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namelessayakashi · 3 years

Note

For the Angst April Fic: 25 - Immortality

YES THIS WAS ONE I RLY WANTED TO DO TYSM HELL YES THIS IS GONNA BE AN ANGSTY ONE (also loving the new post editor on desktopppp [i have beta on])

Tysm for sending me this one ohhh I'm so happy you sent this one

cw: temporary character death, (technically) suicide (but in the context of proving immortality & bc he knew he'd survive, not because he was suicidal)

Fic below the cut

Immortality

Merlin breathed out slowly, the air leaving his lungs with a sigh.

His eyes fell shut, drooping slowly lower and lower until they closed, and his grip on Arthur began to loosen.

Faintly, he heard a panicked voice stumbling through words he couldn't understand.

He could feel his heartrate slowing. One... Two...... Three...... Four...... Five...... Six......

Slower, slower, slower...

His name, he heard his name being called. A choked sob. A tight grip around his body. Then, nothing...

Then...

Merlin inhaled sharply, his eyes opening abruptly. There was a harsh, stinging pain in his stomach. He ignored it for the moment, as he broke out into a coughing fit, desperately gasping for breath between coughs.

He didn't—what just happened? He was sure he had—

"Merlin?!" The voice ripped him out of his confusion as he quickly turned his gaze to the man cradling his body in his arms.

"Arthur...?" Merlin asked, his voice rough from coughing so much.

"Merlin, no, but you were..." Arthur's grip on Merlin loosened, his confusion clear as day. "We have to get you back home, back to Gaius."

Merlin just groaned softly, leaning his head against the King's chest. "'m tired..."

Arthur slowly stood up, lifting Merlin in his arms as he did so he was carrying him.

"Don't fall asleep, Merlin, dammit, you're such an idiot..." Arthur muttered as he began to walk, "we're lucky we're close enough to the edge of the forest, the attack spooked the horses... You can't just keep jumping in front of me like that, sorcerer or not, one of these you're going to—I thought this time you had..."

The sorcerer just groaned again and shut his eyes.

"I did..." He whispered, trying his hardest not to let sleep take him. He felt Arthur tense, stumbling in his step slightly.

"No, no you couldn't have, because you're alive," Arthur sounded more like he was trying to assure himself rather than Merlin. "You just lost consciousness for a few minutes. That's all."

Merlin frowned but didn't argue, not having the energy. Instead he just hid his face in Arthur's shoulder. He knew he died... He felt it. He felt himself die, his heart stop... Yet, he was alive. He was breathing. He was exhausted, and his entire body ached and his stomach burned where he was struck, but... He was alive.

How was he alive?

"Merlin... Merlin, my boy, I need you to open your eyes..."

Ah, Gaius, he must be home... When did he fall asleep? Slowly, Merlin opened his eyes.

"Gaius...?" Merlin groaned, looking around for the man as he blinked a few times to clear his eyes, "What happened? I—I died... But I'm alive."

When his eyes finally landed on the old physician's grim expression, a feeling of dread washed over him.

"Merlin, I'm afraid you're not going to like what I have to tell you," Gaius sighed, before sitting down on the edge of the sorcerer's bed. "Arthur brought you back, with a fatal wound in your stomach. He told me what happened and I am certain that you did not just lose consciousness, I am certain you died..."

"I did, I felt it happen, but, Gaius, I am alive," Merlin insisted, propping himself up on his elbows with a wince.

Gaius' mouth drew into a thin line. "You are, indeed. So, I did some research while you were out these past three days—"

"Three days?!"

"—and I discovered something... Something about your name to the druids," Gaius continued as if Merlin never interrupted him. "Emrys, it... Means immortal. And these events are leading me to the conclusion that they don't call you this for no reason."

Merlin's heart dropped. Immortal... He's... Merlin shook his head.

"No, no, there must be another explanation," he laughed, but he was not at all amused. Gaius sighed softly and placed a hand on his wards shoulder.

"I'm afraid there's not... I consulted Mordred, and he confirmed my suspicion. You're immortal, Merlin."

Merlin slumped down onto his magic. He felt ill... Oh gods, he felt so sick.

"But I can't be..."

Merlin took a deep breath as he paced the King’s chambers, waiting for him to arrive back from a council meeting.

How was he supposed to tell Arthur the truth?

He couldn’t lie—he promised, they promised. No more secrets, no more lies. But dammit, this was… This wasn’t just something like he had magic, or he’d ripped his favourite shirt.

He was immortal.

Oh, it felt so wrong to even think…

How do you tell someone you’re immortal? How do you tell someone you love that you’re going to live forever, that you’ll have to watch them wither away and die along with everyone else you know…?

Merlin took a nervous breath and let himself drop into a chair at Arthur’s table. He was going to have to watch everyone he’d ever loved die…

He was forced to live on for eternity while everyone he cared about struggled with mortality.

A cruel fate… Yet, the druids dared to call him blessed.

Blessed. That was a good joke.

How could one be called blessed when condemned to such a life?

Merlin ran his hands through his hair. He’d be alone… Never able to grow attached to someone, too afraid of losing them like he knew he would… A lonely life, he’d be sentenced to. Should he start pushing people away now…? Save himself the pain?

No, he couldn’t. That would be cruel to them, as well as himself…

“Merlin?” The sorcerer nearly leapt out of his skin at the voice to his right. “Merlin, you’re awake! And, up! How are you feeling?”

Merlin dropped his hands and looked over to Arthur, who looked so happy and hopeful at the sight of him. Here he was, about to crush that…

“I—” Merlin hesitated, and Arthur’s brows furrowed in a frown.

“You? You what?” The King pushed, concern flickering on his face a moment, “are you alright? You look like you’re about to be ill. Should you be out of bed yet? Gaius said you only just woke recently…”

A tense silence hung between them, as Merlin contemplated how to say the words that had been weighing on his chest. Finally, when Arthur looked like he was going to give up, Merlin found the courage to speak up.

“I can’t die,” he forced out, the words nearly getting caught in his throat. Arthur’s eyes widened impossibly wide, as he stared incredulously at his friend and lover.

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again, hesitating.

“…What?” He finally got out. Merlin gave a weak smile, knowing just how crazy it sounded.

“I can’t die,” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly as the reality of it hit him, this having been the first time he spoke the words aloud. His eyes stung, but he blinked away the tears as he stared at Arthur, holding eye contact. “I…I’m immortal, Arthur.”

Arthur let out a breath, stunned by the revelation.

Merlin expected him to laugh, to claim him lying, or even to leave the room or tell Merlin to leave. Even after all they’d been through, after the months they’d been together after finally getting their heads out of their asses and confessing… Merlin was shocked, only minorly but still so, when Arthur suddenly grabbed and pulled Merlin into a tight embrace.

He tensed a moment, startled, but slowly relaxed and returned the hug, burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Arthur murmured, “what do you say when you find out your soon-to-be husband is immortal?”

Merlin huffed out a soft laugh. “I don’t know… I didn’t think we’d ever have to deal with that.”

Arthur hummed softly before falling quiet. They stood there, in each other’s arms for a few minutes, just…silent. Until, finally, Merlin pulled away with a shaky breath.

“Hey,” Arthur sighed, raising a hand to the sorcerer’s face and cupping his cheek, “we’ll get through this together, yes?”

“There’s not much to get through, Arthur… I’m going to have to watch everyone I’ve ever loved die before my eyes,” Merlin muttered, before leaning into the touch, “but yes, I won’t turn down your support…”

Arthur frowned at him a moment before exhaling and stepping back to stretch. “Let’s take your mind off this. I have some new legislation to review, come assist me.”

Merlin laid in Arthur’s bed that night, unable to sleep. His mind raced, and his heart ached as he laid on his side, staring at his betrothed.

Before, Destiny had weighed him down with the possibility that he’d be forced to watch the man he loved be taken from him. Now… Now, it was inevitable. He would watch as Arthur faded from life, no matter how he died. He’d have to watch him… He would lose him and he could do nothing.

It wasn’t just Arthur, either, he realized with a pang of hurt.

Gwen… Morgana, Leon… Elyan, and Gwaine, and Lancelot… Percival… Everyone. Everyone was going to be taken from him.

Gaius… His mother.

Merlin choked back a sob, closing his eyes tightly. Everyone. Everyone.

He could never have children.

Oh, gods, he could never have children… He—he’d be condemned to watch them grow old and die.

Was this really what fate wanted for him? What destiny planned?

How cruel. How unnecessarily, unbelievably cruel. What was the point of it? Why, why do this to him? Did they simply wish to see him suffer? Did the gods believe they were granting him a favour? Did they believe they were rewarding him, by subjecting him to a life of eternal loneliness and heartache?

Did they think it amusing?

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice, thick with sleep, snapped him out of his spiral, “why are you awake, cariad? It’s the middle of the night…”

Merlin quickly wiped away the tears that had slipped free, as Arthur blinked open his eyes slowly and yawned. “Couldn’t sleep…” He mumbled, “what about you? Did I wake you?”

“Mm… Technically, no, but I could feel your eyes on me.” Arthur shifted closer and pulled Merlin against him, resting their foreheads together. “What were you thinking about? Oh, no, I know…”

He paused, yawning again, before continuing. “The immortal thing, hm?”

Merlin’s silence seemed to be all the answer needed, because Arthur sighed softly and pressed a tired kiss to his nose.

“You’re spiraling, aren’t you? It’ll be fine, Merlin,” he assured, sounding way too confident for someone who’s words were slurred, “we’ll figure something out… We always do. You won’t be alone… won’t let you…”

“I appreciate that, Arthur…” Merlin said truthfully, “now, get back to sleep… You have things to do tomorrow.”

Arthur hummed, closing his eyes again.

“You sleep, too…” He ordered as he drifted back to sleep.

“I’ll try,” Merlin promised, closing his eyes and tightening his hold on Arthur.

It was a sennight later that Merlin wandered the castle corridors with a frown on his face, eyes searching a head of blond as he walked.

Arthur had been acting strange since they discovered Merlin’s immortality, and now… Now he was just gone?

Merlin had searched the castle three times, and no one had seen him all day. He woke up without the King in bed beside him, the knights knew nothing, the servants knew nothing, Gaius and Gwen knew nothing…

It was like he just disappeared!

How does a King disappear?

Merlin took a deep breath, calming himself. He was worried, yes, of course, but he was also growing slowly angry.

How dare he just disappear without a word?! That man had better have been kidnapped for his sake. After another few minutes searching the castle, Merlin finally just stalked back to their chambers.

Arthur had better have a very good explanation when he got back, Merlin decided as he flung the doors open and stomped over to the bed before flopping onto it. Or else he’d getting turned into a toad. A big, ugly, slimy, wart-covered toad. And Merlin’s not changing him back.

Merlin groaned loudly into the duvet in frustration.

Stupid, stupid prat.

How dare he just disappear like it was nothing and leave Merlin there to worry like a mother hen over her eggs all day! He probably didn’t even realize how concerned Merlin was now.

It wasn’t like he was worried for no good reason, either, because that damn man knew how to get into trouble in any situation, and how the hell is he supposed to help Merlin deal with the fact that he’s immortal if he’s deadthanks to his own idiocy!

Merlin’s stomach turned at the thought, and he rolled over onto his back before sitting up. A frown creased his forehead, and he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth anxiously.

What if he really was in danger? What if he was really in danger and Merlin was here, thinking bad about him?

He should go look for him again.

He’s immortal, after all (yay), he doesn’t have to worry about dying protecting Arthur! Arthur, on the other hand, was a fucking beacon for assassins and danger. Right. That decided it.

Merlin pushed himself to his feet and quickly made his way to the door. Then, right as he moved to open it, the door opened to reveal the very prat he was leaving to save, and his heart calmed. He was safe.

“You’re safe…” Merlin sighed, visibly relieved. Arthur frowned in confusion and nodded.

“Yes… I am,” he agreed. Then, it hit Merlin.

He’s safe.

Merlin narrowed his eyes into a glare. “I’m going to turn you into a toad and squash you beneath my boot.”

Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction, before his lips pulled up into an amused smirk.

“Well, that’s rather messy—and graphic.”

“You deserve no less, where have you been?!”

“I was, with the druids, actually,” Arthur cleared his throat, looking away, “Morgana took me to see them.”

Merlin frowned, his glare disappearing to be replaced with a confused look. “What? Why were you with the druids? What took you all day with the druids?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “I… Needed their help with something. Look, it’s better if I just show you.”

The warlock raised an eyebrow, but let Arthur usher him into the room further, before sitting down at the table.

“Okay, go ahead, show me. What was worth making me worry my ass off?” Merlin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Arthur gave him a nervous smile before pulling a small phial out of his satchel and uncorking it.

Merlin tilted his head, frowning deeply. What was he…?

“Merlin, I’m immortal, too,” Arthur told him softly, and Merlin couldn’t help it. He snorted, laughing in obvious disbelief.

“Right, and I’m a god.”

Arthur sighed and hesitated, then raised the phial of liquid to his lips.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured before downing the contents. Merlin watched, growing more and more confused by his betrothed’s actions.

It was only when the phial slipped from Arthur’s hands and shattered on the ground as his skin began to pale and hands began to tremble that Merlin realized what was happening, and panic filled his body.

“Arthur? Arthur!” Merlin was on his feet in seconds, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders as he began to go limp, the—what Merlin now recognized as—poison taking action too fast for Merlin to think of a solution. He didn’t even know what he took! How could he help?! Arthur knew he was shit at healing magic, which was ironic considering he worked with Gaius for so long! “Arthur! Dammit, what are you doing?! Fuck, what did you do?!?”

Merlin’s heart was pounding and tears were filling his eyes as his breath quickened. “Fuck! Arthur, you bastard!” He snapped, unsure what to do, as Arthur’s body slumped in his arms.

He felt the King stop breathing in his arms and he swore his own heart stopped. Then… There was a gasp. A loud, sharp gasp. Then, a fit of coughs wracked Arthur’s body, his shoulders shaking.

Merlin was frozen, stunned. He… He was… But now he was… He really is—

“Arthur, oh, Arthur what did you do?”

Once he had stopped coughing, and Merlin had walked them over and sat them on the bed, Arthur took a deep breath and smiled stupidly.

“I had the druids show me how to use the cup of life,” he explained in a murmur, “I didn’t want you to be alone, for eternity. Now you won’t have to be.”

Merlin stared in silence at his betrothed for a few moments, shocked speechless. Arthur glanced away, coughing a bit more.

“Remind me, to never take Hemlock again,” he muttered rubbing his throat.

That snapped Merlin right out of his daze and he cuffed Arthur upside the head.

“You shouldn’t have taken it in the first place! What in the hell were you thinking?!” He demanded to know.

“I was thinking you wouldn’t believe me if I just told you I was immortal!”

“I would’ve if you just told me you used the cup!”

“Oh…”

Merlin let out a high laugh, shaking his head.

“Yes, oh!”

Arthur bit his lip, before looking away sheepishly. “Sorry… I suppose, I was just eager to tell you that you wouldn’t be alone anymore…”

A soft sigh let Merlin’s lips, and he ignored the way his heart flipped. “You’re an idiotic prat, you know? A massive cabbagehead. But… You just gave up your mortality for me… And while part of me hates that you’ll now be subjected to the same pain as I will be when our friends’ times come… I can’t help but feel so…”

“So, what?” Arthur pushed gently, laying back on the bed. Merlin shook his head and laid back beside him.

“I love you… And I can’t believe you love me so much, as to literally give up your mortality for me.”

Arthur smiled and looked over at him, his eyes drooping sleepily (probably tired from dying).

“I’d give up anything for you…”

#angst april #april angst prompt #one shot #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur #merthur #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #prompt: immortality #temporary character death #cw: technically suicide but only because he knew he would come back #not because he wanted to die

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dearest-bucky · 4 years

Text

One kiss is all it takes (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Requested by @softcobain - Where reader who’s Bucky’s best friend ask him to teach her how to kiss bc she really wants to impress a guy she’s going on a date with? But Bucky is totally in love with her, at first he doesn’t want to but then he agrees.

Words: 3.8K

Warnings: angst, fluff, one first detailed kissing scene lol

A/n: Because tumblr is apparently dumb I can’t tag the sweetheart that requested this, but @softcobain I really hope you like this love! 💕 Guys I got goosebumps while writing this, I hope y’all like it too.

Feedback is greatly appreciated! xx

The door of her small apartment made a small squeaky noise as she pushed it open. She wasn’t all that surprised to find it open, her key once again useless. The only noises in the otherwise quiet apartment were coming from the TV that was left on, some detergent commercial playing in one random channel. She turned on the small lamp next to the couch that she usually used to read at night, and smiled as the figure that was sleeping on her small and uncomfortable couch was illuminated by the soft light.

She crouched down next to him and softly touched his hair, making him stir in his sleep. “Hey sleepyhead, what are you still doing here?”

He opened one eye and when he was met with her face, a small smile crept onto his lips. “Hey, you’re back. Thought I’d wait up for you but apparently I failed at that too.”

She chuckled at his words and patted his cheek lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now.”

Bucky offered her a shy smile and got up in a sitting position, making space for her to sit on the couch too. “So, how was it?” He asked after she sat next to him.

She remained silent for a moment, as if she was thinking hard about the answer, but there was a smile plastered on her lips and a dreamy look on her eyes that kind of told Bucky everything he wanted to know. The answer, despite it not being said, was shown, written in her every feature. She finally turned her head on the side to face him, and then replied. “It was great. He asked me out again on Friday.” Her smile never faltered, but as she looked at Bucky’s reaction her eyes narrowed a little in curiosity.

He nodded at her words and fixed his stare down, unable to look her in the eye anymore. He cleared his throat once and then without even looking at her again, got up from the couch. “That’s great, if you’re happy then I’m happy too. It’s better if I go back to my apartment now. Good night Y/n.” He didn’t even spare her another glance and left her apartment in a hurry, not even allowing her the time to wish him good night too. He slammed the door closed behind himself harder than he intended to and that made him wince, but he wasn’t about to go back and apologize for that.

With short but quick steps he arrived at his door on the other side of the hall and when he entered his apartment, without even realizing, he slammed his door shut too. He knew he had no right to be mad at her for going out on a date with somebody else, but he simply couldn’t talk his broken heart down. He’d been head over heels with Y/n for years and now having to see her date someone that wasn’t him, it was damn painful.

How could he even begin to explain what he felt for Y/n? Truth is he didn’t even remember how it all started.

After the Avengers defeated Thanos and Steve went to the past to get his second chance in life, Bucky chose to not stay with the rest of the Avengers at the new Avengers’ compound. Instead, with the help of Sam he bought a small apartment in Brooklyn where he’d been living for the last four years.

Y/n moved in her apartment on the other side of the hall only a couple of months after Bucky. When she was moving her furniture in, Sam, just like the perfect wing man he is, managed to introduce Bucky and Y/n, claiming they’d be neighbors so they needed to know each other if one of them ever ran out of sugar or flour. Bucky had scowled at Sam in annoyance but Y/n had only giggled at the new Captain America’s words and shook Bucky’s hand. “He’s right.” She had told him. “You’ll never know when one could need the help of a superhero.”

He had blushed then, at her words, and a smile had replaced the previous scowl.

That day they had both helped her move in, carrying the heavy boxes and the furniture. After everything had been put inside her new apartment, Sam and Bucky excused themselves and wished her a good night, seeing it was dark outside already. She had thanked them both for their help and when they were on the hall, she called out to Bucky. “Don’t be a stranger.”

He had smiled at her and nodded his head.

Ever since that day they’d spend many more days together, hanging out at each other’s apartments, but mostly at Y/n’s because she, as Bucky put it, had the better couch, despite the fact that it was smaller than his, but he enjoyed sitting close to her and watching movies and eating chinese takeout almost every night. Eventually those nights became an every night occurrence, and without even realizing, Y/n and Bucky had become best friends, helping each other with everything, relying to each other, taking care of each other whenever one was sick, mostly Y/n. She even managed to help him calm down after a nightmare when he had knocked on her door at 3 am sweating and crying in pain.

In the last four years they had become almost family to each other.

Despite her very friendly nature, Y/n was actually very shy when it came to romantic relations. So whatever feeling Bucky started developing for his neighbor/best friend, he buried deep inside his heart, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Because he knew there was no way someone as perfect as her would even like back someone like him.

Now he had to stand by and watch someone else take her out on dates and make her happy, when that could’ve been him.

With a heavy heart Bucky laid down on his bed and closed his eyes, a long sigh escaping his parted lips.

Bucky didn’t see Y/n the entire upcoming week. She was busy with her work and he spent most of the days at the compound, training for the next mission.

Days had been passing slowly and he missed her so much every passing minute, especially on the evenings when they’d be almost cuddled up next to each other on her couch and binge watching whatever Netflix series was on his “to-watch-list”. He wanted to knock on her door but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. After all she had started seeing someone now so he didn’t know if she still wanted him to go over.

It was almost 6 pm on a Saturday when he heard the hesitant knocks on the wood of his door and he moved lazily through his apartment to answer it. He was surprised to find Y/n on the other side of it.

She was wearing a nice dress, perfect for the warm weather of May evening and even more perfect for her. She looked absolutely breathtaking, but the almost panicked expression written all over her face made him break out of his stupor sooner than he would’ve wanted.

“Hey, Y/n. What’s up?” He spoke a little awkwardly, not knowing how to act around her anymore. It seemed as if it had been an eternity since the last time he saw her. Usually when she came over, she never knocked and she would always greet Bucky with a hug or a kiss on the cheek, but that seemed like a long time ago, and somewhat an inappropriate thing to do now.

She greeted him with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and asked him if she could come in.

“Uhmm, yeah yeah, sure.” He said, a little confused, but moved on the side to let her inside his apartment and closed the door again.

He saw her move towards the living room, but she never sat down, standing awkwardly in the middle of the small space between the couch and his coffee table.

“Is everything alright Y/n?” He asked then, unable to bare the silence anymore.

She picked her head up and looked at him, a look Bucky couldn’t quite understand. “I need your help.” She finally spoke. Her voice was unsure, even a little shy when she spoke, but he heard her loud and clear.

“Sure, doll. What can I do for you?” Always the hero. Always trying to help. Always helping.

She remained silent for a moment, as if wanting to organize her thoughts well and then she finally started speaking again. “So you know I’ve been talking to this guy for the past month..” she began and Bucky noticed how she was picking up at the skin of her fingernails, a tick of nervousness he knew she had. He moved closer to her and placed his hands on hers, stopping her assault on the fragile skin that had started to bleed a little already.

“What about him? Is everything okay? Is he bothering you? Do I need to kick his ass?” His mind was running a million miles per minute, thinking of the worst case scenarios, but she only shook her head lightly in response.

“Everything is okay with him. He’s great. It’s just…” She hesitated a little before she continued again. “Last night we went out and at the end of the date he walked me home and when he was saying goodnight he leaned in and wanted to kiss me and I turned away so he ended up kissing me on the cheek.” She explained, blushing a little and Bucky was listening to her every word intently.

“Tonight we’re going out again, to the movies this time and this is the third date and I’m thinking we should kiss, right? But I don’t know.” She concluded and let go of his hands that were holding hers, moving to the couch and finally sitting.

Bucky followed her lead and sat too. “You don’t know what?” He asked. If she were unsure about this guy she shouldn’t feel obligated to kiss him. She didn’t owe him anything. She should know that.

But Y/n surprised him with the next words she spoke. “I don’t know how to kiss.” She said and a crimson red painted her cheeks after the words had left her mouth.

Bucky could only stare at her, a little shocked at the confession and that only made her feel more embarrassed than before. “Forget it, this was a stupid idea.” She said when he took a moment too long to reply and she tried to get up from the couch, but Bucky finally came to his senses.

“No, please doll.” He spoke softly and she sat down again. “I’m sorry.” He continued. “You took me by surprise, that’s all. I mean, how is it possible that you don’t.. you know.. know? How to kiss?”

The entire situation was embarrassing and awkward and they both were wishing the ground would open and swallow them whole.

Y/n felt her cheeks aflame by the embarrassment she was feeling. She knew it was a crazy idea to come to Bucky about this, but he was her only friend.

Despite the fact that she was 26 years old she was an introvert and she didn’t have many friends. Except for Bucky who was her best friend, she had another childhood friend back in her hometown but she was too far to come and help Y/n with her situation.

Her entire life she had avoided people as much as possible, especially boys and men. She never had a boyfriend in her life and she never even kissed a boy before. That’s why she was in Bucky’s apartment now, asking him for help.

“I just..” she stuttered a reply. “Never kissed someone, so I don’t know how..” Her words were spoken in an almost hushed whisper, still mortified from the situation at hand.

“Okay, so you need me to…?”

“To teach me how to kiss.” She said matter of factly but she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They had sounded better in her head than they did when she said them out loud, but there was no way she could take them back now.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her request but he composed himself quickly. He was a highly trained assassin for God’s sake, he knew how to mask his emotions, but apparently not around Y/n. “I can’t do that!” He finally exclaimed and he watched her face fall after those words. “I mean, it’s not fair to you.” He was quick to add and Y/n looked back up at him. “It’s your first kiss and it should be with someone you have feelings for. Not with me.”

“But Bucky…” A sound of protest left her lips. Those rosy and pillowy lips that he had wished so many times to kiss and that were now asking him to do so. “I’m going to be so embarrassed when he tries to kiss me again and I just stay there. It will be terrible if I just froze in the spot, you know.” She was trying to reason with him as much as she could. “Please? I kind of like this guy and I don’t wanna look stupid in front of him.”

“Doll. You could never look stupid.” He replied, still not saying anything about her request.

He wanted to give in and kiss her so much, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. His heart and his mind were in war at the moment.

“Please Buck?” She tried again. “You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t really important to me.” She pleaded and Bucky knew who won the battle inside of him. How could he refuse those lips that he had dreamed of for several years now? How could he refuse her pretty eyes, giving her that sad puppy dog look he absolutely adored? He simply couldn’t. That’s why he found himself slowly nodding his head in response.

“Okay, okay doll. I’ll help.” He said and she nodded back to him, a small smile forming on her lips. “Just one kiss to show you how it’s done.”

“Okay.” She replied and he let out a long breath at the sight of her looking so hopeful now, and beautiful, always.

They turned their bodies to face each other and Bucky cupped her cheek with his flesh hand. Ever so slowly he started closing the distance between their faces, until their noses were almost touching.

Y/n had closed her eyes and was waiting for him to place his lips on hers, but she could only feel his soft breath tickling her lips, but not touching them.

“Relax, doll.” She heard him say and her shoulders sagged a little, finally free from the tension she’d been holding in. “Just go with it and let it happen.”

She was ready to say something when she finally felt his lips touch hers, so softly she thought she must be dreaming it. With the same softness he started kissing her lips, slowly, gently, just like a breeze touching the leaves on the trees. He slowly coaxed her lips to part and she quickly complied, allowing him to deepen the kiss a little, feeling the kiss a little more. He was caressing her lips with his, happy to finally be able to do so, his flesh hand holding her cheek while the metal one moved to her hair, carding through her silky locks.

Too soon for his liking she ended the kiss, but she didn’t back away from him. Her eyes were hooded and her lips still parted when she whispered his name. “Buck..”

It was all he needed to delve in again for another kiss, this one more passionate. He couldn’t hold back anymore, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, kissing her lips with a passion that was about to burn him entirely. He had been holding back for too long.

The hand in her hair gripped the locks tightly in between the fingers and he felt her let out a small moan against his mouth at the action, which only spurred him to kiss her more. Tongues hugging each other and teeth clashing with each other, biting and kissing and licking lips, starved for each other.

Her hands had found home in his shirt, bunching the material in her fists as she reciprocated his kiss with everything she had.

They had been so lost in each other, not even considering about stopping, until the phone in her pocket ringed and she whined lowly in Bucky’s mouth in annoyance.

“Forget about it.” He spoke between kisses but the device continued ringing until they were forced to part away from each other. Y/n had an apologetic look in her eyes as she fished the phone out of her pocket and she visibly winced when he saw the name on the screen.

She waited a moment until she fixed her breath before answering. “Hi, Andrew.” She spoke, not looking at Bucky anymore. “Yes, I’m ready. I’ll be down in 5 minutes. Okay.” She hung up the phone and finally looked at Bucky again.

He had an unreadable expression in his face while he was still trying to catch his breath from the mind-blowing kiss they just shared.

“I’m sorry. My date is here, I have to go.” Y/n said and waited for Bucky to say something, anything, but he just nodded his head and got up first from the couch, moving to the front door and opening it for her.

She got up too and walked out of the apartment, unable to say another word to him. When she finally reached the door of her own apartment and was entering it, Bucky finally decided to break the silence.

“You’re a quick learner Y/n. Kiss him like that and he’ll be yours forever.” She wanted to laugh at his words, but she just turned her head back and smiled sadly at him.

“Thanks Buck.” She said before he closed the door and entered his apartment again.

This is it, he thought as he sat back on his couch. The same couch where less than 5 minutes ago he was kissing the woman he loved. He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve said something. Asked her not to go on that stupid date with stupid Andrew. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he was a coward.

Besides, if Y/n felt something for him, after that kiss she sure would’ve said something too. But she didn’t. She just got up and left to go on her date with another man, leaving Bucky behind with swollen lips and a broken heart.

It was less than three hours later that she finally came back. Bucky heard the keys jingle out in the hall and he knew she was back. She was probably coming back home with her date, he thought, but he was shocked to see her open his door and enter his apartment instead.

She seemed hesitant as she walked inside his place, finding Bucky slouched on the couch, a half finished bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Bucky?” She called his name cautiously and he picked up his head to look at her. The same dress from before, except this time she was wearing a denim jacket over it too. He stared at her for a while, simply admiring her beauty, cursing himself for not being enough for her.

“Are you drunk?” The question left her lips without thinking. She knew he couldn’t get drunk, but when she saw him like that it was the first thing that came to mind.

“You know I can’t get drunk doll.” His reply was court and composed. “How did it go? Where’s your date?” He then asked her, despite the fact that he had no interest in knowing the answer to either of those questions.

She moved to sit on the couch next to him, the same spot he had stolen her breath away with one kiss a couple of hours ago, and she couldn’t think of nothing else except for that kiss. “It was okay.” She spoke mechanically, staring at his face. In her mind she was still kissing him.

“Did you kiss him?” Another question he didn’t want to know the answer of but he couldn’t help but ask it. Her only reply was a nod, but it was enough for Bucky to understand what she meant.

He slouched his head, dejected, broken, not wanting to be near her anymore. He had lost her.

“Yes, I kissed him.” She spoke a second later and Bucky wanted to tell her he understood that from her nod. “But I realized his weren’t the lips I wanted to kiss me, the lips I wanted to kiss.” She added a little breathlessly.

Bucky fixed his eyes on her, this time waiting with curiosity for her to continue. That she did. “I never wanted to go to that date after the most amazing kiss of my life, but I didn’t want to be rude to Andrew, so I thought I’d give him a chance, because he was a really nice guy.” She let out a small breath before she continued to speak again, Bucky patiently and curiously listening to her. “The entire time we were out I was still thinking about a certain set of lips that managed to set me on fire. And I thought to myself, it’s just because it was my first kiss. I’m sure if I kiss Andrew it will be even better, because I like Andrew. So I kissed him, but there was nothing. I was still searching for a different kiss in him. I was still asking to feel another man’s lips on mine.”

The bottle of alcohol he’d been holding in his hands, he placed it carefully on the coffee table before turning his body to the side to fully face her. “Doll, what are you saying?”

She let out a small sigh before answering, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m saying I don’t want to kiss anyone else beside you.” She confessed and it seemed that the world came to a stop.

He moved to get closer to her, this time both of his hands cupping her cheeks, inching their faces so close to each other once again. “Are you sure?” There was a slight tremble in his voice when he asked the question, but there was none in hers as she answered “Absolutely.” before locking her lips to his and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Their mouths continued the exploration and their hands found homes in each other’s bodies.

Bucky was so happy he could die. He kept kissing her like his life depended on it and between kisses he managed to speak. “Good, because I’m planning to kiss you for the rest of my life.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

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moonknightly · 4 years

Text

When Will the Stars Align? : Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Excerpt: “You wanted Poe to want you just as much as you wanted him, and you wanted him to put his hand on your thigh while he whispered into your ear, but he’d never look at you like he was looking at her.”

Warnings: MORE ANGST BC WHAT ELSE AM I GOOD FOR???? Swearing, uh, completely unedited 3am writing.

It couldn’t have been more obvious.

You were staring. You were staring so blatantly so and anyone who looked your way would immediately realize exactly what you were doing. And what made it even worse was the fact that they could simply follow your line of vision and know for certain that you were staring at him, nonetheless.

It was so fucking obvious, and yet you couldn’t even find it within yourself to feel ashamed or embarrassed over it. It wasn’t like he had noticed for himself. Yet.

But even with the idea of being caught by him fluttering through your mind, you couldn’t tear your gaze away. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you were almost entranced by him, but you knew it was simply the alcohol coursing through your veins, making you just a little bolder, giving you just a little more courage.

Or maybe you really were entranced by him, because Maker, you couldn’t stop staring.

It was absurd, how truly and undeniably handsome one man could be. Poe Dameron was so perfect, so breathtaking, so ethereal, and those words didn’t even do him any sort of justice. It didn’t make sense to you, how someone like him could exist — you would lay in bed night after night and try and wrap your head around it but you never could. He was truly something unparalleled, something nearly unfathomable.

And of course, you weren’t the only one who thought so, and that might’ve been why you really didn’t care if you were caught staring. Or maybe it was because Poe was your friend, and he wouldn’t think twice of it. No, if he caught you staring, he’d probably think you were just trying to gain his attention, and end up making his way over to your table and plop himself down into the chair across from you.

At least, that was what he normally would’ve done.

Now you doubted he would even be able to feel your gaze on him, he was so preoccupied. You didn’t think he even knew that you were there, sitting in the cantina, watching him flirt with a random woman at the bar during a rare, brief moment of reprieve from the war.

He deserved it. Really, he did. Poe deserved every chance he could get his hands on to just be a normal human being, doing normal things without a threat looming overhead, and that included getting drunk and trying to pick up people at a bar.

Poe deserved it, more than anyone you thought, but that didn’t stop the jealousy from swirling deep in the pit of your stomach, creeping its way up into your veins, turning your blood into fire as it rushed through you. Your emotions — another absurd thing you could never truly comprehend. You shouldn’t have been jealous, he was only your friend.

But it should’ve been you. You wanted it to be you. You wanted Poe to want you just as much as you wanted him, and you wanted him to put his hand on your thigh while he whispered into your ear, but he’d never look at you like he was looking at her.

Just friends. Only ever friends.

You tried to remind yourself that that was fine. You’d made a silent vow to Poe so long ago that you’d be whatever he needed, whatever he wanted you to be whenever he needed you. It didn’t matter what he was in your life so long as he was in it, and as you sat there and stared and wallowed, you repeated that mantra to yourself over and over again, trying to push back your feelings and bury them like you had become so well practiced with.

But it wasn’t working this time, and again, you blamed the alcohol. If anything, the jealousy and the longing grew worse as you watched him laugh at something the woman had said. You wanted to be the reason behind every laugh of his, always.

Maybe if he would just look at you, you could convince him that what he truly wanted was you, even if it was only for the night as you knew this girl would be.

But he was suddenly cut off from your line of vision, and you blinked several times to adjust your eyes, taking in the sight of Finn sliding into the seat across from you, a small scowl on his lips.

He was the only one who knew for certain your feelings for Poe, and you knew he didn’t approve of what you were doing to yourself just then.

Finn peeked over his shoulder, watching Poe for just a moment or two before settling his eyes back on you, gaze just a little softer than it had been before.

“You’re staring at him.”

You scoffed gently, shaking your head and leaning back in your seat, folding your arms across your chest as you forced yourself to continue looking at Finn and not let your eyes travel behind him. “Am not. I just happened to look over and he just happened to be there.”

“Oh yeah?” he hummed, mirroring your actions but adding a quirked eyebrow into the mix. “So why was that look on your face then?”

You tilted your head to the side, genuinely curious. Had you been glaring? Frowning? “What look?”

Finn shrugged his shoulders, seeming to be choosing his words carefully. “You just get this look in your eye when you’re around him. Like you’re staring up at the night sky or something.”

“And?”

He looked down at the table, shrugging again. “You love the stars.”

You were silent, for several long seconds, letting his words sink in, only repeating yourself when you did find your voice again. “And?”

“And you’re going to kill yourself if you continue to just sit here and stare at him.”

“He’s my friend, Finn.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, though the sound held no humor. “Your friend that you’re stupidly in love with.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Again. And? He doesn’t love me like that and that’s fine. I’m happy for him.”

“No you’re not.”

“I have to be.” You were trying to be.

“So why are you sitting here making yourself miserable by watching him? That seems kind of counterproductive if you’re truly trying to be happy for him.”

You were silent again, trying to come up with an answer, some sort of reasoning, but really, you had no idea what you were doing. Why were you even there? You had no plans to drink, hadn’t been visiting with anyone until Finn came along. Were you really just at the cantina to watch him?

It was pathetic. You were pathetic. Your feelings were pathetic and you needed to get better at bottling them up again, at holding them back so that you didn’t accidentally ruin your friendship.

Friendship. Nothing more, never anything more.

You hated yourself for questioning whether or not it was even worth it anymore.

Finn pulled you away from that thought though, reaching across the table and taking your hand, squeezing it just once.

“Sweetheart, you’re just going to hurt yourself if you stay here and watch him.”

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, nodding your head slowly. “I know.”

“Come back to base with me. We can sit in your quarters and eat those sweets we bought on Coruscant and do whatever it is that girls do to get over jerky guys.”

You gave a small, genuine laugh at that, shaking your head gently. “There’s not going to be any getting over him, but I’m always down for some sweets.”

Finn and you both knew that as long as Poe played a part in your life, you’d never be over him. And again, you found yourself wondering if holding him close was worth your own heartache anymore. The thought made your chest squeeze even tighter, and you left it alone to deal with another day. Now wasn’t the time, not when you were already hurting. You couldn’t add to it, not then.

And so you stood, letting Finn lead you from the dirty cantina with his hand loosely in yours — a platonic gesture you appreciated to no end. It was comforting, and kept you from getting lost in the crowd.

And for some reason, it kept you from glancing towards Poe again.

But if you had, you would’ve found his eyes — his brown eyes that you loved so much full of a familiar jealousy and locked on you, watching you leave with another man. With Finn.

Why did it have to be Finn?

The woman sitting in front of him lost his interest completely as his mind started to race, his stomach swirling with emotions he usually kept trapped under lock and key, and all he could think about was chasing after you. He should’ve chased after you, but he was completely frozen, unable to remember how to get his legs to work properly. He felt like he was going to be sick.

And so he merely sat there, not even noticing as the woman in front of him excused herself at his sudden lack in response. It didn’t matter, she didn’t matter to him.

You did. You mattered more than anything to Poe.

But he still couldn’t bring himself to move, and he wished that you would just turn around. He wished you would glance over your shoulder and see him sitting there, and notice how he was looking at you as if you were the brightest star shining overhead, burning just for him — the center of his own little galaxy.

He loved the night sky, too.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #star wars #tros #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron imagine

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rowdeyclown · 3 years

Note

i want to hear about your pokemon ideas!

oh man this is a dangerous question bc i am about to go OFF so i'll just leave this in a read more. also keep in mind i have only played platinum, moon/ultra moon, sword, and a little bit of red and lets go eevee, so if i accidentally steal something from another game whoops. also i do have a lot of inspiration from the games i played here anyway since i am less knowledgeable abt pokemon than most people but anyway here we go

setting: several years prior to the start of the game, as low as 18 or high as 100 years (i have specific reasons for that) this region was very prosperous with many young people moving in all the time to get a headstart on a successful life. the region is known for being nearly a perfect circle and there are 18 areas of the region, each corresponding to a different type. dead center is normal type, maybe i'll make a map later if i get more interested. by the time the story takes place however, the region has become uninhabitable and anyone who didn't evacuate died. for now im calling it Ebril

legendary: part of what once made ebril so prosperous was the presence of their legendary. idk the exact type of creature it is but it was worshipped as a god and protected the land. however an unknown sickness fell over it and it let out an explosion of energy across the whole region that turned each area into a hellscape. for example, the water region completely flooded over; the grass region sprouted dangerous plants everywhere that so much as touching them could kill a person; the fire region literally just lit up on fire and hasn't burned out, and so on. not only this but the air of the whole place is toxic, though the poison air is like 5 times worse. after this explosion the legendary disappeared, and ebril was completely abandoned. it's later revealed that the legendary has died.

characters: at the start of the game there are few people in the region. in fact there are exactly 4, and they all flew in from different regions.

the leader is one Professor Pine, a young professor from wherever the fuck probably new york with ancestors from ebril. she's always been fascinated with the region and decided to start figuring out a way to fix the place and make it habitable again. with her studies she figures out there's a chance to save it and so she contacts the professors of all regions with the request to help, though only 3 other people were sent in to help due to the dangers of this journey.

the player character(s) are both present in the game, a pair of twins named Jade and Grey. their names are puns on the word jaded and the phrase old and gray. the twins hail from kanto, the region the first games took place in iirc, and the player character u choose went on a pokemon journey at age 10. at present time they are anywhere around 18-20 bc theres no way any reasonable person is gonna let a minor into this apocalyptic region. the twin you don't choose at age 10 rather than taking a pokemon journey started working as an assistant to Professor Oak, and as an adult starts studying to become the next professor. the twin you choose had their journey and got all the way through until the elite 4 which they never beat, and for several years in frustration swore off battling. eventually they couldn't resist the call to the world of pokemon they used to love and they start working as an assistant alongside their twin. when Oak is contacted by Pine he initially refuses to help, but the twins find out and volunteer to go. Oak doesn't want them to but in the end he doesn't stop them.

the fourth member of the expedition is the former champion of some region who just got knocked off their throne by some 10 year old. they serve as the rival of this game. like the twins they found out about this expedition and with nothing better to do they decided to join in just to Feel Something. unlike the twins they never told anyone they were going.

starters: at the beginning the starter is actually either charizard, venusaur, or wartortle. after all this is kanto and the player did go on the journey. the twin has the pokemon that is weak to the player and the rival has the type that is strong against it. however Pine advises against bringing the actual starters bc the environment might be dangerous. however, as someone with ancestors from ebril, she does happen to have some baby pokemon native to the region, of course of the classic typings. seeing as how none of the pokemon in the region were much affected by the changes in atmosphere so she knows it's safe to bring them.

story: the expedition starts when Pine through remote studies discovers an energy wave coming from the center of ebril, one she hypothesizes is similar to the energy that destroyed the region in the first place. at this point in time no one knows the original legendary has died, but this leads Pine to wonder if the legendary is gathering the energy after their sickness and thinks maybe it has the power to reverse the damage. she develops hazmat suits that should be able to endure most of the terrain of the land but isn't 100% sure on their durability. with all the preparations she can do, Pine and co set out to land in the dead center of ebril

once there they discover a giant crater right at the center, and at the bottom is an egg. the egg is the source of the energy wave, and they think maybe it houses a baby legendary. the player character is the first to approach the egg and the moment they get near it, the egg hatches, revealing a baby pokemon. it bears a resemblance to the legendary so they assume it is indeed the child of the former legendary, and also it's fucking adorable. whenever i picture it i think of kubfu or toxel bc theyre both Baby so it definitely is shaped similarly. after study its found that surprisingly, this baby is normal type. they're confused because while there are conflicting accounts on what the legendary's typing was, there's an agreement that it's something like psychic or fairy or dragon. however, once the baby is right next to the starter of the player, it suddenly changes to the same type. they experiment with the other starters and find that the baby pokemon does change type depending on its environment, but cannot be more than one type at a time. it defaults to normal if its kept in a neutral environment away from other pokemon. basically it's kinda like silvally

and so they're all in the direct center of ebril which represents normal type and thus the only thing wrong with it is the toxic atmosphere, however Pine theorizes that the baby has the ability to fix areas due to the type changing. she comes up with two hypotheses: either bringing the baby into say the water area will turn it into a water type and it will be able to fix the place with the typing, or if you enter the water area while the baby is a type that is strong against water like grass or electric that can help overpower it and thus reverse the damage of the area. they don't have a fighting type with them so they can't test this theory about weaknesses right in the area they're in so they can only test the first theory, and of course it doesn't work out. and so the first part of the journey starts

each member of the expedition is given a role. Pine remains at base camp and does research there, the twin ventures out to observe the pokemon and how they've changed since the apocalypse, the rival does something or other idk i havent thought abt that, and the player takes the baby to try to heal each area. the first area visited is of course the area that is weak to their starter, so grass if it was fire, fire if it was water, and water if it was grass. these three areas surround the center of course so it works out. and just like Pine hypothesized, when the baby is the strong type in this area the surrounding radius of it and thus the player is completely safe.

in the journey the player discovers healing spots that work as a pokemon center, these spots are named an oasis. the player also encounters some of the wild pokemon which have grown feral and dangerous over time, so they're unable to catch them at the moment. some point in their journey they discover some other spot similar to an oasis, however it emits a strong energy similar to what the baby emits but on a higher scale, and when the baby is placed in the spot the whole area returns to the way it used to be. and so that becomes the goal: to travel to each area with the baby and fix them with this power spot. also every time the baby sits in a power spot it gains the ability to change to the typing of the area at will. also i should mention the baby is carried around in one of those baby backpacks bc i think that would be adorable.

the world is more or less completely open, the player can travel to any area as long as long as they're wearing a hazmat suit, but the area can only be fixed if the baby has been in an area that is strong to another area and so on.

and yeah thats abt what ive got, i havent thought too hard abt stuff like an evil team or whatever but maybe i will one day who knows. thanks for asking and if u read all the way to the end thank u!

#here's the mail it never fails #asterism343

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slightlymore · 4 years

Text

cute~

- a pride spin-off -

pairing: haechan x mark

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

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

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

words: 14K (oops)

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

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

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

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

Haechan groaned incredulously.

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

_______

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

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

Goddammit.

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

_______

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

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

Obviously.

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

Obviously.

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

Okay. Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______

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

It happened close to the lunch break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark swallowed and Haechan looked at him. "I haven't been myself lately. But I promise I'm not an asshole". Mark smiled back kindly. "I know. I can see that".

Haechan's expression flattered.

Mark took another bite. "You look very warm. Your name is very appropriate for your personality. You're just… very cute", he added with a shy smile.

Haechan continued staring at the other, unable to make a single sound.

The other had a few other bites as if not noticing the way his words made Haechan feel then he finally raised his gaze.

"Why are you not eating? Are you sick?" Mark inquired eyeing Haechan's sandwich. The boy finally sighed and looked up at the sky again. "Maybe". "Well, you'll get worse if you don't eat", Mark commented and grabbed the sandwich, unwrapping it and putting it into Haechan's hand with force. "I can't believe you're treating your supervisor like this. Calling him cute and forcing him to eat", Haechan stared at the food in his hand before taking a small bite, mostly to make Mark happy. The other shrugged. "You act like no one calls you cute every minute. Also, I am older than you. I can do that”. Haechan rolled his eyes. "I'm still your senior. You don't want to see me get mad. I can guarantee you that". Mark opened his mouth to say something dangerously similar to “cute” but then smiled instead, shaking his head. Haechan forced himself to keep a straight face. "If you say it again…", he warned the other. Mark cleaned his already clean fingers on a napkin then suddenly grabbed Haechan's cheek with two fingers. The boy's eyes got wide and he almost dropped his food, his mouth open in a surprised o.

Mark smiled even more at his reaction, gulping his last piece of food while gently pinching Haechan's face as if he were a child. Then he let him go and got up, dusting his pants. "I didn't say anything this time", Mark explained innocently.

Haechan looked up at him, still shocked.

"I'll see you in the office. Finish your food", Mark told him and left. Haechan could distinctly hear Mark comment "so fucking cute" while he was descending the stairs.

_______

That night Haechan fell into his usual decadent slumber. He was almost fully unconscious, the twilight sleep making space for a depraved and troubled dream. Fingers twitching and muscles quivering, Haechan’s mind transformed his day yearning in darkness. Images of eyes and lips tormented him again. It has always been the same pattern, yet something new derailed the boy’s focus that night. Little details. The roundness of the eyes, the form of the lips, the touch of the fingers, the voice. That voice sounded different and it whispered something Haechan has never dreamt about before. A single word, soft but sensual, repeated again and again in Haechan’s ear.

That morning, after a very long time, the boy woke up with a new name on his lips.

_______

Mark sometimes thought that everyone was just stupid besides himself.

Not because of an unhealthy superiority complex or something, but because he couldn’t understand how everyone could be that blind.

“Oh, Lara, I love your new blazer”, Haechan would say while walking around the company with Mark following suit. Poor Lara would blush and be genuinely happy about the compliment. But Mark could see that Haechan thought it was atrocious. And Adam’s stuttering speech a well. Oh, and Joseph’s wrinkly newborn.

However, it wasn’t this fake persona Haechan had that made Mark uneasy. It was the one he would wear when talking about himself. Oh, I slept very well last night. No, I don’t need any help. Yes, everything is fine, what do you mean? Smiles and laughs and sarcastic comments.

Mark wanted to know. He wanted to get closer and dust off the misty layer on Haechan’s eyes.

Maybe Mark thought too highly of himself. Maybe it was his ego talking.

I’m going to be the one to help Haechan, that’s the only thing he could think about.

And lately, during sleepless nights, Mark would beat himself up about it.

It’s not your business, Mark. You want this to feel a good person.

Except, he would then frown and hug his pillow tighter, getting annoyed at himself.

No, I would want it even it wasn’t me to help Haechan out. I just want to see him happy.

Yeah. This sounds good.

So he would drift away to sleep, peaceful, knowing that he was selfless.

Alas, it took very little to Mark to realize that he wasn’t that selfless as he thought.

Mark raised his eyes when Haechan’s abrupt manners opened the office door with a kick. “Haechan, you look good today”. The other smirked. “I always look good. What do you mean?” As if the literal sun entered the room. Mark was blinded. “Did something good happen?”, he watched Haechan’s hair bounce at his every step, like a little seedling gently moved by the breeze. Haechan’s smile widened as he sat down, rolling around in his seat, pure energy sprinkling from every pore. “So I guess the answer is yes,” Mark found himself smiling as well, although a bitter taste pasted his tongue on the palate as he spoke. “I just remembered how much serotonin a good fuck gives you,” Haechan opened his computer and started working on his tasks, not paying attention to Mark’s face.

Oh.

Mark hated it. Oh, he hated it so much. God, he hated it.

The boy tried hard to not think about Haechan that day, resulting in him thinking about Haechan all day. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about his body touched by somebody else.

It was almost lunchtime when Mark finally broke the silence. “So, now you’re dating someone?” Haechan raised an eyebrow, eyes still too focused on his computer to give his full attention to Mark. “What? No. Why?”, he mumbled distractedly. Mark blinked for a few seconds. Haechan finally processed and laughed. “You’re kinda sweet Mark. I just got dicked down, that’s all”, he got up and stretched his arms up with a whiny yawn. “Come on,” he lightly hit the other’s shoulder, “I think today’s menu is soup”.

______

Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark.

It was as if Haechan was going crazy.

It was just a dream. A single dream.

When did this happen? How was it possible?

“Fuck, Haechan, you’re-”, Jaemin gulped, his adam apple going up and down inside his stretched out throat just like Haechan’s body moved on top of him. “Yeah?” the directly concerned boy smiled. “-crazy today”, Jaemin concluded. “Who made you this horny?” Haechan bit his lower lip, hating his mind for not leaving that thought out, even if for a single second. “Call me--”, he ignore the other’s question, cheeks violently turning red. Jaemin groaned at the way Haechan sunk deeper on him in the process. “Call you what?”, he asked breathless, fingers tightening around Haechan’s painfully hard length. “Cute”, the boy finally whispered. And Jaemin said it, again and again until that word replaced Mark’s name from Haechan’s head.

_______

That day’s menu was indeed soup which only added to Haechan’s general euphoria. Mark walked one step behind him, troubled by the double sword his feelings formed inside his heart. His eyes were only on the younger’s face and Mark could only sigh every few seconds.

Oh, I’m falling in love. I’m falling in love.

Lost in his melodramatic thoughts, Mark didn’t notice when Haechan suddenly stopped. “Hey, boys. Haechan,” a dude greeted generally before locking eyes with the younger one. Haechan rolled his eyes and made a step back from where that guy was. The dude’s smile flattered as if annoyed at that obvious showcase of hatred towards him but kept his fake expression on as he looked at Mark instead. “So, I’m organizing this party downtown at the Garages. Do you want to come?”, he asked.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and eyed Haechan to see what the deal was about.

Haechan huffed. “Mark doesn’t like parties and neither do I, Jungwoo. Thank you”, he replied snarkily while making a step to continue walking.

Jungwoo smirked. “Says the party animal. You never mentioned it to me while I had you on my-”, but Haechan interrupted him, hitting his chest with the back of his hand.

Jungwoo chuckled with satisfaction.

“Oh, so the boy doesn’t have to know?” he asked indicating to Mark, faking innocence.”

Mark felt his jaw muscle flinch and a sudden urge to punch that dude in the face made his fists almost tremble.

“The boy doesn’t like the way you’re making his friend uncomfortable right now”, he spoke with a cold voice not breaking eye contact. “Whatever happened between you before, now Haechan doesn’t want to see you again and certainly he doesn’t want to come to your party”.

Haechan opened his mouth to say something but Jungwoo's laugh interrupted him.

“Oh, but he does want to see me again and come to my party. Don’t you, Haechan?” the dude asked.

“Of course I don’t, Jungwoo. Get fucked”, Haechan replied quickly, eyes rolling in their sockets, feet turning direction and walking away.

“I bet I will”, Jungwoo shrugged with a little smile, throwing one finger gun at Mark. “By Haechan”, he whispered with a wink while leaving him alone in the corridor.

To Mark’s horror, despite those two’s abrasive conversation, he could definitely see that as a silent promise.

So Mark went there as well.

Why? He didn’t know. He liked to think that he was concerned about Haechan’s safety.

That Jungwoo guy had some rancid vibes and Mark hated the idea of the two together. Because he was concerned for his safety.

Not because he was jealous or anything.

Haechan could do whatever he wanted and sleep with whoever he wanted to, but what if, just what if, Haechan changed his mind and chose Mark over the Jungwoo dude?

Mark could do that.

Mark wasn’t self-centred but he still realized that Haechan deserved better and he could provide that.

If that was Haechan needed to soothe the darkness in his eyes, Mark could do that.

But Haechan wasn’t there and neither was Jungwoo and the thought of that man’s hands on Haechan’s skin made Mark’s guts twirl on themselves.

He looked around, frantically, breathing the sweat-impregnated air, trying to avoid being hit by people’s sticky shoulders. Until he started to feel sick, not only because of the loud music and blinding lights but also for some obscure reason, grabbing his throat and choking him.

He had to drown that down.

_______

When Haechan arrived Mark was surrounded by people, eyes closed, face up exposing his neck, laughing and screaming, jumping and moving his body as Haechan has never seen someone do before.

His legs were nicely on display in a pair of severely ripped black jeans that Haechan had no idea Mark liked to wear.

The younger boy was so concentrated on the way a plain white T-shirt could look so good on a person that he noticed too late the way Mark directed his eyes towards him.

He was far away and Haechan couldn’t decipher the other's expression but it didn’t matter as Mark quickly made his way to where the younger boy nervously stood.

Mark was drunk. A lot.

But he still somewhat fluidly avoided the crowd as if dancing until getting as close as hovering above Haechan. The boy had never noticed that Mark was taller until he had to raise his face to look up, his back and palms pressed against the wall. He didn’t notice when he walked backwards either.

“Haechan”, Mark said his name with such worry to make the other’s heart beat like crazy. “Are you okay? Where have you been?”, or that's what Haechan deciphered from his lips since the music was so loud that his ribcage felt about to be ripped apart. “Home. I’ve just arrived”, Haechan yelled and Mark got even closer, giving his ear to the boy’s lips to hear better.

Haechan couldn’t do anything else besides inhaling his odour. Mark was a little sweaty and his breath smelled of alcohol, but Haechan has never found someone sexier than him at that moment.

His eyes were dark under his black curls and his lips looked swollen as if someone sucked on them. Haechan felt like prey and unconsciously pressed his body against the wall even harder.

“And where’s Jungwoo?”, Mark’s voice tingled Haechan’s earbuds. “I have no idea. Why would I know?”, Haechan replied, acting as if he didn’t realize why Mark was behaving like that.

It made Haechan’s palms sweat.

He thought about that a lot, at the way Mark got defensive of him in front of Jungwoo, at the way Mark’s expression darkened even after Haechan told them that he had no intention to go to the party, at the way Mark has been looking at Haechan a lot, at the way Haechan couldn’t just stop thinking about Mark for a single second either.

He came to the party because of that. Haechan’s mind was running again and he wanted to stop it. And also because he played with his phone all day, looking at Mark’s number for a long time.

Mark would have replied but did Haechan really want it? He was such a sweet person and Haechan didn’t dare to contaminate him with his presence. Mark didn’t deserve to be used as Haechan needed.

So he went to the party, ready to contaminate somebody else instead. Who knew that Mark was there waiting for him?

“I’ve been thinking about you the whole night”, Mark talked again after staring at Haechan as if trying to understand the younger one’s thoughts. Just like he has been for the past few months, making Haechan feel small and naked. "Yeah, I bet. While letting those people grind on you?" Haechan replied sarcastic trying hard to conceal his shaking voice.

Mark got closer, bold and cocky, putting his hands on the wall, caging Haechan between his arms, leaning in and whispering into his ear. "Yeah, I was imagining you grinding on me", his confession tickled Haechan’s ear and the boy tried to move his head away on the side, afraid to do something he would regret, but Mark's hand was there and his head had nowhere to go. It wasn't right.

Haechan was sober while Mark was drunk and had no idea what he was talking about. He had to go away, push him back, but his limbs weren't cooperating. Mark's hand though was working just fine and it gently grabbed Haechan's face, turning it into his direction.

"Haechan, please, let me kiss you", he begged, his breath caressing Haechan’s lips.

The boy gulped down surprised, shivering with desire, fighting with himself. He put his hands on Mark's chest, with the intent of lightly pushing him away, but he was made of iron. No, Mark, no, please. You’re too precious to me for this.

"You don't know what you're talking about", Haechan mumbled.

Mark breathed heavily. His jaw muscles tightened. Then he put his head down as if trying to gain forces.

"Yeah, sorry, okay okay, I'm leaving", he retrieved his arms and let them fall to his sides like dead flesh.

Haechan looked at them with some relief, suddenly feeling exposed and cold, even if the club's air was so hot that it was hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just him having breathing difficulties. Haechan had no idea.

"No, wait", his lips betrayed him. "Just-", Haechan interrupted himself, eyes squeezed together as if already regretting what he was about to say, unsure, holding Mark's wrist with both hands. Then he opened his eyes again.

Mark was looking at him his heavy lids. His gaze wandered from his face to his exposed neck, then to his collarbones and chest. Mark was undressing him without touching anything and Haechan felt like going crazy.

"-just a kiss. Okay? It's going to be a short kiss", Haechan continued, unable to believe he was actually saying that.

But there was no harm in that. A little kiss. Just a harmless little kiss. Like the ones you'd have in college during stupid games. No one thought about those in the mornings.

But when Mark's lips curved in a little smirk and his body got as close as to press on Haechan's one again, the younger boy knew that it wasn't going to be just a kiss. Not for him at least. And not only he would think about it in the morning. He probably would think about it for a long time. And he was right. It was indeed memorable. Slow and careful but not timid. Mark cupped the other’s face, palm pressed on his jaw, fingers as far as touching his neck and ear, the other grabbing his hips, pulling them against his. Haechan’s head felt light and he couldn't fathom how Mark managed to have so much control when he was about to lose it all. And then it became even worse as Mark slipped his tongue inside of Haechan’s mouth and the younger boy had to tighten his grip around Mark’s torso. He whined into Mark's mouth, making the other hum back, picking up the pace, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, letting his hand fall from Haechan's face to his neck, then chest, then to his stomach, grazing the skin separated by Mark's fingers only by his thin button-down.

Haechan had to stop him. It was going too far. That was a mistake. They still had to work together. There’s a reason why Haechan avoided talking to the coworkers he fucked before. Mark wasn't realizing that but Haechan did. He had to be responsible.

Stop him, Haechan. Stop him.

"Mark, wait", he broke off the kiss when Mark's hands reached his jeans button. The boy looked down at him, panting, eyes half-closed: he was begging Haechan to let him continue.

Haechan grabbed his shirt and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows.

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?", he warned him, shutting his brain off. "Okay", Mark replied quickly putting his mouth on Haechan's again as if unable to be away from it for too long. And he put his hands on Haechan's jeans again as well, opening the button, letting the zip fall slowly, tucking his hand underneath Haechan's boxers, feeling his soft and hot skin, wrapping his fingers around him tightly, not letting the struggling Haechan to break off the kiss to moan. And he didn't even last too long. The boy came shuddering all over Mark's fist after a few good strokes and the older finally let him press his face into his chest.

Shit, he had never lasted this little. What the hell.

Haechan was fucking embarrassed and if Mark wouldn't have been too drunk to remember anyway, he would have just run away to hide in that exact moment.

"Fuck", Mark cursed under his breath, feeling Haechan’s hot release on his skin, nudging at Haechan's temple with his lips while the other came down from his high. "Oh, fuck, you're so hot like this, Haechan. And cute. Shit, you're so cute, I'm going crazy", he babbled before letting Haechan's cock go and trying to bring his fingers to his lips. "Oh no", Haechan gulped trying to stop him. "Mark, don't. You touched all sort of things in the club with that hand", and Mark stopped for a second as if processing the information before dropping to his knees and tasting Haechan directly.

The boy opened his mouth in a silent gasp and he was still so aroused that feeling Mark's tongue made him hard again in a second.

"Fuck", Haechan swore loudly, pressing his fingers into the wall behind him, letting his head fall back, feeling himself grow harder inside Mark's mouth.

He didn't expect it. He didn't expect any of this. Innocent and soft Mark Lee sucking him off like no one has done before in the dark corner of a club? Haechan the slut coming in two seconds and getting hard again soon after? Past Haechan would have laughed, yet there he was, moaning Mark's name like a mantra, coming for the second time in minutes like a little virgin.

It was no dream. It was a reality.

Mark didn't let him go and Haechan felt like flying as his cum descended inside Mark's throat. And then he looked down right in time to catch a glimpse of Mark's eyes, looking up at him, letting his cock out with a lewd plop. "Mark, where did you learn that?", Haechan asked suddenly exhausted. The boy licked his lips and held onto Haechan to get up, shakily. "Was that good? It was my first time doing it", he mumbled with a smile before resting his head on Haechan's shoulder, the cocktail he had right before adding to his brain fog.

_______

Mark woke up to the sound of a heartbeat. It was a comforting sound. Deep and regular.

He groaned softly as his lids realized they were getting hit by bright and irritating sunlight. Then he opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the windows first, vision blurry, then on the plant underneath it, then on the young man underneath him.

Mark's muscles got a spasm and woke up completely as his brain finally made sense of what was going on. Meaning that his face was resting on Haechan's chest. Bare chest. And his own torso, bare torso, was wrapped by the boy's arms.

Oh fuck, he thought. Oh shit.

"It's too late in the morning to run away", Haechan mumbled, waking up softly as well.

Mark froze as he was trying to get up. He was propped up on an elbow when Haechan opened his eyes and Mark felt his breath hitch.

Haechan was there, pillow adorned with his luscious locks lying all around his head like a halo, chocolate eyes warmed by the sun shining through the windows and his skin, God, he looked like an angel.

"I'm not going away", Mark lied, surprising himself by how deep and hoarse his voice sounded like. "Fuck, you're so cute right now", he whispered soon after, unable to control himself.

Haechan's eyes got wider at Mark's words. He expected Mark to freak out, and Mark was freaking out inside a lot, but having Haechan like that, underneath him, vulnerable and beautiful as never before, made Mark feel peaceful at the same time.

This is all he wanted in life.

The older managed to keep it together for a few other seconds, trying to look confident, but when Haechan's cheeks reddened with blush, Mark lost it and blushed as well, rolling away, grabbing a pillow to hide his face in with a scream.

"I can't believe it", his voice came out muffled. "Oh my God", he yelled quietly.

Haechan started to chuckle embarrassed. "What an idiot".

"How-", Mark removed the pillow enough for one eye to poke out. "How far-", he stuttered.

Haechan rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance.

"Just oral", he whispered while getting up and putting his feet on the ground, turning his back to Mark, unable to look at him in the face either.

"Oh", the other sounded weirdly disappointed. Haechan pinched the base of his nose. That man was sending such mixed messages. "You did dry hump my ass if that makes things better", Haechan spoke through his teeth, embarrassed out of his mind, grabbing the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand. "I'm sorry. You deserve to get fucked properly", Mark replied quietly as if thinking at loud, making Haechan choke on his water and spit it all around the room.

Mark sat up quickly and placed a hand on Haechan's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The choking boy turned around to face him.

"I thought you'd be all embarrassed about this", he commented while drying his wet lips with the back of his hand.

"I am!" Mark's eyes got wide and his red ears confirmed it, but it was still not what Haechan expected.

"I mean", Haechan hesitated, unsure of what words to use, "I thought you'd regret it in the morning. You were really drunk last night and you had no idea what you were doing”.

Mark's face visibly darkened.

"Do you regret it?", he asked.

Haechan went on with his phrase ignoring Mark’s question. "-like I was sober and I was worried that maybe I should have-".

"Haechan".

Mark's voice was so deep and serious that Haechan's heart started to beat faster upon hearing him calling his name like that. "Answer me. Do you regret it? Did I- fuck - did I do something wrong?", Mark asked ruffling his hair with one hand. He looked so worried and distressed that Haechan for a second didn't know what to say.

"No", the younger finally shook his head. "No", he repeated. "I was aware of everything and I made my choice consciously but you-", Haechan hesitated again. "Me too", Mark spoke up, nodding. "I remember everything until you helped me to get out of the club. After I sucked y-".

"Don't say it", Haechan stopped him with a raised palm.

Mark chuckled embarrassedly.

If only Haechan knew how cute he was being in that moment, faking his serious face and steading his voice. Mark would have wanted to see Haechan confess just how weak he was.

"So you, like, you wanted it? Not because you were just drunk and I happened to be there?", Haechan asked timidly. Haechan couldn't believe he was so shy to talk about sex with someone. It has never happened before. Nothing he did with Mark happened before.

Mark gulped down. "I wanted it, yeah. I didn't do it because I was drunk. I did it thanks to that. I don't think I would have had the courage otherwise", he explained. "But I'm also sorry. It mustn't be nice to- like--uh, you know, with a drunk person", he stuttered, eyes closing and opening as he thought about the words to use.

Haechan looked down, shyly. "You were very hot actually", he whispered back, scratching the back of his head.

"Haechan," Mark finally found his voice after a moment of shocked silence. "I swear to God, I would take you-", but interrupted himself abruptly.

Haechan looked at him flustered.

Mark cleared his voice.

Then he shook his head.

"No", he chuckled at himself. "Nothing, never mind", he added suddenly getting up, the covers sliding down his naked body.

Haechan looked at it. He had looked at it the whole night. That night he kissed every inch of that skin and listened to Mark's soft moans. And Haechan realized that it wasn't a hookup. At all. Not for him. But Mark didn't remember that part and Haechan didn't want to tell him. If Haechan had to think about it for the next month, so be it. It was all on him. He let himself go too far and he wasn't talking about the physical aspect. It was all his fault if his heart was aching to see Mark get dressed instead of lying beside him, cuddling, or better, doing what Mark didn't dare to tell him.

_______

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?".

Forgetting.

Mark wanted to forget but he couldn't do it. Not the day after and not on Monday morning, seeing Haechan's pretty lips so close to him and not being able to kiss them.

Mark lied when Haechan asked him what he remembered.

Well, not entirely, because he did forget some parts.

But he was definitely lucid when Haechan went down on him, slowly, after kissing his lips, then his neck, sucking on his skin, then his chest and stomach as Mark wrapped Haechan's hair around his fingers. The boy asked multiple times if Mark was okay with that until Mark had to basically beg to just suck him off already. And God, he was so cute doing it. He would never forget how that felt. Divine. His head was so light as if zero oxygen got to it, every drop of blood concentrated inside of Haechan's warm and wet mouth instead.

And he was staring at that mouth now, as Haechan explained the work to do for the day. Mark wasn't even that horny. No. He just wanted to hold him again and softly press his lips on Haechan's plump ones.

"Tomorrow we forget about this".

Haechan was sober when he said that. He meant it. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. Right? Should he ask? Haechan, did you forget? Do you want to forget? Because I don't.

And I can't.

"Mark", Haechan snapped his fingers in front of him making the boy jolt. "Focus", he ordered. "What are you thinking about?".

You. I'm thinking about you. You. You. I've been thinking about you for days, Haechan.

"Lunch", Mark shrugged. Haechan rolled his eyes. "What an idiot".

_______

That afternoon Haechan was in a relatively good mood.

He should have known that the most peaceful days could bring the most terrible storms though.

So he jolted at the sound of a voice he almost forgot how it sounded like.

"Haechan, I thought you died or something".

The boy in question looked up from his computer to see a pair of feline eyes.

They were bright and amused. Then he saw the lips. Soft and pink stretched in a sweet smile.

Doyoung was still like a house with all the lights on, but now it wasn’t empty anymore. Now everyone was home. This house was full of people, all happy and content.

Haechan was so glad. He truly was. This is what he has always wanted to see since first locking eyes with that man. But he also felt suddenly miserable. Miserable and confused.

His heart shouldn't have skipped a beat like that. Not anymore.

"I did die and I just got back from hell", he replied, trying to sound as snarky as possible. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"What about you? You also went missing". Doyoung blushed subtly at the innuendo and Haechan felt the urge to punch the table. Or himself. "I've been busy", Doyoung replied softly. "So you went to paradise instead, I see", Haechan commented with a smile hoping that no one noticed how fake it was.

_______

"A man can't have his alone time in peace. What do you want?", Haechan rolled his eyes while Mark sat down beside him, resting his back on the rooftop wall, looking in front of him at the blue sky.

It was a sunny day with a slight breeze, enough for Haechan's fringe to wave gently.

Mark loved it when the wind ruffled Haechan's hair but he couldn't bring himself to look at the younger boy. Not at that moment.

"I didn't know", Mark whispered. "What?", Haechan's voice came out irritated but he didn't care.

"That you were in love", Mark added.

Haechan choked on his breath.

"I'm not", he crossed his arms on his chest and closed his eyes as if sunbathing. Conversation over, it meant. An angry bronzing session.

Mark finally looked at him then, feeling safe as he wasn't seen back. He watched the way Haechan’s skin glowed under the warm rays. Mark thought about how it would feel under his fingertips but he wasn’t sure. He touched it before but now he couldn’t remember it. Mark wanted to raise one hand and touch his cheek again, this time fully concentrating on the feeling. He wanted to let it slide down the boy’s jawline, feeling the sharp bone, then on his neck where the angry pulsating artery pumped blood at a crazy speed. Then he wanted to hear Haechan’s soft breath as his hand unbuttoned his shirt, this time feeling his heartbeat. Mark wanted it to be fast and only for him. For Mark.

It all made sense now. But why does it have to be like that? What should Mark do? What do people do in this scenario?

Was he thinking about this Doyoung guy? Has Haechan been thinking about other men? The whole time? While Mark was thinking about him?

Was he imagining kissing that man's lips while Mark's mind was full of Haechan and Haechan only?

Of course, he would.

What was Mark thinking? Isn’t this what he accepted? Isn’t this what he decided to adventure in? Why was Mark suddenly so hurt about Haechan behaving as he anticipated him to do?

We forget about this in the morning and Mark was certain now that Haechan actually did forget.

"Does he know?", Mark asked after a while. Haechan snorted. "Of course he doesn't". "He doesn't know what?".

The other boy sighed at the trap.

"Just leave me alone", he ordered. And Mark actually got up and left.

Haechan's cheeks got wet right when it started to rain.

_______

"Mark, if you have something to say, just say it".

It's been a few days of Mark not talking but still looking at Haechan as if about to burst in a monologue anytime soon.

Haechan had been brusque with him before, but it never came to Mark not talking to him.

The younger boy wasn’t stupid. It was obvious what was going on with Mark but Haechan didn’t have the force to deal with it sooner.

"I don't have anything to say", Mark replied. "Do you have anything to say?".

Haechan rested his back on the chair and looked at Mark, irritated.

"Okay, we need to sort this thing out. We can't work like this". "Like this how? We're working just fine", Mark didn't raise his eyes from the computer. "Mark, you've been writing and deleting the same line for a while now", Haechan indicated the screen with his chin. "Well, maybe something is going on with me but it doesn't have anything to do with you, so we don't need to talk about anything", Mark replied finally starting a new line.

So Mark was able to lie as well, huh?

"Mark", Haechan lowered his voice. "Do you perhaps have feelings for me?", he whispered.

"What?!" Mark yelled.

Onew jolted on his seat.

"Keep your voice down, you dumbass", Haechan put one hand on his thigh. Mark looked down at it then at Haechan's face.

Haechan retrieved his hand back.

Mark breathed heavily before talking.

"It's just--”, he rested his back on the chair as well, “I've never been with someone like that before and I'm so confused right now, like, I don't know if I have feelings for you or just--like, I need closure?", he questioned as if talking to himself.

Haechan was surprised that Mark told him all that.

"You mean that you're a virgin?", the younger asked incredulously. "Uhm, I can hear you", Onew said. "Then get your ass up and take a stroll, Owen", Haechan spoke up.

Mark flinched at his sudden and loud voice.

Their colleague shook his head as if not believing he was dealing with some weirdos and got out of the office mumbling something about gen z people.

"I am not a virgin. I meant hookups", Mark explained after a little pause while his cheeks acted like a virgin's. "You said you've never sucked someone before", Haechan raised one eyebrow. "It's alright if you're a virgin, Mark. You just have to tell me and-”, he interrupted himself as if realizing what they actually did, “-fuck, you had to tell me before as well. God, I acted recklessly, I should hav-".

"I am not a virgin! Stop saying that. I've never sucked before because I've been eating pussy, okay?", Mark raised his voice.

Haechan blinked at him. "So you're confused about your sexuality?"

Mark rolled his eyes defeated. "I know what I like! I'm not confused. Just hear me out!" "You said you were confused just a minute ago", Haechan said. "But not about my sexuality. Because of the hookup!" "Why are you yelling?", Haechan yelled. "I'm not yelling!", Mark yelled back. "You're arguing with me right now". "Because you're not listening! I don't know how I'm feeling about you because I've never slept around before. I-- just--don't like it", Mark stuttered. "Then why did you sleep with me?", Haechan was exasperated. Mark whined. "Because I liked you already”. "So you do like me. You have feelings for me", Haechan raised his hands as if talking with a fool.

The other shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable.

"Don't all people like their hookup partners though? Like, would you sleep with someone if they were ugly as fuck? I don't think so. You still need to be attracted to them a little".

Haechan sighed while massaging his temples. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Didn't you have crushes before? Don't you know what it feels like to be in love?".

Mark groaned tiredly. "I did. And I know. But this is different", he spoke with a softer tone.

Haechan sighed. "So what? Am I supposed to help you figure that out? If you like me or not?".

Mark straightened his tie and focused on his computer again as if the conversation was over.

"Listen, you wanted to hear me talk, so I did".

The younger boy stared at the other’s fingers as they started to type something, probably useless.

"Do you even want to like me? Like what's your expectation?".

Mark’s fingers stopped and he remained silent for a little while. "Well, you like somebody else, so it wouldn't be nice if I had feelings for you, would it?".

Haechan prolonged the silence a bit. "I'm getting out of it".

Mark turned his head to him.

That was a lie, Mark could see it. A blatant lie.

"Do you want me to like you?", he asked. His voice was soft and low.

Haechan thought about it for a second. He didn’t know what to say.

Mark sighed, unable to wait like that, and closed his eyes, reclining back on his seat again.

"I like you, Haechan. Okay? I like you, fuck. I don't care if you like somebody else".

Haechan’s heart started to beat even faster than before.

“Was this the problem, then? You were jealous?”, Haechan’s voice came out quieter than he intended.

Mark opened his eyes and looked down at his hands clasped together.

He shrugged.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I just needed to say it. I’m not asking for anything from you”, Mark directed his gaze towards Haechan.

He looked so serious that it made Haechan’s cheeks get pink again.

Mark’s eyes trembled imperceptibly at that reaction but he didn’t dare to say anything about it.

He cleared his voice as Haechan couldn’t bring himself to add anything either and got back to work.

_______

It was very late at night.

Haechan had no idea what time it was but it was not a time normal people would be awake at.

He fidgeted under the covers, restless and irritated. He felt hot and his mind wouldn’t let him sleep.

His hands found his phone after a while, ready to click on Jaemin’s name. But then his thumb slid down and it stopped over Mark instead.

Haechan stared at the bright screen until he felt his eyes tear up from lack of blinking then just pressed it with a huff.

Bad person Haechan. You’re a bad person. You’re such a bad person. A mistake. You did a mistake a now you were about to make another one.

“Yes”, Mark’s rough voice interrupted Haechan’s train of thoughts.

The younger boy opened his mouth to breathe better and he let that monosyllable caress his ears even after the sound already died.

“Hey”, Haechan whispered, closing his eyes, helping his other senses to get sharper.

Mark groaned softly and shifted in his bed, probably turning in a more comfortable position. “Haechan”, he said in the same sleepy and deep voice and Haechan had to make an effort to not whimper into the phone.

Why was Haechan so affected by this boy but at the same time so afraid of him? He shouldn’t have let Mark get so involved. Haechan should have put a wall between them the first time his lips said that first “cute”, then another one when he blatantly saw the way Mark’s eyes couldn’t leave him, then another one that night in the club, and another one when Mark asked him if Haechan wanted to be liked. And now as well. Just end the call.

But he couldn’t.

His walls were not strong enough for Mark and Haechan was a bad person.

He liked it. He liked a lot. Haechan wanted more and more even if he could give back only darkness.

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, Haechan said after waiting a few seconds to recollect himself.

Mark hummed as if telling him that it was alright. “Is everything okay?” he asked and Haechan noticed the way Mark was slowly waking up by the growing concern in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, everything is good. I just…”, Haechan hesitated.

Why did he even call Mark in the first place? Did he need company? Rude. Did he miss him? Gross. He was a bad person, using people when he needed, disregarding their feelings? Yeah.

“I wanted to speak to someone”, he decided to be honest.

Mark’s breath got louder for a second as if he laughed lightly. “I’m glad you thought of me, then. Unless you called other people first and no one replied”.

Haechan smiled, feeling like a teenager talking to his first crush, then stopped, starting to hate himself. “No. You’re the only one I called”, he confessed.

What was he doing? Bad. Bad Haechan. Bad.

Mark went silent and Haechan listened to his breath for a while.

“You confuse me so much, Haechan”, Mark’s voice was a whisper and Haechan swallowed nothing, feeling his throat suddenly dry.

Yeah. It was not fair. Not when Mark told him how he was feeling and Haechan couldn’t do the same.

“But I’m not complaining”, Mark added before Haechan could apologize and end the call, finally getting to his senses. “I don’t care, Haechan. I like you so much. You can do whatever you want to me”.

Haechan bit his lower lip. God, he hated himself.

“Mark-”. “Would you do something for me?”, the boy interrupted him. “Mm? What?”. “Would you-”, Mark stopped, breath suddenly quicker, “-would you-uhm-- shit”, he repeated softly before chuckling, slightly embarrassed.

Haechan’s skin got goosebumps, wondering if he understood what Mark wanted. His heartbeat started to pump blood at a crazy speed at it all went in a single place.

So he did what Mark asked, even if he would end up being wrong, only because he wanted it too. He slid a hand under his t-shirt, slowly, until reaching his nipples, and whined into the phone.

Mark went completely silent for a second.

Haechan whined again a little louder.

“Fuck, Haechan”, Mark’s voice trembled. "Are you-- are you touching yourself?”.

Haechan hummed. “My nipples”, he simply replied as he pinched them, playing with himself, feeling his boxers get tighter at every stroke. “Oh fuck”, Mark’s rough voice made Haechan squeeze his eyes together and open his mouth in a silent moan.

They were both panting. Haechan couldn’t tell if Mark was just lying there and imagining or if he started to shyly let his hand slide south as well.

“How does it feel?”, Mark inquired with a shaken voice and Haechan realized he still had too much control to be rubbing one out as well. “It feels so good, Mark”, the younger one replied, adding soft swears as his fingers got under the fabric of his boxers, letting the elastic hit his abdomen once, loudly, making sure Mark heard it as well. “Hmm -a-ah”, he wrapped his cock with his hand, pumping it slowly a few times, pressing his thumb on the slit.

He didn’t need to exaggerate any sound. Knowing that Mark was listening could make Haechan go over the edge alone.

“Haechan, you make me go so fucking crazy”, Mark’s shaking voice made Haechan bite his lower lip. “You too, Mark”, he confessed in the cloud of sensations.

Then listened to the way the other boy’s bed sheets irrefutably shifted and the bed creaked and his breath hitched as he started to pleasure himself to the sound of Haechan’s whimpers and the image he had of him.

They didn’t talk anymore. There was no need to and they weren’t able to either. Not having Mark near him, made Haechan last longer but it was still too quickly than usual so he stopped right before cumming, edging himself until the other whined into his pillow, cursing and calling Haechan’s name.

_______

Haechan avoided Mark the whole day. He told Mark that he had some other work and barely came into the office.

The older boy would sigh every five minutes, mind racing, making the poor Onew groan.

“He’s feeling awkward. You guys fucked, it’s normal”.

Mark turned his head towards him as if awoken from a dream, cheeks blushing violently as soon as he made sense of the other’s words.

“Also, you’re in love with him. I would avoid someone in love with me as well if I only wanted to fuck them,” Onew added as if talking about the weather. Mark was unable to speak. “He’s afraid to hurt you now”.

“I told him it was alright, though”, Mark finally whispered, trying hard to suppress the hysterical little chuckle he would get when nervous or talking about embarrassing stuff.

Onew got up with his empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Show it. Do something that can make him realize that it’s okay for you to be in this type of relationship”, he added before walking out whistling with not one single worry in the world.

Mark would have wanted to whistle as well but couldn’t.

That advice was breaking his heart.

It was true. Mark said that he was okay, but he was lying.

Of course, he was not alright.

He wanted to, oh he wanted so bad to be alright but it was so late. It was already late from the beginning. Mark didn’t want that kind of relationship. He wanted more.

But Onew was also right. Mark had to do something. If being able to have Haechan like that meant breaking his own heart, Mark was ready to do it.

And when that night he went to Jungwoo’s monthly party again, he forced his beating heart to stop upon seeing Haechan’s back.

The young men’s slender figure was curved in a laugh, the pretty sound almost audible to Mark’s far away ears. Then Haechan sipped from the drink in front of him, still amused by the handsome bartender’s joke, and spun around in his chair right in time to see Mark being hit on by a woman.

Haechan’s lips stopped on the edge of the glass, eyes unable to blink, staring emotionless at the way Mark’s lips curved in a timid smile while his hands weren’t timid at all, firmly grabbing that girl’s hips as she wiggled her ass against Mark’s crotch.

Haechan turned around, placing the drink on the counter with a slightly shaking hand.

“Everything alright?”, the bartender asked.

Haechan didn’t reply and threw his head back, finished his cocktail in one gulp.

_______

It was quite early when the boy left the party. Haechan felt like suffocating in the middle of all those people breathing heavily, clouding his mind.

Waiting for his taxi outside, ignoring the stares of horny people smoking and grinding against each other by the entrance of the Garages, he got reasonable startled when two hands suddenly wrapped his torso.

But those were some delicate fingers and Haechan could recognize that cologne in a thousand others.

Mark rested his face on Haechan’s shoulder and no one said anything for a little while, listening to the deep bass coming out of the club, the yelling and the traffic on the main road just a few blocks away.

“Sorry if I startled you”, Mark mumbled.

Haechan bit his lower lip and turned around, expecting a drunk and horny Mark yet again. But the boy’s eyes were wide and awake, his usual staring-as-if-reading-your-soul eyes met Haechan’s ones.

The younger looked at them for a second then he eyed the bright red hickeys on the other’s neck as well as the slightly unbuttoned shirt.

“I see you’ve had some fun tonight”, Haechan commented unable to hide his bitter tone. Not that Mark wouldn’t have been able to see through his fake face anyway.

Mark licked his lips and tugged Haechan’s hips towards him.

"Is this alright?", his voice was low and sultry, ignoring Haechan’s little jab, caressing his lower back instead.

Haechan started to pant softly, unsuccessfully trying to take a step back then he gulped down staring at the other’s lips getting each second closer.

"We can pretend it didn't happen", Mark went on, "just like we've always done, isn’t that right?", and Haechan could have sworn that Mark was a little pissed off. “Fucking at night then pretending we don’t know each other during the day, huh? Isn’t this what you want? I can do that”.

Mark's fingers reached the hem of Haechan's t-shirt by now, hiking it up slowly, dragging his fingertips on his skin. It was warm, just like Mark had always imagined. A loud cheer mixed with glass shattering made Haechan flinch but Mark shushed him, every second closer until they were breathing each other's air.

"I really want to take you right now, just like this".

Mark's whisper made both of their hearts beat like crazy. The first, not believing he was talking like that, the second, not believing that Mark was telling him that.

And when Haechan finally closed his eyes, ready to melt into the kiss, Mark's lips ghosted his cheek and neck instead, fingers still drawing little circles on the younger's chest, resting his palm on the beating heart. Then he pulled away.

“It’s a shame that you’re pushing me away like this”, Mark straightened his back and walked away.

_______

Mark was a weird guy.

And when Haechan bumped into him inside the local supermarket near his apartment, a large sweatshirt on his frame, boyfriend jeans, ruffled hair, a little stubble, concerned expression behind his golden round glasses, the tip of his tongue out, licking his lips mindlessly, deciding what brand of cereal he wanted, Haechan felt the urge to go there and yell at him that he's in love.

Haechan never liked the "what are we" question.

Everyone around him asked that. What are we? Friends. Friends with benefits. Nothing, we're just fucking. Haechan has never adventured there. But now, looking at Mark's profile, his hand finally picking up the cereal pack, Haechan wanted to ask him that question.

What are we, Mark?

Because I want us to be something.

I want to claim you in ways that give other people no place to do the same.

Not a friend, not a colleague, not a friend with benefits.

An etiquette that only Haechan could claim.

Even if Haechan didn’t deserve that.

Mine. My boyfriend. Mine. Mine. All mine.

Was that wrong? Probably.

But Haechan felt no remorse.

Was that love? Haechan was unsure but he wanted to find out.

So he walked over. Was Mark there because he hoped to see Haechan? "Oh, Haechan", Mark seemed genuinely surprised when the younger called his name. "What are you doing here?", the boy asked.

Mark looked around briefly as if suddenly not knowing where he was. "The meat here is higher quality than the supermarket near my apartment", he explained and Haechan could see the way Mark's expression screamed honesty.

He wasn’t there because of Haechan. Mark might have had a crush on the other but he was slipping away now.

Come back, Mark. Come back to me. Call me cute again. Touch my skin. Don’t do this. Don’t play with me like this.

"Haechan", Mark's voice wavered as the boy got suddenly closer. "We're in public".

Haechan didn’t look away. “You didn’t care about the public last night. You let that slut fuck you in front of everyone then you dared to flirt with me and leave me on the edge like that?”, he confronted him.

Mark’s little stunt made the younger so mad the day before that he felt like bursting in his pants during the drive home. Cheeks flushed and trembling hand, he didn’t even bother to walk to the bedroom. He closed his eyes and threw his head back to rest against the entrance door as soon as he stepped into his empty apartment. He came and came, again and again, until he felt too sensitive to touch himself anymore. God, he was so mad.

“Haechan, are you jealous?”, Mark’s eyes relaxed, the cereal pack still between them, the gaze of some elderly ladies not leaving their backs.

Haechan’s jaw muscles flexed. “Yeah. I am. I am jealous. I am fucking jealous. Okay? I hate it. I hate that you sleep with other people. You’re mine and mine only”, Haechan spat out quickly before he could regret saying it.

He was panting and he didn’t even have to look at himself to know that he was all red.

Mark’s breath hitched in a startled laugh.

“And I hate that you have all of this control over me. I was done, okay? I was done with feelings and here you are, doing all of this bullshit to me. Your little game worked. Are you happy?”.

Getting out of the apartment that late morning, Mark didn’t anticipate getting a confession from Haechan in the cereal aisle while said person looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, doe eyes and a trembling lower lip.

God, he was so cute, Mark wanted to grab his face and kiss him.

“You saw my game and played by my rules?”, Mark asked impressed.

“You didn’t even give me time to play at all! I got defeated before starting”, the other admitted frustrated.

Mark chuckled. “Why are you getting mad at me, Haechan? You ignored me in the first place, sleeping with other people.”

The boy huffed exasperated and walked away, bumping Mark in the shoulder, making the other pirouette and grab him by the forearm.

“I was joking. Come on”, he cooed. “This is what I’ve always wanted”.

Haechan put his tongue inside his cheek, annoyed. “What? Me making a fool out of myself?”

“Showing yourself to me”, Mark replied kindly.

Haechan rolled his eyes, still using his faking-nonchalance-to-not-show-his-feelings technique, but Mark was already immune to that. In fact, he has been immune to that from the start.

Haechan loved it.

Haechan loved it so much that he got scared. It was too good to be true.

________

It was pouring heavily when they got out of the supermarket. Haechan had his apartment windows open and they could smell the scent of rain, clean and refreshing.

It was cold but Mark's body heated the boy in a second, groceries fallen on the floor, wrapping his arms around the other’s frame.

They did not kiss and Haechan was quite surprised but he didn't say anything, hiding his face the crook of Mark's neck instead, inhaling all of his favourite scents at the same time.

"I called you upstairs for a different reason," Haechan mumbled, surprised at the sudden softness, the sound of his voice muffled by the other's slightly damp sweatshirt.

"I know," Mark whispered against his temple.

He placed a delicate kiss there, then another one slightly below, then another one, drawing a line until reaching the jaw. Haechan raised his face and Mark kissed the corner of his lips, then the other cheek, and jaw again, and the other temple.

Haechan closed his eyes with a little smile as if giving up.

Mark, what are you doing?".

"I want you to think", the other replied, lips still busy. Haechan scoffed. "I want to stop thinking". "I want you to think about me".

His lips reached Haechan's forehead and stayed there for a little.

The only sound was the rain and Haechan's quick heart.

"I already think about you a lot", Haechan confessed, face close to Mark's collarbones.

"And why do you want to stop?" the other murmured.

His voice was so relaxing and calming that Haechan for a second forgot why was he trying to not think about Mark in the first place. Why was he pushing him away? Why has he been pushing him away all of that time?

Then he remembered when Mark's hands slid down Haechan's back.

"Because I'm a bad person". Mark sighed as if he expected that but still wanted to hear the other say it. "You're not a good judge". Haechan tsk-ed. "Well, thanks, I guess." "I am the one who has to decide if you're a bad person or not, and I say that you're not." "You're blinded by love”.

Mark hugged Haechan even tighter.

"Yeah, I am, so Haechan, please, let me love you", his tone darkened suddenly. "Stop pushing me away. I can handle anything".

"I'm going to fuck up", Haechan shook his head.

"You won't and if you do, I still want to take my chances. What if I fuck up before you do?"

Haechan laughed, resting his chin on Mark's chest, rising his face to look at the boy in the eyes. "Mark, you're a saint".

The saint’s eyes were those of a sinner though when he pressed his thumb on Haechan’s plump, lower lip.

"Have you ever made love to someone before?", he asked with a deep voice.

Haechan's eyes widened with amusement. "Are you joking? I’m a hoe.”

Mark hummed. "No. I said, love. Have you? Because I haven't either and I desperately want to make love to you right now".

And Mark was right.

Haechan had never made love with someone before and he realized it as soon as the other's hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips softly, pushing him back towards the bed, making him sit on it, letting Haechan watch as Mark elegantly took away his sweatshirt first then the shirt underneath it.

Haechan blinked, emotions he has never felt before invading his whole body as Mark pushed him down with a gentle touch, kissing his stomach and going up, taking Haechan's top with him, letting the cold air caress his skin making it all shiver. It would have shivered anyways, goosebumps forming at every feathery touch of Mark's lips. They took away all of the remaining clothes, touching each other slowly, curiously, exploring everything, with fingertips and lips and tongues. Attentive, remembering which stroke made the other whine louder, what kind of whisper pleased the ears more, what pet name made the other blush.

It was still raining hard, but they weren't cold, tightly wrapped in each other arms, the heavy covers to hide their secret whispers from the world. They were hidden in giggles and heavy breaths, "here?", "yeah", "like this?", "hmm", and Haechan felt so present. He was there, at that moment and he was seen. Mark was looking at him, really looking and Haechan didn't have to do anything to make it happen. There was no reason to put on an act. He just had to be himself. Vulnerable and- "cute," Mark whispered, chests rising, short breaths, his thumb caressing Haechan's red cheeks.

"Say it again", Haechan smiled.

Mark imitated him, his lips murmuring the word until they didn't have to, the feeling of it lingering in the air by itself.

#here she is #mark smut #haechan smut #mark angst #haechan angst #markhyuk smut #markhyuk angst #nct smut #nct angst #markhyuk fluff #nct fluff #jaemin smut #jungwoo #jaemin

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dongiovannaswife · 3 years

Note

Could you write a little snippet of you and Giorno comforting the twins after a nightmare?

Tysm for this request!!! I loved writing this because lately I’ve been feeling so down and lonely it helped with those feelings ;w; I hope you like this. The boys are 5 years old and the plot is revealed as we go :D the part in italics is supposed to be a flashback.

CW: sickeness mention and talk (the whole stand’s awakening thing is discussed, giving it a medical focus, but nothing too explicit). Poorly proofreader bc,, sleepy baby I am.

Translation(s); ** solecito: sunny or sunshine, it sounds far better in spanish uwu

Dr. Bocelli Enzo hums, reading the result in the thermometer. By his side, in his bed, Jovi sighs, settling in for a short nap ��his brother, Dante, looks up at the old man with big, curious eyes: his little hand holding Giorno’s.

The Don’s eyes, although worried, shift into a calm, flawless mask when he looks down at the boy.

“Well,” Bocelli speaks up, turning to look at Lena —she’s holding Jovi, laying with him in the bed. Tired eyes look back at him, giving him permission to keep talking.

“The fever has subsided and, as we thought, their stands have emerged: it has been found through tests and as a general incidence that through the next few weeks or a month they will experience the sudden manifestation of their stands, be that their physical form, fragmented powers of it, or symptoms of distress. I recommend you look over them closely.”

Giorno hums, feeling Dante move and stand up, hugging his neck —bringing his hands down, he soon hugs the little one to his chest, lifting him slightly so he rests on his chest while he leans back, enough to give him space —but he doesn’t lean on anything.

Lena speaks this time, “What kind of symptoms could we expect?”

Bocelli presses his lips together for a second, thinking about his answer briefly. “Symptoms of a cold, some fevers (if the temperature rises too much and you can’t control it, then we may have to intervene), some bellyaches —it could be anything that could make you think of a simple sickness, but it’s the changes on their body. Let’s remember stands do change the body; that, and the mind is also affected, I mean, not literally, it’s about somatic symptoms.”

The Donna nods, thinking about his words. Eyes falling into the little one on her arms.

“Are we allowed to medicate them, then?” Giorno asks next, frowning over the extent of his words, already disliking the possibility. “I refuse to let them go around in pain.” He clears his throat, trying to tone it down; his words end up in a whisper, mumbled with something else underneath. “I don’t want to see them hurt.”

Bocelli’s eyes reflect something puzzled when he looks at Giorno, a small from making the wrinkles around his eyes stand out. “If that happens, call me, always.”

The couple exchanges a look.

“Okay.” Lena hums, smiling softly when the boy in her hold sighs, holding onto her tighter.

It had been a week since that. The symptoms were few and sudden, but nothing too out of the ordinary, Bocelli had said.

The clock almost hits midnight as the couple stands in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from dinner —the boys had asked for homemade pizza and as if it wasn’t enough, homemade ice-cream. While it had been a big challenge for them, the big grins from their boys and the delighted sounds as they ate had been enough to look over at each other, smiling proudly.

With Giorno washing the dishes and passing them to his wife so she can dry them off, both fall into quiet conversation, with Ares climbing into the sink to join them, meowing when the couple exchanged kisses —demanding attention.

Ares blinks slowly, head falling slowly as he fights the will to sleep for the millionth time in the day —but the sound of rushed small footsteps wakes him up. Giorno and Lena quickly look over their shoulders, trying to find any sings of intruders or enemies.

But they only see Jovi standing in the doorway, clutching his toy under his arm —one of his hands trying to wipe off his tears in angry motions as sobs betray him, making him shake.

Both move fast, reaching out to wipe off their hands and, with Lena being able to do so quicker, she approaches the boy in a rush, kneeling before him.

“Solecito,**” she calls, sweet and worried but calm at once. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

Jovi shakes his head, dropping his toy to throw himself into his mother’s arms, sobbing loudly. His small form trembles in her hold, small hands holding onto her shirt for dear life —words barely comprehensive when he speaks between sobs. “Bad dream,” he sobs louder when Giorno joins them, putting a warm and large hand on his back. “Ares was hurt.”

“Ares?” Giorno repeats, looking over the cat, who’s sitting in the floor now, staring with big, worried eyes. “Jovi, baby, Ares is okay.” Lena passes the boy to him and, as soon as Giorno lifts him off the ground, Jovi seems to calm down a bit. “See?” he points at the cat, “He’s right there.”

Jovi looks back at the feline, sobbing when he finds him well, looking back at him. Giorno drops a hand low, rubbing the pads of two fingers between them —and Ares, recognizing the motion, walks up to them —tail standing tall.

Lena picks the cat up, scratching his cheek, taking him closer to Jovi. “See, baby?” she says, watching him extend a shaking hand out to scratch Ares’ head. “He’s okay, he’s happy and he loves you.”

Jovi nods, smiling through a red nose and eyes, “I love him too, he’s a good friend.”

Giorno nods, leaning to kiss his forehead, “He loves you too, buddy. Now, let’s go upstairs and get you freshen up, yeah?” he touches the boys’ forehead subtly, making sure he doesn’t have a fever.

Walking out the kitchen, Lena calls for her husband. When he stops, she gives him Jovi’s toy, “I’ll go up to Dante, see how he’s doing, see you there?”

Giorno hums, booping her nose with the toy, earning a chuckle from her and a curious look from the boy in his arms. As the walk up the stairs with Lena before them, Jovi touches the owl in his father’s chest, the pad of his little finger doing quick motions inside of it, as if imagining he’s coloring it.

“Daddy?” Jovi asks, seeing his mother walk up faster to his bedroom out of nowhere, “Why mommy running?”

“Ehm,” Giorno looks ahead, seeing her open the door in a rush and step inside even more rushed —the faint sound of a sob making him move faster immediately. “Jovi,” he answers, looking back at the boy for a second before looking back at the corridor. “We want to make sure your brother is okay.”

“Oh,” Jovi puts a finger on his lip, looking up at the ceiling, just like he has seen uncle Fugo do when he’s thinking. Rising the same finger from his lips and up the sky, he soon affirms. “Maybe he’s having a bad dream like me!”

Giorno nods, coming into the bedroom. “Maybe, let’s see how he’s doing, yeah?”

“Love,” Lena speaks up —sitting in bed with Dante on her lap, cradling him to her chest. “Dante was asking for you.”

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Giorno asks, sitting by his wife’s side, settling Jovi on his lap. He reaches for the tissues in the bedside, helping Jovi clear his stuffy nose.

“Daddy?” Dante asks, looking up from his mother’s hold, eyes widened in fear —tears threatening to fall.

Giorno hums, extending a hand out to pinch his cheek gently. “I’m here, buddy. What’s wrong?”

Dante sobs, blinking back tears. “I had a dream. You and mommy were away…” he holds onto Lena tighter, shaking. “And never came back.”

Giorno’s heart breaks. So does Lena’s —both exchange a look, seeming to communicate without needing words.

When Dante’s eyes go between them in shock and Jovi is about to ask what’s going on, both speak up at the same time.

“We would never leave you.”

Dante’s lip trembles and, finally, the first tear falls off his cheek, lost in the river that flows right after. Jovi’s commoved, unable to do anything but stare up at his parents.

“Dante, Jovi,” Lena looks between the twins as she names then. “You two are our reason to wake up every morning.” She extends a hand out to each of them, treading her fingers carefully through the manes of blonde-reddish curls with enough care to not pull, tangle or undo them. “We love you a lot, remember that, always.”

Giorno hums, nodding. “You are, and always will be, our little ones, okay? It was a dream, everything —from Ares getting hurt to us leaving you was a bad dream: we will be okay and together.”

The boys nod, with Jovi giving his toy to Dante, seeing as him keeps crying. “Don’t cry, Dan! Let’s play, yes?”

Dante takes the toy, hugging it closer to him. He looks up at his parents with big eyes, red from crying. “Can we?”

Giorno hums, “Just a bit while you feel good enough to go to sleep.”

The twins grin at each other, looking back at their parents; “Not sleepy.”

Giorno and Lena exchange a look, surprised.

It will be a long night.

When the faint rays of sun start to come in through the boy’s window, Lena stands there, watching the city wake up —Jovi in her arms, asleep and snoring loudly. With Giorno sitting in the couch, still struggling to not move to much in case he wakes up Dante, his eyes fall on his wife, watching as the sun makes her hair all golden and warm under its light: when she turns around, the bags under her eyes are enough signal of her tiredness, but the calm and love in her features while she sways from side to side while she closes the curtain enough to let him know she’s okay.

“We should take the day off,” she murmurs, sitting by his side in the couch. Moving the boy so he lays comfortable on top of her.

Giorno smiles, gentle and warm —but dripping with sarcasm. “Do you think our bosses will be okay with that?”

Lena shakes her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “We are the bosses, baby.”

Giorno grins, shaking his head now.

#Anonymous #The Giovanna twins #GioLena #i almost cried writing this aaaa ;u;

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ajokeformur-ray · 3 years

Note

Hey can I get some headcanons of your relationship with your F/O parents bc y’all are such a cute family dynamic and I wanna hear more about how you all interact🥰💗

and @arianatheangelworld

asdfghjkl; omgggg~ you’re all gonna kill me asghj 🥺😭😭thank you darlings omggg ~ 🥰🥰🥰💗 I hope that you all enjoy this, it’s always so bittersweet but also so comforting and fun to explore my dynamic with my parental F/Os and, well... isn’t that the point of it all?💖 Thank you thank you thank you for supporting and enabling me omggg ~ 💙😊

Word count: 3, 184 (holy shit I am so sorry... not😂)

It’s a quiet life, but there’s lots of underlying tensions beneath it all.

By quiet, I mean because I spend my days in my bedroom studying (not so far from reality, these relationships😂) but there are underlying tensions because no one in the household knows who Edward Hyde really is - it’s a secret between my parents and I.

What that means is that it’s tricky for Papa and myself to spend time with one another if other members of the household are awake - as far as they are concerned, Father is my parent and so is Mama, and Papa has no part in that. So as you can imagine, questions would be raised if Papa and I are caught spending too much time together (plus, this is set in the Victorian Era, so you can imagine the scandal of an unmarried twenty-three year old woman spending lots of time alone in a room, unchaperoned, with a man old enough to be her father...)

This is why Papa and I only have our time together late into the night, when said members of the household have gone to bed and it’s only my parents and I who are awake. It’s safer for all of us that way - it protects Father and his name, his reputation and his career, which in turn protects the household members from being turned out onto the streets due to a lack of employment and this in turn protects Father’s family, who always come first.

From the moment I wake up, my parents are there. As you’ve probably gathered from previous posts, I sleep with my parents a lot so it isn’t unusual for me to wake up with one of them. Rare and special occasions mean that I get to wake up with Mama and either Father or Papa.

Mama’s always up by five in the morning or she’ll fall behind on her chores so if she’s the one I slept with in the night, then I’ll get up when she does. She always insists that I go back to bed and that I go to sleep, but I rarely do. I much prefer to have those early hours with her so that I can help her with her chores and maybe, if I’m very lucky... I’ll get to be the one who takes Father his breakfast tray so that I get to see him early in the morning and so that I can crawl into his bed and get me some extra cuddles before I start my day.

If I sleep in with Father, then the opposite happens and I’m woken up when he gets brought his breakfast tray (7 AM on the dot!), and of course I end up getting up when he does because even though he won’t kick me out of his bed, he also knows that if he leaves me to my own devices in a soft, warm bed, I’ll end up falling asleep until noon and then I’ll beat myself up about it, so he makes sure I am awake and up before he’s done with his breakfast (and if Mama knows I slept in with Father, she’ll bring me some breakfast too!) to save me any emotional distress.

Father always wakes me up gently... up until a certain point. He will shake me gently while saying my name, which usually gets a sleepy groan from me. Then, it’s onto talking, with his voice going from a whisper and increasing in volume until he’s just above his normal speaking level. He never raises his voice at me and we all know why. If that doesn’t work, then Father will just “accidentally” pull the covers off of me. He isn’t subtle, but he also isn’t mean about it, and if I do genuinely need some more sleep, then he will let me have that. But for the most part, he makes sure that I’m up once he is on the nights I’m in his bed.

I never ever get to wake up with Papa. It just doesn’t happen for various reasons. Firstly, because Papa’s constantly moving around like a lion stuck in a cage and he loves me dearly but not enough to stay in one place for more than a few hours unless he’s already sleeping. Secondly, because he can’t be caught in my bed or vice versa by anyone other than Mama to protect Father’s name etc. Thirdly, I may wake up to Papa crawling into my bed or easing himself in his own if I fell asleep in his bed, but I don’t ever get to start my day with Papa. Our time is night time and that has to be non-negotiable. It does upset me if I wake up in an especially needy mood, but Father and Mama will get me through the day in the meantime.

Mama likes to sneak me items of Papa’s or Father’s clothing to wear when I go to bed. She’s not supposed to but Mama is sleight of hand and I can be quick when I need to be. She and I often have silent conversations in a crowded room and all it takes is for Mama to “accidentally” make a noise, like a quick scuffing of her boot on the floor or for her knuckles to make a noise against the wooden table and I just look at her. Mama catches my eye and then gives me A Look before she turns back to her ironing. I walk past and at the point where our lower bodies are hidden by the ironing board, she stuffs an unironed shirt in my hand (usually Papa’s) and I walk off, the shirt stowed away under my arm and then placed for safe-keeps under my pillow for the night time. Sometimes it might be one of her night-dresses, but I am comfier in either Papa or Father’s clothes.

There are so many secrets between myself and my parents which are kept from the other members of the household. Between all three of us, we manage it as best as we can, though I have no doubt that the others think we're a little odd. 😊

There are periods which are weeks long where Father is so busy in his laboratory that no one sees him. It's communication .via. letters on the stairs and that's all anyone hears from him. Mama and I worry immensely but Father's always been this way and all we can do is be patient and wait for him. He's a workaholic and he often makes himself sick from all of the working and everyone in the household knows what to do when these times arise, which are getting more frequent as Father gets older.

In especially bad times, even Mama won't be able to get through to Father. I get upset if that's the case, because if he shuts away the one person he loves above all else, it's a serious warning sign. Mama and I have a pact that if she can't get through, then I will. Father is always so protective of me, and now it's my turn to protect him. I take this very seriously, understandably so, and I wait up until two or three in the morning, so late that even Mama's gone to bed and is sleeping. I wait in his study for that time, reading one of his old medical journals, and then I go downstairs, out the back door, and into the laboratory.

It's freezing in there because there's where Father used to carry out dissections and lectures back before his illness (never canonically diagnosed but it's believed to be depression or similar) got worse, so I always take him his old smoking jacket (which doubles as my blanket when I take naps in his study). By this time in the night, Father will be so tired and sleep-deprived that he's more likely to be honest with me, and it's for this reason that I also stayed up so late - Father will assume I'm unable to sleep because I'm so worried about him, and while that's true, it's also because I know him well enough to know what time of night is best for an intervention. Yes, it's slightly manipulative on my end of things, but I am my Papa's daughter and it's with good intentions so I don't linger on this thought for too long. It won't do me any good and my Father's most important. I'd do anything for him.

I find Father where I knew he would be - scribbling in a journal by candlelight, his fingers covered in ink, his hair a mess, yawning every few seconds. A cold plate of mutton is left forgotten by his elbow, only half eaten. I'm just like him when I study so I don't lecture my Father on his bad eating habits -he and I have the same work ethic so I would be a hypocrite to tell him off for something he usually tells me off for. I announce myself by putting his smoking jacket over his shoulders. Father pulls the jacket around himself with a shiver and I smile. You're welcome.

"You should be in bed, Erika." Father frowns in disapproval and I almost want to call him out on his hypocrisy.

"So should you," My tone is sharp with worry and frustration and Father takes a moment to look at me - I never speak to him like this. "Mama's really worried about you. So am I. We haven't seen Papa for weeks, and we - " Just like always, my anger turns to upset and I move away, trying not to cry.

"Erika." I turn back to my Father and I see that he has tears in his eyes, too. He's hurting and even though he's been trying to find a cure for years, he's never been able to find one which really helps him. "I am sorry, I - my work, it is. Well, let's not discuss the details." A pause. Neither of us know what to do, even when there is no one to see or hear us. "Come here." He pats his lap and I make a happy noise, which makes him smile. I love sitting on my Father's lap - it's been something I've done ever since I was a child and it always makes me feel so safe.

I go and I sit on my Father's lap (and have a quiet cry - he knows but he doesn't say anything about it because he doesn't want to embarrass me) and he continues to work, but as the hours drag on and we both get increasingly tired, Father knows that the time for working is over. On these nights when I manage to find my Father in his own mind and pull him back with just my presence (and my very existence is a reminder of what he holds most dear), I also spend the night in his bed.

"Thank you, Erika, for..." Father trails off, but I know what he's saying to me.

I snuggle into his bed, feel my Father kiss my forehead and whisper his love, and then I sleep.

The night is half the battle - getting Father to take a break tomorrow morning will be an even bigger battle, but by then Mama will be awake and we'll work together to save Father from himself.

It's not the first or the last time, but all of us in the family have our Own Moments which require special attentions and solutions, and we love each other even harder during those times.

The reunion with Papa after getting Father to take a break from his weeks of working always makes me cry, too.

Over the years, it's become almost a... tradition, of sorts, for Papa to greet me this way after a long separation.

I could be doing anything - reading in Father's study, writing in my bed, studying at my desk - and all of a sudden, out of nowhere -

"Erika."

Whispered so casually, so quietly, but my entire body freezes. I know that voice anywhere. I drop whatever I'm doing, I tear up, and I turn, slowly...

Papa's smirking at me, a cold and calculative look in his eyes, but I'm not afraid. I'm not even nervous. Anyone else would make me step back with this look, but not Papa. No.

"Oh, my - Papa!" I step forward into his embrace and I melt into the parent I've been missing most of all. I cry, of course I do, and Papa says nothing about it (he and Father aren't so different at all, once you get to know them, though I'd never tell them that. Or Mama. It's a thought I keep entirely to myself.) because he doesn't see why he should need to; he only holds me tighter.

I can almost hear his fond eye roll and it makes me smile.

"It's difficult to understand someone who is entirely incapable of asking for what he most wants, wouldn't you agree? You're the only one he listens to," our daughter.

There is pride in Papa's voice but just like always, I can hear what he doesn't say, just as he hears what I don't say. It's just how it is between us; Papa and I have a level of understanding between us which we don't have with anyone else.

That night, Papa sleeps in my bed with me. I'm never ready to say goodbye to him, or goodnight, either. The following conversation is a nightly ritual because of this:

"Just five more minutes, Papa?"

"I'll be here tomorrow night. you know that. Sleep, child."

"But - "

"Erika."

A warning. No one else receives warnings from the Edward Hyde and lives to tell the tale. So I listen.

"Fine." I know he will be with me tomorrow night. "Stay with me 'til I fall asleep?"

Papa sighs, rolls his eyes, and pointedly lays down, watching me the whole time. I couldn't hide my smile if I tried, so I don't even bother to - Papa taught me to show my emotions and to not hide them.

"Goodnight, Erika."

"'Night, Papa. Love you."

A kiss on the top of my head, and all else fades to black.

My parents and I are very physically affectionate with one another and it's... unusual, especially if you consider the fact that it's in the Victorian Era, but the members of the household find it touching. They get hugs and affection, too! Even if they don't necessarily know how to react to it, they still do get their hugs in the morning and late at night just before they all go to bed (which is between 10 and 11, whereas I go to bed anywhere from midnight to 3 AM).

If I have a nightmare or a bad dream, I am at total liberty to climb into any bed in the house, but of course I make a beeline typically for Mama's bed. She knows nightmares well and she'll simply hold me until I feel safe, and then she'll hold me some more because I get clingy and I don't like letting go. There's been times I've cried because she let me go before I was ready for the cuddle to be over (though those times were when I was much younger) so now she just lets me decide for myself when I've had enough.

With the way I sleep with my hair in two braids, I always get a mass of tangles at the back of my head. Always. I hate it and it always makes me hesitant to brush my hair, which is now midway down my back (so I can’t not brush my hair every day), because I know it’s gonna hurt me. I’ll brush the front parts of my hair and I’ll try to brush the knots out, but it hurts so I stop and I don’t want to brush my hair.

A part of me is always tempted to just leave it, but at the same time I know from previous experience that hair knots can and will get worse, so during these times I’ll take my brush to Mama. She’s always so gentle, not just with me, but also just in her nature.

She is such a tender-hearted person and I admire her so deeply for that. She’s incredibly busy so typically I’ll leave brushing my hair until the evening, when she has more time to help me. I don’t always ask her for help with my hair, so when I do, she knows immediately that it’s because I really can’t do it myself.

“Mama, there’s a - I have a knot. Can you help me?”

A small smile and she goes to get her wooden comb. It’s gentler on knots than my own hairbrush, which pulls more than it needs to, and we both know it. Mama is so gentle that it barely hurts me, and within minutes she’s done what I’ve delayed all day.

“How do you want it tonight, Erika? One braid or two?”

I fondly roll my eyes - like she needs to ask. My smile is in my voice as I ask for two, and Mama and I get to spend some time with one another quietly enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes I return the favour by helping her brush out her hair, but she’s incredibly self-sufficient and she largely prefers to do it herself. Which is fine... I’ll find other ways to help her!😊

“Thank you, Mama.” My words are doubled up with a tight hug, and then I’m ushered off to bed because it’s late and she’s exhausted.

I technically have three parents and each one fulfills a different need for me, so all together, they meet all of my needs and I try, I try to be a daughter that they can be proud of, that they can respect and that they can love unconditionally. I try so hard every day to live in a way to honour their places in my life.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for my parents. I would die for my parents, to give them a happy ending, to give them the time to be together, but in many ways... I am that happy ending, even if things aren't perfect. It's a fight sometimes to keep secrets exactly that, but we make it work. We have to.

I tell them each and every day that I love them, I hug them and cuddle them and help them out where I can, because they deserve the world.

They are my parents and I am very grateful to and for them. They have made me who I am today and they'll be with me forever, no matter where I go or what I do or who I become. I just hope that they'll continue to walk with me for the rest of my life, because I wouldn't be alive without them... in more ways than one.

#loveletterstoledger #self-shipping #mary reilly #parental f/os #I'M CRYING OMG😭#this is OKAY TO REBLOG

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Text

For the fic prompts bc these three were overwhelmingly asked: “I’m dying and I’m confessing my love for you” & “I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand” & “You took a bullet for me”

pairing: sterek

wc: 2604

warnings: open ending, violence

Sometimes, Stiles forgot that he was the most unlikely person in the pack to have a happy ending.

It struck him like a blow to the chest whenever he remembered that he was a human among wolves. Between the hunters, the constant threats, and the of the things that they faced on the daily, Stiles was the most likely to not make it through the fights.

He didn’t have super healing. He had a baseball bat and his wits and sometimes he realized that one day, that wasn’t going to be enough.

So yeah, Stiles always knew there was a chance he lost his happy ending. But he didn’t like to stop and focus on that.

It was a little depressing when he did.

Sitting bound in a dingy warehouse, Stiles once more reflected on these things. One day, he was so going to get out of Beacon Hills. He was going to get out of Beacon Hills and go somewhere far, far away where there were no hunters and no supernatural assholes to put him in the hospital every other week.

Stiles was not a fan.

He was very firmly trying to avoid looking at the werewolf opposite him, but that wasn’t easy. Stiles didn’t understand how whenever he was kidnapped, Derek seemed to be there with him. The man had supernatural strength; Stiles didn’t. Derek was supposed to be the big badass that got them out of this, not hung in chains opposite of him.

Derek’s shirt hung off him in tatters and he was still unconscious. Stiles didn’t like looking at the empty bullet wound in his shoulder, where one of the hunters had dug the bullet out— much to Stiles’s retching.

Stiles just… he just… he was tired. Of this, of Beacon Hills. Shifting in his position on the floor, he worked his bound hands for a moment before sighing. Stiles was tired. Yeah, that’s what he was.

It took Derek a little longer to wake up.

The man came back to consciousness angry, snarling, and flashing his red eyes. Stiles waited in his spot until Derek’s fight had died down and then he sighed, raising an eyebrow at the man.

“Why good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Stiles, what the hell is this?”

“A good question,” Stiles said. Then he furrowed his brows and backtracked. “Actually, no it’s not. I totally get being kidnapped out of the literal school parking lot for this token human but dude, what the hell? How did they get you?”

Derek shifted again and then winced. He flexed his arm and Stiles flinched away as the bullet wound in his shoulder started to bleed again. “I was shot.”

“I noticed.”

“With wolfsbane.”

“Shut up, Sourwolf, I got to watch the whole ‘digging it out’ process, so you don’t even have room to talk. I’m pretty sure was more painful for me than it was for you because you were unconscious and I was retching.”

Derek rolled his eyes. He moved again and the chains clanged together. The man tugged on them, shifted around once more, and then sighed.

“Have they hurt you?”

Stiles snorted. The man gave him a flat look.

“When they come, don’t fight back.”

“I’m well-rehearsed on being kidnapped every other week, dude. I know the basics of not getting myself killed.”

“I’m serious, Stiles.”

“So am I!”

A little bit of red leaked into the man’s eyes. But before he could say another word, the door of the warehouse opened and Stiles straightened as a new hunter came into sight. Stiles didn’t recognize him from earlier, but he did recognize the cattle prod in his hand and that sent a jolt of fear shuddering down his spine.

The hunter didn’t even acknowledge him, though. He went straight to Derek, head tilting as he studied the man’s shoulder. Then he pressed a thumb into it and Stiles shied back as Derek snarled.

“Oh,” the man said. “That looks painful.”

“Asshole.”

Stiles hadn’t really meant to say that aloud but it slipped out anyway. The hunter turned around, one eyebrow raising, and Stiles cursed himself silently.

“The boy who runs with wolves,” the man said, moving closer. “Don’t like seeing your mutt get hurt?”

“Can we skip the back and forth and jump straight into why the hell we’re here?” Stiles said, raising his chin despite Derek’s soft growls. “Cause I’m a teenager and not a werewolf, and I’m pretty sure you hunters are supposed to have a code.”

“Not a werewolf,” the man said, waving a hand through the air. “Not a mutt. Just a boy in over his head playing with the wolves.”

Stiles glared. The man smirked.

“You’re not here for much. A little bit of incentive, a little bit of bait. I’m hoping your dog will talk when I ask him about the rest of his pack but we can’t count on that, now can we?”

“Screw you.”

Stiles only got a thin-lipped smile. The hunter turned back toward Derek, who snarled again. Suddenly, the cattle prod was pressing against the man’s shoulder, Stiles heard the buzz of electricity, and he screwed his eyes tightly shut as Derek screamed.

“Tell me about the rest of the mutts,” the hunter said. “I’m curious.”

Silence reigned. Then Stiles heard the spark of electricity again and flinched automatically as Derek’s shout filled the air once more.

“I’m not a terribly patient man, Hale.”

When Stiles opened his eyes again, Derek was just glaring. The hunter smirked and let the prod buzz again, his smirk widening at Derek’s wince. Stiles tried to swallow down a litany of curses, meeting Derek’s eyes from over the hunter’s shoulder. He offered his best nod and could’ve sworn Derek’s glare softened a little.

Stiles wasn’t sure how many hours passed after that.

He kept thinking that sooner or later, Scott and the rest of the pack would come bursting through the warehouse doors and everything would be okay. But that never happened. By the time Derek was hanging heavy and limp in the chairs, and the hunter turned toward Stiles with a sick grin, hours had passed. And Stiles was pretty sure they were alone.

They were alone in this.

He finally let himself curse as the hunter untied the ropes and pulled Stiles to his feet. The man dragged him across the room and shoved him back to his knees in front of Derek, and Stiles really tried to not let his panic show. But he was pretty sure he failed as red bled into Derek’s eyes and once more, the man yanked on his chains.

“Come on, Hale,” the hunter said. “Do you really want me to make you choose? I hate to make you choose.”

“Don’t touch him.”

“And there you have it. So, tell me. The human or the pack?”

“Don’t,” Stiles said. “Don’t, Derek, dammit—”

He cut off as something buzzed and then Stiles screamed, unable to hold it in. The electricity that jumped through his body like fire and he’d never wanted to experience something like this. Ever. Derek roared and yanked forward, chains clanging, and Stiles was pretty sure it was only the hunter’s grip that kept him from dropping sideways.

His vision spotted. He wondered if this was what happened when someone put a fork in a power outlet. The hunter carded a hand through Stiles’s hair and tightened his grip, pulling his chin up a little.

“Got anything to say, Hale?”

“Stiles—”

“Don’t,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “Don’t, Derek. I’m fine, I’m okay, and I—”

Electricity jolted through his entire body again. Stiles bit down another scream, just making a warbling noise of pain this time. Derek looked utterly broken.

Stiles’s chest rose and fell in pants. He was definitely only being held up by the hunter’s grip on his hair now. He was pretty sure he could taste something iron in his mouth. Or maybe that was just his heart pounding all the way up in his skull.

“I don’t think the boy can take as many of these as you can, Hale,” the hunter said, dragging the cattle prod across Stiles’s shoulder but not turning it on. Stiles smothered a whimper and Derek flinched. “Do you really want to play this game?”

Derek didn’t say a word. His eyes never left Stiles’s face.

The hunter sighed and Stiles tensed. But the man only pulled the cattle prod back. For a moment, all he could do was blink in confusion.

Then there was a click and Stiles went stock-still as the cool muzzle of a handgun touched his temple. His heart leaped into his throat and Derek yanked forward again, teeth snapping.

“Don’t!”

“I don’t want to, mutt. Don’t make me shoot a teenager.”

“Please,” Derek said. “Don’t.”

“Tell me about the rest of the werewolves in Beacon Hills.”

Derek looked back at Stiles with terror in his eyes. Stiles tried to shake his head but then the hunter pressed the gun more firmly against his head and all he could do was close his eyes, body tensing up. For a moment, silence reigned.

The hunter sighed. Stiles shivered at the sound.

But suddenly, there was the distant ringing of gunshots and a series of shouts. The hunter straightened, pulling the gun away, and Stiles took that moment to leap for his abandoned cattle prod. Derek shouted his name, Stiles rolled, and then electricity cut through the air once more.

The hunter hit the ground. Stiles shoved himself up, racing toward Derek as the warehouse doors burst open and the fighting spilled in.

“Stiles, go,” Derek said, pulling away as he approached. “Get out of here.”

“Shut up, Sourwolf.” Stiles looked over the chains and then retreated back toward the hunter, searching him for the key. The man groaned and Stiles jabbed the cattle prod back into his gut, turning it on again. The man convulsed a few times before going still again.

Stiles turned back toward Derek, quickly unlocking his chains. The man all but dropped and Stiles only just managed to catch him. Derek leaned heavily against his side, one arm slung over Stiles’s shoulder.

“Okay, big guy. Let’s get you out of here. Yeah?”

Derek just grunted, face turned into Stiles’s neck. Then he tensed. Stiles gave him a confused look before he heard the click of a trigger. The echo of a gunshot.

Stiles’s blood went cold.

Derek shouted his name as he moved without thinking, dropping the man and angling his body sideways. For a moment, Stiles felt nothing. And then he felt everything— it was like he’d been punched in the stomach. Stiles gasped, stumbling back, and when he placed a hand to his stomach, it came back wet. Red. The smell of iron filled his nose.

Stiles dropped to the floor, gasping in pain.

Faintly, he could hear the sound of the fighting going on a little ways away. Derek roared, there was a blur of movement, and then a scream that cut off. Stiles closed his eyes, clawing at the wound, and then Derek dropped down beside him, gentle fingers cupping his head.

“Stiles, fuck, Stiles.”

“That was dumb,” Stiles said, snorting weakly. “Oh my god, that was so dumb, right? I don’t think the bullet was wolfsbane.”

“It’s still in you.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s not good, right?”

Derek looked downright terrified. Stiles still tried to find the wound, fingers scrabbling weakly, but his stomach was slippery with blood now. And it hurt. It hurt so bad.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles realized he’d said all of that out loud. He tried to laugh but ended up gasping in pain, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

“I’m not used to the unhappy endings,” Stiles said, blood staining his teeth. He was terrified, to be honest, heart pounding against his chest as fear crashed over him. But he still offered up his best grin, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut and taking another gasping breath. “I always hoped I’d get someone other than an unhappy ending. Kinda stupid, right?”

“Shut up,” Derek growled. The man’s eyes searched him up and down, very obviously ignoring the bullet wound. “Shut up, you’re going to be fine.”

Stiles didn’t think so. His throat tightened and he realized he wasn’t going to be fine. This didn’t have a simple solution. This didn’t have an easy way out. And it… it was going to kill his dad.

This was going to kill his dad.

Derek’s voice brought him back to reality, hand squeezing Stiles’s tightly as he looked back up at the man’s face. Stiles didn’t understand why Derek looked so pained until he realized his cheeks were damp, tears sliding down in streaks. Stiles barked a shuddering laugh, before taking a gasping breath again.

“Sorry, Sourwolf. I’m not being emotional, I swear.”

“Stop talking, Stiles.”

“You don’t want me to stop talking,” Stiles said. “What if this is the last time you get to hear me ramble again? You’d regret telling me to shut up. You know you would.”

“It’s not the last of anything.”

“I’m just human, buddy,” Stiles said. His heart twisted and he held onto Derek’s hand tighter, like a life force. “I’m just human.”

“I know, Stiles.”

“I don’t heal like you do.”

“I know.”

“I’m dying, Derek.”

The man’s face twisted. Around them, the fighting had quieted, and Stiles startled when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. But they cut off sharply a little ways away and when he heard the croaky “S-Stiles?” he knew there was no way he was going to survive this.

“Scott could give you the bite,” Derek said quietly. Stiles blinked.

“What?”

“He doesn’t want it,” Scott said. “I won’t.”

“I didn’t want the bite,” Stiles said quietly, searching Derek’s face. “I never did.”

“You’re going to die, Stiles.”

One of the betas whined; Stiles wasn’t sure which. He curled his fingers into Derek’s sleeve and tried to shake his head, but he felt a little woozy now. Like he wasn’t fully there. Derek said something that he didn’t catch and he gripped the man’s hand tighter.

He didn’t want to die, Stiles realized. He didn’t want to leave his dad.

Or Derek.

Scott could do it. But Stiles didn’t want that. He searched Derek’s face, swallowing hard.

Words formed in his mouth but his tongue felt heavy. Sentences of ‘I want you to do it’ and ‘I don’t want to go’ all melded together. When Stiles finally managed to speak, a dozen things spinning through the heavy fog of his brain, the only thing that came out was ‘Want you’ and Derek’s eyes widened.

Stiles was pretty sure that’s not what he’d meant. But he couldn’t get anything else out. The world was dipping to grey around him. Stiles felt his eyelids fluttering closed, fingers curling into Derek’s sleeve even tighter until they slipped off.

He was dying and he was terrified.

He was terrified and unable to form words as Derek said his name over and over again. There was the sound of movement. Derek barked something that Stiles didn’t catch. And then he was being pulled into the man’s chest.

There was a pinch of something right above his collar bone. Stiles thought he cried out, but he wasn’t sure. He thought he felt blood trickle down his shoulder, as if he hadn’t already lost enough.

Someone was yelling.

And his last thought before everything went black was ‘Want you’.

He wanted Derek.

- -

Oh, this one was fun. I don’t usually write open endings but I didn’t want to launch into a 5k+ story just yet so... there could be another part at some point? Perhaps. I hope you all enjoyed!

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your struggling student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #prompts #teen wolf #derek x stiles #derek hale #stiles stilinski #the hale pack #all the angst

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

Yearning - Davos x Baratheon!Reader

Requested by an anon, hope you like what I did with it! I really like this prompt, it inspired that Baratheon Sister imagine. I might write a part two or so to this fic bc i enjoyed writing this Reader ^^

Summary: Davos and Baratheon!Reader have been dancing around their feelings for years. The oncoming war finally gets them to admit it -- lots of fluff & some angst but mostly FLUFF

If you’d like your name to appear - instead of Y/N - this fantastic extension can help you do that!

He wasn’t normally a man to dwell on hindsight, but Davos should have stopped her the moment she set foot on Dragonstone. He should have known she’d be here eventually, he should have had men he trusted waiting at the shore. He didn’t think she’d barge her way in so quickly.

Well, that was his own foolishness. It had been some years since Davos had last seen his king’s younger sister, but he should have known her fiery personality wasn’t steadied in the slightest. She had Robert’s good humor, Renly’s natural magnetism, and all of Stannis’ stubbornness. The old knight had only seen them truly butt heads once, and that wasn’t over the matter of the realm.

Davos ran up the narrow, dark staircase as quick as he dared. This whole castle was a gloomy deathtrap. Just as he reached the stop step, he heard a door slamming and echoing off the walls. Even the candles seemed to flicker from the noise.

Her heels hit the floors so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t snap. Davos thought she’d run straight into him, but Y/N Baratheon stopped short.

She was breathing hard, some of her hair had fallen out of her tidy Southern braids, and her lips were pursed together so tight he thought she might bruise them.

Davos spoke first to give her a moment to breathe. “Lady Y/N. You’re here.”

Y/N breathed in deeply and rubbed her head as if it pained her. He wouldn’t be surprised if a headache sprang on her now, and he couldn’t help but think of the way Stannis would grind his teeth. Y/N finally said, “Yes. I’m here. I know I should have come sooner.”

“It was good ya stayed with Robert, to say goodbye. King Stannis … should have been there too.”

“Yes. He should have. He shouldn’t have run when Jon Arryn died, he should have stayed to help Lord Stark - gods, never mind what we all should have done. It’s time to take care of what’s happening now.” She tried to tuck some of her hair aside, just noticing how it was coming undone.

Davos didn’t miss how quickly Y/N’s anger was fizzling out. All the energy to flee to Dragonstone, then argue with Stannis and come storming out was too much. Unlike the oldest Baratheon, Y/N didn’t thrive off strife.

“I didn’t know Renly would run, Davos,” She said. “I swear I didn’t.”

Davos couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer and touching her arm. He’d known her as long as Stannis, after all. She was there during the siege.

“It isn’t your fault, my lady, you don’t control what a grown man does. Did Stannis say something?”

“Well … No, he’s as upset as I am, but I was there! Renly didn’t tell me anything! It was Lord Stark who told me later, and as soon as I leave here, he’s arrested -! If I stayed, I could have helped him …”

“No, you should not have stayed,” Davos squeezed both her arms now, addressing her firmly. “It was a good thing to leave that den of snakes, Y/N. Ya couldn’t have done anything for Lord Stark.”

Under any ordinary circumstances, Davos wouldn’t think of touching the sister of his king in such a way, even if they always had been friendly. Lady Selyse would positively riot about it, he knew, and the only thing keeping him in place now was how much he hated the distress on Y/N’s sweet face. Davos wasn’t sure if any of her brothers were aware of how much she worried over them, placated them, tried to mediate between them. While she typically had a good relationship with Stannis, they’d been strained since Jon Arryn.

Davos wasn’t surprised their first meeting in months hadn’t gone well. There was still trouble on her face, but before he could say anything else, he felt her arms wrap around him.

“My lady - you shouldn’t -”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t trust her.”

Davos didn’t have to ask whom Y/N was speaking of. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

“What do you think?”

It was absurd to think anyone would be hearing in these stony and cramped halls, but with the shadows and facades of dragons came an uneasiness that Davos disliked. He was a superstitious man, what sailor wasn’t, and this castle sent every hair on edge.

“Careful where you speak, my lady.”

Y/N scoffed as she pulled away from him. Davos welcomed the coolness that followed, but Y/N hadn’t let go of him completely. It didn’t seem like the time to point out impropriety, so he stuck to warning her.

“I mean it. It isn’t just her. The Queen’s men, too. And your brother…”

Y/N shook her head, but Davos wasn’t sure if she truly understood the extent of the Red Woman’s influence.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just … I should lie down. The travelling took much out of me.”

"Aye, that ya should, my lady. A good rest and a proper meal. You'll be able to talk to your brother easier after that. He needs you on his side, even if he doesn't realize it."

It was so relieving to see a smile return to her face, small as it was. "I missed you, Davos."

If those sweet words and that smile weren't enough to do him in, Y/N gave him another tight hug. Davos had trouble returning it. It didn't seem right to touch her or have her so close.

"Lady Y/N - you're, ah, a princess now. I can't - it isn't proper to, ah, go around embracin' old former smugglers -"

"Oh, stop." Y/N said playfully, but she finally stepped away. Davos hoped to all the gods that the hall was dark enough for her not to see the blush he was positive he had. "A princess?"

"But if I'm not mistaken, ya were still a princess when Robert was alive."

"Little Shireen and Myrcella are princesses, but if it makes the lords think they're flattering and keeps Queen Selyse from puckering her lips at me, then fine.”

Davos chuckled. He really had missed Y/N’s wit. It was rare to find such a vivacious woman in court, especially at the Red Keep. Her freedom as an unmarried sister of the King meant she did as she pleased, especially since Robert was not keen on marrying her, in spite of her age. He was roped into cooperation by the Lannisters, and he wanted to avoid that for Y/N.

It was one of Robert’s few wise moves, Davos knew, and Y/N’s darling face and easy smiles meant he often forgot she was a proper lady. Pleased as he was to see her unmarried, he knew she wouldn’t stay that way with this coming war. Stannis would need to make alliances.

“No dark faces, Ser Davos,” Y/N said, always using his first name, ever since she first met him. “It’s gloomy enough around here. Will you escort me to my room? I can’t navigate this castle for anything.”

“I will do my best, Lady Y/N. It’s still a foreign place to me.” Davos accepted the arm she so easily slipped into his. It was easy to set aside his feelings when they were entire kingdoms apart, but for the first time in years, they’d be under the same roof.

Y/N stared at the dark wine in her goblet. Robert never tired of the stuff. She was amazed how much alcohol could fit in one man without him being sick, although sometimes the sick did come. Stannis discouraged Y/N away from Robert’s parties, but she wasn’t an impressionable little girl. She developed a distaste for drink after she’d seen the way it affected Robert’s body and temper.

Now I understand I just didn’t have a reason to drink. Y/N sourly tossed back the wine. She grimaced at how bitter it was, but the taste was quick to dull. She was sipping it at first, then drinking, and now she could gulp. Wouldn’t her dear brothers be proud?

Her self pity was rudely interrupted by a young page. “Pardon me, Princess Y/N. Ser Davos Seaworth would like to speak with you.”

Y/N glanced toward the boy. He was barely old enough to tie his tunic, but it was better than the ambitious minor ladies who wanted to be her handmaidens. Y/N refused to take on any here, especially if they were speaking that Azor Ahai nonsense. This boy was clumsy, but honest.

“Let him in, dear. You can leave me for the rest of the evening.”

Davos entered her large war tent - a novelty for Y/N - dressed simpler than the page. They watched the boy fumble with closing the tent flap before leaving.

“Wouldn’t ya prefer a handmaiden?” Davos asked.

“No, thank you.” Y/N wondered when her cup got so empty. She was certain she was more than tipsy, so she pushed it aside. Even if she loved his visits, she’d rather not have Davos see her like this. He sat down next to her at the table and took her hand, and gods damn it all, she loved how warm it was.

It used to pain her how clueless she thought he was, but now Y/N was sure he was purposefully rebuffing her. The stark difference in status, the age gap, the matter of Stannis - whatever the excuse was, it just made Y/N’s mood even more gloomy.

“My lady, yer bein’ hard on yerself again. Ya had to know Renly wouldn’t listen. If he was reasonable, ya wouldn’t be here in the first place. He wouldn’t have raised this army.”

Yes, a wonderful change in subject, back to her brother’s treason. Y/N sighed and leaned on Davos, unable to find the strength to keep herself sitting upright. She rested her head on his shoulder.

He was very solid for a man of his age. This was distracting.

“I practically raised him, you know, Stannis and I. He was a babe when our parents died.”

“Aye. And it was yer kindness keepin’ him alive in the siege.”

“Damned right.” Y/N was eyeing the empty goblet and the flagon that still had wine in it. “He was always a pompous little shite in the Red Keep, but this? This isn’t a game, there are Starks in the North, Lannisters in the West and East, and now he’s …”

She sighed heavily, and after a moment of hesitation, Davos wrapped an arm around her. Y/N could have swooned if she wasn’t about to sway.

“Princess, he’s made his decision. I know it hurts ya, but he’s not the boy ya knew. Ya said as much when ya were in the Red Keep. He’s his own person now.”

“My name is Y/N.”

“... Aye. There was no question of that.”

Y/N always liked the way he said her name. Maybe that was how her silly crush started, when she was younger. He sounded so different than anyone she’d ever talked to before. She didn’t understand why the other lords sneered about it under their breaths. ‘Talking low’, they said. Y/N could listen to it all day.

Or all night. She thought. That felt impossible now. Her dark mood wasn’t allowing any of her usual fantasties.

“Ya had enough of this, m’lady.” Davos untangled himself from Y/N and moved the flagon further down the table. He pointedly ignored her grumbling protests. “It won’t make anything better or change the situation.”

Y/N easily wiggled herself under his arm, pointedly putting it back where it was around her, and rested back against his shoulder. The tent was quiet now. Even if the sound of men walking and talking outside seemed too distant.

“I like the way you say my name,” Y/N said suddenly. “I know there’s the titles and nonsense. But like this, I don’t want ‘princess’ or ‘my lady’.”

She felt Davos’ shoulder shift under her, and he carefully touched her wrist. It was the sort of carefulness that Y/N didn’t want - less like she was fragile, more like she was dangerous. Off-limits.

“Y/N, it’s time for ya to lie down. Get some rest.”

She hated the sudden cold that struck her when he moved away and stood up. He did take her hand again, but it was only to help keep her steady. Y/N swayed and held on tight to his hand, easily fitting it into her own. Then he took her other hand, and she felt all the fingers press against her own. It wasn’t fair.

Y/N didn’t catch what he was saying now, too lost in her own irritable, swirling thoughts. She pressed her head against his chest, where his heart beat through his dark wool tunic. He stopped in the middle of his sentence.

“Davos,” She said. She felt those hands squeeze her own, and she prayed they wouldn’t let go. The only reason he should let go is to hold her. She hated the idea of him leaving this tent without holding her.

“Y/N, yer upset, and ya had too much wine. Yer gonna be miserable if ya don’t sleep.”

“I’m already miserable, damn it,” Y/N retorted, her misery and self-pity finally coming to a head. She pulled away from Davos’ hands and firmly wrapped her arms around him. “My brothers are going to kill each other and I just want you to hold me.”

She heard the sigh run through Davos’ chest, straight past his quick beating heart, and finally those warm arms wrapped around her. Y/N could die happy right here. She eagerly nuzzled into his embrace, marvelling at how solid and comfortable he felt.

The leather of his gloved hand was brushing across her bare arm, and Y/N felt more drunk than ever. “Stay,” She asked, feeling selfish and stupid, more like a spoiled girl than a grown woman. “Just for a while.”

But Davos had always spoiled her and let her be selfish, and he did the same now. She felt the hesitance as he ran his fingers through her long, soft hair that had long been yanked from their fancy style.

“Y/N,” He said, his voice so close to her ear that she shivered. “Ya know we shouldn’t. We can’t.”

Y/N finally looked up at him. She shouldn’t have. His blue eyes were always her favorite, always full of humor and affection, just for her. There was all that, but much more. A distinct feeling of desire that Y/N wanted so badly it hurt.

“I’ve always been fond of you, Davos, and that isn’t the drink talking. You know I have.” Y/N spoke softly, but she couldn’t keep her feelings from spilling out as they pleased. “And - you feel the same, don’t you?”

Davos glanced aside, but he didn’t pull away, so that was something. “You and Stannis, yer both gonna be the death of me, Y/N. How am I supposed to stay no to my king and my princess, mm?”

“I’m first,” Y/N said, and the stubbornness made him laugh. Their foreheads pressed together for just a moment, then finally, their lips met.

Y/N loved it, her head spinning with feelings instead of drink. This may have sobered her up. His beard tickled her a little, and she couldn’t help but smile at that. When Davos broke their kiss, he pressed another one on her brow.

“There’s that smile. I missed it. Ya haven’t been doin’ much smiling since this started.”

It was nice to feel like a giddy girl, even with an army of knights and warhorses surrounding them outside the tent. She touched Davos’ face and brought him closer, liking how red his cheeks were in the warmth of the candlelight. Liking that it was her that caused such a boyish blush.

Before she could pull him into another eager kiss, Davos held her wrists. “Y/N, sweet, not anymore. I have to leave soon. I wanted to check on ya before I did.”

“Leave? Where are you going so late?”

Davos hesitated. “Stannis gave me a task. Can’t say more than that. Don’t wanna get ya in the middle of it.”

Y/N had plenty of questions about that, but this was the middle of a war. She’d find out eventually, so she kissed him before he pulled away. “This little task wouldn’t have to do with your former occupation, would it?”

“Yer too clever for yer own good. I’ll come back when it’s finished. Might take most of the night. We’ll talk more about this when we’re back, Y/N. I promise.”

She embraced him tightly then, feeling more secure than she had in months. “I’ll hold you to that promise, ser knight.”

She hated how bright and clear the sky was today. The setting sun was disappearing into the sea and the gentle waves reflected it beautifully. It almost disgusted Y/N that such a breathtaking sunset was preceding a horrible battle.

Her foot tapped the grass impatiently as she waited, but he finally arrived. While most of the men boarding the boats were stubbornly wearing their steel mail, Davos kept to his simple attire. She would bet he was a powerful swimmer, even now. Y/N left her shoes in the grass as she easily scampered to his arms.

He was still nervous about giving her affection anywhere that wasn’t a closed room, but the situation meant he was willing to indulge her. The indulgence almost made Y/N afraid. She recalled back when she confessed to him, how he gave into her so easily, then disappeared in the night. Nothing but chaos followed. Did he expect to die then, and was he expecting to die now?

“That’s not the sort of look I want to leave ya with,” Davos said, trying to humor her. He kissed the crown of her head, like he did when she was very young, then her cheeks, and now her lips. He was generous with his affection and Y/N eagerly soaked it up. The war wasn’t nearly over, and it was pulling at her.

“I apologize, I gave all my proper looks to Stannis when I told him goodbye. You know how he is when I’m upset, and I know he’ll be successful.”

“You’ve said as much.” Davos kept his arms around her, and Y/N took up her favorite spot resting against him. “Your confidence has given the men a great deal of morale, princess. Especially the ones who don’t … believe everything they’ve been told to believe.”

“I’m so glad he isn’t bringing that witch.”

Her bluntness never failed to make Davos chuckle. He was glad she gave her brother an easy goodbye. The gods knew the two of them had their share of disagreements this past month. Anytime they were in the room together, he was distinctly reminded of two stags fighting in the woods.

“It means he still listens to you. He’ll need our honesty, Y/N.”

Like always, Y/N was soft in his arms, and he could smell the flowers she used to wash her hair with. She didn’t perfume herself, he noticed, and the floral scent came from plants and herbs she gathered herself. She had thrown herself into this war effort, and had begun to trade her silks for simpler linens, and her jewels for food.

Standing here in the sunset, with her hair in an easy braid and a flowing white linen dress framing her body, she looked more beautiful than he could have imagined. A princess in spirit and soul. He didn’t deserve her.

“Now you’re the one leaving me with a look,” Y/N said, holding his face and making him look at her. “The battle will be won, Davos. My brother is a fine commander, and you’re a damned fine sailor. After tonight, the Red Keep will be under our control again, and it will all be over.”

She looked tired as she said this, but Y/N had been saying it dozens of times to lords and soldiers. For her, it wasn’t a matter if they’d succeed. It was just which battle, and she’d been sitting in on every briefing for this one.

“Aye. If the princess says it, then so it will be,” Davos felt her hair through his fingers, the ones he didn’t need to hide under a glove, wanting to remember how soft she was. That same hand trailed down her back and touched her hips, which he had to admit he loved. Leave it to an old sailor to be thinking about love and desire instead of the battle just hours away.

The sun was reflecting on her eyes, too, highlighting all the love and sweetness she had just for him. She rarely spared lords second glances, and the courting had begun in earnest. The men Stannis had gathered could practically smell the throne in his hands, and Y/N was a direct connection to that.

“Kiss me,” Y/N said suddenly, impatiently, and he eagerly obliged her. She sighed against his lips and he held her close, feeling her curves through her dress and his own tunic.

Y/N was the one to pull away first, but she stayed teasingly close. “Once this is over, I want to marry on the beach.”

Davos didn’t expect that. He was usually confident in his words, but Y/N had a way of challenging his wit. “Is that so? I don’t know any lords that would be comfortable marrying around sand and salt.”

“No, but I know a knight who would.” Y/N grinned. It was fun to tease Davos like this, but Y/N was a woman of her word. If she told someone she would tear down the wall of Storm’s End one brick at a time, it would be done.

That was a blessing and a curse to his poor soul. “That’s somethin’ we’ll discuss later, love.”

“I’m discussing it now.” She leaned against him, and Davos fought to keep his hands from drifting too low. “We’ve shared our feelings, so I should give you a typical reason to return home to your lady, right? All the songs say a man who has a promise in his heart comes back safe.”

“Don’t those men usually die some poetic death? I don’t plan on that…”

“I agree, death is absolutely forbidden. You’ll be brought before your princess and punished for such a crime.”

“I think the King will have strong words for me, first.”

Y/N huffed. “Stannis can wait his turn.”

Her pouting turned to a delighted squeal as Davos lifted her up, feeling unusually youthful when he should have been facing the next few hours with a sullen determination. He carried her to the fallen tree she had made herself comfortable on before he arrived.

Y/N eagerly pulled him back to her, all but crawling into his lap. “When’s the last time you were at King’s Landing, ser knight?”

“It’s been some years. Saw enough of it as a boy.” He was comfortable running his ruined hand up her leg, knowing it wouldn’t upset her.

“You should show me where you grew up.”

“I’ll walk ya to Flea Bottom an’ point out a shack. It’ll be close enough.”

Her little laugh turned to a sigh as his hand went further up her dress. With little shame, Y/N straddled his lap. She peppered him with kisses as she said, “I want you back to me as soon as possible, Davos. I don’t care what state you’re in.”

“Aye, love, I hear ya.” He kissed her neck, pulling a heavy sigh from Y/N as his rough lips and beard brushed against her skin. “I will.”

“Good.” She tossed some of her hair so he could get at her collarbone, and she was more than delighted when he did. The gods gave and took, Maester Cressen told her when she was a girl. It was not the place of humans to question that.

Y/N often questioned anyway, wondering why the gods delighted in taking what they pleased from her. Her parents, her brothers. Myrcella may have been far away, but Tommen would not be spared in the siege. At least, finally, they seemed content to give her this happiness, this love. She’d hold him tight while she had him.

#davos seaworth x reader #davos seaworth #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #libra fics #posting this all over again bc tumblr is infuriating!!#postin at 11pm like always

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whumping-every-day · 5 years

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Gabriel, Part Two!

I am back with a second installment of Gabriel! Written twice, bc my computer is a butt. Feat. soft siblings Stefan and Maria, a very frightened Gabriel, and a blurry line between caretaking, creepy comfort, and actual comfort. You’ll have to excuse my lack of medical know-how, because I am not an expert.

Masterlist

Gabriel awoke to the sensation of being lifted. Panic spiked deep within him, and he curled in on himself and whimpered softly, unable to remember where he was. But he was all too familiar with the feeling of being hauled upright and then thrown, or dropped, unable to stop his momentum or control where he was put.

“Easy, little one,” a voice murmured. “Easy. I’ve got you, it’s alright. Open your eyes, bud.”

Gabriel froze at the low, masculine voice. It had all of his muscles immediately locking up in terror, but it also had his chest spiking for another reason, because this - this was not Master’s voice. The boy whined and squirmed weakly… but the voice had said to open his eyes, so Gabriel did, timid and alarmed.

There wasn’t much light, but they were outside, walking up the driveway to a strange house. And the man holding him... Stefan. The parking lot. Money. Master giving him away. Everything came crashing back, and Gabriel gave a little shudder as the events slotted back into place.

”Hey,” his new master murmured, and Gabriel flinched, even though the tone was calm. The man shook his head faintly, but he only readjusted his grip to account for Gabriel’s squirming, cradling him almost protectively to his chest. “There we go. Do you remember where you are?”

Gabriel hesitated, biting his lip. Where he was - no, he had no idea. But he knew what was happening, who he was with... “M-Master,” he whispered, and he brushed weak, bruised fingers against the man’s jacket, almost fearfully. It wasn’t an inquiry, it was an answer to the question.

The man grimaced, but the expression quickly shuttered into something more neutral. “Yeah, bud. I’ve got you,” the man answered, even as they closed the last few feet of the driveway and Stefan toed open the door.

The foyer of the house was large, filled with beautiful decor and spotless furniture. There were pictures on the mantle, of his new owners, and another man Gabriel hadn’t seen before.

The boy glanced around, searching for the woman from before - but she wasn’t nearby. “M-Mistress...?” That time it was a question, and Gabriel remembered a split second after asking it that he did not have permission to do so. His lungs froze, chest tightening, but New Master simply glossed over his breach of behavior.

“She’s upstairs,” the man murmured, and Gabriel couldn’t believe it. He should have been in trouble for a slip-up like that. But instead, his owner had chosen to answer his question. Absently, Gabriel noticed that he was still wrapped in the blanket from the car, and his wrists were still bound behind his back. But he was warm, and he hadn’t been dealt any fresh pain since being sold... seemingly, not even when he deserved it.

It felt strange to be carried through his new master’s home, and Gabriel tried to take note of where things were, which floors would need the most scrubbing, which mirrors or windows would be hard to reach. He was rarely allowed out of the cellar, before, and being dragged out and forced to clean the upstairs had been a luxury. Gabriel hoped he would be allowed to clean here, too. It was nice, and the large windows and skylight would let so much sun in... it was beautiful, but more importantly, it seemed well-taken care of. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? It meant his Masters took care of their things.

Gabriel was one of their things, now. Maybe they would take care of him, too.

His Master brought him to the upstairs bathroom, and Maria was already inside when the door swung open. Mistress had a first-aid kit open on the counter, and she was currently pulling on white medical gloves with practiced movements.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she greeted, and Gabriel blinked in bewilderment when he realized she was addressing him. “Could you put him on the toilet seat - yeah, thank you.” She twisted to get out of Stefan’s way as he set Gabriel down, and then the two of them switched places, so Maria could sit on the edge of the tub. Gabriel was very careful to keep still, eyes lowered and head down. “Now, Gabriel,” his Mistress murmured. “I need to take a look at your injuries. Just a quick once-over, to see what I’m dealing with. I’m a nurse, so I promise I know what I’m doing.” Maria smiled softly, even though Gabriel didn’t look up or react in any way. She reached around him with an unseen object, and Gabriel had just enough presence of mind to flinch - but then there was a faint pressure, and the rope around his wrists fell away. “That’s better. Now, try to hold still for me.”

His Mistress did not hesitate to touch him, but she also warned him every time, and always explained what she was doing. Gabriel was accustomed to being handled in such a way, but he was not used to being spoken to while it happened. Where there would normally have been confusion and terror as someone else moved him, there was only faint anxiety. Gabriel let his limbs go loose and pliant, let his Mistress look into his mouth, at his gums and teeth, and then peer into his eyes with a bright light. Then she checked and double-checked him for more serious damage. The woman hesitated over the sight of Gabriel’s ribs, caved inwards and blackened purple and blue. But she only sighed and shook her head.

His former Master had put him only in a pair of pants, and eventually his Mistress had to have them removed. Gabriel settled tensely once he was bare, but Maria was quick with the rest of the exam, even the parts that required she look at places that were normally private.

When it was over Gabriel was trembling faintly, and Mistress straightened, pulling off her gloves. “You did very well, Gabriel,” she murmured. “I know that was hard. Good boy.” Gabriel’s breaths were already shaky, but the words were like a blow to the solar plexus, knocking the air out of him. Good boy. So easily dished out, like praise was something that could just be given, instead of something that had to be earned with blood and pain and tears. Gabriel was stunned, but Mistress was already moving on. “He’s severely dehydrated and underweight, and there’s a substantial amount of scars and deep bruising... probably malnutrition and nutrient deficiencies, as well. I’ll have to take a blood sample. But from what I can see, the only thing broken are his ribs.” Maria looked away from her brother, reaching out almost absently to pet her fingers over Gabriel’s hair. “Can you tell me what hurts the most, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Again with that little name. There was something very funny in Gabriel’s chest, fluttery and squirmy. “I - I th-think - my ribs, Mistress,” he answered softly. His left ankle ached from being broken and healed wrong, and his head was pulsing sharply - but the worst by far were his ribs.

“Alright. I want to get you clean, then I can wrap them, take a quick blood sample, and dress anything still bleeding.” Mistress’s voice was all business, and Gabriel stiffened to attention automatically. “Stefan, could you grab the water from downstairs? Gabe, you sit tight.”

His Mistress moved to turn on the bath, and while she did, Gabriel pondered the number of things he’d been called here. Sweetheart. Buddy. Little one. Gabe. These were not things to call a worthless, broken-down toy. And Gabriel was very much worthless, his last Master had made sure he understood his place. This gentleness could not last. Maybe they just... didn’t understand what he was, yet. But they would.

“Here, buddy.” Gabriel jumped in fright when his Master’s voice sounded from behind him, nearly falling right off the edge of the tub, and Stefan winced. “Sorry. Jumpy little thing, isn’t he?” It was said to Maria, and she only hummed in agreement. “Your last master wasn’t very nice to you, huh.” There was a bottle of water in Stefan’s hands, and he twisted the cap off and held it out. “Slowly,” he commanded, and it was very firm. “If you go too quickly you’ll be sick.”

Gabriel’s eyes had fixed on the water like he couldn’t believe it was real, and he reached out to take it with trembling fingers. Surely it would be snatched away. He waited for a long moment in horrible, tense silence, waiting for it to go wrong, but there was only a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Maria murmured. “It’s for you.”

Gabriel stared up at her for a long moment, then switched his wide-eyed gaze back to Stefan. Neither of them lunged for him, and neither of them wore cruelty in their expressions. Hesitantly, Gabriel tipped the bottle up and drank, and he felt his eyes prick at the clean taste of the water. He took a few gulps, and then the world around him started to narrow. He was so thirsty, and it had been so long, so long - he only realized he was shuddering and sobbing when his Mistress’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Easy, easy.” Someone was pulling the bottle away, and Gabriel was choking and whimpering, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. “Breathe, little one.” Breathe – was he not breathing? Gabriel suddenly felt light-headed, and he dragged in a long gasp of air. He felt too tight, his chest felt heavy, and he barely even registered the small hand rubbing circles on his back. “That’s it. Now out, breath out. Good. Now in…” It was his Mistress’s voice. Gabriel shuddered at the thought of showing such weakness in front of her, in front of both of them. But her voice remained patient, and the hand never stopped rubbing between his shoulder blades, even when Gabriel started to cough.

Eventually he was breathing normally again, and Stefan gave a quiet sigh. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, huh.” Gabriel shrunk in on himself at that, his head lowering in shame. But Maria just shook her head.

“Be patient, brother.”

Gabriel’s eyes were fixed on the tile of the floor, unwilling to look up for fear of displeasing his betters. There was a quiet rustling, a faint clink, and then the sound of water pouring. Then a glass appeared in his line of vision. It was filled only about two inches high with water, and Gabriel stared at it in bewilderment, before scrambling to accept it. Food he could survive without. But water… without water, he would be a feverish, delirious mess. Without water, after a while, he wouldn’t be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t. And to have it given so readily…

“Th-thank y-you,” Gabriel whispered, and his voice was raspy and so genuinely, incredibly grateful. “Th-thank you M-Master, a-and, and Mistress, th-thank you.”

There was a pause, and then Maria gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Of course, sweetheart.” Gabriel’s eyes were already wet when his Mistress tilted his chin up, her fingers smooth and cool against his skin. “You belong to us now, after all.” Her eyes were gentle as they looked down into his, and Gabriel could do nothing but stare helplessly back, desperate and hopeful and terrified all at once.

“We take care of what is ours.” It was his Master, and Gabriel’s wide, awed gaze switched to him. Stefan’s posture was loose, relaxed, nonthreatening. “As long as you live under this roof, we will look after you. Okay?”

It was a soft question, but it still spoke to the part of Gabriel that had been conditioned to respond. He opened his mouth, and realized only then that his Mistress had taken his right hand. And his Master had taken his left. When had that happened? There were still tears in his eyes, but he could only nod, feeling something fragile stirring in his chest.

“Y-yes, Master.” It was the only reply he could give, obedient and meek, but it didn’t feel like enough. Gabriel hesitated, but he shifted just enough to slip onto the floor, carefully setting the glass on the edge of the tub. He immediately went to his knees and bowed flat to the ground, pressing his forehead to the cold tile. “Please,” he whispered. “I’ll – I’ll be good, masters. I – I want -” I want to be taken care of. “I want to be good.”

“We know, little one,” someone murmured, and Gabriel wasn’t even sure who. There was silence for a moment, and then two hands of very different sizes settled on his skin, one in his hair and one on his bare shoulder. Gabriel could only tremble underneath it, and for once it wasn’t only with fear.

“You are going to be a very good boy for us,” his Mistress murmured. “I can already tell.” Gabriel whined and nodded frantically, leaning into the daintier of the two hands. He could do that, he could be their good boy – it was so much better than being a toy, or a thing. And if they truly meant it, if it was possible that this was real… then Gabriel would make himself the best pet they’d ever had.

[END]

Previous, Next

Tagging the lovely people who asked for more, I cannot believe the support for this! @blue-flare10 @whumpywhumper @cagefreebirds @whumptywhumpdump @vickytokio @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-me-fuck-me @robinshouseofwhump @useless-transboy

#my writing #gabriel whump #whump #conditioning #caretaking #they are very gentle with him but he is still their pet #past torture #kept as a pet

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glassworkspiderlilies · 4 years

Text

other side of paradise

Kyokou Suiri (In/Spectre) | Sakuragawa Kuro, Iwanaga Kotoko | AO3 Summary: In the span of a month, Sakuragawa Kuro has been dumped by his girlfriend, lost his job, and lost his home. Things can't get much worse from here, right? (In which Kuro joins the mafia, for better or worse.) Notes: Inspired by atutsie’s tweet! A rapidly written & loose mafia AU i wrote a few weeks back; loose bc i don’t have real knowledge about how organized crime truly works haha.

Sakuragawa Kuro does not consider himself a particularly unlucky man. He has a place of his own, a steady job (if not a high paying one), and attends a fairly prestigious law school. He has a little savings, hardly ever gets sick, has a girlfriend of two years, and overall leads a very, very normal and uneventful life. He likes it that way.

It changes, one day, when Saki breaks up with him. She wants to focus on her career, she says, and thinks that they would have probably been better off as friends, anyway. He looks bored, she tells him, when they go out, and even after two years she doesn't think she really knows or understands him.

(Kuro startles a bit at those last words, so like his own during one of his last conversations with Rikka. Unfortunately, that means he knows exactly how Saki feels.)

He's not bored, Kuro insists, but Saki smiles a little sadly at him, and says that he's probably being genuine, but she can't bring herself to actually believe him. Kuro is quiet, after that, unable to fault her. He's not sure if he's telling the truth, himself.

Saki shakes her head when he pulls out his wallet to pay for the two of them one last time and splits the bill with him when they leave the restaurant. They shake hands outside the door, and stare at each other for a moment longer.

"I'd like to stay friends," she says, her voice almost wistful, "But I have a feeling that I might not see you again."

"That's ominous," Kuro says. She laughs, though it's a little strained.

"Well, say hi if you see me, and I'll do the same," she responds. "Don't be a stranger, if you can help it."

He raises an eyebrow at the wording, but nods. Saki smiles faintly, leaves first, and Kuro watches her go, until her back is out of sight.

Things go downhill, after that, like the universe has decided to cash in whatever misfortune it's been withholding.

Kuro is suddenly out of a job, when the store he's been working at is irreparably damaged; the store owner promises him a job if he can rebuild, but with the investigation under way, the possibility of the money he can collect via insurance and using it to rebuild is extremely questionable.

About two weeks later, as Kuro is still job hunting, the apartment complex he lives in sends a notice out to its residents that the building has been sold and everyone must move out within one month. The building manager is unreachable for the first week, and when he finally does pick up the phone, his voice is high and distressed and can only repeat it’s out of my hands, my apologies, there’s nothing I can do over and over. The whole thing sits oddly in Kuro's stomach. He doesn't think that he's specifically being targeted, despite this chain of consecutive severe downfalls, but he feels like there's something else at work here.

In any case. Kuro sits on a park bench, a flyer for another apartment complex in his hands, and stares at the yellowing grass. It’s late summer, and in the span of a month, he's been dumped by his girlfriend, lost his job, and lost his home. His savings will tide him over for a short while, but the lack of place to have and to move his things to weighs heavily on him.

Kuro puts his head in his hands and breathes deep. He could probably sleep in the school library for a while if it comes down to it, but he still needs a long term solution. He's still young. He can figure this out.

A breeze picks up and lifts the loose flyer out of Kuro's hands. He watches it fly away, hitting the ground before being carried a few more feet and hitting the ground again with loud, papery smacks.

Sakuragawa Kuro has a short term solution: to sleep in the school library once he's officially kicked out of his apartment. He has a second short term solution as well, the favorite of any college student his age when times are tough: get drunk.

Very drunk.

How much worse can things get, anyway?

Gunshots make everything exponentially worse, he decides, as he rests his head against a lamp post. He’s not entirely sure where he is—he’d wanted fresh air and wandered, but a brief glance around reveals that he’s on an empty street that he thinks leads up to a park. Wow, maybe he'll die here tonight, after everything that's happened. He's had too much to drink, but at least everything is numb, so he takes in the increasing noise around him with an incredible sense of calm.

"Sir? Sir, I think you should evacuate the scene," a feminine voice says, and he peels himself away from the lamp post to see a young girl standing next to him, her left hand resting on a cane.

She's wearing a frilly black dress with intricate white embroidery that stands out underneath the light. Kuro stares, and she shifts after his gaze has lingered a little too long, shooting him a suspicious look.

"Your dress," he manages thickly, as he meets her eyes. They are startlingly clear and a bright indigo, and his head pounds a harder. He winces as the increase in pressure, holding a hand up to his head.

"Oh my, you have a good eye for quality," the girl says, flouncing her skirt with pride. She blinks when he winces, then looks a little closer at him, and her eyes widen just a little. He's not sure what is happening, but the glare of the street light is also starting to hurt his head, so he walks a little ways away from it. The girl follows, her shoes and cane tapping on the concrete.

"Are you drunk?" she asks, her voice innocent and curious.

"A bit, yeah," he says, leaning against the stone wall this time. Dimly, he registers more gunshots, and he looks at the girl next to him, delayed panic setting in. There's a young girl here. "Wait—you—run, those are gunshots—"

"Yes, I've been trying to tell you to evacuate, but you seem to be incapable of doing so," she says, businesslike, perfectly at ease as she pulls out a cell phone and taps a message out. "It's your lucky night that I'm here, then."

His lucky night, is it? It doesn't feel lucky at all.

"Have a seat," the girl suggests, and he obeys, sinking onto the ground, even though he really should be running. He leans his head back against the wall, and the girl leans in a little and scrutinizes him a bit more. "You have very nice collarbones," she says suddenly, and he blinks at her.

"What?"

"Your collarbones. I like them," she repeats, slower this time. He looks down to the top couple buttons of his shirt undone.

"Oh," he says, for lack of anything else to say.

"A man should have nice collarbones," the girl says, decisively.

"Okay," he says.

"Anyway, what your name?" she asks.

"Sakuragawa Kuro," he says, and she hums.

"Iwanaga Kotoko," she says, watching his face. He bobs his head in acknowledgement, and she smiles a little at this.

"Iwanaga-san," Kuro begins, squinting at her. "Gunshots notwithstanding, isn't it dangerous for middle school girls to be out this late at night to begin with?"

"How rude!" Iwanaga says, her cheeks puffing up childishly. "I am twenty years old, thank you. I'm ashamed to say my face hasn't changed very much since middle school, but—! It has changed some, thank you very much! You could have at least said high school student!"

Kuro laughs, and she looks startled at the sound, and were he a little more sober he would notice the dusting of red across her face.

"My bad," he says, still chuckling, "Then, a young lady like you shouldn't be out so late at night anyway."

"It matters not," she shrugs, taking a seat next to him and looking very dignified as she does so. "I'm not afraid."

It's not a matter of being afraid, he thinks, or says, he's not sure. At that moment, someone rounds the corner, spots them, and raises a gun—and drunk as he is, Kuro's body moves before his mind can catch up. He throws himself in front of the Iwanaga girl, her eyes widen, and he hears the crack of a gunshot before he blacks out.

"I rather like him in my lap," he hears a voice say, as a hand runs through his hair. "Up close, I really do like his face. Is this what they call love at first sight?"

"My lady, please...he's a civilian."

"Foolish and unnecessary as it was, he jumped in to save me. I think that merits something, don't you think? Bring him back with us. I'll have Sanshiro treat that bullet wound."

"...Yes, my lady."

He hears a laugh.

"A lucky night for both of us, then," she says, and the darkness drags him back under.

When he wakes, his shoulder hurts, and there are two strange creatures in the room. They're probably dogs, one black and one white, but they're very long and leggy and certainly not a breed he's used to seeing. They look a little nervous, and they walk over and circle the bed he's lying on before sniffing him hesitantly. He tries to reach a hand out to pet one of them, but they shy away, blinking at him with their large, wary eyes.

"Oh, you're awake," a voice says, and he looks over at the door to see the young girl from last night. He wracks his brain for her name, as the dogs trot over to her and circle around her. She pets both them before walking closer to his bed, and the dogs lie down by her feet.

"Iwanaga-san," he says, voice hoarse.

"You remember my name," she says, pleased, then considers. "I suppose you would, if you got shot on my account."

It comes back to him then, the full events of their previous encounter, though the details of the conversation they shared are lost.

"On your account?" he asks, putting one hand over his eyes. "Whoever they were...were they after you?"

"Yes and no," Iwanaga says, sitting on the side of his bed. "It would be more accurate to say that I was after them, and unfortunately things got messy. But they caused a mess on my turf in the first place, so I could say they were after me, as well."

"That's...confusing."

"Well, you are a civilian."

A civilian, she says. He vaguely remembers a man’s voice pleading—my lady, please, he's a civilian—and suddenly he's not sure if he wants to ask what he was going to ask.

He might have looked suddenly wary, because Iwanaga smiles at him, and leans a little closer.

"Kuro-san, do you need a job?" she says cheerfully, and he freezes. "I'd say it's a good deal, and it comes with a place to live, free of charge, with a full range of amenities, of course."

"That sounds too good to be true," he counters, after a brief pause, and she laughs.

"It's not an easy job," she says. "And there's some risk involved. But I think the benefits will outweigh it."

She leans over to whisper his anticipated pay in his ear, and he raises an eyebrow. It's a very calculated amount—high pay, but not outrageously so. He wouldn't have to worry about expenses, and could put a hefty amount into his savings, and could afford semi-frequent luxuries if he so chose.

"What's the job?" he asks, narrowing his eyes, and Iwanaga continues to smile.

"My right hand," she says. "It's safe enough, by my side. But again, there is some risk involved. And I'll need help when I need it."

This is the first risk, Kuro realizes, that his job doesn't have a specific description, nor specific hours.

A minute passes, two. Kuro considers the recent events of the past month, and this sudden golden offer.

"There is an alternative, too," Iwanaga says, her eyes gleaming. "But it's least two steps."

"And what," Kuro says, wearily, "Is that?"

"We could date," she says, batting her eyelashes, "As a preamble to getting married."

He chokes on his own saliva.

"It was love at first sight," she continues hotly, unperturbed by his reaction, "Of course, we could do both—that is, you could take the job and date me, and I come with quite a lot of assets if we get married."

"I wouldn't agree to it just for...whatever fortune it is you have," Kuro manages to get out, between coughs. "And there has to be more than two steps involved in that."

"Well, that's silly," Iwanaga sniffs, ignoring the last part. "But I suppose that's sweet of you, too. In any case, it's not a bad deal, is it? You've recently broken up with your girlfriend, you're out of a job, and you'll be evicted in less than three weeks. You don't have any better options, here, Kuro-san."

He frowns at her.

"How, exactly, do you know all that?"

"I have my ways, which you can learn a bit of if you accept my offer," she says, continuing to smile.

He comes to the realization, then, that the choice is—more illusory than it seems. He doesn't feel in danger, and he could probably walk out of here if he wanted to. But. But. She's used to getting what she wants, and so if he left, it wouldn’t be the last he would see of her. And he...well, she's right, he doesn't have any better options. There's not a real choice, here.

"I'll take the job," he says, exhausted.

"Wonderful! And about my other proposition...?"

Oh, she was serious, Kuro thinks, with mild surprise.

"For that I'll...have to think about it," he demurs, as best he can.

She pouts, but seems satisfied enough with the fact that he's taking the job offer. Iwanaga reaches out a hand, and it takes what little energy he has left to shake it.

"That's well enough, then," Iwanaga smiles, and grips his hand firmly. "Welcome to the mafia, Sakuragawa Kuro-san."

He doesn't startle, merely lets out a deep sigh. It's odd, to hear it confirmed out loud, though he had an inkling that this was where he was headed towards. You look bored, he remembers Saki saying, and closes his eyes briefly. Now, he's just tired.

"Waka, Momo, be nice to him, now," Iwanaga says, and the dogs lift their heads. They sniff at him again, and this time when he reaches out to pet them, they allow it, though they still look at him a bit warily.

"Is it too late to ask," Kuro begins, as Iwanaga begins to walk away, the black dog, Waka, following her. Momo lingers behind, still curious, apparently, about Kuro. "Who you are, specifically?"

Her eyes widen, and then she laughs.

"Well, no, I suppose," she says. "They call me the Heiress. My parents run the Iwanaga Group as the heads, but—I do, as well."

The Heiress, indeed. How literal.

"Wow," he says, flatly.

"You could stand to be a little more impressed," she sniffs.

"Wow, amazing," Kuro says, with only marginally more feeling.

She pouts at him.

"In any case, take this time to recover; I'll take care of your other affairs. I'll also have someone come to take measurements for your suits in a day or so, if you’re well enough to stand."

"Suits," Kuro echoes. "Right."

He's still kind of winded from what she said first, that she’d take care of his other affairs. Kuro doesn't have to do a thing, and all his problems are being solved in a heartbeat.

"You needn't sound so excited," Iwanaga pouts, "Your daily life will be unimpeded for a while, and you'll be able to attend school fairly normally. It's more likely than not that I—and therefore you—will be warned in advance if we need to sortie. Just think of it like any other on-call job. In any case, I hope you aren't squeamish, Kuro-san."

He makes a noncommittal noise, and she smiles one more time before leaving the room, the two dogs trailing after her.

It's only after that he realizes that even though he now knows who Iwanaga Kotoko is, he doesn't actually know what it is that she, specifically, does.

He sighs again. Well. He had more or less already hit rock bottom—now, the only way from here is up, right?

(Some weeks later, he is formally introduced to the rest of the Family, walking into the dining hall in one of his new perfectly tailored black suits. He presumes this isn’t all of the Family, but an impressive number of them line the sides of the room, perfectly straight, their own suits just as crisp. Some are old, some are young, and there are men and women alike. The intensity of the stares unnerves him, but he keeps his eyes on Iwanaga, who is sitting at the head of the long table eating her breakfast with elegance. Waka and Momo pad over to circle him, and Waka returns immediately to Iwanaga's side while Momo escorts Kuro the rest of the way. He stops when Momo stops, a few feet away from Iwanaga, though the white dog leaves him after a moment to stand next to Waka. Kuro feels a rush of gratitude for the dog, who has instructed him more than anyone else so far.

"Good morning," Iwanaga greets, wiping her mouth with a pristine white napkin. "You look very good in that suit."

"Thank you," Kuro says, and he supposes he's meant to say something more, because a few of the others shift, or give him a measuring look.

Iwanaga doesn't seem to mind, either way.

"Everyone, this is Sakuragawa Kuro. He took a bullet for me a few weeks ago. Today, he starts his position as my right hand."

Silence, though Kuro isn't sure if it's shock or simply decorum. The looks he gets are—honestly, less hostile than he'd expected. He thinks he sees pity on several faces. He's not sure what that means.

Iwanaga waves him over, and he crosses the remaining distance. He thinks he knows what he's meant to do, now, though he hasn't been given any particular instruction.

He kneels. Iwanaga blinks, surprised, but looks pleased.

"Boss," he says, then pauses. "My lady."

"Either will do," Iwanaga says, amused, holding out her hand.

He takes it in his own and kisses the back of her hand. Iwanaga smiles, he stands, and moves just behind her, to her right.

"You learn quick," she says, resuming her breakfast. "In any case, this whole…ceremony is only for this morning's formalities. It would be absurd to do this every day."

Kuro has to admit that he's relieved to hear that.

Iwanaga finishes her meal relatively quickly, and she rises, using her cane to help her up. He supposes he'll learn the story behind that, soon enough.

"So, what's today's agenda?" he asks, as he follows her out.

"Nothing special for now, just familiarizing you. You're still basically a civilian at this point, after all."

Kuro has nothing to say to that. Iwanaga glances at him.

"To be honest, you're remarkably calm for someone who's just joined the mafia," she says. "Or is it simply because you don't know much about us?"

"If I'm just a regular civilian, what cause do I have to know about the details of the mafia?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Touché. In any case, if you're concerned, no one here will mess with you, unless you provoke them first. But I doubt you will, and I don't think me telling you this will go to your head, either."

So, he's under her protection, and it seems like it's worth quite a lot even if she is the heiress to the group, if she can say this so surely.

"That's quite the confident assumption for a random drunk college student you picked up off the street a few weeks ago," he points out.

She giggles, a suspicious sort of hee hee that has him narrowing his eyes. But she says nothing else, and Kuro lets it go. He follows after her in silence as they tour the place and meet other employees; they all greet him politely enough, but their gazes linger, and again he’s not sure if he sees pity amidst the curiosity.

"Are you bored?" Iwanaga asks when they take a break for lunch, not looking at him as their food is served. They eat together, this time.

"No," he says, watching Iwanaga cut into her food with beautifully precise moments.

She looks up at him, tilts her head a little, and the corner of her lips quirk up.

"Oh?" she says, turning her attention back to her meal, evidently not expecting a response.

Oh, Kuro thinks to himself, as he turns to his own plate. This time, he might actually be telling the truth.)

#kyokou suiri #inspectre #iwanaga kotoko #sakuragawa kuro #fanfiction #more notes on ao3 #oof had such a bad headache today and it took all day to finally post this #did wanna get it out before the end of the weekend tho #i think i had more notes i wanted to write but. at this point whatever

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