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mouthfulloftoothpasterry · 3 years

Text

Hooked

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again. This time spending more time together and getting to know each other.

warnings/ disclaimers: Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth.

Harry was out searching for a book. He had left Loralie with his mother for the day since he had some errands to run and it would be a busy day. He had finished all of his books and he was on the search for another, maybe even some extra ones for his classroom. He had stopped by his favorite coffee shop and ordered his favorite black coffee to start his day of errands, then he went to the market to get everything for dinner tonight- he thought he might as well get it out of the way since he hates grocery shopping.

Now he’s on the way to a bookstore, he didn’t want to order it on Amazon or just go to a big chain store so he did a quick google search and found a small book store a block down the road from the coffee shop he had gone to. He wanted to find the book burning in water, drowning in flame- his sister had recommended it to him and now he was itching to read it.

He made his way to the bookstore, it looked like a homey place just from the outside of the store. It was a rust colored brick with two sconces on either side of the top of the book shop, a rather tall building- possibly a flat at the top. Harry looks at the cacti peeking through the windows, little flower stickers to decorate.

Harry walks into the book shop, opening the door making the golden bell at the top of the door frame sound off. As soon as Harry steps in he notes the warm scent, it smells like the owner had been baking cookies. “Hello!” He hears a cheerful voice sing while he steps toward the poetry aisle in search of the book. “Is there anything I could help you with today?” He hears the voice again making him turn his head. To his surprise it’s Y/n, he’s been thinking about her. “Oh, hi.” He says bashfully, smiling and stepping over to the cashier counter she was behind.

Y/n smiles, continuing to add price tags on the back of her new shipment of books. She had started her little business officially a bit after she had gotten pregnant with Milo. Milo’s dad had left her after she broke the news to him, they were in their early twenty’s (Y/n being twenty one and him being twenty two) so it was understandable that he didn’t want children yet but the way he dealt with the situation was just dramatic and too much on Y/n. So she put everything into her little book shop, she took out a loan and bought this place, starting planning and putting her all into it, it wasn’t easy but it was worth it.

“Hi Harry.” She says, adding a book to the stack. Harry blushes at her tone again, she’s hard to read. “Um… do you happen to have burning in water, drowning in flame?” He asks, whirling around her display of different styles and colors of bookmarks. He is a twenty six year old man, why is acting like one of his students who thinks he’s handsome? Y/n laughs, nodding while she pulls her mug up to her lips- Harry thinks it’s hot chocolate (and he’s right). “It’s in poetry, first aisle, third shelf, second row.” She says, impressing Harry in how she has memorized every single spot of her book store.

Harry gives her a tight nod, walking over to the poetry section and looking for the book. “Is this your place?” Harry asks, making conversation while the rest of the store is dead silent.

“Yeah, me and Milo live in the flat upstairs.” Y/n admits. Harry’s ears perk up, she didn’t say anything about a partner. He walks back to the counter placing his book down, not handing it over to her yet. “When did you open this place?” He questions, looking around the shop. He sees some crystals, some candles- that both look up for sale and also her personal ones. It’s cute.

“After I got pregnant with Milo. Right after Xavier left me.” She says, leaving Harry wondering. “Xavier is…?” Y/n sighs, rolling her eyes a bit. It’s only their second time meeting and she’s already giving him her sob story. “He’s what would be Milo's father.” She says, picking at her bare nails. She doesn’t consider Xavier Milo's father, he’s never been there for him so he’s not a father. Harry’s lips form a tight line, “um, Loralies mum died… so… we’ve all got baggage.” He laughs, trying to cut the tension.

Loralies mum had died, she died during childbirth. She already had a particularly painful and rough pregnancy with Lora and that was just extremely unexpected, Harry just thanks his stars everyday that his little one is safe with him. “That’s awful, Harry. I‘m sorry.” Harry smiles at her, “it’s okay. I’ve got my Lora so I’m okay.” Y/n nods, smiling and grabbing the book from between his fingers. “She’s a sweet girl.” She compliments.

Harry nods, feeling a little cocky over how well he has raised his daughter. “Is this all for you?” She asks, pulling out a small brown bag with the logo and name on it- they are cute. “Yes please.” Harry politely says, making her laugh under her breath. “If this is your first time here? You get a free bookmark with every book you purchase if it is.” She says, nodding over to the bookmarks. Harry nods, looking through the bookmarks and picking a random Fleetwood Mac one- cute, he thinks. Y/n adds the bookmark to the bag, setting it infront of him. “13.22” she says, Harry fishing his wallet out.

“Are you doing a lot today?” He asks, motioning down to all the books stacked around her while he hands her a ten and four singles. She shrugs, “the usual.” Y/n says, handing him back his change. Harry thinks for a second, pausing his response making Y/n a little nervous. “I could help?” Harry offers, setting his coffee on the table. Y/n gives him a questionable look, sharpening one of her eyes at him. “You want to put tags on books and reorganize with me?” She asks, making Harry laugh. He nods, putting a bookmark back in its place “see, I’m already helping.” He says cheekily.

Y/n smiles, shaking her head. “I guess you can help.” She says.

Soon enough they are sat on the brown carpet, mountains of books around them. Y/n has a blanket wrapped around her and Harry has his legs stretched out. Y/n is tagging books while Harry is setting by the book shelf closest to them organizing. “I swear they put something in the water fountain at that school, the kids are always running and screaming around my classroom while I’m trying to talk about how Van Gogh cut off his own ear.” Harry says, making Y/n loudly giggle, thinking about how Milo probably gives him a horrible time on Wednesdays.

“You like working where Loralie is?” She asks, Harry of course nodding. Loralie is his baby, he loves knowing she’s just up the stairs- especially if she were to get sick or hurt he would be right there to take care of her. “Yeah, I wish I could always be with Milo but one of us has to make the money.” She jokes which makes Harry laugh.

“She always comes waddling into my classroom screaming for me- which disrupts the class but I don’t care.” He shrugs, his mind going back to Loralie. “Oh shit, I’ve got to pick her u-“

“Hi! How are you, baby!” Y/n cheers, Milo running toward her then crashing into her in a hug. Y/n’s friend Mikaela had babysat Milo for the day while Y/n tried to get as much work done as she could. Usually on the weekends (like today) Milo will be in the store with her… which tends to distract her. “Um, I’ve got to go but we should do this again? Maybe… over dinner?” Harry asks, Y/n’s face lighting up.

“Are you asking me on a date?” She teases, Harry blushing and nodding. Y/n laughs, slipping her phone from her pocket, “take my number and we can schedule that date you’re begging me for.” She teases.

Harry gets her number, thanking her for the book and letting him stay before he slips out. Now he’s got to get back to Loralie. But he’s got a date!

Later that night when Harry and Loralie are practicing her memorizing her ABCs his phone beeps. He ignores his at first, just expecting it to be a stupid text from his friend Mitch, but once he looks down he sees Y/n’s contact name. “Keep going, bug.” Harry says, grabbing his phone from the carpet while they set on the floor of the living room, unlocking his phone.

Hii, im free next Friday :) let me know if that works with your schedule!

Harry laughs at her cute little smiley faces, trying to think up a response that doesn’t make him sound a thousand years older than her. The tip of his tongue sticks out while he types back his response, his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

Hello! Friday works, how about 5:30? I can pick you up.

He lays his phone back down and helps Loralie with her letters, pulling her onto his lap. “D is for Daddy!” She cheers, making Harry smile, chuckling and kissing her round cheeks while she squeals. Harry hears his phone ding, grabbing it and reading the response, thanking god she answered. He thought his heart would explode out of his chest. It was beating so hard.

That sounds good ☺️ see you then!

Harry got her to say yes, but now he has to deal with the anxiety of actually going on the date. What should he wear, where should they go? Should he be opening the door and pulling out her chair or is that not in-in dating anymore? He hasn’t dated since Loralies mum and his baby is two years old now, it’s been quite a long time since he dipped his toe into trying to charm a woman. He just hopes he’s still got it.

****************************

The day is here. Loralie is with her grandma so Harry can get ready for the date. He’s been panicking and running all around his little house. He showered and smothered himself in lotion and his best cologne- he wanted to smell nice for her. He was adding leave in conditioner to his hair (which he hardly remembers to do) to make it more silky and the curls look a bit prettier than they usually do- he doesn’t know much about hair, he just does what his sister tells him what his hairdresser tells him he should do.

He planned out an outfit, a pair of tan dress pants with a white tank top and a cardigan over it. He had thought over the outfit a bit too much, was it too casual for the date? Was the cardigan too much? He decided against his thoughts and layers some pearls on, sliding his rings on that were in a jewelry dish, placed in there before his shower. He takes a look in the mirror, readjust his cardigan before he gives himself a little nod. He feels good about this.

He makes his way over to Y/n flat, walking up the metal steps to her flat and knocking on the door. When she opens the door he notices just how amazing her home smells, just like her book shop. He needs to remember to ask her where she gets her candles. “Hi,” Harry smiles, looking his date up and down. She was dressed nicely. It was a sage green dress with spaghetti straps, it stopped a couple inches above her knee. Harry thought it was cute.

She paired it with gold jewelry and a black cross body bag. Dirty white vans to go along with it that added a child-like feel to the outfit. Harry thought that was cute too.

“Hi,” she smiles, glancing behind her. “You look nice.” Harry says, suddenly feeling hot. Y/n laughs under her breath, thanking him. “You look nice as well.” Harry smiles bashfully, looking down at his feet. “Thank you”

Y/n says her goodbyes to Milo, hugging and kissing him before thanking her friend again for watching him. It’s the same one from last week, Mikaela. They get into Harry’s car, a bit of awkward silent before Y/n breaks it, Harry stopping the tapping of his fingers along to the low radio once her voice interrupts it. “So, where are we going?” She asks, smoothing her dress out against her thighs.

Harry laughs, he’s not prepared for dates and for some reason he hadn’t thought about the most important part. “I’ll eat anywhere to be honest.” Y/n admits, looking through her window at all the different places.

Harry was looking around in a panic and he finally pulled something out of his ass that sounded good, especially on his teacher salary. “Olive Garden?” Harry says, trying to say it confidently but it definitely comes out as more of a question. Y/n’s eyes light up, she’s in the mood for bottomless salad and breadsticks. “That sounds heavenly.” And Harry is happy to hear that.

They walk into the busy restaurant, instantly getting escorted to a table. Harry is happy they didn’t have to wait- that would have just been embarrassing since he threw this together last minute. They sat in the booth, sliding in and getting comfortable. “So, how’s the bookstore?” Harry asks, pulling apart his breadstick. Y/n knocks her shoe with his under the table, she thinks it’s cute how bashfully he can get when just asking a simple question. “It’s good. How are your little art students?” Harry playfully rolls his eyes at her choice of words.

“It’s good. They are doing self portraits.” Y/n laughs, her eyes widening.

“How’s that going?” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “They look like shittier versions of Picasso’s paintings.” Y/n dramatically gasps through her laughs, “aren’t you supposed to worship the ground that man walks on? Why would you say that?” Harry rolls his eyes once again, chuckling at her. “I’m just behind honest!”

Their date goes on the same, they order their food, giggling while they eat and even getting into a little food fight with the leftover breadsticks. (They weren't being humble, they asked for another basket) They finished their food, “That was fun.” Y/n admits smiling. Harry nods, taking the check and opening his wallet. “Here,” y/n holds out her card, Harry shaking his head. “I’ll pay.” Harry shrugs her off, handing his card tucked in the black check book the waiter had brought over back to him before she can further protest.

Y/n scoffs, throwing another breadstick at him that he tried to catch but it’s too greasy. “Hey! I thought we had a truce?!” Harry questions her. She shakes her head, apparently swearing off the truce. Harry shrugs, thanking the waiter when he brings his card back along with their mints. “You better sleep with one eye open then.” Harry says, standing up and waiting for her. She laughs, standing up and pulling her bag over her shoulder. “I have a three year old, I basically sleep with them both open. You’re nothin’.” She says, Harry nodding his head in agreement. He knows just how she feels.

They drive back to her flat, Harry of course walking her to her door. “I had so much fun tonight.” Harry says, looking down before he looks up at Y/n. She smiles, blushing. She hasn’t dated since Xavier and she admired that to Harry tonight, they both admitted that they haven’t dated since their children’s parents so they felt a lot comfortable knowing they were both rusty.

“Me too, you’re a really sweet guy, Harry.” She says. She needs to remember to thank her forgetful little Milo for leaving his folder in Harry’s classroom. “Thanks for agreeing to go out with me. I was pretty nervous.” Harry admits a bit sheepishly. Harry is a bit giddy on the inside about them hitting it off so well, they were having the best conversation and at times they were getting extremely loud, probably annoying the people around them, but they didn’t care, they had fun. “Yeah, I was nervous as hell but I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Thanks for tonight.” Y/n smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

Harry’s eyes widen, but he still kisses her back. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long he thought he had forgot how to for a second. His hands come up to cup her jaw, moving his lips with hers. “I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.” Y/n smiles, opening her door with red cheeks. Harry nods, a little flabbergasted. “Have a good night.” He says, trudging down her steps.

And now he’s hooked on her.

Tag list: @romionefp @iaalien @hopeyoustaythenight @evanjh

If you liked this please reblog and please tell me what you thought of it ☺️ thank you for reading!! I hope you all like the series so far I’m writing part three right now so it should come out soon ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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satingrove · 4 years

Text

the hours

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x reader

summary: obi-wan pays you a visit before leaving for kamino

content: uhh SOFTNESS, fluff, a cute obi-wan and youngling moment, steamy meditation, more fluff, aotc obi rights, no gender specification

wc: 3.136k :’)

Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing... How embarrassing.

He had one important trip to make before seeking out said planet.

Obi-Wan nods to those who pass him by, walking briskly through the Temple with his hands clasped in front of him, thinking on Yoda's other (more helpful) words, go to the center of gravity's pull and find your planet, you will. It would still be a while before he did so.

He nears an opening of transparisteel, scratching his beard and peering out of it - as if Kamino would appear in the sky, knowing it was sought after. But it's not there, as expected.

Sighing, Obi-Wan closes his eyes, focusing on the surrounding energy, the swirls of air and the sound of quiet walking, trying to single out a presence by the trace of a Force Signature. He gets just a whisper of it when his attention is broken by two small hands tugging at his cloak.

"Obi-Wan!"

Katooni, a youngling Tholothian, starts to wrap her short arms around Obi's leg, who chuckles in return. His hand comes to rest on her head.

"Little one, are you supposed to be in the library with the others?" Obi-Wan doesn't take an accusatory tone - it's laced with amusement at the youngling petting at his calf.

Katooni turns shy, hiding her face and slowly trying to inch away. The taller of the two crouches, his cloak pooling generously around him at the floor. Obi-Wan meets her at eye level, ensuring her comfort.

"I'm not here to get you into trouble, Katooni. Is that where you're supposed to be?" He displays clear and attentive empathy, though not without a trace of austerity.

Slowly, delayed by gentle shame, the Tholothian's head nods up and down.

"I was just taking a walk for a break, Master Kenobi."

He smiles, rising to stand and extending his pinkie to her, "Then I suppose I'll accompany you back, young one?"

She takes it with a soothed giggle, and he realizes the words that stuck with him from so many months ago, ones you had uttered, were perhaps true - he was indeed favoured among the young ones of the Temple, and it's more evident now than it had been before - Katooni isn't fretting about going back to the library to read up on ancient texts; she's content holding his pinkie with her whole hand, skipping twice to each step he takes.

And Obi-Wan supposes that it isn't a bad thing; to be admired in such ways, yet he does worry about the influence he gives. Was it respectable enough? He never thought he'd earned the right to be idolized. Then again, the child grasping his finger does warm his heart.

The fretting about rightful heroism is soon behind him, what with the more pressing matters on his hands - a voyage to a (seemingly) non-existent planet, and before that, a visit to his dearest.

Obi-Wan crouches before Katooni a second time, just shy of the library.

"I need you to tell me something very important before you go," he sets up his question in an enthusiastic whisper - a secret from everyone else in the Temple. Lightheartedly, he pokes her shoulder, "Have you seen my friend?"

"Oh, I have!" Katooni starts, excited that she had an answer, "I last saw them heading that way, before-" and then she stops, ears starting to burn with the heat of embarrassment. But it's all Obi-Wan needs to know. You'll be in your quarters.

"Ah, before you ran into me and tugged my poor cloak?" His right eyebrow raises.

"Mhm!" She chortles, almost proud of herself. Obi-Wan gives her the warmest of smiles.

"It would be best to stay in there this time." He motions to the library, softly stern, "Although, I'm not exactly sure how you escaped in the first place." Winking, a final gesture to let her know that he's not mad, he makes to cross the hallway.

Obi-Wan hardly turns the corner before Katooni yells her sweetest "thank you!" to him, scurrying back into the vastness of history books. As he weaves his way through those high-ceiling corridors, he ponders the affection he's always given. Had the little ones seen him as a father figure? He wasn't even positive what that was supposed to mean - although, Qui-Gon was the closest he'd ever had to one. The thought stings him for a second, a brief pain in his chest, and he brushes it off with his well-known stoicism, ready to fall into your arms instead for one restoring night.

Hood drawn up, he ensures the space around him is empty, pressing the button to your door. Unusually, he hadn't knocked, yet he slips in as it hisses open.

A sigh of relief blows through his pursed lips at his successful venture to forbidden grounds; and like clockwork, his arms fold as he leans his side into the wall. He smirks when you finally see him.

"Maker, I wasn't expecting you-" Your hand on your heart almost worries him.

"Am I not welcome?" He asks quizzically, looking particularly regal, features made dark by the shadow of his hood. Jedi Knight was a rightfully chosen word.

He knew he was indeed welcome.

"Oh, don't be a fool." You kiss his lips in a short but sweet peck, tangling your fingers in the length of his auburn hair and taking his hood down. It's not enough for him.

"You'll have to kiss me longer than that." He talks low and deep against your lips, pressing them back together for a lingering moment. As it consumes your senses, it releases all of his pesky, pent up stresses. His whimper lights up your insides.

As you come apart for the second time, his hand finds the back of your neck to cradle it delicately, eyes switching between your left and right. "What if I am a fool?"

You jab a finger into his side, "You're not", and he huffs.

"Coming here, I'd say so." He waits with an expectant look, one that makes his eyes crinkle with the smile he's trying to put off.

"Hey!" You swat at his shoulder and he takes it with exuberance, "we're careful enough about it."

Unwittingly, you try walking back to your notebook, in which you were scrawling details about deadly Felucian spore plants.

"Oh, are we?" His hands catch your waist, bringing your back swiftly to his chest. Hands creep under your clothing and caress your bare skin.

It instantly makes you weak against him, powerless to put any stop to it, and you let him continue his loving, handsy, research of your body. "Would you prefer we do this outside?" His mouth is dangerously close to nipping your ear.

"Obi-Wan..." You whine, only giving him extra incentive.

"I thought we were careful enough..."

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck, his head lazily falling into yours. Carefully, he places open-mouthed kisses all along your collarbone. He's not thinking about Kamino, nor how he'll get there. It's all forgotten as he adores you with his lips.

It feels so soft and elegant, he's so soft and elegant, but even as he's lost in his amorous deeds, the nature of his visit hasn't escaped you yet. Secrecy lead you to plan specific times to indulge in each other, although here he is, a doting surprise.

You reluctantly hum a pushy sound. He stops his movements but his lips stay connected to you. Obi-Wan hums a questioning hmm? in return.

"Did you have something to tell me?" You take him by the shoulders, all of a sudden worried that he most likely did and that it wouldn't be your favourite piece of news.

"Oh," he grumbles in slight annoyance, not at you but at the thought of leaving you in a few hours' time. "Yes, love, I did come to speak with you about something."

Your stomach drops, something he senses, and he hurriedly implores you not to panic. Taking both your hands in his, he leads you to your bed and sits down with you on its plush mattress.

He gets on with it, "I'll be leaving soon," starting slowly, gauging your reactions, "to look for a planet erased from the archives. I don't know what I may come into contact with."

The something he came to talk about doesn't startle you as much as you'd expected. Obi-Wan is a very capable Jedi, and he usually left little room for you to fret over his well-being. That said, you did anyway, all the time. His penchant for being mouthy at odds happened to cost him some blood, but this seemed as normal a job as any.

"I came to tell you," he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes following it, then meeting your gaze again, "and spend the rest of the time I have with you."

His lips envelop yours once more, this time with more bursting energy, eagerly as having an itch that couldn't be scratched. And then it all turns soft, his hair tickling your cheek as he rubs his face along your neck, taking in your scent and trying to memorize it to the best of his ability.

"How long is that?" You ask, ruffling his neat, long hair.

"Few hours." He mumbles into your skin, beard scratching against it but it's nothing you mind. "Almost the night." He adds.

The night.

"You know, I'll have to be very centered when I leave."

You do know, and it means he'll want to meditate for a while.

"Of course," your hand finds his cheek, the scruff soft under your palm, "take your time."

Obi-Wan is grateful for your constant understanding, but he has other plans - he never meant to come into your quarters to deny you his attention. You're glad to have him near regardless of what he does, yet his hand rests on your thigh and his eyes turn pleading.

"I thought you could join me." It's less of a question and more of an implication. An implication that it wasn't going to be a traditional meditation session.

You can't muster a proper response, a quiet oh coming out in its place. And as words fail you, you nod your head in agreement. Enthusiastically.

"Very well." He whispers hot against your skin, moving his head from it and standing up - except he starts to take off his cloak and utility belt. A breathy noise, and you earn yourself an amused look from him. "What? Would you rather do it for me?"

You smile charmingly, feet gently kicking at his shins, "Is that what you want?"

And he feels it again. The need to make his love known.

"I couldn't say no, darling." It leaves his chest in a hum, body leaning down for his lips to touch your forehead. Your fingers hook onto his belt, tugging him towards you and threatening to make him topple onto the mattress. He grumbles in happy exasperation, the kind that leaves him feeling overwhelmingly fond of you as you pull it off of him and neatly lay it on the sheets. He smiles at the care you give to himself and his possessions.

His fingers trace the edges of his wrap. He gathers some of it and holds it out to you. Your eyes narrow.

"More?" Your hands slowly extend to the fabric.

"Won't you?" He asks, and you sense a trace of timidity in it that makes your cheeks burn. To have flustered Obi-Wan again, for who knows how many times it's been now - you feel precious. And to him, you were just that.

The back of his hand slips gingerly down your face as you pull, the fabric wrap starting to fall off his shoulders, leaving him in his undershirt. You ravel it around your wrists and lay it beside his belt.

"That's better, thank you." He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows, the fabric loose and airy on his body, and he's effortlessly handsome.

You feebly try not to ogle him, but he's loosened the collar and his chest peeks through the linen, the image romantic on its own. He feels your stare, chuckling sweetly at your enamoured face, "I feel warm when I'm with you," giving a reason to his lack of layers.

You feel warm, too. Obi-Wan guides you to stand - ever the gentleman - and doesn't let you go while he rolls out your intricate rug from Jakku that had been sitting in the corner. Then he does let go of you, sitting down with his legs in front of him, hair falling princely on his forehead.

"Sit, my love." He motions his head, tilting it towards the spot in front of him. You're not sure why he's not sitting cross-legged, but you follow his lead and sit before him with a straight back.

"No, no. Closer." You inch forward. He extends his cheek out to you with closed eyes, waiting for his kiss. It comes as second nature to you, without a second thought, giggling quietly as you peck his face and he joins the laughter when he feels it. "Now, turn around."

How was this going to go?

You throw him a look, to which he nods his head rigidly. Turning your body before him, everything then becomes a soft and serene blur, laced with every drop of love you held for the other. His arms pull you snug against his front, chin hooking onto your shoulder.

He inhales and exhales deeply along with you, chest firm against your back, bodies moulding.

"That's it," he coos, hands pressing against your stomach, "breathe with me, feel everything..."

All you can do is what he says. The act is new but the feeling isn’t foreign; Obi-Wan’s arrays of intimacy are common, but this is different, the anticipation aloft and the touches silken.

There's the sound of air passing in through his nose. His head further lolls onto you, your lungs filling shakily, the feeling sweet and kind. Your wrists, your neck, seemingly everything has a throbbing pulse. Obi-Wan doesn't miss your wavering breaths, deft fingers making quick work of soothing your muscles.

"So tense... it's only me, darling."

His words surround you. Melodic and steady, "Let go."

You do, floating and falling.

You sense everything - the tide of his breathing, his gentle humming, the way he keeps you tight against him like he couldn't go without; the clement whispers, feeling perfectly flush with the man who brings you nothing but pure, good feelings - like it's the only thing he knows how to do - even as he does everything else with poise and taste.

This is no exception. The sensuality is tangible - the unknowing Jedi who roam the hallway outside could have felt it, should have felt it, if not for Obi-Wan's ability to be subtle about making you weak and entirely his.

"Trust me." He brushes up the column of your throat, cautiously bringing your head back into the crook of his neck as he cranes his own to make space. He notes the fluffy feeling of your hair, arm crossing your body. You murmur, "I always trust you."

Stars, if he didn't love to hear it.

"Tell me what you see when you close your eyes."

In the blackness, there comes nothing.

"I see- I don't see anything. I only feel you..."

And what did he expect?

There wasn't anything to see when there was so much to feel. His tender hand on your throat and his legs hugging yours, you stood no chance at finding an image in your mind.

"Good," he presses his face to yours, "nice, isn't it?"

You sigh, completely enveloped in him - it's physical and emotional. Obi-Wan groans lightly at your sound, further burying his face into your curve, trying to grapple that this wouldn't last forever.

And inevitably, the falling continues. The fog of slumber starts to cloud your head by Obi-Wan's effect, that which leaves you too calm to stay awake in his arms. Fighting it isn't of any use; his soothing energy had always been a mystery, what with its pleasant gentleness that is unassailable against your consciousness.

But the moment is too sweet to lose.

He exhales an ahh of acknowledgement for your perseverance in staying awake.

"Obi, I'm not sure how this is helping you clear your mind-"

He supposes he hadn't been clear himself - learning your body under the expanse of his palms, through the matching time of your breathing, was a meditation in itself.

"But it has, my love."

It all starts over again. The lush sensations and the rush of your heart. Your senses dialed with his fingertips pressed on your wrists, finding the rhythm of your aliveness; the only thing he would hope to be sure of in the coming years that neither of you expected yet.

You both reach a point of euphoric tranquility - two words you'd use to describe his company - chests expanding and deflating at the same, slow rate. It had come to an end.

"You did wonderfully for me." A lasting kiss on your neck as he savours it. His lips send you into pleasant, sunny rapture.

The occurrence leaves you in a hazy state, all that comfort pressed against you is taken away as you both rise, sleepily, happily, and stumble into your bed.

"I don't want to wake you when I leave," Obi-Wan says, considerately and kind, propped up over you on his elbows, "I'll be careful."

"Don't be," and he melts, "I'd hate to miss you."

It’s the saccharine pieces of time that made him whole. Without another word, he kisses you; conveying the completeness that he feels by your hand, discreetly hungry but overshadowed by a chaste and giving nature. It's light and loving and drawn out long.

Then he falls grandly into the sheets beside you, arm heavily draping across your stomach, your lips missing his but you know he needs the sleep. And as the morning came, he was already gone. A vague memory of his departure floods your mind, playing over your closed eyelids - you can see it - the way he had kissed your temples, both lazily and warm, your arm semi-consciously reaching out to him, which his lips had touched too, held by both his hands.

What you hadn't seen, was Obi-Wan looming in the doorway, overseeing you drifting back to dreaming, cloak not keeping him nearly as warm as you did. He blew a kiss that you didn't catch, but knew that had you been awake, you'd have thrown it back to him.

He hopes Kamino will be a simple, touch and go engagement.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan imagine #obi wan fluff #obi wan fanfiction #star wars #star wars imagine #userkarina #ewan mcgregor

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svtkillua · 4 years

Text

little lion man > alt. ending

rating: [pg-13 / angst] pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x todoroki shouto warnings: cursing, lots of yummy angst >:)) word count: 3.3k

listen while you read here!

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ch.1 + ch.2 + ch.3 + ch.4 (final) + alt. ending

Leaving behind the person you love the most was like ripping your heart out of your chest bare handed. When you boarded the plane that took you miles away from Bakugou’s sleeping figure, you left your heart there beside him, broken and tattered. It was up to him whether he would try to reassemble the pieces, and up to you whether you would want it back. You had both made so many mistakes and waited so long that you were in the worst situation imaginable, and really, you weren’t sure it was possible to pull back from that. You needed to understand yourself again. You needed to choose what you wanted, and so did he.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been petrified to find out his answer.

The first six months of being away had been incredibly hard, the pain still fresh in your chest, the world continuing to spin while you fell apart. Simple tasks felt too hard to do some days because all you wanted was to cry. You wanted him, but wanted to be away from him all at the same time. You’d see him in everything you did and life felt like a challenge, because you now knew what it was like to hear him say he loved you too, and somehow that made it worse.

You heard through Todoroki the day after you left that Bakugou had broken things off with Camie. Though you felt guilty, the bubble of hope for the future that formed formed in your chest was unignorable.

He would call you every night those months, even though you never answered. You needed time but he didn’t want it, he would say he was trying but the messages waiting in your inbox every evening said otherwise. You’d listen to his voicemails in your too small bed, focusing on how his voice would quiver when he whispered how much he missed you. How badly he wished you’d talk to him. How much it hurt when he woke up and you weren’t there, like it’d all been a cruel dream that taunted him.

He’d fill the messages with admitting how stupid and wrong he had been to put you both in the situation you were in. Sometimes when he got particularly upset, his messages would turn into ants about how angry he was at himself for fucking up something that could mean so much.

Part of you felt awful hearing his heart broken tone. You felt like you had done the worst thing imaginable to him, like you’d crushed his entirety to bits and pieces. You hated the way his voice would crack when his messages got particularly forlorn. You would picture the tears dripping off his cheeks and staining his eyes a bloodshot red and wanted to vomit.

The other part of you felt maddened by the guilt that grew when you listened to them. You weren’t the one in the wrong this time. You weren’t the one who hurt two people in the process of figuring out what you wanted, he was, even if it started out unintentionally. You had only been hurting yourself. You had both been stubborn, but he had brought someone else into the situation, and for that, you were angry. Because even though you weren’t together then, knowing he broke it off with a girl who loved him fully to try and finally have you made you feel like the scum of the earth. Camie didn’t deserve that, she may not have liked you but she was only a victim to the same thing you were: love.

It wasn’t til seven months in that you decided to start answering the calls. The first time you had, the way his mood soared made the dull ache in your chest fade. It was still there, the pain, the anger, the frustration with the whole situation, but being away had made it easy to miss the little things about him. Like how he smelled when he enveloped you in his embrace and filled your senses. Like how he would tease you over the littlest things til you got annoyed and he’d giggle like a toddler. Like the way he made you feel even when you were the saddest you’ve ever been.

Hearing his voice every night had become your routine, going to work teaching piano lessons at the local theater, eating a badly cooked ramen dinner, and laying in bed to talk to Bakugou. The conversations slowly went from quiet and filled with little confessions of pain, to laughing at his stories about life back home. You heard all about how he broke his toe with a can of beets and Kaminari wouldn’t take him to the doctors. He told you how he tried to make himself those cookies he loved so much only to nearly burn his kitchen down and make Midoriya try instead.

He would listen to you tell him about the kids you were tutoring and beg to listen to the songs you were producing on the side. He would list all sorts of stupid things he wanted to buy for your ‘lame sounding’ apartment. You would hear the smile in his voice whenever you laughed at his ridiculous suggestions for living room furniture; like a bunch of plush toy grenades like the ones straight from his hero costume.

It was so easy to yearn for him, so simple to hear his voice every night and want to fall back into his arms. You knew that taking your time would be important, the healing couldn’t be rushed or you’d only end up falling back apart in the end. You needed the time to find yourself again without him there beside you clogging your brain. He needed time to completely move on from any feelings he had for Camie, because if you were going to give things a chance, you wanted to be the only one.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to survive getting heartbroken by him twice.

After about eight months, the phone calls didn’t feel like enough. You were starting to heal, starting to let yourself be happy without him there beside you holding you up. You felt like you could breathe again, no longer stuck still in a place of torture. You were feeling like you again and all that was missing was the boy whose late night phone calls had been joined by constant texts throughout your days.

He had realized you needed space after asking to come see you twice and you insisting you weren’t ready, and as hard as it was for him, he tried not to push it. You could tell it bothered him, especially when your birthday came and went and he wasn’t there to celebrate with you. It was hard for him, to watch you grow without him, but he was growing too. He had learned things about himself he didn’t like and regretted decisions he’d made in the past. He was trying to make up for them one by one, all so that when you finally let him back in, he’d never have to leave.

It wasn’t until month ten when the boys had a vacation near you that you decided you were ready to see Bakugou again. You’d been petrified, so so scared that the pain would come thundering back along with the self doubt the second you saw him again. Hearing his voice every night was one thing, but it was easy to make empty promises of wanting and missing through a device. You were terrified you’d made him wait to long, that the love you almost had simmered away with no chance of saving it and you just didn’t know it yet.

The moment you slipped into the hotel lobby and knocked on their room door, those fears had been squelched, his smiling face having thrown the door open and enveloped you in the most bone crushing hug the world had ever seen. It was like the feelings from before came rushing in, but without the bitter aftertaste that left you teary eyed and distraught. It was like waking up for the first time in months without having a nightmare prefacing it.

That night had felt surreal, watching him throughout with the biggest grin. The boys all showered you with love and hugs and Kaminari apologized about eighty times for not telling you about the previous situation sooner. Bakugou was beside you every second he was in the room, his body pulled to yours like a magnet. You could tell he was having a hard time resisting the urge to hold onto you, but it meant a lot he was. You knew he wasn’t one for taking things at a low tempo and you were thankful he was trying not to rush you, even if he was itching to take the next step forward.

When he reluctantly hugged you goodbye at the end of the night, his hands lingered around your middle and his lips hesitantly pressed into your temple, whispering how much he’d missed you and how he couldn’t wait til you came back home. The simple fact that he still wanted you to think of home being where he was made your stomach do a leap, and you found yourself excited to return there as well.

It was nearly a year to the day when you moved back, Bakugou, Kaminari and Shindo all being forced to help you move your things into your new apartment. Bakugou had been so eager to get you back in town he’d been the one who came and toured it, face-timing you the entire time and showing you each and every corner, explaining all the things you could add to make it your own. He was especially happy it was just a few streets away from his own place.

The look on his face when you pulled him aside from the others and asked him to stay for dinner had been the most ecstatic look you’d ever seen. You knew why he was happy and so were you, because you were finally in the place where you were letting yourself feel it, the love you had for him. You didn’t want to hold it back anymore, your body bursting to hold him and touch him and tell him what he meant to you.

You could feel it every second of every day, in every move you made, everything came back to Bakugou. Your Bakugou Katsuki that swore between kisses that night that he’d never hurt you again. Your Bakugou Katsuki that repented for his mistakes and begged your forgiveness for ever being as dumb as he had been. Your Bakugou Katsuki that forgave you for being too scared to come forward because he had been as well, and none of it mattered now.

Another year passed with the season’s changing more each week. Your view from your apartment went from warm reds to subtle greys as the ground covered in white. By the time the snow melted and flowers started to bloom your view had changed from your small apartment, to a place all your own with Bakugou. He made you laugh every day and kissed you when you frowned. He would break into your showers and leave kisses along your spine while he washed away your stress. He took care of you when you were at your lowest and supported your every accomplishment like the proudest boyfriend in the world.

Waking up every morning beside was a gift, because just two years ago you felt like none of it could ever be possible. You had been at your lowest point in your life, the most shattered you had ever felt and depressed beyond belief. You’d almost lost him, you’d almost let the one person you needed slip away. You had come out better from the pain and landed in a dream that you never wanted to wake up from.

Which brought you to now, where your legs were tangled up in the sheets with your sleeping boyfriend, his hair a mess on the pillow and his cheeks smushed against the plush cushion. Your fingers were trailing light paths up and down his bare chest, eyes flickering between every little mole and freckle on his flushed skin. The way his lips curved slightly as he began to stir awake made your own smile spread, eyes drooping shut as you pretended to still be asleep.

You could feel his hands sliding around your waist as he tugged your body into his, legs completely encasing yours like a monkey. The puff of air he let out as he kissed your forehead made your hair flutter off of it, his lips puckering into a gentle kiss on the surface. His kisses trailed up to the top of your head, fingers creeping up under his shirt you’d stolen, before taking his claim on your lower back.

“I know you’re awake.” He whispered against your ear lobe in that raspy morning voice that drove you crazy. His lips brushed your skin as he chuckled into it, heartbeat thumping slowly in his relaxed state. The sun peeking through the windows warmed your bits of exposed skin, the warm patches making the room brighter. Your eyes flicked open as you pouted at him, adjusting so your palms rested against his chest, fingers just barely sliding over his shoulder blades.

“How could you tell?”

“Because I wasn’t asleep and could feel you touching me.” He grinned, laughing lightly at your eye roll and small smack to his chest.

“Don’t make it sound so creepy.”

“I can’t help it you can’t control yourself, I know I’m irresistible.” His laughing made you smack his chest again, trying to frown like you were annoyed. He adjusted the both of you, hands sliding to your hips as he maneuvered onto his back and pulled you on top of him. The sun cast a glow against his cheek at the angle, making your insides twist from how beautiful he looked.

Your hair was longer than it had been before, falling in a messy manner over your shoulders, the shirt you’d taken from him far too large on you and serving more as a dress than anything else. His hands slipped from your hips down to your bare thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin as he held you in place on his lap, your knees bent on the sides. The blanket had pooled around your backside, making goosebumps rise from the sudden burst of cool air hitting your skin.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” The way his voice barely met your ears made your neck feel hot, his eyes soft and squinted slightly as they trailed over every inch of you. His eyebrows furrowed as his smile faded a minute amount, a heavy puff of air coming from his lips as he gripped you tighter. “I can’t believe I almost fucked up so bad I never got this. I was such an idiot.”

“We both messed up.” You clarified and let your fingers play with the waistband of his pitch black sweat pants, snapping them once against his pelvis.

“I messed up worse though. I did stuff that hurt people. I hurt you.”

There were still some days when you could picture him down on his knee proposing to Camie. There were still some nights when he’d be gone late training and the consuming frustration would try to rear it’s head again, but you loved him. You loved him, and he loved you, and you knew he was trying to be as good as he could be for you, to make up for his mistakes.

“It’s in the past Katsu, stop dwelling on it.”

“But I was such an idiot.”

“You’re always an idiot” You rolled your eyes at his persistence, cracking a smile when he started to whine at your statement. His hands found their way to your middle under the shirt, fingers attacking your sides as he sent you into a fit of laughter, your body falling forward onto his chest. In a quick movement he was on top of you, pinning you down with his weight as he continued his tickle assault.

“Take that back, you little brat!” His own voice was laced with laughter as his eyes shrunk into those half moons you so loved, your own eyes watering and spilling over. Your body was squirming underneath him, your legs tangling between his longer ones, blankets twisting around your lower halves.

“I take it back!’ You gasped, tears gliding down your temples from how hard your laughter was, hands desperately gripping his biceps to try and make him stop.

“Now say you love me.”

“I love you! I love you!” Your laughter bellowed out as his hand stopped moving at your side, the other slipping around your neck and behind the pillow as he buried his head into your shoulder. His laughter was contagious, your happiness mixing and filling the air as he rustled so he was held up by his elbows above you. Your laughter died down finally as you locked eyes, his lips softening into a gentle expression.

“Marry me then.”

“What?” You asked, eyes widening as he leaned back to sit up, your own body following suit, crossing your legs as you watched him. Between his fingers sat a simple ring, no fancy diamond, no brightly colored flashy things, just a simple white gold band with a B carved inside.

“Not right now,” He clarified as his hand grabbed for yours, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to each and every knuckle as he spoke, “but someday, when we’re both ready.”

The earnest look on his features made you melt, nodding as he slipped the delicate ring into its proper home on your finger. He kissed the surface of it, making a silent promise to not lose you this time.

The pair of you had been through every emotion. You’d been through the pain of loving someone that didn’t love you back how you wanted. You’d been through the anguish of feeling the other slipping away. You’d experienced the distance that lingered when you were apart, and now finally you were feeling the bliss of becoming one. And it was indescribable.

“Gosh I hate your hair.” You snorted after a few silent but meaningful moments, reaching forward and twirling a strand of his awful bedhead of spiky, blonde hair around your finger, ignoring how he grumbled over it.

“It’s not my fault, mood killer.” He grumbled, showing a barely noticeable smile to make it obvious he knew you were messing with him. His nose brushed against yours, your finger slipping from his hair and instead trailing over his jaw. His eyes slipped shut as he savored the feeling of you so close to him, your thumb brushing against his bottom lip. “Besides, I think you kinda like it.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Shut up, I know you do.” He huffed, grinning as his neck craned forward, kissing every freckle or mark on your skin along your neck and cheeks. His heartbeat was slow and steady, mingling with yours when you rested your hand against the side of his throat.

“I love you, baby.” He whispered into a kiss, your bottom lip perfectly tucked between his as he twisted the ring around your finger twice, fingers interlocking in his lap. His lips were soft but sure, positive that this was exactly where he wanted to be; right beside you in your shared bed, in your shared apartment, with the world quiet around you. “Always have, always will.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry I took so long to figure it out.”

The ring on your finger felt like a promise from Bakugou, a promise to never let you go again. A promise that while he hated it had been such a mess to get to this point, he was happy that he ended up with you. A promise that when you were ready, he would ask the four words he hoped you’d say yes to in his heart.

He was ready for when that moment came, the diamond ring in a perfect little velvet box he had hidden in his dresser drawer.

And he knew when you were ready, you’d say yes.

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

taglist: @bnhatrashh @icyhotpie @domtamaki @daphnxy @yamichxnwrites @hokage-state-of-mind @pizzaa05 @whatevenisthiswhatt @justmylostdreams @bestgirlbeth @aria-bnha @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarandsoft @overallweeb @chanultis @simply-not-the-same @andrastesbeard @bozowrites @criesinreid @ccoommpplleexx @tiredandkindaoverworked @buenasjovenes

#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki #todoroki shouto #shouto #todoroki smut #todoroki angst #todoroki fluff #bakugou smut #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki #bakugou

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paradife-loft · 3 years

Text

In the blood orange sky

Well. Does anybody remember a couple months ago when I made this post? Because apparently I’ve been thinking about it a fair bit.

And also thinking about... maybe doing a thing? A thing that involves writing various vignettes as I’m moved to, very low pressure, but all in the same continuity, about sequences of various events that are related to one another and a central premise...? So kind of maybe like a “multi-chapter fic” as they call them, but y’know. No particular goals for “finishing” something, or requiring they be in chronological order or any other strict structure binding them together. Just exploring things for fun, and I’ll see where it goes!

But yes, so, I have written a bit this week that I think does what I would like for a first portion of something like this, and... here it is!

1.4k words, Xiyao, post-canon, dark-ish mystery/intrigue/character and relationship exploration I guess?; warnings for injury and general unpleasant body stuff, and also unpleasant mental health stuff, and also discussed off-screen (mass) murder.

When he comes to this time, he is sitting - propped up in the gentle rays of early sun against something he can vaguely identify as soft, with enough give to cradle his shoulders. That alone is a departure from each time previous… and Jin Guangyao supposes he ought to be thankful he continues to wake up at all; that his condition upon doing so this one time at least is no longer face-down, body practically smeared into the dirt.

An unpleasant prickling in one of his legs prompts him to open his eyes again, lift his head from where it’d fallen back against a pillow. His neck throbs with the motion. He sees a pair of hands - familiar enough that the distortions between his sight now and his memories cannot help but unsettle him - moving steadily with needle and thread through a deep rent in his left calf.

Ah. That would explain that particular discomfort, then.

Viewing the sight on top of feeling the muted, distant sensation it evokes, gives him the perverse and contrarian instinct to kick out and abort the effort of cleaning him up as it’s only partway done - but he recognises well enough that it would be a waste, and even now he isn’t so far gone as that. And he doesn’t want his leg to remain ruined. And to repair it himself now would be… possible, but far more difficult.

All arguments he has to pull out in front of his mind’s eye, like a text one might recite, to convince himself not to protest this time; but he does hold himself still, does remain for the time being a silent, compliant patient.

(Not entirely still, he must admit: his eyes follow the tiny shifts in those hands, trying to reconcile the absence of both manicured care, and the unique pattern of callused ridges he had memorised once upon a time. And yet more important, more incorrect when compared to the state he is familiar with: Lan Xichen has never known how to sew.)

(And yet. And yet.)

He presses his lips together as Xichen approaches the completion of the task, drawing the words he resents needing to speak up like pitchers of water from a drying well. They crowd his tongue, sour the inside of his mouth.

"I take it you found me quickly this time, after your target was done with me?"

Lan Xichen starts when he hears his voice, head jumping up and eyes round. Jin Guangyao had not taken him to be so absorbed that he hadn't even noticed him waking, but -

(He should have, perhaps.)

Xichen's expression hardens into something resigned after that, the dam holding back a great dredged mass of displeasure. Pain and anger in a hundred or more shades, silt and loam and sand.

"You tore apart the gravesites of three prominent clans, scattering the bones, and then did the same with the bodies of their living families when they came to drive out the robbers who defiled their ancestors' remains. The entire village has been terrified since last night. The news was not difficult to follow."

Jin Guangyao resists the urge to close his eyes, staring down the spray of blood to his face with the same dispassion he once used to with regularity. He is out of practise, however: he can't stop the reflexive flinch in his mouth, or his one remaining hand. It curls stiffly in the blankets pushed to one side of the bed pallet.

It’s not that he hadn't expected something along these lines, from the moment he’d woken up and taken in his surroundings. He hadn’t particularly relished the anticipation of hearing it, and so allowed himself a few moments watching Lan Xichen work in silence before disturbing him, it’s true - but he regrets the pain and exhaustion on Xichen's face and in the set of his shoulders and limbs more than he cares to spend his sympathy on another (inevitable) group of dead strangers.

He glances down at the long column of stitches holding the greying flesh of his leg together around the bone, and wonders which hapless, doomed villager from this new feat of resentful destruction had managed to inflict the injury.

"So it didn't require all that much searching, then. Nobody was angry with you, stealing away with the corpse that had killed all those people instead of burning it?"

"Not enough to express it to me. I imagine it helped that I spent several hours in the interim helping right the disturbed graves, and set wards around several of the neighboring houses," Xichen replies. Stress still lines his eyes, flickering more prominent like a candle flame as he speaks. Reconstructing the sequence of events implied, Jin Guangyao feels a twinge of - something - surprise, or hurt? he can't quite say - that Xichen had apparently seen fit this time to seal him away and then leave him, presumably alone, for some significant time afterward, while he tended to the village. Even though it was presumably an effective distraction, not to mention well-deserved.

"I was intending on returning this afternoon, to add more wards to some of the other houses, and suppress any other spirits roused in the process,” Xichen adds. Half an afterthought, half an explanation.

The emotion, whatever it is, crystallizes into a spike of irritation. "Temporary wards aren't going to be enough to turn away a determined corpse-raiser of this strength if he has unfinished vendettas against anybody left there," replies Jin Guangyao, snappish.

Lan Xichen’s lips thin. "I would still prefer to comfort some of their fears, however unrealistically, in the time before the problem has been solved, than leave them with no help or explanation at all after such a loss."

Jin Guangyao knows this. Agrees with it, even; it had been one of many principles they shared in the nighthunts they used to investigate. If Lan Xichen is frustrated at having to reiterate such a thing to him specifically, rather than in general, it doesn't show amidst everything else on his face.

He does stand though, turning away from the bed, tucking the medical supplies he’d been using back into their pouch and going to check on an iron kettle perched over a fire.

“Where are we?” Jin Guangyao asks, preferring the abrupt change of subject to a continuation of the prior topic. Xichen glances back at him - not for long.

“The abandoned house of one of the walking corpses I suppressed a few months ago,” he replies. He pours hot water into a skin, tying it off, and then another steaming portion into a tea pot - drab by Gusu Lan standards, but still likely worth more than the entire roof they’re under. “Don’t get up on that leg yet; you’ll split it open.”

Silence clouds between them, as Jin Guangyao stops shifting his way toward the edge of the bed pallet and lets the leg stretch out in front of him, holding back his weight against his arm. His fingers itch.

He’s asked Lan Xichen before, how long he’s been living like this, although not in those terms; and Lan Xichen has responded only with obvious deflections, despite giving perfectly cogent answers to less savory questions, such as how he’s managed to take a room at an inn with a resentment-spilling corpse in tow. There are many people in need with no one else to turn to throughout the countryside. A simple glamour works well enough when neither the inkeep nor other patrons are cultivators. Spending nights at the house left abandoned after a prior nighthunt certainly sidesteps the minor inconveniences of the latter, but leaves him even less sanguine about the former.

Would you rather neither of you were here at all, and in all likelihood even more people were dead? his own mind poses snidely, while he sits and watches Lan Xichen putting the hot compress over his lower leg, manually drawing up the blood in his body toward the region. He sips the cup of medicinal brew pressed into his hands, despite strong doubt in its capacity to do anything now for him in particular.

When he can acutely feel the spiritual energy circulating through his through him - pushed by Xichen’s intent and core, urging tissue to repair itself in the same way it would in a living body - Jin Guangyao finally admits the need to push on the issue of what they both have surely understood by now.

“I need to come with when you leave,” he says. He doesn’t make it a suggestion.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, and Jin Guangyao’s still heart seems to squeeze like a vise. Go back to Gusu! he wants to yell; fuck the villagers, and fuck whatever further bloody deaths he won’t be conscious enough to care about causing.

Lan Xichen only nods, like it pains him. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

#oh my LORD I am GOING to have a fucking fit over trying to post/format this :))))))#the post editor kept refreshing when I resized the window to check things AND WOULDN'T LET ME PROPERLY COPYPASTE EVERYTHING #I just wanted to look into the html bc it was giving me weird formatting stuff but noooooo ?new post editor? didn't want to let me do that??#anyway I have. written up the intro part to this post like 3 times now and I am. SO DONE :''''')#*kicks website* ANywAY......#that time James wrote fic #no good things for the poor sad cultivators #Jin Guangyao #Lan Xichen #xiyao #....I never know whether to call something 'angst' if there's not... on-screen angsting but the characters are definitely Going Through It #(apparently my solution is to just call it dark? I guess? is that the correct solution? IDK!! :D)#......ao3 will happen later probably when there's more than 1 part to this

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izukyu · 4 years

Text

𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 - keigo takami x reader

this is a birthday gift for my crackhead wine aunt, @waddle-yee. katie i love u so much it’s unreal! i hope you enjoy the crumbs m’lady!

reblogs are appreciated bc i worked really hard on this, heart eyes.

pairing - keigo takami (hawks) x reader.

word count - 2.3k.

warnings - very vague manga spoilers for pro hero arc, possibly ooc hawks, swearing, and just. a lot of fluff.

summary - hawks needed to gain the public’s hearts once again, and attending a charity event seemed like the way to go, but falling for the cute artist in charge of him wasn’t something he planned on.

★ - requests are open

“your ratings are falling, hawks”

being bothered during his lunch break wasn’t something keigo was particularly fond of. the one time of the day he could let loose in his office, ruined.

“is that so?” he could only hope his agent would understand his words in the midst of his chewing, making a point he was only half-interested in the newsletter.

“the hero public safety commission reached out, you need to get your approval up again before they intervene.”

keigo gulped.

what a mouthful. they were never good news - the last time keigo met with them he was deployed as a spy, for crying out loud. needless to say, he was still their subordinate, and rejecting their demands was nothing more than a heavenly reverie.

“so, got any ideas?” keigo put down his plastic plate, lamenting the unfinished state of lunch.

“well, there’s this charity event coming up, and they’re calling for - ”

“i’m in! send me the time and place and i’ll be there,” sadly. it’s not like he had any personal vendettas with charity events or the public per se, but the simple fact he had to be shoved into one to please his superiors was enough to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

next time he’d attend to one of his own accords.

“i’ll send it to you by email.”

keigo gave the poor intern a frown, his eyebrows drawn. “just send me a text, sheesh.”

maybe if he had paid more attention to the text then maybe he wouldn’t be stuck in this quandary of graphite and stillness

“you do this to every guy you meet?”

you scoffed, eyes never once leaving the canvas before you. “yes, every model i work with is required to stand still, if that’s what you were wondering.”

keigo was glad he put on a smile from the start, or else you would’ve chewed him out for moving too much.

the event was still a couple weeks away, but portraits don’t grow on trees. in all fairness, keigo was a killer model - every magazine featuring him sells out within the hour, and the photographers he’s worked with never fail to shower him in compliments and praise.

his charm didn’t seem to carry on to drawings, apparently. as you’d put it before, he was but ‘an over-energetic city pigeon that would chase around little kids for fun at every given opportunity’.

oddly specific, but it got a chuckle out of him.

“i’m almost done, so just stand still for a little longer.”

“won’t be a problem, dove, i’m already a pro,” keigo had to suppress another snicker as you hid behind the canvas, your face growing warm at the dumb pet name. another tally for hawks in his imaginary scoreboard. although standing still for longer than ten minutes wasn’t something he could see himself doing ever again, teasing you would definitely be a must in the near future.

anything for your flushed, annoyed expression.

“your wing did the thing again.”

of course it did. keigo wailed silently, dreading the sound of your pencil meeting the cotton before you, scratching and imposing.

the passing of time seemed like a foreign concept the longer he posed in front of you, amber eyes preying on you. every movement, every speck of graphite staining your hands, forever engraved in his mind. you didn’t question his sudden quietness, too engrossed in finishing the first of many portraits you’d have to make for the event.

would every other hero be as jittery and energetic as the man standing before you?

would every other hero grow uneasy at the idea of standing still for no longer than fifty minutes?

“alright, you’re good to go.”

startled, keigo nearly fell off the small stool. “oh, was that all?”

you felt your eye twitch, choosing to ignore his wit, “it’s weird to think your portrait will probably go beyond five digits, someone’s gonna willingly pay to have those bushy eyebrows in their living room.”

keigo choked on his spit, coughs laced with laughter overruling the silence of the studio. “where did that come from?”

with a shrug and a triumphant smirk, you start to usher him out of your studio, “it had to be said, but you’re still cute, so i wouldn’t count it as a loss!” there were projects that needed your undivided attention and care, some with scary deadlines, and a birdman wasn’t exactly someone you needed to prioritize now. “see you at the event, yeah?”

“wait, hey, i wanna see what it looks like - ”

“no can do, have a great afternoon!”

before he could protest, he was already out and gone from your studio, the door nearly slamming on his wings. without much thinking, he turned around, his knuckles grazing against the door repeatedly. “c’mon, not even a sneak peak? i promise i won’t tell!”

someone clearing their throat behind him tore keigo away from the piece of wood in a heartbeat.

“endeavor-san, nice meeting you here! y’see, i left something inside, and i was just knocking so - “

“i don’t want to know.”

what was it with today and everyone interrupting him?

keigo snapped his fingers, “copy that.” from the corner of his eyes he spotted a neat pile of presentation cards, almost begging to be noticed and put to use.

fine, if you didn’t feel like letting him into your heart he’d just have to irk you over text.

knowing better than to bother endeavor again, keigo simply stepped out of the room, his fingers eagerly keying in the digits into his cellphone.

spoiler alert, it wasn’t you who texted him back, but your assistant was a delight, and set him up for another session after the event.

keigo has a strong, abhorrent opinion on wearing suits. they’re stuffy, constricting, and make his wings itch more than normal. despite having a custom-made, tailored suit, the sentiment of being under lock and key only ever went away as soon as he lost the jacket and shirt. something he couldn’t quite do in an event like this.

“what do you mean they’re running late?”

your second in command sighed, eyes still glued on their phone. from the brief texts they had shared, keigo would be proud to admit they’d found a friend in your friend, if that made any sense. “there were some supplies left in the studio, had to run back to get ‘em.”

keigo sighed. just what he needed in this trying time.

“but the portraits are already up if you want to check them out.”

oh.

among the sea of bidders inspecting the canvases on display, keigo’s feeble attempts to get a closer look were fruitless. his wings usually gave leverage when his height failed to do so, but flapping in such a close environment would bring more trouble than it’s worth.

with a defeated sigh (admitting to lacking in height was… disheartening) two of his feathers flew down to his feet, giving him the small boost he needed.

he most certainly didn’t expect to come face-to-face with himself.

minutes passed, and keigo remained under a trance. it was simplistic, the graphite morphing to cast an umbra on portrait-hawks. he could picture almost perfectly the light and shadow dancing together in both the canvas up for bidding and your skilled hands, the same ones that had left a nasty smudge on the back of his coat.

lo and behold, you were right, his unruly eyebrows were rather prominent.

“sorry for the delay, the traffic was horrible and the cab - don’t get me started on the cab,” you ranted as you walked through the busy hall, chanting apologies left and right. “the auction hasn’t started yet, right?”

“no, but there’s someone waiting for you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. the people attending were either eager to see their favorite heroes in ritzy clothing or aching to take one of them home - in a canvas, of course. “don’t get me wrong, i love getting the work going, but i swear these deadlines are gonna be the death of me.”

“no need to fret,” keigo stepped down from his feathers, and you couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. happy? tired? finally becoming the paragon of tenderhearted? “i’m part of your schedule already, booked a sesh and all.”

“... you mean the one I just cancelled?”

his wings drooped almost comically, “the one you just what?”

teasingly, you pushed him back, consequently making him bump into someone else. “i’m just messing around, i’m actually looking forward to it.” you could only watch as he gave the person a brief apology, posing for a selfie milliseconds after. heroes.

“is that so? i thought i was a bad subject,” keigo tugged at his collar, making a mental note to burn the shit out of the suit once home.

“the worst, actually,” more people began migrating to the opposite side of the room before the auction started. “but you’re fun to be around, so i’ll manage.”

keigo couldn’t contain his smile this time. it wasn’t his signature snigger you’d have flooding your timeline after his photo sessions, rather just a simple, genuine tug of his lips.

“and maybe you’re kinda pretty, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

and just like that, the warm smile contorted into a smug smirk. “you got me there, dove! wasn’t expecting that to come out of your pretty mouth.”

you huffed, diving to give his cheek a good pinch before dragging him to follow the rest of the guests. “that’s one creepy way to phrase it. now take a seat, i’ve got to hand out a couple of endeavors and edgeshots.”

keigo, still savoring the compliment like a kid would with a sweet, took an extra second to process those words. “they got more than one?”

cut to his second private session. five minutes after your scheduled lunch break, some leftover fries and ice cream exiled to your desk.

“alright, something’s on your mind.”

keigo remained stationary. this time it was just a mere pencil in your hand, waltzing on the canvas without a worry on its nonexistent mind. calculated. precise. free. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

you sighed, tucking the pencil behind your ear, sparing the finished sketch a last glance before walking to the brooding bird before you. “your wings, they’re not doing the thing.”

“and what about it?”

“well, for one, it was much easier to jot them down, i can assure you they’ll look great once i paint them,” keigo shuddered as you stood closer, how did you even get a lead stain on your cheek? “but i think i know you well enough to deduce something’s up. you’re not even being a cocky cockatiel.”

keigo let out a long, long sigh. “i’m not a cockatiel.”

“and you’re not being yourself. c’mon, why’d you even come here if you’re just gonna be grumpy?”

a brief flash of cold, burning blue clouded his mind. “work’s getting to me, i guess.”

you weren’t a pro hero of any sorts, the only context you had regarding that chaotic world would come from whatever hashtag was trending, and the occasional hero dropping by your studio to talk business. nevertheless, you knew how to spot and comfort a gloomy friend.

“you wanna paint yourself?”

“what?”

that seemed to get his attention, and it brought a smile to your face. you bit your lip eagerly, “i need to go get some paints, but you look like you need some cheering up, so you’re not leaving this room without painting your own portrait”

keigo’s lip trembled involuntarily, your words tugging at his already-soft heart. “i’ve never - i’ve never touched a paintbrush in my life.”

“woah, not even at school?”

“homeschooled.”

your hand moved on its own, ruffling his naturally messy hair. “i’ll get you acrylic paint.”

he could only tap his foot anxiously in your absence, running a hand across his face. the commission, as per usual, found great joy to bother him through day and night, almost as if his suffering tickled their ribs. keigo wouldn’t mind playing the part of the asshole kid who took tickling way too far when it came to them, hero regulations and spy work be damned.

not to mention the dust-up he had with a certain cremated acquaintance a couple days back, leaving him featherless and vulnerable for a whole day.

but as you approached him once again, a number of paints cradled in your arms and pockets, keigo could feel the weight in his shoulders slowly mitigating.

“okay, what do you think feels like the way to go?”

thankfully, his wings could twitch to their content while wearing your apron. he would’ve been just fine painting without any safety measures, but your flabbergasted expression urged him to realize clothes are expensive.

keigo gripped the paintbrush with one hand, the other holding a red paint tube, “this can’t be rocket science, i got this.”

your boisterous laughter as he squeezed some paint straight into the paintbrush told him that maybe it was rocket science after all.

“it’s not a toothbrush, keigo!” god, he loved his name rolling off your tongue.

“oh my god, next time try cleaning the paintbrush before you start to paint with another color.” he was certain your giggles could keep him going through endless crimes and stacks of paperwork.

“hey, that’s cute, you’re using different colors for your suit.”

keigo chuckled, “can’t have the piss color scheme spicing up my living room.”

that was the final straw, and you both rightfully lost it. leaning into each other to prevent falling to the floor as a result of raw elation. even your snorts were adorable, your babbling a melody to his ears, and shrieks of amusement making his heart thump faster.

at the end of the day, keigo left the studio with a gorgeous painting, as you’d generously put it. the first time he’d truly felt unbound to everything to be forever remembered with a mess of colors and sloppy strokes hanging proudly atop his bed.

the first time keigo ever felt truly free on canvas.

★ - check out the rest of my works!

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valwrite · 4 years

Text

empty lighter; daveed diggs

masterlist

summary: it’s fascinating, the things people leave behind in our lives. memories, possessions, scars, emotions. over the course of his life, daveed had collected so much from people who he’d left behind. but all he has left of her is a lighter and a broken heart.

warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive content, way too many cigarettes.

fic style: oneshot.

word count: 11.4k

author’s note: ah! it’s finally here! my first ever oneshot on this blog. hopefully, you guys enjoy reading it. is it the best writing in the world? no. but it doesn’t matter, i’m so proud of myself for actually getting back into writing, to the point where i was able to start and finish an 11k word fic. i’ve edited this over 10 times, so if there’s still an error in it, i’m going to cry. feedback, likes and reblogs are 100% appreciated!

December, 2015

Sweat was in the air and, with it, a scent one would hardly call enjoyable. With his behind comfortably sat in a cushioned bar stool, the man done his best to ignore the scenery of the busy club: the ever moving mass of bodies on the dance floor; the headache inducing remix of California Girls, which the evening's DJ was playing for what felt like the millionth time that night; the sight of his best friend hitting on some poor unsuspecting girl just trying to order drinks for herself and her friends. Instead, he focused on the drops of condensation and the pattern they left behind as they dripped down the side of his glass.

The speakers began to play yet another remix. Daveed rolled his eyes and welcomed another sip of his drink, this time not returning the glass to the counter top until the caramel liquor was all gone. The burning feeling was familiar and anchored him down in reality, a bitter yet accepted reminder that, once again, he found himself in the same situation he'd been in for over a year: alone, while being surrounded by sweating bodies. Sat at a bar, his friend off chasing some nameless girl and nothing but his loneliness, which only grew with each breath he drew, to keep him company.

His friend, Rafael, made eye contact with him and beckoned him over. So he stood but made no attempt to approach and discover whatever plan Rafa had in store for him. He knew the blonde haired man just a little too well at that point. He knew that the man was desperate to get his friend back to the state he'd been in four months prior, where every night was a thrill and an opportunity to get tangled up in some sheets with a pretty stranger and some pain numbing lust. In Rafa's weak defense, he had no idea what had switched in his friend to revert him back into a self pitying mess. He hadn't bore witness to the scene Daveed had stumbled upon all those months ago, a scene which sent him rapidly spiraling back to the rut he'd been stuck in the first two months after the break up.

Daveed shook his head, his wilder than usual curls bouncing from side to side as he focused on getting his mind off of the break up, off of the ring store, off of her. He couldn't afford another night of wasted tears. He headed in the opposite direction of Rafa and found himself breathing fresh air for the first time in hours as he stepped out on to the busy New York street. A car honked in the near distance and the street lights just about matched the neon lights which had lit up the club but Daveed felt as though a weight had been lifted off of his chest. Clubs had always been a part of his social and professional life yet recent events had left him feeling claustrophobic inside them. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't like that this was his social life again. Nights spent in clubs, mornings spent with uncaring strangers, afternoons spent in regret and nausea. Where had the nights of home cooked meals gone? The mornings he'd spent shielding his beloved from the harsh light of the rising sun? The afternoons where it didn't matter what wasted the time away, all that mattered was the hand clasped tightly in his and the woman it belonged to? He wanted them back.

Daveed wanted her back.

He'd been so consumed in his own thoughts that, when he finally focused in on his surroundings again, he was only a block away from his apartment and the club was long behind him. He figured he could text Rafa once he got inside, he'd understand why Daveed walked out. He probably already knew. A shy voice calling out his name caught his immediate attention and Daveed paused mid step. The voice seemed familiar, comforting, adoring. His breath caught in his throat and he swore he was dreaming. It took a moment or two for him to turn around and face his pursuer.

Disappointment burst forth inside him but he had to conceal the drop in his smile, especially when he noticed the young girl who was smiling at him with a gleam of excitement in her eyes and a familiar logo printed on her black t-shirt. He hadn't been dreaming, just delusional.

The fan was kind enough. She'd shyly asked him for a picture before gushing over how excited she'd been at one of last week's shows at the theater. Her brief mentioning of clipping. had meant more to Daveed than anything else she'd said, which he knew was a little selfish of him but he couldn't help it. Clipping., unlike the current Broadway show he was a part of, was truly something that was his to own. Sure, there were two other guys involved along with him, but the words he spat and the emotions and meanings laced within them were all Daveed's. To have it gain praise was a direct boost to his ego.

With a happier feeling installed in him, Daveed found himself unlocking the door to his apartment. He didn't bother untying his laces, his shoes simply being kicked off and left near the front door as he made his way into the familiar apartment. He ignored the state the place was in and dropped down on to the comfort of the leathered loveseat, finding some form of tranquility in the disorganization of his own belongings. It somehow made the place feel closer to home. Despite the fact he'd been staying there since pre-production of Hamilton, Daveed still felt disconnected. Not just to the apartment but the whole city. Perhaps, he felt too loyal to the Bay area to allow himself to get too comfortable with living on the east coast. More likely, it had to do with the fact she wasn't there with him, like she was supposed to be, like they'd both agreed.

Engraved in his mind was the memory of Y/N 's face, lit up with glee as she strolled in and out of the different rooms of the place, her voice rising in volume as she ranted and raved about all the ways they could set up the apartment- their apartment, a first of many homes together; god, just thinking of it brought a smile to his face and a dizzy feeling to his head-, and her list of all the ways they could spend any free time they could get: the little cafes they could visit, the monuments they could see, the streets they could walk. He could so vividly remember pulling her into his arms, his lips confidently claiming her own against them. He held her there for their own little infinity, one hand fisted in her hair, the other splayed out against her lower back as her own softly grabbed at his jumper and held him down to her, as if he'd ever dream of leaving her. Her soft laughter had echoed off the walls as she pulled away. He couldn't stand having his mouth off of her and settled with peppering kisses down her exposed neck whilst she jokingly accused him of just wanting her to shut up. He didn't even know how to begin to explain how far from the truth that was. That, in reality, he'd just felt such a desperate need to have her against him because he wasn't entirely sure if she was real or if the life and relationship they'd built together had been nothing but a cruel dream of his. She was too good, her love was too good and he, a man who's career was built off of his eloquence and mastering of word play, was at a complete loss for words when it came to loving her. Heavy breathing and discarded clothing was the way he'd chosen to express his love that evening, breaking in their new apartment. The very same apartment where their relationship would come to an abrupt end no more than two weeks later.

There was a pain growing in Daveed's chest, which he could only imagine was a side effect of his shattered heart attempting to continue beating. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew it was Rafa before he even looked at the screen and answered the call.

“Hey man!” Rafa's cheery voice burst through the speaker and Daveed pulled the phone back from his ear, not having expected the volume of his friend’s voice or the questionable Cotton Eyed Joe remix in the background. “Where'd you go? I got a couple girls here that were looking forward to meeting you!”

“Yeah, I... I'm meeting Oak early tomorrow, got some magazine the cast is doing a shoot for.” In his own defense, Daveed wasn't lying. There was a photo shoot and he was meeting Oak in the morning but that wasn't the reason he'd left.

If Rafa knew his friend was evading the truth, he thankfully kept it to himself. “Ah, so the princess needs her beauty sleep? Your loss, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop wasting your time on me and go enjoy yourself.”

“Have fun with your face masks and beauty creams! Oh, and Daveed?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't try shaving yourself tomorrow, leave it to the professionals. Don't want any nasty cuts on that precious face.”

Having hung up, Daveed carelessly flung his phone down on to the couch and watched it bounce once before laying flat on it's screen. The walls of the apartment were beginning to suffocate him, so much unfilled and unused space now suddenly feeling like it was caging him in, mocking him, taunting him with every echo of his own breathing that bounced off the walls. There was an itching in his lungs and his fingers had began to fiddle with themselves.

Daveed wasn't a particularly anxious person. Yet, anxiety was swelling in his throat and he ashamedly knew why. With his head hung low, Daveed blindly reached for the square packet and the cylinder lighter and headed straight for the balcony door. Opening it, he allowed the outside world to infiltrate his senses once more and it stole away some of his loneliness. The noise and lights and traffic were all a sign of life beyond his own, evidence that he wasn't truly alone in the world. Any loneliness he faced was product of his own creation, an isolation he'd comfortably settled with.

He hadn't put his whole life on pause. No, Daveed wasn't that careless. He woke up every morning and walked out the front door, prepared to face the day with as earnest of a smile as possible. He'd laugh with friends, speak with fans, give his all in his performances. But the feeling of longing would never truly leave him. Rafa could see it, most of the Hamilton cast too. They all knew there was an unspoken part of Daveed that was in denial of her absence. They could see it in the way his eyes never lingered much on beautiful women; in the way he kept her picture in his dressing room; in the way he still carried his part of their matching keyrings. But, what else could they do other than be there for him? She'd walked out with his lifeline and had left nothing but a Daveed shaped shell, hollow and devoid of life, just waiting for the day she walked back into his arms. He was pathetic. Foolish. Selfdestructive.

And so painfully in love with Y/N, even though it no longer seemed fair to feel that way.

The metal handrail was cold to the touch as he let his hands run over it, his eyes gazing down at the active nightlife below. His hands robotically opened the packet and out of it he pulled a cigarette. The nicotine stick found itself resting between his plush lips. The lighter was sparked up, the cigarette set a light and an inhalation of sweet smoke was taken. He'd always felt smoking alone was one of the most solemn of experiences. A couple more drags were taken before he became fixated with the lighter in his hand. He lit it up just to watch the flame dance, not a care in the world for the wasted lighter fluid. It didn't take much longer for his treacherous mind to drift towards the empty lighter inside his sock drawer and, most importantly, the memories attached to it.

A younger Daveed, freshly off stage and with sweat drying into his skin, had pushed past the drunken messes and the grinding pairs to escape for a breath of fresh air and a cigarette. Standing up in front of a crowd was a thrill, truly, but Daveed was still shy at his core and the hyperawareness of his own performance brought on a stress only nicotine could soothe.

The exit had taken him out into a back alley. The bass of whatever song was playing indoors could still be felt but the street was thankfully pretty calm, no one else there but another smoker and a couple making out further down from the door. A few steps out into the alley and he stopped, bending his right leg at the knee to perch his foot back against the brick wall as his hands occupied themselves fishing out a cigarette.

“Shit.” A curse escaped him as the realization hit that he'd forgotten to bring a lighter with him. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and huffed, a hand running through his curls. Maybe he wouldn't be getting that stress reliever that evening after all.

“Need a light?” Daveed nearly jumped at the unexpected voice, his foot slipping off of the wall and his back straightening. When his eyes landed on a girl, who was wrapped up in an oversized jacket and had her arm outstretched with a blue lighter dangling between her fingers, he was certain she hadn't been there when he'd stepped outside. Egotistically, he wondered if she'd perhaps followed him. Stupidly, he wished she had.

Daveed caught himself before he could stare at her for too long, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from her face down to the lighter she was still offering. With gratitude, he took it from her grasp and put it to good use. Seconds later, his lungs were filling with poison and his face with relief. Turning his attention back to her, he found the girl already staring at him. Unlike most, she didn't avert her gaze in shame of being caught. She only focused more intently on him, a ghost of a smile presenting itself on her features. “Thanks, uh, pretty lucky you came out here.”

“If you want to label me following you as luck, then sure.” The calmness of her voice, the way she shrugged so nonchalantly, the way her side was resting up against the wall and her eyes were shamelessly trailing over him were a hypnotic mixture strong enough for Daveed to nearly miss the words she'd spoke. Had he missheard or had she actually followed him? Freaked out would be the normal response. Flattery is what took it's place in Daveed, though. “That was quite a performance, very... lively.”

“Yeah,” A chuckle escaped him and his free hand shot up to rub the back of his neck. “that was one of our tamer crowds, believe it or not. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“I never said I enjoyed it.” The smile had slipped from her face, visually punctuating her words. Then, much to Daveed's relief, she broke out in a fit of giggles and the friendliness in her voice had returned. “I'm only messing! You were amazing but, honestly, the other two of your group are the unsung heroes. They really held it down.”

Daveed wasn't about to deny her statement, knowing fine well just how vital the two men were to him. If he were the ink, they were the paper he wrote on and the pen that encapsulated him. Her praise for them only made Daveed enjoy her company more.

From there, the two continued to partake in casual conversation: her asking about how long clipping. had been a thing, him asking her about her studies and the cold air of the night slowly urging the two to stand closer and closer and closer. There was laughter in the air and comfort in their bones, almost as if the two had been lifelong friends catching up and not two strangers meeting in a back alley. Daveed had long finished his cigarette and he knew his friends would be wondering where he'd disappeared to but he wasn't ready to walk away from the conversation, from her, and so out he pulled another, perching it between his lips. He hadn't had the chance to ask for her lighter, she'd beat him to it and sparked it up. He bent at the knee a little as he leaned down, both of them sharing eye contact whilst she held the flame to it. This time around, Daveed offered the cigarette packet out to her, hoping to repay her in some way.

“I don't smoke, but thanks.”

“You don't smoke, but you carry around a lighter?” His head tilted off to the side and a cheeky grin overtook his face. “You're kinda weird.”

“And you're a charmer, aren't you?” She rebutted, though no offence was really taken. “You're not the only smoker who forgets to bring a lighter. My boyfriend has a habit of doing it, so I carry one around for him.”

The window of hope inside of his mind was shattered by one simple word. Boyfriend. Of course she was taken. She was the kind of girl who you met in the morning and were in love with come the evening.

“Anyways,” Her voice interrupted his disappointment. “you distracted me from the reason I followed you out here!”

“Yeah? And what reason was that?”

“My friend thinks you're hot. Well, no, actually, I believe the exact words she used were "If he can rap that fast, I wonder what else he can do with his tongue. I don't usually climb trees but I could make an exception if the tree looks like him."” She'd used air quotes to signal just what her friend had said and, for the first time since the two had met, Daveed felt bashful. He hadn't expected her to say such a thing, even if it was just mimicking her friend.

“And you wouldn't happen to be this friend?” Daveed teased.

“I prefer my men on the shorter side, thank you very much." Her tongue darted out at him and he laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had someone stick their tongue out as an insult. Maybe in third grade? "My friend wants your number, though. And also wanted me to subtly convince you to invite us to come sit at your table but I'm really too tired to be subtle so, please just invite us.”

They'd returned inside not too long after, together, and off she'd gone to grab her friend to drag her over to Daveed's table. And while her friend was beautiful and flirting with Daveed the whole night, he found himself staring over at the girl from the alley every chance he got. He'd watched her do shots with Jonathan, watched as she and Rafa competed in a thumb war, watched as she'd knocked back a shot as her forfeit for losing. At some point in the night, Daveed had asked for her name and, at another point, she'd told him it was Y/N. And when he finally stumbled back into his own bed that night, his eyes staring up at his ceiling as he flipped the blue lighter in his hand, he thought of her.

Wetness dropped onto his hand and tore Daveed away from the memory playing on repeat in his mind. A single tear sat atop his hand and, in the other, a finished cigarette. Stubbing it out, he dropped the bud into a nearby ashtray and centered himself. Tears stung at his eyes and his breath was shaky but he was determined to push through and talk himself out of a full on breakdown.

Hours later, when sleep was finally coming for him and the warmth of his duvets embraced him instead of her arms, his wandering hands reached deep inside his drawer and pulled out the blue lighter as his eyes slipped shut and his mind drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A blaring song and a loud buzzing noise woke Daveed up in a startle. He sat up, eyes still half shut and the duvet slipping down his naked chest. The noise persisted and he realized it was his own ringtone, playing from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He cursed under his breath when he stepped out of the bed, his foot landing on something uncomfortable before eventually meeting the soft carpet and giving him the leverage to reach the bottom of his trousers, dragging them over to find his phone screen lit up with Oak's name painted across the screen.

“What do you want?” Daveed was never a morning person and had no shame in this, especially when his sleep was interrupted.

“Good morning Oak! How are you? Oh I'm fine Daveed, how are you?” The overly chipper voice of Okieriete birthed a groan out of Daveed as he dropped back onto the bed behind him.

“It's too early for this, dude.”

“It's ten minutes away from being noon!”

“I rest my case.”

“C'mon man, we were supposed to be catching a ride together to head to the shoot. Now our car is ten minutes away and I arrive at your doorstep to find you're not even awake, never mind ready.” Oak's words were followed by a series of knocks, which Daveed could hear through the phone but also coming faintly from outside his bedroom.

“Shit.” Realizing that, amidst the flurry of pity and nicotine, he'd forgotten to set his alarm, Daveed begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed, tired legs with muscles stiff from sleep carrying him all the way over to the front door of his apartment, all the while Oak berated him over the phone and knocked away at the wood. Twisting the keys, Daveed pulled the door open at last and found Oak stood there, fist raised in mid knock.

“You look like shit.” Oak proceeded to brush past him and, after closing his front door again, Daveed followed the man to find him with his hand knuckle deep in a tub of peanut butter.

“Please, make yourself at home.” It was no more than a mutter under his breath but Oak had heard it and responded with a peanut butter coated middle finger.

The crappy coffee maker was switched on and Daveed went back into the messy bedroom. He'd just pulled some sweatpants over his legs when he heard Oak calling out to him from the kitchen. Slipping one of his t-shirts on, from his ever growing collection of Oakland attire, he made his way back over to the man and the freshly brewed coffee- which, without a doubt, was not going to be warm enough nor sweet enough- only to find his friend had abandoned the jar of peanut spread and instead was flicking through his mail. Despite this, a sip of underwhelming caffeine was more of a priority than questioning Oak.

“Who's Raquel and why is she inviting you to her wedding?” Now that, that was certainly more important than coffee.

Dropping his mug back onto the counter with almost enough force to shatter it, Daveed dove forward and ripped the envelope out of Oak's hands. Just like he'd said, inside of it was a wedding invitation from one Raquel Castro. The very same girl who'd once sent her friend to ask for his number. The very same girl who'd helped him plan out his first date with her best friend. The very same girl who'd been sneakily finding out what Y/N's ring size was only two months before his world came crashing down.

Given the memories he'd recalled the night before, part of Daveed couldn't help but think this invitation was more than a simple coincidence. A week after the break up, Raquel had called him. She'd been angry and accusatory with her words but it stemmed from her own confusion and inability to comprehend why things had ended so hastily between him and Y/N. Daveed couldn't understand it himself either. The call had ended up being the first thing to make him smile in his new found singleness. The two had maintained frequent contact from there on out, casual texts sent between them both just around once every month, Raquel had even taken a trip into New York with her fiancé and stopped by one of the Hamilton performances. But this invite, it had to be some sort of sign from the universe, a sign involving Y/N. Unfortunately, Daveed had not a single clue how to interpret this sign.

It took him a total of nine days to RSVP for the ceremony, playing out the pros and cons of his attendance. The fact Y/N would likely be there was the only pro that was also a con, and vice versa. Maybe he'd find some closure or, at the very least, answers to the questions he'd had on his mind since the day she'd slammed the door shut on their love. More likely, he'd spend the whole night alone at the singles table, nursing some old whiskey and watching her dance the night away in another man's arms.

January, 2016

This time, the DJ seemed to be enamored with some niche European techno music and Lin, a sweating mess on the relatively small dance floor, had become his number one fan. Next to the dancing maniac were the so called Schuyler Sisters, Jasmine and Reneé were busy taking turns dancing with the long haired man whilst Phillipa was losing herself in laughter between videoing the lot of them. Scattered along the club were the rest of the cast and crew. In fact, most of the people Daveed held closest to him were there, all banding together to celebrate something they had in common: him.

For them, it was the celebration of his 34th birthday. For him, it was a pity party for his 2nd birthday in a row without Y/N by his side.

He'd made a vow to not be bitter that night and focus on being grateful for what and who he did have in his life. Thus far, he'd done a good job. For the first night out in months, Daveed hadn't spent the night sat at the bar alone. He'd danced with friends and done shots with strangers and flirted with beautiful women. But it was hard to ignore the elephant in the room. All of his friends were there with their significant others whilst he was there with his bottle of champagne.

Tilting the bottle back, Daveed welcomed the bubbled drink in and gulped several times before dropping it back onto one of the many tables they'd all occupied. Just as he made the decision to stop thinking about her, destiny or the universe or whatever higher being was out there decided it was time for his birthday present.

He could hear the group of girls long before he could see them. A ruckus of screeching and slurred words was approaching and, from the neon bracelets and the sashes draped across scantily clad chests, it was clear as day to him that a bridal party had just entered the building, and they were far from subtle.

His curious eyes found themselves scanning over each girl of the bridal party as they filtered their way over to the other side of the VIP lounge. They were a sea of nameless faces, hooting and cheering like a bunch of frat guys on a night out and, as easy as it would be to find them irritating, Daveed couldn't help but chuckle and enjoy the fact that other people were having a great night. Until his eyes drifted to the back of the group.

At first, it just felt like a coincidence. A dress, laced with familiarity and the color red, which he was sure he'd seen before. But, then again, there were tons of red dresses in the world. Then, the girl looked up from her phone and Daveed felt the wind get knocked out from beneath his feet. Clinging to the table in front of him for support, he watched her smile at her friend.

It was the kind of smile he used to pull from her, whilst they were both spread out on each end of the sofa and a terribly romantic movie playing in the background of their happiness. He'd cheesily recite lines from the movie to her and revel in the way he could still make her blush, even if she hid it with a cringe. And when he'd agree to stop, he'd always tell her he loved her. No cheesy lines, no big words or unrealistic speeches that took place in airports. Just a flat out, honest, sincere “I love you”. Y/N would just smile and he'd already know she loved him back, no words needed.

“Wow buddy, you alright there?” The distinguishable voice of Anthony Ramos cut through Daveed's reminiscing yet his eyes never left her. He was frozen in time, hyper focused on each gesture she made. Most of all, he was desperately trying to spot the ring on her finger. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Daveed bit back a comment about the ghost being from his past, of a life he could have had. Grabbing a half filled shot glass, he threw it’s contents down his throat, not even grimacing as the liquor stung his nerves. “I'm great. Just tired. S'been a long day, y'know?” His words were a little more unsteady and slurred than he would have preferred but Daveed was sure he'd sounded convincing enough.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Anthony chanted enthusiastically over the music, gaining a few glares and side-eye glances from surrounding tables. He truly was the human equivalent of a beagle: energetic, kinda short, great with kids. “Let's go do some! Shots always work great if you're feeling tired.”

“How 'bout you go order us some then, Ant?” Daveed said, at last tearing his eyes away from Y/N and her red dress. “I'm just... Gonna go to the bathroom real quick.”

Daveed would have felt bad for lying to Anthony, he really would have, but he just needed a breath of fresh air. And maybe a dose of poison in his lungs. Out of everyday in which he could have ended up in the same city, in the same club, in the same section as Y/N, of course it had to be the night he'd sworn off thinking about her. How cruel fate seemed to him, not allowing him a break from sorrow.

The January air had a chill to it when it embraced Daveed as he stepped out on to the small balcony, which was really just a metal enclosure that looked as if it was violating some kind of health and safety code. The club music was still audible but it was playing in sync with noise of the city. A siren was ringing in some distance. He placed his vice between his lips, ready to light it up when-

“What's the birthday boy doing out here all alone? Not throwing a pity party, I hope.”

Daveed jolted and watched as the cigarette, now having slipped out of his mouth, fell to the balcony floor and dropped through the metal caging. Biting back a curse, he finally noticed the black satin and a familiar head of blonde hair. She hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her. Yet again, it hadn't been long since she'd come to see Hamilton. “Raquel!” His enthusiasm was honest, as was the care he put into the hug he pulled her into.

“If only everyone was this excited to see me, the world would be a better place.” Raquel exclaimed, drawing back from his embrace and cautiously leaning against the handrail, tilting her head down as she looked over the edge. “Didn't mean to startle you, sorry.” A sheepish smile appeared. “But, hey, at least Y/N can no longer claim that I enable your smoking!”

Daveed realized then and there that it was no coincidence that Raquel had come up to him. Sure, it was his birthday, and sure, they were friends. But Daveed had been blatantly staring at his ex, her best friend, and clearly he'd been caught. If if weren't for the calming nature of her voice or the way she looked at him with equal amounts of kindness and pity, Daveed would have walked away from the conversation before it could even begin. But, it was too late now.

“Remember that trip we all took to Cancún? Where she threw the cigarettes you bought me in the bin?” For the first time, Daveed was sharing memories of her with someone else. For months, his reminiscing had been silent, not unnoticed but not shared either. It was almost like he'd been in mourning for so long and, now, he was finally ready to start celebrating the life he'd lost.

“How could I forget? She still owes me ten dollars.” Raquel laughed and he followed, even if he didn't find any humor in their conversation. His was an empty laugh. “Oh! Right! I actually needed to talk to you about something!”

“I'm all ears.”

“It's about the catering at the wedding. I know you're Jewish but I can't remember if you're kosher. Just in case you want us to mark anything non-kosher at the reception.”

“Ah,” Daveed nodded, silently appreciating that she'd even taking the time to ask him. “Don't worry, I'm not that strict about it. Honestly. Thanks for asking though.” By then he'd drawn and lit a cigarette, this time managing to not drop it. He let his eyes scan over her and he found himself unable to stop the small smile which took over his face at the sight of her bridal party wear. “The wedding isn't until August, isn't it a bit early to start up the bachelorette party?”

“This isn't my party, Diggs.” She rebutted, bumping his shoulder with her own as she stole a sip from her champagne flute. “It's a friend of mine's. That's actually why we're in New York.”

They didn't need to define who we was referring to, Daveed knew it was Y/N. If it were even possible, his heart stuttered over a beat. The question was at the tip of his tongue, longing for him to just get it over with. Rip the band-aid off, open up his wound and let it bleed out. Is it her wedding? Somehow, the answer seemed scarier than the question. “Seems everyone's getting married off then, huh?” Like a coward, he never asked.

“What about you, mister Broadway? Any lucky lady in your life?” Surely she knew the answer, considering he hadn't added a plus one on to his wedding reservation.

“No, uh, been too busy. Shows 'n stuff, y'know?” He said, not even convincing himself of his own excuses. And, from the pitiful look she was giving him and the hand she'd placed on his forearm, Raquel wasn't believing him either.

“Have you talked to her, at all? Since things ended between you guys...” She paused, as if searching for the right way to word things. “I just think you guys at least deserve some closure. Your relationship didn't even properly come to an end. One day, you guys were together, the next, well, you were over. Two years of building a life together can't just stop all of a sudden.” Daveed remained silent and Raquel took this as a sign to keep talking. “Sorry if you think it's not my place to say all this. I've been trying to tell her for months now to talk to you but she just won't listen. Not even when we came to your show.”

That had spiked his attention and his eyes widened. His show. The theater. Hamilton. She'd been there, somewhere in the mass of the audience. In anger, he wished he'd spotted her. In pain, he wished she'd have let him know. Now here was their friend, her friend, asking him to talk to her and get closure for them both. Even if it hurt him to think that Y/N was suffering, it hurt him more to think of them truly being over. And that's exactly what closure meant. The end of things. Daveed wasn't ready for her to become a part of his past yet. Besides, last time he'd seen her, Y/N seemed to be doing just fine, with or without closure.

Both of his hands were full from the tray of beverages in to-go cups he'd been sent to purchase for the cast, meaning Daveed had to shoulder his way out of the corner cafe, all the while cursing the fact he'd ever agreed to take part in the childish game of rock, paper, scissors. He'd drawn rock and wound up losing to the rest of the cast's papers. Laughter had echoed as he walked out the theater with a list of everyone's order.

A frustrated sigh escaped Daveed as he lowered the trays onto an outdoor table. Sitting unevenly on the pavement, the table wobbled. Those short three seconds had Daveed near crippled in panic as he watched the drinks shake, some almost toppling over completely. Luckily, they all stayed up right and he wasn't about to find himself buying a whole new order.

“C'mon, c'mon, hurry up.” He muttered under his breath, fingers drumming against the side of his legs, eyes staring down the street with a desperation to spot the familiar face of a fellow Hamilton cast member. He'd texted the group-chat just about ten minutes ago, someone should have been on their way to help him carry the order back.

The blaring of a horn had Daveed looking up from his phone screen. An elderly man was cursing out some taxi driver as he crossed the road, stick waving in the air as unfiltered words fell from his lips. Maybe, if Daveed hadn't stared at the scene before him for so long, he would have never noticed the jewelers directly across the street from him.

Maybe he would have never noticed a man and woman inside the store. Him, with his arm around her shoulder, and her, with her eyes fixated on the display of rings in front of her, and both with smiles brighter than any collapsing star. He watched, throat dry and limbs heavy, as the attendant in the store helped the woman slide on the ring. The engagement ring. She nodded, just one nod, and that's all it took for Daveed's world to implode. Of course, the couple were completely unaware of the heartbreak they were causing as they waited for the ring to be wrapped and bagged. The man had eagerly pulled out his credit card, as if he couldn't wait a second longer to purchase it, and the woman welcomed the bag into her waiting hands, like she was desperate to return the ring to it's rightful home: her left ring finger.

It was selfish, Daveed knew that, but he'd been hoping Y/N was just as torn up by their break up as he still was.

Instead, she was engaged. To another man, another future.

“There you are! God, this place was further than I expected.” Daveed turned his head to see one of the ensemble members, Ariana, approaching him. She smiled and he done his best to return the gesture. “Alright, what ones am I carrying?”

“Oh. Uh,” He blindly grabbed two of the sets of drinks, offering them to her. “these ones. I got the rest.”

“Okay! Let's go, pretty sure poor Leslie is gonna pass out from exhaustion if he doesn't get his dose of coffee soon.” Daveed hesitated following her and, instead, stared back over at the other side of the street. He found the store was now empty of customers and Y/N was no longer there. “Hello? Earth to Daveed!”

“Huh?”

“You okay there? You were just staring off into space for like, 2 minutes.”

“Yeah. Yes.” He swallowed the ball of emotion pent up in his throat and walked over to her, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him to look back. It just wanted to torture him some more. “Just,” He sighed. “thought I saw someone.”

“If she doesn't want to talk, then there's no reason for me to do it. Maybe it's just better for us both if we keep to ourselves.” The reality was that Daveed didn't think he'd be able to get through talking to her even if she did want to speak about it. Not when he'd spend the whole time staring at her hands, at the rock resting on her finger, at the pledge of love and fidelity she'd given to someone else. “So, how's wedding planning been treating you? You excited to just get it over with?”

“A hundred percent!” Raquel laughed and he relaxed, thankful for the fact she'd let him change the topic of conversation. “Don't get me wrong, some of the planning has been fun. Cake tasting? I highly recommend it. And I've got her learning salsa for our first dance. But, yeah, venue planning and the cost of it all has been a bit of a bummer. I'll be glad to never have to do that again.”

“Salsa? Great choice, bring a little flavor into the whole traditional wedding dancing.”

“Yeah! Fuck swaying side to side awkwardly, I'm putting on a performance! It's been a messy journey, planning everything. Even just something as simple as seating arrangements, who the hell knew it was such a process to organize all that crap?” She threw her hands up, the remainder of her champagne sloshing inside of the glass. “But it'll be worth it when I walk down the aisle with her. We're gonna put all other brides to shame in our dresses. Shit, sorry, all I talk about recently is the wedding! You can tell me to stop if you want.”

“It's fine, no worries. You're happy, it's nice.” He felt a tug at his heartstrings all of a sudden, very aware of the fact of how much had changed since the two had first met. It really did fill him with joy to see her so happy. “You deserve it, Kelly.”

“You know I hate being called that, David.” The two old friends laughed in unison after she lightly kicked him with her heeled foot, not even hard enough to leave a scuff on his jeans. “It's crazy, you know, that just about four years ago I was trying to get in your pants. And now I'm a few months away from getting married! To the love of my life! I mean, she's honestly the best thing that's ever happened to me, D, you have no idea.”

He had an idea and it was somewhere else inside the busy club, wrapped in red and the familiar scent of coconut- it had always been her favorite - but he wasn't sure he was allowed to speak about her like Raquel spoke about her fiancé. That was reserved for someone else now. He also held back on pointing out the pitiful fact that it seemed people who pursued him would wind up engaged afterwards.

At some point, they both went their separate ways, back to their respective groups. Daveed eventually threw caution to the wind, a fresh wound on his soul after having seen Y/N urging him on. Every drink he was handed ended up down his throat and, somehow, Lin managed to rope him into dancing to the shitty music with him. They all danced, cramped together in the limited space like canned tuna. When the last song was played, when the last drink had been poured, when the last cab had been hailed, a very intoxicated Daveed found himself stumbling into the apartment of a stranger wrapped in red. The fact she smelt like sweat and lavender was the only downside.

If he hadn't drank so much or gotten so reckless and careless, perhaps his phone wouldn't have been left abandoned among glitter and emptied glasses in the deserted club, it's screen lit up with two notifications:

00:49 am (+81) 03-3***-****: happy birthday, d. i'm glad to see you're having a fun night!

02:18 am (+81) 03-3***-****: you're wearing my favorite shirt of yours.

August, 2016

The sun setting over the horizon burned at Daveed's tired eyes as he stepped off the plane, thankful to be home yet dreading the next day. The whole flight over he'd practically gone through the works of all possible emotions he could feel towards his impending future. Excited, saddened, nervous, happy, frustrated, nervous again. Every possible scenario had played through his mind, ones where the two did not speak, others were they done nothing but speak and one, shamefully, where they done something but it was not speaking.

The wedding was one sleep away and he was no more prepared to be in such close proximity of Y/N than he had been the night of the club or the day on the sidewalk.

His dad had picked him up from the airport, lending him a hand with his limited luggage and pulling his cherished son into a warm hug. The whole drive back to his father's home had been filled with playing catch up, Daveed sharing stories of his cast mates and his father telling him about his new hobby of coaching a local junior basketball team. Daveed was grateful for his dad not asking about Y/N. If it had been his mother, all intentions pure and caring, she would have began to question him on the matter the second he was strapped in to his seat and unable to escape.

His parents had always liked Y/N, that was for sure. And, while it had been a blessing during their relationship to see his mother dote over her like she were her own daughter or to witness her beat his dad at guitar hero, it had become a curse when things had ended. The way things ended did not make matters any better. His own mother had given Daveed the silent treatment for a whole two days after he explained to her how things had gone down.

He fell asleep that night, his bag opened yet not unpacked, in the guest bedroom of his father's home. A belly full of pizza and beer, mind full of worry and doubt.

Hours later, after a shower, a shave and a shit ton of stressing as he pulled on his suit, Daveed found himself parked outside the venue. Finding a parking space had been stressful enough but it was nothing compared to the on-going battle between him and his crooked tie. It had only hit him that morning just how long it had been since he'd had to tie his own tie, too accustomed to his new normal of having a stylist dress him for most formal occasions. Before that, he'd had Y/N.

A few months into their relationship, when he finally felt confident enough to meet her parents, she'd went out of her way to learn exactly how to tie a tie and she'd wordlessly done it for him that evening, his hands too shaky and his nerves too on edge. From there onward, he'd purposefully mess up only to have her stand so close, where he could comfortably lay his hand to rest on her lower back as she worked away at sorting the piece of cloth around his neck.

“That's as good as it's gonna get.” The quiet of his car was filled with his disappointed voice as the less crooked tie stared back at him through the rear view mirror. Despite his words, he gave it one last tug and stepped out of the car.

He hadn't expected to be recognized by so many familiar faces. He probably should have expected some though, these were people who'd been friends to him once upon a time ago. To add tension to an already tense situation, everyone that felt the need to come up to him was dancing around the fact things had ended between him and Y/N and that was why they'd stopped talking to him.

“It's been so long since I've seen you! I've just been swamped with work, you know? And, New York! You were on Broadway. How's Broadway? Must be exciting to be on Broadway!” They'd all have the same excuses to avoid the obvious: they were Y/N's friends first and they'd be hers till the end.

Daveed wished he believed it when he told himself he didn't mind that.

The venue of the ceremony was breathtakingly beautiful and, now sat among (luckily) unfamiliar faces, Daveed took the chance to fully appreciate the scenery.

It was being held within a greenhouse, and in almost every inch of the place there was a strike of greenery. The surrounding walls were made up solely of glass windows, serving as a source of natural light. At the end of the aisle, where the exchanging of vows, crying of happy tears and giving of rings would be taking place, was a beautiful water display, with water so fresh looking it appeared drinkable. And the air? It was smothered in the scent of life: blossoming buds and flourishing flowers and ripening fruits. Splashes of red and yellow, of blue and lilac, of pink and orange effortlessly added more class and detail into the green venue.

If the venue was breathtaking, the ceremony was heartbreakingly tender.

The two teary eyed brides had walked down the aisle with the person they'd chosen to give them away and, by the time they were both facing each other at the makeshift altar, Daveed could already see a stray tear falling down Raquel's cheek. At that, he smiled. And stayed smiling throughout the whole ceremony. Until it came to Raquel's vows. At some point in her big proclamation of love, she began speaking about how her and her bride had first met, about how she hadn't even realized she was being hit on by her and how, when she was asked for her number, Raquel thought she'd just wanted to be friends. She spoke of how two dear friends of her's told her she was being asked out on a date, not just to hang out as friends.

For the first time during the ceremony, Daveed finally looked directly at where Y/N stood in front of the other bridesmaids. He watched as a stray tear slid down her cheek, one she quickly tried to brush away, and her hands tightened around the bouquet they were wrapped around. His own eyes were welling up with tears in just a few seconds. While they weren't the only two in the room carrying tears in their eyes, they were the only two who's tears were made up of missed chances and broken promises and pure, untamed sadness. After all, they’d been there to witness the first meeting of the brides. They’d been together then and now, they were further apart than the stars above.

He'd told himself he'd just steal one last glance at her, remember her as she was next to the altar, all dressed up and looking beautiful albeit sad. His eyes lifted. And there was Y/N staring right back at him, a couple more tears already having fallen from her eyes. The eye contact never wavered between them both and, for the first time in a while, Daveed felt like he was actually being seen for who he really was. And when she smiled, he fell apart.

A tear finally escaped it's cage but Daveed made no attempt to wipe it away.

One luxurious meal later, and quite a few drinks from the open bar, Daveed sat in the very same situation he'd predicted. At the singles table- which was pretty depressing given who his company for the evening was -, with some girl he'd met about an hour ago talking his ears off about her job which he hadn't even asked about, a drink he’d been nursing for half an hour in his hand and his eyes hyper-focused on the dance floor. Taking another sip, he drowned out the stranger’s voice and watched how Y/N laughed at something her dance partner had whispered in her ear.

This was how Daveed had chosen to enjoy the reception: playing a game of “Guess Who’s Marrying The Love Of Your Life?” with every man who so much as approached her. He was thankful her duties as maid of honor kept her so busy, she’d yet to have the chance to notice his incessant watching.

Deciding he’d spotted the fiancé of his kryptonite- the man she’d been dancing with for just over twenty minutes, who she’d been sat next to during the meal, who seemed to make her laugh just as hard as Daveed once had - he pushed back his chair, straightened out the jacket of his suit and headed for his destination.

Heavy footsteps, fists clenched, breathing erratic, Daveed stepped out into the fresh air and made his way over to the concrete railing of the balcony, a balcony far more sturdy and well designed than the one he’d stumbled onto back in January.

The silence and lonesomeness wrapped themselves around Daveed like the softest, warmest blanket on a winter's eve. For the first time since he'd arrived at the wedding celebrations, he'd found a window of peace for himself to take a moment and breathe. Recalling the conversation he'd shared with Rafa before he left for the airport- in which Rafa had been hyping him up and reassuring him he'd enjoy more than regret attending -, Daveed had to admit to himself that he was proud of how he'd done so far. Maybe not in the past hour of self pity with a side of substance abuse, but other than that he'd held himself together pretty well. He'd congratulated Raquel and her official wife, even sharing a dance with both of the women; he'd rekindled friendships, once he and they managed to push past the original discomfort of not having spoken in so long; he'd met some interesting strangers with fascinating stories; he'd ate some of the most lucrative meals he'd ever tasted and bore witness to a demonstration of pure love.

He was enjoying himself.

The only thing that made the evening unpleasant was when he'd finally zeroed in on Y/N and her smile; and the way the lights were making her eyes sparkle; and the way her dress was draped over her skin effortlessly.

The alcohol was beginning to take an effect on him, his mind becoming a little resentful towards Y/N. He'd never once hated her, even if it had been she who'd called quits on them, but he couldn't help blame her now for his situation. How was it fair that she got to move on with her life while he still could barely sit in the same room as her and keep his eyes from watching her every move, her every gesture?

“Shit.” Daveed huffed out over the sound of crickets and the muffled sound of the celebratory music, just as his lighter gave up on him and decided it would not be lighting up the cigarette for him this evening.

“We need to stop meeting this way.” He hated the way the resentment left him with as little as seven words. “People are going to start calling us predictable.”

Sure enough, when Daveed spun on his heel to face the balcony doors, there she was in all her glory, arm stretched out and lighter in hand. He wondered if she carried it around for her new man. Out here, her eyes were a lot less sparkling, her dress a lot less light, her smile a lot less wide but Daveed didn't find her any less ethereal. He never did.

“Uh,” She'd cleared her throat and Daveed felt embarrassment creep in. Here she was, perfectly composed and unaffected by him, whilst he was just as nervous as the day they had their first date; the day he'd first told her he loved her; the day he asked her to move to New York. “thank you.” He plucked the lighter from her and hit the clipper.

“No problem.” She took a sip of the glass in her hand and approached him more, till they were stood in parallel, shoulders an inch away from brushing, staring off into the dark abyss of the night that lay past the grounds of the vibrant wedding. “I see you got stuck sitting next to cousin Delia. On a score of one to ten, how bad is your headache?” Why was it so easy for her to joke around with him?

“Probably a solid seven. She talks a lot but at least there's never time for awkward silence with her.” He pulled in a drag and held back a groan when not even the nicotine could untense his muscles. “The ceremony was beautiful, you must be so happy for Raquel.”

“Yeah.” She sighed dreamily, head turning back to look at the balcony door, as if she were remembering just how beautiful indoors was. “I'm so glad everything went smoothly, they were both so stressed during the planning but it turned out exactly how they wanted.”

“They're lucky to have each other.” Why couldn't he see her engagement ring? Was she hiding it from him, out of pity? Did she know he was hung up on her? Daveed had spent so many months missing her only to resent the time he was spending with her. Stood on that balcony, hardly any space between them, Y/N had never felt further away. “So, how've you been? Like, work and shit.”

“I've been... good. Yeah, good.” There was a pause and they stood in silence, her staring off into space, him staring at her face. “I took the job, in the end, so there's that. Moved to Japan, got to have some new experiences and make new friends. Tried Sashimi, realized I do not like Sashimi. Oh! I got to watch cherry blossoms bloom. Just, yeah, I've been good.” She didn't tell him what he'd wanted to hear about. “How about you?”

“I've been great. Honestly. Work has been on the up and up since the show opened on Broadway, I’ve got some acting jobs lined up. Done some photo-shoots, made more music. Every night, there was another celebrity in the crowd. I mean, the President invited us to perform in the white house. I've been great in other parts of my life too, made some incredibly interesting friends.” Is everything Daveed wishes he said.

Instead, he said this: “Awful. I've been doing shit, for a while now.”

“D.” He couldn't help but hate the fact she called him by that. “I don't think we should get into this at Raquel's weddi-”

“Then when, Y/N?” Oh, he had not meant to sound so confrontational. Unfortunately, the little voice in his head that made up his ego was enticing him to keep going. “Ten years from now? Fifty? Oh, or should we do it at your wedding? I can't put this off any longer, alright? I'm miserable and,” He tried to compose himself, eyes squeezed shut and hands shoved in pockets. “and it's your fault. So no, we're having this conversation. You don't get to just meet someone new and act like what happened between us meant nothing, whilst I'm left frozen in a time where a reality TV star isn't our President and you're mine. Ok? I need to move on but I can't if we don't get closure.”

“It's my fault? Meet someone new!?” She was using the same tone of voice she'd used that night, when the fight to end it all first broke out. “Daveed, you ended things between us, not me. Or did you forget?”

“Weird, I don't remember breaking up with a guy named Daveed and slamming the door shut on my way out.” He stepped back, dropping the wasted cigarette into an ashtray. “But I remember you doing something along those lines.”

“Well, do you remember the part where your girlfriend told you she'd just been offered her dream job and all you had to say was that you two needed to break up?”

“The job was in Tokyo!”

“Oh! So, it was okay when I made the sacrifice of moving to New York with you but you couldn't just deal with some long-distance dating?”

“What did you want me to say, Y/N?” Up until then, their voices had been rising in volume but this time Daveed was softly spoken. “I was happy for you. But I also realized how much things wouldn't work between us. Between Broadway and you being all the way in Japan and the time difference, when would there be time for us?”

“If you really want something, there's always a way.” Y/N said, resting her back against the balcony ledge. “Maybe you just didn't want us, enough.”

“You didn't have to leave though.” He followed suit, back against ledge and feet crossed. “Yeah, I messed up and said something I didn't mean out of fear of losing you, but you didn't have to take my advice and actually walk out the door.”

“How was I supposed to stay after that? It stung, D. I thought you had more faith in us. But you weren't wrong, I guess hearing you say we'd have to break up made me realize just how much the job change would really effect us both. I think we both played our part in ending things- Oh my god, I'm so sorry!” One second, Daveed had been quietly reflecting on her every word. The next, spilled champagne was seeping through his white shirt.

“It's, uh, fine. No worries. I'll just go try get this off me.”

“Let me help!”

As a man, Daveed was shocked to see just how perfectly clean and nice smelling the female restroom was. Everything seemed to sparkle in the light. He had traded leaning his back against the balcony banister for leaning it against the counter top of the sinks, his own hands wiping at his shirt with paper towels Y/N was handing him. She'd quickly and carefully dragged him into the toilets and stripped him of his suit jacket, all the while apologizing again and again for having soaked him.

Surprisingly, he didn't care.

“You can be honest with me, you know.” He glanced at her before refocusing on his shirt. They'd been talking lightly, of things that held no real value but were preferred over the discussion on the balcony. “You can tell me if you found someone new.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing, really. I just, I saw you. A few months ago. You were getting fitted for an engagement ring with some man at your side.”

“Do you mean my cousin? Who was planning a proposal for his girlfriend?” He could see the amusement on her lips as she handed him another paper towel. He felt his heart rate pick up. “My turn. Why didn't you answer my text? If you were doing so bad, wouldn't you want to talk it out as soon as possible?”

“Text? What text?”

“The one I sent you on your birthday? We were in the same club but, I don't think you saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. I think you were all I saw that night.” He instantly regretted what he said. “I mean, I lost my phone that night. Haven't seen it since.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Silence kept them apart for the rest of the time. Eventually, Daveed decided his shirt was as dry as it was going to get. Then, he felt it. Y/N, without missing a beat, reached up and adjusted his tie. Both their breaths caught in their throats. The silence between them became tension. In a matter of seconds, everything was turned around, literally. She was hoisted up on the counter and he was stood between her spread legs, his hands on her hips and hers going back and forth between running through his hair and gripping on to his damp shirt. They were doing their best to keep quiet, swapping moaning out for heavy breathing.

Daveed was struggling to think straight, between the familiarity of her skin and the scent of coconut, it was as if they'd spent no time apart. Suddenly, anyone else he'd slept with between their break up and now hadn't really counted and this was the first time he was being touched in years.

When it was over, he was speechless and she was incapable of not speaking.

“Okay, so, um, I'll sneak out first and then you just, wait in here for five minutes. Then slip out. That way, no one has to see us both exit the bathroom together. Okay, great catching up, see you when I see you. Bye!”

By the time he came back to his senses, he was stood alone in the female bathroom, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie discarded on the floor. He shoved it into his back pocket and slipped on the jacket of his suit, not bothering to even discreetly leave the toilets. Luckily, no one noticed him.

Returning to the event hall, he instantly began his search for Y/N but he failed to spot any sign of her. Had she vanished into thin air? Had she even been there?

“If you're looking for Y/N, she just bolted out of here like the floor was on fire. Pretty sure she called a cab but you didn't hear that from me.” He turned to find Raquel staring at him, a smile on her face. “Stop wasting time on staring at me and go get her, lover boy.”

Daveed did not need to be told twice, his history with running track kicking in as he raced out of the hall. He sped down the corridor, dodging any oncoming guests before he burst out of the doors, stepping out into the fresh air. He could see her in the distance, standing with her arms around herself as she shifted from side to side.

“Y/N!” Daveed yelled out as he ran over to her. When she made no attempt to move away from him, he felt hope begin to rise in his soul. “Why'd you leave?”

“Daveed, we don't have to do this. In fact, we shouldn't do this.”

“Have coffee with me.”

“D, I don't-”

“One coffee, that's it. You can even get it in a to-go cup. Y/N, it's just coffee, I'm not asking for your hand in marriage.” He loved the way she was struggling to hold back a smile. “So, what do you say?”

August, 2020

The world from his garden felt calm, peaceful, as if everything wasn't falling to shit in the midst of all kinds of disasters.

It was the middle of the night and, no matter how hard he tried, Daveed couldn't sleep. Even after having more or less quit a few years back, he could tell there was only one thing that was going to calm his nerves. So, creeping out of bed cautiously, he'd reached into his bedside drawer and grabbed the little packet he kept hidden beneath his socks. Maybe it was just the recent times taking a toll on him, quarantine beginning to exhaust him, but Daveed had been feeling more stressed out than ever.

He sighed, one hand rubbing at the sleep in his eye and the other trying to light up his cigarette. Then, he noticed the blue plastic and a whispered “Fuck.” escaped from him. If he'd considered heading back indoors to find his functioning lighter instead of the empty one, it didn't matter because the cigarette and it's packet were plucked away from him by smaller hands.

“You shouldn't be smoking, D.”

“I know, I know, it's bad for my health. Just, a little stressed.” He welcomed the way she wrapped her arms around his waist, molding herself into his side as he wrapped his own arm around her shoulder. “Better now that you're here.”

“Hmm.” She hummed sleepily, squeezing her arms around him some more. “You're so warm. Like, a human hot-water bottle.”

“Just say I'm hot, I already know you're thinking it.” His lips rested on her forehead and the scent of coconut consumed him.

“Why did I agree to marry a man with an ego the size of the Statue Of Liberty?”

“Because that man's love for you is the size of Mount Everest.” He soothingly rubbed her back, feeling himself finally wanting to fall asleep. “Plus, he has really good hair.”

When he fell asleep that night, it was in the same way he'd fallen asleep for the past few years, and how he wanted to fall asleep every night that remained in his time alive: with her between his arms. He'd gone from being as useless, soulless as an empty lighter without her by his side to now, where he never had to worry about not being able to spark up again. He had Y/N and he wouldn't let anything change that. Not distance, time, health, anything.

#daveed diggs #daveed diggs x reader #daveed diggs drabble #daveed diggs fanfiction #daveed diggs oneshot #daveed diggs imagine #daveed diggs scenario #daveed diggs fluff #daveed diggs hamilton #daveed diggs clipping.#valwrite #daveed diggs x y/n #daveed x reader

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milo-my-beloved · 3 years

Text

chapter three of stupid things!

Read on AO3 // Playlist // buy me a coffee?

In the end, Kaz stays the entire weekend. It’s nice, Inej thinks, to have the house to just them, even if he disappears for an hour or so to get some necessities from his house. They don’t do much - it turns out Kaz hasn’t watched many movies, so Inej convinces him to stay on the couch with her and watch their way through almost every DVD she has.

Something tells her that Kaz is less interested in the films than in her, but she doesn’t mind. She enjoys the company; it’s nice to just sit on the sofa, her head on his chest. It feels like the entire world is calm,even if it’s only for a few days.

On Sunday, Nina returns to find them snuggled up on the sofa, and she nearly has a heart attack. “Inej Ghafa!” she exclaims, dumping her handbag unceremoniously on the ground. “You said you would text me.”

“Sorry,” Inej says, but she doesn’t feel particularly apologetic.

When Kaz eventually leaves, Inej feels like a small part of her is missing. It’s hardly enough to notice, but it is just enough to feel like a constant itch she can’t quite scratch.

Her phone pings, and when she realises who it is, she looks down and smiles.

Wylan

I’ve decided what we’re doing on Friday. Towels, swimsuits and sunscreen advised!

Inej can’t wait.

{o0o}

When Friday finally rolls around, it feels like a century since Inej last saw her friends and Kaz. He picks them all up in his shady minivan again, but when she asks where they are going, he just shrugs.

“Wylan insisted on giving me the postcode and nothing else,” he answers, “But I’m reasonably sure we’re going to a beach.”

When they get to the library - their new designated meeting point, apparently - Kaz’s theory is confirmed. There stands Jesper and Wylan, both holding their own backpack, and both dressed in shorts and brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts.

“I thought you wouldn’t dress properly!” Jesper exclaims as he clambers into the backseat, helping Wylan up. “You can’t go to the beach in a suit, Kaz.”

Kaz raises an eyebrow. “That is exactly what I intend on doing.”

“I know,” Jesper answers, an evil smirk on his face. “And that’s why I bought a spare set of clothes.”

So, when they actually make it to the beach, Wylan hauling a picnic he has made out of the boot, they are all wearing matching outfits. Inej had originally decided on a vest top and shorts, so she just shrugs the purple shirt with pineapples that Jesper has handed her over the top of her outfit, sliding her sunglasses down her nose.

Jesper is shirtless, his red shirt unbuttoned. Wylan can’t seem to take his eyes off of him, his own green shirt buttoned up all the way to the top. They wander off down the beach while Inej waits for Kaz to get changed, leaning on the side of the warm van.

When Kaz finally appears, Inej wants to laugh, but she has to admit that he does look good. He’s wearing his pair of black swimming trunks and a black Hawaiian shirt decorated in knives and skulls rather than pineapples and leaves. Inej has to admit that Jesper knows his style, even if this is something that he would never usually wear.

Once she is done admiring his new outfit, Inej realises that he actually looks quite nervous. His eyebrows are pinched, and he keeps fiddling with his shirt buttons.

“Hi,” Inej says, only slightly breathlessly.

He looks up, frowning. “I look ridiculous.”

“No,” Inej corrects, laughing. “We all look ridiculous. It’s part of the fun. Do you want some sunglasses?”

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he nods. Inej grins and hands him the sunglasses Jesper has given her and he slides the aviator glasses up his noses, looking slightly more comfortable with Inej’s hand in his. She grabs a hat that she had the bright idea to pack just before they left, and with that, they walk down the beach, hand in hand.

Halfway up the beach, tucked away from the few people taking a walk down the beach, Jesper and Wylan have set out their picnic, including a deck chair for each of them. Cracking open the coolbox, Jesper grins and hands out some drinks and crisps.

“A feast fit for royalty,” he announces. Inej doesn’t miss the small smile on Wylan’s face as his hand brushes with Jesper’s, and by the look of it, neither does Kaz.

For a long time, none of them say anything. They’re too busy enjoying their meal and basking in the sunshine, lulled into relaxation by the feel of the warm sand between their toes and the crash of waves on the beach. Their last two outings had been so chaotic that she assumed this one would be the same, but she has to admit, Wylan has picked well.

Eventually, Jesper rises to his feet, stretching and yawning. “Right. I’m going for a swim. Anyone else want to come?”

Wylan nods and starts collecting their rubbish, shoving it into a carrier bag. “I will,” he answers, hesitantly unbuttoning his shirt.

“‘Nej?” Jesper asks, shrugging his own shirt off. “You coming?”

She waves her hand, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe in a bit. You guys go on without me.”

Nodding, Jesper turns to Wylan. “Race you to the water?” he challenges, before tearing off down the beach, Wylan chasing after him. Inej watches with a smile as they splash into the water, Jesper tripping over and falling face-first into the water.

“Idiots,” Kaz mutters fondly, and they share a grin.

Neither of them say anything for a moment, content to bask in the sinking sun and watch their friends shout and splash in the distance. After a few minutes, Inej reaches into the bag she has shoved under her chair and rummages around, producing a bottle which she hands to Kaz.

He raises an eyebrow. “Sun cream?”

Inej shrugs. “You look like you might burn easily.”

The sunglasses make it hard to tell whether or not Kaz is glaring at her, but he complies anyway, rubbing it into his arms and legs. “You can go without me, you know. I don’t mind sitting by myself for a little bit.”

“That kind of ruins the idea of a double date, doesn’t it?”

Kaz turns to her, his expression turning serious. “I mean it. I don’t want to ruin your day out just because I’m afraid of water.”

Inej raises her eyebrows, staring right back at him. “And I mean it too, Kaz. I can go swimming whenever I want, but right now, I would like to spend this day out with you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, both too stubborn to back down. Kaz looks away first, scratching the back of his neck and staring at a crab which is getting dangerously close to his toes.

“If you’ve got something to say,” Inej says, “Then just say it.”

He swallows. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“What for?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“For having all these phobias,” he answers.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Inej mutters to herself, turning to face Kaz properly. She gently reaches out, taking Kaz’s bare hands in hers. “Kaz Brekker, you are the stupidest man I have ever met. We all have our own problems, and I won’t say they don’t matter to me, because that would be a lie. But I love you for who you are, problems and all, and I wouldn’t love anyone any different.”

He looks up at her, blinking a few times. “You think I’m stupider than Jesper?”

Inej rolls her eyes, squeezing his hands before she lets go. “I’ve changed my mind,” she announces, standing up. “I’m off to become a mermaid so I never have to deal with the petty troubles of man again.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just drowning yourself to avoid your exams?”

Inej toes off her sandals, smiling down the beach. “You can’t prove that!”

She stretches, reaching her arms up as high as they will go. The sun is low in the sky and the moon is drifting over the horizon, and for a second, she is certain that she could touch the stars if she reached just a little further.

“Are you coming, or what?” she asks, turning back to Kaz.

He pales slightly. “Uh, I can’t swim-”

“Oh, no,” she corrects quickly. “For a walk down the beach. You know, like every romantic movie known to man?”

He snorts, using his cane to push himself to his feet. “Alright then, my love.”

Inej raises an eyebrow. “My love?”

Kaz blushes, quickly wandering off towards the shoreline. “Shut up and walk with me.”

{o0o}

By the time they get back from their evening stroll, the sun has long since set. Jesper and Wylan are in the middle of a fierce towel fight that Inej predicts will end in a lot of sand in places where sand shouldn’t be. For example, her bag, which is currently half buried underneath her chair.

“Look who’s back!” Jesper crows when he sees them, a big grin on his face. If the empty bottles in the sand are any indication, it looks like Jesper and Wylan might have had a bit to drink. Again. “How was your romantic stroll, lovebirds?”

Inej blushes. “Fine, thank you.”

“Can we get food on the way home?” Wylan asks, scratching his nose as he shoves his sandy towel in his bag. “I’m hungry.”

Jesper shrugs. “Kaz is driving, but I vote yes.”

Inej stares at them both, her eyes wide. “We ate like an hour ago. How are you already hungry?”

“I am not equipped to deal with a hungry Jesper,” Kaz declares, heading towards his minivan. “So we can go to McDonald’s on the way back.”

Jesper punches the air and high fives Wylan.

“On the condition,” Kaz continues, “I get to pick our date activity next week.”

“I have no complaints,” Inej answers when no one else does. “But can we leave now? This has been a lovely evening, but I think I’ve been bitten by every bug on the planet.”

Kaz nods and starts herding everyone into the van, frowning at the sand that follows them in. He opens the passenger seat door for Inej and holds her hand as she climbs in, kissing her knuckles lightly as he lets go.

“Alright then,” he announces, starting the engine. “McDonald’s here we come.”

tag list! (ask to be added or removed)

@hrtbreakprincess / @tooindecisivetopickaurl / @kazcoded / @saltyfortunes

#my writing #shadow and bone #six of crows #kanej #wesper #grishaverse #mmb writes #kanej fics #userhbs #stupid things #ao3 #chapter 3

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demonfox38 · 3 years

Text

Completed - Baba is You

I can't believe this is the first game I've perfected on Steam.

Like, I don't like achievement systems in video games, okay? I prefer to set my own goals. Sure, there are some achievements that are interesting, like learning to use a certain mechanic in a cool or efficient manner, visiting hidden rooms, or even running around with nothing but my character's default busted sword just to prove a point. Mostly, I just want to finish them. I don't go jumping through flaming hoops because I want people to think I'm cool. I'm from Iowa. I'm critically uncool by design.

If a game is good, I will put in the extra work. Like, getting 100% souls in "Castlevania: Aria of Souls" and 200.6% map completion in "Castlevania: Symphony of the Night" is now just routine for me. With "Baba is You"? Well, circumstances are just a teeny bit different.

"Baba is You" is a puzzle game from independent developer Arvi Teikari. Your primary goal in the game is to create statements out of nouns, verbs, and conditions and use those generated rules to complete levels. It's basically catnip to programmers. These puzzles are packaged in cute, scribbly animations and gentle music. Ultimately, its soft presentation is the figurative sheep's clothing under which the wolf of this game lives, dragging its players through increasingly more complex situations, sitting there, laughing, its whole world wiggling in its adolescent mockery of you and your sluggish brain.

You're not always even Baba. I know. The absolute betrayal.

I originally saw this game being streamed back in 2019. A frustrating feeling overtook me as I watched the player work through the puzzles. I could feel myself solving them before she could, and it was making me itch. I didn't want to have any more spoiled without giving it a shot myself, so I purchased the game, put in a few hours, and then dropped it for two years. Hell, the major reason I came back to it was that I was babysitting my mom's very needy poodle, and I was more or less trapped on the couch with her during her entire stay. Had to do something. So, I decided this was it.

"Baba is You" really is the ultimate "Yeah, I'll get back to this" game. You know what I mean? There's always a handful of games that you make a little headway into, and then you think, "Yeah, I'll get back to this" and then drop it. I try not to be this way. Video games are expensive, and I want to get as much value as I can out of them. But man, does this game get overwhelming.

I mean, the TAS for a 100% run is currently around an hour and forty-five minutes. That's for 226 puzzles. That is a lot.

Granted, you don't have to finish every puzzle if you don't want to. The game can let you slide free with your first ending after completing only three subworlds on the main map. You know how many people get to that first ending? Like, we're talking maybe getting through 3 hours of gameplay or so. As of this posting, it's around 7.8% of all players on Steam. In comparison, here are first time ending numbers from other games I own on Steam:

"Bloodstained: Curse of the Moon" – 38% (Cleave the Moon)

"Trine" – 29.6% (Completed!)

"Dust: An Elysian Tale" – 23.9% (…And the Dust Settles)

"Fez" – 14.7% (Kill Screen)

"Psychonauts" – 13.2% (I Thought That Was Unbeatable!)

"Typing of the Dead" – 12.9% (Experimental Fiction)

"Final Fantasy VII" – 9.4% (End of Game)

That's right. From a percentage point of view, more players will put 80 hours into a 20+ year old RPG than 3 hours in this game. So, what's up with that?

At first, I wasn't struggling terribly with the game. I was making a pretty steady clip through it, stopping occasionally to check out the game's wiki. (BTW—view that on a laptop browser, not a mobile one. The background makes it hard to read some of the verbs and conditions.) My first tap-out in 2019 happened around the "Forest of Fall" block, when the game started introducing teleporting puzzles. My second brain-snap happened about 18 hours in the game when I accidentally created the phrase "Level is Key" in the puzzle "Fragile Existence," and then I realized that I could both create this level as Baba and had to create another level as a flag to win the overworld map.

And then there was a submap.

And another.

Holy crap, my brain was not ready for the mess that was Depths and Meta.

At one point, I stopped myself and reviewed why I was overcome with despair at my own stupidity. A part of it is yes, the game looks very cute, and the language used in the puzzles is very simple. So, when you don't get it, it's like saying you don't get "Sesame Street." And hey, maybe you wouldn't if it was in Mandarin and you only speak English. But, I did want to beat myself up for my sluggish responses and my growing feeling of helplessness. Why couldn't I beat the simple sheep game for babies? Was I really that stupid?

I think it helped to know what troubles I had my playthrough harder. This included:

Using text to push objects past barriers. (Yes, text exists in the world, and unless it's floating, you can use that text to move objects around. It's like hitting a car with a stop sign.)

Assuming attributes on an object that weren't actually assigned (i.e., assuming a door was locked or a wall would prevent me from moving through it, even if that wasn't the case.)

Manipulating text to double-layer nouns or break up commands by wedging an inactive/non-solid object in them. (See: Prison.)

Realizing that "you" doesn't always have to go to a certain destination. Sometimes, "you" just need to have something move over there or push something into where you want to go.

Remembering to use the "Wait" button to let moving objects finish their paths.

"Defeat" is a condition that applies only to "you", not objects in your possession. (They may instead be destroyed by "Sink").

Some rules need to be created and destroyed in the same turn.

Things that move on their own can be used to carry commands through obstacles.

Sometimes, you've just got to count your steps when you're taking an action and see if you can reduce them.

And granted, despite my stupidity, there were some puzzles that really clicked! I particularly enjoyed using the "Word" condition, as it allowed for me to treat both words and objects as a noun to make assignments. There were also times where I had to spell out the commands I wanted from letters left on the map. Fun! Natural! And hell, who doesn't enjoy a good block pushing puzzle, now and again? Super easy. Makes sense. Key is push, door is open. Of course!

Ass is Hot! Of course! (Wait, that wasn’t the solution...)

I tended to lock up more when the "Defeat" piece was on screen. I mean, you can always undo your mistakes, and there's no life limit or anything like that. But, hearing your player character go splat when you mess up is flinch-worthy. Additionally, I hated having to build complex paths for objects to follow. Like, screw the entirety of Adventurers. Also, learning what the "Lonely" condition meant felt very unnatural. It was hard to even tell why I was splatting until I read up on what it meant.

Interestingly, changing the language of the game only affects the menu's language, not the game itself. (I was wondering if adding a layer of comprehension to objects would stop me from auto-assigning properties to them or not. Makes sense that it's all in English, considering the "form objects from letters" puzzles.)

I felt bad when I finally gave up on putting effort into solving the puzzles on my own. I did. But, I was also 18 hours deep into my file in a single week, and I wanted to get back to my other hobbies. I felt that if I gave up on "Baba is You" again, I wouldn't finish it ever. And then, those 18 hours truly would be wasted. Also, I felt sick that only 7.8% of people had gotten to the first ending screen. The game isn't bad! It's hard, but not bad! I wanted to at least give it enough dignity to finish it off, even if I was more or less reading what I needed to build with one eyeball and building it with the other.

And hell. Given all of the version differences of this game and the amount of time that has passed since its release, it is a teeny bit YouTube proof. Not completely invulnerable, but I did catch a difference or two here and there. And it's not like the wiki's the clearest with what you need to do, even when they're telling you exactly what to do. You've got to mind your space with your words. At the very least, don't push anything aside or wreck it until you absolutely must.

I can't emphasize how much I felt bad about giving up. I mean, it's one thing to look at guides for other game types. You can get knowledge on how to beat a boss or level, but you've physically got to develop the skills needed to vault through that goal. With puzzle games, knowledge is 99% of what you need to accomplish your task. The rest is just putting in the solution as elegantly as possible.

92.2% of players didn't bother to do even that.

I won't pretend to say I know enough about puzzles to make an excellent puzzle game. However, I do think brevity would have helped this game. Like, think of puzzle games people like. "Tetris," right? Even a long game of "Tetris 64" lasts me a couple of hours at most. "Portal"? That's a handful of hours supported by plot and fun dialogue. So is the sequel. "Panel de Pon" / "Tetris Attack" / "Puyo Puyo"? Those are like "Street Fighter" arcade campaigns. Like, 15-20 minutes. To have a puzzle game go on for hours and hours without any character motivation or plot in sight? Yeah. That's going to burn a lot of people out.

Like, this game could have just the over world, a single hidden world, and then the Center portion, and that would have been more than enough. And then you know what could have been done with the rest of the puzzles? Put them in a new game! "Baba is More!" Bam! A second game, now with extra "Inception"-styled mind screws! Twice the money earned! (Yeah, okay. This plan might stink of capitalism.)

Making 226 puzzles is impressive. However, brevity is the soul of wit. Sometimes, design can be contradictory like that.

But, its achievements? Perfectly laid out. Truly finishing the game is likely to net you everything. I only had to put in a couple of hours after the true ending, and really, only fifteen minutes of that was solving the puzzles. The rest was just finding what I had missed. (I've heard rumors that "Baba is Baba" is bugged, but I think you just need to look up how to get the Level is Win solution in Meta figured out. The rest is elbow grease.)

I don't know if I can recommend this game. Again, having a case of the bad feels over that statement, especially since it seems like the developer has his heart in the right place. I'm hesitant to recommend this because when I was playing it, I had a migraine that lasted three days straight. Granted, there were possibly some external factors to why I had that. A fat polar vortex. Stress from work. Some hormonal influences. Not enough caffeine or water. Just generally living in the United States in the early 2020s. Plenty of things to crush my skull. I don't think it's in good taste to recommend something that will cause others physical pain. I mean, I'm used to games cracking my hands, but that's not exactly healthy behavior. I certainly wouldn't want to give someone an epileptic attack. Why would I want to drive a nail through their skulls, either?

I do think the game is solidly designed. It's a smart little cookie. But, it is unintentionally discouraging to get through, especially if you feel like you can't ask for help. Like getting a clue or an explanation is cheating.

Look. Try. Try hard. Be as honest and earnest as you can be. Just don't expect to do everything in your life alone, okay? I mean, there are times you've got to get an external perspective. I frequently had to crash after school with mathematics teachers and badger professors to explain topics outside of class. You think I was going to come up with how there are different kinds of infinities on my own? Hell no. I'm not creative in terms of mathematical proofs. But, I sure as hell can explain how different infinities work now! Even post-schooling, I still research topics, particularly when building or fixing things. I wouldn't have learned half of the things I've learned about maintaining game cartridges or building dollhouses without suggestions from professionals and enthusiasts. It's just part of life. You ask for help so you don't burn resources—especially something as valuable as time!

#post game evaluation #baba is you #demon is purge

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theuntamednarrator · 4 years

Text

The Last, Best Doctor

Inspired by this post and this gifset

~~~

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui had just finished visiting the Burial Mounds. They had not really had any time for sightseeing during the recent siege, after all, and the boy had only remembered who he was very recently.

The fierce corpse had looked anything but as he showed Lan Sizhui, a-Yuan, their old home. Smiling as he pointed to where the lotus shoots had sprouted, and amusing the young man by re-enacting Wei Wuxian’s crowing delight that he had proved them all wrong, miming cradling the delicate shoots between his cupped hands and kissing their tiny leaves. Lan Sizhui had laughed, Wen Ning’s mimicry perfectly echoing Wei Wuxian’s wild, infectious, if often inappropriate, delight.

“JieJie even said it was worth putting up with his gloating to finally see a smile on his face again,” Wen Ning continued, before a brief spasm of pain clouded his pale face. Lan Sizhui drew his brows down and reached for the other man’s sleeve.

“Wen Ning? Who?”

“Ah! It’s getting so late, we should be getting on,” his tone had not changed, but Lan Sizhui saw deep pain in his cousin’s eyes. Jin Ling or Lan Jingyi would have pressed for details, mouths running far ahead of their brains. Lan Sizhui only smiled and nodded a short ‘mn’ of agreement.

Hours later, as they walked along the winding path, he felt Wen Ning’s steps begin to slow, faltering beside him. Glancing over, Lan Sizhui saw a faint path arching of from their comparatively broad one. It looked as though no-one had passed that way for at least ten years, but Wen Ning stared into the trees with that deep pain now written clearly on his face. Lan Sizhui stifled the thought that, if a fierce corpse could cry, tears would have been coursing down his cheeks.

Wen Ning turned his head, and met Lan Sizhui’s questioning gaze, before he stepped off onto the faint track a few paces, hesitantly at first, but his steps quickening as he heard the young disciple, heard a-Yuan, following him. He didn’t know what had possessed him, but he was almost running now, and his heart would have been pounding in his chest if it still beat. He wished wildly that it would pound. Could pound as it always had when he’d run home to his JieJie, late always late, his bow bouncing on his back and his arms covered with scratches from retrieving arrows from prickly bushes. She would sigh over the state of him and begin pulling her salves from their various drawers, boiling certain herbs for tea as she bandaged the worst cuts. He can almost hear her, the soft murmuring of her voice as she read though a particularly difficult passage in one of their family medical texts, left hand scribbling notes while her right turned pages.

JieJie

He isn’t panting, as he comes to a halt in front of the gates. Couldn’t, now that he no longer breathes. But Lan Sizhui, a-Yuan, sounds a little breathless as he comes up behind him. The boy might be a powerful cultivator in a respected sect, but even so keeping pace with the Ghost General is no easy task. Craning his neck he reads the faded characters over the gate with some difficulty.

“Yiling Supervisory Office?” His soft voice is a question and a confusion. Though the words ‘supervisory office’ mean little to anyone who did not live, or not live, as the case may be, through the Sunshot Campaign he must wonder what they are doing here.

Wen Ning takes a breath as he turns to his cousin. His voice doesn’t tremble, and he thinks sadly that it should.

“This was my sister’s house,” he began, uncertainty making him abrupt. But the boy’s, a-Yuan’s, face is open, and his eyes are curious, and suddenly Wen Ning can’t stop the flood of words. He drags the other behind him as they cross the courtyard from the kitchens, to his old room, the archery yards, the gardens, and the main hall, chattering all the while. Stories of Wen Qing, of her watchful eyes on him as he grew, of her worry as she tried to shield him from Wen Ruohan growing madness, her kindness to those who came to seek her aid. If he hesitates, a soft question nudges him into more stories, wide eyes and eager ears drinking it all in.

Wen Ning refuses to linger at the guest chambers where Wei Wuxian and his siblings had stayed in those awful days after their home burnt and Jiang Cheng’s core was crushed. Even so he swore he could taste the faint echoes. Jiang Yanli’s overwhelming grief, Jiang Cheng’s hopelessness, Wei Wuxian’s frantic frenetic guilt, which had engulfed their little bubble, forcing them to finally take a side, tipping his JieJie off the knife’s edge she’d been walking and oh, hadn’t it sliced them all to pieces on the way down.

At last, they arrive at the bottom of the steps leading to the library. Wen Ning doesn’t know if he can make himself go in, face the decay and rot of all his family’s years of gathered knowledge, their wisdom. But Lan Sizhui, a-Yuan, has already climbed the steps and is pushing open the door. He has no choice but to join him.

The first thing he notices is that there is no decay, and little dust. Confused, he sweeps the room for possible intruders, possible danger, until his eyes catch a flash of gold on the central supporting beam. A talisman, for protection and preservation. Wen Ning feels a warm surge of gratitude to his master. He knows it is Wei Wuxian’s, for who better to recognise his tricks than he, the man’s greatest trick?

The second thing he notices in the scroll for the core transfer, lying on the low table where he had rolled it and placed it after his JieJie had finished her meticulous copy and annotations, unwilling to risk the original on the mountain side. He felt a sudden pang of loneliness. None of the five of them had come back to this place, before now. Four of them had died, and two of them, the best of them he privately thought, remained dead. He suddenly desperately wished he had not talked his JieJie into Wei Wuxian’s desperate plan; but he’d been enamoured of the older boy’s confidence and sure that nothing he dreamed could be beyond reach, was sure his fire would light them all up. Instead, it had nearly burnt them all down.

Lan Sizhui ran his fingers along the scrolls, the studious Gusu Lan disciple in him burning him to drag them from their shelves and devour them. He can already tell these are texts their Library Pavillion does not have. His fingers itch, and he forces them still.

“What,” his voice is soft but it still seems to shock his cousin, who he realises had been very far away. “Sorry. What did our family do? Wen Qing,” and he knows the name now, from the stories Wen Ning has just told him, though he does not feel that he knows her, not yet. “What did she do?”

“She was a doctor,” there is pride in his cousin’s voice, and it almost masks the grief. "She was the best doctor is all the five sects.”

“What happened to her?”

Wen Ning tries to stay focussed on the boy’s face, even as the clamouring grows in his memories. Sharp, pointed swords, ringing and cutting in soft flesh. Sharper eyes over a smile that never reached them. The notes of a flute, loud, but not loud enough, never loud enough to drown the screams.

“a-Ning! a-NING!”

“I don’t know,” it's whispered, shameful, a confession of grief and guilt long held. “We, we got separated, at JinLin Tai.”

Lan Sizhui, a-Yuan’s, smile faded slightly, and he nodded thoughtfully as he turned back to the texts. He pulled a few scrolls to him and turned to Wen Ning, his face shining with a bright determination.

“I would like to study our family’s teachings Ning-xiong,” he said formally. “Please may I take some of Master Qing’s writings for further study?”

He has your eyes, JieJie. Wen Ning thinks, and he feels another warm surge of gratitude. For Hanguang Jun, for sheltering a helpless child, for his master, for protecting them all, but mostly for the young man, a-Yuan, standing in front of him.

“Mn” he nodded, enthusiastically, and was rewarded by a bright laugh.

#lan sizhui #wen ning #a yuan #so the linked inspration posts hit me very very hard in the wen family feelings #So hard that I compulsively wrote this on my phone at ten o’clock on the train home from work.#Usually that is where all my obsessive ramblings stay once they are out of my brain but I didn’t hate this? when I re-read so I’m posting i #*inserted nervous faces here*#When I tell you this show owns my entire soul guys.#this is the first original contribution #i have ever made to a fandom i was in #like ever ever #this is wild #theuntamednarrative

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hypnoshatesme · 4 years

Text

You’re Home

Gerry sat in a dark corner of a rather noisy bar, unwinding from his latest Leitner job. He was people watching, as usual, wondering who of the people dancing and chatting would end up falling prey to Gerry’s world. It wasn’t the most cheerful thought, but Gerry had a difficult time shaking the fears off his mind after burning one of the books. Even when it went well - and this one had - it was difficult to forget. He tended to try to drown the memories in alcohol.

He was spacing out when the tall blond approached his booth. Gerry looked up when he heard an awkward cough, and was impressed at how he had to crane his neck to see the face of whoever was standing in front of him. When he finally managed to catch a glimpse of the round face, he was confused, because the man didn’t look like he wanted to be there. He was twirling a corkscrew curl around his slender finger, clearly struggling to look at Gerry, eyes nervously darting around instead. He was gnawing on his lip and his whole body language screamed of the urge to flee.

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

The other man jumped, and Gerry half expected him to dart off. He didn’t.

“I...I’m so sorry, my...I...I was looking at you and my friends just wouldn’t shut up u-until I approached.”, Gerry nearly didn’t pick up the whole sentence as the man dissolved into flustered mumbling by the end, blush high in his cheeks and hands fidgeting.

Gerry looked towards the booth the blond had come from, where another four people were all sitting and chatting, deliberately not looking at them. Gerry didn’t like the look of them. He looked back at the blond, who looked like he was holding his breath, looking at his own hands.

“Well, what’re you supposed to do now?”

“I-I’m not sure they...they didn’t specify and I-I...I usually d-don’t…”, he was struggling to speak and Gerry was starting to feel sorry for the guy.

He motioned for him to sit down and the blond’s eyes went wide with shock and surprise, “Ah...you don’t...you-I can just tell them you told me to get lost. Y-You can just tell me to go!”, he said quickly, smiling nervously. There was a small gap between his front teeth, and Gerry found himself thinking it looked cute.

He motioned for the man to sit down again, “I’ll buy you a drink so the effort wasn’t for nothing. You look like you need it.”, he added with a somewhat cheeky grin, making the blond blush a deeper red.

He sat down after a moment of contemplation, with a shy smile, nervously tucking a stray curl behind his ear. It didn’t stay there, and as far as Gerry could tell, it was a lost cause, stray curls falling around his ears and into his forehead where hair had broken free of the hairtie that was keeping the rest of the blond curls at bay in a low ponytail.

“What’s your name?”, Gerry asked after taking a sip from his own drink.

He looked surprised, “Oh, uh...Michael.”, he smiled, “You?”

“Gerry.”, Gerry answered, drowning the rest of his drink, “Tell me what you want to drink.”

Michael looked confused, “You don’t have to, I mean...I came bothering you so really...i-if anything, I should buy you a drink.”

“Great. And I’ll buy yours, let’s go to be bar, then.”, he got up, watching, amused, as Michael blinked a couple times before the words caught up with him and he followed suit.

They were tipsy when they went outside for some air. Michael relaxed as soon as he was away from all the busy noise, and Gerry found himself looking at the relieved expression on his face a little longer than acceptable in a less intoxicated state. Michael noticed his look and gave him a crooked smile, grey eyes cloudy with alcohol, but still warm.

They had managed fine after the initial awkwardness - and with the help of a couple more drinks - and Gerry felt strangely light. He was having fun, he suddenly realised. He was enjoying the company, liked when Michael gesticulated wildly when he talked, even when his hands became sluggish with drink, liked the sparkle in his eyes every time Gerry motioned for him to continue after Michael gave him a careful, quizzical look, as if to give Gerry an opportunity to tell him to shut up.

But Gerry didn't want him to shut up, which seemed to surprise Michael every time and it was such a nice expression to look at. Gerry's intoxicated brain sometimes forgot to listen to the words coming out of Michael's mouth because he was so busy watching him.

"Do you smoke?", Gerry asked him now, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket.

Michael shook his head.

"Mind if I smoke here?", Gerry asked instead.

Michael seemed to consider, biting his lip. The motion was somewhat hypnotic.

"If you must…"

Gerry laughed, and it felt strangely foreign and light, "You know, I asked so you could say yes or no, not 'I guess I'll deal with it'"

Michael blushed, "I'm...I'm sorry. Not used to…"

"Saying no?"

Michael shrugged, worrying at his lip. They were chapped and Gerry was fairly sure he'd make them bleed soon if he continued to gnaw on them like that, skin catching in teeth every time. Gerry suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was very much staring at Michael’s lips. He blushed.

Michael's eyes went wide. If Gerry had already been hard to look away from before, the slight pink dusting his cheeks made it impossible. It made a stunningly beautiful contrast to the lose black strands hanging into his face, and Michael felt an urge to brush them away just so he could take a better look. Their eyes met which did little for either of their blushing faces to calm down.

It was Gerry who spoke, "Uhm.. mind if I kiss you?" He couldn't quite believe he actually asked that. Michael thought about it for a moment, biting his lip and making Gerry forget his shock at having asked that question.

"Okay.", Michael ended up saying, smiling before bending down to press his lips to Gerry’s.

Gerry kissed back the moment his brain finally processed what was happening. It was a little sloppy and tasted of drinks neither of them had particularly enjoyed, but they both hummed pleasantly when they pulled apart after a moment.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Michael's phone vibrated in his pocket. Michael fished it out. He looked disappointed at what he found, "Ah..that's my cue.", he smiled at Gerry apologetically.

Gerry nodded. He should probably go home too. He didn't want to, though, "Uh do you...want to exchange numbers?"

Michael was biting his lip again, "B-Before we do that I should probably tell you I'm...uhm...asexual."

Gerry wasn't sure what exactly he had expected but that wasn't it. He blinked, confused, and then shrugged, "Alright."

Now Michael looked confused, eyebrows drawn together, "Alright?"

"Well...yeah, alright.", Gerry mumbled, pretending to be very interested in the trashcan across the street in the hope of maybe hiding the blush creeping up his face at the realisation that he just asked Michael for his number and Michael hadn’t actually said no.

"O-Oh...okay, I just...I didn't want you to think I...uh...tricked you.", there was surprise in his voice, wonder even, "So you...still want?", he held his phone out to Gerry, blush high in his cheeks because Gerry was even more beautiful to look at up close and he apparently wanted to see Michael again and Michael couldn't quite believe it.

Gerry nodded, a little quickly, taking the phone and punching in his number. Somewhere in his sluggish mind an alarm was going off, telling him this was a mistake. Gerry ignored it, giving Michael the phone back. Michael took it gingerly, staring at the number in awe. Part of him was sure it must be fake but he didn't want to embarrass Gerry, so he forced himself to put his phone away without trying it out.

"Don't you want to call it? J-Just in case I...misclicked, or something.", Gerry asked curiously because his heart was still racing, his mind slow, and he wasn't sure he could trust his muscle memory. And for some reason he really wanted Michael to have it right.

Michael made a small, surprised noise, taking the phone back out and unlocking it before looking at Gerry, as if asking whether he should proceed. Gerry was itching for a cigarette to distract himself from those eyes that were making his skin tingle. He nodded.

Michael knit his eyebrows for a second before clicking and then they were both holding their breaths in rapt attention, waiting. Gerry felt his pocket vibrate and let out a breath of relief as he pulled it out, showing the number to Michael so he could check if it was indeed him or if somebody had just the worst fucking timing to call Gerry’s number. Michael's face lit up and he smiled, nodding eagerly and the stray curls bobbed with the motion.

"Okay uh…", Gerry mumbled, unsure of how to proceed.

Michael hesitated, before leaning down to press a short kiss to Gerry’s cheek, "I'll...I'll text you.", he said shyly, before leaving Gerry with a small wave and going back inside.

Gerry took a steadying breath, staring at the number on his phone. He finally remembered to save it and then he stared at the name instead. Did that really just happen? Had he really been stupid enough to exchange numbers with the cute blond? Gerry was worrying his lip now, playing with the ring in there as reality sunk in. Even through the slight haze of alcohol Gerry knew this was definitely a mistake. Then why the fuck did his heart jump when his phone vibrated again, Michael's name popping up. Gerry clicked on the message as if it might disappear any moment. 'Enjoy your cigarette :)' it read and Gerry’s found himself grinning at the phone like an idiot before he finally managed to find the lighter in his pocket.

It was difficult to meet up with Gerry, Michael quickly found out. His job seemed to have the most random hours and sometimes he was out of town at short notice. Part of Michael was starting to wonder if Gerry maybe didn't want to see him, which would be fine, but it was always Gerry who left their little coffee dates saying they should try to repeat that. The smile on his lips always looked genuine and he was often the one who ended up texting Michael, suggesting a next time. So Michael had to assume he really just was that busy.

Gerry dodged the question of the nature of his job when Michael asked, but there were frequent bruises and cuts and Michael struggled not to push the topic. Gerry told him not to worry. As if Michael could do that. Usually he distracted himself with his studies when his thoughts got too hung up on it.

Michael’s university schedule and his part time job didn't add to making meeting up any easier. But he managed to make time for Gerry. Sometimes their dates ended up being rather short because of that, but they always left Michael feeling like he was floating in a very pleasant way, so he always made time for them.

This time, Michael had invited Gerry to meet him at home and Michael was regretting it, but also very excited about it at the same time. He liked meeting Gerry outside, sitting in the back of some café or strolling through the park with their beverages, but Michael's anxiety about there being other people usually caught up with him sooner or later, adding to him already being a flustered mess when Gerry eyed him with those beautiful brown eyes, warm and welcoming, encouraging Michael to go on with whatever he was babbling about, glinting in amusement when he noticed Michael was stunned into silence at his gaze.

Yes, he could certainly do without the sudden awareness that there are other people around who might see him blushing like that. So when his roommate left to visit family, Michael finally got his courage up to invite Gerry over. He hoped that hasn't seemed suspicious. Gerry had sounded surprised, and hesitated a little, but had agreed in the end, with a nervous smile. Michael had been dreaming about that smile because he didn't know what it meant and it worried him.

Michael was checking his makeup and hair for the third time because he had worked himself into a sweat cleaning the apartment and preparing snacks and he was sure it must be runny by now and, well, his hair was always a lost cause. He tried to tuck the stray strands in to make the half ponytail look neater, but it just made it worse, curls defying gravity simply to spite him. At least the glitter around his eyes was actually still in its place. Michael was nervous about what Gerry might think. He kept his appearance as neutral as possible outside, but Gerry didn't seem like somebody who would mind. Michael held on to that, petting down his skirt before leaving the bathroom to check if the apartment was spotless and tidy for the hundredth time.

Gerry was staring at his phone, waiting for time to pass. He had been early as fuck, had walked around the neighbourhood because he couldn’t very much just stand in front of Michael’s door for over fifteen minutes, somebody might see him, and was still too early when he made it back. How much too early was okay? He didn't want to surprise Michael and freak him out because he wasn't ready or something. Then again, this was Michael. He probably had been ready an hour before their agreed upon time and was driving himself up the wall with nerves. So it probably would be good to be a bit early, right? Gerry left out a frustrated sigh and rang the bell. The door was opened immediately.

Gerry tried to take the stairs at a normal speed as his brain was still trying to process what the fuck he was thinking he’s doing. He had taken care about not being followed, he had. But still, this was a risk. It was one thing to let whoever - or whatever, rather - find out where he lived, but showing the way to Michael’s apartment was asking for trouble. But now he was already here. Sometimes Gerry felt like part of his brain just didn’t properly function when Michael was the one talking to him.

Michael was peeking out of the door, listening for the familiar steps of Gerry’s boots, debating whether he should step into the hallway or not. Instead, he nearly accidentally closed the door when he saw Gerry approach. He breathed out, slowly, calming himself, and opened the door wider instead.

“Hi.”, he managed to say when Gerry came to a stop in front of his open door.

Gerry looked up and was stunned for a moment. Michael usually was all muted colours and hunched shoulders, trying to fade in with his surroundings. Now, he was standing up straight, hair pulled back, not obscuring his face for once, revealing pink glitter around eyes framed by long, dark lashes. His lips were glossy and a light pink, pulled into a sheepish smile. He was wearing a slightly cropped green sweater and a flowy pink skirt passing his knee. He looked gorgeous.

“Ah...is...are you okay?”, Michael whispered after a moment of silence, brushing his hair behind his ear and succeeding in untucking the curls that had somehow finally stayed there. He was getting a little anxious under Gerry’s gaze, unable to read it properly.

“You’re beautiful.”, Gerry blurted out.

Michael looked surprised now, face flushing a bright red, “Oh...oh, okay?”, he didn’t know what to do with that, but the fact that they were still standing at the door was starting to stress him out, so he stepped to the side, “Do you...want to come inside?”

Gerry’s face was dusted pink when he finally understood and he hurried inside, closing the door behind him, “‘M sorry, I just was...surprised.”

“You...don’t mind?”, Michael eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

Gerry shook his head, “Why would I? You look...”, confident was maybe a stretch so Gerry went for the next best he could think of, “Comfortable. And skirts are great. I was really just a bit...taken aback. Why don’t you wear something like this outside?”

Michael twisted a curl around his finger nervously, “Uh, I like to...blend in, outside. Which is...hard enough when you can reach some ceilings standing.”, he chuckled, “But certainly impossible with a more...unconventional style.”

“Fuck conventional style. You look great.”, Gerry grinned.

Michael laughed, “I guess it makes sense you’d say that.”, then his smile went sheepish, eyes shining, “Thank you. Come, I’ll show you the apartment.”, he held out his hand towards Gerry.

Gerry smiled and took it, letting Michael guide him through the immaculate, small but cosy living room. Michael was definitely much more comfortable. Still nervous, but not as skittish, not needing to look around every couple minutes to check if anyone was looking at him. And actually standing at his full height for once.

Gerry really wasn’t sure if getting this excited about somebody looking properly comfortable was normal, but he could barely stop smiling as Michael showed him around the small apartment.

They settled back on the couch after Michael made them some hot chocolate and Gerry carried the snacks that were prepared to the coffee table. Michael insisted on Gerry deciding what to watch, and, soon enough, they had made themselves comfortable on the couch. At some point, Michael took Gerry’s free hand, playing with his fingers, and Gerry smiled into his mug.

“I really like your nails…”, he mumbled, running his fingers over Gerry’s nails.

“Why don’t you paint yours?”

“It would draw attention…”

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Why don’t you go for something subtle? You could see if it’s really so bad…”

Michael sighed, “I don’t know...did you start with something subtle?”, he added, curious.

Gerry looked at him, blank, “Do I look like I ever did something subtle in my life to you?”

Michael laughed. Gerry grinned, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to Michael’s cheek. Michael blushed, laughter turning into something closer to a giggle. Oh, this was definitely nice. Gerry had noticed that Michael seemed to keep his reactions muted when they meet outside, laughter just a little damped, controlled, compared to their first conversation in the noisy bar. Gerry had thought it had simply been the lack of alcohol, but clearly it had more to do with how tense Michael seemed to feel outside.

As the evening went on, Michael seemed to melt into Gerry’s side, never letting go of Gerry’s hand. However, as it got later, his grip went limb, as he was starting to doze off, head resting against Gerry’s. It looked like a very bad angle and thoroughly uncomfortable, as far as Gerry could tell from where he was sitting.

“You should go to bed, this...doesn’t look very comfortable.”, Gerry mumbled, squeezing the hand that was still holding his gently.

Michael shot up, suddenly, mumbling an apology. Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Woah, it’s fine. I’m just saying you’ll probably regret falling asleep all crumpled up.” Michael was tense, suddenly, wringing long fingers in his lap, avoiding Gerry’s eyes. Gerry drew his eyebrows together, “Michael? Everything okay?”

Michael nodded, too quickly, “Yes...yes, of course I…”, Michael swallowed, looking away, “I...I just...I didn’t change my mind, Gerry.”

Gerry looked at him, confused, “‘Bout what?”

“T-The whole...sex thing.”, Michael twisted his hands into the hem of his sweater.

Gerry looked very confused now, “I...I didn’t assume you did? Did I say something wei-”

“No! No, uh...it’s just...it...it happened before? When...when I asked people over...t...to hang out. I just...I wanted to make that...clear.”, he was looking down, cheeks burning.

Gerry frowned, “Well, I don’t know what was up with those people, but I’m not looking for loopholes, Michael. It’s fine, okay? There is no reason for me to question it. In fact, it’s not really my place to question it, is it? You're the only one who could do that.”

Michael looked at Gerry again, eyes uncertain, but hopeful. Gerry gave him a reassuring smile and Michael released a shaky breath, relaxing a little, “I...I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“It’s okay, don’t worry. Can’t blame you if apparently past experience has made you extra careful. But like I said, I’m not looking for loopholes or expecting there to be any, Michael. You were pretty straightforward with it and that’s it, in my opinion.”, Gerry shrugged.

"I…", Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Okay. I'll try to remember."

"I'll remind you if you forget, no problem.", Gerry smiled and Michael returned it with his own small one. He looked exhausted, worse than he had when falling asleep on Gerry. Drained.

"You really look like you could do with some sleep."

Michael nodded slowly, stifling a yawn, "I could. Uh...do you...want to stay? If you want you could sleep in my bed and I'll take the couch-"

"Michael, you don't fit on the couch.", Gerry chuckled.

Michael blushed, "I sleep rolled up anyways! Well uh...if you...if you don't mind I...don't think I'd mind you sleeping in the bed with me, either?"

"You don't think…?", Gerry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I...hm...yeah?", Michael looked a little uncertain and awkward, but strangely hopeful.

"I could also sleep on the couch.", Gerry decided to point out.

"Ah...yes, of course. Is that what you'd rather do?”, he tucked a curl behind his ear, “I just know that the street outside can get quite noisy early in here so...yeah. However you prefer, Gerry."

Gerry thought about it. Michael was still looking at him with that hopeful expression.

"How about we see if you really don't mind me in bed, and if you do you tell me and I come here?", Gerry decided, looking at Michael questioningly.

Michael thought about it for a moment, and nodded, “Okay.”

They cleaned up the living room, bringing the dishes back into the kitchen, but not bothering with cleaning them for the night.

Michael turned towards Gerry as they made their way to Michael’s bedroom, "I can give you some pyjama if you want?" Gerry nodded.

The clothes were obviously too big and Michael smiled widely from the bed, eyes crinkling at the corners, when Gerry shuffled back into his room after changing. Gerry returned with a small grin, slipping into bed next to Michael. They got comfortable and Gerry sighed, suddenly feeling very tired himself.

He looked at Michael, whose face was close, but not uncomfortably so, "How are you feeling so far?", Gerry mumbled.

"You're warm.", Michael returned, yawning and moving a little closer to Gerry.

Gerry chuckled, "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Good. I...I think I'm fine.", Michael mumbled, burying his face in Gerry’s hair.

"You're still thinking?", Gerry teased.

Michael sighed, "Not for long…", and it was barely audible with his tired voice and the fact that his face was still very much pressed into Gerry’s head. Gerry smiled, closing his own eyes.

Gerry was awake when Michael opened his eyes in the morning. He was looking at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thoughts. The sun was playing in his hair and face, specks of light against smooth black hair and tan skin, catching in brown eyes and turning them to gold. Michael had not become much better at not staring over time. If anything, he just kept finding more details that added to the breathtaking picture that was Gerry.

Like right now, his eyes fell on a mole behind Gerry’s left ear and his eyes lit up, delighted. He brought his hand up to run it through Gerry’s hair, gently, watching the strands run through his thin fingers like water, fascinated by the contrast of the hair against his fingers. His thumb gently brushed over the mole on its way down, featherlight, and Gerry shivered slightly, tilting his head as to look at Michael.

"Good morning. Slept well?", he mumbled, and Michael wondered how it might be to wake up to the pleasant sound of Gerry’s voice every morning.

He smiled, "Morning. Yes, you? I know the space is a bit tight…"

"Mhm, I've slept in worse places, Michael.", Gerry mumbled, pressing slightly chapped lips against Michael’s forehead. Michael sighed blissfully.

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment, actually.", he mumbled, chuckling.

Gerry grinned, gently brushing his fingers through Michael’s hair, "Yeah, I'm not too good at those, I think. But I did sleep well, thank you for asking.”

"I'm glad to hear that." Michael mumbled, leaning his head against Gerry’s shoulder.

It took another hour before either of them even considered getting up, neither being awfully keen on leaving the comfortable bed or each other’s warmth, but starting to get hungry. Gerry sighed heavily as he finally managed to untangle himself from Michael's long legs. Michael wasn't helping, pouting when Gerry started to move. It looked adorable and Gerry pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips before getting up.

Michael hummed before moving to sit up himself, stretching long limbs with a drawn out yawn. Gerry was tying his hair back Michael watched, because it was always worth watching those beautiful fingers run through black hair, movements efficient, but still surprisingly graceful. Or maybe not so surprising. Gerry had artist’s hands and Michael often found himself thinking they'd look good moving a brush over canvas. They looked like they were made for that.

Gerry turned back to him and grinned, and it made for a quite odd picture, him drowning in Michaels pyjamas, too big and too long, pastels somewhat off since Michael was so used to the all black. He wondered if Gerry slept in black, too. Gerry’s grin revealed slightly crooked canines and Michael just couldn't deal with how adorable he looked and beamed back, not even caring that he was caught staring again. If this wasn't worth looking at, then what could possibly be?

Gerry held out his hand and Michael took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He pressed his lips to Gerry’s hair, "You look so cute, Gerry."

Gerry blinked in confusion for a moment before laughing, "That's one I haven't heard before."

Michael looked offended, "How?"

More laughter, "You do know what I usually wear? I'm not exactly going for cute."

"Well you can't escape what you are, no matter how much leather you put on.", Michael grinned, kissing the scar on Gerry’s eyebrow that had appeared there the last time they met up after Gerry had been gone for a week. Michael quite liked it, despite it looking rather unnerving considering how close the wound must have been to Gerry’s eye.

"Sure." Gerry grinned back, before nodding towards the door, "So...breakfast?"

Michael nodded and they made their way into the kitchen.

Gerry was fairly sure that he had lost his mind now. Telling Michael to come over to his apartment had to be a sign of that. He didn't own a whole lot of things so cleaning up hadn't taken very long. Now he was waiting, standing in the middle of his hallway, staring at the entrance door. The bell rang. He had definitely lost his mind.

Gerry opened the door and was met with Michael's lovely smile, and forgot for a moment that this was a bad idea. And it was very hard to remember when Michael was sitting in his lap after Gerry had shown him around and ordered food, kissing him, hands running through Gerry’s hair reverently.

They were interrupted by the bell, and Michael sighed as he pulled away. Gerry smiled, gently running his knuckles over Michael’s slightly red cheek, “Do you want to get the drinks from the kitchen? I’ll go get the door.”

Michael nodded, getting up from Gerry’s lap, and pulling him to his feet, too. Gerry planted a short kiss on Michael’s cheek before going to the door.

“Gerry, what do you even eat? I was searching for glasses and your kitchen is kind of...empty.”, Michael said as he sat down on the couch, setting the glasses and the bottle he got from the kitchen on the coffee table next to the takeout.

Gerry turned the TV on before settling back on the couch with his food and looking at Michael, “Honestly? Mostly takeout.”

Michael stared at him, expecting that to be a joke. Gerry simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Gerry, cooking isn’t that difficult or time consuming.”, Michael chided.

Gerry wanted to point out that he often came home at odd times and after a fight or chase or something more unpleasant, but decided not to. Instead he said, “I don’t know, I never really learned much of it and this is just...more convenient.”

Michael looked personally offended, which honestly looked cuter than it had any right to. Gerry gave him an apologetic shrug, unsure what else to add.

“Are you going to be around for a bit this time?”

“Hm?”

“Are you leaving again soon?”

“Oh...yeah, actually. If things go well, it shouldn’t be a week.”, but things rarely go well , he added in thought.

Michael sighed, taking his food and leaning back next to Gerry. He was thinking, biting his lip, and Gerry decided to let him be and eat for now. Michael started picking at his food absentmindedly after a moment.

“Text me when you can meet up again?”, he mumbled.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I...I usually do?”

Michael nodded, “I know. I want to teach you a bit of cooking, if you don’t mind.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “But...I mean, if you want?”

Michael smiled at him, “I do.”, before continuing to eat.

It ended up being two week before Gerry was finally back in his apartment, and another three days before they managed to meet up because Michael was stuck doing everything for his group project himself, as usual, while also doing his sick coworker’s shift on top of his own. But eventually, the day was finally there and Michael was standing in front of Gerry’s door again, this time with grocery bags.

He had been worried when Gerry had gone silent on him for two days. Apparently he had been stuck in the hospital, unconscious, but was already feeling better and would probably leave later. Some kind of fall, as he had said. Michael knew that asking for more details was pointless and, in the end, those wouldn’t really calm Michael down. No, that only started happening when Gerry finally texted him about meeting up again and it would end - hopefully, if Gerry was, as he had said, in one piece - with Gerry opening his door.

He did and Michael released the breath he’d been holding while waiting as he saw that Gerry was, indeed, fine. Gerry gave him a warm smile before his face turned into confusion as he saw Michael’s bags.

“I thought we’d get groceries together?”, Gerry asked, stepping to the side to let Michael in.

Michael shrugged, walking inside and into the kitchen, “I have to pass the store on my way here anyways.” He turned around as Gerry followed him into the kitchen, “I also got you flowers!”, he smiled, carefully pulling out a bouquet of bright yellow carnations out of the bag.

“I...oh.”, Gerry blushed, confused, “I don��t own a vase.”, he added, dumbly.

Michael grinned, “I assumed as much. I got you one.”, he said, pulling out a simple glass vase out of one of the bags.

Gerry stared, “Y-You shouldn’t be buying things for me, Michael, you're just a part-time cashier-.”

"Hush, it's fine. You can give me the money for the groceries, if you want. But these are a gift.", he smiled, delicately tracing the petals with a soft smile, “Your apartment looks a bit bare, I think they’ll make it look more like home.”

Gerry didn't know what to say because Michael looked so very beautiful standing in Gerry's kitchen, looking lovingly at those bright flowers, hair in a messy bun with stray strands flying everywhere. It was nearly painful to look at, a strange ache in Gerry’s chest that made him want to do anything but look away. It wasn't the flowers that were making Gerry feel more at home.

"I...thank you.", he breathed out when Michael looked up at him, wondering about the sudden silence.

Michael now directed that loving smile at Gerry and Gerry wondered if his heart might combust.

"I hope you don't mind that they break with your aesthetic. Black flowers are hard to come by.", Michael grinned, filling the vase and delicately unwrapping the flowers and placing them in there, long fingers adjusting petals and leaves and Gerry suddenly understood why Michael liked watching people's hands so much. It was breathtaking to watch the slight, deliberate movements, more of a caress than anything. What had Gerry even done to deserve holding those hands?

Michael put the flowers on the counter when he was satisfied, "Might look better in the living room, but for now…"

"Michael? Can I kiss you?", Gerry blurted out, overwhelmed by the whole situation.

Michael froze and his smile faded as he started biting his lip. He wasn't looking at Gerry when he answered, "S-Sure…"

Gerry knit his brows, "You're doing it again."

Now Michael looked at him, "Doing...what?"

"Answering my yes or no question with 'if I must'."

Michael looked away again, brushing a curl out of his forehead, “I’m sorry, Gerry, I...sometimes I just don’t feel like it.”

“Then why not answer accordingly?”, Gerry kept his voice calm. This wasn’t an accusation. He was afraid he knew the answer already.

Michael looked back up at him tentatively, “I...I just-I know we haven’t seen each other in a while and…”, Michael was starting to scratch at his arm, “And...and I know you already compromise a lot a-”

“Michael.”, Gerry interrupted. There it was. “Michael, it’s fine. That’s why I ask you. So you can tell me no if you're not feeling it.”

Michael was looking at him with that uncertain expression again, like he was trying very hard to believe, but also too afraid to do so.

Gerry smiled, “Michael, there’s not much point in kissing if one of the parties isn’t even enjoying themselves, okay? It’s fine.”, his smile pulled into more of a grin then, “And as far as I know cooking doesn’t require a whole lot of kissing, so we should be fine, right?”

Michael had that surprised, awed expression in his eyes he often got when Gerry was saying something perfectly reasonable to himself, but seemingly mindblowing to Michael. His mouth quirked up into a soft smile, "I...o-okay."

Gerry went to help him unpack the groceries, “So, do tell me about the group project, the last message you sent about it was a bit all over the place…”

Michael sighed, putting away some eggs, “Oh, yes, I was...it was a mess, see…”

They were sitting on Gerry’s couch later, blissfully silent after their meal, empty plates stacked on the coffeetable. Gerry felt warm and comfortable, and he wasn’t sure how much of that had been the food.

“That was really good.”, Gerry sighed, looking at Michael.

Michael smiled, “See? And it wasn’t that much effort, was it?”

“I guess not.”, Gerry chuckled, “I might try making this by myself…”

Michael’s smile widened, “Do that! If you struggle, you can always text me. And we can try making something else the next time, maybe.”

Gerry nodded, “Sounds like a good idea.”, he yawned, “Hm...should I take the couch today, Michael?”

Michael looked confused, “I...what?”

Gerry shrugged, “In case you don’t feel like sharing the bed today, I don’t know...you seem more comfortable without me getting too close.”

Michael blushed, “Oh...I...yeah, but I don’t think it’s necessary to go that far? I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed!”

“I slept many a good night on this couch, Michael, if that’s your concern.”, Gerry raised an eyebrow.

“No, I mean…”, Michael sighed, “I think it’s okay.”

Gerry watched him for a moment, trying to determine whether Michael was forcing himself into doing things just to not be an inconvenience. He at least didn’t look like it. Gerry sighed, getting up and stretching, “Tell me if it turns out not to be, then, yeah?”

Michael nodded seriously, and Gerry brought the dishes into the kitchen before going into his bedroom to change for the night.

“I put what you wore last time in the bathroom for you.”, he managed to remember to say to Michael before he was out of earshot. He heard a muffled ‘okay’ as he closed the door behind him.

“Everything alright?”, Gerry mumbled after they had settled into bed for a couple minutes.

Michael yawned, “Yes...yes, I’m fine.”

Gerry smiled, “Goodnight, then. Wake me if anything’s up.”

“Okay. Sleep well, Gerry.”, Michal whispered, burying his face into his pillow.

“Thanks, you, too.”, Gerry mumbled, closing his eyes.

Gerry had his back turned to Michael in the morning so that Michael opened his eyes to the eye on the back of his neck, making him jump slightly in surprise before he realised what he was looking at. Gerry had his head resting on his arm, hair brushed up and away from his neck. He seemed to sleep like that a lot. Maybe he got hot with his hair down otherwise.

Michael was struck by how smooth his skin looked. There was a small scar disappearing into his hair, and of course the tattoo, but otherwise it looked wonderfully soft. Michael wanted to kiss it. He bit his lip. He knew Gerry was awake, but Michael would understand if he wouldn’t want Michael too close after Michael had kept him at a distance just yesterday.

"Gerry?", he whispered nonetheless, because Gerry never got upset at him asking. Well, hadn’t until now.

"Hm?", Gerry grumbled turning around slightly.

Michael hesitated, "Would...would you mind if I kissed your neck?"

Gerry turned his head back at that, "No."

Michael bit his lip before he carefully leaned closer, pressing his lips to the back of Gerry's neck, a butterfly kiss against the tender skin there.

"Was that okay?", Michael mumbled.

"Yeah.", Gerry hummed.

Michael did it again, hand running along Gerry's shoulder and down his arm. Gerry made a noise that sounded like a purr. Michael smiled, pleasantly surprised.

“Feel free to continue…”, Gerry mumbled, lowering his head, and Michael watched intently as more skin was exposed where the collar of his shirt got pulled down. Michael traced it with his fingertips, uncertain.

“Are...are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Michael? It felt nice…”, Gerry turned his head a bit, looking at Michael out of the corner of his eyes.

Only that was enough to make Michael blush, gaze as intense as it was beautiful. "Uh...I...I just thought because...well, it's...it's not going anywhere? I-in case you'd rather...not at all, then. B-Because I...I still do-"

"Michael", Gerry sighed, but instead of the annoyance Michael was expecting he sounded somewhat fond. He turned around completely then, propping himself up on his elbow. "Listen to me. So, first of all, I'm not waiting on changes so you don't have to, either. It sounds extra stressful and you have enough stress.", he smiled gently brushing Michael's curls out of his face. He pressed his lips to Michael's forehead and continued, "And secondly, do you know when I'm ever going to even consider questioning your motives?"

Michael looked taken aback, eyes big and uncertain, "I...n-no?"

"When you tell me, clearly, to my face, that I should because you are having doubts yourself. Before that, Michael, you could literally kiss every inch of my body if you'd want and it would still not make me question your identity, okay?"

Michael’s eyes were still wide, but now he looked like he was close to tears. He swallowed, nodding carefully, because he wasn’t sure his voice would work right now. It rarely did when Gerry was looking at him like that, like Michael was worthy of his undivided attention. Much less when he was saying things like that, things Michael sometimes allowed himself to dream of hearing from anyone, really, but never really let himself hope. He should keep expectations realistic. But Gerry kept breaking down all of what Michael considered realistic. Sometimes, it was a lot to take in.

Gerry gave him a moment to calm down before asking, "Can I kiss you, Michael?"

Another nod, and Gerry bent down to draw him into a sweet, tender kiss. Michael returned it, cradling Gerry’s face. They pulled away after a moment, Gerry caressing Michael cheek with the back of his hand. Michael looked more relaxed now, though Gerry was sure part of him was still freaking out. He was starting to be sure part of Michael was always freaking out about something. Gerry sighed as Michael took his hand, pressing a kiss to its palm. Gerry smiled.

"Gerry?", Michael whispered after another moment. His heart was racing, and he was already regretting opening his mouth.

Gerry looked back into his eyes, "Yes?"

Michael’s face was heating up, "Do you...uh, want to kiss my neck?", he mumbled, looking away in a feeble attempt to hide his blush.

"Do you want me to?", Gerry smiled.

Michael nodded, "O-only if you want, I...I understand if you'd rather not, I-if it gets too much a-and-"

Gerry raised an eyebrow, "Too much? For me?"

Michael tentatively looked back at him, "Y-yes? I...getting carried away?"

Gerry frowned. He disliked the certainty in Michaels voice as he said that. "Did...that happen before?"

Michael looked away again. Another nod, this one hesitant.

Gerry sighed, "Michael, look at me, please.", he looked into Michael’s eyes when Michael did bring himself to look back at Gerry, "How about I tell you if it gets too much for me and you tell me if you’re getting uncomfortable? Does that sound good?”

Michael took a moment before answering, "Yes."

"Good.”, Gerry smiled, caressing his cheek. “Can I kiss you again?”

Michael nodded, a shy smile appearing back on his lips. Gerry returned the smile before closing in, pressing their lips together. Michael wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

When they pulled away, Gerry ran a finger down Michael’s neck, “Do you still want me to kiss your neck?”

Michael nodded, “Yes.”

Gerry kissed his chin before pressing his lips to Michael’s neck, tentatively. He looked up at Michael, “Okay?”

Michael looked at him and nodded, “Yes. It...it’s nice.”, he smiled.

Gerry smiled, continuing to kiss Michael’s neck, caressing his jaw and cheek with his fingers. Michael sighed, leaning into the touch and relaxing into it, eyes fluttering close.

That wasn’t the last of Michael’s insecurities, of course, but he did try to remind himself of that morning when he felt like he might choke on his anxieties again. He wanted to trust Gerry because Gerry had no reason to lie about being fine. He reminded himself of that.

So did Gerry. Gerry was happy when he was with him. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference to him if that time was spent curled up on the couch or in bed, Michael’s fingers running down his back reverently, lips kissing a trail from Gerry’s shoulder to his ear, or whether it was spent talking with Michael, or trying to follow his instructions he was giving Gerry during one of their cooking lessons, laughter bubbling out of him - still the loveliest sound Gerry ever heard - at Gerry’s mumbled complaints when he managed to fuck up what had sounded to be pretty straightforward.

During neither situation did Gerry feel bothered by Michael’s lack of sexual interest. Gerry was much more concerned with the fact that Michael’s freckles were starting to fade as the days grew shorter, and Gerry hadn’t gotten to count them all. And he reminded Michael of that, too. The blush rising into Michael’s cheek at that was always beautiful to look at.

But moments in which Michael seemed to be suffocating on his worries seemed to be getting less frequent in general. Despite Michael always apologising for forcing Gerry to have the same conversation, it was definitely becoming more rare as time passed.

And Gerry didn’t mind, anyways. He really rather had Michael tell him about what was gnawing at him than having Michael sit in it, growing more and more anxious and losing sleep. It was much easier to try to soothe those anxieties when Michael told him what exactly they were, even if it often came down to the same. And it seemed to help Michael, too, to be able to put whatever was bothering him into words.

Michael sometimes still looked at Gerry nervously when he thought something he'd said might give incentive to confront him about whether he was actually sure about his identity. Which was a ridiculous thought to Gerry, since Michael talked in the same tone about people he considered beautiful than he did about a perfectly organised bookshelf. One time, Gerry told him that.

"Oh…", Michael had blushed a pretty red, "I like you more than a well organised bookshelf, Gerry!", hed said quickly, shuffling closer on the couch to wrap his arms around Gerry.

Gerry had laughed, "That's high praise coming from a future librarian. And not something I was worried about, really.”, he added, because part of him feared Michael might think that if he didn’t. He pulled Michael closer, caressing his arm, “I think you spend more time looking at me than at any heat bookshelf I've seen you pass, actually.”, he grinned at Michael, “Which is interesting considering it should take you longer to check if it really is organised to your taste than to look at somebody you've been seeing somewhat regularly for...what? Half a year now?"

"A bit longer, I think.", Michael said, chuckling, before looking at Gerry with a soft smile, “And I never know when I’ll actually see you again, Gerry. Or if you’re not going to be sprouting more than just a black eye and some cuts the next time. Or...if you’re going to be back at all.”, the smile vanished from his lips and he sighed, leaning his forehead against Gerry’s shoulder, “I don’t want to end up regretting not having spent enough time looking at you while I could.”

Gerry went silent, trying to understand what he had just heard. He cleared his throat before mumbling, “Wow, that...that’s dark.”

Michael looked back at his face, “Am I wrong? Is it a guarantee that you will come back from your work every time?”

And his eyes looked like he knew the answer already and it made Gerry’s chest ache, “No.”, he managed. Michael smiled, a small and sad thing, resigned. “I’m...I’m sorry.”, Gerry tried, caressing his cheek, because he didn’t want Michael to look like that, but he couldn’t do much to change that expression. Even the apology sounded somewhat hollow, despite Gerry genuinely meaning it. Michael deserved better than this.

Michael took his hand and squeezed it, trying for a happier smile, “It’s okay, Gerry. It’s...it’s not too different from how I usually approach my acquaintances, especially the ones I’d like to last. Like every time we meet might be the last time.”, Michal blushed at the realisation that he was sounding ridiculously dramatic again, which wasn’t at all how he meant it. He just was aware that people usually lost interest in him and just stopped being around. Or died. Or disappeared. It was fine. Michael was used to it.

Gerry was frowning at him, but there was a hint of humour in his voice when he spoke again, “Oh, christ, Michael. Starting to think you should be the one wearing all black.”

Michael grinned, “Oh, I used to! When I was a little younger.”

“Oh?”, Gerry grinned, eyes amused and curious, “I need to see that.”

“I’m afraid no photos exist of that time.”, Michael said, petting Gerry’s cheek lovingly.

Gerry laughed, “Well, if you won’t show me, I’ll just have to make you reconnect with that style again.”

Michael chuckled, tucking a stray black strand of hair behind Gerry's ear, “Maybe you should, one day.”

"Gerry, I don't understand how you never get cold arms.", Michael whined, rubbing his bare arms. Gerry’s bathroom was cold, but Gerry was, as usual, wearing something sleeveless, seemingly unbothered by the chill as he applied makeup to Michael’s face.

"And I don't understand how you can wear cardigans all year long, Michael.", Gerry grinned, "Hold still now, I'm nearly done.", he mumbled, gently tilting Michael's head back a little further for the finishing touches on his lips.

Michael's eyes fluttered close, throwing dark shadow over his pale cheeks and Gerry really wanted to kiss him but the lipstick wasn't dry yet.

"Done.", he exclaimed, stepping away from Michael, whose eyes opened again, meeting Gerry's, uncertain and questioning.

Gerry nodded towards the mirror, "You look great." He grinned.

Michael looked sceptical and got up to look at himself, ducking his head a little bit as he always had to with Gerry's bathroom mirror. Even when Michael had preferred black for his wardrobe, he never experimented much with makeup then. And while Gerry's black rimmed eyes, black eyeshadow and occasionally black lips looked quite striking on him, Michael didn't think it would work on himself. He was wrong. The contrast was starker than on Gerry's tan skin, and maybe it looked a little odd with the freckles, but it certainly worked. Michael particularly liked the glittery eyeshadow.

"You should wear this yourself more.", he mumbled, angling his face towards the light to watch the sparkle and grinning.

Gerry laughed, "I thought you'd like that one. Don't you want to check out the whole picture?"

Michael hesitated before nodding and turning his back to the mirror to follow Gerry out of the bathroom. They went to Gerry's room, where the only full body mirror in the apartment was.

"The skirt is still too short.", Michael mumbled on their way, disliking the feeling of the air against his knees as he walked.

"Your legs are just long. I buy my clothes to fit me , so of course they'd be a bit short on you.", he laughed and Michael sighed, smiling at the sound.

When they reached the bedroom, Gerry nodded for him to go to the mirror, grinning widely. Michael couldn't remember ever seeing him so excited. It was heartwarming, and he smiled back before stepping in front of the mirror.

He felt Gerry's gaze, expecting, as he took in his own reflection. It wasn't that Michael never wore black anymore, but he usually added some sort of colour, knowing that all black would draw as much attention as when he'd go outside with his indoor clothes. It didn't look bad, though.

The skirt was definitely shorter than he was comfortable with, the tanktop tighter than it was on Gerry, even though Gerry was quite a bit more buff than Michael. It also looked cropped on him. The skin peeking out between it and the waistband of the skirt was nearly blindingly pale in the midst of all the black. Michael checked one more time if the black nail polish was dry and then shoved his hands into the skirt pockets. It really looked odd. Like himself, still, very much, pale skin, blond curls down his back - he needed a haircut, he noted - and freckled face, eyes uncertain as always. But it also looked very much unlike himself. He missed colour.

"I look pale.", he stated after turning around a couple times, looking at himself in different angles.

"You are.", Gerry sighed, walking up to him and wrapping his arms around him. He leaned his head against Michael's arm, looking into the mirror, "You look striking."

Michael chuckled, taking one hand out of his pocket to run through Gerry's smooth hair. "I think this looks better on you."

Gerry hummed, "Want to change?"

Michael looked at his reflection again, "No, it's fine for now. Tonight."

Gerry nodded.

"But I will put my cardigan back on, Gerry, my arms are freezing.", he grinned.

Gerry laughed, rubbing Michael’s arms. They were cold, "I'm sure it'll bring the outfit together.", he pressed a short kiss to Michael's jaw. "I'll be in the kitchen, cake should be cool by now. Tea or cocoa?"

"Tea.", Michael smiled. He shivered when Gerry stepped away and out of the room, taking his warmth with him.

Gerry put on the kettle in the kitchen, cutting the cake Michael had baked before. He had just brought all into the living room, placing the mugs and plates with cake unto the coffee table, when Michael emerged again, this time wearing a chocolate brown cardigan that certainly clashed with the rest of the clothes but looked very much like Michael. Gerry chuckled and Michael smiled a little awkwardly before sitting down on the couch next to Gerry. His eyes fell on the mugs and plates, but also on the vase of sad, dry flowers.

"Gerry, I've told you before that you should really throw those away.", he laughed. Michael had been surprised when he had seen the wilted flowers weeks after he had brought them, still in their vase on the coffeetable. He had assumed Gerry had simply been too lazy to throw them away or forgotten to do so.

"I like them.", he said now, as he had the other times Michael had pointed them out to him,

Michael looked at him, "They're dead."

Gerry shrugged. He just couldn't bring himself to throw them away. Every time he looked at them he thought about Michael in his kitchen, soft smile and wild hair, delicate fingers caressing the soft petals of the flowers, and Gerry liked thinking about that every time he glanced at his coffee table.

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“You better get another vase, too, then, these are staying.”, Gerry laughed, taking one of the plates and starting to eat the cake. Michael shook his head, but smiled, taking one of the mugs.

Michael was approaching the end of his studies and was getting busier, so they didn’t see each other quite as much. Gerry would occasionally drag him out of his room when he felt like Michael hadn’t left it in too long, take him on a short walk and buy him something that wasn’t coffee, because Michael was drinking too much of that, somehow putting him more on edge than he usually was. On some of those instances Michael had been concerningly silent, too tired to react to what Gerry was saying with more than just a small smile. Michael assured him he was taking care, but they clearly hat varying definitions of what that meant.

Then again, Gerry didn’t really have the moral high ground in this either. He’d broken two ribs on his last Leitner hunt and still winced when he moved a bit too quickly. Even half-asleep, that always drew worried glances from Michael.

Before final exams and assignments really started, however, Michael invited Gerry over again. To relax before things got really stressful , he had said, looking like he hadn’t slept in at least a week. Gerry was starting to worry about what ‘really stressful’ meant to Michael. They baked muffins - Gerry was slowly turning into less of a liability in the kitchen - and Michael’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like months. Gerry’s presence always calmed him, and combining them with the comforting motions of baking was wonderful.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been free much.”, he mumbled as he put the muffin tray in the oven and turned around to see Gerry cleaning the dishes.

Gerry raised an eyebrow, “Michael, did you listen to your own sentence? That’s a weird thing to apologise for. I know it’s not your fault. It’s okay. I’m glad today worked out.” He smiled and dried off his hands.

Michael sighed, “I mean, it is. If I wouldn’t need so long to feel like I’ve studied enough-”

“Michael, you never feel like you’ve done enough. While I’d love for that to be different, it’s more because you clearly need a break more than the fact that our meetings have become a bit rarer.”, he tried for a grin, “It’s actually nice to not be the reason for that for once.”

Michael pouted at him, before sighing, “Fine.”, he walked over, putting his arms around Gerry and pulling him close, “Do you feel better from your last...accident?”

Gerry nodded, leaning into Michael’s hug. Every time he got hurt during one of his jobs Gerry became more aware of the fact that it was probably only a matter of time until Michael would be dragged into it, too. Gerry was always careful. But he knew that could only really do so much. He buried his face in Michael’s yellow sweater and breathed in. He didn’t want to think about that, now.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to tell me something, by the way?”, Gerry mumbled instead, trying to steer the conversation somewhere he wouldn’t have to be thinking of possibly being responsible for Michael’s death.

Michael froze, and Gerry felt a little bad for being pushy. Michael never forgot something like that, but he often needed time to find the courage to actually say whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

Gerry looked up at him, “Sorry, doesn’t have to be now, of course.”

Michael sighed, smiling down at him, “When the muffins are done.”, he wrapped a black strand of hair around his finger, watching it slide right off it as soon as he released the lock, “What have you been up to besides getting bruised and battered? Any new exciting books you came across?”

Gerry had to remind himself that Michael did not mean the ones he burned, but the ones he read, and let out a nervous breath, forcing his thoughts away from burning pages and Michael suffering, to the normal books he liked to read when he had the time. It became easier as he started talking, telling Michael of how he had passed his time lately as Michael started cleaning the kitchen, asking for details or adding something of his own occasionally until Gerry relaxed.

Gerry wasn’t used to talking a whole lot, but Michael still seemed to know how to make him when he felt Gerry’s thoughts were getting upsetting. Gerry was grateful for it, because he knew that when he got into a bad mood, he was a pain to deal with. Michael knew that, of course, it had happened once or twice, mostly in the beginning, before Michael had found ways to prevent Gerry from shutting down completely or getting snappy. They usually managed, now, and it was about when Gerry was really running out of things to say when Michael got the muffins out of the oven. He put a couple on a plate, hissing as they burned his fingers. Gerry grabbed to mugs of tea and followed as Michael made his way to his room.

They sat down on Michael’s bed, and Michael sighed, as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He mumbled, “My roommate’s moving out.”

Gerry looked at him, surprised, “Oh? After exams?”

Michael nodded.

“What about you?”, Gerry asked because he knew Michael wasn’t good with new people and would probably avoid finding a new roommate, if he could. He just wasn’t sure if Michael was making enough money to afford something passable by himself.

Michael was starting to bite his lip, wringing his hands in his lap and avoiding Gerry’s eyes. Gerry knit his brows after that went on for a moment, Michael clearly wanting to say something but was struggling to do so.

“Michael?”, he asked carefully.

“Uh…”, Michael turned around, so he was looking at Gerry, “I was wondering...wanted to ask...i-if you want to consider? Maybe? Y-You don’t have to, I...I can try to...to find somebody else but...I...I think I would like you to move in, if you’d...if you’d want.”, his cheeks were burning by the end of the sentence, and Gerry was impressed that he managed to not give into the urge of looking away again, eyes big and nervous, as he started scratching at his arm.

Gerry felt his own face heating up as the words caught up with him, “O-Oh...oh.”, was all he managed, licking his lips and rubbing the back of his neck.

That wasn’t what he had expected. At all. Ever, really. As much as he loved having Michael over or being here, as much as he enjoyed the domesticity their dates had taken on, Gerry had never allowed himself to dream of it as a permanent arrangement. Too many factors spoke against that. Too many spoke of early death for the both of them if Michael kept sticking around. But would it even make such a difference if they moved into the same place? Maybe it would even be better. Gerry would be there if something would come for Michael.

Michael was regretting his question, eyes desperate as he tried to take it back, “Y-You don’t have to! I...I know it’s a bit of a short notice and...and I know your apartment is nice and probably in a better location than this a-and of course, you-”

“No, Michael, no, that...that’s not it, I…”, Gerry swallowed, “I...I think I’d like that.”

Michael stared at him, clearly expecting him to be joking. Gerry gave him a small, shy smile.

“I...Are you...sure?”, Michael asked, tentatively.

Gerry nodded, “Yes. I...I am.”

Michael’s face lit up and he threw his arms around Gerry’s neck, hugging him close and burying his face in Gerry’s hair, letting out a relieved sigh. Gerry chuckled, returning the hug and running his hand through Michael’s hair.

Michael suddenly froze again, at that, pulling away a little, “I-If you...if you change your mind, Gerry, you-”

Gerry sighed, pulling him back and nuzzling his shoulder, “I’ll tell you. But for now...I think it’d be nice.”

Michael allowed himself to relax a little, combing through Gerry’s hair, mind already trying to imagine how it would be to be able to do this more often if Gerry really did move in, but also trying to not think about that in case Gerry ended up changing his mind, which would be understandable, really, but if he didn’t Michael could see him every morning, or most, the bleary eyes and messy hair and sleepy smile, and Michael felt like he might combust with warmth and excitement at that.

“Can I try a muffin?”, Gerry mumbled after a moment.

Michael laughed, letting go of him, “Yes, of course. I hope they’re to your liking!”, he said, taking the plate and holding it out to Gerry.

Gerry smiled, taking one and biting into it, leaning his head against Michael’s arm. They were good, as always. Michael took one for himself, settling against Gerry with his tea and sighing blissfully. He felt much better now that he had finally asked. And Gerry’s answer had certainly made worth all the time it had took him to work up the courage to do so.

It was evening and the muffins were gone, the mugs empty, and they were now laying on Michael's bed and Michael was stressing out about his final assignments and about what he would do after he was done with university . Gerry listened patiently, playing with a particularly tight corkscrew curl that was laying on the pillow, making small, reassuring noises occasionally. He knew it didn't help to tell Michael things would be alright, but he still liked to do it. He hoped Michael would remember when he was particularly down about everything.

After a while, Michael fell silent, exhausted and defeated, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh and throwing a long arm over his eyes. Gerry noted that his nail polish was still immaculate despite a week having passed since Gerry painted them for Michael. It had taken a lot of convincing, but eventually Michael agreed to try it. He had chosen a barely noticeable light pink and, as far as Gerry could tell, hadn’t had any unwanted attention because of it. Gerry was glad about that since Michael seemed very happy with how they had turned out. Gerry wanted him to have something that made him happy. Gerry traced Michael's thumb nail delicately.

"Have you found something?", Gerry asked curiously, after the silence had stretched on for a bit.

"Hm…?", Michael let his arm move up, so he could look up at Gerry, who was still propping himself up on his elbow beside him.

"You mentioned you also started looking into possible jobs so you're not stuck in limbo after you graduate-"

"If I graduate."

Gerry sighed. Of course he would graduate. But Michael didn't want to hear about that, "If you graduate. I was wondering if anything caught your eye?"

Michael dropped his arm further back, letting it rest on his hair on the pillow, "Hm...actually, yes. I saw that...uhm...the Magnus Institute was hiring.", he said it quickly, in hope Gerry wouldn't hear because he didn't want Gerry to know he was silly enough to be interested in such an institution.

Gerry froze and Michael was regretting speaking, was about to play it off as a joke, but when he saw Gerry’s expression it died on his lips. Gerry didn't look annoyed at Michael being ridiculous, he looked shocked, terrified even.

"No.", he said when Michael was about to ask if everything was okay and his voice was off, shaky.

Michael sat up, eyeing him, worried, "Gerry? What..what is it?", he asked, touching Gerry’s cheek gently with his fingertips.

Gerry took in s shaky breath, "My...parents. They worked for the Institute."

Michael's eyes went wide. Gerry never talked about his family. He only vaguely mentioned that his father died before he could remember him, and that he grew up with his mother. The way Gerry said the word mother made Michael assume that it hadn't been a good experience and he didn't pry. Gerry clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"Oh...okay? And...was it-"

"Please don't go there, Michael. It's...its not good. They...I…", Gerry was trying, desperately, to come up with some way of explaining without actually explaining all the fears and everything else.

Michael was watching him helplessly, wanting to make this easier for him, but not knowing what ‘this’ even was. And Gerry couldn't take that look. Michael deserved knowing, deserved Gerry being honest. But Gerry was afraid of what that might do. Michael might hate him by the end. He couldn't unknow if Gerry told him and then he was stuck with a reality far scarier than the one that already freaked him out. Gerry was afraid his eyes might lose their shine in the face of the truth.

"Michael, do you really want to know what my work is?", he ended up asking.

Michael knit his brows, confused, "You...do you work for the Institute?" That didn't make any sense. Michael knew how paper cuts looked, and Gerry certainly came away from work with much worse and deeper injuries than one should get from working in a place like that.

Gerry laughed, but it was short and humourless, "Hell no. But...well, we deal with the same."

"What?", Michael blinked, confused, because Gerry was implying his job had something to do with the paranormal and Michael didn't think Gerry was one to believe in such things. Michael never assumed anyone in their right mind was, of course. Maybe Gerry was referring to something else.

Gerry took a deep breath. And then he told Michael about everything. He watched Michael nervously, unable to imagine what his reaction could be. Gerry never thought he’d ever tell anyone. Michael’s face went through a variety of expressions, confusion, disbelieve, worry, fear, but he listened, nodding for Gerry to go on when latter asked whether he should stop.

Silence stretched on when Gerry finished.

“Should...should I go? Do you need space?”, Gerry asked eventually, because Michael’s face had taken on a worrying blank expression.

He snapped out of it at that, looking at Gerry, “What? No! I...I’m sorry, I was just...I was just thinking.”, he ran a hand through his hair, “I...things...might make more sense now…”

“Things?”, Gerry asked, surprised.

Michael looked at him, uncertain. “If...if you don’t mind, I’d rather tell you some other time. I need...to think. And I’m feeling quite tired by now.”

Gerry nodded, confused about what Michael could possibly mean. But he didn’t push. “Do you want me to go? So you can think?”, he asked instead.

Michael shook his head, “No, I think I’d like to let myself sleep in tomorrow for the last time.”, he blushed, “That...That’s always a lot nicer with you.”

Gerry smiled, still a bit shaken by the relative muted reaction of Michael to everything, “Alright. I’ll go change, then, okay?”

Michael nodded, pressing a kiss to Gerry’s cheek, before Gerry got up and left with what had by now become his designated pyjamas. Michael always kept them washed and folded in the same place in his closet, loving watching Gerry bury his nose in the soft fabric, taking in the scent.

He got up himself after Gerry had left for the bathroom, changing into his own sleeping clothes before bringing the dishes into the kitchen. His mind was still whirring from what Gerry had told him, but he knew he was too tired to really process it now. He hoped his exhaustion would win over his racing thoughts so he could sleep tonight.

They were curled up in Michael’s bed little later, Michael’s head tucked under Gerry’s chin, Gerry’s hand resting on his back. Neither of them was sleeping, but both were trying to shut down their thoughts so sleep could finally come. Neither of them was very successful with that.

It was Gerry who broke the comfortable silence, fingers tracing patterns on Michael’s back, "Michael?"

"Hm?", came the mumbled answer. Michael definitely sounded like he needed to sleep. Gerry wished he knew how to help.

"You know...you know monsters could find you right? I mean...more...possible. B-Because of me. They...they might follow.", Gerry asked instead, trying to calm his own worries. Maybe it would help calm Michael’s, too.

Michael pressed his face into his chest with a mumbled ‘yes’ for an answer.

Gerry bit his lip, "And...you're okay with that?"

Now Michael pulled away a bit, and Gerry let go of him, in case he wanted more space. Michael stayed close, but looked up at Gerry, "Gerry did you just ask me whether I'm okay with possibly being hunted by monsters?", he said, voice a bit clearer now, and a little amused.

Gerry blushed, hoping the relative darkness in the room would hide it. Of course it was a silly question. Who would be okay with that? Gerry just hadn’t been sure if Michael had thought about that in his tired state. He hadn’t said anything about it, after all. "Well...yes? If you'd rather change your mind about moving in...or-or even dating...I...it's...I’d get it, I mean."

Now Michael sighed and moved so his head was laying next to Gerry’s, eyes locking with Gerry’s, "Gerry, this is worth possible death by the paranormal to me, okay?”, he brushed Gerry’s hair behind his ear, “I...You're home, Gerry. You make me feel like I can be myself.”, Michael let out an awkward chuckle, cheeks red, before he grinned at Gerry, “Fuck possible monster attacks, I've dreamed of this for all my life and I will not let that cut it short."

Gerry looked at him, speechless, the light seeping in from the window illuminating Michael’s eyes, brimming with defiant happiness and affection, and Gerry didn’t know what he could possibly say to somebody who looked at him like this at the prospect of the monsters that were always a constant in Gerry’s life catching up with him.

"You're a strange one", Gerry finally managed, because he wanted to say something, wanted to put the overwhelming awe he was feeling into some shape or form, into words.

Michael chuckled, taking Gerry’s hand under the covers and squeezing it, "Says the one who just told me his job is hunting evil magical books." His grin was wide and fond.

Gerry returned it, "Fair.", he said, squeezing back.

Michael yawned, shuffling closer again, “Let’s sleep…”

“Yeah, sounds good.”, Gerry mumbled, pressing him close and hiding his face in soft curls.

Soon, they were both fast asleep.

#gerrymichael #gerry keay #Gerard Keay #Michael Shelley #fluff #with some angst #another ace!Mike one #another one riddled with anxiety

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dakotacrisis · 4 years

Text

Deal’s End (5)

Paris and desires are burning this day

(Read on AO3)

---

“Up and at em, love.” Felix smacked Marinette awake with a pillow. “Time for school.”

“Since when are you excited to go to school?” Marinette chucked the pillow back at him.

“How about you get up and stop questioning me? We got work to do and a boy’s bed to get you into!”

“Once again, I am only fifteen!” Marinette dropped out of bed.

“Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” Marinette tried to speak but Felix cut across her, “And don’t bother lying, you’re hotter than a desert for him.”

“Surprised you didn’t say hot as hell.” Marinette smirked as she went to get dressed.

“Honestly, it isn’t that hot unless you’re at the burning fields.” Felix caught the night shirt she tossed over the screen, “The whole place is more humid than anything which I think is almost worst. It is warm but it is also moist...I do not miss it.”

“Sounds gross.” Marinette emerged from behind the screen now dressed. “I’m gonna grab some breakfast, want me to sneak you anything?”

“A croissant.”

“Nutella to go with it?”

“Always.”

“Got it.” Marinette walked downstairs and ate her breakfast with her family. She smothered a croissant in nutella for Felix and walked out of the house. Felix followed shortly behind munching happily on his food.

“You know, if you just knocked on the front door you could come and eat breakfast with us. My parents never object to another mouth to feed.”

“Nah. This is fine.” Felix jammed the rest of the croissant in his mouth.

As soon as they stepped outside Marinette shrugged off her cardigan. “Nothing I love more than a late spring heat wave. Why is it so hot today?”

“Global warming?” Felix shrugged. They walked into class and it seemed everyone else was feeling the heat despite the air conditioning. Marinette pulled up the forecast and saw that it now predicted a heatwave for the next couple of days before dropping back down to normal temperatures. Looks like sundress season was coming sooner than they thought.

They sat down for class and Ms. Bustier started the lesson by announcing a project. They would be focusing on temptation in literature. Particularly, they were to focus on the classic literary theme of temptation: knowledge, desire and chaos used as a foil to innocence and youth. Such examples being the biblical creation myth, the greek Hades and Persephone myth, Christina Rosetti’s Goblin Market, and Spencer’s The Faerie Queen.

Marinette couldn’t help the look she sent Felix who was pleasantly listening to the assignment. Why did she have the itching feeling he may have dabbled with the lesson plan?

“We’ll be doing these in pairs.” Ms. Bustier pulled out a list, “Alya and Kim. Sabrina and Max. Chloe and Alix. Nino and Ivan. Mylene and Rose. Adrien and Marinette. Juleka and Nathaneal.”

Adrien and Marinette! They were paired?! What miracle was responsible for…

Her glee died down as she cast another glance back at Felix. He gave her a subtle thumbs up.

When she turned back around Adrien was watching her with a smile. “Looks like we’re partners.”

“Yeah, so it seems.” She smiled back.

After explaining the rest of the project Ms. Bustier let them get together to start working. Felix stood off to the side unperturbed by the busy students around him. The teacher hadn’t called his name during the pairings. How could she forget to slot him somewhere? Or more likely that was just more of his powers to influence the world around him so he didn’t need to do any actual work. Now that Marinette thought about it she never saw Felix do any assignments but he always turned in homework. Was he miracling his way through the class? What a cheater!

“I’m rather excited about this project.” Adrien took the vacant seat next to Marinette. “It’s so different from what we usually cover in class.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She forced a laugh. They went over the project and created an outline before the bell signaled the end of class. It was a short day so they only had a few more classes before everyone departed the school.

Marinette pinched Felix’s arm as they left. “Did you have something to do with the lesson plan today?”

“Who? Me?” Felix feigned innocence, “What makes you think that I would ever do something like that?”

“The exploration of temptation in period literature? You want me to believe that it was one big coincidence?”

“I gotta have some fun. Also, I worked hard enough creating that lesson plan last night while you were up in your room doodling. I was gonna see some fruition with it!”

“Wait, you actually created the project? You didn’t just put the idea in the teacher’s head?”

“I am a rather smart demon with an affinity for literature. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“Felix, the demonic teacher. It sounds like the plot of an anime.”

Marinette was in a happy mood as she ascended the steps up to her room. Maybe she could even work up the courage to text Adrien.

“Whatcha doing?” Felix peered over her shoulder.

“Trying to think of something normal to text Adrien.” She sighed, “You’re my wingman, help me.”

“Got it.” he took the phone out of her hands and turned it off.

“Felix! Why did you do that?” She gaped at him. “I’m finally taking some initiative to be social with my crush and you do this?”

“It’s too soon. You want him to text you first.”

“But--”

“Ah ah ah!” he shushed her, “You asked for my help and you are going to get it and respect my choices. Trust me. It’ll all work out.”

“I hope for your sake it does.”

“Ooh, scary lady.” He tapped the fan and turned it on. “Hmm, I have an idea in the works. I’ll come back to you.”

“Are you actually going to inform me about the plan this time?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you that part one involves you inviting mister perfect over here to work on your project tomorrow.”

“Alright, that shouldn’t be too hard. We do need to work on it after all. What’s part two?”

“Still working on that. But you need to make sure to leave at least a ten minute gap between when you get home and when he comes over.”

“Why?”

“Again, still a work in progress. Just make sure it gets done.”

“Okay.”

The next day after classes concluded Marinette did as Felix instructed and invited Adrien over to her house to study.

“Sounds good.” Adrien nodded. “I need to stop by my house first though. That okay?”

“Perfect. Drop by when you’re done.” There. Adrien was coming over and she had some time to kill before he did.

While Marinette was trusting that whatever Felix was planning was going to help she couldn’t help but add a little something to the afternoon. She had mentioned to her parents she was going to bring Adrien over to the house to study and requested that they make them a special snack. They knew how she felt about him so they were only too eager to help in any way they could.

After school let out and Marinette went back to the bakery she picked up the box her dad had prepared and went upstairs.

“What’s in the box?” Felix asked trying to open it. “Did you order something special for me for being such a great wingman?”

“You wish.” Marinette held the box out of his reach. “These are passion fruit eclairs with italian meringue that I asked my parents to make special since passion fruit is Adrien’s favorite flavor. So keep your hands off them!”

“That’s not fair! Just one!” He reached again.

“Back off devil boy!” She unlocked the apartment door. “If there are any leftover you can--oh my god why is it so hot in here?!”

“Hoo, yeah, it is definitely toasty in here.” Felix pulled on his collar. “I knew it was gonna be warm but damn this is better than I could have imagined.”

“You would like this.” Marinette set the box in the fridge to keep cool. “Remind you of home?”

“Vaguely. But this is all part of the plan.”

“Plan? Wait, did you turn off the air conditioning?” Marinette sneered. “Felix! It is a billion degrees in here!”

“I know, which is why you should change into something more comfortable.” He handed her a stack of clothes he wasn’t holding before.

“Are you dressing me now?” Marinette looked at the outfit choice. A pair of shorts and a crop top. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“I cannot wear this in front of him!” She threw the shirt at him. “Also, when were you in my closet?”

“That’s not important. What is important is that you go get dressed. Adrien may be here any minute.”

“I am not putting this on!”

“Listen, a little primal attraction can help turn the tide of emotion. At the very least seeing you in that outfit should put some saucy thoughts in his head which is a step of getting you out of the friend-zone.”

“It seems dirty though.”

“It’s not like I’m telling you to lounge on the couch in your birthday suit while smooth jazz plays. It is literally just a peek of flesh. Also, you two kept making those food puns yesterday so he’ll appreciate the shirt.”

“All This & Dim Sum.” Marinette sighed as she looked at the cute little cartoon of dim sum. “Fine. I’ll wear it. But I swear if this backfires I am going to invest in a holy water spray bottle.”

Despite her better judgement Marinette changed into the outfit. It was more of something she’d wear around the house by herself. Not for what was essentially a study date. Hopefully Adrien didn’t think it was too weird.

“Now that’s much better.” Felix smiled when she reappeared. “Looking hot, love!”

“Yeah, it’s a million degrees in here!” Marinette grabbed a glass of water.

“That not what I--nevermind.” Felix was looking a little feverish himself.

A knock on the door startled them both. “Lover boy is here.” Felix walked up to Marinette’s room. “Good luck, hot stuff.”

Marinette shook her head. He was so weird. She took a deep breath and braced herself as she opened the door. “Hey Adrien, glad you could come over.”

His gaze raked over her none too subtly and she noticed him visibly gulp. “Me too.” His voice broke and Marinette tried not to laugh. “Ahem, I mean uh…it’s kinda hot in here isn’t it?”

“The air conditioning broke. Poor timing for it too.” She shrugged. “But once you get used to it it isn’t that bad.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Adrien stepped inside. They set up on the couch to work and Marinette grabbed them both something cold to drink so they weren’t dying of heat stroke.

Things were going well enough and they were getting a lot of work done. The only problem was that Adrien was intentionally avoiding looking directly at her the entire time. She knew it! This outfit was uncomfortable for the both of them.

“What are you doing?” Felix popped up next to her out of nowhere.

She yelped and bumped into Adrien. “Something wrong?” Adrien asked. He looked at where Marinette was staring but saw nothing.

“Uh nothing, sorry, thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye.” She laughed it off. She glared back at Felix after Adrien looked away. ‘What?’ she mouthed.

“Make a move already.” Felix said, “It has been painful watching you two dance around each other like this.”

She gave him another look as if to say, ‘What do you want me to do?’

“Put this,” he grabbed her hand, “here.” He placed it on Adrien’s thigh.

Oh god...what had he done? Adrien looked over at her with wide eyes. She couldn’t look away and curse Felix out for doing this. She’d look insane. Not that she didn’t look insane right now with her hand still on Adrien’s thigh and nothing to say! Felix put her in this mess and wasn’t helping her get out of it.

“Uh,” she removed her hand, “Would you like a snack?” Her voice was at least three times too high to be normal.

“Oh, um, sure.” His face was impossibly red.

“Cool.” Marinette darted from the couch to grab the eclairs out of the fridge. She passed Felix and shot him a dirty look. He was gonna get an earful later.

She plopped back down on the couch with the box in her lap. “Here,” she opened it, “They’re passion fruit.”

“Really?” Adrien shifted so he could get a closer look. Their legs were touching! “Passion fruit is my favorite.”

“I know.” Marinette smiled nervously. Adrien looked her back in the face with a smile that matched her own.

“I didn’t say anything earlier but that is a cute shirt.” Adrien pointed, “Did you make that?”

“This? Oh no, I bought it at this little boutique. Half the clothes in there have puns of some sort on them.”

“Sounds like my kind shop.” Adrien laughed.

“Yeah, if you want crop tops or bodysuits.” She grabbed an eclair.

“You...uh...you shop there often?” Adrien mumbled between bites.

“Why you wanna know? Want to see if I have matching booty shorts?” She teased.

Adrien’s face caught fire once again. Where had that come from? Felix was still in the corner and gave her a double thumbs up. She was hanging around this demon too much. He was rubbing off on her. She never would have dared say something so cheeky before.

Felix disappeared again and Marinette decided to cool off with the flirting.

They finished their work early and Marinette walked Adrien to the door. “Sorry about the heat.” She apologized, “But at least we finished the project.”

“Yeah.” Adrien looked her over one more time. “Hopefully next time I’m over the A/C will be working.”

Marinette’s heart leapt at the thought of him coming over again. “Yeah, totally,” She grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school then.”

“See you.” Adrien opened the front door and ran into Felix who was waiting on the other side. “Oops, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Felix shrugged and strolled inside. “It is a sauna in here! What were you two crazy kids getting up to?”

“Our project.” Marinette flicked the side of his head. “What are you doing here?”

“I was informed there was food.” Felix eyed the box of leftover eclairs. He grabbed it before looking back at Marinette. “Looks like the pastries aren’t the only snack in here. Looking good, Marinette!”

“Felix!” Marinette screeched. Adrien was right there!

“What?” he shoved an entire eclair in his mouth, “Adrien, lad, don’t you agree?”

“I uh…” Adrien looked down sheepishly.

“On second thought, she isn’t a snack.” Felix shook his head and leaned closer to Adrien, “She’s the whole damn meal.”

“Out!” Marinette shoved him out the door. “Take the eclairs and go!”

“Touchy.” Felix rolled his eyes. “I’m leaving. See ya!” Felix rushed downstairs and into the neighboring apartment he supposedly lived in.

“I’m sorry about him.” Marinette sighed, “His people skills are not the best.”

“He is certainly outspoken.” Adrien chuckled. “But he was right about one thing.”

“What?”

“You look good.” Adrien nodded. “You always look good.”

“Oh,” Marinette blushed, “Thank you.”

With that Adrien left leaving Marinette with a lot fo warring feelings in her head. She wanted to ring Felix’s neck for his interference but in the end it had worked. Adrien had been flirting with her. Adrien thought she looked good! She was gonna swoon!

“I think that went rather well.” Felix appeared next to her with a now empty eclair box. “Don’t you?”

“YOU!” Marinette seethed. “What was that! What were you thinking? Why did you put my hand on his thigh like that?!”

“Cause you weren’t making a move!” He snapped his fingers and the air turned back on instantly cooling the room again. “And look what happened. Everything turned out fine.”

“And your intrusion right at the end?”

“I was aiming just to get the eclairs before you could offer the rest of them to mister perfect. But I saw another opportunity to talk you up and I think it still worked out.”

“Whatever,” Marinette sighed. “I’m too sweaty and frazzled to deal with you right now.”

She looked up at him and swiped a bit of cream off his face. She popped the finger in her mouth licking the cream off. “I’m gonna get a shower.”

“Right.” Felix nodded furiously. “I’m gonna throw this box away.”

Felix quickly exited the room.

“Okay?” What was his problem? Did he forget there was a garbage can right here? He was out of her hair at least. She bound into the bathroom to wash away the grime of the hot afternoon. Tomorrow was another day and with it was most likely another plan of Felix’s that she needed to be ready for.

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(1) (2) (3) (4) (6)

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(tagged)

@sannsibarr @miss-mysterys-blog @maribug-adrienoir @mermaidreject @corabeth11 @goblinwhoships @symwinter

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #felix #felinette #demon au #writing

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ssin-ent · 5 years

Text

First time

[warning:smut,idol!johnny x normal !fem reader]

may I request first time with Johnny , you are normal girl and he is idol!au, lil bit longer and smut and fluffy romantic hehe thankyou for making this blog! And happy 400subs! Love ya!❤️

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(I may have mistaken morning with night I'm sorry❤️)

but here is it,thank you for the wait love!💕hope you enjoy,I did my best with the soft and fluffy part I'm not used to it,I'm into more kinky and rough stuff so I'm sorry if you can see that I'm less comfortable or it's worst than the usual😥aww thank youu! love you too💖

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Johnny and you have been together for quite a long time,you were now in more than an established relationship.Things weren’t always that easy, in fact his work as an idol was something you needed to get over ,it meaned more day were you’d miss him,waiting till late at night so he could finish practice or any recording waiting patiently for one of his text butthis was enough to put a smile on your face,wishing him a good night or a good day and going to sleep peacefully.Timezones, was something you had to also get used to,when you woke up he would go to sleep,that caused you a lot of night without sleep but that was worth it,you got to hear the sound of his voice and that made would all the problems dissappear.

Johnny was someone really affectionate ,you never thought that with such a busy schedule he always found time for little attentions that never failed to warm your heart,but he also never failed to tease you,or spoil you with any type of gift,nothing was never too much when it cameto you,his eyes shining everytime he looked a you,the little smirk he had everytime you were wearing one of his clothes, and the blush on his cheeks forming and the cute laugh he gives you when you say it’s because you loved his scent.

And now you were particularly missing him,missing all of him,his touch,his voice,everything.

He was supposed to call you anytime soon ,laying on your bed,wearing oneof his hoodie he gave you(-to not say you steal it from him-) ,you were missing his hands on your waist,the time where he was holding you close smiling against you neck,you were imaginning how he would start to nip at your neck,leaving kiss on your collarbone than up to your cheek and - the sound of your phone got you out of your dream:itwas him,he sent you a textyou could feel your heart about to burst in your chest,any sign of tiredness being immediatly wiped away.

[johnny🥰]

-hi babe,how are you?I’m sorry for texting later, I'm still at practice so I couldn't call you.I hope I didn't woke you up.

[Y/N💕]

-no,no i’m fine i was waiting for your text ,I really miss you ,you know...when are you coming home?

[Johnny🥰]

tomorrow love,tomorrow ,I miss you too,I can't wait to kiss you,and hold you.

[Johnny🥰]

To put my hand arround your waist and nip at your skin,leaving kisses everywhere.

You felt butterflies in your stomach,the jdea kf his touch seemed so unrealistic,yet you were craving for it.

[Y/N💕]

-j-johnny,stop🙈I'm missing you even more

[Y/N💕]

-I can't way to cuddle you🥺

[Johnny🥰]

-me too,babe see you tomorrow okay? I need to go now,I love you❤️

[Y/N]

-I love you too💓

And with that you went to sleep,well to be true you slept only a few hours,you were way too exited,wanting the hours to pass faster.

As soon as you wake up you got dressed up to go out and do some shopping,it's been month since you last saw him,so you decided to prepare a nice dinner for both of you,along with some decoration fot the table and a new dress

You spent the rest of your afternoon cooking for him various plates,you tried your best but you still don't know how the kitchen ended up being such a mess.

Once you cleaned,you dressed up the table,grey and dark grey place ,plate made of transparent glass mat,pretty candles,and white flowers at the center

that was pretty cliche,but Johnny loved everything of it

seing the time on the clock indicating 7 you jumped in the shower to get ready .too busy a rincer the shampoo of your hair and the music covering any external sound you didn't hear when johnny got home,called for your name and didn't see the look on his face at the view of what you prepared for him,he didn't asked for so much but he felt in heaven right now but all he needed is you,he wanted to see you now,

hearing the shower running on the floor tiles he decided to join you,quietly knocking at the door to not scare you,shyly asking of he could join you and you hapily obliged

as soon as he got under the water,he started to kiss you,his hands on your waist holding you close,his lips never leaved yours as if he was scared to loose you

his lips trailed further down,on your cheek,at your jaw stopping times to times to whisper in your ear how much he loved you,beforr continuing to kiss down your nect before resting his face there,in the crook of your neck,without moving ,your hands in his hair stroking it softly,he never wanted to move,never wanted to leave,to leave you.

then he started to nip at your neck,running his tongue on the flesh from times to times and you know where this would lead,but not now,not when you'd risk to burn the whole kitchen with the food still in the hoven

-johnnyyyyyyy,I need to prepare!!the food will burn

-but you're already gorgeous,why prepare?stay

*he said tightening his hold on your waist

-but you'll starve!

-I still could eat you he said wiggling his eyes brows

-tsk johnnyy, *you tapped his shoulder*come on I go prepare ,join me in the kitchen okay

and you leaved to go in the bedroom,drying yourself before putting the dress you bought earlier this afternoon,with the new earring,you put some make up on and got back to the kitchen

when he saw he was taken aback ,you looked gorgeous in his eyes ,nothing looked more beuatiful than you,and you more than knew that thanks to alll the compliments he made you durig the dinner and the way hisneyes were shining,and never leaving yours

after the dinner you decide to watch a mvi together ,tangled up underneath the blanket,with your boyfriend stroking up and down your thighs.

Again you both started to kiss the movie long forgotten,as you got on his lap,and started to leave mark on hid collarbones,he threw his head back softly moaning,his hands started to roam under your dress,gropping your thighs,

before he took the lead and left mark on your neck collarbone at his turn,and leading further down soon close to your breast before ,pulling the fabric further down,kissing and liking in between them ,you were already panting and moaning hisname,your heart rate increasing at what could happen next,your hand his hair was gently grasping it,at a whine of his name,he looked up at you,as he was speaking his lips were glistening

“can I?” he asked softly as if sacred to break you,

he already saw you top half naked before but not in such ways he wanted to make sure you were comfortable

”tell me when you want to stop,if you feel burdened o-or anything tell me,i’m not forcing you into anything a-”

you cut him off with a long kiss,you felt the extement growing up and you felt so loved in hands,under his stare .

when he took off your bra his lips immediatly attching to your nippe sucking softy his other hand on the small of your arching back rubbing gently.

he kissed you once again,sloppily tracing your bottom lip,with his tongue while massaging your chest causing you to grinding timidly againt his,he felt thhe movement of your hips and kissed your foreheadgiving you a look asking for your consent .

When you nodded he picked you up leading you to your bedroom,feeling shy,you hide your face in the crook of his neck wich he giggled to ,giving a peck to your shoulder.

he layed you carrefully on the ved as if you were made of glass,he carefully took off your dress before overing you,resting his forehead again yours mutering a “your so beautiful "

before kissing you,you whined feeling exposed while was still fully clothed ,he quickly got rid of his shirt,and saw your eyes wandering over his body,taking in the sight of his myscular features,he giggled before kissing you again

”you’re even more beautiful”

once he again his kisses all over your frame started again ,leaving no part of your skin,he made his way down .

When he reached your belly button helooked up at you,looking for any sign of you not wanting it anymore but you were O caught in the feeling chest heaving up and down;so he continued kissing over your panties,slowly stroing your thighs whn your breath hitched as he did so.

gently spreading your thighs ,he leaved kisses here and there.As he took of your panties,you hiden your face in embarassement.He already saw you fully naked before,during the bath and shower you shared but this was different the heat couldn’t help but gros in your cheeks,

he reached up to take your hands in yours

”don’t be embarassed baby,it’s just me ,I love every part of you,you know that right?he said stroking your cheek wirh his thum ,you gave him a smal nod

he smie widely at you,”you sure you still want this,we can’t stop now if you want”

you gave a small squeeze to his hand “i want this ,I-i’m sure,I want you johnny”

he seemed more realxed nowhe kissed your cheek”you can have all of me, baby,i’m all yours”

And with that he reached for in between your thighs,delivering soft kisses,still not letting go of your hand,

he gave a gentle lick to your wetness making you whine and your breath itch at the unfamiliar feeling,he kissed your clit again beofre licking for and more ever so slowly and gently ,

he didn’t wanted to overwhelmed you.he rubbed the bacl of your hand before licking a fat stripe up tour clit applying more pressure making you moan out loud,that was the green light for him,eating you out more intesely

And you started to letout moans more frequently unable to hold them,the presence of johnny and his hand in yours so reassuring.”do you like it princess?does it feel good?”you eagerly nodded,”y-yes johnny p-please c-dontinue”you say almost out of breath

And he put his head down again this time rubbing the inside of your thighss,letting his tongue prob at your entrance,he let go of your thigh,to rub your clit slowly as he was letting his tongued going in and out of you

,when you started to buck your hips his movement got a bit faster.your moans turned into whimpers the pressure building in your stomach,you were squirming,hips bucking and back arching ,

only his name was on your lips,he saw you getting sensitive so he opted for kissing you ,letting the movement of his tumb over you clit slow down

”shh breathe baby” he said kissing your lips when your breathing calmed down,he ran his finger in between your fold

he held your hand tighter ,bringing up to give little kissing on the top of it,”i need to prepare you baby,idon’t want to hurt you,if it gets to luch let me know okay”

you nodded,trying to relaw as muh as you could,you were with johnny anyway,what could turn wrong.

still not lettinging go of your hand he overed you,kissing you,your cheek,neck and jaw to distract you as he was slipping a finger inside you,thrusting it slowly,as he thrusted a second finger he felt your body tense up

”you’re doing so well baby”he said kissing you,so he optef for not moving but never stopping his kisses and start thrusting again

when he heard your littles whines who soon turned into mouth the more he thrusted ;the feeling of his fingers curling up making you feel blisfull now gripping his shoulder.Your high soon to approach but he disguarded his fingers he wanted to make you cum on his cock tonigh.

At the sight of your poutty lips he pecked your nose,giggling”don’t pout cutie ,I’ll make you soon feel so much better”

Now johnny was gettingrid of his pants,you were quite taken aback at the sight of his cock,he was pretty big to be true and you were scared if was going to hurt,but a part of you wanted to taste him but that’d be for another time.

laying over you again he saw the worried look in your eyes”don’t worry love,I will do it slowly so it won’t hurt,i’m going to make you feel good okay.

whrn he took hold of his dick slowly pushing in but you felt a burning feeling ,makingyou grip his hand harder,squeezzing your eyes shut,aware of your reaction ,your eyes never leaved your,he took your other hand his his,putting them on both side of your head holding himself like this

”shhh relax baby,it’ll be okay,take your time”he said voice low but ever so soft and reassuring.

after a while the feeling started to dissapear,your body relaxed,your eyes opened and you soon needed more.

First ,Johnny rolled his hisp getting you accutumised to the size before thrusting in and out,still slowly,little moans escaped your throat,the feeling of his thick cock rubbing your walls was exalting,you wanted more so you followedthe movement of his hips.

.”you’re doing so well baby you maoned at the praise”as he pushed your hips wider,getting a better angle

And thats how he hitted your sweet spot,making you scream his name,his thrsut fastened a bit ,giving you more pleasure as he was panting in the crook of your neck.

Your moans growing louder xchnating his name more and more as seconds passed

”you’re so tight baby ho my god you feel so good ,so good baby”

“y-you...i-t ffeels so good ,johnny,i;;--c-close”

you were struggling to let the words go out of your mouth the feeling overwhelming and the pressure in stomach growing”come on,let it go for me baby”and you did.

You came over his lenght soon followed by him,the feeling of you clenching sent him over the edge

you were both panting ,him still laying on you,whispering praises in your ear

“you did so well baby,y-ou were so good “

“I love you johnny” you said looking into his eyes”

“I love you too”

186 notes · View notes

veliseraptor · 5 years

Note

Got anything with Loki doing anything touristy? Gawking at a chocolate fountain? Going to another country to try food he heard was good there? Not realising when he'd crossed a border? Finding mortal magic users/teachers learning from them and hoarding their knowledge? sampling libraries? anything?

These Vagabond Shoes, 3.4k, post-ragnarok au entirely ignoring infinity war cause I can do that if I wanna

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Loki stays long enough to see that what remains of Asgard is settled more or less safely, confirms that Thor has things well in hand, and leaves. He writes a brief note - don’t follow me - sets the Tesseract down on top of it, changes his clothes to something less conspicuous, and hitches a ride with one of the curious mortals who has come to gawk.

She squints at him. “You look familiar,” she says.

“I have one of those faces,” Loki says. “Shall we?”

Maren - for so is her name - takes him as far as Drammen. From there he catches a train to Oslo, and books a flight at random. He could walk the shadow paths instead, but for some reason he cannot explain to himself chooses not to.

Thor will have noticed by now that he is gone. What does he think? Is he disappointed, or does he just sigh and accept that this is how Loki is: unchanging, ever himself, fickle and untrustworthy.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” asks the man sitting next to him on the plane.

“No,” Loki says flatly. “You don’t.”

When he lands in Bruges, the first thing he does cut his hair. The second is to buy a postcard with a photo of the palace - it looks rather pathetic to Loki, but he supposes it must be impressive. Hello from Belgium, he writes. I hope you haven’t already burned the village down.

He drops it in the mail, unsigned.

Loki purchased a phone, not because he had anyone he wanted to call (he didn’t) but because they apparently store vast amounts of information, and given all the things Loki doesn’t know about it is useful to have a means of looking them up quickly.

Perusing the options available in the store he visits, he barks an abrupt laugh when he realizes why the StarkPhones are so named. He interrupts the salesperson’s rambling to indicate them. “I’ll take one of those.”

Stark himself will have no idea, but it amuses Loki.

Armed with his new device, Loki spends a couple hours figuring out how to navigate it. It isn’t bad, as far as Midgardian technology goes. Almost respectable. A few modifications and it would almost approach Asgardian children’s toys.

Loki pauses. Those toys are probably gone. He doubts anyone brought one. All of Asgard’s technology, all of its knowledge...that’s gone, now. Perhaps forever. The library of texts stretching back millennia, the scholars and scientists and healers…

Loki hears a crack and looks down at the broken screen of his new phone. He mends it with a touch, his thoughts far away, the loss hitting him all over again. Humans move around him and for a moment he hates them, for going on with such indifference as though an entire civilization has not been swallowed by the Void.

For a moment, the itch to go back to Thor. To have some company in grief.

For a moment.

Loki brushes it aside and moves on. He searches things to do on Earth and finds a list of ‘50 Things to Do Before You Die.’

It’s a starting place.

Before leaving Belgium, though, Loki decides that easily the best thing humans have invented in the past 300,000 years or so is the chocolate fountain. Absolutely genius.

They call it the ‘Grand Canyon,’ but it isn’t half as grand as the one on Alfheim. Do you remember the name? I don’t. Too hot here, and crowded. Give Heimdall my love.

Loki isn’t sure why he didn’t leave the moment he realized that the first destination on his list was a desert. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat, sunglasses threatening to slide down the bridge of his nose. It is brutally hot, and he feels a bit light-headed.

Retreating into the shade, he frowns at the milling crowd of tourists readying to ride a pack of animals down into the canyon itself. He might be tempted, but for that he is given to understand that the heat down there is actually worse.

“Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

Loki turns his head to look at the middle-aged woman who has sidled up next to him. She is wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a strap under the chin, and looks quite fresh and untroubled by the heat. Loki gives her a tight smile.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just not used to it, I suppose.”

“Just be careful,” she says. “It can really sneak up on you out here!” She pats him on the arm and moves off, leaving Loki to wonder what, exactly, it is.

The tourists mount and begin their trek. When Loki is sure none of them are watching, he shifts into a vulture and launches himself into the air, riding one of the thermals up, looking down at the winding snake of the river below.

To His Majesty King Thor: Humans certainly like to describe things as ‘great,’ don’t they? My guidebook calls this ‘the Great Wall of China.’ The local name seems to translate similarly, though perhaps more specific - 10,000-li long wall. I am sure the linguistic ins and outs of Midgardians are of great interest to you.

It has its own sort of beauty, I suppose. The food here is interesting. Different. I am enjoying it.

In Huaibeizhen, Loki dreams of Thanos.

It is not, needless to say, a pleasant dream.

He is on Sanctuary, wedged into a corner, shaking and crying silently. He has been punished, but cannot remember why; he only knows that he is afraid, and in pain, and desperately lonely. He yearns for safety, for comfort, for home.

You don’t have a home, sneers a voice in his mind. Ebony Maw’s says this is your home.

Childishly, he wants Thor. But he knows, in his bones, that Thor doesn’t want him.

He wakes with tears streaming down his face, sobs catching in his throat. For a moment, he hovers on the edge of taking the shadow-paths, fleeing to Norway, to Thor. He smothers the urge brutally, digging his nails into his palms and breathing shallowly until he calms.

He won’t go back. He doesn’t know if he ever will; hasn’t decided yet. He hasn’t decided much of anything, only that he cannot, or will not, stay still.

And yet he misses Thor. No, that is wrong: saying he misses Thor is as inadequate as it would be to say that he misses breathing. He is that central, that vital, that involuntary.

If anyone asked, Loki thinks he would tell them that was why he was running. To prove that he can.

What sort of a name is ‘Whitsunday’ for a group of islands? Not one that conveys anything about them, certainly. I went sailing today. Rather disappointed by the lack of whales, but I did see a saltwater crocodile. Magnificent creatures. They would not be out of place on Asgard.

Would not have been. It is strange to miss a place I spent so much time hating. It is strange to miss a person I spent so much time hating.

I hope you are well.

The weather is turning on the southern half of Midgard. Loki looks up how it works: the tilting of the planet as it spins, each hemisphere tipping toward or away from the sun, a top spinning through space. He watches a diagram of it, mesmerized by the movement. It isn’t full winter, but no one else is swimming in the clear water. It is cold, but the cold doesn’t bother Loki.

There are reefs, but many of the inhabitants seem to have retreated. He does see a creature moving gracefully through the water, almost like a bird. A manta ray, he learns later.

He borrows a sailboat, just a touch of persuasion convincing the owner to let him take it out alone. It is similar enough to vehicles Loki has experience using that he can fly across the water, the wind in his face.

It feels like freedom.

Why do they come here? A city buried in ash, frozen in the moment of its destruction.

Do you see it in your dreams? Asgard, burning. And I set the flame.

Loki does not stay long in Pompeii. It makes his skin crawl. It makes him think of Hela, and Surtur rising from the Eternal Flame, and Asgard, Golden Asgard, Eternal Asgard, annihilated. Asgard is not a place, but a people, Thor said, more than once, as though it was a talisman. Maybe he is right. But it was a place, for many long years. And now it is not.

Funny, isn’t it, that he tried to destroy a hated Realm and failed, and succeeded in destroying the one that, despite himself, he loved.

I am staying in a cave. Apparently that is the done thing here, along with hot air balloon rides and what they call ‘fairy rock chimneys.’ They bear no resemblance to anything one of the fae would build, I must say, though they have their own beauty.

A cave, though! Really.

Tomorrow I think I will try one of the hot air balloons, though it seems to me a fairly absurd and inefficient form of transportation. I do not think that is actually the point, but it is distracting when one might simply fly. But it is, as the humans around me keep saying, the experience.

You should travel sometime, Thor. See this world it seems we now must live upon. Of course, I suppose the King of Asgard has little time for such frivolities.

I think that you might like it here.

Cappadocia is an interesting place, different again from anywhere else he has gone. Loki goes into the underground churches, as suggested by the friendly concierge at his lodgings, but the moment he steps into the close, dark rooms he begins to sweat, fear wrapping tight around his throat, and he has to retreat quickly.

Ashamed, he stands outside, shivers running down his spine.

“Claustrophobic?” Asks a woman standing nearby. She sounds sympathetic, but Loki still looks sharply in her direction.

“Beg pardon?”

She gestured at the opening. “That’s why I’m not going in. Small spaces give me the creeping horrors.”

Claustrophobic. He never used to be that. Or, well - he didn’t particularly like it, but it didn’t give him...the creeping horrors. Things change, he supposes. Another thing to thank Thanos for.

He forces a thin smile. “A bit,” he says. “Excuse me.”

All in all, he prefers the fairy rock chimneys. There is something fanciful about them, for all they cannot compare to the true architecture of the fae. Too solid and heavy, where their work is light, almost ethereal, and yet full of sharp edges that cut the unwary.

Loki’s always been fond of the fae, though most of the time they did not return the feeling.

He was right about the hot air balloon, though. It is stifling and slow, and he itches to launch himself from the basket and spring into the air, wheeling in spirals, higher and higher until the air is too thin to breathe and he turns and plummets downward.

He does not. But he closes his eyes and imagines it, almost feeling the wind ruffling his feathers as the world dwindles below.

Look! Something older than we are. And still standing. Remarkably durable. They call them ‘the Pyramids of Giza.’ It seems they buried their kings within them.

The sand here gets everywhere, and I’ve burned my nose. It’s bright red. Hideous. I also rode a camel today - they are, quite possibly, the most peculiar creature I’ve encountered so far on Midgard, and remarkably poor tempered.

I don’t think I like deserts.

Egypt is new, and different again from anywhere else he has been. This is one of the fascinating things about Midgard: the variety. One Realm, and yet a myriad of differences. So many ways in which they separate themselves. It is absolutely fascinating.

Loki has been reading about the history of this place. It is old, and looking at the ruins of its history he can feel the weight of its age. Stretching into a distant past that no one here can remember. They were here before Odin was born, when Bor still reigned. If his reckoning is right, they were here before Svartalfheim was made desolate. Built to reach toward a sky they couldn’t touch.

“Did you know that these were built by aliens?” A young man standing next to him says. Loki snorts involuntarily, and he turns toward him.

“Skeptic, are you?” he says. “The research-”

“Don’t be absurd,” Loki says. “Nobody was even visiting this Realm for tourism until very recently. You overestimate your relevance.”

Perhaps it was not the best idea to say that. The man and both of his friends are now staring at him with strange expressions. One of them squints a bit.

“Your relevance?” he says cautiously. Ah, damn.

Loki flashes his teeth. “That’s what I said,” he says, and moves off, veiling himself from sight after a few strides. He can’t help but turn around to look; the gaping expressions are undeniably satisfying.

It lifts his mood for the rest of the day.

Dear Thor: I am sending you two postcards together, this time, to show you both the inside and outside of this church. They have been building it for 137 years. There are a great many churches on Midgard, it seems. Many in this city alone, but this one seems to be unique.

It is certainly very large. The designer has been dead for nearly a century, and yet they labor on. It isn’t for him, though. This is what I have come to realize about humans, I think: they are always looking for something larger than themselves.

Then again, I suppose we are, too. We look to the Norns. I wonder if the Norns look to something else again? If they have their own stories that guide them, that drive them.

Have I bored you yet?

The food here is very good. One thing that can certainly be said for Midgardians: they do very imaginative things with their cuisine.

The pillars inside the Sagrada Familia make Loki think of trees made of stone. He stands, staring upward, listening to the sound of echoing voices.

It reminds him, a little, of Asgard. Starker, sparer, stone-not-gold, but there is something in it nonetheless of glory and splendor, designed to overawe and overwhelm. It is meant to make one feel small.

Loki filters out the decorations, replaces the altar with a throne. On a whim, he spreads an illusion of gold sweeping up the columns, over the ceiling. There is gasping, pointing, shouts - a moment later he lets it fade and slips out, feeling oddly bereft.

He goes to a restaurant down by the water and orders paella. There is an ache in his chest. For some reason, he is thinking of his mother.

That grief still feels unfinished. A piece carved away from him he will never get back. A resolution he will never have. A goodbye he never had the chance to give. When he thought he was dying, Loki reached for her, stretching out his arms, lo, there do I see my mother; lo, she does call to me.

But the circle didn’t close. He rose again, to live on.

Loki feels, suddenly, very far from home. He pays for his food, and leaves it mostly untouched.

Your Majesty,

I couldn’t send this directly from Antarctica. Limited post, apparently.

It is very cold here. Jotunheim cold. There is a challenge to go swimming in the water, and when I dove in I changed. It was a disconcerting feeling.

Do you understand why I tried to destroy them? It was because I believed it would destroy that part of myself.

It is easier to say these things in writing than aloud. I am sending this before I can unwrite it. I wonder, sometimes, if you read these at all; if they reach you only to be tossed into the fire. Or if you do read them, scowling, shaking your head.

I miss you. There, I have said it. Make of it what you will.

It is not easy to jump in. Even knowing that the cold won’t hurt him, not really, his body still rebels against him. Still, Loki braces himself, breathes deeply, and dives.

It takes his breath away. For a moment, there is fear - I am going to freeze, I am going to die - and then it washes over him, like shedding his skin. It feels good, it feels suddenly like this is where he belongs, like this cold is a part of him and he is a part of this cold.

He surfaces. He has gone far enough away from the others that his strangeness would not be noticed, leaving an illusion in his place, and he is glad he did it. If his resistance to the cold would cause comment, surely this shape would as well.

For he knows without looking what skin he wears. His stomach turns, nausea rising in his throat. He fights it down.

It doesn’t matter, he thinks. It is just another shape you can wear. It does not determine your destiny.

But he crawls out of the water, back onto the ice, and changes back. It feels strange, suddenly, like his skin is too tight and he doesn’t quite fit inside it. The feeling passes, but it leaves him unsettled and in a sour mood.

The postcard he writes to Thor, back in Rio Grande, is longer than usual, and afterwards he feels raw, exposed, and full of nervous energy. He lies awake most of the night, and when he sleeps dreams fitfully of falling, of Thor prying his fingers loose from Gungnir one at a time.

Thor,

I don’t know how to come home.

I need you to meet me halfway.

He boards the boat at Alesund. It has been six months, half a year, and the seasons are turning toward the winter now, but the last gasps of summer still linger. He could still run. There are more places to go, more things to see. But there will always be a tether that pulls him back. Binding him, but holding him back from madness, too.

For a millennium, he and Thor have circled each other, trapped in orbit like Midgard and its sun. Loki tips away, and then back, but never breaking free. But if the sun keeps this planet bound, it also keeps it alive.

Geirangerfjord is as splendid as promised. The mountains tower on either side, breathtaking and beautiful, and the sky is clear and bright. He sees a few seals off the side of the boat, poking their heads up and then vanishing with barely a ripple. Loki’s fear grows steadily, a living thing in his chest. He does not know how Thor will greet him. He does not know if Thor will greet him at all.

Maybe it would be best if we never see each other again.

The ship pulls in at Geiranger. Loki holds back, waiting for everyone else to disembark first. He leaves slowly, like a man walking to his doom, and scans the dock.

Thor is not there, and it is only in that moment that Loki fully realizes how much he needed him to be.

He takes a deep breath and descends anyway, pulling out his phone and idly checking off another destination. He’ll stay the night, he thinks. Just in case.

“Loki,” he hears, and looks up sharply.

There he is, striding down the street. Heads turn around him, looking from him to Thor and back again, and at least some of them will put together the pieces soon, but Loki can barely think of that. His thoughts are swallowed up, utterly blank, and he can only stand frozen, eyes wide as Thor bears down on him with large, energetic strides.

He cannot breathe.

“Loki,” Thor says again, and lunges, dragging him into a hug, crushingly tight. Loki’s nose is pressed against Thor’s shoulder. His lungs constrict and release. He hears Thor take a deep breath and sigh.

How easy it is. How natural, this.

“Come home,” Thor says. His voice is muffled, but it vibrates in his chest, and he does not let go.

Here and now, Loki doesn’t want him to.

“Yes,” Loki says.

#anonymous #a wild fic appeared #loki's a goddamn mess #\o/#threw this together in two days take it for what it is #it was fun to write

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dvp95 · 4 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (4)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.9k (this chapter), 13.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil did not invite Chris and Sophie to come to Rossendale with him. Not because he doesn't like spending time with them, but because he wouldn't know how to explain a situation to his parents that he doesn't even understand himself. To his knowledge, PJ also did not invite them.

"Change it," Chris whines from the backseat. He'd lost the scuffle against Phil to claim the front, and he's been complaining about Phil's music choices for half the trip so far in retaliation.

"You like McFly," Phil huffs, continuing his search for an album that won't elicit a loud sigh from behind him.

"That's fucking slander, is what that is. You hear that, PJ?"

"Oh, I hear you both," PJ says, flat. "Loud and clear."

They've only been driving for probably forty minutes and PJ already looks like he wants to kick them all out of his car. Phil doesn't exactly blame him, although he resents being lumped in with Chris in the 'annoying background noise' category.

He has no idea how they've managed to invite themselves along, but Phil was too polite and PJ was too smitten to tell them off when they came out to the car with their bags.

So, this is a group activity now. Phil's parents had been thrilled to hear it when he texted them the updated situation - they're taking it as a sign that Phil has a motley crew of good friends again, like he'd had as a kid and again in uni. He supposes that they're not wrong, exactly, but he's definitely anxious about introducing them to Chris.

"I like this song," Sophie says, mild, and Chris closes his mouth.

"Fine, this one is alright," he says begrudgingly. Phil glances at them in the rearview - Sophie is patting Chris' knee and giving him the sort of smile that always makes Phil feel like he shouldn't be present. He looks back down at his phone so he doesn't have to sit with that feeling too long.

PJ turns up the volume, probably to curb any more bickering before he has to toss them all out of his car, and Phil tries to just lose himself in the music for a little bit.

His friends sing along at varying levels of obnoxiousness and Phil tries not to keep opening the Tumblr app to see if someone has messaged him. Well, someone specific. I'm going north today!, is the last message sent between them, and Phil is still waiting for Winnie to offer to meet up or something.

After their non-starter interview, Phil and Winnie kept missing each other's free time to finish it over Skype. Phil kind of wants to hear more from them before he checks it out himself, but that's not looking likely at this point, especially if he's lugging his housemates along with him all weekend.

Phil opens a puzzle game on his phone and lets the mostly-mindless swiping distract him. It's a long drive up to Rossendale, and the last thing Phil wants is to be left alone with his thoughts.

Phil's parents love having guests round almost as much as they love to have him home, so Phil isn't at all surprised to walk in and smell a roast cooking. He expects that treats will be made as soon as the oven is free, because that's what his mum is like.

"Hello," Phil calls into the house, kicking off his shoes. His friends follow his lead - PJ puts his boots carefully on the mat that Phil didn't bother aiming for, and Sophie struggles with a particularly stubborn knot in her laces - as he hangs up his jacket. "Mum? Dad?"

"Child," his mum greets him happily, appearing in the entry to the kitchen and making grabby hands at him until he envelops her in a hug.

"Missed you," Phil tells her, quiet enough that his friends won't hear to make fun of him.

"Oh, I missed you," she says, giving him a kiss on the side of his face. She turns her beaming smile onto his housemates, who all pause in what they're doing like a frozen tableau. It's a little funny. "More children! Hello! I'm Kathryn, it's so nice to meet you. And so nice to see you again, PJ," she adds in that somewhat pointed voice that Phil hates so very much.

"Hello, Kath," PJ says, grinning wide. He gives her a hug, too. Chris holds out his hand for her to shake when she's done squeezing the life out of PJ, but Kath will have none of it.

"Don't be silly," she says, wrapping her arms tight around Chris' waist with a laugh. "We hug in this family."

"Really?" Chris asks, and the look he gives Phil is almost more embarrassing than if he'd asked 'so why isn't your son a hugger?' out loud. "Something smells absolutely delicious, Kathryn. Is that you, or is supper cooking?"

Phil stops himself from groaning out loud, but barely. He probably shouldn't be surprised at all that Chris' cheeky, flirtatious charm extends to mothers as well. Kath laughs and smacks lightly at Chris' chest before she turns to Sophie.

Skilled at making people feel comfortable in four seconds flat, Kath chatters away about supper and how lovely Sophie's curls are and how long it's been since she's seen Phil, did they know how long it's been? She herds them all into the kitchen like they're cattle and insists that Phil take their things upstairs while she puts the kettle on.

"Er, alright," Phil says, looking at the small collection of bags that they'd brought with them. Their clothes and toiletries are all there, of course, but so is all the filming and hunting equipment. He'll have to make at least two trips.

"Your father got the guest room and Martyn's room all set up before he went out," she tells him, either not noticing or ignoring his internal struggle.

Oh, wonderful. Phil had somehow forgotten about the part where they had three beds for four of them. He's positive that his housemates won't mind sharing with each other, but now he's been tasked with the anxiety-inducing puzzle of whose bags to put where.

"Okay," Phil says again, even though they've moved on to talking about their favourite kinds of cakes so that Kath can wow them all with her skills. He tries to catch PJ's eye, but PJ is too wrapped up in a conversation about strawberries to notice.

Alright, well. Phil grabs as many bags as he can carry and brings them upstairs, feeling some tension deep inside him get a little tighter as he notices that most of their personal effects are packed away, either in storage or already on the island, and his childhood home looks more like a show home than he's comfortable with. The stairs only creak a little under his weight, nothing like the old house in Brighton, but Phil still feels unsettled.

In the end, he throws PJ and Sophie in the guest room. It's a selfish move more than anything, because he's brought PJ for enough visits to be familiar with the way his parents look at each other every time PJ teases him.

They don't ask. They're not the type of people to pry, and Phil isn't the type of people to offer information unprompted. They've all been in this limbo for years where Phil doesn't tell them that he likes boys and they don't outright question if PJ is just a friend and, frankly, Phil is tired of it. So, Chris can sleep alone.

He takes his own bags up last, because he knows that stepping into his bedroom and seeing all the personality stripped from it is going to make him feel things he isn’t prepared to feel. Phil takes a deep breath before he goes inside, and releases it shakily as he drops his things on the floor.

The beige carpet is almost mocking him, telling him that it's time to grow up, and Phil leaves the room as fast as he can.

God it is so hard to get anything done here. Sorry to complain at you randomly but like... I forgot how hard it is to work when my parents are hovering and asking a million questions lmao

Winnie still hasn't responded to Phil's early morning message, but the frustration of his parents distracting him and his friends from their work is starting to get to him. Chris has completely charmed them, somehow, and both Sophie and PJ are too polite to put headphones on and ignore them the way Phil has decided to.

Surprisingly, he gets a reply right away: omg how have i never considered the fact that you had to tell your parents you wanted to hunt ghosts for a living thats so fucking funny also that sucks i live in a house full of students and i always have to go to the coffee shop to work on essays and shit

There's nothing good like that where my parents live. Your coffee place is in the city, right?

“No! He didn’t!” Chris is laughing, somewhere in the living room, and Phil has to turn up the white noise on his headphones. The idea of his parents and housemates trading embarrassing stories about him while he's holed up at the table with audio files he hates makes him itch.

yeah, Winnie says. Phil is so thrown off by the short message that his fingers pause on the keyboard.

Is he annoying them? He doesn't mean to. Phil thinks over the messages they've exchanged since talking on Skype, the wheel of worst case scenarios spinning quickly.

Before Phil can apologise or even really get his anxious mind to settle down, his laptop bloops again, once, twice, three times. Relief from the worry that Winnie doesn't like talking to him curls around Phil's shoulders, relaxing them.

It's a screenshot of Google Maps with an address pulled up, a different building circled in a bright blue. yeah i hella recommend and it's really close to wilkins as well, is the message accompanying the screenshot. Then, right afterwards, 10/10 hot chocolate if i do say so myself.

Phil isn't very big on hot chocolate on its own, but he is very big on quiet coffee shops.

It takes a lot of cajoling and promises that he won't be out too late for Phil to convince his parents that they'll be fine to drive to the city by themselves. His dad gets the same look on his face that he always does when Phil talks about work, but his mum merely pats his cheek and says, "Oh, love, be careful. I'll be cross if I have to get you from the police again."

"That was one time," Phil says, feeling his face flush as Chris looks at him with glee.

"One time too many," Nigel says, a bit too sternly to be a joke. Phil wonders if his friends pick up on it or if they just think he's banting like he's been all through supper, that same dry humour that Phil can see in Martyn making him funnier than his housemates had expected.

PJ and Sophie both laugh a bit, so... probably just Phil's knowledge of his dad making it more pointed than it really needs to be.

The coffee shop is open late, so Phil and his housemates decide to do some recon at the Wilkins place. The sun hasn't quite set yet, and the street isn't completely deserted or anything, so they have to wait for a good moment to leave the car.

They're careful. They've done this before.

The Wilkins place is an older townhouse in Rusholme with windows that have been boarded up since the early noughties because they kept getting broken. Technically, someone still owns the property, but the Wilkins family either didn't care about it or had forgotten it existed, because it's been abandoned as long as Phil can remember.

It also isn't very scary in his memory. It's draughty and has rats scurrying about, but the electricity and heating still worked, somehow, and the social situations he'd gotten thrown into at Martyn's shoulder were definitely more nerve-wracking than the house itself.

All of these things are still more or less true, according to everything Phil has been told, but when Phil climbs in through the loose boards of the kitchen window, the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He hesitates for so long on the sill that Chris pushes a bit at him, reminding him to move before some annoyed neighbour calls the police.

It's dim inside but not so dark that Phil's eyes strain; the streetlights and setting sun filter in through the boards and showcase the dust covering every surface.

Phil helps Sophie and then Chris through the window, PJ giving them boosts from the outside. They take the various bags from PJ and Sophie immediately pulls out the camera, ignoring the thuds that PJ's feet make as he launches himself up and clambers in like a monkey.

"Sexy," Chris drawls as PJ nearly tumbles onto his face. He's grabbing out equipment of his own, and so Phil is tasked with getting PJ through the window safely.

"At least I've got a modicum of upper body strength," PJ says. Neither of them are bothering to whisper, and that's making Phil anxious.

He can't put his finger on it, but... it doesn't feel like they're alone in here. There's probably someone hiding out from the chill of late October in one of the various empty rooms, and Phil's worst case scenario wheel is spinning so fast it's making him dizzy.

"Do you hear that?" Sophie asks, hushed. That stops PJ and Chris from continuing their bickering, and all three men freeze as they strain for whatever it is that Sophie's hearing. After a moment of complete silence, Sophie shakes her head. "It stopped. Hopefully the mic caught it over you lot."

PJ looks appropriately abashed, but Chris just shrugs. He's got a flashlight and an EMF meter, and he slings one of the bags over his shoulder before disappearing.

This is technically for Phil's channel - they're checking the place out, and Sophie is filming just in case something happens - but Phil still feels weird when PJ ducks off in another direction and Sophie stays at his side instead of following one of her boys, camera steady in her hands and the tip of her nose pink from the cool air.

"What did you hear?" Phil murmurs, beckoning her further into the house. The sound of creaking wood is so loud, like it's right above their heads, and Phil can only hope that it's one of his friends going upstairs.

"It could have been the wind," Sophie says mildly. "Or rats."

"Is that what it sounded like?"

Sophie blinks up at him and her mouth twists in an emotion that Phil can't place. "No. No, it sounded like a person talking."

Yeah, that's what Phil was afraid of. "Someone might be living here," he whispers, focusing on the dark hallway and trusting that Sophie is following.

The creaking again, this time from beside them, and Phil peeks his head around the corner to confirm that the staircase is what he's hearing. Chris is halfway up it, flashlight off between his teeth as he grips the railing like he's afraid the stairs are going to give out under him.

Phil hates this part. He'd rather do this completely alone than have to herd his friends like sheep. He leaves Chris to his own devices and moves into the lounge. This is where the majority of the litter is, empty bottles and cans and crisp bags everywhere. Phil takes a couple photos of it all and sends them to Martyn.

Remember your friend who used to bring a garbage bag to every party? Looks like he was the only one lol

He pauses. All too aware of Sophie's eyes and possibly the camera lens on him, Phil sends the photo to Winnie as well with a different caption: Does it always look like this?

Neither of them respond by the time Phil has picked his way through the first floor, which is at least good for his focus, but it doesn't explain why the house feels so much different than it had seven or eight years ago. Phil feels unsettled here in a way that he doesn't usually get anymore, goosebumps down his arms that aren't from the cold and the constant, unnerving feeling that someone is looking at him from the shadows.

Phil's phone buzzes as he and Sophie debate in whispers if they should go upstairs. Phil hates leaving anything to someone else, even if it's just a few rooms that surely PJ and Chris are capable of exploring on their own. He's in the middle of trying to explain that to Sophie when his voice catches in his throat.

"Peej says we should go," Phil says, interrupting himself. "He found something weird in the attic."

"What's he doing in the attic?" Sophie hisses.

"Dunno. I didn't even know there was an attic."

"We should go, then," says Sophie, like that decides it. Although it does rankle a bit to be lower on the totem pole of his own project, Phil has to admit that Sophie is right. If PJ is saying that it's time to go, then it's time to go.

Phil climbs out of the window first, taking the equipment with him, and then helps hoist Sophie safely down. She's so small that it's not even a strain, really, even with how little exercise Phil gets. They wait, huddled together, and Phil feels some of the knot in his chest start to loosen when he hears Chris and PJ arguing in whispers before the window boards get slid out of the way again.

"What did you find?" Phil asks immediately, and PJ hushes him on his way down.

"Let's go, I'll tell you at the café," he whispers, leading the way down the pavement with strides so purposeful that Phil wonders if he's been in this area before. It's all the rest of them can do to keep up with him, and Phil spares a moment to feel sorry for Sophie and her short legs.

He hangs back with her and lets Chris keep pace with PJ. Chris is still talking at a silent PJ in a hushed, passionate tone, like he's fighting with a brick wall, and Phil doesn't need to be involved in that.

The coffee shop is only a couple of streets away, but the tension that the Wilkins place and PJ's subsequent discovery has brought to the group makes it feel much further. PJ stops in front of a purple door, and Phil has a begrudging respect for his ability to remember where something is after simply being told the address. The shop is small and a little dingy, but the lighting inside is soft through the narrow windows and there's a fireplace that Phil longs to curl up in front of like a cat.

Chris scowls at PJ and holds the door open for him in the same breath. Phil doesn't understand their relationship and at this point he's too afraid to ask, but he ducks into the inviting warmth anyway to try to get the goosebumps off his skin.

The two employees behind the counter look at the door like they've been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. A girl with brightly-coloured hair is holding a bunch of marshmallows, a hand poised mid-throw, and an unreasonably tall guy with an unreasonably large mouth is gawping as one of the marshmallows hits him in the chin.

"You missed," Phil informs them, grinning a bit as he unwinds his scarf.

"Oops," the girl laughs, setting the marshmallows down and pulling up a customer service smile. "What can I get for you guys?"

While PJ and Sophie pore over the menu and Chris starts asking if she'll throw marshmallows into his mouth if he asks very nicely, Phil's eyes drift to the other worker.

His mouth is still open, a bit, and his face flushes when their eyes meet. "Er," he says, glancing behind him as if Phil is looking at someone else, and that's so endearing that Phil is sufficiently distracted from the mystery down the street.

Phil isn't extremely self-conscious or anything, but he also knows he's not going to be the hottest guy in a room, so he's a bit flattered and a lot confused about this guy's reaction to him.

The thing is, the guy is very attractive. A couple of perfect curls poke out from under his cap, and there's some type of shimmer on his face that Phil could not put a name to if you paid him. He knows literally nothing about makeup, but he knows that it makes this giant of a man look softer and his blush even more obvious when it deepens.

"Hi," Phil says, giving him a little wave. He can still hear Chris chattering on and Sophie debating the merits of a hot chocolate versus a cappuccino, so he's pretty sure nobody is paying them any attention. The guy twitches like he wants to look over his shoulder again, but he stops himself.

"Uh, hi? Sorry to be, like, weird, I just - I didn't expect -"

The voice is familiar, the rambling is familiar, and then it clicks. "Oh, hi," Phil says again, warmer this time. He steps closer to the counter and grins up at them - an unusual thing in itself, since Phil doesn't meet many people taller than him. "You didn't mention that you work here."

Winnie's shoulders slump forward in a kind of relief, and they scratch the back of their neck, looking awkward and out of place even in an outfit that coordinates with the colour scheme of the whole shop. Phil looks the uniform over and immediately regrets it, because he didn't mean to see Winnie's name tag and now he feels weird about knowing something he wasn't actually told. He doesn't feel too weird about being here, though, because - well. Winnie had technically invited him.

"Honestly, I didn't know you'd be 'investigating' so soon," says Winnie. They're still blushing and the finger quotes are somehow cute, even though they're being used to poke at Phil's career. Their nails are dark and sparkly, and Phil desperately needs to stop noticing things about their hands. "I would have told you, probably, or I'd just - I dunno, try to make a better first impression."

"You're making a fine first impression," Phil assures them.

Winnie snorts. "Oh, bullshit."

"Phil," PJ says, nudging him. Phil suddenly remembers that there are, in fact, other people around him, and he can't just keep looking at Winnie's long, dark eyelashes. "What are you having?"

Honestly, Phil hasn't even looked at the menu. He's so easily distracted by pretty boys with big hands and - oh, right, he's got to be careful about that, even in his own head. Especially in his own head. Winnie isn't a pretty boy, he really shouldn't be thinking about them like that at all.

"Uh," Phil says eloquently. He's very particular with his hot drinks, usually, but he's got a lot going on in his mind right now and it's easier just to shrug at Winnie than to look away and think. "Dunno, actually. Surprise me?"

Winnie smiles, and Phil's stomach twists. "I can do that."

#quiet on widow's peak #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words

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