#not really good on account of this just being a little personal side mission or whatever for me

[sunnwalker]

I have like two separate drawings that need to be finished but I got distracted and drew this instead what do we think.

[pastorpresent]

When the dust settled of what Wade dubbed their 'super awesome Madonna world saving sacrifice', (don't fucking ask, god knows Logan doesn't) the TVA had offered to hire their services to round up variants that incorrectly stumbled into their universe. With a fucking paycheck.

Logan had been trying (and failing) to find work for a few weeks by that point. It was sort of difficult when he had no tangible work history in this universe, with no references that could actually be called. Or a social security number. Or a bank account. Or any form of ID, really.

Wade had already quickly agreed on both their behalfs, and Logan got the feeling he just needed a valid excuse to put the suit on now and again between his monotonous shifts at the dealership.

The only catch was that they had to undergo a physical and mental health assessment before hand.

He'd passes the physical with flying colours. The mental one... not so much. They'd still 'hired' him, but when he was given a folder with information regarding each fucking problem he had mentally, they'd heavy implied he needed to work on it to keep his job.

His plan had been to chuck it in the trash, or burn the fucker, but it'd slipped his mind to do either by the time they'd gotten home because Wade started trying to cook pasta for dinner and almost set the entire place on fire, somehow.

He left it on the side and Wade, being the nosy fucker he was, had of course read it.

There was a lot of shit Logan expected to find in there - depression, ptsd, alcoholism... stuff he didn't exactly need some fancy fucking doctor to tell him he had. A six year old could probably glance his way and identify that he needed antidepressants.

The one that he'd thought was odd, and the one Wade seemed to latch onto, was 'touch deprivation'.

The thing was, Wade was a shithead. He practically made it his goal whenever he walked into a room to be the most annoying person in that room. Usually successfully.

But he was also... good. He was a good person, despite what people might say to him. He wanted to help him, which was... sweet, he supposed.

A lot of the stuff in there was a bit tricky to 'fix', probably requiring some sort of medication or therapy (Logan point blank refused both) but a couple of things, Wade seemed hellbent on helping him with.

There was never any liquor in their apartment, for starters. Whenever Logan would buy any, it would go mysteriously missing the following day. Al didn't even know it had been there, and Wade was a shit liar with his innocent little shrug when Logan would ask.

Ar first it pissed him off but, well, Wade was just trying to help, and he was - helping, that is. Logan was actually sober more than he was drunk these days - which hasn't happened in at least a decade.

The 'touch deprivation' was another Wade seemed hell bent on helping with.

The merc was already tactile with his friends. Logan had seen him drape an arm over their shoulder, side hug them as they walked somewhere, hug them goodbye.

It seemed he dialled it up to a thousand with him, though.

If they both happened to be in the kitchen, Wade was brushing up against him every few seconds, murmuring apologies as he all but pressed against him under the guise of trying to move somewhere or reach something.

When they were out, Wade would let their arms and hands brush up against each other. If Logan was pushing the cart in the store, Wade would 'accidently' rest his hand over his on the handle bar.

It was little stuff, things that somebody on the outside of them would probably not even notice, until one night on the couch.

They'd been running around for the TVA all day, and Logan was irritable and exhausted. He felt about ready to claw his own skin off out of general frustration, built up from a day of shitty, all over the place missions.

They'd both showered and were sat watching gossip girl, but he just couldn't settle. He was switching position every few seconds, growling under his breath every time his discomfort returned, and he must've been annoying the fuck out of Wade, he thought.

After maybe an hour - and Logan wasn't going to cry, but he damn sure felt like it, Wade sighed next to him.

Logan immediately found himself growing defensive, ready to argue that it wasn't his fucking fault his skin felt all tingly and wrong, and that the couch was too soft, or that there was a dumb ache in his chest that he didn't understand.

Wade didn't start arguing though. Instead, he lifted an arm in invitation.

Logan stared at him like he'd lost his fucking mind. How many hits to the head had he taken today? Could his regenerative abilities repair concussion or should Logan be taking him to a fucking hospital?

"Come on, peanut. Let me help," Wade said, which only confused Logan more. He didn't even know what was wrong- so how did Wade reckon he could fix it?

"I'm fine," he gritted out with a glare, trying to keep still to prove his point but fuck, his skin felt painful and tight.

"Alright," Wade held his hands up in surrender before letting them drop, turning back to the TV.

Logan watched him for a few seconds, then scoffed loudly, moving to lay a bit more on the arm rest.

It felt like it was digging into his ribs. He scratched his arm, barely resisting the urge to unsheathe his claws. He adjusted to lie back into the cushions. He sunk in too much, and the soft cushions felt like sandpaper against his on-fire skin.

Something dangerously close to a whimper escaped his lips, and he had to blink back a dampness building in his vision. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?

"Lo," he thought Wade had went back to focusing on the show, but apparently he'd been wrong, because the merc was staring at him with soft, concerned eyes, and Logan wanted to scream.

"What?" Logan snipped, but it was missing any of the intended edge.

"Let me try and help. No one else is here, it's just us - and if you don't like it, you can just sit back up," Wade lifted an arm again, an invitation for Logan to curl up against him and... it pissed him off how nice that sounded.

He hesitated for a few moments longer. Too long, really, and he expected Wade to rescind the offer entirely out of impatience.

He didn't. He just adjusted himself to be more sprawled back against the couch cushions, parting his legs a little and keeping his arm raised.

Logan made a defeated noise in the back of his throat, crawling closer. He hovered awkwardly between Wade's legs, unsure how to proceed, and Wade just gently pushed on his shoulders to get him to lie down, his head and upper torso covering Wade's chest and lower body.

He worried he'd be too heavy for Wade, but the younger man didn't seem bothered whatsoever. Perks of him being built pretty indestructible, probably.

"Good boy," he praised quietly, running his hand through Logan's hair. Essentially petting him, really, and Logan couldn't explain it but it's like everything in his head and everything with his body quietened down. He could breathe again, and he found himself going boneless against the younger man.

He wrapped his arms around Wade's torso, nuzzling into his stomach with a content sound, his eyes slipping shut as Wade continued to play with his hair, stroke over his back, brush fingers over his neck, calming the burn of his skin wherever they went.

It became a regular occurrence after that. Every night when they settled down to watch TV, Wade would wordlessly lift an arm, and Logan would wordlessly crawl over to lie against him. Sometimes they reversed it, because Logan discovered that having Wade lying atop of him felt incredibly grounding. Usually though, he'd be the one pressed up against the merc, tangled around him like some sort of extra clingy and extra heavy octopus. Wade would always 'pet' him, mumbling occasional praise as he ran gentle fingers over his body, scratching his scalp or dragging blunt nails over his back and arms.

Logan didn't realise how desperately he needed the touch until it was gone.

They'd been arguing all day. It was all stupid shit, really - moreso driven by the fact they hadn't had a mission in a while. Wade grew antsy if he'd been out of commission too long, and if he had to work so many back to back shifts at the dealership. And Logan grew irritable being stuck in the tiny apartment with no real purpose all day.

He'd went to the store and bought himself a bottle of whiskey to occupy his mind, to stop the thoughts of his old found family dead on the ground from a fight he could've aided in leaking into his brain.

Wade, as usual, had poured it down the drain. Something that, ordinarily, Logan would've been pissed about but let drop fairly quickly- because despite what others may think of him, his sort of almost sobriety did matter to him. It mattered to Wade too, which is why Logan never usually got all that mad at him for pouring perfectly good alcohol down the drain.

Maybe it was because of the irritation already brewing within them both, or maybe it was because Logan had really been relying on loosing himself in that bottle, but the argument quickly spiralled out of hand.

"You can't just pour out my shit, Wade!" Logan yelled, gesturing to the now empty bottle.

"Yeah, I'm being totally unreasonable. Next time I'll let you drink yourself into a stupor, pinky fucking promise!" Wade yelled back.

"You had no fucking right!"

"Do you think I want to, huh?! You think I just love having to control your alcohol intake like your some sixteen year old girl who discovered fucking smirnoff for the first time?!"

"Then fucking don't! I don't need you to do anything for me! I managed by myself for two hundred fucking years, I don't fucking need you, and I certainly don't fucking want you!" Logan shouted, probably loud enough that they'd get complaints from the neighbours later.

The ensuing silence felt even louder.

He regretted it immediately. He didn't mean it, and he knew that as soon as he'd said it. Because yeah, he might be able to survive by himself- but that's all it ever was. Fucking survival.

Wade showed him how to live.

He was still too angry to take any of it back, though. To admit he'd crossed a line.

"Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want, Logan," and Wade left, their bedroom door slamming echoing throughout the whole apartment.

They avoided each other for days. Even when they were together, there was silence. Wade didn't crack any of his usual jokes. They ate in silence. They stopped waking up tangled up in one another, and Wade no longer opened an arm in invitation when they were sharing the couch alone. No hand over hand on the cart, or arms brushing in the street, none of it.

Logan didn't give a shit, obviously. He bought ridiculous amounts of alcohol and drank until he passed out on their kitchen floor, waking up a few hours later cover in his own vomit and Mary Puppins peering at him curiously. Even the fucking dog was judging him.

It was the week mark, and Logan actually hadn't had a drink that day. Only because he had ran dry on money to buy any, and he'd considered stealing some but thought it wouldn't be worth losing his job with the TVA. He did maybe try drinking some of Al's nail polish remover, but he was halfway into the bottle when he realised she used the type that was fucking alcohol free.

Not his proudest moment.

His body already felt weary from the slight pulls of withdrawal when he sat on his end of the couch, purposefully not glancing Wade's way. It was very much like how he'd felt when he stopped drinking so much in this universe. The tiredness that ate down to his bones, the cravings niggling his brain constantly.

He already didn't feel great - but then the itching started, and it got intense fast.

His efforts to keep still were futile. It was so much worse than the first time around, and worse still because he knew what was missing, and it was his own fault he didn't have it anymore.

What the fuck was he supposed to say? 'Hey I know I said I didn't need you and to stop treating me like a child, but if you don't cuddle me right now I might fucking explode'.

No. He couldn't do that.

Everything hurt. He couldn't draw a breath in properly, and even the feeling of his clothes against his skin felt fucking wrong. Like it was too... light.

The final straw was when one of those tears welling in his eyes actually escaped, rolling down his cheek. He wiped at it harshly, and got up without another word, heading straight for their bedroom.

He couldn't let Wade see him like this. He was fucking pathetic.

He stripped down to his boxers, needing the stupid fabric to stop touching him, and got onto their bed. The covers felt scratchy, and he kicked them away with a growl. In the process of his aggressive attempts to find a comfortable position, he got a whiff of a familiar scent.

Wades. Wade's pillow smelt exactly like him.

It was the first time since the itching feeling started that he felt some sembelence of calm. His skin still burnt, but he could sort of zone it out for a moment.

He tried to turn away. To ignore it, because it was fucking stupid, but he didn't last long before he was grabbing the pillow and pulling it towards him, pressing his face into it and inhaling deeply.

He didn't remember when he started crying, but the pillow was soon wet with tears. He was so fucking stupid. Utterly fucking ridiculous - a grown ass man crying into a pillow because, what? He didn't have someone playing with his fucking hair?

He was so, so beyond furious at himself. At how ridiculous he was, and at how massively he'd managed to mess everything up.

Wade was good. He was bad. He should've known from the get go that he'd fuck it all up.

"Jesus, Logan," the soft gasp startled him from his thoughts abruptly, and he panicked. He sat up, shoving the pillow aside despite the fact Wade had seen exactly what he was doing.

Maybe he'd get lucky and one of those stupid ring portals would appear beneath him and send him elsewhere. Anywhere, really- he didn't care, it would be better than this.

"What?"

The biting tone wasn't all that effective when he had to scrub at his eyes to get rid of the tears.

It didn't even work anyway. They wouldn't fucking stop now that he'd let them start, and the fact Wade had caught him sitting there breathing in dredges of his scent while fucking crying - maybe part of it was just the utter humiliation of it all.

"Oh, Lo. It's alright," Wade murmured, and then he was shutting the door and crossing the room, climbing onto the bed.

He reached out, but seemed to hesitate, his arm dropping, "can I touch you?"

Logan only cried harder, his body practically vibrating, as if it was attempting to force him to move closer even unconsciously. He gave a jerky nod, "please."

Wade was on him in an instant, pulling him in so tight that to anyone without super strength and regenerating abilities, it would probably hurt.

Logan didn't care. He needed more. The fire was tamed, but it was still there, the embers tickling his body and threatening to overtake him again.

His hands tugged at the hem of Wade's shirt, seeking permission. He needed the stupid itchy fabric gone. The press of it was too soft and gentle. He needed skin. Needed something solid. Needed Wade, now.

"Shirt off?" Wade clarified, and Logan nodded where his head was tucked into the crook of his neck.

He hadn't accounted for the fact that they'd have to break their embrace to do it.

Wade tried to pull back, but Logan gasped, digging his nails in and keeping himself plastered to Wade's front.

"I'm not going anywhere, peanut. I'm just taking my clothes off, alright? I'm not leaving you, I swear," Wade put both hands on the side of his face, lifting it so he could look into his eyes as he spoke, the pad of his thumb wiping away his tears.

Logan reluctantly let go, shivering violently when everything hit him again.

Wade made quick work of stripping off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving him in his briefs. He lay down, and opened his arm.

Logan could've started crying again in relief. He all but dove at the younger man, burying his face away in his chest, wrapping his arms tight around him. Wade held him tightly, pulling him in enough so their bodies were pressed together solidly.

He lifted a hand and started stroking his hair, shushing him softly and rocking their bodies a little.

"I'm sorry. 'M so sorry, I didn't mean any of it," and ordinarily he might very been reluctant to say it, never being all that good at swallowing down his perceived pride, but it felt too important not to say.

Because despite everything, Wade had came in here to check on him. He could've just continued to watch TV. He could've so easily made fun of him for what he'd walked into, mocking how fucking stupid he was, and walked straight back out. He could've and should've done all of that, but he didn't. Because he was Wade, and he was good, and Logan would never fully understand what positivity he put out into the world to earn him.

"I know, me neither. Just calm down, Lo. It's all good now, I've got you," Wade assured, squeezing tighter, and Logan made a small satisfied sound, nosing at Wade's chest and then his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo and body wash.

The itching had ceased, but he still felt like he needed more, like it wasn't enough until he sliced Wade open and crawled inside of him, curled up contently next to his beating heart, burrowed beneathe his ribs.

He didn't verbalise it, but Wade seemed to understand, as usual.

"On your back, baby," he directed, and Logan did so without complaint.

Wade moved with him, lying on top of him completely, tangling their legs together, a solid weight pressing him into the mattress, and ironically enough he finally felt like he could breathe again.

"Good boy. You're so good, peanut," Wade hummed, running fingers over his shoulders. Logan disagreed, but he was too out of it to really argue. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, hovering out of his body.

He didn't realise he was biting until Wade let out a soft sound above him, and the metallic taste filled his mouth.

"Fuck, sorry I... I didn't realise," he tried to move away, eyes wide, but Wade shushed him again, his expression something fond.

"Does it help?" Wade asked simply, and Logan swallowed. It did. It was... it was like Wade felt closer to him, somehow.

"Mhm, but don't wanna hurt you," he felt almost drunk, his words slurring a little as he watched the small wound on Wade's shoulder close up.

"I'll heal, angel. Have at it," Wade tilted his head in invitation, and Logan nosed at his neck for a moment, still not entirely sure, before sticking out the tip of his tongue and licking experimentally. He moaned softly at the taste of Wade on his taste buds, pressing his nose against his adams apple simultaneously to breathe him in. He let his teeth sink in lightly, nibbling at the sensitive area.

Wade groaned atop of him, and Logan went to pull away, but the merc held him there by the back of his head, "keep going. Please, Lo," and he sounded breathless and needy, and it made Logan growl with animalistic possessiveness, biting down a bit harder, blood running to the surface, which he quickly lapped up.

He couldn't really tell who connected lips first, he was fairly certain it was him, but it didn't really matter ultimately. They were high off one another, Wade grinding down while Logan rutted up, both of them rock solid against each other.

Logan bit at his lip, drawing blood before licking it away filthily, dragging his nails all over every surface of Wade he could reach. He needed him. He needed him so fucking badly. He wanted to worship every square inch of him then crawl beneathe his skin and make a home there.

He reached between them, wrapping a hand around Wade's length, but the merc caught his wrist, using the other hand to grip Logan's jaw and direct their eyes to meet.

"Logan," he knew vaguely that Wade wanted him to listen, but he was too busy whining beneathe him, pushing his hips up trying to chase the friction that every cell in his body was fucking screaming for. He didn't want to stop, and he didn't get why Wade was making him.

"Logan. Hey, eyes on me, peanut," Wade ordered firmly, and Logan finally reluctantly ceased his movements, blinking Wade's face into his focus.

"How are you feeling?"

And Logan huffed, glaring a little, because did Wade really stop what they were doing just to ask him that? Seriously?

"I'm fine," he replied shortly, trying to go for Wade's mouth again, but found himself held down by a hand against his bare chest.

"I'm going to need a bit more than that before we go any further, peanut. Especially with how upset you were just twenty minutes ago," Wade was stroking a hand through his hair again, and the calmness that filled his body from the touch was enough to get him to settle down just a little, sinking into the bed and giving up his valiant mission of jerking off against Wade's solid form.

"I just need to know you're okay, and I need to know you're doing this because you want it, not just because you feel like you need it."

"I want it. I want it a lot," he said after a few seconds, looking up at Wade. It was the most vulnerable he'd felt in forever, and all he could do was hope that Wade took that and handled it carefully.

Wade smiled, kissing Logan firmly. Logan gasped into it, letting his mouth open wider, inviting Wade in to explore as he pleased.

Wade pulled away suddenly, and Logan very almost ripped his head off of his shoulders in order to keep him close.

"Easy, boy. I'm just trying to sort you out," Wade explained with fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers.

It was ridiculous, but he wasn't certain he could handle the younger man's body weight leaving him. That press, being able to feel every inch of Wade against him, it was the only thing keeping him tethered in reality. He couldn't handle his skin setting alight again. Especially not when he had went a whole week without Wade's touch.

"Baby," and something about Wade calling him that made him want to crumble. Want to get onto his knees and suck him off and worship him like he deserved, because he must be a God- that's the only explanation as to how he can breathe a single word and make Logan unravel. Because he'd never been that. He'd never been anyone's 'baby', because no one ever bothered to be tender with him before. He was The Wolverine. He was supposed to be rough, and rugged, and maybe 'handsome', but never 'pretty'. Never 'baby'.

And yet everytime it rolled off of Wade's tongue it was so genuine, so sweet and caring, and it was almost like a permission slip for Logan to let the gruff exterior drop just for a minute, and be somebody's 'baby'. Be Wade's 'baby'.

"You don't want me to leave, peanut? You want me to stay on top of you?" Wade asked, because he was genuinely bothered by the idea of Logan not being one million percent happy with this experience.

Logan found his mouth and kissed him again. This one was gentle. So, so gentle. No blood or biting or back and forth - just a barely there press of lips. A thank you, sealed away in a kiss.

"Please," he answered quietly, speaking it into Wade's parted mouth, "I just... I need to know you're here, I think. I need to..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish.

How could he verbalise that he needed to feel him so completely, that he needed Wade everywhere all over him, all at once? How could he say that without scaring him away entirely?

Maybe that would be for the best, in all honesty. He couldn't be so damn reliant - not when Wade had a fucking life to live. A future to build. Why should he put that on hold just because Logan crash landed into his reality?

He should be going on dates with Vanessa right now, trying to fix things. Or hanging out with his actual friends. He should be doing a lot of things- but trying to fix something in Logan that had been irreparably smashed to pieces years ago was not one of them.

"I need- we need to stop," he spoke, even as every cell in his body was screaming no, fuck no.

Wade frowned, the hand that had been tracing over his arms pausing.

"What?"

"I can't. I can't do it. I can't."

He couldn't drag Wade down into the fucking abyss. He couldn't force him to live out his eternity like this.

"Okay, that's okay peanut. You want me to get off of you?" Wade offered, and Logan nodded.

It killed him, but he nodded.

Wade lifted up, manoeuvring onto the edge of the bed.

Logan wanted to throw up, that cold and empty feeling returning to his gut, spreading through all of his limbs like poison. 'This is good, Wade is good, you are bad' was like a mantra in his head, growing louder and louder until all Logan could hear was the rapid thumping of his own heart and those words, screamed, being etched across his organs like a warning.

Maybe the repeated frying of his brain was finally catching up to him.

"Logan, what's wrong?"

Logan wanted to tear his own fucking skin off.

"Did- was it too much? Did I go too far? I'm sorry, I just thought it's what you wanted," Wade was apologising, he was fucking apologising, and Logan was barely holding it the fuck together, his chest tightening.

"No. No, it's... I need to be alone," he choked on the last word, as if his body was physically fighting him from saying it.

Wade was looking at him with a small frown, reaching out for his hand resting on the mattress which Logan quickly moved away.

He'd never forget the look of hurt etched onto the others face. He might very well of tried to hide it, but he caught the flash of upset that filled Wade's features so intensely for just a moment.

"Of course. Yeah, sorry. I'll just," Wade gestured vaguely to the bedroom door before all but racing out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Logan sighed shakily, curling up on himself and trying in vain to stop the tears coming.

Part 2 up now

[auspicioustidings]

I love your work! May I please request ghost finding a captured civilian in an enemy base and taking her for himself?

Ah little posessive freak Ghost my beloved <3 I didn't know if you were looking for fluff or twisted Simon so I've leant towards the latter!

CW: Attempted rape (non-graphic), kidnapping

They had been warned there were going to be civillians in the building, but it wasn't the first time Ghost had to work around hostages to get the job done. It was an understanding on the team that whereever possible it wasn't going to be the huge fucker in the skull mask who dealt with that side of things. If they knew where hostages were being kept, that's where they sent Gaz or Johnny or even Price to settle them and get them out. Not the Ghost.

And that was working smoothly once again. Gaz had radioed in saying he found where they were being kept, had taken out their guards and would wait for the all clear for an exit route for the handful of doubtless terrified little civilians looking at him like he was the second coming for saving them.

They were all accounted for and that always made Ghost feel some tension bleed away. The last thing he needed to be worrying about was hostage situations.

The rest of the mission was easy enough, taking out any enemies and finding the saferoom to snoop around in for intel. It was laughably easy to get into. Saferooms only really worked if the person who knew the code didn't spill it at the first little twist of an arm, the press of a knife against their throat. They only worked if they were used. But obviously playing at warlord the man was arrogant, thought he could easily take on whoever came at him. Idiot. The moment he had the code, Ghost had no more use for him until he could get him somewhere for a proper interrogation, so he was smacked in the skull with a pistol and out cold. His fingerprints and eye scanner worked just fine even with him unconcious and the code he had given beeped with a green light and the click of a lock.

It was a damn good thing that you assumed it was your captor coming in and so were aiming the cast iron at where his face would be. Instead it smacked into the tactical vest of a much taller man. You hissed and spat and fought like a feral cat when the man immediately reacted by grabbing your wrist and twisting so you cried out and dropped the pan. There went your weapon, there wasn't much else to use in this little safe room but for the small implements in the kitchen and you hadn't felt confident with a knife. A blunt object with a larger surface area had felt like a better bet.

"Don't fucking touch me! I'll claw your fucking eyes out!" you spat out at what you were sure was a bloody monster.

You had been a victim of wrong place wrong time about 12 hours prior. You had broken down on a stretch of road that barely got any use and had fuck all phone signal to get help, so were at the mercy of someone passing by. Just your luck the someone passing by was some slimy asshole with a compound nearby he thought to drag you to. He had found out quickly he wasn't getting his hands on you without a fight. You were a bit of a mess, shirt torn and what you suspected was a cracked orbital bone from where he had punched you after you bit his tongue. You wished you had bit fucking harder.

The only thing that had saved you in the end was the alarm going off. The man had thrown you into the safe room, telling you that once he had dealt with whoever dared break into his base he was going to fuck you bloody. You'd kill him before he got the chance. You'd fucking kill him before all this adrenaline fuelled fight turned into fear and had you accepting your fate.

The monster in the skull mask didn't have the laugh of a monster. It was gruff but there was something very genuine about it. He had his hands on both of your wrists, locking them so you couldn't scratch at him with yout body pulled right into him so you couldn't kick either. Your wrists were pinned at your chin so you couldn't even bite at him. Didn't much stop you from fighting, trying to just drop all of your weight to get him off balance. The added weight did not phase him in the slightest.

"Settle sweetheart, I'm the good guy."

"Do good guys often wear skull masks?!" you hissed back, still struggling to no avail.

He manouvered so that you could see out of the doorway and to the passed out man on the floor.

"They do when they're going after bad guys."

It was like all the adrenaline had finally burned off at right that moment and you felt yourself go boneless in his hold, fight gone. You had a sick moment of being disappointed that you could see that the man was still breathing.

"We sure all the civilians are accounted for?"

You felt a little dazed as you squinted back at him before realising he must have been speaking on the radio. Whatever he heard back must have been interesting because he looked at you, considering, before twisted the little dial to another channel.

"Got a stray, let's keep it out of the reports."

Simon knew that the 141 would back him up. After all, him and the Seargants had always admired the relationship between Price and his wife even if when they first met she kept trying to murder him. She had grown out of it after a few years.

And Simon had never felt like this before. He thought you truly would have killed him if you had been able when he opened the door. It was love at first murder attempt for him.

He cooed at you and comforted you the whole way through exfil. It wasn't until you realised that you couldn't leave that it really started getting fun.

[heartseungs-archive]

going below zero | l.dh

genre ❄ coworker au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst pairings ❄ attorney!donghyuck x attorney!reader word count ❄  10.2k synopsis ❄ Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out. warnings ❄ mentions of alcohol info ❄ merry christmas everyone!!! i hope you enjoy this small present and hava a very warm holiday wherever you are  <3 (it's currently below freezing in seoul and I'm typing this barely half-alive in my hotel room at 1.50am after returning from gocheok sky dome)

You enjoy your job. Mostly.

Besides the long hours, gruelling paperwork, inefficient district judiciary, and shitty coffee, of course. It’s all bearable, especially if you think about the multiple zero digits in your annual salary and the occasional bonus. And of course, you’ve developed a certain fondness for your office, which gives you a lovely view of the palaces and Seoul’s skyline.

“Y/N. Your coffee.” Karina passes you one of two mugs, specifically the one with daisies on it. Everyone working on your floor has made a deliberate effort to get distinct coffee mugs out of disdain for sharing, and you’re all the more grateful for it, especially on days like this. You take a tentative sip, and barely prevent yourself from spitting it out.

Maybe the burnt espresso will be the tipping point for your resignation after all.

“I still can’t believe the tenth floor shares their cups communally. Renjun would flay us if we tried suggesting it,” Karina mutters. She’s dressed in a form-fitting suit today, blouse slightly untucked. It’s been two years since she joined as a paralegal, and you’ll miss having her careful eye to look over your documents. Still, if there’s anyone deserving of becoming an associate, it’s her.

“It’s what happens when you have a floor that’s ninety-per cent men. Especially with people like him.” Your voice narrows to a sharp point, and Karina already knows who you’re talking about.

“I still don’t know what’s up with the both of you,” she muses, and you shrug. “It’s a long story. One that I’ll tell if I’m drunk and tired. Unfortunately, it’s currently-” you steal a glance at your watch, “-nine-thirty on a Monday morning, so wrong time.”

She gives a nod of acceptance, grimacing at the harrowed expression on your face. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be outside.”

“Wait. Karina,” you call out, and the girl halts, arching an eyebrow at you. “Where’s the case that we were working on last week? The medical negligence one.”

There’s a nervous expression on her face when she takes in your words, and you don’t have a good feeling about what she’s going to say next.

“Karina. What is it.”

She smiles sheepishly, and that’s when you really start getting scared.

“Haechan…said he could take over because you were busy with your current ones and Mr Kim agreed. It happened when you were on leave last Friday. I thought he emailed you.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Karina tries to flash a smile, but it comes out more like a pained cringe as she watches you close your eyes, and then take a deep inhale. You’re deathly quiet, and it’s slightly terrifying. “I’ll be back,” you force out, and she turns, alarmed, as you stride out of the office.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t answer.

Haechan gives it approximately five minutes before you reach his office. It takes three minutes for you to take the lift up, and it’s about twenty metres from the lobby to his personal office.

If you’re particularly enraged, however, your pace might be a little faster, so he accounts for that too.

“Three…two…” he counts down to himself, before the sharp knocks come.

“One.” The last word leaves his mouth with a note of finality, before you’re standing in front of him, eyes alight with indignation. It’s one of his favourite expressions on you. “Lee Haechan!” You shout, and he jumps a little at the loudness of your voice.

“You know, if you’re going to come in before I even allow it, you might as well not bother knocking,” he comments, turning his chair to face you.

“If you hadn’t taken my case, I wouldn’t even need to be here. Medical negligence isn’t even your specialty. Go back to whatever you’re doing in real estate.” You wave a cursory hand in the general direction of his desk to emphasise your point.

“But I think it’s interesting. And Mr Kim said he wants the lawyers at his firm to be versatile.” Haechan looks at you innocently as he says it, but the slight upward tug at the corner of his mouth betrays his real intentions.

If this was anyone else, you might have believed them. But Haechan never genuinely wants to help you, not unless he gets something out of it. Sometimes, he just wants to get on your nerves. It’s like some sort of twisted stress relief therapy for him, finding new ways to torment you.

“Look.” You run a hand through your hair, as if it’ll do something to calm your emotions. “Why are you doing this? Just leave me alone and we can live our perfectly happy lives. Doesn’t that sound good?”

For a second, he looks to be deep in thought, genuinely considering your suggestion. Until a smirk creeps up onto his face, and you mentally sink to your feet in dread.

“But that wouldn’t be any fun,” he says while gazing at you innocently, lips settling into a soft pout, and you feel a sharp tick of annoyance.

You’re going to kill him one day. You’re sure of it.

“So, are you drunk and tired enough yet to tell us what your deal with Haechan is? I’m curious, and so is Ningning.” You narrow your eyes at the two girls sitting opposite you, identical stone-faced expressions resting on their faces. “Was that your entire scheme by dragging me out on a Saturday night?”

Karina grins. “Maybe.”

You look to Seulgi for support, but she only shrugs. “I kind of want to know too.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” You ask, and Ningning shakes her head, pouring another shot of soju for you to down. You take it gratefully, relishing the cold burn as the alcohol makes its way into your system. Where do you start?

“I’ve known Lee Haechan since high school, if you have to know.” There’s a soft murmur of surprise from Karina at that piece of information, but you ignore it and continue.

“We’ve been competing over everything since we were teenagers. Think student council presidency, valedictorian, and best speaker at debate club sessions. When we got to university, it was the dean’s list and travel scholarships.”

Seulgi hums in thought. “And now that you’re both in the same company, it was the promotion to associate.” You nod. She’s quick to catch on, but you’re not finished.

“It wouldn’t be that bad if he was just a competitor. But of course, with my shitty luck, that man just so happens to be the devil’s incarnate,” you mutter venomously, and Ningning raises her hand. “But I think he’s got a good sense of humor.”

When no one responds, she coughs awkwardly. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely wrong, of course. Haechan’s funny in the way an internet video is, when you see someone getting pranked and laugh at them for not figuring it out sooner. However, it’s a bit harder to find joy in it when you’re on the receiving end.

“Have you considered…being friends? Maybe he’s just trying to get closer to you,” Seulgi suggests, and you shake your head vehemently. Her statement is a bizarre one in itself. If Haechan wanted to make amends, there were hundreds of better, other ways that he could have gone about it, instead of making you want to tear your hair out at every turn.

“Not happening. We’re way past that now,” you decide, and she looks at you doubtfully, as if she wants to say something. Before she can open her mouth, however, Ningning sits up in alarm, temporarily sober as she looks directly at you.

“I overheard Mr Kim saying he was looking to promote one of our senior associates to a partner next year. But doesn’t that mean….”

You stiffen at her words, the grip on your cup growing impossibly tighter. There’s a mental list of the senior associates in your firm that you quickly run through, but they’re all eliminated for various reasons here and there, until you’re left with two options.

You grit your teeth.

“Oh dear,” Karina mutters as she looks at your expression, as if already aware of what’s about to happen. Seulgi instinctively reaches a hand out to comfort you, but you barely register it.

Compared to the trivialities of freshman year, this is vastly different. Being a partner at the firm means a stake in the company, a concrete role and title that will cement your position. It’s every associate’s dream, and something that you’ve wanted since you first walked through the shiny glass doors of your office building. You’ll be damned if Haechan takes it away from you now, when your dreams are so close in reach.

There’s nothing much you can do now, however, besides crossing your fingers and waiting. You’re not sure if anyone’s keeping a tally of the cases that you or Haechan have won so far, but if there is, it’s likely neck-and-neck. Still, you hope your clean record and stellar performance count for something, even if you lack the natural charisma that he’s brimming with.

If you’re lucky enough, Mr Kim might select you for the diversity representation, just to even out the gender statistics in the company’s annual report. It’s not a fair or honourable way to win, but it’s a win nonetheless.

“On the bright side, there’s only a week until our Christmas break. You won’t need to see Haechan in office at all for a month at least.”

Seulgi’s good at saying the right things in the right situations, and you feel a sigh of relief escape you at the thought of being free of his presence for a good amount of time.

Until you realise she’s dead wrong.

At your guttural groan, Ningning looks over in alarm. “Are you sick? You should have listened to me when I told you not to drink so much alcohol-” She’s cut off by Karina placing a gentle hand on her arm, and waiting for you to respond. “Y/N, is there something wrong?”

It’s a few too many moments before your head comes back up, hair dishevelled and expression pale. “Remember when I said Haechan and I went to the same high school?” It’s a rhetorical question. Of course they remember. You swallow thickly, gaze roaming over the three girls in front of you as they patiently wait for you to continue.

“I may have forgotten to mention that our parents have been best friends for the past two decades.”

There was one clear memory of Haechan that you had from your childhood, and it involved crying. A lot of it. You had an irrational fear of sunflowers and subsequently bees, perhaps because there were always swarms of that exact insect around them.

It only took two days of Haechan finding out about this before he snuck sunflower seeds into your lunchbox, and told you that eating them would cause said flower to grow in you. Your teacher had found tears streaming down your cheeks once the bell rang, and Haechan ran off to tell everyone about how easily you had believed him, how gullible you seemed.

The relationship between the both of you never quite seemed to repair properly after that incident, even as your parents made hopeless attempts to make the two of you playmates.

You would have assumed that the animosity between both of you would mellow out once you turned older. After all, it was nothing but a foolish stunt pulled by a mischievous child.

Yet, the awkwardness devolved into competition and mutual dislike, especially when you realised that the both of you were constantly fighting for the same opportunities. And then he became wittier, always saying the right comments to make anger creep up the back of your neck.

Your parents might have saved a lot of effort if they knew the state of things between the both of you now.

“Well, isn’t someone looking cheerful today.” The familiar cadence of his voice grates at your ears. Haechan had been an avid member of the choir in his younger years, and you can still recall him winning district singing competitions. You would enjoy his voice more if it was disembodied and separate from the man himself.

“I rather walk than sit in your car,” you retort, but you know you’re lying through your teeth. Even then, he won’t abandon you, considering how his mother was very firm about the both of you showing up together and giving her regular updates. You wouldn’t put it beyond Mrs Lee to facetime the both of you at any time, just to check.

Haechan’s car is comfortable, and it seems to be the one thing he splurges on, besides his apartment in downtown Seoul. The leather seats are plush behind your back, and there’s a faint lavender smell that lingers inside. You’re not sure why you can recall those exact bits of information, considering you can’t remember the last time he drove you somewhere. Two years ago, he still had an old Toyota Camry, and the both of you would usually just take the train.

There were a few good things about the pandemic, and one of them was getting to work from home. The second was that you didn’t have these yearly trips back with Haechan, established as a tradition after the both of you relocated to Seoul for university.

Still, you’ll endure it, if it means getting home to spend Christmas with your family. The holiday has always evoked a sense of homesickness in you, and it’s likely due to the amount of effort your parents put into celebrating it. They weren’t religious, but they made sure there was always plenty of presents and hot chocolate.

It was fun, even if you were sent over every Christmas morning as an eight-year-old to wish the Lees a merry Christmas and endure Haechan’s teasing.

“I can’t believe you still listen to Michael Jackson.” The song that plays through the speakers is something you haven’t heard in years, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“It’s good music. I’m not sure why you dislike him so much.”

“I would enjoy his music a lot more if you hadn’t blasted it at two in the morning during finals season,” you say bitterly, and Haechan lets out a low chuckle. The both of you are stuck in traffic, and the silence that settles in the car is painfully awkward. You and Haechan don’t have much to say to each other, besides sharp words, and you’re starting to regret it a little.

You can feel Haechan’s eyes on you when he turns his head, fingers drumming on the wheel. However, you refuse to afford him the pleasure of meeting his gaze, your eyes resolutely fixed on the car in front of you.

His throat bobs slightly, nervously. “Look, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I rather it not be in silence. Let’s just pretend the company doesn’t exist. Truce?” He asks, and you try not to make the relief too obvious on your face. At your nod, Haechan breaks out into a brilliant smile, one that makes his features irk you less.

He should smile more instead of that smirk that he has all the time, you think. You would prefer it more.

“Now, what song do you want to queue? I’ll let you have music rights for the next three hours.”

The house looks exactly as you remember. Even then, the colours are brighter, more saturated in your eyes, tinted with the unmistakable nostalgia of childhood. You step carefully onto the robin’s egg-blue porch, luggage behind you as you ring the doorbell.

It’s like both your and Haechan’s movements are in sync, likely looking identical from the back.

You had forgotten to mention to the three girls that the two of you happened to be next-door neighbours as well.

There’s the pitter-patter of footsteps against wood before the door flies open, and your mother is in front of you and hugging you tightly. She feels so much smaller than you, so different from the imposing figure of your childhood. There’s weathered lines across her face, but the brightness in her eyes is still identical to your memories.

You smile. “Hey, mom.”

“Look who’s here,” the low timbre of your father’s voice rings out before you see him, and your smile grows inexplicably wider. “How was the trip here? Haechan drove safely, didn’t he? I should buy something for them later. Gas is expensive these days, you know.”

“He was going to make the trip anyways. Besides, doesn’t it save more gas if we travel together?” You question, and your mother rolls her eyes. “I forgot about that mouth of yours. It’s only become worse since you’ve become a lawyer,” she sighs out, but her eyes are full of mirth.

Your luggage is deposited in your room by your father before you can even offer to help, and you realise that your family hasn’t made any effort to redecorate the empty space, instead leaving everything as it is. Some of your vinyls still sit on the shelf, along with photographs and trophies from different competitions. If you dig hard enough, you might be able to find your old clothes as well.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t unpack yet. Help me bring this over to the Lees,” she hands you a cooler bag, and you peer inside to find banchan neatly packed into tupperware and freshly-baked cookies. “Don’t you want to deliver these yourself?” you ask hopefully, but immediately sink back down when she shakes her head. “It’ll be good for Mr and Mrs Lee to see you. Now go.”

It’s a small consolation of sorts that Mrs Lee is the one opening the door when you knock, and Haechan is nowhere to be found.

“I feel like I say this every time I see you, but you’ve grown so much.” The warm smile on her face elicits one from you too, and you wonder why the apple fell so far from the tree. As you go past the hallway, you can’t help but feel like you’re transported back to childhood. The house is as familiar to you as your own, even if most of your time here was spent bickering with him.

Once you reach the kitchen, you unpack the lunchboxes, tiptoeing to reach the fridge drawer. “I think these are good to be refrigerated for two weeks. Where should I put it?”

“Anywhere on the top shelf is fine. Do you want coffee?”

A latte isn’t usually your drink of choice, but you’re grateful for any caffeine hit after the long ride. Along the way, you had decided to take a nap, and Haechan had woken you up by blasting a song in your ear at full volume.

“Mom, did you see my winter coat- Oh, it’s you,” Haechan says when he steps into the kitchen, and you muster a polite smile on your face. Mrs Lee frowns slightly. “That’s no way to speak to our guest. And it’s on the uppermost shelf of your cabinet. Why don’t you walk Y/N out?”

“It’s fine, Mrs Lee, I live right opposite-”

“Sure,” Haechan cuts in nonchalantly, and you widen your eyes at him, a silent question. He deliberately ignores your heavy gaze and loops his arm in yours. “Well, come on. Let’s go.”

“Why are you looking for your winter coat? It’s not that cold yet,” you ask curiously, and Haechan halts in his steps, a puzzled expression on his face.

You’re shifting uncomfortably now, tense as Haechan continues staring at you. “What?”

Until the confusion on his face fades to a certain sort of mischief, and he leans down until his face is inches away from yours. You step back abruptly, putting some distance between the both of you, but the smug smile doesn’t leave Haechan’s face.

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We’re going to a ski resort. You and me.”

There’s a light in Haechan’s eyes as he says it, one that seems to spell death and doom. You’re too stunned to speak, everything tuned out save for his face in front of yours.

At least now you know why your mother stopped you from unpacking your luggage.

There’s something about the airport that makes you feel like you’re dreaming. It’s the hallways that seem to stretch on endlessly, and the way you lose track of time save for the numbers displayed in bright red on the large digital clock.

It’s one of your favourite places in the world. Planes, however, not so much. The dry air, cramped seats, loud noises, and the fact that you’re tens of thousands of feet above solid ground serve no purpose other than making you uneasy. Even though the improvement in Haechan’s and your salaries mean that your families can escape sitting in economy, you still can’t ignore the fact that the only thing saving you from falling to your death is a hunk of floating metal.

“Any drinks for you?” The air stewardess in front of you is bright-eyed, absent of the anxiety swirling in your stomach. “Just apple juice, please,” you mumble, setting the cup down in the holder in front of you. You probably won’t drink it anyways.

When takeoff begins, you try your best to ignore the rumbling of the plane, instead choosing to lean back and close your eyes. The sooner you fall asleep, the better.

Until the plane jerks violently, and your eyelids fling open. You can faintly hear the pilot apologising for the upcoming turbulence, but it barely registers, fading into background noise in favour of your thundering heartbeat. It seems sleep will be far out of reach today.

“Hey, you okay?”

You’re tempted to ignore Haechan, but he doesn’t sound teasing, instead genuinely concerned. You’re quite sure your face is twenty different shades of pale, but having him see you like this brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you force out, and wonder if you can request to change seats. 

It’s been a long time since you last got on a plane, and when you were young, you would be sandwiched between your parents. You’re wishing now that you had insisted on sitting with one of them, but it was obvious that this was some sort of double-date arrangement between your families, with you and Haechan as collateral.

You’re an adult, Y/N. Pull yourself together.

Your knuckles are bone-white from how hard you’re gripping the armrest, and Haechan, perceptive as ever, quickly figures out what’s wrong. “You’re scared of flying, aren’t you?”

You screw your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. “Shut up, Lee. I can’t do this right now.” He falls silent, and you think he might have temporarily retreated from teasing you for the moment.

The feeling of someone’s hand over yours quickly catches your attention, however, and you’re temporarily pulled away from your fear to look down, bewildered. “I used to have a younger cousin who was scared of flying.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

You hate to admit it, but the warmth of his hands provides a welcome respite from your unease. When the plane jolts again, your grip tightens momentarily, and you expect Haechan to have some sort of teasing quip at how easily you jump. Contrary to your expectations, he simply smooths his thumb over your hand, a calming, repetitive motion that makes it easier for you to breathe.

Even when the seatbelt sign flickers off, Haechan doesn’t make any motion to move away. “Feeling better?” He asks, and you nod slowly. There’s a grin on his face at your response, one that is surprisingly genuine.

It takes a few seconds of Haechan staring at you before you cough awkwardly, immediately extricating your palm. It makes you feel slightly foolish, realising that he must have wanted you to let go of your own accord so he wouldn’t feel bad. He almost looks disappointed, but you’re convinced the fear has induced a hallucination of sorts.

You’re feeling fine now, or at least that’s what you think.

Until hours later, when the pilot announces descent, and your heart rate picks back up. Haechan doesn’t wait for you to ask this time, immediately slotting his fingers between yours.

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this,” you say thickly, strangely grateful for the man sitting next to you. Despite his endless teasing, he seems to know how to help at the right times. Maybe Ningning’s right, that he’s not all that bad. You suppose you’ve demonized the boy to an extent, driven by years of childish retorts.

In reality, you don’t hate him as much as you make it out to be. There’s just a feeling of walking on eggshells at his presence, a certain way that Haechan makes you feel off-kilter from never being able to predict what his next actions will be.

“You know, if you just wanted to hold my hand, you could have said so.” Haechan’s words make your cheeks burn, and you whip your head to the side to stare the boy down.

“I take it back. You’re the most infuriating person I know.” His forehead wrinkles slightly at that, and you realise he had not been privy to your previous thoughts. “Take what back?” He asks, and you ignore him. The apple juice is conveniently placed in front of you, and you gulp heavily from it. Anything to avoid telling Haechan what exactly you were thinking.

He moves closer, and you choke slightly at his proximity. At this distance, you can see your wide-eyed expression reflected clearly in his eyes. He scrunches his eyebrows in thought, and you can’t help but think he looks almost…adorable. Until you give yourself a violent kick mentally.

“You said that you wanted to take it back…you don’t think I’m infuriating?” There’s a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that makes your heart stumble at an unfamiliar pace. “Perhaps….even endearing?” He muses, unable to hide his smirk now. You’re lost for words, cheeks painted scarlet as you stare at the boy.

The buzzing of the overhead intercom jolts you out of whatever trance Haechan has put you in, the clicking of seatbelts filtering into your ears. You shove him away lightly, enough to put much-needed distance between the both of you but not enough to wound him. A breath escapes Haechan as he falls back into his seat ungracefully, but his eyes remain fixed on your figure as you hurriedly get up to take your overhead bag.

Until you tiptoe, fingers scrabbling at empty space, and decide that whatever higher powers up there must really have it out for you. The familiar black duffel bag is just out of reach, likely having shifted backwards during the course of the flight. You’re prepared to admit defeat and ask your father to help, when there’s the feeling of someone’s back against yours, warm and solid. You jerk your head around in alarm, only to see Haechan easily grabbing the bag and holding it in front of you.

He’s too close. Much too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” you demand, but it comes out more as a high-pitched stutter, betraying your nerves. “You seemed to need some help. You know, I didn’t realise how short you were without your heels,” he comments, and you’re left unable to reply, too distracted by the way he’s still pressed close to you. It suddenly feels difficult to get enough oxygen, and your heart is going a mile a minute. There’s an exhale of relief that escapes when he finally moves away to make way for another passenger.

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you even as you stride quickly down the aisle to join your parents, and a flush creeps at the back of your neck.

This holiday is going to drive you mad.

“So, how’s the trip going? With Y/N, no less,” Renjun asks, unable to hide his grin. Haechan hums in thought, settling on a pillow as he decides on a response. “Not bad. We’re making progress.”

“Progress as in…she’s less interested in homicide and more towards assault?” Haechan genuinely considers it for a second, before he nods in assent. The look on Renjun’s face is a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.

“Lee Haechan, you’re hopeless.” He sits up indignantly at that statement, glaring at Renjun even through the grainy screen. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised if Y/N even reciprocates your feelings. For a successful attorney, you sure are an idiot.”

The lack of faith is disappointing to Haechan, but no matter. Getting you to like him back has been at the top of his wishlist since junior year, and he’s not about to give up now.

The memory of you walking into the club room with your school blouse neatly tucked in and hair tied back still remains fresh in Haechan’s mind. You had been a model student, but not in a way that felt too overbearing. Maybe sometimes you would frown at his bright Converse shoes, or loose tie. But they technically weren’t against school rules, so Haechan continued to tiptoe the fine line between dress code and responsibility as vice-president of Student Council.

Originally, the boy was happy enough to be the chairperson of the debate club, until Jaemin, his labmate, had very cleverly pointed out that the both of you would get to head the annual prom together.

And so he decided to campaign, effectively providing one of the most stressful experiences of your high school years.

Those were some of the best memories of his final year, sitting in the classroom with you and ironing out details for hours. It was obviously something that you were passionate about, giving up so many sleepless nights just to research the exact decorations.

It was one of the things he liked most about you, that spark in your gaze when you saw something you liked, or fixed your mind on something. On occasion, it would appear when he teased you, though it was often accompanied by anger. Still, he craved it. Haechan liked having your eyes on him, even if they were narrowed with exasperation.

And when finals had ended, the invisible heavy burden on your shoulders had seemed to lift, and you laughed easier, smiled more. Even when he pestered you, there would only be an indulgent smile on your face. Prom was barely a week away, and he thought that would be it. That he would ask you to be his date, and maybe, finally you’d see him in a new light, beyond the boy who always seemed to be competing with you.

And then you disappeared from school without any information whatsoever, right up until the day itself. He had even asked Ryujin, the secretary of student council. Everyone was clueless.

The next time Haechan saw you was in the university lecture hall, and his shoulders had sunk in relief at the sight of your face.

Now, seven years later, Haechan was still playing a game of catch-and-toss for your heart, but he didn’t mind.

The boy had been feigning an expression of nonchalance when he offered his hand to you in the plane, but when you didn’t pull away, Haechan was quite convinced that his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

He’s not sure if you’ll let him hold your hand again, but a man can dream. The doorbell rings then, jolting Haechan out of his thoughts. “Give me a second, Jun,” he mutters as he sets the phone down, slippers thudding softly against the carpeted floor.

When he flings the door open, the last person he’s expecting to see is the one that’s been taking up his thoughts.

You’re swamped in an oversize hoodie and leggings, hair dishevelled and reading glasses balanced on the tip of your nose. It’s obvious you’ve woken up recently, and he steals a glance at the clock before focusing back on you.

You look different. But a good different.

“Weren’t you going down with them to the village?” He asks, and you smile sheepishly. “Overslept.”

The ski resort the both of you were in was located high up in the mountains, and there was a shuttle bus going down to the winter village twice a day. Your parents had suggested going down for dinner, but Haechan had work to clear up and decided to stay back.

It seems fate has a funny way of leaving the two of you together, Haechan thinks as he looks at you, still slightly drowsy. “Wanna go get dinner?” There’s an involuntary grumble of your stomach at his words, and Haechan chuckles slightly. He presses the end call button without a second thought, before grabbing his leather jacket.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He tries to hold back his smile when he feels your footsteps behind his.

The first thing you realise is that the restaurant is full of couples. You’ve only seen one family so far, the rest of the patrons seating in tables of two. You chalk it down to pure coincidence, even as the waiter hands you a menu that’s awfully thin.

“I’m Jisung, and I’ll be your server for today. Our menu is a four-course set with seasonal ingredients designed for couples. Let me know whenever you’re ready to order.” The boy standing in front of your table looks awfully young to be working at a fine-dining establishment, but his voice is level as he arranges the silverware.

You suck in a nervous breath when you notice that the price isn’t even printed on the menu. It means that it’s expensive, and you’re not sure you want to know how much. You’re not one to splurge unnecessarily. “The food better be good,” you mumble, not noticing the way Haechan smiles softly at your comment.

“I’ll cover the bill,” he suggests, and at the resistance in your eyes, Haechan waves a dismissing hand. “I picked it anyways.” You don’t protest further.

Despite the steep price, you can’t help but admire the high ceilings of the restaurant, black marble walls offset by tasteful streaks of gold.

“Y/N.” At the mention of your name, your attention is pulled back to the man sitting opposite you. In the warm glow of the candlelight, his features are rounder, more delicate, and his hair somehow darker. It leaves you breathless, and you’re not sure if it’s the atmosphere around you, or the way that you’ve been feeling stranger and stranger around Haechan lately. Your eyes flit momentarily to the rings adorning his fingers, the ones that you’re used to seeing every day.

If there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with Haechan might just be the opposite. Having to interact in close proximity daily for the past two weeks has made him more tolerable somehow, an acquaintance rather than a nemesis. He seems to have lightened up on the taunts as well, instead replacing them with sarcastic quips that aren’t directed at you and that elicit a laugh more often than not.

It reminds you of senior year, when the both of you had been working so closely for the student council. Haechan had been your partner and your equal then, his competition more of a motivation than a threat. But university had been a rat race with thousands of other brilliant minds that sought to outdo and outlearn, so individualistic that the both of you never did quite talk about the almost-friendship that had formed.

“I assume you know about Mr Kim’s intentions to promote one of us to partner next year,” you start, unsure of what else to say. It’s been something that presses at the back of your mind, even as you go for hot chocolate runs with Haechan and sit in the lounge room together to clear last-minute emails. “I hope you know that I’m not intending to give up.”

Haechan smiles. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”

“But…” you trail off slightly, and he leans forward, eyes curious. You decide just to bite the bullet, not leaving any room to reconsider.

“I think you’re good at what you do. And I think it would be easier for us to work together in the future if we weren’t constantly at each other’s necks.” Your voice gradually gets softer as you continue, but Haechan hears every word. He notices you worrying your lip and the faint set of your eyebrows, and realises that you’re nervous. It’s no secret that he finds certain habits of yours endearing, but this expression on you might be one of his favourites.

“Well, height-wise, you’re still at my neck.”

“You-”

“Kidding. So we’re friends now?” He has to bite back a laugh at your glare. You’re still so easy to rile up. “We can be anything you want to be,” you say nonchalantly.

Haechan knows that you don’t mean that literally, but he thinks about the possibilities anyways.

He wants to say more when Jisung appears, a bottle of red wine grasped in his hands. You look up from your bowl, confused. “Oh, we didn’t order red wine.”

At your protest, however, the boy smiles. “It’s on the house. Are the both of you celebrating anything? An anniversary or a birthday perhaps,” he suggests, and you shake your head. “We’re not…we’re not a couple.” You’re unsure why you stumble over your words, but Haechan seems to find it amusing from the way he’s coughing politely into his napkin.

Jisung blinks awkwardly, and you blink back. “Apologies for assuming. Enjoy your dinner,” he replies after a moment too long, rushing off after filling both of your glasses.

“I think we scared him off,” you say guiltily, and Haechan snickers. “He’ll be fine. To be fair, this is a dinner set for couples.”

“But we look nothing like a couple,” you interject, and there’s a flash of doubt that crosses Haechan’s face, before he quickly schools it into nothing. He takes a large gulp of the wine, before grinning at you.

“Of course. I’m too good-looking.”

It’s a blatant lie, of course. Haechan thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, even when you had your thick-rimmed glasses in second grade and the most obnoxious blue braces. He’ll never have the courage to admit that, however, and Haechan’s starting to fear that his feelings are going to go unspoken forever.

This time, you manage to not oversleep.

The alarm goes off two hours before dinner, reminding you that it’s time to get ready. Your presents are already prepared at the corner of the bed and neatly wrapped, even though you know that your parents aren’t the kind to require excessive formality, and neither are Mr and Mrs Lee. You’re not sure about Haechan, if he’s remembered to prepare gifts. When you asked him at breakfast, he had evaded the question, which meant that he either had something prepared or was too embarrassed to admit that he had forgotten.

You’ve been waiting to wear this dress for a long time, a blush pink satin that’s pretty but comfortable enough for you to move around in. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the luxury of taking your time to get ready, considering you’re always cutting it close to sneak in extra sleep before work.

Despite your early preparations, however, the clock seems to tick much too fast. You’re tugging on your heels when there’s a sharp knock at the door. “Coming!” you shout, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before you pull the handle open.

“Oh, wow. You look…nice,” you say absentmindedly, only realising the words are too far gone to take back when a glimmer of satisfaction shows up on Haechan’s face. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him wearing a suit- attorneys practically live in a blazer and slacks, after all- but this one is all-black, the top two buttons of his blouse unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones. It makes his features even sharper, fabric contrasted against his warm, honey-toned skin.

You try not to think about how it’s the same exact material as your dress, and that people- namely your parents, would have assumed the both of you planned it beforehand.

Haechan’s appraising gaze makes warmth creep up your neck, and you shift from foot to foot, waiting for him to say something. Anything. “You clean up pretty well too. Ready for dinner?”

The both of you are friends, Y/N. Friends can compliment each other, you assure yourself, even as your pulse flutters uncontrollably at his words. He offers an arm out to you like a perfect gentleman, and you exhale shakily through your nose.

This dinner may be more difficult that you expect.

The both of you are guided to your table by a different waiter this time, Jisung nowhere in sight. Thankfully, there’s a much wider menu to choose from now, and your parents are splitting, offering a respite to Haechan’s wallet.

“Oh, I wanted to pass you your present first,” you say, retrieving the gift and placing it in front of Haechan. There’s excitement bubbling in your chest as you watch him arch an eyebrow curiously. “Open it,” you encourage, and he lifts up the cover, a surprised laugh escaping him.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, and you crinkle your forehead slightly. “I ordered it online, and I was scared it wouldn’t get delivered in time because of the snowstorm. Take it as a present from one vinyl collector to another.” Haechan breaks out into a brilliant grin at your words, one that illuminates his entire face. The corners of his mouth quirk up, however, when he places a velvet box on the table.

“You actually remembered to get a present? From your reaction at breakfast today, I thought…”

“You think too lowly of me,” he complains, poking his tongue into his cheek. Your eyes are bright, however, as you take the box from him, only realising that it’s velvet once you smooth your fingers over it. “This isn’t something scary, is it?” You question doubtfully, and he shrugs.

“You gave me fake insects half a decade ago, so forgive me if I’m not entirely trusting-” you fall silent when the box clicks open, revealing a pearl choker that you immediately recognize.

“Haechan, this-”

He barely reacts to your wide-mouthed shock. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.” The wish is sincere, and the way he says it makes your heart stretch just a little wider.

You can’t believe he remembers.

For prom, you had suggested a vintage 1980s theme, and Haechan had seen the Vivienne Westwood necklace sitting in your online cart along with the decorations. You never did purchase it because of the hefty price tag, and it was gradually forgotten.

Seeing the three rows of pearls in front of you now, however, brings on a wave of nostalgia.

“You should try it on. It matches nicely with your dress.” he offers, and you pick up the necklace from where it’s resting, hands shaking slightly as you close the clasp around your neck. “How does it look?” you ask, swallowing nervously as you focus back on Haechan, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

“Beautiful,” he mutters softly, but his eyes don’t dart down to your neck at all. You want to think that he’s lying. However, the way his eyes remain transfixed on your face as he says it has your pulse fluttering wildly.

There’s a lump in your throat as you fiddle with the necklace, feeling the cold of the pearls against your skin.

“I wanted to give it to you on the night of prom,” Haechan says then, a silent question in his eyes. The implication behind his words is heavy, considering that all you remember having with Haechan in senior year was a rivalry-turned-tentative-friendship by necessity.

Instead of the anger you expect it to provoke, the idea of him being the one fills you with a  certain nerve-wracking thrill, like the kind you get just before a rollercoaster drops.

“I wanted to go, you know. But something happened with my family, and I-”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re still here now, aren’t we?”

His question isn’t one that you need to reply to, because you know the answer.

Haechan is one of the people you know best in this world, besides your family. He thinks you’re a little too uptight sometimes, but you find him too aloof. That you’re not particularly extroverted, preferring to stick to a close circle of friends, while Haechan can talk to almost anyone and everyone. Until you forced yourself to make it to parties and meetings in order to beat him out in garnering votes from the student body. And then gradually, it became easier.

He’s always pushed you out of your comfort zone effortlessly, and you hate to admit it, but you wouldn’t have done this much if he hadn’t been right in step behind you.

In the end, the both of you boiled down to one similarity- pure ambition, the kind that pushed you to endure long hours and sleepless nights in order to get what you wanted.

Currently, the both of you are teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice, steps away from tumbling into wildly unfamiliar territory. And what terrifies you the most is that you don’t particularly seem to mind the idea of falling. Haechan has always been able to provoke reactions so easily from you, split-second impulsivities that make you lose control of your emotions.

You and him are not polar opposites, as much as you would like to think. Haechan just covers his with a veneer of casual confidence, while you would rather not be in the spotlight unless necessary.

“Haechan, if-” you start, and the look in his eyes when he hears you speak is so hopeful, so full of anticipation that it causes you to stop abruptly. He’s beautiful, you think. The slant of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw- it’s no secret that Haechan is attractive by most conventional standards, but it’s the first time he’s rendering you speechless. You’ve never really been able to truly look at him, too focused on the imminent threat that his presence seemed to signify.

And now that it’s gone, you’re genuinely seeing Haechan for what he is. Your equal, and someone you’re hopelessly attracted to, for good reason.

Until the jolt of a chair yanks you out of whatever trance-like state you’re in, and you whip your head around to see Haechan’s father, along with the rest of your families.

“Sorry for the wait. What were you young people talking about?” He asks, and your mind blanks for a second.

How are you supposed to tell him that you think you might have feelings for his son, after fighting tooth-and-nail with him all these years?

You make eye contact with Haechan then, and there’s a silent promise in his gaze. The both of you will talk about whatever it is between you eventually. For now, you’re here to celebrate with the people you love most in the world.

Lee Haechan included, you suppose.

Hangovers are not a good look on Haechan.

At least, that’s his first thought when he wakes up, head heavy and throat dry. But he’s an adult now, and that means taking responsibility for his not-so-sober decisions.

By the time he takes a cold shower and brushes his teeth, it feels like some semblance of life has returned to him, and he uses the thought of breakfast as motivation to get dressed and head down. It’s a petty sort of consolation that everyone else will probably be feeling worse than him, you included.

He makes a direct beeline for the hot food, piling a plate with bacon and eggs. And then he reaches the drink section, pausing for a second. “What did she say she liked again?” he mutters, staring at the juices with two cups in hand.

When he reaches the table, there are soft ‘good mornings’ from everyone, and Haechan takes the seat opposite yours, smiling brightly. “Here. I wasn’t sure which one you might want, so I got both,” he says, setting the drinks down in front of you. One’s a cappuccino, and the other cranberry juice.

You blink tiredly, looking up at him in mild surprise. “Thank you,” you mumble softly, before returning to your food.

He frowns. Haechan’s seen you hungover before, and it’s usually not like this. And he’s quite sure you didn’t drink as much as him, considering you weren’t the hugest fan of alcohol. It would be wiser for Haechan to leave you alone to rest- after all, you did say thank you, so surely nothing’s wrong.

However, he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t get to the bottom of things.

“Are you feeling unwell? There’s hangover medicine in my luggage, I can pass you some-”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“How about ramen? We can make some later,” he prompts, watching your expression carefully. You shake your head, and Haechan tries not to look too shocked.

“But it’s ramen,” he continues, expectation evident in his gaze. Haechan knows you. You would never turn down an offer of your favourite food.

“I’ll pass this time,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably in your chair. He falls silent, watching as you pick at the rest of your food.

When you stand up, the sound of the chair scraping seems a little bit too sharp. “I’ll head back first. I forgot about something,” you explain, turning on your heel. Haechan’s eyes dart to the untouched drinks, before they meet your mother’s gaze. He wipes the corner of his mouth hastily with the napkin, before rising as well. “I’ll go find Y/N,” he declares.

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t too crowded at this time, and he spots you just in time. When Haechan skids to a stop in front of you, your hands are around your jacket, pulling it tight around you.

“Hey,” he greets, breathless. You look taken aback, and Haechan runs a hand through his hair, pausing to collect his thoughts. “Are you…I might just be stupid, but are you okay? You seemed a little off at breakfast,” he points out, watching as the emotions on your face change from shock to doubt to…hurt?

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” You ask, a tremor in your voice as you peer at the boy.

Haechan frantically scans through his memories, heart dropping when it comes up empty. He was talking to his father about football, and then your mother brought up memories from when the both of you were in elementary, causing everyone at the table to laugh.

Anything that happened after the fourth cocktail was a blur.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts to focus on you, shaking his head. Haechan’s eyes are wide as he stares at you. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he mutters, watching as you nibble on your lip nervously, before sighing. “Come with me,” you instruct, before grabbing Haechan’s wrist and dragging him to a quieter part of the lobby.

You’re standing in front of him, fiddling with your fingers, and Haechan can tell you’re thinking of what to say. “If I did something stupid, you can tell me,” he assures, and the glance you give him is disbelieving. However, the dark clouds in your expression have cleared a little.

“No, it wasn’t stupid, I just have no idea if it was some sort of joke or if you meant it-” you trail off, looking distraught. Haechan becomes alert at the mention of that, his heartbeat picking up slightly. “Y/N, what did I say?”

You’re never one to beat about the bush, and the way you keep hesitating has him nervous.

“You said you liked me,” you finally answer, and Haechan’s world stops.

The memories flood back into his brain a few moments too late. Your parents choosing to rest early, Haechan saying he wanted to stay on a little more-

Oh God.

“It’s three am, Donghyuck. You’re going to wake everyone up,” you scolded, but there was a grin on your face. He had been singing some ridiculous rendition of a carol at top volume, causing you to look away, embarrassed. The staff working the graveyard shift had barely even batted an eye at his antics.

“Huh. You’ve never called me Donghyuck before,” Haechan noticed, blinking slowly. The alcohol was really getting to his brain now, making it foggy. It’s nice, having you call him a name that’s solely reserved for close friends and family. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” you say, looking caught.

“Of course you can. We’re close.” Haechan tries not to coo when he sees your cheeks warm slightly, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze, instead focusing on getting to the correct hotel room.

Just as you pull out the keycard, you feel someone come up right next to you, and you look up in alarm. “Is something wrong?” Haechan shakes his head, leaning down towards you. He’s not sure whether you’re one for physical affection, but he can’t help himself when he pinches your cheeks gently.

“Hae- Donghyuck, what are you doing?” You’re confused at his sudden movements, but you don’t pull away, even as he comes closer. Haechan blinks slowly, your face swimming in and out of his vision.

“You’re adorable, you know that? Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. But you’re also mean to me sometimes,” Haechan whines out, and you’re equal parts flustered and amused by him. “You- you really need to get to bed,” you say once you’ve collected your thoughts, pushing him in the direction of his room.

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but there are words fighting to escape, and Haechan rather not think about the consequences when he has you in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. You look pretty like this, and you’ve never let him get this close to you before.

It makes him brave.

Which is why he presses his feet into the carpet to prevent himself from moving, turning around sharply to face you again. He’s determined now, looking at you with a certain sharpness in his eyes that makes your pulse unsteady.

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. I’ve liked you for eight years, and I thought you would figure it out by now, or at least look my way, but-” he hiccups slightly, “you haven’t. Is it because I’m annoying?”

Haechan doesn’t remember what your answer was to that question because he might have fallen asleep on his feet then, and quite frankly, he’s terrified to find out.

“Oh.”

The statement makes it obvious that he remembers everything now, and your eyes widen in incredulity. “Is that all you have to say?” you ask, and Haechan feels like he’s at a crossroads.

Renjun would definitely laugh at him for this.

But Renjun would also tell him to be honest, considering the secret is already out. It’ll be awkward no matter what he does.

Haechan might as well give it a shot. He was too scared in senior year, but he’s less fearful now.

“I wasn’t joking,” he starts, swallowing nervously before looking at you.

“I liked you in junior year, so much that I joined the student council for you. And since then, I’ve just been waiting, and waiting, but I’m not sure how much longer I can go-”

Haechan gets cut off when the collar of his hoodie is jerked forward, allowing him to finally meet your height. There’s a look of exasperation on your face, and Haechan’s not entirely sure what that means in the context of him confessing his feelings. Maybe you’ve decided you’ve had enough of him, and you’re going to leave his dead body to be found once the snow melts.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

There’s relief that fills him at the lack of murderous intent in your voice, but he doesn't get a chance to respond before you’re tiptoeing and closing the distance between the both of you.

It takes Haechan a few moments too long to register that you’re kissing him before he reciprocates in equal measure. He feels like his heart might burst from the way you’re holding onto him, as if the both of you are the only ones existing at this moment.

When you finally let go of his hoodie, the plain disappointment on Haechan’s face causes you to let out a giggle.

He shakes his head slightly in an attempt to clear it, before looking at you. “Can we do that again?” His question earns him a swat on the back, but you don’t resist when Haechan loops his arms around your waist.

It’s only his second time kissing you, but Haechan’s quite sure there aren’t many feelings that can compare to this.

He might just get hooked on it.

“I can’t believe the holiday’s over,” you sigh, sinking into the armchair. Your luggage is next to you, Haechan looking down with a bemused expression on his face. “Doesn’t this happen every year? Just wait another three hundred and sixty-five days.”

From where you’re seated, you’re not able to reach Haechan’s waist, so you settle for hitting him on the thigh. He looks at you indignantly, but whatever retort he has dies on his tongue when your father calls for the both of you to get into the car.

It’s only when the both of you are comfortably seated at the very back, that Haechan leans over, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re not going to get scared on the plane again, are you?” He asks, and you narrow your eyes.

As much as he jokes about it, Haechan was also the one who offered his hand to you on the flight here. “Whatever,” you mutter. “Just hold my hand now.”

You don’t give Haechan time to interject before you intertwine his fingers with yours, missing the way a blush settles at the back of his neck. He forgets that you’re occasionally imbued with bursts of confidence, allowing you to act in ways that have his heart thundering in his chest.

When he finally looks over again, you’re leaning against the side, appreciating the scenery that drifts by. A smile makes its way onto his face subconsciously, and Haechan’s grip on your hand grows imperceptibly tighter.

You’re the best Christmas present he could have asked for.

[chaotic-iguana]

Sleep

Summary: Reader suffers from lack of sleep, caused by a recent event. As she continues to overwork herself, she reaches her breaking point with near disastrous results. Starring concerned!steve murphy, chaotic idiot!steve murphy and clueless!reader. javi has my fucking heart though.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no use of y/n though)

Rating: M

Wordcount: 2.2k 

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, sort of a panic attack, mild MILD allusions to someone being creepy (not javi though), mild flirting, humour, lots of swearing sorry

this is my first fic - let me know your thoughts! check me out on ao3

masterlist.

“I swear to fucking god Murphy, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg against the table, I’m slamming your head right into it” is the gospel that flows out of your mouth at 7 am on a Monday morning. Feels like it’s gonna be a great week.

“The hell did I do? You’d think Connie’s cookies would be enough to get you animals off my back, but no, first sign of any damn fire an’ the first person you’d throw in?” Steve huffs. “Murphy”, he repeats mockingly. You scoff and roll your eyes at him, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to talk yourself down from strangling the idiot situated two feet to your left before turning back to the paperwork in front of you. The one-foot-tall, monster stack of paperwork. Right. In. Front. Of. You. And would the golden boys ever do it themselves? If they ever got a moment’s relief from jacking each other off during missions (or however the hell they manage to fumble practically every single little op), maybe. But most of the time, you were stuck with it. Because god forbid the two princesses you were partnered with ever had to so much as lift a pen themselves. Hell would freeze over.

And it isn’t like you mind. At all, really. Half your job is the paperwork, and you’re happy to get it in order - if only to avoid Noonan’s wrath. Besides, what good is an agent if they can’t do their fucking job? In its entirety; not the half-assed shit most of the men did around the embassy. But a single glimpse of yourself in the mirror while rushing to leave the house revealed that these past few weeks of skipping lunch breaks, going home late, and taking files home to work on have been catching up with you - sunken, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, and bruises smudged under your eyes now, perpetually, since the nightmares had started. Anything to keep you busy, right?

Another aggravating side effect of the amount of work you had taken on apart from the usual? The constant irritation. Marlene’s new nails, Katie’s suspicious last lay, the stupid fucking demon alarm clock that never quite managed to wake you up, the busted tire, the broken coffee machine, Dave from accounting’s downright idiotic whistling, your pen running out of ink, and finally - Murphy’s bouncing knee banging the table every fucking millisecond, practically in tune with the pounding ache beginning to form between your brows. If you were a better person, you’d let these things go. Such is life, right? But since the lack of sleep, the increased workload and general mishappenings had already created this beautiful trifecta of shit just to screw you over, better people could go fuck themselves. As could Murphy. “Don’t use your wife’s cooking as an excuse. I’m telling you, make another sound and die.” you spit out, whirling in your chair because the incessant fucking banging still hasn’t stopped - just in time to catch Peña sauntering in, already smirking.

“Already nailing Murphy’s balls, cariño? Careful, I’ll fall in love, baby.” You can hear the laughter in his crooning voice as he throws it over his shoulder - but you don’t care - can’t care, beyond the spots that seem to be forming at the edges of your vision. Were your fingers always a bit tingly? Or is that a new development, like your tongue suddenly feeling thick and heavy in your mouth, like you’re choking on it? But even though your thoughts feel slow and weighed down by molasses, rage sparks brighter in your mind as Peña’s flirty nicknames and bullshit teasing registers. You push away from your desk, and shoot up from the chair, striding towards the door to get some air - or you try to - because before you know it, your vision is blinded by white and you’re breathing quick, shallow breaths as you lay on the ground trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Distantly, you can hear someone calling your name but it sounds so far away you barely even register it. Hands wrap around your wrist, your head, attempting to stabilize you, to ground you, as you flail wildly in a panic. A low hum begins to fill your senses, forming words that sound to fuzzy to understand or care about right now, but you lean into it, something in your being telling you it’s safe.

When your sight clears, you’re curled up on the on the floor trembling. Shaking, like a scared fucking child, while Peña kneels to hold you to his chest, repeating the same few phrases over and over: “You’re okay, it’s okay hermosa. You’re safe. Safe. No ones gonna hurt you, it’s over now, okay?” as Murphy stands next to him, watching with panic and a hint of sympathy in his gaze. You scramble away from them both, panting, nearly slipping in your effort to get to your feet. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, pretty. You’re okay” Peña repeats his assurances with his hands held out, palms facing you, as you stand on wobbling knees, wiping at your face.

“‘M fine” is all you whisper to them hoarsely before ducking your head and rushing out of the pathetically cramped room you three work in. You can hear footsteps behind you, but can’t find it in you to turn around - not even at the panicked sounds of your name being called by a familiar voice. You’re making a scene, you know it, but you don’t care. It’s all too much, and you’re too far gone. Reaching the parking lot, you struggle to unlock your car as your trembling fingers drop the keys twice. Swearing, you resolve and pick them up again, pressing them and reaching for the door. But just before your fingers find the handle another hand - much, much larger than yours - splays out on the window to stop you, just as Peña’s signature bedhead comes into view. He looks at you with wide, concerned eyes, his mouth tucked low at the corners, like he’s disappointed. You want to melt, you do, because the melting pot of emotions you have for him make you preen at his worry - but your usual defense mechanisms humble you. And so you sharpen your claws, flash your fangs, and the hackles raise again, leaving a “What, Peña?” to come tumbling out in a tone so sharp it makes you flinch. HIs frown just deepens as his gaze rakes over your form frantically, as if checking for injury. He says nothing, pursing his lips further before snatching your wrist and tugging you behind him as he stalks to his car, opening the side door. You raise a brow at him, and he counters by jerking his head towards the car, scowling slightly. You get in, slightly confused, and wait for him to walk around and get into the drivers seat. “What the fuck, Peña? I just fainted, I’m not senile. And I don’t give a shit how mad you are, you can’t just-just drag me to your car and f-force me to get in. The fuck are you playing at?” you begin to ramble, fury somehow still rising at a dizzying speed. Peña doesn’t respond, just starts driving while looking straight ahead while you continue fumbling over a panicked rant so pathetic it sounds nonsensical to your own ears. “…And what? You just enjoy calling me s-stupid nicknames? You think it’s cute to flirt with me while I’m- while I pass out?” This one makes his nostrils flare, eyes darkening a bit while his jaw tightens just for a second before letting go. You pause for a second, getting your breath while your hands still shake in your lap. “I’m fine, it’s fine. Can I just go home please? I’ve already done the month’s paperwork for all the ops we have planned, and you can just give me the rest post-op. I’m just a bit under the weather, I just need to lie down for a bit.” you start trying to reason, but the stubborn ass just keeps driving, and alarm starts bubbling in your chest again. You look down to your lap while you fiddle with your thumbs, willing to control the irrational fear yelling at you that something’s wrong every second Peña chooses to stay silent.

“Think I was flirting with you while you passed out? Y’think I don’t see it, you working yourself to the fucking bone? Think I can’t see how you’ve stopped eating, honey? Stopped laughing like you used to? Think I don’t know how late you’ve starting going home? As ‘f I’ll ever stop waitin’ for ya to clock out first so I know you’re home okay, baby. You gotta tell me what’s wrong - this is eatin’ you up.“

Peña’s tone softens, but his harsh whisper makes you turn your head to look at him. He sounds so…tortured, as if he’s the one suffering. He glances your way, locking eyes with you for a second before turning his head back to the road. You sit there and practically gape at him, your jaw slack as your head whirls. Peña knows? No, wait, he waits? For you to go home so you’re safe? He cares? What the fuck? Confused, all that comes out of your mouth is a mighty elegant open-mouthed “huh?” before you blink at him, waiting for him to continue.

“You gotta know by now, sweetheart. Gotta see how I’ve been lookin’ at you. You’re the smartest fuckin’ agent I’ve seen, with the balls to take down men I’d sweat to be ‘n the same room with. You swear like a sailor, an’ make me laugh till I’m chokin’ on my own damn cigarette. Tell me what’s hurtin’ you, honey. I can’t promise I’ll fix it, but I can swear to you I’ll damn well try my best.” He responds, turning to hold your gaze as his own eyes widen, and his brows turn down. Puppy eyes, you think. 

Your brain has gone from hazy to too fucking clear in a matter of five minutes, and now it feels like your thoughts are gonna come ripping out of your head. So you just blink at him, again, before reaching an unsteady hand out to cup his cheek. “I’m okay, I swear. Just-you remember that deal I had to cut last month? With the sicario? For intel on that lab?” Peña nods, and you continue. “Fucker led me to a dead end. Ambushed me. O-only got out ‘cause his gun jammed, and his child-soldier ran away. I just-this is so fucking dumb I’ve been in worse but- I can’t get it out of my head. The shit he said to me, the way he looked at me, t-touched me. I should be dead or worse, Peña. And I nearly was.“ you look down again, ashamed of the truth that’s spilling out of your mouth. It’s so small, so weak, you just want to fold into yourself and never come out. Your voice wobbles towards the end, tears filling your eyes as you turn your head away from the man you’ve wanted for so long to save whatever dignity you still have left. “‘N I can’t sleep anymore. Just see- or feel him every time. So thought I’d work for a bit. Clearly didn’t fucking work out, though.” small hiccups have started to punctuate your words, testament to the tears now flowing down your cheeks. Peña pulls up to an unfamiliar building and turns to you.

“‘S Javi, honey. Look at me, pretty baby.” He cradles your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to turn your head towards him. “None of that was stupid, okay? Come lie down at my place. I’ll sit in a damn chair next to you and fight him away if he comes in your dreams, sweetheart, okay? Nothin’ to be ‘fraid of. Never letting any fuckers near you again.” Javi leans in to brush a kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the car and hooking his index and middle finger to beckon you too. You step out of the truck and towards him, smiling while swiping at your face. “Didn’t know this was what the girls meant every time they bragged about sleeping with you” you snark softly, with a teasing grin on your face as you reach him. Javi rolls his eyes playfully before unlocking the door.

“Ain’t gotta do no sleepin’ you don’t want to, honey. You’re here to get some rest. Be a good girl and sleep f’me, and I’ll keep you up for as long as you like after,” he  throws over his shoulder with a matching grin and a wink.

[anshares]

FAKE DATING A ROCKSTAR AU

Continuation art from my Renheng Week Day 4 prompt: Celebrity!

They first met during Summer Music fest, Ren notices a very cute fan in the crowd waving his red light stick.

Full plot under the cut

Dan Heng may not look like it but he is a huge fan of the band Stellaron especially their lead singer Blade.

He simps the man so hard that he built a shrine in his room, rows upon rows of Blade wallpaper and photo cards even the limited edition merch and no he will not divulge the info on how much he spent on this things

He also runs a stan account, and has a huge following since he takes really good fan cams and candid shots and is updated on news about Blade.

The Stellaron band consists of

ren - Main vocals + Guitar

Firefly - keyboard

Kafka - Bass

Silver wolf - Drummer

Elio - Manager

Everyone loves Blade’s deep husky voice, Kafka also calls their fans destiny slaves. Blade doesn't like to be interviewed so whenever they do he just stay silent he is a private person after all and hates it when the media pries into his personal affairs so he lets kafka does all the talking while SW is in charge of their social media.

Stelle is friends with Kafka. Both March and Stelle know DH is obsessed with Blade, he is Blade’s number one fan and biggest simp.

So Stelle gives him front row VIP tickets for each concert he plans to attend (before, he was always just somewhere in the masses) and stelle and march accompanies him for those concerts to support Kafka.

Blade notices the guy who always looks like he hates every second of this and would rather be at home and assumes that he’s just there because of his friends. Since he recognizes Stelle as Kafka’s friend, it’s easy to get in contact with DH to ask him for a favor.

The favor is to be his fake boyfriend so that the media won't pester him and he won't get caught up in dating rumors, he is sick and tired of them. DH asks why he chose him of all people,

Blade tells him it is because he thinks that DH hates him and doesn't want anything to do with him so it's perfect as they wont have the risk of falling for each other. (oh but blade already did the moment he saw DH and his resting bitch face)

When news got out of Blade’s boyfriend at first they were trying to hide his identity as per DH request since he likes his privacy thank you very much and he knows how fans can get crazy over this news.

He only appears in social media post in stellaron hunters official account like his back or side,Blade and him holding hands or the “candid photo” of them being affectionate but its all staged,

but fans see how soft blade is with his boyfriend (based on the photos) plus how he starts talking when asked about the boyfriend in interviews stellaron and blade fans call it his gap moe.

I’d imagine that DH is the type to show as little emotion as possible while feeling A LOT on the inside, so he’s keeping his resting bitchface around Blade for months while they are fake dating, all while freaking out on the inside because he gets to spend time with his idol (who later becomes his crush, once he gets to know him personally).

The only reaction Blade gets out of him is when they banter, which is when DH smiles ever so slightly, and Blade makes it his mission to get him to smile more often, falling hard in the process.

It takes Blade a long time to realize DH is actually a fan since for the longest time he thought DH was his number one hater not his biggest fan, and even longer until he finds out that DH has developed romantic feelings during their fake dating.

One time dh got jealous because of a hoard of fan girls and boys. Ren was surrounded and tbh Ren wants to escape but he can't so dh takes it up on himself and lays claim on his man (fake dating) so he kisses him in front of them and declares that blade is his.

He pulls blade away cuz everyone was stunned (even blade) so that's the infamous boyfriend that everyone is talking about.

Dh apologized afterwards for doing that suddenly but blade just says they need more practice if they need to really sell this relationship of theirs and so they practice.

The next day it was trending all over the net since blade’s mysterious bf is always not shown fully but he is always there with blade backstage since according to blade he is shy and doesn't like media attention which is true but now his identity is out in the open

Blade finds out DH being a simp because of a limited edition photocard like only 5 exist in the world slips out of dh pocket (cuz he just fought tooth and nail for it in an auction and has just came back from claiming the item)

Before this, DH always came up with excuses as to why they couldn’t hang out at his place because he didn’t want Blade to see his merch collection.

While possessing some merch is completely normal, DH is very much aware that his collection (and the Blade shrine) are excessive and could creep Blade out, even if he tried to explain that his simping was strictly fan-idol type (that is, before he got to know him personally, but Blade doesn’t need to know that this changed)

When blade hangs out on dh home to get away from the fans dh he was confused on why dh wont let him in his room his excuse, Its messy so he’ll clean up said mess is blade shrine, merch, dakimakura etc.

Dh: *panic mode* *cleans in the speed of light* okay you can come in now

Blade: ???? Your room....is very minimalist *stares at the closet with lock and key*

Dh: don't mind that it has a very loose lock

Blade: i can fix it for y-

Dh: NO DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT *gives him the death glare* *looks away* i just dont want to clean up again since it'll all spill out

Blade is surprised that DH isn’t using pillow and duvet covers, DH has to lie that he only has one pair that’s currently in the laundry(once he finds out about that he gets jealous of the pillow)

Dh be sweating bullets the whole time

DH: "(Oh my gooood how long will blade stay here, go home already 💢💢💢“Go home so I can cuddle your dakimakura”)

(If Blade knew about this, he would wish that this was him)

He doesn't know how long it'll hold since he knows he has tons of merch by the time blade does get out of the room, that's when the lock bursts. Dh almost fainted his idol and fake boyfriend finding out his biggest secret but he does find out later which is what his situation is right now

Blade does see the shrine and isn't freaked out about it in fact he is quite happy, he will also see the dakimakura

He will also throw the pillow away like why cuddle the pillow when you have the real authentic one right beside you.

DH: The pillow is soft, you aren’t

(Blade ends up convincing him with the power of his tiddies)

When they are on tour DH has trouble falling asleep and the dakimakura’s ain't enough now

According to DH, blade ruined him cuz he cant fall asleep now without blade right beside him.

During the tour Blade misses DH and realized he wants to be with him 24/7 so after he got back from their tour he asked DH to be his real boyfriend and ofc DH agreed.

[b4tasquad]

✭ HANDSY: NIKO OMILANA

Authors note: the lack of beta squad related stuff on here makes me sick every time i open this app. therefor i’ve made it my mission to not only revive the beta squad # but also find others that love them as much as i do. please hmu if you like them, i beg 🙏

Warnings: eh nothing really. just language, lmk tho.

…

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t have someone else in her place.” Niko stares intently on the flat screen facing him, eyes set on you getting placed in position in the other room.

When the YouTuber got told that they’d be filming a blind date video like this, he was excited. Not only would he see two people spend a long amount of time with a complete stranger, but he’d laugh and joke about it while getting paid. It was a win- win situation. What he hadn’t seen coming was the special guest on today’s episode being you, his girlfriend.

Now, he had to watch guys try to flirt and win you over, and had to fake being happy about it too.

“The people wanted her.” Kenny shrugs from his seat next to him on the comfortable sofa, eyes on his phone but still knowing who his best friend was talking about. He was referring to the post they made on their official account, asking people to comment who they wanted featured more in videos. Majority of the comments asked for you, another famous influencer in the Uk, who had been spotted around the guys before.

“My girlfriend, really?” He still feels uneasy. Not in a million years would he think you would ever leave him for another guy, but ideas that the internet would start shipping you with someone else were entering his head. It made him feel sick.

“That’s what you get for having a secret relationship.” AJ replies making the rest of them break out into mocking laughter. The group knows the internet would break your relationship into bits, overanalysing and picking on everything but they still found humour in how mad their friend seemed to be at the thought of his girl being on fake dates

“So funny.” The tall boy rolles his eyes. When AJ, Chunkz and Sharky sat behind him doesn’t stop laughing, he makes a move to hit every single one of them. “Shut up.”

Fortunately, they’re told to get into position, making them ultimately shut up. The camera got set up and the person behind them giving them a signal to start.

“Today we have a special guest!” Kenny introduces.

“It’s me.” You speak flatly, hearing his words through the mic in your ear. “I’m the special guest.”

You can hear the guys groan hating the lack of happiness in your voice. Keeping up his role and hiding the fact that you were in a committed relationship, he clears his throat. “You gotta be more enthusiastic than that. You’re on beta squad, we’re giving you a chance to make a name for yourself.”

If you hadn’t been on camera, you would threaten to break up with Niko, but since you were you tried a different approach. “You’re almost speaking like I don’t have more followers than you. Bitch I’m making your career.”

“A round of applause.” Sharky tells at your bite back, and Niko side eyes him knowing of the small crush he had on you. It wasn’t hard to tell really, the guy took your side on literally anything and smiled stupidly at the things you said.

“Niko could you zip it, we’re paying her for the minute don’t drag it out.” You can’t help but laugh in your seat at Chunkz’ words, nodding in approval at his humour.

“Anyways.” You continue, eyes set on the camera as you cross your legs. “Let’s get into the video.”

The boys introduce the idea for the video and that’s when you remember this is the first time they’ve done it on their channel. Basically, you’re going to be going on an arranged date with a guy, and the group have certain stages you had to go through to help you find ‘your perfect match’.

As Kenny concludes the whole thing, you can’t help but roll your eyes and sigh. “ I’m not even looking for a guy. I’m all good.” You tell, a little smile on your face as you think of your lover. As if catching on to it, Niko also stupidly smiles in his seat, feeling much better about it now.

“Contestant one.” They call out and the next second, a blonde walks into the little setup. From across the table you thin your lips a little as you look over him.

“She hates him!” Chunkz cackles, pointing at the scene on the screen. “Did y’all see that little lip thing? This gyal is crazy for that one.”

Niko grins to himself.

“Hey.” The guy greets, and to be polite you get up and hug him, muttering pleasantries. You’re going for a friendly and comfortable hug, your arms loosely wrapping around his middle. The guy on the other hand tightened his hold on your waist, hands creeping down.

“Hell no.” You push away, a disgusted laugh rippling out of you at this actions. “D’you not have shame? Mans tried to grab my bunda before introducing himself. Get him out. Can I vote people out?”

The four other members, slowly look towards Niko, watching almost fearfully as he gets up from his seat, not caring wether the camera was still on. He wasn’t thinking logically, only feeling anger as someone got handsy with his girl. You’re laughing at the guy, not even giving him a chance to explain himself when Niko storms in, eyes set on the unknown guy.

“You, get the fuck out.” He points towards the exit. Behind him, the rest of the guys run after him, calling for their friend to stop.

“Niko, chill.” Sharky tells him, coming up to him and stopping him from doing something stupid. You’ve completely frozen near the table, never seen your boyfriend so mad.

“I’m not going to stop, what the fuck? This lad is proper mad, trynna grab her.” At his words you finally snap out of your shock.

“Let it go.” You plead with him, coming to stand besides him. Still wary of the countless eyes of contestants and others, you make a note to not touch him and plead with your eyes instead.

He silently nods, but he’s not done. “He’s out. Or me and y/n aren’t doing the video.” To someone who only know you two as influencers, they must think Niko is crazy. Not only raging, but threatening to leave the video for a girl he didn’t know that well must’ve seemed crazy.

“Why are you so mad?” The guy who minutes before tried to touch you questions, standing a good distance away from you guys.

“Don’t fucking speak, you little shit.” You tell him, sick of him. Because of him, your boyfriend not only got uncharacteristically mad, but the guy you didn’t know had managed to make the whole thing weird.

It wasn’t a question for the rest of the beta squad, without even a second of thinking they got the guy removed of set, him cussing him out as they do so.

“You good? Can we continue?” AJ asks, his question directed to the two of you. Niko’s chest was heaving, and with the lack of eyes on you now, you take a hold of his hand, kissing the back. It seems to relax him a great deal.

He nods. “Yeah.” Letting go of your hand, he leans down to hug you close to him, secretly kissing your covered neck, whispering a little “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay baby.” You tell him, nodding to give him even more reassurance. “Don’t worry about these guys, I don’t want anyone but you. This is just a video.”

Even though he doesn’t seem completely content with the idea of it, he seems to feel much lighter than a few minutes ago. Now, seemingly in the joking mood again, he huffs a laugh. “I should’ve smoked his jaw.”

Kenny is the first one to break as he hears the words, imagining Niko in a fight. After that, the rest of the guys fall into heavy laughter, and you can’t help but let out small giggles yourself at the thought of your funny and problem solving boyfriend getting into a physical fight.

As if you’ve betrayed him, he looks at you with widened eyes and an open mouth, before addressing his friends behind you. “Stop laughing!”

They laugh even more at that.

[blueberrymocha]

Hai haiii I just came across your account recently and I adore how you won't let the hxh fandom go silent so can I req the main 4 with a reader who tends to go protective around them? (Sort of like the reader is prolly the oldest so they tend to go overboard about the main 4's health and everything)

This is my first time requesting, and idrk if you have a work related to my req before huhuhu

main 4 with a protective reader

gon

✰ you balance him out perfectly

✰ whenever he’s being reckless and getting hurt, you’re there to lecture and care for him

✰ so he’s super grateful to have you around

✰ i imagine you’d give off big “mom/dad friend” energy, especially if you’re older than him

✰ but like. as an s/o

✰ which i personally feel he’d love

✰ when he goes on missions and stuff, you’d make him promise to come back uninjured (like with mito)

killua

✰ at first, it might be overbearing to him

✰ after all, his mom and illumi were always way too overprotective of him

✰ but after he gets used to it, he finds your nature really sweet

✰ not to mention he can understand as he feels the same way about gon and alluka

✰ although he doesn’t get why you’re so protective of him

✰ since he’s rather strong and always careful, he wouldn’t get hurt very much

✰ so you wouldn’t have to worry a lot

kurapika

✰ would be one of his favorite things about you

✰ after all those years of being alone, all he wants is to be taken care of and protected

✰ he might push you away sometimes but he really does appreciate it

✰ now he doesn’t usually take good care of himself

✰ he overworks himself constantly, skips meals, gets little sleep, etc

✰ and he might even come home every now and then with an injury from his missions

✰ but when he sees how concerned you are with his health,

✰ he’s very quick to apologize

✰ if you made him take breaks often, he’d find it quite annoying at first

✰ but once he gets used to it, he’ll always put his work down if you feel like he’s doing too much

leorio

✰ he’s similarly protective of you, so he gets where you come from

✰ although if he sees you stressing over his well-being too much, he’ll feel so bad

✰ and if you’re ever being overbearing, he’ll probably be chill about it

“take a breather, y/n!”

✰ since he’s a med student he takes amazing care of himself

✰ so like with killua, you wouldn’t need to bring out that side of yourself often

[weirdoartsy]

DTIYS

"two sides of a coin"

DTIYS of Leo and Mikey, in the lost ruins of new york city

Context: Freshly after Donatello's death Leo is always on missions, even before his two brothers death he was always on the Front Lines but now all he cares about is fighting. Casey wanted his sensei's attention and thus would try to join them but he was still too young(16) in sensei's eyes and was not willing to risk the future of the resistance and one of the only reasons he is still alive. One day he sneaks out onto the field and the krang finds him, therefore kidnapping the poor fella. Leo after finding out goes to save him and Mikey joins not wanting his brother or his nephew to die making this a "journey of the ronin's"

HEYYYYYY YOU GUYS, GUESS WHAT? I FINALLY HAVE ART FOR MY APOCALYPTIC AU "JOURNEY OF THE LAST RONIN'S" AND I WANT YOU GUYS TO ALSO DRAW IT!!!!

@donniesbrows my dearest brows, I told you I would @ you! Gnat is a very good artist and a big fan of rottmnt like myself! She is also one of my dearest friends on here and I want you all to support her as much as you guys can🙏

@friskyeee Frisk is also one of my dearest friends. She is also an incredible artist and super sweet person. She is not as funny as me but a funny person! I'd love it if you guys also support her!!

@the-hombrearana this lil guy is the bestest friend irl and online! Just a lil annoying heh but! Alas if you like spiderman rp this guy is your best friend in that regard! Please support him as much as you wish🙏🙏🙏

@drawingbakeryy You- YOU LITTLE! Anyways this fella is one of three ultimate inspirations She is an incredible person and artist she was one of the first friends I made in this account, please follow and ANNOY them as much as you humanly can 😌

@tapakah0 My TOP inspiration ON TOP! Tapa while she might not remember this she was one the first people to comment on my first account when I made a post on how I was being dragged into the rottmnt fandom and she really made my days so much brighter whenever she posted! Please support her on this account and on her other account @somerandomcockroach

@somerandomdudelmao this fella was the catalyst to my addiction. A true comic artist unparalleled! She is honestly an incredible person who deserves every follow she has and more! She and tapa brighten my day plenty. Please support this account and her other one! @keferon

Here's the unedited version of the DTIYS!

In case you want a clearer version just In case!

[ddagent]

For the prompts, H3?

Fanfic Menu Challenge

"By all accounts, Miss Madison, you're in perfect health."

Margo was an engineer, not a doctor. Looking at the x-rays and blood test results, it did appear as if she was fine. But Margo knew her body. She knew when something was wrong. In the small doctor's office of the flight surgeon, she crossed her arms and stared him down. "Check again."

It had started exactly three months ago. At the time, Margo thought it had been stress: Lenara Catiche had been announced as the new director of Roscosmos, with her predecessor, Sergei Nikulov, nowhere in sight. Polite enquiries to Star City had remained unanswered. The concern over Sergei had led to many sleepless nights, many uneaten dinners. But Margo had put her concern to one side: she'd see him at the next IAC conference, no doubt; he was probably working on something top-secret, like the Mars mission or a probe to Ganymede. Nothing to worry about.

But then she'd developed a cough. Pain in her chest. Pain in the small of her back. The second she'd coughed up blood in front of Emma, Margo had been booked in for a litany of medical tests.

The flight surgeon sighed. "Miss Madison, I'm sorry but according to every test we have, there is nothing wrong with you. You're in perfect health. Blood pressure is a little high, but—"

"—so what causes the pain? The coughing up blood?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Madison. We can run some more tests but they'll come back exactly the same."

Margo was used to getting answers. Used to working the problem and finding a solution. She left the flight surgeon's office unsettled, uncertain as to what was happening in her own body. Margo had made it off the elevator and three other paces before she was hit with another wave of pain, as if she was being kicked in the side. Brutal blows rained down upon her body and she clutched the wall for purchase. An arm suddenly held her, anchored her. It was only when Margo had been ushered to her office did she realise it was Aleida.

She knelt in front of Margo. Her mouth fumbled for words. "Are you–are you okay?"

Margo nodded, once. "According to the flight surgeon, I'm fine."

"You've been coughing up blood." Margo's gaze snapped to Aleida's. She shook her head. "I saw you, once, in here. It's only me and Emma that know. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I honestly don't know." Margo leant back against one of the chairs in her office. "I could do with a drink. Brandy?"

"Sure."

It had been a while since she and Aleida had just sat and talked. Aleida had been so occupied with the Mars mission; Margo had been overwhelmed by what had happened in London, the engine designs, now all this. It was good to talk: to hear bout Javi and Victor and Octavio. Margo filled in a few gaps that Emma hadn't divulged, with the latest addition of the flight surgeon's findings. According to him, there was nothing wrong with Margo Madison. Margo thoroughly disagreed.

Aleida rolled the glass between her palms. "Can you go see a specialist?"

"I can find someone but if the press got hold of it? Undermining my own flight surgeon?" Margo sighed. "But I looked at the scans, Aleida. The blood tests. The ultrasound. There's nothing there."

Aleida paused, thought, then laughed to herself. Margo stared at her, wondering what about her condition was so amusing. She eventually divulged what she found so funny. "No, no, it's not funny. Not at all. I was just thinking of this friend from high school, Lara; I crashed on her couch for a while. She was obsessed with fables and fairy tales – the really old ones where people were turned into sea foam and wore iron shoes. She told me all about this story where these two people were meant to be together and they were torn apart and the only way they knew the other was still alive was because they could feel the other person's pain." Aleida took a mouthful of her drink. "It's ridiculous, I know. Just trying to work the problem and my brain went there."

Margo stared at the bottom of her brandy glass. Fairy tales and fables. Ridiculous. But she thought about Sergei's disappearance from Roscosmos. She thought about the noose around his neck in London and how, in that moment that had felt like an hour, she had struggled to breathe. It was insane. She wasn't a fairy princess who needed a kiss from her true love and Sergei wasn't going to climb a castle wall or fight a dragon or wake her up from a glass coffin. Margo had rarely indulged in the idea of romantic love, let alone the concept of soulmates. But—

"What if it was true?" Aleida laughed again until she saw the sombre expression on Margo's face. "What if the person I love is being tortured on a daily basis by the KGB and I can feel every single time they hurt him? What do I do with that?"

Oh God, Sergei. What are they doing to you? To us?

[sol-consort]

Okay but au where Shepard is a streamer on the side on your free time and it's an open secret in the Normandy.

Yes, that webcam type of streamer, smut below cut.

You did it to waste time and maybe get a little extra cash on the side. After all, there is a huge gap in content for soldier-toned body types like yours in these industries; it didn't take much for your account to climb to the top.

A small setup where only your face is out of view as you slowly take off your mission gear, unbuckling the straps and peeling off the skin-tight latex suit. You're not in your underwear yet, and the viewers are already pouring it.

Calling you commander because that's what you instructed them to do. People love being controlled, which is what you found out. Various massages with donations like.

"Great job like always, Commander!"

"How was your mission today, Commander?"

"Commander please step on me."

"What are we doing today? You seem to be in a restless mood."

Your voice, god do they go wild for you husky voice whenever you finally speak to them. The clear authority in it, a lot of them keep complimenting you on it and how it feels like a real soldier, you must be a great actor.

Finally in your undergarments, you stretch your body slowly as the real show is about to begin. If you're in a merciful mood, you might let them watch you cum this time around. Otherwise you'd order your viewers to do the most humiliating things and edge themselves as you slowly pleasure yourself.

This routine helps greatly in relieving your stress. Helps stretch you inside and out after each terrible mission and blow off steam. Not to mention how your adoring fans never failed to inflate your ego, they were ready to throw whatever money they could your way just for the chance to get verbally berated by your commander voice, or maybe to have you sweetly praise them for doing such a good job for you.

And since you're always wearing your gear on the field, there is no way for anyone to possibly make the connection between your real identity and the stream. Everything could be tossed off to pure coincidence since anyone can buy the manufactured armour you're wearing.

But one time, you slipped, got overconfident, and didn't fully cover your tracks. The battlefield allowed very little time for coyness or being shy. It wasn't rare for Kaidan to have to resort to tearing down your underarmour suit in order to patch up your wounds after a severe mission. Pressing down against the gushing wound to stop the bleeding, being very professional despite your bare chest on display for all of your crew to see.

It was Tali who made the connection. She wasn't on the battlefield often, but her memory? oh, she could never forget a thing once she saw it... not that your bare chest didn't leave quite the impression on her sheltered quarian mind.

Your mistake was bringing her along those dangerous missions. Tali immediately recognised the familiar scars on your body when the soldiers in engineering were passing this hot video around to each other, and it stumbled its way into her inbox by mistake.

It's you, clear as day. The commander Shepard naked except for the most tantalising looking black lingerie hugging your body so deliciously. It never hid away any of your private parts. No, it just demanded attention to them instead.

You were truly a sight to behold, and by the time she collected her scattered brain from off the floor, she had a half mind to shuffle to Ashley and nudge the screen her way.

Ashley wasn't sure what to make of this random alien shuffling her way with nervous eyes before shoving a porno in her face. Sure, the person was really hot, and Ashley would definitely ask for the link later, but they just got back from a mission, is this really the best time for this?

"But look," Tali argued back, "it's the Commander...it's Shepard."

Tali, in fact, doesn't know how to speak quietly in her life before. She simply never had a reason to. Her squeal made both Garrus and Wrex turn their heads in curiosity.

The stream was getting louder, the moans in the video starting to sound suspiciously similar to their commander's breathless voice in battle as you told them to take cover.

Just like that, it spread like wildfire.

Making your way over to Kaidan, your presence seemed to make him panic as he fumbled with his phone, dropping it on the floor and immediately bending to snatch it back and close it.

You were asking for a report for the general mood with the team lately, everyone has been...off.

Kaidan's face is awfully red, more than usual when he speaks with you, avoding meeting your eyes. Even when you snap at him and tell your lieutenant to straighten up and address you properly, he barely manages to force himself to face you.

His lower half is hidden behind the small rails, as if he's hiding something and can't fully turn around.

The rest of them have been this way ever since that one mission, a switch flipped overnight.

Liara immediately shuts off her computer when you walk into the clinic, her eyes lingering on every part of your body except your eyes as she seems to forget what she was talking about, daydreaming about something while staring at your thighs.

Garrus is stammering over his words around you, his talons are more...reactive to your presence and touch as you help him with his armour. You have this feeling that he has been standing closer to you than normal, the ghost feeling of claws caressing your waist.

[thought--bubble]

Kitty Cat Part 2 (Revised)

Ettore X (Neuro-Divergent Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,341

Kitty Cat Master List

Ettore Master List

Full Master List

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: predatory behavior, mentions of noncon, Ettore himself.

A/N: Ettore is mega creepy here. But this is how I see him. If you don't like dark dark creepy Ettore please don't read this. It gets worse in later parts.

Ettore was fine with the fact that he had been sentenced to life in prison. His life wasn't all that great to begin with. A mess from the start. He did not, however, account for how badly he would crave a woman's touch when he was in a place like prison. Where that touch was impossible to find.

So when his solicitor offered a reprieve in the form of a space mission where they would be trying to do something with something he didn't pay any attention to, he accepted without hesitation. He accepted because of one word. Coed. During his long-winded explanation, his solicitor had mentioned on board that there would be a coed prisoner population. That was really all Ettore had to hear in order to agree. There would be women on board. Criminal women, but still there would have to be at least one woman he could get to touch him, and if not, he had other ways of making them comply.

That's how, a few weeks later, he found himself being strapped into a ship destined for space, sitting next to a woman, and he couldn't help but stare.

It has been so long

He fights the urge to reach out and run his hand down her face, and opts to just stare. The woman is clearly uncomfortable and pushes his face away.

She probably isn't the right choice

He looks around, sizing up the other prisoners. He doesn't pay too much attention to the men. The majority of them seem to be about his age, and none of them look particularly tough where he would truly worry about them being a threat. So he sets his sights on the women. Most look about his age as well. There is a skinny blonde he thinks might make a good choice.

Should be easy to overpower

A redhead catches his eye. The look on her face says she may be a challenge. They lock eyes and he can see anger and disgust in her gaze.

Not worth the trouble

Next to her is another little bird you. He can't get a clear view of your face since you are rubbing it into the seatbelt that's strapped over your shoulder.

Crazy isn't good. Might be unpredictable. Would probably be loud. A screamer. The crazy ones always scream.

He resigns himself to his original decision. The skinny blonde would be the woman he sets his sights on.

His attention is drawn back to the redhead and the crazy one, you. The redhead has her knuckles pressed up against your temple, and you're nuzzling.

She wants to be touched. Needs it.

A willing participant would surely make this easier. Less likely to be caught. Since the rules stated, no physical relationships between inmates are allowed. Maybe he wrote off the crazy girl too fast.

He settled into life on the ship pretty quickly. He functioned better in a world with routines. A set place to go and set a list of things to do. The box was convenient, too. His favorite place to be on the ship.

He watched the other prisoners relentlessly. Figuring out their personalities and quirks was paramount. If he knew how they worked he would know exactly how to deal with them.

The red head named Boyse kept you glued to her side. He overheard her call you Kitty. The nickname suited you. You were constantly rubbing your head on Boyse's shoulder purring as you did so. He couldn't stop staring.

He watched you all the time. In the cafeteria was his favorite. You would scoot up impossibly close to Boyse, who would rub your cheek while continuing to eat. You would nuzzle and purr. A small smile on your face. Eyes sparkling.

It was driving him crazy.

You had attempted to be touched by every inmate here. Except him. This irritated him to no end. They all avoided you or pushed you away. So why did you avoid him?

He would touch you.

He would touch you and never stop. He would run his hands along your whole body and back up again.

This had to be Boyse's doing.

Fucking cockblock.

He waited for an opening.

A situation in which he could get close enough to you to entice you into touching him. Then he would have you.

This opportunity finally presented itself in the form of assignments. You were assigned laundry duty with him. Just the two of you in the laundry room. Everyone else will be busy with their own assignments. Including Boyse.

A pleased grumble crept it's way up his throat, and his fingers tingled.

He went to collect the laundry. He moved swiftly so he could get to the laundry room first.

Setting a little trap for a little kitty

He takes the laundry he had so far collected and heads to the laundry room and drops the pile by the machine.

Not here yet

He ponders whether he should hide in the room and wait for your arrival or sneak back in once you have already entered. He decides to collect more laundry and sneak back in.

It's easier to trap a cat if you get them cornered

Ettore goes back and collects the last few remaining scraps of dirtied laundry he can find before skulking back to the laundry room.

He comes up to the doorway as quietly as he can. You're bent over loading clothes into the washer. From where you are standing, there is the washer in front of you and a folding table to your left. That leaves your right and behind you open. The pile of clothes he had left behind is to your right.

She could step over that pile easily enough

He decides to come up slightly to the right but still behind you. His long arms could reach out and grab you if you decided to take off in either of those directions.

He comes up quietly and drops the clothes onto the pile that already litters the floor.

"That should be all of em, I collected you can load em yeah?"

You dont reply, not that he expected you to. You nod lightly and continue loading the machine.

You are bent over at the waist. Eyes on the laundry or the machine, he isn't sure. All he knows is your eyes are not on him. He takes this as an opportunity to move in closer to you. He is right up behind you now, his body heating up with anticipation.

It's at this moment you stand up straight and look him directly in the eyes. He looks back at you, his hands tingling, ready to reach out and grab you before you can make your escape . Much to his surprise, you move towards him and not away.

Suddenly, you make contact. You're rubbing your face against his upper arm. He immediately tenses. Surprised that you initiated contact. That doesn't happen to him often.

You continue nuzzling, making that little purring noise as you do. The tense feeling starts to leave his body and is replaced by a different sensation. A sensation of thrill and excitement. He slides his hand over the back of your neck and pauses for a second. You don't pull away or try to push him off. You just keep nuzzling. He slides his hand up into your hair and starts to lightly drag his nails across your scalp.

He sighs as he feels goosebumps travel up his back and over his shoulders. He grips your hair tight and pulls your body completely flush against his and much to his surprise you let him. There is no resistance at all. He pushes his nose into the hair at the top of your head and takes a deep breath in. You smell of the same soap he uses. The soap everyone on this ship is forced to use he muses. He let out a shakey breath and chuckles.

"Oh kitty. You are in trouble"

And I am in paradise

A/N: thanks to anyone who reads! Will be starting part 3 soon. Only working on two active series at the moment. Having a lot of fun writing it too!

Part 3

To be added to taglist click here

[watchernotculture]

could i request tachihara with prompt 13 and 21? thankk youu, remember to stay hydrated <3

13 (“Keep looking at others and I will gift you their eyes.”) + 21 (“I don't regret any of the blood I have gotten on my hands, it's for you and only you!”)

this was supposed to go up on monday but the fear of mischaracterization was kicking my ass, sorry for the Tachihara stans that dont think my portrayal is accurate, i tried. i did try to mix up his hunting dog persona at the end, just in case if i missed the mark there.

also i finally got an A03 account in the running! eventually i'll post the event there as well. enough rambling, here you go.

WC 676 // valentines event open!! TWS, blood, threats,

You wouldn't consider your boyfriend Tachihara to be necessarily violent. You'd more consider him busy, you don't exactly remember how you met him but you both are in the Port Mafia together. As of late you couldn't help but notice the more attention Tachihara put towards people who would talk to you. More focused on their words, eyes getting sharper with the more bond you and the other party have. He used to be slightly discourteous towards you until you both got to talking just a bit and he opened up. But him warming up to you suddenly doesn't mean he was any less teasing and insolent with you. Sometimes when his rebellious nature backfired on him you’d get a good giggle or two out while he would be stun locked before going back to the Tachihara you knew.

Then he got softer when you two were alone, you both got to know each other a little more, patching eachother up when missions were rough. Sometimes he would ditch out for plans you made, in a sudden rush then proceeded apologizing after, usually saying the boss needed something done last minute or he wouldn't clarify at all. You didn't mind this soft side of him, understanding how tiring it can be to hold up a big guy facade. When you two went out, he would always pay, at some points you were suspicious on how much money he had, you two got paid the same but you never asked. While you were a little stubborn, he was just a bit more stubborn than you could be, it was just a little fun at times during non serious arguments. 

Yet you noticed the tension rise up in his frame whenever someone else was near. The glare that would gladly kill at the person who talked to you for even a few moments. If he was touching you, you’d certainly get a bruise the next day from him gripping down way too hard on your skin. 

You did start to mention his behavior towards him in concern, but he always shrugged it off, saying the person did something personal towards him. Your hesitation was not unnoticed by Tachihara. There were certain days where it was worse, but again, he was probably just stressed. Until he started his threats when you were there in clear view. It really only got worse as the time continued and your tolerance and ignorance couldn't last forever. “Keep looking at others and I will gift you their eyes.”

That was your last thread, you started venting your frustrations more clearly and left. The person was only trying to get to know you more and yet they got threatened. This response from you wasn't taken lightly as you noted blood towards where you usually work at. The blood worsened when it led up to your specific work area. Your senses quickly flared up with boiling anxiety and being on guard, where the culprit was gasping away. There was Tachihara, covered in blood, the blood flowed gently down on his arms, the blood falling making quiet noises every time it hit the floor. As you’re taking in the sight with horrified eyes, the best you could do was step back while gripping your free arm with your wrist. Tachihara quickly noticed your presence and smiled casually, he tried to calm his breathing and straightened out his posture before unhurriedly walking over to you. “They put up a good fight but I finally got them, eyes are hard to carve out.”

All you could do was take a step back with disgusted eyes and tensed up muscles that started to hurt. 

Even though words didn't have to say it, he didn't take your reaction lightly. “I don't regret any of the blood I have gotten on my hands, it's for you and only you. And I’m aware of what I did, but I hope you understand why I did this.” 

The voice was calm, it wasn't the hot headedness tone Tachihara usually used, just eerie tranquility.

[myemuisemo]

There is so much characterization tucked into "The Statement of the Case" in the 2nd of Letters from Watson about The Sign of the Four. To marshal my thoughts at all, let's go by character, starting with my cinnamon roll Dr. Watson, then turning to Holmes and to Mary Morstan.

Watson

Watson's close observation of Miss Morstan demonstrates that he's capable of making deductions from observation. He deduces from the simplicity of her attire that she has limited means, and he has a good deal to say about how the character promised by her features and manner.

In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature.

This is a tiny bit amusing because all of Miss Morstan's actions suggest she has the orderly soul of someone who would have been an accountant in an era more supportive of women's careers. This woman keeps receipts. She may be nervous about bringing her concerns to the Great Detective, but she's not the slightest bit delicate.

Watson seems a bit pricked in the ego by Holmes' extensive knowledge of cigar ash, as he's touting his experience with women. That would be a monograph, indeed, something sold discreetly, in a corner of the bookshop behind a curtain. I'm going to guess that the third continent, after Europe and Asia, is Africa, both because the British did a good deal of colonial meddling there and because it makes Holmes suggestion of The Martyrdom of Man so much more apposite.

Holmes

The Martyrdom of Man turns out to be a progressive best seller about world history. Author Winwood Reade's perspective is to show the importance of Africa in the development of the world. This is entirely at odds with Victorian self-confidence about the white European and American missions of colonialism. Holmes is implying, deliberately or not, that Watson knows less about at least two continents than he thinks he does.

Reade's prose feels comparatively modern -- it has the sprightly feel of early 20th century writing rather than the long, turgid sentences of the 19th century. I've been distracted by reading bits of it, as while it's not how an historian would handle its topics today, it's an interesting read.

A side note on Winwood Reade is that he was open about being an atheist, so his book is also at odds with the popular idea of Divine Providence smiling about the endeavors of the British Empire. Contemporary audiences would surely have drawn some conclusions about Holmes' religious and political leanings.

The book recommendation is preceded by Holmes establishing that he's not a sentimentalist:

He smiled gently. “It is of the first importance,” he said, “not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit,—a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor.”

My first reaction was "welp, he really is ace, isn't he?" On reflection, I think that reaction is both right and wrong. On the side of "right," there is no way that Holmes, as written, is a neurotypical allosexual heterosexual. Asexuality is not the only possible category for him, but it's a solid contender.

On the side of "wrong," what he's arguing for from "I assure you" on is simply not to judge a book by its cover. We're used to that as a moral. We're also accustomed to believing that "body language" and such can give clues to the person within. Heck, Holmes was just on about handwriting analysis. So there's a messy little tension here between two views that were common then as now: "outer aspects reveal the person's true nature" and "don't judge a book by its cover."

Mary Morstan

I like Mary Morstan a good deal, not least because she keeps receipts.

This image from the New York Public Library gives a sense of Mary's plain beige walking suit, though the feathers are far too big.

My first reaction to Mary Morstan's backstory was to check the publication date of Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess, because how many little girls were being left in boarding schools by their UK Army officer fathers who were serving in India?

Quite a few, it seems. It was standard practice to send children back to the UK to boarding school "for their health." That last euphemism raised my "what in the racist colonial claptrap" hackles, but there was a legit health concern -- malaria. Malaria is potentially deadly for anyone and worse for children, since a child who survived might have ruined health and intellectual development for life. It was not until 1897 that surgeon Ronald Ross established that malaria was transmitted by mosquitos. Miss Morstan was a child in India in the 1860s; she really would have been sent away for her own safety.

Meanwhile, although A Little Princess was published in 1905, it was expanded from a short story published in 1887. a few years before The Sign of the Four was written. That doesn't mean there's a connection: stories about a common situation and the fears arising from it are going to have similarities.

Miss Morstan's lack of English relatives did have me wondering if her mother was Indian, especially as her complexion lacks "beauty" (isn't translucently pale). Since she's blonde and light-eyed, presumably we're to assume that both parents were English or Scottish. (The genetics of eye color inheritance weren't established at all until 1907, but people obviously had folk beliefs about how much children looked like their parents, and in what ways, before that. Using today's knowledge, it seems possible that her mother had one English parent and one Indian parent, but who knows?).

At twenty-seven, she is "on the shelf" -- past the ordinary age of courtship and marriage. Her job as either a companion or a governess implies she brings no financial assets to a marriage beyond those mysterious pearls. Watson's musings that twenty-seven is "a sweet age" establishes both that he's head-over-heels for Miss Morstan and that he's enough a man of the world to prefer a woman "a little sobered by experience" to a blushing debutante.

So do the mysterious pearls mean we're going down a path superficially similar to Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone (1868), where a heroine inherits a mysterious gem from a British Army office relative? Rachel Verinder's uncle was a horrible person who came by his gem in the worst way; but Mary Morstan's father was a guard at a prison for political prisoners, which doesn't bode well for his connections. Mary has far too much good sense than to wear her pearls, though.

I do want my cinnamon roll Dr. Watson to get the girl.

[ashlingnarcos]

no witness — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, 2.4k @narcosfandomdiscord's july smut alphabet, prompt 24: exes a day late, but who's counting? warnings: smut (barely), angst, past divorce, illness

It’s been so long that his old phone number doesn’t work, but if there’s one way to reach Walt Breslin, it’s to call the DEA and lie. After ten minutes, which you mostly spend being on hold, you’re connected to his office. Pretty easy. Hopefully the rest of this ends up easy too.

“Hey, Walt,” you say. 

After a beat, he says, “Hey.” His voice is casual, but the pause has already given him away. How the man manages to conduct interrogations with drug lords and the like, you really don’t know. Bless his heart. 

“So I’ve had a shit day, and I’m thinking why not just get to the point,” you say. “That okay?”

“Shoot.”

“I’m in town for a couple days, visiting, and I was wondering: any interest in a one-night stand?” 

He laughs. There are miles and walls between you, to say nothing of time, but you know that laugh. You know that he’s scratching his jaw with his knuckles, turning away from the world and towards the sound of your voice, shoulders rising half an inch. Private, a little defensive. He never likes taking personal calls at work where he can be overheard, but it’s been a couple years since you’ve talked to each other. He must have missed you. That accounts for his reply.

“One-night stand seems kind of inaccurate, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, not to nit-pick—”

“Too late.”

“—but I think we’re disqualified a couple different ways. A one-night stand is something you have with a stranger, right? For the first and last time.”

“And I’m not a stranger.”

“Last I checked, you’re my ex-wife.”

“And it wouldn’t be for the last time.” That just slips out of you, and you know better than to say it as soon as it’s out of your mouth. You slump in your chair, smooth your yellow flip-flop over the peeling kitchen linoleum, and wait to see if the hammer drops.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, is all,” he says mildly.

Mercy hits you harder than cruelty would’ve. As always. “Sorry,” you say, abrupt.

“’s okay,” he says, and that’s not true, but it’s perfect. There’s not forgiveness between the two of you quite so much as there is a shared desire to get the hell out anytime the house starts burning. At this point, one whiff of smoke and you both sprint. Doesn’t matter if it was just a cigarette. 

“Yeah, so,” you say desperately, “be seeing you.” 

“At eight,” he says, and hangs up.

Oh.

.

.

.

You’re smoking under the carport when Walt pulls up and parks on the side of the road. It’s raining. You watch him get out of the car. He’s tense, you think. Whatever made him reserved and a little lenient earlier, all that’s gone now. Nothing easy about this version of Walt. 

That’s fair. It’s been a couple years, and you gave him no explanation. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t slam the door either. Good enough.

You walk towards the front door, holding out your cigarette and letting the rain snuff it out before you throw it in the bucket by the front door. When you go inside, you leave the door ajar. 

He comes in fast. You barely have time to get your flip flops off before you hear his footsteps behind you, turn, and then there he is: a stab in the gut, a scarecrow, scruff and then some. On you fast, his hands your hips his mouth your mouth and that wet sundress doing near nothing at all between the two of you. You can feel the top of his sodden jeans pressing a line into your stomach. You can feel he’s half-hard already. Without looking, he kicks the door shut.

Okay, then. 

You didn’t plan on fierce and this isn’t fierce exactly, but it sure as hell isn’t peaceful. He kisses you like he’s on a mission and you return the favor, clinging to him like you might fall over otherwise. He tastes like cigarettes and he’s this close to biting. You’re fine to hurry. You grope your way along his sides till you find the hem of his shirt, wrestle that off, and drop it to the floor as you start walking backwards into the cramped living room. 

You’ve got your hands on him now, fuck, exactly how you wanted, digging your nails into the back of his neck and feeling every finger a conduit to the rough, freckled, panting reality of him. His eyes are half lidded and he’s kissing you slower, deeper. It’d be drowning if you paid attention, but the whole point is your mind turning mercifully off. 

Between the big green sofa and the air mattress, there isn’t much room, but you break away from him just long enough to get down there in the narrow strip of rug, get down on all fours, and look back at him. He’s on his knees behind you in a couple seconds, moving a little slower than you. Is he hurt? Before you can sit back and try to interrogate him, he’s already shoving your skirt up off your thighs and over your hips.

“Shit,” he says. Not derailed, just surprised. He smooths a callused hand up your inner thigh and trails a couple fingers through your folds, feeling how wet you are already and sending a shiver through you. Your stomach clenches as he inspects at the slick coating his fingers. His silent self-satisfaction is so fucking annoying, and unfortunately, it makes you want him all the more. 

“Hey,” you say. “That’s my work, not yours.”

You were hoping he’d make some kind of move on you, but instead he sticks both fingers in his mouth and sucks till his cheeks go hollow. Maybe he thinks you deserve the delay for trying to provoke him. Or maybe the sight’s a reward—you’ve always enjoyed watching him with his mouth full, that’s for damn sure. 

When he finally slides out his fingers with a sick little pop, his eyes have gone completely dark. No smirk yet, but imminent. Even before he opens his mouth, you know he’s gonna say something.

“Big fan of your work,” he says. 

You hate how much you want him, how much you can feel now that you’ve missed this. “Come here,” you say roughly.  

He does. As he works you open, slowly, his hunger is so subordinated by his intent that it can’t read as anything but careful, can’t read as anything but care, and sure you asked him here to be cared for, but you don’t want to fucking witness it. You drop your head between your shoulders, try to relax around the stretch of him, and let the carpet blur. It’s not enough. 

“C’mon,” you say so low that you think he doesn’t hear you, but then he slides out his fingers and the raw wet weight of him is at your back, his teeth sink into your shoulder, and he pushes in. Pushes your eyes closed. Pushes the last thought out of you. 

Perfect. 

.

.

.

When he rolls off you and onto the mattress, panting, he lays there a second and you clamber on beside him. He’s sprawled out on his back with his hands behind his head, you’re sprawled out on your stomach. He’s staring at the ceiling, and you’re staring at him. After a second, he looks over at you. Get what you wanted?

Truth is: not yet, no, but what you’ve got so far is good. You tilt your head, offering him a bit of doubt, ehh, but your eyes are merry traitors. 

He snorts. 

“You wear me out,” he says. He’s not touching you, but he says it comfortable, like a caress. 

Presently, you inch a little closer and bite the closest bit of him, which happens to be his elbow, hard and dry and unappealing. You don’t bite that hard. He stretches out his arm so you can come tuck yourself into his side, and he doesn’t watch you as you do it, which is gentlemanly of him. You’re greedy for this, this is what you wanted, but you don’t want to be witnessed at it any more than you want to witness it yourself. If neither of you can notice that this is happening, that’d be a continuation of perfect. 

Course, your curiosity makes sustaining that impossible.

“How’d you know?” you say, after a while.

“Know what?” he says sleepily. 

Everything. “That I’d be at my mom’s place. That she wouldn’t be here.” 

He pauses, noticeably, then shrugs. You feel it more than you see it, the movement of his shoulder under your head. 

“Kinda fits the pattern, doesn’t it?” he says.

Any other night, and you wouldn’t let that stand. But for a collection of grudges and bones, rough stubble and unyielding everything else, the man feels good to hold, and you’d have to let go to fight. 

So you go the light angle. “Hey, man. I’m mysterious.”

“Oh, you’re mysterious, all right.” There’s a smile in his voice, and then there isn’t. “So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing really.” Beat. “Looks like we’ll be going round two with April. Chemo, the whole nine. Barely a remix, more like time travel. Whatever.”

Silence, the kind you were dreading. His hand has been clasping your hip for a while now, but it feels too heavy all of a sudden. You consider squirming away, but for once in your life, you can’t think of an excuse to pick a fight. 

“She’ll be okay,” he says. And worse, he says it like he believes it. “She’s tough as nails, your mom.”

Again, it just happens: “Shame she had such a soft-ass daughter, huh.”

“Don’t do that,” he says at once.

“Sorry,” you say, and you mean it, and then—what the fuck? Why are you apologizing to Walt fucking Breslin, of all people? That’s something the divorce was supposed to end as easily as it ended dinner traditions and having a nephew and sleepless nights. What the fuck. 

“Like you don’t do that,” you say.

“I don’t.”

See, this is why Walt isn’t to hold; there’s not enough barrier between you when you’re in his arms. Everything’s dead obvious. You’re both tensing up and he’s fucking terrible to hold again.

“Well, you look it and you think it, and that’s nearly as bad,” you bite out.

“Still beats fucking saying it.”

“Count on a cowboy to prescribe me repression.” And you meant it exasperated and derogatory and not funny at all, but when you say it, you hear it, and Walt snorts in lieu of a laugh that he can’t help.

“I’m not…” He looks over at you, and he’s smiling like a husband would. This shit should be bottled and mass-manufactured. Or outlawed. Either would work. 

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a cowboy,” he says.

You pinch his chin between thumb and forefinger. “But you are, though.”

“I’m not a cowboy, you’re just a Northerner.”

Oh, that old thing. You roll your eyes and don’t bother saying you’re from Kentucky. You haven’t bothered saying it since fucking 1985. 

“You still gonna be pissed at me, then?” you say. “And don’t say what do you mean, I’m sleepy and I don’t want to go nine rounds. You were pissed when you came in, before you got distracted.”

“I just thought you were pulling my chain.”

“Well, that’s very fucking self-obsessed of you,” you say, before it hits. “And why would I be pulling your chain?”

He shakes his head, and you raise yourself up to look down at his face, all your weight going down into the godawful air mattress with your right hand, your left on his bare chest. 

“I was seeing somebody,” he says to a patch of ceiling off past the side of your head. “Never mind.”

For all the time you’ve spent trying to fuck things up for him on purpose, the discovery that you might’ve fucked something up for him on accident really frightens you. What if it was a good thing? What if this other woman was a good woman? You’d never been one of those, never even met one of those, but you hear about them on TV sometimes and you think one of them would be a nice thing for him. Like a new car or a month without nightmares, one of those things he’s never had. A good woman. Fuck. You knew this was all a mistake.

You already know, but you can’t stop yourself from asking. “Did I—”

“Never mind.”

And he’s been nice enough to not witness you, so now you should be nice enough not to witness him, you think. You go to lay back down, but first you brush a kiss just under his collarbone. Negligible, deniable. Apologetic. 

Wrong move, obviously. Nothing can be an apology if it’s deniable; it’s either one or the other, and there it is, he’s getting up and wrestling on his boxers and jeans in one go. Not angry, even, just set. This is what he’s doing. He’s going. Who could blame, et cetera.

“Look, this was…” he says. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t bother putting on his shirt, just balls it up and stuffs it in his back pocket. Half-naked Breslin walking out the door on a Thursday night, breaking news for nobody, least of all your neighbors. You’re sitting on a deflating air mattress with your arms hugging your knees, not very hard, just waiting for it to be over. Practically rote.

He bends down and presses a kiss to your temple. You really are sorry, so you twist your neck and reach for him and kiss the full apology into him, sweet like you only ever are in some kind of aftermath. 

“You know,” you say. “Next time.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

It’ll be his turn. You’ll pay him back; you’re a thief and a bastard but you’re always fair when it comes to shit like this. You’d kiss him for longer, but you can feel the dull burning and pretty soon it’ll be full-on actual pain, so you just nudge at him, your forehead to his. You get the angle a bit wrong and nearly get him in the eye. 

Maybe he smiles at that, maybe he doesn’t. Soft footfalls. You’ll need to wash the sheets and your dress and your memory, figure out a way to make tomorrow livable. The door closes behind him.

Next time.

[outeremissary]

kasperia character journal please? 👀

Hi Romeo! Sorry this is a lil late (days later edit: now a lot late), time kind of stopped functioning for part of Friday, hahhh . Anyway some good luck on this one being the only one I have screenshots from while my laptop hangs between this world and the next! (days later edit: it's actually dead forever) Anyway, this was admittedly a bit of a cheat because it is a tabletop character journal, but it's a WIP to me and I like working on it. Counts!

Anywayyyy. I don't think it's actually been said on Tumblr at this point, but Kasander and Asperia are two parts of a dissociative identity disorder system (I don't know if this is too jargon-y an explanation...?). Not the only two, but the two who interface the most with the outside world and in some ways have the strongest feelings about "Asperia's" life. In tabletop, their journal is how they communicate with one another to mitigate the effects of losing time and to get some sense of coordination with what they're doing. On a meta level, it helps me track what each of them knows about game events and how they feel about each other (and any other alter who adds something to the journal). Relationships within the system aren't really something that generally makes sense to externalize into regular RP. The journal is a helpful way to develop that running self-exploration side plot without derailing what's happening in session.

It's been a really fun exercise in character voice. I love writing epistolary type stuff- Carmen's mission report character journal was one of my favorite parts of playing her back in 2019- so it's been very relaxing to me. Excited for our hiatus to end to gather more material for it. I've gotten a little off track from some original plans though- one significant concept I'd had going in was that Kasander's parts of the journal are written as direct letters to Asperia, while Asperia's were supposed to be written as a diary as if the other pages didn't exist. Stubborn willful ignorance from someone struggling to come to terms with their reality. Unfortunately, it's very fun to write things that are a little bit more communicative ^^;; I'll probably have to rewrite pieces of recent parts of the journal to be a bit more in line with that intent before adding the next chunk to our party's notes drive. Not a lot room to develop the twins' relationship over time if there's not much distance between the start and the end, after all.

With that said, some of the direct exchanges are very fun. Pros and cons.

It's also fun to think through what's tracked and what's omitted (intentionally or unintentionally). Kasander loves describing the cultural experience of a location but carefully skips mentioning having actually spent money on things. They're always on thin ice with the funds. Asperia keeps (mildly exaggerated) accounts of personal achievements but completely skips over failures, especially failures that involved injury to the body. She needs to communicate a sense of superiority- something that certainly works when Kasander apologizes profusely any time the body is hurt under their care.

(yeah it seemed like a good idea at the time to use a more "handwritten" font for the final thing but I've been having A Lot Of Regrets)

I unfortunately don't have a screenshot, but the journal has also had one small addition from Paracelsus as well. It's just a to-do list of ways to organize and restock the crafting supplies. Very typical of them. Asperia thinks he wrote it, like everything Paracelsus writes.

Also fun to get to work in some in-world explanations for things that raise some meta questions, like not having some items that I need for my character concept (I ran out of starting equipment budgettt). This bit is also consistent with the pattern that Asperia avoids referring to Kasander by name.

How common the two of them actually sabotaging each other's possessions is has yet to truly be established, but it is an aspect of what the party thaumaturge refers to as their "feud."

Pros over BG3: they are aware of and communicating each other, and they didn't have to have five near death experiences for it to happen. Yay!

Cons over BG3: lot more hostility from Asperia persisting past that point. Kasander did in fact ruin their life a little.