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thebigbiwolf · 7 months

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Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary.

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp.

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.”

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass?

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?”

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.”

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent.

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest.

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers.

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion.

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself.

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched.

Hot. Why is everything so hot?

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever?

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off.

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf.

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is.

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared.

“What in the hells…?”

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve.

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain.

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear.

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle.

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat.

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’ You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic.

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before.

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat.

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you.

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.”

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence.

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy.

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again.

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.”

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #astarion acunin #posting this was like pulling teeth im gonna disappear for a while #my fics #spittle

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xitsensunmoon · 2 months

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I know Valentine's Day has passed and I'm not even a fan but hear me out

We all know that in Help Wanted 2 Sun quite literally states that everything made in Pizzaplex is a property of Fazco, right? So he can do whatever he wants with it.

...You clean up with Sun after hours, like you always do, but today is a little bit different.

Today the daycare is covered in red and pink paper scraps, the leftovers of a few hours of Sun lecturing the kids on how to properly make Valentine cards. You could tell he wasn't in the mood because of something, but you couldn't catch why exactly without talking to him first and truly, your own mind wasn't at ease either so you left him be.

You still help him out of course, as you always do, handing him all of the kid's drawings in a pack and watching him go through them all, sorting, but then shred some. Not all of them, but quite a big chunk doesn't make it.

Probably because of how badly some of the kids tested his nerves today, part of you thinks.

But your mind leaves that thought abandoned very quickly, as you notice that he's almost done with his little routine. You wait patiently, holding one last card behind your back and when he turns back to you, clapping his hands in excitement at being done, you offer him another heart-shaped card. He snatches it with an overstretched smile plastered across his face and your heart sinks when it ends with the same fate as the ones which Sun deemed unworthy of keeping.

"No extras, told them — no extras! Faz.co is already generous enough to give those brats free paper to do their little silly confessions, I can't believe some child made two. Like they have so many loved ones?! Ha! Unacceptable, unacceptable."

He shakes his head in disapproval and dusts his hands, and it almost feels like the last card in his mind was filthy, as it was created by breaking his rules.

You look down at the brightly coloured pile of paper strips on the cushioned floor, feeling your chest tightening, but deciding against saying a thing.

A glitter pen writing in blue and yellow traces one single word, on the strip that has fallen the last.

Your name.

#xit shh #sundrop #sundrop x reader #sun x reader #sun fnaf #fnaf sun #the pile of other people's feelings #so insignificant to him #you really didn't think you would end up there #did you?

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stllmnstr · 4 months

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every fragile thing

genre: figure skater au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

word count: 12.3k

soundtrack: jealousy, jealousy / brutal / the grudge / get him back! / good 4 u - olivia rodrigio

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

After an ankle injury lands you in weekly physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for regionals, you’re certain you must be the most emotionally volatile figure skater within a hundred mile radius. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition.

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted beats, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill.

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best.

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath.

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come.

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin.

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you.

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track?

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals.

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this.

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly.

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question.

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.”

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace.

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully.

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing.

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue.

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space.

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left.

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision.

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door.

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though.

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next.

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows.

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.”

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you.

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new member.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes.

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes.

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs.

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice.

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it.

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up.

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either.

A beat passes.

Two.

Neither of you break eye contact.

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second.

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?”

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink.

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect.

Oh, you know him alright.

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well.

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough.

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess.

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again.

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions.

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane.

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started.

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours.

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule.

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes.

Including him.

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be.

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around.

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.”

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.”

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.”

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade.

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.”

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room.

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible.

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last.

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back.

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you.

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance.

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does.

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth.

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you.

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate.

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.”

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out.

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends.

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant.

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong.

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious.

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look.

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not.

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?”

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all.

“No way.” Jake says.

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission.

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap.

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them.

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces.

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees.

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at sixteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out Coach Kang's.

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice.

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time.

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater.

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip.

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once.

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks.

Not until it all shattered in a single moment.

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart.

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all.

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn.

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger.

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner.

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance.

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself.

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed.

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him.

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone.

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses.

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods.

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage.

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other.

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side.

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always.

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead.

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight.

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile.

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he.

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.” And because the last time we saw each other ended on such great terms.

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car.

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely.

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering.

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home.

And he never says your name once.

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness.

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again.

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays.

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that.

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first.

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze.

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat.

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head.

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests.

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day.

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern.

“Or something,” Jake agrees.

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program.

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts.

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice.

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake.

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question.

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off.

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor.

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again.

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a boy you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know.

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine.

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips.

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod.

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing.

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about me.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant.

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid.

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife.

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier.

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later.

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long.

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low.

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations.

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off.

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing.

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body.

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you.

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp.

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation.

Last time, he let you fall.

You have no idea what he’ll do now.

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target.

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin.

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.”

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon.

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room.

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought.

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt.

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting.

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier.

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer.

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers.

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation.

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception.

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape.

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have.

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe.

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you.

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie.

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread.

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd.

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction.

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared.

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink.

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible.

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice.

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year.

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes.

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit.

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief.

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past.

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “Speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.”

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?”

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to.

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes.

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him.

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear.

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response.

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame.

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry.

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes.

And then another.

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to.

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you.

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right.

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same.

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning.

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace.

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon finally pulls you into his apartment using his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time.

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought.

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet.

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most.

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates.

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough?

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels.

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout.

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return.

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin.

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs.

…

outtake—five years ago.

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission.

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down.

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore.

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse.

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact.

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through.

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger.

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run. Every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck.

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him.

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either.

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors.

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own.

It seems so stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him.

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five long years later.

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you.

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts.

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

#enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #oh look! another sunghoon figure skater au how original #everyone point and laugh

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da-shrimping-station · 3 months

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Devildom having traffic not only on the ground but also in the skies is interesting af.

A good chunk of the population have wings (let's say it's a 50/50 split between winged and tailed demons) so surely it's a norm that you see demons flying around doin their own business.

You seen those crowded streets where pedestrians bunch together while crossing the road? That but with winged demons, flying at different heights and speeds trying to get to their destination.

Imagine MC going outside and being careful of not only foot traffic but also air traffic cuz some demons don't bother warning others that they're landing or passing by. They'd hear a woosh and needing to duck cuz some idiot flew too low and nearly clipped them with a wing or two.

There would also be exclusive no-fly zones around certain places. Also needing to check the weather if it's a good day for flying (i bet the weather and climate in Devildom can get unpredictable at times) or if it's better to walk or commute instead because air traffic is so stupid today and you can't be late for an appointment.

Imagine you chose to commute home for today cuz your wings are tired but the vehicle broke down and goddammit I wanna go home asap i guess i have to fly.

One of the reasons Lucifer agreed to Mammon getting a car cuz there's 3 of them who can't fly.

Mammon and Satan arguing about which route to take for faster travelling while Levi plays in the back seat with Belphie leaning against him and napping. Meanwhile up above, Lucifer, Asmo, and Beel keep pace with them.

Sometimes Asmo sits in the back cuz he can't afford to ruin his hair from all the flying. Sometimes Belphie shimmies out the window [[(while the car is going really fckin fast mind you) (Mammon driving at a reasonable speed? Hell nah his car was built for speed and he will go fast)]] so he can hold out a snack for Beel to snatch. Levi makes sure Belphie doesn't fall off using his arms and tail. Sometimes they'd do rock paper scissors on who gets to ride shotgun this time (may or may not include threats, blackmail, or bodily harm)

Lucifer just hopes they get to their destination on time and in one piece.

On another note, once MC gets the hang of flying with magic (I'd imagine they'll use a broom but come on why not imbue a skateboard with magic and use that to fly instead), they'd try a stab at flying and experiencing the air traffic (in all its fascinating and frustrating glory).

Alternatively, MC in the car but the brothers being little shits is becoming unbearable so they ask Mammon to stop and get out to fly with the others instead.

I fckin live for Devildom being some sort of an urban fantasy setting.

#obey me #omswd #ramblings #is this considered worldbuilding???#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #shrimpy rambling #🦐:ramblings

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empresskylo · 9 months

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beneath the mask ✩ chapter 1

➠ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠ SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠ CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost. wc 2.5k. ➠ AUTHOR'S NOTE | ayyoo, so i had an idea for a series with ghost with lots of angst and i finally wrote the first chapter. so let me know if you like it and if i should continue. it looks like it will be around 10 or so chapters. its a slow burn and will be a lil dark. okay, enjoy! feedback appreciated!

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you adjusted the strap to your med bag, shuffling as quickly as you could down the hallway, dodging tipped over medical trays and beds shoved haphazardly in the aisle. the lights above you flickered as you scurried in the direction of the hollering voices, the rumble of gunfire shooting off in the distance like fireworks.

you burst into what you suspected was once the hospital's lobby, debris and paper scattered everywhere, jumping over chunks of stone from the wall.

“sergeant,” a deep voice called to you. you looked over at captain price and darted in his direction. before him sat a large body, a man who intimidated the fuck out of you. you were lucky you were strung out on adrenaline or you might have been too nervous to do your job properly.

“it’s ghost,” price said, his hand firmly placed on the man’s abdomen, a blood soaked cloth beneath it.

you slid down to your knees and chucked your med bag beside you and started digging around. “what happened?”

“got fuckin’ shot, the hells it look like,” the grumpy asshole, who should be a lot nicer to the woman saving his life, said.

you rolled your eyes and dug out a clean linen, replacing the one price was using. “hold,” you instructed him. normally you were a bit shy around the men, especially your superiors, but in moments of panic, you functioned at your best.

it didn’t take you long to disinfect and pry the bullet out of ghosts abdomen, taping the wound shut with medical glue and wrapping it in gauze. it took you all of 4 minutes. and you only thought about the fact that your hand was on ghost’s exposed skin a few times.

“and that’s why you’re the best,” price chuckled, slapping a hand on your shoulder.

you gave him a weak smile, wiping away the sweat that was forming on your forehead. the adrenaline was starting to subside, your nerves creeping up on you.

a loud shout and the sounds of rifles going off sounded in the distance. ghost and price glanced at each other. “go,” ghost urged.

price nodded before leaving you alone with ghost, who seemed more than upset over the fact that he was now dead weight. you wanted to tell him he was an asset to the team and they wanted him whole instead of trying to fight at half efficiency. but you figured he already knew as much.

you rubbed your hands on your pants before pointing at ghost. “you—uhm—got blood all over your mask.”

ghost grunted, trying to stand up.

“wait, let me help you.”

he ignored you, using the wall behind him to push up. stubborn bastard.

“ghost! if you rip out the perfectly good work i just did, i swear to god!”

he looked at you surprised, as if hearing you shout was the most startling thing in the world, and halted all movement until you slid beneath him and helped him stand. his arm rested across your shoulder as you stood in sync with him. you tried to ignore the burning sensation you got from the contact.

“didn’t know you could get that loud,” he mocked.

you squeezed your lips together; your mask that sat slouched around your neck suddenly felt suffocating.

as ghost leaned back against the wall, catching his breath, you put your hands nervously on your hips. “you should let me check…” you hesitated, pointing at your own face to let him know you wanted to see if he was bleeding under his mask.

“no,” he said sternly.

“ghost, i—“

“it’s not my blood. nothin’ to check, then.”

“nothin’ to check, then,” you repeated quietly, slightly irritated. you knew good and well that he was lying. he had no idea if it was his blood or someone else’s that soaked the white skull on his mask.

“what?” he asked, causing you to snap your eyes away. shit, you were staring.

“you ever let anyone see what’s under there?” you asked timidly, making it sound like he had something wildly inappropriate hidden beneath his mask.

“price,” he said chastely, clearly thinking there was a time and place for everything, and the battlefield was not said place.

“oh.” after a beat. “why?”

before ghost could retort, soap came storming in. “we gotta go.” he must have talked to price because he came rushing to ghost’s side to help him walk, already aware of the extent of ghost’s injuries.

you followed as the three of you hustled out of the decrepit hospital. another beautiful building lost to the brutality of warfare, you thought sullenly.

when you were safe on the humvee, you shifted your bag awkwardly on top of your lap, ghost’s large presence taking up almost all of your personal space. you tried not to think about the way your thighs touched his.

it made sense, ghost was hurt, so of course he’d sit next to the medic, but still, your heart raced rapidly in your chest as if he purposely chose to sit next to you for other reasons. you tried to shut your brain up by closing your eyes.

the vehicle went over a bump, sending you sliding against ghost’s side. “s-sorry,” you muttered, your eyes springing open, and you hurriedly pushed away from him.

he didn’t even look down at you, his eyes glued to whatever it was he was staring at straight ahead.

he was infuriatingly difficult to read. his eyes might have been expressive, but they only ever looked some various level of pissed off. but you knew there was more to him than that. you had seen the way he spoke to soap. there was a human beneath the artificial exterior that was ghost.

the road was seemingly filled with dips and crags because the back end of the vehicle kept bumping and shifting. you opened your legs slightly so you could hold on to the seat between them to prevent you from slamming into ghost and the soldier on the other side of you.

ghost must have been annoyed at the way you continuously jostled around with every shift of the humvee because when the car rattled through a particularly big pothole, his muscled arm outstretched across your chest, stopping you from flying forward.

you felt your face heat, utterly embarrassed. all these men around you were so much taller and properly built. you, on the other hand, stood a good foot below ghost, it was no wonder you were easy to slide around the vehicle. ghost was weighted in place by muscle. seat belts would have been a smart addition, you thought.

it was in your nature to want to thank ghost, but when you spared a glance up at him, his head was shifted in the complete opposite direction. as the road transformed to smoother terrain, his arm fell back to his side as if nothing had happened.

you wouldn’t lie, the fact that you were supposed to be the one caring for ghost, the bullet wound in his side and all, made you feel small and inferior when he had to hold you down. it probably hurt him to life his arm like that too, though he would never admit it.

when you got back to base, you changed and showered before anyone could find you and drag you into doing something you didn’t want to do, stealing you away from your time to rest. and as if you willed it just from that thought, one of your teammates grabbed your shoulder as you walked passed the infirmary.

“hey! can you cover for me? smith is out and i was supposed to have my dinner break an hour ago.”

your fellow medic looked at you with puppy dog eyes, playfully steepling their hands to beg.

“fine,” you said with mock irritation.

“ah, thanks! you’re a lifesaver.” you followed him into the dimly lit infirmary. “i was just about to rebandage the lieutenant up,” he said.

you froze. “wait, we got back an hour ago, why hasn’t he been rebandaged yet?”

your teammate glanced at you as he grabbed his things. “l.t. was busy debriefing with price. said that was more important.” he shrugged then hurried out of the room before you could say more.

shit shit shit.

no, this is fine. stop overreacting, you told yourself. you can handle facing ghost again. granted, the first time you were doped up on adrenaline. now, you weren’t so sure you’d be able to keep a steady hand.

you never had any real issues with authority before. and you didn’t get this way around the captain. but something about ghost unsettled you. he was a cold-blooded killer after all.

you knew that lots of the men here were technically killers, but there was a mythical aura around ghost. even the enemies knew to beware the man in the skull mask. once you see him, it’s too late, you’re already dead.

and it didn’t help that ghost seemed to despise you. you’ve seen him get irritated at the others before–especially soap. but you’ve also seen him joke and act friendly too. just never with you. if you knew why, you’d change that thing about yourself. anything for peace. but you couldn’t wrap your mind around why he hated you. maybe he just hated medics? but he didn’t seem to mind any of the other medics on base; at least not that you saw.

maybe he just didn’t like women. especially ones that thought they were macho enough to fight in the military. but that didn’t seem quite right either.

god, you needed to stop overthinking everything.

regardless of ghost’s reasoning, you squeezed your hands as you grabbed a medical tray and rolled it over to ghost’s bed.

you tried to disguise the gulp when you saw him, outstretched in bed, his tactical gear shed and scattered on the ground. boots on, but untied. his long sleeve shirt now tossed on the end of the bed, stained with blood–a t-shirt his only covering. his pants low on his hips as his shirt rode up from how he laid propped on the bed. his neck exposed from where his mask and shirt collar didn’t meet.

oh my god, you were acting like a victorian man with the way your heart was suddenly racing at every little bit of exposed skin.

you pried your eyes away and slid on a pair of latex gloves.

you grabbed a disinfectant and turned to him, trying to conjure a polite smile.

“look like you’re gonna be sick,” he grumbled.

“i’m smiling. this is me happy,” you said back, the forced grin slipping away now that ghost called you out on it.

you swore you almost heard him chuckle.

you tentatively reached out to the hem of his shirt and pushed it up to where the bloody bandage you put on earlier sat.

you felt his eyes on you as you began working, removing the old bandage and cleaning his wound properly. you shifted back and forth between ghost and the tray table beside you, dabbing up the blood and gingerly washing the wound.

after it was cleaned and you were struggling to keep your mind clear, you needed to do a small strip of stitches to keep the gash from widening.

“i’m just going to go ahead and give you a few stitches,” you said quietly, avoiding the dark gaze of his eyes. you applied a numbing agent that you knew wouldn’t affect his skin deep enough to mask all the pain. you had to save the proper sedation and anesthetics for more serious injuries, always cautious to not run out of supplies while only getting provisions delivered on occasion.

you got the suture kit out before you. eyeless needle ready in hand, you began to quickly slide the needle through his skin to close it up. ghost didn’t so much as flinch as you went to work.

ghost had shifted his position slightly, his shirt riding up in the process and exposing the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, the V of his lower abdomen coming into view.

your cheeks felt hot as you tried to pretend you hadn’t noticed.

“shit. take it easy, love,” ghost grunted. you hadn’t realized you were putting pressure on his wound as you stared at the hair that trailed up towards his navel, completely losing all train of thought.

“oh my god. i’m sorry,” you stuttered, wanting to hurry up and finish so you could get out of here.

did he just call you love? your chest exploded with unwanted feelings. god damnit, you cursed to your-easily-seduced-self. stop being irrational, he’s british, they call everyone ‘love’.

you could feel ghost’s eyes burning holes through you, tempting you to lose the steadfast nature of your hands.

“nervous?” he asked in such a nonchalant way.

you refrained from gulping as you secured the end of the suture. “n-no.”

“you’re a bloody soldier. there's no place for nerves.”

you felt your heart sink deep within your chest at his harsh words. ghost had noticed your nervous ticks, the way you were distracted around him. he might not have known that he was the source of your jitters, but he noticed nonetheless. and he clearly thought you were weak for acting like that. how had someone like you secured a job in the military? you wanted to tell him that you weren’t usually like this. that you were always good under pressure–it’s where you thrived. that you were quick on your feet and ready to risk it all to save your teammates.

it wasn’t you being afraid. it was you being intimidated by his looming presence. wanting to please your lieutenant. wanting to get on his good side. but you didn’t know how. and it made it far more difficult when you began to notice your attraction to him. how were you supposed to act cool and collected in front of ghost when his piercing gaze sent goosebumps up your spine. or how his words made you lose all thought–stealing yours right from your mouth.

and it didn’t help that he was a grumpy, negative, and an all around contentious bastard. you tried so hard to tell yourself that you weren’t attracted to him. he was just another soldier (a rude one at that). you didn’t even know what he looked like under his mask for fucks sake.

when you finished up, placing a fresh bandage over your work, you threw your gloves in the bin and turned to him. “i’m sorry.” the words escaped you before you could stop them. you were seriously apologizing for being nervous? how was that going to make things any better? he was certainly going to think you were too soft for this line of work now. an anxious surgeon wasn’t the best attribute for your lieutenant to think you possessed.

shocked by your own words, you turned to leave, stopping when you heard ghost mumble under his breath. “how the fuck did you manage to make it through combat training?”

you tried your damndest to reign in your tears before you made it to your room.

chapter 2 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

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milkbreadandtadpoles · 3 months

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stsg x angel

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!

warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited

author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

“Would you suck the strap?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”

“But I’m serious!”

“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”

“I’m not.”

You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”

“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”

“Can you just flip the pancakes?”

“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.

“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”

Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.

“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”

“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“

“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.

Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”

“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“

“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“

“I did drink it.”

“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”

Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”

And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.

That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”

“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.

Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.

But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.

#thank you to the babs i follow who post this #you've inspired me!#i think i wanna make a tiny like small little series who knows!#lol i love posting all my little ideas #it's my baby diary #anyway #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #satosugo #satosugo smut #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #my works

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janitorhutcherson · 5 months

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Sacred Self Care (Mike Schmidt)

i'm 100% supposed to be cleaning my room up for family but i may go insane if i do not write RIGHT NOW!! so, this is something i've had in my mind for so long. i PROMISE after thanksgiving i'll give yall peeta and finnick content and get to more asks. i could not hold back on this one any longer though, so sit back, and enjoy!

summary: mike discovers self care, but what happens when his ritual becomes a little too intricate and he ends up in a silly predicament?

warnings: mentions of nudity, one or two innuendos

word count: 2,288

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

Mike Schmidt did not have time to take care of himself. This was a fact that was all too noticeable. His dry curls practically begged to be lathered in moisture, or at least in something that wasn’t a bar of soap that was also used on his face and body. His nails were dirty whenever he was busiest, the only time they were well groomed being when he was prepared to be knuckles deep inside of you. His eyebags were sunken in and his facial hair grew in patches, untrimmed. Mike did not care, nor did he think wasting time on such a meticulous thing would be beneficial to him. There were better things to do than to primp himself when he could be doing something more productive, such as getting to the bottom of his brother’s disappearance… thirteen years later. When he wasn’t obsessing over every minute detail in his dream that could lead him to the solution or fathering Abby in his own backwards but still productive way, he was admiring you and your glory.

While Mike may not have been someone for self-care, you most definitely were. You were constantly looking up new ways to better yourself, new hair masks to try and new ways to make your skin as smooth as butter. The water bill also certainly showed your love for self-care. Some nights, you’d prance into the bedroom after an intricate shower, throwing your leg up on the bed as you demanded for Mike’s rough hands to feel, every centimeter of hair gone, the smell of cocoa butter sifting in the air. He was amused when he’d walk in to you sitting on the couch, some new green goop slathered on your face, or some strange piece of paper stuck to your nose. On occasion, you’d convince Mike to join you and Abby, his desperation to spend more quality time with the two of you trumping his disdain for fifteen minutes of clay on his face. He’d peel away at chunks as they flaked into his lap, you and Abby giggling every few seconds as the pile would grow amusingly larger before Mike would give up, running to the bathroom to scrub his face clean before the timer went off.

He wasn’t sure when it clicked. Perhaps it was when Abby told him he’d looked rough lately (he attempted to take this with a grain of salt, as she was his little sister, scolding her and telling her that was not very nice) or perhaps it was when one morning after work, he’d noticed new wrinkles covering his forehead and increasingly pale skin with purple dips underneath his eyes. One day, he found himself in the shampoo aisle at Target. It started with something simple. He bought real shampoo and conditioner, specifically designed for curly dry hair. He enjoyed the scent it radiated as he lathered it through his locks in the warm shower, the aftermath amazing. He’d never seen his hair so fluffy as it dried, his once brittle strands now feeling smooth as he ran his fingertips through it. Then, there was skincare. Somehow, he ended up getting a free sample in the mail from one of those makeup subscription companies you subscribed to, the company accidentally sending you a made-for-men miniature face wash and eye cream set. You eagerly tossed it his way with a giggle, assuming he tossed it in the trash the moment he got it. Instead, that very night, Mike added it to his shower along with his brand-new hair products, patting the eye cream underneath his eyes once he got out. The next morning, the once deep reddish purple was now only tinted a light color. Before he knew it, underneath the cabinet tucked away in a corner were different hair oils, beard creams, moisturizers, and lotions. He’d gotten into different kinds of cologne, opting for scented deodorants as well.

Mike had to admit, he enjoyed this new routine of his. As it progressed, it became almost ritualistic. He’d get home from work at exactly 6:15, about 45 minutes before you’d wake up. He would hop into the shower, taking in the feeling of his fingertips massaging his scalp, his body feeling the tension flooding down as the water from the shower flooded down the drain. Then, the aromatic smell of musky body wash would fill his nose, cleansing his senses of the smell of ancient dusts from working at the pizzeria. He’d step out of the shower, his skin tinted pink from the hot water, his face freshly washed. He’d apply lotion, shape his beard and add his creams, he’d even gotten into grooming his nails every night, ensuring they were crisply clean and applying a protective clear coat on top.

He couldn’t quite figure out why he was so embarrassed by his ritual. Perhaps it was the way it made him feel less masculine, knowing damn well deep down that it didn’t make him any less of a man and it was just his years’ worth of built-up toxic masculinity that you were so desperately trying to get him to break down. Maybe it was the way he was splurging on things he simply didn’t feel he needed until now, until it suddenly felt like a necessity, something he’d go insane without. Most of all and the most likely of all the scenarios, it was admitting that he was wrong, that something you and Abby had so desperately attempted to beg him to get into was exactly what the two of you had explained to him. It was majestic and comforting. At least 45 minutes a day were dedicated to him and only himself, his whole body feeling renewed each time he stepped out of the shower. He felt rebirthed, imagining this was what religious people felt when they were deemed ‘saved’ at confessional. Even with that being said, he couldn’t let you and Abby in on his little ritual. No, he couldn’t possibly admit to it. It wasn’t because he wanted to hide something from you two but instead because his embarrassment seeped deep down into his skull every time he thought about revealing it. Instead, he would slowly creep himself into bed, wrapping his arms around you as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, pretending to sleepily open his eyes as your alarm went off.

You’d suspected he was hiding something, and you were worried. The new signature scents, the freshly groomed look, the way he seemed to care more about his clothing and the wrinkles that were shown. Your first thought was that there was somebody else, someone he had needed to impress, much like he once felt the need to impress you every time he was around you, suppressing his comfortable and more Mike-like fashion choices. In the mornings, you’d sense the lack of his presence after hearing the door creak open, feeling the bed dip right before your alarm went off, sirens ringing in your head each time as if to warn you something wasn’t right. You would spend some nights he was away at work after Abby was in bed evaluating who it could possibly be. There was Vanessa, the blonde police officer who would make occasional appearances in conversation. There was the waitress at the diner who’d taken a liking to Mike, but you weren’t sure who else it could be. Of course, women ogled over Mike all the time in public. There was something about a man with a slightly off putting aura and messy tussled hair. But regardless, you had always trusted him, and besides, Mike didn’t really talk to many people as is.

It wasn’t until Mike added in a peel off face mask into the mix that the jig was up. One week, he’d managed to get the entire week off, ensuring the pizzeria was boarded closed and begging Vanessa to keep an eye on things. You’d felt slightly better having him around more and at normal hours. He was very much still head over heels for you, following you around like a lost puppy, the two of you showering together, cooking together, and of course, having as much ‘alone time’ as you could possibly fit in when Abby was asleep or away at a friends. Even with that, in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were passed out on the couch after a movie night and it was late. Mike had crept away from the living room, tucking your sleeping body under a blanket, slipping into the shower. He followed his typical ritual, something he’d had to put off for a while in fear of getting caught, still unsure of what made him so anxious. After his shower, he applied his peel off mask, attempting to avoid his facial hair, but without thinking, he’d applied a layer over his entire chin. What would soon become a panic inducing issue in a short sum of ten minutes hadn’t occurred to him quite yet.

As the timer on his phone went off, he began slowly peeling the mask off, starting at his forehead before he froze, realizing more of his face was covered than usual. He brushed it off, continuing to peel before he noticed that not only was the thin, purple layer coming off, but multiple specks of hair were attached as well. Oh fuck, he thought to himself, unsure of how to proceed. No, he couldn’t just rip it off. He was attached to his facial hair. It made his baby face look mature and manly. No, of course it didn’t occur to him to just add water, simply wiping it away. There was only one option, and that was to waltz into the living room with his bright purple face and to wake you up, puppy dog eyes pleading for you to help him with his predicament.

You stirred away as you felt a hand shake your shoulder, your eyes widening as you sat up with a confused expression.

“Well, hello there,” you croaked out, your voice laced with gravel from exhaustion. He looked at you with embarrassment laced over his face, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Help, please. I…” he trailed off, gesturing his hands towards his face. “I just need it off,” he grumbled lowly, his fingertips holding the piece holding his facial hair tenderly, ensuring he didn’t rip anything else off.

You couldn’t help but let out a loud giggle, amused by the man standing in front of you. You grabbed his hand, leading him into the bathroom. You both sat on the ledge of the tub as you tenderly wiped his face clean with a warm washcloth, his reddened cheeks from both the mask being on too long and the embarrassment becoming more apparent by the second.

“Facial hair is saved,” you said triumphantly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I do have to ask though, why the sudden liking to all of this? And why not just.. tell me?” you hummed curiously, shaking your head.

“I just.. I don’t know. I think I didn’t want to admit I was wrong or that I was spending so much money on such worthless stuff. It started out so small and then became so big, I just couldn’t,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I am really sorry for keeping it from you,” he hummed before he went into a further explanation, explaining the way it made him feel.

You let out a sigh of relief along with a content giggle, shaking your head. “I knew something was up, but I wasn’t sure what,” you said, cocking an eyebrow as you placed a hand on his knee, your cheeks now warming up.

“What, did you think I was getting all fancy schmancy for another girl?” he teased, bumping his elbow against your shoulder. Your eyes widened as your mouth opened and closed as you went to say something, his expression dropping into something more serious.

“Oh my god, Y/N, honey, no, I’d never,” he said, placing his warm hand on your exposed shoulder. “Baby, no,” he chuckled, happy he could reassure you but somewhat upset that you had to sit through that alone. “No, I love you very much, I promise you, there is no other woman... just, your silly grumpy man being too embarrassed to admit I like girly things,” he teased, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your lips. The kiss was all you needed for electrical sparks to be sent through your body, your brain buzzing as the anxious thoughts began to disappear.

For the rest of the night, Mike walked you through his entire routine, both for fun and for transparency. You two joked back and forth, you occasionally poking at him, telling him he should become an influencer. Afterwards, you both did a face mask together, this time ensuring the product did not cover his chin.

Yes, you and Mike most definitely had your own things to work on, but at the end of the day, you were happiest with him. Your heart felt warm. He had finally found a way to take care of himself, a way to feel more content in his own skin, and even though he had an odd way of going about it, you were pleased, happy he was also finally willing to share this with you. From now on, Mike would wait for his routine in the mornings until you woke up, instead crawling into bed and cradling you in his arms, thinking about how lucky he was to have such a sweet, loving, and accepting partner like you to share his life with, even if it was just skincare and Vaseline kisses.

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #michael schmidt x reader

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auspicioustidings · 7 months

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Services/Goods of Equivalent Value

Summary: You decide to renovate a crumbling farm house into a teashop, not realising there is a military base right down the road.

Work Count: 3.9k (this was completely by accident)

CW: None, the whole thing is a fluff piece

This was probably crazy. It was definitely crazy right? People didn't actually get to pursue their passions and have their dream job under relentless capitalism, that wasn't a thing right? So then why did you think that you could be different? Especially standing on this road (dirt path really) looking at the crumbling wreck of a farmhouse with only one suitcase and a backpack to your name.

The property had already taken a chunk of your savings and you'd need every penny of the rest to try and turn it into what you imagined. You walked over the threshold and took a breath. It was a rainy day, the puddles on the floor evidence of the holes in the roof. Parts of the floor were cracked and rotting. Only one window had managed to stay completely intact, the rest either totally gone or cracked beyond repair. But when you turned the tap and found that after a heroic sputter the water did flow through you grinned.

It didn't matter how the small space looked now, it mattered what you could see in it. You got to work.

You threw the screwdriver on the ground and huffed, stopping your feet like a child. This was the 5th time you had attached the new front door and the 5th time it was wrong. It wouldn't fit in the frame properly. You kept plaining down the edge gingerly, taking off a tiny bit at a time so you didn't go too far, and every time when you propped it up it seemed like it fit until you actually added the hinges.

"Ye ok there hen?"

Oh that was embarrassing, there was a man on the road. He was jogging in place, pausing what must have been a run judging by his workout gear to give you a bemused grin. You flustered a little, wildly gesturing to the door in accusation. You had every good reason to be in a huff, the door was being a dick.

He laughed at you and you blew out a breath before groaning and slumping down to hug your knees and bury your head there in embarrassment, your voice muffled.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, it just won't go on."

You heard warm laughter and then footsteps coming towards you. Felt a hand gently petting at your head in a 'there there' gesture.

"I wouldnae expect it tae. It's the wrong type of door for this frame."

You unburied your head and looked at him, aghast.

"But can't I just make it smaller? I've been making it smaller. I really love that door."

"Aye that would eventually make it fit, but it's an interior door, wilnae dae fuck all to keep the elements oot."

You groaned and just accepted your fate, falling back on your ass and then laying star fished on the ground to stare at the sky. You were bone tired. You'd laid the floor, it was crooked as hell. The windows were fitted but two of them just did not open properly and you couldn't figure out why. You had given up on the leaks, putting buckets down for the moment and hoping the next downpour would hold off until you could come up with a solution.

It wasn't like you weren't trying your hardest, but it was just so much all the time and you wondered why on earth you thought you could do this. A shadow fell over you as the man leant to look at you with a smile.

"I can help ye with the door" he offered, holding out a hand which you took to shake from your spot on the ground, telling him your name. "Nice tae meet you, John MacTavish."

"I can't pay you John MacTavish, so thanks but I'll figure something out."

"Wisnae offering for pay hen, just tryin' tae help a damsel in distress."

You considered him for a moment before hauling yourself up and making your way inside, motioning for him to follow. You started tearing through the place to find a pen and paper, clearing tools and assorted nonsense off of the countertop to lay the paper flat.

Johnny took the place in with some sense of awe. Last time he saw this place it was basically a ruin and he had to hand it to you, you had done a half decent job with it. There was charm in all the flaws, made the place feel undeniably cosy. He noted the buckets, would have to fix the roof. He wasn't any good at that kind of work, but hadn't he seen Rudy doing roof work on one of the safe houses before? They were due a visit from Los Vaqueros soon, he'd ask him to come help. Wasn't too far a trip, this road was a half hour run from a small off record military base the 141 tended to use when they didn't feel like being miserable in some rules bound grey prison of a base.

Rudy was a bit like him, always loved a project. He tried to figure out what exactly you were doing with the place. The counter looked like a bar of some sort, maybe a shop?

"Ok John, here you go" you said, presenting the very hastily written contract.

I, the undersigned, agree that I will pay in full Mr John MacTavish for works carried out either in monetary value or services/goods of equivalent value as soon as I have the means to do so.

"Services and goods eh? Wit ye selling?"

"Once I get the place fixed up, tea."

Johnny couldn't help but grin at your expression. You were so determined and so excited about the prospect, like the idea of it had completely re-filled your energy. Cute.

"Add coffee to the menu and you have a deal."

You liked Alejandro immediately and immensely. John, or Soap as you were now calling him and honestly you had no clue why, and Rudy were absolute terrors together. You actually did enjoy being around them, but my God if it didn't tire you out something awful. It was impossible not to be high energy with them, bouncing around and laughing and having fun. But when Alejandro had joined he had calmed you down, allowed you to take it slow and easy after days of feeling like a live wire.

With the roof fixed and a front door that worked you were able to start actually unpacking the suit case you had brought into the place months ago. Two kettles and your favourite tea set along with a big copper pot you loved, some utensils and some hand blended tea. It wasn't a lot, but being able to make that first pot of tea almost made you cry.

You were extra attentive, making sure it was brewed perfectly before going outside to find the others. You were nervous, the first time you had felt that way around them. None of the three were much for tea, that you knew.

"Hey I... uh, I made tea. I don't actually have any coffee just yet but I promise I'm going to get some soon! It was just in the meantime, if you wanted something to drink. Tea I mean, if you wanted to drink some tea. Which you do not have to" you rambled, trying to give your best winning smile to the three men currently working away at one of the windows. The ones that you couldn't open you had installed completely wrong so they had taken to reinstalling them.

Johnny and Rudy were content to watch you ramble away, seeing you like this being new to them so choosing to enjoy it while it lasted. You were adorable like this, heart on your sleeve telling them that it was important to you that they enjoyed something you had made for them. Alejandro only smiled and pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in his back pocket and going over to you.

"We would love some tea, it's the first time you've made it here no? Thank you for trusting us to share it" he said warmly, watching how you visibly relaxed. He liked that he could have that effect on you.

"Well if the boss says we drink tea then we drink tea" Rudy laughed, him and Soap following after.

You reckoned that if he went by first impressions, Simon Riley probably thought you were the biggest airhead he had ever met. In your defence though, you had the worst cold known to man when he had come round.

The place was looking great, but the fireplace wasn't done yet. As you had been since starting this project, and as you had been hiding from any visitors, you were sleeping in the building in a sleeping bag on the floor. It was getting bitingly cold and you were bundled up in layers whenever you went to bed. You could not afford to rent somewhere nearby while this was going on and to be honest you hadn't really thought ahead to what you would do when you actually opened the place. Probably just keep on sleeping on the floor, or maybe once you got furniture on one of the cosy armchairs you wanted to get.

He had made a house call when you were miserably sipping at a hot chocolate. Rudy had taught you how to make it, a recipe from Mexico. It was gently spiced and beautifully warming and smooth, but with your current cold you could barely taste it, hence the misery.

"Y'should really lock the door, I could be a murderer walking in here."

The man who had walked in was tall, in full tactical gear and wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. Probably was a murderer.

"Please put me out of my misery Mr murderer."

You honestly hadn't meant to say that to a complete stranger, but it felt like your head was stuffed with cotton wool instead of grey matter today. Thankfully he only chuckled gruffly instead of fulfilling your request.

"And then where would I get more of whatever tea Johnny brought back to base?"

Johnny. Right, this must be Ghost then. Soap talked about him sometimes, said him, Gaz and Price liked your tea which had made you jump up and down in excitement at the time. Your signature blend had taken you years to get just the way you liked it. Soap had also said something about Ghost having a mask, so you at least assumed this wasn't one of the other two.

"Oh right, let me get you some to take away with you. Hang on" you said, going to pack some of the leaves up into a little brown bag for him.

You put it on the counter and then went into the cupboard, grabbing the mug you had gotten in a Halloween sale. It was a white mug in the shape of a ghost, two little eyes on the front. You ladled in some of the hot chocolate from the pot on the stove and put that on the counter as well.

Ghost watched the whole thing with concealed amusement. He had genuinely come to get some of the tea, he liked the blend and they had run out of what Johnny had brought. But he had also come out of curiosity. It was clear Johnny was fond of you from the way his eyes lit up when he'd tell them all what he had done with you that day whenever he would come back to base. Rudy and Alejandro too when they had been visiting seemed enamoured, tense from mission planning right up until a visit to you would have them coming back relaxed and happy.

Part of him had been hoping to scare you a little showing up the way he had in gear and mask. It was probably because you were clearly sick, but you weren't treating him like something scary. No, you were sluggishly getting him tea and then giving him hot chocolate in a cute little ghost mug.

"You shouldn't be working sick, definitely a health and safety violation."

"Place isn't open yet so not technically working."

"In that case, thanks for the hot chocolate."

When he left, he took off his massive cosy looking jacket and draped it over your shoulders without a word before grabbing the bag of tea and taking off.

You tried a bunch of names for the cat and none of them seemed to fit just right. The scrappy little thing started hanging around the place when you started leaving out snacks for it and you found you enjoyed the company.

The place was nearly ready now, interior cosy and furnished with a bunch of mismatched furniture you had thrifted that somehow managed to match the vibe very well. With the fire going the place glowed just the way you had always dreamt it would, and the way the scent of tea clung pleasantly to the air was more than you could have hoped for. Simon and Soap had helped haul a lot of the furniture, but they had been gone for a month now. You really hoped you would see them again so you could show them the place now, completely transformed from when they last saw it.

Cosy enough now for this cat to enjoy at least. She even had a favourite spot, one of the wing backed armchairs by the fireplace.

"How about Binks?" you asked her, currently leaning behind the counter and mulling over a cup of tea.

In response the cat only yawned and blinked lazily at you.

"Ok, not Binks then" you laughed, taking a sip and sighing in contentment. Honestly who knew if you'd ever get customers, this place was completely out of the way, but you were proud of what you had created. Dirt poor, but proud. You'd open soon you thought, actually give this a go.

The cat eventually stretched and padded over to the door, looking over at you expectantly.

"Alright alright, time for you to go wherever it is you go" you said, going over to open the door and let her out.

There was a giant on the other side of the door and you all but jumped out of your skin in surprise. The man looked like he had been considering knocking, just as surprised as you were for a moment. Purring broke you both out of your surprise, the cat butting up against the man's legs.

"So this is where you've been getting to Herzogin" he said to the cat, leaning down to give her some scratches which resulted in more purring before she went right back to her spot on the chair, leaving you and the giant stood at the doorway alone.

"Is Herzogin her name? I'm sorry, I thought she was a stray" you said with a slight smile, hoping you hadn't accidentally become a catnapper.

"She is a stray of kinds, the base nearby feeds her sometimes so I got used to having her around is all."

"Oh my God the base! That makes way more sense now, I didn't realise there was something like that nearby."

So that's where all these men had been coming from. You wondered if that meant Ghost, Soap, Rudy and Alejandro weren't stationed there anymore or had been moved. The military wasn't something you understood, but you assumed they must move around a lot. Did they have a home base of sorts? Was it selfish of you to sort of hope the one near you was a home base for them?

"If they had told us about this place we would have visited" the man said as if in apology.

"Oh no don't worry, I'm not actually open yet. I'm just sort of practicing drinks until I work up the nerve" you laughed. "Do you want to try something? I'm best at making tea, but I've been trying out coffees and hot chocolates as well."

You moved to unblock the doorway, inviting him in and telling him your name. He said you could call him König. Luckily this place had high ceilings so he could experience the cosiness without it being cramped for him.

König found the next few hours to be some of the most calming he had experienced in years. He wouldn't deny that he enjoyed the bloodthirst of battle, it gave him a manic energy that suited him. But there was something to be said for letting himself be fully off duty. It was nice to teach you how to make Einspänner, laugh at your pronunciation of it and have you laugh back rather than be nervous around him for his size or his reputation. Sipping his drink by the fire with a cat in his lap and you softly telling him all about your big plans for the place if it started to do well was something he hadn't known he had been yearning for.

He knew him and the others in Kortac were only here a few more days, the 141 being gracious in allowing them to use their base to lay low while they handled the absolute mess happening in America just now. The whole thing had at least given the teams an uneasy alliance for the time being. Maybe he'd put some effort into keeping that alliance going so he could visit again.

You knew that you should do some sort of advertising for an opening, but the idea was overwhelming. Instead you just quietly popped a little open sign by the door and went about your day as normal. You would probably get nobody coming in because nobody knew this was here and that suited you fine. It felt like once 'opening day' was over and the pressure of it was out of the way, then you could actually seek out customers and not feel like it was as big a deal.

If zero people showed up your first day then the only direction was up right?

Only two people did show up. Price and Gaz. They had greeted you warmly like you were an old friend, explaining that they knew Soap and Simon who would be home soon but that they wanted to visit themselves. They seemed to like the place which made you happy, both settling in at one of the tables and chatting amicably away with you while you made their tea.

Herzogin didn't seem to care that there was company, barely even looking to check before curling back up in her spot happily purring away.

Captain Price found he liked this place immediately. It struck him as bordering on fantastical, seeming like a tea shop from a fantasy novel on the inside. It was an hour at a brisk walk to get here but he regretted not making the trip sooner, imagining that any customer who had come once would certainly become a regular regardless of distance. It was a relaxing spot, almost nostalgic feeling.

For Gaz the place was lovely, but he was more fascinated with you. He had wanted to visit before, had tried to tag along with Ghost and Soap and been denied. He reckoned he probably knew why now, bastards were being selfish and keeping you all to themselves.

"Is it always so quiet for you on weekdays at this time?" Price asked at some point in the conversation, watching the pretty blush that stained your cheeks with interest.

"Oh well technically, this is the first weekday I've been open at this time. It's actually sort of opening day? I mean I didn't really advertise or anything, I wasn't actually expecting anyone to show up if I'm honest" you replied sheepishly.

"It's a soft open then, just to test everything out yeah?" Gaz said gently.

"I think that's an idea. This can be your soft open and then in a week you can open proper. That way Ghost and Soap can be here for it" Price added.

Both of them were giving you such soft looks that you couldn't help but agree with them, settling on a date in a weeks time for a real opening. When the conversation turned to how you would advertise they had promptly told you not to worry about it with a knowing look to one another.

Every seat in the place was taken and the tables and counters were overflowing with sweets and snacks from all over the world. Bukkumi, halva, berlinerkranser, churros, shortbread, teacakes, all brought in for everyone to share. You were so busy making drinks that you didn't even register how ridiculous it was that you were happily hand fed bites of different desserts every so often by whoever happened to be near you when you stopped to fill a cup or mug.

It was nice to see everyone you had met again and to meet new faces. Herzogin took it all in her stride, figuring out quickly who she liked. You hid a laugh seeing König huff when she curled up in Simon's lap. The official opening was by all accounts an outrageous success and everyone absolutely overpaid on their bills regardless of your efforts to stop them.

Farah promised to teach you how to make the halva while Horangi swore that the bukkumi would remain a trade secret and you'd just have to hire him next time he was in town to make it for you. Aksel had rolled his eyes at the Korean man and pressed a kiss to your cheek in thanks for taking care of them. Kate smacked Soap upside the head when he immediately made a beeline to give you kisses as well which made you laugh before blushing and pressing a quick peck to his cheek when he pouted about it.

When everybody was finally out of the door you were absolutely exhausted. By the time the sound of the last car leaving faded away you were already done with tidying all the plates and cups away to the sink. You'd deal with the cleaning up tomorrow, you were far too beat to even consider doing it now. Giving Herzogin a kiss on the head after you had gotten ready for bed, you curled up in the chair by the fireplace, crashing out hard almost immediately.

"Told you so."

"Ye always have tae be right about everything don't ye LT."

"Alright. Get her in the car would you Sergeant."

"Right-o Captain, we kidnapping damsels now?"

"It's not a bloody kidnapping you cheeky bastard. We're putting her in a proper bed for the night and taking her back in the morning once she's made a bad attempt at explaining herself."

"She can take my room."

After some discussion on that point it was decided that you would indeed take Ghost's room with the reasoning it meant nobody would disturb you. They could hardly put you in one of the empty rooms where anyone might walk in. Everyone who they had invited for the opening was staying at base and they were not about to risk the likes of König or Rudy figuring out you were sleeping under the same roof as them. They'd avoid that for as long as possible.

Tomorrow they'd let you sweat a bit and then tell you in no uncertain terms that you'd be staying with them for the time being until they could build you an extension to your shop with a proper living space. You could pay them back with services/goods of equivalent value after all, and they could think of plenty of ideas for what that looked like.

#cod #cod au #tf 141 x reader #konig x reader #los vaqueros x reader #fanfic #truly I was in a very cosy mood this evening and could do nothing but write about cosy vibes #shan't apologise #mhairiwrites

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toasteaa · 13 days

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Sorry sorry, I thought about Neuvillette getting so lost in the feeling of your mouth or your cunt around his cock that he fucking shatters the headboard caught in his grip.

Something about him always being in control, always being so careful with his strength when it comes to you, holding you so lovingly even when his thrusts grow harsher. Rougher. Sweet whispers littered between his subtle moans and your keening whines before you hear a sharp crack in the wood above you.

The way his hips stutter against yours, stilling as he presses his face deep into the crook of your neck; a single, deep groan and a hiss of "yes" as his warmth floods you - and he practically tears a chunk out of your headboard as if it's nothing but a flimsy sheet of paper.

His endless apologies afterwards and his insistence that he pay for the repairs (or for a new, more study bed); you're just trying to figure out how to get him that feral again.

#toast talks #genshin impacted #I'M SORRY I'M SORRY THE IMAGE ENTERED MY BRAIN AND FUCK #I NEED IT I NEED IT I NEED IT AAAAAGH #FUCK BED BREAKING SEX I JUST NEED HIM TO DROWN IN PUSSY AND RIP MY HEADBOARD TO SHREDS #cons of fucking a dragon: broken headboard. pros of fucking a dragon: broken headboard.#UGH THAT AND HIM LOSING HOLD OF HIS COMPLETELY HUMAN FORM AND TURNING INTO HIS HALF DRAGON FORM WHILE FUCKING YOU 💙💙💙💙#I NEED TO BE *RESTRAINED*#genshin smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #no more tags because this is SO self indulgent and I'm going INSANE thinking about this -

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rockingbytheseaside · 28 days

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✦ Moonlit Tides

Tw: slightly suggestive themes hinted at the end. Otherwise, SFW. Idk what this is, just an artistic literary piece of a fanfic w/ Neuvi

“The Chief Justice of Fontaine must exercise impartiality, thus he cannot form intimate relationships with the people of Teyvat.”

… Is what Neuvillette told you, as you sat ashore during a still night. Although his words were directed at your curiosity, it felt more like he was speaking to himself, recalling his duties as a judge. After all, remaining objective and unbiased is the single most crucial concept that sets the Chief Justice apart from the common folk.

At least, for the 500 years that he’s been the Iudex of Fontaine.

Yet something about the tone of what he said pulled a melancholic string. His eyes remained on the still waters of Liffey Region, the peaceful silence between you and him sublime. Yet you stood there, beside him, and in a completely relaxed manner, you said:

“...But I’m not from Teyvat.”

A simple answer, really. However, the silence followed was not so subdued, as Neuvillette turned to stare at you with widened eyes. Of course, you’re not from this world, you hail from beyond the stars; a simple glance at your star-shaped pupils reflects the truth of this statement.

So why was Neuvillette pondering the possibility only now? He knew that about you, that’s why he recruited your aid in Fontaine, that’s why he let you close as a confidant, that’s why he often poured his troubles to you behind closed doors during late nights. You knew the taste of the Hydro Dragon’s tears.

But the Chief Justice sought more. On paper, his impartiality means nothing when it comes to you - he cannot judge you, and you cannot be placed on the same scales as the people of Teyvat. Thus the Hydro Sovereign took it upon himself to place you on the scales of his heart.

At first, It began discreetly. Neuvillette would often invite you for late-night walks by the beach. Away from the courthouse’s commotion, the two of you would stroll and chat away past Marcotte station, letting the salty breeze serenade your minds. Even more so often, The Iudex hand would clasp yours to keep you closer.

“Take a step with me into the water.” - he would later ask one day.

He knew of your resonance with hydro, therefore diving into Fontaine’s sea must be harmless for you. He would extend his plam and wait for you to bask your feet into shore. Although you initially gave him a hesitant look, he beckoned you closer. “Only to relish the water’s coolness. We don’t have to dip any lower past our knees.” - he would reassure. And so you two would often dip your toes in water during the warm nights, letting his gentle grasp lead you further from shore. It became a routine, and surprisingly, not a single drop of rain would pour from Fontaine’s clouds. Instead, the two of you would be greeted with a clear, starry sky; and Neuvillette worshiped the way your gaze shone when you observed the stars above. The endless cosmos paralleled your star-shaped pupils.

But days standing ashore wasn’t enough for his draconic instincts, which led Neuvillette to invite you underwater. To stand on the open surface didn’t satiate him, any human could eavesdrop on your tête-à-tête by night. Thus, you would often follow him to the depths of Fontaine's seas, surrounded by lush seaweed and blooming Romaritime flowers. He would hold you close in his protective embrace, leading you to the sandbed of the depth where many Lumitoile starfish are scattered. Like the stars in the sky, you would be in awe at them, too.

Many nights, he would spend with you leisurely exploring the profundity of the seas, talking about the many curiosities one would find in the deep. He would gift you with small chunks of raw pearls, or compel you to enjoy finding seashells. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he would swim with you here. The underwater provided ample privacy… and ample noise reduction.

Words didn’t need to be spoken anymore. His lips would seek your own, knowing you’d provide relief to the turbulence in his heart. Only you knew the taste of the Hydro Dragon’s tears, after all. Neuvillette’s body and intuition screamed for him to keep courting you, albeit not in the same sense as mortals do. That’s why he invited you to many peaceful walks by the water, that’s why he valued your company when sea gazing or star gazing at night, and that’s why he slowly warmed you up to his numerous gifts and trinkets, consisting of luminescent pearls and ancient seashells. Because his leviathan side was unintentionally pursuing you.

In the depth of the ocean, where minimal sea light pierced through and no human dared to venture, the hydro dragon sovereign would love you, relishing your muffled whimpers and shivers. His keen sense of smell picks up your scent and savors it until your pheromones and cries are mixed with his heat. Body and soul entangled on the soft seabed, and Neuvillette’s sharp teeth desiring your skin. At least, for these tender moments in the depth of the world, he could forget he was the impartial Chief Justice.

Ultimately, you’re not from Teyvat, and only you were a witness to his biased side - a passionate and delicate dragon, whose sharp eyes always lingered on yours and sought you. Like the ocean tides pulled by the moon's unreachable allure.

Yes, the title is inspired by Fontaine's OST "Moonlit Tides". As always, any art in my writing is my own artwork. thank you for reading so far.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #dragon neuvillette #gender neutral reader #neuvillette fluff #fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well.

Until he showed up.

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences.

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you.

Well…externally, at least.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame.

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there.

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan.

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.”

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass.

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage.

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips.

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast.

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior.

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that.

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed.

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face, recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down.

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?”

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it.

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.”

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face.

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing.

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion.

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words.

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips.

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.”

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship.

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought.

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable.

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side.

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.”

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go.

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away.

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.”

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead.

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.”

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows.

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.”

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips.

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?”

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart.

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this.

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists.

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.”

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?”

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.”

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes.

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh.

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes.

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?”

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else.

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation.

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before.

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part.

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?”

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand.

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.”

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful.

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy.

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting.

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.”

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket.

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man.

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?”

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him.

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due.

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on.

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker.

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow.

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence.

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that.

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant.

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head.

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.”

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours.

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you.

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this.

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat.

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.”

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.”

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.”

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth.

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him.

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back.

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?”

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air.

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone.

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat.

What in the hell is going on?

That’s when the bearded man speaks.

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other.

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat.

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?”

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.”

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression.

“I’d get on that, Son.”

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope.

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you.

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen?

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays.

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!”

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…”

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp.

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits.

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling.

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting.

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine.

But he remembered it.

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face.

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today.

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk.

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful.

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment.

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves.

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much.

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?”

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower.

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment.

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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