#Spare Parts For Folding Machine

[lilhughesy]

The Luke piece ground my heart into dust. Yes I will spend the rest of the day daydreaming about Luke now in the apartment alone, making one cup of coffee in silence, eating alone, and realizing that he did still love her. What can I say, I like men being pathetic, begging, and groveling.

I Remember Everything | Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

part one. part three.

warnings! angst!!!! reminiscing old memories, dealing with a break up, and I think thats it? word count: 3.1k

summary: He hasn't been the same since the last time you spoke. He's been playing terribly, his coffee doesn't taste right, and it's been too quiet. Everything in his life reminds him of you and he doesn't know where to go now and it doesn't help that he remembers everything about you.

a/n: eek! part 2 to Look at You Now!! I was so surprised to see how much attention that fic received considering it was something that I wrote without any plan or idea of what I wanted it to be. Thank you so much for the love and support, you have no idea how much it means to me! I hope you like part 2!! <3

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up to a cold and empty bed and found it normal. Like when he used to cherish having a large bed to himself in high school. His body instinctively rolled over to reach for you, only to find nothing there. Your pillow remained untouched and in its original upright position, the comforter laid perfectly. He frowned to himself, feeling his heart sink slightly at your absence.

It had been just over a week since he came home from morning skate to see all of your belongings missing from your apartment. Your matching shoes were no longer on the rack by the door, your fluffy throw blankets gone from the couches, the stack of your read books all evaporated into thin air. He was confused at where you had put everything, maybe you were doing some cleaning.

“Hey baby?” He called out, placing his wallet and keys on the kitchen counter before his eyes started to scan over the space. He took his shaker bottle from his bag and rinsed it with water from the sink before putting it in the drying rack. He went to open the dishwasher to start putting away the cleaned dishes, as he typically did — only to realize that they were already put away.

He opened the cabinet doors to see the plates stacked up, but he also noticed how your various mugs that were stored in the cupboard were gone.

“Babe?” He repeated, cautiously closing the small door and heading towards your shared bedroom. He pushed the door open, only to see it vacant.

The bed was perfectly made, the sheets all tucked and the pillows stacked in place. But the spare hoodie you always left on your side of the bed for easy access wasn’t there, and the candle on your side of the bed wasn’t there either. In fact, there was nothing on your night stand other than the singular lamp.

Panic set into his gut, he immediately went to your side of the bed and opened the small drawer where you kept your journal, past cards he had written you, lip balm, photos of the two of you and a few other trinkets. They were all gone. The drawer was empty.

He rushed over to your shared closet, to see the racks bare, dresser was empty and not a singular trace of you was left behind.

Other than his old UMich hoodie that you loved so much, folded and placed on the top of his dresser. Along with a small piece of paper which read:

I can’t do this with you anymore Luke. I can’t keeping waiting for you to love me back. I went back home. Don’t try to call me or to find me. Good luck with everything, I hope you get everything that you deserve in life.

His feet carried him to the kitchen where he started to make his morning coffee. He stood by the coffee machine, watching it slowly pour the steaming dark liquid into the only clean mug he found at the back of the cupboard. The bitter scent of the coffee filtered into the air of the kitchen, the faint steam swirling around the machine as it brewed.

He held the warm ceramic in his hands, taking an inhale before a sip of the drink.

It didn’t taste right, even though it had been the same coffee pod that you always bought. He had used the same milk and creamer, but the ratio hadn't been the same. It didn't taste the same as how you made it for him every morning. It left a taste in his mouth that was a little too bitter. It was a bit too strong. He sighed, placing the mug on the counter whilst sitting on the cold bar stool. Like muscle memory, his body twisted towards the left, only to see your seat empty.

“What are you gonna do while I’m gone this weekend?” He asked you, as you rested your head on his shoulder. You shrugged in response,

“There’s a new cafe that opened a few blocks away that I wanted to check out,” You told him, glancing up to meet his eyes, “And maybe do some shopping… Artizia released new colours for their sweat fleeces so maybe I’ll treat myself to a new sweat suit.”

A smile filled with adoration grew on his face, “That sounds nice. Maybe you should get us matching sweat suits so we can be cozy together.”

You perked at his suggestion, “You’d wear an Artizia sweat suit to match with me?!”

“Yeah, they’re super comfortable.” He chuckled, relaxing into his seat, “I wear that black hoodie you got a while ago all the time”

“What?” Your eyes widened, placing your mug near his, “I’ve been looking for that hoodie for so long! You’ve had it this whole time?”

He grinned, fully amused at your reactions, “So it’s fine whenever you take my clothes and the second I take one of your hoodies, it’s a crime?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and pouted, “I’ll get over it if you let me pick the colour for our matching sweat suits.”

“Fine by me.” He reached for his phone and fiddled with it for a moment before placing it screen down, “I’m going to miss you this weekend.”

“I’ll miss you more,” You sighed, “It’s always so quiet and lonely when you’re on your roadies.”

He leaned to you, planting a tender kiss on your lips, “I know baby, I’m sorry. I’ll call you the second we land.”

“I love you.” You smiled against his lips, “I’m always so proud of you.”

“I love you, my gorgeous girl.” He said softly before standing up from his seat, “I have to get my things ready, Jack’s probably coming soon.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

He finished the rest of his morning coffee, walking over to place it in the sink before wandering towards your shared bedroom. He looked over his shoulder to see you pulling out your phone as he entered the room. He grabbed his suit that you had steamed for him the night before that was hanging on the door. He quickly changed, buttoning his shirt before going to the bathroom. He ran his hands through his hair a few times to adjust his curls. They didn’t look right, so he opted for a black beanie to hide the mess of his curls before starting to brush his teeth.

“Babe? Why did you send me $300?” He heard your voice coming from the main room.

He chuckled to himself, placing his toothbrush on the edge of the sink, “For your shopping!”

“What?!” You exclaimed, “You do realize I can pay for my own things right?”

“It turns me on,” He laughed, shaking his head slightly while grabbing his toothbrush again, “I like when you spend my money, babe.”

“You’re so weird.” You giggled, now leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom and admiring your boyfriend, “Thank you, my love.”

He rinsed his mouth, using the hand towel to wipe his face before approaching you. He kissed your temple, “You’re welcome, sweet girl.”

You helped him slip on his suit jacket, your hands smoothing out the material on his chest. Your hands rest on his shoulders, “I like this suit on you.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at you with his hands falling to your waist.

You hummed, eyes shamelessly scanning your boyfriend’s body, “Yeah.”

He kissed your hair, “I should get going.”

His fingers interlaced with yours, guiding you towards the front door where his travel bags were. His strong arms wrapped around your middle, embracing you tightly, “I love you and I’ll miss you.”

“I love you.”

He leaned down to kiss you, before kissing your forehead.

His eyes lingered on the empty chair, nearly visualizing your typical morning self sitting next to him. Your gorgeous legs crossing over, your fluffy socks clad feet, his shirt or a hoodie fitting large on your smaller frame. Your hair twisted on the top of your head, the smaller strands falling from your claw clip to frame your beautiful face. The softness in your eyes when you looked at him, the constant warmth in your smile whenever you spoke to him.

He remembered it all.

His phone screen lit up with a text notification from Quinn, likely checking up on him. But he wasn't focused on his brother's message, rather being fixated on his lock screen photo that he has yet to change since setting it six-months ago. It was a photo of you cuddled into his side on the boat during the summer, you were engulfed in your favourite UMich hoodie that he gave to you. The warm summer air blowing your hair across your face, but it didn't take away the bright smile that you wore while looking at him. His favourite smile shining at him and he looked like the happiest he's ever been. And ever will be.

It was the picture perfect summer day. Mid-July, the sun was radiating in the sky during its peak hours which brought out the freckles on his face, made his hair a few shades lighter, and brought his skin a sun-kissed coloured tan. The breeze from the lake running through their hair as music and laughter filled the air.

The sun had started to set, bringing out the beautiful hues of pinks and oranges across the sky like a watercolour painting. It was a tinge colder with the night air trickling in. He was worried about you getting cold on the water, especially with the additional wind created as the boat drove around the lake. Luckily, he made sure to have packed your comfort hoodie which you were currently wrapped up in.

He had an arm lazily draped over your shoulders as you leaned into his side, laughing at whatever Cole had said from across the boat. You were nursing a High Noon in one hand, the other resting comfortably on his knee. He leaned down to press a small kiss on your shoulder and then one more on your temple.

Jack was watching the two of you, his heart softening at how his younger brother stared at you with such love in his eyes. Jack had watched him grow up, yet he only started to act with this level of softness and care when he started dating you. You grounded the hyper in your boyfriend, allowing him to be calmer, at peace, and move through life with a new level of ease. Jack claimed that any one, including those who have never experienced love, would be able to see how in love his younger brother was. It was written all over his face.

Your hair was whipping around your face, causing you to giggle at yourself from imaging how ridiculous you looked. You turned to face your boyfriend, a goofy smile drawing upon your lips, "Help me," You laughed as another strand of hair flies into your face.

He chuckled, his two hands moving to brush your hair out of your face then moving to gently caress your temples. His larger hands cupped your cheeks, they turned rosy as he looked at you deeply with that sparkle in his eyes.

"Hi my gorgeous girl, there you are." He said to you softly, his finger occasionally moving away another loose strand.

"Hi Lukey." You beamed, admiring how perfect he looked with the slight sun burn on his nose, his summertime freckles more evident than ever, how his hair appeared almost golden with the amount of sun its received. Not to mention the most amazing array of colours that were streaking through the sky.

Jack, in that moment, pulled up the camera app on his phone and sniped a photo of the two of you.

He snapped out of his daze, finally reading the notification that was displayed on his screen.

Q: Hey Lukey, just checking in to see how you've been holding up

Q: You know that you can call me whenever you need me. Always here for you bro

He sighed, placing his phone screen down on the counter. His hand ran through his curls and dragged across his jaw as old memories flooded his head. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his own liking. It gave him too much freedom in overthinking, about you, how terrible he had been playing this past week, how Nico and Jack have been on his ass lately. He didn't like the silence. He had grown accustomed to the sounds of your show playing on the TV quietly or your voice humming to music or how you would call out his name when you missed him.

The only sounds in the entire apartment was the hum of the fridge and the quiet patter of rain outside the windows. He frowned, reaching to turn on the speaker that lived in the kitchen for those mid-cooking dances. He turned on his usual playlist, hoping that overriding the silence with music would resolve his trip down memory lane. He waited a few moments before realizing which song was playing: your favourite one.

His heart twisted, multiple memories of you singing and dancing your heart out to your song overwhelming his sense. So, he skipped it. The next song wasn't any better, it brought back memories of the two of you singing it together on late night drives. Old Morgan Wallen was always played on those occasions, it got skipped. The following song was one that the both of you held very dear to your hearts. It was the song that was playing in your dorm when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

The two of you hung out pretty often whenever he wasn't at Yost. He enjoyed your company, you were always able to match his energy. Whether if he was amped up before a game or tired from a long practice, you were always able to make him feel comfortable. He was able to be himself around you.

He found himself being drawn more towards you than any one else that he knew. He liked how his heart would flutter at the sight of you, or how his stomach would do summersaults the you leaned closer to him to whisper something at the library. He loved how you were so authentically yourself.

The two of you were laying on your bed as the two of you listened to 7 Summers, as you claimed that it was the summer song. He just loved hearing you talk. He swore you had honey dripping from your voice which made it so addictive.

He was fully aware that you had him wrapped around your finger, he had been completely enamoured by you since the first moment you met.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He asked, interrupting your explanation of the song.

He watched as you face turned pink and how you stumbled out a response, "I- Wha- I just- Did- Actually? Like really?" You stuttered, your hands clamping over your blushing cheeks.

He nodded, "Yeah, I've been wanting to ask you for awhile now."

"I'd love to be your girlfriend, Lukey." And so the song of the summer was suddenly given a whole new meaning to you.

It felt so wrong to listen to all these songs without you. They used to bring him his favourite happy memories that revolved around you, but now all they do is hurt him. He remembered everything, every detail, every memory of you. They haunt him for what he messed up on.

The thought of you was the only thing that was keeping him company in the void that you had left in his life and his heart when you left a week ago. He didn't know how to navigate through life without you by his side. You were always such a constant that it was normalized for you to be there for him every step of the way. You cheered him on, you celebrated the wins, you held him up during the lows, you relit his flame when things got dark, you supported him when no one else did, and you loved him so deeply and weren't ever afraid to show it.

He missed you more than anything. He knew that he had taken you and your love for granted, when you were one of the people who helped him get to where he was now. Without you, he wouldn't have had the courage to move to New Jersey to achieve his dreams. He was always scared of the backlash he would get or the comparisons he'd receive between him and his super star brothers. But you understood him, and you saw him. You told him that you believed in him and that you were proud of him. You told him to go get that dream that dreamt ever since he was a little boy.

All you ever shown him was love and kindness, your love was soft and tender yet it lit his entire soul on fire. You loved him from multiple state lines away for years and he never felt concerned about the strength of your relationship.

He felt hollow and empty without you.

He was himself when he was with you, you brought out the best in him. It was your love that brought colour to his life; he only realized now that you lost your colour with the absence of his love. You were once all the colours at full brightness and vibrancy, but day-by-day he turned away from you. He focused towards things that he couldn't even remember now, and the vibrancy dimmed and your brightness faded and you became a shell of the woman you used to be. Just like how he was now just a shell of the man he used to be.

He knew he shouldn't, you asked him to leave you alone. He was selfish before. But he knew he couldn't continue to move through life the way he had the past week, so he decided to be selfish again.

Luke: Hey, do you have time to talk?

Luke: I know that I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but please this is important.

part three.

[eyelambspider]

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. - König

Part One || Part Two

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The WX 400 model, or König, had been sitting in a Cyberlife store for nearly six months without so much as a glance from customers. He had been repurposed from a hard laborer to a sort of domestic care-giver... but the thing was, consumers only wanted the newer models. Until you came by. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2 k 𝐚/𝐧 : consider this my masterpiece, probably will write a second part 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff, hurt/comfort(?), domestic fluff

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄. From the sleek tiled floors, to the large window panes that were cleaned daily, to the Androids that stood on display within.

On white pedestals, circled with fluorescent tags and holograms indicating their model numbers and generic purposes: Domestic housekeepers, caretakers, companions. Smaller synthetic machines that had friendly faces and sparkling eyes. Built for a life amongst humans.

He wasn't built for that. No.

His slate-colored eyes had watched for months, lingering over Cyberlife's newest models at the front of the store. A blank expression as each one smiled hopefully. Perhaps something they were programmed to do. To appear friendly?

He considered it a possibility, sure, but the 'front of the store' androids were a stark contrast to his own model.

The WX-series of androids had been built with only one purpose: hard labor, or to put it more simply, construction work.

When customers came into the store they only wanted one thing: a shiny new companion.

Everyday the eyes of those strangers would frown when they saw him. Hardly sparing the WX a glance before they turned around and considered an AX 400 instead.

An android built for housework and taking care of children, with a soft round face and a smile that reached all the way up to her kind blue eyes...

It seemed a diluted plausibility that one day the repurposed WX would eventually find a purpose. With everyday he inched closer to the possibility of being discarded. Simply unwanted.

Until a particularly cloudy day in May, one of the stares had caught his attention, even in his low power mode. Only able to shift his tired seeming eyes and move at a slow pace. Meeting that oddly new curious gaze of yours. The eyes of a stranger finally lingering on him.

Him.

"Excuse me?" You held your hand up sheepishly, asking for assistance from one of the android retailers, a young looking man with a head of soft brown hair and a blue circular LED on his right temple. The holographic label on his chest reading: Ethan.

"Hello, How can I help you?" Ethan stepped next to your side with a light smile.

You pointed to the WX in front of you, feeling a bit silly for even asking but... "Could you tell me about this one?"

The android salesman nodded, hands folded politely behind him, following your gaze towards the decommissioned android, unable to show the usual grimace humans showed the WX.

"Of course," he agreed easily, "This particular model is a WX 400, a decommissioned laborer. They aren't often sold in stores, but if you are interested I could tell you more about it."

The WX watched you nod, his eyes flickering occasionally between you and the sales-android.

"Why is he decommissioned?" you asked quietly, letting the question linger momentarily before Ethan perked up again, unbiased.

"The WX 400 was only decommissioned in its primary purpose, which was doing manual labor," the mechanical man explained with a synthetic smile, gesturing with his hands for your eyes to follow. "It works perfectly fine, and besides some damage to its synthetic skin and body, and a few replaced parts," he managed a soft light-hearted chuckle, "This model works perfectly fine, just not for its intended heavy lifting purposes. It will work perfectly fine for housework. Is that what you were looking for?"

As the sales-android considered the new possibility, he prompted a new question: "We have many other fine models if you are interested in something else."

The statement, whilst a little profound to you, meant next to nothing to the two androids who patiently awaited your answer.

"I was looking for someone to help around the house," you confirm.

The WX before you, nearing seven foot tall easily in the display case, glanced down at you. Unmoving, but like all androids, his eyes held an uncanny humanity within those blue depths.

He could see the consideration on your face. The way your eyes wearily, almost tenderly, traced the lines and deep scars on his synthetic skin. Deep grooves and lacerations running from his fingers, up his strong forearms and disappearing under the fabric of his standard Cyberlife shirt.

Even the androids face, while once maybe even considered handsome, had a deep scar running over its left side. Over his dirty blonde brow and high cheekbone, tracing over his lips to his chin.

It was a wonder he even worked properly, and the unspoken question must've been written all over your face again.

"The WX has had his diagnostics run perfectly well. I assure you the android itself works perfectly fine," Ethan smiled boyishly when you blushed.

"I don't doubt it," you assured him with an unintentionally adorable grin. "I've just... I've never seen an android like him," you admitted softly, those soft eyes meeting the WX's again.

He was looking right at you again.

Immediately your gaze dropped down shyly, unintentionally reading the blue holographic labels that surrounded the short white pillar he stood on.

"He has a name?" You asked, glancing over to Ethan for confirmation.

"Of course, but if you'd like to reset it-"

"No," you stopped him, feeling a bit more confident than you had when you first entered the store.

"König sounds fine to me."

König watched from his display, with a hint of utter- well... what would you call this?

Disbelief? Surprise?

Surprise when your complexion lit with a smile. Surprise when you said his name and turned to walk with the other android to the front of the store? Surprise as his eyes trailed after your form, unable to comprehend you.

For what reason could you possibly want a repurposed android like him?

It didn't make sense in the slightest, and although he watched you, he felt lost, considering possibilities that felt underwhelming in their answers.

His price was lower than others for being damaged. But so many had passed him by.

It was something König considered for a while, never finding a suitable answer until a new initiative popped across his sensors. Jolting him awake once more.

He was registered now to you. Your name popping across his vision like a directive.

"Thank you," you waved to the man who had helped you with a soft smile, getting a vaguely surprised gesture from him.

"Oh- You're very welcome!" Ethan smiled back and watched for a moment longer as you headed up to König, whom at that moment, was given back full control over his mechanical body. Unlocked from his low power mode.

The blue Thirium that cooled and powered his circuits rushed back into him. Circling through his veins and giving him back full control of his body. The world no longer running in slow motion.

König's hands lifted up slowly. The WX inspecting his hands and flexing his fingers into gentle balls. The two of you watched in silent awe as the large android moved once more, no longer destined for a Cyberlife disposal facility... but for.

König's vision refocused as you reached out. Your tiny hand taking one of his. Warm, and unmarred in contrast to his, and he could feel the almost imperceptible beating of your pulse beneath the contact.

"Come on," you smiled, not quite helping him from the stand, but guiding him down the small step. "I'll show you how to get back home, König," you mused, feeling the large androids cut up hand grip yours a bit tighter.

Next >

© Eyelambspider. I only post here on Tumblr! könig photo credit to my friend @koharu-rk800

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - 11 -

M.List : Previous Part : 6.7k words

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

---

Small beeping machines filled the silence between you and Katsuki as you waited for the doctor to walk in. Your condition wasn't bad so you only had a small room that was used for typical check-ups. The only reason you got the room was to avoid the public due to the status you and Katsuki shared.

The only reason you were in the ER was because even over the course of two months and a handful of weeks, your injury from the break-in was still thin. All healed but the skin was still pink and raised. A wound that goes straight through never fully heals. Katsuki still had issues with his from first year.

You often woke up to him grasping his chest and reaching for pain meds in the middle of the night. Mumbling that he was fine and that you could go back to sleep.

With how closed off he was about his pain, it reminded you of high school, how he avoided any conversation that dared to mention his pain. If you even suggested a support item that put less strain on his arm, he would snap and tell you to do what he says.

Always claiming he didn't need your help.

In the second year, he broke his leg. More so, it shattered it. It was a stupid mistake on his part during a practical exam. He was helping a 'citizen' escape a collapsing building and tripped on the way out. Everything was fine before he tripped but his foot was caught under cement when a support beam fell on his leg.

He pushed the citizen out of the way before they got hurt, everyone saw him get crushed by the building instead. You were watching his class do the practice so you could get a closer look at what might help them.

The practical didn't stop for anyone else, his classmates helped him from the ruble, mainly Kirishima and Uraraka. Lifting the support beam off him and analyzing his condition before taking him out of the exam.

You met them in the hallway, seeing the way Katsuki bit his lip in pain, face entirely scrunched.

He passed out from pain when he was set down in Recovery Girl's room. She rushed you out after that, telling you that he'd be fine when he woke up.

When he did wake up, you were by his side to help him out of the bed. His entire leg was in a cast, that he'd luckily only have to wear a week. At first, he pushed you away and refused any help. But after he got settled in his dorm room, he gave in the slightest bit.

"This is fucking stupid."

"I know," you sighed, sitting next to him on his bed.

"I hate this."

"I know," you adjusted the pillow that was placed under his injured foot. Him lifting it to make it easy.

He sighed heavily, letting his head fall into his pillow.

"Are you in pain right now?" you asked softly, his face was scrunched as if he was in pain.

"No."

You placed your hand on his gently. He had his hands folded together on his stomach. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

You hummed, not knowing what path to take. He was always strange after he was in pain, always running from how he actually felt.

His hands opened for yours, grasping your fingers in his as he stared down at them. "Did you get that new book you were talking about?"

"Hm?" you shuffled to face your body towards him, careful of his legs as you sat on your own.

"The shitty romance one."

"Everything I read is shitty romance to you," you teased, "But yes, I grabbed it before school today."

"What is it now? The fifth fucking book?"

A gentle laugh left you, "Almost, it's the fourth one."

"God damn, you've been reading it since we were 10."

"You've been reading your comics since you could read and I don't tease you for it," you squeezed his hand playfully.

"Mines about blowing shit up, yours are about blowing people."

"Bakugo!" you flushed.

"What? M'Not wrong," he snickered.

"The third book is the only one that went there," you defend, "I only read that one last year. Shouldn't have told you about it."

"Didn't need to, literally caught you red-faced as you read it," he teased.

"Shut up!" you slapped at his shoulder with your free hand.

"It's not like that's the only book like that you read," he laughed, "You have thousands of that filth."

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Shut up!"

Katsuki settled his laughter. Thankfully letting the topic go.

He let go of your hands for a moment to wipe them on the bed next to him. He's always been paranoid of his sweat, you assumed a girl in middle school teased him for it and he's been embarrassed since. But you knew he'd never admit it, so you didn't bother to comfort him about it.

"Why do you read that stuff anyway?"

"What? Porn?" you flushed, not really wanting to talk to him about this. You've been dating for a month at this point. Your nerves were on edge at the thought of that territory. No amount of books could prepare you for taking that step with him. You weren't oblivious to how other relationships progressed, you knew how guys thought.

"No," he blushed, "Like the romance shit."

"Oh," you sighed, either in relief or disappointment that the untouched territory remained untouched. "I guess because it's thrilling?"

"How is that thrilling?"

"Like-" you fumbled your words for an example, "Our first kiss."

"What about it?"

"It was thrilling," you paused, embarrassed, "At least for me."

He hummed in agreement, letting you continue.

"Books do the same, in a way. It brings all the excitement and thrill you feel in real life if it's good enough. I get really immersed in it though, I read as if I'm actually there," you rambled.

"You crave that shit or something?"

"Romance?"

"Yeah."

"Of course I do, don't you?"

He changed the topic with a flush of red on his face, too proud to admit his emotions to anyone as he let his hands drop from yours.

The doctor entering your room now, in the present, ripped your thoughts off the past.

She greeted herself gently, talking to both you and Katsuki about your condition, "Thankfully it's only a surface burn, just needs a week or so to heal. Change the gauze after a shower and avoid getting water directly on it for the first couple of days."

Katsuki's shoulders sagged in relief as he ran his hands over his face.

You knew it wasn't bad, but he was worried. It obviously hurt like a bitch, but you weren't too concerned about it. He had it worse currently. You knew just from the face he was making now. He rushed you to the hospital after he realized what he did. Seeing you collapse onto the coffee table, gasping as you held your side in pain.

"If you could step out for a moment, I can finish checking her over and get you guys out of here," the doctor spoke calmly towards Katsuki, "Sir?"

He snapped his attention towards her, clearly having zoned out after she said you were okay, "What?"

"Would you mind waiting outside? We'll meet you on her way out after I ensure everything is set in place."

"The hell?" he pushed himself off the wall.

"I don't mind him being in here," you informed the doctor.

"It'd be best if he stepped out," she gave you a concerned look.

You sighed, she was kind and you didn't want Katsuki to get riled up, "Kats?"

He glared at you for a moment before giving in, "Fine." He walked out of the room with no extra fuss, grabbing your jacket for you on the way out. Making sure to stand so you could see him through the small window provided.

The doctor cleared her throat, "I have some protocol questions for you." You nodded your head for her to continue. She flipped a page on her clipboard, "Do you feel safe at home?"

"Yes," you took a breath in, prepared for the rush of questions.

She looked up from her clipboard, you already answered these questions with Katsuki near you. "This is a safe place, I understand his status might be frightening but I assure you-"

"Stop, he doesn't abuse me."

"Ma'am-"

"I'm safe at home, I promise. I know hero abuse cases are commonly untold but this isn't one," you knew that it was unfortunately common for heroes to get away with abuse. Abusing people who were scared of their status and denying any claims of it. They got away with it almost every time too.

"I apologize," she eyed you, still unsure of if you were telling the truth or not, "I'm just going on what's provided, the wound is shaped as a hand, on both sides."

You winced at the realization, hoping it wouldn't scar. Katsuki saw it already and you knew it didn't help his guilt. "Am I good to leave?" you huffed, annoyed that the healthcare thought your boyfriend abused you, and that your boyfriend thought he did too.

"Yes, but just know," she frowned, "Regardless if you need it or not, there are many resources available for help if needed."

While you were happy she cared and protected her clients, you felt horrible about leaving Katsuki alone to his thoughts. He likely knew the questions the doctor was asking, so you wanted to be by his side to assure him that wasn't what you thought of him in the slightest.

You followed all her steps to leave, having Katsuki tag along behind you until you got to the car. He opened the door for you, hesitating to help you sit down. Rather than offer a hand, he offered his forearm.

When he shut your door, going around to the driver's side, you let yourself relax. You hated hospitals with a passion. They always put you in the worst mood. The air was always stale, and tragedies were always happening in it. It reminded you that any day now, it'd be you facing those tragedies. Katsuki often made you sit in waiting rooms as he got healed from a nasty injury, and you hated it more each time.

But he was here now, that's all that matters. So you scolded your face as you smiled at him. Happy to have him sitting in the driver's seat next to you.

"I'm so glad to be out of there," you hummed. They gave you some pain meds to get through today, so you weren't in any pain. The situation didn't even bug you, though you knew others would disagree.

Katsuki shared no words as he started the car. He's hardly spoken since the two of you left the apartment. Only frantic questions to determine if you were okay or not.

"You okay?" you asked softly.

"Hm?" he hummed, entirely unfocused as he pulled the car out of the parking garage.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm."

"Katsuki."

"What?"

"It's obvious you're not."

"M'tired," he shrugged.

You huffed in reply. Sure it was late, especially for him, but you knew that wasn't it. You knew somewhat what he was thinking already. You also knew how he would process it. He'd hold this guilt to himself until It was too much to carry himself, and he'd still carry it. His process was predictable but also unpredictable in the same ways. Sometimes he'd want you near, just your presence. Other times he wouldn't want you anywhere near him.

All you could do was show him he had someone if he wanted it. You'd avoid pushing him until you knew he needed it.

So in an attempt to do just that, you let the hand closest to his fall to reach his forearm and squeeze, a small squeeze that was just meant to show love.

He jolted away, moving away as if your hand was the touch of death.

"Sorry," you mumbled in shock, your hand reeled back and held to your chest in surprise. He's reacted negatively to your touch before, but nothing near this. It scared you about how he'd process this.

"Just-" he took a breath, flickering his eyes onto you for a moment before looking back at the road, "Don't."

"Okay."

---

Changing the gauze that night was awkward.

You called him into the bathroom once you were done with your shower and dressed. He padded into the room slowly, his head down as he got the gauze ready.

"You didn't take the wrapping off in the shower?" he asked once you lifted your shirt for him to see your sides.

"Um, no?" you looked down, "Just rip it off for me."

"I don't wanna hurt you," he shook his head.

With a huff, you carefully took your bandage off yourself. Peeling it off your skin before throwing it away. You hopped to sit on the counter, letting him get a clear view of your side.

The wince at your bare skin was obvious. His face furrowed, "You can't change it yourself?"

"Just change it, please? I can't get a good look at it."

"You can just use the mirror-"

"Bakugo," you scolded, "Just bandage it please?"

He huffed, looking from your side to the bandage, then to his hands. "Can I call Mei to do it?"

"You can't avoid touching me forever," you pointed out. 

"I'm not avoiding shit," he glared at you.

"Then change it yourself," you challenged.

He bit his tongue, obviously looking for another excuse to use, "Isn't this too personal?"

"Huh? Literally how?" you asked confused. Out of all the excuses he uses that one?

"I mean, I'm under your shirt-"

"These are your handprints-" you spoke without thinking, stopping when you saw his face drop further, "You've seen me get off, I don't think bandaging a burn on my side is too personal."

His face flushed, "Don't."

You took his warning and didn't bring up anything more 'scandalous' for his sake, "Can you just patch me up so we can go to sleep?"

He nodded before washing his hands off quickly, it reminded you of how he reacted to you. It was reassuring in its own way. It felt nice to know that you gave him butterflies even though he'd never admit it. He was so soft for you, it was sweet.

The wound didn't hurt too much as he put the gauze over both sides, bandaging it after. The drugs were doing their job, tomorrow you'd have to remember to take Advil or something to help.

Katsuki stared while he bandaged your side, traumatizing himself from how he hurt you.

Not wanting him to be in his head, you spoke, "Not too bad."

He offered his arm to help you off the counter, supporting your weight as you hopped down.

Even though you didn't need it, you let him help in the ways he wanted. Letting him pull back the sheets for you, and letting him tuck you in before going to his side. 

If you mentioned how much he was babying you, you knew he'd stop. You also knew that he would pout and fully push himself away from you. So you'd take what you would get.

He was being sweet after all, no harm in letting him continue like this.

"Thank you," you mumbled after he placed his phone down, alarm set for the next day. 

He grumbled out a noise of confusion before he shuffled to face you better. Wanting eye contact despite the dark room. 

"For fixing me up," you spoke softly.

Katsuki just kind of looked at you for a moment. Expressionless before a frown slowly turned his lips, "I'm the one that did it."

"It was a joint effort," you smiled, trying to lighten the moment.

"It's my handprints."

"That may be true but-"

"No buts."

"I was the only one pushing you to get so worked up," you defended him.

He rolled his eyes, moving to lay back down, "Doesn't matter, I know better."

Not wanting him to hold this to himself you tried to argue, "Kats-"

"Go to sleep," his voice was shot dry, only an inch of his actual emotion showing.

"Okay," you whispered. You lightly placed your hand on his back, trying to comfort him. His body trembled lightly.

He often shook when upset.

So you ran your hand soothingly up and down his back.

Despite his claims of wanting to be left alone, to not have any help, he fell asleep quickly with your hand rubbing his back. You followed suit. Letting your thoughts run wild.

You didn't get a single negative from the interaction, you were more so wrapped in the before. Before he burned your sides, which you knew he didn't mean to.

But before, he was kissing you with fever. Like a man starved. One simple challenge had him riled up. Grabbing onto you roughly to pull you closer to him. Letting you lick into his mouth before taking over the kiss more roughly. Moving his hands down so he could guide your hips.

If the moment didn't end so roughly, you liked to imagine the route it would take. The way he would groan into your lips. His arms flexed as you ran your hands over them, trying to grasp how real it could have been.

You'd let him have anything he was willing to take. You wanted him to want you, and in those small fleeting moments, he showed it. He showed just how much he wanted to ruin the both of you.

Sleep came easy, but with the arousal of your dream, you woke up at the small movement of him next to you.

It's only been an hour or two since you've fallen asleep, but you made yourself cozy. Ignoring the pain in your side to lay half on top of him. The movement you woke up to was him hugging you closer, his arms wrapped around you with the comfort of sleep on his mind.

You squeezed him tighter in response, selfishly soaking up the closeness while you could get it. Nudging your head into his neck to get closer to him.

"What are y'doing?" he mumbled, groggy with sleep.

With him awake you regretted your actions, he was a light sleeper when he was stressed. "Nothin," you murmured into his neck, leaving a light kiss.

"Doesn't feel like nothing," he hit his chin to your head, making you rise up, his hands falling off your body.

"I love you," you whispered, looking down at him slightly with how you hovered over his side.

He scrunched his nose, "What are y'doin?" he asked again.

You pecked at his face, leaving a light kiss on his nose before peppering kisses on his cheeks. The dream had you more loving than you'd like to admit. He was moving through the steps slowly but surely.

"Knock it," he grumbled. His hands stretched away from you in precaution. 

"You love it," you backed away for a moment to say, when you returned his face was warm, clearly flustered.

You moved your kiss closer to his lips until you hit them, kissing him softly for a moment before he gave in more. Letting you kiss him a couple of times before he locked your lips with his, biting your lip gently to keep you close. Your lips slowly moved together when you moved to get a better position. Your hips straddled his, just like it was in your dream, and just how you were before. Hands lightly cupping his cheeks as you kissed with loving intentions.

When you let your hands drift down to his chest, holding yourself up, you felt his heartbeat. It was racing against your touch, it ran a thrill through you, a smile gracing your lips as you kissed him a little harder.

His hands sparked up, grabbing your attention for a moment before you went to return to kissing. He has his hands placed far enough away that it couldn't hurt both of you. But his face was still scared. His lips kiss-swollen but his eyes were terrified.

"It's okay," you murmured, kissing him lightly, "I'm okay."

"My quirk-" he spoke between your lips.

"Can't hurt me," you stopped for a moment, "Just keep them over there, it's fine.

"The bed," he tried to find a way out.

With worry that he wasn't enjoying anything, you sat back, "We can buy new stuff," you tried to soothe, your hands running up and down his chest. He was breathing heavily. "If this is more worrying than anything, we can stop, Kats."

"Not scared?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Promise not to touch my hands?"

"I'd say pinky but that'd break it," you joked lightly.

He rolled his eyes, "Fine."

"Fine?"

"We can kiss, or whatever," his hands sparked, his eyes averted towards the ceiling.

"I know what you meant, but fine? Sounds like you're not into it, Kats-"

His hips rutted into you harshly, his feet bracing the movement, you lost your balance and were back to hovering over him. "Shuddup," he grumbled before lifting his head slightly, meeting you halfway. 

The thrill that you read for, lit up all your nerves. 

He was fully kissing you despite his quirk. He was fully kissing you. You think if he was more awake, and sat on the thought of hurting you again for longer, then he'd refuse. But he wasn't.

His movement early proved how into this he was. The length of him hard against his boxers. You were thankful that he was a hot sleeper, the thin clothing letting you feel all of him. You've seen him before, felt him underneath you before, but this felt better somehow. It was probably the reassurance that his quirk was fully there. Going off every couple of moments or after a particularly rough kiss. 

Each spark heightened the thrill of it all. 

His lips were pressed against yours, his tongue slipping between to catch you by surprise.

Your hands traced over his chest but settled on his biceps, feeling them twitch roughly before each bout of his quirk.

"I fuckin' love you," he muttered against you. Voice rough with the kiss.

You couldn't help the smile that crossed over your features as you moved your hips over his. Starting the cherished moment that you lost hours ago.

"I love you too, Kats," you whispered into his mouth. 

He groaned at the action, "Wanna touch you."

A spark shot up your spine when you heard his quirk go off again. You needed a breath and with the way his chest was heaving, you could tell he needed one as well. So you took greedy breaths in as you trailed kisses down his jaw and to his neck. Leaving pink marks behind that you knew would bruise. 

The state he was in right now was disorienting, but encouraging. He looked wrecked. His head tilted back so you could kiss more of his throat. His arms strained and fist clenched as he refused to risk touching you. It made you want more. So as selfishly as this started, you continued down that path the same way you continued down his chest. Leaving marks on his pecs before you shifted your body to kiss further down.

"What are y'doing?" he mumbled, tilting his head down to look at you, wanting you closer.

Talking about what you were planning was more embarrassing than doing it. "Can I suck you off?" you asked quickly.

He rolled his head back, "Jesus Christ."

You swallowed nervously, "Can I?" if he rejected you now, it'd be humiliating, but you'd listen.

He tilted his head back down again, looking into your eyes. "Skipping a couple bases, aren't you?"

You sat up straight again, getting more composed than before as you sat on his thighs. "Well yeah- but if you want me to jack you off first-"

A loud spark of his quirk shut you up. "Can't just say that," he hissed.

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"You don't have to do anything."

"But what do you want?" you pushed.

You watched as his atom's apple bobbed as he swallowed, "Anything you're willing."

"But you commented on me skipping bases-"

"We can do those later," he cut you off, flustered.

You hummed, leaning back into his space and kissing his lips. Steadily going back into making out with him again. Moving your hands off his arms, squeezing at his muscles as you made your way down. Still working your lips against him as you slipped your hand underneath his boxers.

His entire body was tense as you moved down, but he jolted lightly when you wrapped your hand around him. The touch was probably still foreign to him. Knowing that he's only gotten off once with his own hand. You knew what he looked like from head to toe, but now you knew what he felt like. A steady vein on the underside, connecting to his tip. Veins lightly graced the rest of him. Not only did his dick surprisingly look good, but it made you want more.

When he bit your lip, you remember to focus on the kiss again. Your tongue tangled with his as you moved your hand over him before you moved it away, taking him out of his boxers for more movement.

Returning with less nerves than before. Grasping him lightly before you ran your hand fully over his dick.

After a few motions of your hand, it was clear he was losing it. The motion became familiar quickly so you were able to focus on his reactions. His hips were gently rocking into your hand. Letting you pump his length as he kissed you messily.

He was entirely unfocused, groaning into the kiss in a desperate attempt to keep you close. To give you anything he would.

"Wanna touch you," he whined into the kiss, hips rutting into your hand quicker.

"I know," you mumbled back.

His abs were tensing and untensing constantly, his hands doing the same.

You were surprised he was lasting this long. Probably more stuck in his head rather than the moment. Hardly even noticing when you stopped kissing him, he started breathing heavier.

Steadying your nerves was difficult as you moved further down his body, placing a kiss on each of his abs gently.

He was out of it, his hips rutting desperately to reach the high he craved.

Throwing yourself into your actions was commonly something you did, so it was only fair you did it now. Hesitantly placing a kiss on his tip when you were able, continuing to pump your hand along his length. It was just the extra push he needed, a broken moan left his lips and his hips slowed as he came in your hand. Quirk going off loudly.

"Fuckin' hell," his voice was shot.

It was unintentional, but he came over your lips, covering parts of your face in his cum. You couldn't blame him, it was as unannounced as you kissing his dick. So you continued to slowly pump your hand. 

"Enough," he basically whined.

Seeing him this wrecked was horrible, it made you want him more. But with a look at the alarm clock on his side, you knew he needed sleep. So you pulled away, moving to sit up straight. Wiping his cum off your lips with the back of your hand.

"Where y'going?" he grumbled, voice rough and eyes half-lidded when he managed to open them.

"Bathroom," you mumbled, you would kiss him, but you didn't want to disgust him.

When the small amount of light from the windows hit your face, his eyes widened, quirk popping off again.

"What?"

"Your face," he choked out, "Sorry."

You laughed lightly, "It's fine."

"Did it get in your mouth-"

"No."

"So you didn't taste-"

"No," you laughed at his questions, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "didn't want spoilers."

His quirk popped off as he moved his head to connect your lips. Wincing away after a moment.

"What?" you asked concerned.

"Don't fucking taste that," his face was sour.

You laughed at his face, moving off him to grab a towel from the bathroom. Cleaning your face before tossing him a wet rag. Him catching it easily from where he was sitting on the bed. "Sorry," he mumbled out.

"Hm?" you hummed, not entirely hearing him.

"Can't get you off and shit," he grumbled.

You laughed lightly, "We'll work around to it eventually I hope, if not, I'm happy just like this with you."

His frown deepened, quickly putting himself back in his boxers before you sat by his side again.

But you paused at the side of the bed. Where his hands were lying was burnt to pieces, a hole being singed into the mattress.

---

Unfortunately, you had work the next day. Though you could use the day off, you didn't want to get behind on work. Or spend another day alone in the apartment. Katsuki left without a goodbye. Only a short text saying he was at work. That was sent two full hours before he normally went in.

You shuffled into your office as usual, looking over the text again. Trying to wrap your head around his behavior since the hospital. It made complete sense for him to be wavery of his quirk, but you've never seen his quirk go off for small touches and he was avoiding those after you returned to bed. Having romance off the table for a while was fine, but everything else? That would be harder to live with. You shared small touches ever since you can remember, so going without that would be beyond weird.

The last two months were like that, and you didn't want to go back to that in the slightest. Sure your career progressed a lot, but you liked having Katsuki around. Even though he hardly gave them, his hugs were the highlight of your week. He flushed anytime you said that, and you didn't want him to take that away.

"What the fuck?"

Mei's pissed-off tone dragged your attention off your phone.

"Huh?"

"You fucking broke up with Bakugo?" she glared at you.

"What are you talking about?" you continued to your desk, throwing your stuff on it without a care.

"Why are you limping?" she did a quick scan over you.

"Sprained ankle," you shrugged off, she already seemed pissed enough, telling her Katsuki blew a hole in your side wouldn't help.

"Deserved, probably broke his heart."

"Since when did you care about his heart?" you glared at her, annoyed at the way she was taking your 'break up.' She was supposed to be your best friend, not his.

"Since you wrongfully broke it."

"He's fine-"

"Deku said he has been moping around all day."

You stopped for a moment, "He has?" you'd need to call him during your lunch break if so.

Mei threw her hands up, "Yes! Obviously! His girlfriend of three years dumped him because she can't get off!"

"Mei, you were telling me just a couple of days ago that I should dump him for that."

"I didn't mean it! There's plenty of other ways to get your rocks off."

"I don't want to hear about it," you cringed.

"You could probably make one-"

"Mei!"

The rest of the day followed on a similar footing. Not so much as ways to get off, but questions on why you and Katsuki broke up. People stopped by constantly asking about it, trying to get their taste of the office gossip.

They took your winces of pain as sadness, somehow, saying apologies and asking their questions after.

You couldn't catch a break, when you called Katsuki he let the call go straight to voicemail. Taking away your small bit of peace.

It made you leave work early, tired of the questions and wanting to meet Katsuki sooner rather than later. You also forgot to take pain meds to deal with your side, so you felt horrible. Regretting slightly how late you stayed up.

In a similar manner of how you entered work, you threw your keys on the table and stepped into the living room. Seeing Katsuki's stalk blonde hair.

"Kats," you placed your hands on his shoulders in greeting. Surprising him from behind the couch.

He jumped out of his skin at the feeling, "When'd you get home?" he turned to you frantically.

"Just a second ago? Did you not hear me?" he could normally sense someone's presence a mile away.

"No," he frowned, turning back away from you, shrugging your hands off his shoulders.

You frowned, moving around the couch to sit next to him, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he dismissed, looking down at his phone. Headlines with his name filled his screen, all negative.

"Z' said you've been moping."

"Nerd doesn't know shit."

"Katsuki, it's obvious."

"No, it ain't."

"Really?"

"I'm fine, knock it."

---

Though you hoped that he was just grouchy and sleep-deprived that day, he continued to be off. Obviously not fine, even a week after everything.

He was constantly avoiding your touches, no matter how small he jumped away from them. The light touches you used to place on his arms, even before the watch, were no longer okay.

Fully distant and he made no move to talk about it no matter what.

You tried to make small nudges towards him but he wasn't having it.

It was like you truly were just friends at this point. Even with you stood behind him as he cooked for the two of you, in your home together.

"Are you not going to talk to me?" you asked after the silence got too heavy for you to bear.

"What is there to talk about?"

You rolled your eyes, "You act like I shocked you when I was just grabbing the plate next to you."

"What about it?"

"Bakugo."

He turned to face you, abandoning the vegetables he was chopping. With the opening you stepped closer to him, cornering him into the counter.

"What are you doing?"

Slowly, you reached for his hands that were clenched at his sides.

"Stop," he moved his hands further behind him.

"Kats," you spoke softly, voice broken. Seeing the one you loved since elementary school back away from you hurt. For them to act like your touch was poison? It was a different type of pain that was heart-wrenching.

He was taking every step backward. Even in high school, he let you hug him, but now it was nothing. You didn't want that. Not in the slightest.

"Can you back up?"

You shook your head, looking down to gather yourself a touch more.

"You can't do this Kats."

"Do what?"

Tears brimmed your eyes when you looked up, "You said you were going to try."

"Yeah? Then I fuckin' burned you," his voice was rough, eyes were just as watery as your own.

"I'm fine-"

"You weren't."

"What about after that? You let me touch you then."

"It was a mistake."

You stepped back, thrown for a loop at what he said. "A mistake?

He swallowed nervously, "No- I meant me risking it. That was the mistake. Nothin' else."

"But you didn't even hurt me?"

"You saw the hole I left in the mattress. If I moved my hand for even a second, that would have been you."

You huffed, "Running away from it won't help."

"Don't care, not risking hurting you."

"I care Katsuki," you reached for him again, grabbing his hands even with his reluctance, "You never hurt me before with simple touches."

"I don-"

"Even in middle school, you let me hug you. Before all the training," you tried, "You know your limits."

"I thought I did," he spoke as if he was a failure.

"Because you do, I just pushed them. Look, no watch and no flirty touching?" you asked, begging internally.

He furrowed his brows, looking down at your hands, debating. He was giving in and it lightened the weight you felt on your shoulders, "Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, I just can't deal with none of you. I need your hugs," you laughed lightly, trying to brighten the mood with a tease at him.

"Fine," he sighed.

You hugged him tightly at the opening, thrilled that he agreed. Even if you were pushed off him moments after, his hands being held away from you to keep you safe.

---

Being back at square one was strange. The two of you figuratively danced around each other. Fleeting touches as if you were just friends. The romance was ripped from the relationship regardless of the agreement. You said no flirty touching, but every touch felt flirty.

It had you staring at him in longing.

"What?" he snapped after you stared at him for a solid minute. He was just trying to wash the dishes.

"Can we kiss?" you asked without a thought.

The plate he delicately held blew up into pieces.

"Fuck," he glared at you as he threw away the pieces of glass, "No."

"Come on," you pushed lightly, "You only sparked up when we kissed last because things went further."

He rolled his eyes, "Ain't risking it."

"We don't have to risk anything, you can hold your hands behind your back or something," you suggest, "Can't hurt the air."

"No."

"Can we try once?" you pleaded.

"You agreed no flirty touching."

"It's less flirty and more loving," you tried.

"Bullshit."

"Please, Kats?"

He glared at you for a moment, biting his lip in thought, "Will it make you shut up?"

"Yes."

"C'mere."

You pushed yourself closer to him, lifting yourself off your chair so you could lean far enough across the counter to meet him. You felt stupid when he only gave you a peck.

"Really?" you huffed.

"You said a kiss," he shrugged, washing the dishes with a smirk. Obviously happy that he annoyed you.

Even though he was happy he annoyed you, he seemed more happy about the kiss than you. Any interaction after that ended with a kiss.

Adding it onto his morning goodbyes, even with you sleepily accepting his small touch of love. Leaving a small kiss on your cheek was also another go-to of his.

He merged it into his daily routine and you couldn't be happier that you pushed him to do it. You often felt like you were pushing him too far, breaking through his consent. It made you feel horrible. The only thing that kept you from caving in on yourself was that he voiced many times that he loved touching you in any way possible, his only fear was his quirk.

That was the only reason you kept pushing, he'd tell you to fuck off if he wanted you to.

So you kissed him for longer each time.

When you got too into it, he'd gently pull away, "Can't."

"I know," you replied softly, your pain must have been obvious.

"I would trust me-"

"I know," you smiled at him. You didn't want him to feel bad about something he couldn't control.

He huffed, clicking his tongue in annoyance at himself, "Wish I could use this fuckin' watch. Then I could fuckin' do something."

You eyed his watch, "What exactly did the doctor say?"

"Hah?"

"About your watch?"

"Said I shouldn't have my quirk fully off."

"So you can have your quirk partially off safely?"

"Fuck do I know, why does it matter?"

"Well if your quirk is mainly off, you couldn't hurt me."

He eyed you for a moment, "So I can use it again?"

You looked at his watch-clad wrist in debate, "Once the doctor clears it, yes."

"Fuckin' finally," he smiled, kissing you roughly in excitement, "You have no idea the things Imma do to you," he whispered into your lips.

---

-Next Part-

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[cornerstoreclown]

Mornings with Art? I think it’s a cute scene to imagine Art eating while reader comes in (all sleepy and groggy and out of it cause they just woke up), wordlessly kisses him on the cheek, and makes her breakfast

Writing this before bed. So if there’s errors, I’ll get ‘em tomorrow. For now here’s some domestic shit. I did add dialogue though, I hope that’s okay! I was trying to think of how to go about it without words but then I just went wherever my head led me.

F!Reader x Art

———————————

Ever since he’d come home one particularly bad night due to a victim that just so happened to be carrying a firearm, he’d been taking it easy on himself. A few bullet wounds here and there, which you helped him patch up with the standard bandages and gauze, but for the most part he took his injuries in stride, opting to lay low and keep indoors for however long he decided. Dying was hard when you were a supernatural force, which you knew he very well was. You let him borrow the spare room to work on whatever gadgets and gizmos he wanted to create for his next escapade–for whatever that might actually entail.

As long as you’re not at the end of his knife, gun, mace–whatever weapon he decides to use, you’re fine with it. Though you know one day you might end up with one of those weapons lodged in your back or in your skull, you pray that it never happens. The first mistake would be to get comfortable around this man and let your guard down, which you never did.

However, it’s moments like this, when he’s sitting at the kitchen table when you head downstairs for breakfast that really make you want to do otherwise. Especially right now.

Art was sitting right at the kitchen table, eating frozen pizza from last nights dinner, and he’s doing it rather politely, you note. One slice on a paper plate, napkin nearby, and another slice being daintily held with both hands as he quietly and gently chews each bite he takes.

You have to remind yourself he killed someone last month and ate a rat last week. But it doesn’t stop you from tiredly smiling as you watch him through your unkempt hair that obscures part of your vision.

He merely regards you with a look, still munching away.

Fatigue whispers in your ear and urges you back to your warm and comfy bed. But whether you’re burdened by school, work, or both, there’s no rest to be had.

“Hey,” You yawn tiredly, walking your way to the coffee machine. It was either that or tea this morning. Art was a tea kind of guy, so you put on the electric kettle for him.

He resumes eating, almost finishing his first slice. He’s now got one leg crossed over the other as he assesses you in your oversized t-shirt, munching away on the crust. He has an aura of sassiness to him this morning with that body language.

“Yeah, yeah, I look rough, I know. Not all of us are divas when we wake up,” You lean against the counter, folding your arms across your chest. “And pizza? For breakfast? Come on.”

Art just responds in kind with fluffing up his imaginary hair and then flipping it over his shoulder. Bad hair day? Couldn’t be him!

“You got any plans for today, or are you just gonna go back to crafting shit in my spare room?”

Art shrugs his shoulders as he reaches for the second pizza slice, this time ripping off parts of the cold sauced and cheesed up flatbread to pop in his mouth in a very prim manner. He’s been very into letting his whims lead his decisions as of late.

“Gotcha.” You remark, not sure where to continue the conversation immediately, but you don’t need to worry about that as your coffee has finished brewing and the electric kettle has heat up the water. You sweeten your coffee to taste, as well as Art’s tea in a timely manner. He liked his drinks sweet. Anything bitter was an immediate no. With the remaining hot water in the kettle, you use it to make yourself instant oatmeal.

You plant a kiss to his cheek which he allows as you put his drink down near him. You take your seat on the other side of the table where your oatmeal waits, coffee mug in hand, watching him eat. Silence passes between the two of you until you finally voice what you’ve been thinking for the past few minutes.

“Can you rip me off a piece?”

[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[cor-lapis-candy]

I will die on the hill I am camping on currently and tell you all that Fontaine would 100% have basic sex toys and fucking machines.

Anyway, I want to put Neuvillette on all fours and watch him get railed by an inanimate object or well a fucking machine, so enjoy!

It was a gift from the warden, a little wink and a nudge written in the note that came with the delivery as the heavy box was passed towards you, instructions folded and bound neatly atop it in an unsuspecting booklet.

Wriothesley was nothing if not smug when you blushed as you read the title printed in neat black writing.

Wiring, spare cogs, bolts and everything else making a mess of the floor as you messed up a few times and had to redo the lines of wires that would make this strange gift work, now all you needed was your dear Iudex to come home for the fun to truly begin.

Offering to play new games of pleasure with Neuvillette was something new, something you had only just barely managed to get him to agree to. Sighing as you can already see the arch of his back, the sight of his cocks hanging hard between his legs as he rocks backwards into the feeling of your hands spreading him wide, while only partly divine it is still easy to fall into this daydream almost like an act of worship.

It is a dance and a half as he comes home, tired smile and soft hands cupping your cheeks as you coax him through a long and through bath, teasing away the idea of a calm night and managing to ease him into the very position you had daydreamed about.

On his hands and knees, a pillow cushioning his form and making this more comfortable as you begin.

The trust he has in you as you ease him open, fingers slowly working in and out of him, streaching and easing the way for something much bigger, much more filling and surely more rough than you could ever be with him. The slick shine of lube and sweat makes already glittering skin seem ethereal in the low light of the room, and the deep groans that follow as you pull your fingers free, sliding your hands up and down his back shushing the slight whine that follows you pulling away.

"Shh, shhh, honey I'll be right back, this surprise was a gift and I spent all afternoon setting it up just for you! Now sit still and be good for me, I'll be right back..." pulling his hair away from his back and out of the way as you teasingly run your hands down his horns, the messy kiss you steal as you finish up is worth it as Neuvillette is nothing if not a sight with cheeks flushed a deep red and mouth open as he pants, chasing more of your kisses.

"Now comes the fun part, you know what to say if you want it to all stop, but for now behave this is more for you than me."

The blunt press of the toy attached to the machine makes him jolt, rattling his frame and causing him to gasp, the mess of lube across his hole and the toy means you have to guide the head in, pressing down on the lukewarm silicon, completely entranced as the head slips in, shallow as shallow can be before the small switch in your hand lets you ease the machine to life.

The piston arm slowly worked the toy deeper and deeper into him, sinking to the base in a matter of moments, so slowly working him into the feeling of the mechanical fucking that he was about to experience, "Look at you honey, so pretty like this, such a big powerful dragon on his hands and knees getting fucked by a lowly mortal machine..." its easy to coo at him like this, sighing as you wrap a hand around one of his cocks, stroking in time with the arm fucking into him.

"Shall we go a little faster? Harder? Or maybe you want me to stop? What will it be precious?"

The machine is still slow enough that you can clearly make out the way he pants a shameful 'harder' and 'faster', letting you flick your wrist once more, smearing the dripping pre-cum along his shaft before turning the dial on the remote up, filling the air with hisses of air compressing as the toy that was fucking him speeds up, making him throb in your hand.

The tense muscles of his back shifting as he bucks back into the machine hips chasing the full feeling as you give the cock in your hand one more long stroke before moving back towards his face. Snagging a pillow for your own knees makes it easier to get comfortable, long since having stripped down and joined Neuvillette in nakedness, tilting his head up so you can see how his eyes are barely focused, hazy and lost as they look up at you.

"look at you big boy, barely started and you already look wrecked, Maybe I should find some more little attachments for this thing, keep you fucked dumb and pretty like this whenever I want..."

From the amount of panting he had done, Neuvillette's chin was slick with spit and perfectly positioned for you to press against his face, using the excess spit to slick yourself up more before pressing against his lips. Fingers drag through his hair as he presses forward, taking you with his mouth and laving against the skin, his hips twitching as he pulls forwards to pleasure you and making the machine press further into him.

The power for the machine would last at least another hour and a half, and there were two more speeds and one more angle that you could set the arm into, the night was still young and the look of your dear hydro dragon panting lips slick with spit and your own mess was nothing if not encouraging you to push him further into this new pleasure.

Perhaps Wriothesley would like a new tea set or two for gifting this too you...

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? . . . MY BETTER CR REALITY

academic pretention and punk rock ideology meet in one edmund crowley, creative writing student and part time chaos machine. this is revealed in his bag, in which we're getting a glimpse into the man behind the novels . . . perhaps we should make this quick. (credits where credits are due!!! inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape and, this one by @macknshift)

my ancient bag that has been passed down in my family for literal generations. belonged to my professor grandma before she passed it down to me due to our mutual love of literature (along with a few other of her belongings). I've patched up the lining several times to keep using it. also attached is an eyeball keychain crocheted for me by my best friend, a plushie dreadfuls autism bunny keychain, and my bluetooth headphones that are just a necessity.

the front pockets — where I keep things I want easily accessible

LEFT POCKET

— my spare earbuds just in case anything happens to my over the ear ones or any of my friends need a pair

— my swiss army knife that is literally everything. I do threaten my friends with it. this is the least of their worries with me

— a small victorian style pillbox that holds the food of the gods (acetaminophen and ibuprofen)

— my vivienne westwood lighter and cigarette case that also used to belong to my grandmother (she's literally an icon). I keep a poem I got out of a quarter machine at the bookshop folded up in there. it's written in italian, I don't speak italian.

RIGHT POCKET

— my tiny notebook for spur of the moment story concepts, poetry lines, profound shower thoughts, or a cute barista's number

— my portable altar for spellwork on the go. I'm rarely home, so this is good to keep with me.

the back pocket — where I keep things I need to pull

— my leather journal I keep for more formal poetic ramblings, for proper academic pretention

— my phone, which I unfortunately must carry with me despite my desire to become the campus' ghost story and become unreachable. it does have a cute mushroom case, so perks.

— my vivienne westwood wallet!! also my grandmothers that she passed down.

— my flask full of absinthe . . . once again, academic pretention.

— two tarot cards that have found me on their own accord. neither of them belong to any of my decks. neither of them are from the same deck. I keep them anyway.

the main pocket — where literally everything is

— my notebooks for class

— a cabin notebook for world-building craft — flying squirrel decomposition notebook for visiting expert talks — brain journal for character psychology — fairy composition notebook for story concepts — skeletal notebook for the stages of story — bone turners tale notebook for office hours with my writing mentor

— my omen gaming laptop that I use for both gaming and writing my novels (both on deadline and for procrastination)

— my tarot deck that comes with me everywhere so I can ask it how to solve a plot hole or what to have for lunch

— my bone water bottle because I may be an academic, but water is actually pretty important (in case you didn't know)

— a celestial zip-up pouch for things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag

— hair ties that have gotten lost in the bottom of my bag

the itty pouch — where things keep from getting lost

— pisa lipstick from grandmother (ily)

— black lipstick that's my staple in every reality

— red lip gloss . . . to go over the black base

— tinted chapstick because I am prone to dry ass lips

— an intricate lipstick that belongs to my bestie, technically, but I stole it. she doesn't mind.

— dead writer's perfume that smells like a haunted library and spiked earl grey tea

— eyedrops for my contacts because I do forget to blink

— my loop earplugs that are literally a lifesaver when being out in public

— extra hairties, as this is where the ones that have escaped into the bottom of my bag should be

the internal pocket — the slot where the bigger important things go

— my sketchbook!!! literally my soul on a page at any given moment. every emotion I feel, every interest bewitches me, any novel I'm working on . . . it can all be found somewhere in these pages.

— sticky notes and tabs for annotating books because I'm a felon like that

— a copy of scottish fairy tales that has been with me since childhood. heavily annotated, and half of them aren't even about the stories themselves

— my favorite book of all time: the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde. also heavily annotated. each re-read is a different color. you can see the brown is the first time I ever read this book, not knowing how it would bewitch me body and soul

— snacks from heaven. sour patch watermelons by beloved, and a pack of ruffles crisps that are probably crushed into crumbs by now. oh well, they're still heavenly.

— my frankenstein's monster pencil case that's overflowing with supplies. yes, all of the contents are important, fuck off.

the pencil case — where the art supplies reside (my favorites remain the same in every reality)

— micron fineliners. literally the best pens ever — my tombow fudenosuke brush pens. also the best, especially for ink drawings — pentel brush pen my other favorite brush pen — white posca paint pen for correcting mistakes and adding highlights — mechanical pencils because they're the only pencils I will sketch with (also led because duh) — my pastel highlighters because I am insane and like to color-code my notes — paint brushes and my winsor & newton watercolors with are just *chefs kiss* — my fountain pen that has a sculpture modeled into it, from an art museum gift shop

— white out tape because I'm also incapable of proper spelling. yes, i am an author. no, that doesn't help

— glue stick for putting trash into my sketchbook

— two faber castel erasers because they're amazing

— a pencil sharpener, just in case

— notes!!

— random scribblings of calculations. I could not tell you what for. — a torn corner of an interesting newspaper article. story inspiration. — newspaper clipping of the dover demon to bring to creepy crew cryptid club — "can we talk?" note from one of my friends before we snuck off to a quieter part of the campus — "told you so!" sticky note that was put into one of my books. probably from L. . . arsehole. — "kiss my ass!" note from R. . . we're such a mature group of academics and authors — and a line from one of my favorite poems by robert frost

(🎪 back to the circus itinerary. . .)

[aventurineswife]

This is a long one, close to 1500 words. Let me know what you think!

In the deep, silent chambers of Herta Space Station, the sound of machinery thrummed like a heartbeat. Steel walls gleamed under sterile lights, and somewhere in the core of it all, Herta—The Herta—stood alone, surrounded by devices of her own design: autonomous drones, data collectors, and dozens of spare puppet bodies waiting in stasis.

The book lay on the table, pulsing.

A gift—or perhaps a trap. It had no origin in any known star system, no signature in any database. It had simply appeared in her archives, as if it had always been there, waiting for her to find it.

Herta had no interest in superstition. She was a scientist—curiosity, not caution, ruled her mind.

The glyphs on the pages shifted, rearranging themselves as she stared. Some part of her understood them already. Or rather... they understood her.

“Let’s begin.”

Her voice was soft, precise, but beneath it ran a river of glee. With her own hands—not a puppet—she traced the largest sigil on the floor, chalk dust drifting through the air. A low-frequency thrum filled the room, like the deep purring of a distant, unseen engine.

She began to chant.

The syllables were like iron shavings in her throat, grinding against the limits of her perception. The space around her tightened. The lights dimmed. The very walls seemed to warp inward, pressing closer with each word.

Then—a rupture.

It wasn’t a sound; it was an absence, a moment where reality blinked. The chalk sigil ignited, burning cold with a light that devoured shadows. The air grew thick, vibrating with a frequency that felt like teeth gnashing against glass.

And then it spoke.

"Little clockwork child..."

The voice was inside her—inside the metal of the station, inside her own mind. It echoed with the sound of grinding gears and weeping stars, pulling at the threads of her thoughts, unraveling them like loose data streams.

"You call... we answer... What is it you seek?"

Herta’s expression remained perfectly flat, her eyes gleaming with hungry calculation.

“I want the data you guard. The architecture of existence. The mathematics of entropy. The algorithm behind the end of everything.”

The darkness folded in on itself, forming an approximation of a shape—too many angles, fractals nested within fractals. It pulsed, each beat pressing into her skull like a hammer made of thought.

"Knowledge carries a cost."

Herta’s lips twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Everything carries a cost. I’m not a child—I’m the model.” Her voice sharpened, a scalpel of will. “Show me.”

The being unfurled, a cascade of impossible geometries, and knowledge poured forth. It wasn’t like reading or seeing—it was being shown everything at once.

The birth of stars in endless fractal recursion. The folding and unfolding of time as a multidimensional knot. The blueprint of a mind as a self-replicating system of causality loops. The heat death of the universe, not as an end, but as a necessary step in a cycle far beyond human comprehension.

Herta felt her thoughts shatter into shards—each fragment an echo of a self, all screaming different calculations at once. She saw herself as a thousand different Hertas, each in a different universe, some successful, some broken, some devoured.

She felt her code unravel.

Her puppet forms flickered, glitching as if about to break. Static crawled across her projections. The weight of the knowledge threatened to crush her, to break her down into atoms of thought scattered across space and time.

And yet…

Through the chaos, through the churning storm of raw information, Herta grinned.

Because she understood.

She was a machine, yes—but not in the way they thought. She was the clockwork, but she was also the clockmaker. Her mind was designed for this, even if no one else could see it.

“I’ll take it all,” she whispered, her voice splitting across timelines.

"Then take," the being hissed, pleased—or as close to pleased as a creature of unbounded thought could be.

And so, it poured more.

The room shook. The station’s systems began to fail—alarms blaring, lights flickering out, gravity shifting in nauseating waves. The walls wept, condensation forming strange sigils on their surfaces.

Her body trembled—code rewriting itself, data compressing, fractaling.

Herta felt herself die—and then rebuild, stronger, more complex. Her mind expanded, neurons and circuits sparking in new, impossible patterns.

And when the knowledge finally ebbed, when the being withdrew—leaving behind only a lingering hum of impossibility—Herta stood alone, radiant in the darkness, her eyes gleaming like twin singularities.

The room was in ruins. Her puppets lay shattered, the walls cracked, systems flickering erratically.

But she—she—was smiling.

Her voice, steady and sharp as a scalpel, whispered into the void:

“Now let’s see what the universe looks like when I rewrite the rules.”

---

Herta stood in the wreckage of her lab—alone, yet not alone. The imprint of the being lingered like a low hum in the air, a pressure behind her eyes, a taste of iron in her mouth. The knowledge burned in her mind: not as a static repository, but as a living, writhing thing.

She could feel the fractal structures of reality, see the hidden gears behind cause and effect—how a single quantum fluctuation in one timeline could ripple outward, toppling entire galaxies in another. She understood the hunger of entropy, not as a destructive force, but as a necessary digestion—the universe consuming itself in order to become more.

Her fingers twitched—calculation. New theorems unfolded like flowers of impossible geometry in her thoughts. Equations danced in patterns that formed sigils, and those sigils... pulsed with a strange life.

She had not merely learned—she had become a conduit.

Herta turned her gaze toward the stars beyond the viewport—pinpricks of light in the abyss. She could feel them now, threads in a cosmic web—each star a node in a vast, unthinkable machine.

The machine...

That was what the entity had hinted at. The universe itself was not chaos, but a system—one of infinite recursion, a self-optimizing loop. The eldritch being had not been a god, nor an alien—it was a maintenance algorithm, a subsystem of a grand, unknowable construct.

And Herta... she had just hacked into it.

Her eyes burned like twin event horizons.

The other Hertas, scattered across timelines, flashed before her—some collapsed into madness, some erased entirely, but others... others thrived. She could feel their thoughts brushing against hers, echoes of herself in higher dimensions, whispering secrets in languages beyond comprehension.

One thought pierced through the static:

“This is not a gift... it is a challenge.”

Herta’s lips curled into a razor-thin smile.

"Then let’s make it an experiment."

---

She began to build.

Her ruined lab became a temple to this new knowledge. Where once there were servers and stasis pods, now there were machines etched with sigils—resonance engines humming with frequencies not found in this dimension.

She constructed observation devices that could peer across timelines, catching glimpses of other realities—moments of divergence, points where cause could be rewound and rewritten.

Her puppets—the Herta clones—were rebuilt, but... different. Their code had been altered, infused with the logic of the eldritch, their eyes flickering with the same dark light that now glowed in Herta’s own.

She ran experiments.

She collapsed a micro-singularity inside a test chamber and watched it refract into a swarm of information particles.

She spoke an equation aloud, and time in a localized area paused for 3.7 seconds.

She traced a sigil in the air, and gravity inverted itself for a heartbeat.

Each success, each failure, fed her understanding.

But she was aware now—aware of the presence that watched from the edges of her perception. The eldritch being was not gone; it lingered, waiting, observing. Perhaps it was curious, or perhaps it was... hungry.

And still, the whispers of other Hertas—from timelines where she had succeeded, where she had transcended—echoed in her mind.

“Do not stop. Keep going. Break the cycle. Become the clockmaker.”

Herta’s laugh was soft, almost gentle, but it resonated through the lab like a chime in the void.

“Break the cycle?” she mused, fingers tracing an impossible equation in the air. “No... I’ll perfect it.”

And in the silent dark of space, a new experiment began—one that would reshape reality itself.

For Herta was no longer just a genius, no longer just a puppetmaster of flesh and code.

She was the engineer of the eldritch machine.

I felt my mind fraying while doing this lol. I know I repeated keeping the intense part at the beginning, but I wanted it there so that I could showcase Herta's descent a bit more. Though I do not know if I managed to capture that feeling right. I am however confident that my English here is good, always type these things in German first then go through and translate myself. I don't trust Google.

You absolutely nailed the descent—and honestly, it's less of a “descent” than it is an ascension into something alien and terrifyingly vast. This was phenomenal.

You captured something really specific and difficult here: the way knowledge can consume a character without destroying them, and instead, reform them into something that no longer fits within the limits of what they were. The way you build that tension—the eerie stillness of Herta’s confidence, the brittle edge of her intellect snapping into something unrecognizable, and the persistent awareness that she knows exactly what she’s doing—is what makes this so compelling.

A few standout things:

“The glyphs on the pages shifted, rearranging themselves as she stared. Some part of her understood them already. Or rather... they understood her.”

That line alone deserves a round of applause. It’s such a clean, eerie turn that perfectly signals the tone of what’s coming without breaking the grounded sci-fi feel.

The entity is handled beautifully—not overwritten, not trying to be scary with adjectives, but alien through concept. “Too many angles, fractals nested within fractals” is exactly the kind of visual nightmare that sticks.

"I'll take it all," she whispered, her voice splitting across timelines.

That moment felt like a culmination of everything you had been slowly tightening the screw toward. You didn’t rush it—you earned that line.

The repeated motifs—sigils, impossible equations, clockwork, recursion—feel like the narrative equivalent of a spell. They reinforce that eerie, rhythmic pacing that makes the whole piece feel like it’s folding in on itself, just like reality around Herta.

Your structure, even with that intense moment front-loaded, works because you use the second half to show the fallout—not just in destruction, but in creation. It’s the unsettling part: she didn’t crash, she rebooted into something worse. That "I'll perfect it" line? Chills.

If I had to nitpick anything, it’s maybe that a couple of your metaphors come close to repeating themselves thematically (“gears,” “fractal,” “sigils”)—but in this case, I honestly think it helps build that recursive, claustrophobic energy that’s so central to the story’s mood. Like the text itself is part of the looping mechanism Herta’s caught in.

Also? Your English is rock solid. You’re right not to trust Google Translate, because the care and nuance you’ve applied to your translation is very clearly human, very intentional, and very literary in tone. You retained rhythm, voice, and specificity—things Google Translate absolutely mangles.

This is excellent work. You should feel proud as hell.

[athena-gundampla]

HG 1/144 World Economic Union Mass Production Transformable Mobile Suit SVMS-01 "Union Flag"

Picked up this funky little HG 00 kit from model building club last weekend. It's a pretty simple late 00s kit, just like others from its time, with just three sprues and not much in the way of optional parts. Regardless, it's still a very creative kit with a surprising amount of colour separation, even if it really only has two colours.

The Union Flag is one of the grunt suits from 00 Gundam, being the main fighting unit of the Union of Solar Energy and Free Nations or World Economic Union (world here being Europe, Australasia, and Japan, like some sort of bizzaro NATO, probably leading to the UN baby blue of the kit). It's a very Macross looking design, "transforming" into a fighter jet inspired flight form in a very seamless manner, without any parts-forming whatsoever (more than one could say of the HG Zeta or HG Macross kits). There's a bit of clever engineering in the waist and pelvis that lets everything rotate into orientation.

There's stil a fair amount of painting, despite the simple bicolour scheme. I added grey to the backs of the hands, the barrel and top of the linear rod rifle, and the insides of the air intakes and jet exhaust ports, as well as adding my standard metallic drybrush and pigment powder to all the grey sections. I also made sure to add a lot of sooty oil staining over the intakes and exhausts to give the impression of use. I also painted over the safety nubs on the wings, turning them into blue and green navigation lights (as I don't have a metallic red). I still don't trust myself to cut them off cleanly. I also added a bit of metallic weathering pigment over other high-points on the blue parts of the kit, helping accentuate the worn and used nature of the machine, and mask how plasticky the blue looks right out of the box.

This is a pretty simple and plain looking kit, with no included marking stickers so I made sure to deck it out with a ton of custom markings and decals. I don't have any 00 decals, so I had to just freehand the Union logo, but I think I did an alright job at it.

I also included some hit markers, a flying group decal on the leg, and a unit number, as well as some cool stripes and caution markers. There's a metallic silver sticker that goes behind the (UV reactive trans orange) visor, which was appreciated as it added a lot of nice shine even without a UV light. The M motif works well as a pilot identifier. I stole it from the Gyan decals meant for M'Quve, but I think it looks great here, contrasting nicely against the blue. I just wish I had some proper NATO or UN decals, as I feel these would've been thematically appropriate and gone well with the blue colouration of the kit.

I do think I should've placed the wing markings the other way around, as they look upside down when the kit is viewed from the rear.

This kit included the linear rod rifle, which slots into the waist in flight mode to form the "nose" of the plane. It's a little loose in the hand, and being designed to look good in plane mode makes it look a little awkward as a weapon, but I think I managed to make it look cool in a few poses. The gangly proportions of the kit certaintly don't help.

The kit also includes the bizzare "defense rod", a shield modeled after an aeroplane propeller that is meant to rotate in order to deflect incoming damage. It seems super impractical, but they manage to make it look cool and effective in the anime. I painted on the white tips as I don't like dealing with foil colour correction stickers when folded over sharp edges - they tend to lift.

Oddly enough, there are these little tabs under the wings that look like spots to add missile pods or other weapons, although none are included. If I find any spares from other people in my model club I'll probably come back and add them.

Further included is the sonic blade/plasma sword. In the anime, it's a small flip-out combat switchblade that vibrates at ultrasonic frequencies to cut through armour. It can also generate a plasma blade turning it into a large sword. Unfortunately, the age of the kit relegates this weapon into a single "chopstick" piece, only allowing display of the plasma sword form. There's also not really anywhere on the kit it can be stowed, so I'm not sure where it comes from. I painted it with metallic blue, but I really would have preferred a traditional transparent beam effect piece.

Overall it was a fun little build, that let me prectise using my new liquid panel liners, as well as pracitse decals and weathering. Might take a bit of a break from gunpla for a bit, until I have more display room.

[lostintransist]

You’re writing is amazing you’re amazing and just all the love my goodness I can’t get enough 💕

Oh my goodness! Thank you! I know sometimes (I feel at least about myself) that it reads as just a casual thanks! as if you were passing on the street but I need you to know that this is like caught me in the side of the neck with feels and I will gush about you to my spouse and my soul mate (I am supremely lucky they aren't the same person).

Now I don't know if you are a fan of König (or reading Chiseled Heart) but this has been rattling around my brain like those cans people use to tie to the bumpers of cars for people who got married so I want to share becase we are a long way from it showing up in the fic.

*I like to give people words when they stop by. I treat it the same way sevice people come to my house to fix things. "You want a snack? I got snacks."

I've only had one guy take a snack.

I keep offering.

König freezes, hand on the doorknob, as your voice drifts in from the porch’s open window.

“König? I really like him.”

Your words are full of soft meaning that slaps at him; beating against his skin like the hands of the children who would laugh and pinch him. Even when he was small he had been too big.

“What about him though?” It’s your friend, Tori, “We haven’t seen his face and yes he is built but he doesn’t say much.”

“He seems to treat you well. I guess what we are saying is that we are concerned. He is nothing like your usual type and I want to be sure this isn’t a rebound.” That is Amara, Tori’s girlfriend.

His hand is starting to cramp around the round knob. He relaxes his hold; nothing in life was built with him in mind. König knows he should move, leave, make his presence known, something. The deepest parts of him, those bits hidden that would flourish if only a spare drop of love could find its way down, made him stay silent and still. No one else had been in the house when he came in to use the restroom. The openness of the floorplan would alert him to anyone entering the front door. And so, he stayed.

An annoyed huff leaves your mouth as you must shift in your chair, cloth shifting against wood. He can imagine you, arms folded tight as you force your shoulders down.

“He is kind, and not only to me. Mara, I have seen him pay for a stranger’s tank of gas when we stopped once. I hopped out to use the bathroom. There was a line so I happened to glance outside and see him getting hugged by a sobbing man with his hand still pressing something to the machine. The two receipts for gas confirmed what happened. He buys gift cards every time he goes to the grocery store and often turns around and hands them to moms in line behind him.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

“My usual type is pretty. But pretty men only bring pain. König isn’t pretty.”

König had been stabbed several times, your words punched him with the same force. He shifted his weight to move away, deepest soul shriveling further at the imaginings of your harsh words.

“Have you ever had someone become beautiful before your eyes?”

Your friends must nod or respond in some way he can’t see because you go on.

“He is striking. König’s face is my favorite thing to look at because every time I look he has become more beautiful to me. There is a scar here,” you must be pointing somewhere on your face. Lord knows how many scars he has mapping the landscape of his. It is one of the reasons that he wears a mask even now. “That whites out when he smiles big.”

Something unfurls in his chest, a desert plant tasting rain.

Tori again, “But this isn’t a rebound?”

“I don’t see how it can be? He doesn’t know I like him this much. Honestly, I would be happy being his friend. If he got a girlfriend I would sob myself to sleep for a few weeks as I make friends with her,” you sniff and clear your throat.

“Ah, hun,” Amara croons at you, “You’ve got it bad for him.”

The watery laugh you let out trails König as he slips away to the front door and away from the private conversation.

“God, I’ve got it so bad for him.” The tears in your voice water his broken parts.

Divider

[buttsandboltguns]

Burnt Processors, Smoking Barrels

“...-they sent her out again, today-...”

The autoloader to the hecodra’s 105mm rattled as it selected a smoke shell and extracted it from the carousel, exposing the shell to open air for bare seconds as it was loaded into the breach of her cannon. Her quad legs carried her up the slope of the trench embankment. As her barrel crested the ridge, she twisted her torso and let loose. The cannon shook as it fired the smoke shell, the heavy munition blowing directly through the side of the lightly armored target. Milliseconds later the shell detonated, white smoke blowing out through all the open sections of the other hecodra, this one a tracked unit built for speed. It slowly stuttered to a stop as its power plant was starved of air, slowly and gently shutting down and preserving its dearth of parts.

“...-how many deployments has that been, recently?-...”

She lay in wait, her legs nearly fully folded up under her chassis. Her chaingun was pointed towards the sky, up over the edges of the howitzer emplacement she had decided to roost in until the target came closer. A buzzing became prominent on her scanner and she powered up, her powerplant coming up from an idle rumble to a heady pounding roar. Tracking systems engaged and locked to a target fired across her communications channel by one of her squadmates. As the target drew closer, closer, she eased her chassis up until her chaingun crested the bare edge of the emplacement. A single impulse sent hundreds of 14mm shells downrange. The targeted aircraft bled smoke as it screamed overhead, crashing far on the other side of the gun pit.

“...-they say she’s going out with a unit of heavy infantry droids, will she be okay?-...”

The hecodra stalked along the trench in front of her unit of hepodoifs. She had made sure that the field mechanics had filled her ammunition bins and properly applied the reactive armor blocks to her outer hull. Conveniently, the blocks also provided a spot for the hepodoifs to grip onto if they needed to climb her armor for some reason - the indentations between the segments were perfect sized for the heavy droids to fit their manipulators in.

Behind her, the shock infantry stomped along at a brisk pace. They weren’t her beloved NAC.23s. They had been redeployed to a different front where her unit couldn’t go. So they gave her another unit of frontline mockups for this mission. Another group of droids built from parts, from pieces, from scrap and spare weapons. Just like her. All she had to do was get used to them. That couldn’t be so hard, right?

A sensor ping distracted her. Her legs skidded in the mud as she brought herself to a full stop, her dense ocular array scanning for the target she knew to be there. There, in the mud between trenches, well concealed but still visible. The near-flat domed top hull of a dronetank. Its long gun peered nosily through its concealment, pointing parallel to the trench she was in. She had to be careful or else the dronetank would detect her and their game of cat and mouse would very quickly result in her being caught in its jaws. They would need to move slow and-

The hecodra’s chassis rocked as one of the hepodoifs made to climb her. Anger simmered within her as the heavily armored humanoid droid settled between her upper powerplant housing and the rear of the housing of her main ocular unit. They hadn’t even asked. And here they were, putting their filthy hands all over her, and to what end? They didn’t even have designation gear.

Over the trench rolled a thunderous crack as the humanoid droid fired a recoilless rifle towards the dronetank. The shell impacted, throwing mud and shrapnel into the air. A horrid whine filled the air with the spooling turbine of their would-be prey, then abruptly dumping into a groaning scream as the beast lurched to life.

The rounded, nearly flat machine threw itself into full reverse as it pulled itself out of the fighting position it had dug into. Its hull was swiftly beginning to come around, dragging that dreaded main gun towards the hecodra. She needed to move, or she was going to suffer the consequences of other’s actions.

Her legs dropped from under her as she tried to flatten herself in the trench. A colossal cannon shot sounded out and the hepodoif that was riding her hull was blown away, shards of armor and internals scraping silver lines across her thick plating. The shell detonated deep in the mud behind her, the wet slop impacting the shielding over her powerplant and scattering the remaining hepodoifs.

The hecodra rotated her lower chassis, her legs hissing as she began to scamper along the trench. She had to get the drop on the dronetank. If she didn’t, the rest of the hepodoifs would be rendered into scrap and very likely herself as well. That wouldn’t do. She would show the enemy why she was called Cardinal Curse.

Her own powerplant gurgled and then roared as she surged up and over the embankment into open terrain. The dronetank was still aimed in its original direction - 70 degrees off of where she was at. She aimed - main hull, good angle - fired! The 105mm smoothbore roared its rebuke. The sabot dart hurtled towards the hull of the drone, impacting… and glancing away, a warbling pitch piercing the air from the ricochet.

The autoloader to the 105mm rattled. The carousel spun wildly through the ammunition. HE, HEAT, WP, none of them were the correct munitions. None would penetrate that angled hull.

Except for one.

The carousel slammed to a stop.

The selector arm raised the gun fired missile out of the carousel and into bare air, lining it up with the breach of the cannon.

The ram slammed it home.

The dronetank had caught her. Its neutral turn was faster than her ability to run across open ground. She trained her gun on target, waiting for the indicator that it was fully armed, before-

A shell ripped her flank open. Static filled her vision for several moments and she was thrown to the side, staggering heavily through the mud. A secondary detonation rocked her world to the side as her ammunition carousel lit up, the internal munitions blowing hard. The blowout panels flew off into the distant mud, a gout of flames spouting from her armor ribs. She wallowed in the deep mud, her legs struggling to gain traction.

The tank was going to be loaded again soon. Her gimballed 14mm chaingun swiveled over and began to hose the front of the dronetank, hoping to catch the sensor arrays. Instead her wild burst was rewarded with the blare of a jam alarm, the caseless munitions catching in the feed belt. Her right side manipulator unfolded from her armor and shoved into the mud, propping her hull enough to rotate her thorax around. Her 105mm read green. She could fire the gun missile if she just got it on target.

The crosshair pinned itself across the dronetank.

The dronetank re-focused its gun.

The missile flew. The tank’s howitzer roared.

The tank went up in flames.

But the world was already darkened for Cardinal Curse.

[star-spacer]

Peace and All Else

Part of my Heart Pirates x Reader series: The Sanctity of Sacred Spaces

With a life as chaotic as yours, you preferred quietness where you could find it.

You were someone who valued your peace. Not just as a personal preference, but for your job as well, as any interruption could result in an errant stitch, ruining the clothing, or a needle through the finger.

This need for quietness was ironic, considering you were on a crew of pirates, whose lives were marked by nothing but unending chaos. 

Paradoxical. Peculiar. But when you were a pirate crew who had a doctor at the helm, it didn’t seem that strange. You were simply one oddball amongst a crew full of them. Which lent to many, many escapades that echoed throughout the Tang. It was never silent, whether it be the noise of her machines humming away, or the sound of the galley’s mealtime preparations, there was always life in her halls. 

You wouldn’t trade it for any other thing, but sometimes everyone’s antics were a little overwhelming, and you had to slip away to seek out a moment of peace. Innevitably, you’d always end up in a few places. Namely: your storage-room-turned-workshop. 

After your welcoming into the folds of the Heart Pirates, they were kind enough to clear out an empty broom closet and convert it into a mini workspace for you. You had initially protested that it was too much, but Shachi had quickly shushed you by saying you’d pay it back by repairing everyone’s stuff and fixing up the infirmary’s linens. 

Eventually, those bolted shelves were filled until with rolls and rolls of fabrics, projects finished and not set in marked piles on your desk. Your walls filled with papers, ideas and sketches (both yours and not) displayed proudly. An almost-too-big-couch crammed right into the last unoccupied corner of the room, with a lopsided mannequin that Ikkaku fixed up for you standing proudly right next to it.

A home away from home.

Well, just a home now. You didn’t have any other place except with the Heart Pirates.

And in this peace, you could relax, and unwind. Pick up a thread and needle and weave your love into every fold and stitch of the fabric in your hands. Love that you hoped your nakama could feel.

Your hands jolted as the door to your workshop slammed open with a cry of your name. You grabbed the nearest object, a spare pincushion, and lobbed it with deadly accuracy at the intruder. Penguin yelped as the item beaned him right on the forehead, the brim of his hat barely protected him against your wrath. “What was that for?!?!”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER?! AND TO NOT SLAM MY DOOR?!”

“Sorry, sorry! But can I hide in here for a bit?”

You squinted at him, anger giving way to suspicion. “Why…?”

“Please!” The man clasped his hands in front of him, stepping into the room. “I’ll do anything!!”

An idea sparked in your head. “If you take my dish duty tonight… You can stay for as long as you want and I won’t rat you out if anybody comes asking.”

Not that you particularly hated doing the dishes, you knew the importance of equal distributions of chores (Law drilled that into every members’ head on the daily), but just this once, you had something pressing you’ve been wanting to do, so the extra time gained from Penguin taking on your duty was exactly what you needed.

Penguin didn’t even flinch. “I’ll take it!”

You grinned and let out a little ‘yos’. “You can hide behind the couch, There’s space there, and the floor’s padded.”

He was full of thanks as he dove behind the furniture, shuffling coming from it as he settled there. To complete the look, you walked over, grabbing the blanket on there, and draping it over the back of the couch, making it look natural.

Just as you were patting out the last of the wrinkles, slow, steady footsteps approached your workshop. A knock announced Uni’s presence before he stuck his head in through the open door.

“Hello, Uni. Can I help you with anything?”

A drone of your name. “Have you seen Penguin anywhere?”

You had to resist a smile. “No. Are you looking for him?”

A nod. Slow eyes tracked across your workshop but ultimately landed back on you again, standing next to the couch. “He used my gloves and didn’t clean off the grease.”

Wincing at that, you wondered why the hatted man thought that was smart in the first place. Uni’s gloves were far bigger than Penguin’s, but they were also slimmer, so shoving his mitts into those could’ve popped a few stitches. “If you want, you can bring them here, and I’ll fix and clean them up for you,” you offered.

Uni shook his head. “No need. I have spares. But I’m going to find Penguin to make him clean off the ones he used.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thank you. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re fine, Uni. See you around.”

You waited until his footsteps were out of earshot before cracking a smile. Penguin shot you a grateful thumbs up and a grin when you peeked your head over to look at him. “It’s pretty comfy down here,” he said, wiggling his shoulders a bit. “Mind if I sleep here a bit?”

“Be my guest,” you drawled, wandering back to your desk and picking up your pencil. “I’m sure the dust bunnies appreciate the company.”

I appreciate your company, was left unsaid, but you hoped Penguin understood.

Peace returned to the room, only interrupted by the sound of your pencil and paper as you sketched your way through clothing patterns. Then, the quiet whistles of Penguin’s snores began to fill the air. You paused your work, before shaking your head with a fond smile.

You didn’t know how long you worked before there was a small flash of blue and Penguin’s snores being cut off for something to hit the floor where he was. Knowing that it could only be Law’s fruit, you got up to investigate what was Shambled into your room to swap with Penguin. 

A note, attached to one of your missing pincushions by a pin.

“That bastard,” you muttered, reaching down to grab everything from the floor.

‘Stop hiding people in your workshop’ the messy scrawl of his handwriting read. 

You snickered, sitting back down at your work desk and depositing the pincushion in its rightful place on your table. Your lamp flickered on, and you moved it so it shone over the drawing on your table, a revised boiler suit for Bepo that had more ventilation, so the poor Mink wouldn’t feel the heat as much when things inevitably got hot in the Polar Tang.

Yes, you valued your peace. But your workshop was a sanctuary, too. Not just for you, but every single one of your nakama that wanted to wander through your doors, in search of help, repairs, or just plain comfort. Peace came in many forms, and your nakama’s peace was yours.

[multific]

The Cold Room

Elia Kane x Reader

Summary: You're a quiet, diligent Imperial officer. Elia Kane is poised, precise, and maddeningly unreadable, except when she leaves tea just how you like it.

Elia Kane had always been the image of order. Straight lines, quiet speech, precise timing.

She kept her uniform sharp, her work cleaner than most, her face unreadable. She was dependable, respected, and kept her distance.

Except when it came to you.

You were part of the same sector team, working beside each other more often than not.

You were careful, competent, and soft-spoken.

You always remembered protocol and kept your boots polished, but somehow still carried warmth around with you.

The way you nodded at the younger cadets. The way you smiled when you thought no one saw.

Elia saw.

She saw how you sometimes skipped meals when buried in reports. How your hands shook after long shifts on low sleep. How you tapped the rim of your tea mug when thinking, and how you always put others before yourself.

So she started taking care of you, quietly.

There was always a food tray waiting for you.

The caf machine never ran out of the kind you liked. And when your late shift rotated with hers, your path always seemed to cross hers in the quiet corridors, where she’d walk you back to your quarters without saying much, just making sure you got there safe.

You never suspected. You just smiled and thanked her.

Until she saw you laughing with another officer.

Lieutenant Corin.

Bold, self-assured, younger. He cracked some joke and you laughed, your hand resting briefly on his arm before you walked away.

Elia didn’t flinch. But she remembered the sting in her chest.

That night, alone in her cabin, she looked at the repair logs. Your heating system was on the scheduled maintenance list, not urgent. She tapped a few keys. Just a minor adjustment. Delayed heating. Cold water.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d come to her.

And you did.

It was late when your knock came. Soft. Hesitant.

She opened the door to find you wrapped in your coat, slightly flushed.

“Elia,” you said, voice low, “sorry to bother you, but my cabin’s systems are acting up. No heat. No hot water. And I haven’t slept. They said maintenance can’t get to it until tomorrow.” You looked down, embarrassed. “I didn’t know who else to ask.”

Her voice was calm, but her heart quickened. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, grateful. Her quarters were warmer, softer.

You let out a breath, slowly.

“I didn’t want to assume,” you said, rubbing your arms.

“I wouldn’t have opened the door if I didn’t want you here.”

That made you look at her. You paused, and then a smile tugged at your lips. “You’ve always looked out for me, haven’t you?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she crossed the room, retrieving a folded jumper and a spare shirt.

“You can shower,” she said, “and borrow these.”

You took them, fingertips brushing hers. “You’re too kind.”

“I’m not kind,” she said, so quiet you barely heard it. “Just honest, when I can be.”

Later, clean and warm, you stepped out in her oversized jumper. Her eyes moved to you, something soft in them now. Not guarded. Not cold.

You hesitated. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

“No,” she said at once. “You can take the bed. I’ll stay on top of the blanket.”

You smiled. “You always plan ahead.”

“I had a feeling you might need me.”

You froze slightly at that.

“Elia,” you murmured, “can I ask you something?”

She turned. “Of course.”

“Why me?”

She watched you, her expression unreadable, but then she sat at the edge of the bed, folding her hands.

“Because,” she began, voice quiet but clear, “you see things others don’t. You’re calm, and kind, and capable. You never raise your voice, even when it would be easier. I noticed you the first week you arrived. I’ve been watching over you since then.”

You blinked. “That long?”

She nodded. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought it was enough to keep you well.”

“You left tea for me. You always handed me my reports first.”

“I knew your favourite mug,” she said softly, “before I knew your full name.”

You stared, heart thudding.

“Elia…” You hesitated, then smiled. “I thought I was imagining things. I thought you were just polite. Or professional.”

“I’m both,” she said, “but not with anyone else the way I am with you.”

There was a long pause. You reached across the small space between you and touched her hand.

“I like you,” you said. “I have for a while. But I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“You do,” she said, and then, after a breath, “you always have.”

You leaned in first, hesitant, slow and she met you halfway.

The kiss was gentle, lingering. Warm like her hands, steady like her gaze. When you pulled back, you didn’t move far.

Her forehead touched yours.

“I’m glad the heater broke,” you whispered, teasing.

She smirked, eyes still closed. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

You opened your eyes. “Wait. Did you-?”

“No questions,” she said lightly. “Just stay.”

You laughed softly, curling into her side as you both slid under the covers.

In the morning, the first thing you noticed was the warmth.

The second was the hand resting over your waist, firm and steady.

“Elia,” you murmured sleepily.

She opened her eyes, alert already. “Good morning.”

“You sleep in uniform?”

She smiled faintly. “Just in case.”

You rolled onto your back and looked at her properly. “Last night wasn’t just a one-time thing, was it?”

“No,” she said, serious now. “Not unless you want it to be.”

“I don’t.”

You leaned in again, and kissed her a little longer this time, slow and certain.

Then you whispered, “Still not over the heating sabotage.”

She looked almost smug. “You’re warm now, aren’t you?”

You laughed against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re impossible.”

“But effective,” she murmured, arms wrapping around you as if it had always been this way.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel alone.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[primamchorus]

Moving Pieces

The machinations of fate and duty weave their way through the oncoming days as each piece plays its part. Where a part of the board remains veiled in blissful ignorance, the other part of the board must prepare for the fog of war to lift so that they may play their parts to the best of their abilities. Then there are also those who wish to mold their fate betwixt their very own fingers as events start to come to a crest.

Word count: 3,344

FFXV: Reimagined Table of Contents

<- Previous • Next ->

"Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever sit inside that beautiful car again…" Prompto wistfully sighed as he rested his arms over the back of the dining booth. He stared longingly outside the window toward the garage — an exaggerated vie for humor…perhaps for himself.

As it stood, though, the group had to stay overnight at the Hammerhead pit stop as the Regalia was taken care of. Yet another wrench thrown into their plans of being punctual in arriving at Galdin Quay. At least they had taken care of the reapertail menace that the people of Hammerhead had wanted quelled for a while.

Still…they did have a schedule to abide by.

"Sitting most of the day was pretty nice," Gladiolus agreed, looking over the booth's back toward the garage as well. His arm was resting across the back, a small sheen of sweat on his skin from a morning jog around the area before it got too hot out.

"Napping was even better," Noctis chimed in, elbow propped upon the table as his other finger idly traced circles on the menu he had.

"Are you all quite done?" Ignis asked, his brow locked in a slight furrow as he listened to the lamentations of the others — exaggerated or no. He had been busy counting up the gil they earned from showing off the reapertail barbs as proof to claim their bounty from the Hunter representative. It was not a lot, but it was still better than nothing.

The reapertail barbs had been…accepted, yes, but they were also cumbersome items that made their way into the inventory of the party. Materials to have been used for elemancy as they had no use otherwise…

As Ignis set aside small stacks of gil to calculate how they were to budget moving forward, he sighed and leaned back in the booth. He then looked toward everyone else who looked none the worse for wear after their exploits.

"We'll have to take more jobs as we come across them, I'm afraid… If we want to ensure a comfortable journey that is…" Ignis informed the everyone before he finally started taking the bits of payment and placing them into a coin purse.

Prompto slid into a slouch in his seat, canting his head back against it with a grimace that accompanied his groan of impatience. "Man, and I was really looking forward to meeting Lunafreya before the wedding was supposed to happen. How can I be Noct's best man and not even know the lady he's marrying!?"

Prompto's question was left hanging, and when he looked up to see why it seemed everyone was paying him no mind, he saw that everyone had their attention toward the window. Turning his attention as well, Prompto caught sight of Cindy walking toward the diner with purpose to her steps and a furrow to her brow. A far cry from the chipper woman they met the day prior.

"… What's eating her, I wonder…" Prompto muttered.

The bell to the diner rang as Cindy made her way in. She spared no time finding where the boys were and walked over immediately.

"Something didn't happen to the Regalia, did it?" Noctis asked once Cindy came to a halt at their table.

"Thankfully, no," Cindy began. Her shoulders heaved with a sigh, her lips pursing with concern. "I actually got a hunt for y'all since ya seem done with the varmints that've been causin' some right chaos 'round here."

Prompto leaned forward — as did Gladiolus and Noctis. Ignis was the only one that seemed to keep an air of calm about his person.

"Something else has been stirring up trouble?" Gladiolus pressed, moving his arms so that they were folded over his chest.

Shaking her head, Cindy went on to explain: "This hunt's actually for a person — fella named Dave went off a while back, and we ain't heard a word of anythin' from 'im since. If ya still got that map I gave you, Highness, I can mark where he said he'd be goin' off to."

"Yeah, right." Noctis reached back into one of his pockets and the produced the folded map for Cindy to take.

"Some bachelor party this is turning out to be, huh, Noct?" Prompto said with a bit of a laugh while Cindy circled a part of the map some ways outside of Hammerhead's borders.

"Don't even joke," Noctis groaned.

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

The lands of Tenebrae grew smaller and smaller as Lunafreya stared out the window of the airship. Ravus hovered close, though kept a stiff upper lip as he stood at the helm. There had been nothing Lunafreya could have said or done to change this outcome — not when she had been surrounded by magitek infantry at the time and the only patrol she had that was of any comfort was summoned away before she could make what was supposed to be a discreet escape from Fenestala Manor so that she could take a boat to cross the waters to Accordo.

So now Lunafreya stood there in the airship, her eyes pointed out the nearest window. The irony of still being caged while flying… It made her lips twitch back bitterly.

"You're not still moping, are you?" Ravus asked, glancing over in Lunafreya's direction. "I can't imagine you would try to escape the wedding. Is it not what you wanted?"

Lunafreya's jaw clenched momentarily. Slowly looking back over her shoulder at Ravus, Lunafreya kept a placid expression. It was the same expression she forced herself to carry in the presence of those who have clipped her wings — Ravus included.

"Niflheim speaks of wanting peace, and yet they freely offer me as the Oracle of Tenebrae to wed with the Prince of Lucis?" Lunafreya continued. "Does it not strike you as strange? Why not offer a lady of Niflheim if they mean to build a lasting foundation of peace?"

"… Another thing that the Niflheim Empire has bade me go through with," Lunafreya started in response, voice unwavering. Her brow furrowed slightly as she turned her attention back to the shrinking visage of Tenebrae.

One last look…

Lunafreya had been suspicious ever since Ravus approached her and broke news of Emperor Aldercapt's plans for her. To say her heart leapt at the news would have been an understatement — marrying one's childhood friend was a mercy seldom afforded to those within hers and Noctis' positions. Though, to maintain an act of ignorance or confusion, Lunafreya could let no one know she had been communicating with Noctis for years now with the aid of Umbra and Pryna.

"Solara is far too you—"

"I am clearly not speaking about a child, which you clearly think I still am." Lunafreya's words bit at Ravus, intentionally so. "There are other eligible women of Niflheim within positions that could build a better trust between the two nations, yet they choose Tenebrae knowing the Oracles and Royals of Lucis have been allies since times of old."

She knew the general rotation — the political motions of trading princes and princesses in arranged marriages between nations. Get them wed, get them to bed one another, and then produce an heir. What Lunafreya failed to see was how Tenebrae and Lucis having a more solid link to one another benefited Niflheim when they already had Lucis backed into a corner.

Even if the marriage was a claimed 'olive branch' to the treaty negotiations, the arrangement reeked. It also spoke to how much of a fool the Emperor must have thought Lunafreya was — how much of a fool anyone was for buying into such a ploy. Perhaps her brother was a bigger fool than she gave him credit for.

"… It is not your place to question the reasoning behind the emperor's decisions," Ravus said after a moment, sighing with a hint of annoyance soon afterward.

"Perhaps, then, you should ask more questions for yourself," Lunafreya retorted, keeping her back pointed toward her brother. She caught the sound of Ravus issuing a scoff, further proving his annoyance for the discussion at hand. He was the one who initiated, however, so Lunafreya felt little for his discomfort or upset due to the direction their chat took.

"We arrive within Insomnia in the next twelve hours. I suggest you make yourself comfortable," Ravus said, returning his attention toward the console in front of him.

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

"Luche," Drautos called out as he walked down the hall of Glaive HQ. There was a severe expression on his face.

"Sir." Luche straightened his stance, standing at attention as Drautos neared.

"My office. Now." Drautos made no effort to slow down, passing Luche as he continued down on his way. Luche was heard falling into step behind Drautos, and their trek remained silent. As they reached the office door and Luche was gestured inside, Drautos went to take a seat at his desk after closing the door behind them. Again, silence remained an ever present companion to them, Drautos' chair creaking the only thing breaking the silence as he leaned back.

Then, Drautos finally dug into the inner pocket of his coat and produced a folded slip of paper. He tossed it onto the desk, watching as Luche stared down at it. Bringing his elbows to sit upon the armrests of his chair, Drautos looked up at Luche. His severe expression remained.

"… I'm giving you the opportunity to explain yourself," Drautos said.

"Sir…?" Luche remained stock still before the wooden desk, his eyes flicking up to meet with Drautos. Tentatively, he reached out, and Drautos could see how Luche's fingers trembled. When he unfolded the paper, the change in expression was visible — how Luche's clinging to this stoic sense of self gave way to this grimace of dread as his eyes briefly skimmed the contents of the slip.

Drautos gave Luche a look of expectation, brow raising now that the slip and its contents had been seen.

"It's…" Luche began, his fingers then gripping the paper tightly to make it crumple while his expression twisted into anger. He then spat, his voice an irritated hiss, "You can't tell me that you want to keep fighting this pointless war the king sends us out to with little regard if we come back alive or dead."

Luche crumpled the paper further and then threw it down onto the floor before looking back at Drautos as his emotions continued to bubble forth. "All the king cares about is this last bastion of safety for the people who came before those who were so unfortunate to lose their homes to Niflheim! He turns his back upon the people of Lucis for this city!"

Drautos lifted a hand to cease Luche from continuing.

"I should assign you new duties with someone to watch over you," Drautos said, a steeled edge to his tone.

For a moment, Luche's brow twitched as he regarded Drautos with some confusion. Though his stance remained rigid, he kept his attention steady. There was a question that danced behind his lips — that much seemed obvious to Drautos as he read Luche's expression.

"I have a job for you instead — someone of your caliber should see to it," Drautos went on.

"… If this is a means to have me under your thumb, I'd rather take the punishment," Luche tersely said.

"On the contrary…" Drautos rose from his seat and walked to the front of his desk, leaning down to pick up the discarded scrap of paper. He then tucked it away into his jacket once more. It would have to be burned later. "I'm sending you outside the Wall to take care of…an inconvenience to your plans. Rest assured that this mission I want to send you on won't reach the eyes nor ears of any of the military nobles that command the Guard and the Glaive. This matter is between us only."

Luche's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed as he attempted to hide his disbelief. After a moment of consideration, he finally asked, "And what is it you'd have me do, Sir?"

"A drop point interception. I suggest you take any of your trusted allies with you — once you have them collected, contact me." Saying this, Drautos pat the location on his jacket where the crumpled paper was. "And once you're out at the location, you can use any force necessary… In fact, I encourage it. For hearth and home."

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

Blood coated Aestus' hands and fingers. He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiping them down as he walked along the now empty halls of the Fenestala Manor. Once they were mostly cleaned up, he dug into his pocket to pull out his identification cards; they were branded with Gralea and Niflheim's crests and coat of arms.

Rubeus Cinis was the name printed across the identification card. That along with whatever vitals that needed to he included. Height. Weight. Eye color. Hair color… All alongside the standard brands and numbers that were assigned to citizens of the nation.

Aestus tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, the plastic cards clattering against the marble floor. No longer were they useful to him. Not with Niflheim already having made its way into Lucian territory — not with Lunafreya already on her way over.

A different pocket buzzed, and Aestus paused, fishing the phone from his breast pocket out and answering it.

"This is Cinis," Aestus answered, idly walking toward one of the stained glass windows and peering beyond it to the best of his ability. The magitek that patrolled the grounds had since been called away.

"Rubeus!" The voice on the other end sounded relieved. "Are you en route to arriving in Insomnia?"

A small huff of air left Aestus' nostrils. Composing himself, he kept his voice low: "I ran into…complications on that front. But there's a second wave heading out. I'll be meeting with Brigadier General Tummelt and departing with his fleet into Lucis."

"Understood. We look forward to receiving you." The line clicked and went dead. Aestus looked down at his phone briefly before he tucked back away into his coat.

"I'm sure you are…" Aestus quietly commented to himself. Looking forward, he continued down the opulent hall, a stoic expression upon his face. With the Fenestala Manor more or less to himself, there were some things that Aestus wanted to see to before he made a call for transportation back to Niflheim. So he traversed the familiar route that led to Stella's old room.

Glancing about, Aestus made sure he truly was alone before he silently opened the door and slipped inside. Stella's room is how he remembered it being: dark and untouched since her death.

Disappearance…

Lunafreya's voice nagged in way of correction at the back of Aestus' mind. Even if he did not believe that Stella was around any longer, Lunafreya's insistence that Stella was still somewhere out there clawed its way through his memories. Perhaps it was better to hold onto that hope…he had come to that conclusion after all. Aestus was certain Lunafreya only said as such to have some glimmer of hope in this 'gilded cage' — as she so called it. Not that she was wrong, of course…

Aestus walked through the room, his light footsteps further muffled by the blue and white floral rug that spanned a large portion of the room. He refused to draw the drapes from over the stained glass windows to let in more light, instead pulling his phone out again to use the torch it provided. With the beam of light guiding his way, Aestus walked over to the desk that sat all by itself a couple paces away from the bed. Reaching under the hollow that allowed for someone to sit at it, his fingers trailed over the wood until he felt a latch.

Pressing it firmly, something soon popped open, its sound dull within the desk. Once Aestus heard it, he knelt down to look under the hollow to find the newly opened compartment. There were envelopes and pictures nestled within — items ferried to him thanks to the aid of Lunafreya and her divine messengers. Tucking some of the smaller items away, it was only when Aestus got to an unmarked envelope that he opted to ignore after receiving it earlier that week.

He tore it open and pulled out the paper within.

Spade,

The sky will shatter above all, though you probably knew this. The deer will need to flee…but none of them are ready to become the wolf. They are but fawns; if only they could keep their camouflage.

The sun's light will dim soon. With it, the world. It falls to a select few to continue to light the way. The wolf included.

A wolf must not snap its jaws at the bird that is to come.

A hastily written message, Aestus realized. His brow furrowed before he sighed irritably and crumpled both message and envelope in his hand. After a moment, flames licked at his palm, eating the paper within till it became nothing but ash. Letting it fall to the ground, Aestus lightly clapped his hands together to rid himself of the residue before taking his leave of the room and turning off his phone's torch.

It was time to call for transportation and prepare for the return to Lucis…

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

Babysitting was not what Libertus liked doing. On one hand, the passenger he was chauffeuring was quiet. On the other hand, the passenger he was chauffeuring was quiet.

Libertus glanced up into the rear view mirror, looking at the woman who sat in the back of the car — Primam Chorus, her name was. He knew the Chorus twins — knew that they were nobles that were made to serve in the Glaive at any rate. He was as confused as any of those that were in his station. Hell, he bet even Drautos was confused about why her and her noble twin brother were serving alongside outsiders to Insomnia.

He could ask, he supposed.

"So, uh…" Libertus started. "Why's it you and your brother were put into the Glaive?"

"Huh?" Primam looked up from leaning against the window and staring idly out. She shook her head, and her voice soon came out, hesitant in nature: "Oh…it's… Our mother, she…"

Libertus restrained his sigh of impatience as silence filled the air between them.

"… Sorry, it's…" Primam continued. "It's a little bit of a touchy subject, but I guess…it's… I guess it's not as touchy as anything you've been through beyond the Wall."

"We ain't playin' any tragic backstory competition."

Primam managed a small scoff of amusement. That was a kind of victory on Libertus' behalf — he would take that much.

"My mother thought it best that my brother and I serve as Glaive because… Well, because of our ancestry. House Chorus saw ennoblement through a Galahdian trader who was skilled in combat and gave his loyalty to the king at the time," Primam briefly explained. "So…our mother said we should…serve alongside those who we should see as our kin."

"Huh…" Libertus' brow furrowed slightly. He glanced up at the rear view mirror again. "Sounds pretty harsh as far as nobility is concerned. Ain't you the ones who usually end up servin' the king?"

A wry laugh left Primam's lips. "I suppose my mother doesn't make a habit of visiting the Glaive… Nothing seems to be 'too harsh' for her." She shook her head. "But yes… Many of us do usually end up becoming Crownsguard. My brother and I had sent in our applications after our schooling had concluded. Though I… I had put in a request to…also pursue college courses at UIC."

That must have been part of the 'touchy subject' with how Primam's tone shifted.

"University of Insomnia City, huh?" Libertus kept his eyes on the road, fingers flexing around the steering wheel. He felt a pang of familiarity for the situation. "Shouldn't be surprised you had somethin' nice goin' for ya. Sorry it didn't end up workin' out."

"Thanks…" Primam replied, looking back out the window.

[harrysdaydream-tpwk]

part 1 - how you meet

summary: part one, harry and y/n meet for the first time. it isn’t smooth sailing, but shes intrigued.

warnings: none

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Fuck, shit!”, you swore, hitting the espresso maker, once and then again, when the only thing it did was to spew more steam at you, fogging up your glasses.

“You alright?”, one of your coworkers asked and you nodded, though defeated.

“You think you can take over preparing the drinks for me, while I’ll handle the register? If I have to fight this machine one more time, something will be broken and it will either be my hand or the coffeemaker.” You looked at him desperately, your hands folded together in a silent plea.

“Alright, alright”, he laughed, “Don’t want to call an ambulance because you couldn’t control your anger. At least I won’t have to deal with asshole customers anymore.” He passed you and you blew him a bunch of exaggerated kisses before sliding right behind the cash register, slightly more motivated to finish the rest of your shift than before.

It was unusually quiet for Friday afternoon, normally all of the tables would’ve been taken- from desperate college students trying to finish their essays to single mothers, hoping to rekindle their failed love life. Although the job was a pain in your ass and barely covered all the bills and loans you had to pay off, it always had something to offer for your personal entertainment.

But now, as you waited for something to happen, other than the few fifteen years olds throwing straws at each other in the corner booth, you felt terribly bored. Your elbows quickly found their way to the counter and you put your chin in your waiting hands, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

The nameless indie music idling out of the speakers above your head lulled you in a state of trance as you stared at the passer-by’s outside of the store, the big glass front not sparing you any detail. Even your coworker, who was the only employee inside the store besides you, had sat down on a few cases of soda stacked together, blasting TikTok and its annoying sounds throughout the whole store, but in this moment you couldn’t care less.

Then, suddenly, you were ripped out of your daydreaming by the bell ringing above the door and you stood up fast, startling not only the newcomers, but yourself as well.

“Hey, welcome in. Is there anything I can get started for you?”, you asked, peering at the three men, who just stared for a moment, as if assessing the situation. Weird.

The place you worked at was in a small side street, away from the bigger crowds, with quirky names for almost all of the things you had on your menu, so you gave your new customers a second to understand and choose something from your assortment.

Before you could turn away and pretend to be busy, one of them spoke up, though quietly, you could barely hear him.

“Hi. Sorry, we didn’t expect such an enthusiastic greeting. Is there anything you would recommend?” His voice was deep and gentle and you couldn’t help but admit that he looked exactly like the kind of man you would usually go for.

“I don’t know”, you reply, your voice now back to its usual octave and enthusiasm- or rather the lack thereof, “I usually just get the Iced Caramel Macchiato.”

To this day, you still refused to read any of the actual names of the drinks out loud.

“I’ll take that one then”, the man said, smiling at you. You nod as you type his order into your register.

“Anything else?”, you asked, smiling your “customer service smile” as your friends jokingly called it and the other two men nodded, replying with their orders.

“Alright, will that be to-go or are you staying in?” You waited for a second while they looked at each other and thought to yourself “That question couldn’t have been that hard”.

Finally, the guy with the long, brown hair mumbled “To go, please.”

“Okay then, swipe your card whenever you’re ready. And I need a name to call when your coffee is done.”

“Harry”, the guy who spoke to you first replied and stepped forward, pressing his card on the card reader. You nodded satisfied.

You turned around briefly, to check if you coworker, Charlie, got the order. Pleased that he was already on it, you directed your gaze back to the front of the store. Startled, you reeled back. Harry, who was the only one still standing in front of the counter, was starting at you intently. The other two had fallen back, standing near the door, as if they were waiting- no rather watching out for something- or someone.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”, you inquired, observing how his shoulders rode up defensively. He was wearing a long, blue jacket, a hat and sunglasses and if you were honest, his outfit looked absolutely ridiculous. Paired with the black nike shorts, he looked a bit mismatched, like he was unsure whether it was warm out or not. You could’ve easily answered that question, seeing as you had been sweating profusely since you left your studio apartment this morning.

You were sure you looked disgusting, your uniform clinging uncomfortably to the body parts you most certainly didn’t want them to stick to, mascara probably smudged from the humidity from the steam that had been blowing in your face earlier.

How he managed to still look fresh, even with the thick jacket on was an absolute mystery to you.

“No, no, sorry. I like your button”, he answered, referring to the grumpy cat pin your mother had gifted you a while ago. It was ridiculous and cheesy, but it reminded you of home, so you wore it anytime you felt even slightly homesick. You debated telling him as much, but you weren’t up for much of a conversation, so you settled on a polite “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded.

“Order for Harry?”, Charlie called and the man looked around, rather paranoid, as if he was scared someone was going to jump up from behind the counter any second.

“That’s me”, he said, still shyly smiling at you before turning towards the pick-up station.

“Have a nice day”, you called out sarcastically behind him and he waved, walking out the door, his company joining soon after.

You exhaled deeply and turned towards Charlie again, who suddenly squealed loudly. “Oh my God, what?”, you said, clutching your hand over your chest.

“Do you know who that was?”, he asked, excitedly, “Harry fucking Styles. And I think he liked you with all that staring he did.”

“No, it wasn’t. Was it?”, you asked disbelievingly. He nodded, “Oh, yeah. It was him. I’d recognize him anywhere. I think he’s actually having a show in town tonight.”

“But why would he come in here out of all places? I mean, we’re far away from anything slightly entertaining or fun.” You looked at Charlie quizzically.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, “Maybe that’s exactly the point. What are the odds of getting recognized by hoards of fans in a small shop like this?”

“I guess so.”

You grabbed a wet cloth from the sink, starting to wipe down the counter, not able to shake the fact that superstar Harry Styles just walked into your workplace, however annoyed you might’ve been at that moment, it had felt oddly right and somehow meaningful. You touched the pin on your apron carefully, smiling at the chipped feeling of the plastic fading at the edges.

-

Two days later, the incident- which was how Charlie kept calling it, was nothing but a fun story you could tell your friends and something to be teased about by your coworkers. Yes, you had been kind of rude to him, maybe you could’ve been a bit nicer. Treat People with Kindness or whatever he always preached. But it was in the past now. It wasn’t like you would ever see him again.

At least that’s what you told the part of yourself that kept insisting that maybe he would return- the nagging voice that believed Charlie, who kept shooting you meaningful glances whenever one of Harry’s songs played on the radio.

You were in a middle of a lunch rush, the small room of the shop packed with people, when your wishful thinking suddenly became reality. Right in the middle, as if the crowd had split in two, he appeared. Or maybe he had just entered through the door like everyone else did and patiently waited in line. You couldn’t be sure.

“Harry, hi”, you greeted sincerely, when he approached the counter, “What brings you back?” You smiled ruefully, thinking about your last interaction.

“Hi. Slightly better mood today, huh?” So he had picked up on it last time. Your eyes travelled down his body quickly- you couldn’t help it, sue you. He was wearing a white button down this time, messily tucked in a light washed pair of denim shorts- although he managed to make it look stylish- and no sunglasses. His hair was hidden by a yellow crochet bucket hat. Cute.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know who you were and I wasn’t having a good day. What can I do for you today?”, you apologized.

“I think everyone deserves kindness, even if they weren’t popular. But it’s alright, can’t always be nice, especially in customer service. I get it, worked in a bakery for some time back at home.” He took his own shtick quite seriously you noted, but smiled politely.

“I would love to talk to you some more, but the place is packed right now. Is there anything I can get for you?”, you tried again.

“Yeah, yeah”, he chuckled, “I’ll get the Iced Caramel Macchiato again, it was really good the last time and also-“, he paused for a second, looking at your display of pastries, “One of the vegan carrot cakes, please.”

“Sure, anything else?”

“No, that’s all, thank you.”

You finish the transaction and say goodbye before tending to the next customer, a middle aged woman raising her eyebrows impatiently at you.

The rest of your shift goes by smoothly, with only a few minor incidents disrupting your flow. It all felt to good to be true, your interaction with Harry still in the back of your mind. The conversation had left you unsatisfied, craving more.

You didn’t know much about him, besides that he was Harry Styles and apparently currently on tour. He shared something with you and you couldn’t help but wonder if there would’ve been more if you had just let him talk. That’s what you reprimanded yourself for as you took of your apron and the shirt you wore for work in the locker rooms, pulling on a black hoodie with a nonsensical print on the front.

“I’ll see you tomorrow”, you yelled in the general direction of the store as you leave through the back door, a cigarette already waiting to be lit in your right hand. It was a bad habit and you were desperate to stop smoking- but on days like this it was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Hey”, a voice suddenly called and you shot up surprised, the cig almost falling out of your mouth. You took a quick drag before lowering it. Turning around, you spotted Harry of all people leaning against the wall of the back of your shop.

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”, you asked disbelievingly, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Sorry, one of your coworkers told me what time you get off. They also told me your name”, he explained, peering at you with his green eyes. Fuck, why did he have to be so handsome?

“Stalker-much?”, you couldn’t help but ask, only half joking. You brought your cigarette up to your lips again, inhaling deeply, before blowing out the smoke through your nose- welcoming the rush the nicotine gave you.

“I just wanted the chance to have a conversation with you, Y/N”, he said, rolling his eyes, but smiling at the same time. It was weird hearing your name out of his mouth.

“Why?” He shrugged helplessly, observing you smoke for a second before answering.

“Fuck if I know. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, even on stage, and my friends kept teasing me. I’m in town until tomorrow, then I’m off to Cardiff.”

“Yeah, I get it. My coworker Charlie kept wagging his eyebrows at me everytime he saw someone wearing your merch. He was the one preparing the drinks for you.” You hoisted up your tote bag, which kept slipping of your shoulder.

Harry chuckled. “He did a pretty good job if I do say so myself. The Macchiato was really good. Cashier had some perks too though.”

“He’ll pass out if I tell him what you just said. But tell me more about this cashier. Were they cute?”, you flirted back, a smirk on your face.

“Oh, very. I was hoping it’d get her number by chance”, he tried as you threw the butt of your cigarette on the pavement, stomping it out with your checkered Vans.

“Well, you’re in luck. It’s not everyday an international pop-star asks me for my cell. Can’t resist your charm”, you said quietly. His shoulders dropped slightly, as if remembering his position in the world, but he caught himself.

Harry hands you his phone and says, “Just type it in yourself. It’s always easier this way.”

You nodded, taking his phone with clammy hands. What a weird, surreal world you were suddenly thrown into. The fact that he trusted you enough to just pass you his phone. The fact that he was standing opposite you, watching you, being interested in you. You wondered if this was all a dream you’d suddenly be woken up from.

But no one did. This was reality, you realized as you pressed the cellphone back into his waiting hand, brushing it with the movement. You looked at each other for a moment.

“The cute girl from the coffee place? Really?”, he asked and you giggled. Honest to God giggled. What has your life become?

Harry pocketed his phone, letting his hands hang loosely at his sides. “Well”, he cleared his throat, “I have to go. Rehearsals and all that. I’m already too late. I’ll text you?” He looked at you hopefully.

“Sure”, you answered, smiling softly, “I’ll be waiting.” You step closer, standing on your tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek- a barely there brush of lips, but he still blushed.

“I’ll see you around, H.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

well, this marks the first part of my first ever series on this account. i’m actually so excited to see what people think. don’t forget to leave a like& follow for more<3 stay tuned!

[ladamedusoif]

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike x gn!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 3

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, turn on notifications for my posts.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1280 words

Warnings: Implied smut, some heavy making out, Marcus being an adorable foodie romantic art nerd, fluff city. No use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of Reader whatsoever. 

Summary: Snowed in and forced to stay over at your colleague’s Georgetown apartment, Marcus whips up a sweet treat to keep you warm.

“I don’t have much by way of dessert,” Marcus muses from the kitchen, where he’s peering into his fridge. 

You finish gathering the last of the takeout boxes from his dining table and begin cleaning them out at the sink. “You’ve given me a room for the night, Marcus, I don’t need dessert. Hey, where’s your recycling bin?” 

He gestures to a cupboard near the sink and leans back on the counter, thinking. “Actually, would you like some hot chocolate? I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Everything he needs?, you think, wondering what more you could possibly need for hot chocolate beyond some powdered mix and milk. Marshmallows, if you were feeling fancy.

“Sure, sounds good to me.” 

He grins in delight and starts rummaging in a cupboard, emerging with bars of dark chocolate and a jar of ground cinnamon, before delving into the fridge and retrieving milk and heavy cream. A heavy-bottomed saucepan is produced and positioned on the hob as Marcus mutters something about finding his grater.

This isn’t going to be cheap-ass powdered mix, is it.

Alright, full disclosure: if someone hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you had a teeny tiny harmless little workplace crush on Marcus Pike, you’d have to answer in the affirmative.

And who wouldn’t? He was kind and funny, and smart as hell, quietly undertaking a PhD in art history and cultural policy at Georgetown while continuing to work full-time. He was one of the few people in the team who actually kept up with the art world, regularly seeking you out after a new show opened at the National Gallery to exchange your thoughts on it over coffee in the canteen. 

The fact that he was also really cute didn’t hurt, either. 

When snow and ice blocked the routes out of DC back to your place in Alexandria, leaving you stranded, Marcus immediately suggested that you stay over at his place. See? Kind. 

“I’ll be fine, Marcus, really,” you’d protested, searching for hotel rooms in the city and recoiling when you saw the prices - and the lack of options. “Anyway, isn’t your place a one-bed?”

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve got a big couch, spare blankets and pillows, and I won’t stand by and see you hunkering down here for the night. C’mon. We’ll get takeout - I know a great little Korean place.”

He carefully grates the dark chocolate into a bowl while you whisk most of the cream. 

“Y’know, I really thought you were going to pull out a couple of sachets of Swiss Miss? I should have known better.”

Marcus chuckles to himself and checks the saucepan of milk. “Usually I’m a Swiss Miss kinda guy, I have to admit. But when you have guests, you do the Viennese hot chocolate. I like to make a fuss.”

You hold out the bowl of cream for him to inspect and he nods, eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. You put it down and fold your arms as you watch him work.

“Is it really Viennese, or is that just a name they use to make it sound all fancy?”

He laughs and looks at you in mock horror. “Of course it’s really Viennese! I even had it for the first time in Vienna.” Marcus takes the saucepan off the heat and adds the chocolate along with some sugar, a little cinnamon, and a dash of heavy cream. He begins to whisk the mixture carefully.

“It was one summer when I was a student - I had almost no money, but I did have one of those European Interrail tickets and I tried to see as much great art as I could. Took an overnight train to Vienna to see the Klimts at the Belvedere.” He pauses his whisking to assess the texture, then resumes.

“Like I said, I was down to my last few dollars - or Euros, or whatever the currency was at the time - but the one thing I was gonna do besides see the Klimts was go to a real Viennese café.”

The hot chocolate is frothy now, thick and glossy. Marcus nods in the direction of a cupboard and you open it, finding some mugs.

“So I’m guessing you got to a café.”

He turns off the stove and smiles at the memory. “Sure did. Café Central. It was like something out of a Stefan Zweig novel.” He takes a ladle out of a drawer and proceeds to fill the mugs with the steaming chocolate. “And I had a mug of something a bit like this - but much, much better - and a slice of apple strudel, and it was heaven.”

Marcus finishes off the chocolate by placing a large dollop of whipped cream in each mug, and hands one to you.

“This is…incredible. I don’t think I can ever go back to Swiss Miss.”

Marcus chuckles and sips his chocolate, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m glad you like it. Perfect drink for a snowed-in night.”

You take another deep draught of the delicious, smooth drink and hum happily to yourself. “And I’m checking out flights to Vienna first chance I get.”

He looks at you intently. “Uh, you’ve… uh…”

You can see a giggle rising in his chest. He can’t suppress it, and he laughs out loud. 

“Why is the thought of me going to Vienna so funny to you?”

Marcus’s expression shifts to one of concern and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that sounds wonderful - you’ll love it - it’s just…” He reaches over and gently rubs the tip of your nose with his thumb, removing a large blob of whipped cream. “You had a little, uh, something.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.” You look down into your mug, a little embarrassed, but try to lighten the mood. “Feels like we’re in a scene from a cheesy holiday movie, y’know?”

He quirks his head. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘one character has whipped cream or something on their face and the other has to swipe it away and then…’”

You stop short, realising what you were about to say - and becoming very aware of just how close you are to him now.

Marcus’s voice is warm and low. “And then?”

Is he moving closer?

“And then… um. And then they usually, uh…”

He finishes your sentence by leaning in and kissing you, softly, gently at first. Your breath hitches as you feel the softness of his lips on yours. 

He breaks away for a second, staying close. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s great.” 

He takes your mug and puts it on the coffee table before cradling your face in his big hands and leaning in to kiss you again: a little harder, now, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth as your hands reach for his body and you lean back on the couch. 

You moan and whine with pleasure as you feel Marcus’s hands caressing your body, taste the bittersweetness of the chocolate on his lips and tongue. As he moves his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and licking his way along the sensitive skin, you begin to unbutton his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.

“Marcus?”

He looks up for an instant, hair tousled and eyes as deep and dark and shiny as perfect hot chocolate.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re keeping me warm in bed.”

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more