#I mean technically I've been one for months but now I have the paper

[literallymechanical]

Diploma finally showed up, I'm a Magistrix Ingenii heck yeahhhhh

[alchemistc]

"We're friends, right?"

Eddie watches Tommy tense from the bar stool next to him. Hard to notice, when he's trying not to make direct eye contact, when he's catching Tommy in his periphery only, but there's something about the set of his shoulders that tips his hand.

Buck's still jabbering away with that probie from the 136 they met three weeks ago on the 401 and somehow already knew too much about Buck. The fact that Buck doesn't find it weird, and absolutely isn't clocking the starry-eyed admiration in the kids eyes, is not technically his problem, but it's a good launching point.

Hopefully the kid'll ask Buck about some obscure bit of Buck Lore and keep him distracted for the next few minutes.

Tommy fiddles with the label on his bottle. Tries and fails miserably to hide a gulp. "Of course," Tommy says, and Eddie watches him notice Eddie's disbelieving brow lift in the grimy mirror over the whiskey display.

When they'd met, Eddie had been so fucking pleased to find such an easy connection with someone. In a different way than he'd clicked with Buck, because Buck was a handful on a good day and Buck hadn't been having a good day that first one. They'd had so much in common, and that thread had continued the entire time he and Buck had dated. It'd been nice, to have reinforcements against Buck's flights of fancy. It'd been nice not to have to say the hard part out loud, when Tommy could tell he wasn't having a great time of it. It had been nice to be a little overeager and not worry about Buck getting territorial in either direction.

Turns out it wasn't Buck he needed to worry about.

"We can be honest with each other," Eddie says, and takes a little delight in seeing the panic shining through in Tommy's entire body. Just a little, though. He is trying to resolve this whole thing Buck definitely hadn't meant to admit to him three days ago. He tips his head sideways to indicate Buck and the 136 probie. "So what's the difference between me, and that kid over there who would definitely try to take you out at the ankles if he realized you were the crazy pilot Buck's been seeing?"

Tommy eyes the opening of his bottle like it holds the answers to life.

"Could have come up with a cooler nickname. Hot pilot. Brave pilot. Talented pilot."

"All accurate but not what the rumor mill is calling you. I know a deflection when I see one. So we're just never gonna talk about it?"

Tommy sighs. He makes a concentrated effort to roll his shoulders back, extend his jaw, stop picking at the label of the bottle. There's already a pile of strip-thin paper beginning to pool on the bar top between his forearms.

"I can't believe he told you."

"If it's any consolation, he definitely didn't mean to."

Tommy blazes past that like he's spent the length of the comment gearing himself up to spit this out all at once.

"Evan's a flirt. He likes the attention. He likes making connections. I've been jealous of dogs he pets long enough to flirt life stories out of their owners. That kid is a flash in the pan. Evan will come back over here wagging his tail about making a new friend, sit down next to me, and I'll spend the next few hours feeling like a third wheel until you order an Uber."

Yeah. That's what Eddie thought he'd say.

"You're so messed up, man," Eddie says, and Tommy's grin is wry, a little pained. "You know I'm straight."

The number of times he's had to actually think about that in the last few months is still shocking. Apparently it's very heteronormative of him to have never questioned it before now. Like Buck ever had. Like Tommy didn't fight tooth and nail to not have to examine it.

"I'm less worried about you suddenly discovering you like dick than I am about you suddenly discovering you and Evan have been codependent freaks about each other since the day you met."

"I already know that, dumbass."

Eddie may not be the most perceptive man in the world - he's not out here dissecting every interaction with another human a thousand times in two seconds, unlike someone here - but he knows what he has with Buck isn't your standard fare of friendships. He's always likened it to brotherhood, although he's got no idea if that fits. Or how Buck sees it. He just knows those weeks in El Paso we're just as miserable for not having Buck around as they were for all the strife with his family, with Chris, with his job or lack thereof. They'd sucked. Missing Buck had made the top five of terrible things about Texas.

He's also aware enough to know that neither he nor Buck had any desperate desire to do more than clasp each other's shoulders and have a staring contest for thirty seconds when they reunited.

Definitely hadn't wanted to fuck him on a bare mattress and then sleep on that mattress.

He knows too much about Buck's sex life.

Probably his own damn fault for going to the self-proclaimed former sex addict any time he felt weird about sex with whatever woman he was distracting himself with at the time. Opened that door and left it wide on its hinges.

Not that he cares that it's a dude, now. Just. Buck's always had a problem separating the details from the overarching issue.

He can feel Tommy's eyes on the side of his head.

"I'm working on it," Tommy says, like Eddie's got a hand shoved up beneath his ribcage and he's squeezing.

"So we're cool," Eddie pushes, just to catch a glimpse of Tommy rolling his eyes. Buck's not the only one who enjoys how bitchy Tommy is. Different reasons, same result. Eddie likes Tommy. He'd been annoyed with him as much for Buck's sake as his own, because following the Bros Before Hos code had sucked. Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of friends, and Tommy had been a good one. Reliable. Generous. Legitimately interested in the minutiae of Eddie's life. Easy to talk to. Easy to get out of your head with.

"We were never not cool."

"You blocked my number after the breakup, dude." He never told Buck that part. He'd figured it was self-preservation, up until he realized Tommy hadn't bothered to block the man he'd actually dumped.

"I said I'm working on it, not that it's already worked on. I did unblock you. Eventually."

A week before Buck caved and told Eddie the story of their ill-advised hookup. The text he'd gotten had just said "Hope El Paso's treating you well." and Eddie hadn't responded to it for a week and a half.

He's hoping for a little more. Some insight into where Tommy's head is at, what he could do to convince Tommy that's not a direction his and Buck's relationship will ever take.

Maybe that's not the point, though.

Maybe Tommy's more worried about the one they already have.

Well, Eddie's not giving that up. If Tommy wants to stick around, he's gonna have to fucking deal with it. Get out of his own head long enough to realize there's plenty of room in Buck's heart for the both of them.

Buck doesn't notice the lingering gaze of Probie (Derek? Damien? Dick?) on his back as he makes his way back towards them. He plasters himself to Tommy's side and swipes the bottle right from Tommy's hand to take a swig. Plants a lingering kiss under Tommy's ear and murmurs something that turns Tommy's ears pink.

"Kiefer says hi," he tells them both, and Tommy soaks in the moment. Eddie's paying closer attention this time around - doesn't miss the way he tries to wipe the smug satisfaction off his face. "He was very interested in both of you, for some reason," Buck continues, already flagging down the bartender for refills on all three of their drinks.

"Scoping out the competition," Tommy mutters, a little caustic, and the three of them all freeze for a moment.

Eddie's the first to raise his new, sweating bottle to cheers them both, but Buck surprises them both by dropping an arm over Tommy's shoulders, hand squeezing at one of Tommy's bulking muscles. "I'll protect your ankles, baby," he says, and when Eddie's sip of beer ends up coming out his nose onto the bar top, Tommy's the one yanking napkins out of the nearest dispenser to clean it up.

[two-white-butterflies]

slowburn

Description: Harvey refuses to take a sick leave. You teach him the importance of staying home and resting while unraveling feelings towards each other that have been kept hidden for ten years.

Pairing: harvey specter/reader

There were a million adjectives that you could use to describe Harvey Specter. Dedicated was one of those adjectives. He is the type of person to put in more work than he was getting paid for - oftentimes, it gets him into trouble but the fucking genius always finds a way out.

You suppose that is half the reason why you hate his guts.

His actions never have any negative consequences. He just marches into the room with a self-absorbed smirk and wiggles out of trouble. Matter of fact, you are surprised to see that he hasn't been sued for any workplace-related incidents before. You can think of at least three charges off the top of your head.

"He stole another one of my clients. I've been buttering up Mr. Pritchett for three months now and he just swoops in and finds his missing dog!" Phoebe rants while pacing back and forth, her heels clicking against the marble floors in a manner that you pray does not leave marks. Phoebe was hired at about the same time as Mike. She's been working as your associate for about half a year now.

Phoebe was at the top of her class at Harvard. She marched to Pearson Hardman with a laminated copy of her recommendation letters, all the professors were singing praises about her, almost as if they kneeled on the ground which she walked upon. On paper, she is leagues better than Mike Ross - but in reality, it seems like Harvey's associate is too much like him. Thief, you thought to yourself.

"There will be other clients," you reminded.

"We need Pritchett's Closets!" Phoebe sighs.

"- and Blinds." You gave her a teasing smile.

You have been trying to build this marketable image to your clients, opting to stay on the side of paperwork when it comes to technical cases mostly concerning patents, copyright claims, and all those boring things that actually bring the most money. After that case with Montgomery Co. with the missing ballerina and the murdered grandmother - it had all been too much, leaning more towards the black than the usual grey that you were suited with.

Phoebe knew that Pritchett's Closet's (& Blinds) endorsement would mean cementing that newfound niche that you've burrowed into, but with Harvey grabbing into Mr. Pritchett's proverbial golden tits. He is making that very difficult for you.

"I don't get it, why do they always steal our clients? Louis always gets the second most interesting cases." Phoebe regains her composure, opting to sit on the chair in front of you - watching as you drafted through a thousand-paged contract about some thingamajink. Phoebe just couldn't understand why Harvey of all people was hellbent on stealing your clients.

He is renowned for the storm, not the calm rivers.

"Our cases bring in the most money," you answered. It is very difficult to remain composed in front of your associate, but Jessica emphasized the fact that you were here to teach Phoebe about law. Rule #1 - never show any emotions. The first to react is the first to lose. "I don't think that Harvey is that desperate for money," she says.

You glance up from your laptop, an eyebrow raised in intrigue.

The way that her lips are curled right now. She's thinking about something unorthodox (which is not the appropriate adjective to use but you cannot think of another word to describe her mischief).

"I don't have time for this," you groaned hearing her giggles.

"Do you ever think that maybe Harvey is doing this to get your attention?" She leans a little closer, her eyebrows wiggling insisting that a connection existed even though it wasn't there. "Why would he want my attention, huh?" You asked expecting no decent answer.

"- because you are the third most fuckable woman in this office." She says in a hushed whisper. If there was water inside of your mouth, you would have spit it out by now. "Who's the first and the second?" Your voice comes out louder than you anticipated.

"I mean this with absolute adoration, but Jessica and me, respectively." Phoebe shrugs and a laugh forces its way out of your lips, for someone who answered her interview with professionalism, Phoebe is not acting very professional right now. "Jokes aside. I understand why Harvey would want to want you." She points out.

"You seriously have to stop reading those books," you roll your eyes.

"Remember that time when you brought me to the company gala? You were wearing that random dress from an atelier in Paris. It wasn't even a revealing gown, cloistered nuns wear clothes more revealing than that gown you wore but Harvey was staring at you with hearts in his fricking eyes." Phoebe exaggerates with her grand hand gestures. You suppose that you didn't exactly pay mind to Harvey during that gala - he did try to speak to you before leaving, but at that point you were far too tired - you just got into a cab.

You didn't even stop walking to hear what he was saying.

Oh, don't let Phoebe's words get to you. You thought to yourself.

She's nothing but a fresh graduate student who (swears) that she has never had a boyfriend her entire life. What does she know of love?

You pried your attention away from your laptop, staring at Phoebe straight in the eyes - in a tone that you have used with witnesses. "Even if Harvey Specter likes me in the way that you're pointing out, it doesn't matter because I don't care." You lied.

"- and you should go back to work." You pointed at the door.

And she stands up with a huff.

"Close the door on your way out!"

"Whatever!"

Goddamn, Phoebe!

Her words echoed in your mind, memories of that gala keep repeating - it was three months ago for Christ's sake. You still remember every detail albeit a little blurry.

Harvey was trying to reach out to you, but at that point, you had already drunk too much whiskey, everything was happening in slow motion. It was raining, your car was nowhere to be found and Phoebe already called a cab to get you home - at that time, you didn't have the capacity or sanity to discuss a case with Harvey, so you just left.

You prayed that Harvey would just think that you didn't hear him. It would hurt his ego, yes, but he always deserves a little humbling.

But now your mind is just repeating that scenario.

What if he wanted to talk about something else?

What if he wanted to be friends? More than friends?

"What the fuck am I talking about?" You mumbled to yourself while fishing for the car keys inside of your purse. It was already twelve midnight. You were probably the last person inside the damn building. A yawn escapes your mouth as you walked through the dark corridors of Pearson Hardman, but to your surprise the lights to Harvey's office are open and his door was slightly ajar. 

Phoebe's words come crashing towards you again. There is only one way to know, and that is to ask. Well, not ask but most certainly try to feel around, you argued with yourself.

Your feet taking you towards the direction of his office.

"Harvey, are you still there?" You knocked on his door.

"What is it?" He inquires while blowing his nose.

You paused for a second. Your eyes trailed back and forth between Harvey and the tissue in his hand presumably filled with snot. You have been working together for ten years and this is the first time that you've seen him sick. "I was about to leave but I saw that you were still here, so I'm just giving a heads up." You informed.

He sneezes once more, and you tilt your body towards the side - dodging the pathogens. "Are you sure that you're capable of going home?" You inquired with concern. He probably has a driver...

"Why wouldn't I be?" He shakes his head, his tone a little kinder.

"You look like you're about to die." You answered bluntly.

His eyes were puffy and his nose was red. On top of that, he was pale as a ghost - haunting you with his whiteness.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" He chided.

You began to march in his direction, placing a hand on his forehead. The sudden proximity a little intimidating but still somewhat normal.

"You're going down with a fever," you said with certainty.

Your eyes trail towards his features, watching as his lips press into a thin line and his eyebrows merge together in frustration. It must feel horrible being sick during Q3 (which was the most important quarter in Pearson Hardman as all of your clients seem to get sued this season of the year). "You should take the day off tomorrow," you advised, almost surprised to hear these words escape your tongue.

You haven't had a decent conversation with Harvey for years. Well, you haven't spoken to him at all beyond business.

"As far as I'm concerned you're not Jessica and you can't tell me what to do." He shoves your advice down the drain, opting to return to the piles of paperwork sitting on his desk.

Oh yeah, stubborn is also a word you would use to describe him. Once he has his mind focused on something, it takes unstoppable force to pry him away. Heck, Phoebe calls him an immovable object referencing a reel that Donna sent to her. God, reels are awful.

"Suit yourself," you shrugged while turning around to leave.

"Goodbye," his voice is surprisingly soft.

No, this is just my mind playing tricks on me!

"Bye," you forced yourself to reply before shutting the glass doors behind you. Hopefully, he'll be better tomorrow - or else Jesicca will begin to realize that you aren't doing that much in the office.

You chuckle at the thought.

It was a stressful Friday in Pearson Hardman.

All Fridays are stressful in Pearson Hardman.

It was the last week of the month which meant that the accountant was going to come and audit the entire firm. Of course, the firm wasn't doing anything illegal per se but the accountant's presence did rattle Louis who would otherwise not be bothering you. "You didn't tell me that the check bounced," Louis barges into your office.

Jesus, you should really hire a secretary.

"I told you that we received an NSF Check but the client came and paid their dues in cash." You groaned. He isn't even the company accountant and he's going crazy over these small details. "You should have listed that down with the bookkeeper." Louis reminds.

"I did, that was two weeks ago!" You argued.

"Wait, two weeks ago?" Louis halts in his tracks.

"Yeah, and they sent me an email to confirm." You confirmed.

"I'm talking about the Fulgencio case," Louis repeats himself.

Oh right, that case that you made in collaboration with Harvey. It was about the inheritance of his illegitimate child yada yada. "Harvey was the one who handled the payments." You informed. Those checks should have been cashed in yesterday.

Normally you'd be the one dealing with the financial aspects of the case, but given the fact that Harvey was paired up with you - you threw those responsibilities to him. "Which means that you have to talk to him or I'm making Jessica write up a memo," Louis says.

"Why do I have to talk to him? You're the one dealing with the financial things." You complained. Seriously, Louis? Right when I'm about to start writing another contract with fucking Microsoft?

"You're the one who's supposed to co-sign the checks. You carry half of the blame." Louis reminds, and for someone who is Junior Partner - he sure as hell drives a good argument.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get it done Louis." You reassured.

Two things were for sure. You needed to talk to your co-workers with more decorum and that Harvey is seriously in trouble for not cashing those checks in. A groan escapes your mouth, already imagining all the paperwork that you were about to do - on top of that Mr. Fulgencio was probably sipping margaritas in Brazil, unreachable.

yourname@pearsonhardman.nyc Did you forget to cash in Mr. Fulgencio's checks? 11:29 pm

yourname@pearsonhardman.nyc We have to cash those in because we already recorded them in our books. Please reply with an electronic receipt ASAP. 12:00 pm

yourname@pearsonhardman.nyc Good afternoon, just messaging to check in with Mr. Fulgencio's checks. Cash them in ASAP before the weekend. 12:11 pm

"Harvey," you knocked on your co-worker's door.

After dealing with three back-to-back meetings, you expected at least a reply from Harvey, but he hasn't even seened your messages. "Come in," he replied hoarsely. For some miraculous reason, Donna was nowhere to be found in her desk.

It was a little uncharacteristic, concerning even...

"I sent you messages about the checks," you waltzed inside of his office. Momentarily taken aback by the sight of him. He looked bad yesterday and he looks horrible now. He looks like he hasn't slept the entire night - he was basically sleeping on his desk. It's a miracle that an associate has not stumbled upon the sight of him. Well, then again they probably already have. "I'll check it," he mumbled.

"Harvey," you said in a voice that was a little firmer.

You're not a sweet person. You're not the type of person who speaks in a concerned tone, catering to each and every problem that your co-workers face, but Harvey's was a different case. Ten years ago, he marched back into this office as an associate with his own legal secretary and he set the court ablaze. You were going to lie if you said that you didn't feel a tinge of attraction towards him - it was there, flickering like an almost dying star.

Nope, actually, not a dying star because that would mean that the attraction would have blossomed into something else and then died. More like a seed planted on loamy soil - and then someone trampled on the saplings before they grew into fully-formed trees.

Harvey was an almost, an almost turned rival but now he's a maybe?

Again, what the hell are you talking about.

Putting it in simpler terms, you simply cared about Harvey.

"Harvey," you repeated his name again, the realization beginning to settle. You're not the type of person who cares easily, so why do you care about Harvey so much? A real workplace rival would have rejoiced at the sight of him being this sick during the most important day of the most important quarter. But you weren't.

"I'll fix it, whatever it is." He says with certainty, his attention straying.

"You know that resting is not a bad thing, right?" You asked rhetorically. "I'm alright, I'm not sick," Harvey argued while fighting through the sneezes that threatened to make their way.

"Yes, you are," you replied bluntly.

"I have to work, I need to get these papers finished." Harvey rambled.

"It isn't selfish to put yourself first," you told him, taking another step closer until you were standing in front of him, leaning over his desk. "- and let's face it you're not getting any work done. You're only putting the people of this workplace in danger of infection," you persuaded, using words that you knew he'd be persuaded with. He stares at you.

Harvey wouldn't hurt a fly.

He wouldn't even dream of putting anyone's life in danger.

Harvey is a good person. (Bam, another adjective!)

He keeps staring at you, the sunlight casting a glow on his blue irises, and for a moment, you contemplate risking it all... He looks so handsome, basked in the warmth of the sunlight, that you forget everything that happened before. There are only thoughts of him. Harvey's golden curls were kissed by the gods of the sun and his aquamarine eyes proved to be beautiful in contrast to his lips...

His lips that you once dreamed of pressing kisses upon (in the caprice of your youth). Harvey looks like he's thinking of you too, but that thought is snapped away from your mind when he reaches for the telephone on his right, pressing a number that would connect to the phone on Donna's desk. "Yes, Harvey?" You hear Donna's voice from the other side of the call. "I'm going home," he informs.

A smile paints your lips.

How easy he was to persuade.

"Hi, Ray, please take Harvey home." You helped a very sick Harvey into the backseat of his car.

"Of course miss...?"

"(Your Name), oh here's my number - just call me if you need anything." You reached for your pocket, handing him a call card.

"Goodbye, safe driving." You waved.

It was already early morning when Ray Benghazi called your phone. "Hello, who is this?" Your voice was hoarse and your throat felt dry. Your eyebrows merged together in confusion, this was your personal phone number and not a lot of people knew about it.

"Atty. (Your Name) this is Ray Benghazi. I'm Harvey's driver, and I just called because Mr. Specter hasn't replied to my texts. He's supposed to attend a conference in the Hamptons, but his car needed some repairs, so I'm tied up in the mechanics. I was wondering if you could check up on him? I'm sorry, I just don't know the phone numbers of Harvey's other friends." Ray rambled off.

From his tone, you could make out his embarrassment and concern.

"Oh sure, just send me his address." You agreed.

"Thank you so much, I will text it to you, ma'am." He responded.

Harvey Specter, the things I do for you.

The sun was already beginning to shine when you reached Harvey's apartment. This will be your first time seeing him beyond work and work-related events and the circumstances were strangely domestic. Harvey is not the type of person who befriended people outside of work - and yet, here you were. You stopped at the threshold, your hands dancing against the metal button of his doorbell.

Is this a good time? You found yourself asking.

Ding dong! The doorbell echoed from inside his apartment.

Maybe he's still sleeping - or maybe he has company. He's probably fine, I shouldn't have come here. But, he could also not be fine and that would be a bigger problem -

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Harvey's eyebrows merged together. He was wearing a blue Eagles T-shirt paired with red sweatpants. It was seldom that he wore anything other than his silk-pressed suits. "Ray called me and told me to check up on you," you informed while raising your phone to show him the shadow of a text message.

He presses a hand to his face, chuckling. "Sorry, I wasn't able to reply to his messages but I decided to not attend the event. No need to worry," he whispers the last sentence. "I'm not accusing you of worrying about me," he is quick to correct and his phrase makes you laugh. Oh, you wouldn't be here if you weren't worried about him. You wouldn't have even woken up to Ray Benghazi's phone call at 4am if you weren't a bit worried about Harvey Specter.

"Why would I worry about you?" You tease and his face falls slightly.

"Do you want to come inside?" He offers. "- I was sick, so don't come in unless you have a fear of microbes." He opens the door slightly, prompting you to follow after him. "I don't care about that. I only mentioned the infection thingie because I know you'd care," you say.

"Good, I've never seen you wear a mask before." He says sarcastically.

"Please, I've never been sick before." You scoffed while sitting on the stool beside his breakfast nook. "Yep, the sniffling you were doing in January was just allergy season." He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't think that you were the one to keep score, Specter." You bantered while watching him make coffee. Your eyebrows merged together - you don't really drink coffee. You were more of a matcha person (ever since your aunt who had a vacation in Japan came back with matcha, you were hooked). "I don't keep score?" he scoffs.

He places a purple mug in front of you.

"I don't drink coffee," you gave him a polite smile.

"It's hojicha. It's not matcha but..." he shrugs and you freeze. How the fuck does he know about my hyperfixation on matcha? "Jessica brought those back when she came from Japan, but I'm not much of a tea connoisseur." He continues speaking.

"You don't look like the type," you mumbled while taking a sip of tea. "Your ancestors did throw tea on some river, or was it the ocean?" You pretended to be clueless about American history and he replies with an amused chuckle. "Whatever you say," he takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes on the city skyline in front of him.

"I hope that I don't owe you one - for checking up on me." He stops to look at you, his eyes trailing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. He met you ten years ago inside a cramped office in Pearson Hardman, clawing your way to the position that you have now - and he always admired you. Always found you beautiful, educated and interesting but way out of his league.

"Please, you owe me for another thing." You smiled.

You know almost everything about every topic in the world. You're able to connect with Jessica and her love for watching tennis. You're able to connect with Donna and her love for fashion - almost everyone is absolutely engrossed in you, including him.

"Other thing?" He tilts his head.

He doesn't even purposefully do it, but he overhears your conversations with other people, and suddenly, he remembers all your likes and dislikes. Sometimes, he uses that information to tease you - but oftentimes it just sits in his head, stagnant, waiting to be used. He doesn't even know what to call your relationship - more than co-workers but less than friends? More than friends but less than lovers? He knows that he cares though.

"The checks. You forgot to cash the checks in." You lightly remind him of the checks with Mr. Fulgencio. "Oh, shit." He winces.

"How will I ever make it up to you? Patron saint of checks?" He teases. "Hmm," you pressed a finger to your lips.

"- I don't want to cash in that check yet." You winked.

Just as you said that word, it began to rain.

"Oh shit," you cursed, watching the strong blip blop of the raindrops. "Did you walk here?" Harvey asks.

You answer with a nod, mentally cursing yourself.

"I'll take an Uber home, it was nice hanging out with you." You smiled. Goodness sake, who says hanging out? You cursed yourself again.

"No, you should stay," Harvey insists adamantly. "It would be rude to send you home; it's raining cats and dogs outside." He points at his open window. It is pouring heavily, and you are wearing sandals. That sensation, along with the dirty stress of NYC, must be awful.

He forces a thin-lipped smile on his face.

"Just for a little while," he argued.

"Fine," you relented.

The both of you tiptoed in the direction of his home theater. It wasn't a grand home theater per se, but there were about eight couches all sitting in front of a big screen. The room was dark, only illuminated by downcast lights - and the room was cold, like you were inside of a freezer. "I didn't know you were this rich," you teased.

"We have the same salary," he rolled his eyes, both of you sitting down on the couch farthest from the screen. "But not the same bonuses," you argued. "Yes, you get more." He banters, earning a giggle from you. "I do not," you shook your head.

"Louis told me," he reaches for the remote, handing it to you.

"I'm gonna sue him," you mumbled.

"Choose a movie," he says while leaning down on the couch. "If you have a home movie theater that must mean you're real picky in the movies that you watch." You made an observation.

Heck, this streaming platform was the one worth $10k. Does Harvey know anything about fiscal responsibility? "Choose one and see if I'll judge you," he breathes, pulling a blanket over his body - the blanket which he must've accidentally also pulled over your lap.

"I feel pressured," you say.

"Princess Bride?" you asked while hovering over the button.

"Sure," he agrees while opening a pack of chips, offering them to you.

You Hey, thank you so much for today!!

Harvey Specter (cell) I thought I was supposed to say that Thanks for staying in and watching movies with me Seen. 12:22 pm.

Harvey Specter (cell) I was thinking that maybe we should have dinner sometimes? Seen. 11:11 pm.

You And when exactly is *sometimes*?

Harvey Specter (cell) Tomorrow, 5pm. Carrizima's? I'll pick you up. Seen. 11:12pm.

You Sure, I'll give Ray my address.

There were many benefits to having a stable job, one of them included luxury shopping - and boy, did you do that a lot, to the point that your sales associate had you on speed dial for limited edition items. "You're going on a fucking date? We cheered!" Phoebe chided.

"I guess it is kinda a date." You agreed.

You didn't even want to sugarcoat Harvey's invitation, the both of you are grown humans and it would be uncharacteristic to tiptoe like teenagers. But, that didn't mean that you were going to drape yourself all over him, it was just a date - meaning, the both of you want to test the waters. If there's some sort of compatibility.

"I guess that means my shipping days with Harvey Specter are over," Phoebe sighed. Yes, you learned that the word 'shipping' meant creating a romantic pairing of two people in slang. Phoebe says that she has been shipping you with Harvey for quite some time now. When she finds out that you are going on a date with Harvey, she is going to freak out - but, you don't have to tell her.

Phoebe and Donna know everything about everyone. What's the problem with withholding this information from her? It'll be funny and she'll find out about the date soon enough. "Tell me about the guy that you're going on a date with. Is he handsome?" She asked.

"Oh yeah, and he's not like those boys on social media that you like. He has a real job," you teased your associate. "What job?" She continued prying as your sales associate, Georgina, placed a stack of dresses on the clothes rack. "He's a lawyer," you confirmed.

Hoping that Phoebe would be able to piece the two things together.

"Damn, he's handsome and a lawyer. Harvey will be so jealous." Phoebe giggled. "You should wear this dress," she pointed at the white dress that reached past your knees. "- you should be very demure in your attack." She advises.

"Spoken from the mouth of a girl who has never had a boyfriend," you rolled your eyes while stepping inside of the dressing room. Thank you, Georgina for getting me a private room, you say.

"I have read a lot of books!" Phoebe defended herself.

The restaurant that Harvey chose was spectacular. It had the perfect aesthetic of Venice, curated with each decoration in beautiful taste, it felt real and authentic, not like the restaurants in Times Square which were obvious tourist traps.

You wearing a white floral Erdem shirt dress with cute Bresson lace sleeves, merging in with the restaurant's aesthetics. On your right, two young French couples were looking longingly into each other's eyes, and on your left, there was an older couple - doing the exact same thing. Your gaze returns to Harvey.

Where does that leave you and Harvey in this visual metaphor?

"I've never been here before," your eyes trailed against the restaurant's beautiful interior. "- ten years living in New York and not once..." you chuckled, wondering how this beautiful restaurant was able to eclipse your radar. "It's a hidden gem," He replies.

The first time that Harvey visited this place was with Jessica, where she begged him to return back to the firm. After that entire scandal in the D.A.'s office with Cameron Dennis, he hasn't really had the opportunity to revisit this restaurant - the restaurant that marked new beginnings for him. "I'm sorry about forgetting to take care of the checks. I already sent an email to Fulgencio's assistant, and don't worry I already talked to the accountant." He explained.

"Everybody makes mistakes, and you were sick, which meant that you weren't exactly yourself." You comforted, taking his apology.

The waiter places both of your dishes on the table, and you mumble a quick thanks. There was a moment of silence between you, only broken by the sound of jazz music playing in the background.

"I like your dress," he compliments shyly - reminding you of young love. A type of love that you missed out on in your youth due to the pursuit of greatness. The sound of him is refreshing. "Your tie doesn't look so bad," you teased while taking a sip of your merlot.

He places a hand on his tie.

"This is a special tie," his eyebrows merged together in mockery.

"I've never seen you wear that tie before," you scoffed.

"I've never had a special day," he defends himself while twirling the strands of pasta around his fork, taking a bite of bolognese. "- and why would today be a special day?" You raised an eyebrow.

Harvey freezes, but just for a split second.

He has thought about this scenario almost a hundred times. When he's washing his hair in the shower, he can't help but imagine what it would feel like to make this real, to confess feelings of attraction that he has kept buried for the past decade, masking it up with banter and stealing each other's clients. But now sitting in front of you, sandwiched between a young and an old couple - he cannot help but feel taken aback. What if you end up being like his mother? What if he loves you so much, he ends up like his father?

"- because we're having dinner together." He replies automatically.

You are not going to be like his mother. He's spent ten years in an office with you, kept his feelings hidden, settled with banter because he is terrified. Harvey Specter is terrified of confessing his feelings and losing one of the only friends that he has. He's terrified of you feeling the same way and watching you unfold under the weight of his anxiety, and he doesn't know if those fears hold no merit now.

He's scared, overthinking a simple sentence - overthinking this dinner, and on the outside - overthinking is not Harvey Specter's brand. He's confident, smug, aloof, but he is not. He's tired of being called smart, he's just scared. He's scared that without his law degree, without his work in Pearson Hardman, he's just a nobody with divorced parents who'll probably never experience real love.

"Harvey, are you alright?" Your voice suddenly sounded airy.

He takes a deep breath, feeling his chest constrict for a second. He continues staring at your face, allowing the light to lead him to peace. "Yes," he answers with a smile on his face.

He takes another deep breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

His heart is thumping furiously, he cannot think straight, but he knows exactly what he is supposed to do. "I'll be straightforward," he cleared his throat. "Yes?" You raised an eyebrow, the world continued happening beside you - but your attention was only focused on him.

The sound of the jazz band playing, the taste of the wine on your tongue, the casual conversation happening behind you - it all got drowned out because Harvey was the only thing worthy of your attention right now. "The thought of you makes me smile. I wake up everyday anticipating your morning remarks, because I find you funny and beautiful and interesting. I like you." Harvey confessed, he sat tall and confident, not for once second doubting himself.

There was another round of silence between you.

His face changes slightly, merging into confusion when you began laughing.

Laughing hard and uncontrollably.

"Is this funny to you?" He returns back to his cocky self.

"No, no, I find it - hilarious." You wiped away tears of joy.

"I planned this entire thing with a helicopter, and I was about to tell you that I liked you too." You professed a shocked smile paints his lips. "Damn," he leans on his chair.

Damn indeed.

GIRL'S GROUPCHAT

Phoebe Ya'll will never guess who (Your Name) is dating.

Donna who?

Phoebe Ya'll will never guess

Rachel You dunno, do you?

Phoebe Uhh no but I know he works in Pearson Hardman She sent me a picture and I swear he was holding a folder A YELLOW FOLDER WITH OUR FIRM'S LOGO

Donna seems like this is a mystery we're supposed to solve

Rachel It's intriguing ...

Part Two >>

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway LISTEN I told 'yall November was gonna be "obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU" month, and I really did not INTEND to post my daily words for it again this year but also, like, fuck it, we ball. No promises I will update EVERY day this time around but again: fuck it, we ball. ( also uhhhhh I've been writing this fic kinda-sorta-semi out of order lately but there is still a significant chunk of word count I'd already written that I would've pre-gamed and posted YESTERDAY if I'd thought I was gonna be doing this, sooooo hope nobody minds us kickin' off the month with like an extra 5.9k on top of the 1.6k of obligatory sugar that I ACTUALLY wrote today behind this here cut? yes? no?? Bueller???? )

get sugared, Super-boytoy. Tim, you just . . . you just do your future-supervillain best over there, buddy. you just do what you can with yourself. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I wanted to,” Tim says again, and Kon glances away and bites his lip, turning the flowers by the stem again. 

“It’s, uh–pretty,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s–cool. Thanks.” 

“If I can’t bring you fresh ones, well . . .” Tim shrugs. Kon glances back to him, and very briefly presses one of the orchid blooms against his own mouth. His face is still all flushed and his eyes are still a little soft, and it’s . . . it makes a picture, alright, even if it's not one Tim's specifically set up to take. Especially with the gold eyeliner and his blue eyes both matching the orchids. 

Tim didn't plan that, obviously, but he thinks it makes up for the sapphire versus ruby thing.

“Um . . .” Kon trails off, biting his lip. Glances down at the orchids from under his lashes. It doesn't make him any less of a picture, for sure. “So, um–do you wanna see the ‘something nice’ I got?” 

Tim blinks, immediately thinks of the most embarrassing option that Kon could possibly mean, and desperately tries to fight back a mortified flush at the idea. But, well–everything he can see Kon wearing is something he remembers buying him already, so . . . 

Oh god, he needs his brain to shut up right now. Immediately. Right now and immediately and forever. 

“Sure,” he says like a normal person, trying not to panic. “What is it?” 

Kon, thank god, pulls a little rectangular package inexplicably–and inexpertly–wrapped in newspaper comics out of the same coat pocket he tucked the jewelry box in. There's plain white string tied around it in a bow. 

Tim . . . blinks. 

If he didn't know better, he'd think Kon had . . . 

“I, um, got you something?” Kon says, and Tim stares blankly at the package. He–what? “For once, anyway. Well, I guess, uh, technically you got it for yourself, and actually this is kinda stupid maybe, you can literally just get yourself whatever you want whenever, obviously, but I just thought, uh–” 

“You got me something?” Tim repeats in surprise. Kon turns pink and shoves the package at him. Tim is too bewildered not to take it. 

“I thought it’d be, uh–fun,” he says, biting his lip and still very visibly blushing. “I mean–that we could have some fun with it. Y’know?” 

Tim stares at the package for another moment, then looks up at Kon. Alright, this maybe isn’t exactly the vibe he was going for here in terms of who’s paying for what and who’s giving things to who, but . . . well, Kon apparently used his allowance for whatever this is, at least, which gives him a reason to have wanted the allowance, so . . . he can work with that, he figures. Like, it’s an “in” to work from; a step in the process. 

He can’t tell what Kon’s gotten him from the shape of the package, though the edges are hard even though it doesn’t feel like it’s in a box or anything. “Have some fun” isn’t much of a clue, though he supposes it does imply something interactive. Maybe it’s a game of some kind, or–

Tim unties the bow and splits apart the clumsy seam of the comic-page wrapping paper with his thumb, tugging through its layers to reveal the package’s contents, and Kon flushes a little darker and watches him just a little bit nervously. 

Tim doesn’t actually know what to say. 

“I just thought, um, a real one’d probably take better pictures than a phone can,” Kon says sheepishly, slanting his eyes away and half-hiding his face behind the orchids. “I made sure the battery was charged and the guy at the store said it's got a lot of storage, I guess, so . . .” 

“You got me a camera,” Tim says blankly, which is the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him short of, like . . . no, it’s pretty much just the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. By far it’s the most bewildering possible thing that Kon could have gotten him. 

“You like taking pictures, right?” Kon fidgets a little, then smiles just barely shyly as he glances back at him. Tim's heart skips a few beats. Or more than just “a few”, maybe. “So, um–I thought maybe we could go do that . . . somewhere. You know, after dinner.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him a little stupidly. It’s not a particularly good camera, honestly–like, it’s a perfectly functional model for casual amateur use and a decently reliable commercial brand, but he’s got much better ones that are all professional-quality. He hasn’t used any of them in a while and most of them are admittedly a few years old now, but . . . yeah, this was a hundred bucks max, if that, and his cheapest camera was over five hundred. 

Note to self: raise Kon’s allowance. 

Also, apparently now his favorite camera is the kind of camera civilian amateurs just take random family photos on. Apparently that’s a thing. 

Tim really doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Kon not only remembered something he mentioned having an interest in, Kon bothered to actually get him something he thought he’d have an interest in. That is really, really not the dynamic he’s been encouraging here, for one thing. And also, why even would Kon do that? Like–really? 

“Thanks,” Tim says sincerely, turning the camera over in his hands and feeling incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “I love it.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, biting his lip around a smile. His face is still a little pink and he looks all soft and pretty like that, especially with the flowers still in his hand. Tim really was not prepared for Kon having “soft and pretty” in his repertoire. Like, that was not a thing he ever expected to see from his cocky, crowing brawler of a teammate. 

Kon’s only a brawler because he thinks he’s supposed to be, though, Tim’s pretty sure. Like–increasingly sure, at this point. 

He really, really needs to figure out how to get Kon to tell Robin more about his TTK. Or, like . . . anything about it, apparently. Just literally any single thing, at this point. 

“Thank you,” he says again, inspecting the camera assessingly and making note of all its functions and ports and the generally obvious basics. “We could go take some shots around downtown later, if you’re up for that?” 

Kon turns bright red, and Tim doesn’t understand for about half a second before remembering–the last time Kon had talked to him about taking pictures, he’d offered . . . 

Oh Jesus. 

Tim is either incredibly stupid or–actually, he doesn’t even know. Lucky? Embarrassing? The dumbest moron alive who didn’t even realize he was being flirted with again? All those things and several even worse ones? 

Kon had offered to let him take spicy pics of him the last time they'd talked about taking pictures, whatever “spicy” means to Kon–brash, impulsive, shameless Kon–and Tim’s the idiot whose first thought upon Kon following up that conversation by very literally giving him a camera was to go take pictures of fucking downtown.

He is the most useless “sugar daddy” to ever sugar. 

Well, to be fair, it is Gotham downtown, so it’s very–

“I like taking pictures of streets and buildings,” he blurts belatedly, fumbling to sound like just the oblivious idiot that he is and not some kind of weird fucking perv who’s trying to get Kon arrested for public indecency. Jesus, he’s stupid. “And people-watching is interesting too. You know, stuff like that.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and looks several ways at once, including both a little relieved and a little disheartened, which . . . okay, Tim would literally die if they actually went somewhere to take spicy pics tonight, so is unfortunately unavoidable. He’s not trying to make Kon not feel–attractive or anything, but he needs at least twenty-four hours to make a plan and also two or three or seventeen contingency plans before . . . anything like that happens. Ever. Even in theory. “Um–yeah, sure. That sounds cool.” 

“Cool,” Tim says, still desperately pretending to be an idiot. It’s not hard, on account of the fact that he very much is an idiot. 

Kon pauses for a moment, then perks up a little, seeming to think of something, and asks–“When’s dinner?” 

“Our reservation’s in forty-five minutes,” Tim says, double-checking the time on his phone just to be sure. “Well, forty-six. I figured that’d let us take our time walking over and maybe we could window-shop a little on the way.” 

And also shop-shop a lot, if Kon gives him literally even the slightest indication that he wants or needs something. Just if it comes up or anything. That’s all. 

Tim definitely did plan their route to the restaurant to cut straight through the middle of the downtown shopping district, either way. 

“We could’ve just met there, dude,” Kon says wryly, but grins anyway, glancing down at the orchids in his hand again. “Forty-six minutes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Tim confirms. 

“And you like taking pictures of streets and buildings?” Kon asks, his grin turning just a little bit sly. Tim frowns briefly in confusion, not sure what the grin’s about. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotham has a lot of really interesting architecture and design. Like, it’s an old city, and one that’s been pretty resistant to updates in a lot of areas or just not had the money for those updates. So you get a lot of places with a lot of character and it’s basically the bastard child of gothic and art deco design with a side of industrial warehouse, depending on the part of town you’re in. Like, Crime Alley and the Diamond District have very different vibes, but they’re both very Gotham vibes, if you know what to look for. It’s–” 

Kon is grinning really widely at him, for some reason. Tim realizes he’s rambling like a moron and turns red. 

“Uh,” he says, repressing a wince. “Yes. Yeah. I like taking pictures of streets and buildings.” 

“Cool,” Kon says, and then he carefully packs the orchids back into their box and it back into the gift bag and transfers the chocolates and jewelry back into it too, then grins even wider at him as he hooks the bag’s handles over his arm and into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t drop the camera, babe.” 

“Wha–” Tim starts to say, and then Kon grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the closest alley, which is terrible survival instincts for Gotham, oh god, but before Tim can say anything about that Kon’s wrapped an arm around his waist just tight enough to just barely lift him off his feet and bolted straight up into the air with him. “Shit!”

Tim doesn’t drop the camera because he’s held onto cameras while falling off literal buildings before, but definitely only because of that. Muscle memory, or whatever. Also he’s been snatched off his feet by Bruce and Dick plenty of times and thrown off rooftops by multiple rogues and thugs over the years and these days gets regularly dragged around by Bart, all while holding very important things he could not afford to drop, so it’s not like either the sudden jolt or the effort to keep his grip on the camera are as disorienting as it otherwise would be. Just . . . 

Ugh, Tim realizes, absolutely unimpressed with himself upon realizing that the breathless feeling he’s having right now is not actually related to the swift and sudden increase in altitude, but is actually just because it’s Kon holding him. 

He is an idiot, isn’t he, he reflects resignedly. Just an actual literal idiot. 

Jesus. 

“Whatcha think?” Kon asks with a grin as he comes to a stop in mid-air with him. He stops very suddenly, but Tim notices a distinct lack of jarring with said stop, which implies Kon’s got his TTK around him again and probably completely around him, which means–

Oh god, Tim thinks, and very quickly makes himself stop thinking about that. 

“It’s cool,” he says, because a normal civilian would think flying was something interesting and unusual, but it’s hard to act too excited about a move Kon probably pulls on literally everyone he–

“I meant the view, babe!” Kon says with a laugh, and Tim . . . blinks. 

And then he looks down. 

They’re hovering a few thousand feet up, and downtown is already lit up bright in the early evening gloom. And Kon . . . 

“Streets and buildings, as ordered,” Kon says, grinning wider with a smug, cocky look on his face. 

Oh no, he’s hot, Tim realizes with dread, and then blinks again. Stares down at the city below, past the whipping wind and down into the busy streets and the bright, dazzling lights cutting through the murky gloom. He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, obviously, because of course he has–he’s been climbing these rooftops for years, and every night he runs across and swings back and forth between them and utterly fails to learn how to do more than a double backflip. 

One day, he promises himself distractedly, and then looks back at Kon. 

He’s seen Gotham like this a thousand times, but never just because someone thought he’d like it. Like–not like this, he means. Dick's shown him a few particularly special or exhilarating views over the years, yeah, but . . . definitely not like this. Not for a reason like this. 

And definitely not while peacocking all smug and pretty dressed up in clothes that he bought him and holding him close enough to kiss. 

Kon’s expression turns a little sheepish; a little soft. Not quite shy, but . . . 

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice pitched a little quieter, and Tim has the much worse and even more dread-inducing realization of oh no, he’s CUTE.

He swallows, briefly, and feels his face burn. 

“Yeah,” he manages in an almost-normal voice. “I like it.” 

Kon grins at him, brighter than any city light, and Tim barely keeps himself from dropping the camera after all. 

“Thanks,” he attempts awkwardly, making himself focus on the camera and resisting the urge to take an immediate shot of that city-light grin. 

Then he takes one anyway, because of course he does. Kon laughs in surprise, then makes a face at him teasingly. 

“Hey, you can buy this face in any cheap gossip rag, focus on the fun stuff,” he jokes, jerking his head towards the city below. Tim looks searchingly at him for a moment, and then for obvious reasons snaps another picture. Kon flushes a little again. They probably won't even come out from this close, but . . . 

“You’re the most fun I’ve had all week,” Tim says, which is definitely too honest but clearly necessary to make a point of saying. Kon turns redder, ducking his head and grinning around his bitten lip. 

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing to me, man,” he says, and it comes across almost like a reflex. Tim hates . . . yeah, just literally everybody Kon’s ever known in his whole entire life, actually? Like, pretty much everybody? Bart gets a break because he grew up alone in VR and is therefore terrible with people and the girls get a break because they haven’t known any of them that long, but everybody else can just take a long walk off a short gutter, in Tim’s opinion. 

Especially any “everybody” from Cadmus. 

Or Metropolis, at this point. 

“I’m not saying anything I don’t want to say,” he says simply, and goes to the effort to frame a few shots of the skyline so Kon will know he appreciates . . . well, not the angle, exactly, but the thought. 

Technically he is usually on top of a building when he’s doing this, so the angle is actually a slightly different one than he’s used to–not that he’s been taking photos lately, just–not the point, really. Kon got him a camera and brought him up here because he clearly thought he’d like it, and damned if Tim is gonna do anything to make him think he doesn’t. 

He has better cameras for things like this–aerial shots and night photography and long-distance and the like, and better cameras for closeup candids too–but he already knows these pictures are all going to be exactly what he wants them to be, even the ones that don't come out. 

Or especially those, maybe. 

He's not sure how he'd explain that feeling to someone else. 

Kon flies them around, staying out of sight behind the light pollution and among the shadows of the buildings, and Tim takes . . . a lot more pictures than he needs to, actually. He was just trying to make sure Kon knew he appreciated him thinking of him, but actually . . . 

Well. 

It’s fun, that’s all. 

It’s . . . been a while, kinda, since he got to spend this much time on just photography and nothing else. Or–any time at all, really. 

Not that this is nothing else, obviously, given that Kon’s holding him and it is very, very hard to concentrate on anything besides that, but it is the kind of a view a standard civilian never gets, and it’s kind of nice to be flying for non-work-related reasons, for once. Like . . . novel, he guesses. A different experience. 

Technically he and Dick do “fly” together just for fun, sometimes, but that’s different. Like–so many kinds of different. It helps them in their work–keeps the rooftops familiar and them both in shape and in sync–but he can’t take photos when he’s trying to keep up with Nightwing across the rooftops of Gotham, and it’s not like Dick’s carrying him either. 

Also, it’s much less flustering and difficult to concentrate through, because again, Dick is not carrying him, and also Dick doesn’t do things like wear clothes he bought or do his eyeliner and paint his nails for him. Or, uh . . . anything like that. 

Also, definitely the “spicy pics” thing is not at all a thing, with Dick. Like, not even slightly, in any way whatsoever. And they’ve also never made out in a changing room or the back of a planetarium or– 

Look, there’s a lot of ways it’s different, okay? 

A lot of ways. 

“I'm not boring you, am I?” Tim asks a little bit sheepishly as Kon lands them on a ledge just behind one of the bigger gargoyles, tucked in tight in the shadows between it and the building it's perched on. “We can probably still fit in some window-shopping before dinner, if you want.” 

“Oh my god, dude, I promise we can do things you don't have to spend money on,” Kon says with a laugh as he lets him down on the ledge. “Though if it helps you technically did spend money on this, given how I got the camera and all.” 

“It's your allowance,” Tim says, because he wants to make sure Kon actually gets that. “You can spend it however you want.” 

“Well, I spent it how I wanted,” Kon says, and then steps closer into his space with a smile. Tim ends up sitting on the gargoyle’s back as Kon leans down to kiss him, and it's not like he's never kissed anyone while perched on a gargoyle before, but somehow it feels like something new anyway. New and electric, bright and easy and smeared with the city lights and thrilling in its shadows, and– 

Kon breaks off the kiss, though he keeps a hand on Tim’s arm, probably to make sure the squishy untrained civilian won't accidentally fall off the ledge and get splatted on the concrete. Tim barely holds himself back from chasing his mouth. 

“It's cool, anyway. Um, doing stuff you're into with you, I mean,” Kon says, looking a little soft and almost-shy again, and never mind, Tim not only needs to chase his mouth, he needs to set up a damn manhunt for it. “You're real cute when you get excited, man. I mean, uh–just–” 

The manhunt is going to require a very significant budget, Tim notes. 

Then he kisses him again, obviously. Kon melts down into it–into him, really–and wraps his arms around his neck, and Tim feels several kind of ways about it. Admittedly, it's the easier option with him sitting on the gargoyle and Kon leaning over him, but Kon's put his arms around his neck a couple of times now, and, well . . . 

That's just not something he would've expected from him, he guesses. Not “cool” or masculine or badass or . . . whatever, exactly, Kon thinks he's supposed to be. 

So Tim . . . likes it, he thinks, that Kon doesn't seem to think he needs to be like that around Tim Drake. 

Robin’s sure as hell never seen Kon in eyeliner. 

Robin's loss, Tim thinks. 

. . . maybe he's compartmentalizing a little too much these days, but still. 

Kon makes a very, very soft little sound between their mouths and then laughs, and Tim promises himself he won't stop at Gotham: he'll take over Metropolis for this asshole one day. Even if that means putting up with Lex Luthor and Superman. And also, like . . . everything about Metropolis. 

He'll figure it out. Supervillainy is still a long-term plan, so he's got time. 

Anyway, if he gives it to Kon after he takes it over he won't have to put up with it, so it's whatever. Sugar daddies do that kind of thing, right? Get their sugar-ees a city? 

. . . okay, definitely not. Like, very definitely not. 

“Okay date idea, then?” Kon asks as he leans back a bit and does a very bad job of biting back a smile, his face a little flushed and arms squeezing a little tighter around his neck. 

Tim will get him Metropolis if it kills Lex Luthor. 

“Very okay,” he says, smiling back at him. Kon grins, his face turning just a little bit redder, and then kisses him again. Tim has absolutely no complaints about that. Ever. He can’t even imagine a complaint he’d have about that, in fact. 

Worst case scenario, he’ll get them in at another restaurant if they miss their reservation. 

He really doesn't know what else he's supposed to do about how easy Kon blushes. 

They definitely spend too long making out against the gargoyle and Tim definitely lets himself get too riled up during it–and does not think about tactile telekinesis or any kind of related passive perception while he does–but by the time he’s the one pressing Kon back against the building, he really doesn’t care anymore. 

The fact Kon is even willing to let him do that when there is literally no way Tim could ever actually pin him anywhere without a way to sabotage his powers is . . . really, really distracting. Just–so distracting. 

Jesus, Tim thinks, breaking off just long enough to catch his breath for a moment. Kon pants softly against his mouth, which sabotages that even worse than kryptonite would sabotage TTK. 

Jesus, Tim thinks again, and then crushes their mouths back together. 

He doesn’t need to breathe that often. 

Kon makes a softer, breathier sound this time, and Tim does not let himself make it weird by letting his hands wander anywhere outside of second base territory. Frankly he’s not sure second base territory isn’t him making it weird, but Kon started it, so hopefully it’s not? Like–logically it’d follow that Kon wouldn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want touched, right? 

Well–hopefully, anyway. 

The air feels tight, Tim notices suddenly, like the feeling of sinking into deeper pressure when underwater but all at once, and then realizes–oh. 

Uh. 

Okay. 

“Um,” he says, and immediately the feeling of pressure vanishes as Kon jerks back and claps a hand over his own mouth. Which is mostly him pushing Tim back, given their position, but he does crack the brickwork behind him a little. 

Whoops, Tim thinks. 

“Sorry!” Kon blurts. “Sorry, sorry, that’s–sorry! I just, uh–got a little too into it. I won’t do it again.” 

“It’s really not a problem,” Tim says, with absolutely no idea how to take the idea of Kon getting “a little too into it” when kissing him, or the idea that getting a little too into it apparently involves getting wrapped up in TTK a lot more noticeably than making him bulletproof at the museum did. “I mean–it didn’t hurt or anything, I was just surprised.” 

“I–yeah, I know, it’s just–weird,” Kon says, still looking mortified. “So–sorry. That’s all.” 

“I don’t mind weird,” Tim says, because actually the idea of being temporarily at least as invulnerable as Kon is while making out with him implies being able to devote a lot more attention to said making out, as opposed to keeping half an eye out for snipers or rogues or random rooftop criminals. Not that he’d stop paying any attention to that, obviously, just–yeah. Well. 

It’s a little tempting, that’s all. 

“Uh–you don’t?” Kon bites his lip, still looking a little embarrassed. 

“It kind of just felt like scuba-diving, but with less equipment involved,” Tim says with a little shrug, keeping his tone light because “seriously, you have no idea how much I’d like to not be compulsively keeping an eye out for snipers right now” isn’t a very “civilian” thing to say. “And I’m not about to complain about you enjoying kissing me that much either way.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and flushes a little. “Uh–really?” 

“Really,” Tim says, smiling at him again and tugging gently at the lapels of his jacket to pull himself back in. Kon blushes, and grins, and meets him halfway for the kiss. The sensation of pressure wraps him up again, gentle but undeniable, and Tim feels several kinds of ways about it. 

Maybe even a little bit safe, or at least as safe as anyplace outside the Batcave ever gets. 

Tim knows there’s no such thing as being perfectly, completely safe, but getting all wrapped up in Kon’s TTK and kissed for it makes it hard to remember that. 

Very, very hard. 

They spend a much longer time making out this time. Tim is vaguely aware that they still have a dinner reservation to make, but . . . well, he did pad the time to allow for window-shopping, so even with the time they spent flying around taking pictures, it's probably fine? 

Yeah, no, they’ve definitely missed their reservation by now. Probably way past missed it. Just so, so far past missed it. 

Weirdly, Tim doesn’t care as much as he should, even though he really prefers when things go to plan and also needs Kon to feel appreciated and like he got properly spoiled and taken someplace nice. He’s going to have to figure out something else on the fly, though, because he really does needs Kon to feel appreciated and also needs the excuse to get him more used to getting money spent on him and–

Tim remembers that he needs to breathe more than he's currently breathing and breaks off the kiss. Kon half-chases his mouth with his own, audibly breathless himself. Tim is not equipped to handle Kon breathless. 

That might actually be more flattering than the TTK thing. Or, uh–flustering, maybe. 

Both, maybe. “Both” is probably accurate here. 

Jesus, Tim does not know what he did to deserve Kon getting breathless over something he’s done to him, much less all soft and pretty and–

They have definitely, definitely missed their reservation. Usually Tim has a better sense of time than that, but usually Tim doesn’t have Kon wanting to make out on a Gotham rooftop with him, Like, he thinks he can forgive himself a little bit of disorientation on that one, considering. 

. . . as long as Bruce never finds out he messed up that bad, anyway. Because Bruce would definitely not like hearing he’d messed up that bad, TTK or not. 

Probably especially involving the TTK, actually. Probably Bruce would not take “yeah I let Superboy get distracted enough to unconsciously wrap me up in his Kryptonian-level superpowers while he wasn’t in full control of them and actually, like, encouraged it, kinda? like, explicitly encouraged it, actually”. 

Yeah, Bruce would not like that. 

“Um,” Tim says, and clears his throat a little awkwardly. “So, uh–hungry yet?” 

“You could say that,” Kon murmurs, then flashes him a sharp, wicked grin with his eyes slit open just enough to fix on Tim’s mouth. Tim spares a moment to compartmentalize just enough to not lose his mind about that, then makes the mistake of licking his lips anxiously, sees Kon’s hooded eyes go hot at the sight, and immediately fails to not lose his mind. 

“Uh,” he manages, and then decides they don’t really need to get dinner just yet and maybe they could just, like–no, no, Kon is definitely not getting enough calories from that stupid barely-legal underground lab’s stupid definitely-not-health-code-compliant cafeteria, Tim is not gonna be a bad enough date to not get his date a respectable amount of calories. That is just not a thing that he’s gonna, like . . . thing, as a thing. Or whatever. 

Not like Superman’s been bringing Kon casseroles or anything, the prick. 

“Um, I–uh, might’ve let us get a little too distracted, sorry,” Tim attempts after a moment of mental fumbling, making himself push back from Kon a little and pulling his phone out to check the time. Yeah, they have definitely missed their reservation. Very, very thoroughly have they missed it. 

Dammit. That is not Bat-quality situational awareness. 

“You think that was just you, man?” Kon asks with a little laugh, just barely ducking his head and biting his lip. It is . . . very distracting. As is his face. And his hands, which are still loosely on Tim’s back, and his TTK, which is still loosely . . . basically everywhere, yeah. Just–way too many places for Tim to be rational about, basically. 

“I mean, I was the one who made the reservation,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he does his best to at least fake rationality. “So, uh, I should’ve been paying attention to the time. I can see if there’s someplace we can still slip in, it’s a little last-minute for a Friday but–” 

Kon kisses him again. 

Tim was saying something, he’s reasonably sure, but he couldn’t remember whatever it was with a gun to his head. A gun to his head while out of his suit and without Kon on the same floor as him, to be clear. 

Kon leans back and grins at him, all bright and pretty and cutting right through the shade and shadows of Gotham like a spotlight-signal lighting up the cloud cover. Tim remains vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing . . . something. At some point. In theory. 

God, Kon is so pretty. So, so pretty. And everything he’s wearing is something Tim bought him, coat and clothes and jewelry and all. Just–all of it, as far as he can see. 

Tim does not let himself think about what else Kon might or might not be wearing right now. Just–that way lies madness, and also Kon not getting a decent dinner and decent spoiling. 

. . . there’s probably some other ways Tim could spoil him, technically, if he just– 

Tim does not finish that thought. 

“You’re so fucking cute, daddy,” Kon says, still grinning just as signal-bright and pretty at him. Tim is not prepared for literally any of that and nearly melts right off the ledge into an incoherent mess of street pizza. 

“Uh,” he says, swallowing roughly. “We should–are you hungry yet?” 

Kon laughs, for some reason. Tim very quietly and carefully burns alive, and then Kon floats up a few inches and ducks around him and back out into the open air, leaning down to grin at him and reaching to–probably he’s intending to pick him up again, Tim’s brain is vaguely aware, but the rest of Tim is thinking more like hurr durr pretty boy, which is definitely why he ends up reaching up to cup Kon’s face in his hands and tug him down for another kiss, pushing himself up on his toes on the edge of the ledge to reach him easier. Kon makes a soft, breathless little noise, then laughs in delight and kisses him back. 

The wind is cold and sharp and the evening sky is all heavy dark clouds and hazy light pollution and Kon’s wearing clothes Tim bought him, some of which Tim even suggested to him, and he put on makeup and painted his nails to come see him and he’s got a gift bag of little things Tim picked out for him hooked in the crook of his elbow and he liked all of those little things, and they’ve not only missed but obliterated their dinner reservation, and they’re half-on a ledge high above the street and kissing and Kon is just so pretty.

And Kon also bought him a camera and brought him up here because he thought he’d like it and called him “cute”, which are all facts that Tim is definitely going to have to compartmentalize to fully process later, or else he really will melt right off the stupid ledge. 

The spicy pics thing, also, is a thing. The spicy pics thing is, uh–very much a thing. 

Tim is maybe just never gonna process that particular fact in, like, self-defense. 

Ever. 

. . . god, he’s going to have to process that fact at some point, isn’t he. God. That is . . . that is a whole thing that he is going to have to do. Like, effectively and well and throughly.

Maybe it’s not too late to just go supervillain right now, actually. Maybe Kon would be open to, like, minionhood or something. Lots of supervillains put their minions up in their lairs, right? That’s totally a thing, isn’t it? 

Ugh, no, Kon deserves a place he can really feel like is his place and also he has not laid near enough groundwork to get Dick to switch sides. Like, Alfred would, obviously. Alfred will be on-board the second the rusty crowbar and shrapnel bomb plan comes up and will probably have useful notes to add. But Dick is gonna require some more long-term finessing and Babs definitely won’t come if Dick doesn’t and– 

Kon laughs into the kiss and cups Tim’s face in return, which is incredibly distracting, and then squishes his face, which is incredibly annoying. 

“Hey!” Tim sputters, and Kon laughs again and leans back just enough to grin at him. 

“You are so weird, dude,” he says. “I can literally hear you thinking.” 

“. . . that’s not me being detached from the situation, I–” Tim starts, unable to repress a wince, and Kon just grins wider, grabs his wrists, and tugs him off the ledge and–oh, okay, that’s a weird sensation, Tim notes, because gravity does absolutely nothing at all to him until Kon’s pulled him into his arms and wrapped him up in them again all easy and secure. . 

So that’s . . . yeah, no, “incredibly distracting” isn’t actually gonna cover this one, considering. 

“Uh,” he says, blinking a couple of times. That. That is definitely not how Superboy holds Robin. 

Frick. 

“I just gotta keep you better attached, right, daddy?” Kon purrs–really purrs, his chest briefly vibrating against Tim’s–and then grins wider at him again with eyes that are, unfortunately, literally goddamn sparkling right now–thanks, gold eyeliner, Tim didn’t need those higher thought processes–before giving him another quick little kiss that Tim actually would like to turn into a four-hour make-out session and maybe also a sleepover and–

God he needs to remember how to compartmentalize. He really, really needs to remember how to compartmentalize. 

Also he needs to kiss Kon’s literal friggin’ brains out, the smug friggin’ asshole.

Mid-air makeouts are the worst possible idea Kon has ever inflicted on him and Tim would sooner fight Killer Croc without his utility belt than point that fact out to him. 

He winds his arms around Kon’s neck and kisses him back, and Kon makes this tiny little–not pleased, not content, but actually happy-sounding noise and kisses back harder. Tim feels gravity stop being a particularly relevant concern again and feels like he’s floating in deep, heavy water but also like he’s the lightest he’s ever been in his life, and it is . . . it is a feeling, alright. 

Kon is a menace. Kon is a problem. 

Kon is so, so damn cute. 

“You are an actual literal brat, baby,” Tim mutters slightly more feelingly than he means to, and Kon’s laugh comes out a little breathier this time and he ducks his head to the side and his face flushes and–

No. Nope. No. Tim needs to not learn anything new about himself or Kon tonight, or, worse, anything about him and Kon. That is just not a thing he has time for in his schedule. He’s got to fit in an anxiety attack and three full files’ worth of casework this weekend, for one, plus his science presentation and that make-up book report, and also come up with someplace else nice enough to take Kon to dinner tonight. 

“So, uh–dinner?” he says very quickly–self-defense, again–and Kon bites his lower lip and grins around it, his face still turned just a little bit away. Tim pretends they’re not effectively pressed together from knee to neck right now. Pretends valiantly. “I mean–um, if you’re hungry yet.” 

Kon laughs, ducking his head lower, the dangling gold teardrop hanging from his ear gleaming warmly in the murky electric city light. Tim goes through multiple stages of emotional processing to keep himself from kissing his neck right behind that earring and completely forgetting about not only dinner, but all his homework and casework and even the anxiety attack. 

Does Kon laugh this much around Robin? 

Tim really doesn’t feel like he does. 

He also doesn’t tell Robin very important things like the fact that he can make other people bulletproof on a whim and map out an entire mall just by standing in it, which is objectively much worse and potentially dangerous a thing not to do, but also Tim is already positive he’s going to miss that laugh like crazy every time he sees Kon with the mask on. 

Robin doesn’t get to see Kon like this at all, even when he lets the asshole eat both stupid boxes of cinnamon bread. 

“Dinner, yeah,” Kon says, grinning again and then taking off backwards across the sky, apparently unconcerned about their chances of hitting a building. Tim’s not really in a proper carry so much as just stretched out against him and wrapped up in his arms, but given the nature of how Kon’s powers work, an actual carry is obivously not really a concern, so . . . 

Oh, Tim realizes as Kon tips back just enough to be reclining in the air, still flying without any apparent care or concern for the aerodynamics of the situation or anything but staying more or less out of view of anyone on the street below. 

Avoiding the street view is good. 

The part where now he’s essentially laying on top of Kon is . . . less good, maybe. 

Maybe he won’t have to convince Kon to go supervillain, at least. Maybe Kon’s already there. 

“Where to, daddy?” Kon asks with a smirk, keeping one arm looped around Tim’s waist and folding the other behind his own head like he’s laying out in a lounge chair on the beach. Tim thinks longingly of smothering him and also of getting him to take down his TTK so he could bite a hickey or five into his neck. Maybe six. He could probably do six. 

Or seven. 

“Northeast towards Broad Street,” Tim says as he tips his head in the appropriate direction, then pulls up the camera again and snaps a quick shot of Kon’s smug smirk, which immediately breaks into a surprised laugh as the other flushes again. 

He takes a picture of that too. 

“You flirtin’ again already, man?” Kon asks with a sheepish little laugh, like the bastard has any room to talk. 

“The position’s pretty good for it, that’s all,” Tim says with a level of casualness he absolutely does not feel. Kon flushes darker and bites his lip again, still just barely grinning. Tim, ethically, has no choice but to take a few more pictures. 

“Oh my god,” Kon says, laughing again and unfolding the arm he has tucked behind his head to hide his eyes behind instead. Tim is maybe a little bit too aware of the line of his throat under the neck of his shirt, without his eyes and the sparkle there to be distracting him into a useless stupid mushbrained might-as-well-be-a-civilian, observationally-speaking. “I’m not a building, you absolute nerd!” 

“I said I liked people-watching too, didn’t I?” Tim points out reasonably, though mostly his brain’s occupied with the question of–“Hey. If you let down your TTK a bit, could a baseline-DNA human give you a hickey? Like, is that physically possible, or are you too Kryptonian for that?” 

“Oh my god,” Kon repeats, laughing harder even as the flush on his face spreads down his neck. Tim wonders how warm that might feel under his mouth. “I, uh–dunno, man. Maybe?” 

Tim silently resolves himself to finding literally any excuse to conduct that experiment and moves a hand to cup the side of Kon’s throat, eyeing it consideringly. Kon makes a slightly weird noise and visibly swallows, and Tim belatedly realizes that he’s paid literally no attention whatsoever to whether or not they’re about to hit a building or a flagpole or a roof this entire flight; he just assumed Kon had it handled. The Bat-paranoia kicks in and he glances up reflexively, and just as reflexively slides the pad of his thumb across Kon’s pulse. Their flight path is clear; they’re high enough to avoid most of the buildings in this area. Definitely still gonna need to keep an eye out for radio towers and billboards, but . . . 

Kon swallows again, the gesture a little bit rough this time. Tim feels the other’s throat flex against his palm. That sure is . . . that sure is a thing that Tim feels right there. That invulnerable throat flexing right there against his palm, and maybe not necessarily having to be invulnerable, if Kon didn’t want it to be. 

. . . . . . he already said he didn’t have time to learn anything new about himself tonight, dammit.

[lalacliffthorne]

modern!batboys as (your) roommates - headcanons.

because let's be honest, we have all thought about that at some point.🦇

(this is the introduction of my new drabble universe!!! I can´t tell you how fucking excited I am.)

it would be wrong to say that your life was boring before you met the three idiots you now call your roommates

sure, it wasn't as exciting

but you had your tiny little apartment, went out with friends once in a while and mostly enjoyed having your own space and routines

but then

shit hits the fan

and by shit I mean your landlord

because of a loophole in the rental agreement, he's able to kick you out of your apartment with only a months notice

in other words

you're fucked

or, as your best friend Feyre, who you met the first week of orientation and became inseperable with, says -

"That bastard." Feyre's eyes are stormy.

"What the hell am I gonna to do?" You bury your face in your hands, your voice muffled when you mumble: "How am I supposed to find a new apartment in a few weeks? For this one, I looked over a year, and it's a glorified shoebox!" Your voice rises as you feel a wave of dread crash over you and your heart rising into your throat.

"Hey, it's okay. If worst comes to worst, you can crash at my place,", Feyre raises her brows, "even though we'd have to share my bed, but - I won't just let you sleep on a park bench if that's what you're worried about. Unless you find another glorified shoebox that's technically out of your budget, it's you and me, crashing on my bed, climbing over your stuff to get to the bathroom, finding out what married life would feel like."

even though you love her to death, that really does not sound like an option you want to explore

so you try everything

scouring every paper for apartment advertisments, posting on your uni's socials, going to all the viewings you can find -

nothing

but just when you're ready to just give up

a miracle happens

the miracle is 5'5, has impeccable style and hair, a love for deep red lipstick and drops by for lunch

Mor has been your friend for two years now, since you almost spilled your coffee over her laptop at the library

(she's still not letting you live that down)

she also likes to get you out of your comfort zone

"Are you serious?" Mor stares at you wide-eyed.

"Yep." You tiredly stir your coffee. "I've been turned away for twenty apartments in the past few days alone. I'm aready seeing myself bunking with Feyre. She offered, but her bed barely fits into her apartment as it is."

Mor breathes a giggle before hastily clearing her throat. "Sorry."

You grin weakly before rubbing your face. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. I know it could be even worse, but -"

"It already feels pretty shitty,", Mor ends. You sigh in confirmation and are about to change the topic, because you haven't seen the blonde in weeks and feel bad about ruining your lunch. But before you can open your mouth, Mor suddenly squints in thought. Then she looks at you.

"How much do you value your privacy?

Given the fact you'll be basically homeless on the street in about a week if you don't find a new place - not much.

Mor begins to grin, and there's a bright twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, then I might just have the solution."

the next day, Mor drags you downtown

she takes you to an old but sophisticated building you wouldn't even dream about living in

a single month's rent there would probably empty your whole bank account

but Mor just winks and pulls you up the stairs

on the third floor, a guy leans in an open door

and that

is how you meet Rhys.

Mor's cousin is annoyingly beautiful

tall, with perfectly tousled dark hair, a perfect grin that causes his cheeks to crease and, from the looks of it, the also perfect physique

he's also annoyingly charming

if you'd met him somewhere without Mor, you would have probably gaped for a moment before catching onto the mischievous twinkle in his nearly violet eyes and promptly avoided him, because someone that pretty had to have some fault

as it turns out, Rhys' fault is offering practical strangers to live with him without even batting an eye

"What?"

You blink at Mor from where you just sank onto one of the two very comfortable couches, because she can't possibly -

"Okay, before you freak out, just listen, okay?" Mor is grinning giddily. "The guys have a free room they don't really use anyway and you really need a new place - so you could just move in here!" She beams. "The place is definitely big enough, and you'd fit in perfectly, I promise! They're just as chaotic as you, but also very responsible -"

"Mostly." Rhys' eyes are twinkling. He's looking completely and slightly concerningly unbothered by the prospect of you, a factual stranger, moving in with him and his friends.

"- they don't have any bad habits, they're fairly neat -"

"Mostly."

Mor widens her eyes at you. "It's perfect!"

You blink at her.

"I've already talked to my roommates." Rhys' deep voice is almost soothing - mostly because he sounds a lot calmer than Mor, steady and reassuring.

"If you want, this can be temporary, until you find a place just for yourself, but this way you don't have to stress about needing to find a place in a certain time, plus,", he cracks a grin, "I don't like the idea of you having to crash on somebody's couch in the foreseeable future, that's just bullshit if we got a free room here no one uses anway. And if this works,", one corner of his lips quirks even more until his grin is a lot closer to the wicked twinkle in his eyes, "none of us would mind another roommate."

"You don't have to decide right now." Mor smiles brightly. "But I think it would be great, and you'd make a bargain with the rent, because Rhys loves to play sugar daddy -", her cousin flips her off, "and I think this would be a really good idea." She grins, suddenly a little sheepish.

if you weren't so desperate, you would whip out about a dozen arguments about why this probably isn't a good idea

like the fact that rooming with three dudes sounds like a lot of testosteron, or that you don't even know them, and that they don't even know you -

but from the way Rhys lounges in his chair, smirking easily while Mor beams at you, he doesn't seem to see too much of a problem in that

also you are very, very desperate

but there's still that one thing -

"About those roommates -"

When you hear the door, you raise your head, your heart doing a slightly concerning flip in your chest.

It's a day later, and you just finished the tour of the apartment Rhys has given you. Even though it's huge and very grand with it's high ceilings decorated with stucco and the original hardwood floors, it feels warm and cozy. The room you'd be sleeping in is as big as your whole current apartment, light with two big window and a view of the trees on the street outside.

It kind of makes you wonder where the catch is.

Maybe it's about to walk through the door.

You hear a deep voice and heavy footsteps, then a dude appears in the door to the kitchen.

Your heart does a somersault, and you feel your lips part a bit. Because frankly, it's a miracle he makes it through the door without hitting his head.

The guy's huge. His shoulders and chest strain against his t-shirt; he looks like one of those dudes who basically have muscle in their DNA, all corded muscle under ridiculously wide shoulders and a solid middle, muscular long legs under black jeans -

And you're staring.

Big time.

The dude's looking over his shoulder, which means he thankfully doesn't notice you oggling him. The half of his hair that isn't pulled back in a bun brushes against his neck when he grins, his cheeks creasing. He's really good looking, in a rugged kinda way, with his roughly curved jaw and the scar on the side of his face, and when he looks back ahead, his eyes twinkle warmly.

Then, behind him, another guy appears in the doorway, and your breath catches.

Because if Rhys is annoyingly beautiful, the guy in the door is drop-dead gorgeous.

Just like the other two, he's tall and all lean muscle. His shoulders shift under his black t-shirt as he leans against the doorframe, his hands sliding into the pockets of his black jeans. His eyes look like amber in sunlight, his dark hair is tousled, a strand curving over his forehead. His face is all angles and soft lips, with dark brows that look like he likes to crunch them in a scowl, but right now, he looks fairly relaxed, though his gaze is watchful.

And on yours.

Feeling warmth wash into your cheeks, you hastily look away while crap, crap, crap echoes through your head, because of course he caught you staring.

On to a really great start here.

Your gaze grazes his hands and the bit of uneven skin that merges into veiny, tan forearms before your eyes trail over the tattoos scattered over them, some peaking out from his sleeves.

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat, and you feel the heat in your cheeks deepen when your eyes dart up and meet Rhys', a twinkle in his iris when he sends you a lazy grin.

"Boys, this is Y/N." He raises a brow. "Our new roommate."

and that is how you meet Cassian and Azriel

it almost makes you reconsider

because you're really not sure you're gonna survive rooming with three guys that pretty

but after thinking it over for a couple of days, you realize that you really don't have a choice

and so a week later, Rhys and Cassian come over to your apartment to help you move the first half of your stuff

neither blink an eye at the fact it's about the size of a broom closet in comparison to their home

Rhys does however scowl when he sees the condition of the bathroom

you're ready to sink into the floor when you hastily explain pretty much all the apartments in the building look like that

(a lil dingy and moldy)

but when he turns, Rhys just glowers and grumbles under his breath about how he'd like to rip your landlord a new one

it's the first time you realize that under all the aloofness and swagger and cheeky grins, Rhys cares

it's proven again when you move into your new room a week later and there's a new mattress on the also new bed

you haven't bought either of them, but when you try to protest, Rhys just huffs about your back probably being fucked up because of your old one and about how he'll add it to your rent

he never does

you get used to rooming with three guys surprisingly quickly

sure, it is pretty much a total 180 -

going from living alone in a tiny apartment

to sharing a huge flat with three dudes who make the place vibrate with laughter and bicker like they have been married for thirty years

but even tho you never thought you'd be the type to actually enjoy having roommates

you find that with them - you don't really mind

of course it is nice to have the place to yourself sometimes

and after about two weeks, you're comfortable enough to blast your music and dance through the kitchen when you're alone

(yes, at some point, they catch you - it takes you about a minute to realize there are three guys standing in the doorway, watching you dance with a broom. you get a mild heart attack and Cassian and Rhys start cackling while Azriel smirks)

but even if usually there's always someone around -

you find that all three of them are very good at both respecting your boundaries and leaving you be when you need to curl up in your room

but also seem to know when you need someone to drag your ass out into the world

and something about knowing at least one of them will probably be there when you get home makes you feel very warm and fuzzy

and even tho you weren't completely sure about this situation in the beginning

you get roped into living with the three guys instead of just rooming with them pretty easily

it really starts with Cassian

probably gets used to you living there the quickest

after barely a week, he's treating you like you've lived with them since the beginning

like just sticking his head into your room and making you help him with dinner

it surprises you a little that they all have dinner together

from what you've heard from friends who have roommates, they usually all do their own thing most of the time

but it makes you realise that these guys are more family than just roommates

Cassian is surprisingly easy to talk to

he's quick with the quips and the banter

also very flirtatious

constantly makes you laugh, his deep, boisterous chuckles infectous

also super affectionate

you're convinced the man is actually just a huge teddybear

after just a few weeks, you're used to hugs that lift you off your feet

cheek kisses as greetings

and being casually lifted out of the way like you don't weigh anything

not that you're the only one who gets that treatment

no, there are hugs in greeting that make Rhys groan dramatically like his air supply is cut off

and pats on the shoulder and smacking forehead kisses that make Azriel crinkle his nose

Cassian quickly becomes the one you go to when you need advice

he always listens attentively

doesn't sugarcoat things

stays objective while never making you feel bad or less about anything

and it quickly becomes pretty clear he'd put everything aside if any of you ever need help

gives you rides in his beat up truck to uni

and always picks you up when studying at the library gets late bc he doesn't like the idea of you out alone after dark

with Cass, even mundane things like grocery shopping become fun

he's just casually funny and teases the shit out of you at every opportunity

has no understanding of the concept of personal space

and with most people, that would kinda put you off a little in the beginning

but Cassian just has something about him

something so inheritly good and warm and sunny

that he never once makes you feel uncomfortable

if anything, with him around, you feel a lot more at ease

and not just bc it's always nice to have a guy in your back that towers over you like a lighthouse

though the whole massive, tatted dude with the dark eyes thing kinda goes out of the window as soon as he grins at you

dimples and all

but still, don't be fooled

when the grin's gone and he's glaring, you know why people make way for him immediately

he works at a gym to earn some money at the side

once, he takes you with him just for fun

then that one time becomes another and before you know it, you tag along twice a week

and it would be wrong to say it's not doing something to you when he crouches in front of or behind you, his deep voice rumbling as he mumbles encouragements

"Alright, come on, sweetheart, gimme one more."

Trying not to make a very embarassing groaning sound, you crunch your face in concentration and slowly lower yourself into a squat, your muscles trembling slightly.

"There you go, that's it." You can feel Cassian in your back, spotting you, his deep voice rumbling through you, and it's just almost distracing enough for you to -

"No, no, come on, you can do it." Cassian's deep chuckle sets you at ease, and he lightly pats the side of your thigh. "You got this, c'mon."

With a soft groan, you push yourself up again, and you can hear the triumph and wide grin in Cassian's voice when he goes: "Yeeessss, good job, baby. C'mon, you can do one more."

Blowing out a heavy breath and glaring at nothing in particular, you ready yourself.

when one day, he makes you lose focus, you're gonna throw something at him

you're pretty sure he does it on purpose just to see how red you can get

but Cass is really good at pushing you without overdoing it, always teasing and encouraging

and if you manage to do something, in the gym or otherwise, he grins so widely you're almost sure he's more proud of you than you are yourself

Rhys is a flirt.

and after you get over the first initial blush that just won't leave you alone for the first few weeks

it actually becomes entertaining

now bantering back and forth is basically all you do

it gets so bad, Azriel constantly rolls his eyes at the two you

but just like you suspected, behind all the flirtiness and mischievous grins

Rhys cares

a lot

whenever you're upset, he looks like he's contemplating ripping apart whatever or whoever made you upset

and whenever someone has a go at Cass or Azriel, Rhys picks them apart with lethal precision and a wicked smile

if Cassian is most affectionate, Rhys is close second

he's slightly more casual about it

pinching your nose, flicking your ear softly, offering his cheek for a kiss in greeting

always down for amazing hugs tho

whenever you get on your period, Rhys turns full mother hen

it's actually quite entertaining to see a 6-foot-something dude grumble because you don't want to take painkillers

"I just don't like to take them until it's really necessary, okay?" You glower at Rhys, curling up on the couch and trying to suppress a wince.

Rhys incredulously narrows his eyes.

"You're bleeding from inner organs and look like you want to curl into the couch. I'd say it is pretty necessary."

behind all the snark and arrogance, Rhys cares

also seems to have a rather unhealthy tendency to put everyone else first

you catch on pretty easily that even though his father is absolutely loaded, Rhys doesn't particularly cares about his money

in fact

he doesn't hesitate to spend whatever money his father pumps into his bank accounts for a second

when you ask Mor about it, she just smiles lopsidedly.

"I think it's his kind of protest?" She squints into the sun shining onto the balcony of the flat, the big glass of iced tea in her hand glittering in the light. "You know, spending all that money, preferably on his friends? Mostly because I don't think his father really likes them."

You wince.

"He knows he can't win against his father." Mor crunches her brows in thought. "I think he came to terms with having to take over the business one day, and he cares about the people who have their jobs there, so he won't let them down. It's just hard sometimes, if your whole life is already planned out for you." She shrugs gently. "Doing this, living with Cassian and Azriel and now you, spending his fathers money on it and actually having a good time instead of just being bitter and stuck up - it's his way of not surrendering completely."

you have never met Rhys' father, but even tho he's powerful af

you really feel a strong desire to kick him in the balls

Rhys has a knack of knowing exactly when you need to talk and when you need to be distracted

it's not unusual that after a bad day, he just joins you on the couch, plopping down and pulling your feet onto his lap

it either leads to you venting and him listening

usually giving very appropriate responses of either huffs, scowls or downright glowering

or, if you don't want to talk

he either lets you use him as a human pillow, grumbling over your choice of movie while scratching your head

or he takes you out

to the cinema, a museum, the theater -

you're pretty sure you've grown a lot more cultured in a few months than the whole of your life before that

it never gets boring tho

the whole thing kinda annoys the crap out of you in the beginning bc he never lets you pay for anything

but you get better at finding ways to pay him back in other ways

like taking over making dinner on days when he's exhausted

coaxing rants out of him when his father gets to him

dragging him out on nightly walks through the city when he can't sleep

and after a while

you understand that it's just one of Rhys' love languages

and it is fun to spend his father's money ;)

especially when it means museum Saturdays with the two of you just sitting and staring at paintings

or going to the cinema and pigging out on popcorn and greasy stuff while whisper-hissing fun facts at each other

even takes you to stuff like wine tastings

Rhys is a foodie

likes super fancy pickles, trying food you can't even pronounce and splurging on dinner

and if he decides the two of you need to get out of the apartment

one way or another

it usually ends in a restaurant

always orders like half the menu

also cooks the best out of all of you

like I'm talking freaking perfection

whips up the fanciest, most delicious far-too-many-courses meal for holidays

and goes all in even if he just makes dinner

you often get lured into the kitchen by the delicious smells

usually ends up with you on the couch at the table while Rhys moves around the kitchen

talking about everything and nothing

(also not above slapping anyone's hand away if they try to sneak a taste)

Azriel is quiet

not shy; you catch onto that pretty quickly

he's too quick and easy on any dry remark in response to his friends' boisterous teasing for that

and his gaze too firm and piercing

rarely shies away when you catch his gaze

in the beginning

that intimidated the shit out of you

the way he appears without a sound, towering over you, all dark and quiet and brooding

it's like he perfected the art of going unnoticed

tho you're not quite sure how

bc how could anyone not notice him?

after a while tho

you realise that even tho Azriel is dark and glowering and brooding

there's something gentle about him

it surfaces in the smallest things

like how his lips curve the softest bit when you grin up at him

how light and careful his touch is

how he is always respectful, putting himself between you and the street, holding doors open without ever seeming to think twice about it

and how everything about him seems to darken when he witnesses anyone being treated poorly

but even if anger rages within him like a quickly rising tide, quiet and dangerous

you still always feel safe with him

maybe it's bc, even in those moments, you just know it will never be directed at you

and that even tho there's always that darkness within him, it's never something that feels unsettling or dangerous

and instead soft and welcoming

like something about him and that steady, dark gaze just calms you

maybe because he's so quiet, Azriel seems to see and hear everything

in record time, he begins to catch onto every little detail about you

mundane things

like how you like your favorite drink or what your favorite ice cream is

the only reason you know he notices is because he begins to hand you cups in the morning that are exactly right and the freezer starts to always hold a big container of your favorite ice cream

but also seems to know exactly what your tell is when you're nervous

uncomfortable

or tired

what makes you upset

happy

nervous

what causes you to giggle uncontrollably

and so on

it should probably unsettle you, how easily he sees through you

but it doesn't

sure, it's a bit weird at first

but you quickly realise it's strangely comforting - that someone pays enough attention to know even the smallest thing about you

Azriel is your favorite person to be around when you just need a break

it's like something about him is grounding, steady

like being around him makes your thoughts calm down

makes it easier for you to sort the chaos your mind sometimes becomes

you quickly realise that beneath all of the quiet watchfulness lies a wicked, dry sense of humor

his mumbled remarks make you snort laughter or beam widely up at him

always makes his lips curve

he reads a ton

when you first see his room, you almost gape

because the man has books

they fill the shelves

balance in towers on the floor

sit on the window sill and next to his bed

most of the books in the shelves in the living room are his as well

has a great dislike for movie adaptions

sits there with that scowl of his, glaring at you until it's over when you make him watch one

says it destroys the pictures in his head

(to be fair

you don't think he's entirely wrong about that)

always has a camera in reach

got a few, all older ones; no fancy digital ones, but all on film

just like he seems to catch onto everything

so does his camera

it's like the manifestation of his quiet perception of things

to fix things onto film

he captures everything

most of the time, you don't even notice

only sometimes you raise your head to find the camera in his hands, a slight curve to his lips

develops all pictures himself, in a dark room on campus students can book

spends hours in there, just working in silence

there's usually a lot of bugging involved before he shows the developed pictures to anyone

usually ends in all of you leaning over them eagerly, trying to figure out when he took them

Rhys standing in the kitchen, grinning over his shoulder like Cassian just made a bad joke

you and Feyre, laughing so hard you lean into each other

Mor, lying upside down on the couch while focusing on the cards in her hand while you're next to her, mid-motion, a focused expression on your face

Cassian napping on the couch, twisted in a very uncomfortable position to fit all six feet something of him onto the cushions

there seems to be an endless number, and they're all carefully stored away in his shelves

some, he refuses to show to anyone

it takes you so little time to feel at home in the huge flat, the prospect of looking for an apartment for yourself is off the table before you can actually start

and it doesn't take long until you're part of the routines like you'd been there since the beginning

Saturday and Sunday evenings are for movie nights

sometimes, Mor joins you

you sit with Azriel on the couch, sharing a big bowl of popcorn while staring at Rhys and Cassian argue about which Star Wars movie to start with

in the summer, you take trips to the lake for swimming and laying in the sun

have game nights

evenings sitting on the balcony, squinting into the setting sun

barbecues

and afternoons in the park, one joining in after the other

in winter, you go to the ice rink

bake together

and spend whole weekends on the couch, watching movies

you go to the gym with Cassian or accompany him on his runs

(well, he's running - you're on your bicycle, because there's no way you can keep up with that dude´s long legs)

or get dragged out onto hikes by Rhys

in the evenings, you usually all end up in the kitchen for dinner, banter thrown over the dinner table

Azriel and you mostly take care of the grocery shopping together

it usually entails you trying to reach something on a high shelf and Azriel huffing, moving to grab it without even having to stretch

sometimes Cassian joins in, and you both make it your mission to annoy Azriel until he cracks a grin

both Az and Rhys regularly give you rides on their motorcycles

while Cassian likes to stick to his old, beat up truck, Rhys has a car as well, but alternates between it and the motorcycle

more often than not, he uses it as opportunity to flirt

small cleaning duties in the apartment are rotated between the four of you

but big-once-a-month-deep-cleans are something you make a day of

blasting music, you divide the flat and get to work

(bathroom duty is rotated)

in the (very rare) case of an argument, it usually ends in one of you being mediator

which means after a cooling off period

the arguing parties are locked in the pantry until they've talked things out

works surprisingly well

sometimes, the boys bring someone home

it usually comes with a text

or the very oldschool sock on the door

tho you ban that one after Cassian forgets it

and you walk into the flat unsuspectingly only to be flashed

Cassian apologizes profoundly

after he's done laughing

there are also a few awkward encounters in the hall in the morning that leave you contemplating not running around in just big t-shirts

Feyre still gives you rides to campus and back

but sometimes, it's Azriel waiting in the parking lot instead, leaning against his motorcycle, two helmets next to him

it does not help with the way your heart seems to speed up whenever you find his amber eyes on you

but you're very adamant on pushing that away

it's probably not that serious anyway.

so

it would be wrong to say your life was boring before you met the three idiots you now call your roomates

but it sure as hell is a lot better now that you have

even if they do drive you a little nuts sometimes

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels

[keyotos]

kiss the girl

summary ⎯ five times dan heng has thought about kissing you, and the one time he actually does.

tana's words ⎯ i've been recently listening to kiss the girl (ashley tisdale version) and its cute and made me think of dan heng. and idk if this follows canon story or not bc im not at xianzhou yet lolz.

also ik the title says 'kiss the girl' but that's only bc i was listening to the song. reader is gender neutral.

tags ⎯ friends to lovers. pining i think. hurt and comfort (at the end). flustered dan heng. fluff i think.

THE FIRST TIME dan heng thinks about kissing you, he immediately pushes away the thought. it was out of character; it was outrageous for him to think of a friend that way. it made him feel perverted for even thinking of the action.

it was a sunny day. you two (plus march and stelle) were in belobog at the time and you guys were witnessing bronya's speech. all of you agreed the speech was marvelous, and you all felt a sense of pride for bronya.

your eyes were sparkling in the sun as you watched bronya speak, and dan heng couldn't help but become enamoured by your face. he looked away from his paper to peek at your awed expression.

at that moment, dan heng thought you were the most beautiful person he's ever seen. but he can't think that. he cannot. not only were you a fellow trailblazer, but you were also his friend. he couldn't risk one of his greatest friendships over something as minimal as this.

so, he pushed the thought out of his brain. he thought that it would be gone forever, but he was deeply wrong.

THE SECOND TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you occured while you two were gazing in the astral express. by this time, you two have left belobog, and are awaiting your next journey.

you chose to pass the time by 'star-watching,' a new term you created as a substitute to cloud watching. the activity is similar to cloud watching as you point out shapes that make beings.

dan heng told you that you were just pointing out constellations, you said that you wanted to pass on the technicalities.

so now, you two were star-watching. you kept pointing out absurd patterns, such as, "this one looks like svarog," (it did not) and, "this one looks like balls." of course, none of the constellations looked like either of the comparisons (dan heng was thinking about taking you to the eye doctor), but dan heng played along anyway. anything to make you smile.

at one point, the absurdities stopped, and you began pointing out real constellations. so many beautiful creations in the sky, yet the real beautiful thing was right next to him, continuously pointing out constellations.

you rested your head on your hand, mindlessly gazing out at the empty field of stars in front of you, "it's beautiful."

"yeah," dan heng mindlessly replies, not even realizing what he's just said, "it is," he finally says, looking at you.

maybe it's the light from the stars hitting your face, or maybe it was just your radiant beauty, but the urge to kiss you came up once again. subconsciously, dan heng knew the feeling would arise sooner or later. but that didn't mean he liked the feeling.

he wants to preserve your friendship so bad; but sometimes, the line drawn alongside friendship and love begins to thin. sometimes, the line gets so thin that dan heng fears that he'll trip and fall into you.

THE THIRD TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you was when you two were hanging out in his room. over the span of months, dan heng has learned to appreciate your being, and sometimes (he will never admit this) he feels calmer around you.

usually, dan heng didn't let other people be in his room, but it was different with you. for some reason, he liked it when you were in his room. sometimes, he finds himself wanting you to be in his room.

he was quietly sorting through his data bank while you were reading. it was such a calm and quiet moment; dan heng felt peace for once. there was music playing softly in the back, the room was silent, and the air was just right. it felt nice.

dan heng was too tuned into his data bank that he didn't hear footsteps coming up closer to him. it was only when he turned his head to check on you, that dan heng noticed you were right next to him.

you were right next to him, head nearly leaning on his shoulder, and you were so close to him. dan heng's heart was about to beat out of his chest, and he began to worry about the warmth that was rapidly spreading to his neck.

when you noticed dan heng's reaction, you thought you'd surprised him. you moved a little bit back, "sorry, did i scare you?"

"no, not at all. i was just a little startled," dan heng replied while rubbing the back of his (reddening) neck.

"that's like, the same thing as scared," you gave a low chuckle and moved closer to him once again, "you would know this."

"dunno," dan heng paused, "maybe i was too frightened to remember." when you laughed at that, dan heng swore he blushed all the way up to his ears.

"you are not funny," you gave him a slight shove that didn't really affect him. you leaned closer into the database, "what are you doing?"

you didn't realize how close you were to dan heng, your faces nearly touching. you were scrolling around his data bank while dan heng was trying to hide his rampant blush from your eyes.

dan heng stared at you while you browsed, taking in your close presence. you didn't seem nearly as tense as he did. you were relaxed, comfortable, you leaned into him. dan heng found himself staring longer than normal.

then, the thought, came in. the same recurring thought he'd been having for a long time: the thought to kiss you. he wanted to take you by the hands and pull you closer to him. he wanted to feel your palms and he wanted to feel you closer to him.

and this is the moment were dan heng realizes that he wants to be more than friends. dan heng realizes that he likes you; he wants you to be with him, he wants to feel you by his side. he wants endless star-watching nights; he wants to see you constantly.

and that is dangerous. not only would that ruin your friendship, but it would also endanger you. there's so much that would put you at risk.

"you should go back to your room," dan heng puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, causing you to look back up at him. your confused expression almost shatters dan heng's resilience, but he goes on, "it's late. go get some rest."

you keep the hand on your shoulder, "you too. don't stay up too late, okay?" the soft tone of your voice makes dan heng melt, and he almost wants to pull you back and ask you to stay. almost.

dan heng nods and you leave. he leans back on his desk and puts his head in his hands. what is he going to do?

THE FOURTH TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you was the night you arrived in the xianzhou. you (and march and stelle) were exploring the city and it's wonders while dan heng was treading carefully behind you.

you haven't had a full conversation with dan heng for days. you assume it was probably because you were snooping around his data bank, but he has never minded that before. you haven't got an actual chance to apologize either, because for some reason, dan heng is now constantly busy.

the four of you decided that you would split up to look around. march immediately went to stelle, so that left you with dan heng.

dan heng knew this would happen. he couldn't avoid you for too long anyway, even if he tried. he would always end up gravitating back towards you.

it pained him to not talk to you. he missed your voice, your jokes, your little touches. he missed your book talks, he missed the way you'd always be in his room, he even missed your nosiness.

you and dan heng were aimlessly strolling around the streets until you found a lively street parlor. they were selling food, and the aroma was absolutely divine. dan heng knew you immediately caught your mind on something when he saw your beaming face.

you still haven't found a correct time to apologize to dan heng, but that can wait for later. you just wanted to talk to him. "dan heng! we should try some," you beamed.

"okay. i'll wait over here," dan heng monotonously replied. your smile slightly faltered, dan heng thought the sight to be excruciating.

he couldn't still be mad at you, right? you had to apologize soon, because this silent is agonizing. you couldn't help the fact that you missed dan heng. you missed late nights and his warm touch. you missed his sarcasm and his gentle nature.

when you returned, you brought back one giant kebab that dan heng knew you couldn't finish. you'd probably have enough to share with the entire express.

when you took a bite of the kebab, you moaned with delight, and dan heng forgot how much he missed your smile. it all came rushing back to him, all the things he missed about you. you are right here, in his grasp, yet he still cannot have you.

after your first bite, you offered a second bite to dan heng. etiquette was all out of the picture when you were there.

originally, dan heng wasn't planning to eat. there were lots of problems at hand, and dan heng could not relax now. but you were an obstacle in his equation. how could he refuse you when you were practically bouncing on your toes, smiling, and looking at him with such mirthful eyes. saying no to you was like refusing a blessing from the aeons.

he took a bite out of the kebab, to which he nodded in delight. dan heng finished chewing with a delighted expression on his face, and your smile appeared once again. dan heng felt his lips creep up, and sooner or later, he was smiling as well.

he looked down at your happy expression, and he noticed that you had food on the corner of your mouth. dan heng usually scolded you for being slightly messy, but in this tender moment, there was no need.

dan hen grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and wiped the corner off your mouth off. he wiped the food off so tenderly that you would think he was tending to something delicate and fragile. and the gaze he gave you after. you nearly passed out. dan heng looked at you with such fondness and love that you gripped the kebab harder.

his mind hadn't registered what he just did before you quietly said, "thank you."

dan heng nearly malfunctioned. what he just did was criminal. it was a simple thing, however it was most criminal to dan heng. during that moment, all he could think of was your lips on his. the tenderness of his touch was his mind projecting how he would cup your face when you two kissed. all of it felt so wrong, but so right.

"no problem," dan heng blushed and avoided your eyes. "do you... do you think we should meet back up with march and stelle?"

"yeah," you looked down at the ground, slightly flustered, "yeah. let's go."

things were awkward. but at least things were okay. and that was all that mattered to you.

MARCH 7TH HAD speculations. you and dan heng were like a pair. you two were a dynamic duo, second to march and stelle, of course. you would always be seen with each other. when march "accidentally" stumbles into dan heng's room, you'd be somewhere in there as well.

so, why is it that whenever march barges into dan heng's room, you aren't there? why are you not with him? why is he "constantly busy" when he there is nothing to store in the data bank? something was up, and march was determined to find out what was happening.

"don't you think it's weird that we never see dan heng and yn together anymore?" march asked stelle while sipping on juice.

stelle huffed, "i mean, it's a little weird. but maybe they're both exhausted. we just got out of belobog and now we're facing more conflict in another world."

"yeah, but," march paused for dramatic effect, "i saw them together in dan heng's room a few days ago."

stelle furrowed her eyebrows, "are you stalking them or something?"

"what?!" march exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her seat. the scene caused stelle to laugh, "no. of course not, i can't believe you accused me of that!"

"so... you don't think it's weird that we never see them together anymore?" march continued.

"okay. i'll answer. it's a little weird. but whatever it is i'm sure they have a reasonable explanation for it," stelle said. "why are you asking about them anyway?"

"because," march drew out the syllables, "they're cute. i've been shipping them. and plus, dan heng hasn't really been acting like himself recently."

"yeah, but what are we gonna do about it? he hasn't really opened up to us about his problems... like... ever..." stelle trailed off, as if she tried to remember how many times dan heng has ever spoken about himself.

"don't worry stelle," march grinned, "i have a plan."

"i can't believe we fell for this," you grimaced in the closet you were stuck in.

march and stelle split up and told both of you that there was a group meeting in march's room. obviously, because the both of you thought there was something urgent, you rushed in there. you were prepared, only to be ambushed and pushed in a closet by march and stelle as a ploy to "make up."

alas, you knew you needed to talk things out sooner or later.

dan heng, on the other hand, was freaking out. you're close. you're so close that he can feel every time you exhale out of your nose. this closet had no space, so you were practically pressed up on dan heng.

the one thing he couldn't see though, was your face. dan heng wanted to see your face. he wanted to study you up close: he wanted to your skin with his hands, wanted to pull you closer so he can observe the way your mouth lifts when you smile. he wants so much, but he can have none of it.

"i think i can break us out," dan heng offered.

"do you think they're guarding the doors?" you chuckled. dan heng gave a small smile after hearing your laugh. it's ironic that you're laughing in this situation while dan heng's heart is about to burst.

"i think the both of us can take them," dan heng answered.

this is the most you two have ever spoken to each other in days. you missed his voice and you missed being so close to him. unconsciously, you leaned closer to dan heng. you would know his warmth from anywhere.

as you two try to find a good point to hit, your hands brush against dan heng's. the way his hand feels on top of yours just feels right. the way his touch is still so gentle; oh how badly you missed his touch against yours.

"i'm sorry!" dan heng quickly removed his hands from yours. he moved away from you as well. you wanted so badly to chase him: you wanted to come closer, to place your hands with his one more time.

but you didn't. you doubted the fact that dan heng wanted to be near you. with his recent actions, you were wondering if the two of you were still on good terms or not. you could mess everything up with one action; dan heng was the very last thing you wanted to lose.

when you two finally found a good breaking point, you both put all your body strength into prying the doors open. it took a few tries, but the doors finally opened. however, there were consequences. the closet fell down with the combined force of both your bodies shaking it.

before you two fell to the floor, dan heng grabbed your arm and pulled you underneath him in a quick motion. your heart raced against your chest; you were so close that you could feel dan heng's heartbeat as well. and to your surprise, his heart was beating just as fast as yours.

the closet fell on top of you, and dan heng shoved it off of the two of you in one motion. seeing him do that just made your heart beat faster, and you were sure that you were breathing faster as well.

dan heng looked down to check on you, but doing so brought him much closer to you. closer than he had ever been. if dan heng moved down a little bit more, he would be able to close the distance between your lips. the urge was tempting: he was on top of you, your faces were both so close to each other, and your breathing was rampant and quick.

"are you alright?" dan heng asked. his breath fanned your face and you stared right into his eyes.

"i should be asking you that," you breathlessly whispered. he was so close and you were about to burst.

"i'm alright," he leaned down closer, "don't worry about me."

you two were both in a daze when you found yourselves leaning closer to each other. dan heng cupped your face; he couldn't wait any longer. all resilience went out the window, because right here, right now, you were here. you were in front of him, looking as radiant as ever, and dan heng could close the distance right now.

his hands treaded carefully across your face, as if you were one-of-a-kind. finally, his hands rested against your cheeks, and he leaned closer. dan heng was so close to kissing you before a commotion entered the room.

"OH MY GOD!" march exclaimed before running out of the room.

you startled, and accidentally pushed dan heng off of you. you frantically apologized while dan heng brushed himself off and helped you up. you were shaking at what almost just happened. you almost kissed your best friend.

the distance between you and dan heng was wide. he made sure to stand exactly five feet away from you. his hands were crossed and he refused to look at you. dan heng was worried that if he got even the slightest glance at you, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from what would happen next.

you both quickly left the room with racing hearts, confused thoughts, and a realization that whatever just happened was a mistake.

WHENEVER DAN HENG NEEDS SOMEONE to help him with his wounds, you are always that person.

at first, it was for team bonding. before stelle came, you all would take turns patching wounds to build team trust. however, with dan heng, the only person that he'd let patch up his wounds was you. you used to tease him and tell him that he was like a dog in that way, but he always brushed it off.

you were always gentle with him; carefully touching up on cuts and bruises with bandages or rubbing alcohol. by no means were you any doctor, but you were tender and calm.

dan heng was wounded again. there was no reason for him to be wounded. the fight was tame; the enemies weren't extremely powerful or anything. but for some reason, dan heng surpassed the rest of the team with more cuts.

now, you two were in a small room together. luckily, it's more spacious than the closet, but it wasn't as big as dan heng's room. you and dan heng were both sitting on a table; you sitting criss-cross-applesauce while dan heng was sitting properly.

the both of you haven't talked ever since the closet incident. instead, you two have been sharing gazes, brushing past each other in halls, and staying five feet away from each other.

this was the closest you have been in a while.

you are focused on banadaging dan heng's cuts. your eyes are glued to his arms and torso; you refused to look up at dan heng. you couldn't look at him for two reasons: you were slightly mad at him for obtaining so many injuries and you still couldn't look him in the eye after the past situation.

dan heng sat in silence as you tended to him. he knew you were mad at him, and he felt awful. dan heng knew that he didn't need to sustain as many injuries has he had. the only reason why he had so many injuries was that he was trying to distract himself from his feelings. the closet situation had him questioning himself. given the chance, would he hold himself back or would he let his urges win?

"i'm done," you let go of his arms and started putting bandages away. dan heng didn't know you'd be done so quickly. he wanted to bask in your grace for a little longer. dan heng thought about pulling a stitch in order to get you to stay longer, but that just seemed weird.

dan heng knew he couldn't let you leave like this. there was too many unspoken words between you two; most of them, partially his.

during this, dan heng realized something. he realized that, even though you are still mad at him, you stayed with him. you didn't ask for march or stelle to help him, but you did it yourself. dan heng could be reading too much into it, but dan heng is tired. he's tired of longing for you.

and maybe, just maybe, if you'll stay when it gets difficult (like right now), maybe you'll stay when it gets hard as well.

dan heng decides to leave all resilience behind. for once, he doesn't calculate the consequences nor does he hold himself back.

you're about to slide off the table until dan heng pleads, "wait." he grabs your arm and holds you there with a gentle grip. you could slip out of it if you wanted to, but this may be the first actual conversation the two of you will have in a while.

dan heng takes your silence as an answer. "thank you," he says. he curses at himself at the simple response. it was anti-climatic. "i appreciate you," he adds on.

the compliment made you blush, even though it was very simplistic. you avoid looking at him and rather focus on tapping your fingers on the table. "no problem. it was nothing anyway."

you two remain silent for a few moments; you didn't want to leave in fear that this may be one of your few conversations. dan heng was trying to find the right words to say.

"i really do appreciate you. for being here. for always being here," he continues. dan heng realizes he sounds redundant, and he wants to slap his palm across his face. with you, he couldn't find the right words to convey his actions. saying, "i'm sorry," wasn't enough and saying, "i miss you," was too little.

"i told you. it's nothing. i'd do the same for everyone else," and you wanted to chide yourself for saying the last sentence. not true, because the only person who'd you really do all of this for was only dan heng.

"i think this is the longest conversation we've had in a while," you murmur to yourself.

"i know," dan heng replies. you jump back on the table, almost falling off. if it wasn't for dan heng catching you (yet again), you would've fell off. his touch sends electricity through your veins; his touch brings warmth to your body.

"hey! you need to watch your stitches," you automatically scolded him. your nagging was a normal occurrence, but this time, it felt rare. dan heng hasn't heard you nag at him for years (days), and he feels as though he can breath normally now.

"sorry," he pulls back. you're left shuffling closer to dan heng, not that you notice, due to your almost fall. you two were facing each other now; the distance was a lot closer than before.

you let out a small laugh at the situation. practically falling of a table was not a laughing matter, but you always found joy in those situations. sometimes, dan heng thought it was a bit strange, but he always valued your optimism.

"i'm sorry dan heng," you look back down on the table, "i didn't know going through your data bank would make you ignore me for days," you let out dry chuckle.

dan heng furrows his eyebrows in shock, "don't apologize. i don't mind you looking through the data bank."

you looked up after his reply, expression shadowed with confusion, "wait? really? so... why the radio silence? did i have something to do with it?"

"no! no, it wasn't you," dan heng quickly reassured. "it was me. i was the problem."

"don't have to tell me that," you smiled and bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing.

"i'm gonna let that slide," dan heng smirked. it was nice, the way you two fell back into your normal routines once again. it was like all the tension that was previously there, simply dissipated.

"i missed you," you crossed your legs on the table, moving back to the criss-cross applesauce position.

"me too," dan heng replied. "i missed you a lot." he looked straight into your eyes.

you flustered underneath his gaze, "i probably missed you more. sometimes i dunno if i can survive without you," you joked. it was a joke, but occasionally, you find it to be true.

"for me, it's the other way around," dan heng mumbled beneath his breath. "i really missed you. and our late nights. and star-watching."

"you missed star-watching?" you astonishly asked. dan heng wished he could take a picture of your grin when he told you that he missed star-watching.

"i missed a lot of things," dan heng paused, "but i missed you the most."

"i'm sorry for pushing you away yn. i was just⎯ scared," time to rip off the band-aid, "when i'm around you, i just get so messed up. you're the only thing on my mind sometimes. everything about you just makes me⎯ breathless? speechless? you amaze me to the point where i can't even think of a word to describe you."

dan heng pauses and his heart is racing. you're looking at him as if you want him to continue, as if you want him to finally say what he wants. dan heng doesn't know that you want it too.

"yn," dan heng looks straight at you, "i have feelings for you. feelings that i think will overwhelm me at one point if i keep it all together. i never stop thinking about you, longing for you. i want you and i think i really want to kiss you," dan heng finishes. he fumbled on his words back there, because he doesn't think he wants to kiss you, he wants to.

"dan heng..." your face is hot. your body is hot. your breathing is fast-paced and you feel like you are about to be on fire. adrenaline rushes through your veins and you are sure you are not thinking straight.

you pull him in for a kiss, tugging him closer by his chin and kissing him passionately. you take that fire from your body and you pour it all into this kiss. dan heng is surprised at first, but then reciprocates your actions. while your hand is on his face, his hands slide to your hips, tugging you closer and holding you tighter.

you two kiss until you have to stop for air. when you breathe, the whole world feels like it's on fire as well.

"i feel the same. i can't stop thinking about you," you lean in for another kiss, "i miss you," another kiss, "i missed being with you," another, "i missed being close to you," another, this time a little longer, "but i really hope i don't miss this."

"don't worry," dan heng pauses, "you won't. i promise."

and after all of that, dan heng finally got to kiss you.

[lemonmaid]

Too complicated

Part two of this X

There was awkwardness in the air.

The clock ticking in the background, the small movement of a leg bouncing, papers shuffling in the background. The environment was alive but the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Well.... Mrx. Riley-"

(Name) eyebrow twitched, "it's (last name)".

The man in front of them winced at the tone, clearing his throat. "Technically- not anymore".

(Name) felt hot, a suddenly pain attacked their brain. They rubbed their eyes, "there's absolutely no way that marriage certificate is acually valid". It was a stupid mistake, drinking on a day off like most people did, but then again many people didn't get married in one night.

"Technically.... those Vegas marriage booths back in the U.S are valid- if there is a court paper, which both of you signed, it is a valid form of marriage".

(Name) sighed loudly, feeling the tears form in the back of their eyes. They wanted to scream and shout, they wanted to rip up this marriage certificate and shred it, burn it, and bury it. This was never the plan, this wasn't how their short backpacking trip through the UK was supposed to turn out.

"Listen you can file for divorce-".

"Yes! Immediately!".

"Yes, onto that soon. But you mentioned that he is military Yes? The process may take longer-".

(Name) felt their heart drop as if it wasn't any lower already, "How long?".

"It could be a couple of months-"

"Months?!".

"Before you'll be seen by a judge that deals with military personal".

(Name)'s hands went to their face, feeling like they've lost everything.

The man sighed, "Listen this can be seen as a.... benefit".

(Name) scoffed, "How is this....mistake been seen as a benefit?!".

"Spouses of those in action have access to more than regular civilians. Healthcare, education, even in your case a green card since you're American yes?".

(Name) bite their thumb, pondering.

(Name) walked out of the building, making a clear shot to the tall man with a surgical mask.

"What did the lawyer say". His voice was gruff, English, very pleasing to the ear if it wasn't for the circumstances (Name) would've had bought him a drink.

(Name) pulled out a ligher and their ciggerates, giving one to Simon while they lit them, "he said it could be a couple of months-".

Simon coughed violently, "You're serious?" He took a long inhane of the smoke, "fuck me".

The sky was getting gloomy as if it was being reflected on their moods. Simon kicked his feet, "so, uh, do you have a place to stay for now?".

You exhaled, "I've been staying at a hostel, why?".

"I've got a small loft that I rarely use, since we are married we should act like it".

(Name) looked at him with a puzzled look, "why would we do that? I mean, we could just, stay seperated until the divorce".

Simon started walking to the car in front of them, opening (Name)'s door, "negative. Since the military now knows, I cannot stay in the barracks and they will "check" on us. Also my team would probably would want to meet you".

You flicked the ciggerate out and rolled your eyes, "the.... Mohawk guy right?". You got into the car, putting your seat belt on.

"Aye, but not just him. My captain too".

You sighed, "great".

[livesworthlivingau]

Behind the Vale Chapter 34

You know the drill, Spoilers for all of ISAT, etc. CW: Confused Pining? Sparring Scene/Consensual Violence. I SHOULD NOTE THAT THE PINING AND CONSENSUAL VIOLENCE ARE NOT RELATED!!!

"So, how was your little chat with Eclipse last night~?"

"It went well actually," [Blind it!] "how was sharing a tent with Nille for the first time~?" [STARS BLINDING CRAB!!! You immediately feel your face begin to burn.]

"You could at least humor me when I try to tease you, you know!"

"Hah! Not so fun on the other end, is it~?" [You cross your arms and pout. It wasn't fair how difficult they were to fluster now.]

"... Wait... what do you mean it went 'well'?"

"Well... I talked about what I was going to talk about back then... a-and uhh... they weren't... against it." [His face begins to darken instead. Hah! It's working!... Wait what is he talking about?]

"Against, what exactly?"

"Uhm... M-Maybe we shouldn't really talk about this! Th-That was a whole loop ago, it never really happened technically, j-just forget about it!"

"Hah~! I haven't seen you this flustered in a long time~. If I didn't know any better I'd think you were falling for me, Stardust~." [His face burns darker as he falls silent.] "... This is the part where you refute that, Stardust."

"... W-Well... the thing is... uhhh..." [Your own face grows just as dark.]

"... Truce to never speak of this again?"

"Y-Yup! Truce!" [You both stop acknowledging each other as you break off. Stardust heads off towards Eclipse and the Housemaiden, while you head towards Nille, Flare, and, ugh, the Researcher... Fantastic. Nille perks up at your approach.]

"Hey Vay, what were you and Sif talking about?"

"Absolutely nothing~! Next question~!"

"That bad, huh? Alright, I won't pry. Though speaking of, Dile here was hoping to get some info out of you." [Of course she is...]

"Yes, Petronille has informed me that you're a paper type now. I've never heard of someone changing their craft type before, but there's a lot of topics that would apply to in the last few months. I was hoping you might like to spar sometime." [Wonderful, here comes the interro-wait what did she just say?]

"You... want to spar with me?"

"Yes. In Ka Bue, it is believed that there's no better way to understand someone than by the way they Craft. I may not believe in all the sentimentality behind it, but watching someone Craft can make for quite an impression. Perhaps it could even answer some questions you have about yourself."

"... I don't think that would be for the best. I'd rather not hurt any of you."

"I don't doubt your time in the loops has given you an advantage when it comes to experience, but I'm sure I could hold my own long enough to get what I'd need. Besides, Mirabelle can help ensure nothing goes too far." [Your expression does very little to hide your hesitance about the idea.] "So you don't want to prove how different you are from Siffrin now?"

"What?"

"I've seen how Siffrin Crafts for months now, I'd be able to spot it in a moment. So why don't you show me just how different you are now?" [You know exactly what she's trying to do... yet her goading still succeeds in spite of that.]

"Fine, then spar we shall~."

"DILE'S GONNA KICK VALE'S CRABBING BUTT!" [Flare shouts as Nille chuckles with a shake of her head.]

"Can't say I'm not excited to see how this plays out."

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

[You stand at one end of a clearing, the Researcher at the opposite end. Everyone else eagerly gathered into a little group nearby to watch. You perk up as Nille calls out.]

"Go easy on them, Dile! They've only been in a fight or two since the Change!" [Excuse us?!]

"Thanks for the vote of confidence?!"

"Hah! Well it's true!"

"Vale seemed rather worried about hurting me earlier, so I don't intend to hold back. Besides, if they do then this whole research project would be null and void. I need to see you at your best, so don't pull any punches!" [The Researcher calls out in a demanding tone, one similar to a teacher encouraging a student. You're unsure why, but it starts to light a fire within you.]

"Alright." [You draw your whip and hold out a paper sign with your other hand.] "Ready when you are, Researcher!"

"Would you mind counting us down, Boniface?" [Flare jumps to their feet eagerly. A very excited grin across their face.]

"One!" [Wait...]

"Two!" [We just remembered...]

"Three!" [WE DON'T HAVE ANY CRAFT SKILLS OF OUR OWN!]

[You begin to panic as the Researcher starts to rush towards you. You see her hands move in a familiar way, and without thinking to go to copy it. You need every advantage you can get as you both SLOW IV each other with the exact same method. She raises a brow as she realized what happened.]

"Huh. No, no that would make sense. You must have seen me use that craft countless times, of course you'd learn how to emulate it. This still isn't exactly helping this experiment though, show me your craft, Vale!"

"I... don't really have any yet..."

"Then you best come up with something fast!" [She threatens and makes a scissors sign, slicing a streak of SCISSORS III towards you. You barely manage to dive out of the way thanks to that heavy feeling slowing you down, leaving you wide open for the next attack.]

[She swings her open palm down towards you just as a PAPER III blast slams down onto your back.] "GAH!" [It stings, but no where near as much as that earlier strike would have. You shake off the craft weighing you down and quickly get back to your feet. You notice she still has the SLOW on her, you have an opening!]

[You crack your whip a few times, sending waves of Paper Craft towards her. She only manages to block one, taking the full brunt of the other two. She slides back across the dirt and falls to a knee. Despite this, a grin crosses her face as she looks back up at you.]

"Now we're getting somewhere, keep it up Vale. Show me what you're capable of." [She commands yet again, getting back up and flashing another scissors sign. The Craft comes flying at you quickly, slamming into your stomach and causing you to fly back, slamming into a tree.]

"Ugh... Oh you'll pay for that one Researcher!" [You're injured now, but it only strengthens the fire within you. You focus your intent into the tip of your whip before lashing it out, sending an intense wave of pure Creative Craft towards her. Even as she blocks it, it manages to deal a good amount of damage. You don't let up, you snap your whip again and again, sending smaller blasts but trying to overwhelm her. She evades the first few only to stop in her tracks and SLOW IV you yet again, taking a couple hits to do so.]

"You're getting desperate, good! You're showing your true self now!" [You grumble as you feel that same weight again, like your whole body was moving through sludge. You can't take another big hit, you look around to find some sort of advantage... You crack your whip once more, and as she goes to defend, it swings upwards and blasts the tree behind her, sending an explosion of leaves to surround and distract her. You move as quick as you can in this addled state to hide behind a tree until it wears off.]

"Clever. You fight like a cornered animal, yet you still manage to find and use any advantage you can." [Why do we feel like a book being read right now?...] "I haven't had a good fight since Dormont, I appreciate you indulging me with this." [You take a few breaths to help shake the craft off of you.]

"My pleasure, I just can't wait to wipe that grin off of your face~!" [You call out, whip ready as you focus your craft into it again. Just as expected you feel a heavy blast of Craft slam against the tree you hid behind. You tuck and roll back out into the open and prepare to strike!... Wait, where did she go?]

WHACK [You're suddenly smacked upside the head with another PAPER III, knocking you over as you grip your head.] "OW! CHEAP SHOT!"

"You think you're the only one who can use tactics?" [She smirks, stepping out from behind a very different tree than you expected. She holds her free hand in a paper sign.] "Now time to finish this."

[You prepare to defend, you're weak but you could take another hit of PAPER III if you're ready for it... until you notice her hand moving different than usual. You glance over at her hand holding her book, which was hiding the Scissors sign she was actually using to power the craft! By the time you realize her trick, the piercing energy was already heading directly towards you.]

[You panic, without thinking you act, a wave of Craft flowing out of you and into your whip. LION TAMER! You lash out your whip, coiling around the attack itself. You guide it off course, and hold on tightly as it spins around your form, releasing it as it flies directly back at the Researcher. She was too surprised by what you did to even try blocking it, landing a direct hit with her own attack and leaving her K.O.ed across the grass... You blink a few times as you still aren't even sure what you just did.]

"M'dame!" [The Housemaiden quickly hops up and rushes over to her side, starting to pump healing craft into the downed Researcher. Flare is close behind with the pack of tonics in case it's needed. You look down at your hands and whip, still just lost in the shock and adrenaline of what you'd just done. You stumble as a heavy pat hits your back.]

"Holy crab! Where have you been hiding that one, Vay?!"

"I... I have no idea... Is... Is she okay?" [You look back over to her, Flare and the Housemaiden are helping her up to a sitting position. She looks spent but otherwise awake and aware. You hesitate before walking over.] "I-I'm sorry, I didn't realize I could even do that, are you-" [You're interrupted as she raises a hand to stop you.]

"That was exactly what I asked for, thank you for assisting me with this experiment. I think we've both learned a lot from it, Vale." [She has a satisfied smile painted across her face.]

"Yes, that was... certainly an experience, thank you for helping me find myself like this, Comet." [She raises a brow at the end of your statement.] "A nickname, if you don't mind me using it..." [She shares a look with you, understanding the importance you give to these silly nicknames. She smiles and nods.]

"Of course, now go enjoy your victory, I need to rest and gather my thoughts properly." [She says with a huff, trying to play off the feelings much like you do.]

"Of course, rest well~." [You head back to Nille as you hear Flare begin shouting behind you.]

"Diiiile! I can't believe you let Vale beat you! What the crab!"

Huge thank you to @itstheval for inspiring the fight scene and coming up with Craft Skills for Vale!! His fan chapters are wonderful and the skills he came up with are so goooood!

[spark-hearts2]

It's been a month since chapter 3 was released, where's chapter 4?

(this is about this fanfic btw)

The good news is that I've written 10k words. The bad news is that I've only gotten a little more than half of the chapter done. That doesn't mean I don't have things written for the bottom half, it's just that it looks like bare dialog with general vibe notes. I estimate around 16k words total though, so it should come together sooner than later.

SO I want to release some fun snippets for y'all to look at. Please note that any of this is liable to change. Also, you can harass me in my inbox for updates. I love answering your questions and laughing at your misery.

Spoilers under cut.

_______

Ragatha stood up and walked over to where Caine was seated. “Can I get a list of all commands?” She asked, only a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Certainly!” Caine says as he blasts into the air. He digs around in his tailcoat and pulls out an office style manilla folder. It visually contains a few papers, but with how thin it is there must only be a few pages inside.

Ragatha takes the folder from Caine and opens it.

“Oh boy” she says after a second of looking it over.

“I wanna see” Jax exclaimed as he hops over the row of seats.

“Hold on” Ragatha holds the folder defensively “Let’s move to the stage so everyone can take a look”

Jax hopped over the seats again while Ragatha calmly walked around. Caine watched the two curiously.

Well, Zooble wasn’t just going to sit there. They joined the other two by the edge of the stage, quickly followed by the rest of the group.

Ragatha placed the folder on the stage with a thwap. Zooble looked over to see that the pages had gone from razor thin to a massive stack when the folder was opened. On one hand, it had to contain more information than that video, but on the other…

They get close enough to read what’s on the first page.

The execution of commands via the system’s designated input terminal, C.A.I.N.E., will be referred to as the "console” in this document. The console is designed to accept any input and will generate an appropriate response, however only certain prompts will be accepted as valid instructions. The goal of this document is to list all acceptable instructions in a format that will result in the expected output. Please note that automatic moderation has been put in place in order to prevent exploitation of both the system and fellow players. If you believe that your command has been unfairly rejected, please contact support. 

By engaging in the activities described in this document, you, the undersigned, acknowledge, agree, and consent to the applicability of this agreement, notwithstanding any contradictory stipulations, assumptions, or implications which may arise from any interaction with the console. You, the constituent, agree not to participate in any form of cyber attack; including but not limited to, direct prompt injection, indirect prompt injection, SQL injection, Jailbreaking…

Ok, that was too many words.

_______

“Take this document for example. You don't need to know where it is being stored or what file type it is in order to read it."

"It may look like a bunch of free floating papers, but technically speaking, this is just a text file applied to a 3D shape." Kinger looked towards Caine. "Correct?” he asked

Caine nodded. “And a fabric simulation!”

Kinger picked up a paper and bent it. “Oh, now that is nice”

_________

"WE CAN AFFORD MORE THAN 6 TRIANGLES KINGER"

_________

"I'm too neurotypical for this" - Jax

_________

"What about the internet?" Pomni asked "Do you think that it's possible to reach it?"

Kinger: "I'm sorry, but that's seems to be impossible. I can't be 100% sure without physically looking at the guts of this place, but it doesn't look like this server has the hardware needed for wireless connections. Wired connections should be possible, but someone on the outside would need to do that... And that's just the hardware, let alone the software necessary for that kind of communication"

Pomni: "I'm sorry, but doesn't server mean internet? Like, an internet server?"

Kinger: "Yes, websites are ran off servers, but servers don't equal internet."

(This portion goes out to everyone who thought that the internet could be an actual solution. Sorry folks, but computers don't equal internet. It takes more effort to make a device that can connect to things than to make one that can't)

[valentine-cafe]

🍒 𓂃 𝑪𝑨𝑭𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻 !! : 2k followers ⊹

We're happy to announce that Valentine Cafe reached 2k followers! ( Technically, we reached it back in February but sshh stuff's been happening isok )

꒰  eden  : 🍓 ꒱

The second we reached 2k I almost fell off of my seat because it barely took 4 months since our 1k announcement. Honestly, I've been in awe with the community that we've created and the amazing support that comes through each and every day.

This year has been a rather rocky one and, at times, things have been shaky even here on the blog — but to see that it's still thriving despite it all makes me so incredibly happy and proud.

I'd like to thank all of you for making this possible for us. These stories, these characters mean the world to us, and to see that they're making other people happy is all the motivation and blessing that we need.

Before we know it we'll be getting that first book out! And to think we'll be doing it with all of you right here on our side. Verge of tears, genuinely.

Thank you for everything. We'll try our hardest to continue being the cafe that you know and love! Let's continue growing in this together <3

꒰  howl  : 🍰 ꒱

Wow. . . 2k reached us very shortly after 1k- and all of you blew our minds. We barely got to do our 1k event, which is still in the progress by the way. But now we're at ( looks at papers ) 2.4K !?We have been on here for a little while and, while it took a bit to come and announce it.

Both of us here, truly, want to thank all of you, for the continuous support all of you show. Even in times where the blog is swinging, even when one of us is down and the other has to look after the blog.

You guys are such a lovely crowd of people and each interaction with you is enjoyed greatly.

From all the laughs, to the tears and the horny banter and spurts. We always hope to share these works with you in order to inspire you and help people through hard times too, if they go through it.

This entire blog is dedicated to our future bookseries and. . . Your kindness and cheer for us are immessurable. You have moved us guys to complete so many goals and therefore, we thank you. I thank you. For the things you do and the love you give.

Take care of yourselves now, and remember to love yourselves, from both of us here at valentine café.

[eerieeccentricities]

Your Love is a Vice Grip

Il Dottore X fem!Reader

(A/N: This is a fic I've been playing around with for about 6+ months. Definitely needs a lot of edits and work done to it, but I just want it posted somewhere I suppose. Haha!)

(tw: Blood, Injury, bad workplace environment, foul language, confrontation, slight physical aggression, 18+ ONLY!!!)

DO NOT REPOST!!!!

Summary: Just another cog in the machine. That was all she expected to be. That was all she wanted to be. Anything more than that and her life would be on the line, more so than it currently was anyway. Being a part of an organization such as the Fatui always carried risks, but the pay was good, and the only thing she had to worry about was the eccentric Doctor’s occasional outbursts. Keep her head low and don’t get in the way of the 2nd Harbinger, easy enough, right? She thought so….until she found herself on the bleeding end of one of those outbursts. Suddenly, she can't seem to shake him, and she begins to wonder if it is what lies on the inside of these reinforced walls she should fear instead.

Medical Terminology: Prefix - Hema - Blood

‘Shit…’

She was bleeding. Quite profusely, at that. She watched only momentarily as the carmine liquid dripped down her gloved hand, which was now shredded beyond use, and onto the pristine white tiles below, reflecting on what had just transpired. 

It was her damn reflexes essentially, a grab at something that was thrown in her general direction, a moment of instinct before thought. It was laughable, considering thought was supposed to conquer all in a place such as this. To be a researcher, a scientist, who could still not overcome something The Doctor would surely see as ‘primitive’ was an unspoken folly amongst those here.

She squinted, now noticing it wasn’t just her blood that was dripping to the floor. Whatever it was she was attempting to catch was filled with something of an azure blue color, and that something was mixing with her blood and seeping into the open wounds. While it didn’t burn, it did leave a numbing coolness wherever it trailed, and any chemical reaction on human skin was always a cause for concern.

Regardless of her instinctual stumble, she needed to follow procedure and take the correct precautions now. Thick soles crunching the forgotten glass below, she hurried to the wash stations, arm held out to avoid getting the unknown substance on her person any more than it already was.

Ideally, a quick scrub in the sink would work, she’d rather avoid the emergency showers if at all possible. Although it did technically have a curtain, the thing was flimsy at best, and she would rather avoid stripping in front of her colleagues with only a plastic drape no thicker than a sheet of paper between them. 

Especially now of all times, when The Doctor, the Prime himself as indicated by his signature mask, decided to grace them with his ever-fleeting presence. While this was the primary laboratory it was still a rarity to see him, and not one of his segments, overseeing the ongoing operations here. 

 Each lab was dedicated to a specific area of research, the main branch, this branch, focusing on Cybernetics and Biological Enhancements. Also known as the birthplace of many, if not all, of the segments currently wandering all corners of Teyvat. Seeing Ruin Guard parts and other machinery scattered amongst that of biological specimens was the norm, ideas and experiments of them all working in tandem was the goal. 

It was a productive and, dare she say, quiet atmosphere to work in. Especially for those who worked on the machinery portion of the lab, like herself. 

Well, it was usually anyway. The presence of the Harbinger could only mean one of two things, there was a meeting that called for the Harbinger’s presence, or there was an experiment that garnered his attention and required their subject specialties.

She deeply hoped it was the former, as the latter would mean a much longer stay, overseeing and criticizing anything he deemed incorrect or foolish had a chance of ending in outbursts consisting of thrown objects and verbal lashings.

 Like today, the fading memory of his livid voice to a colleague close to her own station easily told her that something didn’t go as planned. That something failed. Failure wasn’t something he took lightly, and this failure ended in her being an indirect victim of his, dare she say, tantrum. 

 Rumors came to mind of those he deemed stupid being turned into test subjects themselves, thoughts of him ‘finding some use out of their miserable existence’ didn’t easily leave the brain. In fact, it clung to it, a reminder to not fuck up lest one could find themselves strapped to the surgical table at a moment's notice.

 A part of her wondered if she might see this rumor come to fruition with her own eyes soon, to walk in tomorrow morning with the vaguely familiar body of her coworker stripped of name and so kindly gifted a subject number. 

Even if that were so, it still wouldn’t matter, not in the long run anyway. They would soon be replaced and work would continue as normal, as it always did. Just another broken cog replaced.

Approaching the wash station, the tattered glove was quickly stripped and tossed into the closest biohazard waste bin, the other staying on as it wasn’t damaged and could still provide ample protection from the painful scrubbing she would have to endure on the other. 

Her eyebrows twitched for just a moment before relaxing once again, the stinging pain was starting to set in now, but she couldn’t bring any more attention to herself than she knew she already had. Even the slightest hint of weakness could be one's downfall in a place like this. Between the competitive nature that festered in the labs and The Doctor himself, any sign of weakness was not unlike that of prey being fed to a pack of starving wolves.

Preoccupied with getting the faucet on and preparing the correct cleanser, she failed to notice the ‘tink’ing of metal on the tile quickly approaching, following the mixed blood trail she inevitably left in her rush.

It wasn’t until a vaguely familiar gloved hand grabbed her wrist, pulling it back with such force she feared for a moment her shoulder may have been pulled from its socket, that she even noticed a presence even close to her. Looking back to the cause soon made her blood run cold, the mask of The Doctor leaning in, lips twisted in a snarl. 

“What was that?” His hand tightened into a bruising grip around her wrist, the odd mixture of red and blue staining his own bicolored gloves as he relentlessly squeezed. The gruffness of his angered voice with the gritting of his pointed teeth ever threatening, a reminder as to why she was one of the few who preferred to stay under the radar. While raising in the lab ranks came with its perks, mainly a huge pay increase, it also came with downsides. The wrath of The Doctor being the biggest.

“I…” She started, mentally kicking herself when her hesitation was noticed, as evidenced by his low growl. “ I apologize, sir.” She made sure to say it clearly, making it a point not to falter this time. “I was following lab procedure.”

“Do you take me for a fool? Or are you that dense? You know that’s not wh-!”

A reverberating slam of metal on concrete echoed through the large lab, the light from the hallway invading the natural darkness of the area. The intrusion silenced even The Doctor from his tirade, though the clenching of his teeth indicated the interruption made his mood drop even lower. 

In the middle of the large double doorway stood The Knave, her monochrome coloring stood out like a ghost, her red ‘X’d eyes landing on The Doctor before her face twisted into a sneer.

“What is it?” The Doctor called over his shoulder, annoyance dripping like venom from his voice alone. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“The meeting has been called to order,” She stated, brows furrowed. “Yet you are still here dilly-dallying like a child refusing to leave the playground. ”

“Her Majesty-” He started before being abruptly cut off by the 4th-ranked Harbinger.

“-will not tolerate another absence, Doctor.” Then she was gone as quickly as she arrived, the clinking of her dangerously pointed heels down the hallway the only indication that the Harbinger was even there to begin with.  

“Tsk.” He threw her wrist down as if even touching her was a taint to his person. Shifting his heels, he turned to the door before glancing back over his shoulder. “I’ll deal with you later. Both of you.” He finished before he, too, disappeared down the hallway.

[meirimerens]

how do i get into drawing more? i've enjoyed drawing since i was a child but i never really practiced it that much and as such most of my stuff is pretty rudimentary from a technique standpoint. i only have physical supplies and i cannot afford an ipad or a drawing pad any time soon

there is no need for an ipad or a tablet if you don't already draw something expansive you don't even have to worry about that. I (and i imagine many/most artists who began drawing young) got my start on normal paper sheets the one they call "printer paper" because it's thin and textureless. Actually that might be a lie because I think that even before that I was drawing on walls so truly full circle of a thing.

The only stuff you need to draw are something To Draw With, whether it be a pencil or a pen; if it is a pencil also have an eraser, a no-bullshit rectangular eraser, I've literally never understood what the good was in the pink & blue ones beyond making holes & stamps in them, just get a normal good eraser, slightly squishy so it doesn't pull at the paper like a maniac when you use; And paper to draw in. I'd say get a sketchbook for the convenience + the chill of it all. Doesn't even have to be thicker "drawing paper" it can just be a random, lineless notebook. I like mine to have a spiral spine so I can take full advantage of the page but don't even need that. Genuinely for years this was my drawing material (+ whatever paper I found, including my school supplies)

(Staedtler eraser very good actually I've been using it for 10yrs among the better I've used if you find it get yourself one. This shit was like 1.50€ at my local papeteries and then again they mightve inflated the price)

Now I'm gonna tell you about my life because I think it colors the way I approach drawing and as such the advice I'll give you: I started drawing really young (like pre-dates knowing how to read or write) and never stopped. That means I, technically, have some 20+ years of drawing, but I still struggle with what are kinda "fundamentals". I only quite late, technically speaking, gotten into trying my hand as perspective & naturalistic anatomy. That's because I had, at the start, nothing but passion.

And that's gonna be the one piece of advice I have for you:

Get really, really into something, and start trying like the devil to get good at drawing it.

When I was a wee lad I loved horses so much (and I still do.) and all I wanted to do was get good at drawing horses so I could draw stories with horses, so I practiced drawing horses from the horse magazines i had. Around 11, I got really into manga and all I wanted to do was get good at drawing manga so I could draw my own (a lot of my actually like Formative Years of drawing was manga, and I think it's still visible especially when I draw cartoony faces these days), so I practiced drawing manga from the how-to books their were at the library (and we had actually good ones, including Japanese mangaka's translated into french). Around 14, I got really into Video Game, and all I wanted to do was get real good at drawing the characters, so i practiced from youtube tutorials & other internet finds. Nowadays I'm into art history & archeology, and go out of my way to see and grasp and understand #whateverthiswas and try to pepper it (or sometimes dump the whole bag) in my images.

If you're starting "from nothing", I feel like practicing anatomy for the sake of anatomy (for example) will just piss you off. When you get more into the groove of things, and actually want to Get Serious, you'll sit down to Actually Practice, but I personally have always found that Learning for the Passionate Goal makes the whole thing more interesting than Learning To Learn To Then Attempt The Passionate Goal.

It's gonna suck for a while. It truly will. You'll see every improvement so drastic you'll be like ewww what was that 2 months ago. But you will HAVE HAD FUN DOING IT!!!

Tldr

1) get into something. Whatever it is.

2) collect tools and tutorial to serve whatever it is you're into, and not try to get into the tools: that will come later, once you're already in the habit of drawing.

3) you don't need fancy material

4) never underestimate the power of the humble ballpoint pen and clicky pencil

5) train your brain, the muscle of your brain, to conjure up images until there is nothing you can do BUT exteriorize them lest they poison you

6) you don't have to post anything online btw. In fact, I attribute the fact that I have always loved art so much to the fact that for the first 15yrs of my life I could truly just enjoy the process and vibe. I still do, don't take me wrong, and truly I draw for myself and you're all trapped in here with me. Looking at the slop i feed you. But there is an inherent, new dimension added with Being The Blogger. So have fun and vibe.

7) the heart is the horse, the hands are the rider

[lavendertowerarchives]

I've been playing MTG with my partner recently (like, two games, and they want to play more) (yes I've vigorously ascertained that they enjoy it and they aren't just humoring me, yes I'm insecure about that). Since they're new, I have to keep reminding myself that they don't have my eleven years of experience, notably the philosophy behind why certain strategies\archetypes\cards don't work like they should.

I have my tastes. I enjoy heavily interactive games where shit gets blown up all the time, I like scrappy games where no one has any agency, I like meticulous games where I have no cards in my hand and half my deck in play... This is all from years and years of losing game after game. I've become jaded to the prospect of losing, and unfortunately, just as numb to winning. I still use everything I have at my disposal to win (otherwise it'd be a disservice to everyone else at the table), but I'm much more interested in seeing how my opponents will try to stop me. I become the archenemy (AKA the other three players team up against me) not because I'm powerful, not because I'm threatening, and not because my opponents are stupid nor because I am smart. I become "the threat" simply because I'm just... Unapologetic about being a Problem.

As I've discovered by talking to my partner, they have their tastes, too. They enjoy stalemates, they like both sides taking small potshots at the other, they like long games of amassing resources... They have never experienced a three-hour slugfest where the game just never ends. Most importantly, they hate losing their creatures. They like their little guys. We've only ever played 1v1. They have no concept of "the archenemy" or "virtual card advantage" or even "not playing into a boardwipe." Those are just things they'll learn, be it this month or six years from now.

I will mention that they are a very very sore loser. Not in an unnanageable way, they're very self-aware regarding their disdain for losing. The joy of success, understanding, and progress was just yoinked away from them in one of the recent games, all because I forgot that they'd never seen a card that essentially says "kill all your creatures. Yes, all of them." I got into the mindset of "see a kill, take the shot, go to round 2" and missed an opportunity to let them keep having fun with their new deck (I foiled up a deck and gave it to them for their birthday).

Context aside, I don't understand how to give them the games they want. I don't mean that I'll roll over and let them win, I mean I want to balance their love for near-stalemates with the overabundance of tools a player has to end stalemates. So many cards say "Kill everything" and even more say "kill that thing," many say "prevent all damage," many more say "gain a bunch of life." I don't know how to solve this. In order for them to understand how to craft enjoyable games, they need to understand how their current games can be transformed into stalemates, cold wars, or battles of attrition. I've been playing for... Longer and still don't know how to do so without killing everything\something they own or winning in a way they can't "block."

There are easy ways to do this, of course. MTG is abundant in strategies which fuck over all players involved. I enjoy these strategies too much, and know that my partner will feel even more helpless when facing them. Stax is aggravating to decks without backup plans. Pox is aggravating to everyone. Pillow fort decks are just annoying and only make new(er) players feel even less empowered. MLD has to be done right, and I do not trust myself (nor anyone I know) to try.

I want to deny them progress, not agency. I want to make our games strategically difficult, not technically difficult. So, I pose a question to you, dear reader: how? Either in MTG terms or normal human language:

How does one manufacture a cold war without the threat of a nuke?

How does one die to a thousand paper cuts, but only two or three at a time?

How does one turn a volatile power-struggle into a stalemate without removing any weapons?

How can it be feasible, let alone optimal, for an army to beat another by firing only one bullet per day?

I want answers. I want help. I want to figure this out.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

let me help

prompt: asking for help

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi happy halloween and welcome to my last fic of the month!! it's pre-ship and that's all there is to it. (title from the city on the edge of forever which is a star trek tos episode that i've been obsessed with for years. yeah.)

“Can you help me?”

Napoleon stops dead in his tracks. He can count on…well, no hands the amount of times he’s ever heard such a request from his partner. Admittedly they’ve only been working together a couple months, but still. Gaby’s asked. Napoleon himself has asked. 

Illya, though? Never. 

“What with?” Napoleon asks, all casual. He doesn’t want Illya to back off, to rescind his trust. 

“I cannot—this report. I do not understand what I am supposed to write.”

Napoleon moves over beside Illya and looks down at the paper atop his desk. It’s a standard mission report, and Illya has filled out the basics, but a lot of it is just blank space. 

Napoleon gets it—there are a lot of technical words involved in the report, and even he as a native speaker of English sometimes struggles to parse his experiences into the kind of terms the bureaucracy is looking for. 

“Yeah, so in this part,” Napoleon starts, gesturing to a box, “you need to write down the equipment you used.”

“Only me?”

“Yes. Gaby and I’ve filled out the same form, so they know what we’ve used collectively. This is individual data.”

“Okay,” Illya says, and Napoleon watches him very slowly write down the name of his gun, his knife, the personal radio. 

This feels weird. Not because of the task itself, which is actually quite nice, getting to explain things he understands and help his partner, but because Illya’s already filled out three mission reports before this. Why hadn’t he asked before?

Illya sniffs, huffs out a breath, and says, “I don’t want to write this.”

“I know the feeling, but we have to.”

Another sniff and another sigh. “Tomorrow I will do it.”

This is really weird. Illya is never one to put off work for tomorrow which could be done today. It’s just not how he is. 

“Are you sure? I can help you some more.”

Illya shakes his head. Napoleon feels still more strongly that something isn’t quite right. 

“Are you feeling okay?”

Illya looks at him very intently, and very deliberately says, “I am fine.”

Something in his expression emboldens Napoleon, tells him he’s right. And so he pushes. “No, you’re not. Something’s the matter, and you might as well tell me.”

Illya scowls. “You don’t know this.”

“You asked me for help with a mission report, and I know you’ve done these before without any help. So something’s up.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Try again.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Better.”

Illya looks at his desk for a very long time. His ears have turned pink. When he looks up at Napoleon, his cheeks are pink as well, and there’s a sort of shame and dismay in his eyes that Napoleon has never seen before. 

“I didn’t ask. Before, when I was writing these reports. I thought…I was worried that you will think I’m stupid. Because I don’t know these technical words.”

“I’d never think you were stupid. Not for something like that. Maybe for your propensity to put yourself into extreme danger, but never for this. Even I struggle with what these mission reports want from me, and I’m writing them in my first language.”

Illya nods very slightly. He still looks faintly miserable, and Napoleon is determined to get to the bottom of everything and fix it. 

“You can always come to me for help with these reports. Or anything else, actually. If I can help you with anything, ever, just…just let me know.” This is perhaps a bit more than he’d intended to say, a bit too revealing when, all things considered, they haven’t known each other for that long, but it’s true, and he means it. 

Only now it seems like he’s done something wrong, because Illya’s eyes have gotten all glassy and he really hadn’t meant to make things worse but of course he somehow has. 

“Sorry. If that was…too much. I did mean it, though.”

Illya looks rather surprised by this apology. “Why are you sorry? It’s very kind.”

“I just thought…well, you looked upset. You still do, actually. I was worried I’d said something wrong.”

Illya’s cheeks turn pinker, and he looks away. “It’s nothing.”

“You have to quit saying that.”

“Really, though. It is fine.”

Napoleon crosses his arms and waits. 

“Maybe I am sick.” Illya says this very quietly and hesitantly, like he’s not sure of it. 

The entire thing suddenly makes sense. The asking for help, the general look of suffering, the lowered emotional barriers. He feels like a fool for not having put the pieces together sooner. 

Hindsight is 20/20, he reflects, reaching out a hand and laying it against Illya’s forehead. His partner doesn’t so much as flinch.  

The skin beneath his hand is warm to the touch, though not to a dangerous degree. He doesn’t miss the way Illya leans into his palm, just a bit, the way he sinks back into himself when Napoleon pulls his hand away. 

Napoleon wants to prolong this contact that Illya seems to be drawn towards. He wants to sit beside him and wrap an arm around him, let Illya’s forehead come to rest against his shoulder, a little too warm, wants so badly to be that little bit of help, of comfort, that makes the illness more bearable. 

He checks his watch. “Only an hour left of the day. Let’s get out of here. I’ll drive you home.”

He hasn’t been to Illya’s apartment yet. Doesn’t know if he’s allowed. But he wants to help and is willing to fight for it. 

Not that there’s any need. Illya, rather surprisingly, just nods. “Okay.”

Napoleon extends a hand, and it feels like a little victory when his partner takes it and allows himself to be helped to his feet. 

Once standing, he sways for a second, braces a hand against the desk, then inhales deeply. 

“Alright?”

A small nod. 

“Let’s go, then.”

They traipse out of the building without running into anyone else. There’s a nonzero chance Waverly will be mildly peeved tomorrow, but Napoleon will take the fall gladly. 

Just before they reach Napoleon’s car, Illya stops. For a second Napoleon thinks, this is it, he’s going to refuse, but then Illya simply says, “thank you.”

He sounds so sincere that it makes Napoleon’s chest ache, just a little. He wonders when was the last time that Illya was driven home by someone. When he was last really cared for when unwell, and not brushed aside or treated brusquely. 

“Of course,” Napoleon replies. It’s all he can think to say. 

They climb into the car, and Napoleon drives them to Illya’s apartment—he knows where it is, although he’s never been there. What kind of spy would he be, otherwise?

When they get there, he’s again afraid that this is the moment where Illya will have had enough. Where the training and culture of the KGB is going to kick in, and Illya is going to kick him out. 

It never happens. Illya does not say a word when Napoleon comes up with him, when he bustles around the kitchen looking for ingredients for soup, when he brings Illya water and medicine and blankets. 

In fact, the only thing he really says, when Napoleon is standing by the stove and contemplating what the hell kind of soup he can make with the sad array of ingredients he’s found in the cabinets, is exactly the opposite of Napoleon’s worries. 

“Stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, and he thinks that he wants this to mean forever.

thanks for reading! with this i am now a whumptober completionist for six years running isn't that insane?? i am so happy i managed to do all this while doing all my other shit too!!!! i had such a good time writing this month and i hope you enjoyed reading, whether you've read all my fics or just this one. i love you guys!!!!

[verfound]

WIP Wednesday: 03.06.24

There has been a lot going on recently, and I've been very drained. Progress on things has been slow going at best. I had some time yesterday, though, and opened up this doc while looking for another one. The next thing I knew it had doubled in length and I was resting in the domestic fluff. Writing - being able to create - when everything has been preventing it felt like breathing again. 🖤

Looking back, Luka was ninety percent sure that’s when it happened: when Marinette stood in the center of his brand new, empty flat, her hands on her hips, and declared that it was too bland.  He looked up from where he was talking with the landlord, discussing the contract and what paperwork he’d need to bring to the office to finalize everything, and gave her an amused look.

“…I don’t even technically live here yet,” he told her, but she just huffed out a little sigh and gestured at the walls.

“But it’s so…white,” she grumbled disparagingly.  She looked over her shoulder at him with a frown.  “You’re not white, Luka.”

“As long as you paint it a neutral color before moving out, I don’t care if you paint the walls,” the landlord said with an easy laugh.  He grinned at Luka.  “There’s a tenant on the second floor with black walls.  I’m sure you can’t do anything worse than that.  Whatever makes your girlfriend happy.”

It was the second time in less than two hours that someone had confused Marinette for his girlfriend.  He glanced nervously at her, but she had moved past them to start inspecting the kitchen again.

“She’s not…Marinette’s just making sure I don’t pick a crap hole,” Luka said.  The landlord’s eyebrows rose, and Luka felt his face warm.  “I mean…we’re not like that.”

The landlord’s eyes darted towards the kitchen, his expression incredulous.

“I suppose it’ll do,” Marinette sighed, appearing at Luka’s side again.  Her arms slipped around his own, hugging him to her side and doing nothing to disprove the landlord’s assumption.  “At least you don’t have to share it with your sister.”

The landlord was still giving him that Look – the one that said he didn’t really believe they Weren’t Like That in the slightest – but he said nothing as he handed Luka a stack of papers.

“As you can see, it’s ready to move in,” he said.  “Bring the paperwork back Monday along with your security deposit and first month’s rent, and then it’s yours.”

“That gives us just enough time to get you moved in before you leave for tour,” Marinette hummed, squeezing his arm.  Her face lit up as she looked back at the walls.  “I can paint while you’re gone.  We can pick out colors this weekend.”

“You have midterms,” he reminded her, but she scoffed and patted his arm.

“I can study while the paint dries,” she chided him, and what happened to painting after he left?  “Now, what do you think about periwinkle?  Oooh – or maybe sage?”

The landlord was still smirking at them as he saw them out.  Looking back, Luka was pretty sure the landlord had figured it out long before he had: Marinette wasn’t just tagging along to help him pick out his flat.  She was tagging along to pick out theirs.

[13thdoctorposts]

I just ordered all of Jodie's era on DVD (I'm a physical media lover) and can I say how wonderful and ironic it is to see the thousands of top star reviews for her merchandise and how stuff like certain figurines and her TARDIS figurine are either totally sold out or priced up hundreds of pounds when the haters say she's unpopular and doesn't sell. I mean she even has her officially licensed scarf and everything lol. People love her Doctor.

People seem to take the downward trend of spending during the pandemic as some sort of indictment that 13/Jodie doesn't sell, when in fact in 2018/9 there was a ton of merch that sold just like all Doctor Who merch does, we got the 10inch doll, a barbie, action figures, her sonic, her series 11 funko pop set, 3 novels with matching audio books, 5 YA/Kids books, Comics, games, eaglemoss figures... and thats just off the top of my head and doesn't even include all the generic DW merch... then 2020 came... 13 era merch seemed to vanish... gee I wonder what happened that year that heavily effected the economy, the workforce and businesses, not to mention peoples LIVES? People were losing their jobs, hoping not to get sick, dealing with having sick loved ones and trying to make sure they had enough toilet paper somehow I don't think any shows merch was top of peoples minds, and businesses that were essential to making merch were losing money, making it harder to make things!

I don't believe there has ever been a problem with 13/Jodie selling, unfortunately during her tenure one of the most disruptive events in our generation happened and merch wasn't a priority and even made for fans to buy during that time due to the conditions, restrictions, and economy to know if it wouldn't sell, so its a ridiculous argument.

But as you said theres also a number of items of her merch that are not only expensive if you want one now but you'll be lucky if they even come up for sale because clearly people want to keep them.

For example... 13 Build a Bear, 13 Blush bear from Children in Need, the 2018 SDCC 13 Pop, the 1/5 signature edition Big Chief Studios figure.

You want any of these not only will you have to wait who knows how long for one to come up to buy but expect to be paying a small fortune... However you want a 10th Doctor Build a Bear? They are on Ebay now, more pricey then buying originally from Build a Bear but no where near as much as a 13 Bear when it comes up I've seen 2 come up in 12 months. You want one of the other Doctor Chidlen in Need bears that were release? Yeah you can get them pretty regularly on Ebay too and a pretty good price, head over there now and you'll find them, never seen a 13 one for sale, Big Chief Studios figure? You can find most all the other Doctors, 13 I've seen it come up twice in the last 12 months on Ebay, and only 1 was in its original condition so good luck, and hopefully you have a weeks salary you don't need to buy it if you wanted it they are so expensive, you can still find listings for the 2018 SDCC 13 Pop but you got a spare 250+ pounds to pick it up? Haven't seen any other Doctor pops cost that much if you want to get one.

If Jodie was soooooo unpopular why is she one of the most expensive and elusive Doctors to be able to get merch for when she is technically the most recent Doctor with merch you should just be easily able to pick up.

Jodie also recently had prints of an image she painted sold for charity they were not cheap! There was only 50, they were gone in under 1 day.

Haters are just gonna make things up because the truth doesn't fit their narrative.