Summary: Could I request one where Eddie is ashamed of the scar on his chest from Pennywise and that he refuses to take his shirt off for any reason until Richie confronts him and tells him that the scar is a reminder of his bravery and he takes Eddie's shirt off and kisses it?

A/N: I hope you enjoy and I’m so sorry it took so long! I’m a bit behind on my request but I promise I’m trying to finish request every day so to everyone who has requested stuff, I promise it’s coming!  

warnings: there’s a sex joke in here, and a sex reference (not graphic at all) 

Eddie has contemplated before on hanging up a towel over the mirror any and each time he’s in the bathroom by himself. He’s never executed the plan, Richie’s too observant for that too work and would notice but straight away, leading to questions Eddie’s ashamed to answer, but whenever Richie is away on tour or a show, he’ll prop the towel from one side to the other, obscuring the view of his chest.

He’s never been very confident in his appearance, but he wasn’t hyper aware of it like he is after the Pennywise accident either. He didn’t have to be. For years Myra smothered him with her self-presumed love and adoration, picking out the clothes he wore and buying all the creams and aftershave she treasured, and Eddie followed her in those things without stopping and thinking about what he liked and how he wanted to sell himself towards other people.

Once, he was gifted a perfume bottle from one of his coworkers, a secret Santa gift, and when he sprayed it on to go to work the next day, Myra picked up on the change and gave him a piece of her mind. She reamed Eddie about not remodeling himself to be accepted by his peers, not mulling that maybe the Eddie she prepared and drilled every morning was not the real Eddie. There were threats being ushered, like Eddie cheating on Myra and switching perfumes to galvanize his mistress, and no matter how many times Eddie tried to reason with her, she was dead set on the idea.

He tossed the bottle out that same day, immensely guilty that he gave Myra grounds to question him. She was right after all, Eddie was married, and he didn’t have to make anyone happy except his wife, not even himself.

Post Derry him is happier. So fucking happy he gleams and elates every morning awakening in Richie’s arms, or the other way around, nosing behind Richie’s ear to get that one little inch closer, turning off the alarm and dosing an extra hour, work suddenly coming second for once in Eddie’s life. Richie had that effect on him, made him long to be near him twenty-four/seven,

But he also feels worse, and that can be tracked back to the long, vertical scar smacked in the middle of his chest. It’s starts in the mornings, but in a stand offish way, the insecurities bubbling on the edge of his mind loud enough that Eddie knows they’re there, but not so ample close that Eddie nitpicks and examines them, yet.

And at first it wasn’t even that bad, Eddie mostly enthralled with moving his stuff in and out of houses, and fitting as much RichieandEddie time into their shared schedule to gain back what they lost over the years, the underlying doubt and terror every time he caught a glimpse of the scar background to the best moments of his life.

It only really became a problem the first time Eddie and Richie made love to each other, and Eddie refused to take of his shirt. The pleasant, hot and vastly attractive sight of Richie’s slightly pudgy stomach and thighs, and his clean, smooth chest Eddie could run his fingers over and not bubble once incited a deep meekness and carved him hallow. Emptied by the idea that he’s horrific and undeserving of the adoration so blindingly clear in his boyfriends eyes.

Most off all, the scar is reminiscent on the clown trauma, proof that Pennywise maintains some sort of power over him, in comparisons to his friends and Richie, who moved on with their lives. It distinguishes him from the group, and not in a good way. In a way that shines a bright neon spot over Eddie’s head, accentuating his cowardness.  

The reflections displayed in the mirror exhibits his slip up, his idiocy to entertain the idea of him being strong enough to defeat Pennywise all on his own, he wants nothing to do with it. The scar tissue puckers up his skin and his disgust is so deeply rooted that he didn’t even bother to check up on it for months after Derry, to assure it didn’t fester.

So no, Eddie doesn’t conceal the glass whenever Richie is home, but what he does do is strip down everything except for his shirt when slipping in the shower, towing the shower curtain and tossing the shirt out, rumpled on the floor, via the small slit.

The wrinkles in his shirt agitate him, but are a small price to pay for preserving his sanity and spirits. In the shower he resolutely does not look down at all, his eyes trained on the ugly pattern of tiles Richie claimed came with the house when he bought it, but Eddie suspects he just really fancy’s it.

Eddie always neatly packs his new shirt on the countertop, effortlessly accessible from the lavatory so he can dry off and pull on his shirt without drawing his own attention to his chest.

Stowing away his insecurity is a weight he’s been holding over his own head, so dangerously close to imbalance and tumbling over that Eddie feels shifting his attention from it slightly will let it all crash down on him. Because Richie has a tenacious personality, and once he catches a whiff of it, he’ll cling to the smallest straws to get to the bottom of it.

The schedule Eddie’s built has never been interrupted before, Richie knowing, or at least being tricked into knowing, and understanding that the bathroom serves as Eddie’s sanctuary, a place for being alone and restocking and regrouping his overactive mind. The interference in the schedule is Eddie’s own wrongdoing, for glossing over the fact that they had a dinner party to attend to, and dragging out his time in the bathroom for way too long plus forgetting to grab a change of clothing.

He only addresses the issue at hand when the shower runs cold and he’s bordering on being late, contemplating his options with his hands resting on his hips. Richie always sings a derivative of a song before entering a room, transforming the lyrics in a way that fits in Eddie and Richie’s life, as a substitute for knocking as that’s boring according to him, but Eddie discerns tiny snores emerging from the living room, so Eddie hurriedly dries off and dons his underwear, training his eyes down casted to not look at the mirror.

He wastes a long time debating on what to wear, matching multiple t-shirts to the pants he has elected to wear, unbeknownst that the snoring in the other room has ebbed away. This is an important business meeting with Richie’s new manager, one that will lift up his spirits and encourage him to fly solo, writers free, and Eddie can’t afford to mess this up. He’s scrutinizing an oxford-button-down forest green shirt, analyzing if there’s a spot on the fabric or if it’s a trick of the light.  

Hearing the caroling a smidge too late, Eddie has no time to slip in the shirt before the door cracks open, Richie’s wild curls sticking out in every direction and his pants too low, pulled down from the movements he slanders during sleep.

‘I was about to call the ambulance and ask them to assemble a rescue mission’, he quips, feet padding the carpet of the bedroom lazily.

The weight Eddie’s been bearing up dislodges and veers menacingly to the edge, a gust away from keeling over the edge.

‘Get out’, Eddie says calmly the first time, contorting his body so his upper torse is veiled from Richie’s observation, the button-down serving as a shield of sorts. ‘Get out’, he clamors, a panic attack lurking in the shadows and prowling on his burst of utter panic.

‘Eds’, Richie says perplexed, his eyebrows contracting, his droopy eye more squinted than it is with his face slacked.

‘Get out, I don’t want to see you’, Eddie hisses, witnessing the decay of Richie’s happy face, teetering away backwards and back out in the hallway.

Eddie swallows, the door obstructing his outlook on Richie, and appareling his shirt so fast it tears around the sleeves, pretending he didn’t hear that. His instincts lure him to hide under the covers and wait for the whole thing to blow over, but his comments hurt Richie and his instincts were formed his primary years, while living with his mother, so he does the exact opposite.

‘Rich’, he groans, eyeing Richie leaning on the counter, his body jutting out, dancing on his feet and shelving the cleaned dishes.  

‘Richie stop.’ Eddie plasters himself against Richie’s back, fitting so perfectly like puzzle pieces, like a riddle so complicated that’s been solved. He hooks his chin over Richie’s shoulder, kissing the underside of his jaw.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.’

‘No it’s fine, it’s my fault. I need to learn how to knock. I didn’t mean to agitate you.’

‘You didn’t agitate me. I know I say you do all the time but somehow everything you do is endearing, not irritating.’

‘Careful Eddie Spaghetti, you’ll give me a big head.’

‘I can do that tonight if you’d like?’ Eddie teased, the tight knot in his heart uncoiling at the rumbling of Richie’s laugh.

Richie rotated in his arms, front to front, hugging Eddie back in equal fierce as Eddie did too him.

‘Forgive me?’

‘That depends my good follow, however shall you atone me?’ He released Eddie with one arm, using his hand to tap his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hm, perhaps with a reason as to why?’, his British accent lacing his words.

‘Rich, I really don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Come on,’ Richie pleaded, pouting with his bottom lip. ‘How can I help if you won’t tell me what’s going on?’

Eddie sighed, his arms cave in and the weight collapses down upon him. ‘I just don’t want you to envision this’, he says, unconsciously smoothing down his shirt on the spot his wound is located.

‘Envision what? You?’

‘No’, Eddie explains miserably, ‘I mean the scar, the disfigurement.’

‘Eddie’, Richie gently chuckles, ‘I don’t give a shit about that.’

‘That’s because you haven’t seen it yet. It’s so ugly and,’ Eddie interrupted himself, unwinding from Richie to give himself some breathing space. Being near Richie is intoxicating, but he needed to think clearly.

‘And what?’ Richie pries.

‘How much of a coward I am okay? I don’t want you to look at me and realize how much better you can do.’

‘Eddie, do you honestly believe you’re a coward?’

‘Yeah.’ Shame flooding the tips of his ears, making it harder to engage the conversation, when all Eddie wanted was to leave and go the this dinner.

‘Like I told you down in the sewers, you’re braver than you think, Eds. I’m the one who aimed higher and scored the jackpot.’ Richie asseverate.

‘You keep saying that but I’m the only one idiot enough to get injured.’

‘That’s no true, I strained my leg muscle.’ Richie states, twisting his leg, reliving the memory of the shards of affliction lodging in.

‘Seriously, maybe you’re the only one that got hurt, but you survived. Who in the world can claim there’s so badass that they lived through being shish kebabbed? By a demon from outer space no less.’

‘No one I guess.’

‘No one, erase the “I guess”. Give yourself some credit.’ Richie says firmly, outstretching his arm and then thinking better of it. ‘Can I touch it?’

‘Richie,’ Eddie hesitated, eyes flitting around the room as if to plan his escape.

‘I’ll be really gentle. And if you don’t like it I’ll pull back straight away.’ The soft tone settles Eddie somewhat, and with a hesitant nod, Richie slowly inches closer. He goes so leisurely, as one would approach a feral kitten, but Eddie keeps the parallels to himself, Richie will tease him relentlessly for it.

Eddie expected Richie to slide under his shirt from the get go, but all Richie does is pet his chest on top of the shirt, mapping out the area and feeling where the scar is located.

The area is strangely sensitive, a reason why Eddie has to douche it softly as opposed to the harsh scrubbing he’s used to doing to every other part of his physics.

Only the barely-there, soft touches of Richie’s fingers pawing, tickles Eddie, realizing a breathless hum as he gets acquainted to Richie and him converging in that spot.

Eddie giggles, Richie steadily ongoing his ministrations, until the notion borders on too much, and he plummets to his knees.

He kisses top of the blemish, all the way to the underside, blowing a raspberry there as if the normal kiss wasn’t ticklish enough.

Eddie cackles, halfheartedly shoving Richie backwards, his worries fizzling out into the night. The smooches leave a trail of slobber from Richie’s mount, wilting spots on his blouse Richie’s manager will discern him in.  

‘Richie stop, you’re going to ruin it and we have to leave soon.’

‘Nah, I cancelled.’

‘You cancelled? Why?’

‘Because the love of my love, my Eddie Spaghetti, my Eds, gave off the impression he was in a pretty foul mood.’

‘Was I that obvious?’ Eddie grumbles, fingers racking lovingly trough Richie’s curls.

‘No, I just have a knack for you. Anyways I rescheduled.’

‘Oh Rich you didn’t have to do that. What is she going to think of you?’

‘I don’t care. Look, if she’s striving to be my manager she best believe that my career always come second. You’re my number one priority, no matter what.’

Eddie’s eyes turn bloodshot, blinking rapidly to contain the upcoming flow of tears. Richie presses a final kiss, then resurfaces upwards, a lopsided grin grazing his face.

‘You’re not going to take it off?’ Eddie inquires fretful, not sure what he wants the answer to be.

‘No, later, when you’re more at ease. But Eds, I need you to know, I’m going to look at it, and all that will be going on in my mind is holy fuck. That scar is symbolic for how strong and daring you are, and how glad I am to have you here breathing with me. That motherfucking clown tried everything, and he still couldn’t kill you. You know why? Because you’re a stubborn little basterd, and also indestructible. And I love you so much.’

The taste of salt explodes on Richie’s tongue, surprisingly, he hadn’t got a clue he was crying in the first place.

‘Great, good job idiot. Now look at us, two blubbering idiot sniffling in a kitchen’, Eddie grumbled, but he was smiling so wide the dimples in his cheeks were distinguishable.

‘I love you too.’ 

[phcking-detective]

Find Familiar, ch 1/2

Nines casts the spell and feels the magic pull from their soul. They need this to work. They don’t know what else to do.

They hear nothing, but perhaps the animal is simply quiet. The summon circle contains a perch and a large bathtub, painstakingly levitated all the way to the highest floor of their tower. Even a small area filled with sand. Just in case.

A wizard never knows what form their familiar will take until they summon it.

Nines doesn’t dare open their eyes. They need this to work. They are the most brilliant wizard of their generation and likely several before and after as well, but their brilliance is purely academic. All magic comes with a price, of course. That is why they’re ... like this.

Why bright lights give them migraines, and they cannot stand to be touched, and can only wear certain fabrics, eat certain foods, sleep under EXACT conditions. Why they can understand ancient languages and cursed tomes better than they ever could read a face.

It is their Price, and they need--

Nines opens their eyes and stares resolutely at the empty summoning circle. The spell had worked. They felt it take their energy and a piece of their soul. It had cast.

But out of all the beings on this plane and sixteen others, none had answered.

Very well. They don’t need help. They never have.

A first child for inheritance, a second for insurance. A third for luck, a fourth for the middle. Fifth for work, sixth for status. Seventh to fulfill a prophecy.

And an eighth child to be tithed. Two parents, presumably, and the eighth made exactly ten, one-tenth of the family and all they owned given to the church so that they gods would look favorably upon them.

There was no point in a child after that. No prophecies or tithing, and certainly no inheritance left over after carving it up for seven others first. No one ever needed a ninth child.

And Nines has never needed anyone else.

***

Three days and nights after casting the spell, Nines has eaten few enough meals to count on one hand. The sand has not been swept from the floor, and they have not managed to drag themself from their studies long enough to utilize the bathtub for its actual purpose.

But they’re fine.

It’s fine.

They are the greatest wizard of his generation, and they will ... survive. Perhaps not live, not as others do, not in happiness. But they are not dead yet and he has no less than twenty-two contingency spells if death does dare

KNOCK

Nines looks up from their manuscript for the first time in so many hours, they don’t know if the sun is setting or rising. The crystal ball embedded above the door glows green. Someone just solved their first riddle.

Well. Surely the second will

DOOR

Nines stands, then almost collapses from the black spots overtaking their vision. That was too fast. No one should have been able to solve the second riddle that quickly.

MAT

Nines draws their wand and faces the door as the third and final crystal ball lights green.

Knock knock knock.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, asshole!”

... what? They must be dreaming. Yes, an unexpected social visit from a villager capable of bypassing all his wards is surely the stuff of nightmares.

“Either let me in or shut the fuck up!”

The indignity of being accused of speaking when Nines hates speaking, particularly to “people,” infuriates them enough that they forget their wand entirely and throws open the door to berate the--

The much smaller man glaring up at them.

Not small enough to be a dwarf, although he certainly has that ... stockiness. Perhaps a mixture of human and dwarf, but. Even half-dwarves have beards, while this man just has some rather scruffy stubble and a scar across the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t smell right,” the man informs them.

He shoulder-checks past Nines before they can respond. It’s only due to their momentary bout of dizziness that they don’t smite him immediately for that. Or when he circles around the large living area, sniffing at things like a dog.

“Should’ve expected it to be bigger in here than out there,” he says to himself. “Still kind of small though.”

“I do not receive visitors,” Nines replies as coldly as they can manage.

They have accidentally frozen people before, simply with the freezing burn of their anger, yet their magic lays calm and docile inside their chest.

“Good, I fucking hate people,” the man says.

Nines makes some sort of very undignified noise in the back of their throat at that. The man continues wandering about their space, finally sticking his entire head inside their cauldron.

They’re hallucinating. That last alchemical potion must have--

“Don’t you have any cooking pots?” he asks.

Nines doesn’t answer so they don’t have to admit the answer is no. They will not be judged by some--some vagabond, a dirty ugly little man who is--IS BAREFOOT?

“You don’t have shoes,” Nines says, as if that is the important part about a strange man breaking into their home.

“I wiped my feet, fuck off.”

Nines looks back toward the door. All three crystals glow a fading green as the wards slowly reset themselves.

They did not originally mean to bar all the villagers from visiting them forever. They simply wanted any guests to have basic manners. Knock on the door at the first floor before entering, close it behind them so leaves didn’t blow into the stairwell, and wipe their feet on the mat at the top.

Clearly, Nines had expected far too much of the general public.

Nines turns back to see the man filling their alchemy cauldron with water. Although they sterilize it thoroughly after each use in order to prevent cross-contamination among potions, they scrounge up enough hope past the exhaustion to ponder if maybe they had forgotten to do so in the haze of the last several days.

Unfortunately, the man’s flesh does not melt from his skin as he scrubs it out with a rag.

“What are you doing?” Nines asks.

“I’m hungry and you don’t have anything else to cook in,” the man says. “At least we’ll have leftov--”

“Get out of my tower!”

The man looks up and scowls at them. “You’re the one who kept fucking calling me, bitch. Make up your damn mind.”

The realization leaves them light-headed.

“I ... I didn’t ...”

The black spots creep back again, except now they can no longer accurately be called “spots.” They take up far too much of Nines’s vision for that, then consume it entirely.

Something warm and solid catches Nines before they fall. Their hands grab at whatever they can reach out of an instinctive need to hold onto something--fabric, skin, fur. Fur? Not quite. Hair, maybe. Very thick hair. Dwarf beard? No, only stubble. But very thick hair somewhere, somewhere, oh in the middle. His ... chest?

“Ow, quit pulling on that.”

“Furry,” Nines says, because they are very intelligent and also the greatest wizard of their generation.

“Yeah, moon’s close to full. Damn, you’re a gangly bitch, aren’t you? Where’s your fucking body fat, you need to eat more.”

Nines mumbles his very clever retort into his pillows. Oh, his pillows. They’re in bed. That’s nice. Their bed is soft and warm and good.

The other Warm Good thing wrapped around them lets go.

“Nooo.”

Nines pulls it back. Furrier now. They’d secretly wished for a dog. Obviously, a feline familiar would have been more practical, and certainly more in line with their introverted tendencies. Dogs need too much attention, and walks, and they drool and shed. Cats only do one of those things, and if they summoned a black one, the hair would just blend into their robes anyway.

But still. Some part of them had hoped ...

“All right, fine. Fucking bossy. Scoot over, bitch.”

The Warm Good thing piles into the bed with Nines, but there is still entirely too much skin. Nines does not go to bed with people. Certainly not with skin showing. They want--they need--

They want a dog.

They need a person.

Of course. A fully animal familiar could only do so much for them without thumbs, and monkeys are horrendous. Only a real person would be smart enough to take care of them the way they need it.

But a person-familiar ... unheard of. Impossible. No one had ever summoned a human before, and it would be grossly unethical regardless.

Nines crows with the proof that they really are the greatest wizard of their generation, and likely several before and after.

“OK, so you’re good with me being a werewolf, right? Because if you start crying about a monster and get a bunch of pitchforks up in here, I’m pissing on all your robes.”

A werewolf. Half man, half wolf. Brilliant!

“So. What’s your name?”

“Nines.”

“Fuck, humans are still doing that? Your litters are bigger than ours, goddamn. And popping them out one at a time like that?”

The werewolf shudders. Nines pets over them, much more fur than skin now.

“Was two of us,” they say, all filter gone with how tired they are. “Twins instead of just the last eighth. Connor, Connor was ... just ... a second quicker.”

“What, so they threw you away?” he asks, the question nearly a growl.

“Tech,,nicaaally,” Nines slurs. “They did him too. Gave him. Away. Just, pretended to love him first. It’s, s’crueler. I think. At least I, ahhhhh. I always knew.”

“Phckin’ hue-mens,” the werewolf growls.

“Mmhmm.”

“Miiine.”

That is the last word he can growl out before the transformation completes. Then Nines receives the dog they wanted. Like this, it is far easier to feel their familiar’s mind at the edge of their own, to recognize the bond for what it is.

Good boy, [name].

It’s Gavin, dickhead.

Adequate boy, Gavin.

The wolf huffs. Go to sleep. I’ll feed you soup in the morning and maybe you won’t be so hangry.

I only want potatoes and carrots. NO celery.

Go the fuck to SLEEP.

Nines does so.

--

The wolf licks their face only after he’s absolutely certain they’re unconscious. The dumb human just smells dehydrated.

He didn’t want to come at first. Didn’t understand what the ache in his head was in the first place, or why he kept feeling hungry no matter how much he ate or that he had to pee for four hours straight.

Just that he needed to go, go this way, this way, this way!

Fucking asshole wizard summoning him like he’s their goddamn dog.

(But it’s not like he has a pack of his own. Not like he has anything better to do. No one to protect or feed or cuddle.)

(And this human obviously needs his help.)

He’ll only stay for the moon, just so he has a safe place to sleep it off away from angry villagers convinced he’ll “deflower” their women--who already smell of sex by the way--even though he really prefers men.

And this one wizard, apparently.

Gavin licks Nines again. The human already smells way better with his scent on them, and this is the most luxurious bed he’s ever curled up in.

He can spend the night. Make some breakfast. He’s hungry, right? Wouldn’t make sense to leave a good meal behind.

Yeah, he’s just staying for the food.

***

***

One of my lovely followers recently commissioned a second chapter! It’s rated E for Explicit (sex scenes). Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks earlier than they’re posted to AO3 or tumblr ^^

[lumitrs-a]

∣  ∣  ∣  ∣  ∣     @multavia​​​​       ╱      “ you see the good in everything. that’s why i like it when you look at me ”

she was no saint.   a fallen nun who couldn’t even believe in her own faith , and one who selfishly grasped onto the prospect of forgiveness.   so much so that she’d stained her hands with sin time , and time , and time again.   it was in the name of god , she’d pretend , but no , she had just been so desperate to obtain exemption that she accepted her task without batting an eye , because she would kill for that release , she’d claw her way out of the hole she’d dug herself even if it killed her.   she had no reason to class herself as a good person , not anymore.  

but diego says those words and she can’t stop her gaze from drawing to his.     ❝ oh? ❞     she whispers under a faint breath , studying the softer of his features that seemed to appear on nights like these.   the days were always so long and tiring , they had little time to converse about anything else but the race and their primary objective.   they planned and directed around one another , they kept watch for enemies and made tactical discussions together , but rarely they could find the time to speak this calmly , without the rush of the steel born run to disrupt them. 

❝ I disagree. ❞     lips press tightly in thought.      ❝ I’m just confident in my judgement.   I’m sure if I could see the good in everything , I wouldn’t be in this race. ❞     

she pauses , because the truth was often a hard pill to swallow.   instead of dwelling, she shoves down those thoughts , and instead directs her attention back to dio.   what did he see when she looked at him?   very rarely did her eyes stray from his , not when he was mad , or frustrated , not when scary monsters made it’s presence known , and not now either.   strange , though perhaps they both had the opportunity to see one another on a clear slate , without reputation or rumours to cloud their opinions.   within this race , there was only raw feelings and the desperation of one’s inner self and the determination of their desires.   

❝ watch me closely , diego. ❞     hands cup around his cheeks , drawing his gaze closer and closer , noses almost touching as she keeps her stare firm.     ❝ I see you , whether you want to see yourself as bad or good is irrelevant.   I won’t trust those who are villainous to lie next to me at night , or to recover something very important. ❞     

she can’t give him an answer that doesn’t come from the heart , none that are riddled by sweet words and not the truth that she believes is right.   she can’t see the good in everything , because she was blind to the many beauties and wonders of this world , and she had damned herself to walk a thorn riddled path.   but him , he was very different.   he wasn’t just something , he was diego brando.    

❝ you are not a bad person.   I trust that , so I will trust my eyes , and so should you. ❞     hot pants looked at him like that because while he was a man with many faults , he wasn’t something evil.   he was no monster.   he was simply him , and he was the person she had decided to put her trust him , and that spoke volumes enough.