#Someone told me this is courteous ->

[mechazushi]

Iharu's Day Out {co-staring Dadka} (A Kn8 short story)

Preamble] So I've got this idea for a series of {what was supposed to be short?! Don't know where all this came from} one-shots about Kaiju n.8 that are all about Kafka interacting with one member from the third Division because we only really see him talking to Reno or Hoshina most of the time and not a lot of the rest of the team gets much more screen time. I don't know how often I will be posting these and they will NOT be in chronological order. The time frame they will be taking place in is after everything is over (Number 9 is dead, Tachikawa base is rebuilt, the public knows about Kaiju n. 8, and the original members of Division Three are back together.)

Notes] Alcohol, implied off screen sex act, minor law breaking, pining IharuxReno, background HoshinaxKafka, implied HaruichixAoi, confession, basic tomfoolery, uncensored swearing.

Summary] Iharu's plans with Reno get derailed when Reno has to leave on a mission just before they have to leave. Depressed and dejected, Iharu heads back to the barracks to drown his sorrows in food... only to have that plan as well get derailed by Kafka.

#########################################

This was the third time in thirty minutes that Furuhashi had changed his outfit. Finally landing on white high tops, black camo jeans, a black leather jacket and a white graphic anime tee. He kept going back and forth on the tee, debating on whether or not it made him look like he was too childish. Iharu spent an extra minute mentally kicking himself for not bringing more casual clothes from home when the base got reopened. Then again, asking Reno out to a movie date was pretty spur of the moment at the time. He caught himself mid thought and placed his hands on either side of the closet that was designated to every member of the Division. "Not a date. Movie night-. It's... a movie night. This is to see if this could lead to a potential date. Yeah, just... focus on that right now."

Knocking him out of his thoughts was a very distinct ringtone. Iharu had spent a lot of time messing around in the settings on his phone and was very proud of himself when it came to the songs he picked for each member of the Third Division. Aoi was the theme song from Cops, Kikoru's was the Nightcore version of Pretty Little Psycho. The one that was playing now was Cold as Ice by Foreigner. A little on the nose, considering who it was attached to, but nonetheless fitting for person who he thought was the coolest guy on the force.

Reno☃] Hey. Can we talk?

Reno☃] Somethings come up.

############################################

"Sure. Sounds fun."

Iharu played Reno's response to this movie night plan over a week ago in his head over and over, taking his chilled and plain response and visualizing it as a bat to beat himself and this unfortunate event the two over them have gotten themselves into.

"Last minute dispatch to the mountains. Sorry Iharu." Reno had said, wanting to give him the bad news in person as he sat on a bench in a locker room and laced up his boots over his tech suit.

"Guess that means you'll be back late then, huh." Iharu leaned against a locker, arms folded and looking into the distance through the doorway. He didn't want Reno to see the disappointment. Not that seeing it would change the situation, just didn't want make Reno feel bad over the fact that, not only is he leaving Iharu behind, but he has to take a rain check on their date movie night- it was supposed to be a movie night, Iharu had to remind himself. He didn't feel like it was fair to take his crush/rival out on the town and call it something so loaded without seeing if the feeling would be returned.

"Yeah. Sorry." Reno picked up his bag and started to walk pass Iharu. "Movie will still be there tomorrow. Right?"

Iharu tried to school his expression into something more optimistic to mask his depression. " Yeah, but I'm in Weapons Training all day tomorrow. Maybe another movie?" He crunched the unnoticed prepaid ticket stubs in his fist and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. "Mind kicking their monster ass a little harder then normal. For me?" He didn't mean to come across as pleading as he said that, but it helped channel the last bit of resentment at the situation out of his head so now he can spend the rest of the allotted time off to sulk in his bunk.

Reno smiled and clasped a hand on Iharu's shoulder. "Sure thing."

Reno walked out of the locker room and headed toward the door that lead to the chopper pad that would whisk him away, as well as Iharu's plan for the three hours that he could squeeze out of Vice-Cap. All Iharu could do was watch as Reno lightly jogged away and feel as if he was doing that to get away from him faster. He knew that Reno liked him as a friend at least, but he felt that Reno could act a little less chill about being forcefully blown off a dinner and a movie. Iharu turned and started walking toward the canteen with the intention to take as much food and drink he could smuggle out to his bunk, make a Blanket Fort of Solitude*tm and attempt to stuff his dashed feeling under a quarter pound of katsudon, cheese puffs and soda popsicles-made in prison style.

Iharu was dragged from his thoughts by a loud, friendly, and familier voice. "OYE! Iharu! Wait a sec!"

Kafka Hibino came barreling down the hallway having turned a corner and apparently looking lost. The man was almost out of breath by the time he managed to catch up to Iharu. "Have you seen Reno around? I -huff- wanted to tell him safe travels before he -huff- left."

"He's heading down to the heli-pad now. Book it and you might catch him." Iharu said apathetically, scratching his neck. Which was really out of character for him, but he couldn't help hoping that was the end of the conversation, seeing that he just wanted to spend his three hours of time off drowning in food.

"Great! Thanks! Hey, you headed to the canteen?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Give me a minute and I'll meet you there. Want to talk to you about something." Kafka took off running in the direction that Iharu pointed in before Iharu could refuse. He sighed deeply and started his way back to a journey to food-comaville; population one.

Iharu made it during a lull in orders and took his time deciding what to pig out on. He walked over to a seat at a table that was as far as he could make it from the others in the large and sparsely populated room. He managed to plow through 4 chicken kievs and a large bowl of rice with a coke before Kafka managed to walk into the lunchroom. He searched for a bit, found Iharu and started to walk to him... before deciding better and grabbed a Hamburg steak meal and then headed over.

"Well, I didn't get to tell him goodbye, but he did get to see me waving from the platform, so there's that. I feel better." Kafka sat down next to Iharu and assembled his steak to his preference.

"I'm glad." Iharu said sarcastically, "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Your attitude, actually." Kafka said, then took a big bite of smothered chopped steak. Iharu partially choked mid-sip, Quickly recovering to stare down the senior with barely concealed audacity. Kafka saw and chuckled a bit around the food in his mouth.

"Nothing serious! Saw you were looking a little down in the dumps when I talked to ya. Just wanted to check in, make sure its nothing pressing, though I'll understand if you're not open for conversation at the moment."

"What are you, a counselor?" Iharu said defiantly. Kafka put his hands up in surrender before diving back into his meal.

"Say the word and I'll leave. If its not anything Reno said, I'll leave you to your moping."

Hearing Reno's name and the implication that he might of said something caused Iharu to curl up slightly, not bothering to hide the change in expression that very much told Kafka that Reno definitely said something. The pinkette paused for a minute before responding "What makes you think he did?"

Kafka smiled a warm, knowing smile, put down his fork, and swallowed. "Because I know Reno. He is extremely chill most of the time, but sometimes he can't tell that his coolness... can unintentionally burn others. Especially when you don't tell him outright." He turned to a slumped Iharu before continuing, " He told me that you two were going to watch a movie together tonight, right? He seemed excited about it.... in his own little way."

Iharu pushed his food away from him and dug his face in his crossed arms. 'Of course Reno would tell the division's Father Figure.' In admitting defeat, Iharu sighed and turned his head to face the half kaiju man.

"It wasn't just going to be a movie. There was going to be food too. There's a food stall festival a block from the movie theater that was selling some really good smelling food and it was the last day for it to be around and I had thought maybe we could take a shortcut through that really pretty shrine afterword- the one that lights up all those paper lanterns when sunset hits- and I had planned to pay for all the food and there was going to be gifts a-a-and-" He sat up to dig up the crumpled ticket stubs from his pockets and rudely threw them on the table, "And I had even PREPAID THE TICKETS AND.....haa. I just...... I wanted a nice evening with him. I knew three hours were rushing things but it was all Hoshina could let us take today."

Kafka picked up the stubs and straighten them out with the edge of the table. "And it absolutely would of been had it not been for a sudden arrival of 5.6 mole kaijus, huh." Iharu tucked his head back into his arms.

"Yeah, fucking mole kaiju. The least they could do was let me come with, but noooo! Everyone seems to think that I'm only relevant to Reno if he's wearing his stupid super suit."

'"If it makes you feel better. Reno likes having you around inside and outside the suit. Definitely enjoys the push-n-pull thing you two have going on." Iharu haphazardly wiped his nose on his leave as he looked to Kafka again.

"Doesn't matter anymore though, does it. He's not here and there's no sense going to the theater with two tickets and only showing up by yourself." Kafka scratched his ever present 5'o-clock shadow as he contemplated for a moment.

"Could ask around. I'm pretty sure Aoi hasn't taken any hours off in a while. Or maybe Shinomiya? She might be into cowboys verses bio-mech-monsters." Iharu tilted his head up hearing Kafka describe the movie.

"You've seen Ranger Rika against the Metal Mess of South Bend?"

"Just the trailers for it. Tokusatsu style, right? Watched a bunch of those as a kid. Somehow managed to pirate a few movies onto a mp.3 player when I was younger. Got me through a lot of bunker-hunkering in my middle school years."

Iharu laughed, "An mp.3 player? God you are old. And when was sitting in a kaiju shelter called 'Bunker-hunkering'?" Kafka reached over and playfully shook the younger compatriot by his shoulders.

"MP.3S ARE NOT THAT OLD! MINE STILL WORKS AND I STILL USE IT, YOU ASSHAT!" Hearing this only caused both of them to split themselves into fits of laughter. A moment later Kafka was lightly hugging Iharu and trying (and failing) to slow his heart and breathing while Iharu was wiping away tears and giggling. The shark-toothed teen looked up at the division's adopted father figure contemplatively.

"Ya know.... why don't you come with me." Kafka looked a little taken aback at that offer.

"Really? With me? I mean, I'm not going to turn down a free movie. Just thought that you young folk would rather run around with... well, people of similar age." Iharu started laughing again.

"What, so you finally decided you're old now?"

"Well, there's no hiding the fact that I'm damn near forty." Kafka said as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but you're cool and forty. Which is like, guaranteed cool. And you're probably the only person here that would enjoy a movie of this explosive caliber." Iharu got up from his seat and picked up the tickets, offering one to Kafka. He smiled massively and pushed the offering had back toward Iharu.

"Hold on to them for now. I gotta talk to Hoshina about taking some hours away from base first. Tell you what, grab a bag of snacks to take in and I'll meet you by the garage."

"Bag of snacks? Ya know the theater sells them there, right?" Furuhashi said walking side by side with Hibino as they wandered back into the hallway.

"Excuse you, but I have been raised on the philosophy that you never buy theater snacks when you can sneak in your own. The theft of it all makes them taste better." Kafka winked as the two of them parted ways. "Should only take a minute or two. Text when you hit the garage!"

############################################

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?" Kafka said calmly as he adopted a wide defensive stance against is superior.

"I get you can be simple some days, but even you should know what that word means." replied Soshiro Hoshina, the vice captain of the Third Division. The man carefully put down the log book that contained the recorded hours of all enlisted that each individual was allotted to spend.

"What I mean is, do you mean no as in 'You still have chores or training left', or no as in 'I can't afford to have you leave base today'." Kafka breathed slowly through his nose in irritation as he emphasized each scenario.

"No as in 'You have no hours left to spend.' You used them all." Hoshina turned the catalog to face Kafka as the burly man planted his hands on the desk. All he could do was sigh at his unforeseen short comings.

"Honestly, I wanna talk to whoever came up with the policy that cut half of our vacation days and replaced them with this 'Payable Recreational Hours' bullshit. You seriously can't fudge the rules even a little bit?"

"Trust me Kafka, I wasn't the one who opted for that either. And as Vice Captain and currently the highest ranking on base, 'Fudging the rules' as you put it, would be a terrible move and give me a soft reputation. So, no."

Kafka shrunk his appearance and pulled out his big doe eyes to aid in his pleading. "But this is important! Hoshina, please. Its not even about me, this is for Iharu's sake."

Hoshina's interest piqued exasperatedly upon hearing that. "Oh? And pray tell, what could be so pressing that you have to emergency call off three hours for?" Kafka started to sense that this was the first slip into a bad situation and immediately back peddled.

"If it helps, I guess I could get away with an hour and a half?" he shrugged.

"So what was the other two and a half hours going to be spent on?" Hoshina said, leaning back in his office chair and crossing his arms.

Kafka knew he couldn't lie to someone so close to him, especially when that person was adept at seeing through his lies specifically. "Just, uh... food and... travel?"

This isn't helped by the fact the man can't even get away with half truths in the first place. Hoshina leaned his elbows on the desk as he stared down menacingly at the resident Kaiju Man.

"Kafka. The whole truth now, and I'll let you off with janitorial duty for a week." All Kafka could do was unclench his body and accept defeat.

"Ok. Iharu had prepaid some movie tickets to a Ranger Rika film and we both felt it would be a waste not to use them and the plan had involved a food stall festival and Reno was supposed to be there-!" Upon remembering what Iharu's initial plan was, Kafka was struck with an idea. "Hey that could work."

'What" Hoshina said in a clearly vexed manner.

"Why not give me Reno's hours? They both called off right? And since he had to leave, doesn't that technically mean that there's hours left on the table?" Kafka's brilliant smile was quickly diminishing as his superior kept staring a hole through his skull.

"First off, that's rude." Hoshina said holding up a hand to count on, "Second, that's got to be a violation somewhere. And Three, even if it wasn't, I still wouldn't allow it."

"What, you want me to see if Iharu will hand both the tickets over and we both go?" Hoshina just pinched his nose bridge at that and sighed.

"No, Kafka. I'm irritated that you're trying to weasel your way into blowing off duty for street food and movie tickets."

"But they're prepaid movie tickets!" Kafka sighed. He could only hang his head in despair as he could see his impromptu plans slipping away from him. "Is there nothing that could change your mind?"

"No. Not when I'm this irritated." Hoshina said as he went back to crossing his arms.

'Irritated, huh?' Kafka rolled his partner's choice of words in his head, before coming up with a horrible idea and using it to fuel a devilish course of action.

"Well, then. I guess I'll just have to break out the big gun." Kafka whispered as he smirked. He rounded Hoshina's sturdy desk, a fact the two of them had certainly proved time and time again, and now Kafka was going to have to certify that statement one more time, it seems.

"Kafka?" Hoshina questioned as his work buddy visible stopped acting like his associate and donned his more... submissive side. Starting with turning the chair to face him, Kafka got down on his knees in front of his commanding officer and slowly slid a hand under the left pant leg to lightly tease his superior's ankle.

"Guess i'll have to help with that irritation before I leave, won't I?" Hibino said, still wearing a cocky, lopsided grin as he brought the other hand just under Hoshina's knee.

'Kafka, no." Hoshina gritted out, bringing his hands to the arm rests and firmly gripped them.

"Kafka, yes." replied the kneeling man as he kissed his secret lover's knee.

"Kafka, if you think I'm going to give you your requested hour and a half-"

"Three hours."

"You're not going to get any hours if you keep this up."

"Come on. We both know that's not true, Soshiro." Kafka said, looking up from his kiss to the knee and molding his throat into his other voice. The one where he isolates a partial transformation around his vocal cords, adding a low growl to his already bass tone. Taking extra care with using Hoshina's first name, Kafka leaned forward and caressed his cheek against the side of Soshiro's inner thigh, letting in a wicked light in behind his glossy eyes.

"We both know I get what I want if I work hard enough for it."

Kafka began to tease the inside of Soshiro's thighs, littering them with light and slow kisses. Switching back and forth between the two, inching close, but not close enough. Hoshina felt rooted to the seat, pinned down by this tormenting display. All he could do was reach over and place a hand in Kafka's surprisingly soft tufts of hair. He carded it through a little before gripping it. Not enough to hurt, but definitely attention getting. Kafka let out a hot puff of air against his commander's hip, reveling in the feeling of Soshiro's short nails digging into his tough scalp.

"Give me a good performance, and we'll discuss what I'll let you get away with." Hoshina said, mentally kicking himself for not training his pet to be on a shorter leash.

############################################

"Come onnn. Where is he?" Iharu whined, shifting one strap of the back pack off one shoulder to the other as he was on his way to Hoshina's office. "How long does it take to call off a few hours?"

Furuhashi had made it to the door of the office just in time to see Hibino walk out in an entirely different outfit than the work jumpsuit he was in earlier.

"You know, with that much work, I should get a thank you as a courtesy!" Kafka said with the biggest shit eating grin one could have on their face. This statement was quickly followed with him slamming the door closed before he could be hit with whatever Hoshina tried to throw at him. All Kafka could do in response was giggle uncontrollably before stopping in his tracks at Iharu's sudden appearance.

"When did you get here?"

"I sent you a text that I was at the garage and you didn't respond. I waited, like, 9 minutes before I wondered where you were and now I just have more questions. Like, did you change in Hoshina's office? Why was he throwing shit at you? Thank you for what?" Kafka's face got visible red as he tried to find a way to change the subject and instead, opted to grab Iharu's upper arm and drag him harshly back toward the direction the garage was in.

"Ask no questions, and I'll tell no lies. Better news, I just got us a lot more than three hours."

"Can I ask HOW?"

"Maybe later. Got the snacks?" Iharu wrenched his arm out of Kafka's grasp to slip the simple, black, mini back pack off his shoulders to show the contents to his impromptu partner for the night.

"Yeah, got some drinks too. Had to break into Kikoru locker to get a less conspicuous bag to put them in, though."

"Good idea. You know where the theater is?" Kafka said, picking up the pace a little more the closer they got to the getaway vehicles. Iharu had no problem matching his pace, but was getting increasingly worried as to why they were acting like they were in a hurry. The movie didn't start for another forty five minutes.

"Yes, its close by so I don't know whY weRE RUNNING?"

"Cause not only do I want to catch the pre-showing, we really, really should leave before Hoshina saw what I put down in the time log sheet."

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" HIbino got to the heavy security door and opened the entry to the covered garage where most members of the defense force kept their personal vehicles.

"Nothing I'm going to regret later. Here, take this." He said as Iharu walked through the door and tossed him a suspicious set of keys. Iharu caught them and examined them quickly.

"Are these... Hoshina's keys? The one to his supercharged bike? You know I have my own bike, right?"

"Yeah, but when you think about it, his bike's bigger and I can't drive one, so I'm going to have to ride pillion. And trust me, you're going to want that extra bit of room."

As the two of them jogged to the Vice Captain's super bike, all Iharu could think that this wasn't going to be a simple movie night anymore.

###########################################

The two of them had made it into the theater with plenty of time to spare and minimal suspicion. They turned in their stubs and walked inside the air conditioned room that was showing the Ranger Rika film. There, Kafka was met with a surprise.

"Holy shit! You prepaid seats to a show that had in-house recliners?" Kafka walked by in awe and they made their way to one of the seats closer to the front. "Surprised you didn't pick seats closer to the back. Kinda bougie place to bring 'just a friend' don't ya think?" Kafka winked at Iharu as they settled down into their reserved seats.

"I don't ever want to hear the word bougie out of your mouth ever again. And I felt like paying extra for the reclining seats, that ok with you?" Iharu said defensively.

"Fine, fine. Just wondering why you felt the need to score brownie points with Reno, is all. He'd be happy just getting off base with you, being an easy guy like that." Kafka started to root around in Iharu's stolen bag for the drinks he mentioned earlier.

"This isn't point scoring! I just... I wanted to- what I'm trying to say is... give me that." The furious looking teen grabbed the glass coke bottle out of the older man's offering hand. Kafka looked on warmly at Iharu, piecing together some dots in his head. Not enough to make a solid conclusion, but his previous levels of mopiness started to make sense. Hibino brought the sealed bottle to his mouth and cracked the metal pop top off with his teeth.

"You know that they make these twist off now, right? That has to fuck up your teeth something awful." Iharu stated as he began to twist off his own bottle before the movie really started. At least he was trying to, and apparently failing miserably due to the sharp edges on the bottle cap digging into his hands uncomfortably. Kafka took the bottle from his hands and proceeded to open the bottle like he did before and handed it back.

"Again, I am not that old. Don't ruin my one piece of happiness in my life."

"Opening bottles... with your teeth?" Iharu replied, pushing the button that reclined the seat back and brought the foot rest up.

"Old habit from childhood that I've managed to keep because Monster Sweepers has a surprisingly great dental plan. Now hush, previews are starting." Kafka said as the lights began to dim in the room.

############################################

"Holy shit! That movie was amazing!" Iharu said as they left the theater doors and landed on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, that was a great movie. Was a lot more emotional then I was expecting." Kafka mentioned as he squatted low and stretched a leg out to the side.

"You weren't kidding! That plot twist that Missy Whisky was a plant based robo-zoid horse and the scene where she was dying and her body fueled a new oasis got me actually crying! I never cry!" Kafka could only look up at Iharu incredulously, knowing that the younger soldier cried at anything involving animals; sometimes even about Kaijus.

"I think my favorite shot of the whole thing was at the end when Ranger Rika was in a lawn chair with a beer, sitting in that new oasis and we get to see that Missy Whisky was ok, she was just a metal skeleton now." Kafka said as he stood back up and stretched his back.

"Yeah, he deserved that beer, honestly. My favorite scene was when Rika had to jerry rig a new leg and ended up making that burst shot rocket leg. When I heard Golem explain the concept, I thought it sounded so stupid! Whats the point in putting a rocket in your leg if it can only fire off in short burst? Then it trails into the scene in the canyon where he has to fight the Centa-Snake and he was keeping up on foot! Certified Ultimate Badass moment this year!" Iharu started to walk away, following the flow of the crowd so as to not interrupt it too much. Spurring Kafka to hurry up and follow him as well. The two of them walked far enough down the street to where they could walk side by side more comfortably.

As they walked farther away from the theater, it became clear that Iharu was still basking in the warm afterglow of a good memory made. He was still chattering about all the details of the movie, even going into the depths of character analysis and how it showed through in the clothing the characters were wearing. It was very clear he was dying to watch this someone as his mouth seemed to be going a mile a minute with no signs of stopping. Kafka kept up as best he could with the conversation, adding what he could to the conversation. If he was being honest though, he didn't really see as much in the movie as Iharu apparently did. It seemed Iharu noticed as well as he started to slow down his talking speed, becoming more quiet as they went along.

"You good?" Kafka said, noticing the small, slight drop in demeanor.

"Yeah, Im...I'll be fine. I think. I got to see the movie today, which is what I wanted." Iharu stated, visible not looking as fine as he tried to say he was. It was clear to Kafka that it wasn't the possibility that Iharu might of not watched the movie that got him feeling down. I seemed that he still couldn't get Reno not being here off his mind. Kafka felt it was a bit early to press the matter, seeing they got out of a good movie and didn't feel like spoiling the once good mood with questions, so he decided to try and redirect Iharu's train of thought to something more pressing.

"We are walking in the right direction for the festival, right?" Iharu looked up at the older man, redirection of thoughts successful.

"Oh yeah, Food! That was a thing wasn't it? Uhhh...." Iharu said, stopping to process their current location. "Yeah, one more block and a right and we should be there."

"I remember that you said you found it because you... smelled it?" Kafka said quizzically.

"Oh, yeah. There was an attack early last week two streets down and I wanted to stop by when I smelled it. Couldn't though, had to check for yoju then head back to base for a report. Couldn't leave for a week and started feeling desperate. It smells really good-!" Iharu stopped dead in his tracks, looking straight across the street.

"What? Is everything Ok?" Kafka said, looking around before landing his eyes at whatever Iharu was looking at. Across the street, in a store window, sat a rack holding a cluster of very unusual looking hats.

"Cowboy hats. Can you believe it?" Iharu said, looking absolutely puzzled as to why they were there. Taking a longer look, the window belonged to what appeared to be a restaurant dedicated to American cuisine. Specifically western style - steaks and big burgers. it looked like the restaurant had conjoined with a kitschy souvenir store. Kafka thought hard for a minute before turning back to Iharu.

"You wanna?" Kafka asked, jabbing a thumb to the store front. Furuhashi looked back with a clearly confused look. "Come on, we just got out of a Cowboy movie. Isn't it customary to get a least one in honor of a good movie?" Kafka playfully punched Iharu in the shoulder as Iharu just shook his head before he responded.

"I have never heard that ever, and I'm a fan of all the Ranger Rika films."

"All I'm hearing is you've got some hat buying to catch up on." Kafka said, committing an act of jaywalking to drag his new friend over to the store.

"We don't need to buy a cowboy hat!" Iharu protested as they hit the sidewalk.

"Fine. Then I'm getting one without you." Kafka retaliated, hand on the store handle.

"OH, no. If I leave you alone in here, you're going to buy me one in a stupid color. Like blue or green." Iharu said, walking into the store before Kafka.

"But I thought you said you didn't want one?" the Half-Kaiju said, throwing a pointed smirk at Iharu.

"I just said I don't trust you, therefore I have to buy one to make sure you don't buy one for me." the pinkette said defiently, studying the hats on the rack. Kafka just chuckled quietly behind him and soon joined him at the rack too, but not before ordering a side of steak fries to go.

Minutes later, the two of them left the store with hats and fries in hand. Kafka bought a black one with a braided rawhide band threaded with turquoise beads and Iharu's was a simple white stetson.

"Kinda surprised you didn't get the pink one." Kafka said, placing his hat on his head.

"I thought about it, but I mean... pink on pink? It might be a bit much." Iharu said, gesturing to his hair. "That and I thought that white hats just looked cooler anyway."

"This decision totally isn't related to Ranger Rika and his outfit design at all, right?" Kafka said, dripping with sarcasm and Iharu fiddled with the chin strap on the stetson.

"Pfft, Of course not! Why would you say such a thing?" Iharu said through a choked chuckle as his ears got a noticeable shade pinker.

###########################################

Short walk later, they had made it to the start of the street where the festival was held. Both sides of a seemingly endless boulevard was lined with lanterns, ramshackle food stalls, and carnival games. The lights gave the whole street the warmest inviting glow that paired with the slowly setting sun and the scent from the cooking food made the entrance all the more enticing. Adding on the visual ebb and flow of the crowd flittering between the brightly advertised stalls truly made the scene before them come alive. All that was needed to become one with the crowd was as simple as stepping inside and it would feel like a whole different reality. Before the duo could, Kafka decided to take a look at the parked sign at the beginning of the boulevard.

"Hey, did you know about this?" Kafka pointed at the sign.

"No. What's it say?"

"It says that the food festival is in collaboration with the local bars on this street. Beer and cocktails are half off." Iharu whistled approvingly at the news.

"God, a beer sound wonderful right now. Haven't had any since Hoshina trashed my stash in the vent." Kafka said, groaning at the distant textural memory of the cool, aggressive liquid sliding down his throat.

"I don't know man. We still gotta head back to work in a couple of hours. Getting drunk tonight that worth it?" Iharu questioned. Kafka choked on his own spit in a suspicious manner for a minute at hearing how long they had left on the outside.

"Speaking of which..." Furuhashi began to eye the old man intensely now, "How many hours did you get out of Vice-Cap?" Kafka made an attempt to clear his throat before answering.

"Yeah, about that...I, uhhh...didn't have any hours left."

"HIBINO."

"Honestly, the whole payable hours thing sounds stupid anyway so when Hoshina wasn't looking I... wrote in our own hours?" Kafka shrugged at a very red Iharu.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'OUR'? HOW MANY?"

"Three... hundred and thirty six." Kafka said quietly. When Iharu didn't respond back, Kafka felt the need to explain himself.

"I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY! 336 hours equal out to two weeks so I thought it be like an 'I'm quitting' joke. Ya'know, in retaliation of the stupid new hours rule? Vice Captain wasn't giving me any wiggle room here and you said you were coming to a food festival with Reno and two hours for a food festival is not a lot of time, especially if you want to do it right, and now there's possible booze involved which is another two on top of that and I just think that only getting three hours to spend away from base isn't a lot of time and you really looked disappointed at not being able to go- albeit the original plan involved Reno- but I mean we're here now and..."

Kafka could only sigh at his now clearly flawed line of thought as Iharu put his face in his hands. One one hand, Iharu agreed with him. Three hours wasn't a lot of time and he also hated the new hours ruling. But that short amount of time would of been worth it because he would of been with Reno. But now... Reno wasn't here. He was with Kakfa, a close member of the team that was trying his best to look out for him and cheer him up in light of the disastrous change in his plans. Iharu was here now, without Reno, and was still enjoying himself despite himself. The whole reason for coming was because of Reno, but here he was anyway; feeling guilty because he was having fun without Reno, knowing this was to be for him. Iharu wasn't really angry about the hours that Kafka had managed to cheat out of Vice-Cap. He knew he was going to pay for them as soon as Kafka got involved on this little outing. It just didn't feel right, him about to be having fun with someone who wasn't supposed to be here.

Kafka clasped a gentile hand of Iharu's shoulder.

"Hey. If you're not comfortable with this, we can just grab one or two things and head back early. You can tell him about the prepaid tickets and bring him back a snack. I'm sure he'd appreciate it after fighting in the mountains all afternoon." The older man smiled comfortably down at the distressed teen.

There he went again. The Dad of Division Three. He really knew just how others felt sometimes. Just when it didn't conflict with the mans's own feelings, that is. Kafka could tell that he was stressed about staying here too long and having fun without the one he wanted to be here with, so now he's trying to accommodate by telling him they could leave and bring back a gift that Reno couldn't help but like. Iharu wanted to come here with Reno... but he was here with Kafka. The happiest, most understanding, and most uplifting person to be around. Especially when you're upset, just like he is right now. And you know what, Kafka is here. With him. Right now. He got Iharu to the movies and spared him a day of sulking around the barracks getting fat and feeling sorry for himself. And that should be rewarded.

"You know what? Fuck it. I'm game." Furuhashi said, dropping his hands from his face.

"About what?"

"Getting drunk. I was going to stuff my face with cafeteria food earlier, and now I get to stuff my face with fried street food and alcohol. Honestly? Upgrade."

"Wait a minute? Are you sure about this? I mean, its not like those hours actually count or anything." Kafka said, reeling slightly from Iharu's change in demeanor.

"Hey man, you're the one who wrote in two weeks of hours, and I'm going to use them. Unless someone from base comes down here and carries my plastered ass off the sidewalk, I don't plan on leaving. Besides, didn't you say there's a right way to food festival? Maybe I'd like to know the secret too. Ya' know, for next time." Iharu stared into the sunset over the festival, feeling empowered about his newfound dereliction of duty.

He was upset. About the time constraints, about a lack of Reno in his presence, about not being able to tell him how he felt in a way he had been planning for about a week now, and about a dozen other minor things that had gotten under his skin recently.

None of that matters now. He was here. In good company. And with access to cheap booze. And may the Gods themselves strike him down now, because he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

Kafka approved this new feeling welling up inside new drinking buddy and sealed the deal by lifting Iharu's hat off his back where it was hanging and placed it on his head. Making his voice gravely and southern, Kafka quoted a line from the movie.

"So... You finally decided to take charge of your own fortune, aye Rika?" Feeling the new weight on his head, Iharu turned to look up at Kafka and saw the brightest, toothiest, most genuine grin he thought that man could fit on his face. Iharu's eyes started to gather tears in accepted pride, but he blinked them away harshly and looked back at Kafka, matching his Kaiju smile with an aggressively mischievous one of his own.

"First things first. Nearest 7/11 location." Kafka said, turning toward the closest convenience store he could see.

"O-Ok? Why?" Iharu questioned, but followed Kafka's lead anyway.

"They carry this wonderful little drink that prevents hangovers. Fantastic shit, truly. Take it from a guy who use to party with a group of people who went on pub crawls every time someone had a birthday, hangovers do not need to be experienced more than necessary." Iharu's eyes lit up at hearing this.

"oh man! You have to have some crazy stories from your college days."

"College? You seriously think I had the attention span to make it in that kind of setting? This was from working in Monster Sweepers. Let me tell you, Tokuda; guy I used to work with, couldn't let go of a scotch bottle to save his life. Which is funny because having one on him is what saved another guy I worked with..."

#########################################

"And that's how my second boss ended up eating his own ring finger, wedding band and all." Kafka said as Iharu finished up the last of a batch of heavily sauced, fried chili shrimp.

"Damn, I didn't know you guys caught so many strays on the job site. Ya'll really need a security detail while you're working or something."

"Yeah, it can get to be a bit much some days. I actually proposed a deal to Haruichi that asked if his dad's company could come up with some Kaiju-fiber t-shirts or arm sleeves. Just *burp* something cheap they could throw together from scraps to help out my old buddies on the job site. Just a little protection or a way to finish the job faster so we're not working so long."

Kafka finished up a can of beer as Iharu checked a notification on his phone. They were leaning against the base of one of the few stone building that were on the street. The two of them had already hit up several food stalls and three bars in between. Currently they were standing off to the right of an ally that led to the last one they were in, having left to get some fresh air.

"Don't see a reason why they couldn't? It's more money for them, isn't it? Hey! it finally downloaded." Iharu said, propping up his phone on a jutted window ledge.

"What did?"

"I downloaded that song that played during the saloon walkabout scene. I thought we could maybe make a TokTic with it." Kafka tossed his empty into a trash can before turning to Iharu.

"TokTic? Oh! Those short video things. Shinomiya is always sending me those. Her attempt to 'Keep me from falling back to the Stone Age'. Prissy brat. Love her! Just... so damn rude some days."

"Well, now here's your chance to show her that you can be relevant." Iharu chuckled, "Alright, here's what I was thinking."

Iharu began to lead Kafka through some easy dance steps and dictated which pattern this was supposed to happen. They ran through the process a few times so Kafka was sure he could do it, even though Iharu reassured him that it doesn't have to be perfect. Iharu pressed record and they started doing a intensely cowboy inspired, feet shuffling based choreography to 'No Diggity' by Blackstreet with their new hats on full display.

They wrapped it up with them moonwalking off screen. Furuhashi then quickly ran back to grab the phone. They ducked back into the ally to get out of the way of the rippling crowd as the phone's owner began messing with the video's settings and cropped the beginning and end to make it feel cleaner. Hibino whistled as he looked over Iharu's shoulder as his fingers flew over the screen with what seemed to be practiced efficiency.

"You've made a few of these?" Kafka asked.

"Yeah.", Iharu said sheepishly, "I had this account back when I was in Subjugation School. It kinda started as something I messed with in my down time between classes, making edits of shows and movies I was really into at the time, and then it just sorta turned into a daily routine showcase-turned-ask blog. Soon after it started to pick up followers, especially after I got to join Division Three." He began to show one of his latest edits that he made to Kafka.

"Wow! I have to admit, but the editing seems really smooth. I can see a lot of thought went into this." Kafka said as he took a brief overview of the collection that Iharu had made over the years. Furuhashi looked away bashfully as his face turned as pink as his hair.

"It really is just a hobby at this point. Most of my followers seem to just enjoy the daily blog stuff more. But, to be honest, I always told myself that if, for some reason, I didn't make it in the Defense Force I... might have pursued a career as a film director." Kafka slung his arm over Iharu's shoulder and drew him in close.

"Now that, I would have definitely paid... to... see." He stepped back to look at his surroundings, taking in the view of the ebbing crowd and sensing a disturbing lack of panic and chaos. But... why would there be? There was nothing to be afraid.... oh.

Oh Shit. There it was.

Kafka got a familiar sinking feeling deep in his gut. Like a cold wave of heavy mist and dry ice was dropped into his stomach. He started whipping his head around, trying to see if he could place the direction in which the dangerous disturbance could be coming from.

"Iharu! Eyes up! Trouble incoming." The teen flashed a worried look toward Kafka as he hurriedly put his phone away.

"Kaiju attack? Here?"

"Yeah, a honju. Small one though, it feels like. To close for comfort, though. Get the alert out!" Kafka ran to one of the food stalls next to them and grabbed a megaphone out of a hawker's hands

"EVERYONE! IMMINENT KAIJU ATTACK! START HEADING TO THE SHELTERS!"

Some people started to gather up their stuff while others only looked on in disbelief, thinking he was some drunk prankster, until a small earthquake rattled the street and stalls. Everyone began to feel the threat approaching with the sound of distant buildings crashing over the sudden wailing of the alert system through speakers and phones alike. The people started sprinting toward the nearest shelter, with Kafka and Iharu helping the stragglers and the fallen catch up to the rest. Once it seemed like a majority had made it off this particular street and others, too scared shitless to move, had been relegated to closer, save enough zones like basements and reinforced closets, did Kafka start running toward the source of the disaster. Iharu, not far behind, ran after him.

"Sir! Do you think we should be heading toward this? Its not like we could be of much help without gear."

"Kinda figured we'd look at it and go from there? Least I could do is break it down visually and have you relay the information." Kafka started to summon some of his Kaiju bio-works through his system, calling forth faster speed and inhuman claws, and used them to get to higher elevation. As the cryptid soldier began to race across rooftops, Iharu mentally broke down the things that he could help with, starting with field reconnaissance and path prediction.

##########################################

Even without the suit, Iharu was keeping up with with a supped-up Kafka. It helped that he was trying to gain more height than speed to better survey the land and find the cause of danger. Once he found a sign of the monstrous disturbance, Kafka began giving directionals down to Iharu. As the man on the ground, he took it upon himself to keep track how they were moving between the three of them, figured a possible heading, and started to send directions back to Kafka in an attempt to head whatever this was off at a pass. So far, they hadn't hit any major damaged areas yet, so Iharu wasn't too focused on checking for possible trapped survivors.

Thanks to Kafka's sight and Iharu's planning, the two of them had made it to the location of the honju. Bursting through a broken and slanted ally way, Iharu had caught sight of the beast first. It was cephalopod based, resembling a mix between a squid or an octopus, crossed with an armored spider. Its' head was blue and bulbous, with a thin, wide, white ribbon running the diameter of its rounded top. It had four darker blue tentacles, each ending in a triangular nub covered in wicked spiked suckers, and another eight acting as its legs. All of them covered in what looked like black, striped,and jointed keratin plating and all of them ending in squishy tarantula paws. It was big, about a family-of-four house sized, tall as well as wide, and it was pissed.

"You don't think it smelled all the fried seafood and wanted revenge, do you think?" Kafka leaped down from a shattered rooftop and landed close to Iharu. The younger one grabbed the senior's wrist and dragged them both behind some cover before the honju saw them.

"Well, you said you wanted to break it down. Now's your chance." Iharu hissed quietly.

The aquatic beast lumbered forward, bellowing a watery warble as it bashed its tentacles against the building to its left. Kafka braced his back against the large piece of broken wall and shimmied upwards slowly in an attempt to gain a better look without breaking cover. He began to mentally run through a back catalog of information about Honju and Yoju, both from personal experience and from research on his down time, and came up with very little. But what he did come up with could still be very useful.

"Ok, here's the deal. Both Honju and Yoju can have aquatic forms and when they do, they stick unusually close to the original anatomy of their more normal counterparts."

"And how is that helpful?" Iharu whispered harshly as he stayed close to the ground in a crouched position.

"I'm getting there, hold on. From what it looks like, this bastard is sticking pretty close to something from the squid family. Which means it would be a safe bet that its core is somewhere close to the surface of the body, situated around the junction between the trunk and its head, and under a thick backbone made of cartilage."

"Alright, i'll tell everyone to aim for the.... neck I guess?" Iharu began to pull out his phone, but Kafka shooed it down to dismiss the idea.

"Here's the thing. You can actually kill a normal squid really easily by hitting it right at that junction. And I mean like one hard smack kinda deal." Kafka slid down the cover to better demonstrate with his hands to his partner.

"Yes, this has been established." Iharu sounded exasperated, almost desperate too as the beast trudged on by.

"I have a really bad idea." Kafka looked Iharu dead in the eyes with as much seriousness as he could. All Iharu could do was send a look of disbelief right back.

"Whatever it is, no."

"Ok, but if I'm right, the Defense force doesn't even need to show up because we'll be done already."

"HOW, may I ask? We don't even have any weapons." Iharu was becoming flabbergasted now, slowly debating to stop bothering with discrepancy.

"Ah, but you forget, I'm a living weapon. I don't even need a full transformation. Just make sure it doesn't turn around for a second while I grab a lamp post and get to higher ground." Iharu just groaned into his hands while Kafka turned and ran to find a suitable post, preferably one already uprooted.

Minutes later, Kafka had managed to fine a suitable improvised weapon to attack with and was trying his best to lug it over quietly. Iharu was still hiding behind the original piece of cover, watching his battle buddy struggle while keeping an eye on the yoju, making sure it hadn't been alerted to Kafka's presence. Kafka was on the other side of the street, opposite to Iharu's position and had much more cover to work with since that was the side the monster seemed to be taking its aggression out on. However, this came with its own set of problems as Kafka kept knocking the lamp post on what seemed to be every obstacle imaginable. Causing Iharu to flinch and indirectly slowing the beasts progression as it kept picking up on Kafka's poor attempt at stealth. After Kafka had managed to bang the bottom of the post against an unseen rock and cause the honju to turn around and face his general direction, it became clear to him that if he was to scale a building and get closer, some preventative measures were going to have to take place.

After waiting for the monster to turn back around, Kafka started to wave his arms around to get a hold of Iharu's attention.

'Go distract' Kafka tried to pantomime using military hand gestures.

'Me distract?' Iharu responded back, to which Kafka affirmed

'Are you nuts?' Iharu sent back, ducking as a chunk of debris flew over his head.

'Just throw a brick or something.' Kafka sent before picking up the post and tried to quietly lean it on the nearest building. Iharu hung his head at the absurd situation and looked around for a suitable rock.

Speedily crouch walking past several broken walls and roof pieces, he had managed to get back in front of the honju's path. Looking back, Kafka had transformed his hands back into claws and was now trying to climb the side of a building while alternating bringing the pole up with him. He seemed to be doing fine so far, trying his best not to make more noise than he could get away with. Kafka had made it to a metal fire escape landing that was miraculously still attached to a partially demolished building. He leaned over to pull up the light post behind him... and smacked the top of it into the landing above.

Before the monster had time to react to Kafka's blunder, Iharu had thrown the rock as hard as he could, aiming for it to land in front of its face and keeping its attention forward. This would of worked had Iharu had picked a smaller or lighter rock, as it had flown straight into one of the beast's wiggling tentacles. Iharu didn't have time to duck behind cover as it had turned to face the source of bodily harm. The honju roared as it raised its front arms and tentacles in defiance and began to lumber quickly toward the only thing it could really see, a mop of alarmingly pink hair.

"Shit, shIT, SHHHHIIIIIIIIIITTTTTT!" Iharu bolted down the street, leaping and bounding over ruble in his path as the squishy, blue beast rapidly shuffled behind him giving chase. Kafka vocally mirrored the pink human rocket's sentiment as he rushed to carry the light pole up to the remains of the roof.

The buildings around Furuhashi turned into a blended blur as he blasted down the street, the journey made easier now that he hit a section that the honju hadn't demolished yet and left no obstacles to jump around. However, that didn't mean that he didn't have an easy time running away. With every footstep the multi-limbed monster made, sent the road trembling, forcing Iharu to find some sea legs fast. While it seemed to be a constant fact that spider based kaiju were slow enough to be outrun by anyone able-bodied, The shaking this one was creating gave Iharu a feeling that one misstep, one slight falter in his adrenaline fueled gait, could spell a messy end for him.

As he came onto a three-way, he juked the literal fish-out-of-water and whipped right, feet sliding out from under him. Iharu had to recover quickly as the squid-spider had regained it's footing as well and picked up its pace. Tentacles slammed and swiped all around him, causing the younger soldier to duck and weave intensely and dug deep inside of himself to find the strength to go faster.

A simple image. A snow blonde man with frosted violet eyes. Once facing a complimentary sunset, turned back to face Iharu in his mind's eye.

That's all it took for him. Not thinking too much about it (surely if he did, he would call himself out on his patheticness) Iharu managed to speed up just in time. He found himself passing under a familiar Torii gate just as the honju began to bring down a weighty tentacle. Before it could though, a squelchy crunch sound echoed down the food stalls lined boulevard him and Kafka were on earlier. Iharu kept going until he noticed the lack of quaking that was accompanying his previous flight for his life. Slowing down cautiously, he turned around to gawk at the scene that had unfolded behind him

Just passing under the Torii gate was the unnatural squid like beast, now limp and an opaque, milky color. Stood on top of the bulbous trunk in a victorious killing pose was Kafka, having hammered the concreted base of the lamppost square over its one-shot kill spot. Kafka let go of the post once it seemed sure that the monstrous cephalopod wasn't going to move anymore and stood up and relaxed. He flashed Iharu a thumbs up in reassurance.

Iharu was far from reassured and was shaking from the head to toe in adrenaline withdrawal. He took a second to catch his breath and immediately regretted it, running over to an uncovered trash can and vomited his stomach contents from the nerves.

#########################################

Several back rubs, gurgled curses, and vehement apologies later, Iharu felt okay enough to walk again. Kafka took a second to extend his kaiju sensory powers to check the immediate area for more threats while Iharu double checked him with research from his phone. Certain they had eliminated the only threat that had decided to make its presence known, the two discussed their next course of action. Seeing that the damage had been localized to a different part of town and how none of it had really reached the festival, they decided to see if they could encourage those that were still around to start the food stalls back up. To be honest, the decision was made from a mutual understanding that if it didn't, the two of them would have no choice but to head back to headquarters. Which felt like admitting defeat too early, seeing as they had wanted to stay out as long as they wished tonight, damn the consequences.

The two split up and went around to the surrounding buildings and encouraged the caged civilians inside that it was safe now. Once told that it was some off duty members of the Defence Force, those inside started to walk out and braced themselves for the possible damage that wasn't there. Some of the bartenders of the local bars that hadn't left in the evacuation started a one time only deal of giving everyone that had stayed a round on the house. Once it seemed that the neighborhood's basements and closets were emptied, Kafka and Iharu met in the center of the street.

"I got everyone on the left." Kafka started.

"And I got everyone on the right. Going to head to the shelter where everyone headed to and see about bypassing the lock on it to get everyone out. You coming?" Iharu said, already turning to leave.

"Nah, I'm gonna stay here and see what I can do about the squid at the gate. Get it out of here before it gets rank." Iharu managed two thumbs up as he briskly jogged away to the rescue.

A large crowd had begun to form around the fishy corpse under the gate. Kafka could make out some of the hushed phrases as he politely muscled his way through.

"Can't believe it had gotten so close."

"There doesn't seem to be any casualties so far?"

"We were lucky that some members of the third division were here tonight."

"Its almost seems like the gods were looking out for the festival, don't ya think?"

"The spirits must have considered the food too good to waste- excuse me, coming through! Make way, if you don't mind." Kafka began to move more easily through the crowd after making his presence known.

Getting to the front, he stood proud and took a long look at the situation before him. His past experience in the Sweepers began to flow easily into his mind as he walked around and over the dead beast. It was soft and squishy, with a tough skin. Not so tough that it probably couldn't be pierced by a good knife, he thought. The keratin plates were only held on with a thin sheet of tendon and looked like it could be filleted or pried off with little difficulty. The legs seemed closer to a crab than a spider at a closer glance, it just had an extra set. Breaking the crab legs would be challenging, however. Sure they could be cracked, but only after heated drastically and directly at the joints. Kafka leaned back and sighed. He knew he wasn't going to be the one cleaning this up, but he'd hate to have the whole squad out here for what could be a three person job.

Well, three if they had five hours. The more people, the less time of course. This one just so happened to be simple to break down, however. Give him ten minutes and he could teach everything that was important to the crowd in front of him. They could probably have this all dismantled before the Sweepers even got out of bed.

"Hey! You're with the Defense force, right? How long do you think it would take to get this out of here?" A portly man in a tan canvas apron shouted up at Kafka. The half kaiju man slid down the deceased squid beast so he could talk to the man in an appropriate manner.

"Well the thing's dead, so that parts' already done. Getting the body out of here is down to the Sweepers. I used to work with them, so I can just call a few of them up and we can get this dismantled and out of here soon. It's all a shame though."

"What make you say that?" A taller man behind the chunky one piped up.

"Well, for one, if the JAKDF finds out I'm here, I'm gonna have to get back on duty sooner than I'd like." This caused a slight chuckle from the neighboring crowd that heard him, causing some to relax slightly.

"And this is me saying from previous experience, the dismantling for this thing would be easy; it's just labor intensive. Wouldn't need fancy tools or anything. Just some willing hands, and I'd hate to bring out a whole ten piece crew for something this small. I don't even think Izumo really messes with squid types anyway. Not unless they exhibit some unnatural power so this would end up getting tossed in a trash heap in the end." The short man from earlier turned to look at the milky squid spider and shook his head in sympathy.

"Damn shame they aren't edible, huh?" A light bulb went off in Kafka's head as he turned to look at the man. Looking down, he saw that, in the pockets of the man's apron, was a handful of toothpicks and a couple sets of sharp metal chopsticks with bells attached to the ends of the wooded handles. Instruments designed to get people attention when someone made takoyaki.

"Actually.... most aquatic type kaiju are."

Half an hour later, Iharu lead the throng of people that had made it to the shelter back to the street and saw the most ridiculous sight. People had swarmed the dead honju, a third of it now seemed to be missing. Some had rigged a makeshift pulley system over the Torri gate and was lifting large chunks of milky, spotted flesh up and away from the rest of the body. Kafka was at the base, directing others on how to properly separate the armored plates from the legs while somebody on the other side was using a cutting torch and passed off the legs to another group that was putting them in a steaming metal barrel. Some had set their respective stalls back up and had hurriedly changed or added on new parts to their signs, all now advertising a kaiju variant of wherever fried food they were selling before.

"KAFKA! Mind telling me what's going on?" Iharu shouted over the sound of intense manual labor. Kafka looked at everyone and asked if they understood. When everyone nodded yes, Kafka broke away and joined Iharu.

"Funny thing, actually. I was talking to this guy in the crowd about the labor and how it would be a waste if we got the Sweepers involved. He said something about 'Shame it ain't edible' and it made me remember that some sea-bearing ones are and the guy I was talking too ran the giant takoyaki stand, the one where they're as big as your head, and the guy behind him was selling calamari rings and-"

"So you thought it would be a good idea to teach everyone here how to dismantle a kaiju? You don't seriously expect people to eat that, right? It's kaiju meat, how are you so sure it doesn't have parasites or something?"

"Oh! Already solved that problem." Kafka said, "Quick vinegar bath. Kills the sturdier ones and the heat kills the rest." Iharu looked past Kafka suspiciously and stared at the group of volunteers working away at the dead and, apparently edible, body.

"And where's the organs and shit going, might I ask?"

"Called an old work buddy that has a truck. He's going to be here in an hour to pick up the double bagged trash bags and throw them over the fence at work. He's getting paid in fried food when he gets here." Kafka mentioned, sounding proud of himself. Iharu just shrugged it off, thinking that it sounded like Kafka-appropriate levels of absurdity and that he shouldn't complain too much about it. After all, this removes any and all reason for the third Division to come down here. No chaos, no bodies, no trouble. Which meant that they didn't have to explain to co-workers why they weren't back yet and be forcefully dragged back against their will, so wins all-around honestly.

The squat man from earlier walked over to where the two were talking, carrying two white and unmarked carryout boxes the size of a soccer ball.

"Here, you killed the damn thing. You get first dibs on the spoils." he handed them over and jogged back to his station, now flooded with a line of people wanting to try kaiju squid takoyaki.

The off duty officers looked at each other briefly before rapidly tearing open the top of the box, revealing the most wondrous sight and smell. Inside was a massive takoyaki ball, fried with a variety of fillings, more than just onions and corn and slathered in eel sauce and kewpie mayo, topped with bonito flakes.

'Maybe it was worth almost getting smashed into a pancake.' Iharu thought before diving into the free meal.

########################################

'Cleared the surrounding area of potential causalities in quadrant Charlie, found none. Path of destruction heads east. Permission to follow?" Aoi Kaguragi, a member of the Third Division, relayed the pertinent information through his ear piece, awaiting further instruction.

"Message received, free to follow Kaguragi. Take care." Okonogi relayed back.

Aoi nodded over to his partner for tonight, Haruichi, and the two of them headed in the direction of the chaotic path of broken rubble. The two of them, as well as a small crew had been sent out to examine the emergence site of the recently exposed kaiju. The team was originally sent out to fight the disturbance, but halfway through suiting up, was almost called off due to the honju signature suddenly disappearing. Vice Captain Hoshina had the last say however, and made the crew go out anyway. Saying at the very least they should check for injured and make a damage report. He didn't say this specifically, but the impression was given that, since they were all the way out there, someone might as well find out why the signature disappeared in the first place. Aoi and Haruichi got done first, so they went to find the answers.

Following the cracked pavement lead them to a three-way intersection that had clearly sustained some bludgeoning damage as indicated by the mid-sized honju-like dent in the buildings in front of them. They turned to the right and continued to follow the rows of spider cracks that had imprinted onto the houses and streets, only to have their concentration broken by a passing truck clearly overladen with bulging, lumpy, stained trash bags.

"Was that a giant squid backbone?" Haruichi questioned.

"I'm surprised you know what one looks like." Aoi stated, not letting small things distract him from following the path of structural chaos that led down the street.

"You do know that I go fishing with my cousins on occasion. 'Cook what you catch' kind of vacations."

"What, on your overpriced yacht?" Aoi smirked as he couldn't resist adding a touch of teasing in his voice. Haruichi could come across as so mild mannered some days, it made it hard to picture him as a son of a business tech tycoon. Everyone on the base that knew him would occasionally tease him about it and it seemed that, as polite and agreeable as Aoi was in person, even he wasn't above the periodic ribbing-of-the-rich.

"It's a moderately sized deck boat, thank you very much. If I kick out the family, it should be big enough for the two of us to have some fun. If you're interested, that is?" Haruichi said, words dusted with seduction as he winked at Aoi. Kaguragi's lips thinned in an attempt to not break his resting bitch face at the salacious suggestion.

"Then again, that implies either of us get enough time off to go anywhere these days." Haruichi huffed. Aoi quietly grumbled in agreement before he straightened his attention to the sight down the street.

As the two crested the small hill, the sounds of the festival became more apparent and the smells of the food crashed down on them like a tidal wave of spices and fried oil. They noticed that the damage they had been following seemed to have stopped here suddenly, directly under the Torri gate still covered in ropes. A couple of people on ladders were carefully taking them down and a pair of women, one young and one old, were on their knees scrubbing away at what looked like a large blue ink stain.

"Hello! Sorry to bother you, but have either of you seen a medium sized honju pass through here? We're with the Defense Force and we would like to make sure that the threat isn't still around."

"The big squid spider lookin' thing?" the younger lady of the two said as she looked up.

"I would assume so, we didn't know what it looked like since it seemed to disappear so quickly. My partner and I followed its tracks here, but they don't appear to be anywhere else." Haruicho adjusted the kevlar strap attached to his gun so it would sit squarely on his back and kneeled down to talk to the women face to face.

"A couple of off duty members of yours already took care of it. It was sitting here, spilling its blood on the sidewalk until the big, polite looking oaf got the bright idea to tell Aki that it was edible. Once that got passed around, some of the other seafood fryers wanted to get in on its dismantling and get their own pound of flesh to fry. If ya want to try it, better hurry. It's selling out fast." The old woman pointed to the stalls behind her just as some of them had walked out to write on their respective signs detailing about how they were almost sold out of fried or battered kaiju meat.

Izumo looked back to his partner and could almost see the drool cascading from Kaguragi's open mouth. Aoi looked down at him, hoping that he wasn't going to have to defy a direct order that didn't allow him to get in line. Haruichi dismissed him wordlessly with a hand wave, not that it mattered as Aoi had already left and now it seemed he was trying to use his Defense Force title to skip ahead in line. Sighing at his partner's antics, Haruichi returned to his conversation.

"You mentioned a 'polite looking oaf', and from that description, I have a feeling I might know who you're talking about. Would you mind telling me where the festival savior headed off to?"

"Last I saw, him and his pink haired friend went to celebrate in one of the bars around here. There's several, mind you, but I don't think they've crossed over to the left side yet. Best guess? Stick to the right and see which one sound the loudest." Haruichi thanked the old women for the advice and walked down the street. He stopped by Aoi and told him the same thing before starting his investigation in earnest. The words of the old women came back to mind, however, once he pieced together who the off duty members could be.

'Kafka's with Iharu? Here? That's odd. I thought Iharu was leaving with Reno? And weren't they just heading to a movie? Shouldn't they have been back by now?' Haruichi thought. As he passed down the street, carefully listening to the volume of any of the bars he passed, all he could do was hope that neither of them were too plastered to answer some questions.

#########################################

Haruichi walked up and down the street to get a good idea as to which of the bars seemed to be the loudest and popped his head into a few of of them to see if he could find his fellow co-workers. Third bar he picked seemed to be a karaoke bar. It was fairly narrow, with the bar on the right and the left wall lined with as many booths as one could fit comfortably. There were a couple of standing tables placed offset to each other in the middle of the room it seemed, but it was hard to tell how many there were through the mass of people crammed in the room. From the top of the short set of stairs he was standing on, he could see to the other side of the bar at least and look at the loud drunken pair singing their lungs out on the shallow stage placed at the end of the sitting area.

And who would of guessed it would be the 'polite looking oaf and his pink haired friend'. Kafka was the one holding the mic and had his arm slung over Iharu's shoulder, almost looking like he was putting his full weight on it with how far the two of them were bending toward the ground. Iharu was holding a large beer mug that was a quarter full and was still threatening to spill out onto the floor. The two were heavily engrossed in their rendition of... God, Haruichi couldn't even tell. Thankfully he wasn't subjected to the aural torture much longer as the song finished. While Iharu thanked the very drunk, very enthusiastic crowd for being such good listeners, Haruichi waved his arms over his head and got Kafka's attention.

"Heyyyyy! I'll be DAmned! It's fucken' Haruichi! Holy SHIT!" Kafka exclaimed. He dragged Iharu clumsily off the stage and waved Izumo over to some bar stools that some patrons happily got off of once Kafka explained himself and that his friend from the Defense Force showed up. Haruichi managed to muscle his way through the crowd and make it to the seats next to the others just as Kafka wrapped him up in a massive drunken bear hug.

"God, man! Where you've been? We've been here keeping this party going since we took down that ugly mutherfucker. Hey, you didn't hear about us from Hoshina did you?" Kafka's breath smelled heavily of cheap whisky but wasn't slurring his words half as much as Haruichi thought he would.

"I'll answer your questions if you answer mine. What the hell are you doing here? And with Iharu? I thought him and Reno had a date or something?" Kafka made a silencing gesture with his hand as he got closer to Haruichi.

"I wouldn't try and say that too loud. Reno had to blow the date for a mission and I don't think Iharu's been taking it too well. He had prepaid the movie tickets and I mentioned that I like Ranger Rika films, so now we're here."

"Okay, and what about the kaiju that showed up around here? I heard from the locals that you killed it?" Iharu, who had picked a spot on the other side of the two, had leaned in to hear them better and had perked up at the mention of the kaiju fight.

"OOHHH MAN! HaRU! YOU should of SEEN US, MAN! I wasss running for ma LIFE from that THING! I got chasssed ALL the WAY to the- the.... big red thing and Kafka ;OH man, KAFKA! HE came on it from ABOVE and smacked it with a fucken' LIGHT POLE! A light pole, MAN!" Iharu accentuated his retelling with wild hand gestures and made it clear to Haruichi that either he had more than Kafka did or couldn't hold his liqueur very well.

"Don't mind him, he's on his fourth mug right now. Is the rest of the division here with you?" Kafka asked.

"No, It's just me and Aoi here at the festival. The rest of the group is back at the emergence site making sure there's no casualties and taking a damage toll. Aoi's outside at the festival buying out all the fried food he can get his hands on right now." Haruichi replied, politely refusing the bartender's inquiry of whether or not he would be having a drink.

"Oh, that's nice. here's hoping that he manages to grab some of the kaiju meat before it's gone." Kafka downed another shot of whiskey that the bartender had poured out for him.

"Okay, sure. Last question. Aren't you guys supposed to be back by now?" Haruichi tried to look very pointedly at the two of them when he asked.

'What do you mean by that?" Kafka pounded on his chest as he said, fighting the burning sensation firing its way back up his throat. Izumo looked around appearing very puzzled before he looked back at Kafka.

"I don't know what time you guys left, but you can't tell me the two of you have enough hours to be out here for much longer." Hibino choked on his own spit for a second before trying to respond to Haruichi pointed suggestion, however it seemed to be a second too long as Iharu had already heard him and took the chance to... vocally express his opinion on the matter.

"FUCK THEM HOURS!"

'Iharu, maybe not right now-" Kafka tried to interject.

"NAH! I'M TIRED ABOUT HEARING ABOUT HOW MANY HOURS I GOTTA HAVE OR HOW MANY I GOT LEFT!" Iharu had gotten off of his stool and now began directing his speech to the drunk crowd behind him.

"WHEN I SAY I WANT A DAY OFF, I SHOULD GET THE WHOLE DAY OFF! NOT GET BACK A 'SORRY, CAN'T LET YOU DO THAT' OR 'WE NEED YOU TO COME BACK IN' TWO HOURS INTO A BREAK I SCHEDULED OFF THREE FUCKIN' DAYS AGO!" Now the crowd was cheering for Iharu, getting riled up on his behalf and probably relating as well due to how he worded his rant.

"SAY IT WITH ME! FUCK THEM HOURS!" Iharu started the chant with his mug held high in the air.

"Fuck them hours!" the crowd chanted back.

"FUCK THEM HOURS!" Iharu tried again

"FUCK THEM HOURS!!!" All the people in the room joined in this time.

"You think we should do something?" Haruichi asked.

"I think they're already handling it." Kafka pointed to two tall, well built men dressed in black polos walking over to the center of the crowd where Iharu had made himself at home, driving the people around him into a frenzy. The two at the bar watched as their friend was lifted up, crowd surfing style and was carried to the front door of the bar. They rushed off of their seats and joined in at the back of the mock revolution that was following their leader, still chanting 'Fuck them hours."

The two of them watched as their coworker was unceremoniously tossed onto his ass on the street outside of the bar. Watching their appointed leader get treated with such carelessness seemed to shake the throng of people out of their rebellious state of mind and dispersed quietly. Kafka and Haruichi looked down at a stunned Iharu laying spread eagle, not really sure what he should do next. Kafka decided to lay down next to Iharu while Haruichi sat down on the lip of the sidewalk behind their heads.

"So, you just got your first experience getting kicked out from a bar. How do you feel?" Kafka asked, not looking at Iharu but instead looking up at the stars being framed in the corners of his vision by the lanterns lining the street.

"Ssstars look purtty tonight." Iharu replied, pointing up at the sky with the glass mug he was holding onto inside the bar.

Kafka chuckled, "Yeah, they sure do buddy."

"You think they're going to notice the mug you're still holding?" Haruichi asked, face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. It looked like Iharu finally realized what he was holding as he brought it closer to his face. Looking closer at the mug, he could see that the glass had a pattern molded around the base. An interlocking pattern made up of a six pointed star with tiny branches spouting off the ends of each point. Almost like a snowflake.

Iharu violently convulsed into tears at the thought and curled up into a ball, clutching the beer mug close to his chest.

"Geez, what did I say?" Haruichi asked.

"I have a feeling this is about something else." Kafka said, rolling onto his side to comfort his partner.

"I jussst wanted to take him on a date, isss dat so wrong?" Iharu sobbed, fighting to talk around the mucus building in his throat.

"Reno?" Haruichi asked

"Reno." Kafka replied, hugging Iharu close to his chest as best he can.

"I was going to show him how much we have in common and take him to pretty placesss and buy him nice things! I jussst wanted to tell him how much it meant to me to be his fwend and how much I loved hiiimmm..." Kafka just rubbed his back as his body became racked with shakes from his struggle to breathe. "I jussst wanted to tell him that I thinks he's so cooool and that I think he's pretty when he's asleep and I didn't want to sssound creepy when I did! Why couldn't he be here?" Iharu screamed into Kafka's wind breaker, now stained with tears and mucus.

"It'll be okay. You'll have other chances to tell him." Kafka tried to say reassuringly in the awkward position.

"Buts I wanted to tell him today! I don't think I can wait any longer before I say sssomething ssstupid and ruin everything! And I don't even know if he'll like me baaaack!" Iharu only to calm down slightly, but at least the shaking stopped. Kafka looked back at Haruichi expectantly, silently asking him to help out here. Izumo slid himself off the sidewalk and scooched over to the men making a scene in the middle of the street and placed a hand on the younger one of the three.

"There, there. I'm sure you two will be able to talk it out. I have no doubt that Reno harbors anything less than love for you in his heart."

"Okay, that'sss nice and all, but do we know it's love 'as a fwend' or love 'as a partner'? 'Cuz I really want it to be 'as a partner' but I don't want to tell him if he'sss going to find that uncomfortable." Iharu said as tried his best to wipe his face clean with the sleeve of his jacket. Haruichi pondered for a minute before suggesting a plan.

"Maybe... I could ask?", Iharu looked tearfully behind him as best as possible to look Haruichi in the eyes. "I wouldn't say anything incriminating, just... see if he's open to the possibility?"

This seemed to pacify Iharu a little bit as he brought himself to a sitting position.

"Yeah, but that doesssn't solve what I could do for a date, though. This wasss da best I could come up with and I was racking my brain for a week." Iharu slurred, wiping his face. Kafka up-righted himself as well and scratched his side as he positioned himself perpendicular to Iharu.

"Well, either way, you're going to have to wait and save up time again before you're allowed to head back out." Kafka thought for a moment as he paused in his scratching, "Its the middle of June now, right? Late July, early August is a pretty good time for a beach date. Romantic enough and lots of places do a sorta 'last week of summer hoorah' kinda deal."

"And we're pretty close to the beach. Wouldn't need to save up many hours if you're that desperate for time." Haruichi chimed in. Iharu took all of the information in and, for the first time tonight, seemed genuinely happy. The kind of happiness that can be seen all the way through someone's core.

"Did I miss something?" A familiar, but muffled baritone rang out from the left of the group. It was Aoi, back from a successful shopping spree in the festival. His arms were laden with bags upon bags of different types of food. It was almost comical how many bags there were seeing as one couldn't even find his large torso. Ranging from white plastic bags, to brown paper ones, to clear ones showcasing the goods inside. All seemingly stuffed to the brim.

"Is that... a hamster butt hanging out of your mouth?" Haruichi asked. Aoi quickly chewed and swallowed it so he could speak more clearly.

"Its hamster shaped kikufuku mochi. I almost feel guilty eating them because they're so cute. Unfortunately for them, they're just as good as they look. Don't worry, I bought enough for everyone. Three of these boxes are for me though." Aoi paused and stared at the bags really hard for a second. "Actually, it's two now, but my point still stands."

######################################

Haruichi made the suggestion that, maybe, they should be making their way back to base but Iharu became very irate at that suggestion. So to pacify him, the pair-turned-quartet walked around the festival a little longer, buying some more food to help Iharu feel more like his happier self. Well, everyone else walked. Kafka started giving Iharu a piggy back ride when it seemed like he was swaying on his feet and complained about foot pain. They had made it halfway down the other side of the street when Kafka looked over and saw something that jogged his memory. Aoi noticed the feeling of disconnect in the group and turned around, causing Haruichi to look as well.

It was another Torri gate, nestled between two brick buildings, looking like it was erected as a protective marker. Blocking against the bustle of the festival, locked behind its towering height was a well worn stone path trailing up and to the left, hiding its destination behind a thick grove of trees. What refreshed Kafka's memory, however, was that the trail was lined with a multitude of overly colorful paper lanterns in a variety of shapes and sizes. The stillness of the trees and the ethereal light pouring out from the lanterns contrasted against the feeling that came from being out on the street. It really felt like there was a chance one could get swept away by playful spirits if one made the decision to turn off from the sidewalk and explore this detour.

"Hey, Iharu? Kafka asked, shifting his friend's weight on his back and rousing him from the light slumber he was about to slip into.

"Yeah," Iharu said sleepily, "What's up?"

"Didn't you say there was a shrine that you wanted to take Reno to that had paper lanterns and was close to the festival?" Iharu looked over at what Kafka was looking at and lit up a little at the memory.

"Oh yeah! Thisss might be it actually." Kafka looked over at the other two members of the party.

"I think we're going to take a detour. He had plans to stop by the place earlier. The path ahead might be long, so you can go ahead on back, If you want."

"Oh, no. We're sticking with you to make sure you both actually make it back to base." Haruichi walked over to stand under the gate and made an 'after you' kind of gesture. Kafka shrugged his shoulders and walked ahead of Izumo and Kaguragi.

The path had no steps, but sloped upwards gently. Turning sharply left then right then back again, it took the group on a slow and peaceful journey up a hidden hill behind the buildings back on the main boulevard. Kafka was in the lead, setting a slow pace with a sleepy Iharu on his back while Aoi and Haruichi had a quiet discussion further back. Still keeping pace, but leaving enough room between the two of them as to not make things feel rushed.

The path lived up to its initial impression back at its entrance. The trees seemed to block any sound from the festival down at ground level. Not to make things eerily quiet, was a methodical thrumming of cicadas and crickets weaving through the quiet rush of leaves dancing in the light wind. The lanterns were attached to arms connected to rough-hew logs and cast their warm, glassy light over the leaves, bushes, and stones. The shards of colored light danced over Iharu's partially lidded eyes, preforming a hypnotic dance that succeeded in keeping him half awake, half asleep.

His thoughts walked themselves backwards through the events of the day. Starting with the foods and the drinking, quickly sweeping past the terrifying chase against the giant squid monster, slowly reliving the events after, though, and before the movie theater. All the way back to the start, with Reno. Was he sad that he didn't get to do any of this with Reno? Absolutely. But considering the alternative was spending three hours in the barracks, wrapped up in a bare minimum of three stolen blankets, and blowing all that time feeling shitty about the situation he was in; getting to experience all of this anyway, in spite of how he wanted things to go, and having fun with someone he always worked with and was now getting this chance to be closer to as friends... well... this night did a fine job of making him happy anyway. And that was okay.

"Hey... this was nice." Iharu mumbled as he nuzzled Kafka's shoulder. Kafka just gave a big, warm smile back and let Iharu enjoy the scenery as they continued to find the end of the path.

The group finally hit a set of stairs that led to the main part of the shrine. Cresting the top of them, they were greeted with a lovely sight. A moderately sized shrine and a couple outbuildings were surrounded in the thick grove of trees on this hill. The lightly cloudy night sky was visible only in the center of the grove, with a half moon peaking out from the edge of the canopy's opening. It initially seemed that the main source of light was coming from candles and more of the lanterns that lined the path up here. Looking around longer proved that a building off to the right had electric lighting and was the one providing the most light. The light bulbs inside seemed to have attracted all the bugs in the forest and made the projecting light flicker chaotically onto the ground.

Both the shrine and the buildings around it appeared to be old, but very well maintained. Shimenawa ropes of all sizes lined the roofs of the Shrine and select other buildings. The candles, some exposed; others in glass containers, were on the floor of the main shrine and illuminated the collection box at the end of the stone path.

The four of them walked down to the end to pay their respects and make donations. Since Aoi's hands were full and he didn't have much money left after his buying spree, Haruichi paid for them both. Kafka's wallet was in the back pack on Iharu's back. So, without jumping off, Iharu took off the bag and pulled out both of their wallets. Kafka had plenty left but Iharu only had a couple 1000 yen bills and a lot of spare change. He dug out some 5 yen coins and tossed them in with Kafka's donation, still riding on his back. Haruichi made his and the whole group held their hands together in silent prayer.

The group turned around after a moment and walked back toward the entrance they came through. This time staying closer to the right as another group of people walked into the holy grounds as well. Sticking closer to the right afforded the group a good look at the wares the only properly illuminated building was selling. It was mainly some snacks and wooden key chains. There was the omikuji box of course, right next to a display of handmade protective charms and talismans. There was a man on the inside working away, oblivious to the world as a women sang a gentle song on a small black radio. Iharu glanced over the selection of charms and saw one that immediately caught his eye.

"Hey! Heyheyheyheyhey." Iharu's hand shook as he pointed at the charms display.

"What? What is it?" Kafka asked, trying to look at where Iharu's hand was pointing at.

"Looklooklooklook. The blue one." Iharu said vaguely. Kafka walked closer and leaned in to scan the display stand better. He found the light blue one that Iharu was pointing at. It didn't stand out much more differently than the rest, with all of them having the same complicated looking decorative knot pattern and they all were made with different colors of fabric. What he finally put together was that the pattern on the fabric... had snowflakes on it.

Kafka sighed heavily. "I take it you want the blue one for Reno?"

"Yeah, yeahyeahyeah." Iharu nodded quickly.

"You do realize you're broke now, right? You don't have enough money on you to pay for one." Kafka stated. Iharu hung his head and started to whimper loudly and pathetically into Kafka's shoulder.

All Hibino did was sigh heavily again. "Hand me my wallet." Furuhashi gave a small, delighted squeal as he dug out Kafka's wallet again. He paid the man for the charm and turned to meet back up with the other two. Looking around, they found them at a different part of the grounds, standing by a makeshift stall. Getting closer, they could see that it was selling bottles of plum wine and offering free samples to interested buyers. Aoi was sampling his, while Haruichi was having a conversation with the old lady running the stall. Aoi nudged Haruichi to let him not be shocked by their arrival. As Haruichi let Kafka in on the discussion he was having, Iharu immediately spaced out of it and let his eyes wander over the stall. The eyes eventually landed on the label that was on the bottles.

"Oooohhh!" Iharu cooed, "There's snowflakes on it."

"Don't tell me you want to gift Reno that too?" Kafka said exasperatedly. Iharu started to whine again as Haruichi passed a small wad of money over to the shocked lady behind the table.

"That's okay. I shouldn't be needing a whole case of wine anyway." Haruichi walked over to the side and grabbed a large plastic crate of wine bottles.

"And yet... You're buying a whole case of it anyway?" Aoi said with a raised eyebrow. As they walked back to the entrance, Izumo pulled out a bottle and tried to slide it into the open portion of the bag on Iharu's back.

"It's called 'Supporting local businesses'. And it wouldn't hurt to have something to surprise him with on that beach da- Hey!" Haruichi refuted as Iharu pulled out another bottle from the crate as he backed away.

"And, yoink!" the mischievous mohawked man giggled as he held his ill-gotten prize over his supplier's hands.

"Haven't the two of you had enough alcohol tonight?" Aoi said, witnessing the altercation.

"Hey, we made plans to get plastered tonight and I'm still feeling way too sober for that goal." Kafka said as he helped Iharu keep the bottle out of Haruichi's reach.

"You are a horrible role model, you know that?" Izumo said, giving up on the task in favor of protecting the rest in the crate.

"Eh, open." Iharu said, rudely tapping the lip of the bottle to Kafka's mouth.

"Ya could say please, ya know." Kafka returned as he took the bottle from Iharu. He did a partial transformation on his mouth and stuck the largest fang into the cork at the top. Wiggling slightly, the stopper popped satisfyingly and as he spit the cork into his hand, Iharu took the opportunity to steal the wine back.

"HEY! Leave me a sip of that, will YA?"

###########################################

The group made it back to street level and started back on the path to headquarters. They began the trip with the intention of taking a bus back, assuming the truck that Haruichi and Aoi came in on already left without them. The two of them weren't surprised, they were the ones that offered to look for the missing kaiju signature and haven't reported back on it yet, as it was hard to do so since the earpieces only have so much range. And seeing as how long the two of them had been gone and how late it was, they thought that it would be less of a hassle if they hiked it back to base and went inside quietly, just to give their reports in the morning.

The closest bus station was still a ways away, so the group started to walk in the general direction. The walk was quickly derailed as they passed the restaurant that sold Kafka and Iharu their new hats. With some major protesting from Aoi, who was against the idea, Haruichi purchased a dark navy blue one for Aoi and a vibrant red one with silver stars for himself anyway, seeing as Aoi still had his hands full with bags and physically could not intervene. The grumbled protests from Aoi were eventually silenced when he got to keep a large chocolate peanut butter milkshake all to himself.

Thankfully, the bus ride home was uneventful, save for Iharu drunkenly talking Haruichi's ears off when he asked what the Ranger Rika film was all about. However, problems began to arise again as they reached the main gate of the base.

"Ssso, how are we gonna get inside?" Iharu slurred from the top of Kafka's back. He started to carry him again after they got off the bus and saw that he was still swaying on his feet. They were all the way through the empty parking lot and reached the imposing security wall that surrounded the institution. Just under half a kilometer, was the double gated entry point. One of three that were imbedded in the thick concrete barrier.

"What do you mean?" Izumo asked as he turned around to look at the two behind him.

"We probably should've been back, like, hours ago. So if we show our i.d's to the guard, we're probably going to get flagged and that's not something that we want to deal with right now." Kafka said slowly, the gratuitous amounts of alcohol finally catching up with him.

"Did you guys have any sort of plan to get back inside quietly after this little exhibition of yours?" Aoi asked as Haruichi just looked annoyed. Kafka looked back at Iharu as Iharu could only shrug back an answer. He looked back and thought hard for a minute.

"Well... I think Shiggys' working the east gate tonight." Kafka said.

"And... Who's Shiggy?" Haruchi inquired.

"Oh, he's super chill. Dude works the late shift and isn't really a 'by the books' kinda guy. If either one of you has an i.d. on ya, he'll probably just let the whole group on in, no question." Aoi and Haruichi looked at each other, silently debating if they should go through with this. Aoi tried to give a very pointed look to Haruichi, indicating that he should be the one to whip out the i.d., but Haruichi had to defend himself.

"Sorry, but I only carry some cash out on missions. I leave the wallet and cards in my locker."

"Why do you even bring cash with you in the first place?" Iharu mumbled out.

"Last second grocery buys. Snacks, body wash, other things I forget sometimes." Haruichi turned back to Aoi. "So what about you? You can't tell me an ex-military officer doesn't carry at least six forms of identification for emergencies." he mocked. Aoi looked at Izumo, down to the ground in deep thought, gave a hard glance at the plethora of bags he was still holding, and finally hung his head in defeat. Kaguragi sighed heavily as he turned his back to his partner.

"Haruichi... I give you permission to touch my ass." Haruichi gasped in delight as he carelessly dropped the plastic box of wine and wiggled his fingers in excitement.

"Ooohhoohoo! This is a rare treat! What's the occasion, might I ask?"

"If I'm right, my wallet should be in my left back pocket. JUST the left one." Aoi said, looking back with a very pointed expression.

"Yeah you say that, but maybe I should check the right side too. Just to be sure." Haruichi giggled darkly, clearly taking too much joy out of this.

"Do that and I break your ha-nds!" Aoi's voice cracked when Haruichi slyly pinched both of his ass cheeks.

"Ah, would you look at that! Found it." He said as he pulled out the wallet.

"Kafka... shoot me if I ever start acting like that around Reno." Iharu said.

"I don't know. It's kind of endearing... in a weird way." Kafka quirked an eyebrow at the odd scene.

"Ah, trouble. I'm not seeing your base i.d., babe." Haruichi said after a few seconds of rummaging around in the wallet.

"You're sure? Fuck." Aoi cursed quietly. "Do I even trust you enough to look in my front pockets?"

"Nope. I'm going to look anyway." Haruichi giggled again as Aoi visibly winced at the feeling of the other's hands slowly sliding into his thin front pockets from behind. Izumo's hands didn't stick around long, which Kaguragi was thankful for, but it only brought them back to the original problem.

"I'm not feeling your i.d. in here either." Haruichi said as he gently patted Aoi's hips.

"Shiiiiiiiit. That means I never took it off the lanyard in my locker." Aoi threw his head back in disappointment. While this exchange was going on, Kafka and Iharu were looking off in the distance, specifically at the impossibly tall wall. Kafka scanned the parking lot to make sure that there wasn't that many cars to worry about and asked Iharu a question.

"You think If I run fast enough, I can scale that?" He said, nodding to the concrete barrier.

"What, in kaiju form?" Iharu contemplated for a moment, "Yeah. I think you could."

"I know I could, but what about if I carry three other people?" Kafka nodded back to the other two who were deep in what seemed to be a battle plan discussion. "Plus baggage."

Iharu took a long look at the pair next to them while he processed what Kafka was suggesting. He began to chuckle darkly as it all fell into place for him.

"I don't know man, but it be hilarious to try." The two of them began to chuckle in agreement before Kafka decided to put his plan into action.

"Haruichi! Grab the box. I wanna try something." Kafka said as he walked into position.

"Oh, that's great! Honestly, me and Aoi here were getting nowhere with a pla-HEY!" Haruichi cried out as Kafka grabbed him by the waist forcefully after he picked up the crate. Aoi was also none too pleased with where this plan was going, shall we say.

"Passengers, this is your captain speaking. Flight Kafka 690 will be taking off shortly, so please make sure that all baggage is secure and accounted for before it's wheels up and time for take-off." Iharu said smugly as Kafka walked back a few feet, holding a struggling Haruichi and Aoi.

"This is BY FAR the stupidest plan I have ever been forced to be a part oooOOFFFF!" Haruichi screamed as Kafka began to run full sprint toward the insanely high wall. As he got closer, his legs turned into his kaiju ones and the flaps on his calves flared open to reveal the after burners the transformation offered. Jumping onto the wall itself, Kafka's afterburners set fire to the bottom of his pant legs as he rocketed himself and everyone he was carrying into the sky. He could feel his back and elbows transform too to help him keep his back straight as the burners on his elbows helped stabilize him as he somehow managed to stay rooted to his path.

"Kafka you BASTARD!" Aoi screamed.

"If I drop this, I'll KILL YOU!" Haruichi mirrored, changing his grip on the crate of wine, somehow having not dropped any bottles yet.

"FUCK YEAAAAAHHHH!" Iharu cries of joy overshadowed the screams of the others.

"ALLLLMOOOOST THERRRREEE!" Kafka shouted, deep in concentration. The top of the wall got closer and closer, the end of this terrifying ride nearly in sight. The screams of the whole group rose to a deafening peak as Kafka just barely passed the edge of the wall. Relief was felt only for a brief moment when a noticeable shock wave passed through Kafka's body and transferred into the bodies of the others.

"Oh shit." a collective conclusion that was voiced by the whole group.

#########################################

It was just passed one in the morning when Reno and the team he was with made it back to base. He was so very tired. No one ended up being injured, thank God, but the anxiety of the situation took a severe toll on everyone involved. The mole kaiju were easy to take out, but the process to do so ended up becoming the world's most stressful game of literal Wack-a-mole.

Reno thought things would get better when everything was over, feeling hopeful on the chopper ride back, but when Reno pulled up his Chatter app and saw he's feed was just a timeline of Iharu and Kafka having the time of their lives at the food festival, it really put a damper on the ride back.

'I guess he really wanted to leave base today' Reno thought somberly. Iharu was his own person. If he wanted to leave, that's on him. If he wanted to take someone with him, that's on him too.

'It's just... I really wanted to go with him. And thought... he wanted me too..." Reno packed away his gun and excess supplies into his locker, feeling sluggish as he did. Suddenly, a loud metallic slamming noise decided to ring out through the locker room that he was in and dislodged him from his thoughts. Suit half unzipped, Reno tied the sleeves around his waist as he looked down the aisles to see where the door slamming was coming from.

Looking down the row behind him, he saw what seemed to be a very pissed off Kikoru Shinomiya, telling by the feral growling and tearing at her spare bio suit.

"Ummm... Is everything okay? Shinomiya?" Reno asked tentatively.

"I"M GOING TO MURDER THAT PRAWN HEADED RAT BASTARD!" Kikoru growled out as she finally managed to get her lower half into the power suit. Reno only became increasingly concerned now knowing this unbridled rage had something to do with Iharu. He couldn't ask anymore questions, however, since Vice Captain Soshiro Hoshina decided now would be the time to make his presence known.

"Reno. Good to see that you and the rest are back safely."

"Ah! V-vice Captain." Reno stuttered out, startled. "I was just getting my stuff packed before I joined the others for the after mission briefing."

"Good to know, but I think the rest of the team can make the report without you for now." Hoshina said curtly.

"S-sir?" Reno questioned vaguely.

"Don't worry, it's nothing life shattering. I just want to ask you about what the original plans you had with Iharu Furuhashi were about." Hoshina said, his voice giving off the sense that there was some concealed irritation.

"Um, plans? You mean the trip to the movies?" Reno asked.

"Yes, and where you were... haa, hold that thought. Go for Hoshina" he said as his hand made it up to his earpiece.

"Hoshina, this is Okonogi. We've got a massive disturbance at the front gate."

"Define 'disturbance'." Hoshina requested. If one looked closely, you could almost see his temple throbbing in a matched rhythm with his heart.

"I'm pulling security footage now. It's... Kafka Hibino, Sir? It appears that he is trying to... run up? The outer wall and is carrying three other Division members."

"I'm sorry? Other Division members?" Hoshina clarified.

"Yes Sir, that is correct. Just a moment... It looks to be Iharu Furuhashi, Aoi Kaguragi, and Haruichi Izumo. The absent members from this afternoon."

"What the hell is going on?" Reno asked, adjusting his own earpiece to the main channel, wanting to be included in the conversation.

"Sir, update! Kafka had made it up the wall, but has tripped and all four of them are in free fall on the other side" Okonogi reported. Hoshina's sigh turned into an exasperated growl toward the end.

"Come along Reno. We're apparently going to have to save our respective dumbasses." Hoshina turned to leave the room with a puzzled Reno trailing behind.

"Respective dumbasses?" Kikoru muttered. Immediately, a light came on upstairs. "Not until I get a hold of that ASSHOLE FIRST!" Kikoru turned and blasted past the vice captain and ran in the opposite direction of the front gate.

"Who put a bug in her suit?" Hoshina asked as they both leaned on the doorframe and watched her go.

"WRONG DIRECTION, KIKORU!" Reno added helpfully.

######################################

"SSSHHHHIIIIIIIIT" Everyone screamed as they realized what was happening. Kafka relaxed his arms as Haruichi and Aoi planted their feet on his hips and pushed themselves away as far as they could. Iharu, though, hung on for dear life. Haruichi and Aoi still had the their bio suits on, so the landing from such a height didn't give them much trouble. Izumo landed on the balls of his feet and managed to roll with the momentum onto his thighs, through his knees and back onto his butt. All while managing to keep all the wine bottles in the crate. Well, most of them. Two had slipped out during descent and were still up in the air. He rushed forward, leaped into the air, and grabbed them before they touched the ground. Aoi just tanked the landing and kept on his feet.

"You good?" Haruichi asked.

"Just fine." Aoi said through gritted teeth.

Kafka and Iharu were not so lucky.

Kafka also tried to roll into the fall, but messed up and landed on his foot weirdly. Iharu still hadn't let go at this point, so when Kafka fell to the ground, Iharu's knee made contact next.

"Fuck! That was a knee!" Iharu exclaimed. Once momentum seemed to stop, the two of them untangled and rolled away from each other.

"Well, that didn't look pleasant." A sly voice from away came into clarity.

"Vice Captain!" said Haruichi.

"Vice Captain, Sir." said Aoi when he felt recovered enough to speak.

"Well, shit." came from Kafka, knowing he'd been caught.

"YOU THIEVING PIECE OF CRAP!" Kikoru had made a beeline to the crumpled Iharu and began to physically berate him with her foot. "WHERE THE HELL IS MY BRADA BACK PACK?"

"Here, here! It's right here! WAIT, MY SHIT'S STILL INSIDE!" Iharu said as he handed over the stolen bag, only to realize too late that he left his gifts inside.

"I can see that! What is this? Wine? Plum wine? and a beer glass?" Kikoru took a whiff inside the mug, "A used BEER GLASS? What the hell is this doing in here?" Kikoru pulled out a ring of keys next.

"And who the hell's keys are these?' She asked. Hoshina immediately took them from her hand and looked at them in his.

"Kafka... why the hell does Iharu have my keys in a stolen back pack?" Hoshina said, gritting the words through his teeth. Kafka and Iharu looked at each other for a moment before shouting in unison

"OH SHIT! WE FORGOT THE BIKE!"

"YOU WHAT?" Soshiro screamed, hauling Hibino up by his collar.

"And is this... are there FRY CRUMBS IN MY BRADA? IS THAT A CHILE SAUCE STAIN? IN MY BRADA?" Kikoru began to weaponize the empty bag and used it to beat the already downed Iharu.

"Oh, damn. I didn't know that was Brada." Haruichi said, trying to pass by the commotion.

"Thanks Captain Obvious, I think we figured that out." Kafka retorted as he was dragged off the ground by Hoshina.

"NONE of you go too far. You all have some explaining to do." Hoshina said, gripping tightly to Kafka' forearm.

"Kikoru, I think he's had enough!" Reno said as he finally stepped into view and intervened in the one sided fight between the two of them. As he helped Iharu off the ground he asked, "Hey, are you alright?"

It didn't take Iharu very long to realize who was helping him up and immediately threw his arms around Reno's neck.

"AEDZGJNSTR, RENO! You're back! I'm so happy now!" he said as he gurgled drunkenly around his words. "I'm so happy that you're back! I was missing you all day. I'm sorry that left without youuu. I prepaid the tickets and Kafka said I should use them, so I did, but I was wishing that you were there 'cuz it was a great movie and I went to the festival without you too and it was making me sad, but I had food and I thought I would be okay and then I saw this mug and it reminded me of you-" Iharu broke away to grab the somehow intact mug from Kikoru's hands.

"It was this mug, 'cuz see! It has snowflakes on it and it made me think of you and how much I missed you and how I wanted to take you with me on the date but I couldn't and I thought about how I thought I blew my chance to tell you that I love you-" he took a big deep breath, "But Kafka and Haruichi said that I could take you to the beach and I felt happy again so the mug made me happy again because it still reminds me of you so I want you to have it." Iharu had finally stopped talking for a moment and looked deep into Reno's widened eyes with his watery, eager ones. Reno could feel his face start to burn once he slowed down all the words that Iharu had said and realized what it meant. Before Reno could even begin to tell him anything, Iharu looked like he remembered something else and turned back to a stunned Kikoru, who had been listening to the entire conversation. He grabbed the protective charm and the bottle of wine and clumsily shoved them into Reno's hands.

"Oh! Also, Me and Kafka and Haruichi and Aoi all went to this shrine that I wanted to show you because I thought it was pretty and you remind me of pretty things and when I was there I saw this charm and it has snowflakes on it, so of course I had to buy it- well, Kafka bought it, but I still want you to have it 'cuz its pretty and do you think they'll let me put this on your gun? 'cuz I think that would be cool-ohohoh! OR I could put it on the suit! That would be really cool if they let me do that. Oh and speaking of cool- looklooklook-" Iharu picked up the bottle of plum wine and showed him the label.

"This has snowflakes on it too! It's going to be a surprise when I take you on our beach date in a few weeks!" Iharu had wrapped his hands back around Reno's neck and begun to swing themselves around, causing Reno to put his already full hands on Iharu's waist to keep themselves upright.

"I'm going to save up my hours again and when we go to the beach, we're gonna go on a picnic and I'm gonna break out the bottle and I'm gonna tell you how much I looove youuu and how much I like being around youuu and how much I like being yourrr rivaaal..." Iharu had finally stopped spinning them around and leaned all the way onto Reno, wrapping his hands tightly around his crush's shoulders.

"Doesn't that sound really nice?" He whispered, gently nosing the shell of Reno's ear.

Reno felt like he was shaking. Whether from shock or excitement, he wasn't sure. He took the bottle that was still in Iharu's hand and tightened his around the sleepy drunk's waist. He felt his face flush even harder, blood flooding his brain and making his ears and shoulders feel like a million degrees in the cool night air. Burying his face into Iharu's shoulder, Reno confessed his only thought on his mind.

"That... sounds amazing, Iharu." But Iharu wasn't listening. Having fallen asleep, nuzzled into Reno's neck and breathing softly, almost snoring.

"Well, wasn't that a touching display." Hoshina said sarcastically, not one to let the quiet stand infinitely. "He's still getting a hefty reprimand, as well as you." He said, directing the last bit of statement to Kafka, which he was now holding by the ear.

"What the fuck possessed you to write in three hundred AND THIRTY SIX HOURS? DID YOU THINK YOU COULD HONESTLY GET AWAY WITH THAT? AND YOU LEFT MY BIKE BEHIND?" Hoshina said as he began to drag Kafka away, causing the rest of the group to cringe in response to the abuse.

"Forget a week of janitorial duty! It's a month- no, three months! And you can forget the office sex too!" Aoi and Haruichi were nodding along solemnly to what Hoshina was saying, mentally grieving for Kafka and any spare time he would've had, only to snap back to reality at the last bit of punishment.

"Oh, come on! It was a joke- wait, lets thINK ABOUT THIS!" Kafka cried, 'Three months for a joke is a bit much, don't ya think! I'll get the bike back, I swear!"

"YOU CAN'T EVEN DRIVE IT! If you keep arguing, I'll cut out the blowjobs too!" Hoshina said sternly, still dragging Kafka away. His cries of disappointment were heard all the way to the guard house.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Bonus/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"You sure you don't want help with that?" Kikoru asked, carrying her (apparently) expensive black back pack and a couple plastic bags of food that Aoi got her at the food festival.

"No thank you, I'm good." Reno said as he struggled to carry an asleep Iharu, the items he got for him, and the bags of food that Aoi also got for him.

"Are you at least aware that you have to make a left turn in about twenty feet?" Kikoru retorted, smiling smugly at all the trouble that Reno was going through to not disturb Iharu's sleep.

"Yes, Kikoru, I know where I'm going. A fair bit better than you, since you still can't remember where the front door is." Kikoru snobbishly stuck her nose in the air at the insult.

"The front door was always down and to the right of the of the mission personnel lockers. It still seems stupid that they would change the layout in such a drastic manner."

"Whatever Kikoru. Have a good night." Reno turned to go into the male barracks as Kikoru parted to go to her side of the building.

He walked into the area holding the bunks and put Iharu down on Reno's bed since Furuhashi slept on the top bunk. Reno knew better than to try and get him up there by himself. He set him down as gently as he could, making sure not to catch any of the gifts under Iharu. Reno set his stuff down and leaned over to put the deeply asleep soldier's feet on the bed, and since he was down there, took off Iharu's shoes too. Carefully wrenching the sheets out from under the body, Reno tucked him in as gently as possible. Getting shocked for a moment when Iharu shifted and grabbed the blanket from Reno's hands, but when all Iharu did was tuck the sheet under his chin, Reno let out the breath he didn't know he held.

Not wanting to leave him alone so soon, however, Reno took a pillow from another bunk and placed it on the floor about where Iharu's head was. Getting to the floor as carefully as possible, he sat down on the pillow and opened the bags of food, courtesy of Aoi. He rummaged around quietly and started to pull out some of the goods based on what seemed more delicious at the moment, eventually pulling out a large, marked takeout box that just said 'kaiju squid' on the top.

Before he opened it, he felt a hand lightly smack him on the back of the head. Reno turned around, thinking that he somehow ended up waking Iharu, only to see that he was just shifting in his sleep. A hand was now exposed from its place from under the covers and was hanging limply from the bed's edge. Thinking for a moment, Reno gathered some courage and bravely placed Iharu's hand on the top of his head. In doing so, he could feel Iharu's fingers lightly twitching in his hair, almost like it was trying to brush through it in his sleep. Reno just smiled and went back to his midnight meal.

(holy fucking shit, I did it! I got this made! World, prepare to meet my first public fanfic.)

[entriprises]

"live fast and get fucked."

‧₊˚open starter for mutuals

[ourceliumnetwork]

listen. I know my family is bad at communication and acknowledgement of receipt of Thing but when the one thing that consistently happens semi-annually is that I get fussed at for not confirming I received something, it irks me a smidge.

Like if I'm expected to always confirm "Hey I got your [communication/gift]" then why aren't they doing it back? Especially considering the communication in this instance has really actually very important information they will want to know if they want to stay in contact with me.

Like????

Even if I'd just gotten a "K" in response, like. at least it would have let me know they got the damn thing. I sent this email TWO WEEKS AGO and only one person responded - and it was practically immediate too. Like... i know folks are busy, i know shit's going on. I get it. But it would help me feel so much less like I'm suddenly a pariah in the family out of nowhere if like one of the people I'd sent this to had just responded in some way shape or form.

I'd have answered a phone call - i wouldn't have liked it, but i'd have done it. A letter in the mail to my current address even. a message in a bottle probably wouldn't get to me because i'm pretty far from the beaches of the great lakes, and also they're even farther, but like. something right?

my sister at least confirmed she got it and just forgot to respond. i imagine that's what happened with everyone else because we have the same mental illnesses and look. i do it too. but also? also?? i was hounded to respond quickly to things, i was told off every time i wasn't responding within a half hour of any communication. I was asked instantly the next time they saw me if I'd gotten it, even if i hadn't had a chance to see the thing yet.

So forgive me, family, if I'm a little peeved off that all y'all are allowed to "forget to respond" for two whole fucking weeks and then a few extra days (because it's been 2 weeks, 3 days exactly) when i can't let something sit in the mailbox for 2 days because i couldn't get to my mailbox easily while living on my own without getting a phone call or text or email that there should be something waiting in there for me.

*enraged screeching*

[deosilplanarglitches]

Reason #345734 why I don't tell my mom shit.

Her pain and suffering is the only kind she cares about, and she'll play stupid games with me like ghost me for 3+ weeks after a minor surgery, just to make sure I'm worried enough about her life to check, so she "has permission" to start in with the talking my ear off about her problems without boundaries or preamble. She won't know shit about my issues til after they're over (if she hears about them at all) bc she never asks a damn thing about my life, and literally only ever leaves room for herself and her feelings in any equation literally ever and then peaces tf out like. Bitch I'm permanently disabled and in a degenerative spiral that's gonna last my whole fkn life, and you're still bitching about yourself? Wanting me to cater to your emotions when you haven't even spared a CRUMB of consideration in return?

FUck all the way off.

Should have known that if she had died or sth bad happened, I'd have heard something right away. After 30+ yrs of her pulling the "yeah my kid tried to kill themself for the 7th time, but have you asked ME how hard it is to raise them doing the nothing I have been, bc I still don't know them as a person at all or even try to? Where's the compassion?!" shit... you'd think I would know better, but my compassion gets me fucked over YET AGAIN.

If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty.

Back to no contact.

Let the bitch suffocate if she can't self soothe.

[evilmenenjoyer]

Punishment

Pairing: professor Hwang In-ho x student fem!Reader

Summary: You find a creative, albeit unconventional way to get out of the trouble you're in at university.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: sexual content (minors dni), age gap (legal, reader is implied to be in her early to mid 20s), spanking, corporal punishment, masochism, power dynamics, crying, unresolved sexual tension.

–––

You can tell something’s off the second you walk through the door, when your cheerful “Hello, Mr. Hwang!” is met with a short, courteous “good evening” from the professor.

It’s not rude. It’s not even particularly harsh. It just lacks the usual warmth you’ve come to expect from him, the tiny smile on his lips that always greets you.

Being called to see the strict Mr. Hwang In-ho after class usually meant bad news, leaving most students nervous about what they could’ve done wrong. But not you. You’ve lost count of how many times you stayed in this classroom for hours after class was over, discussing a book he had assigned for class or literature in general. Some days you’d help him grade tests and homework, when you noticed he had too much work on his back. And some days, the ones you cherished the most, you’d talk about things unrelated to class or literature – politics, your interests, your personal life. His personal life.

Saying you were smitten with him was the understatement of the century. You tried not to pay much attention to the crush you developed on him, hoping it would go away if you just ignored it for long enough, but it only seems to be getting stronger.

“You wanted to see me?” you ask, closing the door. It’s generally frowned upon for a student to be alone with a professor with the door closed, but Mr. Hwang never objects. The fact that he’s willing to bend the rules for you pleases you a little too much.

“Yes.” His tone is the same as before, not softening now that it’s just the two of you. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you wonder what is it that’s got him in such a bad mood, if something happened in his life. “I have something to show you.”

He pulls out a piece of paper, setting it on his desk facing you. You approach, your footsteps slightly more hesitant than usual around him.

“Do you recognize this passage?” he asks, pointing to the highlighted paragraph.

You lean in to read it, an analysis of the similarities between classic English and South Korean literature. You recognize it immediately.

“I wrote it. That’s from my latest assignment.”

“Yes.” He’s still not looking at you, rummaging through a pile of papers. Did he not like the assignment? The thought alone upsets you. You worked so hard on it; not only for the sake of keeping your straight-As, but also to impress him. Maybe even more so to impress him. “How about this one?”

He sets another sheet of paper in front of you, one of the paragraphs highlighted in his same blue marker.

As you read it, your stomach immediately drops. It’s your paragraph, almost word-by-word, with a few differences that are too minor to even count.

“This is from Emily Jones’s paper. I believe the two of you are friends.”

You want to find Emily and strangle her. You told her to change stuff and not just copy from you. Did she really think someone like Mr. Hwang wouldn’t notice? That he’d just let it slide?

“I was the one who wrote the original,” you say. “I didn’t–”

“Oh, I know that. I’m very familiar with your writing style, and Ms. Jones isn’t nearly as gifted as you. I knew something was wrong the second I read it.”

You could play the victim, say Emily copied from you without your knowledge, but you know instantly it wouldn’t work, not with Mr. Hwang’s dark eyes right on you. Even when you’re not in emotional distress, the man can read you better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry.” You lower your gaze in shame. “Emily needed help, and I– she’s in the same exchange student program as I am, I know how much she needed the grade.”

“You could’ve helped her study, not let her copy off you.”

“There wasn’t a lot of time. She came to me last-minute.”

He sighs. “Well, I will have to fail both of you.”

“What?” It should be expected, but the words still sting. He knows how hard you work for your good grades. “But my essay was good.”

“It was great. Worthy of an A, if only you hadn’t helped another student with plagiarism. In fact, both of you should be reported for it.”

“Mr. Hwang, please.” Your eyes are practically begging him for mercy, the pitch of your voice getting ever so slightly higher as your desperation grows. “I can lose my scholarship and my spot at the exchange student program. Do you want me gone?”

You can see something flash across his eyes – regret, maybe, or perhaps that warmth you’ve been missing since you walked in here –, just for a split second before they’re back to normal, even more hardened than before.

“Cheating was your choice, not mine. You should’ve thought of the consequences.”

“What if– what if I wrote a new paper?” you bargain. “For half the grade. I can get it done in just a couple of days!”

“The paper is not the point. The point is how my most promising student would waste her talent to help a classmate cheat, and betray the trust I put in her.”

The praise doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but it fades away so quickly, like trying to hold on to smoke.

“It was a mistake. One that won’t happen again.”

“I’m very sorry, Ms. ____.”

You watch helplessly as he gathers the papers and organizes them back into a folder, the muscles of his arms tensed. He looks angry, but also upset. Disappointed. That sends you into an even bigger panic than a bad grade, or the potential of losing your spot at this university. It grows inside your chest, overwhelming, prompting you to say possibly the worst thing you could’ve come up with in this situation.

“What if I just take a whooping?”

He pauses. For a moment you’re both silent, still as statues as you process your own words, what you just asked for. Heat rises to your face so fast it makes you dizzy.

“What?”

You want to run away from this classroom. You want to go to the airport and take the next plane back to your country, classes and scholarship be damned.

However, now the words are already out, hanging heavy between the two of you. You can’t just back down, show him you spoke without thinking. You force yourself to nod, praying to the gods of every religion you know that your cheeks aren’t red enough that he can notice it.

“Yeah. It’s a good punishment,” you say. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not allowed. And because we are not in the 1930s.”

“You know in a lot of places corporal punishment in schools is still legal.”

“And Seoul isn’t one of them.”

“Please, Mr. Hwang.” You lower your eyes, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to rush to the surface. “I know what I did was wrong. But I’d never– willingly betray your trust. I just want to get my punishment, and for things to be back to normal.”

Above all, you want him to stop looking at you like he is right now. Like you’re just any other student, like he doesn’t admire you for your passion and intelligence. Like you haven’t been spending almost every evening after class with him instead of hanging out with your classmates, trying to make friends your own age. Like you don’t mean anything to him.

Mr. Hwang regards you for several long moments. You try to hold his intense gaze, to figure out what he’s thinking, but both tasks are impossible.

“Would you really put yourself through that for a grade?” he asks.

You shake your head slightly, but that stubborn determination doesn’t leave your eyes. “It’s not just a grade.”

His respect for you. The friendship you two have tentatively built over the past few months. That’s what you truly fear losing.

The seconds tick, stretching for so long it feels like torture. It’s so silent in the room you wonder if Mr. Hwang can hear how fast your heart is beating in your chest.

“Okay,” he says finally, sharply. “Fine.”

“Really?” You’re unable to keep the surprise from your voice, from your face, even though you try.

“If you think you can take it.” Something about his voice as he says it, the low baritone of it, sends a new rush of warmth to your body; this time descending directly between your legs. 

“Of course I can.”

No, you probably can’t, and you’re well aware of that. But his words sound like a challenge, and a feeling claws at your chest – perhaps your pride and stubbornness, or simply embarrassment, or something else entirely that you’re not sure how to name – stops you from taking the words back.

“Alright then.” He gives a short nod, and you’re unsure if it was meant for you or for himself. “Bend over the desk.”

Why is it that a simple order for him makes your insides twitch like you’re about to pass out? Your legs shake as you take a step closer to his desk, looking down at the papers and folders neatly on top of it. Drawing in a breath, you bend your upper body down until your elbows touch the dark wood.

It’s only then that you notice your compromising position. Emily had joked with you about how the length of your skirts had gotten shorter with every visit to Mr. Hwang, and today’s pick was a plaid skirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination as it was. With you bending down like this, you can feel the fabric follow the movement, exposing even more of you to the professor.

The noise of his belt being removed only makes it worse. You shut your eyes, trying not to picture him letting his pants drop to the floor, trying not to think about how much you wish this is what was happening.

“Are you ready?” he asks, giving you one last chance to back down. You should take it.

You shut your eyes and nod your head. "Yes."

There’s a whistle in the air, and you let out a gasp as the first blow lands across your ass. Fuck. You’d seen it coming, and the fabric of the skirt absorbed much of the impact, but it still spreads the first hints of pain over your skin. Another blow directly under the first one, exactly where it should be. You clench your jaw, your mind flying back to childhood memories, to the last spanking you received at eleven years old – well over a decade ago, and yet you feel much more helpless now, a third blow of the belt making you jump in your spot.

The next one breaks the pattern, hitting on a diagonal angle right on top of the other three. It’s harder than the others too, sharper, slicing even deeper into your already stinging skin. You cry out, unable to hold it back, unable to catch your breath in time not to cry out again when the belt comes down on your ass one more time.

He sets a rhythm of harsh, punishing blows. They’re precise and calculated, deliberate, like he really means each and every one of them. Of course he does – when Professor Hwang sets his mind to something, he doesn’t quit until the job is done, down to the littlest details. And right now, he seems intent on making sure no spot of your ass is left untouched by the belt. He gradually picks up speed, until you’re unsure when one strike ends and the next begins.

It fucking hurts. It hurts so bad you don’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed when the fabric of your skirt slides up and out of the way, leaving your bottom and your underwear exposed to him.

The pain is even worse when the leather belt makes contact with your bare skin; sharp and blazing hot, like he’s setting fire to you. You’ve bitten the inside of your lip hard enough to draw blood, but that doesn’t stop the sounds being ripped out of you, whimpers and cries and something that sounds way too close to Mr. Hwang’s name.

He pauses, his breaths heavy behind you. You collapse against the desk, elbows no longer strong enough to keep you propped upwards. With your ear pressed against the surface, you can hear your own heard that thumps wildly inside your chest, all your senses concentrated into a single point in your body.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks.

His tone isn’t judgmental, but your mind still echoes his words from just a few minutes ago: if you think you can take it. You’re not giving up now.

“I’m fine,” you snap, way too breathless for the statement to have any real impact, although your stubborn defiance is certainly there. “Just fucking finish it.”

His hand, warm and broad, finds its way in between your shoulder blades. He leans in, puts his weight into it, keeping you firmly pressed down over the desk. For some reason, your instinct isn’t to squirm away but to push into the heat, but you can’t move much one way or another under his grip.

“Then stay still.” His voice is so much closer to you, making you wish you had the strength to lift your head up and chase for his eyes.

Half a breath after the words are out, he strikes you again; this time with his other hand.

You sob and buck against the desk, the legs of it scraping against the floor. You can’t tell if his palm is better or worse than the belt. The pain isn’t as biting, but it’s broader and warmer, sending more fire into your already burning flesh. And it’s then that you realize you’re pushing into it, arching your back as best as you can, tilting your ass up to meet the assault. Basically offering it on a silver platter, presenting it to him and his ferocious, punishing hand.

And you’re wet.

You can feel it soak your panties, so much that you’re sure Mr. Hwang will be able to see a wet spot on them if he looks for it. Humiliated tears rise to your eyes, leaving you in a tumbling sob, desperately seeking relief but not wanting this to ever stop.

“M-Mr. Hwang.” The next strike hits you way too close to your core, the tiniest bit of friction that feels like heaven. You hiccup another cry, tears falling down and pooling over the smooth surface of the desk. “Please, I–”

You don’t even know what you’re pleading for anymore, but the word continues to leave your lips, over and over. His fingers come down hard over the sensitive spot where your ass meets your thighs, and you wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you – if he knows you’re on the brink of an orgasm just from this, that if he touches over you even for one second it might be enough to push you over the edge. He keeps going, alternates between one cheek and the other, his open palm covering as much skin as it can.

His hand travels down lower once again, warming your thighs to the same blistering heat as your ass. “God,” you breathe. You hadn’t noticed how hard your fingers are gripping the edges of the desk, your knuckles white, as if holding on could somehow save you.

He pauses again, and you can’t tell if you’re relieved or disappointed. You feel yourself throb inside your panties, wet and hot and neglected.

“Count them,” he orders.

You wince as his hand hits a sore spot, on top of skin that had already been hit too many times. “O-one.”

He lashes again and again.

“Two, three– fuck! F-four– fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t count anymore.” You’re unable to think straight at this point, unable to do anything other than cry and feel and want.

“God,” he sounds wrecked as well and you can’t understand why; you’re the one who feels as if you’re fighting for your life. He watches you, and you can’t decide if you’re embarrassed at your own state, the tears on your face and your ass that’s probably bright red by now, exposed to the professor, or if you’re too desperate for a release to think about that.

“It’s okay.” His hand lands on your hip, but doesn’t strike you again. It only caresses, his touch feather-light and delicate, a stark contrast to the harsh blows. “You did good.”

The light touch is enough to make you moan, breathing a deep sigh of relief. His touch feels unintentional, like he’s mesmerized, not fully aware of what he’s doing as he simply as he tries to ease the sting from the spanking. But when he drops down to press a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his body heat enveloping you – that can’t be accidental.

You lean into his touch as best as you can, and that’s when you feel it; something hard press against your core through layers of clothing, his cock a perfect, undeniable point of heat against you.

Both of you let our a simultaneous moan when you rub yourself back against his length. You want nothing more than for him to split you open, to push into you without a warning, without giving you time to adjust. Not that you’d last a long time, but you’d let him keep thrusting into you, having his way with your body until he was satisfied.

His hand slides under your bodies, inside your underwear.

“In-ho,” you sigh, a weak sound.

The sound of his name seems to pull you from whatever trance he’s stuck in. He stops, fingers just inches from your clit, like he’s only just realizing he’s on top of a student in his classroom. You try to lift yourself up, to rub against him again, but he doesn’t move.

He pulls away from you, and you feel like you could cry again in sheer desperation. Instead, you just stay there against the desk, wondering what the fuck just happened.

After a few moments, he lifts you up gently by the arms, turning you around to face him. He smooths out your sweater, but he doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

“You can go now, Ms. ____.”

You look at him in disbelief – first at his face, then at the tent that’s still very much apparent at the front of his pants.

“But–” you stammer. “Don’t… don’t you want me to–?”

He’s back in professor mode, organizing his papers that had turned into a mess. Still not fucking looking at you. His hair, usually neatly combed back, is now all over the place, and he looks like he’s about to break down himself.

“I’ll take care of the… assignment issue,” he says. “Go back to your dorm. It’s getting late.”

You don’t dare to disobey, even when tears rush to your eyes once again. Maybe it was all just about the assignment to him, and you got it all wrong. Or maybe – the thought hurts before it’s even fully formed in your mind – he regrets everything you’ve done.

It’s a short walk to your dorm, and you’ve never been more grateful that your roommate is not around. You throw yourself into your bed, hissing as your ass lights up in pain. It brings up all the memories back at once; the crack of the belt in the air, his warm hand stinging on your skin, the outline of his cock pressed against you.

You’re still soaked when you bring your own hand past your skirt and into your panties, not bothering to actually take them off. Two fingers slide inside, instantly finding a spot that melts your insides and makes you clench around yourself. Your other hand grips your own hip, intensifying the pain there.

“Mr. Hwang,” you moan, just to say it out loud. Your thumb brushes over your clit, just a hint of a touch and you’re gone, coming so fucking hard around fingers you do your best to pretend are his instead of yours, just at the thought of him doing this to you.

You come down slowly, so dazed you can barely open your eyes, but it doesn't bother you. Your ass has gone from searing hot to a dull, lingering ache, sure to keep you hurting for days to come. Good. You fall asleep thinking about it, thinking of his voice and his hands on you, trying to live in those moments for as long as you can.

[iphigeniacomplex]

Frustrated, Arya threw down the brush. “Bad wolf!” she shouted. Sansa couldn’t help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master.

—Sansa II, A Game of Thrones

“You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.”

—Sansa II, A Game of Thrones

“My daughter often forgets her courtesies,” Eddard Stark said with a faint smile that softened his words.

—Arya III, A Game of Thrones

“A royal wheelhouse is no place for a wolf,” Sansa said. [...] She turned to walk off, but Arya shouted after her, “They won’t let you bring Lady either.” She was gone before Sansa could think of a reply, chasing Nymeria along the river.

—Sansa II, A Game of Thrones

Sansa dropped to her knees to wrap her arms around the wolf. They were all gathered around gaping, she could feel their eyes on her, and here and there she heard muttered comments and titters of laughter. “A wolf,” a man said, and someone else said, “Seven hells, that’s a direwolf,” and the first man said, “What’s it doing in camp?” and the Hound’s rasping voice replied, “The Starks use them for wet nurses,” and Sansa realized that the two stranger knights were looking down on her and Lady, swords in their hands, and then she was frightened again, and ashamed.

—Sansa II, A Game of Thrones

“No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good…”

—Eddard VII, A Game of Thrones

She woke murmuring, “Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please don’t,” but there was no one to hear.

—Sansa VI, A Game of Thrones

“Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I’ll be good, you’ll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.”

—Sansa III, A Game of Thrones

The queen had given her freedom of the castle as a reward for being good,

—Sansa V, A Game of Thrones

“Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’ll make her be good, I promise, I promise…”

—Eddard VII, A Game of Thrones

“[...] What’s wrong with the girl?” Bran felt all cold inside. “She lost her wolf,” he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his father’s guardsmen had returned from the south with Lady’s bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their faithful servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned.

—Bran VI, A Game of Thrones

She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies.

—Sansa VI, A Game of Thrones

[shanastoryteller]

Feliz San Valentín!!! 💖💖💖 May I have some more time travel JC? Maybe about his relationship with the Nie brothers? I'm obsessed, THANK YOU

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Nie Mingjue doesn't have anything against Wei Cheng.

He's not nice, exactly, or soft. Or demure or conciliatory or amenable or any of the thousand different ways there are to describe someone who couldn't out stubborn a mule. Which means he really shouldn't be any sort of acceptable spouse to a sect leader.

Father's marriage to his mother had been arranged. He has dim memories of the woman who raised them, but in all of them she's soft. A strong cultivator, of course, with enough skill with a saber to make her a suitable wife, but by all accounts her personality hadn't matched her sword style. Huaisang's mother was the same, with a warm and courteous relationship with Father and nothing more. He'd liked her. She'd been kind towards him, treating him as her own, but that had just made it worse.

When she'd fallen ill and died, he'd just lost a mother for a second time, and it didn't even feel fair for him to be as gutted as he was, not with Huaisang sobbing into his side. She hadn't even been his mother. Even though he had more and clearer memories of her taking care of him than he had of his own mother, which felt like one more betrayal.

Wei Cheng isn't anyone's mother.

He's arrogant and irreverant and he's raised an arrogant and irreverant son. Wei Wuxian is even more prone to trouble than Huaisang, and it's not like Nie Mingjue can just leave him to it anymore than he can Huaisang, so he ends up in trouble too, getting chased through the woods and hiding from angry stall owners and giving the slip to his own disciples because Wei Wuxian cheerfully taking his punishments is even more annoying than how Huaisang whines through them and -

"Hiding from your brother?"

He looks up, startled, and sees Wei Cheng standing next to him. He hadn't noticed him approaching. He hadn't even known that Wei Cheng knew where this place was, but he suppose he can't be too surprised. He does have a habit of sticking his nose into everything.

"No," he says immediately, then cringes. "A little."

He really doesn't want to hear him talk about birds again. He wishes Wei Wuxian would stop catching them for Huaisang. What kind of respectable cultivator collects birds?

Wei Cheng's face goes fond and wistful and a little sad. He forgets, sometimes, that Wei Cheng isn't really Wei Wuxian's father, that he's his uncle, or something. Was Wei Changze his younger brother? Nie Mingjue thinks of something happening to Huaisang or Wei Wuxian when he's not there to protect them and it makes his heartrate pick up. It's terrible, for Wei Cheng to lose his brother like that, and he hadn't meant to remind him of it. Nie Mingjue wants to change the subject but doesn't know what to say. "Um. Did you need something?"

"Hm?" His eyes clear. "Oh, yeah. Your father's looking for you."

Nie Mingjue can't hold back a sigh. He just wants a couple hours without someone needing something from him.

Wei Cheng doesn't scold him. Instead his lips twitch and he says, "Forget it. He can talk to you later. Don't stay out past dinner."

He startles. "Are you sure? Won't he be mad?"

Father doesn't get mad often. But he does expect to be obeyed.

Wei Cheng rolls his eyes. "If he does, it'll be at me. He can yell at me if he wants."

Father doesn't really yell. But he and Wei Cheng do fight a lot.

"Thanks," he says, relaxing. That's another difference. Neither his mother nor Huaisang's would have ever directly gone against his father, not even on something this small. It just wasn't their place. It's not Wei Cheng's either, but it seems like no one's told him that. If Father didn't want Wei Cheng taking liberties, he shouldn't have offered him so many.

Wei Cheng reaches out, squeezing his shoulder, hand broad and warm and reassuring. "Don't worry about it. Stay out of trouble."

There's a teasing lilt to the last part, because it's always Huaisang and Wuxian getting him in trouble, but that just makes Nie Mingjue laugh, sharp an unexpected.

Wei Cheng is nothing like his father is supposed to want.

But he's not so bad.

[miifu666]

Hi I’m a big fan of your blog , love how you draw the characters!!

How do you think monkey king and suklha would court each other.

Helloww ♡♡♡

Funny you ask that!!! 😭 i just finished a doodle about that too!

Since Wukong's a hot tempered and unpredictable monkey king with a high self esteem. I like to add a bit of Monkey facts in his behaviour. Ofc besides the fighting the gods to keep his lover i dont think thats normal monke

From what i know, male monkeys usually start the flirting to enter a sort of consortship with the female. So i believe, Wukong despite the virgin that he is. Would be the first one to show interest.

Monkeys usually spend time with their future mate during courtship, so i figured instead of eating and talking to eachother to spend time. Wukong would challenge Suklha during the first few stages of courtship, if Suklha manages to outwit him he would let out these noises thats a mix of excited chirps and amused chuckles. Seeing Suklha managed to beat him in his own challenge is akin to her saying

"oh you're good, but ill try and beat you to show you im capable of being beside you"

even better when Suklha lets him groom her properly, it would take hours upon hours for him to show her that he's a good mate to keep her pretty and light colored hair clean. Suklha sitting down and waiting for him to finish, only to groom him back with her own pinchers is a sign that she accepted Wukong's feelings. (In his head anyway)

This works with Suklha, too. Centipedes spend time with their mates to start the mating ritual. Female centipedes usually release certain pheromones to attract the male interest. Wukong might notice how she has a more enzymatic scent, floral and berry-like, reminding him of the tree peaches in flower fruit mountain. This works with monkeys, although i think they release a certain odour when they want to mate rather than... courtship-

This in turn, makes Wukong more physically affectionate towards Suklha. His hands never leaving her waist whenever they talk to someone, glaring at anyone who dares to come pick her up like some sort of harlot. Wukong would compliment her to make her pay attention to him more whenever they're in public, of course this is Wukong. Hes not that good with compliments-

Suklha : you dimwit! Ive told you before how to do it!

Wukong : It seemed like i was right at first! Why are you getting so mad over! Just because you're decent-looking doesn't mean you can reprimand me however you like!

Suklha : ...?

Wukong , counting his fingers : Smart, quick-witted, courteous! Just because you're all that doesn't mean you can shout at me all you want!!

Suklha : i..

Wukong : AND STOP LOOKING SO GOOD

Suklha : IM BREATHING???

Wukong : WELL YOU LOOK GOOD DOING IT

Lastly, it would be a hard way to recognize but Wukong would speak towards her with a deeper tone of voice than usual. He'd even try to talk to her more calmly than yelling high-pitched like usual.

He'll smile more and probably do anything, yes even kill some demons and yaoguai to get an object of her desire or something that reminds him of her. Like a red jacket he saw in a village near the mountains, he'll snatch it and put it on Suklha without any word. Not even a "here's a new jacket" nope. They're already this deep in the courtship stage, she should understand what he means when he gives her things. He might glare at Suklha whenever he sees her missing the object he's given her, no words, just bites and glares.

All in all, it would be a bit chaotic. Like seeing your two best friends slowly getting together. Especially Suklha who despite showing interest in the courtship, suddenly denied Wukong of her answer after his proposal. Of course, this isn't done out of spite. She knows the consequences of accepting his proposal and she wont let a creature of this world suffer due to her. Suklha is a trickster, but she still has a heart.

[monkebearness]

Rereading the Mixed Messages

Kamimoto Kotone (tripleS) x Male Reader

Tags: fluff, angst, friends-to-lovers, alcohol

Word count: 11.9k

a/n: hello, it's me again. this post was supposed to be a smut with a different story and characters, but 'cause it was a special someone's birthday (five days ago), I chose to write this instead. anyways, if you like fluffs, I hope you enjoy this one.

A woman wearing a backpack has been waiting in a hallway right outside the comfort room. She saw her friend rushing towards him, while on her right hand, the handout brochure she received eleven minutes ago wrinkled more and more, thanks to her tightening grip.

“Tone-yah!” the man shouted with relief. “There you are, thank goodness.”

“Junghoon-ah!” she called him, hurrying and somewhat in her voice, especially as she saw him already sweating. “Where the heck have you been? I thought we’d meet here.”

“I’m sorry for taking you so long. I, uhh, I just asked someone to be our guide,” he pointed to the direction beside him with his thumb.

“You just went to someone?” Concern started to radiate from her voice.

“Yeah, and I think he’s a senior who can help us out.”

“You think?” her eyebrow automatically raised slightly, as with her cadence.

“I guess… “ he surmised. “He definitely looks like a sunbae. He’s wearing a gwajam.”

“You should've just waited for me. I was in the restroom for like only five minutes, before you went all Seoul searching on our own campus like some tourist.”

“Well, I panicked, arasseo?” he raised his hands in defense. “I just found him along with a bunch of other students, but he’s the one who stepped up… And besides, he’s willing to assist us. So whatever the case may be, he may know a lot more stuff than we do.”

“You didn’t have to bring anyone, Junghoon!” she couldn’t stop herself from freaking out. “We could’ve toured the campus by ourselves and everything would've been just fine. It’s not like we’re already late or anything… Isn’t that why we went here early?”

“Calm down. But yeah, that’s… A good point,” he scratched his head. “But maybe we should hear him out first. Give him a chance first… We gotta respect our seniors.”

A groan left her mouth, just as a tall man in his university jacket approached them with a welcoming beam. Kotone watched Junghoon as he bowed to him in sight, prompting her to follow his gesture, but with less enthusiasm and more caution towards the older student.

“Annyeonghasimnikka!” he greeted them with his hoarse yet cheerful voice. “I’m Kim Myungsoo.” He turned to Junghoon for a second. “You told me you have a little trouble navigating around campus.” His eyes then met Kotone’s. “So I assumed that both of you are freshmen.”

“Ne,” Junghoon politely answered him. “I kinda also assumed you were a senior, but I am really sorry if I got the wrong impression.”

“I’m actually a sophomore, but don’t worry, ‘cause I’m actually flattered.” he chortled at his own nonchalant response. “And of course, I’d be more than happy to help you… It is orientation day, after all... But, do you mind me asking what your names are?”

“I’m Geum Junghoon,” he bows, before turning to the woman. “And my friend here is…”

In her eyes, his face looks like he’s a model or a young actor who played either a main or supporting role in a romcom college drama. That might have been too specific, but that’s just how Kotone thought about him that morning. Watching romcoms in her spare time was an undeniable factor to that mentality. She didn’t know whether to be enticed or intimidated—or both—by his striking looks, towering stature, and courteous approach. But she might have been staring at her for too long. She should be saying something to him now. She should’ve because they’re now looking at her.

“Koton—” she hesitates at first, making the senior and her friend lean their head to the side while the former lets out a low, huh? Correcting her error within milliseconds due to internal panic, she clears her throat. “Mianhaeyo. My name is Kamimoto Kotone.”

“Oh! You must be Japanese then?” Myungsoo guessed, almost with a higher pitch, something that fascinated the woman because of his reaction. “An exchange student?”

“No. I'm just living here with my relatives,” she corrected him, before following up with, “But you are right about the first one. I was born and raised in Japan.”

“Ah… It’s nice meeting you, Junghoon and Kotone,” he bowed down to them. “First things first, welcome to Seoul State University.”

“Kamsahamnida, sunbaenim,” Junghoon professed as he bowed back, compelled by his habit of being respectful towards him. Too respectful, as Kotone would think, even though she herself bowed much lower this time.

“Oh, that's fine. It's my pleasure to help out more of our Seoulmates, you know?”

Suddenly, Kotone laughed through her nose.

“So, now… On more pressing matters, what are you guys majoring in?”

“Tone’s from the College of Education,” Junghoon answered. “I’m from Tourism and Hotel Management.”

“I'm also from Education!” Myungsoo applauded his answer. “Seems like we already have something in common then, Kotone-ssi. Plus Junghoon’s building is only right next to ours, so that'll be convenient for both of you.”

Junghoon nudged her left shoulder with a smirk. “You still regretting my decision? You've got yourself a new friend!” he mumbled while they followed his trail.

She scoffed at his retort. “Fair enough. He's fine… You did good.”

“And Junghoon,” the upperclassman turned to them. “I’ve actually met someone from your department. His name’s Lim Honggi. Does the name sound familiar to…”

As the two had a conversation, Kotone’s attention towards Myungsoo grew from the moment forward. After several minutes of strolling around the nearby locations, they arrived right in front of the building of Junghoon’s department. It was like Tone was a protective noona sending off a younger sibling to go on his own (they're the same age), even though Junghoon insisted that they go ahead, right after bowing to Myungsoo out of gratitude.

“Do you mind if I take you there as well?”

Such a question struck Kotone with panic, but not enough to trigger a fight-or-flight response. Instead, it let her own guard down. “Oh… Uhh… You don’t have to do that, sunbaenim… Don’t you have a class to catch up to?”

“In about thirty minutes, yeah… But we’re heading to the same building anyway,” he pointed out. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed out of the sudden, slowly pursing her own lips out of embarrassment.

“Unless you’re uncomfortable, then I can just leave you alone. I’m sure you know your way to your room. It’s just that—”

“No!” she exclaimed again, even though she knew he was right. “I still have half an hour before our first class, so it’s fine, really.”

That was the start of their something.

“Myungsoo-yah!” Someone calls him with a teasing tone as he approaches them. “There you are! The council told me you were busy briefing freshies… Speaking of which.”

“Yeah… They were right,” Myungsoo quipped.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll be on my way—”

“It’s okay, sunbaenim,” Kotone assured both of them.

“This is Park Yeonghwan,” Myungsoo proceeded with the introductions. “My classmate and friend. This is Kotone. She’s a freshie.”

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Kotone bowed to him. “It’s nice meeting you, sunbaenim.”

His mouth opened, as if he had heard a spell leave her mouth. “Kotone? Are you—”

“Yes, she is Japanese,” Myungsoo stopped him, right as Kotone was about to open her mouth. “You get the point, dude… She must be tired hearing that from everyone else.”

“Gwenchanayo, sunbae,” Kotone stepped in. “But, he’s right. About the Japanese part.”

Yeonghwan chuckled at his interjection, but Kotone herself felt a tug at her heartstrings. “She said it’s fine. Don’t be too defensive, hyung.”

“Hyung?” she tilted her head. “Wait, I thought both of you are sophomores.”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Yeonghwan confessed. “He’s a year older than me.”

Within seconds, she did some mental math for an educated guess. “So that makes you, like, twenty years old?”

He didn’t answer her directly. “I hope that doesn’t make you more uncomfortable.”

A few realizations crossed her mind. Seeing someone was the last thing she wanted right now. There was more to this interaction than just attraction. After all, she's been friends with Junghoon since middle school. Befriending a guy is not a big deal for her. Kotone only chuckled at his hesitation. “It doesn’t… I actually think we’ll get along just fine.”

“You think so?” both guys asked in unison, somewhat bewildered and impressed by her sudden surge of confidence.

“Yeah,” she cheered on. “It’s a good conversation starter for a lot of people I meet, so I can't blame them for that.”

“Phew…” Yeonghwan let out. “That’s nice to know—” he felt a buzzing in his pocket.

“You good, man?” Myungsoo inquired as he and Kotone watched Yeonghwan quickly read his screen within seconds.

“Oh, yeah… I gotta dip, man,” he informed, still holding his phone in his hand. “The council needs me for another meeting. Something about plans for the homecoming festival. But,” he turned to Kotone with a sly smile. “I won’t be giving away too much. It is for the freshies after all...”

“Do they need more help or—?”

“Nah, nah, I got this! We got this,” he reassured him. “They know you're on tour guide duties for the rest of the morning, so you keep doing you.”

“Oh… Okay, then. I’ll catch up with you guys later at class.”

“Sure. Later, hyung!” He turned to the freshie and bowed to her one more time. “It’s nice meeting you, Kotone-chan.”

She bowed back as Yeonghwan walked away from them. “Forgive me for him being a bit too casual,” Myungsoo let out a chuckle.

“Nah, it’s okay, sunbaenim.” Her smile widened. “I kinda like that kind of approach. I gotta admit, it’s pretty refreshing meeting someone new. Someone who isn't just from my own class.”

A smile also formed on Myungsoo’s face before looking at her yellow backpack. There’s three keychains he noticed in his glance. The lowest zipper contained the head of a red lesser panda. The one in the middle was a Sanrio character, whose name he definitely didn’t remember at the time. All he knew was that it was a punk rabbit, wearing a black hat with a pink skull. However, the uppermost one was an odd yet captivating design, dangling around the top zipper. Due to the chain resembling tulips, one would think of it like a twisted looking flower… Until, he realizes it’s a mouth.

“Hey… “ Myungsoo couldn’t help but point his finger. “That’s a pretty cool Demogorgon keychain!”

He knows what it is? She realized, turning her head in his direction. “Oh, thanks! It helps pickpockets rethink their decision.”

The sophomore let out a laugh. “That’s actually a nice strategy. No one wants to be taken in the Upside Down unless you’re the Mind Flayer. Or Vecna.”

“So, umm, you watch Stranger Things too?” she asked him with eyes of intrigue.

“Yeah, yeah!” he hollered, just as his enthusiasm gradually lowered. “Well, I loved the first two seasons.”

“Just the first two?” she raised an eyebrow, albeit mischievously.

“The third season’s a bit meh for me, to be honest,” he answered with a light shrug. “But the new one is still growing on me.”

“That’s an interesting take,” she professed. “I'm sure they're not as questionable as your anime takes? Or are you not a fan of one?”

Her playful taunt allured him, making him cross his arms. “Oh, don't hesitate to test me, Miss Kamimoto. I think you'll be surprised.”

Mutual interests were only the start. As both the seasons and semesters passed, they would live and learn that they have a lot more things in common than once thought. More things to talk about. More to bond over.

= =

Sophomore year, first semester. The two were at the garden when a flock of birds flew out the trees hearing her sudden burst of scream. Thankfully, no one else was there. At least no one who cared enough to pay attention.

“Junghoon got himself in trouble,” Kotone would often confide in Myungsoo. Perhaps this moment was one of the most serious talks they had with each other, even though it’s only been a year since they met.

“What? How did it happen?” He was just as confused, considering how he’s treated Junghoon as a younger brother. “He didn’t tell me about any problem in his class.”

“Of course he wouldn’t…” she grumbled. “That’s how he’s always been… But Honggi told me about it, and right when I confronted him about it, he brushed it off and told me not to worry! Like, how can I not worry about that?”

Myungsoo could feel the emotions beyond the surface of her irritation, one that she’s been trying to suppress while around him.

“He’s become a pushover. Again, ” she sighed. “Ugh… Why is he still like this?”

“Did his teammates threaten him?” he began asking his questions of concern.

“Worse,” she admitted. “It was a pair project, and he did it all by himself!”

Hearing the situation dwindled down his tension, though his worry for Kotone and Junghoon persisted. “So… No one threat—”

“No one threatened, or appeased him!” her voice elevated again. “Yeah, you got that right. His professor doesn’t even know, and it looks like it'll stay that way.”

“Maybe he has a reason,” he considered. “Was the partner sick? Or maybe they had an emergency? I know Junghoon isn't the most confrontational guy but I doubt he’d keep letting a classmate be a freeloader, especially on a pair project.”

“I don’t know… He said his sunbae was busy with her organization and that he used her references, but that’s not enough.”

“Sounds like he felt bad for her too.”

“I feel bad for him!” she countered.

“I am worried for him, too… But like you’ve said, he didn’t get punished for it. He didn’t even feel bad for what he did, even if, I had to admit, it was a bit too far that he did the project all by himself. He’ll be fine, Tone-yah… We can talk to him tomorrow.”

“Who is he even trying to impress in that situation?” she countered him. “He’s one to be interested in relationships.”

“Well,” he let out a chortle. “I guess, there’s a first time for everything.”

“Maybe, but I’ll still be keeping an eye on that Park Sohyun.”

“Wait. Park Sohyun’s his partner? That’s odd. And a bit reassuring for Junghoon.”

“Why? Do you know her?”

= =

Sophomore year, second semester. It was after class when Kotone asked Myungsoo to meet her outside their building. He could whiff a much stronger perfume the more she walked closer. Her loud voice would call out to him right after. “Oppa!” Especially with her outfit of a fit aesthetic shirt under a denim jacket (and not to mention her soft blush, mascara, and a warmer shade of lipstick), he almost mistook her for someone else for a second. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“You look…” He stopped his sentence halfway, still in spectacle at her somewhat new look and style. “Fancier. You look fancier than usual. What’s the occasion?”

“Well…” she fixed her hair in front of him, inciting a quick gulp from Myungsoo, but not enough for her to hear it. “I’m going on a blind date with three of my friends and their companions tonight, and I want you to be there too with us.”

He placed his palm on his chest, dramatically leaning away from her. “Are you really inviting me to this just now? Without further notice?”

“Yeah, don’t you wanna be my plus one?” she held his hands. “They will like you, oppa. I’m sure you’ll get along with their plus ones too. Some of them are around your age.”

The longer she stared closer to him, her eyes slowly sparkled. He couldn’t even say ‘no’ for some dumb reason. “This is a bit too sudden, Tone.”

“Please…” her tone started to shift into a more cutesy one, as if she’s doing an aegyo. Or maybe that’s just how he often saw her face. He saw her new hair style. While a low bun isn’t anything new for Kotone, seeing it up close astounded Myungsoo. “It was pretty urgent. And I didn’t have anyone else to ask to come with me.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “Really? There’s no one else? A social butterfly like you?”

“Yah, I’m just a social caterpillar,” she quipped back. “If someone between us is the butterfly, it’s you, Mister Vice President of the SSU Visual Arts Organization!”

“That’s a fair point, but that’s hardly relevant, when you’re the one who asked me out on this…” he shot back. “Why didn’t you think of anyone else from the gang? Or even from your own block?”

She knew he was right, but she didn’t wanna give it up just yet, so she kept firing more reasons and excuses. “I thought of asking Yeonghwan-oppa or Honggi, but they seem like they do that by themselves anyway. I considered Junghoon, but he’s still busy on his shift tonight. And besides, this is the only time I’ve asked a favor, like c’mon...”

“I guess that’s true.” He sighed in resignation. In the silence of Kotone’s anticipation, he slowly slid his fingers through his hair before finally facing her. “Fine… But, I’m only going ‘cause you asked. But only this ti—”

Kotone squealed. “Gomawo, oppa! That’s a deal, alright? The meetup won’t be that far from here.”

= = =

Vacation, pre-junior year. Since their dorms were the closest to the university among best friends, they decided to meet on campus after lunch. It was a Saturday morning when Kotone had returned to Korea after a one-month vacation to her hometown.

“I know I’m a few days late,” she pulled out a pair of small silky bags from her pocket. “But, saengil chukhahaeyo.”

With eyes of curiosity and anticipation, Myungsoo inspected the bags. It took him a second to guess the gift, but he was familiar with it. They're omamori. Two of them. Red and pink. Considering he wasn’t too knowledgeable of Japanese, Kotone briefly explained the writings to them. “That’s a kenku, and that one’s an en-musubi.”

“What do they mean?”

“Kenku’s for good health and long life. Cliche, I know,” Kotone giggled, before she took a swift deep breath, though he barely noticed. “But the en-musubi is for finding luck in love.”

He slid his fingers on each, feeling the smooth texture of the charm, mesmerized by their design. “Woah… This looks legit. I mean, you know, it’s pretty. It’s authentic.”

She chuckled at his observation. “Of course, it is. I bought that in Meiji Jingu. I actually bought each two for you and the boys, but I decided to give yours first.”

“I-uhhh… I don’t know what to say… Gomawo, Tone.”

“You’re welcome, oppa… That’s for the Orbit merch you gave me.”

“Those were your birthday gifts… You deserved that.”

“You better not lose these within a year,” she added with more emphasis, staring at the two charms.

“I'll do my best. Especially for the love charm,” he teased, which only provoked the woman as her eyes squinted at him in an instant. “My love life is now in your hands or something.”

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, as he looked down on both charms on his hand, caressing it with affection. “I won’t lose it, of course. They’re good charms… But if something does happen to these, which I won’t allow anything to happen to, you’re still gonna be my good charm, you know?”

Kotone felt a gulp on her throat. She chuckled nervously. “Flatterer.”

“That’s just the truth,” he justified himself. “You and the guys have always been my charms since we got together.” He faced her with a serious gaze and closed smile, putting his right hand on her left shoulder. “I couldn’t be more grateful for that.”

Dugeun… “Myungsoo-oppa.” Dugeun…

“And look who’s back!” A familiar male voice yelled from behind, startling only the woman. It’s Yeonghwan, with Honggi and Junghoon, right beside him, as they all rushed to the pair behind the bench with excitement.

“Kamjagiya!” Kotone did not expect their presence, which only elevated her heartbeat. “Guys! What the hell? I thought y’all won’t be making it today!” She turned to the quiet one among them. “Junghoon-ah, you even said that you’re working at the CVS today.”

“Well, actually… The boss told me I can take one day off during the weekend until summer break ends,” he explained. “Plus, why would we ever miss your arrival?”

“So the three of you just planned this surprise without telling me?”

“It’s actually our plan,” Myungsoo revealed. “All of us wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh… Well, that’s a bummer… I would’ve brought the rest of your gifts.”

“That’s okay… The gifts can come later.” Honggi started to make circle motions with his hand on his tummy. “You’ll make it up for us some other way.”

She and Myungsoo laughed at his subtle suggestion, knowing well what he meant. What they all meant. She breathed through her nose. “Where do you guys wanna have lunch?”

Cheers erupted from the three, making her laugh more and widening her smile at the reaction and sight of all her closest friends, who gathered with her.

= = =

Junior year, first semester. The campus had been set up with dozens of different and unique booths, as plenty of clubs and organizations had prepared them in the past week. So far, the week-long university festival has been going well on its third day. From arcades and treasure hunts to readings and talent shows, hundreds of students and visitors stroll and explore the university from seven to six… And it was no different for these two. Myungsoo was holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hand as Kotone was holding a stuffed toy bunny while they walked across the crowd.

“You finally tried that spirit animal booth yet?” Myungsoo wondered.

“Oh, yeah!” she clapped on the bunny toy with her left hand as if she were a seal with flippers. “That was the funnest one I’ve had so far... They really made a lot of effort making that one, so I applaud them.”

“More than your own club’s booth?” He teased her with the question.

“Well,” she had caught his intention, prompting her to raise the confidence in her delivery. “Nothing else beats our treasure hunt, of course, so it’s a close second… Maybe I’ll consider the Lyrical Booth too some other time.”

“Oh…” his mouth slowly opened in anticipation. “Are you finally gonna be showing your rapping skills at the workshop? While at it, why not join the talent contest too—”

“Yah, I’m just considering!” she reacted with remarkable alertness. “Don’t be too excited. It might not even happen, if you keep on prying.”

“Why not?” He opened his arms wide, much to her slight embarrassment. “I can be your hype boy!”

Her eyes moved to the side, staring at him. “You mean hype man?”

“Yeah, yeah. My bad… I got it mixed up from that song from last year.”

“It’s fine…” she brushed off. “What’s what the Noraebang Booth does to you anyways. They got a lot of bangers since yesterday, so I can’t blame ya.”

“But I’m still wondering, what was your result on the animal test from earlier?”

“Oh, yeah… As expected, I’m a lesser red panda! Nothing new there,” she exclaimed. “How about you?”

“Eh…” he huffed. “I really don’t wanna mention it.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not fair,” she nudged him on his left shoulder. “Are you keeping things from us more because you now have—”

“Myungsoo-yah! Tone-chan!” A woman walked towards them. One who has been both familiar to them since the past and a half year. “There you are!”

“Annyeong, Yooyeon-unnie!” Kotone waved at her, witnessing both her friends meet.

“I just had a walk with Tone,” Myungsoo walked closer to her, holding her hands with exhilaration. “You shouldn’t worry about me too much, noona.”

“Yah… I told you not to call me that,” Yooyeon lowered her voice. “Not in front of everyone, anyways.” She turned to Kotone. “And thanks for looking after him… Tone-chan. You must’ve been exhausted keeping up with all his yapping.”

“Hey,” Myungsoo interjected, embarrassed by the woman’s remark.

Kotone chortled. “That’s no problem, unnie. He was being less chatty this time…” She poked his left elbow. “So that made things a little easier for me. And himself.”

“Hmm… That's unusual for my boyfriend.” She leaned closer into him, speaking her breath closely while he exhaled a smile with excitement. “Maybe I shall give him a better, more thorough check up inside our booth?”

As she witnessed their sweet and suggestive moment, Kotone felt a sensation travel down her spine. Her heartbeat increases, seeing their faces only an inch away from each other’s. Her fingers clenched as her smile tightened as their lips touched. “I, uhh, I’ll go look after Junghoon and Honggi at their booths. You two just have fun, alright?”

“Are you sure you don't wanna tag along with us?” Myungsoo tried to talk her out.

“And be a third wheel? Ah, no thanks,” she scoffed with a more playful undertone. His persistence to make her stay somewhat struck a nerve, but she didn’t mind it for long. “You two rarely get the chance to hang out since preparation week. Look, unnie, he even got you a mini you. Those flowers weren’t enough for him.”

“Awww… You got these for me?” Yooyeon cooed at Myungsoo, taking both gifts as they embraced.

He accepted a kiss from her on his cheek. “I just thought since it’s the festival, it’d be a nice way to help one of the arcade booths and bring you something at the same time.”

“You and your excuses, babe. And of course, you’re welcome to tag along with us, Tone-chan...” the older woman quipped to Kotone, letting out a giggle beside Myungsoo. “Who else knows better than us than our own matchmaker?”

Flattery was what she felt. At least, it should have been her only reaction. Yet it's only the surface. A convincing cover to what her heart was telling her… “I’ll be fine on my own. You two can pay me back by setting me up with someone, arasseo?”

“I'll be on the lookout, girl.” Yooyeon forms her fingers in the shape of a gun. ”You can count on me for that. I know a lot of fellas from our class, so just take your pick.”

Tone adored that her close friend was acting like that. She liked that both her close friends were happy. She did. She should.

“Sure, unnie…” she snorted. “Alright, now I really gotta go. Take care, love birds…”

But there was no point in ruining their moment by reminding them of their presence. By reminding herself. There’s nothing to gain from it. Nothing to gain from thinking about this longer than it should. She turned around and faced the crowd while still wearing her smile when she heard her clubmate’s cheerful voice.

“Have fun, Tone-chan! We’ll be at our booth, okay?”

They’re happy. It’s all that mattered.

= = =

Junior year, second semester. Things got more hectic, academic-wise, especially with seniors like Myungsoo finally reaching their final semester. But, even for juniors like Kotone, a lot more doors of opportunities opened for her… And that’s what the latter assured her when they talked by themselves in one of the campus gardens. She was told it was urgent, so the woman waited at one of the benches until he arrived.

“You should run as auditor, Kotone.”

“Me?” Her eyes widened, even standing up from her seat. “For the student council? Michyeosseo?”

“Come, Tone-yah… It’s gonna be productive for you... You’ll get to demonstrate your skills and talents outside class. Outside your little diamond dreamer club. Plus, even Yooyeon thinks you should venture out too.”

“That's easy for both of you to say, oppa.”

“Take it from me. I may already be a senior, but that doesn't stop me from trying out other responsibilities. And I don't see why you wouldn't do the same.”

“Oh, so you’re guilt-tripping me ‘cause it’s your last year, huh?”

“No, no, no! You don’t have to run. But you know, just think about it. Just my advice.”

He could only wait for her in silence. While the leaves above rustled along the winds and the branches blissfully swayed. Clinging her right index and thumb on her chin, Kotone's mind gradually shifted into a more rational route.

“Hmm… Now that you’ve brought it up,” she pondered. “Maybe it will give me more experience. Perhaps, it’ll be a great addition to my resume…”

“Now we’re talking.”

“But that doesn't mean I'll actually run for real, arasseo?” she pointed her index finger at him. I'm just considering all my options carefully.”

= = = =

Senior year, first semester. Kotone gained more exposure and some connections after becoming elected as the auditor of the Education Department’s Student Council, even after Myungsoo finally graduated with flying colors. But, there’s one thing she or any student can’t escape from. And such a laborious reality was something that she often dealt with, by spending time at the library before or after class.

After taking off her glasses, she sighed on the surface of the table right next to the stack of books she had compiled. “Would be nice to have Junghoon, Honggi, and Yeonghwan with us… Why did all of them have to enlist at a time like this? Couldn’t they just have waited their turn?”

“Yeonghwan said he just wanted to get it out of the way,” Myungsoo pointed out. Yes, he was still there. “I'm thinking the other two just thought he had a point.”

"That's such a silly answer. But yeah, it is pretty reasonable, I guess.”

“Or maybe they're just avoiding making their own theses,” he added.

“That's what I was thinking!” she almost bursted into laughter, but not before muffling her mouth with both her hands.

Myungsoo giggled as softly as he could. “Don’t worry... You still have me, right? What better way to work on your thesis than to ask for advice from your sunbae. When the boys get discharged, they’ll regret not being here with us… At least two of ‘em will.”

“Eeeeehh... You're only here 'cause you just extended your teaching assistant job in the first place!” She gave him a light punch on his left shoulder.

“Yah… Just because it's true, it doesn’t mean it's easy for me either.”

“Oh, poor you,” she sneered with a sarcastic undertone. ”Gotta wait for your girlfriend while the rest of us hoobaes have it so easy with our thesis, don’t we? Not to mention, I still have a meeting with the council later this afternoon!”

“Just so you know, I don't regret being here as much as you want me to. And Yooyeon still has another hour before her class ends, so I have no other choice but to stay here for a while as you babble in front of your laptop… And I gotta make sure that you're not just slacking around or snoring on your table.”

His argument only made her snicker. There was no point in arguing with a friend. This friend. “Well, I give up, so I’ll just say it. Thanks for the support, even if it’s just you being here with me.”

They lock eyes for a moment. No quips, no banters. Just the traces of their smile, just before a thought crawled up their blank minds... This may be the last year they’ll see each other like this. At least, with just the two of them. Perhaps, that’s for the best.

“Anytime, Tone-chan… What are friends for?”

Especially because of that.

= = = = = = = = =

“One matcha latte for Changmin! Your order is now ready for pickup,” an automated voice calls out from the counter. A man, in his early twenties, stands up from his seat right after the call, parting from his friends for a moment to fetch his order.

It's 12:00 P.M., and the cafe is already flooding with customers, most of whom are students and professors on their break. The calendars on the kiosks state February 7, 2031. On their table, twenty-six-year-old Kotone has been facing a twenty-eight-year-old Myungsoo from her seat in the last half an hour, surrounded by their now almost empty disposable cups, their laptops, and distinct bags on the chair beside them. His eye bags are more noticeable than usual. He’s still tall, although his latest figure appears a little more “mesomorphic,” as she tries to describe it herself mentally, though it doesn’t bother her. It’s not uncommon to gain weight in their late twenties, what’s the big deal?

Thankfully, there was no sense of awkwardness in their atmosphere. Why would there be? They were close friends. They were there for each other at their highest and lowest points for more than four years. If his mere new look bothered her, then their friendship was all pointless and for nothing. Besides, there’s other reasons to be awkward about.

It ain't the first time she's seen him after graduation, thanks to social media and some social gatherings that she tried to avoid in the last few years. But, seeing him now, it's something else. Something that she can't describe, considering the fact she’s been paying attention to his face as much as she is to his words, probably a little more.

“This is a really, really big project… You really sure you wanna do this, Kotone?”

“You don’t have to do it with me. I can just write and send a request letter to the Dean instead, if they need any more proof or confirmation that we’re sincere about this.”

“No, Tone-yah,” he insists. “Since I already agreed to meet with you, I can handle that.”

“How about you, Myungsoo-oppa,” she asks him, her tone’s a mix between a playful intimidation, covering her slight hint of concern. “Do you think this is a lost cause?”

“Of course, it’s not a lost cause,” he reassures. “I wanna help you. Not just because I’ve been teaching here for four years now, but I believe why you wanna do this… Honestly, it’s not that selfish to think about making some reunion possible.”

Her eyes light up with optimism, contrasting her somewhat smug front. “Really?”

“Almost every alumni homecoming we’ve had were for middle-aged folks. Which is fine, no offense to them, but people our age often forget that we were students once too, back in the day. This is a chance for us to remind them that it’s okay to think about and yearn for those times. You don’t need to be in your forties to attend a college reunion… right?”

Her heartbeat slowly becomes louder. “Well…” She clears her throat. “That’s well said. I couldn’t have put it better myself. Besides, Yoon-daepyonim already had this approved, so it would really irritate her if this doesn’t go through.”

“I know you guys do galas for socialites and folks at corpo every year,” he scratches his chin slowly. “But I didn’t know ModHaus would also be into organizing alumni parties. Like, I don’t know if that’s like an upgrade or a desperate rebranding from them.”

“We’ll plan, organize, and host just about anything, if we think it’s worth planning,” she crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not called the company of all possibilities for nothing. And, we don’t just do it for corporations... Ever since she took over, we’re not like that anymore. For the better.”

“Well, I can’t deny that. But whatever the case is… Tell your boss not to worry too much…” He offers his left hand. “Let’s do well on this project, Miss Kamimoto.”

Such an act of formality from an old friend makes her giggle, a response that she tries to cover up by clearing her throat immediately after. Leveling her eyes with her friend, she holds his hand with her right. “Couldn’t agree more, Professor Kim. Let’s do our best.”

And as their hands shake through this meetup, the Reunion Party of Batch 2025-2026 has been set in motion throughout this month. Through weekly meetings, Myungsoo helps Kotone become acquainted with some of the current alumni committee of the SSU. Most were new faces, about a few years younger. Some were familiar, most of which were either older or the same age as hers.

“Kotone-ssi! It really is you. You barely aged a day.”

“Ne! Annyeonghaseyo, sunbae. And please, it seems that time has been kinder to you.”

“Sunbaenim!” another one approaches her. “It’s wild, and an honor, seeing you here, considering how blessed you are, working at one of the richest companies in Korea.”

“Nah, I beg to differ!” she humbles herself. “I wouldn’t even have gotten to ModHaus if I never spent my time here in Seoul State… The honor’s on me, knowing how passionate and dedicated you all are in helping to plan this event.”

“And just to assure you,” she added. “You will all be compensated for your service.”

Her reminder sparks wholehearted laughter and cheers from the committee. “We’re not doing this for money, Kotone-ssi… But just so you should know, we can’t deny that kind of promise.”

“Well, it’s finally settled then.” She claps her hand. “Hwaiting, yeorobun!”

The planning and execution would take a couple of months, perhaps a little longer than their timeframe, as both the representatives from Tone’s company and the SSU alumni committee would have to juggle between fulfilling their regular duties at their personal works and making this brand new event beyond merely possible.

“ModHaus will provide their services as much as they can, so don’t worry about asking our affiliates for help, everyone. This also counts as our project, after all.”

But what makes this period more than memorable for Kotone was not only the people she’s been reunited with. They are still at the preparation stages, after all. They would have team lunches here and there. Revisiting the university itself was the most special aspect for her, because of the memories it brought both of them back with each step in every stroll they took on campus before or after their meetings.

At noon, they bask in the sunlight, which, thankfully, is no longer as excruciating and dangerous to walk freely as it was years ago without the habitual routine of putting on some sunscreen during spring and summer. The pair would walk past the grass fields and the nearby blossoming gardens. Past the buildings old and new. There’s parts of themselves that never left. It was understandable for Myungsoo, but for Kotone, it’s quite eye-awakening to see her realization unfold with her eyes. From the students, professors, to the guests like her going on with their business. A group of friends chilling under the shade of the trees, inclining on the bench, with some lying even on the grass with no to little care about the dirt that just accumulated on their shirts and jackets.

She simply can’t take her eyes off her surroundings. With every live scenery to watch in a state of bliss, her gaze would find another to watch and appreciate. “I know a lot has changed since graduation, and yet, this place feels like yesterday.”

“Really?” Myungsoo teases her, following her gaze. “I honestly can’t tell the difference.”

“Yah, don’t ruin the moment…” she whines. “That’s ‘cause you’ve stayed here while most of us went our separate ways. Of course, you wouldn’t get it.”

He does. But he doesn’t say anything. Looking in her direction, he reminiscences much like her. “Hey, do you remember that time when we first hung out at these fields?”

Kotone now realizes that she underestimated him.

She thinks to herself, Maybe this is all just nostalgia. With all this ambition, maybe this is just me listening to my younger self, instead of focusing more and more at work and slaving myself to the executives, like I have always been.

“You know… If this doesn't end well, then consider it a cautionary tale for myself,” she admits her own misgiving, subconsciously opening and closing her hands in a sporadic pattern.

“It’ll go well, Tone,” Myungsoo senses the seeds of doubt already growing within her. “But, if it makes you feel any better, I'll join you on that lesson.”

She giggled, before sighing into the breeze. “Thanks, but I don’t know… I honestly just want to make this a reality for our batchmates. That’ll make me feel better. Besides, I made a bet with a few of my closest friends. Suhyeon, Kyubok, even Junghoon.”

He wants to comfort her—but hearing a familiar name is not something he’s heard in a while, but her last-second confession makes him laugh. “Junghoon’s doing well, I see… We rarely get to hear from the rest of the gang nowadays, and I only heard that he was the head chef at your company… But it’s actually nice to hear that from our youngest.”

She knows what he means, but she doesn’t want to ruin the vibe of their conversation. “Oh, he’s doing so much better, oppa… I actually want you to hear from him when the time comes. But that for now, all I can say is…”

Kotone begins to spill tea which astonishes Myungsoo. It’s only the start of this night. Bringing together scenes and sequences of memories from their collegiate past would continue to motivate them in making this event a reality, not just for themselves, but also for everyone else who will take part in this reunion.

= = =

March 2031. They start to spend more time meeting outside the university. On this day, the pair meet in a cafe outside the ModHaus building, which surprisingly enough, was Myungsoo’s suggestion. For once, he wants her to travel less, arguing that her anticipation for the reunion will wane if they keep meeting on campus grounds.

Straight from his backpack, he hands the woman a small box wrapped in a pink ribbon, which she opens. She’s in awe.

Kotone looks back at him. “What… What is this, Myungsoo-oppa?”

“Just a gift. It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? Saengil chukahaeyo.”

After a quick unboxing of the box, she gives the bottle a test spray inches away from her.

This isn’t just any perfume. This scent has brought her years of memories more vividly. Back to that afternoon. To a lot of afternoons. The garden. The flowers. It doesn't help since the man in front of her was mostly with her during those times. It’s not the exact same brand, but it’s enough for the woman to let out a sigh of longing, yearning for those moments even more.

“Wah…” she whiffs more of the scent. “I can’t believe it's been a long time since I've sprayed something like this.”

”Do you like it?” He remains reserved, even though he’s already seeing her reaction.

”How can I not? You're really making me excited about the reunion, you know that?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to…” he confessed. “But, if you think of it like that, then I’m glad that helped you be more pumped up for this event.”

Her eyes widen once again, only realizing now what he said earlier. “So, after all these times, you still remember my birthday, huh?”

“Yeah!” he cheers, nudging her shoulder. “Come on, Tone. What are friends for?”

Oh… A dart strikes her heart. Why is she feeling this? Why is she grateful, yet also hurt? Why does she feel that pang inside her? It’s nothing, a voice tells her. This isn’t the first time he’s given you a gift! “Oppa, this is too much. I don’t know what. How to repay—”

“You don’t need to repay anything. And just because you’re working hard, doesn’t mean you can’t have a little celebration. Most of our plans have been finalized! We’ve gotten this far thanks to you, so consider it as a reward.”

Maybe that’s enough. “Thank you for this, Myungsoo.”

She brushes this thought off with that self-reassurance. This thing isn’t about whatever she just considered in her mind. This is about the reunion. You’re being overdramatic around him. Just focus on your job now. “And speaking of finalized, I just have to ask again if you have proofread the whole invitation, haven’t you?”

“Yep, for the hundredth time. I’ve gone through the email. They did a great job with making it snappy and concise. They didn’t even use GPT to write those up.”

“Well, I trust your word… Let’s finally send it, shall we?”

“Of course, it’s your call, committee leader.”

“Stop,” she chuckles and with one deep breath, she takes one last scan of her invitation before hitting ‘send’ on the email with her index finger. Kotone braces herself for what’s about to come, looking back at Myungsoo as a reassuring closed smile forms on his face. “Let’s do our best, Tone-chan,” he raises his left hand, his fist closed.

His innocent face reminds her of a quote from a show that she watched decades ago. That damned smile. She reciprocates his gesture with her right hand with a chuckle, hoping to forget what she just felt earlier. Still, even that single bump of touching his skin sends a tingle through her veins.

= = =

April 2031.

Things got busier. Questions from invited guests build up. Scheduling conflicts between their sponsors and services begin to surface. With only a few weeks away, the committee has been doing their best, dividing their tasks in dealing with the problems step by step. On weekends, their responses to certain emails would take overnight.

“Let’s take a break first… We’ve done a lot tonight.”

Right as she closes her laptop, Kotone’s voice begins to crack. “O—okay…”

Myungsoo immediately sensed something’s off with her silence. He inched closer, slowly reaching his hand into her shoulder. “Tone-yah… Are you… alright?”

She struggles completing her words, completely giving into the chaos clashing in her heart and mind. “It's just… I miss them… It’s hard… to imagine… I just don’t want to disappoint them.”

Myungsoo has no words. Rather, he’s hesitant and fearful that he would only break her heart more than it already is. He doesn’t want to give false promises or high hopes, but he doesn’t want to let her down either. He listens to his heart, pushing himself to hold her shoulders, slowly wrapping his arms around them.

“I miss them too, Tone…” he mumbles, patting her on the back and caressing her hair as she lets out her tears in his embrace through a muffled whimper. “We’ll make this work, arasseo? I’m sure of it.”

= = =

On this Friday of May 2031, the reunion finally begins inside the Na Heedo Gymnasium.

And as they expected, not everyone could be there tonight. But the fact that more than a hundred invited guests arrived there has surpassed most of their expectations. Faces old and new dress up for the occasion, crossing paths with their old buddies from years ago.

The guests stand and stare at the spectacle that is the party. Hundreds of familiar faces, now several years older, laughing and grooving on the dance floor under the moonlight vibing at the playlist of Western and local pop music alike prepared by the DJ. It is still  several minutes before the program proper starts, allowing guests to keep bonding and being acquainted with each other inside or near the venue. Plentiful students, whether graduating or already graduates for a year or two, are present too, taking advantage of possible recruitment from their alumni, though they’d have to make some effort to get their attention, considering that fact that lot of alumni just wanted to party tonight by getting off some steam and escaping from their present.

“Tone-yah has really made it possible, huh,” Kim Chaeyeon shakes her head in amazement.

“I mean, it was like, almost four months in the making, right?” Kim Nakyoung wonders. “But damn. She really did it.” She claps her hand.

“Three months. But come on now,” Kotone herself joins them in a less formal dress. “It wouldn't be possible without y'all. There’d be no reunion without you guys and gals!”

“Omo, omo… Tone kudasai!” Lee Jiwoo hollers on. “The mastermind is finally here!”

“I just can't believe you and your committee managed to pull this off!” Dahyun cheers on, joining the huddle between women. “It paid off.”

She’s touched by their piles of praise. “Thanks for the compliments, y’all. I, uhh, I’m just really happy that you guys can make it here tonight.”

About four hours would go by, dozens of personal reunions take place not just inside the gymnasium, but also in the corridors, the outdoors, and even in the restroom. Let your imagination wild. Members of the committee would often check on each other, but for the most part, they’d only tell each other to enjoy the moment once their program had all wrapped up.

With nothing else to deal with, Kotone finds Myungsoo from a distance. Maybe it’s simply the magical atmosphere that the event has conjured throughout the campus tonight, but to her, it's like when she first met him during orientation week. Her heart tells her to do it. To walk up to him. Nothing can stop her now. Why keep hesitating.

Right as her eyes catch Yooyeon approaching him with two empty glasses in her hands.

She can feel her own heart pulling away, dragging down like an anchor with every beat. This isn't college, nor is it not high school either. Well, you definitely did not think this through, her ego tells her over the deafening gymnasium.

“So…” she hears someone else’s familiar voice from behind. “It still really is him. After all those years.”

She turns around. “I don't know what you're talking about, Junghoon-ah.”

“You don't have to tell me anything, Tone…” he snickers. “But, maybe it's better if you talk things out with him.”

“Nothing is going on, dude,” she keeps dismissing his claim with a smile. “And how about you and—”

“We're doing well, thank you,” he stops her, knowing well who she meant. “Worry about your own… I just don't want you to get hurt because you're keeping it to yourself… Go to him. Don’t think about it too much.”

And as he leaves her with an assuring smile, Kotone does. She takes a deep breath, maintaining her cool and shaking her worries and doubts to the side the closer she reaches the gap between Myungsoo and Yooyeon, even as they exchange laughter.

“Look who finally showed up… Koto-chan!”

= = =

It’s now an hour past midnight, inside the gymnasium, and only a few alumni and other guests have been hanging out, as they exit the hall and, on their way out, thank the ones who are still present there, the committee themselves, the two of whom are Kotone and Myungsoo. They’re now fixing everyone else’s mess, yet they do it with smiles radiating with contentment with the memories they made.

“I know the staff will be dealing with most of these in the morning, but I’d rather fix the mess we’ve made here.” Kotone places another chair on the fifth stack. “At least most of them. Wow, this is no joke.”

“Let me help you with that,” offers Myungsoo. “You’ve done a lot for tonight, you know.”

The woman has had the urge to ask him about what she saw earlier. It can just be a friendly curiosity, right? Nothing scandalous about it.

“Thanks for helping me out, not just with this, But you know… With everything.”

“Hey, don't mention it, Tone-yah,” he taps her on the back. “I loved planning this whole event as much as you did, but you're basically the MVP who made this fantasy real from the start.”

“Nah,” she objects. “It would have remained a fantasy if it wasn't for you, Kim Ssaem. You’re the one who’s still here.”

“I guess, but who knew the class officers of 2025 would still be here like we used to?”

“Not everyone from our officers got to be here, if you remember things clearly, but I guess… It’s best that we focused on who came tonight. Cherished the moments with those in front of us,” she pondered.”

“That… That couldn’t be more true.”

“The nostalgia must have gotten into you tonight as well, Mister Treasurer.”

“I didn't even know how to count money that well.” He laughs and shakes his head at her callback. “I can't remember why I even accepted the class’ nomination in the first place.”

“I wasn’t there, but I thought you did your job just fine.”

“That's because you were there with me, Miss Auditor!”

“Not when you were around,” she shoots back. “I wasn’t even there until your last year.”

“You helped me regardless. Plus, you did well on your own after I graduated. Balancing the council funds and your thesis… Now, everything paid off for you, Tone-chan.”

“Hey, at least you’re loving your job. Loyalty can get you somewhere, after all.”

“You don’t?” he queried. “You get paid like six digits for about half a year, if not more! You’re just as loyal to ModHaus as I am to our alma mater.”

“Well… That’s one thing I love about my job. I just wish I’d get to do other stuff, like I did planning this event, you know? Not that I wanna be an intern again or something, but it’d be nice to branch out to another department… It’s been a long time.”

“Have you ever considered applying for other positions in your company?” he suggested. “I doubt they wouldn't want to take your expertise for granted, because in the past three months, you’ve shown them what you’re capable of… You’re a woman of many talents, Tone.”

Dugeun. “You flatter so much, Myungsoo-oppa…”

“Yeah, but that wasn't a lie, was it?”

“Whatever. I am considering reaching out to the Event Management Team. Happy?” she spills to him. “They’re the ones who planned and executed the last ModHaus Gala, and, believe it or not, that inspired me to do this whole shebang.”

With that, some things start to make sense to Myungsoo. “They'll be lucky to have you.”

Unbeknownst to Kotone, her cheeks start to blush. “You and your words again, oppa!”

“I swear those are just my observations.”

= = =

June 2031.

Even after the reunion, the two still hang out. Kotone and Myungsoo still keep in touch, as the latter first suggested, even if they meet less this time. Around two to three times a week, they’d hang out after work with their mutual friends. Other times, it’s just the two of them, which is nothing new, much like tonight.

“Look who just got promoted?” is how she breaks the ice to him during this meetup.

“Seolma… That’s great!” By instinct, excitement fuels him to take her hands while the pitch of his voice goes up. “Chukahaeyo!”

His hand holding on to hers is evoking something strange, but not unfamiliar. Their eyes lock in silence with no exchange of banters, as they both get a feeling of déjà vu. However, such a moment doesn’t fill her mind with expectation, a juxtaposition with how heart is behaving in his presence. Kotone notices everyone else at the cafe giving them different looks, something that doesn’t seem to faze the man in front of him. The man whose eyes are only focused on her. Embarrassment is not what her mind has been warning her. Rather, it’s the same old hindrance that’s holding her back. All those years.

“You can let go now, Myungsoo-oppa,” she tells him, yet she keeps holding on to them.

He senses the discomfort in her voice. Perhaps, that’s not the right word, yet it’s abrupt for him and strange, even for himself. “Oh, right… Mianhae.” He parts from the woman, taking a few steps away from her.

“No, it's okay,” she fixes her hair, placing scattered strands to the side. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all. You were a bit too excited. And it’s my promotion, too,” she tries to lighten up the mood once again.

“Well, it's a big achievement for you,” he defends. “How can I not be happy for you?”

“Gomawo, oppa.”

= = =

Three weeks have passed. Tonight feels different, but maybe that’s just what Myungsoo feels, based on his observation. They feel a bit more distant. Strangely enough, the fact that they're inside a pojangmacha makes him more attentive towards her. It must be the limited space. Or that her cheeks are slowly blushing right after taking down her fourteenth shot of the night.

She’s quieter than usual, he notices her staring into a blank space. “You alright? Or are you gonna rant about it? Hey, you better not be regretting your promotion or something, because you very much deserved that position.”

“Oppa…” she turns to him, ignoring his active concerns and speculation, as one question has been lingering on her mind. “What are we?”

He turns to her without a word, keeping his mouth from opening agape. His reaction is delayed, like a system lagging due to the overloading of data. If he had taken a sip of his shot before that, he would’ve spilled his drink. “Huh? What do you mean, Tone? Your question’s a bit too vague…”

Just like their relationship. Kotone takes a deeper breath than before. Instead of facing him head on, her eyes gaze at a distance, wistful at her thoughts and reminiscing of her past. “Yeah... I know that’s such a cliche thing to say… But, I’ve been thinking of it for a while... That damn question… But then again, you’re not a philosophy professor.”

“If that’s what you mean, uhh, then…” he stammers, hoping that playing along will help him understand what she's talking about. “We’re friends. We’ve always been, aren’t we?”

She feels a clenching and numbing sensation in her chest. It’s temporary, but she knows why she’s feeling like this. To hear that phrase over and over again. It’s exhausting.

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Don’t mind me. I know it’s already been months since the reunion, but I’m just taking us down memory lane. What happened after graduation. It just got me thinking, how, the last time we met, you were also with Yooyeon-unnie. My close friend and fellow Diamond Dreamer.”

“Tone-yah.” He feels discomfort, even from her, since all she’s doing is bringing up his own dating life. Yet, he finds it strange that he himself doesn’t want her to tell all these details. But his mind reminds him of their encounter at the reunion. When she walked up to him and Yooyen. “Where are you going with this?”

“No, no, I’m not jealous or anything,” she slowly rubs the side of her neck. “I was happy for you guys... But now that we’re on this route, I’m just wondering how she’s doing.”

Jealous? Myungsoo’s mind repeats it. He’s not entirely convinced by her words, but he doesn’t want to worsen this moment. He just wants Kotone around. Talk things out in this new perspective, even if it makes him, or even her, uncomfortable. “I mean, with what I know, she’s been doing well now. Always a beloved professor to her classes.”

“Are you not beloved by your students?”

“Well, I had my ups and downs… And—” He realizes Tone’s move. She's trying to change the subject and beating around the bush. “Wait… You’ve caught up with Yooyeon at the reunion, haven't you? Along with your fellow clubmates. She mentioned that. And you walked to us.”

“Ah…” She's running out of ramblings. Out of excuses. “We have, and she looks just as stunning as I last saw her. And most of the members were there, too. Jiwoo. Chaeyeon. Nakyoung-unnie. Everyone had a glow-up. They evolved. They were still so beautiful.”

And so are you. He can’t speak it out, feeling a part of himself keep such words from leaving his mouth. It’s usually not like this, and it’s bugging him.

“I love Yooyeon-unnie. She was always like a sister to me... But after finding out how successful she’s been, how all of them have been, even I knew that I couldn’t have compared to her in a lot of ways—”

“Don’t say that.” He didn’t know what just came to him, but he could only feel his heart constricting, hearing the woman compare herself to his old flame. Her own best friend. Deep down, he knows it’s not all of the sudden. “You’re saying nonsense now. Yooyeon and you are different. Don’t compare yourself to her, or anyone.”

She looks at him, her eyes a veil to various emotions. Disdain. Inferiority. Regret. Determination. Bitterness. Reassurance. False hope. “So how did you see me then, Myungsoo?”

He gulps down his own nervousness, hoping that her words in the past few minutes are simply the result of her less sober state. But he finally gets her to speak out. “Tone-yah. You must already be—”

“Drunk?” she scoffs, knowing him well. Quite too well. “I don’t know. I guess, we’ve had too many of those then. We’ve had this kind of talk too many times for me not to forget. You should know by now that this second bottle doesn’t faze me one bit…”

“Are you sure about that? Because it seems like—”

“I like you, oppa.”

He’s finally at a loss of words, but she still looks at him dead in the eye.

“All those years, I've been idiotic. I'm idiotic right now, too… Just risking our friendship for something I'm not even sure will go anywhere.”

Defeated and dumbfounded by his failure to realize it beforehand, he can only look down while she takes her fifteenth shot.

“I thought that making the reunion would make things like they used to,” she adds. “I mean for a night, it did… And I was so happy about that. I was overjoyed that I didn’t disappoint anyone who made it. Or myself. I mean I did get a promotion after that.”

She pours the last ounce of her bottle, before taking her sixteenth shot without pause. “And then I saw you and Yooyeon together. I know I was happy for you two back then. But, b-but I don't know how else to say it… Seeing you that night. It… It still hurts.”

He feels his heart sink deeper. “Kotone,” Myungsoo wants to say anything else, but he keeps his gaze at her. Amidst her words, he himself is paralyzed in this dilemma. He wants to open his mouth, but she continues her somber, tipsy confession.

She wants to cry. It’s what they usually do in dramas, but weirdly enough, there are no tears left for her tonight. The pang is there, burning through her raging heart with every word she mutters. But she won’t stop until she’s left it all out of her system. “And I know that you’re no longer together, but my stupid brain kept thinking that there could still be a slight chance… So I went up and ruined your moment.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he mumbles back.

“On second thought…” she wheezes, unable to defend her own face of smugness to him, even though he defended her. “Maybe I’ll regret this tomorrow. I’m sorry I wasted your time tonight.”

Slowly, he reaches his hand going to her shoulders, but her eyes catch it from the side. “Don't do anything you'll regret, oppa. Just because you feel bad for me.”

“Then I’ll regret it with you.” Myungsoo raises his bottle. Kotone wants to feel touched, but in her mind, she’s sensed this pattern that’s been irking her in the past few months since they’ve caught up. A pattern that lasted years. His willingness and enthusiasm to hang out with her whenever she invites him, without any question. His long ‘ride or die’ mentality whenever she’s on her low point or even when it’s the silliest of hypotheticals, like now. I know what you’re feeling, but don’t get your hopes up… That’s just how he’s been to you. You’re a close friend. His best girl friend. “Or not at all.”

= = =

“Hnggghhh… Huh..?” Despite feeling the irritating, inconvenient weight of her eye bags, as well as the unpleasant sensation of her parched throat, she opens them to find herself staring at a white ceiling.

Kotone wakes up on the snuggly surface of a bed that she has never lied on in her life, wrapped under a blanket. Inside, she slowly takes a peek of her own body—inducing a sigh of relief with what she has found. Her eyes wander around the room. She hears the door creak while it slowly opens. Her eyes light up in panic but she immediately catches a glimpse of Myungsoo’s face and his waving left hand from the other side as he walks in the bedroom with a mug of coffee. Of course, it’s him. There’s no escaping from this one. She places a nearby pillow on her face, muffling herself as she groans into the cushion.

“Good morn—” he quickly backtracks his choice of words, sensing the not too welcoming atmosphere inside his own room. Not to mention her perplexed face, from her eye bags to her slouched posture, and how she just acted after seeing him. “Or is it not a ‘good morning’ for you? We’re in my place, by the way, if you’re confused.”

“I’ve had worse… But this is a pretty nice bed. Great pillow too,” Kotone puts her right palm on her face, inevitably letting out a groan while her memories just had to remind her of last night. “God, that was really embarrassing of me…”

Myungsoo approaches the bed, sitting beside her. “This will help,” he hands over the mug, which she politely accepts with a slight bow.

“Thanks…” She blows it gently, before her lips touch the latte, welcoming the balance of bitter, sweet, and slightly salty taste entering her palate. “This is, uh, this is really good.”

He can’t help but chuckle, hoping that his lighthearted approach will lighten her up. “It’s from my go-to cafe… It’s just a three-minute walk from here. They’re pretty cheap, too.”

The woman takes another sip of the coffee, wanting to disrupt the silence between them while he waits for her.

“And, as embarrassing as it is,” he continues. “I think it’s not that uncommon to have moments like those. I would’ve brought up more memories myself too… But I think… We still have to talk about something about last night. If that’s fine with you…”

It’s time, she realizes. She places the cup on the nightstand.

“I, uhh, get what you mean, oppa. And, umm… I still mean it,” she tells him up front. “Whatever how you feel, that’ll be your feelings. I just…” She sighs. This shouldn’t be that dramatic, girl, she tells herself. “Confessed my own… And, I can’t take it back.”

He exhaled through his pursed lips. “Why take it back?” he shoots back.

“What?” Befuddled by his blunt response, she doesn’t know how to answer him.

But for Myungsoo, his heart isn’t lying. Neither is hers. “I’ve seen you as a friend for a long time, Kotone. But that doesn’t mean I never saw you as anything more than that.”

“What do you mean, Myungsoo?”

“I wasn’t sure because of how you and I acted whenever we're together… Maybe I was giving you too many mixed messages, ‘cause I kept holding myself back. Perhaps I was just scared that we'd lose everything we had if I said—or did anything funny... And with what happened last night, you were… A lot braver than I am.”

She let out a chuckle. He is not that different. Even he had his own hesitations.

“And with Yooyeon… Even she was bothered at times.” His hand clenches into a fist. “About us being close friends... But I know now, that's not on her. It’s on me. You were never a problem. I was being stubborn against myself, and I ended up breaking people’s hearts. I broke your heart, Kotone. I'm sorry because of that.”

In spite of their fifty-centimeter distance, Kotone doesn’t hesitate to hold his hand. “Don't blame yourself for everything, oppa.”

“I know, but sometimes, I still do. But I shouldn't be scared. And you made me realize that, Kotone... I’ve always treasured our friendship for what it was, but I'll always care about you more than that. Whatever we may be… I don't regret this.”

Dugeun, dugeun. Dugeun dugeun.

“I know it’s stupid to say it nowadays, but I’ve always seen you as a woman.”

His explanation makes her chortle, but such a reaction can't mask her true feelings.

“Myungsoo-oppa…” She stares at the man straight in his eyes. Such a patient yet longing and welcoming gaze from him is something she never thought she would ever get to see. She stands from her seat. “Would you… like to go out with me?”

He chuckles at her more or less act of formality. Instead of answering her with words, Myungsoo stands up and takes a few steps forward towards her, walking past the thin curtains of their friendship, and wraps his arms around the woman he’s been longing to embrace for a time only his beating heart can tell. Kotone tightens his embrace, closing her eyes. Both can only have a laugh, listening to each other’s heartbeats as if they’re headphones for only one ear, or a vibration speaker. He inches away, wanting to see her face.

Just as he expected. Her looking down on the floor, trying to cover up her blushing cheeks. “Yah… Why are you staring at me now?”

“Well, it’s…” He wants to tell her. Tell her an observation that he’s never told her before. “You look so cute… So beautiful... Just like that night. I mean, you always were. I’m sorry if I never got to tell you… I’m sorry it took me so long.”

With her lips shut in wonder, Kotone can’t shoot back a witty quip or begin another banter. This time, only her blushing cheeks and heartbeat answer to his straightforward praise. Not a teardrop is willing to leave her eyes once more, as today, her sense of triumph overcomes any other emotion.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, too,” she musters up to him. That weight on her heart begins to lift up, and it’s the best feeling she’s felt since their reunion.

Despite seeing her joy through her wide smile, Myungsoo senses her hesitation to move closer. He cups her cheeks, warming it up with his hands. Slowly, he pulls Kotone into his lips and tilts his head to the right. Their eyes close at the same time. He savors the sweet and bitter taste of the coffee from her lips, as well as the traces of the grapefruit soju in her mouth, as well as the scent of the fruity perfume he’s given to her. She gets a taste of his menthol toothpaste and a whiff of his aqua cologne; her hands hold on to his sloped shoulders. Feeling her body, his hands move over to her waist.

Their lips part for a second, albeit only to tilt their heads in the opposite direction before resuming their moment and intensifying it by pulling him closer, allowing her hands to clasp around him so they can savor each other’s touch more and feel each other longer.

= = =

The next one will definitely be a smut… I really gotta start writing shorter fics, lol. In the meantime, I'll keep reading and reblogging amazing fics from amazing writers, which I'm sure you're familiar with. As always, thanks for the read. 'til next time!

[batsovergotham]

i don’t know who i am anymore pt 2

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: smut, some angst, fluff, yay flashback time!!!

w/c: 18.4k

a/n: this chapter isn't really crucial to plot I left it in because I promised there would be more fluff n smut

Your room is excessively neat. Too quiet.

The graduation gown sits from your closet like it’s criticizing you. The cap is on your desk, tassel still sealed in the tiny package the school handed you during final week. You haven’t taken it out yet. You kind of enjoy the concept that if you don’t touch it, it won’t be real. That maybe the day won’t happen.

Your phone buzzes. Mark.

> you up?

You grin before you realize you’re smiling.

> barely. do i have to wear the cap or can i just glue the diploma to my chest

Mark replies quickly.

> new fashion trend but yes ben will cry if you don’t do it correctly

You pause, then smile wider. Ben. And May. They’re going to be there.

You’re going separately from Mark. Not because you’re concealing anything, you’re not. You’ve mentioned him before. Told May he made you laugh. Told Ben he helped you with chem. They know his name. They knew his voice, from the day he picked you up after school and honked twice in the driveway while you ran out the door, blushing.

But you haven’t spoken it out loud. Not yet. He’s yours, but in the manner that doesn’t always require explaining. And today? Today doesn’t feel like the proper day to characterize it.

You text him back.

> you bringing tissues? i’m guessing you’re a crier

Mark texts back.

> bold of you to think i have human emotions wait hold on just made eye contact with my mom and now i’m crying in the kitchen

You laugh and type back.

> idiot

Mark shoots back a text.

> your idiot

You ride to the ceremony with May and Ben. Ben drives. May has the radio tuned to a station that’s only playing slow, melancholy graduation music from the early 2000s. You sat in the back seat, legs hopping, trying not to pick at your gown.

Ben peers at you in the rearview mirror. “You okay, kiddo?”

You nod. “Just… a lot.”

May turns to face you. “You’ve earned this. You hear me? All of it.”

You nod again, but your throat’s a touch too tight to speak anything more.

May smiles. “And hey. That kid you mentioned once or twice—Mark, right? He going too?”

You pause.

Then nod. “Yeah. He’ll be there.”

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t press.

Ben snorts. “Is that the one who almost took out a mailbox trying to parallel park?”

“Ben.”

“I’m just saying. Bold choice.”

You grin. And feel your nerves relax just a bit. You notice Mark from across the field.

He’s in line with the rest of the alphabetically arranged mayhem, his hat slightly awry, robe blowing in the breeze. He notices you the second you locate him, like his radar is tuned to you and you alone. He doesn’t wave. He just grins. You don’t wave either. You just grin back. And yet, that’s louder than anything else going around you.

You spot them before Mark does.

You’ve known Debbie and Nolan for a while, at least, in the casual way people know the parents of their close friends. There were awkward half-smiles in the pick-up line outside school, courteous welcomes and dinners on evenings where you’d help Mark study for Chem, the one time Debbie handed you a tissue at a parent-teacher conference because your sinuses were acting up and she “always kept some handy.”

She’s standing beneath a tree now, away from the rush of post-graduation mayhem, wearing her usual blue button up, grey jeans, her hair tied in a tight bun. She seems peaceful. Warm. Like someone who’s handled the camera at a thousand school events and never missed the moment that mattered.

Nolan’s beside her. Tall. Hands in his pockets. Sharp posture. Watching the audience with that softly attentive face of his that doesn’t offer much, but never feels unfriendly either.

You tap Mark’s arm. “Your parents.”

He follows your eyes, nods. “Right. Let’s go say hi.”

You move together, falling into step as always. But your heart’s racing quicker now. They don’t know yet. About you and Mark. Not really. You’ve been around. Been to his place. Had dinner with them. Laughed at Nolan’s dry comments about his novels. Helped Debbie clean the dishes once after Mark burnt the noodles.

But that was all under the guise of just friends. Now? Now it’s different. Now you and Mark have held hands in school hallways, snuck kisses behind gym buildings, murmured vows in late-night conversations about how college won’t change how you feel. You’ve spent months orbiting each other with the type of gravity that only pulls tighter the longer you remain.

And they’re about to find out. Debbie sees you first. Her face brightens up.

“Oh!” she exclaims, coming forward. “There’s my favorite graduate!”

You open your mouth to say something, but she hugs you before you can.

“You looked so grown-up on that stage,” she adds, hugging your shoulders before stepping back. “Made me tear up.”

Mark coughs. “Mom.”

She turns to him. “You too, sweetheart. Obviously.”

Nolan provides a modest nod. “Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thanks,” you say, and you truly mean it.

Debbie’s glancing between the two of you now. Her eyes narrow. Just a bit. You gaze at Mark. Mark glances at you. And then Debbie says it.

“…You two came here to hang out together?”

Mark nods. “Yeah.”

Debbie’s stare lingers. “And sat together?”

You nod. Her brows rise.

“And walked out of the ceremony together?”

Mark touches the back of his neck. “Uh. Yeah. We’re... we’ve been together for a while now.”

The silence isn’t heavy. It’s loud. In a warm, astonished kind of manner. Debbie blinks once.

Then she claps her hands together. “Finally.”

Mark’s head twitches. “Wait—what?”

Nolan lets out a low sigh that could be the ghost of a chuckle.

Debbie glows. “Oh, please. Did you honestly believe I didn’t know?”

You gaze at her. “You—what?”

She pats your shoulder, smiling. "Sweetheart, the way you look at him? That’s exactly how I used to look at his dad, back when he didn’t have so much gray."

Nolan clears his throat. "It’s not that bad."

She smiles lightly, unfazed. "Keep telling yourself that, silver fox."

Mark’s mouth opens. Closes. “You knew?”

Debbie shrugs. “I didn’t know-know. But I guessed. And I hoped. And now I know for real, so now I get to celebrate.”

Nolan eventually talks again. “You make him calmer,” he explains simply. “That’s not easy.”

You gaze at Mark, shocked. Mark, for once, has nothing to say.

Debbie goes closer and offers you another hug, softer this time. “We like you, okay? We liked you before. But now it’s official.”

You grin into her shoulder. “Thanks, Mrs. Grayson.”

“Debbie,” she corrects softly. “You can stop with the formal stuff.”

You pull back. Then Debbie turns to Mark and slaps his arm.

“Ow!”

“You could’ve told us.”

“I was going to!”

“After the ceremony doesn’t count.”

Mark moans. “I wanted to do it right.”

Nolan arches a brow. “Did you think this needed to be a thing?”

Mark shrugs. “I don’t know! I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Debbie says. “It’s you. And it’s her. It makes sense.”

Mark glances at you. And in the midst of the grass, surrounded by yelling family, confetti, and the loud sound of someone’s off-brand speaker playing a graduation playlist, he smiles like the sun’s just shining on you.

You grab for his hand. He accepts it without hesitation. And Debbie doesn’t say anything. She only offers a glance that says, ‘Good.’ Nolan nods once again. And just like that, it’s real. They know. They approve. And you didn’t even have to explain.

You don’t stay long.

There are pictures to take, relatives to manage, and dinner arrangements with May and Ben. But before you go, Debbie makes you promise to come by next weekend for dinner,“Nothing fancy. I’m making spaghetti again. He can’t burn it this time if I’m supervising.”

Nolan presents you a graduation card. Doesn’t tell anything about what’s inside. But when you open it later in the vehicle and see the check, your mouth drops.

Mark just shrugs. “They like you.”

You and Mark sit on the hood of his car after nightfall, still in your gowns, still excited from the day. You put your head against his shoulder.

“I can’t believe they knew,” you whisper.

“I can’t believe my mom used the phrase ‘finally.’”

“She’s been rooting for us longer than we have.”

Mark laughs quietly. You turn your head to look at him. And he’s already gazing at you.

Mark shifts awkwardly, but his voice is steady. "I meant it. Whatever's next... I want you there with me."

You smile, a little breathless. "Good. 'Cause I wasn’t planning on doing any of it without you."

He leans in. And kisses you. Not rushed. Not performative. Just real. And sweet. And slow. And as he draws away, he lays his forehead against yours.

“Guess we’re really doing this, huh?”

“Guess so.”

And the world, which earlier felt unimaginably large, suddenly feels exactly the perfect size.

The bell over the restaurant entrance jingles as you go inside, shrill and high-pitched like it always is. It’s the same sound that’s welcomed you since you were ten years old, strolling in on muddy boots and sunburnt cheeks, pleading for pancakes and chocolate milk after soccer games you didn’t even win.

But tonight, everything sounds different.

Tonight, the air feels thicker. Softer.

Like it knows this is the final time you’ll come here as a high school student. As a kid, really.

May and Ben are already in the back booth. It’s the one they usually pick, the one with the view of the parking lot and the flickering neon sign in the window that still hums on humid evenings. Ben’s waving as soon as he sees you, beaming so broadly it makes his spectacles drop down his nose. May’s almost halfway out of her seat, reaching for you with both arms.

“There she is,” she says, drawing you into an embrace. “My brilliant, beautiful, officially-graduated girl.”

You squeeze her back, chuckling into her shoulder. “I didn’t trip walking across the stage.”

Ben lays a palm over his heart. “Truly, a miracle. She’s grown.”

You sneak into the seat opposite from him, your cap tucked under your arm, your graduation case still grasped like someone would take it back.

“I feel like I should get a trophy for surviving that many speeches,” you add, laying the certificate on the table.

May chuckles, eyes gleaming. “You did great. You seemed so calm up there.”

“I was internally screaming,” you acknowledge.

“Still looked good doing it,” Ben says.

You smile, soft, bashful. “Thanks, guys.”

A server drops by to deliver you menus, but you wave yours off. “I already know what I want.”

Ben laughs. “Same grilled cheese you’ve ordered since fifth grade?”

“Why mess with a classic?”

You slump back into the old vinyl of the booth, letting yourself breathe for the first time all day. The walls of the café are yellowed from time, and the linoleum flooring creak under sneakers when the crew goes by. A couple of toddlers are fighting about jelly packets at an adjacent table. The Coke machine hisses behind the counter. It’s all so natural.

And for a second, you forget you’re standing on the verge of something new.

The meal arrives swiftly. Grilled cheese, delicately crisped. Crinkle fries, shared between you and May. Ben’s burger is too huge for one hand, and he gets mustard on his shirt inside the first five minutes.

It’s perfect. Comforting.

“Flash tripped,” May says mid-bite, and you snort.

“I know. He almost took out three people with him.”

Ben shakes his head. “That boy’s gonna become a joke someday. I can feel it.”

You grin. “He already is.”

The laughing fades slowly, and for a minute, you all just eat in silence. Until May leans over and gently nudges the diploma case on the table.

“Feels real now, doesn’t it?”

You nod. “A little.”

Ben observes you closely. “How are you holding up?”

You pause.

And shrug. “Weird. Good-weird. A little afraid. Kinda floaty.”

“That’s about right,” he adds. “Floaty’s normal.”

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll still be senior year,” you say. “Like all of this is some long fever dream.”

May hums. “If it is, it’s a pretty good one.”

You nod, then peek out the window, watching the tail lights burn red in the parking lot, the streetlamp flickering along the sidewalk where you used to ride your bike in figure-eights.

They don’t bring up Mark right away. But you can feel it coming. The question is floating there, dangling in the gap between bits of food and sips of milkshake. And then, eventually, when May folds her napkin neatly next her plate, she says it.

“So... we saw Mark.”

You keep your focus on your fries. “Yeah?”

“Before the ceremony,” Ben adds. “He was with his parents. Looked nervous.”

You grin faintly. “He doesn’t like crowds.”

“He kept looking for you,” May adds gently.

You peek up, just for a second. You nod slowly. “Yeah. He did.”

That’s all you say. That’s all they want. They don’t push. And let it be.

The check comes. Ben attempts to wave it off. You grasp it. May intercepts. Eventually, the server just splits it without asking.

You stroll out onto the parking lot, the air heavy with that delicious, post-rain smell, concrete and fresh grass and something electric that always comes with summer nights. The wind plays with the edges of your robe, the cap clasped in your hands now instead of placed uncomfortably on your head.

May hugs you again, slower this time.

“You did it, kid,” she murmurs. “You’re already braver than I ever was.”

You put your face onto her shoulder. “You raised me. So that tracks.”

Ben pulls you into a hug after, tighter than usual. He doesn’t say anything. He just pats your back, then kisses the top of your head as he did when you were seven and skinned your leg on the concrete.

And then they hand you the keys.

“You’re driving?” you inquire.

“Just once,” Ben adds. “You earned it.”

You grin and take them.

The engine growls to life beneath your fingertips.

The headlights slashed across the lot.

May gets into the passenger seat, her hair gleaming white beneath the dashboard light. Ben gets into the back. You take the long way home, past the school, past the restaurant, past the park where you once fell off the swings because you were showing off for a boy you don’t even remember now.

No one talks much. But the calm is lovely. Real. Safe.

Later, you’re cuddled up in bed, cap and gown hanging on the back of your door, when your phone buzzes.

> how was dinner?

You type.

> good

Mark replies quickly.

> did they ask about me?

You reply just as fast.

> kinda. but i didn’t say anything. not yet. not because i’m ashamed of you or anything. just... because it still seems like ours. and i want to keep it for me a bit longer.

Mark replies.

> i’m yours anyway take all the time you need

You gaze at the screen.

And you know what it is to have something that no one else has to comprehend. Not yet. Not right now. Just something that exists between text messages and lingering stares and shared milkshakes after the sun goes set.

The first thing you notice when you come on campus is the loudness.

Move-in day is exactly what everyone told it would be, horns blasting, trolleys squeaking, parents hollering directions over one another, someone shrieking over a mattress that’s missing and another youngster who’s obviously already locked themselves out of their room.

The third level smells like paint, hot carpets, and too many expectations jammed into too-small apartments.

Mark’s lugging a package labeled “DO NOT CRUSH,” and you’re following him with a laundry hamper that should legally require a forklift.

“Third floor,” Mark mutters. “No elevator. Of course.”

“You’re the one who said we should take the stairs for the ‘real dorm experience,’” you huff. “I’m currently experiencing the early stages of spinal collapse.”

He flashes you a grin. “Worth it.”

You nearly drop the hamper on his foot.

Room 3B is already open.

Inside, the place looks like a battle zone, half-unpacked books, a rolled-up poster of Seance Dog, a lava lamp, and a desk strewn with receipts and takeout menus. Sitting in the center of it all, arms crossed, is a guy with thick wavy hair and a look like he’s just done analyzing your moral integrity.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Love you too,” Mark answers without skipping a beat.

You blink. William Clockwell stands, wiping chip crumbs off his shirt. “I was beginning to think you’d chickened out of college entirely.”

“Please. I’d never leave you unsupervised in a shared living space.”

“Wise. You’d come back to a fort built up of Pringles cans and overdue library fines.”

Mark drops the box on his bed with a bang and turns to you. “Meet William. My best friend since first grade. He’s a threat. Don’t trust him with your password or your Netflix account.”

William’s already eyeing you. Not in a scary way, more like a scientist exploring an unexpected variable.

You offer your hand. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard... a lot.”

“All of it true,” William says, shaking it. “And most of it flattering. You, however... you’re the famed accomplice?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Accomplice?”

“The one who helped him pull off that science fair stunt in senior year?”

Mark moans. “Don’t start.”

“I still think that lava is a questionable project theme for teenagers.”

You laugh. “It was definitely not up to code.”

William grins. “I like you already.”

Move-in goes swiftly, surprisingly rapid, since Mark has the organizational skills of a dropped ice cream cone. You hang posters, plug in chargers, uncover his lost headphones tucked beneath a package of granola bars. William occasionally offers in color commentary, largely to keep Mark modest.

“You realize half your shirts are inside out, right?”

“I fold with my soul, not my hands.”

“You fold like a raccoon on Adderall.”

You like William. He’s got a sharp tongue, but there’s something stable behind it, something loyal. You can tell he’d go to war for Mark if he had to. Probably with a clipboard and a thorough sarcasm itinerary. Eventually, he leaves to call his parents, and the room falls quiet.

Mark crashes into the bed like a ragdoll. You sit on the edge near him.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “It’s weird. I’ve known this was coming for years, and now that it’s here, I keep thinking I overlooked something.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Something back in high school. Some part of me that didn’t get packed.”

You smack your shoulder with his. “It’s probably wedged under your bed with all the missing socks.”

He snorts. “Probably. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wasn’t going to miss this.”

“I mean... not just for move-in.”

You look at him. And he looks at you.

“I know you’re not living on campus,” he continues. “And I get why. But selfishly? I’m still gonna miss you.”

“You’ll see me all the time.”

“I’ll still miss you.”

You smile. Then lean in and kiss him, gently and assured. When William steps back in, he doesn’t even flinch. He only raises an eyebrow.

“Should I knock next time?”

Mark doesn’t flinch. “Probably.”

You draw back and stroke the bed beside you. “We were talking about how messy your half is.”

William grins. “A true bonding moment.”

Then he tosses a granola bar at Mark’s head. “Also, I stole your pillow. Yours smells like stress. Mine smells like ambition.”

Mark rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. And William’s smiling too. Because they’ve been doing this forever. And now? You’re part of it too.

The email enters your inbox at 8:03 a.m. on a Tuesday.

You’re sitting at the kitchen counter at May and Ben’s house, still in your pajamas, hair jammed into a sloppy bun and a bowl of cereal halfway to your lips when you notice the subject line.

OSCORP SCIENCE SUMMIT: TRAVEL DETAILS + FINAL PRESENTATION SCHEDULE

The spoon doesn’t make it to your mouth.

You gaze at the screen for a whole thirty seconds before you even open it. Then your heart does this odd fluttering thing like excitement and sickness got together and decided to have a party in your ribs.

You scan the first few lines.

It’s official. You’re going.

Three days, all-expense paid. Two nights at a hotel you’ve never heard of. Formal dress necessary. Your name is on the list of junior interns presenting in the Friday morning breakout session titled: Next-Gen Bio-Application Engineering: Theoretical Pathways to Active Adaptives.

Which is a clever way of saying “the tiny tech you helped patch together on week two might actually be used in something real someday.”

You scroll down deeper and freeze at the sentence in bold.

"Guest passes available. Bring someone to support you."

You reread it. Then again. And one more time, like the words may transform into something else if you stare too closely. Your brain’s already finished the thought before you do. Mark.

You wait to bring it up. Not because you’re worried he’ll say no. You know him. He would say yes to everything you asked, even if it included three hours of lab lectures and the world’s most terrible folding chairs. No, the reluctance isn’t about doubt.

It’s about timing. Because college is already its own type of storm. You’re commuting. Juggling. Oscorp in the mornings, courses in the afternoons, late-night homework cuddled up on the couch with Ben napping in the next room and May softly bringing you tea without asking if you’re overwhelmed. Because she knows. Of course she does.

Mark, on the other hand, is living dorm life, fully absorbed. Sharing a room with William, childhood best buddy and snark personified. Navigating early lectures, social circles, and the continuous circle of dining hall food complaints. You see him virtually every day, sometimes between classes, sometimes beneath the quad tree you informally claimed in week one. You bring food. He brings coffee. It works.

You just haven’t found the right time yet. Not till Friday night.

His dorm is noisy when you come. Not party-loud. Just friends in college-loud. William’s got music playing, something instrumental, symphonic and dramatic and slightly sci-fi, and he’s rearranging the bookcase with the seriousness of a man prepping for combat.

Mark greets you at the door with a grin and a bag of peanut M&Ms. You collapse on his bed. He sits next you, half on, half off, long legs splayed out, shoulders crushed to yours. William barely looks over.

“Tell me you’re here to stop him from putting his entire sock collection under the bed.”

“I’m here for the candy,” you reply. “The sock situation is between you two and your God.”

Mark laughs. “It’s fine. I just lost, like, three.”

William tosses a book onto the shelf with a thump. “He’s making a sock graveyard and calling it neat.”

You grin, but it flickers. Because now the moment is arrived. And your heart’s already straining to race ahead of your words. Mark notices quickly.

He leans in a little. “What’s up?”

You grab your phone from your sweatshirt pocket and deliver it to him, the email still open on the screen. He scans it rapidly.

“Wait—this is... you’re presenting? At a science conference?”

You nod.

“I thought Oscorp just had you cleaning stuff and filing data sheets.”

“I did,” you say. “Until they realized I actually know how to think.”

He glances up. “That’s huge.”

“Yeah,” you answer gently. “It kind of is.”

He keeps reading, eyes searching the lines until he reaches to the bold one. 'Guest passes available. Bring someone to support you.' He glances at you. You try not to fidget.

“I was going to ask,” you say, a bit too hastily. “I mean, it’s just a couple days. You’d get a badge and everything. Probably sit through boring panels, but there’s a mixer night and some showcase things. And the hotel has free breakfast. I think.”

He’s already nodding.

“Wait—really?”

“Of course.”

You blink.

“That was fast.”

Mark lays the phone aside and nudges your knee with his. “You’re kind of a big deal. I want to see you be a big deal.”

Your face gets heated.

William clears his throat without glancing over. “I’m emotionally moved. Truly. Let me know when to trigger the romantic strings.”

Mark flips a pillow at his face. “You’re not invited.”

William catches it midair. “Wouldn’t go. Too many scientists. I prefer my heartbreaks abstract.”

You and Mark broke out laughing. Later, after William’s gone to the lounge to microwave something, and Mark’s sweeping crumbs off the blanket, you lean against him again.

“You’re really okay with going?”

“More than okay.”

“I might be a mess.”

“I’ll bring tissues.”

“I might drag you into science debates.”

He shrugs. “You’ll win.”

“I might panic the morning of.”

Mark leans down and joins his fingers with yours.

“Then I’ll be there. Exactly when you need me.”

You grip his hand. And for the first time since the email arrived, you genuinely believe it.

The suitcase won’t close.

You press down with both hands, knees braced against the side of Mark’s dorm bed, biting your bottom lip like somehow that’ll make the zipper listen. It doesn’t. Mark steps in just as you let out a noise halfway between a moan and a battle cry.

“Need help?”

“No,” you reply between tight teeth. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m a disgrace to physics and rubix cubes.”

He grins, lays his coffee down on the desk, and crosses the room. You sit back and let him take charge. He doesn’t even flinch at the amount of clothes flowing over the edge.

“What did you bring? Five days’ worth of clothes for a three-day trip?”

“I need options.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How many ‘options’ are made of this much wool?”

“That’s my presentation blazer.”

“You brought three.”

“They’re different colors!”

He manages to pull the zipper halfway when one corner of a collar gets hooked, and he groans in feigned discomfort. “This feels like a test.”

You smirk. “It is.”

“You’re evil.”

“And yet here you are, helping me.”

He gets the bag closed on the third time, straightens himself, and mock-wipes perspiration off his forehead. “That’s love.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you slip an entire shoebox of chips into your backpack.”

“Conference food is a lie and I refuse to starve.”

You giggle, then slump back onto the bed. Mark lies alongside you, the springs squeaking slightly beneath his weight. From across the room, William speaks out without turning away from his laptop. “For the record, this is the most hetero rom-com shit I’ve seen all week.”

“Thank you, William,” you say without raising your head.

“I strive for accuracy.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, I do. Daily.”

William flicks a pencil into the air and catches it. “Try not to make a scene at the conference. I don’t want to get a call stating you threw your jacket at someone during a panel discussion.”

“Only if they deserve it.”

Mark tilts his head toward you. “You nervous?”

You shrug. “A little. I mean, it’s Oscorp. And I’m not even technically a complete intern yet. I’m still under review.”

“You’ve got this.”

“You have to say that. You’re legally bound as my supportive moral rock.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Yeah. But I also mean it.”

You close your eyes. Breathe in. And for a second, the anxieties settle. That night, you stop by May and Ben’s to grab the remainder of your belongings. Your trip suitcase sits on your bed, folded clothing pouring out like your closet burst in slow motion. May leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that mom expression, fond and amused and somewhat frightened.

“That’s a lot of clothes for three days.”

“I need backup outfits. Blazers. Professional things. Emergency snacks.”

“You sounded like me before my first teaching conference.”

You turn, holding up two virtually identical coats. “Be honest. Which says ‘young but intelligent up-and-comer’ and not ‘sweaty undergrad who could faint during Q&A’?”

May tilts her head. “The one on the left. But bring both. Just in case.”

You grin and slip both into your carry-on.

Ben pops his head in a minute later with your printed itinerary. “Highlight the address. And the emergency number. And don’t eat anything off of a strangely unmarked buffet tray.”

“You’re projecting,” you mumble.

Ben winks. “Yes. Because I once had food poisoning at a tech convention and had to lie down under a folding table for two hours. Don’t repeat my sins.”

You giggle, then grab for your charger and zip up the final bag.

May steps closer. “You’re ready for this, you know.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “You’ve been ready for a while. You’re just now having the room to prove it.”

You feel something constrict in your neck. “Thanks.”

“Take notes. Make eye contact. And for the love of God, don’t drink coffee before you speak.”

“Not even one cup?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“...Half a cup?”

“Fine. Half.”

Ben tosses in, “You call us if anything weird happens. If the hotel’s suspicious or they lose your badge or you feel weird, you call.”

“I will.”

You mean it. You embrace them both at the door.

May lingers just a little longer, smoothing your hair back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

The airport is pandemonium. You anticipated it to be bad, it’s early morning, middle of the week, and every airport is full with business travelers and Oscorp interns in wrinkled blazers, but this? This is something else. The type of travel day that makes you rethink every decision that lead to this point.

You and Mark make it through security fairly unhurt, though your tote bag gets flagged and they yank out your backup phone charger like it’s a nuclear weapon. He laughs to the TSA agent about you being a “dangerous scientist” and you answer by flicking his ear once you’re free of the conveyor belt.

“I’m never traveling with you again,” you murmur, shouldering your suitcase.

“Bold of you to assume I won’t save your life at least twice on this trip,” he answers with a grin.

It’s still early enough that your mind feels hazy, like your ideas are wrapped in fog. But you’ve got your boarding pass, your coffee, and the boy who makes you forget your own tension standing beside you, so you can’t complain too much. Not out loud, anyhow. You board in group C.

No frills. No improvements. Just economy seats, an air freshener that smells like lemon floor cleaner, and exactly six wailing babies within hearing range. You slide your carry-on beneath the seat, buckle your belt, and peek sideways. Mark's already glancing out the window, fingers tapping softly against the armrest. His leg is bouncing. He hasn’t even taken off his bag yet.

“You okay?” you ask.

He startles. Just a bit.

Then nods. “Yeah. Just... not a big fan of flying.”

You tilt your head. “Really?”

He shrugs. “I mean, I’ve done it. Vacations. Visiting family. But it’s never... comfortable.”

You nod, taking him at his word. There's something weirdly appealing about the idea that Mark Grayson, your easygoing, always-has-a-snack boyfriend, gets frightened on an airplane.

“Do you want the aisle instead?”

“No,” he responds hastily. “I’m good here. Just... could be quiet for a bit.”

You smile. “I won’t hold it against you.”

You reach over and hold his hand, giving it a slight squeeze. He squeezes back. Doesn’t let go. Takeoff is tough. The normal lurch. The little dip. The odd quiet before the engines scream.

Mark holds the armrest with his free hand, mouth tight. You keep your eyes on the window, chatting gently about absolutely anything else, how bizarre the hotel itinerary was, if Oscorp really required four distinct lanyard colors, whether your presentation slide backdrop is too dark for a morning panel.

By the time you achieve cruising altitude, he’s breathing easier.

“Still with me?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. Just... odd to not have control, you know?”

You don’t question it. You don’t realize how much that statement means to him. Not yet. You fall into a groove. You bring out your laptop to examine your presentations for the tenth time. Mark pulls out a sketchpad. He claims he brought it for note-taking, but you know better. About half an hour in, you peek over and discover he’s sketching. You’re not surprised, he’s usually doodling on discarded napkins or the margins of lecture notes, but this sketch is different.

It’s you.

Focused. Half-turned toward the window. Elbows on your tray table, face lighted by the illumination of your laptop.

“You’re drawing me again,” you mumble.

Mark doesn’t look up. “You always make a good subject.”

“Flattering.”

“Factual.”

You smirk, but you don’t push. You just let him sketch. There’s something calming about it. Something grounding. You go back to your slides. You make a few notes.

And when you put your head against the window a short time later, you close your eyes and let the hum of the engine cloud everything else. The open seat fills around forty minutes in, middle-aged man, Bluetooth headphone, travel pillow that smells like a retirement home. He nods pleasantly and instantly falls asleep with a snoring. You and Mark gaze at each other. His lips twitch. You mouth, help me.

He grins and inserts one earpiece into your palm. “White noise playlist. You’re welcome.”

You grab it and lean toward him. He doesn’t move away. Somewhere over the mountains, you start chatting about Oscorp.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” you mumble. “It’s my first real shot at being taken seriously in the field. And I’m not even a complete intern yet. If I mess up this presentation...”

“You won’t,” he adds simply.

“You can’t know that.”

“I do,” he answers. “Because you’re better at this than anyone else in that building. And so even if you trip over your words or forget what slide you’re on, they’re still going to remember you.”

You gaze at him.

“Because I’m a mess?”

He grins. “Because you’re the kind of mess that builds things.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. You just let your hand slip into his again, and hold on.

When the flight attendant passes with beverages, you both grab ginger ale. You divide a bag of pretzels. You make silly jokes about cloud forms. He sketches a bit more, this time a window full of stars and a silhouette that looks disturbingly like you.

You rest your head on his shoulder after that. He leans into you. And you doze there, someplace between time zones, somewhere above everything else. The instant you step out of the gate and into the rush of arrivals, you feel it. Not simply the dry, over-conditioned airport air or the soreness in your shoulder from carrying your bag but the prickling awareness that something’s going to happen.

And then you see him. Tall. Hair blown from the breeze flowing in via the automated doors. Expensive sunglasses sat on top of his head. One hand in his pocket, the other carrying a tablet. Leaning nonchalantly against a pillar like he’s posing for a GQ piece he pretends he doesn’t know he’s in.

Harry. You halt mid-step. Your heart leaps.

“Holy crap,” you murmur.

Mark glances at you. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You’re already moving. You run to him. Not fast. Not theatrical. Just real. Like your body chose before your mind did. Harry glances up just in time. And suddenly your arms are around him.

“Whoa-!” He drops the tablet, startled, but then he’s holding you back, tight, one arm around your waist and the other wrapped protectively behind your head.

“God, you’re alive,” you whisper into his shoulder.

Harry laughs, shaky and full of something old and familiar. “I’m alive? You’re the one who vanished into Oscorp’s basement for six months.”

You don’t let go right away. Neither does he. When you eventually move back, your hands are still on his arms, and his are still ghosting over your ribs like he’s terrified you could disappear again.

“You’re taller,” you say.

“You’re lying.”

“You look exhausted.”

“Okay, that one’s fair.”

He grins. And you realize you missed that grin more than you realized. Mark approaches a few seconds later. He doesn’t interrupt. But you sense him standing there. Close, quiet. You turn to him, cheeks heated.

“Mark, this is Harry. Harry, this is Mark.”

Harry reaches out a hand. “Harry Osborn.”

Mark shakes it. “Mark Grayson.”

There’s a beat. Then Harry’s smile curves just a bit. “Boyfriend, right?”

Mark blinks. “Uh. Yeah.”

You nod swiftly. “Yeah.”

Harry glances at you. Then at Mark.

“Cool,” he says. Smooth. Even. Nothing in his speech gives anything away. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Mark’s jaw tics once. “Same.”

You fold your arms, still beaming, trying not to jump on your heels. “What are you doing here? I thought you were upstate for prep.”

“Was. Came back yesterday night. They required someone to organize arrival. I volunteered.”

You blink. “You volunteered to be my glorified chauffeur?”

Harry shrugs. “I’m owed a few favors. Plus, I get to make you uncomfortable for the next three days. Win-win.”

You laugh. It’s the type of chuckle that leaves you a bit breathless. And behind you, Mark adjusts his weight. Harry notices. Of course he does. He tilts his head, gaze moving between the two of you. His smile doesn’t fade, but it steadies. Calibrates.

“You guys get any sleep on the flight?”

“A little,” you say. “He passed out. I went over my slides till I hated them.”

“Typical.”

“I’m very productive when miserable.”

“Is that why you did all your AP Chem homework during a stomach bug in eleventh grade?”

“Don’t remind me.”

Harry turns to the luxury car sitting at the curb. “Come on. I’ve got the luggage already loaded. Hotel’s fifteen minutes out.”

The ride is quieter. You and Harry talk, filling the stillness with inside jokes and tiny recollections. Mark listens. He doesn’t insert himself, doesn’t attempt to compete. But you can sense him thinking. When you gaze at him, he grins. But it’s a touch tighter than normal. Outside the hotel, Harry pulls your bag from the trunk before you can resist.

“Still allergic to letting people carry things for you,” he says.

“Still refusing to let me pull my weight.”

“That’s because you’re still made of string cheese and spite.”

You smack his shoulder. Mark lingers at your side. You can almost hear the silent question emerging.

Harry glanced at the check-in counter. “I’ll go confirm your rooms.”

And suddenly he’s gone. You and Mark are alone again. And the quiet between you is weighted.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

Mark nods. “Yeah. Just... I didn’t know how close you two were.”

You pause.

“We’ve known each other since kindergarten,” you say. “He’s family. Not in a romantic way. Just... he’s always been there.”

Mark nods again. But he doesn’t say anything else. You grab his hand. He takes it. And squeezes. But his eyes linger on the door Harry just disappeared through. You gaze at your reflection for longer than you mean to.

Your hotel room mirror is too clean, too harsh under the LED lights. Your hands are firm, but only because you’ve previously practiced every action five times. Blazer on. Lip balm. One final breath. You look nice. You look prepared. You don’t feel prepared.

The presentation isn’t till tomorrow, but Oscorp’s giving a formal supper tonight to welcome all their younger researchers, mentors, and visitors. A pre-conference “casual professional” gathering. The sort that’s theoretically optional, but not really. You know better than to skip it.

Mark is waiting in the hallway when you step out of your room. He glances up and genuinely blinks.

You halt, feeling self-conscious. “Too much?”

He shakes his head, slow. “No. You look...”

You raise a brow.

“...Insanely smart,” he finishes. “Like someone who’s way too smart for me and could prove it without even trying.”

You laugh. “That’s the goal.”

He extends out his arm. You link yours through his. And together, you head down. The banquet space Oscorp leased is obnoxiously lovely. Soft jazz sounds over ceiling speakers. Waiters in black vests hover around offering trays of sparkling water and bite-sized fusion dishes no one can recognize by look alone. The house smells like fresh carpet and expensive aftershave.

You see Harry almost immediately. He’s toward the front of the room, speaking with an older man in a fitted three-piece suit. He catches your eye mid-sentence, and his smile transforms instantaneously. Real. Bright.

He excuses himself, strides directly for you.

“Damn,” he exclaims, grabbing you into a hug. “You clean up good.”

You laugh. “You’ve seen me in a lab coat and stained hoodies. This isn’t a high bar.”

Mark stands next to you, quiet, smiling as nicely as he can.

Harry turns to him. “Grayson.”

“Osborn.”

They shake hands. It’s not unfriendly. But it’s not warm, either.

“Glad you could make it,” Harry adds, his tone level.

Mark nods. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You feel it. The weight of their words. The way they glance at each other for a second too long.

You cut in swiftly. “Are we sitting? Or do I have to elbow someone for a table?”

Harry grins again. “Come on. I reserved you a spot.”

You’re seated between them. Harry on your right, Mark on your left, the table full of Oscorp interns and mid-level academics sipping wine like it’s just grape juice and mumbling names you dimly know from science papers.

Mark doesn’t speak much. He listens. Observes. His hand keeps resting on his thigh. Yours finds it midway through the appetizers. Harry’s talking to someone across from you about your project as if he developed it himself. He name-drops your work with ease, familiarity, even pride.

You’re not sure if it’s flattering or suffocating.

“You should’ve seen her in the early stages,” he continues. “She caught a pattern in the test batches that even the senior team missed. Half of the engineering pivot happened because she caught it first.”

The researcher, someone named Dr. Li, nods appreciatively. “Impressive.”

Mark glances at you. You grasp his hand under the table.

Dinner is a flurry of voices and clinking glass.

Harry chats. Laughs. Teases you. Reminds you of the time you blew up a beaker in tenth grade chem and attempted to blame it on a draft. Reminds you of when you fell asleep in AP Bio and drooled over your textbook. You laugh along. But you can feel Mark’s quiet. Not cold. Just... distant. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t challenge. He doesn’t lean in or crack jokes the way he typically does. When the dessert comes, some fancy chocolate swirl with a name you can’t pronounce, he finally moves near.

“You okay?” he whispers. You gaze sideways.

“I think so.”

“You seem quiet.”

You hesitate.

Then. “You do too.”

He smiles, warm and crooked. “Just watching.”

You push your knee against his under the table.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He glances at you.

“I am too.”

The night finishes gradually. People wander out. Harry sticks behind to chat with a few execs. You and Mark stroll outside into the quiet hotel courtyard, where the air is cooler and the lights are dimmer. You lean on a railing. He stands by you.

“I think I’ve eaten seventeen thousand calories in stress,” you say.

Mark laughs. “Worth it.”

You gaze up at him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

You nudge him. “You sure?”

He nods. “It’s just weird.”

“What is?”

He exhales, brushing a palm over his face. “Seeing you like this. In your element. With people who’ve known you forever. And I’m... the new guy.”

You step in closer. “You’re not just the new guy.”

Mark looks at you. Really looks. And the anguish flickers there for only a second.

“You hugged him like you forgot I was there.”

You blink. “ Mark-”

“I get it,” he says. “You guys have history. I’m not trying to damage that. I just... I think I didn’t expect to feel so on the outside.”

You swallow. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I want to be.”

He leans on the railing now, viewing the stars. You stand beside him. And say nothing. Because it’s not about jealousy. It’s about space. And who fills it. And who doesn’t.

You barely speak a word during the elevator ride. The silver doors glide shut with a gentle hiss, trapping you and Mark in with mirrored walls and soft overhead lighting that makes your reflections appear like strangers.

Your feet hurt. Your head is noisy. And you can sense him standing just slightly aside from you, not far, not frigid, but... far enough to notice. The elevator dings quietly. You lead the way out. Room 1024. Your room. You key in gently and enter inside, the subtle click of the door behind you making the whole suite feel 10 times quieter than it did this morning.

Mark follows you in, letting the door close gently behind him. You kick off your shoes. Your blazer lands on the back of the desk chair. He waits near the doorway, arms folded, watching you move.

“I’m gonna shower,” you say gently. “Wash the Oscorp off.”

Mark nods.

You disappear into the restroom before he can say anything else. You stand under the hot water until your fingers wrinkle. Not because it’s chilly. Not because you’re exhausted. Because it’s all finally catching up to you.

The dinner. The pressure. Harry’s return. Mark’s peaceful remoteness. Tomorrow’s presentation.

You’ve been holding it together all day, smiling, nodding, networking. Laughing too loud as Harry taunts you. Squeezing Mark’s hand under the table to make up for all the words you didn’t know how to speak out loud.

And now? You’re just... afraid. The type of afraid that doesn’t always have words. When you emerge out of the restroom in an enormous Oscorp T-shirt and bare feet, Mark’s still awake.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed, scrolling absently through something on his phone, hair unkempt from running his fingers through it too many times.

He glances up when he hears you.  And grins. Small. Tired.

You sit next him. He puts the phone down.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Mark turns slightly. “For what?”

You gaze at your hands.

“For hugging him like that. For making you feel like a third wheel. I didn’t mean to.”

Mark doesn’t answer right away. But he doesn’t move away either.

“I’m not mad,” he says finally.

“I know.”

“It’s just... hard to feel like I’m still catching up. Like you and he share a language I don’t speak.”

You nod slowly. “We kind of do.”

He glances at you. You don’t flinch.

“I wasn’t easy to be friends with. I was awkward, and weird, and talked too much about things no one cared about. I wasn’t-” you swallow, blinking fast, “I wasn’t the kind of person people stuck around for.”

Your throat tightens, but you push through it.

“But he did. Even when he didn’t have to. Even when everyone else grew up and got cooler and louder and better… Harry never treated me like I was something he’d outgrown.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting for steady breath.

“When I bombed that exam and thought it meant I’d never be good enough… when Flash made me feel like I was nothing… When I hated even looking in a mirror, Harry was the one who showed up. He didn’t try to fix it. He just sat there. Just stayed.”

You finally glance up, and it’s harder than you expect, because Mark’s there, listening. Really listening.

“I’m not… I’m not saying it like it’s some big thing. I just-” your voice wavers, fragile and messy, “I guess I’m scared. That maybe… if people could outgrow me back then… it could happen again.”

You blink hard, shoulders stiff, trying to pretend like you’re fine. But your voice is too small when you add, almost too soft to hear.

“I don’t wanna lose you too.”

Mark doesn’t interrupt. You suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. Mark doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t have to. He’s sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, solid and steady and right there. Not moving away. You drop your eyes to the comforter again, cheeks burning for a whole new reason.

“And just so you don’t get the wrong idea…” you mumble, your voice low but honest, “I don’t feel that way about Harry. I never have.”

The words sit there for a second, heavier than you meant them to be.

You risk a glance up, half-expecting him to look mad or jealous, but Mark’s just… looking at you. Soft. Real.

“He’s my best friend,” you add, quieter. “But you’re… different.”

You don’t know if he hears the full meaning of that. You don’t even know if you could say it out loud yet. And he stays right there. He hesitates.

“You sure about that?”

You glance up. Not defensive. Just honest.

“I know what I feel. And it’s not for him.”

Mark scans your face. Then nods.  And eventually relaxes a little. You cuddle into the pillows. Mark lays alongside you. Not touching yet. But close. The hotel room is quiet save for the hum of the air vent and the faint shuffling of linens. You pull the cover up to your chin and look at the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” you mumble.

Mark doesn’t pretend not to hear you.

“Of tomorrow?”

“Of messing up. Of freezing. Of speaking the wrong thing. Of them realizing I’m just a kid who got lucky.”

He turns toward you.

“Hey.”

You don’t look at him.

“You’re not lucky,” he adds gently. “You’re good. You worked for this. You earned it.”

You still don’t speak. So he leans out and takes your hand. And suddenly you can breathe again.

“You’re going to get up there tomorrow,” he adds. “And you're going to do exactly what you’ve always done, blow people away and forget that they scare you the moment you start talking.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Because I believe in you.”

You eventually gaze at him. And he’s still gazing at you. Like you’re the only thing that matters.

In a bit, the lights go out. The city lights dimly through the drapes. You lie in the dark, eyes open. Mark’s breathing is steady. You shift closer.

Your fingers are still tangled loosely with his beneath the blanket, and you finally glance at him, heart doing its awkward little somersault thing when you catch how soft his expression looks. He must feel you staring, because he turns his head a bit and meets your gaze.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up. With Harry and everything.” you murmur.

He exhales, long and slow. “I didn’t wanna say anything either. I mean, it's not like I didn’t trust you or whatever. It just… felt like I was watching something I wasn’t part of.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek for a second. “I get it. If I were you, I’d have felt the same way.”

Mark’s mouth quirks, almost a smile. “I was sitting there next to you, nodding along like an idiot while Harry’s talking about the time you both got banned from a Six Flags for hacking the rollercoaster music system.”

You groan, pressing your face into the blanket. “That was one time. And we didn’t get banned, we got strongly discouraged from returning.”

He laughs, and it’s real now, quiet, but warm. “I dunno. He made it sound like they were gonna put your faces on a watchlist.”

You grin against the sheets, heart hammering a little too fast again, but not from embarrassment anymore. From something else. Something hopeful. You lift your face, your voice going soft again.

“You know none of that means anything, right? I mean… not like this means something.”

His eyes meet yours, and they’re so open it almost knocks the breath out of you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know now.”

The silence between you tightens again, but this time it’s charged in a completely different way. You shift a little closer, your thigh brushing his under the blankets. His fingers curl tighter around yours. Your voice comes out smaller than you expect.

“Can I… kiss you?”

Mark’s eyes widen just a little, his breath catching. Then he nods, barely more than a breath. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You lean in slowly, your pulse a roar in your ears, every nerve in your body dialed up. You’ve never been good at this. Kissing. Intimacy. It’s not that you haven’t wanted it. You’ve just never been sure how to get there. But Mark’s there, waiting, and when your lips meet his, it’s soft. Gentle. More of a brush than a kiss. You pull back, half-expecting to have fumbled it, but he’s already chasing after you with a smile.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come back.”

You do. The second kiss lingers longer. Still soft, but with more intention. Your nose bumps his and your hand accidentally catches his chest in a weird, flat-palmed way that makes you both laugh against each other’s mouths. It’s not perfect. It’s better. It’s you.

He kisses you again, and this time you relax into it, fingers finding his shirt and curling there for something to hold onto. His lips move against yours like he’s not in a rush but doesn’t want to stop either. You part your lips, testing the waters, and when his tongue brushes yours, it sends a thrill down your spine you didn’t expect. You make a small sound, a surprised, involuntary gasp, and Mark pulls back just a little, checking your eyes like he's making sure you’re still with him.

“You okay?” he asks, voice husky, his hand sliding up to cradle the side of your face.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah. Just… new.”

His smile softens into something tender. “That’s okay. We can go slow. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod again, your hand now sliding under the edge of his shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of his side. It’s warmer than you expected. He leans in again, kissing you deeper now. You shift closer, until your leg is draped over his, your chest pressed lightly to his, and god, the way it feels to have his body against yours makes your brain completely short-circuit.

You don’t even realize how much time has passed, how many kisses. Everything’s a blur of soft mouths, breathless sounds, hands that explore in halting, reverent paths. He’s not rushing. He’s matching your pace, like he’s reading your mind. Every movement, every graze of his thumb on your cheek or the slow drag of his palm down your side, it’s all careful, respectful, but electric.

Your lips are swollen now, flushed and tender from the growing intensity of every kiss, every breathless gasp between them. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been like this, tangled up in one another, kissing until the rest of the world faded down to the warmth of Mark’s body and the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

His hand is on your waist, fingertips digging into the soft cotton of your sleep shirt, and yours is fisted in the fabric of his tee, pulling him closer every time his mouth meets yours like you need more of him. The air around you feels thicker, heavier. Charged.

You shift again, instinctively, your thigh pressing more firmly between his legs, and that’s when you feel it. The slow, aching pressure of his hardness through his pajama pants, against your leg. The awareness of it hits both of you at once. You freeze, barely a breath away from his mouth, and he exhales through his nose, shuddering.

“Shit,” he whispers, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting this either. “That—wasn’t on purpose. I swear.”

You swallow. “I know.”

Neither of you moves for a second. Then your voice, quieter, more raw, “It’s okay. I… don’t want to stop.”

His eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to find the edges of your comfort. “You sure?”

You nod. “I want this. I just—I’m figuring it out as we go.”

Mark kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper. His hand slips beneath your shirt, not groping, just palm-flat and warm against your back. The contact sends a jolt through you. You gasp into his mouth, your leg shifting again, accidentally grinding against him.

He groans. Low, guttural. His hips buck forward, just barely, like he’s trying not to move too much, but can’t help the reaction. You feel it again, how hard he is. How hot this is getting.

Your hand trails down his side, hesitant but curious, and he catches your wrist gently.

“I don’t want to go too far,” he says, voice thick, but controlled. “But if we… stay like this…”

You don’t let him finish. You roll your hips, shy but deliberate, grinding into his thigh where it rests between yours. The friction sparks something sharp and needy in your stomach, and you gasp, clutching at his shirt.

Mark’s breath catches like you’ve hit him with a punch. “Okay,” he murmurs, “okay, yeah, that’s—god, that’s good.”

His hips move again, this time meeting yours, slow and tentative at first. You both moan, quiet, startled. There’s fabric in the way, layers of it, but somehow it only makes it more intense, more charged. You can feel him through the denim, and he can feel every shift of your hips against his leg.

You move again, grinding into him a little harder this time, your breath hitching as the friction hits just right, a soft cry escaping your throat. Mark growls under his breath and grabs your waist, steadying you, guiding you as you move against each other.

“You feel… fuck, you feel amazing,” he says, mouth against your neck now, teeth grazing your skin. You arch into him instinctively, pushing closer, chasing the pressure, the pleasure building between your legs in slow, delicious waves.

Your bodies fall into rhythm. Clothes still on. Nothing exposed. And yet the sensation is almost unbearable, the way your clit grinds against your underwear, the damp heat building there, the way his cock twitches beneath his jeans every time your hips roll together.

You whimper, head falling forward to rest against his shoulder. “Mark…”

He groans your name like it’s a prayer, hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you against him as he thrusts up to meet you. “Keep going,” he whispers, “I’m so close—I can’t-”

You nod, frantic now, chasing your own high, your body moving on instinct, your thighs tightening around his, your clit catching perfectly against the seam of your underwear with every grind. The pressure is unbearable and perfect and building so fast you can’t breathe.

Your moans are louder now, breathier, and Mark's voice is rough in your ear, panting, muttering half-formed words, “just like that—don’t stop—fuck, you’re—so hot-”

You cry out, shuddering, as it hits you hard and fast, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave you didn’t see coming. Your thighs seize, hips grinding in a desperate, uneven rhythm as you ride it out, shaking against him.

Mark groans, body going tense beneath you, and a second later he jerks up into you with a broken, desperate sound, and then he’s gasping into your neck, cock twitching through his boxers as he comes hard, grinding against you one last time.

Silence falls again, but this time it’s charged in a completely different way. You're both panting, flushed, your bodies still tangled. The world shrinks to the hot, sticky thrum between your thighs and the warmth of his arms around you.

Your skin’s still buzzing, your heart hasn’t slowed, and Mark’s hand hasn’t left your body since he kissed you breathless and made you melt against the sheets. You’re curled on your side, facing him, still flushed and warm all over, your sleep shirt rumpled high around your waist. His fingers are drawing lazy lines along your thigh like he doesn’t want to stop touching you, and honestly, neither do you.

You look at him, your lips parted, still catching your breath. “That… was a lot.”

Mark grins, eyes a little wild, like he’s still not totally back in his body either. “Good a lot?”

You nod, cheeks hot. “Very. Just… I didn’t expect it to feel that good. Like my brain turned off.”

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s kinda the point.”

You exhale, grounding yourself in the weight of him beside you, in the way his hand brushes along your hip like he’s memorizing you by touch. You shift slightly, parting your legs a little under the blanket, letting the warmth and tension start to build again. He notices. His eyes flick down, then back to yours, checking.

“You want more?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You nod slowly, nerves fluttering under your ribs, but not enough to stop you. “Yeah. I… I think I want you to, um…” Your eyes drop, and you swallow. “Go down on me?”

Mark doesn’t blink. Doesn’t hesitate. Just smiles softly like that’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’d love to.”

Your heart stutters, and he shifts immediately, kissing your lips once more before moving down the bed. He pauses when he’s kneeling between your thighs, hands sliding gently up your legs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His gaze is reverent, warm, focused entirely on you.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good, okay?” he says, looking up at you.

You nod, voice small. “I trust you.”

He smiles at that. “Good.”

Then he lowers his head.

His lips press a kiss just above your knee. Then another, higher, a slow trail up your thigh that has your stomach clenching. His breath is warm, teasing, and when he kisses the soft crease beside your center, you gasp, hips twitching involuntarily. He doesn’t dive in. He waits, fingers smoothing over your skin, easing you into it.

Then finally, finally, his mouth settles between your thighs.

The first touch of his tongue is light, just a slow, warm stripe over your slit that makes your toes curl. Your fingers bunch the sheets, your head tipping back against the pillow as a soft, helpless sound slips out of you. He groans against you at the sound, the vibration of it making you shiver.

Mark licks again, firmer now, tongue dragging up to your clit in one smooth motion. When he flicks it, your whole body reacts—hips lifting, thighs squeezing around his head before you can stop yourself.

“Oh my god—Mark-”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice muffled, lips brushing you as he speaks. “That feel good?”

You let out something between a whimper and a laugh. “Yes. Jesus.”

He chuckles, low and smug and so affectionate, and then gets back to it. His hands hook around your thighs, pulling you open gently, holding you steady as he focuses on your clit now, licking slow circles, sometimes firm, sometimes soft. Every shift of his tongue feels different, like he’s reading every reaction, adjusting just for you.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. One ends up in his hair, fingers tangling instinctively, the other gripping the pillow beside your head. Your breath stutters with every pass of his mouth, every change in pressure.

When he sucks, just lightly, testing, you moan, sharp and sudden, your legs shaking around his shoulders.

He hums in approval, licks harder now, zeroing in on the rhythm that makes you come undone. Your thighs start to tremble, the pleasure curling in your gut, growing tight and hot and right on the edge of too much.

“Mark—Mark, I’m-” you gasp, barely able to form words. “I think I’m gonna—oh my god-”

“Do it,” he breathes against you, voice ragged, “I’ve got you.”

That’s all it takes. You break, coming with a cry you can’t even hold in, your hips jerking, back arching off the mattress. His name slips from your lips in broken pieces as he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now, easing you through it, drinking in every second.

You collapse back, panting, dazed. Your legs fall open, spent. Mark finally pulls away, lips slick, cheeks flushed, grinning like he just stole the sun. He crawls up the bed, brushing a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, letting you taste yourself, your heat still on his mouth.

“You okay?” he asks, thumb brushing your jaw.

You nod, swallowing hard, voice soft. “I think my soul left my body.”

He grins, nuzzling close. “Then I’ll just have to kiss you ‘til it comes back.”

Mark’s sprawled out against the pillows, shirtless, pants still half-on, but loose around his hips now. His chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. His hair’s a mess, his lips are pink and parted, and he’s looking at you like he’s not sure he’s still conscious.

You reach for the waistband of his jeans, your fingertips brushing against the bare skin of his lower stomach. You glance up at him, cheeks flushed. “Can I…?”

He nods quickly, already breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, totally.”

Your hands work the button open, sliding the zipper down slow. He lifts his hips to help when you tug his pants and boxers down, revealing him fully. You pause for a second, just looking, taking in the way his cock is flushed and hard, resting against his stomach, thick and twitching in time with every breath he pulls.

You’re flushed all over now, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. But you want this. You want him. And it’s not about returning the favor, it’s about the way he looked at you earlier, like you were something he’d dreamed about touching and couldn’t believe was real.

You lean in, your breath brushing over him, and he lets out a strangled sound just from that. You smile, barely, and then press a kiss to his hip bone, one side, then the other. Your hand wraps around the base of him, gentle but sure, and he groans, low and sharp.

You glance up again. “Okay?”

Mark’s eyes are almost black now, his voice wrecked. “Yeah. God, yeah.”

You lower your head, letting your lips ghost over the tip, tasting him, salty, hot, unfamiliar but not unpleasant. He twitches in your hand. You open your mouth and take him in slowly, inch by inch, your lips wrapping around him as you sink lower. His hand clenches the bedsheet beside him, the muscles in his stomach flexing hard.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, voice already strained. “You’re… wow, okay.”

You smile around him, letting your tongue glide under the shaft, dragging back up to the tip with a slow flick. He shudders, his hips barely lifting before he reigns himself back in. You start to move, careful at first, your hand stroking the base while your lips slide up and down over the head, learning the rhythm of his breath, the way he twitches when you go just a little deeper.

He groans again, voice muffled. “You’re gonna kill me. I swear.”

You hum around him, and his whole body jerks, a strangled moan slipping from his throat. You glance up and his eyes are on you, dazed and wide and wild, like he can’t believe this is happening.

“You look-” he chokes out, “fuck, you look so hot like that.”

You keep going, taking him deeper now, inching farther with each pass. Your throat tightens, your jaw working, your hand stroking in tandem. His abs are tight beneath your palm, his thighs trembling just a little where your fingers rest against them.

Mark’s hands twitch like he wants to touch you, maybe tangle in your hair, but he doesn’t, he just watches, eyes locked to yours every time you glance up. You speed up a little, hollowing your cheeks, letting your spit drip over your fist, making it easier to stroke him faster, smoother. You can feel him start to lose control, his breathing faster, his hips shifting in short, needy thrusts.

“I’m close,” he says, voice shaking. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close.”

You take him deeper, until you feel the head hit the back of your throat. Your hand moves faster, twisting around the base, and you moan softly around him. That’s it. That’s what pushes him over.

He comes with a groan that borders on a whimper, his hand shooting out to grip the sheets, hips stuttering. Hot, salty release spills into your mouth, thick and sudden, and you keep going, swallowing as best you can, letting the rest dribble out and down your chin as you ease off him, slow, careful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, crawling back up beside him. He’s panting, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other still clenched in the sheets like he doesn’t know how to exist in his own body anymore.

When you settle beside him, he turns his head slowly, eyes glazed, lips parted in a dazed grin.

“Okay,” he says. “That was… that was insane.”

You laugh softly, settling your cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I think I just died. And I don’t even care.”

You smile, lips brushing his collarbone. “You’re alive.”

“Am I?” He reaches over and pulls you in tighter, still breathing hard. “Pretty sure I flatlined.”

You kiss the side of his neck, warm and soft. “Guess we both need CPR.”

Mark snorts, breathless. “I think you gave me CPR. With your mouth.”

You grin, biting his shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you,” he says, turning his face toward yours, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “are amazing.”

He kisses you, slow and deep and grateful, tasting himself on your lips without flinching, without even hesitating. Just kissing you like he wants to stay there forever. When you finally pull apart, both of you a little breathless again, he presses his forehead to yours.

“We’re doing that again,” he murmurs.

You grin. “Which part?”

“All of it. Every single part.”

The room feels different now, thick with warmth, the air humming with the weight of what’s been said, what’s been done, what’s about to happen. The sheets are tangled around your waist, your body still trembling slightly, flushed from his touch, from his mouth, from the look in his eyes like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever held. And you are, right now. You feel it in the way Mark touches you. No rush. No pressure. Just reverence. Just care.

You’re lying beneath him, heart thudding so loud you’re sure he can hear it. His hands are warm against your sides, thumbs brushing over the soft skin just below your ribs. He’s hovering above you, fully naked now, his body lean and strong, toned from fights and flights and all the impossible things he does daily, but still human here. Still yours here.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice so soft it barely fills the space between you.

You nod, slowly. “I’m sure.”

Mark exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a beat like he needed to hear that, needed to feel it in his bones. When he opens them again, they’re darker, heavier with emotion, something raw and vulnerable behind the desire.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. I’ll go slow. I promise.”

He leans in and kisses you, not rushed, not hungry, just deep, like he’s saying something he can’t put into words. You kiss him back with the same unspoken understanding, fingers sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. His body settles over yours, the heat of his skin seeping into you, grounding you, thrilling you.

He reaches down between you and lines himself up, his cock heavy and hot against your thigh. You gasp at the feel of it, the size, the pressure, the weight of what it means. He strokes himself once, slowly, before he presses the tip against your entrance, and both of you go quiet.

Mark kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple, whispering between each press of his lips. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop. I’ll stop anytime.”

“I want this,” you breathe, your voice shaking but sure. “I want you.”

He pushes forward, just a little, and your breath catches in your throat.

The stretch is immediate, your body fighting the unfamiliar intrusion. It’s not painful, but it’s… intense. Tight. Full. You tense on instinct, your fingers digging into his biceps.

Mark freezes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, forcing yourself to breathe. “Just… slow. Keep going. Just slow.”

He nods, kissing your forehead. “You’re doing perfect.”

He moves again, gradually, inch by inch, until he’s partway inside you, his hips trembling with restraint. You feel him everywhere, stretching you open, grounding you, filling you in ways that feel impossibly deep. You gasp again, blinking hard, focusing on the heat of his skin under your hands, the sound of his voice murmuring soft encouragement into your ear.

“So tight,” he breathes. “So perfect.”

He goes deeper, his cock sinking into you with slow, deliberate thrusts until he’s fully sheathed, buried inside you. His breath stutters, his eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenched hard to keep from losing control. You can feel every inch of him, feel your body stretching around him, learning how to take him.

You moan softly, hips shifting as you adjust, and when the sting fades into something fuller, warmer, you let out a shaky breath.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, legs curling around his waist. “You can move.”

He starts slow. Rolling his hips in shallow, careful thrusts, keeping his body pressed close to yours, never breaking contact. His hand strokes your side, your thigh, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. Every time you tense, he slows, waiting for your body to trust him again.

And it does. Little by little, the discomfort melts away. You start to move with him, rolling your hips up to meet his, gasping every time he sinks deep and grinds against something that sends sparks up your spine.

“God,” Mark groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel… fuck, you feel amazing.”

You cling to him, overwhelmed by the heat, the closeness, the sound of his voice breaking into gasps every time your hips meet. He picks up a little speed, still slow, still careful, but more confident now. Every thrust fills you completely, the pressure building into something real. Something intimate. Every soft slap of skin, every low moan that spills from his lips, every helpless sound you make beneath him, it all adds to the rhythm, the heat, the connection.

Your fingers drag down his back, nails biting into muscle, and he groans, pushing deeper, harder, still slow but more intense now. He lifts his head, looks down at you with so much awe, so much feeling it’s dizzying.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, forehead pressing to yours, sweat glistening on his skin. “So fucking beautiful.”

You moan, your body clenching around him, your thighs shaking. “I think I’m close, Mark—don’t stop-”

“I’m here,” he says, voice thick and ragged. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”

The wave crashes over you without warning, shuddering and hot and endless. Your back arches, your mouth open on a cry as your walls pulse around him, the orgasm tearing through you like a current. Mark groans, burying his face in your neck as he follows you, thrusting once, twice more before he stills, hips pressed tight to yours as he comes hard, shaking in your arms, gasping your name.

Everything is still after. No sound but the ragged breath of two bodies wrecked and clinging.

He doesn’t move for a long moment, just breathes into your neck, his arms wound around you like he’s afraid to let go.

Eventually, he lifts his head, eyes heavy, lips soft.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, not from pain—just emotion. “Yeah. That was… good.”

Mark leans down and kisses you, slow, tender, no rush. No hunger. Just love.

The room’s gone soft around the edges, dim light pooled in the corners, sweat cooling on your skin, your muscles loose and twitching from the first time he’d taken you apart. The air’s heavy, damp with your breath and his, the sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed in a pile of tangled cotton and clothes. Everything smells like sex. Like him. Like you.

And you can feel him behind you.

Still hard.

You shift slightly, and his cock presses against your thigh, warm, heavy, twitching, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. You blink slowly, hazy, your body pulsing between your legs like it’s already remembering what it felt like to have him buried inside you.

“You’re still…” You glance down, blushing. “Wow.”

Mark laughs, but it’s quiet, breathless, like he’s just as surprised. “Yeah. Apparently, I’m eighteen again.”

You snort, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth. “I didn’t even know it could do that. Like, that fast.”

He shrugs, shifting beside you. “I mean, you were literally moaning like someone rewrote your brain chemistry with their dick, so…”

“Oh my god—Mark—shut up-”

He grins, eyes glinting. “Next time you’re gonna be that loud, maybe warn me. I wasn’t exactly planning on getting hard all over again five seconds later.”

You bury your face in the pillow, groaning. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s still pending peer review.”

Mark laughs again, but there’s a quiet behind it now, something deeper. He shifts toward you, his hand sliding over your bare hip, slow and warm. “Do you wanna go again?” His voice is soft now, careful. “I mean… only if you’re feeling okay. I know you said you were sore.”

You breathe in slowly, feeling the ache in your thighs, the pleasant throb between your legs. You are sore. Your body’s worn and flushed and used. But underneath that soreness is a craving you didn’t know you could feel, something thick and hot and electric.

You nod. “Yeah. I want to.”

Mark’s breath stutters. He leans in, kisses your shoulder, your neck, his lips trailing heat across your skin. “You wanna stay like this?”

You hesitate. Then you push up slowly, onto your elbows, then your hands and knees, arching your back, your ass lifting high.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Your face is already on fire.

“I, uh…” Your voice cracks a little. “I want to try it this way.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Mark makes a strangled noise behind you. “Okay. Okay, you can’t just do that and expect me to function.”

You giggle, nervous, shifting your knees a little wider. “I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”

Mark’s hands settle on your hips, and you feel him slide up behind you, kneeling. His fingers tighten, holding you in place like he’s grounding himself, and then he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lower back.

“You’re doing everything right,” he says, voice rough now. “You look so fucking good like this.”

You shiver, suddenly very aware of how open you are, how vulnerable. But it’s not scary. Not with him. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone.

He strokes his hand up your spine, then down again, until he’s cupping your ass in both hands, gently kneading the soft flesh. You feel the blunt head of his cock nudge between your folds, and your breath catches.

“Okay?” he asks again, even now, still checking.

You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. Just… go slow again?”

“Always.”

He presses forward, and you feel the stretch immediately—sharper this time. Deeper. You breathe through it, bracing your arms as your body adjusts, the pressure building until he’s fully inside you, hips flush to your ass.

You whimper, legs shaking. “God, Mark-”

He groans, holding still, trying not to move. “You’re so fucking tight. I can feel everything.”

You breathe, slow and deep, getting used to the new angle, the depth. It’s intense, so much more than before. It feels like he’s deeper inside you, hitting places that make your toes curl.

“You okay?” he asks again.

You nod. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

“Tell me when.”

You shift your hips experimentally, grinding back against him, and that alone makes you both moan.

“There,” you gasp. “There, I’m good. Move.”

He pulls back, just a little, then thrusts back in, slow, deliberate, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid he’ll lose you otherwise. The sound is obscene, wet, messy, needy, and your thighs tremble as you rock back into him.

Mark starts to fuck you in earnest, his rhythm picking up, the sound of his skin slapping your ass sharp and filthy. You can barely breathe, your face pressed to the pillow as your body jerks forward with every thrust.

“God—fuck—you feel so good,” he pants behind you. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re—fuck—you’re so good.”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a moan as he hits a spot inside you that makes your vision go white.

He leans over you, his chest against your back now, his arm wrapping around to reach between your legs. His fingers find your clit, slippery and swollen, and he starts rubbing tight, fast circles in rhythm with his thrusts.

You scream, bucking under him. “Mark—fuck—I’m gonna—oh my god-”

“Do it,” he groans into your neck. “Wanna feel you come around my cock again. Wanna hear how loud I can make you.”

You unravel in seconds, your body locking, your pussy clenching down around him so hard it rips a growl out of his throat. You shake, crying out, eyes squeezed shut, legs useless beneath you.

Mark thrusts through your orgasm, chasing his own, and a moment later he slams in deep one last time, groaning loud as he comes, cock pulsing, his whole body jerking with it.

He collapses on top of you, both of you breathless, ruined.

After a long, quiet minute, he rolls off to the side, pulling you with him, your body limp against his chest.

You don’t speak. You can’t. You just lie there, letting the warmth of him bleed into your skin, his hand stroking your back like you’re something fragile and important.

Finally, Mark exhales a soft laugh. You’re curled against him, your head tucked beneath his chin, his hand smoothing up and down your back like he doesn’t want to stop touching you. And honestly? You don’t want him to either.

Your skin still tingles. Your thighs are sticky, your lips sore from kissing. You feel raw and loved and dizzy.

But deep beneath all that?

There’s still need.

Not playful. Not curious. Heavy.

You swallow, your voice small. “I’m still... kind of wired.”

Mark hums above you, lazy. “Wired?”

“I mean, like…” You shift slightly, pressing your hips against him without thinking. “I thought I’d be spent. But it’s like my brain's fried and my body’s just... still on.”

You glance up at him through messy strands of hair. “You ever get that? Like your muscles should be exhausted, but your whole body’s still buzzing?”

Mark lifts his head and looks at you.

And he’s not smiling this time.

His face shifts, just a little. Like something in him’s been quiet this whole time and now it’s starting to wake up. That soft, sweet boyish glow in his eyes dims, changes. Not gone. Just shadowed. Heated.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “I get that.”

His fingers slide down your side, finding the dip of your waist, his palm spreading over your hip. He holds you like that for a second. Still.

Then. “You wanna go again.”

It’s not really a question.

But you nod. “I do. I just… I don’t want it gentle this time.”

Mark blinks slowly, like he’s processing that. Then he exhales, breath shaky, and shifts to sit up slightly, his hand still warm on your waist. “You mean like—what? Different position, or like—more intense?”

You hesitate. Then push onto your elbows and roll onto your stomach, deliberately slow. You stretch your arms out and tilt your hips up just enough. Not knees. Not lifted like before.

Flat.

Heavy.

Open.

Your voice comes out low. “More intense.”

There’s a long pause. You feel it, him watching you. Breathing harder.

Then Mark says, quietly. “I don’t think I can be nice if we do it like this.”

You glance back at him. His jaw’s tight. His eyes are dark, locked on where your thighs are already pressing together, slick and aching.

“Then don’t be.”

That breaks him.

Mark shifts behind you slowly, spreading your thighs just a little more with firm hands that feel bigger like this, heavier. He settles on his knees, your hips tipped up with the help of the pillow beneath you, your chest and cheek pressed into the mattress. Your back arches without meaning to, presenting, offering, your entire body opening up for him without hesitation.

You feel him line up, the head of his cock dragging slowly along your entrance, teasing once, twice, more to coat himself in your slick than to test your patience.

“You’re still soaked,” he says, low and ragged.

He presses in with one smooth, solid thrust.

Your mouth falls open. No words, just breath. The stretch hits immediately. He’s thick, the angle is deeper than before, and the way your thighs are pressed together amplifies everything. The heat, the fullness, the pressure on every nerve ending. Your walls clamp down reflexively, overwhelmed, and Mark grits out a curse behind you.

“Jesus Christ—you’re tight.”

You try to nod, but it’s more of a twitch. He’s all the way in, his hips pressed firm to your ass, and for a long second, neither of you moves. You both just exist in the feeling.

Then Mark pulls back.

And slams into you.

The first thrust punches a sound out of your mouth. A sharp cry that bursts out before you can catch it. Your hands fist in the sheets, and your hips jerk forward from the force of it.

He does it again. Harder. Deeper.

His hands lock around your hips, gripping tight, holding you in place as he finds his rhythm. It’s not rushed, but it’s rough. Purposeful. Every thrust lands hard, rocking your body into the mattress, making the headboard rattle gently with the force.

You’re gasping now, helpless. “Oh my god—Mark—fuck-”

“Yeah?” he pants, voice raw. “You like this?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak. It’s too much, in the best way. Your body’s strung out, shaking, the friction relentless. Each thrust drives him so deep inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half and rebuilding you in his shape.

The sound of it fills the room, skin on skin, slick and fast and wet, your cries rising with every thrust.

He leans forward a little, changing the angle, and suddenly he’s grinding against something inside you that makes your vision spark. You jolt, head lifting from the mattress as your whole body tenses.

“There,” he breathes. “That’s the spot.”

He keeps hitting it, again and again, each time with more force, more intent, his cock stroking over that perfect pressure point like he means to ruin you.

You sob into the sheets. “Mark—Mark—I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re taking it so fucking well.”

One hand slips off your hip, snakes around to your front, fingers sliding over your clit. You’re already so sensitive the first brush makes your hips jerk, but he doesn’t stop. He rubs fast, firm circles, in sync with his thrusts, and the combination nearly knocks you out of your body.

The burn is everywhere. Your legs are trembling. Your muscles are tight and twitching, your breath broken into whimpers. You don’t know if you’re saying his name or just thinking it, chanting it, praying with it, begging.

“Please—please—I’m gonna-”

“Come,” he murmurs lowly, barely holding it together behind you. “I want it. I wanna feel it.”

You come like lightning. There’s no slow build, just a sudden, electric collapse. Your pussy clenches hard, convulsing around him, your voice breaking into a sharp cry as your whole body locks up.

Mark groans, deep and strained, his hips faltering. He fucks you through it, his cock dragging through the wet, pulsing heat of your orgasm, and then he slams in once more and freezes.

“F-fuck—” he gasps, head dropping to your back. “I’m—fuck—”

He shudders hard, cock twitching as he spills into you, his whole body jerking with it. One hand clenches around your waist like he’s trying to ground himself while the other braces against the bed beside your head. You feel the tension ripple through him, feel him lose it inside you.

And then it’s over. But the heat doesn’t fade right away. It lingers, wrapped around your body like a second skin, sinking deep into your bones.

Mark stays inside you for a moment longer, chest heaving, his breath hot against your back. Then, carefully, slowly, he eases out, one hand on your lower back as he moves, gentle again now, like the moment’s intensity is still ringing in his hands.

He pulls you into him when he finally lays down again, your back to his chest, arms tight around you like he’s trying to hold the moment in place.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, your bodies tangled, your skin still tacky with sweat, but the quiet between you doesn’t need filling. It’s not silence, it’s peace. The kind that only comes after something real. Something that breaks you open and puts you back together in the same breath.

You’re not sure how long it’s been. Minutes? An hour?

Time’s gone soft around the edges, all stretched out and blurry. Your skin is sticky, flushed. Every part of you feels sore in that half-numb way that says we went too far and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Your thighs ache. Your lips are swollen. Your muscles don’t want to move.

Mark is breathing slowly behind you. His chest rises against your back in that heavy rhythm you only get when your body’s winding down after something primal, after all the tension’s burned off and all that’s left is heat and heartbeat and the way you fit together.

You shift just slightly, trying to get comfortable, and immediately wince.

“Ow,” you whisper, wry and quiet.

Mark stirs behind you. He’s half-asleep, but not gone. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer. “Mm?”

“I think my spine left the building,” you murmur, face still buried in the pillow. “My thighs are mad at me. My everything hurts.”

Mark chuckles. It’s low and sleepy, his breath warm on your shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

You snort. “I didn’t say I regretted it.”

He hums and nuzzles closer, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss between your shoulder blades. “Good. ‘Cause I definitely blacked out for a few minutes in the middle there.”

You turn your head just enough to look back at him. His hair is a mess, his face flushed and still dazed, eyes half-lidded. He looks soft like this. Disarmed. Like he’s not trying to be anything but yours.

“Can’t feel my legs,” you murmur.

“Same,” he says, voice muffled now, mouth resting against your bare skin. 

You laugh quietly. “Romantic.”

“The most romantic.” He kisses your neck this time. “Can’t believe this started with you explaining something about thermodynamic collapse at dinner.”

You groan into the pillow. “Don’t remind me.”

“No, it was hot,” he mumbles. “You had charts.”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

You let silence stretch out for a little while. Not because there’s nothing left to say, but because it’s nice, being quiet with him. Not needing to fill space. His thumb strokes absent circles into your side. The fan hums softly from the corner of the room.

“Hey,” you whisper eventually.

Mark makes a soft noise of acknowledgment, his grip on you not loosening an inch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before,” you say, the words barely audible. “Not just… sex. But this. Being held like this.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he shifts just enough to hook his leg over yours, tangling you together even more.

“Me neither,” he says.

You smile. Close your eyes. Press your fingers over his hand, holding it there.

Mark kisses your shoulder again. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I’m sweaty and ruined and I probably have sheet lines all over my face.”

“Exactly.”

You huff out a laugh and feel it ease something in your chest. That pressure that’s always there, especially when you get too in your head, too tangled in what things mean. It’s gone now. There’s no future to plan for, no awkwardness to decode. Just warmth. Skin. Comfort.

Eventually, Mark’s breathing starts to even out behind you again. Slower. Deeper. You think he’s about to fall asleep, until his hand squeezes your hip, one last time.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Mm?”

“I’m still hard.”

You choke on a laugh. “Mark-”

“I’m just saying.” His voice is thick with sleep. 

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m in love.”

You freeze. He doesn’t seem to notice he said it, too sleepy. He’s already burying his face against your shoulder again, breathing the evening out. But you hear it. You feel it. And as your hand drifts back to find his under the blankets, your fingers twining between his, you realize the words don’t scare you. They feel right.

You whisper into the quiet, “Me too.”

And let yourself fall asleep tangled in him, no space between you. Just breath. Just warmth. Just him. You wake up before the alarm. Not because of the sun, though it’s already rising, a subdued gold streaming through the curtain edge. Not because of the nerves, though they're creeping up your neck like static.

Mark shifts next to you, so you awaken.

Not a lot. Just the tiniest finger twitch on your bare waist, the gentle, drowsy exhalation against the back of your shoulder as he moves and falls back into the sheet tangle. The warmth strikes you all at once. The intimacy. The stillness. And the fact that it’s today. You blink carefully, allowing your eyes adapt, but you don’t move.

Still snuggled behind you, Mark's chest pushed to your back and one arm draped over your stomach. Your legs are knotted with his. The room smells like hotel soap and shared flesh, and your body hurts in all the ways that make last night seem heavy and real and right.

You close your eyes again, just for a second. It’s not the nerves that drag you out of bed. It’s the weight of time.

You move carefully, sliding out from beneath his arm without disturbing him. You discover your clothes, your polished pants, your clean shirt, the jacket you picked out in a swirl of anxious energy the week before. You gather your bags, your badge, your quivering hands, and go silently into the restroom.

The water is too hot, yet you don’t turn it down. You lean into the tile, forehead on the wall, and let the steam fill your lungs. You’re not crying. You’re not breaking. But you are unraveling a little, and here is the only location that seems secure enough to do it without falling apart totally. This is it. Today. Your Oscorp presentation.

You know what to say. You’ve rehearsed it. Memorized it. You’ve revised your slides six times. You’ve spoken your introduction in the shower, in the mirror, in your sleep. But knowing what to say and feeling you’re ready to speak it in front of a room full of business executives are two very different things.

You dry off gently, wrap your towel firmly about you, and gaze at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t feel brilliant. You don’t feel like someone who deserves a seat in the room. But you button the shirt nevertheless. One at a time.

When you step out, your hair still damp around your shoulders, Mark’s awake. He’s sitting up in bed, hair ruffled, wearing nothing but sleep-wrinkled boxers and a bewildered face. He blinks when he sees you. Then grins. Soft. Proud. Sleep-warm and boyish.

“Morning.”

You exhale. “Hi.”

He stretches, arms extending over his head, and lets out a deep breath. “You’re already dressed?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You okay?”

You nod.

He glances at you for a second longer. “You sure?”

“No.”

Mark scoots to the edge of the bed and puts his elbows on his knees. “C’mere.”

You hesitate. Then go. You sit alongside him, your bare knee caressing his thigh, and he threads his fingers with yours without a word.

“You don’t have to be okay right this second,” he offers gently.

“I want to be.”

He shrugs. “You will be. Once you’re in that room.”

You gaze at the floor.

“I can’t tell if I’m more scared of failing or of doing well and not knowing what comes after.”

Mark hums. “That’s fair.”

“You’re not gonna try to talk me down?”

“Nope.”

You gaze up at him.

And his look is peaceful. Grounded. Certain.

“I’m just gonna remind you you’re not alone,” he says. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

You push your forehead to his. Just for a second. Then breathe out. And let him hold your hand for as long as it needs.

The ride down on the elevator is calm. You’re dressed in your presenting best. Your badge catches the light every time the elevator shifts. Mark’s dressed casually but neat, dark jacket, tidy pants, your favorite of his shirts beneath.

His hand touches yours in the confined space. You take it. Without speaking. Without thinking. You just take it.

The convention lobby is full. There are interns everywhere, stiff suits, coffee cups clasped like lifelines, frantic eyes darting from registration tables to room schedules to glossy name tags of higher-ups strolling by like gods. Your badge says PRESENTER. Silver. Heavy.

Mark doesn't say anything. Because he’s just a visitor. But he walks with you like he’s more than that. Like he always has. You find the check-in table, confirm your time, and receive your placement: Panel Room B, second slot. Thirty minutes. You nod. You try not to reveal how your pulse is beating in your ears.

The woman behind the counter grins. “There’s a prep room across the hall. Just presenters and organizers allowed.”

You gaze back toward Mark. Her eyes follow.

“Guests can wait outside the panel room,” she offers softly. “We’ll start seating soon.”

Mark glances at you. “You want me to stay close?”

You nod. “Front row.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The prep room is quieter but not calmer.

There’s a row of seats, a pitcher of water, a countdown clock on the wall. You sit. You grasp your iPad with white knuckles. You practice your opener in your thoughts again. And again. And again. Your chest feels tight. But suddenly the door opens slightly, and a worker comes in.

“First presenter’s almost done. You're next.”

You stand. Your legs feel like someone else's. And then you’re in the hallway. Then you’re standing behind a curtain, waiting for your name. You hear muted applause.

A voice over the mic. “Next up, a promising development in adaptive nano-tech applications-”

And your name. Clear. Loud. Sharp. You step into the spotlight. You don’t trip. You don’t freeze. You talk. Your voice shakes just for the first few syllables. But then you lock eyes with someone in the front row.

Black hair. Blue eyes.  Strong jaw. Leaning forward in his seat. Watching you like nothing else mattered. Mark. His expression is steady. Soft. He grins when you make it through your intro.

He mouths the word “yes” when your first graph loads without glitching.

He nods along as you hit your stride. And when you pause for audience questions, he’s the only person in the room you trust to look at. Because he’s still there. Still holding you together. Without touching a thing.

The applause still resonates in your ears even as the doors close behind you. It’s not thundering. It’s not cinematic. But it’s enough. Enough so you don’t feel like you failed. Enough that your lungs finally feel like they can fill again.

You stroll out of the panel room and into the corridor, where the carpet seems too soft under your shoes and the lights buzz somewhat louder than before. The high is wearing off, fast, and the weight of what you just accomplished is crashing over you in waves.

You don’t even know you’re trembling until you reach the corner near the prep area and touch your palm on the wall to stabilize yourself. Your breath is short. Your mouth is dry. Your heart is still hammering. But you did it. You did it. You look down at your badge, still fastened to your jacket, still sparkling with that strong silver PRESENTER print, and let yourself feel it for just a second. You deserved that.

“Hey.”

You turn. He’s already there. Mark. Leaning nonchalantly against the wall like he didn’t just witness you rise up and own a stage you thought you’d fall on. Like he hasn’t been holding his breath the entire time you talked. But his smile tells everything. You exhale like you forgot how.

“I didn’t screw up,” you reply, almost incredulous.

He pushes off the wall, approaching toward you with the deliberate, controlled stride of someone who’s trying not to run.

“You didn’t just not screw up,” he says. “You crushed it.”

You gaze at him, eyes wide. “I think I blacked out halfway through.”

“You didn’t miss a beat.”

“I—I tripped over one of the bullet points in slide six.”

“No one noticed.”

“I was shaking.”

“I noticed that.”

Your voice catches. “Was it bad?”

Mark stops in front of you. And shakes his head.

“It was honest,” he replies gently. “It made everyone pay attention. Made them believe you.”

You blink fast.

“I feel like I’m going to cry.”

“You should.”

He reaches up, moving your hair back from your face, fingertips sliding over the contour of your cheek.

“You earned this,” he murmurs. “Every second of it.”

You lean toward him before your knees can make any wrong judgments on their own. He captures your lips like he was waiting for it. Holds you. Not tightly. Not dramatically. Just long enough to inform your heart it’s good to slow down now. Just long enough to make it real. You don’t know how long you stay like that.

Eventually, a few more presenters stream by. A pair nod in your direction. One delivers a short, “Nice job in there,” before going down the corridor. You’re not sure if they mean it. But you nod nevertheless. You let go of Mark just enough to breathe again.

“Is it weird that I don’t remember most of it?” you mumble.

He grins. “You will. Once the adrenaline wears off.”

You look down at your hands. They’ve stopped shaking. For now.

“I was scared.”

“I know.”

“I thought I’d fall apart.”

“You didn’t.”

You nod, blinking hard again.

“Did you see who was in the front row?”

Mark nods. “Yeah. Dr. Li. And the guy from R&D with the weird eyebrows.”

“I think he was judging me.”

“I think he was crying.”

You laugh. A complete one this time. Unfiltered. It feels natural. Like breathing. You sit on one of the seats in the corridor with Mark, sipping the water he took off a catering tray while no one was watching. He offers you one of those lemon sugar cookies you usually claim not to enjoy, and you take it without objection. You lean against him, head against his shoulder. And just... exist. For a while.

Until a shadow crosses your range of view.

And a voice replies, “Told you she’d kill it.”

You glance up. Harry. Wearing a jacket you surely haven’t seen before, and smiling that little, familiar smile that never quite gives away what he’s thinking.

“You were in there?” you ask, shocked.

“Of course I was,” he admits. “Front row, four seats behind your boyfriend.”

Mark stares at him but doesn’t say anything.

You shift upright. “What’d you think?”

Harry shrugs. “Could’ve used more lasers.”

You laugh. “Be serious.”

“I am. But no—seriously? You were solid. Professional. Sharp.” He pauses. “You didn’t flinch when they asked about the lab failure data. That was impressive.”

You try not to shine too much. But it’s hard. Especially when the people who’ve known you the longest are the ones observing you the closest. Harry reaches out a hand. You shake it.

He leans in. “Also, Dr. Li was scribbling notes the entire time. That’s typically a positive sign.”

Your stomach flips again. But in a nice way.

He winks. “Catch up later?”

You nod. Harry slips back into the crowd. And you’re left with Mark again, looking down at your now-empty water cup.

“You okay?” he says again, softly.

“Yeah.”

And then, after a pause. “I think I really did it.”

Mark grins. “You did.”

You gaze forward to the far wall of the corridor, where the next group of presenters is being called in.

“Does it feel weird?” you ask.

“What?”

“Seeing me like this. Not as... me. But like this me.”

Mark’s brow furrows. “You’re always this you.”

You scoff. “You know what I mean.”

He shrugs. “I mean, yeah. It’s weird.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But it’s also amazing,” he says. “Watching you take up space like that? Watching you be seen? I don’t think I’ve ever felt prouder.”

Your chest pulls tight. Mark lays his head on yours.

“You belong in that room.”

You nod slowly.

“I’m starting to think maybe... maybe I do.”

You’re still clutching the empty water bottle when you hear your name. The hallway backstage is quiet now, humming with leftover tension and the distant echo of footsteps, Oscorp volunteers, panel coordinators, applause still bleeding faintly through the walls. You just stepped out of the room where you presented, out of the lights, out of the pressure. Mark’s waiting farther down the hall. 

“Miss,” a voice says, calm and quiet.

You turn. And there he is. Dr. Otto Octavius. You freeze. The only thing louder than the blood pounding in your ears is the realization that he’s here. You didn’t see him at the panel. Didn’t know he was attending. And yet, somehow, it makes sense. He doesn’t sit in crowds. He observes from the shadows.

He’s taller than you expected. Not imposing, exactly, but deliberate. Measured. Like everything about him was engineered for efficiency. His glasses catch the hallway light. His posture is impeccable. His look is unreadable.

“You presented clearly,” he remarks without preface. “You didn’t falter, even when pressed on your control variable gaps.”

You nod, trying not to noticeably brace. “Thank you, Dr. Octavius. I didn’t know-”

“I wasn’t announced,” he adds, cutting you off with the ease of someone who never wastes words. “I prefer to observe when the subject doesn’t know they’re being watched.”

Subject. Your spine gets rigid.

“Walk with me.”

You gaze down the corridor, toward where Mark had gone. But you follow. He walks slowly. Not because he has to, but because he expects you to keep pace.

“I run a program,” he adds after a pause. “A very specific one. Experimental, sponsored privately, shrouded by enough nondisclosure to black out half a city block.”

You look over at him. “What kind of program?”

He doesn’t look at you.

“Cross-species neural adaptation,” he explains. “Specifically… arachnid-based.”

The word clicks against your ribcage.

“Spiders?” you ask, since you have to. He eventually turns his head.

“Yes.”

He stops walking. You stop too.

“The Midtown Spider Genetics Lab houses Oscorp’s most advanced neuroadaptive research,” he explains. “We’ve been isolating and enhancing spider genomes to test the limits of cognitive transference. Behavior mapping. Memory rewriting. Selective mutagenesis. And more.”

You don’t talk. You can’t. His eyes are fixated on you now.

“What we’re doing isn’t theoretical,” he continues. “It’s real. It’s volatile. It demands exactness. Focus. A steady hand and a sharper mind. That’s why I’ve only ever asked very few interns to shadow the project.”

You gaze at him.

“And you want me to be one?” you ask.

“No,” he says. “I want you to be the first of a new branch. The others were observers. I want you in the lab itself.”

You swallow. He sees it. Doesn’t flinch.

“You’ll finish out your academic year,” he says. “The program begins next fall. One semester. Midtown lab. Closed-access wing. Three days per week.”

You hesitate. The corridor is so silent you can hear your heartbeat. Octavius steps closer. Not looming. But close enough to make you feel the gravity.

“You didn’t flinch today,” he says. “Not when they pressed you. Not when you tripped. You held your ground.”

You nod slowly. Once.

“I’m in.”

His smile is a flash. Not approval. Something sharper.

“Good,” he says.

He hands you a folder. Simple. Sealed. Your name on the front.

“Review it. Skim it. Report to the Midtown Genetics Lab next September.”

You take it.

And before you can ask anything else, he’s gone, walking back the way you came, like he was never there at all. You stand in the lonely corridor, holding a folder that suddenly weighs more than the building around you. In your chest, something shifts. Not fear. Not yet. Something smaller. Sharper. The initial thread of something that will tug until there’s nothing left but truth. 

And spiders.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

current taglist: @adeptusxia0 / @moonjellyfishie / @ladynoirx321 / @moraxussy / @saturnalya / @the-good-kooshe / @atomspidyr / @iansimpsforeveryone / @luvvcharxo / @jiyeons-closet / @weponxwrites / @xzmickeyzx / @heiankyonoeiyuukun / @edgycatx / @oxymorondemon / @bluerrie / @swtheartz / @maxi-ride / @nightmarewasteland / @hot15936 / @rotinginmybed / @deleted-1-800 / @thehumanradio17 / @mhrasm / @yzzaqczec / @pickledsoda / @qxuanii / @tr3nzit444s / @ketsuekiakane / @jiminie-08 / @thatwaspossesion / @xoyumiqls / @liliesclouds / @maki-ki / @wifeofmarkgrayson / @pixviee / @sugawoonie / @uselesstutor09 / @marinefreaakk / @monaekelis / @woodle-isbae / @simping4l1fe / @wasitforrevenge

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Synopsis: your marriage to Aemond would be a win, if it wasn’t for his dreadful, drafty quarters, you’re supposed to share with him. When you decide to live in another set of chambers, because he seems to ignore how unhappy you are, you two are bound to butt heads.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, crying, fighting, brief description of illness, a bit of manhandling, quick talk of cutting off Otto’s tongue, Aegon tries to be a good older brother but fails miserably.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used when needed. They’re called ‘wife’ and the only descriptor is that they have to crane their head to look at Aemond’s face

A/N 1: thank you @peachysunrize for screaming with me about it idea!

You arrange the brocade pillow on the old settee in front of the roaring fireplace: isn’t it lovely to have an interesting book to start, a warm blanket and a hearth to fight the first chilly nights in King’s Landing? Instead of a dreadful, drafty room? You had to choose, and picked the first option; unfortunately your husband isn’t on your same page.

Speaking of the Stranger, a rapid hail of knocks, hard and booming, falls on the sturdy wood of the locked doors.

“You are expected for dinner, wife!”

Aemond’s cold, angry tone carries through the door and you elect to ignore it.

“I’m not hungry, husband.”

You try to keep your tone light, pretending not to hear how cross he is with you.

You don’t know that outside, in the corridor, your husband is in the company of his brother, the king, his sister, the queen and the crown prince Daeron, who has come over from Oldtown for the wedding. Your sovereigns have accompanied their sibling in the hope to mediate this rift, so early in the marriage.

“If you don’t come out immediately, I will break down this door!"

“You can do as you wish, husband.”

“Perhaps you should try to be more courteous? No one wants to be addressed with such a tone.”

If Aemond didn’t love Helaena the way he does, he would have snarled at her, queen or not, instead he takes a big breathe, trying to douse the flames of rage burning in his chest.

All Targaryen siblings stare at Aegon with surprised eyes: where does this wisdom comes from?

“My wife is being extremely difficult.” He growls, low enough that you can’t hear him.

“You can win more battles with your wits than with your fists.”

Truth to be told, Aegon is trying not to laugh and be an arse towards Aemond; now that he’s king he genuinely wants to do better, but to witness Aemond lose his control because you have a spine of Valyrian steel, it’s not something he ever expected from you.

“Will you join us for dinner?”

Aemond is trying to keep his tone on a lighter note, gentler.

His fist almost connects with the door when you answer with a curt ‘No, thank you’, and all his siblings whisper to him to try and keep his composure.

“It would make all of us, me above all, very glad if you joined us. Please.”

His patience is hanging by a thread, one wrong word from you and he might explode.

“I am not hungry, I have already told you.”

Aemond doesn’t know if it’s your disrespect of his authority as your husband, or how disinterested you sound that throw fuel to the flames of his rage, not that he cares now that he can only see red.

“Then starve, wife! See if I care!”

With that he stomps away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stone corridors.

Helaena stares at Aegon. If you asked Daeron, he’d tell you she looks like someone who is pondering very hard why she’s married to an idiot.

“How many days ago was the wedding ceremony?” Aegon murmurs.

“A month.” It’s Daeron’s laconic answer.

“Any insides from the Gods?”

From behind the locked doors, you’re burning with your own brand of anger: how dares Aemond address you in such a tone? You’re not a servant, you’re his wife! He promised to care for you, keep you safe and sound, only to forget his promise when the first issue appears on the horizon! Also: you don’t consider your request outlandish, if only he had been open to an adult discussion!

“They will need time, and patience, to find a common ground.” She answers.

“This marriage is doomed to a sad end, then.” The king says, heading to the huge dining room: he needs wine, and he needs it now!

When the marriage between you and Aemond was being arranged, you were happy and dismissed your sisters’ doubts about the union, mostly because they all were appalled by his looks, by his scar, the very characteristic you found captivating about your future husband.

You were sold on the marriage when you finally met him in person: tall and imposing, averse to stupid talks and apt with a sword, Aemond had piqued your interest to the point you forgot he had been marred as a child: you knew he was your match.

Despite having the blood of the dragon flowing through his veins, he had always been respectful of you, during the long courtship, focused on knowing you, once you arrived in King’s Landing, without being improper, which made you believe there could be some true interest, from him, that he wasn’t simply honoring his side of this political deal.

Even during the wedding, when your hands were shaking in his, he had stolen moments to murmur in your ear that he couldn’t stop the whole ordeal, but he could make sure the two of you would be present for the least amount of time needed; he had stopped the whole wedding cortège from entering his chamber, now your shared marital room, to assist to your first coupling. With a firm voice he had put his foot down, until every single person had left, and had calmed your fears, once you were both under the soft cotton of the bedding.

What went so wrong that such a good union, was already on shaky grounds after a month?

His bedroom.

The wedding night you didn’t had the chance to truly take in the room, you were running on too much adrenaline and too little food to truly notice anything but how sparse, and masculine, the furniture was.

The morning after you had woken up chilled, despite the blankets covering your half naked form, to a room without a hearth to fight the cold drafts you could feel attacking you from all sides. That same morning you had noticed that the arched windows opening on the side of the room had no glass panes to protect the room from the wind, or rain: why a person of the standing of Aemond could accept to sleep in such a dreadful place?

“What’s so wrong about it?”

He had asked you two nights later, as he was preparing to join you to bed.

He was still wearing his leather trousers and the linen undershirt; he had looked at you surprised, as he was carefully folding his jerkin, ready to lay it on a chair.

Inwardly, the way he shrugged off your concerns felt worse than him raising his voice at you, it made you feel as if you were lying about the very goosebumps adorning your skin, or how cold your hands felt, even through you were bundled in a thick dressing gown.

“It’s cold, and drafty, husband.”

“I don’t feel it.”

As a dutiful wife, you had tried to ignore the chill constantly present in your bones, even when you were in the company of your new family; you could be having tea with the dowager queen, or be chatting with the queen in her sunny room, surrounded by the tiny cages housing her small animals, and you’d still feel like you were freezing.

Your toppling point came a week after your wedding day, when you woke up with a sore throat, a runny nose and a fever. Your husband had been by your side, his menacing presence causing the Maesters to scurry about in fear for their lives, yet, when you told him that it was the drafty room you two were sharing that caused you this illness, he had stared into your eyes, and told you that you were in the wrong, that your marital chamber was perfect.

As soon as you felt like you could walk without the whole room spinning around you, you ordered your servants to move all your belongings, most of them still in your trunks, in a bigger room in the same wing, one left unused for years, but adorned with thick panes of glasses at the windows and a hearth so huge you could sit in it and don’t be scorched by the flames.

Late in the afternoon, when you had started organizing your belongings, your husband had entered your new room, his presence so hulking that your maids had squirreled and hid in the furthest corner they could find, with their eyes lowered, trembling like leaves in winter.

“What is the meaning of all of this, wife?”

For the first time, you could feel the displeasure in your husband’s voice, kicking years and years of teaching into overdrive: your first instinct was to find a way to please him, make him happy, the way you were told while growing up, then you could feel a sneeze climb its way up in your nose, shutting down the voice of your mother, already complaining in your head.

“I told you, husband, that I felt cold in our room, I have even fallen ill because of it. I asked you to change it to another and you denied my request. This is the only solution, since you love it, and I don’t.”

You’re desperately trying not to start a fight by keeping your tone light, but firm: you know your husband to be a smart man, one you had discussed issues upon issues during your betrothal, why this silly problem should be any different?

You can see the way his expression hardened and his stance resembled the one you saw him adopt in the courtyard, with his feet planted on the ground to carry his weight and his shoulders slightly hunched.

You had walked closer to him, planting yourself right in front of his bigger frame, head craned to look into his eye.

“You will order your maids to bring all your belongings back to our chambers. I will not hear another word about it.”

“No, I will not go back to that dreadful room.”

Silence fell, broken by his pensive hum.

“And I will not sleep without my wife by my side.”

“You are welcome to join me here, where it’s warmer.”

“Or you could be reasonable and put a stop to this nonsense.”

“The only unreasonable one is you, husband.”

He left without another word, and you expelled a breathe you didn’t know you were holding.

“Then it seems we are at an impasse.” He said, coldly.

“That we are.” You answered, crossing your arms in front of you.

You thought sleeping without you by his side would mellow him, would let him see your reasons, instead he was colder than ever, during a silent, and tense breakfast you shared with the dowager queen, who tried, fruitlessly to start a conversation with either of you two, to lighten the gloomy mood, without success.

“My brother is an idiot.”

The king had told you that same night, minutes before dinner.

“Good, because you are going to need it to win this battle.” His hand had landed swiftly on your shoulder, in a reassuring pat. “Your king is with you in this tussle.”

“Pardon, Your Grace?”

“Aemond. He’s as smart as he can be dense and stubborn.” Aegon had continued, offering you a goblet of wine.

“I can be as stubborn as he is, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

You had curtseyed briefly, not feeling the hard stare of your husband on your back.

You didn’t know it, later than night Aemond had cornered Aegon, needing to know his intentions towards you, barely curbing the desire to slam his brother against the wall for having touched you, not knowing that Aegon had no ill, or sexual, intent towards you, he was trying to do better, to be better.

Aegon’s casual tone had stroked Aemond’s rage.

“Which side are you on, Your Grace?” He had hissed the question from behind clenched teeth.

“The one that’s funnier, brother, and your wife is hilarious, I can assure you.”

“I will not accept disrespect being done towards my wife.” He said, his voice like a cold draft.

Aegon knew why Aemond didn’t trust him, he had never given him a reason to, yet he was still hurt by his brother’s low opinion of him.

“I have no ill intention towards your wife. I had only showed them my support, because you’re being daft and unreasonable, and you know that.”

That had hurt Aemond’s pride, that his deadbeat older brother felt that he had the grounds to criticize him, when it had always been the other way around, all because of you.

The morning after you had woken up feeling warmed and well rested.

One of your servants had already lighted up the fire and you knew a scolding hot bath was waiting for you in the adjoining bathroom. You felt bad at not having Aemond by your side, his abnormally hot body curled around yours, his lips kissing your nape before making love to you at the brink of dawn: it was unnatural to not sleep with you husband, yet, he had left you with no other option but take this direct, if somewhat, unusual approach.

You had hoped that another night spent apart would have mellowed Aemond or, at least, helped him look at your stance with a kinder heart. You were wrong.

You hadn’t seen him for the whole day, until the afternoon, when he came to his mother’s room, where you were knitting, sitting on a huge armchair right where the sun was shining. Both Alicent and Helaena were with you, engrossed in their own works, while the twins played with their maids.

Alicent tried to defuse the low current of tension in the air, even the twins were silent, as if waiting to see what would happen.

“Wife.” Came, low and controlled.

“Husband.” You glanced at him, your heart sinking when you saw his displeased expression.

“Is there something you need, Aemond?”

You had stopped knitting to stare hard at him.

“I was simply looking for my wife, mother.”

“You know where to find me, husband.”

He had hummed, staring at you with his lips pursed in a thin, white line of displeasure.

“I see you are still being foolish.”

“The only foolish person I see in this room is you, husband.”

That had been a hard blow, you could see it in the way he stiffly turned around to leave, without a word; you were embarrassed by his conduct, and yours, enraged that a silly issue like the one you two were badly navigating, would exacerbate in two days, because your arse of a husband wouldn’t do you the simple favor of listening to you.

“You are disobeying your vows of obedience, wife.”

“And you’re doing the same, with yours of protection.”

You had excused yourself and curtseyed before either of the women could stop you.

As soon as you had reached your room, you had curled on the bed to cry your anger and frustration, wondering how you were supposed to share the rest of your life with Aemond.

Deserting the family meals hadn’t been a conscious decision: you didn’t feel like eating, looking at your husband’s face or pretend in front of everyone else that night, or the morning after, you simply carried on staying in your room, or leaving your sanctuary to go walk in the gardens, anger and sadness churning in your belly with every day your husband seemingly ignored your absence. Granted, you could have gone to him, tried to discuss the matter civilly, but why should you? He had been the deaf oaf, he should be the one to come and talk to you!

You didn’t know the way he struggled with his own anger, and loneliness how, for the first time since his late father assigned him this room, he felt as if cold was seeping in his bones, now that you didn’t sleep in his arms.

Why were you so impossible? So stubborn and childish? You were supposed to obey him, not put your feet down so strongly that his brother had started asking him, with unconfined glee, when you would grace the family with your presence, why his beloved good sister wouldn’t eat supper with them all. Aemond had to put his own grandsire into his place, when the old man had told him that your union was ill matched, that Aemond had to send you back to your family: Otto would never know how close Aemond had been to cut his tongue for his indiscretion, stopping only because the old man was family.

You were supposed to built a shared nest for you and him, not cut him off, because he didn’t want to adhere to your childish whims!

“You’re not going to win this one.” Aegon had told him one afternoon.

The king was hiding from the dreadful pile of paperwork he was supposed to sign, deciding to go where no one would search for him: the library.

“You should mind your work, Your Grace.” Aemond had hissed. “The whole realm needs your attention, not my wife.”

Aegon had rolled his eyes and sat next to his brother.

“Your wife is my subject, their well being is my concern.”

Aegon knew he shouldn’t have smirked, he couldn’t help himself though: it had been such a surprise to see how much Aemond was moping, because his brother had always been very reserved with his life, rarely had he openly expressed his emotions; it took this disagreement to show Aegon that his brother couldn't, indeed, have the perfect control over himself.

“I know what’s better for my family.”

The way Aemond had closed the book, his hand a white knot of anger around the old leather told Aegon it was time for him to find another hiding place.

“You don’t. Since you’re here, and your wife is not.”

Days had passed, a wall of unsaid words and anger slowly grew tall and impossible to climb: what were you supposed to do? And why should you make the first step towards reconciliation?

You hear Aemond’s footsteps stomp away from your door, followed by all of his siblings and your stomach closes tighter than it did before: you weren’t lying when you told Aemond you weren’t hungry.

It takes your upset stomach hours before the painful knot that forces you to curl into yourself on the bed, loosens enough for you to feel some semblance of hunger, strong enough to convince you to walk down to the kitchen, in search of some food.

You walk on light feet, making sure the guards patrolling the corridors don’t see you, loathing the thought of having to explain yourself to the men.

The kitchen area is enormous, and quiet, dying candles and the log slowly consuming itself in the hearth, illuminate the room and the furniture; thanks to the chatter of your maids, you know where everything is, the left-over, the plates and cutlery.

Mindful of the large sleeves of your dressing gown, you choose the food you think your stomach will manage: you have been living off tea and fruits, even now that you’re hungry, you fear your stomach will betray you.

Carefully you grab the tray and head back to your room, where you hope to curl next to the fire to eat, and to go to bed with a lighter heart.

You’re so focused on not letting anything fall, wondering how the servants manage to carry out those tasks, always in a hurry, that you don’t realize you’re not the only one who can’t sleep.

Aemond hasn’t even tried to fall asleep tonight, knowing all too well that he will spend most of the night staring at the ceiling, or tossing and turning, falling into an uneasy slumber when the first rays of light grace the sky.

He had always been a light sleeper, partly due to the constant pain in his face, partly because he knows that danger can come from any direction, but he had rarely issues with falling asleep, more so when he is as tired as he feels; he is not an idiot, he knows that his body needs yours next to him to find peace again.

It’s not only the sexual urge to be rooted inside of you, to listen to your sighs and moans of pleasure, but also waking up with your fresh smell in his nostrils, your silky skin under his roughened palms: you have changed the habits he had formed in a lifetime in a couple of weeks, and now he doesn’t know, doesn’t want to go back to the way life was before.

As your husband he is aware that he has the right to request your presence, that no one would bat an eye if he were to storm into your chambers to drag you back where you belong, or simply satisfy his lust to the send you back to your chambers. There’s a problem, though: he doesn’t want to. He loathes the idea of forcing you to sleep with him, he wants you willing, responsive to his touch, the way you had been before this rift.

If he simply wanted to empty his stones, he would have gone in any brothel to find that kind of satisfaction, what his restless mind, and body, are seeking is your presence, soothing and calming, like a balm for his nerves.

He decides to sneak down in the kitchen, instead of sending his personal servants, because he needs to move, to burn off some of this energy that he can’t seem to shake off, even after punishing training: he might as well find some warm water he can use to make himself tea, using the leaves the Maesters have advised him to use whenever the left side of his face starts to hurt more than usual.

Like you, he walks in the shadows, light on his feet, and he’s surprised to see movement in the kitchen. He’s dumbfounded when he sees you, clad in a forest green dressing gown, focused on organizing the food on the plates; he thinks that you’re pretty in the dying light of the fire, that the earthy tones you use for your clothing make you appear even more warm and comely, stroking the flames of his need, and longing, for you.

He retreats in the shadows when you walk through the open door; you’re so focused on the task you’re carrying out, that you don’t feel his presence and keep walking to your room.

With feet that are even more light than before, Aemond follows you, drinking down your lovely form the way a castaway would a jug of fresh water: he’s missed seeing you walking around the corridors and the gardens, or in the courtyard when he trains.

It feels like years ago that you were there, clad in a yellow dress that reminded him of the autumn foliage, clapping your hands and smiling at him: why you don’t want to go back to that? Why won’t you just see that he, Aemond, is right? That there’s no issue but your stubborn personality?

He waits until you’re inside your chambers, your back to the still open door, to enter and close it without a noise.

He hadn’t been in your chambers since the day you had moved your belongings here. His eye roams the room, enjoying the elegant way you have adorned it, the furniture you have chosen, and how the pillows and blankets give a homely look to the old place.

He notices that your personal writing desk, the one your father sent you from your childhood room, stands near the huge hearth, opposite to the padded settee and the short tea table, where you have placed the tray.

He thinks that you look truly happy without him and bile rises in his throat.

“I thought you weren’t hungry, wife.”

A petty party of himself rejoices when you jump in surprise and turn around with a hand closing the neck of your dressing gown.

“And I was led to believe you didn’t care if I starved myself to death, husband.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, you haven’t been this close, and alone, with Aemond in days; you’re nervous and angry at yourself for the longing you feel in your heart.

Silence falls between you two, broken only by the creaking of the fire.

“May help you with something, husband?”

You know that your voice is as cold as ice, you wouldn’t have it any other way: if he’s here to sleep with you, like he would with a common whore, you want him to know he’s not welcome.

With long, slow strides, Aemond walks the length of the room, his long fingers light on the furniture and blankets, until he’s standing in front of you, forcing you to crane your neck to look at him.

“You have made yourself home, I see, all cozy.”

His voice is as cutting as yours to hide the pain.

How could you believe such a lie?

“Someone has to take care of me, since my husband doesn’t care about my well being.”

“You know that’s not true, wife.” He hisses.

You grab both his hands, stabbing his skin with your nails.

“Is it, though? I remember telling you time and time again how cold I found your room, I even fell ill, only for you to ignore the issue.”

“You’re still exaggerating, there’s no problem with my chambers!”

“Can’t you feel how warmer I am? Can’t you tell the difference from before?”

You try to control the rising emotions storming in your chest, the tears that want to tumble down your cheeks: why is he making this harder than it should be?

He’s not doing it on purpose, simply your skin had always felt colder to him because he isn’t capable of telling the difference: he runs too hot to truly notice, something all of Targaryens struggle with. Even his own mother’s hands had always felt cooler, whenever she would cup his face, it’s the same with you.

“You don’t feel any different, wife.”

He knows he’s said something wrong when you let go of his hands and turn around to face the fire, your shoulders trembling as if you were trying not to cry.

“Then I don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

You hate how small your voice sounds, how lonely you feel now that you have the incontrovertible proof that your husband doesn’t care about you.

Behind you Aemond is panicking, unable to understand why your words seem to have hurt you so deeply; he hasn’t said anything offensive, why are you shutting him out again?

Without thinking he grabs your arms to try and force you to turn around and look at him, stopping when you stiffen in his grasp.

“I don’t understand, wife.” He says, feeling like the words are forced out of his mouth. “Why are you acting this way?”

You evade his grasp to turn around and look at him with accusing eyes, full of anger and tears, your mouth twisted in an ugly snarl that bares your teeth like the ones of a savage beast.

“You don’t understand? You don’t understand?”

You try to push him away, to no avail, he’s too heavy to move, prompting you to hit his chest with your fists, until he grabs your wrist in a tight hold, fearing you would hurt yourself.

Your angers grows tenfold now that he’s restricting your movements and he’s not letting you evade his grasp again.

“How can you be so callous?” You scream in his face. “So uncaring? Let me go!”

Blinded by tears you can’t see Aemond’s pained expression: he’s surprised by the hate he hears in your words, he can’t believe you think he doesn’t care about you; you two have been fighting over nothing, he believed, why are you acting this way now?

His long arms curl around your body, forcing your face against the soft cotton of his undershirt, where you cry even more when his familiar scent attacks your senses: you missed him so much, the knowledge feels like a stab now that you know he doesn’t care about you.

Aemond genuinely doesn’t know what to do, what’s expected of him, or what he’s supposed to say to make you stop cry so desperately. Anything, he’d do anything if that meant you stopped pushing him away.

Still holding you tight, he helps you kneel on the soft rug, rocking both your bodies until he hears your dry hiccups.

You try to push him away with your hands trapped against his chest, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Let me go.” You manage to say, voice hoarse and small, muffled by his undershirt.

“No, I will not.” His arms tighten reflexively. “Not until you explain yourself to me.”

Oh Gods, you thought Aemond couldn't break whatever pieces were left of your heart, and he just did.

“Why would I try to explain myself, when you don’t care?”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“I can and I do, because it’s all you’ve been showing me: that I have an issue and you tell me you don’t see it, you’re not even open to discussing it! And even when I try to look after myself, because you showed me you wouldn’t, all you can do is be a stubborn oaf.” You extricate yourself from his arms, looking at him with puffy eyes. “Tell me, husband, why would I try to explain myself to you, when you don’t want to listen?”

Aemond Targaryen is many things: rider of the largest dragon in the known world, renowned swordsman and man of letters. He knows he can be as stubborn as Vhagar is, but he also knows he’s not an idiot, maybe daft, when his own pride is in the way of his intelligence, but not a downright imbecile, he’s not Aegon.

“I might have misread the whole issue, wife.”

He knows this is the understatement of the century. It’s still going to be the closest thing to a ‘I am sorry’ you’re going to get from him.

For the first time since this quarrel began, you feel he’s willing to listen to you.

You take a big breathe before you start talking.

“Your room is cold, Aemond. I don’t know why you don’t feel it, but I was freezing all the time, even bundled up in my warmest clothes. I fell ill, and still you treated me like a capricious child, not like a wife who is trying to solve a problem with their husband. You didn’t care about my discomfort, Aemond, you shrugged your shoulders at me: what was I supposed to do, when my husband showed me he didn’t care? I tried to find a solution that could be right for us both: I wouldn't freeze and you could stay in your beloved chambers.”

Yes, he realizes, he has been an utter at complete imbecile.

You weren’t antagonizing him because you couldn’t adjust into your new position, you weren’t acting unreasonable (that’s what he had thought when you had moved your belongings here) or spoiled, when you had told him you found his room drafty and cold: you had an issue he had completely overlooked and misunderstood. Then his pride won over his intelligence and a small issue had become a real threat to your union, something he can’t accept from himself.

Still, he’s not going to say he’s sorry.

He stops to look into your eyes, still red but lacking the anger and distrust.

“I sincerely didn’t feel the cold…”

“I don’t want to have that discussion again.” You stop him.

“Neither do I, wife. I say it because I never feel it. I am always warm, even during the coldest winters. I thought you’d acclimate yourself, that you would get used to it. Since you didn’t, and, as much as the architects can work on my chambers, they will always feel colder than the rest of the wing, which can’t satisfy your needs, we need to find a solution.”

And we could have been doing that since I moved, you want to say but keep it for yourself; in his own way, Aemond had admitted to his faults, which is something you couldn’t think would happen, not after those two awful weeks.

“I love my chambers, but I care about your well being, and our marriage more. The rooms you have chosen for yourself are big enough to house us both.”

“The mural above your bed, the painters can copy it here.”

“Only if you’re happy to share these chambers with me.”

“I am. It’s all I wanted from the start.”

“Would you let me sleep with you tonight, my wife?”

He hopes you’ll say yes, that you’ll let him show you how sorry he feels, since he’s too prideful to say it.

“Yes, my husband, sleep with me tonight, and all the nights that will follow.”

He smiles, happy that you two have reconciled.

Tomorrow he’ll think of an excuse to use with the rest of the family to explain why he’s moving here, with you, now his only goal is to make up for the weeks spent apart.

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess, @xcharlottemikaelsonx, @qweencrimson

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose @thought--bubble

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #5548:

Which one says more "groomer"?

"NSFW - Trigger warnings: age gap, noncon 18+ only, dead dove do not eat, minors keep out" "What you enjoy in fiction is mot necessarily what you think is acceptable or good in real life, and that's okay. Just be courteous and respect people's boundaries, tags, filters, and content warnings are useful tools. Fiction is a safe way of exploring unsafe concepts. Many people use fiction as a method to work through their traumas, but its okay even if that's not the reason they like it, some people are just drawn to taboo subjects, that's completely natural. Regardless we're not going to try to force people to open up about their past traumas, nor any other personal information. No story should be banned from being told just because it makes some people uncomfortable. Art is meant to provoke intense emotions, afterall. Even if I don't like something, it's not my business to tell someone else what they should or should not create. I'm an adult and its MY responsibility to manage my emotional responses, not anyone else's. If you find yourself unable to manage please remove yourself from this space and find somewhere more suitable.

or

"EVERY OTHER ADULT BUT ME is out to get you!! I'M the only one I can trust!! I only like WHOLESOME ships and WHOLESOME content!! Look at this GROSS NASTY PORN someone made!! They tried to hide it because they don't want anyone to know what a GROSS FUCK they are!! That's why I'm showing it to all of you!! I can't trust anyone unless you detail ALL of your privileges and your traumas! And if anyone steps one toe out of line by enjoying a problematic cartoon ship I'll publicly shame them and tell all my other 14 year old friends to bully harass cyberstalk and socially ostracize them as well and if they don't I'll make sure the same thing happens to them!! This is for the SAFETY of other minors and NOT because of any petty personal vendetta!! ALSO I think its a good idea to send specifically minors to mess with people who - I claim to truly believe are - ACTUAL REAL PEDOPHILES-- to totally frickin own them online!! Anyone who disagrees with me is a pdo and gromer!!! So ONLY LISTEN TO ME!!! NO opposing or outside perspectives allowed!! I'm a good, SAFE, HEALTHY, NORMAL ADULT!! PROSHITTERS KYS!!!!!!"

[irndad]

just read your runner!hotch x sunshine!reader and omigosh that was soooooooooooooooo cute! I'm so happy you're happy to continue with those two in an au!

can I request one of them where hotch manages to get reader to go on a run with him? <3

“You hate me. You hate me and want me to die.”

Aaron can tell she wants to be deadpan but the gasps give it away. He’s hopelessly endeared but he sight of her, her little vest zip up that he’d gotten for her for their three mont-anniversary. He tries to be courteous like that, remembering the months. It’s not like he forgets. 

She looks adorable, her bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout, her expressive brows pinched into frustration. Her hair is in a claw clip, and she’s still worn the lipstick she loves in flagrant disregard of good sense. That’s my girl, he thinks to himself. 

“I’d like to think you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do that,” he replies, smiling. 

“There’s nothing else this could be!” she says, finally touching the bench. They’d done one lap. “You’re a sadist, Agent Hotchner. Someone should investigate you.”

It’s actually quite comical, how she leans down and holds the arm of her bench,  and catches her breath. He feels light in a way he hasn’t in a long time. There’s now ay she could know this- he hasn’t told her, likes to meet her in her lightness and sweetness when he can- but this past week has been punishing. She’s been the highlight of it, greeting him at his home with a bright smile and a book for Jack. He’d felt an immense gratefulness, for her attention and her affection. How rare is it, for someone like Aaron to be cherished like this?

“Sweetheart,” he says, warmth dripping from his tone, “I swear to you I only am looking for your health.”

She turns around to be facing him, and despite the fact he’s sure it’s not the most sensory pleasant experience, she wraps her arms around his neck. He returns in kind, wrapping her in his strong arms. It’s nice, the feeling of enveloping her. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Hotchner.” 

He’s very, very lucky indeed. 

[taintandviolent]

Devil's Favours - James March x Reader

summary & wordcount: 4.9K! originally chosen as the party favour for James' Devil's Night celebration, reader is quickly snatched away by James March, who would rather have his own fun with her than let the others kill her.

w a r n i n g s: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! dark fic, dub-con, slight non-con, conflicted reader, sexual confusion, mild gore & blood, graphic descriptions, violence, aggression, bodily fluids, mentions of other real serial killers, smut, rough sex,overstimulation, body worship (reader with greek goddess body type), murder, reader death.

a/n: sorry for this, I'm mentally unwell. not beta read, so if it's horrid and clunky, I'm sorry!!! also, I think this is the last taglist I'll be doing, RIP. It's just such a pain in the rear end, and half the time, it doesn't even work.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

After a long day of travelling, sleep was the only thing on your mind. That said, you were in desperate need of a bath, something relaxing. This was, afterall, a vacation. You twisted the ceramic knob on the hot water, and stuck your hand under it. With a hiss, you withdrew your hand – usually, water took a minute to reach temperature. This one? Scalding hot within a few seconds. Dangerously so. You twisted the knob on the cold side, evening them out until they’d reached a less skin-melting combination, and shed your clothes. You’d only been in there for thirty minutes or so before someone began rapping their knuckles against your door. Persistently. Very persistently.

“Just a minute!” you called from the bathroom, hoping your voice travelled. You reached for one of the towels – meticulously embroidered with the hotel’s logo – and wrapped it hurriedly around your torso. “Hang on!” 

Quickly rummaging around in your suitcase and swearing under your breath that you had packed more, you searched for something to wear. Feeling pressured and running out of time, you settled on a cream coloured silk slip. Hardly modest with your plenteous figure, but the knocking continued and that seemed more important than decency. You hurried to the door, yanking it open with an air of annoyance. The vexation melted away when you were met with a man who looked more like he belonged on a silver screen than he did standing in front of you.

“Good evening.” He said, dipping his head down in a courteous display.

“…Can I help you?”

His lips stayed together, but curved into a subtle smirk. Though it was an unintentional pick; he’d chosen well; your delectable form was as if it was carved by Gods themselves. The look in your eyes told him that you were so alive, so vivacious that any bloodshed that would happen would be akin to art. His eyes were immediately lost on you, exploring your body and face with a fervid fascination. Feeling exposed, you pulled at the silken straps, bringing the neckline of the nightgown higher up on your body. Your cleavage protested, the fabric puckering across the voluminosity of your breasts. 

All this time, he’d been silent, and you arched an expectant brow, wondering just what it was that you were to help him with. This man was… peculiar. From his fancy dressage to the articulate, over-pronounced way he spoke, his idiosyncrasies both alarmed and fascinated you. 

“Indeed,” he affirmed. He’d made his decision; you were the one for the night. And he’d have you, whether you came willingly or not.

“My name is James March — I’m the owner of this impressive hotel in which you now stand.” He paused, expectantly as if that was enough for you to throw your arms up and consent to whatever he was asking. When you didn’t, he added: “I need you to come with me. Urgently.”

You squinted, scanning his motivations. A warm, gentle smile stretched across his lips, framed by his pencil thin mustache. His hand rose, fingers uncurling in front of you. There was something unnervingly come-hither about his gaze. Would he have introduced himself with malicious intentions? Surely not — that could lead to identifying him later on. But he could’ve given you a fake name, perhaps…

Unable to resist his passé seduction and against (likely) better judgement, your hand floated up into his, resting delicately against his palm. His fingers closed around yours, lingering a moment before guiding you out of your room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind you. He began leading you briskly down the hallway.

“I forgot my key, wait I –” 

“Worry not, my dear. We’ll have another made for you, should you need it.” 

Should I need it? You thought. Why wouldn’t I need it? Of course I’ll need my key, I’m walking down the hallway in nothing but a nightgown. 

You trodded barefoot down the halls, listening to the sounds as you passed them. The hotel, you noticed, creaked and breathed with a life of its own. Whether the rooms were occupied wasn’t known, but they sounded as if they were.  

As soon as you two got to a door, only a few down from your own, he reached for the handle and instantly, as soon as he did; something felt wrong. Something felt… sinister and the feeling took over like a gelatinous sludge. You tried to yank your hand away but James sternly jerked you the opposite way — back towards him. With a throaty growl, he wrapped both arms around your torso, holding you fast in a steel grip so that try as you might, you couldn’t dislodge yourself from his grasp. His strength proved too much for your feeble, sleepy muscles.

After shouldering the door open, James carried you inside. In a moment of panicked clarity, you tried to peek around and identify anything you could. The stern way that his hand was plastered on your forehead, holding it against his shoulder, you could really only see the ornate ceiling above you.

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the corners of your eyes. This was it. You’d gone this far in life without being mugged, raped, or killed… today was the day it would change. Your track record would end. Abruptly. Terrifyingly. Your chest shuddered with an uneven, hysterical breath. At least he was handsome. No, shut up. That’s not the kind of thought you want to be thinking. 

Suddenly, your body dropped forward and you were spun around harshly, his grip still tight on the fleshy meat of your arms. Then, as though he was a lover and not your soon-to-be-murderer, he eased your back against a wooden chair with one hand, delicately, suddenly concerned with hurting you, like you were some kind of easily-bruised fruit.

“Good girl, sit there.”

At his praising words, your core twinged, tightening. No, no. Stop it. Clenching your teeth, you quashed the thought before it went any further.

His right hand snatched something from a nearby table before holding it proudly, stretching it out for you to see; rope. Unconsciously, your head began shaking back and forth. As the realisation sunk in, your heart rate picked up, thudding against your ribcage.

“N-no, no… no please.”

With the rope still in hand, James got to one knee in a familiar pose. His lightless eyes floated up to yours, staring into them deeply. Now in front of you, his cock twitched within his trousers, a carnal instinct tugging like an incessant child. He brushed the pads of his fingers along the smooth curves of your knees, your calves, your ankles… 

Damn. You – obviously – were a woman with needs, so his feather-light touch awoke something deep within your core again. This time though, it didn’t take you reversing the arousal. The shiny tip of his shoe knocked your feet apart, lining them up with the legs of the chair. She clenched harder.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tensely. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He paused to answer, straightening up. “Securing you, my dear. A struggle is inevitable.”

“What!? Inevitable for what?!”

He didn’t answer. Hastily working, his large but nimble hands wrapped the rope around the smallest part of your ankles, knotting the rope against the chair. Your wrists came next, and those were tied much tighter; the fibres of the rope ground against your soft skin, already causing a burning friction.

With a sudden, powerful pull at the bindings, testing their security, James was finished. He was confident in his knotting, you wouldn’t get away. Humming to himself, he dragged the chair through an archway, into another, much larger room. You were facing a table – it was ornately set with a large contraption in the middle. You recognised it as an absinthe fountain, the bright green liquid in the container seemed to glow. You didn’t want to be a part of whatever this was, even as attractive as that man was.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, I just… I want to go back to my room. Let me go.”

“Let you go?” James echoed in a mockingly high tone. He seemed offended that you’d even desire such a thing. It was a pleasure — a privilege — to be invited to his dinners. “No…. You’re staying with me. Right here.”

He pat your thigh  before moving to the head of the table. For the first time since you’d been brought in, you took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings instead of him. Immediately, you whimpered in disbelief — met with such a visual that you almost immediately thought you were hallucinating. You blinked away the tears and sniffed, pressing your lips tightly together. 

It was truly bone-chilling to see all of the worst eyes on you. The eyes that had seen the most foul crimes and atrocities in human history were now looking at you; the bound beauty with her sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to your forehead and fear in your eyes. John Wayne Gacy, Richard Ramirez, Jeffrey Dahmer….

“She’s shakin’ like a god damn leaf!” Aileen Wuornos howled, before finishing off the rest of her beer. She slammed it on the table, the clatter made you jump. She doesn’t want me, you thought. I’m not her enemy. Still, you knew that you’d been sat at a table full of people — true monsters — who even if they didn’t want to kill you, they’d take great pleasure in watching you writhe in agony as the others stole your last breath from your lungs.

Though they were all equally terrifying, you were most horrified by Richard. He sat directly next to James, picking absently at his nails. His sunken, snake eyes followed every move you made; watching you with a hunger that made your skin crawl. Considering the circumstances, it was laughable to say that one made you feel unsafer than the others — but he did. Logically, how he preyed upon women must’ve played into your distaste for him. He held your gaze, peering into your thoughts with a vicious lack of consent, as he behaved with every woman he came in contact with. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve waited long enough, Jimmy — can we kill her?” He said, sucking something out of his rotting teeth. He made a move as though he was going to get up.

You snapped your head to James, brows knit together in pleading. The visual surprised you. He, like the rest of the dinner party, had been staring at you, but instead of the feral, blood hungry gaze you expected, his eyes had gone glassy. He sucked his cheeks in, deep in thought. Beneath the dark fabric of his dress pants, heat blanketed his groin. You captivated him; the way your precious little eyes flitted back and forth in terror like a deer, the way your pulse thrummed in your neck, beating like a drum. He wanted you for his own — and only his own. Keeping his motives hidden, James stood up, smoothing out the fabric of his suit jacket. 

“No,” he crooned. “No, we can’t. I’m afraid I’ve had a change of heart… this one… belongs to me.”

You jerked your head in confusion, while grumbles of disappointment bounced off the walls. Ramirez said something sickening and Gacy let out a horrible, guttural chuckle. You strained against the rope, somehow trying to put more distance between you and them. James sliced his hand through the air to silence them both.

“Miss Wuornos,” he abruptly purred. “Go find us a dashing young man keen to join our party!”

“Ohohoh…. Lil’ ol’ me? Find a man? I’m gonna’ be frolickin’ in the fuckin’ daisy fields with this one. Be back!”

“Pl-please.” You begged. Your lips parted, allowing desperate promises to fall from between them. You wouldn’t tell anyone, you’d never come back here, you wouldn’t remember anything, you promised, you would never speak a word of this to anyone… You looked to James, who regarded you affectionately, but patronisingly, his lower lip jutted out in a faux-pout. He’d heard all this before, and it was of no concern to him. He’d made up his mind. It was his god damned birthday and he was going to have you all to himself.

Your begging fell on seemingly deaf ears, nobody bothered to entertain you. Your teary, burning eyes flitted to Ramirez, who was smiling his ugly, decaying smile at you, leaning forward in his seat. “I dunno’, she promises, Jimmy… maybe we should let her go.”

You shivered, grinding your wrists against the rope. Anger blanketed you. “Fuck off, weirdo.”

“Who you callin’ weirdo, bitch?”

“YOU!” You barked, straining. “I can smell your rancid breath from here. Had to kill all those women just because none of them would ever come within ten fucking feet of you!”

“Now, now… manners. She’s a lively one, isn’t she?” His mouth bent in a proud smirk, James looked to Richard, who was still bristling from the comment. He really wanted to kill you. Delighted at the fact that James had seemingly given you immunity, you wiggled happily in your chair, fighting the urge to stick your tongue out. You didn’t want to test him, though, and so you remained silent, watching instead. 

Silence was broken as the door opened. With a little thrashing, almost as desperate as your own had been, Aileen shoved a man — couldn’t have been more than 30 — inside. It didn’t take her long to find someone. In fact, it was like she opened the door, spotted him meandering by and dragged him back inside.

The guy noticed you first. Second, he noticed that you were tied to the chair so tightly that red marks on your wrists and ankles had begun to develop. Thirdly, he noticed the others, his eyes drifting slowly and visibly disturbed by who sat at the table. 

“Woah… what the fuck is this?” He asked.

“A good fuckin’ time is what it is.” One of them said. You didn’t care which. Blisteringly hot tears streamed down your face, stinging your cheeks. What were the stages of grief? You felt like you were cycling through them in rapid succession.

“Fucking let me go!” You howled, thrashing your torso back and forth, which did little to relieve anything. With a distressed expression plastered upon his face, the guy looked from you to the other guests and back, before nervously putting his hands up, taking one step back towards the door. “Hey, is she okay?”

“N—!“ James was suddenly behind you, cupping his hand over your mouth, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into your cheek flesh. His lips moved quickly, whispering hotly into your ear. “Hush now, don’t spoil the surprise for him. Let him find out on his own.”

“She’s fine, the hors d’oeuvres didn’t agree with her.” Aileen barked, towing the guy towards the table. She shoved him down into the only unoccupied seat.

“Dinner… is served.” James said. 

In unison, they all stood up. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in your head. Like syncronised swimmers, they all descended upon him, armed with whatever weapon they’d chosen. You hadn’t known the guy, but he had enough sympathy for you to make you cry at what was happening to him. He’d had a life, family… feelings. None of which mattered to him anymore, or perhaps that’s exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps your entire life really did flash before your eyes before you died. 

You let out a scream that burned on its way out. It ached and tore and ripped its way up your windpipe as the shrill, bloodcurdling sound filled the room. It was louder than his, and louder than the sounds that were currently coming from the gaping, gargling hole in his throat.

Gacy moved from his side, allowing you a brief glimpse. Torn flesh hung from his shoulders and blood had almost completely covered the front of his body. You closed your eyes and turned your head away, rolling your lips inward and biting down. It was fucked up, and you weren't going to absorb any more of it.

“Sweet dreams, my little pet.” James said, in front of you. You turned your head towards the sound, but were met with blackness. 

A dull throbbing on the side of your head was what eventually pulled you awake, forcing your cinder-block weighted lids to peel apart. You looked around; an odd, minimally decorated room. Dark. Your head wobbled as you turned it left, then right, met with the same visual — your arms suspended high above your head, and rope again, at your wrists. You licked your lips and tasted metal. In your blurred vision, you noticed red flecked along your breasts. The ache on the side of your head was more than just an ache, it seemed.

Your consciousness ebbed, fading in and out. Sleep was comforting, the idea of it cradling you in its arms like a baby. You wanted so badly to sleep… just for a moment. Somewhere inside, you heard authoritative voices, advising against sleep. Concussions… sleep… sleep is bad… keep the individual conscious. And so you fought against the cool, towering shadow, turning your head away from nothing in particular. You couldn’t hear anything outside of your own laboured breathing, and the creak of the rope every time you decided to move. Nothing. Not even the muted voices of the monsters. 

Time meant nothing, you lost track of how long you’d been hanging there when you’d finally heard the creak of a heavy door. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly before wrenching them open. You weren’t sure if the crushing weight you felt was the looming weight of death as it shrouded you, or merely the physical strain of your body being suspended for hours. You knew people could eventually die from suspension. Their lungs caved in or something. The tips of your toes barely touched the floor, your big toe grazing the cold, concrete floor every time your body swayed softly.

With your head hanging between your shoulders, your muscles quivered as you lifted it, just in time to see the door in front of you shut. James, standing in front of it, reached for a black leather apron that hung on a hook. Before slipping it over his head, he flashed you a charming smile, pleased to see that you hadn’t expired yet. Reaching behind him to tie it around his waist, he approached you. The light from the wall sconces reflected against the fabric dully.

“Ah, there you are.” He crooned. 

You intended a scream, but could do nothing but whimper. You swallowed repeatedly, a feeble attempt to wet your dried out throat. James drug a single finger along your soft jawline, trailing it down your neck, and along your collarbone. You were drenched in sweat, streaks of it descending your face and neck.

The sudden ferocity in which he gripped your face made it sting, his thumb and forefinger digging into the bone of your jaw. He quirked a brow. You opened your mouth and although your throat was already raw, you finally screamed. You screamed again, angrily, and held his cold, black gaze. Your ragged shrieks filled the room over and over again as you tried, desperately, to wrench your hands free from the ropes.

Regrettable, James thought as his soulless eyes hungrily took in your form as it quivered and thrashed around. You were built like a Greek goddess, soft curves in all the right places, begging to be touched, worshipped.

“Aaaah,” He exhaled, frustratedly.  “You’re almost too pretty to kill.”

“Then — DON’T! Fucking let me GO! AaaarhhhH!” You yanked at the ropes again, thrashing around until a deep pain in your shoulder began to burn. You cried out, letting your body go slack. 

With a deep breath, you mustered up all your strength again, finding every drop of it within your tired body, and leaned forward to scream directly in his face. The result? He was wholly unphased by your screams. If anything, it seemed like he enjoyed them. Each one sounded a little more desperate than the last, and it only fuelled him further.

You decide to try a new, last-ditch tactic. Sore mouth contorting into a scowl, you gathered a mouthful of saliva and blood, hot and irony on your tongue and lunged forward, spitting it at him. The glob hit him square in the face, dripping slowly down towards his jaw.

“What, is it hard to focus?” You croaked. Your words were slurred, messy with the pain of the head wound.  “Didn’t think you’d want to fuck me as bad as you do, huh?”

James’ dark eyes narrowed, the muscles underneath twitching faintly. He had in fact picked you, and therefore had to accept all of your fiery little quips as they came – but that one… that one had caught him off guard. 

“You…” You narrowed your eyes, the fibres of the rope squeaking as you leaned towards him, your lips inches from his face. “…want to fuck me so bad, you can’t think. Look at you. You think your apron hides it?”

With brows raised, James glanced at his groin. Had he really been betrayed by his own body, so early on? Though he felt the warmth and stiffness increasing between his legs, there was no visual indication. James calmly brought his hand to his face, collecting the bloodied spit on his fingertips. With a reticent gaze, he brought them down between your legs, harshly knuckling the nightgown out of the way.

He smeared them roughly on your cunt. Your own fluids. The ones that you had just spit at him. Not only that, but he proceeded to tease your sensitive nerves with his fingers, pulling a confused gasp from your throat. Part of you had been bluffing, you weren’t entirely sure that he had wanted you —

James pulled back an inch to look at you again. Aside from your luscious body, your complexion was mottled with exhaustion, lips dry with fear, hair frazzled and bloody on one side. To him, it was a horrific sculpture of divinity. One that he had created in such little time with such little effort. The perfect, ample curves of your breasts were dotted with crimson, having dripped from the gash on your head. They jiggled delicately with each desolate shake you gave.

With his free hand, he took hold of your round, plush hips, his thumb working the softness like dough. He swung you towards him, pressing the pillowy tops of your thighs to his groin. Quickly, he identified a growing obsession with your body.

He loved it. All of it. In fact, he hadn’t seen a body as marvellously breathtaking as yours since his wife’s. Of course, it had been many years since he’d seen hers in any such manner, so the flames that licked at his desire were deprived, hungry ones. His mouth found yours, lips crushing against yours. His tongue, hot and strong, slipped in and beckoned yours to engage in an erotic dance.

He pulled your body closer, pressing it tightly against his. Though constricted by his trousers, you felt the bulging heat beneath his apron, and rubbed your thigh against it, teasing him. He groaned deeply in response, bucking his hips against you to force friction. After a few moments, James broke the kiss, panting heavily over your tender, swollen lips.

“Pl-please… don’t kill me… please…”

The back of his hand whipped across your mouth, hitting you so hard that the world sparkled when you opened your eyes again. Your face burned with the contact.

“Enough of that now! Say it again, and I’ll do just that!”

The harshness in his voice stunned you. Up until that point, he’d been using his syrupy, serenading voice — the one he had used to charm you into coming with him. Now, he bellowed, an unexpected violence. Silence hung heavy between you as he waited, baited you to beg for life once more. You didn’t speak again, but your sobs continued. 

Finally, his hand dropped between your legs again. Your clit ached, burned with the way his fingers fondled it, but he didn’t stop. Your poor, exhausted body trembled beneath his touch, doing all it could to express arousal. Salty droplets streamed from your hairline into your eyes, stinging as they absorbed.

“Would you rather die?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Wh-what? N-no… I d-don’t want to die…”

“That’s not what I meant, my little ember. I meant… would you rather die than be pleasured? I, of course, can arrange that.”  

You hesitated a moment, but finally, shook your head. 

At this thoughtful confession, James angled forward, plunging a single finger inside of you, past the knuckle. The digit wiggled inside of you briefly, before sliding back out slowly. He held it up for you both to see. “Oh,” he growled.  

His finger was generously coated in clear slick. Your body had betrayed you. 

Wordlessly, he untied the apron, tossing it carelessly to the side – it hit the floor with a heavy flop. Then, those same nimble fingers began unbuttoning and unzipping, until they gripped his rigidness, pumping it slowly for further stimulation. His chest heaved with wanton, desiring breaths as he stared at you, hanging there, with your warm, ample body for his taking. James lined his dick up with your leaking slit, and pulled you harshly onto his cock, showing no mercy for how exhausted your body was. 

Your cunt swallowed his cock whole, hungrily and desperately. His head fell back between his shoulders, a throaty groan coming from his open mouth. He began thrusting, slow at first. The ease of thrusting fascinated him; your body hung limp on the ropes and all James had to do was tug you forward, tug you in the direction he wanted you to go. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a woman like this before - suspended in the air,” he said, breathily. “Exquisite.” 

You mewled in response, snot dripping from your nose. 

Soon, the room was filled with wet, slick thrusting and the thudding sound of his torso as it met yours. You came repeatedly, coating his thick, pale cock in fluids you didn’t even know your body could make. At one point, during a particularly vicious thrusting, a warm, watery liquid splashed down over your thighs. You screamed like he was killing you, though he felt better than any man you’d ever been with, pleasuring you in ways that left you feeling breathless.

Still, your body persisted with its aches. So far, you’d been successful in appealing to his sexual nature, and decided to try again.

“….please…. Let me down… I’ll… d-do anything you wa—

Suddenly, he backed up, pulling the head from your cunt with a slick pop. You panted; fragile, pitiful breaths, barely enough energy to lift your gaze. With his rigid cock bouncing in front of him, James untied your hands, allowing your heavy, enervated body to fall into his arms. You couldn’t help but cry into his shoulder as he carried you to some sort of surface, laying you carefully down atop it. Some streak of mercy had captured him, and you mouthed words of gratitude. Your entire body buzzed with relief, your muscles aching in a funny, tingling way.

James wasted no time in fucking you again; the tip was nearly scarlet, hungry for release. His hand compressed on your soft stomach, pressing down into it to increase the pressure of his cock as it drove deeper and deeper inside of you.

“You know how this ends, my dear.” When he spoke, it sounded far away. But you did. You knew. There was never any end to this besides the one that you’d envisioned fearfully. He leaned to the side, retrieving a small, but very, very sharp blade from a nearby metal table. You watched numbly as James lifted the knife above your neck.

His hips pumped rhythmically, bringing you both closer to the fiery edge of ecstasy. Pulsing veins massaging your silklike insides, and another orgasm galloped towards you. Your body quivered, cold sweats taking over. 

James whipped the knife across your perfectly warm neck, and instinctively, your hands went to the laceration. Bright crimson gushed out from the spaces between your fingers, and you felt a gushy warmth press against your digits. The inner workings of your throat, you realized. The gore of your own body, pressing back against you in its heat. James laid one hand over yours, seemingly just to feel the blood as it spurted. With a deep, guttural moan, his cock twitched inside you just before it released, coating your insides.

She gasped, a wet gurgle. The light left her eyes, gradually, but beautifully. The pulses of blood eventually ebbed to a dull trickle. As his thrusts slowed, he expelled a long sigh – killing both excited him and depressed him. On one hand; it brought exhilaration, delight and sheer unadulterated arousal. On the other however, you only truly got to do it once. Certainly, you could kill a ghost a million times over, but the effect wasn’t the same.

For a moment, James’ expression contorted into one of regret; when you returned in your new spectral form, you’d likely not want to spend time with him. Yet another woman who loathed his presence roaming the hallways, avoiding him. But perhaps, he still wouldn’t mind having you stuck with him for all eternity, if only to gaze upon your perfect form whenever you’d let him. With matching wounds, at that. A true romantic.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur / @feefymo / @evpeters87 / @lacucarachapisser / @stveharringtn / @fear-is-truth

[bestiesenpai]

sukuna bridgerton au

If you get mad at me for this then you’re no fun, he’s a little ooc in this but im world building! I intend to write more! Mini blurbs/fics and build a whole universe! Gosh! Tried to be accurate to regency era stuff but also took liberty with some things 6k words

part two — part three -- part four

Femme reader, you’re a proper young miss aint ya kekw

You are perfect. The Queen's diamond of the season and someone everyone knew by name. There is nothing you have not been prepared for, no social setting that you are unable to make your own. Since you were born your parents had instilled every rule in society onto you, every skill a young lady should have and even some men have as well, to cover every possible avenue.

Perfect indeed, with not only needlework and the pianoforte, but you spoke more than one language and were delightfully decent at drawing. Learning the harp and more advanced bookkeeping skills were on your current roster, the governess keeping not only you but your siblings busy before the beginning of all the balls and suitors calling for your attention.

“(Y/N), there are a great deal of callers outside waiting for your attention.” Your mother debriefed you at the start of the day, after having the maids dress you to her exact specifications. “You remember what I taught you, yes?”

“Yes. Be courteous and make sure to smile, but not too much or they might get the wrong idea. I shouldn’t appear to know too much about one subject, lest they get discouraged from speaking.”

“Perfect.” Snapping her fingers happily, your mother put a hand on your shoulder and sighed, smoothing down the sleeve of your dress. “I am so proud of the person you’ve become, (Y/N). I hope you know that.”

“I do, mother.” Hugging her tightly, you steeled your nerves. She had done the best possible for you your whole life to ensure you would be ready for the society you live in and to hopefully elevate your station in life, one that could afford you even more comfort than you had now.

“Bring the first one in.” Your father announced, ushering the two of you to come to a stand as the doors were opened and the first gentleman of the day came in, a modest but endearing bouquet of flowers in his hands. Making sure to curtsy immediately, you welcomed him in and brought him to the sofas where a proper conversation could be had.

And that went on for ages, one after the other, until you feared your voice would go hoarse from all the talking and fake laughter you had to do. It wasn’t that the men that came to see you were bad in any way, just that you hoped for a bit more excitement upon entering the season. There had yet to be anyone that swept you off your feet, made you wish they stayed just a bit longer and looked at you a bit more.

“Mother, may we stop for today?” You were unable to hold your posture anymore and your back bent considerably, allowing you to relax and look out the window at the sun slowly fading from afternoon to early evening.

“We may. Send the rest away, let them schedule for another time.” Motioning to a footman, your mother conceded to your wishes. “It’s about time for dinner, is it not?”

“Mr. Downey, that old man called upon you?��� The next day, a chorus of giggles could be heard in the park from you and your friends. You were recounting all the visitors you had, not sparing a single detail.

“Yes!” You laughed, unable to contain yourself as you strode arm in arm with them around the park lake. “But Father wouldn’t let him step a single toe into the parlor, told him to go down to the alleys he’s usually found in!”

“Oh dear!” Another round of shouts and laughs left the group, boisterous as ever as you all were excited for the upcoming ball at the end of the week being held by the Queen herself. Her royal advisor had seen to it that you were personally handed an invitation at the modiste this morning, letting everyone see the fanfare and the adoration the Queen so had for you.

“(Y/N), you really are Her Majesty’s favorite diamond!” Someone exclaimed, squeezing your hand tightly. “I can’t remember the last time she did something like this!”

“I wonder what it could all mean.” Another girl wonders aloud, making you all come to a stop and think. “I bet there’s some aristocrat in town she wants to impress!”

“Could you imagine!” You jump up slightly, your mind beginning to race. “And me as Her Majesty’s precious diamond at the center…” A flurry of giggles left the group and you began to walk again, chattering excitedly about the future.

The time for the ball came and you were dressed in the finest silks and jewels the modiste had to offer, and a dainty necklace laid on your neck adorned with small diamonds of its own. Butterflies arose in your stomach on the carriage ride over and by the time you arrived you worried about fainting upon standing.

“Stay close.” Your mother tells you, keeping your arm in the crook of hers as you enter the party behind your father, your other siblings behind you as well. Entering the main ballroom, you try not to openly gawk at the grandiosity of it all; there was a large orchestra in the middle of the room, peacocks milling about the garden just outside the open doors and too many servants to count carrying hors d'oeuvres that looked absolutely divine.

“A drink, miss?” One of them approached with a tray of cocktails which you swiftly accepted, eager to fit in with the other patrons. Taking a sip, you were nearly knocked back from the strong bite of alcohol and almost let your composure slip.

“(Y/N).” Your mother squeezed you in warning, never letting the smile slip from her face as her tone conveyed high stress. “Do not mess this up.” And those were her final words to you before you were ushered further into the room.

Quickly righting yourself, you followed your mothers steps in introducing you to everyone and making sure to show you off to eligible bachelors and their families of high titles. Your heart pounded upon meeting earls and marquess’, forcing yourself to not appear too awestruck of a title; appearing perfectly pleased at the information and not showing favor one way or another.

“Time to greet Her Majesty.” Your mother whispered, subtly gesturing to the entourage entering the room and causing quite a stir amongst your fellow partygoers. As she took her seat, you couldn’t help but notice the two empty chairs seated behind the queen and how she looked miffed that one was not being filled upon her arrival.

Milling about so as not to appear too eager, roughly five minutes passed before you made your way over to the queen. The drink you’d been nursing was finally empty and you could feel the burning effects of the alcohol take place, making your face burn and palms sweaty beneath your gloves.

“Your Majesty.” Speaking for the both of you, your mother led you into a curtsy. Standing straight, you let your eyes wander to the chairs, wondering who could be missing from such an event.

“My diamond.” Her Majesty reached out her hand which you instantly took, softly kissing the skin and giving another curtsy.

“Your Majesty.” You responded in kind, giving her a somewhat nervous smile. “This is a beautiful party.” Looking around, you finally let your true feelings show for a moment as you properly soaked it all in. “I am amazed at how you manage to throw such exquisite soirees each season.”

“Oh how you flatter me!” A light chuckle left Her Majesty’s lips and she allowed you to look around a bit more before speaking again. “Tell me, have any suitors caught your eye?”

“Well…” Looking back at your mother, you let out a breathless chuckle. “None have truly captured me, Your Majesty. Some interest me and others vex me, but no one has yet to steal my heart.”

“That is very pleasing.” She grinned, knowing something you did not. “Very pleasing indeed.” Waving over one of her attendants, she whispered something into their ear and off they went as if they had never been there at all. “Take to the floor, my dear, I shall call upon you soon again.”

“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty.” Curtsying again, you and your mother left to go enjoy the party. It wasn’t clear what the Queen had in mind but every time you looked over your shoulder you found her eyes on you and that made you nervous enough to get another drink and not care about the taste.

“Mother, I must use the restroom.” Hardly finished with the glass, you felt an upset in your stomach that couldn’t be ignored. Waiting just enough time for her to excuse you from the group you’d been speaking with, you rushed out of the room and down the hall, thankfully guided by servants to the nearest restroom.

Relieving yourself rather quickly, you were in no hurry to return to the party. This was the first time you were in the palace and your curiosity couldn’t help but get the better of you. Looking over your shoulder a few times, you walked as casually as possible down the hall in the opposite direction. Marveling at the grandeur, you hardly took note of where you were going until a loud thud brought you out of your thoughts. Looking around, you realized you were quite far from the party, the sounds of the orchestra a distant buzz.

“Fuck!” The vulgarity of the word along with its suddenness nearly knocked you to the ground. Grabbing at your necklace, you shuddered at the next few words that came out; this wasn’t proper for a lady to hear at all. Locating the source from an open doorway, you intended on closing it until you caught a glimpse of what was inside.

A completely naked woman was being pinned to a bookshelf by a man with his pants around his thighs, the violent motion of his hips leaving nothing to the imagination. She looked to be in pain, wincing and whining every so often as the man just kept going. He took so little notice of her, in fact, that her head hit the shelves a few times and although she cried out he didn’t falter.

“Fuck!” He yelled again, grabbing the woman's hair and forcing her head to the side. He did finally slow down and straighten up a bit, finally allowing you to see his pink hair. “Fucking whore.” And just like that, the relative slowness was gone and back was this man's brutality. Forcing the woman to walk over to the desk a bit closer to you, you quickly ducked out of the way before you saw something you shouldn’t. It was quiet for a moment and there was a shuffling sound before the door was ripped open further and you couldn't help the shout you let out.

“Who the fuck- oh. Oh?” The man was clearly ready for a fight but upon seeing you, his face changed into a sly smile. He at least had the decency to dress himself, though you kept your eyes trained onto his face and occasionally the ceiling to preserve your modesty. “Well, aren’t you a ravishing creature…come to join the fun?”

“Absolutely not!” Leaping back at his proposition, your face curled in disgust. He laughed loudly, fully taking in your appearance.

“No of course not, why would you? You are a lady, so prim and proper.” He stretched the word out, almost mocking you with the connotation. “You belong at the party, Miss, so run along before someone catches us alone and we’ll be forced to marry.” Raising his hand in goodbye, the man left you, laughter still on his lips as he slammed the door closed.

All but running back to the party, you avoided your mother in favor of going out to the garden with a few friends that were thankfully in attendance; a chance to marvel at the peacocks and performers outside would give you a chance to catch your breath and forget about what you’d just seen.

“Miss (Y/N), the Queen calls for you.” A servant notified you just as the air turned a bit too chilly for your liking. Bidding your friends farewell, you made your way inside. The polite smile on your face dropped immediately at seeing just why the queen summoned you.

“Ah, my diamond.” Her affectionate tone forced the smile right back on your face but your eyes stayed glued to the person behind her. There, dressed in the finest fabrics and with his cravat intricately tied, was the man you’d seen earlier. As he stood at the Queen’s motion, you noticed the freshly pressed pants and shiny boots he had on and the dazzling watch dangling from a chain.

“This is my nephew, you might have heard of him. The Crown Prince, Ryomen Sukuna.” As she spoke, the Queen's voice grew louder, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot and even those that didn’t hear. “I’ve invited him here personally just to meet you.” A small smirk adorned her face as she took in the crowd before her and the stir her words caused. And it grew even bigger upon seeing your face, the horrored expression mistaken for overjoy.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss (Y/N).” Sukuna made a show of bowing deeply to you.

“Come, sit down and chat for a while, won’t you?” Her request was truly a demand and you knew better than to hesitate or question it, so you nodded and did as you were told.

Taking a seat, you kept your body rigid and faced straight ahead, not even giving so much as a glimpse to your side where you could tell the Crown Prince was watching you. You knew it wasn’t proper and that people - your mother especially - were watching to see how you two got on, but you couldn’t bear to turn and have a conversation with the man you’d just seen in such an uncouth position.

“It truly is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sukuna said, a light chuckle on his lips. “Never thought the beauty I saw earlier would end up being the diamond of the season.”

“I believe you’re mistaken! We did not see each other earlier, Your Highness. This is the first time we are meeting.” Turning your head swiftly, you forced a smile onto your face instead of the scowl you wanted to show him.

“Yes, my mistake! Must have been another fair maiden that caught my eye.” Sukuna chuckled, settling into his chair just a bit more. He let a pause hang between you before he spoke again. “Tell me, diamond, do you wish to marry this season?”

“Of course I do.” You nodded, allowing yourself to relax a little as well. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I made my debut.”

“And what are you looking for in a husband?”

“I want one that is kind, that is loyal to me and whom I can get along with no matter what. And if he likes the arts such as I do, that would be even better.” An answer that you had rehearsed many times with your mother, the words came out of your mouth smoothly.

“Interesting.” Sukuna nodded, folding his hands over each other. “Now, tell me how you really feel.”

“I-I just did.” Quirking a brow at him, you were unsure why Sukuna required more from you on the matter.

“I can tell those aren’t your real words. Tell me how you truly feel.” His face was neutral but not serious or uncomfortable; he seemed to genuinely want an answer from you.

“I…” It took a while but eventually the thoughts you’d suppressed in favor of your mothers came to the surface and you looked down at your gloved hands. “I want someone I can be myself with, someone I won’t need to put on a mask for. And a husband that can value my privacy and give me my own space.” There was more you wanted to say but you stopped yourself; no use in rambling to the man when you could save it for your diary later.

“That’s good to hear, actually.” His response surprised you and had you turning more towards him.

“Really?” There was a tinge of hope growing inside you, one that said maybe the man from earlier wasn’t who he truly was.

“Yes. I’ll need a wife that can leave me the hell alone.” And with that, the tinge died out and your face fell.

“Wh-what?”

“Yes, as you will undoubtedly hear about later I enjoy some rather…unconventional pastimes and leisurely activities and if we are to be wed I’ll take great joy in the fact that you won’t interfere with that.”

“But I-”

“Oh don’t worry, Miss (Y/N), I will give you all the babies you desire if you so wish, but just know my heart will never belong to just one woman. It’s not the way royalty does it, I’m sure you can understand.” Giving you a tight lipped and condescending smile, Sukuna stood from his chair and excused himself, mentioning something about getting the two of you a drink.

“So, what do you think of my nephew?” The Queen asked when he was out of earshot, turning slightly in her chair to look at you.

“He- he is a good conversationalist.” You forced the words out, hoping that the Queen wouldn’t be able to pick up on how your eyes were growing misty despite your best efforts to blink the tears away. “I quite enjoyed some of the ideas he’s shared with me.”

“Wonderful, darling.” There was a tension in the air, like she knew what had happened between the two of you. But she chose not to say anything, instead turning back around as the orchestra played the next song. “Sukuna.” She caught him as he came back, two glasses in hand.

“Yes?” His eyes flicked to you for a moment.

“Dance with Miss (Y/N), will you? I want her to enjoy the party.” The tension in the air was back and Sukuna nodded and swiftly put the glasses down. Standing before you, he offered you his hand.

“Right this way.”

“Of course.” Inhaling sharply, you forced your feelings down and took his hand, letting him lead you to the dance floor. As the song began to start up, you could feel the eyes on you, watching your every move with the Prince and the chemistry you had when dancing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Sukuna said quietly, his hands resting on your upper back a moment before taking a few steps. “I simply want you to know the truth if you accept the proposal.”

You didn’t respond to him, letting the words soak in. In the moment it had seemed almost cruel that he had spoken to you like that, said those things and dismissed your feelings, hopes and dreams, but thinking about it gave you another perspective. You knew many men in town that had affairs and secret lovers that would never admit it but here was a man that was willing to be honest with you. A man that had no obligation to spare your feelings or protect them.

“Why did you even agree to come then, if that is how you truly feel about marriage?” You finally spoke, looking into his eyes.

“You know as well as I do that we have a responsibility to do this, to get married and play these silly societal games. When my aunt called me I had no choice but to come, you can’t exactly say no to the woman. And I figured why not meet her precious diamond and see what she had to offer, see if I could build the life the world expects of me with her.”

“And what is your verdict?” Sukuna spun you around as you asked and your head laid briefly on his shoulder, catching the scent of his perfume before you were twirled away again.

“I think you’d make a lovely bride, Miss (Y/N). There may be some hardships but I believe we could learn to be happy with each other and our arrangements.” Spinning you a few more times, Sukuna gently helped you to a stop. “I ask you to be aware of what the Queen will ask you soon, what I will be asking you soon. You can always say no.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” As the dance ended, you curtseyed and excused yourself. Slinking away to the refreshments table, you had nary a chance to sip some lemonade before a few more men approached, asking to write in your dance card.

As the night wore on, you danced with many more suitors and eligible young men about town, some that had already called on you and others that were waiting their turn. Some of them were dukes and earls and even a marquess came to you, but none held as high a title as Sukuna did. And with your parents eyes on you, you knew that was what mattered the most.

Going through everyone in your mind, there wasn’t a doubt that some would definitely be better matches for you than Sukuna in the realms of compatibility and chemistry but none would be as wise a choice as he was. Marrying a crown prince of all people would solidify your station in life forever; you and your family would want for nothing and you’d never have to worry about needing to follow the latest trends in fashion because you would be the one setting them.

“His Highness Prince Sukuna surely took a liking to you tonight.” Your mother was alight on the carriage ride home, fanning herself ardently. “Why, I do believe the Queen intends on you to be married before the season is over!”

“From a baroness to a princess, how marvelous that would be!” Unable to stop his excitement either, your father chimed in. It seemed they had already accepted the Prince's proposal on your behalf even though it hadn’t come yet. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that he wasn’t really a good fit for you, that you worried you’d never be truly happy in the marriage and you’d always feel less than when it came to how he felt about you.

“Delightful indeed.” Was what you said instead, allowing your parents to revel in this moment and trying to convince yourself that it couldn’t be that bad to marry a prince, especially if it meant that one day you’d be a queen.

May 14

Diary, I fear that I won’t be able to back out of this arrangement even if I say no to it like Sukuna said I could. If I say no, I know I will have many other suitors knocking at my door but none as prestigious as he is and I can’t bear to possibly face the disappointment of my family if I deny them this great opportunity.

I know I wouldn’t be the first or the last to enter into a marriage like this but I had truly hoped that I could have escaped that fate and found real love, true love! It’s rare but a girl can dream, especially one named as the Queens diamond. You’d think I’d have more time to decide on who to marry!

I suppose I have no choice but to say yes to this, don’t I? Sukuna said he would give me my privacy, so I can at least continue to write here without fear of being judged. I just wonder what the life of a princess will entail and how many new rules will I be forced to learn?

Here's hoping that we can at least grow to have a liking for each other over time, but I know better than to wait around for love.

XX

It was a few days after the ball before you heard word from either Sukuna or the Queen. You knew it was coming but the anxiety of waiting had you pouring too much energy into the other men that called you.

“A visitor for Miss (Y/N) has arrived.” It was announced one afternoon, immediately kicking your heart into overdrive. It was a good thing you had felt the need to dress a little nicer today as your visitor presented himself, none other than the prince.

“Your Highness!” Your mother exclaimed, overjoyed and forcing your siblings to stand as well and greet him. They all bowed or curtseyed, some too young to understand exactly who they were greeting.

“Good day to you all.” Sukuna gave a small bow in return, eyeing up your family before turning to you. “Miss (Y/N), I was hoping we might promenade today around the park? The weather is quite lovely and there are a fair amount of swans out there I’m told.” His offer surprised you, you were sure he was going to ask for your hand right then and there.

“That would be lovely.” You nodded, looking back at your mother who would no doubt chaperone this outing. “Allow me to grab my purse and a shawl.” Excusing yourself, it took no less than five minutes for you to be ready and heading out the house with Sukuna by your side, your entire family not but five feet behind you.

“I’m surprised you called upon me today.” You said upon reaching the park, waving to a few friends who were also on dates. “I was certain that the next time I saw you there would be a ring put upon my finger.”

“Young Miss, please have more faith in me. I thought it only right to court you as the others have, to see if we are truly to be a good match or not.” Sukuna put a hand over his heart in jest.

“Was that your idea or the Queens?”

“I’ll be honest it was her idea, but I have no problem going along with it. It’s only right that we get to know each other a bit more before we are wed.”

“You talk so certainly that I’ll say yes! Who said I wanted to marry you?” His arrogance was starting to annoy you, and the fact that he couldn’t even feign that he was the one interested in learning more about you irritated you to no end.

“Please, would you even think of saying no?” Sukuna quirked a brow at you as you came to a stop to admire a pair of swans. “I am the best match you have to make, one that would elevate your status so highly it would make your head spin. And beside…” He trailed off, looking around at the people in the park. “This sorry lot you associate with aren’t exactly highbrow to begin with.”

“That’s enough!” You shouted, taking a step back from him. A few curious looks were sent your way and you could see your mother start to approach from the corner of your eye before your father stopped her. “Do not dare speak of my friends in such a manner. What would you know of being highbrow anyway, what with the pastimes you partake in!”

“Miss (Y/N), I did not mean to upset you.” Sukuna spoke a little louder for the inquiring minds around you. “Please accept my apology.” And he bowed his head deeply in a show of submission.

“Do not mock me.” You hissed, crossing your arms and turning back to the lake. “I can’t believe I thought you could be a real gentleman.”

“Oh, but I can be.” Resuming his previous position, Sukuna squared his shoulders.

“Only when others are watching though, right?” You began walking again, letting Sukuna fall into step beside you. As a relative quiet fell over you two, you looked at everyone else walking about, seemingly so happy with their matches. A pang of jealousy hit you upon seeing a group of your girl friends out with their matches, laughing happily and getting to enjoy a true love match instead of whatever you were stuck in now.

There was little conversation between the two of you, but to the outside world it looked as if you were just taking a quiet stroll and letting the sounds of nature surround you. Anyone looking in would think that you’re content just being in each other's presence and don’t need words to communicate.

“Let’s stop at a cafe, I’m parched.” You announced, suddenly spotting the building across the street.

“Yes, let's.” Sukuna agreed immediately, following your lead. Opening the door for you and your family, Sukuna made a show of buying everyone something, even your father. With your family scattered about the shop, you and Sukuna took a seat by the window, a place where everyone could walk by and see you together.

“How do you like your parfait?” He asked, sipping on the plain coffee he got himself. Your mother insisted he get a croissant as well and he pulled a piece off and ate it.

“It’s delicious.” With fresh in season fruit throughout, it was a sweet treat you didn’t know you’d been craving. “Thank you.”

“Tell me what it is you like to do for fun.” Leaning back in his chair, Sukuna peered over his glass at you. You felt the urge to correct him on his posture but held back, knowing he would probably just laugh at you.

“I’ve recently taken up the harp and I quite enjoy it, it can be such a calming instrument. I also enjoy the pianoforte, though recently I’ve taken up reading a new book.”

“Reading is quite boring, is it not?” Sukuna smirked at you, enjoying how you fought to keep your expression neutral. “I can’t remember the last time I read.”

“I’m surprised you can read at all.” You rolled your eyes, finding small gratification in how he laughed.

“Me too!” Taking a hearty bite out of his pastry, Sukuna grinned at you, showing the sharp edge of his canines. “I think I’ll like having you as a wife.”

“You shouldn’t be so confident in my acceptance of your proposal, Your Highness.” With a warning tilt to your voice, you took a sip of tea. “I can very well say no to your whole courtship right now and be done with it.”

“But you and I both know you won’t. You wouldn't want to risk the ire of the Queen or your family. And neither would I, Miss (Y/N). I’m tired of being hounded to find a wife and you are the easiest decision ever made for me.”

“You could at least pretend you’re interested in me.” He had a point, you knew little people that went against what the Queen wanted and weren’t shunned for it. There were a great deal of pros outweighing the cons in marrying Sukuna from an economical point of view, but could you find it in you to put your heart aside?

“Trust me, I am plenty interested in you.” His gaze fell downwards and your face immediately started to burn.

“Don’t make me throw my tea on you.” You glared sharply at Sukuna, your tone daring him to continue and for his sake he didn’t and his eyes returned to yours.

“My apologies, Miss. Just admiring a beauty before me.” That statement made a passing few girls giggle and swoon to themselves and you could hardly hold back another eye roll.

Your outing was done shortly after your trip to the cafe with your youngest siblings complaining they were tired. The Prince escorted you home, bowing to you once more and waiting until you were inside before turning and leaving.

“Tell me what that outburst was at the park.” Your mother descended on you the second she got, following you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“The Prince isn’t as fine and dandy as you think he is, he called the ton a bunch of idiots.” You didn’t bother keeping your voice down as you walked, just the thought of what he’d said upset you all over again.

“Why, he is a Prince! Of course we will be simple to him, he is used to so much more!” She argued, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “He meant no harm, I’m sure.”

“Mother.” Turning to face her before opening your door, you sighed upon making eye contact. “I wish I could tell you even half of the things I learned about him…the Prince is not the man you think he is.” You repeated your previous statement; your lip caught between your teeth as you debated telling her more. “I don’t know if I can marry him.” The words made your mother gasp in horror and push a hand over your mouth.

“(Y/N), please tell me you don’t mean it. Please tell me you are just playing a sick joke.” She couldn’t bear to hear you say otherwise. You stared at each other, both of you pleading for different things. The heartbreak in her eyes was evident and she took a step back and composed herself. “V-very well, if that is how you feel I will not force you.”

“Mother…” Your voice trailed off at how downtrodden she looked, it nearly brought you to tears.

“No, please do not say any more. I-I need time to come to terms with this.” Smoothing down her dress, she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was eavesdropping. The silence allowed for the noises of others in the house to be heard; two brothers fighting over chess, a sister playing the piano. “I will be in the sun room should you need me.”

She left without consequence, calling for a maid to bring her some lavender tea. Finally entering your room, your body pushed the door closed and you sank onto the floor, letting your head fall into your hands. This wasn’t what you wanted to happen in the slightest and now just the prospect of rejecting his proposal was putting immense guilt onto you. Seeing your mother so hurt, imagining the looks on your siblings faces and what your father could possibly say were all too much for you.

May 18

I fear I have made a grave error. It wasn’t my intention to hurt my mother but just the idea of me not marrying a prince was enough to make her beside herself with grief, she was hardly able to look at me during dinner. And I know she’s told father because he was the same way!

Am I really taking away my family’s happiness this much? Am I being selfish by refusing? I think I’m learning now that a marriage, especially this one, is not just between two people. There’s so many others that it affects!

I think I’ll reconsider my rejection - after all, not many can say they were named the diamond and married a crown prince their first season out. I know Sukuna will give me my space if I request and not question me on things…is this potential life worth giving up my hopes of love?

I truly hope it is.

XX

At breakfast the next morning you informed your parents of the change of heart and the sullen mood that was looming over them was washed away in an instance.

“I knew you would come to your senses, girl.” Patting you gently on the shoulder, your father smiled big. “It’s easy to get swept up in nerves during this whole thing but I’m glad you’ve thought about how this marriage will be good for you - for all of us.”

Your siblings were thankfully none the wiser to what had transpired and they begged to be informed. Ignoring them, your mother reached for your hand across the table and squeezed it.

“We must go to the modiste later.”

“What for?” You sent her a curious look, you’d just been there the other day for a fitting!

“For your wedding dress.”

[ninus9607]

❝𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬❞

𝟣. 𝐻𝑜��� 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉

Pairing(s): Marvel Characters x Female! reader

Word count: 5.8K

Warning: swear words

tags l content: fluff

AN: I hope you like it.... please forgive me for every mistake!! English is not my first language!

Steve Rogers/ Captain America

You two met when Steve walked into your flower shop...

The soft chime of the shop bell echoes as the door swings open, and you look up from the bouquet you've been wrapping. A man steps inside, his presence immediately filling the cozy space. He's taller than you expect, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a leather jacket that's a little out of place in the pastel hues of your flower shop.

You almost don't need to glance at his face to know who he is...

But instead of the confident persona you'd expect from Captain America, he looks... shy and disoriented. His gaze shifts around the shop, looking at the colorful displays, before finally landing on you.

"Hi, welcome to my flower shop," you say, offering him a warm smile. "What can I help you with?"

He steps forward, his movements a little hesitant. "Uh, yeah, madam, I'm looking for some flowers for my friend's birthday." You blush at his courteous greeting.

There's a slight awkwardness in his voice that catches you off guard. You nod, putting the bouquet you were working on aside. "Okay, great! Do you know what kind of flowers they like?"

"I don't think so"

You chuckle softly, "No worries. That's what I'm here for. What's this person like? Sweet, bold, maybe a little dramatic?"

He thought for a moment and finally just said, "Ehm, a little bit of everything?"

You raise an eyebrow, smiling at him, "Sounds like someone pretty unique. Let's see what I can do."

You move toward the colorful display, your mind already piecing together a bouquet. Starting with soft pink roses for sweetness, you add bold orange lilies for strength and a touch of lavender for calm.

As you work, you glance up at him. He's watching you intently, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. "You make this look easy," he says.

"It's all about the story," you reply, tying the bouquet with a simple green ribbon. "Flowers say a lot without words. You just have to listen to them."

He nods like he's thinking that over. "That's... really nice."

When you hand him the bouquet, his fingers brush yours, and you notice how warm his hand is. "This is perfect. Thank you."

You ring him up at the register, giving him the total. As he pulls out his wallet, you can't help but notice the faint pink creeping up his neck.

"Keep the change," he says quickly, his voice barely above a mumble.

You glance at the amount and blink. "This is... way too much."

He shakes his head, looking flustered. "No, it's not. You deserve it. For... doing this."

You nod toward the flowers in his hand. "Whoever gets those is lucky. You've got good taste."

His blush deepens, and he stammers out a reply. "I- it's not-thanks. I mean, I don't really..." He trails off, letting out a small, nervous laugh. "I'll, uh, see you around."

"Anytime," you reply, waving as he heads toward the door.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Tony Stark/Iron Man

You were his new assistant...

The soft hum of the elevator was the only sound as you rode to the top floor of Stark Tower. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself for what you'd been told would be Tony Stark's assistant.

The doors opened, and you stepped into the sleek, open space. It was everything you expected: a blend of high-tech elegance and organized chaos. Glass walls, minimalist furniture,e everything expensive.

Tony Stark stood by a holographic display, his attention shifting to you as soon as you walked in, his sharp eyes swept over you quickly before breaking into a one-sided grin.

"So, you're the new assistant," he said, his tone warm but unmistakably teasing. He walked toward you with the confidence of someone used to owning every room he entered. "Tony Stark. You've probably heard of me. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and also devil in bed...

He extended a hand, and you shook it firmly. "Y/N Y/L/N," you said with a polite smile. "Your new assistant. And if we're going to make this work, we should probably start by keeping things professional."

The words hung in the air for a second, and you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes. But it passed quickly, replaced by something sharper - amusement, maybe, or curiosity.

"I'm here to keep things running smoothly. That means making sure you're where you're supposed to be, doing what you're supposed to do—on time."

His laugh was genuine, "Bold. I like that. Come on, let's see what you've got."

You followed him into his office, a space filled with papers, glowing blueprints, and a half-built robot arm lying on a shelf. Tony dropped into his chair and gestured for you to take the seat across from him.

"So," he said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head, "what made you want to work for me? The fame? The thrill of sleeping with a billionaire? Or was it just desperation?"

You raised an eyebrow, setting your bag on the floor beside you. "None of the above. I'm here because I'm good at what I do, and I know how to handle people who think they're unmanageable."

"And Mr. Stark, save those remarks of yours for someone else, our relationship will be purely professional, I really don't feel the need to get involved with a guy like you. Speaking of which, your presentation for the board meeting in an hour is missing the last three slides. Should I wing it, or are you going to fill in the blanks?"

Tony blinked, his smirk faltering for just a second. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "You really don't mess around, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," you said

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled-not the cocky smirk, but something softer, more genuine. "Okay, Y/N. I think this is going to be fun."

"As long as it's productive, I'm good with that," you replied, already organizing the files on his desk into something resembling order.

Tony watched you for a few more seconds, then leaned back in his chair, still smiling. "and would you like to go wi-i"

"No, thank you, Mr. Stark, don't forget to finish the presentation. You've got the conference at 4 pm, so I'll be there waiting for you." and you walked out of his office.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Bucky Barnes/ Winter Soldier  (Let's pretend he's with Shield after CAWS)

You met him on a rescue mission when he saved you from the soldiers who had captured you and your team...

Your mission was simple: get to an abandoned Hydra base, collect some data, and leave. But nobody expected the other soldiers to be there, ready to take you all away.

It all went wrong so fast. The intel had said the base was empty - an easy in-and-out operation for you and your small team. But instead of empty halls and computers, you walked into an ambush. Hydra agents poured in from every direction, and despite the fight you put up, it wasn't enough.

Hours later, locked in a dark, damp cell, your body sore and your mind racing with questions, you began to lose track of time. You had no idea where your team was or how far SHIELD had gotten in locating you.

Then, one night, you heard it. A loud crash, followed by shouts and the unmistakable sound of fighting.

You tensed, straining to hear, your heartbeat quickening. Was it another Hydra agent? Or was help finally here?

The door to your cell exploded open. You didn't even have time to react before a figure stepped in, tall and imposing, moving with precision. His eyes locked onto yours, and despite the shadows, you could see the intense expression on his face.

"Y/N?"

Your pulse skipped. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer immediately, but you caught a glimpse of his arm a metal arm, glinting in the dim light. And then it hit you. You'd heard rumors about a man with a prosthetic arm, someone who worked for SHIELD -Bucky Barnes.

But you didn't know him, not really. You had seen him at training, maybe exchanged a few words during briefings, but nothing beyond that.

"I'm Bucky," he said, his voice rough but calm, a slight tension in it that you couldn't place. "SHIELD sent me to get you out."

As he knelt down to cut through your restraints, you couldn't help but feel a small wave of relief, though something about his presence made you uneasy. He looked different—more serious, more... intense than the man you had seen in passing.

It wasn't entirely clear what he was muttering, but you caught it as he spoke: "I'll kill them! I almost lost you, God y/n"

"Can you stand?" he asked, his voice softening just slightly.

You nodded, trying to push through the aches in your limbs as you climbed to your feet. Bucky was already there, his metal hand steadying you as you wobbled.

You tried to stay focused, but everything felt hazy. "Where's my team?" you managed to ask.

"They're safe, for now," he replied, his gaze flicking around the cell before locking back onto you. His eyes seemed to soften for just a second, then narrowed again with a new sense of urgency. "We need to move."

He was quick, getting you through the halls of the Hydra facility with impressive efficiency. The walls were lined with bodies—agents who had already fallen in battle—but Bucky didn't flinch. He was laser-focused, and every step was calculated.

"Stay close," he muttered as you moved. "We're almost there."

Your legs buckled, you almost fainted and Bucky saw it, one hand grabbed hold of yours and lifted you up in bridal style, "You're gonna be okay," he said quietly, his voice surprisingly calm.

You nodded, exhausted but too shaken to really respond. You couldn't ignore the way he was looking at you now.

"Thank you," you managed, your voice hoarse from the hours of silence. Even before you fainted, you were wondering why he was so kind to you. Why do you feel so safe in his arms...

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Loki/God of Mischief

You were one of the maids who took care of his family...

You were the new maid in Asgard, and though the grandeur of the palace was overwhelming at first, you were starting to get used to the halls and corridors, and the strict rules that came with working in the royal palace.

Today, however, was different.

You were given an unexpected task: clean Loki's room. The God of Mischief himself. The one person in the palace who was notorious for his privacy—and for being... well, difficult.

When you were handed the assignment, you hesitated. No one, not even the most experienced servants, dared enter his room unless it was absolutely necessary. But there was no backing out now.

"His mother requested it," the head maid had told you with a knowing smile. "You'll be fine, just be quick."

And so, there you were, standing in front of Loki's chamber, wondering how you managed to end up in this situation. The door opened with a creak as you stepped inside, and you immediately felt the weight of his space.

Everything about the room screamed Loki—dark, dramatic, and mysterious. The atmosphere was as brooding as the man himself.

You set to work, quietly dusting the surfaces and sorting through the scattered books on his desk. You tried not to feel out of place, but the sheer thought of being in his room made your heart race. He was someone you only knew from brief glances in the halls and the stories people whispered about him.

You were so focused on straightening the pile of books when you heard the door creak open.

"Who—"

You turned to find Loki standing in the doorway, his expression already darkening at the sight of you in his space. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of you.

"What is this?" His voice was sharp as if you'd committed some unspeakable offense.

You quickly bowed your head, not wanting to anger him further. "I'm sorry, my lord. I was just sent to clean your room. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No one enters this room without my permission." His voice was low and full of authority.

"I understand, my lord. I was just following orders."

There was a beat of silence before he stepped further into the room, his boots echoing lightly against the stone floor. You couldn't help but feel the weight of his presence, his anger still hanging in the air.

But then his gaze landed on the books you were arranging. His eyes softened just slightly as he approached the shelf, studying the titles. "You've been handling my books?"

You nodded, a bit hesitant but surprised by how intrigued he seemed. "I thought it would be easier to organize them. It's a lot to keep track of."

"And you know where to put each one?"

"I try to," you replied, glancing back at him. "There's a logic to it—different genres, authors, eras. It's not as complicated as it seems."

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed but trying to hide it. "You're quite... knowledgeable about books."

"I've always enjoyed reading," you said, feeling a little more comfortable now. "They're like windows into other worlds."

He didn't say anything for a moment, simply watching you with an intensity you hadn't expected. The tension in the room slowly seemed to ease.

"So, you're a lover of knowledge," Loki said, his voice quieter now.

You shrugged lightly. "Knowledge can be the most powerful thing there is. It helps you understand people, situations... the universe."

He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his expression softening just slightly. "I can see that. Not many take the time to understand things as deeply as you do."

You smiled faintly, though the compliment caught you off guard. "Thank you, my lord."

Loki tilted his head, still observing you, but now with something more curious in his eyes. "Tell me, do you read all the texts in my library?"

You glanced at the shelves again. "I've read most of the ones I can reach. I'd say your collection is rather impressive." A chuckle escaped him then, a sound you hadn't expected.

Before you could continue, he straightened up, brushing his fingers through his hair. "I'll allow you to clean my room," he said, his tone returning to its usual coolness. "Only you, you understand?"

You nodded quickly. "Of course, my lord."

Loki paused at the door, glancing back at you with a slight smirk. "You're free to continue... though I don't expect you to be as thorough next time."

It was the first time since Loki's birth that he allowed anyone but himself and his mother into his room...

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Natasha Romanoff/ Black Widow

You and Clint were the ones who were ordered to kill her, but you decided to save her...

You and Clint had been given the mission straight from SHIELD- take out Natasha Romanoff. She was a serial killer, an agent who killed too much, too dangerous, and she couldn't be allowed to roam free. It wasn't an easy assignment. You knew what you had to do, and Clint was always ready for a job like this.

But something didn't sit right with you.

You had read the files, and seen the reports, but when you heard Natasha's name, a knot twisted in your stomach. She wasn't just some target. She was a woman who had spent years being used, manipulated and turned into a weapon by everyone around her. The more you thought about it, the less you believed SHIELD's orders were the right call.

Clint, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. He was always the more practical one, and the more he talked about it, the more determined he seemed. "We've got to take her out. She's a threat to everyone," Clint had said earlier. "We can't let her go rogue, Y/N. You know that. I wish we didn't need to kill her, but we have no choice, and you know you can't convince her to join Shield."

But even as you prepared for the mission, you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe there was more to this than just elimination. Maybe she wasn't the enemy.

You and Clint had tracked Natasha to an abandoned building outside the city, a place where she'd been spotted several times before. You were both positioned on the roof, looking down over the empty streets, waiting for her to make an appearance.

And then, she stepped out of the shadows, moving like a predator, sharp and focused.

Clint signaled to you. "You know the plan."

But you didn't answer immediately. There was something different about Natasha when you saw her up close—something that didn't fit the cold, ruthless image you'd expected. Her movements were fluid, but there was a weight to her if she was carrying something heavy.

You could feel your resolve weakening. This wasn't just a mission anymore. 

Before you could even process it, Clint was already aiming his bow at her, ready to take the shot. You saw Natasha's eyes flicker toward Clint, her senses already alert. But before Clint could release the arrow, Natasha was gone, moving faster than you had ever seen someone move.

You didn't see it coming. (RIP PIETRO)

 One second, you were speaking, trying to make your case, and the next, Natasha was on you, her movements swift and lethal. You barely had time to react before the cold edge of a knife pressed against your throat. 

You looked for Clint to help you, but found that she had managed to hit him on the head, knocking him out.

"I should've known," Natalia said, her voice a low growl, filled with bitterness. "Another SHIELD agent sent to kill me Blyat."

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. You couldn't afford to panic. Not now. "I'm not here to kill you, Natalia," you said quickly, your voice shaking only slightly. "I'm here to help you."

Her eyes narrowed, and the pressure of the knife increased ever so slightly, enough to send a chill of fear racing through your body. 

"Help me? You think you can help me?" She laughed bitterly. "I've heard that before. And apart from the fact that your friend was pointing a bow at me, it doesn't look like you want to help me."

"I'm not here to offer you redemption," you said, trying to keep your voice calm, even as the knife remained a hairsbreadth from your skin. "I'm offering you a way out. I know what Red Room has done to you, but I'm not here to bring you in to hurt you. I'm asking you to join us, Natalia, on your side.

Her grip tightened again, a flash of old pain crossing her face. You could see it in her eyes—Natasha Romanoff, once a weapon, trained to kill, her mind twisted by the Red Room and the years of manipulation. The fear and anger from all those years weren't gone. They never would be.

"You think I'm just going to forget everything I've been through? Forget who I was? And just join you?" Her voice was sharp and dangerous, and for a moment, she almost looked like the ruthless killer everyone feared. 

You knew you only had one chance and you had to take it, and in a moment of inattention you threw her away and turned to face her, but you didn't draw your weapon. You swallowed hard.

"I don't expect you to forget. But I do expect you to see that you don't have to be their weapon anymore. The Red Room - they controlled you, Natasha. But SHIELD? They're offering you a chance to make things right, to choose who you want to be, not be what they made you."

Her expression faltered for just a moment, but it was enough. She wasn't immune to your words. There was a part of her, buried deep, that wanted to believe. Wanted to think that maybe, just maybe, she could escape the darkness that had defined her life for so long.

But all of a sudden she pulled a gun on me, "You think it's that easy? Do you think I can just walk away from all of that? From what I've done?"

You met her gaze with unwavering conviction. "I know you can. You don't have to be that person anymore. You don't have to be alone in this. If you don't believe me, kill me. I'm okay if you do that, it's your choice."

Natasha's eyes flickered, a storm of emotions passing over her. Pain. Anger. Regret. But also something else hope, just the smallest spark that maybe you were right. She didn't lower the gun, but the tension in her body began to ease. For a brief moment, you saw the woman beneath the assassin the one who still fought for the right thing, deep down.

"You really think they'll accept me after everything I've done?"

"I'm not saying it will be easy. But you don't have to go through it alone," you said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in your voice.

For a long moment, Natasha didn't move. Her grip on the gun loosened, but she didn't drop it completely. It was clear she wasn't convinced yet, but the fact that she hadn't killed you meant something. That she was listening.

"You think I deserve a chance?" she said, the edge of disbelief in her voice. "After all I've done?" She shook her head, her gaze turning away, lost in the weight of her past. "I don't know if I can ever trust anyone again."

"You don't have to trust them," you said gently. "You can trust me. And maybe, eventually, you can trust yourself."

You could see that she was going through an inner struggle, but out of nowhere a mask appeared on her face and she raised her gun at me again.

"Why should I believe you? How can I believe that this is not a lie? And won't you kill me as soon as I believe you?" 

You knew that this was going to be the most tense part of the whole conversation, but then the thought came to you.

"I know you still don't believe me, but if you want to prove it, there's a notebook in my bag where you can read your file, but you can also read my opinion of what we should do."

She walked slowly over to my bag, pulled out the files, and started to read, after a moment she threw them away and said "This doesn't prove anything".

"I have nothing more to prove to you than the truth. You must decide."

With a final, piercing look, she stepped back, lowering the gun but still holding it in her hand. "You're lucky I'm in a generous mood today," she said, almost as if it were a challenge, but there was no malice in her tone.

"I'm not lucky," you said, your voice calm. "I'm just telling you the truth."

She looked at me with a slight smile, "You know, you have some nerve talking like that to someone who could kill you in a second."

"It's just me."

And then she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you standing there, breathless but hopeful. You had gotten through to her. Just a little. But it was enough. Maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to choose something different.

"Are you OK? Where is she?" Clint asked, opening his eyes and groaning.

"she left, but she'll come around. I know it."

Clint looked at you, raising an eyebrow. " WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Wanda Maximoff/ Scarlet Witch

You had a cell in the hydra next to her...

It was strange, being back here. The place that had once been a prison. The memories of the cold, concrete walls and the scent of fear lingered in the back of your mind like a haunting echo. Hydra's experiments on you had been cruel, but nothing compared to what they had done to Wanda and her brother, Pietro.

When you'd first been shoved into the cell next to hers, you hadn't known what to expect. You were just another test subject, just another piece of Hydra's puzzle. But Wanda... Wanda had been different. She was already aware of the pain she'd been through, the things she'd been forced to do.

It was an accident that led to the two of you speaking. One day, you heard the softest murmur from the other side of the cell wall. A voice filled with more loneliness and sorrow than you'd ever experienced. And though it wasn't much, it was enough.

You had always been good at listening

(FLASHBACK)

"Do you ever dream of a world where we're free?" Wanda had asked softly, her voice trembling from the quiet desperation that rang through the air.

You hadn't responded right away, unsure of how to answer. But after a moment, you had spoken, "I dream of freedom. I dream of a world where I'm not just a weapon. A world where I don't have to hurt people."

(END)

From that moment on, the conversations started. Silent glances turned into whispered words between the thin walls that separated you. You had no idea how long it had been, but the bond between you and Wanda had grown stronger with each passing day. She had become your best friend in the hell that Hydra had made of your life. You had an indescribable connection with Wanda and could tell yourself you were head over heels in love.

The memories of those times flickered in your mind as you stood in Sokovia, watching the chaos unfold around you. The Avengers had come to stop Hydra, but it was Wanda and Pietro's arrival that brought everything to a head. You stood with the Avengers, trying to protect yourself, but there was something in the air, something that felt different.

You were just fighting some soldiers with your super strength when Nat on your earpiece said that Clint had been hit and needed help, at the same time someone said that he fought with some guys with super speed, your heart dropped...

You barely saw Wanda at first, lost in the chaos. But then, you locked eyes. For the briefest moment, everything stopped. The world around you seemed to fade as you looked at the woman you had once shared everything with.

Wanda was different. Her eyes, once filled with fear and uncertainty, now glowed with a raw power, something much darker than before. The weight of the years spent in Hydra's hands was visible on her face, but you could also see the woman she had become. She wasn't the same girl who had whispered in your cell anymore.

"Wands," you whispered under your breath, unsure if she would even hear you over the din of battle.

Her eyes flickered in recognition, but the warmth you once shared was gone. Instead, there was only a cold determination in her gaze. Wanda didn't speak, but her powers surged, and you felt the weight of it in the air, pushing against you like a force that could crush you in an instant.

"Y/N," she said, her voice distant, as if hearing your name had reminded her of something she had long buried. "You're with them now." 

You remember how much she hated Tony Stark for what he did, but did she hate the Avengers? And why is she still with Hydra? You thought.

"Wanda. I don't want to fight you." 

Her expression faltered for the briefest moment, the hesitation in her eyes betraying the conflict inside her. But it didn't last. The anger that had built up over years of manipulation and loss came rushing back to the surface, and Wanda's powers flared.

"Wait! Why are you still with the Hydra? I've been looking for you everywhere! You must escape! Where's Pietro?"

"You don't understand! You are one of them! They are worse than Hydra and I have to kill them.

"What??" Pietro appeared from nowhere...

"Pietro??" He had a look of surprise in his eyes, and he certainly had an idea of who I was, even though we had never met.

"Wanda we have to go!"

She looked at you one last time and they both disappeared and you just stood there dazed, seeing the woman you thought you'd never see again and feeling your heart start to beat for her again...

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡

Agatha Harkness

You met her while you visited Salem (1693)...

Salem. The air was thick with magic, ancient and untamed. It called to you as if the land itself knew what you were. You weren't much older than Agatha, but there was something about her that drew you in from the moment you met her. She was a young witch, still figuring out the depths of her power, but there was a spark in her—one that intrigued you.

You'd come to Salem in search of something, something you couldn't quite put into words. Maybe it was to understand your own abilities, maybe it was the pull of the place itself, but when you saw Agatha for the first time, you knew there was something special about her. She wasn't like the other witches you had met—her curiosity, her hunger for more magic, made her stand out.

At first, she was wary of you. Witches weren't exactly fond of vampires. But there was something in your presence that felt different, something that didn't put her on edge. You were younger than most vampires she'd heard of, and somehow, that made you seem less of a threat and more like a kindred spirit—someone who, like her, was still learning how to harness power.

You spent hours talking and sharing thoughts on magic, its limits, and its endless possibilities. Agatha was determined to learn more, to push beyond what her coven taught her. She told you about her dreams of becoming powerful, of escaping the control her mother had over her, but there was an edge to her words—fear, hidden beneath her desire. She wanted to be free, but she wasn't sure she could.

You didn't know at the time, but Agatha was already starting to feel something for you—something deeper than friendship. She kept it hidden, scared of her feelings, unsure if you could ever see her the same way. The last thing she wanted was to lose the one person she trusted. So she kept her emotions locked away, even as her power grew.

You arrived at her cottage one morning, eager to see her, to continue your talks about magic, when you found the door wide open. It was strange. Agatha was never careless with her home, especially not when her coven had grown suspicious of her. You stepped inside, calling her name, but there was no answer.

The silence was deafening.

Your heart began to race. You searched every room, but Agatha was nowhere to be found. This wasn't normal. You knew something was wrong—witches didn't just vanish like this. The coven must've found out about her growing power, and the realization hit you like a cold wave: they were coming for her. And they were not just going to talk.

You ran through the streets of Salem, feeling that familiar pull of magic in the air, guiding you as you searched. It didn't take long to find her—hidden in a small grove outside the village, just beyond the trees. She was sitting on the ground, her face pale and eyes wide with fear.

You ran through the streets of Salem, feeling that familiar pull of magic in the air, guiding you as you searched. It didn't take long to find her—hidden in a small grove outside the village, just beyond the trees. She was sitting on the ground, her face pale and eyes wide with fear.

"Agatha!" You rushed to her side, kneeling down. "What happened? Where have you been?"

Her voice was shaky, her hands trembling as she looked up at you. "I... I couldn't stay. They were coming for me."

You felt it—the magic in the air, dark and oppressive. It was only then that you realized what was happening. Agatha's mother and the coven had found her. They had come to take her power, to end her life before she could grow too strong.

"They want to kill me," Agatha whispered, tears threatening to spill. "I'm not... I'm not strong enough to stop them."

"You are strong, Aggie c'mon you are the strongest witch I know you said, your voice firm. "And I won't let them take you."

"No! You have to go! y/n Get out while there's still time!"

"What? No! I won't leave you, a couple of old witches never scared me."

She put her hands on my face and slowly stroked my cheek, smiling at me as a tear began to slide down her cheek, " NO AGATHA I KN-"

She used her power to throw you somewhere really far away and you crashed into a tree when you got up out of nowhere the sky turned black and you knew it was wrong, you used your speed and ran as fast as you could, in your head you cursed Agatha and her power for throwing you so far away you didn't even know where you were going but you knew you had to go after her.

just then, you heard the sounds of footsteps, sharp and purposeful. You turned to see her mother and the coven emerging from the trees, their eyes cold, their intentions clear. They had come for Agatha, and they wouldn't hesitate.

Agatha's mother spoke first, her voice laced with authority. "Agatha, you've defied us for the last time. You've overstepped your bounds."

Before anyone could react, the magic in the air shifted. Agatha's mother and the coven started to cast spells, but Agatha wasn't waiting for them to make the first move. She reached out, her hands crackling with dark energy as she pulled from the very earth beneath her.

You watched in awe and fear as Agatha's magic surged, wild and untamed. It was raw and uncontrolled, but it was powerful. It was the magic she had kept hidden all these years, the magic she'd been afraid of.

You heard Agatha in pain screaming "Mom pleas"e and that was when it broke inside you, you jumped on instinct and quickly bit her mother's throat trying to stop her, Agatha looked at you, you were afraid she would be angry at you for killing her mother but instead she looked at you with adoration,

 because her mother is a strong witch you can't kill her by drinking her blood, you pull out your fangs and scream, "I'm very happy that you're happy to see me, but I think you could help me!"

The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. Agatha stood tall, breathless but victorious. She had taken their magic, their control.

You stood beside her, watching as the last remnants of her mother's coven fled into the woods.

"You're free now," you whispered, still in awe of the power she had unleashed.

Agatha turned to you, her face pale but her eyes burning with new determination. "I couldn't have done it without you." 

She was quick to pull you into her arms and wouldn't let you go...