Moonlight Saving Time

zayne

☆ has to convince you a swear jar is "fun" and not an actual disciplinary measure.

☆ doesn't swear like...ever. the strongest thing you've heard him say is a disappointed "good grief."

☆ doesn't actually mind your language, but after hearing you say "fuck" in almost every sentence. he quietly admits, "perhaps the jar would be... beneficial."

☆ you try to negotiate that "damn" shouldn't count. he produces the written rules he typed up.

☆ raises an eyebrow every time you freeze halfway through a curse. "i heard the beginning of that."

☆ secretly skims a few dollars from the jar every now and then...only to buy himself coffee, pastries, or books with your swear money.

when you catch him with a new dessert, "is that my swear jar money?"

"technically, it became community funds."

☆ at the end of the month he'll show you the total with an almost amused smile. "you've been improving."

xavier

☆ forgets the swear jar exists. forgets where the swear jar is. forgets whether you already paid.

☆ he doesn't swear much at all. mostly because he doesn't react loudly to things.

☆ if you're having a genuinely awful day, he'll pretend he didn't hear you.

☆ accidentally contributes because he mutters something under his breath after burning dinner.

"i didn't think you knew that word" then he blushes in embarrassment

☆ you try to sneak ones past him in the hopes he didn't hear you but he has rabbit ears so he will slowly push the jar towards you

☆ he'll occasionally "fine" himself even when he only thought the swear and didn't say it out loud.

rafayel

☆ the original swear jar lasts about two days before one of you says, "this is boring." so it becomes your jar vs. his jar. at the end of the week, whoever has more money loses and the winner gets to choose the prize.

☆ he turns decorating your jars into a little project. painting little flowers, fishes, and adding your initials.

☆ you discover he's surprisingly easy to bait when he's in the middle of painting.

☆ he learns your weaknesses too. things like mild inconveniences, technology not cooperating or stubbing your toe.

☆ he starts using colorful language associated with the sea, "mother...of pearl." and "son of a sea cucumber."

☆ in the end rafayel wins but he ends up having so much fun that he asks, "one more week. double or nothing."

sylus

☆ although he finds your potty mouth kinda attractive the swear jar was absolutely his idea.

☆ immediately starts engineering situations specifically to make you swear. sneaks up behind you. hides the tv remote. wins games by one point and just waits for you to blow up.

☆ every time you slip, he says "language kitten." with the the biggest, most insufferable grin you've ever seen.

☆ purposely says things like, "go on. say it. i know you're thinking it."

☆ keeps exact count of your "streak" before he breaks it. "three days. new record."

☆ will occasionally swear himself just to confuse you before going, "mine don't count. i'm the treasurer."

caleb

☆ starts out fully committed to the swear jar then realizes very quickly there's a much better payment system. "coin...or kiss. your choice."

☆ you immediately realize he'll almost always "reluctantly" accept the second option

☆ the rules evolves into: one swear = a kiss. multiple swears in one sentence = longer hug. really creative profanity = "dealers choice"

☆ loves hearing you stop yourself halfway.

"motherfu—...fudge"

"nice save."

☆ if you try to walk away after swearing, he'll gently block the doorway with the jar.

☆ by the end of it, the swear jar has maybe six dollars in it because caleb keeps waiving your fines in exchange for cuddles. he claims it's because "physical affection builds stronger habits."

valko

☆ you aren't sure who's idea it was or rather why either of you thought it would be a good idea.

☆ he lasts approximately four minutes before forgetting the swear jar exists. "wait. i didn't know we were starting now!"

☆ the jar fills at an alarming rate because the two of you get into conversations that are basically competitive profanity.

☆ he tries to make loopholes.

"if i whisper it, does it count?"

"yes."

☆ eventually both of you are tossing coins into the jar mid-conversation without breaking eye contact.

☆ the jar ends up funding vacations because neither of you has any self-control.

"we should probably stop swearing."

"yeah..."

"..."

"fuck."

*clink*

Wandering in the wild? When he was little? Without anything…? How could that happen?

You thought of a much younger Valko, all alone in a dangerous forest at night.

Probably muddy, hungry, and shivering from the harsh wind.

Exhausted and leaning against a tree, curling around himself before hugging his tail.

“Babe?” He tentatively called, observing you.

Your lips quivered. Gaze looking elsewhere as you tried to dodge his inquisitive eyes.

“Hey now, are you—” concerned, he sets the throw blanket away and comes closer to gently cup your face, guiding you to turn back to him. “Are you feeling sad for me?”

Your eyes finally meet his, and he sees the sheen of tears that has started to gather in them.

He presses his forehead to yours. He understands your sincerity. You’re always so sweet to him. He vows to keep your tender heart safe.

“There is no need,” he says in a low voice, thumbs caressing your cheeks as he coaxes you. “That was a long time ago. I’m fine. Didn’t mean to make you sad.”

You huff, burying your face into his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. “You must have felt frightened.”

He says nothing, just slowly runs his hand over your hair.

“I’m going to build a time machine.” You mumble into his chest.

You feel the vibration on his chest as he chuckles. “And come find me?”

“Yes. I’ll be younger too. I’ll bring a blanket. And a flashlight. And a tent. And some food.”

He hums. “And a gallon of my favorite chocolate milk?”

That gets you to smile. “Silly.” You squeeze around his waist. “We’ll make it a fun camping night. Play games, count the stars. And when daylight comes, I’ll bring you to your family.”

He kisses your forehead, then nuzzles into your hair. “Thank you, my love. I would have been thrilled to meet you back then.”

He sits down on the couch, leading you to sit sideways on top of him, then lets out his tail to drape over your legs. You giggle, leaning on his chest as you gently brush your hand over his fur.

He regales you with other tales of his childhood, making sure to mention happy memories and exaggerate his mischievous moments. Until he feels your breathing start to even out.

Valko carefully lifts you up and carries you to bed, sliding under the covers with you. He turns to look at your face for a while, before finally settling in to hold you close for the night.

He dreams of that forest again, and sees his younger self. But this time, the small werewolf is happily following a little firefly that chose to stay and light his way. “We’ll be just fine, bud.” He says behind them, the weight of this memory feeling much lighter.

Dividers by @/diviniyae

“You two are sick.” A few feet away, Rafayel is shaking his head. “A man is dead, and you’re flirting. The body’s not even cold, and you’re—”

“Okay, Raf.” You peel yourself off the floor, and your skin is sticky. Your head hurts.

You’re not up for even thirty seconds before a tendril of Sylus’s Evol wraps around your fan, repositioning it until the fluff of his hair bounces, fluttering, played with by an artificial breeze.

You sink your hand into that hair as you pass by the couch, your touch far less of a caress. “Get up. Or I’m telling Luke and Kieran you’re taking them on a beach day.”

Sylus groans, and behind the moisturiser and cucumber slices, his face is scrunching as he stretches. He’s always preferred a more tangible knife at his throat.

…

Rafayel dabbles in hyperbole as often as he dodges a phone call from Thomas, but this? Might be an exception. You tilt your head, observing the way Valko’s curled on the floor by your patio doors, like he didn’t quite make it out to the garden.

Curled is the wrong word. It’s a half-curl: he’s on his side, limbs stretched out, tail flat.  

“He’s breathing,” Rafayel confers quietly.

You squint. He is breathing. That’s good.

“Fate comes for all of us eventually,” Sylus hums, nodding as though delivering a morbid prognosis. “It’s relentless. Inevitable.” Then he crushes your body to his. “Don’t look at it, kitten.”

His shirt is half-unbuttoned, his chest tacky against your face. He smells of sweat and gunpowder, and you squeak in protest, only to be hushed like a feral, naïve little thing. Sylus shushes you, stroking the back of your head as you wriggle.

“Raf…” you eke out, whispering warm against Sylus’s pecs, “help!”

“I’ve got you, cutie.”

Rafayel hugs you from behind, only squishing you further. They’re both hot and sticky and you’re going to kill them, just as soon as you can… as soon as you can get… ugh! “Get off, Raf!”

“I know he meant, like, a lot to you,” Rafayel sighs mournfully, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone. We’re here for you. You don’t ever have to be strong with us.”

You stamp on Rafayel’s foot, and kick Sylus in the shin. One yelps. The other draws in a sharp, enamoured breath, but they do release you, thank god. “I’ve had it up to here with you two,” you hiss, marking the air above you with a decisive slice of your hand.

They blink down at the motion, unfazed. Rafayel is mid-hop. Sylus is still.

“Up to there with you!” you try again, pointing higher at the ceiling.

They look up.

“… That’s a lot,” Rafayel says after a moment.

Sylus nods in agreement, taking the new estimate into very careful consideration.

That should keep them occupied for a while. You wander over to where Valko is slumped on the floor, soaking in sunlight. In a black t-shirt and dark jeans, it’s a wonder he’s not a puddle already. Although… from the looks of it, he is headed in vaguely a puddle-ish direction.

“Psst… Valko?”

Nothing.

“Vaaalko…? Can you hear me? You still with us? Valko?”

You’d stooped to talk softly with him, but you’re getting impatient— he’s being so stubborn— so you stand with your hands on your hips instead; the sun’s not the only thing glaring. Carefully, you nudge Valko’s tail with your toe. That earns you an ear twitch, but nothing more. You sigh.

“Guys, can you come and get him into the shade? Gently, please. I’m gonna call Zayne.”

…

“Mmhmm. Yeah? Okay, got it. Thanks so much, Zayne. You’re a life-saver. I know that’s the job description, but…”

When you re-enter the room, a quiet chuckle— rich with fondness and empathy— can be heard through your phone.

“Yeah, Zayne,” you answer after a bit. “Take care of yourself, okay? Ugh, what am I saying? You’re fine, Mr Walking-Talking Snow Globe. But whatever, yeah, still make sure you’re—” you gasp— “ah, Rafayel, no!”

Rafayel is crouched over Valko, slowly trickling water into his mouth from a bottle. None of it is getting consumed— it’s all dribbling over the seam of sealed lips and pooling straight onto the floor.

“He’s gotta stay hydrated!” Rafayel huffs, and the water bottle remains tipped, spilling.

You storm over and snatch it out of his hand. “Not like that!” Your phone lifts to your ear. “Zayne, I gotta go, sorry. Talk soon. Love you lots.” Then you end the call. “Really, Raf?”

The artist is sat on the floor now, and his face is unrepentant. Smug, even.

“Why would you do that?” you grumble, taking a seat by Valko yourself. Softly, you sweep away the excess water from his lips with your thumb.

Rafayel just smiles, lazy and warm. He leans back on his elbows so he can catch the breeze wafting over from the patio doors. “You sounded stressed on the phone, cutie. Before you came in. Valko’ll be okay. Don’t worry, yeah? I’m sure our dear doctor had some good advice, but you really should have more faith in your trusty sidekicks.”

“Is that right, hm?”

“Yup. Sylus is onto something right now, in fact. I’m watching our friend here in the meantime.”

“By drowning him?”

“Hydrating him. How nefarious do you think I am, cutie? I know water. Besides, I’ve got a website.” He wiggles his phone with a grin.

You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to Valko so you can move his head to your lap. As much as Rafayel teases, you know he and Sylus would part oceans for you— move mountains, too. They can act like finding a space for Valko in their hearts is just as biblical, as Herculean, but it’s easy, really. You managed, didn’t you?

“Fine. What else does your website say?” you ask with a hum, fingers threading through Valko’s hair. You like to scratch at the shorter parts.

“Number one, hydration,” Rafayel reads, “check! Number two… ‘walk them at cooler times of the day.’ Says a gentle walk through a shaded woodlands is safer than playing ball at the par—”

Water smacks him in the face.

He gawps, dripping.

The water bottle is in your free hand, fresh from being flicked at him. You flick it again, sending forth another slosh. “Just you wait until you get sick, Rafayel! Gonna stock up on aquarium guides. When I’m pouring fishie medicine down your throat, who’s gonna be laughing then, huh? Huh?!”

Rafayel laughs, trying to dodge the water; you’re thankfully limited by the heat-stricken man on your lap. “Don’t! We need—” he coughs as you land a splash in his mouth as he speaks— “ack! We need that for… pfffftt… hydration!”

You’re laughing too— trying to swing the bottle harder without turning Valko into collateral damage. “Stay still!”

You pull the bottle back, preparing an even bigger splash, but something stops you. Not mercy or conscience, no, but… something sweet tickling the periphery of your senses. Weird.

The room smells like chocolate.

Turning around, you see Sylus coming over with a baking tray in hand. It must be fresh out of the oven; he’s still sporting oven mitts. Though some of his hair has been tied back haphazardly in bunches (with colourful hair ties), some is plastered, damp on his forehead.

You sit up as much as you can, neck stretched like a meerkat. “That smells amazing, Sylus. What is that? What’ve you been up to?”

“Problem-solving, sweetie.” He tilts the tray juuuust enough so you can see what’s inside.

It’s brownies— or one, giant brownie, since he hasn’t sliced it yet— still hot, and undoubtedly gooey in the middle. The sight makes your mouth water. The ‘problem’ shifts on your lap.

A wrinkle at first: Valko’s nose scrunches, giving a shallow sniff. Then a deeper one; you can hear the chocolate-thick air drawn in once, twice. His tail starts wagging, soft against the floor.

He sits bolt upright, so quickly it startles you. “Is that brownies? Nice!”

“Wha—? Val, are you okay? Take it easy, you were just—”

“Bring ‘em over here! They’re fresh, right?”

Sylus trundles over like a butler who might just poison his master’s next meal. A quiet thwip of his Evol scores a line through the brownies, and it’s hard not to think about how that Evol can grip, asphyxiate, and break. Dark alacrity— you feel as though you’re watching a murder weapon slide through a birthday cake.

Valko grabs a brownie as soon as it’s offered. “Oh, mmm…” he groans, fangs sinking in, eyes rolling back. With his cheeks stuffed as they are, he’s more chipmunk than wolf. “That’s the stuff.”

“Val,” you frown, “you’re okay?”

“Mmhmm!”

“You didn’t… pass out, or anything?”

“What? No. Course not.” The brownie is polished off, and Valko is chewing, still, as he stretches out over the floor. He laps chocolate from his thumb. “Mmh, this is the life, huh?” And rolls out of the shade, into the sunlight. “Thanks, Skyler. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

You blink in bewilderment. Rafayel grins ear-to-ear.

Oven-gloved and exhausted, Skyler is moments away from making the news.