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how to unsubscribe to dating

SUMMARY: on april 18th, hansol likes his favorite youtuber’s instagram picture. not because of her content—though, he finds himself laughing at all of her weekly videos—but because he thinks she’s gorgeous. that is how it ends. just a like on a picture that no one will see.

three years later and after a tough break-up, the internet hates her and a misstep has hansol dragged into the drama. now, everyone thinks they are dating and what a better way to gain subscribers and have millions on views on their videos? just let them think it’s real and work on a whole season of dare videos for the world to enjoy.

only that it is not so easy, one can subscribe to a youtube channel but not really unsubscribe to falling in love.

TITLE: how to unsubscribe to dating.

PAIRING: chwe hansol x reader

GENRE: youtuber!au ; fake dating-ish!au ; youtube drama!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; idiots in love!au

WORD COUNT: 14,014 words

GENRE: fluff ; humor ; drama ; angst if you squint ; suggestive

NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want me to write anything, you can go over there and request something from me.

The secret to color theory is that there are primary colors, and the rest are just blend-able shades that would not exist without bases, foundations and ‘trials-and-errors’. In some sense, we correlate the color of our lives to that primary stance—we are red, we are yellow…the intensity that we want to be. How we want to counterpart in a main role that, inherently, sometimes won’t be settled upon us. The saddening truth of being a purple, or a lime green.

She would have never imagined herself to be anything more than a yellow. She said, when she was younger, that her voice would be so high that the annoying tone that came with her made her stand out in any crowd. Yellow. And then came heartbreak, teenage years, the blending with a pure gray or a black undertone that could never get her to darken her soul. It was more like a mustard yellow. Lulled. Not as bright. Just wishing upon standing out again, blending nicely with everyone, but always sticking out like a sore thumb. Hard to look in the eyes.

For the past two months, she felt like she was back to her bright yellow. To smiles with all teeth, shared with Jay as he wrapped his arms around her shoulder; to late-night talks with the phone screen glaring across her vision as she whispered small ‘I don’t want to go’s. Relatively, that comes to a stop. Because, in the eyes of a man that she dated with the dumbfounded hope to finally meet the love of her life, she was never yellow. God, he’d cringe at the mere sound of the Coldplay song. She was brown.

As in shitty brown.

Jay should be better than this. In actuality, after how everything fell down with a break-up text that he never really responded to, she doesn’t think he’s better, but hey, common sense is a thing still, isn’t it? As a YouTuber, quite like her, who shared the same interests and niche with a commentary channel based on pop-culture, one would think that he would not incorporate their ‘not-that-talked-about’ relationship in a Tweet. Though, maybe she had seen him as a bright blue, when he’s nothing but—at best—a plum or a dark gray.

You know, like having concrete between your teeth. Not that pleasurable, neither something she wants to try again.

@notthatjay_lee: how does that song go? a, b, c, d, e, f…thank you for wasting my motherfucking time.

She chuckles. Actually, full-on laughs when sitting on the counter at her kitchen, trying or supposedly about to edit her newest video commenting on Disney’s old shows and how she binge-watched them on a brim. Not that the viewers should know that she watched the entirety of Hannah Montana in a week because she was going through a break-up and crying for the asshole that Jay Lee is, but she needed to update after being a month away.

She continues scrolling, watching the thread that has formed in the tweet and the hundreds of comments that tag her. They weren’t precisely out as a relationship, but it was known. They went to conventions together, appeared in pictures with fans tagged together. It wasn’t hidden under the rug, but it was also not blasted out of proportion like Jay is doing right now.

He responded to a fan.

@jaysassissick: We are here for you, Jay! I can’t believe what some bitches can do for fame.

@notthatjay_lee: imagine getting cheated on by someone who can’t even reach a million subscribers. lol. can sadly relate.

“You just didn’t…” She mutters to herself, standing up and closing her laptop with a bang. More notifications pop up, from all social media that she could muster. Pictures tagged of the two of them together coming up with headlines that read commentary-channel YouTubers feuding. Cheating. Cheater, out of all things.

And that’s the thing about women. If they are not colors that blend well with the primary ones, like men expect to be, they are tarnished and burned to ashes to stay in the ground. That was her case, in which her silence was the ignition of a chain of events that now are out of her reach. None of those people that keep harassing her online can know that Jay had been distant the past month; that he’d spend more of his days running away from her than actually trying to put effort into the relationship.

That it’d be more looking through social media to see him commenting on pictures of his supposed ‘friends’ wearing bikinis and his phone hidden with his face down whenever they were together. It was not confirmed, of course, she didn’t have enough proximity with him, neither did they live together for her to confirm that her suppositions were true, but something she knows. Jay is not a saint, neither is she for the rage that builds within her like a Lego house that burns with the unsatiable need of revenge.

She almost believes that the best way to go about this is making it as public as he is. However, she knows she’s better. Yellow, bright, shining, as she has always been, just shadowed by someone who was envious of how burning her colors could be. Hence, she puts her phone down after turning it off, quite like he did whenever a fight ensued between the two and he would play the victim card with a pout to his lips. She thinks about it—the video she is supposed to edit, the pictures on her phone she has yet to delete and the revival, that word that speaks about new beginnings and definitely, a smirk that tells the past that she’s doing much better.

For now, she’s just alone in her apartment. With a bowl of noodles that has gone cold and a heart that is palpitating far too fast, for heartbreak isn’t easy, much less when it’s this open, but she can think of ways of getting back to Jay, whether the public knows it’s directly thrown his way or not.

She owes this man nothing.

“Jeonghan, I need you recording my shit. Not looking at your phone.”

With a hand quipping closed as if asking for Hansol’s lips to remain shut, Jeonghan remains as relaxed as he had been when they started recording this weekly’s recap. Though, while Hansol had been stumbling over his lines—as per usual on a Saturday morning, that’s the only time they could meet up because Seungcheol was going on a trip this weekend for his cousin’s wedding—, Jeonghan had frankly lost his mind to whatever is showcased in his phone. So far in the text he’s reading, which Hansol is certain is not a book, that he leaned back on one of the love seats in Hansol’s office, propped his knees to his chest in fetal position and lurked through whatever caught his interest like a lion looking for his prey.

“The moment you can get a word out without stuttering is the moment we start recording.” Jeonghan runs a hand through his black hair, covering the rudeness of his words with a soft smile. Hansol knows better than to take Jeonghan’s words close to heart, but still.

“I just needed some more coffee.”

Seungcheol enters the room then, with a new Starbucks drink since Hansol decided to steal his. “You drank my macchiato.” With a slap on the back of Hansol’s head, the man takes a seat on the other empty love-seat, as if there is not a whole video to be recorded and posted on Monday. “But Hansol’s not wrong. I have to get on that plane at four and it’s nine in the morning. We can get through this video if we just start recording it.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond and Hansol takes this time to sigh deeply and toss his head back. Things were easier when posting a YouTube video wasn’t so…meticulous. At the beginning, just over eight years ago, Hansol had posted a video on social media that had gotten quite visibly viral. He had over a million views in just fourteen hours, breaking records somehow, making it to meme accounts and Vine compilations. Stupid as it could get, it was a video of Hansol wearing a swimming hat and those aesthetic sunglasses that resembled John Lennon’s style, with Jeonghan zooming in on the frame and him saying: ‘bitch’ before the video came to an end.

It had literally no context, but he made a living out of it.

That’s how he launched his career, changed the name and created an online persona. He called himself Zach, sporting bright and quite frankly unfitting outfits and making meme weekly recaps. He spoke about what was new on the Internet, made fun of some videos, never quite made it to the commentary channel spectrum but became a voice that over ten million people had subscribed to. No one knew that his real name was Hansol, or that he wasn’t as outspoken as he was in his videos. Never an opinion that breaks or makes a room.

Jeonghan grabs the coffee mug from Seungcheol’s hold, ignoring the man’s complaints to take a sip. “I think I have a topic we need to add to this week’s review.” He finally pulls away from his original position, biting down on his lip like he does when he has an idea that he can’t keep on the depths of his chest. “Have you heard about the newest drama with Jay Lee?”

Hansol crosses his arms across his chest, sitting on the edge of the desk that holds his computer, always in front of him in his videos. “Jay…Lee? Doesn’t ring a bell for me.”

“You know, the TikTok guy who makes POV’s videos.” Jeonghan urges on, tossing a glance towards Seungcheol who finally snatches his drink before giving a curt nod.

“Even I remember who he is.”

“How many guys don’t make ridiculous videos on TikTok?” Hansol prompts, only to have Jeonghan sighing.

“He was known on YouTube for his music videos and parodies. You know how that went a little bit downhill lately, so his niche has changed. Makes videos every once in a while.” Jeonghan includes in his narrative, turning his phone around to show a picture of a man he now recognizes. Damn, even in his beginnings as a YouTuber, Jay Lee already had a bunch of people under his name. With long, tossed back black hair, tattoos that scatter across a slim, tall body and a pair of glasses that always rest on the brim of his straight nose. He was of interest for a bunch of people on the Internet, even to this day.

“What about him?” Hansol questions, only to have Jeonghan clapping his hands once.

“He’s burning the Internet with his latest allegations. He was dating a commentary channel YouTuber, though they never accepted it, but he’s making the allegations that she cheated on him and has announced that he’s releasing a diss track to explain everything.” He’ll never understand how the world revolves around drama, but Jeonghan gives more explanation by saying her name and giving him the phone once again.

The picture shows a couple together with a fan, and he recognizes her with far more ease. He remembers last summer, when he would spend most of his afternoons laughing about her videos with the graphics she made. Very rarely does her face show on her videos, but she draws a little character that speaks, through her commentary, about the topic at hand. Always a show. A video. A meme. Hell, he thinks that she once talked about him on a video years ago.

Jay is much taller than her, with his arm wrapped around her shoulder, squishing their cheeks together as they hold peace signs, her hand interlocked with the young fan’s. They didn’t look necessarily in love, but close enough to it. Like the beginning of a love that had just started to flourish.

“What has he said?” Seungcheol questions, now interested in the topic.

“What hasn’t he said? He has spent the past three days creating a YouTube war. He has even dropped her name a few times, tagging her, asking her to be upfront because she has escaped the internet. MIA and all.”

Hansol can’t imagine how tough it is to go through a break-up where the other person is trying to plot everyone against her. Sure, he’s not certain if she cheated, but he takes his own phone to look through Twitter, seeing him post pictures of the two of them together—clearly personal, never seen by anyone but them—, adding thread after thread of how in love he was with her and how badly she broke his heart. It seemed like he was bleeding through a wound that was never quite as open as he made it out to be.

“What an asshole.” He mutters, getting closer to the computer and writing something down on his script. “I think we can add it to this week’s episode. The last bit. Just for a few clicks and because…he’s really getting out of control.”

“And everyone is supporting him.” Jeonghan adds, shrugging his shoulders. “Would be nice to give an opinion that isn’t sided one way or the other.”

“…That’s putting Hansol against a man that has just about the same following as him. Including him in the war isn’t going to do the channel any good.”

Hansol looks up at that moment, raising his eyebrows and weighting the options. Seungcheol isn’t wrong, but he knows this is a topic that needs to be talked about. Break ups on the internet. Where some people post videos crying and hugging for the last time, while others take their following to side with them as if it was a parent going through divorce.

“Yes, but this whole Zach character is about that. Speaking about what I think is wrong, right or funny…and these tweets? Stupid, borderline funny, over-line worrying.”

Seungcheol takes a sip of his macchiato, bringing a shoulder up in nonchalance. “I’ll have to take care of the mess after, but if that’s what’s going to bring the views, go for it.”

Is he really doing it for views, though? Or maybe, he just thinks it’s inherently wrong to destroy someone’s career that way, until they are too afraid to go on the internet because of hate. Jay Lee will have to learn a lesson about being made fun of.

@notthatjay_lee: glad to know the mystery’s resolved. @chwethatzach you’ve cleared the rumors up. song coming in three days!

Hyeji had said it seven months ago when she started liking Jay, as she flipped on tarot decks, spread them neatly on the coffee table between them, speaking through a cloud caused by the blunt between her lips. Jay Lee’s an imbecile, he’ll break your heart. She didn’t listen, because in her mind all men go through a phase of being overly-confident and, quite frankly, assholes. She opted to believe that Jay was willing to change and talk, venturing into a friendship and then, into whatever kind of relationship they had held that now is a complete disaster.

Her best friend, Moon Hyeji, runs her fingers through her dirty hair after showing her the tweet that Jay had just posted. Tagging her after, nonetheless. Hyeji, as wild as she is, with long locks of wavy hair and a rose tattoo on the column of her neck, had called Jay just a day ago, telling him to back off before she took legal actions. Taking it from the woman who is the daughter of one of the richest men in the country, a businessman nonetheless, Jay should have taken it a little bit more seriously. Hence, he doesn’t.

“What the fuck do I even have to do with that dude?” She questions, finally standing up from her position on Hyeji’s lap. Ever since this issue went to absolute hell, with the diss track incoming and a handful of people making drama videos about the timeline of their very short-lived relationship, Hyeji had travelled all the way from London to get here and eat piles of ice cream while bad-mouthing Jay. Only that it didn’t help her the slightest.

She wants to talk, but she doesn’t know how to go on about the issue. Fueling the problem even more if just going to have his fans speaking with more fervor, and just like how he doesn’t have proof of her cheating, she also doesn’t have anything to defend herself with about not cheating.

“There’s a video, apparently…” Hyeji roams through her phone with long nails before she displays her screen on the TV in front of them. The image that loads is of the start of a video of someone she knows somewhat well, for she really likes Zach Chwe’s videos, or at least, she can catch up on them every once in a while.

Zach has always been a little different than most. He feels like a true friend that one can talk with as he launches in that green chair of his, always wearing clothes that leave everything to the imagination and would have everyone talking about him. He’s wearing a tie-dye hoodie, as per usual in some of his videos, with an apron on top of it that reads ‘the chef’s dead’ and a pair of sunglasses that rest on top of his brown hair. His soft eyebrows move with each of his words, firstly greeting his audience, then speaking about the newest memes found on the internet.

“He must have spoken about your issue with Jay.”

“How so? He never talks about drama.” She asks, getting a look from Hyeji who clears her throat soon after.

“People believe he’s the one guy Jay is saying you cheated with.” Her best friend whispers, moving through the video, getting fast glimpses of Zach laughing, tossing his head back, speaking through slim lips and using his ring-cladded hands to express his points. Only three minutes before the video ends does the image of Jay with her and a fan comes on the screen, earning Hyeji a few taps on her shoulder.

“There! There! Stop the video there!”

The darkness of her room, reeking the smell of orange chicken and diet soda, is bathed in the light of Zach Chwe as he rolls on his chair and says: “There’s a reason us men are called assholes and I think it’s because Jay Lee exists. Okay, I’m not anyone to be putting my opinion here and I usually stay away from these things, so I’m not sure if she cheated or not…but isn’t it, at least, the best thing you can do to spell correctly as you’re dissing your ex?”

Then, the screen shows screenshots of Jay’s tweets, bathed in hate, writing in the worst possible way and yet, with a few errors.

She hadn’t noticed that as she got drowned into the drama that he had created, so she smiles for what feels like the first time this week.

“You don’t even spell that well, Zach!” Someone shouts from the background, and she knows Zach Chwe normally has his friends putting in some words for spice on his videos, but she actually laughs along with him.

“More of a reason to critique, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But hey, remember those Facebook videos we talked about a few weeks ago? If you haven’t checked it out, I’ll leave the link to that video on the description, but we were making fun about those mom videos where they make their daughters fearful of sending nudes because some creep will post them on their Facebook page. I thought men like that didn’t exist, until I figured out this whole Jay Lee thing. He’s a hair away from posting a picture of her feet, I tell you so.”

The video doesn’t last much long after that, with Zach making fun of Jay’s tweets and then, the camera zooming in on his face for an outro recalling his beginnings online. However, Hyeji has fallen silent, with her knees propped under her chin, using her free hand to caress the column of her ear, as always, seeking for a way of making her feel better through touch.

“This sounds…like the internet is going insane.” Hyeji then reaches for her phone, shaking in the air. “Come on, unlock it and turn on your notifications again!”

“What? Why?” She is not sure she’s ready to lurk through social media once again, Hyeji has been doing that for her instead, like her little manager, blocking the hate that gets real and personal.

“Jay is playing it off as if Zach Chwe is the one that you’re dating, or the one you cheated on him with.”

“I didn’t cheat on him—

“I know, but he’s trying to get views and I need to know if Zach’s team contacted you, so open that phone and get a pair of balls for what we’re about to face.”

A pair of balls would be little to what she needs once she opens Twitter and Instagram.

On Instagram, she has been tagged on a bunch of pictures. Headlines that include her profile picture on YouTube and Zach Chwe’s picture. Titles that go on the rampant lie of ‘YouTube Stars Zach Chwe and OfDrawingsAndWords on a relationship!’ scattering across her vision on every platform she comes across of.

“I’m doomed. Jay keeps winning no matter what I do—”

“Because you haven’t said anything. You’re protecting him even when he’s trying to destroy you.” Hyeji advices, pushing on her Instagram notifications until she sees it, a direct message from the YouTuber who is implicated on this drama with her, nonetheless. “So, you either take the reigns right here, right now or Jay Lee is going to drown your career before it even reached the shore.”

Shaking fingertips reach for the Instagram message, closing her eyes tightly until she opens it.

“Read it.”

“Come on…” Hyeji trails, clasping the phone in her hands. “I know it’s been tough, but I don’t need you hiding away.”

“I’m scared! This guy has nothing to do with me!” She screeches, slapping her hand on her shoulder only to have Hyeji looking at her. With that softness that characterizes her under all her strength.

“Alright…” Hyeji whispers, soon after reading out loud. “Hey, it’s Zach Chwe. I’m sorry that my comments involved us in a mess bigger than what you already had going on and my team and I want to make mends on the issue I just created. Do you mind talking about it, in person or with my PR team getting in contact with you? Sorry for the inconvenience once again.”

Hyeji takes in a deep breath before tossing herself onto the half-done bed.

“We’re talking about it in person.”

“…Uh, we’re not.” She finalizes, trying to snatch her phone back but Hyeji isn’t relenting. Though, she’s not as rude as one would imagine, she still consenting by looking her way and expecting her to change her mind. “Hyeji, I don’t want to see anyone right now. Jay’s blowing everything out of proportion—”

“Reason as to why you shouldn’t hide. Zach Chwe can be a great person to have on your side right now. The internet loves him, and now they’re not as cruel. You have to see the comments, people are torn just because he is involved.”

That makes her ponder, inspecting every portion of Hyeji’s face to find some fun or joke in her features, but she’s full-on serious. Not a drop of insecurity in those quirked eyebrows. She sighs deeply, taking the phone in her hands and seeing the sign that reads ‘you follow each other’. Why is it that people naturally gravitate towards what a man can say or not, even when she has been expecting to be trusted by anyone online and no one seemed to be by her side?

No one but him and a few people. Even the friends that she had collaborated with several times had taken his side.

Hence, she starts typing, not caring about the consequences of fueling the fire a little bit more, because she’s already getting burned, but she won’t relent without a fight.

“I’m down with meeting up so we can sort out how we will go on about this. You select the place and the time. Thank you for getting in contact, by the way!”

Hyeji places a kiss on top of her head, squishing her slim cheek against her scalp.

“We will get past this, love. I swear we will.”

She doesn’t think this unreasonable love war is anywhere near over, however.

“I sure hope we will.”

Hansol thinks making ramen is an art form. He does it when he’s nervous instead of nibbling on his bottom lip or tugging his black beanie down his ears for the umpteenth time. Only he would think it was a great idea to meet with one of his favorite social media creators on a fucking convenience store, but he feels protected by the quietness and the sweet buzzing of the microwave as he wishes upon a start that the stacks of cheese that he poured on his flaming hot noodles becomes a puddle at the bottom that relishes its exquisiteness.

So, maybe, he’s a bit nervous. Reason as to why he had lost his grip a bit when pouring the cheese on the ramen basket.

It passes him how she has been able to spend weeks receiving the messages she does, but the moment he posted that video, the narrative took another turn. Hell, he even thinks he has seen some edited videos of the two of them as a supposed ‘couple’. The song has been released, heard by thousands, even more news coming up about them and he’s…surprised. About the sheltering that came from his pseudonym and how the world is torn. Now, Jay shines as a real villain and people ponder if leaving him for Hansol was the right choice.

How in the hell he got in this situation is misunderstood by him?

However, he rubs on his eye after grabbing the ramen noodles and plopping them on the nearest table, he hears the bells by the door ringing, the worker too occupied in organizing the strawberry milks to even care about her, but he does. None of her pictures online would ever compare to how she looks in real life. With a gray turtleneck for the weather, face ridden of any makeup, sweater half-tucked into her pants and yet, as her sunglasses rest on the brim of her head, she looks like a whole…dream.

She reminds him of the warmth that comes from a gust of breath on top of freezing hands when winter drops around. They are just barely reaching fall, but the weather has fallen significantly. She stands in front of him, looking away from her phone before a small smile reaches the corner of her eyes, not adding a small ‘hi’ as he does with a wave of his hand, but something to the air between them nonetheless.

“You look different when you’re not mumbling ‘bitch’ into the camera.”

Breaking the ice, warming the air, significant matters that only she can do and does in the brink of a second. Hansol plops the two bowls of ramen on the table, watching as she scrunches her nose at the cheese to stir it within the mixture, but he tries not to think too much about his decision. Maybe, she’s just not fond of cheese.

“I take that as a good thing. I don’t call anyone ‘bitch’ unless I get a really good check out of it.” Hansol jokes around, soon after widening his eyes when she quirks an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth barely lifting in a smirk. “Not that I’d call you anything of the like. Gosh, I’m being stupid. Uh…hi, I’m Hansol.”

“You’ve already said hi.” She prompts, picking up some of the noodles and unlike him, who has already burned the bridge of his mouth, she twirls them on the chopsticks, blows on them and munches on the cheesy treat. “But I didn’t know you were called Hansol. I would’ve sworn on my life that your real name was Zach.”

He shakes his head. “I want my real life nicely divided from who I am as a person online. Not that I am much different, but Hansol’s the name that I have on my ID and that I use for personal matters, so I don’t want to mix the two.” He shrugs his shoulders soon after, saying her name and earning a nod from her. “Okay, so, uh…to the matter at hand, right?”

“Straight to the point.” She clears her throat, giving him a smile before reaching for the diet soda Hansol had brought. “So, half the internet thinks we are dating…and that you’re that supposed side guy that I had while dating Jay.”

He shouldn’t ask. Shit, this is Jeonghan speaking in his brain, telling him to fucking ask, but he’s curious. He heard the nonsensical beat that Jay released in the form of a diss track that now has fifteen million views, so… “Did you really cheat on him or is he taking everything out of context?”

She spreads her hands across her chest, defending herself. “Here’s the thing, I am a woman. Me breaking up with a guy just because I was unhappy in a relationship directly has to mean I cheated on him. For starters, I didn’t. I liked Jay even after the break-up, obviously until the moment he decided to blow everything out of proportion.” She explains, sighing deeply after. “I didn’t, for instance. I’m sorry that you got involved.”

“No, I am the one that should be sorry.” Hansol shakes his head, rubbing his eyebrow as if something was bothering him. “It’s just—No, I’m sorry but I don’t regret it. I had to talk about it. Part of it was because obviously, it’s a trending topic, but also because…no one deserves to get the hate you’re getting right now.”

She remains silent, playing with the straw in between strawberry lips. Not an ounce of makeup and yet, the inside looks as if they were bitten to utter perfection. Hansol’s embarrassed that he has liked every picture of hers on social media ever since they started following each other.

Things that the public had sadly taken account of and had completely used against them to prove a supposed relationship.

“I don’t regret it either. That you did that, I mean.” She counterparts. “Sure, I shouldn’t be thinking about revenge, but Jay has been so distraught and the public has turned against him, while also not being on my side. They are just on your side.” With a mellowness that, somehow, he thinks should never belong to her, for the twist of her lips on a downwards motion is a terrible contrast to the smile he saw earlier. “Reason as to why my friend got in contact with one of the people from your team. I don’t have a team myself—”

“I’m surprised I even have a team, so I don’t judge you.” Hansol’s eyes twinkle, remembering the words he had shared with Seungcheol earlier. After all, he’s the manager and the one—technically, for Hansol still has his input—in charge of what is posted on his channel or not. “Seungcheol, my manager, talked to me about what your friend and mine talked about.”

Seungcheol was not that happy about the exposure that Hansol got, but after a while, Jeonghan weighted the options and became a mastermind for what the internet was aiming to see. They wanted to learn the other side of the story, just because it would be told by one of the most liked characters in YouTube as of now. Zach Chwe, venturing into the world of a person that no one would have ever thought he’d be compatible with. To break all the rumors with a show, a mini web-series for the world to gnaw at while both teams earned money.

“For the record, I know it’s a difficult thing to think about. I wasn’t in for it at first.” Hansol explains, and he’s not sure he’s ready to have a different light casted on his channel, but Jeonghan was clear to say that he wasn’t intending on a dating show or a couple’s channel. Instead, he wanted something…vague. “They just want us to work on a challenge mini-series. We’d do stuff like go to haunted houses or anything of the like. To make people wonder if we really did date or we were just in it for the show. They’d give us views, hoping to find something or any clues, and we’d leave with a good paycheck and a big question mark after what we were.”

She continues eating, pondering with fluttering eyelashes and a sigh that gets trapped on her throat. “Yeah…I’m okay with it. I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” She responds, and Hansol thinks the deal is almost over, but she continues: “You’ll have to keep in mind that while there may be a huge wave of people loving our series together, you might also get a lot of hate. Jay did a great job at—”

“I don’t care.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll come to learn I don’t care about a lot of stuff. Hate? I don’t care.” Hansol explains, giving her a soft smile. “A wanking old man can tell me I’m the worst YouTuber he has ever seen, and I won’t take it to heart. I’m not a plate to be enjoyed by all.”

“Whoa…” She whispers, plucking a lot of noodles up to show it to him. “Not only are you the antonym of a lactose intolerant person, but you’re also awfully wise.”

“You’re welcome for the visit to the bathroom later.” Hansol comments, earning well-heard laughter by her. She tosses her head back and the laugh comes out in spurts. Odd and yet, cute.

“I’ll have to get used to those comments, Z—Hansol.”

“We’ll get used to each other. We have a whole season to plan, after all.”

WE VISITED A HAUNTED HOSPITAL? | EP. 1 S1 | ZACH CHWE

She’d kill Hansol for thinking of visiting a haunted hospital as the first topic of their new show, but she’s too scared to actually want to murder him right now. What if he came back as one of those ghosts who were supposedly here? She can’t risk it.

Drops of petrichor build on forgotten walls, where once were supposedly patients that needed help but were abandoned to a beckoning fire. Hansol said on the way here that he truly doubted the events happened. If the hospital was burned down to its core, why was it still standing and why were tickets sold for people to go through it like tourists in Sydney? She doesn’t have a clue. All that she knows is that they were placed on opposite ends of the hospital, bound to meet through clues, but she hasn’t been able to move from her position under a table.

She was aware that Hansol’s team and hers, which only includes Hyejin, had insisted on having jump-scares all around. One of those jump-scares could be Jeonghan in a clown uniform, but the moment she saw it, the moment she sprinted away. Now, she has been seated there for more than thirty minutes, ignoring her next mission and the door in front of her, with a beating heart and her knees pressed to her chest.

Great, she’s about to ruin their first episode.

Beheld with destiny, she thinks she’s about to shit her pants the moment she hears that old, wooden door creak under the weight of someone entering. Caught, she’s imagined to be, unable to discern between the group of people there to add spice to the video and the actual ghosts that are supposedly in this hospital. However, the first thing she sees are a pair of converses in light green and soon after, someone is kneeling in front of her.

Hansol’s long hair is clouded by a hoodie so thick his earlobes are red, or so she thinks that’s the reason, because his hand pats on the expanded leg of her jeans. Bell jeans were in once again, and she had opted to have them on her outfit. However, Hansol’s high cheekbones lift in a smile when he counterparts:

“If you’re really trying to hide from ghosts, having half of your leg out from underneath the table is not the way to go.” Hansol spares a look at the corner of the room, perhaps pinpointing where the camera is, before she shakes her head at him. She’s still a little shaken, letting out in a trembling tone what must be the most pathetic thing he’s ever heard.

“What if this place is actually haunted?”

“I don’t know percentages, but I am sure someone has died in every possible place on earth. Here, if it’s haunted, or anywhere.” Hansol drags himself under the table, sitting down next to her and taking up the same position she has, though he presses his cheek to the upper portion of his knees. “So, as a matter of fact, every place should be haunted.”

“You’re not helping.” She adds, turning her face to look at him and my God, is Chwe Hansol actually very handsome. He’s different from Jay, with higher cheeks, rounded eyebrows, and a color that resembles honey on tea in his irises. She should look away, not feed into the idea that people have of them being together, but they were meant to act as natural as possible for this show, and looking away has never been more difficult.

“…Said my mom as I helped with the dishes, and my sister after I met her first boyfriend. Helping is not really my biggest forte, but I try.” Hansol shows a full row of teeth when he smiles, like he does it without a care in this world. He probably does. Something about Hansol tells her that he doesn’t really care what people think of him. “But I found you, so I think that’s us winning the game, isn’t it?”

“Is this a park ride for you or something? You’re all smiley and shit.” She tells him, mimicking his smile though hers is a bit more crooked, like she’s trying to push it away so it doesn’t reach him as the most dumbfounded, surprised expression.

“I like this place.”

She feigns a ringing cellphone with a purr of her lips, folding her hand to mimic a phone only to be caught in between his digits, pressed to his ear as if he’s picking it up.

“Yes, hello?” He asks, fluttering eyelashes in between sweetened laughter. One would think that someone like Chwe Hansol was a punch of pink lemonade, but knowing he’s more like a very sweetened soda is a new occurrence.

“It’s your psychologist. He’s asking for another appointment.”

Hansol chuckles at her words, putting down her hand and yet, leaving her with a tingle that awakens in the pit of her stomach and blossoms like butterfly wings across her chest, filling her in with a breath so profound that every single one of her ribs expands with glee.

“They should.” With that, he stands up,extending a slim hand that wavers its fingers for her to grab. Once she does, she’s up her feet, chest to chest with a man who looks at her with pink lips closed together, hiding the row of teeth that she had grown so fond of in just minutes, for how beautiful and calming his smile could be. “I think we should get out and get to the exit—”

What they don’t expect is for the door to bang open, irrupting on their fort and creating a tense atmosphere when they come face to face with a clown, much of the like of what It could look like. And while Hansol laughs from the moment he sees it, she doesn’t. A shout trips from the back of her throat, much like herself, as she jumps onto Hansol’s back and feels his hands contracting against her thighs, catching her just in time. Her eyes, hidden by his neck, are barely touched by the long hairs on his nape that don’t get to be trapped in his beanie, and when she mumbles for them to leave, Hansol starts sprinting like his life depends on it.

Never does he stop laughing, though, as whoever is dressed on the clown outfit follows after them. He’s secure, for some reason, even when they don’t know each other very well, something about Hansol makes her feel as though she is protected. Sheltered from a world that had always been so tough, but with him is just a tiny bit more complex. And for Hansol, that’s okay.

Something tells her that Hansol doesn’t push himself to understand the majority of things. The reason why the world goes around the sun, or why so many people choose heartbreak. He knows he’s a particle, a mere second in a clock, a reason to laugh or a momentum to flee. While she lives through memories, Hansol relishes on breaths. On moments that are here and now, enjoyable and yet, somehow dreamy in the way that they go by so fast.

She doesn’t know him much, but when they reach the exit and the sun bathes them through peaks in between gray clouds, he is still holding her. Even when Seungcheol points Hansol’s camera at them and he’s talking, he still doesn’t let go of her. She hears a faint joke, a reason to part from his neck, but lord does she wish she would not have looked away.

For his face is too close and that mole on his temple is right there, valuable enough to catch her attention.

So, she drops herself to the floor, falling on her knees and raising her hands in the air before shouting to the camera:

“Good fucking Lord, we made it!”

And Hansol laughs, like he does in these situations, but how she wishes that laugh would not feel precisely like home should feel like.

Thirteen million views and just the third episode of the series has been posted. Now, that is breaking records.

She would have never believed the world would become a big number for her. Flop or not valued by the amount of people seeing you; regardless of interest or not. She seeks for that validation—much more after the break-up—. From people who don’t really know her, but love to give conspiracies about how Hansol and she met. They say they are together, and they don’t really deny it. The closer they get through episodes, the more people seem interested in it, and while she’s in the thrive for more—fame, success, whatever the fuck it is that is sedating her, Hansol stays…the same.

He invited her over to his place. So unorganized, just like his thoughts. He leaves his coats hanging on his poor couch, picking them up per demand, with splashes of coffee on the coffee table from early this morning still forgotten. Tonight, on this Saturday night, Hansol has brought soju with himself, licking off the remaining bits of his black bean noodles from his chopsticks. She still has a bit left on her place, but she has opted to sit with her head hanging from the sofa, looking at him from upside down, maybe a bit boozed because of the alcohol he had prepositioned for ‘idea organization’.

“What if we ate noodles on a rollercoaster?” They have planned up to episode ten. The end of the season, after all. But people have been asking for another season, and while it’s not confirmed, a company had ventured into the hardships of wanting to promote them for a second season and that meant giving them ideas on a silver platter in hopes of them liking it enough to support it monetarily.

“You want a POV of us vomiting on a camera. Got it.” She drags, inspecting the way his cheeks turn maroon and how he puts his bottle of soju down, giving her a smile that, if she had to describe, would call it extremely dumb.

“When you put it that way, sounds incredibly hot.”

“Ew, Hansol.” She has gotten used to calling him that name now, a month into their venture and almost four episodes in. Her head starts thumping and with four bottles of soju, she can’t stop thinking. Hansol has almost been like a bubble; he lets her see on the outside and still, protects her in some way. She knows that the death threads are still there, as well as the ongoing rumors with Jay that include her in a love triangle, but with him, recording and a new group of people around them, she has managed to lose herself a bit more. “I can’t think straight at this moment.”

“Probably because you’re losing blood flow.” Hansol drags himself closer to her, never lifting his butt of the ground, twisting her hair in a bun that falls the moment she sits up straight. Not because he told her so, or because she was afraid of losing oxygen in her brain, but rather the reason behind it was that Hansol was a little too close to her. Enough for her to see those beautiful speckles in her eyes.

Yes, so that’s the thing…Hansol is extremely pretty.

Awfully so.

In a drunken state, that’s multiplied by a hundred.

“What if we made a ‘Show Me The Money’ parody?”

Hansol shrugs. “I’d eat you up.”

“You think so?” She slurs, pressing her cheek to the edge of the couch and almost twitching when Hansol reaches for the corner of her joggers, pulling them down where they had bunched at her ankles. That’s when his skin comes in contact with hers, wrapping entirely around that portion of her leg and letting his thumb caress the joint behind it. “Mm, don’t do that.”

“S—Sorry.” And Hansol pulls away at that moment, cheeks even more flushed with the alcohol, eyes widened. “I—I didn’t…”

“It just feels nice.” She tells him in a whisper, dozing off and letting her eyes close as the only thing she can hear in the background is the faint sound of Drake’s latest record and, of course, his calm breathing. “…And I don’t like getting used to it. You don’t know how many times I’ve gotten used to things only for them to hurt me…after…”

It’s the alcohol talking and the sleepiness losing her, because she doesn’t remember what else she had said or why she falls asleep so fast. What she does remember is what she dreams. She sees Jay in dreams, remembering the way his palm fit so snugly around her knee, and how he’d trace the underside of it with how big his hand was. Now, she sees it in third person, in some cramped-up party of the like of those he went to, with his lips spread around another woman’s, doing the same thing he did to her, and somehow breaking apart the little threads left in her heart. Because that’s what men have always done to her—hurt her until she couldn’t recognize herself.

She awakens with sweat pooling at her neckline and breaths unarranged in a manner that has her clasping the first thing she feels. Hansol has turned down the lights, his back pressed to the edge of the couch, head lulled back in a way that will probably have him aching in the morning. His brown hair spreads on top of his forehead like vices, eyelashes straight and long, jaw squared yet somehow relaxed as his lips part. He’s snoring softly, barely audibly, laying there like he wouldn’t move even if the world ended.

So, she drags her hand across his forearm, feeling every bump and mountain of slim muscle until she reaches his knuckles and touches them, shaking his hand in hopes of getting him to open his eyes.

He doesn’t, but he does hum at the mention of his name.

“Hansol…I had a nightmare.” She has them often. Each time, she looks into the shadows of the night hoping for the real monsters to appear. Not the ones that make their guest appearance in horror movies, but the ones that actually hurt her. People that tarnished her heart in ways that now has it stopping from time to time. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but could…could you please hold me? When I’m held, I can fall back asleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” He rasps out, dragging himself towards the couch as she makes him some space. He doesn’t talk about his room or taking up the bed, because he’s probably too sleepy to even care, when he places an arm under her head and lets him square a leg in between his just to make room for the two.

“I’m sorry for getting so close.”

He drags her until her face rests on his collarbone, humming what she can imagine is a ‘no’. “You’re not doing it for anything bad. It’s okay.” He whispers. “Is this tight enough?”

She looks up at him, eyes still closed. So naturally peaceful and yet, somehow blaring war noises inside her head. Ready to flee away just in case her stomach drops to the ground at the mere sight of him. “It’s perfect.”

Hansol shouldn’t feel perfect. Not if season two is ever going to happen.

Usually, the one with the cruel ideas is Jeonghan. Hyejin has finally met up to that standard. Her friend, not his, and that’s surprising. Hansol has to give her some props for the idea of the ninth episode.

‘Never Have I Ever’. He doesn’t think he has played the game since that one moment he joined college. Only recently did he get his degree, and the engineering degree normally doesn’t get invited to the kind of parties that have drinking games, but Hansol was friends with a bunch of people who would take any kind of game as a reason to drink. This one doesn’t include drinking, but it’s either eating something really nasty, laid in front of them on a picnic cloth—there are testicles in there, as far as he knows—or answering.

Hansol should be concentrated on making her eat the five meals that are meant to be eaten by her, but he is tranced by her. Has been since two weeks ago, when he decided that sharing a couch with her was a good idea. Not only did he have to walk away before she noticed that he had accidentally wrapped a hand around her waist while asleep, but he also had to fight off the thoughts that ventured into his head. He didn’t want to be the rebound, but that’s precisely what he would be if he tried to get with her. If he played the cards he does sometimes, when life is a little simpler, of rubbing the back of his neck and buying someone’s favorite Pokémon cards.

It doesn’t help that she has decided to look absolutely gorgeous while they sat on a bench, in a secluded park that Seungcheol had found fitting for filming. Roses scatter around them in the same color of red that splashes on her dress. A loving heart neckline that has him looking down and—fuck, Hansol, don’t be stupid. She’s way out of your league—

“Never have I ever…” She drags her voice while reaching into the hat that was placed nearby for them. He looks at the shape of her mouth, the length of her eyeliner and he wants to punch himself for a second. For staring with that intent, even with cameras around them. For feeling a bit protected in front of them just because everyone thinks they are dating. Or so. “Eaten or tasted earwax.”

“Do I have the face of a man that has tasted earwax?”

“Yes.” She responds, chuckling at him only to have him scrunching up his nose. He looks down at the plate that is served in front of him, this round’s beverage for anyone to enjoy. “Hansol, don’t tell me you have.”

“I’m not sure, but I was a weird kid! May have!” He tells her, picking up his chopsticks and biting into the testicles that he had repulsed from the moment the game started. She throws her head back, laughing like the child in her had awakened at his response, before she’s shaking her head and tossing the card to the side.

“You’re so nasty.”

“Tell me you haven’t done it.”

“Just because I am sure I did it as a kid as well, I’ll help you out with those testicles.” She picks up the chopsticks from his hands, giving it the slightest of bites before sticking out her tongue and dropping it to the ground. “Gross! Jeonghan, where the fuck did you find this stuff?”

“It was Cheol!”

The game continues, with the two of them a point away from either losing or winning. She has her legs spread in front of her, crossed by the ankles, waiting for him to read the card that he’s just opening when his eyes widen for a fraction of a second. Oh, this wasn’t Seungcheol. This has Hyejin’s name written all over it. He knows it because she has been wriggling her eyebrows whenever he makes his way past her, opting to tease him about the ‘obvious crush’ he has on her best friend.

“Never have I ever liked the person across from me.”

Hansol doesn’t move, and he should be drinking the broccoli lemonade that the team prepared, but she moves with a little more precision, as if her anatomy was made to act in cue. His heart stops when she grabs the glass and brings it up to those lips that had been burgundy red at the start of the recording to drink. She closes her eyes, tosses her head back, and gags at the taste, but Hansol is far too lost.

…She had liked him? Then? Now? When?

“Confessions, confessions. Always coming up from these videos.” She is more of a natural in front of the camera, taking his hand and bringing it up in the air as per a champion from a boxing fight. She has won him over, if only if she knew. “We’ve got ourselves a winner. Give a round of applause for Zach Chwe, everyone!”

Hansol can’t even smile. He’s dumbfounded, staring at her profile and seeing her grin in such an easy going way. Though, the moment they say their goodbyes from the video, she pulls away from him, clearing her throat and looking at him as if she expects an answer. One that never comes and leaves him just to stand up, excuse himself out of the park and lock himself in the nearest bathroom.

Being the rebound is not what he wants, but God, would he be lying to himself if he didn’t accept he has liked her for longer than he’d want to admit.

Two months pass by. The first season becomes a success and still, not a word has been uttered about that episode. The subscribers’ favorite episode, but the forgotten episode for those who were involved.

No one asks questions when they come together for VidCon. It feels natural, actually. She doesn’t think she would have been able to just go on her own anymore. As some kind of way the world had planned it, Hansol feels like her counterpart in whatever this is right now. Friendship, work, whatever they have garnered together that people seem to love enough to have a panel for them, where they speak to fans and take pictures together. She notices then that she’s not the only person awestruck by Hansol’s beauty, even when that’s obvious at this point. He looks like a daydream in his black t-shirt, rounded glasses and skinny jeans, smiling in pictures and even joking around with fans.

Sometimes, she just looks at him from the side and blames him for it. For letting things slide so smoothly in between the two after that forbidden episode. He never said a word, neither did he try to clear her head with a kiss to her lips or even a strict ‘no’ that would have her moving on. It’s his fault for being likeable; for giving her a necklace with her initial as a celebration when their first season became a success. For him to receive her with a bowl of noodles for every recording they had each week. For him to tag her on stupid memes on Twitter, not giving a care what anyone could say.

The venue is packed and Hansol gets a little too lost on conversations with a fan that is talking about his beginnings as a gamer—that wasn’t really good to start with—when she feels someone tapping her on the shoulder. Her hips move from the edge of their table, where an enormous poster of the publicity image for the first season of their show spreads in the background, to turn around and respond to the subscriber that was trying to get her attention. Nonetheless, like a clashing thunder in a summer day, Jay stands there looking like the oddest thing she has seen in the past three months.

Because she’s not used to him anymore. Neither has she felt like she was truly comfortable with the idea of him. He’s a few heads taller than her, with his black hair pushed back and the sleeves of his shirt dragged up to showcase his tattoos. He’s smiling when he greets her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and hugging her briefly before he pulls away. They are lucky that is not peak hour and most people have scattered to look at the music presentation that was taking place.

“Jay?” She questions, only to have him smiling proudly, like he would do whenever he got recognized in public.

“The one and only. I had to pass by when I heard you were making it to this year’s convention.” His dark brown eyes splay across the poster behind them, trailing after every detail of the image of Hansol wrapping an arm around her shoulder, both smiling at the camera as they spread their hands in peace signs, smiling gleefully. “Haven’t watched a season of the show, but I might start. It’s fucking everywhere.”

She should not talk to him, but she scoffs at his words, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest to portray just how closed she is to him, but she doesn’t miss her sarcastic smile. Not an ounce of hate is within her chest anymore, but she recalls the wounds he opened just to make bigger ones. “…Mhm, it’s not the type of show you’d watch. Too much of a big brainer.”

“Oh, come on, you know I’m smarter than I look.”

For the way he plotted the entire internet against her, she knows for a fact Jay could very much be a lawyer or an astronaut if he wanted to. Misspells or not. “I’m certain. I’ve never doubted you’re a cunning, smart little shit.”

“I like that. Might make it my new motto.” Before Jay could venture into more of a conversation, her waist is grounded by a pair of thin arms wrapping around them. Soft skin connecting with her through the fabric of her pink hoodie has her looking back to see that Hansol is hugging her from behind, hiding his hands on the pockets of her hoodie and pressing his chin to her shoulder before whispering into her ear.

“We’ve got stuff to do, remember? Like organizing our things at the hotel and sign some posters for tomorrow…” He never rushes with those things, but at the presence of Jay, Hansol’s a bit more masculine and selfish with time. When she tries to answer him, far too lost in the beauty of him now that he has pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, pulling the strands of his hair back, his golden eyes have settled on Jay, not even sparing him a grin out of courtesy. “I’ll have to snatch her away from you.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Jay adds, aiming to hurt and taint, but Hansol doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls her by the strings of her hoodie, interlocking their hands together before speaking closely to her face.

“So, are we going?”

It’s not a doubt that she says ‘yes’. After all, if her heart had grown a bond for Hansol without him touching her that way, having a glimpse of what it could be like to be with him has her brain going feverish.

Hansol is certain about many things. That he likes the color green. He loves tie dye hoodies. That he would die in a beanie if he could. He enjoys weird scary shows, and he would marathon the entirety of Scream in a minute. He is also certain that he doesn’t want to talk to her, as they sit across from each other in his hotel room. Not just because, but for the matter that she was talking to the ex that had done anything in his willpower to push her to be absolutely nothing.

He sits on a brown leather couch, working diligently on signing posters while she has opted not to do so. For the past ten minutes, she has ventured into all the possible conversation topics in order to get him to look up, even smile, but while Hansol likes living his life in tranquility, he also has his angered moments. His blood felt like it had rushed to his knuckles from how tight he was holding them closed when he saw Jay. He couldn’t bear but admit to himself that, while he had opted not to think about her in that light, the idea of her going back to Jay and not with him infuriated him. Sure, she wasn’t his—neither was she anybody’s, for that matter—but if someone had to have her as the person by their side, it had to be him. Right?

Anyone but fucking Jay Lee.

But preferably him.

Yet, she knows how to get the world to look at her with eyes that had been rose-colored by her voice and eyes alone. After ten minutes, she knows that he won’t talk to her and when the beads of silence surround the cream-colored room, he almost imagines that she has left. Only that he gets to see her jean-cladded thighs standing in front of his knees, his eyes darting to her face for a fraction of a second until he sees her. The closeness, the little smile that splays in the corner of her mouth, and that wave to her eyebrows that tells him that she’s a bit confused, amused, but also a tad annoyed.

“Why are you angry at me? I haven’t done anything to get the silent treatment.” God, she’s one of the smartest women he has met. With the way she can think of matters in the spot and make a drawing on the screen the most interesting thing in the world. He knows her commentaries on movies are the most precise, intelligent words that could be said, and yet, he wishes she could wake up and realize that he has been here, all along, for three months and even a bit more, liking her like a complete fool. “Hansol, you either talk to me or you talk to me. I’m not giving you another option.”

“That man was…okay, I’ll talk to you.” Hansol stops himself when he hears just how mortified he sounds when he starts talking, putting the poster he was signing to the side, laying on the table next to him with the other pile of posters. Soon after, he’s spreading his hands on the armrest, leaning back on the couch. “Jay has done nothing but make your life an absolute hell and there you go, just being nice to him, letting him hug you and talk to you—”

“Hold up,” She interrupts him, spreading a hand on her waist. “If I just ignore him or treat him like shit, I’m giving him even more of a reason to talk. I’ll be the first to admit to say that the stuff Jay put me through wounded me in ways that will take more than a few months to work through, but I also don’t want to give him the benefit of being aware of how much he hurt me.”

Hansol can understand that, but he also knows what men like Jay think. He runs his fingers through his hair, groaning through half-parted lips. “He probably thinks he still has you on the palm of his hand.”

“He doesn’t.” She shrugs. “So, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to see you with him. That is the problem.” Hansol says, standing up and staring at her, face-to-face. “I know you won’t go back to him but it makes me angry to think you ever thought of being with him. Not only doesn’t he match up with you on looks, but he never deserved you. You could put him on a pan and drop an entire bag of salt on him and Jay Lee would still be flavorless. The biggest mistake you could ever make, and the thought alone of him wanting to be with you—”

“I don’t want to be with him.”

“Yes, but…” You also don’t want to be with me, he completes for himself. Sure, she had once said she liked him, but what reassures him that it wasn’t just for the camera?

“You’re making a big deal out of it!”

“I fucking know!” He exclaims, widening his eyes.

“Then?”

“I will make everything that happens to you a big deal because I care for you. I’ve liked you for God-knows how long. Sorry for getting jealous, but I don’t regret it one—”

She interrupts him before he could say anything else, with her lips spreading across his, savoring the tremor of his mouth before he opens it to the granting touch of her tongue. His bottom lip fits between hers as if they were made for her, her hands gravitating to his waist and pulling him closer, though the fact that she was the one to make the first move did not stop Hansol from adding his own motions. His hands spread on the back of her neck, thumbs coming in contact on the column of her throat and dragging a sweet stripe down, rising goosebumps all over her skin. Hansol tilts his head to the side, a cloud of humidity building from the breath he lets out before kissing her lazily, albeit strongly, like he knows he doesn’t have to do much to do it right.

She would like to punch him, ask him why he never did anything when she confessed to liking him in that video, but Hansol has seated back on the chair, hands landing on her hips as he continues to kiss her, and her thighs part to settle comfortably on his lap. When she pulls away from him, lips tainted in that romantic shade of pink that he leaves everywhere he goes, she traces the outline of his mouth with a peck before she goes down to his neck, hiding in there for a second.

“You had me guessing for so long, Hansol. That’s what assholes do.”

Hansol’s hands rub at her hips, one of the portions she’s more insecure about, but with him it just feels right. “I don’t want to be your rebound.” He tells her, grabbing her by her chin before pushing their lips together once again. He keeps his eyes closed when he speaks against her mouth, just minutes after biting on her bottom lip. “Please, don’t let me be a rebound. If I am, stop me now.”

She’d be crazy to stop him. Not when his mouth looks like a rose petal and her heart feels the more at ease she has felt in a while. Sure, this is always the start of every romance. She knows that men feel comfortable before they destroy her heart even worse than the last time, but something tells her that this is not the case with Hansol. She closes her eyes, venturing into the shape of his mouth to trace it like the map she should have followed a long time ago.

For now, she’ll get lost in him, in the way he makes her feel like she’s the newest star in the sky and he’s drawing it himself. Calling her something that goes unnamed for now.

The word ‘for now’ is so funny. It prolongs in time, so much that three months turn into six, and then, an entire year.

She had said that Hansol’s idea was a ‘for now’. That him, as a person, was temporary as it gets, but the clock was making fun of her as she rushes to his car, holding onto the coldest coffee she could get at this hour of the morning. Some people feel comfortable, not because they are colored certain way or how they make you feel, but what you two make together. Blue and green are colors on their own, but together they make something different. The creation of new matters is what makes the world a little bit more interesting.

Hansol doesn’t enjoy mornings, not after a short night of sleep, and that may be her fault, but with the way he smiles at her when she opens the car’s door, she’s sure he has forgiven her. For how great they felt last night, she’s sure that there were no grudges held. A camera is pointed her way, though she knows that the second season of their show is still being published on her channel and, no way in hell, he would ever post the videos he takes of her. Little vlogs to remember what it was like here, now, forever. God, forever sounds amazing with Hansol.

“Here we have a whole coffee addict, making her way to my sick Porsche.”

“It’s a Toyota, Hansol. Sit the fuck down.” She completes, entering the car and pushing her hair over her shoulder, leaning over the seat to let him taste the coffee. That makes the camera a little too close to her face, laughing and pushing it to the side the slightest. “I’m sure I don’t look that good in that angle.”

“You don’t, but real love will make me say you do.” He completes, sipping a few more times into her coffee before giving it back to her. He has the hood of his shirt all the way over his dark hair, turning off the camera and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he starts the car.

Talking about their relationship in public was forbidden, for she doesn’t want to blur the line in between the faux relationship and what became real. In fact, it happened with its bumps along the road. She can’t say that everything has been easy, that sometimes her nightmares don’t wake her up with the idea of Hansol leaving one day, or not precisely leaving her, but stomping on her heart before he flees away, but that idea alone is pushed away with a served kiss and a few words that save her from doubting. Hansol is not much of a talker and yet, when he opens those lips of his, he always seems to say the right thing.

So, while the subscribers have never gotten a real video of them admitting to their relationship, it’s almost public notice. She sips on her drink, looking at his profile and the tranquility of him before asking.

“So, I saw a Tweet not too long ago. As I was waiting for coffee, actually.”

“From who?” His voice grows serious, expecting to hear anything from Jay or anyone else on the internet, but she calms him down by interlocking their fingers together, tracing the small promise ring on his finger with her thumb.

“From a subscriber that wanted to point out our supposed beginnings.” She likes looking at those conspiracies from time to time. They are so ridiculous that she can’t help but be amused by how close and obsessed people can get from someone they saw on the internet. Well, as long as it’s kept like a good momentum on someone’s life, and they know not to blur the line, she’s sure it’s okay. “The first picture you liked of me was on April 18th, three years ago. It was a picture of me on my desk, looking down at my I-Pad as I drew, working on my next video.”

Hansol twists his head to the side, laughing to himself a bit before nodding. “I remember that picture.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He looks at her for a fraction of a second before bringing their interlocked hands up, giving it a soft kiss. “Your hair was shorter then. Way shorter. I thought you were pretty.”

“Sometimes, I wish I had met you earlier.”

“Huh, earlier wasn’t our time, I guess.” Hansol responds, letting go of her hand to grab her coffee.

Holding her breath, she looks at his sleepy profile. At him as a person. It has been so long and yet, the words don’t weight on her mouth when she opts to mumble it for the first time:

“I love you, Hansol.”

His eyes twinkle when she says those words, spreading a smile into his face that show all his teeth before he gnaws at his bottom lip.

“I love you, too.”

#vernon scenarios #vernon x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #kpop scenarios #seventeen #vernon #writing #vernon au #vernon fluff #vernon angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen au

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saltydumplings · 6 months

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Can I request a vampire and a werewolf hanging out, talking about their terrible and eternal curses that robbed them of their humanity?

Request #31

I feel like this turned out a lot cuter than the request suggested, lol.

"I miss the sun," the vampire started. They were sat on the porch steps of a cabin, staring out at the dark woods around them. "I feel like my world is missing colour. Like the second I got bit my sight switched over to grayscale."

Beside them, following their gaze, the werewolf could almost understand that. The forest looked so vibrant during the day: glowing green in amber light, speckled with the red and brown of mushrooms and the white of clustered flowers; there were pink blossoms in spring, and in the fall the valley was overcome with orange - that single colour sweeping through everything in its path without remorse or signs of stopping. The moonlight ruined that though. It washed it out, and the shadows dulled whatever remained.

"I can understand that," the werewolf said after some consideration. "It must be hard, only ever seeing half of what the world has to offer."

The vampire hummed. "Warmth too. I miss days when I could just lie in the sun."

The werewolf took the confession as an invitation to move closer. They repositioned themself behind the other's back, arms encircling the vampire's waist whilst their nose nuzzled against their neck - taking in their scent slowly.

"I miss my control," the werewolf admitted. "I hate having days that I don't remember. Days that could change everything for me - and usually never in a good way."

Nothing was scarier than waking up in the middle of nowhere, alone, not knowing what had come before that. Sometimes they'd find blood under their fingernails or fresh injuries like something else had tried to mawl or ensnare them.

"Perhaps I can remember those days for you," the vampire offered. "To the best of my ability - if you like."

The werewolf paused, a little taken aback. "You would do that for me?"

The vampire leaned back into them, turning to place a kiss against the werewolf's forehead. "Of course I would. It's the least I could do."

In response, the werewolf let out a small rumble of a sound as they returned the affection, first kissing the vampire's lips and then their neck - pulling them in closer still.

"Maybe I can return the favour: provide enough shade for a sunset. Sunrise, even, if you're feeling brave."

The vampire chuckled, hands locking around the werewolf's own. "Brave? I think you have me mistaken for another vampire."

"Hmm, well, certainly brave enough to share a bed with a wolf."

"How else would I stay warm in winter?"

"Ah, so I'm just a glorified radiator now then?" the werewolf asked.

"Yes, amoung other things..." the vampire teased.

"Other things?" The werewolf let out a low growl, tail wagging behind them in a playful manner. "You want to expand upon that?"

All too happily their partner complied. "Well, you're also a spectacular pillow. Very comfy. Not to mention a pretty reliable chair - sometimes even a footstool when you're in one of those moods where you just like to curl up on the floor and--"

"I'll show you who's a footstool!" the werewolf declared suddenly, standing and taking the vampire with them as they turned back towards the cabin.

The other let out a startled yelp that broke into giggles, struggling lightly as the werewolf threw them over their shoulder. "Werewolf, no! D-Down!"

"Down?! Oh, you're in trouble now!"

They went inside, laughing, closing the door behind them softly with the vampire tucked tight between their arms.

The curtains closed soon after.

An hour later and pink light was spilling across the sky, the werewolf peeking out at it whilst their partner slept contentedly on the bed - lovingly bundled up to their chin in blankets.

One day, the werewolf thought. One day they could share this.

But not just yet...

#writing snippet #monster x monster #vampire x werewolf #werewolf x vampire #werewolf #vampire

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 4.5k

chapter summary: you and javier get off on a rocky start.

warnings: canon typical violence, arguing, a brief reference to Ellie and the main TLOU plot, no y/n

Deadhead - A railcar or locomotive that is being transported empty, typically to be used for future shipments.

The day was warm, the sun bright. Small petals flew further away from the green grass, colorful flowers moving left and right with the soft caress of the wind. The vest Javier wore dug uncomfortably into his chest, his rifle slung over his back and pistol snug on his hip. The lovely weather mocked him, taunted him. It was a lie. A facade. The color, the white clouds, the green grass— all of it seemed muddled now. If he tried hard enough he could see specks of blood, tainting the visual that could as well be a spitting image of a Van Gough painting.

But despite it all. Despite knowing it’s a lie, despite knowing the horror, he still wore the letters; F E D R A— Federal Disaster Response Agency. He liked to think that they were doing some good. At least they drove the wretched infected underground, right? They did one good thing, so that made the killing, the rape, and the torture okay.

Right?

“Fuck me.” he muttered into the wind, hoping the words, later on, would be carried back to him, reminding him that hey, at least I knew something was wrong.

He noticed someone walking up to him. He was expecting it, really. Micheal Coghlan. The man who by some goddamn miracle still carried goodness inside of him. The type of goodness that would radiate through the cracks of skin and bone, the type that would bring light to a person’s face.

Micheal had a limp.

It was caused by someone Javier knew but didn’t particularly like. He saw it happen. He still heard the bone snapping into two when he closed his eyes at night. The man stood next to him and Javier observed him from the corner of his eye. Once upon a time, he could call his face roguishly handsome. It wasn’t a sharp face, round around the edges, with a bit of stubble; shaved by his sister no doubt. His eyes were kind, a darker shade of brown compared to his own, lips thin and chapped. Thirsty.

Javier cleared his throat, hand going to his waist, he pulled out his flask and offered it to him.

“Water?”

He took it without an answer. Drank it in a way where water droplets would stream from the corner of his lips, his gulps loud. It made Javier feel awkward. Micheal stood a bit straighter when he offered the flask back. It was empty.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Javier asked.

Micheal smiled and crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. “The people.”

It’s a bird violently flying into the window that wakes you.

Your eyes open fearfully, your heart beating a mile a minute. Your breathing is uneven. Dust clings to both the inside of your throat and skin. Eyes still wide open, you stare at the ceiling of the train. The seats you managed to sprawl yourself upon are uncomfortable, jagged metal sticking into your skin, making ugly marks and dents. When your breathing calms, and body relaxes, you slowly get up.

The weather is hot, yet gray clouds decorate the sky. The heat of rain, you like to refer to it as. You can barely see the sun, the light of it filtered through the gray, painting the world into a muted color. Fitting.

You hear a snore and direct your gaze toward the sound. You see the boots that belong to a man that’s sleeping a couple of rows ahead, too big to truly fit and get comfortable. Javier Peña. You heave yourself up by grasping the heads of the seats, your legs aching and stumbling like a newborn doe’s. His shirt is unbuttoned from the top, revealing golden, scarred skin. Your eyes trail further down, and they don’t stop until you see the gun strapped to his waist. You think about how easy it would be to just take it, to shoot him and try to find your people.

Then you remember. They’re all gone. You have no people. Marlene’s words were clear;

The girl’s gone. No more soldiers, no cure, no nothing. The fireflies are dead; you’re on your own now.

A chill crawls up every inch of your skin. Why are you even here? Why are you with him of all people? You’re not sure yet. It’s much easier to dislike him when he’s not speaking and his eyes are closed.

You hate that when they are closed, the only memory of them is him being struck with fear, the flames behind you mirrored in his eyes. Kansas City quickly became a place of destruction and death. It was unexpected and with every fabric of your being, you wished you had never seen it.

“Why are you watching me?” his voice startles you; it’s deep with sleep. “It’s creepy.”

“I was thinking about taking your gun and shooting you.”

“I’ve always loved an honest woman. What stopped you?”

“I have no place to go.”

“Neither do I, as you know,” he says. He finally opens his eyes, but only to stare at the ceiling in a similar way you did not moments ago. “So where does that leave us?”

You don’t understand what he’s asking you. The air is still. Javier takes a sitting position, his elbows pressed into his knees and hands hanging loosely between his legs.

“I say we stay here,” he says, voice firm.

“The train?” you ask, confused.

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s covered pretty well, it’s far enough for people to see and close enough if—god forbid—we want to head back into the city.”

“You want us to live together?”

“I want us to turn this into a living space. After that leave, if you want,” he rubs his thumb into the corner of his lips. “Though I wouldn’t really advise leaving, and I definitely need your help.”

“So I should stay because?”

“Safety. Security.” his smile is bitter. “What else can a person want during the end of times?”

“Someone they can trust.”

“You can trust me.”

You look him over. He must’ve sensed your immediate hostility because his gaze slowly moves to you. He returns your suspicion in like, contemplating what to say. You don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust you. Javier’s fingers twitch and his hand moves to clap over his pocket. He lets out a sigh of relief when he feels the familiar shape of a cigarette box.

He licks his lips again.

You gaze out the windows. They’re thick with dust and vines, the outside seems a tad bit brighter now, the gray clouds clearing up a bit.

“Being addicted must be hard,” you mutter. “What are you going to do when you run out? Sacrifice yourself for a box of Marlboros?”

He chuckles. “Maybe. Who knows. I’m not out of stock yet.”

“Not a very comforting thing to hear from a man that’s arguing that I should trust him.”

“It’s not like I said I’d trade you for a pack of cigarettes.”

“Who knows. That’s what you said, right?”

He sighs and gets up. He walks down the narrow hall of the train, hands brushing over the headrests. You follow him outside, and just like you suspected, the weather is grossly warm with no light. The dry weeds crunch under your boots. Javier pulls out the crumpled pack and offers you one; you shake your head. You’re surrounded by trees, with little to see except the sky.

“Wouldn’t want to dry out your stock faster.”

“That scared of what I’ll do if I run out?” he smiles, placing the butt of the cigarette between his lips. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re paranoid or smart.”

“Paranoia works.”

“I guess that’s true.” he mutters, lighting a match. “So what are you going to do? Stay or leave?”

Javier inhales deeply, his lips not too tight not too loose. A soft groan vibrates from the back of his throat and he lets go of the smoke. Your eyes follow the dance of it, twisting and dissipating like the vapor on the first exhales of winter. He places the cigarette back between his lips and tucks his hands behind as he leans back into the metal surface of the train.

He waits as you think. It’s ironic really, the fact that you’re actually contemplating staying with him. Needless to say, FEDRA and the fireflies don’t have the best relationship, but you guess that’s all behind you now. There are no organizations at this moment, no rebellions. Just him and you; two people looking for a way to survive.

You turn to stare at the train. It’s nearly completely intact— there are six cars and the locomotive. If you stare hard enough you can spot the tracks buried under the moss and grass. It would take a lot of work, but indeed it was possible to turn it into a living space.

“Give me a gun,” you say and he smiles.

“What makes you think I have more than one?”

“Then give me the one.” you press.

“The first thing you said to me this morning was that you wanted to shoot me.” he pushes himself away from the metal surface. Pulling his cigarette away from his lips, he stands an inch away from you and holds your gaze. His smile disappears as smoke fans across your face, making your stomach churn. “Are you going to stay?” he asks.

“If you give me the gun then sure.” you tilt your chin up. “I don’t trust FEDRA.”

“I’m not FEDRA anymore and you’re not a firefly.”

“You were once. I think you can see why I have my reservations. You weren’t just any FEDRA soldier, you were a part of it in Kansas City. I heard horror stories about that place.” you rub your eyes, trying to erase what they had seen. “And I actually witnessed the fables.”

Javier takes a step back then, admitting defeat. Something horrific seems to cross his face, a series of violent images perhaps, or maybe it was the loss of his “friends” whatever it was you don’t pay much mind to it. Everyone has pain. Even children who are meant to be carefree and happy. You’re surprised when he suddenly hands you the gun, cigarette loose between his lips. You take the weapon. It’s heavy in your hand, cold between your fingers.

“Satisfied?”

“Very much so, yes.” you don’t smile, but you pull an expression very similar to it. He exhales another breath of smoke, and you push the gun under your waistband. “Where do we start?”

“You can’t be serious, Carillo.”

It was dark and he could barely see the figure of his colleague. Javier had the intention of stepping forward and taking the gun from the other, but he stood there instead, heart beating in his throat. His stomach churned, bile thick on his tongue. Carillo didn’t bother to look at him. There was a man that was on his knees in front of the captain, his head bowed, shaking like a leaf. Carillo aimed his gun at him, his jaw tense.

“You rather them kill us?”

“I rather none of us kill each other.”

Carillo finally turned to him then. Javier would expect the captain’s eyes to soften but they didn’t.

“You heard what happened in the other QZ’s,” he spat. “Soldiers being killed, murdered. The people rioting. We can’t let weeds grow free Peña, he already killed one of us. You heard the rumors to overthrow FEDRA.”

Before Javier could say anything a gunshot echoed, a body fell lifelessly to the concrete. He didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch. He just watched. Carillo placed a hand on his shoulder and the skin under Javier’s shirt burned—his stomach trembled then.

“Ya no vivimos en un mundo de misericordia. Elige un bando.”

Pick a side.

Carillo left, Javier followed. Without thinking, his hand went to his empty flask. The cool metal under his fingertips did little to soothe him.

It’s odd being here with him. You feel trapped by nature, by circumstance. Nothing is the same and nothing would ever be the same. You lean over and sweep out the glass into a tattered bag. Javier had decided on burying the glass or anything else you might find and have no use for down into the dirt. You didn’t have any objections to that. When you lean over to pick up a piece of a broken wine bottle, you feel the gun Javier gave you pressing into the skin of your hip.

You always hated cleaning before the outbreak. Now it was a soothing thing to do. It felt normal. A reminisce of the past. Still, you can’t help but feel sick from being at ease. Change has to happen. But with the immune girl gone, and the fireflies basically disbanded (at least that was what you could tell from Marlene's massage) there is nothing you can do.

You see Javier approaching, a sheer amount of sweat coats his skin, his shirt clinging to his body. Surprisingly, he’s silent. You had expected him to talk, to pry into your past life. But he seemed to be content with just cleaning for now.

“We should scout the area,” he says when he catches your gaze. “Look for abandoned houses, supplies. Maybe we can find a fruit bush or something and plant some here for food.”

“You do know there’s no way this is going to be like…a peaceful suburb residence right?”

“A man can only dream.”

He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and your curiosity gets the better of you.

“I need to ask,” you say and he piques with interest. “Why FEDRA? No offense but you don’t exactly look the type.”

“I remember you saying that the first time you saw me.”

“Still surprised you didn’t shoot me then, considering who I was.”

“No offense but you didn’t exactly look the terrorist type. I didn’t know who, or what, you were.”

“We weren’t terrorists.”

“So you guys didn’t plant bombs?” he asks sounding amused. “You didn’t kill people?”

You narrow your eyes, heat pooling under your skin. “Only pieces of shit like you.”

“I thought I didn’t look the type?” he sighs and shakes his head. “Look I’m not going to argue the ethics of it all and you’re definitely right. The things they—we did, FEDRA, It’s inexcusable. But don’t come here and tell me the fireflies were squeaky clean.” he takes the broken bottle from you and throws it into the bag. “I don’t want to fight about this. I don’t want to argue with you all the time. I’m not telling you I’m a good person, I don’t understand why you have to remind me. I know I’m not.”

Silence follows. Your anger shifts into guilt and you push those feelings down. He gives you one last stern look before turning his back to you.

“But neither are you so let’s stop bulshitting ourselves. And if you’re going to start interrogating me about my decisions—about my past— I recommend you not cuss me out a minute later.”

His steps are loud as he leaves. You notice he left the bag behind, meaning that you managed to rile him up enough that he just had to get away from you. You probably deserved that. You don’t understand how he can shove the past aside so carelessly, how he can just forget what he’d done, what you’d done. But he was right, you aren’t a good person. Unlike him, you enjoy believing that you are. Joining the fireflies…it made you believe that you were doing good, that you were better and more noble. The killings you did were for the greater good, the people that ended up under the rubble of explosions were just a sacrifice that needed to be made—you told yourself that, again and again.

Maybe you aren’t as bad as FEDRA but you aren’t that above it either.

You contemplate going after him. Apologize without actually apologizing. You remember a time you used to break the tension by making a joke, how did you do that again? You can’t quite remember.

You shake your head and continue to clear out the debris. He’ll come back. You can think about what to do then.

Javier does eventually come back, but not before the sun had set.

The stars appear one by one, and you hate to admit that you’d worried about him. Being alone is worse than being with someone you hate.

Dirt and dust sit uncomfortably on your skin. After an entire day of work, you managed to clear out the broken glass, rust metals, dead insects, and rodents (you shudder at the memory). Now all of it lays outside, waiting to be taken further away from the train.

“Where were you?” you ask when he arrives, you notice a bow strapped to his back. “And where did you find that?”

“Careful, it almost sounds like you were worried about me.” he grins as if he hadn’t stormed away from you when the sun was at the very top. You decide to let it slide. He lifts two rabbits and your eyes go wide. “I went looking around a bit. Found this in an abandoned cabin, then did some hunting. Assuming you’d be hungry.”

“Thanks. I…actually forgot that we need to eat.”

“Help me build a fire?”

You answer. “Sure.”

The process of building a fire has become as natural as breathing air. If it were a couple of years ago, most people wouldn’t know how to build a fire but that wasn’t the case now. You doubt that anyone who had survived in this world did so by not knowing how to create flames from scraps of wood and dried leaves. Even the children know. That’s just the world they grow up in now.

Your eyes constantly follow him whenever he moves and you can’t decide if it’s due to old habits or is it because of something else. He has a bizarre aura about him. Something that you can’t quite read. He’s soft. You’ve met a lot of FEDRA soldiers back in the day, have argued and fought against them, but you never met someone like him. He has a bite to his words, but you see the kindness swirling in his eyes, suffocating him from the inside out. It’s an odd contrast and makes you feel uncomfortable.

He’s a man that has been beaten down by the world and the system. Him asking you to stay here is his way of giving up on everything he wanted for the world. You can see it as vividly as you see the stars. Just glimpses of his backstory winking down at you.

The flames come alive, roaring and eating the rabbits whole. Javier had taken the job of cooking for himself, patiently watching the fire, he pokes the sizzling meat from time to time.

“You like cooking?” you ask, and your eyes water when the wind blows the ashes into your face.

“I did,” he answers without looking. “I wouldn’t really say I particularly enjoy cooking this.”

You cross your legs as Javier hands you a branch, skewered with rabbit meat. You take a moment to examine the branch, noting the rough texture of the wood and the way it's been stripped of any leaves or twigs. The delicate slices of meat have been threaded onto the branch with care and precision, each one spaced perfectly apart.

He takes his own portion and sits across from you, the flames curling into the air in between. He doesn’t say a word as he takes the first bite. You watch him chew. The flames lick his face, the tip of his nose a dusted red. Javier swallows and when he does you bring a piece to your lips and slowly chew. It’s gamey, slightly sweet. Overall, tastes pretty damn good.

Your lips twitch up to a small smile. Biting into it more eagerly this time, your stomach growls as you swallow.

“This actually tastes pretty good,” you mutter, feeling the fat from the rabbit coating your lips.

“Well, don’t go overboard.”

“It’s the truth.”

When you lower your gaze back down to the meat, you don’t miss the way a smile curls at his lips. The night grows louder and you two finish the rest of your dinner in silence. You hear crickets, the leaves rustling with the wind. A sweet scent touches your nose, something like newly blossomed flowers. You look into the distance and all you can see is darkness.

Your eyes play games with you, shows you shadows of people, tricks you into thinking that you and Javier might’ve been followed by Katleen’s resistance.

You blink.

No.

There’s no one there.

Your pulse skyrockets, your heart beating in your throat. Vibrating, you turn back to Javier only to see that he’s already staring at you. His look is one of understanding, his lips relaxed as his eyes flit around your face.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I just thought—” you look back to the silhouette of trees. “I thought I saw something.”

“The curse of the forest,” he answers, placing a cigarette between his lips. He realizes he doesn’t have his matches with him so he leans forward and lights it from the source. Javier’s face illuminates, and you see splashes of blood, of death. It lingers over his skin, curls around his throat, stains the white of his eyes. “It makes us see things we don’t wanna see.”

“There was this girl,” you suddenly say, swallowing down the gasp that threatened to slip from your lips. He raises an eyebrow and sits back, listening. “Marlene told us that she was immune. I was supposed to meet up with them in Boston.”

“Immune?” he scoffs. “Immune to what?”

“Cordyceps.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true,” you answer with a sudden need to convince him. You’re not sure why. “She got bit and never turned.”

“Did you actually see it?” he exhales a puff of smoke when you shake your head. He believes he made his point. “So what about this girl? Is there a reason why you’re telling me this or are you just that afraid of the dark?”

You bite into your bottom lip, the sting offering a fleeting relief. “It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s just too silent. It feels…naked.”

“Naked?” he asks, grinning, he steals the cigarette from between his lips and evens his gaze with yours. “We’re covered, cariño. Nothing to worry about.”

“Famous last words,” you tease, ignoring how his tongue rolled as he mumbled cariño. “I guess I’m not used to it yet. There’s always something to fight. Someone is always lurking in the shadows.”

He voices out the rest of your thoughts, “It’s like all the noise and chaos of the world has disappeared, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts.”

You take a deep breath of the crisp forest air.

Emotionally, you want to lean into him. There’s a need in your chest that doesn’t go away but it’s tainted with the anger and the hatred of the organizations that tear you away from each other. He might’ve wanted to do good once, but he chose the wrong side. He thought fireflies were terrorists, and maybe to some you were. However, at least you weren’t fascists and tried to help the people. For better or for worse.

“It doesn’t hurt does it?” he says, guiding your attention back to him. Javier looks up to the sky, takes a deep inhale of smoke. It spills from his lips as he continues. “To have someone by your side.”

No, you think as you get up and head into the train, it doesn’t.

You don’t know what it is this time that wakes you up. There’s no noise. The only thing that convinces you that you’re not in a soundproof cell is the moonlight filtering through the dirty windows. You watch as the pine leaves move together, you’ve always enjoyed the smell of it. The sound of it comes like an afterthought, slowly gaining and getting louder.

You get up when you feel the train shake.

Javier is in the same spot that he always sleeps in, only a couple rows ahead. You move past him and you sneak a glance. His lips twitch and move as he sleeps.

Stepping outside, you take in the same sight as before. It’s still eerie.

Interestingly enough since the fire was gone the darkness seemed lighter somehow. A shimmering blackness. The moonlight probably helped.

Dry earth cracks under your boots. The sound of the trees now mixed with something else, something violent and cruel yet beautiful. You feel the gun on your hip and travel deeper into the forest. The scent of pine and flowers that only bloom during the night stronger. The train is still visible so you don’t worry much about the distance in between. Your fingers brush over the tree trunks, you feel the moss, the sticky resin.

You hear a click.

Click. Click. Click.

Just ahead there’s a clicker, moving with its arms bent and dragging its feet through the soil. Swallowing, you take a slow step back. Then another. And another.

The chill of the night stings your skin, sticky from sweat and burning. The clicker turns in your direction and you stop moving, your one foot suspended in the air. It gains momentum, head twisting and turning. Very slowly you lower your foot, and your heart beats loud in your chest. Surely the clicker hears it.

Fuck.

The sound of the branch snapping underneath you was like a gunshot, reverberating through the stillness of the woods.

You don’t even get the chance to pull out the gun on your hip.

You’re slammed into the dirt, all air forced out of your lungs. You struggle against it but it’s too heavy, too wild to be pushed off of you. The clicker screams into your face, the stench horrid. Bile builds in your throat and coats your stomach. You’re helpless.

It makes a move towards your hands and you pull them away, its full weight suffocating you. Killing you. You can’t breathe.

Tears flood your eyes. You know you’re about to die because you see your life flashing before your eyes, snippets of the past and possible future. You think of the fireflies, of Marlene. You see earth cleansed from the virus.

You see Javier. He’s smiling, leading you in a dance around the wilting flames. You don’t push the thoughts away. You take them as a blessing in moments of lingering death.

A gunshot echoes. You hear the bullet cutting through the air, whistling in the night. It sinks into the clicker’s shoulder, you hear another one, this time the bullet strikes its head. The clicker collapses. Before you can shove the lifeless vessel away, it’s being lifted.

You can breathe again.

Javier is standing before you, his brows creased with worry. His lips are parted as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it. You’re still gasping for air when you speak.

“You had a gun.”

“Yeah,” he heaves, sweat clinging to his chest and moonlight trickling down his skin. “I had a fucking gun.”

Oh man, you guys have no idea how excited I am to finally be sharing the first chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it, I'll probably be posting a new chapter every Saturday (the first 3 chapters will def go up and Saturdays, after that, if everything goes well, I'll continue it the same way)

A few thank you's are in order; @pedrito-friskito , @inklore , @fuckyeahdindjarin and @pedrorascal who listened to me go on and on about this and for their endless moral support ♥︎ and thank you to @laters-gators who beta'd this.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #fedra!javier p #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction #firefly!reader #tlou x reader

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skyward-floored · 2 months

Text

I think I’m coming down with a cold again and possibly have a fever but I’m here to scream about the update some more anyway! (and analyze a bit but mostly scream). Dawn part 7 here we go!

(All images belong to @linkeduniverse <3)

First off I have to say this was my favorite panel I think, it’s so pretty. The faint glow! The colors! The cape over his shoulder! Amazing. This truly was Sky’s update, I loved every bit of focus he got. Jojo fed us well :D

So it looks like I was wrong about Sky reading everyone’s mail. He just immediately took off after the mailman instead (and spent all morning chasing him ha!),

Side note but I love the npc guy. He’s simple but still Zelda-y. the character design in this comic is just👌

Looks like the mailman has a list of who he’s supposed to deliver to, or at least that’s my guess. It could be a map maybe, but that probably wouldn’t do much good since he’s time traveling?? How does he do it. Don’t question the magic of the postman I guess.

*green hill zone music intensifies*

Shoutout to Sky’s face here, I make the same expression when I’m trying to chase after my nephew and stop him from eating crayons

This looks like a postcard no joke, I'd frame this and put it on my wall. Plus the way the trees were done in the background is really neat, there’s something just really pleasing about this panel. Also the return of Sky: Just Standing There

They’re all bein silly <3

...except for Four. Because I think him and Warriors both realize that Sky isn’t just telling them what he was doing all morning— he’s got something important to say, something they all actually need to know.

(Downfall duo laughing together I love them)

Also I agree with everyone saying Warriors is close to snapping— they’ve all had a pretty stressful 24 hours, but Warriors has been breaking up arguments and repeatedly checking on everyone while they’re struggling, and... I don’t think he’s had a break. Take a nap bud, please?

SKY TALKING TO FI MY BELOVED he's hoping there’s enough of her aware to help him dowse hhhhh. And then he’s so sad she didn’t seem to hear him waahhh 😭

It doesn’t look to me like she truly helped much, but maybe Fi gave just enough of a nudge for Sky to find the postman’s footprints? Even in her sleep? She is glowing just a bit there... Interesting to think about.

It’s confirmed that the postman uses the portals! And that the Shadow is alive and kicking! Uh-oh! (Also does anyone else think this one seems more... firey? Then the last one? Maybe it's just me).

And the chopped-off darknut head is still there too.... and I’ll bet you twenty rupees somebody is going to kick it when the Links go through the portal later. (My guess is Wild but I’d put my money on Legend or Wind too).

I’m also really curious where that portal leads... My guess is either Twilight’s Hyrule or Sky’s, based on what hints we’ve been getting, but I really don’t know. It’ll be fun to see!

*Wind rapidly thinking of at least three conspiracy theories*: SUS

Also an amazing expression from him I’m laughing so hard, he really said 3:<

Tag yourself I’m Four

Also Sky just chugging away at the stamina potion, poor guy XD he must be beat from all that running around, I hope he has some more time to sit before the Links get moving.

(And I mentioned this in another post, but Legend looks so alarmed at this information, as does Wild... it’s not going to be pretty when they cross paths with the Shadow again, that’s for sure)

I love when Time breaks out the dramatic language... makes me remember that this guy is going to be the Hero’s Shade someday (who’s speech is 99% dramatic things).

Now the Links just have to decide what to do next... will they stay another day at the inn for Twilight’s sake, or get moving right away? Is Four going to confront Twilight about the dark magic he uses to turn into Wolfie?

So many questions... but in the meantime I will gladly continue to reread this amazing update, I really loved this one :D

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe analysis #lu sky #and a bunch of other guys I don't feel like taggig #update spoilers #rambles from the floor

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ceruleancattail · 11 months

Note

id like to ask for a fluffy nymphleech fic with this premise, if thats alright :)c ; Jade isn't allowed to use customers as test subjects but no one can stop him: which has only gotten worse because now i fully support him and play into it further whenever we feel like it.

anddd if you'd want an idea of how that looks like sometimes;

Jade cooking w mushrooms: ^^

Me, sliding the dish onto a table: "Enjoy!" ^^

student A, sweat-dropping: "... are those edible?-"

Me, stabbing a fork into a mushroom: "Only one way to find out." [shoves it into student A's mouth]

ty very much if you'll accept the request, its alright if not tho! :D

Jade with a s/o who terrorises the Mostro Lounge with him

Jade x reader

Sometimes, you do truly love your boyfriend.

The way he strikes such a regal pose in the kitchen, apron string tied securely around that slender waist of his. His hands moving with carefully practised poise. The way the lean muscles on his arms flexes ever so slightly when he slices up mushrooms, dicing them effortlessly.

Efficient in the kitchen.

Effective?

That remains to be seen.

It’s hard to call him effective when Jade cooks whatever his heart desires. Exotic mushrooms of all shapes and sizes, saluted to perfection. He’ll serve dishes so delicate, they almost look too good to eat.

Honestly, it’s in your best interest not to consume whatever he serves. Not when Jade seems rather interested in watching you eat, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

You two are now the terror of the Mostro Lounge. The deadly waiter and chef, serving up new unknown horrors to poor unfortunate students.

Poor, lost souls.

It’s rather amusing to watch them twitch and writhe. Sometimes, they collapse straightaway, face blooming a wonderful shade of green. Otherwise, their arms slump to the side, their eyes widening in shock as foam builds up in their mouth, spilling from their lips.

You two share a journal. A lovely leather bound book, elegant cursive dancing through the pages. You two take care to record all effects in excruciating detail. Little sketches of the mushrooms, the most poisonous ones highlighted, little purple hearts doodled all around.

When he thumbs through the pages, Jade’s fingers trace over your letters lightly. You have wonderful handwriting, love. In fact, if he closes his eyes, he could hear your voice whispering to him, practically purring into his ears.

A wonderful sound, indeed.

Jade shudders, bringing his hand up to his mouth. Chuckling into it, a small smile tugs at his lips. A faint pink dusted onto his cheeks, a flattering shade on him.

How truly romantic.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #twst x reader #Jade leech x reader #Jade x reader #Jade #lucky charm🔷

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ellies-star · 1 year

Text

something about july. pt 1

pairing. outdoors staff! ellie williams x pool staff f! reader.

synopsis. ellie has been working at this summer camp for the last 5 years, and when she spots you for the first time blowing up pool floats with Dina, she knows she's in trouble. ellie and reader find themselves flirting every chance they get, pulling pranks and having a sweet summer fling. warnings. right now it's just fluff and wholesome, use of y/n, friends to lovers trope but eventual 18+. eventual mention and usage of substances, drunk/high kissing, and makeout woot woot.

an. lol so this is my first time writing a fic in a while. wanted smthn that would make you wanna kick your feet and giggle, so i present to you part one of summer camp ellie and reader <3 p.s. apologies in advance, editing as I go lol.

It's 9:00 am on a Saturday in July, and Ellie pulls up to the campground that's already buzzing with excitement and chatter. Dust flies behind her truck as she drives along the dirt road and gravel through the camp. Window down, the summer breeze and smell of pine fills her car bringing a smile to her lips. Damn I missed this, she thinks.

She immediately recognizes her friends and fellow staff among the small crowd, they work hard to move tables and haul in groceries for this weeks meals, others are organizing gear and supplies for hikes– which she should be doing at this moment.

"You're late Williams!" Ellie looks to her left to find the source of the oh so familiar playful chide. The camp director approaches her car with a grin on her face. She slows down to pull up next to the woman, leaning her left arm out the window.

"Morning Maggie, beautiful start to the week, huh?" She looks at the older woman, salt and pepper hair in a wild bun, navy blue t-shirt with the camp's logo written across the front and back in a faded white. Her busy clipboard propped against her hip cladded in worn-out denim jeans. She embodies camp mom in every single way, and Ellie missed her like no other.

"It would be, if all of my staff got here on time!" She smacks Ellie's arm playfully with her hand. "We got new staff this year, and the boys are already tormenting them!" She turns around to point to Joel and Tommy under the roof of the mess hall on the left. The brothers laughing as they already finish tying one of the new outdoors crew members' shoes to the beam.

Ellie sticks her head out the window to shout to them. "Better hide the ladder once you're done!"

"Don't worry, already on it!" Tommy turns around almost falling off the thing, but shouts back with a grin.

"How could I forget, you're just as bad as they are." Maggie rolls her eyes. Ellie laughs at her response, getting more excited for what's in store. Joel looks passed Tommy, using his hand to shade his eyes.

"Get your ass over here Williams, these boxes ain't gonna move themselves!"

"I'm coming, hold your horses old man!" Ellie shouts back. She shakes her head and diverts her attention back to the lady with places to be.

"Hurry up now, and be nice to the boys! God knows those two won't. See you later chickadee." Maggie pats her car door to send Ellie off, before giving her a wink.

Ellie drives off to park her truck by the pool and other cars shaded beneath the line of ponderosa pine. It's still pretty early, but the sun's hot beams are brutal right now. Stepping out of the truck, she takes off her green flannel and tosses it onto her tattered passenger seat. Seconds after the slam of her truck door, she is greeted by a warm breeze and another friendly face.

"Ellie! You're here!" She turns around to see Dina peering over the wooden pool fence to say hello. Ellie instantly walks to the gate door to meet Dina for a sweaty hug.

"It's good to see ya D!" Ellie laughs squeezing her tight and taking in the smell of her freshly applied sunscreen. She pulls back, and Dina comments like everyone else she’s seen.

"You're like an hour late." Ellie scoffs.

"I know! Don't blame me, blame Florence." Ellie groans pointing to her overheated white 1999 Ford Ranger. Dina rolls her eyes in response, but gets a burst of excitement. She almost forgot what made her so giddy in the first place. She grabs Ellie's shoulders with force and locks eyes. There’s a shift in the air between them with a sense of seriousness. Ellie doesn't know what to think, but stands confused and leaning back slightly. "What is it Dina..."

"Ellie, we got new swim staff."

"I know, I met them at the last meeting?"

"No Ellie, you didn't meet this one." Ellie quirks a brow looking at Dina with a puzzled eye.

"Dina what are you talking about–"

"Ellie she's cute, and gay." Dina emphasizes, cutting her off to nod her chin to hint what's behind her– or more importantly who.

"Again, what are you talking about?" Dina turns around and pulls Ellie to her side to reveal the sight by the other end of the pool.

As a few other new staff members begin to move away from the shed, behold there you are barely out of reach of the pool structures shade, glistening in the sun. Your skin tanned and kissed by freckles, and exposed in your yellow bikini top and denim shorts. Your hair tied up in messy ponytail, loose pieces stick to your back from sunscreen and sweat.

"oh, that's what you're talking about..." Ellie's eyes widen. Dina looks at Ellie and giggles like a school girl.

It's funny, while Ellie gawks at you, you look quite silly bent over struggling to blow up pool floaties alongside Jesse. She can hear you arguing with him over how many blow up balls versus rings you need.

Dina knows what she's doing, and already feels the need to play matchmaker.

Grabbing Ellies hand and giving her a devilish grin, she begins to pull her along the edge of the pool towards the two of you. "Jesse look whose here!" Dina announces giggling.

Ellie's heart quickens, her nerves sinking in. The thing is, she hasn't talked to a pretty gay girl in, let's be honest, a while. And on top of that, she's also an over thinker. So she has indeed already exhausted every encounter or issue that could errupt after talking to you.

"What are you doing?!" Ellie whisper panics trying to pull away without looking too suspicious, Dina just snickers in response as they both now stand in front of the two pool staff attempting to blow up a giant turtle floaty.

You hardly notice the two girls that come up, you are too caught up in your mission to find the other air pump in the ridiculous wooden chest of a mess overflowing with pool toys and goggles.

Jesse looks up before his face falls into a big smile. "Aye you finally made it!" He beams while standing up. Ellie tries to focus on giving him a hug, but all she can think about is who this mysterious girl in a small yellow bikini is.

Your back was to the three of them before you turn around. You briefly scan the over the two girls before locking eyes with the one you've never seen before. You first notice her tank top, Patagonia baggies and dirty blue vans. Her shoulder length auburn hair was tied half up half down, but a few pieces escaped framing her face. Freckles sprayed across her nose and cheeks, and her green eyes never left yours.

Everything about her screamed gay, and hot.

Dina and Jesse watch as the two of you stare blankly at one another, unsure what to say– Ellie is afraid to take a breath from the looks of it, her cheeks are showing the slightest shade of pink.

"Y/N this is Ellie! We grew up going to camp together with Jesse, and now she's been working in outdoors for about 5 years now!" Dina grins after her introduction, nudging Ellie's arm with her elbow to say hello.

But all she could think was holy shit, cute girl cute girl cute girl...

"Uh, hi yeah I'm Ellie, nice to meet you." She sticks her hand out, showing off her right forearm; covered in the most gorgeous tattoo you've ever seen.

"Hi Ellie, i'm Y/N." You smile, shaking her hand– it's a little sweaty which you blame on the heat, but she blames on you. Your eyes flicker back to her arm. "I really like your tattoo! It's really pretty." You beam as you let her hand go.

You're really pretty. She makes a note to herself to never wear a long sleeve around you ever.

"Oh thanks, I got it a few years ago." She replies, unsure of what to add. God why do pretty girls make my brain go dumb?

Just as Dina was about to intervene, Tommy calls for Ellie over the fence. "Ellie, Joel needs your help planning the first 3 day hikes, Mia can't go!" He shouts before walking back towards the outdoors tent.

She turns her head back and shouts that she's coming before turning back to look at you, a small smile forms on her lips. "I gotta go before Joel kills me, but uh– it was nice meeting you."

You offer a smile and a "you too" in return as she heads back towards the pool gate. She looks back one last time and you give a little wave.

Of course this small interaction made her chest flutter, and knees weak. She fought every fibre in her body to not look back at you. As she walked towards the group of boys all she could think to herself was: I'm in trouble for sure.

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eoieopda · 1 year

Text

the one with hoseok and the teapots

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Type: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 1K CW: AFAB!Reader, established relationship AU, implied miscarriage/pregnancy loss (not described). A/N: I received a special request from someone (who wishes to remain anonymous,) going through something heartbreaking. They asked me to write something to help them “cry it out” but find comfort, too. I hope this drabble can give them a piece of that. This is not something I have personal experience with, so please take that for what it’s worth.

Standing in the doorway, Hoseok can’t think of a single thing worse than the image before him.

You spent months whirling around this room like a hell-bent hurricane, oscillating through paint swatches at the speed of light. You’d settle on one shade just to think better of it seconds later. As you moved through your indecision, his t-shirt fluttered over your busy body. Flecks of mint green were covered with a corrective white — then delicate yellow — then white again — then soft, blue-toned grey.

Once you’d finally gotten the walls the way you wanted them, you went on to second-guess the angle on every single item you placed between them. You’d gently shift him around, too, keeping his input in mind and his body out of the way. Your partner became your independent contractor, compensated with giddy kisses in exchange for his consultation.

It started with the chair in the corner, first too exposed to direct sunlight — what if it hurts their eyes? — then too shadowed — Vitamin D is important, isn’t it? — then just right.

Next was the humidifier, shaped like a thick tear drop, that glows like the Northern Lights when it sprays cool — not hot, though, because that can be drying and it defeats the whole purpose, I think — mist from the corner near the closet. Not too high up on the floating shelves that its moisture traps itself in the ceiling, but just enough to escape the threat of spills.

Then you moved on to the rug, which ended up tucked at the edge beneath the dresser; itself stabilized by dutifully-placed brackets. He held the hammer and you held the nails next in line, kissing his sore thumb when he got distracted by your smile and missed his target. A few little bruises were worth your sigh of relief; and the reduced risk of tripping in the dark when your feet were more awake than your brain.

In the present, you’re sitting on your knees on that rug. There’s no giggling, no singing to pass the time; just you, packing away sheets too small for any other bed, in a house too big for just the two of you.

Now, Hoseok realizes: he can’t think of any sadder scene because there isn’t one.

It’s all too heavy on his shoulders to keep standing there, but he hasn’t been able to step foot inside that nursery for fifteen days. It feels offensive, even the idea of entering. Like it takes audacity he can’t muster to bring his grief over that threshold and exist with it inside those walls.

Those walls were painted with broad-stroked joy, he thinks, but where is that joy now?

Hoseok doesn’t know, but love is at his feet, struggling to smooth out wrinkles in a folded, fitted sheet.

He lowers quietly into the space behind you. One leg on either side of your weary frame, he leans forward to wrap his arms around your waist. Gentle, irrationally fearful that if he blinks too hard, the physical misery you only recently shook off — that kept you curled up on the living room couch for days — will seep back into your bones.

You lean back against him, though, dropping elephant-print fabric into your lap so that your hands can cling to his forearms. It’s still quiet, but your fingers beg him to hold on tighter. He does.

He will.

Hoseok will stay like this forever if that’s what you need. Career be damned, he’ll sit on this floor, holding you, until that suffocating fog eventually clears. And it will, he knows, somehow. Enough time will pass and some day, this room won’t be empty. All of that untapped, unconditional adoration will compound interest in the meantime, until there’s a new tenant to spend it on.

You’ve both been at an uncharacteristic loss for words lately. So, Hoseok does what comes naturally: he presses his lips to your temple and keeps them there. For a second, a minute, an hour, he isn’t sure — until he hears your voice.

All cried out, your signature softness sounds like sandpaper.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You continue in a voice that’s a little bit louder, more than a little wobbly. “The logical part of my brain knows that this happens and that it’s not my fault. I do know that. I just — I feel so fucking sorry.”

There’s no apology needed where no blame exists. He’s glad you understand that, but wishes that there was any better way to describe this feeling. Anger doesn’t fit; there’s nowhere to direct it and no use for it, anyway. Disappointment is too small.

Hoseok isn’t sure what’s big enough, but he’s fucking sorry, too. He says as much, voice thick. He swallows hard and it hurts.

Sorry that he couldn’t be the one to go through it instead. Sorry for the guilt you still feel, even knowing that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong. Sorry that wanting something so badly couldn’t guarantee the outcome.

He kisses your temple again. Once, twice, three times.

There’s a crack when you say, “I wasn’t sold on the elephants, anyway.” Then a shaky, shallow breath as you tilt your head to look down at the sheets, “They look like teapots.”

Hoseok drops his chin onto your shoulder to see what you see: white blobs on rustic blue. There’s no way to know which end is the trunk and which is the tail — if the little points are either one of those things.

“Kind of,” he hums in agreement, “Ducks, if you squint.”

That little noise you make has nowhere near the power of your usual laugh, but it’s something.

More than something — it’s the prettiest song he’s heard in recent memory. One that sounds like a step in the right direction; like dust shaken off a back that’s been knocked hard to the ground. Rusty, sure, but not beyond repair.

Still good, still you.

It sounds like hope.

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starstruckkittensweets · 6 months

Text

"Control" | Zeke x Reader (Kinktober 2023)

Collaring - Zeke Jaeger

Fandom: Attack on Titan Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader Words: 1.6k

A/N: Don't look at me. I said—I SAID DON'T FUCKING LOOK AT ME OK?! I don't know what came over me with this! I've had the words "collaring" and "Zeke Jaeger" next to each other for the better part of over a year and finally said to myself, ".....Eh, I'll see what I can do." Thus this piece was born. (Also I wanted to challenge myself to write for a character I don't really simp for.) I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI, canon au, collars and leashes, slight power play, oral sex (m. receiving), smoking, established safe words (color system)

“You look so pretty like this, you know?”

It takes every bit of strength in your body, every bit of self-control you can muster not to yank your head away and spit in his face. He looks so fucking smug sitting there above you, lips twisted into a smirk, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers. His other hand is wrapped around a leather leash, the other end connected to the black collar sitting snugly around your neck.

But the second you move he’s tugging at the leash, his boot coming to rest between your thighs. You struggle to swallow against the thick band of fabric; the pressure is light for now, but it still makes your head spin.

“Fuck you.”

“You will be soon enough, sweetheart.” He takes a drag from his cigarette, eyes rolling into the back of his head, before blowing a stream of smoke directly in your face. You fight the urge to cough, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you so rattled. “Just be patient.”

Fuck being patient. He’s always been like this, making you all hot and bothered, waiting for your panties to grow damp and your thighs to squeeze together, before he just…stops. Leans back in his chair like the god he thinks he is, waiting for you to make the next move. And knowing all too well that you just fucking can’t, not when he’s quite literally holding the reins in his hands.

Meanwhile, your own hands are bound together in front of you, a matching black band secured around your wrists. He always makes sure to put this one on before the actual collar. Can’t have you thinking you could take control of the situation, huh?

“Come closer.”

“I can’t.” Your eyes dart down to where is boot is still poised between your thighs.

“Sure you can.” His eyes never lose that glazed look as he flicks the ash of his cigarette over the arm of the chair. “You can do it, I know you can.”

Another curse lingering on the tip of your tongue, you begin to shift closer to him on your knees; gritting your teeth when his boot presses firmly against the apex of your thighs. He never lets up on the pressure; why would he, when he’s oh so clearly enjoying the look on your face?

Fucking bastard.

You rest your hands on his thigh, finding it much easier to focus on the creases of his shirt instead of his eyes. Trying your damned hardest not to think about the steely shade of them, or the way the glow of the candlelight bounces off the rim of his glasses. He knows all too well how you feel about those damn glasses of his, smirking at every subtle squeeze of your thighs. You’re so cute when you think he’s not looking.

He threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you closer to his lap. Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to massage your scalp, surprisingly gentle with every touch. “What’s your color?”

“Green.”

“Mm, good girl.” And it’s hard not to whine when he leans back in his chair, taking another puff of his cigarette. Spreading his legs even wider, giving you a full view as he adjusts himself in his seat. “Go on, then. You know what to do.”

As much as he belittles you and teases you, blows his damn cigarette smoke in your face and laugh whenever you get annoyed, Zeke knows he can trust you. Whether it’s on the field, running simple errands in town, or pleasing him behind closed doors, he knows you’ll do your damn hardest to get the job done.

You work quickly and silently, fingers loosening the buckle of his belt, pulling open the flaps of his pants. The only sound being your own heartbeat in your ears, maybe a soft hum from the man above you. One hand is light and gentle on your head, gathering your hair out of your face; while the other gives a short but firm tug on the leash, reminding you of the task at hand. You glare up at him, running your tongue along your lips.

“I’m working on it—maybe you’re the one who needs to be patient…”

“Bite your tongue, or I’ll make you leave after this.”

You scoff, “Keep telling yourself that, sir.” As if he doesn’t enjoy returning the favor every now and then; doesn’t moan and whine when you squeeze your thighs around his head.

He’ll never admit it, but you know he’s just as obsessed with you as you are with him.

He groans when you take his cock in your hands, nails dancing along the swollen tip, licking your lips at the bead of cum at the slit. Luckily he doesn’t have to order you around at this point—you already know what’s expected of you.

The paper lining of his cigarette becomes sweaty in his grip, flecks of ash dribbling to the floor at the first brush of your tongue against his tip. You can’t fit all of him in your mouth (you’ve tried too many times before, and he’s laughed at every single attempt you’ve made), so you opt to go slowly. Take him in bit by bit, savor the taste of him in your mouth. Suppressing a smirk when he starts to whine at the ghost of your fingers over his cock.

“Not too slow,” he bites out, and it’s so fucking cute how he thinks he’s still the one in charge here. When you quite literally have him in the palm of your hand. “Pick up the…pick up—fuck…”

He’s seething now, breathing hard through his nose as you begin to move your head back and forth. Both hands are locked on the arms of the chair, cigarette long forgotten on the floor. His hips lift off the seat cushion, and his cock twitches as your throat constricts around him.

Tears springing into your eyes as you glare up at him, lips so pretty around the base of his cock.

Your name gets caught in his throat as you sink your nails into his thighs, your mouth relentless against his cock. The sight of you on your knees for him is something he’ll never get tired of—fuck, so why is his vision getting spotty all of a sudden? He should be used to the feeling of your mouth around his dick by now, right?

You pull away just for a moment, stroking his cock with your hand, licking your swollen lips. Enjoying the blissed out look on his face with a smirk; knowing that you’ll be the only person in the entire world who will ever see him like this. The only person who can manage to bring the great Zeke Jaeger to his knees.

“Maybe I should just…stop.”

And suddenly your hand freezes around the base of his dick, fingers slick with spit and precum. Zeke glares down at you from behind his glasses, and you wonder if he realizes he’s still bucking himself into your hand. It’s all the same with him; talk a big game but still so desperate to come.

“What do you say, huh? You gotta be patient after all, don’t you?”

His lips are parted, but you’re not interested in hearing any of his smart-mouth answers. So instead you slide your mouth over his cock once more, hollowing your cheeks, making sure to take him in as deep as you can manage. And it’s not long before he’s groaning like a bitch in heat, squirming in his fancy armchair, tilting his head back with a moan.

“Fuck, you’ll be…the death of me, you know that?”

You know. You always have, but it’s still nice to hear him say it out loud.

His cock twitches violently against your tongue; he’s close, you can tell by the way his thighs tense around your head. One hand flies into your hair, bringing you even closer as he thrusts into your mouth with a whine. He’s seemed to have forgotten the leash entirely, preferring to yank on your hair when he calls out your name.

And then he goes rigid under your touch, moaning low in his throat as he spills himself down your throat. Both of you struggling to breathe, lightheaded and exhausted. But you still take the time to clean him up, savoring the salty taste of his cum before tucking himself back in his pants with a kiss.

He’s still breathing hard when you straighten yourself up, straddling his lap with your chest pressed against his own. One swift yank of your wrists, and the band holding them together gives out and falls to the floor. (It’s alright, Zeke has plenty of others in his office.) The black leather leash swings back and forth from your grip, your fingers already toying with the buckle of the collar around your throat.

“You’re a menace.”

“I know,” you reply cheekily, leaning in to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “My turn now, right?”

He grips your jaw then, thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks as he pulls you in for a kiss. Not even minding the taste of his cum lingering on your tongue. “You want the chair? Or on your knees? Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”

“Actually, I want to try something different. I think you’d look good in this…”

The collar falls from your neck with a snap, and you catch it with a quick swipe of your hand. You can almost see the wheels in his head turning, the glint of his eyes behind his shiny glasses; and it’s hard not to get too excited when you feel the familiar bulge pressing into your inner thigh.

“Wanna try it on for me?”

#zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger #kinktober 2023 #star's kinktober 2023 #zeke jaeger smut #smut #aot fics

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blythebitez · 2 years

Text

7 Princes of hell Dick Predictions.

-Nsfw, monster cocks, lovecraftian slongs, otherworldly dicks, (seriously bad dragon dildo type levels) (Belphegor is intersex)

-Lucifer

- 8 Inches hard, 2.3 inches thick.

- times 2

-Lucifer is packing two for the price of one.

-His dicks are a light pale peach color at the base and then curves upwards into a deep shade of red at the tips.

-His dicks have ridges and textures on them guaranteeing to rub up against your walls.

-He keeps his hair nice and trimmed, wanting hair to feel dominant but not letting it run a muck.

-His balls are clean and smooth, although having two dicks he only has one pair of balls.

-He usually cums a lot due to having two. Sadly to his dismay it may drip out and leak everywhere. He could never fill you up properly without it leaking due to his load size.

-He can find it a hassle sometimes with having two of them. One always feels left out during a blow job but he’s genuinely fine with his breeder.

-Mammon

-7 inches hard, 2.3 inches thick.

-his dick is a little bit skinner, but it’s nothing to sneer at. A mer human could never compare.

- His base starts at a darker shade of brown and creeps up into a golden tip. His tip is sorta a round triangle shape.

-His base is fatter then the rest of it. It going in is defiantly what’s going to turn the most.

-Small tiny edges form when trailing up his dick making it get slightly thicker. The tip is the thinnest part of his cock and as you make your way down it just keeps on getting bigger

-he’s also got a ton of veins to add to the pleasure.

-he’s trimmed, he likes the feeling of hair. It gives him some pride.

-He loves just lowering you down on it slowly to see you take it

-his balls are quite big, and he loves cumming inside of you.

-His cum also has an effect on your body, giving you twenty four hours of good luck!

-Lucky you!

-Leviathan

-where to even start…

-So he’s 9-12 inches (hard?) 2.7 inches thick

-so take what you’re thinking right now, and multiply it by 3

- His cocks are tentacles.

-Yes I said cocks, he has 3 of them to be exact.

-hair kinda irritates him so he’s completely shaven

-his tentacles are a faded purple from his peach stomach

-They all have suction cups that’ll suck and fuck your insides.

-Your insides will be covered in purple hickeys from them.

-And from how flexible they are, all three of them can easily slip in and fill you up.

-They contract and twist inside of you giving you so much pleasure.

-Sometimes his other two tentacles like to jerk off one.

-Satan

-His dick is 9 inches hard and 3 inches thick

-his cock is relatively tame compared to the rest, the most normal looking one.

-he has ridges and his tip is mushroom shaped making it hurt when he tries to go in.

-his tip is a lime green that also glows in the dark a little bit.

-he has light veins running through it.

-Instead of hair, feathers sprout next to it sometimes where he has to pluck them off.

-very thick and rounded. Lube is defiantly needed whenever you two want to have sex.

-sex helps him distress, he probably has the second biggest libido in the family.

-He likes you to cock warm him while he sleeps,

-Asmodeus

- His cock sorta morphs lengths, it’s 2.4 inches wide.

-His cock resembles a tongue and has pink barbs along it. Lots of ridges to make you feel loved~

-and of course it’s pink <3

-He can shape it while it’s inside of you, often plumping it up to fill you to the brim. Teasing you along the way.

-He also doesn’t break a sweat, he can control the organ from it’s base.

-He also teases you often, saying it has tastebuds and that you always taste so sweet~

-his cum has aphrodisiac effect so you can keep up with his libido~ even when your insides are raw <3

-shaves every day. Hair is unacceptable, out of the question.

-he loves his dick, defiantly the perfect cock for an incubus like himself.

-Beelzebub

- 12 inches long, 3 inches thick.

-He’s packing it. It should frighten you whenever he wants to fuck you.

-it is a darkened tan color closer to the base and then a beautiful brown and orange mixture at the top.

-It is beastly shaped, like a fleshy rectangle shape.

-Beel doesn’t really shave, he doesn’t see the point in it. He’ll trim if you really beg him too.

-but getting this thing inside is a pain, it being inside is also a pain, Lube is REQUIRED.

-Beel often feels bad when he fucks you, he tries to go slow so you’re in the least pain as possible. But no mater how many times or frequently you two go at it, it’ll always hurt a bit.

-Luckily for you, most of the time he loves to give instead of receive, and that long tongue will have you ringing out on end for days.

-He enjoys your taste a lot <3

-Belphegor

-Now Belphegor is quite a special case.

-His dick is 8 inches hard and 2 inches wide, quite tall and skinny.

-His pale peach color fades to a pale indigo color, small patches of a cow print pattern run up it here and there.

-But he also has a vagina. And that’s what you should really be scared of.

- His vagina looks normal, but. Inside of it is where there are a few quirks…

-Firstly and probably the best part of it all, is that there’s a tongue like organ inside of his canal’s roof. He can move it out and give you the time of your life.

-secondly… It has teeth along it’s inner lips.

-and sadly for him he can’t control it much, especially when he has an orgasm… his walls clench down therefore… so does his teeth.

-And sometimes he’s just so tired to top you, so he’ll beg and whine and annoy you all day to fuck his pussy. It’s where he feels the most pleasure after all.

-He’ll genuinely apologize if he bites you.

-It’s best to please him with a strap on if you value any of your limbs.

But if you refuse to touch his death hole, he’ll whine… the best thing to do is cock warm him while he sleeps to make him feel better.

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candidapple · 1 year

Note

Hsusgsushsus thigh riding Jade 😭

In the same line if thoughts- deciding on ordering a dildo so you can get the d for when he's too busy working but he somehow finds out and ends up ordering one for you and presents it to you himself with that closed eye smile of his. But I love the idea of him wanting to choose what you put inside you if it isn't him.

cw adult content, minors dni 🔞

jade leech x afab!reader

sequel of sorts to this. "but I love the idea of him wanting to choose what you put inside you if it isn't him" took me the fuck out, btw. like i just need to stress the herculean effort it took for me to peel myself off the floor and type out a semi-coherent response to this!! jesus christ!!

but i think he'd end up getting you the twisted wonderland equivalent of a bad dragon dildo, specifically molded to look and feel like a merman's cock. it's an imperfect imitation -- jade can't help but wonder if the sculptor has ever actually been intimate with a merperson or if they based their creative vision entirely off of porn -- but as a substitute, it should do nicely enough.

the length and width are about right, the heft is realistic and the texture ought to feel nice rubbing up against you (and inside of you). color ranked low on his list of specifications (because of course he had one) but he was pleasantly surprised to find that this particular model came in a color that skews uncannily close to his own cock -- shaded deep green at the base and gradually lightening toward a virid pink tip, like the still-furled bud of a young flower. now all that's left is to give it a test drive, hmm? after all, if it doesn't suit your needs, he'd like to send it back within the 30-day return window.

what's that? you thought you'd try it out later, in private? you'd be embarrassed if he stayed and watched? oh, but how will he know if you liked it or not if he's not here to observe your reactions himself? if you were to try it out in private and found it wanting, you might lie and say that you did like it to spare his feelings. but your face when you come -- that doesn't lie.

and, oh -- while it's true that he'll be taking close stock of your reactions, he never said he was only going to watch.

so, like, i hope you did some stretching today because you are going to be pinned down and held open as wide as you can go, the muscles strung through your inner thighs straining and aching as jade rubs the flared head of the toy he bought you down your tingling clit before slipping it shallowly into your clenching pussy, rocking it in and out a couple times as you twitch and shudder in anticipation beneath of him. it's slick with lube, drenched in lube, a pale imitation of the thick rivulets of slime that secrete from his body when he's in the water, and it just makes the absolute wettest, most embarrassing schlucking sound as he fucks it the rest of the way in, textured silicone rubbing up against your walls in a much closer imitation to the way his cock feels inside you.

i also hope you're well rested, because he's not letting you up for a good long while, either -- not until he's taken full stock of your reactions, his dimly glowing eyes glued to your face, an amused smile on his lips as you rock up to meet the punch of the toy. he's holding you open with one hand and fucking the silicone cock in and out of you with the other, and he's not even breathing hard. you'd think he was entirely unaffected if not for the hot press of his own hard cock against the back of your thigh.

he's probably wrung, what, at least three orgasms out of you, your pussy feeling as wet and soft and tender as a bruised peach fallen off the branch, when you start to beg for his cock, his real cock. but he just laughs at you, gently, mockingly, and reminds you that you're the one who wanted a toy. surely it's just as good as the real thing, if you were willing to settle for it? and you bite your lip bloody and thrash like a suffocating fish, your body clamping up so tight around another orgasm it almost pushes the dildo out of your pussy. fuck, fuck you, you hate this fucking thing.

(you do not hate that fucking thing. you keep it locked in a bedside drawer where curious grims can't rifle through and lovingly swaddled in an antibacterial lint-repelling cloth bag for future use.)

(and yes, in case you were wondering: jade does use it on you again.)

#jade leech x reader #twst x reader #!candid replies #!candid thirsts

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yellowstonewolves · 4 months

Text

Liar for Liar

Pairing: Wyll/Astarion

Chapter: 1/?

Ratings: Explicit in later chapters ;), mature for now

Summary: So there's this guy. "The Blade of Frontiers". Wyll Ravenguard. Can Astarion make use of the cocky righteous son of a bitch or not? Can he keep all his secrets hidden from the vaunted monster hunter? Might Wyll have some secrets of his own? (Slow burn that vaugely follows along with a Wyll Origin run. Smut in later chapters)

Ao3 link:

Astarion came to in the wreckage of the mindflayer ship, a telltale shade of green blazing against his closed eyelids He turned towards the dirt, braced every muscle.

Moments ticked by, and he was still alive.

He cracked open an eye, hissing at the sting of the sudden flood of light, and raised his arm. His skin was soaked in sunlight, glowing pearlescent with it. His head swam at the thought. The sun was warming him now, he could feel it, laying on him friendly, as if he had never been away.

He cupped his hand as if it would slip through his fingers, pressed a kiss to his palms as if daylight was something he could kiss.

Every inch of the world glowed with gifts for him, the muddy hues he had known transfigured into resplendent shades he only now realized he had forgotten. He stared at the gently waving prairie grasses and the little round stones and the dirt, even the dirt. His eyes ached but he wouldn’t let them close, not yet.

Gods help him, he was halfway to crying,at the simple beauty of a sun-soaked day, like some sort of fucking druid.

Voices cut through the pastoral babble of nature then, and Astarion came crashing down to reality, hands whipping back to his daggers. He craned his neck in the direction of the sound.

“This tadpole’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had stuck in my head,” said a deep, pleasant voice

Tadpole. Astarion’s ears would have twitched at that, had he not learned to suppress that reaction. Was that what the thing in his head was called? He crouched behind a boulder, and peeked out at them, a well built, one eyed, noble looking human and a scrawny half elf girl.

“There was that ballad that was popular several years ago, the Snake and the Siren,” continued the man. He was handsome, the way the sun shone on his chiseled cheekbones, the spray of stubble along his jaw. But he was also familiar. He had been on that ship, “It echoed through every tavern, at all hours of the day and night. It was so annoying!”

“I don’t know it.” his companion responded

“Really? You’re lucky. It was everywhere.”

She shrugged, “I don’t listen to music.”

“ You don’t… what, any music?”

She shrugged again.

Were they mindflayer thralls? It didn’t sound like it. But they could very well have retained all their human memories, even some semblance of a human personality, although their wills were no longer their own. He was pretty sure that was how illithids worked, although he hadn’t exactly brushed up on the lore about them recently. How negligent of him.

They were not taking him back to the ship, not now that he’d felt the sunlight on his skin for the first time in 200 years, could see it even now, everywhere he looked.

Would they fall for an ambush? Could he pull one off? It had been so long since he’d needed to think so hard. Usually he could just whip out the routine, as habitual as getting himself dressed in the evening. Sometimes he wound his arm around some tipsy stranger in a tavern and found himself already in that lavish bedroom, head between their legs, with no memory of how he’d gotten there.

It was a welcome departure to be in a situation that called for some finesse.

The one eyed man came upon him first. He sprang into action at Astarion’s calls for help, but he did not look entirely surprised to find himself on the ground, Astarion’s knife pressed to his neck.

“Now,” Astarion purred, “I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?”

“Oh? Good for you”The man grinned, as if he were not aware how dire a position he was in“Did you watch me slay the ship’s captain?”

“No. And I didn’t--

“That’s too bad. I was in rare form. It was a sight to behold. Wasn’t it Shadowheart?”

“Let him go” the half elf said “Wyll is foolhardy but I need him alive”

“Certainly. Once he’s answered all of my questions. Now—

The man took advantage of the moment of distraction, rocked him to the side with a quick tilt of his hips, and slipped out from under him with some fancy rolling maneuver.

Astarion swore, and crouched, ready to tackle him again. His eyes met Astarion’s red ones.

Astarion felt a pressure in his head, something writhing, rooting through his thoughts. Astarion’s hand flew to his temple. It was Cazador he thought, heart pounding. Except it wasn’t.

It was this man. His memories, bleeding into Astarion’s own. Astarion watched him chase some burly devil across the plains of Avernus, felt the familiar thrill of the hunt, and something else, under it. The righteous, furious indignation of an honest to gods hero, confronted with something he had judged to be evil.

The hero introduced himself as Wyll Ravenguard! The Blade of Frontiers!

He took the ambush in stride, “Some people lose all good sense in these kinds of situations” he said ,brushing the dust from his armor “Were I not a seasoned adventurer, perhaps I too would have succumbed to panic.”

He didn’t look like a seasoned anything. His scars aged him, but once they were accounted for, he couldn’t be older than thirty. But then, humans had funny ideas about aging.

Astarion took Wyll’s pardon magnanimously, for all he longed to call out for the insult hiding in those genteel words of his.

He took Wyll’s outstretched hand, shook it. The man looked him up and down, intensely scrutinizing. Astarion fought the impulse to cower under his steely gaze. He had more experience in keeping secrets than this whelp had in wiping his own ass. This Blade would glean nothing from him.

Hours later, Astarion stood by, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Wyll free a gith from a cage, seemingly unbothered by her hostile demeanor or the notoriety of her violent race. Astarion gleaned from their conversation that she had tried to kill Wyll on their first meeting as well. Goody. At least he wasn’t the only one.

At the first opportunity, Astarion pulled Wyll into a sidebar. As glad as he was to have someone of her stature along to protect him, he thought he’d better establish to the man who had fallen into the role of their leader that he was a far more useful companion, the last one who should be sacrificed to some rampaging monster or capricious god, should the need arise.

Astarion asked “When she breaks all your bones for failing to live up to her standards of brutality, can I have that fancy rapier of yours?”

Wyll raised an eyebrow“Many have tried to break me. None have succeeded.”

“Are you sure that’s not just up to luck?”

“A little luck”Wyll responded, “and a lot of skill. But if you’re afraid of her, I know a spell that could lend you some temporary courage.”

Astarion withdrew, trying to look as if he wasn’t pouting.

Their little group chanced upon a gently pulsing portal and when Wyll crept closer to it Astarion leaned forward, eager to see whether it would destroy him or not.

When it turned out to contain an incredibly milquetoast wizard, Astarion was less enthused

“How good can he be if he got himself stuck in there?” Astarion said. “He’ll probably blow us all up trying to light a campfire.”

“He was falling to his death at the time. Besides, these tadpoles are very complex, magically. We’ll probably need help of someone with a wealth of arcane knowledge” said Wyll, “if not him, then who? You? You don’t seem to be the intellectual type”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seem to prefer to let your knives do the thinking for you. If indeed, you are thinking at all.”

“I am thinking.” Astarion huffed “I am thinking of all the dreadful things I could do to you in the dead of night tonight, if I got sufficiently fed up with your disrespect”

“See?” Wyll chuckled, “threatening me. That’s a poor plan if I ever heard one.”

It’s a shame, really, Astarion thought. They were bedded down for the night, and he was filling his canteen from a stream, letting the water flow over his wrists with not so much as a twinge of pain.

Such a sharp tongue is wasted on a bleeding heart. It will fall silent, when Wyll’s blinkered valor gets him killed.

Some memory wanted to stir within Astarion as he thought this, of another man, another time. He wrestled it down.

He worried it was showing on his face, because when he looked up, he noticed Wyll was staring at him, from his place by the flickering campfire. He was holding a little black notebook, a quill poised over it, dripping ink as Wyll held it in place.

Astarion sauntered over, to stand by the fire’s gentle glow. He let his eyes linger on the hint of chest exposed by Wyll’s tight leather nightclothes “See something you like?” Astarion asked, infusing each word with sumptuous flavor .

Wyll’s gaze was suspicious, lingering on Astarion’s face, “Pardon me for asking, but do red eyes run in your family? Rare color, for an elf.”

Astarion snorted, relieved that he had not been caught in a moment of weakness, “Indeed they do.” he said, “Do stone eyes run in yours?”

Wyll just chuckled, “An elemental somewhere, perhaps, in the Ravenguard family tree”

Astarion leaned just a bit closer, trying to catch a glimpse inside the notebook he was holding, but Wyll snapped it shut.

Part of Astarion wanted to press, but his position among these odd people was still tenuous. There was no use in alienating their esteemed leader.

Besides needed to rest soon, if he hoped to have time to hunt before morning light. Should probably hunt first, sleep later but he was bone deep exhausted. He changed out of his doublet, finally, into more comfortable clothing. He’d need to pick up something with a higher neck once they reached civilization. If he was still free by then.

His trance was predictably miserable. He woke up panting and sweating, head pounding . It took a few minutes to remember that he was free but when he did, his mood took a dramatic swing for the better.

He stalked the woods for the better part of an hour, looking for deer. By the end of it his good humor had dissipated entirely.Their party’s racket seemed to have scared all the big game away. He was just about to give up and go back to his tent hungry when the bushes behind him shook.

He whirled around just in time to see a rabbit hop from it, and pause, sniffing the air.

He took a step towards it and the creature looked up, met his eyes with its big brown ones. He could smell that its blood was pumping too fast, heart about to explode.

“There there” he whispered, keeping himself very still.

The rabbit stared for a second, blinked. Then ,seeming to consider that he might not be an imminent threat, the rabbit’s eyes darted to a hole in the ground, about a foot to the left of it.

In that moment, Astarion pounced, teeth landing on its neck, arms and legs crashing into the ground painfully. His fangs sunk beneath the rabbit’s fur as its hind legs buffeted his chest. Its blood was like lukewarm water, tediously dull for all it took the edge off his thirst, albeit with none of the rotten aftertaste of plague.

He caught a glimpse of the hole it had been looking towards, and he knelt over it, listening. There were more rabbits inside, smaller ones. He lashed out with his claws and came up with a fistful of bunny. It was only a kit, couldn’t have been more than a week old, head the size of a peach pit. Barely a mouthful of blood in that tiny body.

There would have been no harm in releasing it really, except that now it had made him contemplate releasing it. To inspire such thoughts was a crime that must be punished with extreme prejudice.

He held the kit in his hand like a teacup, extended his pinky as he did so, on a whim. He pretended for a moment he was out on a veranda somewhere, finely dressed and entertaining the most refined company he could imagine—himself.

“And how are you finding your beverage, Lord Ancunín?”

“It is bland, Lord Ancunín, but there are worse tastes.”

“Too true.And how are you finding freedom, Lord Ancunín?”

“It is not bland enough. All this dreadful running about. But there are worse tastes.”

When he had finished he tossed aside the ball of fur that had been the kit, rubbed his face against the pelt of the mother, hoping to remove all traces of blood.

Just as he was leaving he saw Wyll, although the human did not see him. The man crept from the mouth of his tent, surveyed the camp, and stalked off towards the forest. He darted a look directly in Astarion’s direction, and secure in the knowledge that he was well hidden, Astarion took in his expression. The man looked haunted.

Wyll sat under the trees, chest heaving. He pressed a finger to his stone eye, withdrew it. He shook his head “Gods damn it. Why can’t I just…” He let out a groan.

Wyll looked up, scanning the trees, as if his pitiful human eye was capable of discerning threats in the darkness. He seemed to conclude he was alone, and took out a handsome mahogany pipe from a leather pouch over his hip, stuck the end between his teeth. He drew out a smaller pouch of tobacco, crumbled the dried leaves between his long, thin fingers. He filled the bowl, pressed a thumb to pack, filled it to the top again. He pursed his pretty lips and blew, priming the pipe.

So he had a smoking habit. Astarion would not have expected it of him-a bad example to his leagues of adoring fans, surely?

Wyll took out an arcane igniter,flipped it open and tapped the rune inside. A mote of fire flared up in the wake of his finger. Its reflection danced over his cheekbone, an orange ball wavering on his skin like the moon on the surface of a lake.

Wyll lit up with the same hand that was holding the pipe, letting the tip of the flame brush the surface of the tobacco just for a second, without scorching the rim of the bowl. It was a neat party trick, one that Astarion had seen performed many times, in many bars, though not often with such practiced nonchalance.

White vapor rolled out over the burning leaves. Astarion could almost smell it, bittersweet, acrid. The scent of gin-soaked hunting grounds and doomed afterglows.

Wyll closed his eyes tight, cheeks hollowing as he inhaled.

Wyll blew a cloud of smoke into the night air, watched it wind in tendrils towards the heavens. Some of the tension had melted from his shoulders, though not all of it.

Astarion toyed with the idea of strolling over, asking for a pull, and then another, brushing his lips against Wyll’s inviting ones, feeling the points of his stubble clustered like stars on his skin. He imagined sucking the smoke from his mouth, pulling back, letting it leak from his parted lips like a poisoned promise as his palm cupped the hero’s jaw, thumb stroking the warm skin of his face.

Too bold, he decided, but he found himself taking a step forward regardless. A branch snapped under his foot. He winced. Shit.

Wyll jumped like a kid whose parent had just rattled his bedroom doorknob at the worst possible moment, yanking the pipe from his lips as he squeaked “who’s there?”

Astarion stilled himself, refrained from blinking or breathing and Wyll cleared his throat, said in a deeper, more classically heroic voice “Who’s there?”

Astarion didn’t move a muscle.

In a much louder voice, one that echoed like a chorus of monsters from the very depths of the hells, he bellowed “Answer me!”

Astarion fought the urge to bolt.

When that produced no response Wyll shrugged, slumped back against the tree. He held a finger to his eye, lowered it just as quickly, sighed.

Astarion recognized despair when he saw it, the stale kind, where the wounds were scabbed over with layer after layer of resignation. There was nothing to gain, he saw, in trying to muscle in on this moment, so he would take his leave.

It had nothing at all to do with that voice Wyll had shouted in. Astarion had not been pants-shittingly terrified, hearing it.

He hadn’t.

#wyllstarion #wyll x astarion #bloodpact #bloodblade #astarion fic #wyll fic #bg3 spoilers

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sio-writes · 2 years

Text

Best Shot - Oneshot, 6k words

NB!Lizardfolk Alien and NB!Reader - Technically SFW but past NSFW is referenced and heavily implied/glossed over. Additional tags include general hurt/comfort, implied D/S dynamics, and child-rearing anxiety (although no one is pregnant.) If you’d like me to add any tags please feel free to message me, and happy reading!

***

Vek pulls you aside into an empty hallway, face pinched and uncomfortable. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It's not like your shipmate to make a personal call. Last time they pulled you aside like this you wound up on your knees in the supply closet, but the fact that they're checking over their shoulder and down the hall, no supply closets in sight? It must be serious.

Their shoulders are hunched, their normally deep green skin has turned sallow with worry, and the mohawk-like crest on their head is pushed back into their spine. Normally, you'd poke fun at their dejected state, ask who kicked them out of bed or something equally as juvenile. But they called on you, so you must be trustworthy enough to confide in. "Sure. What's up?"

They swallow hard and look away, towards the ground in a display of shyness you'd never seen on them before. Their face darkens to a deep purple, a color you faintly recognize as embarrassment, but have never seen on them before. "I require…your body heat."

You choke out a laugh before you can stop it, and their golden eyes snap to yours, sharp and narrowed to slits. They're not kidding.

You school your expression into one of neutrality. "That's an odd way to ask for Round Two."

They grumble, "Three, technically. But it does relate."

You push the joking aside, and lean casually against the wall, arms folded. "What is it?"

They clear their throat, gathering themselves. "After our, what did you call it, a trust?"

"Tryst," you laugh.

"Yes, that. I thought I had taken my ovulation blockers, but apparently I did not, so I began my heat cycle shortly afterwards and that's when I began panicking, and--" their eyes go wide and their face turns a deeper shade of purple before they wave a dismissive hand. "Regardless. It is my fault, but I require your assistance."

Your smile drops, and your arms fall to your sides. You have a feeling what the answer will be, but you still ask, "What is?"

Vek fishes something out of their pocket, and for one terrifying moment you think it's a bomb, and then you kind of wish it was. At first glance it looks like a disco ball, a spherical capsule the size of an apple, off white in color. You lean down to inspect the sphere, and Vek growls and jerks it back away from you. The movement is so sudden and full of emotion you're momentarily stunned, but their expression falls the moment you make eye contact, and they sheepishly offer it to you again.

"Oh shit."

Inside are dozens of translucent eggs each the size of a large coin, with squirming little Eilki embryos inside. Vek says nothing in response, their stony silence only broadcasting their shared powerlessness with the situation.

You're barely the age your parents were when they had you--and that was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. You can barely remember to drink enough water, let alone keep track of something else that also needs water. Wait, did Eilki babies need water? Did they need to stay wet like fish eggs? You feel yourself on the verge of becoming hysterical, so you run your hands over your hair a few times, finding it grounding in the slight pull on your scalp.

"So." You laugh shakily and fall back against the wall. "We're parents, huh?"

Your first instinct is to take the thing and chuck it out of the air-lock, but that's a lot of paperwork, and a lot of mortifying explanations. Plus with the way Vek grabbed it away just now, you wouldn't get very far before being eviscerated.

"I've already alerted the Captain," Vek says. "I am disembarking at the next port."

Your stomach drops. "You're…you're leaving?"

They furrow their large brow in confusion. "I sent out a ping for potential host families and got an immediate reply." They pause, studying you with those slitted pupils, then their face lights up in understanding. "Ah, I forgot you humans raise young for an exorbitantly long time." They puff out their chest as if proud. "After hatching we are self-sufficient after a turn of the planet, but incubation before that takes about 45 days. The trade-off with the host family is that I see to the first part since they cannot." Vek looks down as the capsule, turning it gently in their clawed hands. "Which is why I came to you. I cannot produce the necessary body heat. Humans can, and you are the one that I'm-- ahem-- closest to, and so the only one I could ask."

The smile you give them is childish. "You want me to sit on it."

They roll their eyes, the black slitted pupils disappearing behind their lids. "No. Normally we leave them in the daylight and then conserve heat by curling around them at night, but," they look out the window closest to the two of you, expression forlorn. "It is only truly night time here."

You want to point out that there's dozens of heat lamps close to the kitchens, but you're struck by something Vek said after you hooked up. You'd made some gripe or another about them being clingy, and they had a whole speech prepared on the sanctity of sharing body heat. Their culture likened it to a consummation, equivalent to sex itself, how whole clans were connected on that one facet alone, and suddenly the Eilki's propensity for orgies made a whole lot more sense to you. You'd even asked Vek why they don't just lay under one of the heating lamps that the other eilki do, and they scoffed, almost disgusted you'd even suggested it, and then said, "Your warmth is leagues better."

Vek turns the capsule in their hands again. "If you could take care of this, at least during the daily routines, and I would take it at night. That is all I ask."

Their face shifts into a bright shade of yellow, some emotion in them you don't recognize, as their gaze falls to the side. You've never seen them this awkward before, they're normally such a commanding presence. Just this morning they were barking orders and shouting at you to keep to schedule.

But, looking down at the capsule, so tiny in Vek's hands, you realize that this is your problem too. At least, for the next month or so. And you're nothing but an engineer of honor. Leaving Vek out to dry would be so shitty, and although you're sure they could handle it--a two meter high lizard could handle most things--but it wouldn't be right. So you sigh through your nose, push past the spear of anxiety lancing through your gut, and carefully pick up the capsule like it's made of spun glass. You're a temporary parent now, suck it up. "What do I need to do?"

Vek's eyes light up. "How deep are your pockets?"

***

You're elbow deep in the ship's oil reserves, feeling around with your bare hands for the ferrofluid block that keeps escaping your grasp because it's such a shitty feature that--there! Yanking the slippery bastard out of the tank flings your arm in a wide arc, spraying oil over the walls, but you can clean it later because it worked, baby! Since you're the only one in the secondary engine stores you do a little dance to imaginary music to celebrate your victory. Or at least, you think you're alone until you turn to see Vek, covered in a splash of dark brown oil and looking, well, more pissed than usual.

Vek is alone, which is weird because they usually have no less than ten other crew members by their side at all times. They must have come down to talk to you, and gotten caught in the cross-fire.

"Whoops," you laugh, leaning against the slowly draining tank of oil. "Sorry 'bout that."

Vek stomps up to you, tongue flicking out angrily and their eyes bright enough to start a fire. Grabbing your wrist, currently covered in oil and therefore coating their hand in it, they pull your arm so their furious face winds up an inch from yours. "What are you doing?!"

Sarcastically, you stroke their face with your free hand, smearing oil across their skin. "I'm doing my job, lieutenant."

Their face shifts into deep blue--rage--and they grip your wrist tighter. "You think this is a game?!"

You shoot them a finger-gun. "Life's a game, darlin'."

Somehow their expression intensifies. This is the talk that got you a reprimand, but it's also the talk that got Vek in that supply closet. Vek's hot when they're mad, all authoritative and commanding but in the best way. You kind of want to make the floor dirtier than it already is. You run a blackened finger over the lapel of Vek's jacket, and they rear back, nostrils flaring.

"Are you serious right now? You have bigger things to worry about, so to be so careless with--" They gesture to the front pocket of your overalls where you tucked the capsule, and their anger makes sense to you.

You arch an eyebrow. "Chill out. It's buttoned up and safe."

They scoff rolling their eyes condescendingly. "Buttoned up, oh that's lovely."

"It's fine!"

"No thanks to you!"

"I can clean it off for you if you want!"

They release your wrist to throw their arms in the air. "That's not the point!"

"What, you think I should give it to someone else?"

"No!"

"Do you wanna take it?!"

"I! Can't! I need you to keep them alive!"

You roll your eyes and drone sarcastically, "Wow, you really care about me."

"You fuck up your own life perfectly well, but to drag another into it--"

"Another like you?!"

Vek stops halfway, eyes wide, mouth parted. Like you've shocked the words from their mouth. But you don't have time for this bullshit. They said what they needed to say, and you're done.

"That's what I thought." You shove past them, not caring that you're tracking black into the hall towards the locker rooms.

You're afforded a dozen or so steps before Vek's voice rings out behind you, "Wait!"

You keep walking.

"I didn't mean it like--"

"Don't you fucking dare!"

You slam the door to the locker room, leaning your weight against it in case Vek tries to bust their way in. After a moment though you don't even hear footsteps, so you release the door and start to rip off your work boots. You can't tell if you're disappointed that Vek didn't try to break the door down, or angry they left you alone to deal with this. They always see things through to the end, and leaving you alone and gross has you feeling hollow.

Whatever. You need to get this oil off before it stains your skin.

The locker rooms are like any other, if everything was rendered in chrome. The shower squeaks on like every other shower you've been in, and it takes no time at all to start steaming. You pull the capsule out of your overalls, glaring at your warped reflection as you wait for the urge to smash it to come, but it doesn't. These little shits didn't do anything wrong, except maybe rattle around your chest while you worked. Annoying, but not guilty. There's only one guilty party in this room.

The capsule is spotless, just like you thought, and you decide to let it get some extra heat by setting it on the shelf inside the shower.

The nice thing about chrome is that it's easy to clean, so you feel zero guilt as you let your dirty overalls fall to the floor alongside the rest of your clothes. The locker rooms have spare bathrobes anyway, so you can run by your office and grab clean clothes later. The second the hot water hits your skin you groan, the tension leaving your muscles almost instantly.

You're watching the oil swirl down the drain, wondering if that's going to come back and bite you later, when you hear the door swing open and closed.

You hear the slow, lumbering steps of a predator, stopping just outside the shower curtain. And only half of you wishes they'd leave. You keep your gaze on the wall opposite the shower curtain, where it eventually falls on the capsule. The inside has fogged up, but you can see the little embryos inside are moving, like they're happy-dancing. Vek had mentioned they have a high tolerance for heat, so you grab the capsule and bring it under the water you set to nearly scalding. They're not so bad, these little dudes, they're kinda funny to watch actually. Feeling them in your pocket the past few days has turned into a comfort.

Behind you, Vek inhales like they're about to start speaking, but you cut them off.

"I'm not talking to you," you say to the wall.

Then Vek sighs, a long, sad hissing noise that matches the tone of the shower faucet. "Then I will speak to myself, then."

More rustling, and you chance a glance backwards to see that their shadow has moved from in front of the curtain to sitting on the floor beside the stall.

They growl, a short, low note in their throat. "I don't understand why you--" they pause for a deep breath, then another that turns into a heavy sigh. "I don't think you fucked up my life. I did. And I dragged you into it."

Vek has never admitted to any wrongdoing, ever. They'd rather argue to the end and get the last word than apologize. But then again, you're known for doing the same.

You grimace. Son of a bitch. "It takes two to tango, I guess."

They breathe out a laugh, and you imagine them crossing their arms. "I don't know what that means, but if you're admitting fault, I will say you're the seductive one."

You balk, indignant. "Me?? Who came up to me in the middle of the mess hall asking to bone?"

"I did not 'ask to bone'."

"Oh, my bad, you just waltzed up, right in the middle of my salad, and angrily asked to see me in the meeting room."

"The meeting room where you humiliated me."

You bark a laugh. "Where I called you out on your bullshit!"

"In front of all my colleagues and friends."

"What friends?"

Vek laughs, something you've only heard a handful of times, and it's an infectious noise so you start to laugh with them. The world feels right again, something's slotted back into place. You want this to work between them, so badly, but you never knew how.

The silence is heavy, until Vek asks, "May I come in?"

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile behind it. "If you must."

You listen to the shuffling of clothes outside, and step to the side to give Vek room as they step in. They're so large they take up nearly the whole stall, and you sigh out as they wrap their strong arms around your middle.

"I should have trusted you."

"Yeah."

"But please understand my worry."

"I'm sorry." You turn in their arms, holding up the capsule between you. "You really like these little guys, don't you?"

"They are a part of us," they say, voice pitched low. "Of course I do."

"And you think I'm the seductive one?"

Vek nuzzles your shoulder, tracing their snout up your cheek. "You are."

With a sigh, you twist back around and lean into their chest. "I'm still mad at you."

Their voice is even lower when they say, "Allow me to make it up to you."

You fake gasp. "In front of the children?"

"They don't have eyes yet."

***

For the third time in as many hours, you look over from your bed, concern making your eyebrows draw together. Through the darkness you can make out Vek on their own bed, curled around a bundle of blankets. Their long tail wraps all the way to their head, and faint green light pulses gently from their brow, marking patterns that split like veins over their rough skin. They all converge to a single point at the end of their tail before starting again at their brow, continuing endlessly in a protective circle. You've only seen Vek glow when they're sleeping, but it's never been this vibrant. It's mesmerizing, and you don't want it to stop, but you need to wake Vek up to take the eggs from them, to give them some warmth that you couldn't provide that day.

You'd been working on the ship's flight navigation motherboard, a gargantuan piece of machinery that liked to spit out heat. Normally that'd be great for keeping eggs warm, except command decided to shut off the ship while you worked, and installed a bunch of cooling fans to make the whole area feel like ice. You busted out your jacket despite the sweat rolling down your face, and the whole time you'd been worried about those damned eggs. How long could they go without heat? Vek could withstand temperatures any human could, but they always needed to warm up or risk freezing. Were the eggs the same?

After you'd told Vek how cold the motherboard had been, they merely shrugged and gave you this defeated expression before taking the capsule and muttering, "We can only see how they fare in the morning." Because they don't ask you to care after the day is over.

And now you can't sleep. Not knowing they're cold. Both of them, because holy shit this room is freezing.

You swing your legs off the bed and pull the blanket over your shoulders. The only sound is the hum of the oxygen circulator and your bare feet against the floor. You step your way over discarded pieces of clothing and the general debris that comes with living in quarters the size of a college dorm room.

You stop in front of Vek, your nerves making your muscles seize up, which they shouldn't. The two of you have shared this room for nearly a year. You'd seen all you needed to see and more. So why are you stopping now? Maybe it's the eggs, maybe it's something else. Vek has been softer the past few weeks and you don't know how to proceed. They've been shouting less, been helpful, you even heard them offering gentle advice to a crewmember. It's a welcome change, no one is having anxiety attacks at seeing them anymore, but it's still weird. An adjustment.

And this…thing between you two has evolved. It used to just be the occasional glance and a nod--a habit they picked up from you, they've said. You expected yelling across the room, orders commanded from a place of authority. Curt politeness at best. Distance. It was easy. But then they started sitting with you in the mess hall, or speaking to you about inane things on the bridge, standing just too close to you like a foreboding shadow and giving any overly-friendly crewmember a narrowed gaze. The whole ship thinks you're a couple now, and you're overrun with knowing glances every time Vek pulls you aside to demand an update on your well-being. They're less pushy, like they've calmed down.

And having Vek, strong, capable Vek, carefully wielding their power instead of throwing it around is a heady feeling, one you're quickly growing addicted to. They don't grip your arm to lead you, but apply a firm hand to your lower back. They don't outright demand you speak to them, but their steady gold eyes tell you there's no room for argument. They gently run their hand over your hair before guiding you down to their groin and keeping you there.

You're used to the hard and fast, action first questions later kind of interactions. Even before Vek, it was heat, fire, quick fumbling and then it's over. This considerate, gentle firmness they've been offering has your brain short circuiting. The heat is still there, but it radiates through you, a fission reaction through your bones that leaves marks, leaves you wanting it again and again.

But those are specific situations. Certain social rules. It may not apply in the dead of night in your shared quarters.

You shake your head to yourself and turn away from Vek's sleeping form--it's too familiar, too intimate. You didn't even cuddle that long the first time, it shouldn't be any different now. If those eggs die, ot's not your fault.

You're barely a step away when the blanket pulls around your shoulders. You whip your head around and Vek has a single claw hooked in the corner. Golden eyes glow in the dark as the green fades away. They blink at you slowly, like some kind of predator, and their voice is pitched low with sleep, "Where are you going?"

"I…" you start, hoping for an excuse to come to you, but you glance to the blanket instead, and Vek follows your eyes. You feel foolish. For gods' sake you had sex, and you're getting cold feet over some potentially necessary cuddling.

Vek shifts in the bed, gently pulling the blanket again. "Lay with me. Clothes on this time." You see the flash of teeth in the dark, an offering of a smile.

Again, you feel like a fool. Caught, vulnerable and wanting for something other than sexual gratification. That's what fools want.

"Keep me warm?" Vek asks, more awake yet somehow softer.

They're giving you an out, you realize. Something they've never done before. But…Vek really cares about those eggs. It's really important to them. And Vek, you realize shamefully, is pretty damn important to you.

"Scoot over," you mumble, hoping they can't see well enough in the dark to make out how dark your face is. Maybe the extra heat will help.

It takes a moment of arranging until you're curled around the capsule, and Vek is curled around you. Their scaly skin is cool against yours, even under their massive fluffy blanket, and you're silently thankful that you snuck over for the eggs' sake. Vek is large, curling one strong arm around you and pillowing their head with the other. You're hugging the capsule to your chest, and you feel a bit like a nesting doll, or a perfect little family.

The anxiety you feel around the eggs has lessened over the weeks. You're not so scared you're going to screw something up, not with Vek helping you out at every turn. The little capsule is starting to grow on you, you're glad to see it every morning, you find yourself constantly checking your pocket to make sure it's there. You can handle this. You can be responsible until you hand them off.

Vek tucks your head under the bottom of their snout and their voice reverberates down your back. "I know you didn't ask for this. So again…you have my thanks."

"I mean," you attempt to keep your tone light. "You didn't ask for it either."

"No," they concede. "But I admit I don't mind the idea of having young to look after."

"Isn't that what the interns are for?"

They snicker, the sound coming out like a hiss. They pet your head with one big hand, then return it to your waist. "This is not the line of work to be rearing young, but I am a bit upset to be giving these up."

Your breath catches in your throat, and questions pop like bubbles in your chest. You want to ask why. Why Vek is being so open, why they want to keep these. Why they continue to want your body heat and treat you like you're something precious. But you're afraid of the answer, that you already know it. The other Eilki on the ship, they must be able to smell it on you. The past week you've been met with upturned snouts, but even worse are the understanding glances, the knowing smiles that look horrifying with their jagged teeth. It can't possibly be because of you. You can't keep these, you couldn't handle it.

Vek is stroking your arm with gentle movements, and the emotion that wells up in your chest is too big to name. Your whisper is louder than the oxygen circulator, "I can't be a parent."

Their tongue flicks the top of your head, a gentle caress against your heated skin. "That is alright."

***

You trace your index finger around the edge of one of the eggs, watching the tiny forms move beneath the clear casing. In the light, the eggs are all practically transparent, and you can count the toes of each little eilki--three for the front, four in the back, just like Vek. Seeing it brings tears to your eyes--you can't give them up. The thought of being a full time parent still terrifies you, but these eggs? They've relied on you for a month and a half, they're yours. You dream of they'll look like, green like Vek, or a shade of brown? Their stupid little wiggles, the three sets of twins inside. It's a knife to the gut that you'll never get to find out about any of them, but maybe that's for the best. You fumbled the capsule a few days ago and nearly gave Vek a heart attack. You didn't drop it! But you almost did. Hardly fit for parenting.

The Decanode port is barely that--little more than a worn down metal arm sticking out of a spare moon orbiting a gas giant. You feel tetanus creeping in just looking at it, and this is where you're dropping off the eggs? At this distance, you're beginning to parse out individuals as they mill about the port. There's shops with fabric in muted colors hanging in the doorways, standalone stalls with excitable vendors, and open windows advertising things in so many languages you half expect to see English amongst them. You want to steer the ship as far away as possible.

You frown in displeasure as it zooms into view from the holding deck, and Vek's hand rests heavy on your shoulder. You hadn't even heard them walk up.

"The family doesn't live here. They reside in a binary star system about three light-years off course."

"They're not good enough," you pout, fighting back the burning in your nose that means tears for about the sixth time that day. You shove the capsule into your front pocket. "Do we really need to give them up?"

Vek's brow raises. "You're asking me this now."

"I mean, with so many it'll be hard for a while but we could--"

Vek lifts you off the floor and holds you tightly in their arms, their voice muffled against your shoulder. "We cannot."

You deflate, your weight dragging you down even with your feet several inches off the floor. "Yeah, I know."

This is a scientific vessel, but it's still too dangerous for children, even if they are fully self-sufficient after a year. You sniff into Vek's shoulder, burying your tears into their uniform--crisp and pressed as always.

A few groups of crew pass by as the two of you make zero movements away from each other, but you find you don't care if you make a spectacle. If the crew didn't know why the ship stopping at this shitty port before, the gossip spread fast enough to cover it. You've gotten a few extra sympathetic glances over the week, but mostly everyone is refusing to look at you. Looking at Vek is kind of a requirement of living on the ship, but you're maintenance. Practically invisible.

Their face and neck are flushed a deep green, richer and darker than their usual color. After they set you down, their face falls, pulled down by gravity and something heavier as they look out the viewing window towards the port.

"Let's get ready."

Walking down the ramp to the port feels like a death sentence, until you spot the group of five blue Onens huddled together, waving excitedly at you step onto the port. They're too far away for your translator to pick up specific words, but you can still hear the excitement in their watery language as they talk amongst one another. You switch on the secondary translator at your throat as you approach, offering a hand in greeting, but no smile so you don't scare them with your teeth.

"Thank you for meeting with us."

One of the Onen grabs your hand, their non-Newtonian form first a solid as they squeeze and then a curl of gelatinous goo that settles over your skin. They speak a few words before the translator picks up the rest.

"--a wonderful thing that you give to us, we have raised many of this kind before so don't you worry a bit, they will have all the attention and food they could desire and--"

The Onen is cut off by another of their group, who gestures to their melting hand, currently making its way down your arm. They make a gurgling noise, likely one of surprise, before the whole thing peels off of you with a wet schlocking sound. The previous Onen waves their hand in a gesture of respect, their gaze solid and comforting.

"You are very brave for doing this."

You try not to grimace. Doubt is worming it's way into your mind like a fungus, and you want to step back and away from the group. These aliens raise other young as part of their religion, taking in anything no questions asked. What if there's other species there that these young don't get along with? And not all Onen are altruistic. They could be taking the eggs to eat them for all you know.

But then one of them pulls out a picture communicator, and passes it over the shoulder of the one in front. It works similar to a tablet on the ship, allowing you to swipe through photo after photo of all of them with various hatchlings and young. Every picture oozes happiness, you even catch them sitting in the twin suns with eilki hatchlings. And a big family who could give them the attention they deserve. No egg eating to be found.

Your hand falls over your front pocket where you tucked the capsule, and you force yourself to say, "So how do we, uh, how do we do this?"

One of the Onen turns their liquid eyes to Vek. "They are far enough along, yes?"

Vek speaks up, their voice tight. "They're able to maintain an internal temperature. When they begin to hatch, simply open to capsule."

They nod their head to you, and you pull the capsule out of its hiding place.

"Wonderful!" One of the Onen remarks, hands reaching out to grab it but you hesitate, tucking it into your chest.

"I…" You're stuck, frozen. There has to be something you're missing. But this is the right choice. This is the right choice. You just need to move. "I don't…"

Vek steps into you, allowing you to subtly lean into their weight. They squeeze your shoulder in reassurance. "It's okay."

Slowly, in halting movements, you stretch out your arm like you're waiting for the capsule to explode. Just as slowly, with great care and steady hand, the Onen places their palm underneath as support, and waits patiently for you to finally let go.

Releasing your fingers feels like cracking your bones, but at the same time, as you watch all the Onen's expressions fall to the capsule and soften from simple patience complete and utter awe, the weight that's been hanging over you for so long lifts like a veil from your shoulders. It had you covered like a shroud, fraying your nerves with worry and despair over the unknown. But now you know they're going to be okay, and despite the gnawing hole in your chest, you can finally breathe. The Onen are perfect, you couldn't have chosen better yourself. You fruitlessly wipe at the trail of tears as they profusely thank both of you, and you forget clearing your face altogether when you watch them all walk away. The translator picks up pieces of their conversations--ideas for names, the best food. Those little shits are going to grow up so fuckin' loved.

They round the corner, and you're surrounded by patrons again. Vek pulls you into another bone-crushing hug, their breathing is short and they've turned that dark green all over. They feel solid, stable like always, something you've both needed throughout this whole ordeal.

"This sucks," your voice is muffled by their heavy jacket, but your message comes across all the same.

Vek huffs through their nose. "I know," and their hand falls across your shoulder as you head back to the ship.

***

It's a shitty week all around, between your own head and the ship pretty much falling apart all at once. Vek hadn't been faring much better, dragging their feet and muttering commands like the wind had been sucked from their sails. So you blame your rash decision on emotional turmoil, and pulled them into your room for something quick. But quick turned into desperate and needy, built up tension bleeding out of your every move as Vek fell back into harsher habits.

But a distraction was what you both needed. Your head is more clear, and you've cried enough for the past week. Vek's breathing is even underneath you, finally calm after so many days on edge between hysteria and depression. Their direction was welcome, concrete words for you to follow between bouts of the kindness you'd gotten so used to over the weeks. They'd kissed the claw marks they left on your thighs and your heart melted.

Now your quarters are dark and quiet, trapping you in a liminal space where the outside world doesn't exist anymore. It leaves space for thoughts to flow, emotions on their heels but no longer as big, no longer as unmanageable. A question that had been sitting in the back of your mind makes itself present.

"Would you ever…want to be a parent?"

Vek glances at you sidelong. "I'd rather not go through this whole ordeal again."

"No, I mean…" You waffle for a moment too long. Vek grabs your chin in their hand and forces you to make eye contact. "I guess…"

Their eyes glow against the dark. "Yes?"

"To keep." The rest of the implication is in your voice, you hope.

They release your jaw, turning back and laying flat. Their face shifts into a darker hue--in the low light you can't for sure tell which, but you have a guess they're turning purple. "I understood that you do not want young."

"I mean, not right now. But…maybe someday?"

"Do not compromise yourself for me."

"I'm not." You press your hands flat to their chest. "I always thought I'd be alone. Raising them, I mean. And that would be a disaster. Absolute fuckery of a parent. But with you…I don't think it would be so bad. I'll never want, like, a million of them like we had. But…maybe just one? Someday? I dunno." You fiddle with your hands. "We're…kind of good together."

Vek lays their hands on top of yours, stilling them as they look at you. "You're considering this."

You flush. "I-I'm just talking."

The hands over yours wrap around your fingers, and they flick their tongue to your lips. "You would make a fine parent."

You feel like you're turning purple under their gaze. "In the mean time though…Keep taking those blockers?"

"You tell me when to stop. And if that day never comes, I will simply have you all to myself."

You smile into the hug they offer. "Sounds like a plan."

#my writing #sfw.#alien x reader #alien partner #alien romance #monster fucker #monster romance #exophillia #teratophillia #i hope it's polished enough i really want this to do justice to the concept #i tried to be nuanced in the take and i hope it doesn't just come off as inconsistent #when I say this concept had a chokehold on my brain for the past 48 hours i mean #i was being deprieved of oxygen until i finished it #my entire working title for this was Juno (in space)#that and the tagline i was thinking 'giving them their best shot' was driving me insane #because i KNEW it was FROM SOMETHING but i couldn't think of WHAT #until it clicked and i shouted Out Loud ONCE UPON A TIME #Fantasci

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