#i would crawl over broken glass for my cats

[geneticcatalyst]

i miss my ocs i need to do something with them !

[paradlselost]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

Black Noir II x female!reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ spent way too long on this; but I kept picturing him in the piledriver position and omfgggg. also I drank so sorry if the ending sounds strange, this isn’t beta-read at all lol

⎨ 𝐂𝐖⎬ 2.9k words , second person point of view , noir II , s4 spoilers , smut : fantasies of sex , oral ( m receiving ) , p in v , piledriver position , mentioned size difference , stomach bulge , cream pie , aftercare .

A few heavy breaths came from behind the mask, his lips outlined by the black balaclava he wore. A few punches here, dodging and rolling there; just like a real hero would. Did he mind the sweat that rolled down his top lip? Tasting the salt from his overexertion?

His gloved hands reached out, one grabbing the wrists that fought against him to pin them, the other grabbing at the exposed neck as he pinned the black clad body against the glass jewelry container.

“Get off me-! Motherfucker!”

Kicking and shouting wasn’t the best tactic now was it? Not when you were attempting to rob the jewelry store. It was so cliche, a cat burglar going after overpriced diamonds and gems. You’d think the stars themselves had been crafted into the finest necklaces by the way you had been shoving them into your bag.

How were you to know he was on patrol when you happened into the closed jewelers? Maybe it was fate, past misdeeds finally catching up to you in the form of this armored reaper. It certainly felt like a dance with death, the knowledge of his super strength in the back of your mind as you managed to wiggle out of the hold he had on you.

Slipping down against the cracked glass case and through the room left to crawl out from under his legs in a last ditch effort to escape. You were graceful, smooth like a cat slinking away with the pickings it had gotten from a dead bird. But his hands caught your legs like a mouse in a trap and your heart dropped in your chest.

A gloved hand grabbed at your hair, pulling you up enough to get you on your knees in front of him, craning your neck to look at his soulless mask as a peasant would look at a god; and maybe in a way you were, was this being that could kill you in a second really a man anymore? What power did a worldly being have in snuffing out a life so fast?

So you sat at his mercy, begging for forgiveness and looking like a sinner at an altar. How small you looked below him, what penance did a lowly criminal like you get? So you waited for the hand that would tear your heart out or the sirens that would wail… but nothing. He simply looked blankly down at you.

“Fucking-… Cut!!” The bell sounded somewhere in the studio, sighs falling from the directing team under the knowledge that this was the best shot they were going to get, and the ‘mute supe’ had forgotten his next line. One job, really.

“Damn it, I’m sorry. You did great, though.” His hand his outstretched for you to take, helping you get to your feet. He’s kind, behind the mask he wore, would you ever get to see his face? Probably not, being just an actor; but it was cool being able to work with a Supe, especially one in the seven.

“It’s no problem, honestly. They’ll probably just go from the shot of me on my knees, anyways.” You watched as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, gloved hands creating an odd sound against his balaclava. His job was on the line; Homelander had told him they could always find a replacement for Noir just as they had with him - but he couldn’t help it.

Had his cup always been so strained against? He shifted ever so slightly, trying not to make his discomfort obvious as an assistant stepped over and handed you both a water bottle. Silently, he was happy his face was obscured as his eyes didn’t leave your lips, watching them part to welcome a swig of much needed cold water.

Was it his fault he had stuttered and broken the immersion? In his heart, he knew it was; but how could he not have? He could feel your warmth radiating through his armor and seep into his skin, how those pretty eyes looked back and then up at him, how your lips had parted ever so slightly. He was being an idiot.

This was your job; you’re an actress so why did he think those looks you gave him were exclusive? He was probably an idiot in thinking your on screen chemistry could mingle behind the scenes. He jumped every so slightly when the bell rang out again.

“That’s a wrap for now. We’ll pick up again tomorrow. Noir, make sure you fucking practice.”

A pointed look from the director was quickly overshadowed by your soft touch to one of his shoulder pads as you walked past him. A shiver running down his spine as his eyes followed you, watching you. Your delicate fingers had not done him any favors as his heart pounded in his chest. Secretly, he was glad shooting was done for the day.

The door to his trailer shut quickly, the lock turning as he leaned back against it. The curtains had already been drawn shut from this morning; is it in Noirs character to like his privacy? It certainly isn’t to sprawl out on the couch and fist his cock to thoughts of his co-star. And yet.

His head tilted back against the couch, helmet taken off but the balaclava had stayed on; he enjoyed the way it made everything a little harder to breathe, how he could feel the fabric against his lips. Besides; he wouldn’t take off his mask to fuck you the first couple of times, anyways, that’s a kind of trust that’s earned.

His hand traveled up and down his cock, slow at first as he traced the veins that pump blood to his darkening head; imagining that this is what it would be like with you the first time. Certainly, you’d take your time in getting to know every intimate part of him. His thumb swiped over his tip like your tongue would.

A groan fell from his lips, wetting them after a moment. He could imagine how warm your mouth would be around him, how you would look up at him as he pushed the head of his cock to the back of your mouth, how your hot breath would feel coming out of your nose against his groin.

He felt himself throb against his hand, desperately needing a release when there was a knock on the door, shaking him out of his private moment. How unlucky he was, thinking he had more time than he actually did. Noir grumbled as he fixed his cup back over himself, his dick uncomfortably straining against the cool metal.

He fixed his helmet over himself and stepped over to the door, ready to snap at whoever was interrupting him like a supe should do. He should be allowed to have a power trip every once in a while; should he? A god against a mortal.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not bothering you, I was just wondering if you wanted to practice? I got a bit of free time.” How could he yell at you when you looked so pretty standing on the steps to his trailer? Head tilted to the side, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Oh uh.” Part of him wanted to say no, to shut the door and hide himself away against his silk sheets and pump his hand over his aching cock, but he couldn’t shut you out. Not when you were the object of his fantasies. “Yeah, sure. We don’t need a lot of space, we can practice in here.”

Noir nodded, moving out of the way to allow you to enter his abode, to get a glimpse of what little the man below the mask could add to a trailer belonging to a dead man. Not that you knew, of course; finding it strange that he could talk but not prying further. It wasn’t your place to ask silly questions like that.

Still, you took in what you could. A picture frame with people you couldn’t quite make out from a distance, a few books and magazines he hadn’t bothered to clean up. The kitchen was tidy, though everything had a black color scheme and it felt a little… draining. Was that really all there was to him?

You snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of him moving the table out of the way to allow more space to practice your scenes together. He bunched up the carpet, just kind of tossing it against the couch before he looked over at you. A soulless mask, but the way he tapped his fingers against his armor was endearing.

“So- do you want to go from the fight?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

God against man, a mortal who had incurred the wrath of a far more powerful deity; you find yourself on your knees once again. No cameras stuck close to your face this time, no lights to make you sweat, just you and the being who could crush your windpipe below his gloved fingers.

The fabric against his hands is audible as it squeezes a bit, your own moving up to grasp onto his wrist; silent pleas for your pathetic life falling from your lips. This is where he messed up before, the sight of you below him being too much to handle. His cock throbbed uncomfortably against his cup.

“You have to handcuff me now.” You look up at him, a different kind of gaze from being terrified for your life. You’re a good actor, he’ll give you that, but he prefers this moment - how you look vaguely confused as to how he could mess up a second time. His dick hurts now, he can feel pre-cum leaking against his armor and god does he need a release.

“Can I fuck you?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been… thinking about you. I like you like this.”

“Oh.”

You’re quiet for a moment and he fears he’s blown his shot with you. His hand still rests against your neck albeit loosely, and your eyes travel from his crotch up to his mask, obscuring any kind of expression you might be able to make out. Is he messing with you? Why would someone as strong as him decide you’re the one he wants?

“Okay, yeah. Yeah I’d like that.”

A nod is just what he needs, his hand leaving your neck and moving to tangle into your hair, firmly placed on the back of your head while the other moves to quickly undo his crotch armor and throw it somewhere on the couch.

He leaks pre-cum from his weeping slit, far too dark of a color to be comfortable for him. The groan that falls from his lips as you move to place yours against his head is almost heavenly. Like you’re a godsend, the only one who can make him feel like this. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair, an encouragement.

Noir is proved right in his theory of you; that your tongue dances over his head and flattens against his slit, your pretty eyes flutter shut and your hand rubbing the base of his cock. You must think he’s a poor baby the way you hum as you squeeze him slightly, hard and dripping against your tastebuds.

He reaches a hand against the back of the couch you two were beside, gripping it till his knuckles ached below his gloves. He’s swift in his movements, calculated and for the first time he feels closer to the old Noir. Would this be how he would act? Grabbing ahold of a woman like this - like you’re something to be manhandled? He’s usually shy, anxious when with women but you don’t seem to mind so he doesn’t lighten his grip.

Pushing you back against the ground, head resting on the discarded carpet like some sort of pillow below you. You’re an actress; doing your own stunts against him so he’s seen the way your body curves and flexes. He knows you can handle him, even if it takes a few tears.

He grabs your hips harder, shimming sweatpants you had changed into earlier, running his fingers over the growing wet spot in your underwear before he too removed them like they were a barrier to something most precious. His lips press against your thighs through his balaclava, breath hot and fast in anticipation for what is to come.

The angle is awkward and strenuous, but he seems to take great joy in seeing you like this. Not quite missionary, your body is arched below him and your silently grateful for the makeshift pillow because you’re sure your neck would be even more sore tomorrow had it not been for the carpet bunched up. Your legs are pushed back as he moves around you, hand gripping his cock to line up.

Noir inches himself in, letting you take deep, shallow breaths in your position as he tries his best to stay patient and not bottom out. The stretch hurts a bit; you can’t remember the last time you’ve been with a supe in such an intimate display and he’s thicker than most you’ve been with.

His breath his hard and hot against his balaclava; hands resting to keep both your legs out as he finally bottoms out inside of you. You can hear the groan that leaves his lips at the feeling of your walls constricting against him - in such a position they pulse and push around his still aching cock. Your warmth is welcome to him, driving him crazy.

His thrusts are as rough as he is with you on the set; barely giving you time to catch your breath between pumps as the air leaving and entering your lungs is sharp and almost painful. Wanton moans fall from your lips, hands reaching to grasp the underside of the couch in order to keep from moving below him.

“Fuck- Noir…”

“Is that good? You’re such a good girl, staying in this position f’me.”

You barely have the strength to respond, neurons firing in your brain in an attempt to string together words but all that comes out is a few unintelligible babbles. He pushes impossibly deep inside of you; he had reached a certain bundle of nerves quite a few thrusts ago, now he was abusing that spot. It seemed he was trying to get these reactions out of you.

Tilting his head back slightly, he groaned as you tightened around him; one hand falling from your legs to press against your stomach. He took pride in feeling himself inside of you - a large ego boost that his cock was thick enough to create a faint outline inside you. He would certainly have to fuck you more after this, see what other angles could excentuate that bulge in your pretty flesh.

“Gonna-“ Your gasp is harsh, though you don’t need to speak; he can feel it. The way your walls spasm around him as he pulls out and pushes back inside of you. He draws it out, slowing down a bit and cocking his head to the side - blacked out mask taunting you in your state.

“What? Are you gonna cum?”

A nod, breathless ‘yes’s falling from your lips as your hand not grasping the couch for dear life reaches up to grab onto his armor. Tears prick at your eyes, proof of how good he was making you feel. Your head lulls back against the carpet; white toying at the corners of your eyes.

Bliss washed over you quite quickly after that, gushing around him. He can’t help but chuckle at the sight, though it’s marred with a soft moan at how you squeeze. His hips continue to move, stuttering and the trailer fills with the unmistakable sound of sex. Wet, sloppy now as he nears his own climax.

Another thrust, then another before he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and spills his seed against your walls. He could die at the feeling of you milking him, drawing spurt after spurt of hot cum from his throbbing cock. He feels lucky, in his euphoria, that he could have this experience. A god with a mortal, how funny it was.

He pants as he withdraws himself, letting your legs lay back down as he colapses beside you. Head spinning, body aching from the position and the ceiling of his trailer suddenly looks as beautiful as the starry night outside. You two share the air, share your breathing and as you lay there for a moment longer; you can feel him get up.

He’s as silent as a ninja, but you know his presence is no longer beside you and honestly? After the position you had just kept? You were far too tired to move to see where he happened to go. Besides, the sound of the faucet running is enough of an indicator that he’s just moved the kitchen.

He returns after a moment, crouching in front of you as you finally move your head to look at him. He hasn’t taken his top helmet off; not allowing you a peek at the face he was hiding behind the balaclava, but the gentle kisses he places to your trembling legs are more than enough to take your mind off whatever he might look like.

“ ‘m surprised you don’t wanna watch your cum drip out of me.” You earn a chuckle from him as he moves the now wet and soapy washcloth he had gotten in the kitchen over your thighs and, gently, over your sensitive core. Cleaning you up as gentlemanly as possible.

“I’d rather see you tangled in my bed sheets, if we're being honest.”

“Sounds nice - even though I should be heading home after this. Guess you’ll have to fuck me again to be able to see that.”

“I was planning on fucking you again regardless.”

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒𝐎 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞.

Characters: Gojo, Toji, Sukuna, Geto, Nanami

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1505

Warnings: Reader is extremely sub coded with Sukuna, but otherwise no warnings really.

NOTE: Although there isn't any smut in this my blog is still very much an adult blog. Anyone under 18 please refrain from interacting with my posts.

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Gojo sleeps like a comfortable cat. He sprawls out over the bed taking up as much space as he can, while also being as close to you as possible. Of course, he can tell when you make even the slightest movement. 

He doesn't like waking up though. He'll crack open an eye to look at you and survey what the problem is. 

Sometimes it's just you going to pee, in which case he cuddles you when you're back. Sometimes you get up and have a bit of water from your bedside table for this he doesn't bother moving at all. 

This time however he realises something is wrong. You're sitting up in bed breathing heavily. He immediately gets up. “What's wrong pookie bear?” he asks. When you don't roll your eyes at the cringey nickname he uses he understands it's probably bad. 

He holds you in his arms and you whisper, as if afraid that any loud noise will shatter the safe space around you. “I dreamed of you… You were dancing around the edge of a volcano and you fell in.” You shudder. Gojo cracks a smile.  

“Is that all then? I’d be fine!” He reassures you, patting your back. “It's just a little volcano!” 

Tears start falling from your face, “TORU! We didn't even have a body to bury!!” 

Gojo takes your face in his hands and makes you look into his brilliant blue eyes. “Baby, I will NEVER fall into a volcano…” You nuzzle into his shoulder and his hand rubs your back, a gesture that calms you down. “And even if I did – I wouldn't die. I'm the strongest, remember?” He grins all cocky. 

You roll your eyes but concede. He's right… He is the strongest. It would take more than falling into a volcano to kill him.

𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Fushiguro Toji isn't always the kindest, but he really can't bear seeing you suffer. Usually after putting you to sleep, he likes to stay up and have another drink or make himself a snack while he watches some races on the TV or an action movie of some kind. 

Later at night, he might crawl into bed with you, picking you up and laying you on top of him like a human blanket. And some nights he falls asleep on the couch, TV still on, the plate and glass on the floor. 

One night he puts you to bed and is watching an action movie. Beer in one hand tilting dangerously as he gets drowsy. 

“What a boring fucking film.” He scolds the screen, deciding to turn it off and head to the welcoming softness of your bed. 

He enters the room to find you sitting up, knees to your chest softly sobbing. He tiptoes to you quietly, careful to not startle you. 

“Ummm… are you okay?” 

You move your head some way but it's indecipherable to Toji. He pats your back awkwardly. He asks again, hesitantly, “Did I do something honey?” trying to wrack his brain for anything he might have done to upset you. He had broken a mug a few days ago but didn't think it would be a big deal. He'd already shown you and told you he would get you a new one and you had assured him it wasn't a problem. So what was it? 

Suddenly he felt your arms wrap around his waist. “Toji…” 

He holds you closer. “What's up, buttercup?” 

“Would you leave me without telling me?” 

He furrows his brows. “What are you talking about doll?”

“I had a nightmare that you left. Just packed up and went away and I had no idea where you were, or what happened!” Your tears start falling with renewed vigour. 

Toji lifts you like a cat and sits down on the bed, placing you in his lap. Your tear-streaked face looking at him expects an answer but he isn't sure he can give you one. He knew his work could be uncertain; which was also why he had hesitated getting into a relationship with you in the first place. It was why he’d always been more of a ‘wham bam thank you, ma’am’ kinda guy so now, faced with a question like this he can’t think of anything to do but just hold you squishing your head under his chin. “I’m here aren’t I?” 

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧

Sukuna Ryomen is a nightmare.

However, on rare occasions, he can be… comforting – in his signature Sukuna way of course. 

He doesn't bother with human functions like sleeping, but you need to so he likes to make you sleep on him. If he’s sitting up and reading then he likes having your head on his lap. If he’s eating, you’re resting on his shoulder. If he’s not feeling too touchy but still wants you to be near him somehow, he will make you sleep by his feet. You're his little human after all. 

But Sukuna likes to take special care of his toys; so when one day you jolt awake at his feet, he lifts you onto his lap. Sitting you down so he can see your face clearly, he asks you what happened, not forgetting to call you a brat of course. 

“It was a nightmare,” you say quietly not wanting to reveal much. 

Of course, this wouldn’t be a satisfactory answer to the King of Curses. “Explain yourself woman!” he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and thumb. 

“You! You were torturing me.” you cry out feeling his nails against your skin. 

He takes the opportunity to kiss your lips with your face still dwarfed in his massive hand. “There there, my little princess.” And licks a tear rolling down your cheek. “You know I’m not going to mistreat my playthings.” 

He continues saying, “Besides, if I wanted you dead, you would be. I wouldn’t waste my time torturing you.” And that would be the end of that conversation, but you would notice that in his own way, he would be a tiny bit gentler with you from then on… 

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Geto Suguru is a man not unfamiliar with nightmares. So when you have one he knows what to do. What he wishes he had when he experiences the same…

He'll clasp you in a tight embrace, squeezing you close to his chest. 

He knows how terrifying it can be and how realistic nightmares feel even if in retrospect they are absolutely ridiculous. 

Geto wakes up hearing a thud and you crying out, “No!”

“What's wrong babe?” he asks, still half asleep voice drawling. He pushes himself up on his arms to take a look at you. 

You're clutching your head with a pained expression, tears filling your eyes. “I had a bad dream.” 

He takes your hand and pulls you towards him, letting you push your nose into his chest. “Did you hit your head on the bedside table too?” He asks slightly amused but still gentle. 

“I was trying to save you, you ungrateful man!” you admonish. 

“Save me?” Geto chuckles, “What from?” You murmur something that he can't make out. 

“Mmm, what was that?” He asks again teasingly. 

“Gojiraaa!” you say, clearer this time the embarrassment evident in your burning cheeks. 

Geto laughs. “Baby… You know I can fight him, right? Easily.” He pauses and then, “Or I could just throw you at him and run. You don't have to worry he won’t get me.” 

You stare at him annoyed, “You know what? He can eat you, I don't care.” 

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Nanami Kento is a cuddler. So he knows immediately when you've had a bad dream. He's up before you, hearing you whimper and feeling your body tremble against him. He'll wake you up, hold you close. Bring you some water to drink and stroke your hair. 

He likes to speak to you gently to wake you up, slowly drawing you out of whatever nightmare was eating at you. His deep voice is soothing to hear even in your subconscious. 

You blink your eyes open. There's this dull feeling of terror that's fading away as your surroundings come into focus. 

“My love? I'm here. Wake up for me.” That's your partner's voice. Your Nanaminmin. You feel the warmth of his embrace and snuggle into his broad chest. It's safe. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Shibuya again…” 

Nanami rubs circles into your back wishing desperately that the trauma of the past would stay there. But even if that wasn't to be, at least he could hold you. Love you. He lowers his head to place a chaste kiss on the top of your hair. “It's over my love. I'm here. I'm alive. They couldn't take me from you…” 

He keeps murmuring to you as you hold onto him clutching at his arms. The feeling of terror; not so alien but thankfully fading. He was home. With you. You still had him. Right beside you. He was there. He slowly rocked you back to sleep closer than ever and this time when you slept there were no more nightmares…

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'm open to feedback and do let me know if you find any grammatical errors that i might have over looked.

Also i reject canon. Nanami is alive. Shibuya happened but he was saved. i know i was there. i dragged his half dead body to safety ok bye.

[pawpatrollss]

Cat disaster!

jschlattxfem!reader

Summary: You had just moved in togehter, what you did not stop to think about was the now three cats causing mahem.

Warning: my bad writing, and I did not check my spelling at all so DON’T come for me!”

Boxes were still everywhere, you and schlatt ate from paperplates or ordered in everyday and slept on the blow up mattress that was already broken.(thanks to jambo..)

Life was great basically.

You had been dating for almost a year before deciding to move in together into a new place in New York. But what you both hadn’t stopped to think about was the now three cats running around the apartment.

Jambo was usually the chill one, but ”burnt soup” and your cat megatron(named by schlatt obv) which was still a kitten, tried to make everything difficult for you two every single day.

”NO! DOWN! i swear to fucking god megatron i will throw you off the balcony.”

Was the first thing you heard opening the apartment door, coming back from the grocery store.

”what is happe-”

The next thing you saw was the tv going down the table and screen first onto the hardwood floor and a horrible crash could be heard, the cats bolted around the place.

”I SWEAR-” Schlatt started before letting out a harsh sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

”Well, it was a pretty shitty tv?” You hesitated to say seeing the foul mood schlatt was in today.

You were both exhausted from the move and the shitty matress thats was like a carpet now didn’t exactly promise the best sleep.

”..yeah i guess it was” schlatt sighed again but slightly laughed.

Megatron the little shit rubbed herself gainst schlatt leg and meowing at him.

”You little shit” He laughed considering actually throwing the cat out the window but decided not to since you would probably not be too happy with him.

You put the groceries away in the kitchen before jumping down on the couch closing your eyes for a second. Then some small feet could be felt walking over your stomach and then a small body collapse against your neck.

Opening one eye you saw the little furry fucker lay basically under your nose all snuggled up. You gave the cat some scratches and she purred loudly.

”She cost us a whole new ass tv and just fucks off and gets cuddles with MY girl?!” Schlatt exclaimed lifting his arms up pointing to the cat before letting them fall back dowm and hit the sides of his legs loudly.

”She’s just a baby?” You said in a disgusting baby voice kissing the top of megatrons head and smiling at schlatt at his irritaded form. It was kinda funny.

”No. No, that’s not- jesus I give up..” He said before plobbing down on the couch next to you. Hungergames was still playing on your laptop from before you had left for the store.

Megatron stirred from her slumber and crawled over to schlatt’s lap instead.

”See she’s saying sorry!” You said laughing at his now even more irritaded face, well he tried to stay irritaded at the adorable cat. But ended up failing misserbly.

”Fine, i forgive you, you little fucker.” He said pulling the kitten closer to himself.

You gave schlatt a small kiss on the cheak before turning back to the laptop that was purched on the coffee table.

”Jambo don’t get too close to that or it will fa-”

Crash, glass shatter, and a scream was the noice next.

You were now the one who LOST it, so you scremead into schlatt shoulder.

Schlatt bursted out laughing, probably cause this was your laptop not his. He kissed your temple before getting up to clean the mess away.

”I hate everyone..”

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑒 ༻

This recurring nightmare of Raphaels death haunts you each night, now you find yourself question Haarlep and believe they have something to do with it all. Tav is a sorceress with royal red draconic bloodline.

Angst - Death - Comfort - slight NSFW

You’ve been having the same nightmare over and over the past month… A vision of Mephistopheles holding a bloodied Raphael by a broken wing, ready to consume him. It haunts your very existence, each night you stir in your sleep only to awake to clammy skin and a bead of sweat descending from your temple. Your breath always ragged as if you’ve been running for hours non stop… Your body twisting hastily to see that Raphael is still next to you in your shared bed. During the nights he chooses to not be at your side at night your anxiety looms until you’re finally forced out of bed to go looking for him around his house of hope.

Whenever you come to find him he’s usually reading or writing in his diary, and when you see him sitting there quietly, his face at ease… That’s when it dwells in your soul, the deepest longing for him. You can’t help but to crawl in his lap, can’t help but to flick your tongue against his neck, to grind yourself into him; wanting nothing more than for both your bodies to become one and to make sure he is very much still alive.

“This little mouse of yours, she feels your claws within her heart, and when you’re away it only tears apart.” Your voice soft like a sweet whisper, Raphael can’t help but to hum in response as he closes his eyes to listen.

“If only I could make you feel the pain you cause me when you aren’t around, then maybe you would begin to see-.” You lean back in his lap, your eye’s glassed over as you put one of his stray hairs back in place, “That this 'Cat and Mouse' is not a game for those in love should play.”

Raphael’s chocolate eyes bore into yours, with a voice ever so amused before it becomes stern, “Love, my delight? …My torture.” His face scrunches, his brows creasing in disapproval. Yet you can see you satisfy a need he has despite trying to hide it.

He never questions why you seek him out looking so dejected at night. Raphael only thinks that it’s because you’ve become desperate for his touch once more. He enjoys how you come crawling to him, enjoys the way you ride him until he’s rutting into you.

Walking into the boudoir, you spot Haarlep staring out at the red world from the balcony, watching the hells with that oh so famous smirk of theirs playing on their face. You didn’t trust them, never had and never will. There’s something about Haarlep, you know for a fact they loathe Raphael. Every time they have spoken to you about him only malice comes from their tongue. They would constantly question your sanity as to why you would willingly choose to stay here.

Standing a few feet behind Haarlep, you decide it’s time to speak your mind, “You were a gift from his father, Mephistopheles, right?”

“Oh my my, what do we have here? A little lost pet seeking answers that they already know, but alas I will tell you what you wish to know once more. Yes, I was a gift. Bound to Raphael as a distraction.”

Your eyes say it all but your lips move so that Haarlep truly knows how you feel, “That’s what worries me.”

Haarlep laughs, striding over to you, “You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you? I’ve heard you at night, moans escaping you as you toss and turn, not out of pleasure but agony.” Their thumb strokes under your left eye, “The bags under your eyes prove it, mouse.”

You move your head to the side in disgust to shake his fingers from your skin. Hells you couldn’t stand the way Haarlep calls you mouse, mockingly. Your lip curls under, your eyes hard as you look up at the incubus. All you want is to tell them to stay away from Raphael, that you fear Haarlep has been feeding Mephistopheles intel on the both of you… and that it would lead to the nightmare you’ve been having.

The incubus’s smugness grows, his violating eyes reading you as if you were an open book, “It bothers you, doesn’t it? That you can’t tell me to stay away. Not out of jealousy, but love and protection. You can’t order me around and that angers you. Hahaha, oh if only he would make you the lady of this house, then maybe?”

You bite your lip in vexation, but a wave of calmness takes over you. You are no sheep, you are a dragon. Not just any dragon either, you are the ancient red dragon's daughter and you will not let a mere incubus laugh in your face.

All it takes is one step forward for you to be in their face, you can feel Haarleps breath on your face, feel the heat radiate from them, “I will not hesitate to burn you to ash. Test me slave and it will be your fall.” The fire in your eyes burns bright, your breath controlled and your form daring Haarlep to say something smart. You love Raphael, support his goals and wish to see them through. You’ll help him get the crown of Karsuss, and you’ll stand by him even if it costs you your own throne.

Turning on your heels you make your way out of the boudoir, unbeknownst to you that a certain devil named Raphael was listening the whole time…

[aftgficrec]

hi besties! can i be a bit weird and ask for sick fics here? old/new/favorites, any will do! just some big ol’ hurt/ comfort, especially if combined with some emotional hurt/comfort 🥰

There’s nothing weird about this at all!  Apart from the fics below, there’s also our sickfic tag as well as our hurt/comfort tag for more (see our tag page under the heading ‘themes - injuries/illnesses/conditions’). - S

Previous recs:

cool andreil sick fics here

sick fics here

foxes with headaches/sick fics here

10k+ sick fics here

Andreil in hospital here

Neil with major injury here

Neil gets injured (post canon) here

Neil & car accidents here

accident-prone Neil here

Andreil with amnesia here

medical Andreil/Aaron & Neil here

Neil getting roofied here

Also see… 

‘we're one (there's nothing to be done)’ here

‘Just like that day’ here

‘head case (what to do with you)’ here

‘Such Stuff as Dreams are Made’ here

‘Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man’ here

‘Broken’ here

‘If Only I Were Enough’ (completed) here

‘I'll Come Back To You’ here

‘glass in the trees (objects in the rearview)’ here

‘Running Ragged’ here

‘To Love and Be Loved’ here

‘all that looking down’ here

‘next best thing’, keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ and ‘no matter when and where, we’ll be alright’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’, ‘I remeber tears streaming down your face (for me to wipe them away)’, ‘you crawled inside my head’, ‘living leaves so many holes in us’, ‘Ciggarette Smoke Cure’, ‘Breathless’, ‘i've done my time’ and ‘cats and close calls’ here

‘The Highs and Lows of Pre-med Majors' here (Aaron)

‘Hold My Hand?’ here

‘Echo’ here 

I’m More Than This Body of Mine by yall_send_help [Rated M, 88811 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The doctor took a pause, which Nathaniel was able to use to ask, “what about my leg?” The two pigs had the audacity to look surprised. The doctor looked over at them with a hint of confusion. “You didn’t tell him?” Towns shook his head as Browning said, “you told us not to.” Dr. Byrd nodded her head in approval and turned back to the bed. “Nathaniel…” she trailed off, reevaluating her words. “Would you mind if I sit?” and only after his own nod did she. “The damage done to your leg… it was unlike what most of the staff at this hospital had ever seen. The surgeons tried to save it, but…” She looked down at where his legs were and Nathaniel did too, only to feel himself pale at what he found. “The surgery took about three hours,” Dr. Byrd continued. “The only reason why it took so long was because the surgeons really did try to save your leg. They did. Amputations usually take only half that time. Eventually, Dr. McCoy called it. Because of the damage done to your leg, we couldn’t wake you up to ask. It had to go. I’m sorry.” or - the one where neil goes to baltimore and comes back missing a leg

tw: torture, tw: amputation, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: blood, tw: animal cruelty, tw: implied/referenced drug overdose

fireproof by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 2097 words, complete, 2024]

Andrew gets his flu shot.

Things Always Gets Worse Before They Gets Better series by Renee_Walker_09 [Rated G, 40141 words, incomplete, 3 complete works, 2024]

Part 1: Beginnings & Endings (G, 1083 words)

It's 1:30 in the morning. The Foxes are celebrating their championship win against the Ravens the only way they know how to: booze, partying, and a little bit more booze. Nothing could possibly ruin this?

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury

Part 2: You Mean Everything To Me (G, 12767 words)

There are two crashed cars. There’s blood on the floor. Lights are flashing all around. Andrew is standing in the middle of the crash site with a blanket draped across his shoulders as he stares straight at Neil, lying on the floor.

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: suicide attempt, tw: drug overdose, tw: blood, tw: self harm

Part 3: Hours, Days, Weeks (G, 26299 words)

Andrew is lying in a coma following the accident. His condition is critical. And Neil and Aaron have to find a way to cope.  Neil and Aaron’s POVs of the crash and the past 6 weeks

tw: car accident, tw: blood, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: seizures

NB: find art for the fics by the author here as well as embedded in the fics

Even goalkeepers can’t block sickness by BlowingYourMind [Rated G, 12768 words, complete, 2024]

“Rabbit,” Andrew peered up at him with half lidded eyes, “Yes or no?” “Yes ‘Drew,” Neil clasped his hands at Andrew’s elbows, “it’s always a yes, you know that.” “No ‘s not,” Andrew weakly argued as he took hold of Neil’s chest pad, using it to leverage himself upwards. It was awkward work of walking half-delirious Andrew back to the locker room, shielding him from the crowd while keeping him on his feet, but they managed. Or Andrew becomes very sick at an away game, and Neil and the foxes take care of him.

tw: vomit

the upswing by missgivings [Not Rated, 45569 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The next universe over, life has gone a bit easier on Andrew. He’s gainfully employed as a nurse of all things, working beside his best friend Renee, and living in relative harmony with his brother, the recently graduated Dr. Aaron Minyard. Everything’s fine. It’s fine that he hasn’t spoken to Kevin in person for three years. It’s fine if Aaron’s leaving him to marry his stupid doctor girlfriend. It’s fine until the boy with the box-dyed hair stumbles into the ER and passes out at his feet, bringing a world of secrets and trouble with him. And Neil? Neil’s looking for any port in a storm.

tw: major character injury, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced self harm

please (don't bite) by Major_816 [Rated M, 5478 words, complete, 2024]

Genioglossus. It’s a fan-shaped muscle and forms the bulk of the inferior part of the tongue. It stretches to the hyoid bone too. ~ Neil wakes up to a bad day and it just gets worse.

tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: flashbacks, tw: vomit

Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was? by something_boring [Rated T, 1580 words, complete, 2024]

Neil is sick on New Year's eve, wakes up to the fireworks, and continues to have a panic attack about his time on the run.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Your Needs, My Needs by TogeMythia [Rated T, 1073 words, complete, 2023]

‘Neil.’ He whined, his face still buried under the blankets. ‘Hrmph?’ Neil responded with a confused noise from somewhere across the bed. ‘Do you feel as shit as you sound?’ - Or Neil and Andrew wake up sick on Christmas day.

tw: vomit

To be safe by HushedStars [Rated G, 2116 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is feeling unwell. He seeks comfort from Matt. It was late at night. Neil stood in the kitchen, deep in thought but still with one ear alert for any movement of his roommates. He shifted from foot to foot, hands digging into his sore neck

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Safe with him by 1mNot4Hum4n [Not Rated, 2434 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick but doesn't want to admit it. He can't be sick. He can't be weak. Luckily Andrew is there to make sure his junkie is okay, and remind him that he has people around him who are willing to do anything to protect him.

'tis the season by moonix [Rated T, 5579 words, complete, 2023, locked]

Five holidays Andrew had to let Kevin take care of him and one time he got to return the favour.

i called your name ‘til the fever broke by cyanica [Rated T, 5632 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2023]

Neil’s breath is hot and awful against Andrew’s thigh. “I can’t be sick on your birthday,” he says, like it’s that simple. “I can’t be sick on you on your birthday.” “How considerate,” Andrew’s voice is a bland murmur, and he is left watching Neil’s bloodless, wet lips, as he curls into Andrew’s lap. Neil gently pulls away after a moment, leaning back into Andrew’s hand on his neck. “Is me being sick still making you anxious?” he asks. Fever-stricken with dizzied-eyes and delirious thoughts, he knows Andrew without more than a moment beside him, a look into his eyes that makes Andrew feel undone, found. Or Neil is sick and Andrew isn’t coping well.

tw: vomit, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: anxiety

You Know I'm Good On My Own by sambutwithbooks [Rated G, 4568 words, complete, Aftg Then And Now 2023]

Andrew breaks his arm two games into the season and it feels a little bit like Neil’s world snaps with it. (A snapshot of Neil and Andrew between Andrew coming home from the hospital and going back home to Palmetto State.)

tw: major character injury

that's my line by sillyunicorn6154 [Rated G, 1291 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew is definitely not sick. But he is a little stubborn.

You're not fine, but you will be by karmenvi [Not Rated, 616 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick, so Andrew takes care of him. So it was supposed to be a sickfic, but it turned into 'Andrew stares at Neil and thinks his boyfriend is the prettiest boy in the world.' Anyway, enjoy some fluff.

I'll be okay if he's here by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1673 words, complete, 2023]

“Thank you, Drew,” Neil says for the twentieth time, feeling so lucky to have someone take care of him. “Say it again and I will kill you.” “You’re just so nice to me,” Neil says a bit deliriously, “I’ve never had someone take care of me when I’m sick.”

If it means losing you, then no by LostMess_24 [Rated T, 6712 words, complete, 2023]

There was something against his hand, a pressure he knew too well, a hand that fit so perfectly against his, making Andrew’s presence known, making Neil’s entire body relax, slowing his breathing a bit. But before Neil could see the man at his side, it hit him. He was starting to feel it, all around him. Those white walls, the mattress he was in, the soft yet old sheets, the pressure on his arm. And finally, unmistakably, the regular and aggressive beeps, signs of a life that was his own. He was in a hospital bed. There’s an accident. Those idiots would do anything and everything to protect each other.

tw: major character injury, tw: car accidents

cause and effect by mistyrie [Rated M, 13107 words, complete, 2023]

"Andrew realized what he was seeing but he couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t know how to help. There was no enemy to deal with – there was just Neil seizing on the floor and Andrew didn’t know what to do." Neil starts having seizures and Andrew tries to help.

tw: seizures (epilepsy)

how the foxes act when they're sick by @detectivebambam [tumblr, 2024]

headcanons on the foxes and illness

headcanons on Neil getting sick by @24-0z [tumblr, 2022]

Neil doesn't get sick very often, so when he finally catches the bug that had been going around campus, he's suddenly 8 years old again, sweating and trembling with fever

SICK!Neil for my soul. by @satan-in-a-v-neck [tumblr, 2021]

Neil is acting strange. Ask every fox and they'll tell you that for the past three days Neil Josten wasn't acting very Neil Josteny.

tw: vomit

illness/injuries as background event:

The Songs Around Us by doodlingstuff [Rated M, 80075 words, complete, 2022]

The mission was simple: Nathaniel would join Astral Foxes as Neil Josten and make them part of Moriyama Music. In reality, Neil became real, found a home, and fell in love despite his lies. When the Moriyamas send the Butcher to remind Neil of his mission and Andrew's life ends on the line, Neil will have to find a way to escape his fate and bring Andrew back. As he gets closer to losing the man he loves the most, Neil will realize that sometimes, music is the only answer, and others, truth is the only weapon he can use. Another Band!AU. This time extra angsty.

tw: torture, tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence

NB: find art for this fic by @doodlingstuff here

[chogiwow]

your memory, my love | lee minho

pairing: lee know x gn! Reader

genre: angst, fluff, suggestive

wc: 8.4k

au: 25 lives au; based on poem '25 lives' by tongari.

consists of: college au, office au, hurt-comfort au, spies au, hospital au, high school au, established relationship au, unrequited love au, meet cute au, war au, tattoo artist au, forbidden love au, break-up au, strangers au etc. to name a few :’D

warnings: blood, sickness, death, car accident, guns, lack of communication, suggestiveness, lots of kissing, mentions of food, mentions of not eating, fights. pls lmk if i missed any :>

a/n: minho centric, mostly from minho’s pov. was this just an excuse to do 25 small drabbles and link them together without any cohesiveness? yes.

fun fact: poppies are flowers which are known to grow on battlefields, amongst rubble and decay. just a tiny tidbit because it holds significance in the story later.

when i saw you first, i didn’t know i already knew you.

minho doesn’t remember a lot when it comes to his childhood.

not the first day of school, not his first tooth falling out, not the first time he ever fell and learnt that some scars are permanently ingrained on your skin in dark patches even after twenty five years. not the first time he cried, laughed, walked, danced or sang.

he can’t remember most of his firsts from that phase of his life, but the later stages remain in his mind; some through a lens of grainy filters and some of them pristine. he remembers the grandma on the train from seven years ago who handed him a rosy apple with a broken smile, he remembers his student orientation in university and he remembers how he met his cat for the first time by the sidewalk, snuggled under a cardboard cover and crying.

he remembers some strangers who manage to leave a lasting impression on his mind and yet he can’t remember the people he passed by on the streets this morning while on his way to work.

yet, his gaze only briefly flickers at your figure passing by his cubicle, your face partly hidden behind the white spots that dance in front of his eyes, and he’s almost certain he knows you. or has seen you before.

he chases your figure as you disappear in the corridor, away from the IT department and he only finds out later that you didn’t even work in the same department. in fact, you had only joined a week prior and from what he can recall, he’s never seen you nor heard of you.

it’s incredibly frustrating and minho finds himself struggling to keep his balance on the thin line separating the vices of recalling and remembering.

he’s caught sight of you since then, and as much as he’s tried to place you in his memory, find a you shaped puzzle hole, it hasn’t been fruitful. occasionally, he would find you in the cafeteria – on days they would serve corn soup – and sometimes by the coffee cart at the intersection minho preferred over the office cuppa when he wanted to get away from the establishment.

it’s three months later, on the second week – minho remembers clearly, your flushed face peeks out from the thick green scarf around your neck – you’re both waiting for the bus home. it’s past seven, way beyond minho’s working hours but he was adamant on using this last week to finish up pending work so he could come back after christmas to a fresh start.

you’ve huddled yourself to a corner of the bench, pressing yourself close to the glass screen while you wait. minho can’t stop his gaze from finding you through the cold air, though nothing stands between you two. should he go up to you?

it startles him when you meet his eyes and he looks away hastily, a sudden warmth crawling up his neck on being caught.

“hello,” you call out and minho whips his head around so fast, he might as well have ended up with a broken neck.

you stare up at him shyly, waiting for a response. in fact you don’t know why you greeted him in the first place, he probably doesn’t even recognise you.

“hi,” he says, and his voice is soft. it makes your chest swell inexplicably, a certain warmth in his hidden kindness you would later find out.

“i’m (y/n), we work in the same company,” you gesture vaguely in the direction of your company. you feel more nonsensical by the moment.

“i’m minho…and i know that.” minho tries to smile and not let on the fact that he was a creep who had indeed noticed you. well, minho wouldn’t like to believe himself to be a creep, but if he had been looking for you unconsciously…that was on his wandering mind.

yet this feeling was…unfathomable. the more he observed you without trying to be a freak, the more he grew attached to the familiarity in your face. it’s when he spots the smallest mole right above your lip – so small that he would have missed it, it’s like he had been searching for it since the beginning – he finds himself suddenly comfortable in your presence.

was this what people called ‘meeting your soulmate’?

minho isn’t sure what it was, he still isn’t, but he can attest to being the happiest when he’s around you. it seemed like you were of the same opinion, kissing him on the cheek three years later before walking off to your respective departments.

the second time, i knew.

you dyed your hair red.

it was bright, almost blinding, and minho’s wash basin was stained with the same dye.

“guess what,” you smile from where you stood, cowering playfully behind the door. red drops of water drip down your short hair andonto your neck, disappearing into the white towel strung across and dissolving into a diluted pool of light pink in the fabric.

“i don’t know, maybe the fact that my partner is now a traffic signal?”

“oh come on!” you thrust your hand out, nuzzling your chin into his chest and looking up at him through wide eyes and an innocent smile. minho loves it when you do that; look up at him like he’s your entire universe. he swallows the smile threatening to burst out of his lips.

“do i look good?”

“are you going to clean up the basin?”

another drop of red slithers down your wet hair and falls on minho’s shirt.

“you don’t like it,” you pout, pushing yourself away from him but he’s quick to pull you into a hug, pressing his chin on top of your wet head. his neck is wet, but he doesn’t care.

“of course i like it.”

“you do?” 

“i do.”

“i think you are very whipped for me.”

minho can feel you smile into his chest. you were so simple, and he was so in love..

“don’t act like you don’t love it.” he seals this moment with a kiss, heart swelling when you smile and pull him closer.

“i love you.”

loving you became so easy, i didn’t realise you wouldn’t love me back every time.

he’s different, you say.

minho begs to differ because you’re always saying that only to end up like he predicted. it’s not like he likes being accurate about it, but who can blame him for not trying to stop you?

in this life, you love people. and you love them so hard, with so much passion, minho finds himself watching quietly and grieving that you would never love him like that. it’s almost cruel, he thinks, but he’s spent so much time with you in love, he never thought that he would have to live through a life where he couldn’t show it.

he watches from the sidelines, waiting to speak up but every time you end up with someone else before he could.

“come on minho, i swear you’ll like hyunjin.”

you‘ve been badgering him for a week to grab dinner with your new boyfriend. mino retorts every time with no motivation to meet someone who would probably end up breaking your heart again, but the voice in his head tells him that it wasn’t the real reason.

he knows hyunjin, they’ve met before. he also knows hyunjin is a good guy. so when he says he doesn’t want to meet him, it’s more for his sake – he wants you to be happy, but he doesn’t want to see you happy with someone who will genuinely love you back.

he’s being selfish, he knows.

“minho, please?” your voice softens, and minho knows that you’re not doing it on purpose like you do when you want him to buy you coffee or order your favourite takeout or watch the same movie for the hundredth time on movie nights. you truly want him to meet hyunjin, maybe even like him; assure you that this was certainly the one.

minho doesn’t want to do either of those but your imploring eyes plead to him silently. he gives in, because it’s so easy to love you.

dinner turns out to be a pleasant affair and hyunjin is anything but the worst of what minho had pictured and manifested. he was a decent human being, enjoyable and certainly kind. and his eyes…they followed you and mimicked your smile lovingly. he knows that look; he’s been in love with you too. he is in love with you.

“listen hyunjin,” minho starts once you’ve left the table to go to the washroom, “i think you’re a great guy.”

“am i going to get the talk now?” hyunjin lets out a nervous laugh.

“no, i’m pretty sure you’re aware of that talk. but i want you to listen to me and listen carefully,” minho breathes in shakily, fisting up his fingers under the table, “(y/n) is my best friend and i love them a lot. i want you to love them wholeheartedly too. they don’t like their coffee too bitter and hate eating peas. they are hard working but tend to neglect their health in lieu, so take care of them, okay? don’t take them to the poppy exhibition during spring, their allergies act up the most during that time, even if they tell you that they can endure it – they can't and end up sniffling all season. they have a green scarf and it’s very dear to them, but it barely does anything when it’s too cold. layer them up in another scarf because they’ll get upset if you tell them to change. never let them order the spiciest thai takeaway, it makes them sick the next day. they love watching howl’s moving castle, it’s their favourite movie – never argue against it because well, there’s a ninety nine percent chance you’ll end up watching it anyway.”

a shuddering breath escapes minho’s lips as hyunjin listens attentively.

“don’t ever hurt them, okay?”

hyunjin nods earnestly, about to reply when you slide into your chair with a smile, looping your arm around hyunjin’s and the boy instantly melts, mirroring your smile. an understanding look passes between minho and hyunjin and the former is assured that he understood.

minho watches later, standing by the restaurant as you and hyunjin walk away into the night.

maybe in his next life, minho thinks, that will be him.

but i’m happy as long as you are.

the screen crackles, freezing for a second on your smiling face and minho frowns.

“hello, minho? can you hear me?” your voice comes on, ringing out pleasantly in his dark room. the city below him glitters with lights, honking cars distorted against the glass windows.

the video unfreezes and you’re there on the other side, grinning widely. it’s infectious and minho forgets about the exhaustion creeping into his bones. the time is 3 am, he should be asleep, he has an early meeting tomorrow, but this is you. and you’re seas apart, so the least he can do is grant you the shitty video call.

“yes, i can hear you. why have you called me at the ass o’clock, you spawn of satan?”

you know you can hear the smile in his voice, if not see him clearly illuminated only by the city lights.

“love you too,” you snort, “but guess what?”

you sound excited, and he can feel himself relaxing at the sight of your big smile and jumpiness. something good must have happened.

“i’m getting married!”

you bring up your left hand and without a doubt, a silver band rests around your ring finger. it glitters when it catches the light from your bedside lamp. your smile is infectious, minho reminds himself as he forces his lips to remain curled up.

“chan proposed this evening and oh my gosh minho, you won’t believe what he did–”

minho doesn’t quite remember much of what you said, only that you looked like you were on the top of the world, you were marrying the love of your life and that minho was invited and you wanted him to officiate the wedding.

minho doesn’t even consider this cruel anymore. the universe could hardly be called that when it treated you so kindly and with so much love.

he officiates the wedding in a field of poppies – a spring wedding – a small number of people gathered to celebrate the occasion and as he watches you walk down the aisle while your cousin plays a beautiful piece on the piano.

hand in hand with your husband, beautiful and glowing and so happy that he feels like he’s drowning in soft puffs of cloud at the look of joy on your face, he sends a silent thanks to the universe.

because i’m glad you’re here, by my side, through thick and thin.

"minho," you groan, dragging yourself across the rubble to where he lay on the ground, sprawled across rocks and ashes with his head resting against a decapitated shield.

"minho," you're barely able to keep yourself alive as you call out to the man, "wake up, love."

your whisper falls like the ashes you were sparales across, clothes singed and tattered, face bleeding and limbs tired.

the grey dust carries your whisper across him, his eyes cracking open to a white sky and your beautiful face.

your lips crack and bleed when you smile at him, eyes tearing up when they find his.

"are you okay?" minho croaks through the dust in his throat.

you nod weakly, breath faltering when the pain in your chest pricks you like needles.

"you did a great job." you say quietly.

around you, people started waking up, the ones that were left behind at least, by mercy or by luck or sheer willpower. the war was over. the will to cheer out is quietened by silent mourning.

minho feels you quiver by his side and pulls you closer weakly. your head rests against his arm, dreary and tired.

your hands are rough across his cheeks, colder by the second but comforting all the same.

"i'm so glad," he whispers. he doesn't mention your bleeding head or your heaving chest. he lets your warm tears fall on his skin, washing away the dust and grime and missing with your blood that drips down your head. your breath falters again, his weak limbs clutch you with his leftover strength.

you press your chapped lips against his neck.

"i love you."

minho's gentle confession receives no response.

i appreciate it a bit more, your quiet presence and comforting hands.

"minho, relax, i'm almost at your apartment so open the door for me, yeah?"

minho woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air. he had a terrible dream and you died in it. he scrambles across his bed, cursing the low battery in his phone and calling you first thing, the 8% of his battery be damned.

now you're saying that you're almost at his apartment. which means you crossed a whole two blocks in the middle of the night just because he called you in a frenzied panic. it’s too late to slip on his shoes and rush out of his house, because he’s extremely scared something bad might happen to you – he knows it’s his past life, and yet he cannot ignore the way it feels like a premonition – because you’re already ringing his doorbell.

the door opens with such abruptness, it makes you jump out of your skin but you don’t waste time in pulling minho into a hug when he stares at you with teary eyes. he’s never been this vulnerable before and you’ve never seen him so distraught.

he melts into your arms the second you hold him, as if checking to ensure that you were legit. that you were here, alive.

and if he tells you that he loves you late into the night while you sit by his side, running your fingers through his hair to help him fall asleep, he’s not lying and he means it from the very bottom of his heart.

“i feel like this was a ruse to get me here,” you chuckle sleepily, eyes fluttering and fingers slowing their pace against his hair.

minho simply gazes at you quietly in the dark, his throat seizing up when your fingers trace against his cheeks and rest there. your hands are warm, not cold. you were here.

“you’re being serious.” you remark, “is it because of the nightmare? you know i won’t leave you right?”

it wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. but how does minho tell you that? so he nods, because he does love you.

you kiss the corner of his mouth. his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and his head.

“i love you too, minho. a lot.”

your lips on his lips, your warm hands across his tear stained cheeks. your heart beating against his chest.

but i hold you still, close to my heart, even when you’re not here.

minho looks for a familiar face through the blur of faces.

he searches for you for years till his last breath. but he accepts this time, that you would only reside in the deep crevices of his heart where he would etch your memories and learn to live without your presence.

he’ll learn to live without you.

and sometimes we’ll miss each other by a year.

high school, the most important time in a student’s life.

minho did not expect much to change from last year, he’s always been on the grind and stuck to his college preparations religiously. but something about the way all his relatives and friends kept reminding him of the importance of doing it right or losing in life, had him worrying in anxiety.

“if i don’t get into a university in seoul, my parents are gonna kill me,” jisung sighs beside him, doodling on his maths workbook.

minho hums, solving the equations unlike his deskmate who seemed least concerned about his self proclaimed threats.

“dude, are you seriously studying on the first day of school? lame…”

minho doesn’t pay attention, not now when he’s adamant on ignoring the label of being a nerd for the sake of a better future. he’ll find out later, when him and jisung get into the same university in seoul, that he didn’t need to try so hard all the time and that he deserved a break too.

jisung leaves during lunch, skipping to the cafeteria, complaining about how chemistry seemingly sucked the soul out of him. minho hangs back to go through his notes one last time and pack away his belongings.

he notices the scratchy lines on the wooden desk, it’s previous owner’s initials carved into it.

‘L/N Y/N, you can do it!’

minho runs a finger over the name, his heart suddenly hollow.

jisung hollers from the hallway and minho leaves for lunch.

later, he’ll have scratched his name under yours and added:

“hope you made it”.

there will be times i need to watch you from afar, but knowing you’re here makes me feel safe.

you play so beautifully, stringing your bow with such emotion, minho feels himself tear up.

the auditorium is quiet, holding their collective breaths as you reach the final part and remain still till the last tunes of the strings fades away.

minho claps along with everyone as you wave to the audience. the bouquet of flowers in your hands, you bow thankfully, retrieving your violin and leaving the stage. the smattering applause doesn’t cease till the announcer comes up.

minho follows you along the stage, gracefully making your way behind the wings before disappearing. you’re so far away. minho was but a simple commoner, lost in a faceless crowd for you.

he takes his time walking through the crowd that dissipates after the performance,the last one to hang back and read the brochures for next week’s performances. he’s so engrossed in reading the brochure, sitting on one of the benches in the lobby, he doesn’t notice you until a multiple bouquets of flowers quite literally drops onto his lap.

startled, his eyes flick up and you’re right there, standing in front of him, apologising as you make to retrieve the flowers.

“i’m so sorry,” you say, clearly struggling to hold your bag and violin case and balance the bouquet in your arms all at the same time. your black outfit glitters like diamonds up close, and if that doesn’t put minho in a daze, your tired smile turned upon him does.

“oh that’s a good performance,” you state, pointing at the brochure in his hands as you bend to pick up your flowers. as if only coming to senses when you’re on the ground, does minho scramble to help you out, his cheeks flushing.

you’ve always been pretty, but it’s been so long since he’s seen you so up close. you smile and he’s suddenly awestruck.

“you should watch the show on thursday,” you state, finally collecting everything in your hands in a bundle. minho hands you the last flower and your fingers brush.

“i will,” he promises, “and…i loved your performance tonight.”

you chuckle abashedly, hiding a shy grin behind your hand.

“thank you,” you mumble and minho bites his lips, swallowing the smile of adoration.

you pick out a rose from the bouquet with some difficulty, handing it out to him.

“thank you for coming tonight,” your shy smile is endearing itself, but so are your cheeks flushing when he accepts the rose. your fingers brush again, and maybe minho lingers for a second longer than he should. than he could.

minho keeps the dried petals of the rose inside an old journal.

but it’s always better when we’re together, because with you i'm fearless.

“left wing’s armed, take the third right straight down the hall and go into the utility room.”

the earpiece crackles inside minho’s ears, your instructions clear and brisk, a last moment unfortunate encounter you were saving his ass from. for better measure, he cocks his guns and keeps it ready just in case as he hurries down the hall and promptly shuts himself inside the utility room.

digging through a pile of janitor’s clothes, minho strips down and starts changin, your voice clear in his ear when you speak again.

“wait there, there’s three men with guns headed down all three halls. do not expose yourself,” you warn, predictably accurate as minho scoffs.

“min,” you growl into your mic, assessing the situation through the hacked cctvs, “don’t you dare come out of that damn room until i tell you to.”

“i’ve got a flight to catch babe, can’t have three nutjobs delaying me.”

“i’m catching the same flight as you!” your retort is an angry outburst. you’re honestly sick of him disobeying your instructions and doing whatever he likes. you’re both supposed to be a team, but he’s more intent on being a brat.

“you can’t get delayed either then,” he says, and the last he allows you to say on that matter, because next thing you know, he’s out of the room in some janitor clothes and a huge trolley. the man with the gun is suspicious, you can tell, approaching minho doubtfully and you hold your breath as you watch quietly, almost as if he would be caught if you inhaled too loudly.

as if on cue, yells break out and minho charges towards the man, ramming his trolley into him and sending him flying. the gun misfires and almost misses minho.

“fuck!” you hiss loudly, on the edge of your seat. there’s nothing you can do from here.

“have i ever told you,” minho struggles with a faltering breath as he tackles another man onto the ground, “how hot you sound when you curse like that?”

the third man doesn’t take too long to go down, giving minho a bit of a hard time too as he does, and you’re secretly happy that he did. serves him right, that brat.

fifteen minutes later, you’re both speeding towards the airport, minho changing in the back of the rundown van which you were going to abandon before leaving while you drove, stubborn on ignoring minho’s attempts at apologising.

“come on, don’t be mad. here, i got you a present,” he says.

you ignore him yet again, but find it hard to turn a blind eye at whatever it was he was shoving right under your nose. glancing briefly, you find a sparkling ring in the palm of his hand.

you silently contemplate whether you should accept it.

“come on,” minho whines again, pulling your left hand away from the steering wheel at the next red light and promptly slipping on the ring on your ring finger. it sits snugly around your skin, a small ruby carved like a rose glittering when it catches light.

before the light can turn green again, minho holds your palm up to his mouth and kisses it gently. his lips burn on your skin like a searing scar and you struggle to keep the heat from crawling up your neck.

“that looks nice on you,” he says and you quietly accept it.

i know loving you is easy, but it still scares me sometimes.

minho knows you can find someone better than him.

he knows you can drop him whenever you want. his love comes easily, but he’s had his share of losing and letting go. it’s tamed the ferocity of his affection, his quiet longing is like a suffering under his hidden vulnerability.

he hates it when you’re upset at him. and you’re upset at him now, shutting yourself in your room to work; not eating, not talking, not even responding to him.

“(y/n), please talk to me.”

you’ve finally come out of your room after hours and minho has been waiting patiently but anxiously, pondering and rehearsing on what to say. except, when he sees you, all his words disappear like ashes in the wind, leaving him remorseful and regretting what had transpired.

“i’m sorry,” he croaks out, head bowing down shamefully, “i shouldn’t have made you feel that way.”

your forgiveness is, if anything, like fuel to the fire burning inside him. you shouldn't forgive him so easily! but you do, and minho is certain that his fear will engulf him in its flames.

except, he hears your voice, clear and calming through the inferno, a cool balm across his searing chest.

“i’m sorry too,” you whisper, hands cradling his face as you pull him close, “i know it’s hard for you, i promise, i love you. no matter what.”

your words are like a soft breeze, pleasant and tranquil. your lips mold against his and he finds himself giving in to you – to your bodies melting into each other and breaths tangling like butterflies swirling around in a whirlwind.

minho learns yet again, to love and to let it burn him. he didn’t mind the flames licking his cheeks or singing his skin, you would be there at the end of the day to hold him close and heal his wounds.

with you the pain of trying was worth it.

because there are times that love can hurt.

minho points his gun at your head.

you’re tired, watching him through your hood but you’re smiling through your bloodied lips.

“are you really doing to do that?”

no. minho won’t, he can’t.

‘you already know,” he seethes through gritted teeth, tightening his hold around the gun.

“your answer, or you?”

you set flame through his body and it seeps through his veins like melting lava. loving you can sometimes really hurt, especially when he’s holding your life in his hands. he wonders whether it was worth the trouble of remembering all his past lives.

the clouds rumble and the skies start crying. he burns brighter, hotter; engulfed in your eyes, torn between a past lover and present murderer. your eyes…they’re always the same. the mole on above your lip, you have it this time. he tries searching for the coy person inside you, but you’re broke. battered and cold, you don’t have love for him in you.

not in this lifetime, at least. maybe that will make it easier.

the gun shoots with a bang.

and i’m reminded of my mistakes once more.

the tattoo parlour is quiet in the summer afternoon.

changbin is resting in the back, getting a good hour’s nap while minho waits for his next client who’s due any moment now. the table fan whirs noisily.

the door opens with a small creak and before minho can even turn around, he knows. his gut twists. sure enough, you’re standing there with uncertainty plastered over your face, as if you were having second thoughts about this.

minho doesn’t remember as much this time around, but he knows, there’s an inkling of recollection. of a rainy day and cold eyes.

“hi, you must be (l/n) (y/n),” he states with a comfortable smile, the one that is supposed to ease first timers who stand there in doubt, “i’m lee minho, we talked on the phone.”

he stretches his hand forward and you take it shyly. your fingers are nimble, fitting in his so well, he almost doesn’t want to let go. he can’t remember.

“hi, i’m here for my appointment?” you squeak out and minho does his best not to smile. he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

“of course, i have a few designs according to your choice, why don’t we sit and discuss?”

talking to you was easy. you knew what you wanted and had worked out all the tiny details to some extent as you could. but then again, talking to you had always been easy.

“where do you want to get it?” minho asks, finalising a few sketches and stacking them away in a separate pile.

chewing your lips, you slightly lift your shirt. the faintest blue - almost greyish - birthmark right above your abdomen peeks out. minho’s eyes scan your skin, to where you point right below it over the side of your waist.

he nods, fingers shaking as he collects the designs and walks over to the counter. the fan whirs loudly.

minho remembers. 

but you always forgive me. you say it’s because you love me.

“(y/n)....i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

the car reeks of oil and gas. minho’s cheek stings with millions of shattered glass pressing against his skin like tiny kisses. your eyes are closed, head rolled forward.

“(y/n) please,” minho’s voice cracks and he’s not sure whether he’s crying because of the pain or because you won’t answer him, “look at me.”

his plea falls on unconscious ears. you don’t even stir, laying with your eyes shut tight and glass in your hair.

the world goes black and then it returns, sirens and wails piercing through his ears like an incessant buzz. where are you?

you’re lying beside him, your eyes cracked open while you stare at him. the oxygen mask on your face fogs up slowly, your lips mouthing at him.

“It’s okay…i love you.”

minho tries reaching out but his hands refuse to move. he’s on the ground, he’s hurt, he’s bleeding. he’s crying, but not because it hurts, not because the scars and wounds across his body threaten to tear him apart.

“don’t leave, please.”

your oxygen mask stops fogging up.

as if you sense i’m being too hard on myself.

“minho, just ten more minutes,” you pout at him, folding your hands in a plea.

“no, your father wants you home back by–”

“oh boo hoo, my father doesn’t even care what i do,” you scowl, crossing your arms across your chest now. the low cut of your outfit reveals a spot of skin and minho has to look away. he’s better this time, concealing his feelings and emotions.

“you know i can’t disobey–”

“i just want to have fun, it’s like i have any friends to spend time with.”

minho sighs, straightening his crisp black suit and regarding you with indifferent eyes, but deep down, minho understands that all you craved in this life was companionship. he doesn’t like your father anyway, but he like you. he cares for you, and he doesn’t want to see you upset. but he also doesn’t want you to get hurt.

“ten more minutes,” he says, putting his palm up when your lips morph into a wide grin, “but no drinking.”

he’s stern but you nod eagerly anyway, looping your arm through his and pulling him inside the club. he will probably let you drink anyway, or you’ll sneak some when he’s momentarily distracted (he’s not, he just lets you have your way sometimes under the pretence of not noticing.) and he’ll have to carry you back to your room and maybe get an earful tomorrow morning for your drunk state.

whatever, as long as you’re happy.

“you know, minho?” you slur through the ride back home, nuzzling into his side drowsily, “you should take it easy sometimes. life’s too short to not have fun.”

you have no idea.

“and besides, i like you more this way.”

minho doesn’t answer, calming the thudding against his ribcage as he hold you close and covers you up with his blazer.

it’s all worth it when you kiss his cheek lazily, a murmured goodnight falling off your soft lips and onto his skin like a tiny part of your heart.

and even though i know i’ll find you each time, i still wonder if you’ll find me first this time.

“mr. lee minho sir!”

the voice gets carried away the large lobby, people turning to stare at you as you stand behind the automated entrance barrier, waving your arms at the said man to gain his attention.

minho looks back in shock, momentarily forgetting about the call he was on as he regards you through wide eyes.

you’re grinning and calling out his name, the zip of your handbag open and your contents falling out, but you stumble to grab them messily before stuffing them inside unceremoniously, much more important stuff at hand.

“mr. lee, please, give me ten minutes, i promise i’ve got an amazing proposition,” you say, dodging the security guards who try to pull you away. people stare and murmur in shock, you were making quite a scene.

you look a bit clumsy, but you’re light on your feet. and you definitely don’t seem to care about what people thought of you.

“what’s going on?” he asks his secretary by his side, both walking towards you.

“that’s (l/n) (y/n), they’ve been trying to get an appointment with the PR team for ages now. apparently they're the founder of some small company looking for finances.”

“and why have they not gotten an appointment yet?”

his secretary doesn’t know how to answer, blinking at him in confusion. why would a million dollar company like his waste their time on a nobody like you?

minho disregards the obviousness on his secretary’s face, approaching you with a warm smile.

“i believe you called me?” he asks warmly. the silent whispering thickens.

“i did, sir….lee minho sir. i mean–”

“why don’t we take this to my office?”

you squawk in surprise and minho offers you another smile. it’s familiar to you, his warmth and kindness, and you immediately feel guilty for causing a ruckus. but minho doesn’t treat you any differently, doesn’t mock your business nor finances. he doesn’t look down on you, and yet, there’s something underneath all that kindness that feels like he owes it you, so much so, that he may as well have been in debt to you and was now paying you back however he could and you wanted.

months later, you’d be lying on your bed, your legs tangled together and faces close and he would tell you the reason.

“it’s because you found me first.”

if you’ll be happy without me.

the train windows are foggy, the city lights a distorted kaleidoscope of red and yellow blending into each other.

minho blows warm air into his scarf, tucked right up to his chin and rubs his hands together before stuffing them inside his woollen coat. the train rattles on through the cold night, the gentle to and fro almost lulling him into sleep.

his body shifts to his left when the train stops at the third to the last station and minho lets out a sign between the satisfaction of knowing that he’ll soon be home and the disgruntled realisation that he would have to walk for ten minutes to do that. at least, he’s closer to the warmth of his home now.

the doors open with a swish, cold air blowing in and minho huddles against the corner seat, pulling his legs closer and almost doubling on himself. twenty minutes more, and he’ll be in the comfort of his home and his cats.

from his peripheral, he notices someone taking a seat beside him. the end of their long scarf gently touches minho’s arm under his thick coat. they cough into their hand and sniffle, clearly shivering from what he could tell by the way they draw into themselves, shuddering.

the train moves again, overhead lights dim enough that they were easy on the eyes but not too dark either. a long stretch of tunnel comes into view and the lights outside disappear, a black canvas staring minho back in his face. he catches sight of his neighbour, breath hitching in his throat when the warmth of their presence suddenly seems to heat him up.

he feels like a high schooler again, flustered when his crush sits beside him.

your face is gaunt in the black mirror, eyes drooping like you were fighting sleep and head gently lolling about. it doesn’t even take long before he feels your head on his shoulder. he stiffens, holding his breath in case you wake up, fingers curling inside his pocket and heart beating steadily against his chest.

even now, he thinks, even now, you make him feel this way. and you were simply a stranger to him in this life.

the train jolts again, the lights outside merging out of the black fog and staining the misty glass. your head on his shoulder, the fragrance of your shampoo lingering under his nose and the tingling sensation on his arm where your scarf lay gently. when the cold wind blows in, you move closer to him, soft snores tumbling through your lips and falling on his coat like a memento of your existence.

only one stop left, he gets to spend five more minutes with you. the warmth of his home is alluring but so is your sleeping figure next to him.

he wishes this train would go on forever. 

but i always end up wishing that we would be together this time around too. 

“i love you!”

“minho, we can’t!”

“what does status matter in front of love?”

“you know well enough exactly how much it matters,” you sigh, sliping your hands through his placatingly, softening your tone, “it won’t work. you’re from a noble family, and i’m just…plain old me.”

“you know i don’t care about that stuff.” he brings your hands up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles gently, his pillowy lips searing your skin like fire.

“they won’t care about banishing you from the court either if they find out.”

minho is so close to you, he can feel your breath on his lips. he’s kissed you so many times now, felt those lips against his and across his skin countless times, but every moment he spends with you, it’s like he cannot get enough of you.

“what if we run away? from these people, these…expectations and restrictions.”

“min…”

his name on your tongue, it sits there like it was always supposed to.

“you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

sometimes you can, but minho always chooses to fall in love with you. he doesn’t have to try hard; he’s never fallen out of it in the first place.

call me selfish, but there’s so much i need to tell you. show you. so many ways to love you.

the soft tunes of the jazz band floats in the air, men and women in silk and satin, dancing with each other through the cheerful night.

minho holds you in his arms, pressing quiet kisses in the crook of your neck and you giggle, swaying along with him on the dance floor. the night is still young for the two lovers and music quite a ways before it stops.

“wouldn’t have taken you to be the romantic type,” you say, looping your hands around his neck.

“wouldn’t have expected to be dragged to the dance floor so early,” minho teases back, pulling you just a little closer.

but minho would be willing to do so much for you. he would read it all in your eyes and from its depths, draw out his heart and carve it whichever way you wanted him to.

“i thought you wanted to dance!” you hit him  lightly on his shoulder, pouting at his smirk.

“i only accepted because the bartender was eyeing you,” he gestured behind him, tilting his head slightly so you could see. and sure enough, the bartender was indeed looking in your direction.

“oh, do i sense some jealousy?”

“don’t i have the right to feel that way?”

he twirls you to a lazy tune from the saxophone, only to pull you close when he realised that even the miniscule absence of your presence did not suit him. maybe he was drunk, he could definitely feel the burn in his throat and the liquid courage pulsing through his brain and you were so very beautiful.

the fabric of your dress under his fingers was soft, your rose painted lips puckering up ever so slightly and your tinted cheeks glowing warm under the dim golden lights. and your eyes; it’s always your eyes.

minho always searches your eyes everytime, to gauge whether much had changed but save for a few unfortunate lives, they remain pristine and eternal. yet, they seem to speak to him with a teasing lilt in somes life and in others, they’re like stars twinkling back his reflection.

minho doesn’t want to believe he is the romantic type, but he admits, he would always be willing to lose himself in your eyes.

even with all my lives combined, i wouldn’t be able to do it all.

undoubtedly, minho has learnt various ways of loving you throughout all his lives, and unsuspectingly, he expects to learn many more.

but his favorites persist to be the little undocumented moments only shared between you two; hidden in a small room where nobody is privy to it.

when you amble into the kitchen wearing nothing but his hoodie – which was too big on himself too – your thighs exposed and your fingers rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, his world stops for a whole minute.

you don’t take notice of his naer breathlessness, trodding up to him and planting your face in his chest. in this life, minho is a bit distant. his ability to express himself hidden in small acts of services. in this life minho worships you differently, and your reciprocal puts his anxiousness to rest.

“i cooked your favourite,” he mumbles on the top of your head and you nod into his chest, slowly backing him into a corner.

“you’re my favourite,” you smile slyly, revelling in the way his cheeks heat up and his gaze averts. you press a finger under his chin and turn his head towards you. your eyes…oh.

he feels your lips against his, your nibbling teeth and your wandering hands.

in this life, your love is passionate, a little fervent. you love so shamelessly and its fire consumes him whole till he’s right in the middle of a burning pyre. you burn brighter than him now and his love shines brighter under your flames, but minho merely considers himself the moon, silently borrowing the light from the faraway stars you carefully sew into his heart.

it’s like the universe is always balancing you both out, apologising for the times it messes up your time together.

all i know, is that i’ll surrender to you. everytime, unrestrained, with all my sincerity – because there’s no one else but you.

there’s a soft knock at the door.

“minho,” your voice is veiled and hesitant, “it’s me. can i come in?”

minho can’t bring himself to answer, but he hears the handle being twisted and seconds later a sliver of light slithers down the dark floor of his room. you find him sitting on his bead, with his head between his arms, knees tucked and unmoving.

“he’s been like this all day,” chan whispers beside you, the look of concern on his face breaking your heart, “please, help him.”

shutting the door behind you, you slowly manoeuvre your way to the bed, reaching out with your hands to feel for the soft sheets. eyes growing accustomed to the dark, you can vaguely make out his figure, scooching closer to his side.

“want a hug?” you whisper, scared to break the tranquillity and scare him away.

his response is throwing himself in your arms and clutching your waist like a child. soft sniffles get buried in your shirt and his shuddering shoulders send a wave of tears through you. the silence is broken by his sobs that shatter you and make your chest twist into knots. 

you fall asleep with his head buried in your chest and your warmth around his body.

even in a thousand lives. i’ll always be yours.

minho has assured you a hundred times in a hundred ways, that you’ll never be a burden to him.

not even when you spend half your life in a hospital bed, barely capable of doing anything by yourself. even when you cry and pretend to be mad at him, even when you yell at him to leave you and get his own life. even if he has to dedicate himself to take care of you.

you will never be a burden, not when minho was persistent on being by your side willingly.

“how long will you stay here?”

“for as long as it takes you to fall asleep,” he says, wiping your hands with a wet towel. your fingers twitch in his palm, weak and frail but so comforting in his gentle hold. you wish you could ask him to stay, but how can you chain him down to your crippled self? and for how long before he realises that this was a lost cause; that you were a lost cause and all his time and efforts were going to waste cooped up in this tiny hospital room where nothing ever happened.

“you know what i mean…”

your voice is soft in the night, eyes teary as they gaze at his face illuminated by the bed lamp he gifted you for your birthday.

minho doesn’t answer, concentrating at the task at hand. he knows you’re crying, and while any other time he would gather you in his arms and wipe your tears, he can’t right now. he can’t see you cry right now, because he’s scared he’ll really leave if you ask him to looking like that.

“we don’t know what the future holds,” his fingers close upon your smaller hands, squeezing them gently, “i want to stay here for as long as i can.”

his eyes glaze over and you slowly lose the fight in you, letting him cradle your soul and carry it with him. if that’s what he wants, 

months later you’ll walk out of the hospital, the staff congratulating you and handing you flowers and you’ll smile at them, but you’ll smile the brightest when you spot minho waiting for you at the end of the hall, cheeks shining with his tears but his lips curled up, mirroring your smile.

you’ll take your first steps all by yourself in years, it will tire you but minho will be waiting. he’ll always be waiting and when you reach out to him, he’ll reach back and let you fall into his arms.

i’ll chase your memory from dawn till dusk.

a block of light plasters the wall and falls on the table.

the last rays of the waning sun trying its best to peek at your beauty one last time before setting – that’s what minho thinks it is.

you say something, smiling through your words and sipping on your drink through puckered lips and then laugh at what you say. minho realises he’s not even listening, but he can hear your voice. he somehow feels like this may be the last time he remembers.

he drinks in your face, but there’s no hurry. you’re sitting right there, munching on your food and talking animatedly, face painted with sliced sunlight, orange and warm on your skin, eyes glowing when it catches the light.

the ketchup stain above your lip doesn’t bother you, but minho smiles fondly as you continue, laughing uncontrollably now over some lame joke he assumes would be funny if he actually listened.

leaning forward, he wipes your mouth, your eyes widening at the act, but they immediately soften and lean towards him too.

then it’s quiet, only the silenced chatter of the people around you. it’s like you’re both trying to etch this moment in your memories, like this was going to be your last time together.

and when there’s nothing left to be done anymore, i’ll sleep with you under the stars. 

the band of silver glimmers on his finger when minho stretches his hand out toward the sun.

the grass is dry and tickles his ears whenever he shifts about, the wind ruffles his clothes like butterflies. minho basks in the late afternoon sun, shutting his eyes and breathing in the sweetness of the honeysuckle air.

beside him, the arrangement of flowers lay carefully over the smoothened stone.

the first few stars appear like newborn dots of light, shining weakly in the orange sky slowly bleeding into purple and blue.

he smiles happily, the tears long appeased by your memories in his heart. the scent of poppies lingers somewhere in the back of his mind, your smile like a ray of hope on days he can’t find you, a piece of your soul in the crevices of his bone like a single entity of his own self.

minho searches for you now and sure enough, you’re there beside him, in the gentle caress of the wind and the playful tickling of the grass and the twinkling smile of the stars above.

[datingjaeminfr]

+ DENIED + CHOI SOOBIN

PAIRING: Choi Soobin x Male Reader

GENRE: Smut

WARNINGS: Denied cum, Slight pet play (collar & chain lead), Dirty talk, Degrading, Mentions of cheating, Choking, Biting, Fingering, Face fucking, Face grinding, Hitting (literally one slap but still-)

Summary: You weren't at all prepared for what was to come. He showed you very quickly that leaving wasn't an option.

Note: Honestly, I might use this au more often. It's literally amazing and if it's going to take over my life, why not make it take over yours?

You had broken up with your, now ex, boyfriend, Soobin, a little over a week ago. I mean sure, you couldn't blame him for being busy, but you felt like you weren't getting what you wanted in a relationship with him. You weren't the type to cheat, but you felt like you desperately needed someone else. To resolve that issue, you left him, lying that you simply 'fell out of love', the usual bullshit reason people used when breaking up or cheating. You still loved him however, sobbing your eyes out in the arms of your best friend every night.

Surprisingly, Soobin took the news quite well, and you wondered if he was doing the exact same as you were. Keeping a facade and acting like you didn't give two shits, when really you just wanted to be in his arms. But it'd be wrong to go crawling back to him now. He didn't even try to contact you throughout the week. You thought you messed up everything to the point he didn't even want to be friends. You couldn't blame him.

It was about 12pm, or at least somewhere around that time anyway. Your friend had gone home after much persuasion as you reassured them that you'd be fine tonight. You woke up in cold sweats, a bad gut feeling in the pit of your stomach. Sitting up, you looked over at your window, feeling a chilly breeze sweeping through the open gap towards you. A sense of panic caused a rush of adrenaline to course through your veins. You definitely shut that window. And you as well as whoever was in here knew it.

You looked around wildly, a psychotic giggle resounding at your actions. You looked towards the source of the sound, seeing a tall shadow standing in the corner of your room. That alone was enough to send you crawling back until you hit the headboard. You watched the figure with wide eyes, almost as though it would help you see them better. A deep, vaguely familiar voice spoke, "You really screwed me over love. All I did was take care of you, love you, but you still screwed me over." You didn't respond, silently shaking in fear.

The figure moved into the moonlight shining through the open frame of glass. "Cat got your tongue?" They teased, the corner of their lips twitching into a smirk. "S-soobin," you managed to stutter out. "Oh, so you can still speak? That's good, I don't want to make you lose your voice just yet." He commented. His deep tone, mixed with the words he spoke, sent a shiver down your spine. "W-why are you here? We b-broke up a week ago." You stammered questioningly, stumbling over your words. Soobin rolled his eyes, "Don't be scared of me yet angel. I haven't even started." His voice lowered on the last sentence, becoming almost dark.

He moved closer to you, standing at the edge of your bed. Crawling on top of it, he grabbed your thigh tightly, dragging you underneath him as he looked down upon you. He dug his nails into the soft flesh as he leaned down, whispering into your ear, "You can't leave me. Once you become mine, oh babe, you stay mine." His voice roughened on the last words and you could feel your sweatpants slightly tighten. He backed up until he was off the bed, still dragging you with him. You let out a high pitched yelp, trying to wriggle out of his grip as he harshly squeezed your thigh in order to move you.

Ignoring your pain he pulled out a black leather collar, slipping it around your neck and tightening it to the point you could barely breath. After attaching a heavy silver chain to it he wrapped it around his hand. You could feel yourself get harder with the action even though you so badly wanted to get out of there. You begged him to stop, to take it off and you'd do whatever he wanted, but he wouldn't give you the time of the night. He'd do what he wanted to do with you either way, so what was the point?

Soobin forced you up against the bed after turning you around, your head lying on top of the edge at an awkward angle that was almost painful. He moved closer until he were so close that your nose was almost touching his crotch. Clearly, that was the plan as he bunched up the chain and placed his massive hands either side of your head. He slightly pulled you up, relying on the bed to be your support as he pressed his clothed hard on to your face. He grinded into it, quiet, raspy groans leaving him as he used you to pleasure himself.

You could barely breath with the collar, let alone being pressed so hard against his private regions. You let out a sharp whine, attempting to grab his attention and make him stop. You resulted in getting slapped instead, but you kept acting like a brat, refusing to shut up. So he decided to make you. Pulling away from your face momentarily, he pulled his trousers and boxers down in one go, his dick springing up into your face. "W-wait ple-" He shut you up, stuffing his sensitive part into your mouth before you could finish protesting.

From previous experiences, you knew you couldn't take in all of him, not that Soobin cared. He fucked into your mouth as you gagged and choked around him. Your eyes shut as tears pricked the corner of them, trying desperately to to breath. "Aw is the baby crying?" He cooed at you, "But you're taking my cock so well darling. It's like your mouth was made for my dick, and my dick only. You were born to be my cock slut weren't you?" Your erection was painfully hard as you tried to nod, precum soaking a patch in your own boxers. You opened your eyes again, looking up at him.

"Such a good - fuck - boy for me. You like this, huh? You like being called a cock slut by your master? It's what you are. The only thing you're - shit - fucking u-useful for." He shamed you relentlessly, his dick twitching in your mouth, telling you he was close. He cursed as he released his load into your mouth, his head falling back and his body shaking as his orgasm washed over him. Pulling out of you he covered your mouth with his hand, forcing you to swallow. Taking his hand away, you panted heavily having not been able to breathe properly.

He picked you up, throwing you onto the bed and pinning you down once again. Kissing you roughly, he used his tongue, exploring what was already his. He reached down, yanking your sweat pants and boxers down. Ridding of them, he threw them elsewhere, taking his own clothes down there off fully, sending them after yours. He stopped kissing you, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head. He ripped your shirt off of you, tearing it in half at an angle, throwing both of them away as well.

Flipping you over, he pushed a single digit into your ass. You moaned out loudly, euphoria filling you, a cause of both fear and pleasure. Soobin was completely unpredictable, no warning given in his actions. He added a second finger, the length of them causing him to hit your prostate as he began to move them in a scissoring motion inside of you. Deeming that as you being prepped enough, even though you needed four of them in you to stretch you enough, he took his fingers out. Lining up with your entrance, you guessed the improper preparation was part of your punishment.

He leaned over you, pushing your face into the bed as he slowly entered you, groaning at how tight you were. "Fuck baby, you’re so tight. You really were made for me, made to be my own personal sperm bank." The dirty talk had your dick dripping as it pulsed from not being touched, driving you crazy. He used the chain to tug your head to the side, biting into the area between your neck and shoulder to muffle his moans, moving without allowing you to properly adjust to his size. You screamed out in pain, tears non-stop streaming down your face as he pounded into you. You gripped the sheets with all your strength. It didn't help with the pain, but stabilized you a bit more.

Soon enough the pain turned to pleasure and you screamed Soobin's name. "More! I need more! Please!" You begged loudly. "More? Is this not enough for you slut? Is my dick not enough to pleasure you?" Soobin demanded, releasing your neck, blood running down it from how hard his teeth sunk into you. You couldn't respond, pleasure turning you almost entirely dumb. Soobin chuckled at your lack of response, "You have the guts to ask for more yet you're fucked stupid from my dick already, hm? You little whore."

He pumped your dick, jacking you off as his thrusts sent you into another universe. Drool spilt out your mouth as your body began to tremble. Without warning, he shot his juices into you. It almost caused you to orgasm, but let go of your length, refusing to carry on pleasuring you. Breathing heavily he pulled out, drops of his cum dripping onto the bed. You whimpered, whined, anything to try and get him to let you cum. He laughed cruelly, "Bad boys don't get to cum, fucking slut."

[furrbbyx]

Unfinished! “Mummy”

I was not able to finish this story, but I'm working on rejecting perfectionism.

So here's the unfinished version of the "mummy" prompt from monster march.

Don't worry I'm still working on "The Mummy" fanfiction.

man x woman

cw: based off of the mystery crew, sex with a mummy (or would be if I'd got that far.) didn’t edit for typos or readability

approx 1500 words

Somewhere in the Andes mountains, probably Cuzco. It was mild summer day with a cloudless, infinite blue sky.

Four young adults and their pet dog have been contracted by the public officials of the town to investigate the strange and disturbing sightings of ancestral mummies . For nearly two months the people of the town have been crowding into the bureaucratic offices to complain about lurching, desiccated figures chasing them down narrow alleys and showing up at back doors, moaning. One man even claimed he was attacked in broad daylight when one of the creatures knocked him down while he was working in his garden. By the time the man got up to chide the rude person, he had only seen a figure shuffling around the corner and out of sight.

The small group of mystery investigators had been debriefed on the details at hand, and given leeway to explore many of the cultural heritage sites in an effort to investigate and gather clues. All day they had driven from site to site without trouble, but now as the evening advanced things were getting a little weird. Exploring one of the burial places, a many chambered volcanic caldera, is how the group ended up split from one another. A strange dweomer had risen up with a thick fog as they navigated the area. Of course spooky strange happenings were nothing unusual for the gang. It was the two scared-y cats of the group, who rushed headlong away from the supernatural, that made things more dangerous than needed.

That's how Miss V ended up alone, crawling over dusty rock, trying to find her glasses and her flashlight. Mister S and his hound had ripped through the chamber she had been investigating like they were being chased by the ghost of a bad all-you-can-eat buffet, and got Miss V all turned around in the Process. She'd been minding her own business, trying to understand some of the pictures the ancients had made on the walls.

"Those two!" V grumbled and patted the floor in front of her repeatedly. She squinted in the near darkness and hoped that her flashlight hadn't been broken when it flew out of her grip. For the millionth time she argued back and forth with herself, under her breath, about getting contacts.

"I just need to channel my inner Evelyn O'Connell. I'm clumsy but I'm going to solve this case" V said to herself. She crawled forward a little further, thinking she might have seen a blob that would turn out to be her flashlight.

A rattling sigh curled through her senses and made her body shiver with anxiety. She stilled her crawling and listened, on edge.

"Hello?"

Something moved behind her. Something hitting the ground, causing a gust a air to rush under her skirt, between her thighs.

"Hey, Mr F. Miss D, this is honestly not the time for..."

A long strangled groan filled the chamber.

Miss V froze completely. Her heart started racing as she tried to decide what to do next. She wasn't alone, but without her glasses trying to run would be foolish. She tried to breath steadily.

The chilling groan vibrated through the air again, causing Miss V to flinch.

"H-hello? Oh!"

Hands, like vice grips clamped around her hips and pulled her backwards

"Ouch! Hey!" V called out, annoyed now with the stinging cuts on her knees and palms.

"You can't just..." Her voice died suddenly as she felt rough fabric brush the backs of her thighs. A strange warmth came from the whoever was behind her, spreading over her skin.

V gulped.

Still trying to maintain her cool, she craned her neck slowly back, to get a look at the intruder. A man! Maybe. Honestly it was hard to tell for sure without her glasses. A figure not much taller than Miss V, covered in a faded cloak was kneeling behind her. V knew that instantly it wasn't one of her fellow investigators, yet the longer she stared, trying to get her eyes to focus, the more she felt sure that he belonged there, with her.

A foggy haze was seeping into her mind like the cool mist seeped into the mountains. Then her vision did clear, miraculously. Kind of. Her glassed were placed a bit awkwardly on her face but she almost make out the entire scene.

A man, bronzed skinned with high sculpted cheek bones and bark thick eyebrows, gazed back at her with a charming smile playing at his lips. His jet black hair was fashioned into a crest with the sides shorn and a thick lock of hair draped over the shoulder where the cloak was tied. The cloak looked as old as the ancients buried in that same chamber, the designs faded.

V was confused for a moment. This man was obviously a local, had a right to be here, but why was he dressed so? She looked up into his eyes, with that question on her lips but it rushed out of her head. The dark shimmer of his eyes held her, as more of the strange warmth eased her anxiety. Suddenly she felt an interest , an unchecked attraction, that could only be explained by magic.

Miss V looked at this cloak again and tried to remember if the marking meant he was a priest or sorcerer. Suddenly she felt sure he wasn't a local...well at least not a contemporary one. Her mind spun with the implications. Could the mummy that was causing such a stir be a real reanimated being?

"Beautiful". The word seemed to fill the chamber and to push out her inner voice. His mouth spoke a language V had never heard, yet she comprehended the voice as if spoken in English. It made a reverberating timbre of his voice, a little distorted.

"It's been too long since a beauty  like you came to visit me"

V felt herself bushing, and a cramp developing in her neck. With wince she realigned herself and took the time to straighten he glasses too. She found trying to turn around was a bit more difficult as the handsome stranger was now leaning over her his stomach pressed to her back.

" My Chuquiragua" His strange resonating voice filled her mind and ears again. Miss V shivered at the sound and clenched her legs, squirming under him a bit. A hand of his groped her thigh. She reached back and grasped his hand, guiding it under her thick sweater to her breasts and pulling down her bra so he could caress her tingling nipples. She felt mesmerized by his touch and by her own growing arousal. She let  him palm and squeeze at her large tits. Each time he pulled at her stiff rounded nipples, she shifted her hips against him seeking friction.

She writhed on the ground of the dusty old cavern with a possible mummy, feeling like a bit of a monster fucker. It sent a thrill trembling down her spine.

"Who are you?" V's voice wavered on the question

His rich resonate chuckle seemed to vibrate down her clit.

V was still as he leaned over her again. "I am your lover, do you not remember?" he cooed into her ear.  Miss V closed her eyes and shivered. When she opened her eyes again she gasped. The cavern was now an ornately painted chamber and she knelt on a wide flat platform among rich textiles and fresh flower petals. The room was cast in dim light from shallow oil lamps. The flame light seemed to shin and glow reflecting in the man's skin.

He  had sat back so V could face him. He was  kneeling but no longer in his ancient covering. He was naked. He was of a similar height to her with a wide chest and heavy arms. His torso and large thighs hinted at strength and rigorous physical activity, and had V wondering at his position in society. This bedroom and the fine linens, and his jewelry, for V now saw his piercings and the collar of gold around his neck, these hinted but did not reveal more about this mysterious guy. V would just have to imagine how he got such a good body. He was oozing rizz and it was potent enough to make Miss V feel like her head was filled with fizzy bubbles instead of rational analysis. He proved her right about his strength as he reached out and pulled her closer by one ankle. V giggled, happy to play the part of his lover as he kissed the bottom of one foot, not the least worried that she as now as bare as him in this unnatural vision.

The admiration she felt must have shown on her face. He seemed very affected. He grinned widely and spread his thighs further thrusting forward his cock. V smiled back, leaned forward to grab his golden collar and pulled him into a kiss. His mouth was hot and slick and Miss V didn't hold back from trying to shove her tongue down his throat. He urged her into his lap and squeezed her ass in both hands. V rocked against him as she straddled him and enjoyed the way he gripped her and pressed her closer. It wasn't long before they were pulling apart to gasp a few breaths of air. There hearts seemed loud and reflected the lustful insistence building between them.

When Miss V could speak she asked, "How did a man like you earn my favor?" She wrapped her arms around his chest under his arms and nuzzled his neck with kisses while he chuckled. He helped V off his lap and laid her down under him so he could kiss her breasts.

"You make it sound as if you don't remember how my tongue feels inside you" he cooed, managing to also sound as if he were pouting before he sucked.

V didn't immediately answer because all she could think about at the moment was his tongue curling around her tightened nipple.

[kevindavidson]

Do not think about Kayleigh’s crash - how the Moriyama’s had it orchestrated to leave Kevin orphaned.

Do not think about Wymack’s bad hip, the mentioned pain killers, Abby being his PT

Do not think that maybe - more than likely - Wymack was in that car, too.

Don't thin that maybe, he was driving it.

They wanted Kevin orphaned, what better way to do that than get them both in one fell swoop?

Don’t think of Kayleigh calling Wymack out of the blue and saying, “David?” And, “Can we talk?” And, “I have something to tell you.” And, “It’s about Kevin.”

Don’t think about Wymack meeting Kayleigh wherever she asks because he still loves her, and would do anything for her and that boy, Kevin, who Wymack looks at and convinces himself that no, that isn’t his nose, and no, Kevin’s laugh doesn’t make him check to see if he’s laughing, and no, the way Kevin holds himself if not the way he does.

Don’t think about Kevin being left with a sitter - the elderly neighbor with eight cats.

Don’t think about Kayleigh kissing him on the head and saying, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, my love.”

Don't think about Kayleigh climbing into the passenger seat next to him.

Don’t think about the silence in the car as the miles build up on the older roads, stretching far and wide until it eats up the last of Wymack’s considerable patience. “Leigh,” he starts, voice tight around the nickname.

Don’t think about Kayleigh answering, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Don’t think about Wymack reaching over to take her hand, meeting green meadow eyes when he takes warm brown off the road for her. “I could never.”

Don’t think about Kayleigh breathing deeply, shaking out her hands one by one, then opening her mouth, “I lied. Kevin is-“

Absolutely do not think about the impact. Metal on metal. Screeching. Wymack's car flipping, over and over and over. Her voice drowned out by a scream that will haunt Wymack’s nightmares for years to come before he blacks out.

Don’t think about the lull of blackness, about him waking, upside down and scared, agony echoing like lighting up from his leg, seatbelt holding him where he is.

Don’t think about David Vincent Wymack looking over and finding nothing. No Kayleigh. No door. No passenger side at all. Just…nothing.

Don’t think about Wymack unbuckling himself, crawling through glass and metal, fire and puddles of gasoline, shouting her name.

Don’t think about the wheezing, “David…” from the brush.

Don’t think about Wymack crawling to her with the last of his strength, collapsing by her side, and noticing the extent of the injuries. Broken femurs, bleeding skull, arm missing. “Kayleigh.”

Don’t think about Kayleigh smiling at him, and whispering, “don’t worry. I can’t feel it.”

Don’t think about Wymack realizing this women born to invent Exy, born to move her entire body. This woman who dedicate so many year to this body for him and this sport, can no long use any of it from the shoulders down.

Don’t think about Kayleigh smiling. “He reminds me of you, y’know.” Coughing blood, body shivering in the rain. “Kevin. My Kevin. Ou-” another harrowing bloody cough.

Don’t think about Wymack trying to stop the blood, hands shaking and unsure. He’s always been rage, and pain, and brute strength. Wymack doesn’t know how to help, or heal, or save anyone. He’s still just as lost as when his mother told him he’d never amount to anything.

Don’t think of Kayleigh begging him to stop and listen. “Just…Dave, please. Hear me. I need you to…” choking, shaking, more and more blood. “Listen.”

Don’t think about this: “I am, Leigh. I am.” Or this: “I love you,” she says, “it’s always been you.” And never think about this: “Ours,” she chokes, “take care of…” Gagging. “He’s all I have.”

Please never think of, “Our Kevin,” on her death rattle.

And let the idea of David’s scream as the light dies from the eyes of the love of his life stay long dead.

Don’t think about the hospital. The death certificate. The cops. The custody battle. Kayleigh’s will, leaving Kevin to Tetsuji. Wymack left alone, with no one and nothing, unable to play, or walk, or…do anything at all but wallow, stare at the bottle and wonder if it's his time to become dependent on it like his father because it's his fault. he took his eyes off the road. Kayleigh is dead because of him.

Don’t think about bubbly Abby popping into his life at his PT, or the guilt he feels when feeling start to emerge, or the first time he gets back onto a court after the funeral and it’s not with a racquet in his hands or on his own to feet, but in a wheelchair in front of high schoolers looking horrified to see what Kayleigh Day’s mentee has become.

Don’t think about the vow he makes to himself: to save, heal, and help those in need before he drops a contract before Bryan Seth Gordon and says, “You in?”

Don’t think about him learning the truth about Kayleigh’s death from Kevin so, so many years later and feeling guilty about the flood of relief that comes over him because it wasn't his fault, not really.

And for your own sanity, don’t think about him putting the puzzle pieces together of what she was trying to tell him about Kevin when the boy himself, no longer a boy but a man, comes into his office after a long, perilous year, and says, “she lied to you. You’re my father,” as Kevin hands him the letter.

Just…for the sake of all that is happy in this world, don’t look to deep into a mysterious bad hip that never got explained.

P.S.: Don’t think about 7y/o Kevin being told his mother is dead either.

[chloe--bug]

The hurt is so big and painful inside of me, what should I do?

When I was a little girl, my father would give me a rake and instruct me to make a huge pile out of the fallen autumn leaves in our yard. Sometimes, we would pick up all of the leaves and put them in big, thick, paper bags. On especially happy nights, when it was cool and dark outside and I had tired myself out from playing with the neighbors and climbing the tree and touching the dirt, we would make the pile particularly robust so that I could run towards it, and jump onto the cushion of foliage we had just created. The leaves would fly everywhere and I would laugh and laugh and laugh and we wouldn't rake them back up that night. On a night like tonight, I wish I knew where my journals from 2007 are. I'd like to know how little me described that moment in her writing. I know it was magical, but I no longer think in the same language I did when I was so young.

When I was a little girl, my father would give me the rake, and I would jump into the pile, and I would drink a glass of milk at the soft wooden kitchen table with my name scratched into it, and my mother would brush my hair, and I would put my toys where they belonged, and I would kneel beside my bed to pray before I slept.

I no longer live in a house with a backyard, and I don't own a rake, and the kitchen table is soft (I found it at Goodwill for $10) but it's much smaller and it doesn't have my name, or anyone's, scratched into it. There is no one here to care for me now that I have broken bones. There is no one here to sing me to sleep when I'm awake and upset past bedtime. So much happens every week. I'm worried that I am not tending to my physical or emotional pain because I have forgotten how to slow down. I looked at the calendar and I cried. All of the time I depended on is up, things have to happen now, and I can't even find the time to crawl under my bed and collect my cat's toys, or to lie down and rest my weary, weary, body, or to sit and feel the pain of everything that has happened.

I realize that I am, by nature, a tender, thoughtful girl, but my dedication to pleasing others before myself has forced me to bear this very silently. I know that it is sweet that I feel in the way that I do. I really do have so, so much love in my heart, but I also carry a lot of worry which is probably directly correlated to the love. I worry that I do not love in the right direction, or that I will love the biggest in the moments I am crying myself to sleep. I am carrying these things very close to my chest, and it is all beginning to ache so intolerably hard. I find it troublesome that I feel incapable of letting any of my sufferings be real to anyone else. They have grown to be everything I see – the hospital bracelet is on the floor because it hurts too much to pick it up, and the bowl and spoon are on my bedside table, and the poor, sweet, quiet cat climbs over my piles of unfolded laundry to come cuddle with me. It is all becoming too much for me, yet my voice echoes quieter and quieter down the corridor of reality. I am letting this hurt swallow me from the inside.

I know what I want. I feel lucky to faithfully believe that I deserve all of it and more, and yet... I am too frightened to ask for it. I have become the sad type of person that would rather ponder forever the things she wishes she could express than just voice them out loud. I closed my eyes and pictured myself saying it all, and it was as though a cloudy mass began to exit my body, pulled by a string, freeing me of the weight of everything that keeps me so miserable when I'm alone. I could feel it so deeply, but the thought of acting on this daydream, subsequently forcing everyone in my life to have to deal with everything I want to unload on them, pains me in a wholly unique way.

Regardless of what I choose to do, soon many things will change. I find solace in the thought that maybe this will fix the problem – I will have a new job, he might leave Savannah forever, I will have some time to luxuriate in things like sweeping the halls and reading alone in my clean bedroom. But when I am being intimately sincere with myself, I have to concede that these developments will not absolve me of the affliction of my heart. They will not relieve the sting of feeling so underloved as I do now. What should I do? How could I cherish myself in this time of so much discomfort? Where do I start, getting the cloudy mass out of my body that I want so badly to just be my own?

I will see the sun in the morning and the leaves on the front lawn and be reminded of the still evenings spent jumping onto the leaves, but I know that I will not thoroughly relish any of it before I choose to unburden myself of this hurt. It is so big and painful inside of me, I need to know, what should I do?

[audkitty]

I ran across this Etsy last night and I cannot stop thinking about it.

They’re handmade glass beads shaped like cats. You can order standard ones, or you can customize for $150ish. Currently out of my price range but I’ve bookmarked it on my phone anyway.

It got me thinking about the cats I’ve lived with, and eventually I want a memorial bead of all of them. I decided to lost them out:

Tigressa: gray tabby. She would catch rats and eat the head, then leave their bodies outside my bedroom door for me. She would let me dress her up in doll clothes. My mom would feed her marshmallows (the old ones made with pork gelatin, not the newer ones made with corn starch).

Sherry: calico. I was in kindergarten and I heard her crying during recess. At lunchtime she was still crying. I sat down in front of her hiding spot and would meow back to her. Eventually she came out, and let me pick her up. I carried her back to class, and my teacher had no idea what to do. Eventually she told me to take the cat and my backpack and go outside to wait for my older brother. He fell in love, and she became his cat.

Pantera: black kitten. My mom loves black cats, and Pantera was no exception. She was very ill, and needed an iron-rich diet. My mom would buy high quality beef liver, and ask the cook to prepare it for the cat. She died at 18 months.

Doraemon: Manx, gray tabby with white belly and feet. We found out my mom was allergic to cats but she didn’t care, and adopted him. He was easily the cleverest cat I’ve ever seen and would come when I called him. He spent a lot of time with the neighbor, and when they moved they took him with them.

Felix: tuxedo cat. He was the neighbor’s cat and would spend his time in our house. He was a grumpy old man who would gather the neighborhood kittens and bring them home to us. His owner was elderly and ill, and when she moved to a convalescent home she asked us to take care of Felix. He was already a senior by then, and lived with us another 10 years. My brother keeps his cremains.

Fauna: white. She was the kitten who stayed. One thanksgiving my mom left the turkey to defrost in the sink overnight, and Fauna broke into the packaging and ate an entire leg. We found her in the morning purring loudly with a belly so distended with turkey she looked pregnant. The neighbors adopted her and renamed her Blanca. They were a better fit together, and we knew she would be happy.

Danny: Russian blue. My ex’s cat who adopted me. He slept on my pillow and would knead tangles into my hair every night. When the baby was born they would follow each other around. The baby would crawl into the cat basket, and the cat would crawl into the baby rocker. He died during surgery to remove a urinary blockage. He got sick when we were out of town and by the time we knew something was wrong it was too late. I carried guilt over his death for 10 years.

Paco: Russian blue mix, white locket. My best friend. He’s listed in the acknowledgments of my thesis. I adopted him during COVID. He was already elderly, showing signs of arthritis and kidney disease. He loves snow and catnip and his favorite color is yellow. His intestinal cancer is in remission, but we know he’s on borrowed time and we do everything we can to make sure his time with us is happy. He also sleeps on my pillow.

Luna: piebald. My daughter’s cat, my grandkitty, who lived with me for about a year. Spunky and curious about everything, but the most loving creature I’ve ever met. Fiercely protective of my daughter, when my daughter had a broken heart Luna would sit by her in bed and watch over her while she slept. She turned my home upside down, and left a big empty hole when she moved back in with my daughter.

[pearlsephoni]

Under the Lights of Paris

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: AsaNoya (Asahi/Nishinoya), background DaiSuga (Daichi/Suga)

Characters: Asahi Azumane, Yu Nishinoya, brief appearances from Daichi Sawamura and Koshi Sugawara

Word Count: 18,479

Summary: In a desperate bid to reintroduce some adventure and excitement into his life, Asahi tags along with Nishinoya to the next stop on his Great World Tour: Paris, one of the fashion capitals of the world. But a trip to the City of Love with his high school crush ends up reintroducing something else into Asahi’s life. Maybe this time, he’ll have the courage to see things through.

Written for @hqtimeskipbb!

A/N: Thank you so much to the moderators for organizing this event! And all my love and gratitude to my incredible team! Myeu (@myeuphorio) drew an absolutely stunning piece of art to accompany this story, and Andie (@fireheartaw) has been the world's kindest beta reader throughout this process. This story couldn't have happened without your hard work and endless support.

Asahi Azumane was feeling stuck.

“I’ve been feeling stuck.” His announcement received dead stares from Suga and Daichi. “What?”

“You? Have been feeling stuck?” Suga parroted back at him.

“…Yes?”

“You? Ye of glass heart, who managed to move to the Big City and pursue his dreams despite nearly bailing several times out of sheer anxiety?”

“‘Ye,’” Daichi snorted into his coffee. “Ok, Mr. Literature Teacher.”

“To elementary schoolers, and that’s not the point.” Suga waved away Daichi’s grin before pointing an accusatory finger at Asahi. “You feel stuck? Mr. Fashion Designer in the big city? You’re telling this to us? The guys who stayed in our hometown?”

“I’m proud of my job,” Daichi protested.

“So am I.”

“And I like our life here.”

“So do I, but that’s not the point,” Suga sighed with a fond smile and a squeeze at Daichi’s hand. “The point is that Asahi took the biggest risk out of us, and now he’s the one who feels stuck?”

“That’s not— I didn’t mean—” Asahi shoved his hair behind his ear with a frown. “I like my life, I do. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. It’s just…I worked so hard to achieve what I have, and now it’s just…just…nothing’s changed!”

The couple’s brows raised with unnerving synchronization. “What do you mean?” Daichi asked.

“Like…you guys moved in together and got a cat. Hinata came back from Brazil and is playing like some sort of volleyball god now? Kageyama went to the Olympics and he’ll probably end up going again, because that’s just the level he’s at. Noya hasn’t stayed in the same country for more than a year, he’s already planning his next stop after Italy.”

“Ooooh, where?”

“Not the point, Koshi.” Daichi looked far too pleased at the chance to fling Suga’s words back at him.

“The point is,” Asahi declared, “that nothing’s changed for me since I landed this job. No promotions, no new apartments, I haven’t even dated—”

“You could, you just don’t want to.”

“Suga.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Just…I dunno,” Asahi sighed. “I think I need a change of scenery. Mix things up a little, just for a bit, y’know?”

Silence fell over the table, broken only by the sounds of quiet sips of coffee and tea. It was a fair response. Asahi wouldn’t have known what to say if either of his friends had brought up a similar problem to him.

Which was why the sight of Suga suddenly straightening with a twinkle in his eye made both hope and dread crawl up Asahi’s throat. “Why don’t you tag along with Nishinoya?”

“...What?”

Suga was probably the only person in the world who could weather a unified exclamation and stares of disbelief from two grown men. “What? Why not? Asahi, you said you’re feeling stuck. What better way to escape that than to go overseas for a bit? Do some traveling! I’m sure Nishinoya would love to have you join him, and that way you won’t have to stress out about doing all the planning and traveling by yourself.”

“I…I…” Asahi found himself at a loss. The idea was crazy, but it also made sense. Par for the course for Suga, honestly.

And yet…something about the idea made a nervous reluctance settle in Asahi’s belly like a rock. It must’ve shown on his face, because Daichi frowned and said with quiet authority, “Give us one good reason it wouldn’t work.”

“I…” His fingers tightened around his paper cup, and the bustle of the cafe blended in with the buzzing in his ears until he could barely hear his own words. “I’d just hold him back.”

Suga’s lips pressed into a thin line as a soft sigh huffed from his nose. “Just ask him, Asahi. You know Noya doesn’t mince words. If he’d rather keep traveling by himself, then he’ll say so.”

“Yeah…yeah, I guess.”

He appreciated his friends’ advice, he did. But when he bid them goodbye and got on the train back to Tokyo, he’d already decided he wouldn’t take Suga’s suggestion. And when he answered a video call from Nishinoya that night and was greeted by him looking luminous on the shores of Italy, his decision turned into certainty.

“Asahi-saaaaaan!!” Nishinoya shouted, a blinding smile stretching across his face. “It’s not too late over there, right?”

“Hey, Noya,” Asahi laughed as he toed off his shoes. “It’s a little late, but I just got home. How about you, what’ve you been up to? More marlin fishing?”

“You go marlin fishing one time…” A dramatic sigh huffed out of Nishinoya, before a sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “Ok, maybe a little. But I’ve mostly been getting ready for my next stop!”

“Really? Do I get to know where? Or are you going to surprise me with a video of you bungee jumping from the top of the Eiffel Tower?”

Nishinoya blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m going to Paris?”

It was Asahi’s turn to blink. “You…you are?”

A laugh burst out of Nishinoya. “Yeah, man! What’re you, psychic? Yeah, I’m heading over there next month.”

“Done with Italy already?”

“It’s been a really good couple of months…but I’m ready for the next.”

“Paris, huh…” The city of lights. One of the fashion capitals of the world. Full of some of the prettiest architecture Asahi had ever seen. He’d never mentioned it to anyone, but he did nurse an impossible dream to visit one day.

Except maybe it wasn’t impossible. Here was a chance, staring him right in the face: a trip to Paris with an old friend, a friend he missed.

“Asahi-san?” The quiet call of his name tugged his attention back to his phone, and he felt his cheeks warm at the concern lining Nishinoya’s face. “You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, just…thinking…” Ask him. Just ask him. “Hey, Noya?”

“Yeah?”

“I have…I have an idea. And you can say no! Please don’t feel like you have to agree to just make me feel better, I don’t want—”

“Asahi-san.” The concern on Nishinoya’s face was replaced by an amused grin. “I don’t even know what you want to ask.”

“Right. Sorry.” He winced at his automatic apology, and he could see Nishinoya’s smile broaden. “Just…well, not ‘just,’ it’s kind of a big ask, but…” If he doesn’t want to, he’ll say so. Just ask. “Can I come to Paris? With you?”

All emotion drained from Nishinoya, leaving him with only wide eyes and parted lips. “You…you want to come to Paris?”

“Yes? I mean, yes, yes, I do.”

“With me?”

“Yes…unless you don’t want me to, I know you’re used to traveling by yourself, and I have no idea what I’m doing, and I’d probably hold you back—”

“Asahi-san, what?”

“What?”

“Yes, of course I want you to come!” Asahi’s hand shot out to hold his phone away, Nishinoya’s shouts ringing loudly through the apartment. “Dude, what the hell?! Why were you so worried? D’you have any idea how much I miss you?”

A breathless laugh escaped Asahi, relief and excitement bubbling up in him with every word from Nishinoya. “Really?”

“Yes! Holy shit, ok, let’s plan this now, when would you want to come over? Will you be good with work and everything? How long do you want to stay?”

“I, ah…I hadn’t planned that far ahead.”

“So let’s plan now! I’m not gonna give you a chance to get cold feet on me, we need to figure this out ASAP. I’m getting close to my hostel, hang on—”

The next thing Asahi knew, he was shooting off emails to work requesting time off, looking at the cheapest flights he could find, asking a coworker to take care of his plants and keep an eye on his apartment, and making sure he actually had the money for a last-minute trip like this. The only thing Nishinoya insisted on taking care of himself was their accommodation. “Leave this part to an expert!”

By the time they hung up, the call had lasted well over two hours and it was later than Asahi had been up since college. But he didn’t feel tired. When he went to bed, he laid awake for another hour, exhilaration buzzing under his skin. He’d done it. He’d asked. And Noya said yes. And now he was going to Paris with him.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to the ceiling. “I’m going to Paris.”

————————————  ————————————

The next month felt like it both lasted forever and passed in a flash, a confusing blur of excitement and dread as Asahi muddled his way through packing, then unpacking, then repacking-but-less-this-time-for-real, then looking at travel recommendations and tips and tricks for Paris. Yes, Nishinoya was going to be there as his guide and companion. But he wouldn’t have felt true to himself if he didn’t needlessly stress over something that was supposed to excite him.

By the time he was on the flight to Paris, he’d been talked out of bailing on the whole trip at least three separate times by Daichi and Suga, and then an extra time by Nishinoya, presumably because the couple had snitched on Asahi. “If you don’t get over here, I’m going to fly back to Japan just to kick your ass myself.”

“You say that like it’d be a bad thing.”

“Try me, Asahi-san.”

So he got on the flight, despite the heavy weight of anxious dread in the bottom of his stomach. It was nothing new - he’d felt the same weight when he made his move to Tokyo - but he hated the way it robbed him of the joy these experiences were supposed to give him. He was only going for two weeks. This wasn’t a drastic life change. It was a trip with an old friend who he missed very much.

Well…Nishinoya wasn’t just an old friend. A fact Asahi did his best not to dwell on too much. A fact that ended up rearing to the front of his mind when he emerged in Arrivals and saw Nishinoya in person for the first time in…he didn’t know how long.

Seeing him over video call for the past two years couldn’t have prepared him for the moment their eyes landed on each other and Nishinoya’s face split into the brightest smile Asahi had seen since high school. Just like that, the weight in his stomach vanished, and his breath finally came a little easier. “Asahi-saaaan!”

Asahi barely had time to drop his backpack to the floor before Nishinoya barreled into him, arms wrapped tight around him and head tucked perfectly beneath his chin. When he spoke, his words were muffled by Asahi’s sweater. “Holy shit, you’re really here.”

“So are you,” Asahi breathed on a soft laugh, arms tight around Nishinoya’s shoulders. They felt much broader since the last time he’d held them, during their last team huddle his third year. “It’s so good to see you, Mr. Worldwide.”

“You too— wait.” Nishinoya pulled away with a small frown. “Did you just give me Pitbull’s nickname?”

His eyes widened in horror. “I…not on purpose?”

A laugh barked out of Nishinoya, and his bright smile was back on his face as though it had never left. “Man, I’ve missed you. Is this all you brought?”

“I brought a checked bag, but otherwise that’s it. Wait, you don’t have to—”

Nishinoya was already swinging Asahi’s backpack over his shoulder and making his way to the luggage claim, leaving Asahi to sheepishly run after him. “I wanted to get us a nicer place than a hostel for your big trip abroad, so I found a little apartment around the corner from Notre Dame,” Nishinoya was saying when Asahi caught up to him, “but I kinda fucked up and got us a place with one bed and one fold-out bed? You’re getting the actual bed, of course, but I just wanted to let you know before we got there.”

“Wait wait wait.” Asahi caught the handle of the backpack and made Nishinoya slow down with a small tug. “I’m not getting the bed. You planned out this whole trip, you should get the bed.”

“I’m used to shitty beds, Asahi-san!”

“So you agree the foldout’s a shitty bed.”

“That’s not—”

“And stop calling me Asahi-san, I’m only a year older than you.”

“Then should I call you Azumane?”

“What? No, call me Asahi!”

“That feels weird!”

“What do you mean— oh hey, my bag!”

Without him realizing it, they’d made it to the luggage carousel, and the bags from his flight were already drifting past on the conveyor belt. Before Nishinoya could get the chance to grab his bag, Asahi leapt forward and tugged the bright green suitcase off the belt. He couldn’t help the proud grin that tugged at his lips when he turned back to his friend. “Alright. Ready to go?”

There was a strange look on Nishinoya’s face, his eyes sharp over flushed cheeks, but at Asahi’s words he grinned back. “Sure. Taxi, bus, or train?”

“Huh? Ah—”

“I’m kidding, let’s get a taxi. My treat!”

“Oh no you don’t—”

When he’d planned this trip, he didn’t anticipate the first hour of it to be so full of arguments. They argued over who lifted the suitcase into the taxi trunk, who paid the driver, who lugged the suitcase up the stairs to the apartment, and who got the better bed again. Yet through it all, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Bantering with and getting teased by Nishinoya was so much better in person, when he could really watch those brown eyes flutter open after being squeezed shut in laughter, and feel the gentle shove of his fist against his shoulder.

“When did you get so assertive, Asahi-san?”

“I can’t be that assertive if you’re still winning our arguments.”

Nishinoya grinned from where he reclined on the fold-out bed, legs propped up on the stack of couch cushions beside it. “Aw, c’mon, I let you carry your bag up here, right?”

“After you paid for the cab.”

He waved off Asahi’s words, though his grin looked a little more proud. “I’ll let you pay for dinner. Let’s head out after you take a shower! You can’t waste your first night in Paris!”

A playful frown curved over Asahi’s face. “Shower? Are you saying I smell?”

“I’m saying I still feel gross after long trips, and I’ve been doing this longer than you.” Nishinoya’s eyes turned a little mischievous as he reached up to rest a gentle hand on Asahi’s shoulder. “And you do smell like stale planes.”

A surprised laugh burst from Asahi, and he gave a soft smack to Nishinoya’s hand. “Point taken, you jerk.”

He was right, of course: a shower was exactly what Asahi needed after the long flight, waking him up from his jetlagged drowsiness and making him feel a little more human, even though the tight space of the bathroom made the shower feel more like contortionist practice to him. He had no choice but to escape to the bedroom to have enough space to change, though the trip took him through the living room and past where Nishinoya was still lounging on the fold-out bed. “Hey, Asahi-san, what did you want for— oh.”

Asahi froze, his damp hair making a small puddle form at his feet and creating trails of water along his body that soaked into the towel wrapped around his waist. “Ah, sorry, the bathroom—”

“You’re fine, go get changed.”

He was more than happy to obey, but as he tugged on a light sweater and khakis and did his best to towel off his hair, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nishinoya’s wide eyes and pink cheeks. His own cheeks warmed, and he could only hope his flush wasn’t too obvious when he stepped back into the living room. “Sorry again about—”

“It’s fine, dude, I get it,” Nishinoya interrupted with a small smile. “Now. How about some dinner?”

Asahi didn’t realize his shoulders were tense until they were relaxing, and a relieved smile pulled at his lips. “What’s good for a Parisian dinner?”

A low whistle blew out of Nishinoya’s lips. “Don’t ask that outside of these walls, you could do some real damage!”

They ended up deciding on a small restaurant with outdoor seating that treated them to a beautiful view of Notre Dame. The view came with a price, but— “It’s fine cuz you’re paying, right?”

Asahi sighed at Nishinoya’s teasing grin. “Yeah, I’m paying.”

Dinner was delicious, a starter of escargot and olives followed by a small steak and roasted vegetables, and finished with a shared creme brulee. They sipped at a dry red wine throughout the meal, and by the time their dessert spoons fell into the empty ramekin, Asahi felt a steady warmth settle over his body like an extra sweater. He wasn’t used to the way red wine made him feel, like he could both fall asleep on the spot and run the entire length of the Seine off the energy buzzing through him. His eyes slid to Nishinoya and found him blinking slowly at Notre Dame with a rosiness over his cheeks, and fondness spread soft through him when those dark eyes found his. “You doing alright?”

“Mm…yep!” Just like that, the haziness left Nishinoya’s eyes, and he straightened in his seat with a sharp grin. “It’ll take more than wine to take me down for the night! What about you?”

“I think wine after a long flight wasn’t my best idea,” Asahi hummed, “but I’m doing alright.”

“Good. I want us to go on a walk after this!”

“Now?” Asahi could hear the start of a whine enter his voice. “Isn’t it a little late?”

“The night’s still young, Asahi-san! And we need to get you adjusted to the time zone.”

Asahi could’ve sat at the table and looked up at Notre Dame for the rest of the night, but after he paid for their meal, Nishinoya led him to a nearby bridge that would take them to the plaza in front of the cathedral…only to run ahead and strike a pose in the middle of the bridge.

“Bienvenue a la ville de l’amour!” Nishinoya loudly announced in what was, as far as Asahi could tell, nearly-flawless French, earning some bemused glances from passersby.

Asahi could only laugh. Here they were, in one of the most beautiful cities he had ever seen, and somehow Nishinoya’s presence still couldn’t be contained. The lights of Paris were warm, covering everything in a golden glow and creating glittering reflections in the Seine, and in the center of it all was Nishinoya, smiling almost as widely as his flung-out arms, as though he were presenting his own creation to Asahi.

He looked…beautiful. His hair had been blown loose by the nighttime breeze, his cheeks were still rosy from the wine, his smile was huge and goofy, and he was standing in the center of the bridge, unintentionally forcing passersby to skirt around him. Notre Dame shone just down the river, and Asahi still thought Nishinoya was the prettiest sight in the city.

Maybe it was the jet lag speaking. But he didn’t think that jet lag could make that observation settle firm and warm in his chest. He didn’t realize he was standing there, silently staring at Nishinoya, until the other man blinked with a small, confused frown and called out, “Asahi-san?”

“Hm?”

“You alright?”

“Ah, yeah, just…admiring the view.” The words slipped out before Asahi could ponder the wisdom of saying them. And just like that, Nishinoya was rendered speechless. His eyes widened and a blush colored his cheeks, just faint enough that Asahi couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing under the Paris lights. “By the way,” he said as he stepped up to Nishinoya’s side, eager to change the subject, “since when do you speak French?”

“Oh, I don’t!” The question snapped Nishinoya out of his surprise, and he grinned at Asahi’s raised eyebrows. “I mean, I know the basic phrases and stuff, and I try to at least get conversational in the language when I stay somewhere. But for the first few weeks, I’m stuck with English. At least my English has gotten really good!”

“I thought the French didn’t like speaking English.”

“Look who did his research.” Nishinoya grinned up at Asahi’s pink cheeks and gently rocked into his shoulder. “Yeah, they don’t love it. But Parisians are used to tourists, and as long as I lead with a ‘Bonjour’ or something, they don’t tend to mind too much.”

“Are you planning on staying in Paris?”

“Mm…nah, not really. Honestly, I was just going to stay for a week or two, but I decided to stay longer for your trip!”

“Really?!”

“Yeah!” Nishinoya shrugged. “Adjusting my trip by a week is nothing compared to having you here.”

“I…wow. That…that really means a lot, Noya, seriously.” The words didn’t feel like enough, didn’t properly convey the surprise and gratitude welling up in Asahi. But the smile Nishinoya gave him told him the meaning behind his words had reached him.

“Like I said, it was nothing. I’m just excited to share a piece of my life with you, y’know?” He finally came to a stop, and when Asahi stopped beside him, he looked up and found the iconic face of Notre Dame looming above them. His breath caught in his throat, the sight of an image he’d seen his whole life finally standing in front of him rendering him speechless. “Well?” he distantly heard Nishinoya ask, “What do you think?”

“I…I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he murmured.

He heard Nishinoya let out a deep breath, the movement making their sleeves brush against each other for the briefest moment. “Yeah…me too.”

———————————— ————————————

Having a crush was different from feeling doomed. Asahi hadn’t understood that until the Tokyo training camp his third year, when he’d still thought his crush on Nishinoya was something that would just pass.

Then their first morning in Tokyo came, and Asahi had woken up to Nishinoya’s face looming over him with an impossibly sunny smile and a loud, “Wake up, Asahi-saaaaaan!”

And for a moment, for a small, sleep-addled moment, Asahi had thought he was still dreaming, and he could only smile drowsily back. Why else would he be waking up to Nishinoya’s smile, if it wasn’t a dream? It was only when he felt hands pushing him upright that he realized - oh. This was real. As real as the bemusement furrowing Nishinoya’s brows.

It didn’t happen again that week. One week couldn’t make him an early bird, but when he saw Nishinoya smiling down at him each morning, he didn’t make the same mistake. He knew he wasn’t dreaming - Nishinoya was real, and so was the heat in his cheeks and the pounding in his chest.

Now, laying in the apartment’s nice bed in the heart of Paris, Asahi wondered again if he was dreaming. His jet lag had made him wake up earlier and feeling more alert than he was used to, just in time to see the golden light of the sunrise begin to stream into the room, and he could hear Nishinoya humming loudly in the shower. He didn’t know it was possible to feel pleasantly sleepy, but that was the best way he could describe how he felt. Maybe jet lag wasn’t as bad as he’d always heard.

For the first time in…maybe ever, Asahi didn’t feel like drifting back to sleep. He actually rolled out of bed and began getting dressed instead of scrolling on his phone for an hour. When Nishinoya knocked on the door, his call of Asahi’s name was quickly choked off by Asahi himself opening the door, fully dressed and hair neatly tied back. “Woah. You’re awake!”

The genuine surprise in Nishinoya’s wide eyes made Asahi feel strangely bashful, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “I guess the jet lag is kind of helping?”

“Just wait until you go back. It’s always worse going east.” Nishinoya was still toweling off his hair, and when he jerked his head towards the bathroom, Asahi couldn’t help noticing a drop of water trailing down his neck to soak into his shirt collar. “Bathroom’s yours.”

“Ah! G-great, thanks.” He didn’t let himself linger long enough to see if Nishinoya had noticed his wandering eyes.

Breakfast was a small sandwich with a shot of espresso, much less than Asahi was used to having in the morning, yet much more filling than he’d thought it would be. The espresso cup was as small as the tea cups back home, but the tiny handle threw a wrench in the way he held it, and Nishinoya was visibly biting back a smile at the way he struggled to maneuver the cup around. “Please don’t laugh at me.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.”

That made a snort escape Nishinoya, but he didn’t respond beyond making a show of the way he pinched the handle between his finger and thumb. Asahi tried to follow his example. It didn’t help much.

The espresso cup ended up being an omen for the next few days. Paris was beautiful, full of stunning art and architecture and fashion that made Asahi’s fingers itch for his sketchbook, but it also made him feel off-balance. His English was passable at best, his French was nonexistent, and the culture found him blushing more than once at the couples on the street.

He felt like he was back in high school, anxious and easily flustered and in quiet awe of Nishinoya’s easy confidence. Noya moved through the city as though he had been there for years, not a week or two, navigating the metro and asking for guidance in both basic French and incredible English. He could draw smiles and laughs from the locals with just a few sentences, and sometimes he would say something that would direct a smile at Asahi too, though the latter never understood why.

Nishinoya had been traveling for years now. It made sense that he could get adjusted to new countries and cultures and languages so easily. But that didn’t stop Asahi from feeling a strange mix of admiration and insecurity rise in him as days passed.

Still, though…for all of Asahi’s inexperience, Nishinoya never once made him feel like a burden, or like he was holding him back at all. He was determined to make this the best trip possible for Asahi, indulging his requests to see the typical tourist traps and letting him take his time at each one. Even if that meant spending a whole day at the Louvre, slowly winding their way through the palatial museum.

“I didn’t know you liked art,” Asahi remarked when they took a break on one of the benches.

“I…appreciate it. I don’t care about the paintings, honestly. But these…” He waved a hand at the sculptures that surrounded them, all smooth white marble that shone in the sunlight streaming in. “There’s something about sculptures…I dunno what it is.”

“It’s being in the same space as them.” Asahi’s gaze drifted over the sculptures, over the graceful limbs and the fingers that pressed into stone flesh, before they landed on Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss. Their arms encircled each other, Cupid’s fingers gentle on Psyche’s face as they gazed at each other. The tenderness in the piece made something bittersweet lodge in Asahi’s throat, and his voice came out as a murmur. “There’s a tactility to sculpture as an art form that makes it feel a little more real than paintings…at least for me.”

“Is that tactility why you went into fashion?”

His eyes jerked from the forms of Psyche and Cupid to find Nishinoya looking at him with the unflinching gaze that always made him feel uniquely exposed. “I…I guess. I never thought about it like that before, but…yeah, I guess that was part of it. There’s something about creating something that people wear and use on a daily basis, too. Art is always surrounding us because of fashion, no matter where we go. It’s kind of cool, being a part of something like that.”

“‘Kind of,’” Nishinoya echoed with a snort. “It’s really cool, Asahi-san. Seriously.”

The instinct to wave away the compliment was driven off by the genuine admiration shining from those brown eyes. “Thanks,” Asahi ended up laughing with a shy smile. “But I’m still a long ways away from anything I design being worn by anyone.”

“You’ll get there. I know you will.” Before Asahi could say anything, Nishinoya was standing and making his way to Cupid and Psyche. “Is there a story behind these two?”

There was, in fact, a story behind them, a story that Asahi happened to know and was happy to share. He had shared a number of stories during their time in the museum, because Nishinoya always noticed and asked about any pieces that caught Asahi’s eye. Art and mythology weren’t areas that Asahi thought Nishinoya would have any interest in, but that didn’t stop Nishinoya from being an attentive audience, eyes only ever leaving Asahi to peer at details that he pointed out in the pieces.

By the time they left the Louvre, the sun was just starting to set, and their stomachs were demanding a large meal to make up for missing lunch. Asahi tried to apologize for taking so long in the museum, but Nishinoya shrugged his apology off. “Nah, man, it was cool! Listening to you talk made it way more interesting.”

“Still—”

“This is your trip, Asahi-san. I want you to see and do everything you want in Paris! If that means endless museums, then we can visit endless museums!”

Asahi rolled his eyes, though he felt deeply touched by the sentiment. “There’s one more museum I really want to see, and then we can be done with them. No endless museums.” He let Nishinoya finish snickering before he continued, “I came to see you too, Noya. This is a trip for both of us.”

The amusement slid off of Nishinoya’s face, replaced by a startled happiness. “...Alright. But I’m still gonna get you to that other museum.”

For all Nishinoya’s grandstanding, the trip wasn’t all sightseeing. Paris was a big city, and sometimes they had no choice but to use the metro to get from one site to another. But whenever they could help it, they walked, chatting quietly as they wandered along the cobblestone streets and the banks of the Seine. Sometimes they planned their next few stops or the next day, and sometimes they just…caught up, talking about everything and nothing.

Those were the times that Nishinoya’s expertise shone. Any question that Asahi asked, Nishinoya seemed to have an answer, whether it was on the differences in architecture or city planning or the smaller pieces of arts that were sprinkled around the city. He was a far cry from the boy who could barely pass his finals.

“I like to do my research before I travel somewhere,” he said with a shrug when Asahi voiced his amazement. “The locals open up much more when you can show that you have an appreciation for their language and culture, even if you don’t speak the language super well.”

“This goes a little beyond ‘appreciation,’ don’t you think?”

Nishinoya’s sheepish smile was betrayed by the proud glimmer in his eyes. “Well…maybe I wanted to impress you a little, too.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You’re the first person outside of my family to travel with me. I wanted to make sure you had a good time.”

“But…Noya, I…” A shy laugh huffed out of Asahi. “It’s just me. You know I’m easy to please.”

“It’s because it’s you, Asahi-san.”

Every so often Nishinoya would say something like that, something that made Asahi’s heart jolt and eyes widen. But he said it so casually, already talking about the next topic by the time the words fully sank in for Asahi, leaving him no chance to try and clarify their meaning.

Not that he would’ve anyway. Asking for clarification would’ve felt too close to admitting that he still felt something more than friendship for Nishinoya, which he didn’t. He didn’t. He hadn’t since he’d graduated high school, and he certainly wasn’t going to rekindle those feelings now.

Nishinoya did eventually end up leading them to the other museum on Asahi’s wishlist, despite his insistence that they didn’t need to go. It was the Palais Galliera, the most important fashion museum in Paris, a hefty title to bear in one of the fashion capitals of the world.

“Here’s what we can do,” Nishinoya proposed on their walk to the museum. “I want you to enjoy yourself and take as much time as you want in there, but I know if I go with you, you’ll be worrying about me getting bored.”

“Because you would get bored.”

Nishinoya shrugged at Asahi’s raised brows. “Yeah, well…that’s why I was thinking that while you get your inspiration on, I could go and get us some groceries and plan some more ‘local’ activities for us to do. Deal?”

It wasn’t a bad plan. They’d decided to take advantage of their apartment’s tiny kitchen to try and cut down on their food costs, treating themselves to simple breakfasts and dinners that were the closest approximations to Japanese cooking that they could manage in Paris. They still ate out the majority of their lunches and dinners, but it still made a difference.

Asahi had no doubt that Nishinoya would prefer hunting down illusive ingredients across grocers and markets over being cooped up in a museum, but there was that stubborn guilt pricking at him. He fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag as he thought, the weight of his sketchbook and pencils comforting on his shoulder, before he sighed in acceptance. “Alright. But I’m paying you back for half the groceries, and you plan stuff that you want to do. Don’t just plan around what you think I’d enjoy. This trip—”

”—is for both of us,” Nishinoya finished with a crooked grin. “Let me pay for the groceries and you pay for lunch. Then we’ve got a deal.”

He held out his hand as if they were actually making a business deal, and as Asahi took it, he couldn’t help letting out a small laugh. “Deal.”

Nishinoya was right, of course. Asahi would’ve preferred having his company, but by himself, he was able to take his time in each exhibit, pencil moving over the pages of his sketchbook the entire time. He worked entirely in shades of black and grey as he walked through an exhibit, and pulled out his colored pencils when he found an empty bench to work at. He didn’t realize how much time had passed until he received a text from Nishinoya announcing that the groceries were in the apartment, along with the address of a restaurant they could meet at nearby.

It was easy enough to find Nishinoya sitting at a table on the restaurant’s terrace, and when Asahi plopped into the seat across from him, he assumed his raised brows were because he still had his sketchbook out. But instead Nishinoya said, “The man bun’s back!”

“Huh?” Asahi’s hand automatically reached to touch the haphazard bun he’d swept his hair into. “Oh, yeah, it keeps my hair out of my face when I’m working. Does it look bad?” He hadn’t checked a mirror, so it wasn’t hard to imagine how messy it may have looked.

He didn’t expect the smile that crept across Nishinoya’s face. “Nah, not at all. It just takes me back to high school.”

“In…a good way?”

“Always.”

Asahi didn’t know what to say to that. His eyes just widened, and his fingers started fiddling with his sketchbook, reminding him of the unfinished sketches he still had. The reminder was a relief in a way, something to pull his mind away from the sudden bout of shyness he felt. “Oh, would it be rude for me to keep working on these in a restaurant?”

Nishinoya’s fond smile suddenly sharpened into one that reminded Asahi of the way he looked before games in high school. “I’d like to see anyone try to say something.”

Which was how Asahi spent the first part of lunch hunched over his sketchbook, balancing it precariously on his lap while his coloring pencils were spread on the table. He worked quickly, sketching out ideas and scratching color samples next to the sketches to save time, but he was still scrambling to clear away his pencils when the waitress brought their food.

After a week in Paris, he was used to the waiters being spare with their words, with only a few being receptive to Nishinoya’s attempts at starting conversations and getting recommendations. So when this waitress gasped, “Wow!”, Asahi couldn’t stop himself from jumping a little in his seat.

The waitress didn’t seem to notice, her attention fixed on his sketchbook where he had set it on the table. It took a moment before she looked up at Asahi and said something in French.

“I…um…”

“English?”

“A little.”

She smiled in understanding, then said, “Did you draw these?”

“Ah, yes.”

“You are a designer?” Her English was easy to understand despite her accent, but somehow that just made Asahi feel more nervous with his own English.

“I…I am trying to be.”

“You are very good!”

“Thank you.”

She flashed another warm smile before she walked away, and Asahi practically wilted over his bag as he finished packing his pencils…only for him to stiffen in suspicion at Nishinoya’s snort of laughter. “What?”

“She was flirting with you.”

“What?! No, she wasn’t!”

Nishinoya rolled his eyes. “Parisians don’t just strike up conversation with people, not like that. Not unless they’re interested in them.”

“She…she was just being nice!”

The laugh that escaped Nishinoya wasn’t mean-spirited. If anything, he sounded bewildered by his response, though Asahi couldn’t understand why. “How does anyone flirt with you?”

“They, uh…they don’t.”

Nishinoya’s eyebrows raised at that, before a small smile tugged at his lips and his eyes narrowed just enough to make Asahi feel like he’d said the wrong thing. “Nah, they do. You just can’t tell.”

“You sound like Suga,” Asahi scoffed, a little too focused on sliding his sketchbook into his bag.

“Which means I’m right.” Nishinoya met Asahi’s frown with a knowing smile. “You told me yourself, you’ve been so focused on work that you don’t really get out as much.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Dropping everything to come to Paris is different from going out on the town for a night. And besides,” Nishinoya’s eyes dropped to Asahi’s bag, “you haven’t exactly left work behind.”

Asahi couldn’t really say anything to defend himself. Without his sketchbook out, his fingers could only fiddle with his wine glass, and he took a sip just to distract himself from the probing gaze on him.

“When was your last relationship, Asahi-san?”

The question shouldn’t have startled him, coming from Nishinoya, but Asahi still barely kept himself from choking on his wine. “Huh?”

“Sorry,” Nishinoya laughed, sounding almost nervous. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s just…why do you ask?”

“I just kinda realized you never mentioned anyone to me. Not since we got back in touch.”

“Because there hasn’t been anyone.” He expected to feel a pang of embarrassment or the burn of shame that usually came any time he was forced to discuss his love life, or lack thereof.

Neither came. Something about the steadiness in Nishinoya’s warm eyes made him lift his chin as he spoke, though the words still stalled on his lips. “Dating these days…it feels more like job hunting than finding someone I really enjoy spending time with. It’s just hard for me to genuinely like someone enough to want to date them.”

“How many times have you felt that strongly for someone?”

Asahi shrugged. “There was almost someone last year, but we wanted different things”— charming Sanada, with chestnut hair and a bright smile and smooth words that made Asahi feel more attractive than he’d ever felt before —“there was one in college”— sweet Makoto, Asahi’s first and last real relationship, someone he could’ve seen a future with if the future hadn’t come so fast —“and then high school, but that was just a crush.”

Nishinoya suddenly straightened. “High school?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Shit.

“Who did you like in high school? Kiyoko-san?”

Asahi snorted. “No. She was gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but no. My being gay kept that from happening.”

“Oh, true. Who, then?”

He didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed over it. High school was ages ago, and Nishinoya wasn’t the sort of person to hold anything from then against him.

Still, his fingers found their way back to his glass, making the dark wine swirl with his fiddling. His cheeks warmed, until they were so hot he wondered if they matched his drink. “Um…you.”

Nishinoya stilled, his eyes widening and making Asahi remember the quiet focus he only ever had on the court. “…Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Me?!”

“…Yes?”

Energy began to creep out of Nishinoya, from his fingers grabbing at his hair and his leg jiggling under the table. Asahi could tell that if they weren’t sitting at a restaurant, he would’ve been running from the nervous energy crawling through him. “Why didn’t— you— why didn’t you say anything?!”

“To you? Co-president of Shimizu’s fan club? And risk making things awkward on the team?”

“That was— I just—” Nishinoya waved at the air. “Suga-san and Daichi-san made it work! And the Kiyoko-san thing…that was more moral support for Ryuu than anything. I would’ve leapt at the chance to date you, are you kidding?!”

He looked so earnest, so genuinely shocked by the news and disappointed by the missed opportunity. Something warm kindled in Asahi’s chest, and a nervous laugh bubbled out of him. “I didn’t even know you were bi back then.”

“That’s—! That’s…yeah, that’s fair.” Just like that, Nishinoya stilled again, his eyes looking distant. Asahi could’ve sworn he could see his belated confession fully sink in, until Nishinoya huffed a deep sigh and ran his fingers through his hair one last time. “Damn. Our ace had a crush on me. Future star designer Asahi Azumane had a crush on me.”

Asahi had expected him to be surprised and maybe laugh off the news, not…whatever this was. The warmth that had started in his chest was rising, creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks, and to his continued surprise, he could see a matching flush on Nishinoya’s cheeks. “It’s not…I wasn’t that big a deal. You were the Guardian Deity, is it so strange that I had a crush on you?”

“Not strange, just…wow.” A small smile finally tugged at Nishinoya’s lips, the sight making relief wash over Asahi. “The Guardian Deity and Karasuno’s ace. What a pair, huh?”

“Who would’ve guessed we’d be in Paris together?”

Nishinoya let out a delighted laugh, and just like that, the tension that had swelled between them popped like a balloon.

But something lingered. That conversation had changed something between them, and while Asahi couldn’t find the words for it, he could still feel the difference, like everything in their relationship had shifted just a little off-kilter. Not uncomfortable, not bad, just…different.

He could especially feel it later that day when they walked along the Seine, the banks of the river rising around them to let them feel like they were somehow separate from the rest of the city. There were always couples sitting along the water, but Asahi never paid them any mind. He didn’t feel the same bittersweet loneliness that he was used to feeling when he saw couples back home. It was impossible to feel lonely when Nishinoya was at his side, laughing at his quiet jokes and watching him with that focused gaze. Something about those eyes made Asahi feel like he was the only person in the world to Nishinoya, making him feel both deeply flattered and uniquely exposed. After his lunchtime confession, Asahi could feel something else in Nishinoya’s focus, something that he couldn’t find a name for.

“Where are we headed now?” he asked, trying to keep his apprehension out of his voice. “This isn’t the way back to the apartment.”

“Hey, look at you, already learning the city!” The grin Nishinoya shot him didn’t make him feel any less nervous.

“Not well enough to know where we’re going.”

Nishinoya rolled his eyes when he realized Asahi was lagging behind him, before he hooked their arms together and forced him to match his speed. “If you could get out of your head and take a look around, maybe you can figure it out.”

Rude. But Asahi followed the advice, letting Nishinoya cart him along while he looked around at the buildings looming over the riverbanks. That’s when he noticed one building in particular that seemed to be getting larger with every step they took.

“Are we going to the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yep!”

“But…why?”

Nishinoya raised a brow at him. “You’re in Paris and you don’t want to see the Eiffel Tower?”

“I do, but…we’ve been seeing the Eiffel Tower. We can see it everywhere we’ve been going.” He didn’t know how it was possible, but it seemed like some part of the iconic tower was visible no matter where in the city they went, even if it was just a distant view of its top.

“Okay, fair,” Nishionya laughed, “but there’s a light show that happens every night, and we haven’t stopped to really take it in yet, so…figured the light show was as good a time as any to do that.”

Nishinoya used “we,” but Asahi couldn’t shake the feeling that they were going to see the light show for his sake. Nishinoya wasn’t really one for seeking out the typical tourist traps, but in the time that Asahi had been there, they’d been to one almost every night. The thought made guilt start to rise bitter in his throat for the umpteenth time that trip. “Noya, do you want to see it?”

The sigh that left Nishinoya told Asahi that he could detect the guilt behind the question. “Yes, Asahi-san. I want to see it, and I want to see you see it. I like seeing the city through your eyes.” He squeezed the arm that was hooked with his and met Asahi’s eyes, and with that alone, Asahi knew there was no space for questions. They were seeing the lights of the Eiffel Tower.

The sun had begun to set as they walked, and by the time Nishinoya steered them to a staircase that took them back to street level, night had fallen over the city. The Eiffel Tower was glowing, and even though it had been a constant companion throughout the trip, Asahi could still feel his breath catch at the sight of it towering over them, lit up so bright his eyes stung. Or maybe that was the threat of tears.

“Asahi-san.” His eyes jerked away from the tower to find Nishinoya watching with a small smile. “C’mon, let’s get out of the way of the stairs.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry.” That smile tilted down a bit, enough for Asahi to catch himself. “Or…not sorry?”

Nishinoya just snorted and led them down the wall that blocked off the river banks below. He didn’t seem to have any intention of unhooking their arms, and Asahi didn’t, either. It felt natural to be this close to him, arms looped together and shoulders brushing with every step.

“Here,” Nishinoya eventually announced. “How’s this view?”

There were still some people milling around them, but it wasn’t nearly as crowded as the pseudo-festival area at the base of the tower, and they could see the full spread of lights without anything getting in the way of their view. “It’s perfect.”

“Good.” Asahi didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, and he could feel a smile spreading across his own face. How could he not smile? For all his anxiety and overthinking, he was still here, in Paris, with one of his oldest and best friends, looking up at one of the most iconic buildings in the world.

And then the lights started flickering, a series of bulbs blinking up and down the entire tower. It was glittering, sparkling, the lights creating a dance that was almost a visual siren’s call. Without realizing what he was doing, Asahi moved forward, and he distantly noticed Nishinoya’s arm falling from his as he leaned against the wall.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, gazing up at the light show and unable to look at anything else. The world felt like it was just him, the glittering tower, and the warm presence of Nishinoya at his side. Eventually, the blinking bulbs slowed, going from glittering to slow flashes, and then, finally, stilling completely. Only then did Asahi realize his view of the lights was blurry from tears.

His hands shot up to wipe at his eyes, and he could hear a soft laugh escape Nishinoya. “Did you like the show?”

“Clearly,” Asahi murmured with a wavering chuckle. “It was beautiful.”

“Yeah…it was.” Asahi lowered his hands and found Nishinoya watching him with a small smile again.

They’d just watched one of the most iconic buildings in the world light up in a stunning light show, and yet…looking at Nishinoya now, Asahi felt like he was looking at a work of art. Something about the way the lights softened the curves of his face reminded him of the sculpture of Cupid and Psyche, of the lovers’ tenderness that had left something aching in him.

He didn’t ache now. There was something else blooming in his chest as he watched a few blonde hairs touch Nishinoya’s eyelashes and make him blink rapidly with a confused frown, and before he could stop himself, Asahi was reaching out to brush the stray strands out of his eyes.

Nishinoya’s eyes widened just as Asahi’s fingers froze, barely grazing the tip of his ear. “Sorry!” Asahi gasped, jerking his hand back. “Your hair was just— you looked uncomfortable, so I— sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I appreciated it.” Nishinoya’s smile was reassuring, and there was something extra in the warmth of his eyes that made something in Asahi’s gut jolt.

Despite Nishinoya’s reassurance, Asahi could feel a strange energy buzzing through him as they walked back to the apartment, and he thought it was buzzing in the air between them too, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t feel sure of anything - ever since lunch, he’d felt slightly off-balance, like he was trapped in the moment of panic when he missed a step on a staircase. Except this felt better, somehow.

It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

———————————— ————————————

The next day marked one week since Asahi had landed in Paris, which meant it was time for them to leave tourist mode and enter Nishinoya Mode.

“I can’t believe you guys laughed at me for ‘Rolling Thunder’ when that is the sort of name you can think of,” Nishinoya scoffed.

“What? We’re gonna be living more like how you usually do, right? So…Nishinoya Mode.” He was partially joking - it was surprisingly fun to tease Nishinoya.

“You’re so lame, Asahi-san.” His words didn’t sting, not when they were accompanied by such a sunny smile.

Nishinoya Mode wasn’t as exciting as the name may have suggested. Instead of hunting down a tourist site and seeing iconic landmarks, their days were filled with errands and wandering around the city, occasionally splitting up for Nishinoya to look into gigs and Asahi to start to catch up on work. At night, they did still look for new places, though now those places were restaurants and bars, not once-in-a-lifetime sights.

On the third night of Nishinoya mode, he managed to convince Asahi to sit right at the bar, chatting easily with the bartender, who looked at Asahi’s red ears with clear amusement.

“She’s saying we might need something stronger than beer to loosen you up,” Nishinoya murmured with a grin.

“I thought beer was this place’s specialty?”

“It is. That’s how you know you look tense.”

Asahi frowned at the clear fun Nishinoya was having with teasing him, though he couldn’t begrudge him, not really. “I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me with the bartender.”

A delighted laugh barked out of Nishinoya, before he said something to the bartender in a mix of English and French. Whatever he said made a similar laugh burst from the bartender, and she replied with two glasses of beer and a gesture at Asahi.

“She said not to worry, it just means we’ll be good business for them…or something like that, I’m not sure.”

Asahi chanced a look at the bartender, and found her waiting for him with a smile and a wink before she moved on to the next customer. “...Ah.”

“You’re gonna make half the waitstaff of Paris fall for you at this rate,” Nishinoya scoffed. He didn’t mean to be mean, Asahi knew him better than that, but it was still startling to see the bitterness lining his smile, along with…was that jealousy? No. It couldn’t be.

“Who knew an anxious grown man would be such a hit?”

That made a genuine chuckle leave Nishinoya, melting away the harsh lines on his face. “You’d be surprised.”

The bartender was quick to realize Asahi didn’t return her interest, but she was still friendly and generous with the beer. There was a reason the beer was the bar’s specialty - it was surprisingly refreshing, and went down smooth, without leaving behind as much bitterness as Asahi was used to.

Time seemed to melt away as they sipped at the beer and chatted, somehow still not running out of things to talk about after over a week together. The few times the bartender chatted with them, she taught them a random French vocab word or two. Maybe it was because of the beer, but Asahi’s embarrassment over his butchered pronunciation felt worth it to hear Nishinoya’s giggles.

They didn’t realize how much beer they’d had, nor how late it was, until Asahi glanced at his watch and was met with wavering numbers. “Noya,” he murmured, getting his attention with a clumsy hand on his shoulder, “Noya, we should go. It’s late.”

The beginning of a pout started forming on Nishinoya’s lips, before he caught sight of Asahi’s watch and his face changed to surprise. “Oh! Shit, yeah, let’s go. I think they’re closing soon.”

Asahi slid out of his stool first, and was pushing it in when he heard a cry from behind him. He turned just as Nishinoya began to fall, and his hands managed to shoot out and catch him before he hit the floor.

“Holy shit.” The words left Nishinoya on a gasp as he clung to Asahi, staring wide-eyed at the stool.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, my foot just got stuck on—” Nishinoya’s eyes left the stool to look up at him, and Asahi suddenly realized how close their faces were.

Time seemed to slow for a breath, as he became aware of everything at once: his arms secure around Nishinoya, the hands holding his shoulders, the brush of their chests against each other with each breath, the rosiness of Nishinoya’s cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat over his face that made him look like he was glowing in the bar lights, and his lips…his lips were still parted from his gasp, looking as soft as Asahi had always imagined.

And he realized, in a flash of clarity, that he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Nishinoya so badly, he thought he could pass out from it. It would be so easy. There were only a few centimeters between them, it would be nothing to close that space, if he just—

“Asahi?”

The soft voice was all he needed to come back to himself with a jolt. “Ah! God, sorry, I don’t— I just—” He lingered just long enough to make sure Nishinoya was stable on his feet, before he pulled away. “Sorry, just…the beers, and…sorry.”

“Why’re you apologizing?”

“Because—” What could he say? How could he explain himself? How was he supposed to admit that his past high school crush turned out to be very current, that he wanted to kiss Nishinoya and…and more?

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. His stupid feelings weren’t worth ruining the trip.

But that just meant he couldn’t say anything at all. He just stood there, hands hanging at his sides and grasping at nothing, face so warm he thought he might catch on fire.

“Asahi-san?”

“Nothing,” he finally choked out. “It’s nothing. Just…the beer messing with me.”

Nishinoya looked confused and worried and…almost disappointed, though Asahi wasn’t sure if his own wishful thinking was making him see that. “Are…are you okay?”

“Yeah, just…ready to head back.”

“Okay.”

That was it. No questions, no prying. Just Nishinoya paying for their drinks and batting away Asahi’s hand when he tried to pitch in.

A silence fell between them as they left the bar and made their way back to the Seine, their steps sounding unusually loud on the stairs down to the bank. As uncomfortable as the silence was, Asahi preferred it to the conversation he’d thought they would be having.

He should’ve known Nishinoya wouldn’t leave his behavior unaddressed.

“Asahi-san.”

“I’m okay, honestly.”

“That’s not what I want to ask.”

“Noya, please—”

“Asahi.”

There it was again. He’d thought he’d imagined it when Nishinoya said it before, but now he knew he’d heard it right: his name, just his name, no suffix attached. His name, pure and simple, said with a soft concern and entreaty that sounded foreign coming from Nishinoya.

A helpless laugh escaped him. “Now? You’re dropping ‘-san’ now? When we’re fighting?”

“We’re not fighting.”

He shot a look of disbelief to his side…only to find it empty. He had to look over his shoulder to see that Nishinoya had stopped and was staring hard at him. Those brown eyes, usually so warm and open and excited, were now filled with that strange look that Asahi noticed every now and again, though he could never figure out what it was. “...Noya?”

“We’re not fighting,” Nishinoya repeated, voice firm. “I’m trying to ask you a question, and you won’t let me.”

Asahi’s shoulders sagged. Nishinoya was right, but that just filled him with dread. “Because I’m scared of what you’ll ask.”

“Don’t run from me, Asahi. Not again.”

You ran first. You left for Europe. But no amount of anxiety or beer would make those words come to his lips. The only words he could muster were, “Ask, then.”

“Were you going to kiss me?”

Blood rushed to his face, making his cheeks burn and his ears ring. “Noya—”

“It’s a yes or no question. Were you going to kiss me?”

He could lie. It would be the easiest thing to lie, to say “No” and leave it at that. But he knew Nishinoya, knew any lie he told would be caught and strain the trust between them. And even if he could get away with it, the look on Nishinoya’s face made him feel so…helpless. So incapable of hiding from him.

So he told the truth. He sucked in the deepest breath he could, and exhaled a soft, “Yes.”

Nishinoya’s eyes widened, and he was silent for a moment. Asahi could almost see the instant his answer had fully sunken in, before Nishinoya nodded slowly and asked, “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of scaring you away.” Nishinoya didn’t say anything, didn’t move at all, and that was all Asahi needed to know he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “...Of you not feeling the same way. Of me crossing a line.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“I was scared of what you’d say.”

“Thought you were past letting your fear stop you.”

“Not with this. Not with you.”

Nishinoya’s face softened at that, and he finally stepped closer to Asahi. Just those few steps were enough to make Asahi’s breaths come easier. “Ask me now.”

“Ask you what?”

“Ask to kiss me.”

All his lovesick teenage daydreams hadn’t prepared him for this, for Nishinoya standing in front of him on the banks of the Seine, golden under the lights of Paris, speaking words Asahi had never dreamed he would actually say to him. He didn’t know if he could breathe, much less speak, but he managed to find his voice lodged somewhere next to his pounding heart. “Noya—”

“Yu.”

“Yu,” he breathed, voice trembling, “can…can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

One word shouldn’t have been able to nearly bowl him over. It took everything in him to keep speaking. “Do you want me to?”

“Asahi.” Nishinoya’s fingers were cold against his face as they brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, but it felt like they left a trail of sparks in their wake. Then Nishinoya’s hand was resting on his cheek, and Asahi thought his face would burst into flames. “Kiss me.”

There it was again, that strange look in his eyes. Except now Asahi understood: it was a mix of longing and desire and fondness, all settling into the quiet focus he’d only ever seen from Nishinoya on the court.

And just like on the court, it pushed Asahi into action. His hands came up to cradle Nishinoya’s face, thumbs brushing over the smooth curve of his cheekbones the way he’d always imagined. Then he was leaning in, eyes fluttering closed as he felt Nishinoya’s breath ghost over his skin…only for him to stop when their foreheads leaned against each other. “Are you sure, Yu?”

“Asahi.”

“I can’t…I can’t go back to how we’ve been if we do this.”

“I don’t want us to.”

That was the final push he needed.

The first brush of their lips made him gasp, sending a feeling like electricity prickling through him. The second brush turned into a proper kiss, their lips fitting together with a soft warmth that made him melt with each press.

He was out of practice, and he was sure it showed, but for once, he didn’t care. How could he care, when Nishinoya was kissing him with such tenderness? How could he care, when the feeling of Nishinoya’s tongue gently licking into his mouth was making him feel dizzy with happiness?

He could sense Nishinoya holding back, could feel it as vividly as he could feel the fingers stroking up the back of his neck and into his hair. A part of him was grateful for it - he wanted to relish this first kiss, use the slow pace to properly soak in the sound of the soft groans escaping Nishinoya’s throat and how he felt curved against him, his body somehow still just as strong and lean as it was in high school.

But a different part of him, a part that liked to take control after a few drinks, didn’t want Nishinoya to hold back. He’d already wasted so much time holding back, and now he wanted everything, wanted Nishinoya to pour all his passion and want and focus into him.

He didn’t mean to act on that. He didn’t expect himself to nip at Nishinoya’s lips and pull a surprised grunt from him. Not that he regretted it, not when Nishinoya’s response was to lightly tug at his hair and trace his tongue along his lip.

“Asahi-san,” he distantly heard, “Asahi.”

“Hm?” He felt drowsy as his eyes blinked open, and he could see that mirrored in Nishinoya’s heavy gaze.

“I want you.”

Just like that, desire socked Asahi in the stomach, stealing his breath and making his blood flow red hot. It was all he could do to breathe, “Me, too,” but it was enough. Nishinoya’s eyes, already so warm, looked like they could make sparks fly as his fingers trailed from Asahi’s hair to wrap in the front of his shirt. “I mean I want all of you, Asahi.”

“I know,” Asahi huffed with a soft laugh, “Me, too. I’m all yours, Yu.”

A quiet growl rose from Nishinoya’s throat before he brushed a kiss to Asahi’s lips. “Let’s get back to the flat before I jump you in the street.”

————

Nishinoya managed to behave himself on the walk back to the apartment, settling for tangling his fingers between Asahi’s and letting his thumb trace patterns on the back of his hand. But the moment the apartment’s door closed behind them, Asahi found himself being pressed against it, hungry lips covering his own and chilly hands stealing under his shirt. He didn’t have the chance to feel self-conscious about his figure, which had softened considerably since he stopped playing volleyball. He was too busy trying to keep up with the tongue licking into his mouth and the fingers making his muscles jump with their touches.

“Yu,” he gasped when he managed to pull away, “Yu, wait for me.”

“Can’t,” Nishinoya groaned, already pressing kisses down Asahi’s neck. He could feel teeth scrape lightly at his skin, right where his pulse was jumping, and a moan escaped him before he could bite it back. “Sure you want me to slow down?” Nishinoya’s words were colored by a laugh, and it was all Asahi could do to nudge him away.

“I want to enjoy this.” Asahi punctuated his words with a kiss, just in time to feel the way they made Nishinoya’s breath hitch. “I want to enjoy you. I don’t wanna rush.”

“Okay…okay.” Nishinoya kissed him slow and tender, his focus now switched from frantic urgency to licking deep into Asahi’s mouth and carefully tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. It was both exactly what Asahi wanted and a little too much, desire spreading warm and sticky through him. He was glad, now, for the way Nishinoya still worked urgently at his clothes. Every brush of his fingers against his skin made his pulse leap and made him work a little faster at Nishinoya’s clothes in return as they clumsily made their way to the bedroom.

By the time Asahi fell onto the edge of the bed, they were both shirtless and Asahi’s pants were practically falling off his hips. With every bit of skin that he exposed, Nishinoya had groaned and brushed either lips or hands against the new expanse, until Asahi’s cock was straining at the thin material of his boxers.

“Fuck,” Nishinoya breathed against Asahi’s ear when he traced the curved outline through the fabric, “you’re so hot, Asahi. Wanna swallow you whole.”

The feeling of those fingers against him combined with those words dragged a ragged groan from Asahi, his breath beading against Nishinoya’s neck. He couldn’t form words. He just wanted, and wanted everything. He wanted to pull Nishinoya into his lap from where he stood between his legs, wanted to feel all of his weight against his body. He wanted to continue sucking marks into the lines of Nishinoya’s collarbones, lick at his dusky nipples, stroke his fingers through the downy hair of his thighs, trace the lines of his lean muscles and bite the curve of his ass. He wanted to learn every part of his body until he could perfectly imagine the way he felt in his hands when he was alone again.

But first, there were hands coaxing his face back and fingers trailing along the sides of his glasses. He could see Nishinoya consider sliding them off, and his hands covered his wandering fingers, making them still against his face. “Leave them,” he murmured, “I want to see you.”

Nishinoya’s eyes widened, and he practically whimpered, “How do you keep saying the most romantic things?”

“Does it help if I tell you I don’t know how I’m saying them either?”

“Not really,” Nishinoya laughed, “but it is flattering.” He brushed a sweet kiss to Asahi’s lips before whispering, “What do you want to see me do?”

Ideas flooded Asahi’s mind, but it was hard to focus on any specific one when Nishinoya was pressing his lips and teeth down his neck. “Anything. Everything.”

“Gotta be more specific.”

Fingers stroked down his body to run along the outline of his cock again, making his hips and breath stutter. A single idea finally settled in his mind. “What was that about swallowing me whole?”

A huff of air hit his throat, and when Nishinoya pulled away, Asahi could see mirth glittering in those brown eyes. “That’s more like it.”

Now that he knew what Asahi wanted, Nishinoya moved as though all urgency had left him. He was slow as he moved down Asahi’s body, pressing slow, languid kisses to his skin and lingering at any spot that made him jerk or moan. Teeth pressed against his collarbone, a tongue curled around his nipples, nails drew a line down his spine, and fingers lingered at his waistband. A shuddering breath shook out of Asahi when Nishinoya met his eyes and flashed a smirk before hooking his fingers into the fabric.

Anticipation and lust were clouding his head, making him feel strangely weak as he lifted his hips for Nishinoya to slide his pants and underwear down his legs. He didn’t know if the feeling of his cock being freed made that fogginess better or worse. But as he watched Nishinoya kneel between his legs and take his cock in his hand with a careful reverence, Asahi felt like he was in a dream. He had to reach out and let his fingers stroke into Nishinoya’s hair before he could feel sure this was real, that this incredible, fierce man was gazing up at him from beneath his lashes.

“You with me, Asahi?” The quiet words sent the lightest gust of air over the head of his dick, and Asahi could feel his breath stall in his chest for a moment before he could answer.

“Yes. Always.”

Those dark eyes softened, and Nishinoya pressed a sweet kiss to Asahi’s thigh, before he parted his lips and licked a long, firm stripe up his cock.

A moan escaped Asahi before he could slap his free hand over his mouth. The movement made Nishinoya’s eyes flicker up at him as he continued to tease him, letting his breath huff over the crown of Asahi’s dick only to go back to licking and kiss up and down his shaft. It felt good, of course it did, but it also made Asahi get even harder, until the only thing he could think about was how badly he needed more: more pressure, more suction, more something.

“Noya…” he finally pleaded, his hand leaving his mouth to clutch at the sheets, “Yu, please, I need…I—”

“Then let me hear you,” Nishinoya ordered quietly. His hand fell on Asahi’s, pressing it a little more firmly into the bed as though he wanted to make sure he couldn’t cover his mouth again. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“But the neighbors—”

“—have heard worse.” The smirk on his face was almost wicked as he held Asahi’s gaze and brushed another kiss to his aching length. “Forget about them. Focus on me.”

He already was focused on him. He was practically putty in Nishinoya’s hands after all of his kissing and caressing. But he couldn’t muster the air or words to say that. It was all he could do to nod desperately and breathe, “I am, please— ah!”

As soon as he agreed, Nishinoya closed his lips around Asahi’s tip and sank down. It took everything in him to keep himself from thrusting further into Nishinoya’s mouth. After all of his teasing, the warm, wet suction of his mouth made Asahi feel like he was drowning in bliss. His hands tightened, one in the bedsheets, the other in Nishinoya’s hair, and the groan it pulled from Nishinoya created delicious vibrations around Asahi.

He knew Nishinoya wanted to hear him, wanted to hear the pleasure he was bringing him, but Asahi could barely get enough air to breathe. His mouth hung open, desperately gasping for air, only for it to escape him on a groan when Nishinoya curled his tongue around him and gently cupped his balls. It didn’t make sense, how such a soft touch could make electricity zip through him, but just the swipe of Nishinoya’s thumb over the thin skin was enough to make his muscles seize up from pleasure.

At some point he couldn’t keep sitting up, his body sagging back until he was being held up by his elbows. He felt a hum vibrate through him, before the sweet suction was replaced by a firm hand sliding effortlessly over his wet length. Nishinoya’s mouth stayed busy, pressing messy kisses to his hip, then up his stomach, until his lips could close around one of Asahi’s nipples. The combination of the pressure on his cock and the tongue flicking around his nipple made Asahi’s head fall back with a guttural moan, and then there were lips mouthing wet o’s along his jaw, tracing a path to his ear.

“That’s it,” Nishinoya whispered, his hot breath sending shudders down Asahi’s spine. “I got you.”

“Yu,” Asahi whined, “Yu, I— you’re—” His words got lost in another moan, and he distantly noticed the soft groan that escaped Nishinoya. He’d known that the other man was enjoying reducing him to a shaking, moaning mess, but it was one thing to know that, and another to hear it.

Satisfaction flashed hot through him, only to be quickly followed by pure need when Nishinoya said, “Tell me when you’re close. I want to taste you.”

It was as if he’d summoned his orgasm. The moment he whispered those words, Asahi could feel a pressure building, threatening to pop if Nishinoya kept up his work.

“Now,” he was just barely able to gasp. His orgasm washed over him without much more warning, but Nishinoya worked faster, kneeling back down and sealing his lips over Asahi’s cock just in time to catch the first spurts.

Maybe Asahi was groaning, maybe his mouth was hanging open in a silent moan - he couldn’t hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears, and he didn’t care. His whole world was narrowed down to the feeling of Nishinoya sucking him dry, lips and tongue and hand working at him until oversensitivity made him gently push Nishinoya away.

His eyelids felt heavy when he blinked them open and met Nishinoya’s gaze. He looked like sex incarnate, kneeling between his legs, licking at his lips, eyes glittering in the golden light that snuck in between the blinds. He pressed a soothing kiss to the inside of Asahi’s knee, and rested his cheek there when he murmured, “How are you feeling?”

How did he feel? He felt like every muscle and fiber of his being had been replaced with molten gold, making him feel heavy and fluid at once. He felt like he’d never felt that good before, and would never feel that good again. He felt…he felt… “I feel like I need you to kiss me.”

Nishinoya moved like he couldn’t scramble up his body fast enough, one knee sinking into the bed outside of Asahi’s hips in his rush to press their lips together. Asahi responded with just as much urgency, mouth immediately opening under Nishinoya’s as his fingers stroked into his short strands. He moaned at the taste of himself on his tongue - it was strange, but addicting, making him chase the taste as he licked into Nishinoya’s mouth.

Nishinoya was whimpering into him, short, desperate sounds escaping him with each kiss, and he kept pressing forward, pressing closer, until he was straddling Asahi’s lap. The position made his still-erect dick brush Asahi’s stomach, and reminded him that it was his turn to get to work. He gently nudged Nishinoya’s face away, and the sight of his eyes blearily blinking open to look confused at him made fondness chase away the post-orgasmic haze that had fallen over him. “Get naked and come here.”

Nishinoya was suddenly much more alert, almost falling off of his lap in his haste to shove off the rest of his clothes while Asahi kicked off the fabric at his feet and pushed himself up the bed. His body still felt weak, but the sight of Nishinoya’s cock springing out of his boxers, so hard it looked almost painful, brought his focus back to him. He stacked some pillows behind his head until it was propped up when he laid back, and he could watch as Nishinoya crawled up his body until he was straddling his hips. “How’s this?”

Asahi shook his head, a smile threatening at his lips. “Come closer.”

Nishinoya’s brows furrowed, but he obeyed, letting Asahi’s hold on his hand coax him further and further up. Only when he was kneeling over Asahi’s chest with his knees practically tucked under his arms did his eyes widen with understanding. “Oh.”

The only thing keeping the tip of his cock from brushing Asahi’s lips was the deliberate way Nishinoya tilted his hips back, but that was the opposite of what Asahi wanted. His hand left Nishinoya’s to curve around his waist and nudge his hips forward, while he licked his other hand and wrapped it around the stiff length bobbing in his face. That alone was enough to pull a shaky groan from Nishinoya, one hand bracing himself against the headrest and the other sinking fingers into Asahi’s hair. “Asahi…Asahi, are you sure?”

It was sweet, the way his concern contradicted with the fingers twitching in his hair. Nishinoya’s desire was written plain on his face, in his flushed skin and parted lips. His eyes were heavily hooded as he gazed down at Asahi, and while, yes, it was strange to have to look up at him for once, the view made Asahi’s dick twitch almost painfully.

But he’d already had his turn. He needed to focus on Nishinoya now, needed to focus on licking at the precum almost dripping onto his lip and craning his neck to press kisses up and down Nishinoya’s length. He could hear a gasped swear, and even though he wanted to look up and see the look on Nishinoya’s face, he had to focus on opening his mouth to welcome him in.

The moment he felt his weight on his tongue, Asahi groaned with relief. All of his senses were narrowed down to the way Nishinoya’s arousal tasted and smelled and felt, and it all simmered down into pure want. He wanted nothing more than to sink down until his nose was buried in the dark hair waiting for him at the base, but he couldn’t do it, not in this position. He had to settle for pulling his hand along the length while he pushed his head forward, letting his lips meet his fingers before pulling them in opposite directions.

Maybe it wasn’t enough for him, but he could hear the noises spilling from Nishinoya’s lips, could tell he was doing the job right. His eyes fluttered open to look up at Nishinoya while his tongue swirled around his tip, and another groan rumbled from him at what he saw.

Nishinoya looked wrecked. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were wide open, slick and red from their kisses and his teeth sinking into them. His hair was loose, falling over his forehead and sticking to his sweaty skin. The light of the city snuck between the blinds of the bedroom window to create golden stripes across his skin, making him glisten like a god, a god Asahi was more than happy to worship.

Then his eyes opened and met Asahi’s, and he could feel the shudder that ran through his body. “Oh, god,” Nishinoya moaned, “oh, fuck, you look so good, you’re so good, holy shit—”

His words broke off with a cry, fingers tightening in Asahi’s hair to pull his face forward. Asahi gagged around the length pressing at the back of his throat, did his best to open up as much as he could at that angle, his hand stroking at what his lips couldn’t reach. The back of his neck ached, unused to this angle, but he was too focused on the incoherent mess he was making of Nishinoya to care about his own discomfort.

He hollowed his cheeks around him, and Nishinoya wailed, his entire body curving over Asahi’s head as he babbled, “So good, Asahi, you’re so good, oh my god, that’s it, right there—”

Asahi groaned at the praise, and at the thickening taste on his tongue. It only took one more curl of his tongue before Nishinoya was coming with a shout, sending hot spurts down Asahi’s throat as he worked to swallow it all. He sucked him dry and licked him clean, until Nishinoya finally let go of his hair and pulled his softening dick out with an almost-pained gasp.

In the time it took Asahi to clear his throat, Nishinoya had fallen to his side on the bed, one leg still draped across his body. Not that Asahi minded. Despite the exhaustion weighing at him, he still wanted to press as close to Nishinoya as possible, wanted to tangle their legs together and wrap their arms around each other.

So he did, pulling him close until he could press his nose to his sweaty, messy hair. He could feel more than hear Nishinoya’s soft laugh, his breath brushing against his neck as his arms tightened around him.

A few silent seconds passed, before Nishinoya broke it with a murmured, “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That was…”

“...Good, right?”

Another laugh puffed warm across his skin. “Good? That was amazing, Asahi. You were amazing.”

Asahi hadn’t thought his skin could get any warmer, but somehow his cheeks managed it. “So were you. Yu, you’re so…so…”

“Sexy?”

“Beautiful.”

Nishinoya stilled, and for a breath, fear flashed through Asahi. Had he said the wrong thing? Was that emasculating for Nishinoya to hear? He hadn’t meant it to be, maybe he should’ve—

Then there were lips on his, pressing deep, tender kisses that made him melt against Nishinoya as certainty chased the fear away. No, no…he’d said the right thing.

They didn’t say anything else. They just kissed until they couldn’t fight against their exhaustion anymore, and they had to pull away to tug a pillow in place for Nishinoya and place Asahi’s glasses on one of the bedside tables. When sleep finally pulled Asahi under, it was to the feeling of hair tickling his chin and his arm pinned under Nishinoya’s weight.

———————————— ————————————

Asahi woke slowly in the morning, as he always did. Awareness came in steps - he could feel the soft covers on his skin, could hear the morning bustle of the city outside, and when his eyes blinked open, he could see the stripes of sunlight that crept in through the blinds.

Those details were normal. What wasn’t normal was the realization that he was naked under the covers, that there was an extra weight in the bed, and that there was something, or someone, warm at his back.

The memories came creeping back as he slowly, carefully rolled onto his back and looked to his side…where Nishinoya was fast asleep on his stomach, face half-covered by the pillow.

So the previous night was real. His confession, their first kiss, the delirious pleasure and borderline desperation to press skin to skin…Nishinoya’s mouth covering him with perfect, wet suction, and the way he tasted when Asahi returned the favor…it was all real.

Holy shit. Now what?

That wasn’t something he could decide on his own. For now, he could get his glasses on, and shower, and maybe even have some breakfast ready when Nishinoya woke up. He didn’t know what conversation awaited them, but he assumed food would make it easier.

His hand reached for his glasses, only to land on the wooden surface of the bedside table, right where they usually sat. “Shit,” he muttered, squinting at the table, then at the floor, then patting at the covers carefully, not wanting to wake up Nishinoya.

“They’re over here.”

Well. So much for not waking him.

Excitement and anxiety and disbelief all clashed in Asahi when his eyes landed on Nishinoya and found him smiling sleepily up at him, his hair a loose mess over his face and his cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth of sleep. When he spoke, his voice was just a touch rough, adding confused arousal to the cocktail of emotions swirling through Asahi. “G’morning.”

“Ah…morning. Could I, um…” He gestured lamely at the blurry outline of his glasses on the table at Nishinoya’s side.

A hoarse chuckle rumbled out of Nishinoya as he reached for the glasses. But instead of placing them into Asahi’s waiting hand, he straddled his covered lap and slid them onto his face, punctuating their return with a gentle kiss. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he murmured when he pulled away, hands still cupping Asahi’s face.

“Oh,” Asahi breathed. Disbelief was still looming in his mind, but it was settling into something a little sweeter as his hands rested on Nishinoya’s thighs. He couldn’t believe that the previous night had happened, that Nishinoya wanted him back, that he was waking up next to him all warm and naked and smiling.

That disbelief must’ve made its way to his face, because when Nishinoya pulled away, there was a bemused tilt to his brows. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…”

“Don’t say you ‘can’t believe this is real’ or something.”

“But I can’t!” Asahi laughed helplessly. “Noya…Yu, I…I never thought this could happen, that you would ever feel the same way about me that I feel for you. But it did, and it’s real, and it’s amazing, you’re amazing, and now I…Yu, I don’t know what’s next.”

And there it was. The worry had been lurking somewhere in his mind, but now that he’d said it out loud, his anxiety came roaring back. “I don’t know where we go from here. I’m going home soon, and you’ll still be here, and I would never want you to stop traveling, not for me, but missing you is going to be so much worse now. But I don’t want to go back to just being friends, and I don’t want this to be some sort of one-time thing. This trip has been…so much more incredible than I could’ve ever imagined, but I…I don’t know what happens to us when it ends. I just…I don’t know.”

Nishinoya had been quiet as he rambled, hands coming to rest against his collarbones and thumbs tracing light patterns into his skin. When Asahi fell quiet, he felt those hands cradle his face and tilt it up, before he was being kissed with a tenderness that made him feel like he might cry.

“Here’s what I know,” Nishinoya murmured, breath ghosting over Asahi’s lips. “I know you like me, and I know I like you. I know I don’t want us to go back to being friends after this. I know I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I know our lives will have us across the world from each other. I know long-distance is hard. But I also know that we’ve managed to keep in touch so far, and I know that what we have is worth the work.” With each sentence, he brushed a kiss over Asahi’s lips, nose, forehead, cheeks, jaw - it was as though he couldn’t bear to be more than a breath away.

Asahi let a hand trace a light path up and down Nishinoya’s back as he spoke. The feeling of his skin warm beneath his palm and the slow, quiet sound of his words helped Asahi’s thoughts stop racing, and his voice didn’t waver when he breathed, “What are you saying?”

Nishinoya finally pulled away just enough to look at him, and Asahi felt a delicious shiver run up his spine at the look in those eyes. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to being on the receiving end of that desire. “I’m saying I want to be your boyfriend, and I want you to be mine.”

Words failed Asahi. Nothing he could think of felt like enough. He didn’t want to just say “yes,” he wanted to climb to the top of the Sacre-Coeur and shout it to the entire city.

Words failed him, but actions didn’t. He kissed Nishinoya like his life depended on it, like his heart would stop if he didn’t pull a gasp from him and trace his tongue along the top of his mouth. He pressed Nishinoya against the bed, and he could feel Nishinoya’s fingers running through his hair and his body arch against him as he trailed kisses from his lips down his lithe neck.

He felt something nudge at his hip, and his hand dragged down Nishinoya’s body to stroke at him…when a loud rumble erupted from between them. Asahi pulled away and caught a flush spreading across Nishinoya’s face as his eyes widened, and a laugh burst from him before he could stop it. “Hungry?”

“We had a busy night!”

Asahi couldn’t stop laughing as he slid out of bed and pulled Nishinoya upright. “Let’s get some breakfast in you.”

He moved to step away, only for Nishinoya to use their tangled fingers to tug him back until he was standing between his legs. “Hey…is that a yes?”

It was strange, seeing even a hint of doubt lingering in those eyes, and guilt immediately pricked at Asahi. He pressed a chaste kiss to Nishinoya’s lips, before murmuring, “Yes. If I could shout it to the whole world, I would.”

A soft whimper escaped Nishinoya before he stole another kiss. “Stupid breakfast. I want to stay in bed with you all day.”

“Bed will be here after we eat,” Asahi laughed, craning his head back before Nishinoya could keep kissing him and coax him back into bed. “Come on.”

Asahi did make breakfast while Nishinoya showered, but only because he scrounged up every bit of self control in him to resist the other man’s - his boyfriend, he corrected with a thrill - attempts to get him into the shower as well. “That shower is barely big enough for me by myself,” he mumbled against Nishinoya’s insistent kisses. “I’d squish you if we went together.”

“What a way to go, though.”

He only got Nishinoya into the shower by steering him into the bathroom while he continued kissing him, then shutting the door as soon as he disentangled himself from his arms.

Breakfast was simple, just sunny side up eggs and some toast with coffee. One of the slices of toast was a little burned on one side, which had nothing to do with Asahi getting distracted by the sight of a freshly-showered Nishinoya, clad only in a towel, grabbing a change of clothes from his bag.

The rest of his trip in Paris was strangely, wonderfully domestic. True to “Nishinoya mode,” the last few days were filled with simple errands and keeping an eye out for gigs he could pick up and getting deliberately lost in the city to see where they’d end up. The main difference was that they were much more reluctant to split up, now that those last days were their only chance to explore their new relationship before Asahi had to leave.

“I always thought your life was full of exciting adventures everyday,” Asahi mused as they wandered through one of the more residential areas, ambling along hand-in-hand.

Nishinoya’s laugh sounded a little weary. “So does everyone back home. My travels are great, I wouldn’t trade them for the world, but I do still have just…a regular, daily life between all the adventures.” His eyes looked cautious as he watched Asahi, who could feel his gaze with a prickling awareness. “It’s not always exciting.”

“No…but I’m glad it isn’t. This is nice, Yu, honestly.” The relief that washed over Nishinoya’s face melted Asahi’s heart. It really was nice, more than nice. It startled him, how easy and right those days felt, just living with Nishinoya without hurrying to the next big destination of the day. The days weren’t boring, of course they weren’t - Asahi was becoming more and more certain that wasn’t possible with Nishinoya - but they were much more relaxed.

He didn’t want to say it out loud, not now, not after just a few days, but he could feel the truth of it settle warm in his chest: he could picture their future together like this.

A soft sound pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked down just in time to see Nishinoya burrow into his arm. “It’s gonna suck, being alone again,” he mumbled into his sleeve, just loud enough for Asahi to hear. “You’ve made two weeks feel better than the full years I’ve spent in other countries.”

It took Asahi a moment to reply, only trusting his voice once the lump in his throat went away. “These have been the best two weeks of my life. I really, really wish I could stay longer, make them the best month of life, maybe more. But…”

“Duty calls.”

“Not ‘duty’ so much as my regular old job,” Asahi chuckled, “but…yeah. You’re not going to be alone, though. You’ll meet new people, make new friends, just like you have been this whole trip. You have a way of drawing people to you. I know that better than anyone.”

There was a light flush on Nishinoya’s cheeks and a pleased glint in his eye, but there was also a small frown on his lips. “It’s not gonna be the same as having you around.”

“It’s not. But if you miss me so much, I guess you’ll just have to come back to Japan to see me.”

“I guess so,” Nishinoya said with a playful roll of his eyes. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Would you want to travel with me again?”

Asahi grinned. “Just try to keep me away.”

Paris still took his breath away. Two weeks was far from enough to make him get used to its beauty. Even the sight of Notre Dame just around the corner from their flat made him pause and wonder at the fact that he was really there, in Paris, with the first man he’d ever wanted now pressing a kiss to the back of their held hands.

But what really made him feel impossibly lucky were the nights he fell asleep with his sweaty skin pressed against Nishinoya, and the mornings he woke up with nimble fingers brushing his hair behind his ear and lips whispering his name between kisses along his shoulder. It was the sound of Nishinoya saying his name with no formality and all tenderness, the feeling of his arms wrapping tight around Asahi’s waist, their fingers tangling together, and their lips parting against each other.

Nishinoya had never been a shy person, was never one for concealing how he felt. In hindsight, Asahi should’ve been prepared for how passionate he was in a relationship, how plainly he wore his heart on his sleeve. Nishinoya wasn’t shy about holding his hand or ducking under Asahi’s arm so that it draped across his shoulders, and while they never recreated their dreamlike first kiss along the Seine, Asahi always obeyed the unspoken request of Nishinoya standing on his toes with his chin raised, even when his cheeks were burning.

It all fit so easily into the rhythm of his last few days in Paris, but there were moments where time seemed to blessedly come to a pause. They were quiet moments, but still ones that Asahi couldn’t believe he got to be a part of, moments like Nishinoya twirling himself under Asahi’s hand when they walked past an accordion player on the street, and the first time Asahi tried a La Duree macaron to the sound of Nishinoya laughing at his awestruck face, and Nishinoya quietly singing along to the music they played while cleaning up after a meal.

Then, on Asahi’s last night in Paris, Nishinoya presented a tube of lube and a condom packet with red cheeks and his lips pressed in a determined line. Asahi understood immediately - it was a hard message to get wrong - but he still had to ask, “Yu, are you—?”

“You can say no,” Nishinoya said, “of course you can. I just…wanted to feel you in me before you left. And your flight is kinda late tomorrow, so it should be ok for me to tire you out tonight.” Despite his red cheeks, there was still a devious slant to his grin, and strangely enough, that was what made Asahi’s initial nerves ease a bit.

“Of course I want to,” he said with a nervous laugh, “but I just…it’s been a while for me. I might be a little rusty.”

“So am I. But I’ll talk you through it. I know you’ll listen to me, and I’ll listen to you.”

With those words and a deep kiss, Asahi was ready to give Nishinoya anything he asked for.

If their first night together had been fast and desperate, then their last night was slow and tender, gentle fingers and soft gasps and moans pulled from deep in their chests. The image of Nishinoya straddling Asahi’s hips while he sat back against the pillows was one he wanted to save for the rest of his life. He never wanted to forget the look of those dark eyes fluttering closed and those lips parting with quiet noises as he carefully spread Nishinoya open on his fingers. He wanted to save the sound of his moan when he found his prostate, wanted to hold onto the feeling of him clenching around his fingers and his breaths against his neck when he fell forward.

It still felt surreal that he could unravel Nishinoya like this, but if this trip had taught him anything, it was to not question the joys life had given him. He certainly wasn’t going to question whatever had led to him laying there and guiding Nishinoya onto his cock, groans dragging out of both of them at the slow, tight, slick slide inside. It took everything in him to hold still when he bottomed out, focusing instead of pressing soothing kisses along Nishinoya’s shoulder as he trembled against his chest.

“Are you okay?” he whispered into his hair, and it took an extra beat before Nishinoya nodded and pulled away enough to meet his concerned gaze.

“Yeah. You can move.”

“Are you su—?”

Nishinoya silenced him with a kiss, before slowly lifting himself off Asahi’s cock and letting himself fall again. An embarrassing sound ripped out of Asahi at the clenching tightness around him, but any embarrassment he would’ve felt was chased off by the satisfied smirk on Nishinoya’s face and his hands being guided to Nishinoya’s hips. A tentative thrust pulled a shuddering gasp from Nishinoya, and that was all Asahi needed to continue moving.

The rhythm they found was different from the ones they’d fallen into during previous nights, slow and drawn-out in a way he didn’t expect from Nishinoya. The younger man was deliberate with the way he moved his hips, bracing himself against Asahi’s chest as he worked himself up and down his length. Asahi’s fingers twitched where they held onto Nishinoya’s waist, but he let himself follow the same speed, even though it was killing him slowly. It felt like he could feel every ridge of Nishinoya’s walls clenching around him, and he could see the effect of his slow thrusts in the flush that worked its way down Nishinoya’s chest.

It didn’t take him long to figure out how to aim for Nishinoya’s prostate, but even the moans that fell from Nishinoya’s lips didn’t convince him to pick up his speed. “Yu,” Asahi finally breathed, “Yu, you’re killing me.”

“Good.” Nishinoya’s smile was downright wicked, even with the haze of desire that covered the rest of his face. “I want you to remember this when you’re back home.”

“Like I could ever forget.”

He spoke without thinking, but he couldn’t regret his words, not when they startled the smile off of Nishinoya’s face. He would never get tired of the way Nishinoya looked whenever Asahi surprised him with heartfelt words. Even in the middle of riding Asahi so well he thought he might die from it, Nishinoya’s eyes widened and his lips parted in a silent gasp. “That’s not fair,” he whined, “I’m trying to make you miss me more.”

“There was a contest?” Asahi laughed, before a moan cut his laughter short.

“Nah. Just making sure you miss me at least as much as I'll miss you.”

The playfulness lining his face made affection bloom in Asahi’s chest, and he rocked forward to capture Nishinoya’s lips in a kiss. When Nishinoya eventually cried out with his orgasm, his lips were parting against Asahi’s and his arms were draped over Asahi’s shoulders, holding him close as he made a mess on both of their bodies. Asahi followed soon after him, unable to hold out for much longer with Nishinoya’s walls clenching around him. His arms tightened around Nishinoya’s waist, and he could feel the precise moment Nishinoya wilted against him, boneless with his release.

Asahi was careful with Nishinoya as he cleaned them both up, gently easing him onto the bed and wiping him clean with a towel he’d wet in the bathroom sink. He was rewarded with a contented sigh and a sweet, sleepy smile, and when Asahi pulled the covers over them, Nishinoya didn’t hesitate to burrow into his chest. “Do you have to go tomorrow?” he murmured.

“Unfortunately,” Asahi sighed. “But I’ll call you as soon as I’m back, and I’ll bother you every day that I can.”

“It’s not bothering me when I want that,” Nishinoya scoffed, before pulling away enough to gaze at Asahi with eyes brimming with longing. “Asahi, I…I…”

Concern pricked at Asahi as he brushed messy blonde strands away from Nishinoya’s forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“No, just…I…” Nishinoya’s lips twisted as he searched for the right words, only to wilt around a sigh. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Don’t say that, Yu. Don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding, I just…” Nishinoya began tracing nervous patterns into Asahi’s skin. “I know it’s only been a few days, and maybe you’ll think I’m crazy, but I…Asahi, I…I think I might be falling in love with you.”

“...Oh.” The word left Asahi on a breath.

“Yeah. You don’t have to say anything, I know it’s soon—”

“I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

Nishinoya’s words died as he stared up at Asahi. “Really?!”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other for so long, and I already loved you as a friend, and maybe as more than that, but…I’m feeling it, too.”

“Wow.” Nishinoya let a hand rest against Asahi’s face, his thumb tracing along his cheek. “Wow.”

None of the words Asahi could think of felt like enough, and his only response was to take Nishinoya’s hand from his cheek and press it against his lips. But it was enough. A smile spread wide across Nishinoya’s face before he burrowed back into Asahi’s chest, arms tight around him, and they ended up drifting to sleep holding each other close.

———————————— ————————————

Waking up the next morning felt like the hardest thing Asahi had ever done. He stubbornly ignored the sunlight pouring in, turning his back to the window in favor of pulling a willing Nishinoya close. But it wasn’t long before Nishinoya was leaning up to whisper, “Asahi.”

“No.”

“You gotta get ready to go.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“I don’t want you to either!” Nishinoya’s laugh sounded unsteady, and when Asahi finally opened his eyes, he was stunned to see tears threatening to spill onto Nishinoya’s cheeks.

“Oh, Yu…” he breathed, hands immediately cupping his face and tracing his damp lash lines.

“I’ll be okay,” Nishinoya murmured with a wet sniff, “but you won’t be if you miss your flight.”

Asahi whined, but after a sweet kiss, he relented and let Nishinoya tug him out of bed.

It was almost too easy to pack up his things. He hadn’t bought much in the way of souvenirs, just an Eiffel Tower keychain he’d bought to make Nishinoya snort and a magnet for Daichi and Suga. The rest of his stuff was folded back the way they’d come, and before he knew it, his small suitcase and backpack were sitting at the apartment door. They were left quietly looking over the tidy apartment, now only sprinkled with Nishinoya’s few belongings.

“Let’s eat out for breakfast,” Nishinoya eventually declared. “Make your last morning in Paris a little special.”

“Any day in Paris with you is special,” Asahi said, smiling at the pink that rose to Nishinoya’s cheeks, “but alright. My treat.”

Despite all their best efforts, breakfast passed too quickly. No amount of tiny sips at their espresso or picking at their breakfast sandwiches would stop their plates from slowly becoming empty, leaving them no excuse to keep dodging the impatient looks of their waiter.

So they passed the time on the bridge to Notre Dame, watching the sun creep along the sky while Nishinoya told Asahi about his plans for his next stop in his tour of France. Asahi was still a little in awe of the way his boyfriend was able to prepare himself to build a new life in a new city every couple of months or so. He’d always had a special talent for drawing people to him with his boisterous charisma, but that didn’t stop Asahi from being impressed by him.

“It would be better with you,” Nishinoya countered his compliments with a wistful smile.

“Anything would be better if we were together.” Asahi looked at Nishinoya, watched his hair get tousled by the breeze and his eyes trace over the lines of the Notre Dame and the Seine. His brows were set a little lower than usual and he was chewing his lip, telltale signs of his dread over Asahi’s departure. The bright sunlight didn’t soften Nishinoya’s feature the way the warm golden lights of Parisian nights did, but it did highlight the lines that had grown sharper since he’d left for his travels and the alert awareness of his eyes, and Asahi felt his heart ache with longing for more time with him. “Paris wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

The dread melted off of Nishinoya’s face as he met Asahi’s eyes, replaced with that look of startled adoration that Asahi had come to look forward to. He took a moment to brush a stray lock of hair behind Asahi’s ear, visibly settling himself before he said, “Hey. Kiss me one last time in Paris?”

It was Asahi’s turn to be driven to silence, though his silence was thanks to a lump that had lodged itself in his throat. He just nodded, and obeyed the fingers that had wrapped into his collar and led his face down to Nishinoya’s.

He didn’t know how long they kissed each other on that bridge, lips parting for gentle tongues and soft sighs. All he knew was that it wasn’t long enough, would never have been long enough. Only the sound of Notre Dame tolling the top of the new hour could make them break apart, newly aware of the trip they still had to make to the airport.

They took the metro instead of a taxi, using the longer commute as an excuse to steal extra minutes with each other. It was a bit of a struggle, holding his suitcase still while keeping their balance on the rocking train, but it was worth it for the moment when Asahi had to crowd Nishinoya into a corner to avoid the people leaving and entering the car at different stops.

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” Nishinoya grumbled with a badly hidden grin the fifth time it happened.

“Me? Never.”

The metro announcement of each stop felt like a countdown that Asahi hated, listing each stop that brought them closer and closer to the airport. And then, finally, they reached the end of the line, leaving them no choice but to step off the train and face the entrance to the airport.

“Well…” It was strange and heartbreaking to hear such resignation from Nishinoya, especially when Asahi knew there was nothing he could say to make things better. No matter what he said, he’d still have to leave his side and return to Tokyo.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. “Yu…I meant it, when I said you made the last two weeks the best weeks of my life. Even if we’d spent them as friends, they still would’ve been incredible.”

“Yeah…but I’m really happy I made you confess.” Relief washed over Asahi when Nishinoya flashed a cheeky smile. “I think that made the past week even better.”

“Me, too,” Asahi laughed.

The smile faded from Nishinoya’s face as he stared at Asahi, and he finally took his hand with a squeeze as he said, “Call me when you get back. It doesn’t matter what time it is here, I want to hear from you.”

“Of course.”

“Tell Daichi-san and Suga-san I say hi.”

“I will.”

“And…come back sometime, okay? There’s a lot of places I want to take you to.”

“Okay. But you have to come back first.”

Nishinoya rolled his eyes with a smile. “Fine.”

They stared at each other for another beat, before they met each other in one last kiss. It was slow, and tender, and made love spread warm through Asahi like a hot cup of espresso. When they parted, he murmured, “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Nishinoya’s eyes widened, and he pressed another kiss to Asahi’s lips with a soft whimper. “I love you, too. Now go, don’t miss your flight.”

“Alright, alright.” Asahi let Nishinoya gently shove him towards the escalators that lead into the airport, but he paused at the bottom to look back at Nishinoya and call, “Hey! I’ll see you later.” Not a goodbye, this wasn’t a goodbye, he’d make sure they stayed in even better contact than before, if it was the last thing he did.

Even at a distance, he could see understanding settle over Nishinoya’s features, before a bright smile lit up his whole face. “See you later, Asahi!”

[sambvcks]

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter three // didn’t care much how long i lived

summary: bucky receives a lesson on modern music over cheap beers and freshly baked scones.

warnings: mentions of abuse, food, alcohol consumption, character death (sorry)

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: besties...how we feeling about today’s episode??? using this as a coping mechanism :)

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

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Your record collection was extensive and collecting an unhealthy layer of dust since you had inherited them from your grandmother. It didn’t take long to fish out a Best Of album from the vast shelves, handing over the sleeve to Bucky, who sat patiently on your forest green couch, as you fiddled with the turntable’s needle.

To busy himself, he read over the repertoire of songs listed on the back.

“Let’s Get It On?”

“Usually, a guy buys a girl dinner first, Bucky.” You took a cheeky swig of your beer with an eyebrow raise as he flushed at the insinuation. “We’ll start easy. If I Could Build My Whole World Around You. A criminally under-appreciated love song.”

A bouncy beat crackled through from the speakers as you settled into the couch beside him, tucking your legs beneath you. Today’s choice of pajama bottoms displayed little snowflakes across a navy background, despite the heat outside that still lingered into nighttime.

“I like it.” Bucky decided.

“Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell have so many amazing songs together. She might not sound like it on record, but she had a hard life. Abusive, cheating partners. Brain cancer that killed her young. Hard to know what anyone’s going through behind closed doors.”

I’d put so much love where there is sorrow, I’d put joy where there’s never been before.

“I really like it.”

Your apron still hung from your waist, the gentle tick of the kitchen timer in the shape of a grey cat sat by your side. A reminder of the scones you were whipping up when Bucky unexpectedly appeared on your doorstep. You didn’t question him or bring up the late hour. Simply ushered him in with a smile and a beer shoved into his gloved hand.

Bucky feels comfortable for the first time in a long time. Eyes focused, mind stagnant. Your perfume, woodsy and natural, lingers in the air and he has to take a long gulp of his drink just to occupy himself for just a second.

“I’m glad you like it. Though, I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. It’s like not liking Queen.”

“Queen?”

The timer rattled on the coffee table and the smell of vanilla and blueberries nipped at Bucky’s nose.

“Saved by the bell! I don’t have the time to berate you on not knowing about Queen.”

You bustled your way back into the kitchen, sliding oven mitts onto your hands as you inspected the oven with a professional certainty. The record out and into the next track as Bucky watched on, your shoulders swaying to the slow tempo. You were light on your feet as you plucked one tray from the heat and replaced it with another.

It was so easy for Bucky to imagine this world as his, with the soft swing of Motown as the soundtrack to your shared afternoons. In a different life, he would come home to your baking, ask how studying went as you swayed in the kitchen together. You would wash dishes next to one another, hips pressed close, and giggle when he would press his sudsy hands onto your cheeks. You would smear remnants of cake batter on his and he would let you feed him dessert from your fingers.

It wasn’t possible, he knew. Probably ever. You would be graduating school soon, off to be an important attorney and he would still just be your across the hallway neighbor who you sometimes shared desserts and pleasantries with. You would find out who he was eventually. Everyone did. You would leave. Everyone did.

You would simply be another in a long line of failed attempts by James Buchanan Barnes.

Still, he thought, we can have this one simple night. Where you don’t know who he is, and he can imagine that it lasts long after he retreats back to his apartment.

‘Heaven must have sent you from above.’ Crooned the lovesick singers on your record player.

As you returned to the living room with another beer and the promise of scones as soon as they cooled, Bucky could only think one thing.

He was definitely starting to like Marvin Gaye.

He was starting to like you, too.

When he returned back to his apartment, hours later with a pile of records you insisted he borrow in his arms and a belly full of blueberry scones, he fell into bed without a care in his mind. It was his first full night of sleep in ninety years.

-

Bucky started appearing on your doorstep more often.

Your number was now saved in his phone and was his most frequently used contact. You were his secret, though, something he didn’t even share with Dr. Raynor. No matter how many times she tried to get him to speak about his troubling lack of acquaintances.

You were the one thing in the world untouched by all the destruction waging a war between his ears, you were easy and simple and God, it had been a long time since anything had been simple. You didn’t mind that he was brooding and a little bit clueless, or his cheesy jokes and complaints about technology these days.

His record collection was quickly growing, though it was still nowhere near yours.

Most of all, he liked sitting in your apartment, at your kitchen counter or on that forest green sofa of yours. Sometimes, you would let him pick a record and tell him everything you could remember about it. Other times, you would read from your heavy law books and he’d pretend to understand the cases and terminology, head resting against the back of your couch, admiring how your brows would furrow in concentration. He’d tell you not to hunch over your book, but you’d insist you were fine, only to be complaining about your neck the next time he saw you.

“I wish I read more actual books, you know? It seems like all I know these days are case studies.”

The next visit he’d have a worn copy of one of his favorite books tucked under his arm. He’d read to you until you’d doze off to the stories of Bilbo Baggins and his team of dwarves, a blanket tucked up to your neck.

Every visit cemented yourself further and further into his identity, until his trips to the used bookstore down the block became weekly and his morning runs became longer as you pushed more and more baked goods his way. You’d kiss his cheek as you said your goodbyes, leaning against your doorframe as he disappeared into his apartment.

He was happy. Positively, unbelievably happy.

-

Two days before Bucky’s next scheduled visit, Steve died in his sleep.

Pneumonia, or something, Bucky didn’t really comprehend any of the newscast beyond the headline ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA DEAD’ flashing in bold letters across his television screen.

Sam called early that morning and Bucky just knew. He knew what was waiting for him on the other end of that call, so he shut his phone off and laid back on the hardwood floor of his living room, dead to the world.

He didn’t speak to anyone for a few days, not even bothering with his daily runs or grocery store trips. Your knocks at his door went unanswered, with no trace that you had even stood in the hallway waiting for him other than a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies on his doormat. The only appointment he kept was his therapy, where he stared out the window and counted down the minutes until he could leave. Each attempt on Dr. Raynor’s part to bring up Steve was shut down as quickly as it was brought up.

Finally, a week later, a pounding at the door woke him from a restless afternoon nap.

“Buck, I know you’re in there.”

Sam. Of course.

“These boxes are heavy, come on!”

Sam Wilson took up Bucky’s entire doorway with his broad shoulders, the boxes stacked in his arms taking up the rest. Bucky was quick to usher him in the door, eyeing yours across the hall. He knew one look at an Avenger on his stoop would finally connect the dots for you, and you’d never speak to the Winter Soldier again.

“Keep your voice down.” Bucky shoved the final box through the doorway before securing the lock in place.

Sam surveyed his barren living room, eyes flicking to the crumpled bedsheets gathered on the floor next to his sofa but didn’t linger for long.

“I was worried about you, man.”

It used to be ‘we’, but now it’s just Sam.

“Nothing to worry about.” Bucky pushed past him to his kitchen, collecting stray dishes he hadn’t bothered to move to the sink before then. He felt Sam’s careful gaze on him the entire time. He hated that. He hated how much Sam cared.

He mostly hated how much it reminded him of Steve.

“Found these boxes in Steve’s attic. Had your name on them so I thought you might want ‘em.”

Bucky swallowed hard, focused on scrubbing the dishes under water so hot it was turning the skin on his flesh hand a violent red.

“I know this is hard, Buck-”

The glass he had been rinsing shattered between his fingers and Sam took a step back as Bucky heaved in uneven breaths. There was a long silence between the two grieving men, neither able to fully understand the other. Sam would never feel Bucky’s ninety-year heartache, the abandonment and fear of the life ahead of him. Bucky would never understand the weight on Sam’s shoulders or his unease at the shield tucked under his bed at home.

“I just want to be alone.”

Sam could do nothing but respect his wish.

“Call if you need anything.” Were his departing words as he showed himself out.

Bucky got to work cleaning up the broken glass.

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[sunmoonandeddie]

have you seen baby?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader x natasha romanoff

word count: 3,196

summary: You and your two lovers haven’t gotten to spend much time together.  Also, sex pollen.

warnings: Bad words.  Filthy, filthy smut.  Sex pollen.

a/n:  Thank you so much to @cake-writes for this commission!  I loved writing it and I really hope you enjoy it!

It’s late.  

Well.  Relatively late.  Nearing three in the afternoon, and Natasha hadn’t seen you.  Of course, that barred that morning when she woke up to your pretty face still sleeping beside her.  Unfortunately, Bucky was on a mission, otherwise she’d get to see his equally as pretty face on your other side.  It was disappointing.  There was just something so sweet about waking up to the two loves of her life.

But now, it was almost three, and you hadn’t even emerged from your lab for lunch.

Which is why she headed down two floors to the huge lab that you, Tony, and Bruce shared.  You kind of played as an inbetween for the both of them, wanting to know it all and then some.  It was precious.

But it also meant that you had a bad habit of getting lost in your work and not emerging for hours or sometimes days.  You had been getting better about it, if only because Bucky and Natasha were always on your ass about it.

Which is only because they love you.  So much.  Like.  So so much.

“Have you seen Baby?” Natasha asked Sam, who was wandering through the kitchen after his workout.

He had a protein shake in his hand, sweat dripping from his brow.  “No, can’t say I have.  And you know you can call her by her name when it comes to other people, right?”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a look.  “Her name is Baby.”

“To you.”

“To Bucky and me,” she retorted.  “And besides, she doesn’t even respond to her name when it’s coming from us anymore.”  A small smile crept up on her lips.  “It’s adorable.”  But she was on a mission.  She had a little box that came in with the mail that’s a present just for you.

And sometimes Bucky, depending on how he was feeling.

But Natasha didn’t like being touched.  She liked to give, but never to receive.  Her therapist said it had to do with the various traumas that she’d taken on while growing up in the Red Room.  Her body had never been her own during that time.  She’d been hurt over and over and over again, to the point where someone touching her body in a sexual way sent her into a panic attack.

Bucky was mostly the same way.  He had a hard time with sexual touch, though he’d gotten a lot better about it.

It was just one of those things that Natasha had to deal with.  Not that it was hard.  She loved taking care of you with Bucky’s help.  Their little pillow princess.

You were always the smart girl.  Some could argue that you were smarter than both Bruce Banner and Tony Stark simply because you knew both fields and then some.  You tended to become… obsessed.  You had to know more about everything just for the sake of knowing more.  But with that, your mind was always going a million miles an hour.  Which is why when it came to the bedroom, it was really nice to just be able to let go and not think for a while.  You got to be their dumb little baby girl.  It was always about you when it came to sex.

When it came to who needed cuddles and affection, that was when it was their turn.  You slept in the middle of them, cradled between them like a precious pearl.  You fought off their nightmares for them, their fears.  You made them see that they were more than the weapons they had been crafted into.  You provided relief for each other in different ways.

Before you had come along, Bucky and Natasha’s love had been volatile.  They were missing a piece of the puzzle, even if they hadn’t realized it.

And then their precious little princess had been hired on as a scientist, and their lives were forever changed.  They knew immediately that you were the one for them, their missing piece.

Of course, it had taken a while to get you to understand just what they wanted.  You might be the smartest in the lab, but when it came to relationships…

Which is what brought her to today.  You’d been a little… off lately.  Of course, that could be because her and Bucky had been on back to back missions for the past few months.  There hadn’t been a lot of time for the three of you all together, which was always frustrating.  It was the longest amount of time the three of you hadn’t gotten to all be together since becoming a triad.

And they felt even worse when they both had to leave on missions and leave you all by your lonesome.

Maybe they’d get you a kitten.  You wouldn’t have time for a puppy, but a cat?  You’d love that.  A little lab buddy.  Or maybe they’d get you one of those senior cats with three legs that was deaf in one ear.  Yeah, you’d love that.

But then it would die a lot quicker than a kitten, and they’d have to pick up the pieces because that would destroy you.  But then you’d also be so happy that you got to give the cat a really good few years at the end.

Whatever.  She’d talk to Bucky about it when he got home and they could make a decision.

But the little box.

The elevator down to the lab seemed to take forever, the silence mocking her since Tony absolutely hated elevator music and refused to let it play in the Tower.  But was even more unsettling was the fact that you weren’t in the lab.

“Hey, have you seen Baby?” Natasha asked Tony, who was fiddling with something on his tablet.

“It’s still weird that you call her that to everyone.”

“It’s her name.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Her name is—”

“Baby,” Natasha said, glaring at him.  “Yes, I know.  Have you seen her?”

“You disgust me.”  The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment.  “I think she went down to the spare testing room.  Something about an unknown vapor.”

An unknown vapor?  You hadn’t mentioned that.  Then again, you’d been kinda quiet lately.

She headed down another few floors, bearing the silence as she went through a mental list of things she needed to get done.  It was your birthday soon.  She needed to make sure all three of you could get off, and she’d plan something really special.  You deserved it.

The testing room you’re in has all floor to ceiling windows for walls, but she can’t see you.

“Strange,” she muttered under her breath.  She headed for the doors, and her eyes widened as she saw you through the glass.

You were lying on the ground, sweat dripping from your brow, with your hand in your pants.  From the… rapid way your hand was moving, there was no mistaking what was happening.

But why the hell were you touching yourself right there where anyone could walk by and see you?!  Not that she didn’t like it.  She loved watching you touch yourself and she often ordered you to when she was in a dominating mood.  It was so much fun watching you edge yourself.

No, it was the whole public thing that was confusing her.

You looked up as she started to push the doors open, her eyes widening.  “N-Natasha, no!” You shouted.

But it was too late.  A sickly sweet substance filled her nose, and seconds later, she felt a strange heat creeping up over her.  What the hell was happening?  And why did her skin feel so warm?

“N-Natasha,” you whimpered, rolling on your side.  Your fingers were still rubbing desperately at your clit, trying to find some kind of release.  “Nattie, it hurts.  It hurts.  M-Make it stop.”

And god damn it.  Her precious lover begging her to make whatever it was stop hurting?  She was gonna figure out a way to make it stop hurting.

She crawled towards her, frowning as she saw a broken test tube on the floor.  “What the hell is this?”  She couldn’t read the label on it, the ink smeared.  Tossing it to the side, she finally made it to you.  “W-What hurts, Baby?  What hurts?”

Your glassy eyes were wild as your hips bucked up in the air, a vein on your forehead popping out.  “F-Fuck me.  Fuck me, Nattie, please,” she begged, whining desperately.  “Oh, my god, I need it.  I need it.  Please.”

“H-Here?  Baby, wha—”

“Natasha, please, I am literally beg… begging you.  Please,” you cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Well.  It’s a good thing she brought the box with her.  She ripped it open, pulling out the new harness that she ordered with it.  “Okay.  Okay, angel, but you gotta let me get my strap on, okay?”  She asked sweetly as she stripped down.  She didn’t care who saw.  She had to help her baby girl.

Your response of a weak whimper only made her go faster.

She practically ripped off your clothes, a groan tearing its way out of her throat as she spread your legs.  You were so wet it was obscene, your poor little clit swollen.

“Oh, pretty girl,” she cooed as she ran her fingers through your slick folds, slipping two in with ease.  “You didn’t ask permission to touch yourself, sweetheart…  But I think I can let this time slide…”  With her one free hand, she pulled the new dildo out of its packaging, smirking at the whimper that escaped your lips as you saw it.

It was pretty.  Really pretty.  Eight inches, made of that realistic feeling silicone, and a gorgeous opal color.  Her and Bucky ordered it especially with you in mind, since opals are your favorite.

“N-Natasha, please…”  You grinded against her fingers, your pussy clenching as you tried to get more.

“Oh, good girl…  You look so pretty, Baby.”  She used her one hand to attach the dildo to the harness, her eyes flicking back and forth between the heat between your legs and her fumbling fingers as she finally got it secure.  She ran it through your folds, getting it nice and slicked up.

That’s when the doors opened again, the familiar sound of size twelve boots coming towards them.  “What the hell is that smell and why are you two—”  Bucky broke off as he felt the heat.  “Oh, shit.”

Natasha grinned as she looked over at Bucky.  They were both clearly feeling the heat that the mysterious substance had caused, but not nearly as bad as you were.  “I caught our little baby touching herself without permission… out where anyone could walk by and see her.”

The third member of your triad was already working on undoing his belt, tearing it off so quickly that it ripped a few of his belt loops, leaving little holes in his pants.  “Has our baby been a little naughty?” He asked as he stripped down, kicking off his boots.  He grasped your face with his metal hand, the cool digits a welcome reprieve to the heat that had overwhelmed you.  “Princess, have you been a bad girl?  Huh?”  He lightly slapped your cheek, just enough to get you to answer.  “When I ask a question, I expect an answer, sweetheart.”

You nodded, whining as you nuzzled your head against his cool hand, the angle hurting your neck a little since you were still on your back.  “Yes.  Yes, Bucky.  I’ve been so bad, I’m so sorry…”  You looked up at him with glittering eyes, your cheeks tear stained.  “I need you.  Please.”

His blue eyes were soft as he leaned down, stealing a soft kiss from your swollen lips.  “What’s your safeword, Baby?” He asked, his free hand wrapping around his swollen cock.

“Bracelet.”

“And if you can’t talk?” Natasha probed, still sliding her strap through your folds.

Your hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, squeezing twice.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you once more.  His strong hands flipped you over easily, placing you on your hands and knees.

Almost immediately after, Natasha’s hand came down on your ass, causing you to jerk forward.  “You better suck Bucky’s cock, Baby,” she said as a smirk curled up the edges of her lips.  “If you want me to fuck you, you better put that pretty mouth to good use.”

“But—”

“Did she stutter, angel?” Bucky asked as he grabbed her chin, forcing you to look up at him.  “Tasha gave you an order.  Are you going to be a good girl and listen?”  His flesh thumb ran over your plump bottom lip.  “Don’t you wanna be a good girl for us?  Huh?”

Fuck.  Yeah, you did.  You always wanted to be a good girl for your two lovers.

Matching moans fell from Bucky and Natasha’s mouths as your tongue flicked out to slide up his length, circling around the head.  You always gave absolutely filthy head, your eyes watering as you choked around his length.

As you took him all the way, Natasha slid her strap into your wet heat, all the way to the hilt.  You let out a choked moan, your eyes wide as she started to thrust in and out of you.  Her fingers dug into your hips deliciously, the acrylics she kept at a relatively short length leaving little crescent moon indents.  You loved it.  The pain felt so fucking good.

“We should’ve made you wear your butt plug, Baby.”  Bucky’s jaw clenched as he reached to gather some of your slick on his finger, before circling it around your tight hole.  “Could’ve had you waiting for us to fuck you proper while I was on a mission all week…”

Natasha’s hips slammed against yours as she pressed her lips to Bucky’s.  “We don’t use the diamond one enough considering how much we paid for it.”

You pulled off of Bucky’s cock with a pop, glaring at the two of them.  “Is this the time to be talking about how often we use the butt plug?”

“Did I say you could stop sucking my cock?” Bucky growled as he grabbed your face and started throat-fucking you.  “It’s been too long since we put you in your place, angel.  You’re getting mouthy.”

“She’s always been mouthy.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks as Natasha and Bucky’s thrusts sent waves of pleasure through you.  The heat that had consumed your body was faded, and all you could think about was making your doms feel good.

All the background noise that had been in your mind over the past few weeks was gone, drowned out by the praises coming from your lovers.  All the self-doubt that coursed through your mind was gone when they loved you like this.

You choked around Bucky’s cock as you came suddenly, the release coming over you like a wave.

It only seemed to spur them on more as Natasha fucked you that much harder, Bucky’s fingers scratching soothingly against your scalp as he got closer and closer to the edge.  You could always tell when he was close by the way his thrusts got more and more sloppy.

Natasha’s hand reached down and around to rub your clit, the pretty opal dildo sliding in and out of you with ease.  She wished she had her phone if just so she could record the moans falling from you and Bucky’s mouths.

Hell, she’d make it her fucking ringtone.

It wasn’t long before Bucky came with a shout, spilling down your throat.

He groaned, his head falling back as he felt you licking him clean.  He let you finish before pulling out, getting on his knees and kissing you sweetly.

Your eyes were dazed, a little bit of cum you hadn’t swallowed dribbling out of your mouth.  You looked so damn pretty like that.  Dumb from pleasure.

“You gonna cum again for us, Baby?” He asked sweetly, holding your face in his hands.

A nod, your lips starting to move to form words but not quite getting there.  Adorable.

He watched it coming.  Watched as your breath hitched and your eyes rolled back in your head before you let out a cry.  You blacked out as your second orgasm ripped through you, violently like an earthquake.  A force of nature.

“Seriously?  In the lab?!” Tony demanded, glaring at them from the entrance.  “What the hell happened?!”

Bucky and Natasha were very blasé faire about their own nudity, but they didn’t like anyone else seeing you.  The redhead reached for the little test tube that she’d tossed to the side when she’d first gotten there as he covered you up with his leather jacket, cradling your exhausted body to his chest.  He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as he rocked you back and forth.

“I think it was whatever was in this,” Natasha said as she looked at it curiously, trying to make out what the writing on the label was.  “... Sexus… Pollinis?”

Tony grumbled as he walked over and grabbed the tube, looking it over.  “It’s literally Latin for sex pollen.  Which probably means exactly what we think.”

“Is that what the smell in the air was?” Bucky asked.

Natasha nodded.  “I think most of it spilled on her, which is why she was so affected but we weren’t.”

“Okay.  I’ll… clean all this stuff up,” Tony said.  “Get her out of here and in a bed.  Or a bath.”  He shook his head as he started to call for the robots that mopped the floor.  “Animals.”

You came to in your shared room, curled up between them in your giant tub.  “Wha’ happened?”

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky cooed, his fingers massaging your sore shoulders.  “How do you feel?”

For some reason, you started crying.  It just came over you.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha said, cupping your face and wiping your tears.  “Baby, what’s going on?  Huh?  Talk to us…”

“I-I’ve just been f-feeling so alone a-and this is the first time w-we’ve all been together in two m-months,” you whimpered in a shattered glass voice, barely able to string together a full sentence through your hiccups.  “A-And you’ve been gone s-so often that all I can think is m-maybe I’m j-just here because you’re both d-dominants and needed a s-s-submissive!”

Bucky and Natasha’s faces both fell and they squeezed you that much closer to them.

“Oh, Baby, no,” Natasha said.  Her heart hurt as she realized that that’s why you’ve been so off lately.  “We love you so much.  So, so much.”

“I think it’s time we stopped going on so many missions anyway, Baby,” Bucky added, his fingers tickling up and down your back.  “I’m tired of not being home with my girls.”

“Really?” You asked softly, looking at him like he’d just told you he’d give you the moon.

“Yeah,” Natasha said, bringing your hand to her lips.  She pressed a kiss to your left ring finger as her eyes met Bucky’s, a knowing look on his face.  Maybe soon there’d be a ring on that finger.  “Really, Baby.”

[riley1cannon]

So, per that post about its being okay to post incomplete fics, abandoned fics, I’ve been digging through my files and having a look at some stories that started out well but never quite came together enough to be shared. A few of them do still look good to me. Like, with a tweak or ten here and there, that one where Clark rescues Bruce from the Underworld when he’s taken by a lamia (entirely inspired by Henry Cavill’s Immortals look, by the way)--that could still work. Maybe a couple others.

And then there’s Chapter Nine of Something Wicked This Way Comes, which I had forgotten even existed.

I mean... The last time the fic was updated was June 11, 2012, and I’m not even sure what’s going on here:

Chapter Nine

Man, could Gotham get any freakier? Mike Churchill lit a cigarette and huddled in the alley doorway outside the City Morgue, and thought about the pros and cons of relocating. 

He tugged his peacoat tighter around him and sucked down some more cancer smoke, and snickered to himself at the thought. The way he saw it, your life expectancy in Gotham wasn’t anything to brag about anyway so you might as well grab the gusto while you could.

He guessed there’d be a lull in the action now until the next wackjob blew into town. Although he’d heard some of the cops talking, shifty like, just enough to make him wonder if there were more zombies on the way. Of all the crazy shit he hated about this town, fucking zombies was right up there at number one. He’d been on duty in the morgue when it started and he would not forget that as long as he lived. One minute a body was laid out on the table, ready to be sliced and diced, and the next thing you know John Doe’s on his feet, teeth sunk into Judy Tyler’s neck—and Mike hadn’t stayed around to see what happened next.

Yeah, he decided, as he finished the cigarette and hrew the butt down, grinding it out with his toe, it was high time to blow Gotham. Past high time. Kansas, Montana, that’s where he’d go, some place where nothing freaky ever happened.

As he started to go back inside, Mike stopped, head cocked to try and locate the noise he’d heard, like something scraping against the pavement. He looked up and down the alley, about ready to convince himself it was just his imagination working overtime, when he spotted a fat assed cat up on a Dumpster. He blew out a breath, aggravated that he’d let a stupid old cat spook him.

“Fuck off, furball!” The cat just stared at him—and then yowled like something bit its ass and jumped about six feet in the air, fuzzed out all over as it leaped across to a fire escape and zoomed to safety. Mike looked around the alley again, the hair on his arms standing up.

“Nothin’s there, nothin’s there,” he told himself even as he heard another scrape and saw a shadow move across the ground. “Oh fuck this,” he declared and hastily ducked back inside. He slammed the door shut and locked it—and jumped back a foot as a fist thumped against the door, hard enough to rattle it.

He backed up some more as shadows started to slither under the door and crawl along the floor toward him. Oh shit oh shit oh shit…

***

Jim Gordon winced as he stepped on some of the broken glass that littered the hallway. It crunched loudly under his foot and he kept absolutely still, barely breathing, as ten seconds ticked by; then twenty, thirty more, with no door banging open up ahead or sound of footsteps, and he let himself draw a deeper breath. He darted around a corner, his wrists crossed before him as he balanced a flashlight and his gun. He played the flashlight beam along the corridor and swore softly as he spotted Johanna Dawson and two attendants slumped against the wall, her head at an unnatural angle. He knelt and checked for a pulse to be sure, before turning his attention to the other two. One of them, a chunky kid with spiky hair and reeking of cigarette smoke, still had some life in him. The other was gone, though. Both of them and Dawson had scorch marks on their clothes and skin and some kind of sticky-looking residue, like a slime trail, smeared over them as well. The scorch marks and slime ran along the wall as well. Jim was careful not to touch it.

There was a crash, and Jim darted a look around. It had come from inside the autopsy room. As he approached the room, it had been dark, but now a dizzying, kaleidoscopic swirl of psychedelic lights was going off inside, interspersed with flashes of energy that looked like lightning strikes. His eyes dazzled by the display, he had to look away for a moment. That’s when he saw his own flashlight was about to die out.

A lot of the lights had been blown out when he and his officers had arrived, but there was an overhead light burning a few feet down the T-junction of the hallway, and the light from a streetlamp poured through a multi-paned window down at the other end. It was feeble, but it was enough.

He edged closer to the double-doors of the autopsy room and grimaced at the body bags that had been heaved off a pair of gurneys, unzipped so the contents could be inspected, and then tossed aside like trash. Jim started to step around them but then ducked back, out of sight, as the doors swung open and two figures walked out. No, Jim corrected that: one of them walked, the tall one swathed in a hooded, dark cloak. The other one, wrapped in a white sheet that trailed along the floor, could have come from a toga party. That figure stumbled and staggered after the cloaked figure as if drunk.

Jim didn’t think the individual was intoxicated. He wished that was it. There was something about that walk, the shambling gait, that made him think of the reanimated dead who had scuffed and staggered through the streets because of the dark sorcery of Felix Faust. True, Batman insisted there was no connection between that business and this current matter, and Jim had learned to trust his judgment. All the same, he couldn’t deny catching sight of that figure sent a shiver up his spine.

He shifted position—and winced as his foot crunched more broken glass. It sounded as loud as a gunshot in the quiet, and the cloaked figure turned to look in his direction. For an instant, Jim was uncannily reminded of the character in that Gray Ghost cartoon that Bruce Wayne had suggested he watch. There were no glowing red eyes piercing the darkness, but that might have been a welcome detail. He might have been able to laugh at that as something obviously phony and over the top. This figure, though, wrapped in its dark, hooded cloak that obscured almost everything, the malevolence carried in its gaze carried an intensity that he could feel crawl over his skin. The figure made a gesture and Jim raised his gun. No weapon was brandished; or, no gun or knife. Energy, like sparks of static electricity, spurted from its hands and hit the walls, the floor. Jim backed up instinctively as the bursts of energy turned into black blobs that flattened and spread out, like shadow forms slithering toward him.

All the while, the other figure, draped in its sheet, leaned against the wall, head lolling and jaw slack, eyes rolled back in its head. A stench of decomposition wafted from it, stronger by every passing second, and Jim had to struggle not to gag.

The shadow forms were closer and he backed up some more. The cloaked figure seemed to sag and stagger for a moment, panting as if fatigued. Straightening, the figure passed a hand over his companion, energy crackling once more, and this time Jim did perceive a red glow. Not from the eyes, but from the wrists and somewhere around the neck. In its sheet, the dead man jerked like a puppet and moved its head, sightless eyes passing over Jim before it shuffled after its retreating master.

Jim started forward but the shadows flowed toward him once more. A tendril groped toward him, brushed against his shoulder, and he lurched back as it burned. He slapped at his shoulder as the cloth smoked, the burn stinging his skin. More of the shadows were coming at him, swarming toward him—

Gauntleted hands grasped him and pulled, dragged him away from the shadows and into a room. The door was slammed shut as the shadows flowed forward. They oozed around and under the door for a moment, flickering like flames, before they withdrew and left a scent like ozone hanging in the air.

Jim ran a shaky hand over his hair as he turned to face his rescuer. “Batman? What the hell was that?”

“A further mutation I hadn’t factored in. Are you all right?”

When exactly had things like ‘further mutations’ become so normal? Jim wondered and shook his head. “Yes. I don’t know.” His coat had stopped smoldering but his shoulder felt hot and sore, the pain radiating across his back. “It was Wylde? Coming for Bloom?”

“Yes.”

Great, just great—“Hey!” Jim cried out in protest as Batman didn’t even bother with the courtesy of a warning before he began to cut away the burnt portion of Jim’s overcoat. “That was a gift.”

“I’ll get you another.” Batman examined the square of gray wool, even sniffed at it, before putting it away in an envelope and tucking that back in his utility belt. He extracted something else, a small aerosol tube. “Topical analgesic,” he told him, even as he examined the burn and then sprayed a fine mist over it. “That should help.”

Jim nodded as he felt it cool the burn. “It does.”

***

And that’s it. 

I have a pile of notes, so figuring out what’s going on and what’s supposed to happen next is possible. (Rereading the fic would also help, of course.) 

Is it worth it, for a long-forgotten fic? Something to ponder, I guess.