#in which case it might be light enough to balance

[flufflecat]

New project: start

#Homestuck #Dirk strider #I'm in a bit of a manic mood tonight which means I'm making wire armatures of Homestuck characters to cope #will I actually finish sculpting him? #uhhh maybe who fuckin knows #I am very proud of the fact that the armature stands on its own though ahfkahfkaj #we'll see how the rest of it goes #lord knows that hs characters are top heavy so I doubt he'll stay upright for long lol #unless I make his ENTIRE head tin foil with like 2 mm of clay slapped on top #in which case it might be light enough to balance #stupid gravity #fluffle sculpts #I also made the armature way taller than I would have liked but thems the breaks when you wing it and don't draw a guide

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Walk The Line.

Carmen gets a little jealous. You don’t mind in the slightest.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. semi public antics.

word count - 2.5k

authors note - ask and you shall receive 😌. i’ll never get enough of roommate!carmy. i’ll be writing him forever. <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

He’s a little out of his depth, admittedly.

The invitation had been slid under your front door, pretty handwriting on creamy paper.

“A… party?”

“Does it say party, Carmen?”

“No, it says ‘mixer.’ What the fuck is a mixer?”

You laugh, scrubbing a mark off the final dish in the sink before placing it down in the drying rack. Carmy is sat on the counter across the kitchen, reading the invite over and over.

“Seriously, babe. The fuck does mixer mean? So it isn’t a party?”

You dry your hands and make your way over to take the paper from him, eyes scanning over it carefully.

“A mixer is like… a get to know each other thing. It’s sort of like a party, I guess, but not really. Just a casual gathering type situation.”

“Sounds fucking stupid,” he grumbles.

You smack his shoulder, rolling your eyes.

“Lighten up, asshole. It could be fun.”

“Fun? You think having a mixer with all the neighbours from our building on a Friday night is gonna be fun?”

“I think it sounds like an incredible time. My ideal evening. I can’t wait.”

You can’t even pretend not to laugh, grabbing onto his thigh to keep yourself balanced. He puts his hands on your shoulders, trying to look serious, but the grin fighting its way up his cheeks gives him away.

“You really wanna go?”

“Carm, if it’s terrible, we’ll just lie and say we’ve got plans elsewhere. We’ll run away screaming if we need to. It might be good for us though, to meet our neighbours properly. It’s good to get to know them, just in case we ever need anything.”

“What, like a cup of sugar? What is this, the thirties?”

“When you’re testing recipes and fucking them all up, you might be grateful to be able to nip next door and borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I don’t fuck recipes up.”

“No? Then why were you yelling at a lavender and oat crème brûlée last week?”

“It was mocking me,” he grumbles under his breath, hanging his head.

You can’t help but laugh, moving closer to stand between his manspread legs where he still sits on the counter. You brush a piece of hair back from his forehead, tracing your index finger in a featherlight touch down the bridge of his nose. He looks down at you, eyes glued to yours.

“I know for a fact you don’t have anything else planned on Friday,” you whisper.

He rolls his eyes but leans into your touch anyway, where you’re still tracing along the features of his face.

“You promise we can leave if it’s terrible?”

“We literally live in this building. We can just walk up the stairs and be home.”

He huffs, but relents.

“Fine. But please don’t leave me alone with all of the middle aged moms. They love me.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” you giggle, leaning in to rest your head on his chest. His arms encircle you, pulling you as close as he can.

Is this scene too intimate for roommates? Without a doubt.

Do either of you care? Not in the slightest.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s not as bad as he thought it’d be.

The middle aged moms have pulled through, actually. The lobby is decorated with fairy lights, tables covered in alcohol set up against the walls. Everyone has a drink in their hand, chatting and mingling amongst themselves.

You and Carmen walk downstairs a little late. He’d finished his shift and run home to shower and make himself look semi presentable before facing the neighbours.

“We need a signal,” he says suddenly, right as you reach the staircase. “In case of emergencies.”

“Pat your head.”

“Real subtle.”

“It doesn’t need to be subtle, it needs to be noticeable for me.”

“Fine,” he mutters, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Don’t leave me alone with that Erica lady. She scares me.”

“Yes sir,” you mock salute, slipping your hand into his momentarily. “You’ll be fine, Carmen. Like I said, we’ll just leave if it’s awful.”

It’s not awful, actually. It’s quite fun.

It’s nice to get to know the people in your building, seeing as you have lived there for a couple of years now. Carmen has been there even longer.

“Excuse me, sweetheart?”

You turn around to be met with an old lady, leaning carefully on her cane.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m Dorothy. I live in 2B, and I just had to tell you that you look beautiful in your dress.”

You smile, pulling out a chair for her, which she takes gladly. You sit down next to her, spotting Carmy chatting with a couple of guys across the room.

“Thank you so much!”

You introduce yourself, telling her your name and apartment number.

“Ah yes,” she hums in recognition. “You live with your boyfriend who has all the tattoos.”

You almost choke on your drink.

“We’re just roommates,” you say eventually. “But yes, that’s him.”

“Oh, my apologies. I just assumed.”

You’re curious, suddenly. You know you shouldn’t be, but you can’t help yourself.

“Can I ask? Why you… thought we were dating?”

She chuckles knowingly before placing a hand on your knee.

“Honey, he’s got a hand on you at all times. He looks at you like you are the sun. Every time you walk past my window, you’re both laughing. Sounds like love to me.”

Her bluntness is refreshing, if not a little intimidating. No one will say it how it is more than a little old lady who can’t mind her business.

“We, uh… we’re close. He’s a good roommate. A good friend.”

She doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, chuckling as she pats your leg.

“Uh huh. That’s what I said about my husband - real good friend. We’ve been married 58 years.”

You smile, shaking your head.

“Is he here with you?”

“He’s upstairs. He can’t really leave the apartment, these days.”

“You know, if you ever need anything, me and Carmen would be happy to help.”

“No, sweetheart, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“-you’re not asking me, I’m offering. Carmen is an award winning chef at one of the best restaurants in this city. He’d be more than happy to make a meal or two when needed. And I can pick you guys up stuff from the grocery store when I go, too.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, grabbing your hand in her frail one. “You’re good kids, you two.”

You grin at her, squeezing her hand gently.

“You know where I am, if you need me.”

She nods, standing up carefully.

“I’m going to go see if that handsome Jeremy will come and fix my shower for me. He did promise.”

You laugh, watching as she makes a beeline for one of the dads stood in a huddle. You catch eyes with Carmy, who’s still chatting away with a few of the younger guys. He winks at you, all cheeky and carefree, and you can’t help but flush, heat prickling across your skin. You shake your head, smiling, winking back.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your bicep. You spin sideways, to be met with the sight of a very handsome man. Dark hair, big brown eyes, tall - he looks slightly like a movie star you can’t quite remember the name of. You crane your neck to meet his gaze, smiling softly.

He holds out his hand to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m Daniel.”

You tell him your name, trying to ignore how his hand engulfs yours.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Have you lived here long? Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

Now he shakes his head.

“A month, maybe. I live in 6C. I’ve been working a lot, so haven’t had any time for introductions.”

“Ah. What do you do?”

“I’m a model.”

Of course he is.

“What do you do?”

As you start to tell him, his eyes fix on yours, not leaving for a moment. He listens carefully, both of you blocking out the noise and focusing on each other.

Turns out, Daniel is good company. The two of you find a spot in the corner, away from the noise and the wine drunk moms. The two of you laugh, joke, and talk about Chicago as if you’re old friends. Time slips away from you easily, conversation flowing with minimal effort.

“I don’t want to leave, trust me… but I have a super early call time tomorrow. If you wanted, we could grab a drink sometime, somewhere that’s not our buildings lobby?”

You laugh, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that. It was nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“You too. Here,” he says, handing you a small business card with his number on, “text me.”

“I might do just that,” you tease as he walks away grinning.

You’re on your way to grab another drink when a hand slinks around your wrist.

“Hi, Carmen.”

You don’t even have to turn to know who it is, recognising the feeling of his calloused hand against your soft skin.

“Where’s your friend gone?” he all but grumbles.

“He’s gone home, got to be up early for work.”

“Haven’t we all.”

“Ooo, okay Mr Attitude. You’re not having a good night? You didn’t give me the signal.”

“Would you have noticed if I did?”

You spin around to face him properly now.

“Yes, I would have. Because we’re in a tiny fucking lobby and not a football stadium, Carmen.”

He huffs.

“Didn’t think you’d notice if the building fell down, the way you were lost in his eyes.”

“I know it’s a foreign concept to you, Carmen, but eye contact is actually a very important part of conversation. Try it some time.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, grip on your wrist tightening.

“Come on,” he mumbles. “Wanna show you something.”

He practically drags you up the stairs, and up some more, and up some more. Eventually, you reach the roof.

The sun is just setting, casting the city in a warm orange glow. Everything is so calm, so peaceful, so serene. It’s beautiful.

You’re admiring the view when suddenly your feet are no longer on the ground. Carmy has you over his shoulder, carrying you across the rooftop to the brick wall.

“The fuck are you doing?” you cry as he finally puts you down.

He smashes his lips to yours, choosing to shut you up rather than answer you. You kiss back eagerly, confused but not disappointed at the turn in events. Slipping your hands into his hair, you tug him into you, groaning as he grabs at your ass.

“Carmen,” you breathe, “why don’t we just go home?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he mumbles against your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. When he bites down, you smack his shoulder.

“No marks, asshole. The fuck is up with you?”

Again, he says nothing, just slips his hand under your dress to run his fingers over your underwear. You part your legs instantly, leaning back into the wall to steady yourself.

“Carmen, someone’s gonna see if they come up here.”

“Well then you better come quickly.”

He slips your panties to the side, running his fingers through your wet heat. You keen, knees buckling already.

“Oh baby,” he chuckles. “This all for Daniel?”

It all clicks for you suddenly.

“That’s what-” you choke as he slides a finger into you. “That’s what - fuck - has you so riled up? Daniel?”

“Don’t say his name when I’m knuckle deep, baby. It’s rude.”

You attempt to scoff, but it comes out as more of a moan when he presses his thumb to your clit, circling carefully.

“Am I not giving you what you need, honey? Is that it? Greedy girl just wants more, so she looks elsewhere to get it?”

“No,” you justify quickly. “You know that’s not true.”

“If you can still form sentences, I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

He slips a second finger in, curling them exactly the way he knows you like.

“Carm.”

“He couldn’t make you feel like this, babe. You and I both know it.”

You’re nodding, fingers gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re scared he’s going to walk away. His lips press into your neck again, nipping along the expanse of skin.

“Say it.”

“Hmm?”

You’re dazed, mind hazy with Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen Carmen.

“Say. It.”

He punctuates his words by curling his fingers harshly. You’re seeing stars, legs giving out.

“He - he… fuck, Carmen, please.”

“So close, honey. Try again.”

You know he won’t relent. He never does, when he’s in a mood. You have to just give him what he wants.

“He couldn’t make me feel this good, Carm. It’s all for you, only you.”

“Good girl. Knew you could do it.”

With that, he speeds up his fingers, his other arm snaking around your back to keep you standing upright.

“Give it to me, baby. Know you want to. That’s it, atta girl.”

“Come for me, there we go. Can feel you.”

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. So pretty like this.”

You fall over the edge, clenching like a vice around his fingers as you throw your head back. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin, chest heaving with every breath you take. Your vision goes white for a second, gripping onto Carmy’s biceps for dear life.

You rest your forehead against his chest, panting as you try to recover.

“Jealous Carmen is kinda mean,” you mumble into his shirt.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around you.

“You know I didn’t mean it, right? You’re free to date whoever you want. You could do a lot worse than Daniel the hot supermodel.”

You pull back, looking at him carefully.

“I know. I just… I don’t know if I’ll go. Seems a bit unfair to date him when my mind is on someone else.”

You both know exactly who you mean. You both also know that tipsy on a rooftop is not the place to have that conversation.

“Did you ever master the lavender crème brûlée?”

He chuckles, not expecting the sudden change in subject.

“Yes, I did.”

“Do we have any left?”

“We don’t. But I did make chocolate soufflé this afternoon, if that’ll satisfy your sweet tooth.”

“Fuck, yes,” you grin, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

“I’ll make you a crème brûlée in work tomorrow. Promise.”

“Will you make two extras?”

He quirks a brow in confusion, so you continue.

“We’ve got two elderly neighbours. They’re not very mobile, so I said we’d drop stuff off every now and again.”

He smiles at you, all soft and melted.

“Of course. That heart of yours is too big for your chest, you know.”

You take hold of his hand, placing it there.

“Only sometimes.”

He kisses you again before throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“Let’s go eat chocolate soufflés and drink the rest of that wine you bought.”

“You’re a mind reader,” you laugh, making your way downstairs.

Maybe he is, you think later. You don’t mind in the slightest.

#roommate!carmen berzatto x reader #roommate!carmen berzatto #roommate!carmy berzatto x reader #roommate!carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader fluff #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader fluff #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear smut #the bear x reader #the bear fluff #the bear imagine #and they were roommates

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Harmony || CL16

Summary: Being a musician isn't the easiest way to make ends meet. Aside from being in the local orchestra, you balance being a tutor and a tuner - one Charles hires to tune his piano. Warnings: none, fluffy WC: 1.2k F1 Masterlist

Of course the city would be busy when you were running late. As much as you might have tried to run, or at least power walk, you didn’t want to damage the precious cargo you were carrying. You managed to make up some time at the sacrifice of your lungs and you were still recovering when you reached the address of your last appointment.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr Leclerc, my violin lesson ran over.”

“That’s okay, and it’s just Charles,” he corrected as he opened his door wider for you to enter his home. It was easy to see where you were going to be working so you headed straight to the upright piano in the light and airy living room. After placing your violin case on the floor beside his coffee table you shrugged off your backpack and opened your tool kit.

“May I?” you asked as you reached for the memorabilia balanced on the top you needed access to.

“Oh, right, sorry.” He rolled his eyes at himself for not preparing the piano for your arrival and helped you clear it off. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you, Mr- I mean Charles.” You opened the top lid before removing the front panel and sat down on the bench. First you tested the keys and pedals to see if any were sticky but they were in good condition, and you listened to each key to determine how much work was needed. 

“How long have you been learning to play the violin?”

You looked away from the keys as Charles took a seat on the sofa near your instrument. “Oh, no, I teach it. Well, I suppose I am still learning, because there is always room to improve, but my lesson was with a student.”

“So violin tutor and piano tuner,” he said with an impressed nod. “That is quite the niche market.”

“Not as niche as yours,” you pointed out as you pulled a tuning fork out of your tool kit. “There are certainly more than 20 of us in the world.”

The racer cracked a smile that was quite disarming and you had to return to your work as your cheeks warned. “When was she last tuned?”

He chuckled nervously and you winced before he even answered. “When I bought it, two and a half years ago.”

You suppressed the sigh that built and grabbed the adjuster to start moving all the keys up in pitch. “Without regular tuning, you’ll likely find she needs fine tuning again in a few weeks.”

Charles smiled sheepishly and nodded. A comfortable silence fell as you continued your work, moving with confidence through the motions until you were satisfied the piano sounded perfect. Replacing the front panel and closing the top, you took a seat again for the final test. There was already a page of sheet music on the stand so you placed your tablet next to it and opened the app that picked up notes and confirmed if they were in tune or not.

Your eyes scanned the sheet and you heard the melody in your head before you let it flow into your fingers that started their graceful dance across the keys. One page was more than enough to check your work was done but you were a little disappointed that you weren’t able to hear the remainder of the song as you closed the lid.

“I haven’t heard this before,” you said as you picked up the sheet but it had no markings on it. “Who is the artist?”

Charles rose from the sofa and took the page with pink cheeks. “I, uh, I wrote it.”

“It’s beautiful, and sad.” He frowned at the strange compliment and looked away before you placed your hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with sad music. It is meant to be a way of expressing oneself so it doesn’t fester inside. I tell my students it is a good thing.”

His frown softened and his grip on the paper eased before he reached past you to place it back on the stand. “I wanted to add some other instruments once I recorded it, but I wasn’t sure which ones.”

You nodded to yourself as you replayed the sonata in your head, your fingers drawing invisible notes that could accompany the melody. “Hmm, I think I can help…if you want?”

“Please,” he said as he watched you grab your violin case and unlock it. The lid opened with a creak and his eyes widened as he saw the logo for the Monegasque Royal Orchestra in the velvet lining. “You play for the orchestra?”

“Second chair,” you hummed with a proud smile. “We are playing for Prince Albert’s birthday this weekend.”

“I guess I will see you there.”

Of course he would have an invitation to the Prince’s birthday, all the important people in the principality would be there. “That’s one way to make me nervous. I’ll try not to mess up for you.”

“I think you’ll be great,” he said with a grin as he sat at the edge of the bench and watched you raise the delicate violin to your neck.

“Do you want to play and I will join you?”

“Uh, sure.” He was the one who seemed nervous now and he cleared his throat as he turned on the bench seat, his toes hovering over the pedals. “Here we go, I guess.”

His long fingers were elegant and his wrists remained loose as he began to play. You let the first eight bars open before you closed your eyes and drew your bow across the strings in harmony to him. Charles stumbled over the key as the higher octave caught him by surprise but he recovered with a quiet apology and soon the piece rose into an emotive crescendo that had your chest aching before the last note died out.

You let your arm relax and the warmth from the rosewood rest cooled on your skin as you lowered the bow and violin to your sides.

“That was…incredible,” he said as he turned in his seat.

“You are a very talented man, Mr Leclerc,” you said as you carefully laid the violin back into the bracket and locked it up. “A lot of people can play the piano but very few have the creativity to write their own music.”

His blush spread from his cheeks to his neck and he fidgeted with the ring on his finger. “Thank you, for tuning my piano and playing with me.”

“It was a pleasure.” You packed up your tools and shoved them into your backpack before picking up the violin case and looking at the door. “I hope you enjoy the concert.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said with a genuine smile as he walked with you to the entrance way. “Maybe we can have a drink together afterwards?”

You clutched the handle of the case tighter and tried to control your excitement with a small nod, but your smile was uncontrollable and bright. “I would like that.”

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one imagine

[stararch4ngelqueen]

cute bath with jason, candles and bubbles and light music playing and he’s sitting behind you and giving you kisses as you just talk about eachothers days

—

Time Written - 10:50 p.m

—

“I saw somewhere that they sell these trays that hang on the tub, like hooking on the edges. You can use it to read your book inside. With a glass of wine or tea, or scotch too.”

Rough fingers along your back rolled any remaining knots in your muscles, calloused hands gently stroking along the junction of our shoulder and neck.

“Scotch?” Jason huffs in amusement. “C’mon, y’know I’m not a scotch guy.”

“Whiskey, bourbon. Whatever,” you giggle, leaning your head forward as you swipe along any stray wet hair, only to feel his fingers completely halt.

“You forgot my tastes??” Jason expressed with complete shock at this horrifying discovery. “Baby, I’m hurt.”

Any further giggling was unavoidable as you see his face; twisted into mock pain, his lips formed into a tragic quiver as he gives his version of puppy dog eyes.

“An’ here I was, so very very proud of myself to drive all across town to that lush store you like so much, All for the bath salts!” Vocally expressing his pain, he clutched his chest in one hand, dramatically swooping his damp curls back to dress his palm over his forehead.

“Oh my god, Jason!”

“And they weren’t even on sale!” Jason continues on, leaning his head back further with feigned agony. “I spent good money on my woman, an’ she forgets that I’m a bourbon man!”

“Jason stop it!” You turn yourself just a little more, both hands coming out of the milky waters to settle along his upper arms.

“I got you that bottle of Four Roses earlier, I know what my man loves.”

Jason smirks whilst withdrawing his hands from their prior positions. He can’t help but laugh a little himself, lowering one of his hands under water to rest along your hip.

“What I love is that pretty look on your face, Doll.” He pinches your chin with feather-like softness before kissing you.

Coming home to this everyday; you, was a gift.

Getting to spend every minute in your intoxicating presence. What drug or alcohol could be possibly infect himself with when his brain provided such ecstasy with one look at you?

The lights were dimmed, the water still clung to its toasty warmth. The milky waters seeping with sweet soap, pearlescent powders, crushed oats and herbal oils.

An exquisite tastes of both lavender and honey soothing elegance, bodies dripping in glittering gold.

In some cases, you didn’t wanna do anything sexual when Jason came home. This bath, for example, both of you were naked yes, but it was possible to not think such thoughts in a precarious state.

Your one and only was home safe and sound, You loved nothing more.

Jason was more than okay with that.

If you weren’t up to it, neither was he. Vice versa.

A perfect, consensual balance.

This was much better than a book, even better than a drink. The sleep he always got after these baths were heavenly, nearly slumbering like a baby each time.

“After the day I’ve had, I prefer this right here instead of a drink.” Jason re-swipes his soaking wet hair back along his head, growing slightly irritated from his dipping curls dripping onto his face.

“What a way with words, handsome.” You smile as you turn your body slightly, letting your upper half settle more comfortably against his. His hand settles along your back, running soothing circles against your glistening skin.

“Jason.”

“Hm?”

“If I did buy you that bath tray, would this mean you’d read to me in here?”

“Probably,” he replies, pondering over which book exactly. Also if he believes he could be comfortable enough with literature in the tub.

“Might as well do some skincare too,” you ponder over the idea, to Jason’s confusion.

“Like, some eye masks or something. Make it a spa day.”

Jason remained… intrigued, adamant. Only eye masks he’s seen you use were those glittery jelly ones you put under your eyes. He’s tried them once, per your request. They weren’t bad, but he didn’t understand the uses to this day.

“You’re just giving Dick more things to talk about.” Jason chuckles, his eyes closing as your hand readjusts his sopping wet, snowy curl out of his face.

“As if he needs to know what we do. This is our time, remember?”

“Mhm.” He leans close, pressing a kiss along your cheek before leaning just a little lower, leaving a softer peck underneath your ear.

“Our time.” He murmurs, feeling your head lean against his touches.

“The day I can dress you in a bright pink robe—“

“Babe no.” Oh boy. “C’mon—“

“-With feather lining and fuzzy slippers. You’d look adorable!” Your purposefully cheery accent had him groaning your name in false irritancy against your neck, rolling his eyes.

“There’s no deal you can make with me for that to happen, Princess.”

“I can be very persuasive, Mister Todd,” your tone drops from its cheerful tease into a more slow, much familiar tune he was well accustomed to.

His chest rumbles with amusement, teal eyes narrowing with interest in your statement. You’re really eager for him to do such? Now you piqued his interest.

“I’d like to see you try, pretty girl.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #my heart did flips #I liked this too much it’s too cute

[howtofightwrite]

How effective is clapping (boxing?) someone's ears in a fight? Like on a scale from like mild annoyance to taking someone out of a fight entirely. Something about it always seemed childish but I swear I've read something about the pressure change really messing up your eardrum and inner ear.

Boxing the ears works very well.

Your sense of balance is regulated by a fluid filled organ in your inner ear. Sensory hair cells track the way the fluid moves, or more accurately, fails to move, when your head and body move around. This is the fundamental, physiological basis, for your ability to tell up from down.

Unsurprisingly, when you get that fluid moving and doing things it's not supposed to, your body's ability to maintain your balance starts to experience some “difficulties.”

The inner ear works off some fairly reasonable expectations for how things will behave. Unfortunately, when those expectations are no longer true, for example if someone just delivered a shock of air pressure down both ear canals, it becomes surprisingly difficult to override that information.

So, when you box someone's ears, you can temporarily disrupt someone's balance, and if executed correctly, it can even cause them to crumple to the floor. Now it doesn't actually incapacitate them, and you can power through your inner ear getting slightly stirred from a hit (though, it's not going to be a fun experience. Especially if your body stumbles across the idea that your balance issues are from a poison you consumed, in which case expect to throw up. Though, if you have the ability to weaponize that, being able to literally throw up into your opponent's face is one way to offer a very clear opinion on getting your ears boxed.)

However, that's the shallow end. Boxing the ears can, as you mentioned, cause an ear drum to pop. This isn't quite as simple as it might first seem, as there are a lot of ways this blow can cause temporary or permanent damage to the ear and your ability to hear, ranging from the membrane itself being perforated (though, that's more likely if there's a sharpened object getting driven into their ear, or “ossicular dislocation,” where the bones you rely on to make the ear drum work become separated (and fixing this will require surgery.) However, it can get muchworse if enough force is applied.

There are a lot of delicate bits of bone in this part of the skull (including the malleus, incus, and stapes mentioned in the previous paragraph.) A lot of these are part of the temporal bone as a whole, but breaking parts of that can have some really unpleasant side effects including, and I'm not exaggerating (much), your brain leaking from your ear or sinuses. (Though, it's far more common that this leakage is cerebrospinal fluid, rather than the brain itself which is usually non-life threatening, and those injuries dotend to heal on their own, but in rare cases surgery is necessary to deal with CSF leakage.) Which is to say, it can get reallybad.

So, in a word, “yeah.” Boxing the ears works. A fairly light tap to both at the same times can completely scramble someone's sense of balance for a few minutes, and if you can land the hits, it is a valid way to create an opening for a hasty exit. The more catastrophic outcomes are extremely unlikely unless you're driving a lot more force into their skull, or get supremely unlucky.

Now, “supremely unlucky,” can still happen, and you are battering someone's skull, so boxing their ears isn't exactly, “safe,” but as intentional strikes to the head go, it's one of the less dangerous options. Then again, it's also not trying to do much to your foe.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing tips #writing advice #how to fight write #starke answers #starke is not a real doctor

[zipper-ghost]

From chapter 2 and 3 of my fic where Kim and Harry go to a gay club for a case

You can read the uploaded chapters so far here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55229812/chapters/140088478

First part of chapter 3 is under the cut. Waiting for my friend to finish beta reading it for consistency and general unhingedness before I post it.

The smoking section is a small square patio with exposed brick walls on all sides, a couple of chairs, and a trellis with a brown drying vine. A string of fairy lights drapes the walls and provides the barest illumination. Kim is relieved to find it empty. He can still feel the bass of the music inside through the walls. Lighting his cigarette he leans against the exposed brick wall and inhales a lung full of smoke. 

He reaches for his notebook which isn’t in his jacket. 

Tonight is more stressful than Kim expected it to be. It’s been nearly a decade since the last time he’d been at a gay club and he’s no longer used to the atmosphere. He can’t believe he used to find the loud music and crowds fun. 

Harry is having fun, at the very least. As Kim expected, he is very popular. 

“I can’t believe him,” Kim mutters. It annoys him, more than he likes to admit, how pleased Harry is at getting attention from those two young boys. They are twenty-five at most. 

Kim exhaled the smoke through his nose, the scent of chestnut engulfing him. He glanced down at his hands, for once without driving gloves. The skin is tight against sinew and bone, with blue veins visible underneath. He isn’t young anymore. He isn’t spritely, wide-eyed, enthusiastic, adventurous, or full of wonder. Kim isn’t sure he has never not been jaded. But now he gets pain in his back and neck randomly and he can’t sleep as easily as he once could, he can’t drink as much without getting terribly hungover. 

Kim shouldn’t be surprised that Harry is enamored with them. He always had a thing for young, pretty, whimsical things- people unlike Kim. 

Kim takes a deep drag of hot air and then watches his cigarette balanced between his fingers thoughtfully. His body relaxes, and the jittery feeling in his hands eases. A part of his dreads going back inside and seeing Harry dancing with Lucas. 

That boy has no shame, rubbing himself against Harry and mewling like a kitten. Kim could never- 

Kim shakes his head. He’d never want to act like that, crawling all over Harry and shamelessly flirting with him for all the world to see. 

Of Harry’s many flaws, the one that bothers Kim the most is how clouded his judgment becomes under the fugue of sexual attraction. It was bad when Klaasje used Harry’s obvious attraction to her to manipulate him but somehow this felt worse. 

It’s different when it’s a woman, Kim can’t compete with that. If Harry can love a man why not him? 

Kim groans, he wants to slap himself. It’s not a competition, he isn’t competing for Harry’s attention. 

Again he reaches for his notebook. He wants to get this jumble of thoughts out of his head. He wants to write everything down and burn the pieces. 

He knows he shouldn’t like Harry like that, he shouldn’t want Harry. Harry doesn’t see him like that. 

They are coworkers, partners, and friends. They’ve saved each other, again and again. Kim shouldn’t want anything else, anything more. It would make work complicated. 

One cigarette might not be enough today. 

Kim tilts his head up and looks at the sky. The city lights drown out all but the brightest stars.

It’s hard not to find Harry loveable. For all of Harry’s tragedy and dysfunction, when he says something deeply insightful and intelligent he leaves Kim in awe. When Harry’s eyes are full of joy as he exposits about some newly acquired niche fact, when he glances at Kim for approval and reassurance, and when he looks so pleased to make Kim laugh, when he looks at Kim like he hung the stars in the sky, Kim feels his resolution crumble. 

Sometimes Kim catches a heated look in Harry’s eyes, a predatory hunger that borders on longing, Kim wonders if–hopes maybe Harry too desires him. 

But Kim can’t be certain. He can’t trust his eyes, or his judgement clouded by desire. He can’t ever risk being wrong about this. 

If tonight was any lonely sleepless Saturday night, Kim would be in the safety of his bed spinning inane fantasies, where Harry, unable to contain his desire pushes Kim against a wall, or on the hood of his kineema and kisses him. Harry’s kisses are terrible at first; wild and messy. 

He’d tear off Kim’s orange pilot’s jacket and push his hand under Kim’s white t-shirt. Kim takes off whatever mismatched outfit Harry is wearing, ripping seams and buttons in the process. Harry growls Kim’s name in his low gravelly voice and leaves bite marks and bruises on his wake as he trails kisses down Kim’s body. Kim knots his fingers in Harry’s hair as Harry takes him into his mouth. He'll lick the tip and stroke the rest with his hand too intimidated to take Kim down his throat. 

Kim will guide him and praise him and Harry will do his best to please Kim. 

Kim sighs out a lung full of smoke, again grateful to be alone. 

Then, as if his thoughts manifested it, Harry burst out through the doors.

Unconsciously, Kim licks his lips when he sees Harry, the wisps of his fantasies still lingering in his mind. 

“Kim, he’s here!”

“Who?” Kim takes another drag from his cigarette, barely paying attention to Harry’s words. He watches Harry’s lips, the way his throat bobs as he swallows. Kim wants to reach out and touch his face, feel the roughness of his beard between his fingers, making out the crooked shape of his jaw beneath. Harry is more handsome each time Kim sees him. Kim wills himself to look away.  

“Who else!” Harry whispers-shouts at him. “The suspect. Red hair and a tattoo on his arm, exactly like the witness said.”

The suspect, of course. Kim half hoped he wouldn't appear tonight but it is good. They are here for a case, not to flirt and fantasies. 

“Alright,” Kim says. His dark jeans are tight and unforgiving, constricting his half hard cock. He straightens his posture in hope of some relief without making Harry suspicious. “What do you suggest we do?” 

“We should go talk to him.”

Kim taps his cigarette to shake off the ash. 

“That’ll be risky, we might scare him off. We should just watch him for now.”

“But he is here! Now!”

“We can’t be 100% certain it is him. The witness didn’t give his name, just a vague description. We need to confirm he knows the victim and was with him last night.”

“We can do that by asking him,” says Harry. 

Kim narrows his eyes. “No, not you. I’ll do it.” 

“What?”

“Your interrogation techniques are effective but we can’t let him know we are interrogating him. I’ll talk to him, you’ll scare him off.” Kim admires Harry’s wild, throw anything against the wall until something sticks method but it has a high chance of scaring people or pissing them off. Neither option they can risk tonight. They need the name of the suspect at the very least, ideally confirmation that he knew the victim and met him last night. 

“I wouldn’t,” Harry insists, furrowing his brow. 

“Yes, you would,” Kim says firmly. “I’ll go now, wait a few minutes before coming out.” 

God, Kim wants to kiss him. He wonders if Harry would be shocked or pleased. If Kim slips in his tongue would Harry suck on it?

Kim walks up to Harry and places his half-smoked cigarette between his lips. 

Harry’s eyes widen as he searches Kim’s face, bewildered, trying to figure out what he's thinking. But he accepts the cigarette in place of Kim’s tongue, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette. 

“Finish this for me alright?” Kim says. 

Harry nods dumbly. Kim itches to kiss Harry now, to breathe in the smoke from Harry’s lungs. Harry staggers back and leans on the brick wall for support. 

Kim goes back into the club before he does something he shouldn’t.

Close up on their faces incase Tumblr chews up the quality again 😭

#disco elysium #digital art #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #de #kimharry #harrier du bois #de fanfic

[deimos-awaits]

Dreams of the Chaptermaster

My first little writing from Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita did not know where he was. This deeply concerned the Chaptermaster of the Ironsong, in a way the few other things did. He almost always knew at the very least where he was or what made his surroundings. To be so unprepared and unknowing of either was troubling. He was not wearing his armor that much he was sure of. The comfortable feeling of tons of ceramite was gone from his chest. It made them feel rather light and airy. The area around them was light and fragrant. Though covered in such a deep smoke or mist that it was hard to tell where anything was really. It reminded him of one of the poetdens on his homeworld of Astraea, at least on the side that devoted itself to the arts.

It took less than a minute for him to take stock of himself. He seemed to be wearing the robes and tunics common on the more wealthy parts of Astraea. He would rather have been in one of the old jumpsuits he had long grown accustomed to wearing. Further he wished that he had a mechandrite harness or any of his armor. Artificer Siderénia felt naked without it, especially without any knowledge exactly of where they were. The last thing that he could remember was celebrating a successful campaign against an eldar craftworld force with the Knightly House of Phobos and the First Deimos Explorator Fleet. The celebration was a subbed event, the heads of the three organizations, themself representing the Ironsong Chapter of Astartes, though he did indulge in specially acquired Fenrisian Ale. Maybe that was the mistake, and the ale imbibed by the sons of Russ. Warpcraft was his second supposition as to what was occurring though he was hoping that wasn't the case. The third most likely situation was he was dreaming.

Artificer Siderénia took one more moment to examine the air around him. It resembled the smoke clouds more often found on the poetdens of Astraea though unlike there, where a simple wave of the hand would result in more clear air with the incense brushing away and the ability to see whatever poet was crooning against the sound of brasswind instruments. He strode forward, though they were unable to out which direction they had initially started facing. Siderénia was confident enough though that the ground beneath was made of marble or some other similar stone. He bent down to feel it and it was as smooth and cold as they would otherwise expect. The smooth surface indicated some form of polishing and the as of yet unidentified light source seemed to confirm it was white stone with gold veining. Artificer Siderénia could Even see his own well kept beard and violet eyes in the reflection from the stone.It felt truly like he was in one of the more gaudy Emperor forsaken poetden. Upon recalling the simple fact about his homeworld’s musical traditions, a soft melody began to play in the air.

It sounded wrong, as if there was a faint hint of static with what was normally a live performance. The melody itself was strange and Artificer Siderénia did his best to try to appraise it before approaching. It seemed to be a strange melange of the work songs of his youth and the more restful ballads of a poetden though he could not make out any district words that either might have. He was put on high alert no matter where he was it was trying to put him at ease and failing.

If only he had his Omnissian power axe.

He was not often given to strong emotions, moderation and balance was after all key to his chapter's survival and thriving but he yearned for it now in this strange place. If this was the result of any of the Magi of Deimos they would learn why to never do this again. With little emotion visible he began to move towards whatever source of the music he could find. Damn Magos Aleph-Gimmel Bellerov-2.0 and her Fenrisian ale for addling their head enough they could not remember where they were. With a simple breath he moved forward, less a man moving forward but a rumbling mountain of steel, flesh, and ceramite moving forward in thundering footsteps. He never was one for subtly though there was an itching in the back of his head that wished that was more the case.

Artificer Siderénia kept walking until the smoke began to clear and his surroundings seemed to take a more solid form. The room they found themselves in was a similar amalgamation of all the poetdens he had ever been in. There was a stage at the edge of his vision where there was a youth of indeterminate gender - not uncommon on Astraea - crooning into a microphone hanging from the ceiling, tables spread out with small arrangements of flowers on them, gilded seats and incense burning everywhere. The song that youth with light hair and even paler skin was crooning was strangely difficult to focus on. There was also no band visible behind them to give the backing music. Dream or warpcraft Siderénia decided. Perhaps both. He was leaning towards dream given how most of the seats and tables present seemed suited to accommodate a man of his size and build and although that was not uncommon on Astraea due to it being his chapters homeworld but all of them being his size or larger? Strange.

He began to walk towards the youth on the stage. The fact that the youth either did not notice him despite seemingly being the only other person in the room or did not care that a nine foot tall transhuman was approaching was troubling. It was further troubling that the youth only had one breast whose swell was visible under their tunic. Warpcraft of what flavor was quickly becoming obvious to him.

Could he use any of the chairs here as a welcome? Were the chairs also similarly tainted? What would he have to do in order to escape this place? His thoughts began to march through his head in ordered fashion trying to discern exactly how to leave this warp spawned nightmare. The Ruinous Powers would not have him.

Siderénia was so focused on that he didn't notice at first the clapping congratulating the Youth's latest unintelligible song. The Youth took a bow before returning to croon in some language that was definitely no form of Gothic Siderénia had ever heard. He turned to see the source and perhaps find any other person here to find a giant of a man even by the standards of the Astartes. He has the same white hair as Siderénia, like the marbled floor and matching violet eyes. Siderénia’s hearts felt as if they had just stopped.

He yearned once more that he had his power axe.

It was impossible to deny who was sitting in front of him and Siderénia would not even begin to attempt to. The other man laughed. The laugh was far similar to the music playing. It was a thousand desires and dreams fulfilled all at once, and ten thousand desires left aching.

A few moments passed between them again with the smell of incense and the crooning threatening to overtake all of the senses. Siderénia simply stared, a gaze that in most cases would have caused any member of the Ironsong Chapter to shrink. The other person simply laughed again. “Hello darling. Are you enjoying the performance?”

Artificer Siderénia simply stared over more at the man begging the Emperor to be wrong about who this was.

“Well. Aren't you going to say something?” The other figure asked as if the few seconds, maybe even a minute, if that at most, of silence had begun already to bore him. The voice was similar enough to the laughing that it made him want to talk and respond. It was oozing with joy.

“No.”

The other man's broad smile seemed to twitch for a second. “Oh come on, Siderénia, you know you brought yourself here, won't you as least ask who I am? This is modeled after your homeworld after all.”

Siderénia glanced at the crooning Youth. Their performance though still entirely musical had begun to verge into a style that would have never been accepted on Astraea, Even given their relatively progressive standards. He looked back at the figure lounging in front of him. The tunic the other was wearing seemed to be made out of snake skin. “What would you have me say Fulgrim, snake, Gorgonbane?”

The Primarch of the Third Legion's face, Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita own Primarch, laughed again though there was no mirth this time. “First Rylanor, now you. Oh darling, darling. " Fulgrim tuted at him as if he was a child. "When I heard the little whispers the Imperium had decided to make a new chapter with my geneseed I just had to watch you know. It was so fascinating to watch you all grow.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita stood as impassively and emotionless as any proud son of Ferrus Manus would. His chapter claimed their descent from the Gorgon. Now would be no different. “I hope you are disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Oh my dear son, Siderénia, I'm far from it. Your precious Ironsong has been an exemplary finishing force! And while the art you make tends to be more subdued, that can be fixed in time! I'm sure I can find a place for all mechanists.”

“No.” the world around Siderénia began to shudder and shake. It was like a hololith losing connection.

“No? Again that's really quite Dornian or even rather like… you haven't even heard my offer.”

“Snake, I want nothing of what you offer me.” Siderénia Teleiótita count feel the tug within him to submit to his primarch and do whatever the demon and but the chaptermaster held firm.

“I am your father,” Fulgrim stood now white hair cascading down in an impossibly beautiful wave. “I know what you have gotten up to with those Magi-”

Siderénia Teleiótita, against his better judgment, stepped forward and grabbed a chair as he did so. It was no Omnissian axe but it would have to do. “You are not my father. He is buried in Astraea’s soil, and though you are my primarch my allegiance is to the Emperor and Ferrus Manus.”

Fulgrim’s languid and easy attitude had swung towards anger and frustration. The entire poetden seemed to flicker into static. “I do not know by what Warpcraft you think you can escape but you will see,” and the human form he was talking fell away to reveal the demon prince beneath. Writhing scales and four arms reaching towards the all too human history master. “You are my children, you are not his!” one of Fulgrim's claws scratched his chin.

The Youth began to scramble and run off of the stage as the dream world was shaking.

Siderénia Teleiótita had no idea what Warpcraft was happening either. As far as he was aware no one even remotely close to them had access to warpcraft. He swung the chair at the daemon primarch ready to fight to his last here.

Then his eyes shot open.

Siderénia Teleiótita’s hearts were pounding and he was covered in sweat.

A familiar, though a tad forgettable Magos of Deimos, loomed over him. “Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita! Are you alright? Your heart beats were elevated, I was simply coming to ask for your presence at a meeting with the local planetary governor.”

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita simply looked up at the Magos Tsephor-10.54 and attributed the headache to hangover as that dream faded almost instantly from memory. The rather fat techpriest had the strange ability to be almost forgettable while also unnerving. “I am fine. Aid me in putting on my armor and I will be there promptly.”

Siderénia Teleiótita did not notice the new scar on his chin.

#ironsong chapter #siderénia teleiótita #fulgrim #i guess I never thought id actually tag him #tsephor #techpriests writting #that's just me writing tag

[dulcesiabits]

the paradox of touch.

summary: Mhin isn't used to your physical affection... but they're also not used to being without it.

notes: 1.5k words, fic, fluff, a commission for @mh8 (!!! thanks again for letting me write about mhin <3)

i.

Mhin never tried to go to the Wet Wick if they could avoid it.

They didn’t mind the dinginess and the drinks (and the drinks left much to be desired) as much as the noise and the endless press of sweaty bodies, crowded onto the floor and spilling out of booths not designed to seat several people at once. Leander, irritably, saw nothing wrong with it; “the more the merrier,” he claimed, despite the obvious fire hazard.

As Mhin pulled their hood lower over their head, they slipped through the crowds as much as they were able to, inwardly grimacing as they dodged clumsy, drunk patrons. No, they tried to avoid the tavern as much as they could, unless they were dragged through its doors by Kuras or Leander, and then, all they could do was curse their luck.

But tonight was a little different. No one had dragged them through the doors this time. You were going to be there, as Kuras had off-handedly mentioned this morning. And it’s not like they liked you that much, but it was easier to tolerate the noise and heat of the Wet Wick if you were around. And maybe they enjoyed your company somewhat more than they did everyone else’s. Which wasn’t saying much, because they didn’t like most people’s company.

You were at the bar’s counter tonight, and Mhin made a beeline straight towards you, settling into the empty seat by your side. There was a glass in your hand, already half empty, amber liquid catching the dim lighting as you tossed it back. You made a face at the taste.

“What are you doing?” they asked, and you almost fell out of your seat.

“Fuck! Mhin, when did you get here?”

“Just now,” they said curtly.

“At least give some sort of warning,” you groaned.

They drummed their fingers on the counter. “You should have noticed me.”

You shrugged your shoulders, placing the glass back on the counter with a thunk. Their eyes trailed along the curl of your fingers around the cup, following the bent of your elbow to your shoulders, to your neck, to your relaxed face.

Sometimes, when you had drunk enough of whatever slop Leander passed off as alcohol, you would get touchy (more than you usually were, at least). Mhin had learned this the hard way when you had launched yourself into their arms one evening, beaming at them woozily as you ran your hands through their hair, calling them beautiful. 

And… they hadn’t hated it. It could have been worse; you could have been a complete stranger, and if that was the case, there was no guarantee you would leave with all of your fingers still attached. And, additionally, the only reason they didn’t immediately push you off was out of surprise. And you were clumsy at that point; you might have lost your balance if they had shoved you away, which would have been more trouble than it was worth. Still, they watched you now, wondering if a repeat of last time would happen. They could still remember the warm, solid weight of your body, and the tenderness of your grip. No one had touched them like that in a long, long time.

Unconsciously, they placed their arm next to yours. You didn’t even look at it as you stood. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I can stay a bit longer if you need something, though.”

You looked at them expectantly, and they tried not to flush under your affectionate gaze. “Not today.”

“I’ll see you around, then.”

Without even a pat on their back in parting, you left, leaving Mhin feeling curiously empty and embarrassed. 

ii.

Maybe Mhin had misjudged the friendliness of your relationship. Casual skinship among friends wasn’t anything unusual, and they’d seen you pull Leander into a hug, and put Ais in a headlock. You were a physically affectionate and touchy person, which wasn't unusual. 

However, it felt as if you were more reserved with them. You would hold onto Kuras’s elbow when the two of you went out. Even Vere, the arrogant bastard, would let you touch his ears. But when it came to Mhin? There was none of that casual affection. In fact, it felt as if you went out of your way to avoid them. When they brought their hand close, you withdrew your own. There were no hand placed on their head for a job well done, or an arm slung around their shoulder at the bar. 

Maybe you were trying to be considerate. Under normal circumstances, they would grudgingly appreciate it. But when had they asked you to be considerate? 

“Is something wrong, Mhin?” you asked. During the night, when you lost track of the time working or browsing the market, they would accompany you back home to your room at the Wet Wick. It was dangerous at night, and normally, the two of you would enjoy a companionable silence. But this time, Mhin couldn’t bring themself to enjoy this usual nightly ritual. 

They were scowling, prowling quickly through the streets. Irritation prickled along their spine, and they twirled their dagger in one hand, wondering if there was a suitable target nearby. 

“I’m fine,” they said curtly. 

“All right,” you said, shuffling your recent purchase of books under one arm.

They glanced down at your hands clutching the paper bag, and then glanced away before you could notice. 

Then, you tugged at the end of their cloak, a light pressure that anyone else might have missed. When they turned, you leaned in towards them, and they lost their ability to breathe. “Hey, hold still for a second.”

The gentle rhythm of your throat as you swallowed, the way the moonlight turned your skin to silver, the warm breath from your lips— they were aware of each and every one of your movements, helpless as a rabbit caught in a trap as you leaned closer— your lips could brush their cheek if you moved even slightly— they could see the ridiculously beautiful medley of colors in your eyes— and then you backed away, holding up the stem of a leaf. 

“This was caught in your hair,” you said cheerfully, flicking the offending object into the breeze. “Mhin? Hey, Mhin?” 

They pulled their hood quickly over their face, stalking farther down the streets as you ran to catch up. Hopefully you hadn’t caught the growing blush on their face as they cursed you silently in their head. 

iii.

Mhin was starting to wonder why they bothered going to the Wet Wick anymore.  

They tried to focus on their drink, an unappealing, sludgy red color (“specially sourced,” Leander boasted) with a bitter taste that burned the back of their throat. You, the one person Mhin would bother to talk to, were seated at the other end of the bar, holding court with Ais and Vere, the absolutely worst people you could have surrounded yourself with. 

It was only as Vere reached out to trail his fingers down your arm for what must have been the umpteenth time that night that Mhin finally slammed down their mug and approached the three of you.

It was the alcohol, they wanted to say, that made them act so uncharacteristically bold. But their head was remarkably clear as they hissed, low enough for Vere’s ears to prick in interest, “I have business with them.” 

“Hm?” you said, tilting your head. “Me?”

“Yes. You. Come on. Let’s go.” 

Ais raised a lazy hand in a parting gesture as Vere whispered in his ear, both their eyes following the two of you as Mhin guided you out the entrance and into a shadowed alley close by. 

“What’s up, Mhin? Did something happen?” you said, concerned, and the sound of your sweet voice shot through their veins faster than the alcohol had. 

“You—” They parted their lips, pursed them, and then spat out the words as fast as they could. “You— why— why is it that you don’t touch me?” 

“Touch you?” Your eyebrows quirked. “Mhin, if you wanted to get into bed with me, then—”

“Not that sort of touch!” Mhin said hastily, glowering at your teasing smile. “It’s just— When you’re with Vere, or Leander, or any of those fools, you’re so casual about touching them! And— and! What about that time in that alley? Why did you get so close to me? I thought you were going to— that you and I were going to—” 

“Mhin,” you said, and all the humor vanished from your voice, replaced by something so sincere and affectionate it made their ears burn. “Leander, Ais, Vere and Kuras are my friends. I like being affectionate with my friends. I didn’t think it would bother you so much; I just wanted to tease you a little because you always acted like you hated me touching you.” 

“Well— I don’t hate it if it’s from you.”

“Let me make up for it right now.” And then you kissed their cheek, your soft lips lingering against their skin as you pulled back with a wink. “There. Was being honest so hard?” 

“… You’re the worst,” Mhin said, but there was no heat behind their words. 

“Ah, but you like me that way, don’t you?” 

And they couldn’t find it in them to disagree, not with the press of your kiss still hot on their skin. 

#liya writes #touchstarved #mhin #mhin x reader #touchstarved x reader #mhin touchstarved #x reader

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

this might sound super cheesy but can you maybe write tan or pietro with a reader who's this embodiment of femininity, always put together when she goes out, borderline clean freak, does hair and skin care, shy and calm, hopeless romantic, has this priscilla presley and sharon tate kind of energy? which based on tan and pietro, she's the polar opposite.. so yeah maybe that and add whatever you want.

- 🦢

hii honey!! just as my requests are still closed, im gonna write this as hcs/ thoughts. hope that's okay. and this is absolutely nowhere near cheesy!!! bc I FUCKING love shit like this. and im gonna pick tan, just cuz he's my fave (and i feel will suit better for this type of reader)💌

couldn’t resist, so I made some moodboards

so I imagine you to be this beacon of light and warmth, just this presence of comfort and serenity. and it's something that contrasts with tan, but in the same way, balances it out perfectly. I imagine you to be very nurturing and motherly and caring and it'll act as a magnet for tan. you will have this pull on those around you, and it makes others feel safe and cared for and loved

shy and calm and reserved at times, but very passionate

smart and calculated but in a nice way. very honest and true to yourself. finds beauty within everything. presents yourself well

you would love love. everything about it - the good and the bad. old couples eating together, seeing people on first dates, children holding hands, people opening doors for others, seeing people share food. hopeless romantic

always has a granola bar, tissues and a piece of fruit in your bag. lip gloss, sanitary wear (enough for others, just in case) and plasters too

some key words: everything has a home in your house. fresh baked goods on sunday mornings. bowl of fruits on the kitchen counter. open windows in the springtime. old paintings. cooking. fresh cut flowers in every room. healthy indoor plants. pinks. greens. whites. smells clean and fresh. put together. pure. kind. homely. divine energy. connected. crystals. candles. warm hugs. crochet blankets. vintage cars. willow trees. apple pies. wicker baskets. open meadow. wildflowers. washing lines. lace. silk. vases. regular manicures. happy. content. skincare. pomegranate. figs. strawberries. lemons. blueberry muffins. rabbits. deer. cats. the moon. the sun. venus. ocean. waves. forrest. lakes. ecofriendly.

you'd be like this pure, whimsical gust of light sent down. considerate. effortless

"darkness in the light, light in the darkness. one can't exist without the other" you and tan bc you balance each other out so perfectly

now im thinking what I said is cheesy😭😭😭!!

#ask #🦢 #tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x fem!reader

[hedgehog-moss]

One theory I have to explain some odd choices made by translators (and my source for it is “it makes sense to me” so take it with a grain of salt) is basically that as human beings we share a common limit of linguistic complexity, so that languages that are simple on one level (like an alphabet with just a couple dozen letters) can afford to be more complex on some other level and conversely, a language with a more complex feature like thousands of ideograms or lots of grammatical cases will make things easier for itself in some other way.

A language like English which is quite simple in substance (easy conjugations, few verb tenses and moods, no need to remember the gender of every noun and modify adjectives and verbs accordingly, etc) can afford to be more complex in practise, for instance having a higher tolerance for implied meaning, ambiguity, syntactical flexibility, single-use neologisms, and so on. A language which is more complex on the sentence-making level (or word level, with non-intuitive spellings) will shun extra complications on the meaning-making level and demand more precise and codified phrasings, few neologisms, visible logical connectors, etc.

The example in my last post was really typical (though extreme enough to be funny)—where the English text said “the Haves vs. Have Nots vs. Have Mosts” the French translated the latter as “those who have more than all the others.” English went for 'as concise as possible’ and French for ‘as clear as possible’. You could have said in French ‘ceux qui ont le plus’ (those who have the most) or even ‘les ayant-le-plus’ (the having-mosts) but the phrase with all the meaning out in the open was preferred. And although for specific examples you can argue that something else could have worked better, it still makes sense why each language made the choice it did when you consider the text in a holistic way.

A text translated from English to French gains complexity in some ways that are inevitable (e.g. verbs that are in preterit and indicative mood in English might have to alternate in French between imparfait and plus-que-parfait and indicative and subjunctive moods, with verbal structures that are longer or less straightforward) so the translator ends up lowering complexity on other levels, like choosing to spell out ideas more fully. It may seem like a small mental effort to deduce that “have-mosts” mean “those who have more than all others” but it quickly adds up when every sentence has vague or layered or innovative meanings. At the end of the day both the original text and the translation hit the same threshold of linguistic complexity, but the complexity is located in different aspects of language.

There are times when reading French -> English translations when you can see logical connectors being deleted for reasons that feel baffling to a French person (“it makes the structure of thinking less obvious? why would you do that”) but make sense if the complexity of the text has been lowered in some way that English speakers prefer (eg short, direct sentences instead of long meandering ones). Now that parsing the sentence and keeping track of clauses requires less effort, you can ask more effort of the reader by making meaning more implicit—and if the translator doesn’t readjust things in this way they’d be operating their language below capacity, and the English-speaking reader might feel like they’re getting bogged down in overexplained phrasings instead of walking at normal speed.

So in this light the wordiness of French makes sense for French and the pithiness of English makes sense for English—of course there are many factors at play but there’s one common motivation behind these opposite choices, and it’s balancing the different layers of complexity of each language (some of which are a matter of preference eg sentence length, while others are more hardwired) to try and situate your text at the level of complexity that is both hard enough to be interesting and easy enough to be comfortable for the human brain.

#like clearly it's not the only reason why french is eg hostile to neologisms while english loves them #there are lots of historical and cultural factors but this can play a role too #language tag

[bemysinphony]

Are you feeling this too?

pairing: txt taehyun x f!reader

genre: os, au, fluff, smut

summary: when your attraction to him becomes unbearable and you fail to hide it, he has a surprise in store for you...

warnings under the cut!

warnings: beomgyu makes an appearance (but he's not part of the smut), friends-to-lovers, irony, tae is a bit of a know-it-all, they both have a thing for hands (quirofilia), they are veeeeery much down bad for eachother, cursing, mutual masturbation, handjob, thigh-riding, fingering, praising.

word count: 3,3k

notes: in case you haven't already noticed, I'm a big fan of friends-to-lovers 😋 this has been in my drafts for wayyy too long, I can't believe it's finally seeing the light! I kept editing it so many times because I was never satisfied enough (damn perfectionism), so I hope the final result is decent 😭 enjoy <;3

You two knew eachother for some years now and were the most comfortable with one another. You shared almost anything with no worries or embarrassment, as well as feeling a special kind of excitement everytime you had something you needed to talk about and knew the other was going to be there to listen without judgement.

Taehyun was a bit of a know-it-all sometimes and he loved to use that side of his personality especially to tease you, but that didn't stop him from validating your thoughts and feelings, however unrational they might be. And he found relief in you, who helped him to not think too rationally like he did most of the time. You balanced each other quite well, that's why you worked like a match made in heaven.

Same could have been said about your clingyness: you both needed your own space and individuality, but, when you felt like it, you were ready to cuddle the other until satisfied.

Neither of you could have predicted that this level of comfort would have extended even to sleeping together in the same bed though.

Lately, whenever you two hang out at night with your shared group of friends and you were too tired or drunk to go back to your apartment, as he was to accompany you, he started offering you to stay at his place, which was closer to the centre of the city. Not giving it much thought, you simply turned collapsing onto his mattress into an habit.

Last night was one of those nights: you checked out a new bar with your friends, the dishes were delicious, as well as the drinks, reason why it was easy to drink a bit more than usual.

"Looks like you'll come with me tonight as well" Taehyun stated, holding your waist to help you stand up. It was so unfair that he held his liquor so well and better than you.

As usual, Beomgyu teased you both about the situation: "At this point, I'm so sure they've been doing a lot more than just sleeping... when are you guys going to confess the truth to us, uh?"

"Shut up, Gyu" you mumbled annoyed.

"Let's go, he's just envious" Tae retorted, nodding to the group to greet them.

"I'm not envious! I'm not!" Beomgyu's shouted at your back, accompanied by the laughs of the others.

The last thing you remembered was slipping into the warm covers of Taehyun's bed, all clean up and ready to collapse and sleep for hours.

"Are you comfortable?" he made sure, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You groaned in affirmation, deeply inhaling his perfume that permeated the sheets, something that never failed to relax you.

"Goodnight then" he wished you.

"You too Tae" you grumbled before falling asleep, too tired to give any importance to the feeling of being stared at.

When you open your eyes on the half light of the bedroom the morning after, you rise your head to look at his soft sleeping face, following his features as if you were tracing them with your fingers. Honestly, it was also very much unfair how pretty he was and that you only got to look at him like that when he wasn't aware of it. You sigh softly and your gaze lands on his slightly parted lips.

The faint memory of the dream you had falls upon you all at once, making your cheeks flush. Did you really dreamed about fucking him? Again? And this time while you were sleeping in his bed, with him in it ? This was getting out of hand. How were you supposed to keep a straight face while looking at him now?

At first you kept telling yourself that having these type of thoughts about him was just caused by the curiosity that your friends' comments sparkled... but when you started to linger your gaze on him, feeling attracted to his body and the way he moved, until you fantasized of kissing and touching him, you understood that, no, it definitely wasn't just that at all.

You were terrified by the idea of ruining your precious friendship, of losing your best friend, just because of lust. Just the thought itself felt like losing oxygen. And yet you couldn't help your feelings that only kept on growing. What a cliché.

You try to get up without waking him up, moving slowly outside the covers, but the mattress betrays you, squeaking as you shift your weight. He stretches and blinks to adjust to the light, serene and unaware, while you freeze on the spot, still sitting on the mattress, blushing even more if possible.

When he looks at you he immediately notices: "Hey, are you okay? Do you have a fever?" He gets up quickly, worried. His raspy morning voice definitely wasn't of help.

"N-no, no, i'm fine" you manage to say.

To make sure he reaches out to touch your forehead anyway, causing a rush of chills running down your back. "Okay, you don't" he sights in relief.

"That's what I told you!"

"Why are you blushing this hard then?"

"It's nothing, it's just hot, I need a shower..." you want to get up and find refuge in the bathroom, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You feel your panties getting wet and instinctively push your legs closer together.

Shit.

He glances down at your sudden movement, understanding what was going on: "Oh, I see... you're horny" he smiles amused, "so, your plan was to get off in my shower?"

"I was just gonna take a cold shower!" Your heartbeat quickes at the thought of him imagining you touching yourself. You wonder if he has ever done it, but you immediately chase the thought away.

"Yeah, sure..." he mocks you, a playful smirk on his lips. "I am too right now, so... nothing to be embarrassed about"

"Wait- right now? Are you...?"

"Uhm, yeah, I'm hard right now" he frowns, confused by your surprise, "I was going to, you know, take care of it... while you're in the shower."

"W-well, now we can't do that."

"Why is that?"

Your eyes widened. Was he for real? Was he trying to act bold, pushing your buttons to see how you'd react?

"Do you seriously want to get off at the same time, in different rooms, while being aware of it?" You point out the obvious.

"Would you rather get off here? Together ?"

Was he joking or was he provoking you? And if the latter was true, why? Was he attracted to you as well? And if so, was he trying to find out how you felt about it? No, that couldn't be... those were just your delusional fantasies... right? You look away and blush even more if possible.

He registers your reaction and this time he fully blushes as well, thinking it's an affermative answer to his question: "Wait- seriously? Would you like that?"

This wasn't what you meant, but it wasn't wrong either: you do want that, him, with every fiber of your body.

You don't understand how he feels about it, what's behind his embarrassment and surprise, so maybe this is the time to address the elephant in the room once and for all and find out. You feel the panic growing quickly inside your chest as you say, "What if... what if I did?"

He looks you dead in the eyes and swallows.

Surely he's searching for the right words to reject you, to tell you that he wouldn't, that you are just a friend for him and that the way he's been staring at you is because of the affection he-

"I'd like that too" he admits. The cool and chill facade is crumbling before your eyes, piece by piece. "I... I fantasised about it. About you."

You can't believe what your ears have just heard. Is this happening for real or it's just a very vivid dream?

"You did?"

"Yeah... of course" he shakes his head, "I mean, I don't know, these days I feel very attracted to you so it just came naturally to imagine how it would feel... to do it with you" he looks down, the fiery red tips of his ears sticking out. Now that he's letting his vulnerability take over he's so cute. It's a pity that you don't get to see this side of him as often as you'd want to. You want to kiss him so bad.

"Has this happened to you?" He finally asks.

"Yeah..." you bite your lip out of anxiety "I am very attracted to you Tae... I've been for a while now and... recently it's been difficult to not mind it at all. Like, very difficult..."

"Fuck..." he lets out inadvertently.

"Yeah, exactly" you let out a nervous giggle and his eyes widens.

"Should we...?"

"Would you like that?"

"Damn if I'd like that. You? Would you?"

"Definitely, yes" you confirm.

Still a little uncertain and awkwardly, you both move closer to eachother, looking forward to the touch you've been craving all this time.

Your first kiss begins sweet and tender: your fingers run through his soft hair that you have always loved very much, while he's smiling on your lips and caressing your cheek.

When you give his tongue access to your mouth things get heated. He instinctively moves his hands to your waist to bring you closer, his fingers starts lingering over the bare skin of your back, just above the elastic of the sweatpants. When you release a soft moan and tug his hair, that drives him completely nuts: he's been dying to know what kind of sounds you make.

"Fuck, that was pretty. Do it again please."

"I need you closer... can I?" He nods eagerly while getting rid of the covers, you waste no time and sit on his lap. Feeling his hardening pushing against your core despite the fabric is heavenly, the string of moans escaping your lips prove it.

"You're music for the ears... whatever I've listened to until now can't even compare"

Your heart beats even faster at the compliment, threatening to burst out of your ribcage. How are you going to survive this? You're just getting started and you're both a mess already.

Your fingers run to the hem of his shirt, removing it to reveal his beautiful toned body for you to explore like you've been craving to do. You trace the muscles of his shoulders and arms he's so proud of have been enhancing, and leave sloppy kisses all over his chest.

"Are we really doing this?" His breathing is hard and irregular.

"Do you want to stop? Cause we can, anytime" you raise up to look into his eyes in search of any proof of doubt.

"No, I just can't believe it's happening" His soft smile contrasts with his lust-filled gaze. "Do you?"

"Not at all."

You start moving your hips slowly against his, making him let out a groan of pleasure. When you fasten your movements he throws his head back. "God, y/n..."

"Tell me what you imagined me doing to you"

"No, but-"

"What? Did I do something wrong?" You stop in your tracks.

"No, fuck no, this is great" he reassures you, "it's just that- I should take care of you first, you're the one that-"

"But you are going to, silly. Now answer my question."

"I..." he looks down where your bodies are closer, then reaches for your hand and kisses each knuckle tenderly. You hold your breath as butterflies invade your stomach. "I thought about your pretty hands around me"

You move to stroke the bulge covered by his underwear a couple times and watch him struggle to hold back his own moans, before getting rid of it. You stop for a moment to take in what your eyes are seeing: he has a nice shape and length, you can't wait to discover how he feels.

Meanwhile, he begins to worry about you being disappointed or regretting your decision: "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just never saw you like this and wanted to take a proper look at you... you're pretty, you know?"

Surprised and pleased, he lets out an "oh" that turns into a loud moan when you start palming him.

"Does it feel good?" Your chest is filling with pride.

He's already humming approvingly and instinctively bucks his hips into your hand. "You're so good..."

"As good as you imagined?" You tease him.

"Not even close... so much better"

You really need some contact as well and you squirm over him.

"Use my thigh" he proposes, gripping your hips. Loving the idea, you shift to have his left thigh between your legs and start rubbing your pelvis. His muscles flexe beneath you and the fabric creates an amazing friction.

You stroke his skin faster, circling the tip with your thumb, resulting in him bringing an hand over his face: "Shit, I'm close already..." he mumbles.

"It's okay, come for me" your voice sweet like honey, "I want to see your lovely face though..." and you gently take his hand away, locking eyes with him just in time before thick, white ropes start covering his stomach. His face contorts in pleasure and only groans leave his lips, that are eager and desperate when they take yours in a rough kiss.

"That was... way too good" he sighs, "I'm sorry I didn't last long..."

"Don't say that", you reach for the tissue box on his nightstand, "you were so excited of having my hands all over you, it was so hot." You lick your lips, passing him the tissues to clean himself up.

"It's your turn now" he moves closer to your ear and starts leaving a trail of pecks down your jaw. "What did you imagine?"

"I- uhm... well... I'm actually in this state because I- I did have a wet dream tonight..." You look away, your cheeks are burning again.

"Oh, you did?" You recognise from his tone that a smug smile is certainly tracing his lips, "Was I involved?"

You nod, finally revealing where this all thing started. "You were playing with my boobs..."

"Was I?" He starts rubbing your nipples through the thin fabric of the shirt, making you whimper.

"God, I love the sounds you make too much." He frees you from it and admires your body like you did before with him. "You... your shapes..." he starts kissing and massaging your breasts, "...are so gorgeous..."

You look at him working your skin and intertwine your fingers with his locks once again, pulling a little everytime he licks the right place the right way.

"And then you went down..." you continue to guide him.

"Of course" he starts kissing your stomach, slowly descending.

It was taking too long and you couldn't take it anymore. "I seriously need you between my legs. Right now." You rush him.

"How exactly do you need me?" He looks up at you and that's so hot of him, you swear you could pass out.

"Your fingers..."

"Seems like we both have a thing for hands, uh?" He lets out a giggle detaching his lips from your skin. He guides you to lay down before removing your thin sweatpants. The darkened spot in your panties is so wide now, his fingers linger over the damp cotton.

"Stop teasing..." you complain.

"You're right, you had to wait this long to take care of me..." he finally gets rid of the only piece of clothing left and takes a look at you, mesmerised. His fingers runs through your folds, his digits circle your opening. "How are you so pretty?"

The first finger enters you easily, shortly followed by the second one. You gasp for air when he curls them, the sensation of finally having him inside of you burning in your chest, waves of pleasure crossing your body. As soon as he starts pounding, you buck your hips to get him as deep as possible.

"Look at you... this is so much better than anything I could ever imagine." Feeling how warm and tight you were around him was simply delicious.

"Faster, please..." you ask gripping the sheets and he immediately begins to thrust with more vigour, his other hand on your knee to keep your legs open.

You start clenching around him and feel your clit pumping looking for some attention as well, thus you reach for it, rubbing your digits in a circular motion.

"God, you're so hot like this" he grunts while your juices drip into his palm, "I can't believe I'm watching you touching yourself for real."

You slightly lean forward to get a better view of his veiny hand and your mouth goes agape. You've always been enamored with his hands, seizing the opportunity everytime you two felt cuddly to caress and play with them, but this... this was a whole another level.

"Tae, fuck, I'm almost there, keep going"

"Whenever you want baby, let yourself go" he breathes out, making a last effort to keep his pace steady.

You feel your orgasm exploding in your chest and spreading all over your body, leaving behind a prolonged moan to delight him.

He's out of breath, his fingers slowly slip out of you and he waits for you to look at him again.

You're panting but you get up and smile at him: "Okay, now explain how are you so great? You definitely rank number one for fingering."

"Thanks for confirming the suspicions I had about my abilities." He says gaining a roll of eyes from you.

His digits still shine with your juices so you lean close enough to lick them clean, surprising him.

"I'm going to grow a boner again at this rate"

"I wouldn't mind it" you run your fingers on his chest and bring him closer to you.

He tucks some tufts of hair behind your ears and scans your face, focusing on every little detail. In this moment you are both asking yourself the same question: is it just lust or there's something else you're both feeling for eachother?

When you indulged in imagining the two of you confessing, you definitely didn't picture this situation as one of the possible scenarios. Yet, here you are. "What do we do now?" you break the silence.

"I think the most logical thing to do is to not panic and see where this takes us."

"That's such a 'you' response" you wrinkle your nose, and the word 'cute' invades his mind.

"Am I wrong though?"

"Ah, you're so annoying" you snort, not wanting to give him the pleasure of agreeing with him, and lay down.

"I know you know I am" he lays on top of you, crossing his arms over your stomach and resting his chin there. "What do you suggest?"

"We've been friends for years now, right?" you start playing with his hair, "many of our friends have been teasing us about how similar to a couple we look, considering how comfortable we are with eachother..."

"The affection was already there"

"Exactly" you nod, "and now attraction joined..."

"In conclusion, you think we are in love already, even if we don't think so yet"

You're taken aback by his response, especially because of the use of the words "in love", but yes, that was what you were aiming for. "Maybe? We should find out."

He giggles, "you just explained what I meant earlier."

"God, I hate you" You let out frustrated, covering your face with your hands to hide the big smile that's actually painting it.

"No, you don't" he gets closer and removes them.

"I truly don't" you admit, moving your eyes to his lips and viceversa.

"Good, because me neither." He's still holding your hands when he kisses you slowly and softly, in a way too romantic manner for you to still be "just friends".

"When he will find out, Beomgyu is never going to let this down."

"Shhh don't make me think about it yet!" You frown, before joining his laugh.

#txt smut #taehyun smut #tomorrow x together smut #txt fanfic #taehyun x reader #txt fluff #taehyun fluff #tomorrow x together fluff #kang taehyun smut #kang taehyun fluff #txt x reader #one shot #bunnywrites!!

[johannestevans]

Workplace Connections

Romance short. A junior secretary makes a friend at work, and some more besides. 

10k, rated M, F/F. A young woman makes friends with one of the only male secretaries in her workplace. 1960s Manhattan, featuring lavender marriages, period queerness, misogyny, etc. Light-hearted age gap cheeriness. 

Read on Patreon / / Read on Medium.

---

Elsa had considered herself lucky to work in an office like this one. A lot of the girls she went to college with went on to get fancy jobs in the city, but hers is almost certainly the fanciest – she works up so high in a Manhattan skyscraper, after all, and because the company trades in a lot of different materials, she gets nice perks on top of her pay packet.

Silk scarves, in May – she has different ones for every day of the week, made to match her different dresses; she likes to match her earrings to her hairpins, too, and colour them altogether.

It’s sort of expected of you in an office like this, to be well put together, to not just be capable and adept at typing, but… pretty. And Elsa might not be the prettiest girl in the world, but she’s pretty enough, especially the way she dresses, the way she puts her face on.

Some of the girls even ask her for fashion advice from time to time in the office, which is nice – not because she’s particularly on trend, but because she’s got such a good eye for colour and detail. A lot of them are trying to find husbands, want to get married to one of the executives or to a client, at this office or another.

There are handsome men in the office, she supposes – Elsa doesn’t know she’s ever had much of an eye for handsome men before seeing the details in their faces, their clothes.

Her boss, Mr Lockwood, would perhaps be handsome if he weren’t so cold and miserable all the time, was perhaps more handsome when he was a younger man – in any case, even the least attractive men in the office are balanced out by their secretaries. This is a sales office, after all: it’s all about marketability, at its core. She knows no one would want to hear all that feminist talk, but it’s about the status symbol of a beautiful woman on your desk, representing you – you’re selling her and she’s selling you, almost, an additional tactic.

Most of the men in the office have beautiful secretaries, anyway – Mr Garvey doesn’t. He’s a red-faced, unpleasant man, cold, and he disapproves of women so much you’d almost think he cared about the feminist angle too, but really, he just hated them, Elsa thought.

He’s never had a woman for his secretary, the girls say, and he absolutely won’t have one – his secretary is called Jasper, and he’s one of the only male secretaries Elsa knows. They’re more common in some industries than others, she’s heard.

Jasper is handsome, but in a plain, forgettable way – he has dark hair, thin pink lips that naturally turn to a frown when his face is resting, brown eyes. His eyelashes are lighter than the chestnut of his hair and eyebrows, and the golden tint in them catches the light at times.

He’s not a pretty face or a sweet voice or the phone, and some clients and coworkers are actually disappointed to work with his boss, make playful comments about how they’re missing out when they meet him instead of “one of the girls”. People mistake him for one of the executives, at times, which he shrugs off.

The other girls don’t always know how to deal with him, the rest of the secretarial pool. He’s one of the more senior and experienced of them, knows a few tricks of the trade, is extraordinarily capable – and if one of them asks for his voice, if they’re in a hurry and want to avoid flirting, or if they need to make a call and know that a woman calling won’t be taken seriously, Jasper will call up on their behalf, even read off a card if they want him to.

Not every day – not every week, even – but sometimes, he’ll do it.

“Happy to,” he always says. “What else am I for?”

Elsa’s having a bad day when she comes into the kitchenette frazzled and exhausted, sweating in her Wednesday dress and with a tear on the cuff of her blouse that her hands are shaking too much to fix – maybe from lack of sleep, or from too much coffee, or just anxiety.

Mr Lockwood’s been riding her hard today. He’s going to lose an account, he thinks, and he’s taking it out on her, keeps changing his mind about how he wants letters written, what tone to use, what calls to make. He’d just slammed his hand onto the desk beside her typewriter, demanding he get one in a different font set, and she’s got to go and get another before he comes back from lunch.

Jasper is sitting alone at the table, smoking a cigarette and idly paging through a magazine. It’s a woman’s magazine. All the magazines in the secretaries’ kitchenette are women’s magazines, and he never complains.

It’s a bit odd. He’s a bit off. Some of the girls think he might be wrong, somehow. Why else would a man take a job like this in an office like this one?

“Just you?” she asks. Her voice sounds thick from crying, and she stifles a sniffle, feels the snot thick in her nose.

“Anita’s birthday – most of the girls on the floor went out with her to Kiplings’. I expect you can still catch them up.”

She doesn’t say anything, pouring tea.

“Are you going to repair that tear?” he asks. He has a sort of cold, quiet voice – most of the men in the office are either warm and flirty, charismatic, or they bark and bluster. All of them are louder than Jasper is. He only ever puts more volume in his voice when he’s on the phone – ordinarily he speaks very quietly, deliberately.

She doesn’t know why, but him asking that is the straw that breaks the camel’s proverbial back – she bursts into tears, letting out a wail, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh, dear,” says Jasper in that toneless, detached way of his, and stubs out his cigarette.

Elsa’s grateful that Mr Lockwood had gone out to lunch with two of his partners, that there’s no chance of him coming to find her until at least three o’clock.

Jasper takes her gently, his palms gripping her upper arms, and guides her to sit. She watches powerlessly as he finishes pouring tea for her, putting in the sweetener she uses before she asks, and as she tries desperately to pull herself together, he opens up another drawer and pulls out the sewing kit.

It’s the communal one, and all the threads are put away messily, the needles shoved into one little cushion that’s smaller than a golf ball and splitting apart at the seams.

“My mother would tell you there’s never much point in crying over a man,” Jasper tells her as he scoots his chair closer and sinks down into it. She’s in parallel to him now, and she sniffles as he pushes the hem of her cuff up, sliding the needle through the fabric and smoothly beginning to sew it neatly together with surgical confidence.

“Have you done this before?” she asks.

“I take dictation and read fashion magazines,” he says mildly. “Is it such a stretch of the imagination that I also know how to sew open a tear in a woman’s sleeve?”

After a pause, because every retort she can think to that is too rude, she says, “I’m not crying over a man.”

“I suppose Mr Lockwood isn’t much of one,” says Jasper, and she laughs and cries at the same time, a shudder going through her.

“He thinks he’s going to lose the Sachs account.”

“He is. Roux Gold’s new brother-in-law owns a sawmill – family trumps a business connection every time.”

She hadn’t known that, and she stares into space as Jasper finishes sewing up the tear with a neat flourish of his wrist, trimming off the excess thread and then putting the needle back. She can barely see where he’s sewn it, the white thread matched to the fabric colour.

Mr Lockwood has been muttering angrily about deals and prices and inventory and logistics, and he’s never once mentioned that Roux Gold’s gotten married, or that it might impact his situation.

“He can’t keep it?” she asks.

“Not unless he marries into the family as well, no, but he has to appear to try. Just let it wash over you, Elsa. Let the man tantrum as he pleases.”

“It’s not a tantrum,” she manages to say, wiping her eyes, and Jasper nudges her tea toward her and she picks it up, drinking from it. It’s too hot. She swallows. “He’s stressed.”

Jasper stares at her blankly as he relights his cigarette. He can make his eyes go so dead, when he wants to.

“Don’t cry over a man, Elsabeth Lorne,” says Jasper quietly, “but don’t you go making excuses for one either. Least of all a substandard boss.”

“He isn’t—”

“Yes, he is. He’ll be gone by September anyway – the Sachs account is his third loss this quarter. I shouldn’t be surprised if he loses a few more in the meantime.”

“But it’s not his fault,” she hears herself say almost reflexively.

“The Sachs account isn’t, I’ll grant you,” says Jasper, tapping the butt of his cigarette and sprinkling ash into the tray. He has pretty hands, pale, with manicured fingernails with pink beds. “The others were. Weather the storm, as I told you. Once he’s gone, Eva will move you onto someone better – your work is very good, and Anja on Paul Vine’s desk is getting married in August. It might line up nicely that you take over his desk.”

“Mr Vine’s?” she asks. “But he’s so much higher up than Mr Lockwood.”

“And you’re a good secretary,” Jasper tells her in blunt, even tones, as if he’s irritated she would doubt it, or show any sort of modesty for her skill or position. “You’re neat, well-organised, keen. You’re very adept and highly adaptable – flexible.”

“But today I—”

“You’re crying today because you’ve been asked, I’m guessing very unreasonably, to do the impossible,” says Jasper. “When the impossible is expected of you, it’s hardly up to you to meet expectations. Understandable, as well, to have a bit of a cry.”

She looks down at her lap. “Why are you here?” she asks. “Why do you work here?”

“Is this your coy way of asking how much more money I make than you?”

“What? No!”

He chuckles softly, and she feels her cheeks burn as she stares at him, indignant, as if she’d ask that. As if she would.

“Why are you a secretary, I meant,” she mutters. “And part of the pool here. When you could be like one of the men.”

“Am I not one of the men?” he asks. His voice is very deliberate, just like everything about him is deliberate, but more so in this moment even than usual. Suddenly she feels very ashamed.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did.” He takes a drag from his cigarette, and offers her one from his case, which is made of brass and has roses carved into the metal. She shakes her head, and he clicks it shut. “It’s a sensible question. Why would I be a secretary when secretaries make so much less money than the men they serve? Why would I do women’s work when to do so is to invite mockery? Why would I drop myself in the midst of women rather than doing serious, men’s work?”

There’s something sardonic about how he says it, the words blistering with irony. She doesn’t know anyone alive who talks with such disdain for men as Jasper Hackett is right now – and it’s for them, Elsa thinks. He’s not angry at her for asking, just hates the question, hates the world that makes her ask it.

“I lack the stomach for masculinity,” he says, gesturing with one graceful hand, his cigarette a moving glow. “I don’t well-digest red meat, either.”

“You don’t like other men.”

“I suppose not.”

“Not even Mr Garvey?”

Jasper smiles at her.

Mr Garvey is the Chief of Accounts and one of the senior partners. He’s terrifying, so square it’s like they made him at the canning factory before they tailored his suits for him. Some of the girls joke that he wouldn’t let women in the building at all if he could.

“No one at all likes Mr Garvey, young lady,” says Jasper mildly. “Barring his wife, perhaps, and even her affections can’t be taken as given. But I do appreciate his severity, I suppose – one knows where one stands, no politics, no nonsense. No masculine posturing.”

Elsa is quiet, reaching up and touching the new stitching on her sleeve.

“Might I ask you a question now, or is this a one-sided interview?” Jasper asks, and she feels her brow furrow, her nose wrinkling slightly as she looks warily across the table at him. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you brought something?”

“A salad.”

“Good.” The way he says it, it’s less like praise and more like a verbal check mark – he says it in the same tone he does after receiving an affirmative in a meeting. Brisk, business-like, in-motion.

“How did you tear your sleeve?”

“I caught it.”

“Obviously. On what?”

“One of the shelves in the stationery cupboard. There’s a loose nail.”

Jasper frowns, and as she watches, he takes a notebook out of his suit pocket and makes a note, probably to tell the janitor. “Are you certain you don’t want to catch the girls up to join them?” he asks as he writes it down.

“I’ll just cry more,” says Elsa. “It’ll embarrass me. Maybe later. Why don’t you go?”

“I’m not man enough for the men in this building,” Jasper says with a shrug. “But I’m too much of a man for a girls’ lunch.”

Elsa’s instinct is to argue with him, for some reason, or try to somehow comfort him, although she doesn’t really know what he needs comforting for. She doesn’t know what he means exactly by that, about not being man enough. He’s the one who’s become a secretary, who wants to sit outside the boardrooms and take dictation rather than be inside them making presentations, or going out to dinner with his coworkers, with the other men.

Maybe it’s the culture.

Some men don’t like it, she knows, the “culture” – they don’t like to drink or go out with girls because they’re already married, or shy, or disinterested. The men get to opt out of it, or go home to their wives, and leave.

She doesn’t get to opt out. None of them do, really.

She hates the way they look at her sometimes, the men in the office, hates the hungry stares and the up-and-down flickering looks, the hands on her back, her waist, touching her cheeks, her neck, playing with her hair. It’s not as if it’s just the men in the office – it’s the men in the world. She just works here.

She’s not Mr Lockwood’s type, and it feels, sometimes—

Well.

Sometimes, the way he snaps at her, the precise way he raises his voice, it feels like he’s angry at her for not being what he likes, for not being pretty in the way he enjoys, the way he would enjoy. It feels like he’s angry that he doesn’t want her, and blames her for it.

She goes on dates, sometimes. Some of the girls live for it, the dates with clients or with copywriters, with the accounts execs, with the accountants. They talk about it like it’s a game – she feels less like a player and more like a poker chip, bet and played on the table.

Jasper is one of the only men her age in the office – well, he’s a bit older, thirty-something, but not forty or fifty – where talking to him doesn’t feel like it might turn around on her, like it might become a date.

That’s why the girls think he’s off, maybe. It feels dishonest, like there’s a trap there, somehow.

“Does it make you—” Elsa starts, and then she stops herself, not wanting to speak out of turn, not when she already feels like she’s made things mortifying for herself, when Jasper’s seen her cry, and now that’s what he’ll think of her whenever he sees her, sees her work.

“Hmm?” he prompts her.

“Did you eat lunch?” she asks.

They say he doesn’t, sometimes. She’s heard the girls gossiping about it in the break room or in the corridors, that he’s just like them in some ways. That he skips meals, that he likes to keep trim – and he is that. He’s got sharp cheekbones, and you can tell when he’s been more stressed out than usual, because he eats fewer meals, because the hollows show more in his cheeks.

He smokes more. Eats less.

“Mr Garvey is in one of his moods,” says Jasper.

It’s not that she doesn’t get the connotation – she hears that it’s negative, just that Garvey has so many negative moods that it’s hard to narrow down the estimation.

“Do you ever cry at work?” she asks. It’s half a joke, but his smile is wry when he shows it.

“Not anymore,” he says evenly, seriously. “When I was young, I did, now and then. Younger than you, I mean – at twenty, twenty-one. When I started.”

“Right out of college?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to a woman’s college, too?” She winces at the words as they come out of her mouth, but he laughs again, doesn’t seem offended. She likes his laugh – it’s throaty and has a hoarse quality to it, maybe from the cigarettes. It’s not as deep as some men’s, but it’s not high either. No one would ever mistake him for a woman on the phone.

“I went to a secretarial school, yes.”

“Was your class all girls?”

“Mostly.”

“Does Mr Garvey treat you like he’d treat a woman?”

“Spit on me and tell me not to spike my heels into his carpet? Only when I find him in a jubilant mood.”

It shocks a laugh out of her, one of her hands over her mouth. He’s starting another cigarette, tapping it on his case before lighting the cigarettes head to head.

“You’re terrible,” she says.

“I am,” Jasper agrees, catty and just a little smug. “And I don’t know. Mr Garvey is a passionate misogynist but his hatred of women is more to do with his religious nature. Men have sex with women – ergo, men see women, and think of sex. In Mr Garvey’s mind, the mere presence of a woman stirs men to distraction. He doesn’t want people to think of sex in the office.”

“Well, I don’t want people to think of sex in the office,” she mutters, and she lowers her voice as she says the word, almost whispers it. She looks behind her shoulder to see if anyone else is there, but it’s just them. She doesn’t know that she should engage him on these terms at all. He speaks bluntly about the subject in a way that makes her nervous.

“No,” Jasper agrees. “Nor I, really. But Mr Garvey’s methods aren’t fantastic, and in any case, without revealing myself as a feminist, Elsa, women are more than a reminder of sex on legs.” He trails off, gesturing broadly with his cigarette, and then says, “He doesn’t treat me like many of the other men treat you girls, no. He doesn’t pat me on the backside or flirt with me, or fuss over my appearance – doesn’t scream at me in the same way some people do their secretaries, or nitpick my work so. Kimberley says I’m one of our best clerks, but honestly, I’m middling.

“They might not like my company, Elsabeth, but because I’m a man, our esteemed coworkers assume I must be better at my job, particularly my figures and so forth. And because I’m a man, my work isn’t constantly interrupted with male attention and attempts at my seduction – or just the distraction of someone staring at me while I’m trying to get things done.”

She sips at her tea, digesting that for a moment. “I never thought about that,” she admits. “All the time it takes up. Obviously, I know it… But I never thought about it in terms of minutes.”

It’s a lot, in the day. It’s more than minutes, in the day – it’s an hour, at least. Multiple, probably.

“I’m relatively invisible, of course,” he adds. “Being noticed, observed, in one thing in small doses, but a stressor when constant.”

She doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask, “Do you ever feel like a zoo animal, or perhaps a farm animal up on the butcher’s block?” because, she supposes, he knows enough that he doesn’t have to.

“I wish I could be invisible,” she says. She’s astonished by the weight of the envy in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d hide you if I could.” He taps a little more ash from the head of his cigarette. “What made you choose secretarial work as your profession?”

She thinks about the question for a moment, wonders how honest she should be. That’s the thing about working in an office like this one. You’re meant to be honest, but not too honest.

When people ask, “How are you?” they don’t really want to know – you’re meant to make the right small talk, and talk about things without really talking about things, talking around them instead. It’s the same thing about who you are. What you’re meant to say, how you’re meant to behave.

Dressing as neatly as she does, as perfectly, is as close to being invisible as she can get – because she never has a detail out of place, and because she keeps her clothes in uniform, men don’t have anything new to comment on. She feels an additional surge of gratitude for Jasper fixing her sleeve.

“You can be honest,” Jasper says.

People usually mean it as a trap when they say a thing like that in this building – no one can really be honest in sales, unless the honesty is cover for a lie. Somehow, it feels different with him. She feels a sort of kinship with him.

“I could make more money here than in a factory,” she says. “Much more.” It’s true, and she regularly says it, and often it makes people laugh, but Jasper doesn’t. He nods his head in understanding.

“Much more,” he echoes.

“I took a typing course in high school. My English teacher said I’d be good, streamlined the process for me.”

“That was why you went?”

“I think so,” she says quietly. “I just didn’t really know what to do. More school was easy – I was good at school. And then I came out east with a girl from home, we got a place together. I work here – she works across town.”

“In sales?”

“In insurance. She says it’s a better office to find a husband in, that the men are less flighty, more reliable.”

“One can count on an insurance man to be risk-aware and sensible with his investments, I suppose.”

“How will you find a wife?” she asks, and he glances up from where he was looking at the tabletop, his eyebrows raising slightly. “I mean, would you— would you marry another secretary? Meet someone here at work, like we do? Or…?”

“You don’t listen to the office gossip, do you?” he asks. “Or you do, but you don’t understand it, exactly. Not sure why it matters, nor where it comes from, what spurs it on, what turns those wheels. Why ever does it matter so much, what they talk about? Why do they treat it with such gravity, these little faux pas, the arguments, the seemingly insignificant remarks?”

Her stomach flips, and she’s aware that her expression has crumpled.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says softly, getting to his feet. “It’s not my intention to bait you or to be cruel to you. I’m not looking for a wife, young lady.”

“You’re, um…” She trails off. She’s heard people joke about it. Laugh about it. Not about Jasper, just— Just in general.

“You’re that way?” she ends up asking.

“I’m already married,” says Jasper. Her gaze drops to his hands, looking for a wedding ring she knows isn’t there. In response to her dropping eyes, he pulls out a chain from under his shirt, a ring shining on it, and says, “I don’t wear a wrist watch either.”

She swallows hard around the lump in her throat, suddenly so embarrassed she feels she could burst into tears, and he pulls his shirt forward by the tie, dropping the chain and ring back under his collar.

“Oh,” she says. “I’m— I’m so sorry, Mr Hackett, for, for saying—”

Jasper smiles at her, and steps out of the room.

* * *

Elsa doesn’t understand why he’s never mentioned it to the girls. She’s heard them say it, heard them call him a single man or joke about what he’d be looking for in a wife. Anja had once joked that he was probably hoping some man will mistake him for a girl and take him home as a bride.

All the girls had laughed and then gone hushed and quiet, but some of them had giggled for ages afterward, kept nudging each other and tittering when he went by.

“It’s illegal for a reason,” Joanie Eames had said at the bar. “Like having sex with farm animals.”

Elsa doesn’t know that it’s exactly the same, but she knows it’s wrong, that it’s a depravity of the worst sort, that those sorts of people are dangerous, ugly inside. She feels bad for thinking Jasper might be one of them, for letting herself assume, for saying it. She’s lucky he was so unmoved by it, that he just found it funny.

They used to tease her at school about it, for being the way she is – too literal, too naïve. “Don’t you know anything?” used to ring in her ears on the walk home, she’d heard it so often.

“He’s married, you know,” she says the next time Anja says it after Jasper had come into the break room to pin a note about typewriter repair policy on the board, her talking about how lightly he walked in his loafers.

He wears Oxfords, anyway, not loafers.

“What?”

The girls all go quiet, staring at her, and Anja felt like she’d been spot lit – she was normally in the background, in amongst the crowd of them, not looked at or stared at like she’s being stared at now.

“Jasper Hackett,” she says. “He’s married. He just wears his ring on a chain.”

“Why would he do that?” demands Anja, looking suddenly angry, little pink marks appearing at the tops of her cheeks, because she never has a full blush. “How do you know?”

“Oh, he just mentioned it,” says Elsa, trying to sound casual. “He doesn’t wear a watch, either.”

She wonders if she shouldn’t have said anything, because at the end of the day when Jasper comes out of Mr Garvey’s office and there’s six of them all crowded together, Anja calls him out.

“Hey, Jasper!” she says in that sweet, bubbly voice she has.

“Something I can help you with, dear?” asks Jasper in an even sweeter voice than hers is, so fine and cutting you could probably use it like those wires they cut ham with.

Anja falters, blinking. “I just wanted to ask,” she says. “What’s your wife called?”

Jasper smiles, and it’s a very polite smile, his eyes flittering over the group of them. His gaze locks with Elsa’s for a second, and she almost mouths, “Sorry,” but doesn’t.

“Linda,” he says lightly.

“You don’t have a picture of her on your desk,” Anja says.

“I don’t, I’ve never cared for cluttering a workspace,” Jasper says. “In any case, I well recall what she looks like, I don’t need a reminder. I see her very often.”

Anja doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Joanie asks, “What’s she like?”

“She’s tall, two inches taller than me, in fact. She has a beautiful head of hair, a lovely chestnut shade – not like mine, it’s got a shine to it, a bit more red. She’s a very impassioned speaker, an academic. She’s a research assistant over at City College.”

He waits for a few seconds, his expression anticipant, one eyebrow raised, until Joanie says – sort of impotently, “She sounds lovely.”

Jasper says, “She is! Night night, girls,” and moves off down the corridor.

“He walks like a woman,” Anja remarks once he’s out of earshot.

Elsa doesn’t know that he does, but he does walk gracefully, with a kind of flow. Maybe he is light in his Oxfords. She isn’t sure exactly what that means.

* * *

Jasper, some weeks later, comes by Elsa’s desk just before lunchtime, and says, “Would you like to join my wife and I for dinner this evening?”

She stares up at him, her fingers hovering over her keyboard.

“She keeps a kosher kitchen, if that makes the offer more appealing.”

“I haven’t been keeping kosher since I left home,” she admits guiltily. “But that sounds nice. Should I bring anything?”

“Just your fine self and a smile. The smile isn’t even mandatory, if it’s hard to keep up.”

She’s in a bad mood by the end of the day, feeling maudlin and sorry for herself – Mr Lockwood had actually shouted at her, had screamed so loudly that the walls had rattled, and only because she’d asked which Mr Smith he wanted something sending to, because he hadn’t been clear.

All the girls have been so nice to her all day, have been a bit gentler than usual and more sympathetic – several of them regularly refer to Mr Lockwood as a short straw, and they say she’s good to be so patient with him.

Jasper is just covering his typewriter as she goes up to his desk, and Mr Garvey steps out of his office, where Jasper stands to help him on with his coat.

Mr Garvey gives Elsa an ireful look, and she’s in such a poor mood she just stares back at him.

It’s beginning to rain outside, and Mr Garvey surprises Elsa by asking Jasper in gruff tones, “Do you want me to drive you two to the station?”

“No, thank you, Mr Garvey, I have an umbrella. Safe home.”

Garvey mutters something incomprehensible and stalks out.

“Come,” Jasper tells her as he pulls on his own coat and belts it shut over his suit. “I’m only a few stops away, on the same line, and it’s not too much of a walk.”

“Do we have to pick anything up?”

“There’s a bakery across the street from us, but that’s more a siren call than anything.”

“It must be hard,” Elsa says as they step into the lift. “With both of you working – to get groceries and so on.”

“Lina works four days a week, which does help,” Jasper says. “But yes, we’re often reliant on friends to fit some things into the schedule.”

He calls the lift operator by name when they leave, who bids them good night, and Elsa walks beside him into the street and follows his lead toward the subway.

“How long have you been married?”

“Ten years next November.”

“Ten years… You got married young?”

“Twenty-seven isn’t so young.”

“You’re thirty-seven!?”

Jasper blinks, and she looks away, because not only was he surprised, but several people had looked over.

“I thought you were— Well. I didn’t know you were so old.”

“So old,” Jasper repeats, huffing out a soft laugh. “Kind of you to say.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve made my peace with my youthful features – I looked damn neat pre-pubescent in my early twenties. You’re twenty-two?”

“Twenty-three next month. I feel old.”

“Do you indeed? Why’s that?”

“All the girls are right out of school.”

“Ah. Not world-weariness, just comparison.”

She doesn’t normally ride this line of the subway, and she sits beside Jasper and looks at all the different people, careful not to keep her gaze on anybody for too long. She wants to look without being looked at, without being talked to. No one talks to her – at one point, a man glances over at her and she shifts immediately, wondering if he’s going to come over as his glance becomes a stare and he keeps concentrated on her.

She can feel the weight of his eyes on her face, feel them come down to her body, and in her periphery she sees him shift on his feet—

Jasper leans toward her and starts talking about something Jackie Kennedy said on the radio as if resuming a conversation, and she’s so surprised she doesn’t even realise the man has got up and left until they’re at their stop and they both stand to their feet.

“How do you know to do that?” she asks as they walk up the steps and into the street again. There’s no line at the bakery, and Jasper points out some pastries, buys them and a loaf of bread as well.

“Do what?” he asks.

“You do it with the girls at work sometimes too,” she says. “One of the guys will be flirting with her, and you’ll distract him, or ask if she’ll go and do something for you. Or you’ll just stand in the way and he just… won’t.”

“Men respect other men in a way they don’t women,” says Jasper. “My experience of that is diluted for the sort of man I am, granted, but I’m still a man. Linda and I met in a similar situation – we rode the same train, men were always bothering her. I started standing in the way.”

“So you could marry her instead,” she says with a slight challenge in her voice, and he laughs as he takes the package from the baker, thanking him in Yiddish – the whole conversation was. It’s been a while. She never hears it at work, maybe the occasional “oy”, but nothing else.

It’s not classy enough for the men in the office, the big clients.

“Believe it or not, we knew each other three years before all that. We talked on the train sometimes, and then she used to invite me to parties, and I’d go along with her. One morning, she said she was tired of her roommates bickering with her. She said we should get married.”

Elsabeth stares at him, at the faint smile on his face as they cross the street.

“She did?”

“Oh, yes. I thought she was joking, but she had a whole presentation prepared and she laid it out. A very strong public speaker, my wife, even when her public amounts to one easily convinced man.”

“So you got married then?”

“A few months after our discussion. We’ve been living her since, and we have two cats together. You’re not allergic, are you?”

“No, no. What about children?”

“Oh, we haven’t got room for that,” Jasper says casually. “My mother-in-law gifted us a bassinet, but it doesn’t go unused. Ido and Noam barely share it already without fighting an infant for space as well.”

Elsa thinks about this for a moment. She’s never really imagined being nearly forty and not having children at all. It’s always felt like there’s a sort of ticking clock on her life, until she has to give it over to a man’s children – children that have to be hers as well, but they never really feel like that in her head.

“You don’t want any?”

“Not particularly, no. Parenthood isn’t for everybody.”

“Isn’t it?” she almost asks, but he’s leading her inside, and the question evaporates on her tongue as they step into the house and he eases off his shoes before he takes off his coat, so she copies him.

Linda isn’t home yet, the two of them alone in the house together.

She feels kind of stiff and uncertain, keeping her distance from Jasper as they hang up their hats and coats, as he steps through the living room and into the kitchen, beginning to wash his hands.

Ido and Noam are sitting either end of a shelf with their tails hanging down like bookends, peering at her.

“Where’s your wife?” Elsa asks, hearing the slight quaver in her voice as she walks toward the cats and reaches out her hand to one, letting it sniff her fingers. They’re both huge, fierce-looking animals, muscular with dark, shaggy coats and strong facial features. They’re almost dog-sized really, and she’s surprised the shelf doesn’t creak under their weight.

“On her way home, I’d hope,” Jasper calls from the kitchen. “Linda is less punctual than I am, I’m afraid – timeliness is not one of her virtues.”

She wonders if she’s made a mistake, coming to Jasper Hackett’s apartment, to a man’s apartment, alone with him. No one even knows she’s here except for the cats, and maybe Mr Garvey, and Mr Garvey hates women – would he even care if something happened to her? Would he even notice? It could be his wife doesn’t even know. It could be that he doesn’t even have a wife, that Linda’s made up and she’s here, in a man’s flat, alone, just them.

Her heart is beating faster in her chest.

She turns to look around the rest of the flat, and she feels a bit more nervous when she looks and looks and doesn’t see photographs of the two of them together, just art on the walls, and a lot of books.

Her mouth is dry as she steps into the middle of the living room to look into the kitchen without stepping closer. As she looks, she sees that Jasper has stripped off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, that he’s chopping vegetables.

Elsa’s never seen a man cook before outside of a restaurant, and the knife moves fast, his movements neat and easy, well-practised and at-home with what he’s doing. She feels sick about it, the grip he has on the knife, the fact that he’s not even looking at her.

“Um,” she starts, her mouth dry. She feels a little faint. “Mr Hackett?”

“Goodness, girl, don’t call me that. Jasper is fine. Sorry, would you like a drink? There’s tea and coffee, a few cordials – let me get this mise-en-place finished, and I can make up some lemonade for you.” The wooden noises of the knife on the block keep sounding, and she wrings her hands in front of her belly, rehearsing excuses to leave on her tongue.

And then the door opens behind her and she lets out the breath she was holding, feels her body sag.

It tightens up again when the woman in question walks in, nudging the door closed behind her with her hip so she doesn’t have to put her bags down, and Elsa realises that Jasper Hackett is married to the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Linda Hackett is an Amazon – when Jasper said she was tall, she hadn’t taken into account the idea that she would still wear high heels. Jasper is just under six feet tall, but Linda is past that. In her heels, she must be six feet and two. She has thick cascades of gently curling chestnut hair, warm in colour with golden red undertones and a healthy shine, deep red lips, dark eyes. She wears pants, yellow-beige plaid with her sleeveless blouse tucked into them, a cardigan around her shoulders and held in place with a chain.

“Ah,” she says when she lays eyes on Elsa. “You’re here, good.”

Elsabeth’s tongue feels frozen in her mouth, and she can’t make it work, can’t make herself say anything.

“You said she was shy,” Linda remarks to Jasper, and presses a bag of groceries into Elsa’s arms. “Unpack these.”

For some reason, Elsa’s cheeks blossom in a blush, and she obediently takes the bag, stumbling into the kitchen and setting it down on the counter. It’s a small kitchen, so she ends up back to back with Jasper as she unpacks it – some frozen things, some fruit, rather than things they’re eating tonight.

“How was work?” asks Jasper.

“I’m thinking of murdering one of the adjunct professors,” says Linda casually, leaning in so that Jasper can kiss her cheek, which he does without looking away from the vegetables he’s chopping.

“Only one?” Jasper asks in reply, and Elsa looks at the two of them side by side, at how Linda leans back against the kitchen counter and stands beside him as he chops, swiping a piece of bell pepper to chew and swallow. They look incredible, side-by-side like this – Jasper looks far more handsome, beside his wife, than he does on his own right. They sort of complement each other. “Elsabeth Lorne, meet Linda Hackett,” says Jasper.

“Hi,” Elsa croaks out, her voice breaking on the word.

Linda’s laugh is low and deep – her voice isn’t hoarse, but it has a resonance a lot of women’s don’t have, and it’s naturally far louder than her husband’s is.

“How was work for you?” asks Linda. Her shoulder gently nudges against Jasper’s, but her gaze is locked with Elsa’s. Her arms are crossed under her chest, and it’s— distracting.

“Sam is on a new blood pressure medication. He’s nervous about it – it’s making him quite antsy.”

“Taking it out on you?”

“No more than usual. He offered us a lift, actually, but I declined. I didn’t want poor Elsa here to receive the full force of his personality in such a small space.”

“Mr Garvey?” asks Elsa.

“He can be really lovely outside of the office,” says Linda.

“Really?”

“No.” She smiles as she says it, shifting her arms. She hasn’t got a low neckline, her blouse buttoned up to the neck, but even under the cardigan, Elsa can see how significant her chest is, how big her breasts are. It makes sense, with what a big woman she is, her broad shoulders and her tall frame, that her chest should be in proportion, but…

She feels like some sort of pervert for noticing, her lips quivering, the tops of her ears feeling hot as well as her cheeks.

Linda is lighting a cigarette, and before she takes a drag of it, she holds it to Jasper’s lips, letting him take a drag as he keeps prepping.

“He’s a prickly personality, even in the home,” says Linda. Her fingernails aren’t painted, but they’re beautifully manicured and buffed to a pink shine like Jasper’s are – she’s got quite short fingernails for a woman, doesn’t wear lacquer or have pointed nails. She probably types a lot herself at work. “God knows we’ve had our share of furious arguments over dinner here, Sam and I. But he means well, which is more than most.”

“What do you argue over?” Elsa asks.

Before Linda can answer, Jasper says, “Those two fight over everything. If Linda said the sky was blue, Sam Garvey would be about ready to insist it was green.”

“He’s an awful prick,” says Linda, then chuckles. “I miss him when I don’t see him for a while.”

Elsa’s laugh is breathless, nervous. She doesn’t know any women like Linda, she doesn’t think. Women who smoke like she does, or are so tall, or who call people pricks so easily and so confidently like it’s nothing at all.

“How do you find the work?” she asks Elsa. “Jasper says you two have been chatting recently, that your boss is a bit of an ass?”

“Mr Lockwood,” says Elsa quietly, folding up one of the brown paper bags. “He’s, um… He’s an angry man. He loses his temper a lot.”

“Some men would be happy typing their own letters,” Linda says dryly, tapping her cigarette into an ashtray. “But then they wouldn’t have a secretary as a punching bag. Do you like the work, your boss aside?”

“I like typewriters,” says Elsa.

“Oh?”

“My father is a watchmaker,” Elsa says. “He repairs them back home – watches, clocks. When I started typing at school, he bought some to take apart, to learn to repair, so he could show me. He wanted to make sure I knew how.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” says Linda softly. Her lips are beautiful when she pouts them out. “So, you can repair them?”

“Yeah, actually, I can repair them okay,” says Elsa. “Especially older models, you know, ones from the forties and earlier – my school actually had a bunch of different models in case people were working at small businesses. The ones at work are newer models, and they’re more accessible for small repairs, less so for deeper mechanical work. Typewriters these days are made to be transported more, so the casements are heavier and more fixed, but that makes their guts less accessible too.”

“Are you excited about the new typewriter ball?” asks Jasper, and Elsa laughs, nodding her head.

“What’s that?” asks Linda, raising her eyebrows and leaning back to look at Jasper. As he swipes the vegetables from the chopping board into a roasting tin, he turns to Elsa can see his face too.

“IBM have released this new typewriter with a ball that all the letters are embossed on,” Jasper says, gesturing with his hands. “Instead of having individual hammers that strike the ribbon, you know, with those layers of bars and hammers like an organ, the ball rotates and moves to be struck by one hammer instead.”

“You can take out the whole ball to clean it at once,” says Elsa, “and that means one typewriter can easily have a bunch of typefaces, because you can just swap out the ball.”

“Oh, look at that smile,” says Linda softly. Her lips are shifted into a smile of her own. She’d been walking closer to get the chicken out of the fridge, and as Elsa stands there Linda holds her cigarette between her lips and reaches out to brush her knuckles over the side of Elsa’s cheek. It’s only a delicate touch, but it’s such a rush Elsa feels dizzy with it.

Once the chicken’s in the oven, Linda and Elsa go into the living room while Jasper makes lemonade, and when Elsa sits down on the sofa, Ido and Noam come over to sniff at her legs and then hop up to sit with her. They’re both heavy, dense animals, and they purr like engines.

“Hi, baby,” says Linda, gripping the larger of the two – Ido – and lifting him up into her lap. Elsa stares at the way he goes limp in her arms, letting her hold him like a baby and rock him in her arms, her thumb rubbing against his thick, tufted chest.

“So, um, Jasper says you’re a research assistant?”

“That’s right, I work in biochemistry – I study metabolism, effectively, the ways in which people digest different things, how quickly, and so on.”

“That’s interesting,” says Elsa, which must ring false, because Linda chuckles.

“It is to me,” she says, rocking Ido, who is looking up at her lovingly, his eyes half-closed. Noam has his big face mashed into Elsa’s belly, and is kneading at the blankets either side of them. “I love my work, I just wish it wasn’t… Ah, you know.”

“It’s hard?”

“I work with men.”

Elsa sighs, and nods her head. “I, um… On the train, Jasper stopped a man from talking to me. Like, he noticed, before he said anything or came over.”

“He’s good at that,” says Linda. “Men like Jasper are a real relief.”

“There are other men like him?”

“There’s a few knocking about.”

“Maybe I should try to find one,” Elsa says quietly, and Linda tilts her head as she looks at her, easing Ido down in her arms. He stays laid on his back, his back legs together like a bunny’s, pressing up on the underside of one of Linda’s boobs, which makes her laugh.

“I hate it when he does that, he knows it,” she says, rubbing the thick fur on his belly. “He just likes to push on it, I think – Noam’s worse, he’ll pad up to me and use his forehead to push one of them up as if he’ll find treasure underneath. It’s a bit like lifting weights for him, I suppose.”

Elsa giggles, covering her mouth, and she shakes her head, scratching Noam under his ears.

“Do you find Jasper handsome?” Linda asks.

“Sure,” says Elsa.

“No, I mean…” Linda starts, and then exhales, smiling at her kindly. “Physically, is he the sort of man you like?”

“Well, most men look the same, really,” says Elsa, and when Linda raises her eyebrows, she wonders if it’s the wrong thing to have said, if it’s not right. “Um. Sorry. I don’t mean anything bad by it. I just mean— Men aren’t like women, right? We all look different.”

“We do,” Linda allows.

“I just— All the men in the office, they get their hair cut at the same places, they wear the same suits, have similar coats. They try to look the same – we all try to look different. Beautiful.”

“You don’t think men can be beautiful?”

“Handsome, maybe,” says Elsa. “I’m not— I’m not saying I… Sorry. I think I’ve said something odd.”

“You haven’t,” says Linda. “Sometimes girls at work will talk about men, Paul Newman, Steve McQueen. It feels like they’re speaking a foreign language sometimes.”

Elsa rubs the top of Noam’s head, between his ears.

“Fools, all of them,” says Jasper as he comes back into the room. “It’s like they don’t even see Marlon Brando.”

“The man looks like a thumb,” says Linda, and Jasper scoffs.

“With lips like peaches,” he says.

Elsa feels herself blink, and she stares at the three glasses as Jasper starts pouring fresh lemonade for them, the ice clinking in each one.

“You think he has nice lips?”

“Jasper thinks Marlon Brando has nice everything,” says Linda.

Elsa doesn’t know what to make of it, exactly, because at the same time, Linda reaches out with one foot and rubs against the side of Jasper’s ankle, making him jump and shove his wife in the arm, laughing. “Horrid woman,” he calls her.

“We were just discussing what Elsabeth here might like in a husband,” Linda says, and Elsa looks at Jasper as he leans back in one of the armchairs, crossing one ankle over the other.

“We can introduce you to some people,” says Jasper.

“Men like you,” says Elsa, haltingly.

Jasper looks at her over his glass, wearing his face in that blank, neutral way he does. “Men like Marlon Brando,” he says evenly. “So the rumours say.”

Elsa looks between the two of them, tries to get a handle on it, tries to understand, really understand. “Really?”

“One hears whispers.”

“So you’re— You two are…” She looks to Linda. “You married him so that people wouldn’t know? And you know that people are— Is that why you know how women feel? Because you, because you’re… Are you and Mr Garvey—”

“Slow down,” Jasper says when Linda hiccups. “Take a breath.” He breathes in demonstratively, inhaling very slowly, and Elsa copies him automatically before taking a few gulps of her lemonade.

“It’s alright,” Linda murmurs, and she strokes over the back of Elsa’s neck, making her shudder. It’s… Nice, though. It’s nice.

“Mr Garvey is not of my inclination, no,” says Jasper. “His father was – it’s made him astonishingly liberal in this area and this one alone.”

“Why would you tell me? Isn’t it illegal? What if I told somebody?” She feels nervous, uncertain, overwhelmed by it, by the weight of the knowledge.

“What if you did?” asks Jasper, raising his eyebrows. “What evidence do you have?”

Noam puts his front paws up on Jasper’s knees, and Jasper picks him up under the armpits, cradling him against his chest so that Noam can shove his face into Jasper’s neck and purr loudly there.

“Why would I want to marry a man like you?” asks Elsa.

Jasper shrugs. “For the same reasons Linda did, I suppose. A man is a useful shield, if you want one – you’re still young, though. I wouldn’t worry about it just yet, if it’s not a priority for you.”

“A husband, a cooperative one, can mean more independence,” says Linda. “Less harassment, albeit only slightly.”

Elsa looks at her, at her beautiful hair, at the cat sprawled in her lap. “Only slightly?”

“He wears his ring on a chain – I wear mine very obviously,” says Linda, waving one hand and showing its glint. “They still come sniffing around, inviting me places, wanting to put their hands on me.”

Jasper sighs longingly, blinking his pretty eyelashes and looking jokingly wistful, and then breaks into laughter when Linda kicks him in the shin.

“No, it’s awful,” he agrees abruptly, dropping the joking expression. “Would that you could have an all-female chemistry department.”

It’s now Linda’s turn to sigh wistfully, and Jasper affectionately pats her knee. They really look a picture like this, across from each other, both of them with their matching cats. They match one another, they really do.

“Why would you trust me?” Elsa asks.

“Why wouldn’t I?” asks Jasper. “You’re a sweet girl, Elsabeth. Kind, caring.”

“Isn’t it wrong?” she asks.

Jasper shrugs his shoulders. “Isn’t everything about the world we live in?”

Elsa hesitates, uncertain what to say.

“Would you like to play cards?” asks Linda.

That’s what they do.

* * *

It’s astoundingly easy to play with the two of them, to relax into the experience and just chat over cards and the cats. She doesn’t play cards much – the girls always want to just drink and talk and sing and dance, and that’s nice in its own way, but different to this.

She wonders if he’s ignoring it, what these people are, if that makes her awful, for ignoring it, except she isn’t, exactly. The idea of it, of Jasper being… that way. The fact that the girls were right all along, joking about it, thinking about it, knowing it.

They knew what he was just by looking at him, talking to him – is that why Jasper was so unaffected by it when she’d asked outright, even though a lot of men would be furious to be asked, would go into a rage at even the implication.

Shouldn’t she hate it? Shouldn’t she be angry, or disgusted? People say it’s disgusting, that it’s awful, but Jasper is the same now as he has been. He’s witty, gentle, soft-spoken. She wonders what he’s like, when he’s with men who are like him, if he’s the same, or somehow different.

“Let me go check on the chicken,” Jasper says, getting to his feet – both of the cats must know that word, because they follow after him with their tails up high and straight, cheerful, and he laughs as they weave around and through his ankles.

“Do you sleep in the same bed?” asks Elsa. Her voice comes out very quiet, in little more than a whisper.

“We do,” Linda says. “It’s lovely in winter – he gives off heat like a furnace.”

“What’s it… like? The— I’ve never…”

“Had sex?” asks Linda.

Elsa nods. “I’ve never even kissed a boy,” she breathes out. She’s thought about it. She’s heard people talk about it in movies, she’s heard the girls talk about it, about the actual act, and it’s never seemed… She doesn’t know that she likes the idea of being so intimate.

It’s like when the girls talk about men who are attractive, when they talk about Paul Newman and how handsome he is, when they talk about kissing men. Anita was talking about how it makes her feel when her fiancé puts his hand on her waist, how it makes her heart flutter.

Elsa’s never felt that.

“We don’t,” says Linda. “Jasper and I. We’re quite comfortable with each other’s bodies, we see each other naked, help each other dress. Jasper broke his leg a few years ago, and I helped him in the shower a lot, so we’re used to bathing together.”

“I can’t imagine it,” says Elsa. “Being close to a man like that.”

“And to a woman?” Linda asks.

Elsa’s breath arrests in her throat. “Did, um— Did your husband bring me home… for you?”

Linda slowly shakes her head. “He thought you might be like us, had his suspicions,” she says. “But we have friends, Elsa – I was serious when I said I could find someone like him to match you up with. A man inclined like Jasper, if you’re inclined… like me.”

“How do I know?” asks Elsa. “That I am?”

Linda looks at her with her dark eyes, and then she slides closer on the sofa, until their knees brush against each other, and Elsa hears a little noise come out of her own mouth, a shock running through her.

“May I?” asks Linda, and Elsa doesn’t know what she means exactly, is hypnotised by the gesture of one of Linda’s hands, so she just dumbly nods her head, dizzied, drawn in.

Linda cleans closer, and Elsa breathes in the scent of her perfume.

It’s far, far subtler than anything they wear at work – she finds it too sickly sometimes, the scents the other girls wear, too overwhelming, but this is nice. It’s sweet, but there’s a muskiness to it, a depth.

Then Linda is kissing her, and Elsa feels like she might die.

Linda’s lips are plump and soft and so, so warm against hers, the movement gentle, and Elsa feels full up with her – with the scent of her perfume and her shampoo too, with the warmth of her mouth and the lemonade taste lingering on her lips, Linda’s fingers delicately resting on her thigh. Linda’s chest is brushing against hers, and Elsa can feel the weight of them, the weight of—

“Oh, God,” she whispers, almost whimpers, and Linda’s laugh as a curl of smoke through it, so that Elsa feels hot and burning all over.

“Would—” Linda starts, and Elsa feels horribly rude because she cuts her off, but she just craves more, crushes their lips together in another hungry kiss, and this time Linda opens her mouth and they kiss each other more deeply, their tongues sliding against each other, and ohGodit’sthebestthingintheworld—

Linda cups her cheek, tilting her head to kiss her deeper, controlling it, and Elsa’s hands scramble for her, to grab at her – she squeezes one of Linda’s thighs, her head spinning with how muscular they are, how strong she must be. She’s got broad shoulders and strong arms and strong legs, and Elsa’s head spins with questions, wondering if she cycles, or if she rides horses, or if she does archery, somehow, and is some sort of warrior goddess like Wonder Woman, and—

Their lips make a smacking noise when Linda draws back.

“Is that what it feels like?” Elsa asks urgently. “When people kiss men?”

Linda laughs at her, stroking her cheek with her thumb. “It’s what Jasper feels, maybe. I’ve never enjoyed it much.”

Elsa is breathing heavily, sweat on her skin under her clothes, burning on the back of her neck. She wonders if she’s as red all over as she feels – if she’s as red as all that, she must be glowing like a beacon.

“Can I, um,” she starts, her hands trembling with anticipation. “Can I touch them?”

“Touch what?”

“Your… bosoms?”

Linda sniggers, and Elsa laughs helplessly, at herself, at the absurdity of the situation, at the intensity of her own swirling emotions, the feeling that she’s balanced on the head of a pin with a storm swirling around her. Linda takes her gently by the wrists and puts her hands on her breasts, and they’re so, so warm, and so soft, and so big, and—

“They’re magnificent, aren’t they?” Jasper asks. “A wonderful pillow my wife makes, too.”

“I’m so glad I make good furniture for you,” snarks Linda witheringly, and Elsa slowly cups her chest from underneath, feeling how heavy her breasts are – Linda’s brassiere is made of a more reinforced fabric than hers, she thinks. Maybe that’s why she’s so muscular, just so that the weight doesn’t hurt her back as much. She knows some of the girls have difficulty getting a brassiere that supports them well, that if you have a big chest, it can hurt your posture, your neck, your shoulders.

“The cat pushes these up?” she asks, weighing them between her palms like she’s two halves of a scale, and even knowing that some of the weight is being taken by Linda’s bra, they’re heavy.

“They’re very strong boys,” says Linda.

“Wow,” Elsa whispers.

“You love them now,” says Jasper mildly. “Wait until one of them smacks you in the face in the heat of the moment.”

Elsa does think about that for a second, feeling like her brain is short-circuiting somehow, that there must be steam or perhaps smoke rising up from her ears. What’s Linda’s skin like, underneath her cardigan, her blouse, her bra? Her— Her nipples?

“You are just cute as a button,” Linda murmurs. “Jasper, do you mind if we…?”

Elsa looks over when Linda trails off – Jasper is already pulling his coat on. Elsa keeps struggling to remember that he’s there. “The timer is set for an hour,” he says mildly. “I’ll drop in on Evan for forty-five minutes or so. You two… explore.”

“Sorry,” says Elsa reflexively.

“Sorry?” repeats Linda, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Darling, what would you even have to be sorry for? Look at that smile on your face.” Jasper puts one hand on his hip, looking over at the two of them. “I did know this was a possibility.”

Elsa bites the inside of her lip, looking at Linda’s amused expression, at the affection in it. She feels searingly hot on the inside, and warm – not just between her legs, but also in the core of her, a spiritual warmth, beyond the physical. It feels, somehow, like something inside her has slotted into place, has become complete where it wasn’t before. She is smiling, she realises, her lips curved naturally into the crescent of it.

“Only forty-five minutes?” she asks, and Linda and Jasper both laugh.

“Only to take the chicken out,” says Jasper over his shoulder as he goes to the door. He’s wearing a pocket watch, she realises – no wrist watch, still. “I know from experience that Linda won’t hear the alarm.”

“Not all of us can be domestic goddesses,” Linda says dryly.

“Happy to play the Parvati to your Shiva, my dear,” he says, and winks before he closes the door behind him.

“Is it okay?” Elsa asks as the door shuts closed. “I don’t want you to think that I, that I’m treating you like a man would.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Linda murmurs, “I’m not remotely worried about that. Why don’t we kiss again, hm? Slower this ti—”

Elsa cuts her off again, and she swallows Linda’s answering laughter as the older woman curls her fingers through her hair and pulls her closer for more.

(They don’t hear the timer. Jasper teases them about it for weeks.)

FIN.

#musings #original fiction #romance #lesbians

[ghostboybrainrot]

Out of Touch Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, AO3

Edit: I'm starting the process of transferring these to AO3. Click the link above to subscribe and get updates more reliably! (But don't worry I'll keep posting on Tumblr, too.)

____________________________

Martha saw the shadowy figure falling from the sky. Its form stuttered as it fell. Suddenly, with a flash of light it changed. It was more solid now but it was still falling too fast for her to be able to see clearly.

It hit the ground with a soft thud. And she realized what she was looking at.

He couldn't have been older than 16. He was skinny. Too skinny. His black hair was messy. He wore a ratty dark blue hoodie and jeans. His shoes were held together with duct tape.

Her core lurched at the sight of him. He looked so fragile. For a moment she worried he'd lost consciousness. Had he hit his head? A weak groan escaped his mouth, pulling her from her thoughts. It was raspy and dry. Not a noise she expected from someone so young.

At least he was awake. That ruled out anything too serious.

He was trying to stand but was struggling. He'd injured his leg. She saw him wince with pain.

When he finally pulled himself up, he needed to hold the wall for balance. She expected him to start walking toward the exit of the alley but instead he made his way deeper, toward a dumpster.

He looked back scanning the alley. His eyes swept over her hiding spot but didn't seem to register her presence.

Satisfied that he wasn't being followed he crawled behind the dumpster, and out of sight.

Slowly, she closed the distance between herself and the dumpster. She stayed in the shadows but angled herself so she could get a glimpse of him.

He'd made a makeshift blanket with some garbage that had been lying next to it. His eyes were closed. She could see his chest rising and falling slowly. She wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep that fast, but judging by how exhausted he had looked she wouldn't be surprised.

Her core tightened in worry. This boy shouldn't be left alone. Especially not here. Not in this alley. It wasn't safe. She glanced around, nervously. No one else had seen the boy yet, but she didn't want to risk it. He was tucked away but anyone who spared more than a passing glance in his direction, could spot him easily.

It was late autumn and the air was cold. It was likely to get colder before morning. People froze to death in nicer weather than this. She had to do something. He needed help.

Maybe she could find him a blanket or a coat?

She didn't like the idea of leaving him alone. She worried someone would find him if she took too long. She would just have to be quick.

She gave the sleeping boy one more glance before she floated off.

There was a general store near here right? At least there used to be. She headed in the direction she thought it had been. She didn't couldn't find the shop but she kept going anyway. She had to come across something eventually.

She couldn't remember the last tile she'd been down this way. Had it always been this run down?

It was late which explained the lack of people but the buildings were falling apart. It looked like no one had lived here in a long time.

She had to travel several blocks before she found anything that looked like it was still in business. The small gas station stood bright against the darkness. There were no cars at the pumps and the small shop attached to it looked closed. But they might have some emergency supplies.

She floated through the locked double doors. She scanned the shelves. There were a variety of items a person would need on the road. Motor oil, washer fluid, ice scrapers. There were also plenty of snacks and cooler on the back wall was full of drinks of varying colors and sizes.

She found what she was looking for at the end of an aisle. An emergency blanket. She knew people kept these in their trunks in case they got stranded in the cold. It didn't look comfortable. But hopefully the material was warm enough.

She reached for it but her hands passed through. It had been a long time since she'd tried to interact with the living world. She'd been able to move small things but never something like this. And she'd never carried anything so far.

She kicked herself. What had she been thinking? She couldn't help that poor boy. He needed someone who could be there. Who could hold him. Comfort him. Talk to him. Someone alive.

How could she hope to help like this?

She thought back to the shadow that had flown overhead. The flash of light and the fall. Maybe the boy wasn't alive either. At least not in the way most were.

She shook her head to clear it. She could worry about that later. She could do this. She just needed to focus.

She closed her eyes as she concentrated. She tried to imagine what it would feel like if she could reach out and touch it. She reached forward and her hand met the fabric. She ran her hand along it. The material was as scratchy as she imagined, but she could feel it. Really feel it. She smiled as she tried to scoop it up.

It took some time but she was able to lift the blanket off the shelf. She had dropped it a couple times but each time she picked it up again it had gotten easier.

Encouraged by her success, she looked around to what else she could grab. She settled on a bottle of water, and a prepackaged pastry. She had to take extra time to balance them on top of the blanket. She managed to roll the food and drink into the blanket, to keep them from falling as she flew back.

Phasing through the doors with the items proved challenging as well but she had started to get the hang of it.

Finally, she exited the gas station arms loaded with her spoils.

When she arrived back the boy was still where she left him. Carefully, she set down what she was carrying. He was still breathing. Slow and steady. If she wasn't sure before she knew he was sleeping now.

She considered the best way to get the blanket around him. She decided to move the cardboard and plastic. She spread the blanket out over him attempting to tuck it underneath him to help keep in the warmth.

She tried to replace the plastic wrap and boxes to provide him with cover.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open. He focused his icy glue gaze on her and she gasped.

________________________

Notes:

Thank you for reading! It's a little on the short side. I have another part after this almost finished but it wasn't quite ready so I split it in two and posted the first half! I do plan on posting to AO3 in the near future as well. (GhostBoyBrainRot on AO3 as well if you wanna subscribe.)

To everyone who guessed Jason. Don't worry Danny is going to be running into the batfam soon! >:)

But until then enjoy Martha! She's a little lost but she's got the spirit xD Hehe

Housekeeping note: Anyone who requested a tag. Check the list. If you see your at below and its spelled correctly, something is preventing me from tagging you. It might be because tumblr thinks your a bot or there may be something you need to change in your privacy settings.

If it isn't spelled correctly please DM me with the correct tag and what work its for. I have more than one going at the moment.

If I missed you entirely just leave a reply on this post and I'll try to add you next time.

Hope this helps! And thanks for reading!

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#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp fic #my fics #out of touch fic #gotham #danny phantom is AuDHD #youre welcome xD #little gremlin man

[rotbtd-edits]

I like seeing people's progress shots / how they edit, so might as well make mine :D I'm nowhere near perfect with AE, but here's a quick look into my editing process 👍

First I think of the clip in my head and choose the main angle. In this case Toothiana serves as the main anchor point around which the rest of the composition builds on. Since there're very few Tooth masks around, I had to mask her for the scenes myself.

Next I go through masks for each character and pick or create ones that fit the camera angle well enough. I also add the background and play around with the composition til I'm satisfied. (Tried to have Merida in there too, but it was making the shot too full so she's standing next to Punzie offscreen 😭) The masks here are by me and xMakorra.

Okay, since it's night time in the scene (lot of my scenes happen at nights lmaoo) next I need to get the color and atmosphere right. I'm using 3D spotlights as I've found out they usually work better for darker scenes than just fiddling with the color balances. The overall light is dark blue, with another faint red on top. See how it immediately changes the setting 👍

Then I just start playing around with details and effects. I work on each character/layer to make them match the overall tone, for example here Jack and Hiccup needed adjusting as they were a bit too dark. Basically I just tumble around til it somehow works out lmao✌️ I also add details and final lighting to the characters here, making the scene come together. It's important to decide on the light source directions. As a cherry on top comes an adjustment layer with some faint light ray and glow effects.

And done :D Next I throw the clip to Sony Vegas (after re-rendering it into .mp4 because the AE .avi renders are HUGE in file size) where I add the black bars, a faint color overlay and subtitles to give the final "movie look" lol.

Wow this was way too simplified take but anyway, here's a glimpse on how I build my edits✌️

#random ramblings #proof that im working on part 5 :DDD #wips #wip

[sitp-recs]

any drarry fics with injured!harry?

Sure! You know, adding a “please and thank you” in your message wouldn’t hurt ;)

Just Stay by @nv-md (M, 2.7k)

Harry's been injured yet again, and Draco has to stay the night to take care of him. Which shouldn't be a problem, except Draco's in love and Harry's half-naked.

Operative by @shealwaysreads (M, 3.4k)

After the war, Draco finds himself in the familiar position of not getting what he wanted. But sometimes, what you need finds its own way to you.

Ceremonials by @jackvbriefs (NR, 4k)

“What are you doing here?” Harry said. This Malfoy blinked up at him, then lifted the bottle of tequila. “I’m teaching you how to make a drink.”

A Noir Cliche by @shiftylinguini (T, 4k)

Draco is not a Healer. Harry doesn’t get hurt on purpose. They really have to stop meeting like this.

Soot and Mirrors by jalesidor (E, 6k)

Late at night in the DMLE locker rooms, Draco finds an injured Harry Potter requiring medical assistance.

Settle in in my slow-burning heart, orphaned (NR, 10k)

Five years after the war Draco is working a tech developer job in the Auror Office, and it's all great except this one thing: Harry Potter works there, too. Things only become stranger when Harry starts bringing Draco ugly souvenirs back from his work travels. When Harry then shows up injured in Draco's flat, Draco considers the possibility that he's going insane.

Unkissed Kisses and Songs Never Sung by Femme (M, 12k)

I sit silently in the shadows, staring at the tiny, pulsing ball of light that tells me my Harry's still alive.

the space between (what you want and what you need) by disapparater (M, 13k)

As a specialist Healer in dark magic, Draco has had his fair share of difficult cases and awkward patients. Still, nothing has prepared him for a curse-paralysed Harry Potter.

Match Fit by ravenclawsquill (E, 25k)

After picking up a groin injury just two weeks before the Quidditch World Cup Final, star Seeker Harry Potter reluctantly agrees to seek help from world-renowned Magi-Physiotherapist, Draco Malfoy.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 32k)

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen by oldenuf2nb (G, 41k)

Chief Auror Harry Potter is seriously injured while on loan to the Americans, and there's only one specialist in the world who might be able to help. Unfortunately...

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k)

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse. Cw: major permanent disability

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #injured Harry

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses ~ (K. Ootori x Reader)

pairing- Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is. Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

-> summary: You expected him to whine a bit, yelling at the twins to stop playing unfairly while rubbing the bump on his head.

However, you didn’t expect the tiki statue to light up.

-> word count: 17.3k (she a long one)

-> tw!: mentions of small injury (including blood, scrapes, ankle injury, and being knocked unconsious), mentions of drowning sensations (no oxygen, trapped underwater). please read if your comfortable!

-> legend:

(f/h/f) - favorite hot food

(f/f) - favorite fruit

(f/c) - favorite color

see masterlist!: masterlist

taglist: @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn @desert-fern @delievia @obeythemasters @luca-nightshade

Jungle Pool SOS!

“Haruhi!”

The brunette turned slightly at your voice, and she watched with a small smile as you picked up speed behind her, your leisurely pace molding into a speed walk to catch up with your friend. A drink carrier balanced in your arms as you made your way to her side.

Ringing bells of gold signaled the end of the school day and crisp, early spring air blew through the cherry blossoms of the courtyard. Uniforms, both yellow and lavender, covered the space, the crowd heading to the cars lined up along the road. Students were excited to go home and spend the evening doing whatever they chose. 

In your case, however, instead of taking this evening to perfect one of your many engineering projects, the Host Club collectively decided to meet up after school. Kyoya had informed everyone that he had a sort of field trip planned for everyone, and he needed your input on it. He had stated that everyone’s perspective was appreciated, and mandatory.

“Hey, (Y/n).” Haruhi says as you walk with her, her deep tone relaxing as you match her stride. “How are you?”

“Good!” You reply, and she quirks an eyebrow up at the bounce of your step and the brightness in your voice. No one should be this cheery after an entire school day. 

Before she can speak on the matter, though, you reach into the pile of to-go cups balancing on your forearms and produce a medium sized coffee, the words “Love of my life” written in black sharpie on the side. 

“Here, this one’s yours.” You say as you hand her the drink, your fingers clamping around the top of the cup like a toy crane. She laughs a little at the name. “I figured since we are being forced to work on our time off, I thought everyone might want a hot drink as a nice pick me up! I asked them to make a coffee with equal amounts of milk and sugar for you. They even used the instant coffee that you like.” 

The coffee is warm in Haruhi’s hands as she takes it from your grasp. She breathes in the steam, grateful for the heat it provides. “Wow, (Y/n), thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” 

Smiling at her appreciation, you shake your head. “That’s what friends are for. Plus, I thought you might need the energy boost, considering our esteemed company this afternoon.” You joke, and Haruhi chuckles as she brings the drink to her lips.

The honor student takes a sip, relishing in the taste of the cream and the coffee beans blending together. She swallows, and as the warmth blossoms in her chest, she registers just how many drinks you have in your arms.

“How did you have enough time to get these? Didn’t school let out a few minutes ago?”

You smiled, joyfully working to rearrange the pyramid of drink orders so that they didn’t spill out of your grasp. “My engineering teacher gave us a lot of freedom today. She said that as long as we had everything ready for tomorrow’s presentation, we could leave class early.” You shrugged as you assessed the organization of cups. “I figured since I had to come back here anyway, the least I could do is buy everyone a few drinks.”

Haruhi squinted her eyes at you over her cup of joe, suspicions firing from both sides of her brain. They trailed over the glint in your (e/c) irises, the extra spark in your movements as you both continue to walk towards your agreed meeting place.

“You’re extra cheery this afternoon.” The brunette bluntly stated.

You turn to look at her this time, a little confusion gracing your features. “Am I?” Your glance then roams around the academy’s property. “Just excited to get started, I guess.”

She hums in thought for a second before turning her attention back to her drink. “I think it’s because you’re excited to see Kyoya.” 

At the sputtering that occurred to her right, she was surprised none of the drinks made it onto the ground.

Haruhi laughs a little as she sees you trip over yourself, and she reaches out to help you, making sure the cups are stable in your grasp. “Do you want me to hold some for you?” 

You heaved a light-hearted, defeated sigh as you passed her two cups, one that said “Thing One” and another that read “Princey”. “Am I really that obvious?”

She shakes her head lovingly as you both continue to walk. “No, not to most people. But I know you.”

Scoffing playfully, you nudge her with your shoulder as you both arrive under a beautiful archway that has been built on Ouran’s property. As you both wait underneath it, you see two limousines appear, but ignore them, as limos are a very common occurrence when it comes to rich students. 

After a few minutes passed the agreed meet up time, you look at Haruhi. 

“Maybe we should call them? See where they are?” You say, but right when you’re about to fish your phone out of your pocket, an arm loops under yours, picking you up by the shoulder.

“Targets-” You hear a familiar voice beside you.

“Captured.” When you look over, you see that Haruhi is in the same position that you are, except she has Hikaru to her left, while you have Kaoru to your right.

“What the hell?” You say as you tighten your grip on the drink carrier.

Haruhi is thrashing a little in Hikaru’s grasp. “Wait! What is-”

Before she can ask her question, the window of one of the limousines rolls down, revealing Tamaki. To add to your growing confusion, he was wearing a red lei and sunglasses, looking very smug in his seat. 

“Good work.” He says, and gestures to the limo behind him. “(Y/n) goes in that one.”

“Roger!” Shout the twins, and off you go. Kaoru is suddenly dragging you away from Haruhi as you watch her get pushed into Tamaki’s car.

“You better tell me where we are going right now, Kaoru, or I’ll-”

He interrupts you by opening the passenger door to the second limousine and shoves you inside, a large smirk on his face. Before he shuts the door, he grabs a cup out of your carrier, the one labeled “Thing Two”.

“Don’t be such a brat, (Y/n).” He teases with his cheshire grin. “Patience is a virtue.” 

And with that, he closes the door, trapping you inside. 

Your brow ticks with annoyance as you stare angrily out the tinted window, watching him return to the limo in front of you, and you sway as you feel the car start to move. 

“I take it that's for me?” 

You cannot catch a break as another surprising voice sounds across from you. You jump slightly before processing the fact that Kyoya is sitting across from you, hands folded neatly over a brown journal resting on his lap. 

“What?” You ask, still reeling from the events prior.

“The drink. In your hand?” His gaze rests on one of the only two drinks left, a small earl gray tea labeled “Shadow King”.

“While I find the name intolerable, I will take the beverage.” The ravenet speaks again, a smirk resting on his sharp features, and you sigh, accepting your fate.

Thrusting the drink tray out in front of you, you roll your eyes playfully. “Just take it.” And when he does, you add. “After all this, I find the name to be quite fitting.”

Kyoya’s smirk never left his face after that. 

After an hour or so passes, coffee cups lay discarded in a themed trash can, the bin looking very similar to a Tiki statue. Even the remains of a small black coffee labeled “Mori'' and a strawberry frappuccino with “Cutie” scribbled on the side lay atop the pile. 

Instead, the sunlight reflects through crystal glasses filled with tropical drinks and refreshing ice. As the scene pans out, tropical birds fly through a domed space, winding through tall palm trees and intricately built water slides. 

A certain red bird trained his eyes on a bright, yellow shape, and his excitement and curiosity heightened tenfold. He had never seen that big of a flower before, but it looked soft and inviting. The bird dove for it, his red color blurring in the air as he moved closer to his target, thinking that he might be able to break off a petal or two for his wife back at their nest-

“Squawk!” Haruhi shooed the winged-pest away from her yellow pullover casually, the red bird sounding its surprise as it flew away quickly. She was too distracted to care though as she shielded her eyes from sunlight beaming through the waterparks glass ceiling, still racking her brain as to how exactly she got there. 

‘Am I dreaming?’ The honor student asked herself when no rational answer appeared in her logical mind. ‘We’re still in Japan, right? It’s not really known for its tropical locals.’

Before she could question herself further, a manicured hand settled onto her shoulder, kicking her off her train of thought.

She looked to her side to see a shirtless Tamaki, and even she had to admit that he absolutely glowed in the sun’s path. His blonde hair shined, and the light rivaled the sparkle of his violet irises. It was hard for her to look away, that is, until the prince opened his mouth.

Then it was very easy. 

“Behold, Haruhi, bask in the beauty of tropical birds!” He sighed dreamily as he followed the feathered things in their flight. “Aren’t they breathtaking? I wonder what they’re called.”

She shook him off of her slightly as she felt a migraine already forming behind her eyes. The brunette took a moment before turning to the blonde once more, only to find that he was already lounging in a long chair, sunglasses over his face. 

“Right, so…” She said, getting his attention. “Where’s the exit?”

She could feel the eyeroll the prince gave her before settling into his seat more comfortably. “Try to make the most of this down time and just relax.” A smirk made its way on his chiseled features as he raised the drink in his hand. “We’re so worried about keeping our good looks day and night, we deserve a little vacation.”

The headache began to wrap around her skull to nuzzle into her brainstem, but her face didn’t have enough energy to convey anything other than a deadpan expression.

“Personally, I think this is pointless and a waste of time, so can I go home now?” She chided, fully turning away from the prince to talk to the actual person in charge. “I should really be studying, and I’ve got a ton of laundry to do today.”

Her bare feet take her to a certain ravenet lounging under the shade, his little brown book open on his lap while his fingers expertly work his pen onto the pages. The seat next to him is empty, only a towel draped over the back of it giving any evidence that someone might be sitting there.

He seems busy, but Haruhi decides to interrupt his thoughts for the sake of her freedom. “Senpai, where are we anyway?” 

Kyoya barely gives her a sparing glance before returning his focus to his notes, but answers her question. “This place is a brand new theme park that my family, the Ootori group, runs. It’s called the Tropical Aqua Garden.”

She takes in the resort in front of her, watching as the lazy river a few feet away glides and ripples against the tile walls. 

“I don’t understand, I thought the Ootori Group ran hospitals and that they’re focused on the medical business, Kyoya-senpai.”

The Ootori son feels the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly at her correct observation, and finally meets her eyes before his next statement. “Yes, but my family likes to diversify and try different things. Besides, this place could be classified as a healing facility.”

Haruhi hums in thought, and Kyoya is about to expand his explanation before the sound of wet footsteps are heard behind him. Haruhi has barely any time to move out of the way before you are barreling past her, feet slapping against the concrete before they are leaving the ground. The twins in the pool jump at your fast approaching figure while Honey sits on Mori’s shoulders cheering you on. The Hitachiians rush to move out of your way, making room for the inevitable.

You laugh and squeal as you push off the balls of your toes when you reach the pool’s edge, quickly hugging your knees to your chest and screaming Cannonball! in mid air before becoming submerged in the water below. 

Kyoya uses his book to shield himself from the, frankly impressive, splash before making another note on the page, his smile a little bigger now. 

“It can also be therapeutic.” He says, gesturing to you and the twins splashing each other once you come up for air. “Think of the people who are overworked who would just love a vacation in the south tropics. However, they may not be able to get time off, or they may not be able to afford it.” He put his book down and reached for his tropical glass, adjusting his glasses to his nose.

“Those people can now come here and reduce their stress levels. The Ootori group's primary concern has always been for the good health and well-being of the general public.” At the end of his speech, he flashes Haruhi a host grin, and she feels a weird shiver up her spine.

“Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.”

At your voice, the two hosts direct your attention to you, and Haruhi notices Kyoya’s Adam's apple bob slowly at the sight of you, his smile faltering into something more real.

With your palms placed in front of you, you pushed yourself over the ledge, stretching your back slightly to feel the sun on your newly exposed skin. He didn’t dare to breathe in case it disturbed your peaceful image.

But as you walked out of the pool and towards him, Kyoya just stopped breathing.

Earlier, when you had emerged from the changing room in your new two-piece, Kyoya had been on the phone with his family’s managers, too distracted to fully take in your appearance.

But now, his eyes followed stray droplets as they fell off your wet eyelashes, down the perfect shape of your cheekbones before slipping in between your parted lips, a sight that made him lose his breath. 

More cascaded over your shoulder and across your arms, finding a home on your bare stomach. Another drop streaked over your chin and down your neck before disappearing somewhere he refused to look, out of his immense respect for you and, of course, his own sanity. 

Cooly, he locked eyes with the twins following behind you before turning back to Haruhi, silently cursing them in his head for helping you pick out such an exquisite swimsuit. One that flatters every curve and dip in your body. One that lit his nerves on fire at the site.

Clearing his throat, it takes Kyoya a little more than a second to organize his composure, mind still hazy from your appearance. 

“The park doesn’t officially open until next month, but the host club was given a special advance invitation.”

Your laugh sounded again, closer this time as you stopped in front of him and oh, why would you do that? How could you laugh like that and look like that and not expect him to be bursting at the seams?

“Oh, so we are just a bunch of guinea pigs for your new waterpark?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow at the man below you. “I’d expect nothing less from the Ootori’s.”

Kyoya rolls his eyes, reaching over to your chair to hand you your towel. “Never expect anything less from the Ootori’s.”

You chuckled again and reached out to take the towel from his grasp, feeling the graze of his fingertips when a sweet, higher pitched voice calls for your attention.

“(N/n)-chan! (N/n)-chan!”

As you dab your head to get rid of the excess moisture, you turn to see Honey-senpai skipping towards you with pure delight on his features, and your face softens at the sight of a pink floaty around his waist. 

“What’s up, Honey-senpai?”

When he gets to you, he grabs your arms and tugs on your wrist, making you smile even wider at his antics. “Wanna share some coconut juice with me? Or some mango cake?”

He suddenly runs around you, spinning you off your balance so that you fall into the chair next to Kyoya. Another laugh pushes past your lips as you adjust yourself to recline a little bit. 

“I’d love to have some coconut juice with you, Honey-senpai.”

And if you thought his face couldn’t get any brighter, you were proven wrong as his eyes widened into happy saucers as he giggled away happily, appeased at your choice.

The energy that Honey had brought you was collected into a moment of calmness as your gaze traveled to Mori, who watched a bird fly over his head in the distance. 

The stoic host turned and looked at you directly, as if he felt your eyes on him. Knowing him, he probably had. 

You smiled at him and waved, and got a simple smile and nod in return. 

He was precise and to the point. Something that you admire about Mori-senpai, but something that admittedly took a little getting used to. 

You sigh and lean back. “This is so nice.”

“Does this mean you forgive me for not telling you where we were going?” Kyoya asked beside you, a knowing look playing on his lips.

Wiggling deeper into your chair, you throw an arm over your eyes, completely content with the sun warming your skin as your favorite megane sits beside you. “If it means you take me to places like this, you can surprise me all you want.”

Unbeknownst to you, gray eyes lingered on your form before another content simper made its way onto the club director’s visage, happy to see you happy. 

“Hey Haruhi!” The peace was broken as the twins finally made their way towards your group, a banana in Hikaru’s hand. 

Kaoru points to the large yellow slide in the distance. “You wanna go check out the water slide?” His offer falters, though, when he notices Haruhi’s yellow sweatshirt and green checkered shorts. 

True to his character, Hikaru reads his brother’s mind. “Hang on, what’s the deal with the pullover you’re wearing?”

Haruhi pulls at the elastic band at the bottom of her jumper. “Oh, this thing?”

“Tamaki made her wear it.” You say, hearing an offended, betrayed gasp from the table next to you, your eyes shielded from the dirty look the prince was giving you. 

The twins spun to face the boss. 

“Why would you do that?” Hikaru asks, discarding his banana peel into some unknown area. 

“Yeah, we even brought all of our mother’s latest designs for (Y/n) and Haruhi to try!”

“Meh.” The gingered brothers turned again, surprised at Haruhi’s disinterest. “I didn’t really like any of them. I mean, one of them was only a couple of strings.”

Another strangled cry from the lounge chair Tamaki occupied.

You pulled your arm away from your face to join the conversation. “Oh yeah, I tried that one on. It was a really good material, but it left absolutely nothing to the imagination.”

A gurgled cough sounded to your left as Kyoya brought his drink away from his lips, covering his mouth as he tried to swallow without difficulty. The twins smirked evilly at his reaction.

“You okay, Kyoya-senpai?” They said in sync, a mocking tone hidden in their smiles.

“I’m just fine.” The third son said darkly, clearing his throat as his glasses flashed at their attempt to fluster him even more than he was. “It just went down the wrong pipe.”

“A proper lady should not show that much skin until after she’s married.” Tamaki said, his face beet red at the topic of conversation.

“Oh yeah?” Hikaru starts.

“Then why is it okay that (Y/n) isn’t covered up?” Kaoru finishes. 

You and Tamaki meet glances, and you see him nervously trying to find some sort of excuse as to why he cared so much about Haruhi’s privacy and respect. You simper a little bit, sensing his dilemma before saving him from answering. As his best friend, you knew that Tamaki hadn’t confronted that aspect of his feelings for Haruhi yet, and you didn’t want him to explode on that lounge chair.

Hopefully, though, he will be able to answer that for himself eventually. 

“I wouldn’t let him. Why would I hide your mother’s amazing talent under some sweatshirt?” You say, adjusting the bikini on your hips.

“Plus,” You say looking over at Kyoya, a newfound confidence taking over you. That’s what the power of a good swimsuit holds. “I look amazing.” You state matter of factly, winking at your favorite ravenet.

With an air of nonchalance, Kyoya merely arched a brow at your antics before shaking his head and turning away. Mentally, you fist pumped when you notice the light pink dusting the tip of his ears, and you knew you got him. 

Oblivious to your small victory, the twins turned back to Haruhi. “So you’re not going to swim?” Hikaru asked, a complete deadpan on his face. What was the point of coming out to a huge waterpark if you weren’t going to swim?

Unless…

Kaoru asked the question he was thinking. “Hold on. You do swim, don’t you?”

Haruhi lets out a groan of annoyance at her two classmates. “I can swim just as good as the next guy, but this isn’t my idea of fun. We’re just gonna spend the day goofing off.” She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Honestly, I’d rather be home. I don’t understand what’s so great about this place, and really all you need to swim is a plastic pool.”

You prop yourself up a little more. “A plastic pool? What’s that?”

She turns to you before her face shifts into a thoughtful look. “Hm, let’s see.” She starts making a large circle with her arms, trying to demonstrate the size of the toy without actually having it in front of her. 

“I guess they’re about this big, and uh, and this round. And you pump it full of air.”

Hikaru and Kaoru look at her like she just said the sky was red instead of blue. 

“You dunce.”

“That’s an inflatable boat, dummy.”

Haruhi’s mood turns foul again as she yells at the brothers. “Guys, it’s an inflatable pool! Haven’t you ever seen kids playing in one?” 

“But isn’t that too small?” You ask, taking a sip of your coconut juice. “There’s no way something that size could be used as a pool, it would be too cramped.” 

Your drink is knocked out of your hand as Tamaki pulls you out of your chair, much to your distaste. Next to you, the twins stumble to catch up in his grasp as Tamaki crouches, speaking to you in a sharp, hushed voice. 

“You idiots! If Haruhi thinks it’s a pool, then it’s a pool, got it?” His eyes are wide, and his lips pucker with his attempt to keep his voice down. “Don’t go embarrassing her! She can’t help it if she’s an ignorant commoner.”

“She’s far from ignorant.” You say under your breath, knowing that if you turned in your crouched position, you would see Haruhi staring right back at the three of you, her arms folded or tapping her foot. 

“So, you just want us to lie to her?” The twins asked simultaneously, and Tamaki nodded firmly.

The twins blinked at him before a smile crept onto their faces. 

“Nevermind that, we’ve got a question for ya.” Hikaru asks, looking between Tamaki and his brother.

Kaoru continues. “Why did you make Haruhi put on that monstrosity?” 

Hikaru just shrugs. “I mean, I’m sure you would’ve been all ‘I wanna see Haruhi in a swimsuit!’.” It wasn’t that hard to imagine, and you found yourself grateful that Tamaki didn’t throw a tantrum for once. “Not making her cover up like that.”

“It was surprising.” You admit before standing back up and brushing yourself off. You didn’t need to tease Tamaki into telling you something you already knew. 

“What are they saying?” Haruhi asked when you made your way back to her and Kyoya.

“Uh,” A sheepish smile stretched your face. “Would you believe me if I said nothing?”

She rolled her eyes and grunted, making her way over right behind Tamaki before the twins pointed at her. The prince jumped in surprise, slowly turning to face only to cower at her deadpan energy.

“Well,” you sigh, leaning against your chair. “That’s what he gets for telling Haruhi what to do.”

You look over at the hum of agreement that emits from Kyoya’s throat, and you catch his cursive lines from over his shoulder as he continues to record the world around him in his notebook.

“What are you writing about?” 

He looks at you before clicking his pen closed and handing you the book, allowing you to flip through its pages. Notes like ‘too many palm trees’, ‘diversify drink menu’, and ‘add diving board’ covered the lines, and you sent a confused glance his way.

“Referring to yourselves as my guinea pigs isn’t straying too far from the truth. This trip doubles as a test run for my family, to see if there are any kinks that need to be worked out before the park officially opens to the public.”

You nod with a knowing smile – because of course Kyoya could never just take a break and enjoy himself for once – and continue to look through the leather-clad booklet.

“And thanks to you guys, I’ve gotten some great data today.” The ravenet uses a delicate finger to support his lenses, and you see a flash of the business man he is already becoming. 

Your heart beats a little faster.

Kyoya opens his palm for his notes, and you move to hand it back for him, only to hold it just out of his reach.

“While I appreciate your ability to multitask, I’m sure you’ve taken the necessary data to report back to your father.” Your eyes are sincere when they meet his. “Promise me that for the rest of the day, you’ll actually relax.”

His eyes squint narrowly while his jawline ticks, and you see his mind working out a debate to your request. 

“Please?” You beg, and what could he do, really? When you were looking at him like that?

The argument he had loaded in his throat dies at his lips. 

“Fine.” Kyoya says, his voice warm as he reaches over and closes the gap between him and his book, and you realize he could’ve done that the whole time. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Now you’re beaming at him, and he knew it was worth it. 

“(N/n)-chan!” Your eyes leave Kyoya’s as you see Honey-senpai bounding towards you, this time with Mori-senpai in tow. “Let’s play! Wanna go swimming in the current pool with me?”

“Maybe in a sec? I’m taking a break for a minute.” Truthfully, you were enjoying relaxing with Kyoya, being in each other’s space. You didn’t want to leave him just yet. 

For a moment, Honey’s eyes drooped and you were about to give in, but he got over it quickly as he skipped over to Haruhi to ask her the same question.

But Haruhi shook her head too. “Nah, I’m not gonna swim today.” She smiled before noticing Honey’s attire. “Hold on, you know how to swim, don’t you? Do you still need that float?”

At the talk of his floaty, Honey did another little spin, but this time he shook his head. “Nope! It just looks cuter this way, ya know?”

You chuckle lovingly. “He’s right, those bunnies are pretty cute.”

“He’s so innocent.” The twins remark, and your whole group watches in peace as Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai play in the pool together, a heartwarming scene. 

Unfortunately, though, you were about to experience the complete opposite in just a few moments

As a shrill ‘No way! You’re wrong!’ sounded over the intercoms of the waterpark, your body stiffened like a toothpick, spikes of pure panic surging up through your veins. 

You could recognize that voice anywhere. 

“Is that…” You say, forcing your tongue to form the syllables, dreading to even mention her name on your vacation. “Renge?”

Out from the abyss, the dark angel that is Renge Houshakuji rises out of her lair. She poses at the top of her tiered rig, holding an umbrella and looking as smug as ever. 

Your laugh is strained as more panic swirls in your irises. Swiftly, you launch yourself out of your chair, rushing a quick explanation to Kyoya before rushing over to the current pool with Honey and Mori. “You know what? I think I will join Honey-senpai for a swim. Watch my stuff, yeah?” 

And you’re gone. Ignoring the unspoken rule of not running near a pool, you hike it to the water, diving deep, hoping Renge didn’t see you hide. 

This is why you couldn’t have nice things. 

Rising out of the water to catch your breath, you find the group in a forced chat with Renge, and you blow out a sigh of relief.

“(N/n)-chan? Do you not like Renge-chan?” Honey says as he floats next to you, kicking his little legs as much as he could so he didn’t cruise down the river.

Your mouth opens agape, but then you close it. Honey may look delicate, but he has impressive observational skills. Nothing gets past him. 

“Uh, I’m still trying to get along with her.” A closed-mouth smile appears on your face, hoping to convince him

“So you jumped in the pool? That’s not a good way to make friends, (N/n)-chan.” 

Mori nodded his head next to his cousin. “Yeah.” 

You deadpanned at the two of them before sucking some water in your mouth and spitting it back at the duo. “Could you two not gang up on me? Isn’t there a game you wanted to play?”

Ever the scatter-brained boy, the third year’s face lights up at your suggestion, and he immediately climbs out of the pool. He takes his floaty off and throws it back at you.

Shooting an amused look to Mori, you catch the pink, plastic ring and hold it, waiting for your next order from your senpai.

“I want to practice jumping through the floaty! Can you hold it steady for me, (N/n)-chan? I bet I could jump in the hole!”

It takes you a moment, but you finally understand what he is getting at. “I can do that! And maybe, each time you’re able to jump through the ring, I can step back a bit to make it more challenging?”

“Yeah!” Honey agrees excitedly, happy that you’re taking an interest in his game. “And Takashi could create obstacles for me to jump over!”

The tall host nods, sticking his arm out between Honey and you to create a jump for Honey. “Okay.”

“Okay, ready?” Honey backs up a little before charging at the two of you. His legs jump out and over Mori’s arm, only to come to a point as he changes his pose to fit perfectly in the middle of his floaty. With a splash, the ring bounces against the water at the force, and Honey’s head goes under before he comes back up.

“You did it!” You exclaim as he pulls his arm through the center, resting his body onto the floaty. 

Honey looks at Mori, water dropping off of his blonde hair. “What would you rate it, Takashi?”

The black-haired host allows himself another smirk as he holds up both hands, spreading his fingers out wide. “Ten out of ten.”

“A perfect score.” You say proudly as Honey’s excited energy becomes contagious. “Wanna do it again?”

Expectedly, he nods his head, and Mori helps him out of the pool only for Honey-senpai to jump back in the ring again, this time a little farther than he was in the first round. You all played this again and again, Honey getting a perfect score from Mori each time, until the small host was bored with his floaty and wanted to play something else.

While the cute host spun himself into his thoughts, searching for another game to play, you took the opportunity to take in the moment. 

As sad as it was to admit, being able to spend time with Mori and Honey like this was rare. They had their graduation to think about, as well as their martial art training and other responsibilities that come from training police forces and overseas militia. 

You were just as busy, honing your engineering skill and preparing to inherit the company your mother had built from the ground up. 

But now, as the water swished between your fingers and Mori’s signature smirk secured its place on his lips, you found it hard to accept that as a valid excuse. Especially when Honey got another gleam in his eye, splashing around so that he could face his cousin dead-on. 

“Takashi! Can we play Surfboard?” The boy lolita’s warm brown eyes morphed into stars as he begged his cousin to accept. The usually agreeable Mori wrinkled his brow, and you could tell he did not like Surfboard.

“What’s that?” You ask. 

“I get to stand on Takashi’s back while he swims! It’s like I’m surfing!”

“Oh, I see.” You say knowingly, making eye contact with the taller host to show him that you understand why that wouldn’t be the best idea. “Do you maybe want a break, Mori-senpai? I could play with him for a little bit while you get a drink.”

Mori looked back at the hosts, seeing Haruhi fiddle with her glass alone under the canopy. 

“Yeah, thanks.” His deep voice answered you simply, and soon he was out of the pool walking towards the honor student, who had a drink in her hand. 

Honey looked a little sad at the loss of his cousin, but he turned back to you with renewed energy. Did this kid ever run out of gas?

“Do you wanna play Surfboard?”

A sweatdrop appeared on your forehead as you waded in the water. “Sure, but you can stand on my stomach as I backstroke. Sound good?”

You really didn’t feel like drowning today. 

But he agreed with an enthusiastic ‘Okay!’ as you readied yourself to float on your back. You breathed in and filled your lungs with air, the buoyancy of the organ making it easier for you to stay a float. Honey sat, then stood on your ribs and stomach as you started to swim backwards in the water, keeping your face above the surface. 

You were lucky he was light. 

“Look!” Honey called to the group of hosts and Renge, drawing attention to your game. “Check this out! Even though we’re swimming really fast, we never go any further than we are now!”

‘We’ was a generous term as he stood on top of you, happy as a clam to be along for the ride. 

You stayed like that for a while until your arms hurt, and you tapped on Honey’s leg to tell him that you were done. You propped yourself against the wall of the current pool as Honey kicked for himself, smiling slightly at the content look on his face. You never wanted to see this kid unhappy.

Shuddering, you pushed the thought from your mind.

“Watch out, (Y/n)!” You hear the twins yell as they run past you with water guns, trying to get away from Tamaki with a vengeance. They playfully sprayed you with their water guns before skidding around and leaping around Tamaki’s shots. Luckily, you notice, Renge has left as well. 

A small voice spoke beside you. “You wanna go play water guns? You can if you want.” 

Turning your attention back to Honey, you saw the most genuine look of selflessness in his eyes. He would be totally okay if you said yes right now and left him to his own devices.

But that made you want to stay even more. “Of course not, Senpai.” You said, swimming back alongside him. “I’ll stay here with you.” Honey saw a sweet grin illuminate your lips and he cheered, forgetting about the force of the pool as he stopped kicking. Catching him around his middle, your heart warmed at his eagerness to keep playing with you. 

In the distance, you hear Tamaki yell “Sideways-leaping shot!” His figure blurs as he leaps to the side, trying to catch the twins by surprise as they hide behind decorative surfboards.

But he doesn’t stop. 

You watch as Tamaki’s feet land on Hikaru’s discarded banana peel and propel him forward, and you wince when he lands head first into the tiki statue outside of the bathrooms. 

You expected him to whine a bit, yelling at the twins to stop playing unfairly while rubbing the bump on his head.

However, you didn’t expect the tiki statue to light up.

Like a tripwire had been activated, the eyes of the statue began to glow a deep red, setting off a chain reaction within the waterparks mechanics. 

A rumble split through the concrete of the resort, and you hugged Honey closer to your body, not liking the sound of this at all. 

You learned to always trust your instincts as a huge wave suddenly appeared in front of the both of you, towering to great heights above your heads.

Eyes widening, you spin your head around, seeing if there was any time, any at all to at least push the third year out of the way. But the water was coming at you too fast, and separating yourself from your friend was the last thing you needed to do. 

The host club is sprinting towards you both now, meeting your (e/c) eyes as you register that they’re too far away.

“Mitsukuni!”

“(Y/n)!”

Kyoya is too far away. 

So with almost no time to react, you wrap your arms around the boy, your body rounding to shield Honey from the barrage of water whirling at you at high speeds. You will your heartbeat to slow as you hug the student to your middle, whispering in his ear before bracing for impact. 

“Deep breath, Honey.”

Then the world was blue.

Water surrounded you. Even with your eyes closed you could feel it pour into your nostrils, rushing against your closed lips as you held onto your precious breath. The waves flooded in between the grip of your arms, but you refused to let Honey go. With every attempt that the pool gave to rip the boy-lolita away from you, you strengthened your hold, straining your muscles against the onslaught of water.

You were sent flipping, crashing against sides of the pool, scraping over sharp twigs and fallen branches. A sting shot up your right arm as you hit it roughly, and the coolness of the liquid surrounding you seeped into the open skin. 

In the blind surge, your foot got caught in one of the drainage divots in the resort, and it twisted painfully before the water forced you back again. You opened your mouth to cry out when another giant wave pushed you roughly into a rock, and instead of blue, the world was black. 

The host club was in a panic on the shore as they saw the wave about to swallow you two.

Mori-senpai raced with all his might, hoping to beat the concept of time and get to his cousin and his friend as quickly as possible. He saw Haruhi running next to him, yelling for you and the boy-lolita. “Honey-Senpai! (Y/n)!”

“Mitsukuni!”

“(Y/n)!” Journal forgotten, Kyoya leaped out of his chair, the rim of his glasses creating the perfect frame to see a shadow cast over your figures, blocking the light that was reflecting off your skin just minutes ago. 

Swim, (Y/n)! Get out of there! He cried in his head as he raced for the pool’s edge. Why were you just sitting there? Why weren’t you making a break for it?

But his lungs deflated when your body language gave him his answer. You met his eyes, and the emotions that warped through them were almost apologetic as you turned away from him. Distressed, Kyoya saw your shoulders hunch protectively around Honey-senpai, your palms spreading over the boy’s chest as you pushed him flush against you in brace for the impact. He still willed his legs to pump faster.

Damn it, of course you wouldn’t leave Honey-senpai. If you couldn’t protect him, you’d go down trying. 

Kyoya’s fingers were drenched with the splash as he reached out, desperate to try and get to you, his heart thumping with his effort.

But in an instant, you were gone, washed away with the tide.

And at the edge of the current pool, the Ootori son froze, his feet rooted to the decorative flooring as he watched the water swish back into its original shape. It was unaware of the drama it had just started, splashing up against the cool blue tiles. 

Kyoya worked to catch his breath, the adrenaline in his body oscillating between the valves of his heart and the nerves in his mind. He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling in more controlled manners as his brain fired, trying not to imagine the water rushing into your lungs. The force of the wave replayed in his mind, your gasp and Honey’s cry as it overtook you haunting his ears.

His tongue was too big for his mouth as it pressed against his soft palette, internally channeling all his tension so his persona wouldn’t shatter. But with one final exhale, his eyes snapped open, and the downward spiral he was sinking into was interrupted by a new determination.

Black hair whipped as Kyoya spun on his heel, making a beeline for the waterpark’s directory. If there was one thing he learned as an Ootori, it was that nothing could be solved if you didn’t push forward.

“Gentlemen!” Tamaki yelled as Kyoya brushed past him, the blonde’s finger pointing high into the sky. “We’re going after Honey-senpai and (Y/n)!” He points towards the path that was near the pool that swept you away. “That pool looks like the quickest way! Charge!”

Everyone except for Kyoya rushed at Tamaki’s orders. But Kyoya was the one looking at the map.

“Wait!” He called, still studying the sign. “I wouldn’t go-!”

Just as he anticipated, the club came running back to their starting point, alligators emerging from the edges of the path they had chosen. “There are alligators in there!”

Tamaki thinks before shouting out another command. “Okay, so we can’t use the pool, let’s try this way!” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyoya sighed as another alligator blocked Tamaki’s path, and the prince scrambled back to his group. 

“What’s with all the alligators?” Haruhi called as the group of hosts put their hands on  their knees, trying to catch their breath. 

Sharply, he answers them with a monotone voice, eyes sweeping the map to find the best way back to you. “Those alligators belong to the park’s tropical animal exhibit. I guess it is dangerous to let them run in the wild.” 

He works his jaw when he spares a glance at the totem pole. “Though, the cause of our present situation seems to be the location for the switch of the current pool.” He pushes back a headache as he revisits the map. “I’ll have to have a little chat with our designers.”

Haruhi and the idiotic trio shivered at what his tone suggested, and they prayed for the designers’ safety when talking to the Shadow King. They were going to need it. 

Kyoya brings a hand to his chin and relaxes slightly, grateful to at least have a plan formulated in his mind. 

Turning to the rest of the hosts, he points to the map. “This is a map of the Tropical Aqua Garden.” He points to a red circle near the bottom of the signage, and the host’s eyes follow his finger. “This is our current location, but we need to get here. I have a feeling that’s where Honey-senpai and (Y/n) ended up.”

His hand raises to the top of the banner, passing several spaces marked with a large question mark. “It might be tough, because to get there, we will have to pass this jungle area here in the southern block. Distance wise, we’re talking about 800 meters.”

Haruhi walked up to the map wanting to get a closer look. “Looks like there are a lot of undeveloped areas.” She observes, gesturing to the question marks. “Any idea what might be lurking in those parts of the jungle?”

A deep sigh escaped him as he shook his head. “Since they’re still being developed, I’m afraid I don't know.”

The twins are staring at the map too, picturing you and Honey in the vastness of the unknown jungle.

“Whatever’s out there…” Kaoru trails off.

“It could be even more dangerous than alligators.” Hikaru finishes, swallowing thickly. 

Tamaki squares his shoulders. His best friends were lost, their safety undetermined. Haruhi was amazed at the hard glint in his eye as he called out to the rest of the host club. “Alright! Now this is a mission of survival!”

Instead of the intimidating, worried glare that Kyoya gave to his friends, Tamaki gave them a look meant for heroes stepping onto a battlefield, one full of confidence and resolve. 

“It is our sworn duty to save Honey-senpai and (Y/n)!”

So, with a plan in place, the club walked into the sea of twisting vegetation and branches , hoping to spot you amongst the vines.

The first thing you hear is rustling.

Leaves brush against one another in the wind that brushes across your damp face, creating an aura of calmness. It’s enticing, the ambience drawing your senses out from your slumber. 

After another second, the white noise is painted with more sounds. Some pop out more than others, like the song of a cricket, or the jostling of a parrot hopping from one branch to the next. But they all surround you, and your ears stretch to hear birds and insects, all singing to you. Maybe even for you. 

Your eyelids feel heavy as you work to open them, but you immediately squint them closed, wincing at the daylight that threatens to disturb your peace. Coming up with a compromise with the sun, you slowly open one eye before the other, allowing both of them to adjust to the brightness. 

Above you are trees, and even if they are still a little blurry, they are gorgeous. They tower royally over you, mercifully, as the sunlight drips through the holes in their shade like thick honey.

Honey.

Completely blissed out, your tired eyes crinkle for a bit before the effort makes you close your eyes again. Why does that word feel so familiar?

An image of a bright smile and a pink floaty flash behind your eyelids, and soon you are taking a deep inhale, your eyes snapping open as the moist air of the tropical forest propels you back to your reality. 

Instead of speaking though, you’re coughing. As you bend over, your body heaves water out from deep in your lungs, and you watch it sink into the deep soil below. You don’t register the reassuring hand on your back. 

After your airway was cleared, you whipped your head around, desperate to find your friend. “Honey-senpai!”

“(N/n)-chan!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the proximity of his voice, and you turned your head to your left to find Honey kneeling beside you, his eyes wet with water and worry. 

“Oh my god, Honey.” You say, trying to reach out for him with your right arm before feeling your skin stretch painfully. You bar your teeth, your lips drawing back in a hiss as you cover the scrape with your left hand. Putting pressure on the scrape, you turn back to the host.

“Are you okay?” Pleadingly, you stare into his eyes to find that they crinkle even more, relief and uncertainty mixed within his irises. 

“(N/n)-chan!” Honey crumples as he flings himself on top of you, and you feel your next bout of pain.

“Ah-!” Feeling you tense under him, Honey gets off almost immediately, and follows your line of sight. 

As he scans your body, both of your visions rest on your left ankle, which is no longer symmetrical to your right. Instead, it’s purple and bruised, swelling as if a lemon had been wrapped around your ankle. 

“Oh no! Does it hurt, (N/n)-chan?” Honey whines, and he watches in alarm as you nod your head slightly. 

The movement causes a drop of red to fall past your vision, and you hurriedly place your palm the side of your head, only for it to be colored a light red when you pull it away. 

“I was worried about that.” Honey cooed. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

That’s when you notice the pounding.

A persistent beat has settled itself on the inside of your skull, pulsating as your blood cells rush to the spot where you hit your head, trying desperately to reconcile any damage that might’ve taken place. 

Honey’s soft voice broke through the insistent pressure as his face came back into focus. “(N/n)-chan?”

In his eyes, you were propped up using your left arm to lean on the ground as your legs straightened out in front of you. A small streak of dried blood appeared on your forehead and your ankle was bruised. Now you cradled your skull, trying to get your wits together.

Because your swimsuit gave no protection from being washed away, there were mild scratches across your body, especially your back as you both were flung backwards into the pool. 

“Honey-senpai,” you caught his attention, your voice low and strained, “do you know where we are?”

He puffed out his cheeks before looking around. When you both had landed, he was still wrapped into your grasp. He quickly had gotten off to check if you were alright, only to find you unconscious. After that, he had been by your side, touching certain pressure points on your body that would help you wake up faster, something his dojo master had taught him. 

He hadn’t really thought of anything else. 

But you see him point with assurance towards an open path that was glistening, wet after a wave came and crashed through the opening. 

The third year’s face turned serious, and he looked his age for a moment. “We came from that way, so that’s where we’ll find Takashi.” 

“How do you know?” You ask wearingly, and Honey reaches out to hold your hand as you get up with a limp, the height difference hindering him from totally supporting you. 

Despite your situation, a soft smile made its way onto his face. “Takashi will always find me!”

The twins huddle together clasping hands as the host club walks through the path, the screeches and hums of the jungle putting them on edge. 

“Kyoya-senpai, you don’t think all those animal sounds..” Hikaru starts, a quiver in his voice. 

“..Could belong to the real thing, do you?” Kaoru finishes, just as shaken.

The megane inhales sharply as the twins pull him out of his thoughts, and the host club hears him clear his throat before answering the twins. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure, but I do know that my family always strives for authenticity.” 

Kyoya looks up at the towering trees overhead, as another rush of concern surges through his body. It caves into his chest as he breathes to try and stop the feeling. The only thing that truly helps it is when Tamaki places a hand on his shoulder. 

“She’ll be alright, Kyoya. She has Honey-senpai with her! Everything will be fine.”

His eyes widen a bit as he takes in his best friend’s reassuring stance, before lightly shaking off his hand. “I’m aware.” But Tamaki listens to the tense tone of his voice and his gaze softens as he plants himself by Kyoya’s side. 

The club’s director is grateful.

Haruhi comes up to walk with the two of them, drawing their attention to a certain tall host who is lacking behind the rest of the group.

“Mori-senpai is always so straight-faced, I can never tell what he is thinking.” She states quietly, turning to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Even though he is doing a good job at staying calm, I can tell he is worried.”

As if on cue, Mori slips on a banana peel, his usual signature stability faltering as he tumbles to the ground to fall flat on his face. 

The club is in shock at his lack of balance, and it doesn’t take the twins long to comment on it.

“Mori-senpai is…” Hikaru states, astonished. 

“Acting as clumsy as you do, boss!” Kaoru exclaims as Haruhi reaches out a hand to help Mori up. 

Tamaki rolls his eyes next to Kyoya, folding his arms across his chest. “Wha-, shut up!” And the normalcy of the interaction lifts the meganes spirits, if only slightly. 

As Mori sits up, a banana peel still on his head, he sniffs the air. Kyoya watches him with a calculated gaze before bringing his eyes up to an ever darkening sky.

His realization catches in his throat. “Oh. Oh no.” Kyoya glances down at his watch then back up at the sky, arms hanging with a sort of defeat. 

“It’s time for the squall.”

As if electrocuted, the twins exclaim a shocked ‘Huh?’ before rain begins to fall over them. One drop on the nose, two on the shoulder, until raindrops are pelting them from all angles. Luckily, they were still in their swimsuits.

“Over here!” Kyoya shouts over the rain, pointing to a grass gazebo that could provide shelter from the weather. The hosts huddle under it, dripping and shivering slightly at the dampness on their skin. 

Haruhi ducks under the roof of the gazebo and assesses her friends. She watches as Kyoya and Mori lean against separate walls of the gazebo, both lost in thought as the rain pours on the other side.

Her gaze stays on Mori the longest, though, as she approaches him with a tentative pace, hoping to distract him by helping him think about better times. Kyoya could take care of himself. 

“Hey Mori-senpai, you seem to be really close with Honey-senpai. Are you two childhood friends?”

Hikaru and Kaoru look up at you from their seated positions, both feet flat on the ground as they take a breather from all the walking. 

“You mean you don’t know…”

“...That they’re cousins?”

Her jaw drops as her eyes widen, a struggled noise sounding before voicing her amazement. “You’re kidding me, they’re related?”

Distracted on his phone, Kyoya never misses an opportunity to share information. “The Morinozuka’s have been serving the Haninozuka family for generations.” He explains, then dials a number on his cell, pulling the phone up to his ear. 

“But the two families became relatives by marriage, and the master-servant relationship became a thing of the past…” Kaoru points out.

“...But even so, Mori-senpai has always made a point to protect Honey-senpai.” Hikaru stated, and the host club caught a glimpse of the stoic man, still resting his elbows on top of the railing of the gazebo, trying to sense Honey in the rain. 

“Must get his blood boiling,” Tamaki pointed out. “The blood of a loyal servant flows like a mighty river through Mori-senpai’s veins.”

Sympathy reaches Haruhi’s features as she makes her way behind Mori, trying to give him more comfort. 

“Hey, Mori-senpai, it’s going to be alright.” She says, and Mori’s shoulders open a little more to her presence. “I’m sure that Honey-senpai is safe. He has (Y/n) for some company, and he’s a lot tougher than you might think he is, and if he gets hungry, the trees are full of bananas!”

In the background, the twins look at eachother incredulously. “Bananas?”

But Tamaki is on the edge of his seat. “What’s he going to say?”

Haruhi shrinks as Mori turns and stands to his full height, which is multiple heads over her own. His face is unreadable, and it looks like he is about to scold her before a small smile finds its way to his face. 

The idiotic trio watches in astonishment as Mori reaches out and pats the honor student on the head, ruffling her hair as he states a simple, “You’re right.” 

His rare but warm smile surprises Haruhi, but spins the twins and Tamaki into a frenzy.

On the other side of the gazebo, Kyoya huffs at his phone, pressing the ‘end-call’ button with more force than necessary. 

He has talked with all of the managers of this park about their situation and every single one of them was utterly useless. His fingers dig into the buttons on his phone as he dials the number of his last resort.

Kyoya closes his eyes as he listens to the ring, once again urging his voice to sound normal when his police force answers on the other line. 

“Hello? It’s me.” He breathes a small breath of relief when the phone is passed to the chief. “Well, we’ve had an incident that’s caused some trouble.”

His casual tone betrays the anxiety in his chest, but he stays professional, giving them orders on how to find you. 

“My friends, a small boy and a (h/c) girl, have gone missing in the resort. I’ve not a single idea where they are, but they could be hurt or in danger.” Kyoya swallows at the notion, but it only drives him to continue. “You need to find them, eliminating any suspicious figures in the way. Do you understand?”

There is an affirmative yell on the other end of the line before the chief speaks. “You want us to go now, sir?”

Kyoya has to pinch the bridge of his nose to stop himself from yelling at their obliviousness. “Yes. At once, please.”

The sun comes out from behind the clouds as he ends his call, and he turns to the other hosts in the gazebo. 

Tamaki is red in the face, waving his arms at the twins as he whines. “Would you jerks quit calling me a perv?!”

The ravenet considers leaving them here. 

Clearing his throat, Kyoya grabs the trio’s attention. “My family’s police force is going to send in a search and rescue team to help us.” He sighs as he adjusts his glasses. “It pains me to say this, but they are better equipped at finding (Y/n) and Honey-senpai than we are. We should go back to the gate and wait there.”

But as he goes to relay the message to Haruhi and Mori, his gaze sweeps the gazebo, finding no trace of the other two hosts. 

“Where are Haruhi and Mori?” Kyoya asks, and the twins and the prince stop their fighting, only just realizing their friends’ absence. 

“What?!”

The three of them jump up and run out into the drying daylight as Kyoya tiredly follows behind, exhausted at having lost, not two, but four friends in the span of ten minutes. 

His tired movements pause as he looks out into the vastness of the jungle, remembering a crucial detail. 

“You know, I don’t believe I mentioned that there are other visitors here.” Kyoya blinks for a second before his priorities come back into play and he catches up to the hosts. “Oh well.”

You wipe your forehead once more, the rain acting as a carrier liquid to the blood dripping down your face.

You were certain you looked terrifying, drenched from head to toe as you limped through the humidity and shadows of the jungle, limping next to the equally drenched student beside you. 

If anyone saw your silhouette in the rain, you were sure they would run screaming. 

“Of course it had to start pouring.” You said, shivering slightly at the water running down your bare back. 

Honey looked up at your strained gaze, your face calm and pleasant despite the slight wince in your eyes at every step. He saw that you were trying to be strong despite the pain you felt. His heart tightened at the thought, and he looked around the jungle before an idea came to his mind.

“Here, (N/n)-chan, hold on for a sec.” He said sweetly, helping you lean against a tree before running towards one opposite you. Your jaw fell open when he propelled himself off the dirt with a strength you had forgotten about, landing on the second to lowest branch before climbing upwards. Soon, he was in the tree, swinging from limb to limb before jumping down in front of you. 

With his knees bent, he straightened up into a pose, reminding you of a gymnast who had finished their bar routine.

You clapped lightly with relief, glad he didn’t slip on the wet bark, before realizing what was in his hands.

Bananas.

“Here ya go, (N/n)-chan!” Honey said, and you took the yellow fruit from his grasp, your mood brightened by the fact that you had something to eat with great company. 

“Wow, what did you go and do that for?” You said, peeling the banana before ruffling his hair and thanking him. 

“So you wouldn’t be sad anymore. Did it work?”

You paused your chewing while your heart grew at his words, threatening to burst completely as it pressed against your sternum. 

“I’m not sad.” You say softly, swallowing the bit of banana in your mouth. To reassure him, you force your lips into a smile. “Why would you think that?” 

Honey just blinks at you before turning to his own banana, the fringe covering his eyes. “Because you keep lying to me. Why would you lie to me if you were feeling happy?”

It’s times like these when you’re reminded that he is a year older than you. 

Wincing, you lay your aching head onto the trunk behind you. “I’m sorry, Senpai, I’m just…” Your chest hitches, the wetness in your voice halting your speech. “It’s just a little painful to walk.” You chuckle breathlessly, the sound coming out a little gurgled by your emotion.

“Plus, we’re lost in a very accurate jungle, and I think I saw an alligator or two on the way here.” Emotion drenches your words as you try to keep your tears back, laughing through it to lighten the mood. “I just want to get you back to Mori safely.”

You feel a pressure on your good leg, and you see Honey hugging you around your calf. A wobbly smile adorns your face as his actions, but his next words really hit close to home. 

“You’re so sweet, (N/n)-chan! We will get there, don’t worry. I’m sure the others will find us, and in the meantime, I’ll be there for you, just like you’ll be there for me!” 

There’s a bright strength in his tone, and you realize why he and Tamaki get along so well. Both boys represent the quintessence of optimism. 

Humid air filled your lungs as you took in his words, but you were too focused on the dark side of your situation to be affected by them. Letting your knees give out from under you, the tree supports your back as you lean against it, giving your body time to focus on your wounds. The hammering in your head quickly exhausts your willingness to look on the bright side. 

You were embarrassed. Here you were, in the presence of an incredibly skilled martial artist, and yet you were crumpled to the ground, defeated by a bad ankle and a few scratches.

“Maybe you could go find the others and bring them back here? I might be too weak to make it.” You asked him, and you were thankful for the rain as a few tears managed to escape your eyes. Your chest started to rise rapidly as anxiety started to seep into you through the rain, starting at your toes and rushing to the pain in your head.  

You cursed the pulse in your ankle as you tried to roll it. Thankfully it wasn’t broken, just sprained.

It was fixable.

There was crinkling next to you as Honey sat himself down, plopping right by your side. His blonde hair tickled the nape of your neck as he rested his head on your shoulder. With the weight on your chest, it forced you to focus on your breathing. Your heartbeat slowed as you took deeper inhales and longer exhales, each one becoming clearer than the last. 

Heat radiated off your skin as the sun finally peaked out from the clouds, and you relished in the dry air. 

“You’re not weak, (N/n)-chan. You’re strong.” His light voice vibrates through you, embracing the anxiety of your feeling with a warmth that is welcomed and needed. “People who let themselves feel are the strongest people in the world.”

He takes a bite of his banana while still snuggling with you. “Plus, you always help me when I need it. Why would I leave you alone?” 

The comfort of his words started to push out your previous unease, but his next sentence was the one to motivate you. “I think Kyo-chan might be really worried about you.”

You pivoted your head to him against the bark of the tree, puzzled by his seemingly random statement. “What makes you say that?”

Honey set his banana peel on his lap, spreading out the sections of the peel to look like an octopus as he fiddled with its tentacles. “If someone I cared about got washed away right in front of me, I’d be worried too.”

Your throat was dry when you swallowed. “I’m sure he’s fine.” A passive smile found its way to your face. “Kyoya’s good at keeping his cool.” 

“Not when it comes to you. That time when you two weren’t talking because of the otaku lady? I’d never seen him like that before. And that time you cut your knee on the vase? Or that mean doctor was in your room? He acts differently when he’s with you.”

Your heart started beating a little faster as you breathed a sigh. “We’ve known each other a long time, Honey-senpai. There isn’t much else to it.” 

He gave you a childish shrug at your side, and you know he doesn’t believe you. “Maybe, but if I leave you here, then that means Kyo-chan will worry some more, and I don’t want to see him like that. Do you?”

And, oh, this is what it felt like to be guilt-tripped. 

Innocent brown eyes looked up at you, cheeks filled with banana mush and eyes wide and questioning, but you noticed a deep knowing in his eyes. As if he knew just the way to pluck your heartstrings. 

A teasing, exasperated simper curves your lips as your lazily poke at his side, emitting a series of giggles from him. “Oh-ho, you little mix.” He squirms your hold, and you ruffle his hair again. 

Smiling brightly, you could see bits of banana in his teeth. “Did it work?”

Suddenly, your belly is full and your heart is as warm as the sun on your skin, and the emotional pain subsides, giving you strength to push through the physical.

“You know what? You’re right. Let’s make sure Kyo-chan doesn’t worry.” As you jostle next to him, Honey springs up and grabs your good arm, pulling you the rest of the way into a standing position. 

You take a step with your new found confidence before immediately teetering to the side, cringing as you accidentally put pressure on your ankle.

Honey takes satisfaction to see you laugh at this instead of cry, and he glows when you turn to him. 

“It still hurts a little though.” You say through a strained chuckle.

“It means your body is healing.” He says as he giggles at your sheepish look, glad to know that your heart was happier. 

Emotions make you stronger, not weaker. They are rooted into your DNA, their vines reinforcing your pulse and your mind, their leaves turning towards the light of your heart.

They are powerful, you realize as you glance down at the sensitive boy in front of you, the picture of a certain director flashing through your memory. 

You continue to limp through the small opening that the wave made through the artificial jungle before Honey stops you, an arm shooting out to block your knees. 

“What is it?”

“You there!” You flinch from the sudden voice, but can’t tell where it’s coming from. “Put the boy down immediately! If you refuse, we’ll remove him forcefully!”

A bush in front of you crackles, movement making it jostle from the otherside. In the cramped twigs and leaves, you and Honey carefully creep over to the bush, still hiding behind it as you peek your eyes over.

The ground beyond the bush opened into a clearing, creating a perfect view for you and Honey to observe the action before you. 

Honey’s eyes lit up when he saw Mori, who was standing tall in the middle of a circle of police officers, although they were dressed in very protective SWAT gear. You were touched to see that he was cradling Haruhi to his chest, but then had to stifle your laughter at the fact that the officer had just referred to her as a boy.

Honey was about to call out to them before one of the officers reached for Haruhi, roughly tugging on her arm to rip her from Mori’s grasp. You put both hands over your mouth this time when the stoic host punches the officer in the face, the force shooting the guard into the forest behind him.

“The suspect is resisting! Prepare to fire warning shots!”

Warning shots?!

Honey had decided that the line had been crossed, and with a smirk, he helped to prop you up against another tree before tugging on a vine hanging from it. Checking the integrity, he hopped on it and climbed high, bracing himself against the tree as he wrapped his ankles around the plant. 

You watched as he straightened his legs, leaning out before pushing off the tree, swinging through the air.

“Takashi, Haru-chan! Out of the way!”

With no reply, Honey swung across their heads like Tarzan, throwing his foot out before kicking one of the guards square in the nose and knocking him out. Once the vine oscillated back to the center of the opening, the boy-lolita flipped off, doing another gymnast-like finish before bouncing up to his cousin and friend. 

But before he could have his reunion, another guard interrupted him. 

“Hey pipsqueak, what do you think you’re doing?”

The third year simply turned around, giggled, and then proved his martial arts title by sending every guard around him to the mat. Or, in this case, the grass. 

When there are no more enemies to fight, Honey laughs a little, his voice bright and careless to the fact that he just took on an entire force by himself. “You guys should be more careful who you mess with. Picking on my friends is bad, got it?”

Your jaw dropped as you began to gently climb down the slope, wincing as your foot twisted a little more on the descent, before hopping over unconscious guards. 

“Haruhi! Haruhi! Are you alright?” Tamaki rushes around the bend as you all turn your heads to see him, the twins and Kyoya running towards you. 

“Oh wow, it’s Tama-chan!” Honey states as they step closer and closer.

When you push past the bush and come into their sights, they see nothing but your presence as their faces light up. 

“Mon ami!” Tamaki says as he wraps his arms around you, tears in his eyes before calming down instantly at your embrace. “I was so worried.”

His smile goes away when he feels you flinch against his touch. “Tamaki, I love you, but could you please get off?”

The prince’s hands shoot up into a surrender motion as his face crinkles at your raspy voice. 

And that’s when they see it. 

A deep, barely healed scrape on your arm. 

A trail of blood drying on your forehead.

And an angry purple color around your left ankle. 

Tamaki lets out a dramatic gasp while the twins surround you in concern “Oh wow.” Hikaru states, taking in your figure.

“Are you okay, Senpai?” Kaoru asks, touching your shoulder, only to have it brushed off as a figure steps in front of him. 

“Give her space, please.” His voice was calm but firm as Kyoya stepped into your line of sight.

Relief had flooded him the moment he saw you in that clearing, glad to see you standing and smiling, even if it didn’t seem as bright as before. 

But the minute he spotted blood stains covering your delicate features, his heart had dropped from his throat to his stomach, becoming a thing of stone at the exhaustion and subtle pain in your eyes. 

“(Y/n), are you alright?” At an arm's length, Kyoya waves a finger in front of your face, prompting you to follow it with your stare. You did so fluidly, albeit hesitantly, as the quick movement encouraged the headache seeping behind your sockets. 

Good, he thought, no concussion.

“I’m fine, I’m good.” You say, laughing weakly as you cover the scrape on your shoulder, hoping to hide it from concerned eyes. 

“Kyo-chan! (N/n)-chan can’t walk!” 

Betrayed and offended by your partner through this whole experience, you turn to Honey with wide eyes, asking him to please shut up.

“What?” Kyoya hissed, and he looked down, seeing the swelled joint. You didn’t think his jaw could take any more tension.

“It’s nothing, really-”

But Honey kept going, a not so innocent look in his eye. “And she hit her head on a rock, and she coughed up a lot of water after she passed out! Aren’t you worried?” His doe eyes turned as big as the moon as you watched Kyoya purse his mouth after the last sentence.

Here it comes.

“You were unconscious?” His tone was calm, calculating, but his energy wasn’t. His gaze dropped a net, wrapping around your form as he scanned it head to toe. The movements of his pupils were sharp, and your stomach twisted at the array of questions that were firing in his mind.

“Kyoya.” A weak smile crossed your lips at his refined concern as he met your eye once more. “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired. And my head hurts.”

At the mention of your head, Kyoya reaches out and turns your wound to the light, his breath slowing when he saw it really wasn’t bad at all, just a small gash at where the rock had made impact. 

The pale hand at the top of your head trailed down to your face, lingering there before dropping completely. 

Finally, after his examination, Kyoya emits a conclusive sigh. “Well, you at least shouldn’t be walking. You can’t put pressure on that ankle.”

All of your energy went into quirking an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, well I figured as much. But unless you brought any crutches with you, I don’t think I really have a choi-”

At your waist, a sudden force brought your left side against a Hawaiian shirt, and a gasp involuntarily escaped your lips at the contact. Stretching your arm, Kyoya gently reached it over his shoulders, encouraging you to put your entire weight against him. 

You started to protest, betraying the sudden want to stay as close to him as possible. “Kyo, I can-”

But when you tried to pull away, the fingers at your side tightened, pulling you closer against him. “Let me help you.”

Tamaki and the twins flinched at the way the pain flashed in your eyes when your feet dragged across the soil. “We need to get you to a doctor, (Y/n).” The prince said. “You can’t walk out of here by yourself.”

Your heartbeat caught in your throat, and even though your jaw had dropped open slightly, no words came to debate the men in front of you. 

Inhaling, the moisture of the jungle was replaced with the air of Kyoya’s cologne, and the safety of his arm wrapped around you suddenly made you realize how exhausted you were. Your vision blurred slightly as you watched the rest of the hosts begin to walk out of the clearing, leaving you and Kyoya behind to get adjusted. 

Your muscles ached, your wounds pulsed, and when the crutch of your best friend released the pressure on your injured ankle, you let out a sigh as the pain lessened. 

Fatigue rushed through you, and your head felt too heavy on your shoulders, so you dropped it down, slightly nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

The muscles under your cheek strained at the contact, and out of the corner of his eye, Kyoya saw your eyes drop closed as your entire body relaxed against his. 

His breath rippled across your forehead as he turned his head to face you, his lips almost grazing your skin. “(Y/n)? Are you okay to walk?”

Swallowing, another sigh blew past your lips as you hummed an affirmative tone, but your body leaned more onto him, and he felt the weight of your weariness at his side. 

His eyes scanned you for a few more moments before he detached from you. “Here.”

Startled by the lack of warmth, your eyes shot open, only to widen when you saw Kyoya bend down slightly in front of you, his hands held out behind him in a welcoming gesture. 

“Kyo-”

“The others are already down the path, and there is no way that we will catch up to them if you can barely stand. There aren’t any other options.” The ravanet turned to look at you over his shoulder, his glasses glinting in the high rise of the sun. “I’ll have to carry you.”

Your lungs filled with apprehension, not just over the fact that you would definitely enjoy it a little too much if he carried you out of here, but because you know how resistant Kyoya can be to physical connection. A series of excuses and protests bubbled up in your throat, only to be popped by the sensation of Kyoya hands on your bare thighs.

Kyoya had used your moment of shock to his advantage as he grabbed you around your lower thigh, right above the knee. Force vibrated through his arms as he hauled you onto his back, and he smirked at the squeak that came out of you as your chest came into contact with his back. 

Your arms came around his neck instinctively, and you pulled yourself around him in an attempt to make sure you didn’t fall. Your ankles locked at the front of his waist, and his hands had slipped up, now resting higher on your leg. 

It took a moment for each of you to register the position that you were in when he straightened up, and a blush raged over the tips of your ears to the small of your back. You might’ve even spotted a reddish hue on the back of Kyoya’s neck, but you were too flustered to care.

You didn’t think that it could get any worse – or better – until Kyoya started walking. 

Even though your ankle pulsed, the rocking of his movements distracted you from any pain that you might’ve been feeling. Your headache was eased as your cheekbone dropped onto his shoulder blade, and the sounds of the rainforest around you lulled you into a restful sleep as you immediately relaxed against him once more. 

Kyoya could feel the rise and fall of your chest slow alongside his back, and he stole a glance of your restful features that made his heart skip, washing away any hesitance he had of being this close to you. 

“You know, maybe we should go to the beach next.” Hikaru said after Kyoya had rejoined the group, and the twins shared a knowing look when they saw you draped over his back. 

“Yeah, the beach would be nice.” Kaoru said, sharing a smile with his brother when Kyoya caught their gaze. 

“What are you two smiling about?” The megane asked, a bored look on his face. 

They both shrugged in sync and they shook their heads as Tamaki and Haruhi made their way over to the three of them. “Nothin’.”

Kyoya debated egging them on, but the warmth behind him kept his frustration at bay, and he feared that him talking too much might wake you.

“You idiots, Haruhi wouldn’t be interested in anything like that.” Tamaki said in a low tone, coming over to one side of Kyoya to look you over, seeing each scratch and mark on your skin.

“Actually, I might like to go to the beach.” The four hosts turn to look at the brunette that stopped in front of Kyoya. “I may not be into this silly water park, but I like the ocean. No offense, Senpai.”

A huff came out of the ravenet as he rolled his eyes. “None taken.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’d be really nice to go to the beach,” she continued. “It’s so pretty.”

Kyoya watched a flash of light pass through his best friend's violet eyes as Tamaki looked at the honor student with adoration. His lips curled up slightly as he watched the prince’s resolve melt completely at her request. 

“Yeah, alright. Then that’s where we will go next time.” 

Haruhi had Tamaki wrapped around her finger. 

“We’re all going to the beach Tama-chan?” Honey’s voice pierced the moment as he rode on Mori’s shoulders with a large grin. “That’ll be fun, don’t you think?”

Mori glanced up at his cousin with the same emotion that Tamaki had just held in his gaze moments before. The gentle giant smiled, rare and soft, as he nodded. “Yeah.”

This was the second time today where you had woken up and you didn’t know where you were. 

Your back sunk into something soft, and you blinked your eyes open to a familiar ceiling. Warmth engulfed your body as a quilt laid across your body, and you felt the cloth against the fabric of your swimsuit. Pillows of your choosing sprawled out from under you, and you found one resting under your bandaged ankle.

Immediately, your eyebrows drew together at the gauze that wrapped around the joint. When had you…?

An itch pulled your hand to your forehead, and you jerked at the gauze under your fingertips. 

You turned to your shoulder, which had multiple bandaids stretched across the wound that had a shiny film over it. Antibiotics.

Letting your head fall back onto the mattress, you flipped through your memory of the past few hours. Hazy images replayed themselves in your mind, and a distinct sense of rocking and cologne filled the air. You remembered leather seats and the touch of a shirt as the rocking turned into a constant rumble. Then, the sound of doors, opening and shutting gently. 

Cool air filled your lungs at the memory of the same touch that had been at your things seemingly minutes before now coming under your knees and across your upper back, pulling you towards a hard chest. A blurry sight of black hair and a sharp jawline appearing above you, and you remember feeling your lips move before your eyes closed once more. 

Kyoya had carried you back here. 

“Oh my god…” Whining, you brought your hands up to rub your face before the rush of embarrassment rose too high. 

You always knew Kyoya was a gentleman first and a friend later, but for him to have to deal with your lack of consciousness all evening must’ve been the last thing he had wanted to do.

Groaning, you placed your palms on the duvet, pushing yourself up to a sitting position when something caught your gaze in the corner of your eye. 

Tylenol, an ice pack, and a cup of water rested on your bedside table, and your heart glowed at the sight. 

A gentleman indeed. 

The quilt slid down your body as you reached over for the glass, exposing the top of your bikini when you brought it to your lips, hoping it would ease some of the dryness in your throat. 

You almost choked on the drink when the door opened. 

Having used his back to prop the door open, Kyoya stepped in, letting light from the hallway enter the dim room. He hadn’t turned on the big light in your room, but had opted to turn on a few lamps and light a candle so that you could sleep peacefully.  As if you hadn’t taken a single sip of the beverage in your hands, your mouth dried at the white sleeves he had rolled up to his elbows, jacket and tie discarded with two buttons of the top undone. He had untucked it, and his glasses slipped low on his nose as he turned to your bed.

Kyoya’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he met your awake gaze, and his finger tightened on the tray he held out in front of him.

It was the TV dinner tray that you had bought for your dad when he had come home from his back surgery. He had had you disinfect it multiple times before setting anything on it, his germaphobia running rampant even in his medicated state. 

Instead of his favorite foods though, it was decorated with yours. A hot plate of (f/h/f) sat in the center as a small bowl of (f/f) accompanied it, sliced and diced in perfect proportions. Hot tea steamed in the upper corner, a small dish of honey placed to the side. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your hungry lips before smiling when you took in the whole picture. A warm giggle ran through you as you set the cup back on the nightstand.

Kyoya looked like a domesticated house-husband.

And if that thought didn’t make your nerves tingle across your ribcage, nothing would.

“What are you laughing at?” Kyoya said, his shocked visage morphing into something gentle. 

“The fact that I thought someone had broken into my house when you opened that door.” You lied, swallowing the heartbeat in your throat.

“And you would’ve just sat there?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice as he came to your side, setting the tray over your legs, helping it balance on the soft surface. “Seems foolish.”

You rolled your eyes and gestured at your ankle. “It’s not like I would’ve made it very far.”

The megane hummed, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, back arching slightly as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “Fair enough.”

He peered over his glasses, and you felt his gaze on the patch at the top of your head as well as the bruise that had formed at your shoulder.

“How do you feel?”

You almost wanted to laugh again, the answer too complex as plenty of emotions ran tracked into your heart. The fact that he had stayed, bandaged you up, carried you to your bed, made food for you. He had done something that no one had done in a very long time. 

He took care of you.

But you just shook your head and looked at the dinner in front of you. “I feel fine, I’m just…what are you still doing here?”

His adam's apple bobbed as he pushed his glasses back on his nose, and you took in the picture-perfect moment of him resting on your bedside, the dusky sunset glowing against his raven feathered hair. 

“I wanted to make sure that you had everything you needed before I left.”

The butterflies in your stomach flurried at that, batting their wings every time you took a breath. “How long have I been asleep for?” 

“In your bed? Or are we starting from when you fell asleep on me?” 

Scoffing at the teasing smirk on his face, your head lulled as you covered your face again. A defeated groan rumbled the back of your throat as you peaked at him through your fingers. 

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been taxing.” 

Kyoya’s smirk only deepened as he turned his head back to the front. “I wouldn’t say that.” His clasped hands unraveled themselves as his thumb traced his palm. “It was more entertaining than anything.”

Oh, god. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?”

Butterflies were released into your chest, spiraling up your sternum as dread enveloped you. “Stop it, no I don’t.”

“Oh yes, (Y/n), you do.”

Your hands slid down your face, dragging your lips as he looked at you with amusement in his eyes. 

“What did I say?” 

His eyes met yours for a moment before dropping down to your shoulder. Following his gaze, you saw that the strap of your bathing suit had slinked off your shoulder in your embarrassment to favor resting on your bicep. 

Before you could fix it, though, Kyoya’s hand reached out and hooked his finger under the strap. 

Your breath hitched when you realized he had leaned around the tray, and his smile had grown so much that a hint of his front teeth had appeared. You felt the strap be situated into place as his attention was back on you.

“You said that I smelled nice.”

Your eyes closed in a wince, not only to hide from the shame, but to hide from that smile that teased and teased, but pulled you in for more every time. 

“Oh my god.”

The bed shifted, and his touch left your skin ablaze as you felt him sit back. You opened your eyes at a deep chuckle being pressed out of his chest, then stopped at his closed mouth. 

“And I would hope so, considering that this cologne is very expensive.”

You huffed, the energy in your body needing some kind of escape as you rolled your eyes at him. 

“I’m glad you’re proud of yourself.” You said, shaking your head, picking up the utensils on the plate to stab a piece of food and taking a bite. 

A sensation racked through you, as well as surprise, while any tension in your body melted away, and you went for another bite before speaking again. “This is delicious, Kyo, thank you.”

The curve in his mouth was back as he shook his head. “You should be thanking your kitchen staff. I simply cut the fruit.”

Laughing, you nodded before taking a sip of the tea. “Ah, that makes more sense.”

“Do you doubt my cooking skills?”

“I doubt the cooking skills of anyone with a personal chef, even my own.” You explain, pointing your fork at yourself before eating more of the entreé. “Except for maybe Tamaki. I feel like that man could make a mean french dish.” 

Bursts of air left his nose in amusement as Kyoya agreed, but his lips smacked in recollection as he brought out his phone. “That reminds me. Tamaki asked me to ask you to call him when you were feeling better.”

“Oh? What for?”

Blue light from his phone reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, reading over the text message on his screen. “He wants to know when you’re available to go to the beach.”

You swallowed the last piece of fruit. “The beach?”

Kyoya nodded, not looking up from his phone as he texted his friend. “Haruhi wanted to go to the beach, saying that it was better than a ‘silly waterpark’.”

Snorting, you stacked your empty plates on top of each other to get it our of the way, reaching for what was left of your tea. “I’m sure that was fun to hear.”

He gave you a blank look before sending the message and stuffing the phone back into his pocket. “It was.”

Your giggle made a home at the back of your throat before the hot drink washed it down. Licking your lips to get the excess drops off the corner of your mouth, you hummed. “The beach could be fun. I’ve never been before.”

That earned a surprised look from the club’s director. “You haven’t?”

Warming the mug in your hands, you shook your head. “No. I’ve had the chance, but something always got in the way.”

His brow raised as he fiddled with the rim of his glasses once more. “Interesting. I’m glad you’ll be able to go, then.”

“Me too.”

Sipping the last of your tea, the flavors exploded on your tongue as they accompany the comfortable silence that fell between you two. Side-eyeing him, you watched him perched at your side, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. You look at the medicine, the bandages, the dinner he prepared for you. 

Suspicion fills you. The man who only acts on self-interest has made sure that you were comfortable and properly cared for. Liquid honey swishes around in your mouth as you squint at him before swallowing. 

Kyoya glances at you before undoing the roll on his other sleeve. His smirk falls a little as he shakes his arm slightly, loosening the cotton around his elbow. 

“What?” He asks before becoming distracted with his sleeve again.

The shirt makes it all the way to his wrist when you ask him. “Why did you do all of this?”

His eyebrow goes up when he looks at you again, and confusion shadows the gray in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Reaching out, you fiddle with the mug on the tray before lifting the whole thing and setting it aside. “I mean, you really went above and beyond. Is there something you need me to do for you? Because I don’t know if I can sneak around taking pictures again, and I’m definitely not working with the set crew for Renge.”

“Firstly,” Kyoya replies, his arm nearest to you coming over your legs as he props himself up to face you. “I would never ask you to work with Renge again, considering that you nearly drowned yourself today just to get away from the poor thing.” 

“Poor thing?” You ask, exasperated.

“Secondly,” He continues, and he suddenly became serious. “I don’t need anything from you.”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “So this was all just from the kindness of your own heart?”

“You don’t think I’m capable of such acts?”

You shrug, picking another piece of fruit from the bowl. “I didn’t say that.” Biting the inside of your cheek, memories flash through your mind, your headache becoming a little more apparent with each one.  

‘I am very helpful. Without me, you would’ve slept through every alarm you set.’

~

’And I told you, (Y/n), that that’s not the only motivation I have for complimenting you.’

~

’You’re okay, (Y/n). You’re okay.’

~

’If you are ever in need of support, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

~

‘Mind if I join you?’

~

’Let me help you.’

~

You smiled at the ever increasing times Kyoya had offered his help to you. If every single time he had opened up to you was only out of his own self-interest, he was very good at hiding it. It seemed like years of being around his group of friends had influenced him to open up to them, to you, more often than not. That was something you couldn’t ignore.

Even if the term friend didn’t fit very well in your mind. 

You set the mug on the try, a teasing tone woven throughout your next sentence. “I just thought you might be out for one of the favors I owe you.”

A look of recall painted his face as he hummed. “Oh yes, you’re right.”

Deadpanning, you look at him. Why did I have to say anything? “I didn’t mean right this minute.”

“But I do have a favor to ask you.”

You held his stare for a minute before giving up a sigh. “Fine. What is it?”

“You need to take a shower. Your entire room smells like chlorine.”

Your nose twitched as you inhaled slightly. An unnatural scent raced through your nostrils with abandon, and you cringed at the scent of the water park. You looked at your fingernails to see mud packed underneath them and you nearly gagged. 

While you were glad that Kyoya hadn’t given you a quick spit-bath, you realized that you had been sleeping in the filth of the jungle and the chemicals of the waterpark for at least a few hours.

“Oh my god, you’re right, get up.” Waving Kyoya off the bed, you toss the blanket to the side, careful of the tray of food as you swing your legs over the side.  

“Wait, (Y/n)-”

You landed with both of your feet on the floor, only for a strike of pain to shoot up your calf. Startled by the sudden spark, you lost your balance as you rushed to ease your weight off your foot. 

You reached your hands out blindly, and the same shirt you had been admiring minutes ago appeared under your fingertips.

In front of you, Kyoya’s hands gripped your forearms as he worked to balance you while you gripped his biceps for support, trying not to think of how they feel under your touch. 

“I don’t know if you remember this, but you sprained your ankle.” He said as he did what he tried initially in the jungle. Your arm draped over his shoulders and he tugged you gently against him, leading you to your en suite bathroom. 

You winced as you tried to keep up with him, your ankle pulsating from the sudden pressure. “I think I was just reminded.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw at your pained tone when Kyoya got an idea. “You said something else in your sleep, you know.”

Struggling to be in the mood to be teased right now, you gave him a blank stare. “Oh yes, please embarrass me further.”

Your side ignites from the deep rumble of his snicker. “I don’t think this is as embarrassing as it is touching.” 

As you enter the bathroom, Kyoya sets you down on the edge of the bathtub before reaching towards the faucet, setting the temperature to a comforting warmth.

Bending your knee, you slowly prop your foot up on your knee to rub at it to ease the pain. “What did I say?”

“That I was your favorite person.”

You froze. The hand massaging your ankle paused as you slowly looked at him when he stopped in front of you, a washcloth drying his hand from testing the water. 

“What? When?”

“When I was pulling you out of my car.” His smirk returned when he saw the tension in your face lessen from pain and wrinkle in confusion. 

Thinking back, you knew you felt your lips moving to say something. You just wished it wasn’t so…affectionate.

Tucking your head back down to your ankle, you tried to hide your blush in the steam. “I guess that’s not too far from the truth.” Clearing your throat, you try to force your shock into something more nonchalant when you raise your gaze again. “You’re pretty tolerable when you want to be, Ootori.”

His grin enhanced at your deflection. “Am I? I was hoping I frustrated you to no end.”

Squinting your eyes at him, you laughed a little. Frustrated isn’t the word that you would choose.

He simpered down at you, a gentler tone coming from him. “Are you okay on your own? I’m going to give you some privacy for the rest of the night.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

He nods and checks his watch through his uncuffed sleeves. “It’s later than I expected. I enjoyed being here, but I do have my own home to return to.” 

Even if your stomach dropped from the constant excitement of him being here with you, you understood. Plus, you wouldn’t want him to be just outside while you cleaned yourself up. Who knows what kind of thoughts could enter your mind then?

“That makes sense.” You smile up at him. “Go get some rest, I know you weren’t able to relax much like I hoped you would.”

He just shrugged and turned to walk out the door. “If you hadn’t ended up nearly drowning, maybe I could have.”

“Wait!” Leaning off of the very edge of the tub, you were careful of your ankle as you grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving.  

He immediately looked over his shoulder, the same sharp look in his eye from earlier as he scanned your face. “What is it? Does your head hurt again?”

Your grip lowered into his hand while you shook your head. “No, no, it’s not that. I just wanted to say thank you, Kyo.” You lightly gestured around you with your injured shoulder. “For everything.”

Kyoya’s gaze softened as he squeezed your hand once more before letting go. “As long as you are alright.” 

Your heart jumped when he let go, and you watched him leave, your eyes meeting for a final time before he closed the door behind him.

Peeling off your bathing suit, you sighed as you sank into the water, propping your ankle and arm out of the water so the bandages didn’t get wet. Of course, the bath was the perfect temperature.

Gratitude suddenly shined within you, making the smile that you felt coming on hard to fight as it took over your face. How you had gotten someone so perfect to care about you even a little completely left you speechless, but you weren’t complaining. 

Thoughts of him didn’t leave you as you soaked and bathed, and they stayed as you toweled yourself off, dressing in a (f/c) satin robe that your mother brought back from Florence. Steam billowed into your bedroom as you walked in, bare feet leaving small water puddles on the hardwood floor. 

When you saw your bed, you couldn’t help the small gasp that left your lungs.

The quilt had been folded and laid across the edge of your bed, and the tray of empty dishes was gone. One of your favorite shirts and a pair of oversized pajama pants folded on top of your straightened duvet, and when you got closer you noticed a note propped beside them.

You bit your lip to stop your smile from getting wider as you read the perfect cursive drawn onto the page.

You’re my favorite person too. Goodnight.

Next Time on Lavender Roses!

“We come to the beach like she wanted, and suddenly everyone starts fighting!”

“I thought you weren’t going to talk to me anymore, Senpai?”

“I cannot believe you, Kyoya!”

The Sun, The Sea, and The Host Club!

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