#presence was needed more in the other episodes than in that one *shrugs*

[cleo-fox]

Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

*

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?”  he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

*

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation. 

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later. 

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together. 

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

*

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it. 

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

*

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh. 

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net. 

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly. 

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar. 

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say. 

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants. 

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine. 

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you  and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

*

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee. 

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

[fxrmuladaydreams]

jim and pam (sv5) (dr3)

pornstar!seb x pornstar/camgirl!reader , pornstar!daniel x pornstar/camgirl!reader

summary: who would’ve thought an episode of the office would make you feel so introspective

notes: this one’s short, i’m sorry

prev part next part

Things had become odd after your day spent with Sebastian. It was like there was a new energy surrounding you.

Sebastian was great, really. He was sweet, flirty yet still respectful. You honestly wanted nothing more than to grab him by his shoulders and plant a kiss against his lips. It also didn’t help that his channel hadn’t had any new videos posted to it as of late.

You didn’t want to assume that this was some grand gesture of his devotion to you, but a part of you still hoped. You hoped that you were the reason he wasn’t seeing other women, that he was actively choosing to spend his time with you as opposed to spending it filming with other people.

You find yourself seeking him out regularly, longing for his attention, and he’s more than happy to give it to you. Lunches turn into movie nights turn into sleepovers turn into making breakfast together in the kitchen.

That’s how you find yourself seated on the couch, with Sebastian on the other side of it. You’ve both got plates of food on your lap, and are facing each other while the television plays in the background. You had decided that you should watch something together while you ate, and you picked The Office. It was funny, something simple enough that you didn’t really need to focus on it, you could just relish in the presence of each other.

It plays in the background as you nudge your food around your plate. Sebastian keeps his eyes locked on the television.

“Why doesn’t Jim realize that he should be with Pam?” He asks, not necessarily looking for an answer.

You shrug. “Maybe he’s happy with Karen. I mean, I think he and Pam are perfect together, but it’s possible for him to be happy with someone else too.”

Sebastian turns to look at you, then moves to fully face you. “You think that’s possible? That someone could be so in love, so perfect for someone else, and that they could just ignore those feelings while they’re with someone else?” He raises a brow.

You suddenly feel like you’re no longer talking about The Office. You had always felt comfortable around Sebastian, from very early on. He made it clear that he cared about you, until he pushed you away. Were you making a mistake entertaining the idea of being with Daniel instead?

“I think at this point it’s a right person, wrong time sort of situation for them.” You tell him softly.

He nods. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t fix it in the future. See if they were truly meant to end up together?” He smiles. He turns back to the television when you don’t answer him.

The rest of breakfast is spent quietly watching The Office, and cleaning up the kitchen together.

Sebastian gives you a soft smile just before leaving. “Always a pleasure schatz.” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, leaving you at your door.

Daniel comes over just before lunch. You try to expel the awkward air between you from the other day, allowing him to be more affectionate, but not possessive.

Unlike with Sebastian, he keeps his arms wrapped around you on the couch, practically holding you on top of him.

You close your eyes as you rest your head against his chest. You focus on the soft steady beating of his heart, the heart that he’s openly given to you.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head sweetheart?” He asks, running a hand along your back.

You lift your head to look up at him. He smiles down at you, his dark eyes shining in the light coming in from the window.

“Nothing. Just enjoying this. Being here with you.” You tell him.

He grins, his arms squeezing you a little tighter for a moment. “I’m enjoying this too.”

You fiddle with your hands as you watch Daniel gather his things before leaving. He tugs his hoodie back on over his head, and grabs his keys off your counter.

“Daniel?” You ask, following him to the door.

“Yes sweetheart?”

You rock back and forth on your heels. “Maybe, you could just spend the night? It’s getting late, and I don’t mind having you over.” Your words are quiet, like you’re almost afraid of saying them out loud.

He nods. “I’ll stay. But only if you’re sure you want me to.”

“I want you to.”

He drops his keys back on the counter, and follows you to your room. He pulls his hoodie back off, then begins to pull his shirt off too.

“Is this okay? I usually just sleep in my boxers… If not I can just sleep in my jeans.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine.” You try not to stare as Daniel strips in front of you.

Your phone screen lights up with a notification. It’s a goodnight text from Sebastian. You respond quickly before putting your phone face down on your bedside table.

You start off on opposite sides of the bed, but quickly feel Daniel’s arm wrap around you, pulling you against him. His soft snoring proves that it was a subconscious move, that he probably had no intention of possibly stepping over a line when you invited him to stay the night.

However, you’re the one who feels trapped between a rock and a hard place. Well, Daniel’s chest, and the phone sitting two feet away from you. You know you have to make a choice, but feel torn between the two men who’ve chosen to love you. You just have to hope that you pick the right one.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

helloo!! Can we please have dark chocolate number 13 with Ace pls \(//∇//)\ thank you!!♡♥︎♡♥︎╰(*´︶`*)╯🍫♡

Yandere Ace x GN!Reader

1.1k words

Prompt:

I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve last seen Ace. An eternity in his book, barely a breath of fresh air in yours. During your precious alone time, you elected to stay in his cabin and tidy up the place. His tendency to just throw shit and leave it wherever it falls left the room in a chaotic state, and that got on your nerves given that this is where you spend almost every waking moment of your day.

Going out amongst the other people on the Moby Dick always left a bad taste in your mouth. They would give you pitying glances at best, but never lend a hand to help. They ultimately cared more about Ace’s well being than yours, and since your presence was directly tied to his mental state, your fate was sealed.

You never asked for any of this. No one wants to get dragged off onto a pirate ship because the captain of it got too attached. You had a glimmer of hope that you may be able to escape after the Spade Pirates were forcibly disbanded by the Whitebeard Pirates, but as already stated. They weren’t much help. At first they couldn’t even get close to you without Ace trying to kill them, but eventually he grew on them. Then they were helping keep you on board, lest he spirals. 

The relationship you had with Ace could be very draining. That fun, rambunctious side of him that had originally drawn you in was only a part of him. A front that he put on. In reality he was an intensely depressed individual that had become much more comfortable showing that side of himself to you.

In normal circumstances, this would be a heartwarming show of trust. Typically this would be a steady step in the right direction to build a healthy relationship, but nothing about your relationship was healthy. The exposure to his depressive episodes felt suffocating more than anything. While he would be sobbing into your chest and clinging to you for dear life, you would be forced to comfort your captor out of pure guilt from seeing him look so broken. You felt more like an emotional support animal than a human significant other some days.

Going back and forth between hating and pitying him was dizzying. Not to mention the bizarre form of codependent love that had been thrown into the mix. You never knew what direction your emotions towards him would go any given day, just like you never knew what kind of a mood Ace would be in.

It was exhausting. You felt like you needed a vacation to recuperate at the end of every day, but you of course never got one. So you would have to settle for the moment of peace you’ve been granted in this messy cabin.

The door is suddenly kicked open and you internally curse. Your quiet moment is done and over with now. You should have cherished it more.

Strong arms lock around your waist, heave you up, and spin you around. Ace seems to be in a good mood today, which is a plus. “(Y/N), I missed you!”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, you’re acting like it’s been months,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

“What? A couple of hours is a long time, it felt like months.” He had mercifully stopped spinning and was looking around the room. “Where’d all my stuff go?”

You rolled your eyes, “All I did was stuff your dirty clothes into the hamper. Don’t know why you even have that thing seeing as you never use it.” It had a fine layer of dust that would gather over it in between your sporadic uses when you got fed up enough to clean.

“Not everything was dirty, most of those were still good!”

“It’s not “good” if you have to do like three sniff tests to determine that! Just wash that shit!” You were squirming to get out of his grasp, thoroughly irritated from bickering about you cleaning up his laundry.

Ace laughed and shrugged, “Maybe I’ll do it later.” Yeah right. He walked towards your shared, unmade bed and tossed you onto it before throwing himself on top of you. Oh. He’s feeling cuddly today. Great. Well, as long as he doesn’t start crying it won’t be so bad.

A kiss was placed against your cheek with enough force to squish your face, and then he unceremoniously flopped down, further squishing you into the mattress. Instead of using your chest as a pillow like he usually does, he nestled his face into your neck. His arms snaked underneath you to keep your bodies fully pressed together.

The man was a walking furnace, so you were already beginning to sweat. Such a thing didn’t bother him, but it was uncomfortable for you. Not that your discomfort was enough to deter him, you would be stuck in this position until he’d gotten his fill. This was far from the first time you’ve been subjected to this, so you knew what he wanted. One of your hands plucked his already partially dislodged hat from his head and tossed it aside so you could run your fingers through his messy hair, the other one rubbed slow circles on his back.

Ace hummed in contentment from your ministrations, and his body sagged more than it already had against your own. His hair was tangled, a common occurrence for anyone primarily living at sea. Your fingers worked meticulously to undo all of the knots. You weren’t particularly gentle with it, but he wasn’t flinching from every tug so you can’t imagine it was that harsh either.

For a while, nothing is said. Ace enjoys your company, while you feel obligated to acquiesce his wants and desires.

“I’m so happy to have you here with me, I will never want anyone else. You have more of a hold on me than you’ll ever know.” The words are spoken in a hushed whisper directly into your ear.

There it is again. That pesky, traitorous feeling of affection. The flutter of your heart from being so desperately wanted- needed even. Your impulsive inclination to comfort someone so clearly in need even though it’s absolutely not your job to do so. You wanted to “save” him almost as badly as you wanted to save yourself.

It made you question if he was the only one with serious psychological issues here. Have you always had this savior complex, or was it a recent development brought on by your living situation? 

This wasn’t something you wanted to think about today. You sighed and clutched Ace closer. Maybe it would be for the best if you just turned your brain off for a little while? Thinking too hard on your circumstances has never done you any good.

[ghostherlig]

railao (?) drabble

i have no idea what their ship tag is, but i'll update this if i figure it out- anyway, please enjoy <3

Kung Lao startled at the feeling of Raiden's hand on his shin, the calmer man gasping as he watched what was happening on screen.

Raiden had dragged him into his room, the two having been catching up on one of the shows they had been watching together. It had been a rougher few weeks, and this was what they normally did in their down time.

Though, Raiden was currently a lot more invested than Kung Lao.

"By the gods, he betrayed her!" Raiden whispered, completely enraptured by what was happening on screen.

Lao was closer to passing out than he would care to admit, the comfortable position he was laying in certainly wasn't helping, and neither was Raiden's unreasonably calming presence.

"Ooh, did you see that, Lao? That looked like it hurt..." Raiden commented, shaking his leg a little with his words.

Lao peeked an eye open to watch was happening on screen, a woman and her ex-lover apparently fighting on screen. It was a choreographed scuffle, and Lao chuckled at the obviously pulled punches.

"I bet it did." Lao answered, voice low with exhaustion.

He had worked hard, and since this was supposed to be his down time he wasn't feeling too guilty about using it to rest.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" Raiden teased, laughter in his tone as he paused their show.

"No, no," Lao answered, waving his hand over at Raiden despite the fact that his head was turned down, his regular straw hat covering his eyes, "You can keep watching, 挚友."

"I can clearly see you falling asleep, Lao, and you only call me 挚友 when you're too exhausted to hold your tongue," Raiden pointed, Kung Lao chuckling and leaning his head back, his closed eyes exposed to the man sitting next to him on the bed.

"You got me there," He smiled, peeking an eye open to see Raiden staring back at him, sitting cross legged next to his waist, his hand still on Lao's shin.

They were comfortable like that. The two of them normally shared space and touches casually, it came with growing up together as they had. And with bunking together as they had and do at Wu Shi.

"You should've told me, I would've stopped watching at the end of the last episode," Raiden scolded, backing out of the episode they were currently watching.

"No, you should finish it. It was nearly over," Lao yawned, and Raiden rolled his eyes at him.

"We were less than half way through, Lao." He deadpanned, getting a shrug in return.

"They aren't that long,"

"They're each an hour! You must be closer to falling asleep than I thought," Raiden teased, getting a scoff from Lao.

"I'm not, just finish your episode! I'm sure it'll be a good one. I can rest after that, Raiden, we get to sleep in tomorrow, remember?" Kung Lao reminded, and Raiden pouted.

"Are you sure? I know as soon as I put it back on and stop talking you're going to pass out." Raiden answered, and Lao sighed.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now put it back on, 挚友." Lao teased, Raiden huffing a laugh and putting the episode back on, Kung Lao listening as it went on.

Apparently, the main lead had been betrayed by her lover, and they were fighting it out. That was, until the ex-lover's mistress came into the scene, helping fight off the first girl.

It was a convoluted mess, but Raiden was always so interested in these shows. Lao remembers the first series Raiden watched. Madam Bo had lent him the tapes, and despite their age they held up pretty well.

"C'mon, get her!" Raiden whispered, cheering on the lead as she fought off the other two.

Lao smiled to himself.

He never really loved these shows like Raiden did, but time spent with Raiden was time well spent. He would spend the rest of his days just like this if it meant he could spent them all with Raiden.

With his 挚友.

His 宝宝.

He could feel the leaden weight of the promise ring in his pocket, knew he would need to show to his 宝宝 soon enough.

And he would. In due time.

But right now, laid out comfortably on Raiden's full sized cot, the sounds of the TV and Raiden's engaged whispers in his ears, and the warmth of a cozy summer's night, Kung Lao was more than happy to wait.

end notes!! chinese translations: 宝宝 is Bǎo bǎo which means 'baby', and 挚友 is 'dearest friend' or 'best friend'. fair warning i do not speak chinese and these may be incorrect!!

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

grian’s new episode got me going hm

might probably do a gem-centric one soon because they make each other worse

-

He wouldn’t let go.

Grian clutched onto the fishing rod, his grip having worn down the wood by now. It was a week into the server. It felt like an eternity.

Sometimes he forgot what came before, before he started fishing.

He recalled, yes. Things like the big moon, Grumbot, whatever. They seemed less memories and more fragmented experiences just laying around waiting for someone to claim them.

It was like his mind was a vase, and the ocean had smashed it into a million tiny little pieces, left for him to fish out.

Another salmon. Grian let out a short, harsh shout and threw it in a nearby barrel and cast his line again.

And again, and again.

There was one rod, seven or eight lines. He peered through the web of black lines and distinguished the single working one. The ocean kept fooling with him like that.

“It kind of looks like a net,” Gem’s voice chirped behind him. They didn’t bother with greetings now. They just talked about fishing.

“I don’t even know how this happened,” he said.

“At least you can get mending ten times as fast now.”

“No, only one works.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Then, having exhausted all possible subjects of conversation, they lapsed into an awkward pause. Grian caught another fish. Cod.

Gem made to leave, but couldn’t resist a final comment.

“By the way, you should sleep. And, uh, shave, unless you’re going for that rugged aesthetic.”

She left.

Was it that obvious? Grian wondered. That he was addicted?

Come to think of it, he hadn’t thought of himself for so many days. He’d just been fishing, dragged himself to chip away at his base, and then went back to fishing.

He stared at himself in the water.

Oh.

Beard, check. Eyebags, check. Suspenders and a beanie for some reason. A bobber hanging from his waist and his pants dipped in seaweed. His hair was overgrown and soaked. There was even a patch on his sweater, for goodness sake.

Grian only felt it now. How had he not noticed it before? Was he just that focused on fishing? His hand subconsciously wandered to his face and brushed against the scales.

The what.

Grian spun around, looking for a clearer mirror than the water, rubbing his cheek in disbelief. Scales, wet and smooth like a fish. He should know. He’d handled thousands of them in a week.

He glanced at his arm, the texture very fishy in both ways. His heart dropped. He just wanted mending, not this. He was supposed to be the fisherman, not the bloody catch!

“Gem, Gemgemgemgem!” He yelled.

Gem turned. “What?”

“I think I’m turning into a fish!”

To her credit, Gem didn’t react much. She did run closer, but she didn’t scream or anything. She just said, “Hmm. Same.”

“What do you mean, same?” Grian yelped.

She rolled her eyes and pulled up her sleeve, revealing the same scales. “It’s probably a side effect, chill. Impulse wasn’t actually a dwarf last season, he just started growing shorter. It’s the Hermitcraft air or something.”

Grian stared at her, gears in his brain turning furiously to process her words. “Didn’t you guys base near the water?”

“That’s true, that’s true. I don’t think that was it, though.” Gem said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Anyway, I need to build. See ya.”

She sauntered away.

Grian didn’t have the presence of mind to call her back. He dropped the rod he’d been clutching this whole time and stared at his hands, moist from sweat.

He was short of breath, and after fifteen seconds he realised it wasn’t just from the panic. He physically couldn’t breathe.

Fish can’t survive on land.

Before he could think, before he remembered he was human, Grian leaped into the water, which enveloped him comfortingly like a drug.

The part of Grian that was still Grian realised this was like walking into the tiger’s cave, and forced himself to surface, gasping for air. He ordered his brain to use the lungs he had, and he started breathing again.

He clambered up onto the pier, and laid down on the wood, drained. He fumbled around and found the rod. Well, what else was there to do? Cast line, sit down, wait.

After all, the next one could be the one.

He just wanted mending. Then he’d stop. He’d stop.

The ocean wouldn’t let him go.

[8myass]

.. smiles .. pairing. wong kunhang/hendery x female reader, feat. xiaojun genre. angst, smut pov. second person (you, yours, yourself, etc.) synopsis. he fell for the way you smiled for him. wc. 1.3k cw. yandere!hendery, idol!hendery, talk show host!reader tw. cursing, stalking, drugging, pet names (‘my love’, ‘sugar’, ‘darling’), dubcon aspects, infidelity, fingering, slight gaslighting a/n. came up with this idea after watching the episode of unbelievable that hendery and xiaojun were on together.

You talked like you owned the entire room, hands moving in gestures to truly enunciate the sentences you sang out, soft bangs falling over your forehead while you fidgeted in your seat. You were perfect for a talk show host. You had that very distinct presence about you that would make anyone interested in the topic at hand. Something so simple as brushing your teeth could become a conversation starter deserving of an hour’s worth of words.

You were so sweet, too. You’d make the guests on your show seem like their opinions were the most important things in the world. You sure made Hendery feel that way. He was an idol of a few years now, but coming onto this show was the first thing he’s done where he needed to share his thoughts with someone other than his bandmates, one of whom also joined him on the show. Luckily for him, his bandmate, Xiaojun, would cover for him whenever he went silent, thinking that he simply had nothing to discuss on the subject. No, he had plenty of opinions he could share with the hosts. But you were too mind-boggling that he continuously managed to find himself distracted by the way you flipped your hair over your shoulder when it tickled the exposed skin of your arm, adjusted the way your cropped top rested above your belly button to leave just the right amount to the imagination as it matched nicely with your tiny skirt that cut off before it could trail too high up your pretty thighs, hands fiddling with the dry flesh around your cuticles out of semi-nervousness when the attention was all on you.

He found that he adored your smile, the way your entire face would light up when you laughed, pearly white teeth exposing, gums popping out, eyes forming crescent shapes as your cheeks perked up. You were gorgeous when you smiled.

He wanted to make you smile more, laugh more, so he made it a point to speak up more, saying the silliest and most unserious things to get your face to contort in that beautiful way over and over again. He liked it, loved it, when he was able to make you smile, all for him.

And the moment your hand pressed against his knee, warm palm only lingering on the clothed skin for a few seconds, but it left a lasting sensation. The moment you did that, he had completely lost himself into you. He was prepared to dive all in.

As you left to head home that night, you’d see him in the lobby, brushing off his jacket before throwing it over his shoulders, hair sloppily falling over his face.

“Hey,” you called, hurrying your feet over toward him. As soon as his wide eyes met yours, you smiled at him sweetly, “Hendery, right? How’s it going? I thought you and Xiaojun had left already.”

“Yeah, we did, but I forgot my coat,” he rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortably laughing, “I’ll be going now.”

“Got a ride? I can take you if you want,” you shrugged, knowing he had no ride. That was one of the topics you discussed with him today.

After accepting the offer, he was actually sitting in your car. You stopped for gas on the way there, allowing him the chance to search through your belongings. It was definitely not the most honest thing for him to do, and stealing an empty bottle or a used tampon applicator was an even more dishonest thing, but he couldn’t contain himself. The scent of you was all over the items littering your car, he wanted to take it all. He wanted to take you. But he refrained long enough to get to his dorms.

He couldn’t invite you in, not into the place he was living at. If he brought you inside, the boys would poke fun at him, suggest and speak things that are crude and disgusting, so he didn’t get to bring you inside, sending you on your way as soon as he got out of the car, waving you off. He wanted to cry, slam his head against the wall. How could he not bring you inside? What was he thinking? He could’ve snuck you in, if there’s a way, he could do it. But no, this was the right decision.

Especially considering it wasn’t the last time he’d see you. The next times, however, you might not see him. He found out where you were living – staying at your sister’s for the time being, only until you got back on track with your money, you were waiting for your career to take off. He could take care of you, you should really just let him. But as he watched your beautiful figure dance naked around your room in a hurry to get a pair of comfortable pajamas on, his delusional mind began to process something. You wouldn’t love him in all the ways he loved you. You probably didn’t even remember who he was. 

Sure, he was an idol. But you weren’t into those kinds of things. Your head was either buried in a book or writing the scripts and questions for your show. You weren’t listening to his music or watching his videos or listening to his voice, you weren’t concerned with who he was in any sense, no context of him was fascinating to you.

He wanted you to remember him, remember who he was after the next meeting you had.

“Missed me, my love?” he smiled, hands snaking around your waist. Your body tensed, but soon relaxed when you felt his lips gently kissing along the soft skin of your neck. “Because I know I missed you so fucking much.”

You weren’t yourself, unable to properly feel who you were becoming, what he was doing to you. You didn’t know who it was, had no idea it was Hendery. You didn’t even remember him, he was completely right. When you showed up at your work building that morning, a syringe was injected in your neck before you could enter the front doors, being dragged away to a fancy hotel where now you’re gazing out across the city from a balcony, a random man wrapped up behind you, slowly falling against his touch, too touch-starved to say no to the desperate need to let your body give in. Not to mention the fact you thought it was your loving boyfriend, the man who you so badly wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He vowed to keep sex off-limits until marriage, and when he proposed, you were ecstatic that you were getting closer to that marriage dream of yours.

Still feeling the effects of the burning fluid seeping through your veins, you slurred, “Waiting for marriage?”

“Forget that,” he groaned into your ear, nibbling on your lobe as his hands trailed along your perfect body, deciding to play into your little delusions.

“You sure?” you gasped, feeling a harsh hand slip down your pants, touching you delicately with every hint of love in the way his fingers moved inside you.

“You’re gonna remember me after tonight, darling,” he spun you around, butt pressing against the edge of the railing, eyes meeting yours. He saw the moment you noticed who it was, the moment you realized it wasn’t your beloved fiance. “You won’t be able to forget me again.”

“Wh-what are you-” you started, squirming in his grasp, body being stricken with panic and fear at the sight of the unknown man before you. You didn’t have it in you to pull his hand out of your pants, fingers still curled up into you, causing your mind to fuzzy more and more with each movement of his wrist. 

His voice was quick to cut your whined words off, cooing sweetly, “Where’s that smile I’m looking for, sugar?”

You couldn’t speak, head spinning as it fell back, nails digging into his shoulder to keep you stable against the railing. 

“Don’t you like this?”

[firstkanaphans]

I need something nice and sweet for SandRay, like maybe (V)acationing together for the first time *_* thank you

You mean like the absolute gift that was episode 9??? (I realize you sent this in days ago, but I’m using it as an excuse to write more about their camping trip. I figured you wouldn’t mind 😂) Word Count: 1180

[V]acationing together for the first time

When Ray woke up, he was alone. For a second, he wasn’t even sure where he was, but then memories from the night before came back to him: the fight with Mew, the drive to Nakhon Nayok, the confrontation with Sand. He was, quite frankly, shocked that Sand had let him stay, but he y would be lying if he said he hadn’t slept better in his arms than he had in weeks. Now, the sun was up, the birds were chirping, and Sand and Nick were nowhere in sight. 

Ray sat up, stretched, and then made his way out of the camper. He half-expected Sand, Nick, and all of their supplies to be gone, but they weren’t. Instead, Sand was standing just a few steps away from the door, minding the grill where he had breakfast cooking. Ray was so surprised that he froze right there in the doorway, sure he must be hallucinating. The camper door slammed shut behind him and Sand looked up.

“Sleep well, Princess?” he drawled. He looked annoyed, but not angry. It was a start.

Ray threw his nose into the air, determined to act like he knew what he was doing, even though he didn't. “I did. Thank you for asking.”

Sand rolled his eyes. “Breakfast is almost done. Take a seat.”

Ray did as he was told and then looked around in search of Nick, but aside from the sounds of meat sizzling on the grill, birds chirping in the distance, and wind blowing through the trees, the campground was quiet. “Where’s Nick?” 

“Probably halfway back to Bangkok by now,” Sand answered, turning off the stove and portioning out two plates of food. He handed one to Ray and then sat down at the table next to him. 

“He left?” Ray asked. Sand nodded. Ray knew he should probably feel guilty about that, but he didn’t. He was happy to have Sand all to himself again. He took a large bite of his eggs and moaned at the taste. It had been a while since he had eaten.

For several minutes, the two of them ate in silence. Ray wanted to talk, but he didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. The meal was over half-finished before Sand spoke.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said.

It wasn’t the reception Ray had been hoping for, but it was the one he had been expecting. He tried to hide the disappointment from his eyes. “It’s a public campground,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, but it’s not a public camper. You can’t just barge in on other people’s vacations like that, Ray. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Ray said, “that I wanted to see you.”

Sand scoffed. “Bit of a long way to drive for a booty call. Especially when you’ve already got Mew waiting for you back in Bangkok.”

Ray thought about explaining that Mew’s feelings for him weren’t sexual—that they hadn’t gotten anywhere near crossing that line—but he didn’t think it would help his case.

“Like I said,” he repeated through clenched teeth. “I wanted to see you.” 

If Ray was being honest, it had been more of a need than a want. He had been so stupid, trading what he had with Sand for a chance with Mew—a chance that had never been anything more than a farce. Mew didn’t want him; Mew wanted Top. Ray had known that and yet he’d pursued him anyway, even despite the feeling in his gut telling him that things had changed. That what he had always thought he wanted wasn't what he needed. And now, he was left with nothing.

After his fight with Mew, he’d craved Sand's presence with a desperation usually reserved for alcohol. He’d needed to see him to know that he hadn’t ruined everything. To convince himself that there was still a chance—no matter how slim—that happiness was waiting for him over the horizon.

“I’ve missed you,” he said because it was true and Sand deserved to know it.

Sand didn’t seem pleased by his words. “I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said.

“Yeah, but...things have changed.”

“And whose fault is that?”

It was Ray’s. Everything was always Ray’s fault. Maybe he should just go.

“Are you mad I’m here?” he asked.

Sand glared at him as if he found the question offensive. “You shouldn’t have come. It was too late for you to be driving up a mountain. It was dangerous and stupid and—”

“That’s not what I asked,” Ray interrupted him. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

“Not without me, you won’t,” Sand argued. “With Nick gone, you’re my ride home.”

Ray rolled his eyes. Sand was way too smart to be this oblivious. “Sand. Please. Just answer the question: Are you mad at me?”

Sand took three deep breaths before answering. “I’m mad,” he said and Ray’s heart sank, “that I’m not mad.”

Ray smirked. Now that was more like it. “Really?”

“God, I fucking hate you, you know that?” Sand snapped, getting up and grabbing both of their plates to dispose of. 

“It’s kind of romantic out here, isn’t it?” Ray teased, ignoring him completely. “Almost like a date.”

Sand didn’t answer him as he scraped their leftover food into a garbage bag and tied it off. Ray maybe should have given him some space, but that seemed like such a waste when they were somewhere so lovely. He stood and snuck up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist. Sand froze.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hugging you,” Ray explained unnecessarily. To his surprise, Sand let him for a solid ten seconds before he set the plates down and turned in his arms.

“I didn’t tell you you could hug me,” Sand pointed out. Ray wasn’t aware he needed to ask for permission.

“Thank you for breakfast,” he said and then lifted up onto his tiptoes. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

And he did, placing a single, chaste peck on Sand’s lips. When he pulled away, Sand was standing in front of him with his eyes closed as if maybe, just maybe, he had enjoyed the kiss too. Ray preened and when Sand opened his eyes and noticed, he pushed him away.

“Go get changed into something of mine,” he snapped, ushering Ray back towards the camper. “We’re going to the lake.”

That did not sound like fun at all. “Why? So you can drown me?”

“No. So I can enjoy the rest of my vacation that you so rudely interrupted. You coming or not?”

Although Ray would very much like to turn up his nose at the thought of touching nature, he didn’t have the luxury of saying no. If it would make Sand happy, he would do it. After all, he owed Sand a little bit of happiness after everything he had put him through.

For the Fluff Prompt ABCs

[pequenaotaku]

Hot Chocolate

"Sentiments are complicated. Sometimes, I feel like I'm like hot chocolate in a steaming cup. The sweet and the bittersweet mix together with the help of a spoon, becoming a delicious and addictive flavor right after the first sip.

I wish that spoon would spend more time mixing me. I wish it never left the cup."

Versão em português

Headcanon scene from episode 01 after the cut

"So, this is the famous Devenementiel?" I asked aloud, to no one but myself.

The company wasn’t housed in a huge building, one you’d notice from across the city, nor did it make much of a presence in the commercial area, but it was undoubtedly a modern construction. Clear, clean, with many windows surrounding practically the entire building. Small, discreet, yet with a refined appearance. It looked like an interesting place, and I hadn't even seen the inside yet.

I approached the glass door, peeking inside, although I couldn’t see much beyond a very classic and comfortable reception area. It seemed the office was on the first floor. There was no one there; I had arrived too early. I clicked my tongue, crossing my arms. I could have lingered in bed longer, as any good freelancer does when there are no projects to deliver. My shift at the vintage records and knick-knacks store didn't start until the afternoon, after lunchtime. There was no need to go in earlier, and I didn’t have any other plans for that morning, so I’d have to kill time there at the entrance while waiting for one of the employees to arrive.

A few minutes passed with me distractedly looking at the week's recommended playlist on Spotify. If I wasn’t working on a project and wasn’t in a place where I could indulge in being an idle freelancer lounging in pajamas at home all day, seeing what other musicians were up to online was a good pastime. It would never stop being delightful to hear the ideas other artists produced and released with so much passion, to experience a new type of rhythm, seek inspiration and references, be immersed in someone’s vocal or instrumental sound. I took my eyes off my phone screen for a second to look at the company building once more. I felt a tingling sensation all over my body, thinking about the work I could do to contribute to the partnership I was about to finalize. It hadn’t even been a week since I exchanged messages with my only acquaintance there about this, following his strong recommendation.

"You’re early, Collete," the deep, monotonous voice of Thomas resonated behind me. I couldn’t help but smile before turning around.

"Speak of the devil," I joked, watching with amusement as his expression shifted from a slight look of boredom to a curious one. He almost always got lost in his own head during our conversations. I had come to understand that it wasn’t because he found me boring, but rather because he wanted to decipher my words. I seriously wondered what he was thinking at that moment.

"Wouldn't it be 'talking about the devil'?" he raised an eyebrow. It seemed I wouldn’t find out the reason for his silence this time. I just shrugged. "I was put in charge of handling the administrative details for your arrival, including the hiring of another person, which means making two badges along with the identification key so neither of you would have to wait at the door to get in. And since, apparently, we need to be up at the crack of dawn to make them… Here I am, arriving after you," he seemed irritated about having to wake up so early after a long night of work while giving me that explanation that sounded more like a rant escaping his thoughtful mind. I didn’t blame him. It really did seem like a pain.

"I’m glad I’m not the only one who had to drag myself out of bed today."

"More than me, it seems," I saw a hint of a smile light up his face. I winked at him. "Anyway, it won't take long. I’ve already moved things along, so you don’t need to worry. Come on." Without giving me time to add anything, Thomas opened the door, beckoning me to follow him.

So, we took an elevator, and I finally had the pleasure of discovering the open space of the place, which couldn’t be compared to the modern facade. Suddenly, I even started to think that it seemed too cold to accommodate such a warm environment. Inside, it was a complete lively festival of colors, plants, and curious objects. There were no partitions, and amusingly, among the empty desks, I noticed that each table was not only uniquely decorated but also had very different chairs. None were the same. It might have been a small detail, but it showcased the personality of each employee working there. Thomas guided me to the most neutral, organized, and sober desk. It was undoubtedly his.

"You can sit, it won’t take long," he said mechanically as he pulled the chair from the desk next to his for me. It was strangely shaped like a dolphin. It was cute but seemed so uncomfortable and impractical. I began to doubt the sanity of its owner.

"With all due respect, I prefer to stand up, in this case.", I flashed a sly, sarcastic smile, earning another hint of a smile.

"I also don't understand why people here choose anything other than the classic office chair," he commented as he sat in his own chair, turning on the computer. "It's designed for comfort and good lumbar support. In ten years, everyone will be walking with a cane, except for me," I couldn't help but chuckle. I never ceased to find it amusing how, sometimes, he would say such things without a hint of malice. It was just logical and straightforward. "Your desk is this one in front of mine. You’re practically an honorary employee, but the boss thought it would be better if you had one to feel like you belong. You can choose a chair model for yourself later. There's someone who always supplies furniture for us, and his store has everything."

"Far be it from me to give you more work…" I began, with a falsely gentle, sweet voice. "But since you know him, I'll let you handle the negotiations. That said, any model similar to yours is fine by me," he sighed heavily.

"Very well, then I'll take care of it later."

"Don't be like that," I gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. "Being the IT guy, manager of technology-related events, pressing buttons on a keyboard all day… I didn't give you a more torturous task than those things," I joked. He looked at me quietly for a while.

"You forgot to mention that I also greet new recruits," he simply retorted. I couldn't help but laugh again.

"Ouch," I put my hand on my chest, pretending to have been struck. This time, I really got a smile. Then, he opened a drawer and took out a folder, sighing loudly. "I agree with you, paperwork sucks."

"It's unbelievable how much time we waste on these things. Everyone should have a chip card with all our information registered. We'd scan the card and be done. All the information would be transmitted directly."

"That would be more practical, true," I agreed, shrugging. I had never stopped to think about it. He picked up a pen from a holder on his desk, looking at it with pity.

"Meanwhile, we'll stick with these… archaic methods," I blew air through my nose at his comment, shaking my head. He was incorrigible.

Taking the pen to sign the contract after a quick glance, as I had read it previously via message, I began to remember how we met. Pure coincidence. We both needed to buy a new refracting telescope, better known as a spyglass, as the old one was broken. It was the last one in the store and was on sale. I had my reasons for wanting it, and he had his. We argued for a long time under the weary gaze of the salesman, debating who, in my view, was more deserving to take it. Thomas was steadfast, he had arrived first. As for me, I needed to get it no matter what for personal reasons: to fulfill a tradition of promises made to my late older brother, to observe the showers of celestial bodies that occurred every year while drinking a bottle of hot chocolate in our special spot. It might have been nonsense; he was dead, after all. It's not like he was going to rise from the grave to demand that small promise I decided to make to no one and for no reason at all. But it made me feel closer to him; I didn't want to give up. In the end, somehow, we ended up splitting the cost, the telescope, and, on the night of the meteor shower, two bottles of hot chocolate accompanied by small childhood stories.

Nostalgia. Suddenly, I felt a strong desire to have a cup of that sugary, bittersweet delight.

After making the final curve of my name on the paper, Thomas took a laminated card from the drawer and handed it to me. It was my company badge that served to open the building's door. I stifled a laugh when I noticed that he had ignored the professional photo I sent and opted for my profile picture. Simply me making a face: a wide smile with my tongue out. One of my eyes was closed, and my hands were open beside my face, with my thumbs pressing against my cheeks. I liked it.

"Tom," I called his attention, pointing to the photo. A smile playing on my lips. "Is this really okay?" He just shrugged.

"That sounds more like you. The boss doesn't care so much about traditional professional standards; you'll quickly realize that if you haven't already," he replied simply, making a small gesture with his head to show the company's open space. It really didn't seem very conventional. "He's not the kind of person who evaluates people based on that kind of criterion."

"How funny… I'm starting to feel like I'm going to really enjoy working here."

"I'm glad you think so, because I spent a long time preparing and editing everything for your arrival. On the other hand, I don't understand what's so funny about it…" he commented somewhat reflectively. "It's just a picture of you; we can recognize you, and you look pretty. Traditional or not, it's still office work, not the most exciting thing in the world," I got stuck on his comment.

"Do you think I'm pretty in this photo?" I inquired with one raised eyebrow, exaggeratedly curious about his answer to that question. I had known him for almost a year now; I understood quite well how his little mind worked, modesty aside. But sometimes, I still struggled to differentiate when he was just being logical from when he was being sincere. If there was any difference between the two adjectives.

"It's a statement," he shrugged once again. "Your features are symmetric, your eyes are large, and your teeth are well aligned. These are parameters usually associated with beauty."

This time, I didn't stifle my laughter. Thomas Rheault was, without a doubt, an enigma. One that fascinated me a lot. If that was indeed a compliment, it was surely the least heartfelt one I had ever heard in my life. At the same time, it seemed so typical of him that I couldn't help but take it seriously. Maybe it wasn't that, maybe I was overthinking. It was always like this when it came to him.

"In any case, out of curiosity, what kind of person exactly is this boss?" I inquired, bringing the subject back. It was true that I hadn't had much contact with him. I was recommended by Thomas to work there in organizing one event or another; I liked my professional independence, but all the details involving the boring bureaucracies were solved through messages. My interaction with Devon Okere, the Big Boss, was limited to a brief phone conversation that barely lasted 10 minutes. He seemed like a mystery, or simply too unconcerned. However, being there, I noticed that, in addition to a free and unpretentious environment, there was also a lot of care. As a freelancer, I knew very well how complicated it could be to maintain a small business, let alone a physical office. So, I was quite curious about everything.

"I would say he's the instinctive type. As long as it works for him, he doesn't exactly have a reason to change methods," Thomas nodded, then glanced at the clock, then at the signed contract, and finally at me. "Well, it's done. The others won't take long to arrive. If you want to stay to meet them or take a walk around… Anyway, you have free rein here from now on."

"Uhm…" I pondered for a moment, licking my lips. I really didn't have anything better to do; what harm would it do to explore a little? Besides, a place like that really made you want to linger. "I think I'll take a stroll, yes. But mostly, I'd like to know if there's a kitchen here. I really need to quench my thirst."

Unexpectedly, he chuckled and stood up from his chair, standing right in front of me, forcing me to raise my head. Thomas was only a little taller than me, but throughout the conversation, I had seen him from above because I was standing and he was sitting. Now, however, and so suddenly, I felt a bit small and destabilized. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't even know why I felt that way, as if something should happen. It sounded so cliché.

"Of course, make yourself at home. Actually, I was thinking the same thing," he resumed, snapping me out of my little trance. "If you'd like, I can treat you to a welcome drink," he offered politely.

"Oh, I'd love that, definitely!" I exclaimed, back on track. Better than quenching my thirst was having that desire sponsored by someone.

"The drinks machine is in the pantry; come on," he called as he started to move away, a shadow of a smile floating on his lips. I hurried to follow him. "We can get there by passing through the lounge area."

Just like the open space, that area was enchanting. Large, well-lit, and with vibrant colors catching the eye. Several bean bags, on which I would love to sprawl out, were scattered around along with suspended chairs hanging from the ceiling by chains. Not to mention the beautiful view provided by the large windows from top to bottom. They were just buildings, yes, but I began to imagine a nighttime scene with one or two colored lights still on outside. I couldn't wait to rest there.

"Man, this place looks like a dream!" I exclaimed in wonder.

"Yeah, that's what most people say. But I'll show you something else really cool…" he said simply, piquing my curiosity.

I followed him once again towards the adjacent area, the pantry. At first glance, it looked like some of the hipster cafes I loved to visit. Another very open place, with lots of plants, even on the ceiling, alternating with lamps. In the center, a large round table with a tree in the middle and red swivel chairs around it. Near the windows, small tables with benches followed the same pattern. It was indeed a very beautiful place, but I didn't understand why Thomas found it more impressive until I met the famous drinks machine.

"What would you like?" he asked straight away.

"Let me see what's available first…" I retorted as I quickly glanced at the options the machine offered.

"Don't expect to see anything exotic or innovative."

"No, I know. I'm just saying that to see what I feel like," I shrugged, and then I saw exactly what I needed to see. I loved it when life became so convenient as to combine utility with pleasure. "A hot chocolate, please," the redhead smiled slightly. Maybe he expected that answer from me.

"Good choice…" he took out his phone from his pocket and typed something, then, as if following a command, the machine started working. Thomas looked at me with a proud gleam in his eyes, and immediately I sensed that it was his doing. Finally, he took the full cup and put the lid on to hand it to me. "There you go, a delicious hot chocolate on the house!"

"Thanks!" I gave him a knowing wink, reaching out to get my little indulgence.

When I took the cup, my fingers ended up over his. Our gazes met before he immediately turned away, freezing for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ground or anywhere but my face. I kept my gaze steady; I wanted so much to unravel him, to know what he was thinking at that moment. Focus. I might not be able to read minds, but I was good at picking up on subtle cues.

The seconds seemed to stretch on, his gaze moved to the cup we both held. His cheeks turned slightly pink, he furrowed his brows. Adorable. I could confidently say that the little crease that appeared on his forehead wasn't from disagreement. Maybe he was just confused, wrestling with himself in thought. His beautiful turquoise irises flickered from our hands to elsewhere in rapid movements.

Oh, I really didn't want to misunderstand things, or worse, jump to conclusions. But looking at him like that, I couldn't help but daydream a little as I observed the red curls falling across his face, adorned with a few charming freckles over his nose, his eyes subtly shifting between intense blues and greens.

Cliché. Cliché. Cliché.

Suddenly, he released the cup into my hands and cleared his throat, composing himself as if waking from a trance, pulling me out of mine as well. Everything suddenly felt awkward, as if we had been trapped in that moment for longer than necessary. I also had to clear my throat.

"Is everything alright, Thomas?" I needed to know, I was eager. He glanced at me once again. Unbelievable how mesmerizing his eyes were. I gave myself a mental shake, seeking concentration. I really needed to control myself better.

"I'm fine, yeah… Everything's okay," he murmured in a thoughtful tone. "It's just that… I wasn't expecting there to be… contact," he really must have been confused even with himself this time.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" I gave a nervous smile, choosing my words carefully. I did mean to. But he didn't need to know that yet.

"It's okay," he interrupted me in a natural way. I smiled more relaxed, and he returned the gesture, also making another request to the machine, a drink that I couldn't see, but he took a sip of as soon as he got it.

"Tom… Thanks a lot," I thanked him, squeezing the warm cup of my drink in my hands, also seeking to change the subject as quickly as possible. "But tell me, do you have an app to control this machine? How does it work?"

"I developed it so I wouldn't have to pay for drinks anymore. The app tricks the machine into thinking I've paid, and it serves me what I ask for," he explained automatically and simply, shrugging as if it were no big deal. I raised an eyebrow. Sometimes, I forgot how crafty he could be.

"And nobody sees a problem with that, clever boy?" I grinned mischievously.

"No," he nodded, shrugging. "Actually, after I developed the app, Devon explained to me that everything was already free. There's the coin slot, but it's… a vestigial structure. I never thought about trying to order without paying. I have plenty of coins in there, by the way. I need to remember to download a lockpicking course. Unless you're an expert at it…"

"I can manage, yes… If you give me half as payment," I negotiated, feeling clever. He judged me with his gaze, and I just shrugged, sticking out my tongue. I'm a freelancer, you don't get if you don't ask. "How would you prefer the job to be done? There's the boring conventional way, using tools, and…" I paused for effect. "The messy way, where I blow up the door. If no one minds, that is."

"It's not the most elegant solution…" he made a minimal, yet very funny, expression of disgust. I had to laugh. "I'd be bothered by the idea of damaging it, so let's stick with the conventional solution this time."

"Agreed, then."

"Well…" he quickly scanned the area after the topic was over. "I need to go start working, or this chocolate break tends to become longer than expected. We'll talk later, enjoy your tour."

Without waiting for a response, he returned to the open space. It took me a few seconds to decide to follow, but not exactly to his desk or mine. Taking a walk around the place might help distract my mind. I was in trouble. And I had known it for a while. I knew very well what those desires for his attention meant. Everyone's tired of seeing this story in movies, series, cartoons, games, and books. It was scary. He, however, would surely classify it as illogical, I was sure.

I sighed heavily, taking another sip of my hot chocolate, hoping that the sweet and bitter flavors would help cleanse my soul, covering up that complicated feeling for a while longer. The brief time until my golden eyes met his turquoise ones and all that cliché resurfaced again.

[marierg]

Tender Mercy

Rated: M (18+ Youngins or easily triggered DO NOT READ)

Warnings: Violence, medical talk, strong language, mentions of blood and blood stains, mentions of depression and depressive episodes, Stress and stress responses, pent up feelings, crying, kissing and bed sharing. Yeah if you're looking for the smuts that's gonna be in the next part(s?).

A/N: I will state that the initial first part of this started out as a cathartic venting for myself after a really bad call (I drive the boo boo bus). I never meant to put it out there but it evolved over time to this little story about Kix. much Thanks to @the-rain-on-kamino as always for being my partner in crime!

Words: 5.5K... Yeah I can't do short.

Song credit: Rainbow connection by Jim Henson & Paul Williams

Don't read under the cut if ya cant handle....

Red...

So much Red....

It was so hard to get out.

You scrubbed and you scrubbed and you poured on more peroxide cleaner yet still it wouldn't go away. It seeped into the seams in the metal of the LAAT, oozing back out after you thought it had been wiped clean. It was unrelenting, never ending much like the stream of injured that you had sent back to the cruiser from the planet surface. Once the injured stopped coming and the battle won then you finally had a chance to go back yourself. Still you found yourself covered in the red that hadn't yet been cleaned from the days events. On your uniform, your bags, and every other surface that had been contaminated by these last few days. You too were contaminated, but unlike the emotionless gear around you there seemed no way to purge the stain on your heart. Gritting your teeth in anger at your failures, 17 lost because you weren't good enough... fast enough... strong enough. So here you knelt in the bloodied craft, trying to right what was in your control to correct.

17 good men gone...

Contrail clenched his jaw, “How long has she been at it?”

“Dunno, saw 'er in the medbay restocking earlier after landing.” Jepp shrugged, unsure how long their civilian medic had been scrubbing out the cabin of the craft. Both men slowly walked up, Jepp leaning on the B post of the gunship studied your expression. You were moving on instinct, not really paying attention to their presence. “Scrub that any harder the paint will peal off.”

You grunted but kept scrubbing.

“I heard the chow tonight is decent, how 'bout it?” He gestured with his head towards the direction of the mess.

Still you just wiped away the most recent clean spot and moved to the next red stain in the cabin.

The two pilots glanced at one another unsure what to do. If it was one of their brothers this wouldn't be a discussion, marching them to the med bay by force if necessary. Fortunately neither man needed to dwell on it much further, the familiar shape of their CMO came into the hangar.

“I've got her boys, you can head out.”

Kix held the restocked bags watching you work, waiting till the others were gone and the hangar empty again to move closer. He knew there was no talking to you right now, he was much the same way after missions. It was simply the last thing to do to finish out the day, you cleaned the gear and your craft to leave it ready at a moments notice. All medics did this, but it was more than for protocol. It was meditative, reflective, a means to try to make sense of the mission that had just been survived.

You glanced briefly at Kix as he gloved up. He grabbed a towel and a brush, taking the spot next to yours to try to finish the job. He didn't speak, there was no need to. The two of you often worked like this in the field, simply knowing what supply to throw to the other or even knowing when the other needed help within the vast sea of patients. Bandaging, medicating, triaging and sending to transport trooper after trooper. Finally the two of you stepped off of the craft, satisfied with the job and replacing the aid bags.

“It wasn't your fault.” Kix was the first to break the quiet, keeping a calm tone. You had that look that some of his older brothers had, one that even he had from time to time. You were standing at the bay slop sink scrubbing your hands raw even though the gloves had kept you clean. Moving to your side he tried to turn your shoulder only to have you jerk away. “Y/n, it wasn't your fault...”

“Then why did they die? We did everything right, So why?” It was a whisper but still it echoed off the walls.

“We can't always save them, try as we might we can't. And there are always more troopers that need our help.” Kix carefully moved towards you, not yet attempting contact again. “We saved more than we lost, that's a victory.”

Your jaw fixed, gritting out the words. “Some would argue that.”

“107 others would agree with me. General Skywalker and General Kenobi would tell you the same.” Kix watched the despair and frustration fill your eyes, needing to place the blame for those losses somewhere. This mission had been particularly brutal, the planet itself was trying to kill them as much as the Separatists. The two of you had been injured, still you had kept working not giving a kark for the shrapnel that had peppered you. Days without sleep or food and very little water, all this and you didn't even have to be there at all. You had volunteered to go, you had chosen to help and heal those who were never given that option. “Y/n, you gave more than anyone could have and that means more to us clones than you know.”

You didn't want to cry, especially not in front of Kix. He was always so brave and calm, unflappable some would say. He never cried and of all people he was the one entitled... they were his brothers after all. But they were also your friends, your shipmates. Men whom you lived, ate and fought alongside. You didn't flinch back this time when his gentle hand squeezed your shoulder, nor did you pull away when he brought you into a hug. You didn't want to cry, but since when in this war did anyone get what they wanted. “Why... w-why Kix?”

Kix held you, gently soothing a hand on your head. How many times had he wondered the same thing, how many times had he begged the Maker to let him save just one more of his Vode? He could feel your wracking sobs against his plate less chest and wished he could take away your pain along with his own. Your sweet soul didn't deserve any of this and yet he was so deeply grateful for your presence. Leaning down to the top of your head, Kix breathed in deep before laying his cheek to your crown. “I wish I knew Sarad.”

Kix stayed closer to you after that, not that he hadn't before. He would show up for shift with an extra breakfast roll or make a smart remark during briefing trying to get you to laugh. He made you come out of your dark feelings and fears, always there even if in companionable silence listening to you ramble. As time past you started to wonder what if it could be more, what if there was more to this feeling?

You were attracted to the man, oh Maker were you attracted to him, but what if he didn't feel the same? Or what if he did? You always shook those thoughts away quickly, it wouldn't be professional and worse you might loose what you did have. So instead you satisfied yourself with reciprocating his care and friendship. Indulging in a hug, sharing your care package treats, or just squeezing his hand when he looked unhappy. Hells one time you grabbed a bedpan and a crutch to sing and dance till he fell out of the chair laughing. It was the little things here and there, but hopefully it conveyed a portion of what you felt.

It was a few months after that mission when you all got sent through the grinder again. Kix had left to go ahead with a small team while you remained back with most of Torrent. Fives and Jesse were telling you another tall tale when the ground violently shook at the LZ. There was no thinking involved, you yelled for Jepp to get the bird in the air and soon located the missing men. It had been a hairy extraction, you lost two en route back to the base. The mission continued but something had changed, Kix was different.

He was quieter than normal, solemn. After landing back on the ship he just took the bags and left to restock, no acknowledgment of your presence or offer to help after handing off the wounded. Kix didn't show up for debriefing with the command staff and half the squad didn't know where he'd gone. When you checked the bay the bird was clean and the bags returned and still no Kix. As time ticked by the claws of dread slowly wound their way around your heart and throat till it hurt to breathe.

It finally dawned on you to scan the ship for his ID chip. You ran the corridors, bumping into more than a few troopers, entering the small supply closet off of the med bay. Kix was there just quietly staring into the dark shelves blankly. He still had his armor on, bloodstained and muddied. The normally rock steady medic, your best friend, was so deep in his pain that he didn't even notice when you started talking.

“Kix I been looking for you.”

Nothing, not a blink or even a flinch. Just blankly staring.

“How about letting a pretty girl get you a Kaf, what do you say?”

A grunt this time.

You were really starting to worry now, this was bad as you had ever seen one of the men. When they got this bad sometimes the troopers were sent back to Kamino, none of them ever came back the same... if they came back. The very though sent shudders down your spine, no you wouldn't let that happen to him.

“Kix, you're gonna come with me okay. We're going to go somewhere quiet so you can rest.” When his head slowly turned you saw the dried tear trails. Swallowing down your emotions and giving him a soft smile as you offered a hand, you begged he would accept. “please take my hand.”

Trembling fingers met yours, grasping tight. His only reply was a nod, but that was enough for now.

It was a slow, robotic walk back to your room. You decided that was a better option than to let any of the brass see him like this. You figured that if you watched Kix close you might be able to cover for him till this wore off. You helped to remove his armor and gave him a push to the fresher, hoping the hot water could offer him some relief. By the time you returned with fresh blacks, bless the supply boys, he sat on the edge of the bed looking lost but in fairer condition than before.

“I'm... Y/n... Sarad...” His jaw continued to move but no sound came out. Mechanically he dressed and then sat once more, still so very lost. Why was he still there? That droid should have killed him, why did he get to live when Ace and Taps were gone? They were good troopers...

“Shh shh, it's ok, you rest now.” Pulling back the covers you eased him onto the mattress, tucking him in. You propped up with the unfinished reports on the floor, holding his hand with a small squeeze before settling in, “Sleep Kix, you're safe here, I promise.”

“Thank you Y/n.”

That was how the next night went as well, you on the floor and Kix in the bed though he had tried to fight you on it. The third night he refused until you had agreed to also sit up in the bed. When he had finally drifted off it was with his head in your lap as you stroked gently through the short buzz trim on his head. You hummed an old song from your childhood in time to your caressing, hoping to soothe and fight away the nightmares. When he did stir with a whimper you'd start the song again.

Just a little longer you figured at least till he didn't cry in the night. Just a while more till he would be fine sleeping without you soothing him; your time was precious and finite and that was how it had to be. Through those nights you had answered every call and attended every briefing, making the excuse that Kix was tending to the men or seeing to requisitions. Every once in a while you thought there might have been a glint in Rex's eye. If the Captain suspected, he never said anything.

The unit made it back to Couriscant for some well earned shore leave and at last you were able to let your guard down. Kix had been able to sleep through the night a few rotations before and had insisted he would be fine returning to the barracks. You were relieved and saddened. Given the many missions and cramped quarters you decided to take an old friend up on a longstanding offer. They had a place that was set up as a short stay vacation apartment and had cleared the entire leave time for your use. Who knew, maybe a few days on terra firma would help your own aches and pains. As you got unpacked and tossed groceries in the fridge there was a com from the Captain, the text simply read, “79's come quick.”

Pulling up on your speeder bike there were your boys in blue bloodied and shouting as a bunch from the 808th Ordinance corp were pulling up stakes. Grimacing you jogged over, “What the heck guys?”

“Those Di'kuts started it, we simply cleaned the floor with them,” Hardcase giggled.

Rex and Jesse were restraining a few troopers, one with a set of all too familiar colored shoulder bells. Rex pulled Kix along, lecturing him in Mando'a until both of their eyes met your very tired ones. Crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow you sighed. “Well lets get you cleaned up.”

Once the last of the bandages were placed and the other company of troopers out of sight, Rex pulled you to the side. The Captain had always been good to you, hell he treated you like one of the boys, the grim look on his face though was purely marshal in appearance. Crossing his arms Rex leveled with you, “Sargent I need a straight answer from you, not that osik from the last few days.”

Flexing nervously under that stare you tried not to crack, “What answer is that Captain?”

“Kix hasn't been himself.”

“He's been tired is all...”

“No it's not.” The Captain leveled his best harsh look at you. “So I'm going to ask you again.”

Your body was twitching from the nerves of the last week, stars knew how scared you felt. “I can't...”

“Why not?”

Damn your body for betraying you. The stress of the previous days, all those fears crashing under Rex's scrutiny. You sniffled and tried to get a grip, croaking out the next answer to Rex. “Cause you'll send him back to Kamino.”

“What?”

“They'll mess up his brain and he won't be Kix anymore.” You started to really shake then, dam bursting tears rolling down your face.

“Hey hey hey, come here now.” Rex's facade instantly crumbled, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He had to give you credit, keeping cool for this long poor little mite. “That is not going to happen. The last thing I want is for Kix to be in pain so we need to help him. I promise that he won't get sent back to Kamino, just tell me how I can help.”

“I don't know, he was doing ok for a bit.” You released a frustrated breath & wiped the tears away. Glancing at the medic who was sitting on a planter with Fives and Hardcase your heart clinched again. “What set him off anyway?”

“Wasn't there when it started, but Jesse said that the 808 were making some noise. Something about us having a lot of shinies and civies around every time we get back planet side.” Rex gritted his teeth, refraining from telling you the horrible things that were really said, especially the part they said about you.

Your face turned red at the implications, temper rising in indignation. Taking another look at your Captain you pressed further while resisting the urge to use some of your troopers favorite slang. “Those... Oh if I get my hands on...Grrrr.”

Rex couldn't help a small smirk given that you had all the furry of a loth cat and were just as adorable. “Easy there.”

Letting out a huff you tried to stay focused on the task at hand, “What do you think we should do?”

Rex crossed his arms, thinking, “Well for one I don't want him anywhere near those di'kuts, so going back to the barracks is out”

“Agreed,” Sighing heavily you tried to think of a solution, “But where can he go?”

Rex always considered himself a fair judge of character. He knew Kix harbored more than just affection for you. Hell anyone could see how Kix tended to gravitate to you like a planet obits a sun. Rex also surmised that you harbored deep feelings for his brother. Having seen you sing or dance, anything to get Kix to smile. “I may have an idea.”

“I'm in.”

Rex knew of course that you had smuggled his CMO back to your bunk on board the ship. He was also aware that your movements and duties to cover both jobs had precluded any possibility that either of you had done anything non regulation. Not that he would blame either for trying to find a little happiness, rare as it was. Maybe all that the two needed was a little nudge and perhaps that was what would bring his brother back. “I don't mean to impose Y/n, but aren't you staying off base this leave?”

“Yeah,” Seeing Rex raise his eyebrows and shrug you realized what he was trying not to say aloud. Under more normal circumstances Kix going back to your place would have been exciting, but right now all you felt was cement churning in your guts. Looking at those golden eyes your head nodded in agreement.

“Good, com if you need anything.” Rex hoped that he was right about this. As his general would so often say, sometimes you have to follow your instincts and pray the Force it's correct. Rex turned to you, one more time. “You know it's not everyone who gets a nickname Y/n... even rarer for one in Mando'a. But I suppose that you knew that.”

Kix was in his own world, he vaguely remembers the few stops that were made before walking into the apartment. He recalled you sitting him on the couch with a movie after making him shower and change into the comfortable clothing you had acquired for him. It was loose and soft against his skin, he wondered if all civilian clothing was like this. He felt relaxed and unrestricted, he felt free.

Kix had savored eating the dinner you had cooked and just sitting at the table, no reports or place to be. He wondered if all civilians did this, just sitting and enjoying their meals without a thought to the world outside. All evening you talked about your friends, life happening outside the GAR, things that had happened long ago when you were a youngling. You chatted all the time about things, sometimes you sang or hummed, but rarely was it quiet when you were around.

His Sarad, a thing of beauty in the midst of the ciaos. Kix remembers the day he gave you the nickname. While waiting for casualties he had suddenly felt a ring of flowers placed on his head. You had giggled and started talking about things he could not grasp: childhood games, playing, happiness. Then the wounded had come and you had remained calm. You talked to the men, sang them your silly songs to put them at ease, and through it all you smiled. You were smiling at him again, asking if he wanted to watch another holo, but that wasn't what drew his attention. It was the dark circles under your bright eyes, it was that your smile didn't extend the way it normally would.

“Kiiiiix? Hello... command to Kix... you there?” Oh kriff the man finally starting to talk with you again and now he was staring right at you but not responding. “So is that a no to the holo?”

Kix stood, walking over and pulling you up and out of the chair. He saw your eyes widen, the hitch in your breathing, flush creeping across your cheeks. Gently he wrapped his arms around you and felt as your soft form molded against him.

Holy Maker stars above... Well this was new, “Kix?”

“Ner Sarad, dral runi.” He raised a hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking against the downy surface.

“You should probably teach me what those fancy words you're using mean,” it came out a nervous laugh, “they sound so pretty.”

Kix's mouth turned up a bit, you were so sweet. “Dral means bright and runi is hard to explain. It's what makes a person, that which goes on even after death.”

“A person's soul.” Your heart raced, eyes half lidded from the soft caress and his words. Taking a deep, fortifying breath you dared a glimpse of his warm eyes. Amber hues shot with flecks of darker brown studying you in kind. “Kix, why did you get so mad? I don't think I've ever seen you get in a fight.”

“They said something unkind about my brothers. And you.”

“Me?” Swallowing hard you ducked your head to quell the butterflies swarming. Heat was creeping into your body the longer Kix held you, but you needed to figure out what was going on with him, how to help him. “It doesn't matter, you could have ended up in the brig or worse. You know better than anyone what happens when...”

“I couldn't let them call you...”

“I don't care,” Damn your voice for trembling. “Words can't hurt me, whatever it was it doesn't matter.”

“Y/n...”

“No I don't care what they said! I KRIFFING CARE ABOUT YOU!” The panic that you thought had subsided roared back with a vengeance. You were scared as hell for him and now scared as hell how he would react to your confession. He didn't balk or walk away, instead Kix drew you closer as you crumpled into his shoulder. “I don't want anything to happen to you. You can't ... damn it Kix I'm not worth it! I want you to be safe, I don't want you to get arrested or court marshaled or worse. Please!”

“You're worth it to me.” He said it through gritted teeth, as though your words had cut him to the bone. “You are worth everything to me, Y/n.”

“Not if it means they...” The grip you had on him tightened, words coming out a whisper as if speaking them was something taboo. “Not if it means they take you away.”

“Shh I'm sorry Sarad. No more fights I promise.” He'd stop the planet turning if it meant your tears would dry. Kix began to sway with you in his arms, singing the same song that you had used to lull him to rest these past days. Not that he could sing, but Kix tried to keep the tune even. “Who said that every wish would be heard and answered when wished on the morning star?”

“Somebody thought of it (sniff) and someone believed it...”

“and look what it's done so far,” There was a soft smile tugging the corners of his lips as your head turned to look up at him. Your nose was pink and your eyes puffy, but you were the most beautiful being he had ever seen. “What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing and what do we think we might see?”

There he was, you saw the minute the light returned to his eyes. You couldn't help a small sigh as he pressed your foreheads together while you finished together. “Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me.”

“Sarad don't cry, not for me, please.”

“Can't help it I'm a crier, I cry at everything,” Sniffling again you took a steady deep breath. “But I'll try.”

His thumbs still absently stroked at the apple of your cheek, trying to stem the tide. Kix felt slender fingers gently lay on the side of his face and neck, his eyes closed in ecstasy. How he wished he had said something far sooner, when his mind wasn't tattered at the seams. Yet here you stood unafraid, holding him. “What is it?"

“Don't shut me out.” Stars what was this spell and how could you keep it from breaking? You had him back, please Maker don't let him slip away again. “Please Kix tell me what to do, I want to help.”

“You are ner Sarad, you always do.”

“Kix...” Closing your eyes you concentrated on the sound of his voice as he began to sing again. His baritone could put you at ease, it could make your heart race, but right now it was a grounding tether soothing your weary nerves. Snaking your arms around his neck you let him lead as your bodies gently rocked in slow circles.

“Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices? I've heard you calling my name...” Kix tilted his head to nuzzle his nose lightly on yours, drawing a true grin out for the first time in days. “Is this the sweet sound that calls the young troopers, your voice may be one and the same...”

Moving to close the hairs breath distance, you pressed the softest of kisses to his lips. Kix tilted your face to look up at him, using his thumb to brush at the plump flesh of your lower lip and you kissed the pad of the digit just as gently. Then your eyes went wide, a blush crossing your cheeks. “I'm sorry, I should have asked if it was ok to kiss you. Are you ok? Is this ok? Did I...”

“Sarad, you may kiss me as much as you wish.” He chuckled in his throat, pressing a finger to your lips effectively pausing your nervous babble. “Because I will give you as many as I can... and so much more.”

Dipping his head Kix laid claim to you, slow and thorough in his exploration. He wanted to memorize the pattern of your lips as they pressed to his, their texture and taste. Using his thumb to press your jaw open his tongue made a tentative sweep into the warmth of your mouth, tongues tangling the less timid you became and the more he beckoned. Kix's heart raced with every little moan and sigh you gave as he continued his ministrations. Maker he wanted more of you, to feel your soft skin under his hands, to see what you looked like out of that ridiculous regulation braid. He pulled at the tie in your hair to watch the soft filaments fall to frame your face. A flower in bloom.

Kix crouched down and picked you up,grinning at your squeek of surprise even as your legs wrapped around his hips. You didn't protest, nor cry, just held tighter as he carried you to the bedroom. Setting you down on the soft mattress he sat next to you feeling uncertain. He knew what he wanted, what he so ached to do to show just how much he felt. He stroked his fingers near where exhaustion sullied your bright face and knew that was meant for another night. Still he so yearned to show you how he felt, to reward your courage and care as well. “Y/n you're so good to me, ner kotep cyar'ika.”

“Oh Kix,” Maker you couldn't believe that you finally had the man in your bedroom, but you couldn't bring yourself to go further than kissing. He was vulnerable and you hated to think he may regret any decisions tonight because of that. Above all else you had to do right by him because at the end of the night he was still your friend. Cradling his face you kissed his forehead before whispering softly in his ear. “let's get some rest and in the morning we'll figure things out.”

“Sleep well Y/n, I'll be here when you wake up.” There was a small pang of disappointed, but he would let you sleep for a week or more if it gave you peace. Brushing the hair away from your face Kix started to move away until he felt you holding tighter to him. “Sarad?”

“Would you stay with me?” Nerves getting the better of you, biting the corner of your mouth. “I'll sleep better if you're here.”

His face softened even more, “Are you sure?”

“Only if you want to,” You laid back, ducking your head into the plush pillows to half hide, “You make me feel safe and...”

He was trying to understand you through the muffling of the pillow, a half grin on his face. “And?”

“I want you feel safe with me too.”

Kix couldn't resist or say no to you and frankly he had never slept so well as when he had lain in your quarters. Removing his top and climbing in to settle on his back, Kix snugged you into the crook of his arm. You cuddled in further placing your head on his chest so that his heartbeat was right under your cheek, steady and constant. He caressed your shoulder and back while playing with the fingers of the hand on his torso. It was such an intimate position.

“Kix what does Sarad mean?”

In for a credit, in for a kilo. He hummed, placing a kiss to your forehead, “Flower.”

“Why do you call me flower?”

“Do you know what the first thing I saw when I left Kamino was y/n?” The words rumbled from his chest, he felt as your head shook. “I was sent as a replacement to meet with the 501st, but they were on this little forest moon. When the gangplank lowered all I could see was this field of little flowers, I'd never seen one before.”

You smiled waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I thought that they must be the most beautiful things in the galaxy.” He tilted your chin to look at him, “Until you waltzed into the med bay and I knew I had been mistaken.”

Your cheeks warmed as a blush spread over your face.

“Sleep ner mesh'la sarad,” Kix tucked the comforter more snugly around your shoulders, “we can talk more in the morning.”

Tags: @rain-on-kamino

[hikennosabo]

#tristampparty day 6, episode 6: once upon a time in hopeland

THE HALFWAY POINT OF @tristampparty BABY!!! this is another episode i've watched multiple times on its own so... LET'S GOOOOO

and we start right out the gate with

wolfwood vial count: 2

i don't think i need to keep saying that masaya onosaka is the radio dj... he's been a constant...

LOL, LMAO, EVEN

"disposal," though... we know all about the last run, but what else does disposal entail. like what do they do with the. um. the corpse? and the word "disposal"... yeesh...

so they say, even though it's obvious bullshit. but i do wonder. conrad is in charge of july, EoM's base is in july, etc etc... but how many people actually know what's going on? who does "the july government" consist of besides conrad? what about the civilians living in the city? EoM's cover is flimsy at best, they're suspicious as hell, so how deep and how far does the propaganda machine reach that this can just... keep going on?

all this planet has is radio and newspapers, no TV, no internet, and everyone is struggling just to survive... we saw just last ep how EoM had a grip on one village to the point where it was normalized to sacrifice children... just how good are they at controlling information? jeez. roberto and meryl's job as reporters is more important than ever.

we see that part of wolfwood's designated role is to go after deserters and traitors, so that's another way of controlling information, but. he's just one guy. so they probably have more assassins than just him. maybe the rest of the ghg that we haven't seen yet? there's livio, too, but... how long has he been with EoM at this point? the timeline's so unclear on this, i don't know... we know it took "months" between wolfwood being taken by them and his escape attempt + livio(/razlo) joining, but we don't know how long ago that was either... presumably it would also take "months" for the experiments to be done on livio, or maybe even less time? uhhhhh (steam comes out of my ears from thinking too hard)

......i'm less than 3 minutes into the episode. let's continue.

it's cute that they shrug simultaneously. mad at each other but still in sync... :')

no idea why the orphanage would be highlighted on the map except for foreshadowing purposes, but it looks like the steamer stops at... uh... *squints* taradiddlescoast... deucedump?!... orange bazoo... who tf is naming these places?!

:') aha. ahahahahaha. ahahhahahahaha. ah. uah. ue. ueeeeeeaaahhh

we already know that the sandsteamer route passes by the orphanage. so i like that there's a sandsteamer visible in the distance. very nice subtle attention to detail here

i feel like people are always quick to point out that livio and wolfwood being siblings is specific to stampede only but i DON'T care, this is my FAVORITE interpretation of their relationship, i really love it so much and think it enhances the narrative and nicely contrasts the relationship between vash and knives. orange was SO big brained for this and i'm not kidding. they're brothers in the manga too, to me.

the dub line here is "stop, livio! he's not who hurt you!" which just tears me into a million pieces, thanks!

...if i remember correctly... the "great sand ocean" is called as such because things just sink into it, right? (hmm... wonder how many crashed ships sank into the sand ocean...) hence the boat-like vehicles that are used to cross it. as we can see, the bad lads gang uses what look like windsurfers. and yet wheeled vehicles seem to fare just fine...?!

we never see what the test is. huh... i'm reminded of the promised neverland all of a sudden

nicholas gets selected and the bell rings... can i point something out? the bell's presence in scenes... what the bell represents... it has the EoM logo on it. well, so does the building. but notably, we see the bell in the scene with livio and wolfwood on the roof at night and also in the scene of them cuddling which i posted above. they're bonding and they love each other but the eye of michael is quite literally looming over them... and over the orphanage as a whole...

i've already talked about this in my bookclub posts but i want to talk about the orphanage's relationship with EoM again. it's literally run by them... there's NO cover story here, they're CLEARLY suspicious as hell. in the manga, chapel came by himself to pick wolfwood up and the cover story was that they would be repairing churches, right? and everyone genuinely believed he was going off to live a better life. here it's just. a bunch of guys in suits and masks. obviously suspicious. they run the place, so i guess there's no need for a cover story...? but iirc in the manga EoM was also using the orphanage as a "source" for soldiers, right? like i think chapel says something like that, doesn't he? am i misremembering?

i have so many questions. there's no confetti. what does that mean. this is a lot more lowkey than wolfwood's departure in the manga. no cheering, no invitation to come back/saying this is always his home, just... polite waves. and melanie looks... unhappy. how much does she know? how much of a choice does she have here? ...huh. i'm reminded of the promised neverland again.

what does this mean for... y'know. The Scene. like. the confetti is important. the kids loving nicholas so much and cheering while saying goodbye is important. why did orange take those out what are they planning what does it MEAN!!!!

wolfwood is "test subject HL1-06" and i have no idea what that means and we can't determine from this how many kids came before him either.

wolfwood vial count: 3

hi sweetieeeee i love youuuuuu i love youuuuuu

see this gets the gears turning in my head regarding the timeline again. legato says this, and we see some flashforwards (i guess in this context that's what they are) to wolfwood killing people, including the guy from the beginning of this episode and monev from the last episode... (over which legato calls him a loser, lol?! even though that's very much not the reason why wolfwood killed him, and we know it) so how long was wolfwood working for EoM before he was given the job to "babysit" vash?

i already talked about this in one of my bookclub posts but there's the change in livio's motivations, too... he's chasing after wolfwood... as opposed to (razlo) wanting to be needed... what does it mean. man, i really hope orange doesn't do razlo dirty whenever he shows up for real.

THIS CLEARLY ISN'T STRINGS. WHY IS LEGATO'S POWER DIFFERENT IN EVERY VERSION OF TRIGUN I SWEAR TO GOD like it's telekinesis, right?! what does this mean for legato?! and his backstory?! strings are so fitting for him thematically, so i don't know what they could be planning here!!

kouki uchiyama will see a guy with blue hair covering one eye and say "is anyone gonna voice him" and not wait for an answer (and then fight akira ishida over it)

CONRAD I'M GOING TO THROTTLE YOU. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR EXPERIMENTS ARE DOING HUH. HUH!!!!

HGORHGHGHG.GHG. AHGHGGG.HGH.

thinking about the previous episode and eating rocks

livio hears wolfwood's name and that's when he opens his eyes and kicks vash off him... i initially thought maybe he just took the opportunity because vash was distracted, but he was distracted by the military guys right before this, so...?!

say that to knives and see what happens. also hello pretty boy you are so pretty i love you i'm blowing you kisses mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah

whenever legato talks about his confusion over fraternal love i can't help but remember nightow's comment about him maybe having a younger sister. which is interesting to think about but has never been relevant for any version of legato ever... buuuut... with orange's attention to detail, hmmm, who knows...

also i'm obsessed with legato driving hands-free and I AM ONCE AGAIN ASKING HOW HIS POWERS WORK IN THIS VERSION.

*wipes brow* let's end it there i wrote too much. i know i'll have a lot to say about the next episode too. they don't stop coming and they don't stop coming and they don't stop coming

[wisegirlandseaweedbrainforever]

List of Tmnt fics I love (not writing the descriptions myself because that is where I chicken out every time):

You’re a pet shop employee and have two regulars that buy worms for their pet turtles way too frequently. That’s it, that’s the fic.

There wasn’t anything more precious than raising a child. But some people never were afforded the privilege of family. And some never think of those under their care as children in the first place. This is a small look at the Shredder raising his personal little monster.

Lost and alone in another reality, one turtle must try to find his way home. All while trying to forge a place amongst a family who lost one of their own under horrible circumstances and seemingly resents his very presence. No OC's. Set: 2k3 up until 'Good Genes'. 2k12 up until 'The Good, the Bad and Casey Jones'. 

Based on the 2012 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Mikey was captured by the kraang when he, his brothers, and Splinter were mutated. While splinter was taking the turtles to safety the krang got ahold of Mikey.

He shuts the hologram off before it has the chance to turn back around. He knows how it ends: it'll shrug and then smile sadly and then say goodbye. But this wasn't a goodbye. Not at all. If anything, it was a hello. - - - Or; they lost. the kraang led out a full scale invasion. casey jones is only one in a few left.

It is despair, for lack of a better word. It is desolate emptiness. It is numbness and static and nothing. - - - Or; Casey loved Splinter too

Michelangelo is killed by the Newtralizer. He comes back roughly twenty minutes later. What's he doing in between those two moments? Turns out, the astral plane has a familiar face for him to speak to before he goes home.

Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello and Michelangelo wake up in a maze, a 'fun'house, a jungle, and a cage. They're surrounded by three other turtles— that aren't their brothers. Or at least not the brothers they know. Each group has a Leonardo, a Raphael, a Donatello and a Michelangelo, but none of them are from the same universe. Pitched together with counterparts of their brothers, the turtle teams have to figure out how to survive the tests their mysterious captors are putting them through. Easier said than done, for some groups. ('03 Mikey is realizing he is going to have to be the responsible one. Why does he have to be the responsible one?) With many questions, and not a lot of answers, four sets of mixed-up brothers set their sights on goals they can all agree on: figure out what's going on, stop it, and make whoever brought them here pay. And try not to strangle their brother's counterparts while they're at it.

(Warning unfinished amd only 5 chapters but still one of the best crossovers I have ever read)

Leo was never lonely. Sure he has his pops and his brothers and his best friend sister April, but he also has someone else he's known almost all his life. He's a mutant turtle too, and for some reason, only he can see him. It's alright, it's not like he wanted to share him anyways. AKA A rewrite of some of the episodes where 2012 Leo is connected to Rise Leo's soul and acts like a weird imaginary friend [Part of the Mama Leo Series.] [Really fucking need to stop making projects while I have a bunch of unfinished ones and school]

Leonardo may have beheaded Shredder, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. In fact, his soul is still very much alive, just trapped in another dimension, and now he’s a different turtle’s problem. (Rise and 2012 crossover. Mostly the Leos, because there’s not enough of those two.)

[absentcaryatid]

Truthful Mingi

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

Your friend Mingi has been known to stretch the truth, so you don't take him seriously when he brags anesthetic affects him less than others. This means your confession of love after a medical procedure is not as secret as you thought.

1.9K words, Content note: all ages, gender neutral reader, medical setting heavily inspired by Mingi's endoscopy in WANTEEZ episode 10.

~

“I will go first so you know it is survivable. You'll see how easy it is, Mingi.” With those last words to your friend, you took your hand from his shoulder then walked into the treatment room with an IV bag in tow. In no time at all you were out of the endoscopy and in recovery fast asleep.

Checking on you before his own turn, Mingi leaned close and whispered, “I have always wanted to be brave like you. Nobody else would have gone in for an endoscopy on a whim just so I would not be alone.” He took the hand flopped beside your head and began to stroke it nervously with his thumb. “I always feel better about scary things in your presence. Just in case something goes wrong, I need to tell you how I feel about you. I wanted to say it in the waiting room before when you could actually hear me, but I could not work up to it. Here and now though, I want to tell you I love you.” Mingi's confession ended with a soft kiss to your forehead.

You woke from the best dream of your life, a much-desired declaration of love from your best friend. As the nurse removed the blanket, she told you the next stop was a private room to further sleep off the effects while undisturbed by other patients under her observation. As you were about to stand up, a gurney was rolled into the recovery room with a zonked out looking Mingi splayed atop it. To see him this way, there was only one thing on your mind. “Can I talk to him?” With permission granted, you made your way from your bed to his on shaky legs.

You smiled to yourself. His brag that he shrugged off general anesthesia was apparently just one of many tall tales Mingi would embellish for your entertainment. At least it had been a little more likely than the boast he did not have veins, but still, apparently he was not one of those people with the ability to wake up right out of a procedure.

“Although just a dream, to feel desired by you was the greatest feeling in the world. It made me want to tell you the same, Mingi.” Hesitantly, you reached for his hair, and began to run your fingers through it gently as the nurse kindly focused on her phone rather than the latest post-procedure patient.

“I think I fell for you before we'd even met. Actually, I am sure of it. At the PC cafe I'd overhear you and Yunho encouraging each other as you played. It wasn't just your attractive voice, but how supportive you were. And then when Yunho would make you laugh, I just wanted to hear that sound forever. When I finally put a face to the name the day you asked about what game I was playing, I was a goner.”

Mingi's eyes snapped open and he abruptly sat up. “Are you trying to say you like me back?”

You almost stumbled back in surprise, but were lucky Mingi shot out a steadying arm. His reflexes were excellent for someone who had just been knocked out. In a strained voice you questioned, “You were awake? You weren't supposed to know.”

“I told you anesthetic wears off fast on me.” Still holding your arm, he pulled you in for a kiss.

Continuing to feel relaxed from being recently under, you gave into it without hesitation, while also recognizing Mingi must be feeling a little influenced himself to be so bold. Just as you were pulling away, the nurse intervened suggesting the two of you save it for later if you still felt interested when fully sober.

“Bye, Mingi,” you chirped adoringly while being shooed to the next room to sleep off the lingering effects. “I love my boyfriend so much,” you solemnly informed the nurse as she covered you with a blanket.

Unusually true to his word, Mingi did throw off the anesthetic like a champ and had followed you while the nurse protested he needed to lay down. As you fell back asleep you heard Mingi say, “I love you, and you love me too. I knew it!”

When you woke up from the procedure, you felt well rested. The nurse who heard you moving brought in your street clothes. As you changed, it felt like there was something important you were supposed to remember. After a momentary struggle to recall, you asked, “Is Mingi done with his endoscopy? Did he come out okay?”

She nodded understandingly, given how commonly memories were not retained while still under lingering effects of anesthetic. “You have already seen your boyfriend and he is well.”

“Oh, we're not dating, just friends.” Her smile at the denial made you wonder if you had mumbled something about your crush to her while under the influence, but you decided not to ask.

Now dressed, you spotted Mingi in the next room due to the partition left open. Asleep you could admire him in a way you never could while he was awake. Your unspoken romantic love for Mingi was something you expected to take to the grave since he had never given any indication he considered you a potential romantic partner. It was enough to be his dear friend, and you almost would have convinced yourself if not for the longing sigh you let out.

Groggily, Mingi opened his eyes at the sound. “You are up. Are we okay to leave?”

“We are cleared to leave once you are dressed. I already texted Yunho to pick us up.” Taking note of the odd way Mingi was looking at you, you thought to ask, “Is there drool on my face or something like that?”

“No, no, I was just trying to remember something. Probably was only a dream.” Mingi looked down at his hands, subdued. “I'll get my clothes on and meet you at the reception desk.”

By the time you left Mingi, Yunho was already in the waiting room laughing with the nurse. He was such a friendly guy that it did not seem odd at the time. Yunho was always making people smile or laugh, often complete strangers. After a short wait, Mingi appeared and you two were discharged with Yunho as the responsible party.

The elevator ride down from the doctor's practice felt tense. Although you could remember nothing, you had a nagging worry you had behaved inappropriately under the anesthetic. What could have made the nurse think Mingi was your boyfriend?

Deciding to be cautious with your still recovering bodies, Yunho jogged off to get the car while you waited with Mingi. The silence was finally broken once Yunho brought his car around to the building's entrance and met you with a huge grin. “So, you two are finally dating now? About time I'd say.”

The panic in your eyes was matched by Mingi as you stared at each other, completely lost by the conversation. Together you had the the same thought, “What?”

“You two lovebirds sit on the back seat together and I'll explain while I take each of you to your homes.”

Mingi gently helped you into Yunho's sedan then walked carefully around to the other side. He was still a little tipsy, so you helped him buckle the seat belt. Mingi visibly flushed as your hands met. Looking up, you caught Yunho's broad smile in the rear-view mirror before he began to speak.

“Mingi sent me a video message not too long ago. I believe it was intended for you though.” Handing his phone to the back seat before driving off, Yunho tried to hold in his laughter as he heard the video play in your trembling hands.

A sleepy looking Mingi was dressed in the gown from the procedure and recording in the room where he was supposed to be dozing off the last effects. “I can't wait for you to wake up, so I thought I'd tell you now how happy I am that you love me too. I'm going to be the best boyfriend ever and have a lot of plans for things we should do as a couple. First a cat cafe date and afterward a hot springs trip together.” Mingi then yawned, stretching his arms wide taking the phone along for the ride. The new angle brought a nurse into view in the background.

“Sir, you can't have the phone in here, it is supposed to stay in the locker until you have recovered. Who knows what you'll get up to.” The video ended abruptly at that point.

“Alas, I quickly realized he was not talking to me,” Yunho giggled from the driver's seat.

Mingi looked mortified as he turned your way. “I didn't know what I was saying. I am so sorry.”

You did not know what to say yourself. If Mingi liked you, it would be a dream come true, but he sounded apologetic now, leaving you to choke down a confession. Rescuing you in the moment, Yunho again piped up from the front seat.

“The nurse had an interesting story to tell. She said you each confessed love for the other. Mingi both before and after his procedure, and you when Mingi came out of his. I take it neither of you remember such important discussions? She even said there was kissing involved before she intervened.”

A hand flew to your lips as if attempting to feel the history there. This was definitely news to you. No wonder the nurse had called Mingi your boyfriend, and his forgotten recording made sense in that context. He really did love you too, but had been just as chicken about saying something.

Mingi reached for your hand. “I do remember confessing before I went under. You slept through it because I could not tell you when awake. The rest I can not recall, but it is true. I don't even remember having my phone out, so I had better check my email for purchases I don't know about.”

“Before you do, can we have another first kiss, Mingi? I want one to remember.”

“Not in my car,” Yunho pled, but he kept his eyes on the road and studiously ignored any sounds he might have heard. There may have been some halfhearted grumbling about how he should have waited to tell the nurse's story until after he had dropped you off, but you were too busy with your new boyfriend to listen.

“So, we really are dating now?” Mingi's incredulous voice went straight to your heart.

“I want you, and you want me, so that works out well.”

“Okay, good. I should ask if you are free next weekend. While I was loopy I apparently booked us a hot springs weekend. If you don't want to, I could always go with Yunho instead.”

Taking Mingi's hand and pressing it gently to your lips, you proudly announced, “Yunho can go with you another time. I'm going with my boyfriend Mingi.”

In the rear-view mirror Yunho could be seen smiling to himself, proud to have helped your romance along. That is, you would have noticed if you had been able to look anywhere but Mingi and his blissful grin that matched your own.

~

Mingi Masterlist

General Masterlist

[justoneofthoseghosts]

Brettsey + any prompt you want

Ok, after that last one, I need to write some fluff!

I used a randomizer (lol), plugged in 1 to 50 and got this one:

16. "Would you like to stay?"

This one takes place sometime after the end of season 8.

It's been two weeks since Julie passed. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, or more aptly, a nightmare, to Sylvie. Her relationship with Julie was only beginning. They were supposed to have years not months. She barely got to know her birth mother.

Possibly the only silver lining in the situation was her baby sister - happy and healthy. She had been to Rockford twice to visit Scott and Amelia. Scott sent her regular updates on her sister, saying she looked more and more like Julie everyday with her blonde hair and big, blue eyes.

She rearranges herself on the couch. The one at the loft definitely wasn't as comfortable than her own but she didn't want to be alone right now. She didn't want to be in a crowd full of people either so when Matt invited her come over and watch a hockey game, saying that Stella and Severide were spending their 48 hours off shift at the cabin, she agreed.

She saw right through it though. It wasn't like she was a huge hockey fan. There wasn't even an Indiana NHL team but she knew it was because he was worried about her. Despite his subtlety, she noticed his concerned glances whenever they were on shift, how he checked in with her more frequently than usual since Julie's death.

She's grateful for his presence, for being there for her, because he understood what she was going through - how grief showed up during the strangest moments, how grief never really fully went away.

She glances at him now, at the concentrated look on his face.

"So, who's winning?" She asks before taking a swig of her beer.

Matt grumbles out a response, "St. Louis."

She lets out a snort, "I'm guessing that's a bad thing?"

He turns to face her, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, Matt," she says, swatting his arm, "you had to know I'm not that much of a hockey fan."

He shrugs, letting out some non-committal noise before grabbing his beer bottle and taking a long pull.

She takes that as enough confirmation.

"Would you rather we watch HGTV?" He inquires.

She shakes her head, "no, it's fine. You want to watch the hockey match."

He chuckles before reaching for the remote. Sylvie guesses she didn't sound convincing. Well, HGTV was her weakness after all.

He flips the channel in time for the middle of a Property Brothers episode Sylvie's probably watched a hundred times.

"Thanks, Matt," she tells his softly, "and not just for changing the channel."

She sends him a loaded look, one she hopes conveys how truly thankful she is for him.

He scoots closer to her, "how are you, Sylvie?"

She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "fine - I think. I still miss her a lot. It's crazy because we barely knew each other but I really, really, do miss her."

"It's not."

She furrows her eyebrows at him, "not what?"

"Not crazy - she was a part of your life and it's not crazy to miss her. It's never crazy to miss someone you loved deeply no matter how long you knew each other."

He smiles softly at her, eyes extremely sincere.

She feels that swoop in her stomach, the one that's become a regular occurrence whenever Matt so much as looked at her. Over the past two years, they began to grow closer as friends. She leaned on him during tough moments and he did the same.

She knew she was teetering on dangerous ground, maybe a tightrope even. She shouldn't be feeling these types of feelings for him but as the days pass, her fondness for the Captain continues to grow, inching in small increments.

How could it not? He asked if she wanted to hang out so that she didn't have to swimming in a sea of her grief alone.

No, she really shouldn't be giving into this. He was simply being a good friend.

Yes, that was it. Matt Casey was always dependable - he was sweet and caring to all his friends, not just to her. She feels her resolve building back up again.

"Thanks, Matt. I really appreciate it," she tells him.

They end up watching a few more shows on HGTV. Sylvie sees him looking at scores on his phone, insisting that they switch the channel back to ESPN so that they could catch the latter part of the game. Matt teaches her a bit about hockey and by the end of the match, she's cheering along with him as the Blackhawks win by the skin of their teeth.

It's a fun night for sure, one she didn't want to end but it was getting late.

"I should go," she says, getting up slowly from the couch, "it's getting late."

"Would you like to stay?"

Her eyes go wide at his request. It takes her a moment to process, unsure of what to say. Sylvie thinks there's a bit of hopefulness in his voice but she shrugs it off. She must be imagining it.

"I -"

His eyes go wide too at the realization that it sounded not so platonic, stammering out an explanation.

"I mean - stay for one more episode of House Hunters maybe?" He questions, shooting her a look that she could no longer deny was a hopeful one.

She gnaws on her bottom lip. She should not be feeling these feelings for him, she reminds herself. Matt was off limits but then he exudes earnestness that she feels that carefully rebuilt resolved crumbling.

"Okay - one more episode," she relents.

He grins. Her heart skips, no, it gallops in her chest rather.

One episode turns into two then there's this movie she can't believe he's never seen so she makes him watch it. They end up falling asleep on the couch, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her, like he was protecting her. By the time they wake up, it's early morning.

He sends her a sleepy smile that she finds really, truly adorable. It's this side of him he rarely shares with other people and it makes their friendship all the more special.

Maybe, when she looks back on it, it's this one moment that tears down her walls completely, the one where she figures out that even through continuous cycles of denial, her feelings for Matt have already changed and crossed over to the realm of romantic.

"Breakfast?" he asks, voice still laced with sleep.

She considers her options before nodding. He grabs his phone, looking for a restaurant that's open at 6 in the morning. She notices how he invades her space once more, not that she minded, while he scrolls through the delivery app.

"Bagels okay with you?"

"Yeah - and coffee too."

"Light and sweet right?" He asks.

She blushes, not realizing he's memorized her coffee order.

'Yes, that's right."

He beams at her, proud, before going back to his phone.

She glances at him furtively, the crease in between his brows appearing as he looked through options.

Yeah, she's definitely crossed over all right.

She hopes it's a secret she can keep.

[turkeyinnovember]

recreyo god au

Curt Richy – God of the Insignificant 

this is mostly based on how he’s always able to get himself into places. He’s a teacher at multiple anime academies, an b-class in the scp foundation, a government member in the mandala catalog, etc. 

the abnormalities i headcanoned for him are also more unnoticeable, only showing when he lose emotional stability (?)

Ivan Animated –  Deity of Reason

his god form is kinda just.. um.. empty matter? he basically just evaporates into nothing and expands his presence to sense things. im not sure why he’s the deity of reason, perhaps because he’s pretty reasonable at times and i wanna have it connect to cause-and-effect and stuff

Cypher Den – God of Chaos 

she inherited her godhood by defeating and consuming the previous chaos god, so she's not... unkillable. You just need someone strong enough to defeat and consume her... Unlikely. 

while she has full control over her tentacles and can wield them to her hearts content, she actually prefers physical combat like she would before godhood. so, what to do with her "extra-limbs" while she's stabbing people? that's where the "stolen souls" come into play. 

the previous chaos god was notorious for stealing souls to extend his own life. when he was defeated, den absorbed what was left of him. the souls now resided in her mind, forming a community and… somethings of political parties? den speaks to them, more often accidently rather than on purpose, her hyperattentive brain broadcasting her thoughts to the stolen souls, supplying topics for the parties to debate about. they are currently discussing whether water is wet or not as we speak. 

amongst the abnormalities that signaled her godhood, a large yin-yang symbol was found on her back, rotated sideways so the two dots are on one horizontal line, where her tentacles would sprout. the souls on the two sides of the argument each take a side, diverging and splitting into more tentacles as their opinions and reasonings differ. this way, the souls with the most similar ideas would be controlling the same tentacle collectively, without much conflict. in addition, if under any case, den would required usage of her tentacles, she has full abilities to override the souls and take over. 

Chilly Panda – God of Reptiles 

a descendant of ancient beast tamers, a small group under the title of the kimono clan (ivan wtf). her mother has been absent throughout her life (mummy episode reference lmao), she was raised by dad (recreyo’s dad in the death note episode) with to no clue about her powers, other than the lizards that tend to pause and stare as she passed by. 

until a trip to a luxury resort island with her friends. accidents occurred and she found herself suffering the loss of a right forearm and an extra impractical eye on her forehead. 

when the raptors bowed down to her, they submitted themselves as her followers, awakening her powers. had the incident not ascend her to a demi-god state, perhaps she would have lived and died as a mortal. almost like a certificate for her abilities, her third eye allowed her to summon raptor companions, sadly only along with a ritual pattern. 

first time she called them to her aid, it was regarding the issue of her severed arm. chilly requested them to source her a limb as replacement, but perhaps she wasn’t clear enough, they watched as one of them ripped off it’s arm and offered it to the demigod. shrugging, chilly handed it to ivan, who was forced by den’s knife to complete the process of sewing the raptor claw onto chilly. it was his fault after everything. 

Frugal Aesthetic – Deity of flame

he didn’t know how it happened. one day he was doing his job of a freelance therapist, and another day passed and he was hearing people whisper their troubles. actually no. that was a joke, the first sentence. the last one in his spot retired, and suppose they found he the most worthy in the blood line. 

now he’s gotta listen to random people’s troubles. at least he’s immortal now, wielding fire is also pretty lit. 

(this is basically connected dr.ake with the fact that a lot of people whisper their troubles to candles before blowing them out to symbolize blowing their troubles away

prolly didn’t make sense but i can’t think of anything. he’s pretty much just a minor god that listen to people vent and can wield fire)

Kristine Fel – God of Deceit

you’d think being a god of deceit would make her good at lying. or maybe she is. although, how was she to know when the lies overflow and come back to confuse the liar? the world is constructed on lies. so hard to find honesty woven in between everything. 

(as god of deceit, kristine can shapeshift into anything. her true form- or is it another lie she tole? is a twig of two sakura flowers)

[burnwater13]

Concept Art by Christian Alzmann for The Book of Boba Fett. 'Black' Krrsantan stands holding a bowcaster with Jabba's palace in the background on Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 3, The Streets of Mos Espa.

“Kashyyyk is a verdant, if swampy planet, with a single sun and enjoying the spectacle of three moons. Kashyyyk has been a valuable ally to the New Republic. The home work of the Wookiees, Kashyyyk is also only known source for valuable wroshyr trees.”

The Mandalorian thumbed the control and the voice stopped reading the article titled ‘Everything you ever wanted to know about Kashyyyk and the complete history of the Wookiees”. No wonder Grogu had drifted off while he was listening to Greef Karga’s protocol droid recite the ridiculously long reading assignment that was part of Grogu’s school work. If you wanted to fall asleep that was definitely the recording to listen to, while you remained wakeful. 

He yawned widely. It was time to have some caf. 

He’d been a bit surprised at Grogu’s request to go Tatooine so he could meet Krrsantan again and ‘befriend’ him. But then Grogu wasn’t afraid of people being bigger than him. He was pals with all sorts of critters that made the Wookiee look like an average human. While that made Din Djarin smile, it wasn’t lost on him that the Wookiee was much taller, stronger, and far more fierce in battle than him. Mandalorian armor couldn’t keep a Wookiee from rending you limb from limb. 

Did Grogu just like bigger people and critters or had the small boy just always needed the presence of a protector who could scare people away just by giving them a stern look? That was a tough call. Grogu was certainly strong with the Force. He’d done truly amazing things with it. Plus, the more he practiced the more accomplished he became with it. 

They had been walking around their tract of land and talking about future improvements. The Mandalorian had mostly been considering fortifications that would help keep them safe, but Grogu had other ideas. Djarin had thought the boy was just excited about the potential to change around where some trees and other greenery was placed. Apparently, the Jedi Temple on Coruscant had housed something like the playing field they had seen on Plazir-15, when Grogu had helped the Duchess win at the energy ball game. Grogu thought that they should have something like that as the center piece of a whole play focused space. 

He remembered telling his son that of course they could do that someday, but they really needed to focus on safety first. The work they would be doing for the New Republic was likely to focus their enemies’s attention on them and their base of operations. As Mandalorian patriarch he had to take that threat seriously, for the sake of their clan. 

Grogu had nodded and shrugged and before the Mandalorian knew what was happening, Grogu had lifted one small hand and the terrain in front of them changed. Trees were moved from point a to point b, the ground gave up an enormous boulder and then smoothed itself out like that rock had never been there. A minute later and Grogu had delineated the whole ‘play’ area. 

To say that Din Djarin had been stunned was a huge understatement. He took his helmet off, looked at it’s components to see if any of them were damaged, cleaned it's visor, and then set it on his head again. Yup. All those changed were still in place and Grogu was just looking up at him with a grin spreading across his face. 

“Next time, let’s do those fortifications and we can take a vacation to Cantonica.”

It was a silly thing to say, but when you saw that much power and focus delivered in such a specific manner you had an excuse to be a little startled and a bit silly. 

Grogu of course had thought his dad was giving him an order and raised his hand again. 

“No. No. No. I was joking. We don’t need to do that right now. I think we should head back to the cabin and have some lunch. How’s that sound?”

Grogu, ever demonstrative, hugged his boot and coo’d at him. Djarin was grateful that his son could always be swayed by an offer of food. He needed a handle for dealing with a power he didn’t have and couldn’t even imagine most of the time. That Grogu seemed untroubled by his own abilities was both a blessing and a curse. The Mandalorian supposed that was what Luke had really been talking about when he said Grogu needed to be trained. He needed to develop patience and discipline. Didn’t they all?

Hmmm. Was that why he liked the big critters and people, like Krrsantan and Fennec and even him? Grogu had to exercise something like patience in dealing with them. They didn’t just do what he wanted and he had to work on methods to impress them as well as to simply communicate with them. It wasn’t easy. It must have seemed like work, all the time. No wonder the kid wanted to take a vacation. He needed a break. 

Hmmm. Fennec had told him about a park that she thought Grogu would like. It was very nature focused and clearly the little guy loved nature. And as much as he liked visiting Tatooine, there was no way the Mandalorian was going to encourage a Wookiee and Grogu to muscle in on Peli’s on going business interests. 

No. They would go to the Balance Garden and walk through the plants and just relax for a couple of days. No work. No worries. Just peace and quiet.

For those of you who would like to know what the Balance Garden was like, please check the link below.

[notebooknonbinary]

Byler Week, Day 4: Summer Love

I opted to write an AU where Byler got together some weeks before the events of season 3. And then rewrote Suzie Do You Copy with that in mind lol. I’ll post this to ao3 (bc it’s Finished for once) when I finish the other fics for Byler Week.

Being boyfriends is only a little bit different than being best friends, in Will’s opinion. This is partly because they can only really be boyfriends in the safety of Will’s room. There, they’re free to hold hands and sit far too close together—Mike writing poems (for Will’s eyes only), and Will filling page after page of his sketchbook with Mike’s face.

But even being best friends is now better than it used to be, with that last secret no longer weighing Will down. Mike feels like his safe harbor in the wild storm of life.

A safe harbor that he so desperately needs. He’s been having…moments occasionally, these past couple weeks. Moments that feel like last fall’s ‘episodes’—never quite so bad as then, he’s always aware of where he is—but times when he almost feels like the Upside Down’s presence is near.

It happened last night, at the movie theater—the double date. Max and Lucas hadn’t been aware it was a double date…but for the few seconds before the feeling hit, sitting with Mike in a crowded movie theater, knees touching and sharing an armrest…he’d felt like a normal kid on a date with his boyfriend.

Then that feeling, like an icy hand had run it’s way up his neck. Bad, awful. No no no no please not again. Like so many times last year.

Mike had noticed immediately. Of course he did. He’d immediately checked with Will.

And Will almost said something. He knew Mike would believe him. He’d drop everything to figure out if something More was going on again.

But…

But they were on a date. He didn’t want to ruin that. So he shrugged and gave Mike a wry smile. “Air conditioning is chilly.” Which distracted Mike and gave them an excuse to huddle even closer together.

If it happens again, Will promised himself. I’ll tell Mike if it happens again.

Afterwards, they left Max and Lucas behind to finish their own date (aka walking around the mall and window shopping together) and went back to Will’s house. And had opted to sleep in the living room for obvious, sharing-a-wall-with-Jonathan reasons.

Reasons that are now making Jonathan go to work late with lipstick smudged on his face.

“Gross,” Will mutters to Mike, who nods in emphatic agreement. They’ve both agreed that though they are happy their siblings are happy, it’s still disgusting.

If Will walks in on them making out (ew) one more time, he’s breaking into Jonathan’s room while he’s at work and drawing dicks on his posters.

“You’re not gonna think it’s gross when you fall in love,” Joyce teases as she sits down with them.

Will blushes and focuses on putting syrup on his eggs, doing his best to not glance in Mike’s direction. Part of him thinks that his mom already knows—whether just the fact that his interests lies with boys, specifically with Mike, or that Mike reciprocates that feeling.

A beat too late, Will says. “I’d still be disgusted.”

“Okay,” Joyce chuckles.

After breakfast, Will and Mike go back to Will’s room to finish planning Dustin’s surprise welcome back, and cuddle a bit. The talk doesn’t last very long, the cuddling too comfortable and lulling them both in a drowsy state of relaxation.

But Will glances over at the clock eventually, and realizes the time. Dustin should be on his way back within an hour. Which means Hop is dropping El off here.

“El is coming over soon,” Will reminds him, beginning to pull away from Mike’s warm koala-like embrace.

“But cuddles,” Mike whines, inching closer again but only half serious.

“And Hop is coming too,” Will adds, and laughs when that immediately works to make Mike sit up.

“He’s just coming to flirt at your mom,” he mutters, which makes Will groan and shove him off the bed.

“Don’t make me think about that!”

“Well you’re the one who brought him up in the first place!” Mike whines, climbing to his feet and stretching.

Will is so busy staring at the line of Mike’s shoulders that it takes him a long moment to reply. “Uh.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to make El upset by us cuddling when she got here,” he admits.

Mike’s face softens from teasing rage to affection. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about El. She’s not jealous anymore. She’s already said that she thinks she wouldn’t have enjoyed dating me anyway.”

Will shrugs. “I guess. I just, if I’d been in her shoes—” Which he almost had been. “—it would have hurt, to see the person I lo—like cuddling with someone else.”

Will feels his face go hot at his almost slip. He hopes Mike hasn’t caught it. He jumps to his feet. “Anyway!! We gotta get ready to greet Dustin!”

-

They’ve put together a poster—well, Will’s done most of the drawing, but he’s not gonna brag.

Mike does most of the bragging for him.

“Will made you a poster and everything,” he says, grinning and leaning most of his weight on Will, like it’s not eighty degrees in Dustin’s room.

(Will can’t actually find it in him to mind.)

“And whose idea was it to sneak up on me?” Dustin asks dryly.

“Max,” Will and Mike say together. And Dustin sighs, glaring out his bedroom door. Out in the kitchen, they can hear Max and Lucas playfully squabbling while they clean out Lucas’s poor eyes. Dustin sighs again and turns back to the rest of them.

“The moving toys were a nice touch,” he compliments El, who beams.

“I’ve been practicing.”

“So you were gonna show us your inventions?” Mike asks. “I’m kind of jealous, honestly.”

He says that, but Will knows Mike had the opportunity a few years ago to go to a summer camp. But he’d thrown a fit at the idea of being separated from Will for a whole two months, so in the end he hadn’t gone. Mr. Wheeler had been mad about it for weeks—well, as mad as the man ever got, anyway.

But Dustin brightens at the question, a bounce in his step. “Oh man, yes! You guys are gonna be so impressed!”

And his inventions are impressive.

It blows Will’s mind if he thinks about it, how smart his entire friend group is—but especially Dustin. He’s like a mad scientist sometimes.

Mad scientists don’t generally come back from summer camp with girlfriends, however. In this, apparently, Dustin is the exception.

Which is how the entire Party finds themselves trekking their way up a hill in borderline 90 degree heat, ostensibly to use Dustin’s self-made Ham radio to talk to his Mormon girlfriend, Suzie.

-

After a brief moment where Mike has to point out and help Dustin untangle a wire that got crossed on the way up here, the radio tower is set up. It’s a feat of creation, but Will’s feeling too exhausted by the trip that he feels a little bit annoyed by it.

He’s so tired, he almost doesn’t notice another familiar chill go down his neck and spine. Oh god. No.

But, he promised himself if it happened again he’d tell Mike. It’s honestly probably better that everyone is here, though Will hates to take them out of their peaceful summer.

He sighs and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, there’s a crackle on the radio.

“Dusty?” says a girl’s voice.

“Suzie-poo!!!” Dustin cheers. “I’ve brought my friends to meet you!”

“Suzie-poo?” Mike hisses into Will’s ear.

Momentarily distracted from his worry, Will bites back a giggle and shrugs.

He tries to imagine giving Mike a cutesy nickname like that—Mikey-Wikey?—and snorts. When Mike raises an eyebrow, he shakes his head. “Tell you later.”

“It’s nice to meet my Dusty-bun’s friends,” Suzie says. “Though I can’t stay on long, I have to help my siblings prepare dinner.”

They talk with her for a bit. Suzie seems fun and good for Dustin. Will’s happy for him, all earlier resentment gone.

The moment earlier is still sticking to the back of his mind like slime. He knows he has to bring it up once they’re done talking to Suzie.

And indeed, once she and Dustin have exchanged their last ‘I-miss-you-already’ and signed off, Will opens his mouth to speak. But, once again, he’s interrupted by the radio crackling again.

And this time, it’s not Suzie.

-

Bad, Upside Down feelings, and some random Russian translation? Is Will never going to get one break? Even just for one full year?

Once Dustin’s gotten the recording of the man, Will finally tells them what he felt earlier and yesterday.

Not entirely surprisingly, Mike is upset that Will didn’t mention it last night. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Will obviously can’t say the truth in front of their friends, so he shrugs. “Didn’t want to ruin the night.” Our date, goes unsaid.

Mike sighs and nods. “Sleepover at my house?” he suggests. “Maybe we have a Russian translation book somewhere in the mess.”

Will’s doubtful of that—Ted Wheeler’s detestment of anything related to so-called communists springs to mind.

-

Later, once they’ve torn apart the basement looking for a nonexistent translation book, the Party collectively agree to put the planning off until tomorrow. Talk turns back to Dustin’s new girlfriend.

“So that’s everyone except Will,” Dustin says eventually, brightly, turning expectant eyes towards him.

Will raises his eyebrows. “Everyone but me, what?”

“Who’s gotten a kiss!”

Then Lucas and Dustin are off, chattering away at potentially trying to set Will up with the (apparently) numerous girls in their grade that have crushes on him. The concept is, frankly, horrifying. Next to him, he can feel Mike beginning to tense up, curling and uncurling his hands into the fabric of the couch.

(Will knows now, from whispered conversations during recent sleepovers, that Mike sometimes feels a little jealous toward the girls that have had crushes on Will. Mike’s not proud of it, and it’s something they’re both working on—Will has his own tiny silent beats of jealousy towards Mike’s past crush on El.)

“I’ve had my first kiss,” Will blurts, cutting into the argument.

Mike goes very, very still.

“You have?” Lucas blurts, eyes wide. Then, grinning proudly, he asks, “Tell us about her!”

“Was she a good kisser?” Max adds, nodding immediately. She’s grinning.

Will feels himself getting redder and redder, desperately wanting to hide his face in his hands. He turns to silently beg Mike for help, but neither he nor Mike are mind readers.

No, instead Mike’s seen that none of their friends have an inkling of the truth and he’s beginning to smile himself. Traitor.

“Yeah, Will,” he teases gently. “Was she a good kisser?”

Will tries to kill Mike with his eyes. But his boyfriend’s bright grin draws Will’s eyes to his mouth. Eyes caught there, Will finds himself speaking automatically. “I mean, I don’t have anyone to measure hi-her against, but I think she was a very good kisser.”

That mouth curls into a proud smirk.

“Was she pretty?” El’s smiling softly, knowingly. She’s the only one who knows the truth.

This one is an automatic, honest response. “The most beautiful person in the world.”

Mike blinks, grin falling and face turning pinker. Will watches the color travel from his cheeks to blotch at his neck. Now it’s his turn to look desperately like he wants to hide his face in his hands.

On the one hand, revenge (even unintended) is sweet. But on the other hand, Will hopes he hasn’t made Mike uncomfortable. Mike gets oddly shy about being perceived sometimes. Probably because of all the bullying they’ve faced.

(Will wants to go back in time and break Troy’s other arm.)

El, clearly the most of observant of their friends, sees the dilemma and turns to distraction. “I would like to watch a movie. That’s a sleepover activity, isn’t it?”

Max nods. “Heck yeah! And since it was your suggestion, that means you get to pick!”

Dustin groans. “No, she’s gonna pick Grease again!”

El smiles smugly. “I like Grease.” She leads them all away to search for the cassette, turning to look at Will and Mike. “Snacks please?”

“Thank you,” Will mouths at her. She giggles.

Will drags a somewhat unresponsive boyfriend upstairs and into the kitchen. He sets popcorn to cook, then sits at the dining table.

After the movie starts playing downstairs (the volume is up too loud, Will can hear the Paramount theme music from here), Mike sits down beside Will.

“Do you really…think I’m beautiful?” he asks.

Will nods immediately. “Mike, genuinely—even putting aside my feelings for you—you are so pretty and handsome.” He smiles at him shyly. “And with my feelings in the equation, I don’t think I’d ever find anyone more beautiful.”

Mike goes a deeper red and leans against him, hiding his face in Will’s shoulder. “Thank you. I think you’re really pretty too.”

They sit like this until the popcorn is almost done, then race around gathering the rest of the snacks. They’re near juggling by the time they’ve gotten everything.

Mike smiles at Will and jerks his head towards the basement door. “Ready?”

Will nods, beaming back. “After you, Mike.”

Downstairs, Summer Nights is playing. Will can hear Mike humming along. All the worries of tomorrow (Russian transmissions, the Upside Down) seem far away and unimportant in this moment.

“Summer days, drifting away, to oh, oh those Summer nights.”