#((But fluff prevailed in the end haha

[chxldeas-a]

“ Trust me. ” (for Mordred)

Two Word Starters

@grandordergirl

Mordred remained silent beside Cana as she spoke those two words. It was one thing for the Knight of Rebellion to do something reckless and crazy for her Master. But for the Master to do the same thing...Mordred couldn’t idly stand by and watch. Not when she risked losing her Master, her one and only friend...

But time and again, Cana had proven herself more than what she seemed. Singularity after singularity, her Master showed that she could sometimes be as crazy as she was, pulling off the most incredible feats against all the odds. Mordred saw that she and Cana weren’t so different from each other at times. And that...that was worthy enough to command the knight’s full respect.

Mordred’s lips curled into a grin, and she let out a small chuckle. “Then go get ‘em, Master,” she said. “My sword is yours. I’ll be with you every step of the way. It’s what knights do for their lords, right?”

[lykaonimagines]

Inked Hearts- Stephen Strange x Reader

Paring: Stephen Strange x Sorcerer F!Reader

Word Count: 3,282

Description: After five years apart, Stephen and Y/N are finally reunited and realize how deep their love for one another runs. 

“I’m always coming back, you can bet on that. You’re the only place I call home.” - Only Place I Call Home by Every Avenue.

“These words you should always remember, to you, my heart I surrender.” - My Heart I Surrender by I Prevail.

Other Things: Established relationship. Post-End Game (Like immediately after). Slightly angsty but mostly loving and fluff.

Warnings: Some swearing. Suggestive in parts, but not smut. Tattoos? (Not sure if that needs to be a warning haha)

Masterlist

Stumbling from the battlefield wreckage of the Avenger compound through a portal into their bedroom, the two sorcerers stare at one another silently, the weight of the last five years finally crashing down on them.

His lover’s eyes look exhausted and dull, lacking the usual brightness in them from before The Snap. Her face littered with scars, new and old. Many he had never seen. The stress of his time gone more than evident on her features. Worn, tired, and broken she manages to smile at him as his chest aches. He caused this. His absence. His plan.

“I can’t really believe this is real,” she comments, shifting in her stance to lift a leg up and tug off her boot, swapping to the other to do the same. “It feels like you’re a dream, or figment of my mind that will disappear when I turn around. Five fucking years Stephen…”

Sending his cloak away from him, Stephen tentatively takes a step forward while offering his arms to her, “Well, I’m home now.”

Y/N rushes into his arms immediately, face buried against his neck as she lets out a choked sob. Holding her tightly to his body, he presses kisses to her hair and whispers soft assurances.

“I thought you were really gone,” she whispers a few minutes after her sobs subside, still snuggling into his embrace. “I felt like I lost part of myself.”

Stephen’s heart breaks at her words, his hand gently rubbing her back, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what exactly?”

“Not being able to tell you. Being selfish and allowing myself those last minutes in your arms. Being gone for five years. Not being here for you. You having to step up and take my place. Everything.”

“I can’t be angry with you,” she replies softly. “How can I? You did what you had to do to save the universe. My own issues kind of pale in comparison to half the population of the universe disappearing.”

“What you suffered is important to me. It was the only way we could be like this again… but I still caused you pain.”

“As I said, I knew the risks of being with you. Sacrifice for the greater good in the grand scheme of things and all that.”

“I’m going to spend every day making it up to you,” he mumbles into her hair.

“Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep.”

Pulling back, he looks down at her tear-stained face, words caught in his throat.

“Stephen I don’t love you despite you being the one trying to keep everyone safe and making sacrifices to do that. I love you because that’s part of you. You could have stood by if you wanted, but you didn’t. You did everything you could to save as many people as you could, even if it meant losing years of your own life. I said I’d be your partner, knowing exactly who you are and what you do. And I continued being your partner, watching the Sanctum and handling threats. Because that’s who we are.”

He looks down at her mystified, her words seemingly tumbling around in his head. She had all right to be angry. To hate him. To hate their life together. Yet there she stood, holding every piece together when he couldn’t. Staring back at him with that still loving gaze.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers, leaning forward to press feather-light kisses to each of her eyelids after they flutter shut. His lips kiss a path down her nose and across her cheek. Then the lightest of brushes on the edge of her mouth as her breathing gets heavier.

“I love you, every part, every minute, every day, and every year,” he continues as he backs them toward the bed. Her legs hit the edge and he carefully hoists her up on to the mattress. “My heart belongs to you, and only you for eternity.”

Groaning at his words and touches, she squirms under him, “This sounds like a spell Stephen.”

He chuckles and his fingertips brush against her jaw, “More like a promise.”  

He proceeds to trail his kisses sloppily down her neck and collarbone, just slow enough to pull his favorite sounds from her lips. His hands reaching for the hem of her shirt, his lips leaving her skin just long enough for it to pass between them.

It had been too long.

Continuing his progress down, he pauses as he notices unfamiliar ink under his nose. Leaning back to take a better look, his heart clenches.

SVS. His initials in a simple heart frame. Inked permanently in her skin, right above her own heart. Another line of text sits above it stating simply, “You’re the only place I call home.”

Reaching out, he runs his fingertips across the letters slowly before his gaze flickers to her eyes that had opened and were now studying him. “When did you get this?” he asks, coughing abruptly to hide the way his voice nearly cracked on the words.

“Three years ago,” she admits, watching his fingertips trace the ink. “After two years… I realized I needed to accept that you might not come back. There was still a part of me that wanted to believe you had some kind of plan, that you didn’t think losing half the population was a win. But I also knew it meant other things had to happen. I don’t know. It hit me on the two year anniversary of The Snap that you really weren’t going to just walk in the door suddenly. I wanted you with me somehow.”

Stephen nods slowly, still not quite believing the letters in front of him.

“When I got back from Titan, I had your… ashes on me,” she says looking past him at the wall. “Since well, you know. I couldn’t just wash them down the drain. Sort of shook them all off into a container until I got you an urn. When I decided to get the tattoo, commemorative tattoos were really big as you’d imagine. So I took some of the ashes to go in the ink.”

His fingers freeze on her skin, and his eyes drift up to meet hers, “Wait… this ink… has my ashes in it?”

Y/N nods sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment, “I mean… it was a big thing and I wanted you with me and it seemed like a positive way to think about it instead of returning here covered in them and-”

His lips suddenly press to hers, cutting off the stream of words. His eyes drifting shut as he desperately moves them in rhythm with hers.

Swiping his tongue over her lip and sliding his hands down to grab her hips, he smiles into the kiss as a breathy sound leaves her body.

“Stephen…” her glossy eyes stare back up at him with want as he leans back.

“We should shower first darling,” he mumbles before pressing a kiss to the center of her throat, pulling a sharp hiss from her.

“You couldn’t have started with that,” she groans and reaches up to card her fingers through his hair. “You had to wait until I’m worked up Stephen?”

“It just occurred to me I’ve spent the last five years as ash, and we both just came off a bloody dirty battlefield,” he answers, pulling her hands from his hair and pulling her up with him as he slides off the bed.

“I suppose I can agree… but Strange,” she grips his arm to pull him closer and growl in his ear. “I’ve waited years, we’re making use of that big shower.”

Turning his head to nip at her earlobe, he sends a shiver down her spine, “I was expecting nothing less.”

-

In the weeks following his return, Strange spent most of his time around the sanctum. Most of that time he spent attached to Y/N in some form, the two of them hating to be separated for long. But the world continued on, and they had tasks to take care of.

The most recent being a request, or maybe order, from Wong to clean the sanctum that had been partially neglected in his absence and her grief. And that’s how Stephen found himself in his office sorting through five years of un-filed paperwork.

Even with half the universe gone, Y/N had seemed to have her work cut out for her. Flicking papers this way and that toward their correct filing cabinets, Stephen pauses as he uncovers an envelope with his name on the front. Just ‘Stephen’, no postage or address of any kind.

Opening the envelope he pulls out folded paper and flips it open, stopping for a moment when he recognizes the handwriting and the date at the top of the page. A letter to him from Y/N seemingly just months before he returned. Smoothing out the folds in the paper, he starts to read.

“Stephen,

I know this is dumb. Writing you a letter again. Knowing you’ll never read it. But it’s been five years today since that bastard tore you away from me. I still spend hours thinking about what I could have done different, how it could have been different. But I know you wouldn’t have allowed it.

I dream of you every night. And for a moment it’s pure bliss. Wrapped in your arms, drunk on your lips. Your brilliant blue-green eyes full of life and love staring back into my own. And for that moment I’m lost in the ecstasy of you. Then as quickly as it came, you fade into dust in my arms and I scream for you. Chanting your name like a damn incantation until I wake up alone in our bed, heart racing, desperately searching the sheets for you. All to be smacked with reality once again. That you’re gone.

They say year after year the hurt will lessen, that the memories will fade. Then tell me why I still hear your voice as I walk the halls. Still feel your grip on my hips like your hands never left. And see your face in every crowd I pass on these busy streets. Then I look for you, and you’re not there.

I don’t think I can ever truly let go of you Stephen. I don’t want the memories to fade. Most nights I want to lose myself in my dreams, delaying the inevitable end and waking to a reality without you.

Wong says the spirit can prevail after death sometimes. At times even appearing to you when in astral form. I search for you each day and find nothing, but it gives me comfort that maybe you’re there. He says he thinks you would hang around to protect me, that it’s just your nature. And maybe you have. Maybe you can see me sitting at your desk, in your big important sorcerer chair of the ancients as I write this to you.

If you do see me, I hope I make you proud. One of the only things that keeps me going is knowing I can’t disappoint you. I can’t let you down. And that maybe one day, somehow I’ll stumble onto an answer. There’s been whispers of ideas from the Avengers. Though they all scattered to the wind after the death of Thanos. Maybe they’ll finally have found the answer. And if they have, I’ll throw my all into it. This is where I’m supposed to say it’s for the greater good, that I’ll try my hardest to save half the universe, because it’s the noble and right thing to do.

But fuck that. I do it for you. I’d scour this universe and face any danger just to hold you one more time. Maybe that makes me a bad sorcerer, maybe it makes me a bad super hero. Maybe it makes me a terrible person. Though I can’t bring myself to care anymore. Though you know me. I say I don’t care, but if there’s a scream from outside in the next five minutes, I’ll be out there in seconds.

Maybe I’ll never see you again, and I’ll grow old here in this sanctum. Until time or enemy catches up to me. Then I can only hope to be reunited with you again. The only one I ever have or ever will love. Because you’re the only place I call home, Stephen Vincent Strange.

Your Love, Y/N.”

Finishing reading the letter, Stephen wipes quickly as the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Twisting it in between his fingers, he quickly comes up with a plan.

Pulling over a ceramic pot, he drops the letter in and snaps to set it on fire. Within seconds its ash, and he pours it into a small counter before quickly portaling out of the house on a mission.

-

Maybe he hadn’t completely thought this through, he cringes after the second time of Y/N putting her hand on his sore chest. Trying to smile through the pain, he knows he does a poor job.

And an even poorer job of hiding it in general. He never slept with a shirt. He always wanted to shower with her. She was getting suspicious of the number of times he’d magic-ed his clothing change and rushed off to Kamar-Taj the last few days.

“Ok that’s it,” Y/N finally snaps, pulling Stephen closer to her by his shirt. “You’re hurt and hiding it, I know it. Off with the shirt.”

“It’s nothing darling,” he tries to lie, flashing her his most charming smile.

“Charm doesn’t work when I’m worried about your health Strange. Shirt. Off.”

Sighing in defeat, he finally pulls his shirt from his body, smiling at the small gasp from Y/N.

“Is that… a tattoo?” she asks as she leans in for a closer look, her mouth snapping shut as she reads it. “You got this for me?”

“I was hoping to give it a few more days to heal before you saw it,” he admits sheepishly, looking down at the ink.

A matching heart to her own ink, but with her own initials in it. And a line of text above it proclaiming, “To you, my heart I surrender.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Y/N mumbles in awe, fighting back the tears that start to drip down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, it’s meant to be a happy thing, not sad,” he coos, pulling her into his embrace. “My love for you.”

“I love it,” she says with a sniffle, fingers running along the open skin near the tattoo. “What prompted this surprise?”

“I found your letter.”

“Letter?”

“The one you wrote to me a few months ago.”

“Oh… that was probably a depressing read.”

“Hard to read yes, but also the single most heartfelt and lovely thing I’ve ever read as well. And that’s why I burned it and put it in the ink.”

“You put ashes from that letter in your tattoo ink?”

“If yours has some of me in it, mine needed something of you. Besides, it sounds more mystic and magical when you say it that way.”

“I’d commend your flair for the dramatics, but I’m the one that started this trend so I can’t,” she smiles, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Oh wait, there is more. Something I found in a tome at Kamar-Taj,” he says motioning for her to remove her shirt as well.

“You learned something at Kamar-Taj that involves me removing my shirt? Should I be jealous?” she teases as she removes the fabric.

“Previously I would have said a little jealousy is good,” he mutters as he steps in closer to her, running his hand down her bare arm. “But I don’t think devotion is something we’re struggling with, darling. So it’s just wasted time. I’ve also just branded myself with the initials of a Master of the Mystic Arts, I don’t think my charm or wit is enough for someone to risk your wrath.”

“Fair point Strange. Besides, I trust you, I’m just teasing,” she smiles up at him. “Now show me this trick of yours.”

“It’s simple really,” he comments as he quickly moves his hands and she feels a warmth on her chest. As he lowers his hands, he looks at her with a satisfied smirk. “Perfect.”

“I spoke too soon,” she laughs as she looks down at the orange glow coming from her tattoo. “You’ve brought the dramatics afterall.”

“Well if you don’t like it…” he begins as he raises his hands.

Quickly grabbing his hands in her own, she pulls him closer instead, “I never said that. Though I think yours should match.”

“It will,” he nods, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. “Once it’s healed and not aching every time it’s touched.”

“Have you been keeping it clean Doctor?” she asks leaning in to take a better look. “Because it looks like you aren’t doing the proper after care there.”

Stephen blinks at her slowly, mouth agape, “I can keep a tattoo clean, I have a Ph.D in medicine Y/N.”

“Has it started peeling at all yet?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still using the ointment, just washing, or what?”

“Just washing it.”

“When it peels you switch to a gentle lotion, I’ll let you borrow some, it’ll help,” she nods as she pats the center of his chest.

“Since when did you become an expert on tattoos hm?” he asks with a raised brow.

“Since I didn’t want to have to tell anyone you gave me an infection. Being it’s your ashes and all,” she grins, taking a step back and toward their bathroom.

“You would,” he mutters, sliding up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

“How about you go get comfy and I’ll come back with the lotion… and maybe I’ll even rub it in for you,” she says, chuckling as he shudders at her hips pressing back into him.

“Just on the tattoo?” he whispers in her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine.

“I could be persuaded to do a bit more,” she remarks, bringing her hand up grip the back of his hair as he lets out a hiss. “That is, if you’re a good boy and go wait on the bed for me.”

“Consider me an excellent boy then,” he says as he detangles himself from her and crosses the room to throw himself onto the large bed. “But you’ve got two minutes to grab that and get your ass back in here, or I’m coming in for you.”

Crossing over into their bathroom, Y/N digs out the bottle she was looking for and briefly looks up in the mirror. A smile plastered across her face and her hair a mess, it’s the first time she’s seen herself actually look happy in… who even knows.

Clutching the bottle to her chest, she slips back into their bedroom and leans against the doorframe as she observes her sorcerer.

His frame draped casually across the bed, his hands moving quickly as he forms various shapes with his magic in the air above him. The soft glow of the magic lighting up his handsome features as he goes. After a few moments his head turns toward her, his loving gaze holding her still in the moment as a lazy smile spreads across his face and the magic dissipates, his hand reaching out inviting her onto the bed.

Five years was a long time. But it was worth every second.

-

Stephen Taglist: @gaitwae​ @geeky-politics-46​ @elicheel​

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[kopikokun]

(Don't) Tell Me More༄ m.taeil

↳ Taeil's loaded, and that's a severe understatement. So, what on earth is this rich kid doing cleaning pools every Sunday? Looking for love, of course, and a little help with rubbing sunscreen on his back. Ultraviolet protection's a must; it's getting real hot in here.

pairing: (secret rich kid) pool boy!taeil x gn rich kid!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warning(s): the suggestive bit is the unaddressed tension, and the one joke about bad porn taeil makes. overall, just the ~vibes~ haha

word count: 2153 words

author's note: i got... carried away. no worries, the starved taeil fans deserve a meal. idk how many years it'll take for the next one. also, please notify me if i accidentally used any gendered language. i’ve checked multiple times, but i’m human, and would sincerely appreciate if you pointed out any of my mistakes or even offered feedback ♡

☆༓･*˚⁺‧͙ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: do i wanna know (arctic monkeys) ✧ head over heels (loveleo) ✧ honey (moxie) ✧ dance with me (sir, please) ✧ doubt (hippo campus) ✧ heat waves (glass animals)

← BACK TO NAVI.

Labour isn’t Taeil’s forte. Born with a gold spoon between his lips, and six digits in his bank account at five, he’s lived a life beyond lavish.

Fridays are reserved for piano lessons and tennis, Saturdays for buttering up his father’s potential clients in country clubs, and Sundays for swimming in the five meter deep pool in his backyard. Well, at least, Sundays used to be.

Taeil’s plenty passionate about swimming–freestyle, backstroke, butterfly–but about cleaning swimming pools? Not so much.

So, why is he spending every Sunday afternoon sweaty, swathed in sunscreen, and despairing over chemical imbalances? The answer is simple, and lazing on a deck chair at this very moment: you.

You’re new–courtesy of the raise in your father’s already outrageous salary–and when Taeil first lay his eyes upon you at the park, he was enamoured. He’d actually tripped on a root in his trance, and you’d crouched beside him to ask whether he was alright. Humiliated, he’d silently hobbled after as you lead him to a bench. You’d nursed the wound he hadn’t realised he’d sustained as best you could: rinsing and dabbing it dry.

“I’ll walk you home,” he’d said. “A token of appreciation, if you will.”

You’d accepted his token. The walk wasn’t far, but it was likely because you made for such good company. Taeil would be engrossed even if you droned on about cheese for an hour, which coincidentally, is exactly what Mr. Liu’s monologue had entailed the month before. That conversation had bored him half to death however.

It felt too quick; your estate was already looming over him, auguring the end of your encounter when he’d finally recovered from his ignominy. Desperate for more, Taeil had blurted out the first thing in sight: your pool. That’s why you’d mentioned your dad needing a pool cleaner every weekend, and how, despite being clueless in the department, Taeil had wholeheartedly offered himself. You’d been elated, beaming, over the moon. How could he say no?

It had seemed appealing in the moment, but his train of thought had been superficial. Turns out, those mass-produced specially-targeted summer chick-flicks were lying! Who would’ve guessed? Pool boying was not just flaunting your washboard abs and bulging biceps as you netted a few leaves. Oh no. The first few test cleans Taeil had done with his pool… well, it became off limits for a week. And an actual expert had to be hired. Those gritty aspects aren’t the most marketable, or inherently sexy, so Taeil supposes the chick-flick deceits are partially excused.

But back to what matters: you. Your–how should he put it?–spunk, hadn’t been anticipated. Not an ounce of that pretentious reticence the local wealthy feel entitled to prevails in you. It’s refreshing. You’re adrenaline personified. Just your presence has Taeil’s heart palpitating. Since he’d been hired, every week has been more fleeting glances, yearning touches, puckish banter. And last week… well, there’s no time for that, because now you’re beckoning him over, your hand wrapped around a tube of sunscreen. Taeil prances to you, complaisant.

“Sit,” you urge, dragging a wicker stool in front of you. “You’re done for today, right?”

“Yeah, water didn’t need treatment this week. Just skimmed the surface for debris.” Taeil hesitates. He feels awkward after last week, when he’d kissed you. Yes, kissed you. You haven’t said a word about it since, and there’s no way in hell he’s doing it first. “But, it’s okay. I’m gonna go soon.”

“Aww, please, Taeil? Sit?” You pat the chair and smile, eyelashes glinting in the sun. That’s all it takes for Taeil to succumb, the rattan crackling beneath his weight. Your fingers graze his arm. “It’s a hot day, huh? A swim would be nice.”

His eyebrows crease. "Sorry, were you waiting?"

“No, no, it’s fine.” You tilt your head. “But…”

“What?”

“Do you want to go swimming with me?”

Taeil fists the material of his swim shorts, spine erect. The fabric crinkles. Whether he wants to what? “Oh, uh, well, I don’t wanna intrude. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t be happy about me swimming in their pool.”

The heat of your body seeps into his skin as your arms coil around his. “They don’t mind, and if they did, they’re not home to say so.”

This feels like the start of a trashy porn. Taeil flushes. “Oh.”

“So? What do you say?”

His adam’s apple buoys. “Sure. Wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“Exactly.” The sunscreen’s cap clacks open. “Here, you gotta reapply more.” Taeil extends his palm, and you squeeze some into it.

He deliberates his next move. It’s difficult to think when you’re gazing at him like that, lashes batting and lips curled into a demure smile. “You don’t mind if I”–he rubs his nape with a free hand–“uh, take off my shirt, right? I don’t wanna dirty your pool.”

“Sure! I definitely wouldn’t mind, so long as you’re okay with it.” You tuck your knees to your chest. “Why? Do you want me to look away?”

“No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t making you uncomfortable.” Taeil’s going to pass out, he’s betting money on it.

He doesn’t, but he does glow incandescent when he strips himself of his clammy shirt. The humid air only exacerbates his feverish blush.

Growing up, Taeil’s parents always emphasised presentability, and he’s nothing if not presentable. He’s proud of his physique, diligently maintaining it with rigorous exercise, and sure, he’s had a few self-conscious blips, but they’re transient. Taeil knows he’s attractive, yet under your keen eye, he rubs sunscreen–on his neck, chest, and abdomen–hunched forward.

“Do you need help?” You peer over his shoulder, wagging the aquamarine bottle like bait. “With your back. You know, for the spots you can’t reach?”

You’ll be the death of him. You’re going to kill him, but he honestly wouldn’t mind that. Taeil’s never had any ‘spots he can’t reach’, but, “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Your fingers are ridiculously delicate, like you’re weaving gossamer across his back–sunscreen webs, if that’s a thing. Taeil’s sure someone would pay grotesquely for that. Mr. Liu would.

Neither of you speak, only the sound of skin against skin drifting alongside the scent of coconut oil and cocoa butter. At one point, your nails unintentionally trail his back, and Taeil shivers.

His body tingles with the vestige of your touch, and when he assumes you’re done, you stun him with a good, hard, satisfying squeeze to his shoulders; the ones twined rigid from graft. Taeil actually groans in relief, which had probably stunned you. Or maybe that’s what you were hoping for.

Internally, he’s broiling in mortification, but externally, his shoulders slacken, his head hangs forward, and his exhales are long and grateful. It’s embarrassing. For crying out loud, he has his own professional masseuse, yet when it’s you doing it–yeah, he needn’t elaborate further. He’s gushed about you enough.

“Feels nice, right?”

“God, yeah, it feels”–a particularly forceful squeeze elicits another groan from him–“good. Do you have any experience? You’re amazing at this.”

“Just my dad. When I was younger he used to pay me to massage his shoulders after work,” you say, fingers miraculously knowing exactly which muscle to knead at what intensity. Is this what heaven feels like? “Well, there was also the massage course I signed up for a few years ago.”

“Well”–another sigh–“it definitely paid off.”

“It better have, given how pricey it was.” Your lilt is roguish, and it sounds like you’re enjoying this as much as Taeil is.

He wants to die like this, but you’re already standing, and stretching your arms overhead before he can really soak the sensation in.

“Let’s go for that swim, huh?”

“Uh,” Taeil blinks, dazed, “yeah.”

He trails after you, facing away when you lower yourself into the water without qualms. Duh, it’s your pool. Why would you have scruples about swimming in your pool? Taeil, on the other hand, dithers, because it’s not his pool, and he can’t help but fret that your parents could walk in on you swimming with the pool boy.

“Hurry up! A little water’s not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not scared of the water,” he says, staring pointedly at you. He’s never felt so vehemently for someone before, and you’re so… unpredictable. It’s invigorating. It’s terrifying. Do you like him, or are you just bored?

He ventures as far as sitting on the edge of the pool’s deck, where water kisses concrete. His legs dangle, acclimating to both the temperature, and the reality that he really is about to jump into his employer’s pool. The water is cold, caressing his leg as you wade closer to stand between his knees. Your eyes sweep over him. Taeil’s stomach coils. He hopes you like what you see.

“You okay?” you ask, hand over his right knee. It’s freezing. “You look a little flushed.”

Your hand crawls further up his leg. “Yeah,” he scoffs, “I wonder why.”

“Aw, don’t be shy,” you grin, upturning your palms and offering them to him. “Come on.”

Taeil should’ve thought your motives through, but how could he have denied your invitation? He’s still a guy, and well, it’s you. Regardless, he should’ve scrounged up some semblance of prudence because it was blatant what you’d needed his hands for. To pull him under. Literally.

The tug is harsh and efficient, jolting him forward into the polar depths before he can object. Taeil’s not thinking straight–the stark contrast in temperatures pummel his rationality–so he grabs the closest thing he can: you. It’s reckless of him, given the two of you are in the deep end and he could drown you. But risks evade his psyche as he loops his arms around your waist, your body pressing into his. Fortunately, he won’t be facing charges anytime soon because you do resurface, still in his arms, and strangely, you’re not pissed, you’re laughing. Laughing so hard your head’s thrown back, and your body trembles. It’s not funny–you could’ve died for God’s sake–but Taeil feels a rumble course through him; a chuckle, a giggle, a laugh. Now, he’s laughing too, though there’s nothing funny about this. He’s laughing because you’re laughing, and that’s enough of a reason for him.

“Are you okay?” you finally say, titters dissolving into a faint smile. “That was mean of me, sorry.”

Your face is inches from his, so Taeil’s voice shrinks. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry I grabbed onto you though. And, oh, uh”–he starts loosening his grip of you–“sorry I–”

"No, wait.” This time, it’s your arms curling around him. “It’s fine. I don’t mind this. It feels… nice.”

“Yeah… it - it does.”

The water laps at his sternum, and Taeil takes his chances by nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. You let him, though neither of you know each other enough for this kind of intimacy. Maybe that’s why he’s so enthralled by you. Hell, you don’t even know he’s the son of some rich socialite. To you, he’s just the pool boy. Maybe that’s why you’re playing along with him. Because there’s something exhilarating about chasing something you shouldn’t when you’ve never had to run before. Because there’s a thrill in pain when you’re unscathed. Because when you’re someone like you and Taeil, mistakes can be afforded. Anyway, what does Taeil know of pain? In fact, what does he know of you to think this? It isn’t like he knows what your intentions are with him. You’re unpredictable. That’s your whole schtick. It’s funny, because Taeil knows your pool’s pH levels better than you.

Your fingers scrape into his sopping hair.

Or maybe he likes you for you. Maybe he likes what little of you he does know. So, does he want to know more?

“What do you think of me?” he murmurs against your skin.

“You’re fun.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, then, what do you think of me?”

Taeil lifts his head from your shoulder, the strength of his embrace withering. “Honestly, I don’t really know.”

You grin. “See? It’s hard to put into words, right?”

“I guess,” he smiles. You make it sound nice that you don’t know him. You make it sound like there’s just too much that you can’t express it. Maybe that’s what’s happening right now. Maybe there’s just too much Taeil likes about you to comprehend, so he thinks there’s nothing he really likes about you at all.

“You’re funny, Taeil.”

He isn’t. “Thanks.”

Taeil’s unsure how much time passes; long enough that the water’s gone tepid at least.

“Do you… like me?” he asks. Maybe if he hears you say yes, he’ll know what all the things he adores about you are.

There’s a pause.

“You’re fun, right?” you ask, thumbing a rivulet from his cheek.

“Yeah, I’ve been told I am.”

“Then, yes.” Your lips brush his. “I like you, Taeil.”

[itsclydebitches]

Hello again! Im the tinfoil hat anon with the long ass asks and I finally had the time to read your response. Thank you, it makes my day reading your answers. I honestly just enjoyed them over a cup of coffee like a good book.

Now, the gun pointing scene I mentioned was in fact the one from the droid fight facility like the other anon suggested. But I really liked that you covered the boat scene too, I haven’t thought of it much myself and now I definitely have!

I also would like to mention I love your “candy bar” choice analogy and I 100% agree Hunter’s “invitation” to join back wasn’t welcoming in the slightest. It is very likely just an obligation as you said. Sort of “you gave us a chance, we owe you a chance too”.

And the problem with it is now I am struggling to figure out how the batch members might change their attitude toward Crosshair going forward, especially Hunter. As of right now Crosshair’s best relationship is not with his brothers but with Omega(as surprising as this is). And I think he does realize now she cared about him the most out of all of them during the short time they interacted(both 1st and last episodes). Even between themselves(not counting Omega) I find most of the bad batch members to be cold and distant to each other. They feel less like a family than Rebels for example. And they aren’t even a “found family”(a trope everyone loves) but an actual one! And I get that they’re soldiers and supposed to be tough, I don’t expect them to share all “the feels”. I just can’t put my finger on it but something feels off. I agree with your previous post, the show doesn’t do a very good job showing or even telling they love each other.

Will Hunter and co only start caring about their brother again only after he leaves the empire?(assuming he does at some point). What about Disney’s prevailing theme and message that “family always love and care for each other no matter what”? I guess it’s “family always love and care for each other but only if you’re good guys making right choices”. There is no room for mistakes or wrong decisions. In the last episode everyone form the batch seemed to have given up on Crosshair(besides Omega). For now their attitude seems to be just “you’re not our enemy” and that’s that.

I realize Crosshair is a “bad guy” and consciously made his choice(and we know it’s the wrong one) but to me it felt like he thought he didn’t even had a choice or rather became so lost and confused he actually thought he chose the empire as “the lesser evil”(as in the less shitty choice out of all the other bad ones). We as audience have the benefit to know exactly how atrocious the empire really is but maybe Crosshair still doesn’t realize that.

So what exactly must Crosshair do to get back “in their good graces” as you say? Start saving “the good guys”? Save the bad batch multiple times? There is a popular opinion on how Crosshair can redeem himself. That he eventually heroically sacrifices himself to save them. I personally REALLY hope it’s NOT what’s going to happen but I heard so many people speculating his story is set up to be redemption=death. I know you mentioned you don’t want “Vader style redemption” either. Personally I think it would be a waste of a character who has a lot of potential. And I just think that the batch kind of don’t really deserve his sacrifice(maybe save for Omega) after how they never tried to save him themselves and how they treated him overall. Maybe he will risk his life to save Omega at some point and that will “prove” to Hunter he cares? Although he has already shown he cares by saving her(even if in Crosshair’s own words it’s just so they’re “even”). And the thing is, he doesn’t need to prove that he loves them, he already did that in episode 15 and made it clear he does care. He actually went to extreme by shooting his squad to prove his loyalty. What were the moments the batch demonstrated they care about him? Hunter saying “you never were our enemy” and taking his unconscious body to safety? To me Hunter “not leaving him behind” during bombardment felt more like guilt about the last time it happened and an obligation to Crosshair for helping them with droids, rather than them showing care. And I kinda of think if that was any random civilian(or anyone other than an enemy or a threat) they would carry them out too just because that’s what good guys do and not because it’s their brother. You also mentioned that minutes later Hunter snaps at him with “if you want to stay here and die, that’s your choice” which I agree can be interpreted in different ways. And I think it’s one more point to it being an obligation that in Hunter’s eyes is fulfilled now. He corrected his mistake of leaving a brother behind and saved him this time, now his guilt won’t burden him any longer.

Anyway, I can’t wait for season 2 and I appreciate you and all the anons sharing the tinfoil hat, interacting and speculating together. Those discussions have been a lot of fun!

TLDR: How do your think the relationship between the brothers will mend or evolve in the next season? Do you think S2 will improve in portraying the batch more as a family rather than a group of mercs doing missions together? What are your thoughts on the popular idea of Crosshair’s redemption by ultimate sacrifice? As in, how likely do you think this scenario is?

Anon, that is just wonderfully hilarious to me. Ah yes, the sunrise, a good cup o' joe, and the overly long character analysis of a snarky, fictional sniper. Exactly what everyone needs in the morning! 😆

You know, TBB is far from the first show I've watched where there's an obvious, emotional conclusion the creator wants the audience to come to—the squad all love each other Very Much—yet that conclusion isn't always well supported by the text. It creates this horribly awkward situation where you're going, "Yes, I'm fully aware of what the show wanted to do, but this reading, arguably, did not end up in the story itself. So what are we talking about here? The intention, or the execution?" It's like Schrödinger's Bad Batch where the group is simultaneously Very Loving and Very Distant depending on how much meta-aspects are influencing your reading: those authorial intentions, understanding of how found family tropes should work, fluff focused fics/fan art that color our understanding of the characters, etc. And, of course, whether someone saw TCW before they watched TBB. I personally wouldn't go quite so far as to say they're "cold" towards one another—with Crosshair as an exception now—but there wasn't the level of bonding among the squad that I expected of a show called The Bad Batch. Especially compared to their arc in TCW. The other night I re-watched the season seven premiere and was struck not just by how much more the squad interacted with each other back then, but how those interactions added depth to their characters too. For example, Crosshair is the mean one, right? He's the one picking fights with the Regs? Well yeah... but it's also Wrecker. While they're trying to decide what to do with Cody injured, Jesse calls out Crosshair on his attitude—"You can't talk to Captain Rex like that!"—and Wrecker's immediate response is, "Says who?" and he hefts Jesse into the air. And then he just holds him there, clearly using his superior strength to do as he pleases, until Hunter (sounding pretty angry) tells him to put Jesse down. If Wrecker had put him into a more classically understood bullying position, like pinning him to the ground, it would probably read as less funny—less "Haha strong clone lifts Jesse up in the air!" and more "Oh shit, strong clone can do whatever the hell he wants to the Regs and few are able to stop him." It's such a quick moment, but it tells us a ton about Wrecker. That he's going to stick up for his brothers, no matter the context (Crosshair deserves to be called out). That he will gleefully assist Crosshair in bothering the Regs (something that is reinforced when he later throws the trays in the mess hall, after Hunter has already deescalated the situation). That he's likely been hurt by awful treatment from the Regs too. That he'll only listen to Hunter when it comes to backing off. Little of this work—that interplay among the squad that shows us new sides to them other than basic things like "Wrecker is the nice, happy brother"—exists in TBB.

Or, at least, little exists after Omega becomes an official member of the squad.

Because, as said previously, she becomes the focus. I don't mean that as a total criticism. As established, I love Omega. But if we're talking about why the squad can feel so distant from each other, I think she's the root cause, simply because the story became all about her relationships with the Batch, rather than the Batch's relationships with each other. Having dived headfirst into reading and writing fic, it occurred to me just how many of the bonding moments we love, the sort of stuff we'll see repeated in fics because we understand that this is where the story's emotional center is, are given to Omega in canon:

Someone is hurt and in need of comfort. Omega's emotional state is the focus + moments like her being worried over Hunter getting shot.

Someone needs to learn a new skill. Echo teaches Omega how to use her bow.

Someone reveals a skill they never knew they had before. Omega is a strategic genius and plays her last game with Hunter.

Someone is in serious danger and in need of rescue. Omega rescues the group from the slavers + is the most vocal about rescuing Hunter. (Which, again, is a pretty sharp contrast to the whole Crosshair situation.) Omega, in turn, needs rescuing from things like the decommission conveyor belt.

Similarly, someone is kidnapped and in need of rescue. Omega is kidnapped twice by bounty hunters and the Batch goes after her.

Someone saves another's life. Omega saves Crosshair from drowning.

Someone does something super sweet for another. Wrecker gives Omega her room. Omega gives Wrecker Lula.

A cute tradition is established between characters. Wrecker has his popcorn-esque candy sharing with Omega.

Someone hurts someone else and has to ask forgiveness. Wrecker is upset about nearly shooting Omega and they have that sweet moment together.

Note that most of these examples could have occurred between other Batch members, but didn't. Someone could have created a space for Echo on the ship too. Wrecker also could have apologized to Tech for choking him, etc. It's not that those moments shouldn't happen with Omega, just that there should be more of a balance across the whole season, especially for a show supposedly focused on the original squad. Additionally, it's not that cute bonding moments between the rest of the Batch don't exist. I love Hunter selling Echo off as a droid. I love Wrecker and Tech bickering while fixing the ship. I love the tug-of-war to save Wrecker from the sea monster. Yes, we do have moments... it's just that comparatively it feels pretty skewed in Omega's direction.

So, as a VERY long-winded way of answering your question, I think we need to fix the above in order to tackle Crosshair's redemption in season two. Now that we've had a full season focused on Omega, we need to strike a better balance among the rest of the squad moving forward. We need to re-established the "obvious" conclusion that the rest of the Batch loves Crosshair and that's done (in part) by establishing their love for one another too. To my mind, both goals go hand-in-hand, especially since you can develop their relationship with Crosshair and their relationships with each other simultaneously. Imagine if instead of just having Wrecker somewhat comically admit that he misses Crosshair (like he's dead and they can't go get him??), he and Tech had a serious conversation about why they can't get him back yet, despite very much wanting to. Imagine if Echo, the one who was rescued against all odds, got to scream at Hunter to go get Crosshair like Omega screamed at them to go back for Hunter. Imagine if we'd gotten more than a tiny arc in TCW to establish the Batch's dynamic with each other, providing a foundation for how they would each react to Crosshair's absence. Instead, what little we've got in TBB about Crosshair's relationship with his brothers is filtered through Omega: Omega's embarrassment that she knocked over Crosshair's case, Omega treating Crosshair's comm link like a toy, Omega's quest to save Hunter that just happened to involve Crosshair along the way.

Obviously, at this point we can't fix how the first season did things, but I think we can start patching over these issues in season two. It would be jarring—we'd still be 100% correct to ask where this "Brothers love you, support you, and will endlessly fight for you" theme was for Crosshair's entire time under the Empire's thumb... but I'd take an about-face into something better than not getting any improvement at all. It is frustrating though, especially for a show that I otherwise really, really enjoyed. For me, the issue isn't so much that the show made a mistake (since no show is perfect), but that the mistake is attached to such a foundational part of the franchise. Not just in terms of "SW is about hope and forgiveness" but the specific relationship most clones have with each other: a willingness to go above and beyond for their brothers. The focus on Omega aside, it's hard to believe in the family dynamic when one member of the family was so quickly and easily dismissed. I couldn't get invested in Hunter's rescue as much as I should have because rather than going, "Yes!! Save your brother!!!" my brain just kept going, "Lol where was this energy for Crosshair?" It messes with your reading of the whole story, so in order to fix that mistake going forward, we need to start seeing the bonds that only sometimes exist in season one. Show the guys expressing love for one another more consistently (in whatever way that might be—as you say, soldiers don't have to be all touchy-feely. Give us more moments like Wrecker supporting his brothers' bad habits) and then extend that to Crosshair. Which brother is going to demand that they fight for him? Which brother is going to acknowledge that they never tried to save him? Which brother is going to question this iffy statement about the chip? In order to buy into the family theme, Omega can't be the only one doing that emotional work.

Ideally, I wouldn't want Crosshair to go out of his way to prove that he's a good guy now. I mean, I obviously want him to stop helping the Empire and such, duh lol, but I'm personally not looking for a bunch of Extra Good Things directed at the Batch as a requirement for forgiveness. Simply because that would reinforce the idea that they're 100% Crosshair's victims, Crosshair is 100% the bad guy, and he's the only one who needs to do any work to fix this situation. Crosshair needs to stop doing bad things (working for Empire). But the Batch needs to start doing good things too (reaching out to him). Especially since Crosshair made a good play already, only to be met with glares and distrust. He saved Omega! And AZI! And none of them cared. So am I (is Crosshair) supposed to believe that saving one of their lives again will result in a different reaction? That doesn't make much sense. And no, his own life wasn't at risk when he did that, but does every antagonist need to die/nearly die to prove they're worth fighting for? As you say, he's already shown that he loves them, far more than they've shown the reverse. Every time Crosshair hurt them (attacking) it was while he was under the chip's influence. In contrast, the group has no "I was being controlled" excuse for when they hurt him (abandonment). Season two needs to acknowledge the Batch's responsibility in all this—and acknowledge that they're all victims of the Empire—in order to figure out an appropriate arc for Crosshair's redemption.

Right now, the issue is not Crosshair loving his brothers, the issue is how Crosshair chooses to express that love: trying to keep them safe and giving them a purpose in life by joining the organization that's clearly going to dominate the galaxy. The only way to fix that, now that his offer has been rejected, is for him to realize that a life on the run from the Empire, together, is a better option for everyone. And the only way for that to happen is for the Batch to seriously offer him a place with them again. They need to make the first move here. They need to fight for him. And yeah, I totally get that a lot of people don't like that because it's not "fair." He's the bad guy. He's with the fascist allegory. He's killed people and has therefore lost any right to compassion and effort from the good guys... but if that's the case, then we just have to accept that (within the story-world, not from a writing perspective) Crosshair is unlikely to ever come back from this. When people reach that kind of low, they rarely pull themselves out on their own. They need other people to help them do that. Help them a lot. But with the exception of Omega's reminder—which Crosshair can't believe due to how everyone else has treated him—they leave him alone and seem to expect him to fix himself first, then he gets their support. It needs to be the other way around. Support is what would allow him to become a good guy again, not "Well, you'll get our love when you're good again, not before." That's unlikely to occur and, as discussed, it doesn't take into account things like this bad guy life being forced on Crosshair at the start. If the story really wanted this to be a matter of ideological differences... then make it about ideological differences. Let Crosshair leave of his own free will, right at the start. Don't enslave him for half the season, have him realize he was abandoned, imply all that brainwashing, give him no realistic way out, and then punish him for not doing the right thing. This isn't a situation where someone went bad for the hell of it—the story isn't asking us to feel compassion for, say, the Admiral—it's a situation where Crosshair was controlled and now can't see a way out. That context allows for the Batch, the good guys, to fight for him without the audience thinking the show is just excusing that behavior. They should have been fighting from the start, but since they didn't, I hope we at least start seeing that in season two.

Ultimately though... I don't really expect all of the above. The more balanced dynamics and having the Batch fight for Crosshair rather than Crosshair going it alone... I wouldn't want to bet any money on us getting it, just because these are things that should have been established in season one and would have been more easy to pull off in season one. (If the Batch wouldn't fight for Crosshair while he was literally under the Empire's control, why would they fight now when he's supposedly acting of his own free will? It's backwards in terms of the emotional effort involved.) But again, it could happen! I'd be very pleased if it did happen, despite the jarring change. I don't want to make it sound like I think they're going to write off Crosshair entirely. Far from it, I think there are too many details like his sad looks for that, to say nothing of Omega's compassion. But the execution of getting him on Team Good Guys again might be preeeetty bumpy. I expect it to revolve around Crosshair's sins and Crosshair's redemption, even if what I would like is balancing that with Crosshair's loss of agency, the Batch's mistakes, and their own redemption towards him.

Honestly though, I just hope that whatever happens happens soon. It's a personal preference, absolutely, but after a season of Crosshair as the antagonist, I'm ready for him to be back with the group, making the Empire (and bounty hunters) the primary enemy. Whether his return happens through a mutual acknowledgement of mistakes, or through Crosshair being depicted as the only one in the wrong who has to do something big to be forgiven... just get him back with the squad lol. Because if the writing isn't going to delve into that nuance, then the longer he remains unforgiven, the longer some of us have to watch a series while going, "Wait, wait, wait, I really don't agree with how you're painting this picture."

[simsadventures]

After All: Chapter 2: Safe Place

Summary: Month in a the Avenger compound and you and Bucky are growing closer every day.

Warnings: swearing, fluff

Word Count: 1593

A/N: I so wanted to write this story and now I feel like it’s missing something. I don’t know… I think next part will be better and with much more actions, so there’s that xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

A month in an Avenger compound, and you never felt better. You thought you were getting a job, which, of course, you did, but you also got something much more valuable than that. Friends. You were just getting along with people, vibing, and all, and just loving your new life amongst one of the smartest people on the planet, and amongst the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

There were two people, particularly whom you were getting along the most. Bucky, who never really left your side after your introduction (not that you were complaining), and Hannah, one of the CIA agents working closely with the Avengers. The three of you didn’t really meet up together, but when one of them couldn’t hang out with you, the other was more than willing to.

When Hannah left for a mission in India, it was just you and Bucky left. Most of the Avengers went with Hannah and her team, so really the compound was occupied only by you- the lab rats, Bucky, Rhodey, and Scott.

Rhodey was the diplomat of the group, so he would be taking care of phone calls and paperwork that which needed to be signed by an Avenger. Scott was mostly not there because he would always spend his free time with Hope, which you understood, of course. So really, it was just you and Bucky who could watch movies and do stuff together.

It was one particularly dull afternoon that Bucky got an idea. “How ‘bout I train you, doll?”

You scrunched your face and looked at, a mix of disbelief and confusion. “Train me in what, Bucky? And don’t tell me you mean train like train, I have the endurance of a koala bear. C’mon.”

“Ok, my koala bear, but you live amongst the Avengers now, you should be able to defend yourself.”

“And what are you guys for? I make your armour, you protect me, isn’t that the silent deal here?” You were still very much unimpressed. You were just out of shape and really didn’t need Bucky seeing you sweating like a pig and trying not to die from the lack of breath.

“Oh, c’mon, it’ll be fun, Y/N.”

“Those are your arguments, Barnes? You need to protect yourself in a building full of freaking supermen, and that it’ll be fucking fun? Wow, I have a better idea. We should work on your argumentation, this is just sad.”

“Stop being a smart-ass and just let me train you. If you don’t go by yourself, I’ll carry you there, doll.”

“Ugh, fine. But you are an asshole, thought you should know.” You huffed and just went with him. “Sure, an asshole you can’t get enough.” He smirked, and you were done.

—-

The training was even worse than you thought. You kinda hoped he’d take it easy, it being the first of your physical activity other than yoga in what seemed to be years. But no. He had to make the session a freaking Captain America level. You were out of your breath after three laps around the gym, and it was just a warm-up. You were quite sure you’d die there.

“C’mon, Y/N! Don’t tell me you’re already tired? We haven’t even started yet.” You didn’t look at him to know he had that smug look all over his face. You just wanted to punch him. Hard.

“Let’s box a little, I’ll show you some techniques if you ever found yourself in combat.”

“Please, just don’t call it combat, Bucky? It sounds too serious. Let’s just stay at defence, shall we?”

The change of vocabulary, however, didn’t help you one bit. Bucky was always either behind you and choking you, or above you because he somehow managed to get you on the ground. The last time, you could have sworn you didn’t even blink, and you were suddenly on your back, staring back at him confusedly.

At the same time, other emotions than just confusion coursed through you. You weren’t really sure what it was, but those damn butterflies just wouldn’t go away. You just prayed to whatever God was listening, that Bucky couldn’t hear your heart whenever he touched or pinned your hands above your head.

You wanted to act all cool, but you if called out, you would blush like a 13-year old, and just prayed that the ground swallowed you. Fortunately, Bucky either didn’t see the effect he had on you or decided to ignore it. Which you were forever grateful for.

It was like the twentieth time you found yourself laying on the ground, that you just groaned and tried to scramble away, and hopefully towards the exit before Bucky notices. But he was on you in a second, each of your hands pinned on either side of you. “How can you be so bad at this, doll? I mean, I could kill you in a second, and I bet your cute ass you wouldn’t even notice me or could have a chance for some last thoughts, let alone last words.”

“Well, I’m so sorry I’m not a freaking trained assassin, Barnes. I’m a scientist, we don’t even have to do PE or anything like that. Just pure science, and we were all pleased about that, trust me.”

“Good thing you’re my favourite girl anyway, Y/N.” He smirked and held his hand to help you back at your feet. But being called “his favourite girl” stunned you too much to be able to move correctly. And because Bucky wanted to end the session and give you a break, he just bent down and picked you up as if you weighed nothing.

“I can stand, Barnes. Put me down.” You didn’t want him to put you down, Bucky’s body could easily be your safe space, but you didn’t want to give yourself false hope. You knew you were far from his type. He was the type of guy who wanted a slim, but slender woman, fierce, and most of all, beautiful, nothing short of Miss Universe. And you weren’t that. You knew that. You were… well, just you. You were ok with that but didn’t want to feel sad when Bucky found the type of girl that would suit him.

But it was getting harder and harder every day. Seeing Bucky all the time, spending such quality time with him definitely didn’t ease your mind. If anything, it made you dream about him on an almost daily basis. Sure, some of those dreams were very intimate, but others (and these were prevailing) were just about an ordinary relationship you wished you had with Bucky.

You just smiled at your thoughts. “Whatcha thinking ‘bout, baby girl?” Bucky’s voice boomed in your ear and almost made you die. You shrieked, and he just started laughing. You just forgot where you were awesome!

“Just how much of an ass my friend is, that all. Now let me down, I wanna stretch these legs before they fall off of my body.”

He let you down, and the only thing you could think about was that you were screwed. Totally and completely screwed.

You wanted to just take a long, long shower, and then snuggle your blanket and read some completely useless magazine, like Cosmopolitan, just to get yourself into a different headspace. Bucky stopped you before you could bid your goodbye. “Hey, you going to that party of Tony’s next week?”

“I guess I gotta at least show my face there, Tony’s been pretty adamant about that. Why”

“You wanna go with me?” Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Are you asking me to prom, Bucky? Awww, that’s so sweet of you!”

“Haha, very funny, Y/N. You wanna come or not?”

“I’d like that, thank you for asking me, Bucky.”

He came a little closer, and whispered to your ear, “Sure thing, after all, you really are my best girl. Who else would I ask?”

You blushed and look at your feet. You again tried to stop your head, but he was giving you so many hints and stuff, that you just couldn’t ignore it. He cared and was interested in you, even though you weren’t a barbie doll. It was a nice feeling for once, also if he meant it as a friend, it was still nice to be noticed, and you wanted to cherish that feeling for as long as you could.

You smiled at him, kissed his cheek, and left to have a hot shower, where you’d replay the conversation in your head over and over again. Your heart was happy, and you couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

You even got a phone call from Hannah, telling you that the mission was over and that they were all coming home. You told her about the details of your day with Bucky, and she squealed excitedly.

“That’s awesome, Y/N. I mean, that guy is obviously into you!”

“Oh, come on, Han. He’s just being nice, I’m nothing special, just a friend, that’s all.”

“Oh please, even you can’t be that stupid. He asked you to that party, you’ll see there, I bet he’ll make his move, count on my words!”

“Alright, Long Island Medium, can’t wait for you to come back. Safe journey and I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

After the phone call, your mind was spiralling. What if he really made a move? God, you needed to look breathtaking. You just couldn’t wait for the party. It would be the best night of your life. No doubt.

/ Next Chapter >

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan @owlyannah @readermia @kolakube9 @ibookishqueen @thewintersoldierswifu @emogril @the-melancholyfeels @pinkleopardss @supervengerslock @the-soulofdevil

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[skyvaikers]

breakdown [ ahsoka tano ]

author’s note: our girl went through so much she deserves a little happiness 🥺

summary: after the dust settles and everything is said and done, ahsoka meets with a special someone to help her mourn.

warnings: mentions of past violence, angst, fluff.

requested by: anonymous

———

no one thought that the end of the war would end like this. no one thought that their own clones would turn against them. it came as a total surprise to the young, togruta jedi. she had considered these men to be her brothers, but she felt completely alone, all except for rex, who she had thankfully saved. 

they managed to get off of the crusier, which was falling quickly to its demise. they landed on the surface next to it, but one of the several things that was stuck in ahsoka’s mind was y/n. the two had bonded over the course of the clone war, and even though ahsoka had a hard time admitting it, she had fallen for the girl. she wondered where she was now, if she had survived. 

she stood in front of the mass grave, sticks with helmets marking the soldiers that fell. she held her sabers in her hands, contemplating the jedi order and what all she fought for. she felt hot tears sting her eyes as she stared at the graves, and she was so embedded in those emotions she didn’t hear a ship land behind her. 

rex swore it was an enemy ship, but when he saw who had popped out of it, it took him a moment to relax. the girl that had jumped out of the ship had a tired look on her face; she knew she was going to be spending the rest of her life running. 

“ahsoka,” the girl called. her voice was weak, her body shook; she was still on edge. she knew, judged by the look on rex’s face, that he wasn’t going to hurt her. not like her own men did. 

the togurta turned around to meet the eyes of her lover and she ran towards her, falling into her arms. the two young jedi embraced each other, letting the tears they were holding back go. their world had changed, they didn’t get a chance to grow up into a jedi knight, even a master. the both of them would have to either continue their training on their own, or solely focus on survival. 

ahsoka separated from y/n, tears continuing to fall down her cheeks. while rex stayed at the ship, giving them space, ahsoka let herself cry. she allowed herself to be vulnerable, for y/n to see how broken she was. 

“how...how are we going to do this?” she asked, trying not to cry as she spoke. y/n didn’t know, everything was so uncertain. she grabbed ahold of ahsoka’s hands and stared at them.

“i...I don’t know.” she whispered, tears of her own falling down her raw cheeks. she lifted a hand up to wipe the tears away from ahsoka’s cheeks. “but, we’ll get through this together.” she added, even though she knew that they wouldn’t be able to be together for very long. the empire would track them down and kill them. but y/n didn’t plan on letting that happen, not on her watch. 

they rested their foreheads against each other, continuing to mourn over the lost brothers, over the fall of anakin skywalker, over the fall of the jedi.

“together,” ahsoka repeated, nodding her head. they could do this, they could prevail. this war will be won.

------

this is short, but I hoped I met the expectations of the request! I hope you all enjoyed! now since the clone wars is over and i’m not don't crying, I'm watching criminal minds to make me cry more haha. well, enjoy!

[w-ngs]

may20

feels weird writing about something as mundane as a ~monthly completeds~ during a literal fuckin’ revolution, so i just wanted to point whoever might end up reading this to my second to last post where i linked: 1) a website with multiple other links to donate to and 2) a link to a free (!!!!!) youtube video that you can watch without skipping ads to help generate revenue for even more donations. we can at least do this much to help our black brothers and sisters.

~ pachinko, min jin lee — originally i was going to make a full, separate post about this book because oh my god how beautifully tragic and culturally eye-opening of a book. but it actually took me uh... around 3 months to finish reading because it kinda got forgotten in the middle of moving back home from college and quarantine and all the other coronavirus business. i don’t want to butcher what i remember about the first half, so i moved it to here. great ready, this is going to be kind of a long one. while reading, i was fully struck by how i literally know nothing, NOTHING about my korean culture. koreans as a whole have suffered discrimination in ways i didn’t know asians could suffer. what made it even more mind-boggling was that it was discrimination by other asians. the japanese, to be specific. honestly, i got nothing against them. my parents are very staunchly on one side (you can probably guess which) and rightly so. they’re products of a fading japanese imperialism, so there’s no reason for them not to have strong opinions about japan. what i feel like i should have expected, but really didn’t, was how much death was a prevailing factor within all the stories. it’s everywhere. and because of that, as well as other factors such as racism or depression or sickness or even freak accidents, no one even came close to living what most people would categorize as a happy life (i say most people because i’m kind of iffy about the concept of “happiness,” so whenever i refer to the feeling it’s more in a generally accepted definition of the word). not a single person was able to escape suffering on the basis of ethnicity. lol there was one moment where i wondered how they could tell koreans apart from japanese because there are times when i can barely tell different asians apart myself. but i guess since koreans in japan (and in general, except our mans koh hansu) lived less privileged lifestyles, it would be easy to tell with a glance at their outer appearance. another aspect about this story i found striking was lee’s writing style. although simple, it added just enough detail to really make that emotional punch hit you right in the gut. there were some characters i felt more attached to than others (noah and sunja, you two will live in my heart), but there wasn’t a single person’s story i didn’t want to read about. each one offered glimpses into lives of koreans who moved to japan to try and live better lives. but alas, hardships exist no matter where one goes. lee’s book taught me that there is so much more to my culture than what i’m only currently exposed to, and it made me want to know more. more about my history and the people that suffered and died to try and create a better world for their children.

~ educated, tara westover — see my full post about this book here! also, just read it. you won’t regret it.

~ an enchantment of ravens, margaret rogerson — cindy (readwithcindy on youtube; i love her check her out) gushed about this book so much in her past videos it made me really hyped to read it as well. except i was really disappointed, lol. her biggest point was that the book’s basically all fluff, which is true for some parts. but the fluff ain’t even that fluffy. i was excepting cotton candy/make-your-teeth-ache fluff, but it was meh. honestly i think my favorite character was either gadfly (what a savage) or aster (what a psychotic but still adorable girl). i did like the concept of “craft” and its consequences/benefits. the world-building was well thought out and overall an interesting take on faeries. i’d recommend it to people who are in the mood to enjoy a short and simple romance fantasy story.

~ the grand design, leonard mlodinow & stephen hawking — the book i actually wanted to read instead was a brief history of time, but that wasn’t available in my library’s ebook app yet. so i picked this one because it sounded interesting (multiverse theory! wow!) and i was truly not disappointed. i also had no idea what my brain was absorbing more than half the time and i don’t think i retained even a fourth of what was said. but they did talk about some cool things, like parallel universes and how we literally create our own past by trying to figure out how it happened. and how there are infinite choices we could have made but those don’t end up mattering because the choices we made are what have placed us where we are now. or something along those lines. a very cool book. wish i had the brain capacity to appreciate it more fully.

~ lol also i made a post about crash landing on you if anyone wants to read it haha

[sakuurae]

two cups of sugar

summary: after visiting a new pastry shop down the street, mark lee becomes a regular for the sweet treats, but especially for the even sweeter girl that works the counter.

❀ pairing: mark & patissiere!reader insert || patisserie!AU

❀ includes: fluff, humour

❀ wc: 12.2k

❀ note: A cute little scenario for mark! Happy birthday to my baby and me :’) I hope you guys enjoy! I based this off a scene that occurred in my friends life, which had me crying on the floor in laughter. Haha

Mark Lee, prevailing university track star and notorious stunner, was more farouche than one would expect.

He was ebullient at least, vibrant at most—there was never a dull moment if Mark Lee was in the milieu, for he knew how to brighten up the entire ambience with a simple thread of words. Girls loved him, boys supported him—he was frequently praised for his outstanding accomplishments and periodically went out to treat himself with his friends.

Right after track practice was one of those occasions. He was almost drained, exhausted from sprints and leaping over hurdles; he wanted some treats to rejuvenate, and so he went out with his friends. Word spread that a new pastry store had opened downtown, known for their palatable bursts of flavor and appealing display. It raised Mark’s curiosity and he extended the word to his friends, who only craved for a bite of the sweet treats. So, falling right after their arduous practice like a flawless, quick cascade, they walked to the patisserie, ravenous for fresh delicacy.

Their legs were growing sore, and it was not a good combination with the balmy heat beating down on their skin. Mark let out a groan, weary and ready to rest. “How far is it again?” Mark complained, stretching his arms to the sky. “My legs are dying.”

His friend shot him a glare, annoyed at his words. “It was your idea to visit the new store. You have no right to complain about the walk,” he shot back. “Even if it is taking us twenty minutes.”

Mark laughed. “Gosh, Donghyuck, my bad. I didn’t think it would take this long to make it to downtown.”

“You thought wrong,” chimed in another friend.

“Jae,” Mark pouted, “you were complaining about the same thing five minutes ago!”

“There’s nothing to complain about anymore because”—Jaehyun peered down at his device and back up to see if the maps app had led the crew to the correct place��“I think we made it.”

Mark grinned in relief, ready to take rest inside the store. There it was, only a couple of steps away. The three boys made their way to the pastry shop, heads turning in every direction as they observed the exterior. The walls were painted an inviting baby blue; two tables along with chairs were by the opened window; the mellow music tunes were audible from a short distance. Clearly, it did not look like the place for a couple of rambunctious boys to visit after a sweaty, messy practice.

The three boys stood out prominently when they waltzed into the store, and it was not due to the ring form the bell that hanged by the door that caught everyone’s attention. Their disheveled appearance and sunblock sheened self (and glowing sweat) drew attention indisputably. It was as blatant as the illustrations in a pop-out book.

The sweet scent of cinnamon swirled together with fresh strawberries within the humble shop. The aroma was spreading throughout the area, a delectable ensconcement that wrapped its arms around the three boys. Each person within the pastry store appeared convivial, and they all awaited the next batch of steamed cake that was preparing itself in the designated confinement. When it was opened by a worker the steam rose into the air like talons before disappearing into nothing. Mark was astounded by the interior—the neat arrangement of periwinkle to ivory tables and chairs, wooden decor, an array of blossoms, and much more—before being stunned by what the pastry store had to offer.

There was an array of treats to choose from: seeded bagels, blackberry pastries dusted with powdered sugar, miniature buttered croissants—each in their own section. There was way too many choices for him to select one, and he was investing himself in the beauty that rested within the cases until his friend tapped his shoulder. “Mark, what do you plan on getting? This place looks incredible,” asked Jaehyun.

Mark’s eyes never left the glass case the held the wonders of the pastry store. So far, the goodness that was the cornet pies, chocolate drizzled over the surface, caught his eye. “I’m not sure yet, there’s a lot of things to choose from.”

“May I help you?” asked a worker behind the counter.

Mark saw from his field of view a blurry frame of a woman approach behind the glass and he straightened his posture, tilting his head up to look at the worker as he said, “Ah, yeah. I’d actually like to try—”

Mark’s words cut themselves off short, for his mind went blank at the sight of the worker—at the sight of you. You had a gentle smile tugging at your lips, hair out of your face as a work requirement yet he found it charming, and a powder blue apron hugging your body. Every time you blinked stars would ignite their own luster, enthralling him impotently.

Immediately, Mark obtained a unique taste of nonpareil palatableness on his tongue, and he only craved to satisfy his sweet tooth with you.

You waited for the man to continue what he was about to say, but he was rendered speechless. You tilted your head and looked at his friends, whose attentions were still directed towards the set of macarons. Your sight fleeted from the boy and his friends and you finally said, “Our most popular macaron flavor is lemon sunrise, and our weekly flavor is red velvet.”

Mark’s mouth hung open as if he was starstrucked; quite honestly, he was. Never had he ever seen a girl so beautiful—at a pastry store, of all places. He became flustered, face painting with a translucent pink as he tried to find the right words. “Thanks,” responded Jaehyun. “We should get six macarons—two for each of us.”

“Oh!” You clapped your hands together. “If you get four then you get two free—it’s a part of our grand opening deal,” you informed with a grin.

The further the scene escalated the more Mark’s mind was sent into a whirlwind. He had obtained a sugar rush from hearing your words coat with a sweet honey. “That sounds great, what do you think, Mark?” asked Donghyuck.

“Ah”—Mark shook his head, dragging himself back to reality—“t-that sounds good to me.”

You smiled at him in response, noticing how he responded to his friends whilst gawking at you. “Great, what flavors would you guys like? I’d recommend the lemon sunrise, not because I made that batch or anything,” you jested with a giggle.

Mark’s heart fluttered and he pressed his lips into a thin line. You tried to direct your attention to the two hungry boys that argued over which flavors to order, but Mark was equally as distracting. He had a pink swirling at the apples of his cheeks as if it was a natural blush, gifted with a dewy look—a unique beauty your eyes had never feasted upon. You felt silly: there you were, behind the counter with a dirty apron with blotches of flour on the fabric. It truly was an unexpected encounter.

“We can try it,” he told you, interrupting his friend’s petulant argument.

“Sounds good to me,” you said in response. The boys each told you what flavors they craved and you acted upon their request, picking up each colorful macaron with a set of wooden tongs and slipping them into a small plastic take-away container.

Mark watched you move diligently and gracefully. You had the looks of an angel, and acted like one. Your movements were slow and cautious, afraid to make mistakes by completing a simple request—and the boy was probably watching you carefully. Your gaze lifted up to look at him a few times, to which you locked eyes with his own for a split second before continuing your work.

Mark’s face grew equatorially hot, like freshly baked bread out of an oven to the touch. He was embarrassed to be in such a delightful and cute patisserie in his track clothes. He was dressed in athletic wear, which were baggy polyester clothes, and his hair was an absolute mess as if he had recently awaken from a slumber that lasted for aeons. He cursed to himself for looking like an absolute mess in front of you, embarrassed and wanting to hide. His friends noticed his disposition after a couple of moments, registering his stammers and direct statements—oh, and the obvious pink that tinged his cheeks to two perfect peaches.

Donghyuck stood by Mark’s side as you arranged their macarons neatly, giving Mark an elbow to nudge him to make a move. Mark glared at his friend saying, “No, that would be weird. We just met here, and I look like this!” in an angry hushed tone.

Donghyuck rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to get her number for you?”

“No!” Mark exclaimed, territorial.

His voice caught your attention and you closed the box, turning your head over your shoulder to gawk at the spectacle. Jaehyun smiled in amusement as you remained dumbfounded to the entire scene that was unfolding behind your back. You pondered for a moment what they were possibly quarreling over, and a part of you hoped it was for the dashing man to ask for you number. You walked to the lower side of the counter, placing the plastic box of treats on the surface as you told them the total.

Donghyuck pushed Mark to the front, giving him the a-class opportunity to ask for your contact information—and to pay. But Mark was at a loss for words again. Each time his mind took a turn it only led to a dead end; you astounded him just from taking his order, and he felt helpless, his mind clouding with sweet strings of fairy floss. It was like he was spellbinded, latched onto you in an enchanted manner and he was unable to free himself—not that it was a problem for him. You waited, but he did not make any moves to even lift an arm to hand you the payment.

“Excuse me,” you paused and recalled his name that his friend had said earlier. “M-Mark?”

At that moment, his heart melted like chocolate out in the sun. Your words were the sweetest treat he had experienced within being inside the store, and he craved for more—to hear you say his name. “Uh,” he started again, “how do you know my name?”

“Your friend said it earlier. Sorry, did it bother you?” You frowned.

“No!” Mark waved his hands dismissively, assuring you of your worries. “I-I don’t mind. You can call me any time, actually.”

Jaehyun pressed a palm to his face as Donghyuck sustained his laughter; Donghyuck’s face contorted in amusement. Mark placed a hand over his mouth from what he had said, aware that it did not make the slightest bit of sense. “Sorry,” he said again. “I mean, well. I’m totally cool with people calling me by my name. It makes things more, uh, casual?” he fibbed, praying that it was a good enough cover.

You laughed at his attempt, brushing it to the side. “Okay, Mark. Your total is eight-twenty.”

Mark nodded and frantically slipped out his wallet, his adrenaline pumping like crazy as he handed you the money. “Here,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks”—you placed the money in the register and slid the container across the surface to the boys—“I hope to see you again soon, Mark.”

Mark beamed childishly, taking the container in his hand. “I’ll come back soon enough, uh—”

You looked down to your shirt, taking your nametag that was pinned on it in between your fingertips and held it out for him to see. “(y/n),” you told him.

“Right, (y/n). Wow, that’s pretty…” he mumbled. “Ah! I mean, these desserts are pretty! I-I’ll be back soon… yeah!” Mark started to take a few small steps away from the scene. “Thanks!”

Then, he exited the store, giving you one final look from the corner of his eye as he stepped out of the savory store. His friends bursted out in a fit of bubbly laughter when Mark was out of their presence, entertained by his scene. “Sorry,” Jaehyun told you. “He’s like that when he’s nervous.”

“And it’s really hilarious!” added Donghyuck. “We’ll see you later, thanks again.”

With that, the two boys followed Mark out the sugar shop, leaving you with nothing but wonder to Mark’s actions, and words. You never realized the blush that was on your face until you caught your semi-transparent reflection from the glass case, and you certainly did not catch the way your smile never faltered from your expression throughout the entire duration of meeting Mark.

You stood at your counter, chin propped in your hand as you imbue the image of him in your mind. He appeared to be straight out of sports practice, yet he held the appearance of a divine being. You wondered then, why would he be nervous? When would be the next time would return? A boy as sweet as that was bound to come back, right?

Glancing out the window to see if he and his group of friends were still in sight, you leaned and leaned, tumbling in shock to the case when your manager catches your attention with a sour exclamation of, “Wipe the tables down, please!”

You shook your head, dragging it out of its gum-like gutter, and grabbed a towel before scurrying to the deserted tables. You wiped the surfaces in large, light circles, your head still turned to the windows to catch a glimpse of the boy and his friends, but they were already off. You sighed, pursing your lips into a pout, and continued to clean the tables.

Outside the store, Mark was dragging his two friends back, his heels digging into the concrete as if it would anchor him from their rugged movement. Mark’s face had blossomed from a small, gentle pink to a heated vermillion—a small bud blossoming into its full flower. But rather than flourishing under showers of rain, the flustered parts of Mark grew from his friends’ incentives for him to return to ask for your number.

“I said,” Mark huffed, “no!”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes and took another step closer to the pastry store. Passerbys that brushed alongside the dramatic scene being created eyed the group of three boisterous boys engaging in their own quarrel. Donghyuck ignored the strangers as Jaehyun grinned at them, as if it would have him pass off seemingly normal.

“You just have to go back inside and ask for her number, or a date. It’s pretty simple,” encourages Donghyuck. He tried to take a few more large steps towards the store but Mark, with a compact grip around his wrist, tugged Donghyuck to his chest with much force—enough to have Donghyuck lose his balance and ram into Mark’s torso.

“I already said”—Mark took a deep breath of air, facing the impact on the concrete—“no! I-I can go back later when I look decent.”

Jaehyun bursted into a fit of bubbly laughter, entertained by his two friends’ argument. “Let Mark loose,” Jaehyun told Donghyuck. He took another macaron from the bag and bit into it with a loud crunch. “You already know when he gets like this he won’t change his mind.”

“Yeah!” Mark spat out, agreeing mindlessly with Jaehyun.

Donghyuck groaned, lifting himself up and giving Mark a helping hand to get him back on his feet. “Fine. I just wanted to help ‘cause this is the only time I’m offering,” Donghyuck grumbled.

Mark grinned at his two friends nervously, his smile cracking as he assured them with a frantic nod of his head. “I got this, bros. Don’t worry.”

“Of course you do.” Jaehyun commented, “You’re a pretty sweet dude on the inside.”

The three boys began to walk back to their dorms, moving on from the annoying conversation topic to convince Mark to muscle up bits of courage to complaining about track events. Despite the athletic thread of words that left Mark’s mouth, his mind was elsewhere, thinking about you and the scene that had occurred. He felt outrageously silly; the moment he had created with you, the lasting first impression, was nothing but raw embarrassment for him.

He wondered if you interest was genuine, or if it was a part of your job to have extremely friendly service; nonetheless, he was not able to stop thinking about you.

Jaehyun had a point stated earlier: that Mark was an amiable, wholesome guy inside. In fact, he was sweet inside and out. Like if one were to peel off the skin of a peach, only a delectable saccharine would await. It only takes the lucky few to be able to get to his core, and you happened to be one Mark was willing to allow.

Mark took one of the final macarons and bit it as regret hung in the air. The burst of lemon and citrus danced on his tongue instantly, the feeling of flavor coating his tongue a sensation like no other. It was delectable, different, and he was hooked to the dessert—and another factor.

As others were hooked to the sweetness and tang of the treats from your patisserie, Mark Lee was interested in something else—someone who carried the same amount of sugar of a plethora of desserts.

The next day appeared quicker than Mark had expected, but the duration of it was slow, as if time was purposely not on his side. Mark had attended his classes dutifully, took notes during lectures and was attentive like the stellar student he was. Frequently, when his mind drifted away he would recall you. Usually when individuals have an encounter in a similar manner to what he had with you, the patron would forget the identity of the worker within a couple of hours. Though, as if your features were carved onto the stone of his mind, he remembered your appearance pristinely, despite you not looking like you were at your peak.

Eagerness was what fueled Mark’s flame throughout the entire day. There was an ache to taste those sweet pastries again, and a shameless craving to see you once more. Sublime tangs of citrus from the macarons still rested on his tongue and it was not satisfactory enough to last a good week. So, he made the choice mid-lecture to return to the patisserie for some more sweet treats.

Directly after his lecture he jogged to track practice with a grin on his face, hopeful and gathering the courage to follow through with his constructed plan. He found his two friends on the track, who were bound to laugh at his face when he voiced it out.

Donghyuck shielded his eyes from the sun, casting a penumbra by his hand hovering over his eyes. “Hold on, you’re going back? You do realize that’s another long walk downtown, and more money being spent to get more desserts, right?”

“Yeah,” Mark said while nodding his head. “But I’m going to get her number today for sure.”

Jaehyun chuckled from the turf, tying his shoes as he looked up to the younger boy. “Are you dragging us with you this time?”

Mark forced a frown, making his annoyance to their comments perceptible. “No, because then you guys would soil my plan.”

“What’s your plan?” asked Donghyuck, belittling his friend’s plan from the start. The nonchalant look that was plastered on his face was a sign for Mark, screaming ‘impress me.’

Mark steepled his fingers at his chin, chuckling. He puffed his chest out in a confident manner and had a gargantuan grin tugging at his lips. “So, I’m going to walk in with a decent outfit on—my game at its best—and go to the counter. When she greets me I’ll smile at her and go, ‘(y/n), right?’ And—”

“Hold on”—Donghyuck raised his hand in the air, pausing Mark’s excited word flow—“that sounds like you hardly remember her name.”

“But doesn’t it sound cool?” Mark questioned, clueless. “I was going to lean on the counter and everything.”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes, chiming in with, “You’re going to look like an a-class asshole. What are you going to wear, your leather jacket as well?”

“No!” Mark detested. “My hoodie—can you guys let me talk?”

Mark’s two friends looked at each other with the same mutual expression, each raising an eyebrow, aware of how Mark’s “pristine” plan would turn out.

Mark nodded, continuing on his tangent, “Her response would be, ‘Yeah, that’s me. What can I get you today?’ So then I’d reply with what I want, asking her if it was the sweetest treat in the store. Whatever her answer would be, I’d say, ‘Probably not as sweet as your personality.’

“That’ll make her blush, right? She’d be at a loss for words and at the cashier when I’m paying for the pastries I’d say, ‘It’d be pretty sweet if I could get your number too!’”

Mark was acting animatedly, his hands expressing as much enthusiasm as his face. For some reason, hearing his plan aloud was not as poised as he imagined, but he was still under the false belief of it being foolproof. His two friends were narrowing their eyes as if they were searching for the underlying motive of his plan between seams, struggling to discern what made Mark believe that idea of his was pristine. Then, with a slap on their thighs, they were shaking with vociferous laughter.

Donghyuck’s guffaws were enough to fold him over and lose his balance; soon, he joined Jaehyun on the turf in a struggle to gain their breath back. Mark was never one for hopeless romance, yet there he was struggling to piece together the perfect puzzle of a plan—in the worst way possible.

Mark was dumbfounded to their reaction. “What?” he questioned.

Jaehyun took a deep breath, finally regaining his composure as he wiped the tears that began to form at the corner of his eyes. “Dude, I’m sorry, but you should have let Donghyuck ask for her number for you.”

Mark tilted his head, confused. “Why?”

Donghyuck lifted himself back upright, straightening his posture as he said, “Because so many things can go wrong with your plan. Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you—maybe motivate you to do something more… normal?”

Mark held a wide stance, a tight-lipped smile dancing on his solid expression. The track coach called out to the three boys who appeared to be clambering on the turf, like loiters on a foreign territory. The three boys began to jog to their coach, still amused by Mark’s recent episode.

“I’m sure,” he confirmed in between pants. “Trust me guys, I got this.”

Jaehyun chuckled. “Alright, but if things don’t go according to plan you have to—”

“Wait, what if you guys come along and give a good word for me?” Mark proposed, the light in his eye now a hopeful glint.

Jaehyun grumbled, kicking up the pace of his dash towards their coach.

Mark watched in incertitude his friends jogging away from him, mind heaped. He had spent an entire lecture attempting to think of a way to get closer to you, to make the first step, and that was the best he was able to construct. Though, his best might not be the favorable option—as his friends tried to make clear. What was Mark supposed to do, though? He ruffled his hair and went straight to practice, attempting to pour his attention into gaining speed and hopping over hurdles.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

After another enervating practice Mark was out of breath, barely able to find the strength to walk properly to the locker room and tidy himself up. Track practice was already taxing, but he was more than sure that the plan he had fabricated would wilt him down as well. He was scurrying in the locker room, giving himself a quick rinse and tossing on his clothes as if he was racing against time.

The other members in the track team eyed him discreetly, each conjecturing why the track star is moving so hastily despite the frazzling practice. Jaehyun had just finished splashing cool water onto his face, drying it out with a towel as he asked Donghyuck, “Is he seriously gonna go through with the plan he told us?”

Donghyuck slipped on a clean tee, his head turning over in Mark’s direction who was then styling his damp hair. Mark appeared to move with an immense amount of precision to perfect his hairstyle, desiring to look presentable in front of the pastry worker.

“Knowing Mark,” Donghyuck sighed, “probably.”

Jaehyun bit his lip, worried for his younger confrere. “Good luck to him then.”

Mark was slanting his head in all sorts of angles in front of the locker room mirror, checking to see if his locks were quintessentially styled. He flashed himself a crooked grin, taking in his reflection, and it assured him of his thin distress. Mark ran to fetch his bag, bidding his friends a quick goodbye as he began to run out the door.

Waves of heat were visible in the distance, and it layered over his body, causing him to break out in a minor sweat. Mark paced himself to get to the pastry store, preparing himself for his plan every step of the way. Though the more he thought about the plan—speaking to you for the second time—he almost loses it. His heart beated rapidly, lips ran dry and he moistened them with a quick swipe of his tongue. He attempted to distract himself with the familiar architecture, taking in buildings’ details until he managed to be a foot away from entering the pastry store.

Once he was, he stared at the inviting entrance for a prolonged period of time, unable to muscle up the smallest bits of his courage to build a solid ground. He felt as if he was walking on a frail wire, and the slightest incorrect movement would send him tumbling down.

It did not occur to him that his sinewy figure was blocking the only way to enter the store until he heard a gruff, annoyed noise of several hungry individuals clearing their throats.

Mark uttered broken apologies and opened the door for the group of people, realizing that his palms were now clammy. He smiled at the individuals who walked inside, his expression cracking the more his nervous wrecks stacked upon one another. It felt like the electricity that kept him drawn to you had been short-circuiting, and he was afraid that the connection would cut out for good. So, he took a deep breath and calmed himself down.

He tugged at his hoodie and wiped the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead, giving his reflection off the patisserie window a quick look before waltzing inside. The recognizable scent of cinnamon and strawberries kissed the tip of his nose, wrapping around his body like open arms that welcomed him back home. He was clutching on the strap of his bag, breaths becoming shallow as he approached the counter and joined the line. He was recalling bits and pieces of his assembled plan, rehearsing the scripted scene in his mind over and over until it was his turn to order. Mark was shifting his weight back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, impatient to talk to you again. He was leaning from his place in line, aching to see you work the counter, and there you were.

It was a momentary glimpse of you clad in your uniform, but it was enough for Mark to forget how to breathe. His breath was held in his throat like it was tying itself in knots with the words he wanted to say and his mind emptied itself of anxieties, worries, and excitement—because the sight of you again was catching a glimpse of heaven.

Mark brought himself back to reality when it was his turn to order, but his feet would not move from where he stood. They were rooted in the wooden floors and he was standing so far off the edge of his brittle emotions.

You were wiping your hands with a damp cloth as you said, “Hi, what can I get for—”

But your words were cut short the moment you saw the man who was standing before you. It was the student from yesterday, a recognizable face that you can pair with the name that replayed in your mind over and over like a broken record throughout your shift. You were wondering if he was going to return; if the interest he had displayed the day prior was genuine, and he did. Your body tensed up at the sight of him, blotches of heat forming at your cheeks.

Mark swaggered closer to the counter, leaning against the glass as he said, “(y/n), r-right?”

His cheeks were swirling with pink again; you began to think that it was a natural, gifted blush that he was graced with. The nature your name left his lips felt natural, as if he had met you countless times in the past and this was just another one of those frequent encounters. You nodded your head and smiled. “Yeah. Um, sorry, but can you not lean on the glass case?” you requested.

Mark startled at your words, his plan already going off in its unintended tangent. Like thunder had stricken his body, he jolted out of place and waved his hands in the air to dismiss his behavior. “I-sorry,” he muttered.

You giggled, amused by his flustered self. “Anyway, what can I get for you, Mark? We have a fresh batch of macarons from the recent hour—and you can guess who baked it,” you informed with a wink.

Mark opened his mouth, excited to voice out the next line of his plan until he realized something. “I-you remember my name?”

You tilted your head, using your hands to lean on the counter. “Well how could I forget? You were only here yesterday.”

“Oh, r-right,” he stuttered. Mark shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, twiddling his thumbs together.

A thorough stare full of stupefaction was being exchanged between you and Mark; momentary silence had lapsed. You had completely forgotten that you were working the counter of the pastry store, dressed messily in an apron with your hair pushed back yet again. You adored the way Mark looked in a plain black hoodie; it was a completely different look from how you first saw him. The distant chatter that was music to the area was nothing more but white noise the longer the scene had escalated with Mark—the period of serene quietude.

You dragged yourself back to earth, asking him once more, “What would you like today?”

Mark perturbed at your question, voicing the first thoughts that came to his mind. “Ah, those macarons would be nice.”

“Same as yesterday?” you questioned, grabbing onto a plastic container. You took the tongs in one hand and slid the glass case open, waiting for his final order.

“Yeah!” Mark blurted. “Same as yesterday—my friends really love this store too. I’m just getting them some snacks for tomorrow.”

You smiled, filling up the container with the same order as yesterday’s. “That’s nice of you.”

You arranged the macarons neatly, in the same uniformed style as the day before, and avoided eye contact with the boy. Mark’s gaze was perusing the drink menu, admiring the chalked handwriting on the board as a diversion away from you. The bits and pieces of his formulated plan slipped away, and soon he was on another road that was divergent to the original.

Mark clutched his fists and quickly bursted out, “What else is sweet here? A-aside your…”

You tilted your head up to gawk at him, completing his sentence as you close the container. “Aside these macarons?” you asked with glee.

Mark wanted to press a frustrated palm to his face, annoyed at his reluctance to finish his line. Instead, he grinned, hoping that his embarrassment was not written on his face. Maybe it was just to him, but the air all of a sudden went thick, hard enough for him to breathe properly. “Yeah,” he confirmed, dragging out the word.

Your eyebrows raised and you looked at him past your lashes, walking to the opposite side of the glass case as he followed on the other side. “These fruit tarts are also really good! Well, they’re not the sweetest, but they do taste incredible! If you really want something sweet, then I think you’d like something else instead…”

Mark gulped at your final statement, his imagination running wild. It was an open window for him to say his pick-up line. He puffed his chest out, trying to prepare himself to blurt out ‘Like your sweet personality? Or your sweet appearance?’ but nothing left his mouth. Words were knotted in his throat the same way his heart leaped to it, rendering him speechless as he was unable to do anything else aside watch you lovingly.

But Mark carried on anyway. “Like your”—he locked eyes with you again, immediately becoming flustered at the sight of you and skewed out of the indigenous road—“c-cakes?”

“Yeah!” You beamed. “Our red velvet cakes are pretty good, unless you’d like to try our lemon bites.”

The manner you were speaking was not to convince Mark to purchase more sweets, but to suggest some favorable items on the menu; though, to Mark, he acted upon your opinion and impulsively said, “I can get both—I can share it with the guys on the track team!”

You clapped your hands together and found delectation in his words, granting his order immediately. “Wow, you’re so kind. I’ll have them packed for you and I can meet you at the cashier,” you told him.

Mark nodded and rapidly made his way to the cashier, his fingertips dancing on the marbled surface as he waited for you to return. It did not dawn on him that he forgot the main reason he was there until he saw the amount of desserts he had purchased, for his team apparently. His expression remained unmoved and soon he was disappointed in himself, regretting for not allowing his two friends to tag along. Maybe if Jaehyun and Donghyuck were by his side Mark would of had the courage to ask for your number first thing—without beating around the bush and obtusely purchasing extras.

Your back was facing him as your quivering hands packed his goodies. A sheepish smile was tugging at your lips and you moved slowly, waiting for your heartbeat to slow down to a normal pace, and for your face to wash out the coral hues that came upon quicker than waves crashing onshore. You high aspirations for Mark to return were fulfilled, but you were sowed onto at the start of crossroads; was he there for you, or to get more pastries for his friends? You want to avoid believing in the latter, or perhaps it was a mixture of both. Nonetheless, his presence disrupted your focus whilst working at the patisserie and you tried to calm yourself down by doing day to day tasks during your job.

When you placed the desserts neatly in a small paper bag you walked to the cashier, the same dazzling smile that entrances Mark etched on your face. It seemed like it never diminishes and never had the ability to falter, and Mark mirrored it back. You slid the bag over the counter to him, telling him his total that internally unsettled him. He was rubbing his sweaty palms together as he waited for you to return his change, the question of asking for your number resting on the tip of his tongue, but not spiraling past it.

As you counted his change you wondered if it would be proper for you to ask for his contact information; though, it would not be professional during your job. You pouted and handed him his change, brushing your skin against his own. The current of electricity that was beginning to dim had sparked itself back to life from a simple action, and Mark moved clumsily. He took the bag in hand and shoved the change in his pockets, skipping the fact he had to neatly place it in his wallet.

“Thanks,” you and Mark said in unison.

Quiet laughter poured from your lips and the air was taken out of Mark’s lungs. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “T-thanks for the desserts.”

“And thanks for returning,” you told him.

You watched the way Mark bobbed his head as he took small, slow steps away from the counter; he seemed reluctant to leave, and unable to take his eyes off you like you were a picturesque view from the top of a sunny hill. It was not until he gracelessly bumped into the table and chair behind him for his mind to return to its proper balance. He cursed under his breath from appearing so gauche in front of you; hell, he even looked decent today as well but everything that left his mouth was the polar opposite.

Mark scurried to the door, opening it and hearing the familiar chime on cue. He turned his head back, glimpsing at the angel that worked the counter of the patisserie, and smiled. You were about to handle the next set of customers, but before you did you exclaimed a couple words to Mark.

Mark took a step out the door, freezing when he heard you say, “Come back soon! Okay, Mark?”

Clutching the handles of the decorated paper bag in one hand, he flashed you a thumbs up with another. His hand was a little shaky, and for once he thanked the distance to make it imperceptible to your eyes. “Of course!”

With that, he left the patisserie with nothing but a fluttering feeling in his chest caused by embarrassment, exhilaration—and you.

He stared at the bag in hand and peered at the contents within, sighing to himself. “God,” he whispered bitterly, “what am I gonna do with all of these?”

Morning soared by within a blink and Mark was his typical animated self, enlivening each student he bothered to converse with. He brought the bag of pastries with him to his lectures, ready to give the sweet treats to his friends during track practice—and prepared to face their mockery. As he was trudging to practice he could practically hear their petulant chortles and immature commentary to him straying from his, once flawless, plan.

Mark groaned, stretching his arms to the sky before fishing into the bag to grab a macaron. Angrily, he took a large bite of the treat and munched it down like it was a chore. “Something wrong?” asked a familiar voice.

Mark turned his head in an irksome style, the sight of Jaehyun awaiting him. Jaehyun eyed the familiar bag from the patisserie and his lips curved into a grin of expectancy, ready to hear Mark’s story. “How did it go yesterday? You know, with your perfect plan,” Jaehyun said, badgering on the younger boy unintentionally.

Mark grumbled and tossed the entire cookie in his mouth, chewing it indignantly and swallowing the entire remaining bits. “It went fine,” he fibbed.

“Doesn’t seem like it went fine,” Jaehyun laughed. He opened his mouth to make another witty comment, but Mark shoved the bag of edible delicacy to his chest, throwing the possession to him. “You bought this for us?” he asked instead.

“On accident,” he added rapidly. Mark’s face tinged with red again, his ears flushing madly. He gave the look a child would express when guilty, denying all accusations and queries. “I got distracted and bought more than intended.”

“Did you ever get her number though?” Jaehyun asked, peeking into the bag.

Mark was silent for a few seconds before he spat out, “I said I got distracted.”

“Bro,” Jaehyun sighed, “we tried to tell you that plan was stupid.”

Mark remained silent, unable to fight against his friend’s words. He was expecting Jaehyun to ramble on and on about being right, but instead Mark listened to the sound of Jaehyun digging through the bag and opening the container of macarons, taking a crunch of one of the delicious cookies. It took a while for him to carry on from the topic, but after a large swallow he broke out, “These are actually pretty good. You know, I sort of want to go back. Come with, I’ll be your moral support while I’m there!”

Mark blenched out of disgust towards Jaehyun’s proposition. As much as he would adore the support—needed the help—he had to ask for your number himself without distractions. Well, as if your features alone were not a substantial enough distraction for Mark anyway.

“You think she’ll question why I’m there three days in a row?” Mark avowed, “Because I would.”

Jaehyun placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Nah, dude. She’ll just appreciate the business. Come on, let me help you out!”

“No,” Mark shook his head and mumbled. “I think I have a new plan.”

Jaehyun halted his stride and looked at his friend in disbelief, an eyebrow cocking upwards out of interest. “What is it this time?”

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

Back at the pastry store, you had your elbows propped on the counter impatiently, chin cupped in your palm. You were watching the clock tick, listening to time pass by as the ring of the bell that hanged at the front door jingled. It was a slow day, not many customers present. Then again, the time period prior to the start of evening was always desultory.

Frankly, boredom was the only factor you had to worry about whilst working at the patisserie. Aside from the fear of messing up a batch of pastries, of course. You attempted to distract yourself by cleaning the counters and wiping tables to the point they were immaculate; it was a constant routine of sitting and waiting, and cleaning and lounging.

Typically, you watched the clock and shrugged off the slow passage of time—until late afternoon rolled around. When business was starting to kick itself up, that was the time Mark showed up to your patisserie, or maybe it was a blatant assumption from the two days you had noticed. Both times he was out of breath, and both he was a stuttering, flustered mess. You hoped that it was because he was a little nervous to talk to you, for that would mean he was equally interested in you the way you were in him.

But there was something that pricked at your mind that screamed otherwise.

You dug your face into your palms as you helplessly thought about him again. To scratch the image of Mark from your mind seemed like one of the many impossibilities in the world, but it was as if his beauty was carved onto the walls of your brain, marking his appearance there for a good while. And maybe that was why you were hooked. His hair messily styled intentionally, the attire he chose to wear—how it went straight from a sweaty track practice outfit to modish street wear—and the graceful color of peach echo creeping onto his cheeks. It made your heart flutter to recall him and his gorgeous features.

And it also made your heart flutter knowing that he was going to return to your patisserie; but when?

Today, you managed to look decent: your hair was not pushed back for the specific hour and desired encounter, the apron was not dusted with a plethora of flour, and you swiped apricot gloss over your petal-like lips.

You were lost in thought until you heard the ring of the entrance, causing you to shoot yourself up and blurt out a welcome to the incoming guests. Princely hopes were high for one of the familiar patrons being Mark, but you were out of luck. With a puff of air you welcomed each guest and began taking their orders, preparing for the long hour before his arrival.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

It took a busy hour for Mark to make an appearance at your pastry store. He was preparing himself at the entrance again, building up valor to hold a decent conversation with you. Rehearsal after rehearsal of his new plan, his mind reminding himself to not get distracted and purchase more pastries, he finally had the strength to dutifully exhibit his gallantry.

Mark entered with a ruckus, accidentally swinging the door open with too much force and hitting a nearby chair, sending it a few inches forward from its spot. His gasp was marked on time with the jingle of the store bell.

“Welcome to—”

Mark was leaning against the door, a bright grin etched on his face as he attempted to quickly cover from his messy scene.

“Welcome back,” you corrected, a smile dancing at your lips.

You began to finish the current customer’s order expeditiously, rapidly exchanging goods and money, and scurried to the opposite side of the floor to greet Mark.

“Welcome back,” you blurted.

Mark tilted his head, confused. “You already told me that.”

“Oh.” You turned your head away, unable to fight the blush of embarrassment that began to creep onto your cheeks. It was a momentary glance, but it was enough for you to catch the perfection he was wearing. A simple outfit, it was, but he looked incredible in a plain white tee and black ripped jeans.

The boy laughed and said, “Of course I’m back.”

“Three days in a row.” You grabbed onto a nearby rag, fiddling with it as a way to relieve your fragments of nervousness.

Mark thought aloud, leaning forward to the glass case as if he wanted to inspect each dessert. “Third time’s a charm,” he thought aloud.

You hummed, attempting to decipher his words. He was not mistaken. It was the third encounter with the charming, young boy and you hoped it was the time your courage would seep past your shell. “For what?” you questioned him.

“Uh,” Mark hesitated, “nothing. I just really like the pastries here.”

“And that’s why you keep coming back?” you edged on. A part of you hoped for him to continue on with your thread of words; the other wanted to cower from being far too abashed.

Your hopes were satisfied when he said, “I come back for someone too.”

You were tongue-tied, mind unable to think coherently the longer he lingered in your presence. There was a saccharine scent that hung in the air, and it was not the typical swirl of cinnamon and strawberries, but a sweetness that emitted off the boy before you.

Staring at Mark Lee, the only separation being the glass case, he managed to look greater each day, endearing by the second. Unable to fight your imaginative aspirations, you thought that you and Mark were the perfect ingredient for each other.

Mark’s raging heart was erratically pounding against its ribcage, aching to be set free from its confinement. The way you were gawking at him made his stomach twist, and peachy hues to chase onto his face.

“Your face is always pink,” you commented risibly. “You’re lucky to have a natural blush like that.”

Mark startled. “N-natural? Oh, it’s not—I mean, yeah. T-thanks,” he stammered.

Mark egged on his thoughts to find their way to his voice. He was badgering his own being to go through with his plan of complimenting you, the dashing pastry worker, and then saying ‘I love seeing these sweet treats, but I want to see more of this sweet girl.’ He would then follow through by asking for your number to schedule a date, but recalling Jaehyun’s words that battered on Mark’s plans, he felt discouraged.

“Would you like the usual order?” you asked him, interlocking your fingers together.

Mark nodded, mesmerized by your appearance. It was the first he saw you without your hair pushed back, and you locks had fallen perfectly when you began to look down, reaching for a plastic container for his macarons. He swallowed his breath, lips parting at the sight.

“Are these for your friends again? How did they like the cake yesterday?” you asked him.

“Great! I-it was great—they thought it was delicious,” he spat out. Mark pressed a palm to his forehead, annoyed with himself. Gosh, he was making himself appear like a total mess. He was not even present to witness their reaction, what was going through his mind?

You slid open the glass case and reached for the macarons with tongs in hand. “I’m happy to hear that. I’ll pack a few extras—some new additions to our flavor chart—for you and them to try,” you informed. There was a thin thread of silence that had lapsed after your statement; you and Mark were both afraid to say another, to start a separate topic as if it would tumble the ground that was built down to rubble again.

Mark was standing across from you the entire time, following wherever your shadow went until it reached the cashier in silence. Instead of his head being blank from the sight of you, a trillion different scenarios of words flying out of his mouth was present, and he was unable to sort out what was the proper statement as he stood before you. His plan was long forgotten the longer the scene progressed; he was only capable of watching your movements, taking in each trivial detail.

You packed the macarons with care, sorting them neatly into the container with a gentle touch. Lush lashes that were a blanket on your eyes swept over the high point of your cheeks, a look of innocence provocative. An ache to break the silence prodded at your being, but it seemed as if the choice of words was tossed into a jar and shaken fervently, rendering you speechless. It was the day you bothered to look good—the day you finally asked for his number, or even to meet up after your shift, but you were far too hesitant to try.

You peered up at the returning customer for a brief moment, but a brief moment was all that was needed for your heart to pirouette like butterflies in the open. Mark’s gaze was elsewhere, perusing the menu, and the look of childlike curiosity was endearing to the heart.

At the cashier you slid over his plastic container filled with macarons and paused before telling him the total. He paid as if it was a formidable action, creating an artificial struggle to slip out his cash as a grueling method to stall time. Though, after what felt like hours, he finally slid the payment on the table and you took it out of his seize, giving him his change.

Mark had the container beneath his palms, the goodies still resting on the surface. His eyes were batting all over the place, his lashes like lush, onyx wings. His mouth was parted as a questioned lied on the tip of his tongue; you stared conscientiously at the parting—how inviting it looked, but you shook the thoughts out of your brain and opened your mouth to speak.

“Can I—” you both said in unison. You retracted, taking a step back and dismissively waving your hands. You urged him to continue and he clamped his mouth shut.

Mark announced, “Sorry, you first.”

“Ah, I”—your head turned to the front entrance when the chime rang, incoming customers with empty stomachs ready to have their cravings satisfied. You sighed, upset that you were still at work, unable to ask Mark for a future meeting, or any contact information for the time being—“I was just going to say ‘have a great day.’”

Mark’s smile, the grin that you thought would never falter, had diminished for a fraction. Disappointment filled the void that was created in his stomach; he was not sure what to expect. Immediately, he assumed his hopes were too high for you to question him for another encounter—to promise a fourth meeting elsewhere. But he struck out three times, and he was nothing but dispirited.

Mark clutched the plastic container in his hand and crinkled his nose. “Thanks,” he hesitated, beginning to walk to the exit. He brushed by your incoming customers, sight not leaving your bustling figure as you washed your hands and prepared for the group. Your back was facing him and he muttered, “You too.”

You were drying off your hands when the final thought appeared in your mind. “Oh!” you reminded yourself. “Mark, come back soon—”

But he was already two feet out the door, the entrance closing and the chime ringing—a signal that you missed your chance, yet again. You pouted, pushing your hair back with a headband as you greeted the new faces with a feigned expression of jocularity.

Mark did not return to your pastry shop the next day—not that you expected much for him to do so to begin with.

You pondered if the fractions of chagrin were truly sketching on his face as he made turned his back to leave the patisserie, and his absence confirmed everything. With your elbows glued to the counter, chin propped in your hand as your method to pass time, whilst staring at the ticking clock, you waited for an occurrence that was never going to arrive.

Mark’s arrival to the lively patisserie was a mood-lifter for you, a stimulant that brought out genuine optimism and outshined the shadows of dread that began to form. You really were unsure what—it was about Mark—that drove you crazy for him. Well, if one considered that people like him were a rare advent that seemed to occur every blue moon, it was prominent enough. Mark appeared like a typical boy-next-door the moment he walked in; despite wearing clothes dampened with sweat and hair far too ruffled to pass off as decent, he still caught your eye with his innocent, young features. And his personality—the way he had displayed himself—sold you in for him completely. His candy-coated words drew you in like it was an enchantment, and there was an unconventional, stupendous sweetness that danced on your tongue each time he spoke.

He, as a whole, was breathtaking.

As the days continued to progress, one absence leading to another as the twenty-four-hour period rolled by, you started to fall under the umbrella of assumption that Mark was not going to return any time soon.

✾  ✾   ✾  ✾

“You’re trying too hard!” exclaimed Jaehyun, swatting Mark’s back as they walked together to practice. It had been a good four days since Mark had last seen you; he had been dodging his friends’ questions like crazy, and he had not been vocal about the occurrence, or his feelings, until Jaehyun egged on him with all his might.  “Just take it easy and go with the flow. Things will all come together afterwards.”

Mark rolled his eyes at Jaehyun’s comment, annoyed at it as well as himself. Maybe it was the wrong choice to expose the truth to Jaehyun. Just a few minutes ago Mark had torn down his stellar act and unleashed the true, honest sweet boy he was. Words poured from his lips like a cascade from a prodigious deluge, tackling how he missed his chances, thoughts wither to nothing like his plans, and how you appeared galled at his exasperating attempts to catch your eye. At first Jaehyun laughed, for the situation was far too risible. After all, putting it in Jaehyun’s words, Mark had came back three days in a row to a pastry shop for a girl—but came out with everything but her.

Mark mumbled, “You’re kidding, I thought girls like pick-up lines?”

“Not lines like yours.” Jaehyun patted Mark’s back again and then tugged him closer by his sleeve. “Listen to me, just listen to me once and see how things will go.”

“Can you go with me for moral support?” Mark requested innocently.

Jaehyun chuckled, continuing his quick stride. “That was an offer for four days ago, not today. You’re on your own buddy.”

“Gagh,” Mark let out, stretching his arms to the sky. “You know, Jae, what if I mess up the flow?”

“You don’t mess up the flow—one does not simply mess up the flow,” he said, creating air-quotes with his fingers. “You’re seriously trying too hard. Imagine what Donghyuck would say to you right now!”

Mark was becoming incensed with himself as Jaehyun gave him a piece of his own plan. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Mark,” Jaehyun smiled over his shoulder to the younger boy, “you got this. Go back there, pretend you’re at the patisserie for the macarons again—you’ve done it three times, you can do it again—then drop the question.”

Mark gripped onto the strap of his duffel bag, releasing the remaining bits of anger onto the simple action. “Fine,” he breathed. “I’ll go right after practice.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Get me the lavender-honey macarons, by the way! I heard they’re a new flavor.”

Mark felt a vigorous urge to eat his words, for he was acting without his brain again. He had to prepare himself to face you again, but the three hours of track practice was not enough for him to collect pieces of his mind out of the gutter. Tenacious as he was, he was not capable of pushing himself to go back to the patisserie you work at. Occupied minutes built into hours faster than expected, and they stacked onto three hours—of him being insistent.

Inside the locker room Mark was pacing back and forth, glimpsing at his face in the mirror and directing his gaze towards his quivering digits. Exchanging the air deeply with his lungs as a measure to calm him down, he recalled Jaehyun’s words—the advice he thought he would never take. “Am I really trying too hard?” he whispered to himself, bitterness evident in his tone. “With my plans, maybe…”

Jaehyun and Donghyuck were joking around with the rest of the members on their team on Mark’s flustered self, each surprised to their own extent at how Mark had withered down into a gentle boy. Mark, the stellar track star who was confident in all, lacked in the department of courage when it came to a girl—a heavenly body that was you.

“I’m telling you,” Jaehyun whispered to his teammates, “he needs to stop coming up with plans.”

Donghyuck chuckled. “Knowing Mark, he cannot act without a plan.”

“It’s different for track,” muttered Jaehyun. “And besides, look at where that had gotten him—”

Mark groaned, digging his face into his palms. The sound of exasperation echoed throughout the area, bouncing off the walls. He walked a lap around the entire locker room before grabbing onto his bag and heading straight out the door, preparing himself for the fourth, and unpromised, encounter.

His teammates each shared a fit of bubbling laughter, utterly amused by Mark’s display. After all, to have their poised, sanguine coach exhibiting his softer side—it was a sight not many would expect, or even catch.

Mark was constructing different lines in his mind, each separate depending on where the situation with you might lead. He was ready, not leaving room for fault, and took many deep breaths. He knew it from the first encounter that he wanted to get to know you more—it was a feeling that had his heart race, air spun out of his lungs—and he acted by it cautiously. He gawked at his reflection off the windows of buildings he passed occasionally to check his outfit, to hair as if the wind was to disrupt his locks, and huffed.

Mark was almost at the patisserie.

You were staring at the clock again, catching a glance every so often as you got through the major deal of hungry customers. Sweat was dripping from your temples as your hands worked at a speedy pace; you packed their orders dutifully; your focus still managed to disrupt. It was far past the time Mark would arrive, and you were not sure why you had high hopes of him appearing; after all, he had not made a grand entrance for four days. You sighed, finishing off the recent customer at the cashier and handed them their order, wiping your sweat off with a towel. Giving your hands a quick rinse, you told the customer that stood by the counter, “Be there in a second!”

There was no response.

You gulped, afraid that you might have an angered customer, but when you turned around after wiping your hands dry all the fear had blossomed into a surprise.

It was Mark—of all people who decided to show up. Your eyes instinctively went to the clock, and you were well aware that it was past his designated time that he usually arrived. “Mark!” You thought aloud, “I’m glad you came back.”

Mark startled. “I—you, what?”

Iotas of bashfulness came to you within a heartbeat, like the mere sight of him was the major trigger to bring down your walls and reveal your true self—the you that admired Mark in several ways. You approached the glass counter, leaning a little to see if there were any customers behind him; to your luck, there were none.

You smiled at the familiar face, and the galvanized boy grinned brightly at you.

“You’re back,” you told him. “W-we have a new flavor of macarons. Honey lavender!”

Mark laughed. “Yeah, Jae told me he heard from a couple of people. I’m actually here for some of those…”

It was hard to keep your smile pressed on your expression. He truly was back for the pastries—and not you, you assumed. “Great. Um, how was practice?” You motioned to his bag.

Mark had a sudden invigoration, gawking down at his duffel bag. His hands flew to the thick strap, gripping onto it to relieve the prodding fragments of embarrassment. But he let go, taking a deep breath. “It was fine. I had stuff on my mind for the past few days.”

You waited patiently for him to continue.

Mark was rubbing his clammy palms together, his eyes scanning the menu as a ploy to avoid yours, and his face was already tinging with a pastel pink. He tried to muster up all the courage within him, attempt to draw the right words and thread them together intricately to form the perfect question, but there was nothing but silence chasing the scene.

You stood across the counter from him, your fingers drumming on the marbled surface in heated anticipation for his words. You tried to fight the smile that crept to your face, but it surfaced nonetheless from excitement of seeing the boy once more. You swallowed your breath as Mark ate his words, nervous.

“I had someone on my mind,” he added.

The feelings you wanted to hide, the ones you attempted to store away in a vault, had bursted out. He was referring to you—he had to be.

But, you mindlessly drove away from the topic. You commented with a quirk of your lips. “You must really like our pastries.”

Mark shook his head and pursed his lips. “N-no—I mean, yeah. I do! But there’s something else here I like—you know, someone.”

Then, after hearing the bell of the entrance ring due to an incoming customer, it was as if the question had sprung to his mind. Mark opened his mouth, scared to speak, but even more terrified of your response. “(y/n), I was wondering if, um—well you see…” he began.

You tilted your head, trying to latch onto what he was trying to say. You wondered if he was finally going to ask the question you had been aching for, if it would be as satisfying as a sweet treat.

Mark smiled, anxious, and he began to twiddle his thumbs together. Soon, his eyes met yours and his mind went blank—it was a white canvas all over again that began splattered with the beautiful colors of your appearance, and personality. You were dressed in a casual outfit once again underneath that powdered apron, and your hair was pushed back in a flawless manner—it was not your best appearance, but it was enough to drive Mark insane. He felt himself get a sugar rush from glancing at you and your candy-coated lips.

“Is… everything alright?” you asked him, bringing him back to reality. “You’re really red.”

A skittish smile danced at Mark’s lips as he responded with, “You are too.”

Your eyes widened at his comment. You pressed a palm to your cheek, feeling your warm temperature; the blush was evident, painted on your face like summery emulsions. Then, you were just as embarrassed as Mark.

“W-what can I get you today? We have some freshly baked macarons, so you came just on time for those… Ah-but you already told me that you wanted the honey-lavender…” you told him, trying to avert away from the topic. Your heart was beating rapidly; it ached to free itself from its cage as you tried to act decent in front of the customer. You grabbed onto wooden tongs and prepared yourself to take his order. “Sorry, what would you like? I was wondering about something else.”

Mark hummed in thought. Your simple greeting, question lingered in his mind. Your voice was sweet—it was a treat itself, and he wanted to take more. “Yeah, I was wondering if”—Mark stopped to take a deep breath, calming himself down by eyeing the pastries; he finally mustered up every ounce of courage that resided within him—“you’d like to go out sometime?”

Your smile remained in place, expression ran niche as you took the time to comprehend his words. Did he just ask you on a date? Your mind was not able to wrap around that fact; you were ecstatic, excited to be living your fantasy. The heat in your face increased immensely and your heart started to pound erratically. It was enough for you to take a small step back and drop the wooden tongs to the immaculate floor.

“You, what?” you asked for clarification. You thought this was a dream that had spurred itself to life; like a princess finally living her fairytale.

Mark cleared his throat and puffed his chest out, his eyes meeting yours attentively. “I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date sometime,” he confessed, taking things on the easier side—slow and steady.

Your face was hot, pink, and you wanted to dash away from the scene, but Mark’s gaze spellbinded you in stance, unable to even avert your gaze from his own. His voice was dulcet, each syllable that came out of his mouth was coated in its own organic sweetness. It was honey you ached to stir into your baked goods.

“I”—you fluttered your eyes, unable to even voice the evident response for a couple of seconds—“yes.” You smiled at him, your expression loosening. It was the question you spent days fantasizing about, if the athletic boy would come back for more than the delicious pastries that were offered at the store. And as if magic was real, the fantasy had become a reality. “That’d be nice.”

Mark’s eyes were clamped shut as he waited for your response, almost like a young child ready to get scolded for committing wrongdoings, but he experienced the opposite. His eyes flared open wide when you said yes; his stomach flipped and heart did pirouettes; a bright grin graced his face. “Really?” he asked.

You nodded your head, gushing. “Yeah,” you confirmed, your heart racing from glee. “After my shift.”

“W-when’s your shift over?” he questioned eagerly. Mark was bouncing on his feet, unable to calm himself down from your agreement. His voice began to raise and the tone of it became similar to an agitated child. Heads were turning his way, but he was unable to give the slightest care.

“In about ten minutes,” you informed him sweetly.

Mark beamed. “I can wait ten minutes. In the meantime”—his eyes scanned the bakery case, looking over the assorted macarons—“mind if I have two lavender-honey macarons?”

You picked up a clean set of tongs and picked up his order, placing it in a crisp white bag prior to handing it to him. “Of course, here you go.”

Mark reached over the counter to grab onto the bag; his hand brushed over your own and the sheer contact made you dizzy. He slipped out his wallet and paid for the goodies, but afterwards he remained rooted at the counter, directly across from you again. “Is something wrong?” you asked him.

“No,” he assured. “Here, take it.”

Mark unfolded the paper bag and grabbed one of the ordered contents from inside, holding it in between his thumb and index finger. The scent of lavender sweetness kissed his nose, and he held it out to you, a few inches away from your mouth. His head was turned the other way, lips were pursed in a childish manner as he handed you the macaron he had ordered.

“Wha—”

“I-it’s for you,” he interrupted.

Your gaze casted downwards to the treat, making your mouth water, and you thanked him for his kindness. You looked around the store, wondering if he was creating a spectacle for those to watch, but not a single soul was gawking. Willingly, you leaned to the macaron and opened your mouth, taking a bite as he held the dessert in the air.

“Thanks again,” you said in between chews, covering your mouth with a hand. With the other you took the remnants of the cookie, swallowing and finishing what was left.

“Any time, (y/n).” Mark started to walk to an empty seat by the window of the patisserie, a miniature hop present in his gait. You watched his bunny like motions and began to clean up the counter, then tend to the guests that soon arrived in search of delectables.

The smile that Mark had given you never left your face, as if it was a virus to have a positive expression to never falter. The grin that Mark forever kept was stained on your own being, and you worked diligently with happiness, at least until the end of your shift.

Mark was unable to help but gawk at you as you served the rest of the customers, your co-workers flying in and out to restock the glass counter with more treats. He was finishing his honey-lavender macaron, watching you as if you were a perfect girl ripped from a cinema—and to him, you practically were.

He hung his head low, refusing to believe that Jaehyun was right: Mark was trying far too hard, but the effort all paid off in the end.

When you finished your shift you walked right over to him, twirling to catch his attention. Mark shook his head as if it was a dream. Your hair was not pushed back and he had the full view of your casual outfit, without the messy apron, of course, manifest. Mark was well aware of your perfections, how no matter what attire you were to be clad in you would be the epitome of admirable. But still, Mark had, yet again, forgotten how to take a simple breath.

You caught the way Mark was marveling at your being, and his loving gaze made you feel discomfited. Taking charge of the situation, you greeted him with another, “Hey.”

Mark stuttered, catching his breath. “Hi there, (y/n). Uh, wow. You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” you said, unsettlement causing your voice to shake. Your hands were shoved in the pockets of your jacket, a purse hanging off your shoulder, and the lovely glow was lingering on your skin. Then, something came to your mind that made you giggle.

Mark tilted his head, confused—a silent request for you to elaborate.

You asked him risibly, the corner of your lips quirking upwards into a smirk, “So, do you actually like our pastries? Or do you like me?”

Mark chuckled at your inquiry; for once, an easy answer flew from his mouth as if he had been waiting for that question for ages. “Is both an option?”

You nodded your head. “Of course it is.”

“Then I like both.” Mark rose from his seat, tucking in the chair as he began to lead you out the door of the patisserie. He shifted his duffel bag around his physique awkwardly, bringing it to the back and making himself comfortable. You shadowed his being eagerly, excited and unable to fathom the recent turn of occurrences. All the work that had been spread out throughout a four-day span had compacted its effort into a single scene, a simple conversation, and you were unable to feel anything else but joy.

He opened the door for you, allowing you to step outside first before he joined your side, the familiar peachy tint creeping onto the apples of his cheeks. There was a period of silence, but it was not the awkward, stiff silence that was experienced through the first encounter or second—it was a comfortable quietude, a homelike feeling within each other’s presences. And as the feeling of home had erupted, there was a tangy modicum that appeared in your mouth.

A sweet taste rested on your tongue, and being by Mark’s side, sundry looking at him laudably, you realized it was the flavor of a new saccharine love.

[fandomvariousness]

Prompts 2, 6 & 7 - Dimitri Mitropoulos “Quick - it’s safe in here.” “You’re not scared, are you?” “Mine.”

Requests:  "Sure I can be more specific haha I thought about Dimitri seeing the reader from time to time in some courses and on different parties and he decides that expensively gifting the girl of his dreams will do it, but ofc, he also wants his reward ..." "Hey love! Could you do a riot club imagine with dimitri and prompts 2-6-7? Could it be like smut and rough but with some fluff in the end? Thank you very much❤" 

A/N: I decided to combine these two requests because they were kind of similar. Hope it’s okay.

You could always feel that boy staring at you – Dimitri Mitropoulos, the one with beautiful cocoa skin. You were a more silent girl than the others at University, you didn’t meddle into everyday affairs, you just did what you liked to do. Nevertheless, no matter what was that you did, Dimitri always found it interesting enough to analyze you.

You had some of the classes with him and you started smiling to each other randomly, which made you open up to him a bit more. It wasn’t long until he started talking to you, which was a bit weird because it was a very rare occasion when boys chatted you up of their own wish – for most of them you seem too self-preserved.

There was a big feast coming in the Oxford University, themed on James Bond movies. Basically, you had to dress up in a tux or a dashing dress, wear some red lipstick and a bit of sparkly jewelry.

You went shopping and chose yourself quite a revealing strapless dress – red and long, with a slit started from about the middle of your right thigh. As for the shoes, you matched a pair of the same red stilettos. The look was completed with the classic red lipstick and a set of sparkly earrings.

Immediately after you entered the building, all eyes were on you. You didn’t realize how unbearably attractive you looked until now. You tried not to mind the stares and walked around, snatching a glass of champagne.

“Wow,” Someone breathed out behind you.

You turned around and saw that it’s Dimitri, looking quite speechless, his mouth slightly agape, what made you chuckle.

“Thanks, I guess.” You thanked him and took a sip of your champagne.

“You really do look stunning.”

You giggled once again and observed a guy in front of you. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He was wearing a pristine black tux with a perfectly-shaped bow tie.

“Can I talk to you somewhere else?” He asked hopingly, smiling at you slightly, his eyes glistening.

“Yeah, sure.” You gave back the smile and turned on your heel to the corridor.

When you entered the narrow, posh hall you turned back around to face your friend. You now saw that he hid something behind his back.

Your eyebrows knitted together insensibly, regarding something that he’s hiding. “What have you got there?” You asked quietly, false alarm ringing in your head.

He gave you a little smile and revealed a solid, leather-bound dark navy box, protruding it to you. “I would like you to have it.”

Your eyebrows jolted up in pleasant surprise. Whatever was in that box, you were sure that it was quite expensive.

You gripped the box with your slightly trembling hands and opened it, revealing an extremely eye-catching diamond pendant.

You jaw dropped insensibly, making your eyes dart straight into Dimitri’s. “I-I can’t –”

“Please, wear it.”

Silence prevailed, giving you time to wake up from your stupor. “Well—” You turned around, implying for Dimitri to hook the pendant around your swan-like neck.

You were going to hug him but you heard someone enter the door, so you did what first came into your mind – you hid.

“Quick – it’s safe in here.” You hissed and dragged Dimitri along in the small cubic room that reminded of something like laundry closet.

The tension was obviously prevalent and you were sure that at some time you were going to snap.

You listened to the voices outside and waited until they were no more. When that happened, Dimitri proceeded to leave the closet, but something else popped into your mind.

“Wait,” You breathed out. “Stay.”

“W-Why?” Dimitri was obviously blushing; he seemed lost, what you thought was cute.

Cheeky smile appeared on your face, and you were surprised with yourself in this moment, because something indeed snap inside of you to make you want to do what you’re about to do.

“I think you deserve a reward.”

“R-Reward? There’s really no need—”

“You’re not scared, are you?” You teased him, hoping – no, knowing that he will comply.

He then straightened his posture. “Of course not! I’m not –”

You stopped him from talking by pressing your lips to his, catching him off guard.  Few second after you drew back and took in his pleasantly surprised face. It was like you’ve changed roles – Dimitri now was a blushing and stuttering mess, while you were the courageous one.

You placed one palm onto his torso and got on your knees, fumbling with his belt.

“Oh God,” You heard Dimitri whisper and almost restrained yourself from giggling.

There was a bulging tent in his boxers by now, making you slightly widen your eyes at how big it was.

You waited for nothing and sneaked your palm inside the boxers taking out his member, hearing a quiet gasp fly out of Dimitri’s mouth.

You pumped back and forth for a bit before wrapping your lips around the tip, kissing it slightly, brushing your tongue over it. You opened your mouth wider and proceeded further, hearing Dimitri huffing above you.

He entwined his fingers in your hair, thumping his head back into the wall and closing his eyes in pleasure.

As you bobbed your head to and fro further, you felt how Dimitri’s finger grip your hair harsher and harsher, indicating that he’s coming closer to his release.

Suddenly, he wailed and you felt a soft, salty liquid in your mouth, gulping it down and blushing profusely.

You stood up and took in Dimitri’s appearance – disheveled hair, rosy cheeks and half-lidded eyes.

You smiled and pecked him, gripping his palms. “Mine.” You muttered to his ear, knowing that it was only a start.