#i dearly want to crawl through this man's brain a few times

[oseike]

Everyone talls about yjh being doomed by the narrative but if you look at it with a wider lens, the one truly doomed is kdj. He knows the one he wants to save most (yjh) can only be saved if he himself becomes that which yjh hates, a constellation. He does it, expecting yjh to turn on him in the end. Then later he realizes to fulfill a contract he must end himself, yet also he must become a prisoner; to free him is to doom everything, so he shatters himself into countless pieces so he can never be saved. He has already sacrificed himself over and over in ways both large and small; he continually lays himself upon the altar, and finally becomes beyond any reasonable reach.

It's only because yjh is entirely unreasonable and hsy is ultimately both guilty and imminently skilled that he could, eventually, be saved - even though I fully believe he didn't think it would happen.

He is the literal worst princess to save, he's actively sabotaging his own redemption

[saintrocklee]

title: Need prompt: I’ll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you pairing: itachi x reader publish date: 09.08.22 non-massacre AU

“Why are you here?”

“To see you.”

dedication: to anon; who asked for this prompt like three decades ago. i love you dearly & i am so sorry. i hope the wait was worth it. warnings: none! just pure fluff & a sprinkle of angst. itachi is, in my bestie @chanfictions words, “an aloof house cat.” we love that for him.

The chill from the early morning’s air has the hair on your arms rising, but you don’t move. You’re waiting for the sun to fully come up, so you can climb back into your apartment window and sleep. Sleeping in the dark was difficult after missions; the weight of the things you’ve done seemed heavier at night.

There’s an irritating itch on your neck and you distantly think it might be some blood you missed, so maybe you’ll shower before you crawl into bed. Your latest mission plays back on a loop and you can barely hold in the cringe that comes with remembering what you did. Typically an assignment like that would require some form of comfort from your team afterwards. A quick lunch. A light training session. But they’re all out of the village and you don’t think you have the required energy to go and find anyone else to lean on.

Someone specific came to mind, but you quickly dismiss the thought. You hadn’t seen your old friend in weeks and you know clan duties on top of whatever the ANBU required of him left him out of the village for days at a time. You were busy as well, and you didn’t seek him out as much as you used to. There was a confusing swell of feelings in your chest regarding the man in question and you weren’t in the mood to try and sort them all out. So you let the divide between you two fester. Grow.

Maybe one day you’d process your feelings. Maybe you’d even speak to him about them. Not today though. Not for awhile.

You’re not sure if you’re being protective of yourself, or a coward. Probably both.

It’s crippling, the loneliness that seems to gut you in this moment. You’re not used to sitting still like this, to being stagnant. Just a rare moment, that you’re separated from your teammates and friends, with nothing pressing to attend to.

And your successful mission, replaying on a loop.

The blood, the pleas. This one will haunt you for awhile. Your brain is starting to buzz, to tune everything out, and you think you’ll get a moment of peace while the sun finishes rising.

You hear him before you sense him.

“I didn’t know you’d be back so early.”

The silk in his voice is deeper than you remembered. As always, it settles right under your lungs, and you can already feel the warmth start to spread through your chest. His arrival was completely silent, and you idly wonder how long he’d been standing behind you.

“Keeping tabs on me?” You ask dully, your eyes not once leaving the view in front of you. The sun was just about to peak above the surface and you didn’t want to miss it. You’d been waiting for awhile for it to come up.

Itachi settles himself down next to you and it takes more control than you thought for you to not immediately turn toward him. You’ve found that your last few encounters have been more heartbreaking for you than you’d anticipated, and the storm of feelings you’ve kept a lid on for years begins to swirl.

“Your mission was successful, I take it?” He evades your question easily, which typically meant that he had information he didn’t want you to know. That he was keeping something from you.

If you were less tired, you’d dig your heels in. Instead, you shrug.

It’s quiet between you two for a moment as the sun continues to rise, until Itachi breaks it with another question.

“What do you need?”

He asks it quietly, seriously, and it blooms butterflies in your chest. It’s a question that defines your friendship, a question that is only asked when the other is in visible need of help. You’ve lost count of how many times Itachi has saved you from yourself by asking. There’s a lump forming in your throat and it hits you, right then, how much you’ve missed him.

You wished it was strictly platonic.

“I can’t stop seeing them.” You whisper back, hating the way your voice cracks. You’re greeted with more silence before Itachi stands. The sun has now broken through the surface so you turn your head to finally look at him. He’s devastatingly beautiful as always, and the early morning hues only add to it. He doesn’t have his Sharigan activated, and his hair is tied back at the base of his neck like always. The soft look he’s giving you leaves you feeling a bit breathless, and you find yourself trying to memorize him in that moment.

He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, sliding your fingers along his palm before he tightens his hold and helps pull you up. You wait for him to drop your hand, but he continues to pull until you’re standing close; too close to be socially appropriate. His eyes flick to your neck, to the dried blood that’s no doubt spattered there, and they trail down slowly. You think he might be looking for more, all while his thumb starts to lightly rub the skin on top of your hand.

“You need a shower, and then we’ll have breakfast.” He states and you frown in response. Itachi, of course, notices immediately and his thumb stops it’s slow caress.

“You don’t need to stay.” Your words are still quiet, like your voice has forgotten how to be strong. Loud. The look you receive is borderline chastising.

“But I will.” He counters, and you feel your lips tug upward without your permission. He drops your hand and takes a step back, to give you room to climb down. You look at him for a moment and nod, feeling very grateful and not as lonely as you did before.

“Thank you.”

A few days go by before he comes to you again. This time you’re inside your apartment, deep cleaning your horribly disgusting kitchen. You hardly used the damn thing, yet dust seemed adamant on collecting there, and your fridge was a disaster. You’re almost done when you hear your window opening and turn with a frown, only to be met with Itachi climbing into your living room. In his ANBU uniform. Covered in what you hope is dirt.

“Itachi?” You call out, moving from the small space of your kitchen. His feet meet your carpet and he stands, only to sway slightly which sets off warning bells in your head. You move to his side immediately and steady him with your arm around his waist. He leans into you, furthering deepening your panic, and you move him to your couch. Itachi sits down harder than normal, almost like he’s collapsing into it, and tilts his head back with a soft groan. There’s blood and dirt caked to him and his uniform like a second skin, and you crouch down in front of him.

“Are you hurt?” You ask hurriedly, looking for any signs of fresh blood to signify that he was actively bleeding. You’re answered with what sounds like a negative grunt and you frown, eyes flicking upward to look at his face. He’s still got his head resting against the back of your couch, eyes closed, leaving his neck completely exposed. It’s a rare sight indeed, to see Itachi Uchiha so open like this, and his voice is slow when he speaks again.

“I overexerted myself.”

Okay. That explained why he practically stumbled into your apartment. It didn’t explain anything else.

“And you’re here and not at the hospital because ... ?”

Itachi finally moves his head up, only to look down at you with a cocked eyebrow. Like it should be obvious. Like you were the one being ridiculous.

You’d strangle him if you thought you could move fast enough. But you’re still concerned, because if Itachi came to you then that meant something was wrong.

“What do you need?” You ask, your tone dipping into something more serious. The cocky brow relaxes itself and Itachi stares at you with a tired, almost numb look. He doesn’t answer, and if you’re being truthful he never really did when you asked. But you know what he needs. He needed to stay, to not be around his clan or doctors or the Hokage or anyone else.

He needed to be left alone.

You nod once you understand.

“Okay. I was just about to heat up some dinner, but if you’re going to be here you need to shower. You smell horrible.”

You stand and can’t help but smile when you’re greeted with an amused snort. Good. Normalcy. You move back to your kitchen, missing the way Itachi’s eyes follow you and the small, tired smile on his own face.

It strikes you as odd, when you run into Itachi yet again only a couple days later. This time you find him, standing on top of your apartment building. You’d sensed him when you were walking home, and if there was one thing you knew about Itachi - he only let someone sense him when he wanted them to.

He’s giving you a choice you realize as you maneuver yourself to the roof. You could have easily gone into your apartment and ignored him, but that was silly.

You’d never do that.

His back is to you when you finally see him and you stop when you’re only a few feet away from him.

“Hey.” You call out, and he turns his head to glance at you. He raises that elegant brow expectantly and you shake your head as you continue to move forward, till you’re standing next to him.

“Hello.” He greets and you shoot him an amused look.

“Care to explain why you’re on my roof, Itachi?”

He glances around, brow furrowing, before turning his full body to face you.

“I didn’t realize you owned this building.”

His retort pulls a chuckle out of you and you watch as his mouth curls into a smirk.

“Funny. You should quit your day job, take your jokes on the road.”

Amusement sparkles in his eyes.

“Would you join me, if I did?”

You’re taken aback by his question and try not to show it on your face.

“Can’t. I’m too busy owning the building.”

Your comeback is lame and a bit breathless. Itachi hums, cocking his head ever so slightly as he considers you. You’re not sure what exactly he’s looking for or even looking at, and decide to try and question him again.

“Seriously though. Why are you here?”

“To see you.”

The bold bluntness of his statement sends you reeling. You blink dumbly and swallow at the way his face changes. Almost as if he’s relaxing. His eyes turn softer as they meet your own and the butterflies you kept carefully hidden were starting to escape and make a mess of your insides.

“We’ve seen each other a lot lately.” You murmur, hoping he answers the unspoken question. Why? Why did he want to see you? Why did he seem to be around more? Did something change?

But Itachi never did anything unless he wanted to, never answered a question he didn’t feel like answering, and his next smile shows teeth.

“Yes.” He agrees easily, much to your disappointment.

Your face falls into a deadpan and you shake your head in amusement as well as frustration.

“Come on in then, you can make yourself some tea. I’ve got laundry to fold, so don’t expect me to be very entertaining.”

Itachi hums and follows you down, that smirk still present on his face.

You’re so tired you think you might collapse before you can open your door. The keys in your hand are fairly uncomplicated but your fingers aren’t cooperating and you watch as they slip out of your hands and fall to the ground. You’d just finished another mission and had to spend what felt like hours at the hospital. One of your teammates was exposed to a toxin and they needed to do blood tests on all of you, as well as scrub you clean, before you could leave. Your hair was still wet and the borrowed clothes you had on were too big, leaving you uncomfortable and cold.

And now your keys were on the floor.

You bend to pick them up when your door creaks open. You freeze and snap your head up, only to be greeted by Itachi standing in your doorway. Inside of your apartment. His hair is pulled back but he’s missing his forehead protector and is dressed in what you can only describe as civilian clothing. Your brain and body feel like they’re lagging as you stand slowly and the noise that comes out of your mouth is confused. Itachi arches a brow and moves to the side, allowing you entry, and you walk in before turning to watch him close and lock your door behind you.

“What are you ...” Your questions trails off into nothing as he carefully takes your keys and pack from you, setting them on your kitchen counter like he did this everyday. You blink, your brain still trying to catch up with everything, and Itachi speaks - his voice like sweet honey in your ears.

“You’re exhausted.”

It’s a question that wasn’t a question. You blink again.

“Long mission.” You reply distractedly as he moves toward you, hands coming to rest on your back and elbow.

“You were due back sooner.”

You frown in response. How did he know that?

“Got held up at the hospital. Why are you here?”

Itachi hums in that annoying way of his as he presses you towards your bedroom, his thumb beginning to slowly stroke the small of your back through your thin, borrowed shirt. He hadn’t bothered to turn any of your lamps on and the setting sun shining through your blinds is the only source of light throughout your small apartment.

“To see you.”

You’d roll your eyes if you were positive they’d stay in your head.

“Did you break in?”

There’s a snort from somewhere behind you.

“You’d need adequate locks to define entering your home as breaking in.”

You snort tiredly and feel your shoulders sag when your bed comes into view. Yes, yes, yes. Perfect.

“Still.” You mutter, kicking off the sandals you loaned from the hospital into the corner. Itachi lets go of your elbow but keeps his hand on your back, thumb still stroking you through your shirt. It felt nice and grounded you enough to press him again for some kind of answer.

“Why are you here to see me?”

His movements stop and you turn your head to look at him. His gaze is focused on your bed, his head turning towards you before his eyes do. The hand on your back moves to the side of your face, and you freeze as he curls a finger through your damp hair. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, offering you clarity where you previously had non.

Itachi was in your apartment. Itachi had been waiting for you. Itachi had, once again, sought you out. You bring your own hand up to rest on his forearm.

“What do you need?”

His shoulders settle at your question, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask. His hand leaves your hair to hang limply at his side, causing your own hand to drop.

“To stay.”

You inhale slowly at his words, their meaning settling heavy on you. Your hand twitches forward, brushing his own, and you find yourself searching his eyes. They’re so dark, bottomless, and tired. You nod slowly, realizing that his request is something you both need.

“Okay.”

Your voice cracks and you swallow, taking a step back toward your bed. He follows, as if on autopilot, and soon you’re both under the comforter facing each other. It’s not as awkward as you thought it would be, and the annoying flutter of wings in your tummy is beating a ferocious rhythm inside of you. You’re physically tired, but your brain has woken itself up since arriving back home, and you consider the man in front of you carefully.

“What’s going on?” You question softly and Itachi regards you with a serious look. The darker oranges and reds coming from your window bathe him in a soft light and you can pick out each individual hair on his head, each individual lash above his eyes. He’s truly beautiful, handsome in a heartbreaking sort of way, and you almost miss his response.

“I had a dream you died.”

It takes you a full second to register what he said, and your mouth parts in surprise.

“When?”

“Several weeks ago.” He pauses, eyes unfocusing like he was remembering. “It was ... unpleasant.”

You frown and move your hand to cup his face. He lets you, even closes his eyes at the contact, and your chest swells.

“I’m sorry.” You offer quietly, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. This dream obviously disturbed him deeply, and you wonder if that’s the reason for all the sudden visits. He hums and you’re distantly reminded of a cat purring while being pet. It makes you smile.

“It’s my apology you should be accepting. I’ve been a coward.”

Your thumb halts it’s movement and your smile fades.

“A coward?” You echo, confusion evident. Itachi opens his eyes, holding your gaze with a serious look.

“I purposefully distanced myself from you.”

The warmth in your chest halts and you feel what feels like ice start to prickle at your fingers. You had just thought he was busy, that you were both just busy, and to know he did it on purpose ...

“Why?”

You want to keep the hurt from showing but you can’t hide the way your voice wavers. Itachi doesn’t move, doesn’t turn his gaze away, and his tone turns to honey, to silk wrapped in velvet.

“Because of my feelings for you.”

Oh.

You open your mouth to ... respond? Gasp? Laugh? Yell? To do anything but freeze, which was what you were currently doing. Your brain had turned into mush, your body was collapsing in on itself, and your heart and lungs were somehow tightening but also moving at an impossible place.

Because of my feelings for you.

Itachi seems minutely amused by your reaction and turns his head to brush his lips against your fingers.

“I have dreamt of you often, these past few months. It was foolish to avoid you, to try and create distance where none was needed. It took seeing you broken and dying to realize my mistake. My hope is that you will forgive me, with time. I have tried to make it up to you, to ease back into the friendship we once had, but I find myself wanting more.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve stopped breathing. He turns his head to meet your gaze again.

“It’s becoming increasingly difficult, to be away from you.”

Okay, yes. You’ve definitely stopped breathing.

Itachi pauses, to give you time to absorb his words, before speaking again.

“If I am being too forward, you may tell me.”

You blink.

“It’s not ...” You start, frowning at the way you’ve just decided to lose all ability to think. Or talk. You pull your hand away to rest on the bed in between you and start again, fingers digging into your sheets.

“I’m ... processing.” You answer, lowering your gaze. You can’t keep looking at him if you want to be able to formulate actual words. He says nothing in response, giving you time to think, and you eventually speak again.

“I think I’ve loved you for a very long time.” You start, still unable to look at him. You feel him stiffen next to you and find yourself taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I understand, though. I’ve been avoiding you too, I think. Caring for someone in our line of work can be damning. It can end horribly, or never even begin. I think we were both cowards, in a way. I also think you’re a bit of an ass, but that’s more of a fact than an opinion.” A breathy chuckle interrupts you and you smile softly, eyes floating upwards to meet his again.

“I think that you can stay … however long you’d like.”

Itachi’s eyes flick down to your mouth and stay there as he responds.

“I’d like that.”

You smile and try to fight against the heavy weight currently making itself at home on your eyelids. Sleep was calling your name urgently and you fight back a yawn. There’s another breathy chuckle in your ear and it takes you a moment to realize Itachi had moved closer, even going so far as to loosely wrap an arm around your waist. His fingers are trailing soft patterns against your back and you press yourself into his chest, deciding that anything else can wait until tomorrow.

“Sleep.” You murmur into his collarbone with a smile, “I’ll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you.”

Itachi hums a tired laugh and you feel something soft brush against your forehead as you drift off into an easy sleep.

[philistiniphagottini]

May I please request a one-shot where Akihiko finds out about his female crush’s talent for dancing after seeing her do so on the dorm’s rooftop?

Hi! Thanks for sending in a request. I know you asked for a female reader but this story ended up being pretty gender neutral, so I hope you don't mind. I had fun writing this. Hope you like it :)

cw. fluff

Akihiko didn’t know you could dance. The sound of music is what had initially drawn him to you in the first place. He had heard the faint tune when he had arrived back at Iwatodai Dorm to find the place practically deserted. He had followed the gentle hum of music all the way up to the dorm’s rooftop, the melody increasing with each step he took until finally, he was greeted to the sight of you frolicking in the afternoon sun.

Akihiko stood frozen in the doorway, his grip on the door handle loose as he watched in silent awe at the way you moved. The way the sunlight kissed your skin and reflected from your shimmering hair as you danced with practiced ease captivated him. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest as his eyes drank in the sight, ears blessed with a graceful tune as you stepped in perfect sync with the beat. You hadn’t even noticed him yet, face set in concentration and senses too absorbed in your routine that you hadn’t so much as even glanced in his direction yet.

The old cassette player that you danced around was showing the obvious signs of aging, the once polished surface now chipped and worn with a few scratches etched into the paint. But it was still cared for dearly, despite its age it still performed its duty magnificently; much like the way you put on a performance that only served to further endear Akihiko to you. For a brief moment, he felt like he was intruding on a private moment, something that maybe wasn’t meant for his eyes just yet. But Akihiko couldn’t will his body to move no matter how hard he tried. He was completely rooted to the spot, lost in the way you gracefully moved with the rhythm of your dance like you were born to do this.

Just as the song faded and the next was about to begin, the illusion of the moment was abruptly ruined when you came out of a graceful spin only to spot Akihiko lingering in the doorway to the rooftop. Your eyes widened and you let out a surprised noise that even you didn’t know you could make. Your graceful movements immediately dissipated and you tripped over your own feet, body acting faster than your brain could comprehend as you suddenly landed on your backside with a loud thump. Akihiko jumped into action as a hiss of pain whistled through your teeth, grip on the door abandoned as he rushed to your side.

"Are you okay?" Akihiko asked.

You were engulfed in his shadow as he stood over you, eyes swimming with concern and arms poised to help you as he offered his hand towards you. You waved his concern off, a small smile tilting your lips as you tried to ignore the twinge of pain in your rump.

"Yeah, I’m fine" you replied. "Nothing is damaged. Expect maybe my pride."

You couldn’t recall the last time you had floundered like that and had a completely ungraceful fall. You blinked owlishly up at Akihiko as you noticed his hand and after a moment of consideration, you took it and allowed him to haul you to your feet. You were mildly surprised with how strong the young man was, his grip firm but gentle as he helped to steady you on your feet. A small spark of electricity jumped between your fingers as your warm skin brushed against his and you had to stifle the noise that wanted to crawl out of your throat from the contact. Akihiko’s skin was surprisingly soft. You supposed that as a boxer, he would take very good care of his hands. It still shocked you a little to not even feel a single callous on his fingertips as he gently wrapped his hand around your wrist, concern still shimmering in the depths of his eyes as a crease formed between his brow. He opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off with a question.

"How long were you standing there for?" you asked with a curious tilt of your head.

Akihiko’s jaw snapped shut. His eyes flickered away from you for a few seconds as a nervous laugh rumbled in his chest. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as he rubbed the back of his neck with free hand, sweat already prickling the nape despite the cool afternoon breeze rolling by.

"A while" Akihiko admitted.

A small sigh breezed past your lips as you chewed on the dry skin around the corners of your mouth. You couldn’t place why you were suddenly bashful. It wasn’t like you hadn’t danced in front of an audience before. But hearing that Akihiko had watched for a while in silent content without saying a word made your heart flutter wildly and cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Akihiko took your silence as embarrassment and he rushed to rectify the situation, stumbling over his words in the process.

"But you are very talented" Akihiko blurted, his fingers around your wrist gripping a little tighter as he inched closer to you. "The best I’ve ever seen."

"Aki…"

"I’ve heard dancing is good for the muscles in your legs" Akihiko continued to ramble. "No wonder your legs are so strong and flex-"

"Aki" you cut in.

Akihiko stopped talking, almost biting his tongue in the process. You gave him a bashful smile, the tips of your ears burning red hot as your heart continued to bounce around your chest. Hearing him compliment you was already filling the blood simmering in your veins with so much elation that it made your head feel dizzy. You slowly withdrew your hand from his grasp, the tips of your fingers still tingling as the warmth of his body lingered on your skin.

"Thank you, Aki. Your words mean a lot to me."

Akihiko breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders finally relaxing. You averted your gaze as you kicked a loose stone at your feet, eyes flicking back up to Akihiko every few seconds as you gauged his reaction.

"Would you…like to watch me dance some more?"

[ragingbookdragon]

Bring On The Wonder, We Got It All Wrong, We Pushed Us Down Deep In Our Souls, So Hang On

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of this piece right here that everyone got mad at me for because I made it angsty :) Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“Will you slow down?” Bruce complained, reaching her in a few steps. “Your ankle is sprained and you’re going to—”

She turned on him, slapping his hand away from where it was reaching for her. “I don’t wanna look or talk to you or anybody else right now.” She spat. “Take the hostages to GCPD and leave me the fuck alone.”

“He wasn’t going to kill you.” Bruce said and she scowled.

“It doesn’t matter what he was or wasn’t going to do.” She pointed to herself. “I thought he was going to. That’s what matters to me.” She turned and took a step, though her leg faltered, and she went to her knees, reaching to hold her ankle. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“(Y/N),” he murmured, bending down beside her and she reached up, yanking the cowl off.

“Everything hurts,” she cried, anger and pain lacing her voice. “My back hurts. My chest hurts. Everything fucking hurts.” She reached up to wipe the blood still leaking from her busted nose and split eyebrow. “And I’m bleeding.” (Y/N) licked her lips, feeling the sting from the broken skin of her bottom one.

Bruce’s hand went to his utility belt, unclipping one of the pockets, and he pulled out a rag; he gently raised it to her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood as he quietly stated, “Your eyebrow’s already in hemostasis. Though it’s going to need stitches.” His hand briefly stilled near her swollen eye, then he continued to her nose where he gently held it.

She whimpered, trying to recoil but he held on. “That hurts.”

“You need to stop the bleeding,” he advised, then grabbed her hand and placed it over his, forcing her to take it.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce didn’t answer her, one arm curling under her knees, the other her back and he hefted her up into his arms. “I’ll take you back to your penthouse.”

(Y/N) wanted to cry, and she was helpless to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes; she turned, burying her face in the plate of her brother’s shoulder pad, breathing deeply to keep her sobs at bay.

“I don’t know what’s going to come after this,” he explained softly, careful to take even steps to avoid jostling her. “But I know that you’re the only one who gets to choose what happens between you and him.” He rested his chin on her head. “And if you choose to take a leave for a while, then I’ll support that.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I just want to crawl in a hole.”

“Want me to get my shovel and dig you one?”

A watery laugh passed her lips, though it dissolved into a sob and with her free hand, she reached over and grabbed Bruce’s opposite shoulder, squeezing tightly as she shook against him.

He inhaled deeply, catching Ghost-Maker from the corner of his eye leading the hostages out. “We’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”

***

Turns out that the leave of absence seemed like the best choice for her, and she’d hunkered down in a safe-house about three hundred miles outside of the state on the edges of the McIntyre Wild Area in Pennsylvania. Bruce and she had bought it years ago as a last-ditch effort if they needed to get out of Gotham and it’d taken the two of them, plus Clark to clear it out and build. Half of the time was having Clark laugh at the two siblings and call them “city-slickers trying to be country folk” as he watched them struggle to tame the land.

But in the end, it had been effective, and they’d built a rather cozy safe-house that looked inconspicuously like Ma and Pa Kent’s home in Smallville. It was stocked with everything they needed, a built-in basement for safe measures. She was alone and secure in the small cabin and that’s how she wanted to be. Since leaving some few days ago, she’d messaged each nephew and niece telling them that while she loved them dearly, she needed to be alone for some time and that she’d be back as soon as she could be.

They’d flooded her phone with messages and concerns, but she’d left the device in her penthouse before leaving, resting assured that Bruce would explain in her absence. She felt like a failure and more so, weak for leaving her brother with the job of explaining, but the last thing she wanted to do was explain the situation herself.

She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, gazing absentmindedly as the flames cast light that flickered around the darkened room. The entire room was open, living room and fireplace in the center, bedroom in one corner, kitchen in the other, a closed bathroom in another. It all smelled like pine. Fresh air and the ingraining scent of pine. But it’s what she needed. Gotham City overwhelmed the olfactory senses with blood and smog and on especially bad days, the rotting scent of fish and death. Everyone needed a break from it at some point in their life; to remember how to breathe in air that wasn’t contaminated.

The only thing she didn’t like was how quiet it was. (Y/N) was used to the distant sounds of traffic, gunshots, and sirens. Here it was the sound of her breathing and the wind whistling through the trees, wildlife scratching and hunting away in the underbrush. She swore she could hear her blood flowing through her brain. If there was any consolation, it did help to hone the senses on what she wanted to hear. And what she didn’t want to hear was knocking at the front door.

Quietly she rose from the couch and walked to the side of her bed, grabbing the loaded twelve gauge; she cocked it and stepped up to the door, warning, “If you’re not park rangers, I suggest you leave now. I’m armed and I will shoot you.”

A muffled chuckle sounded from the other side. “Well, that’s not the way I figured you’d greet me.”

“Oh, so you were expecting the shotgun blast then?” she answered aiming at the door and she pulled the trigger, blasting a large hole in the center of the wooden door. (Y/N) waited until the smoke cleared before she walked up and bent down, peeking through to see him flat on the ground, unharmed, reflexive as ever.

“Damn,” she griped. “I really thought I was going to beat you that time, K.”

Ghost-Maker cocked his head up and she was sure he was glaring at her from beneath the mask. “You crazy—”

“Bitch?” (Y/N) finished. “Tell me about it.” She set the gun next to the door and stood up, flipping the lock before pulling it open. “What do you want.”

“Well, I was coming to see you,” he said, picking himself off the ground; dusting himself off, he added, “You wouldn’t answer me.”

“Huh, I wonder why?” (Y/N) questioned, pressing her finger to her chin in mock thought, then her face lit up and she exclaimed, “Maybe it was because you tried to kill me a week ago!”

“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He griped. “You know I wasn’t going to.”

“Noted. What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you and if you’re smart, you’ll leave before I decide to reload the gun.”

Ghost-Maker sighed, gazing at her. “I was using Kyusho Jitsu to slow you down until Bruce arrived.”

(Y/N) wanted to scream, but she kept her voice level. “And that somehow justifies splitting both lips, one eyebrow, busting my nose, and throwing me into an electric fence?”

“…No,” he murmured. “No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her. “But I was concerned that if I didn’t make it look like we were really trying to kill one another, Riddler was going to kill the hostages.”

She merely stared at him for a long moment. “You know, I used to think I knew when you were telling the truth, but now that I really think about it, I don’t know when you’re lying to me either.”

He stood to his full height, jaw tightening as he said, “I’m many things, but I’m not a liar, (Y/N). And I’d never lie to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she shot back, face pinching as she finished with, “And you can sleep outside.”

She shut the door and turned around, walking to the bed in the corner and he looked through the hole in the middle. “You know I can just come inside if I want?”

(Y/N) laughed, stripping the shorts and long shirt she had on before climbing into the bed. “You take one step in here and I’ll cut your penis off and nail it to your forehead.”

“Hmm…have it your way,” he decided, turning around and she had as she tried, she couldn’t block out the sound of him setting up his blanket and bedding on the porch.

Hopefully, he’d be gone in the morning.

***

A crack of thunder startled her awake and she sat up in the bed, looking out the window to see the rain beating down. Her eyes drifted to the hole in the door and for a moment, she wanted to get up and see if he was okay, but she felt a bolt of irritation flash through her and she huffed, flopping back down into the bed, yanking the covers over her head.

She laid there for a few minutes, listening to the thunder clap above her, the lightning illuminating the room ever other moment, then she groaned, cursing herself for being a good person deep, deep down. (Y/N) threw the covers off her and rolled out of the bed, hurrying to the door. Pulling it open, she couldn’t help but smile at the man curled up in his thoroughly soaked blanket.

“Come inside.” He said nothing in return, and she sighed, kicking him in the stomach. “I know you’re awake, K. Get in here.”

“I thought you didn’t want me inside,” he retorted, yet to pull the blanket off his head.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I don’t. But I’d be a terrible person if I let you get pneumonia.”

“You know you can’t catch that from rain, right? It’s caused by—”

“Fine. Stay out here for all I care,” she interrupted, starting to close the door and he sat up, scrambling for the inside.

“Wait!” She smirked and he craned his neck up at her to scowl. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” (Y/N) retorted, cracking the door open more so he could get inside. He sat against the door when she closed it and she leaned against the door frame, watching the water drip down his soaked body.

“Want a change of clothes?” she asked. “Bruce left some behind the last time he was here.”

“Thank you,�� he said, and she walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and an undershirt.

She turned, seeing him yanking off his shirt and pants, then tossed the clothes to him. “Here.”

He caught them. “I’m not wearing his boxers.”

“They’re new, jack-ass.” (Y/N) snorted, looking away so he could dress himself, then she glanced back. “Feel better?”

“I feel less cold,” he retorted, walking around the fireplace to toss another couple logs inside. “You’re letting the fire die out.”

She rolled her eyes and wandered into the kitchen, returning with a clean rag. “You’d be less cold if you took the mask off and toweled your hair.”

He looked up at her, watching, waiting, and since he didn’t stop her from reaching behind him, she untied the knot at the base of his skull, pulling the damp fabric away.

(Y/N) wiped the water from his face, softly brushing over his cheeks, then to his eyebrows, and when she was satisfied, she placed the towel on his head, and gently massaged his scalp, letting the towel soak up all the rainwater.

When she was done, she tossed it aside and sank onto the brick wraparound with a heavy sigh, eyes drifting to the wall. Ghost-Maker collapsed against her legs, resting his head back on her thighs; unconsciously, (Y/N)’s hands went to his hair, stroking the brown tresses.

After a few minutes, he murmured, “I apologize for not telling you the plan.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before continuing their ministrations. “I accept your apology.” She scratched his scalp. “Sorry for what I said.”

“It didn’t hurt my feelings,” he shrugged, and she tugged his hair.

“Yes, it did.” He tipped his head back, gazing at her. “Parade it around all you want but we both know you’re not immune to having your feelings hurt.”

Ghost-Maker searched her eyes. “You truly thought I was going to kill you?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) answered. “Everything was happening so quickly. I didn’t have time to think about what fighting style you were using on me. All I knew was that you weren’t pulling punches and it didn’t feel like a plan to me.”

She stared at him. “And I was scared of you.”

“Are you scared of me now?” he questioned, and she inhaled then exhaled.

“No.” He seemed relieved, but it was short lived as she added, “But I don’t trust you anymore. And I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I do again.”

He looked away. “I see.” Nothing was said for a moment, and he pulled from her, standing to his feet. “It’s late. We should rest.”

(Y/N) stood and started making her way to the bed when she realized he was going too. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Going to bed?” Ghost-Maker offered, and she cocked a brow.

“Try again, K.” She pointed to the couch. “Go.”

His face pinched and he turned, but she caught his hand and he stopped, glancing back at her. (Y/N), against the better judgement in her head and the obvious discomfort between the two of them, stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead to the middle of his chest.

He seemed to freeze at the sudden action, even if it’d been one, they’d done many times, but he recovered, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other around the back of her neck. His cheek brushed her temple and her grip shifted, hands coming up to press flat against his shoulders; with the warmth stinging the corners of her eyes, she dug her nails into his back as if it were the one thing keeping her from breaking down.

She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him how angry she was. How hurt. How much loathing was built up inside of her, but nothing would come out.

“I know,” Ghost-Maker murmured against her hair. “I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), and I know.” He pulled back, hand slipping from her neck to cup her cheek; he pressed his forehead to hers and assured quietly, “I know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes slipped shut and she let out a shaky breath. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Tomorrow.” He let her go and watched as she unsteadily headed for the bed, collapsing onto the mattress; she tugged the blankets over her head, and he frowned as he saw her frame start to shake beneath them. Pulling the blanket off the couch, he laid down and watched her for some time. Waiting until she stopped shaking and slipped off into sleep so he himself could sleep too.

[simsadventures]

Gilded: Chapter 3: Power Over Me

Mobster!Steve x Reader

Summary: What more can you do than have a rad bachelorette party and then move to a house full of mobsters. It all sounds fun, right? Well, not according to your experience. 

Warnings: mobster AU, drinking, swearing, surveillance, angst, smidge of fluff, violence, mention of bruises, fear 

Word Count: 5737

A/N: A little late, I know I know, but I wanted to make sure the chapter was exactly how I wanted it. I keep thinking I will get to the wedding, and then some situations occur and I know I have to concentrate on them a little more. Than being said, I think we will finally see the wedding next! What do you think of this part? Did you like it? Is the reader a little less annoying? Let me know xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist 

< Previous Chapter 

The scene was supposed to be joyous, but, for some reason, the majority of what you felt was filled with sadness. Not for any particular reason, it was just the weigh of your decision finally settling in your heart and the realization hitting you that you would indeed be getting married in a week to a total stranger, who was a mobster, none less. 

You chose it, you had to remind yourself as tears fought their way in your eyes. It was just momentary sadness overpowering you, the feeling that your wedding wouldn’t be filled with people loving and caring for you, that the day would be more about showing off Steve’s power over the world than showing his love for his new bride, for whom he had none. And you would be there almost alone: no parents, no extended family, and a very few close friends. Whom you loved dearly, of course, and without whom you wouldn’t even be considering taking such a step. You needed them there, and not just the two lovable idiots you lived with. 

It was also people you’ve come to love during your university years as well as some coworkers, like Christy and Anja. Together it made around 15 people, which was actually a lot more than you had anticipated, but still. It would have to be Aidan walking you down the aisle, and just the mere thought made a choked sob escape your lips. 

The sound brought the attention of the room to you, and before you knew it, you were enveloped in a bone-crushing hug from all the people there, everyone telling you that you should be happy, that this was a good thing. Of course, nobody except Caroline and Aidan knew the reality behind the wedding. All they thought was happening was that you fell madly in love with Steve Rogers, and now you two were tying the knot. You even overhead Aisha say that you were definitely pregnant, otherwise, you wouldn’t have rushed into it like this. You tried to assure everyone that there was no pregnancy at all, but, of course, people believed what they wanted, and you lacked the energy to go around the room and speak to them individually, denying what they formed in their heads. 

It was Friday night, and you were in your apartment, surrounded by all those people who would come to your wedding. You sent a list of names to Steve that afternoon, and, after what you assumed was a background check on all of them, he agreed that yes, these 15 people could actually come. And when he did, you called an emergency meeting at your apartment, using it both as a way of inviting them to the wedding and as a kind of bachelorette party, where all you wanted to do was to drink heavily, eat a disgusting amount of carbs and pass out around dusk. Safe to say, all of your friends had been in, and by the time it was 11 PM, you were all tipsy, and people started to dance. Some (ehm, ehm, Caroline) even on a table, which was hilarious to the rest of you. 

The sadness came and went all evening, but you were determined not to let it ruin your night. So, every time you felt like it was creeping up on you again, you just told somebody and let them hug you until you were feeling better. 

Then, somebody came up with the idea to play Never Have I Ever, and since the tequila still burned in your veins, you agreed immediately. And so the game started. You were roaring like a pride of lions, each answer louder than the previous ones, but the most fun arose from telling each other funny stories. 

“Ok, so this one time I was blowing off my boyfriend, right? And you know how much I hate the taste of sperm, and he knows it as well, but this one time he really insisted on my swallowing, and so when he finally came, I squeaked and pointed somewhere behind him so that I could spit the cum to glass under the table, and when he turned around I showed him my mouth, void of any liquid, and he looked super proud,” your friend Naila laughed as she told the story to the question: never have I ever swallowed cum. 

The night was flowing smoothly, and soon, you saw that it was getting somehow lighter outside. And, sure enough, when you looked out of the window, you saw that the sunrise was coming in mere minutes. 

“Guys, guys! The sunrise is here. Let’s go to the roof to enjoy it,” you yelled even though half of the people were already fast asleep. The few of you who were still barely alive, which was around 5 of you, staggered towards the door and crawled up the stairs to the highest levels, and when you opened the last door, you had New York underneath you. 

You were wasted and exhausted, but the sight poured new life into you as you watched the early orange rays shine on one building at a time, waking up the city that never slept. It was magical, and it took your breath away. You felt your worries melting away as you saw a new day coming, and you thought it was a new day with many possibilities and hopes for you. You had nothing to lose, and Steve proved to you that he would, indeed, take care of you if need be. All would be if you just played your part and learned enough about Steve to be able to escape his wrath. 

The exhaustion then hit your body just as the ray hit your face, and you waved at the drunk group watching the sunrise, each of them in their own realm of thoughts, and soon enough, you sauntered back to your room, where you fell asleep just like the rest of the bachelorette party. 

A piercing tone woke you up with a start, and, for a second, you didn’t even know where you were, what time it was, or even what fucking century it was. The throbbing in your head prevented your brain from functioning properly, and so you rummaged through the pile of clothes next to your bed, fishing for what was obviously your phone. Gosh, how you hated the ringtone, and you reminded yourself to just mute your phone altogether because then nothing like this could happen again. 

You picked up without so much as looking at the screen and just sneered a harsh what into the speaker. 

“Well, good morning to you too, honey,” you heard Steve’s smug voice and rolled your eyes so hard the pain in your head increased. “Is this the way to greet your future husband? I don’t fucking think so,” he continued, and a considerable part of you contemplated just hanging up on him and his annoyingly sexy voice. 

“Steve, I have no fucking idea what time it is, but it’s definitely not time for you to call me and want me to be nice. Give me a few good hours of sleep, and then we can talk, ok?” You hoped this would do it, but from the silence on the other side, you assumed he wouldn’t let be just yet. 

“What happened? Did your bachelorette party get a little out of hand, and you went to sleep only after sunrise?” 

You gasped, shocked how he knew any of it, and for the first time, the fog in front of your brain lifted a little bit. You checked the time, and seeing it was only 9 AM, you assumed that asshole woke you up on purpose if he knew so much about your nightly activities. 

“How the fuck-“

“Language!” He yelled suddenly, and you flinched at the intensity of his voice. “I know everything, and I told you I would have somebody keeping an eye on you at all times. You’re only lucky the guy sleeping next to you is gay, you’d be in so much trouble otherwise, honey,” Steve spat, and the only sound you could muster was a long huff, as you regretted ever being born. 

“What do you want, Steve? If you know so much, you must know that I’m beat and all I wanna do is sleep, with a guy in my bed or without him. So, if you have something to tell me, please do, otherwise, have a good day, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“We’re gonna have so much fun together, you and I, Y/N. I’m calling because I wanted to let you know that your room is prepared and ready for you and that your bodyguard will pick you up at exactly 8 PM, so don’t be late. Clint will also help you carry all things you need. I’ll send you his number so that you can be in touch with him. Oh, and honey? Take some aspirin and go to sleep, you sound like you need it,” even through the phone, you could hear him smirk as he hung up and let you on your own once again. Thank God.

“Who was it?” Aidan asked sleepily from the other side of the bed, and you just grumbled some response, not really sure if he understood what you meant, but when he hummed and patted your outstretched hand, you took it as yes, I understand you mean your future husband Steve Rogers, nice talk. 

The phone signalled you received a text, and when you looked at it, it was your bodyguard’s phone number and a directive, telling you to go to sleep already, because the dark circles under your eyes didn’t suit you. 

Oh, how you wanted to kill this man already. He got on your nerves more easily than anybody ever before, and for a brief moment, you wondered why he affected you so. You didn’t even know him, and you shouldn’t let him tossing you back and forth, but here you were, pissed because you could just imagine how proud he was of himself that he woke you up and told you what to do so many times in such a short call. 

Sighing, you got up from the bed and went to check the window to see if you could spot the nosy bodyguard ratting on you to Steve. You needed to have a word with him because he just couldn’t go running to Steve every time you blinked. 

Looking around the street, you tried to spot a strange vehicle, one that didn’t fit into the street you grew to know so well. And, sure enough, there was a large SUV, much like the one you had driven with Steve before, and you noticed that the windows were tilted. Since your apartment was on the first floor, anybody from the street had a great view right into your flat, and because you passed out totally exhausted, you didn’t have the time, nor did you remember to shut your blinds. 

You huffed and shut them now, cursing Steve and his nosiness because he wasn’t making your life any easier, and you weren’t even married yet. The year in front of you would be annoying and difficult, but maybe it would make you feel alive again. 

Shaking your head, you didn’t let the memories flood your brain as you strode back to your back, plopped on it belly-first and fell straight asleep.

“Are you sure it’s everything?” Aidan looked around your now half-empty room, except for the furniture that you knew you wouldn’t need. Steve promised to give you a furnished room, and you took his word for it, so you just took the essentials, like your clothes and sentimental stuff. Marie Condo would have been proud because you still managed to get rid of a few things that didn’t spark joy!

“Yeah, and even if I left something here, I could still come, you know? It’s not like I’m never seeing you or this place again. I’ll still be like a 30-minute ride away,” you smiled soothingly at him, but he just shook his head, obviously fighting all the emotions swirling in his heart. 

“Alright, alright. No crying. I’ll call you guys when I’m all settled, and Steve actually lets me be by myself, and I’ll show you the room, ok?”

Both Aiden and Caroline nodded speechlessly and then pulled you in a group hug. 

“You sure you wanna do it? We can still make it seem like we kidnapped you and take you somewhere to Mexico, or Argentina, or wherever he wouldn’t find you,” Caroline whispered, and you laughed through the tears fighting their way out of your eyes. 

“I’ll be fine, you’ll see. We will all have so much fun, and before we know it, the year is over, and I’m back here with you guys, having lived a little,” you smirked, and they nodded reassuringly, not really sure if it really was the best way to live a life, but they didn’t want to push you again. Your heart was set, and they both knew there was nothing they could do now. Except, of course, really kidnapping you. 

“Miss Y/L/N, we should go. The boss said we should be there at 9 PM at the latest, and I would prefer if we could be a little early,” Clint said professionally, but you could see that he was afraid of what would Steve do had you arrived late. You didn’t want to start this weird-ass journey by pissing your future husband or making him hurt his employees (you didn’t know whether he would actually do that, but just to be on the safe side, since he did cut off a guy’s finger a mere few days ago). 

You nodded and stepped from your best friends, looking at them and smiling brightly. You didn’t want any teary goodbyes, so you just showed them thumbs up and followed Clint out of the door. You knew there would be some tears when you left but didn’t think they would come as early as on the first step from your apartment. 

Fortunately, there weren’t that many steps to go before you were out of the building and rushed into the SUV by Clint. It was dark already, but you didn’t want him to see you cry, so you swiftly pulled out your sunglasses and put them on, not saying a word to Clint as he started the car and pulled it into New York’s night traffic. The lights around you were almost blinding, and for a moment, you were glad you had the glasses on, but then another wave of regret and sadness hit you, and you had a hard time keeping in the sobs. Scratching your arms, you stared out of the window and took a few calming breaths, telling yourself to get a grip because you were about to enter the lion’s den, and you couldn’t show them any emotions. 

You knew Clint knew what was going on, but he was gentleman enough not to comment on it. Still, you needed to make sure he understood this little episode was just between the two of you. 

“Can I ask you something, Clint?” You said suddenly and saw his eyes flickering between the road and the mirror, meeting your eyes for a moment. 

“Of course, Miss Y/L/N. However, I should warn you, I am not allowed to give you certain information,” he said formally, and you nodded knowingly. 

“Yeah, right. If I asked you to keep a little secret from your boss, would you keep it?” You asked and nibbled on your lower lip anxiously. 

He seemed to have thought for a second before he nodded his head in a manner telling you that there were things Steve didn’t need to know. His eyes met yours again before he spoke up. 

“I’m now your bodyguard, and if I think the information kept from the boss is in your best interest, then I won’t tell him anything. For example, you smiled all the way to the apartment, no tears and no sunglasses. Though, I think you should powder your nose and dry your face,” he smirked, and you laughed a little, nodding gratefully and doing exactly as he said. 

The car stopped exactly as you put all the supplies back into your purse, and you had a feeling Clint took a longer route to Steve’s house just to give your face the time to dry up and calm down. Checking the time, you saw it was 10 minutes before 9 and saw the relief on Clint’s face when he realized the same thing. 

“Alright, I will take you to the boss and then will get the boys to help with your things. We won’t go through anything, but if you need our help when you’re unpacking, all you have to do is text me,” Clint said, walking you to the door. 

The man you met on your first night there was standing as a sculpture at the exact same spot, and you wondered if he ever moved from that hallway. He did move towards you, gesturing to your purse, but Clint’s hand stopped him mid-motion. 

“She’s clean. I’ve been with her the whole time,” he said sternly and with authority, and when he saw the first man taking a breath to protest, Clint just gave him a chilling frown, and the man stepped down, hung his head in defeat and let you through. 

“It’s not a problem, Clint; I could have shown him the purse, you know?” You almost whispered as you walked through the empty rooms and hallways with Clint by your side. 

“They need to learn to respect you, Miss. You are, after all, marrying the boss very soon, and they need to understand that you are not a threat,” he gave you a curt nod, and you blushed a little. You didn’t know what it was, but the way Clint spoke to you with so much trust and respect already made you feel much better. You knew it would be an issue, so having somebody on your side was a huge relief already. 

“Thank you, Clint, I really-“ 

“Well, happy you two are best buddies already! Are you gonna braid each other’s hair and do each other’s nails soon too?” A voice snapped you back to reality, a voice you already knew too well. Steve was leaning against a door, his face stoic despite the mocking tone of his voice. Clint obviously tensed next to you, mumbled some apology and scurried out of the room, leaving you with Steve. 

You just looked at him and crossed your arms on your chest. 

“Do you need to be like this?” You asked incredulously, not really understanding why he had to be such an ass when all you did was having some sort of conversation with one of his loyal men. 

“Like what, honey? You seem to forget who I am and what I can do to you and your fucking life,” he sneered when he finally pulled away from the door and marched right in front of you. 

Your arms fell from your chest as you stared at him, trying to figure him out. Which, considering he was a prolific mobster, wasn’t the easiest task at hand. But you tried nevertheless and poked to see where was all this coming from. He obviously needed to be in control of every situation, always the centre of attention, and, you realized, it was probably this that pissed him off. You walked in, not really paying attention to him standing by the door but carelessly talking to somebody else. But his attitude was another thing entirely. 

“What do you want me to say, Steve? That I’m sorry I talked to somebody else and that it won’t happen again? You know it probably will, especially since you assigned Clint with the task of taking care of me and making sure I survive this year with you, which is really all he had done in the 40 minutes I have known him,” you reasoned, trying to sound confident but not pushy. You needed to show him that he couldn’t just toss you around like he might have thought. You didn’t expect him changing his attitude altogether for you, but you, at least, hoped he would go easy on you. 

He was seething but also thinking; you could see his mind going in overdrive to come up with something snarky and mean. But you were quicker than him, once again. 

“Will you be so kind and show me to my room? I would like to get settled in before we start talking about the wedding.”

“There will be no talk of a wedding. All you have to take care of is go tomorrow and pick your fucking dress. Everything else is being dealt with. I won’t need you tonight, so you can go and be by yourself till tomorrow,” he snapped and walked away without saying another word. 

Great, now you felt like you were grounded, and all you did was talking with somebody nice to you. You shook your head disapprovingly and headed in a direction you thought might have been your room, but after taking a few turns, you weren’t even sure you were in New York anymore. 

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?” You heard from behind you, and before you knew what was happening, somebody pushed you forcibly against the nearest wall, pressing their elbow into your neck. You coughed, surprised, clawing at the man’s forearms and trying to let him loosen the press because it was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

“I said, what the fuck are you doing here?” He yelled into your face, and you tried to tell him, but your voice wouldn’t come out. So, you just stared at him, tears filling your eyes before you heard a loud hey from somewhere behind you two and saw a man with long brown hair running towards you. 

“Sarge, this woman was roaming around here. I think she is a spy,” the man still holding you said to the newly arrived guy, and all you could do was shake your head and tried to make yourself look as non-threatening as possible. Which wasn’t difficult considering you were in no position to be able to even defend yourself had the man decided to crush your trachea. 

“Fucking idiot! That’s the boss’ bride! Let her go, you dickhead,” the man, sarge, growled, and you felt the pressure leaving your body. Which was all it took for you to collapse on the floor and start coughing uncontrollably, gripping your neck in your hands to protect it from any further disturbance. 

“I-I, I didn’t know, Sarge! Don’t tell him. I thought she was some fucking spy. What the hell was she even doing here all alone, huh? It’s not my fucking fault she came sniffing around stuff that is none of her business,” the man tried to defend himself, but from the murderous gaze he received from the sergeant, he wasn’t very successful. 

“Are you ok, Miss? Did he break anything? Is your head spinning? Are you feeling nauseous? Any of this?” He crouched down to your level and extended an arm to you, and you flinched instinctively, not feeling too sure who was your friend here and who wasn’t. So, to play it safe, nobody was your friend, and you’d be scared of them all, forever. Easy business. 

The man saw your reaction and frowned even more but was persistent when he removed your hands from your neck to see an already-forming bruise alongside your throat. 

“You need to talk to me, Y/N. Are you hurting anywhere?” 

You coughed and grimaced because, yes, in fact, you did hurt and that all over the fucking neck and even your head. Which, given the man almost crushed your fucking throat with his elbow, wasn’t that surprising. 

“I’ll be fine. And I wasn’t sniffing around; I was just looking for my room. I thought it might be somewhere here, and I would have asked if I saw anyone. But this place is like a fucking maze, and I was all alone,” you screeched, and the sergeant nodded and helped you to stand up. He was pulling out what looked like a phone, but you stopped him. 

“Don’t call him, please. I’m fine. I just need to get to the room, so I can put some cold water on it, have a drink and go to sleep. Please,” you accentuated and saw the man weighing his options before he put the phone back to his pocket and nodded for you to follow him. 

“I will tell him, just so you know. Steve needs to know about this, and we need to make sure you are introduced to the whole house the first thing in the morning so that this doesn’t happen again. But he needs to know. I will give you a few minutes to take it all in before I do call him, though,” he said with a resolution in his voice, and while you wanted to protest, you saw that it would have been to no avail. So, not saying another word, you let yourself in what was supposed to be your room and took it all in. 

The walls were this very soft grey, which you actually preferred to the cold white you saw a lot all over the house. There was a king-sized bed against the main wall, framed with two bed-side tables and two matching white and gold lamps. There were many pillows on the bed and a plaid, grey and blue, throw as well, making it all feel very homey. You could see a large closet, where you could have easily fit ten times the amount of clothes you owned. The only other thing in the room was a table with a chair and some drawers, where you could picture yourself working and writing. 

However, when you turned around, you saw something that caught your attention. An easel with a little table on wheels, on top of which was a palette where you could see yourself mixing colors left and right. You squealed, but the sound reminded you that you have just been assaulted and that you could admire the room later. 

You took your time in the bathroom, inspecting your neck and hissing here and there when you touched it carefully. You knew the sarge was outside your door, probably counting in his head before he called Steve, and you were actually pretty surprised he wasn’t marching in already. Just when you thought of it, the door to your room flew open, and you heard Steve and the man talking (well, actually, more like yelling at each other).

“Where the fuck is she? I’m going to kill Drax. I swear to fucking God, man. How is it even possible that he does shit like this? They were all supposed to be briefed, for fuck’s sake. Imma have Sam’s ass as well for this. Fuck!” He yelled and kicked into something, which made you frowned, and you rushed out of the bathroom. 

Steve spun around and almost ran towards you, cradling your face in his hands carefully and lifting your head so that he could have a clear view of the injuries. He was swearing under his breath, but you couldn’t help it and stare at him, wide-eyed. He was actually careful with you, sweet even as he took it all in, and when he was sure you wouldn’t die right there, he took a step back from you. 

“Are you ok?” He asked after a moment, and all you could was just nod and stand there awkwardly, scratching your arms behind your back. 

“Will you be able to find your room easier next time?” 

“No, we took too many turns. But I won’t leave this room till morning anyway, and I will learn to stay out of the way very quickly, I promise,” you rushed to say, not really wanting to meet any of his crew alone again. 

“You can’t be scared walking around here, honey. I will show you around right now, and I have already called an emergency meeting, and I want you there. This can never happen again,” he said gravely, and you understood this was probably his way of apologizing for something that wasn’t really all his fault. Well, he didn’t have to storm off and leave you there, nor did he have to scare Clint away, who was ready to show you to your room in the first place. 

“Is it necessary, Steve? If I’m quite honest, I don’t feel too comfortable leaving the room right now,” you quipped, but Steve wasn’t listening anymore. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door. Weirdly, you felt a little better having the skin-on-skin contact with him because, at least now, nobody would be stupid enough to attack you. 

You tried to remember the way and took in the details that would make you not lose your trail again, such as the red vase on one of the tables in the corner that looked just like the corner two minutes ago, but the vase was something you could remember, so you took a mental note of that and other little things that would serve for your safety, obviously. Because when Steve told you people would want you dead, you sort of didn’t expect those people would be in the house with you. 

You walked through the spacious kitchen and the adjacent dining room to find yourself in what looked like a meeting room, with around 20 men gathered and scattered all over the room. 

When Steve finally stopped, he let go of your hand, but he instinctively reached for you and pulled you against his side. You looked at him in slight disbelief again but didn’t say anything as he stared in front of himself till the room was as quiet as a freaking church during a sermon. 

“Let me make this very quick: however lays as much as a fucking finger on Y/N here, I will kill you, and I won’t give a fuck who you are. You were briefed that I’m getting married to the woman I want, and because somebody wasn’t paying attention to the fucking briefing, evidently, my fiancé is now sporting a black neck, which she will have to cover for our wedding. Drax, you and I will speak tomorrow, I was ready to kill you, but I’m a reasonable man, so I will sleep and think of your punishment then. Now, any questions?” He asked threateningly, and you knew even if somebody did have a question, nobody would dare to ask it now. 

And just as you predicted, the room was as quiet as before, and Steve waved his hand so that everybody was dismissed and they could breathe again. Just not in his presence. 

“Sam, you stay here,” Steve added when he saw one of his closest men leaving the room as well. 

“I will deal with him, Steve. I don’t know how that could have happened, but it won’t ever again, I promise. If it does, you can have my head, man,” the bulky man said and smiled warmly at you. 

“By the way, hi, I’m Sam. I’m like the muscles here, you know? So, if you need to pick something up, I’m your guy,” he said with a wink, and you chuckled but took his hand to shake it. 

“Nice to meet you, Sam, and I will remember that, thank you.” 

“Alright, now, we have all the pleasantries behind us, you can go back to your room and go to sleep. And Y/N, if anybody as much as looks at you the wrong way, you tell me, ok? This marriage might not be a genuine one, but none of these assholes knows that or should care about that. They should protect you just like they protect me, and I don’t care what they say. I can’t have my fucking wife scared to walk these halls,” he was still frowning as he was saying all this to you, but you could see he was much more relaxed than when all the men were in the room. These two, the sergeant whose name you still didn’t know, and Sam, were obviously close to Steve because despite the winks Sam gave to you, Steve didn’t make a scene, nor did he give you the pointed looks when others were around. Still, you were on thin ice, and there was too much drama for one day for you to try and challenge him in any way. 

“Ay ay, Captain,” you chuckled, and the corner of Steve’s mouth actually moved a little, so you took that as a good sign. 

“Alright, I will try and get back to my room and call it a day because tomorrow is an important day! So, nice to meet you, gentlemen, and I will see you soon, I guess,” you waved at them awkwardly, and Sam waved back enthusiastically as you left the men to themselves. 

“She is actually quite nice,” Sam summarized, and winked at Bucky, who just rolled his eyes at him in annoyance, having just enough of Sam’s antics for one day. 

“Yeah, yeah, she actually is, when she’s not talking back and challenging every fucking thing I say,” Steve complained, and it was a turn for both men to roll their eyes at their best friend. 

“Oh yeah, because you love when they’re meek and quiet, we forgot. C’mon, man, somebody fucking choked her today, and she was still standing here with her head held high, keeping it together like a fucking pro. I say she is perfect for you,” Sam said defensively when he saw the murderous stare from his friend/boss. 

Good thing Sam didn’t see you in your room because as soon as you closed the door behind yourself, the tears just streamed down your face, and small sobs left your lips. You were glad the day was over and dreaded what the next day would bring. 

Next Chapter >

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[justmaybee]

A/N: I can’t get a prompt from Chili royalty and not choose Chili—that’s just bad taste 🧐 pft, my inability to write new characters aside, I do love both of them dearly and I really hope you enjoy this fic! Also, as a Kazuha non-haver, you’re free to pillage my sea ganoderma should you please 👌🏼

Summary: Chili just—give off major ‘married for years and still madly in love vibes,’ okay? So this is just soft domestic fluff w/ some tickles thrown in ✨

From this ask game!

Childe’s hair drags against the carpet below him, caught as he stretches out the stiffness in his neck. He can feel blood rushing to his face; nothing new, he’s always been easy to burn, to flush. The head rush is entertaining though, so he might keep this up a bit longer.

His legs sway over the back of the couch, tapping sporadically on the wall behind it. The soft flick of a page catches his wandering attention, head swiveling on the floor, hair getting even messier where it’s fanned out around him.

Zhongli looks like a work of art, dressed down and casual. A book in hand with a pair of reading glasses settled on the bridge of his nose. He’s naturally eye-catching, even upside down.

It’s so annoying.

Childe kicks his leg, a little too hard, against the wall. Zhongli doesn’t react.

He’s really good at that. He’s been ignoring Childe for—ugh—how many hours, Childe can’t tell at this point.

Probably...almost one, but still.

Zhongli is smart, smarter than anyone Childe’s come across, and with his Fatui connections that’s really saying something. Of course, it’s hard to compete with a person who’s lived through the stuff scholars usually read about, so a point for Xiansheng. Still, that doesn’t keep him from wanting to know more.

At the cost of his brain becoming too big for his very handsome and very human head, Zhongli has become quite a big reader as a mortal. Always with a book on hand for bouts of quiet time throughout the work week.

But it’s the weekend. Childe is here, not on any missions out and abroad, and Zhongli is usually happy to entertain him.

So...when he slipped his arms around Childe’s waist, whispered in his ear, asking for just a little time to finish a novel on loan from an acquaintance—

It was the right thing to do. Of course he’d accommodate. Not just because Zhongli’s breath sent goosebumps across his shoulders and made his brain go a little stupid. Not at all.

But, come on, one whole hour.

Childe slips down the front of the couch, head flattening out to lay on the ground and give his crown a break. His chin pushes against the base of his throat, and he can feel the vibrations of his groan ring against the top of his chest.

That gets him the most attention he’s had in this drought. The way Zhongli taps his foot against Childe’s thigh is undoubtedly intentional, a placating gesture. It’s literally the one second touch of a foot and Childe feels more fulfilled than he’s been all day, jeez.

It does give him the best idea ever though.

Because lucky for him, Zhongli is leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, totally absorbed in his reading; and his feet are definitely within grabbing distance. And after some—ahem—investigation, Childe’s learned a lot about how ticklish a certain someone’s ankles can be…

He gets his arm a few sneaky centimeters away before the wind is knocked out of him.

Well, maybe not ‘knocked’ out of him, but he does lose his breath for a second.

And when he tunes back in, he also realizes he’s lost Zhongli. The couch arm where he was reclining only a second ago now a resting spot for his propped open book.

It’s then that Childe notices a lot of pressure where there wasn’t any before. He tilts his head up to catch a better look at his lower body.

“Oh! Hi Xiansheng!”

Zhongli tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, keeping it out of his face. He smiles down at Childe, whose smile only grows wider.

“Hello, Childe.”

“Done reading?”

Zhongli hums, settling into his straddle over Childe’s hips. His fingers tap softly.

“For the moment.”

It’s music to Childe’s ears, but it doesn’t take long for his tune to change.

Kind of hard for it not to when he notices the steady crawl of fingertips up—or maybe down?—the skin that peeks out the bottom of his shirt.

The first laugh is pulled quickly out of him, a giggle that goes squeaky when he tries to curl forward, grab at Zhongli’s creeping hands.

But not only does he have a motivated Zhongli going against him—no—this time he’s also fighting gravity.

That realization strikes harder than the last one.

“W-wahait! Aha! Xianshe—ehe! Zhonglihihihihihi!”

Childe’s a pretty fit guy. You don’t get the title of Harbinger by sitting around and picking your nose anyways. But with the force of gravity weighing on him and—oh man—the way Zhongli’s hands move to pinch up and down the curve of his sides. His ability to stay curled up gives out pretty quickly.

And when he finally falls back down—in a giggly, redder-than-usual pile—he can feel his shirt slip down with him. So now he’s tired himself out and left himself in a more compromising position.

Zhongli’s not exactly one to skip out on a good opportunity. Childe can’t blame him.

He can squeal and bat at Zhongli’s hands when they skitter well-maintained nails over his exposed stomach though.

“Noho! Zhonglihihihi! That’s so—HAH—unfahahahair! NohoHOHOHO!”

There he goes again, ignoring Childe’s words. He can hear him—definitely—because he always chooses to amp things up when he whines. And with the way he’s massaging the lowest of Childe’s ribs, making him jerk side to side in vain attempts to dodge his nimble fingers…

Yeah, he can definitely hear him.

His laughter is already shrill and explosive, breaking for quick, gasping breaths. It’s not like Zhongli’s never gotten him pinned before—it’s usually a requirement if he doesn’t want Childe trying to turn the tables—but something about this position…

It’s so weird, so difficult to get out of. The way he can feel his legs swing freely and his arms beat wildly beside him. Zhongli is sitting on top of him, sure, but he’s totally unguarded. Childe can see through teary eyes how lax he is, scratching light fingers over his sensitive skin.

He’s got no leverage, and—by this point—no energy. The weight of his own weakness holds him down and makes his torso an even easier target for Zhongli’s devilish fingers. It’s all he can do to push at Zhongli’s hands when they get close enough to reach.

At least that’s what he thinks before Zhongli’s hands start drifting back down his body. Towards—Childe realizes—his now noticeably exposed hips.

Oh, no way.

Childe can’t voice the thought, but he does get one panicked squeal out before he bucks up and flips himself around in Zhongli’s loose hold.

His face is in the carpet and Zhongli can still technically reach plenty of his (many, many) ticklish spots, but…it’s all he’s got.

And it seems to be enough. Zhongli’s hands don’t continue to prod at this weak points, just pat with a kind of finality on his butt that now pokes awkwardly into the air. His deep chuckle blends with Childe’s residual laughter, warm and comforting.

“Th-that was—uncahalled for.” The lie rolls off Childe’s lips easily, catching on a stray giggle. He has no doubt that Zhongli caught onto him earlier; got the jump on him before Childe could.

Zhongli, like always, plays along seamlessly.

“Yes, of course. I apologize,” He says with that smile that got Childe here in the first place. The one he can never say no to.

Childe shimmies his legs out from under Zhongli, tumbling over to spread out on the nice, soft floor. He must look like a disaster, all wrinkled clothes and flushed cheeks that make his whole head the same tomato kind of color.

And Zhongli…

Zhongli looks like a work of art, smile soft and fond. Despite coming out of a tickle fight—no matter how one-sided it might’ve been—he still looks absolutely perfect. Eye-catching, even upside down.

Childe is so lucky.

His grin pushes to the surface, even bigger than when Zhongli’s fingers coaxed it out of him.

“It’s okay, I still love you.”

[jamiedc-they-them]

Forgive and forget what happened in another time (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: After the incident with the Doctor, Daisy and Jemma see how much it hurt you and do what they can to help, but there is only one person who can really help. Fitz

Leopold Fitz, that name used to make you feel safe, happy, protected. A name of a brother figure, of a best friend.

Now, it was a name of danger, of hurt, of caution; of someone who once meant the world to you, but now a complicated thing. That was the what the name brought now. 

Your hand went to the wound he had caused you, a bullet wound; the scar being patched up by Jemma, who had been doing all she could for you. 

“Knock knock.” You heard Daisy said a your door swished open, there was no knock that was a lie, only the words and swoosh of the door to alert you of her presence in your room. 

You quickly put the shirt down, covering the scar, but you saw her eye go to where it would be on your front (your back was to her, you had turned your head to look at you, even then you only saw her from the corner of your eye) and her smile was sympathetic. 

She had her scar too, running her hand along the back of her neck.

“Hey.” You greeted, trying to sound like you both thinking about the same thing.

“Hey.” She parroted back, trying to do the same thing. 

You cleared your throat, fully turning to your friend and crossing your arms, “So, what’s up?” You asked.

She suddenly remembered why she was here, “We’re gonna be landing soon, gonna need you there with me.” She said, giving you a smile, one you mirrored. 

She hated this, seeing her sibling in pain like this; she hated that your brother figure hurt you both. 

You had found where his ship was after interrogating one of the crew, all you had to do was get to it. 

As you walked, with Daisy leading, Jemma grabbed you by the arm and held you back, “Y/N, if this is it, then --” 

“Now’s not the time.” You said, trying to get her to release you so you could just end this journey. 

“When is the time?” She pressed; you looked at her in the eyes, this journey had made her go to dark places, but she was still the caring soul you met all that time ago.

“Not now,” You said, removing the hand, “Besides, if it is him...then he’ll be with you, and Daisy can do the talking for me.” 

You entered the part of the ship you needed through the ceiling, with Jemma leading the way. You found the pod, and you waited with baited breath. She looked to you and Daisy, two of her best friends in the whole world who had followed her out here for this one moment. 

Her face dropped when she opened it...nothing was there, only some blood. 

She stayed in the pod for a bit, breaking down. You, meanwhile, sat in the commons room, alone, and you allowed yourself to admit it. 

You were happy that he wasn’t. 

And part of you hated yourself for it. 

“Y/N,” Jemma called out to you, you looked up to her, “I need you for something.” 

That was a bit of a stretch, it was more of a team meeting, and something she had spotted on the pod, writing. 

In a language she knew apparently. 

You and Daisy were trying to keep the rest of you guys in check, and at the same time get Simmons to see that you would not survive this trip. 

She, however, saw it differently.

She, however, pulled the lever and sent you deeper into space, chasing after a translation.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jemma knew, she knew that you were pissed by that option; and as much as she defended it, she saw the toll all this was taking on you. 

But, this was her husband, she wasn’t going to just leave him stranded, even if the chance of finding him was small. 

“Y/N --” She said, having a moment alone with you before they went to the city of Kitson, a place apparently only the worst people would go. 

“Don’t.” You were firm with your words, and she could detect the bite. 

“Y/N, please --” Again, she couldn’t finish. 

“You had no right!” 

“I have to find him, Y/N. You would do the same if it was Daisy, me, or anyone else.” She couldn’t stop the words, her goal of finding her husband stopping her from seeing the consequences of her words.

Those consequences came when your eyes widened, almost at the audacity of the words said, before you let out a humourless chuckle, “‘Anyone else’ hasn’t shot me while I’ve tried to free my sister from his split. I get it, not fully in his control, his trauma too, but what about mine, Jemma? You expect me to just move on from it? Sure, Daisy’s done better, but --”

“You don’t need to compare yourself to her, Y/N. You’re making your own progress, I promise…” She was torn, and you could tell. 

“Whatever, let’s just go, ok?” She could tell things were a bit icey between you both, but she knew that you both still cared for each other, even during this time. 

You went to Kitson, yourself and the two girls getting high as a kite in your search, “Co-come on, Y/N...We need to find our british friend.” Daisy said, holding onto your hand and bringing you through the crowds. You had no idea where Jemma had gone, part of your brain wondering if she was real…

If what Fitz had done was real. 

She was, as you found out, being brought onto the floor in a crawl as you went under the table to find some solace from the people.

You observed the surroundings, eyes wide as you blinked a few times, but you swore you saw a man in a suit, a beard and an emotionless expression on his face staring at you a few times in the crowd, but each time you just shook your head and he was gone.

A blaring ‘dolphin’ noise brought the three of you out, it was a signal. But Chronicoms were on your tail, so you both looked to Jemma, assuring her that - despite your states - you could handle them. Jemma looked to you and smiled, glad you still had her back. 

She went, and you and your sister got to work, Daisy spinning on the table and you throwing glasses at the trained opponents. It was funny, how you both almost reverted to how you were before all this - you throwing glasses in a bar fight - and her distracting herself during a conflict and having fun with it. 

With that cleared up, Jemma had news for you. 

“He’s alive.” She told you, and she knew where to go. 

Your search led you to a Chromicom ship, or rather the ship. But, you saw him for the first time --

Not the doctor who had hurt you and your sister --

Not the man who had a split and lost for a moment to his demons --

But your best friend, your brother. Jemma’s husband --

Leopold Fitz.

Daisy was all but ready to make do on her threat of Fitz being hurt again, she’d tear the ship apart. She knew this wasn’t the Fitz that had hurt her, had hurt you. 

You were willing to do a lot of things to get him back, but forgiving him would be another thing. 

You had tried a runner, only for you to find yourself surrounded; you and Daisy were more than ready to fight --

But Jemma stopped you; you couldn’t quite focus on her words, your heart racing as you saw the tears in Daisy’s and Jemma’s eyes. 

This was a goodbye between you three siblings. 

Jemma then looked to you, shaky smile on her lips, “Y/N --” She wanted to say something, anything to help make this better. But she couldn’t think of anything. 

Her youngest sibling was hurting, just as much as her other younger sister. 

You brought her into a hug, one she returned, no other words were spoken; you both just hugged. 

Then she was gone, and you were going home with a member gone, maybe forever. 

As you went home, Daisy found you in your room, she sat next to you, not saying anything but she knew her presence would help. 

Hell, it had helped her, she knew how you both worked. You were her best friend since birth, brought up together in the orphanage. Now, you were more hurt than you were before. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Still, you went back to earth, the ever present image of Jemma Simmon walking away, to whatever her fate held, was etched into your mind. 

You felt Daisy’s gaze on you every so often as you got closer to home. Still, no words were spoken, just the gaze of, not concern, just care. Was she worried? Yeah, but she knew displaying that to you would only make you go further into your hole you had dug for yourself. 

Still, you disembarked and found yourself now in a new situation, a new trauma; Phil Coulson had returned...sort of. 

It was him in the physical form, just not the...mental form? Still, it threw yourself and Daisy, just how seeing Fitz (the older version you cared for dearly) threw you earlier. 

You and Daisy walked away, trying to ignore what you had just seen. It didn’t, however, work that way. 

You instead ended up on the man’s (Sarge) truck, going to stop someone known as Izel, you didn’t care who she was, just that she was a threat to your family. 

So, on board you went. 

He pulled you up to the front, Daisy giving you a pat on the shoulder for encouragement as you went; you gave her a smile before entering. 

“So, smiley tells me you went off to space.” He said, wasting no time it seemed. 

You nodded, “Had a little trip, sure.” 

“What for?” 

“It wasn’t for you, if that’s what you’re getting at.” 

He scoffed, “Trust me, I might have an ego, but not that high of one. What were you really looking for?” 

“Why do you wanna know?” 

“Snow’s...difficult, but I’ve known her long enough to know when she needs to talk.” 

“You offering me a shoulder?” 

“A cold one. But you seem to be more open than your sister. All she wanted to talk about was me.” 

“She’s always been inquisitive.” 

“And you're sensitive.” 

“Was.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Wow, he was not stopping. 

“I will when you do.” He smirked. 

And he did, just to spite you it seemed; he opened up about Izel and his past; how his planet was destroyed and how revenge and hate drove him. 

He lied at one point, saying it was love, but he quickly said it was the hate that drove him instead. 

Love drove you, you knew that, but also fear. Fear of who Fitz would be.

Sarge looked at you, eyes almost daring you to open up; Daisy caught the look, quickly brining the attention back to her and away from you. She hated it, the look in his eyes, the amusement he got from causing you that discomfort. 

Then he was gone, he was out and you were barreling for a tower filled with Shrike (little bat things) that would infect everyone. 

Sarge was gone, and you were going to slam into the tower with a nuke. 

Deke did what he could to try and defuse it, but was unsuccessful. 

Daisy looked to you, seeing you only staring at the bomb that would now surely take your life; you looked devastated. Her eyes softened as she took one of your hands in her own, she gave it a squeeze, a silent “I love you.” 

Then it all went black…

Only, you woke up. You woke up to Daisy over the bomb with her powers making it go back into the bomb. 

She took care of the shrike too, vaporizing them as they entered. 

Then...then he entered. Leopold Fitz…

It was different seeing him in person, actually seeing him. 

Deke had hugged him.

Daisy smiled, as did May. 

You did, a small amount; he looked like his innocent self, not the beared man who had hurt him. 

But he was still there...always there deep down. 

You had a party, and he smiled at you; you lifted your bottle up, but your smile wasn’t as full as it used to be. 

You left early. 

Then you were forced to work together, looking into what made Sarge...well, Sarge, as Daisy spoke to him. 

She let it all out, the vitreal, the anger at this situation. Fitz chanced a look to you, seeing how you kept your distance, didn’t look at him. 

“Y/N...are you ok?” He asked; Jemma even paused what she was doing to look over at you in concern. 

You gulped, just hearing his voice made you go back mentally, “...Yeah, fine.” You said, trying to hang tough. 

His hand hit your shoulder, and you flinched away, slapping the hand away. He ignored the pain, he just kept his hands up and took a step back. 

“...I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” You said, walking away, ignoring Jemma saying your name softly as you left. 

You went back to your retreat. You felt the place shake, but you just hid yourself more. You couldn’t do this, your hand went to your wound as you felt the burning from it when you were shot. You heard the broken of “NO!” From both Daisy and Jemma. You --

You felt a hand on your shoulder, a soft one and yet you still cried out at it. The hand stayed, however, and you felt yourself be pulled into a hug. 

“I got you, Y/N...I got you.” It was Daisy, and you felt her tears hit you on the top of your head as you sobbed. 

You stayed like that for a bit, with you just sobbing into her as you took yourself back to what would have been your death had...had Jemma not acted so quickly. 

Jemma, the woman who had been by your side this whole time, along with Daisy of course. But Jemma never forced you into anything about the topic, she respected your boundaries. 

“Is...is he?” You started to ask before you hiccuped.

“He wanted to wait...but he understands if you don’t --”

“No, no I wanna see him...It...I can’t just ignore him forever.” You said, Daisy still holding you close.

“Ok...ok.” She said, kissing you on your head before helping you up and bring you to the door.

She opened it, and you smiled at your brother. Not the doctor. But Leopold Fitz, the man who hadn’t lost to his demons. 

And he smiled back softly. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daisy gave you a hug before departing on her mission, and that left you with Fitzsimmons. Jemma stood on one side, Fitz on the other. 

You stood as a united trio as you watched the mission occur. 

“Y/N, I...I’m sorry.” You let him finish this time. 

This time, you also looked at him, “It -- it wasn’t you.” 

“...I know. But, I still did it.” He said, not wanting to let himself of the hook.

You nodded sadly, “We fixed the timeline...We saved you, we’re all back together now...I’m sure we’ll get there with us, anyway.” 

He smiled, he knew you would, and he hoped dearly that he would. 

Jemma smiled, glad you were starting to heal. 

Now though, without knowing, it would be a while before you would see your friends again fully...

[cno-inbminor]

domus

a/n: here we have another short drabble dump! i wrote this up very quickly -- i’m still working on that long fic i’ve been talking about! i apologize for taking so long to put it together. pls take this short fic as an apology for now. stay hydrated, wear your masks, and be safe! love you all so dearly <3 

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else. 

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi 

wc: ~3.7k, will probably have other parts in the future.

genre/warnings: angst with dashes of fluff; mentions of alcohol

pt. 2 | pt. 3

edit: now crossposted to AO3!

When you’re in love, you spend weeks and months wondering why time won’t stop. You sit and ponder over why you’ll have to die someday and leave behind the person you’ve dedicated your entire soul to, or what might happen if your death came early and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You wonder why the seasons seem to pass you by so quickly, that in the blink of an eye, you go from enjoying a cup of iced tea on the porch to holding a mug of hot chocolate inside watching snowflakes swirl in their journeys to the ground.

But when love ceases to exist, time seems to stop. The days drag for longer, the seasons crawl at a turtle’s pace, and the inevitable end feels less terrifying. You no longer fear the eventual sagging of your skin or the spider legs that grow at the corners of your eyes. You no longer cling onto a hope that there will be a lover’s hand holding yours at your bed of eternal sleep. You simply become, just you. Solitary, single, independent you.

It’s no longer you and someone else. The realization stings so badly that it physically hurts you, a whimper leaving your throat. You shakily reach over for the next blouse and fight back the tears, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. The skin is chapped and broken to the point that you would need layers and layers of chapstick to save any semblance of it, a terrible habit that you wish you hadn’t possessed. It’s muscle memory, the way you fold the blouse in half, fold the sleeves in, bending it over your arm before it lands in a neat stack of other tops in your suitcase. Your eyes take a glance at the clock, and you gather you have about another hour before you needed to leave for the airport and make it on time for your flight.

You ignore the male figure hunched over on the edge of your bed, tuning out his pleas and broken promises. He begs you to give him time, to implore that it’s all his fault and he’ll make it work for the two of you. Tetsuro promises that he didn’t mean to and that it wasn’t anything you did, but you feel so empty inside that you can’t even find the energy to argue, to turn on him and say that he was pretending to take all the blame so it’d be a better explanation to all your friends. A relationship involves both parties, and while there were special exceptions, this wasn’t one of them. Something was clearly wrong with you, and you were okay with that. You were just tired of Testuro attempting to take everything onto himself.

“I thought it’d be best to come clean with you,” he says, throat hoarse from lack of hydration. “I know you would question it and I haven’t done anything, I swear, I know you’re amazing and don’t deserve to live a lie and—”

“Do you want me to say ‘thank you’?” You interjected quietly, morosely. Your hands slide open the underwear drawer and take out a week’s worth of underwear, bras, and bralettes. “Do you want me to express my gratitude in your honesty for telling me that you don’t love me anymore? You can easily buy a trophy online and make the inscription yourself. ‘Most honest man alive’? Is that what you want?” You ask, tone flat and not possessing the least bit of amusement and humor.

“Can’t you give me some time? I’ll try, I’ll try to figure out what went wrong, and I can love you again. We can still get married and everything, but please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving forever, Tetsu. I’m just gone for a week, maybe more.”

“Where are you even going?”

“That’s none of your business,” you quickly reply, defenses back up as you make a beeline for the bathroom. You pick up all the toiletries you can, the ones that would be allowed in your carry-on. Strangers won’t care about your missing skincare routine and your complexion not looking its best.

“What if you get lost? Or kidnapped? What if people ask—”

“Easy. Just tell them I had a last minute business trip, family emergency, whatever floats your boat.”

“Can’t you see that I’m trying? I—”

“This isn’t just about you!” You snap, whirling around to look at him for the first time in the last hour or so. Testuro notices with a pang in his heart that your cheeks have sunken in slightly since he broke his revelation to you just last week, the eye circles darker than ever. But your eyes are soulless, dead, no shine or spark that he’d wake up to every morning even muddled with sleep.

“You can’t just expect me to be okay and continue to bend over backwards for you without question. The least you could do is give me my time, give me some space to think about all of it. That’s the bare minimum.”

And with that, you zip your suitcase shut, grab your passport (even though you probably don’t need it), keys, wallet, and phone, and walk as quickly as you can to the front door. The scheduled Uber will arrive in just a few minutes, and as you slip into a pair of flats, you can hear the creak of the bed and Testuro’s padded steps nearing you.

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, anything. You’re still one of the most important people to me, so just – text me at some point. Let me know you’re alive at least.”

“You need to rest. You’re on call tomorrow,” you digress while opening the door.

“(Y/n)—”

“I’ll text you. Promise.”

And the door shuts behind you.

-

Your relationship with Akaashi Keiji is…hard to explain. In fact, you’re not even sure what to refer him as in your life. Anytime you spoke of him or attempted to explain, you’d fumble over words and draw blanks. While it was irritating and aggravating at times, you learned to just accept it.

Akaashi Keiji was the neighbor down the street, two years older, and someone who had known you since you were 8. Your moms were attached at the hip not longer after you moved to Tokyo, and that meant holidays were spent together, impromptu get-togethers and dinners were a common occurrence, and you saw him frequently at school. He was a quiet soul, gentle, but reserved. In fact, most of the things you knew about him were secondhand conversations from your mother talking about the family, because honestly his mom was basically your second mom now, and your mother trusted you with everything. His past, his troubles, his personality all relayed through your mom from his own, and when you saw him in the hallways, he wasn’t much of an enigma to you. Many other girls had found the mysterious air around him to be attractive, that the pretty setter who only ever smiled around his volleyball team and kept a tight circle of friends had something significant beneath the layers.

Keiji grew up with you, playing Smash on the Wii to pass time as your parents gossiped away. Sometimes, you’d play an intense game of Monopoly with him, a game that typically tipped in his favor. He never said much about himself, always relayed more about others that overlapped in your lives. The most he ever spoke to you about was when it came to teachers at school, even giving you some of his old notes and pointers. But even you could tell that he kept his guards up, and you wondered if he even classified you as a friend.

Your go-to explanation of Keiji’s standing in your life was a family friend. But that insinuated you were close with him, which you weren’t at all. No matter how many times he walked home with you (mainly at the pushing from his mother), no matter how many times he was forced to entertain you at dinners and holidays, no matter how many times he gave you a small smile in school, there was such a large gap between the two of you. He always seemed so different around his team, like they had the privilege of knowing the real him, and at times, you felt…jealous.

And the weird thing is that you can rely on him somehow – whether it be because he’d get an earful from his parents if he didn’t help you when you asked it or out of the goodness of his heart, he was simply always there. Sometimes, you were bold enough to text him about a show he talked about in the past, and he would reply quickly as if your unexpected, rare text about something benign didn’t faze him at all.  

Yet despite the distance, despite the lack of any semblance of an actual friendship with him, he was the first one you thought of when all this happened. He was the one you wanted to see – maybe it’s because he was the closest thing to home, and you didn’t want to go back to your parents explaining everything. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Tokyo, ever since you moved to Sapporo for your job and Testuro got matched for a residency at a hospital there.

At 7PM on a Friday afternoon, past the baggage claim with the sunset beaming in through the sliding glass doors, you stare at Keiji’s contact on your phone, thumb hovering hesitantly over the call button. You could count the number of times you’ve called him on one hand, but this was an emergency, right? Is this why your heart is pounding against your chest, so anxious that you feel like you’ll break into a cold sweat any time soon?

You jump into the deep end.

Your hand nervously brings the phone to your ear, waiting with bated breath as the dial tone echoes in the chamber of your brain. Part of you wants him to miss the call so you can avoid this awkward conversation, but another part of you desperately wants him to pick up as if he’ll be able to save you.

Oh god oh god oh god, you panic as the tone stops, there’s a pause, a rustle, and then a hesitant, “—Hello?”

You didn’t plan this out. You’re not ready for this. Shit, what are you supposed to say?

“—hello? (Y/n)?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Wow, you’re a terrible conversationalist.

“…um, I haven’t actually. I was about to warm up some leftovers?”

Your eyes focus on the taxis driving by, picking up passengers as they get waved down. Maybe you should just find a cheap hotel nearby, continue this conversation tomorrow.

“Well…I’m in town, actually. I just landed about 30 minutes ago and realized I didn’t have anywhere to go and I don’t really want to call anyone else and I don’t exactly know who else to call so I just, um, thought about calling you and asking if you’ve had dinner? Which if you’re busy and stuff, that’s totally fine, I should’ve texted you beforehand instead of springing this on you and—”

“(Y/n), it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. I’m not busy, so you can stop by. Did my mom ever give you my address?”

Keiji’s brief attempt to calm you down works, surprisingly. You allow yourself to take a deep breath despite the stale airport air, but it was some much-needed oxygen. This is going to be okay, Keiji doesn’t hate you quite yet.

“N-no, she never did.”

“That’s fine, I’ll text it to you. My place is about 30 minutes from the airport, I’d recommend getting a taxi instead of an Uber. I’ll order some delivery—”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You still like the miso ramen from that shop not far from your house, right? They opened up a second store not far from where I live.”

How did he remember that? You’re pretty sure your own mother had forgotten that fact by now.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you smile to yourself. “I still think about it sometimes.”

“Sounds good then. Get here safely then.”

“Okay. Thank you loads again. I’m sorry for all this—”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep me updated, see you later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Not 30 seconds later, a text arrives to your phone with an address, a keycode for getting past the main door, and other relevant instructions.

-

Keiji’s apartment is exactly as you expect it to be – prim, proper, neat almost to a fault, with minimalist decorations. The apartment complex he lives in is rather high-end, if the security guards standing outside the main entrance indicated anything. You almost feel completely out of place or like a bug on the wall as you step in after him, a rather comfortable silence between the two of you. His kitchen is spotless and almost sparkles back at you, and the only thing that seems out of place are the containers of your ramen he so kindly ordered for you.

“Your place is really nice, it’s really…you,” you comment, setting your stuff down at the door. Keiji indulges you with a quiet laugh, making sure that there wasn’t anything that would be in your way. His glasses are perched on his head, an old monochrome t-shirt on his shoulders and sweatpants hung low on his hips, yet in this apartment that almost seems like it should be in an interior design magazine, he looks at home. His ethereal beauty, the softness in his eyes, the gentle up-turned strands of his hair – he belonged here.

“The ramen came not too long ago, so it’s still hot. I’ll go ahead and put it together, you can put your jacket on the couch.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Instead, you fold your jacket over your suitcase and quietly make your way into the apartment. Straight across from you are doors to a balcony – darkness had long taken over the city, so you see nothing but your reflection at first. But as you near the plexiglass, the reflection disappears into the view and you almost gasp from the beauty of it.

Blinking lights, flashing billboards, and the brightly lit Tokyo Skytree peer back at you. It only hits you now how much you’ve missed home, and that even though Sapporo was one of the largest cities in Japan, it still wasn’t Tokyo.

“I never get tired of it,” Keiji chimes in while carrying your bowl of ramen to the dining table.

“It’s an amazing view, I can see why you’d live here,” you reply while moving away from it. The table also has two empty wine glasses, and just as you’re about to ask him why they were there, he returns with a newly opened bottle of chardonnay.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to restock the wine fridge, but I knew I was going to kick myself for not having a bottle of that dessert wine we had before you went off to college,” he said with mirth and amusement. “You remember that one?”

“Yeah,” you nearly splutter, almost flushing that once again, Keiji was remembering details about you that you didn’t even know. “Your mom wanted to throw me a graduation dinner and you made it back in time after finals. And she had a bottle of it and between the two of us, we probably drank most of it. Our parents said it was too sweet.”

He nods and sits across from you, elbows on the table as you mutter, “Itadakimasu,” and start eating. You finish your meal silently for the most part, making small talk here and there. Keiji refills both of your glasses and the two of you sip the wine demurely, and while he seems okay with the lack of an explanation, you’re struggling to find the right words.

“So what’s with the impromptu trip to Tokyo? Are you going to see your parents?”

“Should I try to lie to you?”

“It’s up to you.”

Oh, okay then.

But he looks expectant, as if he knows you wouldn’t lie to him – in fact, you’ve never lied to him before. There was never any need to, but did that just mean neither of you ever cared enough?

“Something happened with me and Testuro. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but at the end of the day…I just needed to get away, as cliché as it sounds,” you laugh brokenly. Keiji continues to carefully observe you with a stare that you can’t escape. “I don’t want to tell my parents – you know them, they’ll ask a million questions. Without thinking, I booked a ticket to Tokyo and…now I’m here.”

That was a lie. How are you supposed to tell Keiji that he was the first person you thought of in an effort to run away? You and Keiji have never gotten personal before, he made sure of that. The last thing you want to do is weird him and scare him off.

“…did he cheat on you?” Keiji asked. His voice is darker in his inquiry, deeper than you’ve ever heard before. He has his hands folded in front of his lips and his eyes harden. Testuro may be an old friend to him, but you were in his life longer.

“Nonononono,” you quickly wave off. This isn’t the time to slander your…boyfriend? Could Tetsuro still even be your boyfriend if he no longer has any feelings for you? “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good to hear. If you want, you can tell me another time then. You’re welcome to stay here until you go back to Sapporo.”

You look up at him, eyes incredulous. Could Keiji really be this comfortable with you?

“I wouldn’t mind staying tonight, but I can stay in a hotel for the rest of the week that I’m here.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji refutes, standing from the table and taking your wine glasses to the sink. You follow with your bowl and he starts washing them before you can even offer. “Mom would kill me if she knew I let you pay for a hotel when I have a perfectly functioning bed you can stay in.”

“I mean, if it’s not a bother…”

“It’s not. The futon’s pretty comfortable, I’ve definitely fallen asleep on it plenty of times.”

“We can switch, I would never let you sleep on the futon for a whole week.”

“If you say so then. But for tonight, you can take my bed. Let me grab you an extra towel so you can shower. I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” he says while drying everything off, folding the kitchen towel neatly before heading off to his room. He returns with a large, soft grey towel and you shyly take it from him with a word of thanks, but he stays there in front of you, waiting for something.

“I’m really glad you picked up the phone,” you whisper softly, feeling the effects of the alcohol. You’re entering uncharted territory for the two of you, and this could either kill or strengthen this odd distant friendship. “I meant it when I said I didn’t know who else to call. You were the first person that came to mind and just…I don’t want to make this weird, like you can kick me out,” you begin to ramble. “Don’t feel like you’re obligated to take me in because your mom would be disappointed if you wouldn’t, you’ve already put up with me for over 15 years and it’s fine, I can be on my own and—”

Smooth, calloused hands delicately hold your face, large palms and nimble fingers cupping your cheeks. Your words die on your tongue as Keiji stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze until your breathing calms down to a steady, languid pace. “You’re my friend, (y/n). So it’s good that you called me.”

“I’m your…friend?” You ask unsteadily, feeling a sense of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms with the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now go shower.”

“Okay.”

-

You’re fast asleep before Keiji finishes his own shower, his bedroom door left ajar as the hallway light beams through. He pauses in the midst of drying his hair with a towel, letting it bunch and hang off his neck as he cautiously pushes the door open. Keiji notices your even breathing and how much more relaxed you look in sleep. You’re curled up on your side with the blanket pulled up to your face and he can’t lie: it’s adorable and cute, and he shouldn’t really be thinking these things.

He sits on the edge of the bed in the little space that’s provided, lithe fingers reaching out to brush back a few stray wisps of your hair. Watching you sleep pulls him back into a fond memory he’s kept of the two of you, one that might’ve held very little significance to you but meant something so much more to him. He knows you know him well, he knows how much his mother babbles on about him, and adults were more prone to gossip than the rowdiest of teenagers – he’d be painfully oblivious if he didn’t think you knew that much about him, or more than the average friend.

But it’s comforting to him, sometimes. Knowing you, how kindly you think of others, he might not have to explain what he’s feeling in the moment. You would be able to know, and that soothes him to some degree.

Maybe he had a little bit too much wine as well, but ever so subtly, motions steady and unhurried, he deftly leans closer and closer until his lips brush the apple of your cheek. He lingers for no more than a few seconds and sits back up, gazing at you before standing. His hands adjust the blankets and make sure you’re properly tucked in. He pads away, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible as to not wake you.

And when he’s found a comfortable position on the futon with his most comfortable throw blanket, he realizes, begrudgingly, that this week will fly by too fast for his liking.  

[falling-pages]

I know about you: Tamakyo

These boys need to feel some happiness and I'll be darned if I'm not the one giving it to them. This is just Kyoya finally getting his well-deserved cuddles.

-

The gang is on the run from people who wish them dead, Tamaki starts seeing things, and Kyoya learns to let himself be taken care of.

-

"Kyoya pressed a kiss to his neck to thank him. Thanking him for saving him, for helping him, for making life worth living all over again and again and again every time he smiled."

-

Tamaki Suoh x Kyoya Ootori

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of riots, evacuation, similar themes.

-

-

Tamaki shuffled in the darkness, groaning when he felt the empty space next to him. The sleeping bag was still warm without a certain Shadow King, but he would have preferred clinging to his boyfriend’s body over all the extra space. Kyoya knew Tamaki couldn’t sleep without tangling him in his arms.

So if Kyoya were missing, that led to two theories: he was in danger, or he was sitting by the fire.

Tamaki sat up and stretched, hand smacking against the knife handle on his left. The first theory canceled itself out simply by the fact of his own presence. If some wild thing had taken and eaten Kyoya, he would have been taken, too. He had never heard of a predator picking and choosing a meal when there was a whole buffet of tents to feast upon. Plus, they had a guard dog in Mori, whose razor-sharp senses had been keeping them all in line so far.

They all had survived so far just by sheer luck and Mori’s instincts, and he hoped that luck wouldn’t end the moment he stepped out of the tent.

Something rustled. A shadow moved in front of the crackling fire, long and tall and bespectacled--

Theory number two, proven.

Tamaki laid back down and folded his hands together, propping his head against his interwoven fingers behind him. He watched as the figure paced in circles around the fire, torso bent at an angle, posture tight and rigid. Waiting for Kyoya to finish, Tamaki turned back onto his side, pretending to go to sleep until his love returned to his arms.

Except, he didn’t. Kyoya sat on a log and bent forward, cradling his head in his hands.

It was odd, seeing him like this. He had a habit of staying up late, yes, but once he went to bed he stayed knocked out until the noontime sun shook him awake.

A streak of worry coursed through Tamaki’s veins, and he wondered if it even were Kyoya sitting out there, or if it were an imposter, a traitor, infiltrating their camp.

He grabbed the knife and crawled out of the sleeping bag, pausing at the edge of the tent. It was half-way unzipped, and through the transparent orange cloth, Tamaki confirmed it was his love who sat dejected and alone just a few feet away--his posture was unlike him, but he was wearing Tamaki’s shirt, and the leather straps from his necklace rode along his neck.

“Kyo?” he whispered, setting the knife off to the side. His voice kept its softness, even with the dehydration. He would do anything to dunk his head beneath a creek’s tide and gulp, despite Mori’s warning insurrectionists likely poisoned all the local watering holes.

Kyoya fidgeted, not sitting still for the first time in his life. It was good enough of an invitation, so Tamaki stood, dusted his hands, and joined him on the log.

“Please come back to sleep,” Tamaki mumbled. “The sleeping bag is cold without you.”

Kyoya smirked, finally looking up at him beneath his thin wire rims. That smirk detailed it was a lie, they both knew Tamaki’s body heat was enough for both of them, especially in such a tight, confined space.

But in the firelight, that smirk twisted into a grimace, highlighting the tears welling behind Kyoya’s eyes, and Tamaki reached out and grabbed him, sinking onto the log and pulling him against his chest, rubbing circles up and down his shivering back until the racking sobs and moans reduced to sniffles.

In his shock, Tamaki could only whisper words of comfort and press kisses into his hair. Above it, though, he knew that Kyoya only needed to hold him--that if he could feel his love, that would help quell the sea of anxiety and fear tormenting his soul.

Kyoya clutched Tamaki’s shoulders, kneading his fingers in and out of the seams of his shirt. He had been his anchor since the day he had arrived in Japan, with his cheery voice and chipper eyes and light-filled soul. Together they were a tangle of heartache and wishes, hope and regret, two young men in love thrown into a world that had once coddled them, now trying to kill them.

Their only hope of survival was each other.

“You know, Kyoya, I’ve been thinking,” Tamaki mused, “and since the rioting, the wanting to eat the rich and all that...since they’ve destroyed our property, I suppose we aren’t rich anymore! We should be safe!”

And just like that, the moment broke.

Kyoya didn’t know if he were supposed to laugh or scoff, but after a moment for his brain to process the statement, he let out a mix of both. Tamaki was famous for his fanciful ideas, but this stretched even the definition of fanciful.

“We are the heirs of some of the richest corporations in all of Asia,” Kyoya replied with a sneer. The teardrops dried on his cheeks. “The insurrectionists are not going to just forget what we look like.”

“They might! Put you in contacts, give Mori-senpai a wig, put the little devils in dresses and give Renge a moustache, we’ll be fine!”

Kyoya couldn’t help but laugh at that, a real laugh, and bury his head back into his boyfriend’s chest. He inhaled that distinct Tamaki smell, expensive cologne long forgotten in their evacuation, that persisted despite the sweat and dirt of a week of hiding and travelling in the forest. It pulsated from his soft skin, and Kyoya pressed a kiss to his neck to thank him. Thanking him for saving him, for helping him, for making life worth living all over again and again and again every time he smiled.

But as their laughter faded, the stench of their situation landed back into Kyoya’s mind, souring his mood. They were on the run from a burning society, and with the next safe colony still so far away, the doubts kept him awake.

“Be serious with me, Tamaki,” Kyoya griped. “Do you really have any hope any of us will make it out alive?”

Tamaki’s smile faded as he searched his boyfriend’s face, looking for the anchor and solidity he knew was there. He knew it was there. But it was hidden beneath that stern exterior, a mask of iron inherited from his father, a trait Tamaki had worked so hard with Kyoya to shatter. But in that seriousity was realism, the sobriety to Tamaki’s joviality, and he knew he finally had to face the music.

“I don’t know,” he replied, to which Kyoya scoffed.

But then Tamaki took his hand and spread every finger, admiring the way the skin stretched around each long, bony digit, how evenly polished and clean each nail was, even in the middle of the woods, how miraculous it was that each tendon could connect to bone that could connect to muscle that could be controlled by the brain, especially a brain as terrifyingly wonderful as Kyoya’s. How every part of him was beautiful, sacred, worthy. How he wished he could fill each insecure crack and crevice with his love and reassurances.

He brought that hand to his lips and kissed every knuckle, gently, like a butterfly landing on a rock. He kept his head bowed but heard the quiet sound Kyoya let out, a sound in between surprise and contentment.

“I don’t know about all of us,” Tamaki continued, “but I know about you.”

Kyoya jutted out his lower lip, unsure of how to respond amidst the tidal wave of emotion ravaging his soul. Tamaki folded his hands around Kyoya’s kissed one, like a protective shelter.

“The others are my family, and I love them dearly, but you are my priority,” he said. “I would do anything to make sure you get to the Akaishi Mountains. If my mother were here, I would ask her to pray. If Nekozawa were here, I would ask him to appeal to every spirit he knows. If I could I would sell my own soul to ensure your safe passage.”

“Tamaki--”

Tamaki lifted his face to Kyoya’s, clenching his jaw with such a chromatic force he could have chipped a tooth. “I love you more than anything, and I will do anything in my power or out of it to save you.”

A log in the fire snapped, but neither man noticed. All was silent in the air except for the promise, heavy and saturated and sinking in the air. They were going to make it. They had to.

“Come back to bed with me, yes?” Tamaki whispered, a yawn snatching the end of his sentence. His arm floated back down around Kyoya’s shoulders, rubbing warmth into them. Coaxing, prodding, as gentle as he ever was.

With the butterfly kisses smattered across his cheeks to accompany the plea, how could Kyoya refuse?

Something tight rolled in his chest, reverberating with every beat of his heart. He was always the one to take care of everyone else, protecting them through influence and power, his family’s money or private army. And yet here they were, all of them, on the run from those who wish them dead because of him--with Tamaki cooing and cradling him, taking care of him for once. Like he deserved it, like it was his reward for all the scamming, scheming and choking business deals he had performed.

So he let Tamaki propel him upwards, pulling him up into the night sky, where dozens of stars saw fit to smile on them as they lumbered back to the tent. Once inside, Tamaki gently laid him down inside the sleeping bag, secured the tent, and crawled in next to him, blowing air onto his chilly fingers. Kyoya allowed him, detaching the lock around his heart and throwing it into the forest beyond.

Tamaki hummed as he warmed the Shadow King, pausing only when Kyoya lifted his head from his chest to press a kiss against his chapped lips. It was so gentle, and rarely did Kyoya initiate affection, that Tamaki nearly cried from the happy blooms snaking through his body.

“Thanks,” Kyoya whispered, laying his head back down on Tamaki’s chest, syncing his breathing.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Tamaki whispered, kissing Kyoya’s forehead. “I swear I will.”

-

[queenxxxsupreme]

If you’re looking for little prompts to practice for Sherlock!Henry, maybe sitting for lunch with him? A meal of his favorites as a treat? Is that too much idk aksjsjksns

A/N: I sort of messed with it a little. We brought him a dessert instead! Also my eyes are currently not focusing on the screen of my laptop so I apologize for grammar/spelling mistakes. Also I apologize for how short it is. My brain is broke

***

Scotland Yard bustled with detectives and government men. The man at the front desk offered to take you to Detective Holmes’s office. You politely declined and told him that you knew the way.

You carried a little container in both hands, not wanting to drop it. The men you passed were sure to step aside, offering to help you but you insisted on carrying it yourself. 

As you moved through the building, your stomach churned. You wondered if maybe this was a bad idea. He’d been busy lately with work, so busy in fact that you rarely saw him, save for when he’d crawl into bed and briefly wake you up at some ungodly hour to tell you he loved you. But then when you’d wake, he was gone. 

It was difficult on you and you missed him dearly. But hopefully this treat would give you both a little time together. 

The door to your husband’s office was pulled shut. This wasn’t off. He often liked to have it shut when he was reviewing a case or when he needed peace and quiet. 

You balanced the dish in one hand and knocked twice. 

“Come in.” His deep voice came from beyond the heavy door. 

You pushed the door open and stepped in

Sherlock sat at his desk, his jacket resting across the back of his chair. Numerous papers and nearly a dozen books were scattered across his desk. 

“Y/N, my darling. What a lovely surprise.” He moved around his desk to greet you. 

“I just came to have a little something with you.” You placed the dish down on the corner of his desk. “It’s lemon cake. I made some and with how rough work has been on you, I figured you could do with a slice.”

He smiled softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

“I was just thinking about your lemon cake.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Come, sit. I’ll shut the door.”

“Oh, love, I don’t want to stay and bother you. You look very busy-,”

“I am never too busy for you.” He assured you, cutting you off with a tender smile. “But if you’d like to leave, I won’t make you stay. I know you don’t like it here.”

It was true. You didn’t like how busy everything was, how noisy things could get, how rude people could be.

“If you have a few minutes, I’ll stay.” You told him, sitting down at one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

Sherlock closed the door to his office then moved to retrieve the dish you brought. He sat down in the chair next to you, placing the cover for the dish on his desk. 

“I could do with a slice?” He repeated your words from earlier, a grin tugging at his lips. “Darling, this is the whole damn cake.”

You smiled sheepishly.

“I didn’t want to leave it at home. I knew I’d eat it all if it was there.”

“So you figured you’d bring it to me so that I would eat it all?”

You giggled softly. 

Sherlock picked up the fork you’d brought for him and took off a piece of the cake. He brought it up to your lips and you happily accepted. 

“How does it taste?”

“Delicious.” You hummed, smiling.

He returned the smile and took a bite of the cake, moaning just slightly. His eyes fluttered shut and you couldn’t help shifting in your seat. 

“I swear, you spoil me.” 

“That is what a good wife does.” You licked the pad of your thumb and reached out to gingerly brush some frosting from the corner of Sherlock’s lips. “Especially when she has nothing else to do while her husband busies himself with his work.”

He let out a little sigh, putting the fork down on the plate and placing the plate down on the corner of his desk. 

“I know these last couple of weeks have been challenging.” His large hands took yours, dwarfing your fingers between his own. “But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done, and I want you to know that I see everything you’ve done to try to make things easier for me.”

It felt good to know that your actions didn’t go unnoticed, that even though sometimes it didn’t feel like he saw you there beside him, he knew you were there. 

You gave him a tight smile, unsure of what to say to him. Your eyes dropped down to your hands. The way your smile slowly faded from your lips didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

There was silence between you both for a while. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to find the right words, trying to think of the right things to say. 

“How many nights have you eaten alone this week, darling?” He leaned forward to kiss your cheek, his nose brushing along yours. 

“It doesn’t matter, Sherlock. I know what I agreed to when I married you.”

“But it matters to me.” 

You held his cerulean gaze, feeling your insides flutter. You missed those eyes dearly. 

“Nearly every night this week.” You murmured. 

He let out a little breath, head bowing as he rubbed the back of your hand. 

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

“Don’t apologize.” You leaned forward to kiss his head. “Your duties are important.”

“Not more so than you.” Sherlock looked up to meet your eyes. “You are the love of my life. Nothing comes before you.”

You smiled, kissing his lips. 

“Tonight, I’ll be home in time for dinner.” He promised you, his hand finding your knee. “We’ll have dinner, then perhaps take a bath together before bed. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect.”

He smiled and nodded his head. 

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Oh, but love, if it doesn’t work out, it’s okay-,” You started, wanting to explain to him that you wouldn’t be mad at him if things changed and he ended up staying late at work again. But he cut you off, pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you. 

“Nothing is going to keep me from that bath.” He promised, kissing your temple. “Nothing.”

And you believed him. When Sherlock promised you something, there was nothing that would get in his way.

I don’t know who to tag for this so I’m gonna tag everyone on the Henry Cavill taglist :)

Taglist: @omgkatinka @onlygeraltofrivia @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hell1129-blog @thereagles @harrysthiccthighss @maan24 @thefirelordm @summersong69 @persephonehemmingway @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @henrythickcavill @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442

[how-masterful]

Remastered

Dhawan!master x reader

Chapter 3: New Earth

Summary: New earth, new adventures, but the return of a dreaded old face. You’d been acting strange all day, and despite the distracting wonder of the mysterious cures the sisters of plenitude were concocting, the Master had most definitely noticed. But when all is revealed in the hospital, things go from curious to complicated- especially when the sick break free, and the root of all the days problems decides she wants to try the masters body on for size.

Notes: At last! Another remaster! This time not a Matt but a David episode: loathed by some, but a guilty pleasure of mine! I mentioned wanting to write this fic  while ago, and i finally got around to it on the eve of Doctor Who day! I hope you all enjoy!

As usual, this fic is dedicated to my dearly beloved queen @plethora-of-imagines​. My watchalong companion, fellow soft dom lover, most trusted confident, and the most hat obsessed girl i’ve ever met. I hope it lives up to the hype!

They were surrounding you in droves. 

The sick. The diseased. The nearly dead. 

The filthy pipe covered walls of the hospital basement flying past your field of vision as you desperately raced towards salvation.

Or at least, the woman who was currently controlling your body raced.

Cassandra's presence in your head was agony- not just for the fact the woman was compressing you to death, but because she was so damn judgemental. In all of your adventures in time and space you’d never met someone so cruel, so self absorbed. And you travelled with the Master of all people, for crying out loud. You suspected the only reason you were being saved was because she was too self preserving to let herself, and by extension your body, go to waste. At least she had the common sense to keep up her speed, the Masters pace just in front of you as you bypassed the closing passageways of the intensive care unit and headed towards the room where she'd been hiding all this time.

“You’d better know where we’re going!”

The Master, for lack of a better term, was fucking pissed to say the least. The revelation that you weren't truly yourself was far more shocking than the revelation of the human farm the Sisters of Plenitude were hiding in their basement. He’d first accused the matron, who denied having any part in the ‘fuckery with your brain’, but it soon became clear who exactly had decided to hitch a ride inside your delicate human brain. The, as the Doctor's pet had once referred to her as, bitchy trampoline. You supposed he was also furious that she’d kissed him. You yourself were certainly boiling with anger at that fact. At least it was still your mouth, you reasoned.

“Keep a lid on it, handsome! This has been my terf much longer than its been yours!”

She knew the way well, the distance between yourself and the following lab grown humans strengthening as your feet lead you towards the dingy basement where your mind had been overtaken. Her assistant chip was long gone now, the boy probably dead from the swarming humans. All that was left was you, Cassandra, and the furious Master. 

The pair of you skidded around a plethora of corners, the basement of the hospital built not unlike the elaborate mazes the Master would construct within the walls of the TARDIS. You very much wished to be safe in your home instead of running from manic nuns and the almost living dead, but you knew that travelling through time and space meant a girl couldn’t be picky. If only Cassandra also shared the sentiment

"THROUGH HERE!"

You still weren't used to the ridiculously posh accent coming from your mouth, her shrill yell guiding the timelord to the small door that lead to her chambers.

The Master huffed, following your guide as you crawled through the square metal hatch. You heard the door slam and latch shut soon after, the chambers flying past as the far entrance arrived into view. With a heave the hinges opened, Cassandra letting out another scream as the diseased loomed large in the doorway. The door slammed shut as she pressed your back against the rusting metal and pulled down the lock, her eyes meeting the deadly glare of the Master in the middle of the room.

"My god, we're trapped in here! What are we going to do?!"

The Master narrowed his eyes, leering at the woman with a cast iron gaze that made you even shiver.

"Get out. I want her back. Now."

Cassandra rolled your eyes, the woman matching the Masters stance. He let out a low growl, the Master stepping forward with gritted teeth.

"I know you've met the doctor, but you've never dealt with someone like me. So let me be quite plain: I'm not going to play your stupid little human games, Cassandra. I want Y/N back, and I want her back now."

"God, you timelords are all the same, so demanding! You do know it's just a title, don't you darling?"

The Master scoffed, pure fury evident in his sneering grin. Cassandra took a step back, arms dropping from their fold as he took a step closer. His presence was intimidating to say the least.

"This plan of yours, it had potential. A psychograft- I must admit, rudimentary but creative."

It was Cassandra's turn to scoff now. The pair of them practically circling each other, the Master watching her turn her back as the last human stepped towards the ruined remains of her rusted frame. The Master stood besides the psychograft, the TCE now in his grip as he gestured with the small device squarely at the machine.

"Banned on every civilised planet, I can relate. But you know why they were banned, Cassandra? They were sloppy, completely unstable."

"Another thing you can relate to?"

"You're compressing my Y/N to death!"

Cassandra sighed, venom on her tongue as she kissed your teeth, scrunching her nose in disdain. Your fingers carefully traced over the metalwork of her frame, the jarred brain she once used now beginning to wither as the suspension fluid leaked and pooled out onto the rank basement floor. 

"And where do you suppose I go, hmm? My skin is long dead." Cassandra snapped, head whipping around to glare at the man in the purple coat. She smirked cockilly, tilting your head.

"You ought to play softer with your toys, time boy. This very sore little human of yours is my one ticket out of this shit hole"

"I'm afraid you'll have to deboard your vessel, Cassandra. You can float in the air- like dust, or a disgustingly persistent mosquito. Quite on brand, for you-"

"Very funny-"

"But your self preservation, Cassandra, is nothing but a big, fat you problem. That body you're in is precious to me and I'm not letting you get even a scratch on her."

Cassandra glowered, clenching her teeth as the Master gripped the TCE tight in his palm. She stared at him, lips quivering as she planned her next rebuttal. The Master held his nerve, unable to help the tightening of his chest as he thought of you, stuck inside your own body. He knew the feeling of being kept from your own being all too well from his little stint in utopia. Cassandra finally relented as the Master slowly raised the TCE to aim at her head.

"Give. Y/N. Back."

Cassandra carefully stood, slowly stepping towards the Master as he brandished his weapon in his hand. She teasingly began to twist the charm on the necklace around your throat, holding the pendant between her fingers. The Masters glare strengthened, eyes focused on the jewellery in her grasp. 

"You know, once you were dead and this place far behind me, I was planning on dumping the meat and pawning the bling as soon as I could. But you, Master, are too stubborn for your own good."

The Masters expression reeked of confusion, his head tilting to the side as Cassandra squared off her shoulders. The time lord took this as a threat, tightening his hold on the TCE as he watched her every move. You could see it in his eyes- Thousands of possibilities processing at once, the gears of his mind shrieking as they grinded through his manic yet methodical systems of thought.

"You want her back? You asked for it."

The tremendous pressure on your head suddenly lifted in a whirlwind of overstimulation. Every sound screamed in your ears, the basement around you caught in a surge of darkness as your hazed vision was stolen from you. A loud ringing persisted, if only for a few moments, the muted and muffled existence you'd sat within ripped from under your feet. Your knees weakly buckled, shoulders slumping as you felt the ground connect between your feet. You let out a gasp for air, eyes scrunching shut as you shook your head. The basement slowly came back into vision, your head recovering from the imprisonment with a low groan from your throat and a palm to the side of your skull.

"Ow, jesus christ, my fucking head. Where did she go?"

You focused your vision on the man in front of you. The Masters back was turned towards you, the timelord almost bent in half. He didn't respond, body oddly still as you dared to take a step forward. You had a dreadful suspicion about where she'd run off to after leaving your head.

"Master?..."

"Dear lord, I'm a bad boy now!"

No way. No fucking way.

Cassandra turned around with a flourish, hands upon the Masters chest as she let out an excitable giggle. His eyes sat wide, a half smile upon his face as she familiarised herself with her new body. She stumbled on her feet like a newborn deer, inspecting her fingers and rocking on her toes as she rubbed at her chin. The presence of a beard under her fingertips seemingly blowing the woman's mind. You didn't know whether to laugh at her antics or cry at the problem that just emerged before you.

"I've never been a bad boy before! Bad girl, for sure, but this?! Isn't he just delicious!"

His usual northern tone was long gone, a fact that hurt much more than it should. Cassandra couldn't stop giggling to herself, her hands playing over his cheeks as he hurriedly raced towards the cracked mirror placed upon the wall. She gasped loudly, rippling with excitement as her hands roamed over the Masters body: Fluffing his hair, synching his waist, popping the top button on his shirt. Seemingly doing everything she could to fill you with jealous rage.

"Are you about done?"

The Master flapped his hand in your direction, shushing you as she childishly jumped up and down on the spot. You folded your arms, biting your tongue as she preened and primped in the mirror, pushing his face within her hands and posing with narcissistic delight. You'd seen the Master do this himself, on occasion. But this was a completely different beast- especially since you didn't enjoy where her hands were seemingly wandering to

"Oh hush, darling. I'm just having a little fun with all these new… graciously extensive parts- these have definitely been well worn in, the saucy little thing. I'm quite the handsome devil now, aren't I?"

You growled, nose scrunching as she hummed to herself, smoothing down his purple tweed collar as she began to prance and strut around the room. She lept over various apparatus and rubble, spinning and watching the purple material of his coat fly like a skirt behind her. Cassandra let out a satisfied cackle, sighing with up most content. Your rage was furiously simmering within your chest.

"He's quite the riot, isn't he? He's so feisty, I love it. So edgy, so... Naughty! He has lots of filthy thoughts about you in here, oh the pictures i could paint for you."

"Get out of my- the Master now!"

Cassandra cackled, leering in towards you with a torturous grin. You'd feel rather flustered if it weren't for the fact this wasn't the Masters doing. Cassandra held her hands to his chest, stalking forward as you desperately clung to your stoicism. You wouldn't give her the satisfaction of watching you crack.

"THE Master? Or were you about to say MY Master? You forget darling- i've been inside your head. You want this samba in his chest to only beat for you."

You rolled your eyes, leaning away as the Master giggled and leant in closer towards your face. If Cassandra weren't within the Masters body you most definitely would've punched her. But your growing level of rage meant that was a fact you would possibly be able to overlook.

"It's a shame, really. If it weren't for the fact he'd kill me on the spot, I think i'd like to keep him. He seems like a seasoned professional in showing a lady a good time, after all!"

You let out a scandalised squeak as Cassandra grabbed at your hips, causing herself to dissolve into stitches of laughter as you shoved at the Masters chest. A blush of embarrassment flooded your cheeks, your fists bunching together in furious resentment. 

You sighed loudly, narrowing your eyes as you glared at the woman currently possessing your time lord. She was well and truly pushing your limits at this point and you weren't sure how much of her shenanigans you could handle.

"It's so easy to tease you, darling! You know at first, i just thought it was a personal interest of yours. But he actually calls HIMSELF the Master!-"

"Cassandra-"

"How fabulously kinky! Lucky girl, you did find an exciting bedfellow. How you kept hold of him i'll eternally have no idea."

"ENOUGH!"

The timelord paused from playing with his hair, turning to look you up and down with widened eyes. Cassandra took in your heaving chest, the tightening of your jaw as you glared daggers into her forehead. She raised his eyebrows, raising his hands in mock surrender. You could feel the sarcasm dripping from her actions, which served to infuriate you even more so than before.

"Struck a nerve, did I?"

"We're stuck in the basement of a hospital in QUARANTINE, chased by INFECTED LAB GROWN HUMANS! All of which, by the way, is ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! And you think the best use of ALL OUR TIME is to play a game of musical bodies and piss off the only person able to help you out?!"

Cassandra pouted childishly at your words. You let out a frustrated huff, causing her to almost recoil in shock.

"We're short on time and big on problems. The last thing I need is you making this situation any worse than it already is!"

A thick silence sat between the pair of you. It was almost a dare to see who would attempt to move first, Cassandra's lips pursed and quivering as if the sarcastic retort was planning itself behind the Master's teeth and upon the timelords tongue. Your determined stoicism was completely abandoned in favour of indulging in the buttons Cassandra had been desperate to push. At this point all you wanted was the Master- not the stuck up snob currently cursing you internally in several languages.

You wanted to be out of this hospital and back in the TARDIS, to lay together and laugh at how a crazy old human who didn't know when to die decided to prance around inside the pair of you for an hour or so. But you couldn't. Because that crazy old human was ridiculously persistent. You thought her and the Master could possibly get on if it weren't for the current predicament you'd found yourselves in.

It seemed Cassandra had finally found her argument. The Master stepped towards you, hands on his hips as he sneered up and down your body. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to smack down any argument she could possibly have against common sense and decency, until a loud crash suddenly broke the pair of you from your standoff.

"Please… Help us!"

The far door to the basement slammed open, the sound of metal ricocheting against the aging stone wall. The diseased clawed and clamoured, spilling into the dingy room with a surge of newfound freedom.

The Master let out a petrified scream, hands flinging to your shoulders as he yanked you forwards to act as his human shield. Cassandra cowered behind you, peeking over your shoulder in terror. You could most definitely slap that woman, you decided. Guilt be damned. He let out a shrill yowl of panic, jutting you forward towards the oncoming hoard.

"TAKE HER, SHE'S LESS VALUABLE THAN I AM!"

Yep. Guilt be most definitely damned.

"Cassandra we have to work together!" You pleaded, turning over your shoulder to face the terrified Master cowering behind you. 

"The Master would know what to do but since you won't leave his head you have to trust I know what he'd say!"

Cassandra whined, roughly pulling you backwards as she stepped away from humans that were slowly beginning to close in.

"And what would he say?!"

You assessed your options. The sick were surrounding you from most angles, your entrance still sealed from your previous escape. However, a possibility caught your eye.

A slender black ladder. Your way out.

You turned once more to the woman, confidence finding itself back in your stride.

"UP THERE!"

The Master screamed once more, heaving you forwards with a weak shove as he scrambled up the stone steps that just emerged behind him. You yelped, gathering your footing with haste as you saw the purple of his coat flail behind him.

“Out of my way! Pretty people don’t die first!”

You followed Cassandra's path, clambering through the remaining metalwork of her skin frame and heading towards the metal ladder that sat flush against the wall. The basement supposedly lead towards all manor of places within the hospital, this upward ascent leading you towards the hollow insides of an abandoned elevator shaft. You watched the timelord hesitantly grasp hold of the flaking and rusting rungs of the ladder, disgust evident on his features as he retched at every climb. You couldn't be dealing with any more of her antics today.

“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM!?”

“THIS LADDER IS FILTHY!”

“SO!?”

“I HOPE YOUR MASTER HAS HIS TETANUS SHOT!”

You shrieked in frustration as you shoved Cassandra further up the ladder, your wafer thin patience having been tested today by that woman more times than you ever thought you could possibly muster. Your time was very much running out, and getting a disease from a ladder was of more concern to the woman than obtaining every single disease on new earth. The audacity of that woman astounded you to a completely new degree.

“IT'S EITHER THAT OR PLAGUE!”

“STOP YELLING AT ME, I CANT COPE WITH ALL THIS PRESSURE!”

“FUCKING CLIMB, CASSANDRA!”

A metallic thunk erupted from the bottom of the ladder, the blistered fist of one of the lab grown humans clinging tight to the first rung of your escape. The flustered cry of Cassandra floated further up the length of the ladder, your stomach filling with pity as you watched the pained glances and heard the pleading cries of the sick. You only hoped you could get the Master back and figure out a way to help them.

“Please… help us!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll try, I promise!” you called in return, before turning to face the panicked clambering of the Cassandra possessed Master up to safety.

You could do this. If you were lucky, you reasoned. It was possible.

If you were truly lucky you could get your Master back, lift the quarantine, save the sick, and escape this dreaded hospital. Only four things. You could do this.

But first, you had to deal with Cassandra:

And judging by the fact she was still screaming, several rungs up the ladder, you needed all the luck you could possibly get.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Running

A/N: Here is my entry for @obsessedwithrandomthings​ 500 followers celebrations! Congratulations Dee! You more than deserve this! The prompt I used is in the summary, but I have also bolded it in the text. Thank you so much for letting me take part! The gif doesn't really match the theme of the fic but I searched ‘running’ and it was the best of them lol. I’m also less than 10 followers away from 800 so this is exciting!! As always, I hope you all enjoy!!

Summary: “Run away with me,” You plead, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, mentions of death and anxiety, vomit - there is a lot of worry and anxiety in this, so please don't read if you don’t like, but I have tried to wrap it up in a fluffy fashion!!

Word count: 1.5k

Your stomach had been a ball of anxiety all night. Nothing anyone said could dampen the fear that was crawling its way up your throat. Something was going to happen tonight, and it wasn’t going to be good.

Your fears are proven correct when Sirius lands in the hallway, holding up a drastically bleeding Remus. His blood stains his white button-up shirt and drips steadily onto the floor.

The scream is caught in your throat. You look wildly at Sirius, demanding an explanation. Sirius explains quickly; they had been tailed as they were following their own targets. Remus threw himself in front of Sirius to protect him from the Sectumsempra curse.

“I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s. I don’t know who works there, but I’ve already called for a Healer I can trust,” Sirius shudders, murmuring the levitation charm straight after, following Remus up the stairs in a hurry.

His blood stains the carpet in the hall and would stain the stairs too, but it was the last thing on your mind as you hurry behind Sirius. Remus is laid on the bed; his face contorted in pain, barely conscious but still aware of the pain lancing through his body.

Wordlessly, you conjure clean towels from the airing cupboard, holding them to the cuts across Remus’ chest and arms. Sirius takes a towel from you, holding it to the wound across his stomach.

The Healer arrives in what seems like hours, but it could have been minutes. Your eyes do not leave Remus as you press towel after towel to his cuts, trying to stem the bleeding despite knowing that nothing but magic would help.

Sirius’ hand on your shoulder has you stepping away from the love of your life, letting the Healer complete his work. Your hands are covered in Remus’ blood; your clothes too, are ruined. You barely make it to the toilet to empty your stomach. Sirius is there, holding your hair back, muttering comforting words to you. You press your forehead to the cold porcelain, trying to take everything in now that the adrenaline was leaving your body, but your brain couldn’t comprehend what you had just been witness to.

You force yourself to stand; pushing down the fresh wave of nausea as you make your way back into the bedroom, to Remus. He lies on the bed; his body entirely healed, but deeply asleep.

“I’ve had to give him a strong sleeping draught. He lost a lot of blood and whilst I was able to heal the injuries, there’s going to be some damage internally. He needs to be asleep for it to heal which, with his lycanthropy, will heal in a few days.”

“How long will he be asleep then?” Sirius asks, learning the information to relay to you later. He knows that at the moment, you would not be listening to word being said. That all of your attention would be focused on the man on your bed, asleep and no longer in any pain.

You refuse to leave his side. They all try to coax you from your room. Sirius promises he’ll stay with him so you can shower, but you refuse. Harry tries his hardest to get you to come downstairs to eat, but it doesn’t work. Instead, he leaves for a moment before coming back with a plate of food. You nibble at it, but the nausea soon returns.

The first day blends seamlessly into the second and there’s no change in Remus. He lies on his side of the bed in clean clothes and clean sheets, sleeping peacefully. You admire him from your spot in the armchair across the room; this would the first time in a long time that Remus had managed to get a solid block of sleep without being interrupted by the order or the lunar cycle. You think it every time but in sleep, you see the Marauder in him. You see the teenager you had fallen in love with one afternoon by the Black Lake. The teenager who had stuttered through asking you out but soon found his confidence once you had accepted.

For years it had been you and Remus. The only survivors of the first wizarding war, Remus claimed though it pained him to say it.

On the third day of your vigil beside the bed, Remus groans before blinking against the bright light of the morning. You’re out of your seat in an instant, lurching to the end of the bed with tears in your eyes. “Remus, you’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“I’m sore, but I’m okay. I don’t need anything right now.”

You sag in relief, “I am so happy you’re awake, dear. That was the most terrifying time of my life.”

“Even more than the time you saw me as a wolf?” Remus tries to joke, but he winces instead.

“This isn’t a joking situation, Remus!” You cry, “Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being followed and then jumping in front of Sirius and then blinding pain. I passed out then, I think.”

Your hands grip the bedpost at the end of the bed, “Sirius brought you back here and we called in a Healer. You were hit with the Sectumsempra curse and your blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t stop it-” You break off suddenly; your words getting caught in your throat.

The sudden urge to run overwhelms you. Your eyes dart around the room – to the suitcases, to the wardrobes. A plan begins to form in your head; a few more days healing was all that Remus would require before he’s stable enough to apparate. You know of a place where you couldn’t be traced where he could spend a few weeks or so recuperating before you run for real.

The desire to leave it all behind takes over. In that moment, the only thing you could ever want is a longer life with the man lying on the bed in front of you. If this war continued, how long would you have? Optimism in this situation is vitally important but as your eyes return to Remus, running over the war-weary, pale face of the love of your life, all you want is to go.

To go and never look back.

“Run away with me,” You start, rushing to his side, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

“Where would we go?” He asks, his eyes bright with possibilities.

“Anywhere – the country, the coast, abroad. Run away with me Remus, before the war swallows us whole.”

“What about the Order? Darling, we can’t leave them.”

“Fuck that, Remus. Look at yourself! You can barely move.” You stand, gesturing to the four walls in which you stand, “These last few days have been my own personal hell; I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. For the first time in my life, I have had to face a possibility of a life without you and I won’t do it. Not again. Run away with me, Remus.” Your eyes are wild as you plead to him, beg to him to consider doing this.

Remus’ eyes search yours, looking for what, you don’t know. You know the minute you’ve lost the battle, and you would be remaining where you are. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” You ask brokenly.

“You won’t leave Harry, love. You’re his godmother – you won’t let him face this war without you, you simply won’t.”

The tears that were previously lining your eyes now overflow onto your cheeks. You look at Remus through watery eyes, not bothering to stem the flow. “You can’t do this to me again, Remus. I will not live in a world that does not have you in it, do you understand?”

“I understand, darling.” Remus holds his hand out for you. You stumble over to him, desperate to touch some part of him. With a light tug, he has you sat next to him on the bed you share. “I’m here now,” he whispers, “I don’t plan on leaving for a long, long time.”

You sniffle, “Good. I didn’t like the look of my life without you.”

“What have I missed then; in the three days I’ve been asleep?”

You look at him, somewhat sheepishly, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t left this room.”

Remus frowns at you. “Darling, please tell me you’ve eaten and taken care of yourself.”

“I’ve eaten a little, but I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want to let anyone look after you.”

“I really did scare you, didn’t I?”

You nod, “Beyond scare, Remus. I couldn’t think straight, I don’t think I’ve thought a coherent thought since Sirius appeared with you in the hall.”

He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of your hand. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Remus. You did nothing wrong.”

“Nevertheless. I am sorry, I didn’t think before throwing myself in front of Sirius, and I should have.”

“You were protecting your best friend.”

Remus shrugs, but winces at the stiffness in his joints, “I will not leave you like that again. The minute I’m out of this bed I’m speaking to Dumbledore, demanding lighter missions. I’m too fond of this life to leave it prematurely.”

Tears start anew as you lie next to the man you so dearly love. Gripping his hand in both of yours, you press it your chest, “I’m too fond of you to let you leave it prematurely.”

**************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @kalimagik​ @summer-writes​ @lupins-sweater​ @slytherinprincess03​ @mischiefsemimanaged​ @soleil-amaryllis​ @bforbroadway​ @masterofthedarkness​ @chaotic-fae-queen​ @peachesandpinks​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ @firewhisky-kisses​ @deafgirltingz​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @harrypotter289​ @sprvpti​ @accio-rogers​ @potterverseimagine​ @figlia--della--luna​ @angelinathebook​ @dreamer821​

[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 1

It’s Whumptober time! I’m so excited! Starting things off with the Oof!au (or at least part one of it). This interconnected Vader-captures-Obi-Wan story is gonna take me most of the first two weeks. (A good time will not be had by Obi-Wan. Or Cody. But there IS a happy ending at the end of the road.) I’m going to include warnings for each section as I post. Some of them will be extensive. This one is mostly just hurt and injuries.

The fic as a whole is both past and eventual Codywan. There is one-sided Vaderwan. Again, I’ll definitely have a lot of warnings for some later chapters.

LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME

Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

Pain, Obi-Wan’s oldest and most familiar friend, woke him up. He resisted the urge to groan, swallowing back the sound in his throat. He couldn’t quite… remember what had happened last, before he lost consciousness. There’d been blaster fire, bounty hunters hunting him through the canyons north of his home. He’d deflected a bolt and heard a rumble from above…

He stopped trying to push for the memories. He could dig into the past later, after assessing his current situation. 

He hurt. It was an all-encompassing kind of pain, ringing through his body from his scalp to his feet. The agony was not helped by his current position. He gritted his teeth as the burning pain in his shoulders shot to the forefront of his thoughts.

Someone had… hung him up, it seemed, by the wrists. He couldn’t touch the ground, not even if he pointed his toes, though the effort did set him to swinging, slightly. The movement made his stomach lurch, nausea swimming up through his gut as his head throbbed, sudden and sharp.

Concussion, he decided. He knew well enough what that kind of brain trauma felt like; he’d had plenty of experience getting hit over the head. He couldn’t recall the impact, but, then… short-term memory loss was hardly an uncommon side effect.

He noted the other injuries across his body as best he could, through his swimming thoughts. His hands and arms were nothing but pain, but he couldn’t tell how much of that was from his position. He had no idea how long he’d been swinging, slowly, from his wrists, bonds cutting into his skin, crushing bone together.

His right side hurt and felt wet, from his shoulder down past his hip. His feet were the only thing that didn’t hurt, but only because they’d gone numb. That was, he knew, not a good sign. He kept breathing, as carefully as he could, willing the nausea and dizziness away, trying to focus enough to stretch out his senses.

Obi-Wan could feel things… vaguely. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton into his head. He knew that there were other people around him, but couldn’t sense much beyond that. The Force evaded him, dancing away the more he tried to grab it. He gave up with a gasp, after a moment, swallowing bile.

For a moment he just swung. But that was, honestly, getting him nowhere. He needed more information, and so he cracked his eyes open. It took effort. His left eye felt almost sealed shut, lashes clumped together with filth. His right opened, but everything was blurry through it, distorted. 

Not that there was much to see. He was in some kind of metal room. The walls were all gray. The entire space was poorly lit with a greenish glow. There were some crates around him; in fact, there wasn’t much room. He’d been packed in, like a piece of freight, and something about that made a chill run down his spine.

It was cool, in the little room, but not as cold as a night on Tatooine. Even still, he felt himself shivering, perhaps because someone had taken most of his clothes. They’d left him in his underwear, which felt unpleasant against his skin, soaked with clotting blood.

He thought, disjointedly, that it was fortunate for whoever had captured him that they had a drain under his feet. Based on the reddish smears on the floor, he’d bled quite heavily at some point. He could have made a tremendous mess, a thought that made him wheeze a weak laugh.

The blood drying across his back and chest itched. He wished, dearly, that he could scratch, could do anything but spin, gently, in the cold, cramped room, his thoughts tangled and clumsy.

He tried, eventually, to pull himself up, just a little, to take some of the strain off of his shoulders, but his back exploded into sharp-edged agony during the attempt and he gagged, for a moment unable even to breathe. He listened to a splatter of liquid across the floor. Blood, he realized. He must have reopened a wound.

The sound of the blood hitting metal and the feel of warmth running down his back and thigh filled the entire world for a long time. He lost track of time. Hours could have passed or days or perhaps only seconds when a change in the light of the room drew his attention.

Obi-Wan blinked, lifting his head with a hiss and blinking his stinging eyes. The brighter light came from a door that had opened. A figure stood in the door, tall and hulking, green skinned. Scaled, perhaps. 

Obi-Wan recognized him as one of the bounty hunters from back on Tatooine, which… explained some things, anyway. He couldn’t recall exactly how they’d captured him, but had a fleeting recollection of rocks coming down, of a mountain falling on him….

“Hello,” Obi-Wan rasped, his voice, at least, steady. “I don’t suppose you could let me down?”

The bounty hunter jerked, looking up at him with surprise written across his features. “You can’t be awake,” he growled, a hiss shaping the consonants. He reached for something on his belt. 

Obi-Wan tried to make his mouth quirk into a smile. It hurt. He said, “I think you’ll find--”

“Shut up!” The bounty hunter snarled, delivering a blow to his stomach that left him spinning wildly and finally caused him to lose the battle with the nausea in his gut. He retched, taking some small pleasure in knowing that most of it splattered across his tormentor.

The bounty hunter jerked back, making a disgusted, clicking sound in his throat, snarling, “We are not to listen to a word you say. Lord Vader was very specific.”

And the retort Obi-Wan had planned died on his tongue. He forgot how to breathe, for a moment, ribs pinching in on his lungs and hurt, awful dread crawling up his spine and making a home in his head.

Vader. Anakin. No--

But it was not, really, a surprise. He knew perfectly well Anakin had been hunting for him. He’d just not expected he’d be caught, he’d thought it would take longer for Anakin to look on Tatooine; he’d hoped, vaguely, that no one ever would, but, after he’d hazarded a few communications with Bail, perhaps he should have expected--

“What the kriff are you doing?” another voice demanded, sharp and higher pitched. He heard a scuffle, but couldn’t focus on it, not through the pain and all the memories, images from Mustafar swimming up into his thoughts, choking him.

“Lord Vader said--”

“He said we were to bring in this kriffer alive, idiot.” And, oh, didn’t that just make the cold spreading through Obi-Wan’s veins a dozen degrees chillier. He couldn’t think of a single pleasant reason for Anakin to want him alive. “Knock him out and see to these wounds, before he bleeds out.”

“Yes, ma’am. Time for you to go back to sleep,” the first bounty hunter said, something bitter in his tone, derailing his thoughts. Obi-Wan flinched when the man grabbed him - he’d spun around and could not see his captor - and then there was a cold, sharp bite of metal against his stomach.

Obi-Wan looked down, shocked by the burn that raced beneath his skin, in time to watch the bounty hunter pull a long, thin syringe out of his gut. He opened his mouth, intending to ask what was in the syringe, what they’d done to him, what--

The world got blurry, quickly. And then it got dark, the black closing in from the edges of his vision, all at once. He shook his head, trying to stay awake. He needed to get out, needed to get away, he could not fall into Anakin’s hands, he knew too much about Luke and Leia, about Bail and Yoda, he couldn’t--

The dark swallowed him, utterly and completely.

[slightlymore]

cute~

- a pride spin-off -

pairing: haechan x mark

other characters: doyoung, jaemin, jungwoo, onew (??? only bc I needed a name 😔)

genre: angst!! smut! fluff!!! one-shot, company!au (you can read this without reading "pride" first but make sure to read at least the little synopsis below, just to have some kind of context for the first part)

warnings: 18+, language, sexual activities, alcohol, drunk characters

words: 14K (oops)

for those who didn’t read pride and don't want to: doyoung and y/n are in love with each other but because of a series of unfortunate events (them being stupid) they can’t be together. doyoung leaves her after college and starts working at haechan’s company while being miserable; the two boys become enemies/friends. everything goes relatively well until one day y/n makes an appearance and starts working there as well. doyoung and y/n finally get (their shit) together and become a couple. haechan is the happy friend witnessing all of that and this is his story

(the photo was meant to be a shitpost but now I kinda like it lmaooo)

The phone rang for the millionth time that morning, a piercing and resounding noise, making Haechan unable to hear his own thoughts. The boy groaned. It was only 10 am yet everyone suddenly needed to speak with him. Haechan would have loved to spend his workday gossiping on the phone. Maybe chit-chatting about everyone. Listening to his colleagues talk about George's new too-expensive-for-his pockets-but-he's-an-idiot car, or the scandalous hairstyle Alex tried out to impress his already-married-and-twenty-years-older flame, or to hear how someone heard from someone else that somebody had sex with someone somewhere. But not that day. Haechan was exhausted, physically, and mentally, head buried between his arms, the white noises of the office almost putting him to sleep. The infernal device stopped ringing for a second and the young man sighed relieved before it rang again soon after. Haechan whined, almost sobbing, while lightly hitting his forehead on the desk. A soft 'what the fuck' made him raise his face with pained eyes squinting from the sudden too much light. "Are you alright?", the same voice asked, his desk neighbour inquiring. "Mind your own business, Owen", Haechan mumbled and finally put one hand on the phone while massaging the base of his nose with the other. "... my name is Onew", the dude whispered offended, but Haechan's little attention was already drifting away. A female voice said something that Haechan couldn't catch but to which he replied with a short "yeah, thanks", having figured out the words "intern" and "acceptance" through her quick mumbling. When he first heard the news during the beginning of the year reunion, Haechan was ecstatic, to say the least. They said he was responsible and could handle taking care of an intern making Haechan's shoulders widen at the compliments. Also, having an innocent soul to bother for a few months? It meant some company and less work for himself. Paradise. But Haechan had already forgotten about the joy he felt before. He had been feeling weird for a while now and he hated it. The previous night he didn't go home after Doyoung and Y/N left the company building. He listened to them talk for an excruciating period while pretending to sleep. It was beautiful, choked voices and raw confessions, and he felt like the third wheel in his own life. When Haechan walked out of his office one day, months before that, with the intention of "grabbing something important from somewhere" (or taking a break while making it pass as work) and heard the loud bang of the neighbour office door, he didn’t think that his life would go spiralling down from that moment on. It took him days. No, it took him weeks, maybe months, before the uncomfortable feeling creeping on him, making his spine shiver and palms sweat could be classified as something real by his brain. As a feeling. Sitting down on his chair, tired fingers tapping away at the keyboard for hours, he would suddenly feel this ungodly urge to get up and go to that office again as if an obscure force possessed him. To do what? To see a pair of angry eyes. Angry and full of pain. They were beautiful: round but also angled, dark but also light, absent as if looking at anything but their surroundings. Looking at something only they could see. That thing, sadly, was never Haechan. The boy tried everything to be seen by them. Being friendly, being funny, being helpful. Then he tried being rude. To his immense joy, the latter worked better, as if those eyes hatched such an enormous amount of anger that they had to spill some onto someone. And Haechan didn’t mind being that someone if it also meant being the object of those eyes’ attention at the same time. Then he realized that he didn’t want to see only the eyes. Something else was fighting for Haechan’s regard. Pink and soft looking, often stretched in a line, sometimes forming a pout. God, Haechan would have done everything to be able to touch those lips even once, even for a second. And he did it during his most feverish dreams. The first time, he woke up panting, ashamed, shaken to the core, the feeling of that soft skin still ghosting his own lips. The second time Haechan raised a trembling hand and touched the place where his subconsciousness created such a realistic scenario. He caressed it slowly, laying in that obscure slumber, silently, afraid to wake up his rational side. The third time he didn’t need to dream. He just imagined, shamelessly. His lips got kissed and his name was pronounced with such lust and desire to leave Haechan panting. So real, as if Doyoung whispered that while being beside Haechan in his room. It took Doyoung a few good weeks to call Haechan by his name in real life. When he finally did it, he wasn't even scolding him. No. From weird conjunction of stars, Haechan didn’t need to do something to gain Doyoung’s attention that day. He was in the photocopying room. One hand was mindlessly using the machines, the other was warmly hugging a mug of coffee. His slowly descending glasses were being pushed back by one of his fingers when a fluttering shadow appeared behind him. Haechan’s hands stopped as if his crawling skin could physically predict the future.   “Haechan”, Doyoung said. Just like that, sweet and soft. And the boy with that name let his coffee mug fall to the ground. Oh. “Haechan!” Doyoung repeated. “What the hell?” Yes. Yes. Haechan. That’s me. That’s my name on your lips. Say it again. “Haechan! You’re doing this on purpose now”. Doyoung stood tall with hands on his hips, looking at the way Haechan was failing to grab his mug, letting it comically slip from his hands, again and again, new coffee stains covering the carpet. I just love how my name sounds in your mouth. I don't want you to stop. Please. “Oops”, Haechan chuckled, the mask he carefully crafted for Doyoung easily slipping on his face, and despite everything, Doyoung rolled his eyes with a little smile himself. “You’re such an idiot”. Oh fuck. That. Haechan almost forgot. The boy could drown in the light that Doyoung’s face emitted when he was smiling. It would dissipate for a split second the darkness lingering around him and it was Haechan’s doing. Haechan did that. It made his little heart buzz every time and soon enough he started to fantasize about a day in which Doyoung would not have that expression line between his eyebrows anymore. And it arrived eventually. Haechan realized everything would go downhill for himself when he got blinded by Doyoung’s soul. He could see it before as well but not this way. Not while the older man's cheeks got red and his pupils were trembling. And Haechan understood soon what that was because a sick person recognizes another sick person easily. Was Haechan like that as well? Were his cheeks flushed and eyes glossy every time he looked at Doyoung? Ah, Doyoung’s soul. He took it out so suddenly and poured it into that girl’s hands. Haechan felt like dying. No. No, wait. It's supposed to go like this. I should be there. I worked so hard. I endured so much. It can’t end like this. This is my story. Isn’t it? And it was, but not the type of story Haechan imagined. In this universe it ended in him being alone, bones cold and empty, looking at Doyoung’s back as he carried his love in his arms. Haechan stayed back there, motionless, no arms holding him. He bit his lips for a little while, looking around the office as if not knowing on which planet he was. Then he crouched down and cried. He was tired. Yeah, he was just tired. It has been a long week and a long day. He was exhausted. That was the reason. Haechan, you're good. Just get a good night sleep. You’ll be fine. Now get up and go home. And he did that. Like a robot. He was alone inside the 4 am metro, blinding, fluorescent lights burning his fatigued eyes. His feet dragged him towards his apartment although he found himself knocking on Jaemin's door instead. Jaemin was a weird guy and Haechan loved him dearly. He just never slept. Every time Haechan called him, he somehow was wide awake doing some random shit. Haechan hoped that he didn't suddenly change his habits because he desperately needed some arms to crash into. And Jaemin opened the door as expected, a popsicle between his lips, eyes wide and bright. Haechan stepped inside and took the snack away, putting his lips on Jaemin's instead, pushing him against the wall, letting the coldness of Jaemin's tongue numb his thoughts. And he let the popsicle fall from his fingers when Jaemin wrapped him between his arms, guiding him towards the bedroom, no questions asked, no romance. I need a distraction right now, Haechan's whole being was screaming and Jaemin was good at reading people. Quickly and effortless, clothes sliding down, Haechan's mind finally lingered in a grey bliss as the only thing he could think of was the way Jaemin rolled his hips into him, sending shots of pleasure through his whole body. But then Haechan's slipped. "Doyoung-", he whimpered then gasped, eyes wide with horror and cheeks reddening. Jaemin didn't care if Haechan called other guys’ names but when Haechan put his palms on his face, chest rising and falling quickly, sobbing desperately, Jaemin stopped and sighed. He let Haechan go and rolled over, wrapping his shaking frame with his arms. "Do you want to talk?" he asked softly. Haechan shook his head, burying it into the other's chest. Jaemin stayed quiet, the only sound in the dark room being Haechan's irregular breaths, his fingers delicately drawing patterns on the other’s skin. "It's going to get better", Jaemin whispered after a while. "You're going to be seen by someone one day, just like you see everyone else”. It was weird how Jaemin always had the perfect thing to say. Though Haechan didn’t believe that, he had no force to argue. He stayed like that for the next hour, in silence, until the sun came out. Then he got up and let Jaemin prepare his breakfast that he barely touched. Haechan then borrowed the other's clothes and said it was fine for him to go to work that morning. You have to be sick to be able to call in sick, Haechan said. Because you’re someone that follows rules and does an honest job, Jaemin commented sarcasting with a raise of the brow. I just need to be busy, Haechan added and left.

Now, heading towards the acceptance, he regretted not staying home, maybe sleeping the whole day. Sleeping would be good but dreaming? He was afraid of that. The squeaking sound of Haechan’s shoes on the main floor tiles was so distressing that Haechan felt like taking them off and throw a tantrum in the middle of all those white collars. Blinking fast he sighed when he saw the new guy, an anonymous-looking young man looking around as if uncomfortable and slightly afraid. Haechan introduced himself in a monotone voice, letting the intern shake his hand then he turned around with a short 'follow me', not giving the other time to do anything else besides tailing his supervisor. Haechan has been babbling about the company for a good five minutes now, walking quickly through the corridors, showing rooms and people. He wasn't doing a very good job because he didn't care. The new guy, weirdly enough, didn't seem disoriented at all and Haechan shrugged internally. "And this is the terrace", the boy finally finished his monologue as they both stepped outside. It was a sunny day but the wind was quite strong, making Haechan close his eyes as his fluffy hair danced around his forehead. "Cute," the guy commented with a soft chuckle. Haechan looked around. Cute? It was kinda cute, he guessed. Too many ugly buildings around though and it wasn't the best-kept terrace. He turned his head to face the intern. "What's cute?" Haechan asked. It was the first word that guy said and Haechan wanted to hear him speak.  The intern was looking at him already instead of the surroundings and Haechan could have sworn that the dude's cheeks were flushed with a pink hue.    "You are", he said shyly, eyes big and twinkling. Haechan could only blink back. Wait. What? Did this guy just call him cute? Cute? "Listen, thanks, but you have to pay me respect. I'm your supervisor", Haechan replied trying hard to keep his voice stable. He wasn't annoyed but he couldn't just giggle, could he? Also, who calls strangers cute? On the workplace? What a weirdo. The guy’s expression shifted at Haechan’s words as if in slow motion. "Oh God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", the intern babbled and stuttered, cheeks going from pink to red, eyes darting around, not knowing where to look. Haechan has never seen someone that transparent with his feelings before and he could tell that he was very honest. Looking so naive, Haechan fought the urge to roll his eyes at him just to make him feel even more embarrassed. "I can't fire you personally or anything and I'm not your boss, but I can tell people to fire you", Haechan tried to sound cold even if the situation was rather funny. The look the guy gave to Haechan was of pure terror a for a split second Haechan felt almost sorry. But then the dude’s eyes darted to Haechan’s hair, still flying around his forehead. Haechan puffed annoyed and put one hand on top of his head as to stop the motion. The intern’s expression relaxed. "And what are you going to say? That it's because I called you cute?" he asked. His lips were back into a timid smile. Haechan was baffled. "What is so cute about me?", he sniffled, sure that he caught a cold already and switched the hand from his hair to his ear as the wind got even stronger. The intern took the question seriously. "You have curly purple hair-", he started then stopped as if that was enough to explain his comment, "-and well, your cheeks are full and now they're uhm red and it's... very cute. Also, your eyes are big and round and it's very cute-" 

Haechan groaned incredulously. 

"Oh my God! Stop saying cute", he spoke up to make his voice heard over the loud rumble of the wind, before turning on his heels and walking towards the terrace door. The intern’s cheeks turned pink again as he tried hard to not add whatever he wanted to say.

_______

Mark was told that he was somewhat of a dense guy. He disapproved. He just paid attention to what he wanted and disregarded the rest. So, if you asked him to show off the company to you, what tasks he had to do or where the bathroom was, he wouldn't know where to start. But if you asked him to tell you how many moles Haechan Lee the Supervisor had, he could answer in a second. It was weird and Mark wasn't a romantic person at all. But when he saw the guy walking out the elevator, eyebrows furrowed and dark circles underneath a pair of tired and red eyes, Mark felt a tingle in his stomach that he could only describe as love at first sight. Okay. Maybe not love. Crush at first sight? Attraction? Mark didn't know what that was and it made him so confused that he could only look at the guy's back when walking around the company as if it could give him some answers. Haechan, he said while letting Mark shake his hand. Of course. It fit him perfectly. Mark could see it - the sun - underneath his skin. Their fingers parted ways too quickly after shaking hands and Mark felt so paralyzed by the sudden tingle on his skin that he couldn’t fully pay attention. Was he also warm to the touch? Mark desperately wanted to find out. Was it weird? He was being weird. But God, he was so cute. Cute. Very cute. Cute. Cute. So fucking cute. 

This is all Mark’s mind was thinking about and when Mark thought about something he would just say it. Just like that. Cute. Don’t say it now though. Cute. I swear, Mark, shut up, for once. So cute. Please, not now. “Cute”, his tongue slipped. 

Goddammit. 

“What’s cute?” Haechan asked. The view. The view is cute. The view, Mark. Mark, say it. Mark, are you listening? The view. “You are”, Mark said instead and Haechan suddenly turned even cuter. Mark gasped, firstly because of the way Haechan’s cheeks turned red and his eyes round and big, then after a good full second that felt like an eternity, because of embarrassment. Oh shit. Fired. He was about to get fired. "God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", Mark felt like running away. He woke up that morning with the intent of finally living the life he worked so hard for and there he was instead, calling strangers cute and making everyone uncomfortable for the sole reason of not being able to shut his mouth for once. Haechan looked embarrassed as he was though and that little detail made Mark hope that it wasn’t all over. Then Haechan shut some cold blinds on his own face and Mark knew that Haechan thought he was safe, that Mark wasn’t able to see his feelings underneath all that. It wasn’t an efficient job and Mark wondered if other people needed just that little act to not see Haechan anymore.

_______

"Good morning". Haechan saw the intern’s feet first before hearing his voice, but he didn't raise his face as suddenly something very important and urgent was being shown on the computer screen and he couldn't physically let his eyes fall on the way the guy wore his suit. 

It was terrible. Long legs and strong thighs on display right in front of his desk? Terrible, and he didn’t need any more distractions in the workplace. After the intern left for the day with a soft “see you on Monday”, both tired having spent most of the time walking around the company and explaining boring paperwork, Haechan had not been able to stop thinking about him the whole weekend. No. No, it wasn’t a crush or anything. Haechan was just, what’s the word? baffled, s h o c k e d, appalled. Some random guy called him cute and Haechan acted that way? Blushing timidly? Was he feeling that bad? Was he that sick? Unacceptable. He was Haechan, for fuck’s sake. And Haechan didn’t just blush. He could not slip anymore. "Yeah, hi Mike", he replied lazily, fingers typing something he didn’t really need to write. "It's Mark", the intern replied in a neutral tone. Haechan knew it was Mark. In fact, he also knew his full name. Mark Lee. Born on August 2nd, 1999. Toronto. Moved to Vancouver. Graduated from university a few years ago. Great grades. Interested in music and sports. Plays the guitar. Good boy. Loves animals. Does charity work regularly. Has a normal amount of friends. Doesn't know how to take selfies. No, he was not being weird. He just read his CV. 

Obviously. 

He was his supervisor. He needed to read that. The other info? He Googled him only to make sure that he wasn't a criminal. And the social media research? It was just to check on his personality. 

Obviously. 

What if he posted about illegal shit? He had to check every photo and tagged person. It was part of his job. He was single, even if Haechan didn't search for that in particular. Haechan loved his work a lot and he didn't care that he worked on that until 3 am, scrolling through his phone, drifting to sleep with Mark's selfies impregnated on his lids. It's just that he took his job seriously.  

Okay. Okay. 

It wasn’t the whole truth. Haechan was curious. Who calls you cute all of a sudden? Haechan had to know more. 

"Okay, Matt. What about you go and bring me a coff-", Haechan started but got interrupted by a hand, delicately placing a cup of steamy coffee in front of him. Haechan stared at it as if not understanding what that was then finally raised his eyes to meet Mark's gentle ones. He was smiling. "I stalked your Instagram. Full of food and coffee", Mark explained honestly with a shrug while walking around the desk and sitting down on his chair. They had to share a desk and Mark was as close as to touch elbows. Haechan hated having people so close to him when he didn't want them; especially at that moment, as Mark rested his head on his hand and just stared. 

Yeah, he stared. His eyes were piercing, looking at Haechan as if that’s what normal people do. Scanning him from head to toe, then looking into his eyes as if able to see something there. 

Haechan ignored him and looked away. "Stalking my social media is problematic, Mike". Mark chuckled lightly. "You did the same". Haechan's head snapped. "And why would I do that?”. Mark shrugged. "Close the tabs if you didn't want me to find out," he smiled staring at Haechan's laptop. 

The younger’s eyes suddenly widened and with a quick hand, he closed it in a second, cheeks hot with shame. He opened his mouth to say something to get himself out of that embarrassing situation but Mark thankfully didn't give him any time. 

"What are we doing today, sir?" he asked instead with a sly smile. "We write codes", Haechan replied quietly. "Fun", was Mark's comment. 

And they did that the whole morning, ignoring each other's knees as they sometimes brushed against each other. And they ignored the way their knuckles touched when both reached for their own cup of coffee. And Haechan ignored Mark's cologne while Mark ignored the way the computer lights made Haechan's skin glow. Mark loved programming, he always did, but that morning he thought that it would be nice to not be a programmer, just for a minute, just to be in a well-lit office and see how different Haechan would look under the sun instead.

_______

Haechan stared down at his sandwich, sitting still wrapped and untouched in his lap. Then he looked up at the blue sky and let the white fluffy clouds calm him. 

It happened close to the lunch break. 

"Spaghetti", Mark said suddenly. Onew had left already and in front of their office, everyone was walking the corridor heading out. Haechan was finally getting into the flow of working when Mark's hoarse voice startled him. "It's your favourite food, isn't it?" Mark asked, explaining himself. "Soup. I don't put things I love on my Instagram", Haechan replied. Mark looked pensive. "This is why there's no girlfriend photo there?" he wondered with a timid smile. Huh? What was that? So this is what was happening? This is the reason for the cute? 

Haechan had no force to being hit on, as much as Mark intrigued him. He had zero force and suddenly all the thoughts that Haechan buried away for a few days, came back like a bulldozer. 

Haechan bit his tongue before talking too much. "Maybe the girlfriend doesn't exist", he mumbled before getting up and grabbing his wallet.  

"Wait, are you going away?" Mark got up as well, surprised. "I thought we were going to eat together. I don't know other people-". "Well, I don't want to. Make some new friends", he replied and just walked away. No, he ran away and the first place he thought about was the terrace. It was the only uncontaminated place in the whole company. Doyoung has never been there before. 

And Haechan loved the clouds. He loved the wind moving them around fast. It was mesmerizing and in moments like those, he was able to not think about anything, until he was not Haechan anymore, until he was a cloud himself, floating in the blue sky. 

"Sorry, I didn't know this was your favourite place", a voice startled him for the second time that day. 

Haechan looked at his right where Mark was standing with a plate of food in his hands. He looked like a scared deer, turning around to leave Haechan alone, probably wondering what he did wrong but too anxious to confront Haechan about it.  

"It's alright. You can stay", Haechan spoke softly and resumed his cloud gazing. 

Mark stopped uncertain, standing still for a little while but then he walked towards Haechan and slowly sat down, resting his back on the wall as Haechan did, raising his eyes to watch the sky.

"Pretty", Mark commented and this time he was actually talking about the view. 

Haechan hummed, then after a moment of silence, he apologized. 

Mark began eating his food. "For what?" he asked with his mouth full. They both knew the reason but Haechan still appreciated Mark’s effort to showcase that he wasn’t mad at him. "For telling you that I don't want to eat together. I was being an ass for no reason", Haechan explained. Mark shook his head. "It's alright. I'm sorry if I came off clingy". Haechan huffed. "Funny. Usually, I'm the clingy one". 

Mark swallowed and Haechan looked at him. "I haven't been myself lately. But I promise I'm not an asshole". Mark smiled back kindly. "I know. I can see that". 

Haechan's expression flattered. 

Mark took another bite. "You look very warm. Your name is very appropriate for your personality. You're just… very cute", he added with a shy smile. 

Haechan continued staring at the other, unable to make a single sound. 

The other had a few other bites as if not noticing the way his words made Haechan feel then he finally raised his gaze. 

"Why are you not eating? Are you sick?" Mark inquired eyeing Haechan's sandwich. The boy finally sighed and looked up at the sky again. "Maybe". "Well, you'll get worse if you don't eat", Mark commented and grabbed the sandwich, unwrapping it and putting it into Haechan's hand with force. "I can't believe you're treating your supervisor like this. Calling him cute and forcing him to eat", Haechan stared at the food in his hand before taking a small bite, mostly to make Mark happy. The other shrugged. "You act like no one calls you cute every minute. Also, I am older than you. I can do that”. Haechan rolled his eyes. "I'm still your senior. You don't want to see me get mad. I can guarantee you that". Mark opened his mouth to say something dangerously similar to “cute” but then smiled instead, shaking his head. Haechan forced himself to keep a straight face. "If you say it again…", he warned the other. Mark cleaned his already clean fingers on a napkin then suddenly grabbed Haechan's cheek with two fingers. The boy's eyes got wide and he almost dropped his food, his mouth open in a surprised o. 

Mark smiled even more at his reaction, gulping his last piece of food while gently pinching Haechan's face as if he were a child. Then he let him go and got up, dusting his pants. "I didn't say anything this time", Mark explained innocently. 

Haechan looked up at him, still shocked. 

"I'll see you in the office. Finish your food", Mark told him and left. Haechan could distinctly hear Mark comment "so fucking cute" while he was descending the stairs.

_______

That night Haechan fell into his usual decadent slumber. He was almost fully unconscious, the twilight sleep making space for a depraved and troubled dream. Fingers twitching and muscles quivering, Haechan’s mind transformed his day yearning in darkness. Images of eyes and lips tormented him again. It has always been the same pattern, yet something new derailed the boy’s focus that night. Little details. The roundness of the eyes, the form of the lips, the touch of the fingers, the voice. That voice sounded different and it whispered something Haechan has never dreamt about before. A single word, soft but sensual, repeated again and again in Haechan’s ear. 

That morning, after a very long time, the boy woke up with a new name on his lips.

_______

Mark sometimes thought that everyone was just stupid besides himself. 

Not because of an unhealthy superiority complex or something, but because he couldn’t understand how everyone could be that blind. 

“Oh, Lara, I love your new blazer”, Haechan would say while walking around the company with Mark following suit. Poor Lara would blush and be genuinely happy about the compliment. But Mark could see that Haechan thought it was atrocious. And Adam’s stuttering speech a well. Oh, and Joseph’s wrinkly newborn. 

However, it wasn’t this fake persona Haechan had that made Mark uneasy. It was the one he would wear when talking about himself. Oh, I slept very well last night. No, I don’t need any help. Yes, everything is fine, what do you mean? Smiles and laughs and sarcastic comments. 

Mark wanted to know. He wanted to get closer and dust off the misty layer on Haechan’s eyes. 

Maybe Mark thought too highly of himself. Maybe it was his ego talking. 

I’m going to be the one to help Haechan, that’s the only thing he could think about. 

And lately, during sleepless nights, Mark would beat himself up about it. 

It’s not your business, Mark. You want this to feel a good person. 

Except, he would then frown and hug his pillow tighter, getting annoyed at himself. 

No, I would want it even it wasn’t me to help Haechan out. I just want to see him happy. 

Yeah. This sounds good. 

So he would drift away to sleep, peaceful, knowing that he was selfless. 

Alas, it took very little to Mark to realize that he wasn’t that selfless as he thought. 

Mark raised his eyes when Haechan’s abrupt manners opened the office door with a kick. “Haechan, you look good today”. The other smirked. “I always look good. What do you mean?” As if the literal sun entered the room. Mark was blinded. “Did something good happen?”, he watched Haechan’s hair bounce at his every step, like a little seedling gently moved by the breeze. Haechan’s smile widened as he sat down, rolling around in his seat, pure energy sprinkling from every pore. “So I guess the answer is yes,” Mark found himself smiling as well, although a bitter taste pasted his tongue on the palate as he spoke. “I just remembered how much serotonin a good fuck gives you,” Haechan opened his computer and started working on his tasks, not paying attention to Mark’s face. 

Oh. 

Mark hated it. Oh, he hated it so much. God, he hated it. 

The boy tried hard to not think about Haechan that day, resulting in him thinking about Haechan all day. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about his body touched by somebody else. 

It was almost lunchtime when Mark finally broke the silence. “So, now you’re dating someone?” Haechan raised an eyebrow, eyes still too focused on his computer to give his full attention to Mark. “What? No. Why?”, he mumbled distractedly. Mark blinked for a few seconds. Haechan finally processed and laughed. “You’re kinda sweet Mark. I just got dicked down, that’s all”, he got up and stretched his arms up with a whiny yawn. “Come on,” he lightly hit the other’s shoulder, “I think today’s menu is soup”.

______

Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark. 

It was as if Haechan was going crazy. 

It was just a dream. A single dream. 

When did this happen? How was it possible? 

“Fuck, Haechan, you’re-”, Jaemin gulped, his adam apple going up and down inside his stretched out throat just like Haechan’s body moved on top of him. “Yeah?” the directly concerned boy smiled. “-crazy today”, Jaemin concluded. “Who made you this horny?” Haechan bit his lower lip, hating his mind for not leaving that thought out, even if for a single second. “Call me--”, he ignore the other’s question, cheeks violently turning red. Jaemin groaned at the way Haechan sunk deeper on him in the process. “Call you what?”, he asked breathless, fingers tightening around Haechan’s painfully hard length. “Cute”, the boy finally whispered. And Jaemin said it, again and again until that word replaced Mark’s name from Haechan’s head.

_______

That day’s menu was indeed soup which only added to Haechan’s general euphoria. Mark walked one step behind him, troubled by the double sword his feelings formed inside his heart. His eyes were only on the younger’s face and Mark could only sigh every few seconds. 

Oh, I’m falling in love. I’m falling in love. 

Lost in his melodramatic thoughts, Mark didn’t notice when Haechan suddenly stopped.  “Hey, boys. Haechan,” a dude greeted generally before locking eyes with the younger one.  Haechan rolled his eyes and made a step back from where that guy was. The dude’s smile flattered as if annoyed at that obvious showcase of hatred towards him but kept his fake expression on as he looked at Mark instead. “So, I’m organizing this party downtown at the Garages. Do you want to come?”, he asked.  

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and eyed Haechan to see what the deal was about.  

Haechan huffed. “Mark doesn’t like parties and neither do I, Jungwoo. Thank you”, he replied snarkily while making a step to continue walking. 

Jungwoo smirked. “Says the party animal. You never mentioned it to me while I had you on my-”, but Haechan interrupted him, hitting his chest with the back of his hand. 

Jungwoo chuckled with satisfaction. 

“Oh, so the boy doesn’t have to know?” he asked indicating to Mark, faking innocence.”

Mark felt his jaw muscle flinch and a sudden urge to punch that dude in the face made his fists almost tremble. 

“The boy doesn’t like the way you’re making his friend uncomfortable right now”, he spoke with a cold voice not breaking eye contact. “Whatever happened between you before, now Haechan doesn’t want to see you again and certainly he doesn’t want to come to your party”. 

Haechan opened his mouth to say something but Jungwoo's laugh interrupted him. 

“Oh, but he does want to see me again and come to my party. Don’t you, Haechan?” the dude asked. 

“Of course I don’t, Jungwoo. Get fucked”, Haechan replied quickly, eyes rolling in their sockets, feet turning direction and walking away. 

“I bet I will”, Jungwoo shrugged with a little smile, throwing one finger gun at Mark.  “By Haechan”, he whispered with a wink while leaving him alone in the corridor. 

To Mark’s horror, despite those two’s abrasive conversation, he could definitely see that as a silent promise.

So Mark went there as well. 

Why? He didn’t know. He liked to think that he was concerned about Haechan’s safety. 

That Jungwoo guy had some rancid vibes and Mark hated the idea of the two together. Because he was concerned for his safety. 

Not because he was jealous or anything. 

Haechan could do whatever he wanted and sleep with whoever he wanted to, but what if, just what if, Haechan changed his mind and chose Mark over the Jungwoo dude? 

Mark could do that. 

Mark wasn’t self-centred but he still realized that Haechan deserved better and he could provide that. 

If that was Haechan needed to soothe the darkness in his eyes, Mark could do that.

But Haechan wasn’t there and neither was Jungwoo and the thought of that man’s hands on Haechan’s skin made Mark’s guts twirl on themselves. 

He looked around, frantically, breathing the sweat-impregnated air, trying to avoid being hit by people’s sticky shoulders. Until he started to feel sick, not only because of the loud music and blinding lights but also for some obscure reason, grabbing his throat and choking him. 

He had to drown that down.

_______

When Haechan arrived Mark was surrounded by people, eyes closed, face up exposing his neck, laughing and screaming, jumping and moving his body as Haechan has never seen someone do before. 

His legs were nicely on display in a pair of severely ripped black jeans that Haechan had no idea Mark liked to wear. 

The younger boy was so concentrated on the way a plain white T-shirt could look so good on a person that he noticed too late the way Mark directed his eyes towards him. 

He was far away and Haechan couldn’t decipher the other's expression but it didn’t matter as Mark quickly made his way to where the younger boy nervously stood. 

Mark was drunk. A lot. 

But he still somewhat fluidly avoided the crowd as if dancing until getting as close as hovering above Haechan. The boy had never noticed that Mark was taller until he had to raise his face to look up, his back and palms pressed against the wall. He didn’t notice when he walked backwards either. 

“Haechan”, Mark said his name with such worry to make the other’s heart beat like crazy. “Are you okay? Where have you been?”, or that's what Haechan deciphered from his lips since the music was so loud that his ribcage felt about to be ripped apart. “Home. I’ve just arrived”, Haechan yelled and Mark got even closer, giving his ear to the boy’s lips to hear better. 

Haechan couldn’t do anything else besides inhaling his odour. Mark was a little sweaty and his breath smelled of alcohol, but Haechan has never found someone sexier than him at that moment. 

His eyes were dark under his black curls and his lips looked swollen as if someone sucked on them. Haechan felt like prey and unconsciously pressed his body against the wall even harder.

“And where’s Jungwoo?”, Mark’s voice tingled Haechan’s earbuds. “I have no idea. Why would I know?”, Haechan replied, acting as if he didn’t realize why Mark was behaving like that. 

It made Haechan’s palms sweat. 

He thought about that a lot, at the way Mark got defensive of him in front of Jungwoo, at the way Mark’s expression darkened even after Haechan told them that he had no intention to go to the party, at the way Mark has been looking at Haechan a lot, at the way Haechan couldn’t just stop thinking about Mark for a single second either.  

He came to the party because of that. Haechan’s mind was running again and he wanted to stop it. And also because he played with his phone all day, looking at Mark’s number for a long time. 

Mark would have replied but did Haechan really want it? He was such a sweet person and Haechan didn’t dare to contaminate him with his presence. Mark didn’t deserve to be used as Haechan needed. 

So he went to the party, ready to contaminate somebody else instead. Who knew that Mark was there waiting for him? 

“I’ve been thinking about you the whole night”, Mark talked again after staring at Haechan as if trying to understand the younger one’s thoughts. Just like he has been for the past few months, making Haechan feel small and naked. "Yeah, I bet. While letting those people grind on you?" Haechan replied sarcastic trying hard to conceal his shaking voice. 

Mark got closer, bold and cocky, putting his hands on the wall, caging Haechan between his arms, leaning in and whispering into his ear. "Yeah, I was imagining you grinding on me", his confession tickled Haechan’s ear and the boy tried to move his head away on the side, afraid to do something he would regret, but Mark's hand was there and his head had nowhere to go. It wasn't right. 

Haechan was sober while Mark was drunk and had no idea what he was talking about. He had to go away, push him back, but his limbs weren't cooperating. Mark's hand though was working just fine and it gently grabbed Haechan's face, turning it into his direction. 

"Haechan, please, let me kiss you", he begged, his breath caressing Haechan’s lips. 

The boy gulped down surprised, shivering with desire, fighting with himself. He put his hands on Mark's chest, with the intent of lightly pushing him away, but he was made of iron. No, Mark, no, please. You’re too precious to me for this. 

"You don't know what you're talking about", Haechan mumbled. 

Mark breathed heavily. His jaw muscles tightened. Then he put his head down as if trying to gain forces. 

"Yeah, sorry, okay okay, I'm leaving", he retrieved his arms and let them fall to his sides like dead flesh. 

Haechan looked at them with some relief, suddenly feeling exposed and cold, even if the club's air was so hot that it was hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just him having breathing difficulties. Haechan had no idea. 

"No, wait", his lips betrayed him. "Just-", Haechan interrupted himself, eyes squeezed together as if already regretting what he was about to say, unsure, holding Mark's wrist with both hands. Then he opened his eyes again. 

Mark was looking at him his heavy lids. His gaze wandered from his face to his exposed neck, then to his collarbones and chest. Mark was undressing him without touching anything and Haechan felt like going crazy. 

"-just a kiss. Okay? It's going to be a short kiss", Haechan continued, unable to believe he was actually saying that. 

But there was no harm in that. A little kiss. Just a harmless little kiss. Like the ones you'd have in college during stupid games. No one thought about those in the mornings.

But when Mark's lips curved in a little smirk and his body got as close as to press on Haechan's one again, the younger boy knew that it wasn't going to be just a kiss. Not for him at least. And not only he would think about it in the morning. He probably would think about it for a long time. And he was right. It was indeed memorable. Slow and careful but not timid. Mark cupped the other’s face, palm pressed on his jaw, fingers as far as touching his neck and ear, the other grabbing his hips, pulling them against his. Haechan’s head felt light and he couldn't fathom how Mark managed to have so much control when he was about to lose it all. And then it became even worse as Mark slipped his tongue inside of Haechan’s mouth and the younger boy had to tighten his grip around Mark’s torso. He whined into Mark's mouth, making the other hum back, picking up the pace, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, letting his hand fall from Haechan's face to his neck, then chest, then to his stomach, grazing the skin separated by Mark's fingers only by his thin button-down. 

Haechan had to stop him. It was going too far. That was a mistake. They still had to work together. There’s a reason why Haechan avoided talking to the coworkers he fucked before. Mark wasn't realizing that but Haechan did. He had to be responsible. 

Stop him, Haechan. Stop him. 

"Mark, wait", he broke off the kiss when Mark's hands reached his jeans button. The boy looked down at him, panting, eyes half-closed: he was begging Haechan to let him continue. 

Haechan grabbed his shirt and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows. 

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?", he warned him, shutting his brain off. "Okay", Mark replied quickly putting his mouth on Haechan's again as if unable to be away from it for too long. And he put his hands on Haechan's jeans again as well, opening the button, letting the zip fall slowly, tucking his hand underneath Haechan's boxers, feeling his soft and hot skin, wrapping his fingers around him tightly, not letting the struggling Haechan to break off the kiss to moan. And he didn't even last too long. The boy came shuddering all over Mark's fist after a few good strokes and the older finally let him press his face into his chest. 

Shit, he had never lasted this little. What the hell.

Haechan was fucking embarrassed and if Mark wouldn't have been too drunk to remember anyway, he would have just run away to hide in that exact moment. 

"Fuck", Mark cursed under his breath, feeling Haechan’s hot release on his skin, nudging at Haechan's temple with his lips while the other came down from his high.   "Oh, fuck, you're so hot like this, Haechan. And cute. Shit, you're so cute, I'm going crazy", he babbled before letting Haechan's cock go and trying to bring his fingers to his lips. "Oh no", Haechan gulped trying to stop him. "Mark, don't. You touched all sort of things in the club with that hand", and Mark stopped for a second as if processing the information before dropping to his knees and tasting Haechan directly. 

The boy opened his mouth in a silent gasp and he was still so aroused that feeling Mark's tongue made him hard again in a second. 

"Fuck", Haechan swore loudly, pressing his fingers into the wall behind him, letting his head fall back, feeling himself grow harder inside Mark's mouth. 

He didn't expect it. He didn't expect any of this. Innocent and soft Mark Lee sucking him off like no one has done before in the dark corner of a club? Haechan the slut coming in two seconds and getting hard again soon after? Past Haechan would have laughed, yet there he was, moaning Mark's name like a mantra, coming for the second time in minutes like a little virgin. 

It was no dream. It was a reality. 

Mark didn't let him go and Haechan felt like flying as his cum descended inside Mark's throat. And then he looked down right in time to catch a glimpse of Mark's eyes, looking up at him, letting his cock out with a lewd plop. "Mark, where did you learn that?", Haechan asked suddenly exhausted. The boy licked his lips and held onto Haechan to get up, shakily. "Was that good? It was my first time doing it", he mumbled with a smile before resting his head on Haechan's shoulder, the cocktail he had right before adding to his brain fog.

_______

Mark woke up to the sound of a heartbeat. It was a comforting sound. Deep and regular. 

He groaned softly as his lids realized they were getting hit by bright and irritating sunlight. Then he opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the windows first, vision blurry, then on the plant underneath it, then on the young man underneath him. 

Mark's muscles got a spasm and woke up completely as his brain finally made sense of what was going on. Meaning that his face was resting on Haechan's chest. Bare chest. And his own torso, bare torso, was wrapped by the boy's arms. 

Oh fuck, he thought. Oh shit. 

"It's too late in the morning to run away", Haechan mumbled, waking up softly as well. 

Mark froze as he was trying to get up. He was propped up on an elbow when Haechan opened his eyes and Mark felt his breath hitch. 

Haechan was there, pillow adorned with his luscious locks lying all around his head like a halo, chocolate eyes warmed by the sun shining through the windows and his skin, God, he looked like an angel. 

"I'm not going away", Mark lied, surprising himself by how deep and hoarse his voice sounded like. "Fuck, you're so cute right now", he whispered soon after, unable to control himself. 

Haechan's eyes got wider at Mark's words. He expected Mark to freak out, and Mark was freaking out inside a lot, but having Haechan like that, underneath him, vulnerable and beautiful as never before, made Mark feel peaceful at the same time. 

This is all he wanted in life. 

The older managed to keep it together for a few other seconds, trying to look confident, but when Haechan's cheeks reddened with blush, Mark lost it and blushed as well, rolling away, grabbing a pillow to hide his face in with a scream. 

"I can't believe it", his voice came out muffled. "Oh my God", he yelled quietly. 

Haechan started to chuckle embarrassed. "What an idiot". 

"How-", Mark removed the pillow enough for one eye to poke out. "How far-", he stuttered. 

Haechan rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance. 

"Just oral", he whispered while getting up and putting his feet on the ground, turning his back to Mark, unable to look at him in the face either. 

"Oh", the other sounded weirdly disappointed. Haechan pinched the base of his nose. That man was sending such mixed messages. "You did dry hump my ass if that makes things better", Haechan spoke through his teeth, embarrassed out of his mind, grabbing the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand. "I'm sorry. You deserve to get fucked properly", Mark replied quietly as if thinking at loud, making Haechan choke on his water and spit it all around the room. 

Mark sat up quickly and placed a hand on Haechan's shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

The choking boy turned around to face him. 

"I thought you'd be all embarrassed about this", he commented while drying his wet lips with the back of his hand. 

"I am!" Mark's eyes got wide and his red ears confirmed it, but it was still not what Haechan expected. 

"I mean", Haechan hesitated, unsure of what words to use, "I thought you'd regret it in the morning. You were really drunk last night and you had no idea what you were doing”. 

Mark's face visibly darkened. 

"Do you regret it?", he asked. 

Haechan went on with his phrase ignoring Mark’s question. "-like I was sober and I was worried that maybe I should have-". 

"Haechan". 

Mark's voice was so deep and serious that Haechan's heart started to beat faster upon hearing him calling his name like that. "Answer me. Do you regret it? Did I- fuck - did I do something wrong?", Mark asked ruffling his hair with one hand. He looked so worried and distressed that Haechan for a second didn't know what to say. 

"No", the younger finally shook his head. "No", he repeated. "I was aware of everything and I made my choice consciously but you-", Haechan hesitated again.  "Me too", Mark spoke up, nodding. "I remember everything until you helped me to get out of the club. After I sucked y-".

"Don't say it", Haechan stopped him with a raised palm. 

Mark chuckled embarrassedly. 

If only Haechan knew how cute he was being in that moment, faking his serious face and steading his voice. Mark would have wanted to see Haechan confess just how weak he was. 

"So you, like, you wanted it? Not because you were just drunk and I happened to be there?", Haechan asked timidly. Haechan couldn't believe he was so shy to talk about sex with someone. It has never happened before. Nothing he did with Mark happened before. 

Mark gulped down. "I wanted it, yeah. I didn't do it because I was drunk. I did it thanks to that. I don't think I would have had the courage otherwise", he explained. "But I'm also sorry. It mustn't be nice to- like--uh, you know, with a drunk person", he stuttered, eyes closing and opening as he thought about the words to use. 

Haechan looked down, shyly. "You were very hot actually", he whispered back, scratching the back of his head. 

"Haechan," Mark finally found his voice after a moment of shocked silence. "I swear to God, I would take you-", but interrupted himself abruptly. 

Haechan looked at him flustered. 

Mark cleared his voice. 

Then he shook his head. 

"No", he chuckled at himself. "Nothing, never mind", he added suddenly getting up, the covers sliding down his naked body. 

Haechan looked at it. He had looked at it the whole night. That night he kissed every inch of that skin and listened to Mark's soft moans. And Haechan realized that it wasn't a hookup. At all. Not for him. But Mark didn't remember that part and Haechan didn't want to tell him. If Haechan had to think about it for the next month, so be it. It was all on him. He let himself go too far and he wasn't talking about the physical aspect. It was all his fault if his heart was aching to see Mark get dressed instead of lying beside him, cuddling, or better, doing what Mark didn't dare to tell him.

_______

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?".

Forgetting. 

Mark wanted to forget but he couldn't do it. Not the day after and not on Monday morning, seeing Haechan's pretty lips so close to him and not being able to kiss them. 

Mark lied when Haechan asked him what he remembered. 

Well, not entirely, because he did forget some parts. 

But he was definitely lucid when Haechan went down on him, slowly, after kissing his lips, then his neck, sucking on his skin, then his chest and stomach as Mark wrapped Haechan's hair around his fingers. The boy asked multiple times if Mark was okay with that until Mark had to basically beg to just suck him off already. And God, he was so cute doing it. He would never forget how that felt. Divine. His head was so light as if zero oxygen got to it, every drop of blood concentrated inside of Haechan's warm and wet mouth instead. 

And he was staring at that mouth now, as Haechan explained the work to do for the day. Mark wasn't even that horny. No. He just wanted to hold him again and softly press his lips on Haechan's plump ones. 

"Tomorrow we forget about this". 

Haechan was sober when he said that. He meant it. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. Right? Should he ask? Haechan, did you forget? Do you want to forget? Because I don't. 

And I can't. 

"Mark", Haechan snapped his fingers in front of him making the boy jolt. "Focus", he ordered. "What are you thinking about?".

You. I'm thinking about you. You. You. I've been thinking about you for days, Haechan. 

"Lunch", Mark shrugged. Haechan rolled his eyes. "What an idiot".

_______

That afternoon Haechan was in a relatively good mood. 

He should have known that the most peaceful days could bring the most terrible storms though. 

So he jolted at the sound of a voice he almost forgot how it sounded like. 

"Haechan, I thought you died or something". 

The boy in question looked up from his computer to see a pair of feline eyes. 

They were bright and amused. Then he saw the lips. Soft and pink stretched in a sweet smile. 

Doyoung was still like a house with all the lights on, but now it wasn’t empty anymore. Now everyone was home. This house was full of people, all happy and content. 

Haechan was so glad. He truly was. This is what he has always wanted to see since first locking eyes with that man. But he also felt suddenly miserable. Miserable and confused. 

His heart shouldn't have skipped a beat like that. Not anymore. 

"I did die and I just got back from hell", he replied, trying to sound as snarky as possible. It wasn't entirely a lie. 

"What about you? You also went missing". Doyoung blushed subtly at the innuendo and Haechan felt the urge to punch the table. Or himself. "I've been busy", Doyoung replied softly. "So you went to paradise instead, I see", Haechan commented with a smile hoping that no one noticed how fake it was.

_______

"A man can't have his alone time in peace. What do you want?", Haechan rolled his eyes while Mark sat down beside him, resting his back on the rooftop wall, looking in front of him at the blue sky. 

It was a sunny day with a slight breeze, enough for Haechan's fringe to wave gently. 

Mark loved it when the wind ruffled Haechan's hair but he couldn't bring himself to look at the younger boy. Not at that moment. 

"I didn't know", Mark whispered. "What?", Haechan's voice came out irritated but he didn't care. 

"That you were in love", Mark added. 

Haechan choked on his breath. 

"I'm not", he crossed his arms on his chest and closed his eyes as if sunbathing. Conversation over, it meant. An angry bronzing session. 

Mark finally looked at him then, feeling safe as he wasn't seen back. He watched the way Haechan’s skin glowed under the warm rays. Mark thought about how it would feel under his fingertips but he wasn’t sure. He touched it before but now he couldn’t remember it. Mark wanted to raise one hand and touch his cheek again, this time fully concentrating on the feeling. He wanted to let it slide down the boy’s jawline, feeling the sharp bone, then on his neck where the angry pulsating artery pumped blood at a crazy speed. Then he wanted to hear Haechan’s soft breath as his hand unbuttoned his shirt, this time feeling his heartbeat. Mark wanted it to be fast and only for him. For Mark. 

It all made sense now. But why does it have to be like that? What should Mark do? What do people do in this scenario? 

Was he thinking about this Doyoung guy? Has Haechan been thinking about other men? The whole time? While Mark was thinking about him? 

Was he imagining kissing that man's lips while Mark's mind was full of Haechan and Haechan only? 

Of course, he would. 

What was Mark thinking? Isn’t this what he accepted? Isn’t this what he decided to adventure in? Why was Mark suddenly so hurt about Haechan behaving as he anticipated him to do? 

We forget about this in the morning and Mark was certain now that Haechan actually did forget. 

"Does he know?", Mark asked after a while. Haechan snorted. "Of course he doesn't". "He doesn't know what?".

The other boy sighed at the trap. 

"Just leave me alone", he ordered. And Mark actually got up and left. 

Haechan's cheeks got wet right when it started to rain.

_______

"Mark, if you have something to say, just say it". 

It's been a few days of Mark not talking but still looking at Haechan as if about to burst in a monologue anytime soon. 

Haechan had been brusque with him before, but it never came to Mark not talking to him. 

The younger boy wasn’t stupid. It was obvious what was going on with Mark but Haechan didn’t have the force to deal with it sooner. 

"I don't have anything to say", Mark replied. "Do you have anything to say?".

Haechan rested his back on the chair and looked at Mark, irritated. 

"Okay, we need to sort this thing out. We can't work like this". "Like this how? We're working just fine", Mark didn't raise his eyes from the computer. "Mark, you've been writing and deleting the same line for a while now", Haechan indicated the screen with his chin. "Well, maybe something is going on with me but it doesn't have anything to do with you, so we don't need to talk about anything", Mark replied finally starting a new line. 

So Mark was able to lie as well, huh?

"Mark", Haechan lowered his voice. "Do you perhaps have feelings for me?", he whispered. 

"What?!" Mark yelled. 

Onew jolted on his seat. 

"Keep your voice down, you dumbass", Haechan put one hand on his thigh. Mark looked down at it then at Haechan's face. 

Haechan retrieved his hand back. 

Mark breathed heavily before talking. 

"It's just--”, he rested his back on the chair as well, “I've never been with someone like that before and I'm so confused right now, like, I don't know if I have feelings for you or just--like, I need closure?", he questioned as if talking to himself. 

Haechan was surprised that Mark told him all that. 

"You mean that you're a virgin?", the younger asked incredulously. "Uhm, I can hear you", Onew said. "Then get your ass up and take a stroll, Owen", Haechan spoke up. 

Mark flinched at his sudden and loud voice. 

Their colleague shook his head as if not believing he was dealing with some weirdos and got out of the office mumbling something about gen z people. 

"I am not a virgin. I meant hookups", Mark explained after a little pause while his cheeks acted like a virgin's. "You said you've never sucked someone before", Haechan raised one eyebrow. "It's alright if you're a virgin, Mark. You just have to tell me and-”, he interrupted himself as if realizing what they actually did, “-fuck, you had to tell me before as well. God, I acted recklessly, I should hav-".

"I am not a virgin! Stop saying that. I've never sucked before because I've been eating pussy, okay?", Mark raised his voice.

Haechan blinked at him. "So you're confused about your sexuality?" 

Mark rolled his eyes defeated. "I know what I like! I'm not confused. Just hear me out!" "You said you were confused just a minute ago", Haechan said. "But not about my sexuality. Because of the hookup!"  "Why are you yelling?", Haechan yelled.  "I'm not yelling!", Mark yelled back.  "You're arguing with me right now". "Because you're not listening! I don't know how I'm feeling about you because I've never slept around before. I-- just--don't like it", Mark stuttered.  "Then why did you sleep with me?", Haechan was exasperated.  Mark whined. "Because I liked you already”.  "So you do like me. You have feelings for me", Haechan raised his hands as if talking with a fool. 

The other shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable. 

"Don't all people like their hookup partners though? Like, would you sleep with someone if they were ugly as fuck? I don't think so. You still need to be attracted to them a little". 

Haechan sighed while massaging his temples. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Didn't you have crushes before? Don't you know what it feels like to be in love?".

Mark groaned tiredly. "I did. And I know. But this is different", he spoke with a softer tone. 

Haechan sighed. "So what? Am I supposed to help you figure that out? If you like me or not?". 

Mark straightened his tie and focused on his computer again as if the conversation was over. 

"Listen, you wanted to hear me talk, so I did". 

The younger boy stared at the other’s fingers as they started to type something, probably useless. 

"Do you even want to like me? Like what's your expectation?". 

Mark’s fingers stopped and he remained silent for a little while. "Well, you like somebody else, so it wouldn't be nice if I had feelings for you, would it?". 

Haechan prolonged the silence a bit. "I'm getting out of it".

Mark turned his head to him. 

That was a lie, Mark could see it. A blatant lie. 

"Do you want me to like you?", he asked. His voice was soft and low. 

Haechan thought about it for a second. He didn’t know what to say. 

Mark sighed, unable to wait like that, and closed his eyes, reclining back on his seat again. 

"I like you, Haechan. Okay? I like you, fuck. I don't care if you like somebody else". 

Haechan’s heart started to beat even faster than before. 

“Was this the problem, then? You were jealous?”, Haechan’s voice came out quieter than he intended. 

Mark opened his eyes and looked down at his hands clasped together. 

He shrugged. 

“You don’t have to worry about me. I just needed to say it. I’m not asking for anything from you”, Mark directed his gaze towards Haechan. 

He looked so serious that it made Haechan’s cheeks get pink again. 

Mark’s eyes trembled imperceptibly at that reaction but he didn’t dare to say anything about it. 

He cleared his voice as Haechan couldn’t bring himself to add anything either and got back to work.

_______

It was very late at night. 

Haechan had no idea what time it was but it was not a time normal people would be awake at. 

He fidgeted under the covers, restless and irritated. He felt hot and his mind wouldn’t let him sleep. 

His hands found his phone after a while, ready to click on Jaemin’s name. But then his thumb slid down and it stopped over Mark instead. 

Haechan stared at the bright screen until he felt his eyes tear up from lack of blinking then just pressed it with a huff. 

Bad person Haechan. You’re a bad person. You’re such a bad person. A mistake. You did a mistake a now you were about to make another one.

“Yes”, Mark’s rough voice interrupted Haechan’s train of thoughts. 

The younger boy opened his mouth to breathe better and he let that monosyllable caress his ears even after the sound already died. 

“Hey”, Haechan whispered, closing his eyes, helping his other senses to get sharper. 

Mark groaned softly and shifted in his bed, probably turning in a more comfortable position. “Haechan”, he said in the same sleepy and deep voice and Haechan had to make an effort to not whimper into the phone. 

Why was Haechan so affected by this boy but at the same time so afraid of him? He shouldn’t have let Mark get so involved. Haechan should have put a wall between them the first time his lips said that first “cute”, then another one when he blatantly saw the way Mark’s eyes couldn’t leave him, then another one that night in the club, and another one when Mark asked him if Haechan wanted to be liked. And now as well. Just end the call. 

But he couldn’t. 

His walls were not strong enough for Mark and Haechan was a bad person. 

He liked it. He liked a lot. Haechan wanted more and more even if he could give back only darkness. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, Haechan said after waiting a few seconds to recollect himself. 

Mark hummed as if telling him that it was alright. “Is everything okay?” he asked and Haechan noticed the way Mark was slowly waking up by the growing concern in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, everything is good. I just…”, Haechan hesitated. 

Why did he even call Mark in the first place? Did he need company? Rude. Did he miss him? Gross. He was a bad person, using people when he needed, disregarding their feelings? Yeah. 

“I wanted to speak to someone”, he decided to be honest. 

Mark’s breath got louder for a second as if he laughed lightly. “I’m glad you thought of me, then. Unless you called other people first and no one replied”. 

Haechan smiled, feeling like a teenager talking to his first crush, then stopped, starting to hate himself. “No. You’re the only one I called”, he confessed. 

What was he doing? Bad. Bad Haechan. Bad. 

Mark went silent and Haechan listened to his breath for a while.

“You confuse me so much, Haechan”, Mark’s voice was a whisper and Haechan swallowed nothing, feeling his throat suddenly dry. 

Yeah. It was not fair. Not when Mark told him how he was feeling and Haechan couldn’t do the same. 

“But I’m not complaining”, Mark added before Haechan could apologize and end the call, finally getting to his senses. “I don’t care, Haechan. I like you so much. You can do whatever you want to me”. 

Haechan bit his lower lip. God, he hated himself. 

“Mark-”. “Would you do something for me?”, the boy interrupted him. “Mm? What?”. “Would you-”, Mark stopped, breath suddenly quicker, “-would you-uhm-- shit”, he repeated softly before chuckling, slightly embarrassed. 

Haechan’s skin got goosebumps, wondering if he understood what Mark wanted. His heartbeat started to pump blood at a crazy speed at it all went in a single place. 

So he did what Mark asked, even if he would end up being wrong, only because he wanted it too. He slid a hand under his t-shirt, slowly, until reaching his nipples, and whined into the phone. 

Mark went completely silent for a second. 

Haechan whined again a little louder. 

“Fuck, Haechan”, Mark’s voice trembled. "Are you-- are you touching yourself?”.

Haechan hummed. “My nipples”, he simply replied as he pinched them, playing with himself, feeling his boxers get tighter at every stroke. “Oh fuck”, Mark’s rough voice made Haechan squeeze his eyes together and open his mouth in a silent moan. 

They were both panting. Haechan couldn’t tell if Mark was just lying there and imagining or if he started to shyly let his hand slide south as well. 

“How does it feel?”, Mark inquired with a shaken voice and Haechan realized he still had too much control to be rubbing one out as well. “It feels so good, Mark”, the younger one replied, adding soft swears as his fingers got under the fabric of his boxers, letting the elastic hit his abdomen once, loudly, making sure Mark heard it as well. “Hmm -a-ah”, he wrapped his cock with his hand, pumping it slowly a few times, pressing his thumb on the slit. 

He didn’t need to exaggerate any sound. Knowing that Mark was listening could make Haechan go over the edge alone. 

“Haechan, you make me go so fucking crazy”, Mark’s shaking voice made Haechan bite his lower lip. “You too, Mark”, he confessed in the cloud of sensations. 

Then listened to the way the other boy’s bed sheets irrefutably shifted and the bed creaked and his breath hitched as he started to pleasure himself to the sound of Haechan’s whimpers and the image he had of him.  

They didn’t talk anymore. There was no need to and they weren’t able to either. Not having Mark near him, made Haechan last longer but it was still too quickly than usual so he stopped right before cumming, edging himself until the other whined into his pillow, cursing and calling Haechan’s name.

_______

Haechan avoided Mark the whole day. He told Mark that he had some other work and barely came into the office. 

The older boy would sigh every five minutes, mind racing, making the poor Onew groan. 

“He’s feeling awkward. You guys fucked, it’s normal”. 

Mark turned his head towards him as if awoken from a dream, cheeks blushing violently as soon as he made sense of the other’s words. 

“Also, you’re in love with him. I would avoid someone in love with me as well if I only wanted to fuck them,” Onew added as if talking about the weather. Mark was unable to speak. “He’s afraid to hurt you now”. 

“I told him it was alright, though”, Mark finally whispered, trying hard to suppress the hysterical little chuckle he would get when nervous or talking about embarrassing stuff. 

Onew got up with his empty coffee mug in his hand. 

“Show it. Do something that can make him realize that it’s okay for you to be in this type of relationship”, he added before walking out whistling with not one single worry in the world. 

Mark would have wanted to whistle as well but couldn’t. 

That advice was breaking his heart. 

It was true. Mark said that he was okay, but he was lying. 

Of course, he was not alright. 

He wanted to, oh he wanted so bad to be alright but it was so late. It was already late from the beginning. Mark didn’t want that kind of relationship. He wanted more. 

But Onew was also right. Mark had to do something. If being able to have Haechan like that meant breaking his own heart, Mark was ready to do it. 

And when that night he went to Jungwoo’s monthly party again, he forced his beating heart to stop upon seeing Haechan’s back. 

The young men’s slender figure was curved in a laugh, the pretty sound almost audible to Mark’s far away ears. Then Haechan sipped from the drink in front of him, still amused by the handsome bartender’s joke, and spun around in his chair right in time to see Mark being hit on by a woman. 

Haechan’s lips stopped on the edge of the glass, eyes unable to blink, staring emotionless at the way Mark’s lips curved in a timid smile while his hands weren’t timid at all, firmly grabbing that girl’s hips as she wiggled her ass against Mark’s crotch. 

Haechan turned around, placing the drink on the counter with a slightly shaking hand. 

“Everything alright?”, the bartender asked. 

Haechan didn’t reply and threw his head back, finished his cocktail in one gulp.

_______

It was quite early when the boy left the party. Haechan felt like suffocating in the middle of all those people breathing heavily, clouding his mind. 

Waiting for his taxi outside, ignoring the stares of horny people smoking and grinding against each other by the entrance of the Garages, he got reasonable startled when two hands suddenly wrapped his torso. 

But those were some delicate fingers and Haechan could recognize that cologne in a thousand others. 

Mark rested his face on Haechan’s shoulder and no one said anything for a little while, listening to the deep bass coming out of the club, the yelling and the traffic on the main road just a few blocks away. 

“Sorry if I startled you”, Mark mumbled. 

Haechan bit his lower lip and turned around, expecting a drunk and horny Mark yet again. But the boy’s eyes were wide and awake, his usual staring-as-if-reading-your-soul eyes met Haechan’s ones. 

The younger looked at them for a second then he eyed the bright red hickeys on the other’s neck as well as the slightly unbuttoned shirt. 

“I see you’ve had some fun tonight”, Haechan commented unable to hide his bitter tone. Not that Mark wouldn’t have been able to see through his fake face anyway. 

Mark licked his lips and tugged Haechan’s hips towards him. 

"Is this alright?", his voice was low and sultry, ignoring Haechan’s little jab, caressing his lower back instead. 

Haechan started to pant softly, unsuccessfully trying to take a step back then he gulped down staring at the other’s lips getting each second closer. 

"We can pretend it didn't happen", Mark went on, "just like we've always done, isn’t that right?", and Haechan could have sworn that Mark was a little pissed off. “Fucking at night then pretending we don’t know each other during the day, huh? Isn’t this what you want? I can do that”. 

Mark's fingers reached the hem of Haechan's t-shirt by now, hiking it up slowly, dragging his fingertips on his skin. It was warm, just like Mark had always imagined. A loud cheer mixed with glass shattering made Haechan flinch but Mark shushed him, every second closer until they were breathing each other's air. 

"I really want to take you right now, just like this". 

Mark's whisper made both of their hearts beat like crazy.  The first, not believing he was talking like that, the second, not believing that Mark was telling him that. 

And when Haechan finally closed his eyes, ready to melt into the kiss, Mark's lips ghosted his cheek and neck instead, fingers still drawing little circles on the younger's chest, resting his palm on the beating heart. Then he pulled away. 

“It’s a shame that you’re pushing me away like this”, Mark straightened his back and walked away.

_______

Mark was a weird guy. 

And when Haechan bumped into him inside the local supermarket near his apartment, a large sweatshirt on his frame, boyfriend jeans, ruffled hair, a little stubble, concerned expression behind his golden round glasses, the tip of his tongue out, licking his lips mindlessly, deciding what brand of cereal he wanted, Haechan felt the urge to go there and yell at him that he's in love. 

Haechan never liked the "what are we" question. 

Everyone around him asked that. What are we? Friends. Friends with benefits. Nothing, we're just fucking. Haechan has never adventured there. But now, looking at Mark's profile, his hand finally picking up the cereal pack, Haechan wanted to ask him that question. 

What are we, Mark? 

Because I want us to be something. 

I want to claim you in ways that give other people no place to do the same. 

Not a friend, not a colleague, not a friend with benefits. 

An etiquette that only Haechan could claim. 

Even if Haechan didn’t deserve that. 

Mine. My boyfriend. Mine. Mine. All mine. 

Was that wrong? Probably. 

But Haechan felt no remorse. 

Was that love? Haechan was unsure but he wanted to find out. 

So he walked over. Was Mark there because he hoped to see Haechan? "Oh, Haechan", Mark seemed genuinely surprised when the younger called his name. "What are you doing here?", the boy asked. 

Mark looked around briefly as if suddenly not knowing where he was. "The meat here is higher quality than the supermarket near my apartment", he explained and Haechan could see the way Mark's expression screamed honesty. 

He wasn’t there because of Haechan. Mark might have had a crush on the other but he was slipping away now. 

Come back, Mark. Come back to me. Call me cute again. Touch my skin. Don’t do this. Don’t play with me like this. 

"Haechan", Mark's voice wavered as the boy got suddenly closer. "We're in public". 

Haechan didn’t look away. “You didn’t care about the public last night. You let that slut fuck you in front of everyone then you dared to flirt with me and leave me on the edge like that?”, he confronted him. 

Mark’s little stunt made the younger so mad the day before that he felt like bursting in his pants during the drive home. Cheeks flushed and trembling hand, he didn’t even bother to walk to the bedroom. He closed his eyes and threw his head back to rest against the entrance door as soon as he stepped into his empty apartment. He came and came, again and again, until he felt too sensitive to touch himself anymore. God, he was so mad. 

“Haechan, are you jealous?”, Mark’s eyes relaxed, the cereal pack still between them, the gaze of some elderly ladies not leaving their backs. 

Haechan’s jaw muscles flexed. “Yeah. I am. I am jealous. I am fucking jealous. Okay? I hate it. I hate that you sleep with other people. You’re mine and mine only”, Haechan spat out quickly before he could regret saying it. 

He was panting and he didn’t even have to look at himself to know that he was all red. 

Mark’s breath hitched in a startled laugh. 

“And I hate that you have all of this control over me. I was done, okay? I was done with feelings and here you are, doing all of this bullshit to me. Your little game worked. Are you happy?”. 

Getting out of the apartment that late morning, Mark didn’t anticipate getting a confession from Haechan in the cereal aisle while said person looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, doe eyes and a trembling lower lip. 

God, he was so cute, Mark wanted to grab his face and kiss him. 

“You saw my game and played by my rules?”, Mark asked impressed. 

“You didn’t even give me time to play at all! I got defeated before starting”, the other admitted frustrated. 

Mark chuckled. “Why are you getting mad at me, Haechan? You ignored me in the first place, sleeping with other people.” 

The boy huffed exasperated and walked away, bumping Mark in the shoulder, making the other pirouette and grab him by the forearm. 

“I was joking. Come on”, he cooed. “This is what I’ve always wanted”. 

Haechan put his tongue inside his cheek, annoyed. “What? Me making a fool out of myself?”

“Showing yourself to me”, Mark replied kindly. 

Haechan rolled his eyes, still using his faking-nonchalance-to-not-show-his-feelings technique, but Mark was already immune to that. In fact, he has been immune to that from the start. 

Haechan loved it. 

Haechan loved it so much that he got scared. It was too good to be true.

________

It was pouring heavily when they got out of the supermarket. Haechan had his apartment windows open and they could smell the scent of rain, clean and refreshing. 

It was cold but Mark's body heated the boy in a second, groceries fallen on the floor, wrapping his arms around the other’s frame. 

They did not kiss and Haechan was quite surprised but he didn't say anything, hiding his face the crook of Mark's neck instead, inhaling all of his favourite scents at the same time. 

"I called you upstairs for a different reason," Haechan mumbled, surprised at the sudden softness, the sound of his voice muffled by the other's slightly damp sweatshirt. 

"I know," Mark whispered against his temple. 

He placed a delicate kiss there, then another one slightly below, then another one, drawing a line until reaching the jaw. Haechan raised his face and Mark kissed the corner of his lips, then the other cheek, and jaw again, and the other temple. 

Haechan closed his eyes with a little smile as if giving up. 

Mark, what are you doing?".

"I want you to think", the other replied, lips still busy. Haechan scoffed. "I want to stop thinking". "I want you to think about me". 

His lips reached Haechan's forehead and stayed there for a little. 

The only sound was the rain and Haechan's quick heart. 

"I already think about you a lot", Haechan confessed, face close to Mark's collarbones. 

"And why do you want to stop?" the other murmured. 

His voice was so relaxing and calming that Haechan for a second forgot why was he trying to not think about Mark in the first place. Why was he pushing him away? Why has he been pushing him away all of that time?

Then he remembered when Mark's hands slid down Haechan's back. 

"Because I'm a bad person". Mark sighed as if he expected that but still wanted to hear the other say it. "You're not a good judge". Haechan tsk-ed. "Well, thanks, I guess." "I am the one who has to decide if you're a bad person or not, and I say that you're not." "You're blinded by love”. 

Mark hugged Haechan even tighter. 

"Yeah, I am, so Haechan, please, let me love you", his tone darkened suddenly. "Stop pushing me away. I can handle anything". 

"I'm going to fuck up", Haechan shook his head. 

"You won't and if you do, I still want to take my chances. What if I fuck up before you do?" 

Haechan laughed, resting his chin on Mark's chest, rising his face to look at the boy in the eyes. "Mark, you're a saint".

The saint’s eyes were those of a sinner though when he pressed his thumb on Haechan’s plump, lower lip. 

"Have you ever made love to someone before?", he asked with a deep voice. 

Haechan's eyes widened with amusement. "Are you joking? I’m a hoe.” 

Mark hummed. "No. I said, love. Have you? Because I haven't either and I desperately want to make love to you right now". 

And Mark was right. 

Haechan had never made love with someone before and he realized it as soon as the other's hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips softly, pushing him back towards the bed, making him sit on it, letting Haechan watch as Mark elegantly took away his sweatshirt first then the shirt underneath it. 

Haechan blinked, emotions he has never felt before invading his whole body as Mark pushed him down with a gentle touch, kissing his stomach and going up, taking Haechan's top with him, letting the cold air caress his skin making it all shiver. It would have shivered anyways, goosebumps forming at every feathery touch of Mark's lips. They took away all of the remaining clothes, touching each other slowly, curiously, exploring everything, with fingertips and lips and tongues. Attentive, remembering which stroke made the other whine louder, what kind of whisper pleased the ears more, what pet name made the other blush. 

It was still raining hard, but they weren't cold, tightly wrapped in each other arms, the heavy covers to hide their secret whispers from the world. They were hidden in giggles and heavy breaths, "here?", "yeah", "like this?", "hmm", and Haechan felt so present. He was there, at that moment and he was seen. Mark was looking at him, really looking and Haechan didn't have to do anything to make it happen. There was no reason to put on an act. He just had to be himself. Vulnerable and- "cute," Mark whispered, chests rising, short breaths, his thumb caressing Haechan's red cheeks. 

"Say it again", Haechan smiled. 

Mark imitated him, his lips murmuring the word until they didn't have to, the feeling of it lingering in the air by itself.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

I don't want to bother you and you likely have better prompts to do, but it would be really fun to see Henry have to deal with both Springtrap and ScrapTrap specifically for potential angst purposes on both ends. Some side characters that would make good filler might be Nightmare and - Maybe Mangle?

(“You likely have better prompts to do”- pal, fam, buddy, this blog has like… ten followers and maybe three askers, and I love every single one of them dearly. I try to bring the prompts out on a “one per day” basis, to ensure they won’t get too long and to show I’m still doing it, so if I don’t put one out, you can feel sure there’s nothing left. Also, good on you for asking for these two! I had a realization about how it’s kinda impossible to die to certain people, like Mr. Hippo- especially since I was just having a great time creating a little game-over interaction and then figured out “wait a minute, that won’t happen, he’s 100% fooled by the lure” So instead I’ll adjust depending on what the ask offers. If it’s a matter of “I wonder if he can survive this”/”I wonder who he’ll die to”, I’ll write that out, but if it’s a “I wonder how he’ll react to that character” Just taking up the Dave™, and only playing to see if I die to Scraptrap, seeing as he DID manage to catch me off guard before. (Also Deedee) Yes. I should have put more thought into the mechanics before. And YES. I already thought up way too much lore for this one-off “time in hell” thing. But y’know how it is. You think or you die. I don’t even think of lore, it just pops into my head, that’s why my stories are so disorganized Anyways, ENJOY! I don’t think the torture this time around is so bad, I basically cut away before anything really bad happens)

It was quiet this time around. But Henry wouldn’t be tricked by it. You’d think that only two animatronics being active would make this night a cakewalk, but the fact that he was faced with two animatronics that… were Dave… He wasn’t looking forward to it. Before he had left the office he had been offered to take some “benefits” along, but… he didn’t want to admit to being concerned. Not to mention that it wouldn’t help him. Maybe the Deedee repel- this one however seemed better preserved for later. After the panic she had put him into, it was probably more appropriate to use it when he truly was in over his head. … oh, he would eat those words later, wouldn’t he? … it hardly mattered. What even WAS she? How did she come here? Why could she simply activate machines like this? Perhaps that was what Satan looked like. At this point he wouldn’t even be surprised. With a sigh he quickly raised the tablet, putting on the generator. It would keep him safe from the lights going out, that was well-worth dealing with the headache inducing noise. Out of morbid curiosity he switched from the main control on the tablet to the vents. ‘Click on nodes to set vent snare’. … christ… a snare…? A snare trap…? That was vicious. Probably very effective though… against anyone but Dave. It was Dave in that suit. It always had been Dave in that suit. After all the fruitless attempts trying to get this stupid suit get possessed, Henry had to come to accept that- Dave’s spirit was already inside and it wasn’t willing to share with anyone. The Springbonnie suit COULD probably have walked by itself if Dave would have wanted it- if Dave would have TRIED for it. … there were a lot of things William could have made happened, if he had just TRIED. Trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth, Henry grimaced, staring at the screen as Dave moved along the vents. To think that this was the man who looked at him with pity, as if he was something weak and- … to think that he had been the only one witnessing his pathetic death. It hurt in a very special way. Hell, he couldn’t even point out how- WHY it was this bad. Was it the humiliation? Or was it the simple fact that he had died this terrible manner and all he could think about when remembering Dave and his- old life. Old life. … was this even the Dave he knew? Was this William? Or was it merely a manifestation of memories and thoughts, pulled right out of his head? Staring at the screen he watched as Dave approached. Surprisingly, he took the long way around. How peculiar. For some reason he had assumed Dave would make a B-line for the vent entrance, but he was approaching from the entirely different side. Was he assuming he could catch him off-guard? Well- either way, he was almost here. Putting down the monitor, Henry peered into the vent in front of him, trying to catch a glance- The whole room started to shake, together with the awfully loud rattling and screeching from the side. For a few seconds blind panic took ahold in his brain, as it always did when heard this damn noise- then he stumbled over and smashed the right side buttons, causing the doors to that side to snap shut. An inhuman scream ripped through the air. It was Henry’s name but sounding so distorted, so filled with SPITE, that he couldn’t even comprehend at the moment- only a few seconds after he heard it, his brain could decipher it. And when it did, he wished it didn’t. If everyone came from a potential different dimension, he didn’t want to know where THIS creature was coming from and why William had turned out like this. Sure, he had a few ideas… none of them were good though. … in none of those scenarios he would have wanted to meet him. Thankfully he had managed- so he opened the doors back up, falling back into his chair. Alright, alright, unless the demon child showed back up, this should now be easy to handle- Looking up he spotted a withered Springbonnie, with bright white eyes staring down at him from the vents. For a few moments both just stared at each other. Then Henry raised an eyebrow. “… is there any way I can help you?” “Aw shucks! Ya saw me! You’ve always been too good at this!” Smiling brightly Dave looked down at him, not moving any closer to the entrance. “… but who was THAT, Henry?” There was something about the question that made the place go quieter. The animatronics seemed generally vaguely aware of each other and their co-existence beyond the confinements of time and space, so- was Dave trying to trick him? For what purpose though? “… I do not know, Dave. I have not seen this creature yet.” A lie. Shifting his vent opening, Dave tilted his head, still grinning. “Ya don’t know? But don’t you know everything?” The words came with a certain edge to them. Or maybe Henry was simply growing more and more paranoid of the being in the vents. “I know… almost everything. There is a difference, Dave. For example… I do not know why you are inside of a suit like this.” “… yeah, that’s a mystery, ain’t it, Henry?”   The air was getting worse, the human’s breath was becoming erratic. “… are you okay, Henry?” Crawling forward Dave tried to get in. “If ya need some help-“ Instantly Henry crushed down the vent door, opening his camera system to resetting the ventilation to ensure he could keep breathing- then he put it down again, opening up the vent once more to a now VERY disgruntled seeming Dave. “The fuck was that for! Why did ya lock me out?!” “I had to take care of urgent business.” “I could have helped.” Moving slightly back, the person inside the animatronic hissed. “You’ve always did this, Henry. You’ve always done this to me.” “With good reason.” Snapping, Henry harshly slapped his hands on the office table, showing his teeth. “I was always right about you. You are not getting to threaten me now, William. You are not getting to play innocent in this place. No. William, I know you would do it.” “Do what?” Equally as aggressive, Davetrap snapped back at him. “You would ensure my death.” “That’s ludicrous! You ensured your OWN death! Maybe if ya would have trusted me more and wouldn’t have used me like some sort of- PAWN, maybe then you wouldn’t have been snacked on by a stupid doggo!” “Nonsense!” Henry hissed. “That is not what I am talking about in either case. It did not matter what I did for you, did it? It never mattered. William, you are not capable of loyalty, you are not capable of putting duty over your selfish, petty desires. For a few moments, for a little, yes, but once the urge becomes too strong, you snap back into your animalistic nature. You needed guidance, but you did not care for it. All you cared for was getting what you wanted. And once someone could offer you more than me, you turned on me.” Bitterly Dave scoffed. “Ya think that and there’s no way to change your mind, is there? Never was. Henry, think about it from my perspective for a moment maybe- if you would have treated me like an actual friend, like an actual equal partner, instead of seeing me as an untamed animal that may turn on ya any given second- maybe then I would have not yearned for someone who did.” “You are not getting around this, you are not getting around betraying me, I gave you a LAST chance and you have-“ “No Henry, YOU are not getting around this.” Coldly Dave snapped at him, stopping him from saying anything further, the icy disgust evident in his words. “You think you can turn anything and everything into a game of ‘give some, get some’. You think you can simmer friendships down to a little spreadsheet of what you’re owed and what you give. Frankly, though, you’re good at it, pal. Even with all the animosity you’ve always harbored for me deep inside of ya, you’ve always ensured I’d get my cut and felt treated well. But the thing is, Henry, and I know ya don’t get it, but there’s more to friendship than just the sum of its parts. There’s more to a partnership than a simple dividin’ of responsibility and benefits. The whole time we were together, you were alone in your head. You thought of me as a little add-on. Were you scared of what I’m capable of? Of losing control? Or were you scared of having someone with you in your head? Somethin’ you’d miss if it ever disappeared? Henry, old friend, I wanted to ask you something, ever since your stupid speech- what did you ACTUALLY want?” “What- what do you mean?” Laying inside of the vent, he made a vague gesture. “Your whole… deal. Immortality and stuff. Why? For what?” “I-“ Yet before he could explain himself, William interrupted him again. “No. I’m not askin’ for what you THINK you did it for. I’m askin’ for what you actually did it for. Because ya can ramble on about a utopia all you like, it doesn’t matter for you, does it? Will it fix you? Building a society of immortals… do you think it’s going to stop you from waking up at night, worryin’ someone might come to kill you? That you’ll be able to see people as people and not as props? That you’re gonna get better if you just live long enough? You’re miserable, Henry. You lived your entire life alone, while surrounded by others and you’d hate immortality, unless you truly believe it’ll give you the chance to change.” “You are speaking NONSENSE!” Heated, the Pink Guy raised his voice at him. “I was doing FINE! Hell, even if not, so what!? My wish to finish humanity and give it its full potential was NOT a selfish one. I am NOT miserable, I am NOT lonely, my plans were impeccable and selfless and you-“ “Henry.” It almost sounded soft. “You need help. Let me in.” At that Henry closed the vent, reset the ventilation and slowly balled his fist, trying to remain as calm as possible. Through the door, Dave’s concerningly calm and certain voice sounded, almost completely muffled. “… eventually you’ll let me in, old friend. I know that. You know that. And it actually doesn’t matter what I say! I wouldn’t even need to convince ya. Because you can’t stand the feelin’ of being stuck. Because you’ll try out everything. Now that you’re immortal, you have nothing to reach for- so you will reach for everything.” The clock chimed. Six AM. Henry stumbled to the saferoom. He had to find a way out of this place. Fast.

[maximumninjavoid]

Mining for Unobtanium

Chapter ten

I did a few laps in my pity pool, a bit of water ballet, since I was already wet, and then I shook it off. You're too old for that flavor of foolishness, I told myself, and I tried to get on about my business. All right, maybe I did need a bit more concealer than usual, but, that's not the point.

My work was rewarding. Exhausting but rewarding and I dearly loved my clients. About three hours into my day a delivery man arrived, asking for me. My director pointed my office out and an enormous floral arrangement came around the corner. It looked like it was moving under its own power, since the person carrying it was actually obscured from view.  White roses, green roses, hyacinth and Lily of the valley. Fresh start, new beginnings, and deeply traditional apology flowers. They smelled heavenly. I had no idea where I was going to put them. They were bigger than the clear space on my desk. I thanked the delivery person and went to get my work bag to tip them. "Oh, no, ma'am, that's been taken care of, more than generous, really, thank you."

 I reached for the card.

My darling, can I call you that? Of course I DO know your name,  Lord knows I've moaned it a time or two in the recent weeks, I'm surprised you didn't feel me. I feel that connected to you.

I knew right the moment it went pear shaped, and I didn't mean to come off as such a wanker. I just thought you felt it too. If you don't forgive me, I shall have other alternative than to learn the Rach Three, and join the French Foreign Legion.

Yours,

Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill

ps did I mention how absolutely sorry I am? Can I make it up to you over dinner? At four, your time?

What the apricot flavored fuck was he up to? Dinner? At four? Ok, that completely fits with my schedule,but he's on the other side of the planet, and I'm not sure how this works. Instead, I wafted on the intoxicating fragrance of the flowers, tucked the note VERY close to my heart, and smiled when everyone and their cousin wanted to know why I got flowers. "Just be cause I'm amazeballs."  " Damn straight.. That in fact you are! " " ok, I'm handing out homework for group, cause miss Rona is no fun at all. Get it back to me TOMORROW, or you don't get credit! "

I wish I had video of me trying to get this arrangement of flowers into my two seater. That was all flavors of funny.  There was no way it went in the trunk, it didn't quite fit on the floorboard, I didn't want have to put the top down and let the wind at highway speed have at it. But, I prevailed, got it in the house and managed to make a section presentable for a zoom date. I stood in front of my closet for a good 45 minutes, freaking out. What do I wear? All dresseed? Casual? Waist up? Allurring? Slutty? Screw that. It's August. The temperature is best described as Satan's front porch. Elegant and comfortable. Maybe my stomach will settle and I won't throw up.

At precisely 3:45 my doorbell rings, and it is delivery people. I open the door and they come in and set up a small table , set it, plate the food, put some things in the kitchen and leave!

Food's out, my mouth watering, and you have an upcoming video talk with possibly the world's most good looking man. Nothing to panic about, at all.

I look and find a case of all the different flavors of No 1 water and remind myself to thank him for that as well. Mint. Ok. Let's give that a try.

And throwing any and all caution ( and self preservation, I suppose) to the wind, I power up the laptop, and click the zoom link in the email.

Yes, by the way, it IS possible to drink a half a bottle of No 1 mint water in one swallow, especially if you're desert parched and nervous as fuck.

And then my heart stops. And I swear to every God and Goddess I can recall, time stands still, and I'm praying that my mouth is not hanging open, because he is perfection. The angles of his cheekbones. That jaw line. Oh my God those blue eyes. Literally I could just fall into them, and never be heard from again, and I would be ok with that. The slightly messy sable curls, begging to have hands run through it, and all of this is short circuiting my poor overloaded brain in the space of SECONDS.

 "Hi" Seriously? Hi??? Is that the best you can do? You blithering idiot. Just turn off the computer, and find a hole to crawl into.

 " Thank you for accepting my apology, and my dinner invitation. I really am sorry that I made such a dog's dinner of it. I just, well, we were getting on so well, and it was comfortable, and I made a cock up of it. "

I remembered to breathe. In and out. You've been doing it for years...

 " Well, I suppose I will let it go this once, but I reserve the privilege of punishing you later. " And I smiled. 

He looked down for an instant and then back at me, through his lashes, and there was a wicked twinkle there that wasn't present before. "Deal."

 Dinner was delicious, and if I told you I recalled what I ate, it would be a bold faced lie. It was eleven in Hungary, and the end of a long day for him, I'm certain, but the conversation was easy and light and a little flirty.  I have no idea when I grew a set of balls that big, but, since no one had come back to tell me that reincarnation was a thing, I might as well swing for the fences. At about the two hour mark, I realized I was probably being very selfish and I should let him get to bed, and said as much.

 "That's the thing that technology lacks..."

 " what's that? " I asked

 "At the end of a marvelous date, I would see you home, and then I would take you in my arms, and I would kiss you. First kisses are important. You can tell a great deal about a person from how they approach a kiss."

 " You mean like long slow soft deep wet kisses that last three days? "

 "And the small of a woman's back and opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas eve"

 "Thank you for a lovely evening, Henry"

 "Thank you, y/n"